#put them in a dryer like old shoes and watch them tumble

[verfound]

WIPWed: Festering Folder Edition: Legally Blonde AU

@mintaka14 asked about the Legally Blonde AU, which the Disco witnessed the birth of and was briefly mentioned in the notes for "Move Like Jagged". So. Yeah. This is the latest crack AU I've been working on. 😂

See, for my last project for those unit classes I had to take for work, I was talking about different reasons conflict can pop up in your kitchen and how to deal with them. And one of the ways to deal with conflict is by staying positive - you can't control what other people do/what happens, but you can control how you react to it. And that got "Positive" from the Legally Blonde musical in my head, which got me thinking who would be who in a LB AU, and...it all just ran away from me so hard. We have a Plunny Adoption channel in the Disco, and I dropped it there because I did not want another WIP, and the next thing I knew I was 1700 words into the Bend & Snap scene and no one else had adopted the plunny come on guys. 😂

So. Yeah. This is happening. I'm maybe a third of the way through the outline with about three scenes fully written out. 😂

The setup: Marinette is an aspiring fashion designer in her senior year at UCLA. Her life is all set up: she's going to graduate and marry her perfect boyfriend Adrien Agreste, who's on his way to becoming a lawyer and future president of the United States. Everything's perfect until he suddenly dumps her, claiming he needs someone more serious. He moves back out East to start at Harvard in the fall, where he's now dating childhood friend and fellow Snobby Harvard Girl Kagami Tsurugi. Marinette realizes that if she's gonna get her man back, she's got to be someone serious, too - someone lawerly! Someone who wears black when nobody's dead! So Marinette follows him out to Harvard, where she's...let's face it. The laughing stock of the school. But with a little determination (and the help of her super sweet TA Luka Couffaine, who's convinced she's not as Dumb as the others paint her) she's going to show everyone she belongs there - and win her Adrien back in the process!

So Marinette's Elle, Adrien is Warner, Kagami is Vivian, and Luka is Emmett. I'm putting Gabriel as Callahan, with the idea that part of the pressure on Adrien is that his father is this super successful lawyer & professor at Harvard who's expecting him to follow in his footsteps. (Also there's a line in the finale of the musical that says "Warner quit / Says he makes more modeling anyhow!", so while he's at UCLA I have Adrien modeling on the side and he totally goes back to it. 😂) Mylène is Paulette and Ivan is Kyle (the UPS guy). Rose and Alya are Marinette's Delta Nu sisters/best friends, and Juleka is still Luka's sister; Rose and Alya come out and the end to cheer Marinette on at the final trial, where Rose and Juleka meet.

Jagged is Brooke. He's being accused of murdering Bob Roth, his former label owner. He's innocent, but he refuses to give Gabriel his alibi (he was...getting...botox). He was Marinette's neighbor back in LA, and she designed his favorite leather jacket - so he freaks when Marinette walks in with his Estranged Son as part of his legal team. Luka and Jagged have a...tenuous relationship. Jagged is Luka's father, and Luka used to love music/want to be a rocker. He toured with Jagged for a year or two when he was younger as his opening act, but it really disillusioned Luka to the Music Scene. So he ended up pursuing law (thinking he could get into the legal side of things, and Anarka's always in and out of jail anyway so she'll need a good lawyer?), and finds out he's good at it & really enjoys it? It wasn't the career he thought he'd have, but he's happy.

I'm still kicking stuff around & writing the outline, but that's the bare-bones. 😂 And as much as I love the LB movie, the musical is one of my favorites. There's...guh ok I'm not gonna start gushing on how perfect the musical is bc we'll be here all day. 😂 But it is absolutely perfect, and this AU is going to be a blend of the movie and the musical.

Case in point: the song "Take It Like A Man", where Elle repays Emmett by giving him a makeover. It's the scene where Emmett realizes he's fallen in love with Elle and absolutely adorable ("God, I love shopping for guys - watching them change right before my eyes!" "...stop watching me change.").

As for a scene y'all haven't seen yet...I think you've seen a handful of sentences from this one? It's all new for Tumblr, but I think I shared a few sentences on the Disco. 😂

“Hey, Luka, what are you doing tonight?”

Luka looked up, his eyebrows lifting at the smile Marinette was giving him. Her chin was propped in her hand, her eyes looking over him like…well, a little like she was undressing him, if he was honest, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that.

“Er…prepping for tomorrow?” he hazarded. “Big day in court? Opening statements? Have to make sure we’re ready so my dad doesn’t swing.”

She rolled her eyes, and then she rolled her chair over to his. He jumped when she laid her hands over his.

“You’re ready,” she said. She squeezed his hand, and he swallowed thickly as she continued to look at him like that. Why did his throat suddenly feel so dry? “Can we go somewhere? I…I want to do something. To thank you. For…everything, really. Please?”

“You don’t need to thank me, Marinette,” he said, wondering what exactly she had in mind. Maybe dinner? He was getting kind of hungry, and he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t mind spending more time with her away from the law books…

“I do, though, Luka,” she said earnestly, squeezing his hand again. “You…you’re the only one who’s believed in me this entire time. You’ve done so much to help me, and…I just wanted to do something for you, too.” She took his hand and held it to her chest, pouting her lips and batting her eyes at him, and when had the heat kicked in? It was almost May – it shouldn’t be so hot in the old, draft library! “Please?”

“I…um…ok?” he finally squawked out. He cleared his throat when she hit him full-force with her mega-watt smile, hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt as she squeezed his hand tighter. She gave an excited little squeal-giggle-bounce that had him smiling fondly. “What…what did you have in mind?”

“Well,” she said, releasing his hand and turning towards the table. She began gathering the files they’d scattered over the surface, tidying up. “You know I used to want to be a designer – you’ve heard Jagged go off about that coat.”

“His little frock star,” Luka snickered, and she gave him an exasperated little smile.

“If I had the time, I’d love to design you something,” she said, tapping the folders against the table to straighten them, She turned to him, hands on her hips. “But given we need you ready by tomorrow, that’s not possible. So, Luka Couffaine, I am going to give you…a makeover.”

That…was definitely not what he’d been expecting.

“Er…thanks?” he asked, because by the little hitch in his voice he was definitely asking, because he was definitely confused. A…makeover? But…why? Her expression fell a little, and he coughed as he reached up to loosen his tie. “I mean…it’s just…I didn’t think I needed one?”

And I was kind of hoping you’d suggest dinner?

“Luka,” she sighed, still exasperated. She grabbed his hands and hauled him to his feet before dragging him over to the fireplace. She gestured to the mirror sitting above the mantle, where he could clearly see his…ok, yeah, he looked a little disheveled, but they’d been in the library all day! He was expected to look rumpled! “Look at yourself.”

“I am,” he said, trying not to sound offended. She smoothed her hands over his shoulders, trying (unsuccessfully) to even out the wrinkles in his shirt. He tried to ignore the shiver that wanted to race up his spine at her touch. Focus, Couffaine, he thought. She sighed, turning him towards her, eyeing his clothes rather critically.

“Luka, you know I adore you,” she said, and he tried to ignore the way that made his stomach flutter, “but look at you. This is a high-profile, celebrity case. It’s going to be televised, and you’re going to show up looking like your only suit came from a Goodwill?”

“Hey,” he protested, weakly. He could feel the heat rising on his cheeks again. He looked at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck. “I have two suits, thank you very much, and only one came from Goodwill.”

He glanced up at her to find she had lifted one of those perfectly sculpted brows at him, and he grinned sheepishly before adding: “…the other came from Salvation Army.”

“Luka!” she laughed, squeezing his arms, and his grin warmed into a smile. He liked making her laugh like that. He… “That’s my point, you dork!”

Her laughter petered off, and she started fiddling with his tie. He glanced down at his outfit and tried to see her point, but he honestly thought he looked fine? Rumpled, sure, but that wasn’t anything a good tumble in the dryer or some ironing couldn’t fix. The gray slacks weren’t bad, and the white dress shirt with the thin, dark blue check matched his dark blue tie. Sure, his shoes were a little scuffed, but no one was going to be looking at his shoes. Marinette sighed again, and he looked back up at her.

“Luka, do you remember what I told you I did? Back at UCLA?” she asked. He nodded.

“You had a 4.0 in fashion merchandising,” he said, making her smile. “You wanted to design clothes.”

“So let’s just say this is something I’m actually good at,” she teased, and he frowned as he reached up to lay a hand over one of hers. He squeezed, making her look up at him.

“Hey…you’re good at this, Marinette,” he said. Her smile said she didn’t believe him, so he squeezed her hand tighter. “I mean it, Marinette. I may have helped you study, but all of this was you. You got Agreste’s internship all on your own. You went from the bottom to top of your class on your own. You put the work in, Marinette. You’re so incredibly smart, and you’ve got this…this…gift. You see things others don’t. You aregood at this.”

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for Marinette to throw herself at him in a bone-crushing hug. He stood there for a moment, dazed, but before he could move or think or respond she was already pulling away and wiping at misty eyes. She smiled up at him, and he wondered if it would be ok if he hugged her again. He kind of felt cheated out of the last one.

“Thank you, Luka,” she said, shaking her head to clear it. “Ugh, ok, but seriously! This is what I was originally good at – so let me shine, ok? Look. You’re good at this, too. You’re such a talented lawyer, and if Agreste gives you half the chance you’re going to blow them away in court – but no one’s going to be thinking about how brilliant you are if you show up looking like a bum. Luka, it’s…it’s me showing up to a costume party dressed like a bunny!”

He blinked at her, remembering all too well that night he’d bumped into her at the bookstore and she was dressed in nothing more than a one piece, bunny ears, and tail.

“The look is half the fight,” she said, taking his hands in her own. “Don’t give them a reason to judge you just because your shoes are old. Please? Let me buy you a suit. Let me do this for you, Luka.”

He still didn’t get it – not really, if he was perfectly honest – but when she looked at him like that…

“…ok,” he said, and the smile and second hug she gave him made it all worth it.

#miraculous ladybug #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #wip wednesday #wip wendesday: festering folder edition #legally blonde au #lukanette legally blonde au #y'all know how this story ends #it may get an adrienette tag #but they're never endgame round here #I don't know if you've noticed before #but each time adrien walks through the door #your IQ drops down to 40 #maybe less #I've been smiling and sweet an thoroughly beaten blowing my chance #let's not chase 'em away let's face 'em and say #HEY PUNK LET'S DANCE #I'm so excited for this one #mintaka14

[benji-writes]

The Laundry Room

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3416

Summary: Bucky is soft. He finds love in the laundry room of his apartment building. 

He wasn’t sure what it was like to be in love. He had loved people, sure – his ma, his sister, Steve. But he didn’t really know what it was like to truly love a woman, and to be loved by her in return. He thought it must be beautiful. 

It wasn’t what he’d wanted in the forties. He was so young – handsome. Girls wanted to be around him all the time, looking up at him wide eyed and lashes fluttering. He’d take them dancing, because that’s what they wanted, and he’d walk them home. He’d get a kiss on the cheek from the girls who were looking for a boyfriend, and a kiss on the lips from the girls who were looking for a good time, and he’d walk home alone. 

It was never more than that though. No one ever made it past a few dates, and then came the war, and the dark, and the cold, and suddenly his hair was long. When his hair was short, and his body whole, he was someone else. He didn’t know who that was anymore, angry that he would never get him back. Girls didn’t look at him anymore. No wide eyed women he could call “doll.” No one who’s eyelashes would flutter. And if girls wouldn’t look at him, what did the rest of his life look like? 

Back then, he thought he’d eventually find someone to settle down with. He dreamed about the end of the war, soldiers coming home to the ones they’d left behind. He dreamed he’d meet a girl. One he could write letters to while he was away. One he could come home to. The war would end, and he’d have long since asked her father for his blessing. He’d get down on one knee. In a house of his own, with his wife and a baby. A big backyard where the kids could run around in the grass. If anyone had known how much he thought about it, he never would have lived it down. But the world was different now. He was different now. And how could he let himself dream of a life where all those old wishes came true? He would just be disappointed in the end. 

You met Bucky in the laundry room of your apartment building. You lived in a pretty nice place. Not so nice that you had a doorman or security, but you needed a code to get in the first door, and a special key to get in the second. A nice enough place for there to be a laundry room in your building so the tenants wouldn’t need to block out the hours in a day to go and sit at the laundromat. 

You did your laundry every time your hamper was full, and you had two hampers. One for your clothes, and the other for cloths and towels. This meant that you washed your clothes every Saturday. Every other Wednesday, you did your towels. You liked the regularity that came with this schedule. The routine nature of it comforted you, and so unless there was some terrible emergency, absolutely nothing was going to disrupt your laundry schedule.

You loved your laundry time, in part due to how much you loved the laundry room itself. When you got off the elevator and walked down the hall to the laundry room, you saw the machines lined against the back wall. They stacked one on top of the other, and there were four washer/dryer sets. There was a big soft couch in the laundry room, with a big purple plush chair and a coffee table. There was also the long table in the middle of the room where you could fold your clothes, or put down your detergent or dryer sheets. The walls were a soft green, and it felt like a safe space, and no one was ever there when you went. 

You always did your laundry fairly late at night. For the most part, midnight would roll around, and you’d transfer your clothes from the hamper to the laundry basket and putter your way downstairs. No one in the building ever did their clothes at this hour, and that meant for the hour and forty five minutes while your clothes cycled through the machines, the laundry room was yours. Sometimes you’d just sit on the couch. You’d read romances or watch tv shows on your phone. Sometimes you sang, and sang, and spun around the room to the Tangled soundtrack. When everything was too much, you would sit on top of the long table and watch the laundry spin. 

The night you met him, you’d fallen asleep on the long table. He’d just moved into a new building, enjoying the quiet that came with being slightly farther away from the city. It was a nice enough place, and it felt good to be on his own again. To open the windows as wide as he wanted, or keep the tv on the Food Network channel all day. He never had to wear shoes, and he could take his arm off without worrying about anybody looking. A spider plant he’d bought at the farmers market sat on his window sill. He’d named it Dave. There was a laundry room in the basement, and he could buy the Gain detergent (because it smelled better than the Tide they used at the compound) and the Snuggle dryer sheets and fold his own clothes again. He liked it better this way. On his own where he could choose. 

It was about a week after he’d moved in. His arm was off, and it was time to do his laundry. Unwilling to risk the possibility of running into neighbors in the hallway or the laundry room, he waited till night. After all, who did their laundry after midnight on a Saturday? In a white t-shirt and blue fleece pajama pants he made his way downstairs. Holding the laundry basket against his hip, he walked off the elevator and down the hall to the laundry room. What Bucky had not factored into his night, was a beautiful woman snoring softly on top of the table in the middle of the room. Bucky stood there for a moment, not quite sure if what he was seeing was actually real or not. He walked backwards out of the room, waited a moment, then closed his eyes and shook his head back and forth a few times, as if to erase the image like nothing more than powder in an etch a sketch. He opened his eyes and walked back into the room hoping it would be empty, but there you still were. Sleeping. Your clothes from the wash now done, just waiting for you to wake up and move them to the dryer. 

Bucky didn’t know what to do. Just standing in the doorway, he couldn’t help but stare at you. You’d sprawled out, limbs hanging off the side, with your phone laying on the ground where it had clearly fallen out of your hand. You wore a big shirt with a picture of an alien on the front that said “Humans aren’t real,” and a pair of boxers as pajama shorts. One of your flip flops had fallen off your foot, and he noticed your fingers and toes were painted a matching shade of periwinkle. He couldn’t stop looking at you, which he realized was perhaps kinda creepy, but there was just something about you. He wanted to look at you, and to keep looking at you. He wanted you to wake up, and to look at him too. 

He wasn’t sure what he should do. Should he turn around and come back another time? Should he just put his stuff in the laundry and leave? Should he wake you up? Why were you on the table when there was a couch not five feet away? Should he try and coax you up and gently over to the couch? But if he did that why wouldn’t you just go back to your own apartment? He wasn’t even wearing his prosthetic. Fuck. Okay. Here’s the plan – pick the phone up from the floor, put the phone on the table, quietly put the clothes in the washing machine, and leave. 

With his mind made up, he put his basket down in front of the machine. He picked your phone up and placed it by you on the table. He opened the wash, which made a very loud clicking sound as it opened. He threw his clothes in, filled the machine with detergent, and shut the door to start the cycle. Naturally, echoing through the silence, the door made the same loud clicking as it closed, and an even louder click as the machine locked. Taking a deep breath, and feeling like he’d just run a god damn marathon, he turned to leave only to make eye contact with the woman. Fuck.

You had woken up, probably from the loud click of the machine, and Bucky imagined what he must’ve looked like to you. A one armed man you’d never seen before standing in the laundry room at almost one in the morning. He was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that he was not wearing shoes, and that his big toe stuck out of the hole in his left sock.

Uncertain of what to do, Bucky just stood there. Looking at you, as you looked at him. Two people frozen at the threshold of something nameless. A liminal moment in time. 

You reached your hand up to wipe the sleep out of your eyes and said, “Good mornin’.”

Rolling with it he said, “Mornin’.”

After a big yawn you said, “You the guy who just moved in 4B?”

He nodded, almost solemnly.

“I’m in 4A.”

He was quiet after that, as if taking in the information. You weren’t sure what else to say, and neither was he really, but he still stood there. 

After a moment you said, “Sorry I was asleep. That was probably pretty weird.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, not particularly worried about it. It took a second, but then he spoke up again and said, “Your laundry is done.” 

You let out a big sigh, and hopped off the table, sliding your shoe back on once your foot hit the ground. Wordlessly you started to change your stuff over. Bucky, uncertain of what to do, simply watched you for a bit. When you turned back to look at him, he was gone. If it weren’t for the laundry basket sat in front of his machine, the clothes inside spinning around, you’d have sworn you dreamt the whole thing. You imagined what you must’ve looked like to him. He looked like a sculpture of Adonis and you’d been drooling, asleep on top of a public table. Thinking too much about it was going to give you a headache. 

When he came back downstairs to move his clothes into the dryer, you were sat on the couch like a normal person. When you glanced over at him, you noticed he’d changed into a long sleeved hoodie, and looked like he had two regular arms. Before common sense or any semblance of decorum could stop you, the words tumbled out, “Was I dreaming or did you only have one arm half an hour ago.”

The second you said it, you smacked you hand over your mouth. He turned to look at you, since he’d just finished moving his things and closed the dryer door. He stared at you, though not unkindly, and as if desperate to make up for asking you rushed out all at once, “I am so sorry you do not have to answer that question. That was so not the right thing to say, I am so sorry. Oh my god, I’m so so sorry. Please don’t hate me forever, I promise I’m not normally this rude.” 

You could see the corner of his mouth turn up, “It’s alright. I put my prosthetic back on.”

You sat there looking at him, and nodded earnestly. You were too embarrassed to say anything else, and suddenly overwhelmed, you couldn’t even look him in the eye. 

“Have a good night, doll.”

You threw your head back and groaned once he was gone. What an embarrassment.

—

The next time you saw him was a week later. Saturday night, laundry time. You were wide awake that night, and playing solitaire on the coffee table when he walked in. “Dancing in the Moonlight” played on your phone in the background, and he gave you a soft smile when he walked in. You wanted him to smile at you again, so you just smiled back. He went about his business, you went about yours, and from there on out, that was how it was. He came back every Saturday after that. Normally you two didn’t say anything, the first few Saturdays especially. In those days, there was no more than passing smiles, glances stolen when the other was looking away. Back then, you only knew what his voice sounded like in a sleepy memory at the back of your mind. 

But the weeks went on, and suddenly he would linger for longer in the laundry room, rather than going upstairs right after he’d put his stuff in the machines. Before you knew it, he took up residence in the faded purple chair, that you’d now come to think of as his, while you sat on the couch, or sometimes on the long table. 

One day, seated criss cross on the table, you finally heard him speak again, “What are you doing when you sit up there?”

You turned back to look at him, and you met those curious blue eyes, looking at you like they could figure you all out if he just looked long enough.

“Well,” you said. “I watch the laundry spin.”

He contemplated that for a moment. Eventually he just said, “Why?”

Not quite sure how to articulate it out loud, you told him, “Why don’t you come try it and figure that out for yourself.”

Physically unable to resist the pull, he got up from his chair, put down his book and walked over to you. You moved over a little bit, and patted the spot next to you, and he sat with his legs hanging off the side. The two of you, in the dim quiet of Saturday night, watched the laundry spin. It hadn’t made sense to him before, but sitting there with you, he felt like he was beginning to understand. It was peaceful. Watching the colors go round, and the water splash against the door. Bubbles of detergent rolled gently, and there was an ease that blanketed across him. He couldn’t describe it, that same nameless thing, but in that moment, Bucky was certain that he would be okay. That everything, in the end, would be alright. He wasn’t sure if it was you, or the laundry, or the way your knee lay lightly against his thigh, but he could feel it. The threshold of something. He looked over at you, only for a moment. Your eyes, trained on the gentle spin of the washer, he thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful than you. And in that instant he allowed himself to dream the dreams of his youth. Those hopes of a woman who’d love him someday. A girl he’d get down on one knee for. The house, with the backyard big enough for a swing set. A baby he’d rock to sleep. This time, he imagined a laundry room. One with a big warm couch sat right in front of the machines. They could cover themselves in blankets, listen to that easy hum, and watch as bursts of color went by. He imagined one hamper, where both of their clothes went. A washer mixed with his and hers. Right then, Bucky Barnes knew he would marry you, and by God, he still did not even know your name. You looked at him, only to find he was already looking at you. You gave him a thousand watt smile and he couldn’t help but give you one right back. 

Soon enough you were both folding your clothes downstairs rather than taking your baskets up to fold them in your separate apartments, and before you even realized, you were doing towels on Saturday nights too. The time spent downstairs growing longer and longer. You didn’t always talk, but sometimes he’d ask what song you were listening to and you’d spend hours showing him songs you thought he might like, the ones you loved the most. He’d show you the ones he listened to as a kid, and he’d spin you around the laundry room to Vera Lynn. You’d sway back and forth, and he’d place his head gently on top of your. You’d ask if he was down for a game of cards, and suddenly four hours had gone by and you were getting your ass handed to you at gin rummy. He once apologized for taking his prosthetic off in front of you, and you smacked him across the chest and told him not to talk stupid. You saw him without it a lot more after that night. You sat together on the couch. You set up your laptop and watched The Wizard of Oz and the Fast and the Furious movies.You’d bring drinks and snacks and share them freely. Those walls were yours, and Saturday nights together became the most sacred of practices. 

It was early one morning when there was an erratic knocking from the front hall. They were pounding on your door, and it was six am on Sunday morning. You had only left the laundry room an hour and a half before. Rolling out of bed with an angry groan, you opened your door, and there he was. Half dressed, prosthetic off, he looked to be in such distress it woke you right up. Before you could ask what was wrong, he said, “I have something very important I need to ask you, and I keep thinking about it, and I just need you to give me an answer okay?”

“Of course,” you said without a trace of hesitation.

He took a deep breath to calm himself down, “What is your name?”

You blinked at him for a moment, and maybe it was the seriousness on his face, or the lack of sleep, or maybe it was just him, but you burst out laughing. A bottomless belly laugh, that you felt flutter in your chest. Had you not laughed so hard you began coughing, you wonder if you ever would have stopped. He still stood there, deadly serious, and noticing this you breathed deep and settled. 

“Will you tell me, please?” He whispered it so tenderly, that you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching up to cup his cheek with your hand. 

“My name is Y/N.”

He closed his eyes, “Y/N.”

He repeated it once, then twice. It sounded like reverence. Fell from his lips like a prayer. And when he opened his eyes you whispered, “Will you tell me yours?”

The corner of his mouth turned up, “My name is James. But, most people call me Bucky.”

You closed your eyes, much like he had, and almost on accident you breathed out, “James.”

Before you could open your eyes, you felt his lips on yours. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he possibly could. For the first time, he knew what it was like to love a woman, and to be loved by her in return. 

You slept beside him that morning – shared blankets and body heat. You watched him sleep, the sound of the rain hitting the roof and the windows. For just a moment you imagined a ring on your finger. A house, with a laundry room of your own. Walls that kept the two of you safe and warm. You could see the first time you held your baby. You’d look into their little eyes and they’d be his exact shade of blue. You moved closer to him, and on instinct, in his sleep, he adjusted to you. He pulled you to him, and bleary-eyed you snuggled as far into his warmth as you could, closed your eyes, and fell asleep.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #marvel fanfiction #marvel #bucky x reader #bucky x you

[jaxsteamblog]

Storm

Click here to read the full fic on AO3

Katara wondered when her naivety would end. Of course things couldn’t be that simple, nothing ever was. Of course she couldn’t just sail up to the North Pole to see where her father had gotten to, she had to make a soul pact with a spirit to defend it from invaders. And of course she couldn’t just live her life as normal until her coronation, she had things to do that would impact her ability to rule. And of course she couldn’t just fly straight to the Fire Nation for a quick trip, because it happened during hurricane season.

“At least we’re still in the city with taxis and hotels and not in the middle of a forest when we’re caught in the rain.” Zuko said as he shook out his umbrella. The automatic door to the hotel lobby wooshed open, breathing cold air over them and making Katara shiver.

If the rain had come down in sheets in Hira’a, it was a wall here on the coastal side of Republic City. The wind howled like a wounded animal and the rain slammed down on the overhang. None of it was relaxing or pleasant and water was Katara’s element.

“Sure, but if this delays things, I’m going to miss a test.” Katara said, tension in her neck making her voice grumpy.

“Well.” Zuko began as they walked inside. Their shoes squeaked against the linoleum floor and everything smelled damp.

“Well what?” Katara snapped.

“Do you think you’re going to even go back to school after the break?” Zuko asked. Katara sighed, not replying, and they walked up to the check-in counter.

“Hello and welcome to-” The man behind the counter started in a sing-song voice but ended up gasping. “Prince Zuko?”

“Ah, I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” Zuko said, holding up a hand and wincing. “My name is Lee and this is my friend Sapphire.”

Katara clenched her jaw hard to keep from laughing.

“Oh, yes, of course. Well.” The man nodded and straightened out his tie. “How may I help you sir?”

“I have our reservation number.” Zuko started and Katara turned away, walking across the lobby toward a small dining area. There was a bar, but it was too early for it to be open, and an area that probably held the buffet breakfast was empty. Highly specialized rooms or counters always felt eerie to Katara when they were empty.

A family was seated at one of the tables; behind them was a small vending area that seemed to have supplied them. A toddler was grinding crackers to dust in her chubby fists while the parents were coaxing their older child to pick a fruit and eat it.

A TV was on behind the bar but it was muted and the closed captions were horrifically slow and nearly incomprehensible. Still, it was talking about the weather, and she could understand things from context.

The tropical storm was not a big one, though the wet slapping against the windows made Katara wary. It was supposed to end overnight. If all went well, they could fly out tomorrow afternoon for the Fire Nation.

“I got our room key.” Zuko said as he came up behind her. Katara turned and nodded.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Storms weird me out. I feel like I should be able to handle them better, all things considering.” She said. Zuko glanced up at the TV.

“Some things are too powerful for us to contain and we just have to let them pass through us.” He said.

“Are you talking about my coronation?”

Zuko grinned and looked at her. “I was talking about lightning, but sure.”

They rolled their suitcases to the elevator and rode up to the fifth floor. The hotel was nice, but filled with enough minor reminders that this was not a place to feel at home in. The stretch of empty hallways, the doors like judgmental sentries. Or the fact that every room was just a little too chilly.

Zuko opened their door and Katara was hit by the scent of recycled air. In such a closed off room, all it could do was run itself through the air conditioning unit over and over. Still, she picked the bed closest to said unit, not wanting to hear everything that went on in the bathroom. Leaving the suitcase standing at the foot of her bed, Katara fell backward onto the mattress.

“Why do I even have to go to this thing?” Katara asked. “Thuy’s not even going to be studying firebending for like, another year.”

“Because until she’s a fully realized Avatar, every single one of these types of events is going to be watched. Who has more influence over her, who is treating her better, that sort of thing.” Zuko said. Katara turned her head and watched as he unfolded the luggage holder, lifted up his suitcase onto it, and unzipped it.

“This festival isn’t a big one, but we’ll take any opportunity to get Thuy in the palace.” He said, pulling out his shirts and shaking them out before moving to the closet.

“So this is partially your fault?” Katara asked and sat up. “And are you putting away your clothes?”

Zuko turned, holding a shirt to his chest.

“I don’t want them to get wrinkled.” He said. Katara rolled her eyes and fell onto her back again.

“Anyway, yes, I am partially to blame. The Fields of Fire Festival was my mother’s favorite, and so my father never wanted to celebrate it. It’s a peasant’s holiday, but a perfect opportunity to show off to Thuy while also bringing a piece of my mother to the capital.” Zuko explained.

“Hey, you can’t play up the sympathy angle with me.” Katara replied. “It’s not fair.”

A snap like a massive gunshot went off and Katara yelped as she sat up. The rumble of thunder after was almost superfluous. The window shook and Katara pushed herself back on the bed to the headboard.

“Are you-?” Zuko cut himself off, letting the silence be a euphemism.

“Scared of storms? Yes, I thought I was clear.” Katara said and rolled her back to the window with her legs curled up and her arms crossed over her chest.

“Did you want to switch beds?”

“No.” She said firmly.

“Okay.” Zuko went back to packing and Katara watched him.

Zuko ended up in bed, watching TV with the volume lowered, while Katara took out her tablet and started reading. As the storm continued to batter the building, she finally got fed up and left the room to get ice.

“Can’t you make-”

“Shut it.”

She could still hear the storm in the hallway, but it was muffled. The only windows were by the elevators and, as the signs on the wall said, the ice machine was in the opposite direction, next to the laundry.

Clasping the ice bucket to her chest, Katara walked down the hall. Some of the doors she passed had the little Do Not Disturb hang tags, while a few were propped open with the metal door lock. Occasionally she could hear the sounds of a television.

She came to the laundry first. The rows of dryers tumbling white towels or colorful clothes behind the glass insert of the door. A placard listed the hours guests could use it and how much the machines cost.

Next to it the door was a small alcove with the ice machine. Katara filled up the bucket, listening to the whir before ice clinked on the plastic bottom. Whatever mechanism spat out the ice cubes, it chunked laboriously as it did so. When the bucket was filled, Katara lifted the bucket from the lever and caught the renegade pieces of ice with her bending. Tossing them into the bucket, she walked back into the hall.

She made it past the laundry when a massive boom ripped through the air and the lights went out.

Swallowing her scream, Katara still fell to the floor as she heard glass shatter. Her legs and feet were cold with salt spray from the ocean. The sky above raged and called the ocean up to rip apart their boat. How dare they try to cross, when their place had been so clearly delineated?

Sokka was gone, sucked under the waves or still clinging to his piece of the deck. Katara had felt the wood under her, but now there was only the cold and wet. Lightning cracked, splitting the clouds and the main mast. There was a fire.

“Katara.”

She sucked in air with a gasp. Zuko knelt in front of her, a flame in his hand. Falling on him, Katara wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed.

He stood, putting an arm around her waist to hold her steady. When she was on her feet, they walked back to the room.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” Zuko whispered into her hair as they walked. Emergency lights glowed along the floor and at the exit signs, but Zuko still held his flame in front of them.

When they got to the room, Zuko wrapped her up in a blanket and laid her on his bed. Getting in next to her, he had his phone start playing white noise as he held a pillow to the side of her head. Katara wrapped her fingers in his shirt, the phone wedged between them, so all she heard was the ambient static. The blanket was tight around her and Zuko cradled her while smothering the outside noise.

With the heat of her breath building around her, Katara fell asleep.

She woke up in darkness. The storm had dissolved into a gentle rain that patted against the window when the wind blew.

Katara knew the power was back because the air conditioning was back on. And the fact that the TV was casting a pale light over her. She was laying on her side and Zuko was sitting up, braced against the headboard with an arm behind his head. He was watching something with no sound and Katara wriggled to see what it was.

An old movie played and had useful captions. It was a western and two cowboys were chasing a bandit. Katara watched in silence for a moment.

“You can turn the sound on.” She said. “I’m awake.”

“I’m used to watching movies like this.” Zuko said and stretched out his legs.

“Why?”

“Well, because I’m deaf in one ear.”

Katara scrambled to her knees and looked at him. “What?”

“That was how the lady snuck up on me before our date. She came up to my left side and I couldn’t hear her.” He explained.

“Is that from the burn?” Katara asked and then shook her head, holding up her hands. “Of course it is.

“Yeah. I should wear my hearing aid, but I’m self-conscious about it. Like, I have the burn, I don’t need the hardware on top of it.” He said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“I never even noticed.” Katara said softly.

“You and your brother aren’t exactly soft spoken you know? It normally isn’t an issue.” Zuko added.

“You should wear your hearing aid.”

“Oh I absolutely should.”

“Zuko, I’m serious.”

“Could you imagine how that looks? The crown prince is not only disfigured but handicapped?” Zuko asked, sounding bitter.

“I’ll be queen and have a disability. And look, Thuy’s first bending teacher is blind. Can you imagine how that looks?” Katara retorted. “It’s better than pretending to be something we’re not.”

“So are you going to be more honest about what comes next?” Zuko asked.

“I just had an episode where I was back in the worst storm of my life and almost died. I don’t want to think about how I have to go from that to being queen.”

“Okay then, dinner first? Followed by queenship?” Zuko said and put his arm around her. “Is that the logical process? PTSD episode, dinner, make a plan to be royalty.”

“You were born to this life. It’s easier for you.” Katara muttered.

“And when are you going to realize that I’m just trying to make things easier for you?” He shot back.

Blinking, Katara leaned back to look at him.

“Zuko…”

“I really, really like you Katara. And I want to help so please,” Zuko turned to face her. “Let me help.”

“Fine.” Katara nodded. “Let’s get dinner.”

Zuko smiled and put his forehead to hers. “You’re impossible.”

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#zutara #fanfiction #jax writes #modern au #zutara month 2020 #Astraphobia #the fic that prompts built

[heyhowdyhellohi]

To Hold You

Blog Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: Bucky has a bad day. You do your best to be there. That’s not always easy, but for him you would face your worst fears.

Warnings: Language, blood (nothing gruesome)

You get home from work and immediately kick off your shoes. Bucky had slept in today, which was strange, but you had to get to work so you hoped he was just tired from his latest mission. Now, seeing that he isn’t in the living room watching tv or in the kitchen messing around with old recipes, you stomach drops. You held on to the tiny hope that he might be showering as you dropped your bags off on the counter and rushed to the room. When you opened the door... disaster.

The mirror, or rather pieces of the mirror, lays shattered on the ground, jagged shards covering the floor. They reflect only the light from the hall, the room is dark, curtains drawn, lights off. You had been hoping for a different kind of surprise, maybe roses leading to the bed instead of broken glass. But Bucky has bad days. You can see were he has hidden himself under the sheets, and, as you accustom to the absence of light, you see the minute shakes of his shoulders.

“Bucky?” You say softly. Your heart is beating out of your chest. Bucky who you gave your soul to without a second thought, who brightens your days with laughter and love, who encourages you to stand up and brush yourself off when the starless nights seem to stretch into eternity, is as fractured as the room reflected in the mirror, trying to reconcile parts of himself that don’t fit into the tapestry. What do you say to the strongest person you know that he hasn’t already heard a thousand times? What piece of wisdom or personal experience could you possibly offer him? No amount of cuddling can meld the pieces back together. He has to do this for himself.

“Get out!” Bucky growled, he grabbed the lamp on his bedside table and threw it across the room, where the mirror had been. It wasn’t meant to hit you. In fact, you knew he had thrown it in such a way that it couldn’t possibly have hurt you. But that didn’t stop you from jumping out of your skin.

He has to do this for himself, but that doesn’t mean he has to do it by himself. Steve had said, “He doesn’t think he deserves you. He’s going to try to scare you away. Don’t let him.”

Your words are caught in your throat and it’s all you can do to keep your feet from carrying you off somewhere else, somewhere that didn’t make you want to cry, somewhere that didn’t make your entire body tense, somewhere your mind doesn’t stall thinking of what the right thing to say is.

“I said. get. out!” Bucky yells, locking eyes with you as his voice reaches its enraged peak. You tremble under his gaze. This was a stare down. And if you stayed he would get angrier, trying to scare you off. And if you broke, he would feel calm for a moment, but terrible in the long run.

You take a shaky breath, standing there with your mouth hanging open for a moment before you remember how to talk. “Is-is that what you really want right now?” Your voice is a pathetic squeak.

“It’s what I’m asking you! Yes, it’s what I want!” Bucky growls, breaking the stare and turning his back to you.

“Do you-” your voice breaks. Bucky sighs and brings a pillow over his head to ignore you. But he’s a super soldier, he’s gonna need to do better than that to block out your voice. You take a deep breath. “Do you want something to eat? Or I could turn the radio on for white noise? Or... we could talk?”

“I don’t want to fucking talk.” Bucky growls. “Just leave me alone!”

“Okay,” you shuffle out and close the door behind you. Your shoulders drop as you stand in the bright hallway. Your tears slip out, but you try to keep your breathing even as you walked to the kitchen. He couldn’t see you breakdown, and, being him, he couldn’t hear you break down either. You let yourself have a good cry before you dry yourself off and get to work. You brew some hot chocolate and pour a glass of cold water. You put sheets and a sweater into the dryer for a light tumble. You turn the tv on and turn the volume up until you can hear the noise from anywhere in the house. You get candles out of the cupboard and bring everything with you to the bedroom door again. Attempt #2

“Bucky?” you call at the door. You receive an angry groan and you can practically imagine the eye-roll, but you still think he’s calmed downs some. You walk through with the mug, the glass of water, and the candle on a tray, and the warmed sheets bunched up under your arm. You walk around to your side of the bed and set the drinks down on your night stand. “I brought dryer sheets and a sweater, if you wanted.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. You grab the corners and whip it out so they’re spread out over him. He slips out from under the bed sheets so more of his body is in contact with the toasty one. You take that as a win.

“Hot chocolate or water?” you say gently, as loud as your throat will let you. You hear some kind of car insurance jingle from the tv as you wait in silence.

“Water,” he finally croaks. “Thanks.” He sits up, and scrutinizes you as you take the glass in shaking hands and give it to him. He sighs down at it for a moment before chugging about half.

“I brought a candle, if you wanted.” You hold it up. You feel slightly lighter now. So far, so good. “Pine trees.”

“No. No fire.” Bucky grunts. You nod and put it back down on the tray.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Every sentence is like navigating a war-zone.

Bucky shakes his head. One missed step and you set off a landmine.

“Do you want to talk?” You have no experience diffusing landmines. Identifying, yes. Avoiding, usually. Dealing with? Nothing terrified you more.

“No!” Bucky’s tone is sharp as he says this. He takes a moment to swallow his pride before finally whispering, “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. You can just listen while I talk about my day. Or we could just sit here and listen to the tv.” You continue to offer, refusing to leave his side. He was letting you in. You suddenly felt something bothering your foot, like a mosquito had bitten you right on your heel. You bring your hand down to scratch it, and it hurts. When you twist around to look, there’s blood, bright red, dripping down to your toes. “Ow!”

Bucky is up in an instant, leaning over you to look at the injury. “Shit! This is my fault. The fucking mirror. Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

You don’t have time to answer as he sweeps you up and carries you into the bathroom. He sets you down on the toilet and sits on the edge of the bath. “Bucky, I don’t want you to put alcohol on it, it stings!” you whine as he holds your ankle on his knee. At some point he must have opened the first aid kit because it’s open on the floor next to him.

“Okay, I won’t put alcohol on it.” Bucky assures, looking solemn. You relax now that he promised. He dries up the blood gently so he can find were it’s coming from and not hurt you. “I need to pull out the glass,” he mutters.

“There’s glass in my foot?!” you immediately try to yank it back from him, but he holds you foot still.

“It’s tiny, baby. Just let me take care of it.” he smiles and you’re so distracted at having your smiley Bucky back that you don’t argue as he does something with tweezers. But your heel starts to itch even more until that itch becomes a stabbing pain.

“Ow! What did you do?” You try to pull your foot back again.

“Did that hurt? I’m sorry sweetie. This will help,” he says as he brings a cold towelette across your foot, from your toes down towards your heel. 

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” you jerk your leg as the pain sharpens, stinging deep under your skin, but it does nothing to loosen his grip. “You promised not to put alcohol!” The pain dulls but never quite leaves.

“I didn’t! I put ethanol,” Bucky shrugs, a tiny smirk on his face that he isn’t even trying to hide.

“Ethanol is alcohol, you ass!” you glare at him, but you know it’s for your own good so you struggle to keep the smile away, leaving you pouting like a petulant child.

“Really? I had no idea! We didn’t have that in the 40′s, doll.” Bucky laughs and puts the band-aid on your foot with surgical precision.

“You think you’re so funny,” you shake your head and roll your eyes, but the frown keeping you from laughing is comical.

“No, I think you’re funny.” Bucky laughs and sets your foot down. His smile fades fast though, first becoming tight then dropping completely. It was crazy how fast he switched between funny and serious.

“Bucky?” you tried to move to kneel in front of him, but your foot was still super sensitive and you ended up plonking back down on the toilet seat lid with a hiss.

“I hurt you.” Bucky sighed, rubbing his hands down his face.

“You didn’t hurt me, I walked on glass like an idiot,” you shook your head.

“Glass that wouldn’t have been there if I wasn’t so fucked up that I couldn’t- look at myself.” Bucky’s voice broke as tears brimmed his reddening eyes.

“Bucky. My Bucky,” you placed your hand over his. He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“You deserve someone stable, doll. Why are you with me?” Bucky peered up, keeping as together as he could manage.

“You think you’re the one who doesn’t deserve me? Bucky! I’m the one who isn’t good enough. I can’t... I don’t- I never know what to say, and you need one of those girls who live to comfort people. It comes naturally to them. They can tell exactly what you need by smelling you or something. They’re like emotional bloodhounds. I only started figuring it out because Steve gave me a briefing. I don’t- On my own, I’m like a lampshade. Not even on the lamp. Just a loose lamp shade,” you shut up as you realized that you weren’t assuaging his worry, just adding your own on top of that. Two negatives don’t make a positive. But at least he looks amused now. “Never mind. Bucky, I’m here because I want to be here. No one is forcing me. I want to be with you because I love you, good days and bad days.”

“And that’s why I don’t deserve you,” Bucky smiles, small and tinged with guilt.

“And it’s precisely why you’re stuck with me,” you say, smiling wide and cartoon-y. “Carry me to bed, I can’t walk.”

Bucky leans up to kiss you before he sweeps you up again and carries you to bed.

“You’ll call doctor Wyatt?” You mumble into his neck as you cuddle.

“Yeah, after a nap.” Bucky sighs. And you knew he would call his psychiatrist. And you would both clean up the mirror and lamp pieces around the room. And at some point you would turn off the tv in the living room. But for now you would just lie together.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky mutters in your ear.

“I forgive you,” you answer because he needs to hear it. But there’s nothing to forgive.

#bucky #Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #white wolf #fluff #fluffy #mcu

[newstfionline]

‘We Are All Accumulating Mountains of Things’

By Alana Semuels, The Atlantic, Aug. 21, 2018

It’s easier than ever to buy things online. It’s so easy that Ryan Cassata sometimes does it in his sleep. Cassata, a 24-year-old singer/songwriter and actor from Los Angeles, recently got a notification from Amazon that a package had been shipped to his apartment, but he didn’t remember buying anything. When he logged onto his account and saw that a fanny pack and some socks were on the way, he remembered: A few nights back, he had woken up in the middle of the night to browse--and apparently shop on--Amazon.

He shops when he’s awake, too, buying little gadgets like an onion chopper, discounted staples like a 240-pack of gum, and decorations like a Himalayan salt lamp. The other day, he almost bought a pizza pool float, until he remembered that he doesn’t have a pool. “I don’t really need most of the stuff,” he tells me.

Thanks to a perfect storm of factors, Americans are amassing a lot of stuff. Before the advent of the internet, we had to set aside time to go browse the aisles of a physical store, which was only open a certain number of hours a day. Now, we can shop from anywhere, anytime--while we’re at work, or exercising, or even sleeping. We can tell Alexa we need new underwear, and in a few days, it will arrive on our doorstep. And because of the globalization of manufacturing, that underwear is cheaper than ever before--so cheap that we add it to our online shopping carts without a second thought. “There’s no reason not to shop--because clothing is so cheap, you feel like, ‘why not?’ There’s nothing lost in terms of the hit on your bank account,” Elizabeth Cline, the author of Overdressed: The Shockingly High Cost of Cheap Fashion, told me.

Shopping online also feels good. Humans get a dopamine hit from buying stuff, according to research by Ann-Christine Duhaime, a professor of neurosurgery at Harvard Medical School. “As a general rule, your brain tweaks you to want more, more, more--indeed, more than those around you--both of ‘stuff’ and of stimulation and novelty,” Duhaime wrote in a Harvard Business Review essay last year. Online shopping allows us to get that dopamine hit, and then also experience delayed gratification when the order arrives a few days later, which may make it more physiologically rewarding than shopping in stores.

Sites like Amazon have made it especially easy to shop. In 1999, the Seattle retailer patented a one-click buying process, which allows customers to purchase something without entering their shipping address or credit card info. It launched its Prime program in 2005, and now more than 100 million people have signed on to pay $119 a year for “free” two-day shipping. As a result, most other major retailers offer free shipping too. Returning stuff is a little more difficult--shoppers usually have to print a label and then go to the post office or a UPS or FedEx site to return packages. Many wait too long, or decide the hassle isn’t worth it because the stuff was cheap anyway. A recent NPR/Marist poll found that nine in 10 consumers rarely or never return stuff they’ve bought online.

Justine Montoya, a caregiver in Los Angeles, buys all sorts of stuff online--baby formula, clothes, household goods. She estimates that she shops online twice a week. “It’s just so easy--you click a button, and it’s on its way,” she told me.

In the last few months alone, I bought an $18 smart watch from Wish.com that I will probably never use, a second Kindle because it was on sale and I am worried my first Kindle is going to die soon, an electric space heater I no longer need, and a pair of wireless earbuds that I had hoped would allow me to charge my iPhone and listen to music at the same time, but that instead just fall out of my ears whenever I put them on. I also bought, on Amazon, a (used) book about hiking in the Sierras for $1.99, only to find the exact same book in a box of my stuff in my parents’ basement. I didn’t return any of it.

In 2017, Americans spent $240 billion--twice as much as they’d spent in 2002--on goods like jewelry, watches, books, luggage, and telephones and related communication equipment, according to the Bureau of Economic Analysis, which adjusted those numbers for inflation. Over that time, the population grew just 13 percent. Spending on personal care products also doubled over that time period. Americans spent, on average, $971.87 on clothes last year, buying nearly 66 garments, according to the American Apparel and Footwear Association. That’s 20 percent more money than they spent in 2000. The average American bought 7.4 pairs of shoes last year, up from 6.6 pairs in 2000.

All told, “we are all accumulating mountains of things,” said Mark A. Cohen, the director of retail studies at Columbia University’s Graduate School of Business. He sometimes asks his students to count the number of things they have on them in class, and once they start counting up gadgets and cords and accessories, they end up near 50. “Americans have become a society of hoarders,” Cohen said. Montoya said she has more stuff now that she has started shopping online: “It’s easier to accumulate more, and it’s easier to spend more.”

At the same time we are amassing all this stuff, Americans are taking up more space. Last year, the average size of a single-family house in America was 2,426 square feet, a 23 percent increase in size from two decades ago, according to the Harvard Joint Center for Housing Studies. The number of self-storage units is rapidly increasing too: There are around 52,000 such facilities nationally; two decades ago, there were half that number.

Of course, not everyone is a part of this hoarding revolution. There are people who can’t or don’t shop online, because they don’t have credit cards or because they are barely making ends meet. Only about 29 percent of households with incomes under $25,000 are members of Amazon Prime, according to Kantar Consulting. Some people are embracing the zero waste movement, or have followed the example of the author Ann Patchett, who published a widely-circulated op-ed in The New York Times about how she resolved to stop shopping for a year. When she ceased buying things like lip gloss and lotion and hair products, she started finding half-used versions of them under the sink, and realized she hadn’t needed new things after all. “The things we buy and buy and buy are like a thick coat of Vaseline smeared on glass,” she wrote. “We can see some shapes out there, light and dark, but in our constant craving for what we may still want, we miss life’s details.”

But most Americans are not curtailing their shopping habits. And as consumers demand cheaper clothing, electronics, and other goods, manufacturers are spending less to make them, which sometimes means they fall apart more quickly. The share of large household appliances that had to be replaced within five years grew to 13 percent in 2013, up from seven percent in 2004. Cheap clothes might lose their shape after a wash or two, or get holes after a few tumbles in the dryer; electronics become obsolete quickly and need to be replaced. While some of this stuff can be recycled or resold, often, it ends up in landfills. In 2015, the most recent year for which data is available, Americans put 16 million tons of textiles in the municipal waste stream, a 68 percent increased from 2000. We tossed 34.5 million tons of plastics, a 35 percent increase from 2000, according to data from the Environmental Protection Agency. Over that same time period, the population grew just 14 percent.

“Sometimes, people sit down and cry when they see the amount of garbage we produce in a day,” said Robert Reed, a spokesman for Recology, which handles recycling for West Coast cities like San Francisco. Centered in America’s tech capital, Recology has seen an increase in discarded electronics, including products with lithium batteries, Reed told me. In 2016, a lithium battery fire burnt down a waste management facility in San Mateo.

The 16,000 students who live in dorms at Michigan State University left behind 147,946 pounds of goods like clothing, towels, and appliances when they moved out this year, a 40 percent increase from 2016, according to Kat Cooper, a spokeswoman. The university packs up these goods and donates to them to its surplus store, so that incoming students can buy used, rather than new, stuff. In recent years, dorm cleaners have been finding so many packages of unopened food and toiletries that the university started a program to get students to donate leftover food and toiletries to local organizations like food banks when they move out. This year, it collected 900 pounds of personal care items and 4,000 pounds of nonperishable food items to donate. Pomona College has seen the volume of packages delivered grow by 325 percent in the last 12 years, according to Patricia Vest, a spokeswoman; it, too, asks students to donate unused goods to a resale program. This year, it diverted 42 tons of clothes, furniture, and office supplies.

The Internet has also made it easier to recycle some of the stuff Americans buy and no longer want. Online consignment shops like thredUP and Poshmark help people buy and sell clothes from their closets. Secondhand stores like Goodwill have moved online, too, selling the growing pile of goods they get on the Internet.

But the ability to easily get rid of stuff may be making people feel a little better about buying things they don’t need, and motivating them to buy even more. On a recent weekday, I stopped by the massive warehouse where workers from Goodwill of San Francisco, San Mateo and Marin sort donations to Bay Area stores. Some of the stuff that’s been donated has never been used. Near the front of the warehouse stands a rack of clothes with their original tags on--a $245 blue Nicole Miller cocktail dress, $88 Kit and Ace pants, a pale green J. Jill blouse. “We are seeing items that have been barely used or not used, because when people shop online, it’s a lot of work to return it,” William Rogers, the president of the Goodwill, told me. Rogers himself is guilty--when we met at the warehouse, he dropped off four wall sconces he’d bought a year ago on Amazon. He had tried to put them up, decided they didn’t look good, and brought them to donate.

Secondhand shops can’t resell all of the donations they get. Cline estimates that 85 percent of the clothing that is donated to secondhand stores ends up in landfills every year. Just nine percent of plastic that ends up in the municipal waste stream gets recycled, according to the EPA, and only 15 percent of textiles get recycled. It can be difficult to take apart clothes and re-use the fabrics, Cline said, so lots of clothing in the waste stream gets sent to the developing world, used for rags, or sent to a landfill.

Fifty years ago, the science fiction writer Philip K. Dick coined a phrase for these “useless objects” that accumulate in a house: “kipple.” In Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, which served as the basis for the movie Blade Runner, he theorized that “the entire universe is moving toward a state of total, absolute kippleization.” Kipple reproduced, Dick wrote, when nobody was around. The ubiquity of mobile devices and the ease of online shopping have made Dick’s prediction come true, with one small tweak: Our kipple does not just multiply on its own, every time we turn away. We grow it ourselves, buying more and more of it, because we can.

#consumerism #shopping #shopping online #online shopping

[makbaes-archives]

first date - jung daehyun

Member: Jung Daehyun x Reader Word Count: 1,787 Genre: Fluff. Lots of fluff. Soft!Dae 💕 Summary: It’s your first date with an old friend from college, whom you used to crush on. Hard. However, things don’t exactly go as planned.

You were supposed to meet him at a restaurant for dinner. You were supposed to have a nice date with good conversation. You were supposed to… but life is unexpected, and you are too caring to leave the box full of soft mewing behind in the cold.

Daehyun walks out of the restaurant moments after you text him, his brows rising up beneath his fringe when he sees you dressed warmly in your coat, hair and makeup done up... and holding a large, weather damaged box.

“I couldn’t leave them behind,” you tell him softly, biting your lip nervously.

Your friend and date steps forward and peers into the box, face softening when he spots the litter of kittens tumbling over each other. His gaze lifts to yours, and his pouty lips lift in a soft smile. Carefully, he takes the box from you.

“Come on, let’s get these little guys warm.”

The walk to his apartment is not long, only a few minutes in the opposite direction of the restaurant from your own apartment. Daehyun asks you to retrieve the keys from his coat pocket, and you do, unlocking the door and watching as he walks in and sets the box on the floor in the living room. You close and lock the door behind you, stepping out of your heels and walking over to him.

He kneels down and reaches into the box, lifting one of the kittens. It’s mews loudly, and he chuckles softly, petting it’s tiny head.

“They can’t be more than a few weeks old,” he says, inspecting the others. “Stay here and watch them. I’ll throw some towels in the dryer for them.”

Nodding, you take your place next to the box, reaching in to give the babies some love. You wonder where their mother is, why someone would just leave them on the side of the street in the freezing weather if they’re okay. Your heart wrenches at the thought of them having nowhere to live, no one to love them.

Daehyun returns, towels in hand, as well as a glass of milk and… a syringe? He settles down next to you, and you quirk a brow at him. Noticing your look, he laughs and sets everything down. He places the towels in a little pile on the floor, building up the sides to create a little barrier then placing each kitten inside the pile carefully.

“I got this when I got my wisdom teeth taken out. To, you know, clean the gums. I don’t know why I still have it, but,” he says with a shrug, before continuing. “It came in handy tonight.”

You nod and help him with the kittens then watch as he takes the syringe and fills it with the milk. The way he picks up each kitten and feeds them with such care makes your heartache. He holds them carefully, gently, and coos at them softly as each of them feed. You pet and play with the ones he’s not attending to, all the while glancing over at him. He glances over at you, and when he sees you watching him, he blushes, fighting a smile and continues feeding the small kittens.

Once the kittens are fed and warm in their bundle of towels, you and Daehyun sit in silence, each stroking the soft fur, listening to them purr.

“I’m sorry for ruining our first date,” you mumble, avoiding his eyes and focusing on the kittens too intently.

Daehyun laughs, and you look up. He’s smiling at you, and your heart stops. He’s too pretty, you think. Too pretty, too kind, too good for you. You’ve always thought so.

“I think this is a pretty good first date.”

Cheeks beat red, you look away hastily. He shakes his head at your shyness, and you miss the way he watches you. Miss the way his face softens and an expression you’re unfamiliar with takes over his features. When you finally look up, you catch him off guard, and he coughs and looks down, giving a shy smile.

“I, uh, should have something we can put them in so they don’t go wandering around,” he comments as he looks around. Then he’s standing, walking out of the room, and then back again a moment later with a large storage container lined with a blanket. He sets it down, and together you place the kittens carefully in the enclosure.

“Take out?” You ask him, standing and smoothing out your coat.

Grinning, Daehyun nods. "You read my mind."

An hour later, the two of you are sat on the couch, legs folded, as you demolish the food in front of you. It isn’t a fancy restaurant, but you have good food, wine, and a lighthearted, warm feeling as the two of you converse while keeping watch over the kittens.

Setting your box down on the coffee table, you lean back against the couch, your knee brushing Daehyun’s. “They’re basically our kids now, you know?”

Daehyun snorts into his noodles. “That was a little fast. We haven’t even finished our first date yet.”

“Maybe I just thought it was going so well,” you shrug, stretching your legs out, toes curling into the plush carpet.

“Mm,” he hums in thought and sets his own food down. Daehyun leans back, angled towards you, and you notice he’s much closer than before. “I guess you’re right. But…”

Blinking up at him, you feel your heartbeat quicken. “But?”

You watch as his eyes move down from yours, raking over the features of your face before stopping at your lips. You watch, holding your breath, as his tongue peeks out to slide over his plump lips. And you watch as he looks back into your eyes quickly, swallowing hard and pulling back a fraction, as if he shouldn’t have just done that.

You grin.

“But…”

“Daehyun-ah,” you coo at him, voice laced with a playfulness he remembers from years ago. “Do you want to kiss me?”

The blush on his cheeks is enough to confirm this, and you giggle beside him, earning the tickling of his hands at your sides. Squealing, you jump away from him to the other end of the couch, but he follows you, effectively trapping you.

“Daehyun, stop!” You laugh, squirming beneath his fingers, and he laughs along with you.

The sudden loud mewing ceases his actions, and he turns to look at the box of kittens. You sit up, peering over his shoulder and watch as they wiggle around the clear storage container. Daehyun stands and pads over to them, kneeling down beside it and scratching their heads.

“Shh, it’s okay. Mommy and Daddy were only play fighting.”

You roll your eyes, grinning as you follow behind him. Looking down at the adorable scene, you’re tempted to run your fingers through the soft locks of his ashy blonde hair. An even smaller temptation to tug at the dark roots comes to life as your hand moves of its own accord, but Daehyun looks up at you, and you drop it back at your side.

A sarcastic smile pulls at your lips. “So, now you’re open to the idea, hm?”

Rising to full height, Daehyun shrugs, smirking and folding his arms over his chest. “We seem to make a good team. And it’s fun. Why not?”

You tilt your head side to side, pretending to think the question over in your head. Daehyun’s brows knit together in faux irritation, a pout on his lips, as he grumbles a “hey!”, and you snort at his silliness.

“On one condition,” you propose, and he peers down at you, brow quirked. “Let’s end this date quickly, so we can move onto date number two.”

It catches him off-guard momentarily, arms dropping from his chest. He smiles, breathes out a laugh, and nods. He’s close already, but the step he takes toward you presses his body to yours, and your breath hitches.

“Deal.” His voice is low, just above a whisper, as he gazes into your eyes. The same look from before crosses them, only this time, he doesn’t pull away. “Does that mean I can kiss you now?”

Years ago, when you met Daehyun in your theater class in college, you never thought he would be interested in you. Afterall, you were just friends, someone you would hang out with in class and on occasion with the rest of your theater buddies when they went bar hopping. Someone whose stage presence you admired and motivated you to work harder at your own skills.

But now, as you look up at him - his soft eyes. his round cheeks, his pouty lips - it feels as if you’ve been waiting for this moment.

“You can kiss me whenever,” you reply, and that’s all he needs to press his lips to yours in a soft, sweet kiss.

He’s gentle, so gentle as his hand cups your face, his lips opening yours so slowly. A small fire ignites within you, just enough to fuel your movements, arms lifting to wrap around his neck. You kiss him, in awe at how soft his lips are. You want nothing more than to kiss them until their bruised. But it stops there. Doesn’t move on after he sighs against your lips, pecking them once, twice, before resting his forehead to yours.

It’s sweet. It’s wonderful. He’s sweet. He’s wonderful.

You both stay like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, admiring the beauty of each other, soft mews in the background.

“How soon can date two begin? Does it have to be a day later, or just a different date setting?”

You’re unable to stop the laughter bubbling up your throat, and Daehyun looks at you seriously. Pulling away, you shrug.

“I guess it can be a different date setting. I mean, we already have children. I think it can be whatever we want it to be.”

Daehyun snorts, then he looks back at the kittens. “Think they’ll be fine on their own while we go out for ice cream?”

His grin is childish and there’s a light in his eyes that warms your heart, sending a chill of excitement down your spine. You nod quickly, double checking to make sure the towels are bundled comfortably, before moving to slip on your coat and shoes. When you’re both probably dressed, he holds out his hand.

You take it, marveling in its warmth, and you make your way out of his apartment.

“Let’s hope we don’t run into anymore abandoned boxes. I don’t think our relationship can handle it this early on.”

Author’s Note: thank you for reading! I just wanted soft Dae and it turned out much longer than I had anticipated lmao.

#kpoptrashtag #jung daehyun #Daehyun fic #daehyun scenarios #bap #bap scenarios #sfw

[path-of-my-childhood]

Zip It, Kim Kardashian – Taylor Swift Is The Marmite We're All Coming To Love

By: Joel Golby for The Guardian Date: March 26th 2020

It’s true the singer isn’t everyone’s favourite, but the online pasting she’s been subjected to leaves a very nasty taste in the mouth.

In a way I’m glad that Kim Kardashian has reignited a four-year-old feud with Taylor Swift based on an 11-year-old feud with Taylor Swift that was all started by Kanye West, a man who has hardly been involved in it since about 2017. In a way, that’s good.

It’s hard not to [gestures at current reality] be constantly thinking about, you know, rather more pressing matters. The cleanliness of door handles, for example. The intensity of other people’s coughs, or how far to veer away from each other on the pavements while out on your government-mandated walk. Whether you have enough food in the cupboards to last two weeks. Whether daytime TV will ever go back to normal. How deeply we can possibly scrape the bottom of the Netflix barrel. How desperate for entertainment we will have to be to plunge ourselves into going on YouTube and watching a vlog. Right now, these are my worries. It’s nice of Kim Kardashian to try to distract me with something totally and utterly facile and pointless at a time of global crisis.

On the other hand, come on. To help you catch up, this all truly started at the VMAs in 2009, when Swift was 20 and Kardashian was three years away from even dating Kanye, in fact was still at the “Carl’s Jr advert and a guest appearance at WrestleMania” level of fame. In 2016, Kanye released the song Famous, featuring the eternally controversial lyric: “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex / Why? I made that bitch famous.” Swift rightly took exception to having her career as one of the most successful singer-songwriters in global history getting reduced down to “that bitch”.

At which point Kardashian – now an ascendent, royalty-level celebrity, married in a palace – released a Snapchat video of Kanye on the phone to Swift before the song was even recorded, openly discussing the lyrical content. The intimation was: Swift knew about the lyric, she fully had the heads up, she can’t be mad at being called “that bitch” in one of the biggest songs of 2016, and by being in any way upset at being called “that bitch” she is somehow Playing The Game. This is the natural starting point of our feud.

I have gone through some changing feelings about Swift over the years, because I don’t really like her music – which is a fine and normal opinion to have. But something about the hugeness of Swift, and her ubiquity, makes “not really liking the sounds she makes” become something close to political. Here’s a rough Marmite analogy for you. Swift is the semi-popular yeast spread Marmite, in that if you love her, you love her with an intensity that blocks out the sun; if you don’t, she leaves you utterly cold. But because her songs constantly loop on the A-list of society, you cannot escape Marmite, and now you’re starting to really get rubbed up the wrong way by Marmite.

Every Friday afternoon, all the people in the office take control of the shared kitchen and make you eat a slice of bread and Marmite. At every wedding you are at, there is a tangible point in the evening when everyone, fuzzy drunk and joyful, kicks their shoes off and loudly heaps an entire spoon of Marmite into your mouth. Every time you tell someone you don’t like Marmite, they bore on at you for ages about how much umami her new album adds to stews and bologneses. At this point, you cannot avoid Marmite, because every advert is for Marmite and every time Marmite releases a new jar, every headline is about Marmite, and how Marmite “did that”. Despite not even liking Marmite, you somehow know about Marmite’s thing with Tom Hiddleston where he wore that vest.

And now your feelings about Marmite aren’t about Marmite any more. They are fixed towards the celebratory Marmite culture that has been built around it, one you are constantly on the outside of, looking in.

Anyway, this week the full and explicit 25-minute video of Kanye’s call to Taylor in 2016 got leaked. It went a fair way to vindicating Swift and making it clear she was unprepared to be called “that bitch” in the song. And Swift reacted to the leak by posting on Instagram: “Instead of answering those who are asking how I feel about the video footage that leaked, proving that I was telling the truth the whole time about *that call* (you know, the one that was illegally recorded, that somebody edited and manipulated in order to frame me and put me, my family, and fans through hell for 4 years)... SWIPE up to see what really matters.” And she added a link to various charity organisations supporting those on low income in the whole global pandemic thing. Kardashian responded by going on a Twitter rant.

It’s actually quite fascinating how badly Kardashian has played this one, because normally the dynasty is so good at upselling bad news in a way that just makes them richer and more adored. In the past few years they have managed to turn secret pregnancies, cheating scandals, Kanye’s personal debt and the Kendall Jenner Pepsi advert into major PR wins. Each time, Kardashian somehow comes out of each one more regal and elegant and more on the cover of Vogue.

But her feud with Swift has been a bum note from the off. What is it that Swift has been doing wrong, again? Being slightly too earnest in a hard-edged industry that clomps her around like a pair of shoes in a tumble dryer? Being gracefully tight-lipped in the face of years of provocation? Linking to a charity organisation on Instagram? Not liking being called a bitch? At this point, whatever your feelings about Marmite, it’s really hard not to take its side in the face of relentless attempts by Nutella to reignite a feud with it.

#the guardian #article #taylor swift #about taylor #kim kardashian #kanye west #famous

[rantingfangirl]

It’s Okay

Summary: This could not be happening. How could he have let this happen? It was official. Arthur Kirkland was worthless.

This was moved from my old account.

The bell rang, small children shooting up out of their seats to run out of the classroom, much to the dismay of their teacher.

What was once a room full of boundless chatter and energy became silent and dull in a matter of a few seconds. Where the chairs had been filled with elementary students, their tiny backpacks hanging off the backs by the straps, there was nothing on them now except air and dust. Well, all but one.

A runt of a boy sat at his desk, his feet just barely skimming the hard tile floor. His eyes focused on the paper, staring at it, never taking them off of it as if it would somehow morph the ink into the one thing he wished.

This could not be happening. How could he have let this happen? He had done everything he could and had worked so hard, only to receive that. It was official. Arthur Kirkland was worthless.

The door opened once more, a familiar squeak sounding as the hinges turned, and his teacher stepped inside. Upon seeing him, she made a surprised noise, her heels clicking to a halt. She smiled that pearly white smile of hers, the very one that would make pure sugar cringe of sweetness overload.

"Oh, Arthur sweety, I didn't know you were still here. Did you need- oh, wait- Ar!"

Almost immediately after she said his name, Arthur push his chair back, hopping to his feet. He grabbed his backpack, which he loved with its forest green base and green and pink trim, no matter what his foolish peers teased, slung it over his shoulders, and stalked out of the classroom. Arthur made sure to firmly shut the door, slowing the teacher down a small bit should she choose to follow, but was careful not to slam it, as he didn't want too bad of a scolding. Goodness only knows what he's going to be getting from his from his mother.

He still clutched the paper, his tiny hands crinkling the edges. He was half tempted to rip it up into tiny pieces, throw it into the trash can, and be done with it. But if he were to come back without having it signed, or worse, not having it at all, he didn't want to think of the consequences.

Walking down the hallway, tears beginning to slowly roll down his face, he knew he should put it in his backpack. In a folder, somewhere where it wouldn't be ruined, but he just couldn't bring himself to take his eyes off it. The very thing that would ruin his life, if it hadn't already.

Arthur's shoulders shook, a strange feeling flaring up between his shoulder blades as the walls began to close in on him. The colorful posters and models that lined them coming closer and closer. Arthur started to run, his shoes squeaking against the polished white tile. He didn't care if he was breaking one of the rules, that he might fall, that the hall monitors in the bright neon yellow vests were yelling for him to stop and walk. He had to get out.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks, blurring his vision. The soft pounding in his temples was a telltale sign that headache was coming.  Arthur turned the corner, bumping into someone but quickly pushing past without saying a word. He couldn't understand the shout from behind him even if he wanted to.

He pushed himself towards the metal double doors, moving faster. Faster. Faster. When he reached them, he shoved them open with all his strength, causing them to open with a bang.

He stopped for just a second, breathing in the air, taking in that familiar smell. It was his home. Not of the one in America, but the one he had abandoned in England. It was the smell of rain.

Arthur didn't give the thought even a second longer, though, picking up his legs in a slow jog, then gaining speed. His shoes thumped down the concrete trail leading out of the school grounds, his backpack weighing down his shoulders and noisily bouncing up and down with each step.

The trees danced with the wind, branches swinging to and fro.  Stray leaves on the ground flew, tumbling over and over. The flowers softly fluttered, colorful petals beckoning for just anyone to come near. Arthur could feel his hair being pushed up, but he ignored it all. His hair, the trees, the leaves, the flowers, everything. He kept on running, focused on getting as far from the school as he could. Everything passed by him in a blur.

Eventually, when the sharp burn in his lungs and the soft pricks of pain in his legs won over, the clomps on the ground quickly whittled down to easy, quiet steps. Arthur stopped, leaning to rest his hands against his knees as tried to catch his breath. The paper, now as wrinkled as a dress shirt fresh out of the dryer, hung limply down his calf.

He raised his head, staring at his destination. The park ahead of him was empty, to the point where a tumbleweed could've comically drifted by, the children who would've normally been there gone to avoid the rain. Arthur and his brothers occasionally came, the football field being up to their standards and usually filled with half-decent players.

A black metal bench sat next to a tall tree, and Arthur stepped up to it.

Sweeping off the dead leaves and everything else that often came with Autumn, Arthur sat in the middle, shivering at the cold, before laying his backpack to his left. He lifted the paper up, examining the crinkles with a scowl, and then pressed it against his thigh in attempt to smoothen it.

He glared at the paper. He certainly couldn't go home now. His mother, consumed with the shame she would feel of raising a child, only for them to get a-

Arthur shook his head, his brain rattling, trying to clear away the invasive thought. His mother would understand, right? She wouldn't just throw him out of the house, onto the streets, would she? his mother loved him, said so every day when he left the house for school and before bed, so surely she wouldn't disown him? And even if she did, his father and his brothers would defend and protect him, right? Even if they did mercilessly tease him.

Tears tracked down his cheeks, blurring his vision. Arthur clenched his hands into fists. No. She can't. But why wouldn't she? It's not like his mother didn't have four other sons, what was losing one? The youngest, no less? It's not as if they would- "Hey, are you okay?"

Arthur snapped his head up, focusing on the interruption standing in front of him. He inwardly scolded himself. he hadn't even heard anyone walk up to him.

There, not even five feet ahead was Alfred F. Jones, who was kicking down the stand of the worn, rusty thing he affectionately called a bike. The very same Alfred F. Jones who was in his class, and was friends with the fools who could get rumors spreading. Especially if they were about Arthur.

He quickly rubbed the tears away from his eyes, trying to be as discreet as possible, wincing at the sting from doing it too harshly, but ignoring it all the same. He straightened his back and raised his chin. Anything to look confident and not as if he had just been five seconds away from bursting into relentless sobs. Arthur had a reputation to uphold, and he wouldn't let it be sullied by tears. No matter the situation.

Clearing his throat and tensing his shoulders, he narrowed his eyes, saying, "What do you want, Jones?" Arthur spat out the other boy's name as if it were the worst of insults.

He knew his mother would scold him if she heard him speaking in such a rude manner and make him apologize on the spot. But he didn't care. She wouldn't consider him her son soon enough, anyways. He sniffled at the thought.

Alfred's eyes widened, his mouth gaping just a tiny bit before snapping shut. He leaned back against his bike, pursing his lips and lowering his brow. His arms crossed, which only seemed to complete the image.

"Well," he started, the stupid twang that helped fuel many of Arthur's headaches following, "I was askin' if you were alright, since you seemed to not be, but I guess if you're just gonna be mean about it..." He trailed off, ending the last part with a pout as if Arthur were just some uncooperative friend he had to persuade.

The two watched each other, Arthur wishing the entire time that Alfred would just hop up on that rusty piece of junk of his and ride off, just so that he might have the chance to cry about his failure in peace. But the idiot just stood there, an insufferable grin eventually replacing the pout on that dumb face.

After what seemed to be like an hour- though he knew that it was barely even a minute, Arthur slid back down on the metal bench, letting his head hang. He didn't remember when he had stood. It could have been before or after their staring match. Maybe during.

He sighed, shoving his fingers through his hair, pushing through a tangle, before resting his hand on his knee. Even if Alfred told everyone in the grade, it wouldn't make a difference. Arthur shouldn't even bother caring anymore. "My parents... they're- they're going to disown me." Heat rose in his cheeks at admitting it, and he wondered what Alfred would say in response to it.

A small silence blanketed the two, Arthur not bothering to look up to see the boy's expression. Alfred stood fully, moving to sit next to him. He kicked a rock, and when he spoke, his voice was- for probably the first time in Arthur had known him- soft and quiet. "Y'know Art, for bein' the smartest kid in the class, you sure are mighty stupid."

Arthur snapped his head up, pushing back against his backpack. His shoulders tensed up and up as if he were a wind-up toy. He pressed the paper against his chest, folding his pale arms to cover it.

"Wh-what's that supposed to mean," he shouted. Alfred groaned, twisting himself to face Arthur. "You're parents can't just disown ya and kick ya out! That's why they have Child Protection Services or somethin' like that."

He looked towards Arthur's chest, a hint of mischief in his eyes as they narrowed. Alfred cocked his head to the side before- "What are ya even goin' on about, anyways..." He grabbed Arthur's wrist, moving it easily as he yelped in surprise. Alfred yanked the other arm back, snatching the paper, before quickly turning his back away, facing the tree. He snickered as Arthur's attempts to reclaim the paper were blocked.

"Give it back to me, you fool!" Arthur shouted repeatedly, twisting and folding his arms to get it back, only to fail at each and every try. After the fifth failure, he slumped back in defeat, tears welling in his eyes for what seemed like the thousandth time as he pondered his doom.

Being the stupid, foolish chatterbox that he was, Alfred could easily go back to school the next day and blab about the current incident. Then he would surely be ruined. Bloody Francis would be the smartest in the class, and all his classmates would chant at him during recess with their "innocent" malice how "Arthur Kirkland is a loser" and- It was a clear image in his mind. Arthur could see exactly how it would play out. The teachers wouldn't even bother if someone were to beat him up. Maybe they would laugh and point. Gossip to each other about "Oh, do you know what that boy got as a grade?" And when they were being interrogated about his cuts and bruises, they would only feign ignorance. It was their word against his, after all.

And it would happen, he knew it would. All because one Alfred F. Jones couldn't keep to himself. All because Alfred couldn't just-

A choking sound interrupted his thoughts. Arthur froze, turning his hand to look at Alfred. The boy was gawking at him, a hand clamped over his mouth, a look pure of wonder reflecting from his eyes.

"Woah... you got a B? And the rest As?"

Arthur flinched, turning into his shoulder to shield his face. He hadn't said it aloud, and now that he was actually hearing it, he felt even worse. Alfred just had to rub it in. He probably- no, definitely- enjoyed it, too.

I-"

"Wow... you're really smart, aren'tcha?"

He scrunched his face up a tiny bit, blinking in confusion. First, he was being called stupid, and now smart? And why was Alfred complimenting him? Was he keeping his marbles together, or had one slipped away? A B was a B. It wasn't an A, which was the ideal grade, not at all.

"I mean, you're doin' much better than I am. And that's for the entire year!"

Alfred stood, stepping over to his bike to pick up a Captain America themed backpack on the ground. He lifted it, setting it on the bench, and unzipped the zipper quickly. Arthur watched as he dug through the backpack, pulling out folders and notebooks with unfamiliar symbols and characters on them. He only knew that it was Captain America sewn onto the back from Alfred boasting about it a couple weeks before.

Eventually, Alfred reached the desired folder, Arthur taking note of the red and orange robot on the cover as he pulled it out. Opening it, he took out a white paper, nearly identical to Arthur's save for the words printed and the smoothness of it. Alfred held it out, Arthur snatching it from his hands and scanning it. He surprised himself by how eager he was to see how Alfred might have done better than him. But Arthur was shocked to see a mixture of As and Bs and even a couple of- Arthur pushed the paper from his face. he looked at Alfred, lifting an eyebrow. The boy was unsuspecting, grinning at Arthur with unbarred pride.

"You're in an AP class, yet you have a C?"

Alfred's grin dropped, his face slowly scrunching up in confusion. He took the paper back from Arthur, flipping it towards him, leaning in as he read. Then, a bright smile burst and he flung his arms up to the sky in victory.

"Yes!" he yelled to the clouds. He let out a whoop and slowly stepped back a few steps before stopping. "I got a C in English!"

Arthur narrowed his eyes, watching intently as Alfred celebrated. He was in this predicament for a B. If he had earned a C, he didn't dare think about what he would do. But here Alfred was, yelling and jumping around like a fool, a smile on his face nonetheless. How could he possibly be proud of himself?

The arms raised into the air had frozen, staying up where the were a few seconds before finally falling. The cries of joy had ceased, and Arthur wondered what was wrong. What he had done wrong.

Alfred slowly turned back towards him, a faint rosy blush on his cheeks.

"Well, ya see, I'm no good at English. Math n' science are more of my things. So my mom said that if I passed, I could join the baseball team for the year. And I passed it!" He rubbed his hand against the back of his neck, making an uneasy, yet happy smile.

The blood started to rush away from Arthur's cheeks. He flattened his lips, covering his mouth so he won't say or do anything else stupid. Had he actually said that aloud? To Alfred's face? He couldn't believe himself. Sure, the boy annoyed him at times, was loud and obnoxious with his friends, and overall gave Arthur a headache almost every day, but that didn't mean he had to mortify him.

Alfred laughed, a softer one than Arthur was used to, which eased his nerves a little. "Anyways, so ya see, Arthur, people are at what they're good at, and not at what they're not. A B doesn't mean anythin' about ya, and I would tell you the same if you got a U." Arthur shivered at the last part.

While Alfred's words were most likely said to be comforting, it only helped in making Arthur tense, which seemed to be the most common thing for him today. Why couldn't Alfred just realize that sure, it was okay for him to get grades like that, but not Arthur? His parents and his teacher counted on him, they had told him that, and that's exactly what he told Alfred. But the boy just wouldn't listen. Having put away his report card and returning Arthur's, Alfred set his hands to his hips, cocking them to the side, and raised an eyebrow with a skeptical expression on his face.

"They're countin' on ya? That's a pile of bologna if I've ever seen one. Arthur, ain't no one in this entire world countin' on ya to get straight As."

"Y-yes they are. In fact, my mother told me just this morning- yes, this morning, 'I do hope you get a good grade, dear. You're so smart.' She said it!"

"Just because she told ya to get good grades doesn't mean that ya need to work yourself to death. Or that she's going to disown you if ya don't. A B is good too, ya know."

"But it's not good enough for her. Not good enough for me. Plus, how would you know-"

A very wet, very real plock interrupted his sentence. A speck of water hit his nose, deforming into a tiny stream to run down. He looked up, Alfred following his gaze.

The clouds that were white and fluffy earlier were now dark and angry swirls. A heaviness cast over everything, the park, the streets running alongside it, even the two boys. Rumbling thunder sounded in the distance, like an army marching in for battle. A strong, yet gentle wind flew, the nearby swing set softly squeaking as it was pushed back and forth.

Alfred sighed in defeat, lifting his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. He kicked up the stop on his bike, setting his hands the guarded bars. He looked at Arthur expectantly, but the boy just stayed seated, still staring at the sky.

"Arthur."

He slowly lowered his head and turned towards Alfred.

"Just go home. Stayin' out here you'll only get drenched. Arthur shook his head, returning his gaze to the clouds. "I told you I can't. Once she sees it, she'll just send me out."

"Why can't you get it through that thick skull of yours-"

Alfred groaned, rotating around in a circle. Huffing out air, he put two fingers to the bridge of his nose, something Arthur had only seen adults do. "Just- look- if she does kick you out, which I doubt, then you can live with me. Promise. Can we just get out of here? It's gonna start rainin', and I don't wanna get wet."

Arthur nodded, standing. he grabbed his green backpack and starting walking. Alfred quickly caught up, and the two walked to Arthur's house, Alfred wheeling his bike along the way with them. He didn't even have it in him to comment on the annoying squeaking.

When they had finally reached a familiar- well, at least to Arthur- mint green house with a white fence and beautiful flowers lining the hard concrete sidewalk, the sky had long since stood down and poured buckets after buckets. The two were, as Alfred had worried, soaked to the bone. Even when they had practically run as fast as the could the last several hundred feet.

Arthur's mother blanched at the sight of the two boys, their clothes dripping with water, and refused to let Alfred leave back into the rain, no matter how much he had protested. He stayed anyways, having been promised dinner and a phone call to his mother.

The time eventually came for Arthur to show his family his report card. His hands trembled as he offered it, shoulders tense and ready to flee. And while he had expected lots of yelling, looks of disappointment and disgust, what had come instead were supportive smiles and congratulations. Even a few scowls of jealousy. Alfred didn't even need to say it, the "I told you so" hanging in the air between them.

If he were to be honest, Arthur didn't know if Alfred was suddenly his friend, or if this could all reset come the next day. Though, as Alfred looked at him, smile on his face after a particularly amusing conversation, he sincerely hoped that it wasn't the latter.

#Aph UsUk #UsUk #Aph America #Aph England #RantingFangirl #The Fanfiction Life of RantingFangirl

[mrsvioletrebellious-blog]

Friends or rather no friends

I find it so fuckin odd that people in there late twenties have no friends ??? Like why, how ? Are you that much of an arsehole? Have you really only met arseholes? How do you cope without friends? Seriously my friends are my support network my family, I would genuinely die for most of them and know I could trust them with anything.. We talk about so much everything no subject is off limits.. We know each overs darkest secrets, I’ve seen them girls naked, spread eagled or worse, we’ve been each overs alibi, bailed each over out, picked each over off the floor and held each over up high.. The laughs we have had was at gems once having a pre drink and I felt me trousers were too baggy said throw them in the tumble so I’ve threw them in were stood there “ where’s the cat” dunno I reply" did you put it in tumble dryer" fuck off course I never" your going to check aren’t you" she does and out runs the fuckin cat 😂😂😂😂 Then she pissed herself literally pissed herself hahahaha… We was on holiday once I’m sat on the balcony keeping the old vaginal area bald whilst kel is rubbing after sun into my back both hanging out our arses. A girl walks out And then runs away ohhh sorry like she was interrupting 😂 We’ve wet ourselves, shit ourselves, one of us joined the a team and was nicking gammon for rocks and one of us rescues baby birds and one of us has had more husbands then I’ve had roast potatoes 😂 but fuck I love them.. Went out one night and one of em hit it a little too hard, she was flaking so shoved an E down her throat shaped like a broccoli and told her to liven up considering don’t so drugs was fuckin random 😂 Another time in the none drug taking way, got stoned at a festival and a friend whiteyd so she’s sat in the middle of a field puking why I’m just dancing round her, think she’s stopped and she says no no dance round again😂 We have a regular occurrence of fruit day but that’s a different story and I’ll share that with visuals one day.. We never have anything but pure laughter one of us had broke her foot and the other month went for dinner could we get this cunts wheelchair in the car could we fuck we’ve had to strip the car, ram the fuckin chair in,and lay on each over in a corner in the back with a foot on a head rest, whilst that cunts in the car with her foot up smiling away and we’re all dying 😂 we've done the muma hump more times then we've probably hump ( actually there all slags so that's a lie 😂😂😂 I'm joking) we've wore eye masks and rode the streets on electric scooters that don't work, we've spent Friday nights eating Chinese and watching porn, we've been in toilets for hours just crying with laughter at our own company! In a toilet once and gem was next to me in cubicle I threw a loo roll over to hit her on head you know the big industrial bastards, well weren't gem next to me was it was some fuckin bird who screamed owwww and wasn't the least bit amused 😂🙄🔫 Got pissed once on a night out n decided to be squirrels I decided to go one further n climb about 30 feet in stilettos up this fuckin tree, not my wisest move.. One of us got married on a seed boat to a ginger Jesus that was so high at 3am he stopped at the shop for a twister lolly, tits are regularly pulled out in public to embarass the other, trousers are sometimes pulled down, we've had impromptu speeches about winging it 💪🏻 sounds like nothing but one of life's best moments, we've had video tutorials on stuff from baking to waxing ya Tash. It's never boring and even people that ain't in our circle no that, we are brutal to one another regularly call each over fat cunty slags and say things to one another that no cunt would ever get away with but its ok because we're real, I know my man could get his dick out n wave it in there faces n demanded to eat there pussy like its the last supper not only would they smash him in the face they'd tell me immediately, we live with the highest level of girl code for one another, we know it's a tough old world out there for a mother, a woman and a wife, so giving each over that Loyalty that comfort and that source of support means the world! There’s so many story’s it ridiculous we’ve had the best times and I know we always will because when we’re together it’s just a happy place but it’s not all fun and games, when one of us had been abused by an ex boyfriend the other one has taken the other and her children in and fed and watered them till need be no questions. When another had a drunk abusive boyfriend we’ve ran round there one night and had an actual fight with him another one we damaged all his stuff and pissed all in his car, when one cheated whilst on holiday we all rallied round there for the night to keep her mind occupied, we’ve hugged each over when we’ve cried, we’ve rowed on each overs behalf and sometimes fought, we’ve helped out Finacially, mentally, and physically we’ve gone on family holidays together, we’ve named children after one another, we have carried each over through the trials and tribulations of life over the years and haven’t even realised it really.. We drive each over mad, we don’t always agree and we’re all so similar but fuck me we are all so bloody different we tell each over when the other is being an arsehole and it doesn’t always go down well, we’ve hated each overs boyfriends and then put a smile on and been a witness at there wedding. One friends bloke pissed her off so she slashed his motorbike tyres oh and snapped his new Fifa I’ve burned clothes, pissed in dinner, spat in tea, rubbed chillies in underwear, put pepper in tobacco, we’ve put window cleaner in there favourite marmite we’ve cut up clothes we’ve been each over laugh and wing man in a hard time.. We’ve told men to fuck off when they make a pass and women too.. I got ridiculously drunk once to the point I couldn’t move and some old weird woman had me in a toilet stroking my hair saying leave them leave them all come home with me 😳 I couldn’t move and there fighting there way in the door get the Fuck off her barely being able to walk themselves.. We’ve messaged mouthy girls warning them off and muggy men warning them more. We’ve covered for each over, we’ve threw drinks in a eachovers faces before ( sorry gem was an accident 😂) we’ve sat outside churches looking after children whilst the other burys there baby, we’ve spent all night on he phone, we’ve spent all day together, we’ve got pissed on trains at 8.30 in the morning we’ve told celebrities we wank over them, we’ve teased men in pubs to get free drinks and not even so much as touched there legs we’ve teased a few women too, we’ve watched babies born and family members die and relationships break down ! We’ve babysat each overs kids,we’ve jogged together, cycled together, dieted together, drive cars, rode trips, and long walks stayed in tents and hotels and on each overs sofas, shared clothes, shoes and body fluids.. And we’ll keep sharing well keep being the backbone for each other if the men stay or the men pass, if the heart breaks or if we get ill, we’d take on eachothers kids we’d pass over a kidney, we’d do whatever we could to ease any pain.. I hope everyone has friends like I do, and if you don’t please find some because you need that support network to survive life, you need it to remain you! rather then just mother and wife.. You need people who love you just for you without any reason too. Join a group, do a class, go out more or call me I’ll be your friend.. Because the thought of anyone not having what I have saddens me..

#friends #women #queens #sisterhood #blog #love #life #friendship #mates #girls #Crew #squad #fun #laughter