#At least it's not Corey for once

[space-whalesharks]

Guess who's playing fc roulette aggaaaaaaaiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnn

[houseofwolvess]

can i be honest with u guys. one of the only reasons i haven't listened to slipknot (beyond some of their popular songs) is because my dad's got beef with the singer but refuses to explain the details, and now whenever i hear corey's voice i just think "oh this is the guy my dad hates" and it's very distracting

[zukkaoru]

help me i'm indecisive: what bsd character do you think is most likely to LOVE wearing skirts. at first i was like hm which nonbinary/genderfluid/etc... character but now i'm kinda just thinking any character in general. have too many options and need your opinion ilyyyyyyyyy

ummmm hmm i think yosano enjoys wearing skirts bc i think she likes dressing up and looking nice, and also her work uniform includes a skirt and presumably you get to Pick what you want to wear at the ada bc everyone dresses differently, so the skirt must have been a conscious choice

lucy also!! lucy definitely loves wearing skirts but specifically like. skirts that poof out kinda like her dress does. she's definitely got underskirts to make her skirts and dresses poof out more

i think if sigma wore a skirt it might fix her. i think she needs a skirt like these

i also think atsushi would like skirts. he's hesitant at first but then he's finally swayed into trying one on just to see what it's like (probably one of lucy's, but without an underskirt) and he's like. oh. omg. this is kind of super awesome

louisa and margaret definitely like wearing skirts too. i think ranpo likes them on occasion but it varies greatly depending on his mood. chuuya pretends to not like them but. they do. they probably only own like one singular skirt that they never wear bc dazai dared them to wear one for a day when they were teenagers but that one dare changed them forever. there’s definitely more but those are the first ones that come to mind skdjsjdj

[writing-good-vibes]

[from @cupcakeofdeath000]

ahh you know what, i totally agree !! i'm playing fast and loose with how bo fits into haddonfield, but lets go with less murder (for the most part) and more with the redneck mechanic, just for the time being lol.

i love the idea of roger and bo, two people who couldn't seem more different yet (to corey) fulfil similar roles, fighting over who gets corey, even if neither of them really care about him. it's not like either of them want a relationship with him, is it?

corey and roger's relationship is complicated at best. roger is cheating on his wife, and has no intention of leaving her for his silly little piece on the side. corey knows that, but he's also never had this much attention before. roger is so nice to him, and makes him feel good about himself and having this affair makes corey feel like a grown up, like he has control over something in his life.

but that's not to say it's only corey who catches feelings. roger doesn't love corey, not at all, but he feels a certain affection for him. corey is likable and awkward, he's willing to do pretty much anything roger asks of him. he knows corey could be swayed if someone else starts taking an interest in him (which is exactly what roger did). if corey has another "admirer" he's less likely to be as dutiful for roger.

i can see, if roger and bo knew of each other's relationships with corey, that they might bicker over it, in a (as dubbed by @/slutforstabbings) "desperate househusbands" situation.

maybe roger claims he's worried for corey -- bo is hardly an upstanding member of society. or maybe he surprises himself with how possessive he feels over corey -- telling bo to back off and find someone else to mess around with. or maybe roger even feels a little betrayed (as if corey doesn't feel betrayed every time roger doesn't have time for him because of theresa) -- his realisation that corey isn't the blushing virgin he liked to think he was. roger knows corey has feelings for him, i think a part of him enjoys having someone swooning over him (in a way his wife doesn't anymore, after being married for so long), and he doesn't really want to lose that if corey finds someone else to.

bo is less attached to corey on an emotional level than roger is. bo likes corey because he's fun to play with, and because corey so obviously has the hots for men like bo. i think bo would only get possessive if roger did first. if roger ever told him to back off, then firstly, bo would laugh in his face. then secondly, it'd increase bo's desire to keep corey around tenfold, if only to spite roger. i think corey could easily catch feelings for bo, but to a lesser degree. with roger the emotional boundries between them have always been blurry. bo is very clear about what they are. he's a "pat on the ass when you leave" kind of guy. but bo is very good at sex, and he knows it. he wants to be the best corey has ever had -- if only to spite roger, of course.

and, like you said, michael really couldn't care less what corey does. he certainly doesn't care enough to fight another man over it. he keeps corey around because he's useful, he's interesting, but who else he fucks is none of michael's business.

neither roger nor bo can can hold a candle to michael in corey's eyes anyway. michael is corey's answer to god. corey will always have michael to go back to. it isn't necesarily love, it can't be explained as simply as that, buy michael fulfils so much for corey that no one else ever has - not roger, and not bo. michael doesn't lie. michael represents death, something corey has been trying to get away from for a long time until he just couldn't keep running anymore. corey gave in, and there's no escaping now.

[pothame]

the 6 2/4 ear massage and 6 4/4 cuddle are my roman empires

[raccsnaccreese]

I’ve been thinking about how the Abyss’s supernatural powers affect Time. The news articles at the bar imply that people who disappeared decades ago return at almost the same state of dress and age as before. This leads me to believe that the Abyss traps its victims in an alternate reality, or a “timeless” dimension- a place where time either doesn’t exist, or is stuck in a Loop. There may be instances where the veil between dimensions is thin, allowing the Abyss victims to interact with their original reality. This is why we can see flashes of Shadow!Kat and Shadow!Corey in Velvet Cove. Shadow!Kat even seems to sometimes have enough power to influence the original reality, from the Abyss: providing the knife and cheat sheet to opening the cabin lock, possibly even materializing the items that were previously thrown into the Abyss to put them into the box and manifest that box for the adult girls to find. As we first enter the cabin, Kat had already been there! She already knew what the combination had been. She is here and unhere. They’ve always been here, as the time-line keeps looping.

Side note- I think the girls fully regaining their memories not only unlocked the box, but may have “unlocked” or re-opened the Abyss. If Kat said they needed to forget their Summer together to stay safe, closing the Abyss, then the returning memories may have also brought back that danger. I think this might be Kat’s way of asking for help…if her memory exists, she can also exist again, and escape the Abyss, but she needs help from her friends- IDK JUST THEORIES because I’m desperate for a sequel.

At the end of the game, Adult Swann enters the Abyss as well. The players actually see Shadow!Swann at least twice during the game- she can be both seen and heard during the Bloody Mary dare, and later seen in the Blue Spruce parking lot. Once Swann enters the Abyss, she is now part of this timeless / time-loop alternate reality. My theory is that she is possibly re-living the summer of 1995 over and over again, trying to reach through to her younger self- there’s even a hidden phone call interaction where someone who sounds like Adult Swann tries to warn young Swann about the Abyss, but the dialogue is garbled with static.

I started to think about this in a meta way- what if our repeated playthroughs as players represent Swann’s attempts in the Abyss as she relives all the possible choices and outcomes that summer, desperate to find the ideal circumstances that could have saved Kat and made things work out better? I think Oxenfree had similar gameplay elements, where secondary playthroughs would be impacted by the memories and choices of the initial playthrough. It would surely add some depth to the idea of replayability, not only to give players more options to explore, but also deepen the narrative implications of the Abyss’s supernatural nature and how the girls interact with it. Anyways I haven’t stopped thinking about this game for over two months, so I might also be stuck in a time-loop…send help

[axxxx13]

So this might be controversial but Theo is the first to realize that Liam suffers from self-harm.

Follow me, it happens to everyone to want to hit or really hit something to vent frustration or maybe clench your fists, it's almost normal for it to happen at least once.

But Liam doesn't do it once and especially not by chance: what Liam does is a prolonged and systematic thing aimed at hurting himself.

First of all he is ashamed of it, think about when Scott asks him to show him his hands, he is completely mortified by it as when he has that conversation with his father about hurting others or himself. Secondly his outbursts become more and more violent as he realizes how quickly he heals, Liam doesn't just want to control his anger with pain (which is already dysfunctional in itself) but he wants it to hurt afterwards, as a kind of punishment.

It takes Theo a while to notice all these things and to put them into a pattern but when he does he is quite horrified and obviously for him it becomes a priority that Liam does not get even a scratch.

The first thing he does is force him to get treated after an attack, regardless of the type of wound and his healing Theo fixes him: disinfectant, bandages, stitches, dressings of all kinds and after a few times even absorbing the pain directly. Liam obviously resists at first, the first time he probably has a hysterical crisis because Theo wants to disinfect his hands. Theo never gives in but, on the contrary, as he take care of him he becomes more and more gentle: reassurances, kisses and caresses while he treats him become the norm and Liam obviously feels like crap every time because Theo is there to fix his damage.

When Theo understands this he moves on to plan B which is to prevent him from getting hurt. It doesn't matter where they are or what they're doing or how many people are around, if Liam tries to close his fists, Theo immediately grabs his hand, if he wants to hit something Theo holds him back until the crisis passes, pulls his lips away from his fangs when he tries to bite himself and in general prevents him in any way from getting hurt in his presence.

This has two effects: on the one hand Liam learns to trust Theo completely when he's most vulnerable, he stops feeling ashamed or afraid of rejection/reprimand and starts asking for help, on the other hand, seeing that Theo cares (and then obviously Mason and Corey and everyone around him that Theo informs more or less discreetly) he starts to not hurt himself anymore so as not to make those around him suffer with the final result that he learns not to hurt himself because he simply doesn't deserve it.

[mooniamsblog]

What video games do you think the puppy pack would play?

Like I think Corey would be an avid Sims player but not in a peaceful way, in the way all Sims players play - death in the pool and a man dungeon in the basement.

Liam and Mason play cod (I think that canon or at least canon adjacent) but I think Mason would love GTA and planning all the heists and Liam just joins later after everything's set up. In the meantime Liam is playing hello kitty island adventure or world of warcraft.

Theo obviously knows nothing about video games given the grew up in the sewers thing but he would be infuriatingly good at Mario kart (Liam refuses to talk to him after his 6th loss in a row)

Hayden is the best stardew valley player in the pack and has married all of the bacholors in the game at least once in her save file she also plays halo avidly.

[runforthestars]

Secret Admirer

Pairing: Sam Monroe x male!frat boy reader

Summary: Semi-crack treated seriously.

A/N: Saw an edit of Sam on my fyp and had to temporarily abandon my Lorenzo Berkshire x reader to write this out instead. Only proofread once and typed out in an hour so apologies for any mistakes.

Want more of my works? Masterlist

Want to request a story? Take your pick from my muses

· · ─────── ⏾⋆.˚ ─────── · ·

It had started off small. A solitary rose nestled in his locker, haphazardly dipped in black paint and dusted with cobalt blue glitter, creating a strangely captivating effect.

Sam stared at it for so long that he could practically commit each imperfection of the shoddily adorned flower to memory. And not just because it sat on his dresser—no, that would be absurd.

For nearly a week, he'd taken to scanning the hands of his peers, searching for the elusive prankster behind what he could only conclude was a laughably poor attempt at humor. After all, glitter was notorious for its stubborn clinginess. Yet, despite his constant investigation whenever the thought came to mind, he'd come up empty-handed—no pun intended. Whoever it was clearly had a knack for remaining hidden.

Then, the following Monday, he discovered a bag of sour Skittles in his locker, a small sticky note affixed to it adorned with messy handwriting. “Figured you might want a reason to look so sour all the time.”

Okay, rude, but after allowing Corey to be the test subject of the candy, he’d discovered that they weren’t poisoned, at the very least.

This pattern continued for the next week: small tokens of affection left waiting for him at his desk, handwritten notes tucked under the windshield wipers of his hatchback, flowers—each one a different type yet still suffocated in the same paint, seemingly chosen to echo the dark hues of Sam's hair. It was like this mysterious patron was experimenting, trying to guess his favorite flower.

That meant someone was watching him for a reaction. Sam wasn’t sure what to think. He always pushed people away, especially wary of any extended olive branches of friendship, all too familiar with being the punch line of countless jokes. It’d apparently worked to deter them to an extent, as this mysterious admirer had never actually come face to face with him, or had they?

His assumption that it was just someone messing with him were shattered like glass when he stumbled upon a Breaking Benjamin CD in his math class seat. Not just any album—it was the freshly released one, clumsily adorned in plain wrapping paper.

Staring at it, disbelief coursed through him. Surely, this person—secret admirer, as he’d begrudgingly began to refer to them—wouldn’t go to all that trouble just for one elaborate prank, right?

He tried to dismiss it from his mind, resorting to coping how he always did. A front of dismissive indifference, as always—but it was hard to ignore the thrill each new gift brought him.

Then came a pack of Marlboros tucked into his locker with a note that simply read an address, a time, and a cheeky "Come find me ;)".

Ominous, indeed.

When Sam arrived at the location, a modest party flickered to life in a middle-class neighborhood, doubt clutched his stomach. ‘Oh god, I’m going to get jumped, aren't I?’ was his first thought as he stood, taking in the thumping bass vibrating through the ground and the two frat brothers guarding the door like well-dressed gargoyles.

Caught between a desire to flee and the gnawing curiosity that tugged at him, he cautiously approached, masking his anxiety with a carefully crafted facade of indifference.

“Yo bro, I’m gonna gave to stop you right there. Who do you know here?” one of the frat brothers asked, suspicion evident in his tone.

Sam hesitated, fingers already fumbling through his pockets for the cigarette pack housing the note. But before he could respond, the unspoken tension shifted when the silent brother smacked the first guy on the shoulder.

“Dude, lay off. He got an invite, don’t be a douche.” Then, turning toward Sam, he flashed a spaced-out grin and waved him in with a friendly gesture. “Come on in, bro.”

A chill ran down Sam’s spine—overdramatic as always; every instinct screaming for him to turn and run. Yet, slowly he nodded, forcing himself to step past them into the house.

Maybe it was the blunt he’d smoked earlier that calmed his senses, but the party didn’t seem so daunting after all. Some guests cast curious glances his way, but no one seemed particularly annoyed by his mere presence.

He let his gaze drift across the flickering colored lights, various party games scattered about, and clusters of people dancing in the living room, before slipping into the kitchen to collect his thoughts.

Find them, that’s what the note had said. How on earth was he supposed to do that?

His fingers brushed against the smooth outline of the pack in his pocket. Screw this—if they really liked him, they could come find him. And besides, a smoke wouldn’t hurt.

Navigating through the crowd, he resisted the urge to snap at the person when a sweaty body knocked into him for what had to of been the fifth time. Finally escaping the throng, he darted for the back porch.

As the humid summer air met him, cooling rapidly as the sun dipped below the treetops, he inhaled deeply. The evening was alive with the chirping of crickets, mingled with laughter and the lively chatter of drunken frat boys attempting to orchestrate a bonfire, while another group was locked in an intense game of beer pong.

Retreating out of view to the far side of the wrap-around porch, he pulled the crumpled pack from his pocket. Setting it on the railing before him, he extracted a cigarette, the familiar motion grounding him amid the chaos unfolding around him.

This was insane. It had to be some sort of elaborate prank. “Haha, the loser thought someone actually liked him for once,” he could just hear it now.

Sam tried his best not to let those thoughts gnaw at him; he really did.

He was jolted from his spiraling thoughts by the soft, deliberate creak of footsteps approaching. A presence loomed beside him, and after a moment, he recognized the other boy as one of those frat types. Sam shot him a critical glare, thoughts racing.

You darted a nervous glance back at him, a grin unfurling across your face when you noticed him scoff and glance away.

That felt like progress, didn’t it? The fact that he didn’t immediately unleash a biting remark was something worth noting—perhaps he was simply rendered mute by the unlit cigarette poised defiantly between his lips. Whatever the case, you were willing to take the small victory.

“Need a light?” you offered, fumbling through your pockets until a small, metallic lighter emerged, gleaming faintly in the dim light as you extended it toward Sam.

His eyes darted between the lighter and your tight-lipped grin, the moment stretching into an awkward silence before he finally muttered a response that dripped with skepticism, “What’s it to you?” Even as he leaned closer to accept the flame, he retreated quickly, putting some distance back between you.

You nodded eagerly, accepting his hostility, your fingers drumming softly against the timeworn wood of the railing as you followed his gaze to where the first flickers of fireflies began to dance in the encroaching twilight. You could do silence if that was what he wanted. Or, maybe not.

“I haven’t seen you at any other parties; why the sudden change of heart?” you probed, curiosity getting the best of you.

“Okay, what’s your problem?” Sam shot back, now facing you fully.

“My problem?” you echoed, internally reviewing the past minute to find where you’d apparently stepped on some toes.

“Yeah. Why are you being so…” He flailed a hand through the air between you as if trying to grasp a word that would sum it all up before finally settling on something simple, “…nice, to me? What do you want?”

And oh man, the dramatic hand gestures drew your gaze to them. He’d worn his rings and leather studded bracelets. Of course he had, he always did. But that particularly fact didn’t stop you from grappling to maintain composure.

Finally tearing your gaze away from his hands, you swallowed hard upon noticing the way he scrutinized you, a mixture of confusion and disbelief painting his features.

“Nothing, nothing. A guy can’t be friendly?” you retorted, trying to keep your tone light.

Your words were met with an incredulous scoff.

“Not when they’re… you,” Sam replied, his hand waving dismissively in your direction, prompting a theatrical pout of offense from you.

It only took a heartbeat for you to realize that his words lacked any real bite—he was simply… confused.

“You never did answer my question,” you continued, turning your body slightly to face him.

Silence once more wrapped around you both, heavy and palpable.

“I was invited,” he finally muttered.

“Oh.” You already knew that, of course, but you feigned interest. “By, uh—who?”

“Dunno.”

You took a moment to settle against the railing comfortably, your eyes narrowing as you strained to see beyond the darkness towards the forest’s edge. “You sure have a way with words, Monroe.”

Your dry sarcasm startled a surprised huff of laughter from him, and you couldn’t suppress a proud grin. Success, at last.

“If it helps, I might know who invited you,” you added, finally piquing his interest.

Suspicion crept into his features as he eyed you warily, slowly exhaling a plume of smoke. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I heard they’re a real catch. Went to a lot of trouble to get that new CD for you,” you teased, avoiding eye contact, your heart racing as you waited for him to catch on.

The silence stretched again, each second feeling like an eternity as your nails dug into the rough wood of the railing, all while sensing the weight of his intense gaze on you.

Finally mustering the courage for a quick glance, you were met with a complex swirl of disbelief and simmering anger on Sam's face. He was the first to break eye contact, taking a sharp drag from his cigarette as he turned away.

“Oh real funny. What, did Josh tell you too? That I was gay? He’s been spreading that bullshit since I stopped buying from him.”

“Well, yeah, but—” Maybe you could’ve phrased that better. Panic coursed through you as Sam spat out an array of curses under his breath and began to stride away.

“Wait—wait! He told me that, but I meant all the gifts and stuff! I only listened to him because I thought I might have a chance with you if you were… y’know.” The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, an awkward ramble that had you biting the inside of your cheek to stop.

Sam froze, then turned to face you, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stilled around you. You strained to decipher the look on his face—the intensity of his gaze searching your own for signs of deception made you uncomfortably aware of the pounding of your heart. Breaking the charged silence, you finally blurted, “I… like you?” You added a nervous laugh, as if that could smooth over the abruptness.

Sam’s eyes narrowed further, and he glanced around suspiciously, scanning for hidden cameras, or any frat brothers ready to whip out their phones and immortalize his humiliation. God, he’d never live that down.

“You’re lying.”

Your expression twisted in indignation, arms crossing over your chest defiantly. “Nuh-uh,” you insisted with an air of seriousness.

The simplicity of your immature protest made Sam pause, and the corners of his lips threatened to twitch upwards, almost breaking into a smile.

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why do you like me?” He elaborated.

“Because you’re hot.” The bluntness of your words drew a snort of surprise from Sam, who quickly cleared his throat to regain composure. But you weren’t done; you fumbled over your next words. “I mean, I’m sure your personality is great too. You just have to let me get to know you.” As you spoke, you leaned against the railing with an exaggerated grin, clicking your tongue and wiggling your eyebrows.

“Yeah?” Sam’s voice was skeptical, but the flicker of interest in his eyes spoke volumes.

You insisted swiftly, emboldened. “I’m serious! Do you know how hard it was to find that CD?”

“How do you know even know I like guys?”

The question made you pale a little, eyes flickering over his general appearance. “Uhhh…”

You were making progress, you couldn’t just throw it all away now by admitting that yes, you’d blindly believed Josh’s claims because Sam kind of, just vaguely, maybe looked a little less heterosexual than his peers.

Thinking on your feet, you pushed off the railing, sauntering over to lean closer to him, flirty grin crowning your lips. “Well, I was hoping I could change your mind?”

“Unbelievable,” Sam muttered, but you couldn’t help but notice the smallest glint of amusement in his eyes before they darted away from yours.

Taking your opportunity while he was distracted, you careful plucked the cigarette from between his fingers. Ignoring the offended noise your robbery earned, you took a leisurely drag.

It was followed instantaneously by a cough, struggling for a moment before letting out a shaky breath.

Sam couldn’t stand just watching your failing endeavor without intervening.

“Here, you gotta like…” He said, his voice a low murmur as he extended his hand, lifting the cigarette from your hands. The warmth of his fingers briefly brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through you as he lifted it to your lips.

Your heart raced, brain short circuiting as his fingers glided lightly across your lower lip and then along your jawline when he adjusted his grip.

“Now, breath in through your nose at the same time,” he instructed.

Was the air getting a little thin in here? You were sure it was. Still, you followed his guidance, letting out the smoke in one shaky breath when he offered a quick “don’t try to keep it in.”

You knew that, you’d smoked before without any issues, but you sure as hell weren’t about to tell Sam that if being “new to smoking” got his hand nearly cupping your face.

“There you go.” The soft, thoughtless words from Sam sent your mind reeling just as you’d began to gain some semblance of intelligence again.

There must’ve been something showing in your eyes when you looked back at him, because his hand slid to cup the side of your face, taking the cigarette with it. The danger of the burning ember close to your skin was all but forgotten when his thumb rested on your lips.

“Can I… Can I kiss—”

You stole the words right off his tongue when you practically dove forward to capture his lips against yours.

The sudden forward movement had more force than you’d intended, sending Sam stumbling back a step, catching his balance on the railing behind him as your arms took a place on either side of his waist, successfully pinning him to the sturdy post.

It grew heated in an instant and you savored the shared taste of tobacco and reminiscion of weed that lingered on your tongue as it swiped over Sam’s lower lip.

A hand on your shoulder was pushing you back, and you were met with Sam’s blown out pupils and spit-slicked lips parted to draw in soft pants.

Giving in to the temptation, you darted forward, licking a strip horizontally over his lower lip. A breathless laugh was drawn from you off of his reaction alone.

Sam spluttered when you pulled away, hand gripping your shoulder with more urgency. He was stuck staring in shock until he remembered why he’d pulled back in the first place.

His eyes searched yours with a measure of something bordering on desperation, looking for anything to prove that you shared his feelings.

“You gonna stare all night, or you gonna do something, pretty boy?” The words had barley left your mouth, yet it was clear they’d been all the encouragement Sam needed, before he was pushing forward, hand reaching around to the back of your head to tangle his fingers in your hair, tugging softly as your lips met once more.

Tilting his head for a better angle, he gladly used his height to his advantage now to take control of your shared movements. You’d never of guessed that he’d never kissed anyone before this, but the knowledge sure would’ve been a welcome surprise.

Your hand lifted to take a hold on the front of Sam’s shirt, twisting your grip to keep him from chasing after your lips when you pulled back, revering in the faintest whine of complaint it drew from him.

The grin coating your features was so genuine that Sam was struck speechless until your voice broke through his racing thoughts.

“I’ll take it that you believe me now?”

The sly, lowered tone you spoke in made something in Sam’s brain malfunction. He stared with something akin to awe for a moment before he answered your question by diving back in for another hungry kiss.

· · ─────── ⏾⋆.˚ ─────── · ·

[dailyoverview]

ISRAEL / GAZA — It’s been one year since the attacks of October 7th in Israel so we’ve compiled a few stories from above that capture just a small fraction of what’s taken place in this ongoing tragedy. Due to this region being an active war zone, there have been strict limitations on what imagery has been made available and is allowed to be shared. We recognize how this topic sparks the most intense emotions on all sides and ultimately wish for it be over soon – for the surviving Israeli hostages to return home safely and for the death of Palestinians and destruction of Gaza to come to an end.

1 - Cars abandoned following the Re’im music festival massacre on October 7, 2023 (image captured on October 11). A total of 365 people were killed during the massacre, which was part of the larger Hamas attack that claimed 1,139 lives. Source: Maxar

2 - Using satellite data captured in the past year, researchers estimate that 60% of buildings in Gaza have been damaged or destroyed. Source: Copernicus Sentinel-1 satellite data by Corey Scher of CUNY Graduate Center and Jamon Van Den Hoek of Oregon State University

3 - Buildings destroyed in Beit Hanoun, Gaza on October 21, 2023. In the last year, more than 41,600 Palestinians have been killed by Israeli attacks, according to local health officials. Source: Maxar 

4 - An enormous crowd of people gathered along Salah al Deen Road in Gaza on November 17, 2023 as they attempted to flee south along an evacuation corridor. The UN agency coordinating humanitarian relief estimates roughly 90% of Gaza’s population has been forcibly displaced at least once during the past year. Source: Maxar

5 - Tents concentrated in Rafah, near Gaza’s southern border, on February 3, 2024. It is estimated that more than half of Gaza’s population of 2.2 million sought refuge here, following Israeli military activity and evacuations in the north. Source: Maxar

6 - Following the evacuation of Rafah (shown in the previous timelapse), thousands of tents then appeared at Khan Younis on May 15, 2024. Source: Maxar

[blushingsastiel]

It was the night after they defeated Monroe, which was as annoying as one would imagine. She didn't go down without a fight, her hunters threw everything they had against them, but it wasn't enough.

Even till her last breath, Monroe taunted them, taunted them all. Every single werewolf, supernatural creature, and human that was allies with Scott or part of the McCall pack.

"You'll never get people, real humans, to ever not be scared of you. Of what you can do. Of who you can harm," Monroe choked on her blood, the red substance (shiny, so shiny) spilling out of her mouth in streams. "You'll always be monsters. And whoever helps you, protects you, is just as bad." It wasn't long after her speech did she slump to the ground after leaning against the wall. Her eyes grew dark and hollow. Nothing inside them. Not even the anger and disgust she always has toward them.

Thinking back on it, Scott believes Monroe had a semblance of truth to her words. Even if she was the one dead with a bullet in her stomach, but it didn't mean she was entirely correct. There would be people afraid of them, but there would also be people who would need their help and see them for the protectors they really are.

He hopes so at least.

And he'll never stop hoping. Not in this.

Everyone was piled up at the McCall house, and nobody really cared how squished together they are. Maybe Theo cared, but he was sandwiched between Liam and Brett with Mason and Corey on the floor of the living room, resting their backs against whichever supernatural creature was behind them.

"I'm going to get something to drink," Theo announced, "You guys want anything?"

The other boy's listed off their drink of choice to Theo who nodded before extracting himself from his spot.

Scott paid close attention to Theo walking to the kitchen, deciding to follow the chimera. There was something he needed to say to him, something tugging on his mind.

When Scott walked in shortly after Theo, he blocked off the doorway with his body. He knew that if he wanted to talk to Theo, the chimera might try to bolt out of the vicinity (which has happened before).

It was subtle, but Scott saw Theo tense at his arrival. His shoulders became stiff, and he closed the refrigerator door. He didn't turn around yet but Scott waited.

The alpha watched as Theo turned around with a carefully placed expression on his face. No matter what, Theo had a hard time letting go of his chemosignals and his heartbeat. His breathing always stayed calm, something that Scott may or may not be a little jealous of his ability to keep a calm exterior even if it wasn't true to what was being felt inside his mind and heart.

"Theo," Scott said, smiling to quell any suspicion Theo may have of him (let's be real; it probably was only making matters worse considering Theo didn't understand why Scott would be nice to him). "I want to talk to you. Let's go outside?"

It wasn't a question, but it also wasn't necessarily a command. Something in between. At least, Scott hoped so. He really wanted to have this talk with the chimera, but not in an authoritative attitude. He wanted it to be more of an equal-upon-equal talk in a way (he was shooting for the stars. It would take a while for Theo consider himself on equal footing with Scott or the rest of the pack).

All the chimera did was nod once, but it made Scott sag a little in relief. He turned sideways to let Theo go first, and, to ensure Theo wouldn't run, he put his hand on the small of Theo's back to guide him to the sliding doors that led to the backyard.

(If Theo shivered at the touch, only the two of them felt it. Something like a secret just for them.)

The chilly air was felt as soon as they both stepped outside. For Scott, it didn't do much to affect the everlasting warm body he always had due to him being a werewolf. On the other hand, Theo was a chimera who didn't do as well in cold temperatures.

"This won't take long," Scott said, turning to Theo so they stood facing each other.

"Okay," Theo replied. He seemed tense again, no longer having a relaxed posture that Scott's touch gave him.

Scott's brain dinged at this, making sure to keep note of it and maybe do something about it after this conversation.

"So, I wanted to talk about how much you've helped with the war against Monroe. And even before that with the Ghost Riders." The alpha wanted to start off simple, nothing too strenuous for the two of them. Even his tone reflected softness, trying to keep quiet so that it would be harder for anyone else to hear. This was for Theo's ears only.

"You don't have to," shrugged the chimera. But this wasn't a shrugging matter to Scott.

This was Theo actively protecting the rest of Scott's pack when he couldn't be in more than one place at once. This was Theo being another shoulder for the puppy pack to rely on and know they were safe and had a fighting chance against anything with Theo besides them.

This was Theo doing something good for someone other than himself.

This was Theo being good.

His heart swelled at his thoughts. It wasn't about dwelling on Theo's past mistakes, past killings. They just went through a war, and Scott was tired of having enemies. Tired of how messed up the universe was for allowing any of this to happen in the first place.

He wanted to believe people could change, especially Theo. Scott's and Stiles' friend from 4th grade who never quite looked healthy. Who always had some type of bruise on his body from his father. Who was just a kid who got kidnapped and manipulated for someone else's goal.

And Scott believes Theo has changed. That his second chance out of his own personal hell was warranted. That Liam didn't make a mistake letting out someone who murdered him and hurt other members of his pack.

"Why did you help us, Theo?"

It almost seemed like Theo flinched at the question from Scott.

"Were you just trying to become part of the pack?"

This time, with this specific question, Theo did a full body flinch. His eyes widened, and a brief flash of hurt fell over his features. It pained Scott to ask because he knew it wasn't like that for Theo. But he wanted it to be said. From Theo's own lips.

"You know that's not why I stayed and helped," Theo gritted out. He crossed his arms over his chest in deflection.

"Then tell me why," Scott pleaded, stepping a bit closer, wanting to be closer to the chimera.

"Because—" Theo pushed his fingers through his hair, messing it up (but still making him look attractive if Scott can think such a thing during this emotional time) "Because I started to care about you guys. Liam really wormed his way into who I cared about, and then so did everyone else. Especially you."

Theo looked up into Scott's eyes, almost as if he was pleading or begging for Scott to believe him.

"The thought of being in your pack didn't cross my mind. Not because I didn't want to be apart of it, but because I knew you'd never accept me. But that didn't mean I wouldn't try my best to save Liam or you or the others," the chimera finished speaking.

Once again, Scott stepped closer. So close that Theo had no choice but to tilt his head up to look into Scott's eyes. It gave the alpha a rush. They had never been this close before. Not like this, at least.

The air felt different. Charged in a way.

He could count the number of eyelashes Theo had. The number of moles across his face. The number of freckles he had dotting his cheeks.

Of course, Theo was beautiful. He always has been. When Scott saw him again after so many years, he felt drawn to the other boy.

But now, it was different.

Theo wasn't pretending anymore. He wasn't putting up a facade for everyone. Even if he didn't willingly share his heartbeat or his chemosignals, it wasn't to hide anything malicious. It was just something engraved in Theo, and he felt more comfortable doing something he's always done.

"I believe you," the alpha whispered in between the small space.

When those words were uttered, the alpha saw Theo shudder and flutter his eyes closed. "Scott..." he whispered (longing to press his lips against the alpha's, scattering them all across his face if only Scott would let him).

The alpha hummed and pressed closer, chest brushing against Theo's. He tilted his head to the side, nudging his nose against the chimera's who let him.

When their lips pressed against each other's, Scott sighed into it. It felt so right to feel Theo's smooth mouth against his, moving along with the speed Scott set.

The trust and wanting from the chimera lit a fire deep inside Scott.

Yeah, they'd be okay. Scott will convince Theo he part of his pack and that he wants him with every fiber of his being.

(Theo will believe Scott soon.)

[biblicallyaccuratemeat]

Necessary Evil

MDNI!!

1, 2, 3

A/N: Here's some fluff sprinkled with the tiniest itty bitty sprinkle of angst! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I’m pretty proud of it. Here’s to updating this fucking thing more frequently, I know I want this fic to be at least 20 chapters and 100k words. I think I can pull it off, I don’t want to jinx myself but I’m very passionate about writing it. Shoutout to @ethanhoewke for helping me flesh out a few aspects of this chapter, ily Corey! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated, thanks for reading my silly little fic <3 Bucky Barnes x female reader, past/referenced Stucky, moving, fluffy cuteness, Alpine being perfect, mention of pregnancy, Bucky being an emotionally constipated old man.

Taglist: @shortandb1tchy

Word count: 3.1K

Chapter 4: I’d Have You Anytime

THUMP!

The final, heaviest box lands on the floor, joining the pile of its brethren. Bucky groans, flopping face first onto the sofa with the grace of an avalanche. For a one hundred and six year old man, he had the theatrics of a sixteen year old girl. Truth be told, he was well within his rights to collapse like a sack of potatoes, he’d spent the last three hours lugging box after box up two flights of stairs. You’d offered to help countless times, but he refused. The heaviest thing you were permitted to bring up was Alpine, who was now lounging in her cat tree like the queen of the universe.

Standing in the center of your living room, you do a full spin, assessing the scene. Packing up all your possessions and Bucky’s in both your respective apartments had been an enormous pain in the ass. You hate moving. If you were rich, which you certainly are not, the rent at this place is enough to send you into bankruptcy, you’d hire a professional moving company. You’d let frat boys trying to earn some extra cash pack up all your shit, haul it here, and move it into your new place. But you have Bucky, at the very least, who’s heavily leaning into his 40’s dating etiquette mentality. Though, you’re almost ninety-nine percent sure it would have been heavily frowned upon to live together out of wedlock. 

Your sulking super soldier boyfriend groans again, voice muffled against the deep green velvet of your couch. He’d called it tacky when he first saw it, nose wrinkling in distaste. You let the critique roll off your back like water droplets on a duck. His idea of class was one of those stupid paintings of dogs playing poker. Speaking of which, you tried your best to sneak the aforementioned painting out of its box and into a dumpster. Bucky had acted completely scandalized when he caught you, clutching a hand to his chest dramatically as if you’d insulted his mother and drop kicked a puppy.

“Is this what kills you? Moving into our new place?” You ask dryly, sitting down on top of Bucky’s back. You know it won’t hurt him in the slightest, but it’s enough to motivate him to sit up and make room for you, “I gotta say, I’m disappointed, Sergeant Barnes. I thought you had more mileage in you.” 

Bucky throws an arm over the back of the couch, leaning into your side like a flower seeking out sunshine, “I have plenty of mileage left in me, want me to prove it?” He murmurs into your ear, stubble scraping against sensitive skin and causing goosebumps in its wake.

Snorting in response, you playfully shoulder check him, nudging him away, “That’s a tempting offer, but you’re all sweaty and smell like man stink.”

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, “Excuse me? Man stink? I’ll have you know, I smell wonderful, in fact I seem to remember you once told me you like the way I smell. All the time.” He grins smugly, tugging playfully on a strand of your hair. 

“Well, I retract my statement then. I can’t have you being right, it’ll do horrible things to your ego and you’re already wildly out of control. Honestly, it’s a miracle you were even able to convince me to move in with you,” You shoot back, nipping at his fingers that were just wrapped around your hair. 

That pulls a chuckle out of Bucky, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, “Oh, right, of course. How could I forget? Happy wife, happy life, that’s how the saying goes.”

“I’m not your wife,” you scoff, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of his statement, though now the seed is planted and you won’t lie, it’s doing things to you. Dangerous things, things that are way too early to entertain, “I’m your live-in girlfriend and that’s about it. And I suppose a surrogate mother to Alpine.”

Alpine, seemingly in agreement with your assertion, mewls as she leaps into your lap, nuzzling into your belly. Your fingers card through her soft fur, feeling the comforting vibrations of her enthusiastic purrs. The bell on her collar tinkles cheerfully as she continues her affectionate headbutting. Bucky smiles one of those soft, dopey little smiles that are solely reserved for you, for moments like this. 

Bucky’s hand finds your thigh, gently massaging the fat and muscle, appreciating the give of your skin under him, “Can I be honest?”

You blink, head snapping up from where it was bent down, cooing at the cat, “Sure, what’s up?”

“I really don’t want to unpack any of this shit,” Bucky sighs, shoulders slumping, his face twisting into what appears to be a scowl. But you know him, intimately so, it’s a pout. A grown man pout, petulant and infuriatingly adorable. 

“Oh my god, me too,” your words leave you in a gust of air, relieved that your boyfriend, per usual, is in the same boat with you. Taking another gander at the shit show of boxes, you feel a migraine coming on already. 

“Well, the bed is set up, and so is the couch. I think that’s all we need for today, right?” Bucky fishes his phone out of his pocket, squinting at the screen. 

You watch with a mixture of exasperation and fondness as he holds the phone as far away from his face as possible, roughly jabbing at the screen with his pointer finger. It had taken the better part of six months to convince the stubborn asshole to get a smartphone. The winning argument involved a rather convincing case of you murmuring, “Well, we could use the phone to film us during…you know, and if we’re ever apart and you miss me…” He didn’t even allow you to finish your train of thought, hauling you onto your feet. After a brain melting hour of blissful torture, he dragged a well fucked-out you to the Verizon store to get a new phone.  

“You make using an iPhone look like you’re performing a lobotomy on yourself,” you laugh, snatching the phone out of his hand, “What the hell are you trying to do anyway? Type in missile launch codes?”

Bucky swats your thigh playfully, “I’m tryin’ to find that stupid food ordering app.” He grunts, shooting a nasty look at the cursed technology.

“DoorDash?” You ask incredulously, pulling up the app with a quick efficiency that Bucky silently envies. He’ll figure out the stupid phone one day, he vows to himself. 

He peers over your shoulder, eyes squinting again, “Burgers?”

“Burgers.” You confirm, adding the usual items to the cart, “Okay, in ten to fifteen minutes, we can pig out. I think we’ve earned it. We both worked hard today.”

“Uh, no, sweetheart. I worked hard. You sat there looking pretty,” he pinches your waist, earning a little surprised squeal out of you. 

“Yes, I did and it was a lot of work,” you huff, crossing your arms, “You try being this drop dead gorgeous all the time. It’s exhausting, honestly. A fucking miracle I have the energy to even go on.” You fan yourself dramatically. 

“Wears me out too, sweetheart, damn near impossible to get anything done around you,” he winks, pecking your cheek. 

“Go christen the shower, stinky old man,” you stick your tongue out, nose scrunching up. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, young lady,” Bucky grumbles, padding off down the hall towards your new bedroom. 

--

When Bucky returns, hair damp with a pair of grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, you’ve successfully unpacked a grand total of two boxes. One which was stuffed to the brim with towels and linens and throw pillows, and the other housed your rather impressive collection of board games. You stand amongst your hard work, hands on your hips, feeling awfully proud of yourself. 

He ruffles your hair as he slips past you, casting a small grin your way, “Food’s not here yet?”

You check your phone for the upteenth time, shaking your head, “Uh-uh, driver got stuck in traffic, I think.”

Bucky grunts in response, ripping the packing tape off one of the larger boxes, “Guess that gives us some time to kill. Let’s get this over with, sweetheart.”

And so, box after box is sorted through, organized piles by each room of the apartment. By the time the food finally arrives, you’ve made a decent dent in the process, almost all the bedroom items are squared away. The two of you sit cross-legged on the hardwood floor by the wide window facing the street, people watching between bites of burgers and salty fries.

“Oh, oh! Okay, see the woman riiiight there?” You point towards an older woman with a pinched expression, wearing the tallest heels you’ve ever seen outside of a strip club, an energetic poodle trotting ahead of her on a pink leash.

Bucky leans forward, a smear of ketchup in the corner of his mouth, “The dog walker?”

“Yeah, dog walker slash hooker,” you snort, playfully jabbing Bucky’s foot with your own, “Obviously, this is not her first rodeo walking that dog in those shoes. Do you think her feet are just dead? She must’ve lost feeling in them ages ago.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Bucky snorts, shoveling another handful of fries in his mouth, he speaks between bites, “What’s that expression? Beauty is pain?” He flutters his lashes for dramatic effect.

“Yeah, something like that,” you mutter, eyes tracking the woman practically sashaying down the sidewalk. Bucky’s eyes aren’t following the dog or the woman, no they’re locked solely on you. The late afternoon sun casts a golden glow on your profile, and suddenly Bucky understands why poets waste so much ink describing sunlight.

You sneak a quick glance at him, feeling the weight of his stare. Your cheeks heat up, no matter how much time passes, you always wither from shyness under Bucky’s intense attention, “What’s wrong? Is there ketchup on my face? Do I look dumb?” 

“Dumb,” he echoes, voice low and molten. He reaches out, capturing your hand in his, a thumb stroking your knuckles, an unconscious rhythm. “You’ve never been dumb. You’ve been—“

Perfect. Genuine. Inevitable. 

The adjectives pile up in Bucky’s mind, useless. He swallows them down, his jaw working. When he speaks again, it’s barely above a whisper, “You’re beautiful. Even when you’re wearing ketchup as lipstick.”

“Ah,” you swipe a napkin, quickly wiping away the remnants of your burger, cheeks warming with embarrassment, “Well you’re…concerningly poetic when you have your moments. Are you sure you’re real?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he grunts, stealing a few fries from your little cardboard container, to which you squawk indignantly at. 

A new subject strolls down the sidewalk, this time a man with not one, not two, but four small children dutifully toddling alongside him. You gasp in pure, unadulterated joy, “Quadruplets?! Are you seeing this shit?” 

Bucky leans closer to the windowpane, squinting, his brow scrunching up in concentration, “Jesus, what are the odds of that, you think?” 

“That poor woman’s womb,” you shake your head in sympathy, protectively wrapping your arms around your middle as if the very notion of quadruplets strikes fear into your uterus. 

Bucky’s eyes flick down to where your hands are resting, his imagination getting away from him. He sees it so clearly, you round with his child. Feet swollen, waddling around the apartment demanding mint chip ice cream and beef jerky at two in the morning. It was something he’d never allowed himself to want, his life was too dangerous and unpredictable to raise a child in. But he met you and you were infuriatingly skilled at challenging every worldview and expectation he had for himself. So, for now, he’d allow himself the luxury of daydreaming about a big house full of tiny feet and shrill giggles. His eyes, your hair, his nose, and your complexion.

“We oughta invest in a good pair of binoculars,” Your cheerful statement pulls Bucky from his daydream, he blinks away the image of tiny hands and pacifiers. 

“I have binoculars,” he scoffs, pushing off the floor to dig through a box simply labeled: ‘BUCKY SHIT’. Crawling across the floor, you peer over the edge, cataloging the contents of the box. 

The thick coat of dust makes your nose scrunch up, eyes watering as you valiantly fight off a sneezing fit. There’s Army uniforms, pressed and neatly folded, old yellowing photographs in brass frames. One photo catches your eye amongst the rest, a much younger, more joyful Bucky with his arm thrown around the shoulder of Steve. You know of Steve, of course, who doesn’t? The tale of Captain America is as well known as the alphabet. But this isn’t the Steve Rogers you see in history books and museum displays— no, this is a small, scrawny, almost sickly Steve. The two of them must be in some kind of photo booth, maybe at a carnival. They have matching, wide grins on their faces, eyes sparkling with a joy that war and serums and impossible decisions snuffed out long ago. 

You freeze, Bucky is still too preoccupied rooting through the relics to notice your reaction. With a shaking hand, you grab the creased photograph for closer inspection. You recognize that look in Bucky’s eyes, that smile. It’s love. You’re not entirely sure how to feel, because he rarely spoke about Steve. It was a sore subject, and you knew better than to back him into a proverbial corner. Getting Bucky to talk about his feelings was about as easy as giving a feral kitten a bath. 

“See? Here, it’s a bit, uh vintage but—,” Bucky holds the binoculars proudly in his hand, his smug grin quickly dissolving into a blank, guarded expression, “That’s nothing.” He quickly swipes the photo from your hands before you can react, stuffing it down into the recesses of the box. He shoves the cardboard flaps shut with more force than necessary, lips pressed in a firm line.

Bucky swallows hard, forcing his expression into something vaguely neutral, though there’s a telltale crease between his brow. He crosses his arms over his chest, gripping his elbows like he’s physically trying to hold himself together, “Uh.” 

Real eloquent, Barnes. 

He clears his throat, flicking his unruly hair to the side with a jerky motion, “It’s just a picture from some photo booth at Coney Island. Just old shit.” His voice comes out too terse and dismissive to pull off the nonchalant attitude he’s trying to put out. 

The way Bucky’s walls fly up makes your teeth ache like you’ve bitten into aluminum foil, because what’s there to say? You can’t help but feel a sour wave of jealousy, which is ridiculous, but it happens all the same. You shouldn’t be jealous of Steve, you can’t be jealous of Steve. At the end of the day, he made his choice to retire. The details are foggy but you do know Bucky has a perpetual chip on his shoulder about it. You don’t push, half because it would be counterproductive and the other half because you’re scared of what he’d say if he did open up to you. 

So, you put on a brave face and force a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, “Will those binoculars even work? They’re ancient.” You joke weakly, desperate to reroute the conversation to anything but the past. 

Bucky blows out a quick puff of air on the lenses, a little cloud of dust puffing into the air. He wipes the rest of it down with the fabric of his sweats for good measure, holding them out to you. A peace offering, an olive branch. You accept them, scooting back towards the windowsill, raising the binoculars to your eyes. You peer through, pleasantly surprised to find they do in fact work, quite well. 

“Oh, these are actually kind of perfect,” you murmur, already scoping out the next victim of your people watching. 

Bucky joins you on the floor after shoving the box of dust and regret into a far corner of the living room. Out of sight of mind, at least for now. He could do this forever, he thinks— your laundry mixed with his, the stupid jokes and secret smiles, the way you fit into his daily routine, domestic and easy—and he’d die happy, he’s sure of it. 

He’s ruined. Ruined, ruined, ruined— and he doesn’t even fucking care. It’s the best feeling in the world, he’s happy to be yours, even when the ugly past looms overhead, the feelings that make him want to press his palms into his eye sockets hard enough to see stars. He wants to confide in you, to bear his soul and feel your love illuminate all the dark corners, to soften in your arms like butter melting in the sun. But Bucky is a glutton for punishment, and he refuses to be a burden. He’s been lost for a long time, and you’re the only compass that matters now. Sooner rather than later, he’ll sit you down, he’ll tell you everything, he’ll answer every question. Just not now, he can’t bear the possibility of disrupting this fragile peace he’s spent decades trying to find. Soon. Soon.

Alpine ignores you both, not in the mood for melodrama, as she rubs her face against Bucky’s shin with a loud, satisfied mrrp. A welcome distraction from the heavy silence that was beginning to suffocate you both. You snort, affectionately booping Alpine’s little pink snout, “Her royal highness is probably hungry. Which box did you put her bowl and kibble in?” 

Much later, after more unpacking and lighter banter, Bucky sprawls out across the once tacky sofa, his real arm pillowing the back of his head. You climb on top of him, the soft curves your body melding perfectly with the scarred, hard planes of his. Two pieces of a puzzle, united at last. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and that aftershave that’s marketed to smell like the ocean, though there’s nothing discernibly sea-like or salty about it. Alpine leaps up to join you both, curling up into a little snowy ball between your tangled legs. 

The events of the day pull the two of you into a deep slumber, heart to heart, smushed together. When you wake a few hours later, in the middle of the night, Bucky snoring like a chainsaw beneath you, you don’t move to wake him. You don’t get up to go to sleep in your actual bed, though you know you’ll wake up in the morning with about a dozen cricks in your neck and knots in your muscles if you stay like this. You simply press your lips to the corner of Bucky’s mouth and settle down once more, perfectly content in this little pocket of stillness and safety.

[madameaug]

Lines in the Sand

Read Previous Chapters -> Knocked Out & Float Like A Butterfly

Pairing: Adonis Creed x Black Fem Reader (reader is described to be a stallion)

A/N: This might be a little self-insert-ish, but oh well. These topics mean alot to me and I want to address it in a way that I wish I had when I was going through it. If you relate- just know I see you <3

Charleston, South Carolina, June 26- Ten Years Ago

You rested your elbow on the window, watching as the thin palm trees swayed in the summer heat. The air down here always seemed to have a taste of salt to it. The car was quiet. Your older brother, Corey, snored on the other window. His mouth open, hands clutched at his waist, holding his brand-new video game console. The one Mama and Daddy bought him as a graduation gift. Your younger sister, Chantal, was driving your mother to the point of exasperation. Her legs swung in defiance, her lips pouting. She was the only eleven-year-old you knew who still had to sit in a booster, as she was ten pounds short of the minimum weight limit.

"I don't wanna sit in this stupid booster."

Ignoring her temper tantrum, your father primarily focused on the unevenly paved roads, giving a slight glance to Chantal in the rearview mirror. Your mother turned her body around in the passenger seat. The seatbelt was still on and locked; Chantal was subjected to a mean glare. Her stacked necklace clinked as she put a tight grip on Chantal's legs. Her nostrils flared as she narrowed her eyes. For the latter half of this road trip, she had been whining about the booster. You've overheard the debate over the bolster at least ten times this road trip. You rubbed your temple, turning away from the intense staredown.

On any other day, your mother would not have been so easily provoked to irritation. She was a college professor, and patience was practically a requirement for the job. She had round, doe-like eyes and a thick, syrupy southern accent that automatically made her sound polite. Yet, traveling down to Charleston once a month for our Mimi's birthday shortened that fuse. Mama was never a yeller and rarely even had to open her mouth to let you know you had crossed a line.

"Not another word. You hear me."

The gentle rocking of the car as it drove along the gravel driveway stirred Corey awake. You spotted the usual vehicles that were parked outside her house. It was typical that you all visited your Mimi on her birthday. Luckily, her birthday was in the summertime, or when else would your parents be able to execute a multi-day road trip?

Why didn't you fly? Well, your father, in his youth, experienced a near-death experience on a plane and forbade your family from taking a plane anywhere. So, minivan it was.

Stepping out of the car, your buttcheeks are relieved from the pressure. With a great stretch, your stomach growled, smelling the hotdogs and hamburgers. Standing in line behind some older relatives, you saw your uncle, affectionately known as 'Chucky.'

"Aye, lil Yn. That you?" His smile was wide, gold tooth glinting. He opened his arms to give a side hug. His ginger coils platted down into five cornrows.

"You bout as tall as your daddy. Ain't no little girl no more." He laughed, his belly rolling with every laugh.

You sheepishly replied with a soft "thank you." Looking at the aluminum pans of food were aligned perfectly. Baked beans, deviled eggs, baked macaroni and cheese, and your favorite fried catfish. You scooped carefully, trying not to be the first person with a 'big' plate even though it had been hours since your last meal at breakfast.

Your Mimi sat in the shade, chatting with some older ladies at the table. A faded church fan in her hand, moving her favorite salt-and-pepper bob wig. A couple of your cousins stood near her, probably getting the mandatory 'hug' out of the way. Corey was currently bending over to hug Mimi, her cheeks resting on his chest. She rubbed his back lovingly. Corey excused himself immediately, getting pulled into a basketball game with your male cousins and uncles. Chantal was next, and Mimi scooped her up into her arms. All smiles, she stroked Chantal's braided pigtails. Drowning her in compliments with words such as 'bright' and 'pretty.'

Like you were a stranger approaching her. Mimi's smile no longer reached her eyes. You received a warmer greeting from her friends than you did from your own grandmother.

"Mm mm." she looked you over. "You get bigger every time I see you."

A sense of uneasiness washed over you. Feeling embarrassed with the paper plate in your hand. The catfish, greens, and macaroni no longer look appetizing. As your Mimi just trailed her eyes from the plate to you.

"Come give Mimi a hug." She added to ease the blow of her words. But you knew better than to let her words provide your false comfort. She knew what she said. And she meant every last one of them.

You bent down and leaned in, feeling her arm barely touch your back. No kiss on the cheek. No compliment. No inquiry about school or your friends. Just an unnecessary comment.

"You still into drawing?" Her friend asked.

"Yes, ma'am. I got a part-time job at a pottery store."

"Good for you. Your first job is a big accomplishment. Right, Maudine?"

Mimi's attention was elsewhere, looking slightly behind you. Not even picking up on the conversation. You turned slightly, noticing your cousin Trisha. Her skin was just as fair as Chantal's.

You felt stupid standing in front of your Mimi. Sparing yourself any more embarrassment. You turned to walk away, not before hearing one last remark from Mimi.

"Yn, try to stay out of the sun this summer, okay."

You didn't linger any further, turning back to the lively conversations. Your father stood beside your uncles, pointing out different rubs for the ribs. Your mother was in the middle of the grass, leading the elders in the 'Electric Slide.' Chantal and your younger cousins chased each other with caterpillars roaming your grandmother's yard. You sat your plate down and sat at the table with your aged cousins. Dominique announced your arrival first.

"Finally! I was waitin' for you to pull up." She hugged you tightly. The smell of hair grease indicated that her waist-length braids were fresh.

"We just finished playing Uno; now we're getting ready to play spades." AJ shuffled the cards in his hand. A couple of coily strands of hair underneath his chin had popped up since you had last seen him.

"You in?" He questioned you.

"Absolutely." You smiled, catching up with your cousins. The four of you all had always been close. Which was no effort at all since you were all born in the same year. Some family members liked to call you all the 'quadruplets.' Due to your family living in California and your cousins living in Florida, meeting up in Charleston during summer break was truly the only time you could see them in person. That is, until you were all a couple of years older and owned a vehicle.

"Imma let you know right now, Yn Dom sucks!" Kamari antagonized.

"Boy, I taught you how to play."

"And you haven't won a game since then."

"Cause you cheat! You reneged twice last time."

Sucking his teeth, Kamari rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, go ahead and put your plate down so I can whoop both of you."

Turning your spirits around, you picked up your cards. Feeding yourself a bite of greens.

"Watch and learn boys." You pointed your fork at AJ and Kamari. Like mini-adults, you all trash-talked each other. Keeping track of points on a scrap of paper. The adults walking by were intrigued to see who was winning. Still, mostly, they were just happy to see the teenagers of the family acting like teenagers.

The four of you were so caught up in your game that you hadn't realized your Aunt Janae was calling you all over.

"It's time to cut the cake, y'all." Pausing your game for a moment, you stepped through the screen door. Sitting at the head of the table, Mimi was all smiles with a large sheet cake in front of her. The frosting was red and white, and you could already tell the flavor was her favorite, Red Velvet with crumbled pecans on top. Ushering you all deeper into the house, you didn't realize how many people had actually arrived at the party. Almost everyone was standing shoulder to shoulder, surrounding Mimi.

"I just want to thank you all for celebrating me. It is so nice to be surrounded by family."

With her children standing to her left, it was apparent what features she passed down. Coils that are tight, springy, and have natural elastic skin. For a woman who was turning 70, she looked no older than 65. The other trait not so obvious was the stocky shape. The women tend to be more heavy in their legs and hips. Men were wider in their shoulders. The remaining features you attribute to your late grandfather. Who passed away when your mother was a little girl.

Lighting the candle herself, the audience began singing the black rendition of "Happy Birthday." Relatives who were more musically inclined took the lead. Belting out runs, hitting high notes, sounding like a country-raised Baptist choir. Your Mimi rocked in her chair, clapping along to the beat. Blowing out the candles, she smiled at the montage of clicks from the cameras. Currently, Mimi is the oldest living relative on your mother's side of the family. Many of her siblings have passed away, so now her house is the gathering point for your entire maternal side of the family.

"Okay, grandkids, get in the picture with Mimi." Aunt Janae called.

You and your cousins shifted through the bodies of adults. All of them were just crowding Mimi, trying to get pictures of her. Arranging yourselves by height order, you all smiled for the photos. Turning her neck around, Mimi frowned.

"This isn't gonna work."

"What's wrong, mama?" Your mom spoke.

"Yn and Trisha need to switch."

"Trisha is taller than Yn. She won't be seen."

Mimi huffed as if she wasn't concerned about your visibility in the picture. She didn't verbally say much after that, but regardless, you were expected to swap places with your cousin.

One by one, she managed to completely rearrange the lineup. AJ had a ketchup stain on his white t-shirt and needed to swap with Corey in the back row. The stain could be hidden by tucking his shirt. Mimi complained that Dominique's shorts were too 'inappropriate.' The shorts were two inches above her knee. Kamari was naturally the tallest and didn't have to change. You did the most shuffling. Originally standing beside Mimi, you were told to switch with Chantal. Mimi reasoned that she wanted to be surrounded by people who made her look thin. The room of adults laughed.

You were embarrassed. Humiliated actually. Yet she couldn't care less about what the potential those words would have on you. At a loss for words, you stepped behind Mimi.

"Got the cute grands to the front." She extended her arms around Corey, Chantal, and Trisha. You looked down the row at your cousins. You couldn't help but feel like you all were being brushed to the side. You were all placed back here because you didn't meet Mimi's aesthetic vision.  

Reflecting the emotions on their face, your mother and Aunt Janae shared a look of remorse. Within seconds, everyone managed to pick up the apparent alignment of the grandchildren. Mimi's three light-skinned children were standing in the front, closest to her. No amount of mindset reframing could eliminate what your own eyes were witnessing. You didn't even try to smile for the picture.

---

The party had cleared shortly after the cake was cut. Mimi retired to bed just an hour ago, stating she was visiting an ill friend in the morning. Freshly showered and smelling like peaches, you sat on the carpet in front of your mother. She had all the supplies needed to take out your mini braids and put in another protective style.

Starting with warm spritzes of water to your hair, your mother massaged your scalp with almond oil. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling. You could count on one hand that someone other than your mother had done your hair. She was always particular about who touched her kid's hair. Because she was so picky, she took it upon herself to become your and your sibling's natural hairstylist. You didn't mind, as it allowed you to spend time with your mother.

With a rat-tail comb, she parted your hair down the middle. Wrapping one side up with a rubber band.

"What style do you want?"

Unsure, you shrugged your shoulders.

"Whatever you want to do."

Tapping her chin.

"Well, I know we are giving your hair a break since you had the box braids for school. And we just did flat twists; what do you think about some braids?"

"Just not too tight. I don't wanna get tension bumps."

She massaged your scalp some more. Planning how she was going to part your hair. While you thought she was quiet, letting a comfortable silence envelop you both. Your mother was actually lost in a sea of her own thoughts. This afternoon has never left her mind.

The unmistakable look of sadness in your eyes. She witnessed in real time a piece of innocence leave your eyes. Her baby's eyes. She had long conversations with your father about when to sit down and have the talk.

Not the one about how to ensure, as black women and men in America, how to safely interact with the police. Hands in view at all times. Using mannerisms such as 'yes ma'am,'' no sir,'' no sudden jerky movements.

Not the talk about birds and bees. Use proper names for your anatomy. Good touch versus bad touch. Consent. Practicing safe sex.

No, those conversations didn't stir up as much anxiety as the one currently turning knots in your mother's stomach. She opted to take the lead on this conversation. Thinking it would be better to hear it from her than at a school lunch table where misinformation and ignorance spread like wildfires. She hoped that she could provide a cushion that the world was less than willing to provide. Yet the world was not interested in waiting for your mother.

"Baby, I wanna talk to you about something."

"Okay."

"So this afternoon with Mimi... how did that make you feel?"

She opened the doors. You shrugged your shoulders.

"Did you feel upset? Sad?"

"I was a little sad. Just Mimi being Mimi." You sounded so detached from her actions. Which set off more alarm bells to your mother.

"It doesn't take long for anyone to notice that Mimi has favorites."

"She's not supposed to." Your mother muttered under her breath. She drew the comb across your scalp, keeping in mind the hairstyle she wanted to achieve. She was going to do zig-zag braids in the front and a roller set in the back.

"Who do you think her favorites are?" Swallowing thickly.

But you rattled off the answer with almost a 'duh' tone.

"Trisha, Corey, and Chantal. She loves Chantal."

Out of the seven grandchildren that Mimi had, three of them passed the paper-brown bag test. In the summer, they all got a more caramel tan, and during the winter, they were a clear beige.

"It's because they are light-skinned." You added.

Your mother paused mid-braid. A slow sigh left her lips. Not frustrated that you hit it on the nail, but more so tired. The kind of tiredness that came from years of putting off the very truth you knew. She smoothed a hand down the crown of your head. Resting it there for a moment to show that she had heard you.

"Baby, I need you to know colorism ain't something we made. It was handed to us to divide our community, and it's been sabotaging our community for generations."

She resumed the braid.

"When I was your age, I thought it was a compliment when people said I was 'blessed' to be light. It took a long time to realize that people didn't like me because of who I was but solely because of how I looked."

You didn't respond; you were quiet, listening to your mother open up.

"I believed that just because I was getting treated this way, it wouldn't impact those around me."

Her fingers paused again. Almost like she was reliving the showdown back in the 80s. Two junior high girls found it easy to bully Janae. Slapping down her lunch tray, insulting her complexion, tripping her in the halls. Too soft-spoken to defend herself, the bullying continued for most of the school year. That was until your mother, who was a grade below, witnessed the bullying in complete account.

When one of the girls spat on Janae, it was a schoolyard brawl. At eleven years old, your mother got into her first fight and jumped on one of the girls. Not caring that she would get three days of out-of-school suspension. She would ensure that no one at that school would feel comfortable coming for her family without preparing to get a couple scratches for it.

Your mother spoke up again. "And I know that Mimi does this a lot. The way she treats you, Kamari, Dominique, and AJ is inexcusable."

Your throat tightened. Your facade of indifference cracked away as you heard your mother clear her voice. A failed attempt to keep her emotions at bay. Tears ran down her face, but she quickly wiped them.

"I should have said something sooner. I should have stopped bringing you all around her. I don't expect you to say anything right now, but I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me."

A silence stretched between the two of you. The emotional toll was heavy, yet honest.

Growing up, you had noticed that you were the darkest out of your siblings. Making you the second of your father's children who resembled his complexion. Corey and Chantal never made back-handed comments about your complexion. It was only when visiting Mimi that you were reminded that you were the outlier from a perfect streak of light-skinned grandchildren.

Turning around onto your knees, you hugged your mother. Her cheek nuzzled your forehead. You felt safe in her arms. Like nothing from the outside world could hurt you when you were here. Tilting your head up, she looked at you with glossy eyes. She placed a kiss on your forehead.

"You know how you got your name?"

"You told me already. You heard the name on the radio and thought it was so pretty." You sniffled.

"That story is true. But there is another part. A couple of weeks before, your father and I were supposed to learn your gender. He was getting on my nerves, bombarding me with potential baby names. The names he suggested weren't horrible, but I could already imagine your face and knew that none of those names really fit.

I think he trying to really irritate and searched up some stupid name generator. He typed in both our names and was reading off the combined suggestions."

"That sounds just like daddy." You chuckled, imagining the scene. Your father was a hunky 6'4 man from the tall cornfields of Indiana. He loved technology, especially computers. It was fitting that he incorporated technology into something as important as giving you a name.

"Yeah, right before I cussed him out, he read off 'Yn.' And I immediately fell in love."

She smoothed your cheek with her thumb. You could see in her eyes the glint that was growing. You were the apple of her eye. You were her baby.

"But I'm telling you know, ain't nothing wrong with you. You hear me? Your complexion is a gift from your father. And anybody, family or not, who makes you feel less than because of that? They are broken in ways that don't concern you."

You could tell that your mother's words were genuine. It's not like she was reciting a script from a parent module that she was obligated to recite. Your hair officially paused, and your mother pulled you onto the couch beside her.

"People thought I was wasting myself. Pretty high-yellow girl wasting her 'good genes' dating a dark-skinned man. They wanted me to marry someone as light as me or even a different race entirely. My Mama- your Mimi used to say that if I married your father, I'd undo everything she worked for."

The bitterness was evident.

"But I wanted to marry a man who could laugh when the world wanted him to cry. A man who saw past my complexion, and really saw me."

Another question escaped your lips.

"Mama, how can I make people change their minds about me?" You felt small.

With a calibrated pause, your mother pressed on her lips.

"Minds about what?" She let you lead. Her voice was gentle in her delivery.

The other part of the day that the first conversation with your mother didn't encompass. Broadening the discussion of the appearance. The arguably noticeable one. The area that was the easiest to dig at.

"That I don't take care of myself. That I'm lazy." The emotion of verbalizing your experience chokes you up.

"That I'm ugly." The air was sucked out of your lungs. And it was like you reopened a wound that you had been in the process of learning how to avoid triggering. Never entertain the idea of healing or closure, just how to avoid bleeding onto those around you.

The memory raced back. During a class transition, you were walking down the hall to your music composition elective. You thought that you were just making up the snickers. The group of boys leaning on the lockers was talking about someone else. Instead, they were locking their eyes on the target.

You.

Behind you, one of the boys was pushed into your direction. The force from the shove carried him into your path. Regaining your barrings, you meekly apologized.

The teenage boy looked at you as if you had inconvenienced him. Rolling his eyes, he briefly looked back at the posse behind him. They all had hands over their mouths.

"Do you, uh, wanna go out. Or something."

"What?" Heat rushed to your face. Both of you stood in the center of the hall, almost like a division with traffic of middle school students traveling down the hall in opposite directions.

"Uh- sure."

"I can't man. Forget the stupid bet. I'm not going out with some fat chick." He turned around to his friends. As if his words commanded silence in the hall, the silence was deafening.

You hadn't even realized you were crying until your Mama gently wiped under your chin.

"I don't want to be the fat girl people make fun of." You sniffled. Feeling the most vulnerable in your life. You found yourself looking anywhere else but at your mother's gaze. A river of tears ran down your face, but this time, she didn't brush them away. Allowing your hurt to be seen.

You half-heartedly expected her to chase down your negative thoughts. Overwhelming you with compliments, saying that you weren't 'fat.' That the rolls under your ribs were a figment of your imagination. The multiple layers of skin that sagged underneath your chin were an over-exaggeration.

But you should have known better; this was your mother. Daughter of Maudine Gordon. A woman whose tongue was as blunt as a sword. She didn't even soften her question with one of her affectionate nicknames for you.

"Do you think fat is the worst thing you can be?"

Barely even processing what she asked you, you just stuttered out sounds. To stop yourself from looking more like an idiot, you nodded your head 'no.'

"I just- just hate people getting to decide who I am when they see. Like, I don't get a chance to be anything else. Not pretty, smart, or talented. All I am to them is fat."

Your mother looked you dead in the eyes.

"That's what the world does. It attached value to bodies. Assigns worth based on what makes them comfortable."

"You're not these snot-nosed kids 'glow up' story in waiting. You don't need to shrink yourself to fit in."

Her tone was softer as she finished her words. She never broke eye contact with you, ensuring that you fully absorbed everything she told you.

"If your body changes, that's fine. If it doesn't, that's fine too. What matters is learning to listen to your body. Care for it. Respect it. And love it, even when the world tells you not to."

Another silence came over both of you. You took in your mother's words. In that moment, your insecurities were still present, and tears continued to roll down your face. Her words didn't fix your broken heart, but they cleared your mind enough to belive that you could change. That how you felt about yourself could change.

Patting her lap again, your mother resumed the hairstyle she was doing. The rollers clicked softly, and you were grateful to be left with your thoughts for a bit. Humming an old tune, your mother's hands worked fast. She didn't have the words to explain it herself, but the conversation was equally therapeutic to her.

What woman goes through life without a moment of insecurity? A spot on the face she goes through endless products to cover up. Removing the hair on her body to feel slightly more comfortable in the warmer climates. She wished that her mother cared enough to make her comfortable in her own skin.

Covering her head in a satin scarf and a bonnet. Your mother pulled you up onto the couch one last time.

"You feelin' a little better now?"

"Yeah," you whispered.

"Good." She hugged you again. Moving her head back to look at you.

"And I'm not saying this because I'm your mom. I'm saying it because I truly believe it. Ugly is a mindset. People who wallow in their insecurities and make no effort to accept them are choosing to be ugly. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Out of all of the three nine-pound babies I delivered, you are the only one with my face. Sure, your dad may have colored you in some more, but that face you are rocking is mine all day.

What you shared with me about believing you were ugly broke my heart. And I will not allow the world to teach you to hate yourself because you don't fit in their standards."

You nodded again.

"And watch when you are grown and fully established. Those boys and girls who made fun of you are going to be the same people begging to be in the same room as you."

She stood up, and bones popped as she arose. Her locs, which were also tied back, swung down her backside. Her mumu flowed like lace behind her. Sometimes, you wonder if your mother was a healer in her past life. She had the image of a black hippie. The sister locks she had since college, her wardrobe consisting of only green, brown, and orange earth tones. She, too, was a curvier woman, embracing the baby weight that remained with every pregnancy. On her ankle, anklets clanked against each other, and on the other were you and your sibling's names written in cursive.

"To hell with those kids calling my baby ugly. Tuh." You laughed, watching your mother get started on her tangent as she walked to the bedroom.

-----

Modern Day- Three Weeks Since Adonis's Fight

The universe had a funny way of reminding you when you were running away from your problems. Tonight was the annual charity gala hosted by Marvelous Realty in Hollywood. To check off their philanthropic goals for the year, the company selected a nonprofit to receive 2% of its sales donations. The Opal Society was chosen as a recipient, an organization that sought to provide mentorship and financial investment to young Black girls aspiring to be in the entertainment industry.

Attendance was mandatory, which was no surprise. It was the only reason keeping you from walking to your car when you caught wind of who the 'highly anticipated' guest of honor was. Opals were the symbolic centerpiece at each table. Waiters in black bowties floated around the room with flutes of grape juice cocktails. Young ladies sat at the tables with their respective families. All of them were dolled up and wearing white dresses and gloves. For non-opal girls, the attire was black.

Taking a seat alongside Kiara and Lonnie, you watched as the program began. The founder of the non-profit introduced the program initiative. The five ladies being celebrated tonight would receive a grant of $1 million to pursue their respective passions. Marvelous Realty promised to match the donation within a year.

You were impressed, it wasn't heard of for companies to be this generous with their support of the youth. Nevertheless, there was a hidden purpose for the evening. And it didn't take long for you to piece it together.

Celena Johnson.

She was the headliner, given the title of guest of honor. One of the few success stories from the first-ever class of Opal girls. A summary of her story had been printed on the program, and her face was on the entire back of the program.

The supervisor of the mentorship program introduced the class of young ladies. Each of them lined on the stage. A brief bio above them on the projector. More noticeable to you was the demographics of the girls. All of them were natives to the Lakewood area, a few attending your old high school. For every name that was called, you applauded and clapped, feeling proud to hear their aspirations.

To no one's surprise, Celena was late. Fashionably, you will admit. Draped in a mesh corset dress. Her body shimmered under the light. Her hips rocked with every step, and she acted like she was on a runway. The cornrows opted out for a more mature look. A updo bun with a giant bow in the back. Spinning on her heels, she blew a kiss. Grabbing the microphone, she flipped an imaginary strand of hair behind her shoulder.

"It's so good to be back. Truly. Standing here tonight feels like a full-circle moment. Not long ago, I was sitting where many of you are now: a young black girl, wearing heels for the first time, praying no one could tell how scared I was to take up space.

I wasn't born with a platform. I didn't just wake up with designers in my phone. I had to build my network. Brick by brick. Comment by comment. Mistake by mistake.

I was the first person in my family to take an alternative route to generational wealth. I didn't go to school, I did not want to go to work for someone else. I wanted to work on my schedule. I knew I wanted to work in the beauty industry. A place that is known to give girls like us instructions about what is 'in' and what is 'out'.

Where the pressure to conform is like no other. There were days I felt like I was too much, and sometimes I believed it. I molded myself to be picked. To be enough.

Then... something changed.

I stopped asking for permission to be powerful. I stopped apologizing for wanting more. And when that shift happened, doors started opening. Not because I was lucky. Not because I was handed anything. But because I walked in and refused to leave until someone listened.

Today, I work with brands that once wouldn’t return my emails. I sit in rooms where I'm the youngest, the first, and sometimes the only. And yes — it’s lonely sometimes. But it’s also a reminder that I’m building new blueprints.

And so are you.

So to every young woman in this room: you are exactly enough.

Thank you to the Opal Society for believing in girls like me before I knew how to believe in myself. To the next class- the next wave. I see you. And I can't wait to watch you change everything."

Some stood in applause. A couple of young ladies held their hands over their hearts. Cameras erupted in a flash, almost blinding. Celena stood in the middle of the girls. All of them smiling, cheekbones high.

You watched Celena turn the crowd to her favor. Had this been your first encounter with her, you might have shared a similar impression. But all you could see was the Celena who was seconds away from creating a crater in the Earth at the race. The moment Celena stepped off the stage, the girls swarmed her like bees to honey.

You busied yourself with smoothing out your napkin on your lap. You had no plans to approach her, no interest in exchanging pleasantries. But yet again, the universe didn't care what you planned.

"Celena!" Kiara spoke out. You looked up, seeing your friend waving over Celena. Kiara gestured for her to sit, sliding down a seat like they were long-lost friends.

"Kiki, it's so good to see you hon." She bent over, giving light kisses on her cheek. You offered a polite smile, legs crossed under the table. Praying for a distraction.

"Your speech was beautiful. I hope those girls take away something."

Celena gave a soft humble laugh. "I try."

Still avoiding eye contact. Kiara seemed to remember introducing you to Celena.

"Oh, that's right! Celena, this is Yn. She is one of my work besties at Marvelous."

"One of the top ten in Lakewood, right?" She recited.

"Damn right."

Kiara blinked. Now picking up a layer of unspoken tension.

"You two know each other."

Interrupting you before you could change topics. Celena spoke up first.

"We have a mutual friend, Adonis Creed. My ex."

Whipping her neck around. "Girl, you didn't tell me you know Adonis Creed." Kiara pinched your arm.

"We went to high school together. We’re just friends, it never came up.” You downplayed it. You were almost getting a sense of deja vu from the number of times you have had to repeat this statement.

“Doesn’t seem like that to me.” Celena rolled her eyes, sipping on her glass.

“I don’t blame you, Donnie is a good ex. He really knows how to keep a woman.” She clasps her necklace, she forced out a sultry huff. Wiggling in her seat, she repositioned her weight on her hips.

"Oh, I know." Your inner thoughts quickly find themselves spoken out loud. A part of you found pleasure in seeing how quick her eyes squinted. A silent conversation between your eyes, taking place. Poor Kiara, caught in the middle, turned her head side to side.

You were onto her game, and you were ready. Daring her to say another comment, you leaned subtly on your wrist. Before either of you could push the needle deeper, your boss appeared out of nowhere.

"Yn, Celena, Kiara- do you mind? We're taking pictures to go on the website. Who else to have other than my two hardworking employees and our featured guest?"

Celena took the lead of course, walking ahead and posing like she was on the cover of Fenty. You and Kiara followed suit, smoothing over your dresses. Your smile was polite, not daring to get closer to Celena than necessary. A few flashes later, it was over. Already pulling your clutch from under your chair, you didn't waste no time heading toward the exit.

“See you later Yn.” Celena spoke. Her voice sickly sweet, but her eyes were sharp. Fierce. You pressed your lips tightly. Holding onto your dignity as you left the gala.

———-

The office was quiet, as expected for a Friday morning. Rarely did anyone choose to come into the office, preferring to work remotely.

Unlike your co-workers, you had grown fond of the empty office building. All you had to do was arrive shortly after 8:30, work diligently, and by 1pm, you were done for the day. Not to mention, there was a fruit vendor outside of the office with the sweetest nectarines and pineapples you have ever had.

It was approaching that time in when the sweet old man who sold you the fruit would be passing your office building. Ten dollars cash in hand, you locked the office door behind you. Spotting the man, he was currently in the middle of a transaction with another customer. Crossing the street you waited patiently.

"Yn! My favorite customer." His square-framed glasses slid down his nose as he prepared your order. Sliced mango and pineapple, with a drizzle of honey on the top. It was the best way to end any work week.

"Maurice you're so sweet."

"Not as sweet as you, my dear." You smiled and handed him the cash.

"No. For you, Five dollars."

You shook your head at his words. "I can't let you do that."

"I insist."

You two playfully bickered, but you stayed firm. Maurice was one of the few independent farmers who owned his land and reaped 100% of his profits. His fruits was always fresh, you wanted to pay him in full.

"Here." Stuffing the bill in his pocket, you spoke with all finality.

"Take care now." You waved goodbye, turning around to go back to your office. Taking a couple of steps, you froze.

"Can I help you? Oh-"

Adonis turned in your direction, hearing your footsteps. The swelling has significantly gone down since the last time you saw him. He was even dressed in smart casual attire, with no muscle tee to be found.

"You really think showing up here was the move?"

Your response was more snippy than you anticipated. The last time you two talked, you were sure it'd be the last.

"I am interested in a property you are listing," Adonis spoke casually, ignoring the attitude you were giving him. Hands in his pockets, thumbs hooked on the outside.

You eyed Adonis. Reading for any hidden meanings. He dug out a wrinkled flyer from his back pocket. Your contact information was scribbled at the bottom - Cedar Peaks, the apartment complex your office just acquired. The same complex you lived in.

"Follow me."

Adonis trailed you into the office, doing his best to push down the questions burning in his chest. He didn't want to blow this chance just being in your space. After your last text, he knew the wall between you had been set. Friend zoned, loud and clear. It felt like he was starting from square one. Every move had to be calculated if he wanted to get back to speaking terms with you.

"How have you been?" You asked to fill the silence.

"Good," Adonis didn't really know what other word to use. He was still realing in the victory against Niko. Still training with Rocky, but enjoying a break. The first one in years.

You paused your typing, still not looking at him. He was less than three feet away.

"I'm glad." You said quietly.

Adonis could tell you were sincere. You swiveled your monitor toward him, showing him the available units.

"Which one are you interested in?"

Adonis just looked at you. His attention no nowhere near the different layouts for flooring. Partially, they were distracted by the California glow, sun-kissed by the sun.

"Can we drop the act."

Adonis rehearsed this moment a hundred times. How he'd come off calm. How he'd pretend to be okay if you never spoke again. Occasionally running into each other in Lakewood, or maybe spotting each other at another high school reunion. Assuming you would even go, which he wasn't willing to wait ten more years to tell. He enjoyed your company and was doing all he could to salvage it.

"Do you not want to buy an apartment, Adonis?"

"Adonis?"

"That's your name right?"

"I mean, what's left to say? Celena is your ex, who clearly wants to get back together." You summarized not really seeing what more Adonis would want to talk about.

"I didn't know she was gonna show up."

"But you didn't look surprised." You folded your arms.

"Celena has been showing up unexpectedly. At my gym. A the race. I don't know how she does it.”

"So, is she about to walk through those doors too?"

Tilting his head, Adonis was trying not to let your quips and jabs unsettle him. You had valid reasons to be upset, but it felt like he was fighting an uphill battle to explain himself.

"I didn't expect you to take up for me that night either. But don't think I'm just gonna be cool with her trying to make me feel less than either.

"Yn you're not."

"Didn't feel that way."

"That's why I'm here. I don't think of you as less than. Celena and I? Been done."

Adonis leaned on your desk; he wasn't sure how any clearer he could be. Celena was someone he was more than ready to put behind him and leave her there. In hindsight, he shouldn't have rushed into a relationship with her after his breakup with Bianca.

He wasn't thinking. He thought that getting with a woman who was the opposite of his ex would fill the hole the breakup caused. Instead, Celena would prove herself to be his biggest headache.

Inhaling heavily, "We broke up because she started using. Not the little stuff, like weed. The kind of stuff that transforms a person. Not in the good kind of way."

You didn't say anything. There was a lot wrong with Celena. Obviously, addiction just hadn't been in your top three.

“Back when things were good, I invited her to a welcome home party for my boy Dame. He’d been locked up fifteen years. I wrote him while he was inside. The party was my way of reconnecting. But I didn’t realize he was still dealing. He brought product with him.

“I turned him down. But I didn’t realize Celena hadn’t.”

He took a breath.

“She told me it was just curiosity. Said it was a one-time thing. But that was the start of everything. I didn’t notice at first—too focused on training. But eventually the parties got more frequent. She stopped inviting me. Started disappearing for days.

“Then one night, I showed up uninvited. At an after-party. Saw her bent over a tray, nose deep in a line. She didn’t even recognize me.”

You looked away. His confession silenced whatever snarky comment you had ready. And sure, it didn’t excuse Celena’s behavior, but it did explain something.

“She was killing herself slowly without a care in the world. She would promise me she would go to rehab, get treatment, kick the habit for good. But sooner than later, she would get back on that stuff.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Now, I didn’t bring that up to justify her behavior towards you or even to slightly come across as defending her. Cause I don't."

Almost every muscle in his face was tense. An inappropriate thought ran across your mind, watching the muscle in his cheek twitch.

Damn he looked good.

"Yeah. That's heavy, Adonis. Maybe I judged Celena too quickly."

No, you didn't.

"She is still a bitch though."

Adonis laughed, "You said it, not me."

His voice softened. "Since the breakup with Celena, I’ve learned a lot. About the type of people I do and don't want to be around."

You felt your eyes escape to safety, looking at the window. Secretly hating how much your heart sped up at his words. Your brain and heart had been beefing over him since the bowling alley. There was chemistry. Part of you just wanted to throw caution into the wind and see where it took you. But you were raised to think with your head. No man, no matter how fine, was worth your peace.

"I like being around you, Adonis. But for my sake- maybe it's best to keep this light." You motioned between the two of you.

"Just friends."

His mouth opened, then closed. That wasn't what he wanted to hear but he kept his expression neutral.

"Just friends?" He echoed.

"Friends who text. Maybe grab lunch. Maybe." Your voice was steady, now finally looking at him.

"I don't want to get caught up in the post-breakup fallout."

Adonis blinked. He wasn't used to women drawing hard lines, especially not ones he genuinely wanted to be close to.

"I get it," he said eventually. "I'm not tryna play you like that."

"I know."

Doing your best to keep the conversation light, you stood up. Walking to the side of your desk, resting your hips against the side.

"Maybe you should be single for a while." You joked.

Adonis rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. His thumb grazing the tight muscles there.

"Have you ever met somebody and feel like the timing is just off?"

You exhaled slowly, your hands folding in your lap. “Yeah. All the time.”

He watched you carefully. “So if it was the right time…”

You shook your head, cutting him off gently. “It’s not.”

He had a feeling that he would have to play the long game with you. You would have to choose him freely when you were ready. It was possible that you never would. He'd have to live with that.

He nodded, "Yeah, friends. Okay."

But the way he says it, contradicts what he just said. He was memorizing every inch of your face like he wouldn't get to see it again soon. You turned away, pretending to read over the lease papers you'd just printed.

"You'll be on the second floor. It's a quieter part of the floor."

“Second floor, huh?” he said, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah,” you replied, not bothering to mention that you lived right beneath him. He didn’t need to know that part. Not yet.

He took the papers from your hand, his fingers brushing yours. You ignored the tiny jolt that shot through you.

"We cool now? I want you to stop blowing me off."

Smirking, you tapped your chin. Pretending to think longer on what your response was going to be.

"You missed me or something?"

Sucking his teeth, you smiled at him.

"I just don't like people mad at me."

"Really now. Donnie cares about my feelings." You mocked him in a baby voice, reaching out to pinch a cheek. Playfully swatting your hand away, he mocked you back.

The truth was, Adonis hadn't stopped thinking about you since you saw each other at the reunion. The way you carried yourself. The calm way you said no. How unbothered you were by all his charm, it messed with his head more than he wanted to admit.

Now he was in an apartment one floor above you.

Tempting.

He stood, the signed paperwork in hand. "Friends."

"Friends." You reassured.

Both of you felt it. The electricity is buzzing just underneath the surface. Adonis didn't linger in your office for much longer. He was halfway out the door but still heard your final comment.

"Give me a heads up if you have any more ex's with their screws loose."

[victusinveritas]

Comment on Facebook on a thread that is dumping on Corey Booker for being a Liberal rather than supporting Every Damn Cause the Farther Left Wants (most of which are good causes, but have trouble gaining traction politically). Can we not just ride the resistance train and not stop at every station to perform a purity test or we will NEVER prevail! Obviously he’s far from the best. But he did SOMETHING, which is better than most in power have done. It’s a start. We can praise these actions without putting him on a pedestal. When the opposition is destroying the country in record time, we cannot stop to make sure everyone that’s furthering the cause is a saint. As long as they’re contributing, they’re moving us forward.

-- This is the thing of it: Purity tests will always lead to more division. Yeah, Liberals suck, liberals suck, they're center right at best...but they're also who we have to work with until we can get effective Lefties in government. And we can't do that because we can't even agree on a candidate--not Bernie (great but just not listened to outside of Vermont--has basically achieved Old Man Yells at Cloud status), certainly not Jill Stein (a Russian asset clear as day who only pops up at election time as a Green/Libertarian spoiler supported by the Worst People you'll hang out with anyway because their beer is decent, they have a grill, and they hate Trump) and not AOC (inexperienced, yada yada). Once we get a Liberal/liberal majority, we can worry about slowly bending the arc of progress towards where we want it to point. In the meantime, if you're not out there doing things, all the talk online is just a fart in a windstorm--I'm sure you feel better having let it out, but it doesn't move shit. Every single fucking actually active in meatspace leftie I've talked to (and I've talked to a fuckload of them thanks to volunteering, showing up, doing what I can, really broadened the fuck out of my narrow, purity testing horizons) has said the same thing: we have to work with the Democrats and FUCKING vote. So many goddamn Instagram-Anarchists I saw before the election urging people not to vote for Kopmala have vanished post-election, and the ones that remain are going off the deep end (Nyx Erinyes on Facebook, for instance). Conclusion: either they were well-done Russian bots pushing folks to stay home or they were useful idiots. And a lot of the left fell for it hook, line, and sinker, and are still in that 'voting does nothing' mentality. Voting does nothing if you don't do it at all. Like, we might have to get behind a centrist candidate who can get something done, Gretchen Whitmer and Pete Buttigieg would do the numbers in a lot of places (probably not enough to win anything but at least they can fucking talk and get some of the people in the middle as well as the reasonably left, which was Kamala's problem aside from [all the other stuff, she should have been a non-starter, but she started, she failed, here we are with full fascism], etc. And don't get me started on Tankies (seriously, I've got a laundry list of issues with them, they're not as bad as Kissinger but they're not bloodless and most of them are under 25 so I kind of discount their opinions anyway: hell, I was a Trotskyist until 25, when I realized how awesome anarchism was, but small scale anarchy, communalism, that sorta shit, not big A Anarchy, which, again, has purity tests. But that's a different, longer, crazier rant. If you've read this far and haven't vomited from vertigo and jerkiness, I'm impressed. If you've read this far and want to argue, go ahead but I'll probably just shrug because (this includes my thoughts and opinions too) I honestly don't care what ya think, the internet is just wires, and unless you are in my community, your thoughts don't really carry that much water. Listening to: Toxicity by System of a Down

Reading: The Rigor of Angels by William Egginton and Toll the Hounds (Malazan Book of the Fallen Book 8) by Steven Erikson. Just finished: Diary of a Man in Despair by Friedrich Reck-Malleczewen and Victor Serge's later notebooks (NYRB edition).

[freak-accident419]

when worlds collide (literally)

Josh Futturman x GN!Reader

Summary: As Josh had the audacity to change the radio station, depriving Wolf of the legendary sounds of Corey Hart, things begin to escalate. Once the car gets out of control, it accidentally collides into you.

Word Count: 2.5k

Content: gender-neutral reader, fluff, based on “We Live in Time”, minor car crash, strange meet cute, cursing, takes place in Future Man S1E04 “A Fuel’s Errand”, Josh drives a car instead of the Lyft, awkward but cute

(A/n: first fluff in MONTHS!!!!!! Thank you guys for being patient with me and still being here <3 In theory I might make a second part with smut but who knows :) i haven’t watched the movie yet so no spoilers please! i love you all, happy reading!)

-

“GUYS, FOR THE MILLIONTH FUCKING TIME, this is my dad’s car, so just be extra careful with it, okay?” Hushed Josh as he started the vehicle, setting the GPS to Lyle’s address.

As the trio found their TTD awfully low on Cameronium, Josh, Wolf, and Tiger went on a mission to obtain more. Hearing Tiger describe the biofuel, Josh was completely unable to identify it or its whereabouts. Luckily, he had connections; Josh knew that Tracy, one of the video game store clerks, had an ex-boyfriend, Lyle, who was some sort of chemist. Therefore, he could be a useful source to identify whatever the hell Cameronium was. Soon after retrieving the address, in which Josh had to expose his entire mission to the two unconvinced cashiers, the highly dysfunctional team would be on their way to find Lyle.

“You better not fuck this up again,” Tiger warns petulantly from the backseat (and very unhappy to be, at that), staring daggers at the back of Josh’s head.

“Oh, come on, Tiger, I’ve got us the address!” he reasoned tiredly, trying his absolute best to reinforce his dependability. “Because of me, we’re one step closer to getting our hands on Cameronium!”

Starting the engine, the radio turned on with it. The station was just in the middle of playing ‘Sunglasses at Night’ by Corey Hart, making Wolf’s eyebrows furrow in curiosity.

“What is this music, janitor?” He asks in a gruff voice as Josh drove out of his parking space, letting the GPS guide his way.

“Uhhh, this is Corey Hart,” Josh replies briefly, squinting from the California sun in his eyes, lowering the visor to give them shade.

Wolf continued to listen to the speakers admiringly. Finally something respectable in the year 2017 (which, ironically, was actually from 1983). “I like Corey Hart,” he says, prompting Josh to turn up the volume. He actually and genuinely likes something for once, he thought with relief.

And it was nice to see the previously apathetic sadist enjoy some tunes from the ‘80s, until he discovered the car’s replay button. The institute where Kyle was would be about half an hour away, and for the most part, Wolf had just been replaying the damn song every time it ended.

“Can we just—” Josh sighs as he reached for the skip button, his hand immediately being slapped away from Wolf.

“No.”

YOU WERE SO TOTALLY FUCKED.

Goddammit, did you have to sleep in this morning? This would be the hundredth damn time of the month you’d be late to work, and you couldn’t afford to show up tardy again.

You ran clumsily on the sidewalk, taking frequent sips of your coffee, which was stored safely in a stainless steel tumbler. You were making your way to your workplace as fast as you could, feeling as if your ankles could cramp up anytime. Your boss was quite brutal, and there was a slight chance you could even get fired from being late again, so you ensured that your journey there would be efficient.

After at least a minute of running, you were met with a damn intersection. In response to the light across the street that showed a big, orange palm, you smashed the crosswalk button multiple times and violently, expecting the light to change. And all you could hear was the robotic ‘wait, wait, wait’ every time you slammed it with your fist. God fucking dammit.

Well, actually…

There wasn’t much traffic at all in the intersection. Barely any cars, and even if there were, they would most certainly stop for you. You guessed it wouldn’t hurt if you made a run for it to the other side. Hell, people have done that shit before when you drove, and now it was time for you to cash in your right of way privileges. Would you rather be honked at by an angry driver or face the wrath of your unhinged boss?

Okay. Alright. Fuck this.

Letting your shoes drop from the sidewalk to the asphalt of the street, you began to walk, never once expecting what would happen next.

“Fuck, Wolf, let go of the wheel!” Josh exclaimed in terror as the vehicle skidded and squealed, moving dangerously fast down the narrow road.

“Not until you change it back!” Wolf retorts angrily after Josh had changed the station, tired of the soldier replaying the same damn song for several times in a row.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t even remember the fucking station! And I wouldn’t be able to tell which one it was since the next song is probably already—fuck!”

At the mere sight of you in the middle of the crosswalk, Josh slammed his foot on the brakes, causing a loud squeal from the tires. However, he wasn’t exactly fast enough because the car would collide into you before it would completely stop.

“HOLY FUCK—”

“OH, SHIT!”

***

PAIN WAS QUITE LITERALLY THE ONLY THING that you could feel. Like, everywhere in your entire body. That, and a really shitty migraine.

As you slowly woke up, you could feel an incredibly bright light against your closed eyelids, hearing a blaring, constant ringing in your ear. And when you gradually came to your senses, you could feel various bandages covering your body, wrapped snugly around your tender skin. And you were also…

in a chair.

Your eyes opened instantly. You were in a narrow hallway at a hospital, sat down in a goddamn chair. Some kind of transport chair with small wheels, at least. There was a row of normal chairs across from you. A person in that chair across from you. Also, your posture was literal ass. Why the fuck were you on a goddamn chair instead of an actual bed—

“Oh, shit—” Josh blurted as he realized you were awake, sitting up and fumbling with the objects around him.

You began to acknowledge the appearance of the stranger sitting in front of you, after hearing his sudden, muted curse. He was a young, boyish man, brunette, and there was an almost comical look of extreme fear in his eyes. He immediately sat up from slouching and tapping his foot the second he realized you were awake. Before the interruption, his phone had also been lazily held over his lap, the screen angled towards your line of vision. You quickly recognized that he was playing an online game of sudoku—struggling, as well. And at the moment, you couldn’t think about anything else except for the fact that he needed to place a seven beside that two.

He blinked at you, then noticed your face, whatever expression you had. Your face felt numb, but you presumed it instinctively reflected your internal thoughts, because he somehow read you right away.

“They, uh, they needed the bed back,” the man stuttered out, placing his phone back in his pocket.

Your eyes still scanned the white hallway, slightly turning your head to observe the many doctors and nurses rushing from one place to another. Then you looked back at the man in front of you again, curiously.

“I, uh,” he began once more, presenting a clear plastic bag in front of you. “This is what you had with you. Uh, your phone… which is… a bit cracked, actually. Damn. Uh, wallet. Oh, and uh,” he reached for a bigger item from the ground, holding it up, “a tumbler. Nice stickers, by the way.”

He was… painfully awkward, to say the very least, holy shit.

“U-uh, thanks,” you nodded, feeling your throat dry, as this was the first time you spoke ever since waking up. The man, seeing that you were in no condition to grab or even reach for your belongings in that plastic bag, set it on the empty chair to the left of him.

There was another pause, you hearing only the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above the two of you, alongside the swift footsteps or screechy wheels of gurneys at the end of the hall. You were unable to properly acknowledge anything at the moment because your mind was occupied with something entirely different. You had sensed an irritable thought lingering in your head until you instantly realized what it was.

“Seven,” you blurted out randomly.

“What?”

You cleared your throat. “Your sudoku. Seven should be under the two in the first column. That was your, uh, missing number.”

Josh immediately pulled his phone back out, opening his sudoku app. He tapped and typed in your suggestion before letting out a small gasp, either in surprise or relief. Both, actually, as the number you told him was correct.

“Oh,” he sighs.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, shit.”

You simply nodded.

“I’m, uh—I’m Josh, by the way,” he says, possessing a friendly smile on his face as he puts his phone away in his pocket for the second time.

Considering the very shitty position you were in, you appreciated his smile nonetheless and mimicked it.

“Y/n,” you answer softly. Josh smiled warmly and nodded at your response. That is, until you asked, “I, uh… Do I know you?”

His eyebrows raised with guilt, pupils looking anywhere but at you, until they mustered up the courage to at least glance at the tip of your nose.

“Oh, um… yeah, no, I uh…” he paused culpably. “I ran you over.”

Well, shit.

“Well, shit,” you mumbled.

And in this moment, you realized—pretty privilege really did exist in all possible scenarios.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” you reply, surprising him and even yourself. You normally wouldn’t let this slide, but you weren’t sure if it was the overwhelming lights, the morphine, or the guy’s stupidly charming face that drowned out any possible anger from you. Maybe it was just all of them combined. Anyways, you realized that this hospital visit would’ve given you a valid excuse to not only be late to work, but be a complete no-show. Hell, if anything, you felt grateful for this.

“So, um…” you began, “how did… I mean, did you not see me, or…?”

“Oh, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I… My passenger was acting out because I changed the radio station. He has, uh… issues.”

“Wow...” It could’ve been a drunk driver. The sun could’ve been in his face. Hell, he could’ve pulled a Lucy Whitmore and dropped a CD in the car, but you could’ve nearly died because of a goddamn radio station?

“I changed the station after he looped the hell out of the song,” Josh adds.

“Jesus Christ,” you huff in disbelief. “How—How old is this passenger of yours anyway?”

“Uh, right… About… About ten…” he sighs.

“Yeah, I mean, that makes sense—”

“…years older than me,” he finished. Dammit. This literally could not get any worse.

“Oh—”

“In theory,” he adds, making you raise an eyebrow in bemusement. Realistically, since Wolf was from 2162, he would be, like… more than a hundred years younger than Josh. Of course, he couldn’t explain that to you. Hell, he thought he seemed crazy to you already. He probably already lost his chances with another cute person. And no, he wasn’t hoping to charm you just to avoid a large, angry fine. You were genuinely quite pretty to him.

“Oh—” Inappropriately, you felt a smile begin to form on your lips as you started to giggle. “Oh my god, what? You’re kidding, that’s—” As you chuckled, you felt your weak, stiff body vibrate. And consequently, you felt a sudden, unpleasant stab in your chest, hissing from the pain.

“Shit, are you okay?” Josh asks instantly, looking into your eyes with pure concern.

“Oh, yeah, no, uh, it just… hurts like hell whenever I laugh,” you huffed.

Guilt washed over him once again like a violent, mortifying wave as he remembered how much injuries you suffered because of him. “Fuck, I am so, so sor—”

“No, no, don’t worry,” you whisper, “I just… God…” A big, humored sigh left your lips as you gazed softly into Josh’s eyes. “Okay, what—what song was he even listening to?”

“Funnily enough, it was, uh… ‘Sunglasses At Night’ by Corey Hart.”

“Oh my fucking god,” you scoff, trying to hold yourself from laughing as you felt the sharp pain coming back. “Jesus Christ, you’re kidding me, right? Why—Why would anyone in their thirties throw a tantrum over Corey Hart?”

“I know, this guy’s just…” Josh twirled his finger by his temple, signifying that his passenger was indeed “cuckoo”.

You scoffed in amusement by his gesture, and then the two of you were silent after. Just smiling at each other, gazes switching from the floor, to the walls, back to one another’s eyes. You enjoyed his company, actually, and he definitely enjoyed yours too.

“Oh,” Josh mutters in recollection, grabbing your attention. “So—so anyways, uh… Are you… Are you gonna sue me?” He asks with slight caution in his face, his big eyes softening with furrowed eyebrows. “Because, uh, I understand that, but—”

“Can I be completely honest with you?” You interject with a weak chuckle as the brunette gives you a nod. “If anything… I’m kinda… grateful that you hit me with your car.”

Josh’s eyes widened immediately. “Seriously?” He scoffs in disbelief, unsure if you were joking or being morbidly serious.

“Look, it’s—it’s ridiculous. I was, uh, on my way to my job… Actually, I was terribly late, I slept past my alarm again, I literally had to run to my workplace, and then… Then I had to, uh, jaywalk, which, um, definitely explains this… predicament. So it’s not entirely your fault. But… yeah. I mean, I was on my… like, millionth late strike this month and my boss is a total asshole. Luckily, I have an actual excuse to not show up this time, so… he can’t exactly yell at me for being run over.”

“Wow,” Josh replies shortly.

You sucked the air between your teeth. “Yeah.”

“I mean, I get it,” he remarked with a shrug, recalling how Stu Camillo replaced Kronish, which was a result of him meddling with the past. “I have an asshole of a boss now too.”

“Hm, really?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he chuckles.

The two of you shared another friendly, soft glance as a contented sigh left your lips afterwards. “Well… Thank you, Josh, for… well, running me over and therefore helping me avoid the wrath of my boss.”

“You’re welcome,” he says hesitantly, “I… think?” God, he was actually charmingly adorable. You really couldn’t even consider suing that face.

“Yes,” you grin widely, “and if it makes you feel any better, you were way more pleasant than that one guy I had a fender bender with.”

Josh laughs softly. ���Yeah?” You nodded in response.

There was another pause, a comfortable moment of silence between the two of you as both of your faces turn flustered.

“Look, I’d—I’d feel bad if I didn’t at least offer something to you, other than paying for your hospital bills, of course, but my work has this holiday party coming up in a few days. Maybe I can bring you along? I just—I really wanna make this up to you. It’s—it’s nice, there’s drinks, food, is that—does that seem good?” He fiddled with his fingers as he spoke, hoping you’d be content with his proposal.

You smile brightly, almost in disbelief as you were given the offer. “That sounds lovely.”

“Great! Great, uh, I’ll—I’ll text you the information. Can I… get your number?” He asks, getting his phone out from his pocket for the last time.

You agreed cheerfully as you began to list the digits in your phone number. “You gonna send me your insurance and plate number too so I can properly report you for this?”

Josh tensed up at your words, which were amusing only to yourself. “I—”

“I’m just messing with you,” a giggle left your lips as the man in front of you sighed in relief. “I’m sorry.”

“No no, I deserved that,” he chuckles softly. “So… Will I be seeing you there?”

You smiled widely. “You will.”

[robin-evry]

Can I request a Salem Witch Yuu? I mean like witches during the Middle Ages how women were accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake. Whether Yuu is actually a witch or not depends on you

Sure, ask and you shall receive

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 🧹🌳

The Salem witch trials were a series of hearings and prosecutions of people accused of witchcraft in colonial Massachusetts between February 1692 and May 1693. More than 200 people were accused. Thirty people were found guilty, nineteen of whom were executed by hanging (fourteen women and five men). One other man, Giles Corey, died under torture after refusing to enter a plea, and at least five people died in the disease-ridden jails.

( English is not my first language )

Day 4 : Salem witch!yuu

Okay, I imagine Salem witch!yuu come from a family of witches, but never have the chance to learn about magic due to her family making seems like a curse rather than a gift but their mother teaches them a little magic. At the age of 9 years old their mother was caught using magic to heal their sibling and was sentenced to death by burn in a stake and they had to watch it, and Their father died from an illness. And 3 months later their sibling has died and succumb to starvation.

At the age of 15 they were caught and were tried to be hung, before their last breath a black carriage appeared and everything turned to black. They soon wake up in twisted wonderland at the entrance ceremony. When they see grim, they immediately bolted from the mirror room... And shouting devil, devil, devil

After Crowley managed to calm them down, Crowley explained everything to them. He noticed something weird towards Salem witch!yuu they are thinner than any student, eye bags and there are some red marks from the rope that was hanging them.

The ghost in ramshackle takes pity for the Salem witch! yuu, during the first time they tried food. They literally cried In front of Crowley admitting they rarely ate as well never having anything this delicious before.

Salem witch!yuu is pretty thin and underweight, what's more noticeable about part of them is the scars that the rope left of them, for them this scar is symbolic meaning that they can't escape their past and that will always follow them.

Salem witch!yuu hates magic seeing it as the root of their problems as well a curse that leads into the death of their family members. Originally everyone thought that they were magic less because they never once sense or see any magic come out of them until during riddle overblot where they hit riddle with a magic.

As well I believe they will be paranoid af, and they will easily apologize to people. Afraid of doing something wrong or making a mistake. Or Salem witch!yuu would be pretty nihilistic, like how ironic that the people unable to use magic seemingly look down upon by the world.

Ace and deuce are the very first person they manage to warm up a bit. Salem witch!yuu would be literally afraid of malleus literally screaming and calling him the devil, when malleus asked why they would do that and Lilia responded by saying that they must suffer a lot. So basically when Lilia appears he immediately sees the Salem witch!yuu scars and felt pity over them.

Salem witch!yuu would definitely be clueless how to use magic. Because during the time their lives cameras weren't a thing.

Salem witch!yuu come from a family of magic users but instead of being praised their family members were sentenced to death by hanging or fire, they use a wooden staff that is similar to what fern use from fieren : beyond friend journey anime, but usually after school Salem witch!yuu learn some basic magic from Crowley.

They also might have a phobia of fires due to their mothers and her scream still ringing in her ears. At night grim would wake from Salem witch! Yuu was crying in their sleep having dreams about their family. And he will always be there to comfort them.

Sorry if this was inaccurate or lack of understanding. or short