#Random Writing

[adamantmaimai]

mama I get viral ❤️‍🩹

no but seriously, do you think rumi would listen to Soda Pop or keep singing Free when she's alone, bc she doesn't want to forget jinu's voice?

WAS IT CASUAL WHEN WE SHARED OUR MOST INTIMATE AND VULNERABLE MOMENT TOGETHER HOLDING HANDS?

WAS IT CASUAL WHEN I USED THAT COUPLE'S BRACELET IN MY LAST PERFORMANCE?

WAS IT CASUAL IF I TRUSTED YOU AND SHARED MY DEEPEST SECRET WITH YOU?

WAS IT CASUAL WHEN YOU GIVE ME HOPE AGAIN AND I GAVE YOU MY SOUL?!?!?!?

they made me sick

Soulmated so hard he gave her his soul I'm not okay

AND SHE WANTED TO DIE, HE WANTED TO LIVE, SO HE DIED SO SHE COULD LIVE AGHHEHE MY HEART HURTS

This movie was so peak, all these days waiting were worth it now I need a second movie rn

[khwabon-ka-seher]

Me and rain share the most bittersweet, toxic kind of love. I love rain, yet it always find a way to ruin my plans of outing, always create those muddy road traps that soil my clothes and shoes, leaves me shivering and sick when I get caught in its downpour. It invites those merciless mosquitoes that steal my sleep and peace, buzzing and biting through the night. It do so much harm to me, yet, I still love the rain.

I love how little rain drops touch my skin, soft as a lover’s touch, each one a stolen kiss, as if they’re whispering ancient secrets carried by the storm. Rain calms me like nothing else. When I sit on my balcony, a book in hand, and listen to the gentle pitter-patter of drops against the ground, the world fades. The cool breeze, the sprinkle of rain on my face, they unravel me, layer by layer, until it’s just me, my thoughts, and the music of the rain. In those moments, I escape. I lose myself in its rhythm, and somehow, despite all the chaos it brings, I feel the world blur at its edges. The cool breeze carries fragments of forgotten dreams, I find a strange, fragile peace in the rain’s embrace. As if the rain itself is telling me that even in chaos, there is beauty. Even in what hurts us, there can be peace.

[charmnyu]

 ᘏᘏ like a movie ​⤷ l. castellan

cw: use of y/n like twice , but other than that , nothing ! just fresh fluff from out the oven . dividers by @cursed-carmine &&. strangersgraphics !

may castellan absolutely loves her babies.

she absolutely loves you two. when she first found out you were dating luke, she was over the moon— estatic, in a total frenzy. she demanded luke to tell her in an (affectionally) way who he was dating. and luke (with no choice), surrendered to his mother, with a sigh of defeat and tensed shoulders finally loosening up.

“okay, okay— mom, fine.” luke sighed, running a calloused hand through black curls. “tell me, lukey. do i know them at all?” may questions him, brows furrowed and hands clasped. she’s listening.

“the friend from, um.. last week.” luke mutters, picking at his nails in nervousness.

“who?”

“y/n.”

and that’s when the world fucking stopped for miss may castellan. she was screaming in nothing but pure joy, hands flaying everywhere, pacing around in happiness for her baby finally being able to be find someone.

she prayed to the gods that her past relationship with hermes wouldnt be anything like yours and his. it would pain her to see luke pained like that anyway.

“hi miss may!” you yell, quickly kicking off you shoes and placing them next to the door, giving luke’s mother a quick.

“oh, honey, just call me may, alright?” her voice is sweet and gentle, almost like a siren song. she adorns your face with warm and motherly kisses, ruff,ing your hair up slightly. “yes, mi— may!” you quickly rush upstairs to luke’s room.

“and you.” she puts down the cookie tray down to confront her son. “you haven’t been calling or texting me. why?”

“sorry, mom. jus’ busy with y/n. won’t happen again.” luke kicks of his shoes and places them next to yours, giving his mother a reassuring and gentle smile and follows after you up the stairs.

“gods. you know this isn’t a race, right?” he jokes, laying down next to you in bed, arms embracing you in a warm hug.

“don’t care. just wanna spend time with you. time is limited.” you murmur into his shoulder, his cologne filling your nostrils. who knew a man could smell like straight up heaven? you swear, luke is doing something to you— he’s casting spells on you, because what kind of sorcery is he doing to make you fall more and more in love with him?

“mhm,” luke places a hand on your neck, placing fresh kisses on your clavicle and adorning your neck and face with kisses. “so good.” he says playfully, nuzzling his face into your neck, frizzy black curls tickling your chin.

gods, this feels like straight heaven itself. what could you have done to deserve such blessings? to deserve luke? a blessing you’ll never take lightly, and a love you’ll both cherish beyond words.

©⠀all right reserved to @ charmnyu . like and reblogs are appreciated !

6/1 . notes . .

okok this made me very giddy very excited hehe i feel like luke’s a mamas boy 100% obvi. he doesn’t like his dad so it leaves him with no choice but yeah ! i’m feining help me this is short and i’m kinda unhappy how it turned out but oh well..

[fantomghouleh]

Perpetua watching videos of the ex-papas attempting to copy how they act just to fit in as the new Papa.

[ishaans-posts]

Born to say " Can we talk little longer i have a lot to tell you " Forced to say " Goodnight "

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

How about the boys reacting to nudes?

As adults ofc

"Fuck....i wish you were my hand-ngh~ right now..."

Here is how I think each of them would react

Tw- NSFW (minors go away do your homework)

Bill dickey-

Bill was halfway through a hate-watch of a “Top 10 Best Star Wars Ships” YouTube video when his phone buzzed.

“Let me guess, another troglodyte putting Kylo Ren’s ship above the Outrider—god, people are so fucking stupid—”

He glanced at the screen.

And froze.

You’d sent a picture.

A nude. Bold. Shameless. Gorgeous. You were laid out like a fantasy, smiling like you knew exactly what you were doing. Like you knew it’d wreck him.

For a second, he forgot how to breathe. The phone slipped in his hand, and he fumbled to catch it like it was the Ark of the Covenant.

“What the fuck,” he rasped, voice cracking, eyes locked on the screen. “What—what the hell is wrong with you?! You can’t just drop that on me! That’s like… like unleashing a goddamn nuke in a chat window!”

He was already hard. Pathetically so. His sweatpants tented embarrassingly fast, and he yanked them down with the urgency of a man possessed. “Oh my god, look at you,” he muttered, hand wrapping around himself. “You’re an actual menace. A war crime in human form.”

He worked himself fast, jaw clenched, eyes wide like he was staring into the face of God—and God had great tits.

“Fuckin’ knew you were evil,” he growled, hand pumping faster. “Sending me this shit when I’m alone? What, you think you’re funny? Think I’m gonna be able to think about anything else for the rest of the goddamn month?”

He groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a second—just enough to picture you crawling onto his lap, whispering some filthy little thing in his ear, riding him slow just to torture him. “Yeah, laugh it up. Laugh all you want, babe. You love turning me into this pathetic fuckin’ mess, don’t you?”

His thighs tensed, stomach clenched.

It hit him hard—white-hot and furious. He let out a strangled, guttural sound, hips jerking, entire body twitching like someone just tasered him in the soul.

He slumped back, sweaty and dazed, cock twitching in his hand, chest heaving like he’d just stormed Normandy.

He stared at your photo again and laughed—dry, sharp, totally wrecked.

“You’re gonna pay for that, you little freak.”

Then he texts you:

“What the fuck is wrong with you. Also I’m coming over. Put your phone down. And your legs up.”

Josh levy-

Josh had just finished rewatching The Wrath of Khan for the ninth time this month, still mouthing along to every Shatner line like it was Shakespeare. His room was cluttered with unopened figure boxes, the flickering glow of the TV screen reflecting off his vintage glass display case like some weird altar.

Then—buzz.

He rolls his eyes, figuring it’s his cousin Nathan with some dumb meme or maybe one of the guys sending a half-baked conspiracy theory about the Star Wars sequels. He picks up the phone lazily.

And freezes.

It’s from you.

His glasses nearly slide off his nose as he squints at the screen. “What the hell is—” Then his brain shorts out.

It’s a photo.

A nude.

Of you.

Full-on. Confident. Smirking. Like you just knew he’d be a mess the moment he saw it.

Josh’s mouth opens, then closes. He makes a strange squeaking noise in the back of his throat, like a deflating balloon.

“What—what the hell, are you trying to kill me!?” he hisses at no one, clutching the phone like it might explode. He shifts uncomfortably on the bed, already feeling himself stir in his jeans.

His heart's racing like he's facing down a Klingon warbird. “Jesus—holy shit,” he mutters, palming himself through his pants, already hard. “You... you planned this, didn’t you? You knew I’d get worked up over this. Manipulative little minx…”

His free hand unzips fast, almost panicked. He strokes himself with sharp, urgent motions, biting his lip so hard it almost bleeds.

“You’re insane, sending this when I’m alone—I can’t handle this kinda thing, not when you look like that, not when I’ve got this entire mental archive of your noises and the way you shake when I get you just right—fuck—”

He’s panting now, imagining you straddling him, whispering the filthiest things with that smile—the smile from the photo. “You want me desperate, huh? Is that it?” His voice breaks slightly, cock twitching in his hand. “You wanna drive me nuts? Wanna make me beg like I’m some... some sex-starved nerd with no self-control? Well, congratu-fucking-lations, you succeeded—”

The orgasm crashes over him in a full-body spasm, and he lets out a strangled moan, curling forward, gasping like he just sprinted a marathon. His hand’s a mess, his brain’s static, and his glasses are fogged to hell.

There’s a long pause. Then, very softly, he whispers:

“I’m in love with a war criminal.”

He wipes his hand on his Battlestar Galactica t-shirt, still staring at the screen.

Then he texts back:

“You just violated five articles of the Geneva Convention. I'm filing a formal complaint. Also, I’m coming over.”

Pete dinunzio-

Phone buzzes. He almost ignores it—probably Bill sending some neckbeard manifesto or maybe his cousin trying to get him to go out. But it’s not that.

It’s you.

And holy shit.

He opens the message and chokes a little on the half-chewed pizza roll in his mouth. You’re naked. Not tastefully draped in shadows, not suggestive—just flat-out, tits-out, bedroom-eyed, and smirking like you know exactly what the hell you're doing to him.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters, phone nearly slipping out of his hand.

His cock’s half-hard before he even blinks. That post-shower glow on your skin, the way your thighs are angled just so, and that look—the one that says “yeah, I’m yours, and I want you to see.” It hits him like a freight train.

“Fuckin’ hell, babe…” he breathes, dragging a hand down his face, then right into his lap without thinking.

He’s grinning now—lecherous, giddy, crooked. "You’re a goddamn menace, you know that?" he mutters to himself, thumbs the edge of the screen like he’s debating whether to stare or frame it.

Then he types back:

"You tryna kill me? I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you when I see you next. You better not be asleep."

He stares at the image one more time, then leans back, groaning low in his throat.

“Best fuckin’ day I’ve had in months…”

He stares at the screen like it’s the goddamn Mona Lisa, only way better because Da Vinci never painted you biting your lip with your hand between your thighs.

His mouth goes dry. That old, familiar heat coils low in his gut—the kind he hadn’t felt in a while, not since the last time you whispered filth in his ear and made him forget what decade he was in.

He shifts on the couch, unzipping his jeans with one hand, the other still gripping the phone like it’s sacred. “Fuckin’ filthy girl…” he mutters, voice thick and ragged. “You wanted this, huh? Knew I’d lose it the second I saw you like that.”

He wraps his hand around himself, already hard, already aching. Your picture is still on the screen—taunting, perfect. He imagines your voice, that breathy little whimper you make when you’re getting needy, the one that always makes him throb.

“You think I forgot how tight you are?” he growls under his breath, hand working slow at first. “You think I wouldn’t stroke my cock to this? Like you’re not all I fuckin’ think about when I’m stuck at work, surrounded by assholes and spoiled brats?”

He squeezes a little tighter, hips jerking forward instinctively. His eyes flutter shut, and he sees it—you on his lap, those thighs trembling, nails in his shoulders, riding him like you own him. “I’m gonna make you scream when I get my hands on you. You hear me, baby?” he pants, not even trying to control the rhythm now. “Next time you send me shit like this, you better be ready for me to drive over and make good on it.”

His breathing’s getting faster, his body curling with tension. he gasps, voice hoarse, body on fire. “You love gettin’ me like this. Naughty fuckin’ tease…”

The orgasm hits hard, unexpected—ripping through him like a shot of lightning. He gasps, low and raw, gripping the edge of the couch as he spills into his own hand, jaw slack, eyes shut tight with your name in his throat.

When he finally slumps back, chest rising and falling, he glances at the phone again and huffs a breathless, crooked laugh.

“You’re such a goddamn problem,” he says, fond and filthy all at once. “But fuck if you ain’t the best one I’ve ever had.”

Jerry stokes-

Jerry was on the couch, curled up in an old hoodie, a forgotten episode of Farscape playing in the background. His apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that creeps in when you’ve been alone too long.

Then his phone buzzed.

He didn’t move right away. Probably another pointless notification. But something told him to check. When he unlocked it and saw your name—followed by a photo—he blinked in confusion.

Then his breath caught.

It was you.

Nude. Beautiful. Confident. Soft in a way only you could be. You were looking right at the camera like you knew exactly what this would do to him.

“Oh... wow,” Jerry whispered, stunned.

He just sat there for a moment, staring, phone cradled in both hands like it was something fragile. His heart was pounding. His ears were hot. “Jesus, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips parting. “You’re… you’re really something.”

He swallowed thickly, shifting in his seat as the heat built in his chest, and lower. “You really sent this to me,” he said softly, almost like he couldn’t believe it. “You really trust me with this.”

His hands moved slowly, one setting the phone beside him—screen still glowing—while the other slipped under the waistband of his sweats. Already hard. Already aching.

He started to stroke himself, slowly, gently, still looking at you. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he said, breath catching. “God, if you were here right now… I’d take my time. I’d treat you so good.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back, jaw trembling. “I think about you all the time. About holding you. Kissing you slow. Making you feel like you’re everything—because you are.”

His voice was getting shakier, words tumbling out between panting breaths.

“I wish I was better at saying this. I wish I was there. I’d show you how much I care. How much this… you... mean to me.”

When he came, it was with a quiet gasp and a broken whisper of your name, his free hand clutching his chest like it might crack open from how full it felt. He stayed still for a long moment afterward, just breathing, warm and raw and grateful.

He looked back at your picture and smiled—soft, a little crooked, but real.

Then he texted you:

> “You didn’t have to send that. But I’m really glad you did. You make me feel lucky. I’ll be there soon—if you want me.”

[cloveroctobers]

my man rates my outfits — MULTI [Fall Randoms] 🤎

A/N: just something random I decided to write for fun on my lunch break + slightly influenced by YouTuber: Isimeme Edeko’s recent video she did with her husband lol. I hope you enjoy this mess!

Synopsis: you’re a content creator who has a theme for every occasion and decide to get your man’s reactions on certain fits — OR — your man catches you rocking particular outfits.

WARNINGS: language, suggestive themes, flirting, + x fem reader!

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ──

[ROMAN] —

You were throwing ass to Ms. Ponytail who appeared on your playlist funny enough as you stood in one of your many outfits in your kitchen. Of course you got side tracked, filming a OOTN (outfit of the night), after your stomach basically told you to feed them before you ended up kissing the floor from lack of nutrients.

“Now what is going on in here?” A voice boomed as the song finished.

Whipping around like a deer in headlights with a truffle chip against your lips, you spotted your husband standing on the other side of the kitchen island, leaning on his elbows as he watched you in delight.

You warn after bringing the chip into your mouth, “You need to stop sneaking up on me, if you know what’s good for you.”

“You are…I was just enjoying the show. Especially that last bit.” Joe flashed his pretty teeth at you.

Playfully rolling your eyes, you finished chewing, “You could have seen it up close and personal if you did the trend with me but you preferred the gym.”

Joe would do very little trends with you, he enjoyed the ones more where you danced and he got to watch from behind…also he liked the ones where he got to show off his strength.

“I mean…with all that movement back there I wouldn’t mind another rep.” The bun wearing man licks his lips, pushing back from his elbows, “And that dress mmm…”

You’re wearing a skinny strapped two printed mini dress that definitely showcased your cleavage and clung to your waist nicely as you explain, “i was filming date night outfits.”

Joe hums again, caressing his facial hair as he starts making way around the counter, which made you step to the other side, earning you a taunting grin, “We can consider what we’re about to do a date night if you want?”

Clapping your hands together, you wagged a finger at your husband who immediately made you his prey, “No, Joe! I have to pick the kids up at four.”

He checked the watch on his wrist, while you tried to tip toe backwards, “Uh, uh, where you going?”

“I got to get back to work.” You tried to convince.

Joe chuckled to himself, “I know we both got something that the both of us can work out…and our main problem is still having seats open at the table so why not fill them up?”

He then charged at you with laughter that boomed from his chest, tossing you right over his shoulder. Honestly you thought five kids was enough but if you asked Joe, he didn’t feel like there needed to be any limits.

“Joe!” You squealed after he slapped a hand to your backside and gave it a nice wiggle after it bounced back against his hand, “We don’t have time—

“We’ll make time. I need to see more of them outfits after I’m done with you…but this one might be my favorite.” He admits as he easily walks with you around the house in search of the bedroom.

Sighing you claw at your husband’s back as he felt you trying to slide out of his hold, “Don’t you tear this shit, Joe. I mean it. The other one you messed up is still on back order.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll be alright.” He says, kicking the bedroom door closed before sliding you face to face in his arms, still holding onto you, leaving you to initiate the kiss after staring into his loving eyes.

It was safe to say, this date night outfit got a dick stamp of approval.

[JEY] —

the theme was: thanksgiving, you were already stressing out about some fits to wear a week before the big festivities, whereas Jey was more relaxed about it all. Don’t get it wrong, he likes to show out but he didn’t see the need in stressing over things weeks before they transpired. He would pick what he was wearing the week of or a few days prior.

However he didn’t mind helping you pick out what to wear either. Just based off the first outfit, you showed off as you approached from around the couch, there was amusement in Jey’s dark eyes.

He sings, “Okay, purple rain! Purple rain!”

Immediately your smile dropped as Jey continued grinning at you.

“What?”

Jey licked his lips, pressing his elbows into his knees as he surveryed you in some Metallic purple boots and a lilac blazer dress. It didn’t look bad…he just didn’t think it gave what it was supposed to give.

“Why you wearing purple? Aren’t you supposed to go for darker tones? Mustard yellows, chocolate browns, tans? I heard the color for this season is wine or something along those lines.” Jey explains, as he trails his eyes up the length of your legs.

Your arms are folded now, “That’s boring!” You start, while Jey raises his brows to peek at the wine tortoise colored set on your nails, which you folded behind your back, “I wanted to switch it up with the dark tones and do something fresh.”

Jey slowly nods his head, while he caressed his beard, “I get that ma but you did say the theme was thanksgiving and this got prince written all over it.”

He’s laughing again and it’s working your nerves.

“…It sure does smell like hater in here.” You sass, making Jey scoff.

“What’s with the attitude? You asked me to give you my opinion and this is just the first fit right? Let me see the other ones…as long as they ain’t all purple.” Jey mutters that last bit but you caught it.

Scowling you say, “No, I don’t think i will! You’re not going to get the privilege to see the other options since you just tried to drag me. I didn’t know we had Tyra Uso in the building.”

Jey snickers, not believing that you were this pressed over him not feeling the first outfit for the theme. He never said it was ugly or anything like that, the colors were off if you compared the blazer and the shoes but it still somehow worked. He just didn’t see it for thanksgiving but you were not trying to hear it.

Maybe he should have cut back on the laughing but he stood by his Prince comment. You chuck the gingerbread cookie pillow right at his face on your way out of the living room.

“Aye! There ain’t no need to get disrespectful, alright?” Jey was on his feet now, reaching over the couch in attempt to latch onto your wrist but you side stepped him.

He wasn’t the only athlete in this house!

“Y/N, you can’t be seriously pissed at a jokey joke?!” Jey held onto the edge of the couch as he watched you retreat around the corner to head back to your office/second closet.

Just as he heard the door creaking you yelled, “I’m going to get the opinion of a true fashion head instead because my husband is the worst!”

And with a slam of the door, Jey just shook his head to himself at how sensitive you wanted to be today, letting out a small laugh to himself, followed by a sigh, he plopped down on the couch just to be notified that you were on tiktok live, talking to your supporters instead.

Of course Jey tuned right in.

[TERRY] —

“Ol’ heffa!” You hiss, tossing more clothes behind you.

Terry dodges a heel that could have caught him right in the face but ends up catching a balled up jumpsuit? That was closer to hitting his face.

“Babe, what’s going on?”

You spin to the voice, hands on your hips, and half dressed.

“That heffa.” You balled up a fist, while Terry got closer to you, eyes wide as he glanced at the mountain of clothes that decorated the floor.

“I see you’ve been spending too much time at the salon with the aunties.” Terry attempted to joke, while you appeared as if you just wanted to swing on something or someone, “Alright…take a deep breath for me.”

Peering up into his spring green hues while he rubbed at your bare shoulders, you followed his coaching of breathing before letting out a groan.

“I told you I didn’t like our neighbor to the left but she personally handed me this grand invitation to her Christmas gala, like she does every year.” You begin to tell your fiancé.

Terry slowly nods, not understand what the issue is but keeps quiet, knowing you’ll tell him.

“She threw a jab at us, Terry!” You exasperate, “‘It’ll be nothing like your Christmas party last year, no itchy ugly sweaters and full glam for the greater good. You know what that’s like right?’ She had the nerve to say that to me?! She basically called us tacky like I won’t MINK her brain into a slushie! She don’t know who she’s messing with, T. My mom told me to cast the demon out and my auntie told me to ring around the Rosie that hoe but I heard your voice in my head instead.”

Terry felt a smile tickling its way onto his full lips, “Oh yeah?”

“Told her we’re not attending this year, we will donate to the foundation because that’s what it’s truly about, to help support HIV and aids, not acting like it’s a fashion show.” You respond making Terry nod his head at you taking the high road, “Then I took her invitation, put it in a blender, dumped it into a mason jar, with a red ribbon and put into her mailbox for her barely twenty-one year old boyfriend of the month to bring in for her.”

Terry dropped his head followed by the closing of his eyes, “You didn’t.”

“I told you I didn’t want to move to the suburbs but she keeps messing with me and I refuse to be shaded or bullied. I get along with pretty much everyone, except for her minions and that—

“Heffa?” Terry finished for you, which you pointed into the air with a dip of your head.

You knew your man would just get it.

“They’re just trying to get up underneath your skin since we’re the newbies in town. Don’t let them win.”

Tilting your head to the side you say, “Did you not block our neighbor across the street in with the truck because he kept blowing his leaves across the street into our yard? Even stood in front of his car after he tried to drive over his lawn to get away from you?”

“I don’t recall that.” Terry grinned at you while you stared at him in disbelief, “You just gotta teach people how to treat you.”

“Exactly! And if she keeps it up, I’ll cancel Christmas real quick for her.”

Terry laughs, pulling you into his chest to sooth you, “Relax, Tasmanian Devil. I got something that might uplift your spirts though.”

Gift giving was something Terry often did. It was always, “I saw this and thought of you,” and it could be little trinkets or snacks or anything that you enjoyed. He never missed with whatever he brought home.

It’s his black tux that he planned to wear to a friend’s wedding that was happening the day before Christmas Eve. He pulled it up from the bed and you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face now.

“I’ve been in here nearly all day trying on dresses for Crystal and Sherrod’s wedding and you’ve been holding out on this info?!” You touch the protective bag that contains the suit, “Try it on while I get the wine and the ones.”

Terry chuckles as you start to scurry out of the room, “And for my services of modeling this for you, can I help pick your fit since you seem to be having a hard time?…which shouldn’t be with all these damn clothes you got.”

“Be quiet, Terry. You better be lucky I’m not a bridesmaid, or else you and your little friend to the left might see hell.”

Terry gives you a side eye, “She ain’t a friend of yours so she ain’t a friend of mine.”

“And that’s one of the many reasons why I’m marrying you,” you sigh dramatically while Terry just shakes his head at you, shooing you out of the room, to start unzipping the suit.

When you return with two glasses and a bottle, you make yourself comfortable, glimmering legs crossed over the other while you cheered Terry on in his all black attire.

He sips at the red, carefully putting the glass back down on the nightstand and decides to change back out of his clothes, not wanting to mess anything up, although you both had weeks to go before your friends’ wedding, he still wanted to take precautions, not wanting to cause any more stress to you as well.

“What about this?” Terry questions, pulling up a black lace piece, “We’ll be coordinating.”

You were leaning on one of your elbows and laugh, “I could do a red lip but…If I wear that dress, we probably wouldn’t be attending the wedding.”

It still had a tag on it too.

“Just adds more excitement to spreading love that day and later…” he winks at you, while you feel your body getting hot, even half dressed.

Terry holds it up by the straps with both pointer fingers, “…Get up, it’s your turn to show me why you’re a million out of ten.”

You smirk as you sit up, “You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Don’t I know it,” His eyes followed your movements with ease, as you plucked the dress from his hands, leaning up to let your nose brush against his, and just when Terry was ready to put his hands on your hips, you quickly slipped out of reach and circled around him.

It was his turn to lounge on the ottoman in front of the bed, enjoying his view as you got dressed up for him.

[CANE] —

“The fuck you got on?!”

“Now Lorenzo.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I know you better correct that bass in your tone.”

“And what’s gon’ happen if I don’t?” Cane quizzes, pushing off his knees on the edge of the bed to fold his hands underneath his armpits.

You side eyed him and he had no problem matching your energy.

After a tense silence you sigh, “Stop being extra and rate my fit!”

Cane scratched at his brow as he mumbles, “Was that not what I was just doing?”

You huff, “Your delivery is whack.”

“No, that outfit is.”

Your mouth drops open, as you looked over your shoulder at the mirror behind you before turning fully to look at what you put together. You sported a suede brown frayed jacket, a blue and white pin stripped blouse underneath that was left unbuttoned enough to show cleavage, baggy light-wash jeans, pointed toe boots, a multi colored silk scarf tied over your head, and a suede tote bag to go with it.

“What’s wrong with it? The theme is: bonfire in The West or Midwest.”

Cane sucked his teeth, “We’re in New York, cowboy Carter, in case your ass forgot.”

“Not for long!” You sing song, already excited for where you were spending Christmas.

Christmas’ in the city was of course special but the both of you desperately needed a vacation and Cane already hinted that Christmas would be your next vacation together. He just didn’t tell you where yet or even what to pack, although you kept pushing for some details, he kept that information on lock.

“I ain’t going nowhere where we might turn up buried alive for the buffalo to feast on, that includes: Utah, Nebraska, or at that cult bullshit Kanye likes to chill at.” Cane informed while you rolled your eyes.

“Wyoming, babe.” You sigh before posing in the mirror, “I’m not jumping to those areas particularly but i know I look good and nailed it.”

Cane snorts with a shrug of his shoulders, “If you say so.”

“You still didn’t tell me what you don’t like about it.”

Cane blinked at you, as you turned back around, posing as if that was going to change his mind. “For one I don’t like that jacket and that stupid ass scarf. So you lose points for that. You’re better off wearing my durag than that.”

Scrunching up your lips you respond, “You don’t get the theme. If I wanted to do streetwear then maybe. This is western with a touch of chic, babe. Keep up.”

“You wouldn’t normally wear that shit.” He argued, yanking on one of the fringes, making you stumble forward.

Whacking him with your bag you debate, “Maybe not but if there’s a code, you know I’m gonna body it. Just wait until I get you into some cowboy boots, then you’ll understand.”

“Some what?” Cane felt his own face scrunching up, “You ain’t never catching me in those corny shits.”

“If we’re heading to Utah for Christmas—

“It damn sure ain’t Futah and stop fishing, I’m not telling you shit until December 1st.” Cane told you, making you suck your teeth and stomp your feet.

He laughed at you, loving to see you squirm.

“So?” You urged him to give a score.

Cane went silent, taking his time to see the effort you put in. Although he liked to give you crap, he knew his girl could dress. He wasn’t a fan of this style but he already pointed out what he did like from the outfit.

“…I give you a solid six.”

“A six?!” You exasperated, “you’re supposed to always say a 10 outta 10.”

“I would be lying.”

“Wooow.” You tossed the bag on the bed next to Cane, tongue pressed into your cheek, slightly annoyed.

Your boyfriend chuckles at you, pulling you by the hand so that you’re positioned right in between his knees, “I ain’t say you weren’t cute…just that this ain’t Texas.”

A crooked smile plays on your lips then, as you grip cane’s face, “We’re going to H-Town?!”

“Did I say—

Cane starts but is cut off by your kisses full of excitement, which would soon turn heated.

He was fine in that moment letting you believe whatever you wanted.

[BARRY] —

Barry had to do a double take as you strutted around his trailer, searching for something.

“Aye.”

Your head snaps up as you’re on your knees, looking underneath the kitchen table. “Hey Bear, didn’t hear you come in. Have you seen my swirl hoops? Otherwise I’m just going to have to put my Dr. Pepper ones in.”

You’re bending over again and Barry can’t help but to be a peeping Tom. You’re dressed in a dark pinstriped denim corset, and a white flowy skirt that did not leave much to the imagination when you’re down on all fours. You always did say if anyone could see your birthmark, then that means your bottom half was probably too short. However that didn’t apply if you stood upright!

He didn’t know what earrings you were talking about, at all and he didn’t even care.

“Where you goin’ in that?” Barry ignored your question with a question of his own.

Bouncing back on your feet, you spin, skirt twirling as you did so, sitting on the nook chair to slip your feet into your shoes, “It’s girl night, I’m going out.”

“Oh word? I thought you said that brat girl summer shit was over.” Barry slouches on the couch, exhausted from his day at work.

You laugh, “It’s not just a trend, it’s a lifestyle.”

Barry snorts, “Yeah, whatever that means. You look good as hell, though.”

You smile at him in thanks, heading to the back to swap the one swirl earring for your signature Dr. Pepper earrings that you made (along with other styles) and sold online instead. Barry is behind you, leaning in the doorway as you peek at him in the mirror.

“Can I help you?” You tease while Barry shamelessly runs his eyes over the back of your thighs.

He nods, “Yeah, I’m sure you can. By cancelling your plans to hang out with me instead.”

“Oh no.” You whip around after latching onto the bathroom spray, “Kie already said you would try and pull this in the group chat after the pics I sent. Which is why I hoped I would be gone before you came in. You did this last month and I’m not folding this month so control yourself.”

Barry can’t help the dimple that pokes out as he keeps his arms folded, “I ain’t hear much complaining from you then, baby doll.”

“We deserve a girls night, don’t ruin this, please!” You kept the spray aimed right at your boyfriend, almost sitting on the pedestal sink.

Barry wouldn’t be selfish, although he definitely envisioned what the both of you could get into in this cramped bathroom. The both of you heard the horn beeping obnoxiously but the both of you kept your eyes on each other instead.

“Fine, I’ll let you go.” Barry says, “You gotta give me some lovin’ first.”

Turning your eyes into slits you cautiously step forward, making sure the bathroom spray is pressed into his chest, as you leaned forward to smooch his lips.

Of course Barry let the quick kisses last for only a few seconds before he really latched his hands onto you. He let his hands roam all over your body before pulling back to the point there was a bit of saliva that separated you.

“Have fun but don’t you dare let nobody up on what’s mine, you hear me?” He let go of your jaw and licked at the corner of your swollen mouth, “Well don’t just stand there, go on, get!”

With a slap of your ass, which made you jump, you side stepped your boyfriend who had a smug grin on his face, knowing that he would be on your mind while you’re hanging with your girls.

It was all part of the plan.

Cleo was surprisingly in the driver’s seat of Kiara’s pathfinder and as soon as you got into the passenger side, the girls all peered at you.

“Girl!” Kiara starts.

Followed by Sarah who was sitting on the floor behind the driver’s side appearing a little ill as she motioned to her mouth, “You got a little—

You shushed them with a finger up in the air while you pulled on the drop down mirror, “Not a word.”

Which erupted snickers between your friends before Cleo turned the music up.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ──

FIN.

[randomwriteronline]

"Sweet little one, standing upright, to me you appear dressed in white. But your red nose, what wonders it does: shortens your life the longer it glows."

"A candle," Velika smiled.

"Correct." Mata Nui replied. Then, he offered another riddle: "Which part of the bird has never soared the skies but slithers instead upon the ground, and swims on the surface of the water without ever getting wet?"

"The shadow."

"Correct. Two parents have five daughters; each daughter has a brother, and each brother has five siblings. How many members compose this family?"

"Eight."

"Correct. A beast of long legs, of strength filled to the brim - yet no eyes adorn its head, its intelligence quite dim."

"Pinchers."

"Correct. Today is the third of seven days. In seven years, which of seven will today be?"

"The fourth."

"Correct. I am that which cannot be touched, but inhabits all living things; I am what kills them, burning quietly, and through their mouths the plume of my combustion shows in the cold."

"Oxygen."

"Correct. Through my long black neck breathes my red heart, hacking out smoke as warmth from me departs."

"A stove."

"Correct. She who fights the winds and waves from the bowels of the seas to maintain her treasure so far away, thin yet heavy, weak yet invincible: who is she?"

"The anchor."

"Correct. A ship rotted upon the shore: each plank that fell away was slowly replaced, until it was remade completely new. Yet from the rotten planks, preserved adeguately, a second ship was constructed in the image of the original. Which one then is the true ship?"

"Both and neither," Velika smiled. He tilted his head in his hand, amused. "You're really not good at this."

"An 'and' is not an answer." Mata Nui replied: "Please choose."

"It doesn't matter, does it?"

"A rethorical question is not an answer. Please choose."

"The one from preserved wood."

"I see. A crow, dying of thirst, struggled to get water from a deep vase lodged in a pebbled shore. In its desperation, it began piling rocks upon one another; and so it saved itself. How?"

"By piling them in the vase, forcing the water upward."

"Correct. Swells all around you, like a glove fitting; never shall it hold you, cold embrace fleeting."

"Fog."

"Correct. An unusual farmer plows through a barren snowy field, sowing black seeds in quick succession; what he reaps is just one fruit which feeds many over the years, and never wilts, but only lasts as long as it is not burnt or faded."

"The written word."

"Correct. It is one of the visages by which we can be recognized, odorless, colorless, impalpable - and yet it can reach us far away."

"The voice."

"Correct. It is what the rich lack and poor have plenty of, what the strong fear and the weak have power over, what the happy desire and the dead need."

"Nothing."

"Correct. What am I doing?"

"Stalling me."

Mata Nui smiled: "Correct."

Velika did not move.

"It's useless, you know," he said, grin frozen upon his fake Matoran face as it struggled to hide his true one: "You can't stop me from my goal with these little guessing games of yours."

"I was under the impression you quite enjoyed making riddles."

"I made you."

"You helped. It was admirable, indeed; but it was not your labor alone. You are not one for the practical sciences, after all."

"I made you. You are a soul, a thinking brain. I allowed you to be that."

"You, and others."

"Does the fine print matter?"

"Of course it does. You would wrongfully claim full ownership over the universe entrusted to me otherwise."

"I made them. They are sapient because I allowed them as much."

"And you wish to destroy them now, as they are past their use, and for them to comply and go quietly to you, without making a mess, as otherwise it would be quite the inconvenience."

"Of course."

"Fathers owe their children as much as their children owe them."

"They're not my children," Velika laughed loudly as if that was the most hilarious thing he'd ever heard: "They are a successfully completed experiment! Archived and finished! I can't leave the mess of my previous project all over my desk if I want to start a new one, don't you think?"

Mata Nui did not move.

"You are awfully cruel in your insatiable curiosity." he noted simply. "Indeed, you are Teridax's father."

"I told you I don't have children."

"But we were your successors, were we not? A lonely god on a mindnumbingly long journey, one scientist in a team with delusions of grandeur."

"You are things I made. Things I gave awareness to. Nothing more."

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more."

"Is this also your opinion of the universe within me?"

"Of course."

"Then you have no claim on us."

Velika raised his head from his palm and laughed. He laughed again, spitting out phonemes without a rhythm. He forced himself to laugh, because otherwise the confused wrath within him would have needed to explode in some other way.

"Pardon?"

"It brings a riddle to mind."

"I don't want a riddle. What did you just say?"

"Again, I was under the impression that you enjoyed posing riddles. At inopportune times most of all."

"Cut it. What did you say?"

"A woman bore her daughter, and decided it was not her duty to care for her: she still observed her growth over the years for sake of a morbid fancy, never intervening nor gaining any affection for her. At last the daughter found great happiness and fortune; and so her mother came, and demanded a part of her riches as compensation for giving birth to her. Was she right in requesting as much?"

"I said I don't want a riddle!"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Quit that! What did you say to me?"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"You insulted me, is that it? You insulted me?"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Shut up!"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Fine! Fine, you broken piece of junk, fine. Repeat it, I didn't listen."

"A woman bore her daughter, and decided it was not her duty to care for her: she still observed her growth over the years for sake of a morbid fancy, never intervening nor gaining any affection for her. At last the daughter found great happiness and fortune; and so her mother came, and demanded a part of her riches as compensation for giving birth to her. Was she right in requesting as much?"

"No, she denied custody and has no say over her nor her belongings."

"Correct."

"So? What did you say?"

"I said the exact thing you repeated with your answer." Mata Nui replied. "You have shirked your responsability towards us, and you have no right to decide of our fate."

"You are things," Velika hissed: "Things are made!"

"We are people. People are made, too."

"People are born! They are thinking creatures!"

"Are we not, then?"

"No! You are things that I have given sapience to! You owe me life! Obedience! You owe me everything you are!"

"Are we then yours?"

"Yes!"

"By what virtue?"

"By virtue of creation!"

"By virtue of birth." Mata Nui repeated. "A virtue that we have agreed holds no water when a parent abandons their children."

Velika's eyes burned: "You are made," he insisted. "Not born."

"People are made, too. They are engineered by chance, put together by two others. The creation progress requires time and resources; afterwards, the new being needs to be programmed and taught what to do, what not to do, through trial and error."

"It's different. It's completely different. I gave you that intelligence. In people it's innate."

"From when? From the moment your cells are assembled? From the second you develop eyes? From the instant you are brought into the world, kicking and screaming? There is indeed an ability, innate, for understanding tasks and languages; but it all has to be instructed. Neither of us were born capable of speech, yet we could understand a language of our own, for that is how we were both built."

"Do not equate yourself to me. You are code, bits and pieces of electricity, the vague hint of a self."

"On that same electricity is based the neural system that is your 'I'."

"But I am your maker. I created you. Not the other way around."

"And so? You have denied custody of us. You refuse to recognize our personhood. Are you not our parent who abandons us, our creator who destroys us?"

"I have no children!"

"Then we do not owe you anything."

Velika raised his hand and grabbed the air, right where a neck should have been.

"I will kill you," he threatened: "I will annihilate you."

Mata Nui held his gaze without flinching: "That you can."

They remained still.

The room was empty.

"I had such knowledge to share... But it would have been too long to tell, I am afraid." he only lamented. "I have lived a long life, all in all - sometimes it has even been pleasant. A lousy god such as myself will not make much difference by now, alive or otherwise: my people have moved on from any whims that may have moved my requests once. Go on then, if it pleases you."

The hand twitched, but did not close.

It spasmed, clutching, hardening, but did not close.

Velika clenched his jaw, tightening his fist, but it did not close.

He tried, and tried, and tried, and tried, and tried; but it did not close.

"I will kill you," he hissed. But suddenly he wasn't sure he could.

Mata Nui waited.

Nothing happened.

His hand of thought - invisible, impalpable, barely real - grazed his creator's chin and lifted it slightly with his fingertips.

"What is it that the brilliant man standing before the machine he has made to do his bidding - to labor away endlessly in his stead, to travel where he would not, to learn what he could not, to sing and write and draw what he cannot - fears most of all?"

The Great Being did not answer.

Silence stretched over the small endless space the word should have been spoken into through his voice.

Mata Nui smiled.

"Leave." he ordered. "There is no place in this world for a god that treats its people like toys."

Velika lunged forward and grasped the Ignika in his hands.

By the time other beings arrived drawn in by the horrid noises, the body writhing and raving had lost its limbs, its bones, maybe even its skin. It clung to the golden artifact still somehow, trying desperately to claw at it, break it, unleash its wrath upon it as it continued to mutate the creature into something less and less able to function the longer it remained latched upon its surface by its own stubborn volition; it howled wordlessly, voice cawing through what was supposed to be its mouth in a garbled attempt at speaking, but there was no mind behind the gruesome wailing - just a violent, infinite, senseless anger.

It shrieked at them when they rushed to put it down, partly frightened to death by it, partly trying to spare it from the anguished existence it was bound to go on to live - screamed something, something that could have been 'obedience', or close enough.

Mata Nui did not stir from sleep.

[ncoincidences]

What would absolutely, irrevocably, break Sirius Black?

Considering canon, he can survive:

The death of his best friends. It causes him immense grief, which he channels into rage. Still, he manages to track down Peter pretty quickly (whether that says less about him and more about Peter's evasion skills is yet to be determined, but considering Peter managed to evade detection or even suspicion for 12 years, I'd like to give him some credit).

12 years of Azkaban, i.e. 12 years of mental torture by dementors who pull out his worst memories to the front of his mind (indicating he has incredible resilience of mind and willpower)

a year back inside his childhood home, which brings out the worst in him — but he manages to remain cheery for the kids, as seen during Christmas time. if we take a moment to consider that his memories of Grimmauld Place would've haunted him in Azkaban as well, returning back to the place is like salt and lemon on the wound, and would further enhance his memories. Leaving him in worse mental health.

living on the run and hiding in caves - to be in survival mode AND still have your full attention on your godson speaks even more about his mental strength, PLUS, he would have been so bored but he chose to abandon the tropical beach dream and return to give Godfatherly advice <3

CONCLUSION: Nothing (nearly) can break Sirius.

But, I have a few suggestions.

Returning back to Azkaban. Perhaps during OOTP he's caught again, and arrested without trials because the Ministry is too busy worrying about Voldemort to give out the Dementor's Kiss yet. He's already at his worst. Returning back would mean he failed Harry. It would bring his ghosts back to life.

Losing Harry. He's whom Sirius risks everything for.

Harry hating him. Don't get me wrong... Harry adores this guy. But what if... Harry's letters lessen. Misunderstandings. Sirius concluding that maybe he just isn't the right godfatherly figure for Harry.

Becoming bed-ridden. Hear me out. Not being able to fight is his source of annoyance during OOTP, BUT, what if he isn't able to do basic tasks? Now, he's a liability. He has to be taken care for. He can't physically protect Harry or fight against those who hurt him. Add that to being stuck in Grimmauld Place. I think he'd go incredibly sullen, and if it's for a prolonged period of time AND Harry has to be at Hogwarts - he'd be in a really low mood.

Stuck in Grimmauld Place with Harry. I know Harry thinks about begging Sirius to live with him instead during Umbridge's reign at Hogwarts, but it really would be a bad fate for the two of them. While initially they'd feel better at getting to be close to each other, the boredom and despair would drive them up the wall. Sirius might feel guilt at Harry not being able to complete his education (if that were the case). They'd be bored out of their minds. Sirius wouldn't want Harry to see the worst of him and would retreat away. Sirius would hate that Harry is spending his teen years at the worst place imaginable in his eyes, and blame himself for it. Additional slightly crack idea:

Turns out, his parents didn't die. They were just taking a few years off in the Italian countryside. What are a bunch of freaks doing in their house?

If you have more suggestions, feel free to drop in! Plus, if you'd like to use these as prompts, tag me with whatever you come up with <3

[vacantfields]

A tear, a torn piece of fabric, a cry for help, yet all is silenced. It has to be. That's how it has to be.

Such is Sun's way of viewing things, which is probably not healthy, he figures, but he's a machine, so maybe it's healthy to be finicky about how you feel- "stop. Stop putting these thoughts in my head." A raspy voice said to him. Raspy...

Sun looked up and was met with red eyes and long black hair. Moon was frowning, his clawed hands on his hips. "What's the matter, Moonie?" Moon rolled his eyes at the simple question Sun asked, always so silly that Moonie.

Moon looked at Sun for a long moment before finally uttering something. "You're distant again. You're supposed to talk with me." He said with a vague gesture of his hand. Sun frowned at that. How could Moon say that to him?

Sun was about to tell Moon just how he felt about that. After all, Moon left their shared body when they got these new android bodies. But he did not get to say anything as Eclipse stood in the corner of the room where they were all standing.

Sun and Moon's eyes were locked to Eclipse's. The tall android smiled unsettlingly, as he always did, and then spoke.

"I have eaten three rats today."

[mournfulroses-00]

The day the child realizes all adults are imperfect, he becomes an adolescent; the day he forgives them, he becomes an adult; and the day he forgives himself, he becomes wise.

-Alden Nowlan

[possessedscholar]

Oh of course, you save hundreds of people over the years and barely a word of thanks!

You help recover stolen and lost artifacts and nobody’s ever like “Oh thanks for recovering this scepter worth more gold than the lower classes could ever imagine!”

You help build entire towns near single handedly, and they don’t even put a commemorative plaque!

But you accept the power of a dying dragon goddess of shadows and destiny, and suddenly everyone’s like “How could you betray our trust like that! and “The gods will never forgive you for this” and “How could you abandon your human form for THAT?!”, and that’s not even getting into the shit people say that’s borderline racist to the Lizardkin!

It’s never “Oh wow your scales are a beautiful shade of purple” or “Oh breathing black fire is so cool” or even just “Hey your new boobs look amazing” or “Damn four arms? Lucky…!”

[charmnyu]

 ᘏᘏ do i really look like her? ⤷ l. castellan

cw: implied fem reader but gender neutral is also okay ! angst. angst with no comfort because i hated how today went. i love thaila n luke ik they wouldnt do this realistically but ykyk why not ..i also gave up at the end i can’t lie

You can’t help but contemplate you and Luke’s friendship; does he see you as a friend? More than that, perhaps? Or maybe like Thaila? It toys with your mind— keeping you up in the middle of the night in a small, cramped cabin, leaving you vulnerable and also feeling like shit.

You remind him of Thaila. The resemblance is deadly on point; from head to toe. It’s probably the only reason he willingly keeps you around his side at all. Secret dirty glares and glances, once in a while.

He’s called you Thaila many times in a deep conversations— it’s intentional, and you know it is. But he swears it’s not. But you look past it most of the time. Letting him off with a “that’s not my name.” or, “You forgettin’ me or somethin’, Castellan?”

Everybody warns you about it. Do you decide to look past it. Sometimes, unfortunately. You were no helpless maiden— but camp felt suffocating. It was draining you, bit by bit, piece but piece. Luke was your solace. Your everything. To you, atleast.

He’ll slip Thaila’s initials in small handwriting when he gets the chance to write to you (You never knew it, though. You didn’t even get to see— you don’t even know her personally. But she had to be great to get the Luke Castellan to care for her so much , even in her final moments, right?).

Luke’s arms wrapped in a warm yet somehow suffocating embrace. Which, felt off to you. His touch was always comforting. Always warm, inviting and felt like home. But the tension could’ve been cut with a knife. Your rambling lifted some of the tension in the Hermes cabin (It was so awkward having some of the younger kids stare at you and Luke. That, you couldn’t deny. Nosy little shits.)

His chin rested on the top of your head, ruffling and messing it up playfully on purpose to ease some of the awkwardness. Gods, it felt smothering in the cabin. “You’re pretty, Thaila— fuck— I.. mean— shit.” It couldnt have been this bad. There’s no denying that you look a little too much like Thaila. But for your own best friend (maybe even more) to call you by her name? You were getting disrespect on a silver platter.

“The fuck did you just call me?” you spat out with a scoff, eyebrows furrowed and a frown on your face. “I can’t fucking do this anymore— leave me alone.” You quickly shrug off Luke’s (rather) desperate hands off you and sprint out of the cabin.

“Woah. How’d you managed to fumble that badly?” one of the kids in the corner mocks, snickers coming from all his friends.

“Shut the fuck up.” Luke scoffs, glaring at the kids in the corner. They at least knew better than to argue with a good swordsman (good is an understatement, if anything).

He quickly makes his way out of the cabin, eyes desperately searching for any signs of you but failing to.

He could check for you near the strawberry field— but you won’t be there since you know that’s the first place he look, nor the docks or hidden away in the Apollo cabin, sobbing to them to make your pain go away while they frantically try and stop you from shoving pills down your throat in one go.

But there is one place where he would check last. A place where he wouldn’t even consider you’d be.

Thaila’s tree.

It sounds crazy— but you don’t want him to come looking for you. Maybe that’s where you’d be off hiding.

Without further thought, Luke jogs over in minutes to check if you’re at Thaila’s tree.

And he’s right. You’re trying to hide yourself, almost trying to make yourself invisible but can’t quite get it.

But you’re not alone.

There’s another kid sitting next to you, your head resting on his comfortably with your eyes closed, like you’ve finally reached eternal peace and solitude with another guy.

Luke can barely make it out; he’s wiping your tears away with his index finger and a shit-eating grin (to Luke, of course) on his face while he does it— almost like he can feel Luke’s presence. He hasn’t even turned around. He doesn’t notice Luke.

So, there’s only one conclusion Luke Castellan can come to; maybe you are better off with someone else better than him. Well— he can’t even get your name correctly without mistaking you for somebody else so… maybe there will be a special somebody, with someone as special as you, that can get your name right.

But Luke just could never and can’t be that guy. Unfortunately.

[ashestospace]

Sebastian watching the years pass by and then noticing little things are changing. When he runs his fingers through Meyrins hair there’s a few grey strands. Bard looks a bit more tired and there’s more wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t have to look down at Finnian when he talks anymore cause now he has to tilt his head up. He doesn’t have to button up Ciels shirt up and chose his clothes because his not a little kid anymore. He has to walk a bit slower so Bard doesn’t get out of breath even though he can fight just as good as the first time he got hired. He doesn’t have to clean Finnian face from dirt cause he always carry a handkerchief now on his back pocket to make sure his clean when he goes inside the Manor. Meyrin doesn’t get as nervous or flustered anymore, she just seems to softly pat on his arm every time Sebastian tries to make her flustered.

Yet every morning he wakes up to them waiting to help out with breakfast. Every morning he gets a soft squeeze of his arm by Bard or Meyrin greeting him sweetly as she pushes some of his hair of the way so they can start cooking. Their still the times he just watches Ciel and Finnian talk about things they enjoy with child-like joy. Ciel still needs him to stand by him or bring him a warm cup of milk at night. Ciel still calls him names with a either annoyment or a smile on his face. Finnian sometimes still cries to him when he gets overwhelmed. Meyrin still gets butterfly on her stomach once Sebastian does something impressive.

Yet….he still exactly the same.

[imnotditzy]

The what ifs

Captain paused, as they touched the ground of the ruined park, a consequence of the ended battle.

“What did you say?” Billy asked, Captain nodded in the shared interest.

 The person whispered, quietly.

“I'm sorry, I can’t understand you.” Billy admitted, a small tinge of upset budded within himself. He paused, bringing his attention to Marvel. 

There was a loose smile laid on Captain’s face which seemed to indicate Marvel understood as much as Billy did. 

“Who are you?” Billy asked.

They replied, but he couldn’t hear.

The loose smile fell into a nervous one, and Billy was beginning to feel redundant, “I’m sorry…Can you please speak up?” He asked, timidly.

“𝔶o҉𝔲…҉ f҉𝔦n҉𝔞l҉𝔩y҉ t҉𝔥e҉ w҉𝔦n҉𝔡 𝔥a҉𝔰 𝔢c҉𝔥o҉𝔢d҉ t҉𝔥e҉ w҉𝔬r҉𝔡s҉ o҉𝔣 𝔱h҉𝔢 𝔲n҉𝔦v҉𝔢r҉𝔰e҉, 𝔱h҉𝔢 𝔰n҉𝔞k҉𝔢 𝔥a҉𝔰 𝔟i҉𝔱t҉𝔢n҉ i҉𝔱s҉ t҉𝔞i҉𝔩.҉ t҉𝔥e҉ e҉𝔫d҉ w҉𝔦t҉𝔥 𝔱h҉𝔢 𝔟e҉𝔤i҉𝔫n҉𝔦n҉𝔤 𝔞s҉ t҉𝔥e҉𝔶 𝔢x҉𝔦s҉𝔱 𝔱o҉𝔤e҉𝔱h҉𝔢r҉ i҉𝔫 𝔦m҉𝔭e҉𝔯m҉𝔞n҉𝔢n҉𝔠e҉…” They whispered.

Captain narrowed their eyes as they tried to decipher what the unknown voice said.

 “Uh…I…I’m sorry, you’re confusing me.” Billy paused, “Impermanence? Did you say that?”

“𝔡a҉𝔯e҉ i҉ s҉𝔭e҉𝔞k҉ l҉𝔬u҉𝔡e҉𝔯?҉ y҉𝔢s҉ i҉ d҉𝔬 𝔡a҉𝔯e҉, 𝔦n҉𝔡e҉𝔢d҉. 𝔫o҉ r҉𝔢g҉𝔯e҉𝔱s҉ m҉𝔞y҉ r҉𝔦d҉𝔡l҉𝔢 𝔪y҉ f҉𝔲n҉𝔠t҉𝔦o҉𝔫l҉𝔢s҉𝔰 𝔟o҉𝔡y҉…”

Marvel blinked again, eyes widening too, almost in registration. 

The words made Billy wonder if he was hard of hearing or just too light in the head. His confusion was interrupted as the odd voice spoke again. 

“Iḿṕéŕḿáńéńćé, ӳőú áńd í. Áś ẃéĺĺ áś ćőńtŕádíćtíőńś, főŕ í éx��śt főŕévéŕ áńd ńő évéŕḿőŕé. I bŕéáthé thŕőúǵh ḿӳ hőńőŕ áńd áḿ śháṕéd thŕőúǵh thé ćŕúéĺ ẃőŕdś— I, á tőŕtúŕéd śőúĺ, ḿáӳ ńévéŕ ŕéśt. Bút ít íś áĺĺ I ćáń dő…á ŕéśtĺéśś ḿíńd, á áćtíőńĺéśś bődӳ. Téĺĺ ḿé, á féĺĺőẃ ṕŕédíćtéd śőúĺ, thé ẃáӳ ẃé fúĺfíĺĺ thé díŕéćtíőń őf thé úńívéŕśé. I ẃőńdéŕ íś thé úńívéŕśé át thé éńd őf thé śtŕíńǵ?”

Billy started to feel like a fool. The words, Billy didn’t get what any of them meant. He wanted to frown, despite his incapability to do so at that moment, he had too many questions and no way of answers. Goodness, the words didn’t make any sense anymore.

“Captain?” 

Captain Marvel’s head swung toward the voice, and their eyes landed on Superman.

“…Yes?” They muttered, sheepishly scratching the back of their neck. The look in Superman’s eyes and the furrow of his brows made Billy want to squirm, and Marvel began to fidget on their feet. 

The voice spoke up again, no more coherent than the last, “Thé štörÿ thé qüîłł háš ćréátéd áñd šîgñéd för ÿöü, îñtrîgüéš mé. Wîłł ÿöür démîšé bé áš hörrîfîć áñd grüéšömé áš thé pášt wéré? Wîłł ît bé bÿ ÿöür öwñ háñd, á háñd töö šîmîłár tö mÿ öwñ? Ör šháłł ÿöür špîrît ñévér röám thé Röćk öf Étérñîtÿ, —för étérñîtÿ… Î šháłł wáłk wîth ÿöü, îf ñöt.” The voice paused, “Ör wöüłd wé škîp? Höwévér háš thé évéñt bééñ šćrîptéd? Öh, pérhápš théÿ’d áłłöw mé tö táké á péék. Thé hörrîbłé šîght ćöüłd błéšš mÿ éÿéš áš Î göügé thém áftérwárd…” The voice droned, a smile present in their tone.

Billy sighed internally, and Marvel did the same.

“Ñéw Ćhámpîöñ. Ćhámpîöñ. Thát wáš mÿ tîtłé öñćé, ñö ñümbér, ñö łégáćÿ tö öwñ. Î ám thé réášöñ för ÿöür éxîštéñćé, béćáüšé Î ám á fáîłüré. Fáîłüré, áłł Ćhámpîöñš áré fáîłüréš, máÿ Î fáîł. Máÿ ÿöü fáîł. Máÿ thé ñéxt fáîł šö théré áré öthérš tö fáîł. Fáîłîñg îš á ćöñšéqüéñćé öf bréáthîñg, áñd thîš îš öñłÿ trüé bÿ mÿ áćtîöñ. Łîštéñ tö mé, łîštéñ tö mé.” The voice repeated that last part over and over and over and over an—again. 

Billy wanted to frown, the voice was wearing him down like an old shoe. The person was still speaking nonsense, or was it nonsense, yes it was nonsense. And Billy started to feel bad for the voice, despite the reasons why he shouldn’t have because he knew their words were rooted in reality, they seemed out of it.

Billy decided to focus on someone else, and shifted his attention to Superman. He was looking at them, oddly. 

“Captain, can you hear me?”

What a silly question, of course he could. Adults often did a thing where they asked pointless questions to him, maybe Superman had entertained the habit, too. 

Billy responded this time, “Yes, Superman. You’re perfectly heard, fine, for sure.” And they gave him a toothy smile.

That didn’t stop the look. “I…” He cut himself off, “Okay, Captain.” 

Good, Billy thought, maybe he understood now. 

Captain smiled wider.

Something landed in the grass before them and their eyes focused on it. The shiny golden liquid began to drip onto the ground as if it was watering the grass at their feet. 

The golden substance seemed familiar. 

The liquid continued to drip past their eyes, and rain onto the floor.

“Captain?” 

“Hm?” Marvel looked up, staring Superman in the eyes.

His tone became…harsher, “Are you alright?” He said.

Marvel nodded, which caused something to trickle down their forehead and down the sides of their head. 

Did they move their head into the gold rain?

Superman spoke, “Captain Marvel, can you look at me?” 

Billy was certain Superman was doing the thing now, the adult thing.

So, Captain Marvel laughed. “I am.” They replied.

As they laughed, the liquid shook down their head and fell down their neck. 

Captain raised their arm, and tapped their forehead.

They stopped, eyes wide.

It was covered in thick gold.