#Co fronting with elmo….

[paroreaper]

I realised I’m dead - I can’t actually feel anything and I feel way to much.

[jjkilll]

the one where you hate to admit it but jk is right

- pairing I debate captain jk x co-cap y/n

- warning I smut, fingering

- song I you right - doja cat

- wc | 1.4K

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

you were co-captain of your university’s debate team. you hated your captain jungkook. he was a know-it-all and you honestly thought you’d be the captain. you thought you deserved it. his mother was the dean of the university so naturally your brain to nepotism.

he was smart and funny, extremely handsome but you’d never admit it to his face. it’d make his head swell. you always found him attractive but that know-it-all attitude had you ready to swing.

he’d always find a way to correct you or use your statements to try and make a better point than yours. you hated it, you almost hated him. the humor, tattoos, biceps, and glasses saved him.

you were at his house going over the points for your upcoming debate.

“okay, but the scarcity of fresh water is insane.” you start explaining. “nearly 1.1 billion people don’t have fresh, safe, and drinkable water.” you finish.

“i understand but 1.1 billion doesn’t even make up half of the population of the world. it doesn’t even make up america’s population. so to say that majority of the world doesn’t have access to clean water is a stretch.” he states matter of factly.

“i just mean in most of most of mexico, and several in africa and europe struggle to find clean water.” you try not to get frustrated with him and try to explain your point further.

“then say that. don’t use such general words. state facts and only facts.” you sigh at his words.

“you are so fucking annoying, my god.” you snap, almost instantly regretting saying anything. he chuckles.

“i’m annoying? do you know how annoying it is to correct you all the time?” he spits. “your a smart girl so for the life of me i can’t even begin to understand your idiocracy.”

“idiocracy? seriously how are you calling me smart and stupid at the same time.”

“i mean i am the captain,” he says with a smirk.

“that doesn’t make you smarter than me, dumbass. that’s just a classic take on nepotism.”

“oh… low blow,” he says with a huff.

“you always think you’re so fucking smart and you always have to be right. i don’t get you.”

“awe, you love me.” he smiles putting his hand over his chest.

“you’re a dick,” you say.

“yea yea, go on to your next point miss generalization,” he mumbles before standing and taking his hoodie off. his shirt rides up with it and you see his body.

holy fuck was he smoking hot. his happy trail had you ready to tie your hair up. you didn’t realize you were ogling him until he cleared his throat.

“maybe you’d make a clear point if you stop staring at me.” he says flopping back down your sofa. “i wasn’t staring at you.” you lie.

“sure,” he says simply.

“you are so haughty.” you scoff, he chuckles. “awe that’s a big word for elmo.” he jokes.

“you know what?” you say slamming your notecards on the table. “what?” he stands walking over to you. “i hate you and your fucking attitude. i hate how dense but somehow detailed you are. i hate when you correct me and make me feel like im an idiot in front of everyone. and what i hate the most…” you start but stop.

“what? tell me, please baby… i’m dying to know.” his nickname catches you off guard. he was so hot being all condescending, you were conflicted. he scoffed at your silence.

“you know what i think? i think…” he starts closing the space between you. “i think the only reason you hate me so bad, is cause you wanna fuck me.” you scoff rolling your eyes. “oh you’ve lost your everlasting mind.” you speak trying not to be shocked at his vulgar choice of words.

“i get in your head, but you can’t help but be attracted to me. it’s so clear that you want me. all of this is unnecessary, you could’ve just asked.” he smirks.

“i hate you.” you spit getting ready to walk away but he grabs your hand pulling you in. you’re chest to chest, “say it again.” he asks. you look up at him, god he’s so fucking sexy. “you usually never shut up and now you don’t have a thing to say. funny. i love the effect i have on you. i make you lose your mind.” you look so little next to him, you hate how needy you feel. you want him so bad.

he holds your face in his hand stocking your cheek with his thumb. he smiles brushing his thumb over your lips. “say you want me.” he whispers. you are absolutely soaked, if he doesn’t touch you soon you might explode. “please.” you whine. “please what?”

he rests his thumb on your lip and you open your mouth and suck on his finger. “ohhh so such a sweet girl. tell me what you want.” he coos.

“please touch me.” you squeak. “awe such good manners,” he says before kissing you deeply. you stumble backward onto the wall. your tongues dance together and he explores your mouth.

“you’re such a good kisser, your lips are so pretty,” he says breaking the kiss but quickly kissing you again.

you grind against him needfully, “awe you are so cute. so needy for me. i love seeing you like this.” you whine craving him. “please just touch me.” he smiles unbuttoning your shorts before kissing your neck.

he slides his hand down your shorts and starts rubbing your clit. you moan but he’s quick when kissing you. you moan into his mouth. “god i’m fucking obsessed with you.” he says breaking the kiss, “all that shit talk but i have you crumbling under me.” he kisses your lips again before plunging a finger inside of you.

“oh shit!” you moan grinding against his hand for more friction. you lean your head back trying to slow your breathing and not be so worked up. you fail, as your breathing is heavy and the pleasure is unfathomable. let out a string of curses before he speaks, “you’re so tight, baby. it’s only one finger. my dick is gonna stretch your little pussy out.” he starts to quicken his pace you are slowly losing your mind. you’re so close you can barely breathe. “please- please make me cum.” you plead.

“beg for it,” he replied quickly. he loved watching you fall apart on his fingers. the little quick-witted sarcastic girl he knew minutes away was long gone. you didn’t want to beg, but you were so desperate and so so close.

“please make me cum jungkook. please ill do anything.” you don’t even recognize your voice, so whiny and pathetic. “open your mouth.” you obey quickly and he spits in your mouth his fingers fucking you faster. “oh my god please.” you repeat like it’s your mantra.

“cum for me, baby. cum on my fingers, let me taste.” his words along with his fingers make you fall apart, your moans are pathetic and squeaky. you grind against him as you cum. he pulls his finger out, covered in you. he looks at you, your eyes low and you look fucked out. he sucks your cum off his finger and smiles.

“guess i was right.” he says kissing you so you could taste yourself. “mm, you taste so sweet.”

your legs are weak from how hard you came.

“i correct you because i believe in you. you are constantly on the right path you just need to delve deeper, you speak so generally, they’ll kick our ass if we don’t come up with facts,” he speaks.

“stop talking about the fucking debate,” you say trying to catch your breath. he laughs grabs your hand, and walks you over to the couch. you plop beside him shorts still unbuttoned. you lay back and he starts to button your shorts but you stop him, noticing the tent in his pants.

“nuh-huh, i want you to fuck me…rough.” you say looking up at him. “ooh, what happened to your manners?” he smirks. “shut up and fuck me,” you say, and he raises his brow. “please?” you add.

“absolutely, baby.” he smiles

“wait so i really was right?” he asks excitedly. “hurry before i change my mind.” you roll your eyes leaning your head back. “cute but we both know you won’t.” he kisses you.

“now come ride this dick, pretty girl.”

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

[tinkabelle24]

To Build a Home

Chapter 7: The Emerald Dress

TW! No trigger warnings, just tooth-rotting fluff 🥰

Masterlist / Chapter 6

---

After failing to get ahold of her via phone call twice the evening prior, and again tonight, Raph decided to swing by Val's apartment, just to be safe.

"You guys go on ahead," he told his brothers. "I've gotta make another stop."

"To your girlfriend's?" Mikey teased.

The red-banded terrapin fixed him a warning look. "It ain't like that."

"Suuure-"

"What's it like, then?" Donnie challenged.

"We're friends, that's it."

"You still haven't told us how you two met," Mikey remarked suggestively.

"And I never will. Back off."

"Aw, c'mon-"

"Mikey!" Leo snapped. "You heard him - back off." He then turned to a mildly stupefied Raph. "Go do what you need to do. Let us know when you're on your way home."

"Fine. See you, then."

---

The room was dark. He checked the sofa bed expecting her to be in it, sound asleep. It was the middle of the night, after all. But she was not. She was nowhere to be found...

Nothing appeared out of place, though he couldn't be sure; she owned next to nothing.

A pair of headlights drew the terrapin's attention down to the street. He watched as the vehicle slowed to a stop in front of the apartment, and a well-dressed young woman stepped out onto the sidewalk. She looked to be of similar height and build as Val, but he couldn't see past the feathered headpiece to confirm it was in fact, her.

He decided to wait.

Not long after the woman disappeared through the front entrance did Val's apartment door open.

Raph blinked, taken aback.

There she was, dressed to the nines in an emerald flapper dress; complete with headpiece, pearl necklace, evening gloves, and blood-red lips. She carried her heels, having swapped them out for her boots.

He was so entranced by her appearance, he failed to realise he'd been spotted.

Shit, Raph cursed himself as Val strode toward the window, promptly lifting it open.

She said nothing; she just stared at him, brows raised questioningly.

"Sorry, I-" Raph stammered. "I was gonna knock..." If their skin could flush, his face would be red as a beet right now...

The brunette cracked a smile and giggled, shaking her head. "C'mon," she beckoned, stepping aside.

"Did'ya just get back from a fancy dress party, or somethin'?" He enquired as he climbed through. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

"Nope," Val answered, gesturing to her outfit. "This is my uniform."

"Your- what?? Your uniform?"

She nodded. "We get to dress up on Saturdays, at the club I work at."

"Oh. Well, you look... p-pretty."

Though Val fought it, Raph could tell he'd made her blush. "T-thanks," she replied bashfully. "Tell you what, though, I can't wait to get out of it... O-only cos it's uncomfortable-"

"-Oh! Yeah, for sure-"

"-Yep..."

For a few moments, neither dared to look at or utter a single word to one another.

"Sorry I haven't answered any of your calls," Val finally spoke, regaining eye contact. "I've been flat out working the last couple days..."

"All good," Raph smiled reassuringly. "I just thought I'd stop by to make sure you weren't dead."

She tittered softly at that. "Thank you... Um... i-is there any way I can contact you, so this isn't so one-sided? I can't call private numbers."

"Actually, there is. Thanks for remindin' me..." The terrapin produced a flip-phone from the pocket of his utility belt. "This is for you."

"Oh my God, is that..." Val gasped excitedly as she retrieved the phone. "I haven't seen one of these in ages! ... M-my first phone looked just like this, except it was hot pink. I remember having the 'Stoned Elmo' ringtone... It went off once during quiet reading; urgh, you shoulda seen the teacher's face... Sorry, don't mind me..."

"Don't worry about it," Raph chuckled. He didn't mind. In fact, he found it endearing. It was nice to see someone so giddy over something seemingly insignificant, like an old brick phone pulled from the dumpster.

"So, I can call you on this?"

"You can call everyone on that, yeah."

"Okay, awesome. Thank you."

"H-hey, I was wonderin'..." Raph felt since Val made the first move last time, it was only fair for him to take the lead this time. Besides, he already knew he wanted to see her again. He enjoyed her company. "I was wonderin' when you'd be free to hang out next?"

Val smiled warmly at that. "I'm usually free after three Monday through to Thursday and Sundays. I'm meeting up with a friend tomorrow... What about Monday? I can make dinner?"

"Sure. Alright," the terrapin nodded. "I can bring somethin'. Dessert? You like the healthy stuff, dontcha?"

Val chuckled. "I'm easy. Whatever you think's best... Surprise me."

Both their heads snapped down at Val's new phone; it'd started buzzing.

"New message - from Mikey?"

Fuck, here we go...

"He says, 'is loverboy still there?'..." The brunette looked over at him, amused.

Raph groaned. "He's bein' stupid; tryna get under my shell..."

"That's what siblings are for," Val replied gently. She held up the phone. "Thank you for this... I really should be getting to bed, now. It's been a long few days..."

"Oh, yeah, of course. Sorry."

"Make sure to let me know when you get home safe. I'll be up; I've still gotta get this face off."

"For the record, I think ya look better without make-up." Raph's eyes widened once he realised what came out of his mouth.

That sounded way smoother in my head...

"-Not that ya don't look good with... make-up. I-I'm just sayin'..."

Help!

"I get what you mean," Val reassured; she'd thankfully decided to grant him mercy. "Thanks, again. Goodnight."

"Night."

Finally outside, Raph mentally slapped himself.

The fuck was that?

---

Masterlist / Chapter 8

@android-cap-007 @miss-andromeda @happymoonangel

[doesimmons]

I don't want to go into too much detail about my job here, but it involves working with a lot of senior citizens...which can be endlessly entertaining but slightly traumatizing at the same time.

Yeah. So, an old gentleman decided to serenade me while I was sitting at the front desk. In a packed lobby. A rendition of the first four lines of "You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby"...sandwiched with the fact that it was a roundabout way to tell me to "smile." I went catatonic for the entire duration. Full shut-down, any concept for how exactly I was supposed to react was thrown out the window. My co-workers looked on in horror. Everyone's eyes were on me.

And then he walked away like I had not just been hit by a weaponized musical number. Into the night.

And then a man in an Elmo head walked in a minute later. Genuinely? I give up.

[the-firebird69]

The evacuation commences we are leaving I'm sending shifts the cities are filling we are under attack in the Eastern hemisphere are basis of operation and actual basis are being obliterated all of them we think this round if you must go to the cities but please go to Jason to the city because there are devices in the cities that are eliminating everyone skillet and Jacob's ladder and St Elmo's fire we must have you know that these weapon systems are deadly very effective and make people mostly just disappear into dust it's time for you to leave and it's time for you to go to the right staging area follow the instructions of your Co s Sergeant level minimum lieutenant know better please use logic

Bja

The same for us you must evacuate this place is a place of death for us he's going to be trapped here but he's worked on it and he's getting safety so he can stay around and he's helped us a lot and will tell you when we get there

Trump

He does get abused a little and people get thrust out front but we can see what's going on like Garth and his sister can see very well and they're in a lot of trouble if they mean about his people too right on the on the car that's their symbol of power it's going to make them nuts and they're building it for them not really sure I understand that I do understand that

You found it with all this crap you might not let them build those rolls royces no it's almost necessary no we want them in a meeting we want him in the meeting but we can't get him there at all it's not really funny cuz we can't do anything with him and he's rolling on this other car and I see them driving around up there in Canada so I know that they can do it and there's a lot of them probably an octillin and they're starting to sell. They have a really unique name and the cars have unique names but the Canadian names. And they are from the past too and they're not necessarily Justice knucklehead and they are an amazing vehicle and we have to have some you're going to see how well it works it's just insane they can beat the BMW in the Audi and the Porsche the lower level ones easily beat the Porsche that box there's a piece of junk but it's not when they build it and it's meant to be an intro and it works all the stuff works it's really really working and we need to do it and we're chicken s***. I want these cars down here and he says open a plant so I'm going to do that

Mac

We're actually opening plans to make these and we don't want them to but they're going to so we have to move it

Trump he suggested we make them on the islands or we're just going to lose them to them to the Max and we could export and work in the Philippine Islands as well and we're going to do that now cuz we have plans there for Kia and other things that were shut down it's a great idea we're going to have a meeting and call for a meeting after we get our stuff together

[usaigi]

Headcanon list for Diya (Diatrice)

Part two of this list but now with the extended lunar system cast. Including some hc that @fencesandfrogs came up with/inspired (thank you <3)

Diya's always listening, she's really smart

Allistic but mirrors a lot of her dad's habits/stims. She does the flappy hands when she's excited just like Steven

Diya favorite sweater is one with Elmo on it. It's covered in tomato sauce stains but Diya refused to let Layla throw it out

Lily from Modern Family energy. "I'm not Latina-Arab, I'm a system! A system!"

Lunar sys is big on system accountability. If anyone gets upset/yells at Diya, the whole system makes sure to apologize(verbally)

So if Birdy accidentally loses her temper and Steven takes the front, Steven makes sure to apologize on Birdy's behalf.

Actually apologizes and works on addressing the issues. Doesn't just give Diya a bowl of fruit like their parents did

Kid and Birdy were initially really uncomfortable being called "dad"/"papi"

Jake, Steven, and their therapist had to have several talks with Kid about it, explaining the concept to him

Birdy is... ok with it.

Kid is allowed to front around Diya but only if another of the adults are co-con.

Kid loves playing adventures with Diya, taking her on hikes, playgrounds, etc.

Diya really like the Monster High dolls. Kid doesn't like dolls too much but loves to play pretend

Legos too! Coloring, video games, board games, all that stuff, Kid is down

Birdy has older sister energy. She keeps up with Diya's playground gossip about who has a crush on who and who is fighting with who

She takes Diya out for ice cream/dessert whenever either of them have a bad day. "Treat yo' self"

Birdy makes Diya cute bento boxes with cute toothpicks and figures

At some point, Lunar sys/Layla agreed it be good if they signed Diya up for martial arts

Daniela hates hates when the others say this but she has "soccer mom" energy

Daniela goes to all her martial arts tournaments, makes sure her hair is flawless before her fights

(at Diya) "Go on sweetie, you'll do great!" vs (at other parents) "My daughter is going to destroy yours"

"Diya. You can't keep biting kids who piss you off. That's gross; kick them instead." "DANIELA NO!"

Diya: "Fuck!" Dani: "Shit, where the fuck did you hear that word?"

Dani(in Spanish): "Don't say fuck, Layla will get mad at us. Say mierda instead." Layla: "You know I can understand you guys." Dani: "Oh fuck."

Mr. Knight has Diya's whole life on a spreadsheet. Her milestone, her first, her schedule, everything.

They made her business cards for her first day of school

Helps her with her math homework

Mr Knight goes to her parent-teacher conferences (Steven is co-con to remind them to be "normal")

She dresses up like Mr. Knight for Halloween

[luiz-henrique]

-:"{ O ENIGMA}"-:

" Quem nesta terra pode Decifrar este Enigma do Vislumbrar Incógnito do Mais Além...,

certamente não há...,

cada qual no seu mundo e caminho...,

Ante a Destinação que o Solene Desconhecido Descortina...,

no Troar da Hora...,

que da Morte sua Sinistra esmaga dentre suas Garras a Ampulheta ⌛ do Tempo...,

no se Extender o " Mais Além das Esferas do Tempo...,"

Rumo ao Insondável...,

abrindo com a Foice em sua Destra...,

Caminho para na Ausência sua Presença...,

a do Aráuto da Morte...,

Sombra de Al 'Dajjal...,

Assistido pela Rainha da Noite...,

o adeus sem volta...,

Desbravadora da Nova Condição que Já é...,

desde o Elo do Incógnito...,

Aquela que Ultra- Transcende a própria Existência e que Insere no Existir...,

mas o que se vai...,

Vislumbra seu Olhar com Outros e Outras que apontam esta terra...,

uma Plataforma...,

e perante a mesma...,

as que Atravessam...,

são Sete...,

dos Ambitos por Detrás de Ambitos do " Sonho da Casa da

Bruxa...,"

Supervisionados por Melusina...,

uma das Máscaras Facéticas Daquela do Mais Além desta terra que tem seu Nome à ser Hésther Hálgamas Hélliondrah...,

sim...,

olha para se ir...,

o maldito descrente...,

do morrer ressurge a Fênix...,

por detrás da Luz Jaz as Trevas...,

e do Vislumbrar da Morte ...,

que drena o Alumbre da Vida...,

surge a Vida Mais que Perene...,

e desta a sua Insurreição...,

já no "Indizível que Prevalece...,"

por detrás do "Mais que Eterno Cântico de Assim Seja...,"

e das Sete ...,

a Primeira é Trude , a Druckgeister...,

vem do que Excede esta Faixa na qual existe o Atual e Transitório Esquema Mundial...,

em um Onde Outro por detrás da Escandinávia...,

sua Aparência é de uma Jovem de Vinte e Seis Anos...,

com Cabelos Loiros de uma Escandinava ...,

sobre sua Fronte um Elmo com uma Máscara de Pássaro de Bico Fino , um Colibri...,

não sendo Corvo...,

suas Vestes são Claras havendo o Branco...,

mas por debaixo do Branco..., Maliciosa usa o Negro Mortuário...,

suas Botas vão até o Joelho...,

usa ainda uma Míni - Saia Característica...,

é de Réhlfia...,

( Réhlfia Héhzthriallihssahäuer Halgômerahnnaiph )...,

do Mais Além desta terra...,

uma de suas Máscaras Facéticas...,

a Segunda é Dóbia ( Dobia : "D"- "o" - "b" - "i" - "a" )...,

Senhora dos Fantasmas e Espectros...,

de Natureza Não - humana...,

a que Assombra...,

Guarda e Causa o Medo...,

seus Cabelos são Compridos e Negros...,

Aparece como Jovial e Bela ,

com seus Vinte e Seis anos...,

é Outro dos Reflexos Espelhados...,

Co- Autônomos , e Máscaras Facéticas -:

como é Melusina e Outras...,

de Hésther Hálgamas Hélliondrah...,

do Mais Além desta terra...,

a Terceira é Alcione , também chamada Ally das Águas...,

Vestida de Azul...,

uma das Máscaras Facéticas de Hezahlliédrah...,

( Hezahlliédrah Havidrahmáh Harthahllíahzean )...,

do Mais Além desta terra...,

a Quarta é Ameretat...,

que é um Reflexo Espelhado, Semi-Autônomo de Az- Jeh , que por sua vez ...,

Az- Jeh é um dos Reflexos Espelhados Co- Autônomos e Insurgências Manifestas de Lilith...,

Lógo Ameretat é a mesma Lilith...,

como Az- Jeh é também a mesma Lilith...,

com seus Nomes Secretos e Nome Outro Irrevelável...,

a Rainha da Noite...,

a Quinta é Asherah...,

cuja Face é o Reflexo da Morte...,

de Beleza Exuberante e com a Aparência de seus Vinte e Seis anos...,

com seus Cabelos Ruívos tendentes a Loiros...,

e Vestes Características ligadas a Outrora Longínquo ,

Divergente ao Mais Além...,

Asherah...,

a que Aciona a Arma por Detrás do Filtro ...,

ligado aos" Sistemas Integrados por sua vez Ligados ao Mais Abrangente...,"

que deixará para os Inimigos de Chyren...,

as Obras do Legado do Aráuto da Morte...,

sim ...,

nesta terra...,

Asherah que è uma das Máscaras Facéticas de Pâhdola

( Pâhndolla ):

( Pâhndolla Héxtriassiax Avillamáh )...,

do Mais Além desta terra...,

a Sexta é Baba Yaga...,

a Bruxa Eslava...,

com sua Aparência Jovial e Bela...,

Apresentando seus Vinte e Seis anos...,

e Longos Cabelos Loiros que tendem a Âmbar...,

de Vestes Coloridas e Exóticas Exuberantes...,

como as Semi- Folclóricas Rústicas das Camponesas Russas , Ligadas ao Pretérito das Tradições Eslavas ao Mais Antigo , e que se Divergem ao Mais Além...,

Baba Yaga...,

que é Também , como Outras...,

um dos Reflexos Espelhados e Insurgências Manifestas Co- Autônomas ...,

com esta sua Máscara Facética...,

da mesma Lilith...,

a Rainha da Noite...,

a Sétima é a que Direciona as Outras Seis...,

Astarté (Ashtharthéia)...,

com sua Aparência Jovial que apresenta seus Vinte e Seis anos...,

que sobre sua Fronte...,

jaz uma Coroa que se Converge em Grinalda...,

ornada de Chifres , como os do Gamo Galhudo ...,

que se Erguem na Direção dos Céus...,

Esta que é uma das Máscaras Facéticas de Zêmora...,

( Zêmora Éhzirannaiph Athlaísllan )...,

do Mais Além desta terra...,

Ante a Conexão e Mais de Ondes Outros por detrás desta terra...,

em Sincrônia com o Conectar com o Exterior da terra...,

o Além do Espaço e de seus Mundos com Outros Distintos , aos quais se Referem as Escalas Facéticas do Tempo...,

ào " Mais Além das Esferas do Tempo...,"

Assim a Insurgência deste Enigma ...,

se Vai até o Desconhecido Incógnito que Vislumbra também a terra...,

e o que o Desemboca...,

em desde a Glória Maior...,

do GLORIOSO DEUS INDIZÍVEL...,

ALLAHU AKBAR...,

IHVH...,

e mesmo...,

ALLAH...,

o INOMINÁVEL...,

com seus Nomes Sagrados...,

e Supremo Soberano dos Soberanos...,

Aquele que Estabeleceu...,

os Sagrados Mistérios (...)!!!-:

Assinado -: Luiz Henrique (Henrich : Chyren)!!! ! !!! "

[qqueenofhades]

If anyone is an enabling mood..HI, I AM ALWAYS IN AN ENABLING MOOD, YOU WANT ENABLING? HERE IT IS. I have soft loving enabling tho cos I don't like being mean it makes me sad.

As we all expected, I am very, very easy to enable. Credit to @voidxces for the beautiful and inspiring edit. Mildly smutty bits, hence the full story is below the cut.

Valletta, Malta

December 15, 1999

The customs line at Malta International Airport is long, maddeningly slow-moving, and the one guard stamping passports looks to be about ninety, as Joe shifts from foot to foot and tries to remind himself that they have nothing but time. (Unless, of course, the Y2K nuts are all correct and they’re two short weeks from the end of life as we know it, but if nothing else, living for almost a thousand years means that he has seen countless doomsday prophecies come and go without so much as a whimper.) It was a crappy flight from Paris – overbooked, understaffed, the inevitable screaming child two rows behind them and now determined to keep up the racket in the passport queue – and Joe’s trying not to look as stressed as he feels. This is their getaway for the holidays and the new year, the turn of the millennium, a huge and significant milestone for any number of reasons, and he’ll feel better once they’re out of here. Nobody’s at their best in the cattle corrals and the fluorescent lights of border control, another reminder of how much things have changed over all the years they’ve been coming to Malta. The first time they were here in 1501, all they had to do was sail up, get off the boat, and pay a bribe to the port official. Joe votes they try that now.

The line shuffles forward another inch, the child behind them screams even louder, and as Joe is silently reciting the Bismillah and reminding himself that the Almighty values patience, Nicky turns around. He sizes up the mother – tired-looking, hungry-eyed, apologetically trying to corral the fussy baby and a toddler of about three or four – and smiles gently. “Hello,” he says in English, then glances at her passport and sees that she’s Italian. “Buona sera, signora,” he goes on, not missing a beat. “Hai bisogna di aiuto con qualcosa?”

The tired mother starts, her eyes welling with tears. Joe’s willing to bet that nobody has offered to help her for this entire trip, and has to smile softly to himself that of course Nicky has swooped out of the Maltese night like, well, a knight, her countryman in a time of crisis, to do exactly that. Joe is already feeling better just to watch Nicky be Nicky, as his lover takes hold of the baby, joggles him on his hip and tells him that he’s a handsome fellow and to stop screaming and to give his mama a break, as the mother tends to her toddler, gets herself sorted out, and thanks Nicky profusely in what sounds like Calabrian. Joe’s mostly able to pick out the specific regional accents, and he guesses that this woman is a migrant, one of the workers who travel around Europe in the growing season to pick fruit and vegetables in hot fields under hard bosses who only pay in cash and owe a cut to the Mafia. He takes out his wallet and quietly offers her all the Maltese lira they changed for back in France, and she shakes her head and tries to refuse. He insists – she looks somewhat surprised that he speaks Italian too, but not unduly – and while she won’t take it all, they manage to give her back her baby, some money, and reach the front of the line without actually noticing the rest of the wait. Joe hands over a French passport that reads Joseph Jones. Nicky hands over Nicholas Smith. The guard looks at them, asks a few questions in his quavering old-man voice, stamps the visa pages, and once more, they’re in.

Outside, Joe and Nicky collect their bags, help the woman to the taxi rank and make sure she’s on her way to wherever she’s staying, then go out to catch the bus. Valletta sparkles in the distance as they draw closer, this magnificent collection of fortresses and gardens and churches, domes and spires, palaces and piazzas, museums and terraces, city walls and citadels, Benjamin Disraeli’s city of palaces for gentlemen. The place was largely built by the Knights Hospitaller after their exile from Rhodes and the Great Siege of Malta in 1565, and Joe and Nicky have watched it transform over the centuries, but it has still managed to retain that unique spark of what they love about it. It is familiar, comforting, lovely. If the world is going to end, no better place to be than here.

The bus stops in downtown, they thank the driver in fluent Maltese, and get off, hauling their bags and suitcases. The December evening is cool and misty, fog floating over the cobblestones like elegant wraiths, the streetlamps casting pools of golden glow that look like doorways to another world. They walk casually hand in hand to a corner store that is about to shut up shop for the evening, buy a quick dinner, and then continue up the street. Somewhat appropriately, they are staying in a rented house near St Sebastian’s Bastion, Is-Sur ta' San Bastjan, on the northeastern tip of the Valletta peninsula near Fort Saint Elmo. They know the elderly owner well, who has left the key in the postbox for them, and they unlock the door, ascend the narrow, creaky stairs to the top-floor garret, and find that a small Christmas tree and a plate of imqaret have been left to welcome them. The windows open out over the city wall and the dark, glittering ocean. It is quiet, at last. Just the two of them.

“Finally,” Joe says. He picks up Nicky’s bags when he puts them down, and carries them into the dark bedroom, switching on the lights. They set down their convenience-store repast and eat, affectionately nudging each other’s knees under the too-small table. They’ll do more shopping tomorrow; they will be here at least until January (assuming, of course, no apocalypse). Joe smiles at Nicky, happy to be here, happy to be with him, happy to be sharing this small and unremarkable meal with a soft rain pattering on the steep slanted roof. When they’ve finished and tidied up, Joe murmurs, “Not too tired, are you?”

Nicky answers with a devilish quirk of his eyebrow, as if to say that of course neither of them were actually planning to go to sleep without celebrating their return appropriately. He wraps his arms around Joe’s waist, and they waltz into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them and drawing the curtains, sinking down on the amply-sized bed and undressing each other with slow and leisurely care. Even after a thousand, a hundred thousand times, it never fails to thrill. Their mouths meet in the dimness, their hands trace the well-loved lines of the other’s body, the faint scars and lines that never go away even through all the regenerations, the secret places, the curve of lips, the plane of shoulders and spines, the tensed tightness low on stomachs, the bend of a knee or the bone of an ankle. Joe pushes Nicky down beneath him, and Nicky arches his back, wrapping his legs around Joe’s waist. In quiet and tender and timeless communion, they find their way back home again, in each other and with each other, in touches and kisses and slow thrusts turning faster, and finally, sated, they sleep.

They wake in the morning with slants of winter sunlight filling the room, the high white ceilings, the gauzy curtains fluttering in the constant draft that they’ve never found, the way they’ve woken up in this room since they first met the owner in 1973, and which makes Joe think poignantly, as he always does for just an instant, of their lost home in Constantinople. They get up and dress, then leave the house in search of breakfast. The stone of the streets is pink and amber and gold and fawn, and the light has that particular early-morning quality where it seems to shine through sheets of bleached linen. The city is already awake and bustling, and Joe and Nicky make their way to their favorite café. They can sit overlooking the water and eat as much pastry and drink as much coffee as they like, and they make a good several hours of it. The sun comes up over the street, the palm trees rustle in the breeze, and a few tourists wander by with fancy Nikons around their necks, looking lost. One asks in English if they know where the Grandmaster’s Palace is, and Nicky is happy to point them in the right direction.

“You know,” he says, when they have finally finished breakfast and are wandering happily through the baroque streets, hands and shoulders brushing, “it’s 1999. This is our nine-hundredth anniversary, strictly speaking.”

Joe raises an eyebrow at him. “More like our eight hundredth,” he says playfully. “If we’re going from when we actually figured anything out.”

Nicky shrugs, grinning sheepishly, even as both of them fall contemplatively silent. 1099 is a long, long time ago by anybody’s measure. Joe thinks of himself, kneeling in prayer in the Tower of David, the dread whispers that the Franks were coming, the way he can remember parts and pieces and that first death bright as flame, but the rest of it has faded into the soft greyness of endlessly passing time. They did go to Jerusalem earlier this year, in July, since it seemed like the thing to do; there were a lot of First Crusade remembrances going on, some of which they wanted to be associated with and some of which they didn’t. There was a tweed-jacketed history professor who was deeply appreciative of the detailed account that Nicky was able to give on the breach of Jerusalem’s walls (he asked if he had published any articles on the subject, Nicky said hastily that he was just an enthusiastic amateur), and then there were some whackjobs who were trying to inflame religious tensions, as usual, and basically acting like it was a good thing that the heretics got what was coming to them. Lots of Americans with placards. Lots of Israeli secret service and bearded guys who were probably covert Hezbollah. Lots of people who all think they know exactly what the crusade’s legacy means, and which Joe and Nicky couldn’t help but regard warily. Everything seems twisted up these days, poised on the brink. That guy named bin Laden whose pals tried to bomb the World Trade Center in 1993, he’s been talking as usual. Death to the Western crusaders. So on and so forth. Thus far, nobody’s really listening outside the Middle East, but when you’ve seen this so many times, it’s harder to ignore.

Joe shakes himself, not wanting to think about this on their long-awaited getaway. They’ve been in Kosovo on and off this year, even if the last thing any of them really wanted was to go back into the Yugoslavian wars, and Andy and Booker are off to enjoy the last few weeks of the twentieth century elsewhere. Someone like Andy, the turn of a millennium is old hat, but even for as long as they’ve lived, this is Joe and Nicky’s first new set of a thousand years. The Year Two Thousand. Sounds appropriately science-fictiony. How, Joe thinks. How on earth did Yusuf al-Kaysani from Cairo end up here.

That, however, is only incidental to his enjoyment of the rest of the day. They walk on the city walls, they go up to the Grand Harbor and take in the sea view, then to the Barrakka Gardens. Nicky gazes pensively on the monument of remembrance and out over the glittering blue water, as Joe sits down on a bench and watches him. He has always simply enjoyed looking at Nicky, watching him breathe, watching him be, watching the way he leans on the railing and shields his eyes against the sun with the casual, unconsciousness elegance that permeates everything he does. Whether the name is Yusuf al-Kaysani or Joseph Jones or anything else, it doesn’t matter. Even among all the change and clutter of the modern world, this adoration, this soul-deep delight, is the one thing that remains constant.

That is how the next several days pass. Joe and Nicky visit their usual old haunts in Valletta, eat well, make love, and catch up with the apartment’s owner, Ġużepp, who is now in his eighties, has known them for over twenty-five years, and never seen them age a day. He has never asked why. His wife died a long time ago and they never had children, and perhaps he sees them as sons, as a strange but poignant blessing for a lonely old man, two people who clearly love this place as much as he does. He asked them once when they first came here, and Joe wondered if they should just tell him that it was the sixteenth century. Somehow it seems as if Ġużepp might not be surprised.

A few days before Christmas, a storm blows in from the Atlantic just as dust blows in from North Africa, and the world turns silver and ocher and rust and wet, the windows sparkling as if stained in silver nitrate and the streets and domes and splendid churches of Valletta painted in watercolor impressionism on the blurry glass, anything or anyone outside the bedroom barely seeming to exist. Joe and Nicky spend the time productively, which is to say they have so much sex that they can barely walk. They twist into each other, explore and challenge and unstring and repair each other, touch and caress, kiss and lick and suck and mark their territory all over again, leaving no inch of flesh unexplored and no sinful act undone. “You know,” Nicky murmurs, eyes closed, smiling, sweat beading on his brow, hand stroking up the line of Joe’s spine as Joe nips at his neck. “We really are a pair of heretics, aren’t we.”

“Speak for yourself, Nicolò.” Joe leans down to steal another kiss from his lover’s bruised, teeth-marked lips. “Heretics according to who?”

Nicky hums, as if to say he is happy to get into a theological argument at a later date, but can’t be arsed to do so right now. Joe slides down next to him, sliding his hand across Nicky’s chest and stomach, curling lower, as Nicky whines and reflexively tries to pull back. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Joe laughs, as he always does, pressing a kiss into Nicky’s shoulder and thinking – as he also always does – Allah and all His angels forbid. He has always secretly, shamefully prayed that if that terrible moment came, if one of them lost their immortality first, that it be him. He knows this condemns Nicky to live on without him, but he cannot face the prospect of doing it himself. Dying for good, even after this long, somehow seems easier. At least he’s done that before, often. Living without the other half of his soul, not so much.

The rain clears on Christmas Day, the light is fragile and golden and perfect as heaven, and they call Andy and Booker (Andy’s somewhere in Argentina, Booker is on a beach in Thailand) and wish each other happy holidays. Nicky mixes up a feast, Joe helps (if by that you mean stirring the occasional pot and taking full advantage of Nicky’s “Kiss the Cook” apron) and they open their door and visit with the neighbors who drop in to bring more pastries and Christmas wishes. Ġużepp turns up, they invite him to stay for supper so he won’t be alone, and after the token protests, he agrees. As he is insisting on doing the washing-up, he asks, “How long have you two known each other?”

Joe and Nicky glance at each other. They’re fairly sure that Ġużepp knows they’re a couple, even if they haven’t said so openly, just in case an old Maltese Roman Catholic would prefer to know it implicitly but not have it confirmed. Finally Nicky says, “A very long time.”

“I thought so, somehow.” The old man reaches for a dish towel. “You seem that way. Have you been happy here? All the times you’ve been to Malta, to my house?”

“We’ve been very happy,” Joe assures him. “This place has been special for – for many years. I am Arabic, Nicky is Italian, it is like it was made just for us.”

Ġużepp smiles. “Your families?” he asks. “They are happy with it?”

Joe thinks of his mother, far off and so very long ago, and how Maryam al-Katibi always wanted him to be a better man. How he forgot about time and its passing, and never saw her again after he left. It remains one of the greatest regrets of his life that she never met Nicolò, as he thinks that they would have liked each other very much. But as far as their family goes now –

“Yes,” he says, thinking of Andy and Booker. “Yes, they are.”

“I am glad,” Ġużepp says stoutly. “It is good for a man not to be alone.”

(It is, and both Joe and Nicky have clung to that, and they don’t know now that this is the last time they will see Ġużepp, as he will die before they return here in 2004 when Malta becomes a member of the EU, but on this sweet, poignant night, as time speeds on its passing, as they both reflect on all those many years, and God said that it was good.)

The last week of 1999 and the twentieth century and the second millennium count down to its inevitable end. There aren’t exactly prophets in sandwich boards shrieking on the streets about the end times, though it’s undeniable that there’s a sharp-edged anxiety as Y2K draws closer. On December 31, Joe and Nicky sit on the beach at the famous Blue Lagoon, watching the sun go down over the island of Comino, holding hands. At last Nicky says – half joking, but only half – “If the world does end tonight, I want you to know that you are still the best thing that ever happened to me. Except for that pastry the other day. That was really very divine.”

Joe laughs, takes his hand to his lips and kisses it. “Always, my heart,” he says. “Always.”

The world gets softer and darker, and lights come on over the bay and the archipelago and the boats bobbing at anchor, and Joe thinks that it must be the year 2000 somewhere else, and everything still seems to be fine. He wasn’t really worried, but he knows that fear that the next year might bring with it something too terrible to be gotten around, and that if you could just cling to this moment now when things are all right, they might stay that way forever. Finally he and Nicky get the water taxi back to Valletta, and it’s getting closer and closer to midnight, and they sit down on a bench and count down with the rest of this sliver of the world, all the way into the next stage of forever.

When it becomes plain that the world has not ended, nor indeed does it seem likely to do so, everywhere seems to let out its breath at once. Huge and glorious fireworks thunder in the dark sky over the city, in riots of color and noise and sound, and Joe and Nicky can hear cheering and toasting from what seems like every house in the city. They kiss and then kiss again for good measure, swept along on a tide of jolly and relieved and mildly (or well, considerably) inebriated strangers, an impromptu street party that both of them feel down to their nine-hundred-and-fifty-year-old sinews, the sort of magic that still catches them dead to rights even after so long in this beautiful, stupid, dangerous, exasperating, maddening, heartbreaking, filthy, glorious, transcendent, irreplaceable world. They throw their arms around each other’s necks and gaze deeply into the other’s eyes, as even all the gaiety and festivity and bacchanal falls into nothing, passing over them like waves. “I love you,” Joe says, as he has said it so many times in all the languages he knows. “Ti amo.”

Nicky smiles that smile that makes the world shine, and spins Joe lightly on the spot, and the next thousand years seem, just then, like the greatest blessing that any man has ever had. “I know.”

[bidoldaccount]

Grow As We Go - Five

Word Count: 1,626

ONE ; TWO ; THREE ; FOUR

Read on AO3

Read on Wattpad 

Dean is the father.

After two home visits, a lot of dealings with the court, a matched paternity test, and a lot of sympathetic looks, Dean is biologically, and most important, legally, Jack's father.

Dean kisses Cas hard when everything is done, and they both kiss Jack's cheeks. Bobby gives Dean two weeks off of work, and Cas is only in school for another week before spring break, so they spend their time cooped up in the apartment, getting to know themselves as parents. Getting to know Jack, Jack getting to know them.

"You are killing this whole tummy time thing, dude, absolutely shredding it. Look at me, look at daddy," Dean smiled, tilting his head as Jack tried looking up. He smiled when he saw Dean, his knees wriggling like he was trying to go for Dean.

Dean is the best at playtime, they find. He does the best car noises, he does a killer Elmo impression, and he can make Jack smile by simply raising his eyebrows.

Castiel is better with stories and sleepy time. He'll lay Jack on his chest, skin to skin, and breathe as evenly as he can while reading a book. Jack goes instantly still when Cas starts to speak, like a switch goes off and he's boneless. Dean watches in amazement most nights, when Jack is fussy and hates everything and doesn't like skin to skin contact with Dean, he'll go quiet in Castiel's arms, just rest against his skin and breathe.

Two nights before Dean has to go back to work and Cas has to go back to teaching, they sit down in the living room while Jack sleeps in his crib. Dean places his head in his hands and he's crying but Castiel isn't sure why. Cas sits behind him for a while, just laying his head on Deans back, waiting paitently until he's ready to share.

"This is so unfair to you." That is not what Castiel would have expected, but he doesn't let his surprise show. "A baby shows up on my door step and suddenly you have to co-parent with a guy you've only been with for a year. I can't imagine how hard this must be for you. I probably made you feel pressured to stay with me, God, Cas," Dean pulls at his hair as he tried to soften his cries. Cas picks his head up and looks towards Dean with furrowed eyebrows.

"What? Dean, if I didn't want to be here then I wouldn't be. I don't feel pressured to stay, I'm staying because I love you," Castiel said.

"But what if I change. Parenthood changes people, doesn't it? What if it makes me someone that you don't like. Someone that you'd rather not be with? I'm not going to have any time between working and Jack, how am I supposed to be a good boyfriend while trying to be a father?" Dean hiccups, his chest tight.

"Hey, honey, look at me," Cas only pulls out that nickname on special occasions, so Dean glances up rather quick. Cas scoots over so that he's sitting at Deans side. He brings his hand up to wipe away the tear tracks on Dean's cheeks. "I love you, okay?" He whispered softly. "I love you as a boyfriend and I'll love you as Jack's father. You don't have to be alone to be a good father and you don't have to be childless to be a good boyfriend. We're going to figure it out, because that's what people do when they have kids. They change and they grow, but they don't have to do it alone," Cas shakes his head, wiping away more tears.

"I'm so scared, Cas. What if I mess something up? With you or with Jack? What if I screw him up?" Dean whispers.

"Screwing up is apart of the deal. A little trauma never hurt nobody," Dean laughs wetly. "Kidding, but seriously, parents make mistakes, it's apart of the process. For what it's worth," Cas leaned his chin on Dean's shoulder, his forehead at his temple. "You're doing a great job and I think you're an amazing father." Dean closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest.

"I'm so happy you're here, Cas," he said.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." Dean cries a little bit more, then Cas decided that their pity party is over. He grabs two sodas from the fridge, and sets out a piece of paper on the coffee table between them.

"Okay, I have to be at school by 7 and the latest I leave is 3:30, so if you drop Jack off at daycare before work, that puts him there from 10 to 4, that's 6 hours, with $15 an hour, we'll be looking at roughly $450 a week. It might be slightly lower because we have a fixed schedule and I get out early on Wednesday's, but that's a rough guess."

"I already have a headache," Dean grumbled.

"I've already calculated what we pay in rent, electricity and utilities, also factoring in Jack's necessities, a monthly food budget, daycare, our Netflix subscription, estimated gas expenses, our phone bills, etc. This is what we're looking at left over," Cas slides the paper to Dean and Deans eyes widen.

"Wait, are you serious? I thought it would be a lot less," he said.

"You make good money at the garage on top of what you earn from consulting, and I earn a good amount from teaching and translating," Castiel said.

"Wow, I guess I just never paid attention to it before," Dean said, still staring at the paper.

"We've never been hurting for money," Cas shrugged.

"Then why are we living in this shitty one bedroom?" Dean asked.

"Because then Jack would have been left on the doorstep of someone else's home while we were in a cozy two bedroom?" Cas shrugged.

"Ha. Ha," Dean rolled his eyes. " I'm serious though, do you think we should move? We can certainly afford at least a two bedroom," Dean said.

"I mean, I thought about it even before Jack but I thought it was too soon, now that he's here though, we could use the space," Cas said.

"Okay, next on the list, find forever home," Dean widened his eyes dramatically. Cas huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes.

"A forever home might have to wait a few years," he said.

Castiel was right, as he always is. Before Jack turns seven months, they sign a lease for a two bedroom apartment. Dean has an anxiety attack on their first night because he's afraid they won't wake up if Jack cries. It took Cas an hour to talk him into bed, and twenty minutes to make him stop trying to get out. Dean wakes up at 6am and he startles, flying out of bed to make sure Jack didn't hurt himself through the night. When he busts into his room, Jack is still soundly sleeping and Castiel shakes his head with a fond smile.

When Jack turns three, Dean stumbles upon a cheap house in a good neighborhood. It was nearly run into the ground because of foundation issues, no one wanted it, and the couple was desperate to sell. It took very little convincing from Cas to purchase. Dean tore the entire house down and started from scratch. It was almost nine months before Dean allowed Cas and Jack inside of the shell of their home, pointing out rooms and different features. Cas had cried the first time he saw it.

It was shortly after Jack turned four that they officially moved into the house. Two stories, painted a soft yellow that was easy on the eyes, blue shutters, a white picket fence. A very spacious garage. Cas pointed out everything that Jack helped pick out, like the granite countertops, and the wallpaper in the hallway.

"Do you like it?" Dean asked nervously once Jack was sound asleep in his new bedroom, the walls a soft blue with a space theme. He wrapped his arms around Cas' waist as they stood in the foyer, the living room the right, the stairs to the left, kitchen directly ahead. Cas leaned his head back with a furrow in his brow.

"No, I hate it, I want a home that my amazing boyfriend didn't build," he rolled his eyes as he turned in Deans arms. "Are you kidding?" He wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders and kissed him softly. "I love it. You did such an amazing job, I can't believe you built this," he whispered.

"You and Jack deserved a home," Dean shrugged as he stepped away, hands in his pockets. "You deserve the world for being so incredibly amazing and supportive all these years," Castiel gasped as Dean lowered himself onto one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pajama pants. "As I was building this house for you and Jack, I thought a lot about our life together. I thought about when Jack would get so calm by just laying on your chest, and the way you cried on his first day of school, and our first date when you spent twenty minutes talking about bees. I can't imagine my life without you, without you being right there next to me, so, Castiel Novak, will you marry me?" Castiel breathed out shakily as he nodded.

"Yes," he pulled Dean back up to his feet, grabbed the front of his shirt, and smashed their lips together. Dean couldn't stop smiling as he slipped the ring onto Castiel's finger.

"I love you so much," Dean said with a bright smile.

"I love you too," Cas sniffed as he pulled Dean into him, hugging him tightly.

[glqwberries]

AUG 5 2020 VC

- undertale genocide route..... start..!

- “im dumbshit”

- murder is okay!

- video, radio star

- how he gonna get a kiss kiss? very ugly no kiss for hiim

- ender makes a rainbow sound at toriel’s death

- flowey can smell souls

- vape? nah. ___

- hlvrai undertale au

- whats your opinion on (food)

- ink reaches underverse tiktok

- we pause ut so emmit can make a stupid shitpost

- mama miaaaaaaa

-  It seems you bitches have come to a standstill in judgement hall, you have 13 seconds until the underground fucking explodes, you human wannabe and you red eyed son of a bitch, you have done nothing but ruin my life I hope you both die

- "you are a nipple"

- we actually do the word search

- error gets bullied for calling emmit a twink’

- “hi. im sans undertale”

- who the fuck is fronting in the stars

- bullying Cam because y’all are fucking MEAN

- the stars stop playing ut to make THIS only because papyrus says “i see youre approaching” 

- elmo goes feral

- geno makes a tiktok

- fnaf musical

- the stars just want to play ut

- “you think i think??”

- abb join

- would anyone like some so cool. so cool. so cool. so co

- so cool so cool so cool so cool so cool

- abb

- mitch created infernum

- so cool

- phineas and ferb lore

- “how do we fit a mango...”

- we make vince do all

- we got the fish

- da solami lid

- ender is ralph

- eyyyy getdafuckouttahere

- everybody is suzy

- what are 

- icaro voice reveal??

- hi im sans undertale

- woah duke van gaygh is an ant? in a micowave?

- so cool so cool so cool so cool so cool co sool co soolcollso

- irl ytp

- nice cock

- so cool so cool so cool so cool so cool so cool so cool so cool

- who the heellllllll put the muffins in the freezer

- two trucks havin g sex

- no dick for him!

- imma piss out

- MAFIK

-  "Why she got so many lip lip? Very ugly"

- break the bot

- again

- actor killed people, Mark is just straight

- mii channel music again

- a sleeping Ender is left alone with the mii channel music

[jihyosforehead]

can we pls have dubchaetzu fluff please

i like how super polite u were and said please twice omg absolute cutie uwuuu (also im so sorry this has been sitting in my inbox for 72 years)

…

“hey dude, did you need to grab any food?”

chaeyoung looks up from her laptop to peer at nayeon.

“what?” chaeyoung asks, sheepishly.

“i asked if you needed to buy any food. you know, from the line?” she says patiently. she throws a hand behind her, and chaeyoung’s eyes follow the movement; jeongyeon and momo are waving so frantically at them that they’ve begun to cause a scene.

“nah, i brought something from home. it’s leftovers day,” chaeyoung tells her with a bright grin, happiness coating her voice. nayeon is completely unable to help herself from patting chaeyoung’s head affectionately. she leaves with a final head pat, storming over to grab momo from backing into a group of bystanders.

chaeyoung pulls out her lunchbox from her bag and a small blue post-it note flutters down to rest on the table in the most dramatic way possible. black ink lettering the paper in careful, delicate strokes.

chaeyoungie,

i think you’re eggcellent :)

there’s a drawing of three eggs in a sizzling frying pan with smiley faces.

a goofy grin creeps across her face and doesn’t leave even when she’s home in bed, staring at the ceiling.

…

dahyun sighs heavily. she was so run down from assignments and homework. there was a six page essay about like? space or something? a group assignment about pollution. and her personal favourite: studying for the end of unit chemistry test. but for now. dahyun is going to eat some lunch.

sana and mina are sitting across from her chatting. or flirting. who knows with these two sometimes. dahyun is eating in peace. dahyun is chewing. dahyun is enjoying her chicken. dahyun is not thinking about homework -

“what’s that, dahyunnie?” sana asks suddenly, ending her train of thought. dahyun looks up at her mid-chew, making a confused noise.

sana snatches a blue post-it note at dahyun’s elbow and her eyes scan over it quickly and then holds it to her chest and sighs theatrically. mina shaking her head exasperatedly before handing the note over.

dahyunnie,

all you knead is love.

under it, is a drawing of a bag of flour kneading a ball of dough.

dahyun somehow powers through her study guide and gets started on the essay.

…

saturday morning finds chaeyoung two hours into an eight hour shift at the local music shop. it’s been a really hectic day, an almost unending stream of customers keeping her occupied since opening.

“excuse me do you have this poster in stock?” “well, can you check in the back?” “why don’t you carry one direction vinyls?” “by the way, someone knocked down the display stand with all the christmas CDs. yeah i didn’t see.”

she barely had a second to breathe. and plus her co-worker had called in late so now chaeyoung was behind on inventory.

but.

it’s leftovers day again and chaeyoung is looking forward to her ham and cheese sandwich. but mostly she’s interested in the strawberry tart she’s going to eat for dessert. there’s another blue post-it note, this time it’s stuck to her apple.

chaeyoung grins widely at the familiar careful, black lettering.

chaengie!

i’m soy into you. :D

there’s a carefully drawn piece of sushi and a bottle of soy sauce directly under it.

chaeyoung feels her day immediately brighten, warmth tightening across her heart. a shitty customer isn’t a match for a truly solid pun.

…

there isn’t really a word to describe how much dahyun detested group assignments. her team members had all conveniently forgotten to email their drafts by the agreed on date.

“dahyun i’m sorry, i just haven’t had time” “i totally forgot about that my bad” “i had practice all week!”

and now. they were running behind. (not really).

but they were running behind according to dahyun’s very well put together, well-crafted, truly excellent planning board! (they were two days behind). she’d have to completely overhaul it and adjust everything.

(the assignment wasn’t due for another two weeks).

dahyun slumped in her uncomfortable plastic chair, pretending not to look put off by how animatedly her group members discussing something completely irrelevant over their uneaten lunch. she pulls out her juice-box with a huff, stabbing the straw in aggressively. she yanks out her cutlery and a blue post-it note floats out gently behind it. dahyun snatches it out of the air, brows furrowed.

dubu!!

i lava you!

there’s a picture of a volcano with red lava spilling from the top to form a heart. dahyun feels her frustration leave, warm affection in its place. okay so maybe, she could probably loosen up her deadlines. maybe.

dahyun’s definitely seen this pun. it has chaeyoung written all over it. 

…

chaeyoung’s perched at the edge of her seat, munching absentmindedly on carrot stick, occasionally dipping it into an unidentifiable sauce. it tasted vaguely like mayonnaise and pickles but it was kind of good so she’s not really going to question what’s in it. instead she’s typing rapidly at her laptop, sighing every few minutes.

she was so so so behind on the written section of her portfolio. she’s not really sure why she left it last minute knowing full well she had a whole twenty pages of her own work to analyse. she chews more aggressively at her carrot sticks.

jihyo pokes at her shoulder. hard.

“you have to relax.”

“i can’t!” chaeyoung tells her, obscurely aware that she sounded very panicked, “i have so many words to shit out! and so few minutes to shit them out in!!”

jihyo gives her a deeply unamused smile. chaeyoung can’t find in her to care that she’s cursed in front of her mother.

“you’ll be fine,” jihyo says, firmly. “when’s it due anyway?”

“in two days!”

“you’ll be fine.” jihyo says, sounding completely unconvincing. chaeyoung leans back in her chair and stares at the ceiling. “here, eat something.”

she’s digging in chaeyoung’s bag and then holds out a banana and a neatly packaged container of salad. there’s a blue post-it note stuck to the lid.

chaeng

i’m always thinking a bao you :P

there’s a picture of three baos, lined up in a row, with tiny pink hearts between each one. jihyo’s lips are twitching into a smile at chaeyoung’s enamoured expression. chaeyoung thinks dahyun’s really outdone herself this time.

(chaeyoung hands in her portfolio in on time and also gets a 97%).

…

dahyun’s aware of the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. she’s in the bathroom, back against the door, breathing heavily. like she’s escaped a murderer or something. She catches her reflection in the mirror and her hair is sticking up in sixteen different directions, she’s got a weird green stain on her collar and she’s holding a bar of chocolate protectively against her chest.

she’s locked herself in a room away from screaming children. okay. so the children were her cousins. but. they were screaming and she needed a break. there were only so many times she could watch the elmo’s world theme song on repeat. it’s ingrained so deeply in her brain that if aliens kidnapped her and wiped her memory completely, she’s sure that the elmo song would still be embedded in there somewhere. like a sesame street sleeper agent.

and also she wanted to eat her chocolate in secret. if she’d learnt anything, is that kids take the sharing lesson very seriously. especially when it comes to chocolate. especially when it comes to dahyun not sharing her chocolate. there’s a blue post-it note stuck to the back of the packaging.

dubuuu !

you always make me hap-pea :o

there’s a drawing of three peas in a pod and an almost ridiculous amount of emoji faces surrounding the picture. dahyun feels her heart swell at least three sizes. the kids are somehow easier to face.

…

tzuyu watches chaeyoung stick another blue post-it note into her journal, gluing it down to the page carefully, tongue sticking out in concentration. she tries not to notice the intensely deep affection warm her entire body when she notices that the entire page are those post-it puns she’s been giving secretly. chaeyoung’s filling in the blank spaces, seemingly at random with pops of purple and green and little drawings of cookies and yoda.

dahyun is tilting her head to one side, blonde hair falling down her back with her movements; kind of like a puppy, tzuyu thinks, her nose scrunching up at how adorable the sight is. and she tries not to notice the affection grow when dahyun holds both hands up, her index fingers and thumbs forming an L-shape, lips jutted out dramatically, one eye closed, she’s crouching on the floor.

dahyun’s spent the whole afternoon rearranging her blue post-it note collection, and blue-tacking her favourites to her wall.

tzuyu’s aware that dahyun thinks chaeyoung’s been giving her the post-its. and vice versa.

(but she’s completely unaware that dahyun and chaeyoung have known it was her from the second a dopey, proud smile crossed her face when they first showed her their post-it notes.)

they think tzuyu’s proud, dopey smile is their new favourite thing.

right up there with tzuyu’s heart.

[lord-rosenth0rne]

When Jim met Morgan Pt 1

Continuing on with the Morgan Nightingale(Morgana)/Jim Starling drama, or beginning with it, anyway. 

I have a series of events planned out during the time they were working together to further explain what went on behind the scenes. 

Morgan and Elmo (Megavolt’s actor) were theater partners in college and beyond until Elmo left for Hollywood. When there was an opening for a love interest, Elmo immediately snatched up a script and tracked down Morgan who had already been on a hiatus from acting to raise her little girl. 

Part 2 here.

(Also Elmo and Quackerjack’s actor are dating on the down-low during all of this. Their romance was more of a slow burn and they’re still together to this day.)

“Ooooh, I don’t know, Sparky. Television is a big leap from live theater. I don’t even know how you were able to do it so easily. What if I mess it up? What if the rest of the public doesn’t like me? What if I don’t do a good enough job for the role?”

“Nonsense, Morgan! This part was practically made for you- by people who probably don’t know your work… But I thought of you the moment I read the script! And if you mess up, they’ll either let you do it again or edit it out. It’s no big deal! I’ll be there too for emotional support. I mean, I AM a reoccurring villain for the show!”

“That’s sweet of you, but… what about Mina? She’s still so young. I’ve been putting off returning to acting in general at least until she’s in school.”

“I’ll watch Mina if your audition goes well,” a soft, clear German accent rang out. “You should try to expand your horizons, my darling. I think this will be a good experience for you. Go show the world how wonderful you are.”

“Oh, Rodrick… You know what? Let’s do it!”

The conversation of her auditioning for the Darkwing Duck role “Morgana Macawber” churned in her head on the way to the studio. Her old theater partner, Elmo “Sparky” Sputterspark, had tracked her down to deliver the script in hopes that she would get the part. After reading it, Morgan fell in love with Morgana’s character and, with a gentle nudge from her husband, decided to go with her friend to audition.  She elected to go in with her long dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail under a wide-brimmed red hat while wearing a red double-breasted trench-style jacket with a belt, black dress pants and heeled boots: the color scheme noted in the script. In truth, she looked as if she had stepped out of a detective novel.

Her fingers gripped the seat of the golf cart as they approached the building where it was to take place. The ride over was pleasant enough. She and Sparky were going over the script with Sparky delivering the best Darkwing Duck impression he could which resulted in hysterical laughter but the moment they passed onto the studio property, a sense of dread filled Morgan and the laughter stopped. Sparky drove up to the lot and parked the golf cart.

“Here we are!”

“I-I haven’t auditioned for anything since before I found out I was pregnant with Mina…” she grumbled under her breath and began to sink in her seat with her eyes on the building number. “I don’t know if I can do this… I-I’m out of practice...”

One of her hands was pried off the seat and held between Sparky’s which patted the back of it.

“It’ll come back to you. Just like riding a bike. You can do this. If you can belt out “Defying Gravity” to a full house with visiting royalty in attendance, you can audition for a small group. Trust me, they are waaay less judgy than the theater crowd.” he reassured her. “Or at least, from my experience anyway. Come on. I bet Jim’s here too to see  how well the actresses work with him.”

Sparky stepped out of the golf cart only to look back to see Morgan clinging to the interior. Her head snapped to him looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Wait, Jim Starling’s here too?”

“Maybe, but you’d still have to meet with him anyway. You are auditioning for Darkwing’s love interest after all.”

“... I’ll just wait out here…”

“Morgan, I promise, he’s not going to bite.”

After the forty-somethingth audition, Jim looked like he was about to bite. He was now slumped down in his seat with over two dozen disposable coffee cups littered around him and an irritated scowl as the last auditioner left. He had been reading the same scene over and over. Beside him were three people who were tasked with casting Morgana Macawber.

“What did you think of that one?”

“Clear, strong voice. Seems to have an idea of who she’s portraying but delivery was a bit weak.”

“What do you think, Mr. Starling? Any thoughts on her?”

“No, and I would like to go home now!” Jim pushed himself up in his chair to stand. “You yahoos can do this without me!”

“Well, we wanted to see if you had chemistry with any of the actresses who auditioned so-”

“Pfft, ‘chemistry’. Like that has anything to do with acting.” he rolled his eyes as he grabbed his things and stormed toward the door. “Just pick one and get it over with! I’ve got better things to do with my time!”

“But we have a couple of more-” the head casting director tried to say but Jim disappeared through the doorway. “Aaaand he’s gone. Great. Well, I guess we can continue on without him.”

“You know he’s going to complain about anyone we pick, right?” another commented. “He’s done that with half of the cast already.”

“Yeah… I know.”

It took a little coaxing on Sparky’s part to get Morgan to release the golf cart and into the studio but by some miracle, he did it. On the way to the auditioning room, Sparky showed Morgan the sets and costumes to try to calm her down, as well as the costume ideas they had for Morgana that were hanging up in the seamstress’ area.

“Ooooh, so they’re going for the Morticia/Elvira/Lily Munster vibe. I love it!” Morgan gasped. “I hope I can look as good as them in such a dress after having a little one.”

“You look like you haven’t even had any kids, Morg,” Sparky laughed as he put an arm around her. “Besides, Lily and Morticia are mothers after all and still rock the dresses they wear.”

“I guess that’s true.” she snickered.

“Come on, we have to head this way-”

Movement out of the corner of his eye made Sparky’s head perk up to see Jim heading toward the studio door with a sour look on his face.

“Oh! Wait, there’s Jim! Jim!” Sparky called out, waving to his co-star. He took Morgan’s hand and rushed over. Jim glanced up only to roll his eyes.

“Great. I’m kinda in the middle of leaving-!” he called back but was stopped by the Megavolt actor.

“I see that, but I wanted you to meet someone first!” Sparky grinned, pulling Morgan into view. Jim’s face immediately fell leaving his mouth agape as Morgan gave a nervous smile and shifted some. “This is Morgan Nightingale, my old theater friend! She’s here to audition for Morgana!”

“Pleased to meet you,” Morgan offered a hand to Jim but he didn’t take it. He only continued to stare with a dumbstruck look. A frosted border framed his view of her and her voice became muffled as the woman withdrew her hand with a concerned look. “Ah… are-are you okay, Mr. Starling?”

A sound much like a squeaky toy being strangled to death escaped Jim’s throat with his mouth opening and closing several times in a struggle to actually say something.

“Hello? Earth to Jim! Come in, Jim!” Sparky waved a hand in front of the actor’s face then placed a hand under his chin. “Huh… Guess he’s had a long day. Let’s, ah, let’s get onto the audition and check up on him later.”

Morgan nodded, glancing between the men.

“Well, it was nice meeting you!” Morgan chuckled then followed her friend in the direction Jim had just come from. “Hope we have the chance to work together!”

Sparky paused to allow Morgan to catch up and she thumbed over her shoulder at Jim who had turned to watch them leave.

“He’s going to be okay, right?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. He does his own stunts after all. Maybe he hit his head one too many times.” Sparky flicked his hand.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Either that, or it’s love at first sight!” Sparky teased.

“Oh stop!”

Jim stood there in an intoxicated trance, his mind trying to process the woman he just met. His heart slammed against his chest, threatening to burst out to chase after her. “Woah, mama…” was all he could muster before stumbling back to the room he just left.

The three at the table stood the moment they laid eyes on Morgan. Sparky didn’t have to introduce her. They already recognized her which surprised both of them. The three had erupted in absolute gushing.

“Morgan Nightingale! You’re auditioning for this part?!”

“Please say you are! Ugh, you were wonderful in the Phantom of the Opera!”

“And in the King and I!”

“Don’t forget Wicked! You nailed Elphaba’s part to a T!”

Morgan looked startled at first before smiling and giving a small nod.

“Thank you. I didn’t expect anyone here to know who I was,” she admitted softly as she wrung her script some. “But I would like to audition if that is okay?”

“Okay?! That would be more than okay! Please, go ahead and-!” the head casting director started but paused at the sight of Jim drunkenly stumbling into the room and back to his seat. The director’s demeanor changed to a colder, quieter tone. “I thought you left.”

Jim shook his head hard, sat up in his seat properly and placed his elbows on the table while clearing his voice. “Nah, I just thought I’d stay for… one more…” he turned his gaze to Morgan with a smile. His mood picked up considerably which made the casting crew glance among each other and smirk. Jim grabbed his script and thumbed through the pages quickly. “Miss… Nightingale, was it? Let’s… ah… Let’s try acting out the scene where Darkwing meets Morgana…”

[thotteus-beaumont]

Lover’s Cross

Summary: "Cause now it seems that you wanted a martyr...Just a regular guy wouldn't do. But baby I can't hang upon no lover's cross for you” ~ Jim Croce. Pete Moore & Henry Devlin are both absolutely sure they have nowhere left to go but down...

Ship: Henry/Pete & background Jonesy/Beaver 

Words: 6,398

His father had once told a much younger version of Pete that ignorance was bliss. And when he’d asked him what ‘ignorant’ meant, he just smiled and handed him his orange juice. And as he usually did, Pete did not press the subject any further. Instead he’d sipped on his juice.

Pete had been feeling nostalgic lately. And not in the good way--no, this made him feel sick. His throat would close up and it would be impossible for him to catch his breath. He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut for a second or two as he continued walking up and down the kitchen area in his apartment. He pressed his thumb against the side of his nose. He was getting that feeling you get when you drink too much soda and the fizz sort of creeps uncomfortably at your nose, giving you a weird half-headache. Just a tiny echo of the usual hang-over he’d wake up with. 

This Tuesday morning there was no real hang-over...just the phantom memory of one that his brain put on because the feeling of waking up without one was just too uncomfortable.  

He shot Jonathan down at least a good 4 times before the man had somehow wormed his way into Pete’s affectionate heart. Coming up on a year in just a few short days and Jonathan was standing in their apartment and calling-in sick to excuse them from a nice Holiday work party at his office. 

Pete scraped his thumbnail down his lip and thought about how the speed-limit for the busy street near them had gone down some but the yellow car he spotted through the large window didn’t seem to care. 

“Done is done.” Jonathan flung the home-phone onto the couch and looked up with an expectant face. 

“Do you want a ‘thanks’? I didn’t ask you to do that-” Pete went on the defensive but that only seemed to piss his boyfriend off. 

“But I had to do it. Ain’t worth a shit if you say thanks or not, Pete. Tender is the night, babe and I can’t have you inebriated in front of my co-workers again and turning that mood into...that." He vaguely gestured to Pete with an exhausted sense of familiarity. 

“I was barely drunk, John. No one noticed-” 

“Janine asked me if you were in A.A., Pete!” Jonathan sighed with restrained irritation. Pete fell silent and turned away from the conversation. “Look, I know that you’re trying...I know that-” 

Pete pursed his lips together. “For your sake. I don’t personally think it’s a problem, John. You want me to drink a little less, yeah-I can do that, no problem. But swearing it off entirely just because your secretary thinks two beers is A.A. worthy?” 

Jonathan groaned and leaned against the small counter. “You had more than two and you Goddamn know that so I won’t pick on that comment.” He rolled his eyes and ignored Pete’s returned gesture. “Do you really want me to be doing this for you for ever?” 

Pete turned on his heels and cocked his head to the side. 

“Meaning, having to pick you up from parties you can’t drive yourself home from, take care of you because you won’t do it yourself? Goddamn defend your actions to my concerned co-workers?” Jonathan waved his arms about and shook his head. “For every night you spent sober and laughing with me, there were at least six nights spent with me worrying about whether or not I’ll have to keep turning you on your side so you don’t choke on your vomit!” 

Pete blinked away some stress tears, a habit he seemed to have picked up from ol’ Jonesy, who was bound to flow some out whenever he got too passionate. It could be a stream just as strong as Beaver’s road-side pisses. “If I make you so miserable, than yeah I’d rather you leave.” 

John let out one of those incredibly frustrated groans again. “Pete, I’m not accusing you of trying to make my life hell-”

“But it’s exactly what you’re saying-” Pete stepped forward and made eye contact with his boyfriend, who looked to be at some sort of tipping point. 

“Not it’s fucking not!” John had somehow managed to take the few steps needed to being face-to-face with Pete. “I just want you to get better.” 

Pete shook his head. “Won’t be hard considering, I’m fine. I don’t have a problem.” 

John shocked them both by raising his hand and slapping Pete across the face. The sound was a loud and horrible smack of hot skin. 

Pete recovered instantly yet slowly at the same time. He raised his face again and made dreaded eye contact. “Get out.” 

John stepped back and swallowed. “I’m so fucking sorry, Pete. I just-...You’re right. I should go.” he seemed to give up on this justification and started walking around their apartment. With Pete’s watchful and conflicted eyes following his every move. 

He packed himself an over-night bag and stopped just as soon as he hit the kitchen. “Listen Pete, I love you. I just want you to be healthy but I won’t fight for this love if you won’t at least...meet me in the middle.” 

Pete pursed his lips and shrugged. John soaked that ‘answer’ in and lifted his bag from the table. “Ok, well...I’m gonna stay over at a friends. Give you some space.” 

Pete still didn’t speak and watched the guy shut the door behind him. “Fuck.” was all he muttered as he glided his way towards the phone sitting on the coffee-table. He dialed quickly and tapped his fingers against his side. 

“Hello-”

“Beaver, can you come over, buddy?” Pete tried not to let the anxiety bleed into his voice but the Beav was always unusually great at knowing how all his friends felt by just like 3-words. 

                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beaver Clarendon, 5′6 and with a bead of sweat dripping down his temple against that long hippie-hair, stepped inside with happy determination. There was a jar of fresh peanut-butter in his hand and the mission for him now was to find two clean spoons. 

Pete felt mounds of stress leave his body just from seeing his pal. He solemnly followed the man and took a seat at the counter to wait. 

“My Spidey-Sense was correct, Pete.” Beaver wiggled one of the spoons and pulled up a stool across from Pete, even though Pete knew those kinds of chairs bothered him. Beav continually slouched in life but a little back support helped a little. Pete lifted a brow and opened the jar. “I told Jonesy that we would need to buy an extra jar.” He smiled with pride. 

Pete chuckled and broke the perfect top of the butter with his spoon and ate a full on glob. “I think I fucked up something great, Beav.” He swallowed, with struggle, and bite into his cheek. “Even when I think things are gonna be ok--hell, maybe good--some part of me has to lose anyway.”

Beaver frowned and opened his mouth. 

“Jonathan left. Say’s he’s concerned about me but he got all kinds of frustrated with me and slapped me across the goddamn face. A total fuckarow.” He shook his head.  

Beaver rolled his lips and looked as if he wasn’t sure how to bring up what he wanted to say. “Did a specific incident cause his ‘string-to-break’?” 

Pete would’ve been a little offended if this had been maybe Jonesy or Henry-- and even so not much with them either--but the Beav was gentle. “If you’re asking if I got drunk and did something stupid, answer’s no.”

Beaver nodded. 

“The answer is I got drunk and did several stupid things throughout the entire relationship, if you ask John.” Pete scoffed and licked the spoon as Beaver went in for a large scoop. 

“And if I ask Pete Moore?” Beaver gave a gentle smirk. 

“He’s overreacting.” Pete frowned. 

Beaver hummed and took the liberty of feeding Pete a larger spoonful of the peanut-butter with his own utensil, which Pete knew was his way of preparing him for hard words. He didn’t mind so much if they came from the Beav so Pete cleaned the spoon and watched him settle it back down on the counter. 

“He shouldn’t have slapped you. I hate that shit.” He shook his head, straying black hairs flew about him. “But...-” Beaver looked up with wide eyes which said ‘Please, don’t make me say it.’ 

Pete rolled his shoulders back. 

“I can be frank, Pete, if that’s what this calls for. I don’t want to be but--Hell, I’ll be goddamn Elmo from the Muppets and give you a reason why you should stop drinking starting with each letter of the alphabet, if I thought it would help-”

“Elmo was from Sesame Street.” Pete took another dip into the jar.  

“Same thing.” Beaver chuckled and rolled his eyes. “A is for-”

“A.A.?” Pete scowled and Beaver felt a burning in his stomach. 

“I was going to say, A is for Apple Juice comes in a cuter package but...” Beaver stuck his tongue out and enjoyed Pete’s little grin. “I say we invite the gang over for dinner? I can whip something up with whatever you got here.” Beaver hopped off the stool and began going through the cabinets. 

“Beer?” Pete made the snide and self-deprecating joke and Beaver hummed. 

“Take that attitude and use it to chop up this Onion, please.” He tossed the vegetable and almost nailed Pete in the eye. 

                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night was a trying one for Rhonda. The home was practically dead apart from the terribly busy sounding quick taps of a keyboard in the other room. And though it was a soft sound, it didn’t stop it from slowly driving her insane. Her stomach turned from the mixture of anger and nerves that were boiling inside her. 

So instead of slamming her head into her palms and letting out the emotions, she composed herself. She sat straight and tall, threading her slim fingers together. She copycatted those relaxing breaths Henry had once taught her. 

Rhonda rarely treated herself, as Henry tried to tell her many times. Though he was never quite able to put it so lovingly. Where she was soft, he could be so blunt. And it went both ways. However tonight while her anxiety was running it’s high fever, she decided to pour a glass of wine for herself and Henry, whenever he decided to come into the room. As it poured, she tapped her nails in a small beat on the counter.

Just as the last drop splashed in the glass, she heard the door to their office close gently. She hated the way it made her grin with pride. Like just getting out of that room should be applauded. That sound was tragically one of her favorites. It either meant that Henry was giving himself a break from throwing himself into his work or he was feeling joyful enough for husband-wife activities. Either way, she’d be met with him again and instead of pondering why they were even still together. But soon, she wouldn’t have to do that anymore...

“Did you sign the divorce papers?” She tipped her chin and frowned at Henry, who looked exhausted. 

He scratched the back of his neck and sighed. “I will, I promise. I just-”

“It’s just a signature, Henry.” She didn’t want to push him, even still after their bickering, but she felt strongly that things would be better once it was done. “Did we not come up with this decision together?” 

Henry swallowed. “We did, Rhonda. I know that and I will get to it.” He urged her with genuine eyes, she softened. 

“Bridges burn when people joined by them have changed, Henry. You told me that and now it’s about us.” Rhonda felt her stomach roll. “I want to burn this bridge. Go back to a relationship where I don’t feel like your martyr. Friends.” 

Henry nodded. “So do I, Ronnie. Believe me. I never met for this...-look, It’s just hard to accept that I couldn’t make this marriage work.” 

 Rhonda looked up at him with curious eyes and asked a question which had been plaguing her mind for several months now. “Is it my fault that your depressed? It seems like our relationship-”

Henry didn’t let her finish. “Don’t do that to yourself, Ron. It ain’t you. It’s me.-”

“You never seemed to want to be close enough with me.”

“Not just you, Ronnie. I just don’t think I’m wired that way, that’s what the ol’ Doc says anyway.” Henry tapped his own temple and she rolled her eyes. 

“You can’t just consult yourself, Henry. I’ll say that for the last time.” She sipped her glass of wine. “It’s just...watching you fade inside yourself these past months has been painful for me too. Seeing yourself pull-out of it for your friends but not me-”

“Rhonda, it ain’t like I just up and cure myself for them. That’s not how it works-”

“No they cure you, for the while you’re with them. It’s not something I could ever do, huh? Lift the darkness for a little bit.” She shrugged and blinked down at the counter. Henry didn’t say anything else. “By the way, Beaver called. He wants you to come over to Pete’s for dinner. Says it’s an emergency.” She cocked her head towards the answering machine. 

Henry felt so horribly guilty, knowing he’d be leaving for them instead staying for Rhonda. He couldn’t help it. 

                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beaver had been able to brief Jonesy on the situation, considering he picked up with the home-phone they shared. But Henry hadn’t answered so he just gave Rhonda vague details and hoped to catch him right at the door to speed him through Pete’s day. 

The thing about them was, well the five of them--Douglas, Pete, Beaver, Jonesy & Henry--were the closest best friends in the world. 

Jonesy and Beaver had hooked up around high-school, maybe early Junior year? And been a couple ever since. 

Henry and Pete...they’d been entertaining to watch. Sure, they started hooking up a bit before the other two but they had just never said anything about it so it’d been shocking to find out. It was kind of a strange off-and-on thing. Then they’d sort of became a legit couple for a good while only to break up around the beginning of Henry’s first college year. But there was never any bitterness carried between them. They were still best friends. 

And so Henry married Rhonda and Pete had fling after fling until he landed on that Jonathan fellow. 

“He slapped him?” Henry whisper-yelled to Beav as he took off his jacket by the front-door. Jonesy and Pete were joyfully bickering about some horror movie that Jonesy was trying to beg him to watch. Henry peeked over Beaver’s head. “I gotta talk to him about this-”

“Hey I didn’t stick the dime in ya so that you could throw Pete a ride. I just told you so that you would know enough to make the night better. Without directly talking about it just yet.” Beaver waved his hands around. 

Henry rolled his eyes but suddenly surged forward and stuck his hand into Beaver’s jacket pocked to produce a physical and literal dime. “Hey!” 

Henry smirked. “Too late, Beav. Dime’s already in the slot and the ride is coming. But I’ll wait, ok? You can’t ask me not to talk to him about this. We’re all going to have to at some point.” Henry frowned and Beaver nodded with understanding eyes.

                       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Get off!”

Jonesy shrieked as he wrestled Beaver who’d just pulled his finger from his mouth and was ready to stick it into Jonesy’s ear. Only, when they heard Pete coming back from the kitchen, they paused.

Jonesy took the chance to kick Beaver off, knocking the tiny man over the back of the couch and onto the floor. “Bitch-in-a-buzzsaw!” He whined. 

Pete chuckled and plopped down teasingly onto Henry’s lap in the arm-chair he liked so much. It wasn’t an uncommon thing at all for any of the four of them to be affectionate like that with each other. 

But Beaver knew it would only make Henry want to speak about the situation again. Henry was far too soft on Pete and for him, that meant he wanted to bluntly offer help. 

“So, you think Jonathan is coming back...tomorrow?” Henry asked, gently. The room suddenly filled with tension as Beaver still laid flat against the floor on his back. 

Pete frowned and wiggled a little in Henry’s lap. “Probably. What he’s going to do, I don’t know. Part of me thinks the break-up is inevitable but...man, I don’t know that I could afford this place without him.” He chuckled, like it was funny but no one else joined in. “Tough crowd. Look guys, I’ll be fine.” Pete shoved himself off of Henry and stood. “I don’t need the pity.” 

Jonesy gave him a look of genuine love. “It’s not pity, Pete. We just love you-”

“And think I’m a drunk, yeah.” Pete laughed bitterly and went to lean against the kitchen counter. 

Henry desperately wanted to come back at Pete with how they just wanted to help him but he figured it would only serve to piss him off. There’d have to be a way to ease him into the ‘help’ discussion. 

“Hey, if worse comes to worst, I could move in with you and help out.” Henry copied the laughter and felt the concern turn on him; exactly what an exhausted Pete needed. “Divorce papers gonna be signed soon-” He selectively explained without mentioning he was the one stalling it. “File that in the ‘pity’ section of your memory warehouse.” He tipped his chin to Jonesy as he stood as well. 

Pete frowned deeply and felt a rush of relief that surely made him feel guilty. 

“How’s Rhonda feeling about everything?” Jonesy sat up straighter and Beaver finally picked himself up off the ground. He placed his ass right on the edge of the couch’s top, near where Jonesy’s head was. 

Henry shrugged. 

“How are you feeling?” Beaver adds, scooting over slightly so Jonesy could lean his head against his lower-back...grossly adorable. 

Henry bit into his cheek and reminded himself that he’d asked for this turn of attention. He thought about the newly-noticed feeling of walking the floors of his home as if it were just some small town he was passing through on a longer journey. “I’m fine. Managing everything.” was the answer he decided to go with. 

It did not impress any of them.

                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A small glass of perfume sat on a dresser. It was the small and delicate glass with a large daisy stopper blocking any leakage.

It sat there, absolutely still, as a pair of hands quickly picked and pulled from the array of products sat around it. But with that speed came clumsiness and the hands just darted to fast on the pull-back of his watch and down came the bottle. Knocking it off the counter and revealing the ring of dust that had been living underneath it.

Henry paused for a moment before peeking over the lip of the dresser to find the tiny bottle. The rounded broken piece was rolling just the slightest bit while the rest of the tiny shards bathed in the small puddle of the scent leaking out.

Henry had given that perfume to Rhonda as a small Valentine’s Day gift about a year ago. Kneeling down, he intended to start cleaning the mess up but he hesitated. The tip of his finger laid frozen in the burgundy puddle as a wave of emotion fell upon him. He’d been holding back on truly coming to terms with what his mind and body ached for. But looking at the old shattered gift on their hardwood floor...the gate was opened without his permission.

A flood of tears finally broke past his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, the heat from her previous restrain could almost burn his skin. He thought about the time one of his ‘work friends’ said he couldn’t imagine Henry ever crying, he seemed far too straight-headed for it. Henry didn’t really know what that meant. 

But in this instant he was near hysterical. His breathing was rapid and short as it became harder for him to push-back the devastation. More then anything in his life he wanted to call Pete, Beav or Jonesy...Douglas would always be able to make him smile. He wanted to hear their voices. But at the same time he was desperate to shove them away from this side of himself entirely.

The palm of his hand curled over his mouth in an attempt to block some of the sound from breaching the thin walls of their home. He did not want Rhonda to her any bit of this breakdown, she didn’t need to see him so...sad. It would just be too hard for them and she didn’t need anymore stress so Henry just needed to be strong, he was usually extremely good at that. It was enough that he’d been allowing this to burn his insides. There’d be nothing more now.

A deep breath or two and he was off the floor and on his way to collect the dust-pan and broom.

                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you doing?” Pete squinted as he walked briskly to the front of his apartment building where Jonathan was sat, hands shoved in his pockets. He’d been gone for a good week. 

“I wanted to see you and....-” He pointed his thumb at the door behind him. “I’m locked out of the building.”

Pete rolled his eyes and got his own key from his pocket as John stood and followed behind him. “Where’s your key? You should still have it....where did you end up staying by the way?”

The man behind him went quiet again in that eerie way could really freak Pete out sometimes. “Forgot it here. And I um...-I went to Marty’s.”

Pete nodded and worked on getting inside the building and strolling on up to the apartment that should still be referred to as theirs. 

“I thought maybe enough time had passed for us to try talking again.” John swallowed nervously and allowed Pete to escort him inside their place. “I actually tried coming by last night but you weren’t here so I went to that place-umm...Sully’s.” 

He shrugged like it was no big deal but he knew for certain that it was an explosion waiting to happen. Pete looked at him with fury as they got to his door.

“You went to the bar to look for me?” He glared and it felt as if his stomach was suddenly tied in a huge knot.

“You can’t blame me!” He went straight into defense and followed the man further into the lonesome apartment. The air grew with tension as his partner chose not to speak and instead went about the place doing small clean-ups. This only made John feel even more angry. “You honestly can’t blame me.”

“I’m not some sorry man that you need to look out for, John.” He suddenly turned from his position at the sink. “I don’t go out drinking just because we had a fight. You make me sound like such a...-loser. Do you realize how belittling it is that you consistently treat me like that?” He threw down a dish-towel and swallowed a lump in his throat.

“I’m just stressed so I worry. Give me a break.” John ran his hand through his hair and sat down on the couch, hoping that the fight would ease up.

“This is just not a good time for us, John.” 

John opened and closed his mouth, deciding to just tilt his head back and sigh. “I don’t think it’s a good time for you.” 

Pete scowled at that comment and looked freshly betrayed yet again. 

                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonesy was in the midst of the most vivid dream he’d had since he was fifteen, when two or three wet-dreams about Beaver had ushered him into manhood and repressed homosexuality. 

But this was the most horrible dream he’d ever experienced. Nothing came close to the sickening feeling it brought. 

A deep sense of hot-dread ran through the stained-glass universe and burned Jonesy to his sheets. He was aware of that fact. He was dreaming but he couldn’t quite escape it. It felt thin but thick enough to pull his consciousness back into it every-time the need to wake felt strong. 

He could still feel those silky sheets that he shared with Beaver against the sweat on his back but he could also see a hallway filled with pictures in front of him. Something in his mind knew that he was home...enough so that those sheets sticking to his back started to feel like the dream. 

He shuffled across the hard-wood in knitted socks and didn’t make it very far before he suddenly appeared in the office. His office? Henry’s offfice. 

The Jonesy that still laid in bed with the Beav twitched in his sleep as the Jonesy standing in Henry’s body shook himself. He was just standing in him? A looker. One that Henry apparently couldn’t feel. 

He could smell the ink and coffee coated cups lingering around the place. There was a drawer cracked open, a lock that would usually keep it closed was on the desk, and inside was a shot-gun. Not used, barely touched, just laying there against some forgotten patient notes...deadly ironic, Jonesy thought.  

Jenry; Jonesy could chuckle at thinking of this being as such a name but something devastated his body and mind too quickly.

He was being dragged along a potential suicide attempt. 

It was horrifying and inescapable. His bed was so near yet so far off in another world. He didn’t want to go back to it though. He couldn’t rest a wink if he thought this was real. 

Some part of his brain screamed out ‘Dial 1-800-HENRY’ but nothing came to be...

He woke up in an instant, hand coked in a gun-shape against his temple--He screamed and sat up, looking next to him to see Beaver with the same gesture to his temple. 

Jonesy shoved him, hard. Beaver nearly fell off the bed and screamed for himself. “Fuck me Freddy! You almost gave me a heart-attack.” 

“Did you have that dream?” Jonesy wasted no time but Beaver just looked clueless as ever. 

“What dream!?” 

Jonesy sighed, skin still burning and wet. He felt another rush of devastation and was haunted by the image of him & Beaver; asleep, side by side, with matching fake ‘hand’-guns to their temples. “Get up.” 

:

:

:

Henry answered the door in his boxers and a long sweatshirt that was most definitely a last minute addition before answering the door. He was dazed but awake. That was enough to chill Jonesy. 

While he took in the fact that his best friend was in fact, ok and alive, Beaver rushed to Henry’s phone and called up Pete. 

“Is Rhonda here?” Jonesy choked out some words finally and pushed himself inside fully, trailing after a confused Henry. 

“No. She’s staying with a friend.” Henry shrugged and padded about the hardwood with his arms crossed. “What’s with the late-night visit?” He asked, casually. 

Part of Jonesy now felt stupid. Maybe the dream really had just been a...dream. And he was being completely ridiculous by coming over. His brain was waking up with the white-noise of TV static. 

Beaver approached from their side and wiggled in his pajama pants. “Yeah. What’s going on, Jonesy?” 

:

:

:

He waited until Pete came about to fully explain the situation at hand, carefully choosing his words as to try not to freak anybody out or...embarrass Henry. 

The man tipped his chin down and sighed as if he were far beyond the year in life he currently was. He scratched the back of his neck and tried to ignore the concerned and painful looks from his friends. “Look...” 

That one word was confirmation enough. The three of them sank into their seats and each felt a horrid wave of deep pain. 

“I’ve fallen into this...-intense depression.” He tried to calmly explain the one thing he had never planned on telling them. “Don’t ask me exactly when it started, I’m not sure but...I was always ok at taking it day-by-day, y’know?” He rolled his lips together and felt his brain go on and on; ‘What’s wrong with me, Doc?’

“This whole thing with Rhonda has...well it’s not helping much.” He bitterly chuckled. “I just wanted to make it work. But it ain’t goin’ my way. Hell, sometimes I don’t want to get outta bed...” 

Beaver looked positively sick to his stomach. 

“But I’m better with you guys...always better.” Henry finally looked up and happened to lock eyes with Pete. There was a rush of affection for the younger man who was going through a special pain all his own. 

Pete was the first to shoot over and basically fall into Henry’s lap, wrapping those long arms around his anxious body. Beaver and Jonesy followed in seconds. 

They were one sad little dog-pile...

                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonesy wouldn’t take no for an answer. He insisted that Henry move in with Pete after the divorce papers were signed. Rhonda was going to take the home and he was on his own, which was no struggle considering the money he made, but money wasn’t the center problem. 

Mental fucking health was. SSDD. A mantra....that always helped.

Jonathan was fully moved out by that point and Pete never confirmed their state but it was pretty obvious what had happened. 

Douglas had called Henry’s home phone shortly after that dog-pile had ended. He brightened the room with his voice all the way from back in Derry. “Ennie!” He’d cried happily, always knowing exactly when he was needed. He’d called to check on him...Their best pal was a better man than all of them, inside-and-out...and they would always feel this way. 

Henry knew it was the right thing to do, moving in with Pete. Maybe it’d give him a chance to talk about the drinking topic again...

“Remember that time, Junior Year, you got one of your flickers and we were trying to hook-up in my old car and I banged my head on the steering-wheel and then you accidentally elbowed us into reverse?” Pete asked as he set down a smaller box onto the counter...their counter. 

Henry chuckled. ‘Flickers’. That had been the word they’d ended up using to describe the rare moods in-which Henry found he wanted to do something...sexual. He just wasn’t the kind of person who felt comfortable doing things like that. It was part of the reason Rhonda thought he was repulsed by her...or that she wasn’t good enough because they’d only get ‘sexy’ once every sixth months or more. 

But back when he and Pete were...-not dating, they’d never referred to it like that...but...being with each-other....he understood. Pete always understood Henry in a way that no one else could. 

Pete Moore never cared that Henry wasn’t interested in sex, nor dating. It had been complicated, for sure, what they’d been in those days. More than friends sometimes but never a couple.

It was just that they kinda slept with each other pretty rarely--at least once for each year in high-school--and occasionally cuddled closely or held hands in private. 

Again, complicated. 

“Oh yeah.” Henry chuckled. “Man, we were pretty stupid back then.” 

Pete rolled his eyes. “I was. Still am. You were far from it and that still stands now.” He curled his hand around the fridge door and grabbed a bottle of beer, purely out of instinct, if Henry had to guess. He plopped down onto his couch and smiled, no teeth. 

“Who’s helping who here, Pete?” Henry fell onto the spot next to him, arm on the back of the seat and one leg over the side. His eyes fell on the bottle which was still sweating in his best friends hand. Pete tried to pull away, both physically and mentally which was common in confrontations like this. 

But Pete wasn’t a patient. So Henry was free to gently lean over towards the floor and scoop up the mans legs and rest them over his lap as he scooted closer. With a wave of affection, Henry adjusted them both comfortably and patted Pete’s legs. 

“Before he left, John got super pissed and said I was a burden.” Pete set the bottle down but kept his longing eyes on it. “I know that’s true.”

Henry sighed, tipping his chin to the ceiling. He gathered some courage and looked back to Pete. “Maybe to him, Pete. Just the same as I became one for Rhonda.” 

“That fucking sucks. You’re great at this, buddy.” Pete chuckled and looked back to his bottle on the table. 

Henry slapped Pete’s leg. “But we’re not burdens to each other and we’re gonna help each other.” He gripped his leg harder now and spoke in a genuinely heart-felt tone. “And we’ve got Beaver and Jonesy for support-”

“Beav’s gonna spend all his money on peanut-butter for us sad-sacks, huh?” Pete wiggled his legs and suddenly looked extremely exhausted. 

                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took four-weeks of fighting for Henry to convince Pete to go to at least one A.A. meeting. With the promise of the compromise that Henry make an appointment with a nearby therapist. 

He really hated that idea. It made his skin crawl with embarrassment. ‘Hey, Doc. Me? Oh, I’m a Psychiatrist who apparently can’t handle his own problems.’  

He’d have to tough it out though because Pete Moore was doing his best to explain that he could just stop drinking on his own....actually, the explaining was more like begging. It made Henry feel a mixture of guilt and devastation that his friend seemed so desperate to avoid the help. 

Henry drove him to the meeting and did his best to calm him. But it was hard when for a moment in his passenger seat, Pete was back to being fifteen. Juvenile, joyful and without a dent in his innocence yet. 

Henry had to blink a few times to ease that anxiety hiccup. “Different shit today, Pete. I know.” He put the car in park once they hit the lot and rested his heavy palm on the man’s knee. “But soon enough, it’ll become the new SSDD and then I’m telling you, Pete, I promise...”

Pete looked over at him with a terrified face. 

“It won’t be shit at all anymore. You won’t have to struggle to get through a day without drinking. You won’t dread the meetings...” Henry vaguely gestured to the building. “You’ll be able to grow from this.” 

Pete let out a long sigh and deflated into his seat, looking towards the building with a mixture of hatred and longing. “When’s your appointment?” He tilted his head. 

“Thursday. You can drive me.” Henry lightly pinched Pete’s arm. 

                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{A Month Later}

“Hey, call it!” Pete flicked his thumb and flicked a coin into the sky with a bright smile on his face. 

“Tails!” Beaver shouted from across the room. 

“You always pick tails.” Jonesy rolled his eyes. “Heads!” He chuckled. 

The gang had been called to meet at Henry & Pete’s apartment with the promise of a home-cooked meal and a good time. They were currently shoved into the living room and flipping to see which of the two were going to do the dishes. 

Pete caught the coin and flipped it blindly onto the back of his palm. He glanced down at it but let several seconds pass in silence. Henry smirked to himself and tried not to beam at his friend. 

“Jesus-Christ-bananas, tell us! I’m dying.” Beaver slapped his hands onto the counter.

Instead of speaking, Pete shyly slid the coin over to them. 

It was red rather than silver and Jonesy & Beaver were met with no head or tail. Instead, the coin was showing a triangle which read ‘1 Month Recovery’

“They gave it to me yesterday-”

Beaver didn’t wait to hear the end, instead he hopped over the couch and into Pete’s arms. Thank god he was so tiny. Jonesy was quick to follow, just with a more gentle attitude. 

When they pulled off, Henry proudly kissed Pete’s temple like it was something he did fairly often. Pete felt a rush of heat in his cheeks. “Lord, I will never drink again!” He beamed and Norman-Normal flew from his attitude as he pulled Henry in to kiss him on the lips. 

The gang broke into hysterical laughter and enjoyed their great sense of pride. 

                       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” Pete mumbled as he served Henry his best cooked meal, a bowl of buttered noodles. 

“Hmmm?” Henry looked up with soft eyes. 

“I’m so proud of you for going to those appointments. We all are.” Pete sniffled and sat down across from him. “Jonesy was about the scaredest I’ve ever seen him that night of his dream. We all fucking were.”

Henry rolled his lips together and sucked in a noodle or two. 

“Henry, the five of us...we need each other and if you-” Pete broke off with embarrassment. 

Henry laid his hand atop his and gently rocked their grip. “I know, buddy. I know.” He felt a little choked up himself now too.  

“You don’t know it all-” Pete swallowed and blinked about a hundred times to try and get rid of the tears. He laid his fork on the table, breathed deeply and held eye contact. “I love you, Henry....I’m in love with you.”

Henry sat back on his seat and smiled. “Oh Pete...” He chuckled. 

“Don’t laugh, asshole.” Pete scowled but in good-nature. Both knew that if he were straight-up rejected, Pete would still try and laugh it off. 

Henry leaned over the counter and caressed his cheek. Pete leaned into his hand with longing and second-guessing eyes. “It’s always been you.” 

Pete let out a tiny little hiccup and smacked his own hand against the one on his cheek. “I should fucking hope so.” 

[marketanalysisdata]

Magnetic Sensors Market Scope, Demands, Technological Development and Competitive Insights to 2025

2nd July 2021 – The global Magnetic Sensors Market is estimated to touch US$ 3.22 billion by the year 2025. Growing consciousness concerning security of automobile together with a general drop in prices of sensors is boosting the demand for magnetic sensors. Furthermore, technical progressions in consumer electronics consistent with propagation of IoT equipment are likely to influence positively, the progress of the magnetic field sensors market. The Magnetic Sensors Market is expected to develop by a CAGR of 6.8% for the duration of the prediction.

Promising guidelines by the government relating to the setting up of magnetic sensors in automobiles and their security apparatus are too expected to deliver the boost to the market in the approaching years. Magnetic sensors form an important constituent of direction finding arrangements, utilized in smartphones and automobiles. The Magnetic Sensors market on the source of Type of Application could span Industrial, Automobile, Consumer Electronics. The subdivision of automobile is composed to appear by way of the maximum income producing section above the period of prediction. The scope of the magnetic sensor market in automobile uses was appreciated by more than US$ 840 million in the year 2017 and is expected to observe remarkable development above the years of prediction. The managerial powers, all over the world, are performing a critical part in the development of the section by stressing upon the usage of hybrid and electric cars such as an attempt to decrease the environmental contamination.

Access Magnetic Sensors Market Report with TOC @ https://www.millioninsights.com/industry-reports/magnetic-sensors-market

The far-reaching use base of magnetic sensors in the subdivision of consumer electronics is likely to motivate the magnetic field sensor market above the period of prediction. These sensors are set in a number of electronic instruments, for example Laptops, Tablets, Printers, Smartphones, Camera, Scanners. The Magnetic Sensors market on the source of Type of Technology Tunnel Magnetoresistance [TMR], Anisotropic Magnetoresistance [AMR], Giant Magnetoresistance [GMR], Hall Effect, and Others. The subdivision of Hall Effect has ruled the general magnetic field sensor market in the year 2017 and is estimated to uphold its supremacy above the prediction period. These sensing devices proposes an extensive variety of paybacks, comprising simplicity of putting into practice, diversity of output preferences, an extensive variety of working voltage, greater dependability, and compacted design.

The subdivision of Tunnel Magnetoresistance [TMR] is expected to be the speedily developing section above the period of prediction. TMR sensors are extensively utilized through a wide-ranging variety of industrialized uses, comprising bio sensing and magnetic Random Access Memory [RAM]. This machinery proposes sensitivity, great productivity and delivers exceptional competencies of sensing like the Wheel Speed Sensors [WSS] utilized in Anti - lock Braking Systems [ABS]. Struggles are going on to apply Tunnel Magnetoresistance [TMR] sensors through an extensive diversity of uses.

The international demand for Anisotropic Magnetoresistance [AMR] sensors was expected to be over 700 million pieces in the year 2017 and is expected to increase by a CAGR more than 10.0% by means of capacity above the period of prediction. Single feature for example great suppleness, better magnetoresistance, and price efficiency, are composed to trigger the call for this category of sensors. Anisotropic Magnetoresistance [AMR] sensing apparatuses are attaining admiration for gaining non - communicating site of substances in motion.

The Magnetic Sensors market on the source of Area with respect to Trades in terms of intake, Profits, Market stake and Development percentage could span [U.S., Canada], Latin America [Brazil, Mexico], Europe [Germany, U.K.], Asia Pacific [India, Japan, China], Middle East and Africa. By the source of geography, Asia Pacific was on the front position of the worldwide arena, together by means of capacity and income, in the year 2017 and is expected to preserve its supremacy above the period of prediction. Solid existence of most important sensor companies in Asian nations for example Japan and China has jammed the progress of the provincial market definitely. Furthermore, gushing demand for automobiles and smartphones through the area is projected to shoot the demand for magnetic sensors in the area.

In Europe the demand for magnetic sensors was projected to be nearby to 600 million pieces in the year 2017 and is expected to practice a strong CAGR for the duration of the prediction. Nations through the European Union are nowadays concentrating on acceptance of hybrid cars that necessitate Hall Effect current sensing in automobile’s power arrangements so as to increase the performance and confirm price - efficiency.

The statement revises Trades in terms of intake of Magnetic Sensors in the market; particularly in North America, Europe, Asia Pacific, Latin America, and Middle East & Africa. It concentrates on the topmost companies operating in these regions. Some of the important companies operating in the field of Magnetic Sensors are NXP Semiconductors, NVE Corporation, Multi Dimension Technology Co. Ltd, Allegro Microsystems, Inc., Honeywell International, Inc., Asahi Kasei Baumer Ltd., Magnetic Sensors Corporation, Micro devices Corporation, Memsic Corporation, iC – Haus, Elmos Semiconductor AG, Alps Electric Co.; Ltd.

Request a Sample Copy of Magnetic Sensors Market Report @ https://www.millioninsights.com/industry-reports/magnetic-sensors-market/request-sample

[latestmarketresearchtrends-blog]

Magnetic Sensors Market 2025: Report Focusing on Opportunities, Revenue & Market Driving Factors

2nd July 2021 – The global Magnetic Sensors Market is estimated to touch US$ 3.22 billion by the year 2025. Growing consciousness concerning security of automobile together with a general drop in prices of sensors is boosting the demand for magnetic sensors. Furthermore, technical progressions in consumer electronics consistent with propagation of IoT equipment are likely to influence positively, the progress of the magnetic field sensors market. The Magnetic Sensors Market is expected to develop by a CAGR of 6.8% for the duration of the prediction.

Promising guidelines by the government relating to the setting up of magnetic sensors in automobiles and their security apparatus are too expected to deliver the boost to the market in the approaching years. Magnetic sensors form an important constituent of direction finding arrangements, utilized in smartphones and automobiles. The Magnetic Sensors market on the source of Type of Application could span Industrial, Automobile, Consumer Electronics. The subdivision of automobile is composed to appear by way of the maximum income producing section above the period of prediction. The scope of the magnetic sensor market in automobile uses was appreciated by more than US$ 840 million in the year 2017 and is expected to observe remarkable development above the years of prediction. The managerial powers, all over the world, are performing a critical part in the development of the section by stressing upon the usage of hybrid and electric cars such as an attempt to decrease the environmental contamination.

Access Magnetic Sensors Market Report with TOC @ https://www.millioninsights.com/industry-reports/magnetic-sensors-market

The far-reaching use base of magnetic sensors in the subdivision of consumer electronics is likely to motivate the magnetic field sensor market above the period of prediction. These sensors are set in a number of electronic instruments, for example Laptops, Tablets, Printers, Smartphones, Camera, Scanners. The Magnetic Sensors market on the source of Type of Technology Tunnel Magnetoresistance [TMR], Anisotropic Magnetoresistance [AMR], Giant Magnetoresistance [GMR], Hall Effect, and Others. The subdivision of Hall Effect has ruled the general magnetic field sensor market in the year 2017 and is estimated to uphold its supremacy above the prediction period. These sensing devices proposes an extensive variety of paybacks, comprising simplicity of putting into practice, diversity of output preferences, an extensive variety of working voltage, greater dependability, and compacted design.

The subdivision of Tunnel Magnetoresistance [TMR] is expected to be the speedily developing section above the period of prediction. TMR sensors are extensively utilized through a wide-ranging variety of industrialized uses, comprising bio sensing and magnetic Random Access Memory [RAM]. This machinery proposes sensitivity, great productivity and delivers exceptional competencies of sensing like the Wheel Speed Sensors [WSS] utilized in Anti - lock Braking Systems [ABS]. Struggles are going on to apply Tunnel Magnetoresistance [TMR] sensors through an extensive diversity of uses.

The international demand for Anisotropic Magnetoresistance [AMR] sensors was expected to be over 700 million pieces in the year 2017 and is expected to increase by a CAGR more than 10.0% by means of capacity above the period of prediction. Single feature for example great suppleness, better magnetoresistance, and price efficiency, are composed to trigger the call for this category of sensors. Anisotropic Magnetoresistance [AMR] sensing apparatuses are attaining admiration for gaining non - communicating site of substances in motion.

The Magnetic Sensors market on the source of Area with respect to Trades in terms of intake, Profits, Market stake and Development percentage could span [U.S., Canada], Latin America [Brazil, Mexico], Europe [Germany, U.K.], Asia Pacific [India, Japan, China], Middle East and Africa. By the source of geography, Asia Pacific was on the front position of the worldwide arena, together by means of capacity and income, in the year 2017 and is expected to preserve its supremacy above the period of prediction. Solid existence of most important sensor companies in Asian nations for example Japan and China has jammed the progress of the provincial market definitely. Furthermore, gushing demand for automobiles and smartphones through the area is projected to shoot the demand for magnetic sensors in the area.

In Europe the demand for magnetic sensors was projected to be nearby to 600 million pieces in the year 2017 and is expected to practice a strong CAGR for the duration of the prediction. Nations through the European Union are nowadays concentrating on acceptance of hybrid cars that necessitate Hall Effect current sensing in automobile’s power arrangements so as to increase the performance and confirm price - efficiency.

The statement revises Trades in terms of intake of Magnetic Sensors in the market; particularly in North America, Europe, Asia Pacific, Latin America, and Middle East & Africa. It concentrates on the topmost companies operating in these regions. Some of the important companies operating in the field of Magnetic Sensors are NXP Semiconductors, NVE Corporation, Multi Dimension Technology Co. Ltd, Allegro Microsystems, Inc., Honeywell International, Inc., Asahi Kasei Baumer Ltd., Magnetic Sensors Corporation, Micro devices Corporation, Memsic Corporation, iC – Haus, Elmos Semiconductor AG, Alps Electric Co.; Ltd.

Request a Sample Copy of Magnetic Sensors Market Report @ https://www.millioninsights.com/industry-reports/magnetic-sensors-market/request-sample

[chitrakullkarni]

Magnetic Sensors Market Raw material outlook, Variables, Trends & Scope Study, 2025

The Global Magnetic Sensors Market research report provides complete insights on industry scope, trends, regional estimates, key application, competitive landscape and financial performance of prominent players. It also offers ready data-driven answers to several industry-level questions. This study enables numerous opportunities for the market players to invest in research and development.

Market Overview:

The global Magnetic Sensors Market is estimated to touch US$ 3.22 billion by the year 2025. Growing consciousness concerning security of automobile together with a general drop in prices of sensors is boosting the demand for magnetic sensors. Furthermore, technical progressions in consumer electronics consistent with propagation of IoT equipment are likely to influence positively, the progress of the magnetic field sensors market.

Key Players:

Allegro Microsystems, Inc.

Alps Electric Co., Ltd

Asahi Kasei Microdevices Corporation

AMS AG

Baumer Ltd.

Crocus Technology

Elmos Semiconductor AG

Honeywell International, Inc.

iC-Haus

Infineon Technologies AG

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Growth Drivers:

The Magnetic Sensors Market is expected to develop by a CAGR of 6.8% for the duration of the prediction. Promising guidelines by the government relating to the setting up of magnetic sensors in automobiles and their security apparatus are too expected to deliver the boost to the market in the approaching years. Magnetic sensors form an important constituent of direction finding arrangements, utilized in smartphones and automobiles.

Application Outlook:

Automotive

Consumer Electronics

Industrial

The subdivision of automobile is composed to appear by way of the maximum income producing section above the period of prediction. The scope of the magnetic sensor market in automobile uses was appreciated by more than US$ 840 million in the year 2017 and is expected to observe remarkable development above the years of prediction.

Technology Outlook:

Hall Effect

Anisotropic Magnetoresistance (AMR)

Giant Magnetoresistance (GMR)

Tunnel Magnetoresistance (TMR)

The international demand for Anisotropic Magnetoresistance [AMR] sensors was expected to be over 700 million pieces in the year 2017 and is expected to increase by a CAGR more than 10.0% by means of capacity above the period of prediction. Single feature for example great suppleness, better magnetoresistance, and price efficiency, are composed to trigger the call for this category of sensors. Anisotropic Magnetoresistance [AMR] sensing apparatuses are attaining admiration for gaining non – communicating site of substances in motion.

Regional Outlook:

By the source of geography, Asia Pacific was on the front position of the worldwide arena, together by means of capacity and income, in the year 2017 and is expected to preserve its supremacy above the period of prediction. Solid existence of most important sensor companies in Asian nations for example Japan and China has jammed the progress of the provincial market definitely. Furthermore, gushing demand for automobiles and smartphones through the area is projected to shoot the demand for magnetic sensors in the area.

In Europe the demand for magnetic sensors was projected to be nearby to 600 million pieces in the year 2017 and is expected to practice a strong CAGR for the duration of the prediction. Nations through the European Union are nowadays concentrating on acceptance of hybrid cars that necessitate Hall Effect current sensing in automobile’s power arrangements so as to increase the performance and confirm price – efficiency.

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