#*realize that last year was ice cream this year was bone

[borgeslabyrinth]

I've never been more offended in my life. I got my dog a bone for her birthday and she doesn't care! She was more interested in my dinner, and now that dinner is over she just stares at her bone instead of eating it 😭😭😭 spoiled dog doesn't appreciate everything I do for her

[roxineedstosleep]

Could you do a snippet for yandere platonic Batfam where reader accidentally gets hurt and is able to hide it for a few days until someone (May be Dick?) finds it and asks / gets upset about it? Love your writing!!! ♥️♥️♥️♥️

Hi there!!!

First of all: Thank you sweetie!

It's been a while since I've written, mostly because of the university, I'm about to graduate and I'm crazy because I'm approaching my final exams (I even have to defend my research work to be able to get my bachelor's degree)!

But, I got to thinking a bit about what you have written above… and even more so because I myself am a little bit crashed after my last film shoot for my final year of my degree. And can I just say that being in a bad way and having to hide it is terrible.

So… here goes!

(I'm sorry if I sound a bit comical in this writing, but I think the best way to get over something is to laugh at yourself a bit so you don't think about the pain too much; I hope you enjoy it anyway.)

Disclaimer: I don't know if you've noticed, but English is not my native/mother tongue. Occasionally, when I think too much, I write them in my language and then translate it in a trusted translator. So, if there's a grammatical problem or a strange term, it's the translator's fault.

Let's face it… having a large family is terribly exhausting.

It's never quiet enough, everyone is in everyone else's business, you can't leave your favorite mermelade in the fridge for less than a day. Someone is always occupying the bathroom or using your favorite shampoo or watching something on TV at too much volume and someone is probably occupying your bed at nap time.

Did I mention about meddling too much in other people's business? Yes? Well… triple it.

Having multiple siblings was new.

Having multiple siblings, a father and a butler/grandfather isn't exactly bread and butter either.

It wouldn't be so bad to belong to a large and numerous one if it was your blood family and you had lived with them all your life. I mean, sometimes blood is too thick and you have no choice but to learn to love them or just be nice to each other.

Like I said, it wouldn't be so bad if they were really your family.

But the Waynes were not your family. Not distant relatives or anything like that.

You were just living your life, as quietly as possible… and poof!

New room, new butler/grandfather, pets beyond belief, 4 new male siblings and a father with serious emotional constipation issues. And, to add more salt to your wound…. all have serious abandonment issues and death-related trauma.

After several escape attempts, sleep strikes, hunger strikes and any other kind of protest that an anarchist could be proud of… you realized that it was simply impossible to get out of this without risking the path of death.

Which, to top it all off, was also unreliable because apparently your older brother Jason had revived as well as another of your siblings. So no, dying was also not a viable option to which one could resort in the worst case scenario.

What to do?

Well, not much. Trying not to die of suffocation of affection or finding a way to have privacy while going to the bathroom just seemed to be the best survival tools you could resort to.

What does that entail?

It implies that Tim was going to give you hours and hours of lectures on his latest discovery of a case, even if you don't understand half the things he's told you or mentioned at all.

Richard and Damian trying to teach you new tricks almost every second, taking you to the Zoo or not leaving you alone to go to the bathroom.

That Jason, oh holy cow he is the only one more relaxed, takes you with him on his motorcycle to eat ice cream and to the public library. Without being able to scape, because it seems that you have a kind of GPS inserted in the bone marrow.

(Sometimes you don't know if it's true or not, but sometimes you also felt pain between your bones, almost during the cold seasons, and you didn't want to burst your poor little head thinking of different viable possibilities knowing them. No scars, no remembering anythins about any surgery).

Have a grandfather who will not hesitate to make you cookies, your favorite foods whenever you want … without leaving you aside at any time.

Plus a terribly quiet father, who if he can will carry you for as long as you spend time together, won't let you near the secret basement and enjoys being in the same room with you.

Do you see any privacy in this?

No, because even at the bathroom door would be the pets trying to get in and see you for themselves while you want to do your business.

The worst of that? Titus always judge you when you close the curtains.

As I mentioned and it was clear: Having a large family implies little privacy… Having a large, obsessive family means NO privacy.

So, knowing that you have over 50 nanochips tracking in all your clothes, two security monitors embedded - God knows how - in your body (monitors that only tell you if you are in designated safe place), 20 high definition surveillance cameras in every room and a Great Dane chasing you like a chick …. How the heck do you fall down the stairs and hit your pelvic bone without anyone noticing?

No kidding, how?

And if you had to blame someone for your fall… you'd totally blame Damian for it.

It's not that the kid pushed you down the stairs, but over time he had tamed himself into various things and relaxed into looking his age. You know!!! He started acting like a normal teenager!

What do Damian's kids do at his age? Well, they leave things lying around and have messing around them when they can, of course they do!

You just wanted some yogurt with orange marmalade. Maybe some oatmeal cookies. Alfred had left it for you in the fridge when he noticed you'd been watching video tutorials on homemade marmalade for hours. Who were you to deny such a gesture of generosity?

I mean, Alfred was the one who allowed you to hide in the attic for hours on end so you could have some time to yourself.

And how did it end? You, slipping down the main stairs of the old Wayne mansion, down a nicely polished wooden staircase, rolling all the way down (which is no small flight of stairs, it should be noted) to the bottom of the first floor.

Now, lying on the ground is not so bad in itself. What is bad is not being able to feel your legs and still not being able to understand how you manage to tidy up your neural wiring so that your legs can still move on their own and go to the kitchen to rescue all the delicacies Alfred left you in time.

And it's a good thing you managed to do it… because within seconds Bart had rushed in to ransack the fridge and the fruit basket.

But that's not the point.

The important thing is that this time you managed, I insist a little on the feat of action, to climb up to your room and not notice how you couldn't really feel your legs.

You ate, you lay down… and to your bad or good luck, you couldn't get up …. and without anyone noticing there was an emergency and everyone went out to sort it out.

Weak limbs, limited movement and you don't want to mention the embarrassing actions you did in order to go to the toilet.

It's not like you hid it either, I mean, there was no one who could even notice because they weren't entirely available to watch you. Nor is it that you would have run away, otherwise they would have been at your side in less than a second.

The detail, as they insist, is that you had probably bruised your back badly and your body was now taxing you extra for your food craving.

I insist, you did not hide anything.

But still, when you're found completely itchy on the floor, ridiculously trying to run away in the direction of the bathroom… that's when everyone really goes crazy.

First, having to carry you and not dying of embarrassment when you notice that Bruce definitely doesn't give a damn about having to carry you to the bathroom and do almost everything for you.

Or having Dick and Jason carry you and fit you into some kind of weird medical scanner they have in the cave.

Or that Tim keeps track of your periods, types of meds you take and, for fuck's sake, knows how the fuck to inject something into your spine.

Or that Damian had the gall to look a little embarrassed when he heard that a pair of boxers lying outside the laundry basket was to blame for all this.

NO matter.

At the end of the day they heal you, pamper you, leave you alone when you need to take a nap and figure out a way to fix it without looking like complete maniacs who built some kind of internal plumbing that sucks up the dirty laundry and throws it straight into the washing machine.

Like the time they didn't look like maniacs by sanding all the edges of the tables and nightstands.

Or the time they bought a whole brand of sanitary towels when they realised that not all women use tampons.

Don't worry, they're looking out for you… even if they look like deranged Arkhan freaks in the process.

[floylia]

# MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾

04. I’m so wet tonight 💌

Destiny and fate are liken to strings you can’t untangle with ease. Two simple words with inexplainable concepts. A belief split into millions of definition.

But this might be fate—a doomed fate.

Cerulean eyes meet yours upon striding inside the store. The contact lasts longer than necessary. But within those few seconds, recognition is acknowledged on both sides.

That fateful day when a guy embarrassed himself and you watched it unfold.

You thought that was the last of it. Perhaps not.

You scan the small dairy isle, searching for an energy drink and a bucket of ice cream, while ignoring the pleads in the back of your head—constantly screeching about the humiliating past.

But who are you to feel embarrassed for him?

Why do you feel shame in the first place?

“Cash or card?”

“Cash.” You pass him the total amount, grabbing the wrinkled change you had in your wallet.

He takes it hesitantly, “By the way, about last time...”

Here we go.

“There was a rat in the locker room so I ran out like that. As for what I said… I don’t remember why I did that. But I promise, I’m not… a pervert,” The last phrase was faint as he whispers it in a breath.

You chuckle, “It made me laugh, don’t worry.”

One moment ago he was a grey cutout, now colors are back in his face as a grin reaches the wrinkles of his eyes, “So we’re cool?”

He looks like a dog wagging his tail after seeing a treat.

You nod, “Was that bothering you for a while?”

He breathes a sigh of relief—staring at you as if he had been derived of oxygen, “Yes! I was tossing my body back and forth that night, because my head refused to stop replaying the scene every time I closed my eyes. Can you imagine yourself doing that? Here I thought I was being mysterious.”

Not a single bone in his body was mysterious.

“People remember their own embarrassing moments more than other people’s, don’t stress about it.”

He shows his paper white teeth, “You have a way with words.”

“And you don’t,” You blurt out, recalling that moment.

Laughter engulfs the tense atmosphere.

“Fair enough. Fair enough. I’ll never live that down. My friends tease me enough already,” he hands you your change and the plastic bag worth of snacks.

The pit-a-patter outside makes your head swerve towards the window. Rain droplets fall from the heavens, gearing up as you spend minutes inside the establishment.

Checking the weather today slipped your mind, otherwise you would have brought an umbrella. Even though your dorm is nearby, running through the heavy downpour is not something you enjoy doing on a school night.

Navia would jerk her head in disapproval.

The ginger must have realized your conundrum.

“Here,” He offers you a small black umbrella, “You can use this.”

“No, no it’s alright. You might need to use that later.”

He shakes his head, “The store owns it. We have extra. Just borrow it for tonight. Then you can come back and return it. Think of this as an apology.”

“Thank you. I didn’t want to be drenched today. I’ll return this, I promise!”

A gentle smile pervades his face as he waves a goodbye. He observes you, crossing the street from the foggy window until your silhouette fades with the night sky.

In truth, the store didn’t own the umbrella. They don’t have an extra. It was his — but that is his little secret.

No harm done with a white lie.

NOTES:

kinda rushed (wrote the written parts in one night, i dont usually finish fics in one sitting)

ig he gained aura points?

was gonna post this later but fuck it 🤷‍♀️

SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.

When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back.

CHILDE x FEM!READER

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[astraystayyh]

Bittersweet

Pairing : Bang Chan x reader, exes to lovers.

Summary : You broke up with Chan because of an once in a lifetime work opportunity. Four years later, you are back home and everything has changed.

Warnings : Some cursing, reader has a big fear of thunder, allusion to sex in the end but no smut.

A.N: I wrote this as part two of Beginning of the End, but it can be read as a stand-alone. Still, i HIGHLY recommend reading part 1 first, it will just be more impactful!! Please let me know if you enjoyed reading, it means a lot to me <333

(Part 1)

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

Four years later, you were back to where it all started.

It felt weird to return home after all this time; to stroll down the alleys you once memorized, to meet up with the friends you once couldn’t live without. To witness firsthand how small your existence is, in the sense that you were so attached to your city, yet it had moved on perfectly despite your absence.

Still, you couldn’t really blame the world for moving on because you changed a lot too.

You had grown happier and more secure in yourself. Your work was recognized and praised, and you made some unforgettable memories that wouldn't have been possible had you not left. You felt as if everything you fought hard for finally paid off.

But throughout the years, one thing did remain the same; your love for Chan. You never tried to forget him or make your feelings go away. You figured that loving him was like the skin that clung to your bones, an inseparable part of your being.

Still, you were human after all, and as the months passed, you began to forget the sound of his voice and the warmth of his body against yours. His giggles became a distant memory in your mind, and so did the feel of his hands on your skin. Loving Chan became like a photograph that you safely tucked away; it chipped at the edges and its colors faded, but it still lived on, just like your love for him did.

And now that you were finally back with a bigger promotion, you couldn’t help but think about Chan even more. Everywhere you went, you saw snippets of your past with him.

You were so young, so foolish, you realized.

But so utterly in love.

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

It was 11 pm, and you were suddenly craving ice cream. You knew it was a bit ridiculous because it was -3 degrees, and you were already freezing, but you had one fundamental rule in life: never say no to your heart's desires.

This is why, despite the cold, you quickly leave your new apartment and skip toward the convenience store near you.

You head inside and grab your favorite ice cream before strolling around in case something else caught your attention. You just loved the calm inside and wanted to bask in it a bit more.

You round the milk aisle and suddenly bumped into someone’s chest. You were about to apologize when the words got stuck in your throat.

Chan.

"Yn…?" he calls out, and you feel yourself grow weak in the knees.

There was something about the way your name rolled off the tip of his tongue that made you feel as if no one, besides him, had ever done it justice.

He was even more beautiful than when you last saw him four years ago. His brown curly hair was tousled and his warm eyes reminded you of galaxies. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest because you couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe it was him.

Memories of your last time together came crashing down on you like a wave; how he hugged you and told you to pretend as if nothing was happening, how he wrote you the most heart-wrenching letter that you’ve since memorized by heart.

"How are you?" you ask, clearing your throat. It felt silly to ask such mundane questions. This wasn't what you wanted to know. You wanted to ask if he still hated the taste of alcohol, if he still cried during sad movies, if he still squealed when he laughed, if he still loved you as you loved him.

But you couldn't voice those thoughts, so you willed yourself to drown them in the storm that is your mind.

"I'm good, and you?" he replies, smiling a little. It doesn't reach his eyes.

"I'm great."

"You look like it," he says, and you meekly nod, "So do you."

"Are you... visiting?" he asks after a few silent beats, and you shake your head, "I'm back for good."

"That's great. It's nice seeing you again," he gives you a genuine smile this time, and you can't help but grin back. You missed him.

You both stare at each other for a while after that, taking each other in. Looking at him felt like looking at a mirror of your past self -you could clearly see yourself in him because he once was a part of you, just like you were a part of him.

"I'll... I'll get going," he points behind him, retracting back, and before you could think it through, you grab his wrist to stop him.

It wasn't butterflies you felt when you touched him, that would be an understatement, it was pure electricity shooting through you.

People had touched you while you were away - hugs, kisses, and intimate caresses - but none of them made you feel this way. You were like a prisoner who had just felt the sun's rays against their skin for the first time in years. And you were starving for that sunlight.

"Can we meet up? Catch up? If you want to, of course," you whisper. Your voice is quiet- a stark contrast to the chaos going on in your mind.

"Yeah... Yeah, I'd like that," he agrees, rubbing the spot where you had grabbed him. Did he feel the sparks too?

"Tomorrow, this time, in the park near our old apartment?" you suggest, and he nods, "Sure. I'll be there."

"Great. I'll wait for you."

----------

You are sitting on a swing, swaying back and forth gently. Your heart is beating erratically in your chest, and you bite your nails from how stressed you are. In the four years you were away, you had to give conferences in front of thousands and thousands of people, yet you weren't as nervous as you are now.

"You still do that?" a voice next to you reprimands and you turn around to find Chan.

"Old habits never die, I guess," you smile sheepishly, dropping your hand down, and he chuckles.

"How are you?" you ask again, and he shrugs, "I'm good."

"How are you, really?"

"I don't think you have the right to ask me that anymore." His words cut you deep, and you swallow forcefully. "I'm sorry, I didn't... I didn't mean to pry."

"I know, fuck, I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's okay," you reassure, looking up at the starry sky. He was right after all.

"Haven't been stargazing for a while," he whispers, and you smile sadly. That was one of your favorite activities together.

"Me too. But I love looking at the stars," you reply.

"I know. They remind you of how small you are in the grand scheme of things," he says nonchalantly as if he didn’t just knock the breath out of you. He remembered.

"Yeah, like how I've been away for four years, and everything moved on as if I've never been here."

"Your absence was felt, yn”, he pauses, “I used to miss you." Used to. Past tense.

"I still miss you." Your reply is instant; you don't feel the need to hide from him. You never did.

Chan holds your gaze for a while, and you wonder what he was thinking at that moment. You wanted to shout at him to tell you what was on his mind. To just say it. But you couldn't. You can no longer ask things from him; you knew that.

"I saw your name in news articles and TV shows. You had your big breakthrough," he suddenly smiles at you, changing the subject. You feel a blush creep up your neck; the fact that he kept up with you made you feel shy all of a sudden.

"I guess I did, I grew a lot. I... I think that I needed to get away and experience new things. It would have haunted me had I not," you smile, and he nods attentively. He still listened to you intently, as always.

"You were always destined for great things," he says seriously, and you feel your eyes well up with tears.

He spoke those words as if he wholeheartedly believed them, and nothing in the world could ever sway his mind.

"So are you. You've been doing amazing these past few years, getting all these awards and deals. I love your music," you gush, and he waves a hand in the air as if to dismiss your words.

"Don't do that," you chastise, "you should be proud of yourself. I know I am very proud of you."

"I suppose the years did us good," he sighs wistfully, and you hum in agreement. You are both quiet after that. You don’t dare to speak, afraid that your next words would break the bubble you are in. As selfish as it was, you didn’t want to face reality yet.

"Just say what’s on your mind," he suddenly speaks up, and you raise a brow at him inquisitively.

“You are scratching your throat as if to stop the words from coming out. Just tell me.” Chan, ever the perceptive.

You take in a deep breath, willing your voice to sound strong, "The only thing I regret is that... I had to lose you in the process. I know I'll never find someone as amazing as you."

Chan doesn’t reply and your words linger in the air, suffocating you. You hoped that a strong wind will come by and carry them away, somewhere they wouldn't hurt anymore.

"I did love you, yn." A pause, and you can feel a heartbreaking ‘but’ coming. "But I don't anymore. I found... I found someone else. They are good to me and I love them."

"Oh". You dreaded it, expected it even, you never wanted him to wait for you. Because you left, so he had every right to move on. Still, you were only human, an enamored human whose heart now broke in two.

You feel the bile rise in your throat and you shake your head as if to clear those stupid thoughts away. You left, for god’s sake, you weren’t allowed to feel this way. But still, it hurt, it hurt so bad all you wanted to do was to curl in a ball and weep.

"I hope that you are happy with them. That's all I ever wanted for you, happiness." Your voice wavers and he knows, Chan must know you are trying so hard not to break down. So he doesn’t comment, he only smiles at you, which makes your heart break even more, because he must smile at them like this all the time now.

"I will get going," you abruptly stand up, dusting your pants. "Let me walk you home," he offers and you shake your head no.

"It's nearly midnight, you are out of your mind if you think I'll let you walk alone."

"Okay," you simply reply. Truth is, you weren’t processing what he was saying anymore. 'I love them' kept repeating itself in your head like a broken mantra. He found someone else. He found someone else. He found someone else, and it isn’t you. 

"This is me", you clear your throat when you arrive in front of your apartment, and Chan stops in his tracks.

“Come here”, he says and it’s all it takes for you to bury yourself in him. Just like four years ago, he was leaving you with a goodbye hug. Only this time, there was no hope left. Only a sense of finality. He knows that you still love him, you couldn't hide that from him. But he doesn't love you anymore and he can't hide that from you.

The hug only lasted a mere ten seconds, but you tried your best to take it all in, to memorize how it felt for Chan to hug you again. You desperately needed to patch up the broken memories you had left of him.

You finally lean away, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your shirt. Chan’s brows furrow looking at you, and you smile reassuringly. "I'm okay really. This is just bittersweet to me."

"It is to me too," he whispers and you nod, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from breaking down.

"You stay safe for me, yeah?" he tells you softly and you nod again, "you too."

"Goodbye, yn."

"Goodbye, Chan," and with that you turn around, entering your apartment block.

You've never hated goodbyes more than in that instant.

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

it's been 3 months since your talk with Chan. Admittedly, you've gone back to that convenience store where you've met him, for a month straight, just in case he went back there. He didn't. And now you had a large stock of snacks you didn't know what to do with.

After that, you went to all the places where you've gone to on your dates. You don't know what you were expecting. You've lost Chan, but still, you always found yourself back to where you shared memories with him. But he wasn't there.

In the third month, you've started accepting that you lost him for good. The love mingled with the ache and you found comfort in its everlasting presence. It served as a reminder that you did love him, and he did love you back at some point.

Thankfully, your work was going really well, and tonight, you were out with your superior to celebrate a successful deal you chaperoned and discuss some upcoming projects.

You enter the restaurant, your boss hot on your tracks, when you abruptly stop. Sat on a table right across from you is Chan with a girl you did not recognize. You would have bolted out had it not been for your boss who looked at you with worried eyes. You shake your head mouthing an "I'm fine" to him.

While your boss placed your order, you couldn’t help but stare at Chan. He looked so... happy with her. She said something and he laughed, tipping his head back. You felt jealousy gnaw at your heart because you were the one who used to make him laugh like that.

You left, you remind yourself, you are the one who left.

Against your own will, you look up at Chan once again, only this time he was looking at you too. You hold his gaze as if under a spell, and when the girl next to him touches his hand softly to bring him to her, you almost sob right there and then.

"... our partners will come from France and you will have to hold a meeting with them tomorrow."

"Sure. I already prepared the slides and sent them over to your mail," you nod. Work, forget about Chan, work.

"I will check them out. You'll have Clara with you?"

"Yes, she's the only one who can speak French besides me. I have been overlooking her for this past month and she's really competent."

"Should I challenge her?"

"Yeah, I think she's up to the task", you smile and he nods, satisfied.

You try to eat your dinner after that, keeping up with your boss’s chatter. But it felt like a punishment- sitting there when the man you still loved was on a date right across from you.

And as if your night couldn’t get any worse, you hear thunder rumble loudly. You clench your glass so tightly in your hand- you are surprised it didn’t break.

You had a really really big fear of thunder. It stemmed from when you were a child, playing hide and seek when a thunderstorm happened. You ended up being stuck in the closet for an hour because your cousins forgot about you, and you fainted from how afraid you were.

You look up at your boss apologetically, you couldn't tell him you had to leave because of a childhood phobia, so you quickly try to muster up an excuse. "I'm sorry to cut it short but can I go? I have a- a dentist appointment and I need to wake up very early tomorrow."

"Sure. I'll see you at work?". You have never been more grateful for his understanding.

"Yeah, thank you for dinner".

You quickly grab your things, leaving the restaurant. You hop in your car but you are shaking so badly, you can't even start the engine. Another thunder resounds and you drop your keys, forcefully shutting your eyes. You try to drown out the sound with your hands clasped on your ears but it didn’t help. It was too much- the pain, the fear, the ache. You needed everything around you to stop.

You hear the door next to you suddenly open and you snap your eyes toward it, to find a disheveled Chan standing there. He pulls you out of your seat, instantly bringing you to his body.

He knows how scared you are of thunder.

"Shhh, it's okay, I'm here. You're safe," he pats your head gently and you hug him tighter to you; as if he was your only mean of survival.

He tries to peel away but you only hold him closer, to which he rubs soothing circles on your back, “I’m not going anywhere, let me drive you home, okay?”

You nod against his chest and he lets go of you, holding your hand instead. He opens the passenger door for you then he quickly hops into the driver’s seat. He starts off your car, blasting the music so loud you no longer hear the thunder booming.  

Your hand is still tightly clasped in his when you arrive home.

He silently opens the door for you once more, and you lead him to your apartment. You were mortified he had to leave the restaurant for you, but you were so grateful for him, because at the end of the day, he came to you.

Chan awkwardly stands in your living room and you figure the least you could do is apologize. "I’m sorry I cut your date short."

"You sound jealous", he points out.

"I am jealous, but mostly sorry."

"You shouldn't date someone who won't be with you in times like these," he dismisses your words, and you frown. Why did he sound angry all of the sudden?

"He didn't know."

"Still, he should have seen the signs. I was across the room but I saw you shaking for god's sake!” he almost shouts and you take a step toward him.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't," he is lying.

"Why does it bother you?” you insist. You needed to know.

"I said it doesn’t yn," he enunciates but you don’t back off.

“He’s my boss that’s why I was alone, but why? Why does it matter to you?"

"Because I fucking lied", he shouts, inching closer to you. "Because I lied yn, I never found someone else, it was you, it was always you."

"What... but the girl?".

"She's my coworker yn. I tried to forget you. I tried but you were always there. You were everywhere. And I had to carry on with the love I had for you but I didn't know where to put it anymore. Because you didn't tell me, you didn't tell me where the love was supposed to go now that you left!"

You stare at him unblinking, afraid that this was all just a figment of your imagination.

"And then... and then you came back and it was as if no time has gone by. It was as if you'd never left and I wanted to kiss you and hug you and I wanted you back. I needed you back", his hands are on your shoulders now, grasping you tightly as if to convince himself that you were here.

"But I couldn't, I couldn't allow you in because what if you left again? I wouldn't survive that, yn," his voice cracks at your name and it’s all it takes for you to bring his lips crashing down on yours.

You stagger back, your fingers grazing your lips in shock, "I'm so sorry, I didn't-", your words are cut off by his mouth on yours once again, "don't stop", he whispers and you kiss him, again and again. Your mouths moving in sync to the symphony that is your love.

When you finally pull away, he places his forehead on yours and you close your eyes. "Tell me this is real, that you're back to me."

"I'm here."

"You still feel like a dream."

"I'm here, I'm here", you reassure, your hand gently cradling his cheek, "I never stopped loving you Chan. I knew I was destined to love you, whether you loved me back or not."

"You are my soulmate", he leans back, kissing your forehead softly, "you and I are one."

"I've got a tattoo of your handwriting", you confess softly and his eyes snap open.

"What?"

"I tattooed a sentence from the letter you left me, with your handwriting, 'Our love will remain'."

"Where?"

"Here", you trace the outline of your breast and he chokes, "somewhere only I can see it."

"You are crazy", he chuckles, a bewildered smile on his face.

"In love, yes," you giggle and he blushes, hiding his head in your neck.

“Can I see you tomorrow? We have a lot to talk about," he asks, peppering the curve of your neck with kisses.

"Sure, I'm all yours after 5 pm."

"Works for me. I’ll see you tomorrow?", he smiles, and you beam at him, "I’ll see you."

Chan doesn't let you go and you laugh, kissing his cheek, "you are not leaving?"

"I'm not", he smiles cheekily.

"And why is that?"

"Because....", he drawls out, his lips brushing against your collarbone, "I need to see that tattoo."

----------

A lover’s body is like a land you discover over and over again. And tonight, as Chan made love to you, you drank it all in- the flexing of his muscles and the new sounds he made. But despite those changes, you found out that you never forgot the secret passages to his body, and the ways only you can make him unfold.

Still, it wasn’t when his naked body hovered over yours that you felt bare in front of him. It was when you both laid next to each other, talking in bed until the sun rose, that he undressed your mind.

It is there, behind those walls that you both built, that Chan and yn from four years ago lived on.

And you were still as in love.

[bob-artist]

What food do you miss the most since finding out you have a soy allergy? (I also got diagnosed with a soy allergy in the last couple of years and realizing just how much of what I loved eating was making me sick was pretty brutal)

p.s. glad to hear you’re doing better and can eat many more things now!

Aw man, sorry, I feel that. 🤝 And thank you!!

Tofu, my beloved. Green curry with tofu. My sister made an *amazing* buffalo tofu, and what a way to go out.

This one's pathetic, but most protein bars. I know "foodier" food is better, but I miss having something easy and non-perishable that I could grab on short notice and not pass out, lol.

Eating out has been by far the hardest, especially eating out with other people. Burger buns. Any type pastry/dessert that's not a croissant or ice cream. Donuts. ;_; Anything with chocolate. My vegan friends and I can never eat at the same place. And some places just straight up have soy in everything.

I will say, though, that the thing I miss the most is my money. 😆 I'm fortunate to live where I can find a soy-free version of almost anything. But I have go to Whole Foods, or buy the $10 chocolate bar. I always liked Whole Foods because mainstream processed foods always made me feel off (and now I know why), but having it be mandatory after inflation really sucked.

I'm hoping that since my issue was a mild/moderate allergy PLUS gallstones, I can be less strict in the future. I know it's still not a good idea to eat things that make your throat and internal organs swell up. But I might be able to do restaurants on special occasions and not have it become a medical emergency. But either way, I'll still be an anti-incidental-soy-in-foods-that-don't-need-it crusader!

Anyway, bless Guittard for baking/chocolate chips! And I make homemade ramen with chicken broth or bone broth, dashi powder, and chili crisp. Eventually I'll try pum-fu (pumpkin seed based "tofu" which I've been told is pretty good.)

And speaking of chocolate, my local Whole Foods carries Milkboy brand, which is a very good soy-free milk chocolate. And Dr. Bronner's (yes, the soap people!!) make soy-free chocolate I'm obsessed with.

LOOK! Their chocolate looks like their soap!! (but it tastes a lot better, lol) The coconut praline is A+++.

[paybackraid]

An Ice Cream and Fudge Kind of Chat

Summary: Jack might be a little confused, but he's got the spirit. In more ways than one. Or, Jack so aggressively supports Danny as a trans boy that he gives him the wrong sex talk. Mentioned grayghost

Rating: T

Words: 1994

Trigger warnings: none

---------

Danny walked into the kitchen to see his dad scooping copious amounts of ice cream into two bowls. A tray of fudge sat between them. Danny knew what was about to happen deep in his bones. His body went stiff and his insides felt cold, even for him.

Uh oh.

“Danny boy!” Jack cheered happily. He tossed the ice cream into the freezer and took a seat in front of one of the bowls. 

“…Awkward father-son chat?” Danny guessed, hoping against hope that wasn’t it.

Jack gave him a warm smile, softer. “Awkward father-son chat. Come sit.” He patted the empty chair beside him.

“…Do I have to?” Danny asked.

Jack didn’t verbally answer, merely patted the seat again. Danny got the picture.

With a heavy, nervous sigh, Danny moved forward. He adjusted his binder carefully, since it was pinching his underarm. He needed a new one, a bigger one. He’d grown. That comfortable, Danny dropped into the empty chair and picked up a piece of fudge. Peanut butter bacon. Delicious.

“So… what’s going on…?” Danny asked. Half of him hoped that Jack had forgotten all about Phantom and was about to confront him about it. That father-son chat—not the first one they’d had and obviously not the last—had gone almost remarkably well. It had ended with his dad scooping him in his arms and squeezing him so tight he thought he was going to break every rib. Danny had come out as half-dead and Phantom late last year, and it had gone so well that Danny was basically ready to do it again.  Better that than… whatever Jack had put together.

What else was left? The gay talk had come first, until Danny realized that it wasn’t the liking of the same gender that had been the problem rather than not being that gender, actually. Mom and Dad had handled both of them so well, even when Danny switched it up not three months later. There had been no you’re faking it, no you need to stop changing things on us. They’d taken each in stride. Next had come the bi talk when Danny realized that yes, boys were hot too, thank you. Dad had organized the next one, when he thought Danny had a girlfriend. When Danny almost did. Two years later and he finally had that girlfriend. And Valerie was a fucking treat. Finally came the whole half-ghost, being-Phantom awkward chat that had come up last year. That had gone well, obviously. Since Danny was still (half)alive, free, and very well.

If all those awkward father-son chats had been had, what was left? 

“It sounds like things are getting serious with you and Valerie,” Jack started, voice still warm. “I hope you’re not secretly spending the night at her house when you say you’re at Sam’s or Tucker’s.”

He had. Exactly once. To be fair, they had a project to work on, and there was a ghost fight and he’d come back so tired afterward. There’d been some kissing, some snuggling, but Danny had retreated to the couch like a right gentleman when the time came.

…Oh, wait.

Oh, no.

Danny was sure he wasn’t prepared for this sort of awkward father-son chat.

“I want you to know,” Jack continued. “Your mom and I really like this Valerie. She keeps you in line. Both of you.” Jack winked.

Danny winced. That was one way to put it. Him being a ghost and his girlfriend being a ghost hunter certainly did put a level of keep-in-line-liness into their relationship from both ends.

“And I’m glad you’ve gotten so comfortable with her, and with both of your halves. I’d be happy to see her over here more often. She’s someone I can blather on about ghosts to!”

He had. So many times. Valerie took it in stride. She really was an incredible girl.

“Okay…” Danny urged, face flushing red. He hoped Jack got to the point so this chat could be over. 

“Eat your ice cream before it melts,” Jack encouraged. He took a bite of his own and then snatched a piece of fudge. “All that being said, I expect responsibility from you.”

“Responsibility?” Danny didn’t think there were many kids his age more responsible than him, actually! Danny fought ghosts daily! He’d had the weight of the world on his shoulders since fourteen. He didn’t think there were many more responsibilities to have!

“Now,” Jack continued. “You are nearly an adult, and your mom and I can’t monitor you all the time. That wouldn’t be fair to you or to us. I would rather that you got up to the more adult things under our roof, where we know you’re safe and can help you handle whatever repercussions arise. So.” Jack reached for the seat beside him and grabbed two things. A banana and a… a… 

A condom?

Danny’s blush left completely. He was so pale his face felt like everice, staring at the horrible combination of items right there in front of him, grim horror and amusement dancing across his face hand in hand. Granted, his dad didn’t know that Valerie wasn’t a trans girl or otherwise, but… 

“I understand they’re teaching this in schools now,” Jack said, setting the banana between them, “and that’s great, but I want to know that you know how to use this anyway. If the two of you start having…” Jack practically gulped aloud, his face coloring, “if you start having sex, I expect you to use condoms every time, and I expect the two of you to have a conversation before and after. Fenton men are gentlemen.”

Danny smiled blearily. His dad was so fucking goofy, and maybe that was something Danny loved about him. “We drink respect women juice every day,” Danny agreed with a nod. It was an old joke, but a good one.

“What?”

He laughed. “Nevermind.”

“Right,” Jack said, plowing forward. “So show me you know how to use this.”

“Dad, me and Val really won’t need to use th—“

“Enough of your teenage invincibility,” Jack said. “You don’t know what could happen. Show me you know how to use this.”

Danny’s face went back to red, but he was struggling to hide his smile. It was embarrassing for sure, but if Danny understood exactly what was going on, it was nice. 

Knowing he wouldn’t get out of this, and kind of really loving his dad in the moment, Danny reached over and opened the condom. He rolled it over the banana like they’d shown in health class then set it over by Jack to inspect. Jack approved but asked suspiciously if they’d already started; Danny seemed pretty smiley for something like this.

Danny flat out denied it. There’d been some… under the clothes stuff, but nothing like that. 

“Good, that’s good,” Jack said, leaning back. His ice cream was mostly gone, but he was starting to stack fudge in his bowl. “But Danny, even condoms only work ninety-nine percent of the time. So when you do start having sex, you need to be prepared for… possibilities.”

“Dad, I really don’t think the possibilities you’re thinking of—“

“Danny,” Jack interrupted. “I expect responsibility from you. That doesn’t mean that Mom and I won’t help you out, of course not. But if you get that girl pregnant, you will be sticking around for it, whatever Valerie decides to do with it.”

And there it was. Pregnant.

Danny was not physically capable of getting anyone pregnant. He didn’t have the equipment, and he wasn’t sure that was a surgery he’d ever want to have, anyway. Dad knew that. Jack had taken Danny to pick up his first pads and tampons—they’d gotten so many sizes, it had not been handled as gracefully as Mom had handled Jazz’s. Hell, Jack had sat with Danny at the doctor’s office when they’d said words like puberty blockers and hormone replacement and address mental health first. Was Jack being goofy? He couldn’t entirely tell. Jack seemed far too serious to be playing some weird long con of a prank. It was too serious a topic for Jack to do that for, he hoped. 

“Danny-boy,” Jack said firmly, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Do you understand me? You will support that girl if and until she aborts it, but if she decides to keep it, I expect you to be a present father, too. Am I clear? No skipping town because of it. Mom and I will help you.”

Jack was serious.

He was so, so serious, and Danny realized that he really, really, really loved his dad. 

Danny might try to get the real sex talk out of his mom, later on. The one he needed with his body. But he could sit here and be embarrassed while his dad plainly and actively forgot that Danny used to be his daughter, so long ago. 

“Yeah, Dad,” Danny said with a laugh and a smile. “I hear you. If something somehow happens, then I’ll be responsible with it. You can count on me.”

Jack’s smile was warm again, and so, so proud. Danny’s heart felt light in his ribcage, like it might turn intangible and phase right out of him. “I know that, Danny-boy. We can always count on you.”

The rest of the chat was, if a little awkward yet, smooth. Jack forgot three more times that Danny didn’t have the same stuff to do much with the talk, but Danny was kind of okay with it. By the time Jack seemed satisfied with the conversation, Danny’s grin split his face right down the middle even if he was red as a tomato. 

“And if you’ve got anything else you want-or-need to know about, you come right to your old man,” Jack was saying while Danny cleared their dishes from the table. “I’d rather you safe and embarrassed than sorry down the road.”

Another smile that Danny buried in his shoulder. “Yeah, okay,” he said, turning back to his dad. Jack was standing and stretching his back, muttering something about sitting for too long. “I will.”

“Good,” Jack huffed. He reached out and ruffled Danny’s hair. “See that you do. Got any questions for me right away?”

“No!” As much as Danny loved his dad—and he did, so much—there was only so much embarrassment he could handle before he had to close that particular spigot. “Thanks for the talk though, Dad. Thanks for caring.” Caring in more ways than one. Caring about Danny’s identity so much that he forced out of his brain any impression of Danny not being the man he was. 

“Of course, Danny-boy,” Jack chirped. “I love you.”

“Yeah,” Danny agreed. He approached his dad and put his arms around his neck, squeezing him as tight as Jack would—and did. Although he was careful to avoid that poor, abused banana. “Yeah, I really, really love you, too.”

Jack released him after a moment and ruffled his hair again. With a farewell, Jack headed down the stairs to the basement—probably to tell Maddie just how well that talk had gone. Hopefully Maddie would correct him and fix his mistake later, but wouldn’t be upset. 

Danny decided to do the same, although upstairs to his sister and then to his room. Jazz laughed goodnaturedly and gave him a hug, but luckily didn’t make any promises about giving him the sex talk he was supposed to have. Danny flopped back onto his bed and quickly called up a conference call with Sam and Tucker, excitedly telling them about the horrible, wonderful conversation he’d just had. 

Valerie would come later, he thought. Probably after he’d had the talk with his mother. So Valerie wouldn’t have any thoughts that couldn’t go anywhere yet. She would find it funny, probably—she was as supportive as his family and friends—but he didn’t want to disappoint her. Not about that, anyway.

[thealluringj]

Joe Burrow.......Tooth Fairy?!

So I have been enjoying this fandom for the longest on Tumblr, and working on some fics for the longest but hesitated to release any of them. However, after I saw that photo of Joe and Taylor Rooks from this weekend, I said, yes, lets give this a shot. This one-shot is written more to be part of a long-term series with many one-shots and a full length chapter story, than a stand alone. But my decision on that does depend on what you all think of the fic here on tumblr. 

So PLEASE drop a note of what you think below! 

Typically, the early afternoon was the calmest time of the day in the Burrow Household. At least on the weekdays, anyway. Ava was typically at some after school activity or just getting home. Which is why the wailing and screaming caught Joe off guard as he walked through the door after a jam-packed day of meetings, press conferences and practice.  

Your 7 year old, Ava, rounded the corner at a speed that made Joe think she was running from one of the monsters she claimed lived under her bed.  

“Daddy, save me! Mommy is trying to pull my tooth out!” Ava dramatically and tearfully said, plopping herself on the floor by Joe’s feet and wrapping her limbs around his leg.  

“Joe, your daughter’s tooth is loose. She complained about it all day at school. The teacher literally called me about it because Av could not concentrate and was being disruptive to the other kids in her class. One of us needs to pull that sucker out, ASAP.” You told him as you walked to where your husband and daughter were.

“No, no one can touch it!” Ava cried, clamping a hand over her mouth.  

Sure, your daughter had her dramatic moments, but this was a new level. Seeing as her teething stage went down like a sleepless horror film, you two expected nothing less when it was time for those same teeth to fall out.  

“What if I hug you really, super tight while mommy does it? I promise it won’t be that bad, bug. And we can go get ice cream afterwards. And also, the tooth fairy, remember?!” Somehow in this situation, Joe took your chosen role of good cop right from under you.  

“Can we get ice cream without her?” Ava asked, narrowing her eyes as she accusingly pointed at you.  

“Excuse me, her has a name, ma’am. And she also happens to be my wife, which means she goes wherever I go. Ice cream included.” Joe told Ava with a raised eyebrow.  

It’s a good thing your daughter was in the room because that last sentence alone had you ready to jump his bones. For the third time that day. Trying to conceive a second child was hard work and you and Joe had dedicated the last 5 weeks of alone time to ‘putting in the hours’ to make it happen.  

“Fine. Mommy can come. But I would like 2 scoops instead of one this time. I think I earned it.” You were proud to see your own negotiating skills as a second-generation lawyer had rubbed off on your daughter. Even if your father stopped speaking to you when you left his firm one year in to join Joe in Cincinnati and start your own there. He was also not happy about the fact your choice of spouse was white. He’d always imagined you to be one half of a black power couple to one of his colleague's sons.  

After a handshake to seal the deal, the three of you moved to the kitchen to complete the task at hand. Joe sat at the island with Ava in his lap, holding onto her tightly. You and he shared a look of apprehension, unsure of how Ava was going to handle this experience. Your daughter was a unique mix of strength and sensitivity, just like her parents. You washed your hands and grabbed a paper towel while you readied yourself mentally. There was gonna be screaming and crying, that would indeed break your heart; but you had to push through and pull the very loose tooth out.  

Having checked it before now, you knew exactly how to grab the wiggly tooth and with one fluid motion it was out before Ava even realized.  

“Mommy, NO, leave it alone!” Ava screamed, holding her mouth and turning to bury her face into Joe’s chest.  

“Got it!” You cheered, gleefully doing a little dance and showing it to your husband, who took one look at the bloody thing and gagged. “that’s disgusting.”  

“Oh hush boy, you saw way worse than this when she was born.” You quipped back, still beaming with excitement that you got the thing on the first shot.  

“I don’t love how excited you are at pulling out our daughter’s tooth, if I’m being honest.” Joe flatly told you, but the smirk on his face kinda cancelled out the attempt at seriousness.  

You simply rolled your eyes playfully at him.

“Whatever. Now are we getting ice cream or not Av?” You reached over and kissed the little girl on her cheek.  

“I wanna see it first!” Ava answered back eagerly and excitedly, shocking Joe.  

“Who are you people and what is wrong with you?” Joe loudly asked as Ava examined her own tooth in excitement.  

“Daddy, we are Ava and Mommy.” Ava told him, turning in his lap before grabbing her dad’s face between her palms and looking at his eyes.  

“What are you doing, cra-cra?” Joe asked her through squashed cheeks.  

Ava giggled, “My name is Ava, not cra-cra. You are daddy and I am checking your eyes for signs of concussion. The paper said not remembering stuff and big pupils, the black circle inside the color of your eyes, are signs of them. And you DID get sacked twice on Sunday.”  

Joe glanced up at you as Ava continued her examination, wondering how Ava knew more about concussions at the age of 7 than most adults.  

You shrugged, “You did bump your head slightly on the last sack and had to leave the game for a few downs. And I told you not to leave paperwork laying around. She is reading way above grade level, possibly higher than the teacher said in her report card. She started reading some files I left in the backseat on the way home today.”  

“Ave, I’m fine. Go get your shoes on, please.” Joe stood up with Ava and turned her toward the direction of the foyer.  

“I’m starting to think we should stick to what we know. Nothing wrong with growing up as an only child. Or we do it like my dad did and we have the second when she is 16 and almost out of the house. I think two of them at this point might just be the end of us.” You giggle and settle into Joe’s arms as he pulls you into a hug.  

You leaned up and peaked him on the lips, “Considering I legit blinked was pregnant with Av, might be a little too late for that, big guy.”  

“I’m waiting!” Ava called from the doorway, interrupting your playful conversation with Joe.  

Over the years, you all had learned how to keep a low profile and the places and areas you could go where pretty much everyone treated your little family like normal people. After Ava was born, you’d settled into a nice upscale suburb of Cincy, with a park, restaurants and stores within walking distance and everyone treated you all like normal everyday neighbors. Bengals fans were incredible grateful for what Joe had done and continued to do for the organization and team they loved. So, in return, they mostly respected his desire to live unbothered with his family. Tourists weren’t really a thing there, either.  

The three of you got your ice cream, played at the park a little before heading home to work on homework and dinner.  

It was 8, dinner dishes were done, Ava was in bed with her tooth under pillow awaiting the tooth fairy when you walked into the living room where Joe was watching game film.  

“I’m gonna go take a bath and then do some work, put this under Ave’s pillow before you come up for bed, please.” You kissed his cheek and placed a folded up $5 dollar bill in Joe’s hand.  

He glanced at the money in his palm before looking up at you with a stank face, “Doesn’t 5 seem a little cheap?”  

“I got a dollar per tooth and turned out fine, blessed baby boy of Robin.” You playfully poked at Joe being a spoiled momma’s boy.  

Getting her approval was something you felt like you were still working on, even though she’d welcomed you with open arms years ago when the pair of you met at LSU while you were there attending law school.  

Joe squinted at you, “ha, ha. I’m just saying if I got $5 in 2003, our daughter should be getting more than that in 2029. Inflation is real, my love.”  

You smirk, unable to form words and kiss his forehead, “I can’t with you. Give her as much cash as you want. Just make sure she’s asleep when you do it. Her figuring the tooth fairy thing out is the last thing we need, especially after she spent half of Christmas dinner telling your family we were liars cause we wrote from Santa on those gifts.”  

“Well if little Caleb Smith had kept his god damn mouth shut, she would have thought they were from Santa!” Joe spitefully spoke of the little boy that connected the Santa-not-being-real dots for Ava during their class Christmas party.  

Joe waited till way after 10pm to slip the $10 under Ava’s pillow. He could tell by the shallow breathing she was asleep but called her name a few times to be sure. When he got no response, he knelt next to her bed. Softly lifting her head and the pillow, he quickly swapped the tooth for the money and slowly placed her head and the pillow back down.  

“Love you, bug.” Joe whispered, kissing her forehead and walking towards the door.  

“I knew it. You and mommy are the tooth fairy.” Ava’s voice rang through the quiet room just as Joe reached the threshold.  

Joe panicked, “Av, your dreaming, go back to sleep.”  

Ava sat up, arms crossed and a smile on her face, “I’ve been awake since you and mommy tucked me in so I could meet the tooth fairy. You and mommy are Santa and the tooth fairy, aren’t you? What about the easter bunny? Are you him, too? And don’t lie, daddy!”  

“No. Absolutely not.” Joe scoffed, taking a little too much interest in studying her door frame.  

“Mommy is right, you are a terrible liar.”  

[thehatchettownchronicles]

No Flowers On My Bones - 4

MASTERLIST

Content Warnings: daddy issues, dead mom, childhood neglect, ptsd, lautski being sweet lil nerds

🥀🥀🥀🥀

“Tell me about your mom.”

Steph blinked, and looked up at Peter. He stared down at her, partially curled up on his chest. The two of them were curled up on the couch, a Star Wars marathon playing in the background. One that neither of them were really paying attention to, evidently. Peter had his arms wrapped around Steph, holding her close to his chest as they lay together.

“I mean, she’s gone, has been since I was a kid, what is there to know?” Steph deflected.

It’s not that she didn’t trust Peter. She did, really, with every part of herself. But it was like there was this barrier in her brain that stopped her from saying a word. Even now, even though Solomon Lauter was now two months dead, she could practically feel his disapproving glare on her at the very thought of it.

Steph’s heart broke a little when she saw Peter’s small frown.

“Steph, there’s a lot to know,” he softly rebuttaled. “I know it’s a hard topic, and if you really don’t want to talk about her, I won’t push. But I’d love to hear about her.”

Steph worried her lip between her teeth, before giving a soft sigh. She began softly fidgeting with the neckline of Peter’s t-shirt as she began to talk.

“…She was beautiful,” she began, quietly. “I always thought she was the prettiest lady in the world. Still do. I used to sit and watch her do her makeup, and she would always smile at me and offer to teach me how to use it if I wanted. But she always would remind me that I didn’t need it…”

Peter listened intently, rubbing Steph’s lower back as she spoke. He was proud of her for beginning to step out of her comfort zone.

“I was always closer with her than with Dad. Sometimes when he was busy working we’d have little girls’ days just the two of us. We’d go to the mall and shop for pretty dresses, and she’d take me to go get ice cream after. She always said it was ‘our little secret’, even though I knew Dad knew about ohr little shopping dates,” Steph rambled, her face softening as she kept talking about her mother.

It was like the dam broke.

Steph felt so free, being able to talk about her mom. It had been 10 years.

10 years of silence. 10 years of a quiet, empty house. 10 years of her father’s cold, hard insistence on what “proper” living looked like for a politician and his wayward daughter.

Steph couldn’t stop now.

She recalled the time she and her mom had prank called her dad on his work phone. The fact that whenever her dad was at work late, her mom would always blare music through the house, singing along and pulling Steph to dance with her. She remembered homemade meals, baking goodies from scratch, and being taught to pick her own outfits.

Stephanie shared it all with Peter. Baring him her battered, bruised soul as she tried to recall some of the only joy she had from her childhood.

And when she remembered that last Honey Festival…she clammed up once more.

Solomon really wouldn’t want her talking about that.

Peter was worried about Steph’s sudden silence, and chose to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He pressed a small kiss to her forehead, and mumbled, “…She sounds amazing, Steph. Just like you.”

This made Steph’s heart melt a bit as she looked up at Peter. He looked panicked for a second, which confused her.

“Oh, shit, Steph, a-are you okay?” he asked, his hand moving to cup her face, rubbing his thumb over her cheek.

Steph hadn’t realized that she was crying.

She rubbed the heel of her palm over her tear-streaked cheeks, and nestled her head into the crook of Pete’s neck.

“Yeah, Pete. I’m okay.”

[cypreus-and-willow]

No Pets Allowed

There are no pets allowed in the Hanemiya household. Young Kazutora finds a kitten.

Read on AO3

Word count: 431

CW: animal death, animal abuse, domestic violence, miscarriage

He brought a cat home once to mother's horrified face.

It's dirty Kazutora

What if it has rabies?

But young Kazutora was adamant. He'll take care of it, he promises.

She relents. 

Keep it hidden she says don't let your father see it. 

You know the rules. No pets allowed.

His father finds the kitten and lets him keep it. Mothers trembling watery eyes follow a shaky exhalation of breath. He remembers the way she pats his head. Warm smile, real and hopeful.

"We'll done Kazutora."

Her gentle thumb absently rubbing circles on her swelling belly. Unconscious hope that her boy will be a wonderful big brother. 

It goes fine. Everything's fine. It just gets a little harder to breathe everyday. Every time fathers brogues stomp all over the living room. It's fine. Just don't. Make. A sound.

He doesn't. They don't. Mother and son, as perfectly quiet as they could be. Like little mice curled inside nooks on the walls, they make no sound at all. Even as they come home to father crouched over the dining room table. His quiet anger, louder than the frightened mewling and the crushing of tiny bones. 

He turns to mother next.

Their tiny mewling hope is crushed beneath the angry man's fist. You know the rules , he screams at wife, seven months pregnant. No pets allowed.

No hope allowed.

Oh , he realizes with a tiny gleam in his tiny soul. That's why.

Father turns to him next, screaming, yelling but Kazutora can't hear a thing. His memories swirl and turn black. His mother's swelling belly, shouting, pushing and a room full of blood. When he wakes, he gathers the bloody lump into a cloth and dumps it in the nearest trash.

He remembers ice cream, cold on his lips. But the memory is coloured sepia, coloured with the warm tones of laughter and joy. A summer day at the beach getting burned by the sun, with only his mother and her cravings for company.

He learned somewhere that when the body is in danger of dying it diverts blood circulation to the most vital organs. This is for survival. He remembers clearly the sweat on her cold clammy hands. And the way her arms grew rigid over the years.

Somewhere down the line, his mother with the warm golden eyes and warm hugs grew colder. Her breaths icy and her eyes void.

For survival. All that warmth diverting inwards, losing ground to the cold until it finally reached the last remaining warmth in her heart.

Mother doesn't smile anymore.

Kazutora feels so cold.

[i-rove-rock-n-roll]

The Day Pa Crow Met Death

Chapter 1

THE MAN IN BLACK

The beginning was Death.

It was not the Beginning: the creation of religion and its variant births, of dust and ashes, of emerging from caverns, godly creations, or ground corn, broken bones, dewdrops or blood rivers, hatching eggs or resurrection. Nor was it that Big Bang, of all things that the scientists believed in, that precise method of atoms changing into matter and light and universes, those tiny strands of DNA forming roughly (yet so beautifully) into worms, then fish, then men.

This was not the beginning.

It was not even the beginning of his life in particular when he, Pa Crow, had been born, baptized appropriately according to his sour-faced parents, then left to his own devices until he was old enough to help with the sowing, growing, and harvesting.

It was, what Pa considered, quite correctly, to be the first day of the rest of his life. Or, more specifically, the last day of his life.

Whichever sounds nicer.

The day started out quite nice itself, in Pa’s opinion. The old man, and he was an old man, woke shortly before the sun cleared the horizon. On the border between hearty and frail, his steps were as heavy as his arms were spotted, his face leathered and his hair white. His clothes were warm and soft, the complete opposite of his limbs. His stride was relatively smooth, though he stopped and started like a baby calf, all jerking movement and long legs. That day in particular he took to carrying a shotgun on a strap, bouncing across his back.

He went by the name Pa, though he was no father to anyone. Neighborhood children would flock to him, eager to hear his him tell stories. Wonderful tales of magic and myth and science and wonder and hope and friends and family and lizards—anything to keep the boredom at bay. When the ice cream truck rolled by he would treat them, and they would listen, enraptured by his slow, warm cadence, and somehow so distracted that the ice creams were mostly melted by the time the children remembered they were holding them. Now Pa’s children were grown and bought him ice cream. They bought him lunch and books and clothes. One even bought him a plant, a beautiful little thing with shining leaves and absolutely zero flowers.

“It doesn’t replace the tree, I know.” One of Pa’s children said, rubbing his arm self-consciously, recalling the behemoth of a botanical specimen that used to dominate Pa’s yard. “But I’d like you to have it anyway.”

“Thank you.” Pa said. He never knew how to say no.

That was years ago. The plant remained just as it always had, green and budding and flowerless. The only thing missing was a name. So, Pa tossed a couple around. A “Good morning, Linda,” or an “Evening, Ricardo,” or even a “You look like you might be blooming soon, Scipio the Steadfast, what do you think?” While he was partial to all of these (and even considered each one seriously for some time), Geraldine, Pa decided, was perfect.

Each summer brought new children, all bright- eyed and waiting for the magic their parents told them of. They always wanted to stay past dinnertime, but even Pa conceded that their parents would like to see them eventually. Each summer seemed hotter than the last, burning the soles of bare feet and torching the once green grass into a not quite flaming yellow.

It was when Pa brought the group their lemonade that he realized, with a jolt, that there were fewer children than before. At first, Pa wondered if they were sick, but then another vanished. And then another. And then another, leaving no sign that they had ever existed at all. It didn’t seem to affect Pa’s older children, the ones who had grown into such lovely adults, but instead took the youngest, stealing away each childish laugh as it pleased.

It wasn’t the weather, he determined, or sickness, or some parallel universe (as far as he could tell); it was just children disappearing, their parents and guardians unworried. Pa was the only one who saw them before they were gone.

The day the last child disappeared was the worst day of all. There was no laughter outside his window, no sticky fingers ringing the bell or rattling his doorknob. Instead, there was silence, only broken by birds in the day and crickets at night. Once in a while, there was a scream, either of thousands of bugs or a lone animal, and though they were gone as soon as they came, he didn’t feel quite so alone anymore.

He made trips to the basement, fetching his stereo and television and then went to the store, collecting the cables and batteries necessary to run such old things in his warm, worn living room. What few of Pa’s adult children still lived in the dying town took him out to eat and offered him an ear. “Maybe next summer there’ll be more kids,” they’d say. Or, “Just give it time, the others will be back before you know it.”

But Pa didn’t have time. He was almost ninety-six and, in his eyes, had very little to show for it. The farm had been his parents’, the produce their legacy. Acres of land long sought after by businessmen, offering amounts Pa could barely conceive of. Pa said no to all of them. It wasn’t his land to sell.

In the end, Pa was glad the children were gone, glad they weren’t there to see what he was doing.

Pa set himself up outside, just as he always had, in his large rocking chair. The gun was cool against his fingertips as he lay it between his knees, loading the chamber with bullets, his hands far steadier than his gait. Pa whistled a tune as he finished, setting the shotgun on his lap, one hand on the butt, his fingers near the trigger as he waited. A very important visitor was supposed to drop by, one Pa hadn’t seen in quite some time.

He was waiting for the Man in Black.

The Man in Black first showed up on a bright and sunny Tuesday morning. Coincidentally, that was the day Pa Crow met Death.

The Man in Black made his way up the porch steps and was about to ring the doorbell when he stopped, turned, and smiled. Sitting in his chair, eyes half- lidded in the summer warmth, was Pa Crow.

“Pa Crow.” The Man in Black said, Pa’s form reflected in his dark sunglasses. There was almost nothing he did not know. Almost. Pa’s eyes fluttered open.

“You know my name,” he said, “could I know yours?”

The Man in Black smiled, teeth remarkably straight, though not remarkably white. “You could.” He said, and left it at that.

“Are you with the government?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking the questions, Pa Crow?”

“Should you?” Pa stretched lazily, one hand above his head, the other reaching behind.

“I wouldn’t reach for your gun if I were you, Pa Crow.” The Man in Black’s smile was implacable.

“I wasn’t.” Pa said, which was true. He had, in fact, been reaching for the crowbar he kept hidden behind his chair. His shotgun was in the house, tucked under his bed, much too far away. If the Man in Black had a gun, Pa didn’t see it.

“We’ve been keeping tabs on you for quite some time, Pa Crow.” The Man in Black stood above, ignoring the perfectly empty chair beside Pa’s. “Do you know why?” Pa wondered if this was a trick question. He didn’t know why the Man in Black was watching him, nor did he know the Man in Black’s reasoning, or why he insisted on using Pa’s full name with each sentence. The Man in Black continued. “Do you?” Pa remained silent.

Then he said, “You want my farm, I assume?”

“You assume?” Something in the Man in Black’s smile sharpened. “One can assume many things, Pa Crow. For example, you assume I am a government agent; I, in turn, can assume you are a farmer. You assume I wish to purchase your farm; I assume you must’ve had offers. What other assumptions can we make?” Pa shrugged. “You could, for instance, assume that crop circles are made by bored teenagers; I could assume the culprits are extraterrestrials.”

“Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”

“That,” said the Man in Black, “is an assumption.”

“So,” Pa thought for a moment, settling more comfortably in his chair. “I can assume you aren’t here on business. I can assume you are telling the truth, though I have yet to meet an alien that prefers hanging out in crop circles rather than at the local arcade. I assume you aren’t actually a government agent, though I must be perfectly frank, Mr. Man in Black, you don’t come across as particularly trustworthy.” The Man in Black was silent.

“You would do better if you listened to me, Pa Crow.”

“But you haven’t said anything.”

“I have.” Said the Man in Black, turning to leave. “You just haven’t been listening.” He looked back, his expression unreadable. “You’ve had ample warning, Pa Crow. Time’s up.” With that, the Man in Black walked down the steps and disappeared. Pa blinked, confused, and went inside.

Where there should be noise, there was silence. The radio, always running a low murmur in the background, had died. The clocks, both on the wall and beside the couch, had ceased ticking. The fan above him, pushing warm, dusty air around the room, had stopped spinning.

“Huh.” Pa Crow said and walked back out the door. He got in his truck, which took a moment to start before turning over with a soft rumble.

The drive to town held empty roads with very few cars out and about. Not even fifteen minutes into the trip, the truck began to shudder and cough in warning. Pa frowned, checking the dash. It had been full last night, since he had filled the tank after giving one of his kids a lift to their PTA meeting. Pa knew he should have more gas than this but focused instead on finding someplace to safely pull over. His surroundings were all fields, ditches, and gravel. The truck died just as he made it to the gas station.

Pa grunted as he dropped from the truck, his knees rolling at the impact. Reaching for the pump, he found a loud, pink note taped to it, scribbled in thick marker. PAY INSIDE.

The bell above the door rang as Pa entered the store. The cashier, buried in a magazine titled, Drought: Is It Aliens or Aardvarks? rung him up for gas, as well as a few candy bars. Following the monotonous “Have a nice day”, Pa stopped, one foot from the threshold. His skin prickled and he looked around. Aside from himself and the cashier, the store was empty. Pa exhaled, pushed the feeling aside, and left the station, the bell dinging a goodbye behind him. He was barely five steps from the door when a shadow blocked his path.

“Do you have a five? I need a pack of cigarettes.” Pa sighed, slipped a bill from his beat-up wallet, and handed it over. The man went inside, bought his cigarettes, and returned, looking at Pa expectantly. “You need to learn to say no.” He said.

Pa blinked. “What business is it of yours?” He hoped he didn’t sound rude. He did just buy the man his cigarettes after all.

“None at all.” The man said amicably. He flicked his lighter once, then twice. The tip glowed against the cigarette before he said, “You didn’t happen to want change back, did you?”

‘Yes.’ Pa thought but decided to try something different. “No.”

The man hummed. “D’you happen to be a Capricorn?”

“No.” Pa said, wondering why he thought of those brown cones bursting with produce that decorated Thanksgiving tables in pictures. “I don’t believe so.”

Pa Crow was born on a certain day of a certain year, under a certain astrological sign that may or may not have fit him personality- wise. He didn’t actually know when he was born, and, in short, didn’t believe in astrology, nor did he much care to learn.

“A Virgo, then.” The man stated.

“No.”

“Leo?”

Pa smiled.

“Want a cigarette?” The man held the pack out to him, inviting. His nails were short, his fingers squat, and Pa figured, by the small yet numerous scars dotting discolored skin, that the man most likely worked with his hands.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Of course, you don’t, Mr. Crow.” The man shoved the box into his pocket. “You are Mr. Crow, aren’t you?”

“Pa.” He replied simply, jamming his hands into his own pockets, feeling for his keys.

“Pa,” the man said with a smile, “Let me treat you to lunch.”

The diner Pa drove them to was very small and very quaint. The vinyl acted much like glue, or perhaps a sort of fly tape, cementing a person to their seat until the meal was done. Their waiter, Chuck, was one of Pa’s earlier children. He greeted them with a curious smile and a comfortable booth.

The man inhaled his burger while Pa had his usual of pancakes, coffee, and fresh fruit. He asked Pa questions about his life, most of which Pa answered, some of which he didn’t. Chuck eventually came by with the check and the man waved him off, sopping up the salty grease on his plate with his last few fries, proclaiming that he needed a slice of pie before any business was to be done, and that he would pay for everything. Pa, grateful he didn’t have to pay, and feeling rather adventurous, decided to spring for a Coke. His companion asked for two slices of banana cream, one for there and one to go. Chuck returned a moment later, bottle in one hand, pie in the other and apologized, saying that they only had one slice of banana cream left and asked if he would perhaps like something else.

The man shrugged. “I’ll take the check.”

“Please,.” Pa added. Chuck nodded.

Trouble returned when the man tried to pay with plastic.

“That’s odd.” The man frowned. “My employer told me that credit—er, debit—whatever cards work almost everywhere.

“Not here, I’m afraid.” Chuck apologized once more. “We only take cash.”

“Damn.” The man looked at Pa, eyes pleading. Pa sighed and pulled out his wallet, which was beginning to feel light.

“I have just enough for the bill, not enough to tip. Can I bring it to you later this week, Chuck?”

“If you were anyone else…” Chuck warned, before a smile split his face. “Nah, you’re good, Pa.” He gave Pa a tight hug and the man beside him a quick wave. “See you soon.”

The ride was silent;, despite the man’s fiddling with Pa’s stereo, all he received was static. His fingers tapped the console, then moved to roll the window down. He flicked ash from his cigarette and rolled the handle back up once he had finished. Pa kept his window down, relishing every bit of fresh air he breathed in.

“I got it!” The man said, snapping his fingers. “You’re a Cancer, you’ve got to be.”

“And why is that?” Pa asked, hand over hand, turning left. What met them was a highway, long and empty, lined with wheat and the occasional tree.

“Er—I dunno. It just feels right.” The man interlocked his fingers, popping them with ease. “You know,” he said conversationally, lighting another cigarette and pulling a bag out from under his seat that Pa never remembered being there, “my boss was right.”

“About what?” Pa smiled. “Not the card. Nowhere here takes them.”

“Truly?” The man sighed, unzipping his bag and pulling out a gun far smaller, sleeker, and nicer than Pa’s gun at home. He then pulled out a small cylinder and began screwing it to the end.

“What’s that?” Pa’s foot didn’t so much as waver from the gas pedal.

“A silencer.” The man said. “Also called a suppressor. My boss suggested I use it, though I doubt anyone can hear us out here anyway.”

“Your boss being the Man in Black, I assume?”

The man smiled. “Yes.” He said. “He said you’d assume too.”

Pa shrugged lightly, flexing his fingers to keep from gripping the wheel too tight. He pressed down on the gas, pushing the needle a bit at a time, moving it ever so slowly past sixty. “What else can I do but assume? I don’t have the answers he thinks I do.” Pa said. “Hey,” he asked suddenly, the needle hitting seventy, “you wouldn’t happen to know his name, would you?”

Now it was the man’s turn to shrug, his silencer-suppressor now connected to his gun. “I don’t get paid to ask questions, Pa. Do you understand?”

‘No.’ Pa thought. “Yes.” He said.

“You want to do any pleading?”

“No.”

“Have any regrets?” Pa wondered but did not answer. The man sighed again. “Might as well get this over with.” He said, unbuckling his seatbelt and lifting his gun. “For what it’s worth, I really did enjoy lunch with you today, Pa Crow.”

Pa swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes flickering to the speedometer, still climbing upward, now touching eighty, soon ninety. “So did I.”

The safety clicked, the silencer a cold forewarning against his temple, slightly warm from the short time ago when the man had screwed it to the end. Pa inhaled, exhaled, and closed his eyes. The needle hit ninety, reaching for one hundred—

He wrenched the wheel to the left.

A twisting.

A crunch.

A gunshot.

A gasp.

Then darkness.

[coolbeanzeaglbones]

So, here I am. 2,086 years old and a mother for the I don't even know how many times. It's such a reward, seeing kids you've nurtured grow into such beautiful humans...of course, the times don't last as long as I'd like, but hey, what can ya do?

Today is a milestone of one of those moments as I walk to the principal's office of my eldest daughter's highschool.

They said it was urgent and I should come right away.

Believe me, as an immortal foster mother, I've seen it all. But I wasn't expecting there to be a kid with a broken arm that recognize as Isaac, a kid in the system that I'm trying to get custody of, a bully whining and clutching his bleeding nose, and my daughter standing next to Isaac, trying to comfort him.

I am immediately wary. What happened now? I am met with some yelling from the principal, "Do you know what your daughter did?" She shouts shrilly. I don't budge, "And what pray tell happened?"

My daughter opens her mouth to speak, but is immediately cut off by the bully's mother, "She broke my poor little son's nose. Unprompted!" She huffs, glaring daggers at me, "And him? What happened to him?" I gesture to the broken armed boy, "He just got caught in the scuffle, knocked into a wall."

"Why is his arm broken?"

"Mom! Can you please not get in a fight?" I turned to my daughter, "Lia, what happened...and I'm getting into a fight."

Lia takes a breath, "Well, I was on the grounds, getting tutored by Isaac over here," she gestured to her friend, "when Bryce came over and knocked our books off the table and began to shove Isaac down. He has weak bones, he can't really handle it." He gave her a weird look and I stifled a little laugh, "Anyway, so I got up and I warned him. I said, 'don't shove him again, or you'll regret it.' it was his fault for not listening."

The principal explodes as soon as Lia finishes, "You have raised such a little liar Mrs. Bell! I have a witness account."

"From who?"

"From Bruce Mills."

Ah, Bryce's twin brother, I think as I grab Isaac gently around the shoulders, "Do you need a ride home sweety?" I am working so hard to get custody of him from the state. I hope this doesn't set me back.

"What?! You can't leave! Your daughter is in serious trouble!"

"And what about your son, Mrs. Mills? He broke a kid's arm. And a darn good kid at that!" I realize the maturity it takes to find out which battles to fight and my heart swells with pride for my daughter, "We're leaving, to the hospital, and if you take up a problem with us, I'll call the cops." I threaten in a deadly whisper.

The principal is left stuttering as I gently guide Isaac up from the chair and we're out the door, "This isn't over, Bell!" Mrs. Mills shouts after us, "Hey, after we get your arm fixed, we should go get ice cream." I said this in earshot of The Mills.

Hey, just because I'm immortal, doesn't mean I'm not petty, "Call your dad, tell him to meet us at the hospital." I hand my phone to Lia as well step outside of the school.

I make sure to take a photo at the hospital, for the book. Man, full of great memories of even greater people. So many pages, full of love and loss and life.

Most immortals become the angsty “everyone I have ever loved is gone” kind of immortal. You, on the other hand, instead took it upon yourself to be a loving presence to entire generations of your chosen family, because they are descended from someone you once loved long ago.

[ilearnedthistodaysblog]

#1142 Who was Typhoid Mary?

Who was Typhoid Mary? She was a chef in the late 19th and early 20th centuries who was a carrier of typhoid and responsible for the deaths of several people. Someone who spreads diseases is often referred to as a “Typhoid Mary”, but many people probably don’t realize that Typhoid Mary was actually a real person. Her name was Mary Mallon and she was born in 1869 in Ireland. At the age of fifteen, she emigrated to New York with her family. She lived with her parents until she was old enough to work and then found a job as a domestic helper for a wealthy family. By 1900, she graduated to being their cook. Cooking paid considerably more than other domestic jobs and she was very happy with the arrangement. However, a few weeks after she became their cook, several members of the family came down with typhoid. Mary left their service and moved to another wealthy family, this time in Manhattan. Pretty soon, members of that family came down with typhoid. Mary moved again, and the same thing happened again. Between 1900 and 1907, she worked for 8 different families in New York and people in seven of those families came down with typhoid. The last family were a wealthy banking family in a town called Oyster Bay. Mary might have moved on and remained anonymous if it hadn’t been for that town. The owner of the house the banking family were renting was worried that rumors of typhoid would stop people from renting his houses, so he hired an investigator to work out where the typhoid was coming from. The investigator tracked Mary down and she was arrested. She hadn’t actually committed a crime, but she was arrested because she was a threat to public health. She was forced into a hospital and kept there for almost three years. She was tested multiple times while she was there and always tested positive for the bacterium that causes typhoid, Salmonella typhi. She was a carrier, without getting infected herself. When she cooked meals, she never washed her hands and she passed the bacteria into the food she was making. After three years, Mary was released, but was forced to sign a document saying that she wouldn’t cook for people anymore. Within a few years of being released, Mary was a cook again, and people started to get sick again. She worked in restaurants, hotels, and wherever she worked, typhoid epidemics would follow. Despite all of this, Mary Mallon never thought that she was the cause and she disagreed with all of the doctors. She just thought she was unlucky. The state disagreed and she was tracked down and locked up again in 1915. Sadly for her she was quarantined in a hospital on North Border Island, a small island in New York City’s East River, for the remainder of her life and died there in 1938. She became known as Typhoid Mary during her lifetime, a name given to her by the press. Not without reason, she didn’t like the name. Out of all the people she infected, 3 have been proven to have died, but the number could be much higher than that. Interestingly, it seems that Mary passed the bacteria to the people she was cooking for in a specialty dish of hers, ice cream with frozen peaches. The bacteria would be killed in cooked food, but not in cold ice cream. How could she be a carrier of typhoid and not get sick? Typhoid is caused when the Salmonella typhi bacteria gets into someone’s body. The bacteria are absorbed through the intestine and get into the blood. They rapidly start to multiply in the gut and also in the lymph nodes, spleen, liver, gallbladder, bone marrow, and blood. This triggers an immune response, which is why you get a fever and the other symptoms. The bacteria can destroy the lining of the gut and they cause a lot of pain. They can be killed with antibiotics, although there is a lot of resistance to antibiotics recently. If they are not killed, they can eat a whole through the intestines, which causes internal bleeding and other infections, that can be fatal. The bacteria are passed on through feces. They are in the gut and they get passed out. If feces end up contaminating a water source, or a food source, the bacteria can spread. Sometimes, a person can be sick and recover, but some of the bacteria stay hidden in their body. These bacteria don’t harm the host, but they multiply and still get passed out in the feces. If that person doesn’t wash their hands after going to the toilet, those bacteria can end up in food, and then in the person that eats the food. This is what happened with Mary Mallon. Typhoid Mary. The bacteria was hidden in her gallbladder and reproduced freely. She didn’t wash her hands and became a host and a super spreader. However, with the knowledge of germs that was available at the time, none of it is her fault and is just unfortunate. And this is what I learned today. - #321 How does a pressure cooker work? - #369 Why is New York called New York? - #763 When did ultra processed food start? - #425 How does an air fryer work? - #132 When did the Mafia come to America? Sources https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Typhoid_fever https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/typhoid-fever https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC3959940 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/North_and_South_Brother_Islands_(New_York_City) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Mallon https://www.history.com/news/10-things-you-may-not-know-about-typhoid-mary https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/17730-typhoid-fever Image By Unknown artist - According to http://www.newsday.com/community/guide/lihistory/ny-history-702b,0,3017376.photo?coll=ny-lihistory-navigation this is an illustration that appeared in 1909 in The New York American. (According to http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/typhoid/mary.html, the precise date was June 20, 1909) (Same date given in New York Public Library Digital Collections under: "Typhoid Mary")., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=689799 Read the full article

[hibewriter]

Summer Days

Masterlist Read it on AO3

Shadow & Bone | Darklina | 1.9K | E

Tags: Semi-public sex, Pool Sex, Vaginal Fingering, PinV sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Age-Gap

Summer was Alina Starkov’s favorite time of year. The sun shined brightly, the colors in the world seemed so vivid , and she got to spend her days lounging in the Morozova’s pool, drinking virgin daiquiris that his servant Ivan made. Well, his father’s servant Ivan. Malyen was always quick to correct her when the topic came up. 

“None of this is mine, Lina. It’s all that bastard’s. I’ll be lucky to even see a dime.” 

She always thought he was dramatic. Sure, in the thirteen years since they met (at the ripe old age of five), she’d only met Mr. Morozova a handful of times. Short interactions as he zipped to and fro, meetings with dignitaries and the leader of their nation. He was an important man, with an even more important bank account. But he was always kind, smiling ear to ear when he saw her, calling to her by his pet name for her. 

“Myshka! Welcome back. Though I assume at this point you’re here more than me. “

Jokes as he would move to grab a drink, no matter the time of day. 

“An old-fashioned is appropriate after a long day, and before. Sometimes, even the middle.” 

A wink always followed his words. It was always playful, always fun. She felt it shift five summers ago. When her father left her mother and she stayed at their house for a month, refusing to go home to her mother’s dead stare. Cold dinners, and distant stares as she reeled from the man who promised to love her run off with a twenty-year-old escort he’d met a year prior. She remembered crying a lot, trying to make herself small in the house. It wasn’t even her marriage, yet she would be posted on Aleksander’s expensive white leather couch, eating ice cream and crying to re-runs of The Breakfast Club . 

She should’ve known he’d try to take care of her then. He’d come in one random day. Early, clearly pissed off. Malyen was at football practice, having decided to go for sports that year. She was on the couch, crying and watching that same fucking movie for the third time that day. He’d sat down on the couch with her, spoon in hand as he reached over and took a scoop out of her tub of ice cream. She’d stopped using bowls. 

“You don’t have to talk to me, myshka. I know I’m not always around, but I’ll be here if you need me.”

She remembered scooting close to him, curling into his side, and sharing the ice cream in silence as Bender antagonized Claire about her lipstick. As the teens ran around the school trying not to get caught and falling in love as they realized none of them led perfect lives. She hadn’t said anything to him. Not about her father. But she did fall asleep in his arms, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest rocking her to sleep. 

That was probably the beginning. This crush that captured her waking moments. She still spent an inordinate amount of time at their house, and this was the last summer before Mal would go off to college, and she’d stay here at community college, waitressing at the same fucking restaurant. Maybe she’d make it somewhere. 

“Excited for college?” The deep voice wafted into her ears like a siren’s song. She opened her eyes from her relaxed position on the pool lounger, turning toward the source. He got better with age, she noted. The past five years she’d been watching, his dark hair growing peppered with grey strands probably the only true sign of age on him. Whenever he found the time to maintain a workout routine and surprisingly good skin, it all paid off as she gazed at the shirtless man setting a towel on the lounger next to her. 

“Mhmm, though I’m just going down the road. Community college is all I can afford right now.” She closed her eyes again, basking in the warmth the sun provided. She missed his frown, though she heard the bench scrapping closer. 

“Oh, for some reason I just assumed you’d go to UCal with Malyen.” She smirked, turning her head once more. It was rare Aleksander had a day off, even rarer that he came to speak to her now that Malyen needed all the attention. Girls, college, football. All his favorite things needed a father. She would be upset, but five years was enough time to figure things out on her own. Maybe. 

“Why, trying to get rid of me, Sasha?” She joked, flashing him an insincere smile. He chuckled, leaning back in his own chair. 

“I don’t think I can ever get rid of you, myshka . Even when you’re not here you’re everywhere in this house.” He mused, almost distractedly. Her smile faltered slightly, as she watched him relax into his chair. She gave a huff, seeing the way his chest rose and fell, the way he took a sip of his drink. Does he drink anything other than old-fashioned whiskey older than him? Probably not. 

“Well, you’re stuck with me, even when Mal is gone. I have to make sure such an old man isn’t home alone.” It was a jest, but partially the truth. Mal was bitter enough already about his father’s upcoming announcement. Early retirement he’d said. He had set millions aside for Mal’s education, but the football scholarship took care of that. So he gave Mal a brand new Audi, a paid-off penthouse in downtown LA and decided to leave his position in the military. Not that he needed it. Whatever old money he had was more than enough. But she guessed he was to do what he wanted. 

“The best company I could’ve asked for.” He flashed her a genuine smile. She cursed the way her heart fluttered, the way she could feel her pulse in her cunt as his gaze returned to her. Nearly five years and she still had this fucking crush . 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

She smiled, standing up before stalking over to the edge of his pool. Her back to him she didn’t notice how his eyes traveled over her body, the bikini exposing plenty of her skin, tanned by the hours in the sun. She stretched tall, a breath escaping her in a semblance of a moan. Never noticing how his eyes darkened before she lowered herself into the pool. He averted his gaze, back to the bar in the house as she turned around, wading backward. 

“Joining me old man?” He smirked, looking at her face. 

“I’m not that old, Alinochinka.” She frowned at his use of her name, tilting her head at him quizzically. 

“It’s myshka to you Sasha.” He stood, approaching the pool before sitting at its edge. 

“Not when you’re being a brat, Alinochinka.” He smirked as her eyes narrowed, as she waded back to him, fitting her body between his parted thighs. She had to crane her neck to look up at him, his dark eyes boring into hers. She could swear he could see right through her, down to her very soul. 

“But I’m your brat, Sasha.” there it was. That flicker of desire as his gaze dropped perceptually to her lips, before flicking back to her eyes. She placed her hands on his thighs. Pushing herself up from the water so that their faces were mere centimeters apart. 

“Alina, we -” He didn’t finish his sentence, as her lips pressed lightly against his. She swallowed his groan, a soft moan of her own escaping into his mouth. It was over too short, as she sunk back down into the water. He followed her down, following her as she began to wade away. 

“I’m so sorry Sasha I don’t know what came over me it was so du-” her words failed as he cornered her into the opposite wall of the pool, his lips descending on hers once more. She was frozen for a moment before she melted into him. Her lips returned in kind, as he lifted her weightless in his arms, legs wrapping snuggly around his waist. Her hands raised to tangle in his hair, pressing her breast close to his chest. 

His hands were all over her hips, slipping into her bikini bottoms. His lips swallowed her moan as his fingers brushed her clit. She pulled away, breaking their kiss to gasp for air, but he didn’t stop, lowering his kiss to her neck as she clung to him. He pushed aside her bikini bottoms, fingers slipping easily inside her. She rocked herself on his fingers as he thrust them into her, his thumb coming to plant itself on her clit as she gasped out loud. 

“Shhh myshka . I need you to be quiet. We wouldn’t want to disrupt the neighbors.” She could only whimper in his arms as he continued his assault, her hips not fast enough to chase his fingers inside her. She leveraged her leg, pushing at his swim trunks, lowering them down as she felt his smirk against her skin. 

“Sasha…please. I need you.” She whimpered in his ear. He groaned, letting go of her to finish freeing himself from the confines of his trunks. 

“ Myshka if we do this there’s no going back.” He muttered into her ear, but all she could focus on was the heady feel of his cock against her core. 

“I don’t want to go back” she moaned back. “I just want you, Daddy.” She smirked slightly as he groaned, pressing forward slightly. The smirk was all but forgotten as she felt him. The tip alone was such a stretch, her nails digging into his shoulders as he slowly inched his way in. She was just so full . 

“Daddy huh? Don’t make this more messed up than it needs to be Alina.” He kissed the side of her mouth, capturing the edge of her gasp as he gave a thrust into her. The water sloshed around them with his force, and it was all she could do to hang on. 

“You didn’t seem to mind it - ah - Daddy .” She moaned out, attempting to match him, but all she could do was take what he gave to her. His thrust filled her, again, harder as she whispered the name she never thought she’d utter for him again and again. 

Daddydaddydaddy fuckohfuck . She was on the edge, she felt it coming as she held to him. She wanted him to be hers, forever. Just the two of them. She cried out as his thumb returned to her clit, clenching tight around him as her orgasm flooded her senses. He gave a shuddering thrust into her, following her over the precipice. 

She stayed in his arms, panting as he slipped out of her. Their heavy breaths followed, letting the water help them calm down. He let her down, as she attempted to float while he righted his trunks. 

“I meant it, Sasha.” She murmured, looking down at the water. He raised an eyebrow, reaching to cup her chin in his hands. He forced her gaze to him, the expectant look for her to speak her mind clear on his face. “I only want you. It’s��always been you.” He nodded, eyes unreadable as he crowded her space once again. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.” His voice was soft, almost like a prayer before he captured her lips in his again. 

[cerebraldischarge]

I needed to get out of bed. Not to do anything urgent or important, but spending my last two months in bed is absolutely not what I wanted, that’s kinda the point of skipping the sickness-and-aging bit.

I noticed that there was a cemetery on the route of the bus that takes me into the center, but it was in the other direction, so I decided to ride in the usual - in this case, “wrong” - direction first, until I could find some ice cream. With some difficulty and a bit of a detour, I located some delicious ice cream - ginger flavored, which I never had before. Having finished the treat and placed some stickers in strategically crowded places - while also trying to act like something of a moving billboard, with a positive message on my shirt, but probably failing because I’m so dang short -, I found the cemetery and started to explore. For about 90 minutes, I meandered to and fro, always following whatever looked interesting - and trying not to lose track of where the gate was, because I wasn’t planning on being locked in again.

At first, it was a pretty generic experience. A lot of Jesus stuff, a lot of gooey love quotes, vivid and gorgeous flowers, and an extraordinary abundance of ivy - I think more than I’ve ever encountered. Some crows said hi, too. A few pictures were taken. One headstone was covered in glitter hearts. One made me audibly squeak because it featured a shiny statue of a modern cruise missile. Fitting for a retired Lt. Colonel, I admitted, but still pretty cool.

I did the usual two things I do in cemeteries simply because my grandmother sternly warned me not to - take a drink of water, and steal something small. I also stumbled over a broken, overgrown, unmaintained headstone and would’ve fallen if I didn’t grab another, sturdier one. Of course, this was the moment when a trio of teenagers walked by. Luckily, I’m old enough not to care. Have your giggle on my behalf, boys.

And then I found that part. You know, the section where each one looks exactly bleedin’ identical. That’s how I recognized it, having been partially distracted by a tree. This made me pause. Because hang on a pea picking minute - how does such a staunch individualist get envious at this? How does such a chaotic entity develop almost a love affair with a people and a culture where order is everything and spend years being ashamed of not meeting its standards?

I’m a walking paradox. Looks like I need to lay that eighteen-year-old to rest first, before I can do it too.

Things I do because I was told not to, at some point.

Cut. I mean, I do enjoy it, but I probably would’ve forgotten about it just like any teenage pastime, if not for the absolute insistence from all the adults that it’s somehow wrong.

Eat meat. Obnoxious vegan friend in freshman year, ‘nough said.

Wear pants. “Not ladylike”, apparently.

Cut my hair short. Same reason. There should probably be a separate list for this one.

Pick up bones and stuff from the ground. Parents and germs, you know how it is.

Talk about death like it’s a normal thing. Because it is! What could be more normal than something that happens to literally everybody?

Talk about so-called triggering things. I realize I would have more friends if I didn’t do this, but for me, some of these are sources of joy, and sometimes teasing people is a source of joy in itself.

Eat the lemon from the cocktail. Sorry, scurvy is more important than manners.

[toursandjourneyworld]

Top 5 Things to Do in Sonamarg - Tour and journey

It was our Sonamarg day, a scintillating valley almost 90 kilometers from Srinagar. Altitude was around 9500 feet only above mean sea level, but due to its topographical proximity to the Three Kashmir Sisters (Mount Harmukh, Amarnath and Kolhoi), Sonamarg remains snow blanketed almost round the year, opened to public only for two months during April and May. Luckily we had been there in mid-May.

By road it takes around 5 hours from state capital Srinagar, via National Highway 1D. Road conditions are pretty good until Gund village; however it gets abruptly narrow after the last check post. Sonamarg, as the name suggests, means ‘Valley of Gold’. It got its name not because of any abundance of the glittering metal ore, but because of the golden gleam on snow by the rising sun. On a clear sunny day, when the rays fall on ice caps, they glitter like gold. Nevertheless, this span of higher Himalayas lacks wildlife, flora and fauna due to the frequent avalanches and heavy snowfalls. The three sisters of Kashmir seen at Sonamarg  lead to major glaciers like Thajiwas and Kolhoi.

Here are some of the top attractions which you must not miss during your trip to Sonamarg.

Thajiwas Glacier Trek: We parked the car at the roadside of basecamp area and took the pleasure of walking towards the snow on foot. One striking aspect of Sonamarg ’s mountains was the flat tops with gradual slopes. So high, yet no cliffs! One need to be an expert to climb up to the summits of Harmukh, Amarnath or Kolhoi, but amateur hikers with strong lungs may dare a trek up to the Thajiwas summit by foot or on horseback.

While casually hiking on the glacier, taking photo-breaks in between, we did not realize when we had lost our direction. Unknowingly, we had landed at a solitary corner, without realizing that we had actually reached the Thajiwas Glacier stage 0, aka the summit. Believe me, there were no lives around! Not even the army men.

On the glacial top, we were shocked to discover numerous skeletons here and there, scattered on the ground. The scene was so horrendous. You could see different skeletal parts of animals (hopefully, though all did not seem to be) – skull, leg bones, ribcages etc and no human beings around. Sweat droplets filled my forehead at that biting cold. Just imagine our dreadful condition!

Sledge Ride: Staying on the top for around 15 minutes, we decided to descend. Walking down, we passed by the Gaddi huts which I could remember seeing during our uphill trek. Within a few minutes, God knows, suddenly wherefrom three sledgewalas approached us for a snow ride. One of them told, if we agree, it would be their first income of the season. We did not take the risk of confronting them. They charged Rs. 300/- per person for an hour’s ride.

Who knew sledge riding was so difficult! You need so much of body balance to enjoy a fall-free ride. In fact, one must take a sledge ride to know what happens once you fall down. Finally, we reached the top in 60 minutes with muddy dresses and cold toes. Thankfully driver was not around, so I could change my dress inside the car.

Island Retreat Park: Near stage one of the Thajiwas Glacier, there was a small riverside restaurant named Island Retreat Park, claiming to serve hot and fresh foods like Kashmiri Wazwan, Kahwa, Kashmir special Fish fry, Mutton rogan josh etc. Unfortunately, during our time of visit hardly anything was available except tea, coffee, ice-cream and instant noodles. A nice wooden bridge connected the park with the mainland of Sonamarg valley. The foaming waters of Sindh Nalla flowing under the bridge offered a tantalizing sight.

Kheer Bhavan Temple: On our way back to Srinagar, there is a much revered Hindu temple called Kheer Bhavani Mandir. This is the sacred place where Swami Vivekananda could transform his Vedantin convictions into complete surrender to the Divine Mother. The antiquity of this ancient temple offers a very exciting story which connects to Hindu mythology. It is believed that way back during the Ramayana age, Ravana used to worship a rare form of Goddess Shakti named Maha Ragya Bhagwati (another name of Goddess Bhavani) who is considered as the embodiment of cosmic power and active energy. As mentioned in the epic, Ravana had established a small temple of Goddess Ragya at his golden capital in Lanka. Owing to his misbehaviour with Sita (who is also believed to be an incarnation of Goddess Ragya by a school of Kashmiri Pandits), the goddess ordered Rama to shift her from Lanka to this Kashmiri village named Tulmulla where Sita had spent couple of years during exile. Since then, Goddess Shakti is being worshipped at this ancient temple in the titular form of Devi Ragya. At present it is under the management of Dharmarth Trust of J&K.

Aman-ka-Phool (Flower of Peace): There is a huge Kund (holy pond) beside the temple which is surrounded by lofty Chinars and Mount Harmukh at the milieu – a personification of amity and tranquility. Just as we walked inside, the whole area was shining with white blooms of a very special tree, they say it’s called ‘Aman-ka-Phool’ (flower of peace) as this is the flower which is exchanged every day at the international border while greeting our friends from the neighbouring country.

It was almost five in the evening. After a tiring trip to Sonamarg, it was time for a dreamy escape to the world of snow under bed warmers. We reached our hotel by six and retired for the day.

[elysianslove]

please use this ask to elaborate on mattsun’s dick <33

AH YES THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING gotta do this before i start fasting lmfao.  this ended up being sadder than i thought, but it just ends up being kinda sweet and sorta hot. also this was way longer than i intended. post in reference.  

warnings; big dick mattsun, throwing up, pain kink (?), painful sex, insecurities, consensual taping  

okay remember when i mentioned the insecurity thing? let’s dive deeper into that; third years and mattsun are at some sleepover thing. it’s a little before graduation, and they don’t when they’ll see each other next, so they’re trying to make most of the time that’s left. the conversation progresses to sex, as it naturally does, and each of them admits some horrifying or embarrassing sex story. 

iwaizumi had sex with a girl who was extremely kinky and asked him to slap her, but— they don’t call him ace for no reason. 

oikawa lost his virginity to this girl and she started her period halfway through, but he was really young and didn’t realize that was something that could just happen? it wasn’t that he was immature about it. it was more that he fainted. 

hanamaki found out he was allergic to flavored condoms when he lost his virginity, and it was not fun. 

but then it was mattsun’s turn, and they’re all waiting for his embarrassing sex story, till he hits them with, “i’ve never had sex though,” and each and every one of their eyes bulge out of their heads. it’s the last thing they’d been expecting from him, from cool, suave, charming mattsun, but he continues to swear by it. and when they demand the reason — surely you’ve gotten the chance to before? — he admits it to them: “apparently my dick is too big.” and it’s comical to say out loud, because he’s only gotten with a handful of girls, barely any for it to be firm hypothesis. he thinks he’ll one day meet someone that doesn’t think it’s too big, it won’t fit, um i can give you a handjob, if that’s okay? 

all that evidently leads to a dick comparison, because how big can it really be? and once mattsun sees his best friends’ eyes widen at his hardened dick, it sinks in. shit, he really is big, isn’t he? 

“holy shit, mattsun,” makki says, and he’s bashful as he stares at his best friend’s dick. “how would that fit inside anyone?” and mattsun’s already growing soft, tucking his dick back in his pants and moving to wash his hands after kicking makki rightfully in the chest. 

college comes around, and he passes by a thousand girls crying about how the boy from last night’s dick was so small, ugh i wish i had an 8 inch, and the things i’d do to have my guts rearranged. he sees a little light in this tunnel of endless blue balling, and meets a girl, takes her back to his dorm with his lips biting at her neck and her hands fumbling with his belt. as soon as he falls onto the bed, as soon as she straddles him, naked, and moves to slip off his trousers, anxiety meets him halfway again, and he holds in a breath as she pulls at the hem of his pants and takes his boxers with her.

the gasp his half hardening cock pulls out of her is confusing. he can’t tell what to make out of it, but she spits on her palm and grips his hefty cock in her small palm, unable to have her fingertips meet. her eyes are wide, but she seems determined, even tilts her hips forward, but she resorts to, “can i just suck you off?” 

and mattsun thinks alright, that’s an upgrade. 

when she ends up throwing up because she underestimates his size and overestimates herself, mattsun offers her his bathroom to clean up, and grabs her a bottle of water as she leaves. 

he ends up losing his virginity to some masochist, and it’s not very memorable or anything he’d ever imagined it be. it sits high on his list of regrets: he cums way too early, and hurts the masochist too much for it to be enjoyable in any way. but he texts the old third year groupchat and types in “i lost my virginity 😎” and receives the praise he had expected. 

for months to come, he fucks his fist every other night to amateur porn and watches as some camgirls’ cunts swallow inches and inches of plastic cock. he hooks up with some girls only to have them sit on his face and kitten lick at the head of his cock. some swallow a little bit of his cock, some fondle at his balls, but none ever let him fuck them. oikawa sends him links for sex toys, and mattsun feels as pathetic as ever, but he buys a fleshlight anyways and finds purchase in how tight it feels around his cock, how wet and slippery it is, how it properly milks him dry. makki meets him during a break and offers to suck his dick for him, but mattsun flips him off and kicks at his stomach again. 

it’s during his third year that he meets you. 

you’re sweet and charming, , and you have pretty hair, and he likes your style, and you laugh at his stupid jokes. you call him handsome, and you call him pretty, and you compliment his hair when it’s at its curliest. you send him the weirdest memes and tell him it reminds you of him, and you pick him up at obscure times because you’re craving nuggets or ice cream or ramen or licorice. he asks you to be his girlfriend and when you say yes, he blushes so forcefully that he has to scrunch up his face to try and hide it. he lets you meet his friends through a screen, and he buys you matching rings because he enjoys the subtlety of it all, and he orders donuts to be sent to your place  during your exam week. 

being with you is a dream, so much that when he hovers above you, kissing at your lips like he always does and sucking at your neck the way you love, and you murmur that you want him, want all of him, his hands fumble and shake. he tries to hide it, but his breath is shakier and his chest is flushed, his eyes a little hazy. you’re so gentle with him, and he hadn’t known he needed it until you’re straddling him and slowly smoothing your hands down his chest, palming him through his too tight briefs, squeezing softly. 

when your hands reach for his briefs, his own snap to your wrist, and he dares to beg, “please stay,” and you kiss him in response. your breath hitches at the sight of him, and your hand shakes when you spit on it and grip at his cock, but despite your initial hesitance you don’t falter. 

you stroke tentatively at his cock, squeezing him tightly, and fall closer to him, hovering your lips by his as you ask of him, “stretch me— stretch me for you.” 

there’s only one word to describe everything mattsun had been feeling in that moment, and it’s overwhelmed, but it’s somehow in the most positive way. he sits up straight, keeping you on his lap. his fingers find your dripping cunt and he pushes one, two, three, four fingers inside of you. he makes you cum twice, fingers curled and rapidly thrusting into you, other hand occupied with your sloppy clit and mouth latched onto your nipple. you praise him and thank him and cry for him and writhe in his hold as he pleasures you, and when you’re breathless and limp in his arms, he waits for the ball to drop, for you to give into your anxiety and hesitance. 

except you don’t. 

you lift yourself up on trembling knees, hands settled on and gripping his shoulders, and with teary eyes, you say, no, you beg, “make it fit.” 

he has stars in his eyes as he grips his cock tightly with one hand, the other holding you to him by your waist. it’s slow, it’s painfully slow, but mattsun has never treasured time as much as in that moment. he takes in everything, from the way your body tenses at the first intrusion when his tip presses against your hole, to the small gasps and moans as you take more and more of him in, at the sweat that beads at your temple and that rolls between your breasts. he marvels at the heave of your chest and the roll of your tummy as you curve in yourself, and he revels in the press of your lips to his, in the pull your arms looping around his neck and pressing his chest flush to yours. 

he does cum too early, but you don’t chastise him. you only continue to ride his soft cock, his cum messily dribbling out, and he ignores the sting from his sensitivity in favor of rubbing at your clit, sending you over the edge eventually. 

he texts the old third years groupchat that night again, with you sleeping soundly by his side, comfortable beneath his blankets, “why didn’t you guys tell me sex was this good? fake friends,” and sends a picture of him shirtless, sweaty, and with a post-sex flush to his cheeks and messy curls, with the middle finger. 

maybe you shouldn’t have let him have a taste of you, because he fucks you in bed the next morning, sleep still settled deep in your bones, and then he fucks you in the shower, and then he eats you out splayed out on his dinner table. he videotapes you sucking him off, with your permission, and watches it when you’re too far out of reach. he sends you pictures after a shower, gripping his cock through the briefs he’d quickly slipped in, hair wet and curly and matted to his forehead, skin damp and glistening. and when you react so positively, he blushes, to his dismay. you meet his friends and they joke about how you’re still alive, but you brush them off and tell them you’ve never felt more satisfied. 

with every single time he watches his cock sink into your warm, tight, sloppy cunt, and every time he watches you swallow around him, and every time he makes you cry and leaves you braindead, leaves you mindless and begging for more, his confidence grows. so much until he learns to be cocky about it, so much that when he barely preps you and pushes into you, he shivers at the way you whine and tense up, at the way you flinch and lightly thrash. because you’re a good girl, aren’t you? always take my cock so well, don’t you? nobody but you, nobody like you. 

and it’s true; it’s nobody but you for him. in every single way.

hello what the fuck am i doing. i did not think this was gonna escalate like this hfskjfns but anyways, big dick mattsun for the win <3