ziipzeepzop-eez

[ziipzeepzop-eez]

can't breathe. won't be until further notice, ty

⍣ ೋ cw: soft pregnancy mention, implied smut, post-sex intimacy, emotional vulnerability, chris being extremely down bad, light humor, and overwhelming tenderness.

notes: in which you finally tell chan about your unexpected pregnancy.

The nausea comes in waves. Not sudden, but rising — quiet and cruel.

You slip out of bed on instinct, careful not to stir him. The room is dim, still painted in that pre-dawn blue where shadows blur soft against the walls. The floor’s cold under your feet, the silence heavier than usual.

You close the bathroom door behind you, but not fast enough to hide the sound.

You barely make it to the toilet.

Your body folds in on itself as you retch, one hand clutching the edge of the counter, the other pressed to your mouth. Your throat burns. Your eyes sting. You’re trembling again, just like yesterday. Just like every morning this week.

And you know exactly why.

But you haven’t told him.

Not yet.

The door clicks gently, and before you can even call out, he's there.

“Baby?” Chris’s voice is thick with sleep, curls still mussed, but his worry is immediate. 

He steps into the bathroom, barefoot and blinking against the light. You don’t turn around, can’t—your cheek is pressed to the cool porcelain, eyes shut tight, trying to keep the tears at bay.

You hear him crouch beside you. Feel the warmth of his palm, tentative but steady, on your back.

“Hey, hey…” he whispers, thumb rubbing soft, slow circles between your shoulder blades. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

You hate how kind he is. How easily he forgives the way you’ve been pulling away lately—your silence, the distance you keep curling between your bodies each night. You hate it because he still looks at you like you haven’t broken his heart in quiet, accidental pieces.

Like you haven’t been lying by omission.

“I’ll get you some water,” he says, already standing. But you reach back blindly, fingers clutching at his wrist.

His movement stills the second you touch him.

Your fingers curl weakly around his wrist, barely more than a brush, but he stays rooted like you’ve anchored him. He sinks back down beside you without hesitation, knees to the cold tile, one hand steadying you while the other moves to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I won’t go.”

Your fingers slip from his wrist to his forearm, anchoring there. Not tight, not pleading. Just... needing something solid. He shifts closer, gently tucking you against him, and you let him—half-curled over the toilet, cheek pressed now to the curve of his shoulder instead of cold porcelain.

It’s shameful how good it feels.

How much you missed him.

How much he still makes space for you, without question.

You breathe him in. Warm skin, sleep-soft cotton, the scent of dreams not yet dissolved. His hand returns to your back, tracing the same slow circles, patient and gentle. He doesn't rush you. Doesn’t push. Just stays.

A lump rises in your throat. You swallow it back down.

“You’ve been sick a lot lately,” he says quietly. “And I—I didn’t want to push, but… I was starting to worry.”

You close your eyes.

Tighter.

Like you can hold the truth inside your chest if you just try hard enough.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” you manage, voice paper-thin.

Chris lets out a small, broken exhale—half a laugh, half a sigh. His thumb is still tracing that same small circle on your back, over and over like a ritual.

“Too late, baby,” he says. “You know me. I worry when you don’t text back for ten minutes.”

You breathe out a tremble of a laugh. It barely escapes you.

He pulls you in a little more, his shoulder now against your cheek, his arm curling around your waist, like he could take this ache from you if you just let him.

“Come on,” he whispers. “Let’s get off this floor, yeah?”

You don’t protest. You let him help you up, let him walk you slowly back to bed. He moves around you like instinct — pulling the blankets over your legs, smoothing your hair back, propping a pillow behind your back like he knows how this all goes. Like you’ve always been this breakable.

He disappears into the kitchen, and you hear the kettle click on. The cupboard door. The soft clink of ceramic. It’s the kind of intimacy you never thought would undo you.

When he returns, he’s carrying a steaming mug. He sets the tea down, crawls in beside you, and tugs you gently against his chest. You go without hesitation this time. Your cheek finds his collarbone. His heartbeat is steady.

“Try to sip,” he murmurs, guiding your fingers to the mug. “Ginger and honey. Helps settle the stomach.”

You take a shaky breath. Sip once. Then again.

He strokes your arm, still not asking what’s wrong. Still just being.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whisper, the words too fragile to carry.

Chris doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t argue. Just presses his lips to your forehead, eyes closed.

“You’ve got me anyway.”

You hold the tea with both hands, and before you can stop yourself, before you can weigh the moment, it falls out—

“I’m pregnant.”

A beat.

Then two.

His breath catches just slightly. You feel it in the way his chest stills beneath your cheek.

“Yeah?” he says, quiet.

He doesn’t sound shocked.

Not really.

You feel his hand pause where it rests on your arm. Not jerked away, not pulled back—just still. Still like he’s been waiting for this. Still like he already knew.

You pull back just enough to look at him.

His face is soft in the low light. No widening of the eyes, no sharp intake of breath, no panic. Just a quiet kind of calm. Like he’s been holding this truth behind his teeth for days.

You blink. “You’re… not surprised.”

Chris gives you a small, lopsided smile, and there’s something tired in it. Something knowing.

“I kind of figured.”

You freeze.

Chris shifts slightly, just enough to press his lips to your temple. 

Your fingers tighten around the mug. “You… what?”

“I’ve known for a little while,” he says, and there’s no accusation in it. Just fact. “Not for sure, but… yeah. I knew.”

You pull back slowly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes meet yours, gentle and tired and a little sad around the edges.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

Chris exhales through his nose, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “Because I wanted you to tell me when you were ready. And if you never were—” he swallows, voice thickening, “—I figured I’d wait anyway.”

You stare at him. Your chest aches. He’s holding you like you haven’t broken his heart a hundred times over by keeping this to yourself.

“You should’ve been mad,” you whisper. “I pulled away. I lied. I let you think something was wrong with us.”

He shakes his head, thumb still moving, like he’s trying to wipe the guilt from your skin. “You didn’t lie,” he says softly. “You were scared. That’s not the same thing.”

“But—”

“Baby.”

The word silences you.

He shifts closer, rests his forehead to yours. The kind of closeness that feels like home, like breath shared between ribs.

“You’re pregnant,” he says quietly, like he’s still wrapping his heart around the truth. “That’s huge. That’s life-changing. You didn’t owe me a perfect response to that.”

Your eyes fill again. The tears this time are different—no longer the kind that come from fear, but from the ache of being known, and loved anyway.

“I didn’t want you to be disappointed,” you breathe.

Chris huffs a sound that’s half a laugh, half a sigh. “Disappointed?” He leans back, just enough to look at you fully. “Sweetheart, I’ve been walking around for the last two weeks trying not to hope too hard. Every time you flinched at the smell of eggs, I thought I was going to lose it.”

You blink.

He smiles, slow and tender. “I started carrying extra granola bars in my bag like some kind of dad training simulation.”

A laugh breaks from you, wet and surprised and a little wild. He kisses the sound off your cheek.

You want to believe him. God, you do.

But it still claws at you — the weight of it. The impossibility. The quiet voice that’s been whispering the same thing over and over since the first test turned positive.

Your laughter fades as quickly as it came, and you drop your gaze, fingers twisting in the hem of your shirt.

“But your career…”

The words are quiet. Almost too quiet. Like you’re afraid of waking something up by saying them aloud.

Chris stills.

You press on, slowly. “You have enough on your plate already. The tours. The schedules. The pressure. I didn’t want to be the reason everything got harder. I didn’t want you to feel… trapped.”

His face folds in on itself, soft and stunned, like your words physically knock the wind from him.

“Trapped?” he echoes. “Is that what you thought I’d feel?”

You swallow hard, shrugging helplessly. “You’ve worked your whole life for this. And I know what it looks like from the outside — you, me, suddenly pregnant in the middle of everything. Headlines. Rumors. People blaming me for pulling focus. I just… I didn’t want to be a detour.”

Chris is quiet for a moment. Not the kind of silence that stretches with tension, but the kind that holds something. Thoughtfulness. Heartbreak. The ache of someone hearing what wasn’t said aloud.

Then, softly:

“You think I care about headlines?”

You open your mouth, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“You think I’d let any of that matter more than you?” His voice breaks—just enough to make your eyes sting again. “I don’t care what the outside looks like. I care about you. About the way you’ve been hurting and hiding it. About how you’ve been carrying all of this alone.”

He sits up a little straighter beside you, pulling your hands into his lap, like he needs to anchor both of you to the moment. His thumbs rub over your knuckles, steady and warm.

“I didn’t spend all this time building something just to let it become a cage,” he says. “I built it so I could choose what matters.”

Your lip trembles. You want to crawl into his words and never leave.

“I want this baby,” he says simply. “And I want you. And if that makes everything harder, then so be it. I’ve never been afraid of hard things. Just losing you.”

You press a shaky hand to your mouth, trying to bite back the sob threatening to rise.

Chris leans in, gently tugging your hands away to cup your cheeks.

“I love what I do,” he whispers. “But I love you more.”

And then, softer still—

“Let them talk. Let the whole world think what they want. I’ll hold your hand through every bit of it. I’ll shout it from the rooftops if that’s what you need.”

You break.

You fall forward into him and he catches you instantly, wrapping you up in the kind of hold that feels less like comfort and more like coming home. He rocks you slowly, like you’re something precious, and murmurs nothing but love into your hair until the shaking stops.

Neither of you speak for a while. Not in words. Just the rhythm of breath shared, the way his thumb never stops moving across your spine, the quiet tremble of your body as it starts to finally release the weight it's been holding for too long.

Eventually, you shift just enough to look up at him, eyes red and swollen.

“You’re really not scared?” you whisper.

Chris smiles. It’s tired, but steady. Steady in the way he’s always been.

“Oh, I’m terrified,” he says with a soft laugh. “But I’m not scared of us.”

His words settle into the quiet like a promise, like a hand pressed to a wound. Not to hide it—but to hold it. To keep it warm. To let it heal.

“I’m scared of screwing it up,” he admits. “Of not knowing what I’m doing. Of forgetting diapers at three in the morning and dropping the car seat manual in a puddle.”

You huff out a shaky laugh.

“But I’m not scared of loving you through this. Of being here. I want to mess it up with you. I want the sleepless nights and the ugly furniture and the weird little onesies your mom’s definitely going to send.”

You let your eyes close for a moment, breathing in the space between you. The safety of it. The calm after the unraveling.

Chris shifts behind you, easing both of you down beneath the covers again. His arms wrap around your waist from behind, palm splaying gently over your stomach—hesitant at first, then firmer, like he’s grounding himself to what’s real.

To what’s already begun.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you murmur, voice muffled against the pillow.

“Neither do I,” he says. “But I think we’ll figure it out. Together.”

His thumb draws soft, mindless circles against your skin. You can feel his breath on your shoulder, warm and even.

“We’re gonna be so bad at swaddling,” you whisper after a moment.

Chris snorts into your hair. “Horrible. Absolute disaster.”

“They’ll probably pee on us within the first ten minutes.”

He laughs again, and it rumbles through you like something holy.

“You mean they won’t wait twenty?” he teases. “Already disappointed in our future child’s manners.”

You smile. Not because the fear is gone. Not because it’s easy now. But because he’s still here. Still him. And somehow, even in the dark—especially in the dark—he’s made space for all of it.

You roll slightly, enough to face him, and he meets your gaze instantly. His eyes are red at the corners too, but soft. So soft.

You reach for his hand again. 

He gives it without hesitation.

______________________________________________________________

The sheets are still warm.

They’re tangled around your legs, half-forgotten, pulled low from where Chris tugged them back earlier in careful haste—like he couldn’t wait another second to feel you again. To love you the way he’d been aching to for weeks.

But it had been gentle. So slow. So careful it almost hurt.

He’d kissed you like he was scared you’d break beneath him. Like every part of you needed to be cherished differently now—worshipped not just because he loved you, but because you were carrying something he already did.

Now, the room is quiet again.

Not the sharp quiet from earlier—the kind lined with secrets and held breath. This silence is sweeter. Fuller. The kind that lingers in the air after closeness, after truth, after love has been made and remade and made again.

You lie curled in the sheets, his hoodie pooled beneath your head like a pillow, your body still humming from the weight of him—on you, in you, with you.

Chris is beside you. Propped on one elbow, hair a mess, eyes soft in the gold light pouring through the window.

He hasn’t stopped touching you.

His fingertips skim the slope of your stomach—slow, aimless strokes over skin still too tender. He traces the curve like it’s already changed. Like he can already see the future stretching beneath your navel.

“You sure you’re okay?” he murmurs, for the third—maybe fourth—time.

You smile, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m okay.”

“Did I hurt you at all?”

You open your eyes again, shifting to face him more. He looks almost pained asking it—like he’s still afraid he was too much, even though every touch had been measured, every motion guided by whispered I love yous and soft gasps.

You reach up, fingers brushing through his hair—so soft, still sleep-mussed, still clinging to last night’s weight. His eyes flutter at the contact.

“You didn’t hurt me, Chris,” you say gently, your thumb sweeping across his temple. “You couldn’t have. You were…” You pause, cheeks warming. “You were so good to me.”

He leans into your touch like it’s instinct, nose nudging your palm, lips brushing the edge of your wrist. “I just didn’t want to rush anything,” he mumbles. “I didn’t want to take from you.”

“You gave to me,” you correct quietly. “More than you know.”

His gaze finds yours again. And it’s so open—so filled with something fragile and gleaming that it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be careful with someone the way I want to be with you,” he murmurs, hand still slow on your stomach. “Like every piece of you deserves a softer kind of love.”

Your throat tightens, eyes stinging with the tears you thought you’d already run out of. You don’t speak. You just lean forward and kiss him—soft and close and wordless. A promise.

When you pull back, Chris smiles, all crooked and boyish, like it still surprises him he gets to kiss you whenever he wants.

“Do you think…” he starts, then hesitates, biting down on his lower lip in that familiar way he does when he’s about to say something that scares him. “Do you think they can hear me yet?”

You blink. “Hear you?”

He shrugs, flushing a little. “I don’t know. Maybe not hear, but like—feel me.”

You smile, hand still resting over his where it sprawls protectively across your belly.

“I think,” you say, voice soft with wonder, “if they feel anything at all, it’s love.”

Chris lets out a slow breath, almost like a laugh, almost like a prayer. “Good,” he murmurs. “That’s all I want them to feel.”

And then he lowers himself again—carefully, reverently—so his face is level with your stomach, his curls brushing your skin. You feel his breath before his lips, warm and tender, and then—

“Hi,” he whispers. “It’s me again.”

You bite back a watery smile, brushing his hair back from his face. He doesn't look up. He’s focused, eyes closed, words blooming straight from his heart.

“You’re still tiny,” he says. “Probably the size of… I don’t know. A peanut? A lentil?”

You laugh softly. “A blueberry, I think.”

Chris grins against your skin. “Okay. Hi, blueberry.”

The tears return, but this time they don’t sting. They soothe. You let them fall.

Chris presses another kiss, slower this time. “Your mom is amazing. She’s strong, and patient, and really stubborn when she wants to be—don’t get any ideas—but she’s also the kindest person I’ve ever met. And she loves you already. So much.”

You can’t breathe. Or maybe you just don’t want to—don’t want to disturb the moment, the hush in the room, the way it feels like the world has paused just to let him say this.

“And I love you, too,” he adds, softer now. “Even if you’re already making her throw up every morning.”

You snort.

Chris finally looks up at you, face glowing with something boyish and stunned. Like he’s still adjusting to the weight of the word dad and how it might belong to him now.

“Do you think it’s okay to be happy yet?” he whispers. “Or is it too early?”

You blink, startled by the softness of the question. It’s not a doubt in you. It’s a doubt in himself—the way he was used to waiting for the world to collapse anytime something good entered the picture.

You tilt his face fully toward you, one hand on his cheek, the other still resting over his on your belly.

“It’s okay,” you whisper back. “We’re allowed to be happy.”

Chris leans into your palm, lashes kissing your skin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Even if it’s early. Even if it’s messy. We’re allowed.”

A long breath leaves his chest. When he exhales, it sounds like something unknots inside him.

“Okay,” he says. And then again, firmer: “Okay.”

He kisses your belly once more—then your ribs, then your shoulder, and finally your lips, slow and sure and lingering like he’s learning the shape of this new beginning through you.

Your breath catches.

Because there’s something different in this kiss—less cautious than before, less tentative. Still tender, still full of awe, but threaded now with a kind of ache. A hunger not for your body, but for closeness. For reassurance. For the promise of you and him and this tiny, impossible future you’re building together.

You kiss him back. Let your hands curl into the soft cotton at his shoulders, let your mouth part beneath his. He deepens it without a word, like your response is all the permission he’s ever needed.

Chris exhales against your lips, the sound low, almost relieved. His hand slides from your belly to your waist, guiding you gently onto your back, careful not to press too hard, like he’s still remembering how much softer the world has become.

You pull him with you, fingers in his hair now, breath mingling as he settles between your legs, his weight familiar, comforting. Not heavy—never heavy. He’s holding himself up even now, even in this, like you’re precious. Like he can’t risk the smallest part of you going untouched, unnoticed, unloved.

His kiss grows slower. Deeper. Tongue brushing yours, mouth warm and open and wanting, but not hurried. Nothing about him is hurried. He maps you like he’s memorizing—not rediscovering your body, but learning what it means now, with the quiet miracle curled inside you.

His palm returns to your belly halfway through the kiss.

It lingers there.

Anchoring.

You feel his hips roll, subtle and restrained, like he can’t help it—but even that is tempered by reverence. He groans softly against your lips and pulls back just enough to rest his forehead to yours.

“I want you again,” he murmurs, breath catching. “So bad.”

You smile, brushing your nose against his. “We just had sex, Chris.”

“I know,” he groans, dragging his lips down to your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—soft little kisses like he’s trying to keep himself distracted. “It’s not my fault. You’re literally glowing. Like… it’s actually not fair.”

You laugh, tilting your head to give him more space. “I think that’s just the sweat from me throwing up three times this morning.”

“Nope,” he says, grinning against your collarbone. “Sorry. Pregnancy glow. Hormones. Boobs. All of it. My brain’s broken. I’m ruined.”

You snort. “Are you seriously saying I got hotter now that I’m pregnant?”

Chris lifts his head to look at you, eyebrows raised, completely unapologetic. “Yes. Have you seen yourself? You’re radiant. Divine. A walking goddess with a baby growing inside her—my baby, by the way. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

You blink at him, stunned and absolutely flustered. “Chris—”

He groans dramatically and drops his head to your chest. “You don’t get it. I’m suffering.”

You wheeze a laugh, your fingers threading through his hair again.

He looks up at you, eyes wide, completely serious now. “Every time you move I want to pounce. But I can’t. Because I am a gentleman. A respectful, self-restrained—” he kisses the top of your belly, “—incredibly patient father-to-be.”

You grin. “Uh-huh.”

His hand slides up your thigh, just high enough to make your breath hitch. “But if you even so much as breathe wrong, I’m folding.”

“Chris—”

“I mean it. One little sound. A sigh. A whimper. I’m gone.”

Your laughter breaks loose then, full and warm and aching at the edges. He kisses you hard, almost like he’s trying to prove his point—like he's sealing the moment in his mouth before it gets the better of him.

His hands are definitely not innocent anymore.

“Okay—okay,” he says, breathless, forehead against yours again. “I have to get up. I have to. You need food. I need distance.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, not letting him go. “You sure?”

He groans into your shoulder. “I’m going. I'm going. But I’m leaving in emotional pain.”

You release him with a teasing little kiss. “Breakfast, dad.”

Chris smirks as he finally sits up, eyes sweeping over you one last time before he swings his legs off the bed. “Fine. But you better be decent when I come back or I’m canceling breakfast and blaming the baby.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

And with that, he trudges toward the kitchen in his boxers, muttering something about toast and torture under his breath.

You melt back into the sheets, laughing, heart pounding, belly warm—and for once, everything feels exactly, impossibly, beautifully right.

[ziipzeepzop-eez]

💓💞💕💘💗Lil reminder from me that you are loved💗💘💕💞💓

❤️💖💕❤️💖💕❤️💖💕 And I love you sooooo so much too, razzmatazz 🥰❤️💖💕❤️💖💕❤️💖💕

[ziipzeepzop-eez]

duuuude the way you say you were nervous but i'm the one who had butterflies reading it?? 🤨🤔 make it make sense. ((/lh + /aff)) honestly you have such a masterfully warm and saccharine approach to people i doubt they'd feel anything BUT delightedly surprised!! just like i was =') <33

mmm but right you are about that, my love. you will always be welcome. always always! & that's two always's!!

((you couldn't get rid of moi & my own little specially-carved special spot even if you offered me boba. that's saying something ASTRONOMICAL. /also fond /playful))

boo!! not really a jumpscare!! hi!! i know we've never interacted before but i've seen you around a couple times, and you're pretty cool!! i came as soon as i heard what happened and i'm so so so sorry!! i just wanted to say that,,

you're doing great!! again, i'm really sorry, you lost a lot, and that hurts real bad,, but you're amazing. you'll get through this. offering you virtual hugs and the coziest blanket i have,,

--🐱(っ´ω`)っ

Ohhh my goodness gracious. Well hello there, little one!! You're such a sweet little thing, oh my goodness. 😭🧡 This is so meaningful - color me intrigued!

First off thank you for reaching out, sweetness! This definitely caught my eye.

Concerning what happened,, mmmyeah, I'm some kinda sore over it for sure🥹 It was practically an archive of... myself?? And it just— poof! Gone.

But I will admit, I am optimistic about the future and what it entails. It's still me, y'know? & blessedly, a lot of those same writings are saved in my Google docs!! maybe that also blankets the sorrow and gives a essence of what could have been. Imagine if they weren't saved. I shiver just thinking about it.

Bottom line,, thank you deeply, tremendously, for your kind words. It means so much because - like you said, we've never interacted before!! - but you've seen me 'round and made the choice to reach out. It's intriguing, positively intriguing!

Stick around! I'd love to see more of you! 🤗🧡

Ahh, virtual hugs and cozy blankets. The backbone of my one-man society. ෆ⁠╹⁠ ⁠.̮⁠ ⁠╹⁠ෆ

Mahalo plenty, kitty!! 💗

[ziipzeepzop-eez]

i wish to consume

Twin stars

[ziipzeepzop-eez]

GIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLL YOU'VE DONE IT AGAIN!!!!!!! YOU ATE DOWN SO HARDDDD 💯🔥💯🔥

Liiiikeeee... your descriptions while writing? 🤌🏽✨ I love love loooove it!!! You're soso good at it it has me jigginnn ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾ and you've got their personalities down to such a T, it's a W. 😤🙌🏽

It's so cute bc I can actually 👁see👁 smth like this happening in the show IRL.. maybe! Idk it could either end in disaster or double disaster ─ that's why we have astounding fic writers like YOU 🫵🏽 for the job 😌 (would riles pull out the glock if so pressured?? maybe! but that's a discussion for another time lmaoaoo)

B'awwhhh the little thank-you shout-out 😭🥹🫶🏽 you know I'd do anything for you girl.. & it was my treat, really! Your ramblings are so cute and I get so giddy that I get to return the energy because 🔥 💯‼💥WE REALLY BE BIG BRAINING IN THOSE DMS 🔥💯‼💥 honestly it's all my pleasure.. to see you so passionate and excited about different fandoms and being able to branch out and CREATE SOMETHING from the ASHES is what I SHOULD BE THANKING YOU FOR SIS ‼😩🤧 I can always count on you for fluff and fun fr. 🫶🏽

You really captured their dynamic soso well, just as I knew you would!! Riles being so aggressive but compliant and Hue being used to his nonsensical shenanigans.. I love it gimme 14 of 'em rn 🫴🏽😪 but frfrls Emmieboo you're such a good writer w/ a distinct bubbly, clever style that evokes a sense of warmth and humor every time & I'm soso happy I get to read themmmm !! to be apart of the process !! to SEE IT COME TO ✨FRUITION✨ THIS IS WHAT WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR!!!! EMMIE NATION RIIIIISE 🙌🏽✨🙌🏽✨ FOR WE ARE CONSTANTLY BEING FED AND FED WELL.

Overall, ∞/10. Writing? ∞/10. Riley and Hue's dynamic? ∞/10. The theme and color scheme? ∞/10. The many many accurate descriptive titles for the boys? ∞/10. The references and callbacks? ∞/10. Being able to relate to Riley with product buildup and being unbothered by dandruff (not entirely I have sensory issues jdshddh) but vehemently claiming it's product and only product? ∞/10 bc #soreal #thickcurlyhairthings 😔✊🏽

Entire fic? ∞/10. You've done it again you sunnuvagun. THREE CHEERS FOR MANAGERRRR!!!! 😄🥂

how reading this fic had me feeling bc it ain't no incest jumpscares or any of that other bs:

~ Hair Day ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚞𝚗 💓˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟹,𝟼𝟻𝟶

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 🔫🤎

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙷𝚞𝚎𝚢 ⚔️🖤

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗…𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢’𝚜 𝚛𝚎-𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙷𝚞𝚎𝚢, 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚠𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜, 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝙱𝚘𝚋 𝚁𝚘𝚜𝚜…

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚎: 🥭 @ziipzeepzop-eez 🍊…𝚝𝚢𝚜𝚖 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝙱𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜…𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎 😭🤚🏾🧡

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙽-𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍, 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚡 𝚓𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚜.

𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚁: 𝙳𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚃𝚅-𝙼𝙰, 𝙸 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝟷𝟻+. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚢, 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝. 𝙸’𝚖 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐‼️‼️‼️

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚃𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝟹 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚂𝟺 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝙱𝚊 𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚂𝚎 🙂‍↕️🕯️˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Huey was in the kitchen, resting his cheek on his palm as he drummed his fingers on the countertop in a completely restless rhythm. The boy’s eyes darted upstairs every few seconds, his finger drumming becoming even faster as he was met with nothing but absolute silence. 

Which, if you knew the Freemans at all…or if you were in close proximity to them…you would know that ‘silence’ wasn’t a word in their vocabulary. 

Especially on a Sunday. 

You see, the katana wielding child here had been waiting around for one hour, fifteen minutes and about twelve seconds (he’s been counting) for his little punk brother to finish detangling his hair.

And Huey, being the nice older brother that he was, offered to do the little runt’s hair this weekend…

…Which, now that he thought about it, that decision was a huge mistake due to the fact that he was quite literally waiting a whole century for his brother to come downstairs. 

But despite it all, the militant ten year old philosopher really did care about his baby brother; and he knows better than anyone that Riley really needed to re-twist his hair today (‘really’ said with much emphasis). 

The ten year old just sighed solemnly, taking out his phone out of his khaki pants as he pulled out his brother's contact, starting to text him: 

✊🏾Samurai⚔️ Black😡

Riley, are you almost done? You’ve been in the bathroom for about an hour now

The small sized revolutionary was about to put his phone down, but as soon as he did, his phone buzzed with a notification. 

Riles ⚠️‼️

it takes more than an HOUR to detangle cornrows if you werent aware. It could go faster if SOMEONE woulda helped me w/ them but ohhh well 🫥🫥🫥😒😒😒🙄 

Huey scoffed at the text but typed back almost immediately. 

✊🏾Samurai⚔️ Black😡

I helped you do the middle and back yesterday??? That shit was traumatizing…

Riles ⚠️‼️

Oh n—— plz. Ur being dramatic……..

✊🏾Samurai⚔️ Black😡

YOUR HAIR HIT ME; EMPHASIS ON H I T

Riles ⚠️‼️

You were in its way. B better next time.

✊🏾Samurai⚔️ Black😡

Riley istg if you don’t hurry up I’m going to just cut off that jungle I am forced to call your hair.

Riles ⚠️‼️

Ur jus mad cuz I have more 🙄🙄🙄🫢😒😒

✊🏾Samurai⚔️ Black😡

We have around the same damn hair length???

Riles ⚠️‼️

And yet I STILL manage to have more 🤪🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽🙌🏽

✊🏾Samurai⚔️ Black😡

…That makes no sense 😐😑😐

Riles ⚠️‼️

…You make no sense 😐😑😐

✊🏾Samurai⚔️ Black😡

You know what? I’m just going to cut all of your hair off and you can walk around looking like Little Bill for the rest of your life if you don’t hurry the hell up in there. 

Riles ⚠️‼️

Riles ⚠️‼️

‘Don’t make me bring out the big guns’ ahh 🥱🥱🥱

Riles ⚠️‼️

Yk thats what some slave masters did right Huey? They’d cut off their slaves’ hair cuz they knew how much it meant to them…would you really do that to me……? Would you really stoop so low to be just like them and cut off your own BROTHERS GIGACHAD NATURAL HAIR  🙁😕😕🙁😟😟………..?

Riles ⚠️‼️

I thought I knew you…

✊🏾Samurai⚔️ Black😡

I did know that. And don’t call them slaves; they were Enslaved Africans.

Riles ⚠️‼️

What’s the difference???

Huey inhaled sharply, fighting the urge to throw his phone across all of Woodcrest.

✊🏾Samurai⚔️ Black😡

Just get over here please.

Riles ⚠️‼️

Yes massah 😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔

“Damn.” The older Freeman brother stated blatantly, the curse spilling out of his mouth before he could even think about saying it as he caught a glimpse of his brother’s hair as he walked downstairs. He looked at his younger brother up and down, coming to terms with how utterly…homeless he looked with his hair out and frazzled up. 

The afro wielding activist let on a small snort, burying his mouth in his enclosed fist while pursing his lips together to hold back an amused huff at his sibling’s appearance because…wow. 

Just…simply and utterly…

…Wow. 

To say that he was purely astonished by how much Riley’s hair had grown since he last did his hair was an understatement. 

Bewildered…Incredulous…Dumbfounded…or even Flabbergasted would be a couple of better synonyms to describe his current feelings rather than just simply being ‘astonished.’ 

Huey couldn’t help but slightly recoil into himself, narrowing his eyes to see nothing but just dirt and dirt on top and inside his brother’s hair.

Damn, did this dumbass not wear a durag at all this past month???

The ten year old collected himself, reverting back to a somewhat neutral expression as he crossed his arms in amusement as his younger brother entered the living room, “…Jesus Christ.” The taller one finally said, “Okay, Mt. Everest; love the frosted tips look you have going on.” Huey exclaimed as he took in his little brother’s look one more time…

…‘Cuz it definitely was one. 

Not a good one…but a look nonetheless. 

Riley rolled his eyes at his brother’s remark, “Don’t piss me off.” He simply said whilst glaring at the other, “I literally just washed my hair.”

“It doesn’t look like it…” The pint sized activist mumbled under his breath snarkily, going to the kitchen counter and assorting the different shampoos and conditioners he would need to be using on his younger brother’s hair since he knew damn well Riley did not wash that frolicking field of nonsense that was sadly and surprisingly his hair. 

The katana-wielding child pulled his hoodie sleeves up to his elbows, grabbing a teasing comb as he sat on the couch, putting a bottle of detangler spray right next to him…

…’Cuz God knows Riley will need it.

“Did you comb through it?” The taller Freeman asked.

As soon as he felt eyes on him, Riley squinted at his older brother as if the taller one was showing him the most complicated math problem in history, looking up from picking at his nails, “Huh?” 

“Huh?” Huey quickly mocked without a beat passing. 

 “I didn’t hear what you said!!!” The cornrowless kid exclaimed loudly, crossing his arms in complete and utter defiance. 

“Sucks to be deaf, now doesn’t it?” The older huffed, barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes for the millionth time today. 

After all, his Granddad did say that if he kept rolling them, they’d eventually get stuck like that.

Did he believe his legal guardian? Hell no.

But it got annoying showing his, well, annoyance by just simply rolling his eyes everyday. When it came to his little brother, though, he couldn’t help but make sure his eyes did a full 360 anytime he was around, potentially sighing and/or crossing his arms to enhance the effect. 

“Come on, Riley…I don’t have all day.” The elder eventually exhaled, resting the back of his head on the couch, again, to enhance the effect. 

“You ain’t got nothin better to do.” The shorter preteen snickered, “What? You gonna practice protesting when good ‘ol Trumpy boy puts us back in the fields?” The hood enthusiast said, his snicker turning more into a small cackle as the joke lingered in the silence. 

Huey was quick to get up, pulling the other by the ear as he quite literally dragged him, putting the smaller one in between his legs and ignoring the small but squeaky ‘that’s gay’ comments. 

“Yeesh…you didn’t have to drag me like a sack of potatoes, man. Y’know, Huey P Newton wouldn’t be too happy if he saw you treating another black individual like property, Hueford.” The ‘don’t snitch’ discipliner huffed.

The coffee-bean brown eyed boy simply sprayed his sibling’s hair with the detangler spray, ignoring his yelp of surprise as he mentally prepared for combing his hair, “And I’m not above hitting you.” He shrugged nonchalantly. 

“I apologize for my outburst.” Riley commented, mustering up his best Uncle Ruckus impersonation which caused his older brother to let out a small snort of amusement. 

But if you were to ask the militant ten year old philosopher…he would've just excused it as a cough. 

As Huey worked diligently parting his younger brother’s hair; combing it out before putting the completely combed out sections together in a rubber band…he couldn’t help but notice a particularly…dandruff ridden segment of Riley’s hair and scalp. 

Thinking sort-of-nothing of it, the older sprayed the detangler on that portion and tried to comb through it but was just met with a complete snowstorm of dandruff. 

The pint-sized revolutionary wrinkled his nose in disgust, watching his younger brother dust off some of the dandruff that landed on his shoulder like it was a completely everyday occurrence. 

Sensing his big brother’s growing discomfort, the shorter pat the other’s knee in reassurance, “Before your gay ass says anything..it’s product.”

Well, ‘reassurance’ in a Riley type of way if that wasn’t clear. 

Speaking of, the little troublemaker’s small hands might as well have been fire with how his elder brother immediately dusted his knee after getting touched by him. “Riley…no the hell it is not.” He exhaled, “I just parted your hair and all I saw was a full ass avalanche. It comes to a point where one passes the line of ‘product’ and instead falls under the adjective known as ‘dirty’.”

“N——, I said it’s product!” The smaller Freeman brother exclaimed in utter agitation, “What part do you not get?!”

“The part where you said you quote on quote ‘washed’ your hair but all I see in front of me is dirt and dandruff as clear as day for miles.” Huey deadpanned as he got up from the couch, dusting himself off as he outstretched his hand towards his brother, “Come on.” 

The artist squinted his eyes, “Where are we goin’?” 

“To wash your hair.” The activist stated simply, sighing as he heard his younger brother let out a large groan louder than an avalanche could ever accomplish.  

“I already washed it, though…” The smaller one mumbled, begrudgingly getting up from the couch and holding his older brother’s hand as the two walked to the kitchen sink…where Huey had already placed shampoos and conditioners prior…

…That bitch.

.

.

.

“That’s called washing your hair.” Huey huffed as he dried Riley’s hair with a small towel despite the smaller one’s grumbly protests. 

The freshly peeled chestnut eyed preteen rolled his eyes continuously, trying to bat the taller one away but it was literally impossible to do due to the fact the taller one in question had a literal Hulk grip to his head. 

The eight year old just let his head bop back and forth as his brother continued to dry his hair, honestly and truly just giving up trying to fight physically…

…But not verbally. 

“I did wash it earlier! You just baptised me!” The gangsta in training verbalized. 

“You needed both to be honest; a serious hair cleaning and getting baptized.”  

“Shut uuuuuup…!” The shorter Freeman brother whined as his elder brother finished drying his hair, folding up the towel and putting it neatly on the kitchen counter. 

The two went back to the couch, Riley silently sitting in between his elder brother’s legs as the elder in question started to use the teasing comb to part his hair. 

The reddish-brown eyed kid hissed as the other did his hair, trying to get up from the couch but was pulled back almost immediately by his brother. 

Riley sighed, deciding to try and pass the time by kicking his legs that weren’t even close to touching the carpet. But he soon then sat criss-crossed, folding his arms as he leaned or shifted away every few seconds, mumbling and grumbling under his breath about how boring and gay this was. 

Due to his brother’s consistent movement, Huey let out a long, tired sigh... 

…He didn’t get paid enough for this…

…Infact, he wasn’t getting paid at all!

“Stay still.” The activist said somewhat patiently, gently pulling his younger brother back in the middle of his legs again.

And Riley, being…well, the younger brother that he was, huffed dramatically like a whiny toddler, letting out another loud groan as he stared at the carpet like it was the most interesting thing to gaze upon. 

The secretly anime-loving radical sucked his teeth at the action, “Pull your head up.” He said as he worked on another cornrow diligently as he put a rubber band in between his teeth, “Look up at the sky or somethin’.” 

“There ain’t no sky to look at in the first place; we’re inside!”

“Look at the ceiling then.” The ten year old stated simply, finishing one cornrow out of…

…He didn’t even want to estimate how many he had left to braid…

The freshly peeled chestnut eyed preteen sucked his teeth right back at his older brother’s sassy comment, leaning away from him again—and without missing a beat, Huey reached and poked his side.

The damn audacity of his younger brother’s generation these days…(even if they were both born in the same generation…)

In reaction, the troublemaker with one cornrow squeaked at the surprise poke, “GUHAH?!” He yelped, immediately twisting away, “A-AYE, MAN! WATCH IT!” 

“I told you to stay still.” Huey said, a small and rare smirk tugging at his lips, “You move again and next time it’ll be worse.” 

The eight year old grumbled something under his breath, causing the older to gently squeeze at his side repeatedly now, not seeming at all phased as the other tried to get away like he was getting electrocuted. 

“Sorry, what was that?” The storm in the silence hummed in question. 

“Nohohothing!” The smaller one squeaked, trying to push his older brother’s hands far away but to his dismay, his action might as well have been nonexistent. 

“No no no…I heard you mumble something smart under your breath; what’d you say?” 

“NohoHOTHING!” Riley insisted as he let out a high pitched laugh, retreating to the end of the couch as he curled in on himself as he accidentally knocked the comb Huey was using on his hair out of his hands due to his sudden movement. 

Huey blinked once, locking eyes with his little brother before mercilessly attacking the smaller one’s sides again. 

The hood enthusiast hugged his middles as he attempted to squirm away, kicking his legs against the couch cushions as he giggled uncontrollably.   

“Gehet fucking back here.” The ten year old revolutionary chuckled despite himself as he digged his thumbs into the other’s underarms, raising an amused brow at the loud shriek his brother vocalized which was soon followed by a bunch of loud laughs. 

“HUhuhuEHEY noHOH!” Riley’s words were practically, no…most definitely falling upon deaf ears as his big brother continued to tickle him like there was no tomorrow. “‘Huey noooo..’” The other mimicked, causing the younger out of the two to let out a loud snort, hitting the katana-wielding activist in the arm repeatedly as a small blush spread to his face.  

“AHAHAH!! S-STAhahaHAP!” Riley desperately squealed, his eyes squeezed completely shut as he twisted and turned as if to turn himself into a human Twizzler, “IHI doHOHON'T f-fUhuhUCKING sohound LIHIhike thahaHAT!” He shouted, trying to sound as intimidating as possible but due to his endless shrieks of laughter…it was hard for his brother to take him seriously.

Huey’s eyebrow quirked up, lightly spidering his fingernails alongside the eight year old’s neck, “Don’t you?” 

Riley’s laugh straight from the heart turned into a noise similar to a broken water hose, kicking the air as if it was going to release him from his brother’s torturous grasp, “YOhohOUS suhuHUCH aha BIHIHITCH!!!” 

The elder just scoffed at the predictable comment, “There's no way you’re this ticklish…” He commented in utter awe, precisely poking and practically dancing his fingers across the other’s stomach, “I’m barely even touching you.”

The shorter Freeman arched his back almost immediately at the sudden action, clamping his arms down as he dug his heels into the couch cushions, “HUEHEEHEEY!!!”

“Sorry, Ri…I don’t speak Ticklish-ease.” Huey hummed with a slight bit of playfulness in his tone. 

“HUHUHUEEHEEY!” The eight year old screeched again, tugging at the older’s wrists. 

“I would get a translator…but that’s too much work.”

“SNRT! OHO MY GAHAD!” The artist cried out as his brother pinned his arms above his head, using his free hand to wiggle his fingers threateningly over the other’s stomach. The gangsta in training shook his head, looking to the side, “BROHOH PLUHUHEHEHEASE!!!”

“Wohoah…a 'please?'” Huey’s earthy brown eyes sparkling with surprise, “And a snort? Damn…this must be a pretty bad spot, huh? I haven’t even touched you yet…”

Riley couldn’t help but giggle in anticipation. And he couldn’t help but make a snarky comment at his older brother’s statement, “Pahahause…”

Huey just sighed as he shook his head, not at all surprised by his little brother’s comment as he tickled the shorter boy’s ribs. The hood enthusiast covered his face with his arms, just accepting his fate at this point as he laid practically limp on the couch as he just simply cackled, “SHIT! SHIHIHIT NONOHOH!” The younger Freeman squeaked, “IHIHI hic CAHAHAN’T!”

“Don’t then.” The katana-wielding activist merely shrugged as if his sibling wasn’t basically screaming bloody murder. 

“GET AHAHOFF!!!”

“Hm?”

“GET. OHOHOFF!!!”

“From where?”

“MY HIC GOHOD IHI SNRT HAHAHAHATE SNRT YOU!!!”

Huey huffed in amusement, “You wish you did.”

“SNRT STAHAHAP! SNRT SNRT HUE STAHAHAP SNRT IHIHIT!” Riley howled, pushing on Huey’s chest now to attempt to get him off. Huey’s small smirk turned to a subtle but soft smile at his baby brother’s laugh—that bright, unfiltered yet unhinged kind of laugh that came straight from the chest like he didn’t know a single worry. 

The older Freeman would never in a million years admit it out loud, but there was something…sacred about his sibling’s laugh but also his sibling himself; something and someone worth protecting. Call him corny, but these kinds of moments reminded Huey no matter how tough the world got, there were still people who embodied the light inside it. 

And that light was his baby brother, who was laughing without a care in the world. 

“Are you going to let me do your hair now?” The revolutionary simply asked.

“YEHEHES!!!” 

The ten year old raised a brow, “You promise?” 

“IHIHI PROHOMISE!! IHI SNRT PROHOHOMISE!!!” Riley pleaded, eventually curling in on himself and hugging his middles as his older brother stopped tickling him, giggling tiredly against the couch cushions. 

The coffee-bean brown eyed kid huffed in fondness, gently hoisting his brother up back in the middle of his legs. The eight year old squealed, flapping his hand as his other one pushed on Huey’s wrists. Huey rolled his eyes, grabbing his teasing comb as he started on Riley’s hair again. 

Huey worked gently, carefully parting the other’s thick curls, smoothing them down with practiced hands as he braided them into cornrows with precision. Every now and then, the older brother would pause to tug a bit softer, murmuring an ‘Almost done’ or ‘Two more to go.’

There was something…quiet yet protective in the way the young activist moved, in how he smoothed away Riley’s stray hairs into place like it mattered; like his little brother deserved to look his very best because he just…was his little brother. 

Huey finally then finished Riley’s hair, squeezing the younger one’s shoulder to indicate that he was done. 

The shorter kid practically leaped from the couch, going to check himself out in the bathroom mirror as he did multiple poses, looking at his reflection. 

Riley wiggled in place, trying to contain his excitement as he kept looking himself in the mirror like he was the most rarest gem to be laid eyes upon, “I look fresh as fuck!” He grinned in satisfaction, “You even made my hairline more straighter than it already was!”    

Riley clicked his tongue, winking at himself as he did finger guns to his reflection, “Hey girl…who you is?”

The young philosopher pinched the bridge of his nose, chuckling as he leaned on the bathroom doorway as Riley continued to do more absurd poses to emphasize his new look, “You're ridiculous…” He said, his usual biting tone lacking the intensity and instead replaced with an unfamiliar yet familiar gentleness.  

“…Hue?” Riley mumbled, ceasing his posing for just a moment as he locked eyes with his brother who was about to walk out to go back to the living room to clean up.

Huey freezed at the doorway at the sound of his name, somewhat tensing up at the rare usage of his nickname but the older quickly collected himself, looking over his shoulder, “Hm?”

“…Thanks, man.” The younger quietly muttered, his bravado mysteriously vanishing as he looked down at his feet, shifting one foot weight to the next. 

Huey couldn’t help but smile at the quiet thanks, punching the other lightly in the shoulder to try to unesse his sudden shyness. 

“It’s no problem, Ri.” The radical thinker said, “Can’t have my younger brother looking nappy in a day and age like this one.”  

“Y’know, it.” Riley giggled, “Maybe next Sunday I can do your hair!”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Huey said, his smile vanishing as fast as it came, his tone leaving no room for argument as he walked back to the living room. 

Riley groaned in annoyance, practically sprinting to catch up with the taller as he slipped his arms through his with a quiet kind of ease…like it was the most natural thing in the world. Their arms tangled together, not out of necessity, but out of comfort—a subtle connection that neither needed to explain. 

“Wanna watch the Star Wars movies while we clean up?” Huey offered, already starting to put the shampoo bottles in their designated places. 

Riley rolled his eyes, “You're such a nerd.” He commented without hesitation, getting the house remote and pulling out the Star Wars CD’s to play on the television. 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

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Desiblr, as usual, is colourful today. Especially with war breaking out between India and Pakistan and I’m seeing so many different viewpoints and as someone who currently lives in Jammu and Kashmir and saw and heard the missiles, who has friends who’s families live on the border, whatever the fuck is happening right now is not pretty. It’s not good.

Schools, houses and residents also got hurt and bombed in poonch last night. People gloating about last night on desiblr are the people who live far away and in the safety of their homes. People here are not collateral damage btw. We are people. It’s dangerous. It’s fucking crazy.

Students here are fleeing in terror. You guys are fucking crazy. This is war and this is not funny or cool. It’s so easy to be patriotic when you and your loved ones are not scared out of your wits and not suffering.

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100 good questions to ask your friends at 4:02 am when you can’t sleep (can also function as an asks list)

Are you bothered by your cosmic insignificance?

Do you mourn for a place or person you’ve never known?

Do you really think there is somebody for everybody?

Do you place any value in gender roles?

Do you have to be related to be family?

Are your platonic relationships just as valuable as romantic or family ones?

Are you in love? Do you want to be?

Do you think you can put love into categories (family, platonic, romantic, etc.) or is it just one general sensation?

Would you be happy with a life without romance? 

Are you always going to be a little in love with somebody?

Would you change your appearance if you could?

Do you have the feeling you’ve lost something you might have had in another life - whether it be a person, a place, a world, a language, etc.?

Do you believe in reincarnation?

Would you want to be reincarnated?

Do you think you’re special, or just another person amongst billions? Can you be both?

Do theoretical ethical debates have any value? Is it important people discuss ethical dilemmas, e.g. the trolley problem?

Did you have imaginary friends? Do you still have them?

Are you religious? Do you think your religion is ‘correct’?

If you aren’t religious, do you wish you were? Why?

Do you want a grand adventure?

Do you have somebody, whether it be a friend or stranger, who you think you could have loved if the circumstances were different?

How long does it take you to fall in love with somebody?Is the sensation of ‘falling in love’ or ‘being in love’ better?

Is love about convenience or something more? Can it be about both?

Do you think you really understand your gender and sexuality?

How fluid is your concept of gender and sexuality?

What’s the most life-changing choice you’ve made so far?

Are you afraid of growing old?

Would you want to live forever? How about for a billion years, a million, a millennium, a century?

Do you believe in some form of god/s?

Are your choices fated or of your own free will?

Do you have a hunch about how you’re going to die?

Do you believe in star signs?

How old do you have to be to be considered an adult?

Was your childhood happy?

What are you missing from your life?

Have you ever met someone who had a very similar personality to your own? Did you get along?

Do opposites attract?

Is your life what you expected it would be five years ago?

Do you know what you want out of life?

What makes a person ‘good’? Are you a ‘good person’?

What fundamentally matters do you?

Is freewill an illusion?

Do you create art? How do you define art?

How often do you lie? Is all lying inherently bad? Are you generally truthful?

Do you want to be remembered after your death? What for?

Is true world peace ever possible?

Do you have to suffer to truly understand the human condition? What is the human condition? How can you really experience it?

Are you free? Will you ever be? Can anyone be truly free?

Do you hold yourself to higher standards than you hold others?

What do you expect from a friend or partner?

What question could you ask to find out the most about a person?

Do you justify all your beliefs or have you just inherited/absorbed some?

Which beliefs do you have that is most likely to be wrong?

Can human really understand the complete nature of the universe, space and time?

Is a conscious what makes someone a person?

What do you think about artificial intelligence?

Do you thinks humans are obsessed with escapism (books, video games, movies, etc.)? Are you looking for an escape? Do you think that’s a bad thing?

Are we eventually going to ‘run out’ of new combinations for music, art, language, etc.? Is there a limit to human creativity?

What do you think the next era of music will be like?

What do you think the next era of fashion will be like?

Do we live in tumultuous times, or do they just seem so strange because we’re living in them?

Would you want to meet a clone of yourself? Would you like them?

How confident are you, really?

How consistent is your perception of time?

What age should people be allowed to vote? Should children and teenagers be allowed to vote?

How do you feel about the idea ‘an eye for an eye’?

What’s the worse thing a person can be?

How do you feel about monogamy?

Can you be in love with someone and still fall in love with someone else?

What’s the tragedy of your life?

Would your life make a good play?

Should people be prosecuted for crimes that weren’t considered crimes at the time?

Would you fight for your country? Do you feel a sense of loyalty to your nation?

Do you believe in gender equality in every aspect?

Do we have a moral obligation to care for others? To what extent?

Do you crave approval and/or praise?

Is there comedy in all tragedy and tragedy in all comedy?

Are you ever going to be satisfied?

When you are sad, do you listen to music that conveys your emotions or music that makes you happy?

Is your music organised by mood or sensation or do you just listen to everything at any time?

Would you marry a friend if they needed you to (e.g. for citizenship)?

Are you a deep person?

Given the chance to live your life on Mars, with no hope of returning to Earth but with the promise of scientific discovery and glory, would you take it?

Are you who people think you are?

Do you think you would be happier if you had been born a different gender, sexuality, race, ethnicity, nationality or religion?

What’s your toxic trait? Are you trying to improve yourself and fix it?

Do you anger easily?

Are you a jealous person?

If you lost all your memories, would you have the same personality?

Given the chance to reset your life (with none of the knowledge you currently have), would you take it?

Is hate as strong as love? Who do you hate?

Do you speak multiple languages? Which do you dream in? What language would you want to learn?

Do you draw meaning from your dreams, or do you disregard them?

How would you describe yourself when you love? Do you love forcefully, unconditionally, gently, quietly, desperately?

Is unrequited love real love?

Is your perception of yourself similar or the same to how others perceive you?

Are you overly analytical?

Do you ever feel that you are really a terrible person, and only act good out of societal or some other obligation?

Do you believe in magic? Are you superstitious?

What belief do you have that isn’t logically grounded, but you still firmly believe in?

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Your sixth most recent emoji is how your guardian angel feels about you

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Sometimes little pleasures in life are loadbearing. Whenever someone is like "If you'd just give up tea and coffee and sugar and--" im like I'll stop you right there. Because if you finish that sentence i am going to kill everyone in this building and then myself. If i have to face the horrors of the world without my little jar of caramel flavoured instant coffee i am going to go full American Psycho. Believe it or not, my main priority in life is not to have perfect teeth or be an Olympic athlete or look like a supermodel, but to actually enjoy living, because I spent far too long not doing that and it royally sucked. And boy, some people don't like hearing that. Particularly dentists

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some thoughts. 5.11.25.

maturing is realizing I cause a lot of my own problems. I don't think I need to rest more, I need to work harder. I'm not emotionally unstable, I'm healing and burnt out and self-sabotaging.

A long, long time ago, I said I didn't think wanting to be cared for & loved was wrong. It's only human to crave connection, no? It's perfectly fine to love and expect it.. but if I may be truthful, I can be terrible at keeping up with my connections and loving others. I know the love is there, I'm just not great at following up a lot of the time.

Words. I'm made of them. I'm made of cheap words and flimsy promises and seclusion and my father's flaws. Because he did that too. I wish I wasn't like this a lot of the time & I know it can be helped.. I'm just not trying to work hard for it. I don't know why and I regret it so, so much.

And then I do try. Oh, how I try. But as soon as obstacles come along, as soon as something rattles my cup, I spill out everywhere and it's a mess.

I'm not as creative as I used to be. Not really, no. I'm definitely not as healthy as I used to be. I'm not entirely happy. I'm tired.

I hold love for everyone around me, especially the meaningful connections I've created through here and elsewhere, I hold so much love for you guys it hurts. It hurts because I can be terrible at showing it sometimes. It hurts because I can say it as much as I want but then disappear off the face of this app, which is my primary connection with you guys, for days — weeks at a time. I don't do it to harm anyone, I promise, but I don't know how many more times I can say that before it becomes like plastic. Fearfully to you all but forlornly already to me.

Even now as I type this it feels like I'm vying for attention. I have a history of being such and I can't help but hate it very, very much. Flowery words and composition is what I'm made of and I just wish I could wipe the slate clean and become somebody dependable, consistent, here.

It just feels like.. my foundation is crumbling? Maybe that's a bit overdramatic. And maybe come morning (it's 2:30am), I'll regret every word on this post and the thought process that brought me here.

I dunno man I just.. so many things are changing. I'm relapsing into old, bad habits and I'm not inputting my creativity into viable sources and I feel everything shifting and it feels like there's a cotton rock in my throat and I kinda just wish everything would stop for a second so I can catch up. Y'know what I mean?

And I know a lot of the things I'm saying can be changed. Not in an instant, but with certainty. With self-discipline and a clear mind and a purified heart. All of which I do believe I'm working towards but it's taking a bit and I relapse sometimes so please bear with me. World? Family? Friends. Everybody.

When someone goes from carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders and that weight goes away, the ache does not. The pain stays for a while. I imagine they'll stumble. Their back and soles will be bruised, they might get really dizzy and their breath might stutter, right? Because their world is tilted on its axis and what was one their alignment is gone and now the path they take is up to them.

I'm supposed to be stronger than this. I'm supposed to be changing, changed. Why is it so scary? Why does it hurt so bad?

I'm not doing this for attention, I don't think. Or maybe I am. I trust you guys so maybe this is okay to say. I dunno. At the very most I won't be entirely ignored. Is it a bad thing to want to rant out loud? To wish to be listened to? It's not that nobody was ever listening before, it's just.. I never really spoke up.

I don't like the way my body looks. I don't like who I've been. I want to crawl out of my skin sometimes. I wanna cut my hair. I wish I had better money saving habits.

I wouldn't still be here out of my own accord, I think. I do believe I'm being saved by the love I hold for everyone around me. One day I do believe I'll come to love myself too.

That being said, I love each and every one of you so, so much. Incomprehensibly so. That, I will never ever lie about. Never could. Please believe me. Please don't ever, ever doubt that. No matter what.. I know I leave a lot, I know I tend to disappear in the midst of conversation, I know.

But as I live and breathe, I hold so much adoration for you all and the communities I've been involved with on here & I know I tend to be overdramatic/sensitive sometimes but I really just need to say this.

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@kittykittyanon

*pokes you gently* Yah, look at what I found. ⁽⁽ଘ( ˊᵕˋ )ଓ⁾⁾

boo!! not really a jumpscare!! hi!! i know we've never interacted before but i've seen you around a couple times, and you're pretty cool!! i came as soon as i heard what happened and i'm so so so sorry!! i just wanted to say that,,

you're doing great!! again, i'm really sorry, you lost a lot, and that hurts real bad,, but you're amazing. you'll get through this. offering you virtual hugs and the coziest blanket i have,,

--🐱(っ´ω`)っ

Ohhh my goodness gracious. Well hello there, little one!! You're such a sweet little thing, oh my goodness. 😭🧡 This is so meaningful - color me intrigued!

First off thank you for reaching out, sweetness! This definitely caught my eye.

Concerning what happened,, mmmyeah, I'm some kinda sore over it for sure🥹 It was practically an archive of... myself?? And it just— poof! Gone.

But I will admit, I am optimistic about the future and what it entails. It's still me, y'know? & blessedly, a lot of those same writings are saved in my Google docs!! maybe that also blankets the sorrow and gives a essence of what could have been. Imagine if they weren't saved. I shiver just thinking about it.

Bottom line,, thank you deeply, tremendously, for your kind words. It means so much because - like you said, we've never interacted before!! - but you've seen me 'round and made the choice to reach out. It's intriguing, positively intriguing!

Stick around! I'd love to see more of you! 🤗🧡

Ahh, virtual hugs and cozy blankets. The backbone of my one-man society. ෆ⁠╹⁠ ⁠.̮⁠ ⁠╹⁠ෆ

Mahalo plenty, kitty!! 💗

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sometimes i wonder how a writer would describe me if i were a character in a book

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AI disturbance overlays for those who don't have Ibis paint premium. found them on tiktok

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