#they've been more like family to her than her own family (except for her dad!!!!) ever was and ever will be

[dawnedon]

dawn loves all of her pokemon. she LOVES them, they are her friends and her family. they are SO important to her, but she knows that her bond with emperor is the deepest and most special bond she has out of any of her other team members.

he's been with her through EVERYTHING. he genuinely is the ONLY person (or pokemon i guess?? living being-) that fully understands ayako's behavior, and he only saw a few minutes of it. dawn won her first badge with him. she faced down an eldritch chaos goddess with him. she felled cynthia's infamous garchomp with him. he's been there through dawn's absolute worst moments, the uncertainty, the doubt, and he has been there for the best moments, the elation, the triumphs. he has been with her from the very beginning, and he will be with her until the very end.

when dawn talks about her best friend, she means emperor every single time. she talks to him like she would a friend, like he understands her because he does, and she understands him too. a life without emperor is a life she would never want to live.

[sea-owl]

You know sometimes I think what would have happened if Kate, Sophie, Penelope had proper paternal figures around and I always come to the conclusion that Anthony, Benedict, and Colin wouldn't be able to get away with half the shit they do in their books if they did.

Kate and Penelope come from homes full of women, and their fathers are at least a few years passed by the time they meet their respective Bridgerton in the books. Poor Sophie also technically comes from a home full of women too but we don't count them except for Posey.

Like just imagine an au of Mr. Sharma, the Earl of Penwood, and Lord Featherington being alive and being good dads with these cads running around their daughters.

Mr. Sharma comes to town with his wife and daughters for a London season. The family can't really afford more than one season so they got to make this count. Then here comes the Capital R Rake, who claims to want to court one daughter but keeps making bedroom eyes at the other. When they go to Aubrey Hall Mr. Sharma pulls Anthony aside and questions which of his daughters did Anthony want to court exactly? He then tells Anthony he expects an answer and an official asking of courtship from him by the end of the trip. Anthony then has to hide from Mr. Sharma as he plans the details of his sudden engagement to Kate, and he may over gift on his end. He knows there's no way of hiding his mark on Kate's chest, and Mary for sure told her husband.

Mr. Sharma makes sure to spread the word back in London to be weary of the Bridgerton cads. While yes, socially and financially, they be a good match, their scandalous behavior will corrupt your daughters.

The Earl sees this first hand when Benedict is circling Sophie like a dog in heat. No, sir, you will not corrupt my daughter! Sophie now has the protection needed to force Benedict to put in the work for an actual courtship. None of that be my mistress here good sir! Serious suitors only!

Lord Featherington didn't believe these rumors of the Bridgerton cads at first, yes they were rakes but most gentlemen their ages had explored by that point before settling down with their wives, if they even stopped after that. But such behavior towards a gentleman's daughter? Unthinkable. His own beloved youngest daughters have been friends with the Bridgertons for years, and they've always been proper. Well, Lord Featherington had forgotten that while yes, Penelope has been friends with the Bridgertons for years. One certain Bridgerton had been away at school for most of that time, and she only really knew him in passing. In comes when Penelope is first debuted and Colin Bridgerton is home from his Grand Tour to finish out his schooling. Oh no, why is Bridgerton C looking at his daughter like he looks at a biscuit? Lord Featherington holds his breath, wondering if this year every year is when that cad Colin Bridgerton tries to corrupt his precious daughter.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

AHHHHHHHHHH, okayokayokay big brain time, might be a little short.

For the yan parent/s of reader, I thought of either Magneto or The Professor, or the potential of them together maybe, either way I really like the idea of the adult yan being completely side-swiped by the fact that they have a/another child, that they didn't know about.

If Eric was the one related to Reader, He's probably the whole reason the world order changed so fast in the first place, because when he realizes that he not only lost Pietro, but Reader too? He would be so broken, down to a point where he almost completely lost it. I'm in love with the angst that would come with reader not knowing either, I mean i really really like it, whether reader believed their parents were dead, or that they'd abandoned them, it doesn't change that reader craves the affection of a parent, and the lack of that kind of love hurts them in a way they never let anyone (except the notes they left) know about.

And none of that even touches on how Wanda feels.

I have to brainstorm a little more on Charles, but what do you think?

Also, if reader did have a beast/werecreature mutation, the difference in the way they died could have been way worse :)

Lamb Anon

Hooooooly mole and mother of pearl, 🐑 Anon!!!!! That is so intriguing! (Also, if you want, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the different adults being Reader's parent! Be it The Professor, Wolverine, Mystique, Storm, Beast, or Sabretooth, I'm up to explore it with y'all!) Now, if Erik was the dad... well, it's a wonder the world, or at least a good chunk of society, is not dead. His son is dead. So are his ex (friend's, partner's) two children. And Reader... And he found out that Reader was his child. They were his own flesh and blood. They were Wanda's sibling, as well as Pietro's. And they'd never know.

The notes they left behind, not many, but a few, detailed how they felt... and it's so different from everything they've see- did see, from them. How they don't- didn't have a parent. How they looked up to them, possibly several of them. How they feel shame and guilt and self-loathing, for desiring a relationship between them of parent and child. Their envy, then subsequent self-hate over the fact the others seemed closer, had a bond with a parent that they lacked...

In conclusion... Reader was lonely, lonelier than they ever let on or peek through their mask. They craved what they felt they couldn't, or shouldn't, have: Family. Someone to love them. Someone to want to care for them. Someone who wouldn't abandon them or push them aside or hate them, like they'd always known...

It breaks something inside him.

This was how they'd... felt. Was this how they felt in their final moments? Was it worse? And the way they'd died... It was awful... And it had happened to two of his own, and two of Charles'...

But this-

It will not go unpunished.

Perhaps in the past one of them could have talked the others out of what they're about to do, but this time? None of them are opposed in the least. They'd all lost someone, multiple someones. And the only course to take was to avenge them. It would be bloody, violent, deadly... But it will be better, in the long run. No more war. No more blind hatred. No more fear or panic amongst the people. They will either accept this new peace, or be cast from it. There is no other way...

(He wishes it wasn't this price he had to pay to finally achieve this goal... He wishes it hadn't broken Charles, either... But... At least the world will be better. In the end... he wishes it didn't taste so bitter on his tongue, this newfound peace and the price they'd paid for it...)

Wanda...

She'd seen several things that scarred her.

She'd been in many places where she was alone.

She'd known what it was like to suffer for things one couldn't change.

And now her brother was dead over the blind hatred of others. Scared... alone... and suffering in the end. (Not completely alone Yet he was the last one to #>÷, wasn't he?) She was on her own. There was no one waiting for her. No one to crack jokes, or to share sarcasm with, or to enjoy the dawn with a kettle of tea... No.

He was gone.

And so was Reader.

And it was a new sort of pain, with Reader. Because they were their sibling, unknown and distanced, who would never know of their shared blood or parent... Who they'd never be able to hang out with again.. Who'd never sleep over again, or hug them, or bring over foods they knew they all liked...

She can't help when the tears spill out, and it can't be helped when she's helped tear apart the people who'd done this to them, to her father, to their friends, to her.

(She isn't sure, when the new order is brought about, if it's what her siblings or their friends would have wanted. But with the results? With the fact that they've brought about peace, safety, acceptance? She isn't sure they'd be right. She hopes they're resting, wherever they are. She hopes it doesn't hurt anymore. Yet even so... if reincarnation did exist... or her powers were of a different kind...)

She'd want them back.

And this time, she'd find a way so they couldn't be taken away from them, so they wouldn't suffer the same fate...

[stillfrownyclownlol]

I will also talk about Tyler because he's also not normal about stuff 🫠

Right from the start you get these signs he's protective to a detrimental level lol

(BTW Aidlyn scene cuz I'm not normal about them ❤️ The way he literally wraps his whole body in front of her sent me lmao. Mans got his leg around her and everything 🤡)

He's pretty much like this with Taylor in all their scenes. In the Sorrel House he puts his arm in front of her when they see the phantom (that he does not think is real, considering his reaction).

He also has a tendency to drag Taylor away from situations with out asking for her opinion on it 🫠 He just kinda assumes she will want to go with him. Like when he drags her out of the house after saying the phantom was just a prank.

Sir. PLEASE. Kinda possessive of you-

I don't think Red did this on purpose because like. She hasnt really brought up their culture/heritage or anything in the story so far lmao (I'm crying). But idk like just this behavior reminds me a lot of the guys in my family 🙃 I think Latino boys get kind of socialized to be more aggressive and protective of their families at their own expense. He definitely seems like the kind of brother to impose a curfew- He has control issues like. We all see it right? He's a control freak.

Obviously his dad dying has a lot to do with this. His mother took it extremely hard, so then Tyler "stepped up" to take care of both his mom AND his sister, he's been parentified since a very young age (he doesn't look older than 10 imo). I think he feels a need to "be the man of the house" so to speak. He genuinely does not seem to have any hard feelings towards his mom even tho she...you know, fucked up. if any of you know the "latino boys are mama boys" cliche, but.

yeah.

(I do think Taylor has more mom issues because she kinda resents how Tyler has been parentified and she's allowed herself to be angry at their mom for leaving them to fend for themselves)

Sidenote: It looks like his family is very isolated. Like, its strange that nobody came to help Marianna after Ethan died. This isn't always the case but usually Latinos have large families (my mom's family had to push together eight beds so all the cousins could sleep in one room lol) WHICH probably means Tyler's branch of the family is, so far, the first and only to have immigrated to the US. He's probably already a second or third generation tho, his mom has only one surname and he and his sister never seem to speak Spanish, so I don't think they learned it (probably some basics). I don't imagine they've ever been to Mexico except MAYBE when they were very young (its kinda rare to visit...since...it's so hard to get out of there in the first place...🫠 I dont think my parents have been to Venezuela in more than 20 years...but also Venezuela is in way worse condition, so...)

But yeah like. His protectiveness of Taylor is something that actively works against her and something she dislikes. She always looks upset when he drags her out of a situation or tells her what to do. She just wants to help :(

BABYYYYY 🥲

Ofc she never says anything because for most of her life Tyler has put himself in a position of authority and is her caretaker. It's hard to speak up to somebody when they constantly say "I'm doing this for your own good, for your own safety, for-" Whatever. Taylor always believes Tyler does everything for her own best interests, so... even when she doesn't feel good about something, she'll still listen to him. It's a veryyyyyy slippery slope that can quickly become toxic, if it isn't already. Because besides being her brother, he's put himself as her parent figure as well.

He does the thing. You know. Where parentified kids try to overcorrect so they kind of coddle their own children and don't let them do anything because they're scared to death something is gonna happen to them 💀

I don't really know what the point of this was I just wanted to talk about how possessive Tyler can be and how unhealthy his attachment style is 😭 If I write Tyler and Logan angst tho just know it's gonna involve Tyler being overprotective and Logan being Not Cool TM about it 🫠

[nerdby]

It was never about a throne.

Like I completely reject the notion that Loki took over Asgard at the end of The Dark World because he "wanted a throne."

Because he said in the very first movie that he never wanted a throne. All he ever wanted was to be seen as Thor's equal. He wanted to stop living in Thor's shadow. Why would that have changed?

It didn't. Loki took over Asgard at the end of TDW as his own of getting revenge on his family for taking him for granted.

Like what is the first thing that happens when Thor brings Loki back to Asgard?

What is the very first thing Odin says to Loki?

"Why did you do that?"

"Are you okay?"

Nope, none of that. Let's review--

So the conversation between Loki and Frigga establishes a few things--

Loki has given up hope. He's assumed that Odin is going to have him killed. That's why he says, "Define worse."

He knows that he can never live up to his parents' expectations of him, so why would they believe anything he has to say about the situation regarding Thanos? Why would they believe that Loki never actually planned on ruling Midgard but was sent there because he was being manipulated and blackmailed?

They wouldn't. That's what he's thinking anyway, so he decides to play along cause they've already assumed the worst of him.

Loki wants to hear what Odin really thinks of him -- his precious baby boy that he rescued from Jotunheim.

And one of the first things Odin says to him is,

"All this because Loki desires a throne?"

You can tell from the opening scene that Loki is dreading his conversation with his father. He just wants to get it over with as soon as possible. And the entire conversation is him basically saying,

But it was okay when you did it?

Except he knows it wasn't. He's just throwing Odin's hypocrisy in his own face because now the truth is out there, and everything Loki learned in the first Thor movie has been reconfirmed: Odin does not care about Loki, and deep down he knows he should have just left Loki on Jotunheim to die. Because regardless of whatever plans he had for Loki -- to use him as a pawn in some political scheme:

"By the way, Laufey, you remember that son of yours that went missing eons ago when I was here slaughtering your people--?"

Regardless of those meticulously thought out, painstakingly laid plans Loki is a bad egg. Irredeemable. Undeserving of any sort of sympathy or second chance.

Loki just wanted to hear him say it because he was expecting to die. He wanted to die. He doesn't want to live knowing that he's ruined his mother's life, disappointed her, and completely destroyed whatever chance he had at repairing his relationship with Thor. He doesn't want to live with the memories of Thanos's torture in his head or knowing that the only father he'd ever had only ever saw him as a gambling chip. That's why he spent the entire scene snarking off and calling his dad out on his shit.

So, yes, by the end of the movie he's furious and resentful.

Because his family is still unwilling to say, "We're sorry we fucked up. We're sorry we hurt you."

Throughout the entire film Thor never comes to see Loki or ask if he's okay. The only time Thor goes to Loki throughout the entire movie is when he needs his help to save Jane. He doesn't care about the pain Loki feels -- no, he's just worried about some mortal that threw herself at him during the seventy-two hours he spent banished on Midgard.

Odin and Thor just assume the worst of Loki without even bothering to ask if he's okay. They completely disregard all of the abuse, the favoritism, and the fact that he said flat out that he never wanted a throne. But, yeah, at the end of the day that must be what its really about cause Loki is nothing more than a spoiled brat of a prince, nothing more or less, right?

And that is why Loki took over Asgard and sent his father to a nursing home on Midgard. He is a child, lashing out and furious at the fact that he is being held responsible for his parents' and brother's sins. Now, what was it that Rocket said in the first GtoG movie?

"I didn't ask to get made."

Well, Loki never asked for Odin to rescue him from Jotunheim.

And since the Loki fandom has so far portrayed the emotional depth of a teaspoon, let's just throw this is here to see if we can make the parallels a bit less subtle--

So all of the healing and growth that Loki accomplished in the TV series is not because he's suddenly focused on something other than a throne. Because it was never about that. Ever.

[aenbyveryverygayperson]

OKAY SO

- Ekubo only survives because he met Mob through Reigen (Reigen almost got brainwashed, but he's covered in Mob's and Teruki's aura like supernatural cat hair and Ekubo was too weak to get past that, he followed Reigen to find the source of that power, Reigen let him because Reigen was a fan of Ghostbusters as a kid and thought Ekubo could be a mascot or smth like Slimer) Mob doesn't like that Ekubo follows him at first but it's better than the ghost following Teruki

- When Ritsu gets kidnapped? It goes pretty similar to canon at the beginning, except Mob isn't shy about using his powers At All, he's never been so mad or scared in his entire life, Teruki is helping because he has known Ritsu for 8 years and even if Ritsu's been avoidant of Teruki since The Incident Teruki still does care about him. Mob is barely stopping long enough to be attacked, he grabs the first higher up he sees and just makes the little reverse-barrier smaller and tighter every time they hesitate to answer 'left or right?' through the seemingly endless hallways. At one point he does get caught in the psychic delusion that his brother is dead, but that helps absolutely nothing, that one gets genuinely killed, Mob doesn't even notice. He's brought Ritsu (and the awakening lab but only because Ritsu could grab them quick enough) out of the building before Reigen even arrives. This doesn't help Ritsu's perception of Mob, seeing him tear through seasoned adult espers like wet tissue. Teruki feels nothing but vindication - the people that would attack and try to kidnap a eight year old, the people that took Ritsu, they're gone, they've been dealt with, all because of Mob. Teruki's emotional dependance on Mob grows three sizes that day

- Shou got the Fear Of Mob put into him that day, sadly thst doesn't keep him from poking the bear. Mob does get in on the plan sooner though! Mostly because Mob doesn't have a '???%' to take over when the goings get tough so he was cognizant enough to look for auras with his brother's aura on them after seeing his family burned alive instead of just any esper. Sadly he doesn't see Ritsu before he's already gone through the (solid concrete) building to stand directly on Shou's neck while asking why he did what he did while slowly increasing the gravity around Shou until he can't breath. He didn't die! Just got pretty asphyxiated before Ritsu pulled Mob off him. Ritsu's perspective of Mob doesn't get better At All with this but his perspective of Shou also gets worse

- The thing is Evil Mob isn't even that evil he just feels his emotions and sees his actions as justifiable defence

- Shou's dad fucking dies!!!! He dies alone and nukes half of seasoning!!!!! Shou doesn't know how to feel about his dad because he never fucking apologized!!!!!!!

- Mogami arc. Oh no. OKAY I HAVE FEELINGS ABT MOGAMI ARC SPECIFICALLY WHY DIDN'T MOGAMI USE HIS OWN TRAUMA TO HIS ADVANTAGE - firstly Teruki got Badly injured in the initial attack, but he refuses to go out to an ambulance because Teruki's fucking crazy on his own okay he's got Mob and that's it just Mob and Teru no one else because no one gets it, everyone but Mob is shallow and fake and not to be trusted but if Mob dies then Teruki will be alone so Teruki has to be there when Mob gets back because if Mob doesn't get back then Teruki cannot fathom moving on. Secondly in Mogamiland Ritsu isn't a stranger, he's Mob's brother still, but he's sick. Mob spends the six months being verbally and physically abused by his sick brother who's more angry at his condition than Mob but takes it out on him anyway. Mob spends six months trying to afford care on a student's wage, getting severely bullied at school by Asigiri, ignored by Teruki and then coming home to Ritsu calling everything a waste and then coughing up a lung. The snap is when Asigiri and her group follow him home and start fucking with Ritsu while he's too weak to sit up. Mogami's goal was to get Mob to actively try to kill 'people', and it worked. Ekubo came in a little too late for that, after Mogamiland, Mob doesn't trust himself around anyone but Teruki for a while

- THE TOXIC CODEPENDANT RELATIONSHIP DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN I LOVE THEM GAAA

I-

[curse-04]

Written for @hinnyfest

Prompt 18: Sharing a Sweater

A/N: This is a sequel to my Prompt 4 submission. It was the one with the locker room submission.

-------

Harry and Ginny were talking in very hushed tones about something, and Fred knew that this was more… intense, at least as far as their secrets went.

After the War, it was like Harry and Ginny were inseparable. Everyone had been in their own heads for quite a while, but even still, they all noticed Harry and Ginny getting closer and closer, and no one was surprised when Harry started calling her his best friend.

Fred and George had both wondered if there was more than friendship going on there, but neither had asked, mostly because Harry and Ginny seemed to go on many trips, in different parts of the world, and they seemed quite content after they came back.

But now wasn't the time to think of that, they had a prank to pull after all. Their latest invention, the Secrecy Sweater, was about to be tested on none other than their own family, and Fred and George couldn't wait for their reactions.

Honestly, it was a brilliant piece of Magic, inspired by that of a Secrecy Sensor. It would detect who in a room- except for the one(s) who activated it- had the biggest secret. And it wouldn't come off until the Secret was revealed, or until the Sweater was otherwise destroyed.

They waited until the end of dinner to set it off, though. While their Mum was okay with their Joke Shop, pranking anyone at Dinner was huge 'No!'

As they'd expected, a white mist swirled around the Dinner Table, much to everyone's alarm. Bill, Harry, and Ginny had even drawn their Wands out, trying to make a way through it, to no avail. The Mist was a mere illusion. He suspected they were trying to avoid getting Poisoned if the mist wasn't.

The mist suddenly went for Harry and Ginny, and they were trapped in a Get Along Sweater that said, "Secret Keepers,"

"What the actual Fuck?" Harry asked.

"Fred and George Weasley!" Ginny snarled at the same time, surprising everyone into silence. For a second Fred almost pissed himself, but he felt proud that he kept it in.

"You've got a big Secret you aren't telling us," George said with a smirk, pointing at the T-shirt.

Fred sighed tragically. "Oh, look how secretive they've gotten, George," he said, shaking his head. "They were such innocent children once."

"Tragic, really," George agreed, wiping a tear from his cheek. "Our little sister-"

"How are we getting out of this?" Ginny asked. "Do we have to fight you in this and win somehow? Or do you take bribes?"

"You have to tell your secret," Fred explained. He was certain it would be that they were dating, but he'd wait and see.

"We were about to do that now, anyway," Harry said, glaring at him.

"Well, then by all means, go ahead," George said, smirking at him.

"Maybe we don't want to now," Ginny said, trying to cross her arms, but failing. "Ugh!"

"I could set it on Fiendfyre if you want," Harry told her seriously.

"Hmm…" she trailed off in thought. "Yeah, alright, burn it away."

"WHAT!?" A lot of their family members exclaimed. Using Fiendfyre in a closed space only led to disasters. It was taught in Fourth Year DADA classes. How did they miss that?

"It's only fair," Harry explained, shrugging. "They trapped us in this sweater, I'll burn it to get us out."

"Technically, you trapped yourself," Ron pointed out.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, but Ginny just waved him off. "Eh, semantics," she said.

"You could just tell us…" Mum suggested helpfully.

Harry cocked his head and turned to Ginny, both of them seemingly having a silent conversation before they both let out a frustrated breath and nodded.

"Alright," Harry started.

"We're engaged," Ginny finished.

The effect was instantaneous, Fred's eyes almost popped out of his head, and George nearly spat his drink out. Mum and Dad smiled a few moments later, Ron, Hermione and Percy had their jaws on the floor, and the rest of them just seemed confused.

"But, but," some of them spluttered.

The sweater, however, didn't move.

"It's only a prototype," George explained nervously at their livid looks. "There's a good chance it might not work as intended."

"So, what do we do now?" Harry asked Ginny a while later.

"Well… since it's a prototype, I do think we should test out how durable it is," Ginny suggested with an impish smile, causing Harry to smirk.

"That's a great idea!" George exclaimed as Fred nodded at him.

"In private, of course," Harry said, smirking wider.

"Wait, what?" George said as Harry and Ginny quickly said a goodbye and ran off, promptly disapparating when they were beyond the Wards. "I swear I didn't know that's what they were talking about."

"Fred, George," Ron said with a sigh. "You're both idiots, you know that?"

[rumor-weed]

Links to My Other Muses!

Audrey “Rumor” Weed - My Main Blog! You Are Here! But also check out the blog, it’s got a lot of fun links/little fun bonus bits. Here to spread rumors, gossip, and party hard til the last day. Her best friends are Bob the Tomato and Petunia Rhubarb. Petunia makes sense, they have a history, but Bob? One can only wonder how long they've known each other. They're on a bowling league together, and she loves it. She's very competitive, just probably not the best bowler. She may have sold Jollies, but we forgot to do anything with that plotline so who knows.

Bartlebey the Butler - Oh, Bartlebey. How beloved your bartleblogging has become. You scamp. You scallywag. You may be a Lovecraftian horror who vaguely resembles and sounds like Tim Curry, but is also a Veggie, a Butler, and Bartlebey, but you’re our Lovecraftian horror. Rescued from a few mentions on a dead blog, we made you our own. In fact, really, the only thing we kept was the only information given: your name and occupation. Now we know so much about you! Well... we know more than we did before, anyway. And that information can be found on the provided Veggie Lore page on the blog, if you don’t feel like sifting through all the RP logs. He is madly in love with Charlie Pincher. One could even say he's Charlie Pincher's dream come true. Maybe he is. He doesn't know where he came from, and his memories all seem fabricated. Was he ever real to begin with?

Phil Winklestein - the Toledian actor best known for being Frankencelery, potentially the next great musical playwright? probably not, though. Just really, really attracted to tomatoes for some reason. He's awkward, uncomfortable, and genuinely a little pathetic. A real "poor little meow meow" of a guy, or whatever you call them. He tries too hard to impress and it often backfires on him.

Peter Pepperazzi - the sleaziest Pepper you’ve ever met. He gives off dark, unsettling vibes, and nobody knows quite why he’s so obsessed with the Veggies, but when they became active again the summer of ‘23, he showed up as well, ready to ask questions. Does he seem a little obsessed with Petunia more than the others? What's his angle? Does he look familiar? He says he has a kid. Does he have any other family around?

Lovey Asparagus - poor, sweet Lovey. Went through an awful period of marriage, murdered divorced her husband, and yet he came back anyway, denying any knowledge of the worst of their relationship. She’s a Vampire now and her best friend is Jerry Gourd, so you know we’re following canon VeggieTales very closely. Only source material here, folks. She may have murder a little deeper in her veins than we think, and as her relationship with Archibald - at least, the one who returned - heals, she's considering solving murders and doing a true crime podcast with him. Just as best friends instead of lovers, this time.

Nebby K Nezzer - The man, the myth, the looks-67-but-is-actually-37 zucchini with a rotten love life. The Incident at Glee Club Finals may have been what aged him so drastically overnight, but nobody knows for sure. Rumor has it that he's actually Wally P. Nezzer pretending to be his twin brother Nezzer, but how long has he pretended? He seems to know too well the life of his brother Nebby. Is he more Nebby K. Nezzer than Wally P. Nezzer now?

Art Bigotti - revived famous bowler Art Bigotti, a once-wild party animal who has softened his edge with world-weary bleakness after a game of Jumanji gone wrong. Well, wrong for him. The game probably meant to do that. Either way, he returned forty years later, still the same age he was the night of the Incident. There are many questions left unanswered for him, and drugs, alcohol, and bowling just don’t seem to be the solution they once were in his golden days. His unrequited love for Dad Asparagus is obvious to pretty much everybody except Dad Asparagus, much to his distress and relief. Disrelief? Restress? There's a lot of highs and lows in bowling and love. They have that in common.

Laura Carrot - the child actor/criminal who Uno and Goliath believe murdered Uno’s parents in a Hot Topic. She did it. But don’t tell the cops I said that! She’s just an eight year old with a dream. A dream to own her own getaway truck one day. If only the world would stop getting in the way of that dream... Junior's her best friend, she may have killed Lenny, and she complains a lot about her dad. We never hear much about the rest of the people in her life, and maybe that's for the best.

Goliath Gottik - dated Uno in his younger days, though after the Incident, it became clear that Uno was suffering a severe breakdown and refused to grow, staying mentally in 2006 for the last seventeen years. He became a professional boxer, cameo’d on VeggieTales, and recently became more active in acting. Because of the whole Laura thing, he doesn’t really trust kids and believes they’re all criminal masterminds. He's not really smart enough to stop seeking medical advice from his veterinarian-combo-doctor Dr. Larry, which does lead to some wacky situations. He's constantly annoyed by his doctor, but maybe he thinks of their situation as friends, maybe as enemies, or maybe just really confusing frenemies. Seriously Goliath, why are you still going to him for medical advice? God forbid you actually need real medical help one day, it may be the death of you.

Pa Grape - Uno’s adoptive father. Tom and Rosie just aren’t around any more, they live out of state, and they never visit. Ma? Well, Ma seems to have gone a long time ago, and Pa doesn’t mention it. If you ask him, he’ll just faintly smile and allude to the fact that she’s been gone a while, a little sorrowfully. And sure, that looks like confirmation that she’s passed, but she could just be on a very long vacation, or they could be divorced, and who even knows. Pa’s been losing his memory lately as he ages, and he does his best to get by with the help of Uno, who needs to let go of the past and accept the way things have changed to heal in time to appreciate his father. Pa Grape also was front-man for Three Days Grace Period, a Three Days Grace cover band. His wife may be a car? Seriously, his wives are definitely a confusing subject, and I don't trust Pa Grape, even if his cover band was kind of cool.

Shannon Cedric “Uno” Scallion, or, Alternatively: Nameless Scallion/Scallion Number 1 - Yeah, he’s goff. He writes fanfic. It’s always 2006 for this scallion, who seems unaware of time passing, though Pa is helping him through his emotions and pulling him out of Emo Hell. He’s worried for his adoptive father, who despite his emo ‘you’re not my real dad’ attitude, he genuinely loves and sees as his dad. He’s embarrassed by the name Shannon (not goff enough), used to go by Cedric before The Incident, and then eventually settled on ‘Uno’ as an appropriate substitute. He's starting to catch up on time, or maybe time is catching up on him, and he's recognizing Pa Grape's aging and falling back into his old self - pre-incident. (I manage this blog with the permission of the owner, who has currently abandoned the project due to unforeseen drama in his life. He did promise to possibly add more ‘secrets’ to the blog, if you know what to look for in the URLs, and might return to his fanfics soon.)

Kilt “Bagpipe” Rhubarb - You know him. That Scottish or maybe Irish lad. And if you don’t? Send him some asks and get to know him. He's a Yale man, a redheaded rhubarb who's inexplicably flirtatious and a little horny. Before Archibald came back, everybody knew him as "that fella Archibald cheated on his wife with". Also a general menace to their society. He's not who he says he was, but who is he then?

Tom Grape - He just wants to be left alone. Why don’t you bother him with some asks?

Egg Boy - He likes Eggs. What else do you need to know? An orphan who wants to know who his parents were, and is also a biter/has sharp teeth like a shark. For a few years he thought his father might be at the bottom of the sea...

Vicki Cucumber - like, ugh, whatever 🙄 she's over it. she's done. She's not even all that into him, and maybe she's just trying to cover up her feelings for someone else. Or maybe she's madly in love with both of them. Or neither of them. It's so not your business.

Scooter Carrot - he’s hip, he’s Scottish, some kids call him oddball, some kids call him weird…

Mr. Beet - Not to be confused with his brother, Mr. Beast, Mr. Beet runs a hotel and generally is pretty pissed off all the time. Maybe there's a dramatic backstory his episode didn't cover, but we'll sure figure it out if we ever get around to focusing on our many many characters. Seriously. Look at this list. This is just Ryan's (me) list. You know how many characters I plan to ADD to it?

Joetato Jonas - star of Camp Rock 2: the Final Jam and Head Brother of the Jonas Brothers. He just wants to be appreciated for being famous! He's THE Jonas Brother!

[onlineproblems]

ok not to be a mommy issues bitch but i was working on my story that i've been trying to write for like 3 years. and thinking about my mom. and wondering why i feel so much angrier at my mom than my dad, though they both wronged me. in different ways which arent really comparable but neither one more or less than the other.

my dad was distant and never praised me, always had criticism, higher standards for me to meet, and rarely told me he loved me, was the disciplinarian parent who wasn't involved in parenting unless it was to punish us. he's very different now that we're adults and i think he's realized that he won't have a relationship with his kids if he keeps acting that way, because he texts me often to tell me how much he appreciates and loves me. and although he knows i'm a godless atheist liberal, and he always tries to work god bullshit into the conversation, he basically still accepts me.

meanwhile my mom would always talk to me growing up -- about whatever, her frustrations with my dad, emotional stuff, our interests, religion, etc. we didn't get super deep because even when i was a christian i didn't share much with my family, but i was closer with my mom than my dad. i thought of her as more open-minded than my dad, but suddenly it was like a turn-around happened (or i just became more aware) and she was suddenly spouting low-key alt-right anti-vax, homophobic, end times bullshit and it kind of sucker-punched me to hear it from her. if i ever thought i could come out to her, i was quickly disillusioned. she said something like 'god would cause gay people to die sooner so that they wouldn't keep sinning' and i just had no response. she got her counseling license this year; she's a marriage and family therapist. fuck.

she's divorcing my dad which i think is a good thing; their marriage was not happy. he was basically incapable of expressing his emotions and he didn't mistreat her but he definitely didn't treat her right. he has decades of unprocessed trauma and he can't stop watching porn. i discovered it on the family computer when i was 10 years old. he tried to commit suicide five years ago. he locks up his computer and tells his whole church about it for 'accountability' and punishes himself but he can't stop. i don't know what the fuck went wrong with him. my mom won't tell me what happened to him but she's implied that he might have been molested or had something similar happen as a kid. i don't fucking know. how they've been married for 30 years i have no idea.

i have compassion for them both but i hate they way their bullshit has affected me and my brothers. my dad's inability to cope prevented him from taking care of us. my special needs brother went without the care he needed because my dad wouldn't leave his work in rural africa, because he was afraid of living in the us and feeling inadequate. he was an expert in his field there, but in america he was just another guy. i was depressed and suicidal and untreated and my mom probably was too but her ideology didn't allow her to disagree with her husband, so we stayed. and i hate her for that. for never challenging him, for just bending to his will when we all needed help. when my brother needed medical care that wasn't available where we lived.

i feel stunted, my emotional development so behind where i could be if i was allowed to interact with my peers during my formative years, because of my parents. our house had a yard with 8-foot walls around it and i never left there except to go to church. i had to cover my body for 'modesty.' i hated my body. i had an eating disorder. i was afraid of other people. i couldn't make friends. without going into detail, there were times i felt exposed to predatory men when i should have been protected by my parents.

and like....my dad should have taken responsibility, he should have woken the fuck up and cared for us instead of being in his own head all the time. i feel like i should be angrier at him and hate him more. why is my hatred more for my mom? is it because we were closer, so the betrayal feels deeper? is it because he's making a real effort now, actually putting work in to change the behaviors that harmed me, while my mom seems to have no awareness that she caused harm? i mean, she blames everything on my dad and doesn't really take any responsibility. i started cutting in college and she lamented to me last year that she ''really wanted to move back to be with me" but my dad didn't want to come and "she didn't know what cutting was". her excuse was she had never heard of cutting, and her husband said no.

she's had so many missed opportunities to care for and support me. i've been open with her about what i believe in, what i want to do, how i've changed, and her responses seem perfunctory, while my dad actually seems to take an interest in me even if he disagrees with most of my beliefs. i guess i feel like it's more important to me that he's actually trying now even if i don't think he'll ever really change. the effort is what matters to me. i don't think my mom is interested in trying -- it doesn't feel like she is. but i don't know. it just feel wrong to hate her so much more than him. it seems disproportionate.

i've spent time in therapy for most of these experiences so i'm not horribly affected by them anymore, and being an adult and having distance from my parents means it doesn't cause the agony it did when i was a teenager, but as they're divorcing this year it is bringing this sense of 'choosing sides' a bit closer. so a lot of memories are coming back up. in 2021 i spent like 4-5 months processing ptsd from my childhood and now i feel a little residual angst from it.

i'm a functional adult, and i'm pretty happy day-to-day. i know everyone has their own issues and traumas that inform their lives that we just don't see, nobody has it all together, and i try to keep that in mind and be merciful to myself when i feel like i should be...idk better at life. it's pointless to think about what-ifs and i don't, really, but i am pretty bitter and angry about how my parents could have spared me a lot of pain when i was young and had little control over the way my life went. i never want to have kids, for a lot of reasons, but i can't imagine giving birth to a child and not being intentional about the way you care for them, knowing that it's inevitable you'll fuck up, but wanting to be as informed as possible and giving them the best you possibly can because they're basically helpless. you can't be selfish when you're a parent. if you have a kid simply because that's what you're supposed to do, what the fuck are you doing? that's a person. i look at the children i know, or at my younger siblings, and i can't imagine not sacrificing my desires to care for them. abstractly, i don't like kids and i feel awkward around them, but jesus christ. your own child? especially if you chose to have that child? you're just going to sit back and let them suffer, because you don't want to be uncomfortable? don't have a kid if you can't handle it.

sometimes i wonder if i'll ever be normal enough to feel safe by myself, after my experiences with predators that my parents didn't protect me from. if i can leave my house alone and not feel a little bit of panic under the surface. i'm hopeful since i've made progress over the years, but it comes in waves -- grows and fades. i wonder if i'll stop automatically going on the defensive when certain subjects come up. if i'll stop having nightmares about being sent to hell and my mom telling me she was right all along. i wonder if i'll ever be able to feel normal about having a disagreement with someone i care about, without feeling like i'm sinning, like i need to be punished or i need to absolve myself because i'm so used to emotional abuse and neglect from my parents and church and 'god' that it informs my interactions with friends and especially my spouse. creeps in when i'm vulnerable and makes me act horrible when i want to be well-adjusted and healthy.

this be the verse, eh? they fuck you up. they really really do. and this really got away from me but god i just had such an outpouring of thoughts. it was cathartic. and i can't journal so it all goes to tumblr lmao.

[talentforlying]

a moment in time, #7, or 14!

07.     wish they had taken more time to savor while they were in it.

he's in the kitchen with his sister, and they're still in their funeral clothes.

it's a funny sight: cheryl in her nice black dress, purple rubber gloves up to the elbow, doing the washing up with her good pearl earrings in. he remembers, a few years back, how she'd sworn off ever wearing jewelry around that bloody disposal again; how he'd fucked up snaking the drain trap for her little silver chain so badly he'd almost burst the pipes, while she fretted and moaned about it being a gift from tony, how silly she was for not checking the clasp, how cross he'd be if he knew how she'd lost it.

really, it should have been HER snaking the drain, since she was the one who actually knew how and john had always been lost with household things like that, but that was just the way they did things, most of the time — he'd offer to help, and she'd let him. didn't have to do any good.

thinking back, he wonders if it'd been a sibling sort of thing, watching your kid brother flounder just for the shit of it; if she'd just liked laughing behind her hand at him whenever he tried something that should've been bloody SIMPLE and fell flat on his face. other times, he wonders if it'd been a mother sort of thing: giving him the chance to do all the little shite he'd never learned how to. letting him go until he gave up or got it, then pointing out the way to do it that was miles easier, honestly, you silly bleeder, how've you survived all these years faffing about like that? you'd take the ring road to the toilet if you didn't leave the door open to see it.

they're talking serious things as they wash and dry; gemma, two years out from her brush with kidnapping and seeing ghosts at granddad's funeral. cheryl shit scared, trying not show it; voice wobbling as she asks him whether he thought something had happened. he can't look at her when he consoles her, because he doesn't know; he doesn't lie to his sister. tries not to, anyway. deflects to talking about her husband, because he knows it'll make her mad, and they're constantines: they do pissed better than they do sad.

besides, cheryl's always loved her husband the same way she loved their dad: with her eyes shut tight.

used to be that he resented her for it, before he was old enough to understand. how could she not know? how could she leave? how could they meet years later with her telling him their dad wouldn't really hurt anyone, couldn't hurt anyone, oh john you know what he's like, and him with scars smarting under his shirt sleeves and a ringing in his ears that will never fully go away, wanting to scream i know what he's like, but do you? did you ever? did you even fucking care?

but he's grown, now, and so has she; left the anger behind with gemma's first diapers and tony's resurrection crusade membership and the house in liverpool they won't ever go back to. it doesn't matter anymore. they've outlived him.

he makes her laugh. her laughter makes him laugh. one day they'll be older than their dad ever was, and hopefully happier, and they'll stand in her kitchen at christmas and new year's and do the washing up in purple rubber gloves, and it'll be just like this, but without their funeral clothes. nothing hanging over them except the sound of leslie gore crooning from a room away and their first glass of red for the day. gemma all grown, with friends and family of her own to do the washing up with. tony hopefully shafted in the divorce, or at least being a little less useless in a far corner of the living room.

he didn't want to stay like this forever, then — wounds still raw and fears still fresh, memories of his dad's hair burning in the crematorium. both him and cheryl sad and scared, putting on faces so the other can get by. but he will. god in heaven, he will.

she doesn't quite get to be older than their dad, in the end. fifty-nine, and still too young. too bloody young.

jesus christ, cheryl, he wasn't supposed to outlive you, too.

@thedipshits / A MOMENT IN TIME PROMPTS

[livia-dovehallow]

why would falling asleep in a carriage make him a bad father?

I saw some saying chot proved he didn’t care much because he didn’t do anything when Alex thing happened, which again was a super OOC scene in a book with many questionable narratives

no idea! i guess they're claiming that means he's ignoring his family which is insane honestly like can a man not sleep? he also just came from a boring ass dinner i would sleep too

in that exact same scene, Christopher is leaning on his dad's shoulder ALSO falling asleep and Anna refers to Gabriel as "Papa" which is a title of endearment (as opposed to Father)

that scene in CHOT cannot be used as an end-all-be-all of his character, especially when there are numerous other examples that contradict his behavior. here are my thoughts on it:

Would he have actually held Cecily back from rushing Tatiana to get Alex back? For a moment, yes, and I'll tell you why. In that exact moment, I would expect Cecily to think with her heart before her head to get her toddler son without anything to actually help her stop Tatiana. I think Gabriel would hold her back long enough to give her something useful then let her go again while being right behind her himself, saying something to Tatiana.

But he didn't even react! He reacted a little, and I think that it was woefully understated in CHOT than what we actually would expect from him and what I would consider actually in-character. He definitely was stated to look angry (as one would be when your psychotic sister is holding a knife to your child's throat), but where the track goes disasterous for his characterization is that he doesn't do anything about the anger except hold Cecily, who is described to be near-hysterical (also a bit out of character for her, too, even if she is canonically more affectionate in nature). If they were actually given the size of role they deserved in CHOT, Gabriel would have been the one speaking (angrily, but controlled enough not to immediately put Alex in more harm's way), and Cecily would have been actively scheming some kind of plan to get her son back safely. Gabriel and Cecily aren't stupid, and despite their tendency to be rash when younger, they've been parents for nearly 20 years at this point, and they would do what it takes to get their babies back BUT without putting them in even more harm's way. This is where I think people's anti-Gabriel/Cecily points just aren't valid. You can't expect them to immediately rush at someone who is inches away from killing their kid, even if they desperately want to. They have to be careful. Alex can't protect himself in his situation, unlike perhaps what Anna or Kit might have been able to do if it were them instead. They've trained--Anna is a full Shadowhunter as she is past the age of majority--and can actively help their parents get to them by mitigating risk factors. Alex is THREE. He CAN'T.

This turned into a much longer rant than I expected but god I hope none of y'all ever have to face such a situation with your own kids because obviously you think rushing into dangerous situations without a plan is a great idea

[callmeelle22]

Like A Star

Pairing: Barry Allen x Iris West

Rating: M

Word Count: 12, 957

Summary:

And it’s that caprice that scares her. It’s so easy to find herself wrapped up in him. She likes that fire in him and it’s there every time he lays claim to her. When he wraps his hands up in her hair as he’s riding her; when he whispers sweet nothings in her ear before they fall asleep; when he presses kisses to her mouth until she can’t breathe; when he coaxes smiles out of her on days she’d rather wallow in her feelings. She swears he holds the whole of her heart in his hands and she wants to want to follow him down any path he leads her on.

She can’t help thinking though, what if he takes her with him as he dives headfirst into heartbreak?

Or, Iris and Barry find themselves evaluating their relationship after an argument.

Read on AO3 here or below.

I.

In one of those flashes of memory, Iris remembers going to a tree lot with her parents before her mother died. She knows that she was too young to really remember, but she gets flickers of images, of feelings: of sitting on her dad’s neck as they ducked through the maze of trees; of the overpowering smell of pine and evergreen; of her mom’s wide grin as she ran her fingers over the tree needles. She can almost see the lights looped along the gate of the lot, and the slight swell of her mother’s belly, the idea of a brother still a far off concept for Iris. She remembers that joy, feeling like they were a family, one of the few moments before her brother’s presence had seemed to bring everything to a head, before sickness came and decimated them.

This is not like that.

“Iris, there’s no way that tree is going to fit in my apartment.” 

His voice comes from behind where she’s standing in front of a tall Douglas fir tree. He brushes by her, the sandalwood of his cologne wafting and mixing with that of the citrusy scent of the tree. “Plus, who pays this much money for a tree? Christmas is right around the corner. Shouldn’t the trees be on sale?”

He tries—and fails, Iris decides—to hide the hint of frustration in his voice. It’s been that way for days now, short fuses and unthinking responses, like stars shooting through the sky before one can even make sense of it. She doesn’t even try to keep the frustration out of her own voice, snapping back as she turns to him. 

“Barry, you know this will fit in your apartment. You agreed to this. You offered to buy the tree and now you’re being annoying about it.” She throws her hands up. “You brought us to this lot.”

They’ve been at the Christmas tree lot for a half an hour at least.  The lot sits on a stretch of land in northern Central City, trees neatly lined up by type and height for easy browsing, but they've yet to agree on one to put up before the Christmas Eve party they’re hosting together. It’s an unseasonably warm day, the temperature hovering near the 50s, and Iris is getting hotter by the moment, her exasperation at Barry almost stifling. It’s only a week until the holiday, and the lot is crowded with families and couples there to get a tree last minute, same as Iris and Barry.

Except maybe they’re smiling more than she is.

“I’m not rich,” Barry retorts, “my parents are. Besides, with the way the newspaper is doing, you’re probably making more money than me.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Then it’s probably time for me to leave you. All of your fans know I’m only with you because you’re a rich white—”

She cuts off with a yelp as Barry grabs her wrist and pulls her to him. She falls into his chest, gripping the lightweight sweater he’s wearing, the material soft under her fingertips. She first looks straight at his chest, her tall-heeled boots still only putting her at his shoulder. Then she blinks up at him, taking note of the way his emerald green sweater makes those seafoam eyes of his look bright through his gold framed glasses, and how the light dusting of hair on his face highlights the cut of his jaw. His hair is a mess, that ruffled look she likes, and Iris hates, sometimes, how attracted she is to him.

His fingers are loose around her wrist, but he brings her more firmly against him with the other hand, fingers spreading wide under the hem of her white, black, and camel colorblock sweater. 

“That refrain is getting old, West.”

“Yeah?” She pokes him in the chest, ignoring the flutter that runs through her when he squeezes her waist. “Tell that to all of your insane groupies on the internet.”

“I don’t need to worry about the internet groupies when my girlfriend is just as ins—”

Iris snarls. “Finish that fucking sentence, Allen.”

He gives her a smirk, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly as he tilts his head to catch her eyes.

“I don’t need to worry about the groupies because my girlfriend is insanely smart—” Iris snorts, but Barry ignores it, leaning forward as he speaks. “—insanely talented—” he licks his lips, eyes boring into her, that flutter expanding until she can feel it in her chest and in her belly and right at the juncture of her thighs, “—insanely sexy.”

He punctuates that final word with a peck to her mouth, once, and then again, this time a little open-mouthed, with a lick against her tongue and a bite to her bottom lip. She pulls back when he does, but only enough that their lips are still hovering against the other’s.

He moves his hand from under her sweater, sliding down slowly over her hip to give her ass a firm pat. He dips his head and inhales against her neck.

“I thought I was the boss in this,” he murmurs.

She rolls her eyes. “Only in the bedroom.”

“Hmm,” Barry hums, nudging her jaw with his nose. He presses a kiss there. “Or in the living room.” Another press of his mouth. “In the kitchen.”

It takes all of Iris not to melt into him, not to be won over by the way his hands feel so hot on her, even through the fabric of her clothes, or by the way his voice dips with the promise of his body in hers.

“Right,” she says, though it sounds much more like a moan; Barry hears it too, and smiles against her skin. 

“So then we can get the cheap tree?”

She allows herself the space to indulge in one last kiss, reaching up to curl her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. She licks into his mouth, tasting the sweet mint he’d just sucked on. 

“No, Barry,” she says, when she finally pulls away. “It’s our first time hosting and we are not choosing a skinny Charlie Brown tree.”

Barry pauses for a minute, and Iris knows what he’s going to say before he does. She steels herself for it, knowing that whatever comes after won’t end the way she wants, or the way he wants either. But it’s Barry and he can never leave well enough alone so he throws it down anyway, frowning as he says,

“You know it still doesn’t feel like we’re hosting when we don’t live together. It’s just a party at my house that you’re taking over.”

And just like that, that frustration from earlier comes back ten-fold, and Iris steps out of his embrace. He lets her, dropping his hands from around her with a loud sigh.

“Iris…”

“No,” she shakes her head, and starts in the direction of the entrance. “You’re right. It’s your house, it’s your party. I don’t live there. I don’t want to live there, so you should pick whichever…”

“Wait.” He starts after her, his long legs catching up with her in just a couple of strides. He grabs for her arm again, and she yanks away from him. He frowns at her, eyes flashing from the slight, and Iris’s sudden anger won’t let her feel bad about it. 

“What do you mean you don’t want to live there? You mean at all?”

This is a conversation he’s broached before, though the stakes hadn’t seemed as dire as they do in this moment. They haven’t even been together a full six months, and a half a year doesn’t even seem like enough time to be sure if this’ll work, not to say anything of moving in together. It’s such a big step, such a commitment, that Iris breaks out in hives at just the mention of it.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Barry throws his hands up. “So when do we talk about it, Iris? A year from now? Two?”

“Maybe.” She shakes her head, reaching up to run a hand through her hair, pushing the dyed red waves back from where they’d fallen in her face. “Yes, maybe we wait. We don’t even know if we work, really, you know. Who even says we’ll be together in…”

“Iris, what are you…” he interrupts and then trails off as he moves toward her, standing firm in front of her. He reaches for her again, and she doesn’t stop him this time. “What do you mean we don’t know if we work? Are you already breaking us up?”

“Of course not. I just think that we haven’t even been together for six months and…”

“And fuck that six months!” The harsh tone of his voice startles Iris, if only because he follows it with, “I’ve been in love with you for over half of my life. I know that we work; I know that I want to spend nearly every one of my waking moments with you. Do you trust me so little that you’re expecting our breakup?”

“No!” she shouts  back, because this is not how she wanted to spend her Saturday morning. “I love you, B. You know that. But we’re still new and we’re still figuring it out. Look at us; we’re in a fucking Christmas tree lot arguing. What about that says we’re ready to move in together?” 

She waves her arm out, indicating the people trying to ignore the heated couple, their voices harsh, if not loud, the tension radiating like heat waves from the sun. Iris feels like she’s boiling, mad at him and at herself, the truth of her feelings for him the only thing she knows, even if she can’t make them translate to the easy acceptance he’s come to. He is a star, brilliant and vibrant and unlike anything Iris has ever seen, has ever experienced before. He’s always been luminous, even if he claims it’s her, and she feels as if she has to venture in slowly, lest she be blinded by him. Lest she get lost in the intense, sharp light of him.

“I just need time,” she tells him, pleads with him, her voice soft. “You told me when we started this that you would go as slow as I wanted. You lied.”

The accusation hits him like a punch, and he snaps back, his body going rigid. The expression on his face changes to one Iris can’t readily read, though it reminds her of younger them, that same shuttered gaze and pursed mouth that had appeared after one too many fights in the school cafeteria.

“You’re right,” he says, stepping away. Iris wants to stop him, to try to explain that she’s not breaking them up, that she’s only being careful. But the words won’t come. Instead, she watches silently as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his keys. “I’ll come back tomorrow to get the tree for my party. And you can get whatever time you want.” He starts for the entrance, pausing to call over his shoulder, “Come on. I’ll drop you off at home or at work or wherever.”

“No, I,” Iris shakes her head. “There’s a coffee shop inside. I’ll hang out there and call an Uber.”

She can see Barry’s mouth open to object, but she turns away from him before he can say anything, instead heading in the direction of the attached coffee shop.

The coffee shop is packed when she walks in, filled with kids chugging hot chocolate while their parents inhale caffeine like life lines. It’s a fairly large spot, with four- and two-top tables placed neatly on either side of a barred walkway leading up to the counter. Tucking her tote bag more firmly in her elbow, Iris steps into line behind a couple, their little girl standing between them, her hands clutching both of theirs. Drawn to them, Iris watches the scene for a moment. 

Iris has long ago realized that the gods are not on her side, but she’s sure it’s confirmed when she notices how much the couple remind her of her and Barry. The man is tall and slim, with tanned skin and wavy dark brown hair. The woman, though a bit more shapely than Iris, has ochre brown skin, a full red-painted mouth, and box braids hanging past her butt.  The little girl is a perfect mix of them both—tall for what seems to be her age, clear cafe au lait skin, big chocolate brown eyes, and a thin nose. The image comes to her, again, one that isn’t new but one that still catches her off guard when it hits her. She sees herself and Barry like this, with both a little girl and a little boy, curly-haired and hazel-eyed, with Barry’s easy grin and her expressive features. She’s seen it before, visions of herself with Barry and children, the dreams so often recurring it’s as if they’re prophetic.

But she isn’t ready for any of it, not really, and it’s hard to say why, to name the reason behind her hesitancy. Iris loves Barry. Has loved him in all the ways that you can love someone—as family, as a friend, even as an enemy. She has loved him as a lover since before she realized what that meant. She loves him because of who he is, that passion and intensity that’s an innate part of him. It’s in everything he does and everything he says, and Iris cannot help but be enamored by it. He is right brain, feelings and intuition first, despite his love of science. And she is his opposite, thinking and facts first, even if her writing fuels her sympathies. He jumps headfirst into situations, their consequences be damned, and he does it all with a lilting smirk and an arrogance that would make her want to cut him if he were anyone else. He makes her feel things she doesn’t understand, things that go against the grain of rationale, of reason. 

And it’s that caprice that scares her. It’s so easy to find herself wrapped up in him. She likes that fire in him and it’s there every time he lays claim to her. When he wraps his hands up in her hair when he’s riding her; when he whispers sweet nothing in her ear before they fall asleep; when he presses kisses to her mouth until she can’t breathe; when he coaxes smiles out of her on days she’d rather wallow in her feelings. She swears he holds the whole of her heart in his hands and she wants to want to follow him down any path he leads her on. 

She can’t help thinking though, what if he takes her with him as he dives headfirst into heartbreak?

“Miss, can I help you?”

Startled out of her reverie, she looks at the young man behind the counter, waiting impatiently for her order.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologizes, having not even realized the line had moved forward. A look to her left lets her know that the family is standing on the side of the counter until their drinks are ready, the little girl now cuddled in her father’s arms. She shakes her head, as if that’ll clear the image of them—the one with her and Barry’s faces superimposed on theirs—and then she quickly scans the board of coffees. There are a myriad of choices, so many of them holiday themed, and she briefly considers the Irish coffee option before deciding on a large hot chai latte.

“It’ll be right up,” the young man tells her after she pays. Her drink only takes a few minutes, and then she’s walking back through the crowd to find somewhere to sit. She resolves to put the entire thing with Barry to the back of her mind until she’s home and she can analyze it all, so she settles at a small table in a corner, pulling her laptop out. She figures she might as well get some work done while she drinks her coffee before making her way back to her downtown loft. In a few clicks, she’s got the shared Google database they use pulled up, and she’s editing an article that Linda submitted about new commercial buildings going up in an area that wants to keep its familial feel. It’s a long piece, over 1000 words, but well-written with the humor and insight that readers have come to expect from Linda’s articles. 

She’s making a quick comment in a paragraph about rearranging the order of sentences for more bang when the chat box pops up in the corner of her screen.

Linda: why are you online? aren’t you and barry supposed to be tree shopping?

Linda: don’t tell me you left him to go work.

Linda: you are such a workaholic.

Iris: *eye roll

Iris: You are so ridiculous; I can’t even get a word in. No, I didn’t leave him to work.

Linda: but you left him?

Iris: Technically, he left me.

Iris: We got into a fight.

Linda: oh good lord. of course you did. about what?

Iris: The moving in thing.

Linda: Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.

Iris lets out a breath, the first full one since she’d walked away from Barry. She’s so incredibly grateful for Linda.

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

When Iris first decided to finally give in to Barry, she’d made an effort to talk out her feelings first. With her mom and dad, she walked through how seeing their relationship had scarred her, feeling proud that she had been able to name that toxicity, feeling even prouder when her father had acknowledged that role in her life as well.

What she knows is that her parents had loved one another but that love hadn’t been enough to save their relationship or, in the end, her mother. 

What she knows is that she watched them be in love one minute, fight the next, and then end the cycle with silence before starting it all over again. At three, and then four, and then five, she had only understood what she had felt, scared and unsafe. And Iris is unsure that that feeling has ever fully dissipated.

What she sees is the same thing happening to her and Barry, despite her will for it to be otherwise. They are dazzling, the two of them: entertaining and loving and passionate. Brighter than anything Iris is seeing right now in the sky as she’s sitting on her best friend’s patio, wrapped in a thick blanket and cupping a mug of spiked hot chocolate. But then she remembers what Barry had told her once before: that stars are just balls of gas, and that shooting stars are even worse…meteors colliding with the Earth’s atmosphere until they’re consumed by it.

“You alright?” Linda asks as she comes out, sliding her patio door closed.

The temperature is sitting at a cold 45 degrees, and so they’re in matching flannel pajamas and her outdoor heater is blasting them, keeping the chill away.

The whiskey infused cocoa might be helping too.

Iris is curled in a chair, her phone face down on the little table so that she doesn’t notice Barry not reaching out to her. Linda falls into the seat on the other side of the table, placing her own blanket over her lap, bringing her cup to her mouth.

Linda lives just on the eastern outskirts of downtown, a quick ten minute drive or so from Iris. Her apartment is in a neighborhood of apartment buildings, each competing with the other by offering gym memberships or bedroom balconies or half off the first month’s rent. Linda lives on the fifth floor of a building with dark features, dark red brick and charcoal gray trim, and a sliding glass door in her bedroom that leads to her patio.

It’s a beautiful night. Linda’s side of the building faces out onto a manmade pond, the height of buildings behind them, the length of trees surrounding it. Iris can hear the nocturnal activities of the imported fish, the steady rhythm of the cicadas that live in the thick patches of grass. There are wisps of clouds in the sky, like stretches of cotton across a midnight blue canvas, and the twinkle of stars is a bit more prominent out here away from the flood of lights that Iris gets at her place. 

After they’d left the lot, Linda had taken her to their favorite pizza buffet where they’d both immediately ate their weight in artisan pizzas. Then they’d come here after, Linda tossing her the pair of pajamas she’d bought as one of Iris’s gifts, a cozy black and white flannel set that she’d gotten to match her own set. Now they’re sitting out and watching the night, alternately talking and thinking.

“Linda, what if Barry and I are really just playing ourselves?” It’s not what she believes, not really, but she finds that she needs to say it aloud.“Is it really supposed to be like this? This fighting? The nights spent without each other? This ache?”

Iris thinks her voice breaks on that last part.

“I think,” Linda says slowly, carefully, “that you are both these very impassioned people. You both feel things wholly and unequivocally. And it’s not a bad thing, to feel, even this much, despite what we think in society. But you’ve both been done a disservice by your parents.”

Iris’s nose wrinkles at that. “What do you mean? Henry and Nora have a perfect relationship.”

Linda points her cup at Iris. “That’s what I mean. I don’t know the Allens but I know they don’t have a perfect relationship. No one does. They’ve either figured out how to coexist in a way that’s healthy or they’re just good at faking it. But Barry, and even you, see that and think that they don’t have to work at it. That it just is. And your parents were the complete opposite.

"Before I found my mom, I would get shipped off from foster house to foster house. And in many ways, I was lucky. I was never abused or starved like some people I knew. I also got to see a lot about human nature, I guess. These couples would foster and would only have their shit together on paper. I was witness to arguments about bills and cheating and people taking their partners for granted. It helped me to see what I didn’t want to ever experience. And when I moved in with mom, I was able to see what healthy looks like. She was dating Nathan the entire time and although they didn’t get married until I moved away to college, I was still witness to their communication habits and the way they cared for each other. I’m not perfect and Amanda and I have our disagreements. But all of that therapy mom sent me to, and her own therapy, helped us figure out how to cope.”

Iris finishes the pull from her mug that she’d taken as she listened to Linda, licking her lips as she takes in what the other woman has said.

“So you’re saying that Barry and I have a communication issue?”

Linda barks out a laugh. “You don’t need me to tell you that, Iris.”

Even Iris can’t hold in her chuckle. “Okay, yes. We’re horrible at that. And I see your point. We’re both victims of our circumstances, I guess. I know that my parents’ relationship wasn’t a good one. And as much as I try to fight against it, I find myself falling into those same patterns.”

Linda gives her a soft smile. “The sins of our parents, huh?”

Iris nods, biting at her bottom lip. “You think therapy would help us?”

“I think therapy would help most people. It’s something both of you have to want to do. And it might take a few tries to get to one you think works for you. But I think that you and Barry can be incredible together. You have to want it, Iris. You cannot be afraid of it for the rest of your life.”

Iris leans back in her chair at that, throwing her hand up dramatically to her forehead. “God, we’re not even dating for a full year and I’m talking couple’s counseling.”

“It’s what you do when you want someone in your life for the long haul.” Linda tilts her head, curious. “You do want that, right?”

“I have dreams,” Iris starts.

“Oh god no,” Linda exclaims. “Sex dreams? Don’t you and Barry have enough…”

Iris’s slipper hitting Linda’s chest cuts off her ramble.

“As I was saying,” Iris rolls her eyes, but she laughs a little too. “I have these dreams where I see my life ten years from now. Twenty years from now. Even before we got together, he was always there somehow, snarking at me, smirking at me, always making me feel alive.” She shakes her head and says it again, almost as if the reality has just sunk in. “He makes me feel alive, Linda.”

“Then there you go.” Linda throws out the words matter-of-fact. “We’ve been working for shit our entire lives. Don’t let this be the one thing you give up when it’s what you want so badly.”

“Thanks, Linda.” Iris grins over at her. “I feel bad that I’m always bringing my Barry issues to you.”

“These aren’t really Barry issues. They’re you issues.” Linda shrugs. “Besides, I’m your best friend. It’s my job. The same way it’s your job to listen as I tell you that I think I’m falling in love with my girlfriend.”

Iris turns to her friend, eyes wide. “What?”

Linda gives her an uncharacteristically shy smile, nodding as she places her mug down on the table.

“I haven’t told her yet but I’m thinking maybe at the party. I can…”

Iris doesn’t even let her finish. She squeals, interrupting her plan and jumping out of her seat, planting herself in Linda’s lap as she throws her arms around her neck.

“I’m so happy for you!”

Linda laughs and circles her arms around Iris’s waist.

“Amanda is kind and beautiful and you’re the literal best person in the world.”  Iris kisses the top of her friend’s head and then places her cheek there, smiling even as her own feeling of uncertainty won’t settle.” You deserve nothing but the best love, Linda Malese.”

Linda squeezes her, the suspicious sound of a sniffle accompanying her next words.

“So do you, Iris Ann.”

II.

Christmas Eve brings in a morning sunny and cold. Barry lies in his bed, naked except for a pair of boxer briefs, his comforter pooled just above his waist as he looks out of the window. He can’t see much from his bed, just the brick and concrete of the buildings in his neighborhood, the windows that only reflect back. He’s been awake for nearly an hour now, and he guesses he should be getting up soon. 

He doesn’t have much to do. With Iris gone silent, he’s spent much of the week preparing for tonight, using it to get out of his own head, to make sense of the fact that Iris always feels the need to run away from him when things start to get uncomfortable. Or perhaps, when things become too real.

The woman frustrates him on such a molecular level that Barry sometimes wonders why he even tries. But that thought doesn’t get very far. She’s been a part of his life for so long, been a part of him for so long, that the thought of her no longer wanting to be is maddening. It brings to mind a star at the end of its life, slowly collapsing in on himself. So instead of sinking into the metaphorical black hole, he’d alternated thoughts of he and Iris with the tasks necessary to get his apartment ready for the party.

For the remainder of Saturday and all day Sunday, he’d let his anger guide him. He’d called and ordered the biggest tree that could conceivably fit into his home while wallowing on the couch and trying his best to forget that she’d walked away from him, that she’d told him in only barely disguised language that she wasn’t sure if she saw a future with him. That had meant a little too much of his fancy apartment scotch and endless sniping at episodes of CSI.

Monday brought clarity, the kind that manifests after a weekend of too much drinking. He’d called a cleaning service, paying extra to have them come in the following afternoon, and he’d thought while he’d been making the plans. He’d wondered if maybe Iris was right, about things moving too quickly. If she was right in her wish to take things slow and steady instead of rushing straight into forever. Sure, they’d loved each other for years, but they’d only just uncovered that love, had only just moved away from the biting and deliberately hurtful words. 

On Tuesday he let that thought fester, calling to confirm the decorators, caterer, and bartender for the end of the week.

On Wednesday he resolved to call her in the morning after she was sure to have had her coffee already. The decorator would be coming by on Friday and the caterer and bartender would be there on Saturday to set up two hours before people were expected to arrive. The sinking feeling started to recede, the light returning.

On Thursday though, he’d tried to call her and she hadn’t answered. He’d chalked it up to her being busy, until he’d walked into Jitter’s and saw her laughing it up with some guy. The anger had returned. Because why was it so hard for her to see that he wasn’t going anywhere? Did she really think they wouldn’t work? Did she really believe that he wouldn’t try his hardest to be everything she needed him to be? Was the real reason she wasn’t ready to move in because she was already ready to move on? Was he being irrational? Probably, but it was what was in his gut. He’d left the shop without his coffee and instead, with anger and despair coalescing into one ball sitting in the pit of his stomach. At least he’d figured everything out and all he needed to do was open the door for the people he was paying to make his apartment a Christmas wonderland. He would be useless later.

Today, he just misses her. She hasn’t called him back because she’s the most stubborn woman he’s ever met in his life. Plus, he can probably admit that the whole “you can have all the time you want,” he’d thrown at her last week had likely had something to do with her lack of communication. Still, he has to know if he’ll see her later. He pulls out his phone.

Barry: Are you coming over tonight?

She responds in minutes.

Iris: Of course.

Iris: Were you able to get everything set up?

Barry: Yeah, I did.

Iris: Great!

Iris: And I’m sorry about not getting back to you. This week has been insane and I really did need the time.

He watches as the three bubbles appear on the screen, disappear, and appear again.

Iris: Can we talk later? After the party or in the morning?

Barry: Yeah, sure.

Iris: Beautiful. I’ll see you tonight, okay, B?

With that, he throws his found down on his bed. He doesn’t know why, but somehow that entire exchange has only filled him with dread.

She’s the ninth person to walk through the door.

His parents arrive first. At just before a quarter till 8, almost right after the caterer and the bartender finish setting up, Barry hears the knock at his door. He makes his way through the apartment, noting that his dining room table has been transformed for the food, a burnished gold tablecloth laid out across the space with trays of appetizers on sticks, cheese stuffed jalapenos wrapped in bacon and shrimp skewers and  sun-dried tomatoes with goat cheese, among a host others. The bartender has a set up in the corner just before the hall that leads to his half-bathroom and his bedroom, a portable one-man bar where he’s created two holiday themed cocktails (a cranberry martini and a holiday mai tai) in addition to having a ridiculous number of red and white wines and bubblies available. It’s got all the makings of an excellent party, too much booze and too small food and he hopes it can keep the dread about the talk he and Iris are supposed to have out of the way.

His parents are on the other side of the door when he swings it open, beaming at him as they’ve always done, proud if even they wish he’d push for more.

“Oh Barry, honey, it looks great in here.”

The decorators had done an excellent job, somehow making his home look more spacious and cozier at the same time. Some furniture has been moved around to allow for the look of more space and there’s cleared flooring right in front of the tree and the window that can act as a spot for dancing if anyone is inclined. In keeping with the more natural-toned decor of his apartment, the theme follows a mix of golds and browns and various shades of red, a little green sparsed through for color. There is tinsel in places he wouldn’t have thought to put it and baubles hanging from random corners, but Barry can admit that it looks incredible to his untrained eye. The tree is the star, the nice Douglas fir fitted right in front of his expansive window, an eye treat for the apartments around his. There’s a bit a white sprayed on the leaves for the look of snow. It's just underdone enough that it looks elegant instead of gaudy. White gold lights are placed strategically, as are the mix of gold and white-silver ornaments, and it’s got the carefully curated look that’s made to appear careless.

“Thanks, mom,” he says as he greets her with a kiss on the cheek and a one armed hug. He shakes his dad’s hand as he gestures them both in. They step fully into the house, looking around, no doubt for Iris. Just as his mom opens her mouth to ask, a knock on the door sounds and Barry doesn’t even try to hide his sigh of relief.

For the next half hour, he ushers people in, hanging up coats in the closet next to the door, kissing cheeks and shaking hands. Joe and Cecile follow a couple his parents have known since before he was born. Kamilla and Cisco are next and then two of the CSIs from another shift, one and then the other. And even with just these few people so far, his house is getting loud with the sound of laughter and merriment. 

He’s standing by the Christmas tree when he feels the shift in atmosphere and he knows when he looks up towards the door, she’s going to be there. She’s a beacon, he swears, Polaris guiding him home. Despite his lingering anxiety, he happily answers to the pull of her, stepping away from Cisco talking mid-sentence.

He reaches her just before she can clear the half wall that opens out into the living room. She comes up short when she sees him, as if she’s surprised that he’s right there. Linda comes in behind her, moving around her to greet him. She and her girlfriend are in red, Amanda in a form fitting red dress that reaches her knees and Linda in a red pantsuit with heels as high as Iris likes to wear. His girlfriend’s best friend mutters a “hi, nerd” before pressing her cheek against his, so as not to mess up her lipstick he supposes, and harshly muttering that he and Iris “need to get your shit together.” Amanda just gives him a smile and a warm hug before following Linda over to the bar.

Then it’s just her, always just her, and Barry has a chance to take her in. She’s standing there in a dress that he knows she wore purposefully to fuck with him. There’s no other reason for it, the swatches of cloth that show as much of her skin as it covers: the fabric a brilliant blue velvet, with a sweetheart neckline on one side and the fabric leading into a bow on the other shoulder; the dress fits close to her frame, falling to the floor in the back, a high split in the front showing off her legs to the middle of her thighs. The contrast of her red painted mouth and the complement of her usual sky-high stilettos is disarming, but Barry can be convinced that that’s the liquor talking.

(It’s not the liquor talking. He hasn’t had anything to drink since last week.)

He looks to her fingernails painted the same red as her mouth, her fingers tight on the sparkling clutch he’s holding, and it makes him lift his eyes to see why she’s gripping it so tightly. Barry finds her dark whiskey colored eyes scanning the length of him. He’s in black trousers, a white shirt open at the throat, and a red jacket with black lapels. Iris loves any reason to dress up, so when they’d sent out e-vites to the party, they’d decided on cocktail attire. With this crowd, it leans a little more black tie, even for a house party in the business district of Central City. Barry knows he looks good, and by the way his girlfriend is eyeing him, she thinks so too. 

It makes something in his heart perk up, this full-bodied scan she’s giving him. His shoulders feel broader just because she’s eyeing the width of them, the line of his pants longer. The heat of her gaze crawls over his face, and Barry presses a hand to his stomach as if that’ll stop the burning he has for her.

“West,” he says in greeting.

The corners of her mouth tug up, though she doesn’t give him a full smile. “Allen.”

He takes a step toward her, clearing the couple feet of space that feels way too far. Tilting his head, he licks his lips and asks her, “Do I get a hug?”

She swipes a tongue across her own lip on an inhale, exhaling as she lets the plump bottom lip go. She nods her assent and he immediately closes the remainder of the distance, tugging at her arm to pull her to him. He wraps his arms around her waist, spreading his fingers out wide as if he needs to feel as much of her as he can, and he does notice that she doesn’t hesitate to lean into him. She keeps an arm at his waist, so her clutch doesn’t fall to the floor, and the other she wraps around his neck, her fingers immediately going for the hair at his nape like she always does.

Barry lets himself fall into her too, holding her tight, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. The feeling of her, of them, like this, is home—contentment and desperation and familiarity all wrapped up together, with love and hope and fear mixed in too. But in this moment, when the sound of poppy music is playing in his ear, and his friends are all laughing over drinks that taste like christmas, and the only woman he’s ever loved is wrapped up in his arms, he wonders how he’d survive if she were to ever decide that she didn’t want to be his home anymore.

He holds her tight to him, inhaling the scent of the shea butter in her hair and the almond oil on her skin as he lets his head fall into the crook of her neck. He wants to whisper to her all the things he’s been thinking about her this week: that he’s sorry for leaving her at the lot, that he’s angry at her for always running away, that he’s missed the feel of her in his bed.

That he doesn’t understand why there’s a knot in his belly telling him this is the end.

“I don’t understand why it’s always me that has to catch y’all like this. Don’t you guys do enough of this in private?”

The sound of Wally’s voice coming behind them pulls them apart. Barry is reluctant to step away from her and there’s a tiny flare of optimism at the knowledge that she’s slow to move away from him too, her hand sliding down from his neck to his chest before leaving his body completely. 

Wally is there with Brandon, both men in trousers and jackets, and green and red shirts respectively. Wally shrugs out of his coat and takes his boyfriend’s, hanging them in the closet before telling him,

“Barry, I’m gonna send you my therapy bill after I talk about all of these traumatic moments in my life.”

“Why me?” he asks, turning to face the other man. He nods at Brandon and shakes his hand. “Iris is your sister.”

“You’re right,” Wally nods. “But you’ve always been like a brother to me so I’ll let you both split it.”

Iris shakes her head in annoyed amusement but she’s always been a sap where her brother is concerned and she leans up to kiss the side of his head.

“We can just add it to the bill I need,” she murmurs, mostly to herself. Barry frowns down at her but she isn’t paying him any attention as she takes Wally’s hands in her own. “C’mon. Dad and Cecile are already here and I haven’t spoken to them yet.”

She starts to move past him but he stops her with his hand to her hip.

“I’ll see you in a minute?”

She touches his hand. “Yeah. In a minute.”

Any hope that he’d cultivated from being wrapped up in Iris is sufficiently dismissed when he realizes that she’s avoiding him. It takes him a while to see, as he plays host of the party. The constant knocking on the door means he’s moving from there to other parts of the apartment, making sure that drinks are full and his time isn’t being monopolized by old doctors who want to tell him stories about himself that he doesn’t remember. He watches Iris flit from group to group, awing women and enamoring men with her wit and her smile—and that fucking dress—the bright eyed and slaw jawed look a telltale sign as she walks away.

But everytime he comes to the group she’s talking to, it only takes a minute for her to decide she should be somewhere else. And at this point, Barry is pissed off at the mixed signals she’s giving him. He’s going out of his mind wondering what she’s thinking, what she wants to talk about later, and he has firmly convinced himself that she’s here to break it off.

He corners her in the half bathroom. The sound of the music and the people muffle as he slips into the room right behind her, pushing against the door before she can close it. She whirls around when she hears him, the bottom of her dress flapping and opening, giving Barry a glimpse of her thighs. He swallows.

She doesn’t look very surprised to see him. She just waits until she hears the snick of the door and then leans against the sink, folding her arms over her chest. He can’t read her expression and, for the first time since they’ve been together, Barry sees her intentionally put up a barrier between them. It makes his heart squeeze; the idea that he could lose her before they even really get started is one that fills him with a thick sort of desperation. He takes a deliberately deep breath, pushing down the panic that threatens to overwhelm him.

“Barry,” she mumbles, tilting her head in question. The bathroom isn’t large and space is limited with the both of them there. The floors are tiled in white and gray marble, with a white porcelain sink just a few feet away from the toilet. She’s not as close as he wants her to be, but he could reach out to touch her, if he tried to. Her scent fills up the bathroom, gone from his sheets after a week without her, and he wants to revel in it.

“Did you come in here to get away from me?” he asks her.

He reaches out to touch her, testing first, a hand at her waist. Then he tries for lower, on the curve of her hip. Her arms drop as he moves to press himself against her, just the faintest brush of his chest against his. She grabs at the bottom of his jacket on either side as she shakes her head in response to him, looking down at his chest.

“Iris?”

Her thin-heeled shoes put her shoulder level to him, but she keeps her head down. It’s as if she can’t look at him, Barry thinks, the way her eyes meet his for only a millisecond before they’re bouncing around again. He grabs her chin between his forefinger and thumb, lightly lifting her face to his. The opportunity to turn away is there, for how gently he’s holding her, but she doesn’t take the out.

He looks at her, really looks, at the clear penny brown of her face, the dark chocolate of her eyes, her lengthened lashes brushing her bottom lids every time she blinks; he takes in the soft snub of her nose and the full curve of her mouth. She’s always been the prettiest person Barry has ever seen, and she only seems to get more beautiful every time he looks at her, every time she stares back at him. Because she is right now, staring back at him, that ice from before thawing the longer she does. It’s his Iris in there, every iteration that he’s loved since he was six years old. Her snark and her caution, her passion and her trust, her anger and her insecurity and her convictions and her love. There is his love in there. But Barry cannot always reach it, the feeling as bright as a star, as elusive as one too.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, Iris, you are. I thought that hug meant..” he breathes out. “What’s going on, Iris, because I’m not liking this.”

“I’m not avoiding you.” She shifts on her feet. “I promise. I just… I forget how much you overwhelm me. I can’t think when you’re around and I..”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Bar..” she starts, but he gives a light shake of his head, stopping her.

“Is this some sort of new breakup method?”

Iris opens her mouth to respond and then closes it. “What?”

“Is that what you meant to do, when you came here dressed like this? Content to ignore me, to have me panting after you?”

“Barry, I would nev..” 

“You don’t call me for a week. You don’t answer me when I do.”

“I told you I was busy!” she tries, interjecting, but Barry doesn’t think he’s there anymore, not fully. He’s latched onto this, this feeling, this fear that this won’t end the way he wants it to.

“I don’t,” he starts, but he doesn’t know exactly what he means to say as an image of Iris picking up the hem of her skirt and running away from him, like the night of his parent’s gala, fast despite her heels, comes unbidden. 

“I just…” he starts and stops again, and he presses a hand to his heart, hoping that it stays right there in her chest like it’s supposed to.

“Do you want me to beg, Iris?” He licks his lips, his gaze steady on her, his hands tight on her body. “Do you want me to get on my knees and beg you? Because I will.”

And before he even realizes what he’s doing, he does, dropping to his knees, his hands moving to grip her on the sides of her thighs.

“Barry,” she says his name, her eyes wide, but nothing else comes out. He doesn’t know where to go from here either. 

He lets his head fall onto her belly, the velvet of her dress soft against his forehead. He circles his arms around her, fully hugging her to him, not even caring about how uncomfortable it is for his arms to be stuck between her hips and the sink.

The silence reigns. There is the faint noise of voices on the other side of the door; he thinks he can even hear Cisco’s boisterous laugh. The music is the loudest, an acoustic version of Joy to the World that he’s not sure he likes. But none of that can take away from this moment here, especially when Iris sinks her fingers into his hair.

He holds on to her, for how long he doesn’t know, just reveling in being there with her. The scratch of her nails against his scalp, the sound of her breathing, the thumping in his chest. This is…it’s… it.

“I’m begging you, baby, not to give up on us so easily.” His voice is only an octave above a whisper. 

Her voice is even softer when she answers. “I’m not. I’m just scared we’re gonna fuck this up, Barry.”

And what can he say when he’s afraid of the same thing?

They’re playing an eclectic mix of music, R&B and pop versions of Christmas music mixed with neo-soul and motown. There’s an ipad that's plugged into a speaker, and the guests get to add music to the queue at their whimsy. The ending of Mariah Carey’s most popular Christmas song is ending as he steps next to Iris.

They’d stayed in the bathroom for only moments more, until Dr. Williams knocked on the door to use it, giving them both amused glances when they came out together. He’d given her a bit of space—given himself a bit of space—walking over to talk to Joe and Cecile while she put on a smile for his parents and a couple of their business associates. But now she’s alone, standing by the tree that he should have just let her pick out, a glass of the cranberry martini in her hand. He moves to stand next to her and she gives him a soft smile when he brushes his arms against hers.

The song changes then, the stark quiet of an opening, and then a voice comes on, with a slight rasp, the melody of a piano accompanying her, “Just like a star across my sky. Just like an angel off the page… ”

“Hey, dance with me?” His voice is low and steady as he asks, holding a hand out to her. She looks at him for just a moment, then she tosses back the rest of her drink and sets the glass down on the windowsill. Then she takes his hand.

He leads her into the space right in front of the tree, twirling her out once before bringing her back to him, looping an arm around her waist. They move together, in the light of the tree, under the pull of the song, their eyes locked. It’s just the two of them again, everything around them fading until it’s but a dull hum in the background, his focus only on this moment.

“ ...Just like a song in my heart. Just like oil on my hands. Oh, I do love you. ”

Barry hums at those lyrics and Iris tugs on her bottom lips with her teeth, her nails absently scratching at his nape.

“ Still I wonder why it is, I don’t argue like this, with anyone but you. We do it all the time. Blowing out my mind. ”

“This song reminds me of us.”

She says it before he can, but he’s thinking it, the lyrics so true to their current circumstance that it’s as if she wrote it for them.

“ ...you make me feel like I'm alive. When everything else is so faint, without a doubt, you’re on my side. Heaven has been away too long… ”

He hums in agreement, pushing her out into a spin that she catches on to easily. She comes back into his chest with a smile, this one the most genuine he’s seen all night, the words of the song still enveloping them.

They dance for the remainder of the song, swaying easily to the music. 

And when the night ends nearly two hours later, and she peels off her dress and climbs into bed with him, curling around his torso, he hears the words before he falls asleep,

“Can’t find the words to write this song. Oh, your love.”

III.

He reaches for her in the middle of the night.

In the space that belongs to quiet and contemplation, Iris wakes to the feel of Barry’s fingers stroking her belly, his long body nestled up behind her. All of him is hard, his thighs pressed against hers, his sex nestled on her ass, his chest warm on her back. She can’t say that they've gone this long without each other since they’ve been together, and her body responds immediately to him. 

He traces on her slowly, like he’s carving lyrics into her skin, oh, i do love you. She lets him touch her like that, just those slow, easy words, her body sinking, melting into the bed, into him. But it’s not enough, it’s never enough, so she shifts on the matress, turning on her back. The color of his eyes look almost translucent in the dark, with only the faint lights of the night seeping through Barry’s windows. There’s a depth of an emotion there, has been there since he’d fallen to knees for her earlier tonight, but it’s magnified somehow. He climbs on top of her, holding himself up on an elbow, watching her for a long moment before he makes his next move.

He leans down to kiss her, and she welcomes him greedily. An entire week, she laments, without his mouth on hers, and the moan that escapes when their lips meet is instinctual. She reacquaints herself with the feel of his mouth, the shape of his lips and the slide of his tongue, even the bite of his teeth in her bottom lip. She’s only ever liked kissing Barry like this, with the sort of intimacy that asks of openness and freedom, for connection and a weakness for the other.

They kiss and they kiss and they kiss. Iris opens her thighs for him, letting him sink into that space that’s reserved for only him. She wraps her arms around his neck, keeping him close, her breasts—nipples puckered—pressed tight against his chest, her thighs squeezing on his hips, his dick nestled against her pussy, hard like steel, the responding rush of her wetness coating him. Her hips move, seeking him, but he stills her with a firm grip to her left hip, fingers spread out against her flesh.

“I’ve missed this,” he tells her, gravel in his voice, the sound gliding across her skin. “Your mouth, the feel of you beneath me, your smell in my sheets.”

He kisses at her mouth again, sucks her tongue into his, holding hard onto her hip. She loves the slight roughness of it all, her mouth swollen and the indentation of his hand on her body. Her eyes close as she basks in it, as Barry starts to alternate kisses, on her mouth and then her cheek and then under her jaw. He licks a path down the middle of her torso, right into her belly button, before kissing his way back up. He kisses around the top of her left breast, then plants an open mouthed kiss there, the sensation different but not unpleasant, her nipples hardening in request for the same attention. He gives it another kind, the strum of his fingers, as he slides back down her body. The slight chill of the air cools at the moisture his mouth leaves and the heat of his breath and of his body warms her up, and it’s that dichotomy that has her breathing out his name.

He looks up at her at the sound, still moving down, tracing his hand from her hip to her thigh to open her for him. She watches him, as he pushes down on her thigh lightly, the action causing her other leg to flex down too. He settles himself between her thighs, breaking eye contact as he faces the whole of her ready for him. But she doesn’t need his eyes anyway because she’s got his tongue, licking into her without ceremony, and then Iris can’t see anything besides the back of her eyelids.

She can feel, though, the swipe of his tongue as he licks up the center of her once, and then again, and then again, before tongue kissing her cunt, using the whole of his mouth to cover her. Her hips arch off the bed but he’s there to hold her back down, with both of his hands now, the rough tips of his fingers contrasting so beautifully with the way he’s so softly kissing her sex. He circles a tongue around her clit, lapping gently at the nub, then comes back down to taste the wet coating her walls. It’s a rhythm he starts, up to her clit, down to the very core of her, slow and easy and open-mouthed and so. fucking. good. 

She whispers his name in the dark, “Bar-Barry,” stuttering out the syllables because nothing is clear anymore, nothing except this, except them. The pleasure builds, a mounting inferno, and Iris finds herself screaming out for him as she comes, “Barry-y ,” his name loud, her voice cracking there at the end.

He comes up and she breathes out heavily, her chest heaving, Barry’s torso flushed red with the exertion. He settles on his haunches, and licks out at his lips, at her juices covering his mouth.

“Come here and taste yourself,” he demands, and she follows the directive, rising to her knees to kiss him. It’s such a lewd action, tasting the tangy sweetness of herself on him. He wraps one arm around her waist, squeezing her to him. Then they’re moving. It’s when they’re together like this that Iris remembers how strong he actually is. He maneuvers them so that he’s sitting on the bed, up towards the pillows, lifting her so that she’s in his lap, legs on either side of him. His legs cross under her and then she’s wrapped up around him like a lotus, his dick nudging her belly, her body still wet and throbbing, readying itself for his length. 

It’s unusual for Barry to be this quiet in bed. This feels different, with a depth to it that’s been missing the past week, their brief separation a space of tension and restrained energy. Maybe he’s living in that place now, giving this moment significance, even if they don’t quite get it yet.

Still, she cups his jaw and asks. “Are you okay, Barry?”

He presses a kiss into her palm. “I’m always okay when I’m with you.”

It’s not quite the truth. He knows it and she does too, but she understands what he means. When it’s just the two of them, when they’re not worried about anything other than giving and receiving pleasure, when the only thing that matters is their mutual infatuation, they can be okay. After tonight, Iris is committed to making this feeling the one that prevails.

Now, though, it’s the pleasure she wants, the unspoken need for him growing. He catches on to it, in her head and in her body like always. 

Barry reaches down and she looks in between their bodies, watching the way his elegant fingers circle the length of his sex. 

“Rise up just a little,” he tells her, and she holds tight on to his neck, bringing herself closer as she lifts her hips just enough that he can seek entrance to her heat. He pushes in, just a little, before bringing his hands back to their favorite position and bringing her down fully on him.

“Fuck, Barry,” she hisses out, at the same time that he grunts against her mouth, his teeth biting down hard into his lip. 

They’re both still, savoring the feel of each other—the heat and the slick and the desire. She holds his gaze, wondering how she looks to him, with her puffy mouth and her hair out of its bonnet, falling against her shoulders. Her eyes have likely gone dark, the brown of them like liquid chocolate when she’s aroused, her lids lowered so the only thing she sees is him. He’s so beautiful to her, the sharp cut of his jaw and the straight line of his nose, her yearning reflected back at her ten-fold in his stare.

Their movements are slow, steady. She rocks her body atop his, just light thrusts of her hips, and he keeps her focused, his grip tight on her as he guides her to whatever cadence he’s hearing in his head. She moves her hands to his shoulders, the action shifting her just enough that she seems to fall deeper onto him, her sex flooding with arousal at the change, her sex gripping him tigher too.

“God, Iris,” he murmurs against her mouth, his breaths deep, harsh. “Tell me that you’ve missed this. Tell me it wasn’t just me.”

“Yes,” she moans, and he doesn’t fuck into her faster, but somehow it’s deeper, so much deeper, as he holds her body at a slight tilt. She lingers in this rush of unadulterated pleasure, in the flex of Barry’s hips, and in the the sound of their sex-the heavy breathing, the slide of her skin on his, her slick dripping down on his cock.

“Yes what?” he questions. She can feel it coming, just like before, though this seems more gradual.

“I’ve missed you, B,” she says, eyes drifting as it climbs, up through her thighs and right to the juncture of her thighs. “I missed you so much.”

When she comes, it’s hard, her body clutching Barry’s, her nails digging into his sides, stars exploding behind her eyelids. He comes with her too, the flood of him in her womb such a carnal feeling that she almost comes again.

He drops his head down on her clavicle, softly kissing at her skin until they’ve both calmed down. Then he leans back and pats at her ass. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up and go to sleep.”

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

When Iris wakes up again, she’s alone in the bed. She’s in the middle, the comforter twisted around her, her hair a mess around her head because her bonnet is still lost in the pillows somewhere.

She feels rested, despite their late night dalliance, but her limbs do still feel achy from the exercise. She reaches up high and then does a full body stretch, pushing out her legs and basking in the memory of this morning. It’s a twisted one, the tender yet intense way he’d held on to her, the haunted look in his eyes, the honest glimpse into the same fear that Iris harbors, a fear that she, naively, had thought that Barry didn’t.

When she falls back straight onto the bed, she startles at Barry sitting in the chair that’s in the corner of the room. He’s in just a pair of sweatpants, his torso bare. He looks a little bit like a depraved  angel, hair messy and lips pouty, his eyes darkened like the murky blue of the Atlantic Ocean.

She can’t read much in his gaze, not quite understanding what his silence means as he looks over at her, hands steepled over his stomach. She stares back at him and she can feel it, the strength of the love she has for him, like a physical thing. It’s warm, when she just lets it be, flooding her system, cocooning her in its embrace. It’s only when she doesn’t, when she allows the fear to take over, that it hurts, like a lightning bolt hurtling straight through the sky to strike her in the heart. 

After the week she’s had, she knows what she wants. Last night had been eye opening, the differing interpretations of their relationship, the terror that they’ve both been living with, the truth that it’s them, it’s always been them, it will always be them, as long as they try. Linda was right, that they can’t do this alone. She hadn’t intentionally avoided him at the party, had only meant to gather her thoughts; but Iris never wants to see Barry like that again, on his knees because she’s letting things she’s got no control of run her. That she could do that to him… she shakes her head. She just wants forever with him and that starts with them talking.

“You want breakfast?” The question comes out of left field, but she goes with it.

“Sure?”

“I ordered some from the little spot at the corner. They're open until just noon today. It should be ready soon. I can go grab it while you shower?”

She nods. “Okay.”

She watches as he stands, the length of him unfolding from the chair. He grabs a white t-shirt from one of his dresser drawers and slips it on before doing the same thing with sneakers and a coat from his closet. Then he comes over to the bed, standing against the edge.

“Come here,” he calls for her, his voice a touch deeper than it was moments ago. Like it always does, the command makes something primal flutter through her. She obliges him, climbing to her knees to reach him. She’s still naked from the night before, and the slight chill in the air causes goose pimples to rise on her skin. He’s there to stave it off immediately, pulling her close to him with his palms full of her ass.

He just stares down at her, at first, his gem colored eyes vivid. She’s always thought that there was something erotic about being naked against a fully clothed man like this, that illusion of dominance that she will only ever admit out loud when she’s in bed with Barry. She feels safe with Barry in that. She knows not fully, not until she’s worked on the emotional scars that are too deep to be merely talked out, to be loved out by Barry. But she has this, here, and it’s worth fighting for.

“What?” she asks, finally. 

He puckers his lips at her and she obliges him here too, pressing her mouth to his. It’s a quick kiss, and Iris finds herself following after him when he pulls away.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he says.

She nods. “Okay.”

He gives her left cheek a quick slap and then he starts for the door.

“Hey Allen,” she calls out. She waits until he’s facing her again to say, “I love you. You know that, right?”

“I do know,” he nods. “I love you too, baby.”

She does take a quick shower while he’s gone. She dresses in a pair of his old boxers and one of his t-shirts, despite the fact that she keeps a few items of clothing here, and brushes her hair up into a topknot. By the time she’s done, Barry is back, unpacking the food he’s brought.

The living room doesn’t really look like there was a party here last night. The caterers had packed up their goods and the bartender too, and apart from a couple champagne and martini glasses still sitting on the tables and windowsills, and the decorations, his apartment looks like it usually does, cozy and lived in. It only occurs to her when she sees the light of the tree on that it’s Christmas morning. She and Barry have plans to make rounds later on, to his parents’ for early evening cocktails and then to her dad’s for a low key dinner.

They decide to sit on the sofa to eat. He’s gotten them both containers of chicken and waffles, with a sweet jalapeno syrup. There’s a citrus fruit platter, slices of grapefruit, oranges and kiwis, with some blueberries and blackberries there adding color.

She’s only a few bites in but she’s going out of her mind with anticipation and so she just blurts out, “I think we should go to counseling.”

He, apparently, had been feeling the same apprehension because he exclaims at the same time, “Are we breaking up?”

They both gasp at the other, mouths wide in shock.

He puts his plate down on the table, and wipes his hands against his sweatpants before turning to her.

“Counseling, Iris?”

She doesn’t like the incredulity in his voice, as if counseling is a concept that doesn’t have a place with them, but she’s more concerned with his worries right now.

“Barry, why do you keep asking me if we're gonna break up?”

“I’m just trying to figure it out.” Barry stands, moving from around the coffee table, starting to pace in that space on the side of the couch. He stops after a moment and turns back to her. “Is this another way to keep from letting your guard down?”

Now, she swears he’s just being obtuse.

“No, Barry. This is me explaining to you that I think we need some help.”

“So you’re telling me that you don’t think we can be in this relationship alone?”

She stands up too, exhaling loudly. “I’m, apparently, not telling you anything because you won’t listen. This is what I mean. Our every conversation is snark and innuendo. And if it isn’t, it’s because we’re arguing. Like right now.”

“This isn’t an argument,” he disagrees. “This is me wondering why I’m not enough for you, why you want to bring someone in to talk about things that we can solve.”

Iris shakes her head vehemently. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

She takes a second to look at him, to really look. Sometimes it’s easy to forget the world Barry grew up in. In some ways, it was like hers. Present to others an image that doesn’t ask questions, keep issues in house. But, at least where the two of them have been concerned, they’ve never been good at that. Her heart has always been on her sleeve for Barry, and his for her too.

She grabs his arm and pulls him back down on the couch and he lets her, going with it when she crawls into his lap. She thinks they need this closeness to finish this conversation. His hands land on her hips, their natural spot when she’s anywhere near him, and she spreads her fingers on either side of his neck. She can feel the pounding of his pulse beneath her fingertips, as fast as her own, and Iris takes a calming breath, hoping that he can mimic it too. She’s determined now, to fight for this, but not in a way that’s going to keep hurting them both.

“The way we are right now,” she starts, gaze intent on his, “we’re not, we’re not safe for each other. You’ve spent this entire week thinking I'm going to break up with you because of an argument and I’ve been spiraling, scared out of my mind that my hesitancy is going to ruin us. That’s not healthy.”

He seems to be listening now, taking the words in as they are, not to react to them. She nods and continues.

“When I asked you for time, to go slow, I wasn’t being difficult. I know that I’m still learning what it means to be involved with someone else. And, frankly Barry, you are too. Unless you were lying to me about your previous relationships.”

He shakes his head with a quick flex of his fingers on her hips. “Of course I wasn’t.”

“We are not the perfect Allens or the destructive Wests.  We’re going to have to work at this in a way that your parents might not seem to and trust each other in a way that mine didn’t. We can’t just expect it to work because we love each other. Because if it doesn’t, if we b-break, I don’t think I c-can…”

She sees Barry’s expression soften at the break in her voice, at the vulnerability she’s tried to keep at bay, even with him. She bites at her lips as he circles his arms around her tight, stemming the tears that are inexplicably threatening to pool in her eyes.

“Counseling’s not just about us as a couple, but as individuals. Don’t you want to be the best for each other?”

Barry’s stares at her, the sensation as potent as it always is. It’s a crazy thought, that the man can see into her soul just by looking at her, but she swears it's true, especially when they’re together like this. He had always been able to get into her head, his pointed remarks effectively hitting their target; he had always been able to get to her heart, the only person who could make her feel. And now she thinks he can see right down to the bones of her.

“I’ve always told you that I’ll give you whatever you want, West. All you have to do is ask me. I mean that.”

She smiles at him, big and wide, for the first time since last Saturday.

“Then please, Barry Allen, can we go to couple’s counseling?”

Barry sighs loudly, running a long-fingered hand over his face. “Yes, we can.”

Iris yelps in delight, leaning down to give him a big kiss on the mouth. 

“I will say,” she adds, thinking now,  “that you didn’t give me the tree when I asked for it.” She nods her head at the tree sitting brilliantly in the window. “And you still got the one I wanted.”

He snorts. “It was the principle.”

“It was your ego.”

He harrumphs, but doesn’t respond to that. He goes quiet then, reaching up to caress her cheek with his knuckle. He comes to a stop under chin, his thumb rubbing gently against her bottom lip. 

“Don’t let a week pass us by again.” He speaks softly, his voice deeper somehow, the sound shooting right to the core of her. “You can't go that long without talking to me. I won’t accept that again.”

She nods, her face still in his hold, her body lighting up in response to the command. “I won’t,” she whispers back.

“Come here, star,” he says, and she’s moving forward before the new nickname registers.

She tilts her head in question. “Star?”

She thinks his cheeks pink as he answers with a shrug. “I don’t know. I was thinking about that song we danced to last night.”

She continues her descent, stopping when her chest is brushing against his, when her lips are put a millimeter away from his. “You’re such a fucking sap, Allen.”

She ignores the sap in her own voice just now.

“Yeah?” He keeps his gaze steady on hers. “How about I take you in the bedroom and show you how much of a sap I am.”

She gives a smug grin, this one reminiscent of those goddamn smirks he’s forever giving her. “Or you can show me right here.”

He does it then, that smirk of his wide as he goes to pull at the hem of her shirt. He taps at her hip, thrusting his a little. She shivers on top of him, her eyes fluttering closed.

“God, I fucking love you, Iris.”

She looks at him through the narrowed slits of her eyes, her smile lust-drunk as Barry cups a hand over one of her breasts, rubbing gently over a dark brown-tipped nipple. “I love you too, Barry.”

And then they proceed to show each other: with deep, wet kisses, and with long, slow strokes. With Iris’s nails digging into the skin of his shoulders and with Barry’s palms gripping her hips, his mouth pressed against her ear as he talks her to orgasm.

Later, he’ll sing to her, as the song plays from his phone when they leave his parents’ place for hers; as she sits next to him remembering their dance with her fingers holding his on her thigh; as the stars guide their way.

“I have come to understand the way it is. It’s not a secret anymore, cause we’ve been through that before. From tonight, I know that you’re the only one. I’ve been confused and in the dark. Now I understand, yeah, yeah.

I wonder why it is, I don’t argue like this, with anyone but you. I wonder why it is, I won't let my guard down, for anyone but you. We do it all the time. Blowing out my mind.

Just like a star across the sky. Just like an angel off the page. You have appeared in my life. Feel like I'll never be the same. Just like a song in my heart. Just like oil on my hands.”

[mwebber]

a matter of god;

when i think on the moments in my life that might be butterfly effect moments—those life-changing kind of decisions, you know the type—none stand out so clearly in my mind as the time i said no, when my mom asked if i wanted to go to church.

a little context: my family, we're not the god-fearing types. dad wouldn't know religion if it punched him in the face. sibling goes to catholic school only out of necessity; she grins and bears her classes, and then comes home and gives me a rundown with an ironic slant to the corner of her mouth, and a dry tone, as though to say, isn't this some bullshit.

no—our parents are people of science, and always have been. but my mother had a scare with a ghost during her undergrad years, and it was only put to rest by the church, so she wears a cross around her neck every day. right next to her wedding ring, which she keeps off her hands, because they've gotta be clean all the time for experiments.

it's that cross that i thought was a beautiful sort of pendant, back before i knew that god was even a thing. we were in the car, just leaving the garage, and she was explaining the faith to me: people go to a building on sunday, and they pray, and they abide by certain practices, and they believe in heaven. would i like to go to church one day.

i thought myself pretty smart for the time—still have old lanyards from where i crossed my dad's name out and put my own in his place, because i thought doctor was a cooler title than miss—so i said nope, and popped the p at the end. believing that some old man in the sky created the world, when we know scientifically it was the big bang? it sounded like a bunch of nothing to me.

and that was that. except it wasn't, because then i grew older, and i realized that faith is more than just gathering in a building and thinking of the mystical.

most days, see, there's nothing of me at all. i'm a formless, floating brain that makes stupid decisions. maybe in my hardheadedness, i missed an opportunity for purpose, and now it's passed me by completely.

i think about how i've kept the most damning aspects of christianity in my agnosticism; sinning, and eternal hell, like there'll be divine punishment once i'm through, finally telling me what i've always known all along: you're a terrible, terrible human being.

i think about how i suffer in this life like maybe somebody will give me an answer, or maybe peace, next time my eternal soul worms its way out of its chains.

i think about mary, and how it's possible to think of a saint i have no relation to with such fervent devotion.

guilt is a constant companion, as are loneliness and hunger. and sometimes i think maybe if i had god—but then i remember that god doesn't want someone like me to pass through the gates, and if i ever tried, i'd land right back where i started, with a hell that stretches into forever.

we exist in a purgatory on earth. faithful, faithless, godlike, and godless, all at once. i covet the cross but dare not touch it. i count my sins like cards, and wonder why i even bother, when the answer's all the same. for dust you are and to dust you shall return.

would it be different, had i said yes that day? maybe.

but maybe i'd be here, cursing the day i ever let my soul into another's hands, thinking if only i'd said no to the faith, i'd be free.

[dragbunart]

I want more content for this theory/headcanon, even if I'm the only one adding to it!

More Kaede is a Kuzuryu Headcanons below

The V3 cast is class 77-A (since the dr2 cast is 77-B).

Kaede is her class's rep.

Chiaki didn't know that Kaede and Fuyuhiko were siblings, and Kaede didn't know that her brother was in Chiaki's class.

Fuyuhiko and Kaede both KNEW the other was attending Hope's Peak, but not what class the other was in.

Fuyuhiko is the more physically affectionate of the two. This usually manifests in him patting Kaede on the head or pulling her by the arm to scold her for being an idiot. He also likes when she hugs him but will never admit it.

Kaede laughs any time Fuyuhiko makes a threat, especially to her. To her own detriment, she will call his bluff every time.

Kaede does not have a good relationship with her parents, mainly her dad. But she is very close to her siblings.

Since Kaede kinda used Hope's Peak to run away from home, Fuyuhiko and Natsumi have NOT told their parents they've been talking to her.

Fuyuhiko will check on the Music room in his free time to make sure Kaede isn't passed out on the piano or to focused she forgot to eat.

Whenever there are class meet-ups, Kaede always takes extra dessert then later claims she's full and 'makes' Fuyuhiko finish her food for her.

Fuyuhiko can tease Kaede. So can Natsumi. But if someone else does it's a death wish. That is the Holy rule of Siblinghood.

Fuyuhiko, Natsumi, and Peko have been to every single performance Kaede has had without fail.

Komeada asked Kaede where she learned to be such a good leader. Kaede immediately said she learned from her big brother. Fuyuhiko will deny any claims that he cried a lil bit when he heard that.

Fuyuhiko will deny any jokes that he has a soft spot for his sisters.

Kaede and Natsumi will claim there are stories of how excited lil Fuyuhiko was to be getting two little sisters. Fuyuhiko will claim he regretted it within a week.

Fuyuhiko can call his sisters insane. He can also call Kaede an idiot. He will be the first to tell you his sisters are weird. But the moment someone else tries to do any of these things they will risk their well-being.

Kaede will call Fuyuhiko cute and adorable without hesitation. Natsumi CAN but she doesn't.

If she sees someone flirting with Fuyuhiko, Kaede will 100% interrupt. Same with Peko. She's been their wingman since she was old enough to understand crushes.

Kaede has introduced Peko as her future sister-in-law on more than one occasion.

Fuyuhiko is a bit more overprotective of Kaede than Natsumi. Natsumi has proved time and time again that she can fight back and most yakuza are scared of her. Kaede on the other hand avoids all Yakuza work and distances herself from most of the 'business' the family involves itself with.

In general Fuyuhiko and Natsumi are more afraid of each other. The exception is if Kaede is mad. Neither would willingly face their pissed-off sister. If Kaede had to choose, she'd say she's more afraid of Natsumi, if only because her twin has more blackmail on her.

Kaede DOES know how to shoot a pistol. In fact, she DOES keep one in her backpack for emergencies at Fuyuhiko's insistence.

Kaede has hit on a majority of the girls in both 77-A and 77-B, unintentionally.

When she was 10 Natsumi made matching friendship bracelets for Kaede, Fuyuhiko, Peko, and herself with strings that matched their eye colors. Kaede uses hers as a hair tye to this day. Natsumi claims she tossed it ages ago, but really it's been repurposed as a phone strap. Fuyuhiko keeps his in a wallet. Peko keeps hers on her sword bag. Natsumi is touched and embarrassed to learn they've all kept them for so long.

Kaede has written original music for the piano. But it's only meant for her and her familys (and Peko's) ears.

When either of her siblings are upset or stressed Kaede plays piano for them. If Kaede is stressed or upset Natsumi and Fuyuhiko will ambush her in her room with childhood memories.

Now for sad HCs Natsumi was cleaning up in the music room for Kaede before Sato killed her. Whenever she was feeling down Kaede would offer to play for her. Unfortunately that day Kokichi was causing Mischief and she had to leave early.

It wasn't a janitor that found Natumi's body... Well, not just a Janitor. Kaede had forgotten something in the room and Natsumi (obviously) hadn't returned it yet, so Kaede asked the janitor to let her in so she could grab it.

Kaede couldn't enter that music room after that. She couldn't look in a mirror or at Fuyuhiko without seeing her twin's face. It helped Fuyuhiko avoided her as well. He already lost one sister, and Kaede had become so depressed she was a shell of herself. It was almost as if he had lost both his sisters.

To add insult to injury the last piece she had played for her sister was the Flea Waltz. Even if she couldn't remember during the killing game, that song made her unbearably upset as Monokuma forced her to play it, for reasons she couldn't understand.

When given the option to Stay at Hope's Peak with class 78 or get her memories erased and live in society as a normal person, Natumi's death was her deciding factor. She never recovered from her sister's death until her memories were erased.

Fuyuhiko, even in despair, had to deal with the grief of losing both his sisters. Sure Kaede was TECHNICALLY alive, but he couldn't go looking for her. He still attended both his sister's funerals. After the Neo-World program, all this grief came crashing down on him. Without the brainwashing effects turning pain into pleasure he was a broken man for a while.

Had she survived to the second motive, Kaede's most important person video would've been of Fuyuhiko and Natsumi. With the before image being a picture of all three of them smiling and the after being Natumi's body slumped by the piano.

Had she survived till chapter 6 Kaede would've found the documents stating her twin was somewhere in the school. She would've searched night and day for Natsumi. Eventually, she would find a hidden compartment in her own lab, containing an urn. True to the document's word, Natumi WAS in the school. Just not in the state Kaede had hoped for.

If Kaede had made it to the end, she'd be 100% willing to believe everything was fake, if only because it would mean the urn she was holding WASN'T her sister. That she could exit the school to find her family and potentially be reunited with her siblings.

Only to exit the school and discover the real lie was that everything was fabricated. She was carrying around her dead twin's urn. And as far as she knew, Fuyuhiko was dead (because y'know they stated class 77-B faked their deaths in DR 2 and the DR3 anime).

[channelrat]

I’ve got Q’s and you’ve got the A.

Tell me more about Ashton’s family

i like the way you worded this it's cute

Ashton is an only child raised in LA. Her dad is a retired police lieutenant and her mom is a realtor.

Her parents fought a lot while she was growing up and got divorced like twice before deciding that even when they fight, they could stay married for benefits.

Her closest extended family member is Lawrence from National City (which is close by as far as im concerned). She looks at him like a little brother because he's the only family she knows that she can count on at the end of the day, even if they only see each other every few months.

She has three other cousins that she never really sees (until she starts dating Quincy), Damon, Adam and Nellie. She doesn't see them because their families aren't too close but it comes out later that her parents specifically just wanted to keep her away from the crazy of the Legends.

Her parents bought an apartment building in like Burbank when she was a baby and turned the bottom floor into a nice cafe and rented out the above apartments. Recently, they've tried to sell the building despite how much she loves it and wants to own it because she didn't go to MIT (she got in, she just didn't go because the coffee shop meant more to her) so they see it as a bad influence for her.

"you coulda been a doctor" energy except it's "you could have been a scientist and instead you choose to work at a coffee shop that gets little to no business"

Very strict parents that expect a lot from her and four cousins that are more than thrilled she was finally let in on the family secret that literally everyone except for her parents approve of.

[ask-aurachnid]

Frankie is... uncomfortable, to say the least. They'd be hot no matter what they were wearing, standing in BAT's courtyard with sun directly overhead, but the dress shirt and slacks certainly don't help (especially with all the buttons done up and a tie fastened around their neck). Add a terrible, blue, polyester gown, and a mortar board on top of that, and Frankie is sweating. It's a good thing BAT is a private boarding school with a relatively small student body. They'd probably keel over if they had to do this whole process for more than two-hundred students.

"Phillip Jeremiah Sanchez," Dr. Grant announces. They're at that point in the ceremony where the only people clapping are the one's who know each graduate. It kinda sucks to be at the end of the alphabet, compared to those whose names started with 'A.' Still, Phillip gets a pretty good amount of applause, from both his family and his friends.

"Simon Zachary Scott." Frankie always thought it was kinda funny that Si's initials were SZS, but his full name does sound pretty badass.

"Gwendolyn Maxine Stacy." Frankie claps their own hands together for Gwen. She had been a pretty good friend of Paige's and she has a serious talent for the drums. She could really go places with it if she wanted.

Frankie's pretty close to the stage now, and they nervously fiddle with their dad's dog tags underneath their shirt. They've scanned over the crowd a dozen times now, and they know nothing will have changed, but they do it again anyway. Except this time they spot him. He's hard to see, but once Frankie knows where to look, he stands out like a sore thumb. Who wears a black long-sleeve and dark jeans to an outdoor graduation ceremony, in June? At least the hat and sunglasses make sense for the weather. 

"Calliope Madison Stanley." Shit, Frankie's up next. They're so not ready for this. Everything has been so messy for the last year, and now they won't even have the routine of school to keep them afloat. It didn't feel real until now.

"Francis Calloway Stevens," Dr. Grant says. Is her voice echoey because of the mic or because Frankie's freaking out? When did they start walking across the stage?

The Academic Decathlon team is clapping, and it warms Frankie's heart to know that the team still cares, even if Frankie hasn't been coaching them for almost a year. There's a shrill, piercing whistle from the back, too. When Frankie looks, Castle gives them a thumbs up. 

Just like that it's over. Frankie has their diploma in one hand, and they're shaking Dr. Grant's hand with the other. They've officially graduated high school.

It doesn't take long for the remainder of the class to be called across the stage, each walking off with the same fancy paper that says "hey, good job! You finished it!" 

The last student sits down and Dr. Grant steps up close to the mic one last time. 

"Presenting the class of 2019! Congratulations everyone!" 

Frankie's mortarboard goes flying higher than the rest, but they're pretty sure it's not far enough to be weird. 

The students scatter like billiard balls, looking for their families and friends. Frankie just heads for the exit. They've said their goodbyes in advance and they're ready to get back to their apartment and out of these suffocatingly hot clothes. 

"Congrats, kiddo," Castle says, coming out of nowhere and clapping a hand on their shoulder. He hasn't set off their spider-sense for the last few months, but Frankie manages to mask their startled reaction. 

"Thanks, man. And thanks for coming. It means a lot, you know?"

"Don't mention it."