#BUT I'll try to be here on Sundays and every other Saturday (pay week Saturdays are for grocery shopping and such | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

griff-us · 3 years

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Title: Being So Normal Part: One Pairing: Black!Reader/Bucky Barnes Summary: Neither of them are very good at being normal. Good thing the spectrum of normalcy these days is anything but the definition of the word. In other words: two broken people mend together. Warnings: typical canon level violence, mentions of past abuse both physical and emotional, alcohol abuse and mentions of, drug abuse and mentions of.

Chapter Theme: Being So Normal, Peach Pit

Notes: Just a little self-indulgent series that's been sitting in the back of my brain that I have finally decided to work on after kinda scraping the previous one.

Sort of a Neighbors's AU mixed with a Coffee Shop Au. Lots of character introspection for the reader, and Bucky, and some fun and drama along the way. This will no doubt be a slow slow burn.

Hope yall enjoy and feel free to leave any comments or hit me with questions! Oh, mood board slapped together by me! Also, no Beta. Tbh I'm lazy and impatient so excuse any mistakes.

Saturday: 11:30pm

Sam was the one who convinced him to come---or maybe forced would be the better word. Life has been returning to somewhat normal for the two of them; Sam shouldering his mantle as Captain America, and James slowly easing into his role as Sergeant Barnes rather than The Winter Soldier. But, it’s not all easy, at least not for James. Normalcy is not his strong suit, not when the urgency of survival had been drilled into his skull for the past hundred years or so. Sure, he was comfortable, but not necessarily happy. James is lost, and no one can tell that more than Sam.

And that is how he’s found himself in this crowded club with flashing lights and a bass beat that he can feel in the pit of his stomach. It’s not that the environment is too much---it’s just that he feels so...odd out. After all, Jame’s idea of a night out used to be something more akin to a jazz bar and dancing. Not whatever gyrations and wiggling around the kids called dancing was these days.

God, he really is old.

“You gotta loosen up man, you’re killing my vibe.” Sam, as if on cue, shoulders into him. James scowls, making sure to keep a tight grip on his beer---if you could even call it that. The brewery it was from managed to pack so many damn spices and fruit in it that it tasted more like a cocktail than any beer he’s come to like.

“You’ve got a weird vibe then, Sam.” the other man laughs, elbows resting against the bar top behind them while he scopes out the scene. It’s a typical New York club; fashion being the forefront of it all, the entire reason anyone is out right now is to be seen and admired. Among other things.

“That cutie over there keeps tossing you looks, you should go say hi.” James follows Sam’s gaze across the bar. A gaggle of young women crowds around a booth, all of them eyeing them and whispering to one another. He rolls his eyes and takes a long swig of his beer.

“I think you mean they’re looking at you, Sam.” The super soldier turns back toward the bar to push his empty glass to the bartender who only nods his way and produces a refill without another word.

“Eyes up, Sergeant, they’re coming over.”

James doesn’t pay any mind to the coming onslaught; it’s always the same really. Sam is descended on by a group of gals excited to meet the new Captain America and even more enthralled when they realize he’s pretty damn charming. Not that he’s jealous in any way. Annoyed? Sure. See, he just isn’t one for new people---especially the kind that Sam tends to attract sometimes. The airheads, the young ones just waiting to hook up and never talk again. He just can’t vibe with it, can’t grasp it. Maybe he is too old for this modern age of love and romance.

James just turns his attention to the muted TV over the bar, his back facing the chatty group of women behind him while they flock to Sam like vultures starving for a meal. The news flashes between stories from all over; follow-ups on the last of the Flag Smashers, some weird disturbances in a tiny town somewhere far off, and a local story on a stray cat that is just “too cute to not have a home.” He snorts, lips smacking from the twang of his beer.

“Sorry about them.” The tiny voice from his left nearly makes him jump, and James can only blame the blaring music for his lack of attention.

“Huh?” He peers down to see an average height woman; with big brown eyes and skin a deep tan and sunkissed. By all accounts, she is stunning---and looks nearly as out of place in this massive club as he does.

“My friends---” her head jerks towards the group of women still fawning over Sam, who no doubt is loving all of the attention. “I tried to explain to them that you guys are just normal people too," she thinks they're normal? "but the alcohol made them all braver than they normally are.” The woman rolls her eyes but by the soft smile she wears he can tell she means no malice.

“And what about you?” James leans his full weight on the bar top now all the while inching closer to the woman. He can read the confusion on her face. “Are you feeling braver than normal?” she flushes at his clarification, and an easy shrug rolls from the shoulder.

“I’m just the mom friend trying to make sure my friends don’t end up dead, in jail, or worse.” James can’t help but laugh at that.

“A mom friend, huh?” gloved fingers pluck the pint glass from the bar and neither of them breaks eye contact while he swallows nearly half the glass.

“Yeah, kind of how I’ve always been; just an eighty-year-old woman at heart I guess.” James gives her a crooked grin: he could understand that.

“You’re too young to talk like that.” he elbows her gently, suddenly so comfortable with her presence that he can feel himself loosening up a bit.

“Then what’s your excuse?”

Brows cock high, that twisted little grin never once wavering from his face. He likes her---the idle and quiet wit, the way she matches his quips with equal stride.

“What’s your---” but before he can finish the group of girls are flagging her down, yanking her arm in one direction while they all gossip about how someone managed to snag Captain America’s number. James watches while she shoots him an apologetic smile while she is all but dragged back to their booth across the dance floor. Before he knows it, her face is lost in a sea of people.

“You would pick up the prettiest one.” Sam’s voice yanks James from his thoughts, and he looks up with narrowed eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t see that little flirt session. You get her number?”

“I’m going home.” James slaps a crisp bill on the bar top and Sam laughs, all loud and boisterous.

“You didn’t even get her name, did you, man?”

“Good night, Sam!” with hands shoved deep in his pockets, James turns heels and heads home.

Sunday: 8:am

The mornings were his favorite time to jog. Consider it a coping mechanism---not that he necessarily needed to go for mile-long runs or work out, what with the serum, but it was the only time his mind was truly quiet. So, James kept to a strict schedule of an hour or so run every morning followed up by a tall dark roast. Only today, he is late by nearly an hour to get to his usual coffee spot; which wouldn’t be terrible but James lives for routines. Without one, his entire day is skewed.

It’s eight in the morning when he strolls into the coffee shop, a tiny little place sat precariously on the corner of two streets only a couple blocks from his apartment. Clad in joggers and a simple black t-shirt, he strides up to the counter; eyes glued to the menu board for any new sweets that may catch his eye.

“Well hi again.” brows grow taught at their center---he knows that voice. James looks down to see the same woman from the night before. Black hair is piled high on her head and rather than the slim little dress from the night before she sports simple leggings and a graphic shirt of which the reference he is utterly lost on.

“Oh. Hi...uh....” blue eyes look for a name tag, and he finds none. Damn it.

“Y/N” she smiles wide at him, much like she had in the club only this time, with better lighting, he can make out the dimples that crease each of her cheeks.

“Y/N.” he repeats her name back slowly. “Uh, nice to meet you, or see you again. I guess.” he points to himself, “I’m Bucky.” said so lamely, so simply, he really can’t blame her for laughing at him.

“I know. What can I get for you, James?”

James.

That throws him; tosses him so off-kilter the man can hardly remember his order. Sure a couple people call him James, well really only his mother and his therapist when he’s in deep shit but…. To hear a name nearly forgotten to himself, and from her? Well, it turns his brain to static.

“Just a large black coffee and one of those brownies please.” She nods and starts to prep his order, all the while he stands there like an idiot with a ten-dollar bill in his hand and his heart in his throat. Finally, he finds a safe landing back on earth.

“How was the rest of your night with your friends?” Y/N groans while she pours him a fresh cup of coffee.

“Catty. I finally got the last one home around three in the morning. Got home just in time for a nap before I came in here.”

“That sounds---awful.” James trades her the coffee for the ten, and watches while she works the register.

“Wasn’t so bad. I don’t sleep much these days anyway.” Y/N offers the change back to James but only nods his head toward the tip jar.

“Sounds like you earned it. Did you just start working here?" he's never seen her working here before, and per his routine, James is here around this time at least five times a week.

"Covering for a friend, I usually work the closing shift if I'm not teaching." Teaching? James would assume she'd be on the younger side to teach.

"I'll have to come more often around that time then." he watches while round cheeks twitch, and flush.

“Deal. I’ll uh...see you around, James?”

“Y-yeah. See you around, Y/N”

#james bucky barnes #james barnes #reader insert #bucky/reader #bucky/you #james bucky barnes/reader #james bucky barnes/you #mcu fic #mcu reader insert #reblogs more than welcome #actually encouraged #thank

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chiliiscereal · 3 years

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Here’s the link for the full version ^ ——

Sister dear (Steve x sister reader)

(This is preseason one to show you what the background is on the whole story)

(let me know if you think this should be published as a separate book!)

You and Steve had a rocky start to being siblings.

You were born four years apart.

He was born in a time when your parents actually loved each other. They had time for birthdays and family weekends together. They went out to the park on saturdays. They were a picture perfect family.

It just so happened that when you were born, your father stopped being quite so faithful to your mother. When you came into the world, your father was in Europe on a business trip. And he wasn't only up to business.

Little Steve had adored you at first. He always wanted to hold you or play with you.

But then their parents no longer had time for him.

It was always work... and taking care of you.

It slowly changed over the years to only work, as your mother could no longer trust your father. Steve was left to watch you for weeks on end. He was good at it at first. He used to watch you carefully. He used to make sure you were happy and well...

Until he could no longer see his friends.

He was ten. You were five.

He began to leave you at home. At first it was only for thirty minutes while he went to the park. Then it was an hour every day during his elementary school days while he went to the movies.

You were seven when you began cooking your own meals.

You TRIED talking to him. You really did.

You tried catching his sleeve whenever he breezed past. You tried showing him crafts you made. You tried playing music you thought he might like.

That ended with twelve year old Steve pushing you away.

It ended with your works of art thrown in the trash.

Your music cassettes were thrown onto the road.

Your mother made sure both of you knew to never walk into the middle of the road, so you could only cry as some unknowing stranger destroyed your wonderful music. The music you had saved up all your allowance for. The music that you had thought your older brother would like. The music that you thought might bring you two together.

When your mother and father returned, you tattled.

Steve was grounded for a whole week.

But he always needed to have the last say. So he sold your boom box and spent all the money on comics. He threw your sketchbook in the quarry water. He shoved you to the floor, saying that if you ever tattled again then you would join your drawing book in the cold water.

You stopped trying to give Steve your attention and love. You no longer wished he would spend more time at home. So you began exploring the town by yourself at the age of nine. You didn't really have friends to hang out with so you would browse through stores.

The arcade was your favorite place.

You loved showing up early on Saturday mornings, before Steve was even awake, and leaving behind a new high score on the dragons lair.

Why?

Because it always riled up a group of boys your age. They had no idea who kept beating them over and over. Every Sunday morning you watched them walk in... only to scream a few seconds later about how someone had beaten their score by ONE point. Again.

You loved having some sort of connection to them. Even if they didn't know it was you. Or even who you were at all. They were a weird little group, strictly sticking with only other A.V club kids. Besides, you hardly ever talked. What would be so special about you?

It also didn't help that your older brother had begun to build himself a reputation. When you were ten, he began to be known as king Steve. You knew he bullied one of the kids (wills) older brother while beginning to flirt with another's (mike's) older sister.

You knew this because your father began forcing Steve to drive you home from school. That was the rule he set when he gave Steve the car.

Every day you trekked to the high school, only to watch Steve hang around Nancy Wheeler and push Johnathan Byers. You would have intervened and told him that you really didn't want to wait twenty minutes (out of sight) for him to be done. But the last time he did that he made you ride the way home in the trunk of his car.

When you were eleven, you started hanging out at Melvald's convenience store in the town square. Your favorite time to go there was at 7:00, because Mrs. Byers would always work the morning shift.

Wills mother was really quite wonderful. Every time you walked in she greeted you with a smile and lowered her magazine.

——-

"Whatcha lookin for today, kiddo?" She smiled softly, leaning on the counter to watch you browse.

"Any new cassette tapes." You shrugged, fingering each music case that caught your eye. "Do you have any Clash? I... lost mine." You didn't lose it. Steve broke it when he heard you mutter about how much you hated Tommy H.

"Yeah, we got a new box of cassettes delivered this morning." She hopped up and waved for you to follow her to the back room. "I miiiight have snagged a Clash cassette for you when I saw it." She grinned as she held the door open for the young girl.

"You didn't need to buy anything for me!" You gasped. You knew that the Byers needed all the money they could get. "Can I pay you back?" You immediately began digging through your pockets for spare change.

She placed a guiding hand on your back as you both entered, pulling you away from your search. "Oh no it's fine! It's the least I can do for my most frequent visitor."

She plucked the music case off the shelf and handed it to you. "You go to Hawkins elementary, right? You should talk to my son. Will. He also loves the Clash."

You turned red and clutched the cassette. "I've...seen him around before. I don't know how to talk to him."

"Oh it's easy!" She grabbed the spare paper and crayons you always used when you visited. "You just need to find common ground. For example," she pulled up a stool beside her for you to sit at, "you both like to draw!"

You placed down the paper and got working on your art. "Will it make a difference if I draw cartoons and he draws realistic? What if the difference is too big for him to want to talk to me?"

"It'll give you more to talk about!"

——

So began your quest to pursue friendship.

You attempted to speak to Will and his friends in the hall.

They were talking too loud about their latest campaign to hear you.

You tried asking to sit by them at lunch.

They were too busy launching potato's at the ceiling to notice.

Right when you almost gave up... Will and you were paired together as partners for a history project.

——-

'Don't mess it up, don't mess it up', you told yourself over and over as you moved to sit by Will. 'Don't be weird. See if he'll talk first. Don't be clingy.'

Wills was equally quiet. He just read through the rubric of the project and stayed silent.

'What can we talk about... what should I say?'

A drawing poking out of wills bag caught your eye. It looked like a wizard casting some sort of spell.

"I like your drawing!" You blurted out, wishing you could just shut up.

Wills jumped, startled. "Yeah... umm.. it's from... uh... it's from our last campaign.." he began fiddling with his thumbs, unsure of what to say to a girl. "Our DnD campaign... I mean."

You nodded along. "I like to draw to! I've never... I've never played DnD before... so I like to draw people."

Will cracked a shy smile. "I'll show you my drawing if you show me one of yours."

You agreed hesitantly.

He took your cartoon and you took his master piece. You desperately wished you could draw like him. Your cartoons looked so simple, as Steve always said.

"You're a cartoonist!" Will smiled, holding the paper out in front of him. It was a caricature of Mrs. Byers. "You must be the girl my mom sees at her job!" His eyes were wide with recognition. "This is so good! I wish I could draw cartoons. But whenever I try... they look like potato's." He laughed.

You flushed a deep red. "I... I'm also the one that beats your scores every Saturday." You admit.

His jaw dropped. "No way. We've been trying to figure out who that was for months! We formed a whole list of people to interrogate!" He ran a hand through his hair.

You giggled. "I can prove it... if you want. Next Saturday I could show you and your friends? At the arcade?"

"Yeah! I'm totally down to hang out at the arcade!"

——

Will had brought you to the A.V club after to ask the rest of the party. You had protested at first. What if they didn't like you? What if they said no? You would look so stupid! You tried to use your brother driving you home as an excuse.

But if you brought Steve up... no. You couldn't start a potential friendship like that.

Will proposed the ideas to everyone excitedly.

It seemed that Lucas had a problem with it immediately.

——-

"Sorry Will, but we can't." Lucas shook his head. "We've got plans."

Your heart dropped.

"Wait," Dustin frowned and turned to his friend. "What plans? I wasn't aware of any plans."

Lucas crossed his arms. "Remember? Our campaign?"

"We don't have a-."

Lucas elbowed him harshly and looked at you. "Can you leave for a second? We need to talk. ALONE."

You nodded and stepped out of the room. "Yeah totally! Just let me know when-."

The door slammed in your face.

You know you shouldn't have but you pressed your ear to the door anyway.

"What's your damage?" Mike Wheeler hissed quietly.

"Don't you know who she is?" Lucas accused.

"No... should we?" Will whispered in confusion.

"That's Y/N Harrington!" Lucas spat out.

"Steve Harrington's little sister." Dustin stated, now understanding.

Mike groaned. "The douche bag my sisters hooked on?"

"Yes! What if she's exactly like him?"

"You mean a total mouth breather? A player? An absolute jackass?"

You sunk to the floor. Of course Steve ruined the only chance you might have of a friendship. How could she think that these kids would look past her family's reputation? No one ever did. Even her teachers expected her to be disruptive and rude.

"Guys." Will intervened. "I talked to her in history."

"What?!"

"Traitor!"

"What about the party?"

Will lowered his voice, causing you to lean a little closer to the door. "She doesn't act like him. She never called me any names. She never told me that I'm a freak. She tried to talk to me about art."

"Steve definitely doesn't appreciate art." Dustin mumbled.

Wills continued. "She's a cartoonist. And I think she might be like us. You know who kept beating our dragon lair record?"

"Who?"

"Please tell me it wasn't Troy."

"Y/N Harrington."

"WHAT?!"

"IT WAS HER?!"

"GIRLS PLAY VIDEO GAMES?!"

#for you #bookish #wattpad #fanfic #steve harrington #stranger things fandom #stranger things #upside down #steve harrington fanfiction

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hardforbenhardy · 4 years

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somebody to love | rogerxreader

summary: roger fucking taylor. the boy in your biology class. the boy you’ve had a crush on for years. the boy who doesn’t know you exist. has recognised your existence.

warnings: swearing, drinking, references to sex and stripping

word count: 4.0k

the first chapter of my upcoming fanfic! i’ve been working on this for a while, and it’s still not finished so i’m not sure how often i’ll update, but i’m planning on having a taglist for it so if people do like it, they can be alerted of when it comes out (if you want to be added, just pm me or send in a request!) i’m immensely proud of it and i think it’s some of my best writing - a lot of research went into it so i’m happy with the outcome so far and i hope you will be too. enjoy!! :)

There truly was no worse day than a Saturday.

I know, I know - but Saturday's are the best! There's no school, no work, you can sit around and chill all day, or go out clubbing with all your friends; maybe even pull a dude or two...

That may be the case for every single other person in the world, disincluding you. You see, your life is a little different to the usual person. Most people do spend their weekends sitting around, or going out with their friends, pulling girls and guys every night. You, on the other hand, spend it studying and working. You can safely say that taking a BSc in Biology at North East London Polytechnic was maybe the biggest mistake of your life yet. Don't get yourself wrong, you am good at it. In fact, you’re top of my class - you just struggle to balance all the studying with your job and family life.

Hence why you are sat at your dinner table, surrounded by a sea of glossy biology textbooks which contain much more information than your brain is willing to retain at this point. The words had began twisting in your eyes, no longer forming sentences but rather just squiggles on a page. Your pretty sure you have read the same page 3 times in the past hour, all information going through one ear and straight out the other. What the fuck was a bacteriophage? Or what about it being icosahedral or filamentous? And what was the difference between the lytic stage and the lysogenic stage? At this point, those weren't even words. Okay, so maybe you have been sitting here since 11 this morning, it now being 7 in the evening, but this was your standard Saturday. Having work every weekday in the evenings - 7:30pm until 3:00am - with your classes then starting as early as 9:00 on certain days, you didn't exactly have enough time to study on weekdays. Sleep was practically nonexistent for you by now, you were lucky to even get in 4 hours a night. Unfortunately for you, work also existed on Saturdays. You are probably thinking why don't you study on Sundays? Well, because Sundays were family days - you’d have to travel 3 hours to see your Ma and Pa, who would tell you how proud they were of you, doing a BSc in a subject that would get you far, and having a solid job that brought income for the whole family. Granted, they had absolutely no idea what your job actually was - and it isn't something they will ever know - but you don't really have a choice. You need to pay for your accommodation somehow, and contribute to the families bills after your father got fired from his job and went into severe debt. Therefore, it was a job you resorted to. In fact, you have work in 30 minutes, and here you are - trying to cram in a chapter's worth of course content for a test you had on Monday, surviving on nothing but coffee and energy bars.

You felt your arms begin to weaken under the weight of your head as you placed it into your palms, your eyes beginning to flutter shut as you gradually dozed off, the lack of sleep taking it's revenge. It wasn't until the loud, boisterous voice of your roommate interrupted the silence.

"Y/N, darling, have you seen my- Oh, love, what on earth is this disaster?" He cringed, sitting opposite you on the table, as you frantically sifted through the mound of worksheets for one in particular. "Look, darling, you need to sort this out. You look like you've been dragged through the bushes and back - you have work in 26 minutes and you are not even dressed!"

"Wow, thanks Freddie. Look, I don't really have a choice - if I don't have this topic nailed, I may just fail my exam, and then what? My life rides on this Fred, and I'm completely and utterly fucked if I fail." you wearily ranted, a yawn escaping your lips, which certainly didn't go unnoticed by Fred, as he placed a fresh mug of coffee in front of you - unbeknownst it was your fourth one tonight.

"Y/N, don't be so dramatic - there is only room in this flat for one hysterical queen, and I'm afraid I took that role many years ago. There is absolutely no way that you, Y/N M/N L/N, could ever fail a biology exam - you are the top of your class, and as much as you deny it, you know this content like the back of your hand. Look, I'll prove it - what is a bacteriophage, and what are the three possible shapes?"

"It's a virus which can infect and kill bacteria - the capsid of a bacteriophage can be icosahedral, filamentous, or head-tail in shape." The words simply rolled off your tongue, as you kept my focus on the textbook in front of you.

"Told you so, bet you were questioning in your head just 5 minutes ago what the fuck a bacteriophage is, and all that other shit you just said. I know you like the back of my hand, darling - you underestimate yourself far too much. Now put the fucking books away and get ready for work!" He nagged, taking a long sip of the glass of champagne he had acquired out of nowhere - typical Freddie. You didn't even respond, just simply rolled your eyes before rising to your feet to head upstairs. Freddie knew how much you hated your job, it was not exactly one praised by society. You’re what people would call an exotic dancer - or more commonly known as a stripper. It wasn't an occupation you asked for, it was rather one that was simply opened at a rather opportune moment for you. You can safely say yoinwill be taking the chance to quit as soon as you get your degree and can move on, but you’re stuck with it for the time being. You hate it on multiple levels - the feeling of having multiple older men's gaze set on your body, as if you were some kind of object, their minds wandering to all the things they could do to you if given the chance - it wasn't exactly a nice feeling. It is truly disgusting the amount of times you have been called a whore, slut, slag, floozie, tart, or prostitute - the list is ultimately endless at this point. What is even funnier is that it tends to be these same people who then turn up to your showings later on in the evening, indulging in your performance like every other male in the club. To make it worse, people often tell you you’re lucky to have guy's attention all the time - as if you should be proud of the fact that you have a body and face admirable by men. You always thought that was complete and utter bullshit - why the fuck should a guys validation make youbody and face suddenly attractive? Thankfully, most of the men who came to the club tended to be a little older than yourself - meaning there was never any guys from the university, or even better your class, who would come by. The only person who actually knows your truth is Freddie - who even though he did disapprove of it, would always try to cheer you up and make you feel more confident about it. You see, Freddie is extremely overprotective of you, he treats you like his little sister - he always wants you out of harm's way, always makes sure you were eating and getting at least 5 hours of sleep each night, always lends you money in your most desperate times of need, and opened his home to you the night you met him. It's funny actually - you remember that night so extremely vividly. He had come along to one of your performances, and ended up bumping into you backstage - you engaged in a conversation which lasted nearly the whole night, and before you knew it, it was 2am. He asked to walk you home, to which you simply had to reply with the fact you didn't have one and you were just planning on crashing on the couch in your dressing room. Of course, Freddie being Freddie invited you back to stay with him - any other person would be immediately cautious of the request, but at this point you had nothing to lose. And here you are, a month later and you were now living with him. He was basically the best roommate you could ask for.

The club is like a second home, or house - you wouldn't consider it very homely. Although the case was rare, if there was ever a point you couldn't stay at Freddie's, they allow you to sleep on the couch in the dressing room. Thankfully, your colleagues and the manager are all extremely nice people, it is more the visitors who get on your nerves and made you sick to the stomach. Basically a majority of the other girls you work with are in the same position than you; they are either college students just trying to pay off debt, or teenage mothers whose boyfriends left them after finding out they were pregnant who were trying to finance their child - everyone had their own individual story but in a way, you were all similar. Like you said, it is a second home to you, so when you stepped inside for the 6th time this week, it felt no different. The strong smell of booze and drugs no longer hit you like a brick, but rather became a second nature to your brain. The booming music, blaring at top volume from speakers which were scattered in nearly every crevice of the room, had become the norm for your eardrums - which realistically is bad for your health, but you didn’t think that's the thing that'll kill you at this point. The masses of men crowded around tables no longer made your stomach churn, now it just became the same old same old. You weren’t actually on stage until 8:00 tonight, so you don't know why they had you in half an hour early - you had already finished your makeup and got dressed. You leant against the bar, downing the first of what would be many complimentary drinks you would receive over the night - as much as you hated the job, it did have it's benefits. Free booze was probably the best thing to come out of it, when men would buy you drinks in hopes of getting you in their bed - all of them being nearly twice your age, they were never successful, but it was fun to watch 'em try. They would often strike up a conversation with you, the topic of which was always him, meaning you’d stand there responding with simple nods and the occasional burst of laughter - your mind in a completely different world of its own, usually a world of worry and anxiety of failing your exams.

"So, where is it you work? I could definitely see you working in an office or as a lawyer, I can imagine you would look very professional in a pantsuit, or even on the front cover of Vogue, you certainly have the body" The man, who had now situated himself beside you, practically purred. Was he seriously asking where you worked? What an imbecile. The whole ordeal is making you sick to your stomach, earning an eye roll in an instant - though you thought you’d play along to see where exactly he was going to go with this.

"Well, you wouldn't be interested in my life..." you laughed lightly, slowly and seductively inching closer to him. "But... I'm interested in yours. Tell me, where is it you're from, I love your accent."

"Oh, well I'm sure that isn't true, but I was actually born and bred in Italy - I moved here a few years ago, but thankfully I never lost the accent; it's a great tool for getting the girls in bed - especially the incredibly tempting ones such as yourself." He purred down your ear, you felt his breath on your neck and yourblood suddenly ran cold, as he placed his hand against the curve of your spine. Tempting?

You laughed under your breath in utter disbelief, your blood began to boil - how can someone be so small minded and narcissistic, yet spend their weeks in a strip club. "So you think I'm tempting?"

"Obviously, I mean you're super sexy and you really turn me on." He winked, and you stared at him incredulously.

"Well, you wanna know what I find incredibly tempting about you?" - he didn't speak, just simply nodded as he took a large gulp, as if he was intimidated by you. You moved closer, so that your hand was now placed against his inner thigh, and raised to your tiptoes - "There's just a deep pit burning in me, it's almost irresistible - just the thought of it is alone is so extremely enticing. I just have this immense desire to..." you whisper seductively in his ear, right as you ram your knee between his legs, making him cry out in a yell of pain and fall to his knees. " Do that." you grinned, before grasping the drink from the counter and gradually pouring it onto his head, the alcohol seeping through the thin material of his shirt, surely leaving him in a satisfying discomfort for the rest of the night, as if the hit to the balls wasn't enough. "And that"

"What the fuck? You fucking bitch!" He screamed, his voice going higher than you ever thought a man's voice could go, probably a side effect of his now undoubtedly swollen and painful misters.

You didn't respond, simply sashaying away as you raised my middle finger in his direction. You must say, after months of working in this club, you have practically become immune to the disease you like to call men. They just don't turn you on anymore. Don't get yourself wrong, not all men are like that - for example, Freddie is undoubtedly one of the sweetest human beings to walk this earth - but it seems like the men you’re surrounded by are basically parasites. Probably just a side effect of working in the hornets' nest, all kinds of trouble was stirred up in this building, it pretty much became the second (less sexual) form of entertainment for the customers. And you guess it's just your luck, because now it's your calltime. Your favourite time of the night - not. You entered the door, sighing a little. Come on, Y/N, you got this girl, just a little while longer and you can be back in the comfort of your bed. You always have to give yourself a little pep talk as you walk towards the door of what was, in a way, the gateway into Hell. That's if hell was a strip bar full of cheap and sleazy, lest we forget to mention mostly married men. All staring at you like food on a silver platter. It is quite frankly, disgusting. The walkway this week had silky, white curtains that the dancers usually appear through; as if to give the 'illusion' of us being 'angels appearing through the veil of the heavens'. You called bullshit on that one, that's also partly the reason your outfit was made up of a satin white robe, covering your lacy white lingerie. They also recently decided that the dancers should dust themselves with gold glitter before going onstage - thinking it might make you seem a little more angelic. Of course it doesn't, but you couldn’t lie - you looked incredible; the insubstantial underwear hugs your body in all the right places, yet still leaving little to the imagination; and the shimmer of gold across your chest only accentuating it more as the bright lights radiates your skin; your long locks flowing down your back, swinging with every step you took as you saunter onto the stage. Sudden cheers and whistles erupted from the crowd, the oh so familiar sound permeating the room with energy and excitement. The noise only increased as you little by little slid the satin piece down your shoulders to reveal the straps of the two-piece underneath, letting it slide down your body completely and pool around your feet on the floor. Usually, you would feel comfortable on stage, the fact you were borderlining nudity wouldn't phase youbone bit; but something felt different tonight. You have the same audience, the same form of outfit, same routine - but something feels strange, out of place, and you can't quite decipher it. You brush it off, knowing it's probably just nerves, and continue with your set - swaying around the stage, showing off your assets from every angle; and that's where you saw him.

Hidden in the corner of the room, he sat in a dimly lit spot making him barely visible thanks to the broken light which had been smashed a few days ago in a drunken bar fight. Perching forward in a lounge chair, he continually lifted the lit cigarette that was resting between his middle and index fingers towards his rosy lips, taking long drags every few seconds. As his golden, scraggly-but-still-well-groomed locks were clinging to the sides of his face, you notice his steel blue gaze dancing over your body as he scans you up and down.

Roger Fucking Taylor.

The same Roger that was in your biology class. The same Roger that was constantly trying to one up you and be the top of the class (unsuccessful in his attempts of course). The same Roger that you had had a crush on since you the course. The same Roger that didn't even know you existed. He had never been partnered with you, never spoken to you, never even looked in your direction. When you first entered the course, you had heard all about Rogers, how do I put this nicely, reputation with the ladies - making youbinstantly cringe at the utter disrespect of some of the things he had apparently done with them. But after a few weeks, you couldn't help but be drawn to him - he has an undeniable charm that he probably doesn't even know he's using half of the time, he is incredibly intelligent, and it is indisputable that he is the human form of the Greek God, Adonis, himself. You hate yourself for feeling this way, you always attempt to push it down as you know it'll do you no good in the long run. Like I said, Roger is known for his wild adventures with the women; and you weren’t one to participate in the activities of said adventures. Having a job as a stripper, people expect me to be extremely confident and out there, a lively socialite who is the life of the party, always being the centre of attention. I am, in fact, the complete opposite. When I'm not at work, I'm exceedingly reserved and introverted - I have one friend, Freddie; I only ever contribute to class when asked a question, other than that I sat at the back taking my own notes; I spend any spare time I have at home watching tv or reading a book. Therefore, I know I have a 0.00001% chance of Roger even acknowledging my existence - which I am fine with. I accepted my defeat months ago. And now, he's sat here watching me dance around, practically naked.

After finishing my set, I pace off stage- praying to Jesus that Roger didn't recognise it was me. He barely even notices me in lessons - surely he doesn't know me. What if he does though? What if he goes around school telling all his friends that I'm a fucking stripper? I'd be well and truly fucked - and not in the good way. I have never left the club faster than I did tonight, throwing on my clothes and fleeing through the backstage exit. My head is pacing, as clouds of worry and thought occupy the space - how am I ever going to face Roger again? What if he tells people? What if he is disgusted by me? I can feel my hand shaking as I try to unlock the apartment door, in which I throw open and slam behind me.

"Home so early, darling?" I could hear Freddie's voice from the living room shouting through, before the loud pop of the champagne bottle in his hand - presumably his second tonight. I threw my bag to the side before storming into the room and slumping down next to Freddie on the couch, releasing a large sigh.

"Yeah, work wasn't great" I groaned, noticing Freddie gesturing for me to take the bottle in his hand, to which I took a big swig in response; making Freddie chuckle.

"When is your work ever great? What's wrong, love?" He raised from the couch to grab himself a glass, knowing I'm not giving up this wine bottle as easily as he hoped.

"As you know, a majority of the men we get at the club are at least twice my age. Well, you remember Roger Taylor right?" I mumbled, focusing my attention to Freddie's glass which he held out in front of me, pouring the liquid in slowly as to not spill it all over the both of us.

"From your class? The one you have an undeniable love for? Yeah, I know him. What did he do?"

"Well, he turned up. He was sat in the back of the room. What am I to do Fred? What if he tells people that my job is basically prostitution? My life will be ruined. Not only that, but now my crush has seen me borderline naked, and prancing around the stage like some kind of... well, stripper" I cringed at the thought, it sounded a little stupid. Surely, I'd want my crush to see how good looking I can be? Not one bit.

"Oh god, what on earth was he doing there? Sounds like you have a bit of blackmailing yourself - Roger Taylor in a strip club-"

"Is exactly where I'd expect to find him if I'm being honest Fred - you know what he's like. I'd be surprised if it wasn't a place he visited everyday" I chimed in, I'm not lying. He is exactly the type of cocky, arrogant little shit who would find bliss in a strip club.

"Look, everything will be fine - you have two options, darling. You can either avoid him for the rest of your life, hoping he doesn't share the secret and ultimately ruin your life forever. Or you can fucking own it, and strut into school tomorrow like you are the shit and give Roger a piece of your mind - it's up to you, but I'm rooting for the second" Fred explained, trying reason with the one person he would never be able to reason with. I am quite stubborn when I want to be, and now is one of those occasions. "Now get to sleep, if you are home this early you should take advantage of it. Oh, do you have the money for rent?"

"Shit. Fuck. Fred I'm so sorry - I left in such a rush that I forgot to pick it up. I'll pay you Monday? I'm so sorry" I frettered, eyes widening at the realisation I not only couldn't pay Freddie, but I also can't pay my parents when I go down tomorrow.

"Darling, it's fine - I'll give you this week free of charge. You deserve it with all your hard work!"

Mouthing a small 'thank you', I smiled and nodded before slumping upstairs to my bedroom. As I reached my bed, I noticed all my biology books, which were previously scattered across the living room table, all stacked in the order of importance for the exam on Monday. I grinned to myself at Freddie's attempt of helping me study, although I know he only did it because he hates when I leave my books around the apartment. I can barely sleep, my eyes are refusing to close and my mind wanders back to Roger with every attempt of rest. I can't help but agonise over the situation; knowing something was going to go wrong and my life was going to be ruined.

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everydaymamaof3 · 5 years

Text

Am I Doing This Right?

It's been a little while since I blogged. I just didn't have the time, working on finishing my certification, kids, work, life. I felt a bit like I had a mental block or fog too. There was definitely a shift happening in my world. Couldn't really put a finger on it...but the fog started making sense recently. I am a mama to three girls. A young adult, a tween and a young child. My world is filled with their ups and downs, their transitions, their challenges...and right now, during these ages, it's a lot of transitions and growth. My oldest is about to graduate University, thinking about where they'll live, where she'll get hired as an RN. Where, benefits both of them, her and her fiance. So in the back of my mind, I'm thinking of places, I'm thinking of the move, how far away, the changes coming, picturing places they'll rent or maybe buy, imagining their future. A backyard maybe? All good positive, next steps of life thoughts....will we see them at Christmas? What kind of shifts will she have? All while also thinking of their wedding. Budgeting. Planning. Catering. Maybe that’s just my over excited thoughts? I am excited! My daughter is getting married and starting a career as a nurse. It makes the moments I felt like a complete failure as a mother, feel like an eternity ago, and so meaningless now.

So that's just one kiddo who's life is on my mind. My tween, well, she's only ten, but I'm starting to see a glimmer of a tweenager. I've really been paying close attention to her mood swings. Her frustrations, her attitude shifts. For awhile, I was so stressed about it, she was just easily irritated, easily frustrated, more emotional than normal, and the mother, Sherlock Holmes in me, was struggling to figure out what was going on. Well, I figured it out. It was her tablet. Now know this, I am not a person who judges, I don't care how much time other people's children spend on tablets, or what you use them for, these opinions are strictly my own, and behaviour I personally noticed in my own child.

She was on it for maybe an hour or so a day...sometimes not at all...I thought, meh, she's just watching craft videos, funny videos, but then we started noticing the attitude, the withdraw. I would notice her go from completely entranced by the screen, to pissed off at the world when she was told to put it away. Ok. I see what's happening here. So, we had a family meeting, and we eliminated tablets Monday to Friday. They're allowed to have them on Friday evenings, Saturdays on our hour long sport commute, and Sundays for an hour in the morning. I started looking at what they were watching. Kids doing stupid things. Kids lip syncing. 5 minute crafts was featuring how to turn your t shirt into a belly shirt. Or how to plump up your lips by sticking them in a plastic container??! Why are my children so interested in this. So I felt a bit like I wasn't doing my job as a parent, allowing them to watch these things. The headline 5 minute crafts. It just HAS to sneak in that useless garbage for our kids. Frustrating. I also took a look at myself. How much screen time I have. How I hear my kids say, "mom, you didn't hear me because you were on your phone", you’re right, and point taken.

We made changes. We’re back to seeing our kids actually make the crafts they watched now that the tablets are put away during the week. We’re usually on an adventure on the weekends so if there’s down time, they go on. They're back to being active and busy, and creative and the attitude has improved immensely. There's still days I'm pulling my hair out because I get "the tone" that puts us moms over the edge. Or stomping. Or fighting...I think for the most part, for having a four year age gap, they get along incredibly well. I remind myself, my middle daughter is entering some scary territory with hormones and puberty and boys, and mean girls, and body image....I remind myself that I have a really big job ahead, and it's gonna be hard. It's gonna be emotionally, physically, and mentally challenging. I've raised one teenage girl. Two more to go. We got this. And in the meantime we’ll continue to embrace the innocence ❤️

My girls are growing up in a different society. Even one that is different from when my oldest was a teen. And that wasn’t that long ago...5 years. One I'm still learning how to navigate. What is right. What is wrong. What age is right for this or that? It seems so much harder than simpler times when we were growing up. Although I'm sure mama's of the past would disagree. It was probably just as hard, just a different world. Different challenges. Different ways to deal, but parenting is universal. Teach, help, protect, guide, comfort, observe, learn, none of that has changed..

My littlest is learning to be more independent. She's letting go of me bit by bit, but still just as cautious as always. She still wants to be picked up for hugs, which thankfully, I can still pick up 44 pounds..mind you, being the last baby, I'll probably still pick her up at 74 pounds. She is very much my shadow, and places another challenge on me, making sure I'm giving the same amount of time and attention to my ten year old. AND my twenty two year old. I'm just hanging on tight as long as I can. They’re growing up so fast, and wanting less and less of me. I know. This is good. This means you're doing your job as a good mom and raising independent kids. Still doesn't take away the desire to spend every minute with them before they say "bye mom" *gulp*

The greatest joy for me is watching them through these stages and phases. Even though it's hard sometimes, it's draining, it's also rewarding, and makes me so proud. But it can be terrifying. Hoping I'm doing what's best for them. Always. Everyday. But then feeling guilty when I want space from them. Doesn't that suck! You’re at the point of exhaustion, ready to tear everyone's head off in the house, give yourself a break, and feel bad about it.

I shake my head.

No matter what though, self care is crucial.

So on top of my mind being fully occupied by my children's lives, I also need room in there for my work, for my marriage, for my friendships, most importantly for my health and well being.

To be a fly in the brain of a modern day woman. It would be incredibly fascinating! Like a room full of computers, buzzing madly, spitting out information every second of every day....and then re inputting it back into the computer to re analyze it, go over it, and spit it back out!

I have to remember to try and quiet my mind though. Stay on top of my mental health with breaks. Me time. Quiet. Running. Yoga. Coffee Dates. Massages. Facials. Reading. Uninterrupted conversations with my husband. Date nights. It's part of being a good mom, wife, friend, teacher, running on a full cup, not an empty cup. Sometimes we need a reminder though. "Hey, you know that life cup...it's about to spill" Don't you wish there was a little alarm in our brains that beeped when it was time to reboot. Instead, our reminders come in a form of illness, breakdowns, or our inner Cruella Deville's emerge.

I'm doing my best to stay on top of life’s balance. Sometimes I fail miserably. Sometimes I'm the healthiest, happiest human being, living my best life! I love my life. And I love being a writer, so I can feel like a normal mom, a normal woman, in a hurry up, noisy, busy world ❤️

#parenting #motherhood #balance

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sarcasticsidecomment · 7 years

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So its been a really hard day, week, month, basically since midterms. The past two weeks have been the worst. Last week I had play practices until 8 PM most days except I skipped on Wednesday because of a jazz competition where we got back at about 11 or so. Then on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday we had our performances. There were two on Saturday and each performance was about two hours plus another two hours for before and after stuff. In my family we aren't supposed to do homework on Sundays (its a family/church day) so I have to wait until my parents go to bed or sneak stuff down to my room to do homework. This year I'm taking 12 classes two are APs, one was a semester class so now I have a study hall. Five are music so they all sort of fit into the same period and one is a before school church class ever morning at 6:10. Its a 20 minute drive and my family reads scriptures together before my brother and I leave. My dad is a lawyer and also has a bunch of religious responsibilities and is part of a volleyball league so he's almost never home. My mom deals with five kids, her own religious responsibilities and other stuff but she does way less than I do but always seems more stressed and I don't understand. As the parent she's supposed to be calm and understanding and ask about my day. Because of everything last week I was up almost all night Sunday-Saturday but I eventually went to bed in time to get about an hour of sleep. I also tutor two hours a week. I got four hours of sleep the next night and 11 the night after that. Because I'm used to an overall average of less than 6 hours of sleep a night (including weekends) and probably way less than that for just school nights, getting more than about 7 hours of sleep gives me huge headaches. Eleven really really hurt even after ibuprofen. Today at school I only had physics, AP Stats, Spanish, and music. but in the order 1 4 2 3. Our schedule is really weird. Most days we have seven classes and our rotation schedule has 7 days meaning that we never have the same class order more often then once every seven days. I was up until about 12h30 trying to finish a take home physics test that we had all gotten a week ago but I hadn't had time to start yet because I was working on getting caught up from everything I had missed the week before. I decided to take an hour nap because I literally couldn't keep my eyes open and I had only gotten about a forth of the test done. I'll explain more later, but this teacher gives really hard tests. I was crying (which despite all the crap and pressure I'm under I hadn't done since last summer) and I almost self-harmed again so I just decided to take the nap. My alarms didn't go off until 5h30 as usual so I didn't get any more work done. I got some done from the 45 min I have before school starts after I get to the building after my church class but before classes start but I was tutoring so I gave him some busy work a and worked on physics. This class was first starting at 8 so 3 min to the bell I went up. About 15 minutes into class, I learned that most people hadn't finished the test. His tests are usually really hard to show for sure that you have mastered the material which I hadn't because I had been distracted with lack of sleep and the musical. He decided to give the class until the end of the day to pass in the tests (which was very nice, but pretty typical of this teacher). He is really positive but not annoyingly so and not in a naive way either. Just being in the classroom really helped me to calm down and relax a bit, I almost started crying again from relief (my eyes still teared up a bit) but I managed not to. I didn't really get much done and really only figured out that I really didn't know what I was doing but he said that we could come in after school at least until 4 because he was leaving at 4h30. The bell rang and I had jazz. I only play one of the three jazz songs so I did my math during the time I wasn't playing. I ran a meeting for chorale council during lunch (I'm one of the presidents) them went to math, I'd brought in a pie for homework passes two days earlier and it had been in the freezer, it was the class favorite. At his point my phone was dead because it hadn't fully charged last night. I did my Spanish worksheet during math. And quickly wrote down a speech in Spanish about how I was the best candidate for student body president. I'm also really behind in math. Once I got to Spanish, I took my speech and turned it into notes instead. My speech went pretty well. And class was fine. I went to jazz after school and that went okay. Then I went up too Dudley's room. Two of my friends were already there getting help with the test but I think they were done and were just hanging out because Dudley is so amazing and calming. Ryley and Mackenzie (they're both guys by the way) came over and talked for a few minutes while I worked on the test. Apparently I looked really tired because they started telling Dudley about how I got about 4 hours of sleep a night and how I needed to get more sleep and about how much I do. Dudley said I looked exhausted. After they left we talked a bit on and off while I worked on my test. I didn't ask for it but he asked if I wanted an extension until Tuesday, which I accepted. I worked on the test for about an hour and a half until 4-ish. He looked over my test and said that for two of the four questions I had it almost perfect and I had the right idea with the other two. He told me that I looked exhausted, to get some sleep, and to take care of myself. I love my parents and siblings and I know in my head that they love me too but they don't notice when I get an hour of sleep or when I'm upset about an assignment or test, or when I haven't showered in two weeks (yes, I know, it happens sometimes, I forget because I don't have time) they don't ask about my day, or want to do things with me, give me hugs or tough me at all usually, or help me with stuff, or talk to me, or ask about my music, or really anything. Ever day when I leave its the exact same words- Have a good day. They're like roommates that ignore me most of the time. Dudley is just a teacher, but he writes notes on his student's tests when he hands them out praising their individual strengths. He knows who my friends are and what I'm having problems with. He asks how I'm doing and I try to answer honestly because I know he cares and wants to know. Yes he is just a teacher, but he keeps things appropriate and professional while still really helping his students. Family is supposed to help you but I feel like mine holds me back, degrades, ignores me, and neglects me. I don't blame them for overlooking me, it is just a fact. My friends act like siblings should, and I feel like Dudley acts somewhat like a father and Ewing acts somewhat like a grandmother. Then my biological family gets angry when I spend so much time at school. Well that is where I get things done, that is where I feel loved, that is where people pay attention to me, and care about me. Here I just feel like my rent is overdue. They aren't bad people, just distracted.

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