#but getting home at 2am would mean a taxi everyday

[yousaytomato]

My employer announced they were cutting a bunch of jobs during a meeting early Wednesday morning this week

My role is not currently included (we're the cheapest employees) but like, the cuts are going to effect my job, and it's not really a good sign for my future there.

The vibes are a mess at work, no one really saw this coming, people have been calling in sick, everyone is sad and scared.

I'm starting to look at vacancies near me, because I can be more picky with it whilst I am still currently employed, but I'm really not looking forward to the whole stress of that.

Idk, I'm just using Tumblr as a diary, it's just crazy that at the start of the week you're talking with colleagues about work night outs - future plans, and by the end of the week no one has motivation for anything.

[marvelsswansong]

Soooo I was thinking maybe 3 & 35 with Bucky maybe??

3: “I can’t go to sleep without you next to me.”

35: “It’s not your fault.”

a/n: ASDFKLJASDF SO MUCH FLUFF IT MIGHT KILL YOU. 

——————————-

‘This is nothing more than a mission.’ 

That was the mantra that Bucky kept replaying over and over on his head, as you leaned into his touch and kissed him softly in the lips. The sound of the neighborhood children playing and the array of cars honking faded into the background as he focused on your touch, your very essence enveloping him in a warm embrace.

“Good morning, Jeremy! Linda, how are you?” 

Right.

None of this was real. In this neighborhood, in this world, he was not Bucky Barnes. He was Jeremy Haze- a software engineer from Iowa who worked for Microsoft for five years. And you were Linda Haze- his doting wife and stay at home author. 

“We’re doing well, Harvey, how are you?” you responded softly to your neighbour, a bright smile on your face. 

“Pretty good myself, say, the wife’s throwing a little barbecue this Sunday. Would you happen to be free?”

“Of course we are. Who else is coming?” you asked casually, prying the subject for more information.

“The usual. The Harrington’s, the Brown’s, a couple of new families from down the street. Oh, and I think the William’s are free this weekend too.”

At the mention of your target Bucky’s eyes gleamed in interest, and he straightened his back and gave his neighbour a polite smile.

“Sounds great. We’ll be there, for sure. Thank you for the invite, Harvey. See you around.” 

“Yep, see you around!”

The two of you stayed hugging each other until the door to your house closed, after which Bucky slowly separated himself from you. He would’ve wanted nothing more than to hug you, to kiss you and hold you like he did outside of this house, but it was all for a mission.

Just a facade.

“God, can you believe that this is how these people lived?” you asked jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. 

Bucky followed you into the living room as you continued to talk, your legs dangling off the side of the sofa as you laid back and spoke to the ceiling.

“So free, so… dull. The whole suburban lifestyle where your biggest worry is whether or not your newspaper gets delivered on time?”

Bucky poured you a glass of water before drinking his own, a small smile on his face.

“I don’t know, doll-”

Your heart skipped at the use of the nickname you adored so much- you secretly loved that it was only reserved for when the two of you were alone, and not used outside of the household. It almost made it feel like there was something real, something tangible between the two of you.

But you knew there wasn’t.

“I think this kinda life would be nice. Very different from the lives we lead, at least. A steady job, big family, nice house, the whole nine yards… I don’t know, haven’t you ever wished you had that?” he questioned, eyeing you carefully.

You sighed sadly.

“I guess… if it was with the right person.” 

Your gaze remained fixated on the ceiling as Bucky stared at you quietly, adoration ever so evident in his gaze.

“I know what you mean.”

The rest of the week went by in a blur- at every day at 8am, Bucky would wear his suit and tie and get in a taxi to “go to work” before returning for dinner at 6pm. In those mornings you’d open the door and kiss him goodbye out in the open, before returning to the house and cleaning the entire space from top to bottom. On some days, you went outside to go grocery shopping or got invited by some ladies who wanted to have brunch at the country club. You always accepted, a fake bright smile on your lips and a gentle grace in every action you took. 

It was your job, after all. To blend in with these people. To pretend like you were just an ordinary housewife, shy and sweet Mrs.Haze. Wife of Jeremy Haze, the software engineer. But you could’ve never prepared yourself for how difficult it was going to be to have to pretend to be in love with Bucky- when in reality, you actually were. 

‘I’m going insane.’

Sunday came quite quickly and it all went smoothly. You cornered the target- a Russian mob boss who had a summer home in this neighborhood under a fake alias- while the rest of the attendees were busy making small talk by the pool, in order to gain information. In the mean time, Bucky slipped away and broke into the target’s house to gather the evidence Shield needed to incriminate him. And in less than three hours, the man was taken away in cuffs by the police as you and Bucky watched from your house.

“Fury just called. A taxi’s coming to pick us up in a few minutes.” announced Bucky, closing the door.

Your heart fell at the thought that you would no longer be near Bucky 24/7 but quickly put on a fake smile, not wanting Bucky to see how you really felt.

“That’s great… And uh, great job as always. The mission was a success and… you know, you were a great fake husband for the past three months.” you said jokingly, shoving him playfully.

Bucky’s cheeks flushed at your touch but he quickly coughed to cover it up, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah… You were a great wife, too.”

You grinned back.

“I’m glad.”

The ride back home was quiet, with Bucky immersing himself in a book and you putting on headphones in order to ignore the obvious tension between the two of you. It felt odd to be next to Bucky without resting your head on his shoulder or sitting on his lap- all those little things you did when you were his “wife”- but you had to remind yourself again that it was never real.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky wanted nothing more than to reach over and hug you and kiss you, already missing having you by his side.

‘It was just a mission, you idiot.’

But every time he was close to leaning over and touching you, he found himself pulling backwards and ignoring you. He didn’t want to cross a line, after all, Bucky was just a friend to you, at best. It hurt to admit, but it was true. So he just stayed silent and admired you from the shadows, wishing he could reach over and touch you.

———————-

It had been an entire week since you had returned to your regular life at the tower, but you still felt empty and lonely. You missed having someone to hold onto when you were tired. You missed having a warm body to have next to you in bed. But mostly, you just really missed Bucky.

You tossed and turned in your bed, the clock nearing 2am, as you wished that you could just fall asleep as easily as you did when Bucky was next to you. But you just couldn’t. It all felt wrong. The bed was too soft, the covers were too warm and you were too-

“(Y/n)?” 

You sat up in bed and rubbed your eyes awake, only to see a disheveled Bucky in the doorway.

“Bucky?” you said quietly, surprised.

He looked like he hadn’t sleep in so long. Dark eyes colored his hollowed complexion and his hair was a tangled mess as he stepped forward, his hand anxiously grasping his pillow.

“I… I can’t go to sleep without you next to me. Is it okay if I-” 

"Yeah, yeah… Uh, come on in.”

You remained silent as Bucky closed your door and climbed into bed next to you. 

“Sorry for waking you, doll.” drawled Bucky in that adorably sleepy voice you missed.

“No… It’s not your fault, I was already awake. Besides, I’m glad you came. I just, I got so used to sleeping next to you that I couldn’t fall asleep either.”

Bucky nodded.

“I just… I missed you so much, darling.”

You smiled.

“You’ve seen me everyday for the past week, Buck.”

He shook his head sideways.

“That’s not what I mean. I miss holding you in my arms. I miss waking up with you next to me. I miss being able to kiss you and touch you without worrying about what other people I think. I miss… I miss getting to call you mine.” 

Bucky whispered the last part of his sentence, his voice shaking from how nervous he was. 

“But Bucky-”

You shuffled closer towards him, your face a few inches away from his. You smiled.

“I am yours.”

A cheeky grin spread across his lips before he placed his hand on your cheek, drawing you in closer and kissing you as gently as you could. You smiled into the kiss, your hands getting tangled in his hair as you pulled him in deeper.

“I don’t wanna fake anymore. I want to be able to wake up next to you- the real you. Every morning.”

You let yourself be embraced by Bucky’s arms and leaned into his touch, a sleepy smile on your face.

“So let’s do that then. Everything we just did- but for real.”

Bucky nodded and hugged you softly, watching you drift off to sleep. He watched with soft admiration as you fell asleep before pressing a kiss to your forehead and whispering.

“And one day, I’ll marry you for real.”

————————————–

a/n: asdfjsalfjalsdf i hope this wasn’t trash ok i tried

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[tinselt-blog]

#metoo

I’ve written this story at least 30 times. I will never be satisfied with how I tell my story. I am still scared to tell it, scared of how people will look at me. Everyone I tell this too suddenly starts to treat me like I’m damaged and I’m sick of living like that. Yes, it affects me daily in every aspect. It most affects relationships that are romantic in nature, but also can affect friendships. My trust is 100% altered as a result of this and yet I fall into patterns that hurt me just the same because of this. I’m living in the #metoo movement, I might as well be able to speak up on what happened. I may one day also make the decision to share how this has affected my life currently, if anyone is interested- maybe after this story. This story comes prior to my last post “Liar or Lyle”, I thought that may be important to point out and it might help give some background on why I acted the way I did. Anyways, without further ado… here I go.

Disclaimer: This is my sexual assault story

Halloween simultaneously falls into the category of being my least favorite holiday and my favorite holiday all in one. On one hand, the culture and the costumes and the having fun all makes me so happy and warm inside. It brings back good memories between friends and family. It makes me think of fall, pumpkin carving, parties, silly little movies and candy. On the other hand, it brings up a memory that no matter how hard I try, I just can’t forget and I wish I could. You see, Halloween became scary in many real ways about 3 years ago now, not scary as in haunted house, horror movie sort of scary. 

It’s Halloween time in New Orleans, a fantastic place to be during Halloween. I’m 18, freshmen in college and roughly about 1,500 miles away from my home. I knew absolutely nobody before making the big girl decision to move down their all on my own. I made quite a few friends very quickly while I was there. I had a support system there, as well as a girlfriend back at home I could call everyday and life was seeming to settle perfectly. 

I wasn’t really a party girl, they weren’t my thing and drinking certainly was not my thing. Alcohol scared me for a very long time, because I don’t really enjoy the feeling of being “out of control” the older I get. I was also coming out of being addicted to other things and it seemed like a safe bet to stay far, far away from liquor. Anyways, it’s Halloween time and parties are a given everywhere. You want to dress up and feel nostalgic? Ya, you’re probably ending up at a house party. It wasn’t a big deal to me then. We went to a fe that weekend. Some got busted, some had live music and some had… strippers? Either way, it was a great Halloween weekend, until…

It was the last party of the weekend. A girl we knew was having this house party in her newly rented house and we decided to make an appearance. I was pretty desperate for new costume choices and decided to go as a witch. My outfit was pretty basic. I had on a maxi skirt with a slit, underneath I had spiderweb fishnet tights. I wore a long sleeve cropped sweater that showed the little skull belly ring I put in and of course my hat. I’d say I was fairly covered up, since it was kind of chilly and rainy that night. How covered up I was though, really shouldn’t make any difference for the circumstances I went through that night, it’s completely unrelated and unacceptable, but there are always the people who want to know. 

Besides the point, we go to this house party. When I say we, I mean a group of friends of mine and I. They all had pregamed before heading out to this party and I had not, I was very much sober. I was mom of the group that night, same as any other night, so it didn’t really bother me. We’re at this party, there’s the classic beer pong, jungle juice, mingling and dancing that every other house party has. I’m there with my close friends, we’re talking and one of my friends decides to play beer pong with shots, let’s call him Don. Don, already drunk decides to participate in this game of beer pong. He wins, meaning he’s completely obliterated at this point. He’s falling on the floor, he’s running around screaming what his costume is (the dick devil, the devil tail was hanging out of his open zipper and he had horns on). This is the point where we all decide we gotta go.

I, as well as one very helpful other sober being manage to wrangle up all the people in my party and get us all to the nearest streetcar stop, so we can wait for the street car. It’s approximately 2am at this point, it’s cold and damp outside and the streetcar is nowhere in sight, which is unusual. 

We wait for 30 minutes and Don becomes really impatient, he has to go to the bathroom and I’m the only person in this party of people sober enough to walk him back inside, into the house, to make sure he doesn’t stumble all the way to the bathroom. Don starts running off, behaving really inappropriately again and I can’t get a grip on him. He manages to pull me to the side, head into the restroom and lean on me for support as he goes, which was weird on it’s own but it was whatever.

Background on Don, I met him my first week at school, we hit it off great. He had a girlfriend, I had a girlfriend. I never had any feelings towards him, but was always suspicious that he might have feelings for me, despite having a girlfriend. I told my girlfriend at the time, this. I also promised to never, ever let him act on his feelings, because I was 95% sure he had a fat crush on me and it was uncomfortable. I never wanted to bring it up, because if I was wrong, that just makes things very awkward.

Anyways, it made it really uncomfortable for me to be in the bathroom with him as a result, because I knew how he felt about me on some level, although it was never confirmed. Nonetheless, I was just there to help a friend and if it was any friend, I’d be there to help. When Don finishes up, I help lead him back outside to the group of people still waiting for the streetcar to make an appearance and it still has not yet made one.

Don is still very antsy at this point and he’s kind of still acting very inappropriately. I did my best to ignore it, until I guess he thought it would be funny to run around the group giving each person a hug and to tell them how much he loved them. People found this hilarious and soon enough people were pulling out phones to record all of this. Don continued playing along with it, especially now that he was being filmed. He went from one person, to the next person and finally he reached me. He looked me dead in the eye, reached his hand through the slit of my skirt and between the strands of my tights, where he shoved his burning, grimy fingers into my vagina for the whole world to see and whispered to me “Go fuck yourself.”

In that moment, the world around me stopped. I felt numb, I also felt burning, searing pain leaping through my bottom half. I made a quick jolt back, pushing him. He laughed, the same way he had been laughing that whole night before continuing to hug each person, one by one down the line, every once in awhile turning to glare up at me. 

Now, I knew I had to get the fuck out of there. I pulled out my phone and immediately dialed for a taxi to come and get me, but my friends kept ripping the phone out of my hand, never letting me finish the whole call, because it was dangerous for a girl to ride in a taxi alone. Didn’t they already know I was in danger? Did anybody know? When I finally got on the line with a service, they sent a car out to my location. I felt hands holding me back from traveling alone, not letting me go. Another group of drunk people filled up the taxi. They took my taxi and I got left behind. Every once in awhile, Don would come up behind me, touch my hip, whisper in my ear. I wanted to scream, I wanted to run away.

Another taxi came, I forced my way into it… but so did the rest of my group. Suddenly there are 5 people shoved into the back bench, two in the passenger seat and Don lying on top of everyone in the back. He would look at me, moving his ass, clenching it, so I would have to feel it the entire way home. The ride felt like a million years, but right as I saw the lights of my building, I pushed Don out of the way, crawled across the people sitting beside me and I ran out of the car and as fast as I could back to my room.

The smart person would have got new friends. The smart person also would have said something. Did I? No. You’re probably reading this and asking why not. Well, because I was young and naive and ignorant I guess. I assumed alcohol played a huge role in their behavior. I hadn’t been around drunk people all that much, never had been drunk myself and so I convinced myself that when you’re drunk it alters your behavior, not enhances it. I forgave him, like an idiot.

Life went on for a few days, a few weeks even. It went back to “normal”, but fake normal. I always knew what happened was wrong, but I also thought if I pretended it never happened, then it would all go away. It never went away and I never got rid of that feeling in my stomach that made me feel disgusting about myself. So, after a few weeks, Don asks if I can help him with this favor, if I could help him get stains out of his sheets. He apparently had white sheets and puked on them one night and couldn’t get the stain out. I happily agreed to aid him with getting out this stain. 

I go up to his room and begin to strip off the sheets, but I make a realization… they’re black and there’s no stain in sight. I felt my heart start to race and I looked over at him as he came from behind and pinned me against the side of the bed frame. He slipped my pants down, then my underwear. I fought, but he restrained me. From there he took me, bent me over and began pounding me. Over and over. I stayed silent, but I felt the tears slide down my cheeks. I did everything to distract myself from what was happening. I looked at the photos of him and his girlfriend on the wall. It burned. It stabbed. It killed me. I wanted to die in that exact moment. I wanted to die when it was over too.

He finished, pleased with himself. I was numb. So, so, so numb from all of it. I stumbled back to my room, not saying a word, not letting any more tears slip. I called my girlfriend and I sat on the phone with her and I said nothing, she said nothing. I wanted her comfort, so that I could sleep and not feel so alone and distant from the world. I didn’t want to think about it, I wanted to make excuses for it, but I couldn’t. He hurt me. He took something from me I never fucking gave him.

A few days later, I met up with a few friends for the first time in a long time. Don, being one of them was there. I tried to keep my distance away from him and tried to push him off for as long as I could. He came up behind me and pinched my butt. Startled, I turned around and threw my phone into his face. Everyone saw this, everyone. I nervously laughed as he screamed at me that it wasn’t funny. It was though. I just hit him. I started screaming back, telling him to fuck off, not to touch me. He stormed off, furious.

When it all subsided, the anger, the fear, I realized I had just made a huge mistake. This didn’t guarantee an end to my suffering, it probably made it worse. I ran out of the building and straight to campus police to file something, anything. I was there for what seemed like hours. As everything set in, so did the numbness. I was never going to be anyone that meant anything. I was just a joke, a piece to be played. The police didn’t help anymore. They told me that “Nice boys don’t do things like that.”

My body changed. It went through stages. I lost a lot of weight, I began getting sick all the time. My brain wasn’t functioning the same way. I was paranoid and psychotic. I felt nothing, nothing at all. Tell me, why do some doors in dorms not lock behind you? I wish they had. I would come back home from class and he’s be there. I’d be sitting in my room alone and he’d come in. I hated him. I hated everything about him. I could never get away, he was stronger than I was. 

I stopped doing things I loved doing, like going out or meeting up with friends. Classes were not my priority. I would black out sometimes and wake up in the middle of things. I one time showed up to a test in my boxer sleep shorts, no bra and a sweater I’m pretty sure wasn’t even mine. I had no idea what was on the test. If I felt anything, it would be in the shower. I would sob, quietly enough not to disturb anyone else in the communal restrooms, but sob enough to feel something, anything. I would sometimes sit in the moldy showers for hours. Sometimes I would sit in their long enough, with the water hot enough to cause blisters to break out all over my back.

There was one day though, where I didn’t feel anything in the shower. I decided that was it. I was done. My relationships and my life had all completely fallen apart. I went back to my room, where I suspended a belt from the bar in my closet. I was hanging there for maybe a few minutes, enough to start drifting, when my roommate came in and saw my dripping wet, naked body suspended from my belt in the closet. She pulled me down and I felt like I could breathe again. Breathe both physically and mentally. 

My case went far beyond that. I lost my relationships with everyone, not like any of it really mattered. I lost my school, good riddance. I lost myself too. I came out of that very different than how I went in. I spent months thinking I was sick, that I was delusional and now it’s all crystal clear. I am a victim of rape and of sexual assault. That will never go away. 

Now, I don’t know how to end this, because it’s too soon still to say what I learned. I learned a lot, obviously, but I also still have a lot of work to do, to be healthy 100% again. Being raped is something I wish upon nobody. It’s dark… really dark in that world when you’re forced into it. The world created by the sick and the twisted, the one that feels as though it is acceptable to perform these acts of unkindness. I used to think why me, why would G-d let this happen to me. It’s a question I will never be able to answer… but I still wish I knew. 

As for the words I never, ever got to say to Don, fuck you. Fuck you. You deserve nothing. You stripped me away from happiness and freedom. You linger in my fucking brain now every time I open up to someone I ACTUALLY trust. You linger in my pain. It will never feel the same for me. I will forever push people away, forever feel a burn, forever be lost because of you. You don’t care though, you still get your happy ending. I will get mine one day too, but at least I deserve mine.

[spiritualcrunk]

Carry Me Home

I just want to stumble upon someone that I can hold onto, someone who doesn’t fade out of tangibility and time; someone who will keep me on my toes, both mentally and spiritually- a friend that I can confide in and tell my darkest secrets to, without any feeling of shame, knowing there’s soulful reciprocity between us. A best-friend, soulmate & spiritual flame; that sounds like the sacred treasure of life because human connection, soul connection, are what really matter in the end. Sure, the rest of everything is alive and real because of this worldly construct and immediate existence, but in the end it’s relationships that always matter and define a great inner part of ones self- whether its the relationship you have with yourself, with your surroundings (nature, community, family) or with another- its in our nature to love and not have to hide around it’s expression... in this all too familiar cement hardened city that has calloused the spirits of many, it seems like we keep how we feel nestled in the dark alleyways and abandoned parts of ourselves...where there's no light and we know no one in there right mind would go, why do we do that to ourselves? Why do we distance ourselves from such a natural formulation of feeling? Why do we allow ourselves to be such a lonely shell of a person, when inside we’re are yearning, reaching out for understanding and acceptance. There are way too many of us hiding in the shadows of our own personally constructed inner city, lost and afraid...

I say FUCK THAT! I won’t accept the fact that we’re here surviving for the sake of anything other than spiritual connection and personal development through love, acceptance and understanding, through others and ourselves. This life, this momentary existence, goes way beyond anything known to be human, so embrace it- EMBRACE IT ALL! Your surroundings, embrace the people next to you like they're sacred because their presence & friendship is indeed sacred. Embrace the fact that you're probably more adored and revered than you realize because we’re all we have, and deep within ourselves we all recognize that terrifyingly beautiful reality.  You're allowed to love someone for any reason that inspires the fabric of your being and never be afraid to tell them how you're feeling, there's absolutely no shame in natural love and what makes you feel its essence for another person. Speak on that tugging awareness of the heart because its all too real how many of us never do before its too late- and never forget that you're beautiful as fuck just the way you are; from every flaw you have to every ugly thought of yourself that you considered to be a blemish of personality...its far from that. You're beautiful in every way because to be human is to be flawed, and to be human is to be real and true in its rawest form- to be human is to be you, just how you are, and that is fucking beautiful.

P.S. I probably shouldn't be writing this at the moment- its almost 2am, I’m slightly drunk, alone and lost somewhere in this downtown city, guided by intuition and a soothing hope for some kind of sign...but I’ll make it home.

PPS: This is an old note I had written about two years ago, I found it written in an old phone of mine. I guess it was some kind of note to self that I had typed out, and as I reread it recently, pieces of that night came back to me:

I had been with my brother and some friends downtown for the night, kind of just bar hopping and hanging out around the city, seeing where the night would take us. It had been some time since I had been out with everybody- as much of a social person that I am, I have my bouts where I crave solitude and sometimes I can let it carry me away- so naturally I was excited to go out and get some much needed socialization, to a certain extent at least haha. Time had passed effortlessly, as well as the drinks with it, and before I knew it, I was in a haze full of spirits and friends began to part their separate ways... I guess it had reached that time of the night where friends who had partners wanted some time for themselves and those that were single began responding to the late night calls of their dating life. I found myself the last to leave, but in a drunken state, full of harbored energy and feels, I wasn't ready to head home-where I knew I’d still be alone, but in the quiet with all my thoughts magnified by the silence... So I just started walking, anywhere my feet would take me. I ended up getting lost for a brief moment and a slight panic arose, which is weird because I know the downtown of my city like the back of my hand and I’m usually never afraid to walk through it at night by myself, but I think a part of me got lost in the faces- lost in the crowds of people fleeing the bars and clubs with each other; laughing, talking, hugging and kissing loved ones that were there with them, all seemingly so happy and wanted...and there I was, alone...stumbling for something so seemingly unfound and out of reach. It really hit me and I think I got so caught up in the thought of everything, I hadn't noticed where I was going and kind of just freaked out, momentarily losing my sense of direction. My eyes watered but I was determined not to let them pour out over the streets, they’ve had enough of my tears, so I just stopped walking and I don't remember if it was a curb or some kind of stoop on the side of a building, but I just sat there and wrote out that note to myself...at the time it seemed like the only thing to do. I think I sat there for like a good half hour just fucking writing everything going on in my head at that moment, watching the city and its people pass me by, wondering if anybody even noticed...I mean, if they did they probably just thought it was another guy who had too much to drink, drunk dialing somebody close to them or trying to get a taxi- well I walked home that night. The last place I wanted to be was in a cab with some stranger taking me home; at least I knew where I was going and with instinct and an unwavering faith in my anxious soul, I was in bed before I knew it...peacefully sleeping, clutching my pillow as if it could suspend my nights affliction.

There’s always something behind what I write, always emotionally charged and sometimes hard to put into words, but I manage to do the best I can to transcribe the inner workings of my mind & soul- it could be inspiration from the smallest detail of everyday life or an eventful night. Either way, I write because I have to, because if I didn't I’d probably be less communicative with how I feel and further from the path of a real & true connection.