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serve-cunt · 11 months ago

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HIIII ZOE ITS MY IRRITATING ASS AGAIN (this is my main blog, I have tennis and f1 sideblogs but don't know how to make the ask come from there, I haven't been on tumblr in FOREVER..)

anyway my little curious gremlin ass has YET MORE QUESTIONS

ALSO I COMPLETELY FORGOT CHALLENGERS WAS COMING OUT, IM SO DAMN EXCITED FOR THAT FUCK YEAH, we LOVE zendaya she's gonna serve (pls laugh) cunt

okay so i think picking out my favourite players will be easier if I relate them back to f1 drivers, makes em seem more familiar, so if I do like a checklist of sorts of driver types, can you match them up to players you think fit the vibe?????

e.g. is there a former champion (lewis/fernando coded) who's looking for a comeback? is there a young talent who's had bad luck but is on the rise (lando) is there a calm, level headed one that everyone thinks will go far (oscar) is there a charming elegant one that social media is obsessed with (charles my babygirl). im assuming djokovic is the max verstappen adjacent, fairly young dude who's smoking everyone, yeah?

just like ugh I LOVE f1 so dearly and i think sporting parallels will help SO much

question: is it a big money sport like f1? Obviously anyone can pick up a racket and hit a ball, but is it very expensive and exclusive to make it into the big leagues? you mentioned smth in the fic about oscar adding up the whole cost of going pro, would that be a huge problem for poorer families?

are there any player pairings with vaguely homosexual vibes? again with the damn f1 parallels but adjacent to max/charles, carlos/lando, even lewis/nico if I dare mention brocedes, because I just absolutely live for speculation of silly little goofy athletes' relationships with each other

here's where I get REAL shallow but fuckin sue me, WHICH ARE THE PRETTY ONES I CAN SIMP OVER. i am bi so that doubles the market, but basically which are the ones that i can watch edits of and get all giggly and blush over, in your opinion and in the general tennis community's opinion.

whats andy murray's deal? Is he retired? Is he like the sebastian vettel of tennis?

how dramatic is it compared to f1? we all know that f1 is gossip girl on wheels... is tennis gossip girl running around a court or is it less drama-fueled?

not a question but I'm so excited to see which f1 drivers turn up to Wimbledon this year like, CROSSOVER EPISODE YEAAAA

is djokovic the max-esque guy where it's like "okay I don't mind you, you're cool, but god DAMNIT, stop being so good, let my other favourite little meow meows have a CHANCE for once"

how worldwide is it? are players mostly European/Aussie like f1 or is it more widespread?

is the meme game good? i LIVE for online hilarity in sports, are there any iconic tennis moments/memes a la "it's near a fish" "smoooth operator" "bwoah" etc etc whatever

really gotta stop talking about f1 in terms of tennis but it's the only other sport I'm really into IM SORRY FORGIVE ME

which are the "sad wet cat" (dearly beloved) players? you mentioned one guy but there's gotta be more than one right??? I always get attached to athletes with those vibes

IM SO SORRY ABOUT THE CONSTANT QUESTIONING BUT YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON I TRUST TO GIVE ME CORRECT INFO RN BECAUSE YOU REALLY SEEM LIKE YOU KNOW YOUR SHIT

finally a HUGE FUCKING THANK YOU???? For putting up with my idiot ass mostly, and your fic is singlehandedly making me wander into the tennis world despite knowing literally nothing and you're helping my understanding SO much, youre about to drag me down this sport's rabbit hole just by existing. tennisblr seems like such a fun adorable place im SO excited to start watching stuff, you're a legend and ilysm <3333

you are literally NEvEr irritating you are the best thing to happen to my inbox every time, sorry i was so slow on this one!! I had a very hard time relating f1 drivers to tennis players lmaoooo so in the end i just skipped that part!! I'm so sorry!!! it's just so hard because the narrative of f1 drivers is so specific and intrinsically tied to TEAM and to their teammates, and to the tragedy of a good car and/or the wonder of a great car ... the betrayal of contract negotiation & silly season etc.... tennis just doesn't really have that!! all the narratives are more player v. self and player v. world, instead of driver v. driver and driver v. fate. if that makes sense??

so yeah. sorry 😭😭 it's also possible that I just don't have enough imagination and somebody can jump in to help with that .... anyway, moving right along to

"is tennis a big money sport"

GOD yes. tennis is soooooo expensive, it takes approx 1 billion dollars to pay for lessons, court time, coaching, travel, accommodation, gear, etc etc. :// You get paid if you win. let me say that again: you get paid if you WIN. there aren't salaries! early in your career, you are HEMORRHAGING money, esp if you have a coach. the travel is fricken expensive all by itself!! and if you're paying a coach as well you're either in debt or you're playing with house money if you catch my drift. (tennis players often come from wealth, much like f1 drivers — they can also be sponsored, sometimes by their country, but usually only if & while they're successful!!)

if you do well, you start to win, maybe you make money, more likely you're breaking even for a while (or even still losing). if you do REALLY well, then you're looking at more prize money and maybe sponsors, so then you can start making some real money out of this. but yeah it's CRAaaaaaazy how much money tennis players pay to play tennis lol!! it is 10000% a problem for getting underprivileged kids into tennis, there's a reason tennis is so white!

"are there any player pairings w vaguely homosexual vibes"

LOLLLL look i never turn down a chance to push the sincaraz agenda but also, carlos alcaraz does that for me!!!!

they're so cute damn

also getting into sinner/berrettini …

but honestly, besides that?? f1 is way better for pairings because we watch them interact with each other off track WAYY more. you barely see tennis players interact with each other! i have been emailing the respective tennis associations about this (jk but I should). MORE GOOFY VIDEOS WITH PLAYERS DOING STUPID GAMES (with each other, crucially)

"which are the hot ones"

ooohh this is suuuper subjective but i am soOOOoo into coco gauff, she's gorg, also iga sviatek in red, also daria kasatkina, also maria sakkari really does it for me, also katie boulter is so cute.

hot damn

on the atp side oBVI jannik, carlitos is so cute but he looks so young i feel like he's less hot and more adorable, caspar ruud looks like ryan gosling as you have pointed out, ben shelton is gorgeous (and cocky in a way that unfortunately does compel me, oops), arthur fils!! beautiful. tennis players are all hot, in my mind??? they're so …. well rounded …. 😏😏😏

"which are the "sad wet cat" players"

andrey rublev my beloved sad cat

muchova (not really a sad wet cat but tragically always broken in some way)

daniil medvedev but if the cat was cunty

"whats andy murray's deal?"

oh my GOD murray!! my love my husband my father my holy ghost!! a tragedy a triumph …. a player in the era of the Big Three (Djokovic, Federer, Nadal) and therefore destined to be remembered as "oh, and andy murray" … or "one of the big four" (the big four is not a thing unless you're talking about andy murray lmao) ... a great player, one of the greatest, a slugger, a workhorse, had one of the cleanest backhands of all time, and the classiest guy in tennis … see: andy murray shutting down sexist reporters on multiple occasions ....

youtube

He's not retired !! he's still going, here he is recently losing:

He's actually (possibly) playing at this upcoming Challenger Tour event! as are a number of interesting players. the reason that this is interesting is that Challenger level tournaments are a level below the ATP Tour, so you don't often have this many recognizable (to me, anyway) names playing at this level!

[side note: the movie Challengers — the name is a play on the Challengers tour. they're playing a Challengers match in the movie, but also "challenging" each other for zendaya … you get it]

Anyway this tournament should be interesting … andy murray is getting older but he's not ready to quit!! he's gone on the record saying there are things he's still trying to accomplish before he retires, and he's playing well in practices it's just not translating to matches yet. he's also said if his body tells him to retire he will, but uhh. he's got a literal metal hip so clearly he's not QUITE ready to listen to his body.....

"is he the seb of tennis" HMMMM this is an interesting question, I wouldn't really class him this way — seb is like a silly little sexy fruity goblin (if I'm reading his vibe correctly — I'm late to f1) and andy is a stoic public school kid with a goofy streak … if that makes sense …

"how dramatic is tennis compared to f1?"

ALSO INTERESTING I think that's sort of relative to how much you care about individual players, I think game-play is pretty dramatic at times but nobody's ever in danger of bursting into flame??? so in that sense not as dramatic as vroom vroom sport lmaoo but there is a bit of temper tantrum throwing, and then important wins (see: Alcaraz Wimbledon 2023) are SO dramatic in the best way…

gossip-wise I don't think it's as dramatic as f1!! there's deffo tennis gossip but I think, again, because there aren't teams, the drama is less wrapped up in "betrayal" narratives yknow??? like ferrari ditching sainz for lewis was dramatic in so many different ways, not LEAST because of the betrayal of carlos. I feel like tennis is less set up for that, bc it's every player for themselves

"is djokovic the max-esque guy where it's like "okay I don't mind you, you're cool, but god DAMNIT, stop being so good, let my other favourite little meow meows have a CHANCE for once"

YES EXACTLY i cut in your whole q because that's exactly right!! so so so apt imo .. howEVERRR it was less correct when federer and nadal were still around and at their best, because those three really did make up the Big Three, capital B capital T, and they had such a good dynamic going between the trio — it was less one-note when djokovic had a constant fight on his hands... now djokovic is older and slowing down so we're getting into a sunset period, which is interesting because he's still doing GREATTT (and I wish he would stop, give my meow meows a chance etc) but everyone sees the light at the end of the tunnel re: a djokovic retirement. whereas I think people are looking at the max ascendancy and saying "GULP" bc we all want our favorite boys to win at least one WDC (cough lando cough cough osc)

"how worldwide is it?"

fairrrrly? but yes europeans heavvvvily represented, americans as well to some extent, asia and australia to some extent — not so stark as f1, but def same bougie euro vibes lmao

"is the meme game good?"

again fairrrrrly but def not to the same extent!! less of a "here are the memes everyone knows" and more in the spirit of, like, if you're following a few players & the major tournaments, tennis tumblr/twitter is fun to be on … trying to think of a "classic" tennis meme and I can't which isn't a good sign lmaooo .. jannik puking in a bin and then going on the biggest win streak of his career is a pretty good meme in my mind though ...

CROSSOVER EP YAAHHHHHHHH I CANNOT WAIT WE BETTER GET SO MANY GOOD WIMBLEDON PHOTOS AJHFDLAKSJFHDKLASJFH

sorry again to be so slow !! this was fun to go through as soon as I stopped tearing my hair out trying to make player: driver comparisons but again, maybe I'm just not creative enough ..

xx ily :))))))

#TENNIS AGAIN #ask #ivy tag #tennis 101

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saeyoungchoismaid · 5 years ago

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Brothers’ reactions to a MC who listens to Doja Cat

Genre: fluff? crack?? Warnings: none A/N: I did some SERIOUS research to write this smh

Lucifer:

doesn’t understand the appeal

he personally thinks the songs are annoying or pointless

he likes things like classical music, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t like this type of music

he’s totally down to watch you listen to it though

he likes how happy and giggly you get

sometimes you’ll sing lyrics to him just because you know that he doesn’t particularly like them

Mammon:

he knows a couple of songs

he thinks that songs like Moo are funny and likes to make fun of them

he’ll actually listen to songs like Say So because he likes the beat

he’d rather die than tell anyone though

when he finds out that you like her music too, he’s pretty excited

he lets you give him song recommendations

you both always listen to the funnier songs and scream the lyrics at the top of your lungs to piss off Lucifer

Levi:

knows every song

doesn’t mean he likes all of them though

he keeps up with every trend, meme, and whatnot

so it’s not a surprise that he knows the songs

he gets excited when he finds out that you listen to her music too

you both geek over what your favorite songs are and which ones you don’t like

you’ll both totally have a concert inside your rooms and just jam out to the two albums

Satan:

just like Lucifer, he doesn’t see the appeal

he’s okay with the beat and such of the songs but thinks that the lyrics are pretty dumb

he doesn’t stop you from listening to her music though

he finds it amusing when you sing and perform for him

once you play one song for him enough, he’ll say a few words when you’re listening to it just to see you smile

he finds it kinda hot when you sing songs like Cyber Sex or even that rap part in Say So

Asmo:

knows every song

teases you if you forget the lyrics or forget a word

will have a concert with you whenever you’re down

has both her albums cause he likes her boobs the aesthetic

constantly calls you a “fake fan” just cause he wants to

will randomly start serenading you with her songs

will even sing Moo to you just to get you to laugh

you catch each other humming or softly humming the songs often

Beel:

has no idea who she is but likes watching you sing her songs

he chuckles when you shout the funnier lyrics at him

he gets all warm and soft when you sing the sweeter songs

he just really likes you

so anything you like, he likes

Belphie:

whomst is that??

doesn’t even know who this “Doughje Kate�� is

you clearly have to educate him

the first time you showed him some songs, he fell asleep

you will never let him live that down

once he actually listens to some of them, he likes a few of them

he mainly likes the chiller, calmer songs if anything at all

likes listening to you singing her songs when he’s going to sleep

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tonystarkissist · 5 years ago

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How about... tony is jealous of happys role in peters life?

Thank you very much for the prompt! I actually had a lot of fun with this one :D It’s been a while since I’ve written something so simple and short and it was actually pretty nice!

Word Count: 1879

It didn’t really bother Tony all that much at first. He saw it as more of a blessing than anything else that the kid had decided to subject Happy to his ramblings and elaborate voice messages instead of him. It kept his phone message free and his mind sane.

Though, as time passed by, the lack of direct communication just seemed to piss him off more and more.

It was like the kid deliberately took every possible alternative just to avoid speaking with him directly. Heck, the kid had his phone number… his phone number. He never even gave Steve his personal phone number. So, there was no valid excuse for the kid not to call him. Yet, the brat felt the need to make it difficult and relay all his messages to Tony through Happy. And, yeah, okay, Tony might be a bit more understanding if Happy didn’t have the forgetfulness of an elderly man suffering of Alzheimer’s, but he did, and it was quite literally like pulling teeth when he needed to pry information from the man.

“Hap, where’s Peter? You were supposed to drop him off here an hour ago.”

“Oh yeah… the kid’s real sick. He called me this morning and told me to tell you he couldn’t make it. Sorry, I forgot. The kid’s Aunt had me runnin’ all around town trying to find this special Tylenol medicine for him. Oh, by the way, the kid was wondering if you had any super meds leftover from Steve. He kept burning through that over the counter stuff in like 5-minutes.”

It even got to the point where Happy would simply just forward any voice messages he received from Peter straight to Tony because it was such a hassle for him to remember important things. Tony even told the kid that too, suggesting that just maybe he might consider calling his phone to give his after-patrol reports just to make things a little easier, but the kid grinned sheepishly at him and shrugged his shoulders with a simple “I don’t want to inconvenience you Mr. Stark.”

Tony, of course, had rolled his eyes and insisted there was no inconvenience at all. Still… the kid never called and he never texted. The only communication he received directly from the kid was their twice a week meetings in the lab after school got out.

Even then, Tony got the vibe that the kid wasn’t all that comfortable being around him. He refused anything Tony offered him and he wasn’t at all the rambling motormouth Happy made him out to be.

“Kid, you want something to eat?”

“No thank you Mr. Stark. Happy took me to Burger King after school. He even let me get a shake too!”

Tony wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t. Jealous was a very strong word. And he wasn’t jealous.

And besides, there was no reason to feel jealous. He was Iron Man. An Avenger. A billionaire. The owner of a multibillion dollar company ran by his stunning fiance. He had no reason to be jealous of his hot-headed, grumpy, slightly delusional head of security who was oh-so desperately in need of a girlfriend. No reason.

Except, maybe he did feel a little prickle of green against his skin when he was reminded of the developing relationship between his mentee and good friend. It was inevitable, really. It should be expected they grow at least a little close. Happy picked him up from school twice a week. Drove him to the Tower and back. More often than not, the man stopped to grab food, per Tony’s instruction, so the boy could eat his fill. Heck, all the things Tony really knew about the kid were via the channel Happy Hogan.

“Y’know, the kid had braces a year ago. Has the retainer glued to the back of his teeth. The kid hates popcorn, ‘cause the kernels always get stuck.” The man had told him while Tony was trying to brainstorm bonding activities for him and the kid and got the idea for movies and popcorn…

“Yeah, the kid hates peppermint. He says it’s ‘cause of the Spider bite. Spiders hate peppermint.” Happy had told him when Tony started freaking out after the kid dashed out the penthouse, hacking and gagging all the way. It was near Christmas… and Pepper loved her Christmas candles.

“You sure about that Tony? The kid’s kinda paranoid when it comes to creepy crawlies.” Tony had learned when his resolve to bond led him to an idea involving spiders, behavior studies, and perhaps a little learning of Peter’s spider-like idiosyncrasies.

Tony liked the kid. He liked the kid a lot. One of best he’d ever met… and the kid obviously worshiped the ground he walked on. And every so often the kid’s shy, tentative exterior would break away and he’d be able to catch a glimpse of the snarky, fun-loving teen beneath it. But sometimes he wished he had more time to spend with him. Maybe then a level of trust and comfort could develop because at this point he felt very out of the loop when it came to important matters.

He was a busy man, he understood that. He understood that he couldn’t always be the one to run to his aid when he got into some trouble. That’s why he had Happy keeping an eye on him… He just wished the kid was more inclined to confide in him rather than the body-guard working under his payroll. Many times, he’d get a call from Happy in the middle of the night, half asleep and exhausted, to tell Tony the kid had found his way into some trouble again and he was requesting back up. It wasn’t that Tony minded the 2am wake up call… he just would have preferred listening to Peter’s voice instead of a grumpy old man’s with sleep apnea.

“Uh, Tony… the kid got hurt again. Just wanted to let you know… I’m bringing him to the med bay and he should be fixed up and back to business before you and Pepper get back from your trip.” Tony had listened to the message and immediately raced the suit back to New York, leaving a confused Pepper alone in their hotel room with a promise to return. And sure enough, as soon as he touched down on the landing pad and made it to the medical wing, Cho was already pulling out the IV from his arm and Happy was helping the kid stand. Tony remembered the exact moment the kid spotted him in the doorway. He was hoping for maybe a little surprise or excitement at his sudden appearance, but all he received was dread. “Mr. Stark,” he had said, “you didn’t have to come. I told Happy not to call you. It wasn’t a big deal.”

But the thing was that it was a big deal! A very big deal because the kid had been hurt and the kid hadn’t wanted him to know about it.

Tony eventually just waved it off with an excuse claiming the kid just hadn’t wanted to inconvenience him again. It didn’t mean anything. Happy was the most logical person to call since Tony was out of the country. It didn’t mean anything. The kid wasn’t picking favorites… so that meant he couldn’t be jealous since there was no reason to be jealous.

Then, one evening while Happy was driving him and Pepper back to the Tower after their date night, a realization hit him. He was tired. Pepper was tired. And they were both drunk off their asses from the champagne and whiskey. Tony doesn’t remember what he said, but he does remember the sharp laugh that emitted from the front of the car. Happy had laughed… he had never heard Happy laugh before. That sound alone broke his drunken, giggly trance with Pepper and he was staring at Happy suspiciously, suddenly concerned that his driver had been guzzling some drinks of his own while he wasn’t watching, but Happy had waved him off. “It’s nothing Boss. I just remembered some silly joke the kid had texted me the other day.” The kid had texted Happy a joke… not because he was hurt, or needed to be picked up…. He hadn’t told Happy a joke simply to fill the silence in the car as they rode together to the Tower, or ate burgers and drank shakes at a lousy table in Burger King. Nope… the kid had gone out of his way to share something with Happy. “He calls ‘em Memes. They’re actually pretty funny.”

Pepper wasn’t so happy with him that night. His feathers had officially been ruffled and he brooded the rest of the night. Pepper had called it pouting, but so what?! Peter had picked a favorite and it wasn’t him…

Despite his growing aversion to the sprouting relationship between Happy and the kid, he didn’t do anything to stop it. That is… until the last straw had been pulled when Happy tried taking a couple hours off.

“The kid’s got a science fair today. He asked me to come and watch since his Aunt had to work.”

Long story short, Happy wasn’t the only one that went to watch Peter win first place.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter squeaked in surprise when Tony approached him, wearing a proud grin and eyeing the trophy in the kid’s hands. “What are- what are- what are you doin’ here?”

“Well, a little birdie told me about your science fair being today. I couldn’t miss out on that, could I? And really kid… really? You didn’t invite me? That one hurt. A stab to the back that was.”

Peter stammered out a long string of apologies and Tony clapped his shoulder with a lighthearted laugh, dusting off the trophy in Peter’s hands with the side of his index finger. “Don’t sweat it, kid. Now how about I take you out for some ice cream? I’ll break you outta this joint and we’ll have some fun.”

“Uh,” the kid’s eyes flickered over to Happy and Tony felt a small wave of jealousy rake over him. There he said it. He was jealous! He wanted the damn kid all to himself. He wanted to be the favorite. Was that so much to ask?

“Nope. Don’t look at him. Just you and me. It’s my turn.”

Peter’s face breaks out into a shy smile and Tony can barely hear his answer over the loud chattering of kids surrounding them. “Uh, yeah… that would… I think that would be kinda nice.”

“Great,” Tony grins, throwing an arm around the boy’s shoulders to pull him closer. “I got the feeling that this is the start of something wonderful kid. Let’s go all out, huh? Ice cream, then back to the Tower for pizza, movies, and some more ice cream. We can watch Star Wars.”

Tony didn’t think it was possible, but the kid’s smile grows even wider. “That sounds awesome Mr. Stark.”

“Sure does,” Tony smirked in triumph and shot Happy a patronizing wink over his shoulder. The man just rolled his eyes and Tony lead the kid out of the gym.

***

Tony’ would also like to happily report that after a month of his incessant demands for Peter’s attention and love, the kid felt it necessary to text him his very first 4 in the morning meme…

… and Happy didn’t get one.

#irondad #irondad fic #iron man #tony stark #peter parker #happy hogan #jealous Tony

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voidendron · 6 years ago

Text

The Outside: Chapter 64

Series Ask Blog: @asktheoutside

Chapter 64: Coffee Chapter Warnings: Swearing Characters: Chase Brody, Bingiplier, Google Oliver POV: Chase Brody

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

April 30, 2031, 10:03 AM Los Angeles, California

Eyes pinned on the television, Chase thrummed his fingers over his knee. Jim was on. He was talking about the ongoing investigation of the murder of Jay Ross. The Septic had to admit: Jim’s poker face was flawless. Damn. He knew exactly who’d killed the guy and there he was deadpan at the camera, acting oblivious to anything but the information in front of him.

“Today marks one month since the murder. Detective Jesse Clarke has been leading the investigation,” Jim stated into the camera. “He was available today, so we’ll hand the show over to Melissa for an interview.”

The screen cut to an alleyway. There was police tape behind the on-camera pair, but the crime scene looked empty aside from them.

Clarke was a severe-looking man; it didn’t appear that he’d smiled a day in his life. His gray eyes were harsh and tone clipped. Even the interviewer looked fed up with him the longer the questions went on. What he said wasn’t really rude. He kept things to the point but was patient and explained when the need arose. But his tone and expression paired with his words really gave mixed signals. Like he’d trained for interviews and had a surprising level of patience, but would really rather be somewhere else had he the option.

“Happy dude,” Bing snorted.

Chase jolted at the voice. “Jesus, man. When did you wake up?”

“Mm…few minutes ago?” He detached his charger, then folded his arms behind his head. “Anything amazing happen while I charged?” He nudged Chase’s shoulder with his boot.

“You gotta keep your shoes off the couch, man.” A roll of the eyes and he pushed the android’s foot away. “Not really. I don’t get how Jim stays so straight-faced when he talks about the investigation, though. Like, seriously!” He threw his hands up. “The Twins are giggly bitches, and look at him!” He waved at the screen, then blinked.

Bing laughed. “Uh. Hate to break it to ya, but that’s not Jim.” No. That definitely wasn’t. The detective was still being interviewed. “He does look like a giggly bitch though, huh?”

“Oh, shut up.” He shoved Bing’s feet off the couch, then burst out laughing when the android threw his hands out to catch himself.

Chuckling, Bing reached down to adjust how his jeans tucked into his boots. “Hear anything from Ollie yet? I thought you were gonna meet him downtown today.”

“Haven’t gone yet. I actually didn’t think you’d be awake when I did go, so wanna come? Bet he’d be happy to see you!”

Chase couldn’t help but laugh when Bing nudged him with his shoulder. “Duh! Haven’t seen Ollie in fuckin’ forever, man! When you leaving?”

Phone lighting up when he turned it on, Chase shrugged. “Eh. ‘Bout half hour if we wanna take an Uber. Ollie’s walking, so we don’t have to rush.”

A quick text to Anti (who was hopefully still upstairs with Jameson and the kids) to tell him they’d be leaving soon, and Chase reclined back into the soft cushions of the couch. “How you think Ollie’s doing without all the repairs?”

Bing huffed through his nose. “He’s said he’s fine, but I’ll bet it’s drivin’ him crazy. Y’know how awkward it is to move a limb when you can’t fuckin’ feel it? Surprised he hasn’t accidentally crushed something yet.”

“Crush somethin’?” Chase snorted. “It’s his leg.”

“And? Goes to nudge somethin’ out of his way, he could break his foot right through it.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right.” He could…actually rather easily see that happening now that he thought of it.

On glancing back to the television, Jimmy was on (or “Tim” as his name tag said). Was the interview over? Or just on pause or whatever? Regardless, the Iplier had a bright smile on his face as he went over the week’s weather predictions. How did he make something so boring so amusing to watch?

“C’mon.” Chase hopped to his feet after turning the TV off and shoving his phone in his pocket. An Uber would be arriving shortly. Damn were those convenient.

The chains on Bing’s boots clinked as he followed the Septic down the sidewalk to wait for their ride. He’d gotten new shoes recently. Chase still wasn’t quite used to the sound they made. They fit him, though. Bing just seemed like the type of guy to wear boots like that, he thought. Bing had his sunglasses on—the ones Amy had picked up for him months ago—but the case with his glasses from Oliver was sticking out of the pocket of his hoodie.

Despite them, Chase knew the android’s eyes were probably as bright as his smile. Literally.

The drive to the little diner was short. They could have walked, but then they would have been late. Being late would have meant Oliver had to sit and wait for a good long while for them to actually arrive.

As it were, their Uber pulled up on the curb just as Oliver was reaching the corner for the crosswalk. He was hard to miss. While he wasn’t tall by any means, his raven-colored hair faded into an odd straw yellow like a botched dye-job where it fell past his shoulders. It was easy to pick out among the crowd.

He grinned when they met at the entrance.

“How are the kids liking school?” he asked.

“They start next week,” he answered. Well, Kyler and Sophie did. Yan had decided last-minute to remain at home, but would have one of his classes at the school. Chase grabbed the door and attempted to push. All he succeeded in was running into it as both androids tried their best to stifle their snickers while the Septic glared at the “Pull” sign right next to the handle. It seemed like every goddamn business had a different door, he thought with a roll of his eyes as he yanked it open.

“They’re excited, though,” he added as the trio went to find a table. “Hopefully they’ll make some friends.”

They started nudging each other when they reached a booth to fight for getting a seat to themself. Chase ended up victorious and grinned smugly as he sat opposite the androids.

Bing ordered a black coffee. Oliver, a Coke. Chase couldn’t help the little twitch at the corner of his lip when the Google said that to the waitress. A part of him almost wanted to say The Phrase. God. How long had that meme survived among the fans? He cleared his throat when the woman turned to him expectantly. An iced tea sounded good.

Somewhere during the drink orders, Bing had swapped out his sunglasses for the thick-framed spectacles Oliver had given him a while back. Looking at them side-by-side, Chase noticed that it actually made their eyes very similar golden browns when they both had the glasses on. Then again, yellow-orange and dark yellow were pretty similar to begin with. He had to wonder if that meant Red’s eyes would be a darker brown.

“Hey.” Oliver was rolling his eyes when Chase finally snapped to attention. Had he been talking that whole time? “Where’s your hat?”

Patting the top of his head like he’d only just realized it was gone, Chase blinked. Where was… Oh! That’s right. “Sophie stole it. Again,” he laughed. Drinks were brought shortly thereafter. Chase was the only one to give a food order.

“Should get her one,” the Upgrade suggested as the waitress wandered off. He ripped the paper off his straw and stuck it in his drink; his eyes followed it as the carbonation lifted it back up, only for him to shove it back down. It reminded Chase of a little kid playing with their drink, but he cleared his throat to stifle his laugh. Oh, Oliver.

“I’ve thought of it,” he said instead, “just need to find her one that has somethin’ she likes on it.”

Bing leaned back in his seat, coffee pulled close to his chest. “Bet you could find one from one of those medical shows she likes online. She’d love it to bits!”

That was…a good idea, actually. He’d look into it. Maybe for her birthday, he thought.

Chase’s eyes drifted up toward the TV near the cash register. It was one of those boxy old ones that hadn’t gotten the memo that it was outdated as it happily chugged along to show the news in…well, not full color. The screen was grainy and things on it seemed desaturated. It was definitely past its prime, poor thing.

Jim was on again, giving missing persons reports. “You worried?” he asked the Upgrade without looking at him.

A shrug. It was all Oliver offered for a while. Then, quietly, “Not really? I mean, how it anyone going to figure out who did it? No fingerprints, no blood from the suspect. At least, not what they would know is blood.” Oil was what he meant, of course. What human in their right mind would ever think oil could be blood? “They will search for a good long while, and then the case will be filed away as unsolved. Simple as that.”

“Have you seen the dude investigating it?” Bing asked with a shake of the head.

Oliver snorted. “Yeah. Looks like he has a pole wedged up his—” he trailed off to take a long drink from his soda.

Chase couldn’t stifle his laughter that time. “You—you almost swore! Oliver almost swore!”

“C’mon dude, say it!” Bing nudged the other android, but only got a huff in answer. “Come on, man! The worst I’ve ever heard from you is fuckin’…dammit and that ain’t even a curse.”

Oliver made a face, nose scrunched up and all. Then proceeded to ignore the fact he had a straw to drink right from the cup and crunched the ice he got as a result.

A shudder passed down Chase’s spine. “Eugh—no! Don’t do that!”

A smug grin passed over Oliver’s face just then.

Crunch.

“Ollie!”

#writersofjack #writersofmark #jacksepticeye #markiplier #chase brody #bingiplier #googleplier #google oliver #the outside #chapter 64 #blitz indites #swearing /

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1dffexchange · 6 years ago

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to fight (when you feel like flying)

To: Anna @twomoonstyles

From: Inm @in-madhouses

Summary: harry has never had a place to call home, not since one direction became a thing. zaemira has intentionally avoided home, fearing the monotony and a life not lived. their paths cross and like two lines that are meant to meet and fall apart every so often, they find a home in one another.

a story about binge drinking, tattoos, and how sometimes, building homes out of people can be the only thing that keeps you going. also known as a tribute to brasil!harry and the (not so) secret thigh tattoos.

Warnings: some offensive language, alcohol use heavily implied, hints of substance abuse (if you squint) and sexual references. there are also mentions of hendall, hadine and hamille although not explicitly named. the timing is also nowhere near accurate but let's call it artistic freedom.

rio de janeiro

may 2014

They break up on the eve of his departure. It’s the band’s first all-stadium tour and somehow, as quickly as they were a thing, they just weren’t by the time February rolled around.

They’d clung onto one another for dear life through the winter months and the physical hole she leaves behind is filled by the pictures of her everywhere. There are fall fashion shows, and there are music festivals, and there billboards, and there are gossip rags. As far as the eyes can reach, there she is, in one form or another.

Harry leaves for the tour with the boys and it’s exactly like he expected. He is grinning from ear to ear standing atop of the world night after night, the stars in his eyes left by the glow of the headlights is eclipsed only by ear-ringing screams they are accompanied by.

Each night is a swirling tide, even when he is not on stage.

But the mask cracks eventually.

The air stills.

They do seven cities in twelve days and he’s tired already. He’d inadvertently frowns at the wrong moment, or sigh, or have a faraway look in his eyes, barely anchored to the present. And they catch it. They always catch it. But the walls come back up as swiftly as they tumble down.

He’d smile. Smile, smile, smile. Smile until it hurts.

Smile until it’s believable.

(It never is.)

He spends too much time bouncing between staring holes into his phone and wanting to go at it with a hammer. There’s just something confusingly enthralling about the pictures and the videos of her that keep popping up. The precise red carpet movements, the long lithe legs, the perfect posture, the jawline for days.

Niall sends him memes round the clock to try to distract him from looking at new pap shots, and Liam tells him to just not to think about it.

“It’s called a quarter life crisis,” Zayn announces, elbowing Louis as they chuckle at his melodrama.

As though it’s the simplest problem ever to grace the earth, Louis offers a solution, “What you need is a good bender and a good cleanser.”

He’s got good mates, he thinks.

But then he’s in Rio and there are pictures of her at the Met Gala and next thing he knows, he’s downing caipirinhas by the glassful and there’s sun and sea and sightseeing and then more caipirinhas. He remembers exactly how everything unfolded, like watching a lifetime worth of dominoes collapse into a rather large portrait of a car crash.

It’s a slow night.

There’d been exactly one walk-in so far; a giggly nineteen year-old girl who wanted a Taylor Swift lyric tattooed on the middle of her lower back.

“It’s our song,” Swiftie says in regards to the tattoo, and whether the blonde haired, blue-eyed, cherry lipped teen was referring to her boyfriend or the title of the song, Zaemira will never know.

Since then, she’d been all by her lonesome for four whole hours and the tan skinned brunette is bored. She’d left her latest acquisition, a tattered first edition copy of Factotum back on the couch she was crashing on and with nothing to read or distract herself with, she is decidedly… bored. She’s antsy and she’s restless, and she’s super tempted to just flip the ‘open’ sign around to read ‘close’ and get drunk on cheap booze at the dodgy little bar down the road. That’s what soul-searching girls do when they end up working part-time at a seedy tattoo parlour in the tv shows anyway, why should she be the exception?

She’s so bored that her mind wanders and she's thinking that maybe it’s finally time to go home, not like call it a day home, but home home.

Zaemira had packed a bag and left the comforts of London right after graduating from her graphic design degree, hoping to find some kind of excitement out in the world before living out the predestined rest of her life in a cubicle churning out ad after ad for the nihilistic consumerist society she lived in before kicking it too early. But after a year on the road, honing the needle and ink in her hands and collecting first edition Bukowski’s, she is left wondering if there’s even a home for her to return to. The concept of it now so foreign to her even though her childhood had not been lacking in much.

The tinted shop door swings open right then with a squeak and a clatter of really impressively expensive sounding heels echoes through the tight little tattoo parlour space.

It’s all limbs and hair, flailing and tumbling forward face first into the floor.

She instinctively backs up away from the swirling mess.

“I’m fine! I’m—fine, just—I’m fine,” the bloke says, waving his arms about before rolling onto his back, splayed on the floor, taking up most of the floorspace, “You should—there should be a sign. Two. Yeah, two. One in English, and one in—what country are we in?”

Zaemira blinks at this hurricane on the tattoo parlor floor and studies him for a quick second.

“You’re in Brasil,” she starts saying once appropriately convinced that he’s not about to sick all over the shop floor, “And a sign for what exactly?”

He huffs, blowing several strands of thick brown hair out of his eyes in the process, “The stairs, love.”

She squats close by to examine this specimen interrupting her plans to close early and get hammered.

“There aren’t any stairs,” she says dryly, arching an eyebrow at his direction.

He sits up, coming dangerously close headbutting her and blinks at her.

“Then what’d I trip over?”

And he sounds so fucking plaintive, adorably dismayed and hilariously distressed, that Zaemira can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Well, if I had to guess,” she starts saying, biting down on the laugh teetering on her lips because he sounds so honest to god confused and hilariously distressed sitting there on the tattoo parlour floor, “You tripped over the fucking distillery you inhaled at wherever you went to dinner.”

He squints up at her like he’s doubting the validity of this observation.

And then, “Are you English?”

She rolls her eyes at that, “What gave it away?”

He shuts one eye to peer at the girl before him, as though considering her seriously, “You’re far from home.”

“I could say the same about you,” Zaemira contests as she recognises his too young and too pretty and too distractingly familiar face, “You’re Harry Styles.”

He blinks and there are alarms blaring in her head as he smirks.

“You’re doing the introduction thing backwards there, sweetheart.”

“You don’t like people telling you who you are then?”

“Not very much, no,” he scrunches his nose, deep in thought for a second, before turning his attention back to her, “What’s your name?”

“Zaemira,” she replies, realising they’ve been on the floor way too long and her leg is close to falling asleep.

She holds her hand out to pull him up, and he accepts it all too enthusiastically.

“What kind of name is… Samira?”

She shrugs as she helps the six footer to his feet wobblily, eyes scanning the door he stumbled in through, wondering where his entourage is, “It’s Zaemira, actually. But you know what, you get to call me Mira, drunky-pants.”

“Well, I want a you tattoo,” he announces, voice a little bleary but determined. But there’s something dangerous there, too, something that reminds him of the sting of needle piercing skin.

She eyes him up and down as he wobbles and crosses her arms across her chest.

“I don’t think so.”

“No, no. You don’t—” Harry hiccoughs and takes several steps on the spot to balance himself, “—understand. I want your name— Zaemira— tattooed on me.”

He takes extra care to pronounce her name right the second time around that she is just inexplicably fucking endeared by the entire spectacle.

Zaemira blinks.

“What?”

He frowns, as though worried he’s not articulating well enough for her to understand him, “Your name— I want it tattooed on me.”

She stares.

And then she stares some more.

“It’s a beautiful name— I never—” Harry hiccoughs, frowning and stopping himself mid sentence, “I never want to forget you.”

She’s definitely not bored anymore, she thinks.

So she cocks an eyebrow at him in a wordless game of truth or dare and he’s reckless and he’s dramatic and he’s beaming at her so brightly that she’s blinded by it, and her brain goes hazy and her thoughts switch frequency with an abrupt high-pitched whine of static.

cape town

april 2015

Harry thought he was doing better, he really did. It’s been almost a year since Rio and he’s Harry fucking Styles. He’s in one of the most popular bands in the world, he has a PR perfect sense of humour, sharp fucking cheekbones, and the word Brasil tattooed on his thigh to remind him that even when life feels like it’s spinning off its axis you can always find a centre again.

But then she breaks up with him, craving a more definitive commitment that he can’t offer, and they’re on tour again when Zayn, out of nowhere, announces that he’s needs to leave for a little bit which everyone knows is code for he’s tired and done with it all.

And the world just... started to spin a little off its axis again.

So he makes plans to arrive in Cape Town earlier than he needs to and heads straight to where his life last made sense when things moved too fast for him to catch up.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he drawls from the doorway, smug and half a bottle of duty free booze dangling precariously in his hands.

Her whole body stalls, eyes the only thing that whips up from the book she’s engrossed in. The smile that carves itself onto her lips hits him square in the chest.

She sets the book aside, breathless, “How d’you know I was here?”

“I keep tabs on you,” Harry shrugs, tone casual, with a small smile playing on his lips playfully.

He had long made a mental note to keep up on her current location whenever he could since she’s far from forthcoming about her travels. Seems only fair since his movements in contrast is so easily trackable. One quick internet search and she’d be able to know if he was in Holmes Chapel or recording in Los Angeles or out grabbing a bite in New York.

“Why, because no one else will tattoo country names on you when you’re drunk?” Zaemira teases, taking a step forward, as though challenging him to crack first.

“Precisely,” he nods in all seriousness.

They both start grinning for no reason whatsoever and the laughter that sits in their chest bubbles over soon enough.

After Rio, he had gone back to his life and she went back to hers. She moved from city to city, continually avoiding home, and he went from stage to stage, seeking solace in the certainty of instability. But still, the heartfelt conversations and indelible experience they shared in various states of sobriety in Brasil bonded them together. Somewhere along the night almost a year ago, they had reached a point at which they both understood implicitly that no matter what, one could call and the other would answer no matter where they were.

And so they did.

They shared the big news; Zaemira whenever she found a new old Bukowski book and Harry whenever he was thinking about a new tattoo. To the layman, it may sound like a shallow kind of friendship, completely lacking any kind of commitment, but it wasn't.

On the contrary, it was the healthiest and longest lasting form of a relationship that either one of them ever had. Despite geographical and emotional distance, they were allowed to grow in their own way and not have to live through minute everyday highs and lows and petty dramas.

It was as liberating as it was peaceful.

And he could tell that his sudden physical presence is throwing her off.

“Seriously, what are you doing here?” She asks, tone light but the slant of her jaw more rigid than he’s used to and her posture brittle.

“We’re on tour,” Harry shrugs nonchalantly as he walks in around the tattoo parlour.

The space is small and intimate and starkly lit. The walls are embellished with clean lines and immaculate designs and it’s just like the spot in Rio where they met a year ago. Her caramel brown eyes are tailing him around the room and he wonders how someone who works with men looking to cover up prison ink all day can look so soft.

“I know that,” she says, her tone more curious than it is wary, “But what are you doing here?”

“Can’t a guy just drop by to see his friend when he’s in her neck of the woods?”

She narrows her eyes at him.

“A guy can, but a guy never has,” her voice dripping with the implication that he’s never lacking in the means to find her.

Which isn’t untrue.

He sighs.

“I was in New Orleans for all of a day, Zaemira.”

Harry likes saying her name in entirety. She prefers Mira, but he likes the unshortened version. It’s beautiful, it’s the kind of name that commands the full use of the orifice that most people use to stuff full of food or as a tool to lick and suck.

She stares at him, surprise evident.

“How could you possibly—”

“I have you on Instagram,” he replies, crisply, before taking another swig of the bottle in his hands.

“No, you don’t.”

“Only because I can’t publicly follow you.”

“So you just check my account obsessively like some kind of creepy stalker?”

Harry shrugs.

“Think we crossed that line when I fell into a certain tattoo shop a year ago, don’t you?”

Zaemira huffs out a breathless sounding laugh that hits him right in the center of his chest.

He had thought their paths would cross when after their last tour ended. He thought he might go out to New Orleans and get into that gumbo life for a couple of days. Stroll along the French Quarter and check in for a drink at Bourbon Street. Bask in the jazz and have a look around in a voodoo shop.

But when he’s back in LA after the tour, he finds out that she’s in Japan when he calls.

“Oh yeah, I’m in Tokyo,” she said over the phone distractedly, like it’s no big deal.

He frowned at that, confused. She had a tendency of not staying in one place for too long, but it was abrupt, even by her standards.

“What are you doing in Tokyo?” Harry questioned, brows furrowing so hard he felt frown lines forming.

“A bit of this, a bit of that,” Zaemira said noncommittally, “I thought Japan might be good after finding the boy I shacked up with completely naked and asleep with his ex.”

He gaped at that casual over-the-phone confession non-confession, befuddled and aghast.

“Did you let him have it?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Did you rip his dick off? Sock her in the nose? I could get some people together and hit him in the balls for you if you want,” Harry offered, only half-joking.

“No, I just packed my stuff and left.”

“You didn’t wake them up to confront him about it?”

“Why would I?”

Her confusion confused him. Harry paused, opening and closing his mouth several times, thinking back to break ups and make ups he’s been through, talked through, and fought through.

“You didn’t want any closure?”

“Why would I want to give him a chance to hurt me more?” Zaemira retorted, quick and sharp as ever, “He’s either going to lie about it, apologise and do something like it again, or completely be like whatever about the whole thing.”

“You... didn’t... think he deserved to know that what he did was wrong?” He prods along, cautiously.

Even after months of phone calls and texts, her candor and point of view never fails to catch him off guard.

“It’s not about him though,” she said all matter-of-factly, “I mean, he wouldn’t give me any kind of honesty, respect, or consideration, so fuck that closure.”

Zaemira isn’t shy. That’s for sure.

And she isn’t coy.

She’s loud and she’s outspoken and she had no qualms telling him that she didn’t want to die where she was born having realised that she’d done nothing out of her comfort zone which is why she left and took to sleeping on couches. Harry remembers how much he enjoyed that about her. How it had been refreshing to meet someone who enjoyed the newness. Someone who actually took pleasure in what life had to offer instead of just going through the motions.

“Well, now that you’re here…” she says as she moves towards the door, flipping the sign over from ‘open’ to ‘closed’, “What d’you feel up for tonight then, pop star?”

Her voice anchors him to the present. And she’s grinning up at him like he’s a firefly and she’s a mason jar, and he feels the countdown to self-destruction rumble in the hollow space beneath his ribs like the roar of a sports car engine.

His heart skips a whole beat at that.

The sun is creeping up slowly and steadily on the horizon. She’s sitting fully clothed in a fancy bathtub in a fancy hotel, clothes soaked and doing a piss poor job of trying not to smile.

She gives him a look and he just laughs, sat on the edge of the bathtub, also soaked through.

“We need to come down,” she said earlier, shaking her head as though the movement would clear her head of all that they’d indulged in through the night.

The first rays of sunlight had started to dot the skyline and he grinned devilishly, taking her by the hand, promising he knows just the thing that would do the trick. Harry promising he knows ‘just the thing’ was how they ended up high as a kite to begin with but she had trusted him thus far so she decided to trust him a little bit more. Which in hindsight was where it all went wrong because that’s how they end up in his hotel room filling up the bathtub with water and foam shampoos and bath salts.

The windows are open, carrying their laughter and giggles to the streets below. But that’s not her main concern. Somehow, in an effort to make the bath as enjoyable as possible, Harry had turned on the shower head and initiated a spray war. The physical exertion and the laughter had sobered her a bit, but the tradeoff was that she now wanted a cigarette which was not possible since he all but dunked her into the tub to claim his victory.

She pulls the soggy packet from her denim jacket breast pocket, the gross brown liquid oozing from it indelicately.

“You’ve wet my cigarettes,” she says as she tries to look upset.

One glance at him though and she’s reduced to a puddle within the puddle she’s sitting in.

“You should really quit anyway.”

“Piss off,” she tosses the wet box at him.

It lands two feet off its target with an unceremonious splat and they laugh at her aim. They laugh and they laugh some more and talk about nothing and everything.

She talks about her mum. She never talks about her mum. But suddenly she’s talking about her mum and how she left and how it broke her father and it had hurt her to see him hurt the way he did. How he had let himself be hurt like that and still cling on to the hope of her mother coming back one day.

Harry is nodding and then they’re both just complaining about how unfair and shitty life is when he says it. Blurts it out, almost, like a secret that he can no longer contain.

“I want a tiger on my thigh.”

She’s so dazed that all she can do is look at him.

“D’you reckon you can do a tiger for me?” He repeats himself, almost as though in fear that she wouldn’t understand the urgency of his request.

She doesn’t question it, but she understands the symbolism instinctively.

“Sure,” she smiles, leaning her head back.

“Tomorrow morning?” He quirks his head, eyes glazing over as he tries to, in his solidly drunk state, try to remember if he has any other planned activity.

“That’s right now,” she laughs, lifting her heavy head to look at him, “And neither one of us are sober enough to walk a straight line, let alone hold a tattoo gun.”

“I trust you,” Harry says, voice dropping impossibly lower and she hears alarm bells start to ring in her head.

She’s makes a joke about him always being so eager to drop his pants around her and regrets it instantly because he’s smirking at her and looking at her the way he does and she almost forgets how to breathe.

“Maybe you just have that effect on me.”

“Careful,” she says dryly, “Or I might think you're trying to flirt with me, Styles.”

“Oh, you'd know if I was trying to flirt with you.”

“Maybe,” she concedes, before deciding that the best course of action is to slide further into the tub, “But would you?”

His smile that follows is breathtaking and the unabashed laughter that spills over is something else entirely. It’s warm and new, with some kind of never seen before sparkle in his eye. As though it’s an exclusive layer of whoever he is when he’s around her and her only. A smile that’s peeled back and raw and intimate.

Her chest blooms of something she can’t quite explain.

los angeles

jan 2016

“Look, I don’t mean to sound outrageously savage here but… you have a thing for collecting winter clings,” she says.

“What on earth is a winter cling?”

Zaemira pauses.

“It’s the Harry Styles version of a summer fling,” she states simply, “But you have them around in the winter because that’s when you get loneliest.”

They’re in a bar, it’s small and it’s cosy and it’s not the kind of place that he would be recognised which is why it’s perfect. She pours him a shot of whiskey from behind the counter because it’s harder in LA to get a legal tattoo artist job (or any other job for that matter) than one would think.

“That’s not true,” he frowns before downing the amber liquid in a go.

She stares at him pointedly from behind the bar.

“You always get a girl at the end of the year so that you have a cosy Christmas and a nice New Year and then a blowout birthday party and then you break up with them before Valentine’s Day because commitment scares you. There are multiple blogs dedicated to the this specific phenomenon.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, a ball of something hard and sour and guilty forming in the pit of his stomach.

“No. Definitely,” she says as she tops him up for another shot.

“Is that what you think of me?” Harry frowns.

There's a beat of noticeably tense silence.

“Is it untrue?” She quirks her eyebrow just a touch.

Harry drops his gaze to the liquid he’s been swirling around his glass, “Is it really so bad to just want someone?”

“Not usually, but it takes twenty-one days to make a habit and you’re in too deep.”

“What exactly are you insinuating?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, I’m flat out saying that you don’t know how to be alone,” Zaemira gleefully volunteers, completely without provocation, before topping up his drink again, “Which isn’t a shocker because you’ve never really been alone. Even when you snuck out to have your solo adventure in Rio, you dragged me along for the night. And now that the band’s on hiatus, you’re falling back into old habits with an ex.”

He promptly forgets how to fucking breathe.

She does that to him a lot, he realises.

Even though the band is officially on hiatus, he’s never felt more trapped. He feels caged in and claustrophobic in his own skin. That’s why he even took up that yacht holiday up at St. Barts. He had a physical urge to flee his life. To escape. But he didn’t think that it would become another source for frenzied paparazzi shots which fueled speculation and rumours.

He throws back the liquid in his glass in another swift go and feels the burn trickle down his throat.

“You keeping tabs on me, Zaemira?” He asks, playfully, with a teasing lilt in his voice.

She merely rolls her eyes at that.

“I’m just saying. Maybe it’s time to work on solo you.”

“You’re taking this bartender psychologist thing way too seriously.”

She opens her mouth to contest that but another patron is waving over at her from across the bar and she excuses herself to see to the obviously lost Wall Street gentlemen in the suit and tie.

The moment of silence allows Harry to think back over her words.

But her tinkering laughter cuts through his reverie.

Harry glances over and sees that Wall Street has a shit eating grin on his face, and something unpleasant churns in his stomach.

His friends were all coupling up, or getting engaged, or getting ready to pop out kids, and he realises that the only constant in his life over the two years has been their over-the-phone friendship. While media was content having him as a charming albeit a little secretive little fucker, a true lothario, kicking up rumours with grainy pictures, reaching out for a comment anytime he so much as speaks to a person of the opposite sex, she’d been his odd inner balance through it all.

And increasingly, he’s finding it difficult to share her with anyone else.

Zaemira has a lot of bad habits.

She knows that.

She smokes and she drinks and she gets some kind of perverse sort of thrill out of spending her inheritance from her dead father. First she spent his insurance payout on a graphic design degree that was basically just a piece of paper. And now it’s been four years and the inheritance her father willed her hasn’t run out (mostly because she takes odd jobs to earn her keep in the various cities she bums around in) and she’s certain that this is what a quarter life crisis must feel like.

Her mother left her when she was barely eight and it broke her father’s heart. She is resolved not to make the mistakes her father made though. She’s determined to live, truly live. Even if it means not having a place to call home, crashing on couches of new friends and old. Even if it means spending one way plane tickets around the world and living out of one packed bag. Even if it means sleeping with strangers and leaving the moment they showed any sign of weakness.

What it means, is that she isn’t ashamed of her life choices.

Mostly.

There’s the small matter of a newly acquired bad habit — answering a certain call from a certain pop star whenever he rang.

She knew who he was before he accidentally wandered into her temporary place of employment of course. He was the golden boy from the band. The Harry Styles from One Direction. She hadn't been aware of much else to be honest, just that he had his start in fame from that reality show everyone watched and was involved in a band that was hailed a new coming of The Beatles.

Apart from that, he had never been relevant to her life in any way.

So when he tumbled into the dodgy, seedy little tattoo joint in Rio and practically falls head first onto her feet, she catches sight of the oddly familiar looking guy who is too long limbs and all overgrown hair, it takes a full minute before she makes the connection.

She’d seen photographs of him before, photos and headlines on Facebook shared by news organisations (or what passes for news organisations on social media anyway), and she recalled the basic impression of this Hollywood favourite in the making; the t’ shirts and the tight jeans and the expensive shoes and the barely thought out tattoos. He was basically like any young rock star in the making, cheeky and reasonably good looking, and perfectly groomed for the media and the fandom to dislocate their jaw to swallow whole.

But the boy who stumbled into the small tattoo studio is not the boy she’d seen on the interwebs.

They become friends.

He tracks her down to her exact location whenever he’s in a city she’s in and she allows it.

When she finds herself in Los Angeles, he finds himself on hiatus.

The band had been splintering since Zayn left, that much was evident. And then the band went on their ‘break’. And he’s lonely, an ailment he had long suffered from far even before he became the Harry Styles of One Direction.

So it doesn’t surprise her when he saunters into the pub she’s working at for the past month and a half.

As a rule, she doesn’t drink on the job. She’s not allowed to. But it’s hard to say ‘no’ to Harry. He’s lonely and he’s heartbroken in more ways than one and they comes dangerously close to depleting the bar’s whiskey stock because it’s a shitty little hole-in-the-wall kind of place that doesn’t really stock up often and so they go back to his place after her shift.

The too big Los Angeles house came with a pool and a view and a fully stocked bar and one moment they’re drinking some more and the next he’s on his piano, absentmindedly playing a tune he has stuck in his head and talking about life.

She’d been good at not feeling. For a long time, she didn’t even have to try. Zaemira just didn't let herself feel for people like that and it was easy. But around him, it’s suddenly not.

He’s talking about being afraid, and how he’s afraid a lot, and how he doesn’t know what to do with himself, and how the house feels too big and he’s too alone.

She kisses him.

She kisses him because she doesn't like what he's saying, doesn't like what it means, doesn't like that this boy, this rock star, this heart of gold and boots to match who had the world on his feet could be as lost and lonely and confused as her.

She kisses him so he can stop talking, and she kisses him so she can stop listening.

It works out fine.

Except—

She isn't entirely sure why he kisses her back.

His name rolls with disturbing ease off the tip of her tongue and she thinks she can get used to the way he says her name when he comes. It sounds like a prayer and a punch, a gasping exhale that hits her in the chest, or maybe in her heart, and he collapses backwards onto his bed, pulling her close to him like she belongs there.

Zaemira doesn’t sleep a wink and when morning comes she leaves her latest find from a seedy bookstore downtown, Love Is a Dog from Hell, on his bedside before she walks out the front door.

The sun hits her straight in the eye, like the glare of a cafe employee when you ask if the have soy milk instead of regular full cream. The city was a place for the hopeful, she realises. The hope that one day you’ll find love. The hope that you’ll luck out. The hope that working hard will get you where you need to go, as long as you hope and never let go of that hope.

It was decidedly not a city built for her.

She was a shitty bartender and an even shittier dreamer and the only thing that’s been a constant in her life is her slowly expanding collection of tattered Bukowski books that she will gladly throw actual wearable clothes out of her overhead carriage bag to keep said books with her. Through the years, the only thing she could rely on was the gritty, filthy words that a dirty old man could provide.

And she had no problem sharing that part of her life with him at all.

paris

march 2018

It’s just a flash, but he swears he sees her in the crowd and he thinks he’s going mad.

He’s barely two weeks into his world tour. His solo world tour.

He should be thrilled. He should be basking in the victory of it all. The world is loud and roaring in his ears but in the dreams he barely remembers dreaming, he sees her there, quiet and serene and bright, as though he is finally seeing her in the light of day instead of in the cover of night. (As though his mind is trying to make up for memories that didn’t happen.)

Not too long ago, it was another face he sought out amidst the crowd in Paris. But he catches a flash of what he thinks is her and suddenly he can’t think of anything else.

Harry hasn’t seen Zaemira in two years. Two years and then some. Not since that night.

They call and they text and they avoid discussing what happened in his LA house or why she left before he woke with not even a note but just a book by his bedside table.

There was no designated moment, no exact timing, but their dynamic changed. Because life is not a Shakespearean tragedy where it’s all fade to black and bittersweet endings. There’s mundanity and somehow, they sought each other out more in that monotonous day-to-day.

Their friendship was stronger despite having flirted with the very line that kept them together. She’d gone home to London and was spending her time putting together fragments of a former life and her current life like a jigsaw, jamming the pieces together hoping they’ll fit while he, well, he had a movie to film, and then an album to write, and that same album to tour after. He’d also landed himself in another relationship. She’s a model, because as Zaemira would say, he’s a glutton for punishment and ‘no seriously, same lips red, same eyes blue, you so have a type.’

His ‘type’ gets along great with his friends and his mum likes how laidback she is when she was over for Christmas and it’s a relationship that he’s only sure has lasted for as long as it did because of the change in their friendship.

But then he realises that he hasn’t seen his friend in over two years and it suddenly doesn’t sound like a real friendship anymore.

He can’t shake the thought and the screaming fans do nothing to help set his mind straight.

His heart aches like a broken bone over something he can’t explain.

Barely off the the stage, he whips out his phone and calls.

“Sorry, wrong number,” he says.

“You know it isn’t,” she says, eyes flicking toward the living room as a burst of laughter carries itself to her ears.

Zaemira grabs her pack of cigarettes and shuts the front door gently as she exits, “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

But she’s known him long enough to read into the subtext, the world that exist in between the words he’s actually saying.

“What’s wrong?” She asks again, determinedly, taking angry long strides down the road.

He sighs, voice sounding like it’s jumped through various hoops and crossed many a timeline in many universes to reach down the phone line to her.

“It’s nothing, Z.”

But she knows something is. Knows it from the way he says ‘Z’ instead of ‘Zaemira’. Or maybe she hopes it’s something more than knows it because she wants an excuse to see him. To wander the streets of London with him. To get drunk with him. Anything with him.

Where he’s calling her from, she wouldn’t know; could be a pub, a hotel, backstage of his concert, anywhere. And she’s not sure she wants to know. They haven’t physically seen each other since that night over two years ago.

Has it really been?

He’s travelling again, on tour, alone this time around, and his schedule always seems at odds with hers. Of course, it didn’t help that he’s seeing someone. She knows because he’d rung her up to ask if he should invite said someone home for Christmas and again to ask how many times you can ask someone to come to your concerts before it starts seeming narcissistic.

She pulls out a cigarette from the pack and puts it between her lips before lighting it, taking a long drag, trying to remember if there’d been any sign that his relationship had been on the rocks the last time he called.

Zaemira inhales the fumes while he quietly stays on the line.

Harry doesn’t say anything.

“How was the concert tonight?” She prods.

“It was good,” he says, but there’s no enthusiasm in his voice, just exhaustion, “Paris is always good.”

He doesn’t sound right.

It’s the stupidest, most clichéd thing ever, but he doesn’t sound like himself.

“Harry,” she says, voice softening because he’s quiet and he’s the one who called her and she has a horrible feeling that he’s about to cry and the last time he sounded like that on the phone, she found out that Robin had passed, “Has something... happened?”

He’s not saying anything, like he’s waiting for her to say something, and she doesn’t.

“I’m just… I’m having a minute”

Zaemira sighs.

Sometime in the past two years, she’s thought on more than one occasion that she might love him. Like proper love. More than just platonic love.

But other times he just feels so fucking far away that she’s not so sure anymore.

She heaves a not-quite calming breath and takes another drag of the cigarette before filling the line with chatter. Because she gets it. She gets that empty kick in the gut sometimes. She prattles on about how home doesn’t feel like home and even though life at home is, more or less, alright it feels like something is missing. She complains about her aunt who disapproves of her decision to spend the rest of her inheritance on getting her masters and she begins to outline in exhaustive detail just how dissatisfied she feels, how everything makes her feel like a shitty daughter and a shitty niece and a shitty friend and a shitty student and a shitty—whatever the fuck else she's failing at—when he cuts her off.

“When can I see you?” he asks, like they can pretend for a second that they haven’t spent the past two years apart, like they live on the same street and he could see her in an hour if he wanted to.

She flicks her eyes back towards the house, thinking of her aunt and her cousins and how they’ve been going on and on about this big Easter party they’ve been planning.

“Tomorrow?” She suggests, knowing full well that he can’t. Not really. He’s got schedules and plans and commitments.

And a girlfriend, a voice in the back of her head pipes in.

She doesn’t need to silence the voice though because reality has its way of doing that and she hears him exhale on the other end of the line, as though letting go of a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Tomorrow’s no good. How about day after?” Harry suggests, “I’ll be in Amsterdam. I’ll get you a ticket.”

And Zaemira thinks about that for a bit, seriously considers taking him up on the offer.

And then she thinks about him, about how maybe they’re like those horrible math love stories; like sine and cosine, meant to meet and fall apart every so often, forever out of step with one another.

She drops the cigarette to the ground and watches it burn.

“I don’t think I can do Amsterdam right now,” she says after a second, “I mean I have it on pretty good authority that if I don’t go to my classes I won’t be able to complete my masters.”

She chuckles to herself at the terrible not even remotely funny joke.

“I’ll be in London in April,” he says and she can hear his breathing all but stop on the line, like he was holding his breath for her answer and she almost wishes she’s not about to say what she’s about to say.

“I’ve got work on weekends.”

He sighs again and the line is heavy with words unsaid.

“See you after tour then?”

“Yeah,” she says, forcing a grin, forcing the lie, “Yeah, guess so.”

It’s quiet between for a bit. The silence is deafening and it steals her breath a little and she’s pretty sure it has nothing to do with the cigarette she just smoked.

And then the line goes dead.

london

december 2018

He doesn’t call her again after Paris.

His tour ends and his relationship ends and he half-heartedly makes excuses to himself and for himself for not calling; he's busy, of course he’s busy, he’s busy catching up with his mum and his sister and his ex co-workers and his industry friends and he tells himself that he doesn’t need anyone to help him get through the cold lonely winter nights.

But then it’s December and he calls and she picks up and they pick up exactly where they last left off. It felt good. It felt like breathing again. And he thought it was enough, but two days later, despite the promises he’s made to himself, he texts her a meme.

And then he calls again. And again. And again.

It would be almost like she’s his phone therapist except he’s also sort of keeping her functioning like a normal human that doesn’t lash out at people by texting him her darkest thoughts, so it evens out.

He’s realising with every call, and every passing day of his newly found (and truly enjoyed) singledom, that he was kind of a fuck-up. Not in any obvious, tangible, measurable way. He didn’t have a dozen different child of divorce issues, or problems with abandonment that run so deep he is constantly choosing to leave before he is left, or a mile long list of insecurities and fears that leave him utterly crippled, but he was fucked up in ways that were difficult to fully articulate.

And their relationship was a home that allows for it to be okay because they were both honest about just how fucked up they were.

Harry doesn’t know when exactly he figures it out, but he decides he’ll go see her in March. He’ll ring her and say ‘wrong number’ and she’ll call him a twat and then he’ll throw rocks at her window and hold up a copy of Bukowski she doesn’t yet have that he’ll have to find by then and yell, “Did someone order a creepy stalker?”

It’s a good plan. Except it’s two days to Christmas and she’s complaining about her cousins and her nieces and her nephews and how she just walked out when they were making pies together ahead of Christmas and now she’s just going to sequester herself in her shitty flat and spend the yuletide alone and he can’t help but smile at the whole thing because that’s so painfully Zaemira and he can’t help himself.

“I’ve got it planned out,” she says, “I’ll just Netflix and eggnog myself to sleep.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, come over to mine for Christmas,” he says, words tumbling out of his mouth completely of their own accord without passing through his head at all.

“Yeah, I’ll just come to Holmes Chapel at the drop of a hat,” she says sardonically.

“I’m serious. My mum won’t mind.”

“There aren’t any flights out, Haz.”

“I’m sure there is.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it, I just called to rant anyway,” she says dismissively.

And Harry can see it play out at the back of his mind, the way her lips quirk, all wry and self-deprecating. Except there’s more of a bite to it than it usually would.

“What d’you mean you’re used to it?”

“I mean I only exist when it’s convenient for you,” she says it so matter-of-factly that he’s not sure if she’s making a piss poor attempt at a joke.

Her words are just so thoroughly her, and no one could say it without sounding like an attention seeking arse, but they hit him square in the gut and Harry feels all semblance of breathable air leave his body.

“Hold up—” He starts but she’s having none of it.

“You’ll see me when you see me. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

She changes the subject and tells him to bring over ‘like ten crates of Vodka’ when he ever decides to drop by because she’s acquired a taste for it and he chuckles half-heartedly at that.

He makes a joke about her trip to Russia and she’s saying how she should have tried harder to seduce an oligarch. But he’s roughly only a quarter present. His mind is a riot. It’s like the time in school some kid hit him with a baseball bat and he feels all the blood rush to his head.

His gut twists with a vague, rumbling kind of horror.

The words left unspoken stings more than it should.

I don’t want to be your next winter cling anyway.

Her door buzzes.

It’s Christmas eve and she isn’t expecting anyone, but when she rushes down the hallway to open the building door, there he is.

It’s pure electricity in his eyes and a fire so hot in her bones that it feels like ice.

It’s been a full thirty-five months since she’d seen him in person and not through her phone. That’s almost three whole years. They’re just shy a week of the anniversary of that night and he’s still just so pretty. Painfully pretty.

He cracks the weakest smile she’s ever seen, “Hey.”

“What are you—”

“You’re not a winter cling,” he blurts out, eyes ringed red and slightly swollen like he’d been crying or up all night.

Or both.

She ignores the statement, crossing her arms across her chest as they stand out in the cold.

“Did you drive here all night from Holmes Chapel?”

“I wanted to wait. I wanted to wait until after Valentine’s Day. Because you’re not something to hold onto while I wait out the loneliness.”

“Harry—”

“Do you remember the night we met? In Rio? I was tired. I was so tired of being who they expected me to be,” he interrupts her, plaintive and gentle, “It’s why I got so drunk and slipped security. I wanted something that was just mine.”

He takes a step forward and she holds her ground, still not inviting him in. She’s not sure she wants to. Like the hours she spend not sleeping in his arms, she’s not sure she wants to be another warm body to him. But Harry is staring at her, expression terrifyingly open, honest, and contemplative, like he's looking right through her to her heart.

“Like a me tattoo on your body?”

Zaemira hates that she’s doing exactly what her aunt says she does when she’s uncomfortable; makes terrible jokes and thinly-veiled badly-timed humour in an attempt to hide her discomfort which never helps.

She hates that her aunt is right and she hates that this is how she’s realising it.

“Every other relationship I had never felt right,” Harry continues, holding her gaze as though he is equally fascinated and terrified, “Something was always missing.”

The tick-tock pounding thump of her heartbeat is so loud and gushing she can practically feel it in her veins. But he just keeps going, heart on his sleeve at the door of the girl he spent three drunken nights with and fell into bed once. As though he didn’t know he had the power to so completely destroy her.

There’s a taunting, almost brittle quality to what he’s saying that it makes her nervous. He’s making her nervous and it pricks like annoyance at the back of her head. It’s jarring what he’s saying. Striking.

“People aren’t answers to whatever mess that’s going on in your life, Harry.”

It's ridiculous and it's rude and it’s out of control and out of character for her except—

Except that it isn’t.

She wonders when exactly he’d figured it out.

And how it took her so long to realise that she’s the same as what she’s accusing him of.

She wants and wants and wants and then she takes, and takes, and takes, until she inevitably loses interest, and leaves.

And most people just let her.

But Harry isn’t most people.

And he’s there now to show her exactly that.

“I don’t want people,” he says so softly it’s practically a whisper, like he’s confiding a secret, like he knows that the harder she pushes the more she wants you to fight for her, “I just…want you. I just didn’t realize there was a difference between wanting you to want something and wanting you for you.”

The words slot into her heart perfectly like a deck of cards. The words that she never even knew she wanted to hear.

They taste like a perfectly brewed shot of espresso and too expensive whiskey all mixed into one heartstopping drink and she wants to savour the shockwave-sweet intensity of the moment.

She hesitates. And then, “Careful, Styles. Or I might think you’re trying to flirt with me.”

He grins at that. A real smile curving on his lips.

“Oh, I’m definitely trying to flirt with you.”

He tucks a stray curl behind her ears, simultaneously keeping his distance and drawing her close.

Her breath hitches on a tremulous little laugh.

She's paralysed with an emotion that feels a lot like fear and it's scraping at her skull, rhythmically ebbing into all corners of her brain like a growing virus and he's just there, staring at her.

She wants to say something. Something smart or witty or funny. But instead she just lets herself fall forward into his arms and onto his lips.

It tastes like a promise.

It tastes right.

It tastes like two beating hearts and a slow summer burn.

#1dff #exchanges

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habibialkaysani · 6 years ago

Note

For the meme, what about 15 and 20-22?

15. in an ideal world where you’re already super successful and published, would you want to see a tv or movie adaptation of your work? why or why not?

see I’m in two minds about this one, as I’m sure you can imagine. on the one hand I would love to see something I wrote be on screen and then be more successful as a result. on the other hand, I have seen way too many adaptations done in a way that is a disservice to the original material.

I’ve actually talked about this at length with my good friend @captainriphunter and I read her amazing disso on this subject. one thing I remembered was the way the language surrounding adaptations is couched in fidelity, as if the relationship between an adaptation and the original work is a marriage, hence why you’d say that something is a faithful adaptation or why something is bastardised, etc etc. but I don’t think it’s that simple. and if it is a marriage (if we go with that metaphor) it doesn’t necessarily follow that that will be a monogamous one, if you get what I’m saying? all that matters is that the parties love each other.

it then follows, I think, that if the heart of my novel remains in the adaptation, that is what matters. it’s not about the small details or the omission of certain scenes. like I watched an adaptation of my favourite series of books growing up, noughts and crosses, and I felt it was a little bit too word for word, if that makes sense, which made the performance of certain characters fall a bit flat. conversely, I remember watching the movie adaptation of disobedience and thinking that one of the things that struck me the most was the way dovid, esti’s husband, reacted to discovering esti was gay, with compassion and kindness and understanding, in the book. in the movie, it was the opposite and I just felt that was a disservice to dovid’s character. but I know that the author, naomi alderman, said that they kind of had carte blanche over it, as she saw it as a totally separate medium and therefore not something she wanted to be finicky about or micromanage. and I guess if I’m that attached to characters that aren’t even mine and their actions, I don’t think I’d be able to have that same objectivity for my own characters. so in theory it’s a nice idea. in reality I think I’d be a nightmare to deal with surrounding it.

20. do you ever have trouble focusing on writing? how do you get around that? tell us. please, tell us. I, the OP of this ask list, desperately need advice on how to focus.

I think I’ve answered this one before, but my answer today is much simpler - junk food. find something to snack on and fucking distract yourself with that, getting it ready, even if it’s just pouring the stuff into a bowl or sticking something in the oven. make sure to physically step away from your writing at this point. and then go back to it.

again, not foolproof, but worth a try.

21. BIG ask: what do you think is the most important component of a good story?

I was talking about this one with my friend @sophiainspace. I think part of a good story is when a writer finds their groove, so to speak, and can settle into a style that they’re comfortable with. that’s why I find it’s really interesting seeing the journey people go on in terms of writing. like if you go back to my very first fics, you’ll find the style was - not stilted, necessarily, more hesitant, like I was being cautious because I hadn’t written these characters before. plus I was getting back into writing, after like three years of not writing. and I don’t think it’s even about good or bad, it’s more the fact that you have slightly rough edges starting out, or when you’re a bit rusty, and then you work at your craft and make those edges smooth again. and it’s when a writer is at that kind of peak that I enjoy reading their work the most.

so, short answer - what makes a good story is when it is evident that that writer has really worked to be better and better and that shows in the progress they make, if you’ve been following that writer for a while.

22. talk about a writing experience that has pleasantly surprised you. or talk about several. seriously, writing is cool. you’re making up whole stories out of your brain, revel in that shit.

pretty much every time I read or write smut in public, I’m genuinely surprised I don’t burst out laughing and manage to hold in my giggles. way back, for instance (I’m talking at least six years ago) I was reading my friend @karasunovolleygays‘ oliver wood/katie bell smut fic and I kid you not, I missed my bus stop because I was too busy reading to notice, well, anything, really. and like I have specific memories of writing smut fic during long journeys when I was at university, including when I went to my first convention and managed to write two smut fics on the way home, lolol. and just, feeling giggly and remembering good times is always a pleasant surprise because it’s not expected.

also, I mean, I totted up by original novel and it’s on 33k. I’m a slow writer and I get easily distracted, but!!! I have the climactic part of my thing planned out, well, half-planned out, and I still need to talk to someone who is british and catholic who has been to a catholic wedding so I can figure out certain details on that front, and like, I’m super excited to write this part because I have an absolute BALL writing dialogue. and this bit will include a wedding, inclusive of a best woman’s speech and vows, because I’m a sappy little shit, and I’m just so ready to write that because I love that kind of thing.

shit to ask people who write

#me.txt #replies #ask meme #writing tag #long post for ts #still taking these if anyone else wants to play #also thanks!#ciceroisthefamilycat

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igot7monbebes · 7 years ago

Text

Xu Minghao as your boyfriend

✾ The silliest yet sweetest boyfriend ever

✾ He gets playful if he's sleepy or if he's really excited about something so if he randomly starts to poke your belly or will cover your phone screen to annoy you, just know he's either about to fall asleep or talk your ear off

✾ if you want to know how to say a certain word in Chinese, he will keep telling you the proper pronunciation for it

✾ 500% husband material

✾ as we know, Minghao is a man of fashion so he would take you shopping every day with him

✾ you will always look as fly as him

✾ you guys are the cutest couple in the industry hands down

✾ posts 1,000,000 photos of the two of you guys on his Instagram account for no reason

✾ like even if you guys are just laying around, he will take photos until his phone tells him there is no more space for the photos

✾ he's not a good cook but he loves when you help him

✾ even if what you two make together is awful, he will still happily eat it

✾ the calmest over everything

✾ like you could cut your arm off and he would be the calmest man in the entire world

✾ "I can't fix that.. but you should probably go see someone who can."

✾ an open book, you know all of the secrets he's never told anybody and he doesn't try to hide his feelings or emotions from you

✾ lowkey an emotional wreck

✾ dates aren't specifically his favorite thing because of it being ruined by people asking you guys for photos or starting scandals so dates are very rare but special

✾ if he thinks you'll cute in a certain article of clothing, he'll buy it immediately and just patiently wait for you to find and wear it

✾ cuddling is his favorite thing ever

✾ he prefers to be the little spoon because he feels super special when your arms are wrapped around him but he doesn't really care how you guys cuddle as long as you're both curled up, happy and warm

✾ reading books on the couch could potentially be called a date

✾ Minghao always feels the need to touch you though ????

✾ Like if you're watching a movie together, he'll have to be touching you somehow whether he's holding your hand or he just has his arm wrapped around you

✾ PDA isn't his type of thing but because of his need to touch you, if you guys are in public he will grab you and pull you almost on top of him just so he knows you're safe

✾ nose kisses will melt him

✾ like if you just press a kiss to his nose, he will kinda just turn into a blushy, giggly and hiding little munchkin

✾ texts you every day even if you guys are together

✾ loves to send you the kissing or heart emoji at least 900 times a day

✾ only posts a selfie on instagram if you like it

✾ sends you memes because he loves you

✾ but if you don't laugh he'll be pouty and will never stop whining about it. It's almost like he holds a grudge against you for not finding the photo funny

✾ "when I laugh at everything you send me! disrespectful, I swear."

✾ then tickles your belly and giggles about your laughing and fighting him off

✾ takes you home to China so you can meet his family and gets a little embarrassed when his mom breaks out the baby photos of him in the bath tub or when he's in nothing but a diaper

✾ " Come on mom, I'm naked! Don't show Y/N my naked pictures are you crazy?"

✾ Flirtatious as all hell

✾ like if you are wearing something new, he'll just have to comment about how great you look or he'll make a joke and ask if you're single

✾ and if you tell him you're in a happy relationship, he'll send a wink and a "he won't know" your way

✾ Gets flustered if you flirt back though

✾ if you start to tell him how good he looks or if you make the same 'are you single' joke at him, he will just cover his little rosie cheeks and peek out of the cracks of his fingers at you

✾ "I didn't realize how embarrassing it is to be hit on"

✾ but secretly loves it????

✾ when you get flirty and he's all flustered is his absolute favorite thing ever because it just makes him feel so touched

✾ if you're studying something, he'll sit down and study it with you whether it's a new language or you're working on some homework, he's right there with you

✾ he'll always bring you little snacks and drinks when you're studying as well just so he knows that you're actually eating and staying hydrated

✾ but every thirty minutes he'll ask you to take a short break so you're not stressing yourself out too bad or forgetting to take care of yourself in other ways

✾ he loves when you guys make fun of one another in a silly, playful way!

✾ lowkey looks up insults to use without being too harsh on them to avoid hurting your feelings and likes that you do the same

✾ he will always end up sending you a horrible dad joke Seungcheol or Mingyu told him throughout the day at practice

✾ speaking of practice, if you ever show up he will teach you the dance and tug you into a different room so you guys can dance it together just so you feel included at a practice instead of sitting and watching with their manager

✾ gets highly offended if you order Chinese food

✾ even if his cooking is trash, Chinese cuisine is his forte because of being his mom's shadow when he was younger

✾ "you DARE order that? well I guess I'm eating dirt for dinner"

✾ you will participate in all internet trends with him because he HAS to beat Bambam in this 'challenge' of how many dumb internet trends you can do in a lifetime

✾ you are literally Minghao in a different body

✾ if he sneezes, you will almost 10,000% sneeze a few minutes after he does or you'll both say the same thing at the same time for an hour straight

✾ "Stop copying me.", "I'm not copying you if I'm talking at the same time", "How did you know I was gonna say that?", "WHAT IS HAPPENING"

✾ accidentally sends your nude photos to the groupchat and spams immediately after to try and make the photo too far up for any of them to see

✾ but poor baby chan saw it and doesn't know that he's about to be murdered for his bandmate's mistake

✾ highkey father material

✾ he's so good with kids it's almost scary

✾ like if you've been asked to babysit a family member, he's always going to change his schedule so he can help and he basically knows what the child is thinking or doing without even having to look at them

✾ "He's about to start crying in like 10 seconds"

✾ then literally ten seconds later the kid starts to cry

✾ and you look at him like ?????

✾ then he just shrugs "told you"

✾ sends you the ugliest photos of himself he can take then beat you with a leaf if you screenshot it or send it to your friends

✾ biggest love ball

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sunnymooo · 3 years ago

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today, i laughed so much. i smiled from ear to ear every moment i could check my phone, and i got lost in my happy little thoughts in the moments i couldn't. joining stan twitter was one of the best decisions i've ever made. it's been a long time since i felt this giddy. i love mamamoo so much, and gosh do i love our absolutely gay as fuck fandom.

context for all the giggles - basically mamamoo who hasn't been altogether in ages (to the point where weirdos on the internet are always spreading rumors they disbanded) finally joined each other as four again this past weekend for a kpop festival that took place in germany and this experience single-handedly revived the fandom on all of social media. not only did old moos come out of the woodworks to hang out again, but new moos rode the wave of excitement and joined the fandom to be welcomed with open arms. on twitter, we had a seriously huge following spree trend take place, where everyone was introducing themselves as new or old moos asking for more ot4 mutuals. i waited until after the concerts ended and the girls landed back in korea to post mine. but i didn't expect to get... that much interaction on the tweet???? woof! i mean every minute of today i either gained a follower or received 5 notifications of new mutuals liking and commenting on my content. honestly, it's so wonderful! i made so many friends today! omg! and i still am!

so all day i've just gotten to be silly with my mutuals - new and old. i know they're just internet friends and i go through a lot of internet friends phases and usually end up losing them to time, but still, i'm really attached to everyone and really happy to get to share the love i feel for these girls with others who are so similar to me. in this fandom, there's a lot of simping, a lot of memeing, a lot of joking, a lot of flirting - we're honestly just a bunch of lesbians and queer people having a good time and sincerely loving mamamoo with all our hearts.

before coming back to work i knew i needed to get involved with something outside of the resort so that i could understand myself and see a future outside of the place that runs so much of my life. it isn't exactly what i had in mind, but it actually works pretty well. the cast of characters i interact with on a daily basis over stan twitter is so far removed from tdlr; with them i can truly feel like my own silly self, and my interactions with them serve as a direct reminder that i exist outside of the place in which i work. even though some of us have barely met, i already am so comfortable and giggly with them on my silly little account. it's just so nice to be me in more places than just............ disney. lol.

anyway, i just wanted to say that it feels really healing. to pick up my phone and have something to laugh about - something that has me grinning from ear to ear - that's incredibly precious! especially when i've been so stressed out seeing people i super don't want to see lately. i instantly feel grounded when i remember how large and wonderful the earth is. i mean seriously. i have friends now all around the world now, isn't that crazy? i may have lost shitty people i thought were friends but i'm really good at making friends so i really haven't lost much in the long run, only gained a higher confidence in my ability to have fun with others.

i'm so happy to have something to think about that has nothing, nothing at all, to do with you.

#i don't even think of you that much anymore #personal

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boymeetsweevil · 7 years ago

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sweet/stupid moments with bts

Kim Seokjin

Everyone knows that Kim Seokjin is oddly talented with his feet. He can rip open bags of packing peanuts with no hands and use his toes to take off his socks if he’s inclined. It’s funny, but it also weirds you out at the same time. This is something that he, in turn, finds hilarious. He takes every chance he gets to freak you out with his feet and you can only look on with vague disgust and thinly veiled fear. You know from a practical standpoint that Seokjin is a very hygienic person, but the fear is irrational nonetheless. Things reach a climax when you’re visiting in the dorms and decide to play a round of monopoly. Jin claims the role of banker, which isn’t too usual, but you don’t think anything of it. Its not until the game has been going on for a few minutes and you manage to pass go that things take a turn for the worse. You hold an expectant hand out, waiting for your fake colorful $200, when it happens. Jin’s big foot slaps your outstretched palm and deposits the money into your hand with freakish dexterity. You scream before flipping the board over, cutting poor little Jungkook’s turn short and leaving him unable to purchase his favorite railroad property. Jin is beside himself, rolling on the ground next to the scattered game pieces and laughing silently with tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

You get your revenge a week later when you’ve cornered him on a loveseat under the guise of giving him a chaste kiss. Your eyes narrow deviously and he only has a second to realize what his fate is before you swipe the flat of your tongue up the bridge of his nose. The sound of his distressed screams wakes Jimin up on the other side of the dorm.

Min Yoongi

You find out fairly early after becoming acquainted with Yoongi: if you stroke his eyebrows, he’ll fall asleep within minutes. Usually he has a hard time sleeping because he’s so keyed up from practice or composing or thinking up lyrics that he ends up even further into sleep debt than he was before. One day in particular his insomnia is taking a heavy toll on him and you ask how you can help. He whispers the answer quietly, so quietly you don’t hear him at first. When he finally says it in a normal volume, you throw your head back and laugh because he looks so ashamed and while you’ve never heard of something like it, its so pure that you can’t understand why he’s acting so sheepish. That same day you have him put on your fuzzy pink terry cloth headband to keep his bangs out the way and have him rest on the couch in the makeup room with his head in your lap. You talk about your plans with some girlfriends for the upcoming weekend and trace a finger gently over each brow, over and over again. He falls asleep in 10 minutes and even snores a little. When you cross paths with him again that evening he looks more bright-eyed than he has in a long while. Now its a regular occurrence on the days he desperately needs a good cat nap and he’s taken to sitting up so he can at least try to engage you while you chatter on and smooth over his brows. You have it down to a science so usually around the 7 minute mark he’s down for the count and you play with his heart-shaped face, loving how pretty and young and soft he looks when he’s relaxed.

Jung Hoseok

Your apartment is your pride and joy, amongst a few other things, because you put a lot of effort into it so that it would be a place you look forward to coming to after a long work week. Its decorated really nicely and on Fridays you like to dim the lights and drink wine, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. If you’re alone, you usually get drunk because you’re not playing host and you can just drink and yell at your TV in peace. Sometimes, though, Hoseok has time to visit and will drink a little with you, though he’s not supposed to. Such an occasion is rare, though, because he’s often busy and can get drunk for free on classier liquor. Usually he just comes over for your company. Tonight, he comes over straight from a charity event, and you send a small prayer of gratitude to the hair and makeup noonas because his skin is glowing and smooth in the ambient lighting of your living room. His hair is soft and shiny, dark and waving handsomely away from his face and he looks RIGHT in some dark jeans and a black dress shirt under a dashing blazer that gives a peek of the his chest because its unbuttoned. And he smells so clean so expensive and so so so good that you’re practically vibrating with how excited you are that he’s home for once at a decent hour while you are too. Once he kicks his boots off, you immediately corral him onto the couch and climb on top of him to nuzzle into roundness of his cheeks and you just slowly and softly plant kisses there while he talks about his day and whenever you’re not kissing his face you’re pulling back to stroke at his hair and smooth the wrinkles out of his shirt and he starts to fall asleep but not before pulling you to lie next to him and whispering how he wishes you spent more time together :’(

Kim Namjoon

You love saying Namjoon’s name because he could be doing anything ANYTHING but if you call him, his head will pop up sweetly like a puppy’s, his bangs flopping softly back over his forehead when he follows the sound of your voice.

One rainy day when neither of you have to be out the house has you bored out of your mind. Namjoon isn’t super busy, so you decide to play a little game. You call his name in a sing-song voice and see how many times he does his cute little head tilt. By the end of the early afternoon, you’ve called him 15 times. Each time his head has turned quickly and he looks for you with a tiny, curious smile and wide eyes. You break your streak at 16 when you try pulling a ding-dong-ditch. You hide behind the threshold leading into the living room where he works and call his name. He looks up faithfully and you have to choke back on your snickers as his smile drops and he looks around, confused. A second later you hear his lumbering footsteps and he’s peering down at you from behind the door.

“What are you doing?” he asks with long, drawn out suspicion in his voice. When you tell him about your experiment, he blushes.

Park Jimin

When it’s hot outside Jimin stocks your fridge with huge water jugs and your freezer with bulk boxes of popsicles. You’re reading on the floor because all of your other chairs are upholstered and the thought of the warm fabric against your skin at a time like this is AWFUL. He sits next to you, scrolling away on his phone, unconsciously flexing his dancer’s feet every once in a while. He gets up to eat a popsicle to beat the heat and you turn to watch him because you’re bored. The first thing he does once he’s done discarding the wrapper is take a huge chunk out of the popsicle with his front teeth, crunching down hard like he’s biting into an apple. Your teeth ache in sympathy and you’re like,

“how do you do that”

“do what?” he says like people just eat cold things like that normally.

“Bite it like that without hurting your teeth. Isn’t it too cold?” and he’s like,

“...no?”

So, naturally, you crouch into his space and whisper open and he gives you a big, cute grin so you can inspect his teeth even though you’re no dentist.

“wow i think you still have all your enamel.”

“um, that’s nice i guess.”

“your teeth must be so strong wow. i can’t even drink ice water without a straw.”

And he somehow gets cocky from that, like maybe you gassed his teeth up too much, but then he turns into a little shit. You try to poke his teeth with your finger innocently and he snaps his teeth at you and you squeak. He grins semi-apologetically, but pulls your finger back again and fake bites at it softly. Then he just barely grazes the pad of your finger with his tongue and gives you this look and you have to shove his face away because ‘its too hot for this’.

Kim Taehyung

you’re an internet freak and always send him memes or pictures of animals with a caption that says ‘is this u’ and usually its like a stupid looking bird or a really confused puppy. When you’re together you still scroll until you find pictures but then you hold it up next to his face and he’ll turn to see the picture and try to imitate it to the best of his abilities. Its your favorite thing to do because he makes faces that can be so. damn. funny. and he loves watching your chuckles turn into excited giggles turn into hysterical laughing and finally soundless shaking as you push his face away from you in attempts to calm down. Sometimes you show him a cute picture rather than a stupid one and he always manages to outdo the pictures in cuteness. It’s still funny to you though it gets you less riled up. if he gets really cute, you’ll cup his face in your hands while you laugh and bring your forehead to rest on his and you both end up laughing because he thinks your laugh is infectious and you just sit there until you calm down and you pick your phone back up and start again.

Jeon Jungkook

When you found out that muscle-bunny, man-child, Jeon Jungkook was ticklish you felt like you finally found his achilles heel. You were hesitant to use the information at first because it had taken a long while and painstaking effort to get him to open up to you at all. He was like a fawn in that way, somewhat skittish and someone you wanted so badly to trust you for reasons unknown even to yourself. You were also hesitant because Jungkook didn’t reveal this information to you himself, you heard it from Taehyung at a mixer. At first you thought he was drunk when he told you, but when you took a sip from his cup, you realized it was Sprite and that he was just extra giggly for some reason.

Now, though, you think you might be forced to use his secret against him. Jungkook is lounging in your bed, taking up way more space than necessary. Plus you’d asked him to take off his jacket a long time ago because he took the subway to get over to your apartment and the thought of getting subway particles on your nice duvet gives you shivers. Every time you threaten to throw him out, he gives you a once over before not-so-casually flexing a bicep at you and settles deeper into your bed.

“You leave me with no choice,” you say with a menacing tone after 30 minutes have passed by and he hasn’t moved from his spot.

“What are you talking abou--” he gets cut off when you shove a hand into his unsuspecting armpit and wriggle your fingers like your life depends on it. His responding howl of laughter is more satisfying than if he had just gotten up the first time. He squirms wildly underneath you and you continue to poke and prod under his chin, in the divot of his waist, and sometimes in the back of his knee when he kicks up particularly high. Even when you settle down and the tickles slow to crawl, he still gives a series of high-pitched giggles that have your heart squeezing a bit.

#bangtan bookclub #bttnetwork #btswriters #bangtan #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts reactions #bangtan fanfic #bts fanfic #bangtan reactions #bangtan imagines

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asterocky · 7 years ago

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asterocky rambles about astro

as bad as it sounds, after seeing what is going on with underrated groups and rookies from small companies and my heart breaking a number of times, i keep thinking to myself thank you for not letting astro flop. not that other groups flopped, but the number of groups participating in programs like the unit or pd101 just to get more eyes on them is increasing and i keep feeling terrible about it. a lot of what ifs are in my mind and as a wholeheartedly astro biased person i am just happy with the love they are receiving despite being a group with an unpopular concept. they were nominated a number of times for a no. 1 during baby promotions which just means that people are paying attention and care.. thank you for looking positively at my smol babies.

i was worried about them for a while because so many people gave up on then after debut, when they saw their concept.

looking at astro and their partial success now i sort of think that it is because they appeared in the right place at the right time. there was no group like them in kpop at that time. most groups were going for a hipster edm concepts. and then astro appeared with their sunshine pop and already set fanbase they gathered after endlessly doing projects predebut. they showed what they can do before taking a 100 steps back concept wise. they created their own sound that cant be classified as anything other than astro and marking themselves as fresh, soft soda idols between kpop fans.

not gonna lie, i do think they get a lot of attention because of eunwoo and his incredible popularity. i remember how a week after debut articles appeared that our eunwoo was offered a chinese drama role. it all went from there - variety shows, mc gigs, modeling gigs. he became a wanted presence in the entertainment industry, known for being a face genius, he brought a lot of fans into aroha. i hope that they see that he is so much more than a pretty face. his diligence is something else. he trained so hard, harder than the others. and aroha that has been here for a while have witnessed him breaking down because of his private schedules and thoughts of not being good enough. there are poems he himself wrote about it. it is documented in astro project. the boy overworked himself because he does not feel talented enough, which never fails to break my heart. i often think about whether he knows how much we love him and how proud we are of him. he is the most hardworking, talented soul in the planet. i am happy to see that this theme is escalated a lot recently.

which brings me to the fact that finally the other members are getting more recognized. astro is being called a visual all kill group and when a lot of people argue about their visuals overpowering their talent, i keep disagreeing. visuals are not why people stay in fandoms. without talent or charisma, i don't think astro would have as many fans. without their sweet personalities and the love they show their fans, they would not keep so many people wrapped around their fingers. astros love for their fans is a different kind of love, a very unique love. yes, all groups love their fans. but i myself along with a lot of other people have voiced that astro's love is very evident and just.. different. you can feel it with every bone in your body. you might think it is ridiculous, but it is very hard to describe if you haven't felt it. i am sure arohas will agree on this one. it's a very evident, specific kind of love that brings warmth to your bones even if it’s as little as a tweet from astro. i have never felt that being in other fandoms.

as i said, other members are getting the spotlight and eunwoo is slowly participating in less activities. astro are becoming variety idols and on this note i would like to say that despite the obvious variety king mj, i am so proud of maknae line. rocky specifically. even though arohas always knew how entertaining he is, he was always very shy when it came to programs. you could always see a bright smile on his face and his eyes sparkled with excitement, yet he stayed pretty quiet. but recently he became more out there, he talks more, memes more. he completely stole the recent weekly idol episode with his dancing. i think the members and aroha had a lot to do with that, as they encouraged his memesona of rocky swag and arohas never pushed him too much on his solo vlives in which he noted that he felt awkward. now he smiles and talks more, he is out there being a meme. sanha, too. sanha was often very shy, he stayed quiet in shows when he could barely shut up in vlives. the reasoning was always that he could not talk well or was too stupid. i remember during their second weekly idol episode sanha spoke for about 30 seconds during a 49 minute show. now he might not speak much, but at least he is showing his kill the hyungs personality, eliminating them all from games and teasing them while dropping formalities.

and god... i have so much to say about leader park jinwoo. i honestly do not understand how he deals with these five kids. he was the baby of the family for his whole life but now has to take care of the five boys: he is solemnly raising sanha into a decent man, making sure rocky has a word or two during vlives, keeps mj up, makes sure eunwoo is eating all meals, and keeps bin in his right mind. i always thought that being a leader is a huge and difficult responsibility, because the leader has to carry the emotional burden of the whole group, eliminate negativity and make sure all members are well before caring for themselves. and let's be honest... jinwoo is a complete softie. he is the softest, most emotional person in astro who is bound to cry at every little gesture of love aroha shows towards astro. yet he takes care of us and his group, molding perfectly with every member. if you pay attention to him during vlives with different astro members, you might have noticed how he caters to the different personalities of the members. for example, he is a meme with mj, he asks a lot of questions with rocky to make him talk, he is chilled and leisurely talking with bin, he is talking either smack or business with eunwoo and there’s no in between, and leisurely controlling sanha. nobody needs to cater to him because he caters to others first, forgetting about himself completely. his top priority is his members and fans, as he often takes the comment reading position on vlive. he is genuinely curious about what arohas want to say and talk about, he escalates those topics before anything else.

despite jinjin being an emotional rock, though, i feel like moonbin has the most stability. maybe because he trained for so long he does not nerve much, but i feel like he looks at everything with a rational mind. therefore the comment he made about astro not existing in five years because their contracts end, though it hurt some aroha, was actually a very good, cold blooded observation of the future reality. i still believe that he didn’t mean any harm with the comment, he loves the fans and his group, but his rationality is what had him say that. had you trained for 7 years in a company, i am sure you would have thought out every possible way your career could end. what he didn’t want to say via this was that it’s the end of astro - no, there is no way fantagio is letting go of astro and i am almost sure that if the group flows as smoothly as they had during these two years, there won’t be any reason for astro not to remain in fantagio entertainment.

i think mj has a lot of emotions bottled up. now, this paragraph is just speculation, but seeing him smile all the time just gives off a bad vibe to me. i love mj and his positivity, i love that he can pull a joke at any time, but i sort of feel like the jokes are his coping mechanism and also a way to take care of the younger boys. he is the eldest member of astro and i feel like he feels like he has to take care of the boys, which is a big objective on it’s own. and in his eyes, the best way to do it is to play with the boys and up their spirits a little. hopefully mj knows that it is ok to be sad and that we won’t be upset if we see him sad. we’d rather empathize with him. aroha’s love will make you feel better, mj.

this is turning from a thank you for not letting astro flop to an open essay about the boys, sorry. but i guess what i wanted to say is that astro have adapted in the idol world in their own little ways. they might have not provided us with club bops (even though you could get down to baby in the club and i will fight anyone on this), but they gave us songs you can listen to when you are down and smile. even more so, songs that are undoubtedly astro. and who astro is is different for 90% of the popular kpop scene in 2017. the boys themselves said that even though they were surprised at their concept, they are happy about it because they have all the time in the world to grow up and be manly in front of us. for now, they would rather stay bright and happy, our soda idols, refreshing us on a summer’s day and being cute, so they do not look ridiculous trying to pull off a manly concept at a too young age or vice verca - pull off a rainbow concept when they are in the middle of their 20s. and what makes me happy is that people accepted i, the fact that astro are different from a lot of kpop groups. the fact that astro put out giggly, light pop instead on hard dropping edm club tracks and actually listen to those songs and wait for astro’s comebacks. the fact that astro’s climate is loved mends my heart. i wish all groups were loved like that.

#astro #this is just a long ass chat about astro lowkey inspired by a lot of underrated groups on pd 101 and the unit #i wrote this on the bus ahjfkk #i might start writing more of these and call them ancient aroha rambles lmao #it's just a talk about what i witnessed in the fandom over the nearing two years #i was very emo about astro as you can tell #rambles

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chalantness · 7 years ago

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And just because I can: Bucky/Kara + 23. Don’t worry, Sweetheart. Just be patient. BWAHAHA! (Also Steve+Kara would be the most adorable siblings ever okay and I totally want Bucky and Kara to bond over trying to get Steve a date *coughwithNatcough*)

Why are you always on board with my nonsense? What did I do to deserve you??

23. Don’t worry, Sweetheart. Just be patient. (six sexy words meme)

Kara is eleven when he first meets her, and he’s sixteen and in high school, and the first thing he thinks is that Steve’s new step-sister is kind of cute.

Sarah getting married is – weird. It’s always just been her and Steve in the house next door, and as many times as his parents (especially his mom) have urged Sarah to date, they probably didn’t expect for her to go from single to married in the span of two months. She’s clearly smitten, and Steve tells them that Jeremiah is nice. He lost his wife in a car accident a few years ago, has two girls of his own, and always sends his mom home with flowers after their dates. When Bucky asks what Steve thinks about his mom getting married practically overnight, Steve just shrugs his shoulders and says that Jeremiah asked for his blessing before taking his mom to Vegas for the weekend.

Sarah is practically glowing, and she’s totally giggly and happy and in love when she invites his family and Jeremiah and his daughters for lunch, and it’s really, really nice to see. Steve seems to get along with him, too, and also with his daughters. Alex is their age and definitely a piece of work, and when Bucky tells her this, she laughs and says that that’s one of her favorite compliments.

Kara is younger, and shyer, with her blonde curls pulled back into a ponytail and a set of red-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

“You know,” Steve says, giving his new little sister a dimpled smile as he nudges her with his elbow, “you look more related to me than you do to Alex.”

Kara giggles, and Bucky blinks.

And then she turns to Bucky and smiles, and he blinks again, totally caught off guard. Over her head, Steve laughs and Alex arches an eyebrow.

Well, shit.

Kara is thirteen, and he’s eighteen, and she looks really pretty in her white and yellow sundress with her hair all curled and the little star necklace he gave her for her birthday draped at her neck. He and Steve just graduated high school like, two seconds ago, and as her sister and her dad are congratulating Steve just a foot away, Kara turns the biggest, brightest smile he’s ever seen toward him and stretches on her toes to give him a hug.

“You did it!” she exclaims, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

He laughs and reaches over to gently tug on one of her curls. “I did.”

Kara is finishing out her last year at the private school she’s gone to since Kindergarten, which means that he doesn’t see her as often as he sees Alex. Jeremiah gets up early so he can drive her across the city to get her to her morning (morning!) club, and she comes home late after one of her classmates drops her off from volleyball or basketball or whatever the hell practice she’s got. He can’t keep track. The girl does everything, and it’s kind of awesome to watch from the sidelines when he can catch a game, or when he’s over for dinner and hears her babbling on about her day while she’s baking.

She’s a sweet kid, and next year she’ll be a freshman, and he kind of hates the idea of her going through high school alone. Alex and Steve will be in different states, and Bucky will be three hours away, and it’s not that he thinks she can’t handle it, but shit. He just doesn’t like the thought of her getting hurt, ever.

“Bet you’re going to miss my awesome chocolate chip cookies in college,” she tells him, head tilted, eyes crinkled in that cute little smile of hers.

“What do you mean?” He grins. “You know I’ll need those to study.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not driving three hours to drop off some cookies!” Eyelashes fluttering, she laughs as she adds, “I can’t even drive yet!”

He chuckles. “No, genius. I’ll come and visit you.”

“You will?”

She sounds genuinely surprised, and it tugs at something in him. “Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You sure you won’t be too busy?”

She looks – nervous. Which she’s never been around him. Excitable, yes. Maybe a little spastic, yes. But never nervous. It makes him frown, but then she blinks up at him, lips pressed together, and he feels his chest squeeze ever so slightly. He reaches for her, tugs at another one of her curls.

“For you, I won’t be.”

Kara’s sixteen, and he’s twenty-one, and it’s a little ironic that he’s sitting in his childhood bedroom and sort of fucking around on his laptop and she’s out at a party. And he knows this because she text him – well, him and Steve and Alex in the group text – and then Steve and Alex text him separately to make sure he’s awake until she gets home, just in case. Which, duh. He’d already planned on it as soon as he figured out she would be out. He wonders what she must’ve told Sarah and Jeremiah. Probably that she’s sleeping over at a friend’s.

His phone buzzes on the desk, and he smiles when he sees Kara’s contact photo light up his screen, then frowns when he thinks of what she might need.

“How’s the party, Kara.”

“James?”

He sits up straight, blood running cold. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes?” She sounds confused. Or maybe it’s because he can’t entirely make out her voice above the music and chatter. “Oh! Oh, you think I’m calling because– no, no. I’m fine, James, I promise. I just… Can you come pick me up?”

She sounds uncomfortable, but not panicked, or even afraid.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Yeah, of course.”

She texts him the address, and he drives up to the curb to find her sitting on the railing of the porch, kicking her feet back and forth. There’s another girl with her, and when Kara sees him, she hops off of the railing and hugs the girl and practically dives into his passenger seat. “Bye, Lena!” Kara calls out.

“Friend?”

“Best friend,” she corrects, reaching over to mess with his presets.

He wrinkles his nose. “How much did you drink? You smell like a six-pack.”

She rolls her eyes. “I drank half a cup. Some guy dumped beer on me. By accident,” she rushes to add when his entire body tenses, “calm down.”

“And you’re still wearing it?”

She shrugs. “Well, yeah. Lena let me borrow her cardigan, but it soaked through to my bra, so there’s no helping that. Hey, can we get burgers?”

She’s turned entirely to face him, legs tugged up to her chest, arms wrapped around her knees. She looks up at him from under those ridiculously long eyelashes, eyes bright and wide and sparkling, her cheeks tinged pink, teeth bared in a smile, and fuck. Just like that, all the tension in his body dissolves. He’s not all that hungry, but honestly? He thinks spending his night with Kara at a 24-hour diner sounds like a pretty damn good time.

“Only if you’re sharing your strawberry milkshake with extra whipped cream and extra sprinkles,” he says, and she giggles, shrugs her shoulders all cutely.

“Only with you, James.”

Kara’s eighteen, and he’s twenty-three, and he’s moved back to the city, in a studio apartment he shares with Alex. Steve is still in California, because he’s got a lot more opportunities as a graphic designer in San Francisco, and also because he’s got a girl who he’s not “officially” seeing, even though she’s always at his apartment whenever Bucky calls, and their pictures are all over Steve’s social media, and Steve told him that he told Natasha that he loved her almost a month ago. She hasn’t said it back yet, but they’re still stupidly in love so he thinks that still counts.

Anyway.

Alex is gone with her girlfriend for the weekend, and just when he thought his heart couldn’t crack any more, it does. Kara’s standing in the living room area in an oversized cable-knit sweater and her hair in a gorgeous mess clipped atop her head, and her eyes are wet and red and a little puffy from crying.

“She’s gone?” she asks, and then hiccups.

“Yeah. Fuck, come here,” he says, tugging her to his chest, and she winds her arms around him and squeezes pretty damn hard, but he doesn’t mind at all.

He sits her down on top of his bed, makes her tea and, eventually, gets out of her that her boyfriend cheated on her. And he’s pissed, muscles tightening, jaw clenching, and every single part of him feels like he could burst. But then she turns to him with her cheeks all flushed from crying and her breaths uneven and her eyes huge and just really sad, and he feels most of his anger dissolve almost as quickly as it had come. He pulls her close, sort of forces her to cuddle against his side with her head tucked into the curve of his shoulder.

“It’s just… it’s pointless, you know?”

He looks at her. He gets that she’s heartbroken, yes, and god, it must suck even more for it to end the way it did. But she’s not the kind of person to give up just like that. “Love isn’t pointless, Kara,” he says. “It never is.”

“No, not that. I mean…” She shakes her head, reaching up to wipe at her cheeks again. “Never mind. It’s silly.”

He tucks a finger under her chin, tips her head up. “It’s not silly.”

Her lips twitch in a smile. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

“Well, yeah, but when have you ever said something silly?” He has this really strong urge to brush his thumb over her lower lip, because it just looks soft and he’s kind of wanted to do it for a while now (maybe years), so he just – does it. “You say things that are amusing, because you’re you, and I can never keep up with whatever the hell you’ve got going on in your head.” He doesn’t know why he feels like he needs to keep talking, but she’s just looking at him, eyelashes still dotted with tears, and he thinks she looks really fucking beautiful, and he’s always been a little out of sorts around her. “But you have never, ever said something silly, like it’s not worth talking about.”

His gaze drops to her lips, down to her throat when she swallows lightly, and maybe that’s why he’s not entirely paying attention to what her hands are doing until she’s grasping the material of his shirt with both hands. Her eyes are fixed on his lips as she says, “It’s silly and pointless for me to try to date, because there’s always been another boy. A boy I like so much I don’t know what to do.”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds rough even to his own ears.

Her eyes flick up to his. “Yeah.”

He feels a little like he can’t breathe, but in the best way possible. His fingers are buzzing to touch her, like every single cell in his body knows how much he’s imagined this moment, how much he’s wanted it. “Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

“Please.”

She says it in this impatient little huff, tugging at his shirt, and he’s smiling like an idiot when he presses his lips against hers.

Kara has that effect on him.

Kara’s eighteen, about to be nineteen, and he’s twenty-four, and they’ve only been dating for a few months now, but it feels like it’s been years. It feels like they’ve been this way their whole lives, or maybe that they’ve spent their whole lives knowing they were going to get here eventually. It’s ridiculous, and Steve gives him considerably less shit for it than he’d given his best friend for taking so damn long to propose to Natasha.

He’d half-expected Alex to flatten him to the ground, but instead, she’d given him this glare he knows was only half-playful, and that was it. No threats to keep her safe because she knows he already does. No warnings not to break her heart because she knows he’d rather cut off his own arm before being the reason that Kara cries. Jeremiah pats him on the back and says, “about time,” while Kara laughs and sort of flails her arms in mock-embarrassment, and his mom basically recounts every single reason over the last decade as to why she knew he and Kara were going to end up together.

So, yeah. It’s good.

They’re good. In fact, they’re pretty fucking perfect.

“James,” she whines, quivering underneath him, nails digging down the muscles of his back as she shifts her hips up. Her folds are warm and wet and still a little sensitive and swollen from when he’d pulled two orgasms from her with his fingers and his tongue and his teeth. He groans as as his hard length slides over her, through her, teasing at where they both want him most.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he tells her, brushing a kiss to her lips. She blinks her eyes open, and, fuck. That look alone is almost enough to set him off. He rolls his hips, slides over her little bundle, and she whimpers. “Just be patient.”

“I don’t want to!”

He doesn’t mean to laugh, but, well.

“Don’t tease me,” she breathes, pouting her lip, and he leans down to nip at it. “I’ve been waiting ever since we met. I don’t want to wait any longer.”

“Well, considering you were eleven when we met, that’s rather inappropriate.”

She’s laughing and totally blushing even as she rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

He chuckles as she reaches between them, wraps her dainty fingers around his length and guides him to her entrance. She grins up at him, her eyes twinkling. Then he’s pushing into her and her eyelashes are fluttering closed, her mouth parting in a delicious moan, a moan he’s heard dozens and dozens and times by now. But every new time feels like the first, catching him off guard just as she had the moment they met, and he thinks it’s the best fucking feeling ever.

#kara zor el #bucky barnes #kara x bucky #bucky x kara #chanty writes #chanty's smut #bloodredmoon87 #six sexy words meme #six sexy words meme round 2

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