#if anything they’d wear skirts with like bike shorts underneath

[bugeyedfreaks]

Is it weird that I’m beginning to hate seeing Blossom always being the one that wears a mini skirt in fanarts? Its like seeing Buttercup in a dress, cause I also think that out of all the 3 sisters, Blossom would be would be the first one to choose pants over skirt/dresses when they get older and not buttercup who despite being a tomboy, never minded wearing a dress to fight crime

I mean, I think they’d all be fine wearing dresses or skirts, but I think things just get problematic if their skirts are being drawn on any of them to make them, like… overtly sexualized. 😬 Obviously anybody can wear whatever they want, even superheroic fictional cartoon characters, but when it comes to how the girls act, I don’t even think I see them ever including, like, super duper mini skirts into their wardrobe.

[headoverhiddles]

Little Pistol - Ron Tully x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You travel to Stockton for a conjugal visit with Tully. The two of you have been apart too long for formalities. 

Notes: This was a request! As per my usual disclaimer, I don’t condone Tully’s ideology, this is his character, minus that! 

Gif used belongs to stilinski-ortiz-dolan!

Tully had been on the boards for a visit for six months. There are a lot of things he can bribe the guards for, like rooms to talk business with his guys, private lines on the phone, and a general prison-wide acceptance that no one would fuck with him unless it really was the law. What he can't bribe anyone for though, is a wait bypass for a conjugal visit. His name is on the list like the rest of them, and even though he'd pay a pretty penny to see you monthly, it's just not something he can do.

Now, having waited quite a bit of time, Tully's "good behavior" had paid off. The next day was his visit with you, which would last a day.

"You seem happy," the guy behind him in the communal washrooms mentions. No one talks to Tully much, for fear of what he’d do to them if he wasn’t in the mood, but this guy was the prison idiot, and Tully didn’t mind his chatter now and then. The taller man is washing his face in the sink, shaving his growing facial hair a little and trimming his hair.

"I am."

The guy smirks. "Can I ask why?"

Tully drags the plastic razor down his chin, inspecting himself. He didn't want to shave it too close, since you always said you liked his stubble... liked the way it felt between your thighs. Tully's small smile grows a little, and he dunks the razor in water. It had cost him a couple fifties to be allowed to clean up a little with actually helpful instruments of hygiene this morning. 

"I'm seeing my girl tonight." He gestures to his things, and the guy goes over, finding a polaroid of you in a black bra and panties, posing on top of Tully's bike.

"Shit. With a body like that, what makes you think she's still your girl?" the guy chuckles. Tully doesn’t dignify the man with a look. 

"It’s not like that." He takes some scissors from his sleeve, trimming his black hair close to his temple. "I know she'd die for me. And I'd die protecting her." The guy's still staring at the polaroid of you when Tully's done his haircut. "Alright, put it the fuck down, or I'mma have you stabbed."

He takes the photo, and feels himself stir already. His eyes run over your perfect tits, down your legs, to the thin black fabric covering that pussy he knows so well. He sets the photo that he’d touched himself to many times by the mirror, and checks his reflection. He'd never really considered himself to be handsome, which is why he became powerful instead, but you seemed to think he was the sexiest man alive. He didn't mind that. 

"Lucky you get a visit," the guy mutters. 

"I almost didn't. See, you're not supposed to get visits from anyone outside of family. Technically, I haven't married (y/n) yet. But, I pulled some strings. 'S what I do."

"Mm. I don't have any girlfriends or anything. Last visit I got was my mom, back in '07. Got banned til the end of my sentence cause my mom tried to plant weed on me. Guess she likes the quiet around the house."

Tully, not really listening, grunts in response. He then does up another button on his blue shirt, and looks down at the picture again, really studying it. He remembers the way you screamed his name while he fucked you over that motorcycle. He takes it as a personal challenge to raise even more hell tonight. 

 ---

You sit in the diner in Stockton, California. You'd traveled up here with a few of the guys who work for your boyfriend, since they had to do some work anyway, smooth some shit out before Tully caught wind of it and had their heads. They knew to take good care of you, or they'd pay for that with their life too. You yourself are about to go see Tully, and you can't wait. It had been so long.

Dressed in a little white crop top, a short black skirt, and sunglasses, you're feeling your best. You know ever since he got the news he’d been scheduled for a conjugal, Tully's probably had tonight in mind day and night, and what you wear won't alter the fact that he's going to give you the best pounding you've ever taken. But you want to wow him too. He hasn't seen you for the better part of a year, after all, and to get a real good reaction out of him, you need the element of surprise. 

"Want another milkshake, hun?" a kind, older waitress with smile lines and grey hair asks. You smile back.

"Love one."

You tap your nails on the table, watching out the window at the people walking by in the heat. You're used to living in Southern California, since Tully's the shot caller and doesn't go out on rides, but he conducts business up here in the northern part of the state sometimes. Liaisons, stuff like that. The county jail he does his time in is unfortunately pretty far away from the reclusive home you two share in San Diego. Still, you keep busy and make do while he's gone, keep an eye on how things are run in his absence. It's what you have to do to stay sane.

"Don’t mean to bother you. But can I ask what your tattoos mean?" the waitress asks, sliding you another of your favorite flavor of milkshake.

You glance down at your knuckles, which have T U L L Y tattooed across them, a letter per finger.

"My man," you say wistfully.

"I'm sorry," she says quickly, noticing the sorrow in your eyes, "Did he pass away?"

"No," you smile, "He's just away right now, doing time."

"Shit, no kidding. My husband's been in for two years now, serving another five. Kills me every day."

You move your stuff to one side of the table. "Sit, if you want." The lady checks her watch, and sits across from you. "I hate it," you confess, "It's the worst. It's the life I chose to get involved in, but it's rough when it actually comes back to hit you at night, when you don't have their arms around you."

"I know just what you mean, hun. Probably shouldn't be saying this, but... my husband is an arms dealer, works in the gun trade. Under the table deals out in San Pedro, all that." 

"My Tully's a shot caller," you say, not elaborating any further on his gang or who he's affiliated with. This lady seems nice, but you're never sure who could be an undercover cop, or the wife of a rival gang member. 

"You're visiting him, then?" she asks.

"Yes. Tonight."

"Baby, you have the time of your life tonight, you hear me?"

"Oh, you know I will," you giggle, "When he hasn't seen me for a while, things get very physical."

"I can imagine." She winks. 

You hand her a Polaroid you've got in your leather jacket pocket; Tully's got the other one from this day. In this one, you're dressed in black panties and a black bra, and you're sitting on Tully's lap, straddling him. The photo shows the backside of you, showing off your backside, and Tully has got his face looking over your shoulder, glaring darkly as his fingers sink into the flesh of your ass. It's a photo of the two of you that never fails to turn you on, especially recalling how hard he fucked you over his bike after this picture was taken.  

You sigh, twirling the straw. "He's my ride or die... and I'm his forever girl."

--

Finally, it comes time for the guards to collect Tully. They know exactly what he's going to do to you, as they're the ones who have had to listen to Tully groan your name every morning and night whenever he gets the urge.

“This has been a long time coming,” one guard sighs. 

"Just don't make too much noise," the other guard pleads. Tully glances at him.

"I don't remember payin’ you off to tell me how to fuck my girlfriend."

The guy concedes, keeping his mouth shut. They let him into the room, far away from the others and the best money can buy (he at least had some sphere of influence in this department), and they go to close the door.

"She'll be in in a minute." Tully undoes the top three buttons of his shirt, and waits.

 ---

You get a pat down in the lobby of the conjugal area. They take out a gold switchblade and a couple of metal rings, leaving your pockets empty. Then you're ready to go in. The guards let you in, and you see Tully sitting on the bed. He looks up.

"Hey, baby."

"Hey," you grin. One of the guards steps in.

"24 hours, Tully. Make it count." He shuts the door after himself, locking it, and you look around. It's almost like a normal home-- there's a mini fridge, a bed, a TV, and a living area.

"I missed you," you say, and walk over to him. He accepts you into his lap, and you cup his face, pressing your lips to his.

"So did I," he murmurs against your lips. "You doing good? Looking after the boys, making sure they're doing their jobs?" You nod. "Good. They're a bunch of jokes when I'm not around."

"Well, now that nobody's around... am I correct in thinking you wouldn’t say no to a strip tease?" you ask, snapping the strap on your bra underneath your shirt.

"Yeah," he nods, sitting back on the couch. You slowly take your shirt up over your head, watching as his eyes fall down to admire your breasts.

"You like that?" you murmur, bunching your hair up a little as you slide your fingers downward. 

"Thought of me while you did that the last few months?"

"Nuh uh," you grin, "Trying to trick me? I know I can only cum when you tell me to."

"That's right," he smiles fondly, watching your hips swing back and forth. You finally rub the finger between your legs, and get on the edge of the bed, pulling your panties to one side. You hear the low hitch in Tully's breath, and you sink your fingers into yourself, loving the feel but craving the stretch of your boyfriend.

You dip your fingers in again, lips parting as you moan. "Gonna join in?"

"Right now I'm just going to sit here and watch, babygirl. Seeing you do it in person is a nice change. Your moans are fuckin’ beautiful, but a visual always helps." He gives one of his dark smirks, and sits there, watching. You feel the heat rise even more as his eyes travel, your skin heating up just knowing he’s appreciating the show you’re putting on. You let his name escape your lips with a sigh. "My beautiful little slutty girl," he murmurs, and unzips his pants as you watch in feverish arousal. He takes his cock out, and starts to pump it slowly in his hand while you watch, shoving your fingers deeper. Your eyes are trained on his fist, where it's jerking up and down. He lifts his chin.

"Look at that," he starts to stroke a little faster, "All you, baby." You flip over, not reaching enough depth in this position, and sit on your fingers, letting them disappear deeper into your pussy. Tully sits forward, intense gaze trained, unblinking, on where your hips are slamming down. "You're so fucking hot," he whispers.

"Yeah?" You ride your fingers harder, "You like that? You like that, baby?"

"S good, sweetheart." He moans, squeezing himself. "Fuckin' tease."

"Get over here and pound me then," you say, licking your lips obscenely. He finally stands, and grabs you by your hair. You groan as he drags you over to the bed, where he shoves you down onto the soon-to-be-destroyed mattress.

"You wanna feel daddy's cock?" he asks, and you crawl forward, stroking up the length of it. He lets you for a moment, reveling in the feeling of your hands on his dick again, but eventually urges you off again. He crawls onto the bed between your legs, and pushes your thighs far apart, exposing your soaking pussy to him.

"This is all mine," he whispers, "You know this cunt belongs to me." He hums. “I own a lotta things, and this here’s one of em.” 

"Yeah, daddy," you breathe, and he seals his lips over you, upper lip teasing your clit while his tongue dips in and out of you. Fuck. One thing among many that can be said about Tully, is he knows how to eat you out spectacularly.

"That's good, that's good," you start chanting, "Please... sir, please..."

He groans, and the vibrations make your clit throb. "Imma take good care of you, babygirl, don't you worry," he assures softly, eyes glowering up from between your legs, "Take good care of my girl. She deserves it. Deserves gettin’ fucked good too. Don't you?" 

"Yeah..." you whine. 

"You've been a real good girl, waiting for daddy. Only cumming when he's talking to you on the phone. You know the rules." 

"Daddy," you gasp, feeling your orgasm build, "I-I have a confession." Your voice sounds so small, and your tone is airy in your breathless state.

"Mmm? Tell me, sweetheart."

"You won't be mad?"

"That depends." He strokes soothing hands up your calves, and you shudder, flashes of his punishments running through your head.

"I was... in the jacuzzi with the girls the other night. I was thinking of you, and... thinking of what you'd do if you were there. I was wearing your favorite bikini. The one that's translucent, so you can see my nipples?" 

"Mmhmmm."

"And..." You wiggle your hips, chasing your release at the mercy of Tully's tongue. "And I... well, the jets just felt so good, I... mmm!"

"Tell daddy," he encourages with a growl.

"I let the pressure make me cum in my swimsuit, imagining it was you." You let out a moan as his tongue licks a stripe up from the base to the tip of your clit.

He hums. "It's okay. It’s okay. I understand. Some things just can't be helped. I know you tried." You exhale, uncomfortable waves of arousal washing over you. You wish he'd fill you up. "I'm proud of you, you know."  You look down at him again. "You're so brave. I'm in here, you're all alone. I wish I could be there for you, remind you every day why you'll always be mine."

"You are there for me. When you can be. You bribe the guards with your hard earned cash to get ten minutes on a call with me, to check in, make sure I’m alright. You're in here getting shit done, and I’m running things at home. It’s how we do it."

"Mmyeah. But I'd much rather be back in the game than calling the shots in here. In a perfect world, nothing would stand between us. Two of us against the world."

"Together as one," you smile, arching your back.

Tully shares your smile, as he presses soft kisses all the way up to just barely graze your cunt again. "Against all others." He nips at the dip in your hipbone. "Mm. Babygirl, when I'm out, I'mma do this... every night. That’s a motherfuckin’ promise."

You grind your hips toward his mouth, and he holds them down firmly against the mattress as he launches a proper maneuver on your clit, making you cum in seconds. You ride it out, hands fisting in his hair. He crawls over top of you, staring down at you like he's about to devour you. You don’t doubt that he is. 

You part your legs even more, and he picks them up, throwing them over his shoulder and holding your hips up. He guides himself to line up with your dripping cunt, and pushes into you easily with a low grunt, your first orgasm having slicked you up perfectly. Each following thrust is harder than the previous; Tully isn't wasting time. Already sensitive, you feel the second orgasm building. Desperate, you run your hand through your hair, getting it out of your face.

"I need it, fuck Tully, I need your cock!" you practically shout, and his grunts increase in volume as he dedicates all his energy to making sure he uses you properly. "Fill me up with your cum, daddy?" you ask innocently.

"Oh, you know I will."

"Fucking do it then."

"You’re a mouthy one, sweetheart," he moans, and he throws his head back, biting his bottom lip hard. “You test me.”

“You love it.” 

“I tolerate it... cuz I love you so fucking much... ohhff, shit...” 

“Look at me when you cum?” you gasp breathlessly. He obliges, jet black hair hanging and jolting with his tattooed body as he puts all his weight behind fucking you as deep as he can. He looks you in your eyes as your own eyelids droop in desire, and he gasps your name as you both reach your peaks together. 

You hum softly in contentment, and climb on top of his larger frame, laying on his chest. He puts an arm over you, body rising and falling with labored breath.

"What do you want to do now?" you tease. He looks down at you, brushing your matted hair aside affectionately. 

"We still got 23 hours left. You do the math."  

[theshyorator]

Utopia - Part 1

This was supposed to be short, but I have absolutely no self-control. To wrap it up: Utopia is a fusion of numerous themes, such as cyberpunk, soulmate marks, and the supernatural. Inspired by Cristobal Tapia De Veer’s music, Akira and Studio Ghibli (particularly Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke and Howl’s Moving Castle), as well as @vesperlionheart Peridot, and @frostmarris Incantations (I could rave about their stories for hours so go take a look at their work if you haven’t already!). 

Pairing: Sasori/Sakura

Rated M for strong language and violence

Part 1 - A Birthday to Remember

Their heels clicked loudly against the flagstones as they walked up the street towards the restaurant. It had stopped raining yesterday, and the puddles reflected the neon flashes of advertisement. Holographic images of gadgets and beaming people assaulted them from every angle, and Sakura eyed passersby on the street but saw none of the cheerfulness being showcased. The evening was approaching, and they passed men wearing expensive suits who were escorting beautiful ladies that were swathed in luxurious furs and jewelry, all of whom were in search of a night of entertainment to sate their vices. There was none of the hard-eyed gauntness Sakura was used to seeing in the slums. This was a different kind of hunger that only the corrupt and the wealthy experienced.

Sakura despised them.

They’d parked her motorcycle in an area reserved for the restaurant’s guests, and Sakura had left her boots and jacket with her bike. She thanked the high heavens that Ino had taught her how to walk in these death contraptions. Their arms were looped together, and Ino’s flowing dress brushed against Sakura’s leg with every step they took. She looked fantastic tonight, having chosen a purple cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline that left her collarbones on display. Sakura had no idea where she’d gotten the money for either of their clothes for the night but knew better than to ask. While they both had enough to go by, they were poor compared to these people.

They had no business entering this side of town, where even the air was expensive, but Ino was determined to celebrate. It wasn’t every day that her best friend turned twenty, she’d said. Sakura had laughed when Ino had told her not to worry because this was her treat. She knew that Ino had no intention of paying for anything here and wondered how she expected to be able to outrun anyone in these shoes. Hence the reason Sakura had taken her boots along for the ride. There was no way she was entering a car chase in heels.

Sakura held open the door when they arrived, and Ino walked up to the reception, which was manned by a waiter in a bowtie and suit. It was warm inside, and soft music played from hidden speakers. The floor was covered with a rich red carpet, which complemented the dark wood of the furniture. Sakura looked up at the gleaming chandeliers that lit the restaurant with a soft glow. Everything looked so elegant here, and Sakura had to hand it to Ino; she really knew how to pick a place.

“Hi, a table for two,” Ino said with confidence, and Sakura marveled at how natural she looked here, surrounded by such opulence.

“Do you have a reservation?” The waiter behind the counter asked.

“No, I didn’t think we’d need one,” Ino said with a cute pout that usually got her what she wanted. He feigned a smile and looked down at his monitor. Sakura shifted her weight onto her other foot, ready to pull Ino away and head back towards their usual joint. This place wasn’t worth the effort, no matter how classy it appeared.

“Our next table should be available in about twenty minutes if you’re willing to wait,” he said after a moment of shuffling through the evening’s reservations.  

“We’ll wait,” Ino said with a sharp smile that the waiter did not return.

“If you would be so kind as to wait, another waiter will be here in a moment to escort you to the waiting area,” he said but forgot about them when the door opened again. He looked past them and plastered on an oily smile.

“Excuse me,” the man who’d just entered said. His date, a tall woman with her hair pulled up into an elegant knot, observed Ino and Sakura with an air of disdain as they rudely pushed past them to get the counter. Sakura had the urge to stick out her tongue at her, just to see what kind of reaction she’d gain.

“Ah, monsieur. Your usual table?” the waiter asked the asshole. At receiving a nod, he lifted the countertop to escort them personally. “Excuse us, ladies,” he said, and they both smiled with false demureness as they stepped out of their way. Sakura made sure that the couple had to let go of each other to get between them, her arm brushing against the man’s suit as they passed. Ino did the same on the other side, but she purposefully bumped into the lady hard enough to have to grab her by the shoulder to keep them from falling.

“Oh, my! I’m so sorry,” she said earnestly and took a step back to give them more space. The lady sent her a frosty glare but said nothing as she put her hand on her companion’s arm again.

“It happens to the best of us,” he assured them with a stiff nod before they continued on.

“That fucker took our table!” Ino hissed into Sakura’s ear when they were out of hearing range.

“What did you expect from a place like this?” Sakura whispered back, and Ino scowled. She opened her mouth to make another scathing remark but was interrupted by the arrival of their waiter.

“If you’d be so kind as to follow me, ladies. You can take a seat at the bar while you wait for a table,” he said with a bow. The bar served as a waiting area as well, and Sakura wondered why they couldn’t just have their dinner there. The tables were tall enough for them to stand by them, but they chose one with chairs. Sakura wasn’t eager to stand for long in heals. Ino placed her purse on the table as they took their seat and Sakura took a look around. Their new position gave them a good view of the establishment, but her back was to the door.

“Can I get you ladies anything to drink?” he asked when they were seated.

“Yes, I’ll have the House Blend,” Ino said after considering the menu. The waiter nodded and looked at Sakura expectantly.

“I’ll just have some sparkling water,” Sakura said.

“Excellent, I’ll have your drinks ready in a moment.”

“Water? It’s your birthday, forehead. Live a little!” Ino said, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

“It’s fancy water,” Sakura defended. “Besides, one of us needs to keep their wits about them.”

“Always so responsible,” Ino sighed.

“You’d be dead without me, pig” Sakura teased, reminding her of all the times she’d bailed her ass out of jail.

“Probably,” Ino agreed.

They bickered back and forth. Sakura couldn’t keep the smile off her face, honestly glad that she’d agreed to Ino’s harebrained scheme. She’d never been inside such a fancy place.

“Here we are.” Their waiter set down their drinks in front of them. Sakura smiled politely in thanks, and Ino batted her eyes flirtatiously. He flushed. “Anything else I can get you?”

“No thank you.” Ino gave him a sultry smile and wrapped her lips around her straw to take a sip. “We’ll call if we need anything.”

The poor guy didn’t stand a chance against the blonde bombshell. He bowed and walked away with a slightly dazed expression. Ino snorted when he was out of view. Sakura held her glass up to her mouth to hide her grin against the rim. Her drink wasn’t nearly as indulgent as Ino’s, but she needed to keep a clear head when they hit the road again. Ino lounged back in her chair, holding her ridiculously expensive cocktail to her chest, and Sakura watched as she took another sip of it, careful not to smear her lipstick.

“You know that there’s bound to be as much sugar, if not more, than alcohol in that drink,” Sakura said, and Ino pouted.

“I’m not on a diet so don’t spoil this for me!” Ino clutched the drink to her chest defensively.

“You never needed to go on a diet in the first place,” Sakura sighed. Ino relaxed, a small smile crossing her face. The door opening let in a gust of wind and Sakura shivered as the cold air brushed against the bare skin of her back. Her red dress was backless, a far cry from her usual getup, and she was grateful that it had sleeves.

“Stop squirming, you look hot!” Ino reassured her. Sakura stopped fidgeting and smoothed out the skirt of her dress. She felt like the slit that ran up her thigh to her hip was exposing her nether regions to the world. She was wearing underwear of course, but the only pair that would look good with this kind of dress was a high waisted thong, and that hardly gave her much coverage. Sakura was only glad that the fabric around her left leg concealed the slim dagger she’d holstered around her thigh. Ino had a pistol in her purse, but Sakura hadn’t dared to travel unarmed even though they were in the safer part of the city.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ino grumbled and gestured towards the reception with her chin.

Sakura turned around and saw the headwaiter lead three men in suits to the dining hall. The tallest had a dark scowl on his face, and his unnaturally green eyes and red sclera sent a pool of dread down Sakura’s spine. She knew danger when she saw it, and this was not a man to be trifled with. His two companions, a blond and a redhead, appeared bored to be there, but Sakura knew that they weren’t here to mix business with pleasure.

Her skin tingled, and Sakura shivered at the odd sensation. She took a cooling sip of her drink and was about to comment on it when their waiter returned. He was eager to give Ino a refill, but she placed a hand over her glass.

“Could we have something to nibble on instead? We’re starting to get hungry,” Ino asked, and Sakura could see the annoyance lurking underneath her playful smile.

“Of course! I apologize for the delay; your table will be ready in a few moments.” He hurried off and returned with a basket full of bread and a small jar of pesto. It was freshly prepared by the cook and on the house, according to the waiter. It was delicious, and Sakura could feel how hungry she’d been. They took a moment to appreciate the taste and texture of it.

“Let’s hope there won’t be a shootout,” Ino spoke suddenly, and Sakura knew she was referring to the new arrivals.

“Yeah, that’s not how I want to spend my evening,” Sakura agreed. It was depressing how frequently fights broke out nowadays. Civilians got caught in the crossfire of gang wars countless of times, and corrupt officials looked the other way while men like these made dark deals in fancy restaurants.

Luck was with them tonight, and when they finally got a table, they were relieved to see that it was close to the kitchen so they could make a quick exit through the back if things turned sour. Sakura smirked when she saw whose table the men had joined. It was the couple they’d bumped into in the reception and Sakura got a mild kick from seeing the nervous sweat on the man’s face at being cornered. Served him right for getting involved with them when he couldn’t deliver. The lady was unhappy with the new company; going by the glare she was giving her date.

Their waiter weaved in between tables and steered them through the dining hall with ease. Sakura was relieved that the man with the scary eyes had his back to her. The blond, who was closer to Sakura’s age, winked at her when he saw her looking. She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his apparent appraisal of her, and his grin widened in return. She moved her attention to the last man at the table, the redhead with hooded eyes. A tremor ran through her, but the unsettling feeling lasted only for a fraction of a second as she passed by them. He didn’t look up, much to Sakura’s relief.

They placed their orders when they were seated, having had plenty of time to make up their minds while they waited. They decided to go all out tonight and requested a three-course meal.

“Tonight we eat like royalty,” Ino said and held up her glass in a toast which Sakura gladly reciprocated.

Curiosity got the better of her and Sakura looked over at their table. Now that she had time to observe them properly she noticed the similarities between the blond man and Ino. He wore his hair half pulled up in a ponytail with a long bang covering one eye.  

“I think I found your long lost twin,” she said, and Ino scoffed.

“Where?”

“Over there.” Sakura gestured discretely to their table, but Ino had no such compunction and craned her neck to get a better look.

“Motherfucker, you’re right,” Ino gasped in outrage. She wasn’t the only one to have noticed, and the blond met her with a disbelieving stare of his own. Ino scowled, and he glared back. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned back to Sakura. “Whatever, I’m still prettier.”

“I don’t know,” Sakura drawled. His visible blue eye was quite striking. “He could give you a run for your money.”

“You’re horrible,” Ino deadpanned, and Sakura finally gave into the urge to laugh.

The blond’s pouting must have caught the attention of his companion because when Sakura looked over again, she made direct eye contact with amber eyes. Her skin crawled with a sudden, unnatural heat. Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, Sakura’s eyes lowered down to his hand, which was curled around a wine glass. Thin blue strings extended from his fingers and stretched across the room. She quickly turned to see where they lead, but they vanished through the front door. The shock of seeing something so bizarre forced her back to reality, and her eyelids fluttered against the sudden lightheadedness she experienced. She snuck another look at him out of the corner of her eye, and her heart lurched when she saw that he was still watching her.

He only looked away when the rich guy had made to stand up, but something pulled him back down. A new string had materialized from the redhead’s finger and was now connected to the man’s chest, forcing him back down with a twitch of his finger. Sakura’s eyes widened in horror, and she hastened to look away before the redhead discovered that he had a witness. Ino hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary, or she would have reacted, but Sakura was desperate for a distraction. She searched wildly for something to say before she went into hysterics.

“How’s work?” She asked, her voice an octave higher than natural. Ino’s parents were florists, which was not the most lucrative business, but Sakura knew they might have been well off if they’d lived in another world. Ino gave her a weird look but chose not to comment on the abrupt change of topic.

“It’s been kind of slow lately, but we’re bound to have more business if these gang wars keep up. Funeral flowers are always so depressing to arrange,” Ino sighed before she perked up. “I have an early shift tomorrow; you should totally come by and save me from boredom.”

“Yeah, I might,” Sakura said absently. It had been some time since Sakura’s last visit to the Yamanaka Flower. That had been for a funeral as well. Ino looked up from her plate and appeared pensive all of a sudden.

“You know that there’s still a chance they’re-” Ino started quietly, her expression soft but Sakura couldn’t bear it. She knew where this was going and had to put a stop to it before she said their names.

“I think this dress is giving me a rash,” Sakura interrupted her. She refused to cry on her birthday. “I’m going to go to the bathroom and check it out.”

“I need to piss,” Ino said after a pause and stood up. “I’ll come with you.”

“Is everything okay?” Their waiter popped up, and Sakura’s eyebrow twitched with annoyance. His eagerness to please had been amusing at first, but now it was starting to wear on her patience.

“We’re just going to powder our noses,” Ino said, her words devoid of her earlier crassness. She put her hand on Sakura’s back and led her away, recognizing the signs of her rising temper.

They had to pass their table again, and the blond shamelessly checked them out though he still appeared put out by Ino’s similarity. The scary-eyed man was speaking to the rich man in a low, threatening manner. Sakura feigned obliviousness, and carefully kept her eyes ahead, aware of the pair of eyes drilling into the back of her head. Hopefully, Ino wouldn’t notice.

“You’ve got an admirer,” Ino said the moment she’d locked the door, and Sakura bit back a curse her perceptiveness. Those freaky strings only meant trouble, and there was no way she was going to drag Ino into harm’s way.

“Oh?” She said with forced disinterest. She pulled her arms out of the long sleeves of her dress, the silky fabric rolling as she pushed the front down. She didn’t feel a lick of embarrassment when the cold air nipped at her exposed flesh. There wasn’t anybody here to see her half-naked except for Ino, and they’d been best friends for over ten years. The skin between her breasts was a splotchy red and irritated, and she compulsively put her hand on it. It felt hot to the touch and was sore and slightly raised with inflammation.

“What the hell,” Ino breathed, leaning in to take a closer look. “Do you think it could be an allergic reaction?”

“It’s not appearing anywhere else. It looks like a bug bite,” Sakura said with a frown.

“Gross.” Ino grimaced.

Sakura rolled her eyes at her friend’s squeamishness and went over to the sink to wet a tissue with cold water. She pressed it to her chest and sighed at the momentary relief. Sakura leaned against the sink, marveling at how clean everything was here, while Ino took a leak. She could see her reflection on the tiles. It would be hard to return to reality, where public bathrooms were disgusting from the acts of vandalism caused by bored teens, and needles and syringes, as well as the occasional blood splatters, left behind by the shaky hands of drug addicts.

Ino checked Sakura’s hip to get to the sink, and Sakura threw the now warm tissue into the bin. She looked into the mirror to get a closer look at the redness and put her dress back on after a moment of deliberation. It didn’t seem serious, and the pain was mild compared to what she’s experienced.

“Does it hurt?” Ino asked. She slung her purse onto the counter and pulled out a gloss and handed it to Sakura.

“No,” Sakura said. She met her eyes in the mirror as she applied it and raised an eyebrow in question when she saw Ino’s smug grin.

“I got her pearls,” Ino said and dangled the necklace in between her thumb and forefinger to show her. It belonged to the woman she’d bumped into at the reception.

“Well, I got his wallet,” Sakura countered and held it up with a devilish smirk. Ino laughed in delight and slung her arm over Sakura’s shoulder.

“How much is in there?” she asked, and Sakura opened the wallet. They both gasped when they saw the thick wad of bills inside.

“What an idiot! Who the hell carries around that much?” Ino snatched the money and counted it quickly, swearing when she noticed they were all one hundred bills. She stuffed it into her bra for safekeeping.

“I’ve never seen a credit card like this,” Sakura mused and showed Ino the sleek black card she’d found inside the wallet. It had a holographic serial number on it and a small silver chip but no name or address.

“It’s a luxury card!” Ino gasped. “Who the hell is this guy?”

“An idiot we just robbed,” Sakura smirked and tossed the wallet into the garbage. It wasn’t worth the risk of keeping when there was a chance of it having a tracker sewed into the leather; rich people were so paranoid these days.

“Well, who wouldn’t want to be robbed by a pair of babes like us?” Ino asked, and struck a pose that put her curves on display. Sakura snorted and smacked her on the bottom.

“Should we pay the bill now that we have the money?” She asked, handing Ino her gloss back.

“Are you crazy? I’m not going to waste a single penny in this pretentious place!” Ino hissed. She looked scandalized at the thought, and Sakura laughed.

“We can’t keep this,” Sakura gestured with the card. “The chip definitely has a tracker, and they’ll find us if we make a withdraw.”

“We’re not taking it with us, but we could use his card to pay for our meal,” Ino dismissed.

“What happened to not paying a single penny?”

“It’s not every day a rich, handsome man pays for your meal.” Ino swiped the card from Sakura’s hand and put it in her purse. “Besides we’ll be gone before they notice.”

“True,” Sakura agreed.

“Come on, I want some dessert,” Ino said and pulled Sakura out of the bathroom. They rounded the corner just in time to see the redhead man mutter something with a small smirk that sent the blond off. The couple was nowhere in sight, but Sakura noticed that the men were eating the food they’d ordered.

“How can you say such a thing? Art is supposed to be fleeting!” the blond cried, banging the table for emphasis. He would have continued, but he’d incited the ire of the scary-eyed man when the cutlery clinked loudly against the wooden tabletop.

“Deidara, shut up,” he growled, pointing his knife at him threateningly.

“Don’t point that knife at me unless you want to fight, Kakuzu,” Deidara spat, looking ready to vault over the table and attack him. The redhead leaned back in his seat and watched them with open satisfaction at having successfully riled his partners. Sakura slowed down, wanting to catch his name now that she could hear them, but he saw them. The moment their eyes met the skin between her breasts started to sting again, and Sakura was now positive he had something to do with it. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he raised his eyebrows, unimpressed by her scowl. Sakura didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of letting him see how unnerved she was and was grateful when Ino pulled her past them, breaking their strange connection.

“What a bunch of weirdos,” Ino muttered as they sat down. Sakura agreed; there was something wrong with them. She was hesitant to call it supernatural, but it was either that, or she was losing her mind. Her analytical mind preferred the second option.

They ordered a slice of chocolate cake and a bowl of strawberry ice cream to share, and Ino was slumped back in her seat by the time they’d finished, having gorged herself on the excellent food. She entertained herself by twirling her wine glass by the stem, and Sakura felt an overwhelming fondness for her. She reached over the table to take Ino’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you for tonight.”

“Of course, only the best for my friends,” Ino dismissed after her initial surprise. She turned her hand up and tickled Sakura’s palm until she let her go. The redhead was still watching her with a calculative gaze, and Sakura wanted nothing more than to leave. Then, she realized that nothing was stopping her now that they’d eaten.

“Ready to get this show on the road?” she asked, and Ino nodded. She threw her napkin onto her plate and took up her purse.

“Go get the bike, I’ll be ready,” Ino told her as she stood up, and Sakura hurried away. She feared that the redhead would follow her out if she didn’t walk fast enough. Her heart sank when she was reminded of his strings. They were still in place, shuddering like a spider web as the waiters stepped on them and sent the vibrations back to their castor. Suitably freaked out, Sakura avoided touching them and followed a group of rowdy businessmen out of the restaurant. They spilled out onto the street with guffaws, obviously drunk, but they walked on unhindered by the threads.

Sakura darted down the sidewalk towards the parking lot, observing how the strings dispersed in every direction and extended until they were out of sight. She shuddered and picked up her pace. It was getting dark, and the chilly air nipped at her skin. Three men sat on another restaurant’s veranda and catcalled loudly as she passed but she forced herself to ignore them. The one leaning against the railing stretched his hand out to swat at her ass but missed. Anger burned brightly inside her at their audacity. She kept going nonetheless, knowing that she wasn’t equipped to get retribution at the moment.

Her bike stood untouched, and Sakura wasted no time in pulling up the seat after unlocking the compartment under to get her clothes. She gladly switched her heels for boots and pulled on a pair of skintight shorts. She didn’t have the time to take off her dress, but she shifted the holster to her bared leg for easy access to her knife and threw on her jacket. She then wrapped the skirt around her thigh to keep it out of the way and pushed the seat back down.

The engine growled loudly as she put her key in the ignition. Sakura kicked off with a savage grin, and she tore off onto the street. She hadn’t forgotten the man who’d tried to touch her and steered her bike onto the sidewalk. Walking pedestrians flattened themselves to the wall with shouts as she rode up the pavement. The men were still sitting there, calling harassments after a group of teenaged girls, and she gave a burst of speed. Sakura took great pleasure in grabbing him by the head and smashing his face into the table with enough force to break his nose. Screams broke out as the table toppled over, sending glass flying, but Sakura didn’t slow down. They were bound to call the cops on her, but she didn’t care. She needed to get Ino, and they’d be off. Besides, the police wouldn’t follow them into the lawless zone. They never did.

Sakura proceeded onto the street and slowed down when she came to the restaurant but didn’t dare to get any closer when she saw that the mobsters were standing on the sidewalk. They were preparing to leave but stalled when she revved her engine as a signal for Ino to get her ass out. They looked up at the noise, and Deidara threw his head back with a laugh when he recognized her.

“I like your style, pinky!” He called. Sakura scowled, resenting the juvenile nickname, and flicked him the finger. Her pink hair was stunning!

Ino threw open the door to the restaurant and jumped out. It was amazing how fast she could move in those shoes, because she was past the mobsters and on the streets a split second later, shouting: “So long suckers!”

She hopped on behind Sakura and wound her arms around her middle. Sakura laughed, adrenaline rushing through her veins when the waiter burst out of the restaurant. In his haste, he bumped into Deidara with enough force to send him stumbling.

“Watch it!” Deidara shouted as he caught himself on the redhead, who shoved him away, but the waiter wasn’t listening.

“Ma’am!” He yelled, rushing towards them with his hand raised. Ino laughed hysterically and fluttered her fingers in farewell as Sakura kicked off. They tore down the street loudly, Ino’s laughter drowned by the sound of the motorcycle.

There wasn’t much traffic besides the usual cabs, but people walked carelessly onto the streets. The sound of Sakura’s motorcycle was enough to warn them of her approach, but she had to swerve to avoid crashing into a group of young adults. They shouted profanities at them as they pelted past. Sakura’s ears picked up the sound of sirens approaching, and she knew they would be in trouble if they didn’t make it to the Fringes before they caught sight of them.

She gasped as the dull pain in her chest burned brighter. Something was seriously wrong with her, but there was no time to stop and check, and going to the hospital was out of the question now that they were being tailed.

“Wow, that was quick!” Ino remarked when a police vehicle sped onto the street some paces behind them. Sakura didn’t answer but knew it was her fault for being such a hothead. Sweat gathered on her forehead, and she tightened her grip on the handlebars. They gained more speed as they got closer to the Fringes.

The traffic was worse in this part of the city, and horns blared around them as they zigzagged between cars. Sakura saw an opening between two lanes as they approached an intersection. The lights were red, and the police were stuck behind the other vehicles. Nobody liked cops in these parts, so no one moved out of their way despite their sirens. Sakura thanked her lucky stars that they hadn’t sent any backup.

They were almost at the intersection when suddenly a monstrous creature emerged from the shadows of an alleyway. Its body bubbled like boiling tar, but its dark skin was nearly translucent as it crawled forward. It looked ill. People walked passed it without hesitation, completely unaware of its presence as it slunk across the street in front of them. Sakura watched in horror as the cars moved right through it like it was invisible, a scream bubbling in her throat. What the hell was going on!

“Do you see that?” Sakura shouted. She was fed up with being the only one freaked out by this.

“See what?” Ino asked, confirming Sakura’s suspicions. This may be happening inside her head, but there was no way in hell that she was getting close to that thing.

“Hold on!” Sakura slammed on the breaks. The rubber of her tires squealed against the concrete as she changed direction abruptly. Ino’s grip on Sakura turned bruising as she held on for dear life.

“Sakura!” Ino screamed into her ear.

They rounded the corner and Sakura growled as they steamed into oncoming traffic. She turned sharply, and they sped off the street and onto the walkway before they could collide. People jumped out of their way with alarmed shouts. They needed more cover, so Sakura swerved onto a side street, and recognized their surroundings with building panic. They were close to the bridge where most of the street beggars slept at night, and that meant they were encroaching Oto’s territory. They’d be shot down on sight; Sakura’s hair was very noticeable.

“Fuck,” Sakura muttered and turned back towards the Fringes, crisscrossing between streets and toeing the line between neutral grounds and Oto. The sirens were fading away, but Sakura didn’t dare to stop until they were inside their own neighborhood.

She navigated past noisy teens that roamed the streets restlessly in search of entertainment. They acted like they owned the city, and Sakura was forcibly reminded of the time she similarly spent her nights, getting up to no good and looking for an escape. It seemed like this generation lived by the same principles; live life like there was no tomorrow. She’d been right in a sense, the future wasn’t worth much here. Now she was an unemployed twenty-year-old, on the run from the police after a stupid dine and dash, and seeing monsters at every turn. What a time to be alive.

“You can let me off at my parent’s apartment,” Ino said as Sakura automatically headed towards her own apartment.  

“You sure?” Sakura asked, and Ino nodded. She pressed her face into Sakura’s shoulder, most likely tired after all the excitement.

“Early shift tomorrow remember?” she said so quietly that Sakura almost didn’t hear her. She’d completely forgotten about that.

Sakura shook off her nostalgia and delivered Ino home. She came to a stop in front of the Yamanaka Flower, and Ino hopped off to stretch her legs. Her parents had lived in the apartment above the store for as long as Sakura could remember.

“Why did you head towards Oto like that?” Ino asked.

“I thought I saw something,” Sakura mumbled; that monster was the least of her problems at the moment. She was breathing through her nose in an attempt to conceal how shallow her breath was. The burn in her chest had turned into needlelike pinpricks.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Ino asked, unconvinced.

“Yeah, I’m just tired,” Sakura reassured her with a weak smile. Ino considered her for a moment before throwing her arms around her in a quick embrace.

“Whatever. Stay safe, forehead.” She pulled away.

“Night,” Sakura said, her chest hurting in more than one way. She waited until Ino had unlocked her door and returned her wave before taking off home.

She made it in one piece, but the stumble up the stairs was agony. She was wheezing by the time she was on her floor and all but fell into her apartment after unlocking the door. The pain in her chest spiked, and it felt like she was being stabbed with a knife. She staggered into her bathroom, and turned on the light, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the harsh brightness, and blanched when she saw herself in the mirror. Her sweaty face was sickly pale and her eyes feverishly bright; she almost looked as bad as that grisly ghost she’d seen.

“Shit!” Sakura gasped as the pain rose to a new level and tore off her dress with shaking hands. She watched in transfixed silence as the irritation on her skin started to take shape. Red welled up through her skin and Sakura trembled as a distinct mark appeared on her solar plexus like a ghostly tattoo.

It was an outlining of a diamond with a scarlet scorpion in the center.

To be continued… (Part 2)

[gaypasta]

do you want fries with that?

Chapter 8/? Read on Ao3 Chapter Directory

Everything was going to plan, or at least according to Richie who was currently arguing with Ben over his music choices. Stan was almost taken aback by the organisation skills Richie had presented when it came to getting everything set up in such a short amount of time, his parents had only left an hour beforehand and  Beverly was due any minute now. Eddie had overestimated the number of balloons that were needed - Richie, however, had insisted that all of them were to be used, so Stan and Bill - being the tallest - had spent the better part of an hour tacking balloons to the wooden skirting on the ceiling. They were planning to use Helium, so they wouldn’t have to use tacks but Eddie refused and began listing off all the types of cancers related to the inhalation of Helium and Richie lay defeated under Eddie’s wrath. Stan carefully stepped over a puddle of balloons which had been left ‘for dramatics’ on the kitchen floor. There was nothing dramatic about a kitchen, Stan had thought but nonetheless, Richie was the Lieutenant in this operation and Stan pretty much gave him free reign of his house - after removing all breakable ornaments from the space and covering the seats in a plastic lining - and Richie was doing great. He had all the snacks laid out on the kitchen table, the candles were going to be lit as far away from the alcohol as possible and the lights were dimmed, but not so dim that you couldn’t see people’s features - but dim enough that Richie’s light-up sneakers were bouncing bright lights across the floor.

Above the archway which connects the living-room to the kitchen hung an obviously homemade banner with ‘Happy Sweet Sixteenth, Beverly!’ written in black marker. The writing was slightly lopsided but Stan didn’t cast it much of a second thought. A few pictures of Beverly and the rest of his friends were taped to the wooden supports for the archway, Stan hoped that the tack from the tape didn’t take off any of the varnish. Most people wouldn’t notice if there was a small line of exposed wood peeking out behind the varnish, but Stanley’s parents were much like himself in the fact that they were rather pedantic, they knew their home and knew exactly the way things should be. Stan traced his hand over a picture Bill had taken on his Polaroid camera. Stan, Beverly and Richie were skipping stones down at a particularly deep part of the Quarry and Richie had been over-enthusiastic in his throwing, and slipped on a patch of algae and fell right into the water. The photo captured Richie’s sour expression and Stan and Beverly laughing at him, stones falling from their hands and almost slipping into the water themselves. Pinned underneath was another one, labelled ‘ July 6th’ - clearly a sunny day, Bev lying on the grass in one of Mike’s fields, with Mike braiding daisies into her hair. Her hair was shorter then, she had grown into the short haircut well and although it was a shock when she had cut it, no one could imagine Beverly with long hair anymore. Stan smiled fondly, that was the day Mike needed help with silage - a gruelling task that they all agreed to help him with, since his Grandpa was getting on in the years. Even Georgie had came down to ‘help’ - which ended up translating to Richie dragging Georgie off to pet all the animals.

There were easily a dozen more photos all including Beverly, even the picture Bill had taken for her ‘Employee of the Month’ poster in the Diner and a picture of her sharing a smoke with Richie during Halloween night, covered in paint. Stan inspected them all with care - making sure he didn't tousle them too much that they’d fall. He appreciated Bill bringing his camera, although he always groaned when Bill insisted they all take a photo, Stan knew that in time, he’d appreciate the pictures - even the ones of himself - like the way he is appreciating these ones.

It was in the middle of examining a picture of Beverly giving the camera the finger, there was a red solo cup gently nudged against the back of his hand.

“Here, you deserve a drink.” Mike insisted gently, Stan waved his hands.

“I’m staying sober, Mike. I don’t want anything broken but thanks for the offer. You should give it to Richie, he’s still arguing with Ben and I think he brought up one of Ben’s boy bands so things might get ugly.”

Mike laughed and dropped the cup into Stan’s hand, “I’m the designated driver for tonight, I’ll make sure no one gets up to any badness.” He stopped himself and looked at Richie, who was trying to do a handstand - presumably to make a point to Ben, as he was red-faced and shouting while doing it, “Well, not too much badness.”

Stan nodded as he took a small sip of the liquid, it was cider, “Thanks Mike, I’ll not get too drunk.”

Mike laughed, “I’m not expecting anything out of the usual, don’t worry.”

Stan nodded and took another drink, staring out of the window in thought. Richie assured him that everything was going to plan but it didn’t feel right. He felt as though there was something missing and it was toying with him. He went through the checklist and everything was there; the spare bedroom was made in case someone passed out, the bathroom was cleaned, the glasses have been replaced with solo cups, Beverly’s cake is sitting on the island counter, the porch light is on, the thermostat is set at a comfortable 72 degrees and is set to turn off at 1:00am. He couldn’t think of anything that was missing and yet he still had a nagging feeling like something was wrong, that something wouldn’t go right and Beverly wouldn’t enjoy it.

Maybe it was her gift, Stan didn’t know her exact dress size but he bought her a dark blue pinafore and it looked as though it would fit - and he knew she had a pair of blue converse so he wasn’t afraid of it not matching her wardrobe. Maybe she wouldn’t wear it - Stan had never seen her wear a pinafore before, except her brown one from years ago.

“You alright?” Mike’s voice was littered with concern, but his face was soft as always, “You look a little spooked.”

Stan sighed, “Yeah, it’s nothing.”

“If your trouble leaves your mouth it leaves your head, you know.”

“I’m just worried Beverly isn’t going to like it. What if there’s a reason she doesn’t celebrate her birthday and we trigger something she had intentionally swept under the rug?”

“Like a bad memory?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, I think the only way to fix that is to make good memories about her birthday. To overshadow the bad ones.”

“That makes sense. What if she wants it quiet, though? A quiet night in instead of a party.”

Mike raised an eyebrow at him, “Have you ever known our Bev to want a quiet night in?”

Stan chuckled, many memories being called to attention, “You’re right. Remember that time she and Richie climbed out of your window and tried to ride your horse?”

Mike’s face lit up, “Yeah, and the horse was so spooked we couldn’t ride her for two weeks, Eddie made them apologize to Grandpa.”

They laughed about the horse for a while, exchanging memories, before Richie piped up from behind them, “Hey! What did you losers get Bev for her birthday? I got her an axe.” His chest was pushed out in a show of pride.

Stan almost dropped his cup, “An axe?! Richie, why did you get her an axe? In fact, more importantly - who sold you an axe?”

“I had to cycle to the next town over to get it, I went to seven different stores in Derry, and no one would sell me one!”

“Yeah, because everyone in Derry knows that the first thing you’d do with an axe is accidentally cut your fingers off,” Mike said.

“Michael, I am disappointed.” Richie said incredulously, “Remember that time, four score and many years ago, that I cut a log for you?”

“It took you ten minutes to cut one log and you dislocated your thumb,” Stan said flatly.

Richie scoffed, “Kids these days don’t appreciate hard work.”

“Guys! I see her bike! Everyone get down!” Eddie shouted from the kitchen, and they all took their places as Eddie rushed to switch off the lights. Richie and Stan rushed towards the same location - behind Stan’s loveseat. There wasn’t a lot of room for the two boys, admittedly they were the tallest of all their friends - but it didn’t bother either of them enough to move. Stan was peering off to the side of the couch to watch for Beverly’s shadow. Stan could feel Richie’s warm breath tickling under his collar as Richie leaned forward, vibrating in excitement and wanting to be the first one to jump up at her. It wasn’t moments later that  Stan watched Beverly’s shadow ghost over the room as she walked past the porch light and knocked on the back door twice. Stan had told her to use the back door - most people did, after all. The front door was really only for formalities.  After no answer the door knob tentatively twisted open and the door slowly creaked open into the darkened room. Before she even got the chance to announce her presence, the light was switched on and Beverly was encapsulated in confetti from party poppers.

A strong chorus of ‘SURPRISE’ rang out as everyone jumped from their hiding spots, Richie jumped on Stan’s toe and made him curse and push him off - bumping slightly into Ben, who was too busy staring at Beverly with wonder to even notice. Beverly looked shocked initially, with the sudden noise and movement but she quickly embraced the situation and began laughing as she looked at the decorations and the presents - many of which were poorly wrapped, not for lack of care - which were piled up on the kitchen counter.

“You’re all fucking losers.” She laughed as she brought Eddie, who was standing within grabbing distance, into a tight hug and gave him a kiss in his hair as she made a beeline to the kitchen counter, where Bill was waving her over.

“What is the birthday girl’s drink of choice?”

Beverly took the bottle of vodka from his arm and winked, before taking a straight swig - resulting in loud cheering from Richie and Bill, “Anything and everything.” Her voice sounded gravelly from the burning in her throat, but her face hadn’t flinched. Stan, who sometimes found it difficult to drink beer, wondered how she could drink liquid akin to gasoline without a twitch.

Everyone, including Stan himself crowded into the kitchen to give their Birthday wishes over drinks, Beverly’s face was flushed at being the center of attention but she was smiling and laughing and even trying to get Eddie to take a shot of tequila with her - he didn’t, mumbling about liver disease and took a sip of his soda. Stan’s worries slowly melted away and he finished off his cider without realising, until Richie handed him another cup with a wink. The wink, which only Stan had caught, made his face break out in a smile and his cheeks flush, both of which he hid behind the mouth of the cup as he took a drink. Stan stood with Richie as he played barman, making Ben a fruity cocktail as requested and Ben almost spitting it out because of how terrible it was, Richie just laughed and told Ben to get stuck in. Surprisingly, after a few minutes Eddie came to Richie with a request.

“Richie I want a drink.”

Richie and Stan looked up from their conversation with wide eyes, unbelieving that those very words had come out of Eddie’s mouth. His eyebrows were furrowed and his arms were crossed in an attempt to appear broader than he actually was, it was almost comical. Stan and Richie exchanged a look, neither particularly wanting to challenge Eddie, although he was only five foot and a bit, he had a lot of fight in him and when Eddie went off, he went off. Richie took a gulp and stood up straight, fixing his glasses.

“Sure big guy, what’ll it be?”

Eddie stared at Richie for several moments, “Uhh…” he was almost wide-eyed, like a deer caught in the headlights, but not wanting to look inexperienced, even though everyone who was attending knew that Eddie very rarely drank, “Whatever you think.”

Richie gave an obnoxious ‘aww’ at Eddie and began searching through the row of liquor he brought - Stan briefly wondered why he required four different brands of vodka but decided that it was best not to ask questions. Richie poured a handful of different drinks into a cup and presented it with a flourish, “A mai tai for my guy.”

Eddie gingerly took the cup, giving it a sniff before downing it, to both Stan and Richie’s horror.

“Um, Eddie…” Richie tried to lower the cup but his hand was slapped away.

Eddie threw the empty cup to the ground and wiped some remaining pink off his lips, “That was disgusting, make me another one.”

“That… wasn’t really a drink to down, that’s a cocktail - you don’t down cocktails.” Richie was met with a glare and he quickly went to fix another mai-tai, with a lot fewer spirits in it that the previous one, Stan noted.

“Eddie I thought you were worried about liver disease?” Stan said, as Eddie peered over Richie’s shoulder to watch him make his drink.

“I’m making an executive decision not to think about that right now.”

“Atta man! Die young like the rest of us, fall at your peak.” Richie cheered, handing Eddie his drink, “Now sip this one, otherwise you’ll be sick and I’m sure as hell not cleaning up your barf.”

Eddie’s eyes widened momentarily before he nodded and moved to the living room, slowly sipping his drink while he talked to Bill, who was handing out presents to Beverly. Stan and Richie watched Beverly’s reactions from the kitchen, her face lit up when she opened Stan’s present. She gave him a thumbs up and a flurried ‘thank you!’ before being very gingerly handed the axe, which was unwrapped bar a bow on the iron head and a jagged ‘love Richie’ carved into the handle. She gave it a few practice swings, which were more violent than necessary before Mike managed to wrestle it out of her hands and he opened the back door and threw it into the yard, knowing no one would be bothered to put their shoes back on to go get it.

The following few hours were a flurry of lights, sounds and dancing - Ben played music that everyone loved but would later object to the accusation, Bill and Mike danced - Bill, despite having a dozen beers in his system, was the much better dancer. Eddie had only had two more drinks, but was fairly buzzed, as was everyone else. Stan had drunk slightly more than intended but luckily he had paced himself and he wasn’t nearly in the same state as Beverly, who was dancing and singing loudly, stumbling over her own feet without a care in the world, which is what Stan intended. He wanted Beverly to let loose for her sixteenth birthday.

Richie had pulled him to the centre of the living room, brushing everyone to the side and told Ben to change the song, Stan blinked for a few moments in confusion and asked Richie what was going on. Richie shook his head and told Stan to shush . Richie stretched out his arms and legs as if preparing for a marathon while Ben fumbled the new cassette tape into the boombox. Stan tried not to laugh as his favourite guilty-pleasure song began to fill the room, he failed though, when Eddie grumbled, “Fucking Cyndi Lauper, for real?”.

Richie belted out the lyrics as though there was no one else in the room, “I came home, in the morning light! My mother says when you gonna live your life right?”

He pointed at Stan to finish the verse, and Stan scoffed and rolled his eyes but with the drink making his confidence and his inhibitions were slowly being phased from his mind, Stan belted out the next verse, throwing his hands in the air and accidentally splashing some cider onto the floor, “The phone rings, in the middle of the night, my Father yells what you gonna do with your life,”

Richie laughed and joined him for the remainder of the second verse, Stan was an excellent singer and he usually was the one who sang in temple when required but he didn’t like to show off. Richie however, sounded more akin to a car driving over a series of cats - no one seemed to mind though as they waited for Richie and Stan to finish the verse before everyone - even Eddie - sang along for the rest of the song.

Richie and Stan still remained centrefold and Stan jumped in place to the beat while Richie’s arms and legs seized in what Stan assumed was Richie’s dance moves. Beverly was laughing and pulling Ben to dance, he mumbled something about being the DJ but let himself be pulled in by Beverly, who held his hands as she danced wildly. Stan momentarily scanned the room for any drinks which could have been spilt, but thankfully Mike had been moving cups out of the way as everyone got drunker and wanted to dance with more avidity.

The song finished and Stan finished his drink while Richie chanted some drinking chant he’d picked up from God knows where and Stan ordered Richie to get him another drink, who bowed and scurried off - popping several of the balloons he had left on the floor. Stan briefly wondered if he was drunker than he had initially thought, so he moved his fingers, recalled some bird names and their origins and tried to clear his head. He admitted, he was slightly more drunk than he intended to be at the start of the night, but he wasn’t making a fool of himself or losing track of what was happening. He was just, buzzed, he still had his wits and his sense, but he was just… more confident. More at ease with the space his body and personality took up. Stan knew in the back of his head, that he should probably call it quits on the drinking, before he gets worse - but just as the thought entertained his head he watched Mike grab the drink out of Eddie’s hand and switched it with Bill’s - who had been drinking triple vodka and blackcurrants the past hour, Eddie probably would have puked if he had accidentally taken a swig. Watching Mike take control and look after all his friends made him feel at ease, and he knew he could trust Mike enough to have another drink or four.

He went to ask Richie where his drink was, but he caught the tail end of Richie walking out the back door with a cigarette in his lips, he was without his shoes so Stan knew he wasn’t leaving. Not that he would have any reason to think he was leaving. So Stan sighed and made an effort to step over the balloons and pour himself another cider but he was stopped in his tracks by a hand on his arm. He noticed the chipped nail polish and the freckles which rode from her hands the whole way up to her neck but most importantly he noticed a lazy but genuine smile on Beverly’s face, it made him feel even happier than he already was.

“Stan, I need…. Um… I need to...talk! I need to talk to you. No, not here, um… the hall? Yeah, the hallway! Let’s go!” Beverly didn’t really give him much of an option as she pulled him through the balloons and past Bill trying to hoist Eddie over his shoulders, for some reason. Bill was probably the most wasted out of them all, Stan faintly wonders how he was going to manage work tomorrow.

Beverly dragged them into the hallway and closed the door behind them, giving them a faint veil of privacy. She looked Stan up and down, as if calculating what she was going to say next and Stan shifted slightly under her gaze. She slowly grabbed his hand and held it there, not doing anything with it, just holding it softly, like one would hold a toddler’s hand.

“Stan, thank you soooo much for all this.”

Stan blinked, “Wait, Bev-”

“No, let me finish. Don’t be modest. I’ve never really had any of … this . Not just a birthday party and presents, but I’ve never had a proper group of friends that I’ve felt at home with. I know we’re only ‘work friends’ but I don’t care, I love all of you so much. I love having something to look forward to in the morning, even if it’s going to fucking work. Imagine that? Being excited to go to work.” She laughed, Stan couldn’t pinpoint if it was a happy one or not, so he stayed silent, “The only friend I ever had abandoned me over a stupid rumour, and I know she knew it wasn’t true - like she was looking any excuse to drop me. I know you guys wouldn’t do that though, I feel … wanted, you know? And that’s a pretty fuckin’ new feeling for me - oh wait that came out more dramatic than I intended. Fuck, well, what I mean is that I know you all care about me - even if you all have different ways of showing it. When I’m in a bad mood Richie will offer me a cigarette and nothing more or nothing less, Bill will give me a hug and let me rant to him, and Ben - oh our Ben - he just … talks, he probably doesn’t even notice that he’s helping, but he’ll just talk about whatever school project he’s doing or whatever movie he saw last and it just is so soothing. Stan, but this?”, she gestured around, pointing at a stray balloon, “this is more than I ever could’ve expected.”

“Beverly, it wasn’t anything to do with m-”

“Shut up, Stan.”

Stan wasn’t really sure how the next position came to be, but by the time he blinked, Beverly’s lips were on his and she was softly cupping his face. Her soft fingers traced down his cheeks until they fell to his shoulders. Her lips weren’t soft like he’d heard Ben fantasizing about one day - they were chapped, dry and firm. He felt as though the thought was doing a dishonour to Beverly’s femininity but he couldn’t help it. She was beautiful, yes. She had a strong personality that was a stream leading into a waterfall, unintimidating and gentle at first glance but suddenly you’re being thrown into the riptide and riding the currents. She was a great friend, but that’s the thing. That’s all she was. Her lips on his felt like putting a belt on baggy pyjama bottoms - it makes logical sense - belts hold up pants, even pyjama ones. But it felt wrong, it may make logical sense but it didn’t nothing to calm his morals.  

With that thought, he moved away, holding Beverly’s shoulders. He glanced around to make sure that Ben hadn’t seen, Stan was certain it would kill him. “Beverly, I didn’t plan this, Richie did. I just hosted it - don’t give the credit to me.”

She looked at him with eyes wide and her hands clasped over her mouth, before letting out a surprised laugh, “Richie? No way! He’s such a puke, though!”

Stan nodded and gave her shoulder a curt pat before turning to leave, as he turned to leave a flicker of light from the window caught his eyes. A cigarette bud went shooting to the ground as the figure - which Stan could only name to be Richie, swiftly got up and moved from the window, a storm of lights following his footsteps. He was only out of Stan’s sight for a moment before he came through the front door, face like a storm.

“Richie! We were just talking about you - hahaha - that sounded mean, not in a bad way! Just about how you’re the best for throwing a party for me. A party! How cool is that!” She laughed again and swayed into Stan slightly, who held her up while touching her as little as possible. Richie gave Beverly a smile, a smile which Stan, even in his slightly inebriated state could recognize instantly as fake, “No problem Bevvie,” and without so much of a glance, he walked back into the party, the sudden volume of music when Richie opened the door just made the hallway seem even more desolate with its absence.

“I - I have to pee, real bad.” Beverly groaned, Stan nodded and led her to the bathroom, keeping the door slightly ajar in case anything happened.

After walking Beverly back into the party, Stan froze with the sight he met while walking into the kitchen in search of a soda. On the island counter stood a row of shots, six of them, with Richie’s hand circling the first one. Richie’s eyes immediately shot up to meet Stan’s and with an almost delirious smile, he lifted the shot glass to his face and tipped the clear liquid into his mouth. His body shuddered slightly as the taste met his tongue, and Stan felt himself shuddering too as Richie’s hand fell to the next shot and repeated the action. Stan felt as if the acidic liquid was being poured down his own throat as it began to ache. Stan looked around owlishly, to see if anyone else noticed how out of character this was for Richie, but no. He was the only one - even Mike was preoccupied with trying to get Bill to put Eddie down. Richie smoked and Richie drank, but Richie never got drunk . He never understood why until the previous weekend, Stan knew Richie didn’t want to end up like his Mother, and it sent an aching pain to his chest when Richie necked the third shot.

Stan couldn’t help but speak out, since no one else was even casting an eye in their direction, too preoccupied with their own antics, “Richie, cool it. It’s only ten o’clock, you’re going to pass out before midnight at this rate.”

Richie looked him directly in the eyes and took the final two shots without even blinking.

He couldn’t explain why Richie taking a row of shots for the explicit reason to get plastered made his chest tighten and his body feel cold, he should be encouraging it. It’s a birthday party and Richie wouldn’t be out of place if he was drunk, in fact, he would fit in a lot better after these shots. Something about Richie taking the fourth and fifth in rapid succession - with one in each hand made Stan want to leave, made him want to turn his back or close his eyes - and the cheer Richie let out after completing his own marathon of schnapps felt like a cry of defeat rather than victory, or maybe that was just the sound of his throat burning.

For whatever reason, Richie skidded off to jump at Bill,who crumpled to the ground instantly which resulted in a wrestling match. It looked a lot more like two fish flopping on a fishing deck but Stan watched lamely anyway as Bill limply tried to hit Richie in the face - catching his neck instead. The two scrapped for a while until Stan got bored of having to tell Richie to stop biting and he went off to grab the can of soda he intended to get minutes earlier. Stan hadn’t turned his back twenty seconds when Richie’s hands steered him away from the comforting plastic bottles of soda and towards the heavy glass bottle of alcohol.

“Richie, what are you doing?”

“Showing you a good time Stan, drink up, buddy.” Richie tried to hand Stan a full bottle of vodka and waved it under his nose,  the smell of disinfectant was so strong it almost burnt his nostrils and Stan grabbed it out of Richie’s hand and softly put it back where it belonged. “Boo, don’t be a party pooper. Have another cider at least, ma’am.”

“I’m not drinking anymore, I’ve had too many as it is.”

Richie rolled his eyes, “There’s no such thing.”

“Yes, there is.”

“Well, not tonight there isn’t! C’mon, take the stick out of your ass for one night . Your soul won’t even leak out or anything - promise!”

Stan gave Richie a soft kick to the shin at the insult, he realised that he had a small window of opportunity and the retaliation died in his throat in exchange for a compromise, “Fine but only if you stick to soda for the next few hours.”

Richie swayed from side to side, weighing his options, “Fine, it’s a deal - I’ll make you a Bill Denbrough special, then.”

“What? Richie - no.”

“Too late! I’m pouring the vodka!”

“Richie - put it down.”

“Oh no! I accidentally put in too much, whoops!”

“Richie, I’m not afraid to choke you.”

Richie handed him the violent concoction and smiled out of the corner of his mouth, “Promise?”

Stan yanked the drink out of Richie’s hand, glaring at him as he took a swig of it. He tried his best not to let his disgust show on his face, it truly was a drink for animals. Stan briefly wondered what was wrong with Bill for this to be his drink of choice, but he didn’t get a chance to wonder for long before Richie was pulling him out the back door with a pack of cigarettes in his other hand.

The door shut behind them, the music muffled behind the door. It felt almost like stepping into a different planet, where the moon was bright and the air was like ice - cutting into Stan’s bare forearms and making him shiver. Stan watched Richie slide onto the grass, not seeming to care that it was damp,  “I don’t remember me saying I would join you in the freezing cold for a smoke.”

Richie blinked several times at his lighter - trying to remember how to use it. The cold air had hit him hard - and the alcohol only pumped harder through his veins. Stan watched Richie whine as he tried flicking his lighter for a minute before Stan took the lighter out of Richie’s hands, “Hold still,” Stan crouched down to kneel beside him, holding his spare hand to Richie’s cheek, blocking the wind as he flicked his thumb down the striker wheel onto the fuel lever, a bright yellow flame instantly brushing against the tip of Richie’s cigarette. The reflection of the flame bounced off Richie’s glasses and made his face light up in a warm light. Richie sucked and within seconds his cigarette was successfully lit - he let out a cheer and a breath of smoke drifted into the wind.

“I knew I didn’t need to ask - you’re still here aren’t you?” Richie grinned around his cigarette, cheeks raising his glasses up his face by a few centimetres.

Stan took a drink again - he wasn’t particularly thirsty, Stan didn’t take a drink just so the cup would hide his smile, why would he? “Shut up, Richie.” He mumbled.

Richie took a drag and let his wrist lazily sit on his upright knee, smiling into the sky with a face of delirium. “Stan…”

“Yes, Richie?”

“I have something to tell you… but it’s a -” Richie quickly looked around, as if someone had crept up on them to listen to their conversation, “it’s a secret.”

Stan nodded and decided to indulge in whatever nonsense was going to flow out of Richie’s mouth. They had only been outside a minute and the cold air had really played an effect on Richie’s sobriety (or lack thereof). “Go on.”

Richie laughed, “I know that you’re a -” Richie broke out into a fit of laughter - almost stubbing out his cigarette on his jeans, he began his sentence again, but only falling into the same fit of laughter. Stan sat patiently, his face like a statue, which only made Richie laugh even more. “Womanizer!”

Stan’s face twisted in confusion, “A what? Did you just call me a womanizer?”

“Y-yeah!” Richie laughed and somehow managed to take a drag between his giggle fits. “I always thought Mike would be the first one to bed a girl - besides me of course.”

Stan looked away from Richie, “I don’t understand what you mean, also if you mean sex - please just say ‘sex’.”

Richie barked out a short laugh before rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. Richie delicately placed his cigarette on the grass, trying to avoid it getting damp before clumsily clambering onto Stan’s very own lap. Stan, who was a big fan of personal space began pushing Richie off but it was too late, Richie went dead weight and refused to budge for all Stan’s strength.

“I saw you kissing Beverly.”

Stan froze, even ceasing the actions of breathing for a few moments - he froze the way one would when their parents walk in on them doing something they definitely shouldn’t be doing. Stan wasn’t sure why he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and he tripped over his own tongue trying to explain what had happened to Richie before he gets the wrong idea.

“Shhh -” Richie placed a finger over Stan’s lips, which made him flinch long enough for Richie to speak over his words, “It’s fiiiiiine. You don’t even gotta worry about it. Listen..” Richie firmly grasped the back of Stan’s head and brought their foreheads together, “You two are great for each other. I don’t know how long it’s been a thing or whatever but I hope she is what you need, Stan.”

Stan tried to move his head back but it only resulted in Richie dipping his head onto Stan’s shoulder, who let out a huff. His glasses were jabbing into his collarbone and he tried to jerk Richie’s head off his shoulder to no avail.

“Richie-”

“Best friends don’t keep secrets from each other, Stan. I even told you when I had my first wet dream, in great detail - even down to her cup size.”

“I really didn’t ask, though.”

“But I cared enough to tell you! And it was a small thing, but you wouldn’t even tell me a big thing! You keep big secrets from your best friend. That's preeeeetty shitty, Stan.”

“I didn’t ki-”

“No! Stan! You didn’t!” Richie whipped his head up to meet Stan’s eyes, Richie’s glasses were fogged up and Stan couldn’t even meet his eyes properly, he assumed Richie could barely see his face. “Beverly is your best friend now! I can’t believe I’ve been dumped to the side. I’m going to go drown my sorrows because my main man doesn’t even appreciate me and he just drops me… like a plate.”

“I’m actually lost in what this conversation is about.”

Richie huffed and went to slap Stan’s head, but missed and stumbled heavily in Stan’s lap - Stan quickly shot his hands out to Richie’s hips to stabilize him. “I'm just telling you about how  you’ve replaced me!”

“Richie -” Richie opened his mouth to speak, but Stan slapped a hand over his mouth and glared at him, “Let me speak, asshole. I didn’t kiss Beverly - she kissed me. I’m not dating Beverly nor do I want to date Beverly - so no, I’m not abandoning you, you’re still my best friend and you’re sitting outside crying in my lap over nothing.”

“Bmm beev lomphs tu?”

Stan grimaced and whipped his hand off Richie’s mouth, wiping the spit off on Richie’s t-shirt. Richie blinked at Stan, awaiting a response.

“I think we both know that I didn’t quite catch that.”

Richie dramatically huffed and rolled his eyes, “I said ; but Bev likes you.”

“You’ve lost me. Where did you draw that conclusion?”

“Well she kissed you! Duh!”

Stan wondered for a moment, Richie wasn’t wrong, she did kiss him. But she also kissed Eddie on the hair, she’s kissed everyone’s cheeks and foreheads many times sober, Beverly wasn’t one to hold back on the kisses and Stan really didn’t think it was too far of a reach to say that with a lot of alcohol in her system, she kisses people on the mouths too. Stan may not have been the best at noticing people’s affections towards him - but he was fairly certain that Beverly didn’t harbour any feelings of the sort towards him. “That was a platonic kiss, I’m sure.”

“What’s that?”

“Platonic means intimate but not romantic or sexual.” “I get straight A’s I know what fuckin’...platonic means. How can you kiss platonically? That doesn’t make sense. That’s like… having platonic sex or casually sucking Bill’s dick as a friend, though.”

Stan shrugged, “I guess if you can kiss someone on the forehead platonically, you can kiss them on the mouth platonically too.”

Richie shifted in his lap, staring at him with wide eyes - his glasses were no longer fogged up - Richie was twisting Stan’s shirt in his hands, twisting tightly, then untwisting. A rapid pattern which was going to crease the fabric but before Stan had the chance to tell Richie to stop, the boy had surged forward and stole the words straight from his lips.

Richie moved his lips against Stan’s for a moment - while Stan, who’s eyes were wide open - moved to tell Richie to stop. At this moment, however, Richie had used it as an opportunity to slip his tongue in and explore Stan’s mouth. Stan froze - not out of shock or surprise - he just forgot how to move for a minute, in fact, the only thing that could move was his tongue as it traced Richie’s movements with such need that it had taken Stan aback.

Richie scooted himself closer into Stan’s lap and sighed into his mouth, a sigh of pleasure? Relief? Stan wasn’t sure - all he was sure about right now was that Richie was moving on top of his crotch and it wasn’t doing much to ease the images of the dirty dream that had plagued him all week, Stan found that in his inebriated state, he didn’t mind all too much and his hands found themselves in Richie’s hair - it had been combed, Stan noticed - holding Richie’s head to keep him from moving away. It was when Stan’s tongue had found its way into Richie’s mouth did Richie pull away - face flushed and pupils blown.

Neither of them moved for what felt like an eternity, Stan’s hands were still in Richie’s hair and Richie was still sitting directly on top of Stan’s growing erection, Stan could only pray that Richie didn’t notice it. If it weren’t for a loud bang that came from inside the house to startle them, they might have stayed like that all night. But they didn’t and Richie moved off Stan’s lap and picked his cigarette off the ground, relighting it on his own this time with shaking hands.

“So platonic kissing is a thing?” Richie asked from behind his cigarette. He glanced at Stan in trepidation.

Stan swallowed thickly and nodded, taking a drink of his almost forgotten vodka blackcurrant, “Yes, I suppose it is.”

[jinniejohns-blog]

get to know me tag

okkkk so i was tagged by @whenjikookhappens and @idunknowhyimhere for one version, and @sashagirl1116 for another version...right?? maybe more but honestly for some of ‘em, i’m super late to getting to this OTL forgive me, but i’m combining them since they’re similar and i’m lazy :3

1ST RULE: Tag 9 people you want to get to know better (I think I might break this rule, because I don’t have 9 people askhakjss)

2ND RULE: Fill in the categories

Appearance: i have shoulder-length curly ass hair that’s dark brown (so dark to the point where it just looks black at this point-). i am 5′5″ i believe (approx. 167cm according to google) and have brown eyes. i’m always wearing black because i live that #Emo lifestyle....jkjk, no but i always wear either sweaters or hoodies/overthrows and pants- it’s a rare occasion if you see me in a dress, skirt, or shorts but it can happen if i’m feeling up to it.

Personality: i’m super quiet and reserved if i don’t know people (i try not to be online, but am still awkward as all hell) but i’m super lame when you get to know me. like, very lame. so lame i’m surprised if you don’t leave. that lame. i like to make lame jokes and puns a lot, but sometimes hold myself back because even i embarrass myself sometimes (all the time). i like to tease the people i feel close to, so outsiders may think i’m just a bitch, but i swear i’m not...or at least i try not to be *hides* ummmM i’m also sarcastic af if i know you well (or feel that comfortable) and i speak fluent meme. i’m very emotion-based in my actions, so don’t mess with those i love unless you’re looking to catch these hands!! :)

Ability: iiiiiii don’t have any “SUPER WOW AMAZING” abilities lol, but i draw and write aaaaand can play piano by ear *shrug* i dunno what my IQ is but apparently i pick things up quickly and am good at teaching myself stuff from either just experimenting or using...my...brain... so people say that’s smart, no idea. (i don’t believe them but sure, why not-) i dunno if this would count as an ability, probably a negative one, but i’m a toTAL WORD DUMPSTER. like, you’ll see in this because i can just type and type and talk and talk and saljsalsja i also ramble a lot along with this, so that’s also great. but yeah i shall stop myself now.

Hobbies: as mentioned above, writing and drawing are my main hobbies! also just listening to music (or musicals) in my cocoon (blanket) lol i don’t do much  because duh, i’m lame. 

Experiences: hmm this’ll be more like injury stories because those are fun. ok story uno: i was born with a hole in my heart!! :D i was apparently super close to dying because duh, nothing was functioning right and had to get my first surgery ever while only a couple seconds old. mmm there was also this one time where i was riding my scooter in my family’s garage on easter (i was like 6 or 8) and i bumped into the grill which had rose clippers on it. the rose clippers fell and sliced my foot open from heel to toe. i didn’t even notice tho and kept riding until my aunt was like saying how i’m trailing blood somehow and looked at my foot and screamed...then i started crying like a baby (ofc) and got 8 stitched and a cast. i didn’t understand why they wouldn’t let me walk tho and made it worse becAUSE I WAS A STUPID ASS KID. uhh another time i was riding my bike on the road and i was standing and riding (like this) and my foot slipped so i fell right on the road. my face hit the concrete and my arm was twisted and underneath the bike. me being the stupid 8-11 year old i was froze and started to cry because there was a car driving towards me and i thought they’d run me over. the car stopped, duh, but i was still convinced i’d get hit and i couldn’t frickin move because i was weak, so my mom had to come and get me after i was screaming bloody murder for her nonstop. i’m so embarrassed by that one because i was so dramatic ugh...and iN PUBLIC TOO ASKHSLJSA i’m the clumsiest person ever (namjoon level, bro) so injuries (either minor, major, or just plain stupid) happen a lot.

My Life:  well i go to a charter school, which is basically home school except i have to go onto “campus” (we call it campus, it’s a regular school building) twice a week. but majority of everything is completed online. mmmm right now i’m trying not to fail math as i continue my hate for biology ^_^ i live with my parents, grandparents, and younger siblings. i wanna be some sort of artist or writer, but i’m just not sure yet soooo yeah.

Relationships: i’ve never been in any sort of serious relationship. i once dated this guy online but i was, like, 12 so i don’t really count it, nor mention it (until now pfft). bUT my tumblr wifey is none other than @ithefanfictionwriter (aren’t i just the luckiest person alive to have them?? *sighs fondly*)

Random Stuff: if i get into the right mindset i like to bake. like, a lot. i always have these random bursts of creativity and/or motivation where i just wanna try shit .. like right at that moment, no waiting because i’ll most likely not wanna do it later. so now. right now. i’m also impatient af if you couldn’t tell. hmmm most of the time, i don’t like watching movies or anything like that because i have such a short attention span and will most likely get bored within a couple minutes. i’m in other fandoms that aren’t relating to kpop- i.e., talk to me about hamilton, heathers (both the movie & musical), deh, camp camp, eddsworld, rick and morty, etc. etc. and i’ll love you forever!!!!! i used to be into hetalia but only when i was younger so majority of it’s been pushed outta my mind, hence why i never mention because i don’t want people to think i’m hARDCOre ‘cause i’m honestly not. 

das it!! wow, look at all those words. i’m sorry if you read through it all. this is why all my essays turn out to be 2000 words over the word limit majority of the time and- shit i’m doing it again. I’LL SHUT UP AND TAG PEOPLE: @futuristicgardenerbasement , @jhopesun , @chimchimswifey95 (i know you lol but no one else does so get typing dorky), @thewordbedlookslikeabed , @neckpillows , @chockenscritch and that’s all because i dunno who else to tag (oops).

[nice-cheerleader-blog]

Short Story Sunday: Two Scoops of Cherry Garcia

I’ve been to New York before, but I was never there. Not really. That’s just how funerals are—spaces dug out for people to be absent together.

And yet, there are a variety of ways they’ve been held over the course of human history. Do you ever think about the millions of ceremonies we’ve created to honor the dead? Your choices consist of but are not limited to:

-sitting Shiva and enduring close contact with your relatives for an entire week (a comforting practice given that you enjoy their company),

-attending a modest gathering where, at some point, you’ll voluntarily stare at a preserved corpse in an open casket (wakes are weird)

-taking loss like a Viking and sending your loved one into the sea on a burning raft (a personal favorite)

-leaving the body on a mountain as carrion for the birds (the harsh reality of Tibetan sky burials)

I’ve barely scratched the surface of possibilities. Despite the variety, all funerals are the same in my eyes. There’s this vacancy that no degree of comforting words, loving pats on the back, or tasteful jokes can shake, format of the ceremony aside. Everyone is somewhere else – in their memories, in their own heads, or just not there at all.

I don’t know where I was when I went to New York the first time. I remember not really seeing anything. Everything was draped in a layer of fuzz, like the images you conjure when trying to pin down what happened in a dream from the night before. The vision is slippery. It was a long time ago; I was only a little girl then.

I didn’t know what having an open casket meant at the time, hearing whispers about it between my parents. In hindsight, I’m glad we didn’t have one at the wake. Though the image of Bella’s sweet, cold face might’ve eventually slipped away along with most of my memories of that day, I wonder if it would’ve helped me hold on to her somehow. Maybe if I saw her then, the image would’ve stuck with me.

I was a true adult with my own family when I realized I couldn’t see her face anymore. It was then that she joined the ranks of people that came to me in my dreams, the ones whose identities I knew with the undoubted certainty only dreams allow, but whose faces appeared to me like blank canvases.

It’s not like I couldn’t remember my childhood at all. It wasn’t thrust out of my mind as some involuntary method of self-preservation. Much of it is still vivid. I can still feel the sting of every fall from my bright blue big girl bike, and the sensation of skin under my nails as I dug them into my arm, trying to distract myself from Dad pulling gravel out of my wounded knee. I can feel my eyelids closing, Cinderella dancing in her baby blue gown just behind them.

I can feel Bella’s hands on my arms, shaking me awake after I’ve drifted to sleep. Mom and Dad were watching a scary movie and she wanted to see it. I thought she was tough for saying so, but now I realize her ulterior motives for waking me up: the chicken was too scared to go alone. She held a finger to her lips as we tiptoed through our bedroom doorway.

We crept downstairs like the curious little goblins we were, stepping only with the balls of our tiny feet. I peeked through the banister towards the living room. On the TV screen was Pennywise the Clown—demonic, clawed, emerging from a shower drain. But the fear provoked by that scene was nothing compared to my stomach dropping all the way to my feet when Dad turned to spot us.

He had only to narrow his eyes before we went scurrying up the stairs.

Bella’s favorite ice-cream was Cherry Garcia. I can see it dripping down her hand and hear her stubbornly reject help from Dad, trying to prove to him that she can eat two scoops without dropping one of them on the pavement. Her sickly sweet, sugar-coated smile still sticks in my mind, but the rest of her features have somehow faded away. I needed to pull out our mother’s thick photo albums just to reel them back in.

-

Hers was the first funeral I ever attended, my first exposure to this human practice in morbidity. It was my first contact, too, with the funeral archetypes, the attendees that always seem to fall into certain categorizations of mourner.

Dad was the token crier. Not to say that no one sheds a tear at a funeral, but there is always someone that takes the cake as the sniffling, hanky-bearing, red-faced bawler. The token crier is the one who extracts the contents of their mucous-filled nostrils audibly and viscerally several times throughout the ceremony and any following receptions, regardless of any attempts at subtlety.

Mom was stoic, fulfilling the role of the stone-faced rock of the group. While others cried and contorted their faces into grimaces, she kept her expressions to small, sad smiles and subtle nods. She rubbed Dad’s back while he wiped his face, shook people’s hands when he couldn’t, and looked forward all the while at some unforeseeable future.

The overcompensating comedians are other typical characters, like my distant uncle who lived a few states over from us. He tried to diffuse the tension with whatever kind of clowning around deemed necessary, none of which made me feel any warmer towards him. There’s nobility in putting a veil of humor over an event like this, but each joke is just that: a veil, transparent enough to still see what’s hiding underneath.

At Bella’s funeral, I was the kid that people talked to like it was any other day. They’d give their condolences to my parents and then kneel down to my eye level. They’d say hello, maybe ask how school was going, comment on how big I’ve grown. I can’t really remember their faces, but I know I was met with quite a few pitying glances that day, even more so than my parents. To them, I was either the survivor or the one left behind.

We had both run into the street that day after all. Bella and I had been taking turns pitching the kick ball up the driveway. I had thrown a good one—right down the middle for her, not too fast. Her kick was home-run worthy. The ball launched into the air and bounced its way to the street. The driver saw me run into the street and swerved to miss me. He hadn’t seen Bella running just a few steps behind.  

We didn’t live in New York, but we held the funeral there because Bella’s favorite movie was Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. My parents thought it fitting to take her to the place they always promised her we’d go one day. If our relatives had any problems traveling so far for a brief ceremony, they tactfully kept their complaints to themselves. Mom and Dad did their best imagine the kind of wishes an 11-year-old might have. We even served pizza and ice-cream after the ceremony.  

I was more of an Eloise kind of girl. When we went to the city, all I really wanted was to go to the room on the tippy-top floor of the Plaza Hotel, where I’d meet my nanny, Julie Andrews, and have a cute little dog and an even cuter turtle. We never went, but I did get to wear the pink bow, puffy-sleeved white shirt, and black pleated skirt. I just wanted to be the little girl in the big hotel where nothing bad happens.

-

I learned to read with the Eloise books. Mom said I picked them out for myself at the store. I think I admired the picture of the little girl that graced the covers. She was cute in a messy, imperfect kind of way—a troublemaker with bed-head and a pink bow. Plus, she had an entire hotel at her disposal and guests galore for all her prankster needs. You might call her a childhood idol. I even made my own “Don’t Disturb” sign, like the one Eloise wore around her neck when she was sleeping.

Bella helped me learn, dragging a finger across the black and pink pages to help me through the text. I am Eloise, I am six.

“Just like me!” I’d say, with one thumb up and a jazz hand.

“That’s good, Penny.”

When we got through all the books, I was rewarded with the movie version. Bella was more punished by it than anything and rolled her eyes at my hundredth viewing. I think she still liked it though. She somehow managed to be nearby whenever it was on screen, despite her scoffs.

I liked the feeling of her watching close by. Even if she wasn’t hanging out with me, I liked knowing that she wasn’t far. Realizing that I wouldn’t have that anymore was hard to swallow. There was a day, not long after the funeral, when Mom put on the Eloise movie for me so she could complete some housework unfettered. The movie started and something didn’t feel right. Mom ran over when she heard my banshee-like cries, but I couldn’t find the words to tell her exactly what was wrong.

-

I finally got to the Plaza, but not for quite some time. Life doesn’t always make time to fulfill the wishes of little girls. I didn’t wear the Eloise costume, though—it might have looked a bit funny on an old woman anyway.

The hotel, the image of which I had grown to know so well, was right in front of me. It was grand to the point of garishness and everything I dreamt it to be. The red carpeted stairs were redder in person, the gold detailing on the doors more intricate. I was a child again, relishing the view that was just as shiny and sparkling as I imagined it would be, even if the context of the encounter was not so bright.

I never got a turtle, but my own little dog made his way to the Plaza, a fuzzy little mutt in the arms of my broad-shouldered husband. Ellis held Felix despite the risk of hair shedding on his best black suit. A large man and his tiny dog—what a sight to behold. Our kids, not so kidlike anymore, kept them company.

Bella was there, too. I didn’t think she would be, practical realism invading any semblance of hope. There had been so many different theories battling it out in my head, to the point where I couldn’t hold on to the ones that would let me see her again. Everyone has their own thoughts about what heaven is, after all, and only one way of knowing which is right. But any confusion, any anxiety I harbored had faded. Nerves gave way to relief when I finally saw her little face, and not just in a photo album.  

-

If you think funerals are weird for the living, just imagine how they might be for the dead. On one hand, it’s an eavesdropper’s dream, the perfect way to hear every nice thing your friends and family have to say about you, and they have no way to know you’re there, listening. On the other hand, they have no way to know you’re there, listening. At least not for sure. You can’t tell them you’re okay, either. That might be the hardest part. Bella told me that during her funeral, she held my hand the entire time without my knowing. She tried to steal my pizza, too, but the afterlife doesn’t really work that way.

Over the course of my life, I had grown quite cynical about funerals. I couldn’t see the point. We were “honoring the dead” with no way of knowing that the dead were paying attention, saying nice things about them as if we’ve forgotten their every fault. It became a meaningless formality like business jargon or table etiquette. When it came time to discuss such tedious details, I had decided against a ceremony of any kind. I didn’t want people to join together for the purpose of collective sadness, and certainly didn’t want them to do so in my name. I didn’t want anyone to talk to my grandkids, so politely and solemnly, like they talked to me all those years ago. Just burn me up and throw me in the ocean.

But my husband was just as stubborn as I was; traditional and willful. He spoke calmly even when I rambled like a raging pessimist, droning on about rites and processions. I mean, I had been dying, and he was kind enough to give me a break most of the time. One day, he finally snapped, but in a way only Ellis could. He leaned in close to me, placing his hands softly on either side of my face, and said evenly: “I love you. I respect you. But this is not solely about you.” I see now that he was right, the smug son of a bitch. Ellis was always right. He talked me into a something small and informal and did most of the planning. The locale was the only thing I grew to care about.

He needed this more than I ever did, a point driven home as I studied him in the Plaza. With Felix dancing around his feet, tail still wagging, and our children by his side, Ellis looked strangely at peace despite his shiny eyes. He comforted the kids, the stoic but kind mourner that would have made my mother proud. I hadn’t seen her yet, but Bella told me I would once we left this place. She had been the one to come and get me, just as I’d be the one to get Ellis when he was ready.

I don’t know where Ellis was when he was in New York. Maybe stuck in the past or searching for the future. I wasn’t really there either, but I wasn’t far. I hope he was thinking about that night we went to the drive-in theater just before it closed for good. He bought me two grape slushies and I still fell asleep when the second film hit the screen. I didn’t wake up until we were in the driveway, and he was just running his fingers through my hair. That’s what I was thinking about at least.