#it pisses me off that when her ELEVEN YEAR OLD was like “i want to take over the world”

[does-not-have-milk]

I recently reread the entire Land of Stories series because I wanted to and this? This is so real. The realest thing I've ever seen.

okay. i feel like theres still Some People who may check the land of stories tag on here the way i occasionally do i know theres some fans of the series here at least. since a while back i wrote out an entire paragraph to briefly explain why im insane about lloyd bailey to my friends who dont know tlos, i figure, WHY NOT POST IT ON HERE where people who also know the series (and therefore this character) might see it <3 its at least a little funny to see how i try to explain things in tlos like the hall of dreams briefly with little to no details. this is also kind of like a brief summation of everything we know about lloyd AND JOHNS childhood which is interesting. see below.

sits down. let me set the scene. lloyd bailey is the younger son in a set of two. his mother is a very powerful fairy (#fairygodmother) who’s kind of like the chancellor of an entire kingdom. lloyd and his older brother john both very much have magic in their blood because of this. lloyd’s father dies when he is very young. he is “not the same” afterwards. he thinks his older brother john, who handles his fathers passing arguably “better”, is the favorite child. john is happy and cheerful and everyone loves him. lloyd sits in his dark room and reads books like the iron mask all day. lloyd’s mother does not know how to get to him. she figures out how to make a potion that can bring books to life, since he likes to read so much. she offers it to him. he turns her down. she goes into this magic little hallway (infinite space) where she can see what people truly desire. lloyd the 11 year olds desire (i don’t know how old he is.) is to take over the world. hm. a bit concerning. his mother takes him out into the forest on a nice walk, chains him to a tree, and drains his magic from him. lloyd is not a fan of his mother for this. he tells her that she never would’ve done this to john. his mother considers her action stopping him before he wreaks havoc on everything. lloyd considers this having his “birthright” stripped from him for “a crime [he] never committed” (direct quote). lloyd despises his mother. he runs away from home not long after. he considers the potion his mother made his. he only comes back home to try and steal it. he fails. he is sentenced to life in prison. his mother gives him a mask to wear so no one knows he’s her son. john moves to the otherworld and starts a family. lloyd rots in prison. lloyd’s son who he doesn’t know about is born. lloyd rots in prison. john dies. lloyd rots in prison. his mother loves john’s children and starts to train one of them in being her successor. this could’ve been lloyd. lloyd rots in prison. he doesn’t escape until his niece and nephew are teenagers and his niece is about ten times more powerful than him. because she has the gift that was ripped out of his hands. lloyd hates the world he lives in and its people and seeks to destroy it as soon as he’s out. i wonder why. in conclusion. im normal about him.

[pretty-little-mind33]

dad!James Potter x wife!reader

Summary: When your eleven-year-old son comes home for Christmas break in tears, you and James are instantly worried.

Genre: Fluff, Hurt and Comfort

Warnings: mentions of blood-purity and prejudices, swearing, their son Henry is nicknamed as Harry ;)

happens in the same universe as Santa Baby

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

Your husband has always been dramatic, but when your oldest comes home from school in his first-year with frustrated tears streaming down his cheeks, James almost loses his shit.

Henry slams the door behind him and discards his shoes in the hallway, "Fuck," He mutters when he hears you call his name from the living room. You, James, and Emmie had been waiting for him to come home from the train-station. Emmie sits impatiently on your lap, making small gurgling noises as you bounce her on your knees. James had cooked (burnt) Henry's favorite dinner and he stands up, frowning when he hears his son curse.

"Harry?"

You stand up too, worried, as you hold Emmie in your arms. You hear Henry's footsteps run up the stairs. James looks puzzled as he looks back at you. You shrug and walk up next to him, handing him Emmie as she clings happily to his arms. "I'll talk to him," you pat James's forearm and walk up the stairs to Henry's room.

Gently, you knock on the door and then open it a little. Your heart shatters when you see Henry laying on his stomach, his arms around his pillow as he muffles his cries.

He's always been sensitive and you're cautious as you sit near him. "Honey? What's wrong? Can you tell me what's happened?"

Henry shakes his head, only turning it to mutter, "Go away, mum. I don't wanna talk."

Your eyebrows scrunch and you reach out to touch him, but hesitate and stand up. "Do ya' wanna talk to dad?" you ask, knowing Henry sometimes wants James instead.

Henry doesn't answer for a moment until he nods. You nod too, closing the door behind you as you make your way downstairs again. James is standing at the end of the stairs, Emmie on his hip, as he looks at you concerned. You reach him and take Emmie from him. "He wants you," you whisper.

James's eyes soften and he kisses your cheek, soothing a hand over your hair and down your cheek. You know it's usually a "man problem", as James calls them, when Henry wants James instead of you. Still, James knows your heart breaks when you can't help your baby boy.

James walks upstairs and disappears into Henry's room. You return to the living room and place Emmie down on her play-mat.

James and Henry don't talk for long as you hear hurried footsteps come down the stairs. "Honey?" you call, confused, and you stand.

He doesn't answer and just grabs his coat, his cheeks flushed a dark crimson. He looks beyond pissed. You turn to Emmie, you don't want to leave her unsupervised and she usually starts to cry when she sees her dad this upset so you know you can't carry her to him either.

"James!" you shout after him.

Henry runs down the stairs, his tears now gone as he follows James outside. "Henry!" you shout once more but neither of them listen to you. You feel helpless as you hear the car start in the driveway. You don't understand. You hold Emmie in your arms and sit on the couch, stomach in knots.

After what seems like an hour, the front door opens and Henry's laughter fills the room. You've put Emmie to sleep so you run to the door, hugging Henry to your chest as you tug a hand through his dark curls. James follows behind him, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees your expression.

"Where were you?" you say, narrowing your eyes at your husband.

"Oh, mum, you should have seen dad! The way he shouted at Liam's dad because of what he said at the station—it was awesome!"

"What did Liam say at the station, baby?" you ask him quickly.

"No, not Liam, his dad. He saw me come off the train and he made some comment about you, mum. About you being weird and how it must have passed on to me. He also called you a Mudblood but I didn't understand what that meant and dad won't— " James stops Henry with a hand on his head and you look up at your husband.

Your heart feels like it's beating hard. Weird. Mudblood. You've heard worse but something about it hearing it come from your son's mouth—knowing someone had said that in front of your son makes you ache.

Liam's dad went to school with you and James and he's always been a jerk, but that doesn’t make it excusable. James kisses Henry's head and sends him upstairs. You look at James, teary eyed as you try to find the right words. James just hugs you to his chest, his hand on the back of your head. "Shh," he whispers, "it's okay," he promises but you shake your head.

"It's not okay," you wipe at your tears, "Richard called me that in front of my son. It's humiliating," You bury my face in my hands. James's expression twists and he looks upset.

He cups your cheeks gently, kissing your nose. "I'm so sorry I left so quickly, my love, but he had to know I won't stand for anyone messing with my loves," he says sternly.

While his anger isn't directed at you by any means, it hangs in the air.

"I- I don't know what to say to Henry," you whisper, voice shaky, as you lean your head on James's chest. James's heart sinks at your tone and he holds you close.

He nuzzles his nose in your hair. "You don't have to say a thing, darlin'."

"Yes, I do," you pull away and look into your husband's eyes, "I'm his mother. I have to explain to him what that word means before he hears it at school again. Which, I'm surprised he hadn't already," you try to sound brave but James sees through you.

He always does.

"Hey, it's okay," he says as he runs a hand up and down your shoulders. He kisses your head gently and continues, "We'll talk to Harry, okay? Can you warm up dinner while I get him?"

Your shoulders relax a little and you nod. With your mind still fuzzy, you walk up to the pot where James had been making pasta and scrunch your nose. It's all burnt and cold by now. You glance at your wand on the counter, but instead, you decide a frozen pizza should do nicely.

After a few minutes, James comes back in with Henry hanging from his arm like he would as a little boy. Seeing you, your son jumps down and runs over. He hugs you and leans on his tip-toes to kiss your cheek. "I love you, mum," he smiles and your heart melts. Henry's smile widens when he smells the pizza in the oven.

"How many sweets did dad bribe you with to say that," you tease, ruffling Henry's hair.

Henry shoots James an unsure look but then smiles up at you, "None," he says confidently and you pretend to believe him. You look at James with a look that says, 'stop bribing our son with candy'. James just smirks and swoops in, resting his hand on Henry's shoulder.

"Harry, your mum and I wanna talk to you about something important, alright," he looks at you and pauses so you can take over.

You nod and crouch down to Henry's eye level. You hold his hands, "Honey, what Liam's dad said wasn't okay, you know that right?" Henry nods, listening intensely. "Mudblood is a very mean word that's used for witches and wizards who are Muggleborn—that come from muggle families—like me."

"I know you do—grandma and grandad don't understand magic," Henry grins.

James chuckles and smoothes his hand in Henry's hair and says, "Yeah, exactly, bud. But, you must never use that word, understand?"

Henry nods seriously and looks up at James. "What am I then? If mum's a Muggleborn and dad's family is—"

"In technical terms, you're a half-blood, honey," you say, standing and kissing his head gently, "It's all nonsense anyways. It really doesn't matter at all because you're a wizard. As long as you can do magic, then that's all that matters."

"Yeah, and you know your mum is way better at magic than I am," James says with a pretend pout, "so really, blood-status is a bunch of bogus," Henry looks at his dad and laughs at his dramatic display of feeling sorry for himself. You roll your eyes and push on James's arm, but you're secretly grateful for him lightening up the mood.

Once the talk is over and Henry is tucked into his bed, his stomach full of pizza, you finally exhale. You sit at your vanity, brushing your hair, and James is changing into his pajamas. He sits on his side of the bed and fiddles with Emmie's muggle baby monitor.

"I can hear you thinking, my lovely," he hums. He stands and makes his way over to you. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and kisses your cheeks. His hands caress up and down your arm as he whispers, "Henry understands. He's smart. You're raising him well."

"We're raising him well," you remind James as you turn to look him in the eye.

James chuckles. "I bribed him with candy. You taught him a valuable lesson."

You scrunch your nose and stand, wrapping your arms around James's torso as you hold him close. Your husband eagerly pulls you into him and inhales the scent of your hair. He leans his cheek on your head and you nuzzle into him.

As much as hearing other wizards and witches talk down on you hurts—like they've done all your life—one solace is that you have the most wonderful husband, who never cared about something as silly as blood-statues, and said wonderful husband gave you the most beautiful children you could have asked for.

"Thank you," you whisper, thanking James for being himself, "I love you." You've never meant anything more.

"I love you more," James finishes and kisses your head.

[aliveinacoffin]

Kinda request

hi! I just wanted to ask if u could write a fic of any fandom and character of ur choosing! I enjoy reading your fics so much and I would love to read one of your own liking! Thank you and have a great day <333

i love you guys so much i literally would eat a baby for you guys PLS 😭😭 decided to write a gta v fic with micheal because GYATT damn do I love him, also sorry this took so long, I have like, a trillion fics to write 🥲

Wedding Ring

You knew Micheal was married with a wife and kids, and that he went through hell and back to keep them safe and alive. When he goes off this crazy adventure and he has to hide from the cops, where does he go? That's right, the woman who he has been sharing a bed with the last four years.

Fem!Reader: She/Her pronouns and descriptions

TW!: NSFW, cheating, ghosting, manipulation

It was a nice and sunny day, something that was usual for a city like Los Santos. Still, you took advantage of this fact. You were lounging in your backyard with nothing but a swimsuit on, trying to suntan in peace with your music playing loud as possible, enjoying the feeling of the sun's hot rays on your skin. 

That peace was quickly disrupted.

"Why the fuck are you playing music so god damn loud?" A familiar gruff voice barked from behind you. You snapped your eyes open, quickly sitting up to see the offender who disrupted your peace and broke into your house.

"Oh Michael." You groaned, laying back down on the white pool chair. The separated plastic part of the white chair dug in a satisfying way into your back.

"Seriously, Jesus it's eleven in the morning." Michael stumbled over to your phone, angrily smashing the side buttons.

"Damn who shit in your cereal? Or maybe drink would be better." You scoffed, pissed that he was even here. The old man hadn't contacted you in months, ghosting you after he fucked you in some shitty motel near sandy shores. 

"An old friend of mine and my whole fuckin' family." Michael mumbled, and you watched him behind your black sunglasses approach the bottom of your sunbleached chair, resting his hands on your ankles. He looked down, light green eyes watching his hands trave circles in your ankles. With his motions, his gold wedding ring glittered in the California sun.

"Why are you here?" You asked, not bothering to move from your position hands resting on your stomach. Your fingers suddenly felt very bare.

"I just wanted to see you, is that such a crime?" He shrugged, but his hands started to trail higher, now rubbing on your calfs. 

"Well, aside from the fact you haven't spoken to me in months, let a lone texted me. No, I guess not." You pulled your legs away, sitting on the side of the long chair. You still watched him, hands grabbing tightly on the metal, burning the palms of your hands.

"You know how it is, life gets in the way." He tried to wave you off, shrugging his shoulders. Michael had already taken off his suit jacket, white shirt looking grey with your vision. So he expected you to just hop on his dick right away?

"Yeah, I'm sure it does. With your wife and family keeping you busy." You got up, walking over to grab your phone and speaker.

Michael didn't say anything to that, instead he just watched you. He silently followed you inside, stopping you from closing the sliding glass door on him.

"Seriously Michael, why are you here?" You growled at him, not bothering to spare a glance back at him. You stopped at your sink, resting your knuckles on the metal appliance. His heavy footsteps followed you, and through the window above the sink you saw him come up behind you, watching you.

"I just have a lot of stress, and my therapy is always telling me to get rid of it." Michael's large hands rested on your hips, still watching your face.

"Then go to your wife. I'm obviously not anybody to you." You looked down, unable to meet his watchful gaze. Instead, you regrettable made eye contact with his ring. "Go home, go to your fuckin' over priced shitty therapist and your shitty family that your always whining about." You snapped, but you made no motion to move away from his hands.

"They left me." He admitted lowly, and that made you look up. Michael was not an honest man, he was a lying hypocrite who constantly cheated on his wife. He was always the type to skirt around the truth when it harmed him and constantly complained when he could. The man had left a life of crime, that much you knew, and ever since had regretted it.

"Why?" You asked softly, making eye contact with him again in the window. It was hard to see him, with your glasses and the bright sun outside, so you opted to take them off, making the appeal of Michael much clearer. Though, you couldn't stand stand look at him.  Michael loved making eye contact with you, for a reason you never knew. But it absolutely pained you to watch his eyes fill with want and desperation. 

"I'm not a good man. I chase things that I'll never get, things I can never keep." He leaned over your back, breathing into your neck. He pushed your hips back, pulling you flush against him. His hands wormed their way under the elastic of your bottom, rubbing and pinching the fat there. He pressed gentle kisses into your neck, lightly nipping the skin that was presented to him.

"Is that right? What about the things you have?" You knew for Michael no matter what he did, no matter what he got, nothing would ever be good enough for him. The perfect life he could have in his own expensive mansion is ruined by his own self hate and incompetence. 

He just scoffed at that, like the very notion of his luxury car and permanent retirement from life was so hard, something to just be brushed off like nothing.

"What about me? When will I stop being enough? Or have I already?" You asked, stopping his movements. He had already gotten the strings halfway down your ass, reaching just the top part of your bottom. Michael stilled, unmoving against your warm body.

"No, I can never get enough of you. I had to work on my marriage, but I never stopped thinking about you." Michael admitted, and that made your head hung low. You knew he was prone to just saying whatever would get him into your pants. He always knew what to say the exact words that would make you drop to your knees.

"Or maybe because I'm some pretty young thing who won't give you crabs." You tried to lighten the mood, tried to tease to cover up the aching hole the older man had unknowingly made inside you. He had created a Michael shaped hole in your heart that made you mourn during random hours of the day, and when he would fill it in the late hours of the night it soothed your bleeding heart.

"Hah, maybe." That made you tear up, eyes fluttering while he slipped off your bottoms, groping you fully. You could feel his hard on pressing into you, demanding its way onto you.

He slipped two calloused fingers down, tracing up and down your slit, gathering the wetness that has accrued.

"You act so fucking bratty, but you're so god damn wet." He barked in your ear, mocking you as he slipped a finger in. You sighed, rocking back against his fingers, wanting, needing more. Who knows when the next time he'll come back? 

If ever.

"Come on, you know I can handle way more than that." You rushed, wanting to just get this over with and never wanting this to end.

He tugged on your hair, pulling at your scalp.

"Don't rush me, just shut up and look pretty." Michael's past actions would attest to that, he loved it when you argued, when you threw fits and pouted, he loved every minute of it. Because he knew that if he pushed you for enough, you'd beg for his cock, you'd be crying and whining for it, you'd be crying for him.

Michael never was the one to love a submissive woman, would he like to have one? Sure, any man would. But after a while it would get boring, there'd be no angry sex, no makeup sex, there'd be no back talk for him to shut up. Plus, it would be like speaking to a void, nothing important would actually be said, just a blank woman who agreed to everything and anything.

"Then fuck me silly, hey, that rhymed!" You laughed, before a moan got caught in your throat. Two more fingers shoved themselves into you, stretching you out quickly. It would've hurt more if you weren't already wet and near painfully horny. In truth, Michael was the only man you've slept with in a while. You've had flings with other people, maybe one or two serious relationships thrown in, but when you met Michael, an old depressed angry father, right up your alley might you add, at that disgusting old bar, well, everything and everyone else was thrown out the window. Then, you started seeing each other regularly, you dropped all the people you were talking to, even the sweet girl who had really taken an interest in you, and he had stopped going to cheap hookers, instead going to you solely to satisfy his sins.

He said nothing in response, merely just resuming his harsh treatment of your body, curling his fingers inside you beautifully, his memorization of your body never once faded. Your moans grew louder, curling into your counter until your stomach pressed painfully into the sharp edge.

"Just put it in me already, you old fuck." You spat, trying to push back against him. Michael pulled his fingers out, slapping your ass painfully.

"Watch your mouth when you're begging for my cock." He growled, nonetheless, he pulled down his zipper dutifully and fished himself out. He slid himself up and down your slit  wetting himself with your juices, bumbling and pressing into your clit over and over again. It drove you absolutely crazy, unable to buck and finally just put himself into you. You arched, trying to entice him as much as you could, white knuckle gripping the sink. 

Finally, finally he slowly slid into you, and you both let out a low groan. Michael must've been impatient, since he thrusted his way fully into you, filling you so fast it felt like he was in your ribs.

"Fuh-fuck Micky." You whined, and he wrapped his arms around your middle section and boobs, holding you tight while he absolutely rammed into you. Usually, because of his age and inactivity, he preferred to be on the bottom, let you do all the work. But he must've missed you, maybe he was pent up, or maybe he was taking his anger out on you. Either way, it felt heavenly, his thick cock ramming into you, feeling him drag inside you in and out at a brutal pace, not allowing you to think. 

"Of course you like that, huh? Like my cock inside you, treating you like some cheap slut." He growled in your ear, and it would've made you wetter than you already were if you couldn't feel the cool metal digging into your boob. The reminder of what it meant searing into your soul. You hummed lowly, darting your eyes away from him, finding the counter suddenly interesting. Michael seemed to sense your mood shift, and slowed down, but he never stopped. Instead taking to shallow thrusts inside you.

"What's wrong?" He asked, more annoyance in his voice than care.

"Nothing, why'd you slow down?" You lied through your teeth, trying to buck your hips and resume his pace. But he held you tight and close, even if Michael never really worked out, and was closer to fifty than forty, he still had years worth of muscles underneath.

"Because your poutin', now tell me what's wrong?" He asked again, tone sharp and asking to be tested.

"Your ring." You spat out, feeling slightly ashamed.

"What about my ring?" Michael snapped at you, fully stopping his movements.

"It's digging into me." You knew that wasn't the only thing that bothered you, it haunted you almost everyday knowing you were technically a homewrecker. He had two kids and a wife waiting at home for him, and even if he complained about them, even if both him and his wife cheated on each other constantly, it was still wrong. Usually when you complained about his ring he moved his hand, or set it down gently to the side. But not this time.

Michael groaned, and in one swift movement he threw the ring across the house, and you heard it cling! loudly behind you.

"Michael-" You started to reprimand him, but he bent you over fully on your counter, and let you go. He placed his hands on the counter, using it to slam into you again.

"Oh fuck!" You yelled, eyes nearly rolling into your skull.

"Told you." He was breathless, and you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. 

"To-told me wh-what?" You squealed when he pressed that delicate spongy spot inside you, making you see stars.

"I needed you, all I can think of is you. All your annoying remarks, the way you feel around me, how you look at me like I'm not an absolute piece of shit." Michael leaned down, pressing his head into your neck, nuzzling into you.

"Then why'd you leave?" You managed to gasp out, feeling your orgasm steadily appeared. That wave of pleasure was slowly crashing closer, it made the thoughts in your head become less coherent, nothing mattered aside from the way Michael made you feel.

"I didn't have a choice, I didn't want to. Had to. I never stopped thinking about you." He lifted one hand, and trailed it down, circling your aching clit. You keened, clamping down on him while your vision whited out. Michael grunted, fully pressing himself into you, and you could feel him filling you up, painting your soft walls white.

You both took a minute to breath, still connected while you panted. Slowly, slowly he pulled out of your over-sensitive walls, leaving you achingly empty. You and him just stood there, panting, unmoving.

“So, you gonna dip, or are you going to hang out here for a bit?” You asked, still a little breathless. There was that bitterness again because no matter what Michael said, he’d end up leaving one way or another.

“I think I’ll hang out here for a little bit.” He shrugged, and as you spared him a glance you watched him tuck himself away, not bothering to clean himself. 

You sighed, hobbling over to your bathroom to grab a wet wipe to clean yourself up.

“Whatever.” You called out. “You know where the door is.”

Michae did end up staying for a week or two, sleeping in the same bed as you and spending any time he could with you. For a second you believed he really did change, that he really did want you, instead of what you could offer.

But one day, when you came home from work and called out to no response, you realized he was gone. You sighed, split between wanting to check under the couch or living your life with as little damage to your psyche as possible. 

The former side of you won, your heart pounding in your ribcage. A new wave of sadness ushered over you, your heart aching as your stomach turned, pain overtaking your whole body.

He took the ring with him.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Aftermath || LN4 {2}

Pairing: Lando Norris x widow!reader Summary: Lando's new role of taking care of you is one he takes very seriously. Warnings: 18+ only, grief and loss, depression WC: 2.6k

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven || Twelve || Thirteen || Epilogue

Lando felt useless as he watched you cry in your sleep, the quiet whimpers making him hate himself even more. He should have come by and checked in on you, he should have been a better friend. He had foolishly convinced himself that you were better off without his interference since all he did was remind you of what you lost. 

He remembered how hard it had been to get back into his race car for the first time after the funeral and not see René in the McLaren next to him. It had been a gut punch that was more shocking to his system than the weight of the casket he had carried on his shoulder. Whatever loss he was feeling could only be tenfold for you and he didn’t want to make it worse.

Now he wished he could go back in time and save you from yourself, but all he could do was plan to help you move forward.

He grabbed a blanket from inside the ottoman and draped it over you, the very same one he used countless times when it got too late and he would crash on the couch after a movie night or BBQ. It was like a mausoleum of memories and he could feel himself tearing up as he walked around the room opening the curtains and windows for some much needed fresh air. 

Stepping out onto the terrace he found the pool you had loved to swim in daily was ruddy brown and the once pristine garden that you had tended to was overgrown with vines creeping up the stonework of the house. Anger flooded him and he pulled his phone out. 

“Why the hell did no one invite Y/N?” he growled when his team principal answered the phone. “She didn’t even know about René's memorial.”

“Look, take a breath, I know it’s upsetting but the FIA didn’t feel comfortable having her there after her accusations last year.”

Lando laughed humorlessly as he dragged a hand through his hair. “Uncomfortable? Fucking unbelievable. Of course they are uncomfortable, they pretty much killed him.”

“Lando…” Andrea started to warn him.

“I know, I know.” Lando took a deep breath. “Is there really a ‘surviving spouse’ clause in our contracts?”

“It’s not exactly easy to get life insurance for you guys, too much risk,” Andrea confirmed. “Look, I’m not going to say stay away from her, but be discreet, we don’t need to be pissing off the FIA right now. Pictures of your car at her house is not discreet.”

Lando frowned as the call ended and he opened instagram to see he had been tagged in a photo.

Only moments later did his phone vibrate with a What’s App message from his old teammate, Daniel Riccardo.

It was still daytime when you woke up on the couch to find all the curtains and windows open wide. Your neck protested the movement of getting up but it was quickly overpowered by the pain shooting down your legs and you remembered why you drank so much in the first place.

“Lando?” you called out, wondering where he was as you stood up on shaky legs.

You searched the house and found the carpet in your bedroom covered in foam cleaner to try get the bloodstains out and all the glass had been vacuumed up too. Other than that, there was no sign of Lando at all so you walked outside and followed the sounds of quiet cursing in the backyard.

“Is that a good idea?” you asked as you sheltered your eyes from the harsh sun and looked up at a shirtless Lando scaling an unstable ladder.

“Probably not,” he shot back, leaning out with a pair of clippers to cut the vines climbing the house. “Will it stop me? No.”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped into the garden bed and grabbed hold of the ladder to try stabilise while you looked around and saw he had already mowed the lawn. 

“You must still be single then I take it,” you said with a shake of your head. “You never had this much time to waste when you had a girlfriend.”

“First of all, it’s not a waste of my time. And secondly, well, yeah, okay, I am single. But that’s not the point and not why I’m doing this.” He nearly lost his balance as he hacked at a stubborn vine and scrambled to cling to the ladder. “Maybe I’ll call an arborist. And someone to clean the pool too.”

“Stop, please, you don’t need to do any of that.”

“I know,” he said as he jumped down and used his discarded shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I want to.” He nodded his head back to the house. “Food’s ready, I was waiting on a sleeping beauty to wake up.”

You self consciously touched your hair at the comment and stepped away before he followed but he easily caught your hand.

“Don’t do that,” he said with a shake of his head. “Don’t shy away. You still look beautiful, and I am almost decent at untangling curls so we will tackle that whole situation after you have eaten something.”

“Lando, Lan, La-”

He shoved the spoon into your mouth with a laugh before dunking it back into the soup bowl and starting the aeroplane sounds again. “Here comes another one.”

“I’m going to shove that spoon up your ars-” He took the opportunity to get it past your lips again and you thumped him on the arm. “I can fucking feed myself. Give me that.” 

You swiped the spoon out his hand as he doubled over laughing and before you knew it a foreign sound bubbled from your chest and your cheeks ached as a smile tugged at the forgotten muscles. Lando froze at the sound before a slow smile broke over his face as he sat back in his seat like he had witnessed a miracle. 

“Stop staring, you’re making it weird,” you murmured as you took another mouthful of the surprisingly good soup. 

“For a while I didn’t think I would hear that again.” He smiled to himself as he stirred his soup. “You couldn’t go a minute without laughing and joking over something stupid.”

“That’s because you and René were always doing something stupid.” His name slipped past without a thought but the moment it filled the room you felt the air leave and the spoon trembled in your fingers. 

Your chair clattered backwards as you rose swiftly and covered your lips as if you could take it back.

You spun on your heel almost tripping over the chair as you rushed down the hallway. The back door you passed offered an escape from the suffocating weight on your chest but instead you ran deeper into the house, your feet flying as you spiralled down the stairs to the converted basement. You slammed into the door and it flung open as you burst into the space you hadn’t dared open in a year. 

This place wasn’t just his, it was an extension of him. The shelves were lined with his helmets, his team shirts hung on the walls. The trophies in glass cases were dull and dust clung to every surface. 

But in the cold, still air you could smell his lingering scent from the hours he spent playing on the sim set up in the corner. You closed your eyes and felt the air shift around you, feeling his presence enveloping you and chasing away the bone-numbing chill you had endured for 365 days.

“It’s finally real, Lando,” you whispered, knowing he was standing in the doorway watching your back. “When the house was silent I could pretend he was down here, playing iRacing or Gran Turismo. I could fucking pretend…that I wasn’t alone. If I didn’t call his name then I could pretend that’s why he doesn't answer me.”

Your vision blurred and when a pair of strong arms wrapped around your body you could pretend one last time that it was him holding you. It was the closest to a goodbye you would have.

“He’s gone.” You sighed and swallowed the lump in your throat knowing what you needed to do but somehow no longer finding the thought as daunting as you once did. “No more pretending.”

“I’ll try be gentle,” Lando promised as he stood behind you, armed with a hairbrush. 

He had poured a bottle of conditioner onto the bird's nest on your head and let it absorb for almost an hour before working up the courage to try and detangle it. While the conditioner was hopefully working its magic, he had helped to dust and polish René’s trophies, doing most of the work while you silently mourned the fantasy you had lived in. 

“Just do it,” you ordered as you locked eyes with him in the bathroom mirror.

“Here goes nothing.”

Your neck ached and your scalp burned by the end, and there was a huge pile of hair balls he had pulled off the hairbrush, but finally he was able to drag the brush relatively cleanly through your hair. 

“See, who’s the man?” he grinned as he flipped the brush confidently in his hand.

You rewarded him with a small smile in the mirror before turning and wrapping your arms around his narrow waist. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” he said as his own arms encased you and he pressed a friendly kiss to your hairline. “Ugh, it smells like coconut but doesn’t taste like it.”

You laughed and stepped back with a wave to the door. “Go on, let me wash it out.”

It took far longer than you expected for your hair to finally feel clean but eventually you were satisfied with it and got out of the shower, wrapping the towel around your body. Your fingers automatically reached for a shirt of René’s when you opened the closet but something had changed in the basement. 

You grabbed a handful of his clothes and pulled them from the closet, coathangers flinging off in all directions, before grabbing another and another. 

“Hey, woah!” Lando skidded into the room thinking you were having another meltdown. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“If I keep them,” you panted as the small effort already exhausted you, “it’s all I will wear again, I just know it. I have to get rid of them.”

“Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly.

You sent him a peeved glare before opening the drawers next and grabbing the stack of sweatpants he had amassed over the years. “Yes!”

“Look,” he said softly as he raised his hands with the universal sign of peace, “why don’t we go and get some boxes, pack them up, and then you sleep on it before doing anything drastic?”

“I’m not going to change my mind, Lan.”

You did change your mind. 

You woke up at 3am and sprinted through the house to the front door, tripping over Lando’s leg that hung off the couch and waking him up with one hell of a fright. He burst onto his feet after pulling himself off the ground and his wild curls swung as he looked around for some threat. 

Seeing it was just you looking equally dishevelled, he grabbed your shoulders and bent his knees so he was at the same height. “Are you alright?”

“Tell me you didn’t throw them,” you begged as your rapid breathing sent stars dancing around your vision. “Please, please, please.”

“What? René’s clothes?” he asked as he wiped the sleep from his eyes before pointing to the door on the other side of the living room. “Of course not, they’re in the garage.”

The relief was immediate and you sagged against his warm chest only to notice he had taken his shirt off to sleep. Clearing your throat, you straightened up stiffly and frowned. “But I asked you to dump them…”

“I know, and if you still wanted that in the morning I would have done it.” He sighed and took a seat on the makeshift bed he made on the couch despite there being plenty of spare bedrooms in the house. He patted the space beside him and you took a seat, the only warmth coming from his arm touching yours. “It’s going to take time, Y/N. Moving on doesn’t just happen overnight, even when you are ready to.”

“You sound like a shrink.”

His shoulders bounced with a small laugh and he fell back into the cushions, pulling you with him. “Mandatory counselling sessions, courtesy of Zak. Everyone got them, and I think it helped. Maybe you cou-”

“Don’t push it, just be proud you got me out of bed today.”

“Hmmm, but then I got you drunk.”

You looked up to see he wasn’t happy about that and you didn’t like seeing that look on his face. “But then you brushed my hair.”

A small sleepy smile grew on his face as he looked at your hair that was a little messy after sleeping on it but nothing compared to what it was before. “I always liked your hair.”

“I always liked yours,” you admitted as you eyed the curls that fell over his forehead. “I wondered if they were as soft as they looked.”

He tipped his head down for you and you reached up, running your fingers through them leaving ringlets twirling closed again. Even when you pulled one out straight, the moment you released the strands they bounced back into shape. 

“Huh,” you chuckled as you did it again. “I thought you used hairspray to keep them perfectly curled.”

“As if I have time for that kind of maintenance,” he muttered drowsily as he closed his eyes and let you play with his hair. “That feels nice.”

“You’re no better than a house cat.”

He cosied deeper into the couch to get comfortable as he stretched his long legs out in front of him, his head falling onto your shoulder while you continued massaging his head. Just when you thought he was asleep, he let out a quiet, “Meow.”

Laughter filled the still air of the night and he peeked an eye open to watch you find joy for the second time in one day, a proud grin written on his face. “I missed your laugh.”

“Me too,” you admitted after feeling how light it made your pain, if only for a moment.

“I would go to the zoo and visit the hyenas when I really missed the sound.”

More laughter grew in your belly and you punched him repeatedly on the arm as the loud bursts escaped. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he gasped between his own fit of laughter before catching your hands and holding them above his head to stop your pitiful attack. “I just wanted to hear it again.”

You froze as you realised how close you were to him, your face only inches from his and his full lips so close to yours. Your heart stammered as his tongue peeked out as he licked his lips and you cleared your throat as you pulled away, shattering the strange moment.

“I’m, uh, I’m going to go back to bed,” you muttered weakly as you stumbled off the couch. 

He looked like he was going to say something as he sat up straight but his lips closed again and he nodded, settling for a polite, “Sweet dreams.”

“You too, Lando. And thank you again, for being here.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said as he settled back into the blankets and covered his very distracting body. “I should have been here sooner.”

You could have sworn you heard him whisper something more as you walked back down the hall.

“And I’m not leaving you again.”

Click here for part three.

[faithshouseofchaos]

Welcome to Faiths 15 days of Smut Fic's

Hello everyone I'm excited to share with you 15 days of smut that I have written for you. I have a little something for everyone... hopefully

(I also didn't know how to word some of these descriptions so bare with me)

Here's what's on the calendar as of now...

Day one — Cuckhold!Max x exhibitionist! carlos sainz , Voyeur!Leo McTavish

• For weeks now Max has been thinking about watching his boyfriend having sex with someone else and when the opportunity comes he takes it.

Day three - Vampire!Checo x reader requested (rescheduled for October sixth)

Checo falls head over heels for a human and he’ll do anything to get her even if it means kidnapping her right before her wedding

Day four- Yandere! Checo x GN!reader (rescheduled for October Eighth)

• Checo finds himself obsessed with a bookshop owner who he would do anything to have even if it means he has to kill the competition.

Day five — Franco x Turkish!reader requested

• Franco gets jealous when he sees reader getting friendly with Lando so he shows her just who she belongs to aka jealous sex ending with fluff

Day seven - Incubus!Sebastian x Reader

• Sebastian's friend has been having the same sex dream for months so she goes straight to the source of said dream her incubus best friend.

Day nine — Kaycee x Logan x Oscar

Oscar has pissed off kaycee for the last time by acting like a brat and he just had to drag Logan into his shenanigans.

Day eleven - Franco x reader requested

After reader and Franco had a long day the two of them try cock warming which turns into sleepy soft domestic sex.

Day fourteen— Luke duke x reader requested

• Never in your lifetime did you think that you would ever hook up with your dads employee but here you are.

Day sixteen - Charles x Max X Matteo requested

• Brat taming, Mirror sex, body worship and hints of marking kink.

Day eighteen — Ghost!Liam Mairi x Reader

• Reader has a signet that allows her to see,talk and conjure up the dead so when she can't get off she accidentally conjures her dead boyfriend who talks her through it. Guided Masterbation

Day twenty —Vampire!Kimi x reader

• Reader wants Kimi to turn to her into a vampire but Kimi's against it so he shows her just how good it really is to be a humar an orgasms and a bite.

Day twenty two — werewolf!Nico H x reader

When Nico H finally gets his Maiden win he wants to celebrate with some good old fashioned fun.

Day twenty four- Nico Rosberg x reader

• Breeding kink with werewolf!Nico R

(That's it that's what the fic is about)

Day twenty six — DBF!Jenson button x reader.

• For a year, the reader has been secretly involved with her father's best friend, until they are caught in the act by her parents.

Day twenty eight — mark webber x piastri! sister.reader

• Oscars oldest sister is sexually frustrated which leaves her brothers older mentor taking matters into his own hands.

Day thirty— werewolf!daniel Ricciardo x fem! reader requested

• Oral sex (that's it just oral sex and needy werewolf!Daniel)

Day thirty one- free day

• Anything goes on a free day

[marauders-bs]

an inherently sad thing about pandalily

word count- 802

The first time Pandora Rosier realized she might have had an abnormal upbringing, she was eleven and serving detention for Professor McGonagall. She'd asked a question, followed immediately by not fighting just asking. After all, it was common in her house. Wouldn't want her parents to think she was being combative. McGonagall had looked at her a bit sideways, though. Like it was strange.

The second time, she'd been twelve and helping Lily Evans with her Astronomy in the dead of night. She’d said something about the time she'd painted the stars on her ceiling and her dad had painted over it. It was one of her “funnys” as Evan called them– just something stupid that made all the Skittles laugh. Lily, however, had been horrified.

The time it had really hit, Pandora had been fourteen. She’d been double DADA with the Gryffindors when the Unforgivables had been brought up.

“Can't you use Cruciates for, like, punishment?” Sirius Black had asked.

“I think you can, mate, that's what Dad always says,” Barty had agreed.

Pandora had nodded along with them. “Imperio as well, for punishment.”

Their professor – and most of the other students – had looked like Lily atop the Astronomy tower two years before. “No,” he’d said gently. “Never, under any circumstances, are those curses forgiven.”

Pandora had exchanged a look with Barty, both remembering the scars across their bodies. Maybe, Pandora thought, her parents had done something wrong.

When she was fifteen, on top of the Astronomy tower with Lily, Cassie, Marls, Andy, and Mary. Ali and Ciss left only a little bit before.

“Dora?” Lily asked, turning down to face Pandora. She wasn't too happy that the silence had been disrupted, but Lily was still running her fingers through Pandora’s hair.

“What's up, Lils?”

“I think you should stay with me over Christmas,” she said, not taking her hand from Pandora’s hair or her eyes from the stars. “I don’t want you going back to them.”

Pandora raised her eyes to Lily, reaching up to tuck a stray piece of ginger hair behind her ear. “I don't want to endanger you.”

Andy, who was finally seventeen and would be free of the Blacks imminently, cleared her throat. “I can help, if you want. Make the place Unplottable, or whatever.”

Lily looked down at Pandora, and she felt the weight of the love the people sitting on the Astronomy tower had for her

“Yeah,” Dora decided. “Yeah, Lils.”

At seventeen, Dora had to leave. She broke off from the Rosiers and went to live with her best friend and probably the one she'd end up marrying if only to piss off Evan– a Ravenclaw her age named Xenophilius.

Lily showed up at their door in August of ‘78, wedding ring sparkling on her finger in the moonlight.

“I’ll see you,” Dora told her, giving her a cup of tea and a kiss to take with her.

“I’ll see you,” Lils agreed, running a hand through her hair.

In 1980, Lily Potter disappeared with her husband, James, never to be seen alive again.

Dora was nearly mad with worry, the urge to begin blowing things up again almost unbearable.

But Dora promised Lils that she would keep herself out of trouble, and she had to do that. Especially once the letter came.

Dear Pandora,

I don't know if you remember me, but my name is Sirius. This letter will burn once you have read it, so my news – and likely the Potters’ lives – is safe with you.

Lily and James are still alive. Lily made me promise to write to you, I don't know why.

Please do not reply. They – and you, I hope – will be safe and hidden until the war is over.

Yours truly,

Sirius Black

And, quite suddenly, Dora had a reason to live again.

Twenty-year-old Dora sits in her sitting room with Xeno, baby Luna napping on the coffee table. An owl flies in through the window, open to let in the cold November air.

This time, however, the owl carries not a letter from a good friend of Lily’s, but a Daily Prophet containing a list of the dead, those in jail, and those still missing.

This time, the paper identifies Andromeda Tonks and Alice Longbottom as still missing, as well as their husbands.

This time, it claims that Bellatrix Lestrange and Barty Crouch Jr are Death Eaters, in addition to Sirius Black, the very boy who wrote to tell her Lils was safe.

This time, Evan Rosier, Regulus Black, Dorcas Meadows, Marlene McKinnon, James Potter, Peter Petegrew, and Lily Evans are on a list of the dead.

And that is what finally undoes all the healing Lily helped along. Pandora puts down the Prophet and heads upstairs. She wants nothing more than to blow something up.

[cornley-amateur-drama-society]

How Cornley Cast Members Spent Their 25th Birthdays

In honour of my 25th birthday being last week (10/24), here's my headcanons for how the Cornley members spent theirs. As this is me we're talking about, this got. Long. Also, I don't know the ins and outs of each character's canon besides what I picked up on in the show and on their character wikis, so please go through this with an open mind.

Chris — March 7

Oh… Oh, my love…

So he would've been recently out of uni, and I picture him immediately diving into any sort of theatre production he can

So, he's working at a local theatre just outside Cornley

(But nowhere near his home village because he doesn't want to deal with the complex feelings that accompany being an adult in and of his own right, but having Celia and Raymond treating him like he can't make his own decisions as if he's still thirteen-years-old)

But anyway. Back to his 25th, which I picture him being born sometime in the late winter/early spring, perhaps around the beginning of March. So for flavour, let's agree on March 7th.

It's, let's say, around ten or eleven at night, and it's been drizzling on and off the entire week (I am not fact-checking British weather for this post) and he's off rehearsal and had been planning on going out with some cast mates to a pub near the theatre.

When it came time to go, however, they were nowhere to be found.

Picture newly twenty-five-year-old Chris looking around the front foyer of the theatre, in his slightly too-big tweed coat and leather messenger bag thrown across his body. His hands gripping at the strap of the bag nervously as he waits to see if anyone will be arriving, and the gnawing realisation that no one is coming.

His eyes sticking to the floor as he walks to the pub himself, the rain more of a mist than anything else. He got there and picked a small table away from everybody else, and ordered a pint to start.

The rest of the night continued in that way, Chris getting pissed alone in the back of some random pub on his birthday.

He didn't get back to his flat until some time after two a.m., and passed out on the sofa, messenger bag on the floor with the strap loosely in his hand.

The contents were strewn about on accident, a result of his drunken struggle with his bag.

Robert — August 24

Robert's twenty-fifth was spent with his older brother Alex and younger sister Ellie.

Alex's wife Gabi, and their daughter Lucy, were away on a small holiday to Brighton and couldn't make it.

Despite their best efforts, Ellie managed to get her older brothers to go out for a pub crawl to celebrate.

In the middle of August, on a warm night, the Grove siblings went from pub to pub in Ellie's uni town.

The fourth pub they hit, called the Dog and Broom or something similar, is where he met Denise.

She was there on a hen do for a friend of hers she worked with at a small magazine.

Robert was instantly smitten with her, the way her black hair reflected the purple and pink and blue lights of the pub, the way her dark red lipstick stood out against the light brown of her skin.

He hated to admit it to himself, but he knew if he didn't talk to her, he would be thinking about it for the rest of his life. (Ugh, how dreadfully romantic of it all.)

So he pat his siblings on the shoulder and pushed away from the bar top to walk to where she was standing, waiting for refills for the group with another friend.

The two women looked up as he approached, and when blue eyes met dark brown, everything disappeared. (Cliché, I know) He vaguely remembers hearing her friend laughingly say something as she walked away with a tray of drinks, but Denise was already biting her lip in a shy smile, so he was a bit preoccupied.

(I cannot not believe that Robert isn't a secret romantic, esp based on how he broke down on stage during “The Spirit of Christmas”.)

The remaining hours of Robert's twenty-fifth were spent in flirtatious conversation with Denise and a promise of a coffee date later that week.

Dennis — May 2

Dennis' twenty-fifth was spent at the aquarium with some friends of his that he's known since Year Four.

They paraded him around the aquarium with a novelty “happy birthday” fish hat that they'd found somewhere specifically for this.

He was all for it, if we're going to be completely honest.

And the staff, for the most part, were happy to let them walk around with the obnoxious hat and homemade banner strung across his chest.

Dennis and his friends took enough pictures that when they developed them a few days later, even though they binned the rubbish ones, they had enough pictures left over for the scrapbook his Mum and Aunt Dorothy were making.

(This was not the first one they were doing for him, but as he'd got older, it really focused more on things like his graduation and shows and birthdays. It was nowhere near as detailed as his first few were when he was a boy.)

After their outing, they went to a birthday dinner at a restaurant that Dennis had been saying he wanted to go to, but had never had the time.

They had pre-arranged for there to be a whole song and dance, literally, when the server would bring the cake out at the end of the meal.

Dennis ended up leaving the restaurant with his friends and the phone number of one of the servers in his pocket.

(He and Emma would go on to date for about six months after, breaking up just after Hallowe'en.)

Sandra — March 7

So, she and Chris share a birthday.

(I'm sure you can tell where this is heading…)

She and Chris were in the same company, but she had a larger part in this show than he did, and the two of them really didn't have any scenes together, so they just knew each other in passing.

(The same way you know someone in one of your classes, but have only talked to them in group discussions, and even then, not that much, really.)

But she, being Sandra, is a magnetic person and knows how to work a room.

And even though she didn't have a lead role, she still got on with the leading cast members.

So much so that, when they found out it was her birthday a few days before, they promised to take her out after rehearsals.

I don't think that she's cruel enough, even as a mid-twenty-year-old, to have let the cast take her out if she'd known that they promised to go out with Chris, so she didn't know about any of it. Not even that they're birthday buddies.

She didn't notice the cloud of guilt that hung over some of the cast members as they walked to a bar on the north end of Cornley square, a bit more high-end for their budget, but hey. You only turn twenty-five once, right?

She's just flush with excitement about going out, since the last few years she'd been too busy and focused with/on other things. She had mainly celebrated her birthday with a friend or two, or whomever she was roommates with at the time, by drinking some wine and re-watching movies like Pride & Prejudice (2005) or The Importance of Being Earnest (2002).

Once they got there, a posher place called The Thistle's Roundel, the cast promised Sandra that she wouldn't be paying for a drink tonight. They had her covered.

She was touched, though she didn't take outright advantage of their promise. After all, they still had rehearsal tomorrow and the last thing she needed was a hangover.

But she's not a saint, so she did indulge a little in the drinking.

There was dance music being played by a live DJ, and a space in the middle with coloured, light-up tiles to comprise a dance floor.

She and several of the other gals in the show spent quite a lot of time on it, laughing about how the blues and greens of the floor would make them look haunted, but the oranges and pinks made them look sunburnt.

It was on one of her water breaks that she made eye contact with a guy a few seats away from where she was standing by the bar.

He wasn't drop-dead fit like Hugh Grant or Jude Law, but there was something about his smile that made her cheeks flush pink for a reason other than her dancing.

After a few minutes of glances and coy smiles, he made his way over to her, breaking away from the two men that he was with.

She sat her water down on the bright purple napkin and subtly wiped her hand on her skirt, drying it off from the condensation and sweat.

Once he made it, he stuck out a hand with a smile. “I'm Jonathan.”

She took it, a matching smile blooming on her face. “Sandra.”

Annie — November 24

Annie spent her 25th with her partner, Sher; her older sister, Alice; and Alice's partner, Bren, along with their parents.

Mr. and Mrs. Twilloil took the four of them to an ice skating version of the ever-classic The Nutcracker.

It has been a tradition for the Twilloils to go see a performance of The Nutcracker every year around Christmastime. When the sisters were little, they took part in community ballet classes, which is why the tradition was started.

(Mrs. Amita Twilloil would've taken them regardless of them being in ballet or not. She adored Tchaikovsky's music, and was a professional ballet dancer when she was younger.)

(Alice was dancing in the role of a Snowflake for three years in a row, and Annie was a Sugarplum Fairy once.)

Annie had been dating Sher for a little over two years by that point, the two of them having met in an improv class a few years before, and started a solid friendship.

Sher, actually, was the one who introduced Alice and Bren on a blind date.

But, I digress. Back to the birthday celly, lol

The Nutcracker on Ice was something that everyone was looking forward to. Everyone all bundled up in their coats and scarves and gloves, huddling togerther against the rail of the outdoor ice skating rink.

Hot chocolate vendors hovered at the edges of the crowd, selling spiced nuts and baked sweet potatoes as well.

The sounds of the crowd while the orchestra warmed up gave the Twilloils and their guests the warm feeling of Christmas in their hearts.

Annie ended the night of her 25th with a snog under multicoloured fairy lights decorating one of the lampposts along the pavement.

Max — June 15

Max spent his 25th on his family's country estate with his family, cousins and nieces and nephews running about over the Bennett grounds.

Because the Bennett family is so large, they have a tradition of celebrating all the birthdays of a given month at the beginning of that month.

(This tradition started with Max's great-grandmother after the War. It eased her mind to have all the family with her after the loss of her husband and eldest two sons.)

Other than himself, the month of June in the Bennett family had the birthdays of Aunt Elsie who was celebrating her 67th; Uncle Joseph who was celebrating his 56th; Margot, his older cousin who was celebrating her 34th; Adelaide, his younger cousin who was celebrating her 22nd; Marcus, another younger cousin who was celebrating his 18th; and the twins June and May, his nieces, who were celebrating their 12th.

The day was spent with various events around the estate, such as the younger kids playing around in the swingset and fort setup, and some of the teenagers taking the horses for a ride.

The older members of the family sat under the shaded patio with their spouses (if they were present), drinking tea and other, potentially more alcoholic, drinks.

Those Bennetts who were in their twenties through forties were found in various places throughout the estate. Several were with the younger kids; these Bennetts were the parents of some of the children there.

Others joined in on horseback riding, taking one of the trails with a drink as well. These brave members were almost all in their late-thirties and in their forties.

Max hung out with his siblings—Hugh, his older brother by three years, and Caroline, his older sister by two years. They were also joined by Adelaide and Marcus, and Jax, Hugh's eight-month-old son.

The day ended with a large birthday cake with everyone's names for the month of June, and a tonne of presents and cards that were opened and gushed over.

His Nana Margery owned the Bennett Estate, and since it was so large, everyone was able to stay the night there in the country, if they were so able.

Max's Uncle Charles (40), Aunt Angela (53), cousin Algernon (32), and cousin Nikki (24) were unable to stay as they had early shifts at the hospital in the morning.

All in all, it was a typical Bennett birthday event, and Max was content to be celebrating with everyone.

Trevor — September 2

Trevor hated his birthday.

Hated celebrating it, hated being reminded of it, hated everything about it.

Every year, something seemed to go wrong on his birthday.

He broke his arm when he turned 12. His girlfriend at the time turned out to be cheating on him with some posh prick in the Year above who played rugby, and he found out when he saw them kissing behind the bleachers at the pitch on his 15th. His Grandad passed away on his 18th. He found out he was supposed to be a twin on his 23rd.

And those were just the ones that sprung to mind instantly when he thought about September 2nd.

So, suffice to say, Trevor rarely ever discussed his birthday with anyone who didn't already know it.

He was already involved in Cornley's stage crew program at this point, and had been working with the theatre since he was old enough to.

He liked to work with his hands, but he also loved learning the ins and outs of how a theatre worked. Especially the lighting tracks and cues.

This past year, he had been working as an unofficial assistant to the Lighting Manager, an old man named Ralph who reminded him of his Grandad in a way.

The show that they were working on was for the Children's Theatre Program, a stage version of Frog and Toad.

Opening night was September 2nd.

When Trev got to the theatre, he found out that Ralph had called-in sick.

(He wasn't, really, but his granddaughter was in the show, and he wanted to be able to watch little Izzy on stage without having to worry about timing things right.)

So, Trevor was promoted on the spot that night to Lighting Manager.

He took to it like a duck takes to water, helped on, of course, by the fact that he'd been learning the cues now for several weeks.

Though he was slightly nervous, the show went off with only a few minor hitches that were more to do with the kids being kids and waving to their parents whilst on stage, or getting their costumes caught on props, than anything serious.

There was a standing ovation for the kids, and Trevor found himself genuinely smiling and cheering them on from the booth. The Sound Manager, Missy, next to him was gushing over her son's titular performance as Toad.

After curtain call, as Trevor was cleaning up the booth and making sure things were set for the Saturday showings, Ralph came back and introduced little Izzy to him.

Izzy glowed at Trevor's review of her roles as Cattail #3 and Egret #2, her frizzy red hair only making her blush that much more vibrant.

On their way to the rest of their family, Ralph and Izzy stopped and gave Trevor a dark blue envelope, his name written on it in Ralph's hand in silver ink.

Ralph winked at him and touched the side of his nose, wishing Trevor a goodnight, and he and Izzy disappeared into the crowd.

Trevor had a small, slightly confused frown on his face, but he opened the envelope on the spot.

Inside, there was a "happy birthday" card that was signed by the rest of the crew and Izzy. Little frogs and toads and other show related doodles appeared in various spots of the card throughout. Some were obviously done by the wee girl, but others he recognized as being done by his fellow crewmates.

It's still on display in Trevor's flat to this day.

Vanessa — October 31

Hallowe'en baby!!! We love to see it <333

Soz, the favouritism LEAPED out of me, lmao.

I know Hallowe'en isn't as big a deal across the pond, but this is my headcanon so fuck it, we ball <3

Nessa spent the morning of her 25th chaperoning her niece Alyson's class Hallowe'en party at school.

Aly insisted her Auntie Nessie dressed up as the Loch Ness monster, and since Aly was eight, she won the argument.

Nessa showed up at Aly's Primary school at the same time as the other chaperones, slightly embarrassed about the stuffed felt head on top of her own head.

That lasted until she saw Aly's friend's Mum wearing what looked like the child of a clown and old French mime.

The combination of black and white colouring on a clownfit did a lot to help her mood.

Aly greeting her with a delighted scream of, "AUNTIE NESSIE!" while wearing a mini scuba diver outfit lifted it even more.

The party at the school was fun, all things considered.

The Primary teacher for Aly's class, Mr. Thoms, had arranged for the kids to decorate Jack-O-Lantern cookies as one of the classroom activities.

Aly suckered her Auntie into helping her decorate, making a winking Jack-O-Lantern with a sharp-toothed smile.

After that, the Primary school had a trick-r-treat event in which all the kids got to walk around from classroom to classroom to get candy and show off their costumes. Nessa took many photos for her brother and sister-in-law, David and Wendy, of Aly going around with her little plastic mummy's head.

The school day ended early, and Vanessa took her niece back home to her flat. Aly was going to hang out with her until David came to get her after work.

Vanessa, as an early 25th birthday gift to herself, had got a new cat a week and a half ago.

The cat was older, around seven or eight by the vet's guess, and she was a lovely dark tortoiseshell colour. Her orginal name was lame, in Vanessa's eyes, and she was always rather a fan of Shakespeare.

So, despite the cat being a middle-aged lady (in cat years, of course) Nessa named her Othello.

Aly adored Thello, and the affection was reciprocated. As soon as Nessa's niece's voice was heard outside, the two Wilcock-Wynn-Carroway gals heard Othello's loud meowing.

The cat curled up underneath the chair that Aly was sitting in at the dining table as she worked on her homework, purring loud enough to be heard from a few feet away. Nessa smiled fondly at them and took candid photo to send into the family groupchat.

After David came to get his daughter, Vanessa got changed out of her Loch Nessa cosume and into a pair of fuzzy pyjama bottoms with a comfy long-sleeved shirt and a dressing gown thrown over top it all.

She planned to spend her 25th with Thello, her favourite takeaway from that Indian place down the way, and a marathon of Midsomer Murders. She had a cupcake and a pint of ice cream in her freezer for afterward.

Yes, Vanessa's 25th birthday would be spent with her cat and feeling cozy and taking time for herself.

Jonathan — May 18

Jonathan, on his 25th birthday, was at an event that his company was hosting, ringing in the new summer catalog.

He didn't really have a choice in going or not going because his two best friends, Ben and Davy whom he's known since they were doing kids' modeling, dragged him to it.

While Jono himself stuck mainly to hand and wrist modeling, Ben and Davy had delved into full-body photographing. Ben tended to be called up for more athletic shoots, while Davy was more elegance and class.

As a wrist model, Jono could do any of the above and then some.

But he worked with these people nearly 24/7. He just wanted one day, just one, where he could not have to see Mandie, Brandie, Sandie, and all the other -ie's he worked with.

Davy and Ben promised him that he'd only need to stay there for an hour before they'd skive and go on a mini-pub crawl.

He was holding them to that no matter what.

But that night, Elsie Harris, a writer for an online magazine who sometimes worked with him, was also there.

He'd fancied her for several months now, and she seemed to feel the same. He wasn't positive, but Sandie and Davy kept pushing the two of them together, and Elsie didn't look all that upset by it.

Once he saw her, Ben and Davy knew that any chances of the mini-pub crawl happening were over.

They still smiled and chatted with her when she and Jono came over, of course. Though the two men were disappointed about the way the night changed, they were thrilled to see her leaning into Jono's space.

And they were even more thrilled several minutes later when Jonathan said something about grabbing their stuff and heading out.

Ben looked at Elsie and then back to the birthday boy with a question in his eyes, and Jonathan answered, telling his best friends that he had mentioned what they were planning on doing, and that she wanted to come with them.

She'd never been on a pub crawl on purpose before, and she wanted to try it out.

The more the merrier is how Davy took that news, and the four of them set off into the night.

Elsie, as it turned out, knew how to hold her drink and did so, drinking Davy under the table accidentally.

Ben jokingly complained about having to carry Davy's deadweight back to their flat, but when Elsie apologised, he brushed it off.

Ben asked the bartender to call a cab for him and Davy because David was in no way fit to continue partying.

When Elsie and Jonathan saw them off, Ben and Davy drunkenly wished Jono a happy birthday for the nth time that night, getting into the cab. Jonathan ended up having to tell the cabbie where to go, seeing as the three of them lived in the same flat.

Elsie and Jonathan ended up going back to her place and celebrating his 25th a... let's say in a different way.

He woke up the next morning with her hair spread across his chest, and their hands locked together.

**Bonus**

Lucy — April 17

Lucy spent her twenty-fifth birthday with the Cornley Amateur Drama Society, rehearsing for A Trial to Watch.

They had just started to act it out on stage, reciting their lines rather than reading from the book, and she was excited.

She loved working with Cornley and her Uncle Robert, even if her Mum and Dad weren't especially keen on the idea.

(Which, to be fair, was understandable. The last two times she'd been on stage with them, she'd suffered from several broken bones and two concussions.)

But Uncle Robert, along with Max and Chris, assured them that since all she had to do was simply walk on stage and sit in a jury box, surrounded by several other people, the possibility of her breaking anything or getting a concussion was nearly impossible.

She wasn't a child any more, of course, but even though her parents were divorced and frequently disagreed on many things, the one thing they always agreed on was her safety.

The rehearsal went smoothly, even on Dennis' behalf which was a surprise. He hadn't really forgotten any of his lines, though he still did mess some phrases up, but he did well.

They needed to work on physical cues, but it would be easier with the set when it was built.

After rehearsal, the cast took her out to a pub that was near the theatre for drinks and a show.

It was drag night at the pub, and Lucy adored every second of it.

Several queens flirted with Chris, much to the casts' general amusement, and a king or two did hit on Sandra and Max, much to the casts' great amusement.

After the show, Lucy received gifts from each member, and she may have cried a little a lot into her cocktail.

Her Uncle Robert took her back to his and Dennis' flat after she had one too many and started to fall asleep at the table.

Robert set her on his bed, made sure her phone was plugged in to charge overnight, grabbed some pain meds for her head in the morning and a water bottle, and set it on the bedside table.

He texted his brother Alex and his ex-sister-in-law Gigi and let them know that their daughter was fine and would be sleeping off the celebrations at his flat.

He made sure that his niece was safe and on her side, just in case, before going to the couch in the living room and piling pillows and blankets on it to sleep.

Lucy woke up the next morning, her official second day of being 25, to the sounds of Robert and Dennis chatting in the kitchen accompanied by the smell of French toast and coffee.

(She was also joined in bed by a headache, but thankfully the meds Robert left out the night before were right there, and she solved that issue rather quickly.)

[sunlightmurdock]

I want to know more about Beau x sunshine!reader, do you have any plans to write about it?

here’s some of what I wrote for it before, I don’t really have too many plans for finishing or posting it

…

“Penny for your thoughts?”

When Beau looks up, seven double measures of whiskey deep, he isn’t pleased to find a bubbly girl and her silly little grin looking back at him. In fact, he immediately scowls, unimpressed.

If this is your attempt at being cute, he isn’t having it. Luckily, you aren’t even trying yet. Just being friendly.

You shoot a glance across at your co-worker, Beth. She rolls her eyes at the miserable bastard on the other side of the bar and turns to give her attention to the patrons in here that might actually give her a tip at the end of this.

He’s been sitting there for a good few hours now. Since before your shift began at four, anyway. You give a small shrug and turn your back on him.

Beau glances up once more. He takes his time to look now that you’re not grinning back at him. When he was younger, he would’ve gone for you. You’re dressed kind of like she used to.

Dylan was saying something the other day about the early two-thousands being back in style, but Beau tends not to listen to his eleven-year old son’s fashion advice. It’s hard to take the kid who only just figured out that maybe wearing his jeans a size too big doesn’t make people think he’s bigger than he is seriously.

Thinking of Dylan snaps Beau quickly back to reality. He peels his eyes away from your short shorts and tank top, instead opting to look at his glass. He’s not sure how old you are, but probably not old enough to be dating a man with an eleven-year old son and a fifteen-year marriage that just went down the drain.

Whilst his eyes are on his almost empty glass, he can’t help but glance down at his wedding band. He’s an idiot for still wearing it. She hasn’t worn it since she told him she was leaving, and that was months ago.

He’s an idiot for thinking that this would all blow over and that she would change her mind.

Beau lifts his glass and finishes the rest, then slams the glass down a little too loudly on the bar. He exhales deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose.

You turn your head slowly as you close the cash register, staring at the clearly devastated man at the end of the bar. You hand the customer their change and find yourself wandering back to him.

“How ‘bout a dollar for your thoughts?”

Beau opens his eyes slowly, staring back at you, completely unimpressed. He’s heartbroken, and a girl like you isn’t going to want to hear about this mess.

“‘Cause yours seem pretty juicy, that’s all,” You shrug playfully, leaning onto the bar with your elbows and smiling across at him. He stares back at you, you realise that a dollar isn’t going to cut it. “Fine, fine — a free drink and you’ll spill?”

Beau’s thick brows furrow slightly. For one, he’s confused on what a pretty, young girl is doing bothering someone his age, and for two — “How come you’re so interested?”

“It’ll make my shift go faster. Plus, my good friend over there and I have a bet going as to whether or not you’re single. She hasn’t noticed the wedding ring yet and once you open up, I’m about to win twenty bucks.”

Beau rolls his eyes. The service in this place has been kind of slow this afternoon. You girls have been busy gossiping away and pissing him off without meaning to. He figures that if he just tells you the half of it, he’ll get that next drink a little bit faster.

He glances down at his wedding ring and toys with it. Finally, he scoffs and pushes his empty glass towards you.

“You owe her a twenty, actually.”

You furrow your brows, but make good on that promise of a free drink, as you turn to grab the bottle. “So, do you wear that thing for fun?”

“My wife left me.” Beau mumbles, his voice deep and sullen. He won’t meet your gaze as he talks, which is a shame, because he’s pretty. Black hair with some silver passing through it. You can tell that he’s the type of guy that’s usually clean shaven, but he’s got a couple of days of scruff on him.

You pour him a little over a double. Closer to a triple. Being the miserable prick that he has grown to be, Beau takes this as incompetence rather than you just being kind to him. But, he doesn’t say anything.

“You must be a real asshole.” You say playfully, lips quirked at the sides. Beau lifts his gaze and stares back at you scoldingly. You grin. “Y’know, because there’s no way she left you because you’re ugly. Not with a face like that.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. Still, it’s been a long time since he was called handsome by a pretty girl in a bar. He lifts his glass and takes a sip of it. Setting it back down, he notices the clear view down your tank top that he’s got and looks back up at you.

..

“Take your shoes off.” Beau says it before you’re even through the door, tossing his keys down on the entryway table by the door. He walks ahead of you with his shoes on.

You frown slightly, but obey, kicking your sandals off and leaving them by the door. You trail slowly after him, taking your time to be nosey with the pictures on the walls.

There’s an empty frame in the middle. His wife. Beside that, is a picture of Beau. He’s holding two children, one can’t be older than a year old and the other is maybe six. He looks a little younger in this photo but the sun is glaring on it.

You reach out to straighten the frame so that you’ll be able to see it properly.

“Don’t touch that.”

You jump, turning quickly to find Beau at the end of the hall, staring at you.

“Come on.” He turns and you follow again, more obediently this time. He walks you through to the back of the house and opens the door to his office.

He’s sitting back in the leather office chair, one knee crossed over the other.

You trail your fingers over the plaque, his name engraved in it. Turning back to him, you watch as he sets a cigar between his lips and lights it with an expensive looking lighter.

“Thought you didn’t smoke?” You enquire.

He nods and sets the lighter down. He breathes out a puff of grey smoke and pulls the glass ashtray towards him.

“My wife made me quit.” He replies calmly. He’s still wearing that wedding ring, it sits heavily on his ring finger. You cross the office towards him, glancing down at the rug as you feel the soft material under your feet. Him being in your way makes no difference in where you’re headed.

Beau pushes the chair back slightly from the desk as you step past him, nudging the ashtray out of your way, then the keyboard for his computer. You lift yourself up onto the thick, expensive oak desk, sitting in front of him.

That flimsy sundress wouldn’t do much to hide your modesty from where you’re sitting anyway, but Cyclone knows exactly what you’re doing when your rest your feet on his thighs, legs parted just slightly. From where he’s sitting, in his oh-so-important office chair, he’s got a perfect view of the black satin between your legs.

“Your wife made you quit,” You muse, turning and leaning back on one of your palms. With your other hand, you lift the ashtray and examine the fresh ash and the not so fresh ash below that. “But you have an ashtray, and this pretty lighter.”

You set down the ashtray and pick up the lighter. His initials are monogrammed into the silver. He watches as you flick it open, ignite the flame and then flick it closed again.

“I said that she left me, didn’t I?” Beau sits back in the chair and parts his knees further. With your feet resting on his legs, this, in-turn, parts your legs further too.

He has no shame in letting his gaze fall between your legs now, he’s slow in bringing it back up to your face. He exhales another puff of smoke.

You set the lighter down, tilting your head at him.

“Who could leave such a delightful man behind?” You tease, knowing that if he was this miserable when she was still around then she did herself a favour.

Beau raises his eyebrows at you. He’s quiet for a moment, then speaks, “You’ve got an attitude problem, sweetheart.”

“Me? — Have you looked in a mirror recently, old man?” You scoff, pushing at his thigh with your foot. He catches your ankle, just holding it there, letting you know that he’s got you.

Your smirk grows, lips quirking upwards as you lean forwards. You reach out and brush your fingers over his cheek. Your fingertips are soft against his skin. You trail your touch along his temple, gently onto his forehead. You scrunch your brows as you touch the frown lines between his, mimicking the faces he would have made to get them.

Beau catches your wrist with his free hand, taking it away from his face. He squeezes your arm before dropping it, you almost shiver at the gentle enough force. He sets his cigar down in the ashtray and lifts his hand. He does the same, brushing his fingertips over your face. Your cheek, your temple, your jaw. You close your eyes as he touches you.

He sits back in the chair again, knees parted, bringing the cigar to his mouth once more.

You turn and pick up his glass of bourbon. He watches as you swish the liquid around almost carelessly in the glass, right next to his irreplaceable, top secret files. You bring it up and inhale softly.

“Do you like the taste of this stuff?” You ask, not particularly impressed by its smell. The Hard Deck doesn’t stock this kind of bourbon.

Beau nods, exhaling smoke once more. His fingers skim past your ankle and trace the bare skin of your calf. “Three hundred dollars a bottle, I’d sure hope that I like it.”

You hum. Beau watches, intrigued as you take a small sip. You let it sit on your tongue for a moment and then swallow. His eyes fall down to look at that black satin between your legs again, then back up as you hum softly.

“You like it?” Beau asks, brushing his thumb along your calf softly. You give an innocent shrug of your shoulders.

“You want to taste it?” You reply. Beau’s brows scrunch together just slightly, those frown lines reappearing and making you smile amusedly. You push yourself down from the desk and into his lap in one gentle movement, your knees nestled either side of his hips.

You lift the glass and take a small sip of the expensive liquid, then lean forwards. It’s on your lips when you first kiss him. Sweet and smoky, just like he likes it. His big, brutish hand comes up to cup the nape of your neck, holding you against him.

You nip softly at his bottom lip, holding back an excited whimper as he tugs gently at your roots. You caress your tongue against his, the flavour of it now on both of your tastebuds. Notes of caramel and vanilla.

You hum softly, gentle fingers tracing over the salt and pepper coloured stubble on his jaw, “Mm, I think I like the taste of bourbon.”

Beau’s hand trails down your spine, grabbing at your hip, his other hand coming to hold at your other. He pulls you firmer onto him. You grind yourself down onto him slowly.

You can taste the cigar on his tongue, now mixed with the bourbon. As much as you didn’t think you’d like the pairing, you like the way it tastes on him. It tastes like how you’d expect him to taste.

Well aware that you’re about to spill expensive bourbon on his even more expensive rug, Beau takes the glass from your hand and sets it back down on the desk, tugging you closer to him.

He pulls back and tilts your chin. Now that you’ve made it clear that he can have you, he takes a moment to decide whether he wants to take you upstairs and fuck you in his bed, or right here on his desk.

Slipping your hand between your legs, shifting back for better access, his decision is made for him as you stroke your palm over his black slacks. You lift your gaze, looking at him in the eye as you gently graze your touch over his bulge.

Beau’s thumbs stroke slowly over your hips.

He watches your face rather than your movements as you reach forwards and gently slip his belt from the first loop, then move to work open the buckle.

Your attention quickly shifts. Beau raises his brows as you abandon the now unbuckled belt and instead sit forwards to loosen his tie. This repeats, you get halfway through unbuttoning his shirt and move back to the belt. You’re nervous.

Beau catches your busied hands between one of his, holding them still against the leather of his belt. He does the work for you, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way and slipping it off of his shoulders, leaving him in a white undershirt and his slacks.

He watches the way your eyes study the material, as you try to make your mind up about what you’re about to do next. He decides for you, taking hold of the bottom of the undershirt, sitting back to lift it over his head and drop it down along with his shirt.

You bite the inside of your cheek softly as you trail your fingertips from his shoulders to his hips, tracing each inch of the newly exposed skin.

It’s been over fifteen years since he was with anyone else. He was expecting not to like this as much as he had liked being with his wife, but there’s a level of intrigue he gets from watching you. He enjoys it.

“Your turn.” Beau decides, thumb brushing against the hem of your sundress. You stand up from his lap. Beau picks his cigar back up and lights it again, watching as you step out of the dress.

He lifts his hand, index finger extended, then motions it in a small circle as he exhales another breath of grey smoke. Your lips quirk as you turn for him, slowing so that he can get a good look at you from behind before you’re facing him again.

…

[candiedspit]

Banana Daiquiri

It was summertime; hot tango and swedish malt. 

I was twenty five, a lonely space cadet with no return mission. I floated through the mist of pristine, magic light. I wore a cocktail dress to the corner store because I could. Artificial diamonds shuddered on my wrist while a thousand hot words licked the walls of my mind every single second. I was very alive most days. 

For work, I took care of Gem, a bright seven year old whose favorite color was a carcinogenic green. The kid was mute. And in lieu of a proper schedule–some of the families I’d worked for before treated their children as hostages to time, every hour had a name–I was given the simple task of entertaining Gem until her parents got home from work. 

This meant long walks to the playground, afternoon movies, aquariums, library trips. I liked Gem. Her long sheet of blonde hair which ran down to her stomach and flew in the wind. Her penchant for worms and dirt. I could tell she knew more than I did, picked up on the subtle tones of the universe.

Each morning, I picked her up from her house and we headed out. Out to the avenues. Out to run out fingers along the brisk voltage of morning. Out to the world. It was the third week of June. It had been raining on and off for several days. But at last, the skies were clear and the sun was beautiful, dazzling rays falling to the ground. Gem held my hand. 

Gem, it’s a wondrous morning, I said as we walked. 

I held her backpack on my shoulder. 

It’s the kind of morning you could weep over, I continued. 

The kind you dream about when you’ve been inside for too long, marinating in all of your perceived misery piss. The kind you didn’t think you’d ever see again. But here it is. 

I love the summers most because every horrible thing you did in the winter is gone. Every tantrum. Every snarl. Every shard of glass. Gone, gone, gone.

Eleven blocks. 

We walked until we reached Gem’s favorite park, the one with the long, twisted slide and sprinklers and swings. Gem let go of my hand and ran to the swings. I sat down on a bench and drank from my water bottle. After this, we’d go to get lunch. Strawberry ice cream. Soda, sandwiches sliced down the middle. And then maybe we’d saunter down the boardwalk and play some of the games they have there. 

I’ve always gotten along well with kids. I think I understand them. The bossa nova of the world, each little thrill and dissapointment. How you can feel gladness singe your fingertips. How the sun shines for the first time every time. 

How confusing the grown ups are. 

After work, I usually went to my favorite bar or called the man I’m seeing. Or both at once. It depended on how tired I was, how long the day had been. That evening, I went to the bar. On third street, it was a run-down bar that never had more than twenty occupants. I sat at the bar and ordered my usual; a banana daiquiri. The bartend asked how my day was. I said it was fine and left the conversation at that. I watched the small television above his head. A newscast about the bombings in Turkey and gasoline prices. All things that didn’t touch me. The universe only existed as I could see it. I got one more drink, paid and left. 

On my walk back home, the skies were bloodied and vicious and beautiful. Clouds ate at one another like twins in the womb. I was wearing a long blue dress. I felt like taking off my skin. I wanted the wind. I wanted everyone to love me. The buildings seemed enormous, metallic titans left to rot in the ground after some fantastic war. I was living in the land of zero, the peace spread across the land like a woman on a bed. 

I got home too soon. 

✴

Gem stopped speaking at around three years old. 

It was January and outside, snow filled the gaps of the city like glue. It dawned upon her parents as syrup spreads across the table–the silence. No babbles through the hallways. No requests for sippy cup. No mama. When her mother would urge her to speak, she would look into her face with her insect green eyes, and then look away. Gem’s pediatrician said she would grow back into speech. Had something happened? 

Nothing happened, her mother said. Nothing has happened. 

Gem had always concerned her parents. During holidays–out on the white, dense beach in Spain or with her many spritely cousins at Christmas–Gem preferred to play alone. She could never look at the camera when pictures were taken. And she had this–her parents called it a habit–habit of doing a sort of kangaroo hop when she was excited or nervous or anything at all. Sometimes she wringed her fingers in and out of crooked fists. 

 But the speaking was different. When Gem’s mother told me, she couldn’t stop herself from getting choked up. 

It was like we lost her, she said. Whatever stupid hope I had that she was simply an eccentric kid, that I was the idiot for not understanding the way she saw the world, was killed. And replaced with the fact that we had something on our hands we weren’t prepared for. 

When they finally got the diagnosis, Gem was five. 

Often in these cases, early intervention was key; but also, girls were typically diagnosed later than boys. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. And what mattered was what her parents were going to do next. Therapists moved in and out of the house like business men on a train. Occupational, speech, physical. 

But in the summertime, she didn’t have access to therapists. All she had was me and our little ventures into the world. I hoped I was doing good by Gem. That sunflower kid. That cartoon heart. All I could do was try to guide, be her compass in a dark terrain. 

I liked living two lives. 

One where I filled in the gaps and another where I fell through them. 

✴

Sometimes, I have strange thoughts, I told him. 

I was in the bed of the man I loved. And I was sure he loved me too. At least, at that moment. He was five years older than I was. But he was fun to be with. I liked spilling out in the dark with him. I liked his giant hands over mine. I liked surprising him.  

What kinda thoughts? He asked. 

I know what other people are thinking. I know what everything means. There’s an ultraviolet shimmer to the world and I can see through it, I said. 

It’s hard to explain, I continued. Happy neons. Dark, frustrated movements. An elevator dropping to the basement. How do you explain a yard to a kid kept in the attic? 

You’re a freak, he laughed and kissed my head. 

He didn’t understand. 

✴

I sat out on his balcony–he was one of those people who had balconies but never used them–at the end of a gigantic, African cigar; one of his favorite pastimes besides television. And me. It tasted like midnight, a rough kind of bark. Ash. I liked letting the smoke out so that it floated above the city like a warning of sorts. Beware, there are people who say they love you and don’t. Beware, there are peep holes even in Heaven. I was high on a pill he’d slipped into my mouth, something small and pink. In combination with the tar and the night air and the fact that I was naked, I felt like a kerosene bomb. I felt like a laughing serpent. A dirty thrill. I began to speak out loud, beneath my breath so that nobody could hear me. 

Not anyone besides you. 

There aren’t many people like us, I began. Not everyone can see the mess, the vomit and slashes of graffiti and stray dogs and doom, and smile. Not everyone can see that there are fairgrounds in a warzone. Not everyone can touch the music. Not everyone can hear the light from miles away. But we can, Gem. I think we are gods.

I think we are poets.

[yepthatsacowalright]

Doctor Who, The Process Of Healing From Trauma, and Me: A Text Post Essay No One Asked For

Back in 2006ish, when I first started watching Doctor Who as a teenager in late high school/early college, it captivated me mind, body, and soul. I ate that early 2000s, broody-complex-hero shit up.

I loved that the Doctor grappled with the guilt and regret from some truly fucked up shit he did, and I loved that he gave the middle finger to it by going on wild, ridiculous-special-effects-ed adventures instead of attempting the mortifying ordeal of opening up about it.

I'm sure, judging by how popular the 2005 version of the show became, a lot of my generation felt similar. 9/11 hadn’t been that long ago. We were coming of age and starting to sense that the world kind of sucked major ass, and perhaps the older generations had been super lying to us about most things this whole time.

As such, Rose Tyler was living the dream as far as I was concerned. Abandoning her place in this bullshit society to go help people and save lives with someone who never settled, who always ran towards the darkness, who found ways to laugh and dance in it even…Rose's lifestyle was goals.

Not only did the Ninth and Tenth Doctor's struggle to opening up about what they'd been through or forgive themselves for it not bother teen me at all, I preferred it. It was understandable and relatable. I wasn't ready to actually look at and deal with any of my own problems either, I just didn't want to pretend like I had none. Admitting there's a problem is the first step, and that's where Nine, Ten, Rose, and me all hung out and had fun.

Rose’s "death" was when I started to feel differently. It wasn't that I didn't still enjoy the show - I kept watching through Martha and Donna's seasons, and also a little bit into Eleven's run - but it wasn't the same. I could never quite get over the loss of Rose, or how the Doctor chose to get over it by doing what he always did - ignore and repress.

It had been much easier to watch the Doctor do this with trauma when I didn't know much about what he'd been through, but every time he avoided the topic of Rose, or minimized who she was, it pissed me off. It felt bad to watch him do that to the memory of someone who mattered.

I was starting to realize that just admitting you had problems wasn't sustainable. I couldn't stay on that first step indefinitely, and Doctor Who didn't feel like it was my show anymore, which was fine. After all, it's a family-friendly series. An episode on intergalactic talk therapy is not going to be a hit with the kids.

I was off to have the one adventure the Doctor never could - to understand and manage my own mental health. Learning about psychology, learning about trauma, going to therapy. I processed, I surprised myself, I found new stories to obsess over that resonated with a different, older version of me.

Whenever I popped back into Doctor Who, it felt more nostalgic than anything else. It reminded me of how I used to feel, and how far I'd come. I had that bittersweet feeling of wishing I could connect with it the way I used to, but being grateful that the reason I couldn't was a positive, therapeutic one.

And then…the 60th Anniversary Specials.

David Tennant didn’t even do anything that different in his performance, and he admits as much in interviews. Trying to replicate what he did as the Tenth wouldn't make sense because he isn't the Tenth, and trying to do something completely new wouldn't make sense because then why bring back David at all?

He just played the role as an actor who's lived 10 more years since the last time he played the role, and brother that shit hit me hard.

All the natural, subtle, perhaps subconscious changes in him made me feel the weight of slightly too many years passing. Despite knowing I am relatively young, l’m at a point in my life where I, for the first time, feel old.

Gray hairs and smile lines that were only on the faces of grownups are now on the faces of me and my friends. I know I don't know it all, and also realize I know even less than I thought I did. Love feels deeper, loss feels heavier. I'm compelled to express feelings of gratitude and affection I used to always keep to myself. Oh, is that who I am now?

I love that the Doctor's body didn't just go back to Ten's face, but to an aged version of Ten's face. A version that would align with the aged version of Donna's. I know this was not a creative choice, it was literally just what David and Catherine look like now, but how perfect for time itself to play a role in the story, too.

I love that the Doctor, at last, had to catch up with what his body was telling him. To notice his feelings and learn what those feelings meant. Like the title of one of my favorite (and extremely relevant to this this post) books says, the body keeps the score.

And I loved the bi-generation.

I loved that Fourteen made the choice to stop and ask his friends to help him do it.

I know that RTD proposed a theory that in that moment all the previous regenerations became bi-generations as well, but I like the idea that all the others could have bi-generated, but didn't. They weren't ready to look at themselves, or ask for that help from anyone. Not until now.

And I love love LOVE Ncuti Gatwa as Fifteen. I love that the healed next Doctor is a millennial. That he is a Doctor who can freely say he loved his friends, he loved Rose, can tell his former self, "I love you."

The show's become such a beautiful portrayal of generational trauma and healing that did not know that's what it was until its end.

And now, it begins again.

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

"Everytime I move, eventually you find me and start hanging around. Just a lame excuse to see me mad, it's getting me down."

Let's talk about this line from "Nuts" and how it plays into "I Remember You".

Imagine being an eleven year old girl, abandoned in the snow. Imagine that Simon left you even though you believe - with full faith that you never once spared your blood father - you believe that Simon could have stayed. That Simon's departure was unnecessary. That he left you because he quit. He gave up.

And when you next see him again, he has completely forgotten you. And because of your faith in him, you believe that he surrendered to the Crown. And that his departure was less a forced decision and one he made with full intent and clear consent. Because Simon is so strong. He's fought the Crown for so long. Why couldn't he stay? Why didn't he stay?

You don't understand.

He forgot about you. And maybe that was all you were worth to him. Maybe you're just an afterthought after all.

Fast forward through the years. You move from house to house. When you lived out in the woods with Ash, when you lived in the treehouse, even going way back and far out there in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, somehow this crazy, doddering, dribbling old fool would find you. Again. And again.

Maybe it's a sign that he remembers you?

But he never does. He just wrecks your shit. He once burst all the pipes in your house, flooding all your rooms, and wrecking all your shit, because he hid in your bathroom and cried into your toilet until all your plumbing froze. He lashed out at Ash (which yeah, okay that can pass, but it was not fun at the time having to deal with your pissed off bf). He crashed a few dates with Bonnie when you were first feeling each other out, and you would have wrung his neck if he ruined that for you. This stupid madman who kept hanging around, calling for your attention every five minutes until you didn't have enough silence to think.

He only pisses you off. If you ever needed proof that your Simon is gone, that he left, that he quit, Ice King was that living proof. He's nothing but a memory and Ice King is only a nuisance. He doesn't care that he's making you angry, that you ask him to back off, to go away. It's like he wants to see you mad. And maybe that's it. Maybe this is how Ice King entertains himself. He pisses off everyone and gets a hoot when he gets a reaction.

That's all you are to him nowadays. A cheap source of endless entertainment because you can't not be mad at him, you can't ignore him.

But then, you find Simon's letters, you find Simon's pleas. And that recontextualizes everything.

You thought that Simon didn't value you enough to stay. Because if she was really important, then he would've stayed. He would've remembered.

But the letters show that Simon did not leave easily. That he begs for your forgiveness because you're still someone important to him. People don't beg for absolution from those they hate. They beg from those they love, from those whose love they reach for with both hands.

Simon never stopped loving Marceline, and he never stopped looking for her. He couldn't bear to part with her. He wanted to apologize because Marceline's love is something immeasurable, something to treasure, something to seek in spite of the enforced insanity.

And it's a direct counter to her beliefs.

Because she's monster trash with a skewed moral compass. A literal parasite. Nothing more than a problem to other people. How could Marceline believe that there's something in her that could help people?

So Marceline sings, "I want to help you but I don't know if I can."

"Please forgive me for whatever I do, when I don't remember you," Simon sings back.

You are enough, Simon tells her, from five fathoms deep within his curse, from a thousand years after their parting.

He says, "your love has always been enough. You are not hollow and empty even through all the hurt and horror of your life. I will beg on bended knee because I know this, and I know you."

[will80sbyers]

why do i feel like when byler becomes canon in s5 the hetero dudebro redditors and the 12-year-old mlvns are gonna turn on the duffers, accuse them of bad writing bc they're mad they were proven wrong and act like the season isn't canon?

some of them already do something similar — i saw a toxic mlvn on twt hating on max and calling elmax a "forced, fake friendship" because they were angry that max was mean to mike in s3 and basically implied that max manipulated el into breaking up with mike.

one of them even said that "it feels like the duffers write mlvn terribly on purpose sometimes". they're so close to getting it, yet so far.

No you don't understand how much it pisses me off when they accuse Max of not being a good friend to El only because she didn't like El to be completely dependent from Mike!!! It's one of the things I can't stand of reddit they are so fixated on throwing shit over a 13 year old girl only because she was a GREAT friend and told El that she didn't have to stay in a relationship with Mike if he wasn't telling her the truth about things!!! She NEVER forced El to do anything and most of the bad things they did like spy on the boys were things Eleven wanted to do first, she literally decided and found it fun BECAUSE THEY ARE CHILDREN OF COURSE THEY ARE NOT GOING TO DO EVERYTHING PERFECTLY THEY ARE LITERALLY KIDS PLAYING AT THEIR FIRST RELATIONSHIP!!!!!

Even recently if you go on the stranger things reddit you can find a post F U L L of people saying this "Max manipulated El" BULLSHIT

I can't stand them and I really hope byler happens and they stay sour about it for the rest of their lives because it's exactly what they would deserve for being so openly homophobic to even ONLY the idea of it happening in the show to the point they don't allow any normal discussion about byler in that place that should instead be a place for the WHOLE fandom and not just their Melvin obsessed asses

[iamumbra195]

Okay, I keep seeing this everywhere and it's driving me insane.

Everytime someone points out how a teenage girl is oversexualized in a show-- with half her chest being shown for some odd reason-- someone else comes in and talks about how that person shouldn't complain because there's a man that walks around half naked in the show when these two things are fundamentally different???

Best example of this is Yaoyorozu and Kirishima from Mha

A man's chest being exposed and a woman's chest being exposed are two very different things. That's why it's perfectly fine for men to go to the beach wearing only swim shorts because they're covering the only intimate part of their body. Women cover their chest and private because those are the intimate part of their body.

The sexualization of men and women are very different. Stop comparing them. I'm aware that Kirishima and the other anime boys are sexualized but society has different standard for men and women. When women are sexualized, when teenage girls are sexualized, they are objectified in a way men aren't most of the time. Women are sexualized ALL the time and most of the time it's not welcome so stop comparing that shit.

The experiences of men and women are on opposite ends of the spectrum. Women are subject to sexualization from the age of eleven, sometimes even younger, and that's why you have characters like Sarada, who was what, twelve? in the early manga and was literally dressed in that abomination of outfit and walking around in 6 inch heels when she's literally a child. A child.

So back to my point, stop comparing a teenage girl in a dangerous industry walking around half naked (or completely naked in Hagakure's case) to a teenage boy that can literally turn his skin into armour because once again, men have one intimate area and women. have. TWO!!

There's also no reason for her or Hagakure to walk around like that when there's an in universe solution to their problem-- Mirio's DNA infused suit. Kirishima could do that as well if he wanted but once again, completely different situations here.

Also it kinda says something when its mostly the female characters quirks that require them to be half naked/naked (Yayorozu, Hagakure, Midnight, probably more...)

Thanks for listening

If you wanna know what pissed me off: https://www.reddit.com/r/BokunoheroFanfiction/comments/165100d/extremely_high_bmi_high_body_fat_momo_deals_with/

Also this redesign for Momo's suit looks great and suits her personality really well. If she really needs to make some really big like a cannon, you can add a zipper for that specific use but she rarely needs to make that sort of thing and it would take a lot of time to adding a zipper is hardly a big deal. She mostly makes things that she can literally create from her arms but for some reason she's always making from the weird boob window area.

Plus isn't quirk society super advanced? Why does she have a whole bookshelf on her hip when she can get like a tablet or some fancy glasses/goggles like Edith from Spider-Man: Far from Home

Also found a sarada redesign :)

SEE? SHE LOOKS COOL! GIRLS DON'T HAVE TO BE HALF NAKED TO LOOK COOL!

Literally all the girls in shipudden looked amazing in their ninja clothes without being sexualized, it's possible to do that Boruto too. And I don't give a fuck if it's modern times, do you see military women or police women dressed half naked? NO!

They're not regular civilians in Konoha who can dress any way they want, it has to be practical and Sarada's timeskip design? Very much impractical. I don't think this redesign is perfect cause the jacket looks a little too long and might get in the way of her reaching for her weapons pouch but it's way better than the original

Everyone keeps trying to say that everyone who dislikes the design is projecting their own misogynistic views and that they were all insecure like... Sorry I'm not comfortable seeing a sixteen year old dress like that? Sarada has been consitently sexualized in the manga and it's not cool. Idk why y'all are defending it. Like it if you want to Idc but ppl not liking is perfectly valid considering all the weird connotations it has

I like this design too, could do without the heels tbh

She reminds me of Sasuke in this and maki from JJK

A huge reason why I personally love JJK is because Gege doesn't needlessly oversexualize the women, both students and adults and they're all dressed in a practical uniform

[princesscringe]

Usually, I don't like to bitch about characters not being interpreted correctly or being reduced down to their most basic traits cause not every single post about a character has to be a deep analogy of them, some times you're allowed to just be silly with it.

However

One character interpretation that always pisses me off is the idea that Norman is some "obsessive simp" for Emma just bc he cares about her a lot. (And yes I know the author characterizes him like that in the parody comics, but that doesn't matter right nowwwww). Cause If I think about it for more than five minutes I'm genuinely so confused as to where this idea came from?

Like this whole perception of him started during that escape arc when he wanted to go with Emma's plan despite it being incredibly risky. But like. Yes, Norman is a genius. But also he's an eleven year old. And he hasn't undergone the horrors™️ yet and is incredibly full of love, and incredibly selfless. Of course, he'd want to choose the option where the least people died, even if it risked his own safety. Because that's just Norman :)

Then the whole king of paradise arc came along and only strengthened this view of him, because people can't seem to differentiate characters who kill for their loved ones from yanderes. And yes, Norman wanted to kill all demons for Emma. But not only for Emma. He had so many other people depending on him. If he solely cared about what Emma wanted he wouldn't have gone with that plan in the first place

Obviously, I'm not trying to say he didn't like her, because he canonically did, I'm just saying none of his actions were motivated by his crush on her, and he's not "obsessed" with her

[the-haunted-office]

⏳ for Doom. (You idiots are going to piss her off someday)

For every “⏳” I receive, my muse will openly talk about a bit of their backstory.

"You want another part of my villain origin story, eh? Backstory, I mean backstory. Ehehehe. Well, you know, it wasn't all bad, and I've probably made it all out to be. I mean, there were a few glimmering moments of joy, so I probably ought to share one of those every now and then, otherwise I might come across as some utterly miserable piece of shit with no sense of joy in her life."

"There was a good stretch of time in my childhood when I was... I don't know, maybe... nine, ten, eleven years old, something like... Anyway, a good stretch of time around that age where I remember things being mostly good. Things weren't perfect, of course, you know, I remember my parents fighting, yelling at each other in the other room, my dad throwing and breaking things, like, I remember one time he threw this jar of spaghetti sauce and it went everywhere, there were sauce stains on the apartment walls for- I guess until we moved out."

"But anyway, things weren't perfect, my mom was working a lot, my dad was working a lot, my grandparents babysat me and my brothers a lot after school, took us to the community pool a lot in the summer and that was fun. My best friend growing up, Carrie, we used to play together all the time. We'd stay up all night playing video games, especially Sonic the Hedgehog, and we'd play with our Pound Purries and make little kitty condos for them and everything. You know, the 90s were a different. But also the best time."

"That was also- back then, that was also when my brothers and I actually sort of got along. I mean, we also beat the absolute shit out of each, but we did also stick up for one another. It's one of those sibling things, you know? Only we were allowed to beat up each other, but if someone else tried to start shit, then they'd be in trouble, ehehehe. There were some real little assholes around our neighborhood too, and they liked to pick on my little brother. I can't really remember why, though, I guess because he was a little... I'm not sure how to describe it, I guess looking back I think he might have been on the spectrum and none of us knew it. It wasn't a thing that was much known about then."

"You know I could go about all this for hours, there was a lot of shit going on back then-"

And what do you know, that's just what Doom does. Goes on for hours, smiling and laughing and then also rolling her eyes and scoffing and getting angry sometimes, because these are all things she'd nearly forgotten about until she was asked.

[soshiharin]

Girls’ Generation’s Harin Reveals Her “First” Everything | Teen Vogue

posted: 17 july 2021

word count: 1.0k

warnings: none that i can think of

an: i was too lazy to make a youtube thumbnail. so sorry, so sorry. words in bold are korean. feedback and reblogs are much appreciated 💐

harin’s masterlist // interviews

“Hi, I’m Harin,” she introduced herself, waving at the camera. “And I’m here with Teen Vogue to tell you about my firsts.”

[First thought today]

“It’s five a.m.” Harin laughed. “I woke up at five a.m. and I checked the time on my phone and I was pissed. I was livid. My actual first thought definitely had cuss words upon cuss words in it, but somewhere in there, I thought ‘It’s five a.m.’”

[My first CD]

Harin blew raspberries as she thought. “I don’t know.” She shook her head slightly as she laughed. “Oh, wait! I think it was Spiceworld by Spice Girls. Yeah, it was.” She nodded enthusiastically. “My dad and I went out and we passed a music store and I asked if we could go in, he said yes, I saw the album, that’s that. I don’t even think I was a fan of Spice Girls. I think I just wanted–” she chuckled as she continued speaking– “to buy something. I ended up being obsessed with them, though, so… Thanks, dad.”

[First Role]

“My first role is– so not a lot of people know this, actually.” She laughed. “In The Parent Trap, I played tie-dye girl.” She sucked her teeth. “Um, my mum’s colleague’s daughter, or something, was a casting director and she told my mum’s colleague about the movie and that they were looking for an actress to play the… um, Annie and Hallie and I jokingly asked my mum if I could audition and she jokingly said yes, so my mum’s colleague sent her daughter my audition tape and I didn’t get the roles because I was too young. I was, like, eight years old, I think. But I was asked to send in another tape for tie-dye girl and I got the role and went with my dad to live in Crestline for a month, I think it was.” She sighed. “That’s how I started in the showbiz industry. And then I didn’t act for eleven years.”

[First time I was recognised in public]

“At a convenience store in 2008,” Harin answered quickly. “It’s still to this day one of my favourite fan interactions. I was with Yuri, my member,” she explained, “and we were just getting snacks for our dorm and this little girl — she couldn’t have been older than six years old — she asked if we were Girls’ Generation, we said yes and her mum told us that she had been practising the dance to Into The New World and asked if she could show us, which…” She stared at the camera. “She could’ve said she wanted to show me a knife trick and I would’ve sat down and watched her. But we sang the song so she could do the dance and she was so cute!” Harin cooed, furrowing her eyebrows. “I genuinely wanted to ask her mom if I could keep her. I wonder where she is now. She’s gotta be, like…” She twisted her face as she calculated. “Eighteen or nineteen? That’s mental!” Harin stared at the camera, her mouth dropped open.

[First job]

“My first was, technically, The Parent Trap, but I babysat.” Harin nodded, smirking. “I wanted extra cash for myself so I babysat on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. I was going to also babysit on Sundays, but, in my house, Sundays were rest days. My dad wouldn’t do work, my mum had the day off, my brother lounged around at home so I quickly realised that babysitting then would not work because everything was so chill so I didn’t want to work,” she explained. “Sometimes people would pay me extra if they absolutely needed a babysitter on a Sunday, though.”

[First person I text when I get exciting news]

Harin laughed. “This one is… I tell my family,” she answered after thinking for a moment. “And my members. But I usually tell them after about a week,” Harin admitted, lowering her head in shame. “I’m so used to not telling people my business,” she explained as she raised her head. “Everybody hates it, but I like to keep things to myself before I tell others. I like to enjoy things by myself.”

[First song I wrote]

“I think it was called Snowflake,” she answered. “And it was about how I missed the snow when my family moved to Brescia. I wrote it kind of like a musical theatre song because I had been watching so many musicals, so it was very dramatic.”

[First tattoo]

“My first tattoo is my last name, Jang,” Harin revealed. “I got it with my parents when I was nineteen. They came to Korea and my mum was like ‘Let’s get a tattoo!’ And I was like ‘Let’s do it!’” She laughed. “My brother also got the tattoo when he turned eighteen.”

[First big splurge]

“It was a bag, that cost ₩400 000. I got it for my mum for Mothers’ Day in 2010 and immediately after swiping my card, I felt the money leave.” She laughed. “My chest got tight, I felt dizzy… When I got in the car, I just laid down across the backseat. I hope that bag becomes a family heirloom.”

[First pet]

“My parents already had a cat when I was born. His name was Hoochoo.” Harin cleared her throat. “We gave her to my aunt when we moved to England, though. Apparently, I cried and wouldn’t let go of him,” she admitted with a laugh.

“Thank you so much for watching,” she said, doing the outro. “I hope you enjoyed getting to know a bit more about me. Don’t forget to check out my solo debut, These nights and don’t forget to subscribe to Teen Vogue. Bye, I love you darlings. Mwah!” Harin blew a kiss to the camera before waving goodbye.

©️ jang harin