#the box was a year and a half past expired

[a-leg-without-fear]

adventure in LegLand today

[r-f-m-writes]

A Lark In a Hollow Chapter Three

Lark knew how to make adults like her. 

            She knew how to make herself clean, presentable and sweet seeming with two long brown plaits laid down each shoulder, a pink tee shirt and raggedy denim shorts that stopped just past the sharp points of her knees. She understood the different ways to speak to men and women, how she should present to strangers on the bus or her teachers at school.

            Adults like girls who speak softly and only when they’re spoken to. Adults like girls who address them properly and look them in the eyes. Adults like girls who behave like tiny grown ups, tiny women.

               Adults love little girls with good manners. 

              Mrs. Parker used to go on and on about it, pinching Lark’s cheeks and cooing at her as she dolloped another heaping scoop of mashed potatoes onto the girl’s plate. “You see how Lark finishes everything she’s given, Missy? She’s a good girl - good girl’s get ice cream for dessert."

              Dinner at the Parker house had been a staple of Lark’s routine before. After school or on the weekends Missy would ask her randomly, mumbling the invite to her phone more than to Lark, blue eyes splitting focus between whatever was on screen and her friend sitting in the swing opposite.

              Lark always said yes. Missy’s dad would pick them up within the hour in his red Mercedes, and Mrs. Parker would be at the door to greet them, hair perfect, grinning with teeth whiter than the pearls around her neck. 

              The family were rich and strange in a harmless sort of way. Lark had been friends with their daughter for years - but she never cared for her much. Missy was the sort of despondent, rude girl that Lark had mostly seen stereotyped in movies and books; Veruca Salt or Nellie Oleson. 

              She was spoiled, pretty, and frantically, crushingly alone . 

              Lark pounced on her loneliness quicker than a starving street cat to a plump mouse. She had held it, dripping wet and half dead, between her teeth since their first conversation on the playground swings as elven year olds, because she needed Missy’s family as badly as Missy needed her friendship. 

             Lark’s life had depended on it. On the dinners Mrs. Parker fed her. On the spontaneous sleepovers that let Lark rest without the fear of something happening while she slept.

             Dad overdosing. Dad wandering off into the night when he was high. A stranger barging into the apartment and hurting them because the lock on the door was broken and the chair she jammed up under its knob every night would only do so much. 

             Mrs. Parker was sweet and erratic. Mr. Parker was impassive and utterly indifferent to Lark. He didn’t speak to her and he didn’t stare at her the way other men did - low and hungry.

            Not like the man who owned the convenience store two blocks down from the apartments. He had stared at her the most of any of them, constant and starved, eyes carving into her like a physical thing, marking the tops of her shoulders and the back of her thighs.

           Lark wasn’t oblivious, she couldn’t be, it was dangerous not to know how men saw her, what they would try to do if she got close enough.

           Lark would never have allowed the clerk to touch, but she let him look for the steep price of ten dollars on weekends and sometimes after school.

            As a minor, it was illegal for her to work stocking shelves or manning the till - forget hauling huge boxes of beer from forklifts into the back of the store like she did on most Saturday afternoons or being responsible for throwing away expired food.

           He knew having her work there was as wrong as him trying to steal glances up her skirt, Lark knew that if she went to the police her ‘boss’ would be in jail before she could say boo. 

           She might have mentioned it to him one muggy afternoon when he tried to cut her pay, and then again a week later when she decided her work was worth fifteen dollars an hour, not ten. 

           Lark knew how to make adults like her, but more than that, she knew how to make them do what she wanted, leading them around by the tether of her will without them ever noticing. 

           When Mr. Hollow pulled up to a sprawling wood log cabin carved into wild, bright green mountainside, a scatter of deer rushing away from its front porch at the sound of the engine, Lark prayed she could make him like her, too. 

            Because there wasn’t another house for miles and the closest town was two hours away by car.

           Her heart was in her throat when he climbed out of the truck and walked around to the passenger side, pulling open the door and holding out a hand for her as she lowered herself down on shaky legs. 

           If Christopher Hollow decided he didn’t like Lark, if he decided that he wanted to take the lock off her bedroom door, or watch the backs of her thighs all low and hungry - if he decided she wasn’t worth liking;

            There wouldn't be anyone to save her if she screamed.  

[derfpossessions]

Rented You Out - Part 5

Previously…

Denholm and Markus were on their way to their client when they discovered a bodysuit of a man who disappeared a year ago. They decided to keep the suit and see what happened to the man and how he ended up being a lifeless suit in a box from a strange janitor.

—————

“So, what are we gonna do with him?” Markus said.

“I think I should wear him.” Denholm said.

“What?? But.. that wouldn’t make sense.. A suit cannot wear another one! You might risk yourself getting hurt!”

“But I’m not fully a suit! I want to live this man’s life to give it proper closure!” Denholm argued and grabbed the suit’s legs.

“Well.. here goes nothing.” He starts putting on the suit by opening the back zipper. There, the deflated biceps of the guy became chiseled, the veins in his arms bulged out, and the legs became more bolder. As he puts on the mask, his chest started puffing out, and the perfect jawline appeared out of the face.

Sweating, he pants and turns around to Markus, and Markus was in awe.

“Did it.. did it worked?” Denholm said in a new sexy Vietnamese accent.

“Damn your voice… it’s so baritone and suave!!” Markus’ sex drive was driving him insane.

“Well he is ripped. I’m sure he spent a lot of time building this perfect bod.” Denholm said as he looked at himself in the mirror. His now black hair, brown eyes, piercings and earrings, and tattoos gleamed out.

“Ok then, you do what you gonna do to that body, I’ll just take over your student council duties for today.” Markus said as he left.

“What’s this?” Denholm noticed Markus dropped a bag with panties in it.

“But I thought he was gay…” He added while looking confused.

Denholm scourged through the guy’s memories to see what his past life had looked like. His name was Vince Long, a Vietnamese-American who was born from a wealthy family, and an alumni from the same high school as him. Vince was a top-tier student with straight-As, and to top it off, he had a hot girlfriend. They were the perfect couple, and the happiest one, until Vince suddenly disappeared.

One night after their 2nd year anniversary, Vince and his girlfriend Aurora left the restaurant at night to head home, when suddenly a white van appeared from the dark and took Vince and Aurora in. To her surprise, Aurora was spared by the men and left alone, she was left scarred and in pain to this day.

As for what happened with Vince next, Denholm couldn’t dig into any more memories, as the load must have stopped once he was turned into a full bodysuit.

“Could Aurora been also spared and left as a half-bodysuit like me?”, Denholm questioned as he looked through the pictures in Vince’s home.

It’s been a year since Vince’s disappearance , and his flat has been maintained by his family’s staff in honor of him. Denholm puts down his bag on Vince’s bed and looks in the mirror.

“You know what… maybe I should have a little bit of fun first”, Denholm says as he takes off his shirt and starts squeezing Vince’s hardening cock.

“Oohh… haven’t tried this in a while to be honest..” Denholm whispers as Vince’s sexy deep tones come out of his mouth.

“Ahh yes.. I’m Vince the engineer.. come here baby.. the fuckboy’s gonna unleash all his cum to you..” Denholm was shocked that even the way he speaks resembled very closely to Vince’s. The months long abandoned bedroom of Vince has been blessed not by holy water, but with his fresh loaded cum that hasn’t been released since 2022. Denholm lies down in bed in satisfaction as he tastes Vince’s long-expired cum.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door. Denholm got dressed and answered it, and to his surprise, it was Vince’s parents, Mr and Mrs Long waiting for him. They held tight his son while they burst into tears.

“We’ve looked for you everywhere! We miss you so much!” Mrs Long said as she hugged her son.

The parents took him back to their family mansion where they had a Thanksgiving Prayer with a reading on the Prodigal Son, to celebrate’s Vince’s homecoming.

Then, Denholm filed an official statement regarding Vince’s kidnapping to help solve the people responsible for the his kidnapping and the others as well. A joint investigation took place while Denholm gave the police more details about a “bodysuit factory”.

After the party was over, Denholm went home to Vince’s place, where he saw Aurora.

“Babe… babe is that you?!?” Aurora started tearing up and ran up to him.

“I missed you so much…” ‘Vince’ said in shock while he hugged his girlfriend.

The two shared a romantic kiss and embraced each other with the reunion. For Denholm it felt like he gave Vince the closure he needed, but he cannot live as Vince forever.

Aurora made the next move. She dragged Vince up the stairs and the two started undressing.

Excited, Aurora undresses herself and undresses Vince’s long sleeve, and his tank top.

He revealed his white Calvin Klein boxers while his cock barks back at her as he starts to get very horny.

“This is… wrong.” Denholm whispered as he started grabbing the sheets. “Babe.. what do you mean? I missed you so much!!” Aurora was biting her lips.

“Your breath… your armpit hairs… your leg hairs… your Amazon rainforest in your cock… every single inch of you I am craving right now.” Aurora was starting up the engine.

“Oh I miss doing this.” Aurora said while she touches Vince’s abs. “Babe.. maybe we should slow down.” Vince tried resisting. “Oh fuck this. give me that!” Aurora ripped his boxers wide and revealed the arching cock that she’s been craving for.

Aurora then starts teasing his manhood until it did a standing ovation. They then started kissing mouth to mouth and rolled on the bed, knocking over the bed sheets.

Vince’s mouth started watering as he grabbed Aurora’s breasts to drink her milkshake. He gave her clitties a blessful kiss, and he started inserting it in. The hole kept declining though, like a debit card refusing to be read by an ATM.

She then licked his ass, with the expired butt hairs electrifying out like that one Nair video.

“Why not repair my ass? Civil engineering? Fuck that.. engineer this pussy.” She started cracking up.

“What the fuck is this woman on?” Vince started to get so scared. She then resisted him pulling away and she bited his pecs. He screamed faintly like a little girl but felt delighted and rubbed her back again.

“You know what…? Let me fold you like a fucking pretzel.” Vince grinned. She screamed out loud as he bent her back and put the funnel into the bottle opening. She screamed and screamed and screamed. They were both suffocating in each other’s saliva, cum and seemingly piss. They were banging the walls and even squeezed themselves in the closet. She was freaking out as he chased him down the halls, both naked.

They Netflix and chilled, he pulled her many times to kiss her, and she rubbed his pubic hairs like petting their Shih Tzu Tracy. It was a very immaculate and blessed moment.

They did various poses! Doggy, cowboy, missionary, and our favorite, 69. They did it and did it until they got sweaty and started panting.

Aurora slurps out Vince’s loaded manhood like she’s slurping out a big bowl of ramen. She giggles as his load explodes out of her face, and she kneels down as he starts inserting his rubbery dick into her rubbery pussy. (Hold on… rubbery pussy..?, We’ll get there later on.)

Vince was making sure the zipper at the back of his neck wasn’t opening out as he exerts extra pressure against Aurora in bed. They both giggle as Aurora licks Vince’s smooth sweaty abs and she starts biting them. Vince screamed out but it didn’t hurt as much as he expected, it felt like he got bit by a dog while wearing a silicone rubber pants.

“Let’s do it again.” Aurora said while running out of breath. They initiated their sacred rituals again and again throughout the whole night. Fuck me ‘til up daylight indeed.

As Vince and Aurora finally covered themselves under the sheets, they both rest and as they cuddle each other, not knowing something behind there was opening up. Let me turn it into a saying, Don’t leave the fridge open at night.

Both drenched in sweat, Vince goes to the bathroom to get toilet paper to clean up the exploded fluids in his room. But something was wrong. The zipper opened a little bit, and was stuck.

Aurora then discovered this and just stood there as if she knew this whole time that he was a bodysuit.

“Babe.. it’s not what it looks like.. I promise.” Vince was in shock and started shaking.

“I- um.. I no… no..” Aurora was also nervous. she turned around to look away, but then it was another jaw-dropping moment: her zipper was also opened, she thought it wouldn’t get exposed but the bra she had just put on wasn’t enough to conceal it.

“What…?? WHAT?!?” Vince tried grabbing Aurora’s arm but she ran as fast as she could and fled the scene.

Denholm chased her down to the garage, but the bodysuit was starting to melt as the zipper had been exposed. He tried unzipping himself a few more tries, and managed to get out of Vince’s body.

Denholm now ran to the garage door but Aurora had locked it. Denholm tried breaking in, using everything he had on the house to reach the inside.

Denholm figured out that he could simply open the front garage doors and catch her in the act, so he pushed the button and the front garage lifted upward and he rushed inside, but it wasn’t what he was expecting, never at all expected what it was.

He took a step closer but to his surprise, Markus was there, seemingly apprehending the now-empty Aurora suit.

“Markus what the fuck are you doing here?!??” Denholm freaked out.

“I.. I don’t know! I just found this body snatcher somewhere and I followed her to this home! I didn’t know this was your bodysuit’s home!” Markus said.

“Dang it. FUCKKKKK!!!!!” Denholm let out a very loud scream as he started kicking the nearby objects. He was angry. He was FURIOUS.

“I think this suit is also like you, Denholm. I think she was also spared because she’s not hollow right now, she has a pulse.” Markus said.

“Well we better drive her home safely then. I’ll also take home Vince and keep it in our property.” Denholm said as he started the car to head home.

As he headed out, a nervous grin and a blush came out of Markus.

“I wonder if he’ll ever know…”

(17 Hours earlier…)

Aurora: “Yes, yes that would be 45.99 for the jeans.”

Customer: “Ok, I’m paying by credit. I really love your local boutique!”

Aurora: “Thank for you shopping here! This boutique means a lot to me as me and my late boyfriend invested a lot on it!”

Markus then walks in while wearing a face mask and sunglasses.

Aurora: Hi welcome to Beautiful Botanica Boutique— AHHHHHH!!!

Aurora let out a loud scream and passed out.

Markus: Welcome.. and goodbye bitch.

Markus laughed maniacally as he lifted Aurora and unzipped her back, which transformed her into a bodysuit.

He then started sliding his legs into her more smaller ones, causing a huge stretch on the suit. Her body also expanded wide as Markus’ masculine torso squished in to fill in the void. Soon once Markus put on the mask, the suit realigned and formed itself: The legs started to shrink into a more feminine physique, and the waist significantly decreased and compressed Markus’ body. It was uncomfortable for him but it was all worth it. His new breasts also grew out to his desire. Markus looks into the store’s mirror.

“Hi welcome to Beautiful Botanica Boutique!” He said in a new feminine high-pitched voice.

“Hey Vince.. hey baby… hey… Denholm.”

She said while she seductively stares into her reflection, and giggled. She packed up her stuff and left to go to Vince’s place.

— TO BE CONTINUED —

[duckduckgoosebutitsinatrench]

Déjà Rěvé

Chapter 2: Chaotic Mornings and Messy Romance

CW: 80s Au, Aces messy ass relationship with his girlfriend, Deuce is slow when it comes to feelings including his own

Yuu woke up way too squished and way too warm for their liking. The late spring moving into early summer season made it so the mornings were stupidly hot, but that didn’t mean Yuu appreciated waking up drenched in sweat first thing in the morning.

They slowly blinked themself awake, groggily wiping the sleep from their eyes and running their fingers through their uneven strands of hair. They felt an arm around them tightened at the motion, and they looked down.

While Ace had gone home in the early hours of the morning for once, Deuce had stayed behind and slept over. There was no way in hell that Yuu was ever going to make him sleep on the couch, or God forbid the ground, so they just slept in the same bed. It was nothing new, nor was Deuce being cuddly in his sleep. There was just something about waking up to your best friends’ face buried in your stomach with his arms thrown around your hips that made Yuus heart flutter.

Their fingers find themselves in Deuces hair before they know it, and Yuu smiles and whispers a “Good morning” as they listen to Deuce grumble about how it’s “too early”.

Speaking of early… There was a lot of sunlight in their room right now. Especially for it being only half past six. Didn’t the sun usually only rise around seven or so?

Their fingers paused their ministrations. Shit.

It wasn’t six thirty, was it?

Yuu looked at the old clock that hung on the wall, the hands telling a time of just past seven in the morning, a whole half hour past the time they usually wake up. Taking in a deep breath, they stamped down their rising panic and reasoned with themselves. Half an hour. They had only lost half an hour. They still had time. Ace never got here till about seven thirty-five. They had time. The three of them could make it to school on time! It’ll all work out!

They should probably wake up Deuce though.

Yuu grips his shoulder and lightly shakes, “Deuce, wake up.”

The arm around their hips tightened even more as Deuce groans, burying his face further into Yuus’ body.

Yuu shakes him harder, until his eyes snap open from the force, looking at them in confusion.

“Hey. Eh! Deuce! Wake up! Wakey wakey, we slept in.”

“…Shit”, and just like that he was up. Throwing the tangled covers off him and tripping out of bed. Yuu too climbed out of bed and started walking towards their bedroom door, speaking all the while.

“Shit indeed! Get dressed. I’ll make you some eggs. You like eggs, right?”, and unfortunately, Yuu made the mistake of turning back around, just in time to catch deuce taking off his shirt.

They whipped their head back around so fast they heard their neck crack. Deuce slurred out a raspy “thank you” that definitely wasn’t doing their heart any favors.

“Yeah. No problem.”, Yuu took several deep breathes as they walked down the stairs to the kitchen, the last one sounding much more frustrated than the former ones. Yuu sighed, running their fingers through their hair as they reached the bottom of the stairs. They really had to get over… whatever this was. And fast. Before it fucks everything up.

Cracking some eggs and putting a pan on a stove that somehow worked, Yuu tries their best to make an omelet with what they had around them. They (Epel) had built a garden in the back yard, and there were a few pepper plants around the house, so vegetables weren’t too much of a concern. Seasonings were expensive though. Even when they found the small boxes where seasonings came in packets rather than fancy glass jars, they often had other things to spend money on, so they were running low.

Yuu looked at the small packet of paprika. It had expired a little over two weeks ago…

They dumped it in. Never hurt them before! They had chili flakes in the pantry that went bad last year, and they still sprinkled it on shit!

Yuu closed their eyes sigh. They really needed to just start stealing shit again.

“What’s wrong?”

Yuu jumped, “Holy shit! Deuce! The hell?”, there stood Deuce Spade. In all his sleepy glory.

The bastard giggled, “Sorry!” He did not sound sorry at all.

“Mhm”, they hummed, “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing”. Yuu flipped the half decent omelet they managed to make.

Deuce hummed, walking closer the lean on the counter next to the stove. “If you say so…”

“I say so! Now go get a plate to put this thing on before I burn it”, He did as told, setting it down with a clink as they put the omelet down and shut off the stove. Yuu took a knife and cut it in half, pushing one half towards Deuce and taking the other for themselves. “Thanks”.

“You too”. Yuu raised an eyebrow at him, and Deuce looked a bit embarrassed.

“For the... For the food. Thanks for the food”

“ah”

Yuu walked over to the silverware drawer and pulled out two of the very few forks they had, handing one to Deuce. “No problem, ya gotta eat. I think there’s some juice in the mini fridge if you want some”, they pointed behind them with their thumb, somewhere vaguely in the living room area, and cut a piece of omelet for themselves with their fork.

Deuce cringed.  “Nah. No thanks. I’ll just get something from the café later… or something… do you want anything? I can buy you a latte?”, his voice turned softer towards the end and Yuu had to suck in a sharp breath. They closed their eyes for a few seconds. Getting themselves together just enough to face the world (who was still looking at them), and then turned and raised an eyebrow at Deuce.

“You’re not thirsty?”

Deuce sighs, “Nah, it’s not that. I just don’t want to give Ace any more ammunition”.

Yuu nods in understanding. If Ace saw absolutely anything that he could tease either of them for, that was it. They weren’t gonna live it down for at least the next decade. “…Yeah, I’ll take a latte. I can pay you back later”, they trailed off as they try to remember when their next pay day was.

Deuce just shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, I got you”. Yuu only stared at him for a good minute, deciding to just nod even as they make plans of slipping the money into one of the jackets that Deuce had left at Ramshackle.

Not much more happens after that. Yuu occasionally asking about how Mrs. Spade was, him happily talking about his mom and Yuu happily listening, The occasional complaint about tests, how they could never seem to find the albums they wanted at the music store, etc. Just small conversations, and mostly bitching, to pass the time as they slowly woke up.

Honk Honk

Deuce falls silent and Yuus eyes snap to his, finally looking up from their food. Welp, looks like they passed the time alright.

Honk Honk

“…”

“…”

“… Shit!”, Yuu threw their fork down and it clanked against the plate as they left the kitchen.

“When did it get this late? We weren’t running this late a few minutes ago!”, Deuce said, totally not sounding increasingly panicked.

Yuu was already running up the stairs. “Dude I’m not even dressed yet! Dammit!”

“You better hurry!”, Deuce said as he ran into the bathroom, not waiting for an answer.

Yuu got to the top of the stairs and was about to run to their room when they suddenly thought of something. Turning and running back to the rail, the yelled: “Don’t let Ace eat the rest of my omelet!”, then turned on their heel and hauled ass to their room.

Slamming the door behind them, Yuu opens their dresser drawer and tries to shimmy their way out of their pajama sweatpants at the same time, feeling around their clothes for something half way decent. Picking out a pair of fading green cargo pants and a dark blue sweater that Yuu was about ninety-nine percent sure was Deuces and finally got dressed.

Yuu pulled the end of the sweater the rest of the way over their stomach and paused. They take a deep breath and examines the tattered ends of the sweater sleeves and the various safety pins that were pinned into the fabric, all with a lingering scent of pine.

Yuu really. Had to stop doing this to themselves.

Rushing back downstairs and quickly moving towards the now empty bathroom, Yuu catches a quick glimpse into the living room. Ace was standing with his arms crossed, keys in hand, listening judgmentally to Deuce as he tried to explain why they weren’t ready yet. Ace shifts his weight from one leg to the other in impatience, and then he looks up. His and Yuus’ eyes meet for a single second before Yuu rounds around the corner and opens the bathroom door.

“yo hurry up! We got places to be!”, Ace shouts from the living room, annoyance clear in his tone.

“I know, I know! Shut up!”, they were already rushing around and stressed as it was, and Aces’ heckling wasn’t helping.

They rummaged through the drawer under the bathroom sink that they kept their (and everyone else’s) toothbrush in. When they finally caught onto it they took it out and just. Stared at it.

They didn’t have time for this. Yuu threw the toothbrush back in the drawer and grabbed the mouthwash, filling up the cap and swishing it around in their mouth.

It was better than nothing! They’d steal a piece of gum from Aces’ car for an extra measure. Maybe they’ll even actually floss tonight to make up for it. Trey would be so proud!  

They leaned down to spit, and almost choked as they saw something flash in the mirror.

Yuu snapped their head back to their reflection, a bit of drool drippling down their chin as they watched the mirror in front of them.

“…”

It wasn’t the weirdest thing in the world for someone to see something in the corner of their eye, especially Yuu, especially in this house. Sometimes they’d see a shadow or a silhouette that would disappear as soon as they turned to look. They’d hear strange laughter at night and try to convince themselves it was just the wind, or a product of living in an old (breaking down) house as Grim cuddled closer to them. Sometimes things would wind up missing only to be returned a few days later. Sometimes Grim would growl at nothing. Grim growled at nothing a lot actually… Especially mirrors.

…Grim really hated mirrors.

“…”

Knock Knock Knock

“Yuu? Yuuuu?”

Yuu blinked and shook their head. Seeing nothing in the mirror but their own disheveled appearance and crazed looking eyes. They sighed and grabbed the big water bottle on the sink, pouring it into a smaller cup right next to it and finally rinsing out the lingering mouthwash as they once again wished for running water. They grabbed a towel from the rack and looked at themselves in the mirror again.

They were going fucking crazy.

Knock Knock

“Yuuuuu? Are you taking a shit? Please don’t be! We gotta go!”, Goddammit Ace.

Yuu rolled their eyes and wiped their face, listening to Ace whine outside the door and trying not to crack a smile at some of the things he said. Yuu roughly grips the door handle and slams it open, pushing Ace back behind it and making him slam into a wall, which he winces at.

Yuu laughs at his misery like the good friend they are before reaching for his hand and dragging him towards the front door, where Deuce is waiting not patiently. They hear Ace laugh, his apparent pain short lived.

“sorry”, Yuu giggles out as the three of them walk out to Aces’ car, with Deuce lingering a bit behind looking that he wanted to say something.

“Are you not gonna finish eating?”, oh, that’s what he wanted to say? Ok.

Yuu purses their lips and shakes their head. “Nah. The rest’s for Grim. He can have it”.

Ace straightens up, suddenly interested, “There was an omelet up for grabs? Shit, hold on!”, Ace tries to make a break for it back inside, but Yuu tightened their grip and yanked him back.

“For grim!”, they scold. Much to Aces despair as he dramatically droops in disappointment.

He recovers quickly, however. Shrugging as soon as the dramatic effect runs it course, “whatever. I’ll just buy myself something later… also, don’t worry about it making us late, you’re good”, Ace comforted, returning them to their original conversation.

“Worry a little. School starts in fifteen minutes”, Deuce helpfully adds, and Yuu can hear some part of the peaceful atmosphere crack.

They can get to school in a little under ten, if they were lucky and the traffic was light.  But that was unlikely for the morning rush hour. And to add salt to the wounds, their first class was on the other side of the building.

Everyone increased their walking speed a little more. Well, Yuu and Deuce increased their speed, Ace was still pretty much getting dragged.

Yuu lets go of Aces hand as they get in the back seat, Ace getting behind the wheel and Deuce riding shotgun. Their standard arrangement. The engine rumbled to life as Ace turned the key and pulled out from beside the tree where he was parked, going down the driveway and through the unlocked gate. Yuu wasn’t worried. The only person who they could think would break into a house in shambles, besides maybe a crackhead, was that one guy with who liked to wear horns on his head, but he was a dear friend.

Yuu thinks he was a dear friend at least. They still don’t know his name, and he had been weirdly sad when they asked, but he also laughed at them when they asked if the horns were a costume. So, Yuu thinks he was just a weird guy. A fun guy! But weird nonetheless.

They drove in anxious silence for a few minutes, Ace trying his best to weave in and out of traffic and take as many shortcuts as possible, before he finally broke the silence.

“I still think we should just skip first period and go hang out somewhere else”, when the hell did he ever say that?

“I already told you! We can’t miss first period today!”, Deuce yelled, weirdly set on getting to class on time today.

Yuu looked out the window and watched the sun finish rising and the undercaffeinated masses go to their jobs, figuring that whatever sparked this conversation happened while they were upstairs or in the bathroom, and not really paying attention.

“Why? You skip at least a class like every other day! Why is today any different?”, Ace has a point, but deuce looks like he’s about to start yelling at him. Oh Great.

Then he just looks surprised, and just stares at Ace for a second before continuing, “I… Ace. We have a chemistry test today. You know that right?”

“what.”, Yuus head snaps to Deuce. Distantly, they heard what remained of the previously cracked peaceful atmosphere completely shatter.

“… oh fuck”. Damn. Yuu didn’t know Aces eyes could get that big. You learn something new everyday!

“You both forgot? I’m the one who remembered?”, Deuce sounded like even the suggestion was impossible, which was fair enough. Up until this moment, they’d all figured it was.

“oh my God”, yuu leaned forward in their seat and put their face in their hands.

“we’re fucked”, Ace sounded panicked.

“What is it even on?”, Yuu looked at Deuce, equally as panicked.

“….”

Ace raised in eyebrow in his direction.

“…uhhh”, oh God bless him. Deuce. You perfect idiot.

Yuu smacks their forehead and rubs their eyes, trading a look with Ace in the rear-view mirror as Deuce flushes, “We’re fucked”.

Ace nods back with an air of finality, swerving around yet another slow car, “We’re fucked”.

---

Deuce barrels in through the classroom door with about thirty seconds to spare, making everyone in said room either sleepily perk up or snap to attention. Deuce, however, doesn’t notice this, as he is instantly running back out the door after noticing his two hussies are not, in fact, at his side. Fear not though, for he comes back in the room, just as dramatic as before, but this time with a panting Ace and an even heavier panting Yuu. Someone should probably check on them because they look like they’re about to kneel over.

Mr Crewel looks at them in a type of annoyance that is only brought out by being tested by overactive and irresponsible teenagers first thing in the morning. He snaps the ruler into his palm as the bell rings. It’s a jarring sound, serving only to piss Crewel off more, something that quickly becomes apparent by his sharp tone, “Ace, Deuce, Yuu. Detention”.

Yuu groans, the urge to actually flop down to the tiled floor like a worthless fish only growing stronger- and oh! Oh, there they go! On the floor and still panting! Good for them, Good for them! Bad for Ace though, he is having a really tough time trying to pick them back up, not used to the whole dead weight act Yuu is putting on.

Ace, finally just deciding to let Yuu live out their corpse fantasy act and letting them fall back to the ground with a thud, finally looks back at his teacher to question the injustice of it all, “what? We’re not late! We were in here before the bell rang!”

Deuce furrows his brows just behind Ace, and mutters under his breath, “I can’t go today, I have track…”

And Ace, much louder and with his hand on his hips, declared, “yeah, and I have practice!”

Yuu looked at the ceiling with a dead eyed stare, their breathing finally leveling out as they tried to think of their own responsibilities, “… I have a cat”

Crewel glared snapped the ruler into his hand once again and Yuu wonders how thick the callouses on his hand are because that one actually sounded like it hurt, “looks like you’re all going to have to miss it then. How disappointing. Detention.”, and he turns around with a final weird look to Yuu, looking elegant but everyone could feel the general air of mania around him. Mr Crewel was very clearly not willing to tolerate bullshit today. Maybe his dogs are sick or something…

Yuu speed walks to the back of the classroom where their desk was, perking up with relief at the sight of their desk partner, Silver, who was going absolutely ham on that coffee. Sitting down, they look to their fellow victims. Deuce was trying to explain his newfound sentence to Jack, who looked so disappointed it hurt Yuus’ feelings. Ace was sitting next to Ruggie, who Yuu shared a nod with before turning back to Silver, who was slow blinking up at them like a cat.

“good morning…”

“morning” Yuu absentmindedly played with the sleeve of their borrowed shirt before remembering something, “oh yeah”, they perked up, tugging on Silvers sleeves, “did you know Sebek has a sword in his locker?”

Silver looked vaguely surprised. Vaguely. “no…but it’s good to be prepared. I should probably bring mine… I need to ask father…”, he trailed off, rubbing his eyes and pulling out a strand of hair that had somehow gotten into his mouth. Casual. Like what he said was the most normal thing ever stated…

Yuu leaned over just enough to read Silvers coffee order, and the five extra shots of expresso.

Yuu sat back up.

Then immediately leaned back over. Yep! Five shots of espresso! Shit.

Crewel snapped his ruler and somehow Yuu knew he was looking straight at them, which was confirmed as they straightened up and looked to the front of the room where the teacher stood with a stack of paper in his hand.

“…when you get your test (“shit” “shut up Ace”) keep it flipped on the back side. You will all start at the same time. Do not flip it over until I say so”, and with one last glare, he began passing out everyone’s death sentence.

You could feel the tension in the room slowly rise, especially as Yuu saw Deuces panicked expression. Ace looked at them with what can only be described as a final goodbye at the gallows before they were both hung.

“you have forty-five minutes. Begin”, and with that, their fates were sealed.

Yuu flipped over their test, fully expecting to face nothing less than their impending doom, only to relax as they recognized the topic. It was just a recap of all the experiments they’d done so far, along with a few question on how to handle certain materials.

Yuu looked up, Ace was already writing something down, looking relieved. Deuce on the other hand, had gone completely pale, and was just squinting at his paper, like the words would change if he just stared at them hard enough.

Good luck buddy! Yuu can already tell he was gonna need it!

Yuu had always worked fast. They didn’t have a lot going for them in terms of money or resources, but their memory had always been their trump card. So it was no real surprise to them that they had finished in about thirty minutes. They smiled to themselves with a smug satisfaction as they looked over to Ace, who was now dramatically blinking at a certain question towards the end, and to Deuce, who was still panicking but trying to bullshit his way through the questions.

They yawned, and blinked sleepily, looking to their side as Silver yawned in response, Silver looked like he was fighting hard to stay awake. The completely quiet classroom clearly not helping.

Yuu tapped their fingers against the desk. Not knowing what to do now that they’ve finished. Yuu already knew they didn’t have a book in their bag, speaking of which, they should probably return all their overdue books to the library soon, before the school stops threatening fees and actually delivers one.

Yuu sighed and rested their face on one of their hands, grabbing a pencil and drawing random scribbled on the back of their paper. The scribbles eventually turning into sketches of Grim and random things they could see along the classroom, and a significantly shittier drawing of what looked like three cartoonish ghosts in top hats that made Yuu quietly giggle.

They laid their head down on the table, getting more tired as more time passed, and tried to refine one of the better drawings of Grim. Yuu yawned again, their eyes drooping and their blinks getting longer.

Yuu set down their pencil. This was probably the only time they’d have to nap today, They had to work today and God knows Azul wouldn’t let them take one, even on their break. So, without further ado, Yuu closed their eyes and went to sleep.

Only to be snapped awake by a crop on their desk.  

“Yuu? Yuu! Wake up right this instant!”

Yuu grumbled and buried their head further into their folded arms, trying to block out the noise, and ignore the poking of the waistcoat of their uniform.

The crop snapped against their desk once again, this time much closer to their head, and they sat up immediately, any remaining sleepiness leaving their body almost instantly.

Mr Crewel was looking down at them with apprehension, his black and white fur coat making him look much bigger, and more intimidating than he probably actually was. He was tapping his crop against his palm, and Yuu flushed as they realized that their desk was the only one with a piece of paper on it. Everyone else’s tests had been passed up already.

They looked down and muttered an apology, tugging on the sleeves of their blazer and handing their test to Crewel.

He took it, and Yuu looked up to find almost everyone staring at them, most of them blank faced, their friends looking worried, and Ruggie looking at them with pity. His hyena ears twitching as he tries to silently ask if they were ok. Yuu nods, and he nods back, and that was the end of it.

Crewel was still there, and he begun scolding them, “I know you’re probably busy”, Crewel knows exactly how busy they were “but you know I don’t appreciate students sleeping through my lectures.”

Apparently, Crewel had started lecturing after collecting everyone’s tests back. It made since, Crewel had never cared when students fell asleep after a test, or spent the rest of their time sleeping or something after completing a potion, but if you were caught sleeping while he was lecturing? You were done for.

Crewel was still talking, still scolding them, and Yuu could only be grateful that he liked them enough to do it calmly.

Yuu could see Grim right next to them, looking embarrassed, like he was the one being scolded simply because of association. Yuus eyes were getting heavier though, and their body was getting warm.

They could distantly hear Crewel’s voice getting louder, and his crop snap against their desk again, but they couldn’t hear, or they just couldn’t care to hear.

They felt Grim tug on their sleeve, and felt themself start to lean over, and they braced themselves for the pain that would come with slamming their head down on their desk.

Only to be snapped awake by a ruler on their desk.

“Yuu? Yuu! Wake up right this instant!”

And they were up, disoriented and confused.

Mr Crewel was looking down at them again, the same apprehension on his face as he tapped his ruler against his hand. He wasn’t wearing a fur coat, and Yuu could feel paper under their fingertips. They still had their test.

“I know you’re probably busy”, Yuu looked around the room, only to find almost everyone looking at them. Ruggie looked at them with pity.

Ruggie was wearing a beanie. He didn’t have hyena ears.

“but you know I don’t appreciate students sleeping through my lectures.”, Yuu looked to their side. Grim wasn’t there. Why would Grim be there? Silver was staring at them, his eyes were half asleep and dropping, just like always.

Yuu tugged at their sleeves. Their sweater sleeves. They were wearing a sweater, not a waist coat or a blazer, Yuu didn’t even own either pieces of clothing, they were wearing Deuces sweater.

Crewel was still scolding them. Yuu didn’t care to hear what he was saying, even as he snatched the test off their desk and walked away.

They didn’t fall asleep again.

---

Ace walked slowly to his next class. Shifting his hands in and out of his jacket pockets and fiddling with his necklace. He sighed.

The class itself was… fine? Not that hard, more boring than anything, but fine. It was who was in the class that he really didn’t want to see.

He reached the door and opened it, his girlfriend, Emilia, perking up and giving him a small smile, which he returned.

They had been dating a few months at this point, and Ace could honestly say he was getting bored. It was harsh, but true. He and Emilia had barely been acquaintances when she had asked him out. He said yes without much though, she was cute enough, and reasonably sweet, but that was it. She was just nice, a pushover, really. She never talked about any friends or complained about any family, she didn’t talk about hobbies, probably because she didn’t have any, no interest in music, no classes that she liked or didn’t like more than the others, she didn’t play sports, she wasn’t in any clubs, and she hardly ever picked any of their date spots.

It was like dating a wall, is what Ace is trying to say. But it was his wall nonetheless, so he sat down next to her and kissed her, and she giggled and kissed him back.

“So! How have you been?”, she asked, in a voice that went higher in pitch the more she talked.

Ace groaned, “My friends didn’t wake up in time and almost made us late. We got here in time but we got a detention anyway because the teacher had a massive stick up his-“,Ace was cut off as the bell rang. Which was probably for the best to be honest. Emilia looked at him with pursed lips, like his answer was somehow wrong. How? He didn’t know.

“Well, my morning was good.”

“Nothing exciting happen?”, He already knew the answer to this, but he asked anyway.

“No”, yep, knew it.

“are you doing anything later today?”, Ace regrated his question as soon as it left his mouth.

Emilia straightened up and looked at him with a smile, “No. Why? Do you want to take me somewhere?”

Ace smiled apologetically, “No, I’m sorry, I can’t. Detention remember?”, he tried to say this as gently as he could. Did he feel a little bit like shit for trying to find every excuse he could not to be with her? Yeah, but he genuinely dreaded seeing her each day. He could probably make it work, somehow, he just needed to find something they both liked, something they could both have fun with. He really needed to stop avoiding her though, or that wasn’t going to work.

Ace took Emilias hand in his, playing with her fingers the way that Yuu would always play with his and Deuces when they were zoned out, and said, “I’ll figure something out soon, ok? We can hang out together or go on a date soon. Where do you want to go?”

She smiled a, bit disappointed but didn’t seem to take it to heart. “I don’t know, where do you want to go”, and just like Ace knew where this conversation was headed.

“I chose last time. Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t really care where”, please, make a decision Emilia.

Ace took a deep breath, ok.

“Are there any restaurants you want to go to?”

“Eh, not really.”

“Any movies you want to see? I can take you to a drive in?”

“I don’t really like movies”, you don’t really like anything it seems.

“Do you want to go to an arcade? Or see a concert? Tickets are a little expensive and I don’t know who’s in town but I’m sure I could find-”

“I don’t really listen to a lot of music…”

Ace was starting to remember why avoided her so much in the first place.

“What do you want to do then?”

“Oh, I don’t care what we do!”

“Ok, then do you just want to hang out? We can go to my house?”

She shrugged, “Eh.”

“…”

Ace looked at the clock on the wall, and then at the teacher, who only now looked like he was actually ready to start teaching and sighed.

Ace took a deep breath.

He was going to finish his classes, go to basketball practice (he was NOT going to detention, fuck that), and then he was going to drive Yuu to work and then crash at Deuces house for the night. He’ll drag Yuu there too, but he was not gonna be home to answer the phone and have another call that inevitably lead to awkward silence and on the brink of a fight. Ace would stop avoiding her eventually, but not today.

Today was for being sent on errands with Deuce by Mama Spade (a name affectionately given by Yuu) and playing card games with his friends and run the risk of getting ganged up on if they catch him cheating. Ace smiled to himself as the teacher finally started talking, content with his new plans for the day.

He and Emilia didn’t talk for the rest of the period.

---

“Where the hell is Ace?”, Yuu was tired as they leaned back in their seat, stretching and popping their back as they pretended they couldn’t see Deuces horrified expression at the noise. Honestly, Yuu looked a bit scared at the noise themselves, which made sense considering it sounded like dry rice being thrown around in a cold wok but that was besides the point.

When deuce had recovered, he sighed and said, “probably basketball… either that or he went home”.

Yuu sat up and looked straight at him, and Deuce began to regret his statement when he saw how mad his friend was. Their anger didn’t seem to be directed at him though, so he wasn’t running for the hills or anything, just sweating. “He better not. He’s still gotta drive me to work! I’ll be late if I walk today!” oh, that was the problem.

“can’t you just call in again?”, Deuce weakly suggested.

Yuu gave him an unimpressed stare, before dramatically gesturing around the classroom, trying to make a point of the lack of landline inside a classroom, “do you see any phones in here?”

“Ah.” Well, Deuce just felt stupid now.

They kept his gaze for another second or so, before leaning back and sighing a sad little sigh that made Deuce regret this entire conversation. “Besides, Azul would have my head if I called in two days in a row for no reason. I’m lucky enough that he let it slide once! Anyone else would’ve been fired! Or at least threatened.”

“Trust me I know”, Deuce muttered.

Yuu snorts. “Yeah, I know you know.”, their tone turned teasing and Deuce gripped to edge of his desk, “But Deuce”, they spoke slowly, and he gripped the desk harder. Did he know why he liked hearing his name in that tone so much? Nope! But Yuu wasn’t Ace so he guessed it had something to do with that. “Didn’t you get fired for trying to fight a customer?”, and just like that the atmosphere flipped.

“Hey! That guy tried to fight me!”, Deuce stammered.

Yuu let out a teasing “Mhm”, still staring at him.

“And you know that I never wanted to work there in the first place! Bastard blackmailed me…” Deuce defended himself before trailing off.

“Ay, Ay, easy! That my bastard that blackmailed you!”, Yuu giggled, and Deuce didn’t know what to think about that.

“…”

He door makes a click sound and swings open, making Yuu jump, and in walks Ace, looking pissed off, with a flush on his cheeks and slightly sweaty. His beloved varsity jacket was tied around his waist and over he looked like he had just been at the gym. Deuce followed a bead of sweat cascade down his throat. He didn’t even really acknowledge the teacher that walked in behind Ace.

He stomped over to the desk between him and Yuu and roughly pulled out the chair before sitting down, seemingly trying to make a show of how pissed he was.

Yuu was unaffected.

“And where have you been?”, they asked with that same smooth, teasing tone that they had had just a minute ago.

“Oh shut up!... Basketball.” Ace looks down.

Deuce snorts. Looks like he was right about that. Ace glared at him but didn’t say anything.

“Alright! All of you stop it and sit down! This is going to be a long afternoon for all of us…”, the teacher, Deuce didn’t recognize the guy, thumped down behind his own desk and started shuffling through the drawers for, whatever he was looking for. Deuce eyed Yuu as they took out a piece of paper and a pen, and realization struck him when they wrote something down and then passed both to Ace.

Eventually, the paper and pen come to him, and he quickly reads through the existing messages.

Did you seriously think you could just skip? – Y

Like you haven’t done the exact same thing? – A

Oh I have! But I’m not a student ;) – Y

And they weren’t a student. Not technically. Deuce always forgets that. Yuu had started working here as a janitor, probably back when they first started sticking it out on the streets. They were young though, a few months younger than Deuce himself in fact, so teachers mistook them for a student enough times, that when Yuu actually started following him and Ace to their classes, no one had said a thing. He didn’t know if anyone had noticed and just not said anything yet, but Yuu was still here. And as far as Deuce was concerned? That was all that mattered.

Deuce went back to reading the note. Frowning at the last addition.

Well lucky you then huh – A

Aww I thought you guys liked me here with you? :( - Y

Deuce quickly wrote back and passed it to Yuu, who smiled but said nothing, and passed it to Ace. Ace wrote something down, folded the paper, and just threw it at him.

We do! don’t worry ace is just stupid – D

Why do you always have to take their side? Come on juice! We’re friends too!  – A

Deuce felt his annoyance surge once again, and quickly jot down his reply before throwing the paper back. After Ace was finished writing, he saw Yuu reach over and grab the paper from Aces hand before he could throw it.

Then the teacher looked up and Yuu had to quickly fold their arms and tuck the piece of paper under them in an effort to hide them. The teacher stared at all three of them, one by one, before shaking his head and returned to reading his book- oh look he had a book.

Ace mouthed a “He know” to him. He didn’t have any time to reply or roll his eye before Yuu was gently placing the folded paper on  the edge of his desk.

How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that - D

I have no idea what you’re talking about – A

Deuce, didn’t you have track? Haven’t you missing too much lately? – Y

Deuce smiled. Yuu was so nice.

Yeah jack was disappointed – D

Ace reached over and snatch the paper from Yuus hand when he handed it back.

Oh my God you sound like his mom – A

Mama spade is a nice lady! – Y

Something in his chest just felt like it fluttered. Was that healthy? He should go to a doctor? Did his mom have enough money for him to go to the doctor?

 She’d like hearing that you like her that much – D

The paper was back to Ace, then Yuu, then him.

I mean. It would be hard not to. She makes really good food. Oh yeah, can me and Yuu crash tonight?”- A

When did I say I want to go? – Y

Deuce frowned, writing slower than usual, a bit disappointed. Who was going to keep Ace from eating all his snacks and calling him “juice” then?

You don’t want to? – D

Back to Ace.

You look like you’re about to cry oh my gosh – A

Shut up Ace – D

Back to Yuu.

Can I bring Grim? – Y

Deuce thought for a moment. He liked Grim enough. He thinks? It was funny the way that the cat hated Ace and everything Ace stood for.

Of course – D

…I forgot about that fucking cat – A

Suck it – Y

Deuce smiled.

“Ok. Put the note away”, Yuu jumped again. Ace gave them a look. “- Yes, I see you! Put it away or give it to me”.

Nobody moved. And they sat in silence the rest of the detention period, trying to play bad charades to continue their conversation while the teacher pretended that he couldn’t see them embarrassing themselves.

Deuce found himself smiling. Not the worst detention he’s ever been to.

[dollsonmain]

Ok, so...

Manager started a notebook and told us to write down what we need to order in the notebook, so I've been doing that.

I add things as I become aware of it being needed.

Today I wrote in something I'd asked for repeatedly (pork BBQ rib patties/McRibs, basically, which I suspect she only saw "BBQ pork" and stopped reading and that's why we have so many tubs of bbq pulled pork in the freezer....) and she was like "Make sure you tell me what you need by Mondays because the order goes in on Tuesday.

I was like "Ok..."

She can just order all that stuff on the next Tuesday... Next... Next week... Does she want me to not write things down UNTIL Monday???? Or write them as the week goes by and I become aware they're needed like I had been??????? Like wh...... The latter is more efficient?

I had asked for that repeatedly? There are 2 left (2 rib patties in a huge box in the freezer.......) and they won't sell by the time Monday rolls around again either way but... I did ask previously for that product.

Like, we stood there and had a conversation about them. We had lots of sub rolls expiring soon, and she had previously said she didn't want to order more rib patties because they weren't selling, so I suggested we put the rib patties into the sub rolls [because we normally slap them on burger buns and they look ridiculous because the bun covers about half the patty in the center and they really should be on sub rolls] and then heat them up and put them in the hot case, because people like to buy them out of the hot case and then be done with them. And she was like "Oh well they kind of took off..." and I was like "That's because I've been putting them in the hot case." They really do sell out of there, but not out of the cold case, and the same goes for the buffalo chicken with pepperjack. No one wants that cold, but when they're warm, people snatch them up.

I........

This week we have one tub of chicken salad that is brand new, I opened it yesterday, it expires today, and I was expected to make tons of little chicken salad sandwiches out of it, but if I do that then I have to throw it all away tomorrow and that seems a waste of bread, which we're always out of. Not that it's the right bread. It's "white wheat" bread which is just bread made with whole wheat flour that's been ground down finely.

She bought some burger buns at a store to make sandwiches with today and they all expire today.

I just.......

How has no one noticed this was happening??????? Like, NO one thought to check expiration dates?????? The past FOUR YEARS?

I'm so confused.

Me checking expiration dates has definitely opened her eyes to some issues, though. She's rearranging sections of the store, now, implementing pseudo-plan-o-grams in places that it's easy to do that like the automotive stuff and paper goods, things that don't move fast, to make reordering things easier, etc. but she's not THERE, yet, and the inventory is still all wrong.

I also saw her drawing a diagram for the Monster energy drinks so she's certainly looking at things a little differently, lately.

I'm still not sure if I can say to her "I know how to set up and manage a micro-warehouse because I have one in my basement. If you set me loose, I can get this all sorted, but everyone has to be on board and maintain the system for it to work and save you lots of trouble and money over time." because she is head strong and it would cost some money, AND she's just Manager. Everything has to pass by Owner, too, and he's not seeming too flexible.

And also that's not my job, my job is "cashier". I'm already doing way more than my job. I get paid $12/hr. That's nothing compared to the amount and variety of work I do. But the kind of person that I am, if given this Thing that needs fixed, omg let me fix it, just like how I've been pulling out fixtures that haven't been moved in ages and cleaning under and behind them and now she has the other employees doing stuff like that later in the day, too.

I am definitely shaking things up in there, and still not sure whether it's a good thing or a bad thing. It's good for the store, certainly, in general. It's bad for the bottom line in the moment because they're suddenly having to liquidate expired stuff left and right because I go find it when I'm bored (all the more reason to not let me get bored, I guess), and that's showing Manager and Owner how inefficient the inventory and ordering is. I'm sure it's frustrating af for the both of them to have someone come in and be like "Wow, all of this is wrong."

[lunarsilkscreen]

Donation Math

This is intended to be an analysis of what it's like to be poor, needy, or a social worker, and any number of people dedicated to helping our people in difficult situations.

This is not an admonishment; it's an analysis.

What does the world look like in this lens?

There is free food everywhere; over-processed food; near or past its expiration date. Plenty for the needy.

We talk often of what it might mean to be overweight in poverty while not observing that our donations to the needy are things like Progresso Soup, Un-Diet-Sodas, and an endless buffet carbs.

The things people help our food and farming industry with by purchasing them at the end of their shelf life and throwing it in the donation box.

So we have a system of free food and endless donations that aren't very nutritious. When first starting out in the world; this is where we expect our needy to be. Paying zero$ for dono'd unhealthy snacks, while expecting them to be able to pay for Rent, A Car, Utilities, and if they're lucky; they can work as a restaurant server where they *might* be able to get a salad in.

Most housing programs last about a year; and if you include about six months of maximum homeless shelter stay... That gives about a year and a half to Get a job that pays a liveable wage.

But whose hiring you if you don't have reliable transportation or even a home address?

So if you're lucky enough to scrap enough together to buy a junk car; you have only about a year to pull yourself out of poverty.

Remeber; most of these people don't have anybody willing to cosign a loan. So they have zero credit. And they can't build credit without worsening their situation.

They have no references, they often have no friends or family..and they're wary of the other people in the shelter because *they* might be drug addled fools.

After-all; they're in a homeless shelter if their own volition.

So they have to either get fat or starve themselves of essential nutrients; either way they're already set up for failure. Their diets are shit for years and years and years after no matter which they chose.

Unless they qualify for foodstamps that affordable them ability to get a nutritious diet.

Which they have to learn about and develop for themselves while also trying to get a good job.

They can't get a Job that requires them to relocate; because they can't even afford to relocate. Unless they're lucky enough to find a Job from a company that can afford to relocate them and a place to live.

And our helpers are trapped in a position of trying to figure out the most deserving, while most certainly sentencing some people to die out in the cold on the streets.

All the while; the programs that are supposed to be helping people routinely deny things or severely limit them; like EBT, Social Security, Disability.

And the people trying to make a living in Real Estate, while routinely pricing these people out of the market; are simply keeping them in the shelters or on the streets.

"Fair Market Value" for rent in an area with 7.50$ minimum wage is 800$.

That's 107 hours you need to work in order to afford the basest of rents.

If you're doing the math, that's 3 weeks without overtime.

This is why people are asking for a minimum wage increase; but we already know that raising that minimum wage will *further* price people out of their own homes and neighborhoods.

Meanwhile; Housing programs do not include relocation to cheaper areas or states. They only work locally.

We're already at a point that people need to work nearly a month straight to afford rent; all the while Jobs are being selective in their hires--to people who have homes and vehicles.

And nobody can afford to import talent from other states.

Which is why there's such a Fervor about "College Educated Immigrants". They wonder "why can we afford them when we can't afford *us*?"

Usually because College Educated Immigrants come with their own stipends. At least the ones that companies want to hire anyway.

And all the while; even the shitiest most cheaply made food is inflating in price. Slowly affecting all American's pocket books.

And yet we still buy those to donate them in insane amounts to people who really need a better diet.

We see that we need to be giving to people in need today; but we're focused solely on food. Not in Housing Services, or Car Repair Services, or anything that could help people actually get on their feet.

And at the same time...we Fund Prisons that are used to house them instead. Those who are simply imprisoned for being too poor to afford to follow the rules.

These seem to be the exact same circumstances that got Marie Antoinette decapitated ... There's plenty of snack cakes; but not much else.

[vaultscavver]

wasteland, baby!

falloutober day one: WAR NEVER CHANGES. 2k / ( eventual sole survivor x hancock x maccready )

a/n: thank you @falloutober for the amazing october word prompts! ive been excited about this challenge for months, and ive already plotted out an entire series to work with falloutober that im super excited to share! so, without further ado, welcome to my pet project, “wasteland, baby!”

xx, scavver

SYNOPSIS — A nuclear apocalypse should have been the end of the world in 2077. But two hundred and ten years later, humanity is still clawing at the brink of survival, scraping instinct from underneath their fingernails and wiping irradiated sweat from wasteland-marred foreheads. The year is now 2287; natural resources have mutated, people are as irrational as ever, and a pre-war vault dweller emerges from a pod in which she had been frozen for the last two centuries. The Sole Survivor of Vault 111 has hell to pay, and who better to join her pursuit of revenge than a red-coated ghoul mayor searching for a purpose and a gunslinging sharpshooter with too many debts to pay?

─ ─── ──── ─── ♠ ─── ──── ─── ─

The world ended in 2077.

It wasn’t a surprise for anyone. Nothing lasts forever. 

There’s always an end, a lowering of a pencil after tracing a careful circle. There are preserved pieces of time frozen on display for people to reminisce about. But when something expires past it's intended use, does it count as dead? Is it really lasting if it's pointless? Does something need to have a purpose to be alive or has humanity just been trained to believe so?

Watching the orange skies darken with the mushroom clouds of a nuclear war, Eleanor Mercer couldn’t help but feel expired. She held her five-month-old son in her arms as the elevator lowered them into the ground, where Vault 111 would save them from the war waging above ground.

She had only been granted the elite spot in the Vault because her late husband, Nathaniel Mercer, had died on duty and granting Nora a place in the Vault was the government’s way of compensation.

Never mind that Nora could scarcely afford their suburban lifestyle on her own, or that their infant son was now fatherless.

She had planned to move back in with her parents in the country, maybe go back to medical school, try to build a happier future for her son.

The large elevator doors closed with a resounding slam.

Her neighbors, an assortment of military personnel and government officials, were crying and holding onto each other as they descended. Nora barely recognized any of them, and now they had to hide away in a Vault together for who even knows how long.

Expired. Gone. Over.

Nora’s tongue tasted metallic, adrenaline postponing a complete breakdown. Was that it? Was it all worth nothing? Their entire lives, just… blown up?

Selfishly, she thought about the boxes in her living room that were still half-packed, full of treasures and knick-knacks that she wished she had taken with her. Books, pillows, Nate’s guitar, her son’s favorite blanket. Maybe some onesies, or at least diapers, for her baby — her baby who was squealing, gurgling as he cried into her chest.

Snapping into focus, Nora readjusted her hold on him, quietly soothing his cries and rubbing her palm over his back in an effort to comfort the infant. Slowly, just as slow as their descending elevator, his whining lulled and his eyes closed, half-asleep against his mom’s shoulder, unaware of the uncertainty in the world.

This didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like it could be an ending. It was a semicolon; a sentence that is pulled longer than it should have, words added on and on and layered atop one another, when in reality, Nora wasn’t completely sure any of it was worth writing at all.

To Nora, the world had ended just as it started; with a bang, a flash, and a deep-rooted emotional scar that would last eternities. 

The elevator stopped; the first family out were the Russos, with their small crowd of children. Mrs. Russo found the Vault Overseer and was immediately demanding to contact their in-laws to see who survived, while Mr. Russo tried to herd their kids into following the orders of the Vault Technicians. 

Other families were smaller and quieter, following instructions without question. Nora followed close behind neighbors whose names she didn’t know, at the rear of the group, heading through the Vault’s entryway and into a room lined with pods that reminded Nora of small spacecrafts.

This room was significantly colder than the entryway, and the baby started to cry again.

Kissing his forehead and rocking him gently, Nora trembled, struggling to keep calm. "It's okay, sweetheart. Mommy's here, see? We'll all be okay. We’ll all be okay.”

No matter how many times she repeated the words, she couldn’t convince herself.

Glancing around at the lines of pods they were told they would be decontaminated in before moving to the deeper sections of Vault 111, Nora couldn't help but wonder if "okay" was the same word as before.

Next to them, a Vault Tech Doctor cleared his throat, stepping forward with a fake smile. "Sorry to interrupt, Mrs Mercer... But it's vital that you put on your new Vault Suit. And, please, step in here..." He gestured to the pod to Nora's left and she nodded once, absently.

The doctor gave her a folded pile of clothes and moved on, giving the same pile to all the other residents that had been able to enter the Vault.

The jumpsuit was a slick and heavy material that stretched easily in her hands, smelling like disinfectant. The whole Vault reeked of a hospital, actually — the metallic white walls were crisp, bright orange railing blocking the mounds of wires and tech beside each pod. There was a loud ambient sound like an air conditioning system on full blast, but Nora couldn’t locate where it was coming from. 

One of the neighbors whose name she didn’t know offered to hold the baby while Nora dressed into the blue jumpsuit, prepping for decontamination in the pod.

"He'll be okay, right?" Nora asked the doctor as she took the baby back, shifting uncomfortably in the skin-tight suit, "The, uh, the cleansing won't hurt him?"

"Not at all!" The doctor ushered them into the pod, "Vault Tech decontamination regimes are perfectly safe for both you and your little one. Now, take your time! We have all day."

Nora slid into the seat of her pod, resting her back against the soft pads, holding Shaun close. The door closed heavily, locking them in the pod.

Her throat started to close up, panic seizing at her chest, and she struggled to make herself breathe, to calm down, to be strong for her son.

"The pod will decontaminate and depressurize you before we head deeper into the Vault." The doctor's voice was robotic and altered as he spoke through the closed door, pressing buttons on the side of the pod. He gave Nora another fake smile, "Just relax." 

"Time for a whole new life." Nora murmured to the baby, once again rubbing his back soothingly. 

She wondered about all the work they’d put into the things they surely lost; would her son be happy here? Did they have all of the materials and necessities to properly care for a baby? How long would they be there? Would her son grow up underground, learn to read here, learn to live here? Would he get a chance to pursue a life for himself? Or would they be mindless worker bees for the rest of their lives?

"Resident secure." The Vault 111 Computer spoke through speakers imbedded into the inside of the pod. "Occupant vitals: Normal. Procedure complete in five... four... three... two..."

Nora never got to hear the final number of the countdown. Frost arose on the inside of the pod, coating the glass and sending goosebumps rising on her arms as she panted, finding it difficult to breathe. Before she could even wonder what was going on, why it was suddenly so cold, her vision went white, and her body became stiff. 

Her consciousness distorted, like she was balancing between sleep and awake, knowing only the foggy darkness of the freezing pod.

"Manual Override Initiated." The computer's voice spoke again, and Nora gasped as feeling returned to her fingers and nose. Was that it? Was she pressurized and ready for her new life at Vault 111? Why was it so cold? "Cryogenic stasis completed."

Panting, Nora struggled to move her arms, to lift the baby and check on him, but she felt so... stiff... heavy... like her entire body was asleep... she could hardly breathe, hardly move, hardly see... Her vision slowly came back in, blurry and distorted, but good enough to see two mysterious figures approaching her pod.

"This is the one," a woman's voice spoke out of a hazmat suit, pointing towards them. "Right here!"

Were they worried about the baby? Where was the doctor?

The second figure was a man wearing a brown leather jacket and biker pants, with odd straps crossing over his chest and back, adorned with so many weapons it was hard for Nora to even name them all. He had a pistol in his right hand, and his left hand flexed at the holster on his hip. He examined the pod, then turned to the woman. "Well? Open it."

Pressing a few buttons, the woman released the locks on the pod, opening the wide door. Steam rolled out Nora was sent into an immediate coughing fit, holding her son tightly against her chest. He was crying again, screaming against her jumpsuit, and she could barely move well enough to soothe him.

Continuing to cough, her voice ragged and hoarse, she looked wide-eyed between the two mysterious figures, her eyebrows drawn. “Is… is it over? Are we okay?”

“Almost.” The leather-clad man stepped forward; hands braced against her shoulder to keep her from stepping out of her pod. “Everything is going to be fine.”

The woman in the hazmat suit approached cautiously, hands extended. “It’s okay, hon. Just give me the baby.”

“What?” Nora croaked, wheezing, holding her son tighter. “No, I’ve got him.”

"Just give him to me." The woman coaxed softly, wrapping her gloved hands around the baby’s middle. "Everything will be okay, just hand him over."

"No, wait — No!" Her protective fury took over as she gripped her son tighter, struggling against the woman’s advances.

"Let the boy go." The man said, and as Nora turned, she met the barrel of a gun, inches from her eyes. "I'm only going to tell you once."

As Nora and the hazmat-wearing woman struggled over the baby, his cries increased in volume. The leather-bound man growled loudly, grunting out another warning.

A gunshot rang out.

Pain like nothing Nora knew swarmed her body, her vision going dark with it.

Her arms slacked and the hazmat-wearing woman stumbled back, holding the baby, ignoring his screams.

Nora had screamed, too, she realized only after she went quiet, her frozen hand palming at the bleeding wound in her shoulder.

"Damn it." The man put his gun away, shaking his head. He whirled murderously around to the woman, who coward before him. "Get the kid out of here. Go!" The woman turned without question, fleeing out of Nora's line of sight. 

This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real.

Bleeding, frozen, in a pain like none other, Nora tried to heave herself from her pod, to follow the woman, to get her baby — but the man easily pushed her back against the cushion of the pod, putting his gun away.

He wore a frown, a deep one that carved long lines into his gaunt, pale face. A scar ran over his left eye, marring deep into the flesh, his icy blue eyes ringed in a sleepless red. He gave her a sadistic smile that looked closer to a grimace, “At least we’ve still got the backup.”

And he closed the pod door, sealing her in again.

Nora pounded on her glass as he walked away, trying to scream again, but her voice wouldn't work. Blood ran heavily down her arm, dripping from her fingertips.

The Vault Tech Computer rang again, "Cryogenic Sequence Reinitialized."

Nora's vision went white once more. 

Pain thrummed through her, and for a long while, it was all that she could feel. Pain and impossible cold, so freezing that it burned.

"Critical failure in Cryogenic Array. All Vault residents must evacuate immediately." 

Gasping and coughing, a sudden heat rushed through her, loud alarms filling reverberating around the metal room as her pod door was unlocked and released, opening too quickly for her to brace herself. She fell forward, hands and knees on the ground, heaving and shivering and panting as she tried to catch her breath. 

She barely registered the flashing orange lights and trilling alarms filling the Vault as she tried to stand, only to stumble back to the ground, shaking violently. Her body still felt frozen. She fell limp against the Vault’s cold, dusty floor.

Even unconscious, Nora kept shivering; two hundred years was a long time to be frozen, after all.

[www-californiapsychics-com]

“Maybe something’s wrong with me-when you stand in the dark-reaching inside of a pitch black box”

I wish me and my younger self were separate beings. I wish I could have half of my brain devoted to them, so that my dreams could still have an area to live. I would rather be a parent to them than to be myself. I get the feeling I could encourage them enough to do it; to take hold of the future they wanted. If they never became me, I’d be so much happier. If my younger self wanted to take over my body I’d be happy to never breathe again. Dream wildly, do what you want, your energy and your love is yours and yours alone. I want you to have fun in the body I do not want to possess.

I cannot call myself delusional anymore. Nothing lasts. As the time slips away all that follows is regret. For the rest of existence I’m meant to bike next to the green grass, holding sadness in my heart while I take for granted what I won’t be able to see in the future. I stand next to blue houses scared of the people inside them. I’m buried in nonsensical images of a nostalgia before my time. I had a dream, once, then my body turned into purgatory and here I am with it no longer.

I am trudging through sand. There are some plans for the future. School, a job. Things I will be doing within a year or so. And that’s about it. I lack eyes to see anything past that. The brain to want anything else than what I’ve already decided is worthless. I am incapable of too much. I am weak. I am melting. Unknown, misnamed, felt things for that shouldn’t be felt. What I would give to have the afterlife I’ve longed for. Even that itself is an expired dream. I am the failure those who succeed are proud not to be. I don’t know how many of those without ambition have progressed in life. A lot of them have not.

Certainty is the curse I can’t ever grasp. My hands are fading from the light. Take me, hallucinated one, away from here, for in my hyperactive mind you are the one who understood me. I will let myself be broken if my sadness has a home to live in. This brain is intangible and self harming. These chemicals do not know how to move. They are broken and lack soul. We sit in the in-between waiting for the end I deserve. And what is it? I don’t know. Maybe I don’t even deserve that too.

You probably can’t live without any sort of ambition. If you aren’t introduced to the idea of death you probably will not want to die. Hope is non existent and all I can ever do is wait. Four walls flowing around me and all that’s ever to be seen is the broken visions I once held so proudly. That’s probably all it’s ever going to be.

[dickens-daily]

CHAPTER XII—GREENWICH FAIR

If the Parks be ‘the lungs of London,’ we wonder what Greenwich Fair is—a periodical breaking out, we suppose, a sort of spring-rash: a three days’ fever, which cools the blood for six months afterwards, and at the expiration of which London is restored to its old habits of plodding industry, as suddenly and completely as if nothing had ever happened to disturb them.

In our earlier days, we were a constant frequenter of Greenwich Fair, for years. We have proceeded to, and returned from it, in almost every description of vehicle. We cannot conscientiously deny the charge of having once made the passage in a spring-van, accompanied by thirteen gentlemen, fourteen ladies, an unlimited number of children, and a barrel of beer; and we have a vague recollection of having, in later days, found ourself the eighth outside, on the top of a hackney-coach, at something past four o’clock in the morning, with a rather confused idea of our own name, or place of residence. We have grown older since then, and quiet, and steady: liking nothing better than to spend our Easter, and all our other holidays, in some quiet nook, with people of whom we shall never tire; but we think we still remember something of Greenwich Fair, and of those who resort to it. At all events we will try.

The road to Greenwich during the whole of Easter Monday, is in a state of perpetual bustle and noise. Cabs, hackney-coaches, ‘shay’ carts, coal-waggons, stages, omnibuses, sociables, gigs, donkey-chaises—all crammed with people (for the question never is, what the horse can draw, but what the vehicle will hold), roll along at their utmost speed; the dust flies in clouds, ginger-beer corks go off in volleys, the balcony of every public-house is crowded with people, smoking and drinking, half the private houses are turned into tea-shops, fiddles are in great request, every little fruit-shop displays its stall of gilt gingerbread and penny toys; turnpike men are in despair; horses won’t go on, and wheels will come off; ladies in ‘carawans’ scream with fright at every fresh concussion, and their admirers find it necessary to sit remarkably close to them, by way of encouragement; servants-of-all-work, who are not allowed to have followers, and have got a holiday for the day, make the most of their time with the faithful admirer who waits for a stolen interview at the corner of the street every night, when they go to fetch the beer—apprentices grow sentimental, and straw-bonnet makers kind. Everybody is anxious to get on, and actuated by the common wish to be at the fair, or in the park, as soon as possible.

Pedestrians linger in groups at the roadside, unable to resist the allurements of the stout proprietress of the ‘Jack-in-the-box, three shies a penny,’ or the more splendid offers of the man with three thimbles and a pea on a little round board, who astonishes the bewildered crowd with some such address as, ‘Here’s the sort o’ game to make you laugh seven years arter you’re dead, and turn ev’ry air on your ed gray vith delight! Three thimbles and vun little pea—with a vun, two, three, and a two, three, vun: catch him who can, look on, keep your eyes open, and niver say die! niver mind the change, and the expense: all fair and above board: them as don’t play can’t vin, and luck attend the ryal sportsman! Bet any gen’lm’n any sum of money, from harf-a-crown up to a suverin, as he doesn’t name the thimble as kivers the pea!’ Here some greenhorn whispers his friend that he distinctly saw the pea roll under the middle thimble—an impression which is immediately confirmed by a gentleman in top-boots, who is standing by, and who, in a low tone, regrets his own inability to bet, in consequence of having unfortunately left his purse at home, but strongly urges the stranger not to neglect such a golden opportunity. The ‘plant’ is successful, the bet is made, the stranger of course loses: and the gentleman with the thimbles consoles him, as he pockets the money, with an assurance that it’s ‘all the fortin of war! this time I vin, next time you vin: niver mind the loss of two bob and a bender! Do it up in a small parcel, and break out in a fresh place. Here’s the sort o’ game,’ &c.—and the eloquent harangue, with such variations as the speaker’s exuberant fancy suggests, is again repeated to the gaping crowd, reinforced by the accession of several new-comers.

The chief place of resort in the daytime, after the public-houses, is the park, in which the principal amusement is to drag young ladies up the steep hill which leads to the Observatory, and then drag them down again, at the very top of their speed, greatly to the derangement of their curls and bonnet-caps, and much to the edification of lookers-on from below. ‘Kiss in the Ring,’ and ‘Threading my Grandmother’s Needle,’ too, are sports which receive their full share of patronage. Love-sick swains, under the influence of gin-and-water, and the tender passion, become violently affectionate: and the fair objects of their regard enhance the value of stolen kisses, by a vast deal of struggling, and holding down of heads, and cries of ‘Oh! Ha’ done, then, George—Oh, do tickle him for me, Mary—Well, I never!’ and similar Lucretian ejaculations. Little old men and women, with a small basket under one arm, and a wine-glass, without a foot, in the other hand, tender ‘a drop o’ the right sort’ to the different groups; and young ladies, who are persuaded to indulge in a drop of the aforesaid right sort, display a pleasing degree of reluctance to taste it, and cough afterwards with great propriety.

The old pensioners, who, for the moderate charge of a penny, exhibit the mast-house, the Thames and shipping, the place where the men used to hang in chains, and other interesting sights, through a telescope, are asked questions about objects within the range of the glass, which it would puzzle a Solomon to answer; and requested to find out particular houses in particular streets, which it would have been a task of some difficulty for Mr. Horner (not the young gentleman who ate mince-pies with his thumb, but the man of Colosseum notoriety) to discover. Here and there, where some three or four couple are sitting on the grass together, you will see a sun-burnt woman in a red cloak ‘telling fortunes’ and prophesying husbands, which it requires no extraordinary observation to describe, for the originals are before her. Thereupon, the lady concerned laughs and blushes, and ultimately buries her face in an imitation cambric handkerchief, and the gentleman described looks extremely foolish, and squeezes her hand, and fees the gipsy liberally; and the gipsy goes away, perfectly satisfied herself, and leaving those behind her perfectly satisfied also: and the prophecy, like many other prophecies of greater importance, fulfils itself in time.

But it grows dark: the crowd has gradually dispersed, and only a few stragglers are left behind. The light in the direction of the church shows that the fair is illuminated; and the distant noise proves it to be filling fast. The spot, which half an hour ago was ringing with the shouts of boisterous mirth, is as calm and quiet as if nothing could ever disturb its serenity: the fine old trees, the majestic building at their feet, with the noble river beyond, glistening in the moonlight, appear in all their beauty, and under their most favourable aspect; the voices of the boys, singing their evening hymn, are borne gently on the air; and the humblest mechanic who has been lingering on the grass so pleasant to the feet that beat the same dull round from week to week in the paved streets of London, feels proud to think as he surveys the scene before him, that he belongs to the country which has selected such a spot as a retreat for its oldest and best defenders in the decline of their lives.

Five minutes’ walking brings you to the fair; a scene calculated to awaken very different feelings. The entrance is occupied on either side by the vendors of gingerbread and toys: the stalls are gaily lighted up, the most attractive goods profusely disposed, and unbonneted young ladies, in their zeal for the interest of their employers, seize you by the coat, and use all the blandishments of ‘Do, dear’—‘There’s a love’—‘Don’t be cross, now,’ &c., to induce you to purchase half a pound of the real spice nuts, of which the majority of the regular fair-goers carry a pound or two as a present supply, tied up in a cotton pocket-handkerchief. Occasionally you pass a deal table, on which are exposed pen’orths of pickled salmon (fennel included), in little white saucers: oysters, with shells as large as cheese-plates, and divers specimens of a species of snail (wilks, we think they are called), floating in a somewhat bilious-looking green liquid. Cigars, too, are in great demand; gentlemen must smoke, of course, and here they are, two a penny, in a regular authentic cigar-box, with a lighted tallow candle in the centre.

Imagine yourself in an extremely dense crowd, which swings you to and fro, and in and out, and every way but the right one; add to this the screams of women, the shouts of boys, the clanging of gongs, the firing of pistols, the ringing of bells, the bellowings of speaking-trumpets, the squeaking of penny dittos, the noise of a dozen bands, with three drums in each, all playing different tunes at the same time, the hallooing of showmen, and an occasional roar from the wild-beast shows; and you are in the very centre and heart of the fair.

This immense booth, with the large stage in front, so brightly illuminated with variegated lamps, and pots of burning fat, is ‘Richardson’s,’ where you have a melodrama (with three murders and a ghost), a pantomime, a comic song, an overture, and some incidental music, all done in five-and-twenty minutes.

The company are now promenading outside in all the dignity of wigs, spangles, red-ochre, and whitening. See with what a ferocious air the gentleman who personates the Mexican chief, paces up and down, and with what an eye of calm dignity the principal tragedian gazes on the crowd below, or converses confidentially with the harlequin! The four clowns, who are engaged in a mock broadsword combat, may be all very well for the low-minded holiday-makers; but these are the people for the reflective portion of the community. They look so noble in those Roman dresses, with their yellow legs and arms, long black curly heads, bushy eyebrows, and scowl expressive of assassination, and vengeance, and everything else that is grand and solemn. Then, the ladies—were there ever such innocent and awful-looking beings; as they walk up and down the platform in twos and threes, with their arms round each other’s waists, or leaning for support on one of those majestic men! Their spangled muslin dresses and blue satin shoes and sandals (a leetle the worse for wear) are the admiration of all beholders; and the playful manner in which they check the advances of the clown, is perfectly enchanting.

‘Just a-going to begin! Pray come for’erd, come for’erd,’ exclaims the man in the countryman’s dress, for the seventieth time: and people force their way up the steps in crowds. The band suddenly strikes up, the harlequin and columbine set the example, reels are formed in less than no time, the Roman heroes place their arms a-kimbo, and dance with considerable agility; and the leading tragic actress, and the gentleman who enacts the ‘swell’ in the pantomime, foot it to perfection. ‘All in to begin,’ shouts the manager, when no more people can be induced to ‘come for’erd,’ and away rush the leading members of the company to do the dreadful in the first piece.

A change of performance takes place every day during the fair, but the story of the tragedy is always pretty much the same. There is a rightful heir, who loves a young lady, and is beloved by her; and a wrongful heir, who loves her too, and isn’t beloved by her; and the wrongful heir gets hold of the rightful heir, and throws him into a dungeon, just to kill him off when convenient, for which purpose he hires a couple of assassins—a good one and a bad one—who, the moment they are left alone, get up a little murder on their own account, the good one killing the bad one, and the bad one wounding the good one. Then the rightful heir is discovered in prison, carefully holding a long chain in his hands, and seated despondingly in a large arm-chair; and the young lady comes in to two bars of soft music, and embraces the rightful heir; and then the wrongful heir comes in to two bars of quick music (technically called ‘a hurry’), and goes on in the most shocking manner, throwing the young lady about as if she was nobody, and calling the rightful heir ‘Ar-recreant—ar-wretch!’ in a very loud voice, which answers the double purpose of displaying his passion, and preventing the sound being deadened by the sawdust. The interest becomes intense; the wrongful heir draws his sword, and rushes on the rightful heir; a blue smoke is seen, a gong is heard, and a tall white figure (who has been all this time, behind the arm-chair, covered over with a table-cloth), slowly rises to the tune of ‘Oft in the stilly night.’ This is no other than the ghost of the rightful heir’s father, who was killed by the wrongful heir’s father, at sight of which the wrongful heir becomes apoplectic, and is literally ‘struck all of a heap,’ the stage not being large enough to admit of his falling down at full length. Then the good assassin staggers in, and says he was hired in conjunction with the bad assassin, by the wrongful heir, to kill the rightful heir; and he’s killed a good many people in his time, but he’s very sorry for it, and won’t do so any more—a promise which he immediately redeems, by dying off hand without any nonsense about it. Then the rightful heir throws down his chain; and then two men, a sailor, and a young woman (the tenantry of the rightful heir) come in, and the ghost makes dumb motions to them, which they, by supernatural interference, understand—for no one else can; and the ghost (who can’t do anything without blue fire) blesses the rightful heir and the young lady, by half suffocating them with smoke: and then a muffin-bell rings, and the curtain drops.

The exhibitions next in popularity to these itinerant theatres are the travelling menageries, or, to speak more intelligibly, the ‘Wild-beast shows,’ where a military band in beef-eater’s costume, with leopard-skin caps, play incessantly; and where large highly-coloured representations of tigers tearing men’s heads open, and a lion being burnt with red-hot irons to induce him to drop his victim, are hung up outside, by way of attracting visitors.

The principal officer at these places is generally a very tall, hoarse man, in a scarlet coat, with a cane in his hand, with which he occasionally raps the pictures we have just noticed, by way of illustrating his description—something in this way. ‘Here, here, here; the lion, the lion (tap), exactly as he is represented on the canvas outside (three taps): no waiting, remember; no deception. The fe-ro-cious lion (tap, tap) who bit off the gentleman’s head last Cambervel vos a twelvemonth, and has killed on the awerage three keepers a-year ever since he arrived at matoority. No extra charge on this account recollect; the price of admission is only sixpence.’ This address never fails to produce a considerable sensation, and sixpences flow into the treasury with wonderful rapidity.

The dwarfs are also objects of great curiosity, and as a dwarf, a giantess, a living skeleton, a wild Indian, ‘a young lady of singular beauty, with perfectly white hair and pink eyes,’ and two or three other natural curiosities, are usually exhibited together for the small charge of a penny, they attract very numerous audiences. The best thing about a dwarf is, that he has always a little box, about two feet six inches high, into which, by long practice, he can just manage to get, by doubling himself up like a boot-jack; this box is painted outside like a six-roomed house, and as the crowd see him ring a bell, or fire a pistol out of the first-floor window, they verily believe that it is his ordinary town residence, divided like other mansions into drawing-rooms, dining-parlour, and bedchambers. Shut up in this case, the unfortunate little object is brought out to delight the throng by holding a facetious dialogue with the proprietor: in the course of which, the dwarf (who is always particularly drunk) pledges himself to sing a comic song inside, and pays various compliments to the ladies, which induce them to ‘come for’erd’ with great alacrity. As a giant is not so easily moved, a pair of indescribables of most capacious dimensions, and a huge shoe, are usually brought out, into which two or three stout men get all at once, to the enthusiastic delight of the crowd, who are quite satisfied with the solemn assurance that these habiliments form part of the giant’s everyday costume.

The grandest and most numerously-frequented booth in the whole fair, however, is ‘The Crown and Anchor’—a temporary ball-room—we forget how many hundred feet long, the price of admission to which is one shilling. Immediately on your right hand as you enter, after paying your money, is a refreshment place, at which cold beef, roast and boiled, French rolls, stout, wine, tongue, ham, even fowls, if we recollect right, are displayed in tempting array. There is a raised orchestra, and the place is boarded all the way down, in patches, just wide enough for a country dance.

There is no master of the ceremonies in this artificial Eden—all is primitive, unreserved, and unstudied. The dust is blinding, the heat insupportable, the company somewhat noisy, and in the highest spirits possible: the ladies, in the height of their innocent animation, dancing in the gentlemen’s hats, and the gentlemen promenading ‘the gay and festive scene’ in the ladies’ bonnets, or with the more expensive ornaments of false noses, and low-crowned, tinder-box-looking hats: playing children’s drums, and accompanied by ladies on the penny trumpet.

The noise of these various instruments, the orchestra, the shouting, the ‘scratchers,’ and the dancing, is perfectly bewildering. The dancing, itself, beggars description—every figure lasts about an hour, and the ladies bounce up and down the middle, with a degree of spirit which is quite indescribable. As to the gentlemen, they stamp their feet against the ground, every time ‘hands four round’ begins, go down the middle and up again, with cigars in their mouths, and silk handkerchiefs in their hands, and whirl their partners round, nothing loth, scrambling and falling, and embracing, and knocking up against the other couples, until they are fairly tired out, and can move no longer. The same scene is repeated again and again (slightly varied by an occasional ‘row’) until a late hour at night: and a great many clerks and ’prentices find themselves next morning with aching heads, empty pockets, damaged hats, and a very imperfect recollection of how it was they did not get home.

_____

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[beaisdifferent]

Recovering from the Holidays

You’ve survived.  I’ve survived.  As I clutch to your arm and pull you to your feet from the muck, the sun rises over the holiday battlefield, and we are alive.

I’ll be frank, 90% of the time, I hate the holidays. Especially Christmas.  It’s everything I’m not good at slammed into one poorly wrapped package.  Socialize with distant family at the parties, mingle in a crowd of 40 smushed into Nanny’s house, rearrange your living space with décor and flashing lights, swallow back financial anxieties and buy the all gifts, organize the gifts for a dozen people, plan well in advance what you’re getting those dozen people, make sure you have the ingredients for those special holiday meals and then somehow find the time in all of this packed on top of your already busy day to day to cook those meals.  I hate it.  Expectation, obligation, the dread of inevitable failure to get it as right as everyone else seems to get it, the seemingly physical sickness that comes when spending too much time around so many endlessly noisy people.

But I’m at the end of Christmas day, tucked away home and safe.  I can unclench my mask of a smile, I can relax my muscles, and know that tomorrow holds no holiday responsibilities.  It’s like my heart just took off her bra.  Freedom.

But it’s not as easy as just wiping the glitter off on your hands and dropping into bed.  There is routine, structure, ritual to shaking off the pressure of December lays into your clenched teeth.  Here is how I recommend it’s done.

Light a candle.  If your home has been neglected or ignored for a few days, bringing in some soft light and good scents are a great place to start.  Smells are significant to me, and I breathe easier when the smells are baked goods or pine forests.

Wash the dishes.  The heart of my apartment is my kitchen, so starting here is a necessity.  The dishes that have built up over the past few days as the chaos built to a crescendo are the first thing on my list.  Empty whatever is clean from the dishwasher and fill it again, cleaning dishes with hot, soapy water and loading them into the dishwasher.  I handwash what needs more intimate attention and stack it neatly to dry.  I scrub down the sink and the smell of soured milk creeping up from beneath the pile.  I take a deep breath and admire my empty, organized sink.  Then wipe down the counters and I’m done.

Drink a cup of tea.  Brew up a cup of tea, white or green, and hydrate yourself with some soothing herbal heat, I recommend green, ginger, peppermint, or chamomile.  Drink it from your favorite, freshly cleaned cup.

Handle the laundry. My laundry has built into an intimidating mountain as well.  I switch over what I’ve forgotten about in the washing machine, and carry yet another bundle to the bedroom for folding.  Then I fold.  Tonight I talked to my husband as he sorted some of the gifts we’ve been blessed with this season, and sipped on my lemon ginger tea.  In less than a half and hour, I had neatly stacked piles of clothes and a stomach pacified after Holiday indulgences, and I’m done.

Get Rid of the crash.  I take all the expired food from the fridge, clean the litter box, and compile all the cardboard boxes for the recycling.  Taking out the trash right now means driving across the apartment complex for the one (1) dumpster we all share, so it’s a pain, but husband cleared it all away while I tackled the dishes, and it’s done.

Wash the Me.  I strip down and climb into a hot shower.  I shampoo my hair, wash my face, rinse and smother my locks in a heavy conditioner, and scrub every inch of my with my favorite smelling soap.  A good exfoliating is sometimes needed to really cleanse myself of the flimflam celebratory chaos, small talk, and hugs and shoulder touches from all the people I don’t know how to tell not to touch me.  Tonight a special bottle of aromatherapy bodywash I’ve been using sparingly for years was the calling.  Then I dry in my favorite purple towel, and moisturize, rubbing a heavy dollop of lotion to the problem areas of my hands and arms where the dragon scales of eczema like to lay claim.  Then I wrap up my hair to plop it.  It keeps heavy wet hair from sitting on my neck, face, and shoulders, helps to bring out the curls, and the compression feels good around my head. I’m done.

Finally, I crawl into fresh pajamas, and sit down on the couch with a stilling hobby of my choice.  I’ll read one of the new books I’ve been gifted, or knit the a gift I’ve decided too late I want to give to someone for Christmas and ready it to give to them late.  I sink into the cushion, clean, and I exhale the stress.  I’ve done it.

Cleaning my house and catching up on at least some of the things I’ve been too tired, distracted, or busy to handle puts me back in control.  It’s a catharsis with great reward, letting me see and feel that life can resume routine now and that I can be left at peace within that routine once more.  I deep clean myself, scrubbing away the festivities and all their anxiety and disruption in water almost hot enough to be painful, just hot enough to be satisfying.

The holidays are done, the gifts are given, the parties are over.  New year’s eve will be smaller for me at least, but if needed, I can come back to this ritual, and find the air to unclench again.  Always, again.

[glycerineclown]

WIP Weekend - "the trouble we're in"

Joel smuggles condoms for use at a brothel in the Boston QZ. He gets his needs met on the side, and never has to feel anything, ever. 

We all know how that’ll turn out for him. Joel Miller/OFC, pre-canon.

Here's a sneak peek! Current word count: 17,168. Thanks @puddle--wonderful for the tag!

Her apartment is small, but Cameron’s done her best to keep it looking decent. Last winter she stripped off the peeling floral wallpaper and scrubbed the walls until they were as close to white as possible. She has an alarm clock that doubles as a CD player, and a full-size mattress, raised up on cement blocks in lieu of a bedframe. The bookshelf built into the wall is full to bursting with old paperbacks, stacks of overflow spilling onto the floor beside it. In the bathroom, there’s an old-fashioned washing board, and clothes hanging to dry on the shower rod.

She heats up leftover soup on the stove, and eats it with a slice of rosemary bread that she baked herself. For dessert, it’s half a snickerdoodle—they get all sorts of things as tips. One of her regulars likes to bring her fresh aloe from a plant he keeps at his place. Another pays for her to have lunch with him every other Monday. 

Joel Miller lives upstairs, so it’s easy enough for him to darken her door long after curfew, when most of the building is asleep. Cameron puts on a pot of tea when ten rolls around, and there’s a soft knocking as her cup is getting cool enough to drink.

Cameron cracks the door, and then swings it wide. “Hey, Red.”

Joel scowls, brushing past her into the apartment. “Told you to stop callin’ me that.”

Cameron sighs, and closes the door, flips the deadbolt. She was a junior in high school when the world ended. Old enough that she knows he’s seen Shawshank. “But you’re the man who knows how to get things.”

Joel takes his pack down from his shoulder. “That may be true, but I sure as shit ain’t Morgan Freeman.” He unsnaps the main pocket, and pulls out a box, handing it off to Cameron. “They’re from February.”

Block letters on the cardboard read, 350 count, large size, ultra thin, latex, lubricated—Marlene’s delivery of condoms, fresh from Atlanta, not expired. A separate order from what’s rationed to everyone else by the military.

Birth control pills haven’t been an option since six women in the Atlanta QZ suffered strokes. It’s not like the FDA is still around.

Joel stands up straight, and slings his bag back over one shoulder. He’s a lifesaver for this, but she’s learned not to lay that on too thick. Cameron sighs, peering up at his face. She just has a lamp on in the living room, but there are street lights outside her window, and it’s bright enough that she can see how dusty and exhausted he is. Smuggling makes ends meet after days of hard labor, so he’s broad and strong, too. 

The first time she met him—years ago, now, the fall after he moved in upstairs—she knocked on his door and sold him three onions. He’s always kept to himself. Before she started working for Marlene, the yearly crop constituted all the interaction they’d ever had.

Cameron blinks, and looks away. “I’ve got your payment. Have you eaten?”

Joel opens his mouth like he might refuse her, but then he shakes his head. “Whatcha got?”

“Soup and fresh bread.”

“Tomato?”

“Lentil. And I made ginger tea, but I’ve got whiskey, too. Take a load off.”

Cameron carries the box over to the bed, and bends to slide it under the mattress until tomorrow, before pulling out the bag of ration cards. When she returns, Joel is seated on her sofa, eyes half-open, legs spread wide. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s sucked his cock, but Joel looks about ready to pass out.

She tosses the bag onto the coffee table in front of him. “A hundred and ten. I’ll get you that soup.”

[nygmobblepot-trash]

Nygmobblepot Cooking Headcannons

Ed: Of course he can cook. If you think too hard about it, cooking is a science. And oh man is Ed good at science. Unfortunately he never cooks. This poor man lives like a college student during finals week, except Ed has had finals week every week for the past 15 years. So yes you can blame Oswald for being half the reason why Ed's fridge is filled with a variety of hand eaten different Chinese food that is expiring. He is so skinny, please someone feed him.

Riddler: No he is not the same as Ed. This fucker's ego is so big that he makes every dish inedible. Frankly it is quite impressive to be able to mess up that bad. He isn't even trying anything hard. He tried to heat up soup and it blew up. The heat was on low. How is that even possible? Because of this he is the other half reason why Ed doesn't cook. Riddler sees Ed as beneath him so when he realizes Ed can do something he can't, he loses it. Anytime Ed cooks this asshole goes on about how only the stupid can cook. And how he is a true genius and that is why cooking doesn't work out for him. Thus Riddler contributes to the various boxes in Ed's fridge.

Oswald: Yes. Yes he can cook. Listen I know you want to yell at me and say Oswald has people cook for him. He's above it (like Riddler). You're forgetting about the Queen. You cannot tell me that Mama Cobblepot did not teach her boy not to cook. She dragged his ass into the kitchen to cook because "if you can't cook for your special one, you'll lose them." So yes Oswald can cook his mother's recipes quite well. He doesn't do it because well... it would be wrong to cook without her. He does do it on occasion though. It is Ed's fault. Oswald went over to Ed's apartment once to complain to Ed about not being done with the plan yet. Oswald is a nosy fuck and opened the fridge and stood in horror for a good 5 minutes. After that he told Ed he would be back for the plans in 2 hours and left in a rush. 2 hours later Oswald comes back with several Tupperwares of soup (the kind with vegetables and potatoes, all the things a growing boy needs). Ed is in his own little world and doesn't know Oswald has stocked his fridge. So when he opens the fridge to find actual meals in there he is quite confused. As he doesn't remember making anything and knows damn well Riddler didn't make it.

[quicksilverownsmysoul]

Convenience Store

Summary: you work at the local convenience store, everyday the same, that is until someone speeds by. Someone brings a little more excitement to your life than you bargained for

Warnings: a rude customer towards the end who gets a little aggressive

Hey y’all enjoy this little story I whipped up in the spur of the moment! Just a reminder that my inbox is open, so feel free to send me requests or let me know if you have a headcannon you’d like me to write about!!!

Working at a convenience store isn’t all that fun. Dealing with rude people that demand you honor their three year old coupons, or children that scream endlessly until their poor mother finally gives in and buys them some random candy or toy. But the work wasn’t hard. Just restocking the shelves and managing the register. Everyday the same old thing. Since it was a small shop there was usually only one person at a time working, so didn’t have to try and make awkward conversation with your coworkers. And your manager was nice enough to let you study at the register when it wasn’t too busy.

Today was one of those days. Business was slow so you had your history textbook open and notebook out trying to study for your upcoming final. The bell chimed, and you looked up the greet the customer only to find no one there, you furrowed your brow in confusion but figured it was the wind and went back to studying. You were finishing up the chapter when a voice startled you out of your thoughts.

“What are doing?” You jumped in your seat the sudden noise surprising you. You looked up to see a guy with silver hair leaning on the counter. “Sorry didn’t mean to scare you.” He was drinking a slurpee and it looked as if he was practically vibrating, his hand tapping the counter and an insane pace. He really needed to cut back on sugar.

You snapped out of your shock and pushed your textbook to the side. “You know you need to pay for that don’t you?”

He looked down at the large cup in his hand. “Do I?”

You couldn’t believe this guy, was he joking. “Yes you do that’s how a store works.” You looked him over again the first thought that came to mind was that he looked weird. He had silver hair despite looking no older than 19, he was wearing a silver reflective jacket, and goggles which were placed over his eyes. And he couldn’t stop moving.

He smiled at you, and before you knew it he was gone. His slurpee gone with him. “Hey!” You shouted and ran around the counter flinging open the door. “You have to pay for that!” Your words fell on deaf ears, there was no one in sight. You made your way back into the store, grumbling about how this was going to come out of your paycheck.

The next day you were restocking the stores supplies of twinkies when you felt as if someone was standing next to you. You turned to look behind you but no one was there. When you turned back the box you had been holding was gone. “Wow I didn’t know they made confetti ones, are these new?” You let out a little scream when you saw the guy from yesterday on your right hand side. “These look good I might have to try them.”

“It’s you, from yesterday.”

He smirked at you and leaned on the shelf. “So you remember me?”

“As the guy that stole the slurpee,” you crossed your arms across your chest. “Of course I do.”

“Can you prove it?”

“What?”

“Can you prove I stole the slurpee.”

“I-“ you paused. Actually you couldn’t. You checked the security cam yesterday trying to show your manager proof that someone stole something only for there to be a silver spark of a person for less than a second before nothing. Just you yelling at our the door. Your manager looked at you like you were crazy.

You pursed your lips in frustration. “No I can’t.” You mumbled.

“What was that?” He held a hand up to his ear a smile stretching across his face. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I said no I can’t.” You said through gritted teeth.

“Well there ya have it, I didn’t steal a thing.” He was eating one of the confetti twinkies and made a face at the taste. “I don’t like these too much.” He handed you the half eaten snack and ripped open a box of the original twinkies. “I like these better.”

“Are you gonna pay for these.”

He just winked and left you standing in the aisle with a half eaten Twinkie and an open box of them. Well since it was coming out of your paycheck you figured you could try one. You opened the package and the minute you bit it you made a face. The guy was right these were awful. You threw the box away and went back to shelving the items.

He came back the next day this time he beat you to the store. When you arrived he was sitting at the chair behind the counter. At this point you weren’t even surprised at his presence. “Hey.”

You ignored him and walked the the back of the store with your broom. A small frown was etched into his features as he saw you ignore him. But a second later he was at your side opening the freezer and taking a soda out. You didn’t even acknowledge him. “Aren’t you gonna ask me if I’m gonna pay for this?”

You looked up at him. “If I ask you will you pay for it?”

He laughed “No.”

You let out an amused snort and he smiled. “Why do you keep coming here?”

“The foods good.” You stopped sweeping to give him a judgmental look.

“The food is crap, half of its expired.”

He had already finished the soda and was starting his second one. He nervously licked his lips before speaking again. “Would you believe me if I told you I came here to see you?”

You leaned on your broom. “No.”

He walked over to you hands shaking slightly. “Well it’s true.” His soft voice made a shiver run down your spine, and like that he was gone.

For the rest of the work day you found yourself thinking about him. You couldn’t deny that he was cute. His hair as unusual as it was suited him and when he smiled your heart rate picked up. And as annoyed as you acted around him, you thought his antics were quite endearing, you just wished he didn’t cost you money every time he stopped by.

“Ahem.” You we’re so lost in your thoughts you didn’t even notice there was a customer waiting.

“I’m sorry sir how can I help you?”

“Well you could have been doing your job and not have kept me waiting for as long as you did.” You winced at his tone and muttered another apology. You rang up his items and told him the total. He leaned over the counter and you felt yourself step back. “You know since you kept me waiting for so long I shouldn’t even have to pay for my stuff.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. It’s not fault that a stupid girl like you doesn’t know how to do your job. I don’t know why they have you at the counter, you aren’t even pretty enough to draw in any customers. “ He made a move to get behind the counter.

“Sir you can’t come back here.” You tried to stop him from coming through but he grabbed your wrist.” Let go of me.” Your voice was shaking for fear.

“Or what?” He gave you a sick smile. You looked around but there was no one in sight. “you should know better than-“ the man was cut off as he was yanked back and away from you. You lifted your gaze off of the floor to see the silver haired boy from earlier, holding the man by the back collar of his shirt.

He looked at the man and made a disapproving voice, chiding him with a playful voice. “You know that’s no way to treat a lady. And if you’re not gonna pay for anything you should get out of the way.”

The man was angrier than ever struggling to get out of his grip. “Let go of me!”

The silver haired boy looked at him and gave him a smile. “Okay.” Time seemed to slow and the next thing you knew the man was flying out the door half way across the parking lot.

The silver haired boy turned back to you a look of worry on his face. His voice was soft as he spoke to you. “Are you okay?”

You took a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. “I’m okay now. But that was really scary.” You looked back down at your feet trying your best not to show him how scared your really were. He hated seeing you like this. He broke the silence.

“I bet, I’m sorry you had to go through that. That guy was being a total creep. At least when I try to steal things I’m polite about it.” He joked trying to ease the tension.

You let out a little laugh. He smiled back at you. A few moments past and you spoke up, curiosity taking over. “What was that, how were you able to grab him so fast? And how did you get here?” He tapped his fingers anxiously against the counter as you questioned him. “There was no one here at all and then suddenly.” You eyed him suspiciously. “How’d you do it.”

“Um...” he stumbled over his words, “It’s a secret.” He said looking down at his feet. When he looked back up you were leaning over the counter inches away from him. He felt his face heat up at the sudden closeness. He tried to look away but your determined eyes made him hold eye contact for the time being.

“No seriously how did you do it?” His eyes darted back and forth, nervously, you could tell he was debating and what he was going to tell you. He sighed and leaned back over the counter, this time making your face heat up.

“Promise you won’t freak out.” You give him a look before nodding your head in agreement. He put his goggles on. And shook his body out to ease his tension. You gave him a weird look as he gave you a nervous smile. “Watch me.”

A gust of wind blew you hair back, taking off through the store in a lap and the next second he was back at the counter, sitting on your stool, feet resting on the countertop. Your mouth was open in shock, trying to process how he got there so fast. He watched you with curious eyes, licking his lip nervously trying to anticipate what your reaction was going to be. “That was-“ he shut his eyes, wincing preparing for a negative reaction.

“That was so cool!! What was that?” You turned to face him caging him in with your arms unintentionally. He felt his face turn red and stumbled over his words

“I- um..” he finally managed to choke out a response, his cool guy demeanor fading. “I’m a mutant.” He squeaked out. You gave a laugh at his high voice. “I’m a mutant. “ he said again his voice back to normal. “My ability is super speed.”

“That’s so cool, so that’s how you were able to steal things so quickly.”

“Hey!” He defended. “That’s not all I use my powers for.”

“But that’s what you mostly use them for.”

He paused before admitting the truth with a embarrassed. “yea.”

You guys laughed. He was still a little in awe of how calm you were. “So you’re not freaked out?”

“Not at all. That like insane, it’s really cool that you can do that.” You gave him a reassured smile and he felt his heart leap for joy.

“So now that you know about my powers, and since I saved your live-“

You scoffed. “Dramatic much?”

He smirked. “Will you go on a date with me?”

You were taken aback and felt heat creep up onto your cheeks. “I don’t even know your name.”

“If I tell you my name will you go out with me?”

You mirrored his playful smirk. “Maybe.”

He stuck his hand out towards you and you took it in your own. “Hi I’m Peter Maximoff.”

[blueskittlesart]

you look sooo cool also i love the color of your hair :-)

thanks but this is so funny i know u can’t rlly tell in those pics but my hair is so awful rn like it’s half faded out black box dye and half expired punky color pink mixed with 2 year old salon dye i took from my old hairdresser. my roots r like 2 inches long. i also have been cutting it myself with our kitchen scissors for the past like 2 months. my hair is in dire need of help rn

[n00dl3gal]

Like Old Times (Father-Son Bonding AU)

A direct sequel to the “Expiration Date” fic, which I’ll link in a reblog. I’ve also posted all my fics in this AU to AO3!! Thanks again to @thetriggeredhappy for their help and just generally being a cool dude, and the Scoutsune Discord server for indulging my brainrot

No warnings beyond family schmoop!

Less than an hour after the bread monster incident, the Administrator called for a ceasefire. “Only while your base is repaired,” she said over the TV screen. “BLU is quite disappointed in this negligence- as am I. Regardless, you may use these three days as you see fit. Go home, stay here- whatever you do, no more bread monsters.” The screen turned off with a click. 

Scout exhaled through his nose. He was thankful there was no mention of him or Miss Pauling’s woodchipper. 

Spy decloaked behind him. “Less time than I wanted, but c’est la vie.” Scout looked at him over his shoulder. “I’m meeting with an old contact during our break,” Spy said in Italian. “Would you like to come along? It’ll be like old times.” 

Scout’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. At least this way, he’d get out of helping Engie and Heavy with repairs. And possibly meeting Miss Pauling’s woodchipper. 

“Excellent. Our flight is at 7 AM tomorrow.” 

“We’re flying commercial?” Scout asked, also in (more hesitant) Italian. 

“Our destination is continental. We’ll leave the base by 5:30.” Scout groaned as Spy started to leave. But- wait, he hadn’t- 

“Oi, where are we going, anyway?” he called back in English. 

Spy paused to look at him and smile. “Boston.” 

“Why do we always get the ass-crack-of-dawn flights?” Jeremy asked groggily, reclining his seat.

“They are the ones with first-class seats available,” Raphael replied. He took a sip from his mimosa. 

“Yeah, cuz God forbid you fly coach for once.” Jeremy shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Hey. Have I ever been to Boston before?”

Raphael didn’t answer immediately. His lip sucked in, as if in thought. “Yes. When you were very, very young. You wouldn’t remember.” 

Jeremy nodded. He wanted to ask more, there was something Raphael wasn’t saying but… well, he was never a morning person. He fell asleep before the plane even took off. 

. . .

It was mid-afternoon by the time they landed in Boston. Jeremy was never fond of long flights; having his legs cramped like that for extended periods of time was murder. He was half tempted to take a jog around Logan International. Raphael, on the other hand, was ushering them both to the car rental. “Can’t even get a stretch in, huh?”

“Unfortunately, we are expected by 4, and I would hate to keep my contact waiting,” Raphael explained in French, accepting the keys from the girl at the counter. “She’s not a very patient woman, in some regards.” 

Jeremy huffed but didn’t argue. He just followed his father to the rental, tossing his suitcase in the backseat. “Y’know, the girl at the counter-” 

“We will not have time for you to go out on a date, Jeremy.” 

“No! No, it was- her accent’s kinda like mine, it’s weird,” Jeremy said. Raphael started the car. “Cuz I’ve only been here as a baby, and I got mine from TV and shit. It’s just… really strange, is all.” 

Raphael made a quiet noise of agreement. “Some of the shows you watched as a child were filmed here. It’s not as complex as you think it is.” 

“Yeah, probably not…” 

The pair lapsed into silence as Raphael drove. Storefronts and high rises morphed into houses. It had been a while since they were in a residential area. RED, for understandable reasons, kept away from civilians. 

Raphael took the roads with practiced experience. Sure, it had been implied he knew the area. If he had a contact here- one with a house, presumably- he must’ve spent time here. But this- this was far too familiar. A bit suspicious, actually. 

Eventually, Raphael slowed in front of a more rundown Brownstone. Still quite nice, just needed a little work. It felt… welcoming, in a way Jeremy couldn’t name.

“Lotta cars,” he observed as Raphael parallel parked. “Must be a party going on somewhere.” 

“Hmm, perhaps,” Raphael said, turning the car off. “Would you mind ringing the doorbell for me? I need to grab something from the trunk. Ask for Sara Jane.” 

OK, now Jeremy knew something was up. He was never the one to make the first contact, that was always Dad’s job. Jeremy might be a full-grown adult, but there were some things that didn’t change. This was one of them. 

Still, he nodded. He climbed up the front steps and ringed the doorbell. He heard- multiple voices from inside, predominantly male, but they quickly silenced themselves. A TV, perhaps? They really ought to get that flower box on the second story window fixed- 

The woman who opened the door was a bit shorter than him, though not by much. She was wearing a simple dress, hoop earrings, and flats. Her hair was dark, curved to her chin. But her nose and earlobes felt… achingly familiar. Like Jeremy saw them all the time. 

“Um, hi, I’m looking for Sara Jane? My name’s-” The rest of his speech was knocked out of him as the woman launched herself at him. Jeremy braced for an attack, but quickly realized she was… hugging him. 

She was hugging him, sobbing, and choked out the word “Jeremy.” 

Wait. He knew that voice. He had only heard it a few times in his life, few enough he could count them on one hand, but he knew it. “M-Ma?” he whispered. 

The woman- Sara Jane- Ma looked up at him, still crying. Her hands found his face as she observed him. “Y-yeah, sweetie, it’s me, it’s-it’s your ma,” she said. 

“Ma!” he laughed, tears of his own dancing down his cheeks. He hugged her back, practically lifting her off her feet. “Oh my God, Ma! I-I never thought I’d-” 

“Oh Jeremy, sweetie, look how tall you’ve gotten! Last I saw you, you fit in my arms! My baby, my handsome baby,” she spoke over him. She rubbed circles into his back as they embraced. It felt so, so right. 

Jeremy laughed even harder. “Are you kiddin’? I got it from you, you’re beautiful, Ma!” He stared at her, trying to commit every mole and wrinkle and perfect flaw to memory. “I can’t believe- oh my God, I’m actually meeting you!” 

“It was long overdue,” another voice said, as Raphael joined them on the front stoop. “I had put it off for safety reasons, but considering our current, ah, situation… I felt it was worth the risk.” 

Sara Jane squealed, pulling Raphael into the hug as well. “You’ve been taking good care of my boy, you promise me, Raphael?” 

“Don’t worry Ma, he’s the best dad I could ask for, considering,” Jeremy teased. 

“Oh, don’t I know it. Called me up last night and told me to get the whole motley crew together. Even managed to get Melvin to bring his twin daughters, bless his wife’s heart,” she explained. 

Jeremy blinked. “Uh- Melvin? Daughters?”

Sara Jane laughed. It sounded so much like Jeremy’s it practically hurt. This was his mother. Lord, he’s finally seeing her. “Melvin’s your older brother, sweetie. Eh, sixth oldest. Bobby’s the oldest.” 

“I have a brother?”

“Oh honey, you’re the youngest of eight,” Sara Jane said plainly. 

“...fuck,” Jeremy whispered. 

. . .

He didn’t just have seven brothers. He had seven brothers, four of which brought their wives, one who brought his boyfriend, and three who brought their kids. And the kids totaled to an additional six, counting the babies. 

It was… an admittedly tight squeeze in the living room. 

Sara Jane introduced Jeremy. Jeremy had been expecting to be treated like a stranger. He had vanished when he was a baby, after all, and his younger-older brothers probably wouldn’t remember him at all. 

And yet, it was like he knew them all his life. 

They teased him and punched him playfully and acted so friendly, so familial it nearly made Jeremy break down. He was still crying from meeting Ma, but being dogpiled with so much affection was suffocating. In a good way. He had seen on sitcoms the intrinsic bond between family, and while he felt it with Dad, they also risked their lives nearly daily. But it was real, it was here, and it was wrapping him in a warm blanket. 

Despite the chaos and the sheer number of people, Jeremy didn’t feel overwhelmed. He laughed and played along with their jokes, cracking some back when he could get a word in. Scott ragged on his dog tags, he countered by pointing out the hole in his pants. Michael told him he was still a shortass, he replied with “it takes one to know one.” Elliot and Ricky were the closest to actually getting hurt, and that was only because Jeremy elbowed them both so hard they nearly fell over. 

For the first time in 25 years, Jeremy understood what “home” meant. 

The kids were especially curious, eager to meet their uncle and step-grandfather. Within seconds, young Rebecca- only four years old- was challenging Jeremy to a race around the house. “I’m the fastest kid in the world,” she bragged, puffing out her chest. 

“Oh yeah?” Jeremy asked. “That a fact?”

“You wanna test me? I beat Johnny Three-Legs at running, and he’s got three legs!” Jeremy laughed and stood from the couch, letting her lead him outside. “On the count of three, OK?”

“You’re on, pipsqueak,” Jeremy teased.

“Onetwothree GO!” Rebecca yelled, taking off in a sprint. Jeremy knew that, by all accounts, he should beat her. His legs were longer, she didn’t have the proper running stance, and it was his job to be fast. That’s what he got paid to do. But some small voice was telling him to let her win, so he did. “Ha! I told ya!” 

“Ya sure did,” he replied, mock panting. “Look at you, a freaking blur on the green. You’re goin’ to the Olympics, kid.” 

Rebecca beamed and hugged his leg. “Promise, Uncle Jeremy?” He nodded because, after that display, there was no way he could speak without squeaking like a chew toy. 

Rebecca skipped back inside, past Raphael, who was watching on the stoop. “You’re a natural with children,” he observed. “I used to do the same thing when you were that age.” 

“Wait- wait, really? You sure fooled me,” Jeremy said. 

Raphael rolled his eyes. “What’s my job again, mon lapin?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jeremy leaned against the railing, watching Raphael’s cigarette smoke in the wind. “Hey. Uh… thanks for arranging all of this. You really didn’t need to.”

“But I did. I meant it when I said this was overdue. I’ve been wanting to introduce you to the rest of the family for a while, but have been unable. Then that whole ordeal with the supposed tumors, and-” Raphael exhaled slowly. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you if you died without knowing them. I would’ve never forgiven myself.” 

Jeremy punched his shoulder lightly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, pops. It all worked out, we’re still kicking, and that roast chicken Ma’s making smells incredible. Everything’s perfect.” 

Raphael finished his cigarette and smiled. “Oui. It is.” 

. . .

While Sara Jane had been able to get the rest of the family here, it was a school night. Kids needed to be tucked in by 9:30, so most of Jeremy’s brothers were gone by 8. Elliot was staying overnight, as was his boyfriend. Otherwise, the house quickly went from bustling to barren. 

It gave Jeremy a chance to explore his would-be childhood home.

He made his way upstairs, pushing open one of the doors. It led- to little surprise- to a bedroom. It was set up like a nursery, with a crib in one corner and a toddler bed in the other. Toys were scattered about across the floor. 

He heard Sara Jane sigh behind him. “This was your room, you know.” Jeremy turned to look at her as she flipped the light switch. “That crib… I had put you to bed the night your father planned to fake his death. I was in on the whole plan, naturally. He wanted to hold you one last time, so I said OK. When I woke up the next morning… you were both gone.” She exhaled slowly, grabbing onto his shoulder. “I wrote both of you off as dead, but I knew what had happened. Honestly, should’ve figured it out before then. You hadn’t woken me up crying,” she joked. Her eyes were watering. 

Jeremy hugged her, pulling her close. “You never took the crib down?” 

“By the time I was ready, Bobby’s wife was pregnant, so I kept it up for my grandbabies. I knew- I knew you were out there, sweetie. Both of you.” She kissed his cheek, squeezing him.

“I-I never got to be a normal kid, really,” he confessed. “I mean, Dad did his best, gave me comic books and board games and stuff, but-but I never went to school or made friends or anything like that. I-I didn’t even know I had a family. It took me forever to even realize I had a Ma. An-and everything I did-” The tears were flowing again, more freely than earlier. “Ya missed me losing my first tooth, and potty trainin’, and all that stuff parents should know about. I-I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Sara Jane wiped his cheek dry. “Don’t apologize for what your father did, Jeremy. And definitely don’t apologize for me not potty training another kid. Besides… hold on, I’ll be right back.” She made her way down the hallway. Jeremy didn’t follow, instead deciding to examine the crib. This was where he grew up. It was a simple crib, obviously well-used. Not worn-down, mind, just… used. It had a history. A history that Jeremy wanted to decode, but unlike his dad’s ciphers, he didn’t have the key. 

“Took me a second to find it,” Sara Jane said. She handed him what appeared to be a scrapbook. “Raphael- he wrote when he can. Taught me some basic codes, would send out letters whenever you’d leave a town. Never left a return address, but…” Jeremy flipped through the pages, moving to sit on the small bed. The letters were all coded but appeared to be about how much Raphael missed Sara Jane. Updates on Jeremy’s growth. Letters from a father to his lover and son’s mother. 

One page jumped out to him, though. “I remember this,” he said, running his fingers against the paper. It was a simple drawing of a young boy, holding a catcher’s mitt, and a taller man next to him. “I drew this after Dad took me to my first baseball game, for my eighth birthday. I thought I lost the drawing after we skipped town, but- he sent them to you?”

Sara Jane nodded. “And I kept them all. Oh, honey, the day I first heard your voice on the phone- Mikey can tell you, I damn near fell over. You sounded so happy, and even if I couldn’t see you, that’s all a mother wants.” Jeremy leaned against her and she shut the book. “That’s all a mother wants, sweetie. To see her kids be safe and happy.” 

“I am, Ma,” he assured her. “I promise.” 

They sat like that for a while, with Sara Jane commenting on various letters and drawings in the scrapbook. Apparently, Raphael sent her money when he could- more frequently now that Mann Co. paid so well. She also had a rough idea of their current occupations. “I figure, if you and your father are working for the same company- with his skills, there’s gotta be a whole lot of nonsense going on out in that desert.” Jeremy laughed at that because she wasn’t wrong. “But I also figure since he raised you right, he’ll keep the both of you safe.” 

“I keep him safe too, don’t worry,” Jeremy added. “Uh- listen, it’s touching and all you kept the crib, but I don’t have to sleep in it, right?” 

They both had a good chuckle over that. Their laughs were in perfect harmony. 

. . .

The next two days were a mix of learning the family history and exploring Boston. It was the offseason, so there weren’t any games going on at Fenway, but Jeremy still got a picture in front of the park. Sara Jane took the pair to a restaurant that served “the best damn clam chowder in the contiguous United States.” Which, incidentally, led them to discover Jeremy was allergic to clams. Thankfully they didn’t have to go to the hospital- he just sort of immediately got sick before it passed- but it did suck.

It was damn good chowder, though. 

They went down to the harbor where the Boston Tea Party happened. It was crowded with people, resulting in them not staying long. Jeremy was a bit better with crowds than Raphael, but neither was great with them. Came with the job. Getting overpriced memorabilia from a nearby gift shop, though, went over much more smoothly. 

When not out on the town, Sara Jane dug out more scrapbooks and photo albums, catching Raphael up on what his stepsons had been up to. She showed Jeremy pictures from Ricky’s first school play to Scott opening up his butcher shop. Graduation pictures, wedding pictures, baby pictures- it was all there, and Jeremy devoured it. He wanted to know these people. He wanted to know his family. And he did. He learned about Michael’s stint in the Navy, Melvin meeting his wife, how Bobby’s son could dribble a basketball for twenty minutes straight. He learned about how his parents met. How Raphael loved each of Sara Jane’s children, even if they weren’t biologically his. How Jeremy wasn’t planned- few of the kids were - but they were both so, so happy to realize he was coming. 

He also learned that, while diner food would remain the undisputed king, homemade meatloaf came pretty close. 

. . .

The only problem came when it was time to leave. It wasn’t that Jeremy didn’t want to return to work, or leave his Ma behind. Sara Jane wasn’t even torn up over losing her son and lover again. It just felt like there was so much left to say, to do. There was uncertainty as to when they’d be able to return. “We get time off for Smissmas, I know that’s months away but I’ll be here, I promise,” Jeremy swore, hugging Sara Jane for the eighth time. 

“You better,” she said, squeezing him tightly. “You have 25 years worth of gifts to catch up on, not to mention birthday gifts-”

“Ma, you don’t have to go that far,” he whined. He was touched, sure, but the thought of that much luggage was truly frightening. Oh God, he was going to have to get gifts for everybody, wasn’t he? What do kids even want for Smissmas? 

“Hush, let me spoil my baby,” Sara Jane told him, kissing his cheek. “Oh, Jeremy…” 

Jeremy nodded. “I know, but I’ll call. I’ll write, too. Send pictures if I can.” 

“I’ll make sure he does,” Raphael assured her. Sara Jane stood to kiss his lips, with Jeremy looking away pointedly. “You have my word, ma petite chou-fleur.” 

“Alright, alright- now get going, I don’t want you two missing your flight. That boss of yours sounds like she’ll tear you both a new one if you’re late,” Sara Jane said, shooing them away. “Love you boys!” 

“I love you too, Ma!” Jeremy shouted back, for the very first time. 

The drive back to the airport was quiet. Jeremy stared out the window, watching his hometown- he had a hometown- pass by. “Hey, dad?” he asked, still looking outside. Raphael grunted to acknowledge he was listening. “One of these days, our contracts with Mann Co. are gonna expire. We’re gonna have to find new jobs.” 

“Yes, that’s correct,” Raphael said. He tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel. 

“And-and I was thinking when that time comes… maybe we could come back to Boston. Find some gigs out here,” Jeremy suggested. 

Raphael sighed. “Unfortunately, being a spy means that you don’t have the option of retiring, Jeremy. Not until you’re unable to complete your job. At that point, though, you’ve probably died a dozen times over,” he explained. “Even if I could retire, settling down somewhere so close to people I care about- I would still have enemies.” 

“Right. ‘Course,” Jeremy said. “It’s OK.” 

“That being said,” Raphael continued, “you have the luxury of youth and not being tied down to such a career. If you want to find a job in Boston after we finish with RED, there’s nothing stopping you.” 

“But people will still be after me, since I’m your son. And you wouldn’t be around.”

“Every child leaves their parents someday. And you’re strong, Jeremy. You can protect yourself and your family.” Raphael smiled. “I don’t believe Sara Jane needs much protecting, but I do worry.” 

Jeremy laughed. “I mean, did ya see the muscles on Scott and Michael? Guys can probably bench press a tractor!” 

They both chuckled before settling into quietude. Eventually, though, Jeremy had to break the silence. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, mon lapin.”

“...so your nickname for Ma is fucking ‘little cauliflower?’ What the hell, Dad?” 

[daburuwosagase]

Curry Review

As a bonus for ordering the Miracle Kuru Kuru set, you get “Phantom Apprentice Hachi’s Secret Recipe: Ninja-Style Miracleroux Curry”! Well, I say “bonus”, but it literally takes up half the set.

Let me preface by saying this is the most expensive curry I will ever have in my life. That kickstarter was not cheap. This better be good stuff.

I was holding out on eating this because I dreamed of inviting all my friends over for a curry party after a convention, but well... the pandemic rages on. One day! One day we’ll have the opportunity! For now though, I’m celebrating the release of the CD drama with a fitting meal.

“Double, didn’t the Kuru Kuru set ship last year? Is that curry even still good?” Luckily, it is! The expiration date is July 2022, so as of the time of writing this, I’m safe. I think. I’m gonna skip the bits of meat just to be sure.

Ingredients: the basic potato/onion/carrot combo with beef. Tomato paste and sugar, which will make it rather sweet. That’s surprisingly little sodium... WAIT.

THAT’S IN GRAMS. NOT MILLIGRAMS. THAT IS AN ENTIRE DAY’S WORTH OF SALT.

No wonder this lasts for two years even with meat in it. Yikes.

Opening the box, we have two packages! We’re just going to use one today, using the hot water method! Sort of sub-optimal to do that for a single serving, but this is a special occasion, so oh well. I’m glad the packages are unlabeled so I don’t feel the need to wash them out and keep them in perpetuity.

You know what? I might as well use the bowl from the Mashimashi set too! Dine in luxury! Time to carefully remove it from the bubble wrap...

Ah. That is a very uncomfortable font choice.

Giving the package a hot water bath for five minutes. The rice has already been pulled out of the fridge and heated. Getting pretty hungry...

Time to rip open that package and drench the rice in delectable curry!

The bowl can barely hold it all! (It’s a tiny bowl.)

Going to eat my specially-imported limited-edition $500 plate of curry with a spoon I got for less than a buck at the corner store. And a glass of milk on the side, because I’m white.

Mmm. Well, it’s got a tinge of spice. You can taste that salt. Smooth to the point that I can barely distinguish the different vegetables. I’m trying to avoid the meat, but with this consistency, I can’t even notice when it’s in my mouth. The curry melds nicely with the rice, though. Definitely an お子様カレー (which is the least offensive choice).

I’m probably being critical on account of of the price tag. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been making curry from scratch for a while now. Whichever one it is, I wish it had more “curry” flavor than indistinct sweetness.

Getting up to grab a tissue and --

GET DOWN FROM THERE!! NO CURRY FOR CATS!!

Upon further reflection, Truffle and Mocha are probably smelling the large quantity of lard. But they had dinner already! Let me have mine!!

All done!! Truffle hasn’t given up yet though. He has his paw on my hip! How are you so stretchy!?

Cleanup is easy enough. Fortunately no damage to the bowl. Of course, I doubt it’s that fragile, but it’s not like it’s replaceable, you know?

And that was the Kaitou Joker curry rice experience. The food itself isn’t special at all; it’s the same roux you can get at the store for 200-300 yen. It’s moreso a token of appreciation than a super-deluxe exclusive item.

Still, nothing hits the spot like curry when you’re hungry!