#and even in adulthood like the last time i saw my best pals i remember struggling to breathe cause they were making plans

[missjosie27]

Control

Hey, guys!

So I’ve been working on a trade with my good pal @aleksia-aries-hogwartsmystery​ aka @thereluctantherosrose. She’s an amazing person and she drew a little gift for me this past week.

Here is my gift in return! A little fic featuring her MC, Barnaby, and plenty of angst xD

Aleksia Aries was not one who usually let life get her down. The beginning of the school year brought many challenges- the feud between the Haywood sisters, Merula’s increased anger (if such a thing were possible for the Slytherin girl) and desire for revenge, Charlie’s distance, not to mention a brand new curse that petrified people dead in their tracks. No, after years of experience in breaking the Cursed Vaults and the constant back and forth that usually occurred in her friend group, she could handle most things as long as she kept her nose to the grindstone and kept an upbeat attitude. At 5′3 with a curvaceous figure and pretty features, her personality and strength more than made up for lack of size.

Indeed, very few things could put the Gryffindor sixth year into a state. Which is what made breakfast all the more troubling. 

It started out normally enough. Though Aleksia and Rowan were girls they usually liked to sit among the boys at breakfast as it provided a great deal of entertainment. Today proved to be no different as Ben was studying defensive curses fervently while sipping his proclaimed newfound love for black coffee. Jae was idly playing with his porridge while counting his inventory stock for the day.

“How’s business today?” Aleksia grinned at him as she sat down at the table.

“Oh you know, the usual,” came the vague reply, not uncharacteristic for the Asian boy. “Just crunching the numbers.”

“You know, if you cared the same way about your marks as you do with your smuggling perhaps you’d have received more than just four O.W.L.’s last year.”

“My future lies outside the realm of academic achievement.”

He gave a wink and went back to counting his numbers when the sound of wings flapping caused the table to look up.

“Ah, the morning post is here,” Rowan said with satisfaction. Evidently, Ben was unaware of this fact as he whipped his wand as though a threat were bearing down on him from above.

“Relax, Ben,” Rowan said with a raised eyebrow. “There’s no one trying to kill Aleksia at the present moment.”

“You never know that,” came the stern reply, so characteristic of the ‘new Ben’.

“Pretty sure you need to ease up on the coffee there mate,” Charlie laughed. “Stuff has you jumpier than a bowtruckle. Ah...yes thank you mum.”

He caught a parcel from Errol, the Weasley Family owl, which was evidently some sort of fudge that the illustrious Mrs. Weasley had baked. 

“One can never be too prepared,” Ben said, burying his head back in the book. 

Aleksia rolled her eyes at her so called ‘protector’. Her long time friend’s insistence on shadowing her everywhere she went was irritating to say the least. The once timid, shy boy had seemingly forgotten that it was she that frequently protected him not to mention having faced monumental danger time and time again in breaking the curses. How quickly one forgot. Even so, she still considered him a friend and let most of his intrusive proclamations go. 

All of a sudden, a letter dropped in front of her which was rather unexpected. She had written to her mother two days ago and wasn’t due for a reply for another day at least. She then saw that the handwriting on the front was not that of her mum but of her father.

Her stomach dropped like an anchor in the sea as she reluctantly took the letter and stroked her snowy owl, Pepper, allowing her to drink from her goblet. Willing herself not to tremble, she lid open the envelope and withdrew its contents. What she read was possibly the most frightening thing she could have imagined. 

Daughter, 

I am writing this to you in relation to your coming of age. Though our interactions are sparse I am still your father and therefore I play a role in your future whether you care to acknowledge that fact or not. 

You are sixteen years of age and approaching the age of adulthood in our world. Therefore, it is high time that you look towards the most important aspect of the society in which we live: furthering the family line. I have reached out to several families of noble stock and many have expressed interest in a possible match. In particular Lady Equestria Rowle has a son your age and has arranged for you two to meet in order to get better acquainted. The marriage itself will occur shortly afterwards.

Do NOT attempt to defy me, daughter. It is the destiny of every pure blood witch and wizard to keep the line free from the rotten influences unworthy to wield magic. In order to ensure your compliance, I am sending your cousin Henry to fetch you and I expect that you will not give him trouble.

Regards,

Your Father

Aleksia felt her body go numb as she stared out into space, a concoction of rage and disbelief surging through her. How...how could he do this to her? William Aries was a hard, stern, prejudiced man and had injured her and her mother multiple times over. But never before had this sort of control been attempted on her person. Before, he was a distant figure, hard to ignore to be sure, but far away enough in mind to live life without much interference.

That time was seemingly over. And the proof of her father’s seriousness was in her cousin. Henry was just as abusive, if not more so than William and there was no doubt Durmstrang had strengthened his love for all things dark and cruel. 

Fear was unbecoming of a Gryffindor, but even the bravest carried fears. For Aleksia, it was the shadows of her father’s family. 

Suddenly feeling extremely nauseous, she rose from the table and left abruptly. 

“I have to go.”

She barely registered the looks on her friend’s faces as she stormed out of the Great Hall, nor the concerned expression on a large, Slytherin male who’s eyes followed her path. She didn’t even notice when she accidentally passed through one of the ghosts while searching for one of the private closets that Hogwarts seemed to specialize in having. The shivers the imprint of an undead person could impart paled in comparison to fear of being forced to marry a person her father deemed suitable for her.

In the darkness, tears fell silently onto the ground.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aleksia remained subdued for the entirety of the day. Her friends noticed but no one commented, at least not at first. Even her longtime rival, Merula seemed a bit perturbed that their usual banter was absent during potions class. But it was who Penny looked especially worried, especially when the duck face Tonks made at her failed to elicit a chuckle. She cornered her after Herbology.

“Aleksia, is everything, okay?”

Forcing a smile, the young Gryffindor tried to put on a convincing face.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine, Penny. I’m just a bit distracted today. No big deal.”

The blonde remained unconvinced, however.

“I’ve known you for six years. And there’s not a day I can remember where you didn’t at least say hi to me in Herbology. There’s something up, I know it.”

“She’s right you know,” Rowan cut in, her arms clutching books but with the same worry etched on her features. “I haven’t seen you this upset since your first year. And if it’s anything to with-”

“It’s not Jacob,” Aleksia blurted out and there was no denying the sincerity in her tone.

Rowan swallowed. The two being best friends, there was only one thing that could instill such fear and loathing that she knew of.

“You don’t mean…”

“That’s exactly who I mean!” the young female Gryffindor couldn’t help but reveal. “My father is hell bent on marrying me off to some bloody tosser that I don’t even know against my will and I have no say in it whatsoever!”

The outburst was sudden but not expected as Rowan gave a fearful gasp and Penny’s eyes widened.

“Aleksia, I thought you and your father were estranged. You told me you barely talked.”

The black haired girl sighed angrily.

“You’re right. But he still has his ways of making his presence known. He still sends letters and has threatened more than once to pull me out of Hogwarts if I didn’t comply with what he wanted. Thankfully mum and Dumbledore have prevented that from happening but it’s different this time.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s sending my cousin Henry after me.”

Rowan’s face became quite ashen. As the resident best friend of the Hogwarts curse breaker she knew quite well the stories of her infamous cousin and his penchant for cruelty. 

“We’ll think of something. Let’s come up with a plan. There’s no way we’re going to let your dad or cousin do this to you.”

“It’s essentially kidnapping,” Penny agreed. “And I’m with Rowan. We can prevent this from happening and we will.”

A small smile returned to Aleksia’s pretty features but the anxiety in her eyes did not abate. Contrary to her usual social butterfly personality, this was 

“Thanks, guys. But I need to think this over alone for a while. I’ll come back upstairs to the common room and meet you there, okay Rowan?”

Both girls could sense she needed private time and nodded their heads respectfully. Penny gave her a big hug in the meantime, reminding her that if she needed anything to not hesitate. For her part, Aleksia made her way over to the courtyard to gather her thoughts.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The weather, though chilly, was also sunny, a rarity for Scotland this time of year and it allowed Aleksia to try and calm her nerves as her mood teeter tottered from angry to one of immense fear. Though she had told Rowan and a few others about Henry, no one besides her could know what he was truly capable of. Horrid flashbacks surged through her mind as painful memories of being kicked, bit, slapped, and knocked down overwhelmed her senses. Aleksia was the brave and bold Gryffindor that never backed down from anything but if there were two people in this world that could instill fear in her heart and one of them was on the way.

There was a second aspect to this that remained unspoken. Though not mentioned specifically in the letter from her father, the implication and the name ‘Equestria Rowle’ rang enough of a bell. She was married to Thorfinn Rowle, a suspected Death Eater that was never formally charged with any crime, but the Gryffindor teen was well acquainted with that circle and the fact they had a son in her year, Mortimer. Aleksia didn’t interact with him much but Barnaby’s eyes often darkened when his name came up, something not easily achieved with the happy go lucky Slytherin.

Aleksia sat down and smoothed her skirt on the edge of the fountain, mentally slapping herself. How could she have forgotten Barnaby in all of this? He was also familiar with that life given his own parents were Death Eaters. Would he know of a solution? Was he not owed an explanation? She hadn’t spoken a word to him all day and he was probably concerned maybe even hurt because of it. But it also wasn’t a coincidence that Mortimer was giving her sly looks in potions and that only added to the tension.

Burying her head temporarily in her hands, she was at a loss at how to figure this out. What was she to do? How was she supposed to tell her current boyfriend? Given that her father was still technically a legal guardian, could Dumbledore step in as he had before?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar tone, one that simultaneously brought fear and rage in her heart.

“My, my you’re predictable,” spoke the smarmy, sarcastic voice of her cousin. “Finding you was easier than I expected.”

Standing across from her, was a tall teenage boy with slightly tousled blond hair, blue eyes, and a permanent smirk plastered across his features. He wore a dark trench coat and leather boots alongside a holster that contained his wand. Though his face was alight with energy, it was not the positive kind as his cold, sea eyes glinted with a maliciousness Aleksia was all too familiar with. 

“What...why...how are you here so quickly?” she demanded, rising from the edge of the fountain.

“It was a simple matter of asking the headmaster for a favor,” Henry shrugged lazily. “Your father knows him, you see, and they share certain values. Values that are also prized at Durmstrang.” He turned his head and looked up at Gryffindor Tower. “A shame that such traits aren’t shared at Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts is a better place with one less bigot inside its walls,” Aleksia shot back. 

He turned back towards his cousin and gave another smirk.

“Simple retort from a simple, naive girl. Hogwarts couldn’t teach you proper wizarding pride so now, your father will. You had best take a good, long glance at this place, dear cousin. Because you won’t be coming back any time soon.” 

“You can tell ‘father’ to stick it up his arse. I’m not going anywhere, least of all into an arranged marriage.”

This did not deter Henry in the slightest. Though his hand was placed on the holster, he made no move to take out his wand and began moving towards Aleksia with the same cruel smile still on his face.

“You don’t want to fight me, dear cousin. The fact of the matter is uncle wants this done quickly and I have little time to get into a war of words with you. And given past circumstances, I think you’ll remember how this usually goes.”

Aleksia didn’t have to ask what that comment meant. As children, Henry delighted in torturing her and causing fights, which he usually won. 

“Come with me without delay and without fuss, Aleksia,” he told her, stopping three feet in front of her. “And I promise I won’t hurt you...much.”

It was not a threat, it was a promise. One that the blond fully intended to carry out. Being only 5’3 there was no way to outrun him. Her back against the metaphorical wall, there were only two realistic choices for Aleksia and surrendering to her sadistic cousin was out of the question. Therefore, she took a cue from Mad Eye Moody. Quick as a flash, she drew her wand and threw a blasting hex that caught Henry off guard, sending him crashing back twenty feet and onto his back.

He was up quickly, the smirk no longer there, replaced by a vicious snarl.

“So you choose the hard way,” he spoke with quiet rage. “That’s fine, I’ve been looking for an excuse to try out a few new spells anyway. Who better than my favorite punching bag?”

A half insane look appeared in his sea blue eyes as he yelled out.

“Debilito!” 

A white jet of light struck Aleksia in the leg and immediately the area became so weak, it became difficult to stand.

“Neat little trick I picked up at school,” Henry boasted. “Can rob your opponent of most of their stamina and strength. It’ll make this that much easier.”

“You never know when to shut up do you?” the Gryffindor shot back. “Petrificus Totalus!”

The purple spell missed and just as quickly Henry was summoning another curse, this time a sickly, orange color and silent. Aleksia didn’t even want to know what it was. Henry always had an affinity for the Dark Arts and clearly Durmstrang furthered that interest and ambition. Nevertheless, she was able to roll out of the way despite the weakness in her leg and fire off a response.

“Stuepfy!”

Henry blocked it and rushed forward.

“Obtusiore Nouacula!”

“Protego!”

The deadly curse held the force of a hot, blunt knife, throwing Aleksia backwards. She briefly saw a streak of purple flame and it cut into her side but avoided the large majority of its damage. However, she barely had time to recover as Henry kept sending spell after spell against her shield.

“You know,” he called out to her. “It really is pitiful you became the black sheep of the family. A noble line of wizards sullied by your association with blood traitors, mudbloods, and all the rest of the scum that plagues our world. Your affinity for them has made you weak...and uncle won’t stand for it a second longer.”

She tried to ignore his taunts and focus on Mad Eye’s training of constant vigilance and always maintaining a proper stance. She tried to focus on what Barnaby had taught her about mixing her spell arsenal and not becoming too predictable. Even so, she couldn’t resist lashing out against the person who made her life hell during their youth.

“Fuck you! I don’t need your approval for who I am and what I believe nor do I have to look down on other people to feel good about myself. If that’s what it takes to be a part of the ‘family’...” 

She reinforced her shield while digging into her stance

“...then I was never part of it in the first place. You don’t have the power to make me do anything, especially marrying that ghastly Slytherin.”

“Oh, but I can,” Henry grinned evilly. “Because now I do have that happy power. Consider this an early wedding present, and my personal swansong to you, Aleksia!”

He pointed his wand directly at her forehead and shouted out ‘Imperio!”

The spell shattered her shield into a million pieces and hit its target without fail. Immediately, a gentleness washed over Aleksia’s mind, feeling as though she were drifting on a fluffy, cloud of some sort, all cares washed away.

Come with me, a familiar voice spoke to her from somewhere far away, its tone delightful and reasonable. You’re going to be married and further our family’s heritage. This is the life of every pure-blood worth their magic. It will be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

She didn’t bother to try and argue, merely nodding in reply.

Now let us go back to England. Your father awaits us. He is eagerly awaiting your arrival

Aleksia’s body began to follow the order but her mind suddenly began to fight back, knowing full well what awaited her if she followed the direction.

No

Yes, cousin. You must. Come with me.

She fought harder this time as the gentle, fluffy feeling began to evaporate.

I said no 

You don’t have a choice

I won’t do it

You will do it. Take my hand now or else

“I said...I WON’T GO!!” Aleksia screamed. Suddenly, the curse was gone and she raised her wand at the unsuspecting Henry.

“Meteolo!” she bellowed.

Just like that a violent hail and snow storm began pelting Henry relentlessly, a powerful wind throwing him like a rag doll into the air and back onto the cold, hard ground. But Aleksia didn’t stop there, she levitated his body into the air and slammed it against the wall with a sickening crack. 

Running towards her tormentor, the Gryffindor teen only saw red as she began to relentlessly kick and punch every square inch of her cousin’s body, barely registering his broken nose or his bleeding forehead. 

It was for every fight…

Every tormentous incident…

All of the damage and suffering she had endured under his hand.

The descent into raw fury and revenge knew no bounds as her fists became runaway trains with no end in sight to their carnage. They may not have stopped at all until once again, intervention saved Aleksia from a worse outcome.

Strong but soft hands lifted her up and away from Henry’s body. The scent of fresh laundry and sandalwood filled the nostrils.

“Aleksia don’t,” came the deep, gentle tone of Barnaby Lee.

Red vision was replaced by reality as her heart rate began to slow and her proper senses returned. She stopped struggling.

“Barnaby?”

“I know you pain you’re feeling and I know it feels good. But you’re better than that. He’s not worth it.”

Only the gentle words of her equally gentle yet equally as powerful boyfriend could assuage the raw emotion that ran through her. Her conscience agreed with him, however a strong part of her wanted to continue the assault.

“I-he…” she sputtered. “Do you have any idea who he is? What he’s done?!”

“Yes,” came the answer. “And that’s exactly why you have to stop what you’re doing. You don’t want to become the thing you’re fighting against.”

Slowly he set Aleksia down but he did not let her go, instead forcing her to witness the damage she had wrought on her cousin. Henry’s face was bloody and bruised, with one eye already swelling shut. Coughing heavily, he stood up but staggered as he did so, breaking into another wicked smile.

“So this is the famous Barnaby Lee my cousin adores so much?” he slurred. “I’m disappointed. Someone of your stock should know a blood traitor when they see one.”

The burly Slytherin’s eyes darkened, but he did not reach for his wand.

“Leave,” he said quietly. “Leave or I’ll break you in half.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Henry was not a small man but he was no match in physical strength compared to Barnaby and he was certainly in no shape to take on a second powerful opponent in a duel. Slowly, the blond slinked away.

“This isn’t over,” he said, spitting blood on the ground and then he hurried off and out of sight.

After a few moments of silence, both teenagers let off silent sighs. Barnaby had still not let go of his girlfriend, but the truth is she didn’t want to. 

“How’d you know I was here?” she asked softly.

“Penny told me you were alone in the courtyard. I was wondering what was bothering you all day and for a while I was worried I did something wrong….”

He looked back over to the spot where Henry last stood.

“...but I had no idea it was that bad.”

“You-you couldn’t have known it’s not your fault,” Aleksia told him as she turned and buried herself into his chest. “I-I’m sorry I lost control I just…”

“I get it,” Barnaby told her kindly. “You know I do. I may not be the smartest bloke around, but I know enough that you’re too kind and caring to behave like him. I don’t want that to happen. For you to turn into…”

He trailed off and she understood immediately. They both did. Two survivors of immense trauma that lived daily with the repercussions of such injuries trying to move forward in the best way they could. As the son of a father who also attempted to control him, the sixth year Slytherin carried an empathy unmatched by anyone. 

“Promise me,” Barnaby almost begged of her.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Aleksia replied, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Just promise me as well.”

“We’ll never be like them,” came the choked reply.

In the fading afternoon, the young couple simply cried together knowing that eventually they would both be okay…

And what it would take to get there. 

#aleksia aries #gryffindor #trade #art trade #slytherin #barnaby lee #penny haywood #rowan khanna #jae kim #ben copper #charlie weasley #hogwarts mystery #fanfiction #hphm fanfiction

[secretblog1212]

What Klaus Needs

finally finished this prompt from an Anon, it only took me five years. XD Ticklish Klaus being a needy lee is amazing and I am here for it, here is some content my dudes.

AHH THANK YOU FOR RESPONDING TO MY ASK ABOUT TICKLISH KLAUS!! 💓 i can try to give some ideas I’m not too good at it though so I’m sorry, also the one you said is super sweet and would be adorable! Using what you said maybe like Klaus is starting to annoy/tickle someone in hopes they’ll tickle him and they catch on?? Maybe he tickled Diego and then Diego figures out Klaus just wants tickles?? That would be so cute!! That’s all I’ve got baha but thank you so much if you could write it!! 💓            

To put it plainly, Klaus was bored.

    He had spent hours entertaining himself in his room, trying on all of his outfits and makeup. Ben and him had talked through all of their usual conversations already, from random ideas to conspiracy theories.

    After a truly fulfilling  debate on what truly defined a fruit Klaus took to wandering around the lonely house.

    A few of his siblings were out doing their own things, Allison had booked a flight to go see Clair and to finally settle the public on her temporary disappearance. Luther was exploring the city for the first time in his life, finding everything he missed out on during his ‘out of the world’ journey.  Klaus chuckled at his own thought.

    The house was not empty though, he could hear Vanya playing her violin behind her door and practically skipped down the hall towards the serene music.

    Vanya, she had slowly become more confident now that she had her siblings supporting her but seemed most at ease when he or Diego were around. Maybe it was because they had tried to defend her against Luther first, or she saw how they had all suffered most similarly compared to all the siblings paths. Klaus had been one of the siblings to not completely orstricise her during their childhood, they had shared many hours hiding away together until their Father found him and forbade their continuing friendship (not that it ever stopped them fully). Klaus was the disappointment of the Umbrella Academy, and his powers sometimes made him wish to trade places with the smaller girl. Was it better to have something and not be able to use it or to never have it in the first place?

    He was shaken from his thoughts as the melody sped up within the room. She had been working on her control for weeks and while not always 100% she had gotten farther than Klaus had in decades.

    He debated knocking on her door, maybe they could talk like they did when they were young, before puberty hit and he found a different outlet.

    The music stopped and pages turned before another private performance began. As ,uch as Klaus would of loved to barge into the room and demand her attention he had, contrary to belief, some self restraint. Instead he walked back down the hall to his… smaller brothers room.

    Klaus didn’t even think for a second before opening the door. Five sat on the floor, book propped up on his knees and didn’t give Klaus enough thought to look at him before sending him off with a quick “Not now, go find Diego or someone.”.

    Klaus surprisingly didn’t put up much of a fight. He did throw a lovely bird to his brother carrying a kiss from the depths of his heart to his still distracted brother. Five did not react.

    Shutting the door and heading further once more Klaus came to his other brothers room. Number Two. He did not bother to knock this time around either, much to Diegos annoyance.

    “Diego, my buddy, my pal, mi hermano! Wanna hang? I’m bored to all shit and you never fail to entertain.”

    Diego, who had been laying on his bed triedly scrolling through his phone, rubbed his temples. “Not now Klaus,” He sighed, truly looking dead tired. “I just got back from an overnight. All I want to do right now is sleep.”

    “Oh come on. Just a little bit.” We never hang out anymore, y’know? What happened to the good old times?”

    “Klaus please be quiet, I am going to take some headache pills then fall asleep for about a week, then we can do something.”

    Klaus did not appreciate the refusal of his company. With Five it was expected but Diego normally would put up with him for at least a few hours.

    “No fun…” Klaus whined. “I chose you Diego and I am not feeling the love-”

    “Because there isn’t any.” Diego raised his eyebrow, a smirk on his lips.

    Klaus slapped a hand to his chest, agast with this treatment. “Excuse me? Have you been misleading me this whole time sir? The outrage! Complete blasphemy!”

    Diego cringed at the volume, was Klaus always this loud? Diego didn’t know but he wasn’t going to wait to find out. He stood up and moved towards the ex- junkie, giving a playful poke to the ribs as he moved him outside his door, shutting it with a soft thus.

    Klaus panicked, he knew Diego had seen him flinch, he had seen the smirk he was wearing before he shut his door. The best thing Klaus could think to do was walk back to his own room and think. He wasn’t expecting to feel anything ticklish,he hadn’t braced himself for it at all! But it hadn’t felt… bad? No, he kind of wished Diego would try again later but… no. No he needs to go to his room, he can just ask Ben, he would die of embarrassment if he went to Diego now.

    And so he went to his room only to find Ben gone, wandering somewhere. He as left in silence with his thoughts switching back and forth on the exact feeling, repeating the tingles he felt over and over. His face was in flames, he knew exactly what he wanted  but it wasn’t like he could comfortably just go and ask someone for.. that. No, That would get some looks.

    Klaus was at the peak of his delima. He was never shy to ask about this type of thing before with his partners, and it wasn’t that he couldn’t ask he decided. He just wasn’t sure how any of his siblings would react, least of all Diego. Sure when they were kids they had tickle fights, at least when dear old dad wasn’t around, but now they were well into adulthood.

    He had asked Ben a couple of times more recently but he was never able to hold focus for long. It only ended in making him more needy.

    And so the craving began.

He couldn’t stop himself, never one for patience, so it was no surprise when he found himself marching over to Diego’s door only half an hour later, knocking before letting himself in.

    Luckily the other boy was fully clothed and still on his phone. A pillow hit it mark against Klaus’ face before he could get a single word out.

“Rude.”

“What do you want?”

Klaus hummed to himself before deciding to stretch himself over his brothers lap , stomach up, not unusual behavior but this time with an ulterior motive. “Can’t I just want to spend quality time with my family?”

Said family sat up, hands laying innocently on Klaus stomach, unknowing of the mental screaming fit that ensued.

“It’s rarely that simple. I don’t know what you want me to do if you’re bored, I’m tired to you’re out of luck, go harass Five or something.”

Klaus did not move, he was so close but the words he anted to say would not come out. Instead he settled for, “Nah, He’s probably reading some book. BORING.I would much rath-” He stopped in shock.

Never one to keep his hands still, Diego had begun to drum his fingers over Klaus stomach.

Torture. Mean. Evil. Rude. Klause felt personally attacked.

Diego only tilted his head, “You ‘kay? Not acting yourself.”

Klaus cleared his throat, “Yeah, yeah fine. Just um. Nothing. “ He said, barely able to force the words past his lips. He could practically feel himself vibrating, but Diego just gave him a skeptical look and his hands, his fucking hands kept horribly drumming along to some pop song.

Diego watched as Klaus sat stiffly, a blush slowly spreading across his cheeks as he fought an internal battle. Diego had realized what Klaus had wanted as soon as he practically threw himself over him. He used to do the same thing till they were deemed ‘Too old for childish nonsense number two and number four, stop that this instance.”

He could drag this out a bit longer though.

“So wha’cha want to talk about Klaus?”

Klaus wasn’t even sure if he could talk at this point. He could feel every bang of Diego's fingers against his ribs, they were practically vibrating through his entire body. He knew he couldn’t last much longer.

Before he could think of something convincing to say Diego’s hands changed into claws, digging into his ribs. Klaus practically screamed at the unexpected change. Questions flew through his mind, how did he know? He thought he was being subtle. He wasn’t prepared yet!

“Ruhuhude!”

Diego felt his lips pull into a smile looking at his brother, it was the first time in a long time he had heard him truly laugh. The thing was, Klaus didn’t even try to pull away from the feeling besides the usual squirming, and even that seemed less intense.\

Klaus curled into a ball before frantically uncurling after a few seconds. His head tossed left and right.

God, he had forgotten how much he needed this. How fun and free it made him feel.

Diego decided it was time to switch spots, re experience his brothers ticklishness. Of course he remembered his worst spots, his hips and ribs, but he forgot how he would squeal if you lightly tickled over his belly, or cackle and kick when you went for his feet.

It only took minutes for Klaus to feel weak with laughter, he didn’t want it to stop though.

When he opened his eyes he saw Diego looking down at him , a smile across his face. He must of been waiting for Klaus to open his eyes because as soon as he did the teasing began, and boy did it start strong.

“Y’know, I forgot how much you liked this. I mean, you haven't’ told me to stop once or pulled away.”

Well shit. Klaus hadn’t even thought about masking how much he wanted it after it had started. It was much too late to salvage now. Instead he flung his head back and kept laughing. What else could he do? Deny what Diego already knew, he wasn’t Five. No, Diego was the one who used to tickle him most when they were kids, it would be dumb to think he wouldn't remember. Why hadn’t he just gone to Five, at least then he (probably) wouldn’t of had thought Klaus was in desperate need to be destroyed by tickly fingers, he could of convinced him that the entire thing was his idea!

But now he had every coo and tease ever heard of being thrown at him. He knew that the words couldn’t attack him themselves but it sure felt like they were! Each sentence made the pokes and scribbles double in ticklishness. God was this Heaven or Hell? Klaus could only guess a mixture of both.

His face was bright red, both from laughter and embarrassment, but the fingers didn’t stop. In fact once found his wrist and pried his arm away from his body. Shit. Shitshitshit.

“Shihihihihit! Diehego Noho.”

“Awe, is it finally getting to be too ticklish for you Klaus? Because I could go for hours more. I think that would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

Klaus shook his head, hair a tangled mess, while trying to pull his now pinned arm down.

“What about this spot? I remember your armpits used to be pretty bad..”Diego said, he was so cocky and full of confidence that even just looking at him made Klaus tingle. His voice was smooth and almost patronizing in the best way possible.

Klaus couldn’t will himself to respond as his brother slowly brought his wiggly fingers down. All he could do was giggle and shake his head. A completely hopeless case.

“I’m not even touching you yet Klausy, why’re you laughing already?” can you feel it coming? I bet you can.”

Four felt his face getting impossibly redder. Then, when his eyes were squeezed tight and his face tucked into the crook of his elbow that wasn’t quite strong enough, Diego made contact.

Klaus screamed, there is no other way to describe what happened. He could hear Diego laughing after him but couldn't make himself focus on much of anything except the fingers digging into his upper ribs and dancing in his hallows.

No matter what he tried, rolling over, kicking, rolling the other way, trying to pull his arm down, holding Diego's wrist, even at one point trying to fling himself off the bed, he could not separate from the point of contact. He thought he was going to go mad, and he loved every second of it.

Diego’s hands found his hips next. Nope. nopenopefuckingnope.

This must of  gave Klaus some super strength or something because he was suddenly able to rip his hand from Klaus grasp and hold on to his evil, cruel brothers wrists in hope of regaining some control.

Diego jst laughed some more. “Did you think I would forget your worst spot? How could I forget Number Four and his deadly ticklish hips?

Klaus felt himself getting more and more flustered, when they were young he could of been tickled from an hour and barely be phased, now he didn’t even know if he could last a second longer.

“Dihihiegoho! Noho- noho mohohohore. Ihihi canhan’t!”

“You can’t? I thought this was what you wanted Klausy?? Just a minute longer, then I’ll stop.”

Klaus wasn’t sure how he survived. He knew it was only a minute, literally. Diego counted down the seconds, but it had felt like an hour. By the time Diego removed him horrible, mean, absolutely rude fingers Klaus was wheezing for breath.

Diego moved to lay back down, “Next time you want tickled just ask, okay.” was the last thing he said as Klaus got his feet shakily under him.

Klaus did all but run out of the room. He could feel that there would be a lot more laughter filling the halls of the Umbrella Academy in the upcoming weeks. He didn’t feel any shame for being excited for it either.

#klaus hargreeves #ticklish klaus #tua #tickles #ler diego #diego hargreeves #just living my best life #they deserve to be happy #this was way too long for what I thought it would be but im not sorry #oof #the umbrella academy #tickling #tickle fic #fic

[honeyforfree]

Kipling’s Feet

Prologue

P.E.

Half a year of Hungary First birthday in Mexico Twenty years of Hungary Six years of Austria

Six years of playfulness Six years of discovering talents Beautiful naivity! Six years of gaining knowledge That charm of the routine...

Two years of suffering Two years of running freely towards dreams Six years of serious work Hardcore reality: That’s already adulthood.

How much of this is coming still? Will I ever feel again that beauty of naivity?

I must fight for that Lady Uninvited is anyway here Already Till the end

That hardcore reality Beautiful naivity

Chapter One

I. My mother took me to the local house of culture to see a play of The Jungle Book. It was 1995. I was obsessed with animals, with nature. I was that girl who always had to wear nice clothes for every occasion,  but next to a 4-year-older brother I just wanted to listen to Nirvana with him - this was one year after their MTV Unplugged – and to run through the field when older boys were playing football. I wanted to catch the ball. My brother was so cool, I also wanted to be „cool”. (This was also the year when I learned how to pee in a standing position. I thought, there is nothing special about peeing in sitting. So I developed my own technique. And again. My brother was cool. I also wanted to be cool.) My mum has been reading Kipling’s classic for me, so I knew all of them. Mowgli and Shere Khan and Baloo and Kaa, that big snake. I never trusted Kaa, and never understood why Mowgli did. Now, that I throw myself back in time, I remember: it was a play by a Hungarian travelling theatre. In fact they called themselves THE Travelling Theatre. It was impressive. I imagined them as real rovers who just arrived there with their old coffers after sailing through the country by their Volkswagen vans. They had this vintage image, it was completely new for me. All these props and colours, all those movements and actions... suddenly I found myself in this other world where tale became reality and I felt like I want to join them. That I want to get into their mini bus and continue their tour with them. I was 4 years old, and I was convinced that this was the only problem that was holding me back from doing that. 

II.   The next year Szandi, my best friend from kindergarten started to take dance classes. It was „jazz-ballet” for kids. – Funny enough, later on I got to know that it was a genre that never existed... Szandi was a gypsy girl, can’t remember what happened to her parents, but she was raised by her grandma. She showed many clichés of a precocious gypsy kid: golden hoop earrings at the age of 5, frilly dresses for daytime and that special, orange clogs with glitters on it. With a wooden sole. CLOP-CLOP-CLOP-CLOP. It was very loud. After the first day I saw that pair of clogs on her tiny, skinny, coffee-brown feet, I told my mom, I would like to get one of those. I need them. She said it is not for kids, it is vulgar and that it is not healthy to wear such heavy, healed, stiff shoes. It would just ruin my feet. Nowadays my collegaues say that I have such nice feet..., so I guess she was right. But at the age of 5, I was furious. In my vision those clogs were beautiful. Szandi was a woman. And she took dance classes. So I told my mom, if I can’t wear orange, wooden clogs with glitters on it – although I am already 5 – she should at least take me to that dance class. So she did. I had soft, leather ballet shoes and a leotard with Minnie Mouse on it. And I was moving. Believe it or not, one year later I performed a choreography which was danced to a song from The Jungle Book. First row, wearing a „grass-skirt”, a „grass-top” and a floral wreath, which costume was made by my great-grandmother. (She was a florist, in her earlier years she used to work in a floral shop, so of course, she did a beautiful job.) On that performance I felt like I did everything perfectly as the teacher asked, and I owned every movement in my body. Recently I got the footage of that evening – transformed from VHS to a DVD. Turned out I wasn’t so perfect, in fact it looked like a bad karaoke, because I was singing, - or at least gaping – the lyrics while dancing. First row. In a jungle-styled costume. I have been dancing ever since that first jazz-ballet class, but I never got that orange, glitterish clogs. Thank you, Mama to protect me from such distorsion of taste and feet, now I know, why. Kipling and the jungle and Mowgli had to do something with my childhood after all. That performance at the house of culture, my gypsy friend, whose features reminded me strongly to Mowgli’s, and my first time of performing on stage: all that was written by and English man in 1894.

III. Do you know in how many ways I’ve used my feet ever since? Imagine! I used for steps, for running, for hanging, for swimming, for skiing, for skating, for jumping, for becoming taller... I used them for dancing, for carrying my entire body through the weirdest positions. I used my feet for showing beauty, for having an excuse for my bad balance, ’cause of course you can’t hold a 1,74 cm high axe on a relevé of a size 37 foot. Tststststs.... Of course you can!          I used my feet to take the attention away from my creepy, asymmetrical upper body when my spine was injured. I use them as help to keep the rest of my body healthy, to give me a good posture, to carry me on and on. To anywhere, maybe everywhere. And to kick in the ass Lady Uninvited every now and then, to stand up and leave all what and whom give pain. Today I used them for walking me up to this hill to spend my last official day here, to run for my pizza, to go to the toilet and to wear a heavy pair of sandals with a hard, stiff, wooden sole. At least they are black. No glitters.

Jazz- ballet. Neither jazz, nor ballet Then ballet, folk and all the rest A little ballroom and finally jazz.

Drop. Drop. Drop. Modern, or something like that Quit, move, move. Contemporary and all the rest.

All the rest, *avagy az összes többi.  Az a sok év, amiről most nem érdemes beszélni, mert biztos vagyok benne, hogy egy soha véget nem érő sztori lenne. 2018. június tizedike. Tegnap magyarul énekeltem Ausztriában, és Trump-pal táncoltam a színpadon. Furcsa. Mester diploma – almost done. De annyi minden jön még.

                             How much of this is coming still? Will you ever feel again that beauty of naivity?

You must fight for that! Lady Uninvited is anyway here Already Till the end

That hardcore reality Beautiful naivity.

*so the all the rest.  Those many years, which are not worth talking about now, because it is certain, it would be a never ending stroy. Tenth of June, 2018. Yesterday I was singing in Hungarian in Austria and I was dancing with Trump. Weird. Masters degree - almost done. But so much more is coming still.

Linz, 10.06.2018 /In the frame of a workshop for creative writing with Dr. Lisa Jeschke./

#autobiography #strange #tryout #writingtask #university #lastlecture

[weneverlearn]

R.I.P. Grant Hart

When some kind of celebrity death occurs -- and that “celebrity” can be Prince or Paul Hamann -- there’s often a genuinely heartfelt and/or morbid need to reach out and tell someone. Add the internet into that instinct, and this human action takes on more strange, conflicted, even narcissistic layers.

I woke up yesterday to a text about Grant Hart having passed away. I told myself my girlfriend was awake, and gently tapped her on the shoulder to tell her. She has been working a lot lately, and it was probably best to let her sleep and talk about this later. Telling her, telling anyone wasn’t going to bring Grant Hart back. Basically I just confused her, though she sweetly said “Sorry,” and went back to sleep, somehow.

The emotions were flooding through me, and it was one of numerous deaths that have occurred in my sphere of late, so the usual sinking heart feeling sunk as low as it’s been in awhile (and that’s saying something in this Trump era). One song popped in my head, “Think It Over Now,” from Hart’s excellent 1999 solo album, Good News for Modern Man. In a sea of great Grant Hart songs, it’s Ronettes-meets-rainstorm ramble makes it one of my favorites of his, and it’s positive message helped instantly assuage some sadness. I posted it on Facebook for whatever fucking reason, and went to work, unable to think about much else the rest of the day, into today, and I don’t know, maybe from now on.

It feels awkward to make a celebrity death personal with some tossed-out Facebook post. But I am at that point now in my life where the passing of such monumental artistic figures starts to occur closer to you, more frequently, and it’s inevitable that it spurs you to seek comfort from just telling others why this death is monumental. I mean, in my early 20s, if I had heard the bassist in the Johnny Burnette Trio died, oh, that’s sad. But had that bassist been close to my age, had I seen that bassist play live, got to hang out with him a bit, cranked his records through headphones throughout my teens, well...

It was early summer, 1985, I was 17, about butt-deep into a growing pile of records, increasingly punk records, and my au currant desire was to “get into hardcore.” I mean it was all over college radio, Cleveland had a decent scene of it (although in that odd Ohio-y, weather-beaten way), and I just thought, well, that’s what a guy like me should be doing right now. So I went to my local rack jobber and asked him for a great new hardcore album, and he hands me New Day Rising.

I took it home and played it, but I was a bit nonplussed. This wasn’t the bald-head dude screaming in a circle pit shit I thought I was searching for. It was loud and fast for sure, but not the polka-beat, the government and your parents suck spiel. Instead, as I noticed while I self-surprisingly kept playing the record over and over for the next week, was an instantly recognizable melancholy, damp atmosphere, and intense energy I’d already loved from midwest acts. Husker Du just felt like me and lots of strangers I was starting to get to know at Cleveland punk shows -- already a bit beaten by long winters, mall jobs, and terrible sports teams we didn’t care about, but you live in Cleveland, so you’re going to hear about the fucking Browns whether you like it or not. My image was the three Huskers sitting in their dank basement, from about the first week of October until the first week of March, with a space heater sparking in the corner, complaining about fucking jocks, drinking the cheapest local beer, excited only about the tunes they were coming up with, grasping for hopes maybe winter will end early this year (the last week of February), but knowing for sure it’s just gonna come around again anyway, so whatever, let’s go through that new one again.

I already knew enough about the California-based SST Records to know a shlubby band from Minneapolis with cutoff shorts and an almost sobbing seriousness to their loud fast rules, featuring lyrics about folklore and summer ending, was not that label’s raison d’etre. No doubt most of their bands had shitty lives, crappy parents, drug problems, and whatever. But to me, nothing I’d heard on that label (save some Black Flag), had this depth of pathos and seething spirit. I mean come on, it’s California. You don’t spend your teens hanging out on beaches and seeing pretty girls all the time all year and think, “Damn, remember those good times we had? Fuck! Where’s my copy of Being and Nothingness?!” (Well, maybe the Minutemen did.)

Indeed, from what I understood through the grape, er, hops-vine of the time, many diehard SST fans didn’t dig Husker Du. (Someone did, because I think Husker Du was the best selling act on SST, but you record scholars can correct me on that.) To me they were a sudden, jarring connection between the jangle of ‘60s folk and garage rock -- meaning they were contemporaries more with R.E.M. than Saccharine Trust or what have you -- and a huge leap into some fuzzed-out new world of extreme emotional and sonic confessional. Even moreso than the, truth be told, kind of cute Replacements, Husker Du were the gnarled heart pumping to where punk could grasp towards, to survive not just the winters but encroaching adulthood abyss. Even their name, from an old board game (fun!) that translated to “Do You Remember?” (sad), was reflective. They were 20-year olds and already nostalgic, wistful. But their own apocalyptic Reagan-era shakes were vibrating them out of that basement. They toured like fucking crazy, rust belt work ethic and all; and with hooks that finally put a relevant nail in skinny tie power pop’s coffin.    

New Day Rising has mostly remained my favorite Husker Du album since, the opening title tune being my favorite opener on any album (save maybe “I’m Stranded” by the Saints). But their whole catalog is worth churning through. And it wasn’t just Grant Hart’s massively manic drum pounds that hit you hard, but his and Bob Mould’s strained, splitting-at-the-edges voices. Like their Minneapolis contemporaries (Replacements, Soul Asylum, Magnolias), they sounded like they were incredibly pissed off and ready to fight, to the point of tears. Not to belabor the midwest/California dichotomy, but the Offspring never struck me as tearful guys.

Of course soon enough I gathered, via unexplainable gut impressions and gossipy fanzine articles, that there were gay men in Husker Du. And there’s no doubt that the usual animosity towards jocks for this punk band left larger scars.

The scar I personally got from their records was a band. When I first met New Bomb Turks’s guitarist Jim Weber at our college dorm, one of the earliest conversations centered on how Jim couldn’t get to the Warehouse tour stop in Cleveland, and hence never got to see Husker Du. I’d seen them twice, regaled Jim with some details, and made tapes of the Husker Du albums he didn’t have. You can ask him, but I think Bob Mould was his biggest early guitar inspiration. And further discussions involved the gender identity of the band, though being early-20s guys in the late ‘80s, we probably didn’t talk about “gender identity” as much as how/when we were called the ol’ “f”word in high school, and how the Huskers must have dealt with tons of awful shit from the more unseemly sides of the hardcore scene. 

Husker Du was a favorite band, but also our introduction to really thinking about these issues that were still pretty swept under the turkey at the family Thanksgiving meal back then. We were both raised Catholic, so...

So, Grant Hart. After the Warehouse show at the Phantasy Theater in Cleveland in summer 1987 (they would break up soon after the end of that tour), I made my way to the adjacent upstairs bar, whose backroom was being used as a backstage. I saw Grant and said, “Great show!” He looked at me a little cockeyed, then turned around, asking, “Does anyone have any heroin around here?” So, that was that.

I loved his 2541 EP from 1988, the first post-Husker Du release. By then I was best friends with the first friend to ever come out to me; and that happening right around the release of that EP, well, one should always appreciate life’s teachable serendipity.

Then, the first time I ever went to New York City and first time I went to CBGB in 1989 with said out pal, the first band I saw there was Hart’s Nova Mob. (Well, technically Run Westy Run opened up.) They were pretty good, and I was glad to see Hart still going at it, but it seemed soon enough that he wasn’t. Didn’t hear much except sporadic solo stuff after Nova Mob split up, and given the usual rumors, figured he was done. But then my band was pretty busy those years, and I was soaking up tons of new bands, so who knows.

Then, in mid-summer 1999, I get a request from an editor at the Cleveland Free Times to write a preview for Grant Hart’s solo show in Cleveland, and found out he’d be playing Columbus a couple days before. So we hooked up a meeting, which is a whole other story for another post, or if I had the power, a movie. It was a strange couple of days, involving breaking into the trunk of the early ‘80s Cadillac he was touring in (”Got it from Rent-a-Wreck, seriously”), the club, Bernie’s, not paying him what they promised, Hart rightly taking a monitor as payment (probably not worth the $250 he was guaranteed), and me getting a call from him at 3 a.m. asking to be a character witness in court on Monday. Nice dinner with him in there too.

After relative (college) radio silence for a few years, I didn’t know what to expect of the show, and without going into details, let’s just say this seemed like a “rent tour.” Hart was fairly disheveled, but super nice. He’d recently become close with Patti Smith, and I guess she told him her parents last names were Grant and Hart, and that once she heard of him, she took that as a sign from the stars to work with him. Anyway, standing in Berne’s with like 10 other people watching him, I was utterly floored once again. His voice was just teeming with the weight of all those slushy winters. I just kept thinking, this is unbelievable how intense he is, and how good these songs are, and how no one even in my circle of music heps even knew this show was happening, in the middle of summer no less, when campus is pretty dead anyway. Unfortunately, a horrible flu had also floored me, a 102 temperature, and I could only stay about four songs of his set before heading home to sweat in bed. “Ah, I’ll see him again.” That was the last time I saw him play.

R.I.P. Grant Hart.

#grant hart #husker du #newbombturks #granthart

[onceuponamirror]

heart rise above

///// CHAPTER 7

summary: It wasn’t an experiment with freedom borne of some Americana fantasy; rather, a road trip of purely logistical intentions. The plan was simple. Drive from Boston to Chicago for his sister’s college graduation. That’s it.

Or, he drives a Ford Pickup Named Desire.

Mechanic!AU

fandom: riverdale ship: betty x jughead words: 30k chapters: 7/19

[read from the beginning] [read the latest]

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But time makes you bolder Even children get older

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On Sunday morning, Jughead wakes up with a sunburn.

It’s his own damn fault; in the rush to appease the wide-eyed beseeching of Betty and the subsequent distractions of her overall presence, he hadn’t thought about sun protection until late into the afternoon and the damage had already been done.

A part of him whispers: worth it, but a smarter, far more logical side reminds him he could’ve enjoyed Betty’s company while still applying sunscreen. Alas.

But at least most of the burn is not on his face, and rather his chest, which he’s fairly certain hasn’t seen the light of day in years and probably won’t again for some time. Luckily, for someone with such vampiric tendencies, he manages to tan fairly well, so while it will never be quite as attractive as Betty’s golden glow, it should settle into an olive tone soon.

He stands in front of the motel bathroom mirror and slaps water onto his face, because now his mind is back to conjuring images of Betty strewn out beside him, her hair tangled and loose around her shoulders, and it’s been driving him mad since before bed last night.

It’s bad enough he’s got words like sun-kissed floating around in his thoughts, further destroying any credibility he has left with himself; he doesn’t need to be further tormented of memories of her in that fucking white swimsuit.

“Goddamnit,” he mutters, as it happens again. He points at himself in the mirror, and says, flatly, “No.”

Jughead can accept that what he feels is attraction, can acknowledge he has the evidence of that literally burned onto his fucking skin, but that doesn’t mean he gets to torture himself any more than usual. No, what he needs is a day spent in the company of his best friend, a big cup of coffee, followed by a second one, and absolutely zero time with Betty.

He’s already tried the cold shower.

Anyway, given that it’s a Sunday, he doesn’t have the usual excuse to hang around her, as she won’t be at the garage and he hasn’t been allowed any opportunity to invite himself along anywhere else. It’s probably for the best.

He gives his reflection one more warning jab of the finger and then goes to dress. He hesitates with the suspenders, after Betty’s little dig about them, but then feels silly for it. Even if he does have something of a crush, he’s not about to change his entire ethos (carefully crafted down to the fit of his jeans) in the course of one week.

Besides, he’s fairly sure she was just teasing him. Or he hopes so, because he knows it speaks to his tumultuous childhood that he still wears so many layers all at once, ready to sleep wherever he may need, change clothes without arousing suspicion. Like his habit with frugality, it’s hard to kick, even in adulthood.

He throws on an old, cozy t-shirt, ties a flannel around his waist, piles anything he needs for a burst of inspiration into his messenger bag, and then heads for Archie’s room.

“Ready for breakfast?” He asks, when the door swings open.

“Yeah,” Archie says, even though he’s not at all dressed. “Just gimme like, one minute.”

Jughead wanders into the room while Archie rushes around, throwing clothes onto the bed. “Just in case I don’t have time to change before my date tonight,” he explains when Jughead raises an eyebrow. He’s known Archie to wear his sneakers to a wedding and not bat an eyelash, so he’s not quite sure what to do with this flustered version of his best friend.

“You really like this girl, huh?” He says, watching Archie narrow down his choices to two shirts.

“A lot,” Archie breathes, settling on the nicer one, a soft blue button up. “Alright, let’s go.”

They head out and make the short walk to Pop’s. At this point, Jughead has taken nearly all his meals at the diner, so when he’s greeted by name by the owner and a passing waitress, he just has to shrug listlessly under Archie’s curious look.

“I like the food here,” he says simply.

The two of them settle into a booth, drop their orders, and receive their coffees. Once their server is gone, Archie clears his throat. “So…” He begins, obviously with an attempt at prompting.

“Don’t start,” Jughead replies with a groan. He’s just started to enjoy his coffee and the last thing he wants is to regress into some moonish idiot again. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

Archie’s forehead wrinkles. “’Her’? Who is ‘her’? I was just going to ask you about how your book is coming. Wait…are you talking about Betty?”

“Aw, fuck,” Jughead mutters, cradling his head in his hands. “Never mind, forget I said anything.”

“Nu-uh, you went there, so let’s talk about it.” Across the table, Archie chuckles and starts to count on his fingers. “First, you invite her and her friends to hang out with us, which…like, I’m definitely not complaining, since one of those friends is Veronica. But when have you ever done that? Then, the fact that she got you swimming? I can’t remember the last time I saw you swim.”

“I swim,” he says defensively. “We were literally at the beach last week.”

“Yeah, and you just stood there with your feet in the water. And yesterday you guys were acting all…like you knew her. I think there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Jughead takes a stalling sip of coffee. “I asked her to teach me how to fix the truck, okay? Just because I wanted to learn for myself so I could take care of it later on. That’s it. There’s no Machiavellian subplot going on, so stop acting like I’ve been body-snatched.”

“So you’ve been what, hanging out at her garage?”

He bites at the inside of his mouth. “Well, yeah.”

“This whole time?” Archie asks, his eyes bulging.

“No,” Jughead snaps brusquely. “I mean, Jesus, we’ve only been here for like, five days. I’ve been writing, mostly. Just…also spending some time at the garage. For educational purposes.”

Archie stares at him, and then bursts out laughing. “Alright, now I get all those little looks she gave you yesterday,” he says, shaking his head. Jughead glowers at him, though more frustrated with the fact that he has the adamant desire to shake Archie and beg him to explain what he means by little looks.

(Something else to torture himself with, undoubtedly.)

“Educational purposes,” Jughead repeats darkly. Maybe if he says it enough, he’ll believe it.

“Nah, you like her,” Archie says, after a moment of deduction. “I’ve known you my whole life, bro, you can’t pull that shit with me.”

Jughead wrestles with how to deny it with any stronger language to make Archie back off, but then deflates and sighs, losing the will to argue. “It doesn’t change anything.”

And that is the truth. He can admit to Archie, he can admit it to himself, but neither of these actions will have any sort of effect on the outcome. In less than three weeks time, he will be piling into his truck, driving to Chicago, and then heading back to Boston with his sister to resume a normal, Betty-free life.

He’s self-loathing, but even Jughead isn’t sure he’s that self-loathing as to let himself get in any deeper with a woman he’ll never see again. It’s already bad enough that whatever benign little crush he’d felt for her before yesterday has been replaced by a magnified appreciation for the way she’d looked next to him, tousled by the river and tanned and soft-eyed, and—this is just after one day at the beach. He’s more than a little afraid to find out what else his imagination is capable of.

Archie looks confused. “What do you mean, it doesn’t change anything? I’m seeing Ronnie, and we’re in the same situation. Doesn’t stop us from having fun.”

Jughead sighs, and crosses his arms onto the table. “I’m not you, Archie. I don’t do casual very well. Go big or go home, right? Well even if I go big, I still have to go home to Boston. We live in different states, Arch. What, am I supposed to ask her out and then we go on a few dates and then we’re long distance for however long we can convince ourselves it’s a good idea? I mean, think about it.”

“You’re already planning a long distance relationship? You haven’t even been on one date,” Archie points out, raising his eyebrows.

Jughead groans. “I just mean—what’s the endgame here? What’s the point?”

“To get laid?” Archie suggests plainly, his hands in the air. “To have a connection with someone? To get to know somebody? To open up?”

“Yeah, because I’m so well known for all of those things. And—anyway, you’re making a dangerous assumption that she’s even interested,” Jughead reminds him, downing the rest of his coffee and slumping in his seat.

“I think that’s a pretty safe bet,” Archie says slowly, and then looks painfully amused at how quickly Jughead’s head jerks back up.

“What, that she’s interested? Come on, I’m trying to be realistic here,” Jughead says, scrubbing a hand across his face. “You’ve seen her. She’s way out of my league, pal.”

The look he gives Jughead borders on outright pity, which he decides is far worse than smug. “Maybe, but you’re really over-thinking this. Just…try not to think so much and go ask her out.”

Coming from someone who Jughead has witnessed jumping into far too many situations without consideration and getting in way over his head, this advice does little for comfort. “Well, I’m a writer, all I do is think, write, and mope, and over-think some more.”

Archie sighs. “Alright, look. I know you, Jug, so I won’t push you on it, because that won’t help. But, I’ll just say this: better to have loved and lost than not loved at all, right?”

He stares across the table. “How is it you can quote Tennyson at me but still don’t know who Stevie Nicks is?” Jughead moans, hiding his face in his hands.

“I know who he is,” Archie scoffs, which only proves Jughead’s point. He groans again, but this time it’s because his eyes have been closed too long and he’s attacked by visions of Betty swimming in circles around him, moving in the water like a mermaid luring a sailor to death.

When he brings his head out of his hands, Archie is watching him with understanding eyes.

“It’s why it’s called a crush,” Archie offers, shrugging. “It sucks.”

But Jughead is thinking about the river, and how he was too worried to swim out to where the water turned too dark to see the bottom; all that latent symbolism is finally catching up to him. But, still.

Should something happen on the way out, not knowing if he was able to touch down just wasn’t worth the risk.

.

.

.

Jughead’s solution is true to form.

Rather than follow a lick of Archie’s advice, Jughead doubles down on his theory that no good will come of allowing himself to spend more time with Betty. While his best friend barrels on full steam ahead with Veronica, starting to see her practically every night, Jughead retreats further and further into his hotel room.

He even gets invited to go to dinner and dancing with Archie and Veronica and, wink, dude, Betty will probably be there, but he ignores the text until late and then sends a weak reply of sorry, didn’t see this till now.

Perhaps it’s his old friend Abandonment Issues rearing its ugly head again, but he decides that the more he sees her, the more he likes her, which won’t do. When he follows that train of thought, the more drawn to her he is, the more occupied his thoughts are with a very simple desire.

And that scares the shit out of him.

Because no matter how many times he circles back to it, there’s no way for him to walk away from this without becoming more miserable than he was already. He’s just not Archie; he’s always been all or nothing. He can’t casually date someone, nor can he wrap his head around the idea of not thinking ahead.

He’s already afraid of a good thing, but what happens when that good thing has no good ending? It’s not star-crossed, it’s not romantic; it’s just impractical.

So he throws himself into his writing, and luckily, it welcomes him with open arms.

That is, until it doesn’t. His outline takes shape, his characters find their moxie—and then he hits a snag four chapters later, around the same time that his character gets his first real lead and starts to work with the police. Namely, his love interest. He deletes, rewrites, sacrifices whole scenes—even the ones with the bit of dialogue he really liked—but he can’t seem to shake the indecision that has begun bleeding through.

If he thought about it any harder, if he even just squinted at it, he probably wouldn’t be able to deny the resemblances between his character’s issues and his own. Which is exactly why he chooses not to analyze such realities—though at least Jughead doesn’t have a fresh dead body on his hands.

Still, he is just as plagued by the sad, sharp eyes of the blonde riddle in his book—and every time he tries to fix it, or grow their relationship realistically, he ends up wanting to throw his computer across the room.

This is junior year of college all over again, only much worse. But if he’s not thinking about solutions for his love arc, he’s thinking about book reviews and his publisher wanting a book tour for the sequel, and the inherent pressure of a follow up novel, and comments online, and even the film rights speculation floating around on Reddit—a far-fetched rumor if he’s ever heard one. Even if there’s something to it, he’s sure he’ll be last to know, and can kiss it goodbye once his sequel hits the stands and tanks as much as he expects it to.

On Thursday morning, he sends off his latest frustration to his editor, hoping she has some thoughts for him, and decides to go buy some snacks. He’s been trying to write in his room lately, but he’s already sick of vending machine candy and he needs a new toothpaste anyway, so he walks to the grocery store, scowling the whole way.

He throws a range of essentials into his basket, and then, hearing JB’s voice in his thoughts, decides to also grab a bit of fruit, lest he fall prey to the supposedly inevitable case of scurvy she’s always hocking him about.

Jughead heads to the drink aisle, and then, with his hands full of soda, nearly barrels into someone turning away from the opposite wine section. “Fuck,” he mutters, as a bottle slips from his hands. He drops down to grab it, but it rolls out and hits the foot of the woman he almost walked into. He glances back up, and is completely unprepared for it to Betty.

She squats down to his level, grinning. “On a health kick, I see,” she says, reaching the bottle of soda first. She picks it up and hands it to him, which he takes after a moment.

“Yeah well, the name Jughead Jones is synonymous with Whole Foods,” he mumbles, straightening. “Thanks. And, uh, sorry for almost running you over.”

“Something a girl always dreams of hearing,” she laughs.

Her hair is down again, and she brushes a smoothing hand against it as his eyes run over her wavy tresses. She looks nice—well, she always looks nice, but today she looks nicer than usual. Maybe it’s the way her hair falls along her neck, or the swishy pink skirt, or the black short sleeve button up, or maybe it’s just because she’s still smiling at him and he’s just too far gone to see past it.

She adjusts the bottle of wine cradled in her arms. “So,” they say at the same time. There’s a fumbling and awkward amount of pausing while they both ask the other to go first, but eventually she tries again.

“So, how have you been? Haven’t seen you in a few days. You missed a fun night of Archie and Veronica’s basically undressing each other on the dance floor, by the way. Never again am I third wheeling.”

He chuckles, cringing at the thought. “Great, now I’m going to have to absolve my eyes of that mental image, so thanks for that. I’m not sorry I missed that, but I didn’t mean to leave you hanging. I just got bit by the writing bug,” he offers by way of explanation.

“And here I thought you were avoiding me,” she says, with something like a nervous grin. “Or got sick of me, maybe.”

“Impossible,” he sighs, and it’s true, even though he has been avoiding her. A pang of guilt hits him, hard; it hurts to hear that she’d thought his opinion her was anything less than glowing. Fuck. He’s been an asshole, but he honestly didn’t expect she’d have spared him a passing thought. “I’ve just been busy with the book, I’m really sorry. Got in my own head a bit.”

“Oh,” Betty breathes. Is it relief in her big eyes, or is that just what he hopes to see? “No, no, it’s fine. I’m glad to hear that. Make some good headway, then?”

He shifts his basket in his arms so he can scratch his chin. “Yeah. Kinda,” he says. His eyes, desperate for something to do other than stare hopelessly at her, fall to the bottle of wine. “Bit early for a drink, don’t you think?” He asks, intending for it to be a joke, but he thinks of his father as he says it and it comes out sounding all wrong.

Betty blinks down at the bottle. “This is just a gift,” she explains, holding it up. “I’m heading up to Hudson today. To get your compressor part, actually. The wine is part of a thank-you; Adam’s letting me come get it right away. He called me when he got back last night.”

Jughead feels instantly suspicious of this Adam person. What’s in it for him to be so helpful? Then he frowns, remembering Kevin’s ominous mumbling about this guy Adam. He’d gotten the impression that he was interested in Betty from that, and that sends a flare of jealousy straight to his stomach. Is this why Betty looks a little dressier than usual? For him?

“So soon?” He asks, swallowing. “You’re ahead of schedule, then.”

Betty lifts a shoulder. “Well, I know how eager you are to get back on the road.”

He wants to punch himself in the face. Wants to tell her he hasn’t been able to get her out of his head all week, especially not after rolling around in the sand next to her while she wears a swimsuit straight from the set of Baywatch. Wants to tell her he has suddenly no foreseeable desire to leave Riverdale, or her.

“I mean, I still have to be in Chicago at the end of the month,” he says slowly, remembering himself. That won’t change, so there’s no point in beating around the bush. “But I’m not…it’s not like I’m rushing out the door.”

It’s as close to “I like you” as Jughead can get right now, and he’s fairly sure it’s a lost cause to attempt telepathy, but he tries it anyway. Betty smiles softly at him.

(No point in beating around the bush—that is, except for the one labeled: Jughead’s feelings for Betty.)

“That’s good to hear,” she says, her lips wrapping around the words in a melodic sort of way.

“Yeah, as we’ve previously discussed, turns out Riverdale’s not all bad,” he says, as they start to wander through the aisle. It’s another attempt at cryptically hinting that he likes her, but unsurprisingly, it doesn’t land.

Betty scoffs. “Careful there, I wouldn’t want the town to get a big head.”

“I mean, it’s no Phoenix or Tallahassee, but…” He grins at her rolling eyes. “A little bit of luck, spit, and shine, and it’s well on it’s way to being a real Toledo.”

“Look out,” she drawls. She’s getting bolder with her sarcasm; he wonders if he’s rubbing off on her.

She ends up tagging along with the rest of his shopping trip—they debate his taste in toothpaste brands, which Betty points out is the same one her sister buys for her kids, and she tells him that one apple does not actually keep a doctor away and he needs to buy more fruit, so she leads him back to the produce aisle and fills his basket with oranges and something called a lychee.

“You sound like JB,” he mutters, as she launches into a monologue about vitamins. “She’s a vegan, now. Me, the human garbage disposal, with her, my legume-loving sister. She’s always on my case about my diet. I don’t know how we’re going to live together.”

Betty glances over, her fingers pausing over a peach. He leans against a large crate of fruit. “That’s the other part of the reason why I have to get to Chicago with the truck. I’m helping her move back to Boston, and she’s gonna live with me until she figures out her next move. Which, if she’s anything like me, means she’ll be sleeping in my home office till she’s 30.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You’re a best selling author, and you’re 26.”

He squints right back at her. “Did you google me?”

She burns bright red and pretends to be very interested in procuring the right peach. “No,” she says. “Okay, yes. But after you revealed yourself as JP Jones, I just wanted to confirm. I’m a big believer in fact-checking citations and bibliographies, Juggie.”

There she goes with the nickname again; the one that sends his heart into a sickeningly gushy plunge. He hates it, and he loves it.

He wiggles his eyebrows at her. “Find anything incriminating on me during your journey into the deep web?”

She tips her chin into the air. “You’ll just have to see,” she sniffs, and then snags his shopping basket from his arms and deposits the peaches she’s spend the last few minutes selecting for him. He stands there for a moment, his lips lifting as he watches her move on to inspecting an ear of corn.

Betty glances back over her shoulder with a teasing grin, and his breath catches. She’s so beautiful.

“What are your thoughts on America’s most popular vegetable?” She asks, holding the corn up to the light.

“I think I don’t have anywhere to cook anything, no matter how prevalent it is to the industrialization of American farm,” he says, pushing off from his perch and snatching the corn from her hands. He tosses it back into its crate. “I’m cutting you off, Cooper. No more produce.”

“Well, I have a place to cook,” she says quickly, and then blushes. His eyes widen; it almost sounds like she’s inviting him to dinner, but then she picks the corn back up and continues. “I could—maybe I want it for myself.”

He puts his hands in the air. “Fine, fine. I mean, it’s your complicity with the corruption of factory farms, but fine.”

“Says the guy with a basket full of high-fructose corn syrup,” Betty points out, her eyes rolling. “And sorry, what is your logic here? I buy organic corn, therefore I support factory farming?”

“There is no ethical consumption under capitalism,” Jughead says, a finger in the air. “So I might as well go out with my guns slinging, some soda in hand.”

“Then you’ll leave me and my opinion on corn alone,” she replies, gathering a few ears into a little brown bag. He puts on a look of faux pretense, but takes his shopping basket back and transfers the vegetables and her bottle of wine into it. When she starts to protest him carrying her groceries, he just walks ahead.

What Jughead intended to be a way to kill time has now turned into a full hour, but at this point he’s dragging his shopping trip out as much as possible. When they part ways, Betty will go to see this Adam person, and give him this bottle of wine and maybe even smile at him in her soft, secretive kind of way, and then probably fall into his arms and—

“Juggie?” Betty asks, freeing him from the Gone With the Wind-esque nightmare playing out in his thoughts.

“Hm?” He asks, snapping back to attention.

Betty is reaching back into his basket, and he realizes they’re at the check out counter. “I should probably get going,” she says, glancing at the large clock hanging over the grocery line. He has no excuse to delay her any longer, so he nods and they move forward into line. She deposits her wine and corn onto the conveyer belt, says hello to the person behind the register, and starts digging through her purse for her wallet.

She waits for him while he pays for his groceries, and then they both head for the exit silently. Once again, he feels so stupid for avoiding her this past week. He should’ve been enjoying what little time he has with her, rather than falling victim to the self-fulfilling train wreck of his life.

He walks her to her car, gives her a little wave of goodbye as she slips into the driver’s seat, and turns on his heel. And then— “Hey, Juggie?”

He spins around absurdly fast. Betty is leaning out of her window, her arms folded out over the top of the door. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to come with me?” She asks, tilting her head at him. “We can get the compressor out of the way and then go get a nice lunch, or something. Hudson is cute, there’s lots of stuff to do.”

His brows furrow, as this is at odds with his presumptions about Betty’s nice outfit and the bottle of wine and the interested man waiting to meet with her. But he’s already shot himself in the foot once, so he’s not about to do it to the other.

“Sure,” he says, in what he hopes is a casual voice. He deposits his bag of groceries—luckily nothing perishable—into the back of the car and then comes around to the passenger’s side.

He settles in beside her, a warm feeling in his chest and something odd stuck in his throat.

Betty beams at him, and then turns onto the open road.

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#bughead #bughead fanfiction #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #fics #big sigh #here i go again

[nouveaukurt-blog]

the prologue; klaine’s story

                                                                           -KURT’S PERSPECTIVE

The effects of time can do great things; it's one of the most powerful forces in the world. Mountains fall and seas drain, relationships grow and friendships crumble. People grow, and the trials and tribulations of childhood mold people into the adults that time brings them into being. My story is no different. Time took me from one place to the next, and turned me into the man that I am today. It’s complicated, like any life is, but the biggest factor in my journey to adulthood is actually really easy to explain.

Once upon a time I was a happy, naive teenager in high school. I had a love that was better than any other—a gay love, which had seemed so impossible right up until the point that I met you. A love that could lift me up from the deepest pits of despair and help me fly high into the clouds of happiness. I had the perfect boy, and the closest-to-perfect relationship I had ever encountered. We were better than all those cheesy romance movies, we were that good. All good things must come to an end though, as they say. I moved off to New York after my senior year of high school to follow my life-long dream and in order to do so, I had to leave my perfect boy behind. I was devastated and completely broken by it for the longest time. I thought I would never move on, though I never admitted it to anyone else. Not even my best gal pal, and I spent more times wrapped around her like an emotionally scarred little koala, crying my eyes out until they were puffy beyond repair than I could count. I really loved you, Blaine Anderson, and though the idea of moving off to New York without you had once seemed so frightening that I almost lost my strength and stayed in Lima forever.. I knew that I had to go. And so did you. This was my dream, something that I had wanted before we had even met each other. If I didn't go, then I would end up resenting you for stealing away my chance; I could be one of those desperate "housewife" types that would blame his husband for a future that never was. Neither of us wanted that, so we split ways. At least it was amicable. There was no hate or malice in our breakup or my departure afterwards. 

Even still, I wished you would have begged me to stay, but for you, that was irrational. You cared about me too much to tie me down to a dusty old town like Lima. I loved you even more for that. It only proved how much you cared, and it made it harder to get on that plane and leave. Our contact after that was fierce, like we were trying to make up for distance by spending every moment we could on the phone. During my entire freshman year at NYU I told you about everything. Every time I ate, slept, drank, studied, danced, cried; all of it. You knew about everything. I doubt I would have made it through that first year without you, honestly. I needed you, and like an addiction I kept coming back for more. Like I said, I loved you. My second year came along and I became buried in school work, so I couldn't talk to you as often. My third year there was even less time, and when I was talking to you it was usually on speaker phone while I was doing my homework, and I tried to pretend you were in the room with me; sitting by my side, just too far to touch if I leaned over. Yeah, it was silly of me, but I really did pretend you were there. Even after three years apart, my love for you burned brighter than the Olympic torch. 

The years passed by and soon we started talking even less than before. I had to get jobs, support myself. I was no longer living under the money that had been put aside for me to use during college. I was a functioning adult, and I went through internships that took up most of my time. I got a Bluetooth so I could talk to you while I worked without getting in trouble, and I'd hear you laugh at conversations I had at work. Again, I pretended like you were there. But soon enough, even that ended. Before I knew it, the weeks we would go without talking turned into months. Then one day I realized that I couldn't remember when the last time we had spoken was. That day I cried for the first time in years, curled up on my bed with a stuffed animal you had bought me that last Valentine's Day we had spent together. I felt like a silly child. It had been over seven years since we had broken up, and I still held onto my love for you. You were my first real love, the one person who knew me better than I knew myself. At one time I had shared everything with you, and now you didn't even know who I was. I wondered if you were okay, if you were alive, what you were doing; all kinds of things. I hadn't dated since we split, and I had made sure not to ask if you had. I didn't want to know, it would have made pretending while we spoke on the phone impossible. All I wanted was for fate to bring us back together, and I had been so hoping that it would. 

Finally, I had to pick myself up and try to move on. Not from you, no, but I needed to grab my life by the horns and take what I had been working so hard for. I had so many dreams, I wanted so much. Over the years I had auditioned for a few musicals and shows on Broadway. I was able to act in the background in a few things, and I even got some secondary character roles in smaller theaters, but not the big break I had hoped for. Still, I never gave up. I still had that picture, the one that was so old it should be dust.. The one I had held onto during high school, your class photo, the one I had framed and then hot glued magazine clippings around it to personalize it. The words and images on those scraps of paper were now nearly black and white, slightly sepia from age. Every time I looked at it I saw the bright colors it had once been, and I drew courage from it just like I had before. Again, I will admit, you were like an addiction now that you were gone. Without your calls, I talked to your picture sometimes. Not like I was obsessed and talked to you all of the time; I just shared small little things, like when I was getting dressed and couldn't pick an outfit. I'd ask you, look in the mirror, and try to see if I could come to a conclusion. I was silly, but I was still hopelessly in love. 

I met a man name Pierre, somewhere in that seventh year of our separation. Well, I already knew him really. I had met him in college and he had asked me out a few times after we had met but I always dodged his advances. We hung out, but nothing formal or date-like, and one day I ended up spilling my guts right out on the table in front of him. It was just like when I had finally burst and told you about how trapped and depressed I was in high school. I don't even remember what set me off, but I just poured everything out right there. I told him why I was in New York, what my dreams were and how hard it was to keep chasing them when I wasn't getting anywhere. I told him about how easy I had thought it would be to succeed, and how I was losing my confidence. I explained that I had put so much effort into college, into my dream, and that I felt like I was drowning without a life vest to save me. Then I told him all about you, and how much I missed you. How we never talked, and how I was sure you were probably holding someone else in those gorgeous arms of yours, holding them close and telling them all the things you had said to me. I was in a coffee shop in New York City with a man who I had put my walls up with so that he could never get close.. And here I was pouring out my heart and soul. For a few minutes there, I broke. I didn't care that other people could see me crying, I had never really cared about that; even if it did make me look horrible when I got that emotional. My face scrunched up and my eyes went all squinty, and the puffiness that came next never helped my appearance. Not to mention the way my skin blotched up and reddened. 

He got up and held me somewhere in the middle of my babbling. I didn't even notice, I was so caught up in myself, and he just held me and listened. So when, about a week later, he asked me to go on another coffee meeting with him -this time under the title of "date"- I finally gave in. I caved, and had the first real date since splitting up with you. Is it pathetic that it took me that long? Probably, but one never forgets their first love, and I have always been a romantic fool. Even then, in the first weeks of a relationship with another man, I expected you to ride in on a white horse and carry me away. Perhaps with some cheesy little romantic line about how I'd never left your heart, or how another man could never love me the way that you had. How your life had always had a slight hint of misery without me in it. Why had we not gotten back into physical contact after I had graduated from NYU? I didn't even know, it just never came up. Did that mean that neither of us wanted to be together as much as I had thought?

Time, that ever-changing force that had taken me from a naive teenage mind with great opinions and goals into a responsible adult taking charge of his dreams, drifted by further. With support from Pierre, who had eventually gotten me to allow him to kiss me and became my boyfriend, I set out to grab my dreams for all they were worth. A starring role on Broadway never happened, but I kept feeling like I was close. I wanted to give up, but I knew I couldn't. That wasn't me. I still had to make enough money to pay the bills, so I continued to work. Through the years, I had moved on from simple jobs waiting tables and taken a proper seat at Vogue via internship. 

Then one day, I was reborn, and Jonathon Sparks came into being. What? You thought I was simply born into a name as classy as that? Hardly. And though I do love my birth name, this one seemed to fit me. One might ask; why did I create an alter ego for myself? It's simple. I was beginning a new business venture and taking another step towards something that I was interested in. This something had every potential, including that for failure. If this did flop, I did not want my own name tarnished in the process. I had every confidence in myself, and so did Pierre, but I did not want to risk ruining my birth name. You only get one of those. I made a big deal about this rebirthing process, and the venture I was about to take on. I had this giant meeting with a bunch of the people I had made friends with, and of course, Pierre. I even called my Father and his new wife so that they could join in on the talk via speakerphone. We all spoke for hours, and then finally, my decision was set in stone. I was starting my own magazine. 

It sounded like the perfect idea for me. I had risen from intern to actually seeing some of my designs on a catwalk. I had taken supporting roles in big theaters all over town, lead roles in smaller theaters, and smaller roles on Broadway. When the subject of gay marriage being legal in all states and not just New York came up, I had fought tooth and nail to publicly and loudly give my full support and voice to the cause. So many ventures, so many of my interests had been explored. I believed it was time to step out of my comfort zone and go for something big. Maybe this would be great, and maybe this would get me further into the warmth and bliss of my dreams. 

And so I began the steps needed to begin a magazine. I had saved up a good little chunk of money over the years; I was always responsible like that. So I started with a single room space that was small enough to be laughable, and built myself up from the ground. From nothing, I managed to pull together an entire crew, and through sweat, blood, and buckets of tears I came out with my first issue only six months after that meeting with all the people whose opinions I valued. Well, not all of the people who had opinions I valued. You weren't there, and don't think for one second that I didn't leave a seat open for you.. Just in case you magically knew that I needed you. Of course, you didn't. You're not a mind reader. 

My first issue was self-published, a process I pursued by myself, and I managed to get a few copies distributed throughout town. A few of my friends even stood on street corners and sold handfuls of copies like the newspaper boys of old. I was so grateful for everything I had, for everyone I had. It took a year before I was able to publish enough copies to get them into stores, but it was still local. My magazine, Fem Nouveau, had yet to reach beyond New York City, but it was my next dream for it to become more than just a local thread. I liked to approach things one step at a time, since I had become mature enough to make fully detailed task lists and run a magazine single handedly. Well, that wasn't fair to say. I had plenty of help from other people and Pierre had both hands dipped into the magazine as well, but my name was the one under the header, and my decisions were the final say. 

A few more years went by, and now I was ready to bring my magazine into the real world. I wanted to be able to spread the span that I distributed across in one foul swoop. I had been saving and collecting the best writers I could find. Not all of them were in New York either. I scourged the country, and with the money I had saved up throughout these years I was able to afford to fly out myself to interview the more important ones. Finally, my team was set up and everything was ready to go. I brought everyone to where they needed to be in order to begin working, and warned everyone how important this issue was. I wanted everyone to be as serious as I was, and I left knowing that I had complete confidence in everyone that was working for me. 

I finally felt like I knew who I was again. I wasn’t lost anymore, and eventually.. I stopped pining over you. I stopped waiting and I let myself just… live.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What? Can't she just push it back in? Oh my god!" I exclaimed, sitting on the couch of my childhood home in my pajamas. It had to be about five in the morning, and my crazy sleep schedule had really caught up with me. I slept at weird hours, and always woke up wondering about my magazine, or auditions, or whatever play or musical I was currently in. This was supposed to be my vacation, and even now I couldn't calm my mind down. The moment my cell phone rang I had picked it up, answering it on the first ring when I recognized the number. My fiancé -- Yes, that's right, Pierre asked me to marry him and I said yes -- sat beside me, an arm lazily snaked around my waist, mumbling things in French about how early it was, and how even I shouldn't be getting calls from work at this hour; Especially not on my vacation. Biting my lower lip, my eyes darted around the room nervously before I lifted my hand to chew on the tip of my thumb. It was a nervous habit, and I was nearly shaking with nerves now. "I don't want to sound rude, but this is not the time for her to be having that baby."

I sounded like one of those rude, executive prick bastards and I knew it, so I sighed, biting down on my thumb a little harder before Pierre took the hand away from my lips. "Alright, give her my best. Send her a basket with chocolates, a teddy bear, sparkling cider, and enough cute little baby toys to fill up the rest of the space. No flowers, we don't want to end up irritating her senses, and nothing else in the chocolates because we have no idea what her stomach is going to feel like after she has that beautiful baby. Send her my best wishes, and get everyone in the office to sign a card and write my name for me as well. Email me all those other resumes we got when we were looking to fill her job. I'll go over them right now and call back when I know who I need to have interviewed. Au revoir."

Within a minute I was scanning through applications on my phone, looking for the perfect candidates. Pierre whimpered next to me, and I had to explain the situation before he understood why I was working on our vacation. As soon as he knew what a dire emergency this was, he was looking through the applications with me. One of my more important music reviewer columnists had just been taken to the hospital, and she was having her baby early. This wouldn't be a problem normally, but this was an important issue and if this one flopped then I might not be able to fund another one of this magnitude for a while. This was it. The make it or break it moment. This would either go so well that I’d be able to finally become a national name, or it would completely destroy everything I had so painstakingly built. Finally, we picked a candidate, I called my assistant back, and he made the plans for the interview. I was pleased to hear that the man was able to meet me here, in Lima, and that I could have the chance to see him and speak with him myself before deciding to hire him on for this important role. It was so important that I made the meeting for later in the same day, because I needed to be able to be sure I had time to look elsewhere if I needed to. Deadlines were coming up close, so I would already have to work really closely with this man in order to be sure he got things done on time. 

Pierre and I fell asleep entwined on that sofa, watching mindless cartoons because they made him laugh and he insisted it would help me get my mind off of work long enough to fall asleep. He worried about my health constantly, because of how hard I had always pushed myself. It was an honest concern, though you would never tell how few hours I slept nowadays by looking at me. I had a wonderful skin care regime, and it kept me looking as youthful and fresh as ever. 

The alarm on my phone went off a few hours later, the time was three hours before my scheduled meeting with my possible new writer. Yes, three hours for me to get dressed and ready to impress well enough to feel like I looked like magazine owning material. I showered and brushed my teeth, then moved around my bedroom with nothing more than a robe on, though the sash keeping it closed was held tightly in place. I picked out a deep red colored pair of slacks, dark enough that they looked black unless they hit the sun, and then they glinted with a bit of the brighter color. I grabbed the matching blazer and decided to calm the fashion choice down with a white button up shirt and a thin black tie with little red glittery design details; all designer, of course. After laying that all out on my bed I rushed back into the bathroom, intent on finishing my beautification ritual. There was a facial scrub and a hair mask, and after I rinsed all that off I put on three different moisturizers, an under the eye treatment to keep those pesky bags away, and a cream that was supposed to help keep facial hair from appearing. Because, let's face it, I had a baby face and I did not want to lose it. I dabbed make up concealer on a few spots on my face -under the eyes, my forehead, and some on any spot on my face that seemed discolored in any way- and then powdered my face so it wouldn't look shiny. 

That was only the beginning. I styled my hair into place; comb in one hand and hairspray in the other. Once it was done, I spritzed it with a leave-in conditioner that made it even softer than it normally was. I was already hot from all the effort, so I fanned myself with my hand before dropping the robe, neatly hanging it up on its place on the back of the door. It never once touched the ground. No, my clothing never hit the ground, not even my robe. I spread lotion all over every inch of me but my face. There was one more, fancy moisturizer I put on, and this one was for the tougher areas to keep soft; my feet and elbows. 

Finally, I was ready to dress. I moved back into the bedroom, stretching my arms over my head as I walked. After so many years with my own body, I was finally comfortable with it, as long as nobody else was there. I got dressed slowly, I had given myself enough time to do so, and I didn't want to get sweaty. That would gross me out. There were few rare occasions where sweat was anything but horrible disgusting. Like when a man was boxing, his knuckles tight underneath those gloves, slamming hard fists into those unforgiving punching bags until moisture dripped from heated pores. Anyway, that was not the topic of the day. I buttoned every button on my shirt, making sure every inch of my outfit was freshly pressed, and checked out every angle of myself in the mirror before slipping on my shoes and socks. The shoes were black, of course, as were the socks. A sideways glance at the clock told me it was time to go, and I grabbed my briefcase and headed towards the door. Pierre was still asleep, and so I leaned down to kiss his cheek chastely before grabbing my keys and wallet from the table beside the door and heading out. 

It took me fifteen minutes to get to the coffee shop where I had planned to meet my potential new hire, and I sat in my car for an extra five minutes giving myself a pep talk to bring up my confidence.

"You are Jonathon Sparks, and you are amazing. You went for your dreams and you reached them. Forget about everything else. You. Are. Jonathon. Sparks. Live it. Love it. Breathe it. BE IT." I said to myself in my quest to gain more courage. I was always pretty good with people, and I was a bit of a diva throughout my life, so I wasn't all too worried by the end of my little chat with myself. My inner diva was awake, and I was ready for business. I grabbed the handle of my briefcase with one hand and the door handle with the other and opened the car door with determination. My head tilted up towards the sky as it so often did when faced with its first noted exposure of the day to the beautifully warm sun. I was still pale as a ghost, but I did enjoy feeling the warmth from time to time. I slid my keys and my wallet into my pocket and hit the button on the car door to lock it before closing it. My shoes made a little sound as I walked across the parking lot to the place that should have felt like a second home to me. How I could have gone to this exact parking lot so many times and not known immediately where I was stepping would have been beyond me if I had known how oblivious I was. Sure, it had a new name and it had been remodeled beyond recognition, but I thought that I would always remember exactly where this place was. It used to be the Lima Bean, after all.

Maybe I was in too much of a rush to feel the familiar sense of being home as I brushed passed the doors and into the building like I owned the place. Truthfully, I looked like a bit of a snob, my nose tipped into the air as I headed for the counter and ordered a drink. Being in Lima made me feel nostalgic, so I quickly ordered a medium, nonfat mocha and leaned against the waiting counter. I tapped my index finger against the hard surface as I scanned the crowd. There were a few people hanging around, sitting in various places. Most people were obvious and easily labeled. Nerdy college boy. High school cheerleader. Annoying hipster. There were a few possibilities for the person that I was there to meet. I thought about it, drumming that finger against the counter all the way until they called out my order loud enough for the room to hear. I turned my head, almost surprised as I was jolted out of my thoughts, eyebrows raised. 

"Ooh yes." I said, nodding my head as I took the coffee from the barista. I pushed off of the counter, ready to take a wild guess and find the man I was here to meet. I picked the most likely candidate and as I stepped up behind him I raised a hand, even though he couldn't see me, and called out the name I was given. 

"Joshua Cru?" I inquired, my voice confident and clear as I stepped around to the front of the stranger. My eyes were trained on his face, and so when I came around enough to see the features of the man I was speaking to I nearly fainted. I dropped my briefcase but managed to hold onto my coffee and reached out with my newly freed hand to hold onto the back of the closest chair. Yes. My name is Kurt Hummel, fashion icon and founder of Fem Nouveau, and my blue hues just fell on the man that had been my first love. I couldn't breathe. All of that confidence that I had built for myself before walking in just rushed out of me in one single second. 

"Blaine.." I breathed out airily, because after all, how could I not recognize that face? Even with the glasses and the slight scruff, he was still the same Blaine I had known and loved; in the face at least. I had no idea that he actually was the person I was looking for, but I still lowered myself into a chair in front of his  table anyway, swallowing thickly and panting out a few puffs of air, my expression trying to grasp an emotion but not sure which one to take. "Can I sit?" I asked, though I was already sitting down. It was like I didn't even realize, and truth be told, I didn't notice at all. His chocolate, hazel eyes were staring across the small table in between us and I felt like he was looking right through me; but not like he couldn’t see me, like he could see all of me in an instant.

#kurt hummel rp #klaine #klaine rp #klaine 1x1 #glee 1x1 #para #para: 001

[thewordweavers]

SHAKESPEAREAN SONNET

Written in iambic pentameter, just like Shakespeare would have.

 Love at First Sight by Mia Espinosa

I took a sight of your fine-looking face

Everything holds up for a time of life

My heartbeat I hear, your every grimace

Each time you smile, belly butterflies strife

I can’t afford to stand out at your eyes

That captivates my demeanor, spirit

Your voice I hear seems like a vicious vice

Strange feeling aside you suddenly lit

Body as hard as a rock attracts me

Well-shaped nose paired perfectly with your jawline

Deep dark eyes that’s so lovable to see

How will I find a way to make you mine?

All I can do is to take an eye gape

I hope someday that my heart will escape.

 This poem was written when the writer had firsthand experience of being smitten for the first time.

Return Of Hard Work by Nikki Miano

Said that you’ll be leaving early morning

Fortunes great happen over lately noon

Payback of hardships that you’ve been doing

Sweat gain every now and then by your own

Worthwhile received through power whom released Piece of paper written a certain proof

Passion and loyal deeds still left unsaid

Truly proud indeed higher than the roof

Return earlier than usually expected

Sleepless night prevail again due not here

Still waiting until sun’s peak do reflect

Heard “vroom-vroom” saying that you’re outside there

Rejoice for return and firmly happy

Union in Jesus’ day really gladly

 The poem is about the sharing of memorable happenings of the year.

Journey of his Regrets by Alyssa Dumaguit

The sky is gray and full of mystery

A girl is slowly walking towards me

Her eyes are plain while sobbing silently

‘Cause I reject her confession to me

She was quickly running away from here

While rain falls onto her skinny body

I follow her for I believe she’s rare

Then I saw a car bumped her recklessly

A sudden pain hit me as I went near

Seeing her lifeless body with red strain

Coming to her grave, I did not bother

For it’s a pain seeing her in coffin

All my regrets are just going nothing

But I’ll wait and love her, my everything.

 Inspired by a book the author just read, she made her own twist to the story in this sonnet.

The Morning Sun’s Glow by Rowena Formentera

The morning sun glows brightly in the sky

As the cold breeze of air blows to my hair

I walked around like the slow cloud drifts by

The silent place that gave joy need to bear

What will become of this place, if sun’s down?

Will the birds sing happily in the trees?

Forests in green, a dusty road to town

Beneath in the morning sun’s glow with thee

The morning sun’s glow seems to bring light

A warm feeling that settles in the air

The nature awake that peek to my sight

Behold in charm, and to behave with care

Silently sitting, as the winds blow

I gaze in awe, of the morning sun’s glow

 The sonnet is about how the sun brings light to the whole universe, so that we may see the beauty of the world.

Long Lost Friend by Charisma Joyce Magno

I see an august guy at church, laughing

Looking towards him makes me undermine

His sweet voice and cute laugh; how amusing!

Miss to hear it, for it’s rare, but I’m fine

Ignoring me is the distressing bear

I will find some ways to see smiling male

Did something for my pal to feel my care

To make us peace, do comfort doesn’t fail

No one can explain, how happy can be

When Pal shared moments we had together

Building other memories, Pal and me

He’s my pillow and my stress reliever

A friend is a blessing needs to cherish

That lasts forever, ‘til the world perish.

This poem was constructed because the author remembers the unforgettable moments she had with her friend. 

Love Is Not All by Jhay-Ann Cortez

Love is not all: it is not meat, not drink

Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain

Nor yet a floating spar to mean that sinks

And rise and sink and rise and sink again

Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath

Nor clear the blood, nor set the fractured bone

Yet many a man is making friends with death

Even as I speak, for lack of love alone

It well may be that in a difficult

Pinned down by pain and meaning for release

Or nagged by want pas resolutions power

I might be driven to sell your love for peace

Or trade the memory of this night for

It well may be. I do not think I would

 Inspired by the song “Stay” by Rihanna, the writer was struck with the lyrics, so she decided to write a sonnet about it.

 Burdens to Victory by Denise Luna

So many trials I could hardly bear

My soul is thirsty; burdens over me

The gentle voice of yours I long to hear

No light was there, yet flames of fire I see

So long as I lived in the path full dimmed

The days I used to hold on doing wrong

And those days are days when no light has beamed

O Savior, you fill my sad heart with song

You make me known the fullness of your love

My wounds are healed when I was in distress

You leave me not with angels up above

I could not troubles; blessings to possess

Behold, you hath made my days with delight

My savior only, present help at night

This sonnet simply describes how victorious a person is despite of all the burdens he/she encounters in life. 

Love and Its Wonders by CJ Sidra

My love come and partakes of my garden

My heart is in full bloom with love for you

This love I have will not fade nor harden

Shower me with kisses like morning dew

Please come caress each petal with your touch

Before we met my garden was empty

My darling I needed you care so much

It was filled with many thorns and was lonely

Darling you’re the gardener of my dreams

You lend to each flower with so much love

We’re the perfect match and make a good team

You are a precious gift from up above

Your love is comforting, I knew before

You are my love, forever I adore

 The sonnet expresses the thoughts of the writer, who is obviously in love with his beloved.

Words by Jerome Jumao-as

The cup of love from which my lips are wet spill

My wings may smile but they can never wait

My heart has for more fire has frost to chill

A being darkly wise and rudely great

He hands between in doubt to act or rest

With too much knowledge for the skeptic side

In double to deem himself the worst or the best

With too much weakness for the stoic’s pride

I swing in the peak of white mountain snow

Hear the sledges with the great silver bells

There are of a plenty seed and grand gold

Howl of the land with all the golden wells

A changing man they can buy all, sans strife

I need redemption for my burdened life

 The sonnet is about a the complex workings of a persona the author closely identifies with.

 Ending Adolescence by Justine Cuento

The summer of my youth has gone to pass

Together with my broken hopes and dreams

I’ve come to realize that nothing lasts

With my disquiet bursting at the seams

 My life has been in perfect symmetry

Concurring with unfathomable bliss

But now I fear time would catch up with me

Destroying every single youthful wish

 I’m drowning in the harsh light of the truth

The harsh light burning bright to blind my eyes

As I unconsciously depart my youth

Towards maturity I go and dive

 A question I ask to myself and some:

Will you still like what you’ll become?

This sonnet gives you a quick look on  the author’s worries on what she would really be when she finally escapes being a teenage and run headfirst into adulthood.

#poetry #sonnet #poems of tumblr #poetry of tumblr #literature #love #heartbreak #sadness #me

[secretblog1212]

What Klaus Needs

finally finished this prompt from an Anon, it only took me five years. XD Ticklish Klaus being a needy lee is amazing and I am here for it, here is some content my dudes.

AHH THANK YOU FOR RESPONDING TO MY ASK ABOUT TICKLISH KLAUS!! 💓 i can try to give some ideas I’m not too good at it though so I’m sorry, also the one you said is super sweet and would be adorable! Using what you said maybe like Klaus is starting to annoy/tickle someone in hopes they’ll tickle him and they catch on?? Maybe he tickled Diego and then Diego figures out Klaus just wants tickles?? That would be so cute!! That’s all I’ve got baha but thank you so much if you could write it!! 💓            

To put it plainly, Klaus was bored.

   He had spent hours entertaining himself in his room, trying on all of his outfits and makeup. Ben and him had talked through all of their usual conversations already, from random ideas to conspiracy theories.

   After a truly fulfilling  debate on what truly defined a fruit Klaus took to wandering around the lonely house.

  A few of his siblings were out doing their own things, Allison had booked a flight to go see Clair and to finally settle the public on her temporary disappearance. Luther was exploring the city for the first time in his life, finding everything he missed out on during his ‘out of the world’ journey.  Klaus chuckled at his own thought.

   The house was not empty though, he could hear Vanya playing her violin behind her door and practically skipped down the hall towards the serene music.

   Vanya, she had slowly become more confident now that she had her siblings supporting her but seemed most at ease when he or Diego were around. Maybe it was because they had tried to defend her against Luther first, or she saw how they had all suffered most similarly compared to all the siblings paths. Klaus had been one of the siblings to not completely orstricise her during their childhood, they had shared many hours hiding away together until their Father found him and forbade their continuing friendship (not that it ever stopped them fully). Klaus was the disappointment of the Umbrella Academy, and his powers sometimes made him wish to trade places with the smaller girl. Was it better to have something and not be able to use it or to never have it in the first place?

   He was shaken from his thoughts as the melody sped up within the room. She had been working on her control for weeks and while not always 100% she had gotten farther than Klaus had in decades.

   He debated knocking on her door, maybe they could talk like they did when they were young, before puberty hit and he found a different outlet.

   The music stopped and pages turned before another private performance began. As ,uch as Klaus would of loved to barge into the room and demand her attention he had, contrary to belief, some self restraint. Instead he walked back down the hall to his… smaller brothers room.

   Klaus didn’t even think for a second before opening the door. Five sat on the floor, book propped up on his knees and didn’t give Klaus enough thought to look at him before sending him off with a quick “Not now, go find Diego or someone.”.

  Klaus surprisingly didn’t put up much of a fight. He did throw a lovely bird to his brother carrying a kiss from the depths of his heart to his still distracted brother. Five did not react.

   Shutting the door and heading further once more Klaus came to his other brothers room. Number Two. He did not bother to knock this time around either, much to Diegos annoyance.

   “Diego, my buddy, my pal, mi hermano! Wanna hang? I’m bored to all shit and you never fail to entertain.”

  Diego, who had been laying on his bed triedly scrolling through his phone, rubbed his temples. “Not now Klaus,” He sighed, truly looking dead tired. “I just got back from an overnight. All I want to do right now is sleep.”

   “Oh come on. Just a little bit.” We never hang out anymore, y’know? What happened to the good old times?”

   “Klaus please be quiet, I am going to take some headache pills then fall asleep for about a week, then we can do something.”

  Klaus did not appreciate the refusal of his company. With Five it was expected but Diego normally would put up with him for at least a few hours.

   “No fun…” Klaus whined. “I chose you Diego and I am not feeling the love-”

   “Because there isn’t any.” Diego raised his eyebrow, a smirk on his lips.

  Klaus slapped a hand to his chest, agast with this treatment. “Excuse me? Have you been misleading me this whole time sir? The outrage! Complete blasphemy!”

   Diego cringed at the volume, was Klaus always this loud? Diego didn’t know but he wasn’t going to wait to find out. He stood up and moved towards the ex- junkie, giving a playful poke to the ribs as he moved him outside his door, shutting it with a soft thus.

   Klaus panicked, he knew Diego had seen him flinch, he had seen the smirk he was wearing before he shut his door. The best thing Klaus could think to do was walk back to his own room and think. He wasn’t expecting to feel anything ticklish,he hadn’t braced himself for it at all! But it hadn’t felt… bad? No, he kind of wished Diego would try again later but… no. No he needs to go to his room, he can just ask Ben, he would die of embarrassment if he went to Diego now.

  And so he went to his room only to find Ben gone, wandering somewhere. He as left in silence with his thoughts switching back and forth on the exact feeling, repeating the tingles he felt over and over. His face was in flames, he knew exactly what he wanted  but it wasn’t like he could comfortably just go and ask someone for.. that. No, That would get some looks.

   Klaus was at the peak of his delima. He was never shy to ask about this type of thing before with his partners, and it wasn’t that he couldn’t ask he decided. He just wasn’t sure how any of his siblings would react, least of all Diego. Sure when they were kids they had tickle fights, at least when dear old dad wasn’t around, but now they were well into adulthood.

   He had asked Ben a couple of times more recently but he was never able to hold focus for long. It only ended in making him more needy.

   And so the craving began.

He couldn’t stop himself, never one for patience, so it was no surprise when he found himself marching over to Diego’s door only half an hour later, knocking before letting himself in.

   Luckily the other boy was fully clothed and still on his phone. A pillow hit it mark against Klaus’ face before he could get a single word out.

“Rude.”

“What do you want?”

Klaus hummed to himself before deciding to stretch himself over his brothers lap , stomach up, not unusual behavior but this time with an ulterior motive. “Can’t I just want to spend quality time with my family?”

Said family sat up, hands laying innocently on Klaus stomach, unknowing of the mental screaming fit that ensued.

“It’s rarely that simple. I don’t know what you want me to do if you’re bored, I’m tired to you’re out of luck, go harass Five or something.”

Klaus did not move, he was so close but the words he anted to say would not come out. Instead he settled for, “Nah, He’s probably reading some book. BORING.I would much rath-” He stopped in shock.

Never one to keep his hands still, Diego had begun to drum his fingers over Klaus stomach.

Torture. Mean. Evil. Rude. Klause felt personally attacked.

Diego only tilted his head, “You ‘kay? Not acting yourself.”

Klaus cleared his throat, “Yeah, yeah fine. Just um. Nothing. “ He said, barely able to force the words past his lips. He could practically feel himself vibrating, but Diego just gave him a skeptical look and his hands, his fucking hands kept horribly drumming along to some pop song.

Diego watched as Klaus sat stiffly, a blush slowly spreading across his cheeks as he fought an internal battle. Diego had realized what Klaus had wanted as soon as he practically threw himself over him. He used to do the same thing till they were deemed ‘Too old for childish nonsense number two and number four, stop that this instance.”

He could drag this out a bit longer though.

“So wha’cha want to talk about Klaus?”

Klaus wasn’t even sure if he could talk at this point. He could feel every bang of Diego’s fingers against his ribs, they were practically vibrating through his entire body. He knew he couldn’t last much longer.

Before he could think of something convincing to say Diego’s hands changed into claws, digging into his ribs. Klaus practically screamed at the unexpected change. Questions flew through his mind, how did he know? He thought he was being subtle. He wasn’t prepared yet!

“Ruhuhude!”

Diego felt his lips pull into a smile looking at his brother, it was the first time in a long time he had heard him truly laugh. The thing was, Klaus didn’t even try to pull away from the feeling besides the usual squirming, and even that seemed less intense.\

Klaus curled into a ball before frantically uncurling after a few seconds. His head tossed left and right.

God, he had forgotten how much he needed this. How fun and free it made him feel.

Diego decided it was time to switch spots, re experience his brothers ticklishness. Of course he remembered his worst spots, his hips and ribs, but he forgot how he would squeal if you lightly tickled over his belly, or cackle and kick when you went for his feet.

It only took minutes for Klaus to feel weak with laughter, he didn’t want it to stop though.

When he opened his eyes he saw Diego looking down at him , a smile across his face. He must of been waiting for Klaus to open his eyes because as soon as he did the teasing began, and boy did it start strong.

“Y’know, I forgot how much you liked this. I mean, you haven't’ told me to stop once or pulled away.”

Well shit. Klaus hadn’t even thought about masking how much he wanted it after it had started. It was much too late to salvage now. Instead he flung his head back and kept laughing. What else could he do? Deny what Diego already knew, he wasn’t Five. No, Diego was the one who used to tickle him most when they were kids, it would be dumb to think he wouldn’t remember. Why hadn’t he just gone to Five, at least then he (probably) wouldn’t of had thought Klaus was in desperate need to be destroyed by tickly fingers, he could of convinced him that the entire thing was his idea!

But now he had every coo and tease ever heard of being thrown at him. He knew that the words couldn’t attack him themselves but it sure felt like they were! Each sentence made the pokes and scribbles double in ticklishness. God was this Heaven or Hell? Klaus could only guess a mixture of both.

His face was bright red, both from laughter and embarrassment, but the fingers didn’t stop. In fact once found his wrist and pried his arm away from his body. Shit. Shitshitshit.

“Shihihihihit! Diehego Noho.”

“Awe, is it finally getting to be too ticklish for you Klaus? Because I could go for hours more. I think that would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

Klaus shook his head, hair a tangled mess, while trying to pull his now pinned arm down.

“What about this spot? I remember your armpits used to be pretty bad..”Diego said, he was so cocky and full of confidence that even just looking at him made Klaus tingle. His voice was smooth and almost patronizing in the best way possible.

Klaus couldn’t will himself to respond as his brother slowly brought his wiggly fingers down. All he could do was giggle and shake his head. A completely hopeless case.

“I’m not even touching you yet Klausy, why’re you laughing already?” can you feel it coming? I bet you can.”

Four felt his face getting impossibly redder. Then, when his eyes were squeezed tight and his face tucked into the crook of his elbow that wasn’t quite strong enough, Diego made contact.

Klaus screamed, there is no other way to describe what happened. He could hear Diego laughing after him but couldn’t make himself focus on much of anything except the fingers digging into his upper ribs and dancing in his hallows.

No matter what he tried, rolling over, kicking, rolling the other way, trying to pull his arm down, holding Diego’s wrist, even at one point trying to fling himself off the bed, he could not separate from the point of contact. He thought he was going to go mad, and he loved every second of it.

Diego’s hands found his hips next. Nope. nopenopefuckingnope.

This must of  gave Klaus some super strength or something because he was suddenly able to rip his hand from Klaus grasp and hold on to his evil, cruel brothers wrists in hope of regaining some control.

Diego jst laughed some more. “Did you think I would forget your worst spot? How could I forget Number Four and his deadly ticklish hips?

Klaus felt himself getting more and more flustered, when they were young he could of been tickled from an hour and barely be phased, now he didn’t even know if he could last a second longer.

“Dihihiegoho! Noho- noho mohohohore. Ihihi canhan’t!”

“You can’t? I thought this was what you wanted Klausy?? Just a minute longer, then I’ll stop.”

Klaus wasn’t sure how he survived. He knew it was only a minute, literally. Diego counted down the seconds, but it had felt like an hour. By the time Diego removed him horrible, mean, absolutely rude fingers Klaus was wheezing for breath.

Diego moved to lay back down, “Next time you want tickled just ask, okay.” was the last thing he said as Klaus got his feet shakily under him.

Klaus did all but run out of the room. He could feel that there would be a lot more laughter filling the halls of the Umbrella Academy in the upcoming weeks. He didn’t feel any shame for being excited for it either.

#klaus hargreeves #ticklish klaus #tua #tickles #ler diego #diego hargreeves #just living my best life #they deserve to be happy #this is way to long for what I thought it would be but im not sorry #oofuri #the umbrella academy #tickling