#but my friends + my grandma r still where my parents used to live

[doyeons]

going back to my apartment tmrw. everything just feels kind of incorrect rn i cant describe it

[departeaaa]

CASSIAN BARAKZAI • DC BIO • 36

i tremble. they're gonna eat me alive...

chara tag ⁂ fic idea tag ⁂ creations tag ⁂ pinterest tag ⁂ ship w/ john c tag

BASICS

Name: Genesis Cassian Barakzai

Nickname(s): Cass, Genesis, Jen

Date of birth: April 1 (She says her life’s a joke from birth)

Star sign: Aries.

Gender/pronouns: Cis-woman, she/her

Orientation: Bisexual, Biromantic

Occupation: former Field Journalist. Currently a ghost-author. Fake psychic who actually knows her shit.

Relationship status: Single, but sometimes seeing J.ohn Co.nstantine. It’s ridiculously complicated.

Playby: V/ita Mi/r

trigger warning before reading further: death, probably other things but idk what exactly.

Tests

INFJ CHAOTIC GOOD

A QUOTE THAT REMINDS ME OF THEM:

“What use is moonlight? I reach into it, fingers open, and my hand is silvered and blessed, and comes back to me holding nothing.”

— Margaret Atwood, from “Sumacs,” in Interlunar

BEGINNINGS

Born In: Unspecified, Russian (Unspecified because Cass' father never told her where) Raised In Location: Unspecified, Ireland (Unspecified because Cass won't tell)

Current Location: Gotham.

Places Lived: Random places. She just lives wherever.

Nationality: American.

Background:

Her biological mother is from Afghanistan and her biological father is from Russia. She never met her biological mother, but her biological father was cool enough to give her her mother’s surname ‘Barakzai’ as a memory to her. Her father was originally going to live in London but he ended up marrying an Irish woman who he loved very much, and during that time, things were alright.

Even with the area in conflict during the 90s, he still made things comfortable and Cass still had a good group of friends to rely on and family she was comfortable with. She also adored her little sister. She was a surprisingly happy-go-lucky girl growing up, to many people’s surprise if they see pictures of her from this time compared to now. During her time in Ireland, she learned magic from her step-mother and was pretty great at it and gifted at predictions.

Thing was, she noticed that magic was a little buggy when her father used it so she always warned him of it. She wasn’t exactly sure why. But when she was seventeen, her parents died performing a spell that they did without thinking of the repercussions and it not only wiped them out but everyone in their small town except for Cass and her sister.

And upon this discovery, Cass and her sister hopped out of town and began new lives. Cass decided not to use magic often, but ended up using ‘fake psychic’ predictions along with real ones in order to make a good amount of money to make it to uni and to afford a place for her little sister to live since they didn’t have any other family to go to. And though she knew her father would roll in his grave, they chose London as the place to stay.

Cass stayed for a while and studied up until a grandma of hers reached out to help take care of her sister, so she could live her life. Cass did not want to leave her sister, but she ended up doing field journalism and occasionally took time off. It was during this time where she met John Constantine and found him to be rather irritating, despite sleeping with him.

The two ended up working together because he noticed some of the fake psychic predictions she made were legit and he also had noticed when she performed street magic for kids she sometimes did actual tricks.

He had warned her to be careful around kids, but then contradicted himself by asking her to help him with something. And she had helped him, and it ended up biting her in the ass and he ended up ditching her. Which led her to be cross with him. The two of them did not meet again, until later on when he’d warned her that her sister had been possessed by a demon. Which caused Cass to not only use magic again, but she was now open to working with John again.

Though she no longer uses magic often, and she uses her party tricks of fake psychic readings for her income and her books, she will occasionally investigate hauntings for people just to make sure what happened to her small neighborhood won’t happen to anyone else’s home or family – though it was not a demon’s doing and her parents’ own foolishness. Cause deep down, despite Cass’ serious façade, she just wants to help people.

[honey-makki]

grandma’s blessing

best friend!hanamaki takahiro x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of death (family member), oral (fem receiving), fire, probably unsanitary cooking conditions if i’m being honest (it’s soft i swear)

summary: the holidays are your favorite time of year. your best friend hanamaki tries to keep holiday cheer alive despite the loss of a family member.

word count 2.4k

masterlist

Holiday’s are tricky. Decisions on whether the trauma of going home will be a heavier burden to bear than the guilt and loneliness of your city apartment. GOing home was never a pleasant experience. Trips filled with parents nitpicking your seemingly successful life and emotionally battering you about anything and everything they could. The only reprieve would be hugging your grandmother and being able to see her face-to-face during dinner. She understood why you didn’t come home every opportunity and didn’t blame you a bit.

On years when it would be too much to travel, you knew that she would still give you a call. Spending all day on the phone with you while you bounced around the kitchen making much smaller portions of what they would be eating at home. Even the small amounts of silence on the call were comfortable. You could feel her next to you kneading the dough for a pie while you mixed together the fruit base. It felt like home.

The silence that has been living in your apartment the past few months after her passing was suffocating. Weekends spent with friends at their apartment just to get out of somewhere that just seems to reek of death and despair.

You had spent more nights at Makki’s place in the past month than at your own. He was your closest friend, a true confidant, someone skilled at lifting your mood, and the person you’ve been undeniably in love with for years. You accepted the fate of growing old with a horde of cats as long as you can have his silly pink hair shining in the sun when you hung out with friends. It’s ok that you are going to be alone forever as long as you still had a standing laser tag date once a month. The only thing stronger than your feelings of love towards the strawberry blond was fear of losing him.

He has been a pillar of strength during the past few months. Holding your crying body until you fall asleep on his tear-stained and snot covered chest. Setting alarms in your phone to make sure you are eating or going to work instead of sitting in a dissociative state. Ever since you shared a bed with him, he’s been a little more comfortable with physical contact. Walking closer together arms touching when going out or throwing an arm over your shoulder when lounging around the house. You can’t count the number of times you’ve both woken up in various stages of cuddling.

He was the one to bring up spending the holidays together. He had just gone home for a wedding and couldn’t afford another ticket and he knew that you were in a weird spot. “We can stay here and make dinner and bake cookies and watch shitty r-romcoms? Someone has to appreciate Hallmark movies, why not us?” You can hear his voice crack and start to speed up as a blush rises across his face. You see it but don’t really process it, more relieved that for the first time in months, the thought of holidays didn’t make you run to the bathroom and throw up. You smiled and nodded, setting plans for him to come over later in the week.

Makki always liked when you cooked, throwing a western spin on dishes he considered normal. But today, he was flabbergasted, you didn’t let him just sit on the barstool curating music while you did all the work, no, there was too much food to be made for him to laze around. You laid out the recipe for your grandmothers’ mac n’ cheese, explaining what everything meant while you got started on an asian fusion stuffing you figured out a few years back.

You stole glances at him in the middle of stirring, combining and folding everything together. His tongue sticks out between his lips while he deliberately measures out the exact amount of cheese required. In all the time you’ve seen him, you’ve never seen him totally lose his laid back air until now, and you can’t control your laugh. Is he really more serious about measuring out sharp cheddar cheese than a game that would take them to nationals? Or that physics final he actually studied for? Your heart skips a beat when you see his soft, satisfied smile to the dish he just created. All you can picture when he looks over to you is how cute of a child he must have been. Cheeks round encasing his bright smile as his head tilts ever so slightly to the left.

After he slides the last dish into the oven, you both opt for taking the time to clean the kitchen, knowing that you won’t want to do it after dinner. The dishes are washed and dried and while Makki puts away the ones that go on a higher shelf, you return flour and other ingredients to the pantry but before you put them down you call out to him, voice lighter than normal, the one you use when asking a favor.

“Taka, how upset would you be if I said I wanted to cook a little bit more?”

“You get dishes this time around then, but what are we makin’?”

You turn out of the pantry with a bounce in your step before slapping down the flour and newly acquired, chocolate chips and sprinkles. “Cookies! We always made cookies with my grandma and it wouldn’t be the same without them.” Your eyes sparkle at the thought of the sweet treats and equally sweet memories of your childhood. Makki thinks you are breathtaking.

“Let me get the bowls back down and we can probably make mediocre cookies if you have anything you do with it.” He smiles at just how cute the squawk you made from his teasing is, just happy that he gets to be here with you. He doesn’t really hear how you defend your baking skills and complain that just because you forgot flour one time doesn’t mean you are inept at baking.

He never thought he would be the type to settle down and be domestic, it just didn’t seem like something he cared a lot about, but now he he can’t rid his mind of the thought of waking up ten minutes before your alarm just to make you a cup of coffee or throwing your favorite blanket in the drier on days it’s raining so when you get home, you can melt into the soft plush and warm up instantly.The clattering of spices brings him back to the moment, turning to see you picking up the cinnamon and vanilla extract.

“You good, love?” There’s something about how you look when you flustered because of him, that scratches an itch he didn’t know was there. The first time a pet name like this had slipped through his lips he was certain that whatever line the two of you were toeing had been crossed, demolished. Instead you just tucked your hair away and averted your gaze back to whatever shitty movie the two of you were “watching” that night. Now it’s normal, well its not normal, its very much not normal for him to refer to you as love or babe and it's not normal for you to exclusivley call him by his first name. It's decidedly abnormal considering your relationship or lack thereof. But if you aren’t going to question it neither is he.

He helps you up and gather the remaining ingredients for the “famous snickerdoodle cookies” that you swear had won awards. The mixing of the dough is interrupted when he has to grab your wrist to stop you from adding salt instead of sugar. You refuse to look at him because you know he is sporting a huge smirk and raised eyebrows, knowing that he’s right about you not being the best baker. You are reprieved by the oven going off, signaling to remove the earlier and change the temperature.

“Damn, babe, these cookies look so good, especially this one.” You return to Makki who already started to lay out the dough on the baking tray. You see perfectly round blobs squished slightly by a fork for a pattern and then right in front of him you see the cookie he was talking about. You didn't expect to see your 27 year old boyfriend-who-isn’t-your-boyfriend to be holding a cockshaoped cookie. But really, you should have seen it coming from the guy who laughs when either of you fart.

He can hear the clock ticking as you just stare, annoyed. He was concerned for a second, that maybe he shouldn’t have made a lewd joke when making cookies. This is something he used to do with her grandmother, you stupid idiot.. But when he can see the apple of your cheek peeking out from behind your hand, he recognizes that face. The one that positively exudes warmth and happiness with her laughter. The butterflies always buzzing in his stomach go wild when this face comes out. He would do anything to see it for the rest of time.

You don’t know where the courage comes from but you cup his cheek for a kiss, he mirrors your action. It just felt normal, and you honestly didn’t realize that it wasn’t normal until you both pulled back. Your eyes are locked on his, both of you sporting a soft smile until his keeps growing, evolving into a laugh that is borderline offensive in how loud it is.

You don’t know why and you get a little nervous that maybe he doesn’t feel the same way, when you go to hide your face, you feel the heat rising but also a soft powdery coating? And that’s when you realize his hands are still coated in flour from shaping the cookies. Your eyes are rolling while you chuckle but Makki on the other hand is losing his mind, almost in tears from laughing while putting the cookies in the oven. “It’s not that funny, Takahiro! Get me a napkin please.”

“Nah, you look really sweet. Good enough to eat.” You weren’t surprised when he returned to kissing you, nor when he lifted you up by your thighs and plopped you on the counter. The kisses are sweet, lazy and perfect for a second kiss, and a third and a fourth. This is normal. His lips belong on yours. Your hands should be tangled up in his hair while his run over your waist and legs. This is right. There's no rush to deepen the kiss, both of you happy to just indulge in the warmth of the other, but it is inevitable. A soft nip at your bottom lip or an accidental tug of his hair, neither of you know what happened first but you both are staring at each other, panting lightly with a much darker gaze than the original flour induced makeout session.

“You are just as sweet as I thought. Gotta have a taste.” His voice is raspier than you’ve ever heard and you just let him move your body as he pleases. Pull your hips to the edge of the counter. Spread your legs as far apart as they’ll go. Lift your hips when he pulls your shorts and underwear down. Gotta act as sweet as he says I am. He has barely touched you but when he falls to his knees and just stares at your dripping slit that he's imagined for years, your eyes, you are already imagining how good he's going to feel.

You shouldn’t even try to think, his tongue exceeded any expectation or desire you had. Expertly flicking against your throbbing clit as he works two fingers in you. You feel the groan he lets out when he dips his tongue into your hole before you hear it. The vibrations reverberate up your spine and through your body, an all-consuming heat starting in your stomach, threatening to let loose, to run rampant on your body. His fingers, joined by another, return to your clenching hole and search for the spongy spot hidden deep inside. All you can hear is the blood rushing through your head, drowning out every other noise.

“C’mon love, cum on my fingers, on my tongue, I’ve wanted, dreamed about this for years, give it to me.” His slow words juxtaposed the fervent pace of his fingers and it was enough to send you over the edge.

You feel so hot you fear you might pass out, the groan Makki lets out beneath you is the only thing keeping you grounded. You were first concerned that you had hurt him in someway, but when you see his eyes roll back into his head and his tongue trying to lap up every single bit of cum you squirted on his face and thighs, you know it wasn’t due to excruciating pain, rather it's just an obscene reaction to you.

When you push him back, squirming with overstimulation, you hear him scramble and “Shit! Fuck! Fire extinguisher?? WHERE IS YOUR FIRE EXTINGUISHER???” You are still out of it until he starts actually screaming, words still evade you but he follows your line of sight to the red tube hiding in the corner next to the fridge. The smell of smoke is overwhelming all of a sudden. You were in a dreamlike post orgasmic state and suddenly your coughing, eyes hazy.

the cookies, SHIT THE COOKIES!! Smoke is billowing out of the oven and your fire alarm is blaring, but soon the room is filled with a white foam originating from Makki. You never realized that the foam would continue to expand until half of your kitchen was covered in it and you saw a sheepish looking Makki on the other side.

“Fires out”. Again, he starts to laugh at you, and this time you join him. Today has turned out entirely different than you expected. It wasn’t a sad day, it was filled with laughter, romance, an ill timed fire and Makki. All in all, a successful holiday, despite the fact everything you cooked was coated in foam. He’d seen you staring at the food and already took his phone out to order food, “Indian or ramen?”

Yeah, you think you’re grandma would be happy seeing you like this. Happy Holidays.

a/n: i don’t really know what this is but the image of makki being a disaster in the kitchen came to me one day and here we are. make sure you read the other fics in the collab

matsukawa’s funeral home winter collab

a/n 2.0: also a/o to @iwaasfairy for making that makki image that i used in my header. i love her more than i love him which say a lot

[heavcnslyre]

ricky bowen x reader series! part one

— starstruck au!

series masterlist, part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten

IN WHICH you reunite with your cousin, ashlyn, and the rest of your family in california, and your sister plots to find a way to meet the one and only ricky bowen.

WARNINGS swearing

NOTES you are 17, camilla (your sister) is 19, ashlyn caswell is your cousin and she is 17, your aunt debbie is your moms sister and you’re visiting your moms mom in california. this is very NOT CANON! not all of the mcs know each other and they don’t live in the same city. also my writing isn’t the best but i hope you enjoy anyways! let me know if you wanna be tagged in the next parts :)) also STREAM LIE LIE LIE

(y/n) = your name

text dividers from @writeyourmindaway !!

lowercase intended.

“are you really watching this movie again?” you ask your older sister, camilla. she groans.

“yes! now move, it’s almost ricky’s scene.”

you roll your eyes and move out of her way, keeping your eyes on the screen. the movie was cheesy and you felt like you’ve seen it hundreds of times, since your sister was constantly watching it. she had an obsession with this guy— ricky bowen. he was an actor and a singer and any teenage girl you talk to loves him, but you didn’t really understand the hype. sure, he was attractive and talented but….

“i can’t wait to meet him, i’m sure he’s even nicer in person,” camilla gushed, staring at the screen.

“what do you mean meet him? we live in new york. he lives in california. not really someone you can just run into on the street.”

camilla rolled her eyes, not looking away from the screen. “we’re going to california in a couple weeks, dumbass. and i’m going to meet him, i just know it.”

“we’re going so we can visit grandma in glendale. you can’t just go running off to los angeles by yourself to somehow find him.”

“i’ll... figure it out. i’m nineteen anyways, i can do what i want. and glendale is really close to la, only like a 15 minute drive.”

“yeah, okay. good luck with that.” you watch another minute of the movie before turning away to go into the kitchen. you’re making yourself a snack when your mom comes in.

“hi hun,” she said, setting some groceries down on the counter.

“hi mom. what are these? i thought you went grocery shopping on saturday.”

“i did,” she said, starting to put a few groceries away. “this is stuff for california, i wanted to start shopping early. we also have to go find christmas gifts for your grandma, aunt, uncle, and cousin. easier if we get them here rather than there.”

“oh, aunt debbie is going? last time i texted ashlyn she said they weren’t going to make it out there this year,” ashlyn was your cousin, and she was 17, just like you. you and her had been close your whole life, but when your aunt, uncle and her moved to minnesota a few years ago, you drifted a bit. seeing her for holidays was one of your favorite things, you loved having your whole family together.

“yeah, well, apparently my mom has a new boyfriend and debbie decided she wanted to meet him so they made it work.”

you hum. “also heard that ashlyn’s still talking to the guy she met last summer in california.”

“that was probably also a deciding factor.” you and your mom laughed and you helped her put away the groceries.

ashlyn: plane just landed!! when r u getting here?

you: leaving in about an hour!! see u soon omg

ashlyn: CANT WAIT!!!!

you heart her message and slip your phone into your pocket, excusing yourself to go find some last minute snacks from the shops at the airport. you had been sitting next to camilla and she was blasting ricky’s music in her headphones. she was so obsessed with him it was tiring.

eventually, your flight was called and you boarded the plane. you texted ashlyn that you were boarding and she sent back a party emoji, then proceeded to tell you to hurry up. luckily, the plane ride was only around four hours, and you had a really nice playlist that was the perfect length. your current favorite artist was nini salazar-roberts, who had recently released new music. she also happened to be ricky bowen’s girlfriend, and camilla refused to listen to her for whatever reason. you couldn’t really care less, nini had good music.

‘drivers license’ began to play and you drifted off to sleep. you woke to camilla shaking you harshly.

“c’mon, we’re landed,” she said and you nodded, stretching. she stood up and left her seat, not even waiting for you to catch up. you scoff and grab your things before jogging to catch up to her and your parents who she had rushed to. you were already feeling the change of time zones, leaving new york at one then arriving in california at two after a four hour flight.... super trippy.

as your parents went off to rent a car, you and camilla sat by each other. she went on her phone and was scrolling through ricky’s instagram. you rolled your eyes.

“have a plan on how to meet him yet?” you ask. she sighs.

“sort of. he’s performing tonight. at nini’s birthday party. i just need to find a way into the party.”

“yeah, because a random girl is going to be allowed into a famous persons party.”

camilla scoffs. “you don’t know, they don’t always have great security. i just have to convince mom and dad to let me go.”

“go where?” your dad asked as the two of them return, car keys in hand. camilla’s eyes widened slightly.

“go to the different malls. and beaches. with (y/n) and ashlyn. girl time,” she lied quickly. your mom nodded.

“not a bad idea, spend some time with your family. we’ll think about it. grandma mentioned having a car for you to take.”

“awesome!” camilla squealed. she turned to you and made a ‘i-can’t-believe-they-just-agreed-to-that face’ and you laughed.

“c’mon girls. time to get going, everyone’s waiting for us.”

“(y/n)!” ashlyn squealed, running out of your grandmas house as soon as you closed your car door. you grinned and ran towards her, hugging her tight.

“ashlyn i’ve missed you so much!”

“i’ve missed you! i have so much to tell you!”

you raised your eyebrow at her. “about the boy you’re talking to?”

she blushed and mumbled a maybe before your grandma came out of her house, her boyfriend following close behind. today was the first time anyone was meeting him, and you were pretty excited.

you hugged your grandma tight and she introduced you to her boyfriend, kevin. he greeted you all and although he seemed a bit awkward at first, he seemed like a good guy.

soon enough, you were in the room you were sharing with both camilla and ashlyn. camilla was not excited to hear that the three of you were sharing, but your grandma assured her that the room was more big enough for all of you, and it would be nice for you all to spend time together — get into the christmas spirit. camilla mumbled under her breath that that was bullshit, but your grandma didn’t seem to hear her.

as camilla was out in the kitchen with your family, you and ashlyn sat on your bed as she scrolled through social media.

“ashlyn! tell me about this boy you’re talking to!” you exclaimed suddenly. she laughed at your sudden outburst but put her phone away immediately and turned towards you with a big smile on her face.

“oh my gosh (y/n) he’s the best. we’ve been texting and facetiming everyday this year. i honestly can’t wait to see him later, i feel like i’ve been waiting years to finally see him again.”

you grinned. you don’t think you’d seen ashlyn this happy in a long time. “when are you seeing him tonight? what are you doing? do you know what you’re going to wear?”

“oh, jeez (y/n). one at a time,” she teased. “i’m meeting him at this club. it’s his best friends girlfriends birthday, and he invited me to her party. and i do have a few ideas but i wanted you to help me out.”

“absolutely i’ll help!! am i going to be able to meet him while we’re here?”

“yeah, i don’t see why not. he’s talking about going to vienna to go to the beach, i’m sure it’d be fine if you tagged along.”

“if i tag along and third wheel,” you both laughed. “kidding. i’d love to go!”

“good. because i wasn’t going to let you say no.” she stands up and stretched. “now help me figure out what to wear tonight.”

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream VII

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 9, 034

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave; They fuck with the rain like a soundtrack behind them, like a song that swells and stretches, telling their story, but you're so brave; stone cold crazy for loving me; yeah, I'm amazed; i hope you make it out alive, a song that rises and rises, that sounds too good to be real, that might destroy you, but only in the best way. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Brave

Broken hearts are made for two

One for me and one for you

Tell me have you heard the news

We are now in love

Fall break from school is scheduled during the last three days of the last week of October. Before she can take some time off, Iris has midterm articles to write and grade. Barry is busy testing DNA samples or whatever it is CSIs do so they don’t see each other for several days after he leaves her house the morning after Wally’s party.

On the Wednesday of Fall Break, the first day off, Iris lets herself sleep in until almost 10, and then she packs up her bag, stuffing a notebook, a couple of pens, and her laptop in, before dressing comfortably in a pair of dark leggings, and a white oversized CCU hoodie she stole from her brother. Throwing on a pair of white low-top Chuck Taylors, Iris heads out to Jitters. It’s a rainy day, and other than workers who’ve no choice, not many people are out. A storm is brewing for later in the night, the sky dark and cloudy, but for the moment, it’s just a steady rain that has Iris walking carefully to her car and driving a lot slower, thanking her lucky stars that she finds a parking spot right in front of the coffee shop.

Back in high school, especially once her dad had gotten her a used car during the beginning of senior year, Iris and Linda would come to Jitters to do homework or stare at the college boys who would come in. The coffee shop has expanded since then, buying the small antique store that had been next door and adding more seating and a bar that specializes in alcoholic coffee brews. It’s still one of Iris’s favorite places to work because now the manager is a young Black woman with wild curly hair always dyed in one bright color or another and a soft spot for mid to late 90s R & B female singers. The shop is comfortable, with couches and overstuffed chairs in mismatched browns and beiges and blues set up near the walls and windows and several tables, two- and four-tops, taking up the space in the middle. Two of the walls are exposed brick and the others are painted stark white and feature framed prints in wild colors. It’s changed since she was a child, but Iris likes to think that she’s changed with it, that as this integral part of Central City has grown and added light and color and comfort, so too has Iris.

Today, her plan is to outline at least two entire stories from interviews she’s completed over the last couple of weeks before she even thinks about leaving the coffee shop. She settles into one of her favorite spots, a soft navy armchair behind a small circular table. She sets up her laptop, her notebook with her notes, her pens, and once a waiter drops off her brown sugar latte and a chocolate muffin, she lets the sound of the rain, and the Erykah Badu playing on the speakers, get her into her work.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Iris looks up just as Barry stops beside her. She’s been at Jitters for just over three hours now, and her shoulders are cramped and she’s coffee high and hungry. The rain is still pounding down, so hard that it looks like it’s raining sideways, and Iris curses her inability to get any work done in her own home. Besides all that, she’s reeling. She’s just outlined a story of a man explaining the story of the woman he’d loved his entire life: from growing up together in a small city in North Carolina, to becoming best friends and de facto siblings when his parents died and her dad agreed to foster him; from not dating but seeming like it in high school, to falling for other people in college; from having other spouses and children to one night of passion before they found their way back to each other when she decided to leave her husband after his wife died. It was a ride from start to finish, such a roller coaster of feelings—of love and pain and joy and heartbreak—that make Iris feel a bit heavy with them, a little loopy with them.

Barry stands to the side of her, towering above her, in as simple an outfit as what she’s wearing, a pair of black joggers and a white sweatshirt. She’s startled that he's there because she figures that he should be at work, but her heart does tick up at the sight of him. That is, until she lets her eyes rake over his lean frame. He looks a little...down, like a physical manifestation of the story she’s just outlined. His hair is messier than usual and his eyes aren’t carrying their usual sparkle, in addition to the darkening bags that frame them. He’s also a little stubbly, his jaw covered in a fine layer of coarse hair, his pallor a bit ashen.

(Iris will also admit that she thinks he looks sort of, well, good, like this; but that’s neither here nor there and she feels terrible—and maybe a bit perverted—that she’s lusting after him when he’s obviously going through something.)

“Hey,” she responds softly, and she stands up to assess him further. He seems so much taller than her like this, when they’re both in sneakers. She hasn’t seen him since the morning after Wally’s party a week ago when he dropped her back off at her car after spending the night at her place. They’ve talked a bunch and FaceTimed once, but she’s missed him. She reaches up into his hair, rubbing at his scalp a little until his eyes close and he lets out a soft little moan. She keeps at it and then touches gingerly at his face, at some of the moles dotting his cheeks, at the stubble he’s grown. He reaches up to stop her, eyes still closed, and it startles her a little bit. She goes to pull her hand back, but then he holds on to her wrist to bring her hand down and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

She’s never seen him like this. He’s always so open and, maybe not happy, but never so melancholy. There is always a pep to his step, as her grandma used to say, a smile on his face that always said that he feels some sort of contentment in his life. And obviously, people are allowed to have days like this. But it does something to Iris, to see him this way. She wants to lash out at whoever has made him look like this, like he’s drowning in emotions that he can’t easily pull himself out of.

“Bear, you okay?”

He nods, a little woefully, and he catches her eyes again. She bites at her lip as she stares back at him and, on impulse, she leans up to kiss him. It’s just a little more than a peck, something to tell him that she’s there with him; but he takes it a step further, kissing her harder, biting at her lip enough that there’s more pain than she’s expecting. She moans at him and he pulls back, breathing labored.

“I’m sorry,” he speaks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “You didn’t hurt me. Well, a little, but I didn’t hate it.”

That gets a more real smile out of him, and he thumbs at her bottom lip. “Hmm, I guess my good girl is a little bad.”

Iris rolls her eyes and gives him a look, sobering for a minute. “Bear, what’s up? You okay?”

He doesn’t answer her question. Instead, he nods at her table and asks, “you get a lot of work done?”

She eyes him, wanting to ask again. But she knows how she is when she doesn’t want to talk about something and so she lets it go. For the moment.

“Yeah. Or, at least, I’ve done most of what I set out to do.”

He nods, casts his eyes out of the glass, looking at the rain for a moment, watching it fall in heavy sheets. Normally, Iris likes the rain. It’s soothing and she enjoys how it makes the world take a moment to slow down. When she was a little girl, her grandma (her dad’s mother who grew up somewhere at the bottom of Georgia) used to say that when it was raining, and particularly when it was storming, that the Lord was doing His work and that it was the time to be still. They’d have to sit quietly, usually with the TV and the lights off, and just be. And while life doesn’t allow her to drop everything because it’s started raining, there is always a hushed feeling that comes over her when it rains, something tranquil, but also a little turbulent, a little uncontrollable, quite like the very rain she’s reveling in.

“Wanna come over?” he wonders, voice unsure.

She nods readily. “Okay, yeah. Sure.”

He goes to return her mug and plate while she packs her bag back up. He meets her at the door, opening up a large umbrella and throwing an arm over her shoulder to lead her out into the rain. She walks with him past her own car as he takes her a short black away to where his Jeep is parked. He helps her into the Jeep first, watches as she tucks her bag under the seat, and then closes the door before walking around to the other side.

They ride to his house in silence. He lives far on the south side of town, a good twenty or so minutes from downtown if they hit the highway. Instead, he takes the streets, adding another ten minutes to their drive. Iris doesn’t mind; as she said, she likes the rain, and in this big Jeep, tires sluicing easily through the flooding roads in a way her car definitely can’t, she’s enjoying the ride. He had silently connected her phone to his car’s Bluetooth, so she took it to mean that the music choices were hers. She contemplates finding something that he might like, but she figures he likely wouldn’t even be paying much attention. So she decides on one of her slower playlists, ones with songs that dip and fade, that take listeners on a journey of highs and lows, and she lets it play. The lyrics tell too much, so i guess that i should mention; that i am in no condition; to put you in this position; i might fuck this up, although with the heavy weight on Barry’s shoulders right now, she can’t tell if she’s talking to him or vice versa.

He takes them past one of the major shopping districts in the city, past the Apple store and the Michael Kors shop and the one restaurant her dad took her to when she graduated college where pasta dishes run nearer to forty dollars. These shops, and the nicer mall and a couple business buildings that rise as tall as those downtown, lead into longer stretches of road where trees interspersed with beige or cream apartments begin to take up where businesses once stood. He turns into the familiar subdivision that she remembers; it’s a little older than some, which makes sense if his parents were able to buy and pay it off before they were gone. That also means that none of the houses are the same cookie-cutter versions that tend to make up most subdivisions these days, where houses are identical save for the color and the trim and what children’s toys litter the front yard.

He presses a button on his visor and the garage opens as he maneuvers the car so that he can back up into the driveway. He stays in the driveway, though, the music cutting out—but whatever the case, you're my favorite mistake; more than happy to make you—when he turns the ignition off. She waits for him to come around with his umbrella and he half picks her up to pull her out, holding on to her as he walks her through the garage.

She’s as quiet as he is, taking in her surroundings, trying to get a better sense of who he is by what he’s got going on in his house. There isn’t much in the garage; there are a bunch of boxes neatly stacked on one wall, a couple bicycles in another corner. There is a wall full of tools and a couple tables that have science looking tools on them, like a microscope and several bunsen burners and petri dishes, though nothing looks as if they’re currently being used.

He leads her through a door that opens up into the kitchen as he presses another button to close the garage. His house is as cute on the outside as it is on the inside, although she wonders how he might feel if she were to call it cute. The kitchen is large, done in white, gray, and green, with steel appliances, gray marble countertops, and the look of a place that doesn’t get a lot of use. They both stop to toe their shoes off right outside of the kitchen where a couple other pairs of Barry’s shoes lie. His living room is pretty big: a wide space that features a real stone fireplace as the focal point and a large screen television situated above it; a huge sectional in a slate gray with a few throw pillows; and a big square wooden coffee table. It’s masculine and clean without being gaudy or too bro and Iris wonders if he did this himself because even if she never knew her, she doubts a woman who loved flowers as much as his mother would decorate her living room this way.

The dark curtains on the windows are open wide and Iris can see the backyard but the rain coming down in sheets keep her from being able to make out much besides the patio with what looks like a grill and wicker furniture. Iris remembers being told that his dad had been a doctor and his mom some sort of university researcher and the house matches that.

Barry lets her hand go to tug his sweatshirt off, revealing a plain white t-shirt that rises up over his taut belly. She doesn’t avert her eyes, giving herself permission to track how the sweatpants hang off his slim hips and how he isn’t so much sculpted as he’s hard and tight, with just the beginnings of abs. He catches her staring and he smirks at her before dropping down in the corner of the couch, one leg spread out along the seats of the chair.

“Come here,” he tells her, and she moves toward him, sitting so that her back is pressed against that hard chest and his arms are wrapped around her. She grabs a hold of his forearm with both her hands and settles her head in the crook of his elbow. She’s surrounded by his scent, lemongrass and clean cotton, and for a while, the only sounds are his breathing and the pounding of the rain. He touches her, the hand she’s not holding on to stroking up and down her thigh. Her leggings are pretty thin and she feels his touch fully; if she concentrates enough, she can feel those beloved calluses on his hands. He rubs his hand towards the juncture of her thighs and then over her hip and then back again, and like always, his touch ignites something in her, even as she’s wondering how she might be able to help him out of whatever funk he’s found himself in.

“You ready to tell me what’s up?” she wonders a while later.

“Hmm,” he hums, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Not yet. Tell me about your day.”

She shifts so that she can look back at him, noting the way his eyes have darkened a touch, become grayer like the sky outside, and it’s different from the bright blue-green she remembers from the day of the festival or the wicked blue-gray they always are right before he pushes hard into her.

He blinks down at her and licks his lips slowly. It’s not an explicitly sexual act, even if her body thinks it looks that way, and Iris finds herself lost in it, in whatever he’s emanating. It’s erotic in that it’s intimate, a whirlwind of whatever hurt made him seek her out at Jitters, of whatever still lies unexplored between them, of the attraction that doesn’t ever seem to dissipate.

When she pulls herself out, she tells him, “I was working on a story today. One that made me feel a little bit like how you might be right now.”

“Yeah?”

Wanting to look at him more comfortably, she uses his pause so that she can turn around fully and seat herself on his lap, straddling him. His hands automatically go to her hips, one sliding inside the waist of her leggings so that he can touch her skin.

“Tell me about this story,” he requests. She knows that he’s asking so that he can think about something other than what’s on his mind, so she does, giving a little more than she would originally, working out how she might want to tell the story in her blog.

“It was a couple,” she starts, “that grew up together, in the country. They bonded by playing together in the lake, climbing trees, and playing pranks on each other. And then they start to grow up. Their swimming becomes fraught with tension, the bathing suits showing the same skin, but more, ya know, both of them recognizing the differences, cataloging them, thinking about them, remembering them. They don’t act on it, because they’re friends, and he doesn’t actually understand what it means, that he’s 13 and he keeps dreaming about her at night, waking up with a wet bed and a pounding heart. And then his parents die and her dad, who’s a do-gooder in the community and had been his parents’ best friend, takes him in. Now they’re siblings, but of course not. Regardless, it makes it all harder and odder because she sleeps right down the hall from him, their shared bathroom always smells like her, and he understands now, that he likes her smile and the way she speaks and the curves she seems to develop out of nowhere.”

Barry squeezes at her and she pauses as he asks, “And what about her? How does she feel about him?”

“Well he doesn’t know it, but she’s there too. At first she thinks that she’s just conflating it, confusing their friendship. Because she doesn’t laugh with anyone else like she does with him and she never has as much fun with anyone else as she does him and she never feels as comfortable with anyone else as she does him. He’s her best friend. But she sees him, one night, in his room where the door hasn’t fully closed and he’s, well, he’s masturbating, touching himself, eyes closed and moaning, and for the first time outside of the books she’s read, she feels something. And she knows it’s not just because she’s seen him naked because she’s kissed boys before, she’s felt them hard under her before, but something about this feels different for her.

“But she doesn’t act on it. And he doesn’t either, because remember, he only thinks this is one-sided. They graduate. They go to the same college. But their majors are different and their friends are different. She joins a sorority; he gets into a couple of clubs. Their paths separate, even if they still laugh and talk and be when they’re home for the holidays. Then she gets a boyfriend.”

“She never had a boyfriend before this?” Barry questions.

Iris shrugs. “Sure. But it was high school and the beginning of college. They were mostly hookups that didn’t last. This guy is serious. He’s a couple years older, got his own place, and eventually she moves in with him. Heartbroken, he gets a girlfriend too, one of her friends. That doesn’t last long because she figures out that he’s a little bit in love with the main girl, and then he moves on, to someone sweet, someone who’s been not so subtly hinting that she wants to go out with him.”

Barry seems to be engrossed now. She can’t say that the dark look he was sporting is completely gone, but she can see that he’s not as deep in it, interested in the story she’s weaving.

“They go on to marry these people, even if their hearts are not fully in it. His wife has a kid first, her baby comes next. And meanwhile, they’re still friends. Her dad is still his guardian, so to speak; they are together for whatever holidays they don’t spend with their spouses’ families. They still laugh and talk and be. They still look a little too long and want a little too much.

It comes to a head one Christmas. The gods or fate or just some movement on their parts mean that they both go home to her dad’s house with their spouses and children coming in the next day. But her dad is called in to work so they order take out and watch movies in front of a fire. And they laugh and they talk...and they hug and they kiss and they…

“Be?” Barry tries, a tiny little smile on his face.

She matches it. “Yeah. And it’s beautiful, transcendent. But they’re married. To other people. With kids. So they vow to forget it, to never bring it up again. A couple of years pass. They don’t laugh as much, don’t talk as much. She’s having troubles in her marriage. He is too. He actually consults a divorce attorney because he thinks that it’s unfair to both him and his wife, to live like this. And then the wife dies in a car accident.”

“Oh damn,” he mutters.

“Right,” she agrees. “He’s wracked with grief and more than a little guilt, because he loved her but was never in love with her and she had no idea he was going to leave her.”

“What about her? The one he loves?”

“She’s there for him. She consoles him, cares for him, takes his kid when it gets too hard. Her husband doesn’t like it though. Thinks she’s doing too much, thinks that there’s another reason she’s over at his so much. Later, he learns that this wasn’t a new accusation, that even before she and her husband got married, the husband would question their closeness, would wonder what, if anything, had ever happened between them.

“Eventually she gets tired of it. Her kid is older, in their teens now, and she leaves her husband, packing her things and her kid’s too and moving back in with her dad for a while.”

“And what happens between them?” Barry wants to know.

“He and his son come over more. They hang out more, the four of them, going to dinner and to the movies and to the arcade together. And when their kids are gone, at sleepovers or game nights with their friends, they laugh again, talk again. Fall in love again.”

The ending is implied. Iris closes her eyes when she’s done, letting Barry continue to rub at her back, his fingers so so warm on her skin.

“It's a happy ending,” he says, eventually. “But getting there was a little...depressing.”

Iris chuckles softly, lightheaded again at having gone through that again. It likely didn’t make Barry feel any better, but she’ll take the win that it took his mind away from his own problems, if only for a little while.

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees. “But it reminds me that just because it’s not easy and just because it takes some time, it doesn’t mean that things aren’t worth it.”

He nods, slowly, thinking.

“What about things that are...easy? That come like breathing? That start as a simple dance and just, just keep going?”

She stares down at him and she knows that this is rhetorical. She can see the question in the depths of his eyes, feel it in his hands still kneading her flesh. It would be easy to retreat, to tell him that nothing is ever easy, even if the reality is that it is because they are, because they fall into each other so effortlessly, that she’s terrified. There are always hiccups, obstacles, and the fact that she can’t find any keeps her on edge, waiting, anticipating trouble she knows must be coming. She doesn’t want to believe it, wants to stand firm in them—stand firm in the lyrics she keeps hearing, if you decide to stay, know that there is no escape; there's no one here to save you—and she holds onto that as he asks,

“Don’t you think it’s worth it, Iris? Even if it’s this easy?”

She can’t speak, but his eyes are imploring her to answer. Pleading with her for a response. And however terrified Iris is, or however much Iris tells stories, she is not a liar. So she nods and whispers to him, “yes.”

Without waiting for her to say anything more, he kisses her. He squeezes at her waist and leans up to capture her mouth. She meets him with his same fervor and it’s different, this kiss. She knows the passion of his mouth when he’s high, the boldness when he’s teasing her. But this is new, this is fervor, warmth and agony and doubt and pleasure, all wrapped up together.

(Something also tells Iris that there is another word for this, that this is the part of the story where feelings would be laid on the table, where hearts would be splayed open and she’d say it, or he would, and the other would respond in kind, with declarations of adoration, of infatuation, yearning, of any other word that means what she can’t say yet.

But she feels it, what she’s wanting to say, what she thinks he is saying, in this kiss. It is slow and nasty, all tongue and mouth. Her eyes flutter closed at the feeling, at how he licks into her mouth and then sucks on her bottom lip, at how he licks against her tongue and then holds her face to bring her closer to him. She feels it, she feels it, she feels him…)

He stands, holding on to her, and she wraps her legs around his waist, tightening her arms around his neck as he carries her through the house. The kisses don’t stop, though they become shorter, more mouth now, and he takes her down a long hallway past several doors until he turns into one at the end of the hall. She makes a quick note of the light gray and burnt orange decor, the side tables holding books and knickknacks, the one window that spans nearly the entire wall, but she focuses most heavily on the king-sized bed on which he throws on her, the soft comforter half hanging off the bed.

Her clothes come off first, Barry pulling her sweatshirt over her head and yanking her pants over her hips. He comes out of his own clothes as she discards her underwear, and then he’s between her thighs again. But she wants something else first so she taps his shoulder to flip them and then she’s hovering above him.

She gives him a kiss, slow and sweet, and then she makes her way down his chest, kissing as she goes. She loves the feel of his skin against her lips, likes how his skin tastes as she presses tongue kisses on him. His belly clenches and unclenches under her ministrations, and by the time she’s looking back up at him from her position near his crotch, she can see the way his chest rises and falls with his heavy breathing.

She reaches for him, wrapping her fingers around his dick. It’s long like the rest of him, and thicker than she would have expected just looking at him. It’s a pretty dick, the base the same color as him, the head slightly pinker. It’s a little veiny, but the skin is smooth, and already he’s starting to leak. She lifts her eyes to find him watching her, his own gaze hooded. In her peripheral, she sees his hands grip the bed sheets and she revels in how she hasn’t even done anything and his control is starting to slip.

“Tell me what you want, Bear.”

She says the words softly, but Barry doesn’t miss the cheek that lies under it, if the slight smirk he gives her is any indication.

“Your mouth,” he says. “I’ve been dreaming about that pretty mouth wrapped around my dick.”

She shudders at the tone of his voice, at the vision of her on her knees for him. She likes it.

“I bet you have too,” he guesses.

Without a response, she licks him, holding him at the base and running her tongue up one side of him. She does it again, and then one more time, acquainting herself with the taste of him and the satiny feel of him on her tongue, and then she adjusts and covers the whole of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes out.

She hums around him and she sucks him down, taking him until he hits her throat. Then she pulls back until just the tip remains. She licks around his head and sucks him there, letting the spit pool in her mouth, letting it mix with his own wet. She opens her mouth and lets it slide out, dripping down onto him, and her own body starts to drip at his wrecked whisper, “god, baby, look at you.”

She adds her hands, palming his testicles in one and rubbing her spit down the length of him with the other. She finds a rhythm, sucking him down, inch by inch, hollowing her cheeks as she goes, and then stroking his back up. Barry keeps his hand clenched in the sheets, but he cants himself into her mouth, rocking his hips lightly. She’s getting into it, loving the way he responds to her.

“Come here,” he says, suddenly, reaching for her, and she pulls back with a soft pop.

“Barry?” she furrows her eyebrows in question.

He gives her a gentle smile and grabs at her arm; Iris moves at his request, crawling up his body.

“But you didn’t finish,” she says, pouting a little.

“I know. I want to come when I’m inside you.”

She’s mollified by that, and he settles her on his lap.

“You were so good though, baby,” he says, kissing her. “My good, good girl.”

He reaches down to touch her, slipping his fingers easily into her sex. He groans into her mouth at the feel and he pulls back to ask,

“Is this all for me? Did you get wet sucking me off, good girl?”

She nods, rocking her hips against his hand, against his sex still hard beneath her. “Can, can you…?”

He tilts his head at her, fingers still caressing inside of her. “Can I?”

She huffs out a small laugh because he’s always fucking with her. “You said you wanted to come inside of me,” she reminds him.

“I did, didn’t?” He takes his time removing his fingers, eyes on her as he does. Even with the window curtains wide open, the dark sky has the room dark

(and she doesn’t dismiss the fact that the window faces the side of someone else’s house, where they could be seen if the neighbors were so inclined to watch)

and his eyes look a little like molten lead in the faint rainy light like this. He goes to reach over to his bedside table but Iris stops him.

“I want to feel you,” she says.

He licks his lips and she doesn’t mistake the twitch of his dick she feels under her. “You sure?”

“Yes. I’m on birth control. And I trust you.”

He nods once and again, and then he takes her by her hips and slides her down his cock.

After, Iris decides that this time is the single most erotic experience of her life.

They fuck with the rain like a soundtrack behind them, like a song that swells and stretches, telling their story, but you're so brave; stone cold crazy for loving me; yeah, I'm amazed; i hope you make it out alive, a song that rises and rises, that sounds too good to be real, that might destroy you, but only in the best way.

She rides him, and he’s so full in her like this, so deep in her like this. His back is against his fabric headboard and she’s so close to him, her knees jutting into the headboard, her thighs holding around his hips, her breasts rubbing against his chest, nipples pebbling with each brush on those hard planes.

She holds on to him with her hands holding the back of his neck, softly scratching at the nape. But he’s touching her, always touching her, his hands caressing her spine, and then holding her waist, and then squeezing her hips. He guides her: keeps his favorite pace, smooth and languid; bring her up to the tip and fucks her back down; shows her how he wants her to roll her body when he’s full in her, so her clit is brushing the soft hairs on his pelvis, the sensation incredible.

He uses his mouth too: to kiss her throat, deep tongue kisses that’ll leave marks she knows she’ll have to cover up; to whisper against her mouth, “see how easy this is; see how good, baby; fuck, see how good this is; yes, yes, yes, my good girl.”

And Iris feels so caught up in it. She can’t stop looking at him, loving when the lightning slashes across the room and illuminates those eyes, the constellation of moles on his skin, his wet, pink mouth. Her body hums with pleasure, soaking her thighs and his, tightening around his dick as if it never, never wants to let him go. She voices her satisfaction, in soft sighs and heavy pleas, and his name on her tongue like a chant, or better, a song, “Bear, Bear, Barrryyy.” They’re so close, her skin sticking to his wherever they’re touching, chest to chest and ass to thigh. She feels full and whole and filled...with him and with desire and with, and with love, the thought of it making her shudder and close her eyes.

“No,” Barry whispers. “Don’t. Just let it, just let it...stay here with me. Can you do that for me? Be brave for me?”

She nods, head heavy as her body starts to reach its climax, as her body loosens at the same time that it tightens and she has to fight to hold on to him. “Yes,” she moans again, holding his gaze again.

He touches at her face, holding her cheek and staring back. “Good girl.”

She doesn’t know whose climax triggers the other. She just knows that at the same time that her body explodes, fluttering wildly around him, he comes too, so hard that she feels him throbbing against her walls, that she feels him filling her up with his cum.

He doesn’t let go of her right away. He just holds her, hands at her hip and her face, and then he kisses her, cementing what they’ve just done, cementing what Iris feels for him.

“It’s the anniversary of my mom’s death,” he says, out of the blue. “And when I went to visit my dad earlier, I found out that he’s sick, something with his heart, and I’m-I’m reeling.”

It’s been a long while since they separated and Iris climbed off of him to pad into his bathroom and warm a hand towel under warm water to clean them both. They’ve been lying in his bed, only half under the covers as they let their bodies cool. It’s quiet now, so quiet that Iris has thought he’d fallen asleep; she’d almost fallen asleep. But when he speaks, she blinks wide and then turns her head to face him.

“14 years today,” he adds. He’s looking up at the ceiling as he talks, but Iris feels the hand that’s settled at her waist tighten, the move bringing her closer to him. She understands that he just needs the contact, so she turns so that she’s all the way curled on him, one of her legs thrown across him, her arm tossed over him too, hand settled on his heart. It’s beating slow, steady, and so she strokes his bare chest, right it.

“How’d you find out?”

“I was still at school,” he tells her. “It was a Friday and some of my friends had convinced me to go to a football game, so we were there pretty late. Games could run until 11. I was 17 so I had my own car. It was an old car; we’d bought it from a guy she worked with. By this time, my dad had been gone for a couple years, and my mom was always working late at the lab, so when I got home around 10:30 that night and the lights were out, I wasn’t surprised.”

He shifts a little and continues. “I took a shower, put some leftover pizza in the microwave, and just as I was sitting down to eat, the doorbell rang. It was the police looking for her next of kin to tell them what had happened.” He sighs heavily. “I got lucky. The courts let one of my friend’s parents take me in until I graduated a few months later. I was able to get a work study job in college to pay my bills since the mortgage was already paid off.”

He says it all like he was lucky, but there is nothing lucky about losing both of your parents in that matter, even if one of them was still physically alive. Iris knows from experience that he doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for his story. But she can’t help the way she wants to comfort him, and so she lets herself do that, tightening herself around him, snuggling even more into his chest.

“How are you feeling about your dad?” she asks, mumbling against his skin.

“Devastated. He looked like, like, I don’t know, like he’s giving up. I don’t get to go see him too often, every couple of months, really. And he looked so different from when I saw him last: smaller, frailer. I think there might be something he’s not telling me. Like he’s been sick longer than he says he has.”

“Is he supposed to get out soon?”

“Another couple years. But I don’t know if he wants to hold on that long.”

She feels them first, the tears. She tries to hold him even tighter, tries to crawl into his skin almost, trying to stem his pain. He doesn’t cry for long, just a few sobs, and then he’s inhaling deeply and wiping at his eyes. But it must be enough because he sounds a little hollow when he says,

“And truthfully, I’m not so much sad as I am mad, that he seems to be giving up. On getting out. On me.”

She hums, not dismissively, but because she understands. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes, I hate my mom.”

He sort of jerks up at that. Not fully, he looks down at her, eyes widened in shock. However inappropriate it might be, she finds herself laughing a little at his expression. Then she explains.

“I know that addiction is not a moral failing. I know that she struggled right up til the end. I know both of those things as completely as I know anything else. But sometimes I wonder why my dad wasn’t enough, why me and Wally weren't enough. I wonder what she was trying to find in those pills that she couldn’t find in us, and I get so pissed that she let it take her away from us.”

She’s startled when he moves. He pulls himself from under her, letting her fall onto her back, and then he’s hovering above her, holding himself up on his elbows. He falls into the spread of her thighs, his sex nuzzling comfortably against her still warm center.

“I’ve seen some of the worst effects of addiction,” he says, “when their bodies end up on a slab of metal and it’s my job to dissect the things around them, to even sometimes help detectives dissect their lives to figure out what happened. And something I’ve learned is that it’s always, always about them. Never about the people they love.”

He searches her face, brushing a piece of hair back from her forehead. “And whatever your mom was or wasn’t thinking, you are enough. You are more than enough, Iris.” He leans down and gives her a kiss, deep and dirty, and she moans in frustration as he pulls back from her. He gives her a grin, one more reminiscent of the Barry she’s used to.

“Repeat after me,” he commands. “I, Iris West…”

“Really, Barry?”

“Yes, come on. I, Iris West…

She sighs, but says it. “I, Iris West…”

“Am more than enough.”

She licks her lips then, blinks, works to not let the tears that have suddenly gathered in the corner of her eyes escape.

“Am more than enough,” she whispers, finally.

Barry’s smile turns fond. “Good girl.”

She shakes her head because she doesn’t know what else to do besides kiss him. Which she does, deeply, reaching down to grip him in her palm. She pauses, just for a moment, to tell him “you know that you are enough too, right?” and she kisses the look of awe off of his face. It’s a long while before she stops kissing him, and then it’s only to moan into his mouth, to let him whisper his dirty somethings into her ear.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

They’ve just shared a shower. Barry is throwing on another pair of sweats and a hoodie and Iris puts her own leggings back on, sans underwear, and thumbs through Barry’s closet for another sweatshirt to put on.

(There’s no reason that she can’t put hers back on, but she’s feeling particularly sentimental and she wants to take something of Barry’s with her, something that smells like him, that feels like him.)

“None, really.” She pulls out a red sweater that reads Central City University Track & Field and throws it on over her bra. “Why? You kicking me out.”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Of course not.” He glances down at the watch on his wrist. “Wanna get dinner? And then go with me to my tattoo appointment? It’s at 8 tonight.”

She smiles at that. “Sure.”

They take the highway back downtown. The rain is still beating steadily and there is still the occasional rumble of thunder, the sporadic flash of lightning. He parks a bit further in the arts district, in front of a restaurant specializing in wood-fire pizzas and craft beers. This time, she knows to wait for him to come around and open the door for her so that she can walk under his umbrella. Once he locks his jeep, he grabs her hand, and they walk the couple doors down and into the restaurant.

The place is brightly lit, in direct contrast to the dark sky and even the faint light that had been on at Barry’s place. The weather assures that it isn’t densely packed, just a couple booths of families and what looks like a couple, so they’re seated quickly and easily. They eat fast since they’ve only got an hour before his appointment. In the meantime, they both keep the conversation light. It’s been a day, for the both of them really, and Iris doesn’t think that she can cry twice in a day.

After he pays, she goes to the bathroom and he tells her he’ll wait at the door for her. She goes in and it’s as brightly lit as the rest of the place and she quickly does her business and washes her hands before heading back out to where he knows Barry is waiting in the little space between the outer door and the door to the restaurant.

She walks through the place and out of the restaurant door, likely too quickly and without really looking. She takes several steps, straightening out Barry’s sweatshirt again, and then she’s bumping into what feels like a solid wall, almost falling backward. A quick hand reaches out to catch her, the hand large, easily wrapping around her forearm.

“Shit,” she says, shaking her head to clear it as she looks up. “I’m sorr..Scott?”

He doesn’t move back right away and so she has to look up, up at the man holding on to her. Scott Evans is the literal definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He’d been her editor when she’d work at CCPN right out of college, and she’d had the biggest crush on him. Tall with dark caramel skin and a neatly trimmed beard, he’d been the one to help guide her in the ways of mass story-telling. They’d gone on one date and Iris is not actually sure why they’d never gone on another.

“Iris West.” He says her name slowly, his grin widening at the same pace. He gives her a once-over, slow and heated. “How’ve you been?”

“R-really good,” she says, stumbling a little at that grin. Even if she doesn’t actually regret never seeing him again, Iris can admit that a man this good looking makes her a little tongue-tied.

“Yeah? I’ve been catching your blog when I can. It’s some good shit, West. I can see why you left our little paper.”

“Please,” Iris rolls her eyes with a little laugh. “There’s nothing little about Picture News.”

He shrugs, humble all the way. “Still, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Scott. I appreciate that.”

“It’s the truth.” He looks down at her, swiping at his lips with his tongue, and she suddenly realizes that they’re still too close. She steps back fully from him, glancing over Scott’s shoulders to see Barry watching them, his expression unreadable.

“Um,” she speaks, catching his attention. “I gotta go Scott.”

“Oh yeah; of course. We should get together soon. Maybe do dinner.” Scott looks back out of the window where rain steadily pours. “It’s still raining out. Can I walk you to your car?”

Her eyes don’t leave Barry’s and he tilts his head, waiting for her answer. “Scott, I’m not alone.”

He turns as if he’s just realizing that Barry is standing there. Barry is still quiet and only lifts his eyes to look at Scott when he mutters, “oh, hey man.”

Barry nods. “What’s up?” Then he looks at Iris. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I am.” Her voice is soft, cautious, and she throws one more glance at Scott. “It was good to see you.”

He graces her with that smile again. “Yeah. I’ll see you around.”

Barry takes her hand and they walk back to the truck. They’re on the road again, driving to a neighborhood near her own. For a second, she thinks he’s going to take her home, but he passes the road to her apartment and goes on to a neighborhood featuring several bars and little shops that cater to the college crowd. He pulls into the parking lot of a place called Black Gold, the lights inside near as bright as those in the pizza place.

Again, she waits until he comes around and turns as if to get out. He stops her though, holding the umbrella high, standing in front of her open legs. He does his thing, his stare like he's trying, and succeeding, to get inside her mind.

“That your ex-boyfriend?” he wonders.

She shakes her head. “Ex-boss.”

His expression doesn’t change. “All your bosses look at you like that?”

She swallows at the sudden feel of his hand on her thigh. The rain is pounding and drops fall on them, but she’s not noticing it. Instead, she’s caught in the storm that’s returned to his eyes, in the feel of his hands inching steadily toward her center.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” she says, instead of responding to him.

One corner of his mouth lifts, and the confident, bordering on cocky, Barry is looking at her now, even if that sparkle hasn’t returned quite yet.

“Nah,” he says. “Not jealous. You’re here right now. And you were with me earlier, moaning for me, coming for me.”

He slides his hand between her thighs and because she is, almost literally, always thirsty for him, wet for him, her legs spread easily. He fingers at the crotch of her leggings, and she knows that he can feel her warmth through the thin material. He thumbs at her until she gasps against him, finding her clit in a way that reminds him that he knows her body better than she knows it herself.

“He ever touch you like this?” Barry asks, voice a whisper above the rain. “Make you whimper even without getting your clothes off?”

She is whimpering, as he keeps his thumb on her clit, rubbing on her in slow circles. That’s all he’s doing: touching her with one hand, looking at her with those eyes that tell as much as they conceal, with his voice a deep rumble that rivals the thunder. He might be turned on, but he’s proving a point, naming himself as someone who, well, who owns her, even if she recognizes that no man should claim any power over her.

Heat spreads through her, a low, simmering sort of heat, but it’s enough that her folds grow slicker, start opening like the flowers of a petal waiting to be plucked. He keeps rubbing at her, staying on her clit, staring in her face, so much that she can’t hold his gaze. Because it feels better than it should, and her wet is soaking through these too thin leggings, and her breaths are coming in longer, coming in heavier.

“Tell me he hasn’t, Iris,” he says, commands, and Iris throws her head back, legs widening at their own volition, hips canting against his hand. “Tell me.”

“No,” she moans, eyes fluttering closed. “He never even touched me at all.”

“Tell me it’s just me,” he adds and she’s too far gone to note the pleading in his voice. “Tell me no one has ever touched you like this.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Just you, Barry, shit, just you.”

“Good,” he groans. “Good, good girl.”

Even if touch is the word he’s using, Iris understands that it’s more. She understands that they’re both wrapped up in uncertainty, never too sure of where they lie in others’ affections, never too sure of where they lie in life at all. She understands that he’s asking her if she feels it too, if she’s there with him, if this too easy, this too natural, feeling is a first for her too.

He’s asking if she’s brave enough to tell him the truth, if she undertands is meaning-understands that I'm no walk in the park; all these scars on my heart; it’s so dark here-even as she’s wondering the same, as she’s feeling the same, wondering if the churning feelings of abandonment make her unworthy somehow. Wondering if he’ll come to see that unworthiness.

Barry leans forward, just a touch away from her mouth, eyes blazing.

“There’s only you too, Iris,” he says, unprompted. “I swear I’ve just been waiting for you.”

He closes the distance to kiss her and that’s enough to take her over. It’s not a powerful orgasm, not like usual, but it does make her shut her eyes tight, make her limbs seize up as she rocks her hips through it. She breathes out, and she can’t stop the little laugh that comes out.

“You really are a dick,” she muses, opening her eyes slowly.

“A polite one, though,” he says, as he stands straighter and holds his hand out to help her down from the car. He holds the umbrella high over her. “See how I’m making sure you don’t get wet.”

“You didn't think of that earlier.”

His grin is devastating but it doesn’t hide the plethora of emotions in his eyes: the simmering lust, the faint traces of insecurity, the grief that’s been hovering all day...the love she doesn’t think he wants to hide anymore.

She hikes up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek, and then she walks beside him into the parlor, words flashing in her head like a sign, but if you’re a warrior, there’s nothing to fear; nothing to fear.

And later that night, as she cuddles up next to Barry is his large comfortable bed, she listens to his soft breathing, the sound a melody to the rain still pattering against his windows. She listens and she stares at him, taking in his features, softer than they were before, the stress of today easing away with every second he’s lost to sleep. A flash of lightning lights the room, and it catches her eyes again, the new tattoo, the purple ink bright on his skin, covering the space from a lily on his shoulder to just over his heart. It goes dark again, his room blanketed once more, but in her mind’s eyes, she can still see the vibrant ink on his skin, the pretty drooping petals of an iris.

Cause you're so brave

Stone cold crazy for loving me

Yeah, I'm amazed

I hope you make it out alive

[amxranthiine]

c i c a t r i z e (aragorn x reader) pt. iii

cicatrize (v.) to find healing by the process of forming scars. Pronouns: She/her A/n: Yes yes I know it’s been a while. I’ve been trying to get my grades up before the semester ends and haven’t had much time to sit down and write. This is sort of a filler, I’m posting it now because I feel so bad for making you guys wait. Warnings: Alcohol, maybe light swearing? Summary:  Y/n is Aragorn’s childhood best friend. However, when they got older, Y/n’s feelings towards her long time friend changed, but he is infatuated with the Evenstar. Out of heartbreak, she leaves Rivendell and sets off on her own, leaving her love and all she ever knew. When Elrond’s Council takes place, Y/n is forced back to her home and everything she ever knew. ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ Y/n’s POV. We left Bree a day after the Nazgûl incident, and the six of us were currently taking a stroll through Chetwood Forest. Well... I was taking a stroll. Aragorn was grumpy and tense, as usual. His eyes filled with caution as he led our small party through the gloomy woodland. I had to admit, it was almost... nice, being around him again. He had a sense of familiarity to him, and I missed that, far more than I would ever admit. I still refused to talk to him, though. At least, for more than five minutes, after that point he usually starts asking questions I am not ready to answer. You could call me a coward, as in this moment I was running from my problems- the same problems that had been chasing me, haunting me, since my teen years- and you’re right. I am a coward.  But, I’m a drunk coward. As if that makes it any better. Which, I mean, maybe, but no. I admit, I’m ashamed. Even when I’m old and mature, a grandma in the eyes of regular humans, I still manage to have a terrifying fear of the act of confronting people. I shiver internally at the mere thought of confronting Aragorn. Needing something to distract me, I look to the Hobbits and their adorable companion, Bill. They’re chatty, as usual. They have this aura around them that tells me that they are very suspicious of us. Why wouldn’t they be? Two big people, as they call us, practically kidnap their friend (who just so happens to have the Ring of Power within his grasp), force them to move all of their belongings into one room because they may or may not die and then tell them some very ominous news. Yeah, I wouldn’t trust us either. I go to take a sip of Ale out of my waterskin, the thought of the Ring was giving me a migraine. I raised the skin to my lips, ready to savor the alcoholic taste of the beverage, only to taste nothing. I blink, confused. Then tip the waterskin upside down to see a mere drop of Ale fall out. I purse my lips as I try to hold back tears. All I wanted was one precious sip of Ale, was that too much to ask? By the Valar, the sun hasn’t even reached it’s peak and I’m already out of Ale! This is going to be a long journey. “Where are you taking us?” I hear Frodo call to Aragorn. The latter doesn’t even look back as he responds, “Into the wild.” “Way to be creepy, Strider,” I mumble, and I hear Frodo snicker at my comment. His light footsteps quickly try to match mine as we attempt to keep a steady pace. “Where are you from, Randir?” He asks me. I glance at him and ponder his question for a moment.  “Why, I’m from all over! I’ve been to Gondor, lovely city. The Steward is kind of freaky, though. But other than that, it is a beautiful place. I’ve also been to Rohan, goodness I’ve never seen so many horses in one place! I wonder how King Theoden fairs, I’ve not seen him since he was a young lad. I’ve been to the Shire once, too. I never really understood the meaning of comfort until I stepped foot into your country, little Hobbit. I understood in that moment why your race appreciates the subtly of home and food rather than adventures.” He smiles at this while I wink at him, “Where I was born I do not know; somewhere in the North, I suppose. I grew up in Rivendell, Lord Elrond raised me after my parents passed. His sons; Elladan and Elrohir, found me outside the borders of the lovely city when I was a babe. I lived there until I was 19, after that I left and went off on my own.” I gave him no more details about why I left, for I knew Aragorn was secretly listening by the way his body tensed and shifted in our direction.  “Why did you leave Rivendell?” Frodo asked, curiosity killing the cat. I was suddenly filled with an urge to not let satisfaction bring it back. “Hmm... Now, that, little Hobbit, is a story for another time.” I flash him a grin then proceed to ignore his stare as I walk ahead, a skip in my step as I do so. I saw Aragorn’s shoulders slump in disappointment at my lack of response.  I did not know why he was so insistent on knowing why I left Rivendell. I would think he would have gotten over it. After all, it has been sixty seven years. Behind me I could hear Merry whisper to the others, “How do we know this Strider and Randir are friends of Gandalf?” “I trust Randir, oddly enough. We have no choice but to trust him,” Frodo responds. My heart warmed a little at his trust in me, it’s been a long time since anyone has trusted me. I liked it. “But where are they leading us?” Sam asks in desperation. He did not like that they were following two strangers into the wild. I knew he was a loyal and trustworthy friend. “To Rivendell, Master Gamgee,” Aragorn yells from ahead. I smirk at his attempt to get me to finish the sentence. He knew very well it would work. “To the House of Elrond,” I finish, and laugh quietly and the sound of their small gasps. “Rivendell? We’re going to see the Elves!” ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ TAG LIST @entishramblings @canibea-whore-yet @maaaaryx @frulyall @slytherinrising @/thepeanutcollective (im so sorry love i couldn’t find your blog) @carisi-sonny @haleypearce @hc-geralt-23 @lamikahn PLEASE MESSAGE ME IF I MISSED YOU! 

[hermannsthumb]

Could you please write #43 grandparents/neighbors one?

43. we’re having our family meal at my grandparents’ house this year so fingers crossed your parents still live next door and you grew up to be even hotter

from winter writing prompts here

oh god this one got so long. sorry everyone! thank you to @k-sci-janitor for the alien bit because it was so fucking funny

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

Holidays have gotten a little weird to manage since Newt transformed into a fully-fledged adult with an apartment and a job and stuff, so while he hasn’t made it to the big Geiszler celebration in Germany every December since starting college out of elementary school, he still tries to make a point of dropping by his dad’s for dinner and a movie or something to fill his holiday quota. It’s fine by him; he loves his family, but they’re definitely overwhelming, and trying to submit final grades and work on syllabuses for the next semester all while distant relatives ruffle his hair and ask him when he’s going to hit his growth spurt is not his idea of a relaxing time. It’s a constant point of contention between him and his dad. This year more than most, apparently.

“Your grandmother misses you!” he tells Newt sadly over their Chinese takeout. “She calls me every week to ask how you are, and why you never visit with them. Every week.” He waves a fork at Newt. “You’re breaking her heart.”

“I’m in the lab, like, twenty-four-seven, dad,” Newt sighs. It’s a well-rehearsed conversation at this point, but it doesn’t get any less tiresome. Especially because he knows his dad is lying about the phone call thing—Newt is a great grandson and texts his grandmother plenty, thank you very much, he would know if he was breaking her heart. “I’m working straight through winter break this year. Seriously.”

“That’s what you did last year,” Newt’s dad says. “And the year before that…” Newt turns the volume up on the TV to cut his dad off before he can segue into the next part of his argument, which is (usually) that Newt needs to work on his personal life, maybe settle down, produce some grandkids of his own. Or at least adopt a cat. Also well-rehearsed.

He’s not sure why he says what he does next—maybe in a desperate attempt to distract his dad further. Maybe because of the sudden onslaught of childhood memories the mention of his grandparents’ house brought on. “Hey, do you remember that boy who used to live next door to grandma?” he says. “He had the weird haircut and always dressed kind of funny?” Old-fashioned, and a little too formal for the sort of things that little kids tend to do, climbing trees or playing in the mud—sweatervests and polished loafers and starched-white knee-highs.

Newt’s dad blinks at him. Newt half expects him to declare that Newt is nuts, and that he has no idea what he’s talking about, like this is one of those horror stories where the childhood friend turns out to be some ghost who died fifty years prior. The clothing would match up, he guesses. But he smiles in recognition a moment later. “You mean the Gottlieb boy?” he says.

“Gottlieb,” Newt echoes. It sounds familiar enough. “Hermann, I think. When I’d stay with grandma for the summer we would play together every day. I wonder what he’s doing now.” Hermann was a smart guy, a real geek like Newt; he used to carry a graphing calculator around in his pocket and build the most goddamn pristine model spacecrafts Newt had ever seen. Hermann’s dad shipped him off to a prestigious boarding school the last summer Newt spent there, when they were around twelve or so. Newt started at MIT not long after. “Dude’s probably designing rocket ships by now or something.”

“You could ask him yourself if you came with me,” Newt’s dad laughs. “The Gottliebs never moved away, and their children actually visit. I’m sure your Hermann visits, too.”

“Ha,” Newt says. “Yeah.”

It’s snowing by the time Newt and his dad finish their movie, and Newt (fearing his dad’s driving even in ideal conditions) declines the offer of a lift home to trudge his way through it to his T stop instead. It’s nice to have the chance to be alone with his thoughts, anyway, because he can’t seem to get funny little Hermann Gottlieb out of his head. What is he doing now?

A quick Facebook search on the train produces a few Hermann Gottliebs, but none of them promising—none of them have the brown eyes or strangely angular face (devoid of any baby fat even that young) Newt remembers, none of them are from the right German countryside, none of them went to a preppy English boarding school. Google (utilizing the information Newt does have) is a little more rewarding, and by the time Newt presses the button to request his stop, he’s scrounged up a decent amount of info: Hermann Gottlieb has a doctorate in astrophysics, Hermann Gottlieb publishes papers at a slightly terrifying rate, and Hermann Gottlieb turned out kinda hot.

As Newt stares down at a slightly grainy current photograph of his old friend—haircut and clothing unchanged, a cane in hand, some round librarian glasses perched on the end of his nose, wide mouth twisted into a scowl—he suddenly recalls another thing about Hermann Gottlieb: the summer Hermann was sent away to boarding school was the summer that Hermann kissed Newt goodbye, shyly and tearfully, under the shade of the tall maple tree in his yard. It was the last time Newt ever saw Hermann. It was Newt’s first kiss.

“Oh, boy,” Newt says.

He texts his dad when he gets back to his apartment. When do we leave?

Newt feels like the belle of the fucking ball when he steps into his grandparents’ house a week later, snow dusting his shoulders, small suitcase clenched in his hand. His cheeks are kissed; his scarf and hat and leather jacket are brushed off and tossed onto a coat rack; his hair is in parts smoothed down (too messy!) and ruffled (too flat!); he’s hugged more times than he has been in the entire last year, probably. “Still playing around with bugs in the dirt, eh, Newt?” his grandfather booms, tucking Newt into the crook of his arm with enough force to knock Newt’s glasses off.

“Actually,” Newt squeaks, scrambling for both what he remembers of his very rusty German, and his glasses before they can hit the ground, “entomology isn’t really my main focus at—”

“Newt’s studying jellyfish now,” Newt’s dad declares proudly. “He went on a diving expedition this July.”

“Diving? How exciting,” Newt’s grandmother says.

“Yeah,” Newt says. He pushes his glasses back on. “Yeah, it was fascinating, I was lucky to get the funding for it. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of—”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Newt’s cousin says.

“My little Newt’s a daredevil!” Newt’s dad says.

“It’s not that dangerous,” Newt says. “As long as you’re—”

“What happened to that nice man your father said you were dating?” Newt’s grandfather says. “With the, the what was it, the poetry? The poet? We thought you’d bring him!”

Newt flushes. Trust his dad to talk up some random guy Newt dated in March like it was a long-term affair and not an elongated one-night stand that fizzled out after three weeks. Though maybe that one’s on Newt—it’s not like he mentioned the one-night stand part to his dad, after all. He definitely didn’t mention that the guy ended it with a poem, too. “We broke up,” he says, weakly. He wriggles out from the throng of the crowd. “Look, it’s so great seeing you all, but I’m actually, like, really tired, soooooo…?”

“Oh, of course you are,” Newt’s grandmother says. She pats his head. “What a long flight you must have had! We’ll send someone up for you for dinner—you can have your old guest room.”

“Cool,” Newt says.

He scurries up the stairs.

The guest room he slept in during those summers is almost exactly the way he remembers it, but a little dustier—the floral quilt on the bed, his grandma’s sewing table crammed into the corner, the bookcase stocked with a weird combination of kid’s books and illustrated encyclopedias that Newt used to pore over for hours as a kid, often with Hermann. Newt draws back the embroidered curtains and peers out the window at the Gottliebs’ snow-capped house next door. Hermann’s window was directly across from his. It still is, technically, though the curtains (these navy blue and embroidered with little constellations) are pulled tight, and Newt has a feeling that Hermann hasn’t set foot in his old room in well over a decade. Two decades, probably.

He remembers the one summer he showed Hermann how to make a soup can telephone, and they managed to string it all the way across between their windows before discovering it kinda didn’t work as well as Newt said it would. He remembers when Hermann’s dad banned him from the Gottlieb house for tracking water all over their front hallway after he and Hermann went wading in the creek, but it was really Hermann who did it, because he forgot to take his shoes off and they got soaked, and Newt just took the fall for it so Hermann wouldn’t get in trouble. And when Hermann asked Newt to play astronaut with him, and Newt insisted on being an alien and mimed the chestburster scene from Alien, and Hermann freaked out so bad he fell in a mud puddle and got grounded for ruining his clothing, and Newt got grounded for that and for watching Alien when he wasn’t supposed to, and they spent the following few days staring sadly out across at each other before Newt’s grandma finally got tired of his moping and sent him to work weeding the garden. He remembers knotting a little friendship bracelet for Hermann out of embroidery thread he found in his grandmother’s sewing basket and Hermann vowing to keep it until he died.

Newt’s half of the soup can phone is still on the windowsill, though the string snapped and crumbled apart years ago. He picks at the peeling Chicken Noodle label, so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice the light suddenly seeping through at the edges of Hermann’s curtains, or the way they’re pushed open—almost.

Hermann—real, live, adult Hermann, botched haircut and round glasses and all—stares out at Newt with a shocked expression on his face. Newt drops the can with a clatter.

Then he waves.

“Hey, Grandma?” Newt says, poking his head into the kitchen. Tonight’s dinner is a massive pot of soup boiling away on the stovetop, dessert a mountain of cookies and tiny pastries on serving platters on the counters. Newt hasn’t had food that looked this good since he moved out, to be honest. The intersection of Newt’s sad lack of cooking skills and his attempts at vegetarianism means he eats a lot of boxed mac-and-cheese and frozen Vegetable Lovers’ pizzas. “Are you—?"

“Oh, Newt!” Newt’s grandmother says. She sets down her wooden spoon. “Are you feeling rested, then?”

“Yeah,” Newt says. “Grandma, I was wondering, could I—uh—maybe run some food over to the Gottliebs? To be…neighborly? We just have so much, and—”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Newt’s grandmother says. “They keep to themselves, mostly, but I can’t imagine they’d turn it down. You might even see your little friend again! What was his name? You were so fond of him.”

“Hermann,” Newt says, quickly shoving cookies into a red-lid plastic container. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He tucks the tupperware under his arm and nearly wipes out on the icy front path he runs to the Gottliebs’ so fast. Before he can so much as catch his breath and knock, their door swings open; Hermann, dressed in a tacky Hannukah sweater, arches an eyebrow at him. “I saw you sprint over here like a bloody madman,” he says, in blessed English. He must’ve remembered how shitty Newt’s German was when they were kids. “Hello, Newton. What’s so terribly important?”

His voice got deeper—expected—and he swapped out his German accent for an English one somewhere along the way. Probably at his stuffy boarding school. He also got taller—he’s got a few inches on Newt now, but Newt admits that’s not exactly hard. God, he’s even hotter in person. “Uh,” Newt says. Why is he here? Oh, right. He thrusts out the tupperware. “I brought some cookies over for you?”

Hermann peers down at the offering over his glasses. His forehead wrinkles. “How considerate,” he says. He pulls an olive-green parka on and steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. He taps at a peeling porch swing with the end of his cane. “Just leave them there. Would you like to take a walk?”

It’s freezing, and snowing, but for some reason, a walk sounds like the best idea in the world right now. “Yes, please,” Newt says, and chucks the cookies onto the swing.

“I must say,” Hermann says, after their meandering walk around the Gottliebs’ yard takes them to the old maple tree. The branches are bare, but thick, and shield them from most of the falling snow. Hermann’s breath puffs out white in front of his angular face. The last time I stood here, Newt thinks, he kissed me. “I really did not expect to see you.”

“I didn’t expect to see you, either,” Newt admits. “From what I remember, you and your family weren’t—uh—well, very close. I didn’t think you’d be coming back to share in the holiday cheer with them, is what I mean.”

The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “That’s certainly one way of describing it. Yes, I suppose you’re right—my father is a bit of a bastard, isn’t he?” Newt laughs awkwardly, unsure whether to agree or attempt to weakly the defend a guy who openly hated him for being a bad influence on Hermann most of his childhood; he’s grateful when Hermann continues and saves him the choice. “This is the first year I’ve come home in a long while. My brother’s just had a daughter, you see, and I thought I should start getting used to playing uncle.”

“Oh, congrats,” Newt says. Hermann shrugs, and Newt has the distinct feeling that this is Hermann’s older brother, who used to dissemble Hermann’s telescope and hide the pieces around the house when Hermann annoyed him, and tattled on Newt and Hermann to Hermann’s parents the one time Newt snuck in to see Hermann after he got banned. He always made Newt thankful that he was an only child. “Same here, actually. Not the uncle thing—I mean I haven’t visited since I was in college. Too busy.”

“I know,” Hermann says, and then adds teasingly (in a way that makes color flood Newt’s cheeks and his heart beat just a little faster), “I’ve looked you up online. Er—quite a bit recently, in fact. I was curious. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, haven’t you, Dr. Geiszler?”

“I,” Newt squeaks, and then coughs. “I mean, I guess? I like…science.”

“I oughtn’t be surprised,” Hermann says. “You were always giving me bugs, and salamanders, and funny little frogs—”

Newt liked bugs, and salamanders, and frogs, but he liked Hermann more, and the gifts had a lot more to do with the latter than the former, because what kid wouldn’t want bugs or salamanders or frogs, right? Not that Hermann ever appreciated them—especially not the worms Newt would pluck from the sidewalks after rainstorms. He thinks he got grounded for that one, too, because his grandma wouldn’t believe that he really wasn’t trying to terrorize the poor Gottlieb boy. “And what about you?” Newt says. He pokes his elbow into Hermann’s side. “Dr. Gottlieb? Guess those model rockets paid off.”

(“No, Newton,” Hermann would snap at him on the rare occasions he would allow Newt to watch him piece one together, “the glue hasn’t dried yet. You have to be patient, or else it’ll fall apart.”)

“Not yet,” Hermann says, “but I hope soon.”

Hermann smiles at him. A snowflake catches in his eyelashes—his long, pretty, dark eyelashes. “Do you remember when you kissed me here?” Newt blurts out.

“It’s hardly the sort of thing I’d forget,” Hermann says. He reaches out and tucks a piece of Newt’s hair up into his hat. “I like your tattoos—I saw the photographs on your social media accounts. They suit you.” Newt wonders if this means Hermann saw the shirtless selfie he posted on Instagram. “I’m also pleased to see you’ve gotten your braces removed. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience last time.”

Then he leans in and kisses Newt. Again, technically. It’s so light and brief Newt hardly believes it even happened. Their glasses clack together, and when Hermann pulls away, he straightens out Newt’s.

“I confess,” Hermann says, “that I’m wholly pleased to see how you’ve turned out. I hope that wasn’t too forward of me. I’ve been thinking about doing it all night.”

“Jeez, dude,” Newt says, blinking at him, his head swimming just a little. Hermann looks smug. “Not, uh, not too forward. So. Uh. You wanna get dinner or something this week and catch up?”

Hermann snorts, and nods.

[naruto-ichigo-soul-kyobabe]

Ateez reaction to you being on the phone with someone and calling them “a friend”

This was requested by anon so I hope they like it! :) 

Hongjoong 

You and Hongjoong were having a movie night at your place. The two of you were being all snuggly on the couch when your phone started ringing, which startled you both. 

“Wah, put it on silent, y/n!” Hongjoon said clutching his chest. “Almost gave me a heart attack.” 

You told him to hush as you answered your phone. “Hi mom~ how are you? Oh I’m fine, I’m just watching movies with a friend! I’ll call you later, okay? I love you too.” 

You hung up your phone and were ready to snuggle back into Hongjoong’s arms, but when you turned back to him he had his arms cross and a frown on his face. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked confused. 

“”A friend”?” He asked clearly upset. “I thought I was your boyfriend. But I guess not.” 

“Ah, baby, no. Let me explain.” You said quickly. “My mom is very protective and even though I’m an adult.. she would chew my ear off if she knew I was with my boyfriend late at night.” 

Hongjoong continued to pout and looked away from you. 

“Baby please, don’t be like that.” You said wrapping your arms around him and planting kisses all over his face. “I love you so much. I’m just scared of my mom.” 

He burst into giggles hearing you say that. “Okay okay. I forgive. I’m sometimes scared of my mom too.” He opened his arms and hugged you. “And I love you too.” 

You both went back to enjoying your movie night. 

Seonghwa 

Note: E/n- ex’s name 

You and Seonghwa decided to grab some Starbucks before walking around the mall. You both had some errands that needed to be done there and the two of you often did this together. The two of you were holding hands in a middle of a conversation when your phone rang. 

“So I told Wooyoung that he better clean it up now or -“ 

“Sorry babe, hold on I’m getting a call.” You answered your phone. “Hello..? Oh.. how did you get my number?... My mom.. what for?... Not that it’s any of your business e/n but I am out with a friend right now and I-“ 

Seongwha grabbed the phone from you absolutely upset that not only your ex boyfriend had called you, but that you also referred to him as “friend” 

“Hi, this is y/n’s BOYFRIEND and I am going kindly ask you to NEVER contact her again. Or else you and I are going to have a problem? Got it?” And without waiting for a response he hung up. 

You knew you had messed up by the tone in Seongwha’s voice. You could tell how hurt he was. 

“Seongwha, love, I-I’m sorry..” you trailed off not sure what to say. 

Seongwha grabbed you hand and held it tightly while looking into your eyes. “Y/n, please tell me the truth. Do you have feelings for your ex?” 

“What? Of course no!” You exclaimed, shocked he would even ask that. “I love you and only you!” 

“Then why did you call me your “friend” and not boyfriend?” He asked with teary eyes. 

“Omg baby, I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I’m the one who broke up with him and he took it really hard. His family is very close with mine and I just didn’t want to hurt him again.. I’m sorry that I chose his feelings over yours.” You said stroking his check. “I am so incredibly lucky to have you has my boyfriend. Plus you were so cool earlier when you told him off.” 

Seongwha gave you a shy smile. “R-really? Well, since you were just trying to avoid hurting someone’s feelings I will forgive you. However, to make up for it..” He whispered into your ear what he wanted. You started blushing furiously and just nodded, you wanted to make things right, and you loved your boyfriend so much. 

“Good girl.” He said kissing your cheek. “Let’s head home, shall we?” 

Yunho 

You were FaceTiming with your parent’s and didn’t hear your boyfriend, Yunho come home. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you. 

“Hey ba-“ 

“Y/n! Do you have a boyfriend?” You dad asked. 

“Do you guys live together!?” Your mother said shocked. “We allowed you to study overseas to get a good education! Not to date boys!” 

“Ahh! Nono, he’s just a friend. He’s here to study with me! But he’s a hugger just like me!” You said quickly to your parents. 

“‘Just a friend?’” Yunho said dejectedly. 

You looked at him with pleading eyes to go along with you. 

“Ah, yeah. Y/n and I are just friends. Here to study for our upcoming tests.” Yunho said sadly. 

It took a little more to convince your parents that Yunho wasn’t your boyfriend and you soon were able to hangout so you could “study.” 

“That was a close one.” You muttered to yourself. “Right, Yunho?.. Yunho?” 

You turned and saw your big baby of a boyfriend sitting on the couch sulking. You got up and wrapped your arms around him. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” 

“Why did you have to lie to your parents? I really wanted to meet them as your boyfriend.. not “friend.””

“I’m sorry! If they knew I had a boyfriend.. they would find a way to get me to come home. And that I could no longer be with you!” You started placing kisses in his cheeks. “Do you want me to go away?” 

“No! Of course not!” He said turning around and pulling you onto the couch. “I would be heartbroken.” 

He started tickling you as punishment for hurting his feelings though. He then kisses your forehead. “I’ll pretend to be your friend for now.. but if we get caught again.. no promises.” 

“Okay,” you said smiling. You did want your parents to know you were dating such a wonderful man and they had nothing to worry about. 

Yeosang 

You and Yeosang were hanging out in your room, cuddling while watching TV, and after a while Yeosang was wanting more attention. He started kissing your neck and jaw, and it would have lead to a make-out session but you got a phone call. 

“Hello? Oh hi boss, how are you?” As you were trying to hear what your boss was trying to tell you, Yeosang whined beside you to hang up. 

“Hm, what was that? A boyfriend? No of course! I-I just have a friend over right now and she’s just a bit needy. Had a breakup.. aha y-yeah I remember you saying all men a scum.. oh okay you need me in early tomorrow? Yeah I can do that. Okay bye.” You said sighing as you threw your phone. 

“I’m sorry, y/n, but was that your way of saying you want to break up with me?” Yeosang asked hurt. 

“What are you talking about?” You asked confused. “Of course not! Why would I break up with you?” 

“Well why did you tell your boss your dealing with a “friend” who is going through a breakup?” He asked pouting and letting you go to cross his arms over his chest. 

“Baby, my boss is an older woman who really hates men. If any woman in the office gets a boyfriend.. then she takes out all her anger on them.” You explained. “I don’t want her to make my life a living hell at work.” 

“What, really!? You actually work for a woman like that?” Yeosang asked surprised. “You should quit!” 

“I can’t do that! I need this job until I can find a better one. So please, bare with this until then. You’re still my boyfriend and I still love you.” You pleaded. “Just can’t tell my boss.” 

“Okay. But once you get a new job you better tell everyone you’re taken and have the best boyfriend in the whole world.” He said pulling you back into his arms. 

“I promise.” You giggled. 

You smiled at you before continuing where you guys left off before the phone call had rudely interrupted. 

San 

You and your best friend San were hanging out at the arcade together like usual. You were watching him play the claw machine, he was attempting to win you a pink teddy bear that you said was really cute, and he was determine to win it for you. 

You got a phone call and saw that it was your grandma so you answered it immediately. 

“Hi grandma! How are you?.. yeah I’m good! I’m just with San. Yeah, you remember San, my friend? Yeah.. boyfriend? Aha no... oh? Blind date? I-I don’t know about that.. oh okay. Well alright I guess. Bye grandma.. love you.” You said and sighed as you ended the call. You leaned you head against the claw machine and closed your eyes. You didn’t want your grandma to set you up with anyone because there was only one boy you wanted and unfortunately he only saw you as a friend. 

“So I have been demoted from best friend to friend, now?” San asked. 

“What? Oh you heard that huh? Sorry, my grandma can’t remember a lot besides that I don’t have a boyfriend.” You laughed bitterly. 

“Do you want one?” San asked. “A boyfriend.” 

You jumped back startled from his question. “Wha- well I would. But I don’t think it will happen.” 

“Well think again.” He said smiling as he handed you the pink bear he had managed to win you. “I would like to promote you from my best friend to my girlfriend.” 

You jumped back again surprised by San’s confession. “What? You like me!?” 

“Yeah dummy. Thought it was obvious. I knew you liked me. I was just waiting for the right time to ask you out.” He said nonchalantly. “So, will you accept your promotion?” 

“Y-yes! Yes of course!” You said throwing you arms around San. “I would love to be your girlfriend.” 

He hugged you back and smirked. “Good, now call grandma back and tell her no more blind dates because you’re taken.” 

Mingi 

You, your boyfriend and the members of Ateez decided to spend the day at an amusement park. The 9 of you had been running around crazy all day, riding rides, screaming, and chickening out for certain rides. You all decided to take a break and get some food. 

“Babe, you sit down and I’ll get us something to eat.” Mingi said kissing you cheek before going off to stand in line. 

You sat down at a table waiting for Mingi to return. The others had found tables away from you two, to allow a little alone time. After a little bit you received a phone call from one of the kids you tutored English to. As you were speaking to her on the phone you heard Mingi calling you. 

“Noona! Noona! Where are you?” You spotted your giant boyfriend easily and waved him down.

“Over here, Mingi!” You called. 

“Ah Noona, there you are.” He said coming to you. “Oh you’re on the phone.” He notes as he sat down. 

“Oh what was that, sorry? My brother? Aha, oh no he’s not my brother but my friend. Yeah that’s right! Okay, I’ll see you on Tuesday for our lesson!” You said ending the call and putting your phone away. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Mingi asked quietly. 

“What? No of course not! Why would you think that?” You asked. 

“Because you told the person on the phone that I was your “friend” and not boyfriend.” He pouted. 

“Oh! Baby no. I’m sorry.” You said grabbing both his hands with yours. “It was one of my younger students just asking me a question. I just didn’t want to tell her too much personal information about myself.” 

“Really?” Mingi said giving you those eyes (🥺) that melted and broke your heart every time. 

“Of course! I love you so much and want everyone to know your my boyfriend.” You said reaching out to caress his cheek. “You make me incredibly happy and I would be heartbroken if we weren’t together.” 

He gave you that gummy smile of his while slightly blushing. “I love you too. And I feel the same way.” 

Mingi was extra clingy to you for the rest of the day, determined to let everyone in the park know you two were dating. 

Wooyoung 

You were at the dance studio watching your boyfriend practice for his upcoming stage performance. He liked when you came and kept him company. He always asked you to watch him so you could help him determine which parts need more work than others. Plus he enjoyed teasing you from time to time. Wooyoung just finished practicing when you got a phone call from your best friend, who was a huge fan of Ateez, and didn’t know you were friends with them, let alone that you were dating Wooyoung. 

“Hey, y/f/n, what’s up?” 

“Y/nnnnnnn are you ignoring me already?” Wooyoung whined when he saw you on the phone. 

“Eh, what was that? Wooyoung? No of course not! No I don’t have a boyfriend! It’s just one of my friends from work! Yeah! Okay, I’ll talk to you later.” You pressed end and laid on the floor, your heart racing from the anxiety you had just experienced. 

“Ya, y/n! Why am I your ‘friend’ all of sudden? Hmm? Am I not good enough to be your boyfriend?” Wooyoung asked laying down on you. “Explain yourself. Before I go to Seongwha and tell him how you are mistreating his baby.” 

You burst onto giggles hearing. “You give Seongwha so much stress.. I don’t think you’re HIS baby.. maybe San’s and most definitely mine.” You said stroking his hair. 

“It was my best friend, the one who loves you guys more than anything. She heard your voice and was getting suspicious. You know she can’t know or else all hell would break lose.” 

“Oh is that what happened?” He said. “Ah okay, baby I get it. I’m still your boyfriend and your baby?”

“Of course, my sweet angel.” You said kissing his nose. “Forever and always.” 

Woo started giggling while he placed kisses all over your face. “You know it’s kind of hot having to keep this a secret from people, huh?” 

“Ugh, Woo shush.” You said said pushing his shoulder. 

“Nope. I want you baby, come here.” He said before kissing your lips. “Let��s go home.. unless you wanna stay here?” 

“Omg! No let’s go home then!” You said getting out from under him and leaving the room. 

“Wait for me baby!” Wooyoung called chasing after you. 

Jongho 

You and Jongho were hanging out in his room watching videos on his phone. You were resting your head on his chest and he had his one arm around you. He was usually quite shy when you two were around other people, but when it was just the two of you, he seemed to relax a bit more. As you two were watching a video you saw you noticed you missed a phone call from your mom. 

“Oh Jongho, can you pause for a second? I need to call my mom back.” 

“Sure thing babe.” 

“Hi mom! Sorry I missed your call. What’s up?” 

“The doctor just called and said you started taking birth control!! Why? Are you doing things you shouldn’t be!?” Your mom said so loud that even Jongho could hear her. 

“Birth control?” Jongho asked surprised. 

“Who was that!? Are you with a boy? Are you doing sinful things!?” Your mom yelled. 

“No no mom! Of course not mom! It’s just my friend, a girl, not a boy! Please don’t say she sounds like a boy.. she’s self conscious about her voice.” You reassured your mom that you were good, innocent, and pure daughter, who would never think of such thoughts- after years of lying you could get her to believe anything. 

“Ughhh I shouldn’t have called her.” You said. “I’m sorry you had to what that.” 

“I-I understand why you had to call me “friend” but it kind of hurt.” Jongho said quietly while he had pouty lips. 

“Ohhh my sweet baby I am so sorry about that. If I could tell my mom I had such a loving, caring and handsome boyfriend such as yourself I would.” You leaned up and kissed his pouty lips. 

He smiled shyly at you. “Well, as long as you know I’m your boyfriend than I don’t care too much. Especially because your mom is...” 

“Crazy? Yeah I agree.” You said giggling. “I’ll let her know I have a boyfriend soon. Just gotta wait to find the best time to break her heart.” 

You snuggled back into his arms and continued watching videos together. 

[nightcoremoon]

it's evident people haven't watched enough kids media to adequately understand just what constitutes a kids show as opposed to a show that kids can watch and be entertained by

when I was a kid I watched king of the hill and blues clues (among other things). king of the hill is NOT a kids show by any stretch of the imagination; it is an adult animation, replete with fairly heavy subject matter, sexual themes, political humor, cultural references that kids won't understand, discussion of religion in the modern day, depression and suicidal thoughts, adultery, puberty and sexual awakenings, body image, propane, propane accessories, and ultimately above all else what it means to be family. and blues clues is a show about a man who plays with a shovel & pail, talks to his condiments and mailbox, and sometimes he teleports into the felt dimension, all while playing Sherlock Holmes hercule poirot with his dog, and teaching kids how to count and draw and recognize colors and learn their ABCs. do you see the fucking difference? no? then I'll make it more clear.

dora the explorer & go diego go, mickey mouse clubhouse, handy manny, octonauts, bob the builder, super why, wild kratts, zoboomafoo, jojo's circus, wow wow wubbzy, stanley, doc mcstuffins, max & ruby, wonder pets, bubble guppies, ni hao khai lan, backyardigans, little einsteins, caillou (ugh) and p*w p*trol (double ugh), these are all undeniably kids shows. their audience is children (and the occasional adult by age with severe intellectual disabilities) and maybe the parents whose brains are too fried to care what's on the tv. these shows main purpose is to educate while entertaining on subjects one would encounter in preschool and kindergarten. counting 1-10, ABCs, basic color, basic language, basic intrapersonal skills, basic emotional literacy, problem solving, using your imagination, what sounds do animals make, breaking the fourth wall to ask the audience to answer what's 2+2 or tell them a lesson they learned today like I LEARNED TO NEVER JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS COVER or some simple message like that. it's always light, there's no edgelord grimdark "what if they were dead the whole time" bullshit. it's just good clean simple wholesome [except for paw patrol] programs for kids to be distracted for a little bit of time, while also letting them walk away having said they learned something. at least half of the time dedicated to every single one of these shows is devoted to the same shit over and over again. I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map I'm the map WE FUCKING GET IT YOURE THE MAP! backpack backpack I'm the backpack loaded up with things and knickknacks too, anything that you might need I've got inside for you. we did it we did it we did it HOORAY! come on vamanos everybody let's go, come on let's get to it, I know that we can do it,

WHERE ARE WE GOING

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

THESE SONGS ARE BURNED INTO MY BRAIN AND THEYLL BE STUCK IN MY HEAD UNTIL I DIE

say click take a pic, the hot dog dance, CAN HE FIX IT???, pizza! spaghetti!, THE DOC IS IN AND SHELL FIX YOU UP, max & ruby ruby & max max & ruby ruby & max MAX & RUBY RUBY & MAX MAX & RUBY RUBY & MAX, wonder pets wonder pets we're on our way to help the friend and save the day, we're not too big and we're not too tough but when we work together we've got the right stuff, goooOOO WONDER PETS YAAAAY~, yoooour backyard friends the backyardigans (weve got the whole wide world in our yard to explore, thATS WHY EVERY DAY WEEEEERE BACK FOR MOOOORE), were going on a trip in our little rocket ship SOARING THROOOOOUGH THE SKY!!! little einsteins!

I swear to god I've been forced to watch so much children's television in my life it's no wonder there's no room left for serotonin executive function or the ability to speak to morons

point is I know my way around kids shows. my sisters were born in 98, 02, 05, 06, 10, and 18, I think, I don't even know because they're all a blur, I'm literally closer in age to my parents than to my youngest sibling, I never stopped being exposed to kids shows. I know what is and is not a kids show.

adventure time? not a kids show even though kids watch it. it's a "for everyone" show. it's got a target audience of 100% of the planet. steven universe? not a kids show even though kids watch it. miraculous ladybug? not a kids show even though kids watch it. scooby doo? not a kids show even though kids watch it. I'm not discussing the history of adult acceptance of animation, adult animation, or anime, so don't ask. dexter's laboratory. the grim adventures of billy & mandy. codename kids next door. teen titans. fairly oddparents. kim possible. invader zim. AVATAR THE LAST AIRBENDER. totally spies. courage the cowardly dog. the proud family. SPONGEBOB F*ING SQUAREPANTS. powerpuff girls. foster's home for imaginary friends. oh yeah you know what's coming next. my little goddamn pony friendship is mother fucking magic is not. a. kids. show. even though kids can watch it. it is a cartoon. it is an everyone show. that's why it's disingenuous and fucking stupid to decry any fan over the age of 7 as a pedophile and a weirdo creep; it participates in the infantilization of femininity. why is it ok for 20somethings to keep watching aang and squidward and finn & jake and zim and "return the slab" and everyone's totally fine wth that but when it's twilight sparkle suddenly everyone's like whoa you're a huge fucking loser for watching this girly wussy baby show for girly wussy babies. oh some bronies are sex crazed perverts? I'm sorry have you seen just how much porn there is for spongebob? oh some bronies are cringe? I'm sorry have you met half the steven universe fandom? oh some bronies are fascist rick sanchez kinnies with fedoras and katanas? BREAKING BAD FANS, HELLO!?!?!?

this is such a stupid tiring boring argument. maybe magic talking horses being friends and turning their friendship into magic rainbow nuclear fucking arms and blasting the evil out of a demon and turning her into the coolest fucking half-unicorn biker lesbian in the world is something that brings me, and adult, pure wholesome joy, in between bojack horseman and dark souls and breaking bad and deftones and fallout new vegas and jojo and cannibal corpse and other bleak depressing edgy shit that also brings me comfort. and MAYBE me at 16 starting to watch MLP:FIM becoming finally comfortable with the outward public expression of "traditionally feminine" interests is the main reason why I realized I was a girl when I did, and MAYBE I just like how pretty the colorful ponies look, AND MAYBE I KIN WITH ONE OR TWO OR EIGHT CHARACTERS, WHAT OF IT?

AND MAYBE ITS LITERALLY THE BEST LONG RUNNING FANTASY TV SERIES ON THE MARKET RIGHT NOW* SINCE GAME OF THRONES FUCKING SUCKS

but whatever, kids watch it sometimes so it's illegal for anyone who's not a kid to enjoy it, but only if it's something girly because liking girly things is bad because girliness is inherently bad, and the only things that are good have predominantly male casts*. right? right??? wrong, fucker. g4mlp has so much more in common with adventure time & atla than with blues clues or dora the fucking explora...r.

but keep in mind I'm saying this while hugging a blues clues plushie my grandma gave me for valentine's day because it reminds her of when I was a baby because I may not watch blues clues but it still means a lot to me for nostalgia and is 50% of the reason why I love ray charles. kids media isn't necessarily bad. I still do enjoy watching it with my little sisters. all this is is me being anal about categorization because I'm autistic and I LIVE for categorizing everything.

*besides atla obviously

[han-shinsuke]

Grand King’s Painting

🥀 o i k a w a x u s h i j i m a 🥀

Do you ever feel tired of everything like really tired that you just wanted to lay in peace on a soft bed and close your eyes for eternity?

How I wish dying is as easy as sleeping.

I’m an accomplished man. I got everything. That's what people around me always says. But I’m not happy. I wished I could tell them. Instead, I am running away. From those people who thought that I’m a happy man.

After all these years of pretensions, I would like to know how it feels like to remove the mask I wear all the time for other people's satisfactions.

“Welcome home, young master, Tooru.” Oh, to be the real Oikawa Tooru once again.

/// t h i r d p e r s o n p o v

Fifteen Years Ago...

Odd. That’s how he sees the boy in olive brown hair and olive green eyes. His character matches the eerie feeling of the house he’s living. Tooru would never want to associate himself with a kid like that. If it wasn’t for the request of his dying grandmother, he won’t be in an old village, living in a mansion where his ancestors used to reside when they were alive. The mansion itself is a home of grandeur but Tooru cannot be persuaded by luxury. Even though he has been living a life of comfort that every kid his age would cry for, Tooru want something else. Something that could not be bought by money.

And the boy standing from the clearing in the woods, is a great example of thing that even him cannot buy.

“You are Grand Raya’s grandchild.” Every denizens in this town knows about it. The St. Vincent’s heir, Tooru Oikawa has arrived. That’s what the local newspaper posted in the front page.

Tooru extrudes his tongue at the boy he have tried bribing with his money, “stop tailing, you damn dog or I’ll throw you and your family out of this old and shitty village.”

Manners, Tooru. Manners. If his mother were here, that’s what she would be saying to him. St. Vincents’ are good people. His father, too. So, why he can’t be like them?

“I am not following you, Tooru. I lived here.” Wakatoshi turns his back at the boy he finds peculiarly beautiful. He would accept him. As long as he stay good and real. Tooru Oikawa will soon agree to be his friend. “Go home, little prince.”

“Freak.” Tooru bites back, walking drastically away from the clearing with Wakatoshi’s timid half-smile face lingering in his mind.

|••|

“I had no choice.” As if his answer matters to the unsaid question, Tooru just shrugged his shoulders and instruct his butler to hand the canvas and paint kit to Wakatoshi who did nothing but just nod.

“Why are you hanging out with him? I’m really curious.” Shigeru finally voiced out his thoughts, stopping the heir from descending down the foyer.

Wakatoshi who have been doing his best to earn Tooru’s trust also stopped on his tracks. What would he say? He thought. Would he deny him?

“I had no choice.” Tooru answers, licking his lips.

The two young boy walks out of the mansion. Passing through the enormous porch and straight on the path towards the garden.

“Why do you keep saying you don’t have a choice? You’re not a corpse.” Wakatoshi lays the canvas and the kit under the bird bath. He face the peculiar beauty in front of him, buffled. “You are alive. Why can’t you choose?”

“I have hundreds of choices. I just don’t know how and which to choose.”

“Have you been dead?”

“What’s with the question?” Tooru dusts the canvas and put it on the easel. Motioning Wakatoshi to move away from the bird bath. What a strange boy for his age. Tooru wanders his mind to the query. Has anyone been dead and came back to life? The idea was crazy.

“If you really treasure your life then you will fight for the choices you are afraid to make. Even the dead get to choose in the afterlife, Tooru.”

Tooru pursed his lips in thin line. Orbs battling against Wakatoshi’s olive ones.

“I let you know a secret, I’m a coward that’s why I chose not to choose.”

|••|

All his damn life, Tooru has been letting his mother and few of those people he trust to choose for him. Whether it’s about the clothes he would wear, the food he would eat or the individuals he would associate himself with, it all depends on them.

To put it simply, Tooru doesn’t trust himself enough to make a choice.

“Of all the worst choices sprawled on the table, why did you pick the worst of them all?” Grand Raya asked her grandchild who have been painting his subject on the wall of his bedroom.

“Do you think he’s a bad choice, grandma?” Tooru pauses, scrutinizing his unfinished work for any additional details. “It was my first time though, choosing what’s best out of the substandard options I had.”

“He may be a substandard for you but have you noticed yourself lately, Tooru? You are changing.” The old woman sat in comfort on the wheeled chair, resting her head between the mounted pillow atop of the soft backrest. “I will sleep for now, wake me up when dinner is ready.”

Grand Raya never opened her eyes again that day when she fell asleep. Tooru have done everything he could to shake his grandma back to life but the old lady had chosen death.

|••|

He is nowhere to be found. At times like these, whenever he feel tired or out of focus, Wakatoshi would appear out of nowhere to give him the boost he might needed to accomplish his task. Tooru dropped his bag on the teak bench in their garden and decided to look for Wakatoshi in the woods where he lived.

“Hey.” Tooru calls the attention of the boy who is currently chopping firewoods in the backyard.

Wakatoshi sways the ax once more, dividing the wood into half before acknowledging the other boy’s presence, “Tooru.” He says, drying the beads of sweats running from his temple down to his face.

“You skipped class.” Tooru and Wakatoshi are both attending the same academy that’s why it was easy for Tooru to notice if his substandard friend is not around.

“I have fever and headache.”

“But you are chopping firewoods.” Oikawa notices that Wakatoshi’s lips is more red than usual. He has fever indeed.

“This will keep me warm later once the temperature drop at midnight.” Wakatoshi gathers the chopped firewoods and bring them inside the cabin.

Oikawa lend a hand and follows the taller boy inside, carrying the remaining woods.

“Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll make you a porridge. Go to your room.”

It really bothers Tooru why his friend chose to live in the woods when he can afford to purchase a property in the town proper. From what he have heard, Wakatoshi’s parents are both miners and owned a mining company that operates in different countries.

“Still alive?” Tooru asks as he makes himself comfortable to intrude Wakatoshi’s peace.

The brunette sets the porridge on the bedside table and signal his friend to rise and eat the food he prepared.

“Barely alive.” Wakatoshi answered.

The two young souls ate in silence. Eyes stealing glances when one of them is not looking.

That night, Tooru had decided not to go back in his home. Instead, he spends the night attending the sick Wakatoshi who had nightmares due to his high body temperature.

“I’m sorry.” Tooru apologizes, realising his inappropriate action.

Wakatoshi touches his lips. Surprised by Tooru’s sudden lips press on his, “what were you apologizing for?”

Tooru hides his face, too embarrassed to face the boy he used to call freak.

“I kissed you.”

“I like it.”

He was surprised by his reply so he ended up staring at Wakatoshi’s face and lips.

“Wakatos—” Tooru did not get to finish his name. He was pulled by him, down to the bed and underneath his surging warmth.

Wakatoshi looks at him like he is the most exquisite creature in their world, “you are beautiful.” That’s what he said before claiming the brunette’s lips and let the four corners of the room to witness the fiery kiss they shared in the middle of that cold midnight.

|••|

A week later ...

“I can’t find my father’s necklace.”

“Where was the last place you visit?”

“the river near your house, Wakatoshi.”

The next day, he was found dead under the river. Foot jammed between the massive rocks underwater.

Wakatoshi

died

finding

his

miracle’s gem.

|••| P R E S E N T

“Welcome home, young master, Tooru.” Oh, to be the real Oikawa Tooru once again.

The brunette motions the butler to leave him alone and the man obeyed.

“I will see you now, freak.” Tooru smiles, setting down the wheeled chair where his grandmother died with a smile on her lips.

It was a great dream. Tooru saw his young self arguing with Wakatoshi in the garden. The freak was smiling at him while leaning against the bird bath.

“Stop moving, Wakatoshi! You’re gonna ruin my painting!” Tooru yells.

Wakatoshi flashes his rare eye smile and says, “you are really beautiful, Tooru.”

It was just a dream.

But it felt real.

Tooru had chosen.

He’ll stay there.

That’s where he belongs.

Inside Wakatoshi’s warmth.

Tooru Oikawa with the gem pressed tight on his chest... died in his sleep.

|••|

“We’ll get that one,” said the two men who both pointed the decades old painting of a bird bath with a green gem on it.

The old man who sells painting on the street had to bite the inside of his mouth to prevent himself from crying.

The old man is Shigeru, the St. Vinvent’s former butler.

While the two men are Wakatoshi Ushijima and Tooru Oikawa... and this is their another life.

🥀🥀

[kl-writes]

One thousand words a day is too much!

How many times do you have to tell a story before it consumes you and becomes redemption? 1001.

There’s nothing funnier than being told the twentieth “only right way to do something.” Particularly when the only difference is a step there or shifting your weight here. It teaches you things about the world you never had to think about in school, where there really was only one right answer. Supposedly. At least, you could count on there being only one right way to advance. Even the more open-ended arts and literature gave way to easily-graded grammar, symbolism, setting, spelling.

At the same time, there’s nothing worse than someone who is always responsible for when the right thing happens and never responsible for when the wrong thing happens. Even if it’s subjective who’s right or wrong, a three year old can spot that pattern.

When I was eight, I caught a basketball wrong and broke my finger. When I went into the living room of my grandparents’ house to show my parents, my mom asked my dad to set it back in place. I didn’t trust him to do it in a way that wouldn’t hurt, so in my arrogance I set it back myself. So my pinky finger will always be a little bent. Maybe I should wax poetic about how I’d rather hurt myself than trust someone else and get hurt. Or maybe I was a dumb eight year old who knew it would hurt either way, but would rather risk doing it wrong than have an adult do it. I’m almost twenty-five and I still don’t trust the notion of “adults.” “Adults” are awful people.

In middle school, my friend R- and I talked about keeping our middle names secret so that we couldn’t be True Name’d or impersonated. We shared our middle names readily. We worried about our parents, who already knew our middle names. It wasn’t a very good secret.

I would get frustrated with myself in middle school for not having the drive to finish knitting a simple scarf. I made a few bookmarks and coasters. I never considered that maybe the problem was that knitting was boring. These days, I have no issue finishing scarves, so long as the knitting is accompanied by a particularly long and dry class.

I used to plan conversations, sentence by sentence, before I had them. It avoids any freezing-up you might do on the phone, and helps you make it through the conversation. Nowadays, I still hold useless conversations in my head and in my dreams, but I no longer need them. The army’s made me almost too brash.

I hated creative writing lessons in middle school because the teachers always wanted you to write about real life. Nothing was less interesting or more stale and putrid than my life. I think I made up what happened and exaggerated for the assignment. I still dislike that I had to do it, since it bothers me to no end when my mother lies for the sake of a good story. I never had any issue writing or reading fiction, when people knew it was escapism.

I forget the names of second cousins and neglect to ask the names of people I sit across from at lunch for months. I don’t call anyone, and my facebook messages to my sisters are more to show my own excitement for whatever video game or image I’ve found engaging or funny. I dread getting calls, but I don’t despise calls from my Grandma Z- like my mother claims to. I don’t know if she does anymore, my mom isn’t the same person who raised me anymore. That’s a good thing.

I want to connect to people, to scream when I’m mad, to cry when I’m sad, and to spread my joy to those I care about. But I don’t like dealing with problems or obligations that arise from relationships, and I prefer that everything fades away and that I am forgotten. People wouldn’t like “me,” But “I” have a very judgy and spiteful personality. I know better than to sling barbs at others, so I hold my tongue and bury myself ever deeper. Till we’re nothing but pins in a sewing tomato of needles.

They say that Terry Pratchet wrote 400 words a day! Less than what most writing blogs and advice says (1k words, 1.6k if you’re on nanowrimo), but I bet that Pratchett was more prolific than all of them combined! Writing’s a marathon, not a sprint. So that’s why I’m following his sage wisdom, and writing 400 words a month. Absolutely nothing to do with my own lack of discipline, self-imposed sleep deprivation, or general flakiness.

Maybe it’s a problem when things that bring you joy turn into products. There’s a number attached to everything on the internet these days, and I scrutinize even what little heuristics I can squeeze from my AO3 fics. I used to delete unfinished fics all the time, back in middle school, since I only managed a chapter or two and then got bored and moved on. I shamed myself. I’m better now- I no longer delete fics, since I no longer risk writing anything that long and publishing it. My record word count on any work is 18k, and that one was encyclopedic in nature. Pretty much useless, too, but at least the journey was fun.

It’s far easier to spend money on fancy writing books and fancier typewriters than it is to actually write. That’s why I love my AlphaSmart 3000! It was cheap, so it doesn’t hurt as much that I don’t write on it often! (Plus, I bet it’d survive a nuclear fallout)

I gotta be careful not to send to computer too often, though. Then I start psychoanalyzing the word count, pitifully smaller than all my estimates. Writing may be one task where you want to train to time, not to task. But that’s just the pessimism and lack of ambition speaking! Battery life’s pretty Gucci tho…

The strangest thing of all is that the stories I want to read aren’t the ones I enjoy writing, when everything’s said and done. I love the prep, I love the planning, but actually sitting down and going for it after all that work? That’s a no-go. And seat-of-the-pants writing for me leads to incoherent-to-semicoherent blobs of nothing. Word count ain’t anything. So if I like twists, and mysteries, and all sorts of odds and ends, should I break all conventional wisdom and seek to surprise myself with the ending? Should I produce a murder victim with no murderer? I still think the goose was behind everything in Hot Fuzz, so maybe everything’s reasonable if you do it with style.

I like weighty stories, too, but I loathe to write my own weight.

The best fancy writing book out there is Elements of Style, no shot. Stephen King’s “On Writing” is the worst since 12 year old me was irritated that there was no writing advice, and 12 year old  me skipped the intro where he talked about how the book wasn’t really about how to write. Intros and prologues annoyed me, since I read a lot of pulp fantasy with useless introductions. Eragon got me into the habit of skimming large blocks of text (My apologies to Paolini), so when I read denser stuff I would miss things and have to go back and reread, lest I frustrate myself with the text. Back then, useless introductions and unimportant blocks of text were just things that books had, they weren’t the subject of critique or judgement. So I wonder why I treat my own works with a judgement I never extend to others? It’s all or nothing with me. Either a sentence is perfect, or the entire passage is barely decipherable but free of spelling errors.

Did you know that you could do warm-ups for writing? Just write nonsense, and then when you run out of nonsense the rest of what you write that day will be fine. I don’t know a better way to hit daily wordcount goals and still feel like you’re doing something meaningful.

[smalltragedy]

* brigette lundy-paine, nonbinary + they/them | you know kirby wormwood, right? they’re twenty five, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, two weeks? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to ring ring by mika like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole balancing acts at perilous heights destined to entertain, jack of all trades master of none, refusal to accept the mortal world as it is thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is december 1st, so they’re a sagittarius, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 21, est, they/them )

hllo welcome 2 my third character i love them a lot theyre a. remake of an older oc of mine so this is fun <3 sdfhk anyways once again i am asking u. pleathe like if u wld like to plot.

ARSON TW

mini playlist.

wizard ;; lucas lex / ring ring ;; mika / crows ;; clues / sunrise sunset ;; bright eyes / la llorona ;; beirut / no children ;; the mountain goats / might be love ;; the pesky snakes / sax in the city ;; let’s eat grandma.

statistics.

full name: kirby wormwood (currently).

nickname(s): magpie.

birthday: december 1st, 1995.

zodiac: sagittarius sun, aries moon, libra ascending.

mbti & temperament: estp & improvisor / sanguine.

label: the hellion.

hometown: abilene, texas.

sexuality: bisexual.

pinterest.

biography.

alright lets get right into it. kirby ws switched at birth. they cld’ve hd a very like. picket fence trampoline in the backyard. 4 columns cos its texas n it feels right. bt instead they were chosen <3 somewhat unintentionally <3 by dorothea n fawley wormwood, two traveling circus workers who emergency stopped in abilene.

n u know what. growing up in st. pierre’s traveling circus ws kinda fkn awesome? like ok. besides the fact tht they were homeschooled fr like evr n there were a sparing amt of children 2 socialize with? it ws p cool idk.

it ws kinda like everybody ws their parent n also not at all bc they were all very casual. bt they grew up learning hw 2 maintain the circus (n also like. normal school thingz bt i dnt think kirby hs ever cared abt school like ever) n whenever they hd a show kirby wld facepaint or handle tickets until they were old enough 2 start learning like. the Real fun things. 

fawley hd a lot of his own weird odd little like superstitions n beliefs n practically raised kirby on them like n they dnt rly <3 make a lot of sense. lots of made up philosophy. very much like. nothing defines u. u cn b anything or anyone. n kirby ws like ok cool. n then developed a god complex.

names didnt rly stick 2 kirby when they were a kid like. nothing satisfied them or felt worthy fr them or simply they just. got tired of a name. this isnt related 2 them being nonbinary BUT it did help ease some of the. pressure of exploring gender identity. theyve only hd one name tht stuck genuinely n tht ws magpie n. thts bc everybody hd their own bird name n it felt very. like community. like a role. usually the names they used during performances bt. anyways KFHDSGLKKHL

theyre Kirby bt answers 2 most. neutral nouns.

honestly. they were also a rascal as a youth. ws like. oh. i learned sleight of hand? cool. time 2 pick pockets. wld throw popcorn into the hair of other kids n b like. omggg what was that ... became a mime fr a year. it ws a rigorous training.

now a master of charades. bt anyways. they traveled pretty much weekly, maybe bimonthly n sometimes just pure monthly. there wsn’t an off season fr them, when the colder months came they’d travel south and when summer rolled in they’d go right back up again. it ws easy to switch personas almost daily n just. never reveal ur true self. totally not saying tht’s what kirby did bt thts what they did. it nvr made them lose sight of themselves it ws more like. acting. tricking ppl fr fun. 

anyways all good things come 2 an end and when kirby ws like. 18. they were like hey ur old enough that we cn trust u with fire. we think. n they started 2 learn fire-throwing n like. they were ok at it bt lessons were painfully slow n kirby ws like. i wld b so good at this if i cld do it all the time. n it ws like. hey kirby, chill. u already know a lot of things.

arson tw // u see where this is going. tents are kind of flammable. kirby ws unsupervised. bad decisions all around. circus is aflame. all the animals n all the circus workers got out fine bt like. st. pierre’s ws efficiently out of business. arson end of tw //

n kirby fkn booked it they just. ran. pure fear. nvr looked back which is like super traitorous of them 2 do bt. sometimes they meet up in secret like. sunglasses n all at a coffee shop. not all of them just like. fawley or someone else. theyre like. ur family u cld burn down a thousand circuses n we’d still love u. n kirby is like yeah i know bt i’ve rly committed to the bit now. n they dnt reunite.

anyways. since then kirby hs just been. a traveler. nvr rly staying anywhere fr super long n driving around in their shitty little van tht’d been used as housing back at st. pierre’s.

they’re in irving n theyve been there fr almost. suspiciously long. compared 2 their average stays. when asked abt what they do or why theyre there theyll just. give a vague answer or spin a long tale tht usually involves a burning circus.

theyre staying at uh. abernathy creek rn bc of course they r they fit in so naturally. welcomed with wide arms. might b soul searching rn might b on the hunt fr their birth parents might b just vibing ... whose to say ..

personality & facts.

has a Big personality tht attracts others fr better or fr worse. either super likeable or the most despicable person on the earth. no in betweens. n honestly tht is a talent in itself

has no off button is constantly. spinning tales or performing a dance or getting kicked out of bars fr whatever nonsense reason. 

honestly they prob think tht nothing bad cn ever happen to them even tho like. bad has literally happened 2 them before? love the optimism here. KLFGDLKFSDHGF

acts a bit like u’ve known them fr ur entire life they r oddly warm in tht way bt they themself r so distant tht its like. oh nice ok ...

both honest n yet dishonest like. yes they will hustle u out of ur money bt they will also tell u their opinion straight up. 

probably smart bt they r just like. prime thembo? flowy pirate shirts n cropped tshirts n pants tht r never tight. dresses like they do still work n live at a circus. 

likes 2 instigate things between others n then stand back n just watch it happen while taking like zero accountability. loves a good small town drama. avid milf hunter.

does not hv any faith in the american healthcare system at all n will straight up refuse 2 go 2 a hospital if they get hurt theyre like. i cn do it myself im like practically a professional. they r not a professional. 

bt does hv like. a thing abt apples. fkn loves them. 

uuuhhh cn play instruments bt all very badly. only knows one (1) song tht isnt made up n its wonderwall by oasis. they play it at parties. they expect fr tomatoes to b thrown at them at any given time.

very nimble. agile. granted its frm. learning circus tricks frm a baby age bt they hv impeccable balance n cn sneak up behind anyone without a single noise. uses this 2 their advantage in order 2 scare ppl. chaotic neutral.

loves having the attention on them i wont fk around here. will go to drastic measures to accomplish receiving it. my other muses r capable of taking things srsly bt kirby just. is not. they do not take a single thing srsly they barely even took. st. pierre’s destruction srsly n they caused it. maybe.

likes being able to just. be unknown so the amt tht ppl know abt them is actually very. little. i dnt think they even tell others their last name. sometimes not even their first. just hs so many aliases n nicknames. i know i didnt list any bt thts simply bc Any cld.

probably acts out to compensate fr the. underlying guilt they hv bt thts okay. i mean it isnt bt.

will probably show up if u call them fr help bt they lose interest in people p quickly n r always moving onto the next shiniest person. bt when they do they give them like. all their attention. if u wrong them in this period they will just. ignore it. bt when theyre bored then its like. u werent even friends at all? very odd.

perhaps it is commitment issues bt <3 ya. thts them. they do not claim favorite colors or movies or. most interests. probably bc theyre very very disconnected frm pop culture i think they learn everything thru twitter n google.

i wld not call them a good person bt i also dnt think theyre like evil horrible nasty awful they just. think abt themself a lot more than they think abt others n also refuses to face consequences ever and also .. anyways.

wanted plots.

part of the bird’s nest ;; honorary bird honorary circus member. u hv to be very well regarded by kirby to earn a bird name bt i feel like tht doesnt feel like a lot considering theyve only been here fr like. two weeks KDGDSHKGK. the catch is tht u cn only refer 2 them as magpie frm then forward. 

hand in unlovable hand ;; theres comfort in being terrible ppl together n it may not last bt it doesnt hv to anyways. its just them n the like. vibes. n knowing tht its smth thts nvr gna b long term. cld b anything ur character just hs to be also a little evil. KHDSGFDS

one jester ... wht abt ... TWO jesters .. ;; hoo boy. ooh man. unstoppable force and immovable object combine forces n just become. the worst of the worst. ultimate jokesters. epic pranksters. absolute clowns. chaotic energy unmatched. always nonsense. 

n also ;; ppl they’ve stolen frm, ppl who hv caught them in that act, ppl who’ve maybe seen them in the circus a very long time ago, Found Family Trope, real family shenanigans, kirby just asking everybody if theyre their dad., mortal enemies if they see each other its an instant duel 2 the death, etc.

[cordonian-literature]

The Aftermath - Ch. 1

The Met

Summary: Riley and her husband take a visit to a museum while their kids have lessons

Word Count: ~2.0k 

Warning: Mention of character death

*All characters belong to Pixelberry, except those that are unique to my story (I’ve also used some characters and fictional instances from Donna Tartt’s “The Goldfinch”*

Catch up here!

After giving Eleanor, Gabriel, and Theodore breakfast, Riley made her way to the kitchen of their New York penthouse and began making turkey sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies, for what she hoped could be for a picnic in Central Park in the late afternoon after the kids’ practices. 

The sound of the mixer didn’t allow Riley to hear her husband walk into the kitchen. She feels his stiff arms around her waist and chuckles. 

Kissing the back of her head, Theodore asks, “Making a treat for me?”

Riley laughs, removing herself from his grasp to preheat the oven on the other side of the kitchen. “For the kids.”

Theodore looks into the bowl. “Isn’t it a little early to be making dessert?” 

“Actually,” Riley goes back and stops the mixer. “I thought we could go on a little picnic?” She looks at her husband thoughtfully. Bringing her attention back towards the cookies, she continues, “After Gabe’s soccer practice and Ella’s dance class, of course.” 

“Of course,” he repeats. He watches her put the cookie dough in the fridge. “We should ask the kids.” 

Riley turns, holding a piece of bread in her hands. “Do you think they might not want to go?”

“Nah, I’m sure they do.” He walks up to her and collects her in his arms. “But I had other plans for us today.”

A shy smile spreads across Riley’s face. “Which is?”

“A visit to the Met. They’ve a new exhibit.” 

“With the kids?” she removes herself from his embrace with her free hand and goes back to making sandwiches.

“We can ask them to come with.”

“And if they don’t want to?”

Theodore laughs. Letting go of Riley, he goes into the fridge to grab an apple. “Gabe’s old enough to watch over Ella for a couple hours. We’ll bring them back dinner.” 

Gabriel had just turned ten, and Eleanor was still many weeks away from turning eight. Even though her husband argued that they were old enough to be somewhat self sufficient, Riley still felt nervous leaving them alone. 

Noticing the concern on her face, he suggests, “We could also just go during their practice times if that’ll make you feel better, babe.” 

“Thanks, Theo,” she smiles, eyeing the apple. “I just... get worried sometimes. Especially for Gabe.”

Theo gives an understanding nod and takes a bite into his apple, but not before Riley notices the irritation on his face. After ten years, she no longer let it bother her, unless Theo’s annoyance of her and Liam’s son got excessive. She understood that it was difficult for Theo to raise a child that wasn’t his, especially when his wife made it very clear that she was still in love with the father of that child. 

Even though Theo agreed to parent Gabriel with Riley, he was glad that they had their own daughter, Eleanor, so he could at least be a father to her in the ways that he wasn’t with Gabe. 

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, right?” Riley turns to fully face him, wanting to keep her husband in a good mood, she tries to explain herself. “It’s just that I don’t want them to do anything foolish or—.”

“Riley. Babe,” Theodore looks at his wife, in her old, dark tank top and a worn pair of jeans. “I know. I worry about them, too. I wanna keep them safe, too.” 

Riley smiles and gives her husband a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers. Turning back to the counter, she finishes making the sandwiches as Theo stands behind her, eating his apple. “I’ll leave these for lunch then, if we’re not going on the picnic. We can get Chinese for dinner, and maybe the cookies could be a snack for later today?” She looks at Theo, and he nods in silent agreement.

-------

Ella and I raced down towards the elevator, Mom and Dad trailing far behind us. We hold the “close doors” button and leave them on our floor as the elevator falls towards the lobby. 

We tumble out, giggling, but Ella freezes and cries, “I forgot my water!” She starts throwing things out of her bag and onto the lobby floor. When Mom and Dad finally come out of the elevator, Mom starts laughing. 

“Forgot this?” she holds out Ella’s bottle to her and helps her put everything back in her bag.

The four of us walk together towards the waiting limo. Once we’re inside, Mom and Dad turn to us. 

“While you guys are at practice,” Dad begins, “Your mother and I will be seeing a new exhibit at the Met.”

“Ou, take pictures for me, please!” Ella requests.

“We’ll pick you up on time, promise,” Mom reassures, caressing my cheek. “You both have your phones on you, yes?”

Ella and I pat our pockets, signaling where we put our devices. 

We reach the indoor soccer courts first. Mom gives me a quick kiss on my forehead and Dad gives me a pat on the back as I fumble out the door with my large bag. I wish Ella good luck during dance practice and head inside. 

I played until I could barely breath. I skipped some of the water breaks, my body wanting to keep moving, so when everyone was hydrating themselves, I continued to dribble and chase after the ball. During the third water break, coach yells at me to “Sit the hell down!” so I relent and down my water in one breath. My parents are planning a trip to Italy next week, and I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t going to lose that much practice time; I was motivated to work ahead. 

After practice, I wait in the lobby with some of my friends. We talk, but we’re not fully engrossed in the conversation: everyone either has their eyes glued to the doors or to their phones, waiting for their parents to give the signal that it was time to go home. 

I turn on the ringer of my phone and sit back on the bench, waiting for my parents. Dad was usually the punctual one, but since they’d gone to visit a new exhibit, I guessed he wanted to spend a little more time there; Mom and Dad weren’t always free to be able to do things together. 

I take a nap while I wait, but when I wake up, I realize that I’ve been waiting for almost half an hour. Ella’s session would end in a couple minutes, so I shoot her a text hoping that she would see it as soon as she got out. 

Hey.

hi. r u guys on ur way?

No. Mom and Dad haven’t picked me up yet.

rlly? whats taking them so long?????

I’m going to check their location 

She leaves me on read.

It says “loading” but then says unavailable. The Met has wifi right?

weird

Can you check, please?

yessir

After a few moments, she texts me back.

it says the same for me :(( im worried

Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s a reason 

I sit in the lobby, trying to calm down Eleanor through text and wave goodbye to all my friends as their parents pick them up. After another half hour, the next set of lessons start for the older kids. The receptionist steals glances at me before finally saying, “Hey Gabriel, is your mom coming to pick you up today?”

“Um,” I look down at the phone in my hand, contemplating whether I should call one of my parents. “I’m not sure.” 

“What about your dad?” she asks.

“No, they should be in the same place. They usually pick me up by now.” 

“We have your grandmother as an emergency number. Want me to call her up and make sure everything’s alright?” she suggests. I want to say no, that there’s no reason to worry, but the sense of dread in my chest threatens to yield tears. 

“Sure,” I allow. 

My mother’s mother lives in Northern New Jersey and visits often, since it’s not too long of a train ride — she’d drive, but parking was difficult, and our reserved underground parking spots in the building was already filled with Dad’s cars. The receptionist introduces herself, then waves me over to talk on the phone. 

“Hell-o!” Grandma greets. “How was practice? Everything okay?”

“Good. Yeah everything’s fine,” I say. “Practice ended almost an hour ago, but I’m still here. And Ella says that Mom and Dad haven’t picked her up, either.” 

“Uh oh,” she says, and I can hear her face fall. “Do you want me to come pick you up? You both can stay with me tonight. Then we will call Mama and tell her you guys are alright. How does that sound?”

I give a sigh of relief. “Yes, please. I’ll tell Ella.”

“Okay, baby. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

I fill in my sister, but she doesn’t reply to my texts.

Twenty minutes later, I throw my bag into the trunk of Grandma’s Buick and slide into the back seat next to Ella. She stares at her lap, and I know she’s feeling the same amount of worry and confusion that I am. 

When we reach Grandma’s small town, she asks us if we want dinner. When both of us say we’re not hungry, she still grabs us McDonald’s. 

Mom and Dad don’t answer our calls. We even call Dad’s assistant, but she also says that she hasn’t heard from him.

We eat dinner quietly, with Grandma giving us encouraging kisses and pep talks while we talk about our practices. Afterwards, we go into the living room to quietly watch some Netflix while Grandma makes some apple pie. The smell of it baking in the oven makes me nostalgic for something unknown, and it reminds me of the cookies that Mom was making earlier today. I hear Ella sniffle, and turn to see her silently crying. 

After desert, Grandma gives us some of Mom’s old baggy clothes to sleep in. Ella gets to sleep in Mom’s old room while I sleep in the guest room. My eyes burn from the amount of tears I held back today, and its almost painful to close them. 

...

I wake to the smell of pancakes and a familiar rumble in the pit of my stomach. I brush my teeth, but don’t bother to fix my hair. Ella eats quietly on the island in the kitchen. I slide onto the seat next to her and watch Grandma start making another pancake.

“Good morning!” she says to me. “Could one of you please turn on the news in the living room?”

I allow Ella to keep eating and walk towards the little doorway that separates the living room from the kitchen. Turning on the news, I increase the volume. The image of police cars, ambulances, and firetrucks from a helicopter view flash on the screen while a female reporter narrates the incident. 

“On the evening of May seventeenth, the Metropolitan Museum of Art was bombed by an unidentified group. Investigations are underway and the city has been closed off, including trains and bus routes into and out of the city, along with roads and bridges. 

“Many dead bodies have been found, and many others are severely injured. CEO of Blaise Enterprises, Mister Theodore Blaise, has been found dead. The whereabouts of his wife, Riley Brooks, are unknown. Senator Nicolae Adebayo sustained serious injuries, as did many other persons.”

Ella’s screams drown out the sound of my heart thundering in my ears. Grandma rushes towards her and collects her off of the floor and into her arms. I stare at them, the reporters’ voices and the smell of the pancake burning melt into the background as I take a shaky breath and allow my tears to fall. 

[purplesurveys]

1232

Did you make any money today?  Not today, because it’s a weekend.

What was the highest place you've ever jumped from?  I’m not too sure, actually. I tend to be cautious when it comes to jumping just because I always have this fear at the back of my head that I could possibly snap my legs in half upon landing lol.

Have you ever gone swimming in a river?  I don’t think I have.

Is there something you really want to buy at the moment?  I want a jumbo RJ doll but it’s quite expensive and not one of my priorities at the moment. 

Would you ever consider culinary school?  I want to learn how to cook but not passionate enough about it to enroll in culinary school altogether, so no.

What was the last souvenir someone got you?  It’s been a while since anyone went anywhere...

Do you have a favorite remix of a song?  I’ve never enjoyed remixes and just stick to original versions of songs. The one remix I’ll give a pass to is BTS’ Mic Drop with Steve Aoki just because that one includes a dance break that sounds really nice and gets me all hyped up.

Has the power gone out recently?  Yeah, like two weeks ago. I was working from home then so it had been a huge bother, but fortunately I had been charging my devices all day and also had enough data on my phone so I was able to continue.

Do you like driving at night?  It’s ok and actually pretty relaxing if it’s LATE late at night and there’s barely any cars. Driving in the evening during rush hour, on the other hand, is just fucking stressful.

What do you think is the most saddest sounding instrument?  Depending on how it’s played, probably the piano or violin.

Do you really pay attention to the ratings on movies?  Yes. It’s a pretty influential factor.

Have you ever snuck in to a theater/dance/bar etc?  No.

If given the chance, would you go to Ireland?  I mean, it’s not really on top of my bucket list but for the sake of travelling and experiencing a different place and culture I definitely would go to Ireland.

Are you afraid of standing on the edge of hills/skyscrapers/cliffs etc?  I am scared but whenever I’m given the chance to do this I kind of scrap that fear first and live in the moment.

Do you have a favorite species of wild cat (tiger/lion/cougar etc)?  No.

Do you have an absolute favorite name (boy or girl)? Alessandra, 120%. It is so beautiful-sounding, plus I love that you can use "Alessa" as a nickname. My Silent Hill obsession is quite thrilled by that, ha ha. < I love that name too, now that I think about it. For now, I think Olivia still tops my list.

Are you good at pronouncing foreign words?  My English is alright.

When listening to music, do you usually tap your foot etc to the beat?  I tap my fingers more than my foot.

Have you ever literally cried on a friend's shoulder?  Yeah but they were also my significant other then, so I dunno if that counts. I’m not super into physical touch so this isn’t something I’d do towards a friend, no matter how close we are.

Would you ever consider being a DJ at a party if you were paid?  Nah, I would suck.

Do strapless bras work for you?  No, my boobs are too small. 

Has anyone told you that they wanted to marry you/were planning on it/etc?  No.

Do you feel comfortable enough to wear short shorts?  Yeah, I just never really have the opportunity to wear them.

Have a favorite actor/actress from Old Hollywood? (Marilyn Munroe, etc) AUDREY HEPBURNNNNNNNNNN

What's your opinion on people who stretch their ears?  They can do whatever they want lol. I’m personally not a fan of the look but that’s my own problem to deal with.

Do you think tattoos are expressive art or unattractive?  Expressive.

What is your school mascot?  None of the schools I attended have one.

Have you ever seen a bear in the wild? I have never seen a bear.

What's the book you're currently reading?  Not reading anything at the moment.

Can you recall the most disturbing movie you've ever seen?  Eraserhead. Requiem For A Dream is also stressful to watch, even on your 2nd or 45th rewatch.

Has anyone you know gotten mono?  Possibly, but I can’t place names at the moment.

Have you ever picked an apple off the tree and eaten it?  No. Aside from the fact that I don’t eat fruits, apple trees aren’t native here so I’ve never actually seen one.

Can you say yes/no in different languages?  Oo/hindi, ne/ani.

Out of the traditional superheroes, which one is your favorite?  I don’t like superheroes.

Ever peed in your pants after the age of 10?  Not in my pants but my bed, but fortunately it just happened once.

Had any surgeries? What kind?  I have not.

Ever told your parents you hated them?  I had it written down on my journal when I was going through those rebellious puberty years, but it was only directed towards my mom because that had also been the peak of her emotionally/mentally abusive days. It’s funny because she snooped through my stuff then and saw the entry and ended up crying...and I didn’t even feel bad about it because 1) I meant what I wrote, and 2) she literally went through my shit. I still don’t feel bad about it.

Do you let your pets on your furniture?  Yes they can get on the couch and my bed.

How do you feel about kettle cooked chips?  I don’t really have an opinion lmao. If they are chips then they are going in my mouth.

How strong do you like your coffee?  I like milky/creamy coffee best tbh. When it comes to how strong they are I don’t have a preference.

Would you rather see someone of the opposite sex naked or nicely dressed?  Idk.

Would you ever consider visiting Texas?  I have relatives based in San Antonio and we’re pretty close to that side of the family, so yeah. 

If you could make a movie, what would it be about?  I’ve never been one for creative writing.

If you were kicked out of your current residence whom would you call?  My grandma or one of my aunts.

Do you want a boyfriend or girlfriend?  Not at this point in my life.

Do you prefer broccoli or asparagus?  Oooooohh I love both!

Was the last person you kissed attractive?  Objectively yes, but I no longer feel the attraction I once held for her.

Are you racist at all?  No.

Do you read creepypasta? If not, you should.  No thanks.

Have you ever vandalized?  Yeah some desks when I was in grade school.

Would you ever scuba dive in shark-infested waters if you had the chance? Most likely not. And by the way, they do not "infest" waters. That's their home. I hate that phrase so much. < This is a good point and I’d like to keep it here. Anywho, yeah I’m willing to do this but as far as I know they keep you in a cage when you go down in the water. I’d only do it if this was guaranteed lol.

Have you ever been drunk at work?  Hungover, yes. Drunk while at work, hell no.

Have you ever hit a parked car with your car?  No. My mom has done this with my parked car though -____- She had been backing up and I kept honking as she inched closer to my car, but she heeded me no mind until she finally hit me.

Have you ever slept on the floor with someone you like?  We probably had but I don’t remember the details anymore.

Which do you prefer: french toast, bagels, or cereal?  Bagels.

Do you prefer light or dark haired?  Dark.

Have you ever read any of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books?  Yes, I liked reading those in like grade school and high school.

Would you be prepared to do a job that you didn’t like, if it paid well?  I haven’t been placed in that situation yet, so I’m not actually sure how I would handle it. Depends on how much the money is, I guess.

Do you think age is needed for maturity?  No.

Do you believe the future is predetermined?  I don’t think so.

What words are most comforting to you?  Words of reassurance, like, “I’m just here,” “You don’t have to apologize.”

How important is money to you?  It is generally pretty important to me and I’m usually good at saving...I’ve just hit a road bump the last few months because getting into K-Pop means wanting to get something out of every new merch drop hahahaha. I went alarmingly crazy from April to June, but I made a vow to calm down starting this July; and so far, aside from pre-ordering the new Memories of 2020 DVD and buying some merch from the pop-up store, I haven’t bought anything else.

Is there anything you want to last forever?  Cold weather in the Philippines.

List three of your passions:  Writing, food, and museums.

How old do you want to live to? Just because I’m competitive even until age, I want to make it to 100 lmao.

What kind of love do you value the most?  Very comfortable platonic love. I highly value friendships where I can pretty much treat them like an SO hahaha.

If you could control one element, what would it be?  I don’t care.

Do you prefer foxes or wolves?  No preferences.

Could you ever deliver a baby?  OMG no I would be terrible and would for sure bring more harm than good to the mother.

Do you think suits are sexy?  Uh yeah.

Ever been called babe?  Yeah.

How old is your youngest sibling?  18.

Who in your phone has a heart after their name?  Angela.

Favorite boy’s name?  I guess I have several preferences, but I dunno if I have favorite boy’s names. I like the sounds of Lucas, Jacob, Liam, and Mason.

Are your parents together, separated, divorced, never married, what?  Married.

Do you go online every day?  For sure.

What is the best quality in the last guy you kissed?  I’ve never kissed a guy.

What do you usually do during a kiss? Depends on how passionate it is? < Yeah.

Do you have an older brother?  Technically no, but I have a cousin that I pretty much see as one.

You’re offered free tickets to a Justin Bieber concert. What do you do?  I love Biebs, but I would probably sell them. Some extra money is always good hahaha.

What’s the genre of the current song you’re listening to?  K-Pop, R&B.

Would you ever keep your favorite animal as a pet?  Yeah, I already have two of them.

Would you ever sell your soul?  Erm, I guess not.

[sundaywonder]

the lost song : yoonmin

Getting ready to start fresh in life, physical education professor Park Jimin is just waiting to migrate to Australia with his daughter and girlfriend. Everything gets topsy-turvy when world-class music producer Min Yoongi—and also his secret ex-boyfriend—comes back home to South Korea to marry his it-girl fiancé. If that wasn’t bad enough for Jimin, Yoongi invites him to the wedding. It gets worse; it leaves him no choice but accept it to avoid spilling the beans.

Although the worst happened back then, it’s not enough for their forsaken what-ifs and unsaid feelings from making itself clear. The situation makes Jimin realize how jaded he was without Yoongi all the years they were apart—and vice versa. As they slowly pick up the broken pieces of the past, reality hits hard back at them again. There are two choices: to give up on love and live in the present or to run away and never look back.

Genre: Romance, Adult Fiction, Melodrama, Erotica

Fandom: BTS, BLACKPINK, Red Velvet, IU

Pairing: Suga & Jimin, Jimin & Rosé, Suga & Jennie, IU & Jungkook, Wendy & j-hope

Rating: M or R-18 — contains sensitive themes, strong language and graphic depiction of sexual activity

Status: Ongoing — 6/12

Link: Wattpad, ao3

Excerpt: The Flower Bloomed — 10 Years Ago

Yoongi, 20

I hurriedly go down the stairs while vigorously drying my head with a towel. I knew I would oversleep. Aside from being a deep sleeper, I’m also not used to waking up as early as 7 a.m. Nine is still pretty early if you’d ask me. The cool air last night made everything even worse. I shouldn’t have opened the windows.

Good thing my grandma heard Aunt Hyeja yelling outside our house. If she didn’t, I wouldn’t have even noticed that her and our other neighbors’ missed calls and text messages.

“Make sure none of the kids get injured, okay? We don’t have money for their hospital bills if ever,” reminds grandma as she followed me down. I don’t hear and comprehend what she said until five seconds later.

“Got it. Bye.” When I get out of our gate, I immediately see Aunt Hyeja who was waiting for me outside.

“We’ll get going, Auntie Dooshim!” exclaims Aunt Hyeja.

“Alright, have a safe trip!”

“I’m so sorry, Auntie. I really am.” She walks so briskly that I have a hard time catching up with her. Regardless, I feel like that’s how should it be; I must walk maybe two or three steps behind her after what I’ve done.

“Don’t think about it anymore. The kids are already in there. You know our numbers so contact us immediately if anything goes wrong. There’s a ton of food on the table so feed yourselves when you get hungry. Don’t leave at least one of them unattended. Never attend to the gate if it’s a stranger and refrain from telling them that an adult is not present—oh, how old are you again?”

“Twenty.”

“My bad. It slipped my mind that you’re already an adult. Anyway, did you understand everything clearly?” I just nod. Aunt Hyeja doesn’t seem to be mad but it’s fairly obvious that she’s already dying to leave. I discreetly peek at her watch which says 7:15 a.m. I can’t help but shake my head. I reminded myself endless times to do well in this babysitting gig but I still ended up ruining the first thing about it. There must be something really wrong with me.

After arriving in front of the home of my best friends, brothers Seokjin and Taehyung, she tells me, “Also, your Aunt Misun told me that Jimin won’t be able to attend the excursion because he’s sick. He’s going to be home alone today so I told him that he can contact you if he needs anything.”

I gulped as soon as I heard Jimin’s name and forced myself to act nonchalant. “W-what happened to him?” It was definitely hard to do so.

“He has fever,” she replied. “Don’t you guys get more written projects in lieu of not attending out-of-the-classroom activities?”

“Yes.”

“So, does it mean you like completing paperworks instead of attending trips and such?” I just let out a fake chuckle and nodded. I’m sure it wouldn’t sit with her when I say that I don’t like socializing and going to places with a lot of people. Aunt Hyeja is a social butterfly and—I don’t want to sound like I’m judging her (but maybe I am)—she’s not exactly the type of person to bother understand things deeper if it doesn’t concern her. Besides, it’s lengthy and we’re not that close for me to open up to her. An awkward giggle is probably better than an explanation.

The Kims already left when I entered and all the four kids were sleeping on the sofa in the living room, not even noticing my entrance. I decide to just sit on the floor and watch TV in low volume. My body is asking for me to sleep so badly that pinching myself isn’t working anymore. A faint regret is starting to form in my chest but I cut it out immediately.

After getting bored of the morning makjang drama that I forced myself to watch, I turn around to check on them. Jingoo—a cousin of Seokjin and Taehyung, as well as Namjoon who is also a cousin of the two—is already up but still lying on his stomach while silently watching the drama with me. Our eyes meet but he doesn’t say a word and just shifts his eyes back at the screen.

“Have you eaten breakfast yet?” I ask. Jingoo just nods. “What did you eat?”

“Seaweed rice balls and jeon.”

“Tell me when you’re hungry.” He just nods once again.

Our conversation awakens Taejoon, Chanbin and Yeongyu. Unlike Jingoo, they wanted to eat so I prepared the food that was left for us. Being alone with these kids who I barely know suddenly makes me feel weird for some reason. It’s probably because I don’t have any experience in babysitting. So far, it’s an alright deal. The money is good and you practically get paid to stay at home.

I leave them and go back to the living room, sitting beside Jingoo’s feet who hasn’t moved an inch ever since he woke up. “Where did they go?” He asks, not moving his eyes from the screen.

“A trip.”

“Event aunt and uncle? I thought it was a school trip.”

I let out a sigh and close my eyes. Some sort of hot energy constantly forms in my head the longer I talk to this kid.  “I don’t know why. Ask them when they come back later.”

It got rowdy when they started to play. This is way worse than I imagined. Toy cars and guns are all over the place and I need to remind them every two to three minutes that they shouldn’t be shooting bullets on the TV screen, as well as the vases and figurines. None of my words seem to get to their tiny heads.

I take back what I said. I don’t want to this ever again. I wasn’t like this when I was a kid. Even my friends. We weren’t anything like this. Not even close. We were well-liked by the neighborhood in general because of that.

Out of the blue, my phone suddenly vibrated. My heart almost dropped on the floor when I read Jimin’s name on the screen.

[JIMIN :)

1 NEW MESSAGE]

All of a sudden, my heart started to pound like it wanted to get out of my chest. I took a deep breath before flipping my phone and pressing View.

[JIMIN :)

Hey, can I go there? It’s getting a little boring here.]

[ME (draft)

Of course! Bring what you need!]

I delete it before I could even think twice. I cringed at what I just typed.

[ME (draft)

Okay, but it’s a little loud here]

Maybe not. He might end up not going if I say that.

[ME

Sure]

[JIMIN :)

I’ll bring ramen]

[ME (draft)

Okay]

I press the end call button and just fold my phone instead. I immediately go to the bathroom and wash my face with soap and water. I run my wet hands through my hair as well. Just as I got out, someone knocked on the door.

“Don’t shoot on anything!” I yell before walking out the door.

“Hey,” greets Jimin as soon as I open the gate. Unlike his usual self, the gloomy aura surrounding him can be clearly felt. His face and shoulders seem wretched as well.

“Are you alright? You look so pale.”

“Trying to be.”

“Stay in Seokjin’s or Taehyung’s room if you want to get some rest. It’s a little rowdy in the living room.”

“Thanks. I’ll go text him.”

As soon as I hear Seokjin’s bedroom door close, I make an announcement to the kids. “Jimin’s sick. Don’t make any loud noises from now on.” It did subside but only for a short while. “You kids, anyone who makes loud noises will not get to eat lunch.” They stop playing tok look at me with a weird expression on their faces, as if they’ve never heard someone say such a thing to them before. A hint of fear can also be seen. I fucked up again, didn’t I?

Unlike what I said, I started to prepare lunch when the clock hit noon. The kids gathered at the table and chowed down as soon as the food was ready. Meanwhile, I got my own food and ate in the living room.

[ME (draft)

Hey, lunch is ready. Can you go down here?]

[ME

Lunch is ready, feel free to eat here.]

[JIMIN :)

What’s for lunch?]

[ME

Pork belly, barbecue, dumplings, rice and kimchi]

[JIMIN :)

Damn, will go there ASAP]

I wipe the droplets of sweat on my forehead. My breath keeps on running as if they are trying to get away from something… or someone. I don’t know. I don’t even want to think about this. It only makes me go crazier and crazier. Even my well-trained emotional suppression skills are barely working. Helpless, hopeless—that’s what I am.

“Hey!”

“Shit!” I hold to my chest in shock and turn around. “I-it’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me. You okay? You’re deep in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice me pass in front of you,” asks Jimin.

I shake my head. “I just zoned out.”

“Shit!” Taejoon mimicks while the other three laugh.

“Shit!” Chanbin and Yeongyu repeat in unison which makes them laugh even harder.

“Are you kids an adult to say that?” I ask.

“Shit!” The three exclaim, not even bothering to answer me.

Suddenly, I hear Jimin giggle softly—making me look back at him. “So, you can already laugh. Feeling better now?”

He just nods with a faint smile and takes a spoonful of kimchi stew. “Mmm, delicious. Did you cook?”

“Nope, one their parents probably.”

Neither of us talked after that; I just pretended the focus on my food while his eyes wandered around the place. Even though it feels like I need to say something, not a single word’s coming to my mind. My mouth is left agape from the urge to speak but not knowing what to say. For some reason, it seems to me that he’s feeling the same way. But how can I know for sure?

The kids come back to the living room not long after they have finished eating. I couldn’t thank the heavens enough; this is the only time today that I’ve actually become happy about their presence. Before they can even settle on their seats, I stand up to play the first Disney DVD my hand landed on: The Incredibles.

Jimin passes behind me so I look at him. He’s bringing my dirty plate with him to the kitchen. “Hey, s-sorry. You didn’t have to.”

He looks back and says, “Huh?”

“The plate.”

“Psh. It’s nothing.”

I follow him to the sink where he’s silently washing the dishes. He almost looks like he’s zoned out and submerged in his deep thoughts.

“Hey!” I jokingly yell from his back.

“Sh—!” He accidentally loses his grip on the plate he’s holding. It falls back to the sink, causing a small chip on the edge. “Oh, no…”

“I’m so sorry,” I say as I try to catch my breath. The plate looks expensive with all those blue Chinese prints. It most definitely came from an expensive dinnerware collection and Mrs. Kim would kill me if she sees this. I might have to babysit for nine or ten more times just to pay for the damage.

“Don’t worry about it. It was an accident.”

“But it looks expensive!”

“I was the one who lost grip on it, what are you being so worried about?” Jimin says with a faint giggle. I’m not buying it; he doesn’t sound amused at all. “Also, wanna watch?” He nonchalantly asks.

“This?” I ask back, pointing at the TV.

He just shakes his head. “Seokjin has a big collection up there.” I just looked blankly at him, deliberately making it obvious that I need more details to get what he’s saying. “Sola Aoi, Asami Yuma, Haruna Hana and so much more. We have everything we need up there!” I feel my whole body suddenly heat up upon hearing what he just said and my legs seem like they want to give up on me. “Hey, you okay?”

“Th-the kids…”

He takes a peek at them. “They’re already asleep.”

I look back at the kids and close my eyes in panic. Images of him being half-naked while beating off instantly flash in my mind. I vigorously shake my head along those thoughts. I can’t count how many times I saw him naked in the past. We even used to take a bath together along with the other guys when were younger. But this time everything’s different, especially to me, and it sucks big time. “Okay, then…”

He opens the dish dryer and puts all the now-squeaky clean plates, glasses, spoons and forks. “Don’t be so nervous. They’ll probably stay asleep until twilight or something.”

“Maybe,” I replied to him even if his words just seemed to bounce against my head. Naked. Naked. Naked. My mind just doesn’t seem to get tired about this goddamn word and keeps asking for more. Now, even the way he looks and smiles at me is starting to mean something else.

Jimin grabs my arm and pulls me until we reach Seokjin’s room. Before I could even react, the door was already locked and his pants and underwear were on the floor. My manhood starts to throb and harden as soon as my eyes lands on his half-naked body. He’s grown much bigger and thicker ever since I last saw him. That was a few years ago—same situation as now but with Hoseok and Taehyung, minus the feelings. To stop myself from completely breaking down out of panic and ruining everything for good, including our friendship, I just turn my head at a random teddy bear on Seokjin’s bed.

I sit beside him on the carpet and before also taking off my short pants and underwear. A strange kind of electricity seemed to charge on my body when I saw him look at my manhood. His mouth slightly gaped but he immediately closed it and focused on operating the DVD player. Since the tapes weren’t labeled, we don’t know what those contained. Jimin chooses just whatever. The video begins, and we see Sola Aoi who was wearing a provocative nurse uniform enter the hospital room where the middle-aged male patient was in.

I lean on the bed to relax and force myself to focus on the film. Jimin’s already starting to touch himself. He looks back at me with an unexplainable expression in his eyes. It’s been a while since I did this with them but I’m sure we didn’t look at each other while beating off, or maybe I’m just forcing weird meanings. At this point, I can’t even trust myself anymore.

I couldn’t help but start to actually beat off as soon as Sola started to moan. All of us in our group likes her the most for how irresistible she sounds when she’s getting fucked. It makes the film feel like 5D.

The film already ended but neither of us reached climax yet. When I was almost there, I stopped. I don’t know why but I felt like I needed to do so. As I try to catch my breath, I watch him while he did his business.

To my surprise, Jimin also stops and joins me in leaning on the bed, panting hard. He looked at me straight in the eyes, then his gaze dropped on my lips. “They look dry…”

Before I even knew it, our lips were all over each other and his tongue has successfully penetrated my mouth. Jimin’s hands start to explore inside my shirt before pulling it off of me. He removes his own next. My hands are frozen on his groin in disbelief. Everything seems like a dream but all of these are a hundred percent real.

“Jimin…” I mindlessly say.

“Do whatever you want to do to me.” He grabs my hand and places it on top of his manhood. “Don’t hold back.”

I pull his head and kiss him hard before pushing him down. Only God and I know how much he looks good with nothing on but his golden rolo chain necklace. “As long as you let me, I won’t.”

—

If you’re reading until here, thank you so much! The Wattpad and ao3 links where you can read the whole story are available above.

[matildastuarts]

&&. announcing her royal highness, ( matilda henrietta annabelle stuart ), the ( 22 ) year old ( princess ) of ( scotland ). she is often confused with ( florence pugh ). some say that she is ( negligent and contrary ), but she is actually ( passionate and individualistic ). ( matilda ) is arranged to marry ( any male fc ). 

...hi....i know i like disappeared and its bc my anxiety was really bad with everything going on in the world and in america and personally that i was so overwhelmed just from any interaction. i just needed a good cleanse (i took a nice cleanse from a lot of social media) but i am back ready to be confused by what i missed.

anyway....tilly. so, essentially she’s the same...BUT she’s more into fashion then just the og mum said she needed a degree. but i’ll get there

the baby stuart...matilda has always been the child full of surprises starting from her birth in the middle of the night on december 19th of 1997. she was a rambunctious child, a social butterfly who craved attention and that never changed. the attention she got from being out of line or too out there felt like the only time she got anyone’s sole attention. so she never stopped. any attention was good attention. first it was just making faces at the paparazzi, then after she was sent to gordonstoun for boarding school the list just grew from uniform issues to sneaking out to underage drinking. 

it was also at gordonstoun that she began her ever toxic relationship with sex and attention. using that she was a princess was one way to get attention, but adding that with the attention she got from men? from being a party girl it started her vicious cycle she would never get back from. the birth of trainwreck tilly.

it surprised everyone when tilly announced to her family before her last year at gordonstoun that she had applied for fashion schools. she’d always been interested in it as a kid. sewing was the only cliché thing of discipline that had been pushed on her that she enjoyed. so after graduating at 17 she moved to london for school. even if she was hungover every morning and getting drunk or high every night, she thrived at fashion school. didn’t necessarily have friends that were in her classes, everyone assumed it was just nepotism. she made her own little circle, mostly with plenty of influencers that she just publicly got trashed with every night and being photographed doing it.

this last year for her was a wake up call she truly refused to listen to. graduating fashion school and heading straight to join her family with everyone. it didn’t work out for her, she was reckless as always and a little too reckless at that. a pregnancy she had to end, a failed forced engagement, she just wanted the life she had in her little flat in london where she lived like she wasn’t a princess. so she did. she managed to get a job as a associate designer at ralph & russo, with only a tiny bit of nepotism included, tilly moved back. even i everyone around her couldn’t possibly understand why she wanted to work. 

still she enjoyed it, she was happy keeping up her personal relationships over facetime and spending hours in a studio only to turn around and go to a club. that was until queen mary, mother dearest, demanded she go back for her safety. which as always led to another explosive fight that tilly couldn’t win against her monarch of a mother. so she once again packed up her things, told her team to pack up their things and headed to join her sisters.

her relationship with her parents has never not been strained, matilda always seemed to ruin the perfect image of the royal family even from a child if just by putting on a show for the paparazzi. but they wanted her, and she liked that. her sisters on the other hand, it’s complicated. she’s closer to margot than catherine if only because of their age. tilly knows she can’t live up to either of her sisters though. everything she’s ever done has been compared to catherine and margot. even despite that and the sometimes ardent fights, tilly would do anything for her sisters. the only person she loves more than her sisters in her family is dowager queen anne, her grandmother. in an odd twist, matilda is closest to her grandmother, despite her rejection of any sort of rule pushed on her, if grandma anne asks her to do it she will. 

i’ll probably tweak her timeline and repost it soon which rlly gets into her psyche. however this is who she is right now...still. important things about tilly that i need people to know

has flashed the paparazzi 

100% has done both the wap dance and the 34+35 one on tiktok r u kidding me

social media queen she said “u can make me official accounts but im not privating my personal ones.”

bisexual doesn’t label it though, she just does not discriminate off who she wants to sleep with. 

excellent cookie making skills

surprised by how much she feels things

love language is touch. 

influencer type but thinks la is for trashy people. 

u have to have permission to call her matilda if its not the first time addressing her. 

only family can call her maude

i know there’s more i just can’t think of it anyway here are some connection ideas: 

friends

she’s very social but she is also and AWFUL friend. would sleep w/ ur boyfriend bc she barely recognizes love but does understand jealousy. 

fwb

this 1 is obvious

frenemies?

she’s not one to make enemies on purpose but she does on accident ie...shes an awful friend

someone who is the line w/o a hook

listen i have always thought it would be funny for someone to be totally in love w/ tilly but shes not there w/ them has only ever slept w/ them and is like....why are u staring at me like that

more i’m sure of it but like many things just have to be sorted out because of everyone’s backgrounds and connections to her sisters etc.

....i think i’m done now like this or dm me and we will plot ok?