#i fucking got my permit and then didn’t learn and had it expire on me

[fantasiavii]

The amount of driver’s ed I’ve done for someone who doesn’t have their license is actually ridiculous

[lovelyirony]

Stars with thorbruce

Bruce remembers his mother’s hand smoothing over his curls, telling him stories of how the constellations came to be. He remembers hearing soft words of using the Big Dipper for milk and cookies. He smiles as he remembers asking his mother who lived among the stars. 

They were beautiful, surely someone had to live there. 

His mother smiled. 

“You will find it out, my smart boy. None of us know yet, although some of us have a feeling that we’re not alone in this galaxy.” 

Bruce would look out his window every night and ask the stars who among them lived in what world. He asked how their world was. 

Thor knew others lived other places. His mother read Loki and he stories of other people, how they lived. 

His father said how Asgard ruled it all with a golden-hued hand. 

He asks of Terran people, Midgardians. 

“You don’t need to concern yourself with them,” Odin says. “Now go and train. A weak king serves no purpose on a strong throne.” 

- 

Bruce does not smile when he realizes that there are others out there, not when he’s been dragged in as a monster to help fight other monsters. Accepted, just this once. 

He looks up at beings who look like stars for one brief second. And then they descend with a roar, and he knows. 

He turns, letting Hulk take the lead. 

His mother knew they were not alone. 

But she could not have known this was the result.  

- 

Thor is…different. He returns from taking his brother back to…Asgard? And he is quiet. 

Bruce just quietly moves around him to get his tea or food. 

“Dr. Banner?” Thor asks, his voice impossibly soft. It does not fit a man who is as large and imposing as he is. “Can you…what can you tell me about Earth?” 

“It sucks,” Bruce answers automatically. 

Thor blinks. 

Bruce does not want to explain why earth sucks. So he takes his naan and goes back to his room. 

- 

The god cannot leave well enough alone. He is knocking on Bruce’s door at eight o’clock in the morning. 

Bruce answers in an old t-shirt that’s seen better days, old pants, and bags under his eyes. 

“Why does earth suck so much?” 

Bruce sighs. 

“Go to the kitchen. I’ll explain there.” 

Bruce goes into a long-winded tangent about how much human invented concepts suck and how policy makes everything slow and he can’t even fly in a plane because he’s deemed a flight risk and people keep trying to kill him and the unending guilt over his own mistakes will be his demise. 

“Do you guys have therapy on earth?” Thor asks. 

Bruce laughs. 

“Yeah, we do. I need to find a new therapist soonish. Just hard with my…issue. Earth doesn’t suck. It’s cool.” 

“Show me?” 

“Uh…yes?” Bruce asks, blinking. “What do you want to see?” 

“What’s your favorite thing about earth?” 

Bruce has to think. 

“Come with me tonight. On the roof.” 

- 

The stars are never as bright as they were in Ohio, which is about the only good thing Bruce can say about Ohio. It’s the only good thing anyone could say, really. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yes, never go there,” Bruce says. “Ever.” 

“…noted. Not even for one of your natural…reserve park things?” 

“Nope. Not even for those. You’re gonna get murdered there.” 

“I’m a god, Bruce.” 

“Ohio people only believe in one god, and that god is less jacked than you.” 

They laugh together. 

Bruce tells him all about his mother’s stories of the stars, what he learned from others. 

“Do you want to hear our stories?” Thor asks softly. 

They make a habit of going on the roof once a week, weather permitting. If it does not permit, they sit in the sunroom and have coffee, chatting that way. 

Bruce learns that Thor was alive when Nikola Tesla was, but never went to earth. 

“I was in training to become king, and Odin didn’t really want me venturing out too far,” Thor says. “But I heard that earth had some catching up to do. You definitely have us beat with food though. Damn.” 

They stare over at the stars. 

Bruce struggles to ignore his red cheeks or the fact that Tony keeps calling him “lover boy.” 

“Nope. I’m not that.” 

“Sure you aren’t, the rest of us spend time gazing into Thor’s eyes,” Tony says, batting his eyelashes. “Just ask him out already.” 

“Get therapy,” Bruce shoots back. 

“Are we talking about how we all need collective help?” Natasha asks. “I thought that was what Steve’s meeting was about tonight.” 

“Shit, I’m not going to that then,” Clint says. “Do you think he’ll buy it if I tell him that my dog has a son?” 

“I don’t buy anything, I grew up in the Great Depression,” Steve responds, coming down the stairs. “Also Clint, you have a dog? Since when?” 

“Since never,” Clint responds back. “I don’t have a dog.” 

“Good, Tony said no dogs.” 

“For Steve,” Tony mumbles. “But we’‘re missing the obvious part of this discussion, which is Bruce’s love-life.” 

“I don’t have one of those in stock.” 

“Check in the back,” Tony snarks. 

Bruce rolls his eyes. 

“I don’t have a love-life guys,” Bruce says. “The only thing I love is dismantling huge corporations that are evading ecological law.” 

“And also hanging out a ton with Thor,” Natasha responds. “Wait, are you–” 

“If we have to talk about emotions then I demand we discuss Natasha’s thirsty tweet about Sharon.” 

“My cousin, Romanoff?!” Tony yells. 

Bruce takes this time to escape down to his lab, where Natasha is not allowed in. 

“I cannot say with full certainty that she will not break in,” Jarvis answers. “But I will try my best, Dr. Banner. Hell hath no woman like a woman.” 

“You’re just as bad as Tony with phrases,” Bruce says. “But thanks.” 

Thor is down there. 

“Why is Natasha locked out of the lab?” 

“She told me that she preferred wine from California, she was obviously banned,” Bruce says quickly. 

“I thought last week’s argument was you and her against Clint,” Thor says. “And I think you won? Clint thought his expired Kool-Aid was wine. That was a very sad night.” 

Bruce freezes. 

“Ha. Yeah. That was right. She’s still banned.” 

“What was the debate upstairs about? I heard snippets about it. Tony said something about checking in the back? Is he mad about the fruit again? He can’t expect to buy strawberries and them to still be there.” 

Bruce laughs. 

“Nah, Steve’s having a group talk about therapy options for us. I think Tony’s gonna try and con his way out of it by pushing Bucky in front of him. It won’t work.” 

- 

As it turns out, Natasha has swift revenge. 

She can’t break into the lab. 

But she can make sure the two of them can’t break out. 

“Until you confess the door is gonna be closed,” Natasha says over the intercom. 

“Confess what?” Thor asks, looking nervous. 

“Oh…you know. Stuff. Now you have to by six, otherwise Steve will break you out and then you have to say it as a duo. Do you want to tell all of us or just the two of you…alone?�� Nat asks. 

“Fuck you,” Bruce says, flipping off the sensor. 

- 

Thor’s nervous. He…this is new. He hasn’t liked someone is what is probably about two thousand years. 

Bruce is…he’s different. 

He likes the small things and rants about how stupid the smallest things are (like his least favorite spoon) and also looks phenomenal when the sun is shining and he’s laughing about a new story and…

Thor wants a forever. He’s known forever. 

But he hasn’t known forever with Bruce. 

And now they’re locked in his lab. 

Bruce bangs his head against the table. 

“Think Steve will break us out?” 

Thor is about to answer when the intercom comes to life again. 

“No, he won’t be,” Tony says. “I’ve managed to convince him to share his PowerPoint on what kind of fork he wants to reorder for the kitchen. He got passionate about what design he wants on the handle.” 

There’s a muffled yell that sounds suspiciously like “no curvature on the handle!” and then silence. 

“God,” Bruce mutters. 

They sit in silence for a moment. Thor’s not exactly sure what to say. It’s not like they make Hallmark cards for “you’re the first person I’ve loved in about two millennia and I want you to be mine until the earth implodes.” 

Similarly they don’t make a Hallmark card for “I thought I was incapable of love but now I’ve fallen in love with you and you’re a god and I’m a near-indestructible chaos-bringer.” 

It’s a work in progress for the card-making interns, honestly. 

“What did Nat mean by talking to me?” Thor asks. “I know this is probably gonna be awkward. Wouldn’t be locked into a lab if it wasn’t.” 

If Bruce had had maybe ten minutes to himself, he would’ve come up with a good lie. One that he could say without shifting eyes or a stuttering mouth. But he can’t. Lying takes time. 

“So I’m pretty sure I like you. As in want to take you out on a date like you. And I didn’t tell you because you’re a god.” 

Thor blinks. 

“Bruce no offense but you calling me a god and also seeing me at my lowest in salmon board shorts? Hilarious.” 

Bruce gives him a face. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“And I was going to say that I like you, but you are a brilliant scientist who changed your world through discovery, not by force,” Thor responds. “You love helping others and you also turn into a giant green guy who likes food trucks and hates not smashing things.” 

Bruce blinks. 

“Did we–?” 

“Yeah, we did. I also think this means we have an excuse to miss both Steve’s presentation on fork styles as well as his call for therapy, which in reality was only for Clint.” 

The lab doors open. Bruce automatically flips Natasha off, but is met with Natasha flipping him off. 

“Tony wants to talk to me about my ‘intentions’ with his cousin because of you, Banner. This means war.” 

“Well now I have a guy who has a giant, unliftable hammer on my side,” Bruce says defensively. He grabs onto Thor’s hand, grinning. “Just try me.” 

Thor smiles too. 

“I believe I owe Bruce a few more dates, so we will regrettably be missing Clint’s intervention,” Thor says. “See you later!” 

Clint makes a groupchat with them in it only to send: 

:((((( guys :( 

They don’t check it until the morning, after Bruce rolls over and complains that Thor has way better pillows. 

[strangebrews]

tea for two

Summary:  After nearly two hours of preparation, Alfie was finally ready. The table was set, the tea was brewed, and the poison watched at the end of the counter. That was Alfie’s source of entertainment. // Alfie engages in tea party Russian roulette that he himself organized. Tommy, eventually, reacts.

Notes: i had a tiny idea regarding alfie organizing lethal tea parties for funsies a while back, and it became this. also thank you to @sholomons + @those-peakyboys for reading bits of this as a sanity check <3

Warnings: Suicidal Ideation/Suicide Scare/Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms/ - those are the main ones, but if you think there should be more let me know. The rest of them can be found on the AO3 post. I promise this isn’t some devastating ending though, lmao, technically is supposed to be //romantic// in a twisted Tommy Shelby way.

On AO3

------------

Alfie indulged in the art of organizing tea parties later in life, once the crime became routine and uninspiring.

The idea came to him one afternoon, while thumbing through the day’s post. He was struck by a revelation, of sorts, “yeah, because when I went to pick up my cup, right,” he had described the moment to Tommy in detail, “I noticed that there, at the very bottom where the tea leaves floated—there was a message.” His eyes had narrowed, voice low, fingers motioning in the air trying to conjure up the image, “and you know what they were saying to me, those leaves, Tommy—they were saying Alfie, you have got to stop hanging around that Shelby—his witchcraft and madness are starting to rub off on you ” he’d cackled then, which meant the origins would remain unexplained. 

Alfie did, however, commit himself to the task. 

He decided the event would take place in his dining room, using the hand-carved table featured there. Tommy watched him prepare from afar the day of the first tea party. He did not endorse the fucking behavior, but he was curious—it was rare to see Solomons fuss over plate placements.

A frilly tablecloth was dug out from the back of a cupboard, and freshly picked flowers decorated the middle. Alfie used his best porcelain set—the one he claimed was the last heirloom still in his possession from the mother’s side of his family. That bit was a lie, he had admitted to Tommy one day. Instead, he had Ollie scavenge it from some shop window with a sock over his head and tears in his eyes—but that tale was far less interesting. And the foundational role of any host, Alfie knew, was to entertain his esteemed guests.

Tiny silver spoons—ones which nearly disappeared in Alfie’s hand—lay atop carefully folded napkins. He drew the shades, and arranged the biscuits, lips pursed in concentration. The scene looked quite pretty, actually. Meticulously organized—an unexpected detail coming from Alfie Solomons. 

And after nearly two hours of preparation, Alfie was finally ready. The table was set, the tea was brewed, and the poison watched at the end of the counter. 

That was Alfie’s source of entertainment. 

  +++

  His guests were an array of different people. Old friends, new enemies, long standing members of his payroll, a few of the fanciest individuals he knew—each person with some form of stain on their record, at some point having wronged him. Alfie was not entirely cruel. 

“It’ll be a shame,” he had said, “but everyone dies at some point, yeah?”

The trick about the poison was that it took a while to pollute the veins. Alfie had considered this detail as thoughtfully as he had the decorations—determined to avoid frothing mouths from ruining the appeal of his parties. The winners would appear fine until the next morning, so the poison was untraceable in both taste and source. 

For a while, at least. Though even if the pieces were eventually slotted together—who would be brave enough to accuse an aging man of serving tea?

“It just might be genius, Tommy.” Alfie had lifted the vial towards him, eyes glazed over with self-admiration. Going after him would look ridiculous, Alfie knew this. Tommy knew this, and he smiled besides himself. Perhaps it was.

And as any good host, Alfie partook in the activity himself—an equal player in the game. A few clear drops coated the bottom of a cup, the cups were mixed up, the location was forgotten.

The fact that Alfie had grown desensitized towards his own death was no shock—he and Tommy shared the same indifference. Though what Tommy struggled to understand was his sudden interest in openly pursuing it. 

Though, didn’t they do that already? Alfie had asked. Their years brimmed with pacts, vindictive partners, with mouthing off to men whose fingers trembled against triggers. They had never run in the opposite direction of death, rather alongside it—the place where their paths would converge had always been just along the horizon. Alfie’s behavior was nothing but a variation of that.

“More creative.” he had claimed—better than being killed by a gun or a knife, “Or by a blade sewn into a fucking hat. Imagine that.” he smirked. It was only funny because they were past killing each other now—Alfie had beaten Tommy to the initiative.

+++

  Of course, the cordial invitation had been extended to Tommy Shelby as well.

“And how have I wronged you?” Tommy had asked. Alfie laughed, promising it would be a clean cup, but Tommy refused regardless. The whole matter was much too dramatic for his taste.

He would stay the night of the tea party, though—was due for a fuck, anyway. 

-

In truth, Tommy had been staying the night more frequently. 

It was Alfie who had initially offered to move the location of their meetings . The official reason he’d cited was for more security, but Tommy had seen him holding his back in pain each time he’d stepped out of the office. 

Fucking in a bed, as opposed to on a desk, toed the line with an intimacy Tommy was cautious about crossing, but the suggestion was too enticing to refuse—aging had not been doing either of them any favors. And because it was Alfie who had made the proposal, Tommy still had room to cut himself free of any strings attached.

The routine had continued as usual at first—business, fuck, leave. Tommy would gather his clothes frantically afterwards, hopping out the door with only one sock on. He was terrified of the implications staying longer would have—the consequences it could bring.

Though that chaos eventually transitioned into a slower collection of his belongings—fatigue and the haze of his orgasm tethering him to the bed. He stayed for longer, counted the cracks in Alfie’s ceiling and the number of stripes on his sheets. These extra moments seemed progressively less threatening. 

“Are you truly that desperate to return to that lonely fucking castle of yours, mate?” The question came months later, while Tommy sat on the side of the bed, rubbing the stiffness from his legs. He was startled by the voice—Alfie tended to slip into a slumber nearly immediately after they’d pulled away from each other. 

Lonely castle. It sounded worse when phrased that way. A kingdom crafted at the expense of everyone around him. Pitiful.

Tommy had not entertained Alfie with an answer, but still chose to lay back down—comforted by the idea of a few more hours of sleep. He left the next day wordlessly, and sleeping over became routine. The castle would still be standing in the morning.

Yet that change didn’t mean anything, Tommy reasoned. Whether he permitted himself to stay or not, it was still just fucking —nothing more complicated than that. 

So perhaps it’d be a shame if Alfie finally won one of his rounds, Tommy thought the evening of that first tea party—his business would be missed. But he remained, on the whole, unbothered by it.

Everyone died at some point.

+++

  Each chair was occupied with an esteemed guest the first time. They were all impressed by the sudden burst of hospitality—thankful for Alfie’s unspoken forgiveness of their past transgressions against him. 

Assumption was quite lethal. 

Meaningless chatter swelled the air in the room, shrill laughter echoing off of the walls. Alfie floated from place to place, offering stories and more food, savoring each one of his sips.  He chuckled often, rolled his eyes on cue, and held his pinky up.

It was a performance, yet no one in attendance was aware they were a part of the show. 

He caught their attention in particular with a story from before the war. Something to do with a stray dog, an appalled mother and a wet carpet—certain elements of which were exaggerated. “Oh Alfie!” he’d felt a small pat on his shoulder, a gesture which in any other circumstances would have earned the person a cut on the cheek, but Alfie simply smiled and patted back. It could be you . 

Alfie found excitement in it all—an ironic strengthening of the energy which had been slowly draining from his body. 

It was nearly enough to forget about the cancer.

-

Cancer could have been considered a motive—it was the letter from the doctor speculating about his expiration date which had sparked the inspiration for the tea party business. Though Alfie didn’t like to dwell on that coincidence. Much rather preferred to keep the reason as Alfie’s sudden burst of twisted thrill-seeking . Not that anyone would know about the sickness, regardless—Thomas Shelby included. He fully intended to live out these days undisturbed by sympathy.

He came to bed that night with cheeks flushed and things to say. Granted, Alfie always had a mouth full of words, but they were stories this time—things he’d seen and heard. Tommy had propped himself up against the headrest, pulling on cigarette after cigarette, feigning disinterest. 

A cousin of the Sabini’s had brought Alfie a bottle of wine, he learned. There had been a bit of tea spilling on the carpet sometime in the middle, though it had occurred after a refill, Alfie reassured. Nearly everyone offered some comment about the design on the porcelain, sniffed the flowers, and claimed they had enjoyed themselves in the doorway.

“Silly little puppets, yeah—every last one.” Alfie had laughed and blown the candle on the nightstand out. It was nice, actually, being able to share this bit of secrecy with Tommy. An outlet, of sorts, and it helped that Alfie did not have to truly explain himself to him. 

It was the first night Tommy stayed which did not involve fucking.

+++

Tommy continued accepting the invitations to be an invisible guest. 

Unsurprisingly, one party had not been enough to satiate Alfie’s newfound appetite for this version of Russian roulette and finger sandwiches, so he kept organizing them. It tended to be the same crowd each time, with a few new faces here and there—replacements for any vacant seats. 

Alfie gradually grew fancier—a nicer tablecloth, more biscuits, a larger array of tea. He had different stories to tell, new rings to show off and even Ollie had grown quite fond of the flower picking aspect of his job, asking a few days in advance if he had any preferences. 

Alfie collapsed beside Tommy after the fifth party, exhausted and unwilling to relay the night’s events. It wasn’t necessarily healthy for his back, Tommy had mused—all those hours of wandering around the room, hunched over chairs—but his mouth stayed shut, and they fell asleep in silence. 

-

Even after nights when his insomnia had been generous, Tommy woke first. 

Alfie breathed beside him.

It was a relief, Tommy admitted—spared him the dramatics of having to drag Alfie out from between the sheets himself. He’d imagined that scenario once or twice while waiting on Alfie to stop his entertaining, considering what exactly he would do with Alfie’s body just—laying there. Notify the staff most likely, but he wasn’t quite sure what beyond that. Perhaps shake his hand, or pay his respects through a whispered congratulations , yet Alfie always managed to interrupt that train of thought before anything concrete was decided on. 

He was hesitant to leave the morning after the fifth night, oddly disappointed that Alfie had not shared any stories. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but he decided to wait until Alfie woke. There was time to spare, Tommy argued with himself, it was the weekend—as if that meant anything in this line of business. 

Idling in bed until the moment arrived was out of the question. Roaming his halls also seemed inappropriate—and risky, in case Ollie had let himself in. So Tommy settled on visiting the kitchen to eat. Attempt to, at least.

Preparing food provided only momentary relief from the fact that staying had been an absolutely idiotic idea. Tommy brewed some tea—for the irony, if anything else—and made toast. Some for him, some for Alfie, though he winced at the choice and threw Alfie’s portion in the bin. Too much.

He opened the morning paper. Squirmed in his chair. Checked the time. Returned to reading. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Alfie eventually joined him in the kitchen, sleep still settled on his limbs. His hair was sticking up in uneven tufts, beard flattened on the side he’d been lying on. Nothing indicated he was surprised that Tommy had remained in the house.

“So you’re still here then, eh?” Tommy said, eyes on the news, but desperate to fill the silence.

Alfie only ran a heavy palm across his face. “Yeah, still fucking here.”

+++

  The parties remained successful and Alfie’s enthusiasm persisted. Guests streamed in week after week—whether out of fear or curiousity was unclear. It was quite unusual to be in Alfie Solomon’s presence within an unthreatening environment, but they seemed to appreciate his change in character. 

And the tea was always delicious. 

It was Tommy who suffered the change in opinion, pacing the bedroom with a clenched jaw.  He had certain ideas—to make an appearance, peek through keyholes or press his ear to the door, to somehow interfere—but he cast them all aside.

Time alone had never been healthy for him. Funny, for a man who ensured his own abandonment.

-

 Nervous. The word finally rose above all of the other thoughts at one point and settled bitterly on his tongue. Tommy was nervous. 

“Aren’t you fucking bored of this yet, Alfie?” he asked as casually as possible, in between pulls of his cigarette, but Alfie had shook his head.

“I should have done this sooner.” he claimed, eyes dancing, and for some reason the sentence felt like a slap to the face.

Tommy did not fight back. 

+++

Alfie retired earlier than usual one night, reasoned it was due to a headache. Tommy bit down on his lip to prevent any visible reaction.

He slipped under the covers, hand searching for the band of Tommy’s pants —ar ousal had always reigned above pain for Alfie —but Tommy swatted it away, ignoring the slight tenting. “Not today, Alfie.”

Alfie grunted. It was not necessarily unusual for Tommy to refuse him, though Tommy’s face was flushed, teeth gnawing at the inner flesh of his cheek. There was still potential in the moment.

“But Tommy,” he whispered, sliding up against him, lips grazing Tommy’s neck and fingers playing at his hip. “I may be dead tomorrow.” and he placed a firm kiss to his Adam’s apple. It was only meant to be a teasing remark —nothing more than Alfie’s greedy attempt at extracting a fuck out of the other man—but the words wrapped themselves around Tommy’s throat.

Tommy snatched Alfie by the hair, tearing him away from his skin. Their eyes met, Alfie squirming besides himself under the cold stare. “You might be dead tomorrow.” Tommy repeated, nodding in agreement. Out of reach . 

And he kissed him.

Once. Twice. Grip slowly loosening, hips finally shifting into Alfie’s touch. His hand remained in the hair, the other one snaking around Alfie’s waist, clothes being peeled off feverishly. Alfie’s efforts proved successful.

They fucked that night to the brink of exhaustion, wrapped in the darkness, spent and gasping for air, and when Alfie pulled away, Tommy choked on a please echoing in his throat. 

It was a hollow plea—for something he was too terrified to admit.

+ ++

The following morning after he woke, Tommy lingered in bed.

Alfie snored facing him, rested on top of his left arm. Sleep softened him, Tommy noted—hid the pain behind his eyelids, smoothed the creases from his forehead. He reached out hesitantly to run the backs of his fingers across Alfie’s shoulder, along the shell of his ear, his jaw, tugging down the covers to find his thighs. It was a peaceful moment—rare and terminal—and Tommy was suddenly gripped by an urge to memorize it. Drink in every detail. 

Tommy took advantage of the safety unconsciousness had provided him and settled back down, shifting closer to Alfie’s body—close enough so that the tips of their noses were brushing against one another. He lay still, soaking in the warmth of Alfie’s exhales, and tried to align their breathing. 

The task proved to be more challenging than expected. Tommy stumbled over his own inhales, yet Alfie continued to be one breath ahead of him. Inhale. Exhale . Out of sync. And it was a silly effort, naive and trivial, but Tommy’s heart still hammered at his ribcage in frustration. Because there had to be something there , in the alignment. Some kind of meaning, a mutual understanding shared between their bodies. A form of reassurance. A sign of togetherness —that Tommy was not fucking mad for wanting to share these breaths with Alfie for longer than the bastard had planned for himself.

But each attempt sputtered and failed.

He slammed his fist into the mattress and rolled off the bed, waking Alfie in the process.

-

The toast was burnt that morning. 

No tea— fuck tea. 

Alfie walked into the kitchen, rubbed a palm across his face instinctively. The regular question never arrived, but he answered its ghost regardless. “Still here.”

Yes , Tommy thought, miraculous . 

He left for Birmingham immediately after breakfast, and abandoned his tendency of visiting Alfie in between the special occasions. He would know when the next party would be—the invitation would arrive in the post a few days before it.

+++

A week later, there were only 16 people in attendance, two couples were missing. Whether they had grown suspicious or were dead was left unclarified—Alfie was only interested in one outcome. 

The event proceeded as usual: eat, laugh, sip, Alfie refilling his cup more frequently than usual. Nobody questioned the absence. It was normal.  

And then it was not, because Tommy Shelby walked into the room — eyes bloodshot, scanning the scene. 

There was a 1 in 16 chance that Alfie poisoned himself today, Tommy noted, but he had endured this night after night and he found he’d grown quite bored of the adrenaline. The uncertainty. So he took a stand at the head of the table this time around, his hand hidden behind his coat.

It was meant to be a distraction, perhaps a form of confession —anything to get Alfie to stop these fucking games. Whispers swept the room, mouths parted in surprise—it was a rare occurrence, seeing Tommy Shelby in attendance—and Alfie sighed, because he knew, he fucking knew that Thomas was here to spoil the fun. 

The gun pointed to Tommy’s head, and Tommy’s head pointed towards Alfie.

“One,” 15 pairs of alarmed eyes stared at Tommy’s finger on the trigger. Only 1 pair glared back into his own. Alfie refused to set the teacup down.

“Have you gone fucking mad, mate?” Tommy had actually heard they called this love . 

“Two.” The guests were moving, tripping over chairs, rugs, each other, searching frantically for the exit. The taboo of witnessing a potential suicide outweighed their curiousity, it seemed. So easy to clear a room.  

The doors slammed shut, silence replacing the sound. It was empty now. Just him, and Alfie, and the gun, and the poison laughing out from one of the cups. 

“Three.” Bang.

Tommy’s body crumpled to the floor.

-

He was lying half underneath the table when Alfie finally walked over. His eyes were wide open. Unscathed.

Alfie snatched the gun from his hand, clicked open the cylinder. “Tommy, you know, you’re not fucking invited to the next one, yeah?” the first shot had been a blank, but there was a single bullet inside. “Right—on account of the fucking mess you’ve made here today.” 

“I’m well aware, Alfie.” he was tracing the pattern of the table’s wood with a shaky finger. Alfie grunted and tossed the gun aside. He collapsed awkwardly beside him, taking Tommy’s hand into his own. It would weather his joints even further, lying down here on the floor, Alfie was well aware, but this was the only act of affirmation which seemed appropriate. 

He did not ask about the bullet. He knew why it was there. Kept as a precaution—in case Alfie had decided to drink anyway. 

They breathed together. 

[randomisemily]

I wanna rant about getting my driver’s license, but some people might need to know some stuff beforehand, so here you go:

- In Belgium, you have to take a written test on basic knowledge of traffic (rules & signs), passing that test allows you to request for a permit 

- There are two different permits: 1) 36 months: allows you to drive, but not by yourself. 2) 18 months: allows you to drive by yourself. Though, in both cases, you have to take lessons beforehand. 

-You can get your license at the age of 18 

- the driver’s test includes a “risk perception” test (you have to watch a few videos and determine who’s on the road and who’s a risk etc) + also, of course, a test on the road, including a few parking skills

- Additonally, I’d like to mention that the laws concerning learning how to drive and permits etc have changed A LOT the last few years, so if sometimes my rant is confusing, IT IS FOR ME AS WELL

- Every 2 times you fail an exam, you have to take 6 hours of lessons before you are allowed to take the exam again. 

ALRIGHT LETS GET STARTED

So when I was 18, I personally felt like I wasn’t ready to get my license yet. I wasn’t all that interested anyway and because I had friends who could drive, an older brother,... I was happy not driving. It didn’t bother me that much, and when Iook back at that time, I might even add that I might’ve been scared to drive. 

I felt like my life wasn’t too difficult without a license, though I lived in a rural area, I had easy access to busses and, mostly, trains. I also pretty much biked everywhere, and I didn’t mind that much.  

When I was 19, I started dating my fiancé, who had a license and took me everywhere. Some might think he was enabling, but in our case, I think he was just happy to do it. He was patient with me and when I was almost 21, I took the written test and passed. 

See, after that, I’m fuzzy on the details because I’m 28 now. So time has PASSED. But at that time I did decide to get a 36 month license. The reason was mostly financial: for a 18 month license, you have to take more lessons, and the lessons are expensive. (to drive alone, you have to take 20 hours of lessons, which as roughly 1500 euros). BUT for the 36 month permit, it’s only required to take 6 hours, which is rougly 500 euros. Considering the fact I had to pay that myself, I felt like I couldn’t afford the extra 1000 euros. I think, the other reason was that I was scared to drive by myself - maybe even scared to drive at all.

The permit I chose, requires you to get a mentor. Usually, it’s a family member, in my case, it was my dad. I thought it would be a good choice because my dad knows how to drive a truck and has tons of experience. He’s also calm and I thought he’d be good at giving instructions. 

That worked out a little different. It seemed like my dad was, like myself, a little scared to teach me. So here we were: two people who weren’t going to encourage each other to drive. The addition problem was that my dad’s working a lot, so a lot of times I was tired or he was. Yeah, it’s an excuse, and we knew it. 

One time, when were finally practicing, we were on a private road nearby. We were just starting & stopping, you know, the basics. There was a guy walking his Jack Russell, but without a leash. We weren’t going fast at all, but all of the sudden, the dog ran in front of my car. The dog ran off, over a big field, as fast as it could, and eventually, it ran home. We were shocked, scared and felt bad for the dog. The dog wasn’t injured that badly, but it so happened that we also had a similar dog at the time, so we truly felt for the little scared dog. I am, ‘till this day, though, a little angry with the owner because you don’t let your dog off your leash, that’s just my opinion. 

ANYHOW, after practicing a few months or something, we decided I was ready. I felt ready but both my dad and I were NERVOUS AS SHIT. The examirer was 15 minutes late, which only made it worse. My exam was a nightmare, after 5 minutes on the road, I had to go back. Out of nervousness, I didn’t see an old lady crossing the road. It was a disaster and the memory is still vivid. 

A second attempt came around the corner, and this time, I really thought I was ready. It was closer to the time the permit was going to expire, so I really hoped it would work out this time. Failed. This time, I didn’t use my breaks properly. Apparently, my dad had been teaching me wrong and I didn’t remember from the lessons I took. 

I can’t remember anymore why I failed the third time, but I did. And this time, my permit really was about to expire. After failing this time, I had no choice but to let it expire. 

This SUCKED because, as you might do the math, I was already 25 by then. And by the time I was 25, I did in fact, really need a car and a license. I had just graduated college and I needed a job. Schools in general are usually easily accessible by train, so was mine. Jobs, however, are not. For my internship in my last year of college, for example, I had to bike to the train station, take a train, tranfer to another train, take a bus and then bike again. The internship was great, getting there, however, was a nightmare. 

It also sucked because at the time, there was a rule in place, that dictated that if your permit expires, you can’t request a new one. There was a “waiting period” of 3 years. Yes, three YEARS. There are some exceptions because I can still, possibly, get your license during that time if you re-take your written test and take your driving exam with a professional driving school (the one you use to take lessons). This is, in fact, what I tried to do. The tricky part is that, when you’re not on the road during your “normal” life (work, groceries,...) it’s harder to get back on the horse. It was for me, anyway. I tried to the the exam that way twice. I failed twice. After the second time, I still had a year left in that “waiting period”, so I figured I wouldn’t try anymore and just wait it out. During those three years, I got a job nearby where I could bike to. It was alright. 

After the three years, and 5 exams later, I was fed up and I wanted to pass more than ever. But I knew I needed to do better this time. I took the 20 hours (yes, the lessons kept pilling up and so were the bills) so that I could drive alone and get the 18 month permit. By that time, I was also working full time and had moved out and moved in with my fiancé. So I was READY to be an adult and driving alone also meant that freedom I desperately wanted. 

My reasoning was also the fact that I felt like I didn’t have enough real life experience driving a car before. I didn’t need to do groceries, I was still living at home at the time and, as I mentioned, was always practicing with my dad. This time, not only did I want to drive alone, I needed to. 

A few months before the 18 months ended, I wanted to take the test again. Six times a charm, I thought. This time, my “mentor” wasn’t my dad anymore, it was my fiancé. Mind you, my fiance, lovely as he is, is neurotic and full of anxiety (bless his heart). Yet again, I was confronted by my nerves, and his. And failed the test because of my parking skills (or lack of). Actually, I was too nervous and had a minor anxiety attack while parking. 

The next time, I tried to get back on the horse almost right away and tried to take an exam with, not my boyfriend, but a professional driving instructor (€€€€€€). The seventh time almost worked out. I ALMOST passed, until the last few minutes I made a mistake at a crossroads. I mean, fuck. 

For the eight time, I realized I needed to do the same so I scheduled the exam for March this year. Then, of course, a pandemic came knocking on the door. The exam was cancelled and I felt major relief - though, I did need to pass and I knew it. 

After everything re-opened in May, I sort of procrastinated making an appointment again. I just, I couldn’t. I knew I had to, but I had failed this test 7 times. A driving test. Thinking about it, I mean, I have a bachelors degree. I had good job. I’m engaged. But I didn’t have a driver’s license. And no, I’m not a New Yorker. 

But luckily, when I procastinate, my body doesn’t agree and protests. I was watching a Modern Family episode one night where Haley struggled to get her license and I felt her pain so much. My heart was racing. I got nervous and flustered. And this continued. I was watching anyone driving on tv and I continued having tiny panic attacks. Talk about triggers: people driving. 

Anyway, I finally managed to call to make the apointment (took a lot of energy). I, again, made an appointment with a professional instructor. Though it was more expensive, it was the best approach. My car is old and driving my car to the exam would also mean I’d have to deal with my nervous (and not helping at all) fiancé. I knew I needed a steady and experienced person by my side. 

Yesterday, I took the test and I passed. Eight years and eight tries. 

I thought I would be ecstatic, but I wasn’t. I mean, I was. But honestly, It’s all been hitting me. Slowly. 

I’ve had this extreme fear. Extreme shame. Extreme anxiety for years. Because of that, it’s like, I have to process everything. I mean, everything. For example, I can now drive to my job, no strings attached. I can find a better job, that’s not as nearby. We bought a house to a rural area so it’s hard NOT to drive a car. I used to fear I’d feel locked up in the house as long as I didn’t have my license. Now, I have to process that this won’t be the case anymore and I can experience that freedom. There have been so many small things that I had to adjust to. Also, the shame I experienced. It’s just GONE now. Just simply, GONE. 

But in any case, I’m also super stoked. And the reason I ranted was

1) to express myself and get it off my chest but also

2) if anyone experiences the same thing (or a similar thing) to assure that it happened to me too.  

And for anyone who doesn’t want to ride with me - I totally understand but I took so many classes I consider it an asset. Not only do I know the laws of driving SUPER WELL, I am NEVER going to jeopardize it by driving badly. Because I ain’t planning on losing what I’ve got! 

thank you for reading or scrolling 

[sociallydisfigured]

My dad is moving in with my abuser. I learned this a bit ago and still processing. The man who approached ME, offered ME a place to stay when I went to college because he wanted me to be closer instead of living in a dorm out of state. The man I insisted on paying him something for my living, who then charged 300 a week for a room in his house when he knew I didn't have a job yet. After getting said job he then screamed at me infront of his new wife that I used my first check on said books for class instead of giving to him.

Had to then hand over every check I earned to him to help with rent. Refused to teach me how to drive (also something he originally insisted in helping with because I had bought my first car and still had a permit) The only family in town I had but never wanted anything to do with me. Screamed at me for ignoring family time (doing homework or studying instead of swimming or going out all the time) Paid him gas money to get to work (we worked at the same place 20min away across a bridge to the mainland. Still refused to teach me how to drive)

The man who called police when an uncle (by marriage) came down and took me around town teaching me before mt permit expired. Required to pay for all groceries and cook meals 3times a week, full time work schedule (had to match his schedule. If he worked at 8 and me at 10, I would pay him to let me ride in at 8. Sat in hot car or outside locked car until my shift. If I worked a day he didnt, would walk if I couldn't come up with the cash)

The same man who waited until I came home 3months in my semester, after closing shift (midnight ish) and had previous uncle pick me up (1hr after being done. I sat alone in a empty shopping lot) to then accuse me of bringing drugs in the house, doing and selling said drugs. I was giving him all my money, keeping maybe 1paycheck out of every 4 or 5 i got (paid weekly thank FUCK) and used it for the family. I couldn't afford gum when he did this. Keeping enough in my account for the car insurance and showing him my bank statements just to do this.

While I was working before this blow out? Called my parents. Told them all this drug mess. Called my boyfriend at the time who was also there for college an hour away. Told him and his aunt I was addicted to all kinds of heroin and pills. Gave me 10min to pack and get out. Boyfriend drove and got me there. His aunt took me to a ER for drug testing.

I will never forget. I will never forget my clean results, never forget that my account had less than $10 in it. Never forget leaving my tiny life I tried to make for myself with family I thought loved me. Never forget after proving everything he said was false, sending results back to my parents and showing I was telling the truth (because my banks account was connected to my parents. They could see everything I ever did with my money. Every check i wrote out to my abuser and labeled)

My dad has forgiven him and is moving in with him since my abuser's wife left him. My dad still insists that I need to forgive and move on because 'this is your mom's brother. He's your uncle and family' Forgives him for all my tears, panic attacks, being lost 5+states away from any family and friends. No resources but a boyfriend who said I was becoming too much trouble.

I can never forget. I can never forgive. I lost a scholarship, a great school I worked hard to get in, a new place and journey I wanted for myself. I will never forget.

And all that money he needed to help with bills? He bought two boats. Two boats. Tell me again why family is so much more important than friends and family comes before anything else. Fuck off

[prorevenge]

Used my family for cheap labor and kicked them to the curb? That's gonna cost you.

TL;DR at the bottom.

This story happened quite some time ago. I have never tried to seek out revenge before, but the way these people treated me and my family was utterly repulsive, and so here we have my first ever (and hopefully last) revenge story.

First, the setup.

My family lived in a house that was owned by, according to one of my family members (let's call her Mary), benevolent landlords. After they had lived there for two years on lease, the lease expired and so they started living there on a month-to-month basis. Mary's husband (let's call him John) suggested that they renew their lease, but Mary, being convinced that they had established a relationship of trust with the landlords, insisted that there was no need to do so. This was the first mistake. 

Some time after, there was a storm that knocked over a relatively flimsy (and, frankly, hideous) chain-link fence that was built around the house. Now, because Mary and John kept important things in their yard, they needed a fence. The landlords were looking around for contractors to rebuild the fence, but John had an idea that he felt would be beneficial for all. See, John and Mary really loved this house, and they were hoping to someday buy it off the landlords (something that the landlords had suggested as a possibility from time to time). John suggested that he build the fence instead. He would only charge for the materials required, and he would provide the labor at no cost under one important condition: the landlords must promise that they had no intention of selling the house. One landlord (we'll call him Benny) not only promised John that the house wouldn't be sold anytime soon, but even went as far as saying that they would only ever consider selling the house to John and Mary. And so, a deal was made. John would rebuild the fence more beautiful than it had ever been, and Benny and the other landlord would ensure that John and Mary would get to keep living in that house, enjoying the fruits of their labor, until the day the landlords finally decided to sell the house to them.

John and Benny agreed upon what the dimensions and material of the fence would be. They decided wood, and they decided on the fence being fairly tall. John bought the materials, and Benny paid John for the expenses. Halfway through building the fence, John asked Benny about whether he wanted certain changes in the backyard that would, alongside the fence, only serve to make the land value skyrocket. Benny said he would love said changes. This next part is important. John looked Benny in the eye and said, in no unclear terms: "If you have any intention of selling this house to someone other than us, tell me now and I will stop this entire project. I'm only interested in building this under the condition that I will get to enjoy it." Benny responded, equally clearly: "You and your family will get to enjoy this home indefinitely. Feel at ease and do whatever you want with this yard."

And so the fence was finished, and it was beautiful. This is the part where I come in. I came to visit my family, and I helped them finish the fence and clean up the yard. I wasn't particularly happy about the terms of this agreement, but there was nothing that could be done now.

Now comes the part where my family gets fucked. Hard.

Not so much as a week after the fence had been built, Mary gets a call from the other landlord (let's call her Jane). Jane tells Mary that something unexpected has occurred. See, her niece is currently on the market for a house, and she really wanted to see this particular house. Mary, who can feel herself getting riled, asks Jane how this could be. The fence was only just finished, and they're considering selling the house? Jane assures Mary that her niece will most likely not want the house, but that she has to let her see it.

Very well. Now, I'm not sure about the details that happened shortly after, but it seems that Jane's niece didn't like the given price of the house (which was now more valuable than it was before), and so she chose not to buy.

Bullet dodged, right? If only.

Benny came to visit John and Mary with something they had always wanted. Suddenly the landlords wanted to sell, and an offer was made to my family. Now, my family is not wealthy, and they would have preferred to have been told well in advance of the intention to sell. Nonetheless, the offer that was presented was not unfair, and my family said yes. Excellent

Yet, as soon as my family was approved to purchase the house, Benny came back with a change. The landlords no longer wanted to sell the house at the original price. Instead, the price they had in mind had now skyrocketed to roughly the same price as the most expensive house in the area. A price John and Mary could no longer afford, and certainly more than the house was actually worth. That's not the worst of it, though. Suddenly, the landlords needed to sell the house immediately.

John said to Benny: "We had a deal." Benny responded that they suddenly needed the money because of some family member's needs. Later on, the story changed to them no longer needing the money. Then it was Jane who needed the money because of some other piece of completely fabricated bullshit. The point was that they wanted to sell the house now to line their pockets, but they could never stick to a single excuse. Again, John told Benny that they had a deal. Benny's response? "I don't remember that. We never got anything in writing, and so we never had any deal." Jane later told me: "A verbal agreement doesn't mean shit."

Unfortunately, in the eyes of the law, nothing could be proven. We couldn't force them to sell the house to my family at the original price, and we couldn't force them to let my family keep living there. Alright, thought my family, we just want to get paid for the labor that we put into the fence, then. This was not ideal, since they now needed to leave the home they had lived in for quite some time. But they knew it wasn't theirs, and they weren't going to put up a fight over it. At this point, they just wanted to get paid for their labor.

Benny and Jane didn't want to pay.

My family members needed that money. Given that they were getting kicked out on such short notice, the money was needed in order to find a new place to live. Benny and Jane, however, insisted that they had always been fair with the rent, and they simply didn't owe my family legally. I told Benny and Jane that we would just take things to court and have a judge decide. Given the fear of court, Benny and Jane decided that they would pay my family, but that the labor for this gargantuan monstrosity of a beautiful fence just wasn't worth that much more than the materials it was made of. The labor couldn't possibly be that much, they reasoned. Also, they would only pay for the labor for the fence, not for the rest of the work that was done on the yard.

Well, everyone decided to get an estimate. The average we got was $3000 for the labor. Benny and Jane managed to get one estimate from one of their family members at $350. What a fucking joke.

The day to leave arrived, and Benny and Jane paid my family far less than what the labor was actually worth. My family left.

We lost. We lost so much. The effort that went into building this fence, with the intention of getting to enjoy having it, under the agreement that they would get to keep living there, just to have it taken away, and to barely even get paid for the labor. To get shit on by these two fuckwads.

That was unacceptable to me. We couldn't win anymore, but I didn't want them to win either.

So, the revenge.

I read up on fences. I learned far too much about what was and wasn't allowed when it came to fences. I memorized every fucking rule. I learned when permits were and were not needed. I learned what the allowed dimensions were. I learned about whether fences needed finish. Oh boy, the things I learned about fences.

I learned that you don't need a permit if your fence gets damaged so long as you're rebuilding the exact same fence. But this was wood, and the old one was chain-link. I learned that the fence needed to be painted, but this one was not. I learned that the fence had a very specific height limit, one which this fence violated.

These people were so happy to stick to the letter of the law when it came to screwing over my family, so I decided that I, too, would stick to the letter of the law.

Somehow, the county found out that this fence was permitless, unpainted, and far too tall. Shortly after the county found this out, Benny and Jane got a visit from the county right before they managed to sell the house at their obscene price. Wouldn't you know it? Their fence was built illegally. Now, sometimes you can just get a permit after the fact, but their fence wasn't allowed to be built the way that it was. There were no plans, no inspection, nor anything else that the county required.

It had to come down.

My family got a very angry call. The landlords accused my family of never getting a permit, something that my family literally could not do, given that this was not their property. Besides, it was the landlords who assumed no permit was needed, and my family knew nothing about how permits worked.

So, the fence had to be torn down. There goes the money they saved by not paying my family. And they lost their prospective buyer. There goes the money they wanted to make. And the land value of the house went down. There goes the price point they wanted to sell the house at. And they need to build a new fence, since no one will want to live in this house without some sort of fencing. Looks like they'll need to pay for a new fence, labor and all, from an actual contractor.

We didn't win, but neither did they. Fuck you.

Sorry about the length of this story.

TL;DR: Family built fence for landlords without charging labor under the explicit condition that they'd get to continue living there. After building fence, got promptly kicked out. I took legal measures. The landlords lost the fence and a whole lot of money.

(source) (story by caustic_apathy)

[izzymalec]

saskia i didn’t get my license until last year because i was so fucking terrified for the longest time. everything about driving scared me. i took my driving class summer 2017 and got my permit. a binch had to do this other online class because my permit expired and it was such a long process. i was terrible at backing out and i cried so much until the day i went to the bureau and passed. the process is rough and it’s not easy for a lot of people. driving at first was terrifying but -

(continued from last ask) i actually got my first speeding ticket last fall after having my license for like four months lmao (wasn’t a good day). eventually driving got easier. practicing in your neighborhood. a trip to the supermarket. to your uni. all helped me. the highway was terrifying and i would use backways until i just slowly became accustomed to it. IT IS practice and time and learning from the experiences. ur doing ur best and ily and i am proud of u

tysm holly ily 💖

[macbookpro-hard-drive]

jumpstarted [jeremy h. x reader]

Can you do a headcanon or fic where Jeremy is absolutely smitten (bonus points if you get that reference) with reader but y’know he can’t do shit but also Michael being a supportive af buddy (“that’s progress!!”) and all in all he’s just pining from afar because WOW he’s in love (but is he though like let’s be real) and just absolutely head over heels

u: dodie reference

me: jukebox the ghost song title

also i might write a second part to this with actual shippy stuff if y’all are interested ksdfhsd

warnings: none

          When his dad came into his room a month before the school year ended and told him that if he wanted to get a car, he’d have to get a job, Jeremy couldn’t say that he’d been surprised. Sure, Jeremy could drive - his dad basically dragged him out of his room to get both his permit and his license, always saying he wanted him to have it ‘just for emergencies’ - and he was actually sort of happy to do so, taking a little bit of pleasure in such an independent, mundane thing, but he’d never really... thought about actually having a car. He’d been used to getting rides from Michael whenever they wanted to go somewhere, or just waiting for the bus for rides to and from school. Then again, he was going to be a senior - and after that, there was college and having a car for college sounded great in his opinion. So he strode away from his father the next time they were grocery shopping, finding a job kiosk set up toward the front of the store, and applied. Two weeks later, by some stroke of luck, he received a call confirming an interview date - and then, next thing he knew, he was a full-time cashier for that upcoming summer, going through training and meant to start the day after school ended. With every customer nagging him to use expired coupons, to people swearing that the price that popped up on the screen was wrong (and rarely it was, but Jeremy had learned to admit when he was wrong when he was wrong - something he learned was rare for those customers), he’d gotten used to one thought: a few more months and then he’ll be back at school and not working, all of this is for a car, he’ll be fine.

          And then you showed up, and Jeremy became anything but fine.

          You were new to Metuchen - and, honestly, New Jersey. For the longest time, your parents had been teetering on the edge of divorce (more-so because you had younger siblings, and you understood why) or staying together for a little longer. After what felt like a week of them going from civilized conversation to arguing over the smallest things, they settled on getting a divorce. Your two sisters stayed with your mother, not wanting to move away from your hometown and all their friends. You, on the other hand, went with your dad after he finally went for that job he’d been hounded by for a while - nothing against your mother, but the smallest part of you had always wanted something more and a new location and a new school was something you’d been looking for. Fuck the stress that’d come from it - that was for later and you could deal with it later. You were more preoccupied with getting used to living in a new state and dealing with all the changes. The fact that you didn’t pump your own gas, the ‘Wawa’s (which you soon discovered had fucking kickass subs/hoagies/whatever people wanted to call them), the... weird fact that tomatoes were fucking everywhere - you felt out of place. 

          One week you ducked into a grocery store while aimlessly driving around, trying to get used to the new location and finding where your school was - which you were glad to find wasn’t too far from your home - with the intent of getting a soda and some chocolate and maybe just wander for a bit to pass the time. Eventually, after awkwardness started to settle into your bones, you grabbed a drink and a Kit-Kat and found a emptying register with the man ahead of you taking his receipt and bags from the cashier. You set down your items, the lanky cashier turning to greet you before pausing, sort of awkwardly staring for a minute. You fought back a smile at the splotchy blush that crept onto his face, as he fumbled with your bottle of soda.

          He finally spoke, voice cracking, “find everything you were looking for?”

          Your smile crept through, and you answer him with a nod. Your attention flickers down to his name tag, JEREMIAH proudly stated in little black letters. “Yeah,” you said, fingers fumbling with your wallet, “you, uh, from here?” The moment the words left your mouth, you started to curse them.

          He didn’t seem affected by it at all. “Yeah! I’m, uh, a senior-” He started, “are you... new...?”

          “Yeah,” you stretched out the word, rocking back and forth on your heels. “I just moved here with my dad.” You paused, just sorta studying his face. “Is it obvious?”

          He read off your total at long last, and he fumbled with the five you handed him as he went to make change. “... A little.”

          Figures. You probably stuck out like a sore thumb. “Great. I’m, uh - one too. A senior- I mean-” You stumbled over your words, “I’m-”

          As if on cue, a couple with a full shopping cart pulled got behind you, already starting to unload everything. You snatched up your snack and your soda, thanked him for what basically was doing his job, and ran off without another word - only throwing a smile over your shoulder as you stole a quick glance to him. He barely had time to register it before he kicked himself into gear, focusing on ringing up the next customer, going through the motions, the conversation. When he finally got off work that afternoon, he vaguely was able to mention that he met “a cutie who likes kit-kats” who he made a fool of himself in front of, and barely a second later, Michael had texted back - saying a “nice” before asking if he was still coming over or what.

          Jeremy lingered outside of the store, earphones in and distracting him from the world around him. He saw plenty of people daily, plenty of cute people who smiled at him warmly and made him freeze up momentarily. But they came and went quickly. You... You had lingered around, talked to him - even if you were as awkward as he was at points. You were new, so you had an excuse. Jeremy didn’t. But he listened to his music, the beginning of Jumpstarted beginning to play right as he watched Michael’s PT Cruiser pull into the parking lot and eventually up to the front of the store.

          “So. Tell me about the, uh, Kit-Kat cutie.”

          A week later, you were in the store again: this time buying actual groceries. You skimmed the registers until you find Jeremiah again, and you were happy to find that he wasn’t busy as you pushed your cart into the aisle. He hadn’t noticed you, completely focused on finishing up with the person in front of you. You turned, snagging another Kit-Kat as you set it right after the barrier you placed. The cashier’s hand graced over an item right next to the barrier, and his eyes met yours, and you only shot him a smile as you started to unload your card. That was the exact moment that Jeremy’s thoughts scrambled for a second, as he tried to scan in a bag of tomatoes before realizing he had to punch shit in as well. The fact that you were cute was one thing. The fact that Jeremy was way too fucking hormonal to be around anyone in a tank top was another. His eyes skimmed your shoulders for a bare second as he turned back to the customer in front of you, rattling off the total as he watched the man swipe his card. He hadn’t expected you to actually come back - or, well, come back to his line specifically. Maybe you hadn’t - maybe he was assuming shit, like maybe his line had been shorter or something.

          He ripped off the receipt as it printed, handing it to the man as he bid him to have a nice day before turning to you. “Hey!” He’d greeted, jamming the little barrier back into place as he picked up the Kit-Kat, scanning it. “You, uh, want this left out?”

          “Sure,” you’d hummed, “I’m [y/n], by the way.”

          “Jeremy.” He said, and he caught your glimpse at his name-tag. “Sorry - they just- they put my full name on my name-tag for some reason and- I’m Jeremy.”

          You chuckled at that as you pushed your cart past you once having emptied it. “So, Just Jeremy,” you teased, feeling extremely teen-movie-esque in doing so, “you said you were a senior.”

          “Am,” he corrected, “yeah, uh, I’m at Middleborough. Y’know, uh, go tigers or something- I, uh, don’t do sports so-”

          “Yeah, it’s tigers, Jeremy - do you seriously not know?” You asked. He nearly took offense to the question until he saw your smile, which quickly washed away any fear that you held distaste for him now.

          He scanned a loaf of bread, “I mean - sports aren’t really my thing. They’re, uh, more Jake’s thing - and, now Michael, I guess-” He paused, “wait. Wait, you don’t know them - shit, sorry,” he said, before lowering his voice. “Shit, I’m not supposed to swear-”

          “You’re doing great with that, Jeremiah.” You smiled, “but I won’t tell. Promise,” you winked at him as you started searching for your wallet. 

          He fumbled with a can at the motion. Fuck fuck fuck fuck- “Thanks!” He froze internally, his thoughts completely scrambled aside from FUCK as he went through the motions of scanning and sliding things down to be bagged the moment he was done. You giggled at the motion, as you looked back to him, his cheeks burning as he stuttered, reading off the final price.

          You glanced over to him as you inserted your card, waiting for options to pop up. “You okay, Jeremy?” You punched in your code, stealing another glimpse at him. He managed to nod. You pulled the card out after a moment, “you should introduce me to your friends sometime.” You paused, “since... It might be nice to have some friends before I start at Middleborough.”

          Jeremy wasn’t sure whether to panic at that news or revel in it. On one hand, you were cute and you seemed to enjoy talking to him (but maybe you were always nice to people who were working - and fuck, he hoped so, since you seemed like a nice person) and didn’t really care that he was a big awkward dork. On the other hand... you were really cute and he was a big awkward dork and that became way more apparent when he was at school or with his friends. What if you weren’t into dorks? Like, at all? What if you were someone who liked sports or something? He didn’t get sports.

          He was getting carried away - or, maybe he wasn’t, because you just said he should introduce you to his friends. He scrambled to find a scrap of paper anywhere to scribble his name and number down on, before he offered it up to you. “Yeah - uh, just text me when you’re free and I’ll, uh, ask them and I’ll introduce you to them-” He stumbled through conversation, and you smiled at him as you took the paper. Just Jeremiah, his number written neatly underneath (a rare occurrence when it came to Jeremy, since his writing was almost always quick scribbles that used to drive his teachers mad).

          When Michael picked him up again, he knew from the look on Jeremy’s face that you, the “Kit-Kat Cutie,” had returned again. He barely had a chance to say a word before Jeremy started rambling about you, saying something about giving you his number since you wanted to meet him and Jake and the rest of his friends - and then he froze up almost immediately after. You wanted to meet his friends. Fuck, you wanted to meet his friends and if Rich found out, he’d never hear the end of it. Sure, Rich might not say shit in front of you (at least, not when you were paying attention), but he’d never hear the end of anything if Rich met you. Michael only let out a laugh and drove him home before going up to replay Apocalypse of the Damned for the first time in months.

          This hadn’t been Jeremy’s idea. Brooke had been taking about having a pool party for weeks, and at the mere thought of introducing you, she had told him to invite you asap. So after a few hours of waiting to text you back, he finally brought up the idea to you - and, to his surprise, you were extremely open to the idea. So now he sat in the shade, still dressed in a t-shirt and swim trunks as he watched you converse with Christine happily, and basically take to the whole idea of being social way easier than he ever had. He liked the little sparkle in your eye as your attention bounced from Christine to Jake to Jenna, and then to Michael, who - upon hearing that yes, Jeremy was fine where he was, and yes, he’d join them soon, he’s waiting Brooke to get back with the sunscreen for his pale ass - jumped into the conversation as well. Jeremy was glad that you were getting along, since you were new and now you’d have some familiar faces when school started back up. The smallest pit of jealousy started to swell within him, as he watched how touchy you were with everyone - and maybe it was because he thought you were really fucking cute and maybe he wouldn’t mind if you were touchy with him.

          “Fucking hell, Jeremy, stop staring at them just ask them out already.” Rich said, clasping him on the shoulder as he stepped out of Brooke’s house. He jumped at the sudden contact, before whipping around to face Rich.

          “Rich!” Jeremy had said, voice cracking so awkwardly that he was internally cursing it, “I’m not- they don’t - we’re- we’re just friends. We just met-”

          Rich smirked, pushing the sunglasses that Jeremy knew he stole from Brooke up onto the top of his head, “c’mon, dude. It’s obvious.” He took a step away from Jeremy, still facing him, “do it before I do it for you.” He shot him a quick wink, flicking the sunglasses back down as he joined the small crowd that’d been growing around you.

          You’d been sitting at the edge of the pool, legs dipped into the cold water while Jake had been at the side, head resting on his arms as he looked up at you, happy as could be. Christine was at your side, going on and on about something - theatre or art or the past few weeks in New York with her family, Jeremy couldn’t tell which - as you laughed along with her. Theatre, Jeremy had settled on. Christine had plenty of stories - enough that Jenna could jump in on since she’d heard them all before. They all had, really - but Christine was one of those people where no matter how many times you could hear something, she always made it new and interesting in some shape or form. Chloe had been lying on a float, completely in her own world (or, so Jeremy thought, when she’d throw out her own comments from time to time, proving that she had definitely been listening). Sometimes the topic turned back to you, asking where you were from, why you moved to Metuchen, what was your hometown like-

          “Found it!” Brooke called out as she finally exited her house, holding out the bottle. “I was scared we were out.” She watched as Jeremy took the bottle, before finally adding on, “I mean, it’s not like I wouldn’t have gotten to get some more for you, Jeremy!” She smiled, “sorry for taking so long.”

          “It’s fine- sorry I forgot to bring any, I just-” 

          “Enjoying the view?” Brooke hummed, looking back to him as she nodded in your direction. Fuck, was Jeremy that obvious?

          “I- uh-” Jeremy stuttered out, “thank you-”

          “Jeremy.” She stopped, looking back at him, “it’s fine? [y/n] seems nice.” She lowered her voice slightly, as if you could have heard her over the crowd around you, “besides - it’s cute how into them you are.”

          “I’m not-” He paused, before running a hand through his hair, “is it really that obvious?”

          “Yep!” Brooke chirped, smiling as she turned back to the pool, making some comment that he can just leave the sunscreen on the table as she stripped off the sheer cover-up she’d had on and jumped into the deep end of her pool.

          He wanted to object in some way. To say that maybe he just thought you were a friend, and that you could use some more friends at Middleborough, to say that he was just looking out for you or something. But then his gaze fell back to you, laughing at some joke that maybe Jenna or Rich had told, nose crinkled and this little glimmer in your eyes just stirring something in his chest - and everything he’d been thinking was thrown out the window completely. Maybe he did like you. Sure, the two of you really hadn’t talked that much outside of your more-frequent visits to the grocery store (always a Kit-Kat and now bottles of water rather than soda) or your dumb late night texts that were almost always really stupid memes you’d found. And sure, it had taken maybe two weeks for you to finally meet his friends, so that was two more weeks of contact - so maybe it wasn’t like you were complete strangers.

          But fuck it. He thought you were cute, and he was absolutely smitten with you. And maybe he could deal with that - after all, he did it (for the most part) with Christine. This time he didn’t have to worry about shitty pills intending to take over the world. He could just... be Jeremy Heere, seventeen-year-old dork who has trouble actually talking to cute people because fuck, cute people are... really, really fucking cute. He was fine with being that guy who just pines over his crush for a bit. He was allowed to do that.

          He was honestly glad to be completely smitten with you. Nothing could ever change that.

[salvatorbloodlust]

I Am Not The One That’s Broken

At this point in my life I’ve pretty much accepted the fact that I will never be considered American. Never mind that I know this country’s language, culture, history, and even the God damned National Anthem. All people will ever see is that for the first 7 years of my life, I lived somewhere else.

&&No pity please- I’ve come to terms with it already. Everybody’s life is unfair, this is simply my share.

I do, however, refuse to be ashamed about it.

I remember as a kid being SO embarrassed whenever the topic of legal status came up. I would feel my face get all hot, my palms start to sweat, and I’d stutter if I tried to talk. I knew that being “illegal” was bad, so I always felt like I’d done something wrong by simply being here.

FUCK THAT.

I literally didn’t do SHIT. I was seven years old. All I understood was that we were moving away. I didn’t even fucking know why.

But you know what I did understand?

That I would have to start attending a new school. (A school that held me back a grade and made me take speech classes so that I would “learn English properly without an accent”) A school where I had no friends for a while because I couldn’t communicate with anybody.

I understood that we had to give my dog away because she couldn’t come with us.

I understood that my cousin, who lived down the street from me and became like a sister to me would not be coming with. I understood that I would miss her.

I understood that everyone in my family was sad. I understood that when we left, everyone crying and hugging and kissing and saying goodbye a million times more than necessary was because they didn’t want to let us go. I understood that the way my aunt and mom were crying in the car on the way to airport meant that we would be gone for longer than they’d told me.

As I grew, I began to understand a lot more.

I began to understand that I would never be able to legally drive. I understood that although good grades would always be important to me, they’d also be useless because scholarships and financial aid were for U.S. Citizens and I didn’t qualify. I understood that I could not always trust the police because my very existence was breaking the law. After what happened in Arizona, I understood that I should fear the police because the law would never be on my side.

I began to understand why bad people become bad. If that’s all that’s expected of you, &&that’s the way people treat you anyway, why not? But I refused to cave.

Despite the fear and shame, I worked hard even though I was underpaid. Even though I didn’t see a point, I did it for my mom. I wouldn’t let her sacrifice be for nothing.

When Obama passed DACA, I couldn’t believe it at first. It seemed too good to be true. It was the first time that I felt like talking about my legal status didn’t have to be talked about in shame. I no longer had to feel as though “undocumented” was a dirty word. My life improved in so many ways. I started school, got 2 jobs, moved out, and bought a car. For the first time in my adult life I began to make plans for my future. For the first time in my life I had options.

I know that my life will be more complicated when my work permit expires now that Trump is ending the DACA program. That’s okay. I lived my entire life without DACA, I can do it again.

Here’s the only difference:

I will not be ashamed anymore.

I used to be embarrassed that I couldn’t drive. I used to be embarrassed that I didn’t go to college. I used to be embarrassed that I had a shitty job. That I couldn’t travel by plane even within the country. That I couldn’t afford to live on my own. That I couldn’t afford nice brand name things or cool phones.

I used to feel so guilty about living here. When I graduated I wanted to move back to Mexico so bad because I felt like it was so wrong to stay here. I even got to the point that I felt like all those limitations were my deserved punishment for breaking the law by moving here when I was 7.

BUT NOT ANYMORE.

You know why? Because I proved to myself that when given the opportunity, I can do all those things. Everything I thought I would never be able to do, I did. I used to think that there was something wrong with me, but I’ve learned that there is nothing wrong with me. I’m not the one who is broken; the system is.

&&I’m no longer ashamed of my status because I no longer equate it with inferiority; instead it makes me proud. Because despite all the odds against me, I still succeeded in everything I set my mind to. &&That’s something to be proud of.

So when DACA ends and my limitations return, I will not talk about them with shame. Because I am not the one who should be ashamed. The government is.

[lisaroquin]

yeah, I’m a redneck, but leave the kids alone no matter your opinion

I suppose this all falls under the disconnect, absolute ignorance, and what most out in the sticks would just shake their heads or roll thier eyes with various levels of disbelief and/or disgust at 'city stupid'

Like the post I've seen several times on my dash about calf nose tags, or the post that has gone around several times at OMGWTFBBQ!!! Pigs are big?

THere was a post "I'll unfriend you if you post a dead deer and your six year old kid" and the hilariously stupid on that of "I don't kill anything for my food, I buy it at the grocery store like a civilized person"

"Civilized" in that case is extremely disconnected. Dude the meat you buy at the grocery store did not just magically appear. Yeah something was killed for it, even if you want to pretend otherwise and didn't do it yourself, something was killed for it. And a hell of a lot more of that animal was probably wasted than the deer some kid was proud as hell of bringing down. (Now trophy hunters after a set of antlers make me fucking see red, but that is not the majority--though the pricing of hunting permits certainly seem to cater to those fuckers. Nor do I have much use for 'fish-in-a-barrel hunting where wildlife ranches sell 'hunting packages' with animals trained to show up in certain spots because food is always left out there)

Hunting season is actually a necessary part of wildlife management--it is also limited, the amount of hunting permits can vary from year to year, and the type of permit (doe or buck for deer season since that is what is coming up and had the comment of stupidity about being 'civilized')  

Wildlife management is about maintaining healthy wild populations. Overpopulation? Means starvation for a deer population because too many deer, not enough to eat, that crosses over to damaged and destroyed crops--which if there's enough of that, your civilized food--particularly cereals or grain based of any type go up in cost. Farmers financial issues can result from that--and guess what civilized folks, that impacts you. Because family farms are a hell of a lot better for the environment than corporate--corporate farms do not give a fuck. The ones making the money are in a city somewhere and do not care about the runoff of anything be it animal waste or chemicals into the water table. (and on a side note--the massive issues of growth hormone and antibiotics in meat supplies come down from fda type mandates on 'safe food standards' same with so much of hte chemicals now used in crop production--pushed by corps, forced on farmers that originally were clueless on how the long term issues would go. family farms keep their animals healthy because their family *depends* on it. and pay a hell of a lot more attention to the impact of things on the land because *their family lives there* and will be effected first.)

Over population also means disease.  Some which very easily hops species to farm animals, and there goes your 'civilized food' at the grocery store, possibly contamniated, recalls. etc etc etc.

And the diseases can wipe out wild populations in an area, can cause some major problems that spread just--well like we had bluetongue go through the deer around here about 3yrs ago. Lot of dead deer around, just dropping dead with cyanotic lips and tongues and then you have the issues brought by carcasses rotting especially along the rivers, which I live near. Populations devastated by disease have years, possibly decades coming back from that and rebalancing the areas ecosystem.

Wildlife management --which includes hunting for some animals--actually keeps the population healthy and prevents the spread of diseases, starvation of the wildlife etc.

But that (eventual, always a few, majority I see ar emore like 10-14 of kids w/ deer but sometimes the littler one gets a really lucky shot) little kid you're howling about pictured with that dead deer--do you know what that little kid actually did? That little kid was up by four at the latest, to go out, and walking through terrain that is not a stroll in park. November--cold, wet, 4am. While there my not be snow, temps esp in early morning are not higher than 20s F (which, for those of you measuring temps differently 32 is freezing). Wait in dew and cold, rain or snow easily possiblilities as well, and quite possibly come home with jack shit, hours of patience and down right cold and shitty-ick-to miserable if it's rainy/snowy for nothing. A permit doesn't mean you get a deer, just means you have a *chance* at getting a deer.

So that six, seven eight year old--who has by the point they go out hunting had hours upon hours of gun safety, like as not been put through hunting and gun safety classes--spends hours of at least semi challenging endurance (which the civilized commenter going to the grocery store probably couldn't stand and would be appalled at). Has had numerous types of wildlife sign, plants, etc pointed out (if they haven't already learned htem) has spent *HOURS* huddled up with parent/grandparent/aunt/uncle and a sibling or cousin or two pending how big the hunting party is and how scattered they are where they're hunting, even if they're sitting up in a deer blind, that's generally fucking cold and windy and not a lot of room so only two or three likely in it (because yup women and girls hunt too, this is not toxic masculinity. Hell I know some women who'll leave the husband at home with the kids and go on a girls hunting trip. hubby more city and doesn't hunt in the particular case I'm thinking of) *gasp* the horrors, hours of quiet conversation, passing down of knowledge.

So the kid gets a deer and is over the fucking moon because actually got one. Picture necessary. Just like any other activity the kid is in (little league/softball/soccer/dance/band/choir/midget football wtf ever)

You know what happens then? The kid gets a lesson in field dressing most likely. Possibly a lesson in butchering--pending if the parents/grandparents do it themselves or they take it to a meat locker to do.

That little kid you'e so horrified over, just provided a fuck of a lot of meat for their family for the winter--and that meat will not be wasted. Unlike the civilized meat at the grocery store which is garbage when it gets past it's packaged expiration date. (and for those of you that don't know--Bambi tastes fucking awesome. Lot like beef only a bit stronger and richer, for the most general comparison) That kid just possibly fed their family for the next two fucking months. That kid has put in some long miserable hours to get that deer, because you don't just walk out and boom come home with a big deer (that *can* happen but realistically it's several days of freezing your ass off, hoping and praying like hell you actually get something. I'm not arguing sport or not--but it is work, with some real fucking physical effort and physical endurance as well as, usually, hours upon hours of patience put in to get a deer)

And if the family is really lucky and the household brings down their limit--which means they have more than their freezer can hold--it's gifted. There's papers got to fill out --yep you have to have your hunting license and have paperwork to legally have deer in your freezer. Has to be accounted for in case of poaching investigation ever cropping up (hey that gives someone a minimum wage data entry job with gov bennies so whatever even if is rather redundant and aggravating for the common folk.) so fill out your gifting paper and give it along with some meat to extended family/neighbors etc.

Several foodbanks accept deer. And give the meat to people who are at the fucking foodbank because they can't afford to eat.

That little kid grinning so proudly with their deer--deserves to be proud. And in the process of getting that deer have gotten a hell of a lot of lessons in everything from gun safety, nature, possibly wildlife diseases (hopefully not, because that would mean there are visible signs of disease on the deer, and meat then unsafe to eat.) has put more time, effort and discomfort into that than a 'civilized' person at the grocery store will ever grasp--even in the learning of gun safety and so on to be able to go, long before there's thought of that child going hunting. That little kid just learned a hell of a lot more of what it takes to feed their family or strangers if that meat is donated, what it feels like to really accomplish something worthwhile. That little kid has spent more time out in nature than the 'civilized' person deriding them and their family likely has--even if one counts a manicured public park as nature.

That little kid has learned a  hell of a lot bringing down that deer, even getting to the point it was deemed they could go hunting. (no one takes a completely untaught and unmindful child hunting). That little kid, is a kid who knows how to listen, who knows how to follow instruction and learn, is a kid who has more respect for and knowledge of wildlife and nature than some airhead model prancing around naked for PETA. Is a kid who has spent hours upon hours time with parent/older family member, probably listening to stories of parent/aunts/uncles childhood, grandparents childhood. Like as not with a few lessons thrown in unthinkingly like finding deer tracks/trails, possibly (probably) spotting other tracks--beaver, raccoon, badger, opossum, dog/coyote/wolf, and around here mountain lion. Seeing plenty of other animals and birds besides the deer they're looking for--around here fucking massive populations of wild turkey, plus hawks, eagles, vast assortment of smaller birds, geese and ducks migrating etc.

Y'all so up in arms at all this flailing and wringing hands....

Why don't you take a hunting safety course? You don't have to hunt to take the course, but more and more (if not almost all) places require it for child hunters these days. See what that kid has actually learned before they go near hunting.

Look up deer diseases. Look up the issues with localized overpopulation of wildlife. Look up sharedeer.org.

Hunting is not for everyone, that's fine. (Fuck no, while I'll gladly accept some venison even pay for processing of part of a deer, my ass is not going out and freezing for hours for maybe nothing. Joint deterioration I have is not about to let me even if I wanted to)

But y'all love to go on about 'don't like, scroll on, don't be an asshole' practice what you preach.

Yeah. Scroll on, quietly delete, whatever. Just shut up about it. You don't have to be an asshole--especially about a kid that is quite possibly better educated on several 'uncivilized' subjects like wildlife,gun safety, butchering and meat processing than you'll ever be. A kid that actually *put a fuck of a lot of effort and discomfort* in accomplishing something that will feed their family and/or others, with meat that sure as hell isn't going to be wasted like meat at the supermarket might be (and pro-tip, folks who take their *child* hunting aren't big macho dickheads looking for a trophy, they're looking for fucking *food* and quite probably have scrimped and saved back a dollar here five there for the chance at getting that food becuase hunting permits are not fucking cheap and those looking for food are not rich.) That kid so proud of their deer-- honestly worked for that deer with the amount of effort and discomfort and time put into getting it. Has learned a hell of a lot in the process of getting that deer, and just had the time of their life with parent/grandparent/older relative of some sort in the process of it as well as a good deal of conversation with parent/grandparent/older relative.

Y'all, go watch Lion King again maybe? Maybe that will help you grasp a bit of circle of life.... think what you want, scroll past, unfriend/unfollow wtf, but *don't fucking be an asshole and post shit at the kid.*  That kid deserves to be proud, and so do their parents.