#EVERY DAY I LET THIS ASK SIT IN MY INBOX IT GETS MORE TRUE

[hrokkall]

The universe heard you had coursework and decided that everything cool and exciting needed to happen right now (mood)

- 🥊

HEAD IN MY HANDS

[onlyhuis]

healing hands

member — junhui x f reader genre — smut, fluff, f2l, comfort sex word count — 2.3k synopsis — wen junhui: your best friend? check. roommate? check. now you can add "personal masseuse" to that list, too. warnings — description of female anatomy, mentioned that reader gets periods (but isn't on it in this fic), super soft dom!jun, fingering, breastplay, hand kink if you squint notes — requested by @jaemlonfz — this has been driving me insane every time i open my inbox so i hope now it drives you insane too :D if you liked this please be sure to reblog or send me an ask, feedback is super appreciated and helps me write more fics like this!

movie nights with jun are your favorite nights.

that is, they usually are.

usually you get to curl up in bed with your best friend for a sleepover, and despite the fact that you’re already roommates and you see him every night anyway, it still feels extra special. the snacks, the dimmed lights, watching movies into the late hours of the night until you fall asleep.

except tonight.

you groan and roll over onto your side with a humph, and jun shifts his arm around you with a frown. "something wrong?"

"think i'm about to start my period soon. my boobs have been so sore all day.” you whine, and he frowns again at your discomfort.

“would it help if you, like, massaged them?”

you glance up at him suspiciously. “what, are you offering or something?”

he shrugs, far too nonchalantly for someone who just offered to play with your boobs. he did just offer that, right? “i mean, if you want me to. or i could go get the heating pad instead.”

“i… alright, fine.” you push yourself back up into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard of your bed.

jun grabs the remote and mutes the tv as you tug your shirt off over your head, awkwardly trying not to make eye contact with him when you notice him staring.

you start to reach behind yourself to unclasp your bra, but his hands quickly find yours and help you with it. the loose straps slide down your shoulders, and you catch yourself holding your breath as he pulls the fabric away and lets it fall to the floor, leaving you topless in front of him. 

your nipples are already hard, and you force yourself not to cover them instinctively. it’s not the first time he’s seen you naked, but it is the first time he’ll be touching you while you are, and it makes you shy.

he pulls his hands away and folds them in his lap, waiting until you nod before he gently cups your breasts in his palms. 

you have to fight the urge to shiver as he starts to massage your boobs, his fingers moving across your chest with tender yet deliberate motions. you let out a soft sigh and relax your shoulders, melting into the pillows. maybe it’s your hormones making you not think clearly, but he actually is giving relief to the ache in your muscles. the fact that your best friend is devastatingly gorgeous isn’t helping your case.

his slender fingers press into your sides, long nails scratching gently against your skin as he works. you’re sure he must be able to feel your racing heartbeat beneath his palm, but you ignore it and try to focus on the tingly feeling in your stomach instead.

he bends his knuckles, dragging the pads of his fingertips carefully across your chest and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

he brushes his thumb against your nipple and it makes you shiver involuntarily, and he has to resist the urge to press his whole face into your chest. at this point he can’t tell which one of you is enjoying this more, because to him this is a dream come true. getting to touch you, hold you, make you feel good.

he has to focus every ounce of his energy into not getting hard, because it's totally normal to give your best friend a very platonic boob massage, right? 

at least, that's what he tells himself until his hand squeezes you a little too hard and you let out the whiniest, most guttural moan he's ever heard in his life and instantly his crotch is stiff as a board.

your eyes widen in shock at the noise that escapes you, but for some strange reason you don’t feel embarrassed by it at all. if anything, you just want him to keep going.

he starts to pull away but you quickly put your hands on top of his, holding him in place against your chest. "don't stop. please? feels so good…"

"do— do you want…?" he stammers, and you cut him off with another soft moan.

you let go of his hands and after a moment he continues, letting him move wherever he wants across your body. you watch his eyes dart back and forth as if can't seem to decide what he wants to do first.

his palms glide over your stomach, creeping lower until his fingertips come to a stop at the waistband of your pajama pants.

"can i?" he asks in a choked whisper, looking up at you with a glazed look in his eyes that sends a shiver down your spine. you whimper out his name in response, lifting your hips to encourage him.

slowly his hand disappears into your pants, and you gasp as you feel his fingers glide over the warm skin of your stomach beneath your panties. he keeps his eyes on you the entire time, studying your reaction as he continues moving down.

he nearly falls off the bed in surprise when he finally finds your entrance, and your hand flies out to grip his wrist between your legs. "oh my god, you're so fucking wet—" he chokes out, adding pressure to his fingertips to draw another moan out of you.

he runs his fingers through your folds before tentatively pushing the tip of his index finger into you, watching as you lean back against the pillows and arch off the bed. "jun—" you gasp, squeezing his wrist tighter.

"stop?" he asks nervously at your reaction, and you nearly give yourself whiplash from how fast you shake your head no.

"don't stop touching me, please," you moan, lifting your hips up to grind against his hand. “fuck—please, jun.”

he positions himself beside you to get a better angle before cupping your pussy with his hand, letting out a groan as he feels your throbbing heat. you keep your hand on his wrist and he lets you guide him where you want him, pressing his finger deeper into you. you can't help the way your walls clench around him, whimpering as he slowly pulls his finger out before pushing it back in.

your grip on his hand loosens and he manages to work another finger into you, your cunt squeezing his knuckles and pulling him in.

“fuck, you're so tight… baby, spread your legs a little for me— there you go.” he coos when you cooperate, wordlessly following his instructions without even a second of hesitation. you try not to linger on the name he calls you but your body betrays you, clenching so hard around his fingers that he gives you a curious look and you have to pretend to be oblivious.

“you like that… baby?” he asks with a toothy grin, and you whine shyly, giving him all the information he needs. he curls his fingers upwards inside you and your legs try to clamp shut around him, but he just pulls them apart again and continues the motion of his fingers.

“just relax, baby. i'll take care of you,” he says softly, leaning over your body and bringing his free hand back up to knead your breast. within minutes he's reduced you to a whimpering, begging mess, and you’ve forgotten all about your soreness with his gentle hands caressing every inch of you. 

your breath catches in your throat and you can’t break your eyes away from the sight of his arm down the front of your pants, disappearing from view at the wrist. thick veins scattered across his forearm bulge with exertion, and you have the overwhelming urge to run your fingers over his arms and trace each and every vein.

he hums out your name, drawing your attention back up to his face. “can i kiss you?”

you can barely manage a nod, pulling him down to meet your lips in a searing kiss. his kisses grow deeper simultaneously as his fingers grow rougher, capturing your moans with his lips until it makes you dizzy.

his cock is aching, and if it were any other time he probably would’ve made some excuse and slinked off to his room to jerk off to the thought of you. but he’s so fixated on your body, lips pressed against yours and long fingers buried in your dripping cunt, his own pleasure is the last thing on his mind. he doesn’t care if he never gets off ever again, not when he has you laid out right here in front of him, making sounds better than he could have ever imagined.

he breaks away from you and you whimper at the loss, chest heaving with shallow breaths as he moves down your body to rest his chin against your stomach.

“would this make them feel better?” he asks as he looks up at you, tilting his head to press his lips against the side of your boob in a gentle kiss.

“already feels so good—” your hands fall down to hold his head, threading your fingers in his head in a futile effort to help. “jun, please, you feel so good.”

he smiles again and carefully wraps his lips around your breast, never breaking eye contact with you as he stares up at you laying on your stomach. his weight feels good on top of you, and his mouth feels even better. he flattens his tongue and runs it over your nipple, groaning against your chest.

finally his mouth leaves your breast, replacing it with his other hand as he adjusts his fingers, positioning his thumb against your clit and beginning to rub small circles. your hips buck upwards from the stimulation, but he pins you down to the bed with his elbow, his other hand still occupied with your breast.

“sit still, sweetheart,” he says with a short laugh, though his voice comes out significantly more breathier than when he last spoke a few minutes ago. “you’re gripping my fingers so tight. just relax for me.”

but his words only make you clench around him harder, a choked whimper leaving your lips. “close, jun— ‘m so close, please…”

he curls his fingers deeper inside you, his thumb pressing more roughly against your clit as he builds you up closer to your release. he can tell you’re right at the edge, can feel your wetness gushing around his fingers, and it only spurs him to keep going. “promise i’m gonna make you feel so good, ‘mkay? you can let go whenever you want, baby.”

it doesn’t take long before you’re crumbling in his arms, mouth falling open in a gasp as your eyes wrench shut and your body freezes. your hand tightens around his wrist but he keeps going, the gentle motions of his fingers carrying you through your orgasm and leaving you panting for breath.

every muscle in your body is tensed as he continues to work you until you fall into a second orgasm before the first has even fully ended. your body is covered in sweat as you writhe against his hand, your pajama pants sticking uncomfortably to your legs.

your cunt continues to pulse around jun’s fingers as they grind to a halt, blinking your eyes open as your vision gradually begins to return to you. you let out a shaky sigh and look up at him as he slowly pulls his fingers out of your pants.

“you feel better now?” he says. he starts to scoot away from you, but you whine and try to grab onto him to tug him back closer, and he pauses.

“wait, jun—”

“mm?”

your grip on his wrist is weak, but he lets you pull him back easily anyway. “can you, just… don’t go. please?”

his smile lights up the entire room, so bright that it outshines the light coming from the muted tv. he leans over to kiss your forehead, his lips as gentle as his voice. “of course. what do you need?” 

“you. a long, hot shower. but mostly you.”

he smiles again. “i can help with that. if you want me to.”

“why would you think wouldn’t i want you to?” you prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, catching the way his eyes briefly glance down at your bare breasts but pretends he doesn’t.

he flops down on the bed beside you with a nervous giggle. “just giving you a chance to change your mind. i don’t know if you… nevermind.”

you pause, wondering what he was going to say. the lines of friendship are long gone by now, blurred by activities that feel too intimate to say out loud, but that small part of you is still worried about losing your best friend.

you run your thumb along the length of his arm, feeling the little divot on the inside of his elbow and tracing the grooves from his veins as you think carefully about your next words.

“do you—” you pause, wondering if it’s the right time or even the right thing to say. but with him, it’s a chance worth taking, so why not? you clear your throat before trying again. “will you sleep over? in here, with me?”

he smiles again, and relief washes over you as he leans over to press a tiny, gentle kiss to your lips. “i wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else tonight.”

you grin into his kiss, squeezing his arm lightly. “good. because i owe you a massage now.”

“oh, really?”

you let go of his arm and reach up to rub your thumb along his cheek. “gotta return the favor somehow.”

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[007reid]

coffee caramels. spencer reid

this is my submission for the cm meet cute (or not) challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins ! i did VERY loose research on the stuff spencer sprouts off on because i am not our boy genius so sorry if there are any inaccuracies ':( this is my first time writing for spencer but i literally love it so much and i'd love to write more so plz flood my inbox with requests for him plzzz 😭

pairing: fem!reader x spencer reid

prompt: character sits next to a stranger in the theater, but the two end up bonding when there's a technical glitch.

warnings: slightly grumpy!reader and sunshine!spencer my fav trope <333 confident reader, reader makes the first move, spencer being a bbg and blushing a lot ;)) all the good stuff

word count: 2.7k

you arrived at the theater ten minutes early, bee-lined to the popcorn section and asked for extra butter. you loaded your oily popcorn up with coffee caramels and chocolate-covered coffee beans and bought a large coke. you walked in the theater, confident and fully armed with enough caffeine to hopefully keep you awake during the entire thing. you have tape in your bag to peel your eyes open just in case things go south, but you're confident enough to believe that it won't.

because it can't.

"aelita," your professor had said on friday, "is a russian phenomenon, and it is one of my top favorite films. considering how you are all in a russian literature class, i can make the safe assumption that you are all interested in russian culture."

now, not only were you in a russian literature class as an elective like two-thirds of your class, you were also a russian literature and poetry major. how you ended with that major baffles you and there hasn't been a day where you wanted to choose another major, but there hasn't been a day where you weren't depressed about your poor decision-making either. it's a battle you fight every day.

"aelita was first screened in 1924, and this year, next week, there will be a worldwide re-screening of the film in its originality, no edits, completely authentic, except with added subtitles for those who need it, of course," this was when your professor got very stern. "i want all of you to go and watch it. if you don't want to, fine, but there will be an assessment grade on this movie. this is not optional. i believe that the content of this movie is very true to our..."

at that point you had stopped listening, because you knew what your professor wanted you to do, and you dreaded doing it.

two hours, silent, black and white, russian film with subtitles. and you have to hang onto the movie's every word.

not your ideal saturday night plans, but for your academic career, you were willing to take that leap; looking like a sore loser at the empty theater with black framed glasses on instead of getting fucked up in someone's bathtub. it's fine. the partying was all up to the business majors anyway.

when you walked into the theater, it was, understandably, vacant, save for a couple men and women with graying hair or bald scalps and bad backs. you were clearly not the target audience. none of them had snacks on them either, and you felt awkward being the one responsible for the strong aroma of butter and coffee that stuffed the place the moment you walked in. a gentleman coughed in his hanker-chief and flared his nostrils. you were intimidated already.

you tracked down your seat and decided to not let any of it distract you. you needed a good grade on this assessment. you had already bombed your previous test on the imperial era; you don't need another bad grade stacked on top of it. you're acing this test, no matter what, and you're going to absorb this movie so well that it might as well be your favorite.

as you waited for the film to start, you munched on several of the coffee caramels, the caffeine slow to kick in. you shrugged it off. there's a whole bucket of sugar to fuel you through the film.

in midst of biting into a shelf of a chocolate-covered-coffee-bean, you heard a light thud and a hiss, and the quiet muttering of "i'm good, ow." an old man by the stairs called out;

"you alright, son?"

"yes sir," the man said. despite being alright, he was limping to his seat, and you watched him attentively, for there wasn't much else for you to observe. he limped closer and closer to you by row, ticket in his hand and checking the letters on the rows. he stopped at your row, and then walked crookedly and settled down in the seat right next to you.

you chewed on your popcorn as you directed your attention somewhere else, your determination slightly deflated. the film was late into starting, but you were still going strong.

"oh wow," you heard the man mumbled next to you, and looked over to see what he was talking about, nosy. but he was looking at you.

"what?" you said indignantly, immediately dropping the oily popcorn in your hand and wiping at your mouth, feeling oddly self-conscious. but mostly irritated. you'd say you hid your whiplash pretty well when you saw how pretty the man was when you looked over at him. you were so smooth with it. "chocolate on my face?"

"what? oh, no," the man breathed out a small laugh. he's got a soft, shy voice that got your insides feeling like broken tomato bits.

"then what?" you demanded, but not too authoritatively because you didn't want to chase him away. you kept it cool and in control. totally. it was hard to find eye candy in quantico, and the last place you would expect to find someone so pretty is in the theater for a fucking silent film.

even though it was dark, you could still catch the bright blush that crept up the man's neck, but it might be because he felt hot under all those layers. seriously, he was dressed like your grandpa, sweater vest, tie, collared shirt and all, but it was tied together in some kind of way that made it work, and it was the way the man carried himself that made him look youthful in all those ancient clothing.

"nothing," he ducked his head away, "i was just talking out loud."

you didn't have to be sherlock holmes to know that he was lying. "you liar," you accused, wiping your hand even more aggressively over your face. "i do have something on my face, don't i? just tell me if i do!"

"you don't have anything on your face!" he said, an indecisive and uncracked smile playing on his lips. you grumbled and turned back to look at the screen, still waiting for the film to start, popping candy in your mouth. in was silent for a merciful while, until the man said, "did you know that dmitri shostakovich conducted the music for this film and during its first showings in leningrad since the film was silent he came personally and played the piano whenever the soundtrack would be playing?"

you hummed. no you did not.

"i was surprised when i saw you, you don't look over sixty at all," the man continued. you didn't know how to take this piece of information as a compliment or an insult. "whenever i come to these things, it's only me who doesn't have grey hair. well, some people dye it, which looks pretty obvious because you can't really hide age, y'know?"

usually you'd be annoyed. very annoyed, in fact, you'd switch seats to be away from the guy. but this one's got a nice voice, and the moment he sat down you caught a scent to him immediately, that old cashmere and cotton scent that comes from old, thrifted clothes that you'll find dug deep somewhere in your grandmother's basement or in vintage stores, and sugar cookies and mint and coffee. it's a good smell, is all. you weren't being creepy about it.

"i'm not over sixty," you assured him. "just scraping twenty-two."

"oh! i'm twenty-two too!" the man said excitedly. he had child's glee to him, which you found more endearing than annoying. you didn't know why. you didn't know why you were still sitting with the man instead of scurrying three rows away like you would have normally the moment any stranger tried to attempt small talk with you.

maybe you were a changed woman.

"how crazy," you mused. you didn't sound half as interested or excited as the man did, but he had most definitely got your undivided attention. you nature tells you to not show it.

"how did you hear about this movie? i tried to get some of my friends to watch it with me, but none of them were too interested...except emily, she's usually more interested because she can speak russian but she got plans this weekend," his face fell into a thoughtful frown at the end, and the clockwork in your brain started to turn at the mention of 'emily.' was that his girlfriend? special lady? you shouldn't be googling, then.

"my professor created an assessment for this movie," at the man's inquiring look, you explained further, "it's for my russian lit class."

his eyes shone like a fucking diamond at that, as if russian lit was the most exciting thing he had ever heard of in his life. you could tell that you were looking at the kind of guy who would decline a party full of seniors to go read a dictionary at home. "is that like an elective you take? 'cause it's a subject that fascinates me a lot, but the demand for it is so slim that--"

he was cut off by the movie finally starting and flickering to life. you turned away immediately, eyes focused and attention zeroed onto the introduction screen. screw the pretty boy for now, you thought, you might as well pack your things and go back to your hometown if you fuck up this movie's assessment. it needed your attention.

black and white and grimy, a pretty font wrote 'aelita, adapted by alexei tolstoy.' but as soon as the film started, the picture quickly collapsed, blurring and then fading into black. with the audience being so small, there wasn't much commotion but whispers of confusion began to arise as the lights began to bleed more yellow, lighting up the theater more. it was as if the movie was over.

"sorry folks," a voice came from the grainy megaphone above all of them. "some trouble with the tape. we are trying our best, but not sure of our luck. all tickets will be refunded if bought online or you bring your ticket to us for a mark so you can present your current ticket right now at the next showing. thanks for your patience."

you looked exaggeratedly around, and the man in the sweater vest next to you looked equally as disappointed.

"my professor is not going to believe me," you muttered under your breath, but the man caught it anyway and chuckled quietly. you looked down at your still full bucket of popcorn and your large coke. you glanced over to the man next to you, not too smart things lottering around in your head. you travel through the subway, and the ride to your street is not until two hours. you weren't going to spend it morosely eating popcorn in the waiting lobby.

"is emily your girlfriend?" you asked suddenly. there was no point in being shy. the man's mouth unhinged from his jaw immediately, and you stared at him. his cheeks quickly stained an innocent pink.

"what?" he squeaked, his voice a higher pitch, caught off-guard. "no! no, she-she's my coworker!" he sounded almost offended.

this took you by surprise. you didn't know people who were close to their coworkers existed. "so you don't have a girlfriend?"

the blush on the man's face kept getting brighter and brighter. you bit your lip to keep from smiling like a fool. with how endeared you were by him, it's strange to think that you don't even know his name yet. it was rare for you to really be so mindful and think such soft things about somebody, especially to a stranger.

you were a changed woman. but maybe it's because of the coffee caramels messing with your head. sugar and caffeine tend to do that.

"no," the man said, then cleared his throat. he was fiddling with his fingers, an obvious stim. "no, i don't have a girlfriend."

"sweet," you grinned, "then no one would mind if i take you on a date, would they?"

he choked and got engulfed in a coughing fit, bending over in his seat. the red of his sweater vest nearly blinded you but you patted his back supportively. when his coughing ceased and he sat back up again, his eyes avoided yours for a while as he fought to keep the redness in his face down before he looked at you again.

"so?" you raised your eyebrow. "the night doesn't wait, pretty boy."

the nickname just slipped out of your mouth, and you cringed at the weight of it. how out of pocket. you were going to go home and contemplate this conversation later. but right now, you were trying to take out probably the sweetest looking boy you've ever seen, and that was a more important matter as of.

"okay," he said, and that was that.

"okay," you repeated. "let's start with finishing this, yeah?" you looked down at your bothersomely big bucket of popcorn. "we can walk to the park and eat it and feed it to the ducks."

"actually, it's not safe for ducks to consume popcorn because it causes digestive issues especially if consumed in large quantities and disrupts their natural diet," the man recited matter-of-factly, blinking at you obliviously as if he just didn't acted like a fucking android. you huffed out a laugh. handsome and smart. pretty much a package deal.

"the popcorn will be just for us then," you promised, standing up. he followed suit, as a lone line of people started to exit the theater. "i hope you aren't a serial killer in disguise," you said jokingly, but not really, because that was a genuine threat. he laughed. it was a sweet, syrupy sound that you could soak up and not get sick of for a long time.

"that's ironic," he mumbled, and it flew past your head, you being too busy maneuvering out of the rows.

"what was that?"

"nothing," he smiled, bright and easy. the initial nervousness was already beginning to melt away. when you were side by side, his hand accidentally brushed yours and when you looked up at him, he was already looking another way, pretending to be distracted by the movie posters but the red in his ears and neck gave it away. you smiled to yourself and grabbed his hand, holding your bucket of popcorn in the other.

"i forgot," you said, suddenly. his head whipped around to face you, but not before lingering his gaze at your intertwined hands. "i didn't get your name."

it was a foolish thing to say, you were holding a man's hand and you were pressed up side-by-side against him and you don't even know his name. he smiled softly, though, like he didn't mind. "i'm spencer reid."

"i'm y/n y/l/n."

"hi y/n," spencer said. you exited the theater and he started slightly swinging your joined hands. you laughed, the popcorn and candy in the bucket rattling and threatening to spill but you didn't care. "i'm a little disappointed," he said, pouting a little bit, bottom lip jutting out. "i was excited for the movie."

you breathed out an incredulous laugh. what a guy.

"i wasn't," you said, honestly. yours and spencer's arms were still swinging, and you resisted the uncharacteristic giggle bubbling at your throat. "rather be doing this instead." unexpected date at the park with a pretty boy in a red sweater vest or a boring silent film? the answer sounded pretty obvious to you.

"hm," spencer hummed, amused. "i guess i can catch the movie some other time."

"you can catch it with me," you blurted, and it sounded too early to say. you haven't had a proper conversation with the guy yet, you didn't know what he does and how he is, you didn't know whether or not he has a cat or a dog or a parrot or a ferret or if his room is kept tidy or messy, and you didn't know how much you were going to like him once the night is over. asking for a second date when the first one hadn't even started felt like too much, but it also felt like the right thing to say.

and if it's right, it's good enough for you.

spencer smiled shyly. when you turned right on the street, he pulled you back by your hand and redirected you left. "let's go the scenic route," he said, casually, and you could tell by the magenta tinge in his cheeks and the way he was firmly looking forward, avoiding your eyes that he wasn't feeling as casual as he sounded.

"want some of my popcorn?" you offered, feeling the large bucket was burdening you.

"oh, no thanks," spencer said. "i'm sure the pigeons will appreciate it more than me."

"does popcorn ruin their digestive system and disrupt their natural diet, too?"

spencer popped a large grin. it sat beautiful on his pretty face. "you listened," he said happily, and it felt like a large airbag had just inflated in your lungs. "no, i think pigeons are too used to picking our food, especially those in the city," a long pause, and "in fact, pigeons have a stronger digestive system than most birds due to adaptation, but the strongest out of all of them are vultures, whose stomach acid are so strong it doesn't get sick e eating rotten and bacteria-infested meats."

you hummed. you wished you had paid closer attention to what he said, but instead you paid attention to the smooth sound of his voice and how nice it sounded. well. you'll get there one day.

[destinysbounty]

pls explain the stupid powers thing where they came from lloyd but suddenly now theyre genetic out of nowhere bc the former is the stupider of the 2.

Oh my god Raine I am so sorry this has been sitting in my inbox for like 50 years, I completely forgot about this ask. If it's any consolation, I made diagrams!

So the bottom line is, the elemental powers ARE heritable. And although the Lloyd thing makes things complicated, it doesn't change that.

First, let's talk about Golden Power. As I understand it, Golden Power is a godlike power first wielded by the FSM and used to create Ninjago. Again, correct me if I'm mistaken, but my understanding of it is that it's essentially an amalgamation of the four Elements of Creation.

Despite being extensions of Golden Power, these four elements still operate much like normal elements - that is, under normal conditions.

See, Golden Power is also hereditary. It was passed down from the FSM into his grandson Lloyd. Kind of. Lloyd inherited an essence of his grandfather's power.

(Yes, yes, I know Energy technically classifies as an elemental essence rather than an elemental power. But even then this still tracks.)

The way I see it, Energy acts more as a foundation. A connection. Think movie rules, where "green" is the thing holding everything together. Energy is the foundation upon which the others ebb and flow, it is the thing that connects their elements together. The glue that connects the Elements of Creation and forms Golden Power.

Here's another way to think about it. Let's assume that this whole elemental network of Golden Power operates a bit like a circuit (more or less). Each of the four Elements of Creation act as a battery and Golden Power is the lightbulb, with Green Energy being the wires and circuitry connecting everything together. Like so:

When the whole circuit is complete and properly functioning, power is being diverted from the sources of power - the four elements - and transferred through the circuitry into the lightbulb. Under these conditions, the four elements would be considerably diminished on account of having their power diverted into something else, while the lightbulb would be brightly lit.

In some cases like in season 1 and most of season 2, this simply manifests as a diminished access to their own elemental power that must be supplemented with the use of their Golden Weapons (which in themselves are artifacts of Golden Power that have been attuned to particular elements). They still have some access to their power, and even more so after unlocking their True Potentials, but that access was inhibited on account of much of their power being routed into this Golden Power/Energy circuit system.

(Note that this isn't a perfect analogy - unlike batteries, elemental power is not a limited resource but is instead constantly regenerating. I think of it a bit like blood - finite in the moment, but so long as we are healthy we can consistently produce more every day. Hence why Nya was able to regain her powers without instantly being connected to the sea: in the context of this analogy, you might think of her power being drained as bloodletting. The new power she developed was new and untainted by her former connection to the sea. I know all these analogies are starting to get confusing though, so feel free to disregard this.)

Now in past generations, the Green Ninja hadn't been born yet. So the actual circuitry itself wasn't present, meaning there was nothing to connect these elements together. Nothing to spend from their elemental reserves. So while Golden Power cannot form under these conditions, the previous EMs could use the full extent of their power without issue.

But then Lloyd was born, and the ethereal threads of power tying their elements together finally entered the system - thereby diverting those four powers into a greater collective of Golden Power. Even if Lloyd hadn't unlocked his True Potential, the system itself had taken shape, waiting for him to be ready to use it.

Then in the latter half season 2, the og4 completely divested what little they had of their powers at the time. And due to the increased energy demands of Lloyd's awakened USM form/abilities, any scrap of power they may have generated thereafter would immediately be converted into Golden Power instead.

Then in season 3, they returned to the Temple of Light to reverse this transference. and this is, unfortunately, where the circuit metaphor starts to fall apart. But for the sake of argument, just let me have this.

When Lloyd did returned his friends' powers to them, he also completely dissolved his Golden Power in the process, restoring them to their pre-GP conditions but in fact to what their power levels would have been in a non-GP environment. That is, they were finally able to access the full extent of their elemental abilities because the lightbulb wasn't there to transfer their energy away. Similar to what the system looked like back before Lloyd was born. This is why they were able to actually wield their elemental powers without the use of the Golden Weapons, when in the past that had only been possible through their True Potential.

(Yes, I know this isn't really how circuits work. I took an electrical engineering class in high school, and you have no idea how much the inaccuracies pain me. I mean I did warn you the analogy would fall apart. But I've put too much work into these diagrams to turn back now.)

Now, as for why their powers didn't work in season 5...that's a whole other headache. My best guess is that Morro attempted to reset the system to its prior GP state, but since he didn't do it properly through the Temple of Light everything just kinda got a little fucky for everyone instead.

The TLDR is that the og4's elemental powers don't come from Lloyd, per se, but he does sort of act as a conduit (ha) for their powers. And his capacity as that conduit can at times inhibit or enhance their own indvidual elemental potentiality.

...does this make sense, like at all? I feel like I just did a bunch of incomprehensible rambling that no one else would be able to understand. Listen, Ninjago's magic system is agonizingly convoluted enough as it is. I'm just doing my best 😭😭😭

[abiiors]

self indulgent because i was sad last night and doing the math on time change it was about 9 hours between where i am and where matty is (lol do i have a problem?) currently being attacked before 10 am with his ripped shirt

but maybe reader had a tough day at work and was not as good with communication as they normally would be with their long distance agreements, and just tries to keep it together when matty can finally get a hold of her and ask what’s up and he’s so sweet telling her she can always complain to him about her crappy days he wants to be the one she can lean on when she needs the extra care

aww babe, i’m so sorry. i hope you’re feeling better now tho <3

just something small and fluffy!

you have not left the bed for a few hours now. 

in fact, you haven’t left the bed at all since coming back from work and throwing yourself onto it; work clothes and all. normally, the thought of being in bed with outside clothes would have made you cringe. today, however, exhaustion dictates everything. 

your phone, plugged into its charger, buzzes on the nightstand for the tenth time. you already know it’s matty, sending a reel or a funny tweet or even just a random message about something silly but the thought of extending your arm to pick up the phone is too much. everything is too much. 

and so, matty and his messages remain unseen. 

you close your eyes again, thinking of all the work piling up in your inbox at this moment. no matter how much you do, it seems unending—something new always getting thrown at you when you’re least expecting it. 

your phone buzzes again. and this time it keeps buzzing. it’s a phone call. 

groaning, you inch your body close to the nightstand like a pathetic worm and tilt the phone to look at the caller id. of course, it’s matty. and of course you can’t ignore him again. it would be cruel to make him worry about you when he’s all the way in america; on another continent, in a time zone hours behind you. 

“hi baby,” you answer with as much cheer as you can muster. it’s a facetime call and there’s no other option but to plaster a saccharine-sweet smile on your face. 

“hi my darling,” he smiles before launching into his story. “so you know how i’ve been making a set list for the next show? well, ross and i thought it’d be hilarious if—what’s wrong?”

it’s like his entire mood shifts between one word and the next, the cheeky smile fading away into a frown and you feel yourself grimace. 

“what?” you sit up, propped up against the pillows and acting like you have no idea what he’s talking about. “what do you mean, what’s wrong.”

matty’s lips press into a straight line. he’s not impressed, and he’s not happy with you either. because his eyes are trained on your soft grey blouse which is certainly not something you wear at home or to bed. 

“you’re playing dumb, love,” he scolds lightly, “what’s wrong?”

“i don’t wanna start, matty. i’ll get over it, i promise.” you feel your lip wobbling halfway through that reassurance. still, a deep, shaky breath composes you a little. “i want to hear about the set list. come on.”

but matty’s having none of it. “you can hear about it when you tell me what’s wrong.”

letting out a loud sigh you wonder if it’s worth getting into. this is going to lead to more frustration and crying and he’s not even here to hug you till every other worry disappears. no, he’s not here to dote on you and let you whine like a baby about every minor (and major) inconvenience. 

internally, you curse america and his stupid band and the stupid shows and probably everything else you can think of in the ten second span before matty speaks again. 

“talk to me, darling,” he urges gently, “you’ve not talked to me all day.”

it’s true. you have been rather shit at communicating today. sighing, you give in. 

“it’s work,” a dry laugh, “it’s always work.”

matty’s eyes soften in sympathy. he knows it’s been a bit hard lately. for him too, being on the road is never easy but he knows it’s worse for you. that being away for too long makes your separation anxiety start acting up. 

“tell me more.”

“i don’t wanna complain to you all the time, babe. it’s always the same thing. it gets too much, i get overwhelmed and come crying to you. the same cycle.”

if he were here right now, he would already be letting you cry into his chest, kissing it all better. but since he is not, you have to resort to smushing your face into his pillow and groaning in frustration. 

“okay you listen to me,” his voice is stern but his eyes remain soft and loving. “you never. ever. have to worry about complaining to me. ever. now tell me more about what’s bothering you at work.”

you swallow past the lump in your throat and sniffle lightly. “it’s just all so much, matty. the thought of logging into my emails tomorrow makes me want to cry. there are so many that i haven’t even opened yet.”

he stays quiet for a second, a pensive expression on his face before he breaks out into another smile. 

“alright, time to bring out the big guns.” he walks around his hotel room in search of something—his laptop, it becomes clear a moment later—before plopping down onto his bed. 

“tell me your login details.”

“what?” there’s confusion written all over your face. 

“i’m not doing anything stupid, love. just give me your login details.”

“not that i don’t trust you,” you reply cautiously, “but what are you doing?”

“offering you my precious personal assistant services,” he beams. “they are in high demand, mind you. now come on. login details. i’m just going to sort your emails for you.”

his words unleash the floodgates. through grateful sobs and quiet sniffles, you rattle off the email id and password—it’s his name and your anniversary date which makes him giggle and reveal that his password is almost identical. your name and birthday. 

once you’ve calmed down a bit and wiped your nose on your shirt sleeve like a child, you take a proper look at him—slightly tired, but happy and smiling. and handsome as ever. 

“thank you,” you whisper, “i mean it, babe. this helps so much.”

“anything for you,” he smiles and then narrows his eyes. “next time,” his finger is right in front of you, occupying the better part of the screen, “if you shut down on me again… i was almost worried, you know?”

“i’m sorry,” you pout, knowing it’s his weakness. he has no chance of keeping his resolve in front of the pout. he breaks; shaking his head while trying to contain his smile.

“now," you return his small smile, "tell me about this set list…”

[eoieopda]

jade, my dear, my darling, my husband. i have darkened the threshold of your inbox once again for your 2k drabblepalooza (congratulations by the way no one deserves the attention and recognition more than you ilysm) to ask you about park jimin. are you currently writing a miniseries for him? yes. is it enough? also yes. let's just say i'm here to even out the playing field of your requests. i'm doing this for you- nay, for US.

i have been overwhelmed and moody lately and was looking for maybe an established relationship!au with like hurt/comfort or sickfic but make it mental health? this is boring i am sorry LMAO please feel free to disregard i just have many feelings thank you for your time and energy and love OK BYE

happy wife, happy life!!!!! 🥹🩵

pairing: park jimin x gn!reader type: drabble | wc: 700 genre: hurt/comfort, fluff au: established relationship, sick fic rating: pg-13 (minors DNI w/ me regardless!) summary: a lazy day at home with your boyfriend is “self-care,” thank you very much. cw: none!

“Hydrating, detoxifying, brightening, or — uhhh, purifying?”

You lift your head up off the arm of the couch to peek over the back of it. It’s more physical effort than you’ve expended since you sat down two hours ago, but the sight is worth it: Jimin in a frenzy, half-buried in the cabinet below the bathroom sink, barely audible over the sound of his rummaging.

A man on a mission.

You snort. “Is all of the above an option?”

The past week took a lot out of you, and at this point, you’ll take whatever you can get. So far, you’d taken a day off of work, yourself off the grid, and your favorite throw blanket from the basket next to your couch. Your boyfriend — true to form — has taken it upon himself to do the absolute most.

Phase one of Jimin’s unspoken plan started before you’d even gotten out of bed. He’d left to get you boba and came back with not only your favorite tea, but every imaginable impulse buy he encountered on his way home that may come in handy.

Or make you laugh.

Or that smells nice.

Now that you’d been thoroughly showered in unanticipated gifts, Jimin was moving on to phase two. From what you’ve gathered, it includes literal, physical pampering.

Jimin sits back on his knees — careful to avoid bumping his head as he does so — and stares down at the impressive bouquet of plastic packages he’s accumulated. At least ten different types of sheet masks from as many different brands. Even though he’s angled away from you, you can see the way his face scrunches up, deep in thought.

“Are detoxing and purifying not the same thing?” Jimin mutters to himself without looking up.

Instead, he holds one of the mask packets as close to his face as possible, scans the tiny print with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. Suddenly louder, he tosses his head back and confirms with a whine, “Baby, we bought synonyms.”

You’re too fond for words, especially when Jimin hears you giggling and looks at you, pouting. There’s a beat, then your laughter makes him laugh; and then his eyes disappear as a grin consumes his whole face. You’re not sure how it’s possible for a person to sparkle like that, but watching the way he lights up restores some of your depleted battery.

If life were a video game, there’d be a tiny, 8-bit heart reappearing on your screen.

+5 HP.

Out of spite, Jimin tosses the duplicate masks back into the plastic organizer they’re kept in, takes his final choice in hand, and climbs to his feet. It doesn’t take him long to cross from where he sat to where you sit. It takes even less time for him to launch himself over the back of the couch, where he lands gracefully in the empty spot at your feet.

Like the heartthrob he knows he is, he runs his fingers through his disheveled hair and pushes the strands out of his eyes. You blush — you always blush — and even though he’s not looking at you, the smirk tugging at his lips confirms that he knows that, too.

Jimin shifts on the cushion he’s claimed to face you fully. The untouched bottle of water on the coffee table catches his eye, though, and he frowns — first at it, then at you. Before he can remind you with words, you grab it, unfold the straw, and make a big show of taking a large gulp. Your cartoonish sigh after swallowing earns you exactly what you wanted: an eye roll and an affectionate squeeze on your bent knee.

With the straw still between your teeth, you mumble, “Does dating me ever feel like playing the Sims? You know, making sure my hunger and energy meters aren’t in the red?”

“Of course not.” He reaches out to cup your cheek with his hand. On instinct, you lean into the touch. With all the seriousness in the world, Jimin declares, “I would never stick you in a swimming pool and delete the ladder.”

Your laugh comes from deep in your belly, warms every part of you on the way out of your mouth. You tingle all over when Jimin leans over your bent legs to press a kiss to your forehead.

+10 HP.

[cup1dt3a]

Hi <3 I love your writing is it ok if I request a single parent reader who is going through a lot (partner cheated and wants nothing to do with read or the kid and left you both practically homeless) who has a mute child who almost never speaks and is very much a loner reader of course feels guilty until a family member gives them an old TV and the child starts to change once they discover welcome home like they become more outspoken and more outgoing but ome day reader comes home crying after they ran in to there Ex and Wally comforts reader and reader wishes Wally was real and what happens next is up to you

The drama, the angst, the tears! I love the idea I swear everyone in my inbox has such amazing ideas it’s hard to believe most of you aren’t writers yourselves! But anyways hope I lived up to your standards with what I wrote! Also I hope your doing well or that if your not it starts to get better! ❤️‍🩹

⚠️⚠️Warning: there will be mild descriptions of panic attacks and bad financial situations⚠️⚠️

For months it’s been like this a constant struggling battle between you and just being able to have financial stability. Every time you even go to the grocery store you see how your sons eyes brighten at something he really likes , but you can’t get it. You need the money. It makes you almost feel selfish to deny him due to him rarely ever expressing any interest in anything anymore. Even when he sometimes talks it’s always a quiet mumble he refuses to repeat always hiding behind your taller figure. He was very sweet just very unwilling to talk most the time. The loudest he is was whenever he wants your attention or just you in general. You feel as if you never spend anymore time with him. You have been having to work three jobs. Always just bearly making it on time to each of them. You thankfully had a family member always willing to babysit him. It still makes you feel guilty you’ve only ever had one day off which was every Sunday. You would get only one day to be with your own child.

How did you end up like this? Oh, wait it was because of that scumbag you let into your life. Hell you even trusted him with your own life but after 4 years of being together and even having your child that’s when he started to show his true colors. He had started coming home constantly intoxicated. You hated it he first started with yelling at you but when it came to your child that’s where you drew the line. He was only 5 he shouldn’t be yelled at because some bastard couldn’t control himself. And even after all that the moment you were about to get rid of him the next thing you knew he had gotten with someone else and completely disappeared from your lives. Greedy bastard even took all your savings for bills, your half of the bank account, and even anything that could give you a lick of keeping you on your feet.

You clenched your teeth together tightening your jaw as you remembered the horrible things that happened. Almost crumbling up the bills you were doing at the moment just trying to calm yourself down. You were so brought out of your thoughts from a single little tug on your shoulder. It was Ronnie obviously wanting attention from you since it was a day you were actually home. Chuckling you picked him up sitting him into your lap.

“ Whatcha doin Ronnie?” You asked as he played with your hair.

He just looked up at you with a smile as he played with the tips of your bangs making you laugh.

“Oh, you’re so sweet.” You told him as he nodded now grabbing at your hand just to hold it.

This is what you needed a nice and very little distraction. Just you and Ronnie along with the pesky bills you wanted to tear apart. But besides that it was very peaceful at this moment for once in a while. Even as bad as your living situation was at least he was here.

“ What do you mean I haven’t…please Sir I promise there must have been some mistake with the bank!” You pleaded.

“ Fine, but this will be the last time the next time I will have you evicted. Listen I’m sorry about your situation I sympathize with you very much, but you need to give me your next rent or I’ll have you out.” He sighed.

You enthusiastically thanked him almost crying.

“ Hey so I got Ron your old TV hope you don’t mind xoxo Mom.” Is what the note read onto the small TV now in your living room. Right after you bid and thanked her you saw it in your small apartment.

“ Oh why that mother-“ “ Tv!” Ronnie pointed startling you.

“ Good job Ronnie that is a TV! Do you want to watch on it?” You asked him wondering why the Tv was getting him to talk.

He must be excited about some show to get him this happy over the addictive screen. As you looked through the cassette tapes remembering the good times you had with all these all except for one. The exact one that had also caught Ronnie’s eyes was the unfamiliar tape. Must have been some new tape she had gotten for him somehow. Looking at the label while he jumped up and down chanting its name “ Welcome Home”. It was odd to hear him talking so much but it still made you smile knowing whatever this was made him happy. The thankfully labeled tape was easily found seeing it was already at the top of all the other old tapes of yours. You looked over to him making grabby hand at it trying to signal he wanted to put it in himself which you caught into quickly from his enthusiasm.

As you gave him the tape he took it eagerly somehow not jerking it out of your hands from how excited he was. He treated it with care as he carefully put it into the old TV’s little opening. Curling up into his knees as he sat down hugging them beside you.

The TV then displayed a horrible static screen and loud noise as it soon cut to the colorful show. Contrasting to the harshness of the first few seconds of the tape. Must have been very old that some of the tape burned out. You couldn’t help but wonder what the out print of what looked like a face was though as the colorful show displayed the shows joyful intro. While you still had no memory of the show he seemed to be enjoying himself very much as it continued on. Happily tapping his small feet on the floor looking up at you for approval of his interests.

“ So is Wally your favorite?” You asked him as he nodded enthusiastically at your question too caught up in the show to reply.

Looking up at the clock you had noticed you had still needed to get some stuff done due to it getting latter by the second. Looking over towards them you patted their head ruffling their hair as you got up.

“ Five more minutes and then it’s off to bed with you deal?” You asked as he once again nodded but without any enthusiasm.

Finally going to get some laundry out of the dryer from down stairs in the apartment. It sucked always having to go out to get the laundry, but you had to get it before someone tried to steal it like last time. You literally had to ask your parents for clothes it was horrible. But anyways you hurriedly got all of your clothes bringing them back to the small room you called your home. Looking at the run down place you had to live in. Just taking everything in sadly, but trying to stay positive all you needed was a few more raises and you’ll be out of here. And could afford a better TV for Ronnie.

As you went over to put him to bed the TV was already off. With Ronnie no where to be found in the open. Until you saw your bedrooms light on you knew he was already on in bed. Going in there you saw he was even ready in his PJ’s.

“ Well you’re in bed early.” You chuckled.

“ Wally said my five minutes were up.”he muttered fiddling with the tin blankets you had.

Well that’s nice of him?

Stretching out in your makeshift bed waking up early for your first shift in the morning. The reason why it was makeshift was due to it being a board you put quilts on top of. Ron always got the most blankets on the bed due to him freezing the easiest at night. Even as hot as it was in your apartment at night that’s when it finally started to get cold. So cold that you wondered if was winter. You quickly got ready as usual. Rushing out the room quietly not wanting to wake him just yet. You left waking Ron up to whoever came to babysit him. Which today was your siblings. Giving them the keys to the door as you opened it to welcome them in as much as you could with the atmosphere screaming danger. But all of you were somehow used to it especially you.

As you walked to work with your trusty old umbrella a familiar face was seen dashing by the huge puddle almost splashing you with the dirt filled water. Thankfully, you somehow managed to avoid it as you coward behind your umbrella. You hated this part of town. But thankfully this time as you started to pick up your pace no one followed you again.

You flopped yourself onto the squeaky couch kicking your shoes off your aching feet as you bud your sibling a goodbye. While Ron sat on the floor with one of his knees up to his chest watching his favorite show. But this time as he watched it he had seemed a lot more chatty today. Continuously answering any questions or whatever Wally asked of him. Happily pointing out anything he liked without mumbling that much. Everything but just an adorable little stutter. Even starting a conversation with you at some point while you cuddled upon the couch listening to him.

“ I wanna have hair as long as…as Wally’s some day an..and have it blue!” He told you as he rested his head onto the cushions of the couch.

“ That sounds nice dear…you know I think green hair would suit you better.” You teased knowing he hated the color.

“N..no! That’s not a good color! That a puke color!” He exclaimed with a pout.

“So does Howdy look like puke then?” You once again teased no noticing the TV’s absence in the characters joyful banter; even the eyes that contently watched the two of you.

“ Howdy.. He…he makes green look good bu..but green is still a gross col..color! Along with yellow and don’t say ‘Well Julie has yellow hair’ she’s blonde!” He pouted as you chuckled ruffling his hair agreeing with his little banter.

Today is good everything is going well.

Today isn’t going that well it as well as you hoped. You had woken up 12 minutes late today, people in the alleyways kept offering you a ‘good time’ or drugs, one man even tried to follow you, you had left your medications at home, and your second shift had many crude customers there. All being horrible to each other and you. It wasn’t until your third shift things went downhill. Seeing that your ex and their new lover was at the last place you works at. Both were constantly poking fun at you. Acting like children and purposely making a whole ruckus. You didn’t care at the moment to be honest. Well not until the finale hours of your shift.

“ I can’t believe ___ cheated on you what a bitch. I mean come on they aren’t even that good looking.” Their lover muttered as you turned your back.

Just a few more minutes and it’ll all be over.

“ Oh and I bet that kid wasn’t even yours. Plus who would even want a brat like that…what was his name Robby…Rolly or some shit?” They questioned as you bit your tongue going back over to their table for their drinks.

“ Here are your drinks and Please stop talking about someone you don’t even fucking know.” You wished you said.

Just as you left to go to the kitchen before you could even turn your back a sudden sticky liquid was splashed and poured all over you and your uniform. You clenched your fists as tears were trying to pour down while the two laughed. Everyone was staring at you, everyone was whispering about you, you hated it. All the muttering, all the noise, their laughter. You hated it all even as your chest tried to tighten.

“ Ha! That’s what a cheating bitch like you gets!” They cackled while you stormed off into the back.

“ Woah hey are you-.” “ I’m fine just..I need to leave.” You wheezed as your chest kept tightening.

You just wanted out of here. You didn’t want any part in their bs anymore. You wish you said something, but right now you just couldn’t stand being here anymore. You hated them so much.

Thankfully your boss saw the whole commotion and let you leave early. But as you got to your broken down house you couldn’t stand anything anymore. You hated it here. You hated how everything looked. You hated the neighborhood. You hated what you had to do just to get money. You hated them so much. How and why in hell would they twist the story around as if you were the bad guy. You were left and had everything except your child taken from you. You just sat on the couch with your head down trying not to have a panic attack while your racing heart and tightening chest disagreed. Your hitched breathes are what almost sent you over the edge as you tried to breathe normally even holding your breath as you huddled into your self. Constantly stretching out the collar of your shirt from how hard breathing even was. As you we’re slowly starting to hyperventilate you failed to notice the unplugged TV and how it’s eyes where shaking as they watched you.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

As tears started spilling the phone suddenly rang out startling you even more while you tried to dry it up. Your boss had mentioned calling you earlier so you guess they closed early? But as you still sobbed sniffling while your shaking hands seized to stop.

You out of habit grabbed the old phone since it was right next to you.

“ Hello! Hello? Neighbor hey sorry I’m sorry to bother, but I just happed to hear you crying ing.” The oddly familiar voice concerned over you.

“ Oh…I’m sorry if I’m being loud.” You wheezed out finally getting some control of your heart while your chest still tightened.

“ Oh no! I’m not upset about that I’m just Neighbor worried are you okay?” He questioned you.

“ Yes..?” You said half heartedly trying to sniffle quietly.

“ It’s ok if you’re feeling down Neighbor we all do!” He said trying to comfort you.

For most of the phone call he kept reassuring you that your feelings were valid. Eventually as you both chatted the stranger had seemed somehow very oddly comforting. You chuckled at some of his odd comments.

“ In all honesty___ you seem like a wonderful person. So what had made you cry if you don’t mind me asking?” He questioned.

…

“ You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Your comfort I my top priority here.” He reassured you as you chuckled.

“ Thanks you…but why are you being so nice to me? Im grateful for it very much so! But Im just some total stranger who lives in the same apartment as you. I would probably be the least of your worries.” You told him.

“Well you’re much more than just some person I “share an apartment with”. You’re hardworking, an amazing parent, and even just so kind.” He listed as you smiled holding the phone line closer to your ears.

“ I think you’re too kind ‘Neighbor’ but I forgot to ask what’s your name?” You asked him.

“ My names Wally.”

Hope you all enjoyed and are having a wonderful day or that it gets better!

Again very sorry to those who have requested and haven’t had their requests done yet! I’m working on them I swear.

Sincerely-Cup1dT3a 💌

[elusivewildflower]

Just Another Case | Holland March x Reader

Pairings: Holland March x F! Reader

Summary: You and Holland have been partners for the last year, solving case after ridiculous case together. Even though you’ve been mistaken as a couple countless times while working, the two of you are simply close friends. You might have feelings for him, but you’re sure he doesn’t feel the same. That is, until one particular case comes along on your laundry day, where you’re down to your last piece of clean clothing---a dress and no underwear. 

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of sex, the case is about catching a husband cheating. Mostly turns out to be pretty sweet. 

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve written or posted anything, but I hope I’ll be able to get back on track soon! Work and life has been pretty busy lately. I know in the movie Holland mentions that a “no-fault” law ended a lot of his cases like this, but let’s just say one pops up every now and then. (Because let’s be honest, even if I could divorce with no fault, I’d still like to have proof my spouse is cheating). Thank you to @ninjathrowingstork & another friend for beta-ing this for me! Based on the scene idea I had last week and the request I had sitting in my inbox by @wndawtch​.

You press your back against the wall in your kitchen, holding the phone to your ear as your fingers twirl the cord impatiently. The line rang once, twice, and then a third time before you cursed under your breath. If he hadn’t answered by the third ring, you knew he wasn’t going to. It rang two more times before you were greeted with the familiar message of Holland’s answering machine. 

“You have reached March & Co Investigations. This machine records messages. Wait for the tone and speak clearly.” 

The answering machine beeps and you begin speaking. 

“Holland, did you forget you’re supposed to be working today? We were scheduled to meet Mrs. Jenkins at noon and you never showed.” You paused, heaving a sigh. “I swear, if you’re fully dressed and asleep in the tub again—“

The other line picked up and Holland’s groggy voice reached your ears, cutting you off. “What’s so bad about sleeping in the tub?” 

“Aside from the chance of drowning?” You asked rhetorically before continuing, “because you think that sitting in a tub full of water washes both you and what you’re wearing. Which is so not true, by the way.” 

“Oh yeah, says who?” He retorted defiantly.

“I do—and probably a lot of other people if we asked.” You responded quickly, not even waiting for Holland to come up with a response before you began speaking once more. “Get yourself dried off and ready to go. I’ll pick you up in an hour so we can actually start working—I’ve got a lead.” 

Holland gave a grumble of agreement and you slammed the receiver back onto the base to hang up. Sometimes you couldn’t understand why you had agreed to be Holland’s partner over a year ago. He had a serious drinking problem and always seemed to get himself into trouble. On the other hand, he was also extremely intelligent—one of the best private investigator’s you had ever seen on his good days—and he was quite attractive. Throw in his sob story about being a single father to a teenage daughter who lost his wife in a house fire and you were hooked. 

Not that the two of you had ever crossed over the line of being business partners and friends aside from a few flirtatious remarks, but honestly you wouldn’t mind it. You had grown rather close to the young widower and his daughter, Holly, over the last year. Hell, when Holly started her period a few months ago, she called and told you first before mentioning it to her father. You spent more time at their rental home than at your own, and you honestly lost count of the times people had mistaken you for a couple when you were on a case.

You glanced up at the clock on the wall before heaving a sigh and pushing yourself from the wall you were leaning against to call Holland. There was enough time to start a load of laundry, but it wouldn’t finish drying before you had to leave. As you rounded up the hamper from your bedroom filled to the brim with dirty clothes, you cursed yourself for not waking up earlier in the morning—and also cursed your past self for not doing laundry sooner. You had donned your last piece of clean clothing this morning before meeting Mrs. Jenkins, which was a knee-length floral dress. Its color complimented your skin tone nicely, and the deeply cut neckline made your breasts look fantastic. It wasn't exactly what you'd wear on a normal day of work---unless the day consisted of trying to catch a man cheating on his wife. Which, technically you were, but today's lead included the address of his supposed mistress. You and Holland would simply need to do a bit of a stake out to see if you could catch Mrs. Jenkins' husband coming or going from the property, and the dress was definitely not needed.

Before you knew it, an hour had ticked by. You grabbed your purse, slid your heels back on, and locked the door behind you as you exited your house. You told Holland you’d pick him up in an hour, but you only lived a few streets away and he was never ready on time, so you didn’t care that you were late. Honestly, you weren’t the best with time management either, so you were thankful you had a partner that ran late. A few minutes later, and you were pulling into March's driveway, honking your horn to announce your arrival.

About ten minutes later, Holland finally emerges from his home, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. As he climbs into the passenger seat he glances over at you, doing a double take as he realizes what you’re wearing. “What bar or club are we going to?” He questions curiously.

You shake your head as you reverse out of his driveway. “We’re not going to a bar or club.” 

Holland’s brows furrowed in confusion as he ashes his cigarette out the window. “But you’re wearing the dress.” 

You should have known he’d recognize the dress. “I have the address to the alleged mistress, we don’t need to go to a bar. We’re gonna do a stake out.” You explained.

Holland still seemed confused, a frown forming on his face as he eyed you over. “What, do you have a hot date after this or something?” 

He was clearly not letting this go, and did he seem a bit upset at the thought of you having a hot date? You had to be imagining that. 

“No, no hot date. I just felt like wearing a dress,” You gave a shrug as you lied. After criticizing his method of laundry—the thought of sitting fully dressed in a tub still made you shudder—you didn’t feel like admitting that you didn’t have anything else clean. 

Holland must’ve believed you, because he stopped badgering you with questions about it. He did, however, start asking about the case. You spent the rest of the drive filling him in on the details he missed when he overslept the meeting you had with your client.

As you pulled off to the side of the road to park, your heart dropped to your stomach. Your client neglected to mention that the mistress’s house had a seven-foot tall fence all of the way around and a gated driveway. You could feel Holland’s eyes boring into the side of your head. Ignoring him, you grabbed the binoculars from the back seats and simply exited the car. You walked up to the gate at the driveway, double checking that you had the right address. Your shoulders slumped when you realized that you were at the correct address. This was going to make capturing photos for proof of his cheating more difficult. 

You heard the passenger side door slam shut as Holland joined you. “Well, this is great.” He deadpanned, placing his hands upon his hips as he surveyed the fence. 

You sighed, nodding your head in agreement. “Yep.” 

A moment of silence passed between you until Holland broke it with a click of his tongue. “Alright, come on. I’ve got an idea.” He ushered, moving to kneel down beside the fence.

Your brows furrowed as you watched him, unsure of what he was planning. 

He noticed your look of confusion and sighed, beckoning you closer. “Come on, I’m gonna lift you up there.” 

“What?” The question tumbled out of your lips before you realized it, your heart rate rising as fear coursed through you. Holland wasn’t exactly the strongest man in the world, and he tended to be clumsy. You trusted him with a lot of things, but being capable of not dropping you wasn’t one of them. Not to mention that you ran out of clean underwear this morning and were currently going commando under your dress. You swore to yourself that this was the last time you’d ever wait so long to wash clothes.

“Well, I don’t see you lifting me, and someone needs to be able to see over the fence.” He explained as if his idea made perfect sense. Which, in fairness, it did. Except for the two things you were currently worried about; Holland dropping you and seeing up your dress. 

You remained still for a few more moments, your feet refusing to move from where you stood as you mulled over your options—or lack thereof. 

Holland rolled his eyes at you as he grew impatient. “Oh, come on.” He beckoned you again, “before someone sees us!” 

Taking a deep breath, you finally agreed. “Fine,” you began, “But do not look up my dress, Holland.” You warned him sternly, pointing a finger at him. 

Holland looked insulted. “Why would I look up your dress?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, your finger now wagging at him. “Because I know you.” 

Holland raised his hands in surrender, dropping his insulted act. “Alright, alright, I won’t look up your dress.” 

Appeased by his answer, you close the distance between you. Holland laces his fingers together, giving you a spot to place your foot. You hold onto his shoulder as you step into his hands, and he lifts you up as he moves to stand. He lifts you a bit too high too fast and you’re suddenly scrambling to grab hold of the fence so you don’t fall. 

“Jesus! Not that high!” You scold him as you struggle to find your balance. 

Holland mutters out an apology and lowers you slightly. 

Leaning yourself against the fence, you raise your binoculars to your eyes. You scan the windows of the house, starting with the first floor. Disappointment flooded your veins as you were coming up empty-handed, that is until you panned to the last window on the second floor. A nude woman was pressed against the window getting railed from behind. You couldn’t tell by who, but you assumed it was your client’s husband. You let out a gasp. Jesus Christ. That must be nice. Just as you opened your mouth to tell Holland what you had found, you heard his voice below you. 

“Holy fuck—You’re not wearing any underwear!” 

Holland’s words caused you to release your grip on the fence in a panic, snapping your attention towards him. You find him still staring up your dress in shock, his jaw dropped open. You reach out to swat at him, shouting his name in an annoyed tone. “I told you not to look!”

Your words seemed to shake Holland out of his stupor, but your swat only backfired on you. Holland tried to dodge your hand out of instinct, which only served to make him lose his balance and send the both of you toppling to the ground. It happened so quickly you don’t even remember falling, but you definitely felt the pain of the impact. Every part of your body ached, but it didn’t feel like you had broken or sprained anything, so that was good. Your head may have been pounding from smacking the ground, but it was better than your skull being cracked open by the sidewalk. You had missed that by just a few inches, you realized as you rolled onto your side. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you lift me,” you groaned out, looking over at Holland.

Clearly, you had taken the brunt of the fall, as Holland was already sitting up and staring at you. “Why aren’t you wearing any underwear?!” He asked incredulously, ignoring your previous comment.

“It’s laundry day and I didn’t have any clean!” You admitted.

Holland shook his head unbelievingly. “Jesus Christ, I need a cigarette…” He spoke as he reached into his jacket, pulling out his lighter and a cigarette just a moment later. After pulling the first drag, he regarded you once more. This time it seemed like he was checking you for any injuries, rather than staring at you like a deer in headlights. “I’m sorry for dropping you. Are you alright?” He asked sincerely, gesturing towards you with his hand.

You nodded and moved to sit up, another groan tumbled from your lips as your body ached in protest. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You assured him. You may wind up with several bruises and have a hard time getting out of bed tomorrow, but you’d survive. 

A comfortable silence fell between you once more as Holland smoked and you let the pounding in your head subside. After a few moments, Holland snuffed out his cigarette in the grass. “That’s why you’re wearing the dress,” he announced, having put together that you lied to him earlier. “You didn’t want to wear that, you just didn’t have anything else to wear today.” 

Your eyes snapped up from the grass to meet his as he broke the silence, but you didn’t bother giving him a response, your facial expression was enough. He was right and he knew it, you didn’t need to confirm it with words. 

“I may bathe in my clothes, but at least I always have clean underwear.” He spoke in a chastising tone that had you rolling your eyes. “So, did you see anything?” He asked after a moment, gesturing towards the binoculars that were lying on the grass. 

As you glanced at where he gestured, you remembered what you had witnessed right before Holland dropped you. “Yeah, I saw a naked woman being railed against her bedroom window.” You shrugged and continued speaking as Holland reached for the binoculars. “I couldn’t see by who, though, so we’ll just have to wait until he leaves.” 

Springing up to his feet, Holland tried his best to see over the fence, hoping to catch a glimpse of the action. It was no use, though, as he wasn’t tall enough to see over it unless he backed all of the way up into the street—and then he’d likely be hit by a car. He sighed defeatedly and turned back to you. “When does Mrs. Jenkins say her husband comes home after this?” 

You looked down at your watch, your eyes widening as you realized what time it was. 1:54 p.m. Mrs. Jenkins said her husband usually got home around 2:30 p.m. and you were about thirty minutes away from where she lived. As if on cue, you hear the sound of an engine starting up in the driveway. Your attention turns back to Holland, his blue eyes connecting with yours. “Right now.” You spoke hurriedly, rushing to get yourself up from the ground. Like the gentleman he is, Holland helped you to your feet and the two of you took off running towards your car. 

“Why is our timing always so terrible?” Holland asked exasperatedly as you ran. 

“I don’t know, but I blame you.” You replied, slamming the door shut behind you as you hopped into the car. 

Holland’s door slammed shut right after yours. “You blame me? Why?” 

You’re digging around in the backseat for your camera, not even looking at Holland as you respond. “Because you distract me,” you admit carelessly, not paying attention to the words that fall from your mouth until it’s too late. The car in the driveway is growing closer to the gate, and if it was your client’s husband that was leaving, you needed to capture a picture of it in order to be paid. As you return to your seat, fiddling with the camera to turn it on, you realize what you just said to Holland and your heart hammers in your chest. 

Holland shakes his head in disbelief. “I distract you? No, no, it’s you who distracts me.” 

Your brows furrow as you glance over at him . “How do I distract you?”

“Are you kidding me? Did you forget what happened not even fifteen minutes ago?” Holland gestures towards the spot the two of you were standing previously. “I just saw up your dress and you’re not wearing any fucking underwear! Do you know what that did to me?”

His question seemed rhetorical, or maybe you had just lost all function in your brain at the implication of his words. 

“And don’t even get me started on that dress. You look so god damn sexy in that, and I hate that you only wear it to lure married men into flirting with you for a case.” Holland admitted, only pausing long enough to suck in a breath of air before he continued. “I get so fucking jealous watching those men think they have a chance with you, and you don’t even notice!” Holland stares at you as he finishes, waiting for a response as your brain tries to wrap around what he just confessed. 

Your thoughts are running a mile a minute, trying to remember every time you’ve had to flirt with a married man for a case. Did you really not notice that Holland was jealous? Or did you just try to shrug it off because you didn’t believe he could ever feel that way for you? Your mouth suddenly feels dry at the realization, but eventually you speak. “I didn’t realize you felt that way about me….” 

“Of course I do, how couldn’t I?” Holland spoke as if he couldn’t believe you didn’t notice sooner. “You’re gorgeous, extremely smart,” he then gestured towards himself, “you put up with my bullshit, and you’re so good to Holly.” A small smile spread across his face as he spoke of his daughter. “She loves you, you know?”  

You returned his smile and nodded, leaning in closer to the center console. “Yeah, I know.” 

Holland closed the short distance between you, his face mere inches from yours as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, hesitatingly whispering his confession. “And I love you, too.” 

Gazing into his cool blue eyes, you couldn’t help the blinding smile that grew on your face. “I love you, too, Holland.” You admitted before capturing his lips. Holland’s hand rose to your neck, gripping the back of it as he locked you in a passionate kiss. His tongue prodded against your lips for entrance, but the sound of a gate opening made him pull away. 

“Mrs. Jenkin’s husband, Mrs. Jenkin’s husband!” He cried out, pointing at the car that was pulling out of the driveway right in front of you.

“Oh, shit!” You exclaimed, pulling yourself away from Holland and quickly grabbing the camera from your lap. You raised it to your eye and managed to snap a few incriminating photos of the man who matched the description of your client’s husband driving away. 

You placed the camera back into the floor of the back seat and turned towards Holland with a grin. “Well, let’s go get paid.” 

Holland leaned over, gently grabbing your jaw and pulling your lips to meet his. “As soon as the check’s in the bank, I’m taking you on a date.” He promised, his thumb softly rubbing your cheek.

“I’m looking forward to it. I’ll even buy a new dress.” You spoke softly, nuzzling your nose against his before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

A smirk spread across Holland’s face. “Any chance you won’t be wearing any underwear then, too?” 

You scoff and swat at his chest with a laugh. “Holland!” You shout his name in a scolding tone, turning back to face the steering wheel as you turn the keys in the ignition. 

“Well, that’s not a no….” He trails off as you start the drive back to your client’s home, eliciting a giggle from you. 

[cozzzynook]

Can we get some dratchrod cheering each tower up headcanons?

Ratchet being cheered up by Drift is comforting words and gentle touches. Soft kisses to his red finial and a chassis to lay on. He gets to listen to Drifts spark hum and spin and rest in the knowledge his conjunx is alive. Beside him. Loves him. Chose him.

Drift being comforted by Ratchet is soft. Ratchet uses realistic outcomes and doesn’t give false hope but he does promise to stay every step of the way through it all. He gives tender touches and kind smiles. Hopes he wishes to come true and possibilities for a future if they were to have one.

Rodimus comforting Drift was once trying to cheer him up with fun things like racing, a few cool and hopeful words followed by a cheesy, unsure smile. It became Rodimus being an audial that held no judgement no matter how dark the thoughts became or how depressing Drift felt to be around, Rodimus didn’t complain, didn’t try to change him, didn’t put on false airs or tell Drift he was wrong. Rodimus gave Drift an outlet for any and every emotion no matter how overwhelming or big and let Drift use him the way he needed be it a living diary, sparing partner or a chassis to sob on.

Rodimus comforting Ratchet was terrible in the beginning. Rodimus tried being more genuine only to have it thrown in his face plates. They bickered, argued, Ratchet threw insults and sarcasm and typical bitterness only a long life span of war could give. Making Rodimus defensive and brash, his temper getting the best of him as he yelled and balled his fists trying to keep his flames from sprouting. Rodimus was always the first to walk away because he knew the moment he started smoking from his exhausts things were becoming too much. It took some time, a lot of time, before Rodimus decided to hold his glossa and let Ratchet get everything off his chassis and finally ask with slightly gritted denta what the real problem is. Its then Ratchet gives a great big vent, drops into a chair and lets his shoulder plating droop before finally saying what was wrong. Things become easier after that.

Drift and Ratchet try to comfort Rodimus when they see things become too much for the young co captain but he simply gives a tired smile and says he’ll be fine. Rodimus at the beginning of their journey would’ve immediately found an excuse or took any opening to get out of his responsibilities that weren’t life threatening. In the early days he would jump at the chance to have a bot listen to his problems or complaints. But now the mech before them didn’t utter so much as a word of complaint for his responsibilities save for a sigh or looking tired. He didn’t complain anymore. He didn’t shirk off responsibility of any kind and he didn’t talk about his problems. Rodimus seemed to close off when it came to being comforted and the way didn’t know when it happened or why. What they could’ve done or said to make Rodimus think he couldn’t talk to them. But he didn’t.

It just made overhearing Rodimus half way break down before another mech hurt all the more. Rodimus may have pushed their servo and comfort away but the mech didn’t take no for an answer. They may not have tried to touch Rodimus frame again but they did sit beside him. Their digits brushing faintly along Rodimus’s.

It stung when the younger didn’t pull away and it broke a piece of them when they finally learned the best way to comfort this new Rodimus, was sitting besides him in silence, a digit laced with his own as he looked down deep in his own thoughts.

They hoped to one day be trusted with giving Rodimus comfort not knowing Rodimus felt unworthy of their comfort and comfort in general, since he’s failed so much and put them through far more than either ever deserved.

—

Is it obvious i love this ship but i like putting Rodimus through angst? Hope you enjoyed this 😊

Also tips are much appreciated but i also love getting asks in my inbox 🥰

[lemonisntreal]

Do you have a Tone Deaf version of Clay Calloway?

(Perfectly fine if you don't. I was just curious, plus I love all your redesigns) 🦁🎸

SORRY THIS TOOK FUCKING FOREVER LMAO [been sitting in my inbox since FEBRUARY THIRTEENTH, HOLY SHIT :D]. YEAH, here he is :pppp a solid draft for you

Lowkey [highkey] gave up on the clothing wrinkles on the arms, but I still like how it turned out I think. I don't have much on him in terms of rewrite, but I do have some, so I'll dump it all here under the cut.

I swear I love asks, please feel free to say/ask whatever, I'm just horrible at answering in a reasonable time-frame because I always want to make it this beautiful masterpiece and end up turning all of them into full-on posts- or, at least I want to ~_~

Headcanonssss-

Ash gave him that button off her jacket [probably needs to be resized I'm realizing lol] [also I totally adopted this headcanon from someone elses post- might've been yours. Whoever came up with it I love it <3]

Born during the reformation that happened after the war- basically, nobody was really fighting anymore during this time, but some big people in power were still being stupid [aka: not letting their prisoners go]

So that would be somewhere around 1947? Which would put his age at 61 in my universe [which is in 2008- the times are pretty much random, nothing really lines up irl. Ignore how they use tech and other things that shouldn't have been invented yet lol]

He grew up when the Skunk Dolls were new and popular and stuff. And he loved them- so much that the band actually kinda inspired his music career

[Skunk Dolls also made loads of protest songs btw. War stuff]

Takes a ridiculous amount of care with his mane, and if he lets you touch it, that's a true sign of trust

So the Piglets always like to play with it, and Ash has given him braids a few times

He's had that scruffy red jacket since his early days

I should draw patches on it-

Ash probably'll give him a quill or two to put in it too with all the patches and repair stitches

He wears a lot of plaid, I just didn't wanna draw it <3

Rough and torn up clothes too

Everything he owns has some sort of smudge or tear in it from motorbiking and/or just being himself <3

His ears are pierced in almost every way imaginable, and when Ash found out, she went CRAZY

Cue her getting him to try on a bunch of stuff

He likes wrought iron jewelry and has never been a fan of anything with gemstones in it

Buster is terrified of him, but Clay is just kinda a blunt person and it doesn't mix well with Buster sometimes. They get along eventually tho. There was also some really bad timing with the circumstances of how they even met in the first place too lol-

Johnny is also. Super terrified.

Buster and him are like "Ahhh.... that guy scares the living daylights out of me." "Ohh, thank god it's not just me-"

He has a strange out-of-pocket interest in astrology.

And in herbology and plants in general, but he picked that up from Ruby. Astrology was all his, and it is the one thing he will "nerd out" over

Also the kind of guy to make fun of you for nerding out too

Making fun of people is his love language

So is giving people food

He's not great with his words and can find it hard to express love by just telling someone. Back to the bluntness thing, you can often find him accidentally offending someone and he doesn't even realize it

The troupe very quickly learned this and it's more of an endearing trait of his to them [and to most people who know him]

REALLY good cook. Fantastic, in fact. Probably one of the best chefs out of any of the characters.

Learned the hard way that enlisting Buster's help in the kitchen is a bad idea. Also Ash isn't great either, but he actually tries to teach her some of his recipes. And she's quickly improving

Buster was just being an idiot and forgot you shouldn't microwave tinfoil

Clay travels a lot, but spends most of his time in Calatonia [he technically still lives at his and Ruby's house, but he's super scared of accidentally closing himself off again, so he only visits to check up on the flowers and maintain the property pretty much]

He's like Ash's second [and very cool] dad. Which- also intimidates Buster quite a bit :D

I feel like their dynamic could be a sitcom. Clay is Ash's awesome dad and Buster is Ash's lame [endearing] and oddly unhinged and anxious dad who feels like he has to be as cool as Clay [and always fails heehee]

Clay is more entertained by Buster's ridiculous criminal record than horrified and I don't know if that's worrying or just a classic Calloway W

He's a very nonchalant person

Ruby's death is the only time I can really think he had a legitimate emotional break that wasn't just him being snappy [which is also pretty rare]

Clay's also like an uncle to the Piglets

He's kinda just taken up the role of "super awesome miscellaneous family member" for everyone at this point

He's back performing again after Sing 2- just not frequently or putting out any new songs [on his own at least- he might do a collaboration or two with Ash]

[brokenjere]

bad in the bones (c.f) (part 2)

A/N: ahhh! Second part is here - let me know what you guys think in the comments or send me an inbox/ask bc I like talking to you guys 🥹🥹 hope you love it

Synopsis: first dinner in Cousins reveals some truths about the Fisher’s and Belly is convinced to make a change this summer

catch up here

I sit at the dinner table, sandwiched between Belly and Steven, and pick at the chicken that was on the plate in front of me. The conversation was bustling, especially between Jeremiah and Steven. You’d think that they never spoke during the other seasons, but I knew firsthand that wasn’t true. They just could not stop making jokes.

Laurel was sitting on one end the table and Susannah on the other and across from me, Conrad was slumped over, in his own little world, oblivious to everything going on in the world around him.

My stomach churns, not feeling really hungry but that could either be because I ate too many Twizzlers on the ride in or I was still suffering the heartbreak blues. “You okay?” Belly leans over and asks. I smile up at her and nod, shoving a piece of chicken in my mouth. She looks at me with pity and I knew she thought it was the latter and I hate that being a heartbroken, sad sap was a part of my personality now. I hate that that’s what she thinks about when she looks at me.

“So, Belly, I have something for you,” Susannah says, getting both of our attentions. She gets out of her chair, making us all watch as she grabs something from out of the kitchen. It’s a small, white envelope and she hands it to Belly. In gold letters scribbled on the front it reads: Cousins Beach Debutant Ball.

“Is this why you had to go to the country club earlier?” Laurel asks, making Susannah laugh and shrug. There was a country club here? Of course their was.

“What’s a debutant ball?” Belly asks, looking at Susannah. A scam. A show. A miserable excuse for people to put young girls on display. Laurel expresses my thoughts verbally and Susannah rebults, telling Belly that it was a coming of age. Like a bar mitzvah.

“It is not like a bar mitzvah,” Laurel scoffs. Susannah shrugs, accepting defeat.

“I’d really like you to consider,” she says, finally. Belly folds up the invitation and puts it down on the table.

“Debs are for sheep,” Conrad speaks up. It was the first time he spoke all dinner and everyone looks over at him. He doesn’t look up even after Jeremiah starts to take jabs at him.

“Didn’t you go last year? With Nicole?”

“Who’s Nicole?” Belly asks. I feel heat radiating off of her arms and Conrad looks up at her like she had no right to speak.

“It was after you guys left for Steven’s college tour. It doesn’t matter, I only went because Mom asked me to.” I remember that summer and how they came home early. Steven and his dad went off on a road trip to check out colleges and I remember being viciously jealous that his dad cared that much. I felt guilty for feeling that way when a few months later, Laurel and John announced their divorce.

The two brothers bicker back and forth before Susannah tells them to stop. I keep my eyes focused on the peas that I moved around on my plate, popping one or two in my mouth every few seconds. “Conrad quit football, you know,” Jeremiah says, getting in one final jab before Conrad throws his fork down on the plate, a crash reverbrating through the room. It bounces off the china cabinet on the other side of the room and everyones eyes widen as they watch him walk away.

“Was that really necessary?” Susannah sighs, putting her head in her hands, her golden hair falling in front of her face. I look at Jeremiah, finding out more about his personality in the last few moments than I had learned from all the stories Belly and Steven had told me. He was a jealous little brother.

+

My phone buzzes in my hand and I click it open: Mallory.

how is it?????

My fingers hover over the keyboard on my phone, deciding what words to use to describe my first day in Cousin’s so far. There isn’t a lot to say, really. Gorgeous, warm, a seaside dream. And then there were the boys. Gorgeous, warm, a seaside dream.

good. how is josh?

I want to kick myself the second I hit send on the message. Who cares how Josh is? Me, apparently. I did. He was in my thoughts during the rest of dinner, while I was in the shower afterward, and even now, as I lay in my bed and stare out the window at the ocean. I was hoping to drown in it, but I hadn’t even stepped foot in the sand yet.

ughhhhh, stop with him already. any cute boys?

Yes. I want to type. Two.

i’m not ready to move on

lame

I set my phone down on the bed next to me. I’m looking up at the white ceiling and trying to focus on the sound of the beach below me but I keep hearing his name. I love you. Please don’t walk away. Please come back.

My phone buzzes again: tell me more!!!

I type back a vague response about how the sky matches the blue of the ocean and how Susannah’s smile is just as pretty in person as in the photos that me and Mallory always used to stare at whenever we were at Aunt Laurel’s and I hit send, hoping it would saciate her hunger.

If I am the wild to Belly’s calm, Mallory is the tornado to my light shower. She is wilder, funnier, more outgoing, and certainly always the center of attention. I’m in her shadow while many would say Belly is in mine. Mallory always rode in the front seat and we rode in the back. She was always at the head of the table while we were on the side, passing the butter and salt back and forth while Mallory unfolded the drama around us.

I don’t get a text back, but there’s a knock on the door. Belly sticks her head inside and I sit up in bed, telling her to come in. “Nice pick,” she tells me. “This one has the best lighting.” She’s wet, her hair dripping down her back over an oversized t-shirt. I bet she has her swimsuit on underneath.

“I thought so, too.” She sits down next to me on the bed. “Night swim?” I ask.

She nods and laughs, pulling her hair to the front of her body. “Sorry. I should have asked you to come with,” she says.

“I probably would have said no, anyway,” I tell her. I probably would have agreed, but I didn’t want her to feel bad for not inviting me. After all, it was probably weird for her to have a shadow this summer and the last thing I wanted to do was put a damper on her summer.

“The boys said I’m not invited to the bonfire tonight,” she tells me. “They all just left and Steven said I had to stay in. The moms are getting ready for our movie night.”

“What? Who are they to decide?” I scoff, shifting in the bed, sitting up on my elbows. Belly shrugs and looks at me. Her eyes are pooling with tears and if she starts to cry, I don’t know that I would be able to hold myself back, either. So far, I had not cried. I did not cry when I told Mallory I’d be gone all summer and I did not cry when Josh texted me asking if it was true and I did not cry when he told me he would miss me but seeing Belly cry, might just do it for me.

“I told you, now that we’re older I get left out a lot more. I’m too young,” she says, using her fingers as quotes around the words too young.

“You’re one year younger than them,” I tell her, throwing myself off the bed and heading to the closet. Mallory insisted that I pack hot clothes. She told me, “you’ll never know if you’ll find a hot boy to occupy your time.”

I throw a blue dress at Belly and tell her, “get dressed. We’re going.” Her eyes lit up as she lifted the dress up. I grab a white one out of my closet, one a little more flowy than the one I gave to Belly but it was still short. Mallory was right, it was lame that I hadn’t moved on yet.

“Isn’t this a little short?” Belly asks, holding it up to her body. It ended right below her ass.

“Maybe it’ll make Conrad look,” I shrug.

I spin her around the full-size mirror in her bedroom and whistle as her hair twirls around her. “These boys won’t know what hit them.”

“And what about you?” She says, gawking at me. I wave her off and grab my shoes, putting them on to avoid the conversation. “How are we going to get out?” She asks. The bedroom door is closed, but she whispers as if the moms can hear us. Belly and I already went down and told the moms we were just going to spend the first night. Have a girls sleepover in Belly’s room, if you will. They dismissed us with a sad smile and we came back upstairs.

“We’ll sneak out,” I say. “You’ve never snuck out before?” I knew that was true. Belly would never have been caught dead sneaking out, but before this summer she never really needed to. “It’ll be fine,” I tell her, grabbing her hand. I make her carry her flip flops so the moms don’t hear them slapping as we walk down the stairs and I tip-toe in my sneakers down the wooden steps, moving so slow you could have fallen asleep by watching us.

To say that this bonfire was worth sneaking out for would be a lie. There were too many people here and the sand was littered with beer bottles and cups. Jumper was just as sleezy as I remembered. He tried to put his arm around Belly and I when we arrived, trying to flirt his way into some company. Belly’s too nice to ever tell him no, so I give him a fake smile and tell him to get lost before dragging her further down the beach.

She stops in her tracks, causing me to fly backward from the sudden stop. I give her a look but she’s looking beyond me, further down toward the fire. I follow her gaze to see Conrad with a girl between his legs. He has them up, his arms wrapped around his knees. A small girl, petite with a Red Sox hat on, was sitting between his knees laughing at a joke he made.

“Oh.” She nods at my unintentional words. “Do you want to go the other way?” I ask. What other way? The only way was straight ahead and that would be entering the snake pit. He sees us before she can decide.

Then, she does something I never would have guessed: she calls him out. “Who’s that?”

Conrad looks stunned too, as does the girl. She replies as if she’s being spoken to. “Nicole, and who are you?”

“I took her to the deb ball last year,” Conrad says. She is who he took to the ball. And here she is, between his legs. I feel the anger for Belly. Her anger is now my anger despite being able to feel it penetrating off of her skin.

“I thought you said deb balls are for sheep,” Belly spits her words at him. Nicole shifts and I grab Belly’s hand to pull her away before the fight escalates.

“God you’re such a brat.” His words are harsh. Not like they’re meant for a girl he’s known since childhood. There was a bitterness there only reserved for the people you love that have hurt you. I have heard that bitterness more times than I care to admit.

“Oh, shut up Conrad,” I tell him, stunning even myself. Belly looks at me but I ignore her. Me and Conrad stare at each other, unwavering.

Neither of us speak, so I walk away with Belly trailing behind me. I take her to the keg and pour her a drink. “Here,” I say. She takes the drink from my hand and stares at me. “What?”

“You just told him to shut up.”

“Like you weren’t thinking about saying it.”

She scoffs and then says, “yeah but I never would.” And then she laughs and I laugh with her because how could I not. “Did you see his face?”

“Who’s face?” I turn around and Jeremiah sticks his head between Belly and I.

“Cons when Yn told him to shut up,” Belly tells him, her eyes wide and a smile on her face. Jeremiah’s eyes basically bulged out of his head when he looked at me.

“You said that?” I nod, shrugging my shoulders. I don’t know why it’s such a big deal. He was just a boy. A stupid, stupid boy. “What are you guys even doing here?” He asks.

“We snuck out,” Belly tells him.

“You snuck out?” Belly nods. “Who are you and what have you done to Isobel Conklin?” He asks, a smile spreading over his cheeks as he pulls her into his side. Belly laughs and tries to shrug but she can’t.

“You don’t know me when I’m with my better half,” she says, winking at me.

“More like a bad influence.” Jeremiah winks, telling me he’s just teasing but I stick my tongue out at him anyway, rolling my eyes. “I’m glad you’re here,” he admits and squeezes Belly before he gets called away.

Belly chugs down her drink, barely stopping for a breath. I watch her as beer trickles down her chin and she wipes it away with the back of her hand. She hands me the cup and then gestures for me to refill it. I do. “Thanks,” she mumbles before taking a small drink of the freshly filled cup.

“You a heavy drinker now?” I ask, gently teasing her. But Belly was never much of a drinker. She had one or two occasionally at parties but never alone and never that much in such little time.

“He’s just so-“ she starts but then cuts herself off.

“So what?”

“So infuriating.” I nod as if I understand. “One minute he’s fine. We get along. I think maybe he even likes me back but then the next he’s canoodling with Nicole in the sand and telling me I’m a brat? What is that?” She drinks some more beer and I mirror her. “You know, last summer we were good. Great even. And now?” She shakes her head.

“Didn’t your mom say there was a vibe between you and Jeremiah?” I ask, trying to recall the conversation in the car on our way here. I was zoned out, staring out the window, picturing all the ways I could torture Josh with a pair of tweezers but I remember Laurel’s voice asking about Jeremiah and Steven’s outwardly disgust at the thought.

Belly waves me off. “We’re just best friends. Have been forever. He’s like my brother.”

“But if he likes you, why not give it a shot? Instead of pinning for Conrad when he acts like that?” It was just a suggestion, but Belly seems offended. She pulls back a little and furrows her eyebrows. I pretend not to notice and find Jeremiah in the crowd, his arm around a girl similarly to how he had his arm around Belly moments before. Maybe that’s why.

“Jeremiah doesn’t like me,” she says.

I shrug and drink my beer to avoid eye contact with her. She seems to let my comment go and continues her rant. “I just think if Conrad would get over himself, we could be fine again. I mean, out of all the summers, this so far has to be the worst he’s been.”

It just started, I want to say to her. But I don’t know Conrad. And I don’t know Jeremiah and who am I to give her advice about people and things I know nothing about. I don’t think I’d take any relationship advice from me right now as it stands, regardless.

My eyes find Conrad. He’s still in the sand but Nicole is gone. I don’t bother looking for her but it seems maybe Conrad is. Or he’s looking for Steven and Jeremiah. Or even Belly. His hair is in his face and he pushes it back with his hand and then he finds us by the keg and stops searching the beach.

He stares st me and I stare back as Belly talks. I see her hands waving in frustration through the corner of my eye and I nod like I’m listening but I think she’s too engrossed in her complaining to notice I’m not really paying much attention. Hate. Loser. Pain in the ass. All words she’s using to describe Conrad.

He gives me a small wave. And I wave back. He looks like maybe he’s about to stand up, but then Nicole comes back and she hands him a drink, taking his attention away from me and back onto her. “Are you even listening to me?” Belly finally asks, snapping her fingers in my face.

I look at her: all wide eyes and messy hair. “Yeah,” i lie. “I was listening to you.”

taglist: @marajillana

[sometimesanalice]

Hello, Alexa!☺️

How are you?

A bit of a random Q, but! I remember you saying that the first fanfic you wrote

was ‘Oh Christmas Tree' and I was just wondering if there was any other fandoms

you ever thought about writing for? Even if you don’t want to publish them! :) An even more general question, what other fandoms would you say you're into?

I know it's a little random, but I just love hearing about other people's interests/loves! 🥰

(I’m sorry if you’ve answered these in some way before)

Have a lovely weekend!

Hi Bo!! 🌟 I'm so good! I'm having the best afternoon with some coffee and a treat from Trader Joe's and working on a fluffy oneshot! I hope you're doing well! I love seeing you pop in my inbox!

The call of Bradley with a pine tree allergy and getting his best girl a fluffy pink one was too strong for me to resist! It was such a new thing for me that I wrote the whole thing on the notes app on my phone, it didn't even cross my mind to open a word doc for it, lol.

It's such a funny thing that for the years and years that I've jotted down ideas and dialogue that I never once thought of actually sitting down and trying my hand at writing fanfic until last year!

More for you under the cut!

My first foray into fandom and fanfic was when I was a nugget out there wilding on fanfic.net and shipping Clark/Lana from Smallville and Padme/Anakin from Star Wars. (back when I didn't even know what shipping meant, lol)

In college, I didn't have much time to read books because of all the school work, so I turned to fanfic again and got really into The Hunger Games. Dandelion Peeta had my heart, and all the modern AUs really softened the dystopian angst. That fandom had so many truly terrific writers, ones that I still follow even today.

Which is how I ended up becoming a big The 100 girlie. Some of my favorite THG authors started posting and writing for a couple of the main characters on that show and I was hooked. (it's been a lot of fun to learn that some of my fav TGM babes were also the 100 babes, so we've trauma bonded over it, haha)

And let me tell you, I need to be financially COMPENSATED by the CW for the chokehold this man had on me for like 5 years. (the hair! the gravely voice! the chin dimple! the biceps! the grumpy king with a heart of gold!)

If I was going to write for another fandom, it would be that one. Bellarke (bellamy blake and clarke griffin) still has my heart. At the height of it, I was spending hours every day reading fic for them. The chemistry between them was bananas and every week I was waiting on baited breath for any little interaction between them. It's funny now because the actors are actually married now, haha! The show gave us crumbs and went out with such a tragic whimper, but the fandom and the incredible talent there is probably why I was so invested and still read fics about them on AO3.

When I reread my favorite series The Winners Trilogy by Marie Rutkoski I fall DEEP into an Arin/Kestrel spiral. It's such an underrated YA series that I'm pretty sure I've read every piece of fanfiction that's out there (which isn't nearly enough) at least 5 times.

There was a brief Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen GOT era, but it was short lived.

I also like the Darkling/Alina dynamic from Shadow and Bone. I read the series when the books first came out before the show, and wasn't particularly enamored with them as a couple. But then they had to go and cast the pretty bearded attention whore that is Ben Barnes and I had simply no choice but to ship, lol.

I always joke and say that I don't pick the hyperfixations, that they choose me. But it's really true. The 100 ended in 2020 and I didn't have anything really capture my attention in the same way until TGM. This is the first fandom that I've really participated in, like getting to know other people and creating content! And it's been so wonderful!

Oof! Well, this got out of control quickly, lol. This was such a fun ask to get! I haven't been asked before, so I really went off the deep end here giving you my full life fandom history, haha!

[ivaspinoza]

Your thoughts??

"In our dreams, we have limitless resources and the people yield themselves with perfect docility to our molding hands. The present education conventions fade from their minds, and unhampered by tradition, we work our own good will upon a grateful and responsive rural folk. We shall not try to make these people or any of their children into philosophers or men of learning, or men of science. We have not to raise up from among them authors, editors, poets or men of letters. We shall not search for embryo great artists, painters, musicians nor lawyers, doctors, preachers, politicians, statesmen, of whom we have an ample supply…The task we set before ourselves is very simple as well as a very beautiful one, to train these people as we find them to a perfectly ideal life just where they are. So we will organize our children and teach them to do in a perfect way the things their fathers and mothers are doing in an imperfect way, in the homes, in the shops and on the farm."

General Education Board(Rockefeller philanthropy), Occasional Papers, No. 1

You guys are kicking the doors of my inbox with some hardcore stuff, and I love it.

Short answer: the educational system is a scam. But you can figure that out just by reading the General Education Board.

Long answer? Well, before I start, let me quote this Scottish dude that died in 1832:

"Every man who has become, in any way, valuable, has taken the reins of his own education." ‒ Sir Walter Scott

The "history of education" is an extensive research that, after some point, revealed itself as fruitless to me, as I was busy with other interests. No mainstream media and easy-to-find books will help you on this journey. But it's a good start for anyone who wants to understand more about how this world works. I must say this is not a road for the faint of heart. If you don't have a solid, truthful hope, you might go a bit nuts.

During my bachelor's degree, after dropping 4 half-completed graduations, my keen nose guided me to study about this and one thing led to another. You end up seeing the same family names, their companies, then you check a bit of underground history and politics, artistic movements, ideologies, parties, big tech and pharma development... I mean, none of this is new. It's been happening since forever, so let's get a bit more dystopic and realistic here:

We are under a big system that wants to smash your face into the ground and break your teeth. They will give you the illusion of two polarized sides, and make you fight your brothers and sisters till death, while hiding truth in plain sight and keeping you busy on a 9-5, confused and tired. Always sedated, if possible. Always scared. I was actually working on a poem that goes like this:

"There they teach you to love what's bad Here we teach you to hate what's good They teach you to tell lies We teach you to hide truth"

Don't take me wrong, I'm all in for education. But I only believe in self educating. You will eat as much as you're hungry.

We are intelligent beings for a reason. We were designed to think and understand. But thinking is actually quite hard and not very encouraged anymore, and no one can actually teach you how to think. You have to learn by yourself. You have to want to think.

I mean, most people don't even stop and ask themselves why they are doing things the way they do. It's what my therapist says: stop the autopilot!

As a former teacher, I can tell you there is so much more to developing cognition and process of thought, and creativity, and virtue and social skills, than to sit in a classroom all day, being fed a very filtrated and distorted version of "world history". They teach you to hate true knowledge. And let me tell you this: the Rockefellers, the Rothschilds, and all their little friends, are not only relying on the educational system to remain on power.

And there is so much I could write on this, to be honest, but I don't want to. It's not necessary. I can quote George Orwell instead.

[oonajaeadira]

Hi Adira!!! I hope you're doing well <3 <3 If you're still doing the Pedro asks, how about 7, 8, & 14??

Oh my balls, friend, this was buried in my inbox. I'm so so sorry!

If you could travel anywhere in the world with any Pedro character, who would be your companion and where would you go?

I could sit here all night and whittle this down to just one....or I could list my favorite boys and where I'd go with them. (This is assuming they are all contemporary-day and Earth-dwelling.)

Dieter: Start in Amsterdam and then museum tour of Europe--his choice.

Din: Thai meditation retreat.

Ezra: Iceland. He'd love that place.

Frankie: camping in Grand Teton.

Jack: I would actually like him to choose and surprise me; he'd be sure to choose something good. Bonus points if he flies us there himself.

Javi: Globe-hopping every Disney resort.

Javier: I actually think I might like to visit Hawai'i with him. Damn he'd be glorious in a speedo. Or a lei.

Joel: Open road trip in a camper van.

Max: Halloween in New Orleans.

Oberyn: Again, I'd let him choose. I know what he'd want to try or introduce me to, and he'd already know the best place to go.

PATS: Triple-jump London/Paris/Rome in late fall-early winter. Lightly bundled in jackets and scarves. Light snow. Warm baths.

Pero: Southern Spain and Morocco.

The Thief: St. Petersburg, specifically The Hermitage Museum. With the stipulation that he keeps his sticky fingers in his pockets (he won't).

Tim Rockford: Really anywhere. Getting him to take a vacation would be the hard part. I headcanon that he might take an interest in antiquities, like Egypt or Croatia or the Agean costal countries.

.

Be flirted with by Agent Whiskey or Javier Peña?

Jack, hands down. Because he's corny and fun and I could flirt back knowing it was a good time. Javier is...a lot more subtle and soulful...and I could fall in love too easy. Without knowing his true intentions, that's an easy recipe for a broken heart.

.

If you could only ever read or write fics for one Pedro character who would it be?

Disclaimer: this answer will change by the day/hour/mood.

If someone put a gun to my head right now, I would probably choose Ezra. What I love so much about Ezra in this fandom is that his fics run the gamut and they all feel very very plausible. We only get to see canon Ezra for a short period of his life, and under very very stressful circumstances. We all know that he’s doing what he has to to survive and that would bring out extreme decisions and personality from any of us. We never get to see what he’s like in his everyday life and therefore there are so many possibilities. I very much believe he could be the soft husband. But I also believe he could be the naughty spitter with a love of piss-play. There are some characters where I have a really strong aversion to the fic when I think the boy is being portrayed wildly out of character. But truly, I’ve yet to have this reaction to any Ezra fic. He has the ability to surprise.

And I love writing him. I love writing him so so much. As long as it’s been since I have and as much as I love playing and experimenting with the other boys, if I had to only pick one to put in situations for the rest of my life, it’s him.

.

Pedro asks

[rosenallies]

so specific but I was wondering if you’d write an angsty phone sex AU smut prompt where Denali’s in a bad headspace and asks to be degraded and after a minute rosie safewords for her and it just upsets her? yeah <3

no joke this prompt is from literally October and idk of the person who requested this even follows me anymore but I have a migraine wanted to write some phone sex au that wasn’t smutty so I went searching thru my 272636273 unanswered asks in my inbox and found this 😭 I remember the asks prior to this so just for context sometimes when nali is sad she wants mommy to be rough on her but Rosie doesn’t like that shsbs anYway also I scrolled through my whole inbox and found some good prompts that are rlly old that I may do so don’t be surprised if there’s random prompts from like a year ago or more being written😭😭

——

Rosé circled Denali knelt on the floor, her best stern look painted on her face, though her head wasn’t into it. When Denali had gotten home from the rink earlier, she wasn’t herself and had practically thrown herself onto Rosé, purring into her ear that she’d been naughty and needed to be put into her place.

Rosé had played into it at first, grabbing her by her hair and kissing her roughly.

It wasn’t until they were getting ready to take things further that Rosé noticed something wasn’t right. Denali stared at herself a little too long in the mirror, that grimace on her face as she raked her eyes over her reflection that told Rosé she was having a low self esteem day. Those days were more rare now, but every now and again they would appear again. Rosé had figured maybe she needed something to take her mind off of the bad thoughts so she let it happen until Denali looked up at her from the floor, begging mommy to please degrade her.

Rosé opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t bring herself to follow through.

She sighed, “red, baby, I can’t do this.”

Denali frowned, looking like she was about to cry. “Momma-?”

She helped Denali up and led her to the bed, sitting down beside her. “I don’t want to be rough with you when you’re not having a good day."

Embarrassment curled in Denali’s belly. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered, “I-I thought it would help.”

Rosé shifted closer to her, pulling her against her side. “I wanna make you feel good when you’re not feeling your best, baby. I want to be kind and loving to you.”

“But it does feel good!” She cried out, “I promise!”

Shaking her head, Rosé tutted softly. “I don’t know, you’ve never asked to be degraded when you’re not feeling your absolute best, honey. I know sometimes you like it, but can you be honest with mommy and tell me what’s really on your mind.”

Denali wiped her eyes, sniffling softly. “I-I deserve it. I feel so gross

Rosé felt her stomach ache, wondering if she ever really enjoyed those things. All the times they’d been deep in a scene and Rosé called her names, did she really enjoy it? Or did she just use it to fuel her insecurities?

"No, darling," Rosé cooed, cupping her baby's pretty face in her hand, "You didn't do anything to upset mommy. At first I thought maybe you just needed some release, but now I see that's not true."

Reverting her gaze to the floor, Denali picked at the skin around her fingernails for a moment until Rosé noticed and took her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said, lip wobbling.

“Hey, look at me,” Rosé said softly, “there’s absolutely nothing to apologize for. Can you let mommy help you feel better, hmm?”

She nodded, leaning into Rosé’s arms, breathing in the scent of her vanilla perfume. “Please, mommy.”

“Okay, sweet girl, come here,” she cooed, laying back against the headboard and motioning for Denali to join her. When she did she tucked her safely under her arm, kissing her forehead. “Mommy’s gonna help you feel all better.”

[doctorofinhumaneletters]

First Steps

by the Doctor of Inhumane Letters

Chapter 1

Thursday. Red day.

The red box in the breakroom fridge already lay ransacked, and Friday’s clear box was still at home. This week Ashlee was trying baked chicken thighs. Half a dozen chicken thighs were about ten bucks. One she ate Sunday night, to make sure her recipe worked, then packed up five copies for the week. Today, though, might be a two-lunch day. The call with mom had interrupted breakfast.

“ Hey honey, I just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi, mom. I’m just getting ready for work.”

“What’s on the menu today? Did you get those chicken recipes I sent you?”

“Yeah, they’re great. I’m trying one every day.” Technically true. Trying one. Every day. But it made mom happy to hear, even if it did elicit two minutes of food reviews. Ashlee watched the seconds march past on her watch.

“What are you doing at work today?”

“Oh, we have two bids due today for the Interior Department. We’re just finishing them up.” That was what Stetson Logistics’ Deputy Chief Counsel was up to today -- renewing a 90-day contract for stationery at a Bureau of Land Reclamation division. Mom always liked to hear the full name of the Cabinet office, the same way Deputy Chief Counsel sounded like a good job for a University of VIrginia law grad. More so, at least, than one of two lawyers churning out boilerplate for paper and toner to feed the Federal machine.

8:05:30, 8:05:31, 8:05:32 … flashing remonstrations growing ever more urgent. She couldn’t concentrate on leaving with mom on the phone. 10 minute walk to the train station. The timetables scrolled through Ashlee’s mind. The burbling stream of mom’s chatter was incrementally sweeping away breakfast options. There’s still time to buy a sandwich and coffee. Flash, flash, chatter, still time if there was no line and she ran. She was counting down to grab and go coffee when it came.

“So, any news on the marriage front? Have you met anyone special yet?"

Ashlee tensed up. She knew this question was coming. "Uh, no, Mom, not yet," she said, trying to sound casual. At least this signaled the imminent end of the conversation.

"Well, you know, dear, you're not getting any younger.”

“Thanks mom. Neither are you!” Like the preamble on one of Stetson’s contracts, this little back and forth almost always passed between them. The call had wound down and Ashlee had left with time for coffee, and a roll if the line was short.

It was never short. Coffee had clawed at her empty stomach. She'd wolfed down lunch in the breakroom before ten, and her crossed eyes struggled for a foothold on the bid she was reviewing. If she hurried, she could get out for her actual break. She was leaning back rubbing her eyes when Sarah crossed over from Admin.

“Hey, Ash!”

“Just 15 more minutes, Sarah. I’m making myself finish this before lunch.”

Sarah dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “Every secretary at BLR has the flu. If we sent it today, It would just sit in the inbox and we’d never see it again. This is just a social call”

“Well let me finish so it can sit in yours.” This sneaked out with more acid than she intended. Ever since college, Sarah had been able to carve out chat time.

“Screw you, Ash!” laughed Sarah. “What’s eating you?”

“Mom again,” Ashlee sighed. “She hosed my morning.”

“Did the ‘M’ word come up again?” asked Sarah, coming right to the point.

“Of course.”

Sarah smiled evilly. “Just tell her you’re gay. That would put a stop to it.”

Ashlee grimaced. The vision of that conversation played on fast-forward behind her eyes. “If I tried it, she would dig in. When she found out I wasn’t joking, she’d rip me a new one, then she’d never talk to me again.”

The smile grew eviller. “Sounds like it would solve all your problems, then.” Ashlee opened her mouth to snap back, but Sarah filled the space: “Let's get out of here. Nothing’s going on.”

"Are you serious? It's almost … Jesus, it's 12:45 already! God, I'm starving!"

"I'm getting my purse. Come on, girl!"

Ashlee finished the bid. It actually only took ten minutes, and five of those were accompanied by Sarah staring out the window and swinging her purse in a meaningful manner. It was a clear, bright day in Washington, and if work was coming to a standstill at Stetson, Sarah's impatience was understandable. All things considered, Ashlee could just about justify a late lunch.

The elevator carried them down the three floors to where it disgorged the pair onto H Street. Sarah strode purposefully up the sidewalk, half a step ahead of Ashlee. She and Sarah knew that Ashlee had a hard time saying no to Sarah, and they had agreed years ago that Sarah would limit how many times she dragged Ashlee somewhere. Consequently, when it happened, Sarah was serious about it.

Sarah followed her phone into a hole-in-the-wall Greek place, with Ashlee still trailing a close third. A tall, slim, dark girl waved them to a table. Ashlee’s finger trickled down the menu till it found moussaka. She pointedly laid the menu down, folded her hands over it, crossed her legs, sat up straight and fixed Sarah with a stare.

Rather, she tried to. Sarah’s right hand was languidly holding her menu, while her left hung by the pinky nail from her teeth. Her eyes were scanning the middle distance over Ashlee’s left shoulder. Oh, no, thought Ashlee, she’s planning something.

Ashlee guessed right. Apropos of nothing in particular, Sarah, asked, “You wanna get laid?”

Briefly taken aback, Ashlee rallied. “With you? No way!”

No reaction. Still chewing her pinky, Sarah inclined her head forward slowly, eyes still tracking something behind Ashlee.

“Her.”

Risking a glance, Ashlee saw the waitress. She was bussing tables, but she took a moment to smile back and gesture “one minute”. “Sarah!” hissed Ashley. “Are you crazy? Is that why we’re here?”

“Yeah.” Her hands dropped and she leaned in. “That girl is a catch. Sweet as soda pop, tall, skinny, pretty, and one thousand percent gay, I'm sure. I almost wanna fuck her myself.” She thumbed her phone, and a moment later Ashlee’s buzzed. “When she comes over here, you are going to say that.”

Ashlee read the text. “No goddamn way!” But she knew it was hopeless. She had followed Sarah’s smirk to dozens of clubs, camping trips, and a host of other places she hardly ever regretted. Sarah’s ideas usually turned out mostly fine, even though this one might be a little rich for her blood. Sarah leaned back, and the smirk was there again, declaring her triumph.

Only seconds remained to prepare. If she was going to do this, she had to go in full throttle. The girl came up. The nametag read “Felicity”. Ashlee mustered up all the charm she could and smiled at her.

"Hi, um Felicity, I'm Ashlee. Can I ask you a question?" she said, trying to sound as casual as possible. She avoided the glare she knew was coming from Sarah.

Felicity looked at Ashlee with a curious expression. "Sure, what's up?"

"I was just wondering if you could recommend something on the menu. I'm in the mood for something light and refreshing, something I can really get my tongue around .”

Time froze. Sarah was quivering with anticipation. Felicity’s tan face was brightening in a blush. Ashlee had never prayed so hard for death.