#like the poetry section is just pathetic. i look at it every time i go and it just makes me sad.

[britneyshakespeare]

barnes and noble has been raising the prices of everything and further pushing for their premium membership option (which they raised the price of by 60 percent this year!) and then when they have big sales events, they're less than what they used to be.

last year at this time you could get one of their leather-bound book annex tomes for $12.50 (without a member discount) because of the 50 percent off all hardcover sales. but they raised the price of those tomes from 25 bucks to 30, and they decreased the sale from 50 percent off all hardcovers to 1/3rd off. so that same book that was $12.50 at last year's end-of-year sale is now 20 bucks. and that's supposed to be savings enough to induce me to walk into one of their stores this week?

i'm sorry but b&n has just gotten so greedy, even though their business has only been doing better and better in previous years. they do not have to be raising prices like they have been, and they can damn well afford to have the same savings events they used to. if you went to one of those hardcover sales a year or two ago, even if you lived in a less populated area like i do, you had never seen a b&n so busy in your life. things were flying off the shelves. they WERE making bank.

and as a company they've only been growing and growing (as much as the publishing industry has been, in recent years). but there are so many other ways to buy books. CHEAPER ways to buy books. MORE SUSTAINABLE ways to buy books. and since books and booksellers are doing really well right now, i don't see why barnes and noble is getting so greedy when they don't have to be. i dont like new shiny books that much. people buy books for the content, ultimately. sometimes we as consumers might make the choice that a new shiny book is worth paying a bit more for, but not that much. barnes and noble has just been demanding more and more of their customers' money for less and less benefit.

[spinyfruit]

still taking requests? could i possibly get some hurt/comfort amerus with russia being comforted? bonus points if he’s pathetically crying to the point where hes barely comprehensible

Thank you so much for asking, anon! I was pretty intrigued by the image of Ivan crying ngl, so I was excited to work on this. I hope it’s okay that I made it a little bit (okay, a LOT) smutty. I'm so sorry ///

Someone else sent a private ask for AmeRus power play, so it seemed natural to combine the two.

A section of it is posted below and it’s sfw. I will include a link at the bottom if you want to read the rest on Ao3 (keep in mind it is very much rated E). And if this isn’t what you hoped for anon, you can always ask again. I tried my best though!

Title: King for a King

Summary:

Ivan was still trying to catch his breath. His legs felt like jelly. He couldn’t possibly do what Alfred had in mind.

“That’s right. I think it’s time for His Majesty’s riding lesson,” Alfred said, squeezing Ivan’s hips. “You need to show me how much you’ve improved.”

Snippet:

Ivan wasn’t meant to be king and everyone knew it. For most of his life, he was just a number—the fourth in line to the throne, but very unlikely to achieve it. That was all right with him. He could have spent his whole life away from the crown and been perfectly happy with his music, books, and colorful flower garden.

Then, there was a fire. The previous king and his two sons all perished. And Ivan—who only ever set foot in the castle when it was mandated—was suddenly forced into a rushed coronation he couldn’t have imagined.

Even though he was raised a noble, Ivan didn’t possess the even-keeled confidence of a monarch. That was what all of his tutors told him anyway. But he believed in it. And when he ascended to the throne, he was not even able to prove them wrong. 

Ivan wanted to be good. He was good, he was. Yet, he saw people’s eyes narrow whenever he walked down the hallway; sometimes he even heard people hold their breath when he passed. The rumor that Ivan was the one who orchestrated the disastrous fire that killed the former king followed him. They thought he was a murderer, a conspirator, a villain. 

It made Ivan sad at first, and that sadness led to deep loneliness. The royal court was compelled to follow him, but no one dared look him in the eye, much less approach him without being ordered to do so. Not even his valet Toris could stand near him without shivering. 

Ivan curled his fingers into his palm and looked around the room. It was a summer mid-afternoon and so bright. His sisters, Katyusha and Natalya, twirled across the room in their new ballgowns, flashing coquettish smiles and catching the attention of young noblemen. A new musician named Roderich was filling the air with festive music. There was a man reading poetry, and many more gossiping about this or that.

Every so often someone would look Ivan’s way, but as soon as he smiled, they turned around just as quickly. No one dared approach him.

“Toris,” Ivan said, rising from his throne. 

His valet was immediately at his heels. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Tell the stable master to prepare my horse. I wish to go for a ride,” Ivan ordered.

“Oh, are—are you sure that you don’t want to stay and enjoy the ball?” Toris asked as they marched down the hallway. “It’s all for you, after all.”

“I’m sure,” Ivan smiled. 

When he was alone in his bed chamber, someone arrived to change him out of his clothes and redress him in riding gear. Ivan wasn’t fond of this part. Whenever servants came near him he could feel their fear and it made him even more self-conscious. Was he too large? Too fearsome to look at? 

He reddened at such thoughts. And that was a problem because when Ivan blushed it lasted far too long. He didn’t have time for this.

“I’ll do the rest,” he muttered, brushing the attendant away. 

Ivan finished putting on his long leather riding boots, slipped on his coat, and led the way to the door. Toris was already waiting on the other side, hands clasped behind his back.

“Your horse is ready for you,” he announced as they fell into a quick stride through the castle. “Who would you like to come with you? If you want, I can—”

“No,” Ivan cut him off. He couldn’t look his valet’s way though when he added, “The young stable master can come with me.”

There was a pause and oh no. Ivan’s blush was returning, and he had only just gotten rid of it. A king didn’t need to explain himself to anyone, much less his valet.

Thankfully, Toris broke the silence first. “In that case, you should be fine to leave immediately. The stable master has everything in order.”

“Of course,” Ivan frowned. Really, he should be thankful to hear it, but it also stirred up a deep-seated frustration that he didn’t know what to do with.

Once they were outside the castle, Ivan and Toris made a fast pace reaching the royal stables. They were large and ornate, housing dozens of horses, many of which Ivan was still learning the names to. He had his favorites though. And lately, it was a beautiful white stallion named Winter. 

“Toris,” Ivan began as he fidgeted with the buttons of his coat. “Is everything—” He stopped, realizing what he was going to ask. How stupid.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Toris prodded anyway.

“It’s nothing,” Ivan insisted. 

The topic was dropped when they saw Winter being walked out of his stable, already dressed in his saddle and reigns. He was a splendid sight, but it was when the tall, young stable master walked around the horse and flashed his white teeth that Ivan felt himself heat up. 

Why was he looking at Ivan like that? Has he no decorum at all?

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” said the stable master. He had golden blond hair that was always a bit untidy and eyes like a pair of polished sapphires.

Ivan forced a cool smile onto his face and approached. “Have you already forgotten how to bow, Alfred?”

“This is not the way you address your king,” Toris reprimanded from the side.

Alfred, however, just laughed. “Oh right, I’m sorry,” he said, dipping his head. He glanced over the rim of his spectacles and added, “Your Majesty.”

Don’t kill him, Ivan thought. If he did, it would only worsen his reputation, and that was the last thing he needed.

His smile felt like ice on his face. “Your manners get worse every time. I wonder if I should replace you,” he teased. 

“Replace me?”Alfred straightened his back. He reached out to give Winter a long caress on the nose. “But where are you going to find someone else who has the same way with your horses?”

“If I toss a stone over the wall, I think I can find five people just like you,” Ivan said pleasantly, “And with a much less annoying personality too.”

“But are they as nice to look at, huh? Come on, be honest.”

“Your Majesty,” Toris cut in with an awkward cough, “Are you sure you would not like me to fetch someone else to accompany you?”

Ivan turned towards him with big eyes. “What? No,” he spluttered. Then, feeling Alfred’s gaze on him, felt the need to clarify. “We are leaving now. There’s no need to waste more time.” He pulled on his riding gloves and climbed onto the saddle. 

“That’s right, the king is a very busy man,” Alfred said with faux seriousness. He held onto Winter while Ivan took hold of the reigns. Their hands brushed for just a moment—leather on leather—before he left to retrieve his own horse. “Watch him, Toris! Don’t let him get a head start!”

Ivan smiled as he watched him go. “A king waits for no one, Alfred,” he teased and tightened the reigns into his palms. “You will simply have to follow. As you were born to do.”

With that, he nudged Winter into a gallop and departed over the palace grounds. No speed was fast enough. He wanted to keep going and going until he was completely out of view, where his valet and the court could no longer see him. A laugh bubbled past his lips—he was free out here and it was a beautiful day.

Ivan steered his horse across the stretch of grass and over a small creak. The forest was his goal, and as he approached the tall rows of trees he heard another series of gallops gaining on him. It made Ivan’s heart jump into his throat. Excitement flooded his veins.

“What did I say about getting a head start?” Alfred shouted. 

Ivan faced forward so that his smile remained hidden. “I’m the king, Alfred. I always get a head start.”

“In life. That doesn’t mean you get a head start in the game,” Alfred countered, raising his voice through the wind.

Water splashed as their horses stormed through a puddle. Suddenly, Alfred was side by side with Ivan and Winter. The grin on his face was maddeningly handsome.

“But I guess head start or not, I can still catch up, huh?” Alfred boasted. His cheeks were painted pink by the brisk air and exertion.

Which meant that Ivan’s face was probably even redder. He didn’t want to think about it.

“I didn’t grow up riding horses,” Ivan defended hotly. “And I can’t risk getting injured. Otherwise—”

“Come on, they’d be thrilled and you know it,” Alfred belted a careless laugh. “They’re probably waiting for me to finally push you off your horse.”

Ivan detested the way that laugh irritated him and beguiled him all at the same time. Once they reached the cusp of the forest and were cloaked by the shade of the trees, he slowed his horse down to an easy trot. Alfred followed suit.

“What is this?” Alfred asked, still chuckling. “Did I get under your skin already? That didn’t take long.”

“Alfred,” Ivan said, smiling coolly, “You know that I can have you tortured for the way you speak to me. Or executed. Do you know how lovely your head would look on a platter?”

Alfred smirked. He had a way of seeing right through Ivan, all the way to the parts that no one should ever see. 

“I don’t,” he said, “Tell me.”

Ivan’s hands tightened on the reigns. The canopy of the leaves was not enough all of a sudden. It was too hot—in his fine, tailored clothes, under his skin. He halted his horse by a tree.

“I want to stop here,” he announced shortly, sliding off the saddle with practiced ease. Having the ground under his feet helped, but the air was still thick in his throat. He couldn’t breathe. His vision was in patches. All day, he’d been thinking of this and only this.

Alfred’s horse stopped by Winter and was quickly followed by the landing of heavy boots. 

“Alfred,” Ivan called softly. He sounded so pitiful, almost like a beg. 

The footsteps drew closer and louder until Alfred appeared, crowned by the few rays of sun drifting through the branches, looking more magnificent than Ivan could ever dream to be.

“Finally,” Alfred breathed, eyes half-lidded. He surged forward until his gloved hands were enclosing Ivan’s face, so warmly, so dearly, pulling close so that he could slam their lips together. 

Ivan’s back hit the trunk of the tree at the same time Alfred’s chest pressed against his own. He was so solid and real that Ivan wanted to feel more of him. His arms wrapped around Alfred’s waist to keep him there. Then, their kiss deepened. Alfred plunged his tongue inside Ivan’s mouth like he wanted to consume him. The leather of his gloves caught Ivan’s hair, making it hurt. 

CONTINUE ON AO3!

[dreaminginpastels]

my sun, my moon

pairing: marauders era!remus lupin x gn!reader

summary: remus notices you in the library one day and thinks his feelings for you are his best kept secret, that is, until james and sirius encourage him to tell you how he feels…in the most remus way possible

reader pronouns: they/them 

word count: 2.3k

*✧ harry potter masterlist | main masterlist | ask | taglist ✧*

Remus Lupin had always been partial to libraries. They had been a comfort to him his whole life. He found friends between the pages of stories that held his hand in the lonely days when he would turn every full moon by himself. Fictional friends would never leave him, he reasoned, unlike real people.

His life had changed forever the day he met the maddening yet lovable James, Sirius, and Peter. While he still had hopeless days, they taught him that not everyone in his life would be as repulsed by him as he had led himself to believe. He still didn’t believe himself worthy of love, but maybe just maybe he could allow himself to have friends.

The day that he first saw you had been one of those low days. The kinds of days where Remus rushed to the library despite his friends’ incessant attempts to get him to talk to them about how he was feeling. When things got bad, all he could rely on were his books and his safe place.

He had decided to venture to the poetry section, convincing himself that he could do with a change from his usual burying-himself-in-study coping mechanism. His mother had always been fond of poetry and he figured he should give it a go.

He expected to be enchanted by the eloquent words, the beauty flowing between the pages of the novels - what he didn’t expect was to be bewitched by the fellow student that he discovered as he turned into the aisle.

You were indisputably the most dazzling person he had laid eyes on - not just in looks, but in the delicate way you handled the ancient texts, the way you ran your hand through your hair in immense focus. He was sure you were so entranced by the poem you were reading that you hadn’t even noticed he had approached the aisle.

He had shuffled slightly in an attempt to get your attention - his throat had abandoned him in his time of need, too mesmerised by you to produce even the weakest sound. The mere sight of you made him forget all of his troubles. It was like a dark rain cloud had passed and the sun was shining again. He didn’t even know where to begin, but it didn’t matter - just as he was about to pluck up the courage to say something to you - some nervous quip about the book you were reading - you looked up at him, your eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, sorry! Silly me hogging the aisle, I’ll get out of your way!”

You disappeared before he could even muster a “No, you’re fine!”

...

From that day forward, he had spent even more time than usual in the library, hoping to spot you again. He studied there every day for a week and hadn’t seen you once. He was devastated, and yet here he was once again, seated at one of the large wooden tables scattered throughout the library, feeling like a fool for the hope he still had that he’d see you again; feeling inch upon painful inch of logic and probability weighing against his pathetic chest.

He was in the middle of convincing himself to pick his sorry arse up and go do something useful with his evening when he felt a large hand on his shoulder, the gruff voice of Sirius echoing at an inappropriate volume given their location. “Now fellas, can someone tell me why our good friend Moony here would be sitting all alone in the library when he could be aiding his chums in their latest misdeed?”

“Why, no Sirius, I don’t believe I can!” James bantered, “I can think of no reason why Moony wouldn’t want to lend his brilliant wit to this daring feat.”

Peter chuckled as the three boys enthusiastically sat themselves down around Remus and stared at him expectantly. Remus rolled his eyes. “You’re right boys, a person with a herbology test in two days has no reason to be studying. Maybe I should abandon my efforts - I’m sure I’ll keep up my grades by osmosis!”

James looked alarmed for a brief moment, likely because he had forgotten about their test. This didn’t concern Remus, it was a frequent occurrence. If it wasn’t James, it was Sirius - in his opinion it was definitive proof of miracles that the two of them hadn’t flunked any of their classes. No, what concerned Remus was the way that James’ eyes suddenly gleamed with mischief.

“Would that person be studying effectively with all of their textbooks closed, Remus?” He tutted disapprovingly, “It’s not like you to spend a study session wistfully glancing around the library aisles rather than dutifully scanning texts. Methinks you are here for…an ulterior purpose.”

Peter’s eyes lit up at James’ dramatic tone, eager for Remus’ explanation - he noted that the poor boy had gone pale and was nervously running his hands through his hair. Remus’ eyes darted to Sirius who had reached over the table and was glancing at the books that had formerly served as Remus’ barricade from the rest of the library’s patrons. “Sirius, don’t-”

“How exactly does one expect to ace their herbology text with only poetry books for company, Moony?”

Remus had never been more desperate for James’ invisibility cloak. He was certain he was as red as a tomato by this stage and silently begged the boys to drop it, but this was James and Sirius. There was no way that was an option.

“I didn’t even know you were fond of poetry books, Remus!” chirped up Peter, excited to contribute.

Remus sunk lower into the chair, his hands reaching up to cradle his head. “Look, boys, if you need me to help out with this prank, I’ll come and meet you in the common room in 15 minutes. The library is closing soon anyways.”

Sirius and James exchanged a roguish look before turning back to a defeated Remus. Sirius smirked, “Oh no, I’m much more intrigued with the Moony Library Mystery. Don’t you think, gents?”

Nodding in agreement, James and Peter stared at Remus expectantly.

Remus groaned; he was screwed and had no idea how to get out of this one. He was desperately scrambling to make up some excuse when he spotted you enter the library and head towards none other than the poetry section. He audibly choked on air. He had waited, hoped, to see you again every day in the week since your first encounter and there you were, just as breathtaking as he remembered, if not more. He thought to himself that if it were possible for sunshine to manifest in a human, he’d found them.

Normally, Remus was the most sensible of the Marauders. He was an expert in keeping his feelings to himself to not burden those around him. He had tried desperately to keep his feelings for you to himself, knowing that without a doubt James and Sirius would tease him mercilessly for them, but all that hard work washed away the moment James caught his lingering gaze. He turned so abruptly that Remus appreciated how little of a chance his Quidditch opponents had.

“Oh Moony, why didn’t you say something?” James began, “This is our area of expertise! Frankly, I’m offended.”

“Right, James, your attempts at wooing Lily Evans are really indicative of a romance expert” Sirius quipped with an eye roll. “But seriously Moony, what gives?”

With his head so far into his hands that his friends’ voices were muffled, he muttered a response. “Look, I just…it’s really new and I don’t have a chance with them anyway, and I just didn’t want to be tormented for something that’s not even going to go anywhere.”

Sirius feigned offence. “Remus Jonathan Lupin-”

“That’s not even close to my name”

“How dare you speak about yourself this way! Moony, all jokes aside, you are one of the most brilliant, caring, sensitive, and worthy people I have ever known. Don’t ever think that you aren’t lovable - you have so much love inside of you that sometimes I don’t know how you keep it together. If you really, truly like this person then I say go and tell them. If my suspicions are correct and you’ve taken up this poetry obsession to get closer to them - woo them with your words. You have a universe of beauty in that mind, sir, go and show them how much they’re missing out on.”

For the first time in years, all four boys sat in comfortable silence.

“Wow, Sirius, I didn’t know you had that in you.” James responded, still in shock.

“Hey, don’t ever say I’m not capable of sincerity.”

James and Peter laughed, and the three of them turned back to Remus who was visibly building himself up. His posture straightened and he reached a hand up to his neck tenderly. “Do you- do you really think I have a chance? I mean they’re…they’re perfect, and I’m…”

“-the most wonderful human we have ever known.” James finished for him, eyes locking with Remus’ in the most gentle manner.

“O-okay, I’m…I’m gonna do it.” Remus decided, standing up and walking with purpose towards the poetry section before his rational brain could catch up to his legs. As he walked, he heard Sirius mutter “You just had to try to best my moment of sincerity, didn’t you?” James and Peter’s laughs faded into the background.

He turned the corner and there you were. This time you were simply browsing the shelves so you immediately faced him in surprise when he approached. “Oh, uh, hi! It’s you again, I’ll only be a second, I promise I won’t get in your way this time.”

Alright, Remus, now or never. James and Sirius believe in you, why don’t you?

“N-no, you’re fine! You’re, uh, better than fine actually? I’m sorry, I’m really nervous. I’m Remus.”

For the rest of his days he would never forget the way your face lit up at his awkward rambling. It was like staring right into the most beautiful sun he had ever seen.

“I’m y/n. It’s nice to meet you, Remus, or, well, properly meet you I guess.”

God, even your voice was perfect. Mellifluous and warm, as comforting as hot chocolate by the fire as it snowed.

“Do you like poetry?” you asked, politely.

Remus’ heart soared. Maybe you did want to talk to him?

He nodded. “I’m trying to get more into it, my mother has always tried to get me to, and I guess I finally found a reason to. I really love the way poets word things so beautifully, I don’t know how they do that.”

You beamed. “It’s a real gift! I wish I could write like that too.”

The two of you stood in comfortable silence for a moment before you briefly glanced at the shelf and found the book you were looking for. “Oh! There it is. Well, I guess I better leave you to it, but it was lovely talking to you. Hopefully I’ll see you around sometime.”

He had barely processed your words when you spun on your heels and went to walk away.

“Wait!” his voice echoed in the library, the loudest he had ever defied rules of his own accord in his life. His arm had subconsciously reached out to touch your arm in an effort to keep you near him.

You turned, wide eyes glancing up at him.

“I- you…” he started, retracting his arm. “Oh, I’m bad at this. I’m so bad at this.”

You smiled at him encouragingly. “Whatever it is, I’m not going to judge you so you can just go ahead and say it.”

“You’re like the sun.”

“The sun?”

He nodded and gulped, steadying himself as he let his mind desperately attempt to form words of the poetic calibre he knew you deserved.

“This is going to sound crazy, I know I’ve literally seen you twice but I just…” he paused. “I have these really dark days sometimes where I feel like my head is clouded and I can’t find my way and I feel like nothing can pull me out of it. Like there’s a torrential rainstorm in my head. Last week was one of those days and then I saw you and I just…you’re radiant. Whenever I see you, or, uh, think of you, I just forget about everything wrong in my life and feel warm and light and…worth something? It’s like you’re a beam of sunlight and if I focus on you the storm passes and I can see clearly again. It’s like you’re…my sun.”

Somewhere in his attempt at a poetic love confession his eyes had fallen on the ground and had lost the ability to lift them again. The shame was so powerful in his head that he wished he could have shrivelled up and vanished - an ironic response to his metaphor. That was, until, once again, your voice cut through his doubts. His eyes shot up to meet yours.

“That’s…the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.” He didn’t feel worthy of the tender gaze that fell upon him as you uttered these words, but he couldn’t resist imagining for a moment that he was. “Did you want to…uh…maybe go for a walk or something? I know it’s getting a bit late but I’d really like to talk to you a bit more.”

Remus couldn’t breathe. He was sure that he’d forgotten how to breathe. Was it in, out or out, in?

You looked at him expectantly and he smiled nervously at you. Yes, he decided. He could pretend he was worthy of you for a day.

Remus was so mesmerised by you that he didn’t even notice the rest of the Marauders beaming at him with pride like parents watching their child leaving for their first day of school. They packed up his things.

As you walked out of the library together, Remus felt truly complete for the first time.

“So, if I’m your sun, does that make you my moon?”

Remus chuckled bashfully, “I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

a/n: this is my first piece of writing on tumblr for a while and I’m really excited to get back into it, please feel free to send in requests and I will do my best to write them (as long as I know the characters well enough!) 🤍

[livingmybestfictionallife]

Two Dharma Bums

Request (anon):  Ayo I saw that you were taking request, can I have some platonic Klaus x reader? Maybe klaus just kind living with the reader and them bein all domestic n shit

Summary: Klaus and the reader bond over their shared love of the beatnik counterculture and Kerouac. Klaus convinces the reader to come with him and travel across the country to live out the reader’s dream of the freedom displayed in Jack Kerouac’s On the Road. Also, I’m sorry if it’s rough. It’s unedited and quickly written.

A/N: No pronouns are used for the reader, so this can be female!reader or male!reader. Also, Klaus is 10000% a beatnik in this time period and would have thrived with Burroughs, Ginsburg, and Kerouac.

Arriving in 1960 Dallas with nothing but the spirit of his deceased brother clinging to him, Klaus desperately tried to suppress the anxieties that immediately plagued him. Why was he here? Where were his siblings? Was he the only one who made it? What made him so special and deserving of life over his brothers and sisters? What was he going to do now? 

After days without anything more than a passerby’s leftovers, Klaus was desperate for something to eat. He stumbled down street as he followed the familiar aroma of diner food. Growing up so close to Griddy’s, Klaus knew the smell of a moderately priced home-cooked style meal, and his stomach immediately twisted into angry knots of starvation. Without thinking anything through, he flung open the door and dropped himself into a booth near the front of the diner. Compared to the attire of the other inhabitants of the diner--the men’s nicely pressed trousers paired with comfortable overcoats and the women’s long skirts and petticoats--Klaus’s tattered and sleeveless army shirt, laced leather pants, shaggy hair, and dirt covered face instantly earned him the full attention of the diner.

All eyes being on Klaus wasn’t something he would normally turn down. His family knew he loved being the center of attention, and normally, this much attention would be cause for a snarky comment about his importance; however Klaus was tired. He was too tired to think about anything other than how much he wanted to sleep and eat, and that exhaustion led to his eyes drifting shut despite Ben’s continual pestering him to stay awake.

“Um, Y/N,” a young woman holding a notepad and pen said in an attempt to get her coworker’s attention.

“Yeah?” Y/N asked as you turned to meet your coworker’s eyes. With a furrowed brow, you examined her face. She normally wore a kind expression, full of smiles that earned a lot of tips, but her brows were furrowed and she wore an obviously concerned look over her face. Discreetly, she held her pen pointed in the direction of the front of the diner. The ball-point landed on a man with dark hair and grimy skin leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out across the booth and eyes fallen shut. “That’s my section today, isn’t it?” Y/N asked as the girl nodded in a way that instantly made Y/N assume she was thinking, ‘Better you than me.’

It was a chilly twenty-three degrees, which is fairly colder than normal for a Texas winter, and Y/N could see the man in the booth didn’t seem to be dressed appropriately for the weather that was only getting colder. The man shivered suddenly as Y/N reached the booth, and he shot upright as if he had been startled awake.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. Welcome to Norma’s Cafe,” Y/N greeted the man with a half-smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Water, please,” the man said in a somewhat pathetic and empathy inducing tone, “and if you have any crackers, I’ll take those too, please.” As the door to the diner opened, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the man begin to tremble as the bitter air found its way to his exposed skin.

“Sure thing,” Y/N sighed upon witnessing the tragedy that was this homeless man. Already, Y/N’s heart was softened into feeling complete sympathy for the stranger. After returning to the kitchen to fill up a cup with water, Y/N grabbed a pot of hot coffee a mug, and a plate of toast before returning to the table. “I put in an order of the special for you as well. I hope you like your eggs scrambled,” Y/N said and placed the tray of drinks and toast in front of the man.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he hurried to repeat the single syllable until the server turned around to face him again. “I can’t pay for this. I don’t have any money.”

“It’s on me,” Y/N said with a reassuring smile.

“No, I’m fine with some crackers. I’m skinny, I don’t need a lot of food,” he tried to argue with the kindness of the stranger before him.

“You’re my last customer before my shift is up,” Y/N said with a shrug. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.” Once again, Y/N rose in an attempt to wait in the kitchen for the food she ordered for this man only to have him protest one more time

“Can you at least keep me company? Maybe I can repay you with my witty sarcasm and great sense of humor.” A slight chuckle escaped Y/N’s lungs.

“You know I have to leave first to get your food, right?”

“So that’s a yes?” with a roll of Y/N’s eyes, a gentle smile fell over Klaus’s face. He was slightly surprised that Y/N decided to sit in the booth across from him as he ate, and even more so when he was encouraged to tell his ludicrous tale of how he ended up in Dallas in the first place. Their conversation was chaotic and jumped from so many different, interconnecting threads, somehow managing to find its way back to the point of origin after discussing Klaus’s past and Y/N’s seemingly illogical dreams and fascinations.

“Either you have a ridiculous imagination or your a beatnik like Ginsburg or Kerouac,” Y/N huffed and an entertained smirk flashed in Klaus’s direction.

“I’d consider myself to be more like Burroughs,” he retorted with a laugh as he finished the last of his food and sipped on the last of his coffee.

“Well, you certainly look like a dharma bum,” Y/N commented with an endearing and longing gaze. It had been a dream of Y/N’s to be able to pick up and leave, taking minimal belongings along on a journey across the country to a destination that had yet to present itself. Since reading Kerouac’s works, this dream had began to manifest as a pest in Y/N’s mind, constantly scratching at the part of the brain that controls impulses.

“In a way I am,” Klaus responded as he thought back over the course of his adult life. “I’ve never had a place of my own, no place to call home or people who wanted me around for longer than a few weeks at a time. Then there was the war, then ending up here.” His voice seemed to trail off as his mind went through everything he’d experienced in his short thirty years.

“I’ve read ‘On the Road’ and ‘The Dharma Bums’ so many times the spines are falling apart,” Y/N admitted. “There’s something so enchanting about that lifestyle that I can’t help but long for the open road and the uncertainty of where I’ll end up.” Y/N could see the ideas turning around in Klaus’s head as he thought over the words that had been dumped between them.

“Do you have a car?” It was a short and simple question that was answered with a nod of Y/N’s head. “Then let’s go.”

“Just like that? No thinking anything through? You don’t have any ties or anything keeping you here?”

“I just told you my true story. I have nothing and no one,” Klaus stated, subsequently earning an annoyed grunt from Ben. He could tell Y/N was thinking the offer over and the idea repeated in both of their heads like a broken record. “Come on,” Klaus urged, “You’ll be surprised by how easy the act of leaving is, and how good it feels! The world is rich with possibilities,” he loosely quoted the line from On the Road that circulated throughout Y/N’s mind.

“I have nothing to offer anyone but my own confusion,” Y/N responded with another quote, hoping Klaus would understand.

“What are you getting here that you can’t get anywhere else?” Klaus prompted. He had leaned across the booth and was excitedly staring into Y/N’s eyes as his heart raced at the possibility of not having to be alone anymore. “Because in the end...” A hopeful smile formed on Klaus’s face as he began yet another famous quote from Kerouac.

“You won’t remember the time you spent working in an office or mowing your lawn,” Y/N continued.

“Climb the damn mountain!”

***    ***    ***    ***    ***    ***

As weeks turned into months and months turned into years, Y/N and Klaus traveled across the country, hitching rides from farmers, truck drivers, and anyone who was still kind enough not to discourage the allure of being a vagabond.

Stories and poetry were the fuel they doused on the fires of their freedom, and always they found themselves immersed in the artistic and melodic talent of telling tales the other seemed to posses. Throughout their happiness and sincerest sense of freedom, they would occasionally find themselves seeking the comfort of one another. At night, often when the music, poetry, and stories had fallen asleep with their traveling companions--Klaus’s silver tongue and ability to fabricate realities out of small truths had accumulated quite a large following throughout their journey--their minds would drift. In these moments of perceived weakness, that they let their vulnerability shine through to one another.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asked upon noticing Klaus sitting before a fire beneath the stars of California.

“What’s in store for me in the direction I don’t take?” Klaus asked, once again mirroring the words of Kerouac to allow for the deeper meaning to seep into Y/N’s soul.

“It seems like what you have done, in starting an unorganized cult, is the most absurd thing that could have happened in all of the endless possibilities presented to you at every decision you’ve made.”

“But what about my family. What if they’re alive and they’re looking for me? I thought the love of the people I surrounded myself with, the like-mindedness of the commune, would be enough.” Y/N lowered to be beside Klaus as he stared up at the stars. Silently, the pair sat, feeling the heat of the fire against their faces, until Y/N leaned against Klaus’s side and he fell gently into the genuine human connection.

“Unlike Kerouac, I’m not a believer of Buddhism, but finding enlightenment is an important theme throughout his novels. Maybe the enlightenment you’ve found is that this life that you’ve found on the path that you’ve taken isn’t the one that you’re searching for,” Y/N’s wisdom rolled through Klaus’s mind as he fell backwards into the grass in frustration.

“I took this path in hopes of gaining happiness,” Klaus sighed angrily as he slammed his fists into the soil beside him. “I failed my family and I failed at this; this concept of letting go and accepting the endless possibilities before me!”

“You didn’t fail,” Y/N stated firmly in defiance of Klaus’s self-depreciating words. “Experience is the only thing that can teach you. If I were to give you only water and crackers all that time ago back at the diner, we wouldn’t be in California right now. If you chose a different diner to fall into, you would have never met me, and your life would be even more miserable,” Y/N joked and nudged Klaus’s arm in an attempt to invoke the smallest of smiles in his face. “If I would have ignored your idea of taking to the road as two dharma bums searching for a sign for where our lives were supposed to go, I’d probably still be wasting away as a server in that diner. Just because you got to the place we set our course for doesn’t mean you’re at the destination you need to be at. It took getting here with all of these people following us, following you, for you to realize where your passion and happiness lies.”

With a tear in each of his eyes, Klaus sat up and pulled Y/N close to him. As he felt Y/N’s arms fall around him, a reassuring sigh left his mouth and the tears of joy fell onto Y/N’s shoulder. Klaus tightened his grasp on his friend, and hesitantly spoke. “Thank you, Y/N. I know this distance is what you wanted and that the road was kinder to you than to me, but I have to go back to Dallas. I’ll miss you, but I’m grateful to have met you.” Slowly, Klaus rose from where he sat and blew a kiss to the person who had been at his side through it all. It was all he could do as he hid the pain of losing the first person who had shown him kindness three years ago.

“My path is with you. You’re my friend, Klaus, but more importantly, you’re my family now. If not for you, my life wouldn’t have changed. If not for me, yours could have gotten worse. Our paths were intertwined for a reason, and I’m not going to ignore that. When you need me, I’ll be there. That’s what family is for.”

Klaus smiled as Y/N strode to his side and the pair hurried off towards the van. The same thoughts and anxieties that flooded their minds when they left Dallas floated in their minds like a veil of mist that clouded their vision, but this time was slightly different. Sure they had many miles ahead of them, hardly any money to afford the trip back, were in dire need of sleep, and didn’t know the way back, but they knew where they were headed and why, and they had each other, and that was enough for now.

Tags:  @multifandom-ramblings, @bisexual-with-adhd, @ne0n-gh0st, @thehanwen @helena-way07 

[pinesconessecrets]

The hardships of being gay and anxious

(Hi! This is my gift for @colorfullyminded, hope you like it!)

Lately, Jason Funderberker and Dipper had spent a lot of time together.

He thought nothing of it, not even when Norman teased him about being jealous. Because, why would he even be jealous? What was there to be jealous of? He had accepted that Dipper was straight and his chances were nonexistent a long time ago, and even though it didn’t stop hurting it had certainly eased up; so he had high hopes time would be kind and he would finally be able to let go of his stupid crush once they graduated from high school. And yeah, he would prefer it if Dipper chose to hang out with him instead of that idiot, but he couldn’t force him to take better decisions. So no, he wasn’t jealous or suspicious.

Until that day, when they both walked into class wearing matching bracelets.

They’re just friendship bracelets, he thought at first. But then he noticed the colors of the strings. Black, gray, white, purple, pink, purple and blue. The colors of the asexual and the bisexual flag. Did that mean… that the two of them were biromantic asexuals? Why didn’t Dipper tell him? He was the first person he had come out to! He supported him when he decided to tell his parents and little brother he was gay! So why…?

He didn’t mention the bracelets, waiting for Dipper to tell him when he felt ready. But the time didn’t come. Instead, Funderberker and him began to hang out even more than before, as if the time they spent together because of the band and DnD club wasn’t enough. Were they dating? It sure as hell looked like it.

So now Wirt found himself counting the days until graduation, heartbroken, stressed and feeling the most lost he’s ever felt in his life.

He tried to find comfort in his poetry, but every single thing he wrote was about loves that couldn’t be, misery, or just straight out about Dipper. It felt good to let it out of his chest, but after noticing he had almost filled a notebook with those poems he felt so pathetic he almost cried. No matter how much he tried to focus on more positive themes and emotions, he just couldn’t, and any attempt at it would be ripped out of the notebook in a fit of rage at how awful he thought it was.

It really seemed that when Dipper distanced himself, he took everything good Wirt had with him.

It wasn’t fair.

*****

Dipper couldn’t stay still.

The day had finally come, and he couldn’t stop fidgeting with his bracelet in anticipation of what was about to happen. He had been working on this for a whole month, paying attention to every little detail and doing his best so everything was close to perfection. The weight of the notebook in his bag was a constant reminder of how things would change and how they would never, ever, be back to normal.

A part of him was so scared of the outcome and begged him to just go home and let things stay the same, and to hit his stupid feelings with a shovel and bury them in the ground somewhere in the forest back at Gravity Falls. But it was too late to back off now, and it had taken him months to accept his crush on Wirt like to throw all his hard work down the drain just because he was too nervous and frightened.

Sighing while fixing his sleeves, Dipper let his thoughts take him back a few months ago to an event Mabel liked to call “The Bi-pper awakening”.

He had just been walking towards the place in the park where he would meet with Wirt and Norman (though the latter had sent a text saying he was going to be late) when he spotted Wirt sitting under a tree at the distance. His heart beat a little faster, but he thought nothing of it like the dumbass he was. That is, until he heard him.

Wirt wasn’t exactly a good singer, but he had quite the decent voice. A kind, trembling and a little creaky voice. And as he heard him sing in a foreign language with the peace of someone who belongs right there between the nature, Dipper found himself aware of his breathing and of how all the decisions he had made in his life had taken him there, in that moment, with that beautiful man.

And then he heard a record scratch in his mind.

The only logical thing to do then was, of course, to start panicking.

So he did, turning around and running until he found a bush excellent for hiding. It was a good thing that zone of the park was practically desolate, because otherwise someone would have heard him talking to himself trying to find an explanation to what he was feeling: was he gay? Why had he never felt like this for another man? What about all the girls he had liked before? Was Wirt just an exception? Were the crushes he had on women fake? Was it all a dream?

It went on and on, and it would have surely keep going had it not been for Norman texting him to ask “about his fucking whereabouts”.

He took another couple of minutes to regain his composure, and for the rest of the day he tried to act normal and to avoid staring at Wirt (it had never been difficult, what was happening now!), though he really wanted to go home, steal one of Mabel’s sweaters and go to Sweater Town.

Weeks passed, and after days of questioning his sexuality and doing deep internal analyses, he could say with confidence he was bisexual. So he came out to his sister, though he wasn’t ready to tell the rest of the family yet. Coming out to his friends was an easier choice, but after telling a few (it’s not like he had many to begin with) he found himself with a big trouble: how was he going to tell Wirt without spilling out his feelings? He, Norman and Jason were the only ones left, and though he knew he could trust Norman he wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep quiet in front of Wirt (he didn’t have the same trouble with Jason because he knew Wirt wouldn’t believe him), and he wasn’t fucking prepared for that. That only left Jason.

The day he came out to Jason was amazing; he hadn’t been ready for him to came out as asexual, much less to spend the rest of the afternoon making friendship bracelets while singing ABBA and promising to go together to the next Pride. Of course, while talking about that Jason suggested to invite Wirt too, which kind of forced Dipper to talk about his crush, which made Jason remind him of prom and of how big of an opportunity it was, which caused Dipper to think…

So now, after days spent planning and writing, he was ready to tell Wirt.

He tried to stay calm, listing in his mind every step of his plan and the words he had to say, but he just couldn’t stop sweating.

But he was going to do it, no turning back.

*****

If someone were to look at Wirt while he waited for Dipper, they could easily tell he was terrified.

Was Dipper finally going to tell him he was dating Jason Funderberker and that he couldn’t be friends with someone that hated his boyfriend? Because he could change! He could become Funderberker best friend if that would keep Dipper in his life, no matter how pathetic that sounded. He loved him, and he would take Dipper’s love in whatever way he choose.

He was in the middle of a really detailed fantasy of how different his life would be without Dipper (and how gloomy the future was certainly going to be), when Dipper himself walked into the room. Well, if the secluded section of the park their group of friends always used as meeting point could be considered a room. He was sweating, his shaking hands holding onto a notebook as if it held all the secrets in the universe, and overall worrying Wirt to no end.

But before he could even ask what was wrong, Dipper cleared his throat and opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he opened it again. Then he closed it with a defeated expression and just handed Wirt the notebook.

It looked like a normal notebook, a harmless and typical notebook, were it not for the words written in the cover.

100 reasons you should go to prom with me (sources included)

Was this a joke?

Right as he was about to panic (and/or cry) Dipper finally found his voice.

“I… I had a whole thing I wanted to say… but Mabel confiscated all the copies I had of my speech so… let’s just….” he coughed trying to dissimulate the way his voice had creaked and then proceeded to clear his throat with force “let’s just go with the words past Dipper wrote, please?”

There was a lot of questions Wirt wanted to ask, and yet the one he did hadn’t even crossed his mind adequately before he said it.

“Weren’t you dating Funderberker?”

Dipper’s face in that moment could have been the reaction meme of the decade.

“I’m sorry, what?”

He tried to explain the detailed monologue he (kind of) kept in his mind, but his brain refused to remember every piece of evidence and every argument he had accumulated “You… him… the bracelets”

“They’re just friendship bracelets”

Well, now he felt stupid. That meant he had only spent a month wallowing in self-pity when those two were just friends and when Dipper actually wanted to go to prom with him… alright, that last part still sounded fake.

He took a deep breath, discreetly looking at the bushes expecting to see a hidden camera or the bastard of Jason Funderberker laughing at his situation, but he found nothing of the sort, just Dipper with his adorable sweaty face, and his hat that finally looked like he had washed it, and his only decent pair of pants, and his formal shoes and oh god, this was serious wasn’t it?

He gulped, not believing his luck even though the light weight of the notebook was making it easier by the minute “So this… you want… you really want to go to prom with me?”

Dipper looked at him with determination in the eyes that had inspired him to write dozens of poems, and suddenly he was stricken with the realization that he would never, ever, stop writing poems about him “I like you, Wirt.” He then rubbed his arm and kept going, though it took Wirt a second to notice, lost in those words as he was “I don’t know for how long, I just know I realized it when I heard you sang that ballad that your grandfather taught you”

He couldn’t process Dipper’s confession yet (he was on it though) so he decided to focus on the memory of that day.

“Yeah, I remember that. Mabel caught me humming it and all of you insisted I sang it and explained it to you” That had been a really awkward moment, but sharing the song with his friends was incredible. His grandfather had always been so kind with him, and he had taught him his mother language since he was little, so preserving his memory through the songs and the tales he learned from him was the least he could do for the man that had cared so much for him.

Dipper blushed “No. I heard you sing it before, when…” he groaned and covered his face “when we decided to hang out here and Norman was late and I saw you and I loved your voice and I realized I love you” taking a deep breath after uncovering his face, he finally looked at him again “And also… I love it when you speak German”

He loved him. He said it. He said it.

Well, it was his turn wasn’t it?

“Ob ich dich liebe, weiß ich nicht. Seh ich nur einmal dein Gesicht, Seh dir ins Auge nur einmal, Frei wird mein Herz von aller Qual. Gott weiß, wie mir so wohl geschicht! Ob ich dich liebe, weiß ich nicht.”

Okay, technically he didn’t say it, but he really loved that poem and hey! It was in German! That probably gave him extra points.

If Dipper’s face was anything to go by, it did.

“What did you say?”

Mustering all the confidence he had, he smiled at him “You’ll find out at prom”

(The song they talk about is this one, if anyone wants to hear it! Also the poem is from Goethe. Sorry if there’s a mistake, English is my second languague)  

[boymeetsweevil]

Another draft because FS is taking too long

Title: two wrongs don’t make a right (so what do two douchebags and a dweeb make?)

Douche/fuck boy Jimin and Jin, weirdo!OC

Jimin waits until the girl’s tiny frame disappears down the hallway in a blur of overly familiar stained sweats before turning to stare down a very sheepish looking Jin.

“You can’t tell anyone about this, got it?” He rakes a hand through his hair, mussing it and making him resemble a cockatoo.

“Dude, relax. I get it, you have a rep to maintain. Everyone ventures outside their type for a first time.”

Jin winces. He knows he’s known for being incredibly picky—only ever sleeping with 4.0 girls (the number referring to their maximum dress size and minimum GPA). Someone even did a story on it in the Hot Takes section of the school magazine. He’s still not sure if it’s a moment he should proud of.

“About that…” he trails off and tugs nervously at the throw blanket he hastily clothed himself with when Jimin burst into their shared living room only to catch him in a rather compromising position. With that girl of all people.

“What?”

“Itsnotthefirsttimeanditwontbethelast”

Jimin blinks slowly, trying to process the flurry of words and Jin’s ashamed tone. When what Jin said finally hits him, he grins darkly.

“Man, c’mon. Don’t joke like that about her, its not nice.”

“Jimin, I’m—,” Jin looks around the hallway suspiciously before dragging Jimin into the dorm and slamming the door shut. “I’m being serious, okay?” Jimin’s jaw drops and he begins to sputter.

“But…why her?”

The first time Jimin encountered you was during a particularly late night in the stacks of the library last semester. The year was starting off hard and he was getting his ass kicked in one particular introductory psych class.

At around 1 in the morning, he had one more problem to finish on his take-home exam but was desperately stuck. He remembered seeing someone who he recognized from class sitting in the economics section. He thought it was odd initially. Usually no one sat there because the smell from the librarians’ bathroom often carried over. And no one wanted to study to the smell of coffee shits.

Taking a break, he grabbed his laptop and wandered around the stacks to find the classmate. When he found you, you were in the process of packing up, struggling to get your earphones into the headphone jack of your phone while also carrying a stack of periodicals and a burger from the campus grill, which happened to be leaking ketchup onto your already dingy tracksuit. He approached you carefully.

“Hey, you’re in Professor Kang’s class, right?”

“Huh?”

His voice startled you and you lost your precarious grip on your stuff. The poorly wrapped burger fell to the floor and bled a little onto your white converse. The periodicals fluttered down around your feet.

“Shit, sorry. Lemme help you,” he offered as he put his laptop down. You gasped from your spot already crouched on the ground.

“No, please, it’s really okay. Please, I’m fine, I don’t need—“

But he already had one printout from the stack in his hand and automatically turned it over. When Jimin looks back on the memory, he thinks that this may have been the biggest mistake he’s ever made in his life.

He would later find out after a nervous google search that the paper in his hand, and probably 80 percent of the papers on the ground, were called fursonas. While a handful might have been somewhat decent, most of them were of overly buff rabbits with bubble butts raised for the viewer or tigers fisting weeping, veiny dicks over pastel backgrounds. The one he held was of a duck, or something, with a weight lifter’s body with an obscene expression on its face while tentacles swarmed it from all angles. The implications of what might be happening in the picture made Jimin’s head hurt.

“Oh my god, what the fuck. What the fuck,” he whispered. He was so stunned that he let you rip the page from his hand.

“It’s called fur-centric hentai and its art,” you hissed. The line sounded mechanical and well-practiced if you asked Jimin. He watched you gather the rest of your belongings quickly, burger included, before leaving him crouched in the economics stacks.

Jin snaps his fingers in front of Jimin’s zoned out face only to have him be brought back to reality with a look of slight disgust.

“What’s your problem, fix your face,” Jin snapped.

“I’m just trying to figure out why you chose her, of all people. You remember that story I told you about the Econ stacks. I was so scarred, I got a C on that test.”

“Pretty sure you got a C because you didn’t realize there was a second page of the homework.”

“Well, if she hadn’t thrown her weird animal dicks all over the place, I would have realized there was a back and finished the assignment”

Jin sniffs and drops the blanket he was wearing, before walking over to the kitchen to get a drink, naked as the day he was born. Jimin follows on autopilot.

“Maybe you should stop trying to yuck my yum,”Jin says over his shoulder.

“Oh my god, don’t say it like that. I’m just saying, man. She’s weird. And gross. And more importantly not.Your. Type.” He enunciates each word with a poke to Jin’s bare back while he gets them some beers.

“You think I don’t fucking know that? That’s why I keep it discrete. Why do you think I told you not to come home every Tuesday and Thursday at until after 8:30?”

“You said you had lab.”

“How the hell could I do a lab in our apartment?”

“It…It could happen.”

“I’m a poetry major,” Jin pinches the bridge of his nose at his roommate’s stupidity, “Damnit Jimin.”

Jimin purses his lips when he realizes he might be even dumber than he thought.

“Wait a second, you’ve had lab,” he makes giant air quote gestures, “for, what, 2 months now? You’ve just been fucking her this whole time?”

There’s a beat of silence as Jin takes another swig from his beer. “Yeah,” he finally says. The matter of fact air of his response makes something glitch in Jimin’s brain.

“What the hell, dude? That’s a lot of repeat service. Does she have something on you? Is that why you’re doing this? Did you break an expensive-ass vase or something?” Jimin stops to think, his mind running wild with possibilities. “Holy shit, are you being pimped out?”

“No. God, would you just shut up?” Jin sighs quietly. “I’m sleeping with her so much because she’s the best I’ve ever had.”

Jimin takes a step back at the defeated sincerity in Jin’s tone.

“How? What about that time with that other girl--what was her name?” Jimin runs a hand through his hair trying to remember any name of one of many the girls Jin has had a fling with. “Oh! Irene or something? What about her?”

“I mean, Irene was fine. She gave pretty good head. But last Thursday I thought I came harder than I’ve ever come in my entire life.”

“You ‘thought’?”

Jin looks up wistfully somewhere behind Jimin’s head at the memory. “Well then she came over the following Tuesday and rocked my shit,” he smirks. “And then that was the hardest I’ve ever come in my life.”

“So she gives good head. Who cares? There’s plenty of girls on campus who give good head and also don’t draw furry porn for a living and wash their damn sweatpants.”

“You don’t understand, dude. It’s not just the head. It’s the head, and the handjobs, and the pussy. It’s everything.”

Jimin raises his eyebrows incredulously. “The pussy is better than the handjobs?” He has to try hard not to look impressed. Meanwhile Jin is smilng, almost relieved now that the secret is out and he can talk openly about the mindblowing sex he’d been having.

“The first time she jerked me off, I passed out immediately after I came and woke up late to the class the next afternoon.”

Jimin narrows his eyes but motions with a hand for Jin to continue.

“The first time she blew me I couldn’t even walk afterward.”

“Wait...was that the day you told me you thought you had a sprained ankle? The one that healed after 24 hours?”

“Yep.”

The smug tone and the second stupid lie make Jimin want to rip his hair out. “Why do you lie so much,” he whispered, pain in his voice.

“I wasn’t lying, I really thought I had a sprained ankle.”

“From a blowjob?”

“That’s what I said.”

“What about the, uh, the pussy,” Jimin asks after realizing the FBI probably won’t come through the doors and snipe him for talking about vagina.

“The one time she let me hit it raw, I cried.,” Jin says, absolutely beaming.

“Oh, come on. You can’t be serious.”

“I am, though. I think she was gonna let me do it again today.” Jin closes his eyes and smiles softly while Jimin looks on, unamused.

“So? What happened today? She underperform or something?” There’s a hint of jealousy and a lot of curiosity in his tone, but Jimin would deny it if anyone asked him.

“No, asswipe. She got spooked because you showed up when you weren’t supposed to.”

“Well, sorry for ruining your lies,” Jimin snaps, cracking open his own beer.

“You think this is a joke?” Jin shoves Jimin in the chest roughly. “We didn’t get to finish because of you. Now I have to jerk off with my own hand. That’s pathetic”

“And what were you doing before you met her? Listen to yourself, she’s making you crazy. No one is that good in bed.”

Jin stomps over to the couch and settles down before turning and looking at Jimin over the backboard.

“You know what? You go and sleep with her 3--no--4 times. And if she doesn’t completely fry your brain, I’ll pay for any and all of your takeout for the next month. But If she does, you gotta switch mattresses with me and not come by the dorm until after 10 on Tuesdays and Thursdays from then on.”

“Dude, gross I don’t want your sex soaked mattress. It’s the same as yours anyway. Minus the ten gallons of old jizz on it.”

“No, it’s not. You have that, like, Tempurpedic thing.”

“True,” Jimin nods thoughtfully, “But don’t you think it would be weird if the roommate of the guy she was fucking started trying to get in her pants? Also, I could just lie and say she didn’t do it for me. Then you’d be forced to pay for my food and—Hold on. If she’s so good, why are you so willing to pawn her off to me?”

“Why do you ask so many stupid questions? First of all, she’s not mine just because I’m sleeping with her. I’m just telling you to go see if she’ll let you. I mean, there’s no guarantee. She barely even gave me a shot.”

“She barely gave you a shot? But you’re, like, the campus prince”, more air quotes, “How did this even happen?”

“Well, to make a long story short, we were both high at her sorority and I’d heard rumors about her from Wonho, so I went to…talk to her in her room.”

“Wonho is Wonho, though. He’d fuck anyone if the weed was good.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken, my friend. He has a diverse and sophisticated palate. He knows what he’s talking about when it comes to weed and sex. Once I took him up on his suggestion and she said yes, I never looked back,” Jin says with a dreamy voice.

Jimin watches the back of Jin’s head loll on the sofa. When a soft sigh emerges from where the older man is sitting, Jimin recoils and runs out of the kitchen, away from the couch.

“Are you jerking off right now? Dude. Not cool.”

“Get the fuck out, then. It’s Thursday, which means I’m getting off by 7:30pm and I don’t give a rat’s ass who’s here when it happens.”

“Fine,” Jimin huffs and reluctantly stuffs his feet back into his sneakers where they lie by the door. “I hope your dick chafes.”

Jin purposefully releases another, louder moan and Jimin runs out of the apartment.

“I’ll have an order of the half crispy, half spicy and a large coke. Thanks,” Jimin says to the clerk at the grill before checking his phone for the 8th time in the hour.

8:01 Jimin - Are you done yet?

             (8:10 read by Jin)

8:11 Jin - yeah but round two starts soon so

8:11 Jin - *middle finger emoji*

Jimin quickly shuts down his messenger app and opens up Flappy Bird while he sits at a table and waits for his order number to be called.

“Stupid asshole and his stupid dick, kicking me out of the stupid apartment. Fuck you, dickhead,” Jimin mutters to himself.

“What did you just say?” 

Jimin’s head whips up at the infantile voice coming from the seat across from him. Jeon Jungkook is sitting at his table, eating a veggie burger. Who the hell orders a veggie burger from a chicken place?

“Were you talking to me,” Jungkook asks again, pushing his bulky glasses up with a finger.

“Jeon, why would I be talking to you? A better question is why the hell are you talking to me?

[caffeinatedtimdrake]

Bright Star

A/N: I know my url has DC roots but Peter Parker is the love of my life (one of many). Here is some Peter x reader fluff in which his confession doesn’t go exactly as planned. 

Peter Parker knows his heart doesn’t stand a chance, not when you’re blinking up at with pleasant surprise written across your features the same way your name is engraved into almost his every thought. A warm blush blossoms across your cheeks. You’re a cute strawberry, but with how heated his cheeks feel, he’s more like an overly-ripe tomato. “Y-yeah, we do. I can…show you the poetry section if you want?” “Oh. Cool. Yeah, please, that would be…cool.” If the ground swallowed him up right now and he could live the rest of his existence wallowing in the New York sewage system, that would also be cool. It’s just his luck that you work part-time at the public library while he tries (and seemingly fails) to gather enough romantic literature to execute his Ultra Romantic Valentine’s Day Confession. This plan, actually quite cowardly in the grand scheme of things, consisted of leaving quotes from your favorite poets in your locker until Valentine’s Day, along with flowers and chocolates, and the cute plush key chains he knows you adore. When Peter told Ned about his plan, he only received a confused frown in response. “So…when are you going to actually tell Y/N you have a major crush on them?” Peter knitted his brow. “Valentine’s Day…probably.” “Unless you totally wimp out and leave 'em wondering for eternity the identity of their secret admirer?” Peter had sighed in resignation. “Yeah. Exactly.” He doesn’t know how long he’s liked you for because he can’t remember a time when you didn’t make him feel like a pathetic puddle of melted puppy love. Everything about you intoxicated him. Your sweet smile and warm eyes, the way you wrinkled your nose or your whole face lit up when you laughed, how his name rolled off your tongue – all of it, all of you, made his chest ache with unadulterated adoration. If he didn’t act upon his feelings soon, he was sure to explode. But he was still too bashful to approach you directly with a confident confession, so he settled for more subtle methods. Peter’s favorite subject certainly wasn’t English, but it was his favorite class because he received his daily dose of Y/N while settled into those uncomfortable wooden chairs. It didn’t even matter that the room was five degrees too hot because you made him feel like he was on fire, anyway. It was in that stuffy room that he learned how enthusiastic you became over poetry from the Romantic period. When you murmured Keats beneath your breath, following along with the teacher, he couldn’t stop himself from stealing sidelong glances in your direction. In short, he was whipped and the only logical way to proceed seemed to exist in the form of his new friend, John Keats, and the public library. He didn’t entertain the possibility that his plan might be foiled by your part-time employment. “Are you looking for anyone in particular?” You ask him quietly, glancing at him shyly as you guide him through. “Uh. Keats.” You turn to him, eyes shining. Your smile is infectious and briefly he thinks he might drop dead right there, between the imposing shelves of a New York public library, all because of his absurdly cute classmate. “Really? Did you like his work that much?” Peter can’t help but smile timidly in return, voice soft. “Yeah. Since class that day…I just can’t seem to get those words out of my head.”

Peter spends much more time in that section of the library than intended. He surprised himself by getting lost in biographies and beautiful words. His stomach grumbles, a sign that he should head home. He grabs a few books to check-out and slowly winds his way back to the front desk. He assumes you’ve gone home already, but he is absolutely wrong.   You crack a playful grin. “Did you have fun back there?” “Too much fun.” He smiles back sheepishly, bringing the books to you. For a few moments, the only sound between you two is the shrill beeping of the barcode scanner. You keep your eyes glued to the books because you know that if you meet his soft gaze, you’ll be paralyzed by those honey brown eyes. “When are you done for the night?” You slide the books back to him. “Right now, actually.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. “I can walk you home, if you want.” You lock eyes with him; startled, but not in a bad way. “But, like, no pressure. I-I just thought I’d offer since I’m…here and you’re here and you’re gonna go home anyways and I think we walk in the same direction? Plus, it’s kind of dark outside. Not that I don’t think you can’t hold your own or anything! I know you are strong and independent and – “ “Peter,” You giggle. His mouth is dry. “Yes?” “I’d love for you to walk me home. I can still be strong and independent if a cute boy walks me home.” He exhales deeply, shoulders slumping a little. “Great.” Then he pauses and practically jumps out of his skin. “Wait, what?!” You duck into the back room to grab your belongings, flustered. “Nothing!” You call back, taking extra time to zip up your coat and pull on your gloves. When you emerge, Peter looks like he’s been punched in the gut – in a good way, somehow. His skin is flushed, and his mouth is pulled into a tight line, but his eyes are gentle. As the cold air hits his face, he frets a little. He hopes that he doesn’t trip over his own feet and make a complete fool of himself in front of you, but he also prays that the two of you don’t encounter criminal activity, so he doesn’t have to engage Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman Mode. Most nights, the bright city outshines the stars. Peter feels closer to the stars than most considering his nights spent perched on rooftops, often with only the moon for company. The snow forecasted for tonight leaves no room for shining stars or the glowing moon. Thick flakes fall lazily from the sky, creating a thick layer of glittering snow across the sidewalk. It’s not quite dark outside, rather a gentle, muted lavender. “Do you like the snow?” You ask him, glancing up at the thick clouds hanging peacefully above your heads. He thinks about how many times he’s fallen on his butt due to slush and the uncomfortable sensation of snow caked to his socks after he cleans Aunt May’s car off. And then he looks over at you, some kind of ethereal winter fairy, snowflakes clinging to your hair and lashes, landing on your skin and slowly melting in the same way he seems to melt when you smile at him. You’re smiling at him with your eyes, intrigued by the litany of emotions that dance across his features. “Yeah,” He breathes, snow crunching beneath his feet. “I like the snow.” You glow brighter than the mood and shine more than the stars. His heart is in his throat when he softly recites, “Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art,” You turn to look at him so quickly, you nearly get whiplash. You’re a little astonished because this is the sort of thing you daydream about: Peter Parker, the boy you’ve been enamored with for quite some time, reciting poetry to you on a quiet, snowy evening. He’s a little self-conscious that you’re staring at him in such awe, lips slightly parted and soulful eyes wide, but mostly he’s enraptured because really, you are his star. It takes you several long moments to recover – they might be some of the longest in Peter’s life – but eventually, you do. “Not in lone splendor, hung aloft the night,” There are several more moments of silence and staring and Peter can barely remember to breathe before he realizes you’re leaning towards him to press your lips sweetly against the corner of his mouth. “Not to be dramatic, but I think that’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You tell him earnestly, looking like a cute strawberry once more. He gapes, opening and closing his mouth a few times, before he warbles, “Oh my GOD me too I like you so much I think my heart is going to EXPLODE how do you even exist – “ You kiss him again, this time brushing your lips softly against his, to tell him that you like him, too. He doesn’t even have to wait until Valentine’s Day. Ned is gonna flip.  

[cocoonmind]

My super-ego is Mariah Carey.

Not actually but she is for sure a diva who likes to remind me that there is actually power in vulnerability and no matter how much I run away from her she will be there to scare me away from achieving my goals but also getting to my goals if I ever decide to pull the plug on her. There is this flatness to her but she is also so manipulative and crazy so that she cannot just be this 2d character.

My super-ego wears cheetah print fur jackets with big Dior sunglasses to hide the fact that she is actually scared of what is out there especially of what she sees in the mirror. She uses luxury to create this illusion of confidence and sensuality which she lures me in with. Do this and you can be like me.

BUT DO I REALLY WANT TO BE LIKE HER!?

No.

But every time I get pulled in by her manipulation and when I do not give her full custody she creates this avalanche in my path because she is quite spoiled and tired like Mariah’s vocals in her last performance of “All I want for Christmas is you”.

She is delusional like Blanche from a streetcar named desire. She has no grasp of reality because all she has is this fear that she tries to inflict onto me, which makes me sometimes love in a smaller section of life instead of the fullest space of life.

I DO NOT WANT TO BE RESERVED TO A SMALL CORNER!

I proclaim. My super-ego always pops up in improvisation  class playing with my mind blocking my creative impulses with these negative thoughts of you aren’t saying anything that makes sense or that idea is boring do something better or just do not participate because you suck in comparison to everyone else. Or that one time she decided to visit me at the poetry event reminding me of the fact that if I read any of my poems which are underdeveloped in her mind and underdeveloped things should never be exhibited I will look like a fool, so I never got to scratch that experience of my bucket list.

My super-ego loves to think about how imperfections should be hidden and that learning to ride a bike is pathetic because I never did it when I was 6 and if she does not have the attention she deserves she will cause a volcanic eruption which she will then avoid and play victim to when clearly she set herself up from the get go.

My first encounter with the super-ego girl was when I was 7 on that playground I asked her if I should climb that tree but she told me to go back inside and I listened as if she was my mom.

Yes, she did protect me from bruises and scars but she did not enable me to have a mindset of going far. Not that I will ever give up on my dreams but I gave up on facing my fears which is a key to getting to my dreams.

Ever since then I have become obedient to her and gave her that power because she knew how to use my insecurities against me and my teenage years were the worst. There were times when she made me question my passions in life but then the power of the other parts within me told her to shut up and ever since then she was more quiet and careful with where she decided to pop up. She is still present in my spaces of passion but I have allowed her inside my mind and I have been vulnerable and now she sees how there can be a compromise. But our relationship hasn’t always been like this,  she used to be extremely disrespectful back when I was thirteen I mean she made me believe that humans especially boys are scary and I kept reliving my past experiences. She made me feel less important than others because of those flashbacks on the playground where I was the only kid who didn’t know how to cross the monkey bars but she forgot to blame herself for it. In fact she would blame me for being incompetent and scolding me for not staying within my comfort zone but maybe if she did not pop up every time I wanted to explore something new I would not be in the same cycle reliving my fears from the past because I cannot overcome them.

So many times I want to tell her that true divas do not carry such negative energy I mean look at Diana Ross she is a diva but yet she is the most angelic human being ever. But I know this would just cause a huge fight if I were honest with my feelings towards the super-ego but I did it anyway.

[thefriday5]

December 7, 2018

Blog news: I might be moving to Wordpress in the new year, given some of the strange news about the Tumblr platform, which is too complicated and frustrating to get into on my weekly-reads blog. Just a heads up that some changes may be coming down the pike.

This has been a week of unusually high anxiety for me, but I’m working my health and self-care plans as best I can. I haven’t had the brain space for anything really deep or intense, but I hope you enjoy this lighter, story-based fare this week!

How a 6-Year-Old Survived Being Lost in the Woods, Outside. “Some kids will sit down and stay in one place,” says Koester. “If you are in the open woods and there is no landmark to follow, then the majority of six-year-old kids are going to circle.” So it wasn’t surprising that the search party concentrated its efforts around Deerings Meadow, where Cody was last seen. But lost people also latch on to linear features, like a road, Koester says.” Spooky!

Ask Polly: I’m Broke and Mostly Friendless and I’ve Wasted My Whole Life. This is such a generous, beautiful essay about shame and art and how to start again. I'll let her own words speak for themselves:

“Shame is the opposite of art. When you live inside of your shame, everything you see is inadequate and embarrassing. A lifetime of traveling and having adventures and not being tethered to long-term commitments looks empty and pathetic and foolish, through the lens of shame. You haven’t found a partner. Your face is aging. Your body will only grow weaker. Your mind is less elastic. Your time is running out. Shame turns every emotion into the manifestation of some personality flaw, every casual choice into a giant mistake, every small blunder into a moral failure. Shame means that you’re damned and you’ve accomplished nothing and it’s all downhill from here. You need to discard some of this shame you’re carrying around all the time. But even if you can’t cast off your shame that quickly, through the lens of art, shame becomes valuable. When you’re curious about your shame instead of afraid of it, you can see the true texture of the day and the richness of the moment, with all of its flaws. You can run your hands along your own self-defeating edges until you get a splinter, and you can pull the splinter out and stare at it and consider it. When you face your shame with an open heart, you’re on a path to art, on a path to finding joy and misery and fear and hope in the folds of your day. Even as your job is slow and dull and pointless, even as your afternoons alone feel treacherous and daunting, you can train your eyes on the low-hanging clouds until a tiny bit of sunlight filters through. You are alive and you will probably be alive for many decades to come. The numbers on your credit-card statements can feel harrowing, but you can take that feeling and keep it company instead of letting it eat you alive. You can walk to the corner store to buy a newspaper and pull out the weekend calendar section and circle something, and make a commitment to do that one thing. You can build a new kind of existence, one that feels small and flawed and honest, but each day you accumulate a kind of treasure that doesn’t disappear. Because instead of running away from the truth, you welcome it in. You don’t treat what you have as pointless. You work with what you have.”

How to Clear a Path Through 60 Feet of Snow, Japanese Style, Atlas Obscura. This is so fun to look at. I can't even fathom this amount of snow, and yet it's a yearly thing for them. I would watch a movie about Snow Canyon and the people who live (and plow) there.

Pushcart-Nominated Poet Accused of Plagiarizing Multiple Peers, Jezebel. There seems to be a lot of plagiarism happening in the exploding landscape of “social media poetry.” It makes sense in a way, even though it’s absolutely not ethical. This example is basically an object lesson to the extremely damaging consequences of plagiarism via paraphrase. Things shared on social media are often fractured from their context or source -- we see that all the time with the frustrating sourcing on Pinterest (although this seems to have improved somewhat as the years go by). That’s why I tell my students: what you say matters, but also how you say it (ethically, responsibly)! I feel for the poets involved in stories like this, especially those whose work has been stolen.

We thought the Incas couldn’t write. These knots change everything, New Scientist. This is so cool! I would love to see a fantasy story that adapts this language system for magic purposes. If I had world enough and time, this is the kind of mystery I would love to know everything about.