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superblysubpar · 8 months ago

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The Boy Is Mine (Taylor's Version Edition):

eddie munson x fem reader

summary: a romantic night in at your trailer full of fluff, a dash of spice, and an..."Alien invasion"? | main menu | this is fairly SFW, but my blog is 18+

the song: The Boy Is Mine by Brandy & Monica

1675 words

This is my submission for @carolmunson The Boy Is Mine Challenge! The scene, props to include, and dialogue to use as well as all the details on how to participate can be found here - come join in and write your version of Eddie and celebrate everyone else's. 💛

“Son of a-” Your shoulders tense beneath palms that soothe. The chuckle beneath your ear rumbles deep in the chest your cheek is pressed to when you whine, “Gets me every fucking time.”

Despite the eerie music and the jump scare on the glowing screen, you dare someone to tell you this isn’t the most perfect night, the most perfect life.

A pizza box with a few slices left sits on your new - well new to you - coffee table next to shitty horror and gore VHS tap - wait, doll, how’d Pretty in Pink get in the stack? There’s a candle burning, its warm orange glow competes for a chance to light up the space with the small flickering TV.

Activities from earlier in the day litter the room that’s meant for living, but barely able to be made out in the growing darkness. His acoustic guitar next to loose pages of doodles and lyrics, dragons and elves and stories and songs about fighting and finding love erratic and unorganized next to your small notebook, a stack of books and several applications.

There isn’t much else, not yet anyways. A collection of records and a stereo, cassettes un-alphabetized strewn about the wobbly bookshelf and milk crates. A few boxes with labels for unimportant things that haven’t found their new home yet. The rain that falls outside the open window above the couch and onto the roof of the metal trailer pings and echoes in the sparse room, making you snuggle deeper into the black cotton beneath you, squishing your cheek to a firm, but comfortable chest.

The most perfect night, the most perfect life.

The most perfect guy.

“Do you think,” he starts softly, his fingers running down your spine and back up before he asks, “I’m as much of a badass as Ellen Ripley?”

“No.”

The noise of protest he makes beneath you at your immediate and confident response has your lips twisting, fighting a smile as his legs close around you tighter. Bunched tube socks brush your calves, thighs and hips covered in soft gray sweats shift beneath you as he grumbles something about showing you just how wrong you are.

One arm stays relaxed behind his head against throw pillows propping him up, the other restless but content to fiddle with and roam over your body that’s draped across him.

The rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you and the scent of old spice around you, everything Eddie, has you humming at his “threat”, eyelashes fluttering from the peace. His fingers massage over the back of your neck, lighting up the skin beneath it and you huff out of your nose, upset about the bubble that’s about to break. Your whine lost in his worn band t-shirt.

“I have to pee.”

“So go pee.”

Your head shakes, chin resting on his chest so you can look up at him with narrowed eyes.

“If I get up and go pee, you’re gonna do something stupid when I come back out.”

Eddie looks down at you, innocent doe eyes blinking as his hands rub over your shoulders.

“I’m always gonna do something stupid, so enlighten me, what is it you think I’m gonna do this time?”

Your hand reaches up and pulls at a dark brown curl that frames the cheeks his dimples are trying not to show in.

“Oh, I don’t know, turn off all of the lights, jump out from around the corner, attack me from behind…”

“Baby, I always wanna attack you from behind.”

That earns him a fake stern look and a smack to his chest with the back of your hand.

Pink lips pout and twist in the fight of a mischievous smirk, his eyebrows bunch together and wrinkle his forehead as he tries to scoff around a laugh.

“Aw, don’t be like that. I would never scare you.”

“That’s not even remotely true,” you counter.

“Sweetheart,” he catches your chin with thick fingers, cradling your jaw as he vows, dramatically, “I promise I would never, ever let the aliens get-”

You catch his other wrist before fingers could find their target just below your ribs. Raised eyebrows to his big, brown eyes that glint with trouble, not even pretending to be ashamed he was caught.

The eye contact you’re sharing pulses, accompanied by the musical score of the thriller on screen. His thumb swipes over your bottom lip as his tongue licks over his own. The seconds of time slowly ticking by aren’t a luxury, but big, pounding, booms of your imminent fate right on your tail.

“Eddie,” you warn, lips fighting a smile. “Don-”

He screeches like the aliens, fingers digging into your sides and legs, grabbing at your thighs and pulling you closer so his mouth can pretend to bite at you as you give a shriek worthy of a Ridley Scott flick.

You can’t help but laugh though, as explosions happen on screen and Eddie gets louder, yelling your name dramatically like he’s fighting off the aliens, trying to save you despite it being his own fingers that have you wheezing and gasping for air.

“Eddie! If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a real problem!”

“Oh honey, I know! This thing means business! But don’t worry! I’ll save you, Ellen Ripley’s got nothing on me!”

He doubles down his tickling efforts, screeching and grunting out a “Not my girlfriend you monster!” dramatically into your neck before he nips at it. Quick bites and kisses mingled with alien noises until you’re swatting at his chest and wiggling off of him, shouting about how he’s the monster on your way to the bathroom.

It’s suspiciously quiet while you're gone. And when you open the bathroom door, you take a timid step out into the dark hallway and call out, “Eddie?”

“Baby,” he laughs from the living room, “I swear on Jonesy that I’m sitting on the couch, and I’ll keep my hands to myself for the rest of the movie.”

And well, swearing on Jonesy’s life is like swearing on Henderson’s mom, so you’re satisfied and confident enough to travel through the dark to return to the menace you call your boyfriend.

He sits, cross legged on the couch now, smiling. You kind of can’t believe this boy exists, that he’s yours.

Eddie gestures to the bottle of wine that’s replaced the pizza box, the large Garfield and Snoopy mugs joined by a bag of pretzels and a tub of vanilla frosting. “We don’t really have like, nice cups, this okay?”

Is it okay? Is this guy real? He’s straight out of a TV show, a favorite movie, the thing all the songs are trying to tell you about but just don’t seem possible.

He blinks at you, cheeks growing pink as you continue to stand at the edge of the living room and stare at him. His smile relaxes down to a shy, tight lipped thing as the silver metal on fingers that tap on his knees glints in the TV’s glow.

“Doll?” Eddie coughs, eyebrows raised at you when you still don’t say anything.

“Sorry,” you make your way to the couch finally, “Yeah. Really okay.”

“Cool,” he says quietly as you sit, ears peeking out through thick waves turning as pink as his cheeks.

He grabs the pretzels and you grab the frosting, popping open the lid with a grunt, and managing to get a decent amount of it in the curve of your thumb and forefinger.

Before you can scoop it up with a pretzel, Eddie’s fingers are tugging on yours, bringing your hand up to his mouth. His lips mold around the space, sucking before his tongue traces it and the room turns unberably hot despite the cool breeze and rain drifting in.

Eddie clocks the way your hips shift and thighs press together, the way your mouth parts and head tilts. The way your eyes turn a little glassy when he looks up at you.

He removes his mouth from your hand slowly, grinning and absolutely pleased with himself as he murmurs, “Oh, we like that, huh?”

Words escape your clutches just as Ripley does the Alien’s, and Eddie drops the bag of pretzels back onto the coffee table. He keeps eye contact as he grabs the tub of frosting from you, and dips his finger into it, slowly.

“Eddie, I-”

He’s smearing it on your collarbone and up your neck, your jaw and cheek as your fingers grip the couch cushion. Your chest heaves with quick breaths, a gasp slipping past your lips as he leans forward, tongue sweeping over your throat.

Eddie licks over your skin, slow, patiently, weight falling over you as you fall backwards on the couch and arch underneath him. The way his mouth travels over you is nothing like the quick nips and fast kisses from earlier. It’s slow licks, soft presses of his mouth, open and wet and breathy and dirty as he travels higher and higher.

His path leads him over your jaw and cheek now, both of you gasping for air as his fingers dig into your hips that roll against him and yours curl in the soft material on his shoulders.

He pulls away when he reaches the corner of your lips, smiling at the whine that leaves them when you don’t get the kiss you’re aching for.

“Guess you were right afterall,” he whispers, the tip of his nose tracing up yours as he does.

“Wh-what?”

Eddie grins, his mouth hovers over yours, sweet and sticky vanilla flavored lips just close enough to almost taste.

“That I was gonna do something stupid.”

“The only thing that’s stupid is that you haven’t kissed me yet, Munson.” Your eyes roll as his grin grows even wider.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he laughs, reaching for the frosting again. “I’m just getting started.”

Rain falls, and Aliens are killed and the candle flickers on a perfect night. Your new favorite flavor of anything is vanilla because of the perfect guy.

Eddie Munson gets you every fucking time.

#eddie munson #eddie munson × reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #the boy is mine challenge #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut

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sketchy-angel · 7 days ago

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Custom Hualian dolls

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

I started this project in February 2022. I originally made a Puqi Shrine diorama out of an old cardboard box. I still have it and I'll post it soon after I make some minor alterations. I just really wanted to share these 2 since I spent so much effort on them.

Back then, I purchased 2 Obitsu 11cm dolls. I bought them on Aliexpress but judging by the packaging and the fact they were around $15 each I'm pretty sure they're legit.

In this blog I'll talk a bit about the process for those unfamiliar with doll customizing and everyone else who is interested in the process. I'm a doll collector but my customizing skills are very rudimentary and mostly rely on winging it and hoping for the best.

And my motto during this process was "nobody's gonna see the back."

I made the prototype clothes back in 2022 and the stitching was ass. And it took me until last week to gather enough courage to start working on the wigs. I originally purchased very cheap doll hair but it refused to cooperate and I decided to use felt instead.

. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊ . 𓇢𓆸

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His clothes were already basically done when I started over. I added the red ribbon details, added the flower nail charm, the red string and I made the wig, of course.

These outfits are by no means historically or cannonically accurate. I had to modify them to accommodate the scale and my subpar sewing skills. I've gotten much better at sewing since then so don't look at those shoulder seams...

And I still don't know what's going on with the back of his red robes. I think I ran out of fabric :-|

The braid is made using a string of black yarn. The vambraces are actually fake adjustable ear cuffs.

I'll show the wig making process more in Xie Lian's section since Hua Cheng's was easier to make. I just slapped a bunch of felt pieces on the wigcap with glue and voilà!

And E'Ming was made using pencils and gel polish on a piece of cardboard and Xie Lian's butterfly was made with the help of a nail sticker and magnetic cat eye polish. In the finished photo you can see a red gem sticker on E'Ming's eye. I don't know how I feel about it. Do your prefer the design without it? I can easily take it off.

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.˚⊹.

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Xie Lian's outfit and hair was a bit of a challenge but it was fun. I was inspired by several designs and decided to just wing it and make my own outfit instead of recreating an existing one in its entirety.

Also, as you can tell, these dolls have many articulation points that allow for so much posability. I sewed the clothes onto them to keep it in place so they have limited range of movement, especially Hua Cheng, but I'm fine with it. They can still pose nicely.

Instead of making inner and outer robes I decided to make one pair of robes and the second pair that's folded over the shoulders stops at the waist and is hidden by the belt/sash(?) idk English forgive me.

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I tried to make the "main robes" fold over at the waist but I misplaced the rest of that white fabric 2 years ago so I just extended the edges on 3 sides with the sheer fabric from an old curtain and hoped for the best.

Oh, and the shoes are also from Aliexpress. I try not to purchase often from them but I could not find any alternatives...

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The wig making process was... Interesting. I won't show the entire wigcap by itself to spare your eyes so here's balding Xie Lian lol.

The bun was made by rolling felt into a little roll. I then stuck two bigger felt circles onto one side and glued the edges after I cut the outer edges like you would cut a pizza. Does this make sense? Probably not.

Basically, make a rose type thing.

And if you're wondering, the wigs are removable and kind of posable as well.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

And that's basically it <3

I wanted to include better quality pics but it won't allow me to post more than 10 at once so I had to stuff them into collages.

Forgot to mute the video so if you hear my cat wreaking havoc in the background no you didn't.

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I may or may not be working on another project centered around Beefleaf...

When I was a kid, I couldn't afford good quality dolls so I played with small doll-like keychains that had knitted dresses, arms and legs made of string, heads made of painted wooden beads and little beanies on their heads.

I have similar beads laying around so I plan to make similar keychains that look like fem Beefleaf.

Of course, I gotta finish that damn Puqi Shrine and hope my cat doesn't cause it to collapse. Maybe one day I'll make keychain versions of other TGCF characters as well!

ଓ༉‧.⭒ֶָ֢⋆.

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #doll collector #doll custom #hualian #hua cheng #xie lian

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pfhwrittes · 10 months ago

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store meeting time! you and the 141 are politely informed that you’ll be attending a store-wide mandatory meeting after the store closes one sunday afternoon.

implied fem!reader, use of hen and love as pet names, and my attempt at scottish slang.

600ish words.

- - price is on the doors as staff members come in and reminds them to clock in when they walk in and clock out when they walk out – especially colleagues that aren’t scheduled to work. “you’ve come into work on your day off, yes you’re getting paid. ignore the store manager. pizza doesn’t pay the fuckin’ bills.” and for colleagues who were scheduled to work he’s already handed out pre-signed overtime slips “don’t take the piss, just fill in 1600 for start time and fill in the finish time before you leave.” my god this man just wants this over and done with so he can go home. he turns a blind eye to soap’s shenanigans. he scoffs at the pure corporate bollocks that the store manager is coming out with (and it’s loud enough that your manager has to stifle a snigger in response). he asks you to hang back with him to collect the overtime slips as everyone leaves and offers to walk you to your car or to the bus stop. he glares daggers at the store manager when he saunters past and it makes you look away.

soap has dragged all the chairs from the staff room (including a sofa somehow) and is jealously guarding five of them at the back of the crowd because like hell is he standing for an hour while the store manager drones on about morale and KPIs, profit protection improvements, the new display area layout or whatever the fuck it is he’s talking about (you're not sure what he's talking about to be honest but at least you look like you're trying to pay attention). soap also just blatantly texts through the whole meeting. you smack him lightly on the arm when he leans into your space and stage whispers about stopping off at mcdonalds before going home. “ow! whit was that for, hen? i just want to know if yer wantin’ a milkshake is all!” he saunters off roughly in the same direction simon took across the car park when you let him know that you're fine actually, you just want to go home so you can start on your laundry.

kyle actually makes a few notes about the changes the store manager wants to implement with a frown on his face and ever so politely challenges him when things don’t add up. you get the impression that even though kyle is being polite (unlike price) and attentive (unlike soap), he’s also thinking this is a complete waste of time (like simon). kyle will absolutely grab a box of pizza to share with his favourite people and lets you grab the first slice during the 15 minute break. kyle is one of the few members of staff (along with lewis from the interior decorating department) that collects up the rubbish so the cleaner doesn’t have a shitfit in the morning and that brings him way up in your estimation (he was already close to being your favourite non-checkout member of staff and now he’s pretty much cemented it for you). he's also good enough to grab the chairs and ropes lewis into helping him move the sofa back to staff room before he leaves too.

simon slips in last and is the first one out of the doors when the store manager dismisses everyone with a completely false “have a good one ladies and gents!”. you get the impression that he absolutely doesn’t want to be here. he refuses to sit down in the chair that soap saved for him and stands directly behind you as far away from the store manager as he can physically get. he shakes his head when you ask if he wants a slice of pizza and offers a gruff “don’t like pizza, love” in response. he does manage to nod at price on his way out of the store. quietly (and only to yourself because you’re not sure simon would appreciate you sticking your nose in his business), you’re worried about him. you’ve barely seen him after his enforced two week annual leave after the warehouse incident and you just get the feeling that something is bothering him.

#retail hell au #jp #jm #kg #sr #it's still light and fluffyish for now but i can sense plot is working its way into retail hell au #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader

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isfjmel-phleg · 10 months ago

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The Saga of Ray's Refrigerator

As discussed by the editor and writer, The Ray 1994 is in part "about a guy who needs to buy a refrigerator." Readers evidently took that to heart, like D. B. Bennett here:

Does Ray ever get that fridge the minute he really needs it? Why a refrigerator? Why is it important?

Story time!

After the death of the uncle whom Ray grew up believing was his father, their house had to be sold to cover legal fees. Ray goes apartment hunting on a small budget with no credit, and the best he can do is a shabby one-room place over a pizza restaurant. There's a huge, hideous sculpture in one corner, but no refrigerator. Note the place beside the stove that suggests that there must have been a refrigerator there at some point.

(The Ray 1994 #1)

This demonstrates the level of squalor that he has sunk to, as well as the fact that he hasn't really "made it" as an adult on his own yet--he doesn't have all the basic household necessities. He's not really ready to take on life.

The lack of a refrigerator is the first thing everyone points out upon entering the apartment, everyone from Ray's father...

(#5)

...to a random burgler.

(#11)

A repeated reminder of his inadequacy as an adult.

At one point, Ray intends to go shopping for a list of household necessities, including a refrigerator, but instead he purchases a huge Superman poster and a stereo he can't really afford. Money management is apparently another thing he never learned during his isolated upbringing, and his priorities are still those of a child--things he wants before things he needs.

(#6)

Of course, it's not just Ray's immaturity that's keeping him from that refrigerator. Writer Christopher Priest on his website provides a more in-depth account of Ray's attempts to purchase a refrigerator and how difficult this is for someone with no real-world experience in an era before online shopping:

Ray Terrill wants to buy a refrigerator. Folded into a tiny second-floor walkup over Shahid's Famous Pizza in North Philadelphia, Ray's been keeping his milk and cheese out on the fire escape to keep it cool. But now that spring has arrived, he needs an actual ice box. Problem is, Ray's watched the Home Shopping Club virtually non-stop for six days, and they haven't offered a refrigerator. None of the mail-order catalogs that come to his house display any, either. The chilling realization washes over him: if he wants the refrigerator, he's going to have to go out and get it. Ray's had lots of bad luck interacting with the real world. Having spent most of his life indoors, Ray's perception of the world at large (and American society in specific) has been shaped almost entirely by mass media. His "light sensitivity" disease ultimately exposed as a lie, Ray, at eighteen years of age, has been thrust into a world that bears little resemblance to the one he's read about. Ray doesn't know how to drive. Or ride a bike. Ray has never even seen a coin-operated laundry machine. Or a subway turnstile. Ray's never been to the bank. Or church. Ray was startled and impressed to find stand-up urinals in restaurant men's rooms. It earned him a black eye when he remarked, "Wow. Look at that!" as another patron relieved himself. He was a washout as a cashier for a fast-food restaurant because he'd never seen curly fries. Clearly taking a bus downtown to the nearest K-Mart and buying a refrigerator is, for Ray, a major challenge; one fraught with anxiety. [...] At the K-Mart, Ray realizes he has no money. He tries to open a charge account to buy the fridge, but is denied credit because he has no credit history. No one will give Ray a credit card until someone else does. Staring incredulously at the blank-eyed clerk, Ray remarks, "But, yesterday I saved the universe..." The clerk suggests Ray move along.

Once Ray starts working for Vandal Savage, he moves into a luxurious condo with all the amenities, including, presumably, a refrigerator. But even so, the quest for this appliance is such a habit with him that when offered his greatest desire by the demon Neron, the first thing he can think of that he wants is...

(#19)

Besides, Ray knows that the life he's currently living is a sham. He's got a prestigious job and wears fancy clothes and has a rooftop hot tub, but it's all an act to keep him out of the eye of his deadly creation Death Masque. Underneath it all, he's still a nineteen-year-old who still needs to buckle down to the task of furnishing his own first place.

He may technically have a refrigerator now, but at what cost? We don't see the condo's refrigerator in the main timeline, but we get a good long look at it from the inside in a version of 2016 in which forty-year-old Ray has gone evil after letting the power and status of working for (and eventually supplanting) Savage go to his head. By now, the refrigerator is not just a symbol of adult achievement but also of the emptiness of ill-gotten wealth and status. Forty-year-old Ray is too preoccupied with business phone calls to even use the refrigerator himself--this is his girlfriend getting him a soda.

(#25)

Back in the main timeline, Ray, with some intervention from his girlfriend from the future, who has time-traveled back to prevent his going evil, quits working for Savage, which means giving up the condo (and presumably returning to his old place). This is hard for him, because...

(#28)

So by the end of the series, he is just as refrigerator-less as he started. But the refrigerator was never the real point. What he does have is the restoration of his integrity, a more mature and less self-centered outlook, and new connections with a mother and brother he didn't even know he had when he moved into that one-room apartment. What greater signs could there be of finally becoming a real adult?

#comicsposting again #RT: born with the light #Ray's solo is a bildungsroman #all of the 90s young heroes' solos are actually #but Ray's in particular is concerned with what makes one truly an adult more so than the others because he *is* technically of age

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motownfiction · 9 months ago

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burning skin

Steph tries to make a roast chicken for Valentine’s Day. She’s trying very hard to make up for the summer (with Daniel, whom she still can’t look at, even six months later), and she decides that a roast chicken is the way. It feels romantic. Domestic. Something she’s not good at, but she should be. She should be, she should be.

Before her mother leaves the house, Steph does not ask her for help. Susie Armstrong, of the “I just swung by Kentucky Fried Chicken” dynasty, would be no assistance here. Any roast chicken she’s ever had is from Boston Market, or someone else’s kitchen. She figures she can do it herself. After all, she can read. How hard can it be?

Apparently, it can be very hard. Steph stands in the kitchen, miserable and sad, pulling at a failed chicken with burning skin. She was going for crisp, but it didn’t have to be like this.

She decides it’s karma. For the past six months, Steph has been very big on karma. Karma for cheating on Sam with Daniel, karma for not telling him, karma for not being able to fake it when she has to see Daniel at parties and dinners. She doesn’t know how Sam hasn’t noticed. He’ll be here any minute, expecting roast chicken, like Steph promised. She swears to herself she’ll never be this stupid again. You don’t tell your date what you’re doing. You tell them it’s a surprise. That way, they can’t be disappointed when you make a phone call to the Chinese restaurant one suburb over. Surely, everyone else in the world knows that.

Steph is not everyone else in the world. If she was, she wouldn’t be a cheater.

For a second, she thinks about picking up the phone and calling Daniel. Apologizing for what she put him through for not turning him down when he kissed her in the park last summer. She thinks about asking him what the hell he was thinking, making a move on his best friend’s girlfriend. She wonders what the hell is wrong with her, too, thinking about one of her boyfriend’s best friends when he’ll be here in any minute for the roast chicken that isn’t.

She knows none of them are thinking at all. That’s how Lucy Callaghan wound up pregnant at the end of the summer, and that’s how Steph ended up with a chicken with crispy burning skin. Delicious.

She sees some movement outside her window. When she pulls back the curtains, she sees Sam walking up the porch, carrying a large pizza box. It makes her giggle. And it makes her terribly sad.

That’s always how it is.

She opens the door for more of it.

(part of @nosebleedclub february challenge -- day 1!)

#drabble #writeblr #ch: steph armstrong #ch: sam doyle #ship: forever afternoon #year: 1984

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nyaagolor · 1 year ago

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Henlo, back at it again! While thinking about some stuff, here's what i imagined for this AU for the Area Zero Squad:

- Nemona: Were-Lycanroc, a rather big monster with Nemona's battle love cranked up to 11. Once aggressive to everyone and everything with an impressive will to fight, gets "tamed" after the protag defeats her and gets recognized. Now less bloodthirsty and a big puppy (at least to her friends), although still wants to challenge everyone... Nemona doesn't know she exists.

Arven: Were-Skwovet, calmer than Nemona's Alter Ego, and usually won't attack... unless you have bad intentions or you look at Mabosstif funny. He's *really* protective of him. Can be found around Paldea stealing Berries and other food, although no-one knows what for...Arven knows of his existence, due to somehow remembering his transformations.

Penny: Were-Glaceon, an incredibly reclusive and shy monster, she only attacks if her personal spaces are invaded. Becomes a bit more outgoing after Penny's storyline, although only with her friends. Her Vees see her as a sort-of kin, for obvious reasons (and they aren't in danger). Penny knows of her existence, not because she remembers her transformations, but for other clues around her room (I mean, if i woke up with ruined clothes, a slight coat of ice on the walls and pawprints around the floor, I would have a few doubts)

The protagonist can be what you want, there's no specific mon for him/her!

Oh, and they're a pack, because it fits.

(Note: i still think that Arven's Mon is not the right one... any ideas?)

Drew the designs for Nemona and Penny!! Decided Nemona would be a dusk form Lycanroc bc Orange. Love all the stuff u wrote, I especially dig how some are aware they’re werewolves (awarewolves?) and others just have no idea. Makes for some really fun stories :3c. Didn’t draw Arven bc I can’t decide what he would be either. I’ll keep brainstorming!!!

Anyway some assorted headcanons:

- How animalistic u look is determined by how much tera energy ur normally in contact with. For people like Nemona who are constantly using a tera orb, their transformation is more dramatic. For someone like Penny, who rarely uses a tera orb and isn’t a paldean native (less access to environmental tera energy) the transformation is relatively mild. The professor? When they transform, it’s impossible to tell they were human at all

- Nemona hears about the terrifyingly strong beast in the forest and keeps going out to fight it, only to wake up on the ground all scratched up in the forest at sunrise. She starts to think the beast knows Hypnosis for its uncanny ability to put her to sleep. Somehow, despite the obvious connections, she never realizes she’s the beast in question

- Being a werewolf doesn’t change your personality or what you want, just your inhibitions and manners. Nemona always wanted to battle her heart out, but never could bc of various social conventions, so during her transformation all that pent up energy is released and she just goes bonkers. Penny transforms and no one knows bc she still never leaves her room

- Penny sets up a camera after the first transformation because she’s shocked a Glaceon so large could wreck her room without waking her up. When it happens a second time after the next full moon, she now has video evidence— only to realize it’s HER. She initially panics, then realizes all she does is eat leftover pizza right out of the box and hide under the bed the whole time which is what she would do anyway if sleep deprived enough. She elects to just lock all her doors and windows and never tell anyone, since she’s unaware that werewolves are a Thing in paldea

- Whatever Arven is, Mabosstiff keeps him in check. Also now that I think about it, maybe Arven is an artificial werewolf? His parent tried to get him to be a werewolf on purpose so he could better adapt to “paradise”, so maybe he’s a Cyclizar? With the professors being the ‘raidons? in that case maybe Arven has different transformation rules and stuff. I’ll think abt it more

- No one except the protagonist and possibly a few trainers (Geeta, some of the professors?) know the beast attacking people in the forest is a werewolf. Nemona is fast and her transformation is pretty beastly looking anyway, so in the thick of battle everyone thinks she’s just a really big pokemon. It’s only people who manage to defeat her / tire her out that can slow her down enough to see that she has a humanoid shape and might be more than just a Very Large Dog

- I’m lame and love emotion based transformations, so I think the adults can control their shifting to various extents but the kids can’t. The more emotionally well adjusted you are, the easier time you have controlling yourself, to the point where some adults even have control over their shifting during full moon nights

#nemona #penny #werewolf au #werepokemon au #ask #mod vex

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daintyduck99 · 2 years ago

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"you need me to hold your hand so you can read the instructions?" "it helps me concentrate!" is Luke/Reggie and it works either way so...

Reggie comes tearing into the studio like a hurricane, flushed and gasping for air.

"Luke! Luke, I got it!"

"Got what, Reg?" Luke teases, grinning around the pick in his mouth. He wiggles his eyebrows. "Laid?"

He certainly looks the part, with his windblown hair and his big bright eyes and his red, red cheeks. His breath is still coming in short bursts through parted lips, and his flannel is falling off of his shoulders.

He's excited about something.

"Screw you—" Reggie flushes further as Luke wiggles his eyebrows some more. "Not like that. No, this is better!"

Luke hums, setting his guitar aside. He plucks the pick out of his mouth.

"So, on your scale from sex to pizza—"

Reggie's laughter bubbles out of him. He ducks his head, but he's definitely smiling.

"Shut up, okay, I stand by what I said. Sex can be good but I don't, like, seek it out, you know? But I want pizza all the time! The obvious conclusion: pizza is better."

For all of Luke's teasing, he does get it. Replace pizza with music and then the scale becomes Luke's.

Reggie, though—he's special.

He breaks Luke's scale, and Luke can't resist an especially flirty comment or a nudge here and there. He's a little addicted to the chemistry that sometimes crackles between them, and a lot addicted to Reggie’s easy grin, the familiar sight of his crooked teeth. It sparks a lot of feelings that he's been trying to put to paper.

Reggie's smiling at him openly, now, expectantly, and Luke clears his throat.

"Alright, alright, so—this? What'd you get?"

Reggie slings his backpack around to pull out a large box, bounding over to shove it in Luke's face. There's no mistaking it—

"It's the Lego Death Star! I can't believe they still had it at the thrift store—Mrs. Cardenas said she'd hold onto it for me but—I really can't believe my luck I mean—it's never even been opened!"

"Mrs. Cardenas loves you," Luke says fondly, "of course she kept it for you, dude, you practically work there whenever you have a spare minute to help her out."

Reggie shrugs. His flannel falls even further off of his arms, and he slips out of it, leaving it on the coffee table with the box. He twists his fingers together.

"I don't know about that, Lu."

Luke shakes his head. He wraps his arm around Reggie's waist and tugs him down onto the couch.

"Come on, Reg. You're easy to love."

Reggie smiles again, but it's brittle this time. He clearly doesn't believe him.

Luke shouldn't push, as much as he desperately wants to make him see, to show him that he's wrong, that he makes the world so much brighter. He'll just have to channel that motivation into his song.

In the meantime, Reggie deflects.

"You know what's probably not easy? Putting this thing together! You don't have to help me, but—would you? It'll be fun, I swear! The challenge makes it fun, everyone says so. Or, well. The box does."

Luke chuckles. "Of course I'll help you, bro. What do we need to do?"

Reggie bites his lip, considering.

"We should probably clear off the table. Read the instructions." He looks at Luke with a little smirk. "We could do that if you'd, you know, give me my body back."

Luke squeezes him tighter in retaliation, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

"Well, maybe now I don't wanna."

"Luke," Reggie whines. It shouldn't be sexy in this context at all, and yet. "Please?"

Luke releases him wordlessly. He doesn't trust his voice not to give something away.

They get the table cleared and the pieces spread out in no time, but Reggie falters a little when he picks up the instructions.

"Um—this is going to sound stupid, but—could you hold my hand?"

"It's not stupid, dude." Luke grins. "It's just unfair. I'm not allowed to hold you, but you need me to hold your hand so you can read the instructions?"

Reggie splutters. "I—that's—it helps me concentrate! The other thing—doesn't."

Luke hums, folding Reggie's hand in his. He rubs his thumb over Reggie's knuckles.

"Hey, it's okay. I said that it's not stupid, and I meant it, bro. I'm just teasing you."

Reggie worries his lip between his teeth.

"You tease me a lot."

"Does it bother you?" Luke starts to pull his hand away, but Reggie holds tight. "I'll stop if it bothers you, I never—I only—"

Reggie silences him with a serious look.

"Do you mean it? Do you really—"

He stops. Swallows.

Luke squeezes his hand. "What, Reg?"

He takes a shuddering breath, and his eyes shimmer with unshed tears. His voice comes out small, but he finally says it.

"Want me?"

Luke cups Reggie's cheek, cursing himself. If only he could get that damn song done—if he could get the words out properly—

It's now or never, he supposes.

"Reggie, I love you. I want you because I'm in love with you, alright? I don't want anyone else the way I want you. That's why I tease you so much and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I would never—I know you don't always want sex, okay, if you never wanted that I wouldn't care—"

Reggie chuckles wetly. His fingers are restless in Luke's, and they fiddle with his rings, twisting them round and around.

"No, you didn't make me—uncomfortable. I tease you back a bit, don't I? But I did worry—whether I'd be enough for you."

"You're more than enough," Luke insists, wiping a trickle of tears away. "Baby, you really are easy to love. I figured that if I acted like it was just chemistry, you wouldn't realize that I'm like, madly in love with you and decide to quit the band."

That makes Reggie snort. "God, we're so stupid. I've been in love with you since like, second grade, Luke. I thought everyone knew and pretended not to because—"

"If you beat yourself up, I'm not helping you put that thing together. I can forget about holding you, and you can forget about holding my hand." Luke pauses. "We might be a little stupid, though. For each other."

Reggie hums in acknowledgment, chewing his lip. His face is still pink, and he has no right to look so pretty when he literally just stopped crying.

Then he breaks into a smile, and Luke's heart is bound to stop.

"What about a kiss?"

Needless to say, they don't make much progress on the Death Star that evening.

But they do hold hands for most of it.

#peterpatter #ruke #hand holding prompts #they're so ace 4 ace in this and I love that for them #ficlets with ash #julie and the phantoms

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barbaramillicentgordonroberts · 1 year ago

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(This 👇 is not true, the entire time was something else from yesterday, see that is from the haters of the movie, so like myself, do not ever end up like them (which in a future multiple part post whenever I am ready, I will be able to collect all of that, and also of separate to the one that is from all of the positive, and mid about it), but do ever end up like how it was from my last post especially with all of the mid people such as all of the ones that are both okay with it, and also not okay with the movie otherwise if we are to become haters of the movie like how some of the critics are now becoming, and that includes the change of heart for all of the others that are out there in all over the internet that are hating on it, since I am trying to make sure that it does get better than how it is right now, I did not want to go all of the matters worse like how it is right now, but I do not know what to do with it even though I am doubtful to disappoint myself from all of this going on for all of the unknown reasons that are making all of the people turn against to this movie, but to keep me from being feeling down in the dumps blue, and to be able to make myself feel better within me, and my family, I can be able to see everything that I was thinking about for all of the stuff that this fandom can do like any other at all from my other past posts, and get all of the Elemental merchandise for the movie even if it comes to an archived cam copy, Disney Plus including with all of the bonus features extras, digital copies, physical releases, and all of the other stuff that it could be able to be in for my blog along with experiencing the movie in 4DX D-Box if I feel like it if they decide to put it back in the theater way before I am able to feel like watching the actual footage of the movie for myself after I try to keep myself thoughts, and everything else together for however everyone else is going to be able to make their commentary reactions to the movie from the very start of the movie with all of the opening logos, and all of the opening credits of the movie to the very end of the movie with all of the closing credits, and all of the closing logos with all of the other stuff that I put in other posts before for being able to do fan dubs, fanfiction, fanart, fan edits, cosplay, etc. along with me watching it in other languages first way before I put all over again, but this time with the original United States Of America English audio description, and all of the closed captioning subtitles turned on, but still from all of this process of what I just said, cheer me up from this whole tub of free unlimited endless all flavors of ice cream of the past, present, and future that you can be able to have in your dreams to swim in that I am typing out of my sadden sob, or so else to describe it by letting me know when all of the hate for Elemental is over for good!) :

youtube

(Good to know, since because this 👇 is for how the Pizza Planet vehicle will be able to look like in the movie if anyone wants to have a challenge for being able to find it!) :

: (These two examples 👇 are how to draw out of the language that the fire resistants speak in the movie as well as for giving me an idea to be able to plan a scavenger hunt for using it for all of you guys all over Tumblr, and all of the other social media platforms from the entire internet such as YouTube, TikTok, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Snapchat, all you have to do is starting with the opening logos, every single time for whenever you either when you hear anything spoken in Firish, make sure that the symbols all link to almost all of the fire characters from the movie are trying to say, but normal of how all of the other characters of earth, air, and water are speaking, and if you see something in Firish, pause the movie, decode it from being able to match all of the symbols of Firish that is on screen (the punctuation of it is fine to be able to not worry about it, since because it is the easiest one of all, but all of the 26 letters of the alphabet are going to be worth working a sweat, but for a good way) to be able to read it out for what it says before you type it out from it there when you have the correct answer to what it is trying to be able to say on there way before you are ready to resume the movie for being able to do for the next one, and on until the closing logos which is to also be able to keep count by numbering them from one to the very end of the list of all of the Firish!) :

: (A clearer picture of the safety sign from the Cinemark picture from one of my past posts for the movie 👇, I wonder what the other sign that I was talking about still says!) :

youtube

: Check out this following offer message from Indy 500 as its 16th ever partner for the movie 👇! :

: Part 2 in my next post!

#pixar elemental #elemental

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icarusthelunarguard · 1 year ago

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This Week’s Horrible-Scopes

It’s time for this week’s Horrible-Scopes! So for those of you that know your Astrological Signs, cool! If not, just pick one, roll a D12, or just make it up as you go along. It really doesn’t matter.

This week SHOULD have been themed on request, which was “Anime Characters”... but with a decided lack of writing time or knowledge on the subject, we’re instead doing something annoying; a Try Not To Cringe Challenge! So put on your poker faces and let’s see who breaks first.

Aries

We’re pitching you a softball to kick things off; Barking Up The Wrong Tree. Considering our target audience is furry-heavy, we’re expecting to hear complaints about this one being speciesist. And to all of you we say, Stop Being Canine Furries! You’re over-represented as it is! Pick something novel, like… A Dungeons and Dragons “Beholder” who has a flair for fashion.

Taurus

And now the arguments begin. Just like with the Star Wars AT-AT debacle, we want to know which way you pronounce it. A-SAP, or A-S-A-P? It doesn’t matter, because you’re going to be wrong by someone’s reckoning. This week stop trying to be congenial and go straight for the jugular.

Gemini

Your line of Raise The Bar would be more fun if it was considered while out drinking on a Saturday Night. But how would that even work? Hydraulic lifts? Block and tackle? Clydesdales? This week stop drinking that carbonated horse piss you call “beer” and try something you can’t see through.

Cancer Moon-Child

Your line is an incomplete one; Run This Up The Flagpole. The second half of that is, “…and see who salutes it.” It’s supposed to be a way to find out if an idea is worth pursuing because it’s good, or binned because only an idiot would salute it. This week watch the 1979 Bill Murray movie, “Meatballs”, and pay attention to the flagpole.

Leo

Honestly, yours is one of the most dangerous ones on the list: Let’s Ballpark This. Like, what does that even mean? Put an idea into a stadium full of drunk, highly emotional fanatics, peppered with baseballs flying at people’s heads at 160KPH PLUS! Think you can avoid getting domed by one of those? Nice try - we know your reaction speed isn’t that good. This week… don’t buy a box of Cracker Jacks - the toy inside will be a disappointment.

Virgo

Well, now. We finally get to a phrase that fits your personality, Virgo. Throw Them Under The Bus is not only a classic line, but also brings up the question of, “HOW?!” If you’re the one driving the bus, there’s some Snidely Whiplash levels of evil going on here. And if you’re on the sidewalk and try to push, how do you know they won’t just Jujitsu you around and toss your near-future carcass in the way of a road-pizza maker? This week check when your driver’s license needs to be renewed.

Libra

Let’s take you back to your childhood, outside, playing “Tag” with your friends. One variant of the game is to, as your expression goes, Touch Base to be safe. And in your adult life it’s supposed to mean checking in with people who have the power to make your work life more and more annoying with no real way of making them stop it. But just like with your younger days there’s a way of getting help with your friends in a similar problem. This week, learn more about… ELECTRICITY.

Scorpio

You’re both going to love this one and hate this one, Scorpio. With your expression of Best Thing Since Sliced Bread you have to ask so many questions to find out just how true something is. If we consider that the first sliced commercial bread loaves were produced in 1928, then we have to wonder, What Are We Doing Better Or More Efficiently Than We Did A-Hundred Years Ago? And the answer is, “Damned Near Everything.” Because in 1928, there was still Horse Shit in the streets of New York City! Keep that in mind and chill out.

Sagittarius

Oh, now this is just a gimme. Your expression of Low-Hanging Fruit is, itself, a recursive expression because… well, I mean… Just LOOK at you! Look at how everyone around you thinks about you. You and your overdressing for every event JUST a little bit, and always 5 minutes early to any gathering, and you needing to be told you have the best damned casserole… every… freakin' funeral! This week stuff slices of peaches, pineapples, and strawberries in a large glass, cover with red wine, and chill for a few days. Not the drink, YOU! Drink it immediately for all we care.

Capricorn

There’s one question for you this week, Capricorn: “Who Is The Blacksmith!” Once you find out who he is you can use your expression and Hammer It Out. Now it’s supposed to be about smoothing out the details of any idea over time, but with you, it’s more about your collection of music cassettes from the ‘90’s. We appreciate you liked MC Hammer a long time ago, but face facts, the cartoon series “Hammerman” is NOT getting a reboot. Thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster (his noodly appendage be upon you).

Aquarius

You’re actually going to like yours this time! Hand picked out of all the choices, you’re getting Let’s Circle Back. Not only does this evoke memories of old arcade games like Asteroids or Pac-Man where you actually could do just that, but you could do exactly that, physically, by doing nothing at all! Pick a direction, ANY direction at all, and set out on a trip. Don’t deviate from that direction, don’t turn side-to-side at all, and eventually you WILL have Circled Back Around. This week follow your path no matter where it takes you… and listen to the Survivor song, “The Search Is Over” as your anthem.

Pisces

The cynical part of you won’t believe this expression is even possible, but it can be. For you the idea of a Win-Win Situation can seem wrong, impossible even, but trust us, it’s doable. For instance, you can have a mood-elevating moment while elevating someone else’s. It’s easy, just watch. “Hey, Leo? I think your reaction times are good enough to keep you from getting domed by a fastball!” See, now watch… when Leo fails and gets knocked out, everyone else will have a great laugh about it, and Leo won’t know because they’ll be out cold! See? That’s what we call a Win-Win! This week, stay out of any ballparks.

And THOSE are your Horrible-Scopes for this week! Remember if you liked what you got, we’re obviously not working hard enough at these. BUT! If you want a better or nastier one for your own sign or someone else’s, all you need to do to bribe me is just Let Me Know! These will be posted online at the end of each week via Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook and Discord.

#horrorscope #horoscope #parody #funny #humor

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gothicprep · 2 years ago

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with all due respect, that's exactly why stuff like this is a problem. most misinfo is not people deliberately setting out to fabricate stories, its largely understandable cases of human error and bad editorial decisions.

what people fail to understand about misinformation is that a lot of it is ~based on a true story~, but it's the nature of its presentation that misleads. this is a decently old example, but i think it's fitting for my purposes here: this is a wapo story that claims abraham lincoln and karl marx were friends, and lincoln admired his theory of socialism. it goes on to make the argument that being anti-socialism is an anti-american position. here is a counterargument which argues that there isn't really any evidence that lincoln knew who marx was.

i find the counterargument much more convincing. sometimes, both the argument and counterargument describe the same event, but the counterargument gives more context in a way that makes the original argument seem calculated to mislead. i challenge you to read both pieces without thinking the same.

the marx article, if you read it extremely carefully with all the knowledge you gained from the debunking, doesn’t confidently assert a connection between lincoln and marx (except in the headline and subtitle, which are usually written by someone else). the reporter uses phrases like “that might be because lincoln was regularly reading karl marx”, and “it’s nearly guaranteed that, in the 1850s, lincoln was regularly reading marx,” the evidence being that lincoln had been known to read a newspaper that marx had been known to publish in. it says that marx sent letters to lincoln - but fails to mention that a US president gets thousands of letters from everyone and there’s no evidence lincoln read marx’s. it says that a US ambassador told marx’s communist group that lincoln appreciated them – but fails to mention this was as part of a form letter, not much different from the “JOE BIDEN THANKS YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT” spam emails i get sometimes. it’s hard for a naive person to read the article without falsely concluding that marx and lincoln were friends. but the article does mostly stick to statements which are literally true.

if misinformation were lying, i'd just call it lying. the mechanics of this are observably different.

i'd be more forgiving of this if it were an isolated incident, but she's frequently rumor-mongering based on speculation and ~vibes~, which is deeply concerning conduct from someone who's frequently cited in newspapers of record and has testified in front of congress before. she's not a random person with 500 twitter followers, goofing around online, she has more influence than most of us do, and imo, she shouldn't be reserved the right to shrink into a corn cob and claim "i didn't know it would go viral" when, if you have an audience of 100k people, not counting the twitter users who see your posts as part of the "your friend liked this" feature, it's going to be seen by many people regardless.

as of the time i'm writing this, january 1st, 5:15 PM EST, the original pizza box tweet is still up. it's gotten more attention than all of her correction amendments combined. there is no logical reason for her to have not taken the original tweet down.

i've been meaning to write something for a while now about how misinformation is not a partisan issue, it's just an issue in general. i was mulling over writing something about how infowars waterboards statistics into saying whatever alex jones wants – i'll still probably do that in the future – but it's not something that exactly supports my thesis here.

but, lucky me, i had a perfect example fall into my lap this week.

so, was andrew tate taken into custody over twitter beef with greta thunberg? the short answer is "no" but i'll elaborate.

here's the primary romanian news report about the cops taking the tate brothers into custody. the way that this has been reported in US news media has basically been that a pizza box in andrew tate's video response to thunberg helped romanian authorities confirm his location. here's a daily beast article that insinuates this:

In a video rant he uploaded to Twitter, in which he smoked a cigar and tried to brush off the online spat, he unwittingly displayed a pizza box from a local pizza chain—alerting authorities looking for him to his presence in the country.

here's the problem with that, though – none of the romanian journalists who reported on this story said anything about the pizza box thing. there's also a huge problem with these stories just... citing each other.

if you dig through the citation loop long enough, you end on this daily star article that cites tweets (jurnelism!) from, of course, alejandra caraballo

According to Alejandra Caraballo, a writer and clinical instructor posting on Twitter: “Romanian authorities needed proof that Andrew Tate was in the country so they reportedly used his social media posts.

(as an aside, if you follow her on twt, i'd heavily recommend against doing that. she spews bullshit like her life depends on it and i think this is inexcusable.)

these are caraballo's tweets in question:

the source for this is the romanian article i linked to earlier in this post. it doesn't say any of this. at least, the english translated version of it doesn't. for what it's worth, i'm not a romanian speaker, and i don't have any benchmark for judging if google's translation service is missing linguistic nuances. here's what it actually says:

Sources close to the investigation stated, for Gândul , that shortly after the completion of the computer expertise, the authorities waited for the right moment to catch the Tate brothers, who were always out of the country.

After seeing, including on social networks, that they were together in Romania, the DIICOT prosecutors mobilized the special troops of the Gendarmerie and descended, by force, on their villa in Pipera, but also on other addresses.

it's also probably worth pointing out that tate's villa was previously searched in april. while the article does say that social media was used to help confirm their location, it doesn't say anything about pizza boxes. and, like, given that tate is a prolific social media poster and was tweeting out videos of romania on sunday, i think it's safe to assume they had a wealth of other information to go off.

and if you don't want to take my word for it, nyt and wapo both reported that the spokesperson for the romanian prosecutor presiding over the case denied the pizza box thing:

Speculation online centered on whether a distinctive pizza box featured in one of Mr. Tate’s tweets to Ms. Thunberg had helped lead the authorities to him, but Ramona Bolla, a spokeswoman for the Directorate for the Investigation of Organized Crime and Terrorism, told The New York Times on Friday that that was not the case.

anyway, ain't it funny how caraballo's made the fuck up pizza tweet got 76 million views, 97k retweets, and 525k likes, while her appended correction got 78k views, 100 retweets, and 820 likes. her initial "source: my mind" tweet is still up. ain't. it. funny.

#reblogging this long ass post and i'm sorry

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blutomindpretzel · 2 years ago

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I need more shifter!honey/guy hc:))))

COMING RIGHT UP!! MORE SHIFTER!HONEY HCS

Honey had always been sort of disconnected from the pack like Darlin was HONEY AND DARLIN WERE FRIENDS- (more hcs below)

Quinn saw Honey as a challenge over overcome, especially after Darlin was out of the picture. He was trying to go through each of the packs strongest members before taking on their Alpha.

I said this once and I’ll say it again HONEY IS FANDOM!DARLIN LITERALLY- I’m trying not to piss off Darlin stans here…………………………. …….but it’s true.

Quinn keeps his distance between Honey and Darlin to scare them, now they have something to lose. HONEY PROTECTING GUY FROM QUINN:

That’s absolutely how Guy found out Honey was a shifter: Quinn had pinned Guy to an alley wall, fangs scraping against his neck until this large ass wolf tackled him.

Honey is pretty much the exact same size as Asher when shifted, their fur is a mix of dark brown and light blonde LIKE ITS SO PRETTY FOR NO REASON. Their eyes are a pale yellow- LIKE HONEY

They work at the same office as Aaron and Ollie, Honey wears tight white or black button downs and loose dress pants to work and it is HOT. Like they work around all these unempowered humans, a mf shifter just loving being around these idiots. Aaron and Honey are the same fucking person everyone shut up.

Honey is super reserved even towards Guy because they’re afraid of getting too close to someone, especially considering their attachment to Quinn.

If Quinn ever hurt Guy Honey would break up with him. Honey is absolutely the type to disconnect from someone entirely to protect them.

Honey and Darlin used to go to TONS of concerts together with Gabe, specifically hard rock- Gabe’s favorite. Darlin and Honey in a mosh pit….

Honey and Christian HATE each other they absolutely do NOT get along.

-Honey and Darlin had a fight after both getting attacked by Quinn and Darlin threatened to use Guy as bait and Honey almost killed them- like I’m fr David and Ash had to break them apart.

-Honey was having an AWFUL day when they met Guy- like in their oddly fancy dress clothes at a pizza place when Guy was manning the front counter. He was super flustered looking at them when they put in their order (ordered for their branch).

…..He put his number on the pizza box…. Honey was checking if their order was right while sitting in the car and noticed.

Marie taught Honey healing magic after a fight with Darlin.

Honey still hasn’t reached out to the pack even after meeting Guy and getting in a comfortable position in their relationship, but Marie texts them to check in every now and then. Pack mama misses them fr

Honey wears a letterman all the time and collects patches that include: Shaw Security, a lil pizza patch on the arm, tiny wolves scattered throughout the jacket, their favorite bands and TV shows.

Honey LOVES reading, Guy will lie down on their lap while they read, or at least lean on their shoulder and try not to act like he isn’t bored out of his mind.

Guy hates silence so much, he always needs to fill the noise- it kind of comforts Honey sometimes though- they need to know that he’s there and alright.

Honey gets frequent nightmares from encounters with Quinn and has never told Guy- or at least he hasn’t noticed yet.

Honey misses Guy SO MUCH every time he’s at work, especially when he does frequent overtime. They act like they were doing something else- which they were/ but it was mainly to distract themselves from missing Guy. When he’s home and gets on the couch next to them, they’re all over him.

UGHHHH THEY JUST CLING TO HIM AND ACT LIKE JT WAS JUST BECAUSE THEY WERE TIRED OR IT LOOKED LIKE HE NEEDED A HUG.

Honey is def touch starved, and afraid to ask for affection. Their pride gets in the way.

THEYRE EARLY AUDIOS DAVID SHAW

Honey and Asher are siblings….their dad was super hard on the both of them.

#redacted asmr #redacted guy #redacted honey #shifter!honey #I love shifter honey so fucking much and no one can stop me #hi btw <3 :))))))#redacted audio #redacted asher #redacted darlin #redacted david #redacted Shaw pack #HONEY AARON DAVID ARE THE TSUNDERES WHO ARE SECRETLY SWEETHEARTS CLUB

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buckyhoney · 3 years ago

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𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲, 𝐬.𝐫

a/n: this is a submission for @sweeterthanthis 6k writing challenge! i had so much fun writing it!

pairing: virgin!modern!steve x experienced!reader

reblogs/likes/feedback is greatly appreciated & highly encouraged! However, do NOT steal/repost ANY of my fics!

18+ warning

Warnings: 18+, porn with little plot, language, kinda dialogue-heavy, dry humping, unprotected sex, oral (m), light corruption kink (f), sorry for any missed typos!

Word Count: 2.4k

32. "guys, uh, what exactly does third base feel like?" - america pie + steve rogers

The sounds of Bucky and Steve's laughs fill the living room as Sam tells the story of his last date. You are covered in a blanket and cuddled into the frilly throw pillow listening to the horrors from the night.

Pizza crusts scatter the open box on the coffee table, and bones from wings litter the paper plates. A random playlist plays on low while everyone casually sips their drink of choice. The weekly Friday night dinner quickly turned into a dating confessional that you'd rather listen to than participate in.

"What about you, Buck? How's the bumble life treatin' ya?" Sam tops off his beer, motioning to him.

"Same old, same old- but I did hook up with this girl the other day," The dramatic story unfolds of the random one-night stand.

Bucky praises the girl's head skills and talks about how well he returned the favor. You sit back, snickering at the clear lie.

"You're so full of shit!" You can't contain your laughter, hearing the description of the poor girl's 'orgasm.'

"Sorry to break it you- she faked it." Bucky's jaw drops, Sam doubles over in laughter.

Steve forces a peal of fake laughter, playing into the idea he would know. Steve watches as you describe how you've fake it in the past. The boys coming to the realization that girls have played them.

"We don't have the luxury of faking it; they'd know." Sam pouts, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Cause' you guys have the luxury of cumming to anything," This opens the topic that not every orgasm they've had has been a pleasurable one.

Steve hesitantly adds to wants to add to the conversation but bites his tongue. He's only ever came to his own hand and didn't actually know what it's like to get past more than making out at the front door of the girl's place.

Flushed beet red and avoiding eye contact Steve blurts,

"Guys, uh, what does third base exactly feel like?" The living room falls silent.

You stay quiet as this was not your realm of expertise. However, much to Steve's surprise, they didn't poke fun at his lack of experience but instead explain the 'glorious' feeling- as Sam previously stated.

Bucky described it as fireworks shooting from your dick. While Sam says that, it feels like what he imagines entering heaven is like.

You watch as Steve tries to hide his embarrassment, biting the inside of your cheek. He sat uncomfortably gripping his bottle, nodding along to the descriptions.

"It's getting late; we should probably head out- Steve need a ride?" Steve goes to say yes, but you cut him off.

Knowing Steve wouldn't enjoy the ride home, were the jokes and teasing probably would take place.

"I'll take 'em," You give a small smile to Steve.

The goodbyes are kept short, and you wave them off. Bucky taking the leftover beer, and Sam taking the leftover pizza.

Steve plops down on his previous seat, finishing off the rest of the beer. You take a seat next to him,

"You okay?" He scoffs, shrugging.

"Seems like I'm going to die a virgin," The statement tugging at the idea you've had since he asked the painful question.

Taking a deep breath, you say,

"I'll have sex with you- I mean- only if want," Steve's eyes grew in shock- the straightforwardness surprising even yourself.

"You- you would?" Steve didn't think he could get any redder. The thought of having sex with anyone caused him enormous anxiety- and to do it with someone he sees almost daily? It left knots forming on top of each other.

"It wouldn't be weird- you can tell the guys you hooked up with a random girl. It'll be fine- but if you don't want to, it's-"

"No. I want to." He nervously looks at you.

You had moved close to him- your knee touching his thigh. A light chuckle escapes you,

"Now kiss me," Steve turns to face you, cupping your jaw.

His eyes flutter shut, and his lips press against yours. They're gentle and soft- scared to fully commit. You kiss him back- allowing your lips to fall in sync, moving together. The pace picks up when you feel his palm on your knee, roaming up the side of your thigh.

Pulling away to catch your breath, you're taken back at how well his lips move with yours.

"See, not bad at all," With the small confidence boost, Steve leans in toward your lips again.

This time, the kiss is more comfortable loose. Your instincts kick in, and you straddle his lap. Steve shifts against the cushions, not sure where to place his hands. Chuckling against his lips,

"You can touch me, don't hold back- I'll let you know I don't like something," Steve places them on your hips.

The slow roll of your hips makes his breath hitch and mouth hung open- your lips move along his jaw. The light kisses and the grind cause Steve's length to awaken, soft moans flow from him uncontrollably.

Steve's hands wandering up to the inside of your shirt and down to your waistband. Getting the hint, you pull away from his neck. You peal your shirt from your body, dropping it on the cushion next to you.

Guiding his wrists behind you, he swallows a lump in his throat and tenses up.

"Wanna take it off for me?" His eyes light up, and you chuckle at his enthusiasm.

The shakey hands and intense focus on unclasping your bra made your stomach flutter- how careful he was on not breaking it. Once it unclasped, you pull the straps off your arms. You thought his eyes were going to pop out from their sockets.

Steve's hands replace the cups, grasping them in his calloused palm. The rough and needy massages make your head fall back, and whines flow from you. Then, unexpectedly but welcomed, Steve's mouth opens- taking one breast in his mouth, harshly sucking on them.

The other hand still massages and toys with your nipple. You're unable to control your whines with the familiar ache beginning between your thighs- dampening the material of your panties. The sensation of his light nipping and cooling tongue was unlike what you've felt before- this much attention has ever been on your breasts before.

Purple and red bruises surround your nipples- your breasts now raw and sensitive.

"Has anyone ever given you head before?" You're breathless and trying to regain stability after the assault of your breasts.

Steve shakes his head,

"You want me to suck your cock, Stevie?" The sultry tone of your voice and the lazy gaze leaves him speechless; all he can manage to do is weakly nod.

In a swift motion, you climb off his lap- discarding your jeans- leaving you in your light blue lace panties. Steve removes his t-shirt- tossing it with the other clothes that lay in a pile.

You assist him with removing his pants. His bulge is very apparent through his briefs- a small splotch of precum has socked through the thin material. The bulge alone made your heartbeat faster and your mouth water.

In all honesty, it's been a while since you've had any action yourself, and by the looks of it- Steve is the biggest man you've been with.

Steve's mind is running a million miles an hour. Adrenaline is coursing through him- not giving him any time to think or process the events unfolding. Yet, the thought that he has seen a close friend hasn't fully settled in such an intimate way.

Slipping between his legs, your hands rub his outer thigh- soothing the shaking legs. Your knees are tucked underneath you, and your breasts are on full display as the res on the cushion. Steve's eyes lock on the scene in front of him, your hand's palm over his bulging. Dry humping alone could have had him cumming in his pants if you hadn't stopped rolling against him.

Releasing the throbbing shaft, your eyes widen- stunned at how large he was. He's wide and long. A moment of concern rings through you- figuring out how you'll manage to fit him all.

"What's wrong?" Worry and concern wash over him, the red flush returning to his cheeks.

Your fingers gently wrap themselves around him- your fingers are unable to touch your thumb from how wide he is. Saliva coats your mouth as you admire him.

"N-Nothing- you're just.. Stevie, you're so big," The praise causes his shaft to twitch.

While one hand stokes the top half, your lips close around his balls- sucking on the sensitive flesh. Steve can't but moan, clawing at the couch. As much as he wants to, Steve tries his hardest to keep from cumming.

He fears you've ruined all future masturbation for him- he has never managed to make himself feel as good as you are. The combo of your hand stroking him and your mouth made his legs tremble, and it difficult to breathe.

Switching gears, your hand's massage, and cups his balls while your mouth sucks on his tip- licking up all the fallen precum. You know how badly he needed to cum, so you sink further down- getting halfway down his shaft.

"Fuck, feels so good," He croaked.

Determined to take him all, you pull off- choking on a full breath. Letting all the saliva fall to the front of your tongue, you let a string of spit fall on his tip- pumping it down his length.

Taking a deep breath and relaxing your jaw, he fills your mouth. Your nose brushes his pelvis- you bob your head, gagging against him. His heart is beating a million miles an hour, and his eyes roll back with his head. Steve enters nirvana, pure bliss flooding his body.

With a quick motion, his hip thrusts- forcing his cock to touch the back of your throat. Ropes of cum shoot down your throat, you back off just enough to keep you from seriously choking.

"Y/N- Oh, shit!" His grip on the cushions almost punctures holes.

You swallow his load, making sure to not waste any. When you look up at him, his chest is rising and falling rapidly.

His eyes weakly look down at you; you're smiling wide. He reaches down and pulls you back up, bringing your lips back to meet his. Shocked that he didn't seem to care about tasting himself, you kiss back- straddling his lap.

This time, feeling his overly sensitive shaft against your cunt- that's only covered by thin fabric. Then, as your roll your hips, Steve's fingers slip past your panties- taking a hand full of your ass.

"Wanna go to my room?" Before you could even finish the sentence, Steve stands- taking your body with him.

You squeal against his lips as he walks through the door, entering your bedroom.

"Lay down," The command sounds more like a plead.

Steve obeys the orders, but not once does he take his eyes off your body. You shimmy out of your panties, revealing your perfect slick cunt. He lays back as you climb on top of him,

"Tell me what you want me to do, Stevie," A moan gets stick at the feeling of your juices coating his abdomen.

"I-I just want to feel you," He pleads, almost embarrassed at how badly he needs your cunt to swallow his cock.

"You want me to ride you? Let you play with my tits while I bounce on your cock?" He shudders at your filthy words.

Sitting back, you give his cock a few light strokes- before positioning him at your aching hole. You'd be lying to yourself if you said you weren't enjoying this- maybe even more than Steve. Ruining his innocence, being the first one to suck him off and make him cum- it was enough for you to get off alone.

A faint hiss falls past your lips and your eyes roll back- your palms flat against his chest, anchoring yourself on his chest.

"Stevie- God, you're too fucking big for me," The strokes to his ego make him feel better.

His hands help steady you, slowly guiding yourself onto him. Even with the arousal dripping down the sides of his length, you still can't get down fully. Slowly, you bounce- getting a little lower every time.

With a few times, you fully sink down. You swear you can feel him poking through your tummy. Steve's eyes squeezed shut from the overwhelming pleasure from your walls clenching around him.

"Fuck! Your pussy feels like it was made for me!" The slow pace isn't enough for him; his hips buck upward.

A cry of pleasure escapes you as he goes deeper than before- something you didn't know was possible. Your plan to ride him gets further and further away as your mind becomes foggy and your eyes struggle to stay open.

With a very thrust of his hips, he manages to graze your g-spot. The knot in the pit of your stomach tightens, and you knew you didn't have much longer till you came.

Muscling through the haze, you rock your hips with every thrust. Neither of you bothers to bite back moans and silence the small whimpers- you let them fly, filling the room with the sinful noises.

"Shit, Steve- I'm gonna fucking cum," You grit your teeth, feeling your legs fall numb and your walls pulsate around you.

The lower half of your body heat up, and your fingers dig into Steve's chest. He hisses and rams into your sopping cunt, this time- it sends you hurdling into your climax. Pathetic moans and helpless whines flow from you, unable to form a clear thought.

Steve continues to thrust into you, but it isn't long before he holds your hips against his- shooting his load inside your walls.

"Fuck! Y/N!" Your pussy clenches around him, milking his cock of all his cum.

There is a moment neither of you moves, both too sensitive. The both of you look at each other, both panting- but he cracks a smile. The realization set in that you're stuffed full of your friend's cock.

Steve chuckles, and you both start laughing. Sliding off of him, you're careful not to let any cum drip out of you. The mattress cools your warm body as you lay next to Steve.

"That's what third base feels like, Stevie." You chuckle into his chest as he wraps his arm around your shoulder.

"We just had sex-" Steve kisses your forehead.

"Yes, we did- we should do it again." You place a quick kiss on the side of his chest.

taglist: @hunter-of-baker-street @ifeelloved @freshluiana @midnightf

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infernal-fire · 4 years ago

Text

suburban dream

summary: how do you wake up from a nightmare? is it a nightmare if you’ve been asleep the whole time?

major warnings: noncon/dubcon smut, stalking, mention of pregnancy, some cum play (check the prompts for indications of other warnings)

a/n: this is for @iraot’s 1.1k writing challenge. BIG congrats on 1.1k (i cannot explain how glad i am that others get to read your amazing work) and another BIG thank you for hosting this challenge.

Here are the results of my wheel spins:

Kink wheel: daddy kink, somnophilia, breeding kink Character wheel: Jake Jensen Situation wheel: Neighbours AU

You let out a breath of relief as you dropped the last brown box into the corner of the room. How you managed to own this much stuff, you’d never know. Glanced around the living room, it was difficult to decide where to begin. After much contemplation, you huffed and picked up the pizza catalogue, deciding to call it a day.

It was unbearable to leave the house in the mess that it was. On the other hand, your right hip wailed in agony every time you bent down. Lacking the much-needed support of friends or family, you had no option but to suck it up and unpack… but that can wait till tomorrow.

Fishing out just the necessities for the night, you climbed up the stairs and headed into the master bedroom. Massive house for one person, you noted. You did insist that an apartment would suffice but Tony was a stickler for rules.

All Stark employees have to be residents of a Stark-Jensen neighbourhood.

Before getting the job, you weren’t even aware that “Stark-Jensen” neighbourhoods were a thing; it was a term coined by the tech company itself, referring to neighbourhoods that are protected by Stark-Jensen technology. The crime rate in these neighbourhoods are always startlingly low, the odd criminal or two being from inside the community itself. All things considered, how could you say no to free housing?

Sure, the security measures assured that you never had to worry, but it also made you wonder why they were there in the first place. This place was as secure as the Stark Tower; why? You tried not to ask too many questions, afraid of getting on Tony’s bad side. Besides, it isn’t characteristic of him to give you a straight answer anyway.

Life is good, your most harrowing concern at the moment being that your new place had no curtains. It had been a long time since things were calm and you were just recognizing that your days had been free of storms for some time now. Counting your blessings for the second time that night, you stepped into the shower and reminded yourself of all the things to be grateful for.

To say you were in a good mood was an understatement. You finished your night routine right as the pizza was delivered and excitedly skipped down. No one told you how fun living alone was but they didn’t need to - you quickly found that independence is a glorious necessity in everyone’s life.

Jake stood bewildered at your person throwing the door open. He gripped the pizza box tight to ensure he didn’t drop it and continued to look at you like you had grown a third head. He never was very good with his words, but your beauty truly inhibited his ability to think.

“Hi?” you asked.

“Hey, I-I’m your neighbour, Jake. Saw that you were moving in and I came to ask if you need any help.”

“Oh,” you contemplated, looking past him. “Where’s the pizza person?”

“I paid for it. Housewarming gift?” he said like a question and handed it over.

You received the warm box and waited for him to say something as he fiddled with his hands. His smile looks so familiar but you couldn’t place your finger on it.

“So…Do you need help?” He looked up right at the end. You grinned at how shy he was.

“I would really appreciate the help tomorrow,” you replied casually.

“Oh, so… I’ll come by tomorrow morning?” He looked hopeful, as if you were the one handing him the olive branch. You took a once-over of his build, sure that he would come handy when your hip gives up again and nodded in response.

He nodded back slowly and turned around to leave, but seeing him at your doorstep felt eerily similar to a puppy left out in the rain.

“I don’t think I can finish this pizza alone,” you called out. He turned around, a glint of happiness apparent in the shine of his eyes.

“Do you have time to help me with this right now?” It was your turn to look hopeful and you really hoped this cutie took the bait.

He did.

You couldn’t ignore the nagging at the back of your head that you had seen him somewhere. You also couldn’t dismiss the fact that dinner together was just a little awkward. The conversation started off with small talk, and it didn’t take a genius to tell that neither of you enjoyed it. Luckily, it shifted to talks about the neighbourhood and your old job. After that, the words flowed easily, the two of you bonding like you had known each other forever. Although it was smooth sailing, you couldn’t help but wonder how he knows so much about the neighbourhood security measures. When he mentioned that he had lived there for about 6 years, you chalked it up to a simple accumulation of knowledge he must’ve acquired from being around for so long.

“So everyone who lives around here works for Stark-Jensen, right?” you questioned, trailing your finger on the rim of your second wine glass for the night.

“Yeah, for the most part. Though it’s hard to tell who works for who.”

You chuckled in agreement.

“What is it with that? I mean, I work for Stark, and my colleagues, too… but exclusively for Stark. Jensen does exist right?”

“Yeah,” he snickered, “He does. Stark makes the tech and Jensen does the coding.”

“So they’re a two-man team, but Tony’s the face of the company? Seems sort of unfair,” you muttered, quirking your brow a little.

Jake smiled at your comment, glanced at his hands and looked back up at you.

“Maybe he wants it to be that way.” He nudged his glasses up and took a little sip of his wine while peering at you.

You cocked your head to the side and considered the information. Your head was hazy and you needed to stop drinking; alcohol and cute guys are not a good mix.

“Wait.” You squinted at him.

“Does that mean you’re a Stark-Jensen employee?”

He let out a chortle and took your glass from you.

“Hey, hey I want that back!” you whined, not even caring that you’re embarrassing yourself.

“I think that’s enough for today.” He gently helped you up, waiting for you to move.

“I can usually handle my liquor,” you promised, clinging onto his broad form for support.

He started moving you up to your lone mattress in the corner of your room, softly laying you down.

“Jake,” you caught his arm. “You didn’t answer the question. Do you work for Stark-Jensen?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

You pouted at his answer, still gripping his wrist like you owned him. He tenderly pried your fingers off him and placed them on your belly.

“See you tomorrow,” he mumbled as he left your room. You drifted asleep easily, blissfully unaware of how you’d never be able to live down the humiliation of your drunken stupor.

The next day, you hoped Jake wouldn’t show up. It would save you from the burning heat that crept up your neck every time you recalled the night before.

Unfortunately, Jake had found it way too amusing an opportunity to tease you, showing up at your doorstep at 10 AM on the dot.

The day went on without a hitch, the conversation picking up easily from where you left off. Jake found it endearing when you groaned at the mention of your state, only after three glasses of wine. The question of his employment never crossed your mind again, both of you having way too much fun unpacking. You felt ten times better knowing that your neighbour was a loveable, single, hunky nerd; it made the stress of settling in that much better.

Of course, like all good things, the weekend came to an end. Monday morning, you eagerly prepped yourself for a new week at the office. Being Tony’s right hand took five rounds of interviews as well as background checks into every living relative you had. After the turbulent hiring process, you found that the job was not any easier. Luckily, the move had you feeling more thankful about being in sync with all the Stark tech; with FRIDAY managing your house and personal appointments, it was easier to keep track of Tony’s day.

You stepped out of the house and shielded your eyes from the beautiful day. Just then, your lovely new friend stepped onto his porch wearing casual attire.

“Have fun at work!” he called after you.

“Thanks! Are you going to work?”

“Yes, I am.” You took in his outfit one more time, chuckling as you wondered what job would pay enough to live here while dressed in sweats.

“Well, in case I don’t see ya’... Good afternoon, good evening and good night!” you exclaim loudly.

Jake giggled like a schoolboy and waved goodbye before ducking into his car.

Tony’s 10 AM meeting has been pushed to 11 AM, Miss L/N.

“No, no, that won’t do! He has another meeting at 12 PM, the timing will clash. FRIDAY, who was he supposed to meet at 10 AM?”

Speaking to the AI felt more like talking to yourself, but with time, you assured yourself that it would look as cool as Stark when handling your things.

He’s meeting Mr Jensen, the co-founder of Stark-Jensen. I believe you have not met him yet.

“Yeah, I haven’t. Could you call him for me, FRIDAY?”

Sorry Miss L/N, Mr Jensen’s phone is switched off. He has already notified Tony of the change in plans.

“What an asshole,” you grumbled.

On the contrary, I think you would like Mr Jensen, Miss L/N.

“You can just call me Y/N, FRIDAY. Oh, and, send out a notification to all of today’s meeting hosts and tell them to push it by one hour. If they complain, send them my number to take up any problems they have.”

It’ll be done by the time you reach your office.

“Thank you,” you smiled and pulled into your parking spot, right beside Tony’s.

It was hard to imagine what would’ve happened today if Tony didn’t give you access to FRIDAY. Calling each meeting host and personally asking them to push their meetings seemed like a tedious and mind-bending task. And frankly, you didn’t ever look forward to talking to Karen’s. But now, you would never have to know; FRIDAY was an absolute godsend.

You stepped onto the other side of security clearance just as the clock struck 9 AM. Strutting up to your office, you made a mental checklist of everything you need to do during the day. Usually, Tony didn’t require you to sit in for his meetings. He has a different set of assistants for note-taking purposes.

Too consumed by your thoughts, you didn’t notice the large picture of Jake and Tony sitting side by side on the wall beside the elevators. You also didn’t notice Jake’s smirk as he passed by you with ease. He would’ve stopped to say hi, but he knew that you didn’t realize who he was yet. Now he just had to figure out a way to get you to show up to his and Tony’s meeting and give you the heart attack of a lifetime.

Beep, beep.

The Stark-watch buzzed on your wrist, letting you know that Tony was calling for you. You had barely even stepped into the elevator and he was already whining like a baby.

You shook your head and stepped into the doorframe of his lab.

“Come here!” his voice called from the far end of a lab. Your suspicions of him being under the work table were confirmed when he wheeled out on his back and handed you a wrench.

“Do me a favour. Tighten this for me?”

He handed you the arm of an Iron Man suit, what you assumed was his latest mark. He already lived at the lab as it was, you wondered how he ever had time for Pepper.

“Come on, put your arm into it L/N! You know what, you’re distracted, give it here.”

“Did you call me here to tighten your screws?” You shifted your weight onto one leg and crossed your arms. It was sassy of you, but Tony’s assistant needs to have some backbone, famously said by Rhodey.

“Well, you know me, screws always loose.” He knocked on his head and chuckled at his own joke. You sighed and turned to walk out.

“I need you to sit in for my 11 o’clock. And cancel everything else today.”

You gasped and turned again, marching to where he was lying down.

“Tony Stark, you have no regard for anyone’s time! I already pushed everything back by one hour because of your buddy Jensen and now you’re asking me to cancel everything?”

“I know, and I agree. I wish I could go to the mind-numbing meetings with corporate clowns, but I want to show you and Jensen something cool.”

He stopped fiddling with his toy just long enough to glance at you.

You sighed and called for FRIDAY, groaning for the umpteenth time since that morning. Why were you acting like this was the first time he’s done this? It was probably your lack of energy from moving. You couldn’t wait to get home and maybe call Jake over for dinner. Now that you considered this possibility, time seemed to pass slower, but at least there was something worthwhile to look forward to.

When 10:55 rolled around, you were sitting in Tony’s lab, patiently waiting as Tony set up his latest invention for demonstration.

“Where’s your buddy?” you asked, checking your watch for the time again.

“On his way,” he replied without turning away from his work.

He paused and took a step back to admire his work before facing you.

“You haven’t met Jake, have you?”

“Jake?”

Right on cue, Jake walked through the doors of the labs and you whipped around to find your grinning friend.

“Howdy neighbour,” Jake sneered.

“Oh, right. You live beside each other,” Tony muttered as he gathered some more things from his desk.

You shamelessly inhaled the pinewood and vanilla-infused scent of Jake as he sat down beside you. To have him so close to you was a dangerous thing, your cunt unknowingly clenching every time he moved his biceps.

“Stop making heart-eyes at him.”

You threw whatever was in your hand at Tony’s head, and it happened to be a pen. It narrowly missed as he ducked and doubled over in laughter at your embarrassment. The bastard took sick pleasure in it so he often made it a point to humiliate you, but it usually wasn’t in front of the co-CEO of the world’s largest tech company.

The rest of your time in that lab went on without any heart attacks - as far as anyone knew, the slick between your thighs doesn’t account for a ‘heart attack’, per se. You shouldn’t even be thinking about Jake like that. He was technically your boss too.

Tony dismissed you at lunch and told you to take the rest of the day off, much to your delight. You slid into your car and dropped your head onto the steering wheel.

You had barely moved into the neighbourhood and you’re already finding ways to be fired.

~Time skip~

You sighed and laid back in the over-the-top maternity chair Jake got you for feeding. Your baby gurgled as curled his little fingers into his palm before knocking on your breast once. With a light chuckle, you cooed as the little bundle began falling asleep.

This was the only place in the house that had a sliver of sunlight gracing the inside of the house.

You could have outdoor privileges if you didn’t pull that little stunt.

Could you really blame yourself for trying to leave? How were you to know that it’s impossible to leave a Stark-Jensen neighbourhood?

Because it says “Stark-Jensen” in the name, you dumbass.

Fair enough.

You lost count of how many times you sigh on the daily, instead opting to count the number of times you’re able to hold off a mental breakdown. Today, you got the rare privilege of privacy, with Jake being gone to another one of Stark’s presentation.

You reminisced about the last time you sat in Tony’s lab and watched him explain his latest creation. Little did you know that the first time you sat with Jake in there would also be the last time you ever sat in there.

You gently placed the Jim in the cradle. Again, one of the many over-the-top investments made by Jake to ensure the baby got state-of-the-art care. The way Jensen had made you sit beside him as he put the contraption together almost had you lurching. But you didn’t want to wake the baby. The horridness of the memories cannot outweigh your will to keep Jimmy from crying.

“Look at it!”, Jake excitedly spun the box to show you. It must’ve cost an unreasonable amount of money - not that he couldn’t spare to spend the coin, but the purchase confirmed your worst suspicions; he was serious about this all.

Your eyes, puffy from the days of crying, were barely open. Yet you still nodded, figuring that if you put up with his enthusiasm now, he’ll let you go to sleep without raping you like he did every night.

Anyway, you were wrong.

When did everything go so wrong?; How?

You picked up your phone. Your eyes flickered between the only two contacts saved on it. Jake made sure you couldn’t do anything except call him or Tony.

You missed your ex-boss (who was always more of a friend to you). But, it was obvious that calling him wasn’t worth it and would rarely yield any fruitful conversation. Tony always spoke as if he were walking on glass around you and your words were always monitored and censored by Jake. It didn’t take long to figure that one out.

“I don’t know what happened, Tony, she’s just unhinged,” Jake explained over the phone. In the background, you struggled against the bonds that held you to his bedframe. You sobbed harder into your gag and tried to scream ‘help’. All that came out was a shriek.

“You hear her? She’s completely unfit to come into work… What happened? I don’t know man… She’s breaking down under all the stress. A few days of rest might do the trick. No, no, you don’t have to come down. I’ll take care of it.”

He ended the call and you went limp, pausing your hysteria. He smiled at you as if he hadn’t kidnapped you. As if he hadn’t just made Tony believe that you were off your rockers. As if he hadn’t just fucked you five times over the span of 48 hours.

He had planned every step of your entrapment to the letter and it was all going according to his plan.

You put your phone facedown on the dining table and walked back upstairs to your room. His room. Your room, too.

Never, you internally screamed.

Well, it’s too late to debate it.

You stood at the foot of your bed and traced the footboard. He took you countless amount of times on this bed and every instance held some clue that he was working up to what was happening now. You could see that now - but what was the point now?

You giggled as Jake pushed you onto his bed. Who knew this golden retriever could be so rough?

“Shhshshshhh” you slurred and Jake laughed in response.

“Tony’s not here, baby,” he replied, climbing on top of you.

“We’re not gonna get fired?”

“He can’t fire me, sweetheart.”

“Oh… yeah.” You frowned, remembering that your risqué relationship was only risky for you.

In your drunken haze, you didn’t realize Jake was rubbing his bulbous tip against your folds, gathering slick.

“Condom?”

“Don’t have,” Jake lied.

“Oh,” you hesitated.

“It’ll feel so good, baby.” He nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck and sunk in before you had the chance to protest.

“Jakeeee,” you whined. Writhing under his grasp, you shook your head side-to-side as he vigorously fucked into you.

He abruptly stopped and pulled out. “What have I said about saying my name?”

“I’m sorry, daddy,” you sheepishly say.

“That’s right, slut. You’re gonna make me a daddy, right?” He pushed back in.

“Yeah, you are. Gonna make me a daddy, so call me daddy.”

The implication of his words flew right over your head in your drunken haze and blank mind. Any ounce of sense that you had left was being fucked out by his thick length.

“Gonna blow my load. Fill you tight cunt, not gonna last long.”

His words were broken with loud moans. He couldn’t think straight with your warm, wet pussy inviting him in over and over.

As you shook from an overwhelming orgasm, your pussy involuntarily clenched, causing Jake to lose any last bit of restraint he was holding onto. He pushed in as far as he could go as you flailed around. He pinned your arms down and pressed his mouth into yours, delivering a hot and heavy kiss that had you panting.

He pulled out, but the string of cum that followed made you blanch. You never were one for cum play. Still, you didn’t protest when Jake pushed everything back in with two fingers.

“Gotta’ make sure you’re full baby.”

You shake your head now, but again, what’s the point? It’s all done and dusted. Though, you should give yourself some credit. Even if you had realized earlier, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He would’ve realized that you knew before you could’ve even thought about escaping.

As you drifted asleep, you adjusted the volume of the baby monitor one last time and slumped into the fluffy pillows.

How do you wake up from dreams? Was it by pinching yourself? You couldn’t wake up from the nightmare that was your reality when you pinched yourself. You doubted that would work right now. You couldn’t recall how to open your eyes. Instead, you whimpered in your sleep, reliving the moment Jake finally revealed his ulterior motive

“You did what?” Jake was seething, but the only indication of it was his clenching jaw and red face. His tone was the perfect embodiment of the calm before a storm.

“I know you aren’t happy… but Jake, you- you’re always talking about babies and a family. It was so overwhelming and I… I-I…” You were shivering now, unable to withstand the heat of his glare. You had never been on the receiving end of his anger. Hell, you had never even seen him angry.

“I didn’t have an abortion, Jake, for god’s sake stop looking at me like a killed a baby! Plan B is not a crime. I’m only even bringing this up because I started on birth control anyway. Plan B every time we have sex is just not practical or feasible.”

At this point, you could’ve been speaking to a wall. Jake still hadn’t said anything and you were beginning to wonder if he had even been listening.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice,” he whispered, at last.

“What?”

“I watch you do everything, I can’t believe I didn’t know about the Plan B.”

“What… What are you saying?”

“I said,” Jake stood up, “I’ve basically been watching you 24/7. And I don’t know how I didn’t notice this.”

“What do you mean watching me?” Tears in your waterline were threatening to blur your vision but you blinked furiously in an attempt to keep looking Jake in the eyes.

“You think FRIDAY works for you?”

Jake leisurely cracked each knuckle and took a step towards you. You took one back.

“Oh, now, don’t be like that.”

You woke from your nightmare that was the boiling pot and jumped straight into the fire. Jake was already moving in and out of your channel, moaning about how he missed you too much.

You tried to adjust yourself but he caught your arms and pulled out just long enough to flip you onto your stomach.

When he pushed back in, the hopelessness of your life manifested as tears; it happens every once in a while.

Today, you had a new record: you were able to hold off a total of 7 breakdowns.

But, of course, that was right before he pinched you awake every time.

Masterlist

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libraford · 4 years ago

Text

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

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

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

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

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

You can set the bar so very low and yet…

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

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

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

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

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

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

We worked hard. And hard. And hard.

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

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

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

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

"What's in the-"

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

"What's happening," I asked Blue.

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

"Blue… what does that MEAN?"

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

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

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

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

Four.

Tiny.

KITTENS!

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

They immediately started climbing up my arm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sounds great, right?

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

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

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

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

And you can't just tape the box shut.

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

Mood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blue was worried about her children. She resigned.

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

And then there was one.

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

We are the Skeleton Crew.

We once were seven but now are two

We don't know what to do

So we just work, work, work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, then."

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

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

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

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

"I'll say."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they wanted to take that away from us.

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

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

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

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

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

Mornings were nightmares, but we adapted.

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

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

But I powered through. I adapted.

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

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

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

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

But we adapted. We created a rhythm.

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

Okay, so before I forget:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I powered through. I adapted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I really should have beaten them up.

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

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

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

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

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

So they paid her hourly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As we're out the door, I noticed a man at the neighboring house. He raised his hand in greeting, but lowered it in confusion.

"Grandpa, is it alright if I get him to come help while you bring the car around?"

The best she could do was nod.

"Yeah, sorry, to bug you but can I ask for a little help here?" He looks at what we're doing and drops his trash can lid to come help. "Yeah, just take that end there and we're gonna ease him into the car when she comes around."

He nodded, took the ends, and we tucked a very confused Jake into the back seat. I thanked the neighbor, Grandpa sped off, and I went back to work feeling extremely odd about it.

That was the first time that I'd ever met the dog: on his way to be put down.

I know it seems weird to tell that story, but there's a reason. Part of it is symbolic. Part of it has to do with kittens. But we're not there just yet.

So now it's February and it is crunch time for Valentine’s Day. We have no earthly idea what this holiday is going to look like because past experiences have us anticipating a large number of walk ins, but state regulations have put a limit of six customers inside the store at any one time. We were never given any… instructions on how to enforce that rule, so we just kind of vaguely set out roles for who has to be the bouncer at the flower shop.

But before all of that, we had to make 275 two-dozen red rose arrangements in bowls. Based on our sales last year and general growth, we were expecting something close to five hundred deliveries on our busiest day. If I wasn't making them, I was counting them. And I was counting, and I was counting, and I was counting… every hour, just like it was at Christmas. We used up every single red rose in the place and came up short.

To which we were scolded: we must have used the roses they sent us for other orders because there was no way the error could have been on their end! Their inventory was impervious to mistakes. Somewhere between the warehouse and our store, twenty-five packs of roses went missing! And why is it only our store that has these problems? Clearly it must be our fault- a store full of thieves and liars and delinquents.

They ended up sending more just because… you know… they care. I guess.

And every hour, they needed a number of something and I counted, and counted and counted…

I think it was February 8 that I started crying every day. When I slept I was stiff as a board because I made so many mistakes throughout the day that the idea of coming to work the next day just to make more mistakes made me lock up entirely. There was no way to relax. There was no winding down from a hard day of work because my body could not move anymore.

I felt like I was made of splintering wood.

I had a dream around this time that I quit my job. I was so happy. I thought about it almost every hour.

So I stayed out of the way at work, picking up cleaning projects because at least there I could be useful and it was dark enough in the cooler that if I started crying no one had to see it.

That cooler was so clean. I wouldn't recommend eating off of it because I used an entire bottle of bleach to clean the floor.

If we're not counting the constant barrage of demands from corporate to count, count, count; Valentine’s Day was worryingly uneventful. Previous holidays were chaotic: filling the requests of the most desperate and clueless men with deep pockets and expensive tastes. Corralling the temporary drivers and make sure no one gets into any crashes or… uh...tries to sell unregulated merchandise from their trunks. Trying to decide what "Malibu Barbie Pink" meant for that one customer who comes in every six months and orders it but has rejected every color pink on the spectrum that our store has ever offered.

On this one… nothing important happened.

We were… slow.

Grandpa started sending people home early because there weren't many orders. We ran out of projects to do.

Sounds great, right?

...heh…

Corporate would like to know why our store is under projected sales by over 200, as if we have any say in how many people buy from us. Like we personally called all our typical customer base and told them not to come to this store. "Yes, hello Mrs. Penderghast? I'm sorry we can't fill your Valentine's Day order this year because we suck balls and don't want your business. Have a nice weekend. Say hi to the grandkids for me."

I don't… fucking KNOW! I don't work in PR! I'd ask the people in that department if they know what happened but… that's the owners. So who really is the fuckup here? Not me, that's for fucking certain! I cleaned the cooler. That's all I did all weekend was clean the Gods damned cooler because there wasn't enough work to go around so I made work for myself.

And then: "Why are the counts off," asked Mt. Rushmore. See, we called them that because between the owners, Puppet, and the head designer we had four white men looking down at us while we did all the work and built their success on the backs of their forefathers. Well… to me it was anyway. To everyone else it was four dudes that looked down on you.

"Why are the counts off?"

Oh, the COUNTS are off? Well, let me just drop everything I'm doing right now and count them for the third time in the past hour because that takes fucking priority.

"There's 95 specials missing from your inventory. Where are they?"

...okay, 95 is a lot. But it was also kind of hard to know how they were 'missing' when we'd sold all of the 275 that we made. How can they be missing if we sold them.

"We need to know where they are."

We don't know where they are. Because we sold all of them. The math didn't add up.

But they hounded us about it like we'd stolen them and resold them on the street corner. Which, to their defense, had happened once (but Sugar stopped doing that when her corner was taken over by the woman who accused Jay of being a demon.) But 95 is a huge number, and these arrangements were a foot wide and two feet tall. Someone would have noticed if a 100x200 foot square opened up in the cooler.

We literally could not know what the fuck they were talking about.

And the truth was extremely stupid: those 95 pieces were redeliveries. When someone has an issue with their order, like it didn't come or it was left out in the snow and got damaged or… someone put the name of their ex on the card instead of their wife… we send a replacement. But depending on who took the phone call, a person might use the wrong code and put it in for 'redeliver' instead- which counts it as another order.

We weren't missing 95 arrangements. We had 95 redeliveries. They hounded us about inventory for two days over a clerical error.

I decided I'd had it. We were going on a full week of crying every time I had a moment alone. They had made us feel like everything that went wrong was our fault: from low turnout to high turnover, missed deliveries and trashed sprays, lost accounts and new grievances…

But did they ever say a Gods damned thing about how hard we worked? How good we were? About how great a team we were under pressure? We once pulled together an entire wedding in fifteen minutes. My ass carried this store through the pandemic. I have done… so much.

So fucking much.

And yet it's our fault.

I had been reasoning with myself that I would stick around for the aftermath when Grandpa was eventually fired: we'd all felt it was coming. But I got that little bit of cash and all my joints were screaming and every time we got negative feedback a part of me died.

The following Tuesday had seen a massive snowstorm. Things that weren't already closed due to the pandemic were closed due to weather.

But we still had to be there. Because someone had to be there to make all the funeral pieces.

Because there wouldn't be a truck the next day, which meant that all of the funeral pieces that we'd sent to the headquarters needed to be made in-house. Which, once again, could have been avoided if we had kept the funeral orders in-house to begin with.

I waited until everyone had cleared out before I said it.

"Grandpa, I have to quit."

I don't think anyone ever looked so disappointed in me in my life.

"Why?"

"The way they treat people here is terrible and I can't see myself doing another Mother's Day for this company. They're so… mean! And for no damn reason! I have cried every day for the past week because I see the way they treat you and I'm… I'm tired."

I thought she was going to cry, but she nodded. "I can't stop you," she said. "I shouldn't stop you. If it's affecting your mental health like this, I'll miss you but its for the best. You know they'll want a written notice."

"And you know I'll tell them the truth," I said.

"...it's not me, is it?"

"If I worked for just you and those fuckers were out of the picture, I would stay. And you can count on me to tell them that."

"Any flower shop you apply to would be lucky to have you."

So I drafted up a resignation letter telling them exactly how I feel: that the way they run this company was asinine and they treated their employees like garbage. They received it on Thursday. Everyone at the shop knew by then. They were upset…

...but they understood.

Puppet did not understand. He emailed Grandpa asking her what she's doing that her people keep leaving.

He didn't see it. He didn't see that he was part of the problem. It always had to be someone else's fault. I explicitly said in my letter whose fault it was and he still didn't take any responsibility.

But suddenly I'm one of their best designers, and he begged me to reconsider, take some time off to think about it. They desperately wanted me to stay and they were willing to bargain, I just needed demands.

No one's ever… begged me before. I don't know if I like that.

This is when it dawned on me that I was next in line. It all made sense now: training me to route, making me do all the extra work, and now they want me to stay?

They were planning on getting rid of Grandpa and promoting me to manager. In a perfect world where Grandpa resigns willingly and I’m promoted on my merits as a designer and the company wasn’t very quickly circling the drain, I would be excited. But I wasn’t. I was frightened. I watched them take a confident, extremely talented woman and turn her into the whipping boy of the flower shop. And if I were in her position, I would have quit. But I don’t have the strength to stand up to the people that are signing my paycheck.

Why… am I at a place where the idea of moving upward makes me more scared than excited?

Flattering, but no. I've seen how you treat your people. My demands are to treat them better.

It was the longest week for me: making lists of pros and cons. I had made a lot of friends there and there's stuff that I will never forget. But the fact that the only people who didn't understand why I was leaving were the people who had the most to lose really hit me in the knees. I could tell them every day for the rest of their lives why they suck and it wouldn't matter because nothing was ever their fault.

And at 7:00 on Friday, I turned in my key.

I didn't have a plan, I didn't have anything lined up. This was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make and I was just kind of… throwing myself at it.

I don't do that. I always have a plan. I look into every possible scenario and I try to make the smart choice. And this time…

I didn't.

It was probably stupid.

But I slept for 12 hours the next night and I could feel my bones settling into their rightful places. I didn't realize how many health problems were caused by standing for 9 hours a day, 11 days a week until I was home all the time to notice them changing. I will always have a limp from trying to pretend I don't have a limp. I'm pretty sure that ulcer is chronic. But my back isn't seizing up and I don't cry every day anymore.

That's something, I think.

About a week after my departure, I got a text from Grandpa that said:

"Hey guess what."

"What," I replied.

The next text was a picture of a week's old seal-point kitten with terminal eye-goo, wrapped in a towel.

"Pop-eye!?"

"I'm keeping this one," she said. The strays had dropped a litter of identical baby kittens by her pond. Two years later, with Jake put down, she could finally have Pop-eye, even if it was version 2.0.

The next text was a few days later. "Puppet fired me."

"What!? Why?"

"Too many accidents, too high turnaround. The new people suck, he says no one wants to work with me."

"Are you okay? How are you doing?"

"I'm okay." She paused and the loading screen did its little dot dance. "I'm playing with my kitten."

#cw #pet death #death #workers rights violations #if you want to know everything #this is everything

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