#this guy at work that's been basically harassing me always comes half an hour early to drop off his water bottle and lunch and shit
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FUCK
#this guy at work that's been basically harassing me always comes half an hour early to drop off his water bottle and lunch and shit#and then stands here in the kiosk either actuively trying to start conversation or standing there staring @ me hoping that I'll start one#i sent an email abt his harassment last week and they said they'd address it today#so he comes in half an hour early today#he is going to be in this little fucking box with me for 3 HOURS#and he comes in half an hour early and says#well I made it i didn't want to come today#and I'm like hm.#and I keep eye contact with him but i don't say anything#and he stands there an uncomfortable amount of time before he says he'll see me in a little bit and leaves#i have told this FUKING guy that he CAN NOT hang out in the kiosk when he's on the clock.#and he ALWAYS tries to push it.#i hate him SO MUCH#he never stops trying to push past my boundaries I never want to see him ever ever ever ever again#oops he can't hang out in the kiosk when he's NOT on the clock sorry
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So, I was innocently doing some Duolingo this morning when I started getting flooded with past-tense declarations of love. Which made me think of Malex, naturally. And this quick, cracky, fluffy little fic was born.
Words: 2187
Relationships: Brief Forlex, Endgame Malex
Warning for brief mention of homophobia, Duolingo frustration
***
“What the actual hell?”
“Alex?”
Alex looks up from his phone. Forrest is standing at his kitchen counter, frowning slightly at him. “Everything okay?”
Alex rubs tiredly at his face, puts his phone to the side. “Yeah, fine. It’s just… have you ever used Duolingo?”
Forrest snorts a little. “I mean, yeah, a little bit. Why?”
Alex shakes his head slightly, looks away. “It’s, it’s nothing. Stupid.” He pauses. “I’ve been brushing up on my Spanish. It used to be a lot better, but with being away all these years, not using it…” He shrugs. “Figured I’d download Duolingo, start working through it, you know?”
Forrest’s brow is furrowed. “Don’t you have a bunch of friends that speak Spanish, though? Liz, her cousin?” He smiles a little, then. “Kyle? The doctor?” He raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t mind watching you and Dr. Kyle speaking Spanish to each other, you know?”
Alex fixes him with a look. “Yeah, they all speak it, it’s just… I dunno, I want to have at least the basics down before I go to them for help. I feel like once I have a good base again, I’ll ask one of them to do some practice with me.” He shakes his head. “I don’t even know what I want to get out of this, just figured it’s better than, like, mindless scrolling, you know?”
Forrest cocks his head to the side. “Sure.” He’s opening the fridge. “Want anything in your coffee?”
Alex’s mouth twitches a little. This is… far from his first morning after, with Forrest. He’s taken his coffee black. Every time. And yet, every time, Forrest offers him sugar, cream. He can’t decide if he’s just trying to be a good host or if he really doesn’t remember. “I’m good, thanks,” he says politely.
“Okay,” Forrest says with a smile and a wink. He’s in a t-shirt and boxers, barefoot, as he brings the two steaming mugs over to the couch where Alex is sitting. Places Alex’s on the coffee table and sits down next to Alex. Close enough to touch.
“So what did Duo do to piss you off?” he asks, smirking.
Alex laughs a little, rolls his eyes.
“Come on, that’s not the face of a man who’s happy with an owl.”
Alex grabs for his mug, takes a sip. It’s good. They’re good, right? Like, Forrest is nice. And trying. “It’s just, I’m learning tenses now. And I can’t figure out why in the world they choose the verbs they do. Like at a beginning level, you know?”
Forrest is looking amused. “Can you give an example?”
Alex sighs. “Like… love. I swear I have had about five questions all in a row about love. Amor. Did… did you love me? Me amaste? Then, Sí, te amé. Um, mucho.” Alex swallows, suddenly a little uncomfortable. “Like, it’s just, just kind of bullshitty, you know? Like, who needs to say that right away, in Spanish?” He glances around him, holds up his mug. “Like, be useful! Teach me how to say ‘I finished my coffee,’ you know?”
Forrest is looking at him a little oddly, then looks away. Blows on his coffee to cool it. “I have to imagine that a decent percentage of people use an app like that to… I dunno, impress someone? Someone they like?”
Alex looks at him quizzically. “You think?” He shakes his head. “I dunno, I would think it would be more for work. Travel. Even just, like, keeping your brain sharp, you know?”
Forrest eyes him. “I learned German for a guy.”
Alex scoffs. “Of course you did.”
“I mean, it was for a guy and my research,” Forrest says playfully, nudging at Alex with his shoulder.
“Multitasking,” Alex says wryly.
“You know it,” Forrest says with a small smile, which disappears quickly. “You… you ever actually said it to someone?”
Alex looks at him, confused.
“In, in English, I mean,” Forrest clarifies, but Alex is still looking at him blankly. “Ever said I love you?” Forrest swallows, a little nervous. “I mean, this is not a pressure thing – these are early days, I know that. But… but I know you were pretty closed off, when we met. Just made me wonder if you ever had something serious? With someone?”
Alex’s jaw is tight as he responds. “I’ve never said I love you.”
***
“Oh, fuck you, Duo,” Alex mutters, clicking off the phone and putting it face down on the table.
“Who’s Duo?” Rosa asks, suddenly right in front of Alex’s booth. “And what did he do to you?”
Alex laughs at that. “It’s an app. Teaches you different languages. Makes it like a little game.”
Rosa quirks an eyebrow. “And what language are you learning, Alejandro?”
Alex chuckles. “Spanish.”
“Ahhh,” Rosa says, sliding next to him in the booth. “Por qué? Un hombre?” she asks suggestively.
“No!” Alex exclaims. “Why does everyone think that? No, I just wanted to try to get back some of the Spanish I lost over the years. I mean, I’m living in New Mexico now, and I’m embarrassed by how much I’ve forgotten.” Rosa’s just looking at him, eating one of his French fries. “Seriously, why does everyone think I’m doing this for a guy?”
“Um, because you and Forrest broke up, and now you’re back on the market?”
Alex’s mouth drops open. “How did you know that?”
“Small town,” Rosa says, popping another fry in her mouth. “I hear things.”
Alex shakes his head a little. “Well,” he says, eager to change the topic. “I think even Duo thinks I’m doing this for… certain reasons.”
Rosa’s face twists a little. “Okay, who the hell is Duo?”
Alex picks up the phone, unlocks it. Frowns as he looks at the screen.
“’The man has curly hair,’” Rosa reads, grabbing the phone from Alex. “Okay…” she says, giving Alex a sidelong glance.
Alex snatches the phone back from her. “Here,” he says shortly. “You just need to do a few, get them right, then…” He quickly presses some buttons, holds up the phone. “Here. This is Duo. He’s this little green owl, and he’s supposed to, like, encourage you, but sometimes if you go a few days without practicing he just ends up, like, harassing you.”
“Great work! Let’s make this a bit harder!’” Rosa reads with fake enthusiasm as she looks at the screen. “Harder, eh? That how you like it, Alejandro?”
“Rosa,” Alex warns, half-heartedly.
She grabs the phone again. “I wanna do one.”
“You speak Spanish already.”
“Oooh, matching!” she exclaims. “Montar… well that’s easy. To ride.” She sets the phone to the side, fixes Alex with a suggestive look. “Alejandro, seriously, what have you told Duo here?”
“Shut up.”
***
“What the hell?” Alex mutters, rereading the sentence. The screen is a little hard to see in the bright sun.
“Something wrong?” Michael asks, closer than Alex realized. “Besides your brake pads, that is.”
Alex sighs, pockets the phone. “Yeah, about those.”
“It’ll be about an hour still. Want to wait for it?”
Alex glances around the junkyard. No one’s here, the weather’s pleasant. “I’ll wait.”
“Okay,” Michael says, turning and making his way toward Alex’s car. A part of Alex hopes he’ll turn back around and… what? Visit? Shoot the shit? With a sigh, Alex takes the phone out again. “I’ve never had a cat that speaks,” he mutters. “Yo… nunca…he… tenido…”
“You should’ve brought this in earlier.”
Alex clicks off the phone again, rolls his eyes a bit. “Yes. Thank you, Michael.”
Michael raises his hands in faux surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying.” He sighs a little. “Glad you brought it in.” He looks like he’s about to turn around again, but instead he squints at Alex. At the phone. “Who you texting?”
Alex narrows his eyes, looks at Michael. Michael, who seems awkward, suddenly. Alex watches as he runs his hand through his curls, shrugs a little. “Nevermind, none of my – “
“It’s Duolingo,” Alex says.
Michael sticks out his lip a little, and Alex has to look away quickly. “That the app that teaches you different languages?”
“Yeah,” Alex says. “I’ve been trying to improve my Spanish.”
“Ahh,” Michael says, like he knows something Alex doesn’t. “Certainly can’t hurt. ‘Round these parts.”
“What?”
Michael shrugs. “You know. Lots of people here speak it. And you’re here for a while, right? Till you get out?” he says, slight edge of bitterness to his voice, the way there always is whenever Alex’s military service gets mentioned.
“This whole thing just started out of embarrassment, actually,” Alex says, and Michael looks at him, confused. “I knew way more Spanish back in school than I know now. Like, I remember the good stuff – curse words, things like that,” he says with a smile. “But it’s like my brain completely blocked out all the grammar rules.” He shrugs. “But sometimes they put together the most bizarre questions. Like this one,” he says, clicking on the phone and bringing up the half-finished item. “I’ve never had a cat that speaks.”
Michael barks out a laugh. “Who the fuck has?” he asks. Then grins. “Yo nunca he tenido un gato que habla.”
“What?” Alex laughs. “I didn’t know you knew Spanish!”
Michael shrugs. “I’m not, like, fluent, in it.”
“You were able to just translate some nonsense sentence off the top of your head,” Alex says skeptically.
“Okay,” Michael says. “I have a good memory, you know that. Picked up a lot when I was working at Foster Ranch, right out of high school. I definitely know how to tell you to fix a fence, ride a horse, that kind of thing.”
“Montar,” Alex murmurs, remembering his chat with Rosa.
Michael looks at him a little strangely. “Yeah.” He looks for a moment like he might say more, but doesn’t. Exhales loudly and gestures to the car. “Well, I better get back to it,” he says.
“Yeah, of course, don’t want to delay you or anything.”
“Yeah,” Michael says. Grins. “Just give a shout if you get stumped.”
***
(One month later. The Wild Pony.)
“Dúo surfea muy bien.”
“Duo surfs very well,” Michael translates. “Because of fucking course he does.”
“You seriously know a lot of Spanish. You’re not even looking at the screen.” Alex hits continue. Freezes. “I’ll just do this one,” he says hastily, pushing buttons.
“Too tough?”
Alex looks at the screen. Te quiero. “Yeah,” he says with a thin smile. “Too tough.”
***
(Two months later. Crashdown.)
“Podemos usar Internet en cualquier lugar.”
Michael’s eyes narrow. “We can use the Internet anywhere,” he translates. “Easy. Hit me again.”
“Okay,” Alex says, bringing up the next screen and reading the Spanish quickly. “Siempre te he amado.”
He looks at Michael questioningly… Michael, who looks stricken.
“Michael?” Alex asks, frowning.
Michael chuckles a little. “Um, I‘ve always loved you. That’s what it says, siempre te he amado.”
Alex looks down at the little word options at the bottom of the screen. Fuck. That’s definitely the answer, but he doesn’t punch it in. Not yet. Keeps looking at Michael. They… they’ve been dancing around each other, around this, for months. Years, really, if he’s being honest.
“Siempre te he amado,” he repeats quietly. Swallows. “It’s the truth,” he says finally.
“Es la verdad,” Michael mumbles, still looking away. “Next?”
Alex puts the phone down. “No, Michael. No. I mean… I mean, yes, I guess it is la verdad, like that’s the Spanish for it, but… but I was trying to, to say…”
Michael has gone very still now, is just looking at Alex. “What, Alex?” he breathes. “What were you trying to say?”
“I’ve always loved you, Michael. That… that’s the truth.”
“You, you being serious right now, Alex?”
Alex nods his head quickly. “Yes, Michael. This isn’t… isn’t Duolingo Spanish, right now. This is me. And you. God,” he says, feeling the flush creep across his face. “We have enough trouble just being straight with each other in English.”
A slow grin starts spreading across Michael’s face. “If you really think about it, we’ve never been straight with each other.”
And Alex can’t help his own smile, either. “Definitely not.”
“Not at all,” Michael says, sobering a bit.
“We’ve worked so hard,” Alex says softly. “At, at building something between us. Something new. Like, a real friendship.”
“That’s what you said you wanted,” Michael says, a little edge to his voice.
“That and more, Michael,” Alex says. “I want more. If, if you do, too.”
“I do,” Michael says, biting his lip. He looks down at their shared booth, looks back up. “I’ve always loved you, too, Alex. Still do.”
The phone emits a little ding, and Alex looks down.
It’s Duo. Waving.
“Perfect timing,” Michael says wryly. “What does that little fucker want?”
“Wants to tell us ‘Great work!’,” Alex reads. “’Let’s make this a bit harder!’” He laughs a little, at that, looks at Michael, and shrugs. “Ready if you are?” he says, a question in his voice.
Michael smiles at him, big and genuine. “Well if Duo says so, let’s give it a go.”
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Media Twitter does not hate Substack because it’s pretending to be a platform when it’s a publisher; they don’t hate it because it’s filled with anti-woke white guys; they don’t hate it because of harassment or any such thing. I don’t think they really hate it at all. Substack is a small and ultimately not-very-relevant outpost in a vastly larger industry; they may not like it but it’s not important enough for them to hate it. What do they hate? They hate where their industry is and they hate where they are within their industry. But that’s a big problem that they don’t feel like they can solve. If you feel you can’t get mad at the industry that’s impoverishing you, it’s much easier to get mad at the people who you feel are unjustly succeeding in that industry. Trying to cancel Glenn Greenwald (again) because he criticizes the media harshly? Trying to tarnish Substack’s reputation so that cool, paid-up writer types leave it and the bad types like me get kicked off? That they can maybe do. Confronting their industry’s future with open eyes? Too scary, especially for people who were raised to see success as their birthright and have suddenly found that their degrees and their witheringly dry one-liners do not help them when the rent comes due.
…
Life in the “content” industry already sucks. A small handful of people make bank while the vast majority hustle relentlessly just to hold on to the meager pay they already receive. There are staff writers at big-name publications who produce thousands of words every week and who make less than $40,000 a year for their trouble. There are permanent employees of highly prestigious newspapers and magazines who don’t receive health insurance. Venues close all the time. Mourning another huge round of layoffs is a regular bonding experience for people in the industry. Writers have to constantly job hop just to try and grind out an extra $1,500 a year, making their whole lives permanent job interviews where they can’t risk offending their potential bosses and peers. Many of them dream of selling that book to save themselves financially, not seeming to understand that book advances have fallen 40% in 10 years - median figure now $6,080 - and that the odds of actually making back even that meager advance are slim, meaning most authors are making less than minimum wage from their books when you do the math. They have to tweet constantly for the good of their careers, or so they believe, which amounts to hundreds of hours of unpaid work a year. Their publications increasingly strong arm them into churning out pathetic pop-culture ephemera like listicles about the outfits on Wandavision. They live in fear of being the one to lose out when the next layoffs come and the game of media musical chairs spins up once again. They have to pretend to like ghouls like Ezra Klein and Jonah Peretti and make believe that there’s such a thing as “the Daily Beast reputation for excellence.”
I have always felt bad for them, despite our differences, because of these conditions. And they have a right to be angry. But they don’t have much in the way of self-awareness about where their anger really lies. A newsletter company hosting Bari Weiss is why you can’t pay your student loans? You sure?
They’ll tell you about the terrible conditions in their industry themselves, when they’re feeling honest. So what are they really mad about? That I’m making a really-just-decent guaranteed wage for just one year? Or that this decent wage is the kind of money many of them dream of making despite the fact that, in their minds, they’ve done everything right and played by all the rules? Is their anger really about a half-dozen guys whose writing you have to actively seek out to see? (If you click the button and put in your email address, you’ll get these newsletters. If you don’t, you won’t. So if you’re a media type who hates my writing, consider just… not clicking that button.) Or do they need someplace to put the rage and resentment that grows inside them as they realize, no, it’s not getting better, this is all I get?
It’s true that I have, in a very limited way, achieved the new American dream: getting a little bit of VC cash. I’m sorry. But it’s much much less than one half of what Felix Salmon was making in 2017 and again, it’s only for one year.
You think the writers complaining in that piece I linked to at the top wanted to be here, at this place in their career, after all those years of hustling? You think decades into their media career, the writers who decamped to Substack said to themselves “you know, I’d really like to be in my 40s and having to hope that enough people will pitch in $5 a month so I can pay my mortgage”? No. But the industry didn’t give them what they felt they deserved either. So they displace and project. They can hate Jesse Singal, but Jesse Singal isn’t where this burning anger is coming from. Neither am I. They’re so angry because they bought into a notoriously savage industry at the nadir of its labor conditions and were surprised to find that they’re drifting into middle age without anything resembling financial security. I feel for them as I feel for all people living economically precarious lives, but getting rid of Substack or any of its writers will not do anything to fix their industry or their jobs. They wanted more and they got less and it hurts. This isn’t what they dreamed. That’s what this is really about.
…
My own deal here is not mysterious. It’s just based on a fact that the blue checks on Twitter have never wanted to accept. I got offered money to write here for the same reason I got offered to write for The New York Times and Harper’s and The Washington Post and The LA Times, the same reason I’ve gotten a half-dozen invitations to pitch since I started here a few weeks ago, the same reason a literary agent sought me out and asked me to write a book, the same reason I sold that book for a decent advance: because I pull traffic. Though I am a social outcast from professional opinion writing, I have a better freelance publishing history than many, many of my critics who are paid-up, obedient members of the media social scene. Why? Because the editors who hired me thought I was a great guy? No. Because I pull traffic. I always have. That’s why you’re reading this on Substack right now.
…
A really important lesson to learn, in life, is this: your enemies are more honest about you than your friends ever will be. I’ve been telling the blue checks for over a decade that their industry was existentially fucked, that the all-advertising model was broken, that Google and Facebook would inevitably hoover up all the profit, that there are too many affluent kids fresh out of college just looking for a foothold in New York who’ll work for next to nothing and in doing so driving down the wages of everyone else, that their mockery of early subscription programs like Times Select was creating a disastrous industry expectation that asking your readers directly for money was embarrassing. Trump is gone and the news business is cratering. Michael Tracey didn’t make that happen. None of this anger will heal what’s wrong. If you get all of the people you don’t like fired from Substack tomorrow, what will change? How will your life improve? Greenwald will spend more time with his hottie husband and his beloved kids and his 6,000 dogs in his beautiful home in Rio. Glenn will be fine. How do we do the real work of getting you job security and a decent wage?
…
But how do things get better in that way? Only through real self-criticism (which Twitter makes impossible) and by asking hard questions. Questions like one that has not been credibly confronted a single time in this entire media meltdown: why are so many people subscribing to Substacks? What is the traditional media not providing that they’re seeking elsewhere? Why have half a million people signed up as paying subscribers of various Substack newsletters, if the establishment media is providing the diversity of viewpoints that is an absolute market requirement in a country with a vast diversity of opinions? You can try to make an adult determination about that question, to better understand what media is missing, or you can read this and write some shitty joke tweet while your industry burns to the ground around you. It’s your call.
Substack might fold tomorrow, but someone would else sell independent media; there’s a market. Substack might kick me and the rest of the unclean off of their platforms tomorrow, but other critics of social justice politics would pop up here; there’s a market. Establishment media’s takeover by this strange brand of academic identity politics might grow even more powerful, if that’s even possible, but dissenters will find a place to sell alternative opinion; there’s a market. What there might not be much of a market for anymore is, well, you - college educated, urban, upwardly striving if not economically improving, woke, ironic, and selling that wokeness and that irony as your only product. Because you flooded the market. Everyone in your entire industry is selling the exact same thing, tired sarcastic jokes and bleating righteousness about injustices they don’t suffer under themselves, and it’s not good in basic economic terms if you’re selling the same thing as everyone else. You add that on to structural problems within your business model and your utter subservience to a Silicon Valley that increasingly hates you, well…. I get why you’re mad. And I get that you don’t like me. But I’m not what you’re mad about. Not really.
In the span of a decade or so, essentially all professional media not explicitly branded as conservative has been taken over by a school of politics that emerged from humanities departments at elite universities and began colonizing the college educated through social media. Those politics are obscure, they are confusing, they are socially and culturally extreme, they are expressed in a bizarre vocabulary, they are deeply alienating to many, and they are very unpopular by any definition. The vast majority of the country is not woke, including the vast majority of women and people of color. How could it possibly be healthy for the entire media industry to be captured by any single niche political movement, let alone one that nobody likes? Why does no one in media seem willing to have an honest, uncomfortable conversation about the near-total takeover of their industry by a fringe ideology?
And the bizarre assumption of almost everyone in media seems to have been that they could adopt this brand of extreme niche politics, in mass, as an industry, and treat those politics as a crusade that trumps every other journalistic value, with no professional or economic consequences. They seem to have thought that Americans were just going to swallow it; they seem to have thought they could paint most of the country as vicious bigots and that their audiences would just come along for the ride. They haven’t. In fact Republicans are making great hay of the collapse of the media into pure unapologetic advocacy journalism. Some people are turning to alternative media to find options that are neither reactionary ideologues or self-righteous woke yelling. Can you blame them? Substack didn’t create this dynamic, and neither did I. The exact same media people who are so angry about Substack did, when they abandoned any pretense to serving the entire country and decided that their only job was to advance a political cause that most ordinary people, of any gender or race, find alienating and wrong. So maybe try and look at where your problems actually come from. They’re not going away.
Now steel yourselves, media people, take a shot of something strong, look yourself in the eye in the mirror, summon you most honest self, and tell me: am I wrong?
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I literally cannot do anything else until I get this out.
I’m... really not okay.
And when I say that, I’m not mentally unstable. I say that because I’m tired of waiting on empty promises, I’m tired of never having money in our account, I’m tired of living in a fucking city where half of the white people fucking worship the ground Trump walks on, and where most of the gay community has so much messy drama that it’s worse than middle school. And I went to a rough middle school.
I never talk about my past, because I don’t like to. It sucked. HARD. Being and only child in my family was nothing less than torture, especially as a closeted queer person. We grew up in the white Christian part of Nashville that dominated Music Row in the 90′s and early 2000′s. I played basketball with Alan Jackson’s daughter, and being around famous people was just no big deal. But, my parents decided to leave Nashville after my dad lost his job at TPAC, and we moved down south an hour to the town where the KKK got started (Pulaski, TN).
I had maybe two non-white people in my private Christian school growing up. I was never afraid of Black people, but my parents showed their racist asses quick when we moved there. The KKK has never left America, guys, no matter how many articles you read or studies you do. From 2005 to 2009 I saw a white town show its very worst to the Black community. I’ll never forget the first time I saw a march for “White Christians for Purity” the summer before Obama got elected. The disgust I felt inside was palpable. I had all kinds of friends in school, and I didn’t give TWO SHITS who they were or what they looked like... but I saw children my age, being brainwashed by their parents, that “white” is “right.”
Ever since then, I have been learning and growing about the issues of race. I remember my white classmates using the N word and getting away with it. I remember hearing about the principal at the high school punishing all the Black kids but not the white kids. I remember being invited to a church south of town that was a historically Black church, and how nice the ladies were to me for coming.
But I’ll never forget the racism that the religious groups promoted there, especially First Baptist Church and the 12 Tribes. I’ll never forget how FBC told me that my friend was going to Hell because she killed herself. I’ll never forget my mom telling me not to marry a Black man because of “impure genes.” I WILL NEVER FORGET THE INJUSTICES I SAW WHITE PEOPLE DOING TO BLACK PEOPLE THERE. NEVER.
And thank God, I have shaken the burden of religious guilt, but I still fight against this mentality. I live in a place that’s usually not even 10 minutes away from Trump-humping, sister-fucking, meth-addicted Confederate cunts in any direction. And we’re even closer to the rich white people who silently supported him, upset that their taxes would go up because of Biden.
And in the past four years since Trump got elected, I’ve gotten married, graduated college with honors, started my own photography business, and was making more than my husband there for a minute. I did my own taxes, marketing, editing, and everything. And then I came out as trans.
I lost everything.
I lost my studio. I lost friends. I had rumors started about me. I had people post hate messages on my wall. I had people at my drag shows tell others not to tip me, for whatever fucking reasons. I’ve had bosses give cis people jobs over me, and I’ve had government workers give me second looks when I hand them my license.
It. Fucking. Sucks. To. Live. Here. Like. This.
Oh yeah, did I mention I’m also a witch/medium? I’ve talked to dead people before and have told their relatives things I shouldn’t have known otherwise about their grandparents. Like, this information doesn’t even exist on Google. And I’m attuned to reiki. I’m always aware of what’s happening on at least SOME metaphysical level. This is a gift that I’ve had to go through life developing and learning about myself, with no one’s help but me.
I didn’t even know until I was an adult that I have autism and ADHD.
I’ve taken bullets from people who were about to kill themselves. I’ve yelled at 5th grade music classrooms for doing racist dance moves and appropriating Native Americans (I have a degree in Music Education K-12). I’ve consoled kids in classrooms who suddenly have panic attacks. AND I’ve told horny teenagers to stay in their fucking lane and respect the girls around them. I’ve apparently been an inspiration to those around me, but inspiration NOR exposure pays the bills. I’ve already had COVID, and so has my husband, but I knew that after graduating college that I would never have a fulfilling life being a music teacher in Tennessee’s public schools.
And now that we have COVID, and an orange, small-dicked, pedophilic, rape apologizing, dirty, crusty white president who STILL REFUSES TO CONCEDE, who is DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR HAVING HIS FOLLOWERS SEND DEATH THREATS TO MY FAMILY, I really don’t know what the fuck else to do other than go burn down all the houses I know of in North Georgia that belong to these Christian sex cult pedophiles and call it a day. My girlfriend unfortunately was born into one of those families, and I know just how bad it can get. In fact, her dad’s lawyer threatened me with blackmail earlier in November, so that was fun!
And now, on December 11, 2020, I’m still sitting here in the same fucking house, doing the same fucking things I’ve been doing all year - trying to get a job and failing horribly. I’M SICK AND TIRED OF THIS COVID BULLSHIT AND OUR INCOMPOTENT CUNT OF A PRESIDENT! And there’s only ever one other person I’ve ever called a cunt... my own mother.
I’ve lived in many places. I’ve met many different people. I’ve made mistakes, and have grown, but there’s one thing for damn sure that I always make sure to do, every single fucking day.
I ALWAYS try to do better.
In addition to this, I treat everyone with the same amount of respect, unless they have done something directly to me to negate that. If I know that someone believes in something that directly harms me or my family, I don’t even associate with them. I don’t spend my energy on things that don’t need it. And everyone else should, too.
The problem with some of y’all is that you care about the wrong things. Like will Becky text me back or did I get front row seats to that concert, or did I slave my life away to capitalism just so that I can own a Mercedes and have my friends jealous. I’ve had way too many dear death experiences to know that EVERY single fucking day is a gift. EVERY day.
I don’t want to be remembered first for the art I create. I want to be remembered for my character. I want to be remembered as the courageous person who never backed down in the face of adversity. But when you live in a place that already hates you and that is against you, that’s really fucking hard. Trust me. My marriage went from a cis straight passing couple to a white gay passing couple. I’ve seen how people’s attitudes changed around me as I transitioned. I know what it feels like to slowly lose a piece of your privilege you were born with.
So yeah, I kinda get a little fucking upset when I see people saying All Lives Matter, or when I see doctors refusing to treat trans patients in pandemics, or when I see cops YET AGAIN harassing Black people only a few blocks away from my house for no other reason than racism. And at this point, anyone who thinks they know me but only knows what people think they know about me can suck my entire ass and eat ten dicks. I don’t give a FUCK about who you are or what you’ve done. If you treat me or other people with no respect for no reason other than to be an asshole, you’re just plain shit. If you SERIOUSLY believe every little rumor and lie that someone tells about me before meeting me, fuck you AND the horse you rode in on.
What I can’t stand is people doing or saying things just to get a rise out of me or others. I thought we left petty shit in high school. Some of the people that “know” me really need to fucking grow up and grow a pair and either say what they want to my face, or stay mad. I’m tired of playing fucking petty games with y’all. We have a whole ass pandemic to solve.
So here’s the ultimatum... if you agree that Black Lives Matter and that queer people deserve basic human rights, EVEN THE ONES YOU HATE, then that’s the bare minimum to even be a decent person. If you can’t even do those things, then I don’t fucking know what else to say to you.
So NBC, maybe not have John Mulaney joke about my license debacle with my gold van on SNL, and Seth Meyers... maybe HIRE ME INSTEAD of Mulaney because clearly y’all don’t know about the south as much as I do? Oh, and that gazeebo joke with Lee University... I caught that. I may have autism, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I mean. I’m funny when I’m given the chance. And yeah, I’m on a watchlist, but who the fuck isn’t these days? At least all my secrets are out for the world to see, and I have a bangin’ tattoo.
I’m tired of everyone being like “omg, I’ve seen what he can do, it’s fantastic!” or “omg you’re so funny haha” and bragging on me and then NOT FUCKING HIRING ME. I’m TIRED of waiting on something that’s clearly at this point never coming.
I don’t even have testicles, and my balls are bigger than most of the cis men I have EVER met.
So, if you want to help me, or hire me, or get me out to an audition... I’ll be there. But until then, I’m so fucking MAD at some of these producers. Yeah, my mom is a cunt, but she worked in various forms of digital production from the 1980′s until she retired this year. She taught me SO MUCH about directing, writing, shooting, and more. I know how these things are supposed to run behind the scenes. I know what the fuck I’m doing, and I don’t take constructive criticism like a bitch. I actually WANT to be criticized, so I can do even better.
So PLEASE, for the love of Christ... y’all need to get your priorities together AND PLEASE STOP LEAVING ME OUT OF THE LOOP WITH THIS BULLSHIT. Grow a fucking pair and either call me, email me, or leave me alone. It’s really not that fucking hard. Looking at you, Lorne Michaels.
Oh and someone tell my husband what the fuck’s been going on because I’m tired of him gaslighting me about it.
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I hate my job so much rn. Opening manager was almost an hour late. Totally understandable imo, it happens, he's almost always early anyway. But because he was so late, we didn't have anything ready for a good half hour after we should've been open. A line was already forming in the drive thru so I put on my headset and apologized and explained to customers we wouldn't be ready for a bit. Most of them were understanding and didn't give me trouble. But there's always that One customer. Basically it went like this.
Me: Hi, I do apologize but we're actually running quite late this morning so I can't take any orders right now. Sorry.
Hell Customer: So if I come back I can get a meal for free?
Me: ...Um, well no I can't really do that, sorry.
Hell customer: Oh, you "can't really do that." Let me ask you this, do you guys have that nachos box?
Me, wondering why she's asking because that's completely unrelated: No, this location actually doesn't have that one.
Hell customer: What's wrong with your location?
Of course she interrupts me before I can actually explain that there's an issue with the distributor, shortage of chips, CEO actually told the whole area not to sell it anymore, etc.
Hell Customer: Is this location privately owned or what?
Me, not knowing the answer because I don't know shit except how to do my job: Uh, hang on a moment.
I go ask my manager but there's a bit of a language barrier, and he has a heavy accent that's hard for me to understand, PLUS I'm starting to panic because at this point this lady is just harassing me.
Hell customer: Hello? What am I waiting for?? You don't even have food for me.
Me: ...Ma'am I was just trying to get an answer to your question.
Hell customer: Okay so do you have an answer for me?
Me: I don't right now, I'm sorry?
Hell customer: But you WORK here, why don't you know these things??
Me, becoming fucking irritated and starting to shake with anxiety: Because, MA'AM, I don't know everything about this place, I'm just a cashier here.
Hell customer: You don't have to talk to me like that. What's your name?
Like obviously she was wanting to take my name to go complain about me EVEN THOUGH I didn't even do anything wrong?? So I didn't say anything, took my headset off, told the manager she was harassing me and that he can deal with these people, and hid in the bathroom having an anxiety attack until we were ready to open. And then the manager made fun of me for it.
And as if my morning wasn't bad enough, I was supposed to leave at 12, got stuck because my replacement was half an hour late, got stuck even longer because we had the worst rush I've seen in a long time in the lobby. Stayed 2 extra hours. During said rush, these ladies who spoke Spanish were having trouble ordering from me but one seemed to speak enough English that I understood what she was saying at least, so she also translated for the other lady who didn't know as much English. Somehow though she ended up with the completely wrong items even though I confirmed the order with them both several times, so I yell back to the kitchen what I need fixed, which usually is no problem because we're supposed to just fix things when told to, and this new girl starts going off about ME for getting the order wrong. "SHE NEEDS TO START RINGING THIS SHIT UP RIGHT!" I've been working there for two YEARS, she's been there for two WEEKS. I'd like to see her try to handle all these people and the frequent language barrier issue. I literally rang up what they TOLD me, word for word. Not my fault. I'm just so sick of coworkers who act like every mistake is the cashier's fault, especially when they've never cashiered, themselves. Fuck right off with that. And she's supposed to become a manager soon... LOL. 🙄
TLDR: Customer harassed me over not being open on time to the point of me having an anxiety attack. Manager in training loses shit at me over a mistake a customer made, IN FRONT of all the customers (real professional). Good day.
#submissions#fuck customers#cashier problems#fuck co-workers#embarrassing#fuck coworkers#fuck managers#submission
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Good Girl | Dabi x F!Reader | Fluff/NSFW
Dabi with a very innocent female reader, with some rough nsfw and dirty talk?
I’m so awful with dirty talk. 😂
Warnings: NSFW, wannabe dirty talk, insecurities, Dabi being a sweetheart
Your hand shakes with every centimeter closer you bring the eyeliner to your eyelid. Make-up wasn’t your strong suit besides the basics of foundation, lipstick, and mascara. This is an emergency, however. The man you wanted is dangerously close to belonging to someone else if he hadn’t already.
The man you love, Dabi, is a villain, not the smartest idea considering you are only a civilian. The two of you met actually about a year ago when some jerks were harassing you on the bus on the way home and not taking no and your obvious discomfort for an answer. You’re sure he only stepped in because they were annoying him too with the obnoxiously loud talking.
Ever since then, the two of you kept running into each other. You’re not sure if it was fate or what, but you became acquaintances then friends then he would drop by your house and spend the night every so often to shower or eat, and he would give you some money when you needed something or if rent was tight or he felt that he was staying over and using your stuff more than usual. You never questioned where he got it from nor wanted to know either. Eventually, the two of you became friends with cuddle benefits whenever one of you were feeling particularly desperate for human contact and affection.
Needless to say, you developed a big crush akin to a school girl crushing on her senpai. It’s also like a school girl that you decided to change up your look to win back his attention.
Lately, he’s been spending a lot of time with this other woman who worked for the same person who hooked Dabi up with jobs every now and again. Some guy named Giran. You didn’t know if they were just partners for the time being like he said or not, but you have seen her plenty enough times to know her type, bad girl incarnate.
She was always in tight leather pants with metal chains and matching jacket over a crop top and heavy make-up and shiny body piercings. She had tattoos located on her chest and lower back to draw attention to nicely developed features. You thought that you could’ve competed in the looks department when you dress up in pretty dresses and flowing tops, but the final nail in your confidence was her sleek, stylish Kawasaki. Dabi seemed to really like that.
So as childish as it may have been, if bad is what he liked then you were going to try to be bad. You bought some tight shorts to hug around your hips and skimpier tops to wear. You still were a bit unsure on the piercings and chickened out on getting a real tattoo. You were in the darn chair and practically fell on your face to escape when the needle got close. Though, you thought the temp one on your shoulder was pretty convincing and bought plenty to back it up. Now, you were sitting in front of your bathroom mirror watching a YouTube tutorial on how to apply eyeliner and do a smoky eye shadow.
You knew Dabi would come over today. No matter what he always came on Saturday to spend the night. This time would be a change in plans. You were going to convince him to go out to the rave club with you for a drink and maybe, just maybe, excite him to kiss you instead of just spooning tonight. Then, there would be no need for him to spend time with that other woman at all.
You finally get your make-up done to what you think is a decent look just as a knock comes from the door. Dabi always has this distinct way he knocks before he unlocks your door so you won’t get scared that someone was breaking in.
“Hey,” Dabi greets, eyes immediately going to the couch where he expected you to be waiting instead you bounce in from the hallway to meet him with your usual sweet smile covered behind make-up and normal pajamas replaced by form-hugging clothing that showed off more skin than he’s ever seen.
You notice immediately the confusion on his face. You didn’t know if that is a good thing yet, but it is progress. Blue eyes take you all in, dropping from your head to your feet and all the way back up.
“What are you wearing?” he questions, and you grin as he noticed and bat the long black eyelashes you spent hours trying to figure out how to put on.
“I just decided to try a new look is all,” you explain, smiling with thick red painted lips. “But hey, I was thinking we should go out somewhere fun tonight.”
“Fun?” he questions skeptically.
“Yeah, fun,” you repeat, biting your lip and letting the word leave your mouth hard in what you thought was a seductive manner.
Dabi scowls, eyes narrowing at you, and you gulp. “What is that?”
“Hm?” you hum nonchalantly. Deciding to fall to your emergency plan early, you twist to the side to display the picture on your bicep. “Oh, this? I got a tattoo. Pretty badass, don’t you think?”
You hold your breath as he studies it before scoffing, finally smiling slightly. “It’s fake,” Dabi points out, relieved.
“N-No, it’s not,” you stammer, refusing to give up that easily. Dabi draws his thumb across his tongue, presses it to your skin, and swipes some of the tattoo away. “Hey, what are you doing!”
You’re cut off as he rubs his palm at your eye shadow and bluntly demands, “Take that off. You hate make-up, it breaks you out.”
“Dabi, stop it!” you complain and aggressively whack his hand away.
Annoyed, Dabi finally asks, “What’s up with you, (Name)? You’ve been acting weird lately and now,” he gestures his hand in a circle all around you, “Just what is this?” he cringes when he looks at your face, making your heart sink.
“You’re not around enough to know if I’m acting weird,” you spitefully whispered, making his eyes widen.
“What are you talking about?”
“All your time is with that other woman!” you finally confessed. “Every time you have a job, or she’ll be around you even when you say you’re free, and you don’t spend time with me as much anymore. I know we’re not dating, and you can be with whoever you want, but it hurts since I care about you, too; and if you are dating her, I don’t think it’s fair to me or her if you keep coming around here, too.”
Sighing, Dabi pulls you into him. “You don’t have to waste your time being jealous. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but we’re not having sex or doing anything together if that’s what you’re worried about, and I’m not really interested in doing things with her for that matter.”
“You don’t? But she’s so pretty, and—“
”And you’re not? (Name), you looked fine before. Not to mention look at me, you’re definitely the better looking one in our relationship.”
Blushing, you glance down at your feet with a weak smile. “But she’s just so cool, and I figured you liked women like that so I just wanted you to know I could be bad, too.”
“Okay,” he chuckles, leaning his head close to your ear, and whispering, “Then, show me how bad you can be, (Name)-chan.”
You grin and bring your lips to his, biting down on his bottom lip and pulling before sliding your tongue over his lips. You pull away with a smirk. “How’s that?”
“Oh? Was that all,” he teases. “I said bad,” he says and caresses your cheek.
“What?” you questioned in shock, thinking that was pretty sexy in your book. Realizing he means further, your throat going dry as you squeak out, “you mean right now?”
“That’s what you want, right?” he questions you and grips at your hips to roughly snatch your body against his.
“I…” You looked down to the floor, trying to hide your timid expression from cool blue eyes.
“It’s not that hard,” he says and snuggly hugs your lower half to his. “Tell me what you want to do to me,” Dabi gently drags his thumb down the center of your bottom lip.
“Well, I would undress you...” you state unsurely.
“I see, and?” He teases, sliding his hand down your shoulder. Goosebumps dance up your skin as you try to think of something else to say but you started drawing blanks. He chuckles at your deer in the headlight’s expression.
“And uh…I’m not sure…” You had your chance to make him yours and you were completely lost on how. Your original plan had only went as far as getting him to kiss you. And though it’s not like you haven’t done a few things with a man before, it wasn’t really your area of expertise either. “But I can learn. It can’t be that hard.”
“Really?”
”Yes,” you repeat less confidently as he cups your chin to bring your line of sight back to him.
“Don’t worry about it, bad girls are nice, but I do really like good girls like you. It makes it that much easier to make you squirm.”
A yelp echoes through the house as you're hoisted off your feet and into his arms.
“Dabi,” you gasp and wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist. He cups your ass and brings you up as high as possible before carrying you to the bedroom.
Dabi kicks open the door and tosses you onto the bed like it’s nothing. Closing your eyes, you land on it with a bounce. You open your eyes to catch Dabi leaning over you and forcing you back to the mattress.
“Do you want to be my woman, (Name)?” Dabi asks, hands gripping your wrists and holding them far above your head.
“I want to be yours,” you answer, and he rewards it with a quick brush of his lips against your collar bone.
“What do you want me to do to you?” he murmurs as he traces his tongue over your cleavage and kisses between your breasts.
You groan as rough skin placed soft kisses along your chest. You finally know what his lips feel like. “I want you to do everything to me.”
“Mm, how long have you wanted this?” Dabi questions and moves his lips to yours, making you tense. It takes only a second or two for you to relax and accept his advance.
“A few months now,” you confess shyly before Dabi kisses you deeper and shifts his body on top of yours. He lays on top of you, smothering you under his full weight. You whimper from the heat of his body, and he moves his hips against you, pleasuring himself with friction between the two of you.
“If you wanted me so bad, you should’ve just said so. I would’ve been happy to fuck you silly anytime, sweetheart.” His deep chuckle makes you flustered, and Dabi roughly bites down into your bottom lip. He pulls away to take in your bashful face. “You don’t know how hard it was to keep my hands off you,” and he makes sure you know it by squeezing you in scarred hands and dragging them all the way down the sides of your arms and width of your hips.
“How can you say that with such a straight face?” you mutter but your timid-ness only edge him further to keep going until you whine from his teasing.
“I can’t count how many times I woke up hard because of you, how many times I’ve had to jerk off with you sleeping next to me,” he teases, kissing down your bare shoulder and continuously pulling down your top before deciding to smolder through it instead by bunching it in his hands and pulling the weaken seams. You wouldn’t need to be wearing it anymore anyway.
“Dabi,” you squirm and bring your hands to your chest. You hiss when he grips them and slams them back above your head.
“No, no, no baby girl, you don’t get to hide from me anymore,” Dabi says, switching to holding your arms back with one hand as he flicks your nipple with the other.
“That’s not fair!” you whine with the grinding of his hip, and the cool laugh he teases you with brings a warmth between your legs.
“What was that? You want me to play with you more?” he questions and covers your nipple in his mouth, sucking aggressively. You moan as he bites down and pulls the sensitive nub between his teeth.
“Have you touched yourself thinking about me, baby girl?” Dabi licks the shell of your ear, and you shudder underneath him. You purse your lips, avoiding eye contact as you shake your head. “Not even a little?” he asks skeptically as he grasps your hand, slowly sliding it between your legs.
“I don’t think you’re telling me the truth,” he whispers and kisses your neck then nips at your earlobe. “Show me what you do to yourself, I want to know.”
You unfurl your fingers and nervously stroke them underneath your shorts and over your panties.
“That’s my girl,” he purrs, and you groan as he lustfully watches you stroke underneath your shorts. He decides to pull them off to get the full show before forcing your hand away to remove your underpants. “Keep going,” he commands, and you press your fingers back to your bare skin, curling up into yourself as you bite back a moan. He licks his fingers and goes back to teasing and rolling his wet thumb over your nipples. He pulls them roughly and strokes you with the scarred skin on the back of his hand, and the rough strokes make you throb around your fingers as more cum sleeks out to coat them.
Dabi tugs your hand away, and your breath catches in your throat as he slowly glances his tongue over the tips of your fingers, one by one. Heat comes from his hand as he strokes over your knuckles, sending a pleasant warmth through your palm. “Come here,” he orders, sitting on the bed and pulling you on top of him.
Dabi strokes your head, and you press against his cock, rocking slightly. Dabi licks his lips, watching your soft expression before deciding he wants to be inside of you right away. He shifts away and undoes his pants before settling you back onto his lap.
You grip onto him as he pulls you down on his dick, making you whimper, and he sighs himself with the slow start of his thrusts. You push your hands into thick, black hair and kiss him deeply. You inexperiencedly grind your hips into him as you do so but it’s not a problem as he digs his fingers into your thighs and guides your movements.
The dragging of heated fingers down your skin makes you hiss along with the streaks following in a thin trail. “Dabi,” you mewl, and he buries his head between your breasts to cover his own needy gasps. Teeth nip and bite, leaving marks over your breasts that speckle lightly with the color of blood before he licks it away with a groan, proving just how desperately he wanted you all this time.
The motions of his hips don’t stop as he slams in you with a rate that is undoubtedly going to have you sore, and you crane your head back and give your own marks on the back of his neck by dragging your nails over his skin. He growls as you pull at the back of his hair. You raise your hips and ride on him harder to quickly build up to your end with him.
You keep rocking on his lap until you’re both spent and empty. You pant tiredly and slowly climb off of him before laying down and hugging against his chest.
You look up at him with a soft smile, and he wants to meet it but frowns slightly when he sees the smear across your face from where he wiped your makeup. He shakes his head, and you furrow your brows as he slips away from you and adjusts his clothes before walking to the bathroom. You wait nervously, worrying as you hear the water run before he comes back with a wet towel in hand.
“Dabi?” you question but sputter as he sits on the bed and impatiently tries to wipe the smears away to look a little better and to see some of your real skin tone under the foundation.
“I don’t like not being able to see your face,” he bluntly scolds before tossing the towel off to the side when he finally is satisfied with his work. Then, he pulls your arm up and motions to the remains of the tattoo there. “And no more of this, understand?” he warns you as he pushes you back down under him.
“I won’t,” you whisper, and he slowly drops your arm as he comes back down to bite your lips. His hands squeeze your biceps as he pulls you flush against his body.
“Good girl," he purrs. "Now, give me more sugar," he demands before heavily kissing you and pushing you down for the second time that night.
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Chapter Ten
~*5 year time skip*~
It had been five years since Jessica had last seen Alesiter, four years since they last spoke on the phone and three years since she had gotten her last letter. She had kept trying to reach out on several occasions but decided it was just best if she stopped, seeing as Alesiter hadn't responded to any of her letters. But she did still wear her necklace, it was the one promise to Aleister that she was going to keep no matter what. Now a 13 year old freshman, alongside her brother Jeff whom was 15 and Matt 17, High school was a whole new ball game. Jessica started taking more after Jeff in the way she dressed and was eventually able to convince him to dye her hair like his. Which went more along the lines of.
“ Well Jeff if you don’t do it for me, I’ll just have to do it myself and since I’ve never done this, who knows what it’ll look like or the mess I’ll make.”
Yup that was how she went from beautiful strawberry blonde hair, to its current colors of purple, with pink tips. She dressed like him too, well as close as she could get. Instead of dressing like the other girls, in skirts, and tight clothes, Jessica went for baggier, skater pants, studded belts, tank tops, with a hoodie over the top and combat boots on her feet. When people asked why the hell she looked like she'd just smile and walk passed, she didn’t need to explain herself and she never would. As usual, Jessica excelled in school, top marks every quarter, and to earn some cash, she even tutored others. Her sophomore year she was placed into college prep classes in hopes of giving her harder work, which all but failed. When not studying, tutoring or harassing her brother to re do her hair, Jessica could be found in the ring in the backyard.
Over the years the siblings had made changes and upgrades to the ring, but nowadays Matt and Jeff were actually going to wrestling school part time, and on weekends, when it wasn’t a full moon performing shows. Jessica was envious of her brothers, she knew they’d make it big one day and she wanted to follow in their footsteps. Junior year was different. She still dressed the same and had weird hair in fact that year she had dyed dark blue with teal ends, but the odd part was her body changed. She didn’t get much taller, but her chest grew, and so did her curves. She began getting noticed by the guys in school and since Matt had graduated two years ago, that only left Jeff. Jess wasn’t going to bother him though, he had his group of weirdo friends at school, and she had the like two friends she had. After what happened with Aleister she never really did allow others to get close to her.
That was until Jack came along. He was your typical pretty, jock boy. Same grade as Jessica and one of the students she helped tutor. She wasn’t sure what the hell had gotten into Jack but he expressed interest in dating her. There never were any rules in place in case she was asked out, so she thought it would be okay. She agreed to meet with him on a Saturday, she knew her brothers would be gone from Friday night till early Sunday morning, and dad was hardly ever around. So if she was going to go on a “date” Saturday would be the perfect day. Forgetting that of course Sunday was the full moon which meant her brothers would actually be home Saturday night. The rest of the week past and Jessica did her normal routine. Friday was her tutor session with Jack and they exchanged phone numbers at the end of it. Getting back home Matt and Jeff were just leaving when they both noticed an odd smell on their sister.
“What’s that smell?” Matt asked, to him it smelled of leather and smoke. After tutoring sometimes the smell was faint on her but today it was almost overpowering. Jessica shifted on her feet looking down.
“Oh that, I ah...I hugged Jack after his session today, he’s finally getting the hang of those mathematical equations.” She prayed Jeff wouldn’t pull his alpha card and make her give the truth this wasn’t his place, no one set rules for this and she wasn’t going to let them.Quickly noticing the time she shoved her brothers out of the house after promising everything would be fine.
Meanwhile Jack was off talking to his Demon King.
“Yes sir, I have a date with her tomorrow night. I’m telling you something isn’t right with her. It's not that she’s smart its almost her smell is off. She’s not a full werewolf that much I know to be true I just can’t figure out what else she is.”
Balor hummed, while tapping his chin. Coming up with away to pull her other side out.
“Tell me more about the lass Jack. Her personality.”
Jack had to think about that, the girl only had two friends whom she kept at arm's length, plus her two brothers. That was when he recalled a name.
“Jessica only has two friends, and if I remember correctly its because when she was younger, her best friend Aleister basically abandoned her shortly after her mother’s death.” Jack smiled at the information he remembered, as did Balor.
“Aleister you say? And didn’t you mention she can practically speak perfect Dutch? It was how she got out of taking a foreign language?” Balor tapped his fingers together this was far too good to be true. Aleister Black the powerful witch was friends with little wolf Jessica . No no there was far more to this than met the eye. “I know how to get her to show her other half. Follow the route I give you tomorrow, she won’t be able to resist.”
Saturday morning came and like all Saturdays Jessica was alone in the house. She got up, showered, shaved, brushed her teeth and hair. She put on some nice smelling lotion, and then got dressed. Though she thought better of her normal tomboy style and went with a pair of dark straight legged skinny jeans, and a decent shirt, along with her DC sneakers. In reality she didn’t really have girly clothes this was the best she was going to do for her date tonight and she wondered if this was even good enough. Seeing the time she decided to take off the decent outfit she had put on it, it was way too early anyways, and threw on her ring gear which was just a pair of shorts, and tank top. She played her music loud and set an alarm to let her know when she should stop to actually get ready, which of course would include another shower.
Several hours late, and Jess was drenched in sweat as her alarm blared. Greeting out the ring she showered and changed. She was putting her shoes on just as there was a knock at her door. Answering she let Jack in, as she quickly finished up. Not that there was too much for her to do. Getting back downstairs the pair left and walked to the local pizza parlor. They say, they ate the talked about random stuff. When they went to leave Jack had asked if Jessica would like to go on walk, honestly she saw no harm in it, again she was going to be the only person home anyways. Following the route Balor had given him, it isn’t long till Jessica hears a painfilled cry. She knows damn well she shouldn’t pay any mind but that’s just not the kind of person she is. She takes off in the sound of the cry, which is not the way Balor had intended the two to go, and she finds a young woman beaten in an alleyway. Jack is hiding in the shadows watching to see what the young girl does. Not noticing Jack nor smelling him, Jessica starts to talk to the young woman.
“Hey, I’m not sure what happened to you, but I can help you, if you let me. I swear I’m not here to harm you.” She offers a soft smile and the woman just nods. Once again checking for Jack and not seeing or smelling him she begins chanting a healing spell. Her body glows as the energies flow into the woman and all her injuries began to vanish. Jack and gobsmacked at this, a hybrid of her kind hasn’t been in existence in who knows how long, and yet here she is only showing her wolf side, she must know its dangerous and only follows what her brothers tell her. Jessica helps the woman to her feet and wishes her a better rest of her night. She begins to run back towards the way where she might have lost Jack, and soon enough he appears around a corner panting.
“Ah.. I’m so sorry I took off like that, I normally wouldn’t have.” Jessica looks down feeling embarrassed about the stunt she just pulled. Jack chuckles and shakes his head.
“No no it's fine, ya know you’re really fast you should try out for our schools track team.” He places his hand on Jessica’s shoulder as he leads her back to her house. Yeah he knows Balor is going to be upset he didn’t go the way he told him to but in all seriousness he’s pretty sure the girl only knows healing spellings so if he had an attack setup that just would not have worked. Getting her home it was already almost 11pm and that's when Jess noticed the car in the driveway and stomach sank. Why the hell were her brothers home early? She tried to quickly tell Jack goodnight and thank you but he insteaded on being proper and walking her to the door. Swallowing hard she allowed it.
As they got closer to the door, it swung open revealing a pissed off Jeff whos green eyes were fully gold, and Matt whos brown eyes where ice blue. Shaking Jess quickly said goodnight to her date once more, but not before he kissed her check and asked to do it again sometime. Walking past her brothers she knew she was in trouble and Jack may the Moon Goddess save his soul.Once the door shut Jack stalked around for a few minutes he wanted to hear what was going to happen.
“WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU AND WHO THE HELL WAS THAT!” Jeff screamed and Jessica’s omega wolf gave in automatically. Speaking barely above a whisper she told Matt and Jeff almost everything that had happened and how it had gotten to their date. Matt was a little calmer after listening to his sister explain everything and in hindsight she was always alone on weekends and they never did set rules for her dating.Jessica ran to her room and locked the door. She wasn’t going to be yelled at just because they came home early. This had been her first date, and she had, had a good time up to that point.
#FMITN#jeff hardy#matt hardy#Hardy Boyz#magic#werewolves#supernatural au#wwe superstars#aleister black#balor#demon king#original character#magical
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Can You Handle This?
Love All The Marvel Ships
Day Twenty-Four
Prompt: Teaching Each Other
Darcy hated the idea of having to learn self-defence. It rated up there with exercise and diets. For some odd reason both Thor and Jane insisted that she had to do it though, so she had attended the gym reluctantly, protesting bitterly with each step.
The first trainer had kicked her out in the first twenty minutes and Darcy had heaved a sigh of relief. After all they couldn’t make her learn if there was no one to teach her.
Jane had put on her ‘Do As I Say or I’ll Portal You’ voice and found Darcy another trainer. Seething, Darcy went to see what this one made of her, but this time it was Darcy that had walked out ten minutes in. The woman had taken an inordinate amount of pleasure in telling Darcy everything that was wrong with her body shape and sneered at the double layer of sports bra’s she’s put on and basically made her feel fat and ugly and a bit of a tramp. She was not going back to train with someone like that.
The third guy had been better, for the first three sessions, and Darcy had grudgingly admitted that it wasn’t so bad. That was until the asshole had tried to stick his hands down her pants while showing her how to get out of a hold. Thor had not been happy and had made a personal visit to the idiot about the inappropriate touching. Luckily Tony had the whole thing on tape and the guy had been fired and a complain lodged with police, not that Darcy thinks much will come of it.
She’s enjoying the reprieve before they find yet another person to make her suffer. Right now though, she has a baking date.
Bucky Barnes had been doing cooking for therapy and she had been roped in by Wilson to help out. she didn't mind one bit. She had been itching to get a chance to talk to him a bit more. There was something about him that made her tummy flutter and her heart ache. He always looked so sad and unapproachable. At Jane's urging Darcy had made herself available to help three days a week between 2pm and 5pm. Jane insisted she didn't mind giving Darcy the time off and Darcy wasn't going to say no to nine hours a week of kitchen time with the guy she'd been crushing on since 10th grade.
It had been going well the last few weeks. He had relaxed around her and started talking a more. They had actually managed to reach some conversational milestones, like the music they liked, who they'd wanted to be when they were kids and speculated over what would happen next on Game of Thrones. It had also been really interesting getting to know him. Bucky Barnes might come across as all cold and dangerous but secretly she was absolutely certain he was actually just a giant marshmallow.
He listened to her while she explained what to do and why they did things a certain way and he was really getting better at it. He seemed to enjoy baking and had become much more enthusiastic about it as the weeks went on. Today she was going to teach him how to make muffins. She’d let him choose what kinds and all the ingredients had been ordered the day before.
He was already waiting for her when she arrived, he had trimmed his hair a little shorter since Monday and it was combed back carefully, tidily. She swooned internally and wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through it and muss it up. She shook off the thought and hustled through and picked up an apron.
“Hey Bucky, ready to get started?”
“Sure doll, can’t wait.”
Bucky helped her get the bowls out and they passed ingredients to each other as they worked in companionable silence for a time.
The question he asked her was not what she’d been expecting.
“I heard about Harrison. Steve told me. You feeling alright after what happened?”
Darcy pauses for a moment then decides to be honest.
“I’m fine, I’m used to it, it’s not the first time some guy’s tried to get his hands in my pants or under my shirt Bucky.”
The cold deadly silence from her new friend makes her look up.
“What the hell is wrong with people? I don’t get how this is just,… brushed under the rug. The future sucks Darce.”
“It wasn’t exactly a bed of roses back in the 40’s either Bucky bear.” She retorts, in truth nothing much had changed deep down.
“I know, I just thought we’d get better at all this stuff, not worse. You’re never going to get anywhere with self-defence if you can’t trust the person teaching you”
Darcy shrugs and asks him to pass the muffin cases. There’s not much anyone can do at this point, it’s just they way the world is. She’s had put up with that sort of thing for years. Ever since she was old enough to wear a bra she’d had to learn how to get past the constant harassment of one form or another. She notices that he’s looking pensive and broody again, never a good combination. She hip checks him and shakes her head.
“It’s fine... well not fine, I hate it... But I know I can trust everyone here in the Tower not to try anything. Don’t worry about me Bucky, I’ll be alright, I still have my taser.”
Beside her the sigh of exasperation and the shoulder bump he gives her lets her know he’s not pleased by this response.
She can’t use it in New York and yet she still insists in carrying it around with her. He’s worried she’s going to fry someone and get in trouble. He really didn’t want that to happen. He thinks back to Steve’s hints that he could teach her and save them all a heap of trouble and time.
“You know it’s illegal in New York. Look I know you don’t like guns, but I thought maybe, if you wanted to learn I could teach you, that way you don’t have to worry about the self defence classes, although you know… if you wanted I could teach you that too?”
She knew her mouth was hanging open. The Winter Soldier was asking her if she wanted lessons?
“Are you offering to take me on and teach me? You know the first guy nearly had a heart attack just from my potty mouth.”
“I think I can handle it.”
He tells her with a teasing smile. She bites back the urge to grin back and wink at him, unfortunately her mouth doesn’t manage quite as much restraint.
“You think you can handle all of this?”
Ha, right where it hurts. He’s going cross-eyed trying not to look where she was pointing at her bust.
Oh god he is adorable when he blushes.
“I know I can.”
He’s regained his composure and now it’s her turn to blush at the thought of him handling her in any way.
“Fine, how about tomorrow morning, 7 am.”
She almost curses at her impulsive suggestion, but the thought of being able to get to see him in nothing more than a t-shirt and sweat pants has her salivating. He is just so good looking it’s hard not to enjoy the sight when it’s right in front of you.
“It’s a date”
He calls out as he leaves the kitchen. The muffins piled high on the plate.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She actually turns up a little early the next day, looking forward to it this time. It’s much easier to think about learning things without worrying she’s going to get groped again or fat shamed. On the other hand, she would not mind getting hit on by Bucky.
He is just so ridiculously attractive. But he is so far out of her league it’s not funny, so she’ll take any time she can get with him before some lucky skinny model type wanders along and gets all pissy about his friendship with “That Darcy, girl.” Oh the times she’s heard that, like she was a bad influence.
The first fifteen minutes, he coaches her through a warm up and then moves onto the correction of her stance and posture. She preens with each word of praise he gives her and does her damndest not to melt into his touch when he corrects her position with the brush of a hand for emphasis. By the time the hour is nearly up she’s a hot mess and not from the exercise, although there’s that too.
No, she feels like she’d just attended the longest, most tortuous, foreplay event ever. Trying to stick with the plan and keep focused on learning something useful, she asks about how to get away from a guy holding her down without considering how he’ll have to do it and that’s when all thought of keeping herself strictly professional throws itself out the window.
Ten minutes into teaching Darcy he thinks he’s made a mistake, because, no, it turns out, he can not “handle all that”, she’s too pretty, he can’t hardly think in her presence. Then every time he touches her she shivers or bites back a tiny little noise in the back of her throat and all of a sudden he remembers what that means, why she’d doing it. He knows what she had alluded to in the kitchen yesterday, about guys touching her without permission and she’s trying not to flinch every time he touches her.
She’s uncomfortable and he can’t blame her. He keeps going though, going through a half dozen moves to get out of a choke hold and then she asks him to show her how to get away if I guy manages to get her on the ground. That brings him up short. He knows how to teach her, he’s just not sure he should be the one doing it. To teach her properly how to do it, means getting far closer than he thinks he can manage without giving himself and how he feels about her away. And he knows if him just touching her arms or hips to correct a move or her posture makes her uncomfortable this will be ten times worse for her.
But he did promise and he can’t back out now, not after all the shit she’s went through with the others.
She’s on her back and he’s encouraging her to twist to bring her body onto its side while lifting a leg up to brace against his hip when she gives in. She can’t do this, it’s too much. He’s half over her, between her open legs and he’s asked her a dozen times if she’d comfortable or if it’s okay if he touches her here and there and if he asks her one more time if she’s alright she’s going to scream.
Why in the name of Thor had she thought this was a good idea? He’s being so patient and careful with her she thinks he must think she’s made of glass. And damn it she should be taking this seriously, not turning over the pro’s and cons in her mind of messing it up so he ends up closer to her.
Bucky grits his teeth as they go over the move again. He can’t take much more of this, she’s smiling at him and nodding and listening and… fuck. Every time they go back to the start position he’s convinced he’s going to shimmy her just a tad too close and she’ll run screaming because honestly his body has a mind of it’s own in her presence. She’s on her back, legs open, knees bent while he’s kneeling back on his heels between her legs. It’s exactly what it looks like and he can’t teach her how to get out from under him unless they actually are in the right position, a realistic position.
He’s still not sure how he managed to explain how they would be doing this without stuttering through it, but he’d done it.
Darcy had looked wide eyed and a little apprehensive and then she’d blushed all the way up from her collar bones to the tips of her ears when he’d pulled her in, her thighs resting over his, their hips near flush together, he felt like the worst sort of pervert.
“Okay, one more time and then we’ll call it day Doll.” He tells her as he brings her back to the start, her legs hooked up on his, him looming over her, only an inch or so between their bodies from crotch to rib-cage.
“Oh thank god.” She breathes out, then slaps her hand over her mouth because no she did not mean that the way he’s taking it. He freezes over her and she knows he’s going to run, what else would he do? He thinks she’s scared or uncomfortable and that is the furthest thing from the truth.
“Fuck, this was a mistake, I’m sorry…” He tries to sit up, walk away but Darcy suddenly clings to him, her legs hooked over his hips, stopping him from pulling away.
“No! I didn’t mean it like that… God Barnes you are so fucking blind. I’m sorry… I just…”
She loses her train of thought because damn it, her action has pulled them closer, nothing stopping her from feeling the hardness now nestled into her core through his sweatpants and her thin leggings.
It’s her turn to freeze, eyes widening in surprise and desire. This was not what she had been expecting at all. Her heart takes off in her chest and the instinct to squeeze her thighs together presses them tighter against each other. Fuck, that feels too good and this is not what she had meant to do. But he’s just as frozen as her at the way she had responded to him, she sees the truth dawning in his eyes as she stares, not daring to breath.
It’s like a game of chicken, both of them unwilling to blink first.
He brings his hands down on either side of her, this time, instead of keeping her arms straight, braced against his shoulders to keep him away, she locks them round his neck, pulling him down till her chest is flush against his and she can clearly see the tiny salt and pepper hairs in the stubble on his chin.
He can’t believe he missed this. Had he been out of the game so long he’d misinterpreted every little tell that would have told him she was just as interested in him as he was in her? He lowers himself carefully till he rests on his elbows. There’s not hair of space between their bodies now and he can feel every soft curve of her and the heat radiating from her core has him biting back a moan.
He begins to smile at her and his eyes crinkle just the tiniest bit. Darcy can’t help smiling back, her bottom lip caught in her teeth in delight.
“You know, if you wanted to get into my pants Doll, you could just have asked.”
She tugged lightly on his hair in retaliation for the sass and hummed.
“Well how was I meant to know you were interested? You’re always such a gentleman, I thought you didn’t notice me.”
The last is said with the sort of vulnerability that is breaks his heart a little. Who the hell had damaged her confidence like that?
“Doll, I’d have to blind not to have noticed you. You’re beautiful Darcy, your eyes, that shade of china blue, the way they sparkle when you’re being sneaky, your smile, your smile drives me crazy and the way those little curls that escape when you wear your hair up while we’re cooking. Fuck Doll, I want to reach out and touch them all the damn time.”
They’re almost nose to nose now. She blinks back tears that are threatening to make an appearance and ruin the whole thing because, Holy Mother of Thor, no one has ever said something so fucking nice to her before. If a guy noticed anything it was her tits or her ass. They certainly didn’t wax lyrical about the curl of her hair or the colour of her eyes. It’s official, James Buchanan Barnes is perfect.
“I didn’t think you’d be interested in me Darce, I’m not exactly what girls dream about.”
“Are you kidding me? Have you seen yourself? You are exactly what girls dream about.”
She’s not sure if he’s teasing or not, but the tiny little flinch at her words makes her think not.
It’s a strange state of affairs, she thinks. A moment ago she’d been on the knife edge of desire, now she’s just full of gooey feelings and wants to hug him and kiss him till he knows how special and important and perfect he is to her.
“Can I kiss you doll?”
“I’d really like it of you did.”
He smiles and hauls her upright, till she’s straddling his thighs, she slips down a little and the tantalising feel of being pressed into him simmers down without the direct contact. She holds onto his shoulders and digs her toes into the mat, keeping her balance, not that she really needs to, he had one hand at her back and the other at her hip keeping her from falling off.
She can’t look away from him as he stares at her lips, still a little unsure if he should kiss her, so she makes the decision and moves first, fitting her lips to his, pressing softly into him in a chaste kiss. She feels the curl of his lips as he smiles into the kiss, her own curling in response as they exchange lazy gentle kisses. It’s not all fiery passion and need, it’s special she thinks dazedly, and a little magical, because she can’t believe he’s kissing her back. It’s the sort of perfect first kiss you read about in silly romance novels and if they’d been standing, she’s pretty sure her leg would have popped like in the movies.
The loud coughing coming from the door startles them both and she pulls away blushing as Steve strolls in.
“I thought you were teaching her how to get away from a guy?”
Darcy scowled at the vaguely guilty look that flits over Bucky’s face.
“I decided to teach him how to catch a girl instead Cap.” She pipes up, barely resisting the urge to stick her tongue out.
Steve just grins at them and shakes his head, turning to leave, laughing.
“It’s about damn time! We thought you two were never going to figure it out.”
Wait, what?
“What do you mean, we? We who?” Darcy shouts at his retreating back.
“Tell Jane she owes me fifty bucks, I told her it’d only take one lesson.”
Darcy and Bucky look at each other.
“You get the feeling we just got played Doll?”
“Yup.”
Then she sighs, because right now, she doesn’t give a fuck.
“You want to go get coffee with me Darcy?”
“Yes, I do. And then later we can plan how to get them back. I have a back order of glitter and glue just arrived from Hobbycraft and didn’t have anything to do with it. Think you can get me Cap’s shield?”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Let’s get that coffee and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Bucky laughs and shakes his head then kisses her again and she melts into it, it’s a little less soft and romantic and little more heated and passionate. It takes her breath away in fact, and she tightens her arms round his neck. It’ll be fun she thinks, teaching Bucky how to bedazzle things and help her play pranks. All of it is going to be fun, and she’ll never miss another defence lesson again if he’s there to kiss her at the end of it.
NEXT
This is a useful and important video. Darcy and Bucky were fooling around a bit, but this is still a serious and subject and something to keep informed of. Watch the Video, it’s good. It’s informative. It could save you.
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Sweet Dreams (Reader x Elmer)
Word Count: 2,770
Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, Delanceys, Violence TW, and just general angst tbh
A/N:
You were kicked out of your home for being friends with the Newsies and Elmer finds you crying on the streets. He recognizes you from selling around your house a few times and takes you to the lodgehouse. Elmer is an adorable human, and I love him
Soooo, I had this idea like a week and a half ago and it wouldn’t leave me alone. I guess in my brain I always Headcannon Elmer as just a sweetie and so this happened. Apparently hurt/comfort is like the only thing I know how to write lol
You were kicked out of your house in early January. And it was cold on the streets of New York, so your first priority was to find a place to sleep that wasn’t under a well cut tree in central park. You had seen the newsies around before, even talked to most of them before but never really in depth until one of them saw you crying as you walked down the street in the Bowery.
“Hey, Hey, I knows ya right,” He grabbed you by the shoulders and tried to get you to look up at him. “You live off of 5th, right?”
“Used to, my father just kicked me out,” You pulled away from him in anger, but the boy put his arm around you.
“The name’s Elmer, and I am not going to let you wander these streets alone, it’s getting dark-” The boy explained before you cut him off.
“And who gives you the right?”
“I mean, I just don’t want ya to freeze to death, you were always nice to me, so it’s time I repay the favor.”
For a moment you weighed your options, he did make a good point about not freezing to death, but also, you weren’t anyone’s charity case. Only giving in to walk silently at Elmer’s side, his arm dropping when he realized you weren’t going to bolt. You followed him all the way to the Newsboy’s Lodgehouse.
“No, no way. I ain’t no newsie,” you protested, placing your feet firmly on the ground.
“You don’t gotta be a newsie forever, but until you find something you like better, this is gonna be the safest spot for ya,” Elmer shrugged.
“I just- the whole reason I’m in this mess is that my father- well, he saw me talking to a group of you one day. It was Race, Albert and Specs- I think, and he didn’t like that, he said it brought shame on the family name to associate with lowlifes like that. Said if he saw it happen again I’d be out on the street selling papes faster than I could count to ten,”
Elmer just looked at you for a moment and you took it as a hint to keep talking.
“And this morning he saw me walking around town with Les, the younger one. And after working today, he came home and threw me out, with just the clothes on my back and told me I’d disgrace the family less if I just-” You started crying and Elmer looked at you with sympathetic eyes. He put his arm around your shoulder and practically dragged you into the lodgehouse.
The inside of the lodgehouse was warmer and more humid than it was outside, and the break from the harsh wind was much needed. Your fingers had started to go numb and your ears were nearly frostbitten- you were sure of it. The first thing he did was push you on to a couch and told you to stay there, which was easily accomplished as you knew you couldn’t go back outside now that you were remembering what it felt like to actually have feeling in your fingers.
It could have been just a few minutes to over an hour before Elmer came back, you weren’t sure. You could see the shoes of the Newsboys shuffling around you, you didn’t want to look up at any of them though, lest they recognize you. When Elmer came back, he carried a mug of hot water and a blanket.
“There,” he said, after getting you wrapped in the blanket and sipping on the hot water.
“Thank you,” you smiled at him weakly. He smiled back and despite it all, you found his smile to be the most comforting thing about this whole experience.
“You don’t have to stay around here for long, but I think it’s better than the streets, and besides a lot of the guys know who you are already,” Elmer offered, the smile continuing to glow on his face.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” you whispered, another stray tear leaking from your eye.
“You ain’t gonna be a bother, besides, the bunk next to mine is open and I’d rather have you as a neighbor than someone else,” he explained. And for a moment you deliberated the idea, your hands started to have feeling in them, and it provided some new clarity.
“Well, I suppose bein’ a newsie won’t be all that bad, right? You just gotta promise to teach me,” you shrugged. If your father decided the reason you should be kicked out was because of the newsies, then why not lean into it, right?
Elmer did a little dance in his seat at this, and gave you a hug. At first you stiffened but then leaned in.
“This is gonna be so great, Y//N!”
-.-.
A few days later was your first day selling papes. You needed the time to recuperate from getting kicked out and being on the streets. Your small mattress was basically a new home at this point.
It was precious, all the guys had pitched in to buy you a coat, and a scarf. Race had brought a catalogue that he had found and you were in the process of tearing pictures out of it so you could have some photos of things you liked in your space.
And then there was Elmer, he was so kind to you that sometimes you didn’t know what to do. The first night you stayed in the lodgehouse, he slept on the floor next to your bed in case you needed something or started crying. The second night, when you did start crying in the middle of the night, he jumped into action, wrapping his arms around you and humming an old Polish song until you calmed down.
This morning he woke you up by jumping on top of you.
“Y//N! It’s time to wake up! Yous gonna be my partner today!!!” He half shouted, and you couldn’t help but smile as you heard all the Newsies groan.
“Could you not have waited for the mornin’ bell to ring?” You accused, and just as soon as your sat up in your bed, the bell rung. In the dark blue morning light, you barely contained a giggle as Elmer flicked his eyebrows up at you.
“Get a move on!” He lept back off of the bed, and held a hand out to help you out of bed. You ran your fingers through your hair, put on socks, boots, and your cap. You caught a glimpse of your reflection as you walked past a window, you looked like a real newsie now. Elmer tossed you a biscuit for breakfast and you grinned as you took a bite.
“Y//N likes Elmer,” Race drew as he was putting on his suspenders.
“Shut up Race, we’re just friends, that’s all,” You laughed taking another bite of the biscuit.
“Uh-huh, friends like me and Spot Conlon, right?” Race wiggled his eyebrows. You cringed slightly, unable to forget when you had accidentally walked in on them making out, no one telling you what the cap on the door meant.
“Shut up Race,” You repeated, still laughing. You put your coat on, and your scarf just before walking to Newsies square. The air was cold, the morning still mainly dark, but the laughter of your newfound friends made up for it.
You waited at the gate between Elmer and Albert, purposefully trying not to shiver because you had heard that the Delancey Brothers could smell weakness from a mile away and would harass you endlessly for it. When you saw the two brothers come to open the gate, you could smell the entitled coming off of them.
“LINE UP!” The Weasel called, truth be told you were so scared and your heart was racing so fast that the only thing you could think to do was to follow Elmer so closely that you were almost holding onto the back of his shirt. You got your papes and followed Elmer to a corner that you didn’t recognize. For the first little bit you watched him hawk the paper and you made some mental notes.
Unfortunately the headline wasn’t great so it wasn’t the easiest thing you had ever done. But at the end of the day you were able to get your own food, and that was what mattered to you.
“Sorry, I don’t think I was very good at that,” you took a bite of your food.
“It takes lots of practice, and admittedly, I may not be the best teacher,” Elmer shrugged. You were walking home in the orange of the street lights and the air seemed to be freezing around you as you went.
“You did better than me,” you shrugged, ahead of you and Elmer you saw two figures who you barely recognized in the fog of your breath but as they got closer, you recognized the rich, entitled Delancey brothers from earlier. In a moment of panic you grabbed onto Elmer’s arm.
“This is not good, if I told you to run and find Jack, would you be able to get back to the lodgehouse?” Elmer turned to you and whispered frantically, you paused for a moment racking your brain to remember and you frantically shook your head that you couldn’t.
“I’m not gonna let them hurt you,” Elmer said with the most anger you had ever heard in his voice. He took a few steps in front of you, and stood there protectively.
“Well, look what we got here, two newsies,” Oscar cracked his knuckles, and Morris smirked.
“We ain’t lookin’ for any trouble Oscar,” Elmer said gruffly.
“Yeah, well, we’s got express orders to rough up a certain new newsie,” Morris said and looked pointedly at you. “Your father ain’t too pleased with ya, are they?”
You gasped in mild horror, and held to Elmer’s arm a little bit tighter. You watched in abject horror as they walked closer to you. The next several moments seemed like they stretched for years. Oscar and Morris rushed forward and pushed past Elmer quickly, and then you felt a strong pain in your jaw. You balled your fist and swung, hitting the air in front of Morris’ face. Elmer managed to pull Oscar off of you, and knocked him out.
When Oscar’s body hit the ground, Morris stopped and turned his focus onto Elmer. You felt a surge of strength and managed to get up off the ground.
“Morris, stop!” You kicked him, and then tried to look around for anything to hit him with. There wasn’t anything you could think of, but you couldn’t handle to see the sweetest person you knew in this situation. You managed to pull Morris off Elmer, and dodge his fist as it swung at your face. “Just get Oscar and go.”
You pushed him onto the ground and went to Elmer who was leaning up against a building trying to catch his breath.
“Are you going to be okay to get us back to the lodge house?” You asked, putting your arm around his shoulders.
“I’ll be okay, he missed most of his hits, but you look like hell,” Elmer grunted.
“Thanks, lets go,” you started to walk, half dragging Elmer. When you made it back to the lodgehouse you nearly collapsed on the couch and called for Race and Albert to bring the first aid kit.
“Oh my God what happened to you two?” Race asked as he rushed in with the box holding the medical supplies.
“My father paid off the Delancy’s,” you explained, Albert and Race helped to patch the two of you up. Coming to the conclusion that there would be some pretty horrible bruises, but not much worse than that. Elmer had sprained his ankle, but he said the pain was manageable. Just as you were about to help Elmer up the stairs, you saw Jack come through the door.
“Delanceys?” Jack said simply sighing. You hadn’t seen much of him since coming to the lodgehouse, but you knew him on sight.
“Yeah, and someone can’t walk anymore,” you jokingly glared at Elmer. Jack grumbled and apologized that this happened, sending you a tired smile.
“I’ll help you with Elmer,” Jack walked over and Elmer hobbled over to Jack, who carried the extra weight significantly better than you did.
“Y//N’s dad paid off the Delanceys to soak us.” Elmer explained as you all walked up the stairs.
“Are you serious?” Jack turned his head and looked at you with shock on his face. You nodded grimmly.
“They didn’t get me too bad, just my ankle,” Elmer shrugged.
“You gonna sell tomorrow?” Jack asked, you followed a few steps back just listening to Jack and Elmer talk about what the plans were for the next day. You felt an ache in your legs from kicking so hard. You were thankful that the room you were in was on the third floor instead of the fourth or fifth.
“Hey, Y//N, if ya need anything, I’ll be on the roof, got it?” Jack smiled, he touched your shoulder comfortingly, and had a kind look in his eye. You decided that while you definitely had a healthy fear and respect for Jack, he was also very kind to the younger Newsies.
“Come on Elmer,” you helped him over to his bed. “I’m sorry this happened. I knew my family would get in the way sometime soon, but not in just a few days, and not like this.”
“Hey, I’d get in front of the Delancey’s for you any day,” Elmer grinned and patted the bed next to him.
“You’ve been so kind to me since I got kicked out and this is how I repay you,” You sighed as you sat next to him on the soft mattress.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be okay in a few days,” he put his arm around your shoulders.
“It’s just not fair,” you shrugged. “Well, I better get some rest if you ain’t gonna sell tomorrow.”
You went to stand up, but Elmer grabbed your hand as you did.
“Uhm, stay. I’d rather you be here, since I can’t make it over if you have a nightmare,” his voice was barely above a whisper, with a few boys milling around you nervously closed the short distance.
“Are you sure? Won’t we get in trouble or something?” You sat on his bed next to him, the close proximity making it hard to think straight.
“Nah, we’ll just say it was cold or something, now help me take off my boots,” Elmer laughed, and his smile was charming. Next thing you knew you were helping him unlace his shoes, and take off his jacket, and scarves. You put them in a pile on the floor and then undid you shoes, placed them next to his, and added your coat to the pile.
You saw Race out of the corner of your eye and he winked at you. You rolled your eyes, and then laid down next to Elmer. There wasn’t a lot of space so you were really close. You rolled onto your side and Elmer pulled you to him.
“It saves space,” Elmer shrugged, a smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes, but as Elmer started to hum the song that was so familiar to you by now you fell under the current of sleep quickly.
The nightmares stayed away that night.
Over the next few days as Elmer was healing you went and sold with several of the boys. Each had their own take on it, Race talked to as many people as possible, Jack made up headlines that caught the attention of everyone, Albert was very specific about who he talked to and what he said, and Les, well, Les was just adorable, so who wouldn’t have wanted to buy from him?
You brought back sandwiches for Elmer everyday, you would split them and sit on the floor, talking about whatever you did that day. His ankle was getting better, and slowly but surely you were able to get out and sell together again.
With the skills you learned from the others, each day blew by like a breath of fresh air. The routine was simple, and you got into the groove quickly. No matter how much you loved joking with Elmer during the day, when it came time to go home at night, you looked forward to sleeping next to him. You never had a nightmare again.
#newsies#newsies fic#my writing#reader x elmer#elmer x reader#hurt/comfort#idk i think its cute#sprace is also mentioned#this is kinda like my child because ive worked on it for a week and a half not just like BANG done
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Title: Snowed-In
Pairing: Megstiel
Rating: Explicit
Wordcount: 2,875
-
“Goddamit.”
Meg slows down to even less than the legal speed limit, her shitty Geo slipping all over the street and she can barely see more than a few feet ahead of her car. Thick, white snow whips around the car, wind buffeting her and it’s not helping the whole staying in her lane thing. Fuck, she can’t even see the lane lines anymore.
She should have just left work early, even if meant getting a write-up for her shitty attendance.
Braving through the snow storm as she slows to around ten miles an hour, Meg starts to gradually feel fear that this all a very bad idea and she should get off the road. But there’s nowhere to get off to, and she’s not really keen on freezing to death in her p.o.s. car. Steadily, carefully, she inches forward until a bright sunshine logo is almost dead at her left side.
The gas-pump island lights of a Gas’N’Sip are like a lighthouse beacon, and Meg’s not sure if she’s actually pulling into the place or just bumping up over the curb, but she gets close to the front door and doesn’t care if she’s parked in a spot or not because there are no other cars here.
Shit, not even an employee’s car. But the whole place is lit up, maybe they park in the back.
Meg wrestles her door against the wind, and the snow is up past her ankles when she gets out. Trudging to the door, she’s relieved when it opens, but still grumpy because it’s a shitty fucking situation.
There’s no one in the small convenience store. Maybe they high-tailed it out of there when the storm came and forgot to lock up. Pulling out her cellphone, Meg checks and of course there’s no reception. She’s in the middle of fuckall nowhere on a country road between the industrial complex where she works and her apartment, stuck in a gas station store, and no-one’s here. Well, hey, hopefully they at least have the beer stocked, might be a fun night.
As she’s heading down an aisle, snagging a pack of beef jerky on the way to the coolers, a door to the back swings open. The shelves are shoulder-height, and everything in the tiny store is within sight. An employee wearing his blue vest comes in with a heavy box, setting it down on the counter, pulling jars of peanuts out.
“Hey,” Meg calls.
He jumps, knocking a jar to ground noisily but at least it doesn’t break.
“Uh. Hello. Can I help you find something?”
Meg makes her way back up the aisle towards the counters, “Yeah, my shitty car can’t get through this storm and I’ve got no cell reception, what about you?”
Squinting, he looks outside like he’s not sure if she actually has a car, like maybe she just popped into existence here like a witch. He pulls a phone out of his pocket, an honest to god flip phone, and checks it with a frown.
“No, I have no reception.”
“Do you guys have a landline or something?” Meg asks.
“Yes. Who are you going to call?”
“I don’t know,” Meg throws her hands up, “A tow guy or something?”
He walks to the glass doors, looking out at the storm.
“This storm has gotten very bad.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“Who would even come out here?”
Groaning, Meg leans against the counter. She hadn’t thought of that. “I don’t know, I’m sure someone can make it through the storm, my car’s just a piece of shit. Hey, what do you drive?”
“I walk here.”
“Great, I’m going to get some food.”
Meg picks up a pack of Combos to go with her jerky, gets a Steel Reserve from the cooler, and pays the cashier with her credit car. At least he’s cute to look at, hair neatly combed to the side, wide blue eyes avoiding looking at her, and Meg can think of a few things to do to pass the storm.
-
He’s fucking stocking the shelves. In the middle of the storm, with a stranded, bored woman who keeps leaning over near him so her shirt falls open a bit.
And he’s stocking the shelves.
“This place open twenty-four-seven?”
“Yes,” he replies.
“When do you usually get off?”
“Five a.m.”
“Do the plow trucks usually come by then?”
“I’m not sure, I’m new here.”
“Great.���
Meg’s hopped up on the counter, and although he’s complained a few times, it’s the best seat in the house to watch him as he works. The jeans he’s got on look fucking great on his ass.
-
“Come on, Steve, I’m bored.”
Everything in the store is organized into tidy lines, the shelves full, and Meg’s flipped through a few of the cheap gossip magazines, and he’s still trying to avoid her by keeping busy.
There’s something fascinating about the full cigarette shelves, apparently. Steve keeps his back to her, shoulders tense.
“My name isn’t Steve.”
“That’s what your name patch says.”
Meg rolls her eyes, picking up a snickers from the front candy display, bracing her elbows on the counter so her tits practically fall out of her shirt as she eats with obscene suggestion.
“It’s someone else’s vest, I haven’t been here long enough to get my own.”
Meg ‘hms’, reaching out to snag the corner of the blue vest and tug not-Steve closer to her, licking sticky chocolate from the corner of her mouth.
“So, what’s your name?”
He squints at her, lips pursing. “Have you paid for that?”
-
Several hours in, the lights flicker and the power goes out.
“Shit.”
Castiel groans.
About all that she’s gotten out of this guy was his name. Meg hasn’t given up, but she has found a deck of cards among the wealth of goods in the shitty store that’s twenty square foot and not enough space to even pace in without making Castiel nervous so that he disappears into the back. So she’s playing solitaire on the counter, hips pushed back, watching him out of the corner of her eyes.
He straightens and looks up to the ceiling lights as they flicker off, as if it might just be an offending bulb and not the entire goddam store that’s just gone dark.
“Well, that’s fun.” Meg says.
The last time she looked through the glass front doors, the snow has managed to bank up about three foot high, and the inside of the glass has started to frost over. Without power, there’s no heat. And it’s dark enough Meg can’t see her own hand in front of her face.
“I think we have flashlights,” Castiel says.
Meg hears him run into something, it sounds like he’s knocked a display case over.
Patting her hand around the impulse-buy section of the front counter, Meg finds a lighter and flicks it on. She doesn’t see the blue vest over Cas’ broad shoulders anywhere, and as she rounds a corner she finds him wrestling with a pile of potato chips.
“Lighter, that’s, a good idea too.”
“Flashlights are better, but we’ve got to find them first.”
The small bic flame is only good to see a few feet, dimly, but at least it’s not pitch black. Castiel pushes himself up and leads around the corner of an aisle, finding emergency supplies and ripping into a flashlight package.
“Don’t you guys have like, an emergency kit in the break-room or something?” Meg asks.
Blinking, Castiel looks up at her, ruined packaging in his hand.
“I… hadn’t thought of that.”
The flashlight comes with it’s own batteries, probably the cheap ones that’ll run out in a few hours, but he gets it turned on and Meg let’s the little bic flicker out.
“I’ll pay for this.” Castiel nods dutifully, and the two of them retreat to the break-room.
-
Meg’s not really sure what the insulative properties of paper towels are - or how long the air will last in a break-room that’s kind of just a glorified closet - it’s not like they’ve got a complete seal, but she’s bored and it’s almost fun to pretend they're in a survival movie or something. So they search the break-room, which she can cross in four steps. There’s a small folding table with two plastic folding chairs, and along the far wall is a line of counters that have a sink, mini fridge, and microwave.
They don’t find any extra flashlights, or candles, or basic emergency shit.
At least Meg brought her pack of cards back with her, and had the good forethought to snag a six pack too.
Settling down at the table, flashlight propped up like a lantern with it’s beam pointed towards the ceiling, Meg pops a beer and starts shuffling cards.
Cas is reviewing all the employee posters tacked to the wall, about safety and labor laws and sexual harassment. Like that’ll give him the answers what to do when he’s snowed in and the power’s out.
“Hey, come play some cards with me.”
Meg’s thinking strip poker.
“I’m still on the clock.” Castiel deadpans.
“Don’t you have like, an electronic time clock you swipe a badge in or something?”
He turns towards her, perplexed. “Yes?”
“Well if it’s electric, then it’s not working ‘cause the electricity is off, so you’re not on the clock.”
Sighing, he takes a seat across from her.
“You know how to play poker?” Meg asks.
“Yes.”
“Great, let’s play strip poker.”
“I thought the point of barricading ourselves in here was to conserve heat, and now you want to take your clothes off?”
“We can generate some body heat, baby.”
Meg smiles at him, and yeah, this is a lot more fun than she expected getting stranded to be.
“I,” his pretty eyes dart to the side, and he’s sitting rigidly in his chair, “I don’t know anything about you.”
Dealing out a hand for poker, Meg hums, “Let’s see, my favorite color is purple, my favorite food is pizza, and my favorite animal is snakes.”
She twists the cap off a beer and slides it over. It’s mildly surprising when Castiel drinks, draining half of it in one long gulp.
“Uh. My favorite food is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, my favorite animal is guinea pigs, and I like all of the colors.”
“P.B. and J. huh? What kind of jelly?”
He smiles softly, and Meg must be getting somewhere because he can actually look her in the eyes now, and tells her, “Marmalade is one of my favorites, but I do like a little variety.”
-
Meg let him have the first few hands, taking off her jacket, her shoes, then her shirt. She was always one to lead by example. He’d removed his vest first, neatly folding it and setting it on the counter that was within arms reach in the tiny break-room. The flashlight made everything look eerie, sharper, the lines of his face and set of his eyes cast in weird angled shadows. He was still hot as fuck and Meg would be happy just to get his shirt off.
They played cards, and finished the beer, talked more about jam - apparently Cas like to make his by hand, when he had the supplies to. Bits of jewelry were discarded, they had a heated discussion about whether socks counted individually or as a pair, and the strangled noise that Cas made when Meg finally took off her bra was priceless.
She won another hand, and all he had left were the plain, white boxers he wore. He was nervous and tense, fingers fidgeting with the waistband. Meg stood and rounded the table, still wearing jeans - but she didn’t have any underwear on beneath, so she had to save those for last.
“You want some help with that?” She all but purred.
Bracing a hand on his shoulder, Meg leaned over him, messy hair tumbling over her shoulders and she watched as his eyes flicked down, up, down, up, to the side
“I, uh, I don’t usually, I don’t do this sort of thing.”
Sliding a leg across his lap, settling down on hard thighs, Meg smiled at him, curled her hands over his shoulders and brushed her thumbs in circles along the tense muscles.
“Are you gay?”
“No,” Castiel shook his head.
“Are you in a relationship?”
“No.”
“Do you want to fuck me?”
Nodding vigorously, wide eyed, he settled his hands on her hips. “Yes, please.”
“You don’t have to be nervous,” Meg leaned closer, kissing him gently, trying to handle him like a spooked animal. Little at a time, draw him out.
Softly, she kissed him, hands sliding down the warm skin of his bare arms. Pulling back after a moment, Meg licked her lips and rocked her hips in his lap, waiting for him to make the next move. Kiss her back. Undo her jeans.
She didn’t expect for him to slide his hands under her ass, haul her up and lay her flat on the table as he surged up over her, cards scattering to the ground and flashlight knocked over. Spreading his hands around her hips, he stroked up, grip firm and sure as he dipped, kissed across her chest, closed his mouth around a nipple. Shoving forward, he spread her legs wide and Meg locked her heels behind his back as he ground against her, hard and suddenly rough, needy.
It left her head spinning, the swift one-eighty he pulled.
“Knew you had it in you, champ,” Meg gasped.
Squeezing one breast with the wide spread of his hand, he bit her nipple and tugged. Meg arched off the table, crying out surprised, and really turned on.
Cas pushed up on one hand, the other still kneading her breast, calloused fingertips circling the bud of a nipple.
“I want your phone number after this.”
Meg blinked, the stupefied one now. “Huh?”
“I want to see you again.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Cas practically ripped her jeans off, getting them unbuttoned then dragging them down her thighs, the rolling beam of the flashlight shifting over the angles of his body, skin flushed, dark trail of hair down to his boxers and the way they tented out was very promising.
Divested of her pants, Meg braced the balls of her feet on the edge of the wobbly, cheap table and spread her legs wide. If she were the praying type, she’d send one up that the table wouldn’t collapse underneath them.
Cas stared at her, biting his lip. It was flattering and all, but a girl had more needs than a museum piece.
“Get those off.” She told him.
Nodding, Cas pushed his boxers down, dick springing up against his belly and yeah, she definitely wanted his number. One time was not going to be enough.
“Condoms?” Cas asked.
“Shit, take the flashlight and grab some from the store.”
“I, that would be strange.”
“And fucking in the break-room isn’t?”
“Noted.”
Left in the darkness, Meg arched off the table and swept more cards from beneath her. Cas was back quickly, handing her the flashlight and Meg pointed it at his dick to watch him roll on the condom. She was going to be thinking about those hands for a while. Stretching her legs out, Meg squeezed them around his waist and pulled him closer, reaching up for him. Cas circled an arm under her back, hefted her up as he pushed inside and jack-hammered his hips, the table screeching over the floor as it juddered back.
Dropping the flashlight on the table, Meg gripped onto his arms, dragged her nails up to his shoulder, scratching down his back as he curled over her and buried his face between her tits. He bit and sucked and scraped the stubbled line of his jaw over sensitive skin and it left her swinging between soft pleasure and an edge of pain. It made her toes curl, pussy squeezing around his dick. Meg held on, yielded to the shove of his hips, the sharpness of his mouth, the heat of his skin, overwhelmed in the best way.
-
They shoved a few paper towels under the crack of the door afterward, curled up sticky-sweat skin to the linoleum floor, clothes draped over them in a pile. Meg wasn’t much of a cuddler, but with the heat off, yeah, the whole sharing body heat thing was completely practical.
Cas went all soft again, holding her lightly, combing his fingers through her hair and trailing them down the furrow of her spine.
“I want to take you out for a date.” He announced.
“Mm? We can just… fuck.”
“Do you like museums?”
“Not really.”
“What about movies.”
“I guess.”
“There’s an art expo in the park in two weeks.”
“Look, you don’t have to wine and dine me.”
“But I want to.”
Sighing as though put out, Meg pinched the soft give of Cas’ waist. “You’re a gentleman, huh?”
“Not as much as I’d like to think, apparently.”
“Just the right amount,” Meg said quietly, shifting closer, tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder. Maybe, just a pinch of gentleman wouldn’t be so bad, if she got his wild side too.
#megstiel#alternate universe#gasnsip cas#the ol' snowed in trope#so i switched tenses halfway through#as i have a habit of#and honestly i just dont want to fix it jfc im a lazy writer
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So, I have this The Big Bang Theory AU
So I have this sorta AU of the big bang theory that start sooo early in the show, and it’s one that I live in a sad relationship with because the big bang theory was the one show I was heartbroken to hate.
So, basically, we meet the boys and Penny, and she IS this blond, Nebraskan naïve kid who’s just really into the United States’ dream of fame and fortune so she’s in Cali, and we happily go those three or four episodes where the blond dumb tropes where… eh, okay, and all the boys where just behind he creepy line in their adorkable type that you half cringed but they seemed more like Peter Pan’s lost boys and less future sexual harassment suits; so, we’re just a that point, then, STOP:
AND ACTION:
Because in my half-made expectations before the show actually got along, Penny, who has been spending most dinner nights with the boys save the occasional ‘girls night out trope’, has some ‘unnamed person over’ in the boys apartment, and they can be really impressed or snide about some unfinished equation on the board, and this will prompt her into explaining whatever crazy science scribble it’s on Sheldon’s board really earnestly, which of course send everyone into shock, only she brushes it off because when she was a little kid she was actually somewhat into science before it stopped being cool (as in, high school where all dreams go to die), so, she forgets about that…
EXCEPT then one day Leonard is SUPER stuck on something on the board, and she goes and just… puts those numbers that seemed to be just missing from it, and HEY YOU JUST SOLVED THIS CRAZY HUGE EQUATION HOLY SHIT
And then it turns out PENNY was a ‘WHATEVER BRANCH OF SCIENCE SHELDON AND LEONARD ARE’ genius all along, but she never allowed herself to be too much into it the mere basis behind it (math and physics) because growing up she had too much energy to just allow herself those hours listening to sciency diatribes to put into written all that stuff she always kinda got in a faraway sense, but now she’s older and can actually focus beyond bull-riding, she realizes that faraway thing is SCIENCE and IS HER THANG
ONLY excuse you, she has a dream, and it’s to be an actress, so she resists the call of math, and stubbornly continues auditioning and selling herself as THE BLONDE TROPE because she’s a sensitive artistic soul who will NOT be shackled by the rigor of scholastic paths
ONLY turns out that Caltech place pays really well, and she does like shoe shopping, so she allows them to lure her once in a while to the evilness of UNIVERSITY where she feels really awkward because as the show shows, CalTech seems like a really cut-throat place, and also she’s not into writing out long essays explaining her math thingy, no please. SO she continually escapes the clutches of Gabblehouser (? his name T.T)
WHICH BRINGS US BACK TO THE BOYS! who are super confused by this sudden turn of event (A WOMAN who is ATTRACTIVE and SMART and also their PLATONIC FRIEND *gasp!) and at first don’t really know how to interact with Penny, who as far as she is concerned still acts her same hot dumb blonde role, only better paid, cuz it’s not like her actual intellect changed, she just started using that part of it she disconnected from a whiiiiile ago, (so no, she won't suddenly turn into an overnight nerd more than she had always been, nor does she abandon her cute outfits and vanities and actual lazy personality)
And part of the show would be about the boys showing her the cool fun parts of SCIENCE without dumbing it down for her in that really insulting way they do it on the actual show
Part of it is also Sheldon going bananas because the faculty asked him to make Penny’s BRILLIANT UNADULTERED GENIOUS into hard, fast, college essay worthiness, and no, Penny, Chicago is not the right way for citations and STOP PUTTING CUTE SQUIGGLES IN THE PAGE FRAME WOMAN! CUTE SCIENCE IS NOT SCIENCE And also let’s stop looking at my equations I can do it myself, and poor Sheldon ends up having to translate pop cultured sass into gentile math for the sciency peeps, (P & S do always influence each other, after all) so we focus on their cute, quirky BFFsness (and maybe eventual romance, cuz I shipped them until HARD CHAUVANIST SHELDON EMERGED later in the show) and they have the time of their lives bickering over how Penny’s equations are too short and dry and to the point while Sheldon’s are whimsical and romantic and too drawn out.
And the other beautiful part of it it’s the boys are still having their go at love, except HERE they actually realize the kind of woman they want to date is LITERALLY RIGHT THERE to give them real life advice beyond ‘pick up lines/ew nerds are creepy’ and explains the things women actually want, like being respected for their intellect in whatever shape may come, as well as whatever employment they have –whether there rocket scientist or dog walkers or waitresses, as long as they work hard and honestly for a living no work should be made fun of-
AND because this is an AU, Penny actually, continually whoops their asses Nebraska style for being sexist little shits and thinking they can get away with it with their little underdog bullshit and off course it’s not something that happens like magic, it takes a series of dramatic, emotional, occasionally chaotic events that allows the boys to finally understand that they’ve been materialistic jocks all along, (really, just give them serious muscles and a backwards hat and they all become that really frightening coworker/schoolmate/ad infinitum that acts in that super unsettling way that they think it’s sexy-funny but it’s actually very threatening)
SO: they find themselves on all too new path in their search for a partner: one in which they start to view women beyond the tropes and the ideals, and realize there’s some seriously cool chicks who are actually always that much more deep than they initially realized and perhaps they don’t find THE RIGHT ONE, but somehow they start gaining an increasing number of awesome, diverse women friends, and sometimes some of them grow to be more than that!
And of course, this is a COMEDY so, instead of the creepy ‘revenge of the nerds’ shenanigans that always leave u feeling that bit uncomfortable (using toy trucks with cameras to see under a person’s skirt in real life is SO WRONG so I don’t understand why it was okay on TV on a space where the guys were supposed to be her friends, in the very building where she lives and also that teddy bear with the camera that’s super illegal?) Penny and all the boys’ new woman friends teach them the WAYS OF LOVE into girls hearts, the REAL ONES like actively listening (not dude-listening where they nod and you can see them thinking ‘women talk’) and engaging in non-judgmental debate rather than lying about agreeing with whatever they think they want to keep them agreeable, and talking WITH them about the boys interests rather than AT THEM because seriously, there are many fun ways to join all the sci-fi, fantasy, etc fandoms with aspects of EVERYDAYS LIFE you just have to take an interest in what the other person likes and TRY to find a way to make the convo fun for both, which the boys by their very own plot are not very good about but the point of social awkwardness is that it can be helped by practicing in safe environments with people you trust,
but again, because it’s a COMEDY they’ll try too hard (like they’ll try to explain how PRO-feminism they are, except they’ll be so earnest and filled with facts about it that they’ll dominate the entire conversation and at the end of their date they’ll be like OHSHIT I DID THAT MALE THING) , or just plain be stuck in WTF-With-This-Century-Land (like a girl who aggressively insists on paying her own food but then gets super offended when they don’t open the door for them and the boys are like: I JUST WANT TO RESPECT YOU! And men who insist on fighting for WHITE MAN RIGHTS-hellyeah! and they want to jump in and argue that except Rajesh is the only actually culturally diverse and he’s kinda meh about it so they just flutter with indignation) or a trope where they’ll be watching some movie/playing a game that they REALLY love only half way through it they start to get really uncomfortable and then they’ll realize that’s its sexist in some way or another and they be like: THIS TOO?! DAMN YOU WHITE RICH MALE SOCIETY! YOU’VE LEFT ME WITH NO SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE THINGS TO ENJOY! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WAS WRONG WITH YOU IN THE 80s-90s?!)
All meanwhile Penny is seriously tripping cuz how the fuck did they make an 80 page long, long-worded, pompous pretentious essay on that itty-bitty, classy, elegant equation she wrote for funsies last week SHELDON WHY and now she has to read through it all when she just wants to go for a fun caltech-cheque spending shoe extravaganza and kick the traumatized boys’ asses on halo ½ which they have decided are the least offensive ones in the franchise and even though Penny is very ‘meh, its fine, women are used to it’ they’re like NO WOMAN MY GUILTY CONCIENCE WON'T LET ME ENJOY THE GAME AND ALSO IT GIVES YOU AN ADVANTGE CUZ WE’RE TOO BUSY ASSURING OURSELVES WE’RE NOT PART OF DA-SYSTEM TO SHOOT BACK!
So Penny learns to integrate this part of herself she always pushed aside and learns about being a practical adult while maintaining that sweet, yet dryly idealistic side that made her Penny, and also using your full potential in all that you do and probably something about balancing all the aspects of your personality rather than grabbing the ones you think will please people the most and shoving the other aside, and my babies will learn that once they put aside prejudice and insecurity and cynism by way OF TRYING HARD AND ACEPTING YOURSELF (as in the human that you are at your core, not all those things society tries to pin on you) even when certain parts of society aren’t always ready to take you as you are, rather than conforming and using this as an excuse to justify behaviour your ‘label’ accuses you of, you keep opening yourself up and never stopping from trying, (which is hard and not always short-term rewarding) it all leads to something beyond physical attractiveness and first-meeting impressions and tropes and prejudices and all that crap, it leads to TRUE HUMAN CONNECTION OF MINDS AND SOULS ALIKE.
And that’s the actual, awesome Big Bang of HUMANITY!
So, yes, this is what I had actually pictured back in the very first episodes before it all went so, so wrong. I really thought it was gonna be one of those progressive, dry/funny shows that show the fun side of progress like The Flash or Boy Meets World
#the big bang theory#penny the big bang theory#shenny#ThebigbangtheoryAU#I DREAM OF THE DAYS OF PRE-LEONARD PENNY#she was so fun#Tired of 'adorkable' creepy trope'#tiredofalltropes#GIRLS&BOYS power#sheldon cooper#pretty and blonde can also be smart#THEREAREDIFFERENTKINDSOFSMART TOO#STOP JUSTIFYING SEXIST BEHAVIOUR ITS 2017#itsnotjustashow#tv affects the world
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I envy people who were able to split from their exes amicably. I went through my own divorce. It was a painful, stressful experience. Mine didn’t involve children, so once it was over, we had no reason to ever talk again, and we didn’t. My guy’s divorce sometimes seemed never ending. It wasn’t enough that the fighting over the kids never stopped, but it also turned into a fight about property as well. In court, he was awarded the home and she kept her massage business. If it had stopped there, it would have alleviated a lot of headache for us both for many years to come.
Although the property belonged to him per the family court documents, actually changing everything to remove her from the mortgage in the eyes of the mortgage company was another matter entirely. His shitty lawyer didn’t complete his job by having the warranty deed changed over to remove her name after the divorce was finalized. Once we realized how big a problem that was going to be, we were told he would have to refinance the home to have her removed. Divorce destroys your credit, in most cases, as it did to his, and no bank would approve a refinance. There were other factors involved, but basically it never happened.
This led into the next set of problems when she started hauling him back to court saying that he was ruining her credit. His mortgage company was a nightmare and would start harassing him if he was even a day late. They would also call her EVERY TIME he was late, which gave her the impression that she would be able to snatch the property out from under him. She kept hiring attorneys who told her what she wanted to hear, and he went back to court several times over a period of years over this issue. She also told the kids many times that she was going to “take Daddy’s house away from him”, an evil thing to say to your own kids. It created a lot of stress for them which centered around money. They were terrified for their dad, and obsessed over whether he could afford to buy them things since he was forever on the brink of homelessness.
Over and over the judge kept setting one continuance after another, dragging this shit out for no reason. One magical day, her attorney grew a conscience and finally told her this would keep happening, because no judge would award her the property which was given to him in the divorce that also served as the children’s home half the time. When she realized she had been wasting her money with no possibility of causing him to be homeless, gaining his rightful property and hurting her own children in the process, the greedy bitch got pissed off. What followed was a series of hateful behavior which included ignoring his calls and attempts to see his children, lies about them being sick or other excuses to take away his time with him, and spiteful shit towards me when I would try to pick the kids up after work, like making me wait up to an hour in her driveway because I “arrived too early according to the divorce paperwork”.
Happily, we eventually got out from under that accursed property. It was a bittersweet situation. Happy for me, since I associated that place with her and always would, but sad for the kids, since that was their homestead since birth. Sad for my guy also, because he thought he would stay there and pass it on to his kids. I wish our legal system was truly geared toward actual justice rather than monetary gain, but that is the nature of the beast.
#divorce#baby mama drama#evil exes#litigation#property division#manipulative parents#narcissistic mothers#divorce attorney
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