#I have just cried for a solid thirty minutes. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kil-g · 9 months

Text

surprise

a/n: i got too sad after writing that last thing and needed to do something silly

summary: there's a new member of the household and you have to convince simon to like them.

g!n reader; civvy!reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: simon being mean to a dog :(

---

“Hey, I’m…uh—I’m on my way home.”

“Oh!” You say.

There’s a certain exasperation to your voice that makes him think that you’re somewhere that isn’t the house. He puts his phone down in the cupholder and places both of his hands on the wheel of the car.

“In an hour.”

“An hour?”

“An hour.”

“Could you fuck off somewhere and maybe make it, like an hour and a half?”

“I’d like to go home.”

“I know, yes. I know. It’s just that I have this whole thing planned and I need an extra thirty minutes. You’d be doing me a pretty big solid if you fucked off for a little bit longer.”

“I’m tired and I’m hungry. I’m not gonna fuck off.”

“What, are we making this a race?”

“You can race. I’m going home.”

“Okay, we’re gonna race.” You say, halfway through laughter.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises.” He says.

“Well, I love you and I need you to suck it up because it’s a pretty cool surprise.”

Simon blinks, keeping his eyes on the road. Then, he sighs and says, “I’ll see you at home.”

“Not if I see you first!” You reply, this time a little out of breath.

“I’m not racing you.”

“Scared you’re gonna lose?”

“Goodbye.”

“Love you!”

The line dies out.

Part of him wants to be annoyed. Surprises weren’t exactly his favorite thing in the world. He especially did not like such a surprise that would keep him from coming home after a very long month of trying not to die in a violent, fiery explosion. And, he deeply, desperately wanted to lie down in a bed with an actual mattress, real pillows, and clean blankets.

But, for the life of him, he could not think of anything more unbearable than the thought of letting you down.

It was almost laughable. Simon is first and foremost a soldier. And, when you’re a soldier first before anything else, like a friend, companion, romantic partner, let downs were par for the course. A birthday, an anniversary. Celebrating a promotion or any other achievement of the like. Those didn’t even come secondary or even tertiary on the line of things that needed to be cared about.

And, the worst part, is that you tolerated it. Sure, there was a certain disappointment to a missed call or text. Despite that, you loved him with a stability that he couldn’t possibly be more grateful for. It made him feel almost normal. Normalcy was a luxury someone like him couldn’t typically afford.

So, before he pulls his car into the driveway, Simon mentally prepares himself to be open-minded. Whatever the surprise was, he would do his best to actually try and enjoy it. That is until he unlocked the front door to the house and stepped in, only to be greeted with the sight of a dog sitting up, barking at him from within a metal crate.

She was clearly still a pup. Her paws are far too big for the size that she currently was. And, the more clear it is that Simon was no threat to her, the more she cries to be let out. Though, Simon makes no move to do any such thing. Instead, he sits on the couch and looks back at her until eventually, she stops making noise all together and resolves herself to sit quietly. Each time Simon accidentally catches her eye, her tail wags, bumping against the floor of her crate softly.

This goes on for about twenty more minutes before a key turns in the door knob once again. You step through, carrying bags of groceries.

“Sweetheart.”

“Can you help me with these?” You say.

Simon gets up, takes bags out of your hands and walks them into the kitchen. “Why is there a dog in the house?”

You lean down to lift the latch off of the door and the dog comes barreling out. “You couldn’t have opened her crate up for her? Why were you just staring at her like a weirdo? It’s a dog.”

“Why is there a dog in the house?”

“It’s our dog.” From one of the bags you were still holding, you pull out a bag of dog treats and throw it at Simon. “Give her one of these so she knows you’re not a complete hardass.”

“I’m not giving it anything.”

“Simon.”

He looks back at you. And, from the way you stare back at him, it becomes more and more clear that this dog is one of the very very few things that you simply won’t back down on.

In fact, there were toys all over the ground. He’s not sure how he didn’t notice them earlier. And, with an attentiveness that only slightly put him off, the dog fell into step beside you following you very closely while also looking up at you for any sign of praise or reward.

Simon inhales, then exhales. He grumbles under his breath, then rips the bag of treats open and kneels down with one of them in his hand. When the dog notices, she clumsily stumbles her way over to him and gratefully takes the treat from out of his fingers.

You appear at his side and kneel down next to him, pressing a kiss against his cheek. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Whose dog is this?”

“Ours.”

“I don’t want a dog.”

“You’ll learn to want a dog.” You say, jokingly. Your hands wrap around his arm and shake him gently.

“I’m serious.”

“Well, you aren’t exactly home very often. I think the decision is mine.” You say, firmly. “And, as sad as it is to admit, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t lonely, sometimes.”

He can feel the weight of your head on his shoulder. He doubts that your intent is to guilt him–but if it is, it’s certainly working.

The dog nudges her wet nose into the palm of his hand. No doubt looking for more treats Her head is smaller than his hand. As gently as possible, he brushes his knuckles over her head.

“Does the dog… make you feel less lonely?”

“Yes. Most of the time.”

He rests his palm over her head now, brushing his thumb back and forth over the space between her eyes.

“What’s it’s name then?”

“Goose.”

“Stupid fucking name.” He says, softly.

“Fuck you.” You laugh. “You love it. Asshole.”

Goose walks in a circle in her spot, then sits with her back turned to him. She leans her weight against his knee.

“Not much of a guard dog.” He murmurs, and you reach a hand to scratch behind her ear. “Hardly did anything when I came in.”

“Because she’s a good girl.” You say.

He can feel her tail hit his foot at the sudden excitement at being praised for being anything. “If she’s gonna stay in this house, she’s gonna have to protect it.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Simon takes another treat out of the bag. Goose does absolutely nothing to hide her excitement. “And, how did this happen?”

“She got dumped outside of my work. No one wanted to take her so I took her.” You say. Simon looks at you and you look back at him. “No chip, no collar. She was wandering around our parking lot for hours, I think. Probably waiting for whoever dumped her. Vet said she can’t be any older than five months.”

“When was this?”

“About a month and a half ago.” You rub your thumb against his arm and press your mouth against his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Yeah.”

“So, what do you think?”

Slowly, Goose sinks down closer to the ground and settles her chin over her far-too-big paws. She looks at Simon, blinking at him with big eyes before they slowly settle into a nap.

“I think that a dog is a perfect waste of space.”

“Okay, what do you really think?” You chuckle.

He sighs. A moment passes of complete silence. You’re hanging onto his arm, kneeling beside him as you both look down at this dog who can only get bigger and dirtier and stupider. This dog, who is also very soft and sweet. And, while (in his own opinion) he might be something of a monster, Simon couldn’t allow himself to be completely heartless. He couldn’t be the thing that takes away the bits of happiness that you can find for yourself.

“If it makes you happy, then I can hardly say no.”

You smile at him, give his arm a squeeze, and press another kiss on his cheek. You stand, “Do you wanna help me with dinner?”

“I’m gonna get cleaned up first.”

You hum in response but before you can fully turn away, he takes your hand and places a kiss on your cheek just below your eye, then another on your mouth. And in the moment that either of you are looking away from Goose, she gets up and begins chewing on his shoelaces.

“She likes you.”

“If I’m lucky it’ll pass.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t say that it will.”

Another moment passes where it’s nearly completely silent, save for the sound of Goose’s mouth gnawing the little strings attached to Simon’s feet. Then, slowly, you wrap your arms around his neck and give him a squeeze.

Then, you pull away, picking up Goose with a labored groan. You walk her over to the back door, open it, and place her down at the threshold. She all but stumbles down the steps into the backyard.

“Well, go get cleaned up if you really wanna help me with dinner.”

Simon watches you empty out grocery bags, then sighs. You listen to his footsteps walk farther into the house. And, through the window, you watch Goose twist up and roll into a splotch of mud.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley reader insert #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost reader insert #mw2 x reader

1K notes · View notes

baby-yongbok · 8 months

Text

You & Me

Han Jisung x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, idol

✨️Masterlist✨️

Warnings: mentions of wanting to die. (It's just for a second, I swear), Themes of a breakup/ ended relationship

Word Count: 1,460

Note: As soon as I heard Miserable (You & Me) I knew that I had to write based off of the lyrics. So I wrote this in thirty minutes while on anxiety medication that makes me a zombie so I'm sorry if it sucks but I actually love it.

Summary: You and Han's last call is emotional, to say the least.

"Did you tell them yet?" You whispered into your phone receiver. Han was quiet for a second before sighing heavily.

"No… I'm not sure that I know how to. Do I just say, hey guys y/n and I broke up during rehearsal or something?" He lets out a sad chuckle and a ghost of a smile pulls at your lips.

"Just sit them down and tell them, Ji… I don't want you to go through this alone." It's quiet for a few seconds. The dim light in your room embracing you softly, mirroring how you feel inside.

"I'm not going through this alone… you're going through it too."

"You know what I mean, Ji." You sigh, shutting your eyes and leaning your head against your bed's headboard. "You know… we probably won't really talk anymore anyway so -"

"Don't say that." Han's words are rushed but you can still hear the pain behind them. "Of course we can talk."

"About what? Do you want to reminisce about all of our arguments? Or talk about the future we gave up on? Talking to you would just…" Your voice grows smaller as you process your emotions.

"Don't." Han whispers, you can imagine his pained facial expression. Eyes closed and his nose slightly scrunched as he battled his heavy thoughts.

"It would just be painful… for both of us and I don't want you to be in any more pain, Jisung."

"Then let's fix this, y/n… let's figure out the long distance."

"Ji…"

"Please, you don't understand how many times I shut my eyes and hope that when I open them that this is all a dream. For two years you have been my everything, y/n. You have been the center of everything, you are a part of my life and if I have to let you go…if I really have to let you go then I honestly rather be dead."

Tears fall down your cheeks as you bring your knees to your chest and shrink into yourself. You knew that this would be hard when you decided to break up with Han but you also knew that the long distance and constant fighting wasn't what either of you needed or wanted right now. Deep down Han knew that too, he was just too afraid to say it.

"I know that this is hard… I've cried every night since we talked about it but this just can't work… I never see you, Ji… your job is something bigger than the both of us right now and it's not anyone's fault… it's just how your life is designed and right now I don't fit here… we don't fit here." You hear Han sniffle on the other line and you swear that your heart breaks a bit more. The sound only makes your own tears fall heavier.

"Is there someone else?" His question comes out in a whisper. He didn't want to ask it but knowing him he probably couldn't go another second without a solid answer to his intrusive thoughts.

"Of course not."

"Then… then tell me you're still mine, baby, please."

"Jisung… you shouldn't call me that." You pull your lips into a thin line as you take in the silence on the other line. At this point the silence has said more than either of you for this entire conversation.

"Please." His voice is once again barely above a whisper and you bring a hand up over your heart to make sure it's still beating. You're almost positive that the amount of pain in his voice could kill you but you have to try your best to stay strong. But, even if you are staying strong you can't leave him as the only one being vulnerable here, it just wouldn't be fair.

"I think… I think that I'll always be yours, you have my heart, Ji." That was the push that broke the dam for him. You listen helplessly as he sobs into his hands on the other line. You sit quietly trying not to succumb to your heavy emotions as well. The all too familiar silence swallows you both until your emotions seem to calm down a bit and all that's left is the sound of light panting and deep breaths every now and then.

"Do you remember when I came to visit you and I took you to the carnival?" A grin tugs at your lips as you shake your head.

"Yeah, I do, we got on the Ferris wheel because you swore you could handle it but you freaked out the second we started moving." You both chuckle lightly at the memory.

"It was terrifying but… when we got to the top and I looked at you.. and I watched you marvel at the view and that smile on your face when you pointed to the sunset…" He got quiet for a second as he recalled the memory. You could imagine a ghost of a smile across his lips.

"When I saw you looking like that… looking so beautiful, so breathtaking… I wasn't scared anymore, y/n." Now it was your turn to cry. The hand that was over your heart was now over your mouth as you tried your best to muffle your sobs. You knew it was no use, you knew that Han could tell that you were crying but you couldn't help yourself. You wanted to be strong for him.

"I kissed you on top of that Ferris wheel while the sun kissed the horizon and it was then that I knew that I love you."

"That was the first time you said it too." You manage to choke out through your small sobs. "I was so happy."

"I smiled for weeks after that. How could I not? You loved me.. I just.." The smile in his voice faded as reality hit him again. "I just wish that you would love me like that again."

"Han Jisung, I do love you… I love you with all of my heart but this relationship is going to hurt us way more than it is now if we don't take off our rose colored glasses and look at the reality of it all."

Han sighed in defeat, he knew you were right. The two of you weren't doing well with the distance and the dating rumors that social media constantly pushed out was not helping at all. They shipped Han with everyone they could think of which did horrible things for both your anxiety and his. You'd fight over pointless things and though you always made up you'd be fighting again a week later and it became a cycle that you two just couldn't seem to escape from. The last thing that you wanted to do was leave him but this just wasn't how your relationship was meant to go.

"You're my heart, you know? You always will be."

"You're my heart too, Ji."

"When I come to the states… Could I visit you?" He was shy to ask but he had to know if he could see you. It's all he ever wanted to do anyway, he always wanted to be around you. Hugging you, kissing you, cuddling you, and you used to love every second of it.

"You're always welcome here, Ji." You can nearly hear the smile that paints his face.

"And you're always welcome here, y/n… next time you come to Korea I'll show you all of the places I never got to show you while we were together… is that okay with you?" You smiled a sad smile 'while we were together' this is really over, huh?

"Sounds like a plan, Ji." Just as Han is about to reply you hear Changbin calling for him in the background and Han lets out a deep sigh. "Gotta go?"

"Yeah… we have promotions to do." His voice is sad again, small and distant.

"Can you promise that you'll take care of yourself, Ji… for me." Your voice is hopeful and pleading, something that Han can't seem to resist.

"For you, I'd do anything… So yeah, I promise." The silence came back to you both as you tried to figure out how to say goodbye.

"Well… I'll see you around, good luck."

"See you around, y/n.." Neither of you hung up for a couple of seconds, both wanting the other to say one last word. To hear one last breath escape their lips. Neither of you wanted to let go but you knew you had to. Just as you were about to hang up you heard Han's whispered words followed by the call ending. Tears welled up in your eyes once again as his words echoed through your head.

I love you, y/n

399 notes · View notes

liverpool-enjoyer · 1 year

Text

footballers at the airport/on a plane

requested by my lovely bestie @yudgefudge to whom i cannot apologize ENOUGH cause this is over a week late!!! thank you for requesting!! <3

leo: this man spends the entire time staring out the window, no headphones, no talking to friends, just raw dogging this flight.

ney: spends the flight telling luis about the fnaf lore. but its so complicated that he constantly contradicts himself and ends the flight more confused than when he started.

martial: kicks rashfords seat every couple minutes and pretends to be asleep whenever he turns around to investigate.

reece: watches a movie on the lil tv to pass the time. chooses the saddest, most GUT WRENCHING movie available and everyone stares at him while he ugly cries like he just lost one of his own.

lewy: wakes gavi and pedri up a solid six hours before their flight and drives AT LEAST thirty miles over the speed limit on the way to the airport. so stressed out for absolutely no reason. almost murders pedri for not printing out his boarding pass ahead of time.

luka: gets distracted at the airport gift shops and almost misses the flight. buys too many useless knick knacks than he knows what to do with.

gavi: since hes there so early he has an entire pizza n soda from the airport pizza hut at six in the morning. it cost fifty bucks.

milly: has to wrangle the entirety of lfc as everyone goes off to different restaurants/shops in the airport. stresses that they all need to be at the gate at a VERY SPECIFIC TIME. none of em are.

sergio: hates every second at security cause he thinks its a waste of time. ends up having to carry some of lukas souvenirs cause youre only allowed to bring so many bags per person on the plane.

trent: gets stopped at security and holds up the entire team cause they found fireworks or some shit in his luggage. claims it got in there by accident.

pep: ends up verbally abusing the airport employee who tells him that carry ons can only be 50 pounds. his bag weighs 53 and he refuses to pay the extra fee.

86 notes · View notes

noodl3s4dayz · 4 months

Text

Au stuff yippee!!

It had been nearly 14 years since she died. 14 years to move on, to start fresh somewhere new. And move on he did. That’s what Ted kept telling himself, at least. Some people thought he had murdered her, claiming he was only after her money and never even loved her in the first place. He wasn’t anywhere near Monte Carlo when it happened, but that didn’t stop some folks from… speculating.

Some claimed his life was easier with her “out of the way”. It was a lie. Ted had loved her, very dearly. Her death sent him into a spiral of depression, and when trying to forget she ever existed didn’t work, he tried to remember. Before he moved back to the States, Ted had rifled through her belongings, worn her dresses, looked through photos upon photos of him and her happy, beaming at whoever was taking the picture without a care in the world. That only made things worse. The more he reminisced, the more he wanted— needed to have her back.

Death doesn’t work that way, Ted reminded himself. He’d been grieving for more than a decade and it nearly drove him mad, and he decided that drowning his troubles in alcohol was the best course of action. It worked, for a while. He forgot, he became detached. Numb. He even tried his luck with women again, unfortunately for him it was a fruitless endeavor.

The last girl he tried to sleep with had shrieked in terror at what clothing luckily concealed. She had called him a freak. She screamed about how he had the wrong parts, that he was a stitched together monster, not a man. In his drunken, half conscious state he just cried, pleading for her to understand.

“S’ not my— hic — my f-fault! I was bor— born with it, please don’t leave me—“ he had blubbered, clinging to the woman’s arm for dear life. But she easily overpowered him, clawing his hand off her and dashing out of his spacious bedroom half naked before he could even finish the sentence. A few minutes had passed. Ted sat quietly on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor as he idly kicked his legs, tears streaming down his cheeks.

~~~

“I c-can’t do this anymore,” he muttered under his breath, not so much to himself as to his long dead lover. The next day he resolved to jump off that bridge he’d walked across with her a couple of times. They had marveled at how the trees on either side of the lake had perfectly framed a view of possibly the most beautiful oak forest he had ever laid his eyes on. Ted shook his head, pushing the now not-so-fond memory away. He pulled on a sweater that had been thrown into some dark corner of his room the night before, and after almost tripping down the marble staircase that led to the entryway, trudged out the front door, not bothering to close it behind him. He didn’t need to, after all. At some point he bent over and vomited during the leisurely walk to his death, mostly out of fear and anxiety for the events to come.

When he finally reached his destination, he noticed a rather tall man with a large pair of stupid looking orange tinted glasses on his face. He was leaning on the side of the bridge, staring into the distance with a small smile. Ted ignored him and clambered over the side of the wood and metal structure, shaking with fright but determined nonetheless. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forward. This was it. This is what he’d wanted to do since she died, and—

A solid thirty seconds went by and Ted didn’t… feel like he was falling. He cracked an eye open to confirm his suspicions. He wasn’t plummeting to his watery grave. Why? Ted pondered it for a moment, more alert and almost able to think straight now that most of the booze had left his system. He realized he wasn’t falling because there was a pair of meaty hands secured around his middle, effectively stopping Ted’s suicide attempt. Ted clawed at his savior’s hands but they wouldn’t budge, only moving to cross over his chest and drag him back over the side of the bridge. Ted flailed wildly in no particular direction to try and shake off whoever dared keep him from his lover, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“You— you bastard! Let me go right now you motherf—“ Ted was caught off guard by suddenly being hauled all the way over the railing, the hard landing on his back knocking the wind out of him. Ted hacked and coughed, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He heard a groan of pain above him.

I hope I broke something.

“Why were you doing that?” A man’s voice asked, and as Ted craned his neck to look up at him he recognized him as the man he’d seen smiling at nothing.

“Doing what?” Ted wheezed.

“Trying to kill yourself,” the man answered, seemingly unbothered by the action but instead curious about Ted’s motives.

“That’s— that’s none of y-your damn business, pal,” Ted grumbled, sitting up and brushing dirt off his jeans.

The man looked irked but didn’t press any further, extending his hand for Ted to take. Reluctantly, Ted took it and stood up, cursing at the pop his knees made. The two stood in silence for a while, Ted just holding onto the man’s hand.

“I’m Abner, in case you were wondering,” the man— Abner— said, breaking the awkward stretch of quiet. Ted snorted.

“That’s a funny name,” he murmured.

“Theodore, right?” Abner asked.

Ted stopped responding for a minute and the taller man let his eyes drift down to where Ted’s hand was still firmly gripping his. Ted’s head twitched slightly, and he remembered he was in the middle of a conversation.

“Wait, how do you—“

“Don’t be stupid, sweetheart, I don’t live under a rock,” Abner said before he could catch himself. He cleared his throat and added politely, “I mean, I just like to keep up with how the rich and famous are doing. Not much of anything else to do.” Ted’s mouth curled into a scowl and he yanked his hand away, then looked down in surprise as if he hadn’t previously noticed the contact.

“Thanks for the help,” Ted deadpanned, crossing his arms and turning to walk back home. Maybe I’ll just hang myself or something. He considered the possibility; it would hurt but it would get the job done.

“Wait, wait!” Abner called, running up to Ted and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Do you need something?” Ted growled.

“How do I know you won’t try it again?” Abner questioned, with just a hint of false sadness in his tone. No doubt pity.

“Why do you care?” Ted snapped. He pushed the other man away and walked a little faster.

“Because I know what you’re going through. You loved someone. She either left you or died.”

Ted froze.

“You don’t know that.”

“Enlighten me then. What happened?”

If he turned around, Ted was sure he’d see the man smirking.

“I— she died, yeah,” Ted mumbled. He paused for a moment before adding, “… and… and how would you know how it feels?”

“I’ve been divorced. Twice,” Abner explained nonchalantly.

This is stupid, Ted thought, He’s probably lying to me.

Ted turned around slowly, having to lift his chin to look the other man in the eye. Abner was not smirking, Ted noted. He looked… somber. Almost. Maybe Ted was just reading into his expression too much.

“I can tell you don’t believe me,” Abner whispered.

“I mean I never s-said that but— I— you’re a stranger! I don’t know you! You could just be trying to lure me back to your place to drug me and— and strangle me!” Ted made a dramatic choking gesture to get his point across.

“If I wanted you to die I would have let you go over that bridge,” Abner said, a little bit of bite to his voice. Ted swallowed hard.

“D-do you want a drink?” Ted offered.

~~~

Abner gasped in awe at the interior of Ted’s “humble abode.” Ted casually lied that he just happened to be born into wealth, not bothering with the monotonous details of the farm, or his six siblings, OR the fact that he was lucky to have had a woman– a very wealthy woman— become enamored with him. Telling Abner to make himself at home (hesitantly, as part of Ted was still convinced he was a murderer), Ted descended a well worn staircase to the basement. Ted grimaced at his near barren cellar, making a mental note to get more wine if he decided not to end his own life. He soon emerged from the dark recesses of the space with a bottle of champagne in hand, popping the cork off and taking a swig from the bottle before pouring Abner a glass.

By the time the sun set most all of the champagne was gone and Ted was crying again. Over her, over not being able to be there, over not even going to her funeral. Both Ted and his companion were seated on a large cushioned sofa. Abner was afraid of scooting closer to Ted’s shaking form but wanted to seem like someone to go to in times of need, all the while. He didn’t have much time to think about it. Ted thrust himself forward and grasped the front of Abner’s coat tightly, sobbing into his chest.

“I, um, I can relate to that. My first wife had a miscarriage,” Abner muttered, shifting in place, “we were going to name him Nicholas. It was hard on both of us but her especially. She couldn’t…she couldn’t really stand to be around me after that.” Ted smiled slightly at the other man being able to understand the tragedy of death but still kept weeping, staining the front of Abner’s shirt with snot and tears. The taller man just bent over a bit to set his glass on a small table in front of him. He didn’t care about that shirt anyways. He pretended not to, at least.

That’s when Ted leaned his head back to stare up at him, eyes glassy. Abner didn’t even have a second to react before Ted smashed their lips together. Ted slid his hands from Abner’s lapels to his face, cupping it tightly as if to make sure the man in front of him was real. After a few moments Ted pulled away from Abner’s mouth with a wet smack and an expression of pure dread spreading across his features.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I— I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he slurred. His head thumped against Abner’s chest; Ted was clearly out cold. The other man blinked a couple of times. He licked his bottom lip, still wet with Ted’s bitter tasting saliva. He briefly considered bashing Ted’s head in and washing his mouth out with soap before opting to place his hands on Ted’s back, tracing his fingers along Ted’s spine.

“What a sap,” Abner giggled.

#ihnmaims #ted ihnmaims #Au #yes i did warp the timeline #Sorry #abner maguire #I wanted to write kissing and accidentally added 1878 words of plot whoops #Tw suicide attempt #TedAM #This is kind of told from Ted’s perspective

14 notes · View notes

ackackh · 7 months

Text

Hello! @eugeneroehoe ! I’m your secret gift-giver! I had a really great time writing this, but can you tell I’m long-winded? Paring this down was a challenge!

I’ll post the story here below the cut and link to my AO3. I hope you like it!

Winter’s comin’ in hard. Only October and the season’s first long drift of snow has blown over their village swiftly these past three days. His Andy has been sleeping poorly—says the cold air makes his head hurt, but Eddie hardly sleeps anyway and he’s been watching Andy fight his way in and outta dreams for months. Years. Puts him back to bed with his mouth when Andy wakes up gasping or crying. Could almost appreciate the arrangement, if it didn’t mean Andy were so far away, somewhere in the Solomons without him.

Massachusetts and Maryland don’t seem all that far apart, but the winters up North ain’t like nothin’ Eddie’s ever seen. Eight years out and six years here, Eddie still don’t understand how Andy can smoke barefoot on their back porch like it ain’t 15 degrees in the sunshine, like Eddie ain’t shivering in a blanket by their wood stove.

This morning, Eddie regrets having to leave him before dawn. He dresses in his own trousers and Andy’s flannel shirt and jacket, his own boots and belt and Andy’s wool coat. When he gets to the Matthews’, they won’t be able to see it, the way he’s got Andy’s love dripping off him, but he’ll know. It’s what keeps him company on these odd jobs.

On the roof, Eddie yanks off one glove with his teeth, needs to get a better hold on this shingle and nail, but the sun has only been shining on his back for thirty minutes, so it shouldn’t surprise that his fingers freeze near-solid and clumsy. He near deserves it when his hammer comes down to shatter them.

“Skip?” Eddie calls into their home, nose nipped red, his dumb, injured fingers curled up into his sleeve, as he shucks out of Andy’s coat. He gives up on his bootlaces without much effort, instead stomps the packed snow from the tread and calls again when he receives no answer, “Andy?”

He finds him in the back of their home where the kitchen in sunk, a step down from the rest of the house, and bathed yellow in late morning light. Impossibly inviting with his cotton shirt and blue jeans and pale, bare feet. He’s turned away, his hip leant against the kitchen counter, head cocked to the side as he examines their refrigerator. Eddie knows just from the set of his shoulders that he’s scowling at it.

“As much as I admire that look in a CO, I doubt you could win a staring contest with a machine, Skip.” teases Eddie, stepping down into the kitchen. Always fuckin’ cold in here, three bare walls tryin’ to keep out the winter. Failing most days, too.

But Andy doesn’t move. Outside, the weather is picking up again, the window above the sink has frosted shut despite the sun’s better efforts to thaw it. Eddie’s frozen, busted fingers throb in sympathy.

“Hey,” Eddie comes to his back, tapping the counter next to Andy’s hip, and wrapping an arm around his waist as he startles some. Andy blinks, and Eddie catches the moment he realizes it’s him. When he sighs and smiles and leans back into his embrace, Eddie’s own darlin’. He squeezes him ‘round the middle, kisses his temple—that secret and favorite place of his, where Andy’s startin’ to gray—and looks over Andy’s shoulder to find what he’d been glarin’ at: the note Eddie left him this morning.

He sets another kiss below Andy’s ear—right where the wire oughtta be—and hums a realization into his neck. Gently twisting Andy to face him, Eddie signs and asks aloud, “Where are your ears?”

They’re new, and fucking expensive. Seven years and some months of living with one ear out of commission, Andy cried and told Eddie, I’d forgotten what your voice was like all around me.

Now, Andy shakes his head and tells him, “Took ‘em out, was bothering me. Everything makes so much noise now. Did you know this goddamn thing buzzes?” He jabs a thumb at the fridge. Andy never bothers to sign back, even after all the time spent learning.

“That what’s bothering you?” Eddie raises his brow. He curls his fingers around the shell of Andy’s ear, like he might soothe him.

“That—and then this.” He turns and snatches down the note. “I remember there was something today, you told me yesterday.”

“That’s right.”

“But I couldn’t remember what. And then this... Like it’s written in fucking Chinese. I can’t read the damn thing.”

Eddie assures him, “It ain’t important,” and takes the note from Andy’s fist, “Says I was at the Matthew’s.” Andy watches Eddie as he throws it away, asking, signing, “you remember me sayin’ that last night?”

“I do. Now, I do.”

Eddie dips in for a kiss, but Andy’s sour scowl is still there when he pulls away.

“Head’s like cotton today.” Andy says.

Andy’s winter is comin’ in hard. So, Eddie kisses him again and brews them coffee while Andy curls up by the window, cracked open so he can smoke inside. When Eddie passes him his drink, Andy snatches up his half-broken hand and flattens it against his palm. Worries at where his fingernails have gone purple.

“What did you do?”

Andy don’t believe him when he says it’s nothing. Gently, he curls his hand around Eddie’s battered fingers and brings them to his lips to kiss them right, and nothing can quell the falling and flying of Eddie’s heart, a fluttering bird. Andy is the best man Eddie knows; it’s a marvel sometimes, to be loved by him.

Eddie settles into his place behind Andy, curving around him like a river. Hums a song he’s heard somewhere, low and warm, and Andy keeps his place in Eddie’s arms until the quiet of the snow and the warmth of Eddie’s body have lulled him to sleep. Hands cradling Eddie’s precious fingers, even here he doesn’t let go.

#hbowardaily #gift exchange #fic #hbo war #andyeddie #the pacific

8 notes · View notes

thruheavenandhighwater · 1 year

Text

Prom Night

Pairing: Eddie Munson/ Female OC

Requested By: NA

Word Count: 4,600

Summary: After finally getting the courage to ask out the girl of his dreams, Eddie takes to her to their senior prom.

Part two of Leap of Faith

Eddie Munson Masterlist Stranger Things Masterlist Series Masterlist

~~~~~

"You look good, kid," Wayne beamed as he stepped back to take in the sight in front of him. He felt pride swell in his chest as he gave his nephew a once over. Eddie was a few inches shorter than him, so the suit that he'd borrowed didn't sit exactly right on his frame, but it worked.

Eddie smiled as he turned away from Wayne to inspect himself in the small bathroom mirror. He tugged at the lapels of the black jacket, straightening them against his chest. A wave of nerves crashed over Eddie without warning.

"I can't go," he cried as he ripped the jacket off and tossed it to Wayne. "You gotta call her, man. Tell her I died or something."

“Eddie, calm down,” Wayne ordered, putting on the dad voice he rarely ever used. “You’re gonna go pick her up, you’re gonna dance, and you’re gonna get her home thirty minutes before curfew. Am I making myself clear?”

Eddie nodded, taking the jacket from his uncle. He sighed as he shrugged the jacket over his shoulders. He looked into the mirror once more. He saw Wayne standing behind him and caught his uncle’s reflection, making eye contact through the mirror. “I do look pretty good, huh?”

Wayne rolled his eyes and walked away from the bathroom. Eddie took a few moments to collect himself, to just breathe. He allowed Wayne to take a few Polaroids of him in his suit in the living room. He knew damn well this might be his only opportunity to see him in anything other than torn jeans and black t-shirts.

The drive across town was too long, Eddie thought. It gave him ample time to overthink everything about what was going on. Why would she agree to go with him? Did she lose a bet? Was she just so desperate for a date? Should he have cleaned the van more before picking her up?

When he parked in front of her house he took a moment to quickly clean the front seat. That would be enough, right? It’s not like he was planning to give her a grand tour of the entire vehicle before the night was over. Sure, some guys had spent the last month bragging about how they were going to ‘get lucky’ on prom night, but Eddie did not. He wasn’t that kind of guy.

He walked up the steps to her front door. He took a moment to take a deep breath before bringing his hand up and knocking three times on the door in front of him. He heard shuffling behind the door before a man a little younger than Wayne swung it open.

“Eddie?” He asked, cocking his eyebrow.

“Yes, sir.”

The man eyed him harshly. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was scrutinizing everything about Eddie. "Now, son, I'm letting you take my only daughter out tonight under the assumption that you know a few things, but just for my own sanity, I'm gonna lay them out." Eddie didn't even blink as her father began to list them. "First, she will be home by midnight. If she's not in her bed at 12:01, I'm gonna come looking. Now this one's the most important so listen closely. She will be treated with respect. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Eddie nodded, swallowing around nothing as he stood under her father's scrutiny.

Suddenly his features softened. His eyes, too similar to his daughter's, lit up above a bright smile. "Well, alright then," he said, clapping a heavy hand on Eddie's shoulder.

"Oh, Brian, let him go," her mother called from another room.

Her father, Brian, kept a steady, solid hand on Eddie's shoulder as he led him in the direction of her voice. They turned a corner into the living room. Her mother stood on the opposite side of the room, camera to her face while she took photos.

From the back all he could see was her dress and her hair. Her dress was a shiny green number that stopped at her knees. Her hair was teased a little higher than normal for the occasion. She turned to Eddie with a smile and he would swear till his dying day that the sun was shining right there in that living room. She smiled up at him almost shyly, tucking her hair behind her ear. He was frozen in his spot when his eyes met hers.

"Hi, Eddie," she greeted quietly.

"You… you’re beautiful," he sighed. It was the only thing he could say, the only thing he could think. He barely registered Brian's hand squeezing his shoulder. He watched a deep pink blush crawl across her cheeks and her eyes fell to the carpeted floor between their shoes. She mumbled a quiet thank you and the moment was thankfully saved when her mother called Eddie into the room.

"Come on," she called to him. "Let me get a few more pictures and then I'll let you guys go."

Her mother snapped off pictures, adding them to a pile on the coffee table. When she was satisfied, she handed the camera to her daughter.

"Have fun, baby," she whispered to her daughter as she pulled her in for a hug. "Take pictures. I don't want any of those coming back unused." She smiled and shoved the camera into her purse.

The drive to the dance was awkward at best. Neither of them could think of anything particularly clever to say to the other. Eddie kept his music down much lower than he usually liked, for her benefit. He’d even borrowed a mix tape from Robin. She insisted on it, telling him that no normal girl would want to listen to Ozzy on her way to her senior prom. He wasn’t exactly sure what was currently playing, but he hoped that she liked it.

By the time he parked at the hotel that would be serving as their venue for the evening, he could have sworn he was sweating through his suit. But she seemed as cool and relaxed as ever. Her smile never faltered, not once in the 30 minute drive there. The sun was still high over them as they stood from the vehicle. The school, or maybe some overzealous PTA moms, had organized meals in the hotel restaurant for students.

“Should we like, eat? Or something?” He asked nervously as the heavy glass door closed behind him.

“Not hungry,” she answered. “Can I be real with you?” He nodded his head silently. “I’m so nervous right now I couldn’t eat a bite if I had to.”

“You? You’re nervous?”

“Well, yeah,” she laughed. She led him to the table at the front of the banquet room. They both flashed their tickets to the bored looking faculty volunteers manning the table before walking into the room.

“If it makes you feel better, I’m nervous, too.”

“It actually kinda does,” she answered with a smile.

The room seemed somehow so large and so cramped at the same time. Their entire graduating class, plus some of their dates from other schools all crammed into the room beneath the bright lights that had been set up by the DJ. They stood somewhat anxiously near the exit while a song neither of them seemed to know played over the speakers.

“Are you thirsty?” He asked, leaning in to her to be heard over the music. She nodded, taking his hand in hers and walking with him to the small concessions table on the opposite side of the room. They collected plastic cups of watered down fruit punch from the PTA moms who were running the table.

They sipped at their drinks uncomfortably as they swayed in place next to the wall. Eddie wished that he could think of something, anything, to break the tense silence that they found themselves in. She wished that she could be just a bit more brave. She’d already reached out, taken his hand in her own. How was she still too afraid to talk to him?

“Kinda wish I’d thought to pack a notebook in my purse,” she laughed. He furrowed his brows as he looked down to her. “Seems like we talk a lot better when we’re passing notes.” His smile grew slightly. She loved the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled. She made a mental note to see those perfect little dimples as many times as she could before the night was through.

“Sorry I’m not cooler,” he laughed.

“I think you’re plenty cool.”

“Is that so?”

“Totally,” she smiled. “You definitely have the coolest hair. And the best accessories.”

She took the cup from this hand and set it, along with her purse and her own cup, on a table near them. When she turned back to him she quietly took his hand again and began to toy with the large silver cross that sat on his pointer finger. She ran the pad over her thumb over the face of the cross before spinning it around his finger. Finally, in a moment of what she hoped was bravery and not stupidity, she slid the ring off of his hand. She tried it on each of her own fingers before finally settling it on her thumb.

“You must have big hands,” she commented as she showed off the newest addition to her outfit. “It doesn’t even fit on my thumb.”

“Have you considered that you might just have small hands?” He asked, feeling his face go warm at the sight of his ring on her hand. She took his hand again, this time placing their palms together between them. Her fingertips ended below his last knuckle and he was able to wrap his own hand around hers.

“See?” She laughed. “You have big hands.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and did everything he could not to spontaneously combust as she laced her fingers between his. He prayed to whatever entity might be listening that she wasn’t able to feel his palm sweating against her own. When she smiled up to him, the rainbow lights above them caught her eyes in a way that Eddie could only describe as ethereal.

As he was about to say just that, the song changed. An upbeat Madonna song that Eddie never wanted to hear again gave way to soft piano chords that he actually recognized. He felt her hand squeezing his gently. Her eyes fell closed and she placed a hand to her chest.

“Oh, I love this song.”

“You like REO?” He asked as Kevin Cronnin’s familiar voice began to filter through the speakers.

“You like REO?” She repeated his question, sounding truly shocked.

He hesitated for just a moment before pulling her to the dance floor. He had no clue whatsoever what he was doing. He felt his hands trembling as they fell to her waist. She seemed like an expert compared to him. She reached up, her hands landing on his shoulders. He was pretty sure that she was leading, whatever that meant.

As the pre-chorus of the song began, he took a step closer to her. His hands moved to wrap around her as he pulled her closer to him. She smiled into his chest, glad that she had the chance to hide her blush. She laced her fingers behind his neck, beneath his curls.

And even as I wander

I'm keeping you in sight

You're a candle in the window

On a cold, dark winter's night

And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might

Before he could stop himself, Eddie began to whisper the chorus of the song to her as they danced. He felt his heart skip a she pressed herself even closer to him.

I can't fight this feeling anymore

I've forgotten what I started fightin' for

And if I have to crawl upon the floor

Come crashing through your door

Baby, I can't fight this feeling anymore

He'd spent the last week anxious about the dance. He was nervous about people seeing him in a stupid suit. He was worried she'd think she made a mistake saying yes to him. That she'd end up leaving him alone at the dance for some handsome senior with a nicer car and better aspirations for his life. But as they swayed together on the dancefloor beneath the rainbow of lights, REO Speedwagon playing a little too loudly around them, it was suddenly like nothing else mattered. Nobody else was even in the room. Just the two of them, letting the music say what they had been too afraid to say themselves.

She heard the song build to a crescendo as the chorus repeated one final time. She didn't want it to be over. She wanted the DJ to play it fifty more times so that she could stay in the moment forever. Wrapped up in Eddie's arms, warm and safe.

The song ended with the same piano melody that it started with fading into another loud, upbeat pop song. Eddie glanced around them and saw other couples begin to separate. He thought that he should probably do the same. But she seemed happy to stay just as they were. He didn’t dare pull away. They stayed together on the dancefloor, chest to chest, as everyone else in the room moved around them.

She pulled her face away from his chest just enough to look up at him. The way the lights framed his face was angelic. She giggled to herself at the thought. Eddie Munson, the resident freak of Hawkins High, the boy that everyone else in town was so sure was a satan worshiper… looked angelic.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, his own smile growing to match her despite himself.

“Nothin’,” she shook her head. “Just having a really good time.”

“So am I,” he answered. He leaned forward, his lips close to her ear. “Gettin’ kinda… crowded in here. Wanna sneak out?”

She shivered as his lips grazed over the shell of her ear. She nodded silently, not sure if her voice would work as she tried her best to calm her racing heart. Eddie moved his hands from around her back slowly, his palms dragging over her sides. She pulled her own hands from around his neck. When their hands found each other once more, it was no longer strange when they instinctively laced their fingers together.

They walked back to the table against the wall that held their empty cups and her bag. He took her bag and led her through the center of the room towards an exit. There was a part of him, a nagging sort of voice in the back of head that was very aware that everyone in their graduating class could see them. He was almost sure that everyone had been watching them as they walked hand in hand through the crowded room.

The exit led to a small patio with a few metal tables and chairs set up in front of a row of windows that showed the dance taking place on the other side of the glass. They could still hear the music being pumped through the speakers inside, but it was much quieter now. Quiet enough that they could actually hear each other speak. They walked to one of the tables, the metal chairs scraped across the cement patio as they pulled them out to sit beside each other.

Eddie cleared his throat, avoiding her eyes as he spoke up. “You’re really having a good time?” He asked, running his hands over his knees nervously. “You’re not just saying that to spare my delicate feelings, right?”

She laughed and Eddie thought it was the single most beautiful song he’d ever heard. “I promise, I’m having a great time.” She placed her hand over his, tucking her fingers beneath his palm. They sat in a comfortable quiet for a few minutes before she suddenly sat forward. She opened her purse and pulled out the camera her mother had given her before they left.

“Smile!” She told him excitedly as she held it up to her face.

Normally, Eddie never let his picture be taken. Even his uncle only had a small handful of photos, and almost all of them were taken when he was distracted or otherwise not expecting it. He’d throw his hand in front of his face or push the camera down anytime someone tried to take his picture. But this was different. This was her. And he knew years ago that he would do anything for her. So he did as she said and smiled for her.

“I think that’ll be a good one,” she said affectionately as the picture printed from the bottom of the camera. “One more,” she told him, leaning close to him.

He smelled her perfume as she put her arm out in front of them. She turned the camera towards them and pressed the button. He knew that this picture would be better than the first. His smile in this one was genuine as she pressed her cheek to his.

They waited patiently as the photo developed on the table top. When she grew impatient she picked up both of them and turned them over to inspect them. She picked up the one of them together first. Her cheeks began to hurt as she smiled down at the photo in her hand. They looked so happy, smiling wide as the lights inside illuminated their faces.

She handed him the photo to look at for himself. While he was looking at it, finding everything wrong with himself and thinking that she was the most intoxicatingly beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on, she was holding the photo of him tightly in her hands. She ran one finger gently over the edge as she studied the photo. She loved everything about it. Eddie's relaxed demeanor as he sat against the back of the chair. His smile, the way his hair laid over his shoulder.

“Woah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Eddie's eyes barely grazed over the photo of himself. He didn’t like it and secretly hoped that she would let him dispose of it. His eyes trailed up her arms to her face and he found her looking over at him. He suddenly felt nervous again beneath her gaze. Just as he was about to pluck the photo from her hands and tuck it into his pocket to be dealt with later she spoke again, just a little louder this time. “You’re really handsome, you know.”

He felt goosebumps cover his entire body. His neck was suddenly too warm beneath the collar of his new shirt. He looked away from her again. He smiled as he looked down to his lap, her eyes heavy on him. “Oh, stop,” he chided.

“No, seriously,” she smiled. “I’m so lucky I get to be at prom with the best guy in our class.”

Everything in Eddie’s mind and body wanted to reach out. He wanted to wrap her in his arms again. He wanted to pull her from her seat next to him and settle her onto his lap. He wanted to tangle his hands into her teased hair and kiss her until his lungs gave out. He wanted to make her feel as special and wanted as she made him feel. Instead of any of that, he scoffed and hoped that she couldn’t tell he was blushing bright red.

The legs of her chair scraped against the concrete once more as she moved herself closer to him. She wrapped her hands around his bicep and rested her head against his shoulder. Her eyes fell closed as she sighed contentedly. He smiled down to her before resting his cheek against her head.

“Think I’m gonna dent your hair,” he giggled softly.

“I wanna say it’s okay, because I don’t want you to move. But we haven’t gotten our pictures done yet and I know my mother will have a meltdown if I don’t look perfect in them.” She sat up slowly and he was instantly sad at the loss of her warmth against him.

“Guess we should go get pictures, then.” He told her, already standing. He put his hand out to her and revelled in the feeling of her hand in his.

There was a line at the photographers station outside of the main room. They stood in line, hand in hand, as they slowly made their way to the front. At a table behind the photographer was a young woman with order sheets. Eddie took the form from her and filled it out in his messy handwriting. He added both of their names to the form, ordering plenty of copies for her family and his uncle.

The older man behind the camera seemed somehow bored and particular at the same time. His voice was monotone as he told them how to pose. “Put your arm around her back, yeah like that,” he told Eddie. “You, get a little closer and put your hand up on his chest.” The flash was too bright in their faces as they both smiled at the camera. Once the photo was taken he was quick to usher them away, calling for the next couple in the same bored voice.

“Do you, uh, wanna dance some more?” Eddie asked as they walked away.

“Honestly? Not really,” she answered. “Dancing isn’t really my thing. I was having a lot more fun just like, hanging out with you outside.”

“Well,” he started, a mischievous tone dripping from the single syllable. “We could leave and go hangout somewhere a little less… busy?”

She agreed and the pair quietly slipped away from the dance. Nobody batted an eye as they walked past the table where the faculty volunteers were now busying themselves with reading or grading last minute papers since there were no more students to admit to the dance. The parking lot was all but empty as they walked out the glass doors to Eddie’s van. He opened the passenger door for her, offering his hand to help her up into the vehicle. She smiled and nodded a silent thanks as she settled herself into the weathered seat.

“Okay, so here’s the thing,” Eddie started as the engine rumbled to life. “I’m like, completely famished.”

“God, me too,” she agreed. “We should have eaten when we got there.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, turning out of the parking lot. “But fear not, my lady, we do have options.”

“Oooh, what are my options?”

“Burger King or Pizza Hut,” he grinned.

“I’d kill for fries, honestly.”

“No need for violence, sweetheart.”

Her chest tightened at the pet name. She wanted to hear his voice wrap around the word for the rest of her life. She reached over the center console and rested her hand over his thigh as he drove. He took her hand in his, allowing their hands to rest comfortably against his lap.

Once they’d secured their dinner Eddie drove them to an empty parking lot he frequented when his own thoughts would get a bit too loud to stay home. He parked the van, cutting the engine as she reached into the brown paper bag on her lap.

"My mom would lose her ever loving mind if she knew I was eating this in my dress," she laughed, unwrapping her burger.

"Why's that?"

"The risk of me making a mess right now is like, astronomical."

"Well, here," Eddie said, already in motion. He set his own sandwich on his lap and sat forward to pull his jacket off. "Less chance of the mess ending up on your dress. I don't wanna send you home covered in grease and ketchup, your parents would never let you leave again."

She slid her arms into the warm sleeves. She breathed deeply, the scent enveloping her. A little bit of smoke, a little bit of cologne. It was all Eddie and it was her new favorite scent. She smiled to herself knowing that she'd probably fall asleep still smelling like him tonight.

"Wait, where's your camera?" Eddie asked suddenly. She reached into her purse that sat beside her feet and retrieved the camera. He held his hand out excitedly as he turned on the cab light inside the van. "Smile!" He cried, echoing her words from the dance. She picked up her burger and flashed a bright smile to the camera.

"Gonna have to burn that one," she said before taking a bite of her burger. Eddie mumbled a quiet hmm? in response, his own mouth already full. "My mom will shit if she sees it. Gotta destroy the evidence."

"Oh, sweetheart, no," Eddie mumbled as he swallowed. "We gotta keep that one safe so we can show the grandkids."

"We have grandkids?"

"Yeah?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow like she should remember. "Can't believe you'd forget your own grandkids."

She smiled affectionately, shaking her head. "You're really something else, Eddie Munson." He shoved a handful of fries into his mouth, hoping that she wouldn't see the bright red blush covering his face. It didn't work. She saw it and she loved it.

The pair quickly finished their dinner as the sun slowly set behind them. They sat together, hands clasped in the middle of their bodies and talked about nothing and everything. They learned that they have a lot in common, but also a lot of differences. They were both only children who had no idea what to do after graduation. They both like spinach and hate mushrooms. They both had a blast poking fun at the other's music tastes. It was fun. It was easy for them to be together like this. Neither of them wanted to look at the time, dreading the end of the perfect evening.

When Eddie did finally spare a glance at his watch he felt his pulse quicken. It had somehow gotten to be 11:15. They'd spent the better part of three hours in an empty parking lot without either of them noticing.

Eddie quickly drove across town, parking his van in her driveway right on time. He made quick work of walking around the front of the van to help her stand out of it. When they reached her front door she took his hand in hers and looked at his watch.

"It's barely 11:30," she told him. "Curfew isn't until midnight."

"Promised my uncle I'd have you home early."

"Such a gentleman."

He shrugged, a smirk coming to his face. "Don't go spreadin' that around town. People might start thinking I like you for some reason other than to sacrifice you in exchange for bountiful crops."

"We definitely can't have that," she smiled. "Goodnight, Eddie."

He watched her eyes dart quickly to his lips. She leaned towards him just enough for him to take the hint. He bent his head forward, his hand leaving hers in favor of cupping her jaw softly. His lips were chapped and all he could think about was that he should have asked for no onions on his burger. But the moment his lips touched hers, none of that mattered. He swore he felt every single cliche thing he'd ever heard in movies or songs. Butterflies. Fireworks. Electricity.

He pulled away after a moment. Her lips were still pursed just slightly. Her eyes still closed as she tried to live in the moment for just a little longer. She felt his breath fan over her lips when he finally broke the silence.

"Goodnight, Faith."

~~~~~

Feedback is always appreciated! Requests are open! Have a great weekend! 🥰 If you'd like to be tagged in my Stranger Things fics, please let me know. I also have individual tag lists for Steve, Eddie, Robin, Nancy, and Steddie.

Tag List: @redwineanddnicotine @renaissan-vvitch

Eddie Tag List: @littlemiss-yeehaw @protecteddiemunson4vrvr @tayhar811

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x original character #eddie munson x female oc #eddie munsons x female original character #eddie munson/oc #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fluff #stranger things imagine #stranger things x oc #stranger things x original character #stranger things x female oc #stranger things x female original character #Spotify

41 notes · View notes

aninklingof · 2 years

Text

A Taste of Your Own Medicine

This is a ficlet inspired by this ask from @covenofwives , specifically the bit about XD being weak to nibbles but never having experienced them.

Lee! DreamXD Ler! George

Warnings: XD has 4 arms ✨Supremely platonic!✨

~~~~~

“Nohoho Ehehex dehee nohohOT THAHAHAT—!” George screamed as the blonde deity ducked their head down to his stomach and began gently nibbling the soft skin there.

“Oh come on now Georgie, it can’t be that bad,” XD muttered into the mortal’s skin as he stopped thrashing and accepted the intense waves of ticklish energy wracking his body. XD stopped when this happened, rubbing one of their many hands over the brunette’s tummy soothingly.

“Ihihit— it reheally is that bahad,” George responded breathlessly.

“Is it?” The taller figure questioned. “It’s never been done to me before.”

Suddenly George was fully recovered, his mismatched eyes full of glee. “Do you want to try it?”

XD hesitated. They thought back on all the times they’d given nibbles to George and Dream. They’d both reacted harshly, hysterically laughing their heads off and struggling like their lives depended on it. XD tried to imagine tickles that intense, but they couldn’t quite grasp an idea of what it might feel like.

Regardless, they nodded and George’s smile stretched wider. XD laid on the ground, their flowing green cloak fading away like magic and leaving them in only a tight black top. The brunette straddled their thighs, hovering quite menacingly over the god.

“Do you want a safe word?” George asked, the question backed by sincerity.

“Will I need one?” XD countered.

“Maybe.”

XD resisted the shiver that ran down their spine. “Red.”

“Alright. Now, where to start?” George began, his eyes studying XD’s body and causing the latter to grow nervous under his gaze. “We could always start simple with your belly, or I could go for your ribs or your sides— all are great options. What do you think, XD?”

XD’s cheeks and ears flushed red at the teasing, jumping slightly when they were called upon. “….b-behelly?”

George smirked and started to slowly lower himself to XD’s torso. The deity tried not to squirm as they watched the brunette grow closer and closer to their belly. He stopped just above XD, making sure his breath ghosted on their skin, just to rile them up a little more before finally making contact.

XD screeched. “OHOHOH MY GOHOHOHOHOD! IHIHIHIT’S SOHO BAHAHAHAD!!” George felt two hands on his head and two on his shoulders, not pushing but simply resting there while XD cackled wildly.

“Oh come on XD, it can’t be that bad~” the mortal teased, repeating the same words XD themself had said while wrecking George the exact same way not even five minutes earlier.

“GEHEHEHEOHOHOHORGE PLEHEHEHEASE! IHIT TIHIHIHIHICKLES SO BAHAHAHA—!” XD cut themself off with another shriek when George moved the unbearably ticklish nibbles to the deity’s side.

“It tickles so much, doesn’t it Ex? Who would’ve known?~”

XD’s face heated up at the brunette’s coos and their heels dug at the dirt to help release the shocks that overwhelmed their system.

It proved to truly be overwhelming, since not even a minute in XD cried, “REHEHED!!” George immediately stopped, looking down and admiring the absolute mess he’d made of the god beneath him.

“You barely lasted longer than thirty seconds!” He laughed.

“Thahahat….. was tohohorture!” The blonde exclaimed through gasping breaths and residual laughter.

“Was it? I wonder who could’ve told you that!”

XD looked exasperatedly at George who smugly grinned back at them. “Alright, I get it. I understand now. I’ll be nicer when I give you and Dream nibbles from now on. Because dear god….”

“Mhm, yeah you will. And if you ever forget what nibbles feel like, I won’t be afraid to remind you,” the mortal flashed XD a teasing, toothy smile as a solid reminder of what George was capable of.

Despite this ticklish discovery, XD never did stop giving the two mortals nibbles. In fact, the days following the incident there seemed to be an influx of nibble-tickles from the god.

George would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it.

~~~~~

#Lee!DreamXD #ler!george #georgenotfound #tickle fic #tickle community #dsmp fic #dsmp tickle #dsmp #Seans tickle fics

66 notes · View notes

shih-coulda-had-it · 2 years

Note

Okokok but 28 with afohiko would be great bc you just KNOW afo would be so smug about it

a/n: Another one of those Modern/No Quirks verses. Yoichi has specifically eight friends, and he invited them all to the Shigaraki household's new year party. Toshinori is Nana's plus-one.

AfOhiko are exes. Hisashi doesn't realize that everyone knows this, and in an effort to save face for the new year, convinces Sorahiko to fake their relationship for the party. Sorahiko, possessed of a great sense of dramatic irony, agrees to the scheme.

wc: 832

When Sorahiko gets drunk, he gets cuddly.

Hisashi treasures this fact close to his chest, given how adamantly Sorahiko protects his personal space when sober. He thinks about it a lot as Yoichi and his gaggle of friends’ prep for the new year, breaking out the good champagne and the delicate crystal flutes. The sole woman confiscates Sorahiko’s latest beer can and teases him.

The words don’t matter. The reaction she gets does. Sorahiko, red-cheeked and evidently more forgiving when tipsy, barks out a loud laugh. His eyes crinkle with the force of it. Of his own volition, Sorahiko reaches up and curls his fingers on her forearms, caressing.

He ducks back into the kitchen, jealousy simmering in his chest, and freezes upon seeing Yoichi’s knowing green eyes.

“There’s a minute to midnight,” his baby brother says.

“Time is relative,” Hisashi responds automatically, just to see the screwed-up grimace cross over Yoichi’s softer features. Judging by the pursed lips and decisive shake of the head, Yoichi had more to say, but is thinking twice about imparting his wisdom. “... What about it?”

“Never mind. Move.”

“No. What did you want to tell me?”

He blocks Yoichi’s lunge for the doorway easily and bats back at the slapping hands. Hisashi can hear the people in their living room start calling the count-down far, far too early. Who wants to count out thirty seconds aloud?

“Nii-san!” shrieks Yoichi, now throwing himself at any opening he can perceive.

“There’s no rush. The new year is much like the last, you know. We might as well treat the beginning of every week as--hey, now!” Hisashi catches his younger brother in a bear hug and ignores the sharp kicks to his shins.

“You’re such a jerk! No wonder Sorahiko-san dumped you!”

How swiftly brotherly affection turns to outright fratricide. Hisashi shoves Yoichi to the other side of the kitchen; the concern over how he stumbles while wearing socks on a tiled floor is buried beneath the ire of Hisashi’s wounded pride. Who tattled? Did Sorahiko break his promise to Hisashi, to keep the end of their relationship from Yoichi’s ears?

“Nobody dumped anyone,” he says loudly.

“I know for sure he did,” says Yoichi, “and I really, actually thought you guys were making up for the new year.”

“Nine!” cries the unwanted members of the party. “Eight! Seven!”

“We’re perfectly fine. We just took a break.”

Hisashi hears Sorahiko crow, “Three! Two! One! Happy new year!”, and the distinct noise of champagne bottles popping against the cheers. Having missed the first moment of the year with his friends, Yoichi’s defiant attitude deflates.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he mutters.

“Well, you will!”

He turns, ready to storm into the living room and steal Sorahiko from the festivities, maybe even spirit him away to a bathroom, since it only took one too many sips for Sorahiko’s alcohol tolerance to flip. His posture is a little stooped; he’s more affected by Yoichi’s knowledge of reality than he’d like to admit.

“Happy new year!” shouts Sorahiko, crashing into Hisashi and planting a solid kiss--on Hisashi’s mouth, as he jerks his head up and to the side. It tastes like the best champagne in the world, and Hisashi unabashedly takes advantage of the sloppiness, licking into his ex’s mouth, to Sorahiko’s evident surprise.

Sorahiko jerks back and squints. “... Hisashi?”

Hisashi lifts an eyebrow, hiding his smirk. “Expecting someone else?”

“Yeah, your little brother,” he says, like this doesn’t send a lightning bolt down Hisashi’s spine. He bristles at the idea of Yoichi taking his place. “It’s Kiss City in the living room right now, and I wanted to beat Kenji and Sanjuro to Yoichi.”

“What,” says Hisashi, hackles rising. “Is there an orgy happening out there?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s all on the cheek, or it was, until you. Toshinori is practically Shimura’s adoptive child, anyway.”

“Oh my god,” says Yoichi, “nii-san, move, I need to join in.”

“Nobody’s leaving the kitchen,” he decides.

“Bye then.”

Hisashi hauls Sorahiko back, fingers tucked into the waistband of his nicest denim jeans, and Sorahiko totters into Hisashi’s arms with a yelp. There’s an attempt at a struggle, but Sorahiko’s inner cuddly nature wins out. He settles into the hold heavily, pressing Hisashi back into the doorframe.

“Jackass,” says Sorahiko, breathless.

“Yes, dear?”

And then Yoichi bolts past them, nimbly passing through the slight space Sorahiko has made for him. Though Hisashi makes a cursory grab, Sorahiko redirects the motion, shifting Hisashi’s grasping hand lower.

“Thanks, Sorahiko-san!” Yoichi cheers, and because his little brother has always known how to twist the knife deeper, he darts back to peck Sorahiko on the cheek. Then he skips off to the den of iniquity.

“Charitable,” says Hisashi.

“Figured I should start the new year off right.” Sorahiko wrinkles his nose. “Had to make up for kissing you in front of him.”

“It’s exactly what he needed. And it’s what I wanted. A happy new year, indeed!”

#bnha #afohiko #all for one #gran torino #torino sorahiko #shigaraki yoichi #shih.txt #asks #anon #trio holders is hinted at; nnhk is platonic (as of now)#it's personally funny to me that anytime i squish timelines together #izuku tends to be the odd one out #sorry green boy there's only room for one genius child protag here

24 notes · View notes

let-me-take-your-soul · 2 years

Note

Ayo! Sorry for the anon, but I'm just timid. Can I get a request in pre-cannon, where fresh out of NY Liz and Patty don't really understand how much Kid's OCD can affect him? But then they find out just how much when Liz stumbles across him at night in the bathroom, curled up and covered in black hair dye having a nervous breakdown about his hair.

Sorry if I have bad english, it's not my first language.

No worries about being anon!

I wasn't too sure how I wanted to end this scenario, but I think it turned out alright! Hope you enjoy :D

Liz and Patty seeing how bad Kid's OCD affects him:

CW for breakdowns and slight self-destructive behavior

In the beginning, Kid had seemed so perfect and put together. He certainly had his quirks, calling anything that wasn’t perfectly symmetrical “disgusting” before meticulously doing what he could to fix it. Liz and Patty had accepted this quirk of his enough in the beginning, after all, he was the reason these two were off the streets now.

It really didn’t sink in just how detrimental these little habits were for Kid until a casual afternoon in Death City, Patty made what seemed to be a completely innocent comment about his hair.

“Hey, hey, Kid! I wanna know, why do you have just the three stripes in your hair?” she had asked him.

Kid had frozen in place. Liz and Patty looked at him curiously. Kid gripped the sides of his head tightly and just as Liz was about to say something, he began sobbing. It had shocked everyone, even gaining the attention of a few bystanders on the street around them.

“I’m a disgusting piece of garbage! My hair is awful, just awful! I had hoped you would look past it, but how would anyone ever be my weapon when I can’t even have perfectly symmetrical hair? It’s loathsome!” Kid cried out, dropping to his knees.

Liz was in shock, unsure how to react, and she could tell Patty was in the same boat, uncomfortable laughter emanating from her direction.

“What the hell did we get ourselves into?” Liz thought.

She slowly approached Kid, crouching down on the ground next to him and gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

“H-hey, it’s fine Kid! Patty didn’t mean anything by her question, okay? You aren’t a piece of garbage at all. If the stripes really bother you, you could always dye them black too, right?” Liz says, trying to calm him down.

It takes a moment, but he eventually stops crying and croaks out a dejected “Right…” before the three of them get up and head back home.

It had been an awkward day after the ordeal in Death City. When they had arrived back at Kid’s home, he went straight to his room and locked the door. That was unusual for him, but Liz didn’t question it too much. He was probably just embarrassed about crying in public like that, not that it mattered much to her.

She hung out with Patty for the rest of the day who seemed to have gotten over the discomfort pretty quickly. Liz admired that about her sister, but had much less capability of moving on from a situation without some kind of closure.

After the two of them had gone to bed, Liz couldn’t fall asleep. After a solid thirty minutes of tossing and turning, unable to really get comfortable, she got up to make herself some chamomile tea. It was meant to help with nights where she was restless and tonight was definitely one of those nights.

She got up, stretched, and crept out of her room. The halls were quiet, until she got closer to passing the bathroom on her way to the kitchen. The light was on and the door was cracked open just a bit. As she crept closer, feeling a little on edge now, she heard what sounded like Kid’s voice. It was barely audible and Liz couldn’t figure out what he was saying. When she got to the door, she peaked in through the part that was still open.

The sight before her was unnerving. The usually pristine bathroom was covered in a black goop. There was a tipped over jar in a far corner and a giant splatter of black on the wall next to it. It looked like it had been thrown around a few times with how many splotches of the substance were on the wall.

Liz’ breath hitched. It was hair dye. No doubt about it, Liz had been around enough salons to recognize the ammonia scent of permanent hair dye. That was when her eyes caught sight of Kid.

He was sitting on the floor, hands gripping his hair tightly. The look in his eyes was completely vacant.

She pushed open the door a little further, but Kid didn’t move. He barely seemed to notice her presence at all. He continued to sit there, muttering to himself.

“Kid?” Liz said quietly.

No answer.

Liz slowly walks into the room and sits down next to Kid, trying to avoid touching any wet dye, but ultimately failing. She looks down at his horrifically stained hands, then back up at his head. She can tell that the dye was on his head. His hair is still slick with it, but the stripes he seemed to hate so much were still clear as day.

He mumbled something again.

“What was that, Kid?”

“Disgusting…” he says, not much louder than before, but a bit more coherent.

Liz isn’t sure what she needs to do in this situation. She shifts a little closer to him, just enough that her shoulder is brushing against his.

“Hey, Patty and I didn’t realize that dye wasn’t an option. We didn’t mean to hurt you at all,” She says timidly.

“What’s the point of anything if I can’t be beautiful and symmetrical? My hair is a curse. A goddamned curse. I’m a failure to everyone if I can’t be perfect” he rambles.

His voice is monotonous, defeated. Despite the nerves, Liz starts to feel a bit defensive.

“Hey!” she says. “You aren’t a failure, okay? Listen, I don’t really get you. I can’t really understand the pressure you face as Lord Death’s son, but you’re really being way too hard on yourself”

Kid whines in response and Liz sighs as she wraps an arm around him.

“You’re fine, Kid. Patty and I will be here for you. You saved us, y’know? I don’t think you’re a failure in the slightest for that.”

The two of them sit there for a while silently, while Kid tries to get his brain to cooperate with him. In the midst of it, the door creaks open again and Patty pops her head in. When she sees Kid and her sister sitting on the floor surrounded by mess, she walks in, yawns and stretches and then curls up on the floor with them.

“Sorry Kid. I didn’t mean to make you sad” she says in a groggy but still sing-songy way.

The three of them ended up falling asleep on the bathroom floor, only to be woken up a few hours later by Kid once more.

“This is a disgrace! I can’t sleep in this mess!” he grumbles.

Liz wakes up first, seeing her meister scramble around the bathroom scrubbing all of the dye that had been sprayed across the room during his frustrations. She rubs her eyes and then nudges Patty awake.

“Hey, lets help Kid clean this up and then get back to bed, okay?”

“‘Kay,”

The three of them manage to clean the dye off all of the surfaces, but the splotches on their clothes would not budge, and no matter how hard Kid tried, the dye that ended up on his hands wouldn’t scrub out.

“It’ll be alright, Kid. It’ll take another day or so to come off, but it’ll get there. You can always wear gloves in the meantime if you don’t want to look at them.”

Eventually, Kid stops scrubbing so hard and gives in to Liz’ words.

“Thank you two. I appreciate all your help.”

After the bathroom is cleaned and their clothes are all changed, Kid visibly breathes easier. Patty goes back to bed almost immediately, but Liz stays behind for just a minute.

“Kid, I know that you aren’t used to having a partner yet, but the point of a partner is that you can rely on them. Patty and I know we can rely on you, but it goes both ways. If you need us, or if we do something to upset you, you can tell us.” she tells him.

He gives her a smile.

“Thank you, Liz”

She slings her arm around his shoulder as they walk back to their rooms, a lopsided grin on her face.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re pretty great partners, aren’t we?”

#death the kid #liz thompson #patty thompson #soul eater #soul eater imagine #soul eater imagines #soul eater fanfiction #anon #request

24 notes · View notes

canyouhearthelight · 2 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 193

Council session finally wraps up, but don’t worry: not a boring chapter here. There are a couple conundrums to figure out, along with an exhausted Xiomara and a frustrated Sophia.

Seriously... why do people always want staffing miracles out of thin atmo?

Thanks to @baelpenrose for his help on this chapter, including the poking and asking around stuff I thought was clearer than it turned out to be. And shout out to @breathingintheash, I hope you’re enjoying the story!

We took a very brief recess to retrieve snacks and drinks, but within ten minutes we were ‘reconvening’. Even in my mind, the term had scare quotes around it, since we weren’t exactly allowed to leave the chamber due to closed session. Nonetheless, we were permitted to stretch our legs and talk about anything that wasn’t life threatening for a solid ten minutes before the session continued. I largely kept to myself since it hadn’t escaped my notice that sessions like this were more and more frequent the closer we got to Von.

I never signed up to be a politician, and all the gods in every religion knew that I was looking forward to retirement. Maybe I would farm mushrooms, who knew?

It was all too soon before Eino brought us to attention again. “I believe Councillor Kalloe has the floor,” he stated simply, gesturing for her to proceed.

She nodded politely as she rose. “With all objections in regards to using the data obtained from our escorts, I put forward a motion for Derek Okafor to focus his efforts on deciphering anything tagged by the Odvub that lack Terran origin. Reason stands that any such data is immediately relevant to our current sociopolitical - and quite likely legal - standing within the Greater Galactic Community.”

“Objection,” Grey stated almost immediately, albeit softly, while sweeping their gaze over us all. “There are close to ten thousand humans on this ship who are going to clamor for any data regarding our home world once it is known that such data might exist. I suggest priority, even partial, be given to the post-After data of Terran origin.” They turned to face Xiomara, but their expression was one that expected refusal, not compromise.

On Grey’s face, it was a devastating thing to see. They knew it couldn’t be done, but wanted to know what to tell their people.

Instead of Xiomara, Pranav spoke up. “I can prioritize one or the other. But there is only one Derek, and he is the only one who could identify the Odvub data fast enough to do either.”

I winced, knowing that I could just as easily identify it, but translating it would be a full time job. Unfortunately, Xiomara decided in that moment to share Miys’ ability to read minds and her head snapped over to me. “Sophia. You were able to recognize the pattern in the data, correct?”

“Yeah, but… Xio - “

“And you figured out how to translate it?”

“I threw everything at it!” I cried, throwing my hands up. “I was able to translate - very poorly, mind you - a handful of entries that originated in my native language, and ungarble the mess made of them through repeated translation into languages not meant to exist on Earth. In three hours. FIVE articles, in three hours. And only because we have digitized versions of the encyclopedia entries I was translating, so I had plenty to crib from.” My arms crossed, defiant to the end. “I’m not a linguist. I’m not a programmer. And I’m definitely not going to sleep for the rest of my life if you ask me to try the same brute-force tactics on data that we have no comparable record of. I’ll space myself before I even entertain the chance that I might give someone hope or grief, only to be wrong.”

Her shoulders slumped at that, but I didn’t miss the fact that everyone else was glancing around and nodding or shrugging in agreement with me. “Is there anyone we can give Pranav who could help?”

I was kind of proud that Pranav didn’t even snicker at that question. You know, not like he had put in thirty-seven personnel requests for the same thing, seven of which had the memo ‘Or convince Grey to clone Derek’ or anything. For my part, I held one hand up and started counting on my fingers: “You want a linguist who is also a programming prodigy, with severe to crippling anxiety and/or PTSD, preferably in a way that makes them either hyper or hyposensitive to breathing patterns, posture, lighting, color correlation to moods, air pressure, scents, flavors, and atmospheric ozone, because that is what it would take…” By this point, my head was tilted so far down that my chin was making a valiant effort to greet my collarbone for the first time, and I was acutely aware that my eyebrows needed trimming just from glaring at her through them.

“We have exactly one of those on the Ark, Xio. You know that. I know that. Everyone in this room knows that.” Before she could suggest what I knew as coming next, I held a palm out. “Yes, I could coordinate a team. But it would take Maverick - “

“Absolutely not,” Grey snorted. “I need him now more than ever.”

“Charly Harper - “

“Lost your damned mind,” Huynh muttered.

“Samuel Richardson - “

“Hard no.” Grey managed to glance at their nails on that one, something I was sure they learned from Arthur somehow.

“Hannah, Parvati, and Ivan,” I finished. “Exactly none of which can be spared right now.”

“Parvati is a linguist?” Huynh whisper-shouted to me.

“Between her and Ivan, they pretty much have it covered,” I answered with a shrug. “Charly is the best we have as - “

“What about Teeth,” Xiomara asked, interrupting us.

No fewer than three of us sputtered, myself included. “Xio,” Pranav pleaded. “She’s a minor. Not in the way that Derek was seventeen and technically a minor when we started. Teeth is fifteen. And still…” I nodded at the implied question. “Still in medbay. Still learning any Terran language fluently - “

“And knows two nonverbal languages fluently, along with clearly being a crack programmer.” Her expression was grim, and part of me suspected she was looking for any excuse out of this option.

I was more than happy to provide it. “Teeth’s legal guardians on the Ark are Charly and Nixe.” No clarification needed: the silence that followed was all the response required. “If you want to try to argue with six foot plus of combat-trained royalty that is literally strong enough to tread water while wearing sixty pounds of gold and seven percent body fat, go for it.”

“What about just brute force computer resources,” she asked in clear surrender to the idea of hand to hand negotiations with Nixe. I couldn’t really fault her - the only two people brave enough to spar with the resident mer-queen were Arthur for swords and Jokul for hand to hand.

And Jokul lost. A. Lot.

Happy to be on easier topics, I flicked a file to everyone. “Everyone with sufficient skills to do so is focused on untangling the data we can get on Von. Tactical priorty, overrides everything. We’ll be there in four Terran solar months, and will be there for an unknown period of time exceeding two generations.”

Rather than looking defeated, Xiomara looked like I had lifted the weight of the world from her shoulders. “Recommendations?”

My hand was first, and at her nod I gave the most logical suggestion. “Strategic priority is the Von data. Secondary is the Greater Galactic Community data regarding Terrans. As resources allow, we re-direct them to the post-After data from Terra.” As I nodded to indicate I was done, my eye caught Xio and I added on. “We all want to know what happened to our homes, how any people left behind are doing. And the otters. And the pandas. Echidnas, all of it. I’m not saying it shouldn’t be a priority, it just can’t be top of the list.”

The Council nodded as a whole, Xiomara closing her eyes in relief when Grey nodded along.

It took two whole minutes for anyone to remember to speak. “Seconded,” Eino and Huynh chimed in at the same time.

After a battle of glaring, which Huynh won handily, Eino nodded again. “Third.”

Xiomara dropped her gavel more than she struck it. “It is passed. Council will rest for twelve hours, after which Sophia’s team has three to craft the release. Any objections or points not submitted to the Council as a whole will not be considered for the release. If there are no further topics, I move to adjourn.”

“Seconded!” I insisted, simultaneous with Grey and Pranav.

“Third!” Eino and Huynh chimed in, glares unnecessary this time.

Thank.

Fuck.

<< Prev Masterlist Next >>

#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

38 notes · View notes

blue-aconite · 1 year

Text

I posted 5,249 times in 2022

That's 3,120 more posts than 2021!

271 posts created (5%)

4,978 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@yanna-banana

@anniesocsandgeneralstore

@jakeseresins

@skloomdumpster

@babyrooster

I tagged 2,007 of my posts in 2022

#crush - 495 posts

#glen powell - 426 posts

#robert pattinson - 293 posts

#the batman - 199 posts

#bruce wayne - 127 posts

#top gun maverick - 113 posts

#i hate him so much he’s ridiculous and i want to marry him - 109 posts

#semi feral pet bat - 105 posts

#jake hangman seresin - 93 posts

#miles teller - 91 posts

Longest Tag: 117 characters

#haven’t properly cried since 2013 but sometimes i just stare into the void when i don’t want to deal with my feelings

My Top Posts in 2022:

between the wolves || prologue

Summary: She was, after all, running away from him. From their future. A future she didn’t want.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.1k

Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x Jake Seresin x OC

Authors Note: It’s finally here. Thank you to my werewolf love @anniesocsandgeneralstore for beta reading. Thank you for cheering me on, listening to me rant and being my best friend. This fic would not exist without you.

New Message

To: Sam H

“I’m sorry. I need some space. I need to breathe, to be alone. Take care. I’ll miss you.”

The last part was a lie, she thought as she stared at the screen before locking it and putting her phone away. She wouldn’t miss him. She was, after all, running away from him. From their future. A future she didn’t want.

Cassandra leaned back against the uncomfortable seat and closed her eyes. Check-in had gone smoothly and she wasn’t set to board her flight for another thirty minutes. She double checked her boarding pass and passport when her phone went off again.

There were four messages from Sam and two from her mother, including three voicemails. She had opened neither. At the top was a new message from her father.

1 New Message

From: Dad

“Be safe. Text me when you land. I’ll deal with your mother. And Sam.”

She smiled before setting the phone on flight mode and pocketed the device. Looking up, she saw people were beginning to move, anxious to board the plane but Cassandra stayed put. There was no point in rushing.

She might have been in the middle of one of the busiest airports in New York but she had never felt calmer. Leaving had been the right decision.

‘Good afternoon passengers. This is the pre-boarding announcement for flight 75B to Anchorage, Alaska. We are now inviting those passengers in first class, and any passengers requiring special assistance, to begin boarding at this time. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready. Regular boarding will begin in approximately ten minutes. Thank you.’

Cassandra gathered her things and joined the queue, letting an older couple through first.

“Thank you dear. Travelling alone?” the woman smiled kindly. She reminded Cassie of her own grandmother.

“Yes ma’am. A break from everything.” she smiled. The woman patted her arm before joining her husband again.

While settling into her seat Cassie couldn’t help but to think about what she had told the woman. A much needed break. She was aware that she was running but she didn’t know what else to do. So much of her life had been planned for her but wasn’t what she wanted. Not anymore.

See the full post

72 notes - Posted November 7, 2022

FE YOURE KILLING ME WITH THE GLEN CONTENT

I’m just doing my duty ma’am

See the full post

73 notes - Posted November 15, 2022

not a bad thing || j.h.s

Summary: She always thought their love was special, something solid and grounding. So when he first started to withdraw, she hadn’t questioned it. She believed his excuses, never arguing or second guessing him. Because he would never hurt her. He had sworn that he never would.

Warnings: Emotional cheating/affair, angst, swear words

Word Count: 2k

Pairings: Jake Seresin x f!reader

Authors Note: This is for @jostystyles and her “top tracks writing challenge” 2.6k followers! Congratulations on the milestone darling! I’m sorry this is late. Thank you to my lovely betas @writercole @therebeccaw @princessmisery666 @imjess-themess @anniesocsandgeneralstore, you all made this fic so much better!

See the full post

216 notes - Posted October 30, 2022

it’s to you i will always return || b.b & j.s

Summary: Missing her boys while they’re on deployment.

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

Pairings: Jake Seresin x Bradley Bradshaw x f!reader

Authors Note: This is for @callsign-phoenix 500 followers celebration! It’s a little late but it’s here now! Congratulations Soph on 500 followers! And thank you to @marvelandotherfandomimagines and @anniesocsandgeneralstore for beta’ing!

See the full post

842 notes - Posted October 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

you said you’d grow old with me || b.b

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw had been in her life since she was 16 years old. Her rock, anchor in a bad storm, shoulder to cry on. Her best friend. It felt like they had known each other forever, two pieces of a puzzle. She could talk to him about everything.

Warnings: Terminal illness, angst, no happy ending

Word Count: 3.3k

Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x f!reader

Authors Note: This is all thanks to @imjess-themess. Blame her. Thank you @imjess-themess @writercole for reading it over for me. I wrote this in less than three hours and I spent most of them crying.

Song; you said you’d grow old with me

See the full post

1,248 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #false

8 notes · View notes

ohbuckie · 2 years

Text

WOLFMAN

bassist!bucky barnes x fem!reader

[listen]

summary: bucky left you and your daughter two years ago. he’s been “co-parenting” from across the country since then, but is itching for a change.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: minor angst (happy ending), smut (penetrative sex, fingering)

You don’t know where Bucky is tonight. Los Angeles, Minneapolis, Boston. He wouldn’t answer if you asked, anyway.

She lays beside you—the child that he very enthusiastically participated in creating, that is—in one of his t-shirts and a Pull-Up. Her face tucked into your neck, tears dried on her cheeks and in her curly hair. Her thumb is shoved into her mouth, and you feel air from her tiny nose fan across your chest every time she exhales.

You rub her back gently, like you’ve been doing to calm her for the last hour, while she cried herself to sleep because she missed her daddy. You lay awake beside her, smelling him on the shirt she wears. It’s nauseating.

He calls as your eyes are finally forcing themselves closed, and as you frantically search for your phone in the dark, you pray that the sleeping toddler pressed against you doesn’t wake up. You answer the phone and roll your eyes when you hear him speak.

“I want to see her tomorrow.”

“It’s two in the morning.”

“I want to see her.”

“I thought you were touring.”

“I’ll be in town.”

“And you’ll be sober?”

“What kind of father do you think I am?”

“A distant one.”

“You know I’m busy.”

“Too busy for FaceTime?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

“Can I see her or not?”

“Fine. Just come by when you can and leave as soon as possible. Bring her another shirt, too.”

“Okay, I will.”

“Okay.”

“Bye.”

“Be sober.”

“Goodbye.”

He arrives while she’s napping. Uncharacteristically, his eyes are bright and his speech is clear. You make him coffee how you know he likes it—lots of skim milk, no sugar. He gives you a sad smile when it tastes exactly how it’s supposed to.

She wakes up not thirty minutes later, while you’re talking about how you’re taking her to the doctor next week for her supposed tree nut allergy. He’s worried for her, and asks if you want him to fly back for a day to be here, since he has that day off. You decline, because you can’t stand him, and you can do this by yourself. You always do it by yourself.

Becca pads out of her room—newly equipped with a big-girl bed—and launches herself into his arms with a screech of his name.

He kisses her head and holds her tightly. “How are you, Becks?”

“Good! Where did you come from?”

“Pennsylvania.”

“What’s that?”

“A state.”

“How far?”

“Few hours. Maybe we’ll go there one day.” He pushes her messy hair behind her ears. You scoff at the suggestion that he would ever take her anywhere by himself, but he ignores it. “You eat lunch yet?”

“Yes.”

“She barely ate any of it.” You interject. “She was tired. You still hungry, sweetie?”

She takes a second to think and then nods.

“Why don’t you pick where we go, then?” Bucky offers, smiling while she gently plays with his metal fingers.

“Maybe the place around the corner.” She decides after a moment, looking up at him for approval.

“What’s that?”

“It’s around the corner.” She shrugs, and you can’t help but smile. She’s always been a smartass, since the second she could talk.

“Yeah, thanks. What food do they have?”

“Sandwiches.” She’s distracted by the zipper on his jacket now, pulling it down and then back up, careful not to pinch his neck, like she always does to herself with her own jacket.

He looks to you for a solid answer.

“Subs, chicken fingers, pizza. You’ll find something, I’m sure.” You tell him, standing to find your wallet and a pair of shoes. He follows Becca to her room, helping her find socks and shoes to wear, although he knows she’ll make him carry her all the way there, anyway.

When he watches you shove your wallet into your jeans, he shakes his head, tapping his own pocket. Had it been anyone else, you would’ve insisted on paying for yourself, but you give a grateful smile and leave the wallet on the counter.

You walk beside him, the two blocks that it takes, while he holds your daughter, whose arms are wrapped tightly around his neck.

When you arrive, Becca wiggles until Bucky puts her down and she runs over to the food displayed behind the glass.

“Hi!” She waves to the man behind the counter and you and Bucky both smile.

“She’s such a sweet kid.” He remarks to you, quiet enough so that she doesn’t hear it.

“No thanks to you.” You quip, giving your daughter a grin and a thumbs-up while she turns to look at you as she orders her own sandwich.

“I don’t have the time to be here with you twenty-four-seven. I pay for everything you and her do. I visit her when I can.”

“Paying for everything doesn’t mean shit when you go months without coming to visit. I left a job to take care of our child, Buck. I could get by on my own. Nobody’s asking for twenty-four-seven.”

“I’m touring. It’s my job. What do you want from me?”

“I just wish you were here more. You could have a better relationship with her. And with me.”

He takes a moment to stare at his fingernails, covered in chipped, pink nail polish. “I just don’t know. I’ll be on the road for another month. I’m not sure I could move back here after that. Not so soon, anyway.”

You sigh. “Forget it.”

“No, Y/N, come on-”

“No, James, this is why I’ve waited so long to even bring it up. I didn’t want to hear the excuses.”

Becca tugs on your pant leg to retrieve you.

“Mommy, your turn!”

“Okay, Becca, I’m coming.” She takes your hand and leads you to the counter, where you order your usual and wait for Bucky to decide.

You eat silently, as does Bucky, while you both listen to Becca list off every exciting thing she’s done over the last two and a half months without even a second to catch her breath. She tells Bucky about visiting Grandma, and giving food to the stray cats by the apartment, and staying up late on Friday nights to eat ice cream. She tells him that she wishes he could live with you guys, so that he doesn’t have to miss out on all of the fun that you have together, and he looks like he’s about to cry. Or get sick. Or both.

He takes you shopping, buys your love for an afternoon. Holds doors open for you and puts his hand on the small of your back when he enters after you.

Becca is asleep at 7:30. Bucky stays a little bit longer. He pours you a glass of wine, and one for himself, and lights a candle on the coffee table. You allow yourself to slip into this fantasy for the night.

He sits on the cushion beside you, turned so that you face each other. His face looks softer than usual in the dim light. His pouty lips are plush instead of chapped, his eyebrows content instead of grumpy. You want to kiss him, and you’d blame the wine, but you’ve only had a few sips.

Bucky is a great guy. He loves his daughter, and he loves you, even if he doesn’t say it out loud, because he knows that you don’t want to hear it until he’s ready to act on it. He pays your rent, and for your groceries, and for everything else that you and Becca do and use.

It’s the least he can do. You’ve told him about a million times that you’d rather have him here in New York than paying for your life from across the country.

But he’s here now. With you, on your couch, drinking your wine. Holding your hand. Kissing your neck.

You close your eyes and tangle the fingers on your free hand in his hair. Your back arches, your muscles tense.

“Relax.” He whispers against you, nibbling your earlobe before going back to delivering hot, wet kisses down your throat. He pulls your t-shirt away from your collarbone to suck gently. You both know it’ll leave a mark. The thought of being his again, if only until the bruise fades, excites you, but you’d never tell him that.

You focus only on the way that his teeth graze over the delicate skin and his hand is traveling up your thigh.

“Bucky.”

“Hm?”

“Kiss me.”

He doesn’t need any more convincing. His lips melt against yours. He reacquaints himself with your mouth. Anticipates your next move and acts accordingly. You wonder how many more people he’s done this with since the last time you had him in this position.

He’s on top of you now, wine glasses haphazardly set onto the coffee table so that he can be as close as possible to you. His hips are settled between your thighs and the back of your head rests on a pillow against the arm of the couch. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, but it’s also not the most uncomfortable place that you’ve done this with him.

He shifts so that his right hand can find your waistband. He slips his fingers into your panties and slides a finger up your entrance to gauge how wet you are—how much longer you need before he can untuck himself from his pants and finally get inside of you.

You gasp when he pushes his middle finger into you. “Shh.” He coos, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep quiet.

It’s been almost two years since he left for Los Angeles. Three months since he’s touched you like this. You hook up every time he visits. You have the same conversation about him being around for Becca. He always goes back.

You don’t care. He’s starting to pump his finger in and out of you, and just as he introduces a second one—

“Mommy!”

“Shit.” Bucky retracts his hand and fixes your pants, scrambling to get off of you just in case your daughter decides to come bounding down the hallway. She doesn’t, thank God, so you pad down to her room to see what she wants.

“Yes, honey?”

“I’m thirsty.” She says it like “firsty,” and you can’t help the sweet smile that spreads across your face.

“Would you like some water?”

She nods.

“What do you say?”

“Yes, please.”

“Good job. I’ll be right back.” You find a sippy cup—so that she doesn’t spill in her bed—and fill it with water from the jug in the fridge. She thanks you when you set it on her nightstand, and gives you a kiss on the cheek to say goodnight.

You meet Bucky in the living room once again, watching him uncomfortably adjust his jeans around his crotch. “I think…You should go.”

“Oh. Okay.” He stands. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

“You didn’t.” You assure him. “I just don’t think that we should have sex right now. You should think about what we talked about earlier. About moving back. Plus, Becca’s still awake, anyway.”

“Okay.” He pats his pockets to be sure he has all of his things before slipping his shoes on. “We have a show tomorrow night. You should come.”

“I don’t have anyone to leave her with.”

“Bring her. She can hang out with you in the wings. I’m sure her aunt and uncles will be happy to see her.”

“But her ears-”

“I’ll get her headphones. Don’t worry about it. Just tell me you’ll be there.”

You sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

He smiles. “You really will? For real?”

“Yes, I really will.”

“Okay, good. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“Then, I hope I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turns around and starts out the door, pulling it closed before you stop him.

“Bucky?”

“What?”

You plant a kiss on his cheek. “I hope I’ll see you tomorrow, too.”

…

You think of texting Natasha. Maybe even Sam or Steve.

You’re unsure what to wear, how to behave, what to think. You want to ask if he’s invited any other girls to shows; whispered sweet nothings in their ears, kissed their necks, let them top him off in his dressing room. You already know the answer, though.

Becca’s been dressed to leave for two hours already. Bucky’s band’s merch, a pink tutu, matching leggings, light-up sneakers. She looks cute. She looks happy.

You wear jeans and a t-shirt—from a band that Bucky hates, since you’re already giving him the satisfaction of showing up, and you refuse to please him any further—and call an Uber when you’re ready.

You make it to the venue ten minutes before the time that Bucky told you to show up, and you hope you’re not coming off too eager. A large man in an orange shirt recognizes you before you even give him your name, and escorts you backstage. Becca clings to you until she catches a glimpse of the bright red hair that she quickly places as her aunt’s.

“Auntie Nat!” She screeches.

Natasha whips her head toward you and her face lights up. “Becca!”

You watch your daughter run over to her for a hug and a kiss. You follow her, receiving your own, as well as an onslaught of questions.

“How have you been? You and Bucky aren’t back together, are you? Did you do something different with your hair?”

“I’m okay.” You smile. “Uh, Bucky and I are not back together.”

She sighs. “Kind of wish you were. I miss you.”

“Nat, I just-”

“I know. I understand. He’d drive me crazy, too.”

You both laugh, and Bucky appears across the room as if he senses that he’s being spoken about. He wears a baby tee that ends about an inch above his black skinny jeans and rides up when he moves his arms. His boots stomp with every step, and the Tiffany choker necklace that he wears at all times—the one that you gifted him—adds a sort of delicateness to the look.

You catch his eye and he hurries over to you, pulling you into his side for a small hug and scooping Rebecca out of his friend’s arms, delivering about a million kisses to her face while she giggles. Natasha leaves you to be alone together after kissing your cheek.

“Hey.” He greets. “You hungry?”

“No, thanks.”

“Thirsty?”

“All good.”

He nods in understanding. “We go on in a couple of hours.” He fidgets with the hem of Becca’s shirt.

“You nervous?”

“A little bit.”

“That’s unlike you.”

“Well, I’ve got special guests tonight.” He pokes Becca’s side and she smiles, resting her head against his shoulder. “You want some juice or something?” He asks her.

“Apple juice?” She questions.

“Yeah, we’ve got apple juice.”

“Apple juice, please.”

He sets her down to find a cup and a straw and she grabs your hand, pulling you to follow him. You see a few familiar faces—some of Bucky’s musician friends, a personal security guard that always tours with the band, a couple of others that you can’t place. They wave confusedly to you and you shyly return the gesture, feeling a little awkward that they’re now more familiar with the band than you are.

Just as you’re wondering where Sam and Steve are, you feel a pair of strong arms envelope you from behind. You can tell it’s Steve right away, because he smells like Irish Spring and is ridiculously tall. “Steve?”

“Bucky didn’t tell us you were coming!”

“Of course he didn’t.” You say, turning around and letting him hug you properly. Next to you, Sam lifts Becca and kisses her cheeks until she’s giggling.

“How old are you now, sixteen? Seventeen?” He asks her, and she rolls her eyes dramatically.

“I’m three, Uncle Sam.” She holds up three fingers to his face and he smiles.

“So I guess I can’t get a ride home, then?”

“No way.”

He puts her down when Steve releases you so that you can switch.

“You look great.” He says as he pulls you in for what could be the softest hug of all time. “We’ve all missed you.”

“I’ve missed you all, too.”

…

Bucky kisses Becca on the cheek and gives her a squeezy hug before he goes onstage. She wears bright pink headphones to protect her ears, and you sit on the floor, grinning while she dances to the songs she can hardly hear.

It’s an hour and a half before the band is off stage, filing one by one through the wings as they make their way backstage to wind down.

Steve lifts Becca on his way by, and asks if she can hang out for a little while longer. “I know it’s late, so if not-”

“Of course she can.” You interject, pressing a kiss to her cheek and letting her Aunt and Uncles whisk her away with a little wave goodbye.

Bucky walks slowly with you so that you’re out of earshot from everyone. “Listen, about last night-”

“It’s…Whatever, Bucky. I don’t think that that’s what you want, anyway.”

“It is.”

“Sex, or me?”

“You.” He answers without hesitation, though you’re reluctant to believe him.

“How am I supposed to-”

“Just trust me.”

“I can’t, Buck. Somebody sends me new photos of you and a different girl every week.” You think about the photos of him shoving his tongue down the throat of a short blonde outside of her apartment building just last week.

He swallows thickly. “Those are just- that’s not- I was just messing around. I don’t want to mess around with you.’

“Bucky-”

“I want to be with you. I want you to myself.” He says calmly, brushing some hair behind your ear and staring at your lips. “I thought a lot about it after I left last night.”

There are a million things that you could say to him right now. You could tell him that you don’t want him, or that you’re bad for each other, or that if you break up again, poor Becca will be devastated, since she’ll be old enough to comprehend it then. You could prod about anybody that he might be seeing casually right now that he hasn’t told you about, or you could question if he really thinks he’s ready for a serious relationship. Instead, you ask, “Does that door have a lock?”

He grins and nods, bolting to the door and flipping the lock on the knob before turning back around and seating himself on the couch.

You take the initiative to straddle his lap and his hands find the dips of your waist immediately. Your hands land on either side of his face just as your lips meet. Gently at first, and then with more insistence.

You roll your hips forward instinctively, and you both moan into each other’s mouths. His teeth catch your lower lip as he’s pulling away to catch his breath, and your stomach flips at the implication of what else he’s thinking about doing.

He tastes like beer and smells faintly of weed but strongly of pine. You wish you could get closer to him—you want to grab the ball-chain he wears and tug him forward, pull off his shirt and feel the perpetually clean-shaven skin of his tattooed chest, but you know you need to have more self-control than that. You need to wait until he gives himself up to you, which should be any minute now.

While he kisses you and runs his hands over your body—pulling, squeezing, fondling—you think through Bucky Barnes; his tongue always sliding between your lips so gently, and the tattoos on his fingers that are obstructed by silver rings, and the treasure trail that was visible underneath the hem of his tight shirt for the entire show, and the first time that he squeezed your cheeks to spit in your mouth, and the terribly distracting bulge in his pants right now. As if he’s reading your mind, he pulls his hands away from you and finds the button and zipper of his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping and lifting his ass a little to shove fabric down his thighs, boxers and pants coming down together, just enough so that his cock is comfortably freed from its entrapment.

It looks how you remember it to look; long but not too thick, a single vein visible down the side, a delectable pink head that’s sure to be leaking with a firm grip and a few pumps from you. You realize that you’re staring—although he doesn’t seem to mind—so you lean back in to kiss him. He stops you and gestures to your pants, silently telling you to take them off. You stand and rid yourself of them, moving onto your panties and playfully tossing them at him after you step out of them. He chuckles and pulls off his shirt, kicking his pants the rest of the way down his legs before you take your place on his lap once again.

“Your shirt.” He suggests.

“Huh?”

“Take it off?”

You nod and pull the hem upwards, feeling him press kisses between your breasts before you even pull it over your head.

When it comes over your face you’re met with a square of foil in front of your mouth, and a simple command: “Bite.” When you do, he pulls the packet so that it rips and quickly rolls the condom that falls out down his full cock.

You spit the plastic on the cushion next to you and knock him backwards against the couch cushions behind him to accept his tongue in your mouth again, taking control of the kiss while you reach between your bodies to grasp onto his dick, running the tip between your folds to collect your arousal.

After a few back-and-forths and a breathy moan into your mouth, you sink down onto him. Your breath catches in your throat until he’s as far in as he’ll fit, and you whine quietly before he cuts you off with a bruising kiss, keeping his lips against yours while he speaks.

“This feels…” He swallows and kisses you again, sighing. “I missed you.”

You nod. “I missed you, too.”

After an admittedly short flurry of wet kisses, grabbing hands, and desperate moans, you finish together.

“Oh, God. F-fuck, oh my God.” Bucky breathes into your neck, small kisses littering your collarbone, gentle teeth sinking into the delicate skin.

You tilt your head downward, moving your hand to the top of his neck to push your fingers through his hair while you kiss the top of his head. The intimacy of the action isn’t lost on either of you.

“Y/N?” He voices.

He’s still inside of you, his hands on your back holding you against him.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“Bucky-”

He looks up at you, finally, and rests his thumb against your cheekbone. “No, really, I love you. I’m so lost without you. I don’t know what I’m doing with myself.”

“James-”

“You don’t have to say it back. I know you won’t, it’s okay. I just needed to tell you. I’m ready to do all of this with you.”

You smile sadly at him and nod, brushing his hair back and kissing his forehead.

You find Becca on the tour bus, after you and Bucky have cleaned up and made your way out of the back of the venue together. With a finger hooked in one of your belt loops and a can of beer in his other hand, he follows you up the stairs.

Becca is curled up in her Uncle Sam’s lap, sucking her thumb and nodding off while he converses with his bandmates.

“Looks like it’s time for us to head out.” You say, motioning to your halfway-sleeping toddler, hearing the door shut behind Bucky. “You guys’ll have to text me next time you’re back in town, okay?”

You give goodbye hugs and make promises to meet up soon before Bucky walks you to where your Uber’s supposed to be picking you up.

“Where will you be tomorrow?” You ask, patting Becca’s back while she rests her head against your shoulder.

“New Jersey.” He answers shyly.

“Well…Will you call me?”

“Did you want me to?”

“Would I be asking if I didn’t want you to?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll call you.”

You smile and step closer to him, holding his face in your free hand and planting a long, gentle kiss on his lips—much different from the ones you were giving him earlier. He kisses you back; inhales you, holds the back of your head, savors every second that his mouth is attached to yours.

—

You wake up next to Bucky for the three-hundred-and-thirty-seventh day in a row, which is exactly one year after the first show that you attended since you broke up. You know this because you kept the VIP pass that he gave you that night—it hangs from the corner of your bed frame.

His face is shoved into your neck, and his heavy, tattooed arm is draped across your waist. He snores lightly, sleeping through the stomping feet of your four-year-old in the hallway, who is surely making her way to your bedroom.

The sun projects onto the wall opposite your bed, casting two identical rectangles of yellow-orange onto the gray paint and across the front of the dark mahogany dresser.

Rebecca comes barreling through the door, launching herself onto the blanket-covered mass that are yours and Bucky’s tangled legs.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky sounds, turning to face the messy-haired rugrat that is currently climbing up the bed to lay between the two of you. “Good morning, Rebecca.” He says unenthusiastically.

“Good morning, daddy.” She kisses him wetly on the cheek and he smiles tiredly. “Good morning, mommy.” She gives one to you as well.

“Good morning, Rebecca.” You run your fingers through her curls, kissing the top of her head. “You know, it’s very early. Mommy and daddy were sleeping.”

“I know.” She grins. “I missed you.”

“What if we all went back to sleep?” Bucky asks, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“I’m not tired.”

“I am.” He groans.

“Mommy, let’s make pancakes.”

She convinces you quickly, because her pleading is annoyingly persuasive, and Bucky joins you both in the kitchen while you stand at the stove, after Becca has already ditched you to watch cartoons in the living room.

With his left arm now on and his teeth brushed, he presses his chest to your back, wrapping his arms around you and leaning forward to kiss your temple. “Need any help?”

“With pancakes?” You ask, turning your head to capture his lips with yours. The kiss is a little dirty for seven in the morning, but you’re not complaining. “All set, thanks.”

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“I know.” You grin. “I appreciate it.”

He keeps himself busy by kissing the back of your neck and swatting your ass before cleaning the measuring cup and the other dishware that you used to mix the batter.

He tells you that he loves you when you present him with a kiss and a plate of heart-shaped pancakes (or, at least, pancakes that were supposed to be heart-shaped, and just turned out…lumpy).

He tells you that you’re the love of his life. He says that you should marry him.

You know that he means it. You laugh, and blush, and tell him to shut up.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan

2K notes · View notes

peterparkersnose · 2 years

Text

birthday part 3

pineapples and hot dogs

(tobey!peter x birthday!reader)

word count: 1.2k

warnings: pregnancy, being a mother, the domestic life, mention of alcohol

summary: Y/N’s birthday as wife of Peter Parker and mother of his children. Peter tries to give you a good, comfortable birthday.

a/n hey guys! today is my birthday! I really enjoyed writing this story. Peter and the reader are both in their early thirties, just a warning! Also, don’t hate on me for the middle name. I love it.

read time: 4 mins 40 seconds

birthday series

masterlist

gif credit @buckypascal

When you and Peter were younger, birthdays were always so special. He would come up with the sweetest and most unique gifts you’ve ever received. Birthdays stopped getting special after your first child was born. Still fun when she was younger, and as she grew older they started to fade. But when the second came along, birthdays consisted of a tiny last-minute gift and casual sex after the kids went to bed. Don’t get me wrong, you still appreciated everything Peter did. Being a writer, Spiderman, and a full devoted husband and father was difficult. There just wasn’t that spark that there used to be when you two were dating, and in the early years of your marriage.

It was your birthday. Turning 33 was not as you planned. You were heavily pregnant with your third, ready to give birth in about two weeks. “Mommy,” Christopher, your three year old cried. You glanced at the clock. 2:44 AM. “Yes baby,” you groaned, sitting up in bed. “There’s a monster in my closet.”

“A monster?” your husband asked, turning over in bed. “Let’s see,” he smiled, placing a re assuring hand on Christopher’s back as they walked to his room. You laid carefully back down in bed, waiting for your husband to return.

He came back in the room and shut the door quietly. He climbed in bed, moving to cradle you and what he could hold of your stomach. “Happy Birthday,” he whispered in your ear. “Best birthday ever, so far.” you smiled.

“Sam, are you up?” you called to your daughter. “Yes mom!” she yelled back. She was your oldest, your seven your old. You cracked another egg on the stove, trying not to throw up from the smell. It was Christopher’s favorite food, the only thing he insisted on eating.

“Eggs again?” Samantha sighed, walking into the kitchen. “Eat up,” you said, placing the plates in front of your kids. “Alright,” Peter said, walking into the kitchen. He was ready for work, book bag slung over his arm. “Thank you for the coffee,” he said, and kissed you on the cheek. “Ew!” both of your kids said, and Peter just went in for another. “Alright, alright.” you laughed, handing him his thermos of coffee. “You ready?” Peter asked Samantha. She was a first grader now, and Peter would drop her off at school before he went to work. “Chris, you be good for your mom.” he said, ruffling his hair. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said to you, and snuck another kiss on the cheek before running after Sam to get her in the car.

“And we can do all the coloring and I- I can show him my toys and…” Christopher was naming. He was telling you all the things he hoped to do with his new baby brother on the way. You were in the nursery, folding out the new babies clothes while your son babbled behind you. “Christopher honey, what do you want to name the baby?” you asked out of curiosity. You and Peter haven’t chose a solid names yet.

Benjamin was out of the question, it was already Christopher’s middle name.

You have talked about Jacob, or something more out there such as August. But nothing sat right with you two quite yet.

“I’m going to name him hot dog!” Christopher exclaimed. “Hot dog?” you chuckled, turning around. “Yes! It is my second most favorite food b-but naming him after my first favorite food would just be silly,” he laughed, rolling around on the floor. Baby egg you thought to yourself. Wasn’t half wrong.

You had put Christopher down for his nap. You were scrolling on your phone, watching those Instagram chefs cook. This video was themed ‘Pineapple’, and my god you were craving it more than anything. Your phone rang, it was your husband.

“And how is my beautiful wife doing on her birthday?” he asked.

“She is very tired. And craving Pineapple,”

“Pineapple?” Peter asked

“I saw this Instagram video and-”

“Babe, you’ve got to stay off of food Instagram while your pregnant. I can’t cook like those chefs!” he laughed.

“Will you bring me some?” you asked.

“For you? Of course.”

The pineapple cravings were taking over your brain. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, it drove you nuts. You were this close to going to the store to buy some. And trust me, bringing a three year old to a grocery store while pregnant was not an easy activity. But just as you were about to get up to go, you saw Peter’s car roll into the driveway.

“Daddy got a lot of Pineapples,” Samantha said walking in, and throwing her backpack on the table. “Pineapfels?” Christopher asked, stepping out into the garage to see. “Woah!” you heard him say. You waddled out to the garage and was stunned.

Pineapples solid

Pineapples cut up

Pineapple juice

Pineapple slices

Pineapple juice

Pineapple upside down cake

and Pineapple vodka

“You need some help there, Pineapple man?” you called out to your husband.

“Nope! Chris, bring Mommy a pineapple.” he asked his son. Christopher picked a pineapple out from the pile he had bought, and presented it to you. “Happy Birthday mama,” he smiled. “Thank you baby,” you said as he ran back into the house. “Vodka? Really?” you huffed. “Hey, I mean in a few weeks,” Peter laughed.

Peter had just finished helping Samantha with her homework and you had just put down Chris. The night was winding down.

Easily, already a container of pineapple was gone. You and your family had a hefty amount at dinner. Well, you had it to spare. Peter had bought enough pineapple to last the whole year if it could.

Samantha was finally in bed, and you were exhausted.

Peter had brought a bowl of pineapple into bed. “I’m sorry today was kind of boring,” he said, placing the bowl between his legs. “Peter, today was perfect.” you smiled. “How was the baby?” he asked, now rubbing your back. You sighed in relief. “Good, Chris came up with a really great name,” you laughed. “Hmm? And what would that be?” he asked. “Baby Hot Dog.” “Hot Dog?” Peter laughed. “Yes, because naming him after his first favorite food would be inappropriate.” you smiled.

“What a kid,” Peter laughed again. “We have to choose a name soon,” you sighed, rubbing the sides of your stomach. Peter was silent for a moment. “What about Henry?” he asked. The name clicked in your brain and just sounded right. Henry Harry Parker. “Where did you come up with that? I love it,” “Really, honestly? It was the cashier’s name at the grocery store.” he chuckled. “Jesus Peter,” you sighed. “I mean, I’m down for Henry if you are.” he said, moving back over to his side of the bed. “Well, yeah. I mean, I now really love the name Henry. I’m kind of set on it, now that you mention it.” “Well, perfect. Naming our son after a grocer.” Peter said sarcastically. “A very noble profession, I must say.”

“You want to pick a movie?” he asked, handing you the remote. You decided on (your favorite movie). “Again?” Peter groaned, chewing on a piece of pineapple. “Oh sorry I didn’t want to watch Star Wars for the thousandth time,” you laughed. Bantering like the old days.

You started to feel sleepy about half way through. Peter noticed and squeezed your hand.

“We can finish it tomorrow night,” he asked. You nodded and yawned. “Thank you for the wonderful birthday,” you said, smiling. You leaned over and kissed your husband goodnight.

“Hey baby,”

“Yes?”

“You taste like pineapples,”

227 notes · View notes

sugamamacustard · 3 years

Text

Fire man.

Pairing: Alpha! Tetsuro Kuroo x Omega! Reader, Alpha! Toru Oikawa x Omega! Reader, Alpha! Kentaro Bokuto x Omega! Reader

Genre: Fluff, NSFW/ Smut

Request: hi custard!! can you share any headcanons about omega! reader going into her first heat and how her alpha takes care of her? for kuroo, oikawa, and bokuto if possible? 🥰🥰

Summary: Your heat hits unepectedly and it’s up to your alpha to help you through it. How is he doing it?

Author’s Note: Hiya Anon! I just wanted to say hi. :D I think Bokuto’s banner is one of my favorites...

Requests: Open

Tetsuro Kuroo

➵Kuroo, when your in heat, is a tease.

➵ He is making your whine and beg while keeping you just barely hanging on the edge before even thinking of giving you his knot.

➵ He’s not giving you anything until you beg like the good kitty you are. He’s making sure you know who’s in charge and he will not give in.

➵ He is alpha. You are his bitch in heat.

➵ And you aren’t forgetting it anytime soon. (Though his after care is like 11/10)

➵ You’re breathing was heavy and your core hurt.

➵ Sweat was dripping off of you in buckets.

➵ You were so...So warm.

➵ And nothing can ease you of this pain.

➵ Nothing but your alpha.

➵ He was on his way, or so he texted you, but it was too long.

➵ He was taking too long.

➵ Where was he?

➵ He was supposed to be here by now.

➵ And he wasn’t.

➵ You had half a mind to lock him out. Though, the other half was your omegan half and she was snarling at you for even thinking about this.

➵ So you didn’t. But it wasn’t like it was an all serious thought anyway, since you could barely move to drag your fingers between the folds of your sopping cunt let along move to lock the windows and doors.

➵ You just wanted your alpha, was that too much to ask?

➵ “Naught kitten, eh? Playing with yourself without your alpha?”

➵ You barely had enough strength to look up, watching Tetsuro cross over to you, setting down a grocery bag by your doorway.

➵ “Need...Need alpha. Need my alpha. Need his knot. Need-” You panted, drooling as the captain’s fingers trailed the very same way yours had.

➵ “Don’t worry. Your alpha will help you.”

____

“Fuck, kitten. Have I told you how pretty you smell in heat? I don’t think I have.” Tetsuro groaned, hips rolling as his cock effortlessly pushed into your cunt, a squelching noise ringing through the room along with your absolutely divine moans.

“No, alpha. No. I’m your pretty omega though. Yours, all yours.” You whimpered, gripping the sheets below you with a white-knuckled grip. His cock hit all the right spots for you, pressing against your cervix and sending shots of absolutely addicting pleasure through your spine. Your thighs clenched tightly around his hips as a gush of slick sloshed out of your cunny and around your alpha’s dick. He hissed in pleasure, slowing his already agonizing pace. His fingers traced your clit in a mindless motion, scooping up slick before bringing his fingers up to his mouth and sucking.

He hummed in satisfaction before moving the, now, slick free hand to one of your breasts. The pads of his fingers were rough from volleyball and whatever and still had you withering from the touch. A squeeze had you chirping loudly in pleasure, more slick gushing out. “Please alpha! Please give me your knot, fuck me until I don’t know my name! Please- help me!”

Tetsuro chuckled rolling his hips once more. “Well, since my kitten begged so prettily, I suppose I could help.”

Toru Oikawa

➵ I can see Toru being a huge tease as well, just not in the same way as Kuroo

➵ This man is quick to have you cumming over and over on his fingers, which you know are talented.

➵ And then, when your sobbing and begging for his knot?

➵ Then, and only then, will he let you hop on his dick.

➵ And he’s not helping you.

➵ If you want something, you’re working for it.

➵ He’s making you ride him over and over, even when a mixture of his and your cum is dripping down your thighs.

➵ And it’s not until your sobbing into his shoulder do you get his knot to relieve yourself of any and all pain.

➵ But he’s cuddling you right after and soothing your tears, whispering such sweet things with that silver tongue of his. (After care like 7/10)

➵ You texted your alpha thirty minutes ago.

➵ It was a thirty minute walk from your house to his, not including fangirl interceptions.

➵ So you were patient.

➵ You didn’t dare try to touch yourself, as your alpha would make you pay for that, but instead sat nice and patient.

➵ “Pretty bird!”

➵ Your head perked up in excitement as your brown haired angel popped into your room, immediately purring as your pretty figure.

➵ He laughed, using quick strides to get to your side, crawling into your nest and peeling of his shirt as you pawed at it yourself.

➵ “Does my pretty bird think she’s getting off that easily?”

____

“Toru!” You pleaded, needy as your hips stung, the grip on them almost certainly leaving a bruise. You had been bouncing for hours and the strain on your hips, thighs, knees and calves was burning with an oh-so delicious ache. You couldn’t count the amount of times your alpha had made you cum, both on his cock and his fingers, but the overstimulation had long since turn into a pitiful painful bliss that had you quivering with every move.

“Ah-ah-ah. That’s not what my omega calls me, now is it?” Toru chuckled, speeding up your bounces as his hips thrust up in time with yours. His lips went right back to attacking any skin in his general vicinity, watching your tear stained-face. When you whimpered a response, one he obviously was not looking for, he stopped completely-- the head of his cock prodding your cervix and making you whimper. “Is it, omega?”

“No! No- No your my alpha. My strong, gorgeous alpha! My amazing, incredible alpha! Please, alpha! Help me- Help your omega please!” You sobbed and whined, trying to bounce again, but his hold on you was cement solid. You were stuck and he wasn’t letting you go until you gave him what he wanted. When you began sobbing into his shoulder murmurs of ‘my alpha-my alpha-my alpha’ he began moving you.

“That’s it pretty bird, now just let your alpha care for you.”

Kotaro Bokuto

➵ Let’s be honest.

➵ Bokuto is the complete opposite of the other two.

➵ He’s a lover by heart. A totally selfless lover.

➵ He’s giving you everything you want when you want it.

➵ He doesn’t care about his own pleasure only yours.

➵ Want snacks? He’s got you.

➵ Want to crack a few jokes while he’s buried balls deep inside of you? He’s joking around with you.

➵ Want to ride him until your both crying? He’s got tissues for right after ready to go.

➵ Kotaro is selfless and giving and probably one of the best to have during your heat.

➵ He has no qualms on going down on you for hours, or fingering you until your satisfied or lending his thigh to you to grind on until your calmed.

➵ Everything he has, is yours. He is yours. And you better be all his >:(

➵ Knocking on your alpha’s door was nerve wracking in every sense, even if you knew he would be and is happy to help whenever you need.

➵ He opened the door within moments, smiling brightly when he saw you. “Y/N! Angel!”

➵ He hugged you tightly, scenting you as he did so only to pause.

➵ “Are you- Is your heat here?” The angel, no matter how many times he claimed you were an angel-- it was always him--, questioned, pulling away but keeping his hands on your hips.

➵ When you nodded shyly, he purred even louder-- if possible.

➵ “Then why didn’t you say so, angel? Let me help you!”

____

“Alpha- Alpha!” Your cries were like music to your alpha’s ears, his tongue flicking across your clit with a hum. The vibrations sent you crashing over the edge once more, your fingers yanking as he kept your thighs in his hands. His head ached slightly but it was all worth it. All worth your pleasure. He would go through it a hundred times just to see you like this one more time in his life.

His jaw was beginning to hurt ever so slightly, but it was so minimal in the grand scheme of things. So minimal in comparison to you. Everything is minimal when it comes to you. He was missing practice at this point, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to focus on you. Focus on how your thighs clenched around his head, or how slick dripped both down his chin and your, now sloppy, cunt. Or maybe on how pretty your swollen little clit was, just sitting there-- waiting for him to suck on it like a lollipop.

And he had a one track mind. So lollipop it was. His lips immediately went back to sucking on the clit, tongue swirling around your sensitive nub over and over and over again while you whined and squirmed under him. But he wasn’t moving. Not until you wanted him. Not until you were past satisfied. When he did pop off with an audible pop he only looked up with a smirk, wiping his chin on your thigh.

“I gotta treat my angel right, ya know? So stay still and let me have my meal.” He barely heard your beautiful moans when he went back down on you.

1K notes · View notes

libraford · 3 years

Text

I owe you all a story about kittens. But its about... a little more than kittens. It's a long one.

I want to tell you all about the kittens, which took place in 2019. But in order to do so, I have to take you back even further, to March of 2018, and concludes in 2021. Because it's about kittens, but it's also about business and all the things that can go wrong.

In March 2018, tragedy struck. The owner of the flower shop died unexpectedly, leaving the business to four capable managers. One of those managers was the man that had hired me, leaving a power vacuum at our location. Grandpa was not the first choice to take the lead, but she stepped up and she became manager. In my opinion, there was no better person for the role: she had only ever worked in the flower industry (assuming we're not counting the one week in 1976 when she worked at a pizza parlor,) and as such she knew the business inside and out.

Prior to this, she had taught all of the designers and practically ran the place when the boss was out, so it was the next logical step. And it was good.

Of course, we had our ups and downs. What I did not realize when I joined the flower shop is that the flower industry is volatile- there are so many variables that went into the creation of floral pieces and if there is one misstep you can be set back anywhere from a day to several thousand dollars. There are late deliveries, there are frightening brides, there are missing piñatas… van fires, flower snobs, color corrections, failed psychics, friends, enemies…

You can set the bar so very low and yet…

The rise and fall of drama at this particular flower shop could be dictated into hours and minutes because sometimes you need to hire people just to fill that space. Grandpa was on record by saying 'if they can walk, talk, and spell their name, hire them.' Even so, we were critically understaffed most of the time because if you hire anyone you're going to get a lot of quitters.

It's a tough cycle to break, and our power was limited.

And we had bigger fish to fry: we had an average of thirty funerals, two weddings, and well over six hundred deliveries per week. Business was booming and we just had to keep up- if you make it one week after the next it doesn't feel so bad.

By March of the following year, the four owners had whittled down to two: my former boss and the former webmaster. We had a district manager now, some kind of accounts position… things like that. It was kind of astonishing that before this, all the work had been done by a single man. But the secrets to his success had died with him.

Things were looking good, actually: the flower business was full of life! We were doing all kinds of special events, starting contracts with businesses and getting our name out there. Drama still plagued us, but as far as I'm aware, that's par for the course for flower shops.

Then, in May 2019, tragedy struck. A tornado ripped straight down the street of our headquarters, demolishing the greenhouse and the historical building that it all started in. No one was injured, but the damages were devastating. Despite all this, we kept working.

We worked hard. And hard. And hard.

And though the new warehouse wasn't slated to be finished until 2021, we reached an equilibrium where things were okay.

But before I get to that, I made a promise to you.

It was a hot day in August and I was walking into my closing shift at 10am. After two years of working with roughly the same people, you got to learning how to tell when something was happening. I walked in to everyone staring at me and acting 'natural.' It never looks natural.

In the back of the store, there was a box that Cherry was standing very purposely in front of.

"What's in the-"

"Sh!" Grandpa spied through the window in the cooler door as someone swung out with a purchase. "Did you find something you like," she asked the customer, trotting over to help him at the register.

"What's happening," I asked Blue.

"Nothings happening, it just kind of… happened."

"Blue… what does that MEAN?"

"There's a customer here, I can't talk about it."

I am bursting at the seams to know what's going on.

Grandpa fared the customer well and went back to her station behind the computer. "Open the box," she said.

Ominous, but okay. I go over to the box and Cherry steps aside. There's something moving inside the box and I wonder if Pam's daughter had folded herself into a box to ride out a panic attack again. I carefully opened the flaps of the box and accidentally disturbed the sleep of-

Four.

Tiny.

KITTENS!

Oh my god, it was the most adorable thing in the world and the poor things were screaming because they had only known the world for a few weeks and everything was strange and blurry and all they knew to do was cuddle for warmth and scream. The box consisted of two black kittens, one tuxedo kitten, and a white seal-point with terminal eye goop.

They immediately started climbing up my arm.

"Not that I'm not thrilled, but… why?"

"Stray cat left her babies out by my pond and wasn't just gonna leave the little fuckers," Grandpa said. The seal-point made it all the way up my shoulder to scream in my ear and stare at me with one clear blue eye. "That one's name is Pop-eye. He's my favorite."

"Jake doesn't get along with them," I surmised. Jake was Grandpa's Australian Shepherd. He was old, blind, deaf, and losing his sense of smell. And he was ornery.

"First thing he did was sit on Pop-eye. So they're gonna be at the shop during the day until we can get them all homed. Know anyone that needs a kitten?"

So, for awhile, we had shop cats. One of the all black twins had been claimed the very next day, but the rest of them were with us for some time. We got very good at feeding them all every hour on the hour and eventually they settled into accepting that 'mom' was seven different people.

In the meantime, we had to hide the three of them from visiting management.

This was not my first round with cat-related crimes.

The district manager, Puppet, was due to come for a visit any time that week. He was supposed to come once a month for a routine check in, and there were only ten days left in August. Likewise, we had to hide the kittens from the customers on the off chance that one of them was a secret shopper.

Backtracking once more to explain: the company had shelled out money to pay a third party to send secret shoppers to grade us on a rubric and also whatever they thought was appropriate. The grades were cleanliness, customer service, how knowledgeable we were of products, things like that. If we got above 90%, there would be a bonus in our next paycheck.

Sounds great, right?

The spies could decide that anything wasn't up to their standard. One woman went on and on about our 'black wall,' which was the outside of our cooler and I'm sorry but… that's not changing. There was a complaint that the table at the front used to showcase our bridal seemed out of place and odd. There dirt in the flower pots… where dirt goes. Corporate reads those comments.

So keeping the children out of sight of the customers and any visiting management became our priority.

'So just keep them in the break room,' I hear you, the reader, suggest.

If you've never owned cats, it is imperative for you to know that they are mostly comprised of spine, and only the smallest of openings will deter them from squeezing into parts unknown. Cats are semi-solids. Kittens are semi-solids with a sense of adventure and little tiny needles for fingernails.

And you can't just tape the box shut.

So… they got out. Well, two of them got out. The tuxedo awoke to find that her brothers had gone exploring without her and did the sensible thing, which was cry about it.

Mood.

I have named this cat Brood X Cicada. The black one can be named Abyss. I'm great at naming cats.

Lucky for us, they're only a few weeks old and walk kind of like little tin soldiers. It took all of five minutes to pry Pop-eye from a piece of Styrofoam and locate Abyss exploring an old toolbox. However, by the time I'm done cat collecting, Brood X Cicada had toddled off in search of her brothers and I'm out of hands to hold kittens in. I stuffed Abyss into my apron pocket and tried to save X from eating plastic.

It is at this moment that Cherry came in to tell me that Puppet the District Manager was on his way, and saw that I was helplessly juggling kittens. Abyss was climbing out of my pocket, eager to join his siblings in the high and exalted position that was my hands.

"We need these kittens out of here," I said. "Who hasn't been on lunch yet?"

Cherry dodged her head back into the workshop. "Hey Key, you been on lunch?" Pause. "You wanna go now?"

Key came into the back room and I handed her the box of kittens. "Take these, in your car. Go to burger King or something, I don't care. Puppet cannot see these. If anyone asks, you're on a route."

Key held the box and took a moment to appreciate the series of events that lead to her being handed a box of kittens in a 'Take this, don't ask questions' kind of matter.

Puppet was in the front door as Key was out the back and we successfully avoided a serious mistake. His visit was only an hour and she walked back in without anyone the wiser.

We made it through the big challenge, now to continue looking for homes for them. Ms. Crow found a friend of a friend of a friend that was excited to take Abyss from us. After some interrogating my friends, I found someone who knew someone who could take Pop-eye and Brood X Cicada. (They were renamed Hocus and Pocus.)

Grandpa cried for every single one of them that had to go. And I remembered my very first day of working there when she introduced herself as 'The Tinman.' What a liar, the softy.

Our days went on kitten-free, the management none the wiser.

It was December when I got the feeling that I should be taking photos of my work to build a portfolio. Something wasn't right, I felt. I couldn't say what it was that put me on edge, but I could only say that all was not well. I took photos of everything that I was proud of, and I was proud of a lot of things. By February, I had over fifty items that I could show off to a potential studio. And I thought- in March, I should start looking to see if other shops are hiring.

And in March 2020, tragedy struck. Our state went into lockdown on March 13, dictating that all non-essential businesses close and non-essential staff be laid off. There were two days where none of us knew what was happening, if we had jobs or if that job was safe.

They laid off all but three designers and Grandpa but kept most the drivers, changed our hours to 8-5, closed Sundays. Canceled weddings. No walk-ins. The three designers were Blue, Red, and me.

Blue was worried about her children. She resigned.

Red's wife was worried about him and harassed him into quitting.

And then there was one.

There's a series of poems I wrote in my journal about being an essential worker during lockdown. There's adorable little doodles of skeletons around the margins, festooned with flowers. They all go something like this:

We are the Skeleton Crew.

We once were seven but now are two

We don't know what to do

So we just work, work, work.

Many may wonder how a flower shop would be considered an essential business. The answer is funerals. We were allowed to remain open because of our relationship with the funeral industry. And sad to say: the industry was booming.

And I did all of it. I made every spray, every 'get well soon' vase, every 'happy quarantine' bouquet. I called angry brides to see if they could postpone, I dealt with everyone's grief and uncertainty.

All the flowers that arrived at US Customs through Italy were destroyed because we didn't know whether coronavirus was transmitted through physical contact and there's no way to sanitize flowers. Not without killing them.

It was me and Grandpa. That was it. Ten funerals a day, and everything else. Flowers were more important than ever: you couldn't be there, so you sent flowers. And flowers and flowers and flowers…

I couldn't leave now. I was important, I was needed.

The work became overwhelming for both of us and we began hiring back some of our staff. Some came back right away, bored out of their skulls having to spend time at home. Can't relate. Key never responded, Cherry was pregnant and shouldn't be out of the house.

Dandy came back, Kali came back, Astra came back. Eventually, Blue. After a month of just me and Grandpa, there was almost a full crew and it was enough for us to get through an average week. It took us a month on our bare knuckles but we finally weren't shouldering the responsibility of seven people.

But we still didn't know jack shit about the future there.

In May, the 'economy opened up,' which is a strategic way of saying that people got tired of never leaving the house and stores were pressured to open back up again before a vaccine was released under threat of… you know what? This isn't a story about how America responded to the coronavirus poorly and you can probably find a better thinkpiece about it written by someone with facts and feelings if you want to squeeze yourself behind a pay wall.

This is about workers rights and kittens, two things that are far more important than the economy.

We got 'Hero Pay,' which was two dollars extra per hour and damn did I grasp onto that with the tendons in my wrists. I had never been paid $12 an hour for anything in my life. They started talking about permanent raises, and benefits, 401K, pregnancy leave… and I started thinking… maybe I could stay. Maybe I can stay here for awhile and it won't be so bad now that I'm getting paid actual human wages. Maybe it will be okay.

Life returned to an uneasy normal while we navigated mask laws, sanitation regulations, safety screens, and daily temperature checks. There are stories to tell about some less than great customers we'd had as people realized that they weren't coping with the pandemic as well as they thought, but they deserve their own entries.

We had a revolving door of open positions. If it wasn't a designer it was a driver or both. People weren't ready to come back to work yet but we still had a business to run. People asked if they could perform this job remotely. I'm not sure how one does flowers from home.

It was August when we started feeling the roots of our problems seep into the foundation.

Grandpa's pride and joy was her funerals. She had spent thirteen years building a relationship with the funeral homes in the area to make sure they trust us and our work. If anything was wrong, even a hair out of place, they knew they could call us and have it fixed before the visitation.

"We want unity across the board on our products," Puppet said. "If you're doing the sprays one way and others don't look the same, it doesn't look very good for Oldman Funeral Home, which has locations in all our cities, does it?" He swept his bangs out of his eyes, which was strange tell but we weren't sure for what.

"Okay," Grandpa said. "Schedule a time for me to go down and I'll teach them the way we do them."

"Okay, then."

She went down, prepared to show the crew in the warehouse what 40 years in the business was capable of, only to be met with a strange kind of resistance.

Their head designer greeted her and immediately started instructing her on how he makes sprays. Grandpa, confused, blinked at him with no words. When he was finished, she picked up her clippers and began making her own.

"That's not how we do it," he said. She was met with criticism after criticism. "That's not enough flowers, you're putting them in wrong, you're still making it one-sided. Why did you put the bow there, this looks nothing like our products."

She stood back after his barrage of blows to the ego. "I guess I'm a little confused."

"I'll say."

"Am I teaching you or are you teaching me?"

"I'm teaching you," he said. "Since they're going to all be made here from now on, they want me to show you how we make them in case of emergency."

She let that simmer. "That's not what I was told."

"You didn't think you were supposed to show me how you do it, did you? That doesn't make any sense. Why would we want to look like yours?"

"Oh, I dunno… maybe because we've kept up 30 accounts for 13 years and your location just lost your very last one because you can't make their delivery times and they're across the damn street."

This was how we learned that corporate was planning on taking our funerals from us.

Funerals were something I was immensely proud of. My ability to turn out a thousand dollar funeral order with limited stock was a subject of envy. I could take a phone order, make the flowers, and the deliver it all by myself within an hour. I was good. We were all good. And we trained anyone that stayed longer than two months how to do this because we wanted every person to be able to fix any problem.

And they wanted to take that away from us.

And they did. Because who was going to stop them?

'But what does that matter to you,' I hear you, the reader, ask. 'Surely this meant less work for you!'

Ah, but for the sprays to get to us, they had to come on a truck. Making them in-house meant that we knew we had them. We had to put our trust in corporate to deliver the goods to us by 7 am or we would have to make them day of.

There were days when the truck didn't come, or where only half the pieces were delivered, or a spray got left in the workshop an hour away. At least once a week, often more.

But you know… we adapted. You just schedule more openers to make sure no one is doing it alone and hope to God that you have all the flowers you need to make it. Which you could never anticipate how many flowers you would actually need because them taking our funerals was supposed to reduce the amount of stock flowers we got as well.

Mornings were nightmares, but we adapted.

Another visit, Puppet told Grandpa that she should get all weekends off. All the other managers do. He suggested that I learn to run routes so she can have weekends, and I said okay. I'll learn it.

I got real acquainted with the map of Ohio, and I hated it. I was a weekend manager with no real managerial power. If someone needed a refund, I had to write a note for Grandpa to email the accounts manager because she wouldn't take requests from anyone that wasn't a manager. Everything just waited until Monday. What was the point of me? I couldn't design while managing and I couldn't fix what was broken, so why even have a weekend manager? Let the animals loose in the zoo and it probably would have been a better fit.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Throughout all this, spreadsheets. Spreadsheets, spreadsheets, spreadsheets. Completely pointless spreadsheets that we were bound to fill out all day every day. They had simple purposes: inventory. You filled one out to take count of the specials so you knew how many there were. Then you had to count again to put them in the system so that they knew how much we had. Then you had to go back and count them again and put that number in the computer so they knew how much to make and send tomorrow.

I spent an hour each day counting and recounting the flowers in the far-off and futile hope that the counts would remain accurate to the end of the day (which they did not because the call center consistently used the wrong codes) and that the stock would be replenished properly in the morning (it was not.)

An hour was lost each day to this and it accomplished nothing, yet they always yelled at Grandpa if the counts were off or it was late. Why stress a system that does jack shit?

And every time there was a new feature or there was a new… thing, oh look! Another goddamned redundant spreadsheet that served no purpose.

But we adapted. We created a rhythm.

Show up early at 6:30 to make sure everything got in, make everything that didn't, get the drivers routed, pull routes for the third party deliveries, process same-day orders, data entry for the funeral consolidated. Then at 7, when the phones start ringing…

Okay, so before I forget:

Instead of installing a new phone line and hiring a few more call center people like a normal company would, our headquarters decided it would save us money if call overflow rerouted to the next available phone line, regardless of which location the phone was at. So we would get calls for the Kentucky store asking questions about what that store has and for the sake of preserving confidence in our brand we were supposed to pretend that we were the Kentucky store. We're just supposed to know or assume to know what each store had in stock because there's no way that could ever backfire.

It was… another thing to yell at us for. And boy did they, because they were listening in on our calls. Not to like… coach us on how to do better, but to tell us we were wrong. Sometimes they would call one of us on the other line to tell someone currently on the main one that they said something wrong. They also would straight up lie and scold us for calls we didn't take. The phones system, was simply a mess.

...so when the phones started up at 7am, and one person is designing, one person is taking unending phone orders, Grandpa is doing damage control. By 8, we have most of last nights orders figured out and it's time to start on same day orders and tomorrow's orders. It's too early to do inventory now because they'll yell at us for doing it too early.

By 9 we have our second wave of same day orders and next day orders, the rest of the world realizes we're open and starts walking in. That requires the attention of an entire person. We're at this point also taking out trash, breaking down boxes, disinfecting, sweeping the cooler.

Typically, there were only two openers on any given day, which meant most of this was all being handled by Blue or me.

By 10 we've caught up, we can do the inventory now without getting yelled at by the four heads at corporate. We're on route #3 by now and someone probably had to go to the same place twice because the orders came in late.

At 11, a crisis has probably happened. Something dropped, something wilted, something wasn't what they imagined. Someone has to go fix it, and that someone was usually me because I knew my way around town better than the other transplants.

This typically returned me to the shop around 1pm, which meant it was time for lunch, bringing me to 2. 3 o'clock was the cutoff for any next day orders to be sent to corporate, which meant that if there were any funeral orders taken for the morning, they would have to be made in-house. This included sprays, which takes half an hour to an hour depending on how complicated it was and if we had the materials and how much else we needed to make for the next day. Or how busy we were.

There was always something called in at the last minute, taking us to 4 and then 5 o'clock, when the openers went home and the same-day orders were cut off.

But see, that was when we stopped taking orders, not when we stopped processing orders. So if an order was placed for the same day at 4:59, it may not go through until 5:30. And by 5:30, chances are you've sent your drivers home for the day. Which means calling the customer to apologize and explain why something can't be sent out today, and no one wants to hear that they fucked up by sending it out late.

So, on more than one occasion, I had to personally deliver flowers on my way home from work in my personal car, thirty minutes out of my way because if we miss a delivery by God will we hear about it. And it was always some damn $25 arrangement with 'God Loves You' written on the tag, hardly worth the gas to Johnstown.

The irony of it being delivered by the witch was lost on no one.

If that didn't happen and the screen was clear, the night was easy and all we had to do was clean up and watch the door.

Unless a last minute order for the next day came in, which was about half the time. All of this for $11 an hour. (Once they got rid of the Hero Pay, it went back down to $11.)

That was an average, unexciting day for us. You got used to those kinds of stresses, but every day I came home and I was so tired and sore that I couldn't move. I started walking with a cane, had a low-grade fever most days, and my hands looked like I'd taken to them with a cheese grater.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Then it was December. The owners had always been generous with Christmas bonuses, handing everyone an envelope of cash. Mine was $500. This was the largest amount of cash that anyone had ever handed me (feel bad for me later.)

And then it was Grandpa's turn, but there were no envelopes left. It had to be a mistake, she thought. She didn't get paid very much for all the work she put into the shop, so she was counting on that bonus to buy presents for her grandchildren. It… it… had to be a mistake, right?

"I didn't get a bonus," she said. "I thought the accountability didn't take effect until January," she said to Puppet.

Before he opens his mouth again, I have to explain yet another thing.

In September, there was a meeting. Now that we were working on benefits and bonus programs and other things to make sure the staff stays, they needed to put in accountability measures for the managers. Effective January 1, managers are reflected by the income of their store, the number of returns, accidents in company vehicles, and high turnover rates.

Pick one of those attributes and decide its bullshit to begin with, and I'm about to show you the entire steer.

"We had to make an example of someone," he said. "So that the other managers know we're serious."

She was being personally punished for a car wreck that happened in 2019 even though she fired the guy that was in it. We had too many returns, he said, but most of them were sent to us from corporate. She was personally held responsible for the high turnover rate during an economic crisis AND a goddamned pandemic… because they needed to make an example out of someone.

And her grandkids didn't get presents this year because of it.

She cried. The last time I saw her cry was when we were saying goodbye to the kittens. It's not the same.

But she got up every day and listened to them scream at her while we counted and counted and recounted the fucking Christmas specials because the numbers weren't right and we couldn't make them right because someone in the call center couldn't figure out the codes and in their eyes it was our fault, too- we had to be stealing the flowers or something.

"It sucks and then its over," she said. It was how she dealt with holidays: "It sucks and then its over."

We were all angry for her. I got asked to go to the headquarters and help them mass produce more fucking specials and I offered the beat them up for her and she told me not to get involved. Head down, do the work, get it done.

One of the call center girls died of a heart attack a few days before I was due to help them mass. We were supposed to go to her funeral, but we all missed it because there was so much work to do.

Wait, let me back up… again. The company gave us all life insurance. The number we were quoted on our life insurance policy was $10,000, which seems like a lot but in the funeral business it's not. Your average funeral will eat up most of that, if not all. It's very expensive to die right now.

At least… we all thought it was $10k. I was certainly told $10k.

Turns out it was $1k, which isn't enough to buy you a box for your remains. The call center crew ended up crowdsourcing the rest- she didn't have much family.

And none of us could go to the funeral because we were working.

I worked two twelve hour shifts in that warehouse making the same goddamn centerpiece over and over again while a Frenchman in a scarf told me I was doing it wrong, while everyone was grieving on a time crunch.

I really should have beaten them up.

But we got through Christmas, for what it was worth. We found Grandpa some sales that she could get gifts from and we all worked together to make sure we were okay through it. I mean, we weren't- it was blind leading the blind. But we tried.

And then it ended. "It sucks and then its over," she'd always say.

And into January we go and we're back into the stupidity of trying to fight with hq about funerals. I'm constantly told that if we needed certain things we should have ordered them.

I… did. I did. I ordered everything we needed every damn day and it still never came because the left hand and the right hand can't even coordinate enough to pull off a high-five. But it can't be their fault. It has to be Grandpa's somehow.

Now during the week of Christmas, Grandpa had to take an extra day off because she got sick. It wasn't Covid, thank goodness. I can imagine it was a stress-related issue, but it's not my business. Due to the holiday, this put her at under 40 hours for the week.

So they paid her hourly.

...which is extremely illegal to do to a salaried employee, especially one that works way more than 40 hours a week with no overtime.

And then they told her that she'd already lost her quarterly bonus because of a fender-bender that happened on my watch, and because she lost 39 employees last quarter.

I write everything down. I keep a journal. I cannot find 39 employees, even going back the entire year… during a pandemic. They have to be making this up. They have to be because there is no way they can hold the dude that was fired for literally sleeping in the men's room against her.

And I was close to just telling them all that… when my grandma died.

I'm not getting into it, really. Because you know… she was 96 years old and… it happens. It's sad, but it happens. But the relevant point to make is that I was given an… inheritance. It wasn't a lot. Grandma wasn't loaded. But it would be enough for me to keep afloat for awhile if I ever needed to.

When I told my girlfriend, she said: 'you could quit your job.'

And I didn't want to think about that because the flower shop needed me. I was important there. I was special. And Valentine’s Day was just around the corner.

But I was thinking about it. I thought about it every day.

A week before Valentines Day, Grandpa was inconsolable. She had to leave work because her dog, Jake, wouldn't stop bleeding. She needed to get him to the vet.

Two hours pass and Blue gets a message asking her to come help her move the dog. Grandpa lives alone and she's not very strong.

Blue doesn't like dogs. She was bitten by one the first time she ever made a delivery.

And I am known for exceptional physical strength. So I went.

When I arrived, Grandpa was a mess. I had never seen her cry so much, and it wouldn't stop. And I was trying to be strong, but it's hard. Jake was still alive, but bleeding. He was confused and upset, and blind and deaf. He barked, he growled, and he lunged… but always pulled back when his legs buckled from the pain.

I had her grab a blanket and we rolled him onto it, using that to lift him. He thrashed and growled and snapped at me while we walked him towards the door, but he wasn't getting out of the wrap we had him in.

As we're out the door, I noticed a man at the neighboring house. He raised his hand in greeting, but lowered it in confusion.

"Grandpa, is it alright if I get him to come help while you bring the car around?"

The best she could do was nod.

"Yeah, sorry, to bug you but can I ask for a little help here?" He looks at what we're doing and drops his trash can lid to come help. "Yeah, just take that end there and we're gonna ease him into the car when she comes around."

He nodded, took the ends, and we tucked a very confused Jake into the back seat. I thanked the neighbor, Grandpa sped off, and I went back to work feeling extremely odd about it.

That was the first time that I'd ever met the dog: on his way to be put down.

I know it seems weird to tell that story, but there's a reason. Part of it is symbolic. Part of it has to do with kittens. But we're not there just yet.

So now it's February and it is crunch time for Valentine’s Day. We have no earthly idea what this holiday is going to look like because past experiences have us anticipating a large number of walk ins, but state regulations have put a limit of six customers inside the store at any one time. We were never given any… instructions on how to enforce that rule, so we just kind of vaguely set out roles for who has to be the bouncer at the flower shop.

But before all of that, we had to make 275 two-dozen red rose arrangements in bowls. Based on our sales last year and general growth, we were expecting something close to five hundred deliveries on our busiest day. If I wasn't making them, I was counting them. And I was counting, and I was counting, and I was counting… every hour, just like it was at Christmas. We used up every single red rose in the place and came up short.

To which we were scolded: we must have used the roses they sent us for other orders because there was no way the error could have been on their end! Their inventory was impervious to mistakes. Somewhere between the warehouse and our store, twenty-five packs of roses went missing! And why is it only our store that has these problems? Clearly it must be our fault- a store full of thieves and liars and delinquents.

They ended up sending more just because… you know… they care. I guess.

And every hour, they needed a number of something and I counted, and counted and counted…

I think it was February 8 that I started crying every day. When I slept I was stiff as a board because I made so many mistakes throughout the day that the idea of coming to work the next day just to make more mistakes made me lock up entirely. There was no way to relax. There was no winding down from a hard day of work because my body could not move anymore.

I felt like I was made of splintering wood.

I had a dream around this time that I quit my job. I was so happy. I thought about it almost every hour.

So I stayed out of the way at work, picking up cleaning projects because at least there I could be useful and it was dark enough in the cooler that if I started crying no one had to see it.

That cooler was so clean. I wouldn't recommend eating off of it because I used an entire bottle of bleach to clean the floor.

If we're not counting the constant barrage of demands from corporate to count, count, count; Valentine’s Day was worryingly uneventful. Previous holidays were chaotic: filling the requests of the most desperate and clueless men with deep pockets and expensive tastes. Corralling the temporary drivers and make sure no one gets into any crashes or… uh...tries to sell unregulated merchandise from their trunks. Trying to decide what "Malibu Barbie Pink" meant for that one customer who comes in every six months and orders it but has rejected every color pink on the spectrum that our store has ever offered.

On this one… nothing important happened.

We were… slow.

Grandpa started sending people home early because there weren't many orders. We ran out of projects to do.

Sounds great, right?

...heh…

Corporate would like to know why our store is under projected sales by over 200, as if we have any say in how many people buy from us. Like we personally called all our typical customer base and told them not to come to this store. "Yes, hello Mrs. Penderghast? I'm sorry we can't fill your Valentine's Day order this year because we suck balls and don't want your business. Have a nice weekend. Say hi to the grandkids for me."

I don't… fucking KNOW! I don't work in PR! I'd ask the people in that department if they know what happened but… that's the owners. So who really is the fuckup here? Not me, that's for fucking certain! I cleaned the cooler. That's all I did all weekend was clean the Gods damned cooler because there wasn't enough work to go around so I made work for myself.

And then: "Why are the counts off," asked Mt. Rushmore. See, we called them that because between the owners, Puppet, and the head designer we had four white men looking down at us while we did all the work and built their success on the backs of their forefathers. Well… to me it was anyway. To everyone else it was four dudes that looked down on you.

"Why are the counts off?"

Oh, the COUNTS are off? Well, let me just drop everything I'm doing right now and count them for the third time in the past hour because that takes fucking priority.

"There's 95 specials missing from your inventory. Where are they?"

...okay, 95 is a lot. But it was also kind of hard to know how they were 'missing' when we'd sold all of the 275 that we made. How can they be missing if we sold them.

"We need to know where they are."

We don't know where they are. Because we sold all of them. The math didn't add up.

But they hounded us about it like we'd stolen them and resold them on the street corner. Which, to their defense, had happened once (but Sugar stopped doing that when her corner was taken over by the woman who accused Jay of being a demon.) But 95 is a huge number, and these arrangements were a foot wide and two feet tall. Someone would have noticed if a 100x200 foot square opened up in the cooler.

We literally could not know what the fuck they were talking about.

And the truth was extremely stupid: those 95 pieces were redeliveries. When someone has an issue with their order, like it didn't come or it was left out in the snow and got damaged or… someone put the name of their ex on the card instead of their wife… we send a replacement. But depending on who took the phone call, a person might use the wrong code and put it in for 'redeliver' instead- which counts it as another order.

We weren't missing 95 arrangements. We had 95 redeliveries. They hounded us about inventory for two days over a clerical error.

I decided I'd had it. We were going on a full week of crying every time I had a moment alone. They had made us feel like everything that went wrong was our fault: from low turnout to high turnover, missed deliveries and trashed sprays, lost accounts and new grievances…

But did they ever say a Gods damned thing about how hard we worked? How good we were? About how great a team we were under pressure? We once pulled together an entire wedding in fifteen minutes. My ass carried this store through the pandemic. I have done… so much.

So fucking much.

And yet it's our fault.

I had been reasoning with myself that I would stick around for the aftermath when Grandpa was eventually fired: we'd all felt it was coming. But I got that little bit of cash and all my joints were screaming and every time we got negative feedback a part of me died.

The following Tuesday had seen a massive snowstorm. Things that weren't already closed due to the pandemic were closed due to weather.

But we still had to be there. Because someone had to be there to make all the funeral pieces.

Because there wouldn't be a truck the next day, which meant that all of the funeral pieces that we'd sent to the headquarters needed to be made in-house. Which, once again, could have been avoided if we had kept the funeral orders in-house to begin with.

I waited until everyone had cleared out before I said it.

"Grandpa, I have to quit."

I don't think anyone ever looked so disappointed in me in my life.

"Why?"

"The way they treat people here is terrible and I can't see myself doing another Mother's Day for this company. They're so… mean! And for no damn reason! I have cried every day for the past week because I see the way they treat you and I'm… I'm tired."

I thought she was going to cry, but she nodded. "I can't stop you," she said. "I shouldn't stop you. If it's affecting your mental health like this, I'll miss you but its for the best. You know they'll want a written notice."

"And you know I'll tell them the truth," I said.

"...it's not me, is it?"

"If I worked for just you and those fuckers were out of the picture, I would stay. And you can count on me to tell them that."

"Any flower shop you apply to would be lucky to have you."

So I drafted up a resignation letter telling them exactly how I feel: that the way they run this company was asinine and they treated their employees like garbage. They received it on Thursday. Everyone at the shop knew by then. They were upset…

...but they understood.

Puppet did not understand. He emailed Grandpa asking her what she's doing that her people keep leaving.

He didn't see it. He didn't see that he was part of the problem. It always had to be someone else's fault. I explicitly said in my letter whose fault it was and he still didn't take any responsibility.

But suddenly I'm one of their best designers, and he begged me to reconsider, take some time off to think about it. They desperately wanted me to stay and they were willing to bargain, I just needed demands.

No one's ever… begged me before. I don't know if I like that.

This is when it dawned on me that I was next in line. It all made sense now: training me to route, making me do all the extra work, and now they want me to stay?

They were planning on getting rid of Grandpa and promoting me to manager. In a perfect world where Grandpa resigns willingly and I’m promoted on my merits as a designer and the company wasn’t very quickly circling the drain, I would be excited. But I wasn’t. I was frightened. I watched them take a confident, extremely talented woman and turn her into the whipping boy of the flower shop. And if I were in her position, I would have quit. But I don’t have the strength to stand up to the people that are signing my paycheck.

Why… am I at a place where the idea of moving upward makes me more scared than excited?

Flattering, but no. I've seen how you treat your people. My demands are to treat them better.

It was the longest week for me: making lists of pros and cons. I had made a lot of friends there and there's stuff that I will never forget. But the fact that the only people who didn't understand why I was leaving were the people who had the most to lose really hit me in the knees. I could tell them every day for the rest of their lives why they suck and it wouldn't matter because nothing was ever their fault.

And at 7:00 on Friday, I turned in my key.

I didn't have a plan, I didn't have anything lined up. This was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make and I was just kind of… throwing myself at it.

I don't do that. I always have a plan. I look into every possible scenario and I try to make the smart choice. And this time…

I didn't.

It was probably stupid.

But I slept for 12 hours the next night and I could feel my bones settling into their rightful places. I didn't realize how many health problems were caused by standing for 9 hours a day, 11 days a week until I was home all the time to notice them changing. I will always have a limp from trying to pretend I don't have a limp. I'm pretty sure that ulcer is chronic. But my back isn't seizing up and I don't cry every day anymore.

That's something, I think.

About a week after my departure, I got a text from Grandpa that said:

"Hey guess what."

"What," I replied.

The next text was a picture of a week's old seal-point kitten with terminal eye-goo, wrapped in a towel.

"Pop-eye!?"

"I'm keeping this one," she said. The strays had dropped a litter of identical baby kittens by her pond. Two years later, with Jake put down, she could finally have Pop-eye, even if it was version 2.0.

The next text was a few days later. "Puppet fired me."

"What!? Why?"

"Too many accidents, too high turnaround. The new people suck, he says no one wants to work with me."

"Are you okay? How are you doing?"

"I'm okay." She paused and the loading screen did its little dot dance. "I'm playing with my kitten."

#cw #pet death #death #workers rights violations #if you want to know everything #this is everything

413 notes · View notes