#the egg's gotta hoard a little

[wolfsetfree-if]

oh no. now i gotta 😅 so, i raise chickens. brooding hens are all different, some simply wake up and choose violence every day. buut some are very tolerant of people they know. sometimes, you have to take some of their eggs from underneath them for various reasons. some will try to peck you. but others will very politely tell you 'no sir' and reach out to gently slide the egg back in place. now i imagine the pack needing the kids for sth, homework or bath time. everyone seems asleep, so they try to gently slide the pups from underneath omega mc, only for mc to immediately tuck them back. and when the pack member tries to reason with mc, mc plays the 'apologies hooman i'm just a silly little wolf i don't understand a word you're saying have a good day' card

I love the implications here. One that omega MC (or either MC) basically hoards the pups for themselves and gently prevents anyone from stealing them.

Two that there is a "I don't understand human language, I'm just a big domesticated wolf" blank innocent look that werewolves use when they want to pretend they can't understand what you want.

I love all of this.

[wolfstarmie]

Character Thoughts

Since my fic is a year old, I figured it'd be fun to just ramble about my silly fish, their origins in the story and how they have changed from initial ideas.

Stroganoff

When I first thought about this fic, I knew I wanted to make the main character/salmonid parent be a Big Shot. Big Shots are just my favourite salmonid boss (they’re hug shaped!) so I figured it’d be fun to write from that perspective.

Originally he wasn’t related to Sprout, but with time it was something that just made sense, as with the rest of the backstory that got out of control real fast.

When it comes to his design, parts of his unique charm are purely because I designed him before I fully understood how salmonid anatomy worked. Hence his adorable OwO face. Then there’s his red hair. This is because I suffer from having amazing taste in men, and most (if not all) my fanfics feature ginger men in some form or another, and so… well I gotta carry tradition >:U

Cookie

Poor Cookie. When I first posted the fic to AO3, folks were already alarmed at the major character death tag. I’m not sure how early her death was planned, but I believe it was about as soon as the concept of the fic itself. The official lore that salmonids don't fear death is super fascinating to me, and it felt natural to explore it by contrasting two extremes: A lack of care about death itself, and the grief one feels for a parent.

As for Cookie herself, she was always a motherly figure, though I can’t recall when I made her a goldie. Though out of all the salmonids, the special boss that hoards a billion eggs would make the most sense as a mother figure. 

Another point of contrast Cookie brought with her was her justified hatred of inklings. In many ways, she's the very opposite of Sprout: They both share aggressive views on inklings, but where Sprout embodies the negatives of those views, Cookie learned to overcome her own pain at what inklings did to her, and love Ravioli for just being herself.

While Cookie and Horn were destined to never meet, I did have thoughts of how Horn would learn of the previous owner of her home. One idea was that of Cookie’s ghost protecting the young woman during spawning, though that never came to be.

Speaking of Cookie in spirit, one little fun thing that I think is worth sharing is Cookie’s full title. The Great Kind Mother, Cookie Of a Thousand Winds. I personally hate the wind, but it sure does come up a bit during the fic…

Vanilla

Vanilla was not always planned on being an important character! In fact, while he was the first choice in the fic for where Stroganoff got ink; in the first draft, Stroganoff fought an inkling for ink before realising it wasn’t good enough for his new baby. 

A cut joke from that forbidden draft had Stroganoff eating some ink (for the greater good), and Vanilla having some great advice: “Why is your mouth blue?”

“I ate some ink. Will you help me?” “Have you tried not eating ink?”

In earlier plans, he was just a one sided villain, who potentially helped Sprout and maybe grew a conscience afterwards. I can tell you the exact chapter where this all changed, however: Chapter 12. In the original draft, he was downright mean to Cookie. In an attempt to tone it down and still have him be a bastard, I gave Cookie a way to fight back: being his mom. And then everything went pear shaped after that. I got attached to him, and he started turning out WAY different than originally planned.

(Still a lovable bastard though)

He’s also a manlet. I forget when this was decided, but he’s in the ballpark between 4 foot and 5 foot. One day Ravioli will be taller than him, and it will not be a good day for him.

Horn

Ah, Horn. She was always destined to be a punching bag for Ravioli after Cookie’s passing, but was wildly different for a while. The original plan had Horn be a male scrapper, bond with Stroganoff over machinery, and build a scrapper car with him.

There’s a very deep and meaningful reason for why I chose a scrapper and not any other boss: Whenever I’m playing salmon run and going over to the big shot cannon, there's always a scrapper there. Always. I can’t murder giant fish in peace without nearly being the victim of vehicular manslaughter.

Horn’s original name was Oepsie (a very sweet skewer made with bacon, and yes it does just mean ‘Oops’), and Ravioli would have been more than happy to call this poor salmon a mistake for living in Cookie’s house.

Continuing on the theme of names, another name Horn had for a while before I settled on ‘Caramel Horn’ was Cherry! I forget why the name (probably another terrible joke), but I eventually decided I didn’t like Cherry, and instead went with Horn (which IS another terrible joke).

She didn’t have a damaged tail originally, though there was a point in which she did have both the prosthetic and a desire to make her own scrapper car. At some point I just didn’t like the idea and scrapped (heh) it.

Unlike a few other characters, the first bit of designs for Horn were done digitally, so I can actually share 'em

Sprout

He’s always been a bastard. Much like milk, he got worse the more I thought about him. If there was ever a person to say “the world would be a better place without you,” it’d be Sprout. 

I cannot recall when I made Sprout and Stroganoff brothers, as it was not the original plan, but it's one of those things where the more you figure out characters, the more things slide into place.

Sadly all the information that would be worth sharing is better revealed in the fic, but please know Sprout is the type of person who’d have an overly dramatic villain song in a musical, and takes childish insults way too seriously.

The first drawing I did of this bastard was of him wielding a zweihander. Whether or not he should have a zweihander is up for debate.

Potato

He’s trying his best. While a very minor character, he’s definitely the kind of person Ravioli needs in her life: A friend. Maybe not the highest quality friend, his own ideas clashing with Ravioli’s sheltered upbringing, but at least it's someone Ravioli’s age.

His heart’s in the right place, but he’s a very unlucky kid when it comes to showing Ravioli cool stuff.

Fun fact! I named my palafin in pokemon violet after him, and he was my lead for most of the game. Maybe not the most thrilling fact, but I figured it was worth sharing how, in another life, Potato got to be a dolphin.

Ravioli

Ravioli… poor girl. There’s so much to say and at the same time, there isn’t much to say at all. There’s no secret about her on the cutting room floor, no devious plans that had to go to the wayside. She’s just a young girl (perhaps not the naturally brightest) trying to figure things out in a chaotic world trying so hard not to put her on a dinner plate.

All I can really share is that there have been many thoughts on how Ravioli would one day come into contact with other inklings, or at the very least octolings, and none of them have worked out in a way that makes sense for the story.

She yearns to learn about her own kind, but is destined to be alone. 

Also anytime I reread my own writing and get reminded of this child's... suboptimal choices, I just sigh.

[subject-2-change]

Which TTS character do you think has the most and least gremlin energy?

Okay so main cast? Varian the most, Eugene the least. But that's boing. I'm gonna go to all named characters:

Most? King Trevor. My man saw shiny rock and said "gotta have it to court my lady" (turned out of be an egg). He dances like a well trained maniac. He pulls childish pranks on the neighboring king. He has a pet seal who he THREW A WEDDING FOR. This guy is a gremlin, just with status and money.

Least? Vex, 100%. She is the most straight-man character I can even think of in the show. Yes, she's down for the violence and all, but I wouldn't say that makes her a gremlin. All of her actions are predictable and follow a nice arc. She doesn't get wrapped up in the sentimentality of the group. I was tempted to say Quaid, but man has a hyperfixation with bees. That's at least a little gremlin. Vex doesn't really get wild, or have a kooky slapstick moment, or hoard things. She's too busy being a bad bitch to be a gremlin.

[dearlymrme]

Gotta Catch Them... (Terzo)

Summary: The headcanons nobody asked for that I'm gonna do anyway. What are the Papa's Pokémon?

I threw in this little bit. Every Papa has what can be called their 'mascot' Pokémon. The one present in all the interviews and magazine covers, and making stage appearances. Their starters are not necessarily their mascots, simply which on their team best represents them.

Also, every Papa has become a Papa in more way than one. In an effort to better prepare them for progeny, they are given an egg that hatches into a pre-evolved form. Can't let his Prime Mover do all the work. It's also to instill this idea of paternity as more than just status to the members of the church.

What happened to Papa's Pokémon after their death? The rumors are they were donated to the Clergy or simply just released. They could be sitting on a shelf in the crypt with their respective Papa's bodies. I can tell you one thing. They all put up a fight.

Terzo keeps a lot of his Pokémon out of their Pokeballs. Lycanroc and Pikachu are extremely high energy and in constant need to run around. Honchkrow runs his own mafia and has responsibilities. Delcatty does what she wants when she wants, and there is no way he would deny his beautiful Roserade a chance to sun.

Starter. After Secondo brought home an injured Houndour and nursing him back to health, Terzo proceeded to beg for his own puppy. A trip to the local shelter later, and he had Rockruff. Terzo missed the days when they were young and played nearly every day. His 'puppy' does not run as much as he used to but won't turn down a chance to play fetch with Terzo. The lycan is permanently banned from the garden for digging up the Lilies. A big sign of struggle on the day of Terzo's murder, as most of the wall had to be replaced.

Always out of its Pokeball and a very naughty personality. Part of his prankster-like nature was from Terzo, and the other half was from Aether. He has jagged black fur at the tips of his ears and a clip-on earing on his left. The mascot of Terzo's reign as Papa. Find this guy normally chilling on Terzo's shoulder or atop his head. He is strictly monitored. elsewise, you'll catch him nibbling on band equipment wires.

Big Boss lives in the rafters of the Abbey's spire and commands the Murkrow of the city. He is very territorial of his nest, even to Terzo, with the amount of shinies he hoards. He keeps the good stuff for himself, but it is known for gifting Terzo with the most roundest of rocks.

Primadonna. She is very gentle and stalks the hallways so quietly she may as well be a ghost type. Has her own thing going on, and it seems to revolve around the drama of the Abbey. Where there is scandalous gossip, she's found listening with keen eyes and perked ears.

She's a quiet type but very protective. Whether or not she divined Terzo's future one day is unknown, but there were a few days' time before Terzo's murder that she remained out of her ball. In her distraction of trying to protect him, she failed to protect herself.

His baby, his precious, his beautiful rose. Imagine his surprise when he won the lottery and hatched a shiny. The Clergy patted themselves on the back. They took it as a sign that Terzo would lead the Clergy to greatness, and he did. She can often be found in the garden chatting with Primo's Florges. Terzo absolutely loves how she smells and compliments her every day. She may or may not have had a crush on her master.

[erithacusrou]

I’ve been thinking about goals for the new year the past couple weeks since I was too restless to pin any down before 2023 ended. I’ve been adding to this list for a little while, and I think I’m finally done with it.

Eat better. Pulling this one from last year since I still have room for improvement. We ate a nice variety of new foods last year, so here’s hoping this year is equally as tasty.

Cook more. Okay this was also a goal last year too and I didn’t make much progress but I DID make scrambled eggs a few times so at least I did something. I’ve been hoarding recipes for a while now so hopefully I get around to doing something with them.

Drink more water. Self-explanatory. I drank more last year than I have previously thanks to a new water bottle, but I need to do better. I’m constantly dehydrated RIP ;;

Get better at doing my dailies. I’m so bad about washing my face and brushing my teeth and procrastinating on housework. Starting tasks that aren’t urgent and doing chores without external pressure are extremely hard for me, but I’m working on ways to push through that wall.

Exercise. Some of my lack of exercise is due to anxiety about not having enough space in the apartment to work out, not feeling safe enough to take a walk in my current neighborhood, or fear of being seen looking silly. I’ve kind of got a good grip on where I want to start now, I just have to get over the anxiety and just do it. I have days set aside for exercise and stretching now, I just have to wake up early enough to have time and willpower to do it.

Journaling. I started in December 2022 around when we were shopping for a new car, then fell off in September after burning out because I had made it a chore for myself by tracking too many things via the tagging function. I was originally intending to journal in my planner this year, but I really prefer having a dedicated journal app where I can also see stats like the weather, location, step count, etc. logged with my entry. This time around I have a dedicated tracker in my planner for certain activities so I can hopefully minimize the amount of tracked activities in my tags.

Read more. It’ll probably just be manga and fanfiction because I’m so out of the loop when it comes to actual books, but I’d like to at least read something. Been a couple years since I did any dedicated reading.

Plan ahead. One of my goals for 2023 was to plan better, and with the help of digital planning tools, I’d say I’ve improved a lot in the last year. Ideally I’d like to plan even more in advance by, say, getting birthday and holiday cards made and sent out in a timely manner. And having themed art done in time for events or special days! Stuff like that.

Save money. I’m tired of being in debt, man. I gotta start spending smarter and doing better with what I have. I’m really good at pretending I have expendable money when I actually don’t. Like I know buying fewer snacks at work won’t make up for the fact that I’m not paid enough, but idk what else to do really.

Be a person! I’m determined to get into the habit of regularly interacting with other people on social media and calling my family more often and hanging out with people and appreciating the people I love more. I want to be present in the lives of others more, and have them be present in mine.

Uhhh I think that’s it! I wish I had made sense of my priorities earlier than almost halfway through January, but it is what it is. I hope everyone else is having a good 2024 so far!

[sunlitsorrows]

RANDOM IDEA TIME!

Gullywood Farms

A goblincore/forestcore farming game. I’d play the living daylights out of that. I need to learn to make games QQ

You start out with

Bungalow: Where you and your friends live! Upgrade and/or build more to invite more folks to come play on your farm! (worker mechanic, gotta have a little buddy per field/pen/tree/building.)

Barn: A place to hoard all your goodies! Upgrade to hold more goodies!

A Well to produce Water (goes in soups, drinks, or makes your crops grow faster!)

A Bug Log to produce Bugs (go in feed, or make your crops grow double!)

A Pot Hole to produce Mud and Clay

Order Board: Operated by friendly crows, who will bring you requests from your neighbors and then Coins, and Experience Points when you fill them! Anything can be sold as is, but orders that require you to make things give more Coins and Points!

.

Then you can build things to grow and make other things~

Farm

Fields - Unlock different crops as you level up! Flax and Millet, Sunflowers and Wildflowers, Potatoes, Squash, Garlic, Herbs, Turnips, Carrots! Gourds!

Animals - Take good care of your beastie-babies and they will also give you Poop to fertilize your Trees! Chickens will give you Eggs, Goats will give you Milk, Pigs will find you Mushrooms, Bees will share their Honey!

Trees - Pine Trees make Pine Nuts and Needles, Oak Trees make Acorns and Oak Leaves, Almond Trees make Almonds and Almond Blossoms!

Berries - Blackberries! Blueberries! Redberries! Bogberries!

.

Buildings

A Mill to make Flours and Animal Feeds! Flours are one to one, Potatoes makes Potato Flour, Millet makes Millet Flour, etc.

Chicken Feed - Bugs and Millet

Goat Feed - Millet, Flax, Carrots

Pig Feed - Squash, Gourds, Pine Nuts

Bee Feed - Sunflowers and Wildflowers

.

A Bakery to make Breads (flour, milk, eggs). At higher levels unlock breads with nuts and berries baked right in!

A Soup Pot to make soups! With a little water you can make soup out of just about anything!

Low Level: Mud and Bugs (“it’s not very good…”)

High Level: Potatoes, Garlic, and Herbs (“that’s more like it!”)

A Brewery for making teas (water and herbs) and juices (water and berries)

A Workshop for making trinkets like Buttons (acorns), Twine (flax), Dishes (clay and gourds), Baskets (twine and pine needles), and Flower Crowns (twine and sunflowers, wildflowers, almond blossoms)!

[esseegg]

egg theory.

this occurred to me after i saw leaks from Ch. 290 of the My Hero Academia’s manga. it’s not really a theory, just speculation.

warning: contains manga spoilers, Dabi, the Todoroki family, and suicidal implications.

another warning: my thought process is very lengthy and a tad repetitive for the sake of evidence in reasoning. i also get a tad bit “Let’s see what’s in Dabi’s head today” at the end. writer instincts.

I don’t have any images of the manga to pull from, nor am I going to bother with grabbing them. This is more of a psychological analysis, anyways.

For those who’ve read the manga’s most recent chapters, or perhaps even stumbled upon manga snapshots of Dabi, we’ve all noted a few trends: Dabi’s uncharacteristic smile and his uncanny, ecstatic hysteria. At first, we believed this to be a result of potential grieving for Twice’s death and/or the anticipation of finally facing off with Endeavor (for the last time, per se) and/or the thought of seeing Endeavor finally being crushed by Shigaraki’s current rampage.

However, upon seeing Ch. 290′s leaks, I don’t quite believe in such speculations. If anything, these possibilities are not alone. In general, the leaks contain these things: a confession to his mother and the consequent reveal of his Todoroki identity to both his mother and his father.

Setting aside Rei for now, most people have interpreted these details as signs of a final showdown between Dabi and Endeavor. I don’t discredit this. That idiot can’t waltz in with that much drama and not expect a fight in his head.

My problem with all this is that, as we’ve noticed, this energy is entirely opposite of what usually defines Dabi. Dabi is stoic. Dabi is cold. Dabi is not one to go searching for the limelight. Granted, there are a few exceptions to this, but none alike Ch. 290. Here, and as of recent chapters, his carefree attitude is unhinged, fueled by a thrill, an anticipation, a blind excitement, and pure, raw joy.

Now, let’s factor in Rei again. Rei received the news in clearly a much calmer, civil, more sensitive format. You see his body language, and you can see that there is a tenderness in posture alone. He doesn’t even try to put up a front with his expression. It’s plain and simple: a broken, irreparable son giving the last sliver of good he can offer to his mother... The truth.

In summary, Dabi has displayed two things: the giving away of something precious (his identity, tied to his goals and crimes and ongoing life) and blind elation. Most interpret these things as a complex display of vengeance, built atop the foundation of a still human heart. Now.. I do believe the man has a heart. He is certainly human. But humans are scary sometimes.

I don’t think Dabi expects to live. I think he expects to die on that battlefield when he confronts his father. He might not expect to go any further than that. He gave some sort of solace to his mother (as nice as it might’ve been to think him dead, rather than a lost criminal), the possibly last precious person to him in this life.

When suicidal people have finally made the choice, the plans, the preparations for death, they become happy. It’s a misleading thing, actually. They give away what’s important to them, spend a little more time with whoever is most precious to them, then they move on.

I don’t believe that Dabi is looking to die. However, his life’s purpose, which he had been building up to for who knows how long, has finally fallen into place. Once he witnesses or reaches a certain point, I don’t think he will have any complaints about death. And that scares me.

Think about it. His acclaimed ideology is a replicate of Stain’s. Aside from hero society being absolute filth, he believes that if one person has the will for it, they can inflict the change they want to see in the world. And quite frankly? Dabi is very well-equipped for such a thing.

He is a confirmed Todoroki son, son to society’s Number One Hero. Endeavor’s career, fame, prosperity is all at its prime. In public, at least. And Dabi knows this.

Dabi is arguably a perfect candidate to change all that, to inflict the destruction on the world that is his father’s dream. It’s that very dream that chained Rei to Enji, that gave birth to four children, that gave three of those four children complete neglect from their father. That dream, as we all know, has finally been recognized. Without the children. Without the mother. All Endeavor needed was the fall of the great All Might. Now, Endeavor is at the top. And the only direction you can go, after you’ve reached the top, is down.

I wouldn’t put it past Dabi to label himself the manifestation of his father’s corruption and mistreatment of the family. After all, what’s more life-shattering than the Number One’s son turned criminal, killer, and conspirator against society itself? What’s more slandering than the knowledge that the son was not born this evil? That it’s the father’s fault for planting the seeds of long-awaited vengeance?

What’s better than the disgusting climb for morals and virtue, as your old man tries to cry out heartbreak over what you’ve become? What’s better than being the one to kill him? What’s better than forcing him to mayhaps kill you by his own hand? What’s better than letting him know that this is a part of his past, his regrets, his guilt and grief and self-loathing, that he’ll never be able to redeem, fix, and glorify? What’s better than maybe... exposing your old man for what he really is? 

Dabi doesn’t necessarily need to do it himself. He just needs to walk up on the stage that is the battlefield, wash his hair dye out, do a twirl, and reclaim the name he had left for dead. Shout it to the world. Go on monologues and maniac speeches for all the heroes to hear. Let them know what Endeavor’s done to his son, to his wife, to his children, to innocent people he didn’t view as humans, but as stepping stones to a dream he didn’t even attain with integrity.

It doesn’t matter who dies. It doesn’t matter who lives. As long as he gets to crush his father’s world, to inflict the change he always wanted to see... he’s happy. Truly, blindingly happy.

disclaimer: i have no idea what the leaks say, only that Dabi’s shirtless and a little dramatic. all my reasoning is based on recalled information, with no check for accuracy. i’m just scared that Dabi is going to canonly die, and the fandom will need to collectively feed itself with coping mechanism fanart and fanfics to pretend our burnt chicken nugget is still with us. have a nice day.

[deviltownresident]

thanks for the tag! this should be interesting given that I have over 400 liked songs...

putting a spin on sweater weather by Egg. beautiful. very pleasing to ears. great to listen to when it is raining. i may even prefer it to the original song.

Lonely by Palaye Royale. i haven't listened to this one much, but it has calm and sad vibes. gets a bit samey after a while though.

Sophomore Slump Or Comeback Of The Year by Fall Out Boy. my partner called me emo for listening to this, and he's not exactly wrong. big gifted kid burnout energy.

The Kids Aren't Alright by The Offspring. many thanks to @distinguished-coffee-grounds for getting me into this band. big fan of the guitar in this song, and the lyrics too.

Home by Cavetown. i prefer This Is Home, but this version is also great. i really like how he decided to make two versions of this song, because it shows how much his voice has changed over his transition (i assume that's why, please correct me if i'm wrong) which fits because this is a song that is (somewhat) about being trans

Little Things by Good Charlotte. gotta be honest, i found it in an emo playlist that i searched for because i was thinking of @rose-lalonde-fangirl and liked it enough to want to hear it again. cool lyrics, very much recommend to those who were bullied at school.

Gender Binary (Fuck You) by Ryan Cassata. this was added to my hoard of liked songs ages ago, and i don't like it as much as i used to, but it has cool guitar instrumentals and the lyrics are meaningful to me as a trans person.

Weightless by Marconi Union. @veradragonjedi recommended this to me if i ever needed something to write to. i regret to say that i haven't listened to it since, despite the (idk what it's called but) thing where the music plays through both speakers at different times.

Murders by Miracle Musical. again, recommended by Vee. again, not listened to much, but listened to more than Weightless was, which doesn't take much to be fair. we both agreed this was very gender.

Mr. Blue Sky by Electric Light Orchestra. when i tell you i never want to listen to this song again, it's not entirely a lie. see there was this thing that happened at a concert i was performing in a few weeks ago called: the goddamn choir leader made us play it twice in a row "for fun" and me, the rest of the orchestra, the conductor, and probably most of the choir were visibly annoyed. 9 o'clock at night, woman. it's past the eight year olds' bedtimes. nobody is happy about this decision. anyway, it's a classic song.

anyone who wants to join, feel free, because i can't think of anyone to tag after that ramble.

Put your liked songs on shuffle and name the first ten that come up!

Ty @lil-dormouse for tagging me, it seriously feels like an honour

(BTW so many of your songs are also by my favourite artists or songs that I actually have it here and it got me excited hehe)

All the songs in here are liked based on the happiness I get from doing boring things while listening to them, or the easiness of making an animation featuring blorbos in my head to them 😆 so it might explain a couple.

I have not emptied this in YEARS so let's see what we get.

1. Sweet Nothing (feat. Florence Welch) — Calvin Harris

2. Lucky Girl — KUWAGO // (I love this freaking !!!!!!!!! Aaaa) .

3. Nancy Mulligan — Ed Sheeran // (I never clear this playlist

4. Love Feels Like Loneliness — Sabrina Carpenter

5. Take A Hint — Victorious Cast // (feeling really CALLED OUT here)

6. Undercover Martyn — Two Door Cinema Club // (omg I love this one sm skrrr / it's almost very Din Djarin)

7. The Sensual World — Kate Bush

8. reasons to stay alive — aryy

9. SugarCrash! — ElyOtto // (nothing that I write can make me feel good~)

10. Shut Up And Dance — WALK THE MOON

I am tagging~ @airlocksandaviaries @positivityjediprince @deviltownresident @distinguished-coffee-grounds

And anyone else that wants to investigate their liked playlist :]

No pressure!

[maddilynmuse]

They’re NOT birds

When writing a book, sometimes you have to cut scenes you really like ;w;

Here’s one of them! Ngl it’s basically just showing off a cute creature I made and having characters argue about whether they’re a mammal or a bird. Edited a lil so y’all have a bit of context.

Her name was Asha Mae. She was born, went to Alabon's Adventuring Academy, fell off a waterfall into another world, and now was being led around the edges of the icy shore by a farmer--Charlie, a broad shouldered girl with a slight tan, though still practically milk-colored compared to Asha's rich black--to find the absolute fashion disaster goofball she had ended up living with: Glowworm.

The pair reached a tall metal fence. Children surrounded it, giggling mischievously as they tried to climb over it or squeeze through the tight bars. Yep, Glowworm was definitely here; the kids loved him.

Charlie shook her head and chuckled as she fished out a key from her coat pocket. The gate unlocked with a small click and children crowded against it. “C’mon ya’ll, we gotta catch the boy! And easy on the hens, yeah?” She looked over at Asha, "Ever seen a Wakkla before?"

"No?"

"Welp, prepare to get snuggled."

Onward they went into the pen, Charlie closing the gate behind her. Children rushed in; there was a sound similar to bike horns on helium coming from what looked like a rippling mound of oily iridescence. The kids rushed forward, grinning as they hugged these fat, fluffy, honking things. In turn, the strange mammals waddled towards them on small, clawed feet. Large whiskers protruded from small, blunt noses as they nestled the kids against them, roughly matching the kids in size at three feet tall.

Those of another world may have considered the creatures akin to an otter if it had the upright stature of a penguin, maybe with a bit of walrus around the nose and the teeth of the males, but Asha had no such comparison.

Children giggled as they were welcomed into the hoard with snuffles and nuzzles, unafraid even as the creatures swarmed around them alarmingly fast. Charlie just chuckled and walked into the mass, pulling out a young man with unnaturally bright red hair who had opted to wear a green t-shirt with a faded bear picture on top of a yellow sundress with glittery purple pants underneath--Asha was still trying to figure if there was any rhyme or reason whatsoever in what clothes he slapped on at any given time. 

"Found him," Charlie said.

Glowworm waved. "Hello there dearie! Looking for me?"

"Yeah, Kyra wanted to tell you she had some cake for you," Asha said offhandedly. She was more interested in the creatures! "What'd you say these were? Wok-nahs?"

“Wakklas!” Glowworm chirped. “Also known as precious little fluffy babies! C’mere girls!” He made a crude imitation of their noises, grinning as more come to him.

Charlie rolled her eyes, “Well, he’s right about the wakkla part. This is the hen pen. These little guys are great for eggs and meat. Easy ‘nuff to care for too. They like fish guts, we like the meat, it works out.”

Asha stared at the strange creatures for a while before saying, “That- that’s not a bird.” It had fur! And paws! Not a wing to be seen!

“Lays eggs, don’t it?” Charlie said. “Sounds like a bird to me.”

“No?” Asha said. “And do they? How! That’s not a bird!” What kind of mammal lays eggs?

Glowworm chuckled, “Well, yes! They lay eggs and don’t breathe water, so sounds like a bird to me! Right girls?” He picked one up despite that one in particular being almost four feet tall, giving it little kisses and devolving into incomprehensible baby talk. A child clung to his leg as he set the wakkla down, giving both a pat on the head.

“I refuse to believe that until I see one lay an egg,” Asha said.

“Aye, you’d want the nursery then. I’m not allowed there,” Glowworm said.

“Uh..."

“He ain’t allowed here either, not without one of us, and yet here you are,” Charlie said with a chuckle. “Well, ain't just him. It's supposed to be just us handlers and such, but he keeps sneaking in with the hens here. Anything to say for yourself this time boy?”

“Well, for one, the kyippers wanted to play with them, and two, me breaking into this place is basically tradition at this point,” he said, puffing out his chest out.

“I don’t know how you haven’t broken your neck yet,” Charlie said, shaking her head. “I swear, you’re the only person to hop that fence more than once.”

“And yet I keep getting in,” he said teasingly, poking her nose. Some of the kids laughed and one went “oooooooo!”

Charlie rolled her eyes, pushing him away. “Yeah yeah. I guess you do. Your hens would miss you otherwise. But why do you keep vaulting over it? And how are you not dead?”

Glowworm just shrugged, sticking his tongue out. “A good performer gives away no secrets, m’dear.” Nevermind that he was not actually a performer.

“They. Still. Aren’t. Birds,” Asha said, only half paying attention to everything else. One wakkla came up to her and abruptly let out the loudest, squeakiest honk she’d ever heard. Asha yelped back in shock and fell on her butt. Suddenly they swarmed, trapping her in a pit of fur and squeaks. “Guys!”

Glowworm threw his head back to laugh, being utterly unhelpful Something licked her face. Charlie eventually pulled her up by the armpits, but the wakklas just kept coming, surrounding them and honking.

“Aye, come now! They’re sweethearts! They just think ya look cold, don’t ya girls?” Glowworm said, petting one's head and getting his hand licked for it. “I don’t have any fish bits for you hens, sorry ‘bout that.”

“Glowworm,” Charlie said.

“Yes?”

“Get out of here.”

“Okay, first, can someone show me an actual ‘waka waka’ egg or something? I refuse to believe these things lay eggs,” Asha said.

“It’s wakkla. And I would, but we harvested the cooking eggs, and the cocks will bite your fingers off for those eggs. No,” Charlie said.

"I don't get what's so hard to understand about this?" Glowworm said. "It's a bird! Birds lay eggs!"

"Yeah, but it's not a bird! It's a mammal!"

"Mammals have live birth," Charlie said, "Kinda the definition of them."

"Okay, yes, but birds have feathers."

"I mean, most sure do! But not these guys," Glowworm said.

Asha made a noise of frustration, the kind of frustration you only get when you know you are right but everyone else is too stupid to believe you. "Guys. Please. It's a mammal. It has fur."

"So?"

"So it's a mammal! Not every single thing that lays eggs is a bird!"

"'Course not!" Glowworm said.

"Thank you!”

"Some are fish!"

Asha groaned and rubbed the bridge of her nose, “What about fucking reptiles?”

Both Glowworm and Charlie were just staring at her oddly. The word apparently existed in this language, but they didn’t know what it meant.

“Reptiles! They’re like fish, but, uh, on land?” Oh god how could they be this dumb. Had these people never seen a snake before--oh wait, right, this place was fucking freezing.

“Dearie, you’re just describing a bird,” Glowworm said.

“NO I’M NOT! THEY HAVE FUCKING SCALES! It’s like Siren but only the bottom part!” Siren being a supposed sea monster with the bottom half of a snake and the top half of a woman but with wings instead of arms; Asha had yet to see her.

“Siren has wings! She’s a bird!” Glowworm said. “At least so I’ve heard?”

“Sea monsters are kind of their own things,” Charlie said with a shrug. “Don’t mess with ‘em.”

There was at least solace to be had in the warm, cuddly fur creatures as the circular argument went on and on between them, none losing ground. Unfortunately for all involved, none of them had a word for monotremes.

[princeanxious]

agsjhd please please please tell me more about Wander

!!!! Absolutely!! Meet, this dude:

The thing about him is that he looks like some anime protag with his white hair & red eyes but tbh he's Just Some Dude with magic who helps rescue and raise dragons in his spare time.

It started off with smaller more normal critters like dogs cats and birds, but he couldn't help but notice that there are tons of Real Dragon Eggs and Live Baby Dragons just being traded and handed about behind closed doors and the like, like these poor creatures arent part of a number of species just as smart as humanity itself, if not sometimes even smarter.

He really looked around and was like, 'welp. Not many want to do it, but someone's gotta. Guess I will.' And didnt stop to think about whether he could handle rescuing dragon eggs and helping them incubate till they hatch. Once they hatch, Madam Azeas(an older dragon friend of his) takes over the raising/adoption process.

Fork is not his first rescue, not by a long shot, but drops themselves in Wander's lap somewhere along the way. Fork is an assertive self-righteous ball of silvery scales who hoards pretty cutlery and speaks in small sentences at the age of 4 years old. Fork had experienced some developmental genetic mix-ups while still in the egg, so im inclined to give Fork the title of being a literal Dragon with Adhd(the real kind, not just the simplified 'ooh shiny!' kind one might be thinking of). He has a fully functioning long term memory, but he struggles with little short term memory things sometimes. He also struggles with finding the right words, and it takes him longer to find them, resulting in many mid-sentence pauses as a tries to be succinct. He's not stupid, he's super intelligent for a 4 y/o dragon, he just struggles with communicating it well.

To Fork, Wander is his emotional support human, and no one can convince him otherwise. :3

[sunmoonandeddie]

saturdays

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3,467

summary: Bucky Barnes has a new routine.

warnings: Some swearing

a/n:  This was my March 2020 one shot for my Patreon that they received early access to.  Let me know what y’all think!

Bucky Barnes has a new routine.

Sundays are for sleeping in before eventually making his way to Brooklyn, where he picks up three bouquets and an egg, bacon, and cheese breakfast sandwich from Sal’s bodega before going to the cemetery.  He sits against his sister’s tombstone—his parents’ to his right—and eats his late breakfast.  He sits and talks for a few hours before leaving the flowers on their graves.  He always has to have peonies, since those were Becca’s favorites.

Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays are for training.  He wakes up at five in the morning to go running with Sam, something he thought would end when Steve went back to be with Peggy Carter.  But he wasn’t bitter.  No.

But which thing he wasn’t bitter about, he’d never tell.

Along with the run, he spends most of the day sparring and battling simulations in the gym.  He has short breaks for meals, but he pretty much is on go until after dinner, when he goes straight to bed.

But Fridays are his favorite.  Because he gets to sleep in until nine-thirty in the morning, which is a luxury he’s not used to.  Then Sam and him grab a late breakfast together before Bucky goes into the city for his therapy session.

And Bucky likes his therapist!  Which he was really, really surprised about!  But Marlene is good.  Marlene is good because she doesn’t placate him.  She calls him out on his shit, and pushes him forward.  Because if it had been up to him, he would’ve stopped seeing her after their third meeting, when she had him drawing with fucking crayons that snapped in his hand way too easily.  But it’s been over a year since he started seeing her, and even though he still has his bad days, his bad days now would’ve been his best days before.

“So, you think you’re finally ready to go through Rebecca’s things?” Marlene asks, looking at him with a peaceful expression.

“I don’t think so, I am,” he says firmly, feeling a rush of triumph as a smile spreads across her lips.  “It’s time, you know?”

She nods in understanding, humming.  “Do you have someone going with you?”

Usually, Sam would go with him for things like this, and just in general.  They were attached at the hip, especially after the whole Steve leaving thing.

Yeah, they were both hit pretty hard with that.

“Yes, but I…”  He sighs, rubbing his hands on his jeans.  “I think this is something I need to do alone.  At least, the going through her stuff part…  But he is going with me to move the stuff to the Tower.”

“Good, good,” she says, her brows slightly furrowed.  “And how are you feeling today about Steve leaving?”

Bucky lets out a huff of air, taking a moment to think about it.  “To be completely honest with you…  I’m kind of over it today.  I have other things to do and yeah, I would’ve liked him to be here for it, but that’s not how it is.  And him leaving is more about him than it is about me.”  He shrugs, his lips pressed into a thin line.  “Just because he decided to go back doesn’t mean he wanted to leave me.”

Marlene sets her clipboard to the side, a warm smile on her face.  “Well, Bucky, I think we’ll end today on that thought.”  She stands up, offering her hand for him to shake as she does everyday.  “You’ve done well today.  You should be proud of yourself.”

He leaves with a wave and a “See you next week!” as he always does.

He hadn’t known about the storage unit full of his sister’s stuff until about eight months ago, when he asked Maria Hill if there was anything left of hers.  He knew that SHIELD had been the ones to take control of her assets when she had no children, since she was the sister of a Howling Commando and the best friend of Captain America.

Becca had died in December of 2013.  He’d missed her by less than six months.

It was heartbreaking when he first found out, and still is, if he was being honest.  But at least he has her stuff to go through, even though he has no idea what all is going to be in the storage unit.  Stevie hadn’t had anything other than what the Smithsonian had snatched up.

The car ride to the storage facility is quiet, Sam at the wheel.  Bucky still hasn’t gotten his license, since he doesn’t see a point.  Why should he when there’s the subway and Uber and even just good old fashioned walking?  “You’ve gotta save the Earth, Sam,” he says when he really feels like irritating the other man.

“You sure you’re ready for this, man?” Sam asks as they stand in front of storage unit 429.

“Yeah,” Buck says, punching in the key code and lifting up the door.  “Yeah, I’m ready.”  He flips the light switch on the wall, and is shocked by just how much stuff there is.  There’s boxes upon boxes upon boxes.

Sam’s hands go to his hips as he looks at it, whistling.  “Alright.  Let’s get it loaded.”

It takes several hours and three trips to get everything from the storage unit to the Tower, and by the end of it, the both of them just collapse on the couch with a couple of beers and a pizza to share between them.

But Saturday morning comes bright and early, and even though it’s his only day out of the week where he has absolutely nothing to do, Bucky knows he has to start going through her things.

The first four boxes are just clothes.  Clothes upon clothes upon clothes.  He finds a baby blue dress that she used to wear for church, starched to perfection, and he holds it to his chest for a long time.  He cries then.

And he knows that the fact that she’s hoarded so many clothes has a lot to do from growing up during the Depression.  He still finds himself falling into old habits of checking the price of food, despite the fact that he never has to worry about money again with his Avengers salary and the backpay from being a POW.

He finds his parents’ wedding rings, and the string of pearls his ma wore for special occasions.

And then he finds an old shoe box, and when he opens it up, he finds letters.  Letters upon letters upon letters.  They’re in bundles, tied together with fraying ribbon.  The paper is yellowed and soft from being folded and unfolded so many times, and he can see the looping black letters that covered the pages.

He takes the ones that look the oldest and unties them, he takes the top one from the stack and sets the rest to the side, before carefully unfolding it.

“Ruthie,” he says quietly as he reads the name at the bottom, not even bothering to read it yet.  “Ruthie…”  His eyes pop open as he suddenly remembers, remembers receiving letters everyday from a girl in the Bronx.  They were never romantic, but it was nice being able to write to someone and not having to hide how bad it was, like he had to with his ma and Becca.  She even sent her picture once, so he could know who he was writing to.  “Ruthie!”

He spends the rest of the day reading the letters, and passes out sometime around four in the morning with his face on a letter.  He takes the letters with him to his family’s graves the next day, reading to them after he replaces the flowers.

It takes him two more days to finish reading all the letters, in between breaks while training and staying up until he absolutely can’t.

He cries a lot while he reads it.  He’s not afraid to admit that.  But it’s nice to remember that he had a friend to listen to him during one of the worst times of his life.

Bucky’s almost afraid to look her up, to find out if she was still alive, and if he could go see her, to thank her.  They wrote back and forth until the day he fell off the train, and he knows that had to be pretty jarring for her.

But then Sam finds out about the letters—it would be hard for him not to, considering that he was walking around with his nose in the letters for days—and it’s all over.

Turns out, she’s alive.  She’s alive, and she’s still in Queens.

He goes the next Saturday, taking his bike all the way to the other borough.  He looks a little intimidating and extremely different from how he looked back then, but he hopes she recognizes him.  He really, really hopes she recognizes him, because otherwise this’ll be real awkward.

He stands in front of the door for a long time, taking his hands in and out of his pockets about eight times before he finally reaches up and knocks.

And then the door opens, and there’s Ruthie.

Well, not Ruthie, though at first glance, you’re the perfect picture of her.  You’ve got her hair and her eyes, and the curve of her lips.  But the nose is different.

“Can I help you?” You ask, raising your eyebrows at him.  You’re wiping your hand on a hand towel, peering at him like you recognize him from somewhere but you don’t know where.

“Hi, uh,” he says slowly.  His throat is suddenly so dry that he can barely talk.  “I’m Bucky.  Bucky Barnes.  I was pen pals with—”

He’s cut off by Ruthie herself appearing in the doorway.  She’s much older—she is ninety-nine, after all—but it’s definitely her.  “Did you say Bucky Barnes?”  The little old lady’s eyes widened as she saw him, her hand over her heart.  “Oh, my stars, it’s really you.  I heard about what happened to you, and I…”  She shakes her head, clicking her tongue.  “Why, it almost gave me a heart attack, you know.”

“Little Ruthie Pratt from Queens,” he says, reaching in his pocket and holding up the letters.  “I found these while, uh, going through my sister’s stuff.”

“I still have mine!” Ruthie says, pulling him inside.

It’s nice and homey and everything that Bucky had thought it would be.  The front foyer is covered in photos, and there’s quite a few of you.  You’re clearly one of Ruthie’s pride and joys, if the sheer amount of them has anything to do about it.

“I used to read these to my grandbaby here,” Ruthie says as she comes back with an old oak jewelry box in hand.  “Anytime she stayed the night—her parents worked a lot when she was growing up—she always asked me to read her one of my ‘Bucky letters.’”

“Grandmama,” you say, cheeks flushing as you avoid his eyes.

“It was so cute!  She used to recite them word for word along with me!” Ruthie teases as they go to the living room.

It’s quaint, with soft pastel colors dominating the room.  He sits on a floral sofa that’s got a circle with dark hair on it, the marking of a furry friend’s favorite spot.  He watches as you move to the kitchen, grabbing a pitcher of what looks like tea and a few glasses.

You sit beside her with the ease of knowing that you belong here, pouring yourself a glass.  “Grandmama, do you want some tea?”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she opens the box and looks for the oldest one.  “You keep that monstrosity away from me,” she says.  Seemingly remembering Bucky’s presence, she says, “My daughter’s husband is from Louisiana.  Ridiculous man got both her and my grandbaby addicted to that absolute sludge.”

The secret smile you give him as the two of you listen to her tirade about sweet tea makes him feel at ease, and sets the tone for the rest of the afternoon.

Things go on as normal, or as normal as they can.

And Marlene happens to think that all of this is absolutely fantastic for him.  She loves that he’s now spending time with Ruthie and you, reconnecting with his past while understanding that he doesn’t have to be the person he was in the letters.

He’s different.  He’s not the Bucky that Ruthie knew back then.

It’s an unusually warm day in November four months later when he takes you out for a coffee, just the two of you.  And it isn’t a date—really, it isn’t—but he finds himself wanting it to be about halfway through his second coffee.

And that’s why he starts talking about dating to Marlene, who had, quite frankly, been waiting for him to realize his feelings for a while.

“I think I’m in love with her,” he says as he storms into his therapy session, eyes wild and hair a disarray.  He’s clearly been worrying real hard about it.

Marlene looks up at him, peering over the silver rim of her glasses.  “Oh, really?” She says nonchalantly, as though she doesn’t have you in her notes about him.  “And why is that?”

Bucky can’t help the frown on his face as he realizes that she didn’t even ask who he was talking about, because she knew.  “I…  I don’t know,” he says, slumping into his usual chair.  “She makes me happy.  Happier than I’ve ever been.  And she always makes me laugh, even at the most inappropriate of times.”  His gaze softens the more he thinks about you.  “And she isn’t scared of me.  She doesn’t judge me.  She’s read about everything I did in the war, even before HYDRA, and she doesn’t care.”  His hands are sweating as he rubs them together.  “Actually, it’s not that she doesn’t care—she does care—but she cares because she… she loves me.”

You love him.  And sure, he knows that.  You’ve said that you love him multiple times, even if you only mean it as a friend way.

But the thought that he has someone who loves him that doesn’t have to is… groundbreaking.

“She loves me, and she wants me to be okay,” he says, looking up at Marlene then.

His therapist has a pleased look in her eyes, even if she won’t let it show with a smile.  “I think she’s good for you,” she says simply, her pen held loosely in her hand.  “Are you seeing her again soon?”

“I’m seeing her tomorrow night,” he says, his heart growing light.  “We’re grabbing a few drinks to celebrate her finally graduating from cosmetology school.”

It’s a big deal for you, completely something.  You’re smart, there’s no denying that, but when it comes to schooling…  You’d done well in high school, but college proved to be the bane of your existence.

You’d dropped out in the middle of your junior year, and that had been it.  You’d moved to Queens to live with Ruthie after, working various low level jobs and trying to find something that fit.

But you’d fit in at cosmetology school.  Hell, you excelled.  And you enjoyed it!  You enjoyed waking up in the morning and going to your classes!

You cried when you got your certificate, and it was now framed in Ruthie’s house until you start your first salon job in two weeks.

“Are you going to tell her about your feelings?” Marlene asks curiously.

Now that makes him pause.

“... Should I?” Bucky asks, feeling a wave of anxiety coming over him.  “What if she doesn’t feel the same way?  And she sees me as just a friend?”

“If she’s really your friend, she won’t abandon you just because you tell her you have romantic feelings for her.”

“You sure about that?”

Marlene fixes him with a look, raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

He runs his tongue over his teeth.  “Fine.  You’re sure,” he says, slumping a little in his chair.  “Doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

She snorts, making a note on her pad.  “I never said it was going to be easy, Bucky.  Doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”

The next night, he spends an hour and a half trying to decide what to wear.  “It shouldn’t be this hard,” he grumbles as he switches shirts for the forty-ninth time.  “It’s just drinks.”

Sam, however, is having a great time watching his new best friend freak out over seeing a girl for the first time.  “I mean, she already agreed to going out with your ugly mug, man.  It’s not gonna matter what you wear.”

And in some way, that helps.  A little.

But he does have to threaten Sam with bodily harm if he spies on his date that’s not really a date.

He almost boxes him the ear when he insists for the fourth time that it’s a date.

He shows up at your door with a bouquet of flowers from Sal’s bodega, the buttons of his dark blue henley left open, exposing a smattering of chest hair.

When you open the door, the air is knocked from his lungs.  You look absolutely radiant.  The light from the sinking sun is giving you a halo-like glow, and he’s sure, not for the first time, that you’re an actual angel.

“Hi,” you say, a flush on your cheeks as you see the flowers.  “Are those…  Are those for me?”

He nods dumbly, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat.  “Y-Yes,” he says, pushing them into your arms.  “As a congrats.  For, you know, graduating.  And stuff.”

“Thank you,” you say as you take them, handing them to Ruthie.

She’s standing just inside the door, a giddy look on her face as she holds the flowers, watching you take the motorcycle helmet from his hands.  “Have her back by twelve!”

“Grandmama!”

“Fine!  Twelve-thirty!”

You’re clearly embarrassed by her antics as he helps you on behind him, guiding your arms around his waist.

“You ready?” He asks, his voice breathy.

A shiver runs down your spine as you nod, wrapping your arms tighter around him as he starts the bike, taking off.

“She doesn’t actually mean that,” you say as he leads you into the tiny, out of the way bar.  You’re fixing your hair, trying your best to appear presentable.  “I’m grown, you know.  I don’t…  I don’t have a curfew.”

A slow smile spreads over his lips as he listens to you ramble.  “I know,” he says finally, figuring he should put you out of your misery.  “Ruthie does like to tease those she loves.”

The bar is quaint, clearly a local place that tourists haven’t invaded.  He leads you to a high table, calling out your order to the lone bartender.

“So, I—”

“I like you,” Bucky says, unintentionally cutting you off with a wince.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but I really, really like you, and I really, really want this to be a date, but if you don’t feel the same way then I completely understand and we can just forget that I ever said anything and everything can just go back to normal and that might be the best thing because, quite frankly, I haven’t dated since the forties and I have no idea how dating is supposed to work nowadays, but I’d really like to try it with you but only if you—”

His rambling is cut off as you place your hand on his, intertwining your fingers.  “Okay,” you say, like it’s the easiest thing ever.  “It’s a date.”

He stares at you for an embarrassingly long time, his mouth dry.  “Uh…  What?” He says quietly.  His heart is pounding at an unnaturally fast pace, and he honestly thinks he might be on the verge of a heart attack.

“I like you, too,” you say, smiling at the bartender as he brings you over your drinks.  You look so beautiful, your eyes the brightest thing in the dim lighting of the bar.  “So this is a date.”

“Okay,” he breathes out, a wave of relief washing over him.  “It’s a date.”

He’s a little starstruck as you continue on with what you were going to say before, a pink blush dusting his cheeks.  Your hand stays in his for the rest of the night, occasionally giving a little squeeze as though you’re reminding him that you’re still there and you’re not going to disappear.

And it feels good.

And okay, Marlene may have been right.

And yeah, Fridays might be good.  But as he sits there with you until the late hours of the night, he’s sure: Saturdays are his new favorite day.  Because Saturdays brought him a new beginning when he wasn’t expecting it.

[tcmnota]

Power in and of itself was a corrupting agent. Like a plague that stretched across acres of green and touched the hearts of men who tended to the verdant fields, power sought to sully all forms of the world’s natural design. Everyone craved it. Those who’d never had it at all wanted it more than anything; they needed it to soar higher than their menial standings. Those who already had it could never have enough, foaming at the mouth to hoard more of the sickening nectar that power dripped into their polished palms. They’d lap it up as it tumbled over the ridges of their hands, descending down to coat the world in an addicting stickiness that makes those of lower circumstances want to climb up and get more than just a taste.

Lex hated having power. He hated the way it made him feel. He was always on edge, knowing that any shift in his temperament could knock of the delicate balance of his control and he’d be shifting the tides of any human interaction he had. If he lost his wits, people lost their autonomy or worse . . . their lives. Magic of unknowable ancients made ordinary people little more than specks of sand in an ever-expanding desert and Lex always felt like an uncategorizable, unnatural disaster just teeming with the need to blow as much of it away and flood the rest.

That was where Cyrus came in. Warlocks were rare to come by and rarely did they congregate but Cyrus had a significantly more knowledge on magic. The man was a fond friend of the family, mostly of Kristopher who had a habit of radiating so much golden retriever energy that it was hard not to befriend him. Lex himself had held a fair amount of conversations with the older male, had even sat in with the man when he’d performed his feats of magic, but there was an unresolved energy that wafted off him that made the younger man . . . hungry. He couldn’t explain why but he kept himself at arm’s length usually, just until he could work out why he felt so drawn to Cyrus. He certainly didn’t want that kind of discovery to happen in mixed company, especially if said company was his own family. When the offer to aid Lex in getting a better grip on the powers that stewed within him came his way, he considered it godsent. Perhaps he could finally get some answers while they were alone. Lex responded in the affirmative, packed his bags, and headed out to find the elusive recluse in his private getaway.

All in all, the place was quite beautiful.

It had been a day since his arrival at the Casa Westbrooke. He’d slept through the night rather peacefully, though it was mostly due to how tired he was shadow-hopping until he could make it to the estate. After waking up in the guest bedroom, he headed out into the main area of the house. His white t-shirt clung to the curves and lines of his body, a pair of soft blue briefs not quite extending over the entire slope of his ass and leaving a bit of pale-ish skin spilling underneath. He was up surprisingly early for himself. He was told they had a big day ahead of them, so he thought he’d have himself a bowl of oats to wake up while he fixed up breakfast for the two of them. He was halfway through his bowl, slumped over the countertop watching the sausage and bacon fry on the stove, when he felt that mass of unresolved energy move toward him. Empathy had its perks, at least; it kept Lex from being snuck up upon.

“How do you like your eggs, Cy?” he called out, turning to look at the man while pushing the metal spoon into his mouth. It hung there as he locked eyes with his companion. As he let the instrument slip away, he chewed and spoke again. “Decided I might as well make myself at home, you know? Be a good little overachiever before I sorely disappoint you with how bad I am  at this whole thing later.” He added a wink for good measure before turning his attention back to the stove and flipping some of the meat that waited for him there. “A good pan was surprisingly hard to find, by the way. We gotta get you new kitchenware.” // @coivi​

[ranboo-my-beloved]

now wait a second there @q-cumb3r this gotta be a separate post on it's own-

OKAY so first of all it should be the other way around!

john escaped the control of the Egg shortly after the Masquerade using all the milk he hoarded up (drinking milk removes potion effects but for fighting off something as powerful as the Egg you need a lot of it) and after becoming essentially homeless he had to put his butler skills to use and start working as a bartender in a small town (let's just pretend the two jobs are similar enough). he just wanted to live a quiet life but we all saw how that went. after barely surviving the duel he pulled the signature move of seemingly all ranboo characters and decided that he's gonna stay the fuck away from people (relatable and justified). he goes on to build a little cottage in the mountains and lives happily ever after. he has a bunch of pets and none of them die. he probably picks up beekeeping as a hobby or something. The End.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

When the Weight Comes Down - 4

Warnings: non-consent sex (series); nothing for this chapter

This is dark! (biker) Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Your father’s a drunk, your mother a recluse, and you’re just another small town girl in Birch.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown

Note: Hope you’re having as much fun with this as I am. Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter Four: Twist My Arm

Culled and wooed, bitten, chewed It won't hurt if you don't move

💀💀💀💀

Your mother was awake when you got home but didn’t acknowledge you as she rinsed out your father’s empty beer cans and tossed them in the bin. Your father on the other hand snored in his recliner as the television continued to blare. You said nothing as you retreated to your room.

You set your alarm early and laid down in your old tee with the pink teddy bear on the front. You slept in spurts, jolting awake as your dream returned to the bar. With you trapped in the dim place and cornered by dark shadows. Your little digital clock roused you for good and you tiptoed to the bathroom.

You showered, dressed in a pair of jeans and a blouse with little frills along the neckline and sleeves beneath a sheer grey cardigan. You grabbed your boxy purse and shoved your wallet inside along with the pile of bills from the kitchen counter. Your mother was awake too but still silent as she ate a bowl of yogurt and granola. You left her like that.

The bank was mostly empty when you arrived. You went to the teller and paid a portion of each bill. You’d have to wait until your next check to cover the rest. Another call to the hydro company and hopes that you’d have hot water for the last half of the month.

You stopped at the diner for breakfast. You didn’t have the stomach for more than eggs and toast.Or the pockets. You had a tea and left a tip you’d regret. You were back on the street just after ten but had little desire to return home. Yet, staying in town was a prospect you weren’t fond of either.

You crossed the street and waved at Babs through the window as you passed the bakery. She smiled and looked back to her customer. You continued onto Lloyd’s and dipped inside. The man, Lu, you’d heard the girl call him, you were sure, sat at his counter with small glasses at the end of his nose and a book open.

“You again?” He remarked as he looked up. 

“Hi,” You said softly. 

He smiled and you quickly scurried between the aisles. You stopped before a shelf of notepads bound in leather. You weren’t sure what you were looking for; anything to keep your mind off of yourself; your family; Steve.

You couldn’t afford the large journal with its thick cover or the glass pens with the swirled handles. You opened a how-to guide on calligraphy and tried to calculate what you would be paid and what you owed. It might be a fun hobby. 

You went to the counter and hesitated. The old man didn’t look up from his book but you didn’t know if he heard you as when you stepped closer, he flinched.

“Miss?” He blinked at you and marked his page.

“Do you… offer credit?” You asked shyly.

“You got any old books? I’ll exchange credits for anything you got.” He said. “As long as it’s intact.”

“Oh, really?’ You smiled. “Okay, thank you.”

“Your welcome,” He said warmly.

“Sorry, I don’t… I can’t buy anything today but I’ll be back,” You offered.

“No problem,” He assured you and picked his book back up. “You have a good day.”

You left and thought of the box of books beneath your bed. That old copy of Moby Dick you never finished could go and the harlequin romances you’d hoarded from the thrift shop. You hadn’t touched those since high school and now you hid them in shame.

Your mind floated away as your feet headed towards your house. The rumble of engines sounded from across the street but your mind was eons away. You were only brought back to earth by the sharp rev of a motor right beside you. You glanced to the curb, the tire pressed to it, and then its owner.

“Hey,” Steve revved again and drew up his bike parallel to the pavement. “You didn’t forget about our ride, did you?”

“It’s not noon,” You looked at your watch. 

“Close enough.” He said. “We can go now.”

You peered up and down the sidewalk. Those who had been walking behind you had crossed to avoid the biker before you as others stood outside shop doors and watched nervously. You shrugged and shoved your hands in your jean pockets.

“I should go home first,” You said. “Tell my ma--”

“You don’t need to go all that way.” He turned off his bike and reached into his jacket. He pulled out his phone. “Give her a call and we’ll head out.”

You stared at his phone and chewed your bottom lip. You took it carefully and stared at the numbers on the screen. You dialed slowly and brought it up to your ear. You prayed she didn’t answer. Please be busy, please be busy.

“Hello?” Your mother’s voice chimed from the other end. You greeted her and told her it was you. “Why are you calling me?”

“I just wanted you to know I won’t be home for a while,” You looked at Steve. Better she didn’t know why though she’d figure it out soon enough. “I just didn’t want you worrying.”

“Okay,” She said tritely. “Bye.”

She hung up so sharply you were stunned as the line went dead. She was still mad at you. You handed Steve his phone back. You had hoped at least you could have told him she needed you home to help her with something but you hadn’t been on the call long enough for it to be a convincing lie.

“Did mommy say you could go?” He teased. You blanched and kicked your toe into the pavement.

“I’m not a child,” You whispered.

“Huh?” He said. “Sorry, I didn’t hear that.”

“I said,” You swallowed as you looked up. “I’m not a child.”

“I know,” He reached back and unbuckled the saddle bag. “Then act like it, doll.”

He flipped the leather flap up and nodded over his shoulder as he adjusted his perch on the bike. You grabbed the helmet and tried to recall how he had done up the strap the day before. You figured it out after a few tried but he grabbed your arm before you could climb on.

“If you’re gonna be my girl, you gotta start using your words,” He said. “But use them wisely, yeah?”

“I… I’m not your girl,” You struggled with him.

He chuckled and his hand flew up to your chin. He squeezed your jaw as he made you look at him.

“You know who I am? What this badge means?” He tapped his jacket with his other hand. “What I say, goes.”

You grabbed his wrist as you trembled.

“I don’t want to go,” You struggled with him. “Please.”

“If I have to get off this bike…” He warned. “You think anyone is gonna stop me?”

You gulped and thought back to the girl from the bookstore. She was braver than you and yet she hadn’t stopped Bucky last night. She had abided his errant hands and stolen kisses. You remembered her words. ‘Good luck’.

“Doll, I haven’t mistreated you, have I?” He let go. “I’ve been nice, so why don’t you get on and let’s head out.”

You nodded and he tilted his head. You cleared your throat and gave your ascent. He smirked and you grabbed his shoulder to hoist yourself over the small seat on the back of the bike. He reached back and pushed your knees against him. You wrapped your arms around him quickly and he turned the keys.

“You ever been to the city?” He asked as he rolled the bike out into the street. You clung tighter to him as the engine ripped through Birch and announced your departure.

💀

Your father had taken you to the city once as a child. You remembered it as gargantuan buildings and flashing lights. A beacon compared to Birch and its grim streets. The windy ride had left your cheeks numb and your thin cardigan did little to protect you. Steve pulled into an underground lot, the type you’d only ever seen on TV and he parked between two shining cars.

You got off and handed him your helmet. He hung both on the handle bar. He turned to you as you backed away but he caught you and drew you back.

“I didn’t get a kiss,” He pulled you close. He bent and you turned your head so he only kissed your cheek.

“I… Steve…”

“It’s okay to be nervous,” He raised his hand to cradle your face and make you look at him. “I’ll show you what to do.”

He pressed his lips to yours and you closed your eyes. His lips moved against yours and he poked you with his tongue until you opened your mouth. He hugged you tighter as he kissed you deeper and you weren’t sure what else to do but stand there. He parted gently.

“Just do what I do,” He purred and kissed you again. You tried to mimic him as best you could and he hummed before he drew away. “Mmm, like that.”

You were stunned. Shaking. He seemed pleased by it and turned you as he wrapped his arm around you. He led you through the lot, around the cars, and up a set of concrete steps. You found yourself in a large mall; you’d never been to one of those before.

“Oh,” You looked around at the shop windows. “Oh.”

Your purse felt even lighter and held back a cringe. You let him guide you as you shuffled over the tiled floor. He stopped you by a cushioned bench and faced you.

“Why don’t you have a look around?” He said. “I’ve got something to deal with but I’ll find you.”

Your eyes rounded and you frowned at the glowing monikers and glaring sale signs.

“I don’t-- I’ll get lost,” You said.

“It’s fine, you won’t,” He assured you. “Just stay inside. There are maps if you need them. A directory just around the corner.”

“Okay,” You knew there was no arguing with him. “Will you be long?”

“Shouldn’t be,” He rubbed your arm. “You’ll be okay, doll.”

He kissed you again, lighter this time. He reluctantly left you and when he disappeared around the corner you dared to look around. Other shoppers passed by without regard, as if you were invisible. You were used to that.

After a lot of hesitation, you found your way into a clothing shop and glanced around at the hangers. You checked a tag on a shirt you liked and gasped. You peeked over at the employee who had offered to help you but she seemed uninterested now. You quickly left and followed the smell of cinnamon to the food court.

You sat at a table hidden behind a fake fern and placed your purse on it. You pulled out your wallet and counted what was left in your wallet. You doubted you could afford a soda here. You packed it back up and dropped the bag on your lap as you leaned your elbow on the table. You read the little news bumper running across a screen mounted beside a Chinese food outlet.

You watched the clock in the corner; half an hour dragged by. You were surprised as Steve sat across from you and you perked up from your daze. He had a small white bag that he slid over to you. You stared at him over it.

“Go on,” He said.

“You didn’t have to--”

“Just open it.” He ordered.

You pursed your lips and looked inside the bag. You lifted the small box out of it. You carefully slid the lid off and a phone, much like his own, sat inside.

“It’s already set up,” He said. “It’s all yours.”

“I…” You blinked at the screen. “I can’t… afford--”

“I’ll take care of you,” He crossed his arms over the table. “Doll, I know you’re smart. You understand. I want to take care of you. Like your ma and pa never did. Don’t you want someone?”

You lowered your eyes and picked at the loose stitches that held the handle of your purse in place. You shrugged and your leg jiggled under the table. 

“There’s a case, too,” He said. “But if you want a different one, we can look around.”

You stared at your old blouse, your faded jeans, the small bleach stain by the knee. You felt completely out of place. A matchstick girl.

“I can’t--”

“I know what it is. You been taking care of them so long you can’t even think of someone doing the same for you.” He said. “You don’t gotta take care of them forever, doll.”

“I do though,” You countered as you looked up. “If I don’t--”

“They don’t know what they got,” Steve urged. “You’re too good to them.”

“You don’t know,” You frowned. “You can’t.”

“Are you that worried about them?” He asked. “You know, if you left, they’d find their way. They’re adults, like you, right?”

“No, no, my ma, she can’t leave the house and my pa…” You clamped your lips shut, embarrassed. “I don’t wanna talk about them anymore.”

“Well, I just think you should be as good to yourself as you are to them.” He said. “But I’ll be happy if you just let me be good to you.”

You chewed your lip and looked down at the phone. You’d never had anything like it before. You never had anyone to call anyway. You carefully reached into the bag and pulled out the other slender box; a phone case with a daisy on it, like the dress you’d worn the night before. You glanced up at Steve and he raised a brow.

“It’s up to you, doll,” He lowered his voice as he leaned over the table. “How good I am to you.”

[flygefisk]

ok, here’s lazuli’s gene plan + outfit! plus new baby, agate. gotta stalk the mp for genes bc theyre all hugely inflated on the ah rip

lore under the cut!

lazuli is a geologist/mineralogist- anning and archaea found her in the tunnels while participating in the massive dustcarve dig. while the other recently-awoken obelisks were greeting each other and the diggers, lazuli was perched on a crag investigating a bit of exposed crystal.

she and anning bonded over their shared interest in stones. lazuli was overjoyed to have names to apply to the minerals around her, the material she sprung from, and anning was happy to have someone who actually listened to her infodumping. anning suggested the name lazuli to her, and she took it, and agreed to go with them to clan flygefisk.

lazuli is... uncertain of the surface world. she loves learning, but she finds the vast sky and open spaces unsettling, instead sticking to alleys or indoor spaces. she feels right at home in the museum. she’s a quick learner and a very good researcher.

agate, the hatchling, was a surprise. on the trek out of the tunnels, lazuli filled anning and archaea’s bags with rocks. one of those rocks, a particularly large and stripey one, turned out to be not a rock, but an egg. an obelisk egg. several days later, as lazuli was settling into her new home and laying out her meager belongings, it began to shake.

lazuli panicked, a reasonable reaction, and brought the trembling egg to anning. they watched as it began to crack, a tiny paw poking out of the shell, and agreed to raise the little mystery together. agate is a mischievous and dangerously clever child, who enjoys climbing tall furniture and stealing a wide assortment of items. they have small hoards scattered about lazuli and anning’s homes, as well as in the museum, library, and gardens. everywhere.

lazuli- nb woman, she/they, probably pan

agate- uncertain, currently they/them, a baby

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream VI

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 8, 390

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes; The action makes her look at him again and there’s something behind the playfulness in his gaze, something that sings like there is only one for me; you have made that a possibility, like we could take that step to see, mm; if this is really gonna be, like all she’s gotta do is say yes to whatever statement his eyes are making, to whatever question his fingers are stitching into her skin. (Read chapter below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter VII: Brave

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Say Yes

There is only one for me

You have made that a possibility

We could take that step to see, mm

If this is really gonna be

All you got to do is say yes

On the following Thursday, Iris finds herself rushing down Main St., her glittery gold pumps making a rhythmic clack-clack-clack on the sidewalk. She barely had time to change from what she’d worn to work, into a long black maxi dress printed with gold feathers all over it. The dress has long sleeves and a modest neckline, though the right side split that rises near to her waist changes what might otherwise just be a pretty casual dress. She’s late, which is why she’s risking a broken neck by running down the street in these shoes, not wanting to hear Wally bitch about being late to his 21st birthday dinner.

She finally gets to the front of Golden’s, where her dad has rented out space for the dinner and later, some music and dancing. Barry is standing outside of the restaurant, in a pair of well-fitting black pants and camel colored desert boots, tugging at the neck of the white sweater that does only good things for those broad shoulders. He looks up from his phone when he hears her heels, and the smile he gives her pulls her up short.

“Hi, beautiful” he greets as he steps out from where he’d been leaning on the wall. “You look nice."

Iris waves a hand, still trying to catch her breath. “I look like I’ve been working all day.”

She touches self-consciously at her hair, knowing that the curls from her bantu knots have likely begun to fall. But when she looks up again, the word nice isn’t actually what she sees as he’s looking at her. It’s a misnomer, the word nice, because his gaze follows the curves of her body, the way the dress’s matching tie shows the deep curve of her waist, and how every time she moves, Barry sees one long, brown leg ending in the double straps around her ankle. Iris shifts under his gaze, at his blown irises, the color of them graying by the moment.

“Come here,” he says, reaching out for her.

“What? Barry, we’re late,” she attempts to argue, even as she’s letting him pull her into his arms. She tumbles into them, letting him wrap both his arms around her as she circles hers around his waist. She can feel the warmth of his palms through the thin material of her dress.

“Breathe,” he commands softly, and she inhales deeply before letting it go. Barry loosens his hold, but only enough that he can look into her eyes.

“Let’s try that again,” he teases. “Hi, Iris, you look beautiful.”

Her stomach flutters at the comment and she bites down on her bottom lip. “Thank you, Barry.”

“How’s your day been? We haven’t talked.”

“Barry, we’re…”

“Late. Yes, I know. And maybe I’m stalling because I’m nervous to meet your entire family at your brother’s party, but I also just wanna check in.” He lifts her chin with a forefinger. “So how’s your day been?”

She thinks that she fucking melts, just like that.

“It’s been good. Really good,” she replies softly, trying to hold his tender gaze. “I didn’t have to curse any undergrads. And I, uh, well,” she hesitates for only a moment, but she wants to tell him this, even if it’s news she’s been hoarding for the moment. “Well, my blog is going to be featured on Good Morning, Central City.”

His eyes light up. “What, Iris? That’s amazing!” He wraps his arms around her again and squeezes, even pulling her off of her feet. The sound of her laughter fills the air as she tightens her hold on his neck.

He’s the first person she’s told. She’d gotten the email after lunch this afternoon, about the morning talk show featuring some of Central City’s rising internet stars. She’s never considered herself an internet star, especially because her blog focuses primarily on others, with the exception of the occasional personal story, the occasional picture with an update about her life. But they’re taping the segment in a month’s time and she’ll have a ten minute spot talking to the hosts and answering questions about What a Life You’ve Lived.

“Baby, I’m so damn proud of you.”

And he is, which isn’t so much startling as it is noteworthy. Because he’s new here, but already he’s been so supportive of her and her work, reading and asking questions all the time. It’s a rush, really, and she has to hold on to him to steady herself.

“Thank you so much, Barry. It’s exciting and scary and, humbling, in a way.”

“See,” he says, cupping her cheek in his palm. “Good.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and he takes it as an invitation to kiss her. It’s a quick kiss, compared to the way he usually kisses her, but he still leaves her light-headed from the taste and the feel of him. She hums when he pulls away, closing her eyes briefly.

“You ready?” she asks when he’s in her sight again.

“I think I am,” he replies, but she notes that he seems a little dazed too.

“Don’t be nervous,” she grins. “You already know Dad. You’ve met Linda. You’ve likely met Cecile too.”

“Yes, but it’s one thing to talk to Captain West and DA Horton for work. It’s completely different to hang out with them as the man their daughter has been seeing.”

She takes his hand to squeeze once and lets go to run her hand across his chest, picking at invisible lent on his sweater.

“It’ll be fine. Just be your weirdly charming self.”

“Weirdly charming?” His eyes widen and he stands up straighter. “How am I weirdly charming?”

Ignoring his question, she grabs his hand again. “Come on. We’re really late now.”

“But Iris…?”

Iris isn’t quite sure how she got Barry invited to this dinner. She’d gone over to her dad’s for dinner on Sunday, and they’d been talking about Wally’s party, securing some last-minute details. Out of the blue, Wally had blurted about Iris’s “new boyfriend,” though Iris figures it was a calculated move on her brother’s part. But now they’re here, walking into Golden’s hand in hand.

The place has been decorated for the party: white, black, and gold streamers everywhere, a matching balloon arch, a tall matching photo booth set up on one side. The space has been cleared so that there is one long table for the group to sit together (to include their family, Linda and Daniel, Theo and Xuan, and several of Wally’s friends from college). On the other side of the table is a wide-open space where, in about an hour, a DJ will come set up in the corner and the remaining space will act as a makeshift dance floor.

Wally is sitting in the middle of the table, a black leather crown on his head, matching his black t-shirt and blazer paired with black trousers, a gold chain circling his throat. The color theme for his birthday party is black, white, and gold, and as Iris looks around the room, she sees her family and Wally’s friends all adhering to the dress code.

“Iris,” he shouts when he spots her. “Fucking finally.” He immediately glances back at their dad with a low “sorry dad,” before standing to greet her. Iris pulls him in for a hug, wrapping her arms tight around him.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she tells him. “Happy birthday, baby.”

“Thanks, big sis.” He gives her another big squeeze and then pulls back to kiss her cheek.

Joe West, tall and imposing-looking with deep brown skin and kind eyes, shakes his head at his youngest son and stands to give Iris a hug too.

“Good to see you, pumpkin.”

He looks at Barry, who’s standing behind her, looking a little bit pink in the face, his eyes wide. She shakes her head in amusement, thinking about how he’s always so damn confident when he’s with her, but he’s looking like he wants to turn and run at the moment.

“CSI Allen,” her dad says, expression unreadable.

Barry swallows. “Captain West. It’s, uh, good to see you.”

There’s a tense silence for just a moment as her dad seems to size Barry up. But before Barry decides to actually run away, Iris rolls her eyes and lightly taps her father’s shoulder.

“Daddy, stop.”

Her dad blinks once and then his face erupts in a wide grin. “I’m just kidding. Good to see you, Allen.” He reaches out to shake Barry’s hand, clapping his shoulder.

“You too, sir,” Barry nods once, and then again. “And please just call me Barry.”

The rounds are made. Barry greets DA Horton, a pretty woman with ochre colored skin and big brown eyes, who tells him to call her Cecile when they aren’t at work. Wally is next, who gives him a long look, not unlike their father, before reaching out to hug him, whispering something in his ear that makes Barry smile faintly as he looks briefly at Iris before turning back to Wally and nodding firmly. Xuan and Theo greet him with wide smiles, and then Linda gives him a kiss on the cheek before introducing him to Daniel, a tall, sun-kissed man with near black eyes, unruly dark hair, and an easy smile.

The table is divided with family on one end and Wally’s friends on the other, with Wally sitting in the middle on one side and Iris across from him. There are a couple of waiters, Allegra is here as the bartender, and just as Barry and Iris are sitting down, the waiters bring out several plates of appetizers featured on the menu: egg rolls, steamed buns, fried pork dumplings, ginger salads, edamame, baked sticky wings. There are several plates of each, enough for everyone to have some of everything and they all dig in, taking sips of Wally’s birthday cocktail, something that’s mostly champagne, in between.

Iris watches in fascination as Barry effortlessly makes conversation with people around him. It’s not that she’s necessarily surprised; Barry is an affable sort, her dad is an extremely good judge of character, and Wally and Cecile are generally easy-going people. But seeing it in action does something so funny to her that she can’t describe it. When her dad asks how they met, he shoots her a wink and replies, “I saw her out dancing one night and I knew I had to get to know her.” Only she hears Linda’s snort, but the answer does make her shake her head (and flush a little) in remembrance.

Then Cecile wants to know, inexplicably, about their first date.

“She invited me over for dinner,” Barry explains.

“No, I…” She turns sharply to her side, narrowing her eyes at the unmitigated glee in his. He knows that if she explains how he’d just shown up (because she’d invited him over for a one-night stand anyway), they’d both be thrown under the bus.

Iris looks back at the table, at her dad who’s got an eyebrow raised, and at Wally who’s obviously trying not to laugh.

“I don’t really count that as the first date,” she responds through clenched teeth. Barry leans into her, arm draped over her shoulder, fingers playing absently with her dress’s collar.

“So do you count hanging out at Fall Fest?”

She isn’t fooled by the casual tone of his question. “You were there with your friends. You ditching them had nothing to do with me.”

He reaches out and fingers the simple gold open circle studs she’s wearing. The action makes her look at him again and there’s something behind the playfulness in his gaze, something that sings like there is only one for me; you have made that a possibility, like we could take that step to see, mm; if this is really gonna be, like all she’s gotta do is say yes to whatever statement his eyes are making, to whatever question his fingers are stitching into her skin.

“Me leaving them had everything to do with you.”

And she’s, for a second (or for a minute, or for some infinite period of time) lost in it, lost in him, forgetting that this is not a private moment, that people are watching, that the goosebumps that are gliding up her arms and the heavy rise and fall of her chest are for everyone to see.

Linda lets out a cough, a way too obvious attempt to break the tension.

“But if we’re talking about our first official date,” Barry says, holding her gaze for a second longer before turning back to her family, “we went on a picnic.”

She can’t look at them, not yet, and she saves face by turning to Linda whose own eyes are filled with mirth.

“Oh, a picnic,” Cecile squeals. “How sweet.”

“Yeah,” he replies, smiling. “It was sweet: the company and the dessert.”

She thinks of the dessert, the way he’d licked at her like she was the sweetest thing he’d ever had in his mouth; Iris has to avert her eyes from them again, lest they see her suddenly widened eyes and her speeding pulse, her legs crossing and uncrossing again.

Wally, bless his soul, takes up the conversation from there, turning it to something he’d figured out in one of his classes. Iris leans into Barry.

“You do too much,” she tells him quietly.

He nods in concedence. “You’re probably right.” Then one corner of his mouth lifts again. “But you can’t tell me you don’t like it.”

She pinches him at that and he yelps, rubbing at his arm.

“I’m gonna hurt you later,” she threatens, stretching up to whisper it in his ear.

He licks his lips, eyes blazing. “You promise?”

She punches him lightly on the arm and he responds with a kiss to her cheek.

They fall into individual conversations after that. Plates disappear and more food appears; champagne glasses are taken away or refilled. Iris eats on most of whatever’s put in front of her, but she drinks slowly since it is still a school night. She’s half-listening to Linda and Dan tell her parents about some trip that they’re interested in taking to Vietnam, where all of Dan’s grandparents still live. Her dad and Cecile are flirting a little bit, she thinks, which, weird. Still, she’s got an ear to the conversations that Barry is having. He starts off talking to Jessie, one of Wally’s friends that have been around since Wally started at CCU, about nanotechnology, something Iris has zero interest in, and they geek out about it for long enough that Iris gets bored of it. But that leads them to a conversation about which professors are still at CCU, where Barry also went for undergrad and grad, finishing both eight years ago. That tells her that Barry is about five years older than her, which Iris guesses she can see in his mannerisms, in how comfortable he is in his career and in his thoughts and even in the way he carries his body.

Wally takes Barry’s attention away from Jessie after a while. Barry moves away from Iris enough that he can focus on whatever Wally’s saying. It takes his arm from her chair but he maintains contact by planting his hand on her bare thigh, thumb rubbing against her lightly. She can only hear snippets of their conversation, words their deeper voices, though whispered, can’t hide. She hears, at one point, “I think your sister is the loveliest woman I’ve ever known, in temperament and beauty, and I’m here for as long as she’ll have me.”

She doesn’t think she was supposed to hear that,

(although, she’ll wonder later that night if, purposefully, Barry had said it loud enough for her to do so).

Still, she does, whether he meant for her to or not. And she grapples with it for a moment. Because he’s said something similar before. He’s told her that he’s whipped and that he likes her and that he wants. The reality is: she’s wondered if it were true. She knows better than anyone the power of words, how they’re used to not only tell stories, but to tell lies, to manipulate, to coerce. And of course she doesn’t think that Barry would do any of those things, but she’d thought that his words had been just...words, pretty things to make her feel good.

(Okay, so maybe that it’s really true, either. But it’s been easier to take him at face value, to pen this story based on her own feelings, not always realizing that Barry’s just as much of a character here, that his dialogue matches the action, the imagery, foreshadowing whatever it is that’s really happening here.)

So saying this to her brother, however, privately and in the seriousness she knows is accompanied by his furrowed eyebrows and pursed mouth...well, that crystalizes it for her. Her reaction, though unsurprising in its intensity (because everything about this with him has been intense), is abrupt. Her entire body seizes up with, god, feeling, with emotions she’s been, apparently, cultivating since the moment he asked her to dance. She goes hot at the same time that she physically shivers, with her own words unspoken, with feelings suddenly realized, with raw passion, with all you gotta do is say yes; don't deny what you feel, let me undress you, baby; open up your mind and just rest; i'm about to let you know, you make me so...

She silently downs the rest of her drink, looking around the room to see if anyone has noticed her eyes darting to and fro, literally on the edge of a breakdown. She takes a big breath and wonders what she should do about this inconvenient revelation.

Barry turns to her, that same soft smile on his face. But, noticing what he perceives as her solemnity, he pulls from his conversation and slides his hand up her thigh and over her hip to settle on her waist. Her skin tingles at his touch.

“You alright? You’re not talking much.”

“Yeah,” she nods, lips turning up, hoping he can’t see the slight bit of panic she’s feeling. “Yeah. You? Surviving the interrogation?”

“They haven’t thrown me out yet, so I think so.”

She gives him a quiet laugh. But then he goes a little thoughtful too, licking his lips and staring at her. He reaches out to push a lock of hair behind her ear, and then he keeps his hand on her, running along the side of her face, down until he’s holding her by the back of her neck, his thumb still rubbing along the apples of her cheeks. He doesn’t look away, blinking as if to steady her features.

“What?” she questions, a bit nervously, wondering if he can see what she’s just realized in her features. He always looks at her as if he can, as if he can read her. He doesn’t speak for a moment, then,

“You’re really pretty.”

Iris scrunches her nose a little. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know, I just… you seem kind of far in your head right now and I know that compliments always make you blink back into the moment.” He gives a small grin. “Or make you blush.”

“I’m Black,” she counters. “I don’t blush.”

“Hmm,” he hums, grin widening. “Maybe you don’t get red like me, but you blush.” He runs his thumb across her bottom lip, tracing the plump curve. “Your eyes look sort of blown and you bite this lip and,” he leans closer, speaking close to her ear, “I can practically see your breathing get deeper.”

Iris decides that it’s only because of his thumb on her mouth that she doesn’t complete each of these steps he’s outlined. Instead, she circles her hand around his wrist and gives him a frown against his thumb.

“I feel like I’m at a disadvantage here,” she reveals. “You do make me blush, just like you said, but I feel like you’re always so, so…”

She lets the sentiment taper off, not wanting to truly acknowledge that she feels like she’s the one stepping out of her comfort zone, the one hanging off the ledge. But he chuckles, the sound connoting more incredulity than humor.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Her brows furrow, briefly confused. “Bear…”

“Do you think I’m composed, Iris?”

She snaps back, not liking his tone. “Well you’re always so goddamn smug and…”

His kiss cuts her off. Somehow, he’s still mindful of the mixed company, she assumes, because it’s a kiss like earlier: with some tongue, but still quick and nothing particularly distasteful. Even still, she tries to chase after him, to deepen the kiss, because she really just can’t help it where he’s concerned. When he pulls back, he resumes running his thumb along her mouth, and she knows that her lipstick is officially fucked.

“I’m not composed, Iris,” he tells her, eyes darting across her face. He, at least, lowers his voice so that they aren’t making a scene. “I’m, literally, a fucking mess around you. I don’t know, I'm just trying to make you think I’m confident, so you don’t think I’m too boring or, or before you realize that there’s someone better out there for you.”

He holds her gaze, blue-green eyes keeping her captive. It’s all she can do to keep from falling into him, from blurting out her newfound revelation. It’s all she can do to not weep at the fact that he’s apparently in this too, that she isn’t the only one losing her shit right now.

“Iris, you asked me what I was doing to you. And I told you it’s nothing that you aren’t doing to me. And that’s the truth. Whatever you got, I'm probably so far past that already.”

The words get stuck, then, the song that’s been playing in her head since she saw him this evening, since she’s thought of what it would be like to be desired by someone like this, since she was a little girl dreaming, the sound like loving you has taken time, take time; but I always knew you could be mine, the melody one that skips in tune with her heart every time Barry makes these grand declarations like he’s just done.

He gives her another peck on the mouth, likely figuring that she’s lost all mental function. He isn’t wrong, and when Wally calls for his attention again, he gives her one more caress before turning back to him.

Still dazed, Iris turns and locks eyes with Linda who’s gazing at her in concern.

“You okay, Iris?” She eyes Barry over her shoulder. “That seemed pretty intense.”

“Can we talk?” Because Linda and Dan had been like this, enamored with each other. And Iris just wants to get it right. “Not right now, but later in the week?”

Linda nods. “Yeah, okay. Of course we can.” She takes a hold of both of Iris’s hands and gives a good squeeze. “But I see you retreating right now. Don’t. We’ll talk later, but don’t space out here. Stay in this moment; stay in this feeling.”

She looks up at her best friend. Iris can admit that she thought she knew love. She’s seen it in others, she’s written about it. But feeling it, at least what she thinks might be the beginning of it, is overwhelming. So she attempts to do as her friend asks and stay in the moment.

The parents leave around 10, with strict instructions to not tear apart the restaurant. The Parks have offered the place ‘til about 1, likely even later. With the tables pushed back, white strobe lights turned on, and the DJ from CCU already set up, the place could almost be mistaken for a club. More of Wally’s friends, or at least, more people he knows from school, those who weren’t invited to the more intimate dinner part of the night, start to file in and an off-duty cop that their dad has hired is manning the door. Iris’s 21st birthday had consisted of her own dinner at Golden’s and a night out at some bar downtown, but she thinks that Wally has got the right idea, making it more exclusive like this.

In an effort to “stay in the moment” (and not freak out about the fact that she’s officially acknowledged that she’s fallen into some sort of infatuation with Barry Allen), Iris orders her second of the birthday cocktail and sits down at the bar alongside Dan and Linda to watch the younger adults dance to the music. A tall woman in a pretty gold dress has a camera looped around her neck and is taking pictures of her classmates, all in their white, gold, or black party outfits. She’d gotten a few family portraits earlier, some of Linda and Iris, and one of Barry and Iris that had been meant to be pretty simple, them standing next to each other with Iris leaned in close, Barry holding on to her waist. But he’s standing just slightly behind her, with his big hand spread over her hip, and he’s looking down at her as she smiles softly for the camera. The photographer had shown them the photo after and it was the first time she had seen them together, the first time she can maybe see what he means when he tells her that he’s so far past wherever she is right now. But, and Iris can see it now, is feeling it now: he may not be as far past her as he thinks.

Now, Linda and Iris are the de facto chaperones for the night, a task that Linda is taking seriously as she hops up every few minutes to make sure no one is tearing up her parents’ place. Barry, who’d been talking to her dad before he left, strolls over to her, expression calm. He walks right into her, positioning himself between her legs, planting his hands right on her hips.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Iris, in the process of looping her arm around his neck, pulls back until only her hand is circling his throat. “What are you sorry for?”

“I told you that I would,” he waves a hand as he tries to find his words, “that I would give you the time that you need. And I told myself that I would take it easy, that I wouldn’t pressure you. But I think earlier, I, I was…”

“Wait, no.” She shakes her head, stopping him. She has to lean in closer, because the DJ has just started up and the music is loud in the relatively small space, in addition to her currently drunk brother and his friends singing along loudly to the song. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just trying to figure out what it all means. This is, this is new to me, and I’m just...”

He nods slowly when she trails off, flicking his pink tongue out to swipe across his mouth. Iris follows the action, eyes darting up when his lips start to curve up.

“I’m here until you figure it out.” He steps closer, closing the distance between them. Her legs wrap around his waist automatically, hands sliding up until they’re holding onto her hips. “And in the meantime, we can get a little tipsy and make out like we’re 21 again.”

“Oh, so you did a lot of drunk making out at 21?”

His eyes go big. “Of course not. Just maybe once or twice, you know.” He taps her hip. “And with no one as pretty as you.”

Iris barks out a laugh. “Nice save.”

He grins wide. “Yeah. I thought so too.”

He orders another drink too, and Allegra smirks at the both of them, her version of a smile, as she sets their drinks down.

Iris grabs her drink and raises the glass. “Let’s toast.”

“Okay,” Barry agrees. “What are we toasting to?”

“New relationships?” she tries.

“Sure,” he nods. “And to figuring it out.”

They clink glasses.

She doesn’t know how long it takes Barry to get her alone in a dark corner, grinding on one another to the music. They sit at the bar for a little while longer, until they finish their cocktails. They order another, though Iris asks for more of whatever mixers are being used than champagne. They don’t try to talk much since they can’t really hear one another without shouting at the other. Instead, they watch the younger crowd dance for a while. Iris turns her chair all the way around so that she can keep an eye, and Barry sits down beside her. He’s turned to the side so that he can crowd her, legs wide, both of his hands touching her.

At one point, Linda stands up and walks through the crowd in her tall black strappy heels and leather pants. She straightens the sheer white blouse she’s got tucked into her pants and grabs the microphone from the DJ.

“Alright,” she starts amidst groans from the crowd when the music is cut. “Oh hush it.” She searches out the crowd until she finds Wally and then she smiles at him. “So Iris and I really want to thank you all for coming out tonight; she’s not up here because speaking in front of crowds isn’t really her thing, but I know I speak for us both when I say that we’re so happy to celebrate my honorary baby brother. Get drunk, but don’t forget to tip the bartender. Have fun, but not enough that you tear my parents’ shit up. And as we’re drinking and dancing, let’s remember the beautiful man that we’re here to love on. I’m so incredibly lucky that you let me into your life when I made my way into Iris’s. Happy birthday and I love you, Wally.”

Wally blows a kiss at Linda and then turns to catch Iris’s eyes. She sees the sheen of unshed tears in Wally’s and he mouths an “I love you” at her that she immediately mouths back. Up front, Linda starts to move away from the mic and then comes back. “And one round of shots on me!”

The music starts back up and the partiers get back into the groove. Iris and Barry sit for moments longer, until the music changes to something lower, sultrier, the lyrics seductive, i-i recognize the butterflies inside me, ah; sense is gonna be made tonight, tonight; all you gotta do is say yes, the beat one that she can feel in every part of her. Barry must feel it too.

“Dance with me,” he requests, standing, and she nods, taking his hand and following him out. He finds them a spot off to the opposite end of the DJ, further away from where the crowd of dancers have also begun to pair off, to fall victim to the beat of this song. Barry stands with his back against the wall, near where a curtain hangs shadowed from the others, and he turns Iris until her ass is pressed firmly against his front.

She begins to rock, winding her hips in easy circles, letting her body learn the rhythm of the song, all you gotta do is say yes, letting her body get lost in the music, lost in the crooned commands as the artists sing, don’t deny what you feel, let me undress you, baby. He matches her, swaying with her, touching on her as he does. He holds onto her, one hand pressed just beneath her breasts, the other right above her pelvis. She lets her head fall back onto his shoulder, wrapping her arm behind her around his neck. Barry leans down and presses a kiss to her cheek, her ear, tugging at the lobe with his teeth, with his tongue, sucking on her.

“Hmmm,” she purrs, grinding back against him, humming along, open up your mind and just rest; i’m about to let you know that you make me so, so...

“I’ve been watching you,” Barry tells her, whispering it into her ear over the music. “In this dress all fucking night. Do you know what it’s been doing to me?”

She shakes her head in response to his question.

“It’s been driving me crazy,” he responds. “Wally’s little friends have been watching you, probably wanting to touch you like I’ve been wanting to do all night.”

She doesn’t stop dancing, hips moving slow to one side, slower to the other, Barry moving with her. He grinds behind her, holding her tight against him. She can feel him start to swell against her ass and she closes her eyes at the feeling, at the sound of his voice, rough and arousal-soaked, speaking in her ear.

“You walked up to me on the street with this leg out.” He rubs down as much of her thigh as he can reach and then back up. “Your skin glowing and that sexy mouth of yours smiling at me.”

He tips his fingers back up her thigh and he reaches under her dress and across her pelvis. Her legs spread as she bends her knees, still in time to the music, but it gives him more access. The panties she’s got on are black and high cut, and Barry caresses her bare bikini line. Her grip tightens on his neck, bringing them even closer, making it easier to slide his fingers even further into her panties.

“Barry,” she whispers, and she knows he can’t hear her. But he doesn’t need to because he taps her on her pelvis, his longest finger catching on her clit.

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I’m not gonna finger fuck you out here.”

Iris realizes, as he says it, that maybe she wouldn’t hate it; because the singers are saying, you make me so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, and he does, make her so so so...and she’s feeling it, feeling him, wondering what people might see if they looked over, wondering why the thought of it makes her stomach clench, a little in embarrassment, a little more in something that makes the clench move lower, her sex clamping around where she wants his fingers, where she wants his dick.

She turns, wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him. It gets deep fast, with Iris licking into Barry’s mouth and Barry returning her kiss with fervor. She grips at the hair at the nape of his neck, and he reaches down, gripping a firm handful of her ass to bring her closer. She moans into his mouth, catching his answering groan.

She pulls back. “Come with me.”

She takes his hand and leads him through the crowd. No one is paying much attention to them; Wally is still in the middle of the floor, dancing against a tall good looking dark-skinned man. Linda is out there too, Dan dancing his normal one-two step move as Linda leans close to him, her arms looped around his neck. Iris takes Barry to the back, down the hall that leads past the kitchen. The bathrooms are there, and Iris checks to make sure no one is coming before she pushes through the door and leads him inside. She takes him to the last and the largest of the three stalls, past the three gold circular mirrors above clean white sinks; her shoes are loud on the black marble floors.

“You know,” Barry says as she locks the stall door behind her. He grabs for her, clutching her hand. “You claimed it was me who got you to do stuff like this, but you brought me back here.”

She lifts her eyebrow at him, even as she moves past him to lean against the wall. “You saying you don’t want me in here?”

She positions herself so that her leg is peeking out from the long slit in her dress. She doesn’t know what’s gotten into her.

Except maybe she does.

The weight of her earlier revelation sits heavy on her, and the song that’s been playing, the you make me so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, sits just as heavy, pushing on her thighs, and on her heart too; and Iris needs to do something with it, needs to let go of some of this feeling, to get out the parts that might start to be too much, that are already beginning to flood her, so that she can make sense of what’s really there.

So she looks Barry in the eye, runs her manicured nails over her throat, down through her cleavage, over her belly until she can touch at the top of her thigh. She opens the skirt, showing him the panties he’d been playing with earlier, the lace around her waist, the thin fabric that shows exactly what it’s supposed to be covering.

“Bear?”

He’s over to her in two long strides. He plants both of his hands on the wall behind her, crowding her.

“I want you wherever you want me,” he tells her. “On your couch, on a blanket in the woods, in as many places in this restaurant as you’ll let me fuck you in.”

He licks his lips, but he doesn’t move to touch her. Instead, he thrusts his hips against her so that she can feel him, hard and solid against her pelvis.

“This is what you do to me, baby. I think about you and I’m like this.” He pushes against her one more time and then tells her to “turn around.”

She does. And the next few moments are like something out of a film, how rushed they are, how passionate. He presses her against the wall and touches her as he rubs his dick on her ass, slipping his hand into the top of her dress to play with her breasts. Her bra is made of the same thin material as her panties and he alternates between squeezing the whole of her breast and then pinching at the nipples, and then moving to the other to do more of the same. He kisses her wherever his mouth catches her: in her hair, on her cheek, on her shoulders when her dress starts to slide. They’re both breathing heavily; Iris is grinding back onto Barry where he’s so goddamn hard behind her, his sex swollen and his chest covering her. Her hands are clenching and unclenching into fists as she bangs lightly on the wall, moaning deep in her throat, humming her pleasure, you make me so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so...

Iris hears the clank of his belt unbuckling. And her pussy is ready for him, slick and throbbing as she looks behind her to see him shoving his pants past his knees, gripping and then tearing open a condom he’s gotten from somewhere, caressing his own thick dick as he rolls it on. He leans over and kisses her, wet and sloppy, holding her in this position until he’s done devouring her mouth. Then he turns her back to the wall and lifts her dress, draping it above her waist. The cool air hits her heated flesh, and that contact, and Barry’s fingers spreading her thighs, and Barry pushing her panties to the side, rubbing along her slit to make sure she’s ready for him, it makes her moan loud and long.

Barry pushing into her cuts her off.

Her heels put her at the perfect height to arch her back into him, to take him in.

“Shit, Iris,” he murmurs. He pulls out, pushes back in, pulls out to the tip, pushes back in, and Iris knocks her forehead against the wall. “All the time,” he tells her, “I, I think about being in this pussy all the time.”

Her pussy opens for him, when he says that, letting him in deeper. Barry finds a rhythm, short strokes first, shallow and brief; and then longer strokes that bury him in, that smacks his pelvis against her ass. She loves the feel of him behind her, even if she misses being able to touch him, but the feel of his kissing on her and touching on her and fucking so hard into her more than makes up for it.

And then the door opens. Iris hears the music grow louder for several seconds and the unsteady clack of multiple pairs of heels and the drunken laughter of the women walking.

Iris whimpers, the sound turning into a moan because Barry doesn’t stop, just keeps riding her, gripping her waist tight. She holds in the moan she wants to let out, holds in how much she wants to slap her hand against the wall since she can’t. Barry angles himself closer to her.

“I think you like it, Iris,” he murmurs into her ear. “As soon as that door opened, you got wetter, baby.”

“Ahhh,” she breathes heavily as he pumps into her.

“You like it when you could get caught, huh? When someone might hear you?”

Iris shuts her eyes tight, shakes her head, and then bites down on her lip to keep from yelling out. But he feels so good, so thick and hard, and the feeling’s curling thick in her belly, thicker in her walls quivering around him. And he might not necessarily be wrong, that she likes it, the possibility of being caught, the fact that she could be heard. The loud laughter she’d heard when the door opened has quieted to softer giggles now; maybe they think she’s so into this that she doesn’t notice that the door never opened again, but they’re still there, amused by what’s happening. And from the way she keeps tightening on Barry’s dick, the way she’s pushing back against him, harder and harder, she’s more than into this.

“No? You don’t like this?” Barry questions and he shifts her dress even higher up her waist, pressing her harder into the wall.

“Fuck,” she grunts at the contact.

He gives a short, breathy chuckle. “Don’t worry. I like it too.” He reaches up and pulls her lip from between her teeth. “Don’t hold back. Let them hear you. Louder, baby.” He keeps rocking into her, as he moves that same hand down her chin, down the line of her neck, until he wraps a hand around the base of her throat. “Moan for me louder. Let them know who’s fucking you in here, baby.”

“Oohhh, yes,” she moans, only a touch louder.

He rubs a hand over her exposed ass cheek, softly, reverently. And then he pulls her hand back and smacks her hard.

“Barryyyyy!” She yells. Her rhythm falters and her head falls back against his shoulder. The arch in her back deepens and it pushes him even deeper.

“Just like that,” Barry groans.

“Damn,” she hears one of the girls in the bathroom breathe.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” another says.

“After I’m done texting Chris to see if I can come over after this.”

There is another round of laughs and Barry laughs again against her throat. “They like what I’m doing to you too.”

There’s a light thin layer of sweat on her skin, the sheen on her face and her chest, down her thighs. She’s wet, (god, she always gets so wet with him), and she’s dripping out around his dick. Her dress is probably going to be ruined.

But none of that matters. All that does is the sensations she’s feeling. Sex with Barry always takes up every one of her senses, and this is no different: she can taste the champagne still on her tongue, the mint from his when he’d kissed her; she can smell the citrus of the lemongrass on his skin, the rose water on her own, the heady scent of their arousal filling her nostrils; she can’t physically see much, with her eyes constantly shut tight, but she can picture it, picture them, his pants down at his ankles, legs as wide as they can go, her dress hiked up over her hips, the long length of him sliding in and out of her soaked pussy from behind; the feel of her breasts pressed into the cool wall, his fingers pressed into her throat, her hand clutching onto that same wrist; the soft sound of their breathing, the girls speaking softly, the music still playing, matching her cries, singing ah, ah, yea-yeah, yeah, yea-yeah; oh right there, right there, right there; right there, right there; right there, oh, oh, mm, mmm.

“Tell me what you want, Iris,” Barry groans. “Tell me, tell them, fuck, baby…”

“Harder,” she says, wanting to come, needing him to get her there. “Harder, Bear, fuck me…”

He does. He shifts again so that he can push all the way into her, riding her ass, and he long strokes into her, knocking against something that makes her quiver, harder and harder, a little bit faster, but always good, so good, so good, so, so, so…

“Barry.” Her orgasm hits her just as hard as he’s been doing. She doesn’t even realize it’s coming, not until her entire body seizes up, even her toes curl in her shoes, and she pushes back on Barry, squeezing him tight. It triggers his own and he grips her waist as he spills into her, the feel of his throbbing dick prolonging her climax, making her fall back into him until she’s completely spent.

“Did you, uh, do a lot of this when you were 21 and tipsy making out?”

Iris stands against the wall of the stall, looking down at her dress for stains, holding her underwear in her hands because she couldn’t stand the wet feel of them on her. The bathroom is quiet now, save for the faint music still coming from the front. She knows that they should hurry before someone else comes in, but she can’t really move yet.

Barry laughs as he shoves himself back into his pants and buckles back up. He’s already tied the condom up and flushed it down the toilet.

“God, no. The most I could get was a little over the shirt boob action.”

Iris shakes her head, a little fondly. “Please never say boob action again.”

“No?” He rubs his hand down the front of his sweater. “That’s not sexy?”

Iris shakes her head again as he walks back over to her. “Not even a little bit. That’s probably why you weren’t getting any.”

“You’re probably right. But I’ve upped my game now.”

Iris laughs. “You’ve upped your game?”

He nods, a goofy little grin on his face. He stops in front of her and takes one of her hands in his.

“Yeah. We did a little dancing, a little touching.” He wiggles his eyebrows and grabs at the panties in her hand, holding them up. “And I got you to fuck me in a bathroom.”

“Oh?” Iris watches as he puts the panties into his pockets. “You got me to fuck you?” She looks down at herself, and then sticks her leg out further. The slit of this dress, the shoes, the way the dress drapes her frame is undoubtedly a tongue-tier. Barry nods, swallows, and meets her gaze again, those eyes doing that graying thing she’s found she loves.

“Y-yeah. We can, uh, we can share the credit.”

Iris laughs out loud at that. “Come on,” she squeezes his hand and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s get out of here. We’re already gonna have to sneak out. What if those girls tell Wally? I can’t believe you had me doing all that.”

They leave the bathroom stall, heading for the door.

“It’s my game,” Barry replies, and Iris hides her laughter as they slip back into the party.

She looks for Wally to tell him that she’s leaving. Luckily, he’s at the bar, laughing with Allegra and the man he was dancing with earlier.

“Iris!” he shouts when he sees her. “Barry!”

Iris laughs as she steps into his open arms. “Are you having a good time, baby?”

“I’m having the best time.” He squeezes her. “I bet you are too.”

He looks over her shoulder at Barry and when she turns too, she sees a bit of color in his cheeks.

“What are you talking about?” she deflects.

Wally’s shrug is not at all sly. “I heard that someone was in the ladies’ room screaming out ‘Barry.’” He winks at Barry who goes even redder. “You should probably be glad Xuan and Theo think of you as a daughter.”

She rolls her eyes, even as she turns her head to hide her embarrassment. “We just came to tell you that we’re leaving. I’ve got class in the morning.”

“Of course,” Wally says, nodding. “And you’re both probably tired.”

“Okay, bye,” Iris starts to move out of his arms.

Wally laughs and tightens his arms around her. “I’m only kidding, big sis.” Then his smile turns softer and he casts another glance at Barry, before reaching down and cupping her cheek.

“This man is gone over you, Iris,” he says softly. “And I’m so happy for you. Nobody I know deserves a love like this more than you do.”

Iris gives him a smile and then another quick hug. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He pulls Barry in for a hug. “So good to officially meet you.”

“You too, man.”

And with that, Barry takes her hand and leads him out, and Iris follows beside him, overcome with what she’s feeling for him. She’d thought the sex might give her some space to think, but it’s only really just heightened it. They are still in the rising action of this story, gliding higher and higher on a diagram, climbing towards a climax she’s becoming excited to experience.

She’s only scared of what might happen when they come down from it.

All you gotta do is say yes

(Don't deny what you feel, let me)