#sonders brain stopped working

[kalopses-sonderes]

Come eat, my children

First actual fic in months

@squ4respace is the reason I got up and made this, go thank ‘em😋🙏🏽

“The Dance with Ash”

Pairing: Platonic! Father! Millennial Tree Cookie x Child! Gn! Reader

Featuring: Pure Vanilla, Wind Archer, Fire Spirit, and Dark Cacao if your squint

Part 1 “The Dance with Fire”

Word count: 1k and some change

Remember, this is STRICTLY platonic relationships with the reader. The reader is a child/minor the entire fic, they will never have a love interest, only father figures, sibling figures, and maybe a mother figure one day. Just needed to clarify for certain people.

A/n: I was reminded that I was supposed to make a part two to this fic I made a year ago, I’m here to deliver. Per usual, the custom here, Pure Vanilla and Millennial Tree are enemies in all platonic aus I do, its a habit at this point and literally what I’m know for on tumblr ;-;

It didn’t take long for Millennial Tree to arrive with Wind Archer in toe a day after they were asked to come to the palace. You were grounded to a room on the highest floor of the castle with guards standing outside it to make sure you don’t try and escape. You can’t leave the room, ever. Everything you needed was brought up to you. Their cloaks did little to no hiding from Pure Vanilla’s glaring eyes. Pure Vanilla skipped the pleasantries as he leaned forward on his throne, this was important. For a moment, they just looked at each other, daring to see who will talk first.

“They are close to figuring out who you both are, they have followed you around the kingdom numerous times. The fire has also invaded the area around Dark Cacao’s kingdom, he came to me about it and it seems we cannot ignore this situation anymore.” Pure Vanilla states, his grip tightening on his staff, his blue and yellow eyes staring daggers into the two cookies who stood before him steps below his throne. “Fire Spirit knows you’re still alive, Dark Cacao’s kingdom is now at risk, so is mine..” There was no warmth in his voice, his poker face hiding any inkling of emotion he feels on the current matters at hand.

“Is it so wrong for me to come back for my child? They deserve to know the truth, they are old enough to understand, Pure Vanilla. I will handle Fire Spirit how I see fit. I’ve spent the last few years recovering sand making myself better for the war that will inevitably come.” Millennial Tree retorts. He slid the hood off his horns and head. He looked no different than before: long brownish-green hair, horns in perfect condition, and not a single eyelash out of place.

“I refuse to give them to you. You both barely escaped Fire Spirit the first time, what makes you so sure you can do it again? They barely made it out alive, I can’t let them fight a battle that doesn’t involve them. They will be happier here than on the run with you.” Pure Vanilla stood from his throne, turning away from the cookies. “Maybe, just maybe I’ll let you see them if you can fix this mess.”

“You.. You bastard! I asked you to take care of and protect them in my absence, knowing I’d be back for them, and this is what you do once I return?!”Millennial tree, usually the stoic and calm cookie was becoming more agitated at Pure Vanilla and his actions towards his child’s safety and well being.

“I am protecting them, I’m protecting them from you.” Pure Vanilla walked away from the cookies deeper into the castle, leaving them alone with their own thoughts.

“We’re leaving, Wind Archer.. I will get my child back one way or another.”

There was a knock on your door before it was pushed open, revealing Pure Vanilla with his usual calm smile. You were by your window, sitting in the plush couch, looking out at the kingdom below, refusing to even talk to the cookie that just walked into your room. “Still refusing to talk to me?” He said, taking a seat next to you. “I’m doing this for your safety, you know that right? I’m only trying to protect you from the dangers of the world that lurk outside the castle walls.”

“Was that my dad you were talking to?” You said, not even looking at Pure Vanilla but the accusatory tone was loud and clear. “Don’t answer that, I saw them walk out the gates with their hoods down before they lifted them.. Why are you not letting me talk to him?”

“It’s not what you think-“

“Then what could it be? You have hid me away for years and now my father is back you keep me from him!?” You continue, all the built of emotions pouring out.

They both sit in a long silence, the tension so thick they could choke on it. Pure Vanillas face displayed no emotion which made you feel even more upset, not even an ounce of regret for what he did to you. Pure vanilla sighed once more before speaking. “Unfortunately you still don’t understand my point of view and how I’m doing what’s best for everyone even if you don’t like it. Maybe you need to stay in your room longer.” he turned and walked out your room, closing the door behind him. After a few seconds the click of the lock captures your attention. You run up to the door and began pulling on the doorknob which doesn’t budge, your free hand banging on the wood full of intricate designs.

“Pure Vanilla let me out of here!”

“Millennial tree, where are we going?” Wind Archer breaks the silence as he walks behind Millennial Tree, the grass and flowers crunching beneath their feet.

The two cookies were walking through the maze like thick forest. The trees blocked most the sunlight from touching the grass, leaving an eerie feeling to anyone that strolls there. There was nothing in sight besides trees, branches, grass, and the few flowers that managed to grow in the dimly lit forest. Millennial Tree walked with haste and pure anger, not that he’d ever say those feelings out loud. There was anger in each step he took, if you looked close enough you could see small pieces of grass rotting and withering under his feet.

“I have a plan.. Did you see them when you scoped out the castle when we first got here?” Millennial Tree continues to walk, his steps becoming a bit more aggressive.

“Yes, they were in a room high in the castle.” Wind Archer replied, he fixed his cloaked to hide him and his bow once more, knowing what he was about to do.

Millennial tree stops walking completely, he looks over his shoulder at Wind Archer. “When night fall comes, get them, bring them to the home in the deep part of the forest, I have business to take care of with Fire Spirit. I should be done soon. We can all live peacefully once I’m done..”

Millennial Tree was determined to get what he wants, at any cost.

A/n: now time to decided if I want to kill off Millennial tree or fire spirt >:)

[eleanorjane0690]

Solidarity In Sonder

Excerpt from Chapter 4

Spring '76 - Katniss

Fleetingly, I wonder if I too would have left school to work in the mines when my father died, but thankfully the child labour laws had changed long before I was born.

The Capitol needed the District's children to die in the Games, not in the death trap that was the mines.

Swallowing my dram of whisky whole, without asking, I refill my cup to the brim, and while ignoring Haymitch's dissatisfied scowl, quietly, I ask "And the old fellas, did they not mind?"

Protectively, as he moves the bottle out of my reach, I get the feeling I've been cut off, and for brief second, I worry this has regrettably heralded the end of our conversation.  However, shrugging, he answers "They didn't care that I was fourteen as long as I had money to buy in. At first, I think they thought I'd be an easy mark, a sucker like my Pa, but the joke was on them.  My Pa always said I got all the brains in the family, that I was calculated, and ruthless, and knew how to get what I wanted...and what I wanted more than anything was money, so my Ma didn't have to work so hard and Dougie didn't have to go without.  So, before long I became the youngest card shark of the train cars."

Smirking to myself while picturing a smug and gloating Haymitch gathering money surrounded by drunk and violent men twice his size, I scoff  "I bet that didn't go over too well."

Chuckling, as he shakes his head in reply, we both take a sup from our respective cups.�� One we've both wet our whistles, I ask "But wasn't it dangerous?"

"It could be.  Brawls were known to break out pretty regularly...there was never much rhyme or reason to the roughhousing unless you counted the liquor. Many times, it came down to a sore loser, an imagined slight, secret resentments, or family feuds passed down from father to son, and before you knew it fists would fly. The peacekeeping grunts would put down their drinks, stop laughing and joking, and arrest the troublemakers.  The next day you'd find them in the stocks or chained to the whipping post."

Remembering the snarky, arrogant, strong, teenage Haymitch I witnessed competing in the 50th Games, while curled up in Peeta's protective warmth on the train, a pang of longing for his comfort convulses within my stomach as the whiskey calls my name.  

Grimacing slightly, after eagerly drinking in reply, I ask "Were you ever in the middle of the trouble?"

"I can't say I was ever in the middle of it, but I knew how to handle myself and was known to throw a punch or two when it was called for.  There was only ever one night I sorta started it, but at the same time, I sure a shit made sure I finished it."

Snickering at his turn of phrase, I smile "And what in particular did you sure as shit finish?" 

Instead of returning my smile, in a sudden unsettling strained silence, Haymitch sits stony faced, looking as if he's trying to decide something.

Something important. 

Apprehensively, while nursing my whiskey, I patiently await his verdict. 

Eventually, while hanging his head, he sighs "I don't think I want to get into it Katniss."   

Stubbornly refusing to let the conversation die, while trying to aim for playful, I plead "Oh, c'mon Haymitch, don't be holding out on me." 

However, the moment he raises his head and meets my eye, with unshed tears in his own, a small voice within my subconscious says this isn't a playful light hearted matter.  Especially as his expression is one of absolute anguish.  Therefore, I intuitively get the impression that whatever tale Haymitch is considering divulging is deeply intimate and closely held to his heart.

Unwavering, in an effort to subliminally let him know I can be trusted, that I care, I maintain his eye contact. 

Draining his cup of whisky dry, following a husky cough that sounds as if it's suppressing a sob, despondently, he sighs  "Do you remember the Community Home?"

Immediately, images of the rundown, dingy, and crumbling building on the outskirts of the District flood to the forefront of my mind.  Accompanying the images are the shy and timid orphans, covered in the angry marks of abusive hands who kept to themselves in school. 

Aside from the Games, my biggest fear for Prim was that she'd be ripped away and placed into that godforsaken institution. So, while raising my cup to my lips for a pacifying drink, I nod in reply. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56641270/chapters/147201754

[shdo-xplosion]

CURRENTLY READING: the mountain in the sea

by ray nayler

THOUGHTS ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

while reading: very interesting concept. communication is the key to the story and is shown in so many different ways, so many different mediums. it’s a fun motif to watch out for. the characters are compelling, and i don’t get tired of the switching since i’m interested in every story being told. the writing style is easy to follow which isn’t to say it’s simple, but it isn’t overly-complex. i only start to get a little lost when they start diving into rustem’s science-y stuff, and i think that’s kind of the point. halfway through, and while i have an idea of who the “big bad” is, i feel like there’s room for more.

very much enjoying it so far and am already recommending it to my partner!

thoughts once finished (spoilers): i have conflicting feelings about this book. on one hand, i’m unsatisfied with the ending because it feels a little abrupt. on the other hand, it seems like the author ended it exactly the way he wanted to, like he saw something i don’t. and it’s a good ending, don’t get me wrong. loose ends are tied up. there’s a nice bittersweet lesson to be learned. and there’s hope! i guess my biggest hang up is that i want more. i could have read another 400 pages of the book and still not be satisfied, i bet.

anyway. the characters were wonderful. i very quickly grew extremely fond of evrim which was weird because ai actually freaks me out a lot. this book made me appreciate it a little more while also making me even more scared of the technology (lol). i liked ha a lot, admired her. that said, the secret she reveals toward the end is kind of underwhelming in my opinion, especially since it follows evrim’s big vision. that was probably the only scene in the whole novel that felt kind of weak, maybe a little ham-fisted. but then it ended with a wholesome holding of hands so it’s all okay!

rustem was fun to read about. i think i liked his storyline the best, but i enjoyed the interactions in ha’s sections. i’ve always been very interested in brains so his scenes were great, both because of his occupation and just the way his own mind works.

the mountain in the sea is categorized as sci-fi but i feel like this book could also fall under the mystery category because so many questions arise while reading, so many puzzles you want to solve alongside the characters. the concept of consciousness was intriguing and made me stop and think about my own idea of what it is. the communication theme is beautiful and something that everyone could stand to look deeper into. it’s also a very different and original take on culture as a whole, going past the limitations of humans and into a completely different species.

in the end, what i take away from the book is the fact that everything capable of thought has its own life and experiences. sonder. it’s easy to only think about yourself, but there’s so much more than just us in the world. science is amazing, yes, but so is nature.

a solid recommendation from me.

dove’s book club here (ෆ ͒•∘̬• ͒)◞

[yslkook]

sonder

pairing: taehyung x reader (exes au) summary: sonder: the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own. or

“What am I about to say?”

“That nothing has worked out for you since we dated, because even though the women you date are all wonderful, all you see in them is me,” You exhale, “I might have to kick you out if you say something as predictable as that.”

word count: 3459 warnings: alcohol, smut (penetrative sex, oral f receiving, tae is possessive for like half a second, some tears) a/n: inspired by these pictures of taehyung. also if this feels rushed, that was on purpose- i wanted to make them kinda messy 

Your second whiskey of the evening burns something bitter in the back of your throat, but you welcome it. It’s a welcome respite from the shitty week you’ve had, but that’s besides the point.

One of your favorite things to do to unwind after a tough week is to people watch, and one of your favorite places to do so was at the bars near your apartment. You liked to create vivid stories for these people that walked through the bar- who they were, what their backstories were. It was an amusing game to you, and even if both Yoongi and Hobi told you that you needed a better hobby, you’d only scoff at them.

Speaking of, Yoongi was supposed to be joining you soon. But apparently he’s running late. About fifteen minutes late, according to his cryptic text from earlier:

yoongi: running late, im bringing a friend

You think nothing of it, not really. And you just sip on your whiskey, watching a pair of new faces walk through the door from your stealthy booth in the corner of the bar.

You should’ve known that when Yoongi had said he was bringing a friend, it meant Taehyung. You briefly remember Yoongi telling you that Taehyung had moved back to the city a few weeks ago.

Taehyung, who had moved away halfway across the world years ago as a novice in the art history world. Taehyung, who had broken your delicate heart and taken pieces of it with him more than five years ago.

But even so, you harbor no ill feelings towards the man. He did what he had to do, and you did as well. It’s been so long now, that he should almost be a stranger to you. 

Yoongi watches the way your lips part in surprise at the sight of Taehyung- he knows there are still lingering feelings, maybe a lack of closure. Maybe something else that you don’t feel like discussing or diving into. You send him a hearty death glare his way but Yoongi ignores it.

You and Taehyung are nothing if not stubborn. Taehyung hasn’t stopped asking about you since he moved back to the city.

After all, you’ve hardly dated since Taehyung broke up with you. You had sincerely, genuinely believed that he was your one and only, your forever. It just hadn’t felt right, not with anyone else. So you just stopped, not wanting to force love with people if your heart really wasn’t in it.

And now, Taehyung is standing in front of you, dressed in expensive black from head to toe, looking as if he had just walked off of the runway before meeting up with Yoongi. His hair is longer than you ever remembered it being, two small silver hoops in his ears.

Handsome. He looks healthy and warm. He looks good.

You clear your throat and wave at both of them, opening your arms for a hug. Yoongi’s hug is brief, you see the man at least once or twice a week, but you pinch his waist for ambushing you like this. You gasp softly when Taehyung wraps his arms around you. You’d apparently forgotten how his body just fits into yours. Even after all this time.

It truly hasn’t been that long, but it feels like it.

“Hi,” Taehyung breathes into your hair. You should pull away, you really should. You can’t even meet Yoongi’s eyes, too bewitched by the hold that Taehyung somehow still has on you. 

You feel as though your heart is running a mile a minute, and yet it feels like you’re greeting an old friend after a long time. 

“Taehyung,” You say softly, his name sounding like a ghost of a memory, “It’s been a long time.”

You sit in your booth and Taehyung sits next to Yoongi. It feels like three old friends catching up after a while, not like if two exes are sitting with their mutual best friend trying not to catch glimpses of the other.

You take a sip of your drink with shaky hands. It’s going to be a long night.

At some point during the evening, Yoongi claims that Hoseok has an emergency and that he has to go. You think he planned this (both him and Hobi), because there’s a meddling glint in his eye that you haven’t seen recently.

You panic, scrambling to somehow get Yoongi to stay, so that you’re not alone with Taehyung. You’re afraid of what you might do or say. Or for what you might not do or say.

And yet, talking to him comes like second nature. Maybe it’s because you have years of history between the both of you, even if you haven’t spoken in the last five.

It hurt so much. When he broke up with you, you mourned the loss of your best friend. He had said you could try to be friends, but you couldn’t handle it at the time. And then more time went by… and suddenly, he was barely a thought in your passing mind. Yet, he still lingered, in your mannerisms. Maybe some part of you was still waiting on him. Which wasn’t healthy… But it wasn’t hurting anyone. And besides, you were okay. But you had never really believed in soulmates until Taehyung. Perhaps it was the lack of closure. 

At least that’s what you convinced yourself, because seeing Taehyung like this, laughing and talking to you as if no time has past throws you for a loop.

Mainly because… it’s so easy to fall into conversation with him. It’s so easy to laugh with him and make him laugh. You enjoy learning about everything he’s been up to over the last few years, all of his adventures, the sights he’s seen. How enthusiastic he is, how he finds beauty in everything.

You both had always been such good friends. Maybe that’s what you miss more than anything. Somehow, hours go by and you both are left to be the only ones in the bar-

“Hey what brought you here to begin with?” Taehyung asks, holding the door open for you, “Had a bad day? You still like people watching?”

“Yeah,” You say wistfully, “Something like that.”

He squeezes your shoulder in reassurance. You catch his eyes in the streetlights and feel your heart swell.

Even if it’s been more than five years since you saw Taehyung last, since you felt his fingers thread in between yours… it still feels so familiar. It’s funny, isn’t it? How so much time can go by, how you can be strangers on paper but feel like you’ve known his soul for this entire time.

His smile glows in the moonlight. A light breeze cradles him, carding through his dark strands of hair gently. You can vividly recall a time when it was you- your fingers running through his hair through soft laughs and unkept promises.

You wonder if your heart is still his, after all this time. It’s not as if you’ve had many people to compare your all-consuming five year relationship to in the last few years. Every person you met, you found yourself comparing to your ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t healthy.

And you had known that he had moved on from your own mutual friends. You don’t even know if he’s single right now, but you knew he was in a relationship a year ago… Or maybe two? Maybe you should care a little more, but you’ll blame it on the whiskey for causing you to squeeze his hand a little harder and lean into him.

Taehyung looks exactly the same, he feels exactly the same as he did when you were twenty-two and stupid enough to believe that you would make it. He’s always felt like he fit the messy edges of your soul perfectly, and even now, you feel that familiar warmth of his soul rubbing up against yours.

Even as he’s chatting away, eyes crinkling in genuine happiness, you’re hardly listening. You’re only thinking about how nice he feels next to you. 

Serendipity. It must be serendipity, for him to show up in your life again when you had been teetering on the edge of misery and self-deprecation. Your head is jumbled, brain filled with nothing but sweet memories of him and your heart is aching for something you might never have again.

But all you have is now. So when Taehyung twirls you easily and sways with you under the dimmed light of a street lamp, pulling a surprised laugh out of you, you make your decision.

“Where’s your new big girl apartment?” Taehyung asks, a hint of longing in his tone.

“It’s not new,” You scoff, “But I live, like, five blocks away.”

Taehyung takes your hand in his again, asking you questions about your apartment. How you found it, do you like it, do you have roommates. To which you shrug and tell him that you like being alone. Something shifts in his eyes, something sad. He recalls your thirst for life when you both had been together- always ready to try something new, always wanting to be around people, always dreaming with your head in the sky.

He wonders what changed. You’re so quiet, eyes a little dark, shoulders tense. Maybe that’s what growing up is. Maybe that’s what tumbling out of your early twenties and into your late twenties is.

Or maybe you’ve just changed in general. It’s been a long time, after all. Since you both mutually broke up, since he moved halfway across the globe. 

But still, he catches sparks, flutters of embers in your gaze. He catches the tender, playful excitement that you’ve always held near and dear to your heart- it’s what made you and him such a good team years ago.

Talking to him is so easy, not that you thought it would be difficult to begin with. It’s always been easy with him, easy to laugh with him, easy to love him. 

The front door of your apartment building comes into view. Your hand is still in his. Taehyung hesitates on letting you go, but he does.

“It was nice to see you,” Taehyung murmurs, allowing himself the brush of the back of his hand on your cheekbone, “I mean it.”

“Yeah. I’m glad I ran into you, too. Even if I was stuffing my face with whiskeys,” You grin and lean into his touch, “Even if Yoongi probably played both of us.”

“Don’t know when you became such a whiskey girl.”

“It’s been years, Taehyung. I’m sure I’ve got a few more surprises for you,” You say, smile falling into something more intense, “Wanna come find out what they are?”

“Thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.”

Taehyung’s lips are on yours the minute you close the door to your apartment. His hands are molded to your hips over your clothes and you instantly moan into his mouth loudly, slipping your tongue past his lips eagerly. Drinking him up as if he’s been yours to drink up this entire time.

You fumble with the buttons of his peacoat, nearly ready to yank the buttons off. Patience has never been your strong suit, but you just want to feel him. 

But the minute you pull away for air, you re-center yourself. No matter how enticing his bitten lips are…

“Are you single?” You ask bluntly.

“Why?” Taehyung says with an arch of his stupidly perfect eyebrow, “You falling in love with me again?”

“Shut up, you wish. I thought you had a girlfriend,” You say pointedly, toeing out of your heels and hanging your jackets up in the coat closet.

“You keeping tabs on me? I knew it,” Taehyung says, looking a little too smug about it.

“Shut the fuck up,” You swat his chest, “Yoongi may have mentioned it to me once or twice.”

More like he told you multiple times when you were drunk, wasted and crying over Taehyung because you never truly got over him. In some corner of the deepest part of your heart, you never got over him.

“I’m not dating anyone. Or talking, seeing anyone,” Taehyung shrugs, “That didn’t work out. Nothing’s really worked out, not since…”

“Don’t say it,” You mutter, “Don’t say what I think you’re about to say.”

You need another drink. So you pour yourself another hefty glass of whiskey and pour one out for him, too.

“What am I about to say?”

“That nothing has worked out for you since we dated, because even though the women you date are all wonderful, all you see in them is me,” You exhale, “I might have to kick you out if you say something as predictable as that.”

“And if it’s true?”

“Then I’m definitely kicking you out. Might need another five years to see you again,” You whisper. He moves closer to you, tentatively holding your hips in his. You don’t push him away, only looking up at him with wide eyes.

“I missed you so fucking much,” Taehyung breathes into your hair, wrapping you in a hug, “You have no idea. And you? Are you single?”

“No, you missed the idea of me. Of us,” You mumble, but you’re unable to pull out of his hold, “We were young, we had dreams… And yeah, I’m single.”

“We could’ve made it work-”

“Taehyung, stop it,” You mutter, throat going dry with barely concealed yearning for him, “We both made the choices we made for a reason. You’re here and I’m here for a reason. Don’t wanna talk about what if’s with you anymore. Just kiss me, Taehyung-”

Taehyung doesn’t need to be told twice, cupping your face in his big hands and pressing his soft lips to yours instantly. Time feels like nothing between you both, but it feels like he’s trying to learn this new version of you through your kiss. 

You’re undecided on whether this is a one time thing, but all you know is that you want him. And you want him now. His hands are warm over your thighs as he lifts you up in his arms, your chest plastered to his. His hair has gotten longer, dark strands effortlessly falling into his forehead.

He’s so handsome and you swoon when his lips press against your neck. Taehyung still remembers what you like, what your favorite spots are.

It’s almost as if no time has passed. You both ignore it, ignore the nostalgia creeping into the crevices of your kisses.

“Mmm, my bedroom’s that way,” You mumble hoarsely, pulling away with hooded eyes. 

“You’ll have to give me a proper tour later,” Taehyung says, his voice somehow even deeper.

“Yeah, you’d be so lucky,” You snort and Taehyung shuts you up with another searing kiss. He doesn’t miss the meticulous way you’ve decorated your cozy home, pops of color and decorations that are so very you in every corner. He sees a small photo collage in the corner of your bedroom. 

Once upon a time, a photo of you and him would’ve been the crown jewel.

“Tae,” You mumble, “Stop, focus on me. I want you-”

So he does.

Your legs close around Taehyung’s head, his tongue slipping into your glossy folds for the third time that evening. He can’t get enough of your soft noises, even when you’re telling him it’s too much, you widen your legs for him to slot in between them easily. Taehyung hikes your legs over his shoulder, nearly rutting into the bed at the sight of your quivering bottom lip and the way your tits bounce.

He palms you lewdly, squeezing and pinching.  “You’re so wet,” Taehyung moans into your pussy, “Fuck, baby-”

“Taehyung,” You breathe, voice sounding broken even to your own ears, “I want you, I want your cock…”

“You sure you want this?” Taehyung asks, his voice strained.

“Yeah,” You nod eagerly, “Do you?” 

With a nod, “Do you have condoms?” He rasps, nose nudging your clit.

“Y-yeah,” You moan, “The nightstand, first drawer. Brand new box, never before used-”

“Really?” Taehyung raises an eyebrow, “When was the last time, baby?”

“The last time what,” You whine, tugging on his forearm.

“Last time you had sex,” Taehyung says, pulling the box out from your nightstand. 

“Uhhh… when you broke up with me?” You shrug sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Shit,” He groans, “Seriously?”

You don’t miss how he palms himself over his pants at your words. He’s always had a hint of possessiveness in him, and you already know that he’s trying to process that the last person, the only person to have ever seen you like this was him.

“Yeah, I didn’t have luck the way you did, I guess,” You say lightly, “Not that I was trying very hard, though.”

“Damn, baby, nobody’s been loving you right, huh?” Taehyung says, pulling out a condom from the box with shaky hands.

“Yeah. Not even you,” You say. Maybe that was mean, but his eyes flash at you in warning.

“Come here,” He says, a soft demand, “Did you miss me?”

You shrug playfully and unbutton his pants for him. He swats your roaming hands away and they land on his belly, your nails scratching lazily. Taehyung has always looked like a vision, but seeing him like this, hovering above you with golden, tanned skin and his jaw locked, looking every bit like the man of your dreams...

He commands, demands respect. Your pussy throbs just from the sight of him shucking off his pants and his boxers in one go, tugging his hard and heavy cock roughly with one hand.

You swear you drool. Your head is empty, only thoughts of him, his big hands, broad shoulders-

“Did you miss me, baby,” Taehyung asks again, voice a little rougher, a little harsher.

“Does it matter,” You challenge him, “You only want my pussy-”

“And you only want my cock-”

“So give it to me then. Since you know me so well,” You sneer. You gasp in surprise when he swats your thigh and then moan his name when he pushes the head of his cock into you without much warning.

“You talk so fucking much,” Taehyung breathes, cupping your cheeks with one hand.

“Shit,” You gasp, “You’re so fucking big-”

You squeeze your eyes shut and Taehyung stills inside of you, giving you time to adjust to him. He peppers sweet kisses over your forehead, a contrast to his previous words. You cannot believe that somehow, Taehyung is back in your bed, his cock buried deep within you. 

The thought makes your eyes water. You’re a little overwhelmed.

“What’s wrong,” Taehyung asks when he sees your wet eyes, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Nothing, you’re just so big,” You mumble, avoiding his eyes. Taehyung looks at you suspiciously but says nothing.

He’s the only one who’s ever had you like this. The thought makes something in his belly flare, the urge to leave bruises on your welcoming hips and pound into your wet pussy growing and growing with each second.

But he doesn’t move, not until you give him the okay. Taehyung’s fingers are tight around your hips, loose around your neck, his lips plastered to any inch of skin he can reach. With the first rock of his hips into you, you wrap your legs around his waist and shudder in his arms.

He nuzzles your neck, chest plastered against yours. Your nails are tightly pressed into his biceps, surely leaving marks for tomorrow morning. Your soft cries of his name sound like sweet rapture, something he’s been searching for for years. Or something that he had and something he let go of.

And then he wonders how he ever spent the last few years not buried in your pussy, when you feel something like home to him.

“You know, I moved back here a few weeks ago,” Taehyung says, turning on his side to face you, hands gentle over your chest.

“Oh, I know. Yoongi and Hobi wouldn’t shut up about it. They really missed you,” You reply, not meeting his eyes.

“And you? Did you?” Taehyung asks again. You hesitate.

“Does it matter, Taehyung?” You mumble, brushing his hair away from his eyes, “Does it change anything?”

“It could. If you wanted it to,” He murmurs, pulling you into his chest. His fingers are light over your spine, but you scoff.

“Don’t say shit like that,” You sigh, pressing your hand to his face. 

He only laughs with his big, bright smile and pulls you in closer, kissing your forehead. “I can leave you know. If you want me to. If this is... weird.”

“I think we’re way past weird, Taehyung. If I wanted you to leave, I would’ve kicked you out by now,” You say easily and ignore the way his smile sends unfamiliar butterflies through your belly, “Go to sleep. I’ll decide if I wanna kick you out in the morning.”

[ayatosmlktea]

𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

Izuku x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Pining...is this pining? BUT there’s fluff okay! I'm nice...

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: I don’t know why I had the hardest time writing this. I still don’t think this is good enough but...I wanted to write some fluffy for Izuku because he deserves it. 

Tags: @sxnrisewrites, @yuueimagines, @sondering-thoughts, @bokunokangae, @liliumcandidum577​,  @xoxo-dede​, @k-atsukidayo​ @thesecretnerd27 <-- IDK why you won’t show up in my tags but pretend you’re here ok? ily guys so much thank you for supporting my work 😭

It had been an uneventful sunday, but it was one that would stay with him for years to come. It wasn’t often that your class was able to spend a whole day together, with everyone having their hero internships to focus on and graduation quickly approaching. So Izuku greedily took every opportunity he had to spend with you. Even if he was utterly lost for words on how to express just how special you really were to him.

The taro bubble tea in your hands nearly forgotten while you were chatting enthusiastically with the girls from your class. The comfortable orange glow of sunset illuminated your features in a way that Izuku could only describe as angelic. He had gotten so lost in your smile that he hadn’t heard Iida and Todoroki calling his name. A bright shade of red sweeps over his face, the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment and the amused side eye you give him doesn’t help quell how small he feels.

“You should tell her how you feel” Izuku lets out a small horrified gasp at Iida’s suggestion.

“It’s been three years, Midoriya” Todoroki adds, a pensive expression lightly washing over his features.

“I can’t!” He sighs defeatedly, he had swore to himself that he’d tell you how he felt at the end of their first year.  But one year turned into two and then three. Even with constant assurance from his two closest friends that you had feelings for him too, he just couldn’t find it in him to pour out his pent up love to you. The longer he thought about it the more he realized that you were out of his league and the more he rationalized that you didn’t actually like him but were merely nice to him out of pity. There was no way someone like you would ever love him back.

Your delicate beauty and self-assured personality were the complete opposite of him. Not to mention, your quirk was strong and more than once Izuku had gotten his ass handed to him during training from watching the way you moved. It wasn’t a secret that he had a whole notebook dedicated to ways you could enhance your offense attacks, Izuku had notebooks for nearly everyone in your class and 1-B as well. 

However, he had gotten a little carried away with yours and had ended up with two more notebooks filled with things he so desperately wished he could tell you but would never have the courage to do so.

“You should do it soon, graduation is coming up” Izuku chewed on his bottom lip, he had already thought about it. It was kind of a cliche romantic thing to do but after graduation your class wouldn’t be together anymore and that meant that he wasn’t going to have the luxury of seeing you everyday.

He had already heard you making plans with some of the girls to become roommates after graduating, and Izuku couldn’t help but feel an empty aching in his chest at the thought of letting you slip away.

Sometimes he felt spontaneous surges of confidence jolt throughout his body, moments when it was just the two of you sitting in comfortable silence. The words were always on the tip of his tongue and yet they never made it past his lips.

Moments like these where your beauty was highlighted by how carefree and happy you looked. Izuku watched as you brought your drink to your lips lost in the thought of how perfect they would feel against his own. Iida let out a sigh of exasperation, he’d watched the same look on Izuku’s face for the past three years and it never failed to make him want to shake some sense into the green-haired boy. Despite going through an abnormal growth spurt their second year Izuku still looked as innocent as the first time they’d all met. It was stupidly endearing.

Izuku’s thoughts were rudely interrupted by Bakugou’s hand roughly pulling your body into his. The two of you had always been close and as guilty as it made him feel Izuku was never able to push down the low burning fire of jealousy that had sunk its hooks into his chest.

 It didn’t help that Bakugou would shoot smug expressions at Izuku over his shoulder. It made the whole ordeal more humiliating, knowing that his rival knew all about his crush on you and used it to torment him further. This was another reason why he had held off from confessing.

Izuku had convinced himself that as long as Kacchan was in the picture, he never stood a chance.

He almost wanted to hate you for making it so easy to be around you, for how indescribably comfortable he felt around you. Nights like these were what made him long to touch you in ways that physically pained him. He had watched every second of your fight with fascination and adoration with shining emerald eyes, the same way he had done two years prior.

 You had exceeded his expectations, and it warmed his heart to see that you had taken some of his suggestions seriously and implemented them in your fighting. It was the final week you’d all be staying in the dorms and as the days flew by Izuku felt increasingly panicked on what he should do.

He wanted to tell you, he loved you. He loved you more than his expansive All Might collection, and that was saying something. You had gone out to sit on the front porch of the dorm after everyone had gone to bed. Izuku knew how you liked to be alone with your thoughts, he was never quite sure what you were thinking of as you gaze dreamily at the moon. The rush of butterflies in his stomach at the marginal possibility you were thinking of him never got old.

The sound of the front door opening broke your trance, your head turning slightly to glance at whoever it was. The warm smile on your lips beckoning him over to you, pulled on every heartstring that was intertwined with you.

The pale yellow moonlight washed over your features in a way that made you look magical and stole the breath right from his lungs. Izuku wasn’t sure what had compelled him to sit a little closer to you than he normally did, but the warmth radiating from your thigh sent shocks all up his right side. If he wasn’t careful with his emotions, green sparks were sure to start emitting from him. Crickets played a late night symphony for the two of you, neither one saying anything merely enjoying the other’s presence.

“I’m really proud of you” your words are quiet, the way you always speak whenever it’s just the two of you alone at night. His cheeks heat up at your whispered compliment. Your watery e/c eyes met his, and Izuku swore he would never get tired of getting lost in them.

“I still remember when you broke your finger throwing that baseball our first year” you giggled fondly. The memory of it brought a small smile to his lips, not because it was a good memory but because it was the first time you had given him that smile you were giving him now. You had been a bit more reserved back then but the way your eyes shone with amazement at him was something he would never forget.

“Sorry I don’t know why I’m feeling so sentimental tonight” you laugh, hastily wiping away fallen tears from your eyes.

Izuku knew why, it was the same reason he had come outside. Your time together was rapidly coming to an end, the place you’d all called home for the last two years was about to become a thing of the past. Izuku’s breath hitched when your hand slid over his. Surely it had to be a mistake, you were obviously emotional and still running on lingering endorphins.

 The look in your eyes changed so suddenly it was almost too fast for him to catch. The back of his neck became uncomfortably hot as your eyes travelled down his face, stopping at his lips as you lean in slowly, craning your neck up to accommodate his height.

Izuku felt time stop, there was no other explanation for what was happening in slow motion right in front of his eyes. Your lips were mere inches from his, and all he could picture was Kacchan’s smug smirks, the teasing laughs of classmates when he’d stupidly fallen for someone being dared to ask him out. He doesn’t know why he did it but out of sheer panic and denial he pushed your shoulders back and sped back inside, the look of confusion and hurt on your face left unnoticed.

He didn’t stop until his back was pressed against his door, safely inside the four walls of his dorm room. His mind was reeling, the reality of the situation refusing to sink into his brain.

You were not about to kiss him, even if you were it was probably because of some stupid bet you’d made with Mina or Jirou.

Bitter tears burn his eyes, why did it always have to end like this? Sliding down to the floor Izuku tried his best to wipe the incessant tears away but they kept falling. All he could think of was how you were all graduating at the end of the week, how he was a coward and how he had ruined your friendship with one stupid mistake. He should have gone back out, explained to you how he felt and why he had pushed you away but his fragile heart wouldn’t allow it. And so, on a warm June evening Izuku locked away his heart and shoved his feelings for you into depths that were not easily escaped.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。..·

It was unfair of him to hope that you would  wait for him, but Izuku carried the weight of what he’d done to your friendship for a long time. All the while still hoping that you still felt the same way he did, almost two years later. It wasn’t like he didn’t think of you, he could still recall the way you avoided eye contact with him the morning after. Your eyes rimmed red and the tip of your nose a little pink. The awkward sad smile you still offered to him at graduation replayed over and over again in his mind.

“Y/N I-”

“It’s okay Izuku, I get it.” Thorny spikes of regret closed around his throat, the words he wanted to tell you were not coming out no matter how hard he tried.

“Stay safe okay?” He saw how hard you were trying to fight back tears, the slight tremor in your voice clawed at his conscience. He barely registered the quick hug you gave him, fingers lightly grabbing onto his shirt before you pulled away without so much as a second glance back.

Izuku spent many nights thinking about all the things he should have told you in that moment, how he didn’t think someone like you could ever be into him. How he really wanted to kiss you and had wanted to tell you that he loves you for the past three years but was too scared to do it. 

The two of you rarely ran into each other and whenever you did it was only in passing, but any time you were on TV it was almost guaranteed that Izuku was glued in front of it. Watching with fascination how far your mastery of your quirk had improved since graduating. And yet, his inferiority complex let you walk away again and again until the image of the back of your head had become more familiar to him than your face.

While scrolling through his social media one night, he stumbled across a picture Momo had posted, you were in it. And while the picture should have made him happy it further dug the knife of guilt and regret further into him. It was a picture of you on what appeared to be a double date, and you looked...happy. Happier than he’d ever seen you since that night. His eyes remain transfixed on the arm wrapped around your shoulders. Bitter jealousy bubbles up, it could have easily been his arm that was holding you close to him.

It hurt more than it should have. Afterall he was the one who had rejected you. It was only natural that you’d move on, give your love to someone who wasn’t afraid to return your feelings. Izuku didn’t open Instagram for a while after that.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。..·

“Are you sure it’s supposed to look like this?” Izuku wondered out loud, peering at his reflection with an uncertain gaze. His fingers reached up to touch his hair but were quickly slapped away by the petite brunette.

“Yes, this is what happens when you brush your hair Deku” Uraraka laughed. She had offered to help him get ready for the event being hosted by the Hero Commission tonight. Izuku had grown accustomed to wearing suits, but he’d never had his hair styled like this. It was neatly slicked back with a few curled strands dangling over his forehead. It was definitely new to him, but even he couldn’t deny that it enhanced his facial features a lot better than the usual mop of curls he kept his hair in. He looked more mature. After making a few more adjustments to his outfit Uraraka declared his outfit satisfactory and the pair headed downstairs.

“Beautiful as always, Uraraka. Midoriya.” Iida greeted them in the lobby of Izuku’s apartment. The trio had stayed quite close after graduation, even if they weren’t able to see each other often the connection never died. Izuku was grateful for their company, he wanted nothing more than to bail on the event but it wouldn’t reflect very well on the number one hero. His stomach was twisting tightly with nerves, his leg bounced anxiously the entire car ride to the venue.

Paparazzi were everywhere, he’d gotten used to putting on a smile for the camera’s regardless of how he really felt. Images were important to maintain.

The inside of the venue was packed, heroes from all across Japan were mingling with one another. It was lavish and over the top, nothing less than he had expected. He couldn’t help the way his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a flash of H/C hair. 

Emerald eyes locked onto your form, you were alone outside leaning against the balcony railing, face partially lit up by your cell phone. No matter how many times he looked at you, you still stole the air from his lungs like the first time he’d fallen in love with you all those years ago.

“Go talk to her” Uraraka whispered, lightly shoving him in your direction. His feet moved without thinking, his palms were sweating and the room suddenly felt ten times hotter than it had when they’d walked in. You notice him out of the corner of your eye and he can’t help but feel a little smug at the way you openly double take his appearance.

“Izuku? Oh my God!” Your face breaks out into the biggest grin he’d ever seen and his brain malfunctions when your arms wrap around his neck enthusiastically nearly choking him. It takes him a second to collect his thoughts but his arms easily slide around your waist, the feeling of your body against his lighting a fire inside his soul that he hadn’t felt in a long time. His nerves were sparking with electricity at the way you looked at him as you pulled back. It was almost like you two had never fallen out, you were so talkative.

“You’re so tall now, holy shit! I mean I knew you grew but I haven’t seen you in, like two years!” Your laugh was infectious, the sound of it was even better than he remembered. His chest swelled with uncontainable love for you as you rambled on about anything and everything. He didn’t even need to say anything you were perfectly adept at carrying the conversation by yourself. He couldn’t understand why you were so excited to see him but Izuku wasn’t going to complain.

“Honestly, I’m not surprised you’re the number one hero Zuku. I’m so proud of you” you sighed happily. His whole face was on fire, his heart was beating so hard Izuku was sure that anyone in a ten mile radius could hear it. It almost felt like destiny...the moon once again gifting its light to illuminate your beauty. It was too perfect of a moment to ruin again and for the first time in years, Izuku finally found the words he had been dying to say.

“Y/N, I’m in love with you” he watches your eyes widen and your mouth opens to say something but he stops you.

If you interrupt him now he’ll probably never get it out again.

“I pushed you away because I panicked. My whole life people have lied about liking me as some stupid joke and when you were going to kiss me I freaked out because how could someone as beautiful and kind as you ever like me? I know I’m not the most attractive person and I know that I ramble way too much but pushing you away was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done and I have regretted it every single day since then. I wanted to apologize but I’m such fucking coward that I just let it go.” He can’t bear to look at your expression but he also needs to know what you’re thinking.

“Wait so...you actually like me?” Your thoughts are a jumbled mess, there’s so much information to process and you can’t really wrap your mind around any of it. Everything you’ve thought to be true for the last few years was suddenly crashing down.

“No, I love you. I’ve been in love with you since our first year of highscho-” before Izuku can finish his sentence your hands are grabbing the collar of his dress shirt and pulling him down into a messy kiss. His hands instinctively tangle in your hair, angling your face so he can deepen the kiss he’s waited five years for. A sudden thought makes him jerk back and the same look of confusion flashes across your face.

“Wait aren’t you dating someone?”

“Why would you think I’m dating someone?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowed together.

“That picture Momo posted, you were with some guy” he trailed off bashfully, completely embarrassed at admitting that he had been lurking on your pictures.

“Oh him, no we were never serious. I mean he was nice but...he wasn’t you” you mumbled, your face an identical shade of pink.

“God this is so embarrassing!” you laugh anxiously moving to cover your face with your hands but Izuku stops you.

“Y/N, I’ve waited five years for this moment don’t even think about hiding yourself from me” a burst of heat blooms in your stomach at his sudden confidence.

“You really are something special, Midoriya Izuku” you laugh placing your hand on his cheek.

“S-so um, does this mean you still love me too?” in an instant the shy green-haired hero you had fallen for was back and a fond smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

“Obviously”

Masterlist

[pink-imagines]

twenty percent

request: hiya! i was wondering if i could request "Godspeed" with a quirkless reader x izuku? basically izuku is aged up and is now no 1 hero, and the reader feels a bit down on themselves for the first time in the relationship because they don't have a quirk and feel as though they're not important enough. a little angsty, but end in some fluff? (sorry if this is a poor request, it's my first time >.

a/n: i am getting into the genetics of quirks in this one so here’s the page about quirklessness if you need to read up on it!

warnings: slight angst, the feeling of being useless

masterlist

requesting rules

song promptlist click here for the song!

It felt like lately your eyes were always glued to the screen. Maybe it wasn’t that different from your education, but the reason was different. Recently you had moved in with your boyfriend... that just happened to be the number one hero in Japan, Izuku Midoriya. That’s when you realized how much he was really working. When you lived on your own you saw him every now and then, and it wasn’t that weird. Now you were at home and kind of used to him being around, so when he was gone for longer periods of time it really made a difference. Especially now when quarantine forced you to work at home, but he still had to go out. You spent your day on the couch trying to write your essays and attended you univeristy classes online. Even if that should have distracted you enough, you always had the news on in the background, where you could see several clips of your boyfriend fighting dangerous criminals out on the streets. Izuku really was amazing... and you were... a quirkless university student.

You were laying in your bed, which you hadn’t had time to make feel like your actual bed yet, as the light from the computer pryed your eyes open. The clock had just struck 2 am and you were so close to finishing your essay, which was supposed to be handed in tomorrow at midnight sharp. The fact that you had managed to come this far and not stressfully finish it tomorrow was amazing... but you still felt so useless. “Twenty percent...”, you sighed quietly and let your mind float elsewhere while your eyes stillstared blankly at the screen, “... and all because of an extra joint, huh?” You stared down your pinky toe as if it was your worst enemy. You had something that 80% of the population didn’t, and yet it was the thing that made you useless. It was stupid to feel bad about, especially when you were practically an adult... but you couldn’t really help it, could you? “Fuck...”, you breahted out. “Language.”, you heard from the door to the bedroom. You looked up to see Izuku standing in the doorframe, he had a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. Izuku reached for the lightswitch and turned on the light, making you blink to adjust your eyes to the lighting. “It’s 2 am, Y/N.”, he sighed, “I hope you weren’t waiting up for me again.” That had happened once or twice before, where you just simply couldn’t fall asleep. Tonight that wasn’t the case, you had simply forgotten the time. “I was just trying to finish writing my paper, don’t worry.”, you said with a tired smile. “Alright then, I hope you’ve brushed your teeth this time.”, he chuckled. With a slight sigh you shook your head, put down your computer on the bed. “I haven’t.”, you gave him an apologetic smile. “Let’s get going then.”

Izuku decided to take a shower while you brushed your teeth and washed your face. You took a long look in the mirror; tired eyes with big purple bags underneath, a seemingly normal mouth but the longer you looked the weirder your lips became, and messy hair. Maybe you should consider getting a better sleep schedule... or not, what would it change? You would still look down on yourself, even if you did have perfect lips and no under-eye circles. You watched in the mirror as Izuku stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. He quickly dried himself off and ruffled up his hair before letting the towel hang around his waist. “Are you alright?”, he asked with a concerned tone. You were going to say “yes” but then he securly wrapped his arms around your shoulders from behind and looked at your eyes through the mirror. Something about it made your eyes tear up and suddenly you were balling your eyes out. Izuku started freaking out behind you, not prepared for your answer, and tried to calm you down but didn’t have the right words. “I feel so useless!”, you sobbed out, making him stop mid-sentance. You hid your face in the palm of your hands, not wanting him to see you. Still, you felt his hands softly guide you to lean against your chest with your forehead against his shoulder. “... it’s okay...”, he whispered, “... to feel useless... you know.” It sounded like he knew what to say but was struggling to do so. You wrapped your arms tightly around his waist and let your sobs shrink to whimpers. “I know that it’s gonna sound stupid... but I feel useless too sometimes.”, he said quietly, “Like everything is against me, and even if I do my best it’s not enough.” “But you’re a hero, Izuku.”, you looked up at him with your teary eyes, “You’re the number one hero. And I’m some quirkless nobody, I-” “That’s not true!”, he snapped and grabbed your upper arms. His eyes were so determined, like he really meant every word. It resembled the look he had in his eyes when you saw him on the TV. “It doesn’t matter if you have a quirk or not.”, he said with tears in his eyes, “The fact that you’re you is enough... and even if you don’t think that, please believe that I do. If you can’t stand on your own, please tell me. You know I’d move any mountain for you, don’t you?” Izuku softly put his hand on your cheek and you leaned into his touch before putting your own hand on top of his. He gave you a sad smile which you returned. “Thank you, Izuku.”, you stifled a sob, “I really don’t deserve you.” You tried to look away from him but he softly turned your head back towards him. “Honey, you deserve the world.”, he promised and turned you around so that you were now facing yourself in the mirror. When your expression faltered into a frown Izuku wrapped his arms around your waist and gave you a quick kiss to your shoulder. “You might not see it...”, he whispered softly in your ear, “... but you look so damn beautiful.” He reached for your hands. “These hands are the ones that hold mine when I get too cold during winter.” His fingers softly fluttered over your lips. “These lips are the ones that I get the honour to kiss good morning every day.” He let his hands wander to your hips. “This waist is the one that I get to wrap my arms around for a hug when I’ve had a bad day.” He let his finger softly rub the sides of your head. “This brain is the one that helps me figure out all of my problems.” He kept his hands roaming your body and telling you about what each part meant to him, until he reached your chest. Izuku put his hand to your beating heart. “... and this heart is the one that I get to hold, that I get to make skip a beat, that I get a special place in...” He looked at your eyes through the mirror, you hadn’t even realized that you were blushing. “You’re not useless, not any part of you.” “I...”, you were pretty much speechless. “Let’s get you to bed. You have to finish that essay until tomorrow, right? You need rest to be able to function.”, he said with a smile.

Once you were tucked into bed he layed down next to you and pulled you up against his chest. You felt your entire body relax in his embrace. It felt as if you had been tence your entire life and could finally breathe out. “I will always love you...”, he muttered softly, “... I know that you won’t feel better over night, but I’ll try my best to make that change... because that’s what you deserve.” “I love you...” you whispered tiredly. “I love you too...”, he whispered back, “Now, get some rest baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

-

permanent taglist: @theoceanphoenixhasrisen | @raven-r0ses | @darkbeautyswife | @sondering-thoughts | @gowoneandonlyone | @bnhabadass | @queenblackcat | @jayetheanimefreek101 | @witchy-anna | @cutest-celestial-princess | @missymysa | @karebear5118 | @weebartistinc |

[tracle0]

Trade doing an ask game??? Who are you and what have you done with my friend.

Anyway, gimme Almond Crunch, Peanut Butter Filling, and White Chocolate, m'love

I smell mockery. This is treason. Your teeth will be mine by the end of the month. This is for The Spiders Song. Fuck you.

Almond Crunch: what’s your favourite obstacle in your WIP? is there anything you’re excited for your characters to overcome? (or not overcome?)

Well I mean the Spider was the whole was very fun to do, lots of lead-up to it, and figuring out how the characters would end up escaping (do they end up escaping???) and yknow, it was the point I worked towards for the entire story. Got me buzzing. 

But I also really enjoyed the obstacles that were just... last-minute additions. Thinking ‘I need a conflict here’ and taking whatever my brain gave me. Obvs you’ve read it, so you know what I mean by the vines chapter and the fog chapters - they were just fun! Character development! 

Nd things to overcome later, for Fun Sequel Hours - I think the Spider is going to continue to be a lot of fun. 

Peanut Butter Filling: share a snippet that really shows a character’s personality. (or: talk about an upcoming scene where their personality will shine!)

“Didn’t I tell you to follow me?” Andy called, eyeing up the area between them. “I remember saying that.” Atlas only gasped, the cold robbing them of their speech, glaring as if this was Andy’s fault. He made his way closer, stepping over the black ice and stopping a good distance away, studying them. “Idiot.”

“Fuck…” They got out.

“Yes, it’s cold. Freezing water. You’ve got cold shock.”

They shook their head. “No,” they said, words strained. “Fuck you.”

In which we see Atlas being unreasonably angry at Andy and stubbornly refusing to follow his directions, then lashing out at him when it goes wrong, and Andy being surprisingly helpful, whilst also totally getting ready to info-dump about something he Actually Knows About. It was the first scene I wrote after I skipped a bunch. 

White Chocolate: tell me a bit about the happiest moment in your WIP.

Yeah, figured you’d go for this question, nerd. 

As said in previous answer, I think the happiest moments (barring the obvious Spoiler One) are just when the characters are goofing around together. Being dumb. Being young. Trying not to let the daunting task they have dominate their thoughts. Let me find another good one. 

“We could live in Sonder,” Dolly proposed. “In a box down the back of an alley, right near my brother’s house.”

Despite himself, despite the endless evening and torturous conversation, Andy grinned. “It’s expensive to live in Sonder, how would we survive?”

“We could sell beans. I hear beans are popular. Sam, are beans popular?”

She paused, her warm hands hovering over his cold back. “Beans?” She echoed. “Very popular.”

“See? Perfect. We’ll sell beans until Peep senior kicks the bucket, then reveal you as the rightful heir. They’ll write books about it.”

Ask me chocolate-y questions about my WIPs!

[sincerelyensouled]

😊, 👾, 👁, 🌹🌹🌹, 🌤, 🍦, 🎬, 🎤, 🎈, and 📚! (sorry asked so many, I liked this bunch of questions)

No worries, you’re good!! I wanted to answer a ton of questions anyway so it works out.

😊: what makes you happy?

Lots of dumb little things!! Rewatching a comfort episode of my favourite show, getting something in the mail, warm blankets straight out the dryer, making my friends laugh.

👾: what’s your favorite video game?

oooh favourite?? rough uhhhh the Rhythm Heaven series is one I revisit a lot, a couple of the Ace Attorney games have a stellar plots that I love, Skyward Sword is very comforting with nostalgia and it’s art style. Animal Crossing and Murder by Numbers I put wayyyy to many hours in this year. Also Paper Mario Thousand Year Door.... for all listed above... Too many games 

👁: what color are your eyes?

Already answered but black/brown :0

🌹: what’s your favorite flower?

3 more favourite flowers, coming up. Forget me Nots, they’re so nice and pretty and small. Dandelions! They might be weeds but they sure are pretty. And marigolds because they fumkin ormange

🌤: what’s your favorite type of weather?

Thunderstorms! I love watching the lightning flash across the sky and the only two loud noises that are legally allowed to exist are thunder and the rain crashing against the window

🍦: what’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?

There’s so many factors but uhhh vanilla with either oreo or cookie dough mixed in. Or soft-serve chocolate/vanilla swirl

🎬: what’s your favorite movie?

I was gonna say Pan’s Labyrinth but I only like the Ofelia parts asfasdfadf sadly I’m a basic bitch and I adore the Scott Pilgrim movie and Your Name.

🎤: what’s your favorite song?

I have MANY right now. Switzerland by The Sonder Bombs, Buttercup by Hippo Campus, Lo-fi Children by Wild Party. HOWEVER Life is Cider from the Wonder Egg Priority soundtrack is on constant loop, my brain wants to listen to it all the time I can’t make it stop

🎈: when’s your birthday?

Valentine’s Day :3

📚: what’s your favorite book?

hhhhh uhh rrr ummm, Matilda??? idk I really need to start reading more books

Thank uuuuuu 

[panda-noosh]

New Addition {Keith x Reader}{SONDER series}

Words: 5.9k

Summary: Keith’s world is flipped, yet again.

Genre: fluff

Warnings: pregnancy + birth. female!reader. 

Notes: masterlist - SONDER - hello. you guys won. i wrote a follow-up. 

---

Trembling hands, a racing heartbeat, the sudden, desperate need to just get up and run as far from this small, cramped room as you could possibly get.

  It crashed down upon you with a weight unlike any other. It slumped your shoulders, grabbed you by the throat and demanded you give it an attention you could not deny, because the positive pregnancy test you currently held in your hands was not something you could just pretend never happened.

  It was a responsibility, and yet you couldn't quite figure it out.

  It wasn't like this was your first time looking down at the little blue cross. You'd done it before, and under much worse circumstances; you'd been with a man who didn't really care about you or what was happening, and you had been much, much younger – so young, in fact, that you were convinced you wouldn't even be allowed to keep the little girl for yourself – your daughter. The light of your life.

   Things were different now. Hope was seven years old. You and Keith had been together for two years, had lived together for a year and a half. Things were brighter, made more sense, and yet you couldn't stop the onslaught of tears that slid down your face from the moment you looked at the confirmation that things were never going to be the same again.

  Keith wouldn't be home from work for another few hours, meaning you would have to bottle the news up for a little while longer. Hope was at her grandmothers. You had the entire house to yourself, a good amount of time to process what it was you needed to process – and yet you couldn't handle it. You couldn't just sit in your own silence and wallow until Keith got home. You'd get lost in your own head, would break down long before you had a chance to fully process what was happening.

  That was how you found yourself grabbing your clothes, pulling them on and heading out the front door with the pregnancy test stuffed deep into the pockets of your coat; it was dark now, meaning the chill was difficult to ignore even in your seemingly paralysed state. Sitting on that bathroom floor, you'd were certain you'd never feel anything ever again. The cold was enough to prove you wrong, and yet you continued, refusing to turn back. You pulled open the door of Voltron Pizza Parlour and stepped inside, immediately being greeted by Lance who stood tall behind the counter, doodling on an old note pad.

  He looked up at the sound of the bell jingling above the door, immediately raising a puzzled brow in your direction.

  “Y/N,” he said. “You're not meant to be working today.”

  “Is Keith in or is he off doing deliveries?” you asked, ignoring his comment.

  “He's just finished delivering,” Lance replied, raising a brow. “He should be back any minute now. Why? Is Hope alright?”

  “Hope's fine.” That's all the information you offered before you turned on your heel and took a seat by the window. The parlour was empty at this time of night, though it could have been overfilled with people and you wouldn't have noticed. Your heartbeat was racing at a million miles per hour, that dreaded voice in the back of your head so loud and bold that it made your stomach turn.

  Keith was going to be a dad.

  You squeezed your eyes shut, leaned forward enough to press your forehead against the cold metal of the table; you were overjoyed in a weird way. If Keith took the news well, it would be life changing for both of you. A new little addition to the family, an experience for Keith to take on and learn from.

  But you thought of Hope. Of course you did. Your precious little girl with whom you would personally pluck the stars from the sky if she asked you to. Her bond with Keith was unlike anything you had ever seen before – what if Keith concentrated more on this baby than her? What if he realised that this child was his own, his genuine flesh and blood, and he put Hope to the side in favour of them?

   The thought was bizarre, and you knew that. Perhaps it was some early pregnancy hormones swirling in your brain, tilting your thoughts until they hit the point of worst-case-scenario. You knew Keith. You knew he would never do such a thing, and yet the possibility was too there for you to ignore it.

  The bell above the door jingled, and you stiffened, didn't look up until you felt his presence at the side of you.

  “Well, hello there,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “What can I get for you, pretty woman?”

  You looked up, straight into his eyes, and it was then that his smile fell and his shoulders slumped. You didn't even need to say anything before he kneeled in front of you, grabbed your hands and bunched them up in your lap, his large fingers engulfing your own. His eyes softened, his mouth tilting into a frown until he finally managed, “What's the matter?”

    “Keith...” Oh God, you were beginning to regret this decision more and more. Lance was feet away, whistling to himself as he cleaned the oven in the kitchen. Keith had just got off work. Your brain was muddled – you should have waited, should have given yourself a chance to process the news for yourself before you came clambering to Keith.

  You looked away, nibbling on your bottom lip. You weren't sure if you were going to cry or not – at this point, you couldn't really tell.

  “Hey,” Keith said, shaking your hands to get your attention back on him. “I know something's wrong. Tell me what's wrong.”

  And it was the genuine concern in his voice that whittled you down. “I've been. . . I've been feeling sick recently. Really sick.”

  Keith raised a brow. You didn't miss the sudden paling of his cheeks. “I told you to go to the doctors about that. Was it bad news?”

   “N-no. No. I didn't go to the doctors.”

  Keith's grip tightened. “Y/N, you were throwing up all morning on Tuesday. That's not just something you should-”

   You waved a hand. “I know why it's happening. I'm fine. At least – at least, I think so. I hope so. God, I hope so.”

  Keith stiffened, looking up at you with his eyebrow still raised and his hands still kneading the flesh of your own. “So what is it?” A part of you knew he could tell what was about to happen. He wasn't stupid.

  But you said it anyway, because you had to say the words for you to truly believe them right now. “I'm pregnant, Keith.”

    Keith wasn't one to filter emotion well. It was one of the few things about him that was a downfall – he heard news, and he didn't know how to handle it, so he just didn't. He would stare blankly at the person until someone else stepped in and saved him from either looking plain disrespectful or just downright rude.

  But there was no delay in his reaction now.

  His lower lip quivered. You saw that first, followed shortly by the tightening of his grip on your hands, which was then exaggerated by the smile that slowly made its way onto his face, brightening up every tired feature his expression once held.

  You gawked down at him. “You're happy?”

  “Are you serious?” He whispered it, flicked a look over his shoulder to make sure Lance wasn't looking before he shot upright, dragging you along with him. You couldn't help the eruption of laughter that immediately spilled from your mouth when he wrapped his arms around your waist and tugged you into him, hugging you so tightly that you were on the verge of telling him to let you go just so you could catch your breath.

  But you didn't. In fact, you challenged him by squeezing him back even tighter, burying your face in the crook of his neck because never before had you felt so elated, so overcome with relief and happiness in such a short amount of time.

  “You're happy?” you repeated, needing to hear him say it, his actions not being enough right now. You just needed everything to be straight forward. You needed to make sure you weren't interpreting anything wrong.

   “Fucking hell, Y/N, of course I am,” he mumbled into your neck, swaying back and forth, not once letting you go. “Hope's gonna be a big sister.”

   Your eyes flooded with tears. “She's gonna be so happy.”

    “When did you find out?” he asked, suddenly jolting away from you. “Oh God, I wasn't there. I should have been with you when you took the test. That's the right thing to do, isn't it?” He narrowed his eyes. “You did take a test, didn't you? None of this weird Old Wives Tale bullshit.”

  You giggled. “No, I took a test.” That was when you remembered. “Oh! Here!” You reached into your pocket and tugged the little blue stick out, showing it to Keith. He hesitated for only a moment, clearly understanding the process it took to get the results, but he eventually pushed those hesitations aside and took the test from between your fingers.

  His own were trembling.

  “A-and the second line means it's true?” he said, looking back at you with wide, curious eyes. “You're pregnant?”

  You grinned, nodding.

  Keith hollowed out his cheeks, looking back down at the test as if making sure it was real, making sure all of this was real and you couldn't blame him. Even as you stood before him now, with the smell of pizza heavy in the air and the darkness engulfing the outside world, the test proving everything, you still couldn't quite believe what had happened tonight.

  “Wow,” Keith whispered, shaking his head. “And it's definitely mine?”

  You groaned. “You don't even need me to answer that question.”

  “I know, I know,” he mumbled. “It's just . . . so surreal. Like, this literally all happened in two seconds.” He shook his head, looking up at you. “You've literally just changed my entire life in two seconds.”

    “I'm sorry I kinda came out of nowhere,” you said. “But at the same time, it's partly your fault that I'm pregnant, so I feel like the least you can do is let me show up at work to tell you.”

  Keith grinned, pulling you back under his arm. “When are we telling Hope?”

    “Whenever you want.”

   “Let's make sure everything's alright with the Little One before we tell her. I just wanna make sure it's not too early on to be getting the Big One's hopes up.”

   You smiled. “You've already got nicknames lined up?”

   “They've been ready for months.” And with that, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, before he pulled away and said, “So what are your thoughts on pregnancy sex?”

  ---

  Hope would be home from school at any moment, and you were counting down the seconds.

  You hoped and prayed Keith hadn't lost his willpower; all day he'd been walking around, talking about how excited he was to finally let Hope in on what was going on, on what was happening, on the fact that she would soon be a big sister. He'd all but vibrated with his own excitement, and the fact that he was alone in the car with her now spiked your anxiety to new heights.

  You leaned against the kitchen counter, ringing a towel between your hands because it was the only thing you could do to keep yourself distracted from the impending task. You and Keith had planned the entire speech out the night before, interrupting one another, nudging each other, saying “No, that'll never work, let me say this part!” until finally, it looked like you had the solid foundations for a decent announcement.

  But it wouldn't really go how you planned, and you knew that better than anyone.

  The sound of the front door opening startled you out of your daze. You could hear Keith telling Hope to take her shoes off, could hear Hope ask her usual question of “Why?” even as she did it anyway; no matter how many times you and Keith told her that you didn't like mud being tracked in the house, she still never failed to ask the reason why behind everything.

  Keith appeared in the doorway, having ignored her question. His violet eyes were wide, his steps quick as he marched over, grabbed your arm and said, “We're doing this now?”

  Your head snapped towards him. “What? You said yesterday-”

  “I know, I know,” he hissed, keeping his voice low. “But I'm nervous!”

   You couldn't stop the giggle. Keith frowned, furrowing his brows as you reached up and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “You're gonna be fine.”

  “What if she doesn't even want a brother or sister?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “There's not a lot we can do about it now, is there?”

  Keith opened his mouth to reply, no doubt some sarcastic retort, but his verbal genius was cut off by the soft pattering of Hope's bare feet against the kitchen tiles. She did her usual routine of hugging your legs absentmindedly before making her way towards the cupboard.

  “Can I have Jaffa Cakes?”

  “In a bit,” you replied. “Me and Keith need to talk to you first.”

  Hope frowned, still reaching for the treats cupboard. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No,” said Keith. He reached down, bundled Hope in his arms and placed her on the counter. She giggled, looking down at the floor before she bunched her knees into her chest and rocked slowly back and forth.

  “Mummy doesn't like it when I sit up here,” she whispered, as if you weren't standing two feet away from her.

  Keith planted both his palms on either side of her, caging her in to stop her from falling. “Well, we're making an exception now. We have something important to tell you.”

   “Important?”

  “Very important.” Keith lowered his voice. “Top secret, okay? You can't tell anyone – not until Mummy and I say it's alright.”

  “That's right,” you said, stepping forward and leaning over Keith's shoulder, lowering your own voice to a suspicious whisper.

  Hope looked up, eyes wide, darting between you and Keith before she started nodding frantically. “I promise I won't tell.” She paused, frowned. “Not even Grandma?”

  “Not yet,” you said. “Once Keith and I tell you it's okay, you're allowed to talk to Grandma about it however much you want, but right now, this is between you and us.”

  “It's a big girls secret,” Keith added. “Think you can handle it?”

  Hope sat up straighter, buffed out her chest in the way Keith taught her; she had fallen down in the park one day, started crying until Keith sat beside her and told her to copy him. The two of them had sat there, straight backed and frowning into the abyss for what felt like ages – but it got Hope to stop crying. Now, it was her way of showing people just how tough she was.

  “Okay,” she said. “I'm ready.”

    You and Keith shot each other a glance. You'd known Keith long enough to recognise the tell-tale signs of his panic, and they were in full throttle now. His violet eyes were blown wide, his tongue constantly darting out to moisten his bottom lip. His index finger rubbed at the inside of his middle finger to the point where the skin slowly started to brighten into redness. You reached over, tangled your fingers with his before you leaned forward and said, “How would you like a little brother or sister?”

  And Hope wasn't stupid. She didn't tilt her head in confusion, didn't require any further explanation as to what it was you were asking – her green eyes widened, her jaw dropping open for only a few seconds before she closed it again and hollowed out her cheeks.

  Keith burst out laughing. Even you were unable to hide the amused smile forming on your face, though the relief that immediately whisked through you was enough to mute any noise you would have made.

  Hope slammed her fists into Keith's chest, bundling his shirt in her little hands with her excitement. “Really?!”

  “Really,” Keith chuckled, grabbing her hands and pressing gentle kisses to the back of her knuckles. “Are you excited?”

  “When can I meet them?” she asked, ignoring Keith's question. “Will they look like me? Oh, Mummy, I can share my toys with them, too!” She frowned then, slouching. “Unless it's a boy. Boys don't really like my dolls.”

   “You never know,” you said. “If it's a boy, he might love playing with your toys.”

   “On the other hand, if it's a girl,” Keith added, “she might hate playing with them.”

  Hope frowned as if this possibility had never dawned on her before. You chuckled, reached over and pinched her tiny cheeks, unable to help yourself – god, you were happy. So, so happy that the news had been announced with little to no hassle. Hope was all but bubbling up with her excitement, hands still bundled in Keith's red shirt.

  “Will I meet them soon?” she asked, voice quieter now.

  “Soon enough,” Keith replied, reaching down and placing a gentle hand on your stomach. The touch startled you, and your eyes snapped up to the side of his head. He wasn't looking at you, though – his attention was firm on Hope, a small smile adorning his features that you knew for a fact you would never, ever get used to seeing. No matter how often you saw it nowadays, it still managed to send butterflies stampeding through your very being.

  “Grandma told me that Mummy eats a lot when she's having a baby,” Hope blurted out. “She told me that you used to eat for two.”

  You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing; the furrowed brows on your daughter told you she would be most confused if you started chuckling at her absurd observations – she was serious. “Grandma was right.”

  “She was?” Keith said, raising a brow and looking over his shoulder, a slow smirk replacing his previous grin.

  You shrugged. “I am eating for two.”

  “Well, you can share with Hope,” he said. “I savour my food.”

  Hope gasped, swatting Keith's shoulder before turning to you. “You can share with me, Mummy. I don't mind.”

   You nudged Keith. He rolled his eyes, only forcing another cheesy grin to appear on your face.

  “Thank you, baby,” you said. “It's very much appreciated.”

  ----

  You'd forgotten just how nerve-wracking ultrasounds could be.

  It had been a while since you'd last had one, a while since you'd last felt the gel touch your stomach, the slight ache of the remote as it dug into your flesh. You focused on the feel of Keith's hand, the way his thumb glided over your knuckles, the way his breathing picked up whenever the machine beeped and the ultrasound technician would print yet another picture for the two of you to examine.

  It was an exciting time, but to say you weren't nervous would be a lie.

  Anything could show up on that screen, a fact that Keith refused to let slip from your brain. You knew it was just his way of calming himself down – this was his first time doing anything like this, at the end of the day. He sat beside you in the car, going on and on about how he would be there the entire time, how he would hold your hand, how he would hold you if anything went wrong. He then quickly shook his head, dismissing his previous statement by saying, “But nothing will go wrong, so don't worry.”

   But the worry had already been lodged into your brain.

  The ultrasound technician was oddly quiet as she worked. Her mouth twisted, her beady eyes narrowed and her posture straight and professional. Her hands showed no mercy, all but ripping your shirt up so she could get a glance at the tiny little bump already beginning to form. She had then taken the remote to your stomach and got to work with little to say bar the odd direction for you and Keith to look.

  “That's its foot.”

  “There's an arm.”

  “I'm pretty sure that's its left pinky...”

  “You keep saying it,” Keith said, startling you. The room had been quiet until then. “When are you gonna tell us if we're having a boy or a girl?”

  “Keith,” you hissed, before turning to the ultrasound technician. “Don't mind him. You take your time.”

  The nurse smiled, though it was clearly forced, before she turned back to the screen and got back to work. Keith hollowed out his cheeks, running his free hand through his hair and slumping back in his seat – you were also growing impatient, but you knew there was no point in rushing something like this.

  You squeezed his hand in reassurance only once before the ultrasound technician sighed, clipped the lid back on the remote and started printing out the final photos. Keith scrambled forward, you following suit, and the two of you stared at her expectantly.

  She wiped her hands on some paper towel, turned to you and said, “Congratulations. You're having a boy.”

  ----

  “He's not wearing that.”

  “Keith, look. You're not even looking.” You grabbed his arm, shoving the tiny little baseball cap into his hands. “Look.”

  Keith narrowed his eyes, plucking the baseball cap from your hands and inspecting it closely. “I have looked.” He shoved it back onto the shelf. “And it looks awful. Our poor little boy is gonna get bullied before he's even started walking.”

   You groaned. Keith simply rolled his eyes, grabbed your hand and started pulling you through the shop again, ignoring the glances being thrown at you from the workers – the workers who had spent a good portion of their time just watching you and Keith parade through the shelves, arguing back and forth.

  “You're worse than I am, you know,” you said, stumbling into step beside him though neither of you let go of the others hand. “I thought it was the mother who was supposed to get all fussy about the clothes?”

  “I'm not being fussy-”

   “You're being fussy. Fussier than Hope when she hasn't had her hot chocolate before bed.”

  Keith gasped. “Take that back.”

   You grinned, nudging his arm. “I'm being serious. I had no idea you would take this kind of thing so seriously.”

   “What do you mean 'this kind of thing?'”

  “You know.” You shrugged. “The fashion side of things. The accessories. Tiny little baseball caps.”

   “He's not wearing a baseball cap.”

   “You've made that clear.” You looked away. “But he's gonna be put in a baseball cap eventually.”

  Keith groaned, but even he couldn't help the tiny little laugh that slipped past his lips. You grinned back at him, taking his amusement as a success even as the two of you continued walking round the shop with little success whatsoever – so far, you had agreed only on two things, and one of them was a plain white vest that you insisted the baby would need at some stage. Keith had agreed, and that was that.

  However, the more dramatic pieces of clothing were more difficult to agree upon.

  It wasn't long until the two of you found yourselves in the shoe section of the clothes shop. Keith was genuinely pondering over a pair of tiny little high tops, tapping at his chin, his lower lip pouted. You could only stare at him, an amused smile fighting its way to the surface.

  “Keith.”

“Hm?”

  “You do realise we don't actually need to buy shoes until after he's born, right?”

  He glanced at you. “What do you mean? Of course he's gonna need shoes.”

  “I mean, eventually, yeah, but I think we should actually get him something to put on his back first. He's gonna be carried everywhere for quite a while.”

   “But his outfits gonna look wonky if he doesn't have a pair of shoes.”

   You raised a brow, covering your mouth with the back of your hand. “Right. His outfit. The outfit we haven't actually picked out yet.”

    “If this is about the baseball cap-”

  You lurched forward, grabbing his arm and dragging him to the side. He grunted, stumbling after you. “This isn't about the baseball cap,” you insisted. “How about we make a deal.”

  Keith narrowed his eyes. “I'm listening...”

  “You pick out any outfit you like, and I have to let you get it. No arguments. Then I'll pick out any outfit I like, and you have to let me get it without argument, too.” Keith froze. “It'll get us started at least.”

   He pondered on the idea for a minute, eyes tracing your face. It was clear he didn't quite trust you with the task, his mind no doubt zooming back to the god awful baseball cap he seemed to have some vendetta against. It was a few seconds before he finally hollowed out his cheeks, shook his hand from your grip, turned and said, “Fine. Meet back here in ten minutes.”

  And that was exactly what you did.

  All it took was ten minutes. You snatched up the cute t-shirts and the tiny little jeans and the onesies and darted back to your meeting place. Keith was already there, rifling through his assortment of clothes with a frown on his face, inspecting each one before he looked up and met your eyes.

  “I got a little more than just an outfit,” he said.

  You held up your own armful of clothes. “Same here.”

   “Let's see what you got then.”

   “You have to let me get them. That's the deal.”

  “The deal was an outfit-”

  “Keith.”

  He rolled his eyes and gestured vaguely to the pile of clothes hung over your arm, silently saying get on with it. You grinned from ear to ear, tugging the clothes up and showing them to him with your smile still spread wide across your face; it was pure amusement that coursed through you at the way Keith ruffled his brows, the way he bit at his knuckles to keep his comments back, the way he winced at the sight of a t-shirt you'd picked out consisting of a dinosaur scoring a goal in a game of football, the words “Dino-score” printed beneath it.

  When you were finished, all Keith had the energy to say was, “You're just so proud of yourself, aren't you?”

  “I personally think Little One is gonna love it.” You thrust the clothes into the basket. “Now, what have you picked out?”

  Keith's demeanour immediately changed. He straightened up, started showing you the clothes he'd picked out, and you would be lying to claim they weren't decent. They were, though you knew they would be; Keith may have hid it well, but he knew how to put an outfit together when he wanted to. He may not have put that much thought into his own outfits on a day-to-day basis, but it was clear in the fashionable fabrics he was showing you now that he was going to take a lot of thought into the order of his sons clothes.

  You nodded along to each one before Keith thrust them into the basket and said, “Well?”

  “I'm not gonna lie to you, Keith Kogane,” you said. “You haven't done too bad.”

  He grinned. “I wanna get Little One and Hope some matching clothes, too. How cute would that be?”

   “Hope would be mortified.”

  “Hope'll love it.” He intertwined your fingers together and started for the counter. “Her and her little brother walking around in matching tracksuits-”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  Keith frowned. “What?”

  “We're not putting them in tracksuits.”

  “But it's okay to put them in things like that Dino-score shirt?”

  “That shirt's funny! Hope would love it.”

  Keith rolled his eyes again. “We'll see about that when we get home, won't we?”

  ----

  July 28th. The day everything changed forever.

  Lance's birthday. Already a time for celebration, though Keith could not make it to one of his oldest friends birthday parties. He was cooped up, too busy holding your hand and trying not to cry in the hospital room he had been cooped up in since 3am that morning.

  He paced back and forth for hours. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion. His legs were stiff, his mind numb as the caffeine thrummed through his entire body. You had been able to take a quick nap through the contractions, and Keith had tried to join you, but the chair was too small and his thoughts were too quick and he couldn't quite bring himself to sit still long enough for his body to realise the state of exhaustion it was in.

  The sun had come up. Keith sat by your side, held your hand, whispered soothing words in your ear because that was what he'd heard he should be doing – letting you know you were a damn hero, letting you know that he was there and always would be. Your eyes fluttered closed, face pressed against the pillow, shallow breaths slipping past your lips that sounded pained and exhausted. Keith wiped the sweat from your forehead, held your phone to your ear when Lance and Hunk had called, asking for details. Lance had jokingly said, “You better hold it in for another few hours, Y/N! I don't fancy sharing my birthday.”

   But it seemed like Lance's request was going to be impossible, because a few hours later, you were ready.

  Keith hated hearing you cry out. He hated that he couldn't do anything, that he could only sit by your side and tell you how good you were doing, how close you were to being a mother for a second time, how this was all going to be worth it. As he watched your face contort in pain, listened to your screamed curse words, he was beginning to doubt that it would be worth it – in that moment, he didn't pay attention to the fact that he was minutes away from becoming a dad, or that his life was about to change forever. He was looking at your face, at the face he'd woken up to every morning for the past two and a half years, and he was concentrating on how hurt you looked and how he'd never seen anything so heartbreaking in his entire life.

  But then the sound of crying spilled into the room, and you suddenly stopped screaming and were merely gasping for air, and Keith couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, could barely move as the doctor placed the tiny bundle on your chest. The nurses were saying things, congratulating him, maybe, but he couldn't even hear them.

  The only congratulations he could make out was your own. You looked up at Keith and said through tears, “You're a dad. Look at him. You're a dad.”

  Keith was certain he could listen to those words all day long and never get tired of them.

  He slumped down on the chair by your bedside, took the scissors from the doctor and cut the umbilical chord. His hands were trembling, but he did it, and when his hands were finally free, he placed them on the bare skin of his son and felt the meaning of his life in physical form. This was what he was here for. For twenty four years, this was what he'd been preparing for, and it was finally here and Keith couldn't stop smiling, couldn't stop running his fingers along his sons arms, making sure to nudge your fingers every time he did so.

  Neither of you could speak. The nurses measured him, weighed him, did his little foot prints, and neither you nor Keith could say anything. The smiles were too big, the shock still too overwhelming; speaking would just shatter it, bring you back to the reality. Keith wanted to live in this moment of bliss for a moment longer.

  ---

  “Lincoln Lance Kogane. 6 pounds 9 ounces. Born on July 28th at 6:04pm.”

  “The same day as Uncle Lance!” Hope exclaimed, a little too loudly. Tiny little Lincoln grumbled, squirming in Keith's arms at the volume of his big sisters voice; Hope immediately gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth and nuzzling into your shoulder again. “Did I scare him?”

  “You've just gotta be quiet,” you assured her. “He's sleeping, you see.”

  “He does that a lot,” Hope said. She slowly leaned forward again, glancing at the tiny black hairs peeking out from the blanket in Keith's arms. “Will he wake up and play with my toys with me?”

  “Not just yet,” said Keith. “Give him time, though, and he'll be playing dolls with you all day, every day.”

  Hope grinned at the prospect, and the sight of it made your heart tug. You took a tiny, subtle step back just to admire the people standing before you – your family, the people you loved most in the world. Keith, with Lincoln bundled in his arms and his eyes on Hope. Hope, with her curious hands poking gently into her new little brothers blanket. Lincoln, so small and carefree, eyes closed and black hairs already growing at a rate you knew would be difficult to control as he got older.

   Keith looked so happy. So inexplicably happy – you knew he would be, but this was so beyond anything you could have imagined that it startled you, made you think you would wake up one day and realise it was all a lie, a dream your brain had conjured up. He was grinning from ear to ear, playfully swatting Hope's hand away, making her squeal with excitement as she tugged it back.

  “Be careful. Lincoln might eat your hand off.”

  “No he won't! He's a baby!” Hope squealed, glaring at Keith as if to say I'm not stupid.

  And as you watched them, your arms folded over your chest, you realised that this was everything you'd ever wanted. From the moment you'd looked into Hope's eyes all them years ago, there was no question as to how you'd wanted your life to pan out – it could take on whatever direction it wanted, could lead you anywhere, as long as your family was with you, as long as they were safe and happy. You would be fine with anything else. Just as long as they were okay.

  Keith looked up, met your eyes and mouthed you okay?

  Before you'd met Keith, you would simply nod and say “I'm fine,” because it was the easiest thing to do. But now, you could grin, say “I'm perfect,” and mean it with every fibre of your being.

[ocpd96]

My OCPD Idiosyncrasies #1

I’m a lover of all kinds of literature and for almost a decade now have been an amateur poet. In each of my poems you can glimpse a fraction of my soul, into those verses I pour my dreams, ambitions, loves, passions, fears, desires, hates, sonder, wanderlust, and so much more, but unfortunately, it has been so long since I attempted to compose a poem... it’s not like the creativity stopped flowing through me; I have endless ideas and verses and beautiful words swirling around inside my mind, phrases and emotions I want to capture in ink, insights of my soul I’m desperate to immortalise on paper, but in recent times my OCPD has gotten so much more severe and thus my inner crazed perfectionist has suffocated the free flowing artist I crave.  That’s why I’m starting this blog, in the hopes that beginning to write about my life on here will open a door in my mind. 

I’ve always considered writing to be my purest form of expression.

Maybe it makes sense because when I write something, I can think for as long as I need about how I want to portray and explain what I have to say, I can draft it, find eloquent words to suit my emotions and thoughts, analyse the way my words may be perceived by intended audiences and adjust accordingly to ensure maximum understanding and minimum negative reactions. I get to write it all down without interruption or distraction,no fear of judgement for the way I sound, or my inability to find the right word mid sentence. It is a process of careful construction to create a masterpiece of communication despite it being a ridiculous waste of time in today's age of instant messaging. Often if a difficult topic comes up when I'm texting someone, I'll ask them to be patient with me, go write a letter addressing the topic on pen and paper and then take a photo and send it to them. 

Unnecessarily laborious, but with the way my brain works, it becomes my only option.

[kalopses-sonderes]

Hey I had an idea for the hyper baker series....uh btw if ya want ya can call me hyper anon lol! Anyway, so idea is...since I noticed lilac, earl grey, and Raspberry mousse are your favorites....what if one of them becomes temporarily in charge of the hyper baker....like they heard about how the baker likes to run off and how they love to be friendly to every cookie so they know how to keep an eye on them...wanna come up with a silly scenario but can't think of any so wanted to throw idea out and see what funny scenario you'd wanna make lmao...

YES OFC YOU CAN BE HYPER ANON. Bro this is off topic but i made a post trying to find this persons pfp of raspberry mousse cause i really want it, so this is gonna be about him bc i cant find the pfp🥲

Pure vanilla was sent on a mission and couldnt take care of baker, so second in charge is lilac!!

Baker ran off into the forest, they set up a picnic date for them and lilac! Lilac was chasing after them cluelessly.

“Baker please slow down!” Lilac said.

Baker kept running, they didn’t realize they went the wrong way.

… “reason 2000 why baker should date me is-“ licorice was cut off by being ran into by baker. Baker fell on top of him like in the shows.

licorice turned so red. are we about to kiss?! He thought.

”Hello!” Baker said while on top of licorice.

pomegranate held her hand out to help baker. “here, let me help you up.”

baker took her hand and got up leaving licorice on the ground.

Lilac lost track off baker. Hell, where did baker go? He thought. He heard a conversation going on, he turned and saw baker!? He ran as fast as he could to them, they were surrounded my cookies of darkness!

lilac put his weapon out in front of baker separating them from the cookies of darkness.

”Stay back!” Lilac said, panting and sweating.

”Hm? Who may you be?” Pomegranate giggled.

“No body important to you fruit head.” Lilac shot back.

He grabbed bakers hand and started walking in the other direction.

Licorice finally got off the ground and ran to baker, got on his knees and held their free hand.

”Baker! Please let me tell you the 13,382 reasons why you should date me!”

Lilac stopped walking and looked at him in disgust. No way baker would say yes-

“Sure!” Baker let go of lilac hand and held licorices hand and dragged him in the way they think the picnic is at.

”Baker! You must get back to the kingdom! These cookies arent safe.” Lilac said, he wraps his arm around they shoulders, hoping to get them to go back to the castle. Pure vanilla will be back soon, and if bakers not back nobody knows what will happen to Lilac.

”Baker please come with me!” Licorice says still on his knees. Pomegranate just starre, pathetic she thought.

…

Raspberry mousse walked up to this.. debate.

Hes there standing with his perfect posture and intimidating face.

”Are you done yet?” He says uninterested. “Baker, i already packed up your picnic. Maybe you cam have it tomorrow... And lilac.. Pure vanilla will be back any minute. Get this settled and bring baker back to the kingdo-” baker ran up to him and grabbed his hand and dragged him back to the kingdom.

”Raspberry mousse! I missed you so much! There so much i wanna do!” Baker rambled on .

”Please relax baker!” Raspberry mousse said, he turned a bright red. Baker missed me?

“Well then, I’ll be going.” Pomegranate said walking away.

“No fair! Why is he bakers favorite! i clearly love them more!” Licorice complained.

Lilac glared at him. “ i see why you arent bakers favorite.”

”Hey! Whats that supposed to mean?” Licorice pouts.

On the walk back to the kingdom you felt tired and had raspberry mousse hold you while you fell asleep.

He pushed the door to your room in the palace to see many photos of you and a ripped photo of licorices faces tapped next to you. There was candles and ‘i love you baker!’ Written on the walls.

”Oh. Bakers back? Ive made some tea for them if they would like a cup- ” Earl gray says walking to the room, he was cut off when he looked in the room.

“What the actual fuck.” Pure vanilla said behind them.

[lisetteaman]

Sonder

Monday, December 17, 2001

A woman is in labor. She is young and heavily influenced by her parents’ unfolding resentment over her stupidly throwing her life away for a boy and becoming pregnant. He stands guard in the waiting room while his parents stare apathetically at the pages of a Time magazine that is ruminating on the Twin Towers. They sit, indifferent towards the current situation of their son having knocked up a teenager. Her parents barge into the waiting room and start an intense discourse in which each parent is screaming at the other, but no one is listening. Each forcefully playing his own disconnected word as if in a game of Scrabble, borrowing bits of the others’ anecdotes, while trying to see who can increase his score. Amongst all the squabbling, the young woman gives birth to a son, Jack.

Across the hall is a second woman in labor of identical age but antithetical descent. Her parents were extremely loving and unconditionally forgiving, but now deceased, while his are globe trotters who never stopped to watch him grow up. With neither involvement nor surveillance of an upper-hand, they wander into a territory much too young for a couple to embark upon and wind up with a kid, whom they name Olive.

Monday, December 17, 2018 Jack

5:30am His alarm goes off, and he hops into the shower. It’s the only part of his morning routine that he actually enjoys. He takes his showers in complete darkness, the lights off to further exemplify how much his heart craves to slip into the morning air with the steam and melt into the black sky just behind his skylight above his shower head. He looks up and sees the vapor condense to the cold glass of the window-pane. He draws a dick in the fog and goes back to playing with himself. Don’t be fooled: he’s a good kid, even with an immature and slightly inappropriate brain. Don’t blame him; blame his biological sex organ. There’s a pounding in his head. Nope, it’s his father on the other side of the door hammering him to hurry up. Time is always official business in his household. His parents are strict and conservative, of the affluent, conceited type. Jack has no say in this life. It was as though his parents put him in a box once he was born and slapped a label on it, saying: “elite, sophisticated aristocrat” and put no room for failure in with him. They had to. They needed to organize their life somehow, as their parents were hounding them to get their shit together if they wanted some semblance of a successful life. But proof be known, Jack’s parents are now exactly what they wanted to be: rich and famous. It is only fitting that they teach Jack the exact same way to live—with your head up your ass and your ego two sizes too big.

It’s about the hundredth time his father has started this conversation with him. It’s always about the law firm, and how Jack needs to keep his grades above everyone else’s in the class if he wants to get into Yale, like his father, and become the next business partner in the firm. “The board only wants to see Ivy League graduates, Jack…” Jack tunes him out and starts drifting into thoughts that are too conceptual for an early morning without coffee, but that’s how Jack likes it. He likes his brain and all the corners it takes him to. It just never seems tangible enough for Jack to get out of this barricaded city and plan the contours of his life—to go explore the world’s abyss for all it offers in releasing the fantasies that remain dormant inside his head. He’s a hopeless romantic. He has never loved anyone, but his heart, as fragile and malformed as it is, is too gentle and graceful to share with others. He protects it and its sentimental value.

6:45am Although Jack is mostly undisturbed by his parents’ lineage of condescension and economical influence, he does assume the role of a private school boy with wispy, blonde hair and a sophisticated veneer. His driver, Stewart, is parked outside to take Jack to Bradley Preparatory Academy. The limo turns and drives past the Lexington Avenue street subway. Jack turns his head and stares out the window at all the passersby in the subway street car, and thinks of how they all ride around town with their newspapers and their sweaty palms stuck to the subway car poles and their gum shoved under the seats, living in such frustration and haste. He turns his attention back and buries his head in his book, The Catcher in the Rye.

Olive

6:53am She sits smushed between two obese men in overly large, black wool coats, who are clearly failing in their attempt to hide their stress-induced eating habits. She looks at the kid sitting across from her take his gum out and stick it under the seat. She’s sweating and reaches her palm out for the pole to get up and stand somewhere else—not worth the body odor and loss in blood circulation. She hates this route. The Lexington Avenue stop, with all the men who aren’t wealthy enough to drive to work, but just arrogant enough to make her upper lip curl as they eye her up and down before disembarking the subway car. Most people take quick glances at Olive but are too skeptical to trust in how stunningly beautiful she naturally is. She dyes her curly, long hair pink and wears an excessive amount of black eyeliner. She has a septum nose ring in the shape of a butterfly and a pretty bold tattoo of the letter A on the side of her neck below her ear—her mother’s first initial, but some look at it and think of The Scarlet Letter. She’s on her way to work. Her parents passed away last year, and now she lives with her aunt in a tiny apartment in Queens. Her aunt made her a promise that she didn’t have to go to school this year as long as she got a job. So naturally, Olive picked a coffee shop in Midtown. “It’s where all the assholes are, Aunt Grace. The meatheads, the hoodlums, the tourists—they all congregate at my coffee shop.” Aunt Grace is not the biggest fan of having her 17-year-old niece travel right into the raucous of Time Square. She sees through Olive’s chill veneer—her hurt and big brain masked behind makeup and a stellar performance of “I don’t give a shit.” Olive is quintessentially brilliant. She was tested at a young age for an IQ score and found out she was in the top 2 percent of the world at her age. She refuses to get tested again, not for fear that she will have fallen behind, but for just the opposite—for fear that her score will be even more impressive and “they” will sit her in a think tank or ship her off to do long division somewhere until all of her brain cells die. She has read just about everything that has a spine or a library code, and yet, she is rarely amused by any of it. If Olive had it her way, she’d be a starving artist—hitchhiking her way to some rural landscape, finding earthly materials to paint with, and blogging her experiences with people from different cultures around the world.

3:45pm Olive usually walks down to Central Park when she gets off of work. Sometimes she runs, but it’s a cold day out and kind of gloomy. She loves these days—the days when the people seem to be more capricious than normal and she can find a nook somewhere she can sit and watch the melancholy mood dissipate into the grey air. It always seems quieter on these days, more people with their headphones in and their caps on, blinding their focus from the inherit craziness singing in the background. She remembers it’s her birthday. It’s been a whole year since her parents died. She dials her mom’s phone number and listens for the voicemail message: “Hi, you’ve reached Abagail, sorry I can’t come to the phone right now, probably doing something fantastical with Olive right now. I’ll call you back when I get a chance. P.S. if this is Grace, you know where to find me.” Olive is not a crier. She rarely shows her emotions, especially to the people around her. But right now, she sits alone on a park bench, bawling her eyes out, wishing time and memory flowed backwards. What a perfect moment to start questioning everything around her—how time keeps getting faster, how babies are being born but others are dying. How the world seems to be constantly growing, and yet, this city has bolted her down and she can’t escape to see what’s out there and who’s living as vivid and complex a life as she is. She starts getting stuck inside her head, trapping her beautiful, yet damaged mind inside. She feels swallowed in a sea of thoughts and tumbling emotions that are rising like a maverick. She can’t contain it anymore. She erupts—she opens her big mouth and screams. Silence. No one is around her. The world has just stopped—frozen in time and place. She turns her head to see if she can move. Nothing happens, no sounds, just silence. Then, wham! A cab flips over and smashes into a tree.

Jack

4:13pm Jack usually gets picked up by Stewart after school, but he decides to ditch his driver and catch a ride in a cab downtown to Central Park. The clouds are hanging especially low, blanketing the city in its sorrows—these are the kind of days he likes. His driver slams on the breaks. However, the car beside goes flying through the intersection, but it doesn’t make it through the red light in time. The cab is hit by a fast moving semi, is vaulted into the air, and strikes a tree upside down. Jack tells his driver to go ahead and turn around to take him back home. The road would be closed soon, and if he stayed at the park, there would be too much traffic to ever get back home in time for dinner. Dinner’s always at a hard 6:00pm, after indoor lacrosse practice, but he skipped today…didn’t have the heart for it.

Jack’s birthday has always weighed on him, but this year has been especially heavy. His parents have pressured him more, his friends are mostly heroin addicts, and the girl he has been inconveniently crushing on for the past three years is stuck like glue to the hot glow-up from sophomore year. He turns his head out the window and watches as the people dance about the street, always rushing—places to be, people to meet, busy lives to attend to. For the rest of the cab ride home, Jack ponders the irrevocable power of freedom and silently cries in the back of the cab. He wonders if there is a person out there that will make him dance.

Olive

11:34pm Olive walks through the front door. Grace jumps up from the kitchen table and runs to her. “Where have you been? Don’t you do that to me again!” Grace has tears in her eyes. She grabs Olive and holds her in her arms. Olive explains that there was an accident near the park, so she walked for a couple miles before calling a cab the rest of the way home. “Hun. You have to be careful. It’s a zoo out there this time of the year and I HATE the idea of you being alone, especially today.” She plays with Olive’s hair. Olive looks into her eyes and starts sobbing again. She can’t hold it back anymore. It’s been a year since she cried—that’s how tough Olive’s cover-up has become, that’s how much time she has spent packaging all of her emotions into a tiny box and burying them deep into a pit in her soul. No longer, she has freedom from her pain at that exact moment. It’s fleeting though. Olive snaps back to reality and pushes Aunt Grace off of her. She wipes her tears and tells Grace that she isn’t hungry and just wants to be alone, again…a ploy to start hiding her true self from those who get too close to her.

She lies flat on her back on her bed and stares at the ceiling. Her mom was a fantastic artist and used to paint with Olive all the time. When her parents passed, she went digging under their bed for the boxes of old school supplies and random crafts until she found these paintings. She had stapled them to the ceiling. Aunt Grace was against Olive putting holes in the ceiling, but it didn’t bother Olive one bit. “What’s it like up there, mom? Is it colorful and just all that you hoped it would be?” Olive has the particular feeling that no matter what she does, everything will always go wrong. It’s like everyone around her is just living such a normal and simple life, but she has these powers to see the future and know that something—her passions, her love life, her job, her cares, her worries—will always go wrong. She’s coped this past year in her own silent, painful way. She wears threaded friendship bracelets and rubber bands over her wrists to hide the pain from the naked eye, but what the eye can’t see is that she is secretly scabulous. She is proud of her scars, of the character and the meaning behind where they are and how they got there. She plays with them like autographs on her body that she doesn’t share with the world. They remind her of her identity and how she got to this particular place of hell in her life. They speak of her brilliancy, of her broken mind and damaged heart. She gets out her phone and dials her mom’s number again. She can hear it ring in the box that she keeps it in, tucked away on the top shelf of her closet. It’s her namesake, and she must never let anyone take it away from her. Aunt Grace doesn’t know she has it for fear she would rip it away from her on a forced path of closure and acceptance. But, Aunt Grace, how the FUCK ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO ACCEPT THAT YOUR MOTHER WAS FUCKING KILLED?

Aunt Grace knocks on the door, and Olive lets her in. Grace apologizes, but Olive knows it’s not her fault. She pats the bed for Grace to come and lie down with her. They stare at the ceiling while Aunt Grace tells old stories of Abagail and the crazy, stupid adventures they would have as kids. How Abagail fell in love so young and then had Olive.  How Olive was such a tiny baby, born 3 months early, yet grew up to a be such a feisty, resilient, and brilliant young woman. The world seems to be spinning slower tonight with Aunt Grace sharing her memories about Olive’s mother. This whole year has seemed, to Olive, to be growing faster in time, as though the moon has been gravitating farther from this earth, and so she was spinning faster and faster until now. Now, it finally stops. The moon returns, and there is a brief moment of clarity for Olive. “Aunt Grace, do you ever feel like you’re stuck in one body, occupying just one space and it will never change? That people around you will continue to live freely but you will essentially never grow up to understand the world and what it has to offer? That you’re just a gawky kid from Queens who has lived the same day over and over again and nothing about it will ever change… “And that maybe you’re supposed to meet someone who will change your world? That there is somebody perfect out there, just for you and you’re supposed to spend eternity together, because he is the cosmic balance to your failures?” Aunt Grace doesn’t have an answer for her. So for the remainder of her 17th birthday, they lie together, with Olive’s head resting on her aunt’s shoulder. Olive feels safe for the first time in what seems like ages. She likes it and holds on to that feeling for as long as she can.

Tuesday, December 18, 2018 Jack

10:00am There’s a school trip to the Met to see the new exhibit on Art and Conspiracy, how everything is connected—public policy and the expression of artists who explored the hidden operations of power and the symbiotic suspicions between government and its citizens. However, Jack’s class is comprised of kids who spend their time vacationing in the Hampton’s and whose parents are politically powerful in the Republican party. Therefore, they aren’t interested in artists who unveil how the government is hidden in webs of deceit.

Olive

9:00am Aunt Grace wakes Olive. “Let’s go to the art museum today. C’mon girly, call off work this one time. We didn’t get to do anything for your birthday yesterday, and it’s the perfect day to go. It’s raining and you looove the Met. You can’t deny it.” Olive smiles and already knows the answer. All Aunt Grace had to do was say the word “Met” and Olive would be snapping on her shoes and out the door.

10:00am They arrive with a huge crowd of prep boys from the Academy down the street. Olive looks at them with disgust. “Look at them with their perfect hair and pocket squares in their suit jackets, so precise and perfect. Their lives so plain and planned—destined for wealth and authoritative power.”

Jack

10:38am Jack is drawn to the stunning expression of freed meaning and colorful revelations. He approaches an especially extraordinary depiction of Gerald Ford being pulled by a puppeteer behind the stock mark exchange. It’s exactly how he feels. Someone is pulling on him, his heart, and he can’t see who. He walks towards the art piece. There’s a tall white wall separating the room into two sides. He leans his right shoulder against the wall as he looks at the picture. He stops and feels the wall with his hand.

10:41am The hopeless romantic questions, “Is it her?” The woman who is tugging on his heart and pulling him along. The woman who has been dragging him around the city, pushing him to think that there is more of the world out there than what his school has taught him and his parent have preached to him. More than the uniform thought that people live such boring, regular lives, but that there are people who claim a dynamic life of excitement, complication, and vividness. These thoughts come flooding in; he can’t imagine anything else but that there is someone with just as beautiful a heart and complex a mind as him. A woman who will flip him upside down and change his world.

Olive

10:41am She stands with a white wall on her left side as she stares up at two black and white paintings. One is an alien, and she knows that’s exactly how she feels. An out of body experience occurs. She is lifted up out of her body. She feels pulled along, with increasing thoughts that there is more to this world, to this universe than this one place that she has stayed all her life. There is more out there, a reason her parents were killed by a drunk driver. A reason they left this earth and flew into the sky. There is a person who lives at this exact moment who is drawing her in, her heart, her mind. Then…

The Meantime

10:42am Nothing. A moment of tangency flees from the mind; the simple sample size of the original thought that the people of this world stand still and their lives are of no real meaning, just random commotion, comes back into focus. Jack turns to his left and walks away. Olive turns right and tells Aunt Grace she should leave.

10:43am A failed occhiolism: they never became aware of the smallness of their perspectives, in which they could never draw a meaningful conclusion about their worlds, and how they could have crossed paths and added to the complexities of the world’s great culture. A moment so innocuous, but with a chance for it marking the diversion in a new era of life. Like they just missed their cue. Two people who share a parallel story, harmonizing in what could have been a wilder experiment if she just turned the corner and crossed his path. But life is an unrepeatable anecdote. A universal flaw that the epiphanies of Jack and Olive were imperceptive and fleeting, until nothing was left but the echo of what might have been.

[eljayz]

SONDER

“Seeing much, suffering much, and studying much, are the three pillars of learning.”

                                                                                           -Benjamin Disraeli

We all learn in various ways and in various paces. It can either be by the rules or through our experiences or by observing things. But what if you’re learning to be human like everyone else? There is no direct learning styles to learn how to be human. But what if no matter what you do, you just can’t learn to be one. How I found out was tough but was worth it. Here’s my story. The story how I learned to be human like everyone else.

A miracle baby was I, no one could have thought I’ll survived.  Due to the extreme bleeding of my mother, a dead baby was born on the 12th day of May of 2001 but a ray of hope glimmers the staffs as I finally gave that loud cry after several life-saving. My parents taken good care of me, by what I mean is isolating me from the outside world. For a very ill baby like me, I guessed it’s reasonable. They always felt like they’re holding a plague inside a house. Coming to an age, being the innocent kid I am, I thought our house was the only world I’ll always be in. Too scared to go outside because my mom said the sun will hurt me and many things will trigger the sleeping cancers inside me. I obeyed since I don’t want them to be mad or hurt. But then---it times.

  After turning 3, my parents enrolled me to my first school which is a daycare located just about a short ride in our small town. Everything, everyone was…new. As a kid, I thought I was in another country but it was just a part of our town. Everything came in a flash. Many things to be curious and discovered about but…a sudden realization hit me. What's this? What's this? There's color everywhere. I can't believe my eyes. I must be dreaming, no, no. Wake up, Lj, this isn't fair. What's this? The sights, the sounds, they're everywhere and all around. I simply cannot get enough. I want it, oh, I want it. I've got to know. What is this place that I have found? What is this? What was I doing my whole life in our house? They never told me things nor the term “human.” They said the common phrases, “Oi, tao ka na.” or “Tao ka ba?” My classmates found it very weird. It’s like I got alienated by my own race but they never hesitated to make friends with me since I was too innocent to the world. I learned many new things but I lack many things and one of them was the thing they called “Emotions.”

I entered kinder again but in a different school. This time, I tried to understand things more. New environment, new opportunities to learn how to be human. Everything existed because they had a purpose in life. Emotions existed to make someone a “human.” So I observed everyone, not letting any details to escape my naked eyes.  I also learned to interact to everything from humans to things. Everything made sense and I had a wider range of knowledge and understanding through everything. When I entered elementary school, it was my first time to be outside my town. Another new environment to blend in. I have good terms with everyone and made 2 close friends. Of course, troubles can’t be avoided and yes, we have bullies. Couple of fights here and there. I admit that I snapped at our 3 bullies and nearly killed them in the process but we got in good terms in the end anyways. That wasn’t so bad, right? There, I realized that’s the first ever I got mad. Guess I have anger issues but on the bright side, I have very long patience. After 2 years at that school, I got transferred to another elementary school but was a catholic one. A new environment to blend in again. Since it was catholic, the school is religion based learning and the teachers are nuns. I’m not a fan of catholic things but I got interested on it anyways. I got a bit religious due to a kind sister whom I got closed with.

I learned more things on the way. There was a God and He created all things including us, humans. I became even more interested about God and lead to many discovery. Guess when it comes to learning, if you are willing, no one can help you and if you are determined enough then no one can stop you. Here, I have a clearer view of society and life itself. At least, I’m in good terms with everyone. No enemies also no best friends just friends.  I’ve grown not too attached with anyone that much but on the other side, everything was fine. I guessed? I continued life like that continuously learning because it never stops teaching. There’s so much knowledge but not enough time to execute or to put in action. I’ve came up with a solution and that is to experiment. I tried to observe and act at the same time and at some point, it was working but not all the time. I gave up eventually and just focus on doing what I want to which was a relief since I don’t feel I was tied on something or being hold back. I learned to express some things and it was…great.

High school came and of course, new school, new environment. It was a Christian school and I was culture shook. Everything was not what I expected. It feels I entered a new world and the beings here are not to how I used to know humans are. Everyone was good mannered, well-disciplined and just different. I’m glad I transferred here with my friend so I don’t feel out of place but my friend is too friendly and made other friends. I just let her since people come and goin our lives and that’s what happened to her. Her so called friends got into a fight and eventually not friends anymore. I didn’t care less since its normal for humans to act that way. Nothing new. People can either be real or fake or something in between. People are people. Humans are humans. Am I human? I don’t think so. Humans are expressive, socializing, caring, and many more other traits. I’m alone, empty, cold, dull, and pretending to be colorful like them. It continued and I started to be confused with my own feelings. I told my mom about it but she said it’s just the effect of my manic depression or bipolar disorder. It’s not. I can tell. I know my real and fake emotions, right? No, that’s just what my brain is telling me. I don’t understand anything but I was too afraid to asked questions and keep silent then pretend. That’s odd. I felt bad. They gave me real emotions and I returned it fake. I just wanted to learn so I could fit in. Is it too much to ask?

I, then, became a senior high school student. I had to admit, I kept track of my emotions and realized things. I’m thankful to everyone for making me bloom. I guessed pleasure may come from illusion but happiness can come only of reality. I left my comfort zone and started expressing much more. I was happy. I’ve felt so free for once. I erased my stupid meaning of humans since everyone is a human. Whether you are different or just the average. Everyone is human. Human is to be alive, to live, and to be just you. It doesn’t matter what others think of you, as long as you’re living your life and be truly happy with it. Discover, explore and do many more things. Yes, I finally understand it. Being human is doing what you love even though others might think it’s odd or strange. Being human is committing mistakes and correcting them. Being human is imperfectly perfect. Being human is being yourself. The true self. Being human is you.  

@mikhaelabaluyot 

[isitkpop]

Unexplainable Emotion Game

So, I felt like  creating a new kind of game that would spark up my K-Pop writing spirit. ~ Admin Chas

So, the way how this will go is almost the same as my other games. Pick an emotions and let me know what member OR ship you would like for me to write!

I do have limitations for groups that I will do For this game specifically. THis is because some of the groups that I have on my Masterlist, are groups that I still don’t fully know. So, I’m putting a group limit on here. Please choose a member OR ship from the groups below (the emotion list will be below also.)

It’s under the cut since it’s lonnnnnggg

Groups:

A.C.E

BlackPink

BTS

Day6

EXO

GOT7

Infinite

Seventeen

Emotions! (W/Definitions. There’s 40 to choose from xD)

Onism - n. the awareness of how little of the world you’ll experience. Imagine standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with strange place names like other people’s passwords, each representing one more thing you’ll never get to see before you die—and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out, you are here.

Mal de Coucou - n. a phenomenon in which you have an active social life but very few close friends—people who you can trust, who you can be yourself with, who can help flush out the weird psychological toxins that tend to accumulate over time—which is a form of acute social malnutrition in which even if you devour an entire buffet of chitchat, you’ll still feel pangs of hunger.

Sonder - n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

Hanker Sore - adj. finding a person so attractive it actually kinda pisses you off.

Chrysalism - n. the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension you understand perfectly.

Altschmerz - n. weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had—the same boring flaws and anxieties you’ve been gnawing on for years, which leaves them soggy and tasteless and inert, with nothing interesting left to think about, nothing left to do but spit them out and wander off to the backyard, ready to dig up some fresher pain you might have buried long ago.

Occhiolism - n. the awareness of the smallness of your perspective, by which you couldn’t possibly draw any meaningful conclusions at all, about the world or the past or the complexities of culture, because although your life is an epic and unrepeatable anecdote, it still only has a sample size of one, and may end up being the control for a much wilder experiment happening in the next room.

Ambedo - n. a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—briefly soaking in the experience of being alive, an act that is done purely for its own sake.

Nodus Tollens - n. the realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore—that although you thought you were following the arc of the story, you keep finding yourself immersed in passages you don’t understand, that don’t even seem to belong in the same genre—which requires you to go back and reread the chapters you had originally skimmed to get to the good parts, only to learn that all along you were supposed to choose your own adventure.

Liberosis - n. the desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play.

Vemödalen - n. the frustration of photographing something amazing when thousands of identical photos already exist—the same sunset, the same waterfall, the same curve of a hip, the same closeup of an eye—which can turn a unique subject into something hollow and pulpy and cheap, like a mass-produced piece of furniture you happen to have assembled yourself.

Kairosclerosis - n. the moment you realize that you’re currently happy—consciously trying to savor the feeling—which prompts your intellect to identify it, pick it apart and put it in context, where it will slowly dissolve until it’s little more than an aftertaste.

Vellichor - n. the strange wistfulness of used bookstores, which are somehow infused with the passage of time—filled with thousands of old books you’ll never have time to read, each of which is itself locked in its own era, bound and dated and papered over like an old room the author abandoned years ago, a hidden annex littered with thoughts left just as they were on the day they were captured.

Rückkehrunruhe - n. the feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness—to the extent you have to keep reminding yourself that it happened at all, even though it felt so vivid just days ago—which makes you wish you could smoothly cross-dissolve back into everyday life, or just hold the shutter open indefinitely and let one scene become superimposed on the next, so all your days would run together and you’d never have to call cut.

Nighthawk - n. a recurring thought that only seems to strike you late at night—an overdue task, a nagging guilt, a looming and shapeless future—that circles high overhead during the day, that pecks at the back of your mind while you try to sleep, that you can successfully ignore for weeks, only to feel its presence hovering outside the window, waiting for you to finish your coffee, passing the time by quietly building a nest.

Dead Reckoning - n. to find yourself bothered by someone’s death more than you would have expected, as if you assumed they would always be part of the landscape, like a lighthouse you could pass by for years until the night it suddenly goes dark, leaving you with one less landmark to navigate by—still able to find your bearings, but feeling all that much more adrift.

Pâro - n. the feeling that no matter what you do is always somehow wrong—that any attempt to make your way comfortably through the world will only end up crossing some invisible taboo—as if there’s some obvious way forward that everybody else can see but you, each of them leaning back in their chair and calling out helpfully, colder, colder, colder.

Midsummer - n. a feast celebrated on the day of your 26th birthday, which marks the point at which your youth finally expires as a valid excuse—when you must begin harvesting your crops, even if they’ve barely taken root—and the point at which the days will begin to feel shorter as they pass, until even the pollen in the air reminds you of the coming snow.

Adronitis - n. frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone—spending the first few weeks chatting in their psychological entryway, with each subsequent conversation like entering a different anteroom, each a little closer to the center of the house—wishing instead that you could start there and work your way out, exchanging your deepest secrets first, before easing into casualness, until you’ve built up enough mystery over the years to ask them where they’re from, and what they do for a living.

Rigor Samsa - n. a kind of psychological exoskeleton that can protect you from pain and contain your anxieties, but always ends up cracking under pressure or hollowed out by time—and will keep growing back again and again, until you develop a more sophisticated emotional structure, held up by a strong and flexible spine, built less like a fortress than a cluster of tree houses.

Silience - n. the kind of unnoticed excellence that carries on around you every day, unremarkably—the hidden talents of friends and coworkers, the fleeting solos of subway buskers, the slapdash eloquence of anonymous users, the unseen portfolios of aspiring artists—which would be renowned as masterpieces if only they’d been appraised by the cartel of popular taste, who assume that brilliance is a rare and precious quality, accidentally overlooking buried jewels that may not be flawless but are still somehow perfect.

Fitzcarraldo - n. an image that somehow becomes lodged deep in your brain—maybe washed there by a dream, or smuggled inside a book, or planted during a casual conversation—which then grows into a wild and impractical vision that keeps scrambling back and forth in your head like a dog stuck in a car that’s about to arrive home, just itching for a chance to leap headlong into reality.

Keyframe - n. a moment that seemed innocuous at the time but ended up marking a diversion into a strange new era of your life—set in motion not by a series of jolting epiphanies but by tiny imperceptible differences between one ordinary day and the next, until entire years of your memory can be compressed into a handful of indelible images—which prevents you from rewinding the past, but allows you to move forward without endless buffering.

Gnossienne - n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you, because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand.

Anecdoche - n. a conversation in which everyone is talking but nobody is listening, simply overlaying disconnected words like a game of Scrabble, with each player borrowing bits of other anecdotes as a way to increase their own score, until we all run out of things to say.

Catoptric Tristesse - n. the sadness that you’ll never really know what other people think of you, whether good, bad or if at all—that although we reflect on each other with the sharpness of a mirror, the true picture of how we’re coming off somehow reaches us softened and distorted, as if each mirror was preoccupied with twisting around, desperately trying to look itself in the eye.

Anemoia - n. nostalgia for a time you’ve never known. Imagine stepping through the frame into a sepia-tinted haze, where you could sit on the side of the road and watch the locals passing by. Who lived and died before any of us arrived here, who sleep in some of the same houses we do, who look up at the same moon, who breathe the same air, feel the same blood in their veins—and live in a completely different world.

Mimeomia - n. the frustration of knowing how easily you fit into a stereotype, even if you never intended to, even if it’s unfair, even if everyone else feels the same way—each of us trick-or-treating for money and respect and attention, wearing a safe and predictable costume because we’re tired of answering the question, “What are you supposed to be?”

Monachopsis - n. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach—lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you’d be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home.

Semaphorism - n. a conversational hint that you have something personal to say on the subject but don’t go any further—an emphatic nod, a half-told anecdote, an enigmatic ‘I know the feeling’—which you place into conversations like those little flags that warn diggers of something buried underground: maybe a cable that secretly powers your house, maybe a fiberoptic link to some foreign country.

Énouement - n. the bittersweetness of having arrived here in the future, where you can finally get the answers to how things turn out in the real world—who your baby sister would become, what your friends would end up doing, where your choices would lead you, exactly when you’d lose the people you took for granted—which is priceless intel that you instinctively want to share with anybody who hadn’t already made the journey, as if there was some part of you who had volunteered to stay behind, who was still stationed at a forgotten outpost somewhere in the past, still eagerly awaiting news from the front.

Daguerreologue - n. an imaginary interview with an old photo of yourself, an enigmatic figure who still lives in the grainy and color-warped house you grew up in, who may well spend a lot of their day wondering where you are and what you’re doing now, like an old grandma whose kids live far away and don’t call much anymore.

Fata Organa - n. a flash of real emotion glimpsed in someone sitting across the room, idly locked in the middle of some group conversation, their eyes glinting with vulnerability or quiet anticipation or cosmic boredom—as if you could see backstage through a gap in the curtains, watching stagehands holding their ropes at the ready, actors in costume mouthing their lines, fragments of bizarre sets waiting for some other production.

Avenoir - n. the desire that memory could flow backward. We take it for granted that life moves forward. But you move as a rower moves, facing backwards: you can see where you’ve been, but not where you’re going. And your boat is steered by a younger version of you. It’s hard not to wonder what life would be like facing the other way…

Kenopsia - n. the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that’s usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet—a school hallway in the evening, an unlit office on a weekend, vacant fairgrounds—an emotional afterimage that makes it seem not just empty but hyper-empty, with a total population in the negative, who are so conspicuously absent they glow like neon signs.

The Tilt Shift - n. a phenomenon in which your lived experience seems oddly inconsequential once you put it down on paper, which turns an epic tragicomedy into a sequence of figures on a model train set, assembled in their tiny classrooms and workplaces, wandering along their own cautious and well-trodden paths—peaceable, generic and out of focus.

Jouska - n. a hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head—a crisp analysis, a cathartic dialogue, a devastating comeback—which serves as a kind of psychological batting cage where you can connect more deeply with people than in the small ball of everyday life, which is a frustratingly cautious game of change-up pitches, sacrifice bunts, and intentional walks.

Ecstatic Shock - n. the surge of energy upon catching a glance from someone you like—a thrill that starts in your stomach, arcs up through your lungs and flashes into a spontaneous smile—which scrambles your ungrounded circuits and tempts you to chase that feeling with a kite and a key.

Heartworm - n. a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

Xeno - n. the smallest measurable unit of human connection, typically exchanged between passing strangers—a flirtatious glance, a sympathetic nod, a shared laugh about some odd coincidence—moments that are fleeting and random but still contain powerful emotional nutrients that can alleviate the symptoms of feeling alone.

[johnboothus]

We Asked 15 Bartenders: Whats the Best Frozen Drink Youve Had This Summer?

In the thick of summer, the frozen cocktail gets its moment in the sun. And deservedly so: Few things provide relief from the intense heat like a slushy, boozy drink cold enough to give an old-fashioned brain freeze. What could be more fun?

Over the last decade, the category seems to have entirely shaken off its stigma of being absurdly sweet and artificial-tasting concoctions, thanks to a renewed interest among today’s mixologists whose versions are produced with the same creativity and precision as their unblended counterparts. Now, they are featured on the menus of some of the country’s most highly regarded cocktail bars.

To help identify the best frozen drinks, we asked 15 bartenders to recommend their favorite libations in blended form. From a minty twist on the traditional Piña Colada to a guava-driven Daiquiri, here are the blended adult treats keeping these experts cool and refreshed in the heat.

The Best Frozen Cocktails Recommended by Bartenders:

Donna’s Brancolada

Frozen Avocado Margarita

The Saturn

Banana Stand

Miami Vice

Kelbo’s Guava Daiquiri

Koji Piña Colada

Frozen Irish Coffee

Frozen Margarita

Caipirinha

Rotating Frozen Drink at Dolores

Keep reading for details about all of the recommended bottles!

The Brancolada

“One of my ultimate favorite drinks is the Piña Colada, so when I tried the famous frozen Brancolada created by Jeremy Oertel at Donna’s, I was blown away! Not only did this drink always have the perfect slushy consistency, its name says it all. It has the delicious tropical flavors of coconut and pineapple that make a Piña Colada. Made with Appleton Estate VX Reserve that adds complexity and spice notes, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a minty bitter finish from the Brancamenta, a sweet version of Fernet-Branca with mint. This is a frozen drink that you could enjoy all year around. Sadly, Donna’s is no longer open due to the pandemic, but you can find the recipe online and Donna is doing a summer pop-up in Greenport, Long Island. Long live the Brancolada, long live Donna!” —Natasha Bermúdez, Head Bartender, Llama San, New York

“The Brancolada, at the recently closed Donna in Brooklyn, by Jeremy Oertel, has to be one of my favorite frozen drinks of all time. Even though I haven’t had this drink in a number of years, I still remember it well. One full ounce of Brancamenta can easily overpower any drink but this inventive Piña Colada riff is complex, bitter, and just downright delicious. Donna is one of the best bars. Hopefully it reopens in a new location soon.” —Paul McGee, Owner, Lost Lake, Chicago

“Definitely Donna’s Brancacolada. Brancamenta, Jamaican rum, lime, orange, and coconut, all frozen into that delicious brain-freeze texture. It changed me. You couldn’t stop at one.” —Sam Ross, Co-owner, Attaboy, New York

The Frozen Avocado Margarita

“My favorite frozen drink, maybe of all time, is the Frozen Avocado Margarita at Curra’s Grill. It’s a classic frozen Margarita but the addition of avocado brings a creamy texture similar to that of a fruit smoothie. (Avocado is a fruit, after all!) The gorgeous bright green hue is akin to a green juice, so it’s sort of healthy, wink wink. The salted rim (ask for a chili salt rim if you like some spice!) along with the star of the show, avocado, brings savory qualities and highlights the vegetal and grassy notes of blanco tequila. Curra’s was one of the first restaurants I ate at when I moved to Austin in 2008, so I have many fond memories of drinking these on the patio. Curra’s will be opening their second location in Hyde Park soon, so you’ll most likely see me there, green drink in hand.” —Erin Ashford, Beverage Director, Olamaie and Little Ola’s Biscuits, Austin, Texas

The Saturn

“The Saturn, from Smuggler’s Cove. This is a modern tiki classic you can order in most tiki bars, but Smuggler’s was the first place I tried it. For me, it’s the perfect balance of flavors. London dry gin is the base spirit, combined with passion fruit, fresh lemon, orgeat, and falernum. Then, blended and served in a coupe with lemon peels cut into Saturn’s rings. This cocktail takes your palate on a journey. Herbaceous gin, with tart and bright citrus from the passion fruit and lemon, then the orgeat and falernum combo give you a nutty and baking-spice finish. Blending the Saturn also gives you an incredible mouthfeel and texture. It’s tart, tropical, nutty, spiced, and frozen. Perfect for a warm day, or after a long shift.” —Sam Miller, Bartender, Pagon Idol, San Francisco

“My favorite frozen cocktail, to make and to drink, is the 1950s tropical classic the Saturn. The gin and citrus work perfectly for a cooling [flavor] in the summer heat, paired with the subtle warmth of orgeat and falernum and the tropical notes of passion fruit. It reminds me of a boozy popsicle. I serve mine with a split of passion fruit and blue Curaçao to give a fun pop of color, and garnish it with edible glitter for the extra space vibe.” —Selma Slabiak, Proprietor and Bartender, Selma’s Bar, Ridgewood, N.Y.

The Banana Stand

“Selma Slabiak is doing some super-fun stuff at Selma’s Bar, located inside of Queens brewery Evil Twin. My favorite slushy is the Banana Stand, a fun mix of rums, including Plantation Pineapple, combined with banana liqueur, l’orgeat, and pineapple and lime juices. It’s pure delight. Refreshing and cheerful, it’s a real mood lifter. Bonus points for serving this in a flight with her three other slushies!” —Natasha David, Co-owner, You & Me Cocktails, Red Hook, N.Y.

The Miami Vice

“The Miami Vice. It’s one part Piña Colada, one Strawberry Daiquiri. If fresh ingredients are used, it’s wonderful. Delicious, and perfect for any time.” —Terance Robson, Owner, Here Nor There and Eden Cocktail Room, Austin, Texas

“The Miami Vice. I mean, what’s not to love about it? A combination of two of the best tropical drinks, frozen, and then swirled. No brainer! It’s just so damn deliciously fruity and refreshing. Every time I have one, I’m instantly transported to a beach without a care in the world. I think about pounding a Miami Vice (or two) just about every time I’m weeded on a busy Friday night bar shift.” —Brad Langdon, Bar Director, Albi and Yellow, Washington, D.C.

The Guava Daiquiri

“During my 16-plus years in Los Angeles, the talk of classic tiki drinks was always quite prominent as we were in the birthplace of tiki. When it came time to talk crushed ice in blended cocktails for a seminar in Las Vegas, I went back to the bartender staple Sippin’ Safari for some inspiration and kept doubling back to Kelbo’s Guava Daiquiri. Kelbo’s was a Hawaiian BBQ restaurant circa 1950s on Fairfax Avenue. Imagine having a blended concoction of lime juice, guava nectar, banana liqueur, and either vodka or gin with your Hawaiian BBQ! I was instantly sold. I usually opt for a pot still London dry gin like Citadelle that can enhance and play with all the tropical flavors and add another dimension of flavor. Whether with vodka or gin, though, it’ll be a tropical party where rum lets their vodka and gin friends be the star for a day.” —Jen Len, Beverage Director, MW Restaurant, Honolulu

The Piña Colada

“The best I’ve had in recent memory was a Koji Piña Colada by Austin Hennelly of Majordomo. With Appleton Estate Rum, Aperol, coconut cream, makgeolli, acid-adjusted pineapple juice, and koji, it’s got all of the tropical allure of a Piña Colada with big slap in the face of umami from the koji and makgeolli. The first time I tasted it was while working a pop-up where Austin was making the drinks. I spent the majority of my night lurking around the frozen machine, sneaking quality-control pours for myself. It’s one of those combinations of flavors so satisfying, you can’t help but come back for more.” —Mike Capoferri, Bartender, Thunderbolt, Los Angeles

The Frozen Irish Coffee

“For me, the perfect, most versatile, frozen drink is the Irish Coffee. The delicious combination of coffee, cream, and Irish whiskey (or whatever booze one decides to throw in there) is the perfect pick-me-up the morning after a hard night out and the best way to stay alive during a hot, melting summer afternoon. Everyone is familiar with the frozen Irish Coffee at the Erin Rose in New Orleans, but anywhere I see one I have to give it a try. The balance of creamy texture, dessert motifs, roaring caffeine, and knock-you-over booze makes the frozen Irish coffee my ultimate frozen cocktail.” —Thomas Eslinger, Bartender, Death & Co., Los Angeles

The Frozen Margarita

“The Margarita has to be my favorite, hands down. It was the first frozen alcoholic drink I ever had, so I’ve had a love for it since I can remember. Then, after learning its history and all the different variations that exist, I’ve fallen even more in love with it. It’s a classic that will never go out of style, and will stay at the top of my list of favorites without hesitation.” —Steve Tinnon, Bartender, The Green Lantern, San Antonio, Texas

The Caipirinha

“The Caipirinha is the national drink of Brazil, and for good reason. Made with cachaça rum (pure sugar cane), muddled limes, and sugar, it’s simple and delicious. The simplicity of the ingredients allows each one to shine in a beautiful tropical blend. The first sip reminds you of the rum, and the next 20 remind you of a vacation.” —Katrïn Hayward Miller, Lead Bartender, Sonder & Dram, Lewiston, Me.

The seasonal frozen drink at Dolores

“Right now, my favorite frozen drink is whatever seasonal frozen cocktail is on at Dolores, located here in Providence. Horus Alvarez and the team always focus on showcasing whatever is perfect for the weather and what freshest ingredients are available at the time. The restaurant has done amazing frozen piña coladas, prickly pear Palomas, Daiquiris with Oaxacan rum, and more in the past. But the current offering has blanco tequila, cocchi americano, watermelon, honey, and fresh citrus, always! It’s always an ethereal moment when enjoying a number of these with its tacos and incredible moles to share with a large group of friends.” —Parker Luthman, Head Bartender, The Eddy, Providence, R.I.

The article We Asked 15 Bartenders: What’s the Best Frozen Drink You’ve Had This Summer? appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/wa-15-best-frozen-drinks-summer/

source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/we-asked-15-bartenders-whats-the-best-frozen-drink-youve-had-this-summer

[thisloveforyourmom]

Sygyzy: Chapter 3

Read on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12355665/chapters/28343433

Chapter 1: http://marshmallowsweetheart.tumblr.com/post/166623978494/sygyzy-chapter-one

Chapter 2: http://marshmallowsweetheart.tumblr.com/post/166677341164/sygyzy-chapter-2

Chapter 3: Sonder

He supposes it was a given, with everything that’s been going on.

It’s been a week since they left Idyllwild, and Steven is mostly back on his feet. He’s still taking iron supplements, he will be for a while, and he still isn’t good for strenuous exercise, but that wasn’t something he did much anyway so he’s mostly back to normal. He’s been in situations that he considers worse--more painful, longer lasting, more dangerous. Things he was conscious for, things he could feel during the worst of it.

It’s easy for him to forget about it. He didn’t die, and he isn’t permanently disabled, and so he considers that a win and moves on. James was protective of him for a couple days, definitely, but even he seems to have accepted that it’s over, taken information from the experience and put it behind him.

Cib hasn’t.

Steven’s been noticing it more and more over the past week, that Cib’s been coming with him on jobs he usually does alone, that he hasn’t given him as many in the first place. That he insists Steven rest when he feels fine, that he seems to need to know where he is in the apartment. It’s fine, at first, until it lasts longer than a couple days, and then it’s weird, and then it’s kind of annoying, and then it’s really annoying.

It’s the first time he’s been truly frustrated with Cib, or he would be if he felt emotions, which he doesn’t, but Cib does and, as far as he can tell, it looks like Cib’s getting frustrated with him, too. He can’t figure out why.

(He pushes down how much that scares him, the fear that Cib will realize he isn’t worth the trouble and leave, the temptation to just let him do what he wants and keep him happy because even if he’s frustrated he doesn’t want this to end.)  

He snaps, or he supposes they both do, when he takes his key to go to the supermarket literally two blocks away and Cib stands up to follow.  

“Cib, you don’t have to come everywhere with me, jesus,” he snaps before he can stop himself, and regrets it almost immediately when he sees the hurt flash across Cib’s face. He regrets it even more when that hurt turns to something like anger, something like pain, and Cib sits back down, turning away. Steven sighs, setting down his key and walking towards the living room. “Cib--”

“Just go already,” Cib interrupts, not turning around, and Steven’s taken aback by the venom in it. “Fruit waits for no man.”

He doesn’t understand, and it’s a different version of not understanding than he’s used to. He sees the reasoning behind it well enough, that he was hurt and Cib wants to make sure it doesn’t happen again because Steven’s good at his job and that’s hard to find, but he didn’t expect...worry. Anger. Something that suggests it’s Steven Cib’s worried about and not his negotiation skills.

He pushes that thought away, replaces it with others. Yeah, he was hurt, but it could have been worse, it could have left him needing physical therapy or bedrest or with brain damage. It could have been much worse than just a graze to his arm, and it’s not like this is the first time--

It dawns on him, suddenly, that this isn’t his first experience with near death, but it might just be Cib’s.

It would make sense. He was alone with a brand new dealing business when he’d recruited Steven. Despite the glaringly obvious signs, he hadn’t even known what kind of work Steven did, and Cib didn’t seem to have any relevant contacts in the criminal business, which was almost unheard of in LS. This had to be new for Cib, and Steven sighs. He may not feel emotions, but he remembers when he did. Remembers, even after all this time, the first time he saw Zaragoza get shot. Steven may be a trauma-induced sociopath, but he isn’t heartless.  

“Get in the car,” he says, grabbing the keys again, and Cib turns around. Some of the hurt’s been replaced with confusion, and something loosens in Steven’s chest.

“I thought you didn’t want me to come,” he says, more sullen than genuine.

“Okay, fine, then. Don’t, I guess,” he replies nonchalantly, walking towards the door and taking the car key. He knows Cib will follow, regardless of what he thinks Steven wants, and he’s proved right when Cib jumps up and scurries after him.

He asks multiple times where they’re going as they go down the building stairs, and then again in the car because they don’t drive to the grocery store, but Steven doesn’t answer until they pull into a parking deck and get out.

The sound of guitar music fills the air just like he’d known it would. He’d seen a sign for a musical festival that he’d remembered so he could avoid the traffic, and he knows Cib keeps a guitar in his room that either moves around on its own or is handled very often by its owner. Steven’s banking on the latter. He can see the confusion in Cib’s eyes, and he walks around to the parking meter to pay the fee.

“There’s a music festival in town,” he says needlessly, and offers no other explanation as he steps out into the street, Cib in tow.

***

They’ve been there for two hours, and Steven’s fear of large crowds is as strong as ever, but there’s a visible change in Cib’s demeanor and he decides it’s worth it. It took a good few minutes of walking around and listening to the bands, but he could see his shoulders relaxing and the stress seeming to melt off his face, and after a little bit he’d started talking to Steven about the development of each type of music and the technical challenges and using a lot of terms that Steven doesn’t understand. Sometimes he doesn’t listen, just watches Cib talk and tries to memorize the way his eyes light up at each new topic, and he gets the same feeling he got on the couch and lying on the bed in Idyllwild and he tries to ignore the fact that it’s only gotten stronger. Sometimes he does listen, and discovers that Cib was in a band before he came to America, that he played guitar and took piano lessons before whatever had happened that sent him here.

He pictures, for a moment, Cib playing guitar, singing, and when he blinks back to reality, discovers he’s lost Cib in the festival and, as annoyed as he was earlier, the noise and crowd were really only worth it when Cib was leading him through it--

A hand grabs his wrist and he jumps as he’s pulled into an alley a little way off the side. It’s Cib, who looks just an anxious as Steven feels, but while Steven relaxes once they’re out of the throng of people in the street, Cib doesn’t, still holding his wrist.

It looks like he’s about to speak, anticipation and worry written on his face, but he stops, and Steven sees that same desperation in his eyes that he’d had when Steven was bleeding out against a dumpster. He sighs, moving his wrist out of Cib’s grip, and maybe it’s the relief that they’re finally somewhere a little quieter and maybe it’s because he remembers that kind of horror all too well, but something gives him the courage to take Cib’s hand and set it on his heart.

Cib looks up at him, eyes wide, and Steven tries to smile and hopes Cib doesn’t notice the way his heart’s racing at the touch. “It’s, uh, it’s still beating,” is all he says, his voice a little breathy, and Cib is still for a moment. “So is yours. And James’. You’re worried, it’s fine. But you can relax. And, uh, maybe you can leave me alone? Not, like, all the time. But I can take care of myself. It’s not like this is the first time or anything.”

After a moment, Cib nods hesitantly, and Steven sees some of that wild terror leave his eyes, watches icy blue soften into something more like still water. Not all of it, or enough for Steven’s taste, but enough for now. “...Mmhm. Yeah, sure.” And suddenly it feels like Cib is looking just as deep into Steven’s eyes as Steven is looking into his, and he’s all too aware of Cib’s hand on his chest, and he forces a small laugh.

“You weren’t listening to a thing I said,” and he hopes Cib will take the hint. Cib seems to hesitate a moment before looking away.

“Sorry, I wasn’t listening,” Cib says, and takes his hand away, and Steven can’t ignore a burst of guilt at the way Cib seems to have suddenly been subdued by something. Someone.

He takes a deep breath and shifts his grip from Cib’s wrist to his hand.

“So we won’t--uh, we won’t lose each other in the crowd,” he clarifies, but Cib’s smile comes back like it means something more. Maybe it does, the little hopeful gremlin in his brain says, but he doesn’t have time to think about that because they’re out of the alley and back into the crowd.

***

Cib gives him a lot more space, after that. Not a normal, healthy amount, because he’s still Cib, but better than what it was. Steven’s happier with that, has always been someone who preferred to be alone, but on this job, for the first time in a while, he wishes that Cib, or James, or even that new guy who keeps losing money “by accident”, had come with him.

It was the kind of client that he and his--coworkers? Did that work?--used to call a ‘makeup job’, someone who wouldn’t be impressed unless a pretty face showed up and did their stuff. There were probably other ways to make sure the deal ran smoothly, but Steven didn’t know them, and before he left he’d found himself staring into a mirror at a face he hadn’t seen in three months.

James and Cib had been out already, and he was both glad that they wouldn’t see him like this and desperate for someone to reassure him that he knew what he was doing. That this wouldn’t turn back into everything it was before.

(And he’s started to define his memories as before, he had realized: before SourceFed ended, before Cib hired him, before he met James, before he’d fallen for--)

And he cuts off the thought because the job is over now, and nothing had gone wrong and nothing had gone back, and all he wants is to get home.  

It’s a short walk, and he must have blanked out because he’s at the door already, unlocking it and stepping inside. He takes a deep breath, shutting the door quietly and just standing for a moment before hanging the key and moving to go to his room. As he passes the living room, he sees James asleep on the couch out of the corner of his eye and stops, because he’s alone.

Usually Cib would be next to him, after some movie night, but he’s not. There’s a blanket where he used to be, only half over James, and James is sitting in the middle, so Cib had to have been there before, but…

Steven pulls a throw pillow between James’ head and his arm, pulls the blanket a little higher, and he pauses for a moment before reaching out to take his glasses and set them on the coffee table. James looks peaceful when he sleeps, not the kind of blank he is when he’s upset, but just relaxed, and he feels that same swell of...affection, he knows now, and he’s too tired to deny it. Tired in general of being so scared to want this.

He sighs and pulls himself away. The clock on the stove in the other room says 3:48, and it’s too late--early?--to sit here staring at James and wondering why Cib got up. He goes to his room, leaving his shoes in the hall as he goes, ready to just lie down and go to sleep, and he opens his door to see Cib, sprawled across his bed and out cold.

It takes him a moment to take that in, to realize that he did actually walk into his room and not Cib’s, and when he does he just sighs. He could go to Cib’s bed if he really wanted to sleep alone, but Cib’s hygiene scares him and it’s so far down the hall and he actually really, really doesn’t want to sleep alone. He hasn’t wanted to be alone since he left the apartment, and given that Cib’s in his bed, and that before the festival he seemed worried and worried about him….he thinks it’s a safe bet, at least just for tonight, to think that Cib doesn’t really want to be alone either. And he’s too tired to keep arguing with himself.

He sits on his bed, trying to find a spot that has enough room that he could reasonably get in with a little room to spare, and when he does, he pushes Cib lightly to the side and, God, lying down feels good. He has to be careful not to get too close, or make too much contact, because, even if Cib is okay with this, there are probably limits, but hearing Cib breathing next to him, knowing he’s lying in Steven’s bed, is...nice.

He’s half gone already when he hears Cib shift and feels an arm wrap around his shoulders and pull him away from the edge of the bed where he’d slid in. He stiffens automatically, not from the touch, but from the worry that’d he’d gone too far, but Cib just pulls him closer.

“Sleep, idiot,” Cib says, and the words are quiet and sleep-slurred, but they’re enough, and he does.

***

“Nice ‘coon eyes,” James comments late the next morning when Steven finally gets up.

“Fuck off,” Steven groans. He hasn’t had coffee or even a shower yet. It’s too early for this, but of course he would forget to wash it off and of course James or Cib would comment on it.

“No, dude, I like them,” James says. “They bring out your...face.”

“Gee, thanks,” he replies, standing from the table and turning to leave the kitchen, to take off the remains of last night’s eyeliner, but James stops him.

“Dude, at least have coffee first,” he says, something strange in his eyes, and Steven sits back down with a sigh because it’s 11:30 and it’s still too early for this.

When he’d woken up about five minutes ago, Cib was already up, and he and James looked like they’d been awake for a while. Cib had been leaving, to go run some kind of errand, and James had just poured him a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to ask him about last night and, apparently, reveal that his makeup was both still on and smudged.

“I really do like it,” James says, interrupting his thoughts. “I mean, like, the part that’s not fucked up. It looks good.” And he’s trying to be nice, Steven knows, but--

“That’s why I wear it,” he snaps before he can stop himself, and turns away so James doesn’t see the guilt that floods in immediately after.

Rationally, he knows James didn’t mean anything that would hurt, or anything crude, or anything like the things he remembered when he was trying to keep his hands steady and his eyeliner straight. But he doesn’t like it, the knowledge that the people he lo--likes so much think he looks good this way. He doesn’t want them to. That’s not what he wants them to notice about him.

“Woah, dude, I’m just trying to give you a compliment,” James says, sounding hurt.

“Just...don’t,” Steven says, glaring into his coffee, and it sounds sullen even to himself but whatever, honestly.

It’s not like he doesn’t want them to think he looks good. He does. But the makeup...it pains him. It reminds him of all the things that he doesn’t like to think about, of everything that he wants to put past him. He’s used to people taking the makeup as a sign that, yes, they can fuck him, and no, he won’t put up a fuss. He wants Cib to look at him the way that he does without eyeliner, wants James to compliment him when he doesn’t look like a fucking raccoon. That’s still kind of scary to him; he’s still terrified that they’re going to leave him or he’s going to leave them and run away to fucking China or something, but he’s argued with himself and always lost. Or won. Or whatever it is when you have to admit that something that you don’t want to be real is real.

The makeup was what changed him in the first place, what stripped him away every night until he was a toy instead of a person, and he knows that’s just a symbol or something that he probably needs therapy for, but when he wore it last night, it was because he knew it would do the same then. The thought that it could do the same now, even if it isn’t, is sickening.

If he was braver, if he wasn’t in this stupid makeup, he might apologize. For now, though, he just mumbles some excuse and leaves to take it off, leaving James staring after.

He makes sure to turn the water as hot as it will go, scrubbing his face until he feels like if nothing else the makeup must have burned off, before getting out and taking a makeup remover wipe to what’s left around his eyes. When he’s done, he looks like himself again, but, for some reason, that’s not the comfort it usually is. He’s still anxious about going out to talk to James again, still doesn’t want to be seen, but it’s not the fear from before. Again with before.

He’s upset James, he knows that, but instead of being scared of whatever James will do, he feels guilty in a way that hurts. Regretful. Ashamed.

He feels broken, he realizes, and it’s like a punch in the gut. He can’t even take a compliment from someone he cares about, not without getting snappy and scared and anxious. That hadn’t mattered so much before--the compliments weren’t coming from anyone worth caring about--but now it feels like he’s been robbed, robbed of his dignity and his old life and even the ability to be happy with something. With someone. Add that onto his crippling anxiety, and you’ve got the hot mess known as Steven Suptic, he thinks, and if thoughts can sound bitter this one does.

It’s probably just about the worst thing he could do, but he doesn’t want James to see him like this over something as stupid as a compliment, so he goes into his room and locks the door.

***

When he comes out of his room a few hours later, Cib still isn’t back and James is sitting uncomfortably at the kitchen table. Steven knows he must have, but it doesn’t look like he’s moved all day. James looks at him, and Steven looks away automatically, not wanting his face to reveal anything that he can’t say. Not wanting to find something in James’ face that reminds him of this morning.

“Cib isn’t back yet?” he asks, sitting across the table and still not looking up. “No,” James says, and it goes silent again. Steven taps his fingers on the table, once, twice. God, this is awkward.

“Did you, uh,” Steven clears his throat. “did you eat?” A pause.

“Yeah,” James says, still not looking at him.

“Good! That’s, uh, good…” Steven looks around, taps his heel on the floor. Waits for more of a reply, speaks when it doesn’t come. “Did, uh, did Cib tell you where he was going? It’s just--it’s...it’s been a while, so--” “No.” And that’s that.

Well. Steven can add ‘learn how to socialize like a normal person’ to his list for tomorrow.  

“I’m going to call Cib,” he says, to escape the conversation, and goes into the living room, where any fears he had about whatever this is with James--an argument?--are replaced by something almost worse.

Because Cib doesn’t pick up on the first call, or the second, or the third, and his location services show that he’s been at the park for the past six hours. That, in and of itself, isn’t unusual: there are a lot of times Cib simply wants to be alone, doesn’t answer his phone, sits in one place for a while. What is unusual is that he left his location services on because unfailingly when he doesn’t want to be found he makes sure he can’t be found, and something about this feels wrong enough that Steven is going to go check it out. “I’m going to the park,” he says, no longer simply nervous, and something in his voice must pique James’ interest. “Why?” James asks, already rising, and at least mutual worry for the biggest idiot either of them know is enough to make them put this aside.

“Cib’s location services have been there for the past six--seven hours.” And James follows him out the door, because James is just as familiar with Cib’s eccentricities as Steven is, and somehow they don’t say another word until they’re parking on the street by the park and Steven is pulling out his phone to try and track down where exactly Cib could be.

“There’s a treehouse, like, right here, isn’t that where he--?” James asks, and Steven shakes his head. Something anxious settles in his stomach, something hard and worried, and whatever it is is telling him that this is wrong.

“No. I mean--yeah, but not--it says he’s right next to us, on our right,” he says, and turns, and beside them is--

A garbage can. He calls Cib’s phone and hears it ring, echoing off the metal and rustling the trash inside with the vibration. That little anxious pit in his stomach grows to something that takes over his chest.

“Fuck,” James says, and Steven doesn’t really have anything to add.