#like their addresses their faces and their BIRTH CERTIFICATES

[kanenites]

i hope everyone in the sleep token fandom kills themselves im so fucking serious im so fucking mad

[bi-writes]

hiiiii I'm new to your page but i would like to ask you what would've happened if simon mail-ordered a bride?

mail-order bride

you stare down at the address on the card, blinking as you reread the house number and look back up at the cottage in front of you. the numbers match, but you just need a few more minutes before you knock on the door.

you're not holding too many things. you have one suitcase with the entirety of your belongings at one side, the cat carrier sitting on top of it. on the other side, you hold a bundle of papers. your immigration papers, all shiny and new, your birth certificate, and your new british passport.

when you look back down, you swallow as you read over your name. it's odd, to see something new in the section labeled SURNAME.

Riley.

you've never met him. this isn't legal, it can't be, to have all of these things. he must be someone important. someone they value. or maybe, they are just too afraid to say no to him.

the front door opens, and you freeze on the spot as you see someone duck their head to step outside. they're wearing a mask, covering their entire face except for their dark eyes, but it's hitched up over his nose as he holds an unlit cigarette between his lips.

he stares as he sees you at the end of the steps. he frowns, looking you up and down.

"weren't supposed ta be 'ere for a few weeks."

your eyes water a little, but you only manage a shrug.

"i-i..." you meet his eyes. "i-i couldn't stay there any longer. i didn't have anywhere else to go."

he tucks the cigarette back behind his ear, slipping the mask off. it reveals a tousled mess of short blonde hair and a terribly scarred face. his eyes dart to the little carrier sitting next to you when he hears a soft meow coming from it.

"said no pets."

your lip trembles.

"please," you whisper, and his lip twitches as he fights off a scowl. you imagine he must not have much practice in hiding his emotions. he comes down the steps anyways, coming closer, and you pick up the carrier as he snatches the suitcase off the pavement, making his way back inside. you follow him, naturally.

when you close the door behind you, you're surprised at how quaint it all is. nice brick fireplace, a soft carpet (no shoes allowed is what he snapped at you), and wonderfully furnished to make the place cozy, warm, lived-in. there's throw blankets and accent pillows. there's pictures on the walls, paintings, yellow corner lights to give everything a soft glow. the kitchen is beautiful, with lovely colored tile and wooden cutting boards, a drip-coffee setup in the corner and worn cookbooks stacked neatly by a stainless steel toaster. there's herbs growing in little pots sitting on the windowsill above the sink, and there's a cast iron pot decoratively resting on the stove.

it's spick-span clean. there's no specks of dust or splatters left over from bacon grease. there's papers pinned to the fridge, lists to remind him to buy whole milk and sliced bread and call about the internet bill being charged twice again.

you set the carrier down on the couch, unzipping the top. a little curious black head pokes out of it, and you reach in and pick the cat up under its belly and drop it onto the floor. immediately, the cat spreads its front paws, claws sticking out as they begin to knead the carpet and use it as a personal scratcher, the prick, prick, prick sound enough to draw the giant man out of the bedroom with a hard frown on his face.

he points at the thing and shakes his head.

"keep tha' thing off the fawkin' counter," he snaps at you. he purses his lips when he sees you still standing there, afraid to even move. he comes closer, the cat scurrying off, and he yanks your coat and scarf off, going to the hang them up by the door. "can unpack tomorrow. need t'make somethin' ta eat."

you move immediately towards the kitchen, hoping he keeps a stocked fridge, but he puts out a big hand and stops you, stepping in front of you.

"the fuck are y'doin'?" he asks, and you blink up at him.

"you said to make dinner...s-sir?"

he tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes.

"y'listen t'this," he murmurs. "women don't lift a fuckin' finger in this house, y'hear?"

you nod, and he reaches up and palms your throat, cupping your jaw.

"and my wife doesn't call me sir," he mutters. "it's simon."

you soften a little. "i-i'm sorry, simon."

"don't apologize," he grits his teeth. "did nothin' wrong."

when a fresh set of tears comes down your face, he wipes them away with ease, calloused thumb swiping over your cheeks and quieting you. he puts something into your hands, a velvet box that he must've gotten when he went to put your suitcase away.

"y'r a riley now, yeah?" he murmurs, and you tilt your head at an angle, and your foreheads brush together when he bends low to speak to you. "act like it."

you lean up on your toes (he's so fucking tall), and you kiss him softly beside his mouth. when he moves his head, your lips brush against each other, but he pulls back to make his way to the kitchen. you hear the gas stove light up, and a few minutes later, there's a familiar smell of onions hitting hot olive oil.

you take a seat on the couch, smiling to yourself, wiping your eyes as you curl up there. you flip open the box, sighing shakily when you see the rectangular diamond and matching gold wedding band. when simon comes back in to give you a mug of tea, you take it with your left hand, and his eyes flicker when he notices the new jewelry there, so pretty, so new.

mine.

when he pads back into the kitchen, the cat blinks up at him slowly, green eyes bright as they sit on the counter.

simon walks past it, saying nothing at all.

[power-handmaiden]

Day 64: Pounded In The Butt By My Irrational Bigoted Fear Of Humans Who Were Born As Unicorns Using A Human Restroom

While I had conflicting feelings on "Angry Man Pounded By The Fear Of His Latent Gayness Over A Dinosaur Transitioning Into A Unicorn" in light of how the conversation on trans rights and visibility has evolved, I feel like this tingler, published only 11 months later, holds up incredibly well. It tackles gender in a similar way to robot fiction, in the way that the protagonist feels insecurity over his humanity when someone he would not traditionally recognize as a human is able to inhabit human spaces.

One aspect that I appreciate a lot is that the story makes it very clear that the character that the protagonist initially directs his species transphobia towards does not pass as a human at all; the bigoted protagonist and the waitress who is dismissive of his bigotry both refer to the character as a unicorn based on appearance. A major point in this tingler is that the man deserves dignity whether or not he "looks" like he should be in a human space. A lot of transphobes love to make arguments that operate in this heightened reality. It's not hard to imagine one saying, "what, should we accept it if someone identifies as a unicorn?" I mean, the furry panic is basically that, using some on-its-face absurd otherkin caricature as a proxy for trans people. This tingler meets them in their invented space where they think their argument is the most ironclad and says, yes, that would be fine actually, even if we did all live in your thought experiment and even took it a step further by introducing other sapient species with clear physical differences. People of different species peeing in the same room is not going to break the fabric of society.

(Side note not entirely related, people who care about such things are also just.... really bad at telling who "belongs", which is addressed in the story somewhat but I just like to mention whenever I have the chance that it includes false positives on their Wrong Sex Detector too. I use the bathroom that corresponds to my birth certificate and I've been stared at, yelled at, one time someone just watched me piss?? So much for bathrooms being a harrassment free space.)

I also love that nothing sexual takes place in the bathroom. The protagonist recovering from his bigotry fucks a sentient restroom sign right in the middle of the diner. Absolute madman, I can't help but respect it.

[aquareegia]

Sorry to bring up drama but I feel like this is entering criminal territory and should be addressed. Apparently someone dug out birth certificates of the vessels and wanted to arrange for someone to stalk them and also found out personal information and contacts from not only the members but also their families and partners. And apparently they have intimate pictures they threatened to post. That is so fucked up on so many levels. There are real human beings behind those masks and personas for fucks sake. This goes beyond just posting their names and/or faces and I'm actually at a loss for words tbh...

[peachesofteal]

I know you already have a plan for Gaz in the Faerie universe, but I just can't help sharing my own headcanon of him with you (sorry for how long this turned out)-

Kyle is just walking along the street when he senses it. It's barely there, like a kind of magic that hasn't been touched in years, but it's old, and any power that ancient is dangerous to ignore.

He almost misses it, really, the young girl walking past with her friends, but he sends a tendril of is own power out and- there it is. Something that stretches far back into her lineage, untouched within her lifetime, but undeniably there. It is so old he cannot even place it, an unusual occurrence after so many years studying different magics with his comrades.

His curiosity gets the better of him, and he follows you. Discreetly, of course, dispelling any suspicion by using a simple glamour. He follows you home, and finds-

nothing.

There are no spells or enchantments guarding your home, not even a glamour to deter unwanted guests. Such carelessness unheard of for any being of magic, in this world or any others.

Kyle snarls a bit. You have been left entirely defenseless, and he will not let that stand.

He stands watch that night. And as he does, he finds himself drawn to you. You have felt safe enough that you leave your curtains open foolish, he thinks to himself, even as he appreciates your form, your eyes, your smile.

He needs to know who and what you are.

The next morning, Kyle bumps into you, spilling your tea all over your white blouse. He feigns remorse, and insists on paying for it to be dry cleaned. He suggests that you exchange numbers, and you shyly agree- it is not often that such a handsome man asks to contact you, after all.

What you don't know, though, is that you have given Kyle information. He has your name, your number, and your address. He has spent enough years in this world, aiding in his brother's obsession, that he knows how to track someone down with less.

He does use your number to ask you out. Someone needs to keep you safe, after all, since you are apparently unable to do it yourself. And he finds that he enjoys your company. He adores how you share parts of yourself with him, unabashedly telling him about your hopes, your dreams, your fears.

And yet, though he now has your full name, he is baffled that it seems to hold no power over you.

The mystery only deepens when he meets your family. If they are part of your bloodline, then surely, one of them will have a clue as to what you are. And yet, he senses no trace of magic in your parents, or siblings.

The more dead ends he arrives at, the more intrigued he is. So he begins digging into human records, and that's where he finds it. Your sealed adoption record.

He has to call in every favor he has ever accrued in this world, but he eventually finds your birth certificate. The email arrives when Kyle is in your home, washing the dishes after you made him dinner.

A week later he enters the hospital where you birth mother resides. She's unwell, barely able to communicate. She's wizened- with her white hair and sunken eyes, a human would mistake her for being perhaps your great-grandmother, rather than mother. Her eyes meet his across the room, and it is clear- she knows what he is.

Kyle takes a seat across from her. She sniffs the air, and her lips pinch.

"You've been with my daughter, haven't you, Fae?" she spits the word out like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

Kyle puts on his most charming smile, the one that makes you feel weak in the knees.

"That won't work on me, boy. I know better now. I don't trust pretty things."

He leans back, undisturbed. "Well, I think we're on rather even footing now, aren't we? You know what I am, and I know what you are." He meets her stare evenly, "and I know what your daughter is, too."

The face of your birth mother darkens. "You won't have her. Not really. Not fully. I took measures to keep her safe. No man- fae, human, or otherwise- will do to her what he did to me."

"Really?" Kyle's smile drops, and his face turns into something determined, almost nasty. "You think you protected her? She has no idea who she is, or what she's capable of. Don't you think that's dangerous, her ignorance of her powers?"

"She doesn't need to know! She has a family! She has a life! She can be happy if you just leave! Her! ALONE!"

If he didn't know better, he might think the woman across from him a banshee. As it is, Kyle keeps his features calm. "I already know her true name. The one you gave her. I can take her away from this place. But you know that there's something I need from you first."

"Never," she hisses at him.

Kyle sighs. "I didn't want it to come to this," he tells her, and reaches into his coat pocket. He would never admit it, but he feels a sense of satisfaction when he sees her eyes go wide with fear, what little color that was left in her face draining away completely.

"Now," he says, charming smile firmly back in place. "Tell me what I want to know."

~~~

He's careful about how he breaks the news to you- his world is entirely unknown to you. You, who grew up sheltered, away from the world of magic and powers that you belonged to by birthright. But he has long since grown weary of the human world, and he is impatient to have you in his own home.

So, after taking you to a beachside picnic, he kisses you gently on the forehead, and whispers, voice low, "I have something for you,"

"Mmm?" you murmur, afraid that if you open your mouth, you'll shatter the beauty of this moment.

Kyle reaches into the bag, and carefully pulls out the item he retrieved from the cove where your birthmother hid it.

You gasp when you see it, even though you're not sure why. It looks like a piece of brown fabric, but even before you touch it, it feels like home.

"This was stolen from you by your birth mother," Kyle explains, draping it around your shoulders. You clutch it to yourself, the feeling indescribable. You are at peace, but you feel more emotions than you have ever been able to name. It feels like the world has suddenly shifted into focus, like the mental fog in your brain has cleared for the first time in your life.

"Stolen? What-"

"Shh," he presses a finger to your lips. "I can explain it all to you, but not here."

"What do you mean, 'not here'? Kyle, what are you saying?"

He silences you with a kiss this time. "I'm not from this world, love. And you don't belong here, either. Please, will you let me show you who you are?" He looks at you, and you're hypnotized by his eyes, so clear, so earnest.

You should say no. This is crazy. You've been dating Kyle for months now, and he claims that he's from another world? Even if it were true, you have a life here. Family, friends, a career, a home-

But somehow, with your new coat making you feel sheltered and warm, none of that seems important. The only important things in existence are you and Kyle.

"Yes."

~~~

In case it wasn't clear, reader is a selkie. Her mother was a selkie who had her coat stolen and was forced to live as the wife of the man who stole her coat. Also, I further headcanon that in this universe, selkies are unique in that they can travel between the different realms without any spells, due to their nature as shifters. They are both human and seal, creatures of land and water, something that is both and at the same time neither.

Oh my god hello? Why is this in my inbox instead of artfully laid out on your own page? I love it. Love a good selkie story, and I loved how you started to build the lore immediately.

🩵

[its-time-to-write]

chapter 4

table of contents

we know the steps anyway

Jamie might have stretched the truth. He has an appointment, yes, but not a medical one, like. There’s enough doctors and shit on staff at Richmond. But no one there has fucking critical thinking or whatever, so he’s able to go early. He goes to the shops and doesn’t pray he remembers what you like, instead he prays that it hasn’t changed.

He gets recognized but he hopes the flowers in his hand don’t signal anything to the fans. If anyone asks he can just say they’re for his mum or something, it’s not totally fucking unrealistic, but his lying’s gotten progressively worse recently. Probably because he’s out of practice, but he doesn’t actually want to get back in practice, if you know what he means.

He also prays that your address is the same. You loved that house and he’d be surprised if you moved but it’s almost a year since he last saw you and much longer than that since you were actually together.

Maybe he should have become Catholic so he could say a proper Hail Mary. But he isn’t one, so instead he just hopes harder than he has in a while and knocks on the door. The doorbell’s taped off with a note that says, baby sleeping so he thinks he probably has the right house after all 

He hears footsteps, has the quickest panic attack known to man, then the door opens to reveal you.

Jamie has never wanted to make a baby more than this moment, if he’s being honest. He can tell you’re in the middle of work but the way it takes a split second too long to figure out what’s happening and the pen behind your ear. You look the same, but assured and he knows it’s because you don’t need him. He wants to unbutton your shirt and also tell you that he loves you more than he’s ever loved anyone in his whole entire life and he knows he’s a fucking idiot but his thoughts have never been good at finding their way to his mouth so instead he just says, “Hey,” and pulls the flowers from behind his back.

Jamie doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen in what he can only construe as fear at the sight of him. It subsides into wariness when he hands you the flowers, but he doesn’t like that the fear was there in the first place. He understands you want to be cautious, but fear?

That’s not good at all.

So he telegraphs all his movements as best he can. Shoulders down, hands at his sides and unclenched. He takes half a step back but asks, “Can we talk?” and watches you play a million outcomes in your head at once.

You don’t want to let him in, but Clare’s asleep in the living room. And the flowers are an indicator that he’s here for some positive reason so you step aside and say, “You can come to the kitchen.”

Jamie knows he’s on thin ice so he barely looks any other direction than straight to where you direct him. He doesn’t sit. He stands in the middle of the kitchen and awkwardly holds the flowers before you take them from him and set them on the counter. He opens his mouth to say something (he’s not quite sure what yet) and is saved by the baby crying in the other room. 

The baby. 

You sigh and go to get her and he scans the room as best he can for any indicator as to her name. He doesn’t see anything but photos stuck to the fridge. You come back into the room before he can move to look closer. 

“Her name’s Clare,” you say offhandedly. “You’re not on the birth certificate. You’ve always said you didn’t want to have kids, and I’m pretty fucking sure you wouldn’t want them with me. And-” you pause. Clare’s awake and staring right at your face. She really does look like Jamie.

“And,” you continue, “I didn’t really want you to come back just to fuck off again. Clare doesn’t deserve that. And you’ve been acting like a right fucking idiot all over national television, so.”

Jamie nods. “Makes sense.” 

You wait for him to say something else but he doesn’t, just looks so uncharacteristically lost that you sigh.

“You’re not here about custody, are you,” you. Jamie’s eyes widen.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s what you thought this was about? I’m not- I wouldn’t- I’ve been to going therapy.”

You raise an eyebrow. That’s new. Maybe that’s what fucking Keeley Jones meant about decent. But he’s not getting off so fucking easy, if at all. 

“So what, you go to therapy a couple times and now you’re fixed? And you want a family? Or to apologize? You haven’t made it entirely clear why you’re here.”

Jamie says, “I’m here because I miss you,” and you scoff. 

“No- shit, I mean- I’ve missed you for a long fucking time but my texts weren’t going through, so I figured you blocked me. And Madeline is fucking terrifying, babe. But I was looking for you the other night because I wanted to apologize. And see if you wanted to get back together,” he says, and you’re not entirely sure how to react.

“Right,” you say, “well, that’s not fucking happening. You dumped me after a year, called me a two in the morning five months later, so yes, I blocked you. And you should be fucking scared of Madeline because I had to forcibly restrain her from ruining your goddamn life despite the fact that I actually wanted her to go completely apeshit. I have more important things than some twenty-six year old footballer who’s only just now getting his life together when I’ve had it together since I was eight. I have a job and a baby, and I’m handling both in the house that I’ve owned since I was twenty-two because like I said before, Jamie Tartt, I’ve had my life together since I was fucking eight years old. I had the same damn childhood as you and yet I’m not the one who has only recently learned what the fuck empathy is.”

Your rant upsets Clare, who begins crying. “Shit,” you sigh. “I’m sorry, Bean. You hungry?” You glance at Jamie. “I’m going to sit on the couch.”

“Right. Yeah,” says Jamie as he follows you to the next room. He sits gingerly on the couch across from you and you sigh again. He’s relatively harmless, and you’re well-versed in what he looks like when he’s up to no good. You pat the spot next to you and he sits, still carefully, while you adjust Clare. It isn’t until you sit down that you realize how fucking tired you are.

“She’s so fucking small,” Jamie whispers. “How the fuck do you ever get anything done? I’d just be looking at her.”

You laugh, but it’s short and brittle. “Things need to get done Jamie. She’s hungry, she needs to be changed, I have work to do and I’ve got to eat, but I’m sick of ordering in so I try to meal prep as much as I can but I don’t ever sleep and I’m afraid of burning the house down, so most of the time I eat frozen dinners at four a.m. because she’s awake.” Jamie doesn’t say anything, just listens. He’s inched closer or maybe you have or maybe both, because your thighs are touching and it sends the same shivers up your leg that it did two years ago. “I’m tired all the time,” you whisper. “It’s like my bones are tired. I think Madeline’s the only one who has any idea what it’s like and she can only help so much. Besides, she’s it’s her last night in fucking Milan and I’m not about to be that mum friend who’s constantly making everything about her baby. It’s just so much work, Jamie. You have no idea.”

You shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t but Madeline isn’t here and what she doesn’t know won’t kill her, so you rest your head on Jamie’s shoulder.

He freezes for a moment before tilting his face to touch the top of your head.

And you’re furious. It should have been like this before and as soon as it’s over your going to wish that it were like this more often. It’s a fantasy.

But you’ll indulge a little while longer before seriously considering moving somewhere else. Probably Chelsea if you’re being honest; it’s not too far away but it’ll give you the space you need to remind yourself that Jamie isn’t for you. He’s for someone else, someone like Keeley.

And anyway as soon as you want to let Madeline find you a man, you know you’ll have no shortage of options.

It’s not about that, though. It’s about the fact that you’ve been on your backup plan ever since Jamie left and you’d give anything to feel like you’re in control again.

Jamie murmurs, “I want to help,” and you shake your head slightly. 

“Don’t need money, my darling. I need someone to change her diaper at one in the morning.”

“That’s what I mean,” Jamie says and you chuckle.

“And when do you have time for that?” you ask. “Don’t you footballers have a strict sleep schedule? And you’d have to be here in the guest room because there’s no way I’m taking Clare to yours.”

Jamie shrugs and you sit up. “Don’t take this the wrong way love, but plenty of footballers ignore their sleep plan to fuck around. It’s got to be healthier and shit to take care of a kid, yeah?”

“No,” you say. “You can’t just show up and slip back into my life like that. I haven’t talked to you in almost a year and now you’re here on my couch, which is fine, but you can’t just come all the way back.”

Jamie frowns. “So what do I have to do?”

You shake your head. “That’s something for you to figure out without me.”

—

Jamie replays the whole thing from the time he gets back into his car to go home to the time he falls asleep. And then starts again when he wakes up and heads to the Dogtrack. The only person who looks at him twice is Higgins, although that may be more to Jamie’s choice of lime green sweatpants than his mental state.

He can’t get Clare’s face out of his head. He can’t get the feeling of your body on the couch next to him out of his system.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted when he returned to Richmond, he just knew he wanted something different. Maybe this is it.  

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he knocks completely into Roy on his way to get his lunch.

“Fucking watch where you’re fucking going,” Roy grunts but Jamie barely acknowledges him.  

And that’s how Roy knows something is wrong because the little shit is never one to back down from an argument. But he’s Roy fucking Kent and the last thing he’s going to do is ask Tartt about his fucking feelings so he just walks away and forgets about it.

In hindsight, he thinks it probably would have provided some fucking context to what he’s seeing in front of him. 

A very apologetic Keeley Jones hangs on his arm while he watches some short brunette march into the locker room as if she owns it, grab Jamie by the ear, and start swearing at him.

No one seems to know what to do, probably in too much shock to stop Madeline from dragging Jamie (still by his ear) out of the room and presumably to the car park. 

Roy catches Beard’s eye, entirely by accident, who shrugs. Ted claps his hands and says something to the effect of, “Everyone’s made poor decisions when it comes to women, Sam go check on Jamie,” before following Roy and Beard to the coaches’ office. As soon as the door is firmly shut, Ted says, “What in the Sam Hill was that? I know Jamie’s ruffled a few feathers in his time, but I’ve never seen anything like that before, no sir.”

Everyone looks expectantly at Keeley. After all, she was the one chasing Madeline’s heels as she shouted, “God DAMN it Tartt, I’m going to fucking kill you!!” down the hall.

“Well you see,” Keeley begins, voice mousy, “I was in Milan where I met Madeline. We were chatting and we both found out we knew Jamie. And she’s friends with this girl who lives here in Richmond, and it turns out she and Jamie dated right before he was with me. I don’t know what he did but he did something awful while we were away because she got a text, said, “Fucking Tartt,” and then stepped out to take a phone call. She came straight here from the airport; I think her taxi’s still outside, actually.” She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I’m just surprised Jamie’s fucked something up again. He’s been doing so well recently.”

“Jamie has a kid,” Beard says like he can’t hold it in any more. He’s met with shocked silence until Ted says, “Well I’ll be. Jamie Tartt’s got a little tartlet,” and then everyone’s talking at once. Mainly, how does Beard know and what does that have to do with his arse getting hauled to the car park?

Ted’s just thankful this debacle happened at the end of the day, because the team can’t afford to miss any training with the Aston Villa game coming up. There’s a knock on the door, and Ted opens it to reveal Sam. 

“Jamie is going home with that angry young woman,” he says. 

Ted asks, “Should we be concerned?” and Sam shrugs. 

“He did not seem as though he needed rescuing,” he replies, and that makes sense. From what anyone could tell, it almost seemed as though Jamie felt like he deserved whatever Madeline was saying to him. As if he expected it. But no one has any more answers so they all just sort of disperse to their various homes. 

Keeley though, Keeley is so fucking curious she thinks she might explode. So as soon as she’s at Roy’s and seated on his sofa she opens her laptop and scrolls through Madeline’s entire fucking instagram to look for clues. It’s hard, what with all the brand deals and photo dumps, but Keeley’s a professional. She has a list of girls who occur in multiple photos throughout the years, checks off their socials, but comes up empty. 

Well, almost empty.

Half of Madeline’s friends are private, so those are Keeley’s top suspects, but there’s one friend whose photos switch from being full length to shoulders-up only about nine months ago. And there’s a selfie of Madeline in a hospital bed with this same friend buried in a photo dump from two and a half months ago with the caption, “she lived, bitch.” It’s focused on their faces and nothing else, but Keeley’s one hundred percent positive this is the girl.

Keeley spends the rest of the night on her computer scouring the internet for as much as she can possibly learn while Roy makes her tea and reads next to her.

next chapter

[arealphrooblem]

Hi!! First off I just want to say that this is my new favorite writing blog on tumblr!! I'm so grateful for whatever strings the universe pulled that led me here. I'm literally addicted to every single thing you've written here. I swear I've read Mutually Assured Destruction like ten times within the past 24 hours.

I was wondering, if you find the free time and the inspiration, if you could write a villain x medic/civilian snippet? Maybe Medic accidentally witnessed villain's crime so villain can't let them just wander around freely since medic works for the hero agency, but also doesn't want to kill medic since medic is useful?

Thank you so much! I've always loved the idea of Villain x Medic so here you go!

CW: Kidnapping

“You know my face.”

The medic knew this day would come. Still, they froze in the doorway of the living room, keys dangling in their hands, blood frosting over in sheer dread. The villain sat with their legs crossed in the medic’s favorite armchair, the fire place unlit. The room in semi-darkness, the only light a glow from a street-lamp.

They didn’t ask how the villain knew their address. They should have taken Hero’s offer to leave under witness protection, but their whole life was built here. They couldn’t just leave and start over.

“I haven’t revealed it,” the medic said.

“Yet,” the villain amended. “I’m sure you would for the right price. Or under the right pressure.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t. But I am not going to risk it.”

The lamp beside the couch switched on. The medic flinched away from the sight, eyes trained on the coat rack by the door. As if mattered anymore if they saw the villain’s face again. As if they hadn’t doomed themselves the first time.

Footsteps creaked over the old wood floors. The medic took slow deep breaths, holding it for four counts and releasing it. A trick they had taught people afraid of IV needles to calm their racing heart.

The time to run had long since passed. And even if it hadn’t, the villain most definitely had people outside lying in wait for such an escape.

Hands that tipped the medic’s chin to meet that dangerous gaze.

“You’re going to kill me,” the medic said. It was not a question.

An eyebrow raised. “You sound very calm about that.”

“My career has taught me how to recognize and accept things that aren’t in my control. Right now there is nothing I can do to stop you.”

“This is true.”

The villain studied them, thumb brushing absently against the curve of their bottom lip.  The darkness of their eyes felt unfathomable, like the Marianas Trench. Like the deepest part of the ocean, full of wonder and terror.

“I am not going to kill you,” the villain said finally. “I owe you my life. And I always repay my debts. But you know my face.”

The medic swallowed thickly against the barrage of options that opened up. The villain could blind them, torture them into insanity, cut out their tongue. All of the above. The villain’s hand slips across their cheek to cup the back of the medic’s head. A possessive gesture, they noted with a shiver.

“You are coming with me. Whether it be conscious or unconscious, I leave up to your . . . control.”

Relief warred with new fear. “Where are you taking me?” they asked.  “What happens to me when we get there?”

“Questions I will happily answer in the car,” said the villain, their hand sliding down the medic’s 

neck before retreating. “Hand me your phone and your keys and then go pack your things. You have ten minutes.”

The medic stood rooted to the spot. This was real, this was happening. And it yet it still felt like a bad dream. Ten minutes to pack their life up? Ten minutes?

“Tick tock, darling,” crooned the villain, holding their hand out.

Numbly, the medic dropped their phone and keys into the villain's hand and took robotic steps towards their bedroom. Clothes were easy to grab and stuff into the suitcase. As were their birth certificate and other identity papers. Personal items, less so. Medic spent precious minutes at their bookshelf, picking a well thumbed classic from their childhood, their most referenced medical texts, and a novel they hadn’t started yet.

The pressure of time throbbed in the back of their head, making it difficult to think rationally about what they needed. They ducked into the bathroom, grabbing their contact case and solution, their toothbrush. Then they stood in the middle of their bedroom, frantically trying to think of what they couldn’t live without.

“Times up.”

The villain’s voice came from behind, causing the medic to jump out of their skin.

“Zip it up and let’s go.”

The villain’s car lay hidden in the shadows of the back alley. A dangerous looking driver waiting for them, their cigarette glow the only light. The villain opened the backseat of the car for Medic with a mocking flourish.

It was their last opportunity to run, but the medic knew a shot in the back waited for them if they tried it. So, dread sitting heavy in their stomach, they climbed in. The villain took the seat next to them, giving out curt orders to the driver in a language the medic didn’t recognize.

 The nagging horror that the medic forgot something important haunted them. They leaned their head against the window, mentally walking through their house, trying to remember. But the fear churning in their blood made it so difficult.

“I’m taking you to my compound,” said the villain, almost conversationally. As if detailing the itinerary for a date. “I have a room set up for you, as well as a med bay. You can resume your work taking care of my mercenaries.”

The medic listened with half an ear, watching the wave of street lamps pass them by. What were they missing?

“No objections to that?” the villain asked, bemused.

They passed a park, one the medic had many birthday parties in as a child, and the sudden zing of memory made them gasp.

“Stop! We have to go back!” they cried.

The driver didn’t so much as flinch.

“Go back?" The villain laughed. "Too late for that, doctor. You should have protested before you climbed into this car."

"I forgot something!"

"Whatever it is can be replaced," the villain said with a dismissive wave of their hand. 

"It's not replaceable. Please."

Desperation clawed at their throat but the villain remained unmoved.

"If it were so important, one would think it would be the first thing you packed, not the first thing you forgot. You will have to learn to live without it."

The medic closed their eyes the rest of the journey. They couldn't bear to look at Villain's face.

"Do you regret it?"

The villain sat upon the examination bed, looking almost innocent.

It had been a week since the medic was taken. Their life had changed so drastically that the normality of the med bay, of the tools they had spent years around, clanged like a discordant note. They threw themselves into their work, demanding physicals for the Villain's mercenaries to establish a baseline of health. These people, so used to sewing their own wounds, grew awkward around the medic’s soft and attentive care. Some refused to come. 

The villain showed up last, a new laceration on their ribs. They sat, spine straight and unflinching as medic carefully cleaned the wound and bandaged it. 

"Regret what?" the medic asked. 

" . . .Saving my life."

Their hands stilled for a moment, hovering over the wound. It was a tricky question and the medic wasn't sure how to answer it honestly. 

"I would have regretted the person that I'd become if I had let you die," they said finally. 

"Oh? Most people would consider it a net positive, preventing all my future damage."

"It's not up to me to decide who deserves to live and who doesn't."

"I beg to differ. You hold people's lives in your hands every day. Who else, if not you?"

The medic glanced up at the villain, who stared at them with open-faced fascination, rather than the usual dispassion. 

"I don't think any one person should have that power," they said pointedly. 

The villain smiled, a slow curving movement. "A pity. You could be terrifying indeed."

The medic swallowed something strange dancing in their gut. "You're lucky I'm not." 

"Indeed I am."

They finished the examination without further conversation. The villain watched with quiet fascination as the medic sterilized their tools, folded unused bandages away, updated the Villain's medical records. 

"What did you leave behind?" they asked softly. 

"My life," the medic said, tersely, as they tapped on the keyboard. 

The villain was undeterred. "What did you remember in the car?"

The medic paused at that, unsure if they should answer. They didn't want the villain's mockery over it. But lies rarely went over well with the villain -- the medic had cleaned up the wounds left behind from that. 

"A box under my bed," they replied, keeping their eyes locked on the computer. "It had my keepsakes in it. Family photos, birthday cards, that sort of thing."

"Sentiment," the villain said skeptically. "That's what got you so worked up?"

"I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand," they snapped, standing up. 

The villain watched them leave and the medic felt their gaze like a laser all the way down the hall. 

Two days later a painfully familiar box sat on the examination table. Scribbled in sharpie on the cardboard was a message: 

I do understand. 

[allthemeninmybed]

Coming to the surface Part I

Summary: Reader is a member of the band’s photography crew and they are barely ever on the same page with Vessel. They both think highly of one another but it’s merely professional. At least they think. Pairing: Vessel x mid-size/plus size fem!reader Warnings: non, YET Word count: 948 A/N: I haven’t written anything since 2021 so… I hope you like it, please, don’t forget to give me feedback! 🖤 - “You alright?” – You ask him softly. You know he doesn’t like you much but you still try to be nice to him. - “Just dandy.” – He pauses with an eyebrow raised as he looks at you, shaking his head before turning to the side. There was a part of you he did like, but he refuses to concede that. He has a self-preserving attitude that had a history of keeping people at arm’s length. Everything is upside down now. Somebody revealed their identity, alongside with birth certificates and addresses. You know who it was, it was somebody close. She was to Vessel. You know he’s disappointed beyond measure because he would have never thought she would do something like this, ever. - “I know it’s fucked up. I just… I won’t bother you, sorry.” - “No, it’s fine. Not your fault, is it?” – he pauses with a huff as he turns to face you and folds his arms against his chest. - “No, it’s not. And it’s not about me but it hurts anyway.” – you try to convey that you care for them, that you care for him but you don’t want to seem pushy. He turns to the side, his gaze drifting past you as he takes in his surroundings in quiet contemplation. His body language speaks volumes, showcasing his frustration but perhaps he’s looking for an outlet. For some strange reason it looks like you are about to become that. - “Tell me, were you aware of any potential plans? Or do you just take pictures when we’re on stage?” – he’s like a wounded animal, trying to insult you to make himself feel better. He's going to lash out and you’re the one who’s going to take it. Fuck. - “Do you really think if I had known I wouldn’t tell you?! Or try to stop her? Look, Vessel, I know that we’re not best friends here but I would never do anything to hurt you. Or the band. And even the fact that you suggest otherwise is hurtful.” Vessel sighs, feeling guilty when he realizes that he should’ve worded his questions better. - “I know.” – his eyes drift away as he rubs his neck to ward off the tension. - “I’ve always hated that bitch anyways.” – you point out the obvious fact he’d probably known, you weren’t subtle about your feelings. - “But if you want to shout at somebody... here I am.” - “She used to be a friend, you know. I thought I could trust her.” – his eyes harden as he pauses to compose his thoughts, his stance becoming rigid. His lips twitch in to the world’s smallest half grin, it’s the closest thing to a smile you’re going to get from him. - “Yeah, I know. Having misplaced trust is the fucking worst.” – how you wished you could hug him. It would be as comforting to you as to him, you think to yourself. He nods, biting his lip as he stares at the carpet. Vessel struggles to keep his emotions in check as the magnitude of how badly he’d been betrayed hit home. The very person he trusted and worked with for the past two years was responsible for the leak. A sigh escapes him as he looks back at you, blinking away the sheen of tears in his eyes. That’s when you decide to risk it. You open your arms a little, looking at him the most reassuring way. You don’t want to overstep boundaries. His eyes dart from the carpet to you, the offer clear in your eyes and the invitation tempting. It’s so enticing that he feels his lips twitch. However, the look in your eyes is so genuine that he had to take the chance, allowing himself to lean on you and pull you into his embrace.

You can’t believe he’s actually hugging you. It isn’t very comfortable since he’s very tall so you pull out of his embrace and point to the chair beside you. He sits down, not saying a word and hugs you immediately as you stand in front of him. His head rests on your chest, which feels inappropriate at first but it doesn’t bother you. You don’t give a fuck, this feels so good, so intimate, so necessary. Leaning further into you he breathes out softly as his eyelids slip closed. The urge to break down and just sob his heart out into you is strong but he refuses to give in and risk embarrassing himself. You start to caress his head and his hair as you’re hugging him. You hope it’s not too much; it feels so natural to do this, you didn’t even think about it, you’re just doing it. His hands are gripping into your body, he’s clinging to you and it feels heavenly. God, you never want this hug to be over. As your fingers sweep through his hair his breath quickens. This is his release; this is the intimacy he’s been craving and it would be a lie to say he isn’t enjoying it. His hands grip your waist, his eyes closed as his lips part slightly. You want to tell him so much but you can’t find the right words, nor do you want to break this soothing, intimate silence between the two of you so you do something bold. You kiss the top of his had while stroking his hair. A shiver runs through his body, the intimacy catches him off guard. His eyes search for your face with an intent he hasn’t realized was there until this moment. He holds his breath back, looking up to you his eyes seem even more enticing. There's a part two coming! Stay tuned loves 🖤 Part II

[wooahaeruby]

Chapter 28: A Hand To Hold

Chapter Word Count: 5,126

TW

Mild panic, protective SVT

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There was a period where everything was going too…normally for the last week or so.

Not that you were really complaining- Things were calm! Work was going well, your relationships were going well, everything was nice and you were content- 

But there was a gnawing anxiety that crawled up your spine each passing day, eating your resolve alive. You were determined to not let whatever you were feeling dampen any situation, but you were getting tired of masking day in and day out. 

You arrived back at your apartment after a shorter training session with Chan at the penthouse, limbs sore, a fatigued mentality, and were ready to crash to get decent sleep for work tomorrow. One of your neighbors on your floor, an older woman with gorgeous salt and pepper colored curls, Ms. Nina, was shuffling to get her mail, asking how your day was while you also got your mail. The entire way back to your respective apartments she talked your ear off, not that you minded, and she bid you a goodnight, saying she was going to drop off a batch of muffles tomorrow once you got home. 

Near silently, behind the confines of your apartment, you placed your things down and kicked your shoes off, locking the door before sitting yourself down on the couch with your pile of mail. You sorted through each piece, placing it into different piles for bills, spam, before your eyes set on your typed birth name and address. 

Much like the last, there was no return address. It was a crisp, plain white envelope, however this one was thicker than the previous one. 

You tore the envelope open easily, taking the tri-folded stack of papers out. The first page was similar to the singular page originally, however more information was added; your grandparents names, your job title, and your old home street address . 

You tossed that page aside, seeing a black and white copy of your original birth certificate, as well as your most recent one after changing your name. There was a copy of your apartment lease and your parents’ death certificates.

Your stomach was on the floor, the sinking feeling was suffocating to say the least. You had a copy of these documents for logical personal reasons, you needed them for many years, but seeing someone got ahold of legal government documents and sent them to you?  

This was only to get worse, you could feel it by the tightness in your chest. Your skin was crawling and the beginning of pins and needles in your hands and feet were starting to set in. You focused on your breathing, taking on deep breath in, holding it, then pushing it out. The papers in your hands fell into your lap and you covered your face to collect yourself the best you could from your most definite panic attack. Each breath in was fire burning in your chest, engulfing you from the inside out. Tears were starting to blur your vision.

Anxiously, you patted around your person then stumbled to your bag at the door, digging through it to find it. 

“Pick up-” You tapped violently against the screen, calling the first person that came to mind. “Please pick up-” 

“ What's up, Mouse?” Your breath caught in your chest, hearing Seungcheol’s voice ring through the phone. 

“Cheol-” You sucked in a breath, sitting yourself down on the floor, not trusting your legs to keep you upright. 

“ Hey- What’s going on? Are you okay?” 

You could hear yourself stuttering, proper words weren’t forming. All you could hear yourself say was a string of curse words, there was a jumbled mention of a letter you think but you really couldn’t hear everything leaving you. 

“I’m at home-” Pushing the words out somehow between the burning breaths. “I can’t-” 

“ I’m sending Mingyu over since he is at Quartz, I’ll be there soon.” 

And the line went dead, leaving you in the panicked silence of your entrance way. 

You couldn’t tell how long it had been from the moment the call ended to the loud, repetitive knocking that came to your door. 

Barely managing to get yourself off the floor, you unlocked the door and leaned to peer through the small crack, seeing the worried eyes of Mingyu staring down at you. He pushed the door open slowly, letting you backup before his eyes darted around the space, closing it behind him.

“Is there anyone-?” He moved further into the apartment, looking around more before he turned to you, watching as you tiredly made your way over. 

“N-” You sighed, clearing your throat. “No one but me is here.” 

“Are you okay?” His voice was gentle, hovering his hands around your shoulders. 

You nodded. “Is Cheol coming?” 

“He should be a few minutes behind-” 

“Mouse?” Speaking of the devil…

Stepping through the door, followed in toe by Joshua, Jeonghan, and Wonwoo, was Seungcheol, panic in his eyes. 

“Oh thank god-” Jeonghan pushed Cheol out of the way, gathering you into his arms. He placed a kiss on your forehead, holding your face gently within his palms. “What happened, my love?” 

You didn’t notice Wonwoo stepped around the couch, only hearing the flipping of pages that clued you back in. 

“Who sent this?” For the first time, his tone actually sounded angry but one look showed only a stone expression. 

Joshua joined Jeonghan at your side, a hand being placed on your lower back to provide comfort. He leaned close, a chaste kiss being placed to the side of your head. 

“I don’t know.” You downcasted your eyes. “This was the second letter.” 

“Second?” Seungcheol grabbed the papers from Wonwoo’s hands, his eyes skimming through the documents. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” 

“I-” You broke away from your boyfriends, placing both hands on the back of the couch to think. “I thought the first one was a joke…”

Lifting your eyes, you met the hard gaze of Seungcheol’s eyes but he softened quickly, seeing the disheveled state you were probably in. 

“Sweep the apartment, see if there are cameras.” Seungcheol ordered and the four were off, making haste to search over every inch of your home. 

You rounded the couch and sat down, leaning your head back to stare at the ceiling. 

“Mouse,” Looking away from the stack of papers, Seungcheol took in your tired, definitely dissociative state. “Has anyone been hanging around here? Following you home?” 

“Bathroom is clear.” Hearing Joshua call down the hall brought some peace.

Your eyes wandered the slightly cracked paint of the ceiling, thinking if there was anything out of the ordinary. “No. No one has been hanging in the halls or by the mail boxes. No one has followed me from the penthouse or back home from what I’ve seen. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Seokmin told me to change up my routine every so often just to be safe and I have. I’ve been trying to keep an eye out.” 

“Bedroom’s clear.” Wonwoo called out. 

It wasn’t long before the four were moving about the living room, lifting things, moving items, and placing things back into their place. Their eyes were harsh, working quickly to get their task done. 

“When you are done, Wonwoo, head down and see if there is a tracker on her car.” The younger man hummed, moving into the kitchen, opening cabinets and cupboards. 

“It’s clear here too.” Jeonghan sighed, taking one last look at the windows to make sure they were locked properly. 

“Yeah, I got nothing either.” Mingyu stood beside Seungcheol, taking the papers from his hands curiously. “Jesus, some of this stuff is hard to get even for Wonwoo.” 

“Very reassuring, Gyu.” You closed your eyes for a moment, only opening them to find Jeonghan standing behind you, looking down at you with concern in his eyes. 

“We’ll figure this out, Mouse.” Cheol was typing something on his phone when Wonwoo opened the door to head downstairs. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Is she hurt?” Hearing Seokmin’s voice had you sinking further into your couch. 

“Does fucking everyone know?” You threw your hands up, reaching for a couch pillow and hugging it. 

Jeonghan ran his hand through your hair, giving a small chuckle. “Okay well, that was my fault since I was on the phone with him when Cheol called, love.” 

Seokmin was beside you almost instantly, pulling you into his chest, firing off questions so fast it went in one ear then out the other. When he realized you weren’t paying attention, he whined. 

“I’m fine, Min.” Really, you didn’t sound all that sure of yourself but you basked in the warmth he brought since you felt freezing and vaguely numb from your panic attack. 

When Wonwoo came back, letting everyone know there wasn’t a tracker on your car, you felt lighter but still heavy at the unknown and creepy privacy invasion from whoever sent the letters. 

Seokmin was reluctant to let go of you until Jeonghan pulled you up and pushed you into the bathroom, knowing you needed a shower since you had trained earlier. He was sweet and pampering, getting you clothes and combing through your hair once you were finished. You didn’t mind when Joshua more silently fretted over you, having you brush your teeth and get your skincare done. 

The moment you entered back into your living room, Seungcheol was deep into a conversation with Mingyu, Wonwoo, and Seokmin. 

“It’s going to be hard getting anything from these.” Wonwoo didn’t look confident, looking through everything once more. “And getting the original birth certificate isn’t easy even if it is a copy. Let alone the death certificates.” 

“I have copies of all of those.” Breaking their huddle, Wonwoo and Seungcheol’s head shot up, tuning into your comment. “And unless someone broke into my apartment and my safe…I don’t think it’s plausible they got it here.” 

“There is too much foot traffic in the area and the building to even consider that fully.” Seokmin added. 

“Then someone went through the channels to get this?” Mingyu questioned. 

Wonwoo sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose to sit comfortably. “Had to. I’d have to dodge a lot of security to get this and I don’t even want to dip my hands into getting the FBI on us more than they try to be.” 

“So I basically have a really fucked up stalker?” The joke you tried to make didn’t bring anyone laughter… You looked away quickly and huffed through your nose. “Tough crowd.” 

“I’ll take this back to Pandora and see if I can get anything.” Stepping away from the group, papers in hand, Wonwoo moved towards you, placing a large hand on your head, almost…comfortingly. “If another comes in, let me know.” 

“Yeah, thanks.” You brushed him off, seeing the ghost of a smile on his lips before he was heading out the door. 

Seungcheol slid his phone into his jacket pocket, pushing some hair back from his face and nodded his head to Mingyu in acknowledgement. “Get back to Quartz, I’m sure Seungkwan needs help and to be filled in.” 

“Sure, boss.” Mingyu gave a thumbs up, quickly getting into your personal space and pulled you into a hug. “See you this weekend at the house?” 

You smiled up at him weakly, nodding as you brushed his growing bangs out of his face. “You promised to watch Legally Blonde with me, of course.” 

That left Seokmin and Seungcheol, both tense but trying to keep their faces neutral. 

Taking both Jeonghan’s hand and Joshua’s hand, you moved over and sat on your couch, pulling both of them down with you. “I’m sorry I called you mid panic attack, Cheol.” 

His head whipped to you, eyebrows furrowed together. “Why are you sorry?” Even Joshua and Jeonghan looked confused at your apology. 

“Well- I called you and I barely got a word out and had you all rushing-” Wanting to explain yourself turned into curling in on yourself… The four of them looking at you with different states of confusion made you feel dumb. 

“Mouse.” Seungcheol stepped toward, kneeling down in front of you. “I told you that if you ever needed help with your personal safety, we’d protect you. You are one of us, and you should know damn well that we protect our own. If we didn’t, we’d be some really shitty friends, don’t you think?” 

Staring down at him, eyes wide, you weren’t expecting him to admit that you were one of them. Hearing Seungcheol call you friends was even more shocking, but you gave a timid nod. 

“I’m sure I speak for all of us, but you could call any of the guys, day or night, and we’d be there in a heartbeat. You might have fallen into the shitshow that is SVT but you stayed and became a permanent fixture with us. I don’t think you will get out or away from us any time soon. Especially with dumb and dumber at your side.” Seungcheol smiled , full and reassuring, snickering when Joshua and Jeonghan protested at your sides. “We’ll figure this out, hopefully sooner rather than later. Promise.” 

“Did you seriously move the couches for this?” Standing near the kitchen table, you saw Mingyu and Seokmin beaming brightly at the very large, comfy looking floor fort they made. 

After dinner, you went to change and shower, being told that the living room would be ‘set up’ by the time you were done. Seeing the mountain of blankets and pillows that were cushioning the floor and the wide array of snacks in a pile was amazing, it put your mind at ease after the second mysterious letter. 

“Mingyu said you guys were watching Legally Blonde. I wanted to watch Legally Blonde.” Seokmin motioned you over with a wave of his hand. 

“I bought more of the good wine.” Jeonghan passed you on the left and Joshua, glasses and two bottles of wine between the two of them. 

Seungkwan and Vernon passed as well, taking a spot on the couch together, a bowl of popcorn and drinks in hand. “We need to watch the second one too, always my favorite movies.” 

It wasn’t long before Minghao found a comfy spot against the couch on the floor, pulling a blanket over his legs. Joshua promptly handed him a glass of wine, taking a seat beside him. 

“Is this a family event?” Though smiling, you shook your head and took the glass of wine Jeonghan handed you. 

“It’s turning into that.” Mingyu snickered. 

Sitting yourself down beside Joshua, Seokmin was quick to toss a pillow in your lap and sit down, crowding your personal space. You laughed at him, but he did nothing but get comfortable and wait for Mingyu to start the movie. 

“What are we watching?” Seeing Wonwoo for the first time in a few days since the group showed up at your apartment was nice. He had really set into trying to figure out what was going on with the letters but it was clear he was coming up short. He looked tired, more than usual, but he laid himself down on the floor beside Mingyu. 

Someone called out the answer, smiling as Jeonghan sat on your other side. 

“Don’t start without me!” Chan’s voice from down the hall and the heavy footfall of him running over had the group of you laughing. He jumped over the couch, crashing into Seungkwan’s side with a bright smile on his face. 

“I’m pressing play!” Mingyu grabbed the remote, starting the movie as everyone settled in. 

From the corner of your eye, you could see Junhui slip into the area, taking a spot on the loveseat, followed by Jihoon grabbing a few pillows and lying down on the floor near Wonwoo.

“Wait, where is Soonyoung?” You looked around the room, coming up short on your body count, and Jihoon snorted. 

“He fell asleep after dinner because he was out all night doing shit.”

“Did you start without me?” Seungcheol’s voice surprised you, leaning up and looking over the back of the couch to see the leader shuffle over in his usual pairing of an oversized set of gray sweatpants and sweatshirt.

“You didn’t say you wanted to join.” Mingyu teased, but Seungcheol dropped down behind you on the couch, tucking his legs close and grabbed one of the blankets to make himself comfortable.  

From the corner of your eye, you took note of Jeonghan throwing a look, one full of bewilderment, but he settled in at your side quickly. 

Much to your delight after the week, you relaxed between your boyfriends. Jeonghan’s arm was thrown over your shoulder comfortably and you could feel the gentle touch of Joshua’s hand on your leggings covered thigh. Seokmin didn’t move from laying his head in your lap, keeping your legs warm thankfully. 

The first movie was great for everyone. You, Seungkwan, and Mingyu didn’t hesitate to quote almost the entire court scene towards the end, which had a lot of the other guys giggling at the stupidity. Between the first and second movie, more snacks were grabbed, along with more drinks, people shifted their spots. Some moved to the floor while others kept on the couches. Jeonghan switched positions with Seokmin, but Joshua stayed at your side, now getting his turn to pull you into his side, holding you around the waist. 

The second movie was more quiet between you all, the drowsiness blanketing everyone but no one wishing to actually head to sleep just yet. Your hands were occupied by running your fingers through Jeonghan’s hair, smiling to yourself when he leaned into the touch every so often. You rested your head on Joshua’s shoulder, feeling him rest his head against you in return. It was no surprise when someone let out a quiet snore, even feeling your own eyes stay closed a little too long when you blinked. 

You made it through the rest of the movie while many others didn’t. Quietly, you stood with Jeonghan and Joshua, making sure everyone who was inevitably asleep on the couch or floor had a blanket and pillow. You had to nudge Seungcheol to actually be lying comfortably before placing a blanket over him, but he barely stirred from his sleep as you shifted him. The youngest three made their ways towards their room, bidding near silent goodnights before you and your boyfriends found themselves in Jeonghan’s room. 

Jeonghan already got himself comfortable under the covers, holding his arms open wide for you to join him. 

“I guess I’m never sleeping alone again?” 

“Not a chance in your life.” Flicking the lights off, Joshua passed you, making his way to the other side of the bed.

You climbed over Jeonghan, falling into his arms after getting under the covers. He peppered your face with kisses, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. It took only a moment for a second pair of arms to wrap around you, Joshua humming quietly. 

Lying here felt safe, protected from the anxiety ridden world you’ve been living in. It felt right, a place you thought you belonged, a place that while challenging was where you were definitely meant to be.

Having nothing to do most of the week was…boring. There wasn’t anything important that was eating into his time, paperwork was getting done quickly with Chan’s help. With how much of a busy body he was known to be, Chan laughed at him as they sat at Pledis’s headquarters, trying to figure out what to do. Most, if not all of the paperwork was done for the day, he didn’t need to be at the warehouse until the later evenings. 

Monday, he asked Mouse to get lunch, and to his surprise, she accepted. That lunch was fine, it was a lot of simple…talking. He asked her more questions about herself, things she enjoyed most, the games she played, and Mouse got a chance to ask him about his interest in restoring cars when he actually has time on his hands. 

Tuesday, he asked her again, emphasizing that she didn’t have to say yes, he could go by himself, but she once again accepted. He didn’t let Chan know the second time, just saying he was getting food and he’d bring something back for the younger man, which he did…after sitting with Mouse for her hour lunch… They did have a good time, continuing their idle chatter, even joking about the guys or something she saw online. Seungcheol found himself really enjoying the mid-day getaway, letting himself continue to show Mouse the childlike, bright person he actually was. She let a few layers of her walls down too, letting him listen to her burdens even if they were simple complaints.

By Thursday, Chan asked if Seungcheol wanted to join him and Seungkwan for lunch but he…already had plans.

“I asked Mouse to lunch.” 

“You asked Mouse to lunch again?” Chan sounded surprised, even furrowing his brows and cocking his head to the side. 

“Uh- Yeah… I thought since her lunch is soon, I’d ask her, she already texted back yes so…” 

“Hm…Interesting.” There was a knowing look in Chan’s eyes, even a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Have fun!” 

Seungcheol gave a frown, pouting at the youngest. “What’s with the look?”

“Nothing.” He waved him off nonchalantly, “Go enjoy your lunch with Mouse, boss.” 

He made his way to a small diner just down the street from her office, knowing he had more time than her in general. Placing himself down in a booth near the front window, Seungcheol waited, seeing as he arrived early, and stared out the window. Seungcheol…he saw her before she saw him, watching through the window as she crossed the street. 

She looked…good, impeccably dressed in one of her more professional outfits, but nothing as fancy as the tailored suit he saw her in all those months ago. Sleek black pencil skirt ending just above the knee with a white blouse and thick, long light taupe colored cardigan. 

Turning in his seat, more facing the entrance, he watched her look around curiously before her eyes fell on him and a smile bloomed on her face. His breath caught in his chest for a moment and he swallowed down the tight feeling in his chest as she sat down across from him. 

“Hey, were you waiting long?” 

“Uh-” He cleared his throat, shaking his head. “No, I only got here a few minutes ago.” 

“Good! I didn’t want you to wait long, I got caught up at the tailend of my meeting.” She grabbed the extra menu on the table, letting her eyes scan over the choices happily. 

Seungcheol only hummed, glancing over the menu to figure out what he wanted. 

“You said today was slow?” Her question had him nodding, sighing quietly. 

“I was sitting on my ass for an hour so I figured I might as well go out for lunch if I have nothing to do.” 

“Glad I could join you then.” 

“You’re…in a good mood.” His words were hesitant, but Mouse only laughed, sitting back in the booth some. 

“Despite everything that is going on, today was good so far. I got my annual review and with how my work has been, I’m getting a big raise which is amazing. Maybe I’ll actually have money to spend.” She laughed once more, smiling to herself. “I’m trying to stay positive despite everything. Wonu said he is working on things and doesn’t want me to worry so much, which I’m trying to do. Training with Chan is going great too. I’m feeling good, Cheol. Like, actually good despite the bullshit.” 

“That is amazing, Mouse.” He smiled across the table to her, the tightness in his chest showing itself once more. “I know things haven’t been easy for you recently and we are basically to blame, but you are taking this with a lot of bravery and I commend you on that.” 

Mouse stared across the table, that wide, pretty, smile on her face- 

Wait a minute- 

She pushed her hair back from her face, the strands somehow framing her face perfectly, and before she had a chance to say anything, the waitress popped in by. Her bubbly personality was infectious as she spoke to Mouse, taking both orders before she was hurrying off. 

And she was still smiling, and why the fuck is my chest so tight for? Is it hot in here- 

“Oh! Are you ready for the ball?” She perked up, “Siyeon said you picked up your suit but she wouldn’t send any pictures.” 

“To be fair, neither she nor Jeonghan showed me your dress.” 

“Hm, I see they are scheming as usual.” 

“Always.” He hummed, “but I’m ready either way. Han said Sona is going to be getting you ready?” 

“It’s almost like he doesn’t trust me to make myself pretty.” Mouse feigned disappointment, her smile changing into an exaggerated pout. 

“I think you are pretty.” 

“What?” 

Oh, he didn’t mean to say that outloud- Fix this- 

“I said…I think you are pretty. Is there a problem with that?” 

“Huh- No-” Her cheeks flushed bright red, averting her eyes for a moment. “I wasn’t expecting it.” 

He nodded, pursing his lips, trying to stop his heart from racing . “So…How are things with Joshua and Jeonghan?”

Nice one, moron. He reprimanded himself, mentally punching himself in the gut. 

“We’re good. I’m more glad there is no awkwardness between the three of us. I think there is an understanding between us that we can talk about if something bothers us. Jeonghan has been good at communicating when he needs more attention or just needs some one on one time.” 

“I don’t know how you did it, Han has always been the worst at talking. He is always the one that listens better.” 

“Probably after yelling at him for the stupid prank kicked his ass into gear.” Mouse snickered. “From that point on, I think he realized that I was serious about beating the idiot out of him.” 

Lunch finished rather quickly with Mouse rushing back to the office, thanking Seungcheol with a quick hug as she hurried her way out. 

When he arrived back at Pledis, Chan was sitting at Seungcheol’s desk, feet kicked up on the wood. “How was your date?” 

“It wasn’t a date.” He answered monotone, rolling his eyes. 

“Sure it wasn’t.” Chan stood up, rounding the deck. “How was it?” 

Seungcheol cleared his throat, thinking over the words in his head. “I…called Mouse pretty.” 

“To her face?” 

“Yes to her face.” 

“And you lived?” 

“I’m standing here, aren’t I?” 

Chan eyed him from head to toe. “Interesting.” 

Seungcheol raised a brow before frowning. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing.” Same as the tone earlier, Chan nonchalantly walked past him towards the door. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Get up.” The door to Jeonghan’s room was thrown open unceremoniously, hearing Sona’s voice. “It’s after two in the afternoon.” 

You could feel Jeonghan bury his face further into your neck, grumbling quietly at the light coming from the open door. 

“Five more minutes.” You managed to say, tightening your hold on Jeonghan, hearing similar grumbles from Joshua behind you. 

“I already let you sleep an hour longer.” Her monotone words were accompanied by a huff.

Then all the curtains were pulled open, sending the three of you in fits of whining. 

“I have to get you to the city, get done shit, then bring you back here to get you ready, get up.” Standing at the foot of the bed now, Sona eyed the three of you with dissatisfaction. 

“I could fire you.” Jeonghan grumbled, sending a glare before hiding his face from the light once more. 

“Yeah, because you could survive without me. Sure.” 

“You are sassy today.” With reluctance, you peeled yourself from both their arms and crawled towards the edge of the bed. 

“Don’t blame me, blame King hustling.” Crossing her arms over her chest, Sona huffed. “He wants you ready by, like, seven. This event you can’t be late for. Way different than the Gala.” 

“Sadly, she is right.” You heard Joshua’s voice, muffled by the pillow he currently had his face pressed into before a yawn escaped him. 

Sighing, you got yourself ready, changing from your sweatpants into leggings and exchanging the wrinkled t-shirt for an oversized sweater ( totally not Jeonghan’s). You bid both your boyfriend’s a goodbye, kissing them both on the head before you were quickly ushered out by Sona. There was a quick wave to the handful of guys in the living room as you were pushed out the front door, down to her SUV. 

“And before you asked, I already got you food.” Reaching over into the backseat, she grabbed a takeout bag from a place in the town not too far from the house, a little Mexican place with the best tacos that you and the guys have had too many times. 

“A life saver.” You hummed her praise, taking the bag from her with bright eyes. “What is the plan today then if King has you and me on a time crunch?” 

“Nails, picking up your dress, shoes, and mask, then getting back here with enough time to get your hair and make up done before you get dressed.” 

“So…girls day at the nail salon?” You side eyed her and you could see the ghost of a smirk on her face.

“A thousand percent.” 

The outing in the city didn’t take too long, at least you wouldn’t say it did. Really, the longest parts were driving back and forth to the house. 

Speaking of getting back to the house… 

“Mouseeeeeeeeeeeee-” Jeonghan threw himself at you the moment both you and Sona stepped through the door. “They are bullying me!” 

Over his shoulder, you saw not only Joshua, but Mingyu, Seokmin, and Seungkwan roll their eyes. 

“Because he wouldn’t fucking shut up about how pretty my girlfriend was going to be.” Seungkwan gagged as he mimicked Jeonghan’s fawning, making you snicker. 

“Can’t I be infatuated with my girlfriend?” Jeonghan countered, hugged you to his chest, throwing a pout to the others in the room. 

“I don’t care if you are, but stop making me want to vomit every time you open your mouth about her. No offense, Mouse.” Seungkwan started, rolling his eyes. “Have a personality outside of her, please. I speak for everyone here.” 

“Don’t speak for me, she is my girlfriend too.” Joshua frowned.

“That’s enough,” Sona gently took your arm, “We have things to do. You can take all the pictures you want after I am done.”

Tag List is Open! Comment on the BSH Master List to get added!

@unlikelysublimekryptonite @iiaweirdo @aurorajoye @gaslysainz @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @vanteel @clownprincehoeshi @kpopandbookschild @honeybunchcrunch @black-swan-blog27 @peachie-wonu @kpopsimpsblog

[orange-peony]

One day late, sorry! I was at the zoo yesterday. 😎

Thanks for tagging me @nausikaaa and @larkral!

I haven't had much time to write in the past couple of weeks, but I have made a little bit of progress with my snowbaz accidental baby acquisition fic (Simon's POV):

“Baby Snow-Pitch,” I read out loud, my voice fading on the last word. Is this some kind of colossal and extremely cruel joke? I wish for a family with Baz, and someone sends me a baby to taunt me. Typical. Baz’s hands start to properly shake. He rummages some more and extracts a folded document. It looks exactly like my birth certificate—the one I found hidden in the Mage’s office. There’s a stamp at the bottom, and it looks so bloody official that I find myself holding my breath as I read it. There’s a date of birth (today), a place of birth (my address), a sex (female). The only thing missing is her first name, but the surname is written clearly as Snow-Pitch. Her two parents are mentioned. That’s me and Baz. The absurdity of this simple statement makes my heart skip a beat. Me? A father? This can’t be possible. Even if this is not a royal prank by some psychopath, and the Magickal Stork really exists and brings babies to people, it certainly wouldn’t pick someone like me as a parent. I could understand Baz—he’s amazing in everything he does, and he told me that he has younger siblings that he often visits. He would make a great dad—I’m one hundred percent sure of it, which is why I desperately want to have a family with him. But me? I’ve got no idea what having a father feels like, let alone be one. I would fuck things up spectacularly! If I was a terrible boyfriend, imagine what kind of parent I would be… I look at the baby, at her scrunched up face and minuscule fingers tightly closed into tiny fists, and I feel a lump in my throat. I can’t fail her. I can’t possibly let her down. She’s so tiny and vulnerable and precious.

Since I'm one day late, I'm going to tag anyone who wants to share their WIPs (of any kind) and those who forgot/didn't have a chance to do it yesterday or on Sunday. 💙

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Dave Whammond

* * * *

Person. Woman. Man. Camera. TV. Double Standard.

July 8, 2024

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

JUL 08, 2024

The mainstream media continues its whisper campaign against President Biden, as they report that anonymous “senior leaders” talk “in private” about approaching Joe Biden to urge him to drop out. At least Adam Schiff had the guts to express his qualms in public respectfully, even though I strongly disagree with his views (on this subject).

One evolving narrative among the press is that the Biden administration “concealed” the truth of Biden’s cognitive state—which supposedly justifies their righteous anger. Bull****. This is another example of a double standard applied by a media that is intent on driving Joe Biden out of the race—damn the facts!

Joe Biden has been transparent with the American people about his health—which cannot be said about Trump.

Remember Trump's unexplained visit to Walter Reed for a treatment that remains secret to this day? Or showing up to a debate in 2020 knowing he had tested positive for Covid but concealed that fact from Joe Biden, the debate moderators, and the American public?

Or having a doctor release a statement about Trump's health that was dictated by Trump? Or when the White House physician provided false information about Trump's vital statistics—like his weight—and said that Trump might be the first president to live to be 200?

Amid all the calls for “cognitive tests” for Biden—but not Trump—journalists are committing malpractice by failing to note that President Biden released a detailed summary of his annual physical in February of this year.

The full report is here: Health-Summary-2.28.pdf (whitehouse.gov). The examination included consultations with neurological experts at Walter Reed hospital. I urge you to read the entire report and consider how you would measure up to such a battery of tests!

[...]

So, Biden did have a “detailed neurological exam” four-and-half months ago. The widespread media demands that Biden “take a neurological exam” should be directed to Trump instead.

Predictably, this “proof” won’t be enough for the media. Just as the media refused to accept a certified copy of President Obama’s birth certificate, the goalposts will keep shifting.

The issue is not Joe Biden. It is Donald Trump—and the media’s arrogant refusal to apply the same scrutiny to Trump that it is applying to Biden. If they did, they would be demanding neurological exams of Trump and his withdrawal from the race. So far as we have been informed by Trump, his cognitive test consisted of recalling five objects: “Person. Woman. Man. Camera. TV.” Can you say, “double standard”?

Why isn’t the media making demands that Trump submit to “extremely detailed neurologic testing” by experts from a nationally recognized hospital?

The answer is simple. Trump has quashed dissent within his party. Anyone who dares raise a voice in dissent is the immediate recipient of anonymous death threats and public ridicule on Trump's vanity media platform. And Trump's para-military press surrogates leap into action, declaring that the dissidents are dead to MAGA.

So, the press's application of the same standards to Trump has no upside because it won’t incite the mass panic among Republicans that Democrats are willing to supply by the bucketful.

I accept at face value the good faith of readers who say they have lost confidence in Biden because of the debate or any other reason. That is a personal judgment only you can make. But I again remind everyone that “Biden should withdraw” is not a plan. If you believe a different path to victory is appropriate, then you must devote yourself to that path with all the vigor and financial resources you can muster.

[...]

Timothy Snyder (author of On Tyranny and Substack blog Thinking About), addressed the role that the press has been playing in whipping up “fascist froth” that helps Trump. See Timothy Snyder, Fascism and Fear (substack.com)

There are three tests of good faith for those who are proposing that President Biden step down. The first is recognition that Biden’s first term has been one of extraordinary achievement. The second is a plan for what the Democrats would do, should Biden withdraw, to select a nominee and win the election. The third is recognition that the threat of regime change is what might justify changing the nominee.

If I am right that much of the energy behind the Biden pile-on is displaced fear of a regime change, much of the media will continue to generate fascist froth for Trump, whether or not Biden is the Democratic nominee — unless, of course, journalists confront their fears, and keep the issue of regime change inside the story, and provide a constructive alternative alongside personal criticism.

[I inverted the order of Snyder’s two paragraphs above so they made more sense in a short quotation.]

And, finally, Rebecca Solnit wrote what I wish I had written. See her essay in The Guardian: Why is the pundit class so desperate to push Biden out of the race?

Solnit begins:

I am not usually one to offer diagnoses of people I’ve never met, but it does seem like the pundit class of the American media is suffering from severe memory loss. Because they’re doing exactly what they did in the 2016 presidential race – providing wildly asymmetrical and inflammatory coverage of the one candidate running against Donald J Trump. They have become a stampeding herd producing an avalanche of stories suggesting Biden is unfit, will lose and should go away, at a point in the campaign in which replacing him would likely be somewhere between extremely difficult and utterly catastrophic. They do this while ignoring something every scholar and critic of journalism knows well and every journalist should. As Nikole Hannah-Jones put it: “As media we consistently proclaim that we are just reporting the news when in fact we are driving it. What we cover, how we cover it, determines often what Americans think is important and how they perceive these issues yet we keep pretending it’s not so.” They are not reporting that he is a loser; they are making him one. And so it goes with what appears to be a journalistic competition to outdo each other in the aggressiveness of the attacks and the unreality of the proposals. It’s a dogpile and a panic, and there is no one more unable to understand their own emotional life, biases and motives than people who are utterly convinced of their own ironclad rationality and objectivity, [also known as] pundits.

Here's my advice to everyone—regardless of what side of the issue you take regarding Joe Biden’s continued candidacy. The issue is Trump, not Biden. Whether Biden drops out is not something you or I have control over. (Readers frequently write to me and say, “Please tell Joe Biden . . . .” The only thing Joe Biden knows about me is my credit card number.)

Joe Biden has control over his choices; his close advisors and family have influence; some senior leaders in the Democratic Party have some influence. They are talking amongst themselves. Let them have a rational, private conversation not played out on the front pages of the NYTimes and WaPo minutes after the latest exchange of views.

However, the one institution that has demonstrated it cannot be trusted to deal with this question is the media. They have a perverse financial incentive: Chaos = profit. They are agents of chaos at this moment in pursuit of the mighty dollar.

I believe that Joe Biden is the best candidate to defeat Trump, that replacing him at this point poses unacknowledged and unknowable risks, and that those who advocate a different path have the burden of identifying and funding an alternative candidate.

Our task has not changed. It is our moral and patriotic duty to alert all Americans about the threat posed by Trump and his fascist plan to undermine democracy. We have plenty of work and precious little time left to accomplish our task.

Let us channel all our energy away from debating Joe Biden’s age and health into defeating Trump. In that task, we must speak with one voice.

[MORE]

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[redflagshipwriter]

Reassembly 6

Masterpost is here.

Peter woke up on the library sofa that he was beginning to think of as his and hefted his bag over his shoulder.

He was doing okay. Really, he was fine. Considering that he was a minor with no resources or adults to help him, his life wasn't so bad.

Last night he'd gone to the gym early and thought about washing his dirty clothes in the shower. He hadn't, but he figured he would have to eventually. He could wear everything at least twice before it was an issue, right?

He chewed on that thought on his way to get breakfast. Today's hotel buffet had boiled eggs, which was new and exciting hotel fare. He made buttery whole grain toast and tried to calculate how many calories he was probably getting on this breakfast buffet lifestyle. ….on the good buffet days 1000 per day, at least.

There was no chance that it was enough to fuel Spider-Man. He had whole fat milk and juice to bulk it up, instead of water, but he knew it really wasn't enough.

‘Maybe I should be going to two buffets per day. They'd notice if I took a day's worth of meals from any one place, but they're open for hours.’

This place was one of the ones that had little plastic tubs of peanut butter with the peel off lid. With a guilty look over at the inattentive desk worker, Peter pocketed a couple for a snack later in the day. The only other non-refrigerated thing that looked small enough to pocket were rolls, and there weren't a ton of those. He took one.

He still had most of the cash from the wallet, but the idea of spending it seemed like a bad one. He might need it a lot more in the future.

‘I should look into food banks?’ That seemed right. There'd been a time after Uncle Ben died that Aunt May had gotten help that way.

Hopefully not for long. Maybe that potential client would hire him today. And them-

….how would they pay him? Peter put his face in his hands and breathed into his fingers for a bit. He didn't have a bank account. Could he open a bank account using only his birth certificate? Probably not! He definitely needed to figure out the social security number thing. Fast.

Peter didn't cry but it was a close thing. It was just… it was all so overwhelming. Nothing was just easy. He couldn't even just work and get paid because there were a billion steps needed before you could get money you'd earned.

Grimly, he wondered if there was something else. There was probably a way to get paid under the table, same day. Manual labor? Some kind of bottom barrel criminal stuff like smuggling or whatever it was people did with drugs?

He wouldn't mind the manual labor, except that it would be a very big problem for his under-fueled metabolism. But he probably had to choose hunger over small time crime. Didn't he? Peter bit his lip and wondered what Aunt May would say. She'd never broken the law, he was pretty sure. But she was a huge proponent of children getting to eat. Maybe she'd forgive him.

That was probably all beside the point. Peter didn’t know how to do any of that. He couldn’t survive by doing crime if he tried. He was kind of relieved to dismiss the idea that way.

‘School really might be my way out,’ Peter thought longingly. ‘If I get a scholarship and housing, that’s a ton of my problems solved right there. I’d be able to get a legit job a lot easier with an address and maybe a student ID.’

That was a longer term plan, then. For now, he had to figure out how to eat until that panned out.

Unbidden, he remembered Kon’s unused kitchen and endless credit cards.

Peter instantly felt a deep well of shame. He wasn’t going to use Kon like that. He wasn’t befriending Kon to benefit. That would be majorly messed up.

He was really looking forward to their planned hangout today, though. He didn’t feel guilty at the thought that he’d probably get to eat there if he cooked. That was normal, that was the kind of thing that friends did. It would be weirder to invite him over and not eat together.

They hadn’t exactly picked a time. Peter figured he would kill time until the library opened at 10, check his email, maybe study a little, and then head over. He didn’t want to go over there so early that Kon fed him both lunch and dinner. It had been fine last time, but it would be tacky to orchestrate that on purpose.

Social Security numbers. Peter mentally reframed the day’s mission to that. He’d check the email, sure, but rather than studying coding he was going to figure out how to get a social security number.

Well. Two. One for his real name, and one for his office workersona.

Peter cleared out of the hotel lobby when he heard an employee start to move around in the office behind the desk. He went to another hotel, got a piece of toast, fruit, and coffee, and then killed time by walking around for a couple of hours.

He wound through the morning crowds with an easy grace and enjoyed the pretense that he was one of them, a regular guy headed to work or something. It felt good to be lost in a crowd and have absolutely no one look at him like he was sticking out. He was having a terrible time but honestly, for a homeless jobless teenager, he was doing a really good job. He didn’t look weird or smell bad, and he’d figured out at least a short term survival strategy and a long term plan that he was working towards.

Oh. Peter felt a twist in his gut. He didn’t stop walking but he felt guilty about it. He probably shouldn’t be mindlessly burning energy by walking around, not when he was eating maybe half of what an average human should eat per day. Mr. Stark had put his ideal intake around 3500 calories, more if he was active. He had a lot of muscle that he really didn’t want his body to cannibalize for fuel.

…There were still a couple hours until the library opened. Peter really, really wished he at least had a library card. If he’d been able to take out a book he could sit on a bench somewhere and kill time without looking too weird. He could even go to a diner and get like, a one dollar black coffee and hang out. Since this was a fantasy, he went ahead and mentally added a cinnamon roll to the imaginary order. Wow, luxury!

Peter laughed to himself. No one looked at him, because this was New York City and a kid laughing on the sidewalk was banal.

It was a weird little goal, but it made him smile. He’d fix his life. He’d have a legal identity, and a place to sleep, and be able to go to school and work. When he got to that point he’d be able to go to a restaurant and order a cinnamon roll and not worry about anything, except how he was going to get back to his universe or whatever. You know, just the normal concerns, not survival.

He killed time in a park, watching ducks bob around and groom each other. The sunshine did something for his mood. When he felt it had been long enough he went to the library and followed through on his plan. He didn’t have any emails yet, except a notification from the job site saying that employers were looking at his profile and he could see who, for a nominal fee!

Peter deleted the email, disgruntled. Seemed kinda predatory.

He went on to learn about the social security system. Apparently they were assigned randomly, and there were multiple physical addresses that issued cards. There were more of them than he’d expected. He found one in a 3rd floor address nearby that was open from 7am to 4 pm and figured out how to get there and what the building looked like. Then he did more reading, brow furrowed, trying to figure out what to do.

It might be more secure to make it look like he was an immigrant who got a social security number assigned as an adult. If he claimed to be from out of the country, then it would be harder to research where he supposedly came from.

On the other hand, he didn’t want to lose his identity as a New Yorker. That was important to him. Peter bit his lower lip and thought it over.

Actually. You didn’t have to be born in the states to be a real New Yorker. He made up imaginary back stories for both of his IDs. The worksona was a born citizen, because Peter didn’t think that was likely to get looked into much. Since that person didn’t really exist, he was going to abandon it as soon as he didn’t need it.

His real ID for the universe was going to be from overseas. He decided that he’d been born in… Moldova.

Peter took a moment to look up Moldova to be sure it still existed in this universe. It did, and it seemed about the same. No travel restrictions to the United States, but not much economic power. It was not a common place to come from, but that fit his purposes. He didn’t want someone to ask why he didn’t speak whatever his supposed native language was.

…Peter made a mental note to look up language resources. Even if he’d supposedly emigrated at a young age, it would be more convincing if he knew at least a little. And it would be a good way to spend some time.

Huh. That was an idea. He probably couldn’t take books out of the library, but he could get a notebook and a pencil for like, 2 dollars, and take notes here. Then he’d have something to study in the hours he was outside with nothing to do. He’d look a lot less weird just sitting around if he looked like a student.

He took a minute to look up their flag and a few trivia points. Then Peter called it good enough for now and started off towards Kon’s apartment.

It would be a lie to say that it was convenient. It could have been worse, but it was far enough that Peter would have used the subway if he had the money to spend.

…He made a note to look into subway hopping. That wasn’t a real crime. It shouldn’t cost anything to use public transportation, it was literally built for public use. But right now, on the way to see a friend, seemed like a bad time to possibly get held up for a misdemeanor.

So he walked. It took him 40 minutes to get to the apartment block. He ducked into a dollar store that he passed on the way to get the notebook and pencil he had decided on, feeling good about it. His stomach grumbled when he passed the cooler with sandwiches and drinks. He ignored it as best as he could and directed his gaze elsewhere. It was easier to be hungry when there wasn’t food nearby.

Peter knocked on the door with his knuckles.

The door opened before he could call out. Kon grinned down at him and then whooshed back to let him in.

“Thanks,” he said. “Have a good day so far?”

Kon shrugged. The light caught on the metal spikes on his jacket with the movement. He turned around and walked ahead of Peter. “I was out of town ‘til this morning, sleepover with some friends,” he said.

Somehow the sight of his absurd muscles peeking out the mesh window startled a cough out of Peter, even though he’d been there when Kon modified the jacket.

“How about you?”

Peter’s brain took a moment to come online. “Uh, I was at the library this morning,” he said. At the weird look Kon gave him, he shrugged self consciously and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m looking into college stuff,” he justified. That was really normal.

“...College, huh.” Now Kon looked uncomfortable. “You must be smart.”

Peter’s face burnt red. “In some ways,” he dodged. “Are you gonna go?”

Kon blinked at him. “I mean….” He gestured at himself with one hand. “I’m not exactly the type, am I?”

“Because you’re hot?” Peter asked, confused. What else was that gesture at his pecs supposed to illustrate?

They stared at each other. Then Kon broke out into snickers. “Because I’m not that smart,” Kon said, like it was a fact of life. “It’s just not for me.”

Kon was laughing, but Peter felt… he felt kind of angry, actually. “Who told you that?” he demanded. He curled his hands into fists in his pockets. “Why don’t you think you’re smart? Eff that. You could go to college. Maybe you should go with me,” he added impulsively. He could help Kon figure it out. Honestly, Kon probably needed help if his parents weren’t talking to him about school or a job.

“Where are you going?” Kon asked. He cocked his head to the side.

Ah. Well. “I’m not very far in the process yet, but I was thinking about Gotham U for engineering,” Peter admitted.

Kon started laughing for real. “Gotham,” he gasped. “Gotham? Me, in Gotham?”

Peter felt his shoulders hunch up. “They have a good program,” he said stiffly. He hadn’t thought Kon would laugh at him. His throat felt tight. He took a step backwards without thinking about it. Maybe this was a mistake.

Somehow Kon tuned into his mood even without looking. He held up a hand, flustered through the remnants of his snickers. “No– no, I mean, I have a friend in Gotham,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to bring that up as a possibility.”

Oh. The stiffness in his shoulders relaxed, just a bit.

“Maybe I should go,” Kon mused. “And surprise him. That would be really funny.”

Peter shrugged.

[sniperct]

I saw your post about the SAVE act and just wanted to say that the reality of it is that the only extra difficulty one would face is the additional requirement to bring the name change paperwork. This act would potentially hinder people who are still or haven't yet updated all their identity documents after a name change ONLY to the extent that those people would definetly need to bring their name change paperwork along with their other documents. That's just the burden of changing your name and it's not the hurdle these articles are making it out to be. I know, I'm trans and changed my name. I bring that document with me for things like voting even though I've updated my birth certificate and everything already. Anyway, we have bigger fish to fry and getting the voter fraud concern addressed shouldn't be considered a theat to the democratic platform.

Even so, the only ones usually voter fraud are republicans and we don't need to make it harder to vote than it already is. Plus, we're talking less than 50 cases of voter fraud in the past 20 years. Out of hundreds of millions of votes cast. It's a nothing burger, just an excuse to disenfranchise voters.

We shouldn't be requiring ID at all! Its a poll tax, because of how expensive it can be to get the required ID.

So it can be a hurdle if you either don't have that documentation, can't find it, or have to pay a sum to get the documentation done, which typically affects poor people, poc and the elderly.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Lil Kalish at HuffPost:

Jules was driving to their friend’s house in St. Petersburg, Florida, last year when a police officer pulled them over for a busted taillight. Jules wondered if the officer saw their “Say Gay” sticker — a small protest to Republican Gov. Ron DeSantis’ “Don’t Say Gay” bill — and nervously handed over their driver’s license. The 26-year-old EMT in training had legally changed their gender marker to an M on their state documents in 2019, but their photo still reflected how Jules looked early in their medical transition, someone without a thick dark mustache and more baby-faced. The officer returned Jules’ driver’s license without any mention of their photo. But the officer did scold Jules, who had recently moved to a new home, for not having their current address on their ID. When Jules, who is using a pseudonym out of fear of harassment, went to their local Department of Motor Vehicles in November to update their address, employees told them there was no record of their gender marker update and that they could not get a replacement ID with their new address and keep the M at the same time.

“I seem to think that they lost my paperwork,” said Jules, who is nonbinary and transmasculine. “The person sitting across from me at the time was pretty much like, ‘Any point going forward, any other time you change this ID, we’re going to have to put an F on it.’ I was like, ‘Damn, wow.’” Jules said the same thing happened when they tried to get a replacement ID in January. Then, on Jan. 31, the Florida Department of Highway Safety and Motor Vehicles quietly issued a memo stating that residents could no longer update or change their gender on state driver’s licenses but could still receive replacement licenses for any name or address changes. “Misrepresenting one’s gender, understood as sex, on a driver license constitutes fraud … and subjects an offender to criminal and civil penalties, including cancellation, suspension, or revocation of his or her driver license,” the memo read.

Now transgender Floridians like Jules don’t know what to do: They’re worried about being turned away from getting a replacement ID with an accurate gender marker, but they’re also anxious about what will happen if they’re pulled over again with a license that has other incorrect information. The memo isn’t a formal law, rule or policy, advocates told HuffPost, which means it may be enforced at different department locations around the state. But even though there isn’t a law in place, the reality is that many trans Floridians are barred from updating their gender marker on their licenses, said Quinn Diaz, a public policy associate at LGBTQ+ rights group Equality Florida. People can still update their gender marker on newly issued licenses if they have already done so on other documents such as a passport or birth certificate.

“Expanding the Department’s authority to issue replacement licenses dependent on one’s internal sense of gender or sex identification is violative of the law and does not serve to enhance the security and reliability of Florida issued licenses and identification cards,” wrote Molly Best, a spokesperson for the Florida Department of Highway Safety and Motor Vehicles, in an emailed statement. “The security, reliability, and accuracy of government issued credentials is paramount.” Florida’s DHSMV rolled out the memo while the state legislature was still deliberating over HB 1639, a bill that would have narrowly defined sex by one’s genitalia at birth and also barred transgender people from updating their IDs. “Sponsors of the bill started presenting the case for passing HB 1639 on the basis that it would bring the state into compliance with its current operations at the DHSMV,” Diaz said. “They were saying the bill was necessary because of the memo that was released by the agency days earlier in a unilateral overreach of its delegated authority. It’s so frustrating and I feel like we’re likely to see that again.”

State lawmakers ultimately rejected the bill and nearly two dozen other anti-LGBTQ bills this spring. But the memo, Diaz said, is an example of the larger trend across Florida state agencies — many of which are stacked with DeSantis appointees who are sympathetic to his anti-trans agenda — creating policies or unofficial guidance that will help pave the way for other anti-trans legislation down the line. Under DeSantis, Florida has in many ways been a testing ground for the broader conservative movement to push some of the harshest anti-LGBTQ policies — from the memo to laws barring trans people from bathrooms and gender and sexuality from being discussed in public classrooms.

“The right wing was using Florida as a petri dish for what would be possible across the country should they gain power in Washington, D.C., again,” said Brandon Wolf, the press secretary for the Human Rights Campaign. “I think we should believe them. It is a road map to making America a place like Florida, and allowing the federal government to do much of what we’ve seen governors like DeSantis and [Texas Gov. Greg] Abbott do across the country.” The reality unfolding in Florida today is just a microcosm of what the United States could look like if Donald Trump were to be elected president this November, according to a nearly 1,000-page document that lays out goals and recommendations for a conservative president. The “Mandate for Leadership: The Conservative Promise,” better known as Project 2025, draws upon many of the current state-level anti-LGBTQ+ laws and policies and expands them to the national stage by any means necessary.

‘The Worst Of Everything We’ve Seen’

Authored by former Trump officials and dozens of right-wing organizations including the Heritage Foundation, nearly every page of Project 2025 details policies that would impact LGBTQ+ people — and there’s a particular focus on transgender people. On the very first page of the manifesto, Heritage Foundation President Kevin Roberts laments the “corruption” of the country “under the ruling and cultural elite” whose children “suffer the toxic normalization of transgenderism with drag queens and pornography invading their school libraries.” Many of the document’s suggestions are things that advocates say Trump could enact on his first day through a series of executive orders, like barring trans people from the military, and removing gender-affirming care and abortion from veteran health care policies. The document also calls for policies to redefine sex as “biological sex,” which not only effectively erases the legal recognition and protection of transgender people but goes against modern science. Project 2025 also recommends rolling back Bostock v. Clayton County, the Supreme Court decision that protects LGBTQ+ people from employment discrimination; eliminating the promotion of gender-affirming care for minors nationwide; reinterpreting Title IX to permit discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity; and abolishing the Department of Education and returning “control of education to the states.”

The project’s agenda encompasses a number of recommendations that target the very existence of LGBTQ+ people. Per Project 2025, a second Trump administration would erase the legal recognition of transgender identity — and go as far as to delete any mention of terms including gender identity, sexual orientation, diversity and abortion from every “federal rule, agency regulation, contract, grant, regulation, and piece of legislation to exist.” The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention would stop collecting data on gender identity, and the administration would block transgender students in public schools from using a name or pronoun that is different from what is listed on their birth certificates without the written permission of their parents.

The conservative manifesto illustrates a vast agenda to “restore the family as the centerpiece of American life and protect our children.” In a chapter about the Department of Health and Human Services, former Trump HHS director Roger Severino, who drafted many of Trump’s anti-trans health policies, urges the incoming HHS secretary to “proudly state … that married men and women are the ideal, natural family structure.”

HuffPost reports on how a 2nd Donald Trump "Presidency" would be a massive nationwide nightmare for trans, intersex, nonbinary, and gender nonconforming people (and LGBTQ+ people and their allies more broadly), with the assistance of The Heritage Foundation-led Project 2025. 🏳️‍⚧️

[stardustshelb]

"Strawberry" Part Two

TW: Language and sexual content

Word count: 7,468

Chapter Four

“No! No, absolutely not,” Riley said with a concerned look on her face. I FaceTimed her as soon as I got settled in the Airbnb. Since I was the first one to arrive, I felt as though I should get first pick out of the four-bedroom house. This place was twice the size and so much nicer than my own home; no wonder the bill for the weekend was twice my monthly mortgage payment. I saved the master bedroom for Riley, but I decided to claim the room across the hall from the guest bathroom. While it wasn’t the biggest room in the house, it was definitely the most beautiful, in my opinion. I sat on the bed rubbing my hands across the satin sheets as I stared at my best friend’s worried face. 

I pleaded, “Why not?” 

She exclaimed, “Because he’s a stranger! Because you’re engaged! Because you’re alone! Need I say more?” 

“He’s just coming over to cook for me. Nothing more… I haven’t even texted him yet,” I said.

“Look, you know Kenneth is literally my least favorite person on the planet, but you have to be smart about this. You’re normally so level-headed,” she said with a sigh.

“I wish I could explain the way Josh makes me feel. He made me feel better about myself in the hour and a half I sat next to him than anyone has in the past five years,” I said with a lump in my throat. It was true and I realized now more than ever why staying in his company was vital. I needed to be reminded of who I was, who I am, and who I want to be. Josh somehow had the ability to elicit that feeling with his endearing words and beautiful smile.

“Ouch,” Riley said with a disappointed look on her face.

“Riley, you know that wasn’t directed at you,” I said, realizing I should have chosen my words better.

“Listen. I love you. I am not letting your lapse in judgment impact this weekend. Please don’t text him. You have never had to endure the dating world because you’ve been with the same guy your whole life. Men will say anything you want to hear just to get inside you,” she said. 

I knew she was probably right. I had zero experience dating anyone because Kenneth and I have been together since we were kids. I always thought marrying my high school sweetheart was bragworthy, but I feel the opposite now. I have had a secret longing inside me for so long, but change is scary. 

“And what if I do text him? Will you still love me?” I asked honestly.

“Of course, but I can’t say I would support your decision. What’s his last name? Does he live in Nashville? What’s this guy’s deal? What power does he have over you?” she asked like she was interrogating me for a crime I had not yet committed.

“Ok, so I can’t answer the last name part but–” I began.

“Are you serious? You don’t even know his last name?” she interrupted.

“He said he would send me all of his personal information once I texted him. And I will send everything to you. I won’t give him the Airbnb address without receiving what I asked for first,” I explained.

“Text him right now while you’re on FaceTime with me,” she demanded.

“Riley, it’s only been one hour since I left the airport. I don’t want to look desperate,” I replied. I stared at her face while I could see she was thinking of what to say next. Was I really making a mistake by wanting to hangout with him some more?

“Ok, fine.But I want his full name, phone number, picture, social security number, a copy of his birth certificate, and a vehicle description within the next two hours, or I will catch the next flight to Nashville and come kick your ass,” she said with a scowl on her face.

“Within the next two hours…Yes ma’am,” I said with a salute. I ended the FaceTime so I could start to unpack my suitcase. I brought outfits for all of the activities on Riley’s weekend itinerary, something I had no say in creating, but I’ve always been willing to go with the flow. I didn’t bring any extra cute outfits because I expected to stay in tonight. And while that’s still the case, I especially didn’t expect to have company. Would Josh change his clothes before coming? Would it be weird if I didn’t? Why did I care so much?

My phone started to ring which brought me back to planet earth. Kenneth’s name was on my phone screen. He was the last person I wanted to talk to, but I figured if I didn’t answer his call, he would only continue to call me.

“Hey,” I said once I picked up my phone.

“Are you at the Airbnb, yet?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ve been here for an hour talking to Riley on FaceTime,” I said.

“Why didn’t you let me know you made it?” he questioned me.

“I honestly had so much on my mind that I intended to, but–” I started.

“Glad to know I’m not on your mind,” he said in an accusatory tone. 

“Kenneth, I don’t want to argue right now. I’m at the Airbnb. I’m unpacking. I need to start decorating the house here soon before everyone gets here tomorrow,” I sighed into the phone.

“What are you doing about dinner?” he asked. Shit.

“I’ll probably DoorDash something local. I’m staying in, you know that,” I reminded him. “Can you send me a picture of Sassy?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“Yeah, I will here in a bit,” he responded. “I think the guys and I are gonna go grab a beer after we get off work tonight,” he said.

“Didn’t you guys just go out last night?” I asked.

“Yeah, we’re still celebrating our big win for the company. Are you seriously questioning me when you’re the one in Nashville on my dime?” he asked.

“Just be safe. Don’t forget to send me a picture of Sassy, please,” I said in an attempt to end the phone call. 

“Yeah, I will. Have a good night, I guess,” he said with the least amount of enthusiasm a human could have.

“Thanks, you too,” I said, returning the disinterested tone. I hung up the phone and stared at myself in the reflection of the full-length mirror near the side of the bed. How can someone who says he loves me make me feel so bad about myself? How can someone who I once loved more than anyone in the world make me feel like I am the unworthiest person on earth?

This feeling of despair solidified my decision. I opened my contacts app and scrolled until I found the name Plagiarism; as soon as I saw it, I let out a laugh. It felt good to laugh again..

Me: “Hey, it’s the girl who has no name.” I hit send without overthinking the text. What if he’s never watched Game of Thrones? What if he doesn’t get it? What if I look like a total idiot?

Plagiarism: “The smart, beautiful, arrogant one?”

Me: “I’ve heard that a couple times today.”

Plagiarism: “I was wondering if you were actually going to text me. I’m glad you did. What would you like me to cook tonight?”

Me: “Chef’s choice. Surprise me.”

Plagiarism: “Any food allergies? Likes? Dislikes?” 

Me: “I’m easy to please.”

Plagiarism: “Noted. I’m going to run to the store because I’m low on groceries. I haven’t been home in a while. I’ll text you when I’m about to check out so you can send me your address.”

Me: “Remember I’m not sending you my address until you send me the safety precautions first.”

Plagiarism: “Right. As you wish…”

I stared at my phone screen waiting for the text bubble to pop up to show he’s sending me the information I’ve asked for. As I wish? What the hell does that even mean? I couldn’t stand waiting on his response a second longer, so I left my phone on the nightstand and began hanging up my clothes for the weekend. I opted to change into the comfy clothes that I brought to lounge in tonight after all. I inspected my hair and makeup in the mirror; I could definitely use a refresh. I carried my toiletries bag to the bathroom and began freshening up. Should I wear perfume? I wasn’t wearing any today on the plane. Would he think I was weird for wearing perfume in pajamas? God I hope he’s wearing that cologne again. Suddenly I heard my phone buzz. I ran to check the screen when I saw it was a text from Riley.

Riley: “Did you text him?”

Me: “Maybe…”

Riley: “Send me his number.”

I knew Riley wouldn’t try to contact him. She just wanted to have his information on hand in case anything were to happen to me. I copied the number I had saved for Plagiarism and forwarded it to her. I put my phone back down on the nightstand to continue freshening up in the bathroom when I heard my phone ringing. Who the hell is calling me?

“Yes?” I asked questionably.

“That’s not even his real phone number!” Riley exclaimed.

“What do you mean it’s not real? I have already texted him… Of course it’s real,” I explained.

“No, I just Googled that number and it’s a Google Voice number. That means he gave you a fake number connected to an app. I don’t like this one bit,” she said.

“Riley, you’re overthinking this–” I tried to respond.

“You’re not thinking at all!” she yelled. I sat in silence as I realized she may be right. All I knew about this stranger was that his name is Josh, he’s a concert photographer, he lives in Nashville, and he listens to a band named Greta Van Fleet. Oh, and he loves his mom. That’s it. 

“Please be smart about this,” Riley pleaded, breaking the awkward silence.

“He just responded!” I yelled into the phone while I put her on speaker. I opened his message to find a selfie that I swear was taken by an angel. I stared at his photo for so long I wanted it burned into my memory. I could tell that he changed clothes too. Those sunglasses from earlier now hung around his sweatshirt collar. I zoomed into the background trying to find details but all I could see was that he was in the driver’s seat of a nice vehicle. His hat from earlier was gone unleashing curls styled into… Is that a mullet? 

“Well what does it say?” Riley yelled to knock me out of my trance.

 I read aloud his text to Riley, “My name is Joshua Michael. You already have my phone number. Here is a picture of what I currently look like. I just pulled into Whole Foods, so I’m heading inside to pick up some groceries for dinner.”

“He has two first names?” Riley questioned.

“You would focus on that,” I said with a laugh. I was too busy staring at the selfie he sent me. His soft smile hid the perfect teeth behind his full lips. His eyes were soft and inviting. I wonder if those are natural curls.

“What did you say he did for a living?” Riley asked.

“He’s a concert photographer,” I replied.

“Well, there’s a country music artist named Joshua Michael. He’s old. Let me search for his photography business–” Riley said.

“I don’t know if he has his own business. He could work for a company,” I said with an annoyed tone that she was still in her investigative mood.

“True. Send me his picture,” Riley commanded. I went back to my messages and saved the selfie he sent me. I texted it to Riley and waited for her commentary.

“Ohhhh, ok Joshua,” she said in a high-pitch tone. She got it.

“I’m telling you, his conversation alone is more enticing than his looks,” I said.

“I understand why you are willing to risk your life for a stranger now,” Riley said.

“He texted me again!” I yelped not acknowledging her dig. 

“Read it to me!” Riley exclaimed.

“Ok, I am grabbing two bottles of wine. One red, one white. Unless you think I should get something else?” I read aloud.

“You don’t even drink,” Riley said.

“I drink!” I defended myself.

“Oh yeah, once in a blue moon doesn’t mean you drink. You better limit yourself to one glass. You know you’re kind of a lightweight,” Riley said. 

“Oh, so now you’re ok with him coming over?” I said with a matter-of-fact tone. Riley had been so against the idea of Josh coming over for dinner until this moment. It’s the first time she sounded like she was in on the idea, so I knew I had to take advantage of it.

“He’s coming over regardless of what I say, so I might as well embrace it. Send me a picture of his vehicle when he pulls into the Airbnb,” she commanded.

“Yes, ma’am. Anything else?” I asked sarcastically.

“I want you to text me periodically through the night to check in, ok?” she instructed.

“Yes, ma’am,” I responded.

“Alright, well have fun. Be safe. I love you more than anything. Use your head. Drink no more than one glass of wine. Text me often and–” she tried to say.

“Ok, ok. I got it. I need to get off the phone to freshen up my makeup,” I interrupted. I said goodbye to Riley and hung up the phone. I went back to my text messages to reply to Josh; I wondered if he was annoyed that I hadn’t responded yet.

Me: “One bottle of white wine would be fine.”

Plagiarism: “I’m buying two just in case.”

Me: “It won’t be necessary.”

Plagiarism: “Then I’ll leave the unopened bottle there for you and your friends to drink later this weekend.”

Me: “How thoughtful.”

Plagiarism: “Always. I’m almost finished here. Can I have your address now or is my background check still processing?” I let out a laugh. Against my own better judgment, I sent him the address to the Airbnb. I couldn’t believe I was about to spend the evening with one of the most interesting, attractive men I have ever met. They don’t have guys like him in my small Oklahoma town. 

Plagiarism: “My GPS says I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Chapter Five

With 20 minutes to spare, I took what my mother always called a “whore’s bath” in the bathtub. I continued to inspect my hair and makeup in the mirror. Why did I care so much about what I looked like? I brushed my teeth and reapplied my lipstick. I decided on a soft shade of pink to give my lips some color but not too much color. I stood back and examined my lounge set: I got this matching cropped short sleeve sweatshirt and pants on sale at Walmart, and this guy shops at Whole Foods. And he flies in Group A. And he has an assistant. I am so not his type. He is going to be bored of me within the first 10 minutes. 

I put on another layer of deodorant because my nerves were starting to make me sweat. What am I doing? This was a bad idea. This was a stupid idea. I needed to text him right now and tell him I changed my mind. My anxiety was starting to get the best of me, so I started to remember my coping skills. I left the bathroom and sat on the couch in the spacious living room. Breathe. I opened my Spotify app and rather than listening to a familiar song to help calm my nerves, I hit a random song on the Greta Van Fleet playlist that Josh had downloaded to my phone. I closed my eyes and listened to music as I concentrated on my breathing.

“A beauty lives in every soul. The more you love, the more you know. They pass the torch, and it still burns. Once children then, it’s now our turn.”

This song was just what I needed to hear. Did Josh introduce me to my new favorite band? I continued to breathe and take in the beautiful lyrics when I heard a door shut. My eyes shot open and I jumped up from the couch. I glanced over the living room once more to make sure everything looked perfect. I peaked out the window to see him getting the bags of groceries out of the back of his Jeep. I quickly snapped a picture to text to Riley before he saw me. I continued to watch him from the window as he grabbed his final bag. Did he buy the whole damn store? I moved away from the window and waited by the door to let him in. I felt like I was going to pass out.

“Come on in,” I said as I opened the door. Somehow he looked even better than he did earlier. I glanced at his matching tan sweatsuit that complemented mine. His sweatshirt had a tiny triangular symbol with rhinestones, a symbol I did not recognize, sewn into it. He definitely did not get that from Walmart. I closed the door behind him as he carried what looked like seven bags of groceries to the kitchen. I followed him trying to appear calm, cool, and collected. I sat at one of the barstools behind the counter to watch him as he unpacked his purchases.

“Mrs–” he began.

“Miss,” I corrected him. He looked confused as he glanced at my engagement ring still on my hand. Why didn’t I take this off?

“Miss, I hope you like Polish food,” he said as he pulled out the two bottles of wine.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever had Polish food,” I said in a curious tone.

“I’m about to rock your world,” he said with a smile that displayed the gap that I will dream about tonight. I examined his hairstyle while he unpacked bell peppers, onions, carrots, mushrooms, various spices, and a package of beef. His hair was definitely styled in a way that Kenneth would die before wearing. It was a mullet alright, but not like any mullet you would see in Oklahoma. 

“This is my grandmother’s recipe. Normally it simmers on the stove for several hours, but we don’t have that luxury. It will still be good. It’s my favorite comfort soup. It’s called gulasz,” he explained.

“Like goulash?” I asked.

“Similar, but this is the Polish version. Where are the knives?” he asked as he started to wash the vegetables.

“This is my first time using the kitchen too, so your guess is as good as mine,” I said with a nervous laugh. I got up from the barstool to start opening the plethora of drawers until I found the utensils he would need.

“So you’re Polish?” I asked as I handed him a cutting board.

“Yes,” he said with a sense of pride.

 “Have you ever been to Poland?” I asked as I searched for two wine glasses in the cabinets. “One drink” I practically heard Riley’s voice in my ears.

“No, not yet. It’s definitely on my travel list when I go to Europe later this year,” he said as he stirred the beef inside the pot he found. 

“I’ve never been outside of the United States. Hell, I’ve barely been outside of Oklahoma. By the way, why were you and your assistant in Oklahoma City anyways?” I asked.

“My who–Oh, yeah, he and I had a business meeting yesterday afternoon, so we flew back this morning. Our flight last night was canceled. We showed up to the airport this morning and asked for the earliest flight to Nashville, so we were limited to Southwest. But hey, no complaints now,” he said. Although his back was to me, I could hear the smile in his voice.

“A business meeting for your photography?” I asked as I watched him sprinkle paprika into the pot.

“Yes, something like that,” he said with a smirk as he glanced over his shoulder. “Do you live in Oklahoma City?” he asked.

“Oh, God no. I had to drive an hour and a half to get to the airport. My hometown is tiny. We don’t even have a stoplight,” I said.

“You still live in your hometown?” he asked. I watched him chop the vegetables with great focus. His knife work demonstrated that he was skilled. I gazed at the veins in his hands protruding with every motion. He dumped the sliced vegetables into the pot and covered it with a lid. I realized I had been watching him for too long and almost forgot what he had asked me.

“Yes, everyone left except me,” I said with a laugh to hide the pain in my voice.

Josh immediately stopped what he was doing and turned to face me. I could feel him studying my face as if he were trying to read me like a novel. He slowly walked over to me. I felt my cheeks get warm as he stood so close I could smell his cologne over the aromatic dinner on the stove.

“Are you lonely?” he asked with a look in his eyes I couldn’t quite place. Pity? 

“Most of the time, yes. But it’s a feeling I’ve grown accustomed to,” I said with a shrug.

“I could sense that about you. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t want you to spend your first evening in Nashville alone,” he said looking at my mouth. Did I have lipstick on my teeth? 

“Yes, I definitely appreciate the company. How long until the–what was it called again?” I asked.

“Repeat after me…” he said slowly. “Gulasz.” I watched his mouth closely as his tongue flicked between the syllables. 

“Gulasz…” I repeated back to him.

“Good girl,” he said with a wink. I felt myself forming into a puddle on the floor. “It should be finished in about an hour and a half.”

 I needed to distract myself from him. I moved around him to walk toward the counter where I had left the two empty wine glasses. “Sure, alcohol will help” I could hear Riley again. I realized the wine he had bought needed a corkscrew. The only wine I have ever had only had a twist top.

“This is one of my favorites despite it coming from a grocery store. If I had more time to prepare, I would have brought some bottles from my favorite winery,” he said as he began searching the kitchen drawers for a corkscrew. 

“I’m honestly not a wine connoisseur. I rarely drink,” I said timidly.

“We don’t have to open a bottle if you don’t want to. I’m perfectly fine drinking water,” he said, putting the newly found corkscrew back in the drawer.

“No, no, I would like a glass,” I said with a smile. 

“Are you sure? I would never ask you to do anything you didn’t feel comfortable doing,” he said. His face looked so genuine that I wanted to take a picture to remember it. 

“I’m sure,” I said, holding the glasses out to him. He took them from my hands but never broke eye contact. I couldn’t stand the tension any longer, so I walked into the living room and waited for him to bring us the glasses of wine. I glanced at my phone to see two notifications from Riley and 49 from Nashville Babes. I cleared the group text notification and opened Riley’s messages.

Riley: “Ok, so he drives a nice ass Jeep. Slay.”

Riley: “I need a check-in soon or I’m booking a flight.”

Me: “All is good. Dinner is cooking. I haven’t even had a sip of wine yet.”

I put my phone away as Josh sauntered into the room carrying two glasses of white wine. I placed two coasters on the living room table for him. He took a seat on the couch next to me while handing me my glass.

“Cheers, darling,” he said, holding his glass out.

“Cheers,” I said with a nervous laugh. We clinked glasses and took a sip of the wine. I could feel Josh’s eyes on me but I refused to look at him. I scanned the room looking for something to initiate a conversation.

“Have you always lived in Nashville?” I asked him.

“No, I’m actually from Michigan. I moved here about five-ish years ago,” he said, not breaking his gaze off of me.

“I’ve never been to Michigan either. I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you,” I said timidly.

“I bet there is a lot about you that would surprise me,” he said with a wink. I took another drink of my wine to hide my smile. 

“Tell me about that ring on your finger,” he said candidly. Ah, the elephant in the room.

“This is my engagement ring,” I said looking down at my hand. I used to love this ring. I hate that I don’t anymore.

“When is the big day?” he asked.

“There isn’t one,” I said. “Not yet.”

“Marriage isn’t for me,” he said with a sigh.

“Why not?” I asked.

“I just don’t see the purpose. I can love someone, or multiple people in my lifetime, and I don’t need a piece of paper from the government to signify that love. I think society has a twisted expectation with matrimony. If I find someone with whom I want to share a connection with, I will focus my time and energy on that person for as long as I can,” he said finishing his wine. He placed his empty glass on the table next to mine that was still nearly full. 

“To each his own,” I said, eyeing our wine glasses.

“I don’t mean to offend you,” he said.

“You didn’t. I think you have some interesting ways of looking at the world. I’m sure that comes with traveling so much with touring,” I said. Josh looked at me like I had just said the raunchiest curse word he could think of. His shocked expression quickly faded.

“Yes, photography. Touring. Right,” he said as he stood up and made his way into the kitchen. That was weird.

I watched him check the gulasz on the stove before grabbing the opened wine bottle and bringing it back into the living room. “You need to catch up. I’m starting to look like a lush,” he said while pouring himself a second glass. 

“I told you I’m not much of a drinker,” I said, grabbing my glass from his peer pressure. I took another drink as he sat back down on the couch. 

“One more glass and I’ll show you that exotic dance routine,” he said, wiggling his hips. I busted out laughing. 

“Hold on, I’ll need to go get some dollar bills out of my purse!” I said jumping up. Going along with the joke, I polished off my wine and placed the now empty glass back on the table. I scurried into the bedroom in which I claimed earlier to find my purse. I was looking through my wallet when I heard Josh enter the room.

“So this is your bedroom for the weekend?” he asked, looking around. He walked over to the nightstand and placed two full glasses of wine on it.

“I’m not drinking another glass of wine,” I said.

“That’s fine. I’ll drink both,” he said with a smile.

“Joshua Michael, you are a lush,” I said with a giggle. He walked over to where I was standing with the dollar bills in my hand. 

“Are you going to tell me your name?” he asked.

“Do you normally go over to strange women’s houses when you don’t even know their name?” I asked.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” he said with a wink. He moved closer to me. My breathing became short and I found it hard to stay standing. “Honestly, it’s probably best if I don't know your name.”

“Really?” I asked.

“This right here,” he said, reaching out for my hand and toying with my ring. “This right here tells me I don’t need to know your name,” he said. “You will only be here for the weekend and I’m just here for the moment,” he said, still holding my hand in his. “No name… No strings attached,” he said before letting go of my hand. I watched him walk over to the night stand and grab his glass of wine. He was no longer looking at me but I couldn’t stop looking at him. He was waiting for me to make the next move.

Chapter Six

I walked back into the living room, leaving Josh and the wine glasses alone in my bedroom. I could feel the effect of the wine starting to take its toll on me. My lips were tingling with a numbness that was always the first sign of feeling buzzed. I grabbed my phone and texted Riley:

Me: “I’m still good.”

Riley: “What was for dinner?”

“You know you don’t have to go to another room to text him,” Josh said as he walked into the living room with his now empty glass in his hand.

“I’m actually texting Riley to assure her that I am still alive, thank you very much,” I said with a hint of annoyance. 

“Tell her I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge for her tomorrow,” he called out as he walked into the kitchen. I looked up from my phone to watch him stirring the contents inside the pot. 

“It smells amazing,” I said.

“It will taste even better. It probably needs another 45 minutes. Can you wait that long?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” I lied. I hadn’t eaten since I left the house this morning. The aroma was making my stomach growl in anticipation. I walked back into my bedroom to grab the new glass of wine that Josh had poured me. I took a few sips to try to trick my brain into thinking I was eating something. Alcohol on an empty stomach. That’s a good idea.

“I thought you weren’t drinking anymore?” Josh asked from the doorway.

“I changed my mind,” I said, taking another sip.

“The bottle is almost empty,” he said with a laugh. 

“Well, that’s not because of me,” I said, sticking my tongue out.

“It’s rude to stick your tongue out at people,” he said walking into the room. I tried to think of something witty to say back. The alcohol was definitely in my system now. I wasn’t drunk but the buzz was nice. 

“I’m not sure how much longer I can wait before dinner,” I said honestly.

“How about I take your mind off of dinner for a bit?” he said, closing the space between us. I gasped when he stood so close to me I could smell the wine on his breath. He took the wine glass out of my hand and placed it on the nightstand. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked me while staring deep into my eyes like he could glimpse into my soul.

“I–I don’t know,” I said nervously.

“I’ll wait until you say yes,” he said, giving me a light kiss on the cheek. At that moment, I felt every nerve in my body combust. I was no longer solid matter; I was a liquid. Without hesitation, I grabbed Josh by the waist and pulled him into a kiss. His full lips kissed mine back and I felt his tongue make its way into my mouth. I pulled him tighter and felt his hands move up my back and into my hair. Every part of me was in this kiss. I lightly bit his bottom lip with my teeth and heard him let out a slight moan. I felt his hand grab the back of my head as he gently guided my body to the bed. 

I began kissing his neck, the same neck I had admired so much on the plane. I tasted his scent and licked the mixture of  cologne and sweat off of his neck. He began to remove his sweatshirt and pulled it over his head. I inhaled suddenly when I saw his perfect chest. I moved my lips down from his neck and began kissing his pecs. I continued to make my way down to his stomach until the peach fuzz below his belly button tickled my chin. I looked up at Josh and saw him smiling as he watched me work my way back up to his lips. He pulled me in for another kiss and I whimpered as he moved his hands all over my body.

“Can I kiss you all over?” he asked me as I tried to hide my grin.

“Where did you have in mind?” I asked playfully. He moved his fingers across my collarbone.

“Here,” he said. Then he moved his fingers lower to my breasts. “Here,” he said again. His fingers began to move slowly downward until they stopped between my legs. “And here,” he said with finality. I removed my sweatshirt over my head and threw it to the floor. I began to unbutton my jeans when Josh’s hands stopped me.

“Let me,” he said in a seductive whisper. I moved my hands to allow him to remove them for me. He pulled my jeans down so slowly I thought I was going to melt into the bed. I could feel my panties sticking to me. He worked his way back up to my upper body and toyed with the clasp of my bra. With only one hand, he swiftly undid it and exposed my bare breasts. He’s definitely a pro at this.

“Wow,” he said while admiring my body. I moved my hands over my face to hide my embarrassment. 

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, still covering my face. 

“Move your hands. I want to see you smile when I kiss you…all over,” he said gently. He moved his face back to my neck and I could feel his tongue swirl against my skin. His facial hair tickled my neck as his mouth moved to kiss my collarbone. Per his request, I moved my hands away from my face and placed them in his hair. I twirled my fingers through his curls as he brought his lips to my breasts. He took my nipple into his mouth and I let out a moan against my will. This noise that escaped me made him even more eager as he sucked and swirled his tongue against me. His free hand grasped my other breast and he moved his mouth to show it the same attention. I looked down to see him to find him staring at me as he moved his mouth even lower down my stomach.

“Can I remove your panties?” he asked.

“Yes,” I sighed. Just then, I felt his hands gently pull the sides of my lace underwear down my legs. He moved his body to the floor and pulled me to the edge of the bed. He went to place his mouth against my entrance when I squeezed my legs together and pushed him back with my hands.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

“It’s just… I don’t…” I said embarrassed.

“You don’t want me to go down on you?” he asked.

“I…I’ve never had anyone do that to me before,” I admitted.

“I want to show you what you’re missing,” he said, teasing my thighs with his hands. 

It’s not that Kenneth and I aren’t sexually active. Well, scratch that. I wouldn’t say we’re even active anymore, but we’ve had sex. We’ve had the same sex since we were teenagers. In the ten years we’ve been together, he has never gone down on me; I guess I’m too embarrassed to ask him. 

While he was still kneeling on the floor, I looked into Josh’s eyes as his head was positioned between my thighs. I gave him a nod and laid my head back to stare at the ceiling. Before I knew it, his tongue began licking my entrance. Oh my God. I felt his tongue work its way up to my clit where he took his time. With each movement of his tongue, I felt my legs twitch out of my control. He continued to grasp my legs with his hands as my body writhed on the mattress. “Oh my God,” I moaned aloud. My thoughts were escaping me as I felt like I had lost total control of my mind, body, and soul. It felt like he was consuming me with every stroke of his tongue.

“Oh my God,” I practically screamed as I felt myself cum. I tried to squeeze my thighs together but he held them firm with his hands and continued to lick my clit. This feeling was nearly leaving me no longer conscious. “Fuck. Josh,” I moaned as I pulled his hair into my clenched fists. He continued to lick me until I could no longer stand it. I let out another scream and squeezed my thighs together so hard I thought I may kill him. He slowly pulled back and I could see his facial hair was dripping wet. Was that from me?

He kissed the top of my entrance one last time before sitting back on his hands and feet. I laid still on top of the bed, nearly unable to move as I tried to process what just happened. 

“I’m going to clean up in the bathroom,” he said, waiting for me to respond before jumping up. I still couldn’t formulate a single word so I laid there waiting for my senses to come back to me. I heard him laugh as he left the room. I scrambled to find my bra and panties while he was gone. I can’t believe that just happened. I can’t believe what I’ve been missing. 

I went to find my phone on the nightstand to see Riley had sent me a series of texts. I skimmed through them and tried to hide my laughter as I sent another check-in text:

Me: So. Much. To. Tell. You. Still alive and very well.

I hit send and put my phone back as Josh entered the bedroom. He found his sweatshirt and began to pull it over his head. He climbed into bed to lay next to me.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly as I could feel his gaze on me. 

“What are you thinking about?” I returned his question with a question. 

“I’m wondering how someone could be engaged to be married, yet they’ve never experienced one of God’s greatest creations,” Josh said with a laugh.

“Ken–He just never has,” I said as I stared into his eyes.

“He’s a moron. You deserve to feel that every day. I love providing that service,” he said with a smirk.

“I can tell you know what you’re doing, but I don’t want to know about your history,” I said, biting my lip.

 “Your taste in particular…” he began to say.

“My taste?” I asked as my cheeks began to redden.

“You taste bitter and sweet… like a strawberry,” he said. “It’s incredible.”

“A strawberry?” I nearly squeaked.

“It’s now my favorite fruit,” he said as he kissed my forehead. He got up from the bed and handed me my clothes from the floor. “Dinner should be ready now,” he said with a laugh.

After freshening up in the bathroom, I made my way into the dining room to find Josh had already made us plates. The room smelled amazing. He opened the second bottle of wine and was pouring us new glasses when I took my seat at the table.

“This looks incredible, thank you,” I said as I waited for him to join me.

“It’s been simmering for a while,” he said with a wink as he placed my wine glass in front of me. He took the seat next to mine and handed me a spoon. I took a bite of the gulasz and fought the urge to moan again this evening. 

“Oh my God,” I said.

“I’ve heard that before,” he said with a smirk. I reached out and pinched him on the arm as he playfully pulled away.

“This may be one of the best things I’ve ever tasted,” I said as I went for a second bite.

“I used to think that too before, well,” he said, raising his eyebrow at me.

“Shut the hell up,” I said laughing.

“So I saved your number in my phone as Strawberry,” he said with a wink. Should I ask him about the Google Voice thing? No, I don’t want to look crazy.

“You think you’ll need my number after tonight?” I said a little too bluntly. 

“You’re still here for a few nights. Maybe we can do this again,” he said with a wink.

“I’m going to be too busy with bars, karaoke, dancing, and strippers,” I said with a smug look on my face. “I won’t be thinking about you.” He can tell I’m lying.

“Thank you again for dinner and for keeping me company,” I said as I collected our dishes to take them to the sink. Josh was searching the cabinets for plastic containers to package the leftover gulasz in. 

“It was an honor,” he said with that brilliant smile of his. It was getting late and I had yet to decorate the Airbnb before the girls’ arrival tomorrow. I was in so much bliss that I had forgotten why I was in Nashville in the first place. I needed to clear his lips, eyes, smile, voice–everything about him from my mind. This was supposed to be Riley’s weekend but thoughts of his tongue consumed me. I walked Josh to the door as he moved in to kiss me goodbye. 

“If I texted you, would you respond?” he asked with one foot literally out the door.

“I might,” I said as I bit my lip.

“I’ll take my chances,” he said as he walked out into the dark driveway. I watched him from the porch as he jumped into his Jeep to leave. I heard my phone ringing from the bedroom. I closed and locked the front door and then took off in a sprint hoping to see the name Plagiarism across my phone screen. Nope.

“Hey,” I said as I answered the phone with a heavy sigh.

“Why do you sound like you are out of breath?” Kenneth asked.

“I just had to run to the bedroom to catch my phone,” I said. “Why are you still up?”

“What did you have for dinner?” he asked instead of answering my question.

“I DoorDashed some pasta from a local Italian place nearby,” I lied into the phone.

“Really?” he asked.

“Mhm,” I said wondering why I felt like I was being interrogated.

“Then why is there no history of any orders from tonight on our DoorDash account?” he asked. Shit.

“I mean I called the restaurant and ordered over the phone. They delivered it,” I quickly added.

“Oh, and thanks for not leaving me anything to eat in the house,” he said. 

“I went grocery shopping before I left. There are plenty of things in the fridge–” I began.

“Yeah, it would have been nice to have some leftovers, but instead I have to cook for myself,” he interrupted. He sounded drunk.

“Look, it’s late. I’m heading to bed. I’m tired from traveling and decorating the house, so if there’s nothing else you have to say to me,” I stated. Kenneth immediately hung up; my brief moment of boldness must have pissed him off even more. I shot Riley a quick text to let her know that I was alone, alive, and going to bed so she wouldn’t be worried before I left my phone on the charger.

I was desperately tired but I needed to decorate the Airbnb for Riley’s bachelorette weekend. I carried the packages of penis and hot pink cowgirl-themed decorations to the living room to begin. To stay awake, I turned on the TV to pull up YouTube to play some background music while I got busy. With the remote, I searched for my possible new favorite band, Greta Van Fleet. I scrolled through the first couple videos until I recognized the face on the thumbnails.

“What the fuck?” I yelled.

[kata-sans]

Raising Stripe

Chapter 7

Three outfits and three diaper sizes later, Stripe was finally dressed. Stripe was placed on the living room couch as Tweek and Craig discussed their current situation. They were waiting for the expert, Kenny was sending their way.When the doorbell rang, Tweek ran to open the door. He was surprised to see a familiar face.

“Well howdy fellas. It's so good to see ya! Why it's been awfully too long.”

“BUTTERS! You… you're the expert?”

“Well I'm actually working as a CPS case worker. Kenny said he turned your pet into a human baby. I'm here to help you guys gather all you need to turn your home into a baby-safe sanctuary! May I come in?”

Tweek stepped aside to let Butters in. He quickly noticed the baby sitting on the couch. He knelt down and began to coo and fawn over the infant. 

“Well he's just so darn precious. You guys must be so proud of him.” Craig and Tweek chuckled awkwardly at Butter's compliments.

“Can I look at the space for the nursery?” Butters asked.

The couple looked confused. “Nursery, what nursery?” Craig asked.

“Babies this young don't need to sleep in the same room as their parents, so you need a place to put his crib in.” Butters explained.

“Stripe’s room is the second door on the right,” shared Tweek.

The adults made their way into the room. Butters began to inspect the obvious guinea pig enclosure that took up a great deal of the room. The enclosure had been cleaned and was in pristine condition for a guinea pig, but Butters could only tisk in disapproval.

“Well this just won't do. Pet cages must be kept out of infant nurseries. This will need to be removed pronto.” Butters pulled out a notepad and began to furiously scribble on it. He tore the page out and handed it to Craig saying, “ Here's a short list of items you are going to need for a six month old. You might wanna hurry though, poor little guy is gonna wanna eat soon.” 

Almost on cue, the baby on the couch began to whine. Butters quickly finished explaining the list to Craig and headed towards the entrance. He addressed the couple one last time, “Oh I nearly forgot, here is a book on proper child care. Kenny also asked me to help you forge paperwork for your baby. What name should I use for the birth certificate?”

“Tucker,” Craig answered confidently.

“And the first name?”

“Stripe?” Craig answered with hesitation.

“Hmm…I don't think you can use that on a birth certificate, how about something like Stevie. You can still call him Stripe.” 

Craig shrugged, “Stevie Tucker it is.”

Butters left with a nod of approval and a promise to visit soon.

Ch6

Ch8