#and now the idea of not sharing my birthday anymore has me bawling

[be-bisexual-eat-hot-chip-and-lie]

i wont have to share my birthday anymore

[honey-hippie-harper]

Successful Parenting

MY DEAREST @the-wee-woo-rita​ I HEARD IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY TODAY AFGSHAGASHA

I’m coming back from the death just to give you this, because you asked for it some time ago, and agshjaghsj I’m sorry I couldn’t give you something better, I’m super busy finishing HCTTR :’) But yeah, here is it!<3 I translated it from the start because the original translation was awful and you deserved something better than that x’d Still, I really hope you like it.

Rita, you’re super important to me :’) You have no idea on how much your comments make me happy, and I love you dearly even if I’m mostly dead because school’s been driving me crazy afsghjafgsh but yeah, you’re very kind, and sweet, and I hope you know your existence makes me very happy afghjaysu so, I wish you the best of birthdays! <3

Take care :’) <3

Successful Parenting.

Two days after the event, they start calling it The Day of Triumph. It’s only in that moment that Nova experiences that annoying itch people refer to as “resignation”, and she lays in her side of the bed she shares with Honey, with her arms at her side, limp, staring at the mold that grows in the ceiling of a house Nova can’t identify, which is the same one she was taken to while her eyes were folded. They knew she wouldn’t dare to do it, but they still feared she would try to find her way back to Gatlon to go look for Uncle Ace.

The many –and long- hours she spends laying, she feels nothing. She’s so invested in her own pain, that she doesn’t even notice the moment when Honey doesn’t lay next to her, nor does she curl up in a ball and spends the rest of the night bawling. 

Even when Ingrid comes into the room and violently takes her out of bed, wrapping her up in a blanket, Nova has no idea of what’s happening. 

Her heart is racing aggressively, but she can’t move, not even when the blanket falls into the floor and Ingrid almost stumbles the moment she steps on it. She doesn’t fall, but she does bark a couple of words Nova is sure she’s not allowed to repeat.

And then, among the bumpy ride, she sees them there. 

The air smells weird, and these people are screaming, like they always do. 

Nova spots Honey down on her knees, hugging herself and shouting up to the sky. Leroy Flinn is standing in front of her, and next to them both, there’s his yellow car. 

Winston, nonchalant and chewing on gum, is removing the tube that peeks from the car’s gas tank. 

And Honey is just there, repeating the phrase “Make it stop” like a mantra, shaking her head and screaming as if one of her knees was being amputated. Nova stares at her from Ingrid’s arms, still not knowing what’s happening, until she puts her down with such violence she ends up hiccupping.  

“LET ME GO! I DON’T WANNA BE HERE ANYMORE!”

“Look. That’s fine by me. You can go if you want to. But don’t drag us into it. Some of us want to stay here. You understand?”

“Leroy, where should I put this?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, WINSTON!” Scream Honey and Leroy at the same time. For a second, it almost seems like Honey is lucid. 

“Geez.”

That’s when Ingrid intervenes too. 

“You are such a useless prick. Go on, Winston! Bring that thing over here!”

Nova jumps, because her voice sounds louder out of a sudden, and then she starts walking towards Winston, stomping her feet like she is marching, until she’s close enough to take the tube from his hands and start taking it to the trapdoor by the side of the house, which, Nova supposes, leads to the basement. 

For Nova, it’s a scene that’s as surreal as it is bizarre, with Honey knelt down on the ground that way, and all the windows and doors wide open. Then, everyone acting as if that tube thing peeking out of the car and getting into the house was such a big deal. 

After trying to connect the dots for a while, Nova decides she doesn’t understand. 

It’s only then that she hears a very familiar “Bang!” that deafens her for a couple of seconds. 

Frowning and taking her hands to her ears, Nova looks ahead. 

In her hands, Honey holds the gun Leroy always has in his belt, and Nova doesn’t need to be any more clever to know who was she aiming at; it wasn’t Leroy, or Winston, or her, Nova. 

Honey was aiming at herself. 

Leroy throws himself at her, to grab her, while Winston tries to snatch the gun from her hands, and she fights back so much it reminds Nova of a whirlwind. She’s screaming again, and she’s crying a lot, to the point the long lines of mascara are starting to reach her neck. 

She looks so sad and ready to die, that Nova knows she should be feeling some type of sympathy for her.

Yet, she doesn’t. 

She doesn’t, because bullets were the ones to take everything she had away from her, and the mere idea of somebody thinking about ending their life that way repulses her. 

So Nova stares at her with teary eyes while she wishes something would fall on top of her and kill her for real this time, because if she’s dead she will stop crying. 

She says something intelligible yet again (probably a very dumb thing) the moment Winston manages to take the gun out of her hands and, for instance, out of her reach. 

Now that she’s defenseless, Nova gets closer to her. Honey seems reluctant to calm down at first, but when she stares at Nova she recognizes the features papà got from Uncle Ace, and that at the same time Nova got from papà. Then, she goes still. 

Just like that, she becomes quiet, though still breathing like an angry bull and with the tears rolling down her face. 

She looks at Nova like she’s an odd being who just came through a portal from another dimension, and Nova feels her entire body catching fire. 

There’s so, so many ways to release her power on people...

And yet, she chooses the bad way, and she slaps Honey so hard that by the time she collapses into Leroy’s arms, the palm of her hand is itching.

-.-

The ladder trembles, and Nova holds on to it, even when she feels that, on the floor, Leroy has tightened his grip. 

Once settled down, Nova gulps and continues going up. 

“That’s it, sweetie! That internet won’t connect itself!” Screams Honey Harper, in a melodic voice. 

Stars. Nova hoped it would connect itself. 

It’s been a couple of weeks since they’ve moved down to the tunnels, and their condition could be better. However, Nova considers they’ve been managing perfectly well with almost everything, except this...electricity issue. 

And, apparently, these people are very dependent from their electronic devices. 

It would’ve been easier if they had money but, evidently, they don’t have any; and it could’ve been easier, too, if they had access to any of the public services, but it seems to be they don’t have such thing either. Nova doesn’t know much about that, but she remembers her father explaining some of it to her. 

There’s no water or electricity down in the tunnels, nor gas or those type of things. It reminds her of everything she’s been told, about how, before Uncle Ace, Prodigies were treated this way.

The Renegades are gross.

For that reason, and that reason only, Nova agrees to climb up the ladder to steal some power and internet from the fuse box from a restaurant that happens to be close to the tunnels.

It’s not like she had another option whatsoever. Even if she had said no, they would’ve forced her to anyway. She was starting to get used to that. 

Feeling her legs shaking from the effort to keep her balance, she continues going up until she’s face to face with the fuse box. 

“Okay, Nightmare. Can you see anything?” Asks Leroy. 

Nova narrows her eyes and, after analyzing the issue, she concludes: 

“Just a little.” 

Immediately, Honey enhances the flashlight’s illumination and rises it up to the fuse box, to which Nova nods. 

“That’s better.” 

“Great. Now, you should plug in the wire you have in your right hand to the ports at the bottom of the box.”

It doesn’t take much searching for her to find them. There’s a couple of available ports, and the fact she can’t stay here longer, to analyze how do they work, makes her really sad. 

Nevertheless, it doesn’t make her sadder than what comes next. Apparently, they didn’t took the time to research about the restaurant’s owner before sending her up here, but the very moment a wire separates from the box, in a physically impossible way, and whips her face, Nova suspects that must be an electric prodigy work, who was able to alter the fuse box to turn it into a security system that...does this. 

The burning sensation in her face comes immediately, and Nova screeches so loudly she can’t even believe that terrifying sound is coming from her (Because she knows she’s way better than this). 

By instinct, she lets go of the wires and even from the ladder, but before a disaster can happen, Leroy intervenes. 

“Don’t let go of the ladder, just come down here! Quick, Nighmare! Get down here!”

Hiccuping and feeling ridiculous, she obeys, and when she’s –more or less- five steps away from the ground, she feels someone grabbing her by the waist and putting her down. At first, she thinks is Honey, for the smooth way their hands feel, but once the person tightens their hold, their arms brush against hers, and she can’t help but remember how Honey rips every hair that grows in every part of her body except her head. 

Even if she didn’t do that, Nova highly doubted her body hair would be this curly. 

So, carefully, Winston places her on the ground, on a sitting position, and Nova presses her hands against her face, still screaming...though, not much time has to go by before somebody else tries to pull them away, grabbing her by the wrists.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

“LEROY, ACE IS GOING TO ANNIHILATE US!”

“Hey, little flea, let us see your face.” 

“IT BURNS! IT BURNS REALLY BAD!”

“WOW, THAT’S SUCH A TRAGEDY! WHERE DID THIS GIRL COMES FROM!? WAS SHE RAISED BY THE RICH?!”

“INGRID, THERE’S NO TIME FOR THAT!”

“JUST...JUST BRING HER WATER! SHE CAN’T CRY AND DRINK WATER AT THE SAME TIME!”

“OF COURSE SHE CAN! AREN’T YOU SEEING HER?!”

“YEAH, BUT SHE WOULD CHOKE!”

“EXACTLY! SHE’S CHOKING ON HER OWN SALIVA! SHE’S DRINKING SOMETHING, CRYING, AND CHOKING BECAUSE SHE’S CRYING WHILE SHE’S DRINKING SOMETHING!”

“NIGHTMARE, LET US SEE YOUR FACE!”

And amongst the chaos, they get her to do it. Nova stares at them with one single eye, for she’s not able to see with the other one. 

They remain in silence, just looking, and Winston runs his finger throught the upper part of her forehead, on a spot she can’t identify. She just knows it hurts a little. 

“We just need to disinfect it. It’s not too bad.”

“Eugh.” Honey frowns in disgust. “Will that big ass browless chunk grow again?” 

Winston tilts his head to the side, and touches Nova’s brow again, carefully. His hands are so cold she even finds them conforting. 

“Yep.” He saids, very casual. “It should grow again in no time. No biggie.”

But it doesn’t.

Nova’s eyebrow gets scarred. 

And that one specific chunk never grows hair.

-.-

“Don’t expect other people to respect you just because you’re young. That’s not how the world works.” 

Nova gulps and tries to dry her face with her hand, putting on her better brave face while Leroy graps her ankle (that’s starting to turn purple) in some bandages that Lord-knows-where they came from. 

“So if you want to learn how to take care of yourself, you’ll have to obey Ingrid. And she won’t have pity on you either, because nobody had pity on her when she was your age. Bear with her.” 

That is such an awful advice. It’s so awful, that Nova feels her eyes becoming blurry with tears again, but she manages to make them go away. 

“I don’t have to bear with her. In fact, she could break my other ankle and that would be completely fine by me because it didn’t hurt when she broke the first one.” She said, in the most broken voice she had ever heard coming from herself in her entire life. “If she breaks my two ankles, I’ll still have two arms.” 

“Mmhm.” 

“And two balls.” 

“Nova, you don’t have balls. You have ovaries, and you can’t walk with them. Are the bandages too tight on your foot?”

“Can I kick Ingrid on the ovaries?” 

Leroy doesn’t respond. At least, not for a couple of seconds. 

“Nova, are the bandages too tight on your foot?”

“...It didn’t hurt, Leroy.” 

Leroy shoots a glance at her again, mockingly. 

“Good. That means you can still train today. Do you want to run a marathon through...?”

“NO!”

“Go to sleep, then.” Says Leroy.

And it’s not funny.

It’s not funny at all.

-.-

It’s a ridiculous backpack. It’s too shiny, too colorful, too…too much. That’s the word.

At least it doesn’t have any of the member of the Council’s faces on it. Though, undoubtedly, she has to give them some credit for their merch-making choices, because the only colorful things they sell are the billion photoshoots Captain Chromium and Dread Warden do during Pride Month, every single year (Ingrid uses the magazine covers to throw darts at them). 

Nova respects every fool whose personal taste combines with these types of backpacks, but she’s not one of those fools.

It has a unicorn with mobile eyes, and every time she moves, the little bells make too much noise. As if that weren’t enough, the unicorn’s tail is made out of threads that hang from the backpack.

It’s disgusting, and though the only thing she wants at the moment is to throw it at the trash can, she limits herself to place it next to her, carelessly, and then she sits in the worst humanly possible position one can think of, sitting on her right leg, and putting the left one over her right thigh. 

The pigtails are resting over her shoulders, but since the scrunchies aren’t helping at all, she feels as if her hair were dong. Besides, these clothes are itchy on her. What can one expect from an outfit that has been put together to fit with the backpack?

Mad at life, she sighs, and instead of staring at the road, she looks at the opposite way. 

Right across the imports market, which is where she’s sitting, there’s a small park. From here, she can see a small group of children playing, while their parents watch over them from the benches. One of the couples has a baby carriage. 

It’s not the best park to take your children to, and it occurs to her that it’s so ugly there’s no way this would’ve been anyone’s first option. Maybe she went there with her parents, but, if she did, she doesn’t have any memory of that day. 

By the time she hears the commotion, she’s looking at how one of the kids helps his little sister move on the swings. She immediately knows that’s her cue, to which Nova glares. 

Here comes Winston, dressed in full black, using a facemask to hide the most eye-catching elements of his makeup, wearing sunglasses, and with his hair looking like an orange broccoli, because it’s tied on a ponytail. 

He’s crossing the street like he is the reincarnated Messiah. At the same time, there are at least five cars honking at him, to which he responds standing in the middle for a couple of seconds, before walking like he’s carrying the Prophecy again. 

Once he arrives, he removes his sunglasses and glares at Nova so bad she almost believes it’s her fault. Nevertheless, all his chances of winning reduce to dust when he says: 

“For fuck’s sake. You know I have a shit memory. If you see I’m walking away without you, you have to scream.”

Nova frowns until she feels that her forehead is catching flames, and throws the hideous backpack at him. 

“Here’s your crap.” She tells him. “I hope your blood sugar levels go all the way up to 400 and you get all comatose.”

She doesn’t have the guts to wish the Hi-Chew candies he asked her to steal for him are expired, because it took a lot of sacrifice from her part to put the candy in the backpack. And, after all, she already had to dress like an idiot not to seem suspicious.

-.-

Honey’s relapse into depression is so severe she can’t take care of herself. She can’t bathe on her own, she forgets about basic things, like drinking water or eating, and she’s not even in the mood to play around with her bees. 

They’re both staring at her. Nova is sitting on the floor, while Ingrid is by the edge of the old bathtub (which Winston and Leroy stole back when they moved here), running a sponge through Honey’s back. In the end, she stares back at Nova, who does her best to smile at her…or, at least, to put on something similar to a smile. 

Honey has her legs up to her chest. She looks spaced out, but Nova wouldn’t say she’s uncomfortable. Thanks to that position, it’s easy for her to see the exact moment when she sighs, because her whole body goes up, and then down again. 

“I can sense my time has finally come.” She says. “I’m finally gonna die.” 

Ingrid clicks her tongue, and presses the sponge tighter against Honey’ back to get rid of the water excess. 

“Quit it with the bullshit.” She tells her. “We need honey. That’s one of the few things stopping us from starving to death.” 

“Can you believe that, for a second, I actually thought you were referring to me in third person because you cared about my well-being?”

Nova rolls her eyes, deciding she has had enough of this conversation, and then she goes back to her ball of wool and her knitting needles, taking the last to detach herself from the situation. Life can become boring when you don’t sleep at all, so Nova tries to keep herself busy when she isn’t training or stealing things, following the commands of these adults that are supposed to be taking care of her. 

She just wishes she had inherited her mother’s patience. She still remembers the story about how, when she met her dad, she made a very long blanket, saying that would be her wedding blanket, and one day she left the tent for a couple of hours, somebody stole it from her and then, in her words, she wasn’t the same after that.

For a moment, Honey follows Nova’s fingers with her eyes; how they manipulate the needles and the wool, awkward at times. She stares in an absent way until, from one moment to another, she asks: 

“What are you knitting, Little Nightmare?”

Nova stares back at her, and lifts the wool square so she can look at it. 

“It’s a blanket.” She responds. “I think.”

“Pff.” Ingrid scoffs. “Why does it have that many types of wool? Uh?”

“Pardon me for not stopping to carefully choose what type of wool I’m stealing.” 

“Perhaps you should.” Honey says in a hoarse voice. “Because that thing is hideous.”

“…Thank you.”

That’s why, two weeks after that, on Mother’s Day, Nova gifts it to her out of spite.

-.-

During her eleventh birthday, she doesn’t ask for anything besides ice-cream that doesn’t taste like garbage, so, reluctantly, they cramp themselves up in Leroy’s car. 

Honey is on the passenger’s seat, wrapped up in the ugly blanket Nova gave her two weeks ago, like it is a cocoon, annoyed to death thanks to Winston, who is behind her in an almost fetal position, with both his legs up to the passenger’s seat backrest. Very, very close to his face, there’s the Nintendo DS with a case that says Evander; Ingrid is staring out the window, and Nova is in the middle, like a very uncomfortable ham.

Nova doesn’t know where they’re planning to get her ice-cream but, at this point, she just wishes they don’t kill each other before they get there. 

After a while, she stops trying to guess where they’re taking her, and limits herself to sit still. If they want to take her to cross the gates from Hell, then she will just let it be that way. 

At some point, Honey asks Winston, in a very rude way, to get his legs off the backrest, but she’s not obeyed, so they begin having the type of discussion kindergarten children would have in the playground, going all like “Leroy, do something! It’s your car! It’s YOUR car, just kick him out of here!”. 

Half an hour later, they finally stop, and Nova recognizes the humid smell, not from the sea, but, more likely from a river or a canal. Then, Winston finally sits properly and proceed to damage his image once again, by opening the door with his foot. 

“You’re an animal.” Honey spits.

“Eat dirt.”

Honey manages to escape her blanket burrito in less than a second, and tries to slap Winston or at least poke one his eyes out with her nails but, first: Her seatbelt starts suffocating her as soon as she stretches back and, second: Winston is already out of her reach. At least, until he comes back, saying: 

“That is, if we don’t have to cover you in dirt first, you old mess.”

Honey goes berserk. She whimpers and screeches so much Nova feels a migraine growing at the back of her head, and Ingrid starts massaging her temples and threatening Honey, telling her that, if she doesn’t shut her ass she will make that wrinkled face of her explode (which, of course, doesn’t help at all). 

With all that chaos going on around her, Nova is barely able to witness the true tragedy. Nevertheless, she’s “fortunate” enough to look back, the very moment Winston and Leroy take the black garbage bag that seems to contain a body out of the trunk, and then they throw it directly onto the water. 

The weird sounds she had been hearing at the back of the car throughout the whole ride suddenly come back to her and, suddenly, she doesn’t feel like eating ice-cream anymore.

In fact, Nova doesn’t feel like eating anything in weeks.

-.-

She sees the whole scene from the roof, like a stray cat, attired in the costume they gifted her barely a couple of hours ago. Nightmare’s official costume. Because, of course, there’s no better gift for a child during Christmas. 

It is cloaked as a normal, polite conversation, but truth to be told, if it weren’t against the peace treaty, there would be heads rolling. Simon Westwood –The Dread Warden- and Hugh Everhart –Captain Chromium- are right there, at plain sight, talking to Honey and Leroy, who have their arms crossed across their chests, and frowning deeply. The rest of the Council members are inspecting the wagons, allowing, at the same time, Ingrid and Winston to supervise them (Lord-only-knows where Phobia is). 

Upon confirming everything’s under control, Nova manages to jump through the structure and stops where she can see Evander and Winston, inside the wagon of the last one. 

“You’re not gonna find it, egghead.” Says Winston, in an almost singing voice. Nova can spot Evander on the floor, looking for something under the few pieces of furniture he owns. 

He’s not going to find it, indeed. Nova can see the Nintendo DS in his back pocket, inside a Pop Tarts wrapping. 

“But if I find something else, you’ll be fucked.” 

“And your mom too.” 

“If you keep talking to me that way, I’m gonna fuck your mom.” 

Nova rolls her eyes, and decides this isn’t worth her time, so she chooses to place on a spot where she has a clear view of Ingrid’s wagon, looking at Tamaya Rae –Thunderbird- and Kasumi Hasegawa –Tsunami- going through her stuff. 

“If you think what you’re seeing here is interesting, just wait until you see Queen Bee’s wagon, she—“ 

“What is this, Detonator?”

“That’s the device I use to pull drugs through my eyes. I can get you one if you want to, Angel Fish.” 

“Ugh.” Nova groans under her breathe and adjusts her hoodie, before coming back where she started, to focus on Leroy and Honey.

“I don’t know how much damage was caused by this shooting/explosion you’re talking about, but we’ve been here all night.” Says Leroy with a monotonous, yet calm and almost soothing voice, in a volume that was nor too high or too low. 

“Even the Detonator?” Asks Hugh. “How sure are you about that?” 

“Very. If Ingrid’s not here by this hour, she doesn’t come back until the next day. So, it’s safe to say we’re very sure.” Honey answers. “Go on and “investigate” other people. It’s Christmas, there are many drunk people out there. And alcohol does weird things to your brain, like making you think starting a shooting it’s a fun thing to do.”

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Leroy asks. “Taking care of that zygote you adopted, for example?” 

“Let’s calm down, Cyanide.” Simon warns. “We don’t intend to cause conflict.”

“I see. Well, if you weren’t intending to cause conflict, you wouldn’t have come here in the first place, my little honeydew.” Says Honey. “We’d normally appreciate the company, but it’s getting late. You better leave.” 

“We’re not leaving until the inspection concludes.” Says Hugh. “You think you’re very clever, don’t you, Queen Bee?”

Honey laughs graciously, taking her hand up to her chest. 

“We find our own flaws in the people who don’t have them, Captain.”

“Captain, just…don’t. Bring the breathalyzer.”

“Stay there.” Leroy said, talking to Hugh. “You’re not bringing anything.” 

“And why is that, exactly?” Hugh challenged him.

“Because you don’t have our permission, and you’re in our territory.” 

Simon Westwood sighed. 

“Mr. Flinn, this isn’t personal. You have to understand this is just part of the protocol, established by—“ 

“Shove your protocol up your…”

But just as he was about to finish his insult, his gaze finds Nova’s shadow, who stares back at him from the darkness, immutable. Honey follows his stare, trying to go unnoticed, but when she sees Nova, her face expression becomes somber. Nevertheless, Nova can’t think of another thing besides all the insults she has heard coming from them, and tries to think about the most creative one. 

Then, it hits her. 

And it’s perfect. 

“Shove it up where Hugh shoves it.” She says, out loud, and then she jumps out of the scene, just as Leroy and Honey smile at her with so much pride, that Nova feels they could’ve hugged her. Hugh, from his part, turns around like a bull. 

“Who said that?! Was it the Puppeteer?!” 

“Alright, guys. Who said that?” Simon asks, way more calm than Hugh, even if the insult has been directed at him. 

“Shut up, you fucking bottom.” Honey smiles.

Nova has to choke back a laugh upon noticing the way Simon’s face becomes wrinkled, not it a pout, but in an expression of pure rage. 

“My husband is not a fucking bottom.” 

Oh?” Leroy smiles too, showing all his missing teeth. “So you’re the bottom then?” 

“OF COURSE NOT!”

Leroy and Honey stare at Hugh, and their grins almost look like an evil cat’s. From her part, Nova stares at Simon. 

And in the moment Hugh stares at him too, she knows that he knows what he did wrong. 

“Wow.” Simon takes his hands up his hips. “Wow.”

Hugh rubs his nose. 

“Honey…”

“Ow!” Honey screeches. “You’re using my name as his bottom nickname! That’s lovely!”

“Miss Harper, you stay out of this!” Hugh screams. 

“That’s what you always tell Simon, don’t you?” Leroy mocks. 

And that’s enough. 

Simon bumps his foot against the ground and spins around his own toes, already leaving. 

“SIMON, PLEASE, DON’T BE LIKE THAT!”

“HUGH! CAN YOU PLEASE STOP TALKING TO ME?! I’M MAD AT YOU AND IF YOU KEEP DOING THAT I’M GONNA START CRYING!” 

Naturally, Leroy and Honey laugh a lot.

-.-

It’s a really bad day for Winston to be home. Or, at least, for him to get out of his wagon. 

The tea is getting cold in front of her, intact, while she just looks at it. Ingrid’s is intact too, Honey’s cup is half empty and Winston doesn’t even have one because, at the moment, he’s not welcome here. 

The way they have chosen to let him know, is by ignoring him, but Nova still directs her best death stare at him, which go unnoticed because Winston is too busy trying to access his brand new stolen computer. 

“So, Little Nightmare.” Honey clicks her tongue. “What is it, that you wanted to tell us?”

Nova opens her mouth, but then closes it again. She shoots a glance at Winston, and then comes back to them. 

Then, she finds herself going back to Winston. 

“Winston.”  Nova says, in a flat tone. Upon hearing his name, Winston responds with a mild head movement, letting her know she’s been heard. “Would you mind?” 

“No, not at all. Go ahead.”

Nova has to bite her tongue to avoid telling him he’s not understanding anything, but Ingrid intervenes before she can. 

“Nova, just...ignore this clown and hurry up. We have things to do.” She says, rolling her eyes all the way to the back of her head. 

Maybe she’s right. 

Like, she can’t think of a way in which people that literally live in tunnels like sewer rats could be busy. But, after all, Ingrid is the one who leaves the tunnels the most. Sometimes she brings food. Sometimes she brings clothes…things like that. 

Besides, she’s not in the mood to dance around the issue for long. For that reason, she just lets it out. 

“I think I’m menstruating.” 

And after a couple of seconds of silence, the phrases arrive at the same time. 

“ARE YOU?!”

“Lucky are the ones who bleed.” 

“Holy shit. Monstruation.” 

Nova stares at all three of them in disgust, but they’re too busy minding their own businesses. Honey’s smile falls immediately, and she turns to Ingrid, who at the same time is looking at Winston, who’s looking at Nova. 

Knowing they’re about to start making it about themselves, she interrupts. Not today. The one having the crisis is her.

“So? What we going to do about it? Are you gonna help me with it or do I have to go and steal my stuff alone?” 

Ingrid finally gets the courage to face Honey, who blinks one single time. 

“Who’s not bleeding?”

“I don’t know.” Ingrid responded, no hesitation. “Are you still?” 

“No. No. No. No. This isn’t about me, you little shit.” 

It’s not, indeed.

“…So don’t you go a try to pull that card.”

“You were the one who asked.”

“Why aren’t you bleeding, Ingrid?” 

They all wait for the answer, but the answer never comes. And, she has to admit, she’s as surprised as they are, but that doesn’t change the fact this is not about Ingrid. It shouldn’t be about Ingrid, at least. 

“Guys.”

But they don’t mind her. 

There are more important things to pay attention to, apparently. 

For example, the way Honey gets up and crosses her arms over her chest. 

Then, after groaning, she turns around and presses her palms over her eyes, and exhales loudly, before spinning on her toes again. 

“I need my pills.” She whispers under breath, but not enough for them not to hear her. “Get your fucking coat.” 

“Uh?”

“GET YOUR COAT, AND PUT YOUR SHOES ON!” 

It escalates so fast, that Ingrid has no choice but to obey. But, even as she’s walking away, Nova can’t help but think she’s relieved. She looks relieved. 

Good for her.

At least someone is getting what she needs. 

-.-

Nova is trembling on her “bed” by the time Winston comes into her wagon. She tries to ignore him, and he doesn’t talk to her either, but he does place the black bag he’s carrying in his hand next to her. A big black bag. 

Then, he sits on the floor, and starts playing with a rubik cube. That’s, in fact, the first time he talks to her. 

“I don’t know what’s that thing about wings, and some of them might be adult diapers because all the models on the boxes were girls. I also brought those ghost thingies because they’re funny, and I’ve brought them a couple of times for Ingrid.” Says Winston. 

A couple of seconds later, he adds: 

“I tried.” 

She blinks and gulps, before answering. 

“I know. Thanks.”

-.-

As the hours go by, the pain gets worse, and worse, and worse, until she’s shaking even more, and she’s basically curled up in a ball.

Once the sun goes down, Nova hears Ingrid and Honey outside, but she doesn’t mind them. For a short while, she hears them talking to Leroy and Winston under their breath, to then go on with their lives. It’s in that very moment, that Nova hates everything.

She hates the way in which Ingrid has to make everything about herself. She hates the way in which, once again, she’s not coming first. She hates that it hurts…

And she hates that, when Honey comes into her wagon, she stares at her, and Nova can’t help but to stare back.

Then, she comes into the mattress, holding a white plastic bag, where Nova can see she’s carrying some pills. Honey is already in her pajamas, and her face is free of makeup. 

As the mattress shrinks beneath her weight, Nova tries to pull away from her but, for some reason, she’s scared she’ll make a mess because of her…situation. Honey remains right where she is, and, a couple of seconds later, Nova feels her hand over her back. She’s very cold. 

Very cold.

But she doesn’t mind. It’s relieving.

It’s relieving until Nova remembers she’s mad at her. 

“Do you need a painkiller, honeybun?” 

And Nova takes it irrationally personal. 

“Oh, so…now you care.” She snaps. “Now you care about me. Weren’t you too busy with Ingrid? Why don’t you ask her if she needs a painkiller?!” 

With that being said, Honey goes silent, until she just…finishes laying down, and she feels her hand over her again. This time, on her shoulder. 

For a second, Nova feels lucid, but all that lucidity is blinded by the overwhelming pain at the bottom of her stomach, and how everything is horrible and sad and everything hurts. 

And when there is nothing left, she still finds Honey. When the first tears start flowing from her eyes, Nova turns around, and allows her body to interlock between Honey’s, and accepts her hug. Honey stroked her hair and hummed in her ear. 

Nova doesn’t fall asleep, of course. But Honey does. 

And even then, they don’t move.

For the longest time, they don’t move. 

Two blocks later, Ingrid’s limp gets worse. 

And worse. 

And worse.

And worse, until Nova’s own ankle starts hurting just by thinking about in how much pain she must be in; so she tries wrapping her arm around her waist so Ingrid can use her as a human crutch, but in the moment she feels Nova’s touch, Ingrid snaps. 

“Let go. You’re short. If I try to hold on to you, you’ll break my spine too.”

Nova rolls her eyes. 

“Fuck you, then.”

As expected, it takes them forever to get to the tunnels, and they finally arrive, Leroy’s waiting for them awake, and it takes Winston and Honey less than ten minutes to wake up too, when they hear all the movement coming from Ingrid’s wagon. 

Once they’ve arrived there, Leroy dismisses himself from the duty of taking care of Ingrid’s swollen ankle, and throws the ball to Honey instead, who doesn’t complain, but she doesn’t treat Ingrid more tenderly than Leroy either. 

Nova watches the scene as she bites her nails. Ingrid’s ankle has gotten so big she can’t help but compare it to a frog, and as Honey pokes it (instead of massaging it) to try to find out what’s wrong with it, the bruises on her skin become more evident. 

“I don’t think it’s broken.” Honey concludes. “It’s more likely…”

“Sprained.” Leroy nods. 

“Yes. Sprained. Little Nightmare, would you please hand me some bandages?” 

She skips the part where she asks Honey to not call her that (Little Nightmare) and obeys without hesitation. After all, she knows where Ingrid keeps that type of stuff. She’s been here bleeding or with injured limbs many times before. 

“What the hell happened to you?” Winston laughs. “Are you still this dumb? Really?”

Nova holds her breath as she takes the bandages. 

“Actually, no. Like, you’re not gonna believe what happened.” 

“Please, if any of the Renegades’ little brainless patrolling units did this to you, just…skip the story, because I’ll get really mad.” 

“Nova tackled the shit out of me during training.” 

She hugs the bandages really tightly against her chest, waiting for someone, anyone, to say something. It feels like a small piece of glass trapped in her skin and she wants it out as fast as possible. She wants the lecture to be over before it has even started. She wants…

“She did?”

“She did. And it was awesome.”

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the

“OH MY GOSH! NOVA!” Ingrid screams in pain as Honey violently lets go of her ankle and runs towards Nova, who turns around and accepts her effusive hug just because it’s too late to reject it. The bandages fall to the ground as she pats Honey’s back, confused. 

“Really, you should’ve seen her!” Ingrid screeches, already recovered. “She was great! HECK, WAS I IMPRESSED.”

“Ingrid, what the fu—“ 

“SHE TACKLED ME! TO THE GROUND! THERE’S NO WAY SHE COULD’VE DONE THAT LAST MONTH! SHE WAS AMAZING!” 

“Sounds like she was.” Leroy smiles. It’s not a wide smile, but still a smile. “Congratulations, Nova.”

Honey, who has stopped hugging her and now has her arms around her shoulders, laughs. 

“We knew you were better than that. You were just playing dumb, weren’t you?”

“I…”

“So…she…sprained your ankle when she tackled you to the floor?” Winston asks. 

“NO, NO, NO! BECAUSE AFTER SHE TACKLED ME, SHE MANAGED TO THROW ME OFF A FUCKING FENCE! I MEAN, HOW COOL IS THAT?!” 

Winston blinks. And for a moment, she sees something weird in his expression. Something…different. 

But maybe she’s just paranoid. 

“…Yeah. Pretty cool.” 

Nova blinks too. 

And the only thing she knows right now is that…

Well.

Perhaps she doesn’t know anything. 

“Heck. I’m proud of you.”

And Ingrid smiles. At her. 

And Nova feels the corner of her lips shaking as they correspond that smile. Next thing she realizes is that that’s how it feels to get it right for the first time. 

“You’re finally getting stronger. Next time…” 

“Next time I’ll wreck you.” Nova says, her smile widening. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Ingrid raises an eyebrow at her, jokingly. 

“Promises, promises, Nightmare. I hope you can keep them.”

Oh, she will.

-.-

At sixteen years old, a few months prior the parade where they plan to assassinate Hugh Everhart, Nova comprehend they’re doing the best they can. 

But she doesn’t tell them that. 

[tchalla-rogers]

Avengers: Inevitable (Part 1)

Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (and Steve Rogers x Reader)

Part 2 is HERE. Series Masterlist.

The death of Tony Stark was brutal, leaving you feeling the pain of his loss every day he wasn’t there. Life was simply lifeless and it was hard to move on. You ended up leaving Pepper and Morgan behind from the fear of losing them, too.

How could you possibly move on without your father? The risk of being an Avenger was evident from the day you became one, but it never occurred that you would lose your father. You thought that he would live forever and watching him give his life for the entire universe burned. Every one thanked your father for his bravery, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to get him back.

Your father was gone and so was the love of your life. Well, you thought that he was the love of your life. After you laid your father to rest, Steve ended up telling you that he was going to go back to Peggy. Your heart shattered into a million pieces of losing everything you knew and loved. You didn’t even say goodbye before storming off and that was the last time that you saw Steve.

Although you left the life you knew behind, you found a friend in Virginia Allister. She was extraordinarily enhanced with superhuman strength and you both teamed up as best friends, fighting as vigilantes. In a few months time, she introduced you to her boyfriend, Clay. He was incredibly smart, surprisingly, and obviously didn’t approve of what you both do. Thankfully, he was too in love with Virginia to tell her but since you never dared to go back to the compound, it was hard to find intel.

They were so in love and you unfortunately had to wallow around the shared apartment as they sucked on each other’s faces. It was enough to have you constantly playing songs from the 40’s, which led you to think about Steve.

You thought going out on dates would help fill the void that Steve leaving had created. Unfortunately, it did nothing and instead sent you back to the shared apartment to witness Virginia and Clay watching sappy love movies. You and Steve would barely watch romance movies, but it was a nice thought during this time.

When Steve thoughts became too much, it eventually went back to your father, which you were trying to avoid with Steve. That was the worst pain you felt and it could have you cooped up in your room for hours. You were either bawling your eyes out, drinking profusely to numb the pain, or both. If the motivation did come, which it rarely did, then you would write in your journal. Nothing in that journal helped you write out your feelings and it instead held all of your plots to get Tony back. Maybe if you could get your father back, you could face Pepper and Morgan. You tried to get him back before Morgan’s birthday that was coming tomorrow, but it all proved to be unsuccessful. Without the proper supplies, none of them would work. Each idea was scratched out of your journal when you realized that they never would prosper.

You were cooped up in your room for an hour when you heard a knock on your door. After not answering, the door finally creaked open with Virginia standing in the doorway. She sighed when you didn’t answer because you were too busy going through your list of ideas, scratching them out furiously.

“You can’t keep scratching everything out in that journal,” Virginia sighed and sauntered into your room. She sat down on your bed, looking around the room when you didn’t respond. “I know you can hear me.”

“And I know you know that I don’t want company right now,” you mumbled, scratching out the latest idea that you had. “Seriously, can’t you go fuck Clay and leave me the hell alone?”

Surprisingly, Virginia chuckled and stood up to inspect your journal. It was ragged, obvious pages being ripped out in frustration and scratched out notes on every page. “I’m your best friend. I know when you have these episodes, you actually want company.” You turned around, closing the journal that you were once paying so much attention to. She had her hands on her hips, a smirk adorning her face. “Care to have a movie night?”

“It all depends if you bought a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream for me to eat solely by myself.”

Virginia laughs, grabbing your hand and pulling you to finally stand. “You already know that I have.” And that’s how the rest of your night went. You knew your body couldn’t stay awake and you soon dozed off on the couch, sprawled out just like Virginia. You were cozy and warm and the movie didn’t keep you awake.

The sleep was incredibly satisfying until knocking on the door startled you. Your hands instantly stumbled for your phone, where the screen read that it was almost 1 A.M. Virginia was still asleep next to you and you tried your hardest to stay silent as a knock sounded once again.

You didn’t even lock out of your apartment door’s peephole and pulled the door open, eyes still half closed. The figure that stood in front of you had air quickly being sucked in. “Bucky?” you whispered, mouth agape.

His hair hit his shoulders and his eyes were trained on your exhausted figure. He looked the same as he did the day that Steve left you in 2023 to go back to Peggy. You were shocked, but you could read his eyes better than he thought.

“Y/N, God…” he mumbled and pulled you quickly into a hug. You were startled and didn’t put your arms around him at first. The flashbacks of everything you lost that day hit you all at once. You knew that he meant a lot to Steve and it was the same for him. You both were fairly close so you knew that he was probably worried when you left the compound without a word. You sighed in content, wrapped your arms around him and feeling his friendly warmth comfort you. Even if he brought back some memories that you couldn’t handle, he was complete innocence to you. “I told them that you were alive,” he said as you both pulled away from each other.

“They think I’m not?” you stuttered, closing the door an inch so that the light from the hallway wouldn’t wake Virginia. The questions you had for him seemed to pile in and you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. “How are they?”

Bucky’s eyes peered up at you, a sad grin illuminating his face. “Pepper and Morgan are fine, if that’s the right word. Not much they can do when they lost two of the people they loved the most in a short amount of time.”

You shrugged and Bucky groaned at your stubborn behavior. “What? I can’t move on from my past?”

“You’re not moving on, you’re just running away from your problems and not facing them,” he pointed out. The hallway went quiet as you stared off, trying not to make eye contact with Bucky. He was completely right with his comment, but you were stubborn and didn’t want to believe it.

When the quiet became too much, you were the first one to say something. “So how’d you find me?”

“You’re not the best at hiding your tracks,” he chuckled and you grinned lightly. “I came out here on a whim.”

“And what if you had the wrong lead?”

He shrugged at your comment. “Let’s just say I’m glad that it wasn’t.”

You smiled at him, noting how full of life his eyes were. “So, you came out here on a whim, which means that you need a place to stay the night.”

“I never said that.” He shook his head, crossing his arms in front of him.

“You might not have said it, but I know it.” You turned around, pushing the door open slightly. Virginia was actually awake, eyes scanning the cellular device in her hand. She heard the door creak open and her eyes widened and then she smirked when Bucky walked through.

“Is there something I need to know?”

You rolled your eyes. “No.” She playfully winked, but you glared at her. “Virginia, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is Virginia. She has issues,” you whispered, but loud enough for both of them to hear.

She stared at you in shock, arms crossed. “You might be right. But, at least I got you out of writing those ideas on how to get your father back.”

Your movements halted and you felt the eyes of Bucky snap to your wavering eyes. Virginia was the smartest person that you knew, but she did some of the dumbest things. And now, here you were trying to rack your brain for excuses before Bucky laid all of his questions on you.

“So, we have some pizza in the fridge if you want any,” you told Bucky, trying to get the conversation to go another way.

“Can I speak to you...in private?” Bucky asked and tugged on your hand, pulling you to your mini hallway in the apartment. When you finally made it, Bucky’s eyes held such concern that you tried to shy away from them. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Bucky scoffed and you suddenly started feeling the heat of the hallway hit you. “For once, don’t be like Tony,” he said and crossed his arms across his chest. “What ideas? You can’t change the past. We need to move on.”

“If we moved on when half of Earth’s population was killed because of Thanos, you wouldn’t be standing in front of me today. And you can thank my father for that, so no, I’m not moving on.”

“I thank all of you for fighting for all of our lives, but Tony knew the risk. Pepper and Morgan miss you and here you are, scribbling notes on how to get your father back when your family needs you.”

“They don’t need me, they need Tony,” you mumbled, regret invading your body. Your heart was beating out of your chest from the truth Bucky was spewing. You knew how much Pepper and Morgan meant to you and you left them because you thought that the pain was too much for you. And yet, Tony still isn’t here and you aren’t even with your family.

“They have Tony. They know that he’ll always be there for them. You have a choice to do the same.” Bucky moved towards the front door, but you choked on a sob. He stopped when he heard your shaky breaths from behind him. When he turned around, he saw tears streaming down your face and your lip trembling. He sighed, standing there and listened until he couldn’t anymore. “At least show me this journal.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, your tear soaked cheeks reddening from everything that had just happened. Your eyes met Bucky, and he showed no signs of leaving, now. His hands were in his pockets and he stepped forward, watching your tears glisten from the hallway light. “God, no, that’s embarrassing,” you choked, wiping the tears from your face. “None of them would work.”

“Then let’s tear out those pages together and move on,” he sighed, grabbing ahold of your arm. “I know you know that Morgan’s birthday is tomorrow.” When you didn’t say anything, he continued on. “They really want you there.”

“I guess that’s the only reason why you came here,” you chuckled.

Bucky shook his head, eyebrows furrowing together. “I came here to check on one of my friends who I haven’t heard from...but, Morgan said the only thing she wanted for her birthday was her big sister.”

“Are y’all done making out?” You heard a shout from the living area and a groan left your lips. “Seriously, I would like to know so I can head to my bedroom and sleep!”

“We’re not fucking making out, Virg. Just go to bed.” The scuffling of bare feet and a blanket being dragged across the floor made it to the hallway and your eyes met Virginia evidently smirking. She winked at you and you grimaced in disgust as she opened her bedroom door.

“Be safe. Extra condoms are in the bathroom cabinet.” You threw your middle finger up at her, but she grinned and slammed the door before you could do more damage.

“Sorry about her,” you groaned, moving to the living room where the movie was no longer playing. “She tries to get me with every guy after Steve.”

It went silent on Bucky’s end of the conversation, as he was trying to process what you said. “Are you still in love with...Steve?” he asked.

You nodded slowly, feeling more pressure from the conversation. “How can I not be still be in love with Steve?”

Bucky continued to stare at you knowingly, shrugging. You shrugged back and went into the linen closet, grabbing a blanket and a pillow. “I’m really tired of this moving on conversation. The guest bedroom is right down the hallway.” You dropped the blanket and pillow into his outstretched arms. “I’ll think about if I’m going tomorrow.” With that, you went into your bedroom, slamming the door without looking back at Bucky.

[haloud]

all grown up

for michael guerin week day 1 -- welcome to the party ao3

“It’s my year to pick what we do for our birthday,” Isobel says one afternoon.

Michael looks down at her. He’s standing on Max’s coffee table in order to get enough height to fiddle with the ceiling fan, which Max claims has started randomly changing speeds. He could easily use his powers for this, but it’s also vastly more fun to see Max’s face scrunch up when he walks into the room and sees Michael standing on his furniture.

Isobel flicks to the next page of her magazine, looking uninterested, but Michael knows she’s waiting for his response. Just a few inches from where he’s standing, her fuzzy-socked feet jiggle anxiously.

They haven’t celebrated a birthday in a while. Not together, at least. For lots of those years, Max and Michael could barely be in the same room with each other, let alone find anything to celebrate. And that’s probably a big part of the reason why Isobel’s own birthday became a subject of gossip as the one occasion she wouldn’t throw a party for.

Her math is right, though. This would be her year, if that was still a thing they did.

“Got any ideas yet?” Is all Michael says.

“I’m working on it. How do you feel about pedicures?”

“I live to be pampered.”

“Good to know.”

When Max comes home thirty minutes later, Isobel doesn’t bring it up again, just tosses her magazine aside and goes to help him unload groceries. Michael goes back to his tinkering, a smile on his face.

--

Isobel doesn’t live in the house she shared with Noah anymore. It’s empty at the moment—someday, she’s been saying, she’ll make Michael knock all the walls down and make it an open-concept office for her expanding business. They’ve already made a bonfire of the furniture—it kept them warm while they waited for Max to wake back up again.

It’s the best gift Michael can think of for her, and besides, their birthdays have almost never been about things. Still, just in case, he flexes his eBay skills and makes his way to the party with a two foot tall plushie of Littlefoot buckled into the seat beside him.

They do the party at Max’s house this year. As Michael pulls up to the driveway, it hits him in an unexpected way. This is the first time they celebrate out in the open. The first time there’s no one to hide the truth of Michael from, the first time they’re having an afterparty with other people, people who love them. Isobel has stayed meticulously silent for two months about her plans, but the afterparty she set up right away. She wouldn’t deny Max a chance to get sappy with Liz on his birthday, nor Michael a chance to get his birthday spankings. Given, however, that she picked the Wild Pony as the location, Michael can sense the truth underneath the teasing.

Michael climbs out of his truck and waves at his sister, waiting for him on the porch with her arms crossed. She stalks across the yard, and Michael frowns at the pinched look on her face, worry bubbling up from his stomach.

“Happy birthday?” He says, his voice rising like it’s a question, spreading his arms out either for a hug or to make himself a bigger target if she wants to hit him instead.

“Okay, yeah, happy birthday,” she says, then her jaw clenches, then she throws herself into his arms.

Michael squeezes her tightly, and she squeezes back, tension in every line of her. “You’re scaring me, Iz,” he murmurs into the side of her head.

“Okay!” She pulls back until he’s holding her at arm’s length. “Just first thing’s first, you are absolutely not allowed to laugh, because if you do I will—”

Her eyes flick over Michael’s shoulder, making eye contact with Littlefoot still strapped into the bench. A strangled noise, part shriek, part gasp, part delighted squeal leaps out of her throat, and all at once she shoves Michael aside and throws her upper body through the open window to retrieve it.

She buries her face in the short, soft fuzz for a long moment, and Michael’s face bursts into a smile. What he can see of her face is red and splotchy; her ponytail is coming undone; her outfit is perfect as usual. She’s Isobel, and god, it’s their fucking birthday.

Suddenly, Isobel jerks her head up again, shooting Michael with a squinting glare. “Did you cheat?”

Michael shakes his head vigorously, holding his hands up in surrender. “Cheat at what? Buying the perfect birthday present?”

“No, the theme of my party.” Her eyes drop, and she picks at one of the dinosaur’s smooth spots. “Seriously, Michael. Don’t laugh.”

“Iz, I’m not gonna laugh. I promise.”

After a second, she nods sharply, turns on her heel, and stalks back towards the door, Littlefoot tucked under her arm.

The second Michael walks through the door, he’s assaulted by a wave of—bubbles? The cheap, dollar store kind.

“Happy birthday, brother,” Max says, and blows another stream in his face.

The party? It’s perfect. It’s perfect in a way that has Michael in the bathroom three times that day to grip the sink and try not to bawl like a baby. It’s perfect in a way that has Max and Isobel red-eyed and sniffly too, on and off. Isobel is a genius, in a way that breaks all their hearts.

What do they do? They party. They eat too-sweet store-bought cake and drink lemonade they made themselves (out of powder from a jar, of course—what do you take them for?). They play Dance Dance Revolution on an old PS2 Isobel found in her childhood bedroom, basically untouched. They have a blindfolded telekinetic Nerf war across half the desert—which Michael wins, thank you very much, having a much more evolved grasp of telekinetic awareness than his two siblings, who are essentially fragile baby deer in the face of his mastery (says Michael, shortly before getting a dart to the mouth).

They have every birthday party they never had from 1 to 27, every single one in a day.

And after, as the sun starts setting late into the summer night, the three of them shove themselves into Michael’s truck, because it’s the car they can take with all three of them in the front seat. Isobel still has blue frosting on her cheek; Max leans his head on the window like he’s just being his pensive self and like Michael can’t see him tearing up in the reflection.

They’ll have a few beers with the people they love, and then the day will be over. Michael almost wants to take a page out of his brother’s book, but he has to keep his eyes on the road.

When they walk into the Pony, though, it’s to an explosion of confetti and a massive birthday banner—from some old birthday of Maria’s, most likely, because the year number has been cut out and the banner stitched back together—strung across the ceiling.

Max really is crying now, as Liz tugs his hands away from his face and laughs, leading him to the dance floor. Michael stands rooted to his spot, frozen by this, this earth-shakingly simple gesture, he just can’t, can’t get his brain to move his muscles again. They’ve got people here. They’ve got—Kyle and Jenna strung the banner up, probably, while Alex moved tables and chairs out of the way and made glib comments about how it would be an easier job for someone tall, like Max. Maria would have stayed behind the bar, mixing punch; Liz probably brought in food from the Crashdown, the best comfort food anywhere in Roswell. Michael can see it all play out so clearly, but it doesn’t make it any more real.

He wishes time travel was a power they had, just so that kid he used to be could know, could know even just a flicker, that this was gonna be his one day.

“It’s your birthday, you can cry if you want to, Guerin,” a teasing voice says at Michael’s shoulder, and then Alex is there, taking his hand.

And Michael lets him, follows him into the crowd, into the circle of his family.

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Se A Vida É

Summary: A May Day parade changes how Mason sees his best friend.

Rating: T -  Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Canonical character death. Reader discretion is advised.

Words: 1313

Notes: Based on this Pet Shop Boys song.

So, I like clichés and best friends to lovers, so I tried justifying it. The thing that is not working with these bite-sized chapters in MTFL is that every sense of character and time is warped.

Why on Earth are Mason and the MC friends? What does they like about each other? What about Noah, why does the MC likes him? “He’s pretty!” is not very good of an answer. Furthermore, what day is today in the story?! It’s like, nothing ever happens, and time passes but it still feels like the first day of school. I don’t think even the writers know what time it is.

And the reuse of faces is egregious. Production value is very low.

Alas, I still have hope for this book, so mamma gotta paper over the holes. Hope you like it.

I consider myself to be a simple person. It does not take much to make me happy.

I have a nice house in the suburbs, where I live with my mom, my dad and my dog, Maverick. I had a beat-up but cool car, a red fixer-upper my parents gave me on my sixteenth birthday I use to go around if I want to. I had football to relax and I went through school with little hassle. Finally, I had good friends, more specifically, I had the best best friend a guy can have.

Everything considered, I think I have a pretty good life.

Of course, there was things I wanted. A new jersey, a golden watch I saw at the mall, the latest PlayStation, win the state championship, make into the honor roll. Nothing that I feel too much the lack of, though.

Until recently, that is.

Emma is my best friend. She has always been my best friend, ever since we moved into our neighborhood when I was six, right next door to her family. My parents did not care much for the family of four, but Mrs. Price was the deserved and uncontested star of the street and it was unavoidable for us to cross paths in the numerous barbecues, fairs and dinners thrown all around.

Being the only two children in the street our age, we soon became attached at the hip, sharing all kinds of imaginary adventures as children, and secrets and emotions and dramas as we grew up.

Then… One day, she was my best friend, the dearest person in my heart, and in the other, she was still that, but much, much more. It was like she became my whole world, like if she was what was fundamentally missing in my life. Even if she was in it the whole time.

What happened, you must be asking. Well, some two years ago, when we were freshmen in high school, the City Council was organizing a parade to celebrate May Day. Mrs. Price was all into the idea, designing floats decorated with flowers from local vendors and dancing numbers and marching bands from the schools in the district.

Emma, of course, was roped into participating, together with the other cheerleaders from their school. They rehearsed a dance number, with throwing petals and gifting May baskets of sweets and flowers to the attendees.

So, wearing a black crop top and skirt decorated with leaves, the girls paraded down the avenue, with smiles on their faces and light on their feet. I, of course, watched it all from the first row on the sidewalk.

As she skipped through the street, the sun hit her right on the crown of her head and I thought for a moment she must be a mirage, so pretty she looked. Her straight white teeth shone at the attendees, her wrist making the soft movements of the dance as her eyes looked like a pair of sapphires, blue as they were.

She was just absolutely beautiful, and I felt the need to touch her.

It was, then and there, that my world began to spin in the other direction. I fancied myself in love with my best friend, and it was much scarier than what you might be led to believe.

For a few weeks, I did not really know what to do. I mean, I am a teenage boy, I have seen my fair share of pretty girls, and I was, er… Fixated, on one or another. They all went away as quick as they came about, though, so it did not seem either fair or useful to say anything.

Yet, I wanted to say something to somebody. That somebody should be Emma, but that would defeat the purpose. I had no one else I could trust that much, so I kept quiet.

As the days passed, and I continued to spend time with her, my sentiment grew and grew, and I started to think it would not go away anytime soon. Then, it would be cool if I just told her how I felt and took myself out of my misery, but I started to develop a fear of… Not only rejection, though that would not be nice, but also, I was afraid she would not be my friend anymore if she was not interested in being my girlfriend.

A few weeks after that started plaguing my thoughts, Mrs. Price came back with a terminal cancer diagnostic. Emma could not take two steps straight, so lost she was on her own mind and concerns. I do not think she would be in a place for having to think about boyfriends and romance, so I let slide.

I tried to be there for her, I really did, but, again, I am a teenage boy and I am not very well equipped to deal with those kinds of emotions. So, I began backing off, and by doing so, I began developing my own strategies to distract myself from thinking too hard about Emma and whatever I was feeling. These distractions usually wore short miniskirts and heavy make-up, or came in red cups and tasted at the same time too strong and too diluted.

Soon enough, too soon, Mrs. Price died overnight at a hospital and Emma was whisked away to Wyoming, to grieve.

I stayed behind and continued to fill her absence with whatever stimulated my senses the most. Sometime in late June, Ava took interest in me and began to seriously pursue me, and it was hard to resist her. Not only she was stunning, she was determined and insistent.

Eventually, I managed to get through a call with Emma, determined to tell her what was happening and how I felt. At least we would be on the same page.

I thought to begin with the most innocuous subject, that my family would be moving across town. I barely made it out with the announcement and she starts to bawl her eyes out, shouting and crying and lamenting.

Between the bad service and Emma’s crying, I could not get another word across, and so I hung up the phone without even hinting at what I meant to say.

I took it as a sign. Perhaps me and Emma drifted apart too much, perhaps I messed up and should not have left her be with her pain, or at least I should have told her my feelings immediately.

It was with a heavy heart that I gave up on my feelings and asked Ava out.

July and August, everything was coming up roses. We went out, we were the MVPs of every party, and, most importantly, we had a lot of fun with each other.

September came, and with it, Emma returned. That very same night I gave her our shell back, I understood reality would come crashing at my relative contentment and tranquility with Ava.

Funny thing was, I thought I would change, not that Ava would change, too. Each step I take away from her, she takes another, and neither party seem too invested in the relationship. It is jarring.

I also thought Emma would be free, since she had never attracted much attention from the other boys at school, but Noah Harris seemed awfully taken with her, and she was reciprocating it. I was not OK with that, and the more I did to scare him away, the more he seemed to take hold on her.

I know what I want, I know what I need to be happy, but it seems like the world was not on board with me getting it. Well, I waited for the right moment for too long, now I am making my own opportunities.

While it does not happen, I remember the song Emma danced to that day.

Se a vida é, I love you.

[doyouwanteggyeggs]

Day 23: High Fidelity

Sunday was good. I’ve made it a habit to wake up everyday, brush my hair and get into my workout clothes so I can be pumped and ready to do a workout when I have a spare hour. It gives me a sense of gratitude to look in the mirror and appreciate my body for what it is. It keeps me motivated to stay healthy and it gives me a bit of purpose for the day.

“What are you doing on Wednesday?” ,”I guess I’m seeing you”, he said as we said goodbye. My housemate said she was going to come back home today and stay on for the rest of the year. I was disappointed. I was just getting used to the house to myself. I didn’t let the idea take over my day and so I drove to my parents and spent the next few hours clearing out the garage. I came across a box that I had tucked away under my bed when I lived with them that I suddenly found again in the pile of other boxes. They were gifts from my wedding five years ago and lots of cards wishing us the best and congratulating us. After reading one, I had no hesitation to throw out the rest without even reminiscing. It gave me a bit of perspective at the time. How words were so temporary and so uncertain. What people wrote to others to share their happiness with them at that moment. Words that were not true anymore or didn't hold any value anymore. I wonder if James had thrown away the cards I wrote to him. For Christmas when I first realised I had intimate feelings for him or during his birthday when I was settling into the idea of loving him. It doesn’t matter. They were just words. They probably are just words to him now. 

I also found a love letter from my ex-husband when he had first sent me a gift, in the midst of all the cleaning. “Dearest, No one has loved you more than I have and no one will as much as I do and will want to. I have a lifetime to prove that and that’s all I will continue to do. I cannot wait so spend the rest of my life with you. Sincerely and with all my love, F”. I showed it to my mum. We both sighed. “He was a good guy”. “I know, he was always so sincere and honest”. We hadn’t even met each other yet by that point and were only 3 months into our “relationship” where we had only spent hours chatting and calling each other. But he was so sure then.

See? Words have no real meaning. Even though he ended things with me eventually, I know he did it with a broken heart and loved me for months following that. I’m glad he did. I realise now what I realised even then, it takes a lot for me to love someone sincerely. And for good reason. Look at what six months of loving James did to me?

And that’s when I watched high fidelity- the series. I literally cried through every episode. It was like someone had written a story about my life. It starts with a scene where Rob says to her partner who is now leaving her, asking him to stay one more night. Just like I did. She then asked him to remember that when things got bad, they would reflect on this one situation from when they first met and remind themselves to not ever be in that situation again. It’s what Mac said back to Rob that had me first bawling. “I remember, I just can't remember what that felt like”. 

I would watch this mini series all over again to feel what Rob felt as she lost who she thought was the love of her life. Her top 5 heartbreaks as she remembered it. I loved that they never revealed why they broke up. Almost as if there was no real reason to explain how you went from lovers to strangers. She tries to reconnect with him after a year and did the exact same thing I did. Get emotional and ask him why it went wrong. It didn’t end well just like it didn’t when I reached out to James.

Mum walked into my room to ask me how I felt. Asked me to place my trust in Him and she said that she’s got this intuition. An intuition about something great happening to me soon and that she feels it so strongly. I smiled at her and slowly dozed off to the playlist from high fidelity. 

I think I want to buy a record player!

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “40 and 13″

Overpopulation caused the governments all over the world to vote for a drastic resolution: a special virus was created that makes everyone die when they turn 40 years old. The Joker will turn 40 in five days and Y/N can't cope with the news since she'll be left behind without him.

You and The Joker just finished eating dinner in front of the TV, trying to ignore the depressing news that shows the death toll climbing each day since the virus killing everybody once they turn 40 was unleashed upon the overpopulated Earth 12 months ago.

The King of Gotham is quietly sipping on his grape juice, debating if he should tell you or not; he’s been struggling with the decision for a while and being the way he is doesn’t help the matter.

“Pumpkin,” he starts the conversation,” did I ever mention my birthday is on July 13th?”

“Hm?” you turn your head towards him, not sure you heard right; you had a huge fight this morning and barely managed to patch things up enough to tolerate each other’s presence by night fall.

“You always wanna know when my birthday is and I’m telling you now it’s on July 13th.”

He keeps on staring at the TV s, disregarding your gaze that seems to burn through him.

Why is he suddenly sharing such an intimate detail? You tried several times to get it out of him without any reaction besides that of him getting mad and emphasize it’s none of your business. Unless…

“J…” you hesitantly ask. “How old are you going to be?...”

The Joker takes another sip from the can before placing it on the coffee table and nonchalantly enunciates:

“Fourty.”

He hears you sniffle it’s not difficult to predict you’re going to burst into tears in a few seconds.

“I’m only saying this because I didn’t want to drop dead without any warning; I’m sure you would hate me forever and we can’t have that happen: I do the hating part. That’s a sacred rule.”

And there she goes, he sighs as soon as Y/N begins bawling her eyes out next to him on the couch.

“…July 13th is in…in 5 days,” you manage to utter while crawling on his knees, your arms tightly going around his neck. J doesn’t stop you and actually hugs you back even if he promised himself he won’t tolerate any kind of emotional rubbish from his girlfriend.

“Yeap, coming up,” he buries his face in your shoulder, inhaling the perfume he likes and for some reason it’s not very comforting today. “You have three more years to go so make it count, ok?”

Y/N can’t stop crying and plans to blur out a million sentences yet the disclosure is overwhelming for the heartbroken woman.

“W-why didn’t you…” and The Joker can’t understand the following word but he comprehends the meaning.”…earlier?”

“I didn’t share earlier since it would have been atrocious to watch: when you cry you get these wrinkles in the middle of your forehead. Uggghhh”, he shrugs with fake disgust. “It makes you… how should I put it nicely?… Super ugly! For 5 days though…I believe I’ll be able to endure it.”

Y/N’s faint snorting noise prompts his smile too, aware she is not fighting back the stupid remark like she would usually do and that’s fine with him.

“P-please don’t leave me,” you kiss his cheek and cuddle to his body, panicking at the thought he’ll be gone in a few days.

“I don’t have a choice, Pumpkin. Nobody does. Not anymore.  It’s inevitable and you’ll have to deal with it…”

“What am I supposed to do without you?” you bring up the painful fact bound to become reality in such a short notice it physically hurts.

“Survive,” the candid reply advises. “You’re The King’s Queen so live for both until your time will come.”

J wishes to elaborate on the topic and you cover his mouth, upset.

“You’re not a King and I’m not a Queen. We’re just a man and a woman that screwed up over and over again; still…here we are. That’s it…That’s all there is…No King and no Queen,” you shake your head in denial. “Only us…” your voice dims under the burden of grief.

Your fingers slide off his lips, revealing a stunned Joker that seems to see his girlfriend for the first time. How come he didn’t realize sooner?! She loves him. She really does.

“Only us…” J repeats in a trance, pulling Y/N into a soft kiss that somehow feels more intimate than everything else they did before.

You glide your hands down his chest, the way you grind against him making it clear you want more than a make out session.

“Does this mean you’re not mad at me for the moment?” he tests the waters although the answer is logical.

“U-hum,” you take your t-shirt off and The Joker gropes you, the typical mischievous smirk lacking from his part: he just wants you close. Despite vehemently denying the hunger for your touch, the thought gives him an unexpected sense of loneliness. When all your life you’ve been nothing more than a walking contradiction, it’s hard to battle the inner demons caging your desire to the point of no return.

That’s why J wipes your tears and doesn’t have a smart ass comment regarding the smeared mascara: he craves the distraction with such intensity it makes the rest fade.

“I have some requests,” you whisper and he stares into your eyes, kind of lost and finding himself unable to resist the tempting lips pouted one inch from his.

“Oh yeah?” the curiosity takes over.

“No fighting,” you trace the tattoo on his abs and The Joker never agreed to anything faster:

“OK.”

“I want to talk about stuff we never talk about…”

“OK.”

“I want us to make love as much as possible,” you negotiate wondering if he will fuss about the spontaneous list summarized in a hurry.

“OK,” The Clown Prince of Crime consents without arguing to your terms because the truth is he has no intention to do so today.

“And I want some sort of proof that you like me,” Y/N boldly demands since he unfortunately indicated the opposite on numerous occasions in the past.

J frowns, not mumbling the OK you are expecting. The awkward silence continues and The Joker notices how hard you’re trying to hide your disappointment when actually he’s straining to conceal his own emotions. He shouldn’t indulge the urge of making you happy before it’s too late, yet the demons in his mind are quiet now: the accidental clarity could make a person finally act against their usual judgment.

You watch him pass his fingers through his locks, confused when he brings the longer strands in the front of his face. J carefully plucks one green hair out of his head, gesturing for your left hand. You hold it up and he twists the neon colored token at the base of your pinky, explaining his action while finalizing the project with a couple of knots:

“I guess you can say you have me wrapped around your finger.”

The girlfriend’s stunned expression is certainly worth the trouble of affirming it loud; The Joker savors the outcome and you take off your bra, tossing the lacy garment behind the sofa:

“Abandon all hope Mister Joker,” Y/N’s instant evil grin changes the mood.  “You belong to me now.”

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

“I can’t sleep,” you stretch next to him on the couch.

“Me neither,” he yawns. “Even if you exhausted me,” J adds, yanking you in his arms again. You kiss his collar bone, restless at the question about to echo in the stillness:

“Are you afraid?”

The Joker has no idea on how to verbalize his inner views on the matter, but he doesn’t leave you hanging either.

“Maybe …I’m not thinking about it…”

“I am,” you squeeze in the important topic he probably didn’t even consider. “I’ll be here for you when it happens, but when I die…I will be alone...”

J feels this sharp pain in his heart that makes him realize a critical element: he didn’t have the opportunity to weigh in what dying before Y/N will mean for her.

“I’ll be here,” he pecks your forehead and you cling to him, discouraged at the obvious lie.

“Yeah, sure…”

“I promise I’ll be here, alright?”

“We are both aware how well you keep your promises,” you admonish in a way that doesn’t trigger his anger.

“I’ll keep this one, hm?” he reassures Y/N and she snickers at the impossible to fulfil vow, but appreciates his passionate response nevertheless. You nod a yes, drawing invisible circles on his skin.

“Do you want to dance on the terrace?” you suggest on a whim.

“OK,” The Joker quickly consents and gets up, grabbing the sheet from the floor. He takes your hand and guides you on the patio, unfolding the thin fabric as soon as you’re outdoors. Despite the cool breeze, it’s nice and warm in the middle of the night.  

“No music?” you tease as he wraps both naked bodies in the sheet.

“We dance to our own tune, Pumpkin,” he winks and slowly moves while tightly hugging you.

“We always did,” you play along, brushing away the horrible sentiment of regret clouding the peaceful atmosphere.

“It’s a jungle out there,” J stirs the dialogue in order to address his concerns. “This whole virus business is turning the world upside down. You saw on the news they might release the antivirus sooner than anticipated, but there are no guarantees. You have to find a way to survive no matter what.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine…”

“After I’m gone, please don’t do anything… reckless. It won’t be easy, but you can’t give up."

You know what he’s referring to and mutter:

“I won’t… I swear...”

J starts spinning faster, chuckling at your excited screams. 

“Stoooop!!!!” you beg laughing, trying not to trip and fall.

“Did you ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?” he bites your ear and you squeal, jumping out of the sheet that’s sliding to the ground since he’s not holding it anymore.

“No,” you giggle and J lifts you up in his arms, delighted to have found a small piece of heaven in the hell surrounding the gloomy future.

“Good; there’s a first time for everything,” he abruptly halts for a kiss before reprising the crazy pace while Y/N can’t remember the last time the two of them had so much fun.

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

July the 13th, 8:45am

“I couldn’t help noticing you didn’t wish me a happy birthday,” he watches you comb your hair and the reflection in the mirror depicts a tearful girlfriend that struggles with so many emotions it’s difficult to speak. “I was hoping you’ll mention it while we took a shower.”

“Happy Birthday…”

“Thanks,” The Joker simply replies and you finally put the brush down and attempt to flee the bathroom when he blocks the exit. “Are you avoiding me?”

“Ummm… I’ll make breakfast…” you sniffle and he glares at you, understanding your reaction for once.

“I was planning to have sex, but I might kick the bucket right in the middle of the activity and I believe you might take it personally although I don’t consider you boring in bed.”

“It’s not funny…” you scold and he agrees:

“It’s not because it’s not meant to be,” the harsh reality strikes a chord within Y/N. “It literally can happen at any moment and I don’t want to embarrass myself like that. Can you imagine? Rumors spread all over town that The Joker couldn’t finish.”

He detects the faint smile and sulks at your verdict:

“You’re an idiot.”

“That’s fucking rude,” he scoffs. “What if these are the last words I hear?! What if I check out precisely this second, huh?! Would you be thrilled that’s the last thing you said to me?!”

Instead of a sassy remark J gets a remorseful apology he wasn’t aiming for:

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what to do…”

“Me neither,” he sincerely underlines. “In the meantime, you should…” and pauses since he suddenly feels out breath, “you should make breakfast.”

“Are you OK?” you inquire, worried he almost lost his balance.

“I’m fine, just need my coffee to wake up,” he sighs and steps away from the doorway, heading towards the master bedroom.

“Aren’t you coming downstairs?” you catch up with him and The Joker tilts over for your support.

“I’m a bit dizzy; I’ll lie down until you finish the food. Don’t look so panicked: after I eat I’ll be better.”

You gulp and place him in bed, your pulse so enhanced it gives you the impression you’ll faint soon.

“You want some water?” you offer and he adjusts his pillows, collapsing on top of them afterwards.

“Yes,” J musters the strength to grumble, this weird sensation of total exhaustion creeping up in his brain.

You rush out of the room and bump into the bookcase, numb at the soreness. The Joker barely perceives your stomping, digging under the cushions for a small envelope he keeps in his fist for you to find in case you don’t return before he loses consciences. He wrote the note yesterday and it would be a shame to chicken out at the end and not proceed as planned.

“Here’s the water,” you barge in with the bottle and run by the bed, nervously touching his face. “How are you? Can you stand up?”

His eyes go in the back of the head and he tries to concentrate on your voice as it fades into nothingness.

“Hey, I’ll make your favorite pancakes,” you shake him, startled he won’t snap out of his apathy. “J, look at me. Come on, let’s go downstairs…Can you at least drink some water?” you start sobbing seeing he’s not receptive to your encouragements.

The Joker’s lips are moving without sound and you fall on your knees, scared to see him frantically breathing:

“I know, alright? I already know. All I ask is that you come downstairs and eat your stupid pancakes, deal?”

The Joker’s eyes are closing and he deeply exhales, releasing the small piece of paper that rolls on the floor. You don’t even pay attention to it, desperate to witness an event you aren’t prepared for.

When The Joker came into this world 40 years ago, there was nobody there to love the newborn; his own mother didn’t want him.

But when he passed away at 9:03 am on his birthday, someone that loved him was there.  

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

Three years later – your birthday, 6:07am

You turn off the TV, annoyed they continue to depict the terrible results after to the official release of the antivirus last week: it’s not working and people are still dying. What did they expect by opening Pandora’s Box? So much turmoil on the streets, protests and demonstrations…

The governments will be voting tomorrow on implementing the martial law since the public outcry makes it impossible to contain the escalating damage after the huge failure they neglected to speculate.

Y/N drags her feet on the carpet, watching the snowflakes dancing outside the windows.

“We shouldn’t postpone this any longer…” you talk to yourself, removing the precious message The Joker left behind out of the hidden drawer on top of the fireplace.

You unfold the envelope, reading the hand written note for the millionth time:

Inside you’ll find my real name.

You’re the only one I trust with this.

Destroy the evidence.

You don’t glance at the name it contains and his memory immediately makes the isolation unbearable. You flick the envelope on the burning logs, enjoying the flames consuming the last trace of who he really was.

“Done… I kept my end of the bargain; where’s yours?” you lecture The Joker’s framed picture decorating the dinner table. “Liar…” Y/N pats her hands together, feeling cold even if the fire is very warm. The ticklish sensation in your fingers intensifies, making you shiver. You stare at your knuckles, no other jewelry besides the strand of green hair still wrapped around your pinky; it’s infinitely more valuable than any present J ever gifted you.

A gush of wind makes the curtains fly inward since the sliding glass doors leading to the terrace are wide opened. The sky is still dark, matching the general mood hoovering over Gotham these days.

You decide to take a stroll on the patio, this way you might be able to clear your mind from the impending doom you can’t escape. The snow squeaks under Y/N’s socks and the chill gets her out of trance since evidently she didn’t bring a jacket either. Another step and you stumble, finding it difficult to regain your equilibrium.

“Shit…” you choke on the strong air filling up your lungs.

Why is it so difficult to walk?

You take a seat on the nearest chair by the pool, not bothering cleaning up the snow; for some reason a break is more than welcomed at this point. You’re growing restless and try to disregard the anxiety building up in your chest: are you dying? Or is merely stress after living with this burden for so long?

Maybe if you shut your eyes and rest for a sec, you won’t be this tired. Yet the moon is shining so brightly it’s impossible to ignore; last time it was this beautiful you danced with the devil on an that unforgettable summer night. Seems like ages ago for the worn out Y/N.  

What if you take a nap? Only five minutes. That should be helpful and then you can resume your morning routine because you refuse to accept this could be the end already. Your eyelids close, not realizing you don’t feel the cold anymore; it’s nice and comforting, just like the touch of someone you love.

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

You wiggle in the chair and rub your eyes, refreshed after the well-deserved snooze: hopefully you didn’t waste too much time from your last day on earth. Your gaze wanders off around the terrace and you suddenly freeze: there’s someone leaning over the railing, watching the city from the 30th floor.

You rise from your spot and hesitantly walk towards the person, gasping when you notice the familiar fur coat.

“There she is,” The Joker turns around to greet you, smirking when you cover your mouth in disbelief. “Told you I’ll be here.”

You can’t make a single sound and he opens his arms, waiting for you to run to him.

“You didn’t miss me?” he laughs at your baffled reaction, bundling the coat around Y/N as soon as she finds herself in his embrace.

“I did miss you; I missed you so much,” you inhale his scent and the smell of your favorite cologne confirms he’s truly there. You hug him so tight he would normally complain, but there’s no bickering coming out of The Joker. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you smile and he kisses your lips, whispering:

“You have me wrapped around your finger. Where else am I supposed to be?”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

[winchester-ofthe-lord]

Classic Winchester Adventures - Chapter 4

Square Filled: Singing Old Songs

Rating: gen

Warnings: swearing, possible mutilation of the Impala (I’m very sorry)

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary:  Maybe it wasn't the best idea to accept a gift from a witch with a wicked sense of humor...

read on ao3    read from the beginning

A/N:  hiya guys, this is chapter 4 for @spnclassicbingo ’s challenge. And even though I didn’t write it thinking of April Fool’s day, it kinda fits, so I hope you have as much fun reading as I had writing this chapter :) I’m really sorry for what I did to the Impala though, please forgive me. If you wanna know what happens next, just stay tuned for the next chapters ^^

Maybe they should’ve checked the cassette tape case before they put the tape into the deck. Maybe they would’ve seen the little note inside the little plastic case if they’d done that. And maybe, just maybe they would’ve decided against this particular cassette. Or at least this one particular song on it.

Looking back, it was kind of obvious. Nancy did have this look of adoration when they were standing in front of the Impala. It was followed by a barely there smug smirk, now that Dean thinks back to that moment.

She also had this amused, knowing expression when Ella handed Dean the cassette of her father.

What Dean hadn’t thought of at the time though, was that Ella must’ve given Nancy the tape before she offered it to Dean, to ask for permission, and that Nancy is a witch after all. A witch with a cruel sense of humor. A very cruel sense of humor.

But they are on very high spirits after their day of celebrating little Tim’s birthday, jumping around inside the giant bounce house, drowning in the massive ball pit, and eating too much cake and way too many muffins for their own good, so, without thinking much about it, Dean shoves ‘Bruce Springsteen - ‘84’ into the cassette deck and hits the play button.

The first song on the tape is ‘Born In The USA’. As soon as the first notes blast through the speakers, Dean nods his head to the beat, broad smile on his face, left arm hanging loosely out of his open window, tapping on the outside of the driver’s door, right arm relaxed on the wheel. It only takes him until the first chorus to sing out loud, whereby...if you’re particular about it, you can't necessarily call it singing, but rather bawling.

Dean slams both his palms on the steering wheel. “Boooorn-” he snaps his head towards his brother- “in the USA, I was-” another clap against the leather wheel- “Booorn in the USA…”

The off-key singing of his older brother doesn’t stop Sam from joining in, and they both belt out the whole song at the top of their lungs, smiling and laughing and thrumming the beat against the dashboard and the steering wheel, while driving off into the sunset.

They are almost forty minutes into their drive when the tenth track starts to play, “Well now you may think I'm foolish, for the foolish things I do…”

Dean turns the volume down a little and says, “Man, I love Springsteen. Ella’s dad really had a good taste in music, didn’t he.” He smiles a slightly sad smile to himself, feeling infinitely sorry the little girl had to lose her parents. At least he still had his father and his brother. And this car. But Ella’s in good hands now at Nancy’s, he thinks. She’s got a whole new family of amazing people around her who will for sure help her deal with her loss and with finding new happiness.

“Well honey it ain't your money…” Sam’s voice interrupts his wallowing in memories and he turns up the volume again, “'Cause baby I got plenty of that.”

Both brothers chorus the next lines in unison, amused, contented grins covering both their faces, “I love you for your pink Cadillac, crushed velvet seats, riding in the back, cruising down the str-”

Dean stops singing when his fingers feel something weird all of a sudden, and he hits the brakes. Hard. And pulls her over to the side of the road with a jerky yank on the wheel.

“Dean, what the-”

“STOP SINGING!” Dean yelps at his utterly confused brother and reaches a hand out to mute the radio.

It’s nighttime by now, the inside of the impala pitch black, the empty road in front of them dimly lit in the beam of the Impala’s headlights.

Several seconds tick by in absolute silence, only Dean’s gasping breath, forcefully pushed through his nose is audible.

“What’s wrong now, Dean?” Sam asks and, even though Dean can’t see him in the darkness, he knows that his brother has his typical what-the-fuck-Dean eyebrow aimed at him.

“My Baby-” Dean sputters. To be precise, it’s rather a whine than anything else.

Sam waits for him to further explain, but when nothing follows after, except more panicked breathing and a slight shifting in his seat, he asks, “Yeah, so? What about her?”

“Gimme your phone,” Dean demands through clenched teeth, unsuccessfully trying to suppress another whine.

“Why do you need-”

“Just give it to me!”

Sam hands him the required phone after fishing it out of his pocket and Dean immediately opens the flashlight app, lighting up the car’s inside within the fraction of a second.

The dead silence that permeates the entire car is suffocating. Both brothers hold their breaths in shock, as they take in the drastic change of scenery. It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. What actually does drop, is Dean’s jaw. Pure horror is written in his eyes, his mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish on land.

Sam’s hysterical snort breaks the silence as he bursts out laughing, hands flailing around and grasping Dean’s shoulder while he desperately struggles for air.

Dean’s hand is shaking when he brings it up to point the flashlight at his steering wheel. No, not his steering wheel, this is so not his steering wheel.

It’s fuzzy fleece.

And it’s friggin’ pink.

The light beam slowly roams across the dashboard, the pink dashboard to be precise , travels to the bench seat in between them, which is, of course, covered in pink crushed velvet, and eventually settles on Sam’s face. Who has one of his giant hands pressed on his mouth. His eyes are wet with tears, the bulging veins on his forehead and both temples are throbbing, his whole head red like a tomato on fire, while he’s trying his darndest not to explode with laughter.

The moment Dean lowers Sam’s phone in resignation and lets his head loll back against the backrest, his brother can’t keep his emotions inside his body anymore and fills the car with whole-hearted sounds of pure joy.

“Oh, shut up, Sammy,” Dean moans in nothing but frustration, “This ain’t fucking funny, man!” He bangs his door open and climbs out of the car, takes a few steps into the night. The man folds over, his hands braced on his thighs. He takes a deep breath, straightens himself and turns around to face the vehicle in its entirety.

The flashlight raises again in Dean’s hand as he slowly approaches the Impala, shining the light over her varnish. Her mother. Fucking. Pink. Varnish.

“Baby…” he whispers, wretched, while he lets his tender fingers run over her hood, tenderly caressing the smooth cold surface, his voice barely working when he whispers a questioning “What-”

That’s all he can get out in his devastated state.

The passenger door opens and reveals an overly exuberant Sam, frantically gasping for air, almost falling out of the car while trying to climb out of his seat, still not able to control his laughter.

The taller man can barely keep himself standing, now that he can see the full extent of the Impala’s condition. And, after a look at his older brother, also the full extent of his condition.

Dean buries his head in his hands, vainly trying to stifle the pterodactyl shriek that presses through his fingers, scrubs them over his face, furiously rubbing his eyes.

Nope. Still pink.

“Oh, come on,” he whimpers and kicks an angry foot into the air.

“Your car...looks….like a...pimp mobile,” Sam manages to stammer out in between his giggles, clasping at his own stomach with one hand. His face freezes in an awkward exhilarated expression for a moment, before he looks Dean straight in the eyes and, followed by the next laughing fit, bursts out, “Oh my God. It’s the Pimpala!”

Dean’s eyes roll so far into his head it hurts. “Ha Ha, Sammy,” he rolls them back to the front and shoots his brother a glare that could kill, if he only tried hard enough, he’s sure of that. “Glad my misery is entertaining you that much. Really. I’m thrilled.”

It takes Sam far too long to catch his breath, to calm down enough to regain (almost) complete control over his face and body again.

A long time for Dean to just stand and stare. Eyes wide open. Still full of disbelief and consternation.

A reassuring pat on his shoulder tears him out of his trance-like state and he stops his absentminded scratching over the scruff on his own cheek to look up at his brother.

“Sammy…. ” Dean downright whines in despair towards Sam’s face, “My car... She’s- she’s... mutilated. Her… seats- and, the steering wheel is- She’s friggin PINK! ” He almost spits at his brother.

Sam  gives his shoulder another gentle pat, “C’mon, Barbie,” a bad wink, “I gotta show you something.”

Dean briefly contemplates murdering his brother - thin ice, Sammy, thin ice - but follows him inside the car instead. His death will have to wait.

“Look at this, Dean,” Sam starts, amused smile on his lips, and hands his brother a small note, “I found this in the cassette tape case.”

With a raised eyebrow, Dean takes the proffered piece of paper, scrutinizing the neatly handwritten message:

Hope you take it with humor :) Ella said she’d like your car a lot better in pink, so I hope you share that opinion It’ll wear off within 24 hours though, so don’t worry ;) Best wishes Nancy

“I’m gonna kill her.” Dean clenches his fists, crumpling up the note in the process. His jaw clenches too, nostrils quivering. “I’m gonna kill her,” he repeats more quietly.

His brother sighs. “No, you won’t.”

“Oh, but I will!” A sharp breath through his nose. A humorless laugh. “My Baby looks like friggin’ Pink Panther’s car, Sam,” he complains, “I can’t just...let this slide.” He claws at his steering wheel and flinches as soon as his fingers meet the squashy, fluffy texture, and immediately pulls his hand back again.

Shit.

“Oh come on, Dean, it’s not that bad,” Sam tries to placate. “‘sides, she wrote that it only lasts 24 hours, right? Man the fuck up-” he slightly shifts in his seat, lets a hand run over the upholstery between them- “and enjoy the crushed velvet.”

There’s exactly two seconds of silence, before both men burst twin snorts through their noses. Even Dean’s grumpy grimace lightens up, the tension in his body decreasing the longer they’re laughing.

“Wow,” Sam chuckles after a while, wipes a tear from his cheek, “I never thought I’d ever say anything like that.”

Dean’s shoulders are still slightly trembling as he keeps giggling, “What, tell me I should enjoy the crushed velvet?”

They exchange affectionate whacks against each other’s arms.

With the utmost reluctance, Dean puts the Pimpala in drive and leads her back on the road, “Friggin witches, man!”

read the next chapter

taglist: @leatherandapplepies @demoninflannel @cross-roads-blues @thefandomforme @tiernayne

(please let me know if you wanna get added to/deleted from this list)

[onexxus]

Thats So Us - South Park fic (beta)

Since I don’t have a AO3 account yet, I thought why not post this here. Leave a comment and your thoughts. English is not my first language and this has not been beta read yet. Thank you !  ------------------------------------------------- "Are you sure , you just don't wanna stay at home and help your mom out , son? " Randy said in a pleating voice. Stan stood at the door , suitcase in hand , awaiting his taxi to the Colorado collage campus. It was a bleak Saturday morning, just a full weekend before the start of the semester. He know some of his 'old gang' had already arrived there by now. "Randy, don't be so dramatic. You weren't dramatic when Shelly left either. " Sharon sneered at her husband, who was nearly crying. Okay, scratch that he was bawling his eyes out. Stan simply sighed and rolled his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. " Dad, please. It's not like I am going off the world map. Come on dude..." He sighed deeply.  He surely had cried the nights before, not only because Wendy decided to break up the night before he would leave, but also because he had so many memories here in South Park.  He hugged his parents one last time and waved his 110 year old grandfather good-bye.  The taxicardriver had already opened up the trunk and the door ,signing him to get in.  Stan got his suitcase in and get in the taxi, who quickly and mercilessly drive off to his destination. For a Saturday before the start of the new semester it was fairly quiete. At least so Stan thought. He had always assumed that it would just like high school. But with more groups and culture. The lad with dark hair and a beanie left the taxi, payed the man and unloaded his suitcase from the trunk. As the taxi drove off again, he came to realise how alone he was right now. Of course he knew he would meet up with some of friends again who were studying here as well. He and Butters would follow the same courses for most of the time . Kyle would probably be with him during calculus classes, seeing he was following some lawyer course or accountant.  He wasn't sure what Kenny would be doing , he did enter college as well. But he was always a tad vague on what he'd wanted to major in. Miraculously Eric had also joined the campus grounds. Stan wasn't too thrilled about it, but it was nice knowing a lot of familiar faces were here. It made him feel less anxious. He stepped onto his dorms porch and walked inside. Some fellow students were chilling and gaming in the living area , others were talking by dorm rooms. It seemed fairly okay and normal.   " FREE THE TIDDIES ,WOOOOHHH!!" A dude steaker ran past Stan.  ' Wait was that... Kenny?' He thought, but shook his head, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.  Yes, just a normal and well-behaved dorm. He continued to follow the room numbers until he arrived at his assigned door. He knew he would get a roommate, but was happy he was ,so far, the only one there for the time being . He set up his stuff, unloaded his suitcase but kept his ukulele in it's bag and placed it near his desk. He decided to hang up some posters and place a photo album near his bed.  When he wanted to grab some of his clothes out of his bag, a collar fell out. It was of his dog Sparky who had passed away a few years back. He held it close and wrapped it around his wrist.  One of the reasons he wanted to major as a vetrenarian , was so he could perhaps help out animals , which he always had a deep interested for.   Once he had everything set up he layed down on his bed, resting his eyes.   --- Stan was always one of the popular people in school. No matter where he’d go, either his usual gang or some people he had never met talked so easily to him. It be about small talk, it be deep conversations about aliens or how cows digest their food. It was never boring to talk to the raven haired boy with the red poofball hat. He remembered getting it for his birthday from his grandparents. Back when they both were healthy and had joy in life. It wasn’t until after his grandmother had to move to a nursing home and his grandfather got worse, things slowly started to get more depressing. Funny how some small events, have such big impacts. His folks would fight more often, or perhaps he just noticed it more. His sister never really cared much for him, at least once he had his friends. Not that it really mattered, he had Kyle, Kenny and Cartman and Wendy Testaburger. Beautiful Wendy, they had on and off relationships more frequent that a light switch. He didn’t really get it, but they somehow managed to be together. Though in the later years it was more a facade than anything else. Still it really broke his heart this time. She wanted to have nothing to do anymore with him. Where it go wrong? Well, Stan knew where it went wrong. It was the weekend after the graduation party. And it was going to be a beautiful night, perfect for a date. He wanted to have a special night with Wendy, before he ran off to college. They had been having a great time again, after a mini pause in their relationship. The usual. They would go for dinner, a movie and remorse about memories they had of their little town in Colorado. Of the South Park elementary years and high school years. Stan got Wendy to his place, his room. He had planned it all out, his parents were out of town. His sister already out of the house and on her own. The two ravens would be together and spend the night together. Like they should have. They would have been drenched in each others sweet and waking up in the morning together, that was how it should have gone.  “Stan, what the fuck is this. Are you… Are you – “ Wendy couldn’t get the words out, holding a journal in her hands. A journal, belonging to Stan. “Jesus, Wendy don’t through my stuf-“ Before Stan could even finish Wendy pushed the journal in his hands. “You know what Stan, fuck you, this is over. Forget about anything. Have a great time experimenting at college. Or - right,  never mind, you already did. “ Crying, Wendy Testaburger ran out of the boy his room. Normaly Wendy was very understanding of stuff like this, but this was Stan. The boy she had been going out with since 3rd grade. The boy who changed for her, tried so many times to patch things up and still somehow made her feel special. The boy who had been through some pretty stupid shit, but would tell his girlfriend everything. The were no lies or big secrets in this ‘light switch’ relationship. Stan had promised her so many times , she was the only one he would ever love. And now that she had seen a differnt side of him, it almost seemed like he had cheated on her and made a fool of her. At least , that is how she felt. Continueing to cry, she ran away from the boys room, his house, his street.  The boy, falling into a slum , he grabbed the bottle of jack and Daniels from his drawer and began drinking it away like no tomorrow.  He sat up on his bed, crying and ripping each page from his journal. He looked at his phone. He could have called her, but he knew it wouldn’t solve anything. She now knew, a secret he had carried with him since 6th grade. He looked through his phone numbers, Kyle being on top of the list. His super best friend. Sure they had a major fall out somewhere in 2016, but somehow they managed to patch things up. He pressed ‘call’ and hoped for the best. Kyle had been on holiday in New Jersey for the summer until he’d go to college. The same college Stan would enter in about a small 2 nights.   It remained silent. “Hey, it’s Kyle –“   “Kyle, I-“   “-I’m not hear right now, so leave a mesg. “ Stan sighed and dropped his phone from his hand onto his bed. Tears rolling down his pale face.  “Guess it’s just you and me now…. Heh…” insanely laughing and raising his -already half emptied - second bottle to the photo of him and Sparky.  ---  “ Guess it’s you and me now.” A familiar voice said. Stan heard a door open and close, opening his eyes in front of him stood a man with ginger hair, styled but still a mess. He sat up straight on his bed when he recognised who the figure was. “ Kyle?!” Overly happy to see his friend he sprinted out of bed and glomped him. Stan noticed the boy who he had spent nearly his whole life with, had grown a bit taller since last time they’ve seen each other.   Kyle had arrived about a week earlier, not by own choice but more because Gerald and Sheyla had pushed him to do so. “So you can prepare. “Those words echoed through the ginger-haired boy.   His dad had drove him to campus and although he didn’t exactly like that idea, he had a few nice short convos with him. Though, he slept through most of the ride anyway.   Once there he had said good bye again to his dad before going off onto the campus ground with a way too heavy suitcase his parents packed for him. He would’ve much rather done it himself, but he guessed starting an argument before he left wasn’t a smart idea. His parents did sign him up for this college and funded the majority. Even though it wasn’t anything in his dream job field, he didn’t hate it. And the paycheck wouldn’t be too bad. Kyle quickly found his room and got settled in. He unpacked most of his stuff from his gigaton weighing suitcases. It was mostly just clothes and a few trinkets. He hanged all the clothes in his closet and put some books and a laptop on his desk. Even though it seemed like his folks had packed an entire house for him, the room was pretty much still empty. He didn’t have a roommate yet, but frankly he didn’t want one either. He just wanted to spend some relaxing alone time in his room not to be joined by some assdouche that smoked weed or played loud music. He didn’t mind any parties though, which were bound to happen at some point in dorms like this. He just wasn’t too fond of having chaos in a small confined room, that was meant for studying and sleeping. Plus, he had to share his space with a younger brother, parents and friends that would visit whenever they pleased. So, for once having a place to himself, was such a freedom.   He did imagine that, yes. He however did not imagine a few days later he would step into the room seeing his super best friend Stan again. It was pleasure to share that small piece of freedom with him.   “Hey, dude. “  

[annathesillyfriend]

It’s fine. This is fine. It’s just a bad dream. You did not get knocked up by your friend’s older brother you’ve been crushing on for the past two years. It’s fine.

this made me laugh harded that it should 😂

Beautiful, handsome, sweet Tom. With his lazy smile and messy curls. How could you tear your eyes away from him? It was impossible.

12/10 would agree

Your hands ended up in his curls, and his arms wrapped around your waist to pull you into his lap. You could faintly hear someone yell, “Get a room!” but neither you nor Tom paid any attention to that.

i wish i could get a room with tom holland 😔😔

“You’re both adults and can make your own decisions. I’m just a little surprised. Weren’t you the one who said you’d rather chop off a limb than get involved with Tom?”

well people change 👀

“Fine.” Harry chuckled. “Just don’t fall in love with him or anything. I don’t wanna see you get your heart broken.”

he he he he he

“No, I actually came to talk to you. Do you have a few minutes?”

he's gonna need more that a few minutes for this 😅

“Here we go. One breakfast tea with a dash of milk.” “I’m pregnant.”

oop she doesn't beat around the bush

“It’s not your fault, okay? I was there, too, remember? We both have an equal part in this.” He runs his hand over your head soothingly. “And I’m gonna be there for you. Whatever you decide to do, I’ll be there.”

we love responsible adult behaviour

“Oh, you’re gonna tell us you’re dating now? Why are you making such a big deal out of it?”

buckle up, lads 😂😂

Hearing him say ‘our baby’ is the final straw; your lips start to wobble, and then you're bawling.

i am this 🤏 close to crying myself

“Uh… Actually I thought I’d move in. This is just my most important stuff.” He lifts the bag up slightly.

okay but when is tom holland gonna turn up at my door and say that he's moving in????

You can’t help but notice how cute he looks in his wrinkled white shirt and grey sweatpants. Him living here definitely has its perks. You can ogle him whenever you feel like it. And you feel like it a lot.

i think letting you ogle him is the right price for him moving in unannounced

C’mon, mama bear. Let’s get you to bed.”

he calls her mama bear 😭😭

“Maybe we should get one of those pregnancy pillows. I read those help with sleeping.”

or you could become her pregnancy pillow 👀

“When I woke up the next morning I was kind of devastated you were gone. For a second I thought it had only been a dream.” He pauses for a moment. “I’d been hoping you’d let me take you out on a date. Maybe even for breakfast that morning. But you were gone.”

ohh poor tom 😭😭

“I think we did it, baby girl.” Tom whispers, afraid of waking you up again. “Mum’s asleep. But I’m gonna keep talking. Just to be safe. Maybe you’re asleep, too, and aren’t even listening anymore. That’s okay.”

this is the cutest shit ever, i swear

He’s got an idea on how he might get some answers, though.

care to share with the class???? 👀👀

“What can I say, I love boring my girls to sleep.”

dad!tom is what my dreams are made of

“I started journaling.” Tom says, “I wrote everything down so I wouldn’t forget.”

he is perfect 😭😭

He doesn’t get to continue because you surged forward and planted your lips on his.

finally 🙌🙌

“Hi gorgeous… Hi Dodie.” He whispers, and she makes a little noise at the sound of his voice. “I love you so much.” He places a kiss on the top of her head.

“I can’t believe we have another Valentine’s Day baby in the family.” Nikki says as she holds your girl in her arms. “It’s a privilege that only the coolest people share.” Harry boasts, making all of you laugh.

harry and sam got quite the birthday present this year😂

“And it’s perfect.”

yes, yes it is 😭😭

Laura, darling, i love this so much!! i feel so soft, i might've turned into a giant teddy bear, i swear 😅 thank you for another beautiful story 💙

all i’ll ever need ✮ t.h.

Tom Holland x fem reader college au

|| Masterlist ||

Summary: After spending a night with your best friend’s brother, your life changes forever.

Words: 10k

Warnings: lots of crying (but not bad crying y’know? Just emotional crying :D), mentions of a one night stand, alcohol consumption and being tipsy, pregnancy stuff, a whole lot of fluff, this is just very wholesome imo

prompts used: friend’s sibling, college, accidental pregnancy (with a side of one night stand, mutual pining and dramatic love confession[i didn’t fully commit to those but there’s still a hint of them in there i think])

A/N: This is my entry for @venomsilk​ s valentine bingo!!! Thanks S for doing this and giving me a card that inspired a whole 10k fic. I know I ticked the 2k-5k box on the google from but the story just kept getting longer and longer (I feel like if I had had more time it would’ve gotten even longer) big thank you to @heyhihellowhatsup0​ for helping me so much with this fic! I’m in love with this and I hope you’ll enjoy it as well! 

Feedback is always appreciated ❤️ ✮

It’s fine. This is fine. It’s just a bad dream. You did not get knocked up by your friend’s older brother you’ve been crushing on for the past two years. It’s fine.

You never suspected Tom to even be interested in you in the first place. You always thought he was way out of your league. 

But then Harry and Sam threw that party. And maybe you got a little tipsier than you anticipated. Someone had the glorious idea to play a game of spin the bottle, and in your slightly inebriated brain, you thought it was a great idea. 

You don’t remember who else was sitting in the circle around the empty vodka bottle. All your senses were focused on Tom. 

Beautiful, handsome, sweet Tom. With his lazy smile and messy curls. How could you tear your eyes away from him? It was impossible. Like a painting in a museum you just couldn’t walk away from. 

Czytaj dalej

[therealsadgirlme-blog]

My Story

My dad is an abusive drunk. My mom left him when I was four, she told me about how when I was a baby he got so mad that he threw me against a wall when he was hammered one night. My mom fought for us to never see him again but they didn't have any proof he was a bad father and husband. He kidnapped my mom, brother and sister a little after that. I remember my aunt and I were making fudge, I loved making fudge with her. It was the same day that I put my hand in the oven while it was heating up, I wasn't hurt, I didn't cry too much. It was at that moment when we heard knocking, police cars were out front. My aunt told my cousin and I to go sit in the front room, to not make a noise. The cops come on looking for my dad, my mom and my siblings. My aunt, of course, protected her little brother, playing as if she didn't know where they were. The cops belived her, knowing that because of my grandma, that the family was good... most of it anyways. My grandma, she was an amazing woman. Knew what my dad was like... but he was her baby. She told me in the end... that I should never be afraid to speak out. I understand now that I am older why she told me that. Of course the cops found them at some point. My grandpa, my moms dad, threw my dad in jail. He made my dad sit there for days until we left M. My mom met my little sister's dad at about the same time, that's why we came to O. Because he lived here. We went out, life was amazing, we only had to see our dad during the summer, every other winter. They lessened for a little because the courts said that if he didn't find a spouse, and stabalize himself he would never be able to see us again. So he married my step mom S. She has a son, who was 16 years old at the time. Now almost 30ish. At first S was nice, but she got really horrible really quickly. She would make us clean the house top to bottom, scrub the floors. She was terrifying and still is. Our first house, it was gorgeous. It was a brick house and I wasn't allowed to have my own room yet so I shared with my sister. We only visited that house a few times before they moved. But that house is where everything happened... everything changed for me. I was four or five. And D, my step brother, lived with us. He was 16 almost 17. It only happened to me... I was so little, he never... not to my other siblings. The first time I remember, although I know it happened before, I can sense that is happened before... The first time I remember, he snuck into my room and made me get off of the top bunk to go to his room. I was so little... I knew it felt wrong but I had to or he would get mad... I remember what happened nect, so vividly. I remember what I was wearing, one of my dad's t-shirts. But I remember everything else... It is so vivid like it was yesterday... He made me do things... He sat me on top of him... I was four, him sisteen... He made me move so I could make him feel good. I remember his hands digging into my hip bones. I remember saying I don't like this... I remember him telling me to shoosh. Then I heard the floor creak. I took that as my opportunity, I jumped up and ran untilI was in my bed again... My sister under my bunk so he knew that he couldn;t make me go back without waking her. He came in, and tried to make me go back by being so sweet, but I turned away from him. He did it a lot I guess... He made me do a lot. Mom said that whenever I would come back, I had yeast infections so badly. I couldn't pee, my area was rubbed so dry that it was red and peeling. I went to the doctor every time I came back. Doctors thought it was because I wiped too hard so mom had to help me wipe. I remember going back another time... We went and visited an aunt. She had a hottub, we were all in the hot tob. me in my little pink bathing suit, I have pictures. I remember when everyone got out he made me stay in, he thought it was so attractive, a little helpless girl wet and in a bathing suit. A girl afraid of water. Something he could use against her. He made me stay and touched me again. I hated him... I hate him... I hated being around him, I hated what he did to me, I hated how he made me feel... I hated how I still loved him... How I thought, maybe he won't do it next time... Years later, I was so terrified. He was staying with us again... I tried telling my dad. I tried telling S. I ended up making something up about a dream where he hit me. S was furious with me, screamed at me how I was a little liar who just wanted attention. That was when my grandma told me to never be afraid to hide the truth... To never be afraid to tell her things. She knew... I know she knew... You could see it in her eyes. I didn't tell anyone for years, I lived with my mom until fifth grade. I decided I wanted to move with my dad because the town he lived in was amazing. They were treating me right and m sister was living there already. She was kicked out for sleeping with a 21 year old drug addict at 15. For lying and doing a lot of stuff that she shouldn't be doing. Moving there was good for her. I moved there and they were nice. I thought it was good but it started to rapidly deteriorate. I wanted to stay there, but the mental abuse got do bad, my dad drank so much and S yelled at us so much... A few days after K's 18th birthday she snuck out, packed everything up and left the house. Finished school, but without my dad and step mom. They took it out on me. It wasn't long before she moved out that my dad had hit my sister for saying something he didn't like. Life there was bad... We were in a cage... Not allowed to leave. Eighth grade year, S and my dad cornered me and questioned me and yelled at me so bad, wondering why I hated D, and why I wouldn't talk to him. I got so angry, I bawled. I yelled, "Because he raped me!" S shut up. My dad looked down. He knew. I said, "You remember when I tried to tell you before? I was almost sic and I got so scared and lied and changed my story?" He said he remembered... S said I was lying, that she needed to get out of the house. A lot of shit went down before that but is a different story. S left and I told him, I couldn't have been planning on saying this for eight more years if I were lying. He said he knew. S went out and cried. My dad drank. I called my mom. I told her I wanted to go home. S never believed me. She still doesn't. My mom came down during my eighth grade graduation. Said she was gonna take me home, dad didn't want me to go. Begged me to stay. Hetold me before I was ever gay or bi or anything, He would kill me himslef. he begged saying, "I lied, I would never do that, you can love whomever you wanted." I was so depressed, I started harming myself a few months before that. I left a few days later. They still didn't believe me. My mom still didn't know. I was going into my freshman year, that summer she found out. She cornered me in the bathroom, asking why I was harming myself, why I was doing the stuff I did. I told her... she cried. Told me it would be better from now on. Told me not to tell my brother or he would go kill D himself. I still haven't told him. She told her boyfriend at the time. He wanted to press charges. I was with KY at the time. He knew. I trusted him... You know what happened with that though. He told my mom lies. Said that my dad raped me too. He didn't, but I remember things that he did to me similar to D. I remember he would lock me in the bathroom with him and force me to take baths with him. I remember him making me sleep in bed with him, him stroking my stomach and legs and getting close to areas he shouldn't have. I remembere when I told my mom this, She said I should have known. My dad raped her. He raped two other girls before her. Aged 16 and 17 when he was 20. Courts let him off because the girls he raped were in Juvy. Nobody believed them. It was true though. I got really depressed... the medicine I took gave me migraines, I didn't eat at all.My mom and her bf broke up, we moved into our own house. KY and I were bad like always. I tried killing myelf. Butchered my thighs so badly. You couldn't see skin. My mom heard me crying, demanding I told her what was going on. I told her about KY finally. In a wat at the moment he saved me. After that, him and I got worse. He tried making it really sexual, he loved the idea of me getting raped. Loved me telling him about it. He enjoyed it so much. I didn't. I cried every night while he yelled at me telling me how I deserved it. Thought it was sexy that I had Stockholm syndrome. I got so bad. I cut so bad. So much. Beginning of this year I broke up with him. A week before my junior year. Before school started. I couldn't take anymore. He was blaming me for things that never happened. Well during spring break my sophomore year, I went out to see my dad. I stayed with him for a week. Hated every second. He chose D over me. He didn;t choose me, he chose somebody who wasn't his blood. Never told me D was going to show up.. Was asleep. The next morning nobody was there. My dad woke up later telling me that D had slept right next to me throughout the while night. I hated it. That same day we were going to visit my family. My dad got drunk while driving there. I got the idea. When we were driving back... I called the cps on him saying he was drinking and driving, cause he was. It was the day before I flew back. That next night and the whole day he was at the bar. He drank himself silly. S stayed at work. Made somebody stay with me. I liked her. My dad came home drunk out of his mind, to take me to the airport. He walked me around the house telling me that I betrayed him. That "you never betray family." I told him, "You betrayed me more times than I can count. You chose D over me and you are trying to tell me that I betrayed you?" He cried. I didn't. He told me, "S and I tried so hard to love you, but we never could." I didn't look back when I left. He told my family I was getting back at him for not letting me see a friend. He lied, but the family believed him. They hated me. Until I told my aunt what happened, she believed me. She still wouldn't talk to me. Last time I saw my dad was at my brother's graduation. He flew out. Him and are on somewhat better terms. Since my grandpa, his dad, passed away. He told me he would call me. Still hasn't.

[all-the-k-pop]

BTS Reacts

BTS Reacts to a tattoo idea

Warnings: none

Seokjin:

"Hey honey?" You say to Jin.

"Yes y/n?" He calls from the kitchen. He was making dinner for your 3rd wedding anniversary. 

"We've been married for a few years, and I really love you..." You started, hesitant to tell him on what you wanted to do. 

"Y/n are you okay? You're kinda scaring me," he turned the stove off to give you his full attention. 

"I wanna get a tattoo to represent you. So I have something as a reminder for when you're on tour and stuff," you said it. "We could get matching ones, but only if you want to." 

He was touched. He wanted to get a tattoo with you but it just wasn't him. It wasn't a part of his personality. But the fact that you wanted a reminder of him, permanently, was something that melted his heart. 

"I would get it with you but it's not  in my personality. Otherwise, what do you want to get? Where are you going to get it? When?" He pestered you with questions about the tattoo. You were happy that he wasn't offended that you wanted to ink your body for him. You were washed with relief that he wasn't weirded out by your tattoo idea. 

"A butterfly? On my wrist. You inspire me to fly Jin," you told him.

He looked like he was almost in tears. He threw his apron off and hugged you tight. He knew that you were referring to his song "Awake". You were inspired by him. His voice, his confidence, the way he was kind, his windshield wiper laugh that was too contagious, his "worldwide handsome face" and just everything about him. 

"Can I come with you? I wanna see it," he pulled away from your shoulder. His face and your shoulder was a little wet because of the few tears he shed. 

"Of course," you smiled at him, wiping his few tears away, leaving your hands on his cheeks. "You can pick out the design, the colors, everything. We can touch the sky together Jin."

That's when he lost it. He started bawling. He couldn't hold it in anymore and he wasn't going to. He loved you because of your sweet nature, your big heart, the way you missed him while he was on tour and now you wouldn't have to miss him on tour because you would have a reminder of him forever.

Min Yoongi:

"Would you ever get a tattoo Yoongi?" You blurted out of the blue. The two of you were just listening to music on the couch with some candles burning and wine drinking. 

"Where is this coming from y/n?" He sat up, looking at you with a tilt of his head. "A sudden interest in tattoos?" He raised an eyebrow. 

"I've always thought of you as the yang to my yin. I want to remember you for when you're on tour.." you dragged out, hoping he would get what you're saying before you had to finish it. 

"And you wanted to get a tattoo to remember me?" He finished. He looked shocked and honored. He almost looked as if he wanted to get a tattoo with you...

"Yes Yoongi. Would that be weird?" You looked away, feeling stupid for mentioning it. 

"No, actually. Can I join you? We can get it together. Like, a half and half," he said. 

You were so happy that you were getting a matching tattoo with the love of your life. 

"You want to be the yang to my yin?" You nudged him with your shoulder. "Only if you'll be the yin to my yang y/n" he looked you dead in the eyes while he grabbed your hands. "I have a step I need to take before we get these tattoos y/n". 

You were confused, and your face showed it. "what do you mean Yoongi?" 

"Y/n, the yin to my yang," you chuckled a little but let him continue. "You have been there for everything. You're the water to calm my fire. You're the nurturing side to my assertive side. You calm me down when I'm angry. Whenever I get too close to the sky, you keep me grounded and make me realize why I'm still here," you were tearing up. "Will you marry me, y/l/n y/n?" 

"Yes."

~~ 

While you guys got the tattoo, sitting side by side, you squeezed his hand because the pain was something you did not take into consideration. He seemed to not be bothered by it. He was wincing from the pain of you squeezing his hand so hard, but the tattoo was nothing he couldn't handle. 

When you both were done, Yoongi paid the artist for your little engagement gift. He also got you a ring. After he had asked you to marry him, you both went to choose out your ring. He let you choose which ever you want. You chose a simple one to go with your simple tattoo. You were both happy with the result and always walked hand in hand to see the 'yin & yang' completed.

J-hope:

"Sunshine," you said in a sing-song voice to your fiance, Jung Hoseok. "Breakfast is ready." He rushed downstairs faster than a kid. It was his birthday so you made him his favorite. He was still in just his boxer shorts, and his hair was sticking up all over the place.

"Thank you, love," he kissed your forehead. "It all looks delicious." He sat down at the table and started digging in. You were slightly nervous to tell him what you were getting him for his birthday.

"Happy birthday Hobi," you smiled while he was enjoying the food you made. "I have an idea for your birthday present, but I want your approval first."

He looked like a confused chipmunk, with all the food in his cheeks. He swallowed and asked you, "Why would you need my approval? I always love your gifts."

You slowly sat down in the seat across from him.

"Well, this present is kinda bigger than the others I've given you," you said slowly. "I always miss you when you're on tour. You're like a dandelion. I'll blow you off to tour, only to wish you don't go. You're my sunshine, and I want to remember that my wish always comes true. So I wanted to get a tattoo of a dandelion with the quote 'you are my sunshine' so I can remember that you are always with me."

You finished your reasoning behind the tattoo idea, keeping your head low, not knowing how he would react. Hobi seemed to be in tears. He got up from his chair and lifted your chin to look at him. "That is the sweetest gift anyone has ever given to me. I'm lucky to be marrying you soon," he kissed you, softly and with love. "I won't forget you on tour honey, and I'll always come back."

Namjoon:

You and Joon were very happy together. You were fresh out of marriage, and you both had just gotten back from the honey moon. He had to get back to writing ASAP, BigHit's orders. You had been just kicking off your writing career as an author, so you know how tight he feels to reach a deadline. It was a Friday night, late in the evening. You had set up the bed and gotten in your PJs, waiting for Joon to get done. Suddenly, you heard a loud groan coming from his studio in the house. Worried, you left the bedroom and went to find him in his studio: his head was thrown back against the headrest of the chair, his notepad was in his lap and crumpled paper was surrounding him on the floor.

"Can't think of anything?" You slowly stepped into the room, leaning against the doorway.

"No," he groaned, rolling his head around before looking at you. You knew he was losing sleep over this.

"Hey, need some help?" You walked over to his chair and knelt down and held his hands.

"With your writing skills, I could finish this in no time," he laughed, and you let out a small giggle. So, you helped him.

Quickly, you had helped him finish the song, and now you two were talking about life and music.

"What if we get matching tattoos of music?" You blurted out abruptly. Realizing what you said, you tried to defend yourself. "We're both so passionate about it and it would be really cute and-"

He cut you off with a low chuckle. "y/n, nothing could make me happier." You let a grin take over your face. So you two continued talking about what you would get and decided on a bass clef and treble clef to form a heart, completed on each other's arms.

After getting the tattoos, Joon was quick to take a picture and post it on Twitter. You were incredibly happy to have someone like him to complete your melody.

Jimin:

You and Jimin had been dating since high school. You're had been childish and mature at the same time. You loved to watch movies with him, especially the 'Toy Story' series. You had thought of your relationship like Buzz and Woody's because you were able to goof around, fight, makeup, and go for what you believed in together.

You were now 20 and he was 21. He had just gotten back from tour, and he was acting nervous. You both had always had 'Toy Story' marathons when he got back and the fact that he was constantly shifting on the couch was worrying you. You couldn't say anything different. You were nervous to tell him your idea.

"Jimin, can we talk?" You paused the movie.

"Of course y/n," he replied and shifted his body to face yours.

"I was thinking, we both share a big love for 'Toy Story'," you started to explain. "What if we got matching tattoos of a quote from the movie?" You closed your eyes in anticipation. The couch had lifted, like he had gotten off it. He hadn't said anything for a few minutes, so you slowly opened one eye and saw him on the ground on one knee. You started to tear up.

"Y/n, our relationship is like Buzz and Woody's. We fight, we are best friends, we never give up. I love you, and I want to be with you forever. Will you marry me?" He popped out a ring from a beautiful velvet red box.

"To infinity and beyond," was all you said. Then and there, you both decided that that would be your tattoo.

At your wedding, you had already gotten the tattoos. You had done something a little different.Before you were able to 'kiss the bride/groom', you both said a quote to finish.

"To infinity..."

"...And beyond."

Taehyung:

You were an artist, and this is why Tae fell in love with you. He loved the way you were focused while painting. The way you stroked your brush on the canvas making the art come to life before his eyes. He had recently gotten into drawing because of you. He wanted to impress you.

Meanwhile, you had been talking to a friend about getting a tattoo with Tae. The form of art that a tattoo leaves is amazing to you. You came up with an idea and we're about to pitch it to Tae. One day, you were in your art studio, and Tae decided to surprise you.

"Hey babe," you put your paintbrush down and turned your body to look at him. "I'm glad you're here actually." He sat down on the floor looking up at you on your stool.

"I was thinking about doing another form of art. Something on my body. I wanted to share it with you. Could we maybe get a tattoo together?" You pitched your idea to him. His face lit up. He loved the idea of sharing your love for art forever in your bodies.

"Will you design it? I would be honored if I had a design of yours on my body forever," he picked you up off the stool and spin you around.

"Actually, I have it right here. Stars, for our love of Van Gough," you showed him the picture.

He started dancing around the room. Excited to have a piece of your art with him forever as a reminder of how much he loved you.

Jungkook:

Overwatch. That's how you would describe Jungkook in one word. When you met him, you had met through an online server, and the two of you played for hours and chatted without end. He eventually asked to meet you in person after finding out that you both lived in South Korea. When he first saw you, he couldn't believe that you were the player. 'Gorgeous' he thought. You got to know each other outside of video games, and your relationship grew from there.

Here you were, a year later, ready to propose to him. Not marry, but an idea kind of like marriage. Matching tattoos. Something permanent. But it shared your love of video games and your love for him. You wanted to get a video game controller on his arm, connected to a heart on your arm.

yes i know that this isnt a tattoo but this was what i could find with the idea that i had

You proposed the idea to him that night, and he was ecstatic.

"You really wanna do this y/n?" He held your hands, looking into your eyes to see if there was any doubt about this.

"Of course Jungkook. I want to share my love for video games with you forever," you smiled. He jumped up and down. He loved video games, but he grew to love you more.

Over the years, you became better than him, and he didn't have to LET you win. You two kept tally of your wins right next to a picture of your tattoos on the wall.

[mastcomm]

Best Coast Almost Had No Future. Now Everything Has Changed.

LOS ANGELES — Bethany Cosentino can be eerily good at predicting the future.

She wrote the song “Boyfriend” before the guy in question took on that role. She released a track with the lyric “What a year this day has been” in 2012, well before our 24/7 news hellscape took hold. She spoke out about sexual misconduct in the music industry in 2016, a year before #MeToo took off. And she wrote a new song called “Everything Has Changed” about quitting drinking and finding happiness 14 months before she took action.

“Deep down inside, it was a life that I wanted — it was just not one that I thought I would be able to live,” said Cosentino, the 33-year-old singer, guitarist and songwriter for the indie rock duo Best Coast. She added that in an early version of a mission statement about the group’s fourth studio album, “Always Tomorrow,” due Feb. 21, she explained her seemingly divine powers in the lingo of the feminist internet: “As it turns out, I am indeed a very powerful witch.”

With that said, she paused to dip a thin brush into a small ceramic palette. Cosentino was spending a December afternoon decorating an oversized mug at Color Me Mine, a pottery-painting shop with an outpost minutes from her childhood home, steps from the since-closed record store where she’d first discovered the Blink-182 albums that inspired her to take up the guitar.

“If you had told me at one point in my life my hobbies would have been like, talking about my life over Color Me Mine, I would’ve been like, ew, that’s not true,” she said and laughed. “I’ve never been happier.” She shaped a large “S” for Scorpio in black, a homage to the so-called Stussy doodle.

On the topic of botched prognostications, Cosentino also didn’t foresee that the very qualities that made her such an appealing rock star over the past decade — her openness about her life in lyrics, her availability on social media, her seemingly cavalier attitude about her vices — were simultaneously causing her to unravel. “Always Tomorrow,” a powerhouse rock record with a sharp perspective and loads of hooks, is a document of an artist stitched whole again. It’s also the sound of an invigorated band rejecting the idea that the greatest music comes from tortured roots.

When Best Coast — Cosentino and the guitarist and bassist Bobb Bruno, 46, a friend from the Los Angeles scene — released its first album, “Crazy for You,” in 2010, it arrived with a sonic fingerprint: chiming guitars, gobs of reverb, girl-group grooves, vocals delivered with a casual affect. With the producer Jon Brion, the duo wiped away a layer of haze on its follow-up, the 2012 LP “The Only Place,” and spread its sound out further on “California Nights” in 2015.

Cosentino is what the “Always Tomorrow” producer Carlos de la Garza calls “one of the greatest singers I’ve ever recorded.” He described her “rich tone” in a phone interview as “a classic type of voice, almost like a Patsy Cline” in an indie rock slipcover. But an outspoken mob always seemed to be challenging the band in its early days. Best Coast’s songs weren’t all lyrical love letters to California — or weed, or Cosentino’s beloved ginger cat, Snacks — but the idea that the group was beholden to a guiding aesthetic and a thematic shtick stuck to them like sap.

Female musicians don’t just get asked a lot of questions about being women in bands; they face an outsized amount of verbal abuse. Best Coast’s rise coincided with the growth of social media as a marketing tool and omnipresent force. Cosentino was very online, and very sensitive to the digital daggers piercing her music, her personal life and her looks.

“I was so good at acting like I don’t care what you think of me, but deep down, I read every review, I read every comment, I cared so much,” she said. “And I believed those things. Like if somebody said, ‘This girl’s music is mediocre,’ I was like, oh, I’m a mediocre human. I should lock myself in my room for five days.”

Bruno cited the snarky and now defunct blog Hipster Runoff as emblematic of the era’s freewheeling fire hose of negativity. “There was a lot of misogynistic and really wrong, hateful stuff that site would put out there, and yet it was popular,” he said in a phone interview. “It still upsets me.”

The story Cosentino wanted to tell on “California Nights” five years ago was of maturity and evolution, of demons conquered and ladyboss status achieved. That wasn’t exactly accurate. While contemplating the lettering on her mug, she quoted the lovably loose-moraled “Seinfeld” character George Costanza to explain her personal relationship to the truth at that time: “It’s not a lie if you believe it.”

She added: “And literally the entirety of my 20s, that was my M.O.”

During the five-year gap between “California Nights” and “Always Tomorrow,” Best Coast toured with Wavves, the band led by Cosentino’s boyfriend at the time, Nathan Williams, as well as with the pop-punk juggernaut Paramore. The duo released a children’s album, and served as the house band on “What Just Happened??! With Fred Savage,” a parody of TV after-show programs.

Cosentino’s very public relationship with Williams, whom she said she has “nothing but respect for,” made her a tabloid figure for the Stereogum set. (They shared a Spin cover in 2012.) She said it was hard to navigate a “relationship that was at times very unhealthy” while “feeling like my identity was so tied into it.”

Outside of it, she remained a public figure in indie rock, rallying behind women who accused the music publicist Heathcliff Berru of sexual misconduct in 2016 (he apologized for “inappropriate” behavior), and appearing on “The Daily Show” to discuss sexism in the music industry: “I literally was sitting there being like, how did I get here and how did I become the spokesperson for this?” (She took Xanax before the show taped, “which wasn’t smart,” she realizes now.) She later wrote an op-ed about misconduct, revealing that a family member assaulted her when she was a child.

When she wasn’t on tour, destructive patterns awaited. “My self-care at the time was like, oh I just get really [expletive] up and watch Bravo,” she said. (She still watches Bravo, sober, for the record.) She was blacking out often, “mixing a lot of things that shouldn’t have been mixed,” she said, “to the point where I’m like, really lucky that I’m still alive.” On the advice of her best friend since childhood, Cosentino returned to therapy, but kept some things secret. She was abusing her prescriptions. She was burying feelings. “I knew if I said certain things out loud, I would have to address them,” she said.

And for the first time, the prolific songwriter was creatively paralyzed: “I would sit and try to write and nothing would come out.” She ultimately broke down and asked Bruno if he would send over tracks for her to write to, something she’d never requested before.

Bruno, a longhaired, chilled-out musician with omnivorous musical tastes — inspirations for “Always Tomorrow” include Avril Lavigne, Kool & the Gang, White Lion and the Spinanes — said he didn’t fear the worst: “I have the utmost faith and belief in Bethany.” Four of the tracks he sent ended up on the album.

The first one became “Graceless Kids,” a song anchored by a chugging riff with glimmers of ’80s pop-metal. Lyrically, it’s a message to Cosentino’s fans, who need “a hero not a wreck,” and it includes a spoken-word section that both thrilled her and thoroughly freaked her out. “My fear was that it was going to sound like when Taylor Swift does it,” she said. “When I recorded it in the studio, I made everyone leave.”

The music was inching along while Cosentino’s Instagram was filling with images of wine glasses and Coronaritas, but she started to crave change. “I had friends that had quit drinking, and I would look at them and be like, how did you do that?” One of them, Jennifer Clavin from the band Bleached, had likewise manifested her sobriety in song before it happened, and became instrumental in Cosentino’s journey.

“It’s almost like we subconsciously know the lifestyle we’re living is really unhealthy and self-harming and we want to get out, but we aren’t ready to fully accept that that’s what we need to do,” Clavin said in a phone interview, noting how easily the music industry facilitates and glorifies drinking and drug use. “Beth is such a huge inspiration to me,” she added. “She knows what she wants and is willing to go for it.”

Playing older songs on the Paramore tour, Cosentino gained an awareness of the pain in her own music. “I remember listening to my lyrics and thinking to myself like, why are you still doing this if you’re so miserable?” Not long after she returned, she woke up after a friend’s birthday party, hung over and bawling, and says she hasn’t had a drink or taken a drug since.

Bruno recalled that their conversation about it was brief. “She was just like, I’m not going to do any of that stuff anymore,” he said. “I was like, O.K., cool. And that was it.” Writing sober didn’t hold Cosentino back; it helped her break out of a creative lull: “Being awake to everything in such a clear way is so [expletive] crazy.”

The producer Justin Meldal-Johnsen (Paramore, M83), an early “Always Tomorrow” collaborator, described the duo’s unique working relationship as an “easy coexistence.” “It’s almost like Bethany and Bobb are two halves of one person” in the studio, he said in a phone interview. He explained that the pair’s goals for the new album were to avoid rehashing the past, and to “honor their influences without it ever seeming pastiche or too on the nose.”

Part of Cosentino’s enduring charm is her willingness to reveal her inspirations and gab about pop culture. Her current obsession? The anthemic band White Reaper. Lana Del Rey, who invited Cosentino to share the stage last year? “Literally the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

You can hear dashes of everything Cosentino absorbs on “Always Tomorrow,” an album about looking to the future while stealing enough glances at the past to stay on track. There’s crisp pop-punk (“Different Light”), spacey fuzz rock (“Used to Be”), a song about Snacks (“Rollercoaster”). And yes, Fleetwood Mac is still a touchstone.

While the lyrics lean toward the earnest, Cosentino did allow herself a wink on “Everything Has Changed,” rhyming “lazy crazy baby” as a nod to the doubters who have dismissed her writing as repetitive.

Being anything but brutally honest wasn’t an option. “I realized if I didn’t tell this story, I’d be lying to people,” she said. “I would just be doing exactly what I was doing in the past, which was putting on an act and pretending like I didn’t give a [expletive].” Success looks different to Cosentino now, too. When she bought her new house, she downsized to something “super teeny.” She traded in her Mercedes for a Subaru.

Nearly four hours after her mug odyssey began, she carefully applied a series of dots (her signature), then thrust out her hands. “My tattoos are a perfect example of where I used to be and where I am now,” she said. One finger displays “trust no one.” On her other hand, there’s “let it go” and “surrender.”

“So it’s fully like old me, new me,” she said. “But they still both exist.” And she doesn’t plan to remove any of them.

from WordPress https://mastcomm.com/best-coast-almost-had-no-future-now-everything-has-changed/

[apriltwentythree]

do you want to know what my favorite neurotransmitter is…? Acetylcholine.

the other day I was at the local book store, and ended up browsing the sports section. i noticed this book ‘the performance cortex’ ; there was a chapter in it titled ’motor hunter’ focussing on Steph Curry. I am a Curry fangirl and can consume almost anything about him, even this silly Water filter Ad! anyways, i stood there for 20 minutes reading about his brain, and about how he does what he does on the playing court! the book in general attempts to speak about how Sports-Scouting is increasingly relying on neuroscience. and personally, i felt it may be an even better approach than the Moneyball-like Sabermetrics. (Moneyball btw, is one of my all-time favorite sports movies.)

later, i walked out with the realization that i am now officially a Neuro-junkie!

it is after being a part of the Brain-Gut-MentalHealth group project, that I started to obsess over the Vagal Nerve, for starters.

real quick, it goes like this….Cranial nerves are those that emerge directly from the brain, rather than from the spinal cord. there are 12 pairs, responsible for carrying sensory info to the brain, and motor signals to muscles and organs. Vagus nerve— sometimes referred to as Vagal nerve—is the 10th and the longest one, originating in the medulla oblongata and is named for its wandering path through the body. it is like a superhighway that handles sensing the internal environment of the body and regulating it, like lowering heart rate, constricting the bronchi of the lungs, reducing blood pressure, to name just a few. one of the easiest bio-hacks they say, in order to keep the Vagus nerve in tip-top-shape, is to take cold showers in the morning.

now, if you are a neuroscientist or neurologist or, a superior-Neuro-junkie reading this blog and say hey, some of your understanding here is not exactly right, i would just say i’m sure you’d know better! and will agree with you happily. on the other hand, if you are someone who thinks you are decently-smart but usually take your brain for granted, and cannot self-influence, ever, to read up on generic brain stuff unless you get Alzheimers some day, then this blog is decently-sufficient for your lukewarm-curiosity!

anyways, the Vagal nerve has been extensively studied; there is this dork-geek-nerd-joke that only dorks-geeks-nerds will find funny ‘what happens in Vagus doesn’t stay in Vagus but affects many aspects of emotionality and neurobiology, ha ha’!  

to say more…lets say, you are hungry, the gut sends a hormonal trigger to the brain (Ghrelin) and when you are feeling full, it sends another (Leptin). but, now they say there is a neural circuit from the gut cells—dubbed Neuropods— that have nerve endings, which can directly communicate to the brain through Vagal neural synapses. and this overturns many ideas around appetite and satiety! say, you are into serious-dieting. taking appetite suppressants may not work as they usually target the slow-acting hormonal route to the brain, which can take up minutes to hours. but, as the instant-connection Vagal neural circuit takes about 100 milliseconds or less, targeting the Vagus may work better at losing all those unhealthy, add-on pounds!

the Vagal gives legitimacy to the idea of ‘gut feeling’ as a sixth sense, and I doubt if any of the other nerves can beat the magic!

all my Vagalmania led me to Acetylcholine and, made me think about it in context with Epinephrine, the rollercoaster neurotransmitter. now, the story there is….um, independent of the Central Nervous System, the Autonomic Nervous system houses two subsystems — Sympathetic and Parasympathetic—speaking really simplified!

Sympathetic translates to “Adrinergic”. Neurotransmitters — Epinephrine, Norepinephrine— are behind your high heart rate in both super-pumped-up situations and heart-in-the-mouth situations. and on March 31st, guess it was Sympathetic pathways that totally ran the show! This system does have a say in most Akhlat Latifa feelings that knock us over, be it beauty-weed mode or fighter-jet mode. Parasympathetic translates to “Cholinergic”. Neurotransmitter — Acetylcholine— slows down your heart rate and makes you stay in calm, comfortable situations. It’s Parasympathetic pathways that make you want to socializie and say hello. like today May 10th, which also happens to be my mother’s birthday. somewhere I read, it’s the myelinated Vagus B-fibers emerging from the Nucleus Ambiguus inside the Medulla O, that takes care of all the cholinergic responsibilities.

anyways, reading up on the lovely Acetylcholine made me think about the month of April which was like a hangover-recharge month for me, with my Parasympathetic totally working up the scene. Lot of peace, lot of beauty. Zero rollercoaster rides, zero adrenaline rushes. Thank you vagal B-fibers.

but, guess I also slightly miss my adrenergic lifestyle of the past one year, with all the nonstop-gaming, and what not….

the whole world must be engaged in all kinds of interesting things happening around. but while THIS socmedia-window-to-the-world stays super-inactive, I keep on staying in some kind of cozy, mental time-warp that I have taken quite a liking to. it’s always good to need less, I guess. and to feel oh-so-minimalistic.  

Anita Desai popped up inside my head the other day, and I was reminded of one of her fiction works. in the story, all her protagonists play games at twilight, and one of them goes into a time-warp of a few hours, as he stays inside a shed next to the garage, while the others keep being engaged in all kinds of interesting games happening on the lawn around the house.

aside from being a neuro-junkie, I have always been a creative-junkie. so taking cue from Desai’s writerly imagination, I felt like “playing derivative” at her work, and go inside the head of her time-warped protagonist. and to see what I can pick up from that last weekend of March, what I can pick up from what’s on there, at this socmedia-window-to-the-world!

and there’s scope for gaming...

but let me write a quick disclaimer: bcos of KL’s celebrity clout, all the lovely colors were color-gamed by all the world more so than ever, and as imagination-inventor, AK always thinks this is immensely cool and it gives her an inception-orgasm. but, since the colors were also endorsed to crazy-overkill on this socmedia-window-to-the-world  ---a lot of times in intolerance and with spite and hatred even--- AK had given away all colors sometime back in February, as part of “The Curse of Raghu”, thus making a statement of protest against the misappropriation of disability-imagination in a happily-ableist world.  AK truly remains in a BnW world.

okay then, game-time!

Reference Tweets from Mar 30th:

https://twitter.com/CarDroidusMax/status/1112035121916493826

https://twitter.com/CarDroidusMax/status/1112034751521665029

#lawpoint1 -- back in August sometime, when AK/KL had first begun sparring on SM, AK had shared this Malayalam film clip and KL had shared back this ICICI Bank Ad. in both, the color is predominantly red. it is quite implicit that it is only blue in a red-disguise; there wasn’t any doubts whatsoever back then. this fact is significant as this was the first time AK/KL had ever faced-off. so if she so wishes, AK can re-possess any color. example, the red and yellow on the KSRTC bus in the above reference photo, KSRTC bus and the green in the twitter profile Cover image, the sort-of-purple on the shirt of the guy on the road in same Cover image, and the colors on Capt. Cavey DP, even! Winner takes all.

#lawpoint2 --- there was supreme court judgment sometime in September that since Karthiyayini had 2 ‘Y’s in her name, any Y in Kerala could be used to AK’s requirement. back then, as a hat-tip to this landmark judgement, the aYYappan-sabarimala ruckus had followed. so, since we already have a precedence regarding settlement of Y disputes, all 26 alphabet can be monopolized by AK just like in the board game. to say explicitly, AK can call Monopoly on the lovely district of waYanad or kottaYam or any other place for that matter. this rule is especially valid on this socmedia-window-to-the-world as the AK/KL combat had initially also begun by involving the lovely malayalam actor parvathY thiruvothu.

In clear conclusion, about the two reference tweets from KL on Mar 30, AK would like to say -- അതേ, വളരെ ഭംഗിയുണ്ട് :)

this out-of-sync and strenuous “comeback” above is the equivalent of how in her fiction, Desai writes:  Ravi bawled, shaking his head so that big tears flew. “Raghu didn’t find me. I won, I won…”

all ക്രിയേറ്റിവ് മണ്ണാങ്കട്ട gaming aside, it’s also some Desai appreciation…her way of writing… sensitive imagery about gamer protagonists and their gaming worlds! It’s good how sensitivity is not just romantic fiction-feature anymore, at least for me! growing up, my mother used to sometimes romanticize my ‘differences’ using the word apoorvaraagam, and that was that! Most of us are like her I guess, rarely ever intuitively-acknowledging the many differences in how different people navigate the same world.

the Neuro-junkie in me thinks that Sensory Processing Sensitivity (SPS) seems to be what Desai’s timewarp-ed protagonist is going through; temperamental personality trait involving increased sensitivity and deeper cognitive processing of social and emotional stimuli. apparently, people with a high measure of SPS make up about 15-20% of the population. they say it is the gene variants of ADRA2b and 5-HTTLPR that lead to the emotionally enhanced vividness in perception.

It’s good that making sense of these will influence how we raise our children; help make lives, more tolerant and relaxed for them!

hey KL, what is your son like? does he still prefer football to cricket despite his sub-continental genes? is he old enough to have a favorite football team? someday, will you be teaching him to hack-stalk women? :) .…. my son is right now in a freezer, probably waiting for his uterus implantation by year-end! Johan is expected to default-love soccer thanks to namesake Johan Cruyff.... let’s see how that sports inheritance goes!

p.s. In this Malayalam film scene, Nanda (Revathy) tries to humor her hard-stalker Naren (identical twin no.1 Lalettan). He somehow has all the A-Z on her, while she knows next to nothing about him and just keeps going in circles trying to figure out.....

I have always loved this song from Mayamayooram. Janakiamma singing ഇതളടർന്ന വഴിയിലൂടെ വരുമോ വസന്തം....? is easily among her best!  Also, I will never really know why Shobhana is not superstar-Shobhana; she is effortless in everything…. ഒടുക്കത്തെ പേട്രിയാർക്കി തന്നെ, അല്ലാതെന്താ?!

#CLASSYwomen