#hes so squishy i want to crush his face with a brick

[ash-azzzz]

again @cupid-tune is saving my life (getting rid of my art block thats lasted for like a year and a half) and im in love with them

[pedge-page]

LOVEDDDD PLUSHY X PK!! WE NEED PREGNANT READERx PLUSHYx PK 😭🙏🏻🙏🏻

ITS HERE!

Notes: Set in the Plushies!verse where reader is pregnant (NOT Joel dealing with Preggo Wife couple). for extra content/background, you can read Plushies!Joel and Reader discovering their PK, and Plushies!Joel and Reader pregnancy Bonus chapter

Warnings: PISS KINK, Plushies humping, PISS on PLUSHIES, Joel cumming in boxers, "dry" humping (no actual sex but it sure as hell isnt dry here either), Daddy ish kink like once (I didn't count man this isnt proof read)

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Ever since getting pregnant with Big Bad Mr Joel Miller’s big fat fucking kid (that you may have “begged” him to put in you—on accident), your back has not experienced pain like this since said baby-daddy body slammed you into a brick wall in a dingy alley when you hooked up outside a bar. He proceeded to tend to your back all night with kisses and soft rubs and lotions, and ended up learning of Joel very peculiar double sided dynamic.

You slide your keys on the counter only for them to fall down to the ground. With a moon sized belly, you weren’t even gonna bother bending to pick it up. That’s the floors problem (and future you that needs to get around)’s problem. Not yours. 

You waddle towards the bedroom. Grateful for your plushie obsession being the one thing you were prepared for: a wall of fluff and comfort conforming to your body 24/7. You rotate with little tippy steps until you’re facing the wall, then collapsing backwards on the bed slowly, only to be met with a squirmy hard lump that grips your belly securely from nearly tossing you off the side:

“YEOOW!” 

He lurches in pain as your elbow dug into his side and ass smashed his poor dick under the crushing weight of you.

“JOEL! GET OFF MY BED!” You scream, kicking and flailing uselessly in his grasp. He’s still buried under the mountain of plush with your big body plastered atop him, but he won’t let go either.

“It’s OUR bed, babydoll,” he groans. you turn your head to the side to see his hooked nose just barely peeking above your BunBun’s fluffy cotton tail. He shakes his noggin side to side to get fresh air across his face and to make eye contact with you, your head resting against his shoulder.

“I was just takin’ a nap, no need to get snippy,” he grumbles. He kisses your cheek and rubs along your belly.

“My plushies,” you mumble with a pout, folding your arms over your chests.

The awkward position only makes it more difficult to get comfortable. Joel’s crazy strength alone is one thing, but the gravity of having an additional 25 pounds on your mid section is somehow giving him the upper hand in holding you against him. You wanted to fall on soft, cottony clouds and colorful friends that you had collected over the years, not a hard man with his hard belt digging into your spine and his even harder cock poking your ass hogging them for his personal nap blanket.

“Joel.”

“Hmm?”

“I need to get up.”

“Why?”

“I need to—“

“I CAN DO IT! LETS DO IT TOGETHER!” He rolls you to the side like a rotating hot dog and immediately fists a plushie, shoving it between your spread legs. “S’okay little Momma, do ya thing.” He’s hanging over you, his pupils wide and mouth curved into an excited smirk, practically drooling at the space between your legs. While one knuckle presses the plush (of which you can’t even see over your belly) at your crotch, the other is rubbing circles into the squishy part of your pelvis.

You shake your head. “I don’t need to fucking masturbate, I need to pee!”

Joel tilts his head in confusion. “I thought that’s what we were doin’?”

“IM NOT PEEING ON THE—“ you drag the plush squeezed in his hand from out below you so you can get a good look at who’s about to be sacrificed—“ON PINKY THE POLAR BEAR!!!”

He snatches the stuffed animal back and glides it between your thighs again, this time with his knee pressed tight so it’s sandwiched just out of your reach. “Pinky aint about to be a good name f’him—how bout yellow-y, or piss-y or pee-y—OH how about PINKY—! Oh no wait a minute…”

“Jooooeeell!!!!”

He starts rubbing harder against your mound, licking his lips as you begin to flounder helplessly. “Give it ta me, princess, Daddy Bear’s gonna take care of everything, you just do what ya do best, so beautiful f’me, Fuck me, that’s my good girl, yeah, yeah do it angel.”

But you shake your head. Your hips sway side to side, but between him and the mountain of stuffed animals surrounding you and the lump of a swell at your belly, there’s no where to run. “No! I’m not doing that—ugughhh—shit again!”

Joel pouts his lips, not letting up his assault. “Please! You liked it so much last time, remember?!”

“That—was an accident!!!” You lie. No you didn’t want to piss on a stuffed animal again, for fear it will reawaken something inside you that should have never surfaced in the first place: that you might enjoy it. “I don’t want to ruin Pinky!”

“I’ll toss her in the wash!” He nods quickly ,as if it’s a good deal. As if you were even getting a say in the matter.

“NO!!!”

But Joel ignores you. He leans back, and you can just barely see off to the side the massive boner he’s got pressing painfully in his jeans. He quickly unzips himself, his boxers still on but his cock having more room to breathe, spilling out in front to make a large grey tent. He hooks his thighs under your calves, hoisting himself close to you so that both of your core’s are only one squished polar bear stuffie apart.

“That’s it baby—fuck yeah,” he groans heartily. With one arm leaned behind him to hold himself up, he grinds against the animal, in tern grinding against your clit and suffocating your pussy. His other hand is splayed over your bladder, his palm thrumming down deep with each roll of his hips. 

You’re trapped. Your tummy is full, your badder is even fuller, and Joel’s so lost in a piss/plushie drunk state that there’s no getting to him now until he gets what he wants. 

Toes curling in, shaking from the pain of your walls breaking, all you can think is ‘I’m sorry Pinky’ as you let out a yelp that had lodged itself in your throat. your hands slap over your eyes as you cunt squeezes out the pregnancy-piss-poor storage of urine that had built up so quickly inside, releasing it onto the plush’s innards. 

Joel grunts one last time and goes silent to confirm it’s happening. “Oh fuck—Oh Fuck yeah baby holy shit!” He pulls you in even closer so that his balls are sunk right under your ass. There’s a faint hissing of your piss blessing his ears as it drenching the bear, who’s getting yellower and heavier as you continue to go. Joel moans, eyes rolling when he rolls himself tighter against you, and the warm liquid begins to seep onto his underwear. “OOOHhhh ugughh yeahhhhh,” he whines, and soon he’s cumming inside his boxers with your warm piss costing his shaft, sticking the fabric to him like a wet hug.

“That’s my Momma bear, pissin’ all over her lil toys, showin’ em who’s boss.” He hazily wedges his thumb under the hood of your clit and begins rubbing, pushing his hips closer so your slit is completely surrounded by the squelching warm wet cotton of your own pee-soaked Pinky.

His encouragement flies right to your lower belly. You bite your lip as you begin to shake, back arching best it can in the current position with a silent scream as pleasure washes over your entire body. It’s wrong, so wrong how freeing and good he makes it all feel, like he’s conditioning you to feel pissing your stuffed animals is a rewarded behavior.

Fuck this guy.

You both sigh out into the air, panting hard. Joel doesn’t bother to move or clean anything. He’s too busy basking in the wet, debauched mess between both of your spread legs. Your underwear, the once innocent and dry Pinky, his jeans and boxers now darkened, heavy, and sticking to skin with the cooling remnants of your glorious piss. 

“You—“ you rasp, pointing to him with a lazy finger but unable to lift yourself from your orgasmic mind. “YOu’re cleaning—everything.”

Joel just lets out a half laugh, half choke, nodding. “I know.” He bends forward and kisses the top of your swollen stomach, the part that didn’t get soaked from the water sports. Girthy hands rub along your thighs soothingly as he makes out with your pregnant tummy. 

You fist a bunch of dry plushies and droop them over your head, hoping to smother yourself in a Plushie heavenly sleep and deal with the aftermath of your new kink tomorrow.

- - - -

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[hollywoods-golden-age-imagines]

Meeting and Dating Scarecrow

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You meet Scarecrow when you’re transported to Oz. We all know that, in the movie, Dorothy hit her head and everything that happened was just a dream. But for the sake of these headcanons, let’s say that Oz is real.

- It had been a day like any other: you’d woken up, eaten breakfast, and gone outside to begin your work for the day. But what had initially been a normal morning, quickly became a dangerous and frightening one as the sky turned dark.

- Having lived in the town for a while, you knew exactly what this meant and headed straight for your cellar. You remained there for close to an hour, up until you couldn’t hear anything and we’re sure that the storm had passed.

- Upon trying at the cellar door, you found yourself struggling to lift the hatch. After a few minutes of shimmying, banging and pushing as hard as you could, the door finally began to lift up; though you found yourself still struggling to manage it.

- You squeezed your way through the crack you managed to form before you finally realized why you’d been struggling. The cellar was covered in grass, grass and dirt as though you’d broken through the ground itself. That was when you looked around and found that you were far from home.

- You were in the middle of some trees; very different from your farm, with bushes and flowers all around you. A few feet away, a yellow brick road led you down towards fields of corn. Well, ...you were either dead or dreaming.

- With nothing else to do, you began to walk down the road.

- Soon enough, you were led straight to the Scarecrow and much like in Dorothys case, you were shocked to find that the Scarecrow was; for all intents and purposes, alive.

- After the initial shock and your successful efforts to help him down, you explained to him what had happened to you and asked if he knew the way back to your city. Turns out, he didn’t even know where or what it was.

- With a sigh, you thanked him “anyways” and began to try and choose which direction you should walk in. As you were thinking, he cane up beside you and hesitantly suggested that he could go with you ...“if you’d like”.

- Who were you to refuse? Soon enough, the two of you were arm in arm and making your way down the yellow brick road.

- And thus began your journey, traveling through the different gardens and towns of Oz, trying to find someone or something that could bring you home. Along the way, you realize that you quite like the Scarecrow, far more than you’d anticipated.

- And that got you thinking that, perhaps, being in Oz wasn’t so bad. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a tragedy if you couldn’t find a way home. Maybe you’d like to stay.

- So when you were finally confronted with the idea of going home and the ability to do so, ...you were hesitant to take the chance. You took a long look around the fantastical place you’d traveled through; your eyes landing on the scarecrow in front of you and his teary eyes, and in a moment of revelation, you shyly confessed that you’d like to stay.

- In an instant, you were swept up into a tight hug and met with a chorus of cheers. And as your heart began to race in response to the Scarecrows joyful embrace, you realized that you were in a bit of trouble.

- So you begin your life in Oz, finding yourself a new home and trying to get situated in the whimsical place. It helps that you aren’t alone; Scarecrow comes to visit often and stays for hours on end.

- The thing about Scarecrow is, you can tell when he has a crush on someone, even before he realizes that he does himself. Though, because you don’t know a lot about Oz and the emotional range of a sentient Scarecrow, you try not to assume anything when it comes to his behavior.

“You know Scarecrow, you don’t have to come and visit me everyday if you don’t want to.” You told him one day, choosing your words carefully as to not make it seem like you didn’t want his company.

“Oh, but I do want to!” He assured you quickly and you gave him a smile.

“But don’t you ever want to spend time on your own, or with someone else? I just don’t understand why you want to spend a perfectly good day doing something boring with me when you could be doing something interesting with someone else.

“Well... I just like you a whole lot. That’s all,” He said at first before he furrowed his brows in thought. Though his next words were directed towards you, they seemed to be said more to himself than anyone else. “I like you bunches.”

“Well, I like you too.” You replied which seemed to ease his mind for the time being.

- He asked you out on a date late one morning, not too long after the two of you had that conversation. You should have seen how nervous he was, clutching a handful of flowers and fumbling with his clothing as he knocked on your door.

- He told you that he knew he was just a Scarecrow but that he liked you a lot and would like to give your relationship a try “if that was alright with you”.

- A scarecrow falling in love with a girl was surely a preposterous idea, but not as preposterous as a girl falling in love with a scarecrow which is exactly what had happened to you. All you could tell the straw man was that you “would love to” as you beamed up at him.

- You had a picnic for your first date though it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. You had to try several different places before you found one that was perfect, but you choose to forget the giggling munchkins and violent mocking apple trees.

- You had your first real kiss about a week later. Before then, you’d kissed his cheek a few times but that was about it.

- The two of you were in the cornfields, you’d been teaching him “how to frighten things” when he finally managed to “scare away” his first crow. Both of you were laughing happily when he looked over at you, quickly leaning forward and pecking you on the lips.

- While the action shocked you, you couldn’t help but smile, leaning forward and giving him a soft kiss in return. In that moment, your feelings were solidified and you couldn’t deny that you truly were in love with each other.

- He’s a very; innocently, affectionate person so expect him to always be close and/or touching you.

- Lots of hugs. It’s hard not to hug him when he’s so squishy.

- Soft, gentle kisses.

- Handholding. He finds it fascinating, mainly because your hands are so warm and soft while his are just a pair of gloves stuffed with straw.

- Locking elbows.

- Cheek kisses.

- Kissing his nose. How can you refuse something so inviting?

- Pecks on the lips. Sometimes he just pulls this face that all but forces you to do so.

- While he does like nicknames, he’ll usually just call you by your normal name. When he does call you by a pet name, it’s usually something like darling, sweetheart, and occasionally birdie.

- The two of you cuddle with your head on his chest and his arms wrapped around you. He’s pretty much a walking pillow so it’s incredibly easy to snuggle with him.

- He likes being helpful so don’t hesitate to ask him when you need some assistance; though he’ll usually offer it up on his own accord.

- He’s willing to go along with pretty much anything you’d like to do. He doesn’t manage nothing and he doesn’t mind anything either; he just likes to be with you.

- Clumsy boy. Don’t trust him with anything delicate and be prepared to try and catch him if, or rather when, he falls.

- Helping to keep him steady. You’ll have to hold him up at times, usually by wrapping his arm around your waist or shoulders when you’re walking together.

- Getting songs sung to and about you.

- Believe me, he’s clever, even if he thinks he isn’t. He gets all bashful whenever you tell him so.

- Helping him make up his mind. He thinks you’re incredibly smart.

- Visiting the tin man and cowardly lion. They grow to be very good friends of yours.

- Can we all just agree that he has a pet crow. Can we please just make that a fact. I need that in my life.

- Helping him pick up and stuff himself full of his fallen straw.

- Making faces at each other.

- He never is able to scare you, even if he thinks he’d like to. He’s just too sweet and lovable to scare anyone, especially the person who loves him the most. You reassure him that he can be frightening when he wants to be; though it’s a lie.

- He loves hearing about your world. I mean, Scarecrow hardly even knows about Oz, let alone a place that doesn’t exist where he comes from.

- Compliments. He can’t help but tell you how well he thought you did or how wonderful you look in your dress.

- Well, you’ll always know where to find him: the cornfields. He’s always jumping and excitedly greeting you whenever you come to visit.

- He loves resting his head in your lap.

- Dancing with each other.

- Picnics.

- Making flower crowns.

- Taking walks together.

- He’s honestly the easiest boyfriend you’ll ever have. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t sleep, and he’s never any trouble.

- He knows his way around Oz and it’s many interesting creatures so he’s always got a solution when you have a problem. He always shrugs it off and tells you not to mention it when you thank him.

- You aren’t exactly sure how he “works” and how he’s alive but you sure are glad that he is. He; in turn, is fascinated by your warmth, heartbeat and breathing; i.e. everything that shows that you’re alive.

- He’s always the first one to try and comfort you when you seem upset.

- He doesn’t really get jealous; he’s too sweet and kind. He might get a little grumpy and/or insecure but he doesn’t get angry; especially not with you. You can always tell that he’s “jealous” because he’ll linger at your side and get more touchy.

- He has a habit of speaking in your defense, even when there’s really no need. He just doesn’t want to see you get cheated out of anything.

- He’s not a very scary individual; much to his displeasure, but he isn’t afraid of anything besides a lighted match so he’s almost always willing to stand up for and protect you.

- He can get sorta spiteful every now and again; though not very often. Whenever he gets like this, he’ll try his best to give you the silent treatment. The thing is, he always winds up failing because he just can’t help but say something to you when you say something to him.

“Well, you know what!”

- He’s always fairly quick to apologize when he’s upset you or is otherwise in the wrong. He might not have a brain but he certainly isnt stupid and he’s able to recognize when he’s messed up. He can be very forgiving as well so don’t be afraid to try and apologize when you’ve messed up.

- Lots of sweet and chipper I love you’s.

- Living over the rainbow with a scarecrow that loves you to death. How could life get any better.

[uh-drarry]

Day 28 - Sweater

This is from the wonderful list posted by @remus-john-lupin ! This is unbetaed, sorry for any mistakes (not proofread, we die like men).

These are within the universe of my other content, but you do not have to read those to understand these. I won’t be making them all within the same time period but they’ll take place in different years of the same au. This one takes place while Wolfstar is newly dating. Happy December and Happy Holidays!

It was possible that Remus had never looked more adorable to Sirius than he did at that moment. His hair was fluffy and a bit curly. He wore white, high waisted cuffed jeans, and white sneakers. But what tied it all together for Sirius, was his sweater. Blue with clouds stitched into it. Truly adorable. And he was Sirius’s boyfriend, Sirius couldn’t believe it still.

Remus had fallen asleep in his squishy armchair at the library while waiting for Sirius, it seemed. They’d been planning to meet to work on homework together but Sirius got out of class an hour later than Remus did on Mondays. 

Once Sirius had memorized the adorable picture in front of him, he moved to Remus to wake him up. Remus wouldn’t be happy if they didn’t get anything done tonight.

“Moony.” Sirius whispered, kissing his cheek.

“Hmm?” Remus mumbled, not opening his eyes.

“We gotta do homework, Re.” Sirius chuckled. He ran a hand through Remus’s soft hair, unable to help himself with it right there.

“Don’t wanna.” Remus said tiredly. He pressed his head back into Sirius’s hand, liking the sensation it was giving him.

“I know, but you won’t be happy tomorrow if we don’t get some work done tonight. How about, you can sit in my lap while we work on French, and I’ll stay in your room tonight and you can be the little spoon?” Sirius asked with a smile, knowing Remus wouldn’t be able to resist.

He sighed heavily, but sat up straight, rubbing his eyes before finally opening them to see Sirius right next to him. He smiled, and leaned in for a quick kiss.

“Let’s save French for last then. Should we start with biology?” Remus asked, reaching for his textbook and notes on the subject.

When Sirius didn’t answer, he looked up to see his boyfriend staring at him. “What, do I have something on my face?”

“No, you’re just adorable.” Those three words were suddenly on the tip of his tongue, but it had to be too soon to say them, right? Sirius held them back, and quickly opened his book to distract himself from that possibly scary thought. Remus couldn’t possibly feel that way already. They hadn’t been dating very long yet. Not even a whole term. Maybe he was falling way too hard, way too fast? He’d have to consult with James tomorrow.

But he did. He really did love Remus, he was quickly realizing.

“Pads?” Remus startled Sirius out of his slight panic. “You good? You kind of spaced out there.”

Sirius pasted on a smile, “Yeah, I’m good. Anyway, biology right?”

“James! Panic! Help!” Sirius practically yelled, running into his best friend’s dorm room the next afternoon, only to freeze and run back out of the room slamming the door behind him.

“James! I can’t unsee that! Lock your goddamn door!” Sirius yelled through the closed doorway. He could hear furious mumbling and shuffling on the other side before James opened the door once again, this time dressed.

“Why hello, Lily! Fancy seeing you here!” Sirius said, walking into the room, as everything was back in order. 

“Hello, Sirius. How’re you?” Lily asked.

Sirius had to give her credit, she wasn’t blushing at all, unlike her boyfriend. “I’m panicking. It’s wonderful.” He replied serenely.

“What are we panicking about?” James asked, turning to take a seat on his bed next to Lily.

Sirius started pacing across the floor. “I am apparently in love with Remus.” James opened his mouth to respond, but Sirius kept speaking, “I just realized this last night. Kinda hit me like a ton of bricks, I was not expecting it. But he looked so adorable sleeping in the library, and he was wearing this adorable blue sweater with clouds on them, and his hair is so soft, and he’s so kind to everyone, and I don’t deserve him! Isn’t it too early to be in love? We’ve been dating, like, three months!”

“Sirius, calm down. Here, take my spot.” Lily said, standing up and moving Sirius to sit on the bed in her place. She grabbed James’s water bottle from his bedside table and handed it over, telling him to drink and calm himself.

Once he was breathing a little easier, he thanked her, and put the water bottle back.

“Okay,” Lily said, “Why are we freaking out about being in love with Remus?” 

“We’ve only been dating for three months, isn’t that way too early?”

“I mean you’ve known each other for like six years now, so no I don’t think it’s too early in that sense. If you had randomly met at some bar or something, maybe then I’d question you more, but you were best friends before you started dating. I would say the feelings were also probably already there, no? You had a major crush right?”

Sirius blushed, “Yeah, I guess.”

“So there, I don’t think it’s too early for you to have those feelings and I think you should tell him.” Lily said, hands on her hips.

“You think so?” Sirius questioned, looking between the other two for confirmation.

“Yeah, Pads.” James slapped him on the back in support before ruffling his hair. “Tell him how you feel, I can’t imagine he doesn’t feel the same anyway.”

Sirius took a deep breath and stood up, ready to go find Remus again. “Thanks guys.”

When Remus opened his door after Sirius knocked, Sirius was sure he was going to die. Remus was in another adorable sweater.

“How do you own the cutest sweaters in the world?” Sirius asked, staring at Remus’s chest where there were white geese walking in a line across another blue sweater.

Remus smiled, “I’m glad you like them. Mum makes them for me, usually. Come in.”

Sirius walked in and sat back on his boyfriend’s bed, patting his lap so Remus would come snuggle.

Once they were comfortably situated, Sirius spoke up. “Re, I have to tell you something.”

“That’s never good.” Remus said, pressing his face into Sirius’s chest instead of meeting his eyes.

“No, no, I promise it’s nothing bad. Or, well, I hope you don’t think it’s bad. I don’t think it’s bad, I do hope we’re on the same page, it’ll be very embarrassing if we aren’t on–” Remus leaned up and kissed Sirius, stopping his nervous rambling. “Babe, what did you want to say? “I love you, Remus.” Sirius said quietly, pressed against Remus’s neck, kissing back up to his cheek, then his lips again which were curved into a huge smile.

“I love you, Sirius.” Remus replied, and pulled him in closer for more kisses.

Here’s the sweater Remus was wearing at the beginning.

Masterlist

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 16

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/625552318938611712/the-long-way-around-chapter-15

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 3050

Warnings: None

Y/n’s POV

I sigh, pulling on my tennis shoes. “Can we do this later? I’m not feeling it.” It’s only been six hours since our last drill, I haven’t heard from Jasper, and the burn in my throat has yet to fade from six hours ago. I just want to be left alone.

“No.” Rosalie’s voice is firm, and she reaches down a hand to pull me up. “You need to be consistent otherwise you’ll lose progress. No more moping.” Now, she gives me a shove towards my bedroom door, “I’ve let this go on for too long.”

Childishly, I take slow steps towards the door. I really just want to get back in bed and watch some Netflix or something. “It’s not like it’s your fault. I’m just not in the mood.”

“Look,” Rosalie sighs, placing her hands on her hips. “Being away from your mate is hard, I get it. Emmett and I hate being away from each other, but-”

Her words register, and I have to cut her off. It’s something that’s been bothering me since the fight, when Cora addressed Jasper. She’d asked him if he was willing to die in the place of his mate, and she’d meant me. And now, Rosalie throws the term casually into conversation. My mind floats back to that discussion Jasper and I had all those months ago, about mates, and I know that the term is anything but casual; it’s equivalent to an eternal, undying commitment.

“Yeah, about that.” Rosalie’s eyebrows raise, presumably at being interrupted, but she speaks no further. I play with my fingers, glad Jasper’s not here to feel my insecurity and nervousness. It might give him the wrong impression. “That word has been thrown around a lot recently.”

Now, a smile quirks across Rosalie’s lips. “Does that bother you?”

“No, not bother,” I’m quick to correct. “It definitely does not bother me, it just…y’know, means a lot.”

“And that worries you?” This time, her guess is correct.

Timidly, I nod. It feels dumb to be admitting all of this, but it’s the truth. “It just feels so fast to be feeling this way.”

Rosalie takes a small step towards me, and her voice is kind when she speaks. “You guys go at whatever pace feels comfortable for you. All I’ll say, is when you know, you know. And there’s no going back.” She heaves a sigh, and then smiles. “Now, get your butt in the backyard. You are not getting out of training just cause you’re in love.”

Rolling my eyes, I follow her out of the house. I’ll have to make time to mull over my thoughts later, when I’m alone.

When we reach the backyard, which is really just a clearing in between the massive house and the forest, Emmett is waiting, and so is a scent that throws me into an immediate predator-like crouch.

“Emmett, you’re supposed to wait until she’s prepared to open the bag,” Rosalie chides, looking at me warily.

Emmett shrugs, a wide, unbothered grin across his face. “I’m taking it up a notch.”

Just the fact that I can register their conversation shows me how far I’ve come. A few weeks ago, I would’ve been laser-focused on the squishy bag fifty yards from me. I use the knowledge of my progress as a lifeline and force myself out of my crouch.

The footsteps racing toward me give barely a second to react before I’m slammed onto the ground with the force of a freight train. I snarl, fighting to get the dead weight off of me. The weight snarls back, and I recognize the sound instantly as that of another vampire. He must have smelled the blood and come to fight me for it. With that knowledge, my new goal becomes escape and, if possible, escape plus satisfaction in the form of guzzling the packaged human blood. But my first priority is set. With a growl, I grip the shoulders of my assailant, using my strength and my ability to put him on the ground. The man gasps in response to my attack, and soon a groan is drawn from his lips. My hands tingle, the only physical sign that I’d used my powers. Once the man is on the ground, I hold him down with a knee on his chest. I’m about to hit him with a wave of fire to further incapacitate him, when I notice the contorted, yet familiar, face below me.

“Arthur,” I gasp, hurrying off of him.

He takes a few steadying breaths but looks at me with a glint in his eye. “Nice job.”

“Yes,” another voice agrees as Edward hurries to join our group. “That was very controlled, Y/n.”

“Controlled?” I’m sure my eyes must be bulging comically. “I about made my friend think he’d been set on fire just so I could have some packaged blood.”

The blood. I freeze as I realize I had been ignoring it. Not unaware of it, exactly, just not prioritizing it. Experimentally, I take a shallow breath through my mouth. The fire ignites, but I fight through it. I take another breath, and another, eventually working up to a deep breath through my nose. That hits me the hardest, but with gritted teeth and much effort, I push down the urge to follow the scent.

Oh wow.

My face breaks in a grin to match that of Rose, Emmett, Arthur, and Edward.

Even now, fully aware of the sweet smell, I can ignore the urge to go after it. The temptation, as well as the painful burn in my throat, are very much present, but I can control my instincts. I am controlled.

“Aha!” I exclaim in joy and jump in the air, elevating about twelve feet before crashing back into the ground, leaving a small crater.

I bask in the congratulation from my friends as well as in my newfound optimism. Maybe Jasper is right. We might actually be able to go on a trip soon, just the two of us.

I swallow at the implication.

We’ve never been alone before for an extended period of time. Even our two trips to the waterfall were relatively brief.

Now that I know it’s a real possibility, I ache for uninterrupted time with Jasper.

But then my thoughts shift and I’m returned to a state of worry as I face the harsh reality that none of us have heard from either Carlisle, Esme, or Jasper in well over six hours.

The fact that Edward hears my thoughts and can offer no reassurance makes me feel even worse.

Emmett notices the shift in my mood. “Wanna wrestle?”

Usually I refrain, but right now, that actually sounds kind of fun. At the very least, it will distract me.

Hesitantly, I nod, and Emmett grins widely. After tossing the now tightly closed bag to Rosalie (who discards it safely), Emmett draws me further away from the house.

“Esme will kill us if she comes back to crushed brick,” he explains.

Edward chortles. “What, again?”

“Hey you’re next baby bro,” Emmett teases, his grin never slipping.

We circle each other for a few minutes. Then, with barely any warning, he lunges.

We grapple. I’ve been a vampire for nearly eleven months now, and my newborn strength is all but gone. Emmett is definitely stronger than me. My advantages lie in my speed—Emmett’s size makes him slightly slower than others—and in my ability. Still, I’m very hesitant to cause my lovable friend pain, so I keep a tight reign on my powers.

Emmett manages to get his arms around my middle and tosses me about two hundred yards. I slam into a tree, taking it down with me. But before it has a chance to hit the ground, I’m standing in front of Emmett, using his shoulders to throw him off balance. Just as I’m about to kick him in the stomach, a low move, I know, Edward’s phone rings. Immediately, we all freeze, guessing who will be on the other end of the call, but in the dark as to what news they will provide.

“Carlisle?” Edward’s voice is terse, a vocal expression of the feelings raging inside my heart. Please, please let Jasper be okay.

“Edward, we are on our way home. The conversation went well.” Carlisle’s voice is calm, optimistic even, and my friends exhale sighs of relief. I can’t quite relax yet though. Not until…

Thankfully, Edward hears the frantic tone to my thoughts and takes pity.

“Is everyone alright? Where are Esme and Jasper?”

“Everyone is just fine. Esme is checking us out and Jasper’s running a quick errand before we leave for the airport.”

I let out a shaky breath, nearly falling to the ground as all the tension leaves my body. He’s okay. He’s coming home.

“Wonderful,” Edward enthuses. “When should we expect you?”

“Our flight is supposed to land around five tomorrow morning, and we should reach the house around eight.”

The three hour drive between our small town and the nearest international airport suddenly seems incredibly rude. Perhaps…

Immediately, Edward shakes his head in my direction. “You’re not ready for that.”

“But you said I was controlled!” Inwardly, I cringe. My voice sounds like that of a whiny teenager.

“Controlled for the exercises, yes, but it will be completely different when you’re surrounded by humans, even if you stay in the car,” he tacks on, knowing my next argument. “Besides, Carlisle parked his Mercedes at the airport. It makes no sense to drive there when he already has a car waiting.”

I fight back a groan. I just want to see Jasper. I miss his hugs, his scent, the feel of his hand in mine, the way he smirks when I tug on his hair, cuddling up and reading or watching movies, the sound of his laugh-

Edward’s kind chuckle breaks through my thoughts. “Just eighteen more hours.”

Pursing my lips, I check my watch. It’s just past two-thirty. I can distract myself for seventeen hours and twenty-four minutes. Right?

Edward focuses back on his conversation with Carlisle, but I tune him out. I can get all the details later, from Jasper. All that matters now is that they’re safe, they’re coming home, and that the mission was successful.

I think of ways to fill my time. Hunting would certainly be a fun occupation, but I quickly dismiss the idea. Jasper will want to go when he returns, and I would rather go with him. Heck, we might get a whole family trip out of it if Carlisle and Esme need to go, too. I could kill a few more hours wrestling with Emmett though, eventually, we were sure to get sick of throwing each other around. Randomly, a thought strikes me, and a smile spreads across my face.

“Bella, Alice, Rose” I call, hurrying back towards the house.

{***}

Seven grueling hours later, we’ve amassed our supplies. Paint cans and pillows and fabric and wood and brushes and tools and baskets and a million other tiny objects crowd my room. It seemed much larger before we crammed all this in.

While the girls had kindly set up a room for me after my transformation, it lacked, well, me. The style was very generic and resembled more of a guest room than someone’s personal space.

I decided it was time for a change.

Bella lost interest hours ago and was now off somewhere with Edward, so Rose had roped Emmett into being our fourth set of hands.

“I like the pink, but that’s just me,” Emmett contributes, sounding surprisingly emphatic.

Rosalie groans. “I asked for base colors, not accent colors.”

Emmett makes a face that quite explicitly communicates the word, ‘geesh.’

I hold back a laugh and instead focus on studying the samples of paint in front of me. One in particular stands out, and I relay my decision to the group. We begin painting, each of us taking a wall. Arthur seems to feel left out and joins us about halfway through, and Rosalie puts him to work building a window seat.

Soon, my walls boast a calming sage color, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. Yes. Arthur’s constructed a lovely window seat complete with little doors on the bottom to give me extra storage, and I thank him profusely. It’s truly beautiful. Alice disappears and comes back with the perfect lace curtains, and I actually squeal. I would have never thought to include lace but, seeing it in context, I can’t deny that it’s just perfect.

To add a bit of depth (in Rosalie’s words, anyway), we throw in some hints of lavender, cream, and brown. Pleased with my reaction to his window seat, Arthur and Alice craft a bookshelf, and then leave in search of the perfect chair and table. While they’re gone, Rosalie, Emmett, and I talk bedding. After a surprising amount of arguing, we decide on a cream duvet and many pillows in variations of cream, lavender, and coffee.

Alice must have been notified of our decisions (by means of text or supernatural premonition, I don’t know), and returns bearing many gifts. She and Arthur set the items gently on my bedroom floor: a dusty pink vintage chair, a carefully distressed cream circular end table, a small cream pillow (presumably for the chair), a handful of startlingly large blankets, and hanging twinkly lights for above my bed. I about burst with excitement.

Not about to be outdone, Emmett leaves and returns exactly one hour later bearing a huge flat-screen TV. He grins as he and Arthur rebuild the bookshelf into a larger bookshelf-entertainment center-combo. It’s truly awesome.

With five hours before Jasper’s arrival, my room is finished. I can’t help but beam as we slide the last of my books into place on the carefully organized shelf.

“You guys….” Emotion makes my voice tight. In my, albeit fuzzy, human memory, I can’t locate a time when my friends had gone to such lengths to help me, to make me happy. I’m truly, deeply grateful for these people I get to call my friends. More than that, my family. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

They respond with smiles and an easy chorus of phrases diminishing their instrumental roles. I just pull them in for a group hug, which is met with varying levels of appreciation, and can’t help but laugh.

They leave me alone to enjoy my new space but also so they can finish cleaning up before Esme gets home. I feel bad, them having to take trips to the dump and various stores on my behalf, but Edward is right. I’m not ready to be surrounded by actual humans. Still, I’m eager to show Jasper my progress. He’ll be proud of me.

The thought of my love—for, as much as it scares me to think of him that way, he surely is— causes me to pause. Now that my room is all nice, it seems unfair for him to have to come home to find his untouched. A flash of a weak human memory confirms my theory: I had just returned from a week long school trip and found my room clean with freshly washed sheets. Someone—my mom or my dad?—had figured I would be tired and knew I would appreciate the act. Hopefully, Jasper would too. I exit my room and turn up the staircase to the top floor. Jasper’s room is located at the eastern corner of the house, and I head in that direction. When I get to his door, I pause. I’d been in here many times before, but never without him. Would he be upset? Would he consider this an invasion of his privacy? Those fears nearly send me back down the stairs but, reviewing what I know of his character, Jasper wouldn’t be angry. He probably wouldn’t even care. So, I push the door open.

Jasper’s scent, while faint, hits me, and I close my eyes, savoring. It’s been days since I’ve been surrounded by the comforting warmth of him, and my heart aches for his return.

I want to kick myself for being so besotted. Who was I, that I would be reduced to such sadness at just a few days away from my boyfriend?

I sigh, knowing the truth.

But he’s not just my boyfriend. Jasper is my mate. Neither of us is human anymore, so human standards cannot apply to us. What I feel for him is so completely…more than any human could ever even conceive of feeling.

I swallow under the weight of my admission. Put simply, I know deep in my gut that Jasper and I will be together for eternity. And, if death ever tries to do us part, it will not succeed. Whether in after-life or whatever comes next, we will be together.

Oof.

Needing to focus on something other than these intensities, I hurry to Jasper’s bed and strip the sheets and pillowcases. His room is spotless, so there’s not much work for me there. Still, while his bedding is in the washer, I busy myself with dusting, While wiping off one of his shelves, I find a couple of my books I’d noticed were missing, and roll my eyes. Thief. In retaliation, I take his favorite chessboard and shove it under my bed. Now, we’re even.

Once the bedding is finished drying, I replace it and smooth it out, making the bed as best I can. Vampirism is supposed to make you good at everything, but I can’t quite replicate the tightly fitted corners Jasper creates with ease. Eh, good enough. Besides, it’s the thought that counts, right?

I replenish the washing machine with Carlisle and Esme’s bedding next, not wanting to leave them out. Just because I’m not ridiculously in love with them doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have freshly washed sheets too, right?

By the time I’m done with my various cleaning, it’s only two hours until Jasper’s arrival. Alice can sense my anticipation, and invites me to watch a movie with her. I accept but, instead of focusing on the classic plot, count down the minutes until I can hear the car’s wheels on the drive.

A/n Thank you for all your kind words on my last update! Each reply, like, and reblog makes me smile and I truly appreciate you taking the time out of your day to do that! Don’t forget to let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you would like to be added to the tag list :)

xx, 

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/625820783935160320/the-long-way-around-chapter-17

Tag list: @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @one-thread-can-save-a-life @salsameter @enchantedcruelsummer @meashy-moo @sana-li @femflorals @80strashbag @tomisbaeholland @heyimval13 @triscuitcracker @deviantly-gayy @sleepywinnie847 @vexingcosmos @avalongrey @artms-blnd

[spideysmjs]

Kiss list #41, pls?

Thank you! 

41. Kisses shared under an umbrella. 

A/N: I got kind of carried away with this one.

MJ zips up her windbreaker all the way, snug at her neck as she pulls the hoodie over her dead. The forecast did not predict a storm in Queens today, and after coming out of her late shift at the Ray’s Bar, dealing with obnoxious drunkards all night, the downpour of rain is just the biggest, most dreadful cherry on top of a weird day.

She finishes locking up the doors, waves goodbye to her co-worker, and heads in the opposite direction on the way home.

Immediately outside, MJ faces the harsh reality that she’ll wake up with a cold. Luckily, she’d laced up her most endurable pair of combat boots so her feet wouldn’t feel squishy in her socks. She makes a mental note to buy an umbrella tomorrow.

Just as she thinks her night is finally over, begging a higher power to allow her to make it home safe before the sunrises, she hears a body slam against the brick wall of an alley she passes every night. 

Great.

MJ knows exactly who it is, and her curiosity can’t help but force her to check if he’s okay—even if he doesn’t know that she cares. She really does and not because he’s the local hero: Spider-Man. MJ cares because she knows him as her old friend, Peter Parker. That piece of information is also withheld.

“Hey Red,” she greets him. He’s curled in fetal position after a bad hit to the body. “You promised me last week you wouldn’t scare me at 5:30 in the morning anymore.”

He laughs weekly. His lenses whit uncontrollably. They’re broken probably. “My favorite Queens native.”

“That’s a big title. You meet just about everyone.” She offers him a hand and he takes it despite the fact that he doesn’t need assistance. The touch makes her feel warm. She forgets that her entire being is soaked with the unpredictable weather. “Why’d you hit a wall?”

“It’s so insane, M-friend.” He tries to catch a slip that MJ has already caught. They don’t let go of each other’s touch. “My lenses started short circuiting, so I panicked. Focused on that instead of my next web.”

“Are you okay?” MJ asks, though she knows it’s a stupid question.

“Are you?” he ignores her answer, finally slipping his hand away from hers. “You’re all wet.”

“I could use a lift home. Or an umbrella.”

He chuckles, muffled beneath the mask. “I could do that.” He bends his knees, patting his thighs. “Hop on, stranger.”

“You know you could call me my first name.”

“That would require me knowing it.”

She smiles, swinging her legs around him, the movement so familiar now. MJ’s lost count of how often Peter could catch her on the way home from a closing shift. “MJ.”

“Nice,” he says, mumbling into her neck. The rain makes his suit extra slippery, so she wraps her legs tight and he can feel his hands gripping around her body even tighter. “I’m Spider-Man.”

“I didn’t know that. You know you ha-“ she gets interrupted, a scream escaping her lungs because she’s still not used to being launched in the air.

She wants to smack him upside the head for making fun of her, but he whispers, “I got you.” and that’s enough to make it okay.

MJ keeps her eyes shut for the duration of the swing, as she always does, but the timing feels shorter when her feet land safely on the ground. When she opens her eyes, she sees them in front of a bodega. Peter says, “Wait right here.”

Her back presses against the glass of the open bodega. She picks at her chipped black nails and watches the rain splatter on the street with a soft bounce back. When he comes back out, he displays her an umbrella. She rolls her eyes, fond and soft. “Thanks.”

“Ready to walk home, madam?” he offers his arm to loop around after opening the umbrella. She takes his arm. “It’s just around the corner.”

“You know me so well,” she laughs. “One of these days I should let you inside.”

“Oh?” he asks. “Well–that’s.. that’s okay. I’m just being a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

“Right,” she says.

There’s a silence for the rest of the way back, her face burning underneath the umbrella as their arms are linked and their footsteps synchronized. MJ wants to tell Peter she knows it’s him, but a part of her wants to wait, a part of her tells her there’s another time she can do this. A better time. A more predictable time, unlike the weather today.

When they reach the steps to her apartment building, she faces him.

“This is yours.” He offers her the umbrella handle, and she takes it, thanking him. He brings his finger to her nose and taps it once. “Now get out of those wet clothes and take a hot shower so you don’t get sick.”

Then, it slips. “Thanks, Pete.”

“You’re welcome MJ.” A beat. “Wait.”

She laughs. “I didn’t mean to say your name.”

“It’s okay,” he spazzes out. “You just-how do you-since when?”

“High school. When I had a crush on you.��

“You had a crush on me?” he asks, surprised, almost incoherent. MJ nods, her grip on the umbrella handle tighter, her heart beating too quickly for her own comfort. His hand cups her cheek. Her free hand brushes up his chest and to his neck, finding the opening of the mask.

“Can I?” MJ asks. He nods gently, and she lifts his mask just above his lips. “For safety, you know.”

“I know.”

She places a soft kiss on his lips, but his mouth is open, and he takes her all in. It’s funny how there’s a clap of thunder as soon as their bodies connect because that’s exactly how her stomach feels. MJ didn’t expect to be kissing Peter Parker underneath the umbrella that he bought for her.

Then again, she didn’t expect the rain either.

[inactiive-shit]

Of Love And Knives

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Warnings: crude language, weird Remus things

Pairing: Romantic Dukexiety

Words: 2,996

Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and Remus had a plan. It's just...a work a in progress.

I wrote Dukexiety because there is not enough of it and I love them. Happy Valentine’s Day everybody! Also, there is French in this, but I don’t speak French and had to use Google Translate for it. I am so sorry for any inaccuracies.

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

A box of chocolates was simply far too plain. Something as expected and unoriginal as a hollow fake-heart shaped box filled with chocolate did not do his creepy crawly death dealer justice. It had no flair, no pizzaz, nothing special that would let Virgil know exactly how much he meant to Remus.

He could always take Virgil to a movie, but the only thing in theaters at the moment were preposterous rom-coms that would not do on this favored holiday. Remus had been hoping for a horror movie to be out, something worthy of taking Virgil to so that he would really feel loved and appreciated, but it just seemed like horror movies seemed to be skipping the theaters these days.

Remus’ next plan was to go out and watch a thunderstorm. They both liked being in the rain, and the lightning made sexy times that much more exciting. The possibility of being struck by lightning or of being found by someone while fucking in the rain was truly the kind of Valentine’s Day experience that Remus wanted to give to Virgil. But it wasn’t thunderstorming out—it wasn’t even raining!

(And Virgil tended to worry about how clean that really was, but they hadn’t died yet.)

All of this together meant that Remus was being relegated to getting his boyfriend a box of chocolate like every other panicked sap in the area who forgot to get their dates something.

Except, Remus hadn’t forgotten. All his plans had just...fallen through.

Maybe he should have taken up his brother’s offer of a fancy restaurant double date with him and his husband Dee.

But Remus wanted it to be special! And their friends always got annoyed when Remus and Virgil got too into each other for their tastes. Though Virgil did look ravishing in a suit...

Remus sighed and drudged toward the giant shelf of sickeningly commercialized sweets and tried to pick the one that would make Virgil laugh the most. If they couldn’t watch somebody get gutted on the big screen, the least Remus could do was make sure everything that did happen was funny enough that Virgil would still enjoy it.

Just as his hand descended toward an overpriced box of chocolate, Remus noticed a left-over bag of spider chocolates from Halloween. A thought hit Remus like a brick to the head. He smiled, running that same hand through his tangled hair, and felt the excitement spread through him like a wildfire. Yes, that plan would work. Virgil would like it, Remus could enjoy it, and he could set it up quickly enough that he wouldn’t have to be late for their dinner.

Rushing out of the store to his car and feeling almost maniacal, Remus dialled Logan’s number.

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

“Hello, Scarebear!” Remus sang, flinging himself into their apartment and setting a box down. The door bounced off the wall and shut itself, but Remus didn’t notice all that, too busy beelining for Virgil. He lurked in the small area between their kitchen and living room, where they had placed a table and declared it to be their dining room.

It was a small, two bedroom apartment. There wasn’t much space for things like tables. Or eating. Remus didn’t mind all that, though. There was plenty of room for other things, such as snuggling and sleeping and smoking and fucking.

“Hey, babe. What have you been up to?” Remus wrapped his arms around Virgil from behind and Virgil nestled back into the touch. Remus pushed his head onto Virgil’s shoulder to press a wet kiss on his neck before watching how steadily Virgil’s hands moved the food around their table.

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that.” Remus shrugged. Virgil wiped the spit off his neck with one hoodie sleeve and then bapped him in the face with it. “So how’s our lovely meal coming along?”

“Great,” Virgil said dryly. “We have the veggie fried rice, Quorn chicken nuggets to add to the rice since you’re trying to go vegetarian, fortune cookies, and also whatever this thing is.” He held up something dark green and slimy.

“What is it?”

“Not a clue, but I saw it at the store and it made me think of you. I figure we could try it and if it turns out bad, throw it at people on the sidewalk.”

“You know me so well!” Remus exclaimed, jumping with Virgil in his arms. Virgil laughed lowly, and that voice made Remus think absolutely lewd things that would probably get him arrested. Things he would love to do both to and with Virgil

Some of those thoughts could be acted on later, but not right now. As much as it pained Remus to admit, there were more important things to attend to.

“The couch?” Virgil asked.

“The couch,” Remus said, picking up some of the food and moving it to the couch. Virgil followed him with the rest of it.

“Oh, and one more thing before we eat,” Virgil said. He went to the kitchen and took something out of the freezer. He brought it back to Remus and offered it to him.

“A lemon!”

“That’s cut into a heart because I love you,” Virgil said. He kissed Remus as he sat down and then Remus took a bite out of the frozen lemon. He grinned at Virgil, cackling as he winced.

“I love you too, Virge,” he said. “Now, how do you suppose this fake chicken will taste with the rice?”

“One way to find out.” Virgil rested his legs across Remus’ lap as they relaxed and started eating. Remus tore into the rice like a starving man and Virgil laughed while threatening him with a vacuum cleaner. It made an alarmingly cute scene.

Remus didn’t think he was made for cute, but this sure did make him wonder if it would really be so bad.

Once their meal was finished and they had shoved all the dishes into either the trash or the sink to deal with the next day, with the exception of the mystery item that they placed on the table to give a few more minutes before trying, Remus grabbed Virgil’s hand. “What’s the plan, Duke?”

“You know how I always tell all of the truth?” He waited for Virgil’s curious nod before continuing. “Well, I’m using all the squishy stuff up here,” he tapped his temple, “to not explode the potatoes before the microwave gets too hot. But if you keep asking I’ll just go ahead and tell you anyway.”

“Alright, alright,” Virgil laughed, covering his mouth with his free hand. “I’ll wait patiently.”

“Thank you,” Remus sang, kissing Virgil’s lips and then kissing his cheek and then moving on to his neck before Virgil finally pushed him off.

“It’s time for presents. There will be plenty of time for that stuff later.” Virgil sent a chilling grin to Remus. He almost ripped Virgil’s clothes off without any further prodding, but then Virgil pouted at him instead. “It’s your turn to go first.”

“Fine, fine. I’m going.” Remus ushered Virgil to sit back on the couch and then collected the box from where he had left it by the door. He carried it over to Virgil and solemnly said, “This is the first part of your gifts.”

“The first part?” Virgil asked, raising his eyebrows.

“There are three parts. But you can’t have the third one until tomorrow because it’s living with Roman and Dee right now. At least, it should be. I hope Dee’s snakes haven’t eaten it.”

“Remus, what did you get?”

“Something just as terrifying and fluffy as you, ma rose,” he said, rugging on a lock of Virgil’s hair.

“A kitten?” Virgil asked, hesitant smile crawling over his face. “Remus, did you buy me a kitten?”

“Stop asking or it won’t be a surprise when we go to pick it up tomorrow,” he whined. Virgil beamed at him, smile so bright that Remus could go without the sun and have no complaints.

“Okay, okay, but if you got me a fluffy black kitten, I am going to kiss you, we are naming them Asura, and we are going to fuck.”

“I like the way you think,” Remus said. “But maybe you’ll be kind enough to still bestow the same gift upon me tonight even though the mystery creature isn’t here?” He offered Virgil the box.

Virgil, still smiling, carefully picked apart the tape holding the flaps closed and opened the box. Inside was a second box, but this one made of plastic. He discarded the cardboard box and began inspecting the clear one. “What…” he said, and then his eyes widened with a gasp. “Is that a tarantula?”

“Yep.” Remus stuck a hand on his hip, watching Virgil. “Perfectly safe to hold. Well, mostly. She’ll flick the hairs off at you if she feels threatened, but it’s mostly just going to irritate the skin they hit. Unless they go in your eyes. Then you might go blind.”

Virgil wastes no time in sticking his hand in the box to get her out. “Her name is Tengu,” Virgil said, bringing her right up to his face to get a good look. “She is beautiful. Look at those legs.” Virgil spent the next few minutes admiring his arachnid and spewing off random tarantula facts. “This is a smaller species than the goliath bird eaters, obviously, but I bet she can still live twenty years or so. Some can be multicolored but I’ve always liked the plain ones more.”

Eventually, Virgil put Tengu back in the little box. “She’ll need a bigger home than that.”

“I’ve got all the supplies out in the car. I just didn’t want to bring them in and ruin the surprise.” Virgil jumped forward and crushed himself to Remus in a heated, passionate kiss. Remus growled into Virgil’s mouth, pulling him even closer.

“You are the best boyfriend in the world,” Virgil said, breathless.

“It’s the shock factor.” Remus kissed Virgil again, but then he was pulling away.

“I have something for you, too. Let me go get it before we get too caught up in,” he motioned to Remus’ partially undone shirt, “this.”

Remus threw himself onto the couch as Virgil left and took the tarantula with him. He was happy and excited and wanted to bounce off the walls like a super bounce bouncy ball. Still, he tried to wait as patiently as he could for whatever Virgil would bring out. It was easier said than done.

Virgil reappeared and thrust something at Remus. “Here you go. I wrapped it like that because I know you love Valentine’s stuff.” He refused to make eye contact with Remus. The package was rectangular and wrapped in bright red paper with silver hearts all over it. Remus smiled at it and ripped the paper off the same way he would later be ripping off Virgil’s clothes. Inside was a collection of all Remus’ favorite horror movies, ranging from classics like Chucky to newer ones like IT. All in all there were ten movies, with an additional five that he hadn’t seen yet.

Remus launched himself off the couch at Virgil, knocking them both onto the floor. “Virgil! Scarebear! Creepy crawly! I love you so much!” He plastered Virgil’s face in kisses that left Virgil gasping for breath around laughing so hard. Then he started tickling at Virgil’s sides, and it was another few minutes before both of them could breathe.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Virgil said. Remus nuzzled his head against Virgil’s chest and Virgil ran a hand through Remus’ longer hair, gently working out the tangles.

“Ooh, I have one more thing for you, and then we can play a sexy game.” Remus shoved himself off the ground and swung Virgil up into his arms. Virgil didn’t even yelp at the sudden move, just grabbed the suspicious green thing and looped one arm loosely over Remus’ neck, allowing Remus to carry him to the roof of their apartment building.

Before coming in, Remus had set up the telescope that he had snatched from Logan’s house. It was pointed up at the night sky, though not at any stars in particular. He didn’t know anything about constellations, but Virgil did, and he was more than happy to let Virgil go to work with the telescope.

“Holy shit, did you steal Logan’s telescope?”

“I asked first,” Remus said, playing at offended. Virgil’s hand absently worked at the button’s on his shirt, and Remus doubted Virgil was even aware he was doing it. He didn’t mention it, though. He liked Virgil’s little subconscious habits.

“So Logan’s isn’t going to come over tomorrow, fuming, demanding that you give his telescope back?”

“I didn’t say all that. I never even said he said yes,” Remus argued, placing Virgil on his feet. Virgil snorted, immediately adjusting the placement and settings on it.

“It’s a clear night,” he muttered, carefully swerving the telescope around.

“Yeah! That’s how I thought of it. I was hoping for thunderstorms, but that didn’t happen and I was mad about the sky being clear, and then I realized that meant we could steal-”

“Borrow.”

“-Logan’s telescope for the night and have a little fun with it.”

“You’re pretty damn smart. Ya know, for someone who tried to snort Pixie Stix.” Virgil laughed when Remus smacked at him and lit up a cigarette.

“Ah, but is that not better than my brother trying to snort Smarties? He didn’t even crush them up first.”

“I will be the last person to get in the middle of a contest between you and Roman,” Virgil said, blowing out some smoke.

“I thought you were going to quit all that,” Remus said, batting at Virgil’s cigarette. Virgil moved it away without looking, still inspecting the night sky.

“Finish the pack?” he suggested.

“I could eat them for you, if that would help.”

“It would not, but I appreciate the offer. Come here.” Virgil stepped back from the telescope, blowing smoke away from Remus’ face. “Look right here. Don’t move it.” Virgil placed his hands on Remus’ shoulders as though to help guide him where he’s supposed to look. “That one up there is Cancer. That’s your star sign.”

“Which of the stars is it?” Remus asked.

Virgil stepped back. “It looks kind of like a dick.”

“Oh, I see it!” Remus crowed. “Isn’t that perfectly fitting? Wow, I’m really beginning to think those Western zodiacs you keep talking about might have something to them, Virge.” Remus pulled away from the telescope to look at Virgil and crack another dick joke, and then he noticed Virgil kneeling next to him.

“Scarebear? You okay?”

“Remus,” Virgil said, “I have something to tell you. We’ve known each other for twelve years and we’ve been dating for half that time. I have loved you and been in love with you for closer to ten. You have made my life so much more wonderful than I ever imagined it could be, and I cannot wait to see where else it takes us. And I am so, so hoping that you’ll come along for it all.” Virgil paused, pulled a box out of his jacket pocket, and took a deep breath. Remus was holding his own, had been since the first word. “Remus Duke, will you marry me?”

“Oui oui oui, bien sûr que je le ferai. Oh mon dieu, c'est incroyable, tu es incroyable, bien sûr je t'épouserai,” he exclaimed, throwing himself at Virgil again and kissing him senseless. Virgil laughed into his mouth, their kiss disjointed and filled with happiness.

“Here,” Virgil said when Remus finally had to stop to breathe. “I know we’re not ring people, and I figured this would be way more fitting.” He let Remus carefully extract the knife from the box. The handle was deep green and fit into Remus’ hand perfectly. The sheath was plain and sturdy, dyed green. He unsheathed it and caught his breath at the sight. The knife gleamed in the dim light on the roof and the sharp side was sharp enough to cut someone and they wouldn’t even notice.

However, along the ridge in the middle of the blade, there was an engraving. Our love is sharper than any blade, carved deeper than any words, shines more brightly than any star. Remus flipped it over. The other side said the same thing, but in french.

“Fuck,” Remus said. “Virgil, this is fucking amazing.” He glanced up at Virgil, teary-eyed, and paused. “There is one condition, though?”

“Oh?” Virgil said.

“No more of these.” Remus tapped the cigarette in Virgil’s hand. Virgil looked down at it, dropped it, and stepped on it.

“Deal,” he said.

“We’re engaged!” Remus yelled, picking up Virgil and spinning them in a circle. “We’re going to be married!” He set Virgil back on the ground roughly, too excited for much else. “Je t’aime, ma rose! Je t’aime!”

“I love you too, Remus.” Virgil cupped Remus’ face, staring into his eyes, and Remus shattered the distance between them, diving for Virgil and kissing kissing kissing until there was nothing else. They were a mess of tongues and teeth, clashing parts that only meant the best things.

“Fuck,” Remus said again once they finally parted. Virgil dropped his head to rest on Remus’ shoulder. “I’m thinking a July wedding. Nudist beach. Ocean spray. Dicks out.” Virgil shook against Remus, laughing so hard he couldn’t make a noise. Remus hugged him closer, still awed.

“Sounds perfect,” Virgil finally said. “God, I love you.”

“Je t’aime, ma rose,” Remus murmured. “And I also love fucking you. Which is what I think we should go do now.”

“Oh yes, definitely.”

“To the bedroom?”

“Why wait that long?” Virgil asked, and then there were teeth and tongues and lips and biting and grabbing and clothing ripped free from bodies. Remus can not imagine Valentine’s Day having gone any better.

[bowieandqueen11]

Sweetheart / Barry Berkman Imagine

Request: Hi love, I was wondering if you could write a Barry x reader where he has to kill like an old crush (from high school idk) and he doesn't remember her but when he sees her he's like "damn I can't kill her she's pretty" Sorry for the spelling mistakes btw i love your blog❣️ 

Thank you so much darling! Also to the anon who asked about domestic Barry, I don’t have many at the go at the moment! <3

Warning: Strong language!!

Barry tumbles back out of the hedge, cursing silently into the night as he stumbles further down the path that winds around the neighbourhood like Dorothy’s yellow brick road.

Soon the shadows of the trees will blend into the blackness and their silhouettes against the sky will grow less pronounced. As the view disappears the sounds emerge as if the volume is being steadily turned upward. The breaking of a simple leaves or twigs becomes the focus of Barry’s attention, glancing upward to catch a glimpse of the moon before a dark cloud erases its silver rays and covers him in darkness once again. 

There was a gate of rough wood near the entrance to your house, and ivy cascading over the fence, growing tendrils in every direction like seeking fingers. The stone path was punctuated with weeds; moss than grass and was over shadowed by huge oak tree flowing its leaves down onto the dank and squishy ground, and on top of a flustered Barry’s head as he brushes them off. Clusters of defiant daffodils reared their golden heads amidst the gloom and there were smatters of fuchsia along side the scarlet and saffron hued primroses that he squishes under his feet, moving closer to the edge of his target’s property.

The gate was somewhat rickety; the hinges and nails had become rusted and the gate hung at a jaunty angle. It gave the impression that one good gust of wind could finish it off. Barry opened it and brought it to a soft, noiseless close behind him.

When at last he arrived at your kitchen window, climbing in once he jived open the lock, he nearly skidded against the floors of polished concrete and into the centre island, whispering a light ‘fuck’ as he throws his gun out of the way and reaches up to steady the three swaying lights, not noticing the dirty footprints he had left on the stone.

Hearing footsteps, Barry ducks behind the counter, squeezing his eyes closed in prayer that you hadn’t heard him, but not realising he was so tall that you could very obviously see the brown tufts of his hair floating above the grey top like tufts of grass.

‘Who the fuck are you!? What the fuck! Get the fuck out of my kitchen, asshole!’

His mark stepped out from the door way, eyes wild and crazy in shock, your pyjamas lumped around your arms as you grab a saucepan from the rack on the wall and raise it above your shoulder. The photograph given to him by Fuches hadn't done you justice at all. In his magnified eyes yours shone, and there was a genuine look of concern flashing across his face as you watched you jump lightly on the spot, screaming slightly in surprise when you spot his head whipping around the corner with a small frown.

What the fuck?

He wanted to reach out and touch yours lips, full and glossy even in the fading light of the evening. You had a kind of understated beauty, perhaps it was because you were so disarmingly unaware of your prettiness.

But he wasn’t. He had spent every day of high school looking at how brightly your skin glowed so, the beauty that lit your eyes and softened your features. When you had smiled and laughed in the hallways during lessons, Barry couldn't help but smile along too, even if it was just on the inside. To have been in your company was to feel that you too were someone, that you had been warmed in summer rays regardless of the season. It was the only memories from his childhood he wanted to remember.

‘...Y/n? Jesus fuck, hi. Hi-it’s Barry? Barry Berkman? We used to know each other in high school?’ 

He waved awkwardly, dropping the gun down onto his chest with a little ouch, before pulling the strap behind his back.

‘Yeah, hi Barry I remember you, but what the fuck are you doing in my house...with a gun...you know, TRYING TO KILL ME??’

At first there was silence. A misty haze upon the horizons of his mind as he stared into your eyes again; he could feel the hard painful lump in the back of his throat as the tears began to form. Slowly his breathing hallowed itself and a small but intense pain struck the top nerve in his head.

‘Fuck this’, he thinks, ‘and fuck Fuches too.’

He felt his cheeks flush hot, and his stomach grow heavy. My heart pounded in his throat, threatening to break out. 

‘Uh...if I say I came here to protect you from that dude-did you hear? That dude who, uh, killed that guy from the drama class? Would you believe me if I said...I was here to protect you?’   

‘No!’

[galahadwilder]

The Agreste Letters, Ch. 12

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The Agreste Letters Archive

AO3

*

Mayura was fast, too fast—more than that, she was floaty, agile, and impossible to pin down. Whatever strength advantage Iron Maiden may have had, every swing was slow, ponderous; Mayura moved like a hummingbird in comparison, dancing clear of every shot she took. Maiden was starting to understand how infuriating it must have been for her father to fight Chat on top of that vine.

Her spiked knuckles slammed into the oven where Mayura had been just seconds before, pulverizing the brick frame and crumpling the cast iron door with the sound of shrieking metal. Maiden tried to turn, to duck out of the way of Mayura’s blades fan, only for the edge to spark off the spike on her neck right where the metal covered her spine.

The worst of it was that Maiden was mentally off-balance. Her Champion powers were programmed into her on an instinctual level, but all of Ladybug’s combat experience was still there, screaming at her that she should be moving faster, lighter, despite the fact that she was literally made of metal. (She wouldn’t be surprised if Greyling had galvanized her intestines—that was just the sort of thing that would occur to him, and also the sort of thing that he’d consider reasonable. Her partner may have been smart but he was the dumbest genius she’s ever met, and she loved him for it.)

(Oh, Kwamis, she couldn’t believe she just thought that. What would he say if he knew?)

"Why are they fighting each other?" Alya gasped behind her. She and Nino were holding onto each other, backing away from the fight, leaning against the far wall of the shop and dragging themselves towards the door over the broken glass Mayura hed left behind. Good, they were getting clear.

She tried not to think about her parents, her father's sobbing, and why her mother wasn't moving.

She had three advantages. One, Mayura’s fans couldn’t pierce her skin. Two: while Mayura may have been too quick for Maiden to pin down, Nathalie Sancouer had not been blessed with Maiden’s abundance of fighting experience. Three: this was Marinette’s house. She’d grown up in this bakery. She knew the terrain.

"Does it matter?" Nino whispered back, pulling Alya toward the door. "Stay out of their way!"

The best way to fight a bird? Clip its wings. Keep her caged, keep her grounded, keep her cornered. On the shop floor? Mayura could move. Inside the cramped bakery space itself, trapped behind the counters? As long as Maiden could stay between her and the shop, every strike just barely missed pulverizing bone. But that was the problem—the bakery and the shop were still technically the same room. All Mayura had to do was go over her head—and Iron Maiden was no taller than Marinette. She had to keep Mayura grounded.

“Where is he!” Mayura screamed, spittle flying into Iron Maiden’s face, her red-black eyes burning with hate. That was Maiden’s last advantage: Mayura didn’t seem to be in complete control of her emotions the way Mme. Sancouer usually was—her actions, while far from clumsy, were unfocused, unconsidered, rage-fueled (in fact, if she hadn’t known better, Maiden would’ve said it was supernaturally so). She fought like an Akuma. And Ladybug knew how to fight Akuma.

Keep her rage focused on you, she thought. She couldn’t let Mayura think for long enough to realize that attacking Marinette’s family would be more effective than Iron Maiden herself at this point. She needed to tank for them—to “draw aggro,” in the terms from that MMO Nino had tried to get her to play once (it was okay, but no 1v1)—to keep her away from the squishies. If she wrecked the bakery in the process, Ladybug could always put it back together.

She had a fleeting thought of her mother, face-down on the ground not five feet behind her, her spine twisted. She could hear her father sobbing over his wife’s paralyzed frame, trying to pull her away from the fight. Maiden pushed the thought, the sound, out of her head. Ladybug would put everything back. She had to.

Mayura tried to lunge past her, her eyes focused on Tom Dupain, but Iron Maiden stepped backward, ripped a shelf out of the display case (scattering buns across the floor as she did), and swung, smashing it over Mayura's skull and slamming her into the brick wall, stunning her. She flung the shelf aside, raised a spiked fist, drove it into Mayura's chest. The brick behind her cracked.

Both of them fell into the stairwell behind the bakery, crushing the stairs under their combined weight as they did.

Mayura recovered first, yanking herself out from underneath the metal mass of Mari's body and launching herself left, straight out the side door.

No, no, no, NO! Maiden thought, rolling to her feet. I can't match her outside!

She didn't have a choice. She had to follow her, or else she'd just circle back around and come after Alya and Nino. Iron Maiden charged out the door—

Wait. Where was Mayura?

Her question was answered with a scream from her left. Mayura leaped at her with a spinning kick, her dress flaying out behind her, and slammed her foot into Iron Maiden’s unyielding forhead. There was a clang, then a snap as her metatarsals struck unyielding metal, and Mayura fell to the ground and shrieked in agony.

Maiden saw her moment, lunged for the jeweled blue fan on her sternum—but she was slow, too slow.

Blue fingers shot out and closed around her bracelet. Around Adrien’s jade lucky charm. “Got you.”

”Get AWAY from her!”

Chat Noir slammed into Mayura's side, ripping her from Marinette and sending them both tumbling into the patio table, knocking furniture across the courtyard, and Iron Maiden gasped as relief flooded her veins. He was here. He'd made it. Mayura was outnumbered, they were—

The front of the shop lit up green and orange, and Rena Rouge and Carapace stumbled around the corner, both holding their chests but both with weapons high.

Mayura kicked upward, threw Chat off and launched herself into the air. Her eyes flashed across the three heroes and the Champion, narrowing, and she ripped a feather out of her fan and flung it toward Iron Maiden, landing with a roll.

Maiden's vision narrowed in on the feather—nothing else was there, nothing but her and it and she couldn't get away. It was too small, too fast, and she was too slow. The weight of her metal body slowed her down, kept her close, and her iron heart began to pound in her ears. A Sentimonster. Her Sentimonster. Rena and Cara were already injured—if that feather reached her, all four of them could die, and there was nothing she could do to—

"Cataclysm!"

The feather burned in Chat's claw, and Iron Maiden collapsed against the wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Mayura was gone, likely fled while the others were watching her.

Rena raised a shaky flute to her lips. Carapace tried to interpose himself between her and Chat, shield covering both of their chests. Both of them started as she straightened, pushed off the wall—they were staring at her, eyes wide, terrified.

"Mari," Rena said. "Please. We don't want to hurt—"

"Princess!" Chat shrieked, shoving his way past Carapace. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed; she barely managed to retract the spikes in time to avoid skewering him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Kit-Kitty," she said, her voice wavering as she finally let herself think about what she'd been forcing down for the whole fight. "My-my mother, she needs—"

She didn't finish her sentence. Instead, she felt his soft, warm lips crash painfully against her cold metal ones; his tears of joy and relief spraying her cheek. Distantly, she heard Rena and Carapace gasp, but she barely cared—right now all that mattered was her and the boy whose arms she was melting into, the boy who risked his life to save her day after day, the boy she loved. The boy who'd run halfway across the city to protect her.

He broke away first, dropping his head onto her shoulder. "Don't ever do that to me again," he sobbed.

She reached up, tentative, to scritch behind his ears, heedless of her other teammates' shocked faces. "Hey," she whispered. "I'm okay."

He purred softly, and her pulse began to calm as the adrenaline slowly started to retreat from her veins.

She closed her eyes. "Get me upstairs," she murmured. "I still need to fix everything."

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The Agreste Letters Archive

[feelingsinwinter]

The Room 7190

Bucky had been living at the Stark Tower for a couple of weeks when he first started looking around, finding new rooms with a different purpose with each new door he pushed open. It was somewhat funny and a fairly peaceful way to pass time. Steve had assured him it was entirely ok to do so, they all had done it when they first arrived, comparing their findings with each other. There were some quality discoveries to make, Steve had added with a secret smile.

Which made Bucky wonder if Tony had made it all on purpose.

Why, otherwise, have a whole room entirely filled from floor to ceiling with make-up products? Onr one ready to burst from all the yarns of all kind. The sheer colorfulness of the room had almost been too much for Bucky, if it hadn’t be for the soft feeling under his fingers, the squishy balls of yarn and those a bit more scratchy. Despite himself, Bucky had spent quite some time in this room, feeling and touching. Would Tony agree to let him try and knit or crochet, one day? Surely those balls of yarn were there for a reason and not just to look pretty.

The library hadn’t been much of a surprise except for the greatness of it. The sheer size and number of volumes stole Bucky’s breath away. One could trust Tony to have the most beautiful, most complete library in a tower made out of advanced technology.

The cat room, though, surprised him as much as it delighted him. The room was huge, big enough to house numerous cats and leave them with enough space to never cross each other more than twice the same day. Some of the cats were of amazing breed and looked like furred princes and princesses, beautiful like no other cat Bucky had ever seen. Others had seen some rough days but looked like they found their safe and happy place. The whole room was a house for the cats, their home but it was also, as Bucky discovered, an open place for the Avengers. There was nothing as relaxing as lying down with a bunch of kittens and cats in someone’s lap, Clint told him very seriously, and Bucky had to agree. Since this discovery, he’d spent quite a lot of time in the cat room, petting cats and getting scratched while playing with them. Sleeping with a cat purring on his stomach or, on a few occasions, sprawled across his face.

The cat room had been a surprise alright. But, as Bucky stared gaping at the room he just discovered, this one took the cake.

Slowly, his eyes roaming over the room’s contents, he closed the door and made his way to the workshop.

***

“Sir, I believe Sgt. Barnes found room 7190 and is making his way to you.”

Tony blinked, his thoughts over his current project slowing down to a halt as he processed JARVIS’ words. Looking at the nearest camera, he blinked again before he smiled slowly.

“I knew it,” he said, amused.

***

“You, my friend,” Bucky said as he strolled into the workshop, grinning like a kid on christmas’ eve, “are a nerd.”

Tony couldn’t help but snort at the way Bucky’s face was all lit up. He cocked his hip to lay it against the counter of his workbench. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Bucky hummed in approval, getting closer but stopping at arm’s length before sticking his hands in his hoodie’s pouch. “Just found your LEGO room,” he added as if it explained everything.

“Liked it?”

For a few seconds, Bucky just stared at him before words came tumbling from his lips. Unable to help himself, he had his hands out of his pocket instantly and gestured wildly, eyes shining with amazement and excitement. He talked about the great buildings built in nothing but LEGO bricks, the whole cities reproduced and spread all over the huge room. The spaceships from Star Wars hanging from the ceiling or exposed on shelves, the remote controlled robots waiting for someone to play with them. There were figurines everywhere, filling the streets and the shelves, putting life in creations that already shone by their creativity and colorfulness. Every character Bucky could think of was there, and them some. Harry Potter, the Lord of the Rings, the Hobbit, even some Avengers bullshit thrown in the mix, some Batman and Superman and Elves with dragons and other amazing creatures. It was as colorful as the yarn room but more wonderful at the same time. So many details Bucky could probably look at it and discover new things every day.

“It’s crazy,” Bucky finished with a sigh full of wonder. He looked excited and happy and Tony felt his heart melt at the sight.

If his crush on Bucky got any stronger, Tony feared his chest might explode. As it was, he found it already very hard to control himself, especially his traitorous mouth. His already lacking brain-to-mouth filter disappeared completely as soon as Bucky was around.

“I’ve got the last Millenium Falcon ,” Tony blurted out, eyes wide and fingers twitching. “Wanna build it with me?”

“Fuck yeah, you bet I do!”

Without waiting any longer, Bucky reached out and grabbed onto Tony’s arm, dragging him along, undoubtedly toward the LEGO room, unconcerned by the grease and the sweat that had accumulated after a long day in the workshop. Bucky looked happy smiling freely, his joy made his eyes shine, bringing out the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and he never looked as beautiful as he did right at this moment. His hold on Tony’s arm shifted ever so slightly, softening and just holding onto him for the sake of holding and touching.

He never let go, not even once they reached room 7190.

“Wait. Why 7190?” Bucky asked, looking confused. “You never named any of them, why this one?”

“The first Falcon Millenium was the box number 7190 and came out in 2000,” Tony explained with a wide grin.

“Nerd!” Bucky exclaimed with a carefree laugh like no other Tony had ever heard and Tony cherished it for the gift it was.

Just like every moment they spent in the LEGO room since then, building away like kids on a sugar high.

Together, they built LEGO’s version of the Hulkbuster and raised Paris in the middle of the room, playing with the Eiffel Tower and thinking about constructing a huge Godzilla to let roam free in the middle of Manhattan’s streets. Whatever damage they made, they could fix anytime they wanted.

It was their world and they could do and make whatever suited them whenever they wanted. And if they kissed under a mistletoe built out of LEGO Bucky had hung on the ceiling in the middle of August, well, it was nobody’s business but their own.

[feelingsinwinterold]

The Room 7190

A huge ass thanks to @bill-longbow for beta-ing this and helping me along! <3 This wouldn’t be here without them (and they’re so sweet, it should be illegal).

Bucky had been living at the Stark Tower for a couple of weeks when he first started looking around, finding new rooms with a different purpose with each new door he pushed open. It was somewhat funny and a fairly peaceful way to pass time. Steve had assured him it was entirely ok to do so, they all had done it when they first arrived, comparing their findings with each other. There were some quality discoveries to make, Steve had added with a secret smile.

Which made Bucky wonder if Tony had made it all on purpose.

Why, otherwise, have a whole room entirely filled from floor to ceiling with make-up products? Onr one ready to burst from all the yarns of all kind. The sheer colorfulness of the room had almost been too much for Bucky, if it hadn’t be for the soft feeling under his fingers, the squishy balls of yarn and those a bit more scratchy. Despite himself, Bucky had spent quite some time in this room, feeling and touching. Would Tony agree to let him try and knit or crochet, one day? Surely those balls of yarn were there for a reason and not just to look pretty.

The library hadn’t been much of a surprise except for the greatness of it. The sheer size and number of volumes stole Bucky’s breath away. One could trust Tony to have the most beautiful, most complete library in a tower made out of advanced technology.

The cat room, though, surprised him as much as it delighted him. The room was huge, big enough to house numerous cats and leave them with enough space to never cross each other more than twice the same day. Some of the cats were of amazing breed and looked like furred princes and princesses, beautiful like no other cat Bucky had ever seen. Others had seen some rough days but looked like they found their safe and happy place. The whole room was a house for the cats, their home but it was also, as Bucky discovered, an open place for the Avengers. There was nothing as relaxing as lying down with a bunch of kittens and cats in someone’s lap, Clint told him very seriously, and Bucky had to agree. Since this discovery, he’d spent quite a lot of time in the cat room, petting cats and getting scratched while playing with them. Sleeping with a cat purring on his stomach or, on a few occasions, sprawled across his face.

The cat room had been a surprise alright. But, as Bucky stared gaping at the room he just discovered, this one took the cake.

Slowly, his eyes roaming over the room’s contents, he closed the door and made his way to the workshop.

***

“Sir, I believe Sgt. Barnes found room 7190 and is making his way to you.”

Tony blinked, his thoughts over his current project slowing down to a halt as he processed JARVIS’ words. Looking at the nearest camera, he blinked again before he smiled slowly.

“I knew it,” he said, amused.

***

“You, my friend,” Bucky said as he strolled into the workshop, grinning like a kid on christmas’ eve, “are a nerd.”

Tony couldn’t help but snort at the way Bucky’s face was all lit up. He cocked his hip to lay it against the counter of his workbench. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Bucky hummed in approval, getting closer but stopping at arm’s length before sticking his hands in his hoodie’s pouch. “Just found your LEGO room,” he added as if it explained everything.

“Liked it?”

For a few seconds, Bucky just stared at him before words came tumbling from his lips. Unable to help himself, he had his hands out of his pocket instantly and gestured wildly, eyes shining with amazement and excitement. He talked about the great buildings built in nothing but LEGO bricks, the whole cities reproduced and spread all over the huge room. The spaceships from Star Wars hanging from the ceiling or exposed on shelves, the remote controlled robots waiting for someone to play with them. There were figurines everywhere, filling the streets and the shelves, putting life in creations that already shone by their creativity and colorfulness. Every character Bucky could think of was there, and them some. Harry Potter, the Lord of the Rings, the Hobbit, even some Avengers bullshit thrown in the mix, some Batman and Superman and Elves with dragons and other amazing creatures. It was as colorful as the yarn room but more wonderful at the same time. So many details Bucky could probably look at it and discover new things every day.

“It’s crazy,” Bucky finished with a sigh full of wonder. He looked excited and happy and Tony felt his heart melt at the sight.

If his crush on Bucky got any stronger, Tony feared his chest might explode. As it was, he found it already very hard to control himself, especially his traitorous mouth. His already lacking brain-to-mouth filter disappeared completely as soon as Bucky was around.

“I’ve got the last Millenium Falcon ,” Tony blurted out, eyes wide and fingers twitching. “Wanna build it with me?”

“Fuck yeah, you bet I do!”

Without waiting any longer, Bucky reached out and grabbed onto Tony’s arm, dragging him along, undoubtedly toward the LEGO room, unconcerned by the grease and the sweat that had accumulated after a long day in the workshop. Bucky looked happy smiling freely, his joy made his eyes shine, bringing out the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and he never looked as beautiful as he did right at this moment. His hold on Tony’s arm shifted ever so slightly, softening and just holding onto him for the sake of holding and touching.

He never let go, not even once they reached room 7190.

“Wait. Why 7190?” Bucky asked, looking confused. “You never named any of them, why this one?”

“The first Falcon Millenium was the box number 7190 and came out in 2000,” Tony explained with a wide grin.

“Nerd!” Bucky exclaimed with a carefree laugh like no other Tony had ever heard and Tony cherished it for the gift it was.

Just like every moment they spent in the LEGO room since then, building away like kids on a sugar high.

Together, they built LEGO’s version of the Hulkbuster and raised Paris in the middle of the room, playing with the Eiffel Tower and thinking about constructing a huge Godzilla to let roam free in the middle of Manhattan’s streets. Whatever damage they made, they could fix anytime they wanted.

It was their world and they could do and make whatever suited them whenever they wanted. And if they kissed under a mistletoe built out of LEGO Bucky had hung on the ceiling in the middle of August, well, it was nobody’s business but their own.

[jimincase]

Jimin - Halloween AU: Hunt

Demon hunter! Jimin and Reader + demon! Namjoon

Summary: Are you the hunter or hunted?

Word Count: 1.7K

This is a Part 5 but can be read separately

Jungkook, Jin, Taehyung, Namjoon

"Y/N! Y/N, wake up! He's here." A whispered yell slowly awakes you, the darkness behind your eyelids disappearing and rays of light shooting through.

You awake to see a frantic Jimin in front of you, his hands tightly gripping your forearms, shaking you. Your back is cold as it presses and slumps against the brick wall of the alleyway. The boy in front of you doesn’t seem to notice your eyes open as he continues violently shaking you while checking the front of the alleyway and murmuring under his breath. His own body seems to be shaking, and not from his assault on you.

Your hand reaches up to smack at his own and that’s when his face turns to actually look at you, eyes holding a mysterious glint that you’ve seen all too often. He pulls you up from your slumped position as he watches the front of the alleyway like a hawk.

"That sick bastard! Who does he think he is? This will be the day, Y/N, I can feel it. I know it is." He mutters while dragging you closer to the entrance.

His words are very common to your ears, knowing them like they are your own. This time seems different though, as you can actually feel Jimin’s excitement radiating off of him. His fingers intertwine with yours as he pulls you closer. He stops abruptly, turning to look over his shoulder one last time. His eyes are no longer warm and inviting but instead flicker to dark and angry, just like the street lamp above the two of you.

The tall and familiar figure walks in front of you before Jimin’s hands reach out to grab him. His body is slammed down on the ground as Jimin tries gaining the advantage over the monster. You don’t need to look at the man as you already know who he is, what he is. The knife in your back pocket seems too hot as you pull it out, ready to finally end this long-standing battle that has been going on for weeks. This was Jimin’s and your job. This was a monster that walked the streets, killing innocent people: a demon. He needed to be exterminated.

Punches were thrown, kicks landed, digs and bites nipped and scraped as the two boys tried killing the other as you watched, preparing your own timed attack. The adrenaline began its course through your veins as the anticipation licked and bubbled inside your chest. In an instant, you seized your perfect opportunity to strike. Your body moved freely on its own, relying on all the training from before for this moment, this moment of attack, of death. The knife was wrapped around your fingers so tightly that it turned your knuckles white.

No words are exchanged as Jimin pulls back and you replace his spot, opting to put your full weight on the man’s chest as he was dazed. You hold the knife in both hands, fingers wrapping around each other and palms enclosing the knife handle while the tip pointed down to the man’s chest, towards his heart. Your eyes close naturally and your arms begin moving downwards to plant the sharp metal through his flesh. Things move too quickly for you to register but all of a sudden, the knife that was once snug in your grip is being used against you, against your throat. Your eyes search for your best friend, for your partner, but your question is answered as a body is slammed against the wall next to you, head smashing against the hard brick and a hand wrapped around his own throat. The demon has caught the both of you.

Your eyes move towards the perpetrator. His eyes are black and void of any life as he stares right back at you. Maybe it was the adrenaline still pumping throughout your body or pure stupidity but you refused to give up. You struggle and thrash in his grip, the knife pressing a little further into the skin of your neck, that is, until it is completely removed and you and Jimin are left to drop to your knees while gasping for air.

The demon stands above you, his eyes furrowed and frown lines appearing on his forehead. His head is slightly tilted to the side as he stares at your face, black eyes flickering to inspect every inch and detail of you. He doesn’t even seemed concerned that there are two hunters in front of him as he glances back behind him towards the empty street before turning back to you.

His actions anger you more. You refuse to be taken so lightly, as a joke. Your hand removes itself from your bleeding throat as you charge head-on towards the monster, arms and hands thrashing about wildly to initiate any sort of contact. The once confused demon is no longer concerned about the street but instead on you as he stares you down while avoiding your careless attacks.

"I took you out once, I can do it again.” He snarled.

His words cause your hand to drop and your head to lull to the side, confused. You glance over to see Jimin’s reaction, only to see his brow drawn and just as puzzled as you.

Silly mistake, Y/N. You know to never drop your guard around such a monster.

A sharp, searing hot pain erupts in your shoulder: the monster has bitten you. The pain shoots through your body in quick tendrils before slowly subsiding and you’re left to feel nothing as numbness overtakes you. Feeling has disappeared from your reach as your legs give out beneath you. The demon boy smirks down at you as he wipes the dark liquid, your blood, from his mouth. Jimin’s yell echoes into the otherwise silent night before he lashes out at the monster.

Your ears are ringing, static overtaking the sense as your vision starts becoming blurry. You have to blink repeatedly for the tears to dissipate. You try to concentrate on the scene before you. You can only assume Jimin is screaming as tears trickle down his face. He recklessly swipes left and right with his knife, too blinded by his emotions to even care anymore as he dropped to the ground to meet you. You know Jimin’s touch but you just can’t seem to feel it this time. You can’t feel his heat or the callouses in his fingers as he pulls your body to his chest and cradles your bleeding body. The last time you’ll feel his touch has already passed. Your heart seems to fall apart a little more.

The monster is long gone from the scene and your mind as you only focus on Jimin, your best friend, your partner, everything you knew. The ringing in your ears begins to dull out and is instead replaced with Jimin’s whimpers and pleas and cries. You both know that no matter how much he begs that your fate has already been sealed.

Although you can’t feel the boy’s warmth nor his tears dripping onto your cheek, your arms wrap around him, trying to squeeze him with the little strength you had. Your attempt at comforting him seems fruitless.

"Please. Please, Y/N, don't leave. I need you. I need you so much. Don't leave me. Today was supposed to be our day. A day for the hunters. A day when typical humans finally killed the monster. Oh god. Why, why, why? Why did you get bit? Why?" He spilled.

You can do nothing but pull at his shirt and bury your face into his chest while he cries and mourns for your inevitable and promptly death. Your body may not feel anything physically but emotionally you can only feel regret and remorse, your heart breaking watching Jimin break. A once well-put together boy can only cry and shatter in front of you, because of you. Regret courses through your veins, taking place of the adrenaline that started this painful journey at leaving the boy in front of you.

Your eyes close, wishing to take his pain away. Alas, when you open your eyes, you’re still bleeding and Jimin is still shaking. The darkness is getting sick of knocking now.

Your eyes fall upon a shape hiding in the shadows, yet another beast. It has no face yet it watches you before slinking back into the darkness it calls home.

"Jimin," you try sitting up. You grab at his face and cup his cheeks, bringing him closer to your own. "Jimin, you need to listen to me. Get out of here. Run. Run as fast as you can and don't you stop until you're back home. Okay? You need to do that for me. Please. Don't watch me die. Get home safe. Do that for me. I love you." Your voice breaks and chops as you struggle to speak, coughing back the thick liquid that rises in your throat and threatens to spill out.

Jimin can't look you in the eye and you know it's a stretch to try to get him to listen to you; however, you both know that he will probably die with you if he doesn't escape now. With one last squeeze, one last strong and rushed kiss to the crown of your head, Jimin leaves. He can’t help turning around to look at your fragile body propped against the wall.

"You're doing what I want. Don't feel guilty." You consoled, attempting to smile but probably grimacing instead.

The flickering street light causes a dull and yellow halo to appear around him, illuminating the tear tracks that stain his squishy and full cheeks. He obeys your wishes though and bolts away from the alleyway, pulling his hood up to conceal his golden hair and face.

You can feel your heart slowing down and the blood stopping to walk instead of run in your veins. You look up at the sky just in time to see a shooting star dart across the inky night. A broken smile emerges on your face as you close your eyes, making your wish right before your heart finally gives up.

Humans are so frail. So delicate. So easy to break and crush and win against. Wouldn't you agree, Y/N?

[jungkookio]

bias tag game

hoooooooo boy so i was tagged by @hoodiejungkook​ @literally-just-yoongi-trash​ @aragyeom​ to do this... y do u want me to expose myself like this

Rules: write down the last 15 associated tags with your bias.  

yoongs:

#take his belt and choke me with it

#not to be nsfw buti have an undying need to fucking hug this man 

#when wiwllhe start capitalising on his sweat as a highlight tbh #i wna tthtta glowhgngnnfngngnghhggghhg #why is my grandpa man so hot ti rlly wanan dfckkin d8 him

#omfg fuck off #look at him hes a dumpling #a soot ball #he owns the key to m heart #honestly im rlly soft over my boys tonight #im cryign in th club

#im sorry but he looks like that sailor moon 'but you didnt do anything' meme #but like hot

#im... rlly out here loving this loser i cannot believe myself #i fell in love with some grandpa infant hybrid #look at this pingu lookin ass god i love him so much

#who let this emo kid out the house #wheres his mum

#c hoke #what the fuck wjat the fuck #when will he fucking spit on me #whatthehfuxuckgoddddddddddddddd he #what the fuck i swear everyone wants me to roll into a coma and fucking die #i hope ifkckng choke seriously what thejfuck is thsi #what is his problem why is he like this

#thsi is the begsat theing to evr hapoenr yi me shsudjrnshjsjrbndkansb pleaese

#ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my god you own my fucking heart #u cld own my kidney too if u ever need it just ask

#i want him to tuck him in n kiss his forehead but i also want him to spit in my mouth u feel? #probably not #kinkshame me

#okay... he gettin thicker #i love my man's pancake ass okay #im eatin well tonight !!/1!!1/! #nourished !! #acvdhdjsjbdbsjsj hav i evr mntiond i hte mslf

#i love him so much ohmygod  #!! fuck !! #m heart went nyooooooooooooom  #💟💖💗💕💓💝💟💓💕💖💞💗💟💖💕💞💓💝💟💕💞💓💝💟💗💞💕💗💟💓💝💕💗💟💖💖💟💕💞💓💖💗

#m heart just launched outta m chest #idk wht t doabout it tbh #i... need that

#ohmygodohmyogogododdoohohoh #hooh my fuckicjg n god #im fucking malfunctioning btixch #bwaht the fuck he looks so fucking goood #hes rlly rpepin the gays again inhis flannel #an icon #he looks like a billion fckng dollars bitxchm im rlly choking #im gna eat a fucking shoe i love him so mcuh #godthey rlly mad ehim blond again #i dk what to domblond yoongs has always been m favourtei #n im alwaysh fucking screaming about it and bitch x hes rlly blodn n im rlly crying because fuck #hhes in his fckckng prime okay #hes th mc of m heartmcnncnnnnnggggggggggggggjhsbdhjbfhbnj

jungkook:

#i wanna punch him in th face #but with lovecause i love him so much  #i cld never hurt him #honestly i'd much rather him sucker punch me in the jaw #look at him he's such a shit but he's my favourite #eugghhdghhdhhhhjjhhjhj 

#he cld crush a bitxch with those thighs #(its me) #(im the bitxch) #(please crush me)

#fucking b e a n me #rightin th fckn skull #just straight up fucking murder me #what kinda zoom #its all so shiny #hes fckng gleaming #his shirt is fcking gleaming #meanwhile im constructing my coffin while i wait for him to b e a n me #the fuck

#biyxch his tiddies bigger than mine

#its always th lasttwo gufs that tip me over the edge #m reachign fr th mfing gun bitxch #i hate this shirt n its aphrodisiac bullshit #oyster juice #it had to have been soaked in fckng ousyetr juice #can u hear my inner turmoil sis............. this shirt has victimised me #the shirt #it strikes again

#wow look its my emo boyfriend

#ggggggggggggggno the shirt can fuck off #whoever manufactured it #you know what no it wasnt manufactured #it was hand crafted by satan himself to fucking tempt me to evil #show me a single fancam of mr jeon fucking jungkook in that shirt where he doesnt look at one with the fucking devil #find me one! #i can guarantee u wont find any bitxch #possessed #absolute blasphemy #i hope i fckign burn in hell

#the second gif is him throwing my heart out the fucking window

#ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my gohd how can he be this cute while literally drnched in sweat #ion kno but hes gleaming #shining #glowing even #he hsa no faults #look at his smile it cld make flwers grow fck off #n the stars are in his eyes #all of them #im real emo tonight #hes so bright #the most beautiful boy #a baby #my best baby boy in th whole wrld #i wld gv hm m everythng #i love hm so mch m heart is so full #im nourished

#this era makes m choke on air #he was so rude the entire time i really hsatge bjgbnkgjbnfdkjbdfj bjbngnbkgnbkgfkbng #...gotta go #i hope he *** **** ******** ** *** ***** ** *** **********

#jungkook is so cute i love him so much what the fuck #he is the purest mostwholesome lil fella ive ever seen #his gecko friend :(((( #bitxch #search: how to be a gecko #hes so excited wgdhjb #'this one is a different guy!" #what the actual fuck jungkook rip m heart out y dont u #he saved m life wow #bad day who? dont know her #m never gna b sad again

#oh my god someone get me out of his ass #i'm too far #so far up his ass

#ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm????? #i want him to dropkick me down a flight of stairs

#i want to fuxjckxking die and be dead get this photo away from me #what the ever loving fuck #are you seeing jungkooks arm??? are u seei g it #cause biyxch i am and i choxked #i hope i die #ababsbndnenjabsbsjjsnsl ouc h

#hes like my age in these photos whahat the fuck #why do noboys near me look exactly like this with this exact personality and this exact dna

jimin:

#he looks like a sad puppy and im not having it #ill fight the fucking rain #ill punch a cloud i dont give a fuck 

#i wld step on a lego brick for u

#omg hs lilcrooked tooth #im ugly cryign bitxch #thats it im cryign in th club fr real

#im screamign outta my ass #what the fuck jimin #what kinda extra ass #he did a fuckin split to try and kick a golden glittering pompom #this is gay culture

#he looks like a rich housewife #please step on me

#his fucking n e c k #look at it fuck #what the fuckim..... #im rlly reaching fr th fckng gun sis jesus hcirst

#@nasa i will pay you to launch me into th fckng sun bitxch 

#can he maybe... jump like that again... on m fuckin head 

#i swear hes like... made of gold and honey and stardust or smth what th e fuck

#i literally just said oh my god under m breath #buyt i cldnt get th words right so i just sorta went ohgghg #what the fuck

#this is some chaotic evil behaviour right here what the fuck jimin

#perfection? on my dash? its morelikely than u think!

#i hope i die immediately right now this very second

#can he punch me in th fucking throatplease #i will pay him to straight up fucking deck me

#oh my fucking god im #he #whatthe actual fuck is this?????? #what the fuck is thsi ?!??!?!?! #no #ihave truly had e nough of this shit ajshdbjdbnjfkfl #i become a fckcng jimin stan and this is th shit i get in return???????? #chronic agonising pain #yes thnk u jimin thts rlly what i fuckcing signed up for #this was not part of th fucking contract #i just wanted a cute squishy boy with a lil button nose #n mybe a bit of sad contemplation #i did not want !!!! sin !!!!!! #in my christian household????????? #blasphemy #this is fucking blasphemy #the power of christ compels you #fuck wheres the holy water bitxch #this boysjhdbfjhbfjbjgbjbfbflk #u kno what fuck it if this is what death feels like sign me th fuck up #guess ill just die bitxch

do u ever just look back at your past self and think... is she okay

im tagging: @namjoonsgalaxy @blumiin @minsuga--genius @velvethoseok @hobisnovia @gukiee @itskimtaehyung @parkjiminivan @jiminyoongs (if u want !!)

[rantingfangirl]

Lover Boy

Summary: After a drunk night in Las Vegas, Arthur Kirkland didn’t know what to expect, but it sure wasn’t this.

Pairing: UsUk (America x England)

Characters: Aph America, Aph England

This is being moved from my old account

Bright lights, blinking over and over again. Loud noises signifying someone's failure, more starting up as they try again. The hard, worn, colorful carpets mesmerize all who stare, leading them further into the maze of flashing machines and card tables.

He stumbled, gaining balance just quick enough to save his drink from spilling too badly. He set his hand against the wall in front of him for further stability. The warm, squishy wall that raised up and down. A loud laugh sounded, and he looked up to see striking blue eyes raking his face in with unrelenting eagerness.

"Hey, sugar," the wall said while he himself let out a smile that would never see the light of a sober day. The wall slurred, "why don't we head out of here, have a bit of fun on our own?"

He nodded enthusiastically, giggling as the wall takes his hand away from it, leading him towards the opaque double doors, and out into the warm, dry air in the night beyond.

Arthur Kirkland slowly opened his eyes, the pain in his temples and his upper forehead spiking as bright light filtered in through the uncovered window. With a cringe, raise his arm up to rub the flaky crust out of his eyes, but was unable to lift even his forearm.

What probably would've been soft snoring was loud behind him, and something warm and solid was crushed up against his back, to the point where there was no space between them. Arthur looked down, focusing on the shining, gold ring on his finger. The matching one on the contrasting, tanned hand that was clutching the sheets next to his stomach.

Confusion started to spread in him like a virus, slow but efficient, as he tries to sift through the murky memories of the night before.  Walking through the hot Las Vegas Strip as the sun began to set. Tumbling into a casino, the lights calling to him and the sounds engulfing him. Then nothing. The hours blurred together, only to dissolve like salt in water. Arthur shifted, groaning as more pain attacked him, joining the one in his head. The arms around his waist latched onto him, pulling him closer to the body behind him. He used his shoulders to shield himself, wiggling in attempt to escape from the grasp. When that proved futile, Arthur lifted his fingers to slowly undo the hold on him.

When that strategy failed as well, only making the grip tighter, Arthur let out a huff in defeat.

The snoring in his ear seemed to grow louder and louder as the pain in his head pounded harder and harder. A wave of nausea crashed over him, his abdomen folding like origami paper. His throat started to claw at itself, demanding water or tea or something to soothe the unending itch. He needed to get out of his prison soon, or they-

That was right. Arthur realized- truly realized - at that moment that someone, a living human being, was sleeping right next to him. That he was laying there, being held tight in that person's arms.

He starts to shake, his chest heaving up and down with panic as he pushes against the person against him, kicking his legs to further his chances of freedom. When the hold finally releases, Arthur rolls himself out of the bed, ignoring the pain as his feet hit the rough carpet.

He stands, tripping over his feet as he fumbles for his clothing. After dropping every piece at least once, he shoves it all on, hoping that he looks somewhat decent.

Stomach still turning, he begins tearing the room apart for his wallet and phone. Arthur throws the pillows from the corner chair across the room, moving over to swipe everything off the desk before ripping open the drawers. He knew that the racket he was making was loud and probably not the smartest thing to do, but he didn't care. He didn't care until he heard a groan and the sound of sheets being tossed and turned.

"Ow," a deep voice moaned.

Arthur turned around slowly, eyes focusing on the blond haired man stretching in the bed he had just left. The man rubbed his eyes, cringing as he arched his back, a pop sounding. He let out a sigh, lowering his arms down, only to start patting against the bed sheets in an even rhythm.

The man raised his head, freezing upon seeing Arthur. His sky blue eyes widened, and he shook his head, blinking rapidly.

"Shit," he swears, blinking again. "I really hoped that it was just the alcohol making your eyebrows that big."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. They were in this embarrassing- no- mortifying situation and all the fool had to say was that? Something that was completely irrelevant and just happened to be an insecurity of his, not that Blue Eyes would've known that.

"Excuse me?" he said with less poison that he wanted.

"Well, it's kinda funny. One of the only things I remember from last night were your eyebrows. I thought I must've been wasted for them to be that big." he signed as if he had been given the largest inconvenience known to man. He cringed, annoyance on his face. "Looks like it wasn't the alcohol."

Arthur couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I'll have you know that some people find large eyebrows to be quite elegant-" "You mean only you?"

"- and I don't need some golden boy to insult my appearance," Arthur spat. He was getting angry, which, considering what family he belonged to, was never a good thing. He tried to take deep breaths, clenching his fists as if he were to take the anger out on his palm. He looked up to see Blue Eyes frowning

"Hey!" he shouted with a pout. "the term 'golden boy' is really offensive to some people-"

"You mean only you?" Arthur repeated Blue Eyes' previous statement, the anger dissipating into a smug smirk.

The man huffed, folding his arms together, the pout still prominent on his tanned face. "It's rude to steal someone's words, ya know. It's called plagiarizing!"

Arthur knew he was winning, as he always did, but he couldn't help but want to drag the argument out as much as he could. It must have been from the want to keep the high of his victory up and running, and not slow the departure of the blond man. No, definitely not.

"Oh really? I did not expect you to even know the concept of rudeness, what with your comment from before." Arthur almost let out a yell of delight upon seeing Blue Eyes' frown. It was so adorable -no- satisfying to see. "And I doubt that I could be charged with plagiarism. I'll bet you money that many people before us have said that exact same phrase."

Even in his drunken stupor, Arthur would've liked to have at least picked out someone decent to trade room numbers with, and the idiot in front of him was anything but that. It was embarrassing to think how easily he had lost control, in a crowded building with a sea of strangers, no less.

"God, I can't believe I had chosen to marry such a-"

" Wait. What do you mean 'marry'?"

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. Surely he had noticed the ring on his finger already, and was just choosing to ignore it?

Blue Eyes looked down at his hand, his eyes widening to the size of the UFO saucers children were so fond of. His jaw dropped, letting out stumbled words after stumbled words that Arthur wouldn't even bother to try and make out. He blinked and shook his head frantically, almost the exact same way he had done when he had first woken up. It would have been funny, had not Arthur felt a bit sorry for the man.

After about a minute, Blue Eyes hung his head in defeat. He rubbed his thumb over the ring as if it would magically go away, the shine staying in its place as the metal turned and turned around his finger. He lifted his head to meet Arthur's eyes, Arthur's own heart being pulled with sympathy.

Blue Eyes started, "We... we need to get divorced."

"Obviously," Arthur snorted. Though it wasn't that simple. Arthur himself didn't have enough money to hire a divorce lawyer, him coming to this god-awful city emptying his wallet to the point where he would have to scrounge up rent money. The one in front of him, still in the bed but most likely eyeing for his clothing, appearing to be the around same age as him, and, unless he belonged to some rich family and got a signed check from his parents every month,  seemed to be in the same boat as him.

"Look, uh..."

"Arthur."

"Arthur! Name's Alfred." he stalled, trying to find something to fill the awkward silence. Alfred laughed, though it lacked the enthusiasm compared to what Arthur guessed he normally would have had. He looked around him, grabbing a pair of glasses off the nightstand that Arthur hadn't noticed before, shoving them on. He decided that Alfred looked better with the glasses, that they fit him, not that he cared.\

"Arthur," he pushed the hair out of his face, "I'm sorry, but I don't have enough to-"

"I figured."

Alfred's cheeks had started to red, the color growing by every second. He reached for his shirt, looking at Arthur, silently pleading.

"Do you mind if I...?'

"Oh. Yes, of course."

Arthur turned away while Alfred gathered his clothing not moving even a fraction of an inch until Alfred gave the OK.

When he faced towards the other, Alfred was sitting on the edge of the bed, tapping his fingers against the white sheets. Arthur looked down, and when he saw it, he couldn't help but point it out.

"Your shoes are on the wrong feet."

Alfred snapped his head down, stopping the tapping. When he realized that his shoes were, in fact, on the wrong feet, he scrambled to fix them, his face lighting up with red like a firework.

First getting drunk out of his mind and leaving a Vegas casino with a stranger. Then marrying said stranger. The shoes were just the brick set on top that made the entire tower fall. Arthur couldn't help it. He began to laugh, starting out with huffing air, morphing to giggles, then bursting into howls.

Glaring at him, though with a hint of confusion mixed in, Alfred yelled, "Why are you laughing?"

"It's just... it's just..." Arthur dissolved into another fit. He lifted his arms to clutch his sides, hoping that it would somehow contain it.

Alfred stood, stepping towards him. His eyes were narrowing, anger swirling in his eyes. "Hey, instead of laughing at me over a simple mistake, why don't you think about how screwed we are?"

Arthur wanted to defend himself, tell Alfred that no, he wasn't laughing at him, he was laughing at themselves, but he couldn't. The laughter wouldn't cease, even at the sight of Alfred's anger growing.

When he started to slam his hand against the desk he was leaning against, Alfred huffed, before walking over to the small refrigerator by the door. He pulled the door open, squatting as he looked over its contents. Inside were small bottles of water, lined up and ready for the occupant's use. Alfred grabbed one, the largest and fullest one, before standing and closing the door. He unscrewed the cap, throwing in into the trashcan. Stepping up to him, he raised the bottle over Arthur's head and tipped it over.

The water splashed, most of it dropping to the carpet. A stream ran down his forehead, his cheeks, before dripping from his chin. Water dripped from the tips of his soaked hair, a feeling he had hated since childhood. The cold reminded him of his headache, as the throbbing pain was back and stronger than ever. The top of his favorite green sweater was drenched, and though it had seen the rain of his home country many times, he was still miffed at it getting wet. The laughter long gone, Arthur opened his eyes and gave Alfred the dirtiest and meanest look he could have managed.

"What. The. Bloody. Hell. Was that for?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask yourself? Since you were the one laughing at me!"

"Wh- I-" Arthur sighed, clenching the bridge of his nose. "You're a moron."

"Oh, I think you've already established that!"

"When have I ever-"

Three large bangs sounded, and the two snapped their attention to the door leading out to the hallway. A new voice sounded, though it was one that seemed familiar, yet Arthur just couldn't place it.

"Hey, you there! I've had complaints all night and all morning about you two, so shut up or I'll charge you extra!"

Alfred winced, and Arthur's own cheeks started to red. He had completely forgotten about the fact that they were in a motel, and there were other people there, too.

Clearing his throat, Alfred was the one who spoke up. "Understood. Sorry about that, man."

There was a mumbling on the other side that Arthur could just barely hear before it was gone, and silence returned to the room. Shifting his feet to toe at a particular stray snag in the carpet, Arthur chose to swim in his embarrassment rather than continue their previous argument. It was ridiculous, anyways. His sweater and hair would dry, and it was just a mistake of Alfred's.

Alfred sighed, tossing his arms up in surrender. He took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair. Arthur thought it looked like melted caramel.

"Look, dude-"

"Don't call me 'dude'."

" Right. Arthur. Sorry 'bout that. Where do you live? What do you do?"

Arthur raised his head up, eyes narrowing. Surely he couldn't actually be considering to try this? They knew nothing about each other.

Just to be clear that they weren't, in fact, thinking the same thing, Arthur slowly said, "Pardon?" as if he were speaking with a five-year-old.

Alfred looked up at him, pausing as if it was the most difficult thing in his life to say. "Come on, don't make me do all of this. Let's try to work this... thing out."

Arthur sank back against the desk. He really didn't want to do this, but... "Boston. I'm a college student at the New England School of Law in Boston, Massachusetts."

Alfred's eyes widened, his mouth slightly opening. Something that Arthur wasn't expecting. He took a step back, before bursting into a million-watt Hollywood smile, something that he definitely wasn't expecting. Arthur almost snorted. He really was a golden boy.

"Woah. That's so cool! I go to MIT, ya know, the one in Cambridge! That's not even ten minutes from Boston!"

Arthur's heart skipped a beat. He had honestly thought the man would live somewhere across the country, like in California, or in one of those ignored states in the middle of nowhere. But on the same coast as him? In the same state, no less? He sighed in relief. He wouldn't have to ignore this, tell any future partners that he had met some random guy and married him during a drunken night he could no longer remember. It was a blessing.

Besides, he could always save up the money to divorce Alfred later. If he even wanted to.

Alfred was practically bouncing in joy and anticipation as he exclaimed, "Hey, Arthur. You- we don't have to you don't want, but... do you think that we could just... wing it?"

Arthur snorted at his forwardness, something that he had found a lack of in this country, then nodded. He felt a small smile form on his face.

The Hollywood smile at its full force, Alfred clapped his hands together. "That's great! Do you want to go get lunch with me? I'm pretty sure that guy wants us to leave."

Nodding again, Arthur slowly said, "I'd like that." But before he could gather all his things to put into his pockets, his stomach twisted and crinkled harder than ever before. And, with his hand flying to cover shield his mouth, Arthur Kirkland dashed for the motel bathroom, newly wedded husband Alfred F. Jones in tow.

Author's note: There's a marriage certificate somewhere in the motel room...

So, I'm not really that happy with this fic, I wished it would've turned out a bit longer. (2,799 words excluding author's notes) But I do need to keep my fanfiction blog up, and of course, my accounts to various fanfiction sites.

One more thing, I do not live in or near Boston or Las Vegas, so everything is strictly from Google. The motel might seem a bit nice, (for a motel) but I figured it could be an expensive one.

If you are reviewing, thank you so much, and, if you don't mind, could you possibly include some things that I could do to improve future stories?

Thank you for reading "Lover Boy", I hope you enjoyed. Have a nice morning, day, and evening!

[inquisitorextraordinaire]

On the Right Side of the Bed

Cam was the soft yellows of sunlight through tired windows, the colour of comfort and warmth and faded childhood memories. They were tender, gentle, and Arley could never deny feeling bad about being as bright red as he was. Burnt red, tired orange-y red like firetrucks and fruit and blood. He was electric and energetic, and they were memorable and subtle, and he wanted to tone down his colours if it meant Cam could be happy. If it meant Cam was happy and the orange they had made together was happy, he could be okay with being a duller colour.

Blinking and yawning as he woke up, Arley let his vision slowly blink clear as he gazed up at the raised ceilings of his studio apartment - everything familiar, from the dull yellow light of the tired old windows to the brick walls - and finally rolled over, yet another familiar thing to him resting with their back turned to the guitarist. Gaze lingering on Cam, Arley smirked to himself before scooching closer to his partner, arms wrapping around them instinctively as he tiredly kept exploring with his fingers.

Knuckles brushing against Cam's cheek - familiar - and his mouth pressing gently against the back of their head - familiar - Arley sighed and closed his eyes as he let his hands rove over Cam's shoulder, down their smooth sides before easing forward on their body and resting on his new favourite thing; which was very unfamiliar. Calloused hands coming down and cradling the curve of Cam's belly, Arley exhaled into their hair - and taking a self indulgent whiff of their scent whilst doing so - and moved his hands along the curve softly, worn fabric feeling of Cam's shirt still familiar to him despite the shape it held on their body not being so.

Admittedly, Arley was still getting over the shock of it all - Cam having rather abruptly requested to have a baby months prior, and Arley always far too willing to give them anything they so desired even if the idea was out of the blue and ill prepared - as he let his touch linger against his tired partner, him not even thinking about the fact that his flat was crowded with boxes everywhere but around the mattress that they were both resting on, or the fact that aforementioned boxes would be moving up a few flights of stairs in the building they lived in, into an apartment with actual rooms designed for people to live in when they had more than just one crappy couple in a space. Or, at least, when they soon would have more than just one crappy couple living in them.

Closing his eyes a bit and exhaling deeply again, Arley brought himself closer to Cam as he pressed himself against their back, arms wrapping around them protectively as he began to spoon his partner, only to feel Cam finally shift and start to stir into wakefulness, Arley's excited touching getting the best of him and ruining the moment as the drummer against him made a tired whining noise, him yawning and mumbling apologetically, "Shit, sorry for wakin' ya, Cam. I was jus'-" He started, bringing a hand off of Cam and rubbing one of his eyes just as they turned around in his grip, Camren looking up at Arley with oddly alert eyes as he blinked back like a stunned goldfish.

Cam reaching their hands towards Arley's and pulling his wrists, they placed his palms flat against their belly as he kept his gaze wide and unsure, Cam muttering quietly, "It wasn't you that woke me, it was this little drummer trying to kick their way free already." They tuned with a light, airy laugh, Arley blinking for a moment before beaming down at Cam with a smile and moving his hands along their front carefully, fingers tracing over Cam's worn out shirt until he finally found the spots where the light tapping was coming from, the artist closing his eyes and letting his sensitive digits feel the beat their kid was making as it pushed and shifted in an urgent manor, Cam's skin pushing out underneath his fingers while he smiled.

"Hm... Judging by the tempo, I'd say that this little drummer likes classic rock, or maybe a blend of indie-rock and alternative. All good genres, in my opinion." Arley joked, making a ridiculously factual tone with his voice before bursting into snickers and leaning down, kissing Cam gently on the mouth and murmuring against their warm lips, "... Already damned talented, but I'm not surprised, considering who's carrying this kid around like a fuckin' champ." He praised, pulling away from Cam and returning to his usual adulation-filled expression that he had on his face whenever he looked at his partner, Cam laughing and sighing before sitting up with a grunt.

Bringing his hands up to the drummer's sides instinctively to help them sit up - a task that while before had been easy for Camren, was now a challenge to complete without assistance - Camren accepted Arley's help as they got upright then scooted over, climbing onto the guitarist's lap and plunking down into a seated position on him as Arley let out a whistle of air, him wiggling underneath his partner and trying to get comfortable while Cam hummed, "If this new roadie has any talent, I can almost assure that it's from their super awesome and skilled father." Cam toned with a weak smirk, letting Arley's hands go back to roaming over every curve and contour of their body as he grinned up at them - admiring how nice Cam still looked in his shirt, even when their round tummy jutted out enough to pull the middle of the band tee taught against that part of their frame while every other part of the old shirt stayed loose on their body, taking in how stunning he thought the slightly bigger sway to Camren's hips made him feel, and how pleased he was that it was his kid that they were going through it all for - before he flopped his head back on his pillow and tuned jokingly.

"Oh my god, the dad of this kid has talent?! You cheated on me with someone talented, Cam?! Oh, oh nooooo I'm heartbroken. My soul is being crushed much like the legs that you're sitting on! Oh sad day, the love of my life chose a talented person to have a kid with instead of myself! How shall I go on?!" He teased, covering his eyes with his forearm for added dramatic effect as he grinned like a doofus and broke the facade, Cam rolling their eyes and prodding Arley in the new layer of pudge on his tummy as he snorted and writhed at the ticklish sensation, him bringing his hands back towards Cam's waist and pouting, "Hey, no fair pinching a poor guy in his new squishy parts after you admit to cheating on him with a talented person! That's just cruel!" He taunted again, earning Arley a smack to the chest as he sat up and leaned forward, kissing Cam on the nose as they huffed at him and his antics.

Rolling their eyes at him again, Cam huffed before slinging their arms around Arley's shoulders and grumbling, "I get woken up by someone kicking my kidneys, I'm hungry, and you're making jokes? For shame, Ar. This was supposed to be a Blaz, but I don't even know anymore thanks to your attitude." Cam commented with a dramatic pout, kissing along their boyfriend's jaw and cheek as their arms tightened around his shoulders, Arley wrapping his arms around his partner gently and holding them as close as their baby bump would allow while they sat like that for a minute, both going quiet and just enjoying the closeness of the other before Cam toned quietly, "... I don't know what kind of gods I appeased to have someone like you in my life, but I love you, Arley. Even if you make ridiculous jokes and don't seem to care that I'm really really hungry right now." Cam toned, closing their eyes and savouring the feeling of the guitarist against them as Arley turned his head and kissed their cheek gently, humming against their skin happily.

Taking one more moment to sit there and cuddle, Arley pulled away from Cam as their stomach gurgled loudly, him holding his partner at arms length and looking down at their tummy before poking the drummer's front with a finger, toning scoldingly, "Y'know, for a roadie you sure are demanding. Figures, we made a post-boyband solo artist." He commented with a laugh, grinning as Cam covered their mouth to stifle a snort as Arley sighed and stretched out his back, flopping backwards onto their worn out mattress as he asked, "Alright, my darling drummer, what perchance may I get for you to sate this hunger you speak of? Shall we put on pants and trek far and wide to the Denny's? Or do you wish for your talented and courteous mate to make you something here?" He asked jovially, making his voice sound upright and proper in a crappy English accent as Cam laughed again, climbing off of Arley's lap and swinging their legs over the edge of the bed, them thinking for a moment before getting to their feet with a grunt and turning back to glance at their lax boyfriend, Cam demanding in an equally shitty accent,

"Methinks we shall trek on, but not towards Denny's, but the IHOP. For they have a tower of strawberry waffles that is demanding my attention as soon as possible." They commanded, making a theatrical hand gesture and leaving Arley snorting as he sat up and ruffled his hair, getting up out of their warm bed and shuffling his feet around on the messy floor to try and find a pair of pants, him tuning back jokingly,

"If that is what my bandmate and roadie need, that is what they shall receive!"

((Cam belongs to @kalamitis, Arley belongs to myself.))

[teleindiscreta]

My Abortion Wasn’t Like Ben Folds Said It Would Be

Wesley Allsbrook for BuzzFeed News

My best friend Daleen and I were born in the same hospital five days apart. When people ask how Daleen and I met, I like to say exactly this: “We were born in the same hospital five days apart.” It’s a standard party trick, something I’ve learned to deliver in increasingly pointed ways over the course of our 15-year friendship, a joke whose social-emotional function has never been lost on me. It’s something I wish were true, but isn’t. Something that isn’t, but maybe could be: the story styled and served sideways. Why not?

There are people out there who fumble the joke immediately. These people consider my response, make eye contact, and say, “Wait, no, but really.” These people are not my friends. Friends ask me how I first approached Daleen in the hospital nursery (did I crawl or did I scoot?) and how she responded (did she cry or did she drool?), and for a moment I feel relaxed knowing there are others who wish it were so simple, too.

Such were the frustrated circumstances of my life when I vomited in a Dunkin’ Donuts bathroom and discovered I was pregnant.

Having been born five days apart, it’s not uncommon for Daleen and me to structure our birthday season around each other. This is because I love the sturdy escapism that a prolonged birthday celebration provides, and also because we are both still traumatized by the year I forgot Daleen’s 19th birthday in 2007, referred to here in shorthand as T.Y.I.F. (“The Year I Forgot”). I don’t have enough emotional stamina to detail T.Y.I.F. now, but eventually it was nine years later and we had more or less moved on. Daleen and I were both seemingly grown, both with graduate degrees and gym memberships, both renting one-bedroom apartments in Hollywood — only Daleen’s was on the more respectable end. Mine was pushed up against the Metro red line and infested with roaches. Additionally, my apartment came with a sweet, adoring boyfriend I couldn’t convince myself to want to marry, no matter that for seven years he loved me the way he did, with a kind of cherubic grace you just don’t hear about in Hollywood, and no matter how badly I wanted my story to unfurl in clean, white lines on paper.

Such were the frustrated circumstances of my life when I vomited in a Dunkin’ Donuts bathroom and discovered I was pregnant. It was the week before my 28th birthday. The Future! I thought, staring into the putrid, porcelain expanse of the toilet bowl. It wasn’t glamorous, but was it All Right?

I ordered a sausage-egg-and-cheese breakfast sandwich and thought about my one-bedroom apartment next to the subway — the roaches, the leaky gas stove, the anonymous grifter who kept smearing excrement on the sky blue Toyota Prius I inherited from my sister — and decided to schedule an appointment for an abortion as I soon as I could muster the words to tell my boyfriend, who was living temporarily back east for a job. By the time I did tell him, it was my actual birthday — number 28. And in response, he asked whether any part of me felt excited to know I could get pregnant, as if I hadn’t already carried the burden of that knowledge around with me — the messy red-brown muck of it — since I was 11 years old.

I didn’t feel excited. I felt desperate to be alone and terrified to be alone in alternating waves. I didn’t know which was the more honest feeling. I still don’t. But my body felt different in a way that was so apparent it surprised me. I felt hardened, nauseated, and ravenous for sugar all at once. More than anything I wanted to be rid of that feeling, to soften back into my old salty self, which is why I think Daleen and I went forth with our birthday festivities as planned, hosting a house party at a friend’s place a few nights after my abortion procedure. Daleen even made a flyer and two cakes. I wore a black velvet mini-dress and, because I was still bleeding, a giant menstrual pad, which I held securely in place with a pair of Spanx. That night I didn’t think much about my boyfriend, or even the baby that could have been. Instead I got drunk, because it was a party. I ordered a pizza. I entertained a group serenade of “Happy Birthday,” I licked frosting off my fingers, and I flirted with a crush because I was already falling out of love with the story I’d written about myself, or the one that had been written for me.

“Brick” By Ben Folds Five.

youtube.com

When my Northern California Catholic school needed a hip way to talk to freshmen about the consequences of abortion, they played us “Brick” by Ben Folds Five. It was 2002, and despite my unwavering understanding (even at 14) of my right to choose, I was young enough then for my pathologies to still be forming. For the next 15 or so years, Ben Folds’ account of emotional collapse following his high school girlfriend’s abortion at “6 a.m., day after Christmas” instilled in me a belief in the destructive quality of my own womb, which was then deep in the throes of female puberty. Perhaps as a result of this education, as a teen I sought control over the disorder I sensed in my body. I tweezed, flat-ironed, stuffed my chest into push-up bras, and eventually I went on the Pill, if only to protect myself from being drowned in watery emotion — a heavy, sunken brick at the bottom of the San Francisco Bay.

Following its release on their Whatever and Ever Amen album in 1997, “Brick” became the alternative rock band’s biggest hit and gained enough mainstream radio play that early fans accused Ben Folds Five of selling out. Despite its controversial subject matter, the reason behind the song’s widespread appeal can be understood in its lonesome lyrics and moody piano arpeggio, which suggest that — politics aside — abortion is sad for everyone. Especially Ben Folds.

Abortion does feel sad for some women, and that’s OK. But “Brick” isn’t about the experience of some women, or even one woman. Pay no attention to the piano gimmick and all that remains of “Brick” is a man imagining a woman drowning both herself and those around her with the weightiness of her #FemaleProblems. Ultimately, “Brick” is a song about how abortion made Ben Folds feel about Ben Folds, which, if for some reason you need to know, is “numb” and “alone,” despite his girlfriend being the one actually having the experience.

My adult self wonders how Ben’s girlfriend would have painted her story differently. Would she really think to include the detail of her boyfriend selling back his Christmas gifts on the same day as her abortion? Would she tell us what she ate afterward? (I ate a cheesesteak and I want to know.) Which TV shows would she recommend binge-watching to ignore all the bleeding? If she imagined herself a brick, would she instead be the kind thrown up against a windowpane?

I remember discussing the possibility of an unexpected pregnancy with another friend, Emma, after we both finished graduate school and faced the uncertain future of the rest of our lives as writers who also happen to be women.

“Would you have an abortion?” I asked her. “At this point?”

Emma, who was born in east London and raised in Essex — more accustomed to the grit of life than me — thought she wouldn’t, that somehow she’d learn to endure motherhood on a diet of rice and moldy vegetables, like her mother before her, and her mother’s mother before that. I said I’d opt for the abortion, but that I’d probably develop a drinking problem from the resulting pain and distress. In response, Emma laughed the sheepish way friends do when they agree with you but know they shouldn’t. We both wanted a third option, only we didn’t realize what that option could be yet.

John Everett Millais's painting “Ophelia” shows a scene from Shakespeare's Hamlet, in which Ophelia drowns herself in a stream after having been driven out of her mind when her father is murdered by her lover, Hamlet. Painting held at Tate Britain, London.

Print Collector / Getty Images

It seems important to note that while enrolled in the same Catholic school where I was encouraged to consider my uterus as one might, say, an albatross, I was also required to read Hamlet, in which the O.G. Damsel in Distress — the hapless and inconsolable Ophelia — drowns in a brook following the news of her father’s death. The scene was depicted by artist John Everett Millais in a now-iconic painting that hangs in Tate Britain. In the image Ophelia’s corpse is nearly submerged in murky blue water, as if her life has been extinguished by her own tears. Tied up in these narratives of women drowning is an implicit understanding of their physical and emotional conditions as less solid than their sturdier male counterparts. By comparison, women are soft, squishy, encased in liquid, or containing too much of it. “The female body is a leaky body,” writes my friend Emma in her essay “A History of Interiors.” Of course, the monthly fact of the female reproductive cycle adds yet another sodden layer. (Emma again: “The red mystery of woman: a feminine stigmata, foul and lubricious.”)

It’s not typical for me to swoon over conventionally attractive people. My type is more “90% attractive, but with something kind of ugly about them,” which is why I’ve dated a lot of extroverted cis men in the past. “Max” (which isn’t his real name) was a different kind of crush, though. Max was an LA kind of crush, which is to say he seemed imaginary, the kind of crush meant to distract from a dying relationship. Not only was our flirtation contained almost entirely to the digital sphere (Max liked all my Instagram selfies in the summer of 2016), but the easy naturalness of Max’s movie-star anatomy felt utterly impossible to me, by which I mean a woman from elsewhere, with no familial ties to Hollywood at all.

I had arrived in LA a misfit Bay Area exile, raised in some shapeless tech town hours and hours up I-5, while Max had a Movie Family. You could tell by the way he never mentioned his parents unless you asked him something direct, and even then Max never named names. That’s how you know who grew up with Hollywood and who didn’t. There’s a calculated casualness to the locals there, whereas I tried to tell anyone who would listen about that one time in college when child star Haley Joel Osment bought Daleen a pepperoni pizza and I happened to be there, too.

Close friends joke about my peculiar lack of chill, about the spastic way I carry my limbs and all my random bouts of nausea in public. I never see myself coming, which is why I felt surprised when, standing on the balcony the night of my birthday party, I swiveled around to flirt with Max and broke a fist-sized string light bulb with the sway of my right hip alone.

“Hips don’t lie,” Max said.

Indeed. I scraped shards of glass away with the side of my sneaker and excused myself to the bathroom. When I returned, I found Max sitting downstairs and flopped next to him on the couch. A beat passed while I crossed my legs, pursed my lips, and considered what to say next, only Max figured it out first:

“Is that blood?”

He directed his gaze toward the fleshy inside of my left knee, where a string of my uterine lining had decided to invite itself to the party. I looked down at myself then too, feeling the sudden, hot pressure of addressing the condition of my uterus for a person who did not, in fact, have one. Max himself seemed perplexed by the source of my blood, asking for a first and second time whether I’d been cut by the broken glass on the balcony, and for a moment I considered what it would feel like to tell Max the truth about my abortion and the possibility of bleeding without being wounded. Instead I said:

“It’s chocolate.”

In her video work “Untitled (Blood Sign #1)” (1974), the late Cuban-American artist Ana Mendieta scoops handfuls of animal blood from a tray and onto a white wall. After tracing the outline of a doorway around herself, Mendieta scrawls a series of words in sharp, swift movements. “There is a devil inside me,” read the words inside the bloody doorway. The video then fades to black.

I find I am often more interested in the artist behind the work than in the work itself. In this case, Ana Mendieta is nearly as famous for her death as for her provocative “earth body” art of the 1970s and ’80s, which typically featured blood, dirt, hair, ritual, burial, and the artist’s nude form. In September 1985, Mendieta was a rising art star when, at the age of 36, she fell from the 34th floor of the Greenwich Village apartment building where she lived with her husband of just nine months, the minimalist sculptor Carl Andre. Andre was present at the time of his wife’s death, reporting to 911 dispatchers that the two had quarreled about Andre’s higher level of prominence in the art world, after which she “went out the window” and died.

Tried for murder in the second degree, Andre was acquitted on all charges, ruling Mendieta’s death an accident or suicide by default.

The inverse of a suicidal woman is a homicidal woman.

After immigrating to the US as an orphan in exile from her native Cuba, Mendieta studied art at the University of Iowa, where she established herself as a fiercely ambitious, vital force who was as engaged as she was enraged with the male-dominated art world — “a devil inside her.” When painting and sculpting proved inadequate mediums to communicate her radicalism, Mendieta sought to imbue her work with a greater sense of power and magic and transitioned into experimental performance, which she documented through photography and video. In “Untitled (Facial Hair Transplants)” (1972), a male friend shaves hair off his face as Mendieta applies the hair to her own. In “Bird Transformation” (1972), Mendieta transforms the body of a woman into a fowl by covering it in white feathers and blood. In “Untitled (Self-Portrait with Blood)” (1973), she stares directly at the camera while blood dribbles from her forehead and down her nose, into her mouth. When asked by a district attorney whether she believed it possible that Mendieta could have killed herself, friend and fellow activist Lucy Lippard answered resolutely: “No.” She had too much life inside her.

The inverse of a suicidal woman is a homicidal woman: a monstrous woman, a woman of energy and intensity in excess, a powerful woman covered in thick, hot red blood. It’s clear to me now that Mendieta was born red regardless of the materials she used in her artwork. For her crime was one of multivalence, of contradiction. In her ambition and in her husband Mendieta was drawn to what she was most repelled by. She was herself, as changeable as she was in conversation with the world around her: a red woman — as much as Ophelia is a blue woman and the girlfriend from “Brick” is a blue woman, by which I mean solitary and tragic, without faculty enough to swim themselves to shore.

In Millais’s painting of Ophelia, her palms are held open and raised slightly above water at chest level, as if to suggest stigmata — only there is no blood. Ophelia’s hands have been wiped clean.

“What is the relationship between physical states, bodily wastes (even if metaphoric ones) and the horrific?” asks scholar Barbara Creed in The Monstrous-Feminine.

In drowning women we wash the red parts away.

For a long time after my abortion, my blood became a problem. For six months I didn’t bleed at all, my period mysteriously absented, just like the words I searched for to explain what had happened, how I was trying to understand it. Then, for a month straight, I bled in public. It didn’t matter how many layers I wore to protect myself against the seepage. My blood was angry, spiteful. I bled in Mexican restaurants and in the freezer aisle. I bled down the maddening, circular hallways at the university where I worked. I bled at the bottom of the Verdugo foothills, where I dripped onto the hardwood floor of my new home in Glendale, where there was no more boyfriend and no more roaches, only sometimes crickets in the kitchen sink in the morning. I bled through my jeans, once, when Emma made me laugh too hard. We were drinking wine on the sofa and Emma scrubbed the stain out of the couch cushion while I threw my jeans into the wash. I bled so much I thought I might be hemorrhaging and called my doctor, who told me the bleeding was rare but not abnormal. I started to feel light-headed, so Daleen dragged me out for steak at El Coyote, where my Diva Cup spilled out onto the floor of the women’s bathroom — red. When I stood from our table after dinner, the napkin I’d been sitting on was soaked red, too. Daleen threw all that red under the table and tipped when we left. It was all anyone could do. ●

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