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cherrycheridarling · 3 years

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'someday maybe' | t.h.

tom holland x singer!reader

warnings: one swear? fluff and angst? kisses

summary: you're so close to finishing your second album when your manager pushes the deadline, your ex tom helps you write the final track.

{listen to someday by michael bublè and meghan trainor (if you want)}

wc: 2.1k

"Someday maybe when we're old and grey,"

"Yes, yes. I know. You are not being a very helpful manager right now, Noelle." you spoke to your phone as you paced around the living room, "Okay. I'll get working on it. Bye." you huffed and threw your phone against the couch.

Your album was due to be released in two months and you needed one more song to tie it all together. Your manager, Noelle, was pushing you to finish the song so she could start the promo of the album.

You were incredibly grateful for your career, but the pressure weighed down on you everyday. Never ending.

With a final groan you picked up your acoustic guitar and sat on the couch. Picking at the strings, trying to find a melody. You hit record on your voice memo app before strumming away.

"Someday maybe when we're old and grey, we can be in love once more. 'Till then I won't give my love away. Darling, I'm forever only yours." you sang softly.

You and Tom had a joyous relationship. A love that only ever existed in movies and fairytales. The type of love story that gets told for generations and onwards. But alas, all good things must come to an end.

Your breakup was calm, serene and clean. A mutual agreement as if your whole relationship had been a business deal. There were no loose ends or jealous passive aggressive remarks made. Just maturity and respect for one another.

Your pinky still held the promise ring he gave you. A token of appreciation. A reassurance that he'd always be there for you. And he lived up to his word.

Tom walked in and sat across from you, startling you, "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. Whatcha writing?"

"Need a final song for the album. Sorry for showing up unannounced. I just get better inspiration here, with all the memories, you know?" you timidly looked back down at the guitar.

Tom nodded, "No need to apologize. We gave you a spare key for a reason."

You couldn't stop yourself from spilling the words from your lips, "That was when we were together."

You could hear the awkward silence start to fill the room before he spoke again, "Still our best friend, Y/L/N."

The pain that crossed your features was instant. Being addressed by your last name felt like a stab to the gut. Especially by Tom.

You nodded before playing again, "Can I help you write it?" Tom asked as he sat next to you.

"Dancer, gymnast, actor and now songwriter. How many hidden talents have you got, Holland?" you teased making him laugh.

He shrugged with a smile, "It's kind of like writing a poem, right?"

You pondered on his analogy before slowly nodding, "Yeah, it kind of is. Give it a go."

You began playing the melody and he listened intently for a few moments before singing, "I love seeing you happy. I miss seeing that smile. It's been such a long time. A– Nope. Nope. Nuh-uh. I can't do it." he shook his head aggressively with a loud laugh as you stopped playing.

"No!" you quickly protested, "That was amazing! Don't leave me hanging, c'mon." you nudged him with your shoulder before strumming again.

"Alright, alright." he ran his hands down his face, "And although I don't have you, I know now that I need to?" he paused and gave you a skeptical look before you nodded again, "Somehow make you mine. Mmm."

"Oh, okay. He's giving ad-libs and all. Get it." you nodded as he laughed.

You were so engrossed on Tom actually writing a song with you that you didn't focus on the lyrics he was singing.

"And I won't lie, it's hard seeing you with him 'cause I know he can't hold you like I can." his mood seemed to drop by a thousand as the words left his lips.

"When can we meet this boyfriend of yours?" Harrison flicked your forehead from across the booth.

You, Harrison, Tom and Tuwaine were all sat in the local pub. Pints of beer in front of each of you as loud music and chatting filled your ears.

You shrugged, "He's picking me up, so possibly tonight."

Tuwaine's eyes lit up, "Fina-fucking-lly. I swear you've kept him hidden for years."

"We've only been together for three months, T." you laughed lightly with the group of boys.

And they met him. It wasn't the smoothest of introductions, but an introduction nonetheless.

"Boys, this is Kai. Kai this is Tom, Harrison and Tuwaine." you gestured to the parties as they all shook hands and gave polite greetings.

"So," Harrison started, "What do you do for a living, Kai?"

Kai cleared his throat, "I'm a Senior Resident at Kingston Hospital. Working towards being Head of Pediatrics."

Tuwaine and Harrison both nodded, impressed by his profession. Tom's face remained expressionless as he stared at Kai with cold eyes.

"Do you have any siblings, Kai? Any psycho ex-girlfriends? Any wacky cousins?" Tuwaine joked making everyone laugh. "'Cause Y/N has a lot of wacky cousins."

"We could be in love once more,"

"Hey!" you gasped with a laugh.

Kai pulled you closer to him as he laughed, "No, no wacky cousins or psycho exes, but I do have an older sister and a younger brother."

This game of ask and answer continued on for a few more minutes. Tom didn't say a word, just sipped his beer and burned holes into Kai with his eyes. If looks could kill, Kai would be six feet under.

Kai was a sweetheart, but you two ended ages ago. His work got too much for him and your job had you touring and travelling every second.

You picked up after him with the chorus before diving into your own verse, "I remember that love song. I sang every word wrong, but you didn't mind, no, no."

"I love the things you do. It's how you do the things you love. Well it's not a love song, not a love song. I love the way you get me, but correct me if I'm wrong. This is not a love song, not a love song!" Tom belted the 'Austin & Ally' song from the top of his lungs.

"Your turn!" he pointed the pretend mic in your direction.

You laughed, not knowing any of the lyrics, but still wanting to participate, "I love that you not a licket! And you own a watch and chicken! We got a car!" you sang with full confidence, making Tom burst with laughter.

"Yes! Sing it, darling!" he cheered you on, "Absolutely butchering the lyrics, but sing it!"

"Being stuck inside a car. If it's not a doe, don't kiss it! I can't hear a missing, when there's a shoe inside the ceiling! If you really need to fart, you can lunch on a pig farm! Love song! Love song!" you couldn't even hear the song in the background, your voice overpowering it.

Tom was hunched over from laughing before he came back up and planted a soft kiss on your lips, "You are one hundred percent ridiculous and I love it."

You brought yourself back to reality and sang again, "And I'll admit that I miss you, but only if you do. 'Cause you know that I'm shy. And I can't lie, it's hard seeing you with her. 'Cause I know she can't love you like I can."

Tom's eyes met yours as the words fell from your gentle lips. His mouth was slightly agape as you continued to strum.

"You are absolute rubbish. Imagine coming in eighth. Embarassing." you laughed as you crushed Harrison in a game of Mario Kart.

He shoved you with his shoulder, "You're such a try ha—"

"—It's always the same, Tom! How can I trust you? You follow gorgeous models on Instagram and expect me to trust you?" Nadia's voice cut Harrison's words off.

You looked at him with wide eyes, his expression matching yours.

"Those women that I follow have been my friends for ages. Who I follow on a stupid app shouldn't effect how much you trust me."

You paused the game, cutting off the theme song, "How long have they been fighting like this?"

Harrison sighed, a long groan following, "A few weeks. I think it started when she saw that he liked your Instagram picture?"

You stammered, "M-my post? She got mad about my post?"

Harrison nodded before opening his mouth to speak, but Nadia cut him off again, "And she practically lives here! How do you think it makes me feel seeing my boyfriend play house with a superstar?!"

"Aw, a superstar? I'm flattered." you joked making Harrison stifle a laugh.

"I've been friends with Y/N since we were in nappies!"

"I can't be with you if you're going to be friends with her."

Your laughter abruptly died at her words. Harrison stiffened beside you.

"Y-you can't be serious. You can't make me choose between you and her."

"Why? Because you're gonna choose her?" you could hear her voice crack.

"I-" Tom couldn't make out a sentence for a few moments, "Yeah. I'm gonna choose her."

Your heart fell from it's place, stopping at your feet. Harrison brought a hand to his mouth, "H-he chose you. He chose you!" he whisper shouted before you shushed him.

"Of course. I don't know why I expected anything different. I think I'll be going now." Nadia's footsteps approached the living room.

You and Harrison scrambled to look as if you weren't eavesdropping on their argument/breakup.

Tom followed close behind her, "I'm sorry. I really am."

She nodded, hand on the doorknob, "I know. Goodbye." she stepped out of the house, slamming the front door shut in the process.

Tom let out a breath of relief before turning to you and Harrison who were staring at the Mario Kart home screen with the infamous tune playing.

"You guys are terrible actors."

"'Till then I won't give my love away,"

"I'm forever only yours." the both of you finished the song in unison.

There was a moment of silence before you reached over and ended the voice recording.

"T-that was really good. You can change what I wrote, I know it isn't as good as anything you would've written, but I tried. And it was actually pretty fun and I never knew how difficult songwriting was un—"

"—Kiss me." you cut Tom's rambling off.

His eyes grew wide, "W-wha—"

"—Kiss me, Holland."

He swallowed, a small smile stretching on his lips, "Thank God."

And with that, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. Interlocking like missing puzzle pieces. Moving in sync like waves in the ocean. Soft and sweet, but filled with passion. You could feel his smile against your lips causing you to grin.

His hand came up to pull your face closer into his. Caressing your jaw, fingertips playing with the hairs on the back of your neck. His other hand holding your hip in a tight grip. Pressing the pads of his digits into your flesh, scared that you might slip through his fingers again.

One of your hands was pressed flat against his chest. Steadying yourself, the heat of the kiss threatening to throw you off of your axis. Your other hand tangled itself into Tom's curls. Pulling and tugging lightly causing small groans to fall from Tom's lips. Your fingernails scratching his scalp. Pulling him impossibly closer to you.

"I want my ten pounds." Harrison's voice snapped you and Tom out of your make out session.

Him and Tuwaine stood in the doorway, shit eating grins on their faces.

Tuwaine laughed before placing a ten pound note in Harrison's palm, "You guys couldn't have waited until next month to get back together?"

"You two were betting on us?" Tom laughed at his mates who nodded.

You shook your head with a smile, "Absolute idiots, all of you."

Harrison let out a happy sigh and pocketed the money, "Today was a good day. Had a sick ass shoot. Got ten pounds. And my best friends are finally together again." he waltzed into the kitchen with Tuwaine, leaving you and Tom alone again.

Tom's shy expression met your gleeful one before he spoke, "Someday came a lot sooner than expected, huh?" he chuckled.

You nodded with a laugh, "It certainly did and I am not complaining."

He sent you a wide grin before cupping your face and connecting your lips to his again.

"Darling, I'm forever only yours."

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kafka-ish · 3 years

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richie tozier gets off a good one | r.t.

“This was not to say Richie could not be very funny from time to time; he could be. When referring to verbal zingers and farts, Richie’s terminology was the same: he called it Getting Off A Good One, and he got off Good Ones of both types frequently...” -- Stephen King

word count: 3.3k

warnings/included: nsfw (explicit smut, oral -- male receiving, male x female, mentions of masturbating), fem!reader

a/n: pls enjoy !

It was a cold shower kind of afternoon as the thunder from outside Richie’s bedroom window roared loud enough to be mistaken for a dragon. Dragons don’t exist. Richie, however, ignored the booming sounds of nature from outside—his thoughts lost in a certain someone; and his ears muffled by the pillows encasing him.

y/n was coming over for a study session at two p.m. sharp, per Wentworth’s request, but Richie still had time as his left hand traveled to the zipper of his orange, corduroy trousers. It’s not like Richie knew y/n. This afternoon, this shameful afternoon where if his dad were home right now, he’d be caught with his hand in his pants and a name he’d rather not talk about in between his lips, would be his first time meeting the girl.

Wentworth Tozier was the one to suggest she come over on this grey Sunday afternoon during Thursday’s family dinner when he noticed Richie’s recent report card.

“A C in chemistry?”

“The C stands for Chemistry,” Richie said with a smirk on his face. It didn’t seem to work because Mr. Tozier’s frown didn’t budge, and Maggie Tozier only sipped her coffee which had to be cold by now.

“You know we expect better from you.” He was right. His parents weren’t used to anything other than a line of A’s on the weekly transcript he brought home. Richie wasn’t either. But lately, something had taken a toll on his grades—or someone.

“You know what might help him, dear?” Wentworth looked up from the chicken he was currently cutting through. “A tutor.”

“I do not need a tutor.” Richie dropped his fork which was being used to play with his green beans.

“Your grades say otherwise, kid,” Wentworth countered. “You know, Maggie, I think that’s a good idea.”

“Not you too, Dad!” Richie cried out, exasperated at the scene playing out in front of him.

Ignoring his son, Wentworth continued, “In fact, I think my buddy back from Catholic school has a kid who could tutor him.” He took a bite. “Last I heard, she was fairly good at the sciences.”

“You should think about calling them after dinner,” Maggie said without looking up. Which was how Richie ended up with only an hour left to get himself off rather than the rest of the day.

Although his hand was no match for any of his previous hookups, it was faster, and it got the job done. He was just about to finish when the doorbell rang and a knock on his door startled him from his position and kept him from finishing.

“Coming!” Richie yelled; certain that the outsider wasn’t going to hear him. He stood up from his position on his bed, pulled up the trousers that hung from his ankles and trekked his way downstairs. His feet made a thumping sound as they padded their way down the stairs—roughly at that. He was surprised the house didn’t shake at his footsteps. “We don’t want your Girl Scout cookies,” Richie said, half annoyed that his session was cut early.

“I’m not a Girl Scout.” y/n held open the door with her hand before Richie could close it. She wore a white button down that was haphazardly tucked into a blue-green, plaid skirt. Her already see-through blouse was even more see-through, as the rain from standing outside for so long had drenched it from the outside in.

“Oh.” Richie didn’t say anything for a moment. “I didn’t order a pizza, either.”

“I didn’t bring you a pizza, either.” y/n was growing just about as annoyed as he was. “Can I just come in?”

“I don’t know about that one, toots.” Richie made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Pops said I’m not allowed to let strangers in.”

“Richie, please, just let me in,” y/n seethed. She didn’t have time for his bullshit and quite frankly, he didn’t either. If Richie let his grades take another blow to the one-inch margin, his C would threaten to turn into a D. “Your dad called mine on Thursday… I’m here to… tutor… you.”

Richie noticed how her voice had lowered and he could tell she was just as ecstatic as him for their study session. Wordlessly, he stepped away from the front door, allowing y/n some space to walk in. His eyes inadvertently glued themselves to her backside, watching as her skirt’s pleats swayed against her hips and the rain’s water trail against her long legs; a sight he’d swallow at and feel himself grow semi-hard to.

If all the girls at Catholic school looked like y/n, he might just have to transfer because just one glance at her made Richie forget all about the reason for his tragic C that stood for Chemistry.

“Where are we studying?” y/n asked. Her eyes darted around the place like it was foreign. It was foreign. Her hands clutched the book bag she held onto tighter, anxious by the new atmosphere.

“Is my room okay?” Richie asked, already starting up the stairs. His tone had gone soft, like when you microwave butter. He almost felt bad for protesting against the idea of being tutored just a few short days ago.

“Yeah.” y/n followed him, making sure to leave an appropriate amount of space between the two bodies.

“Do you need a change of clothes?” Richie said, not trying to cover up the obviousness in his voice; that he was obviously looking at her covered chest each second she spent turned away from him; that he had an obvious hard-on that he hadn’t bother to conceal under his ridiculous corduroy pants.

“No,” y/n said with a bit of uncertainty. Sure, she was soaking wet from her hair to her toes, but she wasn’t about to borrow one of Richie Tozier’s ridiculous band-tees that would wear like a dress.

“What’s with the get-up, anyway?” Richie smirked. Before he sat down, he pulled out an extra seat for her. Usually, it would be used to discard his dirty clothes on. Luckily, Maggie Tozier had taken the liberty of cleaning up before their guest got here.

“Laundry day,” y/n sighed while sitting down her bag next to her. She brushed out her skirt as she sat down so it’d cover as much of her bare legs as fabric would sparingly allow. Her skirt was drenched, and she was sure it would leave the chair just the same as if she stood up any time soon.

“Don’t have to wear that thing tomorrow?” Richie couldn’t help but think about all the other girls who’d be wearing the same outfit on Monday. Of course, their blouses wouldn’t be overly exposing, but their legs would still be bare and long—longing for Richie’s stare if you catch a drift.

“Aren’t you failing something?” y/n snapped back.

Richie swallowed the rest of the words lingering in the back of his throat.

“I was thinking we start with the basics.” y/n bent down, searching for the green folder she had marked ‘Science’ in thick, permanent ink. Richie couldn’t help but steal another look at her figure—outlined by the white shirt that clung to it.

“Basics?” His voice cracked, but he was too caught up in her to care.

“Well, what do you need help with?”

“Nothing.” Richie scoffed, not letting some girl he barely knew deflate his ego.

“Then why am I here?” She countered. Her eyebrow raised, unimpressed, and her fingers started to drum anxiously against the wood of his desk.

“Right now, we’re going over stoichiometry,” Richie shrugged, not bothering to meet her eyes—her bright, keen eyes he’d find himself lost in if he weren’t careful. “It’s not the math part I need help on it’s the—”

“Concentration.”

“Yeah.” Richie let out a heavy sigh. He already knew what y/n looked like—beautiful, while water droplets kissed her neck that he itched to touch. It wouldn’t hurt to steal yet another glance, he thought, while turning towards her. “It’s like I can’t focus,” he said, finally making eye contact.

“And you need help with that?” She questioned. The familiar feeling of anticipation welled in the back of her throat but there was no telling why.

“I guess.” Richie’s eyes left hers to stare at the wall. The view was less impressive, but it let him form a cohesive thought.

“I think I know a way.” y/n’s demeanor had completely changed by now. Richie was about to mutter out a how or what the hell are you talking about but the words in his mind scrambled together like the eggs his mother made that morning when he felt her hand travel down to his knee.

y/n’s touch was light and delicate—almost nothing as it grazed against the fabric of his jeans. But it was there. He felt it, and if he didn’t, his imagination must’ve been pretty goddamn realistic for running at a hundred hertz a minute. Her thumb ran circles against the corded pattern making his breath hitch.

“Uh, what’cha doin’?” Richie’s eyebrow rose at the hand on his pants which was making its way to the zipper.

“Helping,” she insisted, “if you’re having trouble focusing, you’re probably stressed, right?” Richie could only nod. “So, this will help you unstress.” He gasped at the sound and sight of y/n undoing his zipper. His eyes widened and she found herself smiling at his movements from such little touch already.

Richie was quick to roll his jeans, and the underwear underneath, to his ankles. His eager length stood hard and erect against his stomach and if it weren’t for his lack of social awareness, he’d be embarrassed to be seen bare in front of a girl he just met.

y/n’s right hand—timid but daring—wrapped itself around the base of his cock, eliciting a groan from Richie’s now parted and perfectly pink lips.

Surprise wouldn’t even begin to describe the swirl of emotions that found themselves in the pit of Richie’s stomach and began to bubble in his throat—another groan. Though, as surprised as Richie was, he couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of pleasure and yearning for more as he harshly swallowed at the feeling of friction and tightness y/n managed to spring upon him in one firm jerk.

She was on her knees now, the feeling of hardwood against bare skin didn’t seem to faze her. All her attention was on Richie. The sound of unsteady breaths from above had y/n’s cheeks flushed and panties in a heat. The only cohesive thought in her mind was wanting to hear those pretty little noises coming from Richie’s pretty little mouth again.

y/n didn’t need a mirror to know her pupils were blown, the sight before her that she couldn’t quite look away from and the uncomfortable feeling between her legs was enough, letting her realize what she was doing. What was she doing? Her grip on his length loosened as she moved her hand up and down, allowing for enough space for her mouth when she connected her lips to his dick.

“God. You feel great, toots.” It only took a few motions for Richie to already come lax at the feeling of y/n’s mouth. He wished it were another part.

y/n chuckled to herself. Having this much power over a boy made her feel… confident. No guy at her school would give her the time of day, it seemed—not even Jeremy Fields. But Richie Tozier… Richie Tozier was practically falling apart at the sight of her and y/n loved that. Richie felt her pace around him speed up and y/n felt herself grinding on her palm to meet his same high. The sight of her alone was enough to have Richie on edge.

“Sugar, if you don’t stop I’m gonna—” His heavy pants were enough to cut him off, but y/n took her chance to interrupt further.

“—You’ll what?” She pulled apart from him, a string of saliva connecting them. Richie almost whimpered at the warm feeling of her mouth provided—gone.

“I’m gonna bust before I can take care of you,” he admitted somewhat bashfully. His face was red, and y/n couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or the fact that he had been worked up.

“Oh.” Back at her shy state, y/n ducked her head and felt her cheeks heat in a similar fashion to his. “Well, in that case…” y/n didn’t have to finish her sentence for Richie to get a grasp on what she was saying. She began to undo the buttons of the thin, white button up at an unbearably slow pace. She managed to peel the wet material that stuck to her skin gracefully even though she’d been itching to take it off as soon as she put it on.

“Wow.”

“Shut up,” y/n mumbled mindlessly, not daring to make eye contact. Part of her was embarrassed enough at the fact that she was on her knees for the boy she was supposed to teaching qualitative chemical reactions to. Her skirt was next to come off. The plaid fabric fell helplessly fell to the ground as soon as she unzipped it.

“I’m serious. You’re like… hot stuff, hot stuff,” Richie said as soon as she stood up, giving him a perfect view. Her underwear was a scalding red with embroidered flowers that decorated the side of her breasts and hipbone. The matching set was far from innocent, far from what Richie would imagine Catholic school girls to wear.

y/n didn’t say anything—her stomach too full of butterflies and a lump still caught in her throat. Richie could sense her nervousness and pulled her into him. To think, a girl he had met only thirty minutes ago was now engulfed in his arms and half-bare for him.

The rough pad of his thumb drew circles on her shoulder. The slow, sensual movements against her skin was electric and had the two riled up even more as Richie slotted his thigh in between hers for her to buck up against. The feeling of her clothed clit on lace as she dragged herself back and forth on his leg at an uneven pace was indescribable.

“Fuck.” It wasn’t unexpected that Richie broke the silence and occasional gasps. “You’re soaked… so… fuckin’ soaked.” He could feel the wetness from her panties that dripped onto his bare leg and he groaned at the thought that it was because of him.

y/n giggled but the sound of her breathy laughs in his ears didn’t last long as she pressed into him further and latched her lips onto his. It was like no other kiss he’s had before. As for y/n, she’d be ashamed to say it was her first kiss. That is, her first kiss where she felt something.

y/n swallowed the moan from Richie as their lips still locked and their tongues swept over each other.

“You’re like—”

“You are, too,” y/n breathed quickly, not bothering to hear the rest of the words. Her attention was now focused on him—or the lack of him inside her. She grabbed his throbbing length once again, taking barely any time to admire it. “Do you have any?”

“Yeah.” Richie swallowed. He opened the top left drawer of his desk, revealing a box of Trojans which he quickly took a foil packet from.

It was weird. Although y/n knew this was just a one time thing she couldn’t help but feel jealous as the small hairs on her neck stood to attention.

Effortlessly, Richie tore open the foil and slid on the condom. “Ready?”

y/n nodded and bit down on her cheek as she sunk down on him. Patiently, Richie waited for her to adjust to his size and a sign for him to move.

A quick kiss to his lips was it. It was different from the first. Swift, sweet, teasing. Richie wanted more. He wanted more as he thrust up into her and he wanted more as he felt y/n’s fingertips dig into his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt.

“Unfair that you have more clothes on,” y/n managed to speak through a whine. To which Richie opened his eyes and through hazy lids and lust-blown pupils he saw her panties that were pulled to the side as his dick met her entrance and the bra strap that was making its way down her arm.

Richie stifled a chuckle. “You want this off?” He gestured to the graphic tee that was basically draped over his slim figure.

“God, yes. Take a hint much?” She tugged weakly on the sleeve of his shirt and he pulled away for a second so he could remove it, revealing his smooth chest and delicious collarbone.

Another whine left y/n’s lips as he pulled her in closer again. His speed picked up as he bottoms out, reaching a spot no guy has ever found before. Her left hand his in his hair, gripping at his long locks that only a Rockstar would dare wear and her right hand is clutching his cheek—his freckle-sprayed cheek that relaxes under her soft hands and delicate fingers.

Richie’s hands, however, are in a much more intimate place he realizes as he moans yet again, this time at the feeling of his roots being pulled on. One is on her ass, keeping her from falling off, though it might be impossible seeing as how close the two are. The other is playing with her folds, using the same circular motions from earlier to coax her closer.

“You feel so good,” Richie says as his eyes roll back to his head. “Fuck.”

y/n hums. Her lips can’t help but curl into a smile once the words reach her ears. “I’m close,” she whispers and Richie nods in agreement.

It’s dirty and the total opposite of what Richie would expect from the girl who walked in his door a short hour ago, but they reach their highs together, while the filthiest noise Richie’s ever heard leaves y/n’s swollen lips. He watches her as she cums. Her hair is moussed and sweat shines across her furrowed brows. But Richie Tozier swears he hasn’t seen a prettier sight.

“Fuck, doll,” Richie says in amazement.

y/n’s still smiling as she opens her eyes, but she can’t help but be embarrassed at the same time.

“What?” The question is small, but there’s a certain weight on her shoulders that Richie notices.

“You’re hot.” He’s wearing a shit-eating grin and y/n wants to smack him right then and there. But she doesn’t. She only smiles back, quickly removes herself from him, and redresses herself with the same pace. Her shirt is only slightly less damp and slightly less uncomfortable, but it’ll do. y/n supposes she could just change into her pajamas once she got home. “What, don’t tell me our session’s over already,” Richie tries to joke.

“Sorry,” y/n sighs. Her backpack is already slung over her shoulder, she didn’t even need to ask Richie for help with her stuff.

“Hey, is this because…” Richie’s large palm finds a home on y/n’s shoulder which she tenses up at.

“No!” y/n’s barely able to choke it out. “But the session was, like, supposed to be an hour, you know? And I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” She’s back to her nervous self again.

“God.” Richie realizes what this is about now. “You’re not overstaying anything, toots. You can stay for dinner if you’d like,” he offers. “Hell, stay forever.”

y/n resists the urge to roll her eyes and opts for the dead skin on her lip instead. “I really have to go. Sorry, Rich.”

The last he sees is her half-smile from her all perfect lips before she slips out the door and into the rain again.

#richie tozier #richie tozier fanfiction #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier smut #richie tozier fluff #richie tozier x reader smut #richie tozier x reader fluff #it stephen king #it 2017 #it 2019 #sorry i'm bad at writing smut

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merryfortune · 3 years

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The Monster in the Fruits Basket

hi @ina-bon I was your secret santa on the discord

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

Ship: Takeru/Kiku

Word Count: 5,876

Tags: Alternate Universe - Fruits Basket, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Minor or Implied Child Abuse

“I don’t like it here anymore, Gramps…” Takeru confessed and he stared at his hands whilst thinking about her. Kiku. “It feels like I’m sitting in a lukewarm bath. I’m just getting pruney.”

His Grandfather regarded him cautiously. Ever with a stern brow and a stern upper lip.

Takeru swallowed. “I want to go out and fend for myself again for a bit. I’m sick of being here. I want to pursue my passions in judo and other martial arts. When we went camping for those few months last year, it was the best time of my life. I feel antsy and dull in comparison to living here. With them.”

“I disagree.” his Grandfather said. “I think you are making excuses.”

“I’m not!” Takeru snarled, he banged his hand on the table.

The door slid and Kiku was there, she was holding onto a tray of rice balls and looked jumpy and apologetic. Takeru looked up at her and the grizzle in his face all but vanished when he saw her. His eyes were wide, lit up, and for a moment, a flicker of remorse for having raised his voice.

“Sorry, this is a bad time. But, when you're ready to come down stairs, there will be rice balls and other refreshments.” Kiku said and she excused herself just as quickly as she had interrupted.

“I disagree vehemently.” Takeru’s Grandfather insisted, a low growl to his voice.

Takeru glared. He felt like he was pushing at a wall which wouldn’t budge for it was all bricked up and mortared and more. And when that energy expired, he collapsed over the table, burying his head in the crooks of his overlapping, folded arms. The beads - bone yellow and blood orange - clinked on his wrist and glinted in the fluorescence of his bedroom’s light on the ceiling.

This was twice now that Takeru’s Grandfather had to see his own, intimate kin wear that bracelet.

He recalled meeting The Cat as a youth but his youth may as well have been another world with how it changed and collided. He had been playing out in the courtyard with a ball, just bouncing it off every surface available whilst trying not to hit any of the servants or other passerbys until it bounced to the other end. Into what appeared to be a barely open shed. He had crept inside and found a man in a beautiful kimono in a small room but he was caged. He was also holding the handball that he had been playing. They exchanged pleasantries and the man handed back the ball and he left. The man seemed glad to have had a visitor but his visitor was unsettled by the whole exchange, it seemed so ordinarily peculiar.

He would only later learn that person was The Cat but he would learn it at a wake he unintentionally attended.

After that Cat died, the next one was born and after that surreal moment, like a dollop of honey on a wooden spoon, in a summer afternoon, playing handball, the next Cat was born to him and his wife. He liked to think that he had done his best to raise the next Cat but life was arbitrary.

Takeru shouldn’t have been born the Cat but his father died before he even learned he was a father. A freak accident. It could have been anyone. And his mother. His poor mother. She drove herself to madness because of her husband’s death and when her son was born, when she held him in her arms for the first time, still covered in the mire of being born, he did not remain a baby. He grew fur and claws, became a white and ginger kitten.

It was harrowing for her to say the least and for six years, Takeru never saw his grandparents or even the outside world. He was his mother’s little treasure in every sense of possession. His little hands forever checked for stray hairs and claws. His little wrist was the most delicate of all as she checked that the rosary against all that being inhabited by the spirit and jealous of the Cat entailed. The rituals of it all were ceaseless until one day she didn’t come home from grocery shopping and she still hadn’t even ten years later.

“I think you should go down and have something to eat.” Takeru’s Grandfather told him.

“I’m not hungry.” Takeru complained.

“You should eat regardless, then.” his Grandfather continued. “You will need the strength tonight. There’s a storm.”

“I’m not some little kid anymore,” Takeru spat, “I’m not afraid of storms.”

His Grandfather smirked and there was a clash of thunder. Takeru stiffened to the last hair on the back of his neck.

“Then this discussion is over. Until further notice, I want you to stay here, in this lukewarm bath as you called it. If you run away, I will make sure she brings you back.” his Grandfather said.

Takeru lifted his head off the table and his arms, he quirked his brow, “She? Whose she? At least do it yourself, you lazy old fart.” Takeru growled.

His Grandfather ignored him. Gracefully, he got to his feet and Takeru scrambled to join him, a flurry of limbs until he straightened up. They left Takeru’s room and came down stairs to where everyone was. The atmosphere decidedly terse.

Everyone was clustered around the long, low table in the centre of the room, trying to avoid the windows as they banged and rattled. At the moment, it was more the wind than the rain itself which had everyone on edge - assuming it was the weather at all which had made them uncomfortable, and not whatever they had overheard from upstairs between Takeru and his Grandfather.

Still, Kiku sat on her knees and she already had two plates at the ready as she hailed down Takeru and his Grandfather. Takeru readily sat down next to her as she piled one rice balls onto his plate before sliding it towards him with a smile. Takeru’s grandfather observed her, still standing up, awkwardly hovering close to Shoichi and Jin who were watching similarly twitchy.

“See? No chives since I know you don’t like chives.” Kiku piped up. “Oh, and these ones are tuna-mayo since those are your favourite but this one’s chicken.”

Takeru smiled. “Thanks, Kiku.” he replied but as he accepted the food, his smile faltered. He was thankful for her but she also represented too much to him but he ate the food to be polite. “It’s good.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Kiku smiled.

With Takeru eating, it could be argued that the atmosphere was easing up from its irrational tenseness. Even Ryoken, who was sitting in the corner, like the mouse that he was, had unhooked his arms from around him and had reached for more of Kiku’s rice balls. She encouraged Ryoken to take more but saying that prickled Takeru, so he grabbed another - one which didn’t appear flecked with chives - and wolfed it down all but immediately.

He didn’t spare a moment to savour it as he swallowed. He was just thankful for the food. It somehow felt that dinner was so long ago but it wasn’t really. The argument that he had had with his Grandfather had simply exacerbated that distance but the rice balls were good. Kiku was a good - no, great - cook. From the moment that she had arrived at this hodgepodge house for the exiles of the Main Kogami manor, Kiku had been charming all of those around her.

Takeru kind of wished he had been there. That moment when she had all but turned up out of the blue and introduced herself to her so-called neighbours; enchanting Shoichi with not only her etiquette but her knowledge of the Chinese Zodiac. His little painted models had been fatefully sitting out in the sun and she had mentioned it to him, talked about how adorable they were but it was a set of twelve rather than thirteen and she was the biggest fan of the Cat from the story. She didn’t want him to be lonely.

But Takeru was the Cat and he wanted to be lonely because bad things happened to those around him when he was anything but lonely.

Yet, since meeting Kiku, Takeru had felt a slight change in him. A transformation different to how he became the Cat and how he became… nevermind that. Kiku was the reason that his fingers were pruning in this lukewarm bath. She treated him with a kindness that he wasn’t used to. Telling him he had a plum on his back and that she wanted to learn things about him, from him, going so far as to do her own research on subjects that he liked such as martial arts. She was dense and happy-go-lucky but her laugh was like nectar. He liked it best when she was smiling, with her golden eyes all lit up like the sun.

Soon enough, Takeru had eaten more than the lion’s share of the rice balls that Kiku had prepared, disgruntling Ryoken in the process but having seen his grandson eat so vigorously, Takeru’s Grandfather was pleased. Yes, there was a tentative serenity to sitting around, having a snack after dinner. There was even laughter and Shoichi, who was standing around, watching, hoping Jin wouldn’t come down from his nap at an inopportune time because it seemed like now was the time to strike. Just when there was a lull in the group.

“Takeru,” his grandfather interrupted the teenagers at the low table, “I want to go outside. To spar.”

“Huh? What?” Takeru half-growled, raising an eyebrow at the absurdity of such a demand. “It’s pouring outside.”

“I think it could be fun,” Shoichi piped up, voice suspiciously airy, “and its not pouring, just… spitting.”

Everyone glanced out the door on that. Opened just enough to let a breeze in because the days had grown humid and stuffy thanks to the spring showers. And it was dark out there but not with thick storm clouds. Just with twilight settling down in the puddles.

“Ooh, you could show me that left hook that you’ve been working on, pretty please?” Kiku emphasised, taking the bait that Shoichi had set out. “You’re always talking about what a great judo master your grandfather is, I want to see this in action.”

“It would be nice.” Takeru said, embarrassedly thinking about how he had been hankering to do just that for the past day since his Grandfather had come around to visit.

“Good.” Ryoken piped up. “I’ll look forward to seeing an old man kick your ass.” Yet despite his stoking remarks, he seemed dubious of this sudden exhibition match between Takeru and his grandfather.

“Oh, shut up.” Takeru snarled but in a more playful way than usual.

“Should we wake Jin up?” Kiku asked, looking towards Shoichi. “It sounds exciting, he should come down.”

Shoichi waved her off. “Him getting enough rest is more important, besides, his sport of choice is soccer. Not martial arts, I doubt he’d be interested.”

“Yeah, that’s true…” Kiku agreed.

With that settled, despite a strange crackling feeling in the air which wasn’t lightning about to strike, everyone got up and shuffled outdoors. Going from the cool air conditioning indoors, just behind a sliver of glass, to getting out into the soggy grass of the front yard was disconcerting. It was humid - sticky and all encompassing - and getting dark. Storm clouds brewed and despite the subtle strangeness of it all, Takeru and his Grandfather took position in front of their crowd.

Kiku stood with Shoichi who stood with Ryoken who stood by himself, out the front, just by the window. Kiku clasped onto her hands, cooing, as she watched how Takeru and his Grandfather eyed each other down. It was heated and fiery, without words, as they stared, readying their stances, and then pouncing.

They all gasped as Takeru was entirely outclassed by his grandfather. Takeru couldn’t let a single strike on his grandfather; he seemed so strangely clumsy compared to his grandfather who avoided him with ease. The nimbleness that Kiku, and even Ryoken, associated with Takeru seemed so slow as his grandfather blocked and parried his decisive movements.

“Appalling.” his Grandfather scolded him.

Takeru gritted his teeth as he tried to force a landing on his Grandfather but he was stopped entirely. His Grandfather took his forearm and grabbed him. It was a reversal of all Takeru’s raw strength funnelled into his own upheaval. Takeru landed with a thud on his back on the ground. Kiku grimaced as she knew she would be the one to do the laundry later.

“Is that it?” Shoichi asked. He scratched his goatee in thought.

Takeru’s Grandfather sank to Takeru’s level. “You’re short-sighted, boy.” he said.

“You don’t say?” Takeru sassed him. “Better get new glasses, I’ve been on the wrong prescription for years then.” He wasn’t even wearing his glasses tonight; they had been annoying him.

His Grandfather rolled his eyes at him. “You need help. To get better at your practice, you need a more holistic and unafraid approach. One more balanced than brute strength. And I’m going to show you how.”

Takeru’s eyes widened as he had the ghost of a question on his tongue, “What…?” he barely managed to eek out of his mouth as he had a terrible realisation of just how helpless he was in this position. His grandfather took his hand and Takeru watched as the bracelet around his wrist, supported and protected, was removed.

It felt as though time slowed for Takeru as he tried to get up, tried to get the bracelet back, tried to resist every inch of what was happening to him.

Shoichi stood, gawking, and guilty. He was acting strange but he couldn’t look away. Completely unlike Ryoken who shut down with what was happening. He looked away, eyes closed tight, and Kiku noticed how he flinched. She had an exclamation or a gasp just beyond her lips but she could only focus on Takeru as he ripped himself from the ground and how his Grandfather let the bracelet drop into the mud. A transformation completely unlike anything Kiku had seen occurred.

When Kiku had first arrived at this house, it had been one accident after another which led into a spiral of female on male contact. Nothing serious. Just hugs and even something as simple as brushing up against Shoichi and then Ryoken and then Takeru had caused the curse upon them to activate. It was silly and kind of funny in hindsight as the pretty looking young men around turned into a dog, a mouse, and a cat respectively. It had been strange but light-hearted.

This, what was happening now, was strange and anything but light-hearted. It was monstrous.

There was genuine fear and horror in Takeru’s eyes as he tried to get up but his body disobeyed him as he transformed. A transformation that was jagged and unshielded by the mist usually produced by the curse. This was raw and grotesque. A stench emanating through the yard, from Takeru, as his muscles burst and his bones broke, reshaping, until he was anything but human. Or even like an animal.

Ryoken refused to look towards Takeru’s general direction; he had a hand clamped over his mouth and he was gagging. Shoichi was transfixed the same way one became transfixed around disasters like car wrecks. He was pale but stern. Kiku. Kiku was somehow both. Her stomach knotted as she recoiled visibly because of the smell and the sights; she wanted to look away, to alleviate the strange and horrible feeling in her gut, but she was unable to.

Takeru became a creature the likes of which Kiku had never seen.

His proportions were all wrong. On all fours and with a long tail but his appendages were stooped in ways that looked broken. His fingers were elongated and his bones were sharp beneath the taut skin of a sickly orange. And his muzzle was jagged with huge, gleaming eyes that were predatory and afraid.

His Grandfather rose to his full height and he observed cooly as Takeru launched himself from the ground in shame. In fear.

“Ta...keru-kun?” Kiku murmured. She blinked.

The sound of Takeru’s claws scraping through mud, through tile, through tree branches - wherever he landed in his fleeing leaps and bounds - echoed through the air. It began to rain but the rain barely softened the horrid sounds: the crunching and the breaking.

“That is the other form of the Cat Spirit,” Takeru’s Grandfather began to explain to the dumbfounded Kiku, “does it disgust you?”

Kiku was silent but she leaned forward slightly with a horrified stare and a slackened jaw.

“Does it scare you?” he asked.

Kiku was silent but she was no longer still. She was propelled forward on something like instinct. She kept her head up and she passed by the bracelet in the mud as she kept going forward, as uneven and rock as her steps were. Where she ignored it, Takeru’s Grandfather picked it up and said his prayers for his grandson on it: not praying to any deity, just a girl whom he, and many others affected and involved with curse, had high hopes for.

Kiku ran into the forest. Chasing after Takeru or what had become of him in this other form. She had no idea. She had no idea that the burden of his Curse ran so deep but it certainly explained some things. In the dark, she was blind to everything but she kept going forward, trying to find Takeru, unfettered even as she fell over and tripped. As she knew she had no idea what she was getting into. The instinct she was acting on was the kindness that she had been taught and she valued so dearly.

She had to keep going, she thought to herself, before bile spiked suddenly in the back of her throat. She got up, on her hands, but she felt her whole body weaken and she threw up in front of herself. She wretched quickly, fouled by the taste and the quickness of how it had come from nowhere but it stopped her altogether.

Confusion was thick and rotten all around her. Kiku didn’t know what to do, what would be right and what would be wrong, that was the truth of the matter as she tried to grapple with what she had seen. The sight of Kyo’s transformation was not something that Kiku would forget soon; the botched way his arms bent and the way his eyes gleamed. Recalling them was more than enough to elicit fear from her, making her skin prickle and her stomach squirm again. But, even so, with tears in her eyes and on unsteady legs, Kiku got up. She clutched onto a tree for leverage as she got up. She kept going.

The rain felt freezing after being so hot. It was pouring down now with no end in sight. Only misery.

Takeru sat on his haunches as far away as he could. He pulled up his knees to his chin and buried himself in himself. He clenched his eyes shut and he felt like a child. Beneath the leathery hide of this monstrous form, he felt like a small and vulnerable child again. Between every lash of cold rain, he could swear that he felt his mother’s breath on him, slowly encroaching on him with a cruel and all encompassing embrace, her hands following his limbs along to that bracelet.

Those memories of his mother raked through him. A growl dribbled out of his mouth in genuine pain of them - and of this transformation. It was anything but painless, it felt like sulphur was in his veins. He hated it and he hated her and he especially hated her love. How it was transfixed on making sure he was protected, insulated, from the big, wide world which would hate him more than she hated him.

Takeru whimpered to himself, all alone, on a little island in the middle of the flooded pond in the forest. He just wanted the world to collapse in on itself so he didn’t have to deal with it. He thrashed about, causing landslides around him with his claws but the senseless violence did little to quell all that fear and fury in his heart. Growling, he looked up, and he was surprised to see someone on the edge of the trees, on the shoreline of the pond.

Kiku stood there, wonky and awkward, holding onto herself and a tree. She was looking out across the murky water to him. She tried calling out to him but her voice was too weak. Takeru’s wasn’t.

He snapped at her, shouting, “Go away!” A monstrous snarl to his voice.

Kiku didn’t even flinch as Takeru’s voice boomed across the water and through the rain. She just stared with this sympathetic look to her face.

“Why… Why the hell’re you following me like nothing’s the goddamn matter?!” Takeru growled.

Kiku tried to call Takeru’s name again but he cut her off with a howl. Her body language drooped. Saddened. And yet she stepped forward, nonetheless. The water was cold and thick around her, even at just her ankles.

“I said go away.” Takeru growled, his voice frayed at the edges now. “What’s wrong with you…? Are you blind? Can’t you smell…?”

Kiku kept coming forward. Takeru watched how she waded through the water, how it ate up to her knees now and how she held herself as she approached.

“Don’t you hate me? I-I’m creepy and sickening and we both know it.” Takeru whimpered. But then he turned to a roar: “Why can’t you leave me alone?!”

Kiku slowly set foot on the island that Takeru was on. She felt exhausted. Drenched to the bone, the taste of vomit still on her mouth, to say nothing of the stench that reeked around her so she came to her hands and knees. Still, she crawled closer to Takeru, her eyes wide and huge.

“I don’t need any of your pity.” Takeru murmured.

Kiku listened but she kept crawling closer. Mud on her hands and knees, skirt dragging in the mire. She came within a talking distance of Takeru, stood at his paws on the mound, and looked up at him.

“Please…” he begged her. “Please, don’t do this.”

“Takeru-kun, but I…” Kiku murmured as she lifted a hand to him with the intention of stroking him so that he might feel some vain semblance of comfort in the downpour and misery. “But I love-”

Takeru didn’t want to hear it. The way that seemingly simple word tumbled out of her mouth elicited the worst in Takeru. He struck out. He swiped at Kiku, tossing her back as she was nothing but a rag doll before him. Kiku screamed, more from the impact than from the horror of being hurt by her friend.

“Don’t touch me!” Takeru growled. “Get lost!”

Kiku was thrown into the water. A huge splash followed after her and then nothing. Just the harsh pitter patter of the rain hitting the coarse surface of the water. There was a moment where Takeru watched, with regret, before Kiku rose up. She broke through, panting and gasping, in the shallows on the bough of the island, fingers scrunching through the mire below her as she roiled with how she had been thrown and near drowned.

“You’re annoying, I want you gone.” Takeru spat with guilt. “Next time, I’ll hurt you for real. For good…”

Kiku dithered and her hand drew back. She noticed that the sleeve of her shirt was torn and beneath was fresh, stinging scrapes. She was lucky they were only shallow but they hurt like an acid burn, not just a cut. She clamped her hand over them for searing relief but it was curt. She looked up at Takeru again, her golden eyes looked like umber in the dim rain.

Takeru turned his back on her. He didn’t want to see her anymore and he didn’t want her to see him, either. He begged and begged that she would turn tail but all, save for the rain, was still. Silent.

Then, slowly but surely, with her head hung low, Kiku got up. Water dripped off her in the course of her sluggish movements and she chewed her lower lip. And she made her decision. She turned around and walked off. Her legs like lead as she dragged them through the pond.

Takeru’s ears, long and ribbon-like, anything but feline or human, twitched. He could hear Kiku leave, the sludge that moved around her, and Takeru’s muscles tightened. He wanted to hurt her so bad that she never forgives him. He had hurt her bad enough that she left - and maybe even left for good - and he wanted that and yet, his heart clenched. He didn’t want her to worry about him and Takeru knew - thought - that lashing out was the best option but… but he wanted to look back and he wanted to see Kiku looking back as well. Even if it was just once before moving on for good because things were too wrecked to be fixed or forgiven.

Takeru couldn’t take it anymore. He was sick of losing people; he was sick of pity, he was sick of feeling miserable, and most of all, he was sick of having things forced upon him.

He remembered something his mother said whilst taking his hand, toying with the beads of the bracelet on his wrist, but he couldn’t remember how cruelly she smiled. He remembered her assuring him that no, he was as human as anyone else. It was all just bad magic that this just so happens to happen to him. The fact that he became a child again afterwards was proof that the human was not the monster because the monster was temporary. That was trite but what she said afterwards was worse. She told him that she wasn’t scared at all and that she loved him. What rotten lies.

She couldn’t have loved him less and she couldn’t have been terrified more. Takeru was revolted with certainty.

Every hour of every day, she checked to make sure that abominable bracelet was in place. She would draw the curtains tight and never let him out of her sight. It had been abhorrent but he had been a child. He hadn’t known any better or anything else but now that he did. He didn’t want anything akin to that ever again and he would rage against such sentiments in whatever form that they took before him.

Even if it was Kiku. Kiku who remembered his dislikes and wanted to engage in his likes and told him that he had a plum on his back. Kiku was, Takeru realised with an alien ease, the first person to recognise him and acknowledge the real him. Completely unlike others who had been in his life before who claimed to love him, like his mother.

Takeru buried his head in his hands. A guttural growl leaked out of between the crooked gaps of his teeth all wrong for his bizarre maw. He knew how those memories ended. Without closure. With his mother simply disappearing and how distant, faceless relatives told him, without knowing a thing about him, that his mother loved him above all.

“Stop it!” Takeru roared, thrashing around, swinging his arms, pounding his fists into the ground below. “I don’t want that kind of love forced on me! I don’t need it...”

He kept murmuring it over and over. I don’t need it. And at the edge of the shallows, where only her ankles were wet, Kiku did hear him. She stopped and she sucked in a breath. She looked over her shoulders, her eyes that were pooled with hot tears, and she surged forward. A force of nature in her own right, outclassing that of the downpour that continued torrentially over them.

Water skirted up the side of her as she ran back through the mire. She slipped and tripped, here and there, but was undeterred. She flung herself onto Takeru. He flinched as he felt her embrace the long spike of his bowed elbow. She buried her face in his grotesque skin. His head bent around with a snarl but Takeru couldn’t bring himself to say something as Kiku hid herself using his limb.

“Let’s go home…” Kiku murmured. “We have to go home.” She reefed her face off him, holding him tighter, her cheeks were flushed as she insisted with the utmost determination, “We have to go home together.”

Takeru blinked and he felt his heart waver.

“O-Otherwise, I have a feeling, Takeru-kun won’t come back home - to that house - ever again.” Kiku said.

She took a sharp breath and she could swear she could hear the front entranceway door of Shoichi’s place slam shut. She cringed. She just knew that Takeru was on the other side of that slam and she didn’t want him to be.

“Stop. Let go.” Takeru growled.

“No!” Kiku shouted, holding him tighter.

“Don’t you get it?!” Takeru snarled.

“No!” Kiku yelled. “No, I don’t get it.”

“Let go of me!” Takeru howled.

Takeru pulled back his arm. His head reared back, maw snapping, teeth glinting, and he hoped to forcibly rip Kiku off him but as he flailed about, Kiku held on. Her legs lolled about, straightly, as she held on for dear life to his arm. She whimpered, afraid, but trying to be brave. He slammed her into the ground, belly first and the blow winded her. She sputtered in the aftermath and Takeru glared. Fierce and vermillion.

Still face planted, Kiku mumbled, “I’m scared…”

Takeru’s ears pricked up. He had almost missed it but he heard her. Her tiny little voice rife with terror. And despite that terror, Kiku began to get up. Her hands trembled but she still tried to hold onto the monster that was Takeru for anchorage.

“R-Right now, even though… even though I hear your voice, it doesn’t sound like you.” Kiku murmured. She shook as she got to her knees, still too weak to properly face Takeru. “Y-You’re in a form I’ve never seen before a-and it scares me.”

Takeru stared. His lips were pulled back in an uncertain and feral way, and Kiku embraced him through it. Gladdened that he had stilled.

“But I want to… I want to understand you now.” Kiku said. “Just like you listen to me when I’m discouraged,” she thought of how they had studied together after that big test had wiped them both out and how their marks improved together afterwards, she thought of how Takeru, and Ryoken, had gone to collect her from her grandfather’s house after the renovations and how it felt so wrong until she had seen him again, and finally she thought of New Years, sitting on the rooftop with him, making wishes on the stars and the skylines, “I want you to tell me when you are scared or hurting, or when you’re feeling weak, and let me worry about you! B-Because I want to keep living together with you.”

Takeru examined Kiku through the lens of his slit eye. She trembled, soaked with water and mud, and she looked pathetic. But she was being honest. His heart fluttered somewhere within the arcane structure of this body’s form.

“I want to eat with you, study with you, and worry about you… All those things, I want to continue to live with you.” Kiku sobbed as she embraced Takeru’s malformed arm. Her tears dripped down her face, mingled with the raindrops.

Kiku trembled as she held onto him, a bawl in the back of her throat. Her words, though quiet, managed to silence the world. The clouds above were grey and Takeru stilled with shock as he listened to her impassioned pleading. And there was a change, almost imperceptible but Kiku felt it. She looked up.

Takeru, naked as the day he was born, stood on his own two legs and he spoke not facing her, “It would have been fine if she didn’t love me at all…”

Kiku was slow as she clutched onto Takeru’s lithe arm, he was wet with the slick of the rain. Kiku felt a little bit confused but elated too, with relief, as she looked at him, unacknowledged. Tears pooled in her eyes but she wasn’t crying, even if the muscles of her throat felt soggy and thick.

“Or if she was scared of me…” Takeru continued, almost aimlessly but there was a shine to his voice, as though he were having a divine revelation about his relationships with others. “Being scared would have meant that she was seeing the ugly part of me. But Mom used to love to avoid looking at me. She avoided thinking about it - and I think she avoided thinking about the ugly parts of Dad, too, or maybe I was just the straw that broke her back…” Takeru began to sink, he sat down and Kiku joined him on her knees, still clutching onto him because she wanted him to feel some comfort in her fingertips. “But I wanted her to think it through with me, to worry with me. I wanted to tell her all the painful things but I never could.” His eyes began to water, his lilac-grey irises were glassy. “I wanted to live in the present with her.”

Kiku reached out and cupped Takeru’s face. He was finally able to look at her. Her hair had become untied and was in waves and clumps of cobalt black. Her golden eyes were huge with concern and worry, edged with lingering tears.

Takeru swallowed a lump in his throat. He had always thought… He had always thought nobody would want to say those things to him, with him. See him as a monster and see him as a cat and seeing him as him as well. Takeru’s heart trembled and his head throbbed. He began to slump forward, into Kiku’s arms.

For a second, Kiku thought she was going to be kissed but then Takeru hugged her. One arm cupping her back and the other taking her hand as his body, weak and wracked with exhaustion, all but crashed into her. He nuzzled his face against Kiku’s, he heard a tiny gasp and then a little, thank goodness, under her breath. And in that goodness, Takeru felt a sublime peace that he had never truly known until this moment right here in the mud and mire.

“Kiku…” he whispered to her, grateful. He felt her flowing tears on his bare skin.

The sky began to lighten. Clouds began to part for a feeble but kind sunshine that illuminated the drear of it all and Kiku held Takeru in her arms. He slept, a calico cat, white and ginger, in her arms and he dreamed softly, of dark nightmares melting back to sweet dreams as he was taken home by Kiku.

#ina-bon #ina bon #entrustshipping #yugioh vrains #vrains #yugioh #takeru homura #kiku kamishirakawa #writing tag #merry writes stuff #i hope you enjoy!!!! <333333

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junimorpmemes · 4 years

Text

Shit my friends have said on Discord pt 1 ?

We’re a wild bunch.

Feel free to change things around. Make sure you specify muse on multi-muses, etc.

“YOU PROMISED ME GUINEA PIGS, YOU LYING ASSBAG.”

“This is wholesome as fuck.”

“ Don’t give me so much power i will run this place into the ground.”

“Silly, sharks cant use phones. They don’t have vocal chords.”

“Ew nevermind, please ban him.”

“You can’t ban me, I’m a king.”

“How you just gonna jive on me??”

“Hi welcome to the zoo, what can I do for you today, officers??”

“ I still feel like the old woman who predicted the end times and is just watching others come to their downfall.”

“It's so we can go back and admire it like a library of bitchin’.”

“i will not stop until i have a whole damn chicken castle.”

“They are that and also somehow scrambling butt gremlins that chitter ominously at you from beneath the bed.”

“well what things do you like to do you giant flaming dumpling ??“

“I'll totally hit you up when my brain is less coagulated fish guts.”

“Today i farted in a way that sounded like a human voice saying "youre dead" and honestly that moment of being haunted by my own ass blasts made me reconsider my skepticism of the supernatural.”

“Can your purity withstand the onslaught of big guy with a big heart tits?”

“i'm going to break your neck with only my bear hands.”

“Ive just been so busy eating chick-pea chips and guac-salsa and it takes up a lot of my concentration.”

“ I got kicked out of a server temporarily for making a long analysis essay about Professor Layton's problems with commitment.”

“ I brought myself down from heaven to teach you all how to fanfic, apparently.”

“ And the only dreams I have are of me shitting all over yours!”

“ I'm sorry fer threatening to commit tsunami shitsplooge all over your hopes and destiny.”

“ I'll allow it. But you're tip-tappin' your little crab feet on thin ice, mister.”

“you look good af. I mean ...no that's what I meant. You're a bold dude with chill taste. Like a robust mint.”

#sentence starters #roleplay starters

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noona-clock · 5 years

Text

Actual Friends

Genre: Single Parent!AU/Fluff

Pairing: Sung Joon x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of death, some very slight mature themes

Words: 4,435

“Hey, sweet boy, how was your first day of school?” you asked as your son climbed into the backseat of your car.

“Pretty awesome,” he replied casually, getting situated in his booster seat.

You couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of relief. When you’d dropped him off this morning for his very first day of Kindergarten, he’d been a little apprehensive.

And so had you, to be honest.

He’d gone to preschool, of course, so it’s not like he would be completely out of his element. But still. Preschool and actual school just seemed like a huge leap, and it also meant your little boy was growing up. He wasn’t going to be your little boy for very much longer; it was terrifying.

For five years now, it had just been the two of you. Your son’s father had chosen not to be in the picture ever since the very beginning, since before your son was even born, so you guys had only ever had each other.

Thinking about your son growing up and no longer needing you like he did now... it kind of broke your heart.

You knew it was inevitable, of course. It was how life worked, and there was nothing you could do. But it still hurt.

So, you would just have to make the most of the years you had left before he started hanging out with friends more than he did with you.

“What did you do?” you asked once the teacher closed the car door. You drove off through the car rider lane, heading home to the townhouse you’d lived in for the past few years.

“We walked around the whole school and we played on the playground and we went into the cafeteria and I got to play on the computer,” your son relayed, his little forehead wrinkled adorably as he thought about his day.

“Sounds fun, baby,” you grinned. “Did you make any friends?”

“Yeah!” he gasped. “I played with a girl on the playground because everyone else wanted to play superheroes but I wanted to play animals and she was the only one who would play animals with me.”

“Oh, wow! That was very nice of her. She’s in your class?”

Your son nodded before continuing on telling you about how he and his new friend had played The Lion King; she had wanted to be Pumbaa, and he had been Simba, so the two of them had frolicked around the playground pretending to eat bugs and making farting noises.

From the sounds of it, your son had met his perfect best friend.

By the time you arrived home, you’d learned just about every detail of his time out on the playground with his new friend. Despite your attempts to get him to talk about something else -- the rules of the classroom, for instance, so you knew he’d been paying attention when the teacher went over them -- he continued on with the lions and the bugs and the farts.

“I’m glad you had a good time at recess,” you smiled as you parked in your driveway. “It sounds like your new friend is really nice.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty cool,” he agreed as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

You helped your son out of the car, reaching in to grab his backpack and handing it to him.

But he wasn’t there to take it from you. Instead, he had run to the other side of the driveway, waving his arms wildly through the air and yelling out a name.

Your brow furrowed at his actions, and you shifted your gaze to see who he was calling to.

A few driveways down, you saw a little girl with (presumably) her father. She had just gotten off the bus, and she was also standing at the edge of her driveway, flinging her arms around and yelling out your son’s name in return.

“Who’s that?” you asked as you stepped up to your son’s side.

“It’s my new friend!”

“Well, look at that!” you grinned, lifting your hand up to wave at her father (who replied with a two-finger salute). “Your friend lives just down the street. We’ll have to see if she wants to come over and play sometime.”

You took your son’s hand and walked inside with him, reminding him to hang up his backpack by the front door before you went into the kitchen to prepare an afternoon snack for him.

And so continued on the routine for the next few days: you picked your son up from school, talked about what games he played during recess that day, waved to his friend when she got off the bus at the same time you two arrived home, he hung up his backpack, and you made him a snack.

“Now, remember,” you said when your son scrambled into the car on Friday afternoon. “I won’t be picking you up like this next week. I can’t leave work early anymore, so you’ll be taking the bus and grandpa will be here to stay with you until I get home.”

You were fully prepared for your son to whine and pout about taking the bus, but surprisingly, he replied quickly with a cheerful, “Okay!”

You glanced back at him in your rearview mirror, wanting to make sure he was actually as happy as he sounded. “Just look for grandpa waiting outside so you know when to get off, okay?”

“Okay!” he repeated. “But my friend rides the bus, and she knows when to get off. She’ll tell me so I don’t forget.”

Oh, that’s right. His friend rode the same bus, and her dad (you hadn’t learned who he was if he wasn’t her dad) always met her in the driveway.

You knew your dad would be there to meet your son, but you were relieved to have a back-up plan in the case he was running late or something.

I mean, you probably should meet this little girl’s dad first...

“Mommy, can we invite my friend over to play tomorrow?” your son asked as if he had just read your thoughts.

“Yeah, of course, sweetie,” you answered. “I can’t wait to meet her, she sounds really fun and nice.”

“Yay!” your son cheered, bouncing around in his booster seat.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, and you turned onto your street, the school bus following right behind you.

After you pulled into your driveway, the bus stopped at the corner, letting off a few kids -- including your son’s friend. As soon as you turned the car off, he pushed the release button on his seat belt and opened the back door.

“I’ll go ask her if she can play tomorrow!” he cried excitedly, sliding down from his booster seat. Once his feet hit the cement, he took off running down to her house where she had just met up with her father.

You were about to yell out to your son to slow down, stay on the sidewalk, be polite! But you resisted, reminding yourself he was old enough to know all of those things. Plus, he needed to start learning to be more independent, so you would have to pull yourself away from being overprotective and nagging him about rules and safety.

That didn’t stop you from following him quickly down the sidewalk, though, wanting to arrive there before your son could abruptly invite the girl over without you even introducing yourself to her father.

When you approached the girl’s driveway, her father was crouched down in front of your son, holding his hand out for a handshake.

“Nice to meet you,” the man said with a half-smile. “My daughter has told me all about you.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty much my best friend,” your son replied as he shook the man’s hand.

“She says the same thing about you,” the man chuckled before he stood up straight, his gaze shifting to you.

“Hi,” you greeted as you came to stand behind your son, resting your hands on his shoulders. “I’m Y/N, the mom.”

The man’s half-smile grew just the slightest bit, and he then held his hand out toward you. “Y/N, nice to meet you. I’m Sung Joon. The dad.”

...It was the strangest thing.

The second you slid your hand into his, the second you heard his deep, smooth voice say your name, a delicious shiver ran down your spine.

“Nice to meet you, too,” you replied breathlessly.

“Can you come over to play tomorrow?” your son asked Sung Joon’s daughter. He rocked back and forth on his heels, clutching the straps of his backpack in anticipation as he awaited her answer.

“Yes, we would love to have you over if you can come,” you confirmed with a smile.

The little girl immediately turned her head to look up at her father, her eyes wide. “Can I, Daddy?” she asked.

Sung Joon’s half-smile finally grew into a full smile as he looked down at his daughter, resting one hand on top of her head and ruffling her hair a little. “I don’t see why not.”

Both children almost immediately broke out into a celebratory cheer, and you giggled softly at the adorable sight of them clapping and bouncing around.

“What time should she come over?” Sung Joon asked, looking back at you now.

“Around noon? She can have lunch with us,” you offered with a small shrug.

“Mommy!” your son cried. “Can we have dinosaur chicken nuggets?! Please please please please?!”

Oh, god. Your son was just going to rat you out for not always feeding him healthy, nutritious foods, then.

Thanks, buddy.

“Sweetie, I --”

“Please?!” Sung Joon’s daughter echoed. “Those are my favorite! With smiley face french fries!”

...Well. That made you feel better.

“Yes, we can have dinosaur chicken nuggets and smiley face french fries,” you consented with a smirk.

“Careful now,” Sung Joon interjected in that deep voice of his. “If you feed her that, she’ll never want to come home.”

“You can stay with us!” your son gasped, reaching out to hug his friend.

“But if I don’t go home, my Daddy will be lonely!” she replied with a slight pout.

Oh, interesting.

Did that mean... he was a single dad?

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you go home,” you assured the little girl, smiling warmly down at her. “Nobody will be lonely.”

Sung Joon simply chuckled softly, the low sound once again sending a shiver down your spine. “We’ll see you tomorrow then,” he murmured, nodding at you as he put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder to guide her into their townhouse.

“Bye!” your son cried, lifting his arm and waving at the two.

“See you tomorrow!” you added. As Sung Joon and his daughter headed up the walkway to their front door, you held out your hand to your son so the two of you could walk to your own front door.

As you strode down the sidewalk, slightly swinging your son’s hand back and forth, he said, “My friend doesn’t have a Mommy just like I don’t have a Daddy.”

Well, you weren’t sure where that came from, but you were just nosy enough to want to know more.

“She doesn’t?”

“Nuh-uh,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Her Mommy is in Heaven.”

“Oh no,” you said softly. “That’s really sad.”

“Yeah, she said she gets sad about it sometimes, but she doesn’t remember her.”

So, it must have happened a while ago, then.

“She told me her Daddy used to get sad a lot, but now he’s okay.”

Another interesting tidbit of informa --

Wait. Hold on a second.

Why did any of this matter to you? He was your neighbor, your son’s best friend’s dad, and you had just met the guy literally minutes ago.

His marital and emotional status should be of no concern to you!

Maybe it had to do with the fact that his touch and his voice had been spine-chilling -- but, like, in a good way. Not in a creepy way. Definitely not in a creepy way.

And then your son asked a question which thoroughly interrupted your thoughts.

“Are you okay, Mommy?”

Your brow furrowed deeply, and you quickly looked down at your son. “Yes, of course, I’m okay. Why do you ask?”

“My friend’s Daddy was sad, so I thought you might be sad, too. Since I have no Daddy.”

You slowed your steps and bent to pick your son up, hoisting him onto your hip.

“Listen here,” you said gently before quickly pecking his soft cheek. “I’m not sad at all. Your Daddy wasn’t ready to be a Daddy, and that’s okay. I was sad for a little bit, but then you came along. How can I be sad when I have the best, cutest, sweetest, smartest, funniest son in the whole world?”

You leaned in and kissed all over your son’s face, eliciting lots of squeals and giggles from the both of you.

You hadn’t talked too much with him about his dad, really only just telling him the basics and deciding to wait until he was older to divulge more details.

Maybe that moment was approaching a lot sooner than you’d anticipated.

“Lunch is served,” you announced as you set down two plates at the kitchen table. Two plates filled with dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets and potatoes formed into smiley faces, much to the two children’s delight.

“Can we watch a movie after lunch?” your son asked before grabbing a nugget and dunking it into the pool of ketchup on his plate.

The day had begun with buckets of rain, and the sky hadn’t let up by the time your son’s playdate rolled around, so playing outside was definitely out of the question.

“Ask our special guest if she would like to watch a movie,” you reminded him as you sat down with your own plate (of a turkey sandwich and a salad -- although the nuggets and fries were tempting...). “You also have plenty of toys in your playroom.”

“Can we play with your toys first?” the guest of honor asked with a mouth full of happy potatoes.

“Okay,” your son agreed, mumbling around the prehistoric chicken in his own mouth. “We can watch a movie later.”

“What good friends you guys are,” you commented before biting into your sandwich.

Unlike the two five-year-olds sitting next to you, you had enough manners not to speak with food in your mouth.

After all three of you had cleaned your plates, you set the kids free, giving them permission to go upstairs to the playroom. Your heart warmed as you heard their little footsteps running up the stairs, and you kind of had to swallow down a tiny lump of emotion in your throat as you loaded the empty plates into the dishwasher.

You were just so happy your son had adjusted to school so well, even finding a friend he wanted to invite over and play with on the weekend.

It had been hard raising him by yourself for the past five years. Your parents helped as much as they could, but you hadn’t wanted to rely on them -- you still didn’t. Asking your dad to stay with your son after school was about as far as you were willing to go.

So, to see with your own eyes that he was becoming a well-adjusted kid was rewarding and relieving, and it made you really, really happy.

Once the kitchen was clear and (somewhat) clean, you headed upstairs, yourself. You figured you could use this time to catch up on some reading, and since your bedroom was right next to the playroom, you could still keep an ear out just in case you were needed.

They were still trying to decide what to play when you passed by, and you caught bits and pieces of their conversation.

“--play house. But if you’re the Mommy, I don’t want to be the Daddy,” your son said with some conviction.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have a Daddy,” he answered. “Not everyone has a Mommy and a Daddy.”

“I know,” came his friend’s reply, and it sounded like maybe she was pouting just a little bit. “I only have a Daddy, remember?”

“Do you think my Mommy and your Daddy could be friends like you and me?”

You heard a soft, high-pitched gasp, and you covered your mouth to keep from giggling.

“Yeah! They could be friends, and then your Mommy could be my Mommy, and my Daddy could be your Daddy.”

Your eyes widened a little, and you immediately resumed walking to your bedroom.

That was enough eavesdropping for now.

...Although.

You would be lying if you weren’t just a little intrigued by their amateur matchmaking scheme.

Because... her Daddy was hot.

And if you want to pretend like I meant that in a different way, you are more than welcome to.

I mean, just look at him.

Thankfully, once you got settled in your bed with a book, the two of them had moved on and were now playing with the map rug on the playroom floor. All talk of Mommies and Daddies ceased, and you were able to thoroughly focus on your book.

Kind of thoroughly, that is.

Thoughts of Sung Joon did pop in your head from time to time, but they only lasted for a few seconds!

After a couple of hours, you heard the door of the playroom creak open. You glanced up over the top of your book just as the two hobgoblins appeared in your doorway.

“Mommy, can we go downstairs and watch a movie?” your son asked in his most angelic voice.

You immediately closed your book, setting it down on your side table and swinging your legs over the side of your bed. “Of course, sweetie,” you answered. “Should I make popcorn?”

Both of them answered with very excited cheers, and a smile lit up your face as you headed out into the hallway to go downstairs together.

After getting them set up in the living room with a DVD, you shuffled into the kitchen and grabbed some popcorn from the pantry. Just after you unwrapped and placed it in the microwave, the shrill chime of the doorbell pierced through the air.

You quickly pressed the 2-minute button before jogging down the hall to the front door.

You weren’t sure who you were expecting, but when you swung the door open and saw Sung Joon’s stupidly handsome face, you knew you definitely hadn’t been expecting him.

Although you probably should have been.

His daughter was here, in your house, after all.

“Hey,” you greeted somewhat breathlessly, opening the door wider to let him in. “I just put on a movie for them, so you might have a time trying to pry her away from the TV.”

“Oh,” Sung Joon chuckled, his lips pulling into a smirk (a very sexy smirk). “No, that’s all right. I’m not in a rush.”

Oh. So... did that mean he was coming inside... to, like... talk?

“Would you... like something? Water? Coffee? I’m making popcorn for the kids, I can throw a bag in for you, too, if you’d like,” you offered as you led him down the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Coffee sounds great,” he murmured, his voice a lot closer to your ear than you were expecting. It made your heart skip a beat, and you found you were kind of holding your breath as you opened a cabinet and got out a mug.

“How has she been?” he asked quietly as he slid onto a barstool at the counter, his eyes following you while you gathered the bag of coffee and a filter.

“Oh, she’s been great,” you assured him with a grin. “They’ve been playing up in the playroom since after lunch. I got to read, and they didn’t disturb me once.”

Sung Joon’s brows lifted, and that smirk reappeared on his lips. “Impressive.”

“Yeah, it was,” you chuckled. And then, as you scooped the coffee grounds into the filter, you felt the word vomit erupting. “I heard them deciding what they wanted to play, and I guess they wanted to play house because they were talking about who would be the Daddy and the Mommy and all that. They said they wanted us to be friends like how they’re friends so you could be his Daddy and I could be her Mommy.”

...Oh, my god.

Why did you just tell him that?

But instead of a very awkward silence, you heard Sung Joon’s low, deep laugh. A quick glance awarded you the sight of his smiling, crinkled eyes, and your heart leaped up into your throat.

“I guess I’ll have to tell her that’s not how it works,” he chuckled. “But I’m more than open to the idea of being friends.”

Your eyebrows rushed up as you slid the filter inside the filter basket and set it on top of the carafe.

“I -- I mean, yeah,” you replied with a bit of a stammer. “Absolutely.”

“We just moved in a month ago, and I haven’t really had time to get to know anyone yet,” he explained. You could feel his eyes on you, and after you turned the coffee maker on, you moved to the opposite side of the counter, facing him. He was, indeed, looking at you, making direct eye contact. And making your heart race.

“I figured you must be new around here,” you replied somewhat breathlessly.

Sung Joon nodded before saying, “We just... needed a fresh start.”

“Yeah, my -- my son told me... I’m so sorry for your loss,” you said quietly.

A soft, sad smile tugged at his lips, but only briefly. “Thank you. It was over four years ago, and we were still living in the same place... I finally felt like it was time to move on.”

“Good for you,” you said with a small grin, desperately wanting to reach out and put a hand on his arm. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must be.”

“At least I have her,” he murmured, glancing over his shoulder into the living room.

“Yeah, exactly,” you agreed. “I feel the same.”

Sung Joon turned back around to face you, his brow furrowed gently. “What’s your story, then?”

“Me? Oh -- he just left,” you explained, trying to sound casual. “Didn’t want to be a father, I guess, so he bailed.”

“Ouch.”

“Like you said, at least I have him. He asked me yesterday if I was sad because he doesn’t have a Dad, and how can I be when I have him as a son?”

“Still, though,” Sung Joon sighed. “Single parenting is not easy.”

“No,” you agreed with a shake of your head.

“Maybe we should help each other out,” he suggested, throwing you a curious but hopeful glance.

“Help each other out? What do you mean?”

“I’ll take him sometimes, you take her,” he explained with a shrug. “We can do things together. Just make it easier on ourselves.”

“So... become actual friends,” you chuckled, leaning against the counter.

“Yeah, become actual friends,” Sung Joon agreed with a soft laugh. A soft laugh which, unsurprisingly, sent a shiver down your spine.

“I would very much like that,” you nodded.

As you heard the coffee machine start to gurgle and sputter, you turned to go to the fridge to get out some creamer.

But Sung Joon’s quiet voice interrupted you, making you freeze in your tracks.

“We could even do things together,” he suggested. “Like, kid-free.”

You knew he probably meant as just friends, but a part of your brain was now trying to convince you he meant... as maybe more than just friends.

“Y-yeah,” you replied as movement came back into your body and you reached to open the fridge. “Yeah, that sounds great. I honestly don’t spend a lot of time with other adults besides my co-workers and my parents, so --”

“Me neither,” he chuckled. “At least, not since --”

He cut himself off, and you knew right then and there you would do your best not to push anything. Not to rush into a more-than-friendly relationship -- if you felt like it could go there, that is.

You certainly wanted it to go there, but if it did, then you would take it slow.

There was a lot on the line, after all.

Two things on the line, to be exact, and they were just in the other room watching a movie.

It was then you realized the microwave had gone off a few minutes ago, so you rushed over and opened it, taking the bag out and dumping the contents into a bowl.

Once you delivered the popcorn to the kiddos, you headed back into the kitchen to pour Sung Joon his coffee. And, while you were at it, you poured some for yourself, too.

After each of you had added your essentials, Sung Joon lifted his mug up toward you in a toast.

“To being actual friends,” he murmured, and you could’ve sworn you saw a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Actual friends,” you repeated with a slightly shy chuckle. You lifted your own mug up and carefully touched it to his.

Little did you know that drinking coffee with Sung Joon in your kitchen was the start of an actual friendship.

The two of you would start spending quite a bit of time together, mostly with your kids, but sometimes without.

You would go to the park, to the movies, to the zoo, and even just to the grocery store. You would walk around the neighborhood while the kids rode bikes, and the two of you would just talk.

You would get to know each other extremely well, and as much as you tried to hide it... feelings for each other would start to simmer under the surface.

But you would stick to your promise to yourself. You would take it slow, and it wouldn’t be for another year that Sung Joon would ask you out to dinner -- and clarify that he meant it as a date.

After that, it would be another full year of secret dates and stolen kisses until the two of you would finally decide it was time to tell your children.

And they would be absolutely thrilled, of course.

So would you.

But right now, as you sipped your sweet, creamy coffee, you had no idea any of that lay ahead. You were just glad to have a friend.

An actual friend.

#kwritersworldnet #sung joon #bang sung joon #sung joon scenarios #sung joon imagines #sung joon au #sung joon fluff #sung joon fanfic #kdrama scenarios #kdrama imagines #kdrama au #kdrama fluff #kdrama fanfic #kdrama actor

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zukofenty · 4 years

Text

just my luck

➜ Summary: The one where Katara whisks away her picture-perfect life the night she kisses a stranger with the worst luck in the world.

“I lost all my good luck!” Katara screams. “Everything I touch turns to shit!”

“I mean, have you considered fucking a leprechaun?”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, Journalist!Katara, Girl group manager!Zuko, Music Producer!Zuko

AO3, @zutaraweek

“I am too pretty to be punched!” Katara yelps, ducking and clenching the holding cell’s bars until her knuckles turn white.

“And I thought I was too pretty to commit tax fraud, but here we are.” Ty Lee rolls her eyes. “That’s just how the pussy crumbles.”

“First, you need a gynecologist. Second, I think the saying goes ‘that’s how the cookie—’” Nothing in life could have prepared Katara for the tiny girl to deliver a resounding punch that has her head rattling against the jail cell.

“I lost all my good luck!” Katara screams. “Everything I touch turns to shit!”

“I mean, have you considered fucking a leprechaun?”

Katara sighs, still recovering from the intense nosebleed Ty Lee bestowed on her. “Where the fuck would I even find a leprechaun?” She promptly shoves wads of tissues up her nostrils. Of course, the next one she reaches for actually had a spider in it, and she thinks killing herself just might be easier on her soul at this point.

“Just say you like Megan Thee Stallion and all of a sudden all the men under 5’7” start giving you a 5’11” attitude. Easy peasy.”

She’d managed to limp her way back to Suki and Toph’s apartment from prison, after getting a call that her apartment had flooded, destroying everything in it. Only her apartment. She was barely holding on to her broken YSL pump in one hand and her pride in the other. Emphasis on limp , because while calling taxis to instantly stop for her was always her thing , now she was nothing but an ant (in head-to-toe Prada) on their radar. If they do stop, the taxi either gets snatched up by someone else, or the drivers tell her, not so kindly, to eat a dick.

Nevertheless, she’s still determined to have a positive day, walking and humming a Rihanna song to try and calm her nerves. But, because this day was sent by Satan himself (Jeff Bezos), she was drenched, face to booty to toes, in drain water by the seemingly hundreds of Uber Eats whizzing by, trying to get someone’s Buffalo Wild Wings order to them quickly.

“I can’t believe you guys actually think all that stuff’s real!” Suki scoffs, diligently painting her toenails a pretty pastel purple and not giving any mind to the conversation.

“Tell me, how would you explain this bitch’s life?” Toph points an accusatory finger in Katara’s way. “Katara has been living life as the main character. For fuck’s sake, you won prom queen five years in a row at Ba Sing Se High!”

“A lot of people win prom queen—”

“We went to Omashu High!” Toph adds with frustration. “You even won the year after you graduated!”

Toph and Suki could never quite wrap their heads around Katara’s life.

For as long as they knew her, she was always the luckiest girl in the world.

At seemingly every turn, the girl had all the luck in the world on her side. I mean, just the other day she was accidentally delivered Rihanna’s dry cleaning, because of course she lives in the same fucking building as Rihanna, the goddess herself. See, Katara was the type of person with the luck to manage to find an upscale apartment on their shitty salary in the city for nearly half of what Suki and Toph were paying to sleep next to inbred cockroaches.

“Bitch, you do not have the range for that.” Toph snatches the dress away before Suki or Katara could make a face and whimper a soft ‘gimmie gimmie’ that surprisingly always worked.

“I might not, but at least we could clone Rihanna now.”

Toph pauses. “Say what?”

“I’m getting the girls and gays that album, no matter what.”

Katara went to return the dress after getting in a helicopter with her date of the night, People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, Haru (before the mustache). On top of all that madness, she said Rihanna, in the shimmery, Fenty Beauty Body Lava coated flesh, even complimented her makeup. Suki almost shit herself when Katara was added to the Fenty Savage PR list.

Katara would walk outside and the clouds seemed to part as if on her command. She could wear all-white in the city without a bird unloading one on her shoulder, or one of those guys on the street flicking feces in a pudding cup her way. Jammed streets or congested traffic never ceased her from being ten minutes early to every meeting, event, or even accidental movie set she walked on and got cast as an extra instantly. The lead actor, Academy Award winning Bolin, is still sending her detailed DMs about the various ways he would harvest her toenails because it reminded him of her.

And you know those Airpods or laptop scams that go around on social media you have to train your grandparents not to click on? Or those princes that email you promising to marry you after you send them your banking information? Guess which bitch manages to actually win over a prince’s heart and his inheritance?

Katara had the universe wrapped around her finger, and it didn’t seem to mind bending to her will.

Fresh out of college, after much clawing and fighting and miraculously switching coats with an editor at a restaurant, Katara managed to snag a job at Nyla magazine and secured spots for her best friends, too. They’d been reading the entertainment magazine before they could even process solid food. While they were all saddled with a mailroom job, Katara’s quote unquote irresistible charm had landed her as a scribe to record meetings when their original conveniently broke a nail.

Of fucking course, the day their entire team is stuck in a broken elevator is the day the CEO of White Lotus Records was coming into the office to discuss Nyla ’s next cover star.

Their next big thing, teen singer, Song was still hesitant to work with a magazine aimed at young adults with unhealthy coping mechanisms, compared to the J14s and Tiger Beats with the foldable poster at the back you could steal if you were quick enough at Walgreens.

“ Young lady.” Ugh, why do old men always sound so fucking condescending? You know how easy it is to push an old person? “You know how much dough I make so I can regularly spend it on drugs? Every minute of my time is worth $964.” While Piandao gets up for his assistants to put on his fur coat, Katara slams her hand on the table.

“I promise you this cover story will be worth every minute of your time. I’ll even pay you $965 at the end of my presentation if you hate it.”

And who could say no to that sweet (and scary) face?

When editor-in-chief June waddles back, glazed with sweat after someone farted their entire Del Taco Thursday three chicken soft tacos for $2.49 deal in her face , their cover story was booked. The carnival themed, masquerade party to celebrate Song’s new cover was already scheduled in Google Calendar. Soon enough, Katara was handed her own office, Tesla, and platinum corporate card to start planning the entire event.

Everything was going fine . There were acrobats doing flying yoga in the sky, a fortune teller she hired at the last minute that everyone loved. Music was playing, people were dancing without a care in the world, and everyone was having a good fucking time. She even snagged her bitchy boss a date with her hot neighbor, and her Painted Lady costume was designed by Vera Wang herself. By the end of the night, her brain was scrambled from the paperwork and yelling and pen marks all on her hand. Yet, with her luck, she still managed to kiss the cute guy who asked her to dance.

Well, at least she knew he felt and smelled like a cute guy, considering half his face was covered by a mask.

He was a bumbling thing, managing to stomp on her feet a few times even when she reassures him at the end of the day. Despite being all broad shoulders and muscles, he seemed to shrink in on himself at that moment. “I’m really, really bad at dancing.” She gave him a weird look and Zuko had to remember that he had stolen a backup dancer named Lee’s gig for the night to sneak into the event.

Katara rolls her eyes. Dancing, much like nearly everything else, always came easy to her. “So what if you gave a girl a black eye and another guy a concussion?” Her laugh is so pretty and her waist between his warm fingers just felt right.

He lets himself laugh, too. Wrapped up in the girl’s spell. Forgetting any thought of trying to win over the White Lotus CEO.

She leaned in first, and he was more than happy to reciprocate. Zuko didn’t have time for impulsive decisions, not when the universe was actively always trying to kill him. For some reason, he couldn’t help but be drawn in. Her soft lips against his felt like a plush dream, and all he didn’t want to wake up to reality. Not when in that moment, there were sparks and blood rushing to his head and soft skin peeking out of her expensive dress he wanted to discover more of.

One minute, Katara was throwing back a margarita in case she had dumb bitch breath that caused her mystery man ran off. The next, she was choking to death, only spitting out the olive on Suki’s face after Toph delivers a quick punch to her sternum, right between the titties.

“Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a stupid whore by her throat!”

“Stop choking me, June!”

“No!” June screeches. How was Katara supposed to know she accidentally set her boss up with the ‘ King Kuei ’? The FBI’s most wanted illegal animal trader by day, male prostitute by night? And who knew that would land her a night in jail?

“The universe is a stupid fucking whore!” Katara sniffs, still trying to detangle the chunk of hair embedded deep into Suki’s blow dryer. Katara managed to not only break a mirror with the blow dryer in her mere ten minutes in Suki and Toph’s place, but also rip out a section of her hair after throwing said blow dryer in their bathtub which promptly caught on fire. The icing on the dog shit cake of the day was when she managed to cause the building’s power to short circuit, shutting off everyone’s lights.

The universe, for the first time in his life, was finally on Zuko’s side.

For as long as Zuko could remember, rain clouds suddenly appeared when he walked outside, even despite what Alexa told him earlier that morning.

“Alexa, what’s the weather like today?”

“Completely sunny with a chance of naive bitch,” the smart speaker might as well have said.

Zuko was sure of four things in life.

Adderall and 7 up were never a good combination

Alexa was always watching for an opportunity to strike fear in his heart

He could never catch a fucking break

Having a waterpark poncho always on hand never hurt

He heard from his Uncle Iroh his family was perpetually cursed. Something about a fame-hungry witch with the last name Kardashian in the past life, and one of his relatives eating said witch’s ass that inflicted the present day curse on his family.

Everyone he knew was impossibly clumsy. Random flooding accidents, cars always running into you, bugs trying to get their fuck on in your ear. It was like the universe said yeet! On their good fortune.

What does he wish for every year on his birthday? For it to be easy just to be him . To be easily liked, like Adele, or Dippin Dots. He wished life could be easy enough for him to take a shit without the toilet bowl accidentally caving in, or a lightbulb somehow always falling on his good eye.

Zuko had always been relatively clumsy, worse than what Iroh’s seen before. After so many years of being shit-out-of-luck, and having literal shit on you at all times, he was used to being alone.

It stopped stinging a few years ago. Besides, he had his half-sister Kiyi to keep him company these days.

Nobody wanted to be around the guy who constantly smells like dog shit because he always manages to find a shit covered dollar bill flowing down the street. No one wanted to be associated with the guy who, without fail, splits his pants open every time he bends down. Saddling him with yet another public indecency charge.

Like clockwork, at least two times a week, he was getting his face shoved into the concrete and handcuffs slapped on him. He started investing in a mouth guard about five years ago.

It was like a safety hazard, just being him. There were so many times you could get struck by lightning before you were banned by the nation from buying umbrellas.

Predictably, he has been rejected from every job he applied to. His laptop has been hacked by so many Hentai porn bots he doesn’t even bother upgrading his Dell from 2013. He even started a conversation with the guy monitoring his keystrokes. Landlords chucked his application out the window before he could even give them his soul and a deposit, and while the doctors didn’t think he’d do it, he found out that yes you can survive being hit after someone throws a piano out their window while you leave the leasing office.

Sure, he came to the city with dreams of making it big, loving music since his mom taught him the difference between a treble and bass clef. But when he’s always accidentally setting his tsungi horn on fire? Breaking his nose open trying to put resin on his violin’s bow? Somehow getting a reed stuck in his throat and his sphincter (on the same day)? No chance in hell was anyone willing to risk their lives to let him play anything on stage.

So he stuck to writing and producing, watching YouTube tutorial after tutorial to learn mixing, because he thinks it’s safer for everyone involved.

“Zuko, someone tried shoving Nutella up their ass and shat it back over the bathroom.” He looks up from his laptop to see a plunger too close for comfort near his face.

“Why?”

“Some weird sex thing! I don’t fucking know.” Jet points to the elderly couple nearby. “You ask them why!”

Zuko takes a deep breath in. “No, I’m asking ‘why?’ because my shift doesn’t start for another two hours.”

He was a janitor at the bowling alley across the street (it was the only place that would hire him, but he thinks they felt bad for him after he ugly cried and ate out their supply of shitty, frozen curly fries).

“You know I love you, Zuko! But these!” Jet cups Zuko’s chest with two, oddly gentle, hands. “Make our alley’s world go round.” He even gives them a squeeze for emphasis.

“Let go of my man titties,” Zuko glares at Jet. “ Now .”

“You’re the breast.”

Zuko’s eye twitches.

It wasn’t all bad. After all, the alley does let him make music in his free time, and the girl group he was “managing” can perform their sets on Fridays.

“We’re firing you!” Mai pokes at his chest and has him readjusting his glasses from the force.

It was a Monday and his week was starting off better than most. He was scraping green colored poop from the walls and was already being threatened at 9 a.m. without any weapons in sight.

“You don’t pay me!” He points out, which only seems to get everyone in the room angrier. His sister and her friends formed Shooters 4 Rihanna when they were pre-teens. They wanted to be a group trying to make it big in the pop scene, and quickly signed to a record label together. The girls were promised all their years of childhood training would pay off when they would debut as young adults. That was, until their CEO was broadcast on TLC’s My Strange Addiction for his habit of collecting Mark Ruffalo’s nose hairs, and confessed to killing someone for it.

Investors weren’t too happy.

While all the girls could see was repressed childhood trauma, Zuko saw that and potential star power.

Every single member already had years of dancing and singing lessons under their belt. They could play their own instruments, write their own songs, and had the stage presence. A few Twitter DMs later (from his multiple accounts, because they thought his profile picture made him look like a fucking creep and blocked him years ago) they were dumb enough to trust him with their future. He’d been trying to get them signed for months to no avail. Somehow fucking up, or electrocuting himself in the process of showing an executive their new single.

“This was a mistake!” Jin shoveled the curly fries in her face.

While Yue was always one to stay positive, her sad ‘ I miss pickled fish ,’ had the rest of the girls wanting to leave, too. Going back home, just give up seemed sensible. Why waste your prime years on a pipe dream?

He stopped them, plunger in hand. Against all logic, and partially because they could smell the desperation, the girls gave him one week .

One masquerade party later, he managed to throw Piandao out of harm’s way, taking the brunt of the taxi running into him.

“ Are you fucking stupid !” The CEO screams. The boy had blood flowing from his scalp, but looked as alive as ever handing over Shooters 4 Rihanna’s demo CD.

“A little.” Zuko admits. He could feel his bones still intact, and judging by the blood it wasn’t anything serious. Piandao gives him a call the next day after listening to the tape.

By some miracle, or Kardashian curse lifting, the girl group and him were shuffled into the city’s upscale penthouses, and their debut single was slated to be released on the radio the next day.

While he headed for lunch at a nearby cafe (one he couldn’t afford to eat at just last week) he can’t help but notice her .

“Ma’am, I have already told you our restaurant’s motto! No eat, no shit!” The waiter glares down at her. “Either pay up or get out, broke bitch.”

Katara was caked head to toe in mud, tissues shoved yet again up her nose. Haru had invited her out to his dad’s art show the night before. After insulting the literal piece of shit art, she tripped over the clump of clay on display and landed face-first in his million dollar creation.

Of course, it would land her in prison, and of course Ty Lee would be there, too. “Move bitch, I’m gay! ” When Katara was too exhausted to budge, the girl, yet again, socked the shit out of her.

Katara just wanted a plate of steaming breakfast foods, but of course all her cards declined. And of course, she has a meltdown because she was fucking tired, hungry, and was about to throw hands.

She grabbed the salt shaker. “Look, I’m just going to try one thing before I go!”

“It’s the bath salts,” she hears one woman whisper. “Those fashion bitches are always on bath salts.”

“Just smile politely. We’re witnessing mental illness.”

She didn’t expect that throwing salt over her shoulder would land in the waiter’s eye, or cause him to collapse on the table of Mormons nearby. Or something to catch on fire, or someone to get stabbed with a fork with a pancake on it.

She certainly didn’t expect a (cute) stranger to be so gentle with her, helping her escape the madness and handing over his turkey on rye. Or him following her as she tried to save face and sit on a random bench away from any nearby birds’ tiny assholes.

“You look sad.” He’s not mocking in the slightest.

“What does that even mean?” She went from sad to affronted in just a second.

“What’s wrong?” Fuck this guy and those eyes that were so damn enchanting .

“I don’t look sad.” She says with the roll of her eyes. “I am fucking sad.” She was blackballed from every newspaper in the Four Nations, the prince she was talking to did indeed end up stealing her savings, and on top of all of that, her undereye concealer was creasing.

“You!” Katara points her finger in the fortuneteller’s face.

“Me?” Aunt Wu looks beyond irritated. “Look, I can’t predict when you’ll get a fat ass, just buy a resistance band and leave me—”

“You’re the one who told me whatever Wheel of Fortune would spin back on me! And Alex Tribek would take away my good luck or something!” Katara was crazed and running on two hours of sleep, but she had a bone to pick. “My perfect life is gone.”

“Wow, that was a lot to unpack.” Aunt Wu locks her shop’s door. “Look, can you think of anything strange that happened that night?”

“Besides someone telling me to make them toilet wine in prison, no I don’t think so!” Katara grunts out petulantly.

Aunt Wu smacks her with a stack of tarot cards. “No! Jesus! What else happened?”

“Can’t you just tell me? Childhood trauma has really fucked with my memory.”

“You kissed someone, didn’t you?” The fortuneteller scurries to her Kia Soul before Katara could retaliate. “Maybe he needed that luck more than you do!”

She tried kissing every single dancer that was working that stupid party, and came up with nothing but mono and the feeling of defeat.

“Did you know, I even fucking sharted myself today!” She smacks her forehead repeatedly. “At twenty-fucking-three! How fucking embarrassing . All I could do is run to the H&M with my cheeks out to buy a pair of sweatpants.”

“I know a job looking for someone,” he says and even when he’s staring at her with nothing but understanding, she’s still apprehensive.

“Don’t care, didn’t ask, plus you’re a colonizer.” If she had any energy she would’ve put more force into the shove. “Why are you even helping me?”

She looked like shit on a dick and he was just smiling at her. “Let’s say, I just know what it’s like to be SOL.”

“What’s the catch?” She stares at him down and pouts. He’s wearing an Armani shirt with an Off-White belt, which was already offending her senses, but on top of that he dared pair the atrocity with a pair of knock-off Converse. He couldn’t have sprung for a real pair, he just had to get the off-brand from Costco that made everyone’s ankles look like cankles.

New money . “I am not letting anyone suck my toes for money, again. Try a different girl.”

Zuko grows positively red, but at least it brings the ghost of a smile to her face. “No toe sucking. Only on Wednesdays.”

She delivers a well-aimed kick to his crotch. While she’d expect him heaving and puffing, he’s unphased. He’d put on his MMA fighter grade, groin protector out of habit, even though he’s getting kicked a lot less in the ball bags lately.

“So, you’re trying to convert me to Scientology?” Katara scoffs. “I’ll pass, Asian Tom Cruise.”

“Not that either.” He sees the defeated look in her eyes, the same one he’s seen in himself. There’s a spark there, though. A willingness to just keep going. Something he lost years ago. “Trust me.”

“No.”

“All good.” He shrugs. “Can I at least help you up?” Before she could bite back, she turned to the spot on the bench where he was pointing.

Wet paint.

He’s taking her mustard covered hands (the sandwich exploded in the foil) in his soft ones without question, and peeling her off the bench.

“Of fucking course,” she huffs.

She thinks he knows. He knows the fact that she wants him sticking around. Even with her adamant protests against it, he’s persistent.

Stopping by after long days at the studio to her shit job, handful of first aid supplies at the ready.

He’s just always there .

He’s there when she’s scraping gum from under the alley’s tables and almost swallows one that had “Live, Laugh, Love” carved into it. He quickly stops her from choking, practically an expert at the heimlich with how many times he’s almost died from drinking boba.

There when she electrocutes herself changing the alley’s light bulbs to catch her as she falls straight off the ladder. He’s not even phased, pushing a fried piece of hair sticking up the heavens and staring at her as though she squirted cupcake frosting from her nipples.

He’s there with his first-aid messenger bag, all duct taped and falling apart and it makes her want to say sorry to Alexander Wang for daring to wear it with his Spring 2019 boots after Zuko forces her to carry it around. But then he’s pulling out a tube of toothpaste from the bag while she’s cooling her burnt fingertips on a 10 year old Yerba Mate can, and she’s reminded why he’s so firm about it.

“Earth Nation trick to heal burnt skin.” He’s too concentrated on rubbing the paste into her flaming skin to notice her staring. She remembers that he included her favorite Fenty gloss in the bag after handing it off to her, and blushes.

“I don’t need your help, you know.” Katara was always the one fighting for her own dreams. She didn’t want to stick back living the life other people imagined for her. Even all the luck in the world couldn’t help her escape a sleepy town or an unsupportive family.

When they came to the city, she knew her friends let her take care of them on purpose. It was second nature, what she grew up on. She’d always been the one looking out for everyone, even if they didn’t ask, and they let her do it because they all needed a coping mechanism. Toph’s is cake cutting videos, Suki’s is practicing her crying face because she always wanted to be a pretty crier, and Katara’s is being overbearing.

She was confused. As many times as she tried drilling through his thick head that her grandma was a nurse, that she could easily wrap up every cut, bruise, and swollen toe, he never budged. For the first time in a while, someone was there, stubbornly making sure she was okay.

“I know?” He says it as though it was obvious. “I’ll make you a deal, though. Just let me help you out, just this one time?” He gently taps her fingers wrapped in Minion bandaids he got her just because he knew she hated them in public, loved them in private. “I won’t do it again.”

He’s teasing and it’s obvious he knows she’s putty in his hands. Though, his newfound look (she helped with) balancing boy-next-door with heartthrob is not working on her heart. Her pussy, sure. Not her heart, though. She swears.

“That’s what you said last time,” Katara protests, without any energy behind it.

He sends her a lopsided smile. “I know.”

Zuko wasn’t about to let any hair on her pretty head get hurt.

While Kiyi already had enough of a bad case of bad luck, considering all the Power Ranger figurines she had super glued to her face by fourth grade boys, Katara’s was just something else.

It reminded him of him . Whatever stroke of good luck he had, he knew the universe takes in ten-fold what it might give. So he’s taking advantage of every bit of luck he has for a girl without any.

While he’s been stabbed many a time walking back home at night, somehow he’s in the clear when he escorts Katara back to her apartment. Or the times he buys her Water Tribe take out because she’s still figuring out how that prince managed to spend $10,000 on Swampbender diet pills. Or when he sneaks in before her shift to do some of her tasks for the day (he still has the keys), so he doesn’t have to worry about her bruising her pubic bone with the vacuum, or breaking the ceiling with a slippery bowling ball.

He wasn’t all used to his new life. The designer shoes, the fancy parties, the attention . Girls in the past would look at him as though he wasn’t more than shit at the bottom of their Jimmy Choo, but his good luck brought this newfound female attention that was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. Especially when, all he wanted was to catch her eye.

She was his good luck charm and didn’t even know it.

Since he’s met her, everything just was going right . She brought Toph over with her guitar to string together a few verses the day they were in desperate need of new lyrics to go with the beat he’s spent the last few nights cranking out. The day after they released it on Apple Music, the song went #1 on Billboard. Piandao had even booked them to play the Hard Boulder Cafe for their first performance, and tickets were sold out.

Even when things just seemed to get better and better for him, the universe doubled down in its punishment for her.

He’s there when she’s walking back from work, drenched to the bone because she missed all trains for the day, a taxi said her face looked stupid, and she was just tired of it all and wanted to go home and eat processed frozen food and die.

Zuko’s there, though. Without fail.

He’s there with his fucking Tesla and personal driver and Chanel top and she couldn’t be any more embarassed.

“Get in!” He hesitates before approaching. “Also, maybe let’s put down the umbrella?” It was inverted anyways, and looked three seconds from whisking her away into the storm.

“No, I’m good!” Katara insists. She was afraid that falling for Zuko, going to bed and waking up thinking of him was messing with her brain and she didn’t know if she wanted it to stop.

“You could get hit by lightning.”

“That can’t—” She ponders it for a second. “You know what, fuck you.”

He throws his expensive jacket over her to quell the shivers, and when she protests, seeing as it was a Valentino Lacquered Nylon Jacket, he bundles her even deeper in the thing, buttoning it up until she’s complaining from the warmth.

“You’re laughing at me.” She pouts.

He’s covered completely in bubbles. Not her fault he decided to strip off his shirt to throw in the cycle with her wet clothes, and she got distracted by the abs and dumped the whole bottle of laundry detergent in the washing machine.

Zuko shoves her face into a pile of the suds. “I am, yeah.” She looks upset and he stops the mirth growing on his face. Reaching out to her, instead. “Katara, I’m sorry did I—”

She might’ve leaned out to accept his embrace, but then she’s flipping them over, pinning him down to the floor. Her warm, still soaking wet body, pressed against him and her arms coming out to pin his hands to the ground.

He gulps.

“This would be more fun if you let me peg you afterwards.”

Her laugh vibrates her whole body and he couldn’t help joining in, too.

He let her have her pick of his dress shirts, and she looked so much at home. Little strands of her bangs framing her face and growing curly with the addition of water. Her brow furrows when she mentions her leave-in conditioner washing away with the suds, and he takes advantage of the momentary distraction. Flipping her and placing two hands at the sides of her head.

She knows he’s covered in the bubbles, just so she wouldn’t feel anymore of a stupid bitch than she already does. He never seems to mind it, even when Katara was frustrated and just couldn’t figure out why all this was happening to her and dragging him into every single accident.

“What would you say to the universe, right now?” She’s curled up on his couch and he’s massaging the balls of her feet she presses in his lap.

“Welcome to your tape.”

“Katara, no.”

“That bridge off of Fourth Street? Looking really easy to jump off of right about now, universe.”

He lets her take his bed that night after he cooked up his famous komodo chicken and both Kiyi and her complain about having a food-baby.

“Hey, Katara.” He whispers while her eyes could barely open. He tucked her in those blankets all ethnic people have, the super fluffy ones with a tiger on them that are always wrapped in a plastic bag. “You’re cute.”

“Yeah?” She breathes out, crinkling her nose and blinking those long lashes and making his heart skip beats. “Hey, Zuko.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I like you.”

He pinches her cheek. “I think I like you, too.”

He was right. As soon as life blessed him with everything he’s wanted and more, it whisked it away just as fast.

He’d mustered up the courage to invite her to a studio session after everyone in Shooters 4 Rihanna insisted on meeting her. Their songs were getting a little too emotional and they wanted to meet his muse. It was going well, too well. He even catches all the lamps she knocks down. When she rights herself, she manages to knock down the table with their food. Double bagging existed for a reason, just like he warned her! But, of course, the bags holding the takeout she was supposed to surprise him with broke from the bottom. He’d go hungry, that day. But, anything for her, though.

She looked so into the session, asking him if she could play with the buttons, leaning into his chest when he hesitantly surrounds her space. His two lean arms coming out to steady her waist when she trips on herself and sends him a sheepish smile that has him hypnotized.

Katara normally felt lightheaded around him, but she felt absolutely faint as soon as Piandao walked in to finalize the details of the performance, and Zuko started talking about some lucky masquerade ball.

She couldn’t hear much else, body getting up before she even registered it.

Before he could fully get into his chair at the mixing console because just one little note in their new song “Rihanna Impregnate Me” just sounded off, she’s tugging him up.

“Can I kiss you?”

“W—what?” She’s holding him up by the collar of his shirt.

Katara smirks. “I really want to kiss you.”

“I mean, uh, yes! Definitely a ye—”

It’s everything he’s imagined, hoped, prayed for the last few months and more. She’s sweet and soft and tasted like lip gloss and the toothpaste he had stowed away in her bag. When he’s leaning in for more, ready to do things like give her his heart or do her taxes for her because he couldn’t think straight and his heart was guiding him through the motions, she’s gone.

Katara’s gone when Ty Lee somehow gets into, yet another, tax fraud case and can’t make their performance.

She’s gone when he needs her by his side because even though he’s not performing he still manages to feel fucking sick. He wants her holding his unnaturally sweaty palms and telling him it’s going to be okay, just like what she does during his late night writing sessions where she stays up and refuses to sleep until he does.

She’s gone when the band has to answer to an angry crowd, an angry CEO who already sees the articles lambasting the girl group’s unprofessionalism and was ten seconds away from pulling the plug on his dreams.

“Zuko!”

He hates his heart rushes, even when it was about to break because of her, too.

She's gotten her perfect life. She’d gotten the job back, her apartment back, Rihanna even sent her a secret song for fuck’s sake.

She must really love this fucker, because she was giving up a chance to stalk Rihanna so he could be happy.

“Maybe he needed that luck more than you do!” Was running through her head the entire week she avoided him.

“I don’t know what to do, Suki!”

“Why don’t you both fuck leprechauns?” She says between bites of string cheese.

Katara sighs. “Why are yours and Toph’s minds built like that?”

“I heard my mom tried punching her stomach every day, hoping that I wasn’t going to be a result of St. Patrick’s Day sex. That’s why my head’s lopsided.”

He felt nauseous. Not only did 3 of the girls just spew their lunch into whatever container they could get their hands on, of course Azula has gone missing. “Katara not now I—”

She comes to him flushed, extensions stuck to her hand after running too fast and accidentally grabbing someone’s hair. Her feet hurt, her heart hurt, but in this moment she knew. She knew he needed this more than her. He was soft and kind and took people in and cherished the moments with his half-sister because he missed all the ones with Azula. He worked so hard now because he was afraid she hated him, and even when he was on the verge of giving up, he still pushed through. He gave people chances, even when the universe was never as kind to him.

After she presses her lips to his, suddenly Azula presses a button from the underground room she was trapped in, appearing on stage in front of their very eyes. They have the best show the Hard Boulder Cafe’s seen in decades . Their contract is extended, and he opens a bottle of champagne to celebrate without taking his eye out.

He was the luckiest man in the world.

Though, when he turns, he realizes.

His girl’s missing.

“Katara!” She tried shuffling away, but accidentally slips on a few drug needles someone threw carelessly on the ground.

She’s still nursing the sore spot on her forehead, where the champagne cork hit. “Zuko, please just...go.” She waves him off with a bandaged hand.

“I know you’re going to be stuck here for the next three hours. Because trains never come on time for you no matter what.”

Even in the middle of the nearly dead station, he was right. Every stop flashed to delayed .

“Then you’ll be robbed by someone on the train, and then you might even get spit on by the guy with the imaginary dog who’s afraid of whoever gets too close to it, and then you’ll get an eye infection.”

Katara wipes the snot at her nose. “So?”

“So?” He laughs, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I’ve lived a whole lifetime of bad luck, and I can’t let you do that for me.”

She lets him turn her to face him, lets him gather her up in his arms and hold her like she’s delicate and irreplaceable, and not just a girl with mascara running down her face and her heart stolen by someone she couldn’t love.

“Even in a lifetime of being shit out of luck, I still got the chance to meet you.”

“Zuko, stop.” Katara wipes at her tears. “Our luck will just get switched, and I always figure things out, I always do. But, I just want you to keep this. You put it to better use than I would’ve.”

Zuko shakes his head. “I don’t want it anymore.”

“I said that to my bladder infection, and that didn’t work. What makes you think that will work now?”

“I can live without it.” He smiles. “A few bumps and bruises are the price I’m willing to pay for you in my life.”

She’s blushing, hands coming up to bring his head closer to hers, to see every little detail of him.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” She whispers, millimeters away from his lips.

The grin splits on his face without his permission. “I am, yeah.”

#Zutara #Zuko #Katara #Zutara Week 2020 #Celestial #Day 4 #atla #avatar the last airbender #Zutara Week #Zutara fanfiction

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alliswell21 · 5 years

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Password

A fic for @historywriter2007, @lovely-tothe-bone, @mega-aulover and @arbyeatscheesebuns from a Prompt about a professor on tinder... hope this one is to your liking!

————————

I come into my bedroom to find Johanna lounging on my bed, messing with my cellphone, like she owns the place.

“What are you doing?” I demand feeling all my nerve ends spike in warning.

“Nothing,” She drawls nonchalantly, looking up from my phone with those brown, wide set eyes of hers, too innocently to be true.

“What are you doing with my phone? And how the hell did you figure out my password?” I grunt.

Johanna flips the phone next to her on the mattress, stretching like a cat, and then sits up taking her sweet time.

“You know, Brainless, if you use the same password for everything, from your bank account, to your Facebook, and also your email, and the password is just your sister’s birth date and initials everytime, you deserve to get hacked.” She scoots off the bed lazily, “I’m done anyways. I took the liberty to check on your tinder for you. You’re welcome!” She smiles devilishly, sauntering out of the bedroom.

“Tinder?” I ask in confusion, diving for my phone to check it myself, because I’ve never signed up for a Tinder account. That’s just… not me!

A couple of swipes, and sure enough, there’s an icon for an app I would never download myself.

“How the…?! Fudge! Now I really need to change all my passwords! Lousy Johanna!” I mutter angrily under my breath.

“Jo! What did you do?” I run after her waving my phone. “Why did you signed me up for a tinder account?”

She rolls her eyes while raspberrying obnoxiously. “Katniss, we had this discussion Saturday, after Madge’s party. I said you needed to get laid before your lady parts became dusty, and you said it was cool when I suggested tinder.”

“I was drunk!” I screech.

“No you weren’t! You only had two beers.”

“Plus all the shots of tequila you practically force fed me!” I groan. “Johanna, I don’t want a tinder!”

“Kitty cat, it’s done. Plus there are some hotties there I already took the liberty to swipe right for you. Now you’ll be on their feeds and if the swipe right too when they see your profile picture, then you’ll be matched and you’ll be on your way to orgasmic bliss!”

I scrub my face with both hands, questioning my life choices, especially the one where I actually begged Johanna Mason to move in after my last roommate left the apartment.

Finally I say with resolve, “I’m deleting the account. I don’t want it and definitely don’t need it!”

“After all the time I devoted to create the perfect profile that made you look like a total bombshell?!” She’s glaring at me. “Do you know how many guys are showing in your feed? That means they’re interested in you, Brainless! Give it a try and live a little for once! YOLO and all that jazz, you’re no spring chicken anymore, you know.”

“Can it, Jo! I don’t have time for this!” I say hunching all over, “Thank you for the effort, but... this isn’t for me, Jo.” I say a little defeated.

“You’ll be fine, brainless, stop being so dramatic.” Johanna sighs behind me before I shut myself into my room.

My love life is nonexistent, just as I want it to be… at least while I’m sober it seems.

I flop on the bed, cell phone in hand, ready to delete the tinder app when I see there’s a message. Out of curiosity, I tap the icon and almost flat line at the name displayed in the header.

I scream. Loudly. I scream Johanna’s name like is a cuss word and stomp menacingly down the hall to scream at her some more, but I’m freaking out with anxiety to the point that my anger gets buried under other unpleasant emotions that make my stomach roil.

“What’s wrong?!” My roommate asks jumping off the couch, her eyes wide with concern. “Did something happened?”

I start stuttering and flailing my arms like a person drowning in the middle of the sea; it takes a shake from Jo to finally sputter, “My teacher!” I stare at Johanna with wild eyes and finally feel the anger return. “You matched me with my freaking Teacher!”

It feels good to lash out in complete control of my feelings.

“I did not!” Johanna shoves me away rolling her eyes and going back to plant her butt in front of the TV. “I wouldn’t have match you with some old fart looking for young tail on tinder.” She says dismissively. “I have my limits.”

I groan in aggravation. “He’s not an old fart. He’s only a few years older than me. He teaches my stupid Social Scienses class... the one I told you about.”

Johanna’s interest piqued, “Go on…” she prompts.

I sink into the couch next to her, afraid of my phone.

Getting my college education has been my very own personal Odyssey. What should have taken a normal student four years, has taken me seven, since at first I had to work full time to help my mother support our little family, while my younger sister finished high school. I would’ve kept supporting us if my sister hadn’t insisted I got into higher education as well; so at the age of twenty six and a half, a diploma is within my grasp. I don’t mind doing grunt work, but my sister was right to push me for more. I’m ready to move on to a higher bracket in the salary ladder, and to do that, I’m required a college degree.

I neglected the needed Social Science credits for my degree until this year. I had to scramble to get all my credits for graduation, and I needed a Social Science class to round up the requirements.

I decided to go with American Ethnich Studies because the odds were in my favor, since it’s a very sought after course and a spot magically opened while I was picking my schedule and was able to snatch it up. The class is not really an elective, but it fills pretty quickly, and for good reason: the curriculum is fresh, the material is interesting, the level of compelling information is outstanding, and I also rationalize that since my late dad was from Native American descent, it would be a great opportunity to acquire academic knowledge of my heritage and all the other cultures that make America a rich tapestry that go beyond race, gender and tradition.

But the man teaching the class is a whole other compelling reason on its own… not that I was aware of that tiny detail until I set foot in the classroom.

“So, are you gonna show me this professor that’s got your panties all twisted and damped?” Jo challenges.

I only glare at her for a second, before slumping my shoulders. “He messaged me.”

“What did he say?” Johanna is now on her knees on the couch, facing me, the mischief glinting in her eyes annoys me to no end.

“I haven’t read it yet…” I sigh staring at my phone like it’s a poisonous snake.

“Why not?” Jo demands.

“Because it’s my freaking teacher, Johanna!” I say at the edge of a panic attack.

American Ethnic Studies is the class I’ve done worse in my whole schooling career. I blame it all solely on the professor, Mr. Mellark, who’s name is flashing on my screen.

I don’t mean Mr. Mellark is a bad or even mediocre teacher; on the contrary, he is in fact very knowledgeable, kind, open, friendly and approachable. But the man is ridiculously handsome; his voice is deep and smooth like warm dark melted chocolate, his eyes are as blue and deep as a summer sky under an unruly mop of ashy blonde waves, and his smile nearly made my heart stop the first time I saw it aimed at me. Then is the rest of his body: ass round and firm scrumptiously encased in pressed slacks, and shoulders so broad I wonder how can he find the right size shirts to cover them?

In other words, professor Mellark is what I believe a modern Greek god would look like nowadays, which brings me back to my original statement, I never took into account how the looks of a man could affect my concentration in class, resulting in the awful marks I’ve been getting in the course all year.

Johanna snatches my phone from my fingers, and I scramble after her to retrieve it.

“Johanna!”

“Hush, Brainless!”

She sticks out her hand to stop me from grabbing back my phone. I see with horror she’s already unlocked the screen.

“Give it back!” I demand stretching beyond Johanna’s shoulder and finally wrapping my hand around my device. “Don’t read my message! It’s private!” I snap.

“Oh please! I already told you, nothing is private until you change passwords. Now… read the thing! Stop being a coward!”

I glare at Jo for a second, but ultimately turn my eyes to the small bubble with a great deal of anxiety, because now there’s not just one, but two messages from Professor Mellark waiting for me. I steel myself and finally let the words take meaning as I read.

Peeta Mellark: Hey Katniss, I saw you in my feed and grappled with the questionable propriety of my choices: a) acknowledge you, saying hello since we got matched and passing for creepy; or b) ignoring you by swiping left and passing for rude.

I guess I managed to answer that question already.

Peeta Mellark: I’ll take this slightly awkward opportunity to tell you your final grade: B

I say the words in a monotone, not really knowing how to feel. I want to laugh and bawl at the same time. This man is so witty even in writing.

“Well? Are you going to answer or what?” Johanna presses bluntly, practically breathing down my nape.

I push her away a fraction, and mutter, “Shut up, Jo. I’m thinking!”

“You gotta answer! Stop thinking!”

“What am I supposed to say back?” I ask her harshly.

“Tell him you can handle the D if he swaps that B for an A!” Johanna wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, as if I would ever say something as crass or forward.

“Are you crazy?! I can tell my teacher that!” I balk.

“You gotta say something!”

“I know!” I sigh and start typing, carefully choosing my words.

Katniss Everdeen: Hello, Mr. Mellark. I would have never thought you rude for swiping left. I completely understand. Believe me, tinder wasn’t my idea, but my best friend decided I needed to socialize more… so… here we are...

I cringe.

Katniss Everdeen: Thanks for the grades. I’m relieved to know I’ve passed the class, it means I’m officially a graduate! No longer a student!

For the first time I let the news sink in and bask in the knowledge that I am graduating and can’t help but smile and say a tiny “Yay, Me!” Under my breath at the same time I’m pumping the air with my fist.

Johanna shoves me aside to read what I wrote, and then makes a disgruntled noise. “I thought something sexy was finally said when you reacted so excited.”

I’m about to tell her that getting my diploma is exciting but a chime goes off, announcing another message.

We both peer down at the phone and I gasp. Mr. Mellark has responded, and there’s a smiley face and a question; Johanna is yakking about none stop next to me, trying to tell me what to say or how to phrase it, but I’m speechless and elated because the few lines my ex-professor has written are so unexpected but so welcome, is not even funny.

Peeta Mellark: Congratulations! I knew you could do it!

Peeta Mellark: By the way, call me Peeta, I’m not your professor anymore, and given the circumstances, I believe is kosher to be informal… friendlier.

Peeta Mellark: Also, I was wondering, since we got matched up and everything, would you like to have a cup of coffee or tea with me… since you're officially not my student anymore?

My fingers fly over the screen typing my answer in a flash. I don’t even have to think what I want to say.

Katniss Everdeen: Make it a cup of hot chocolate, and you have a date… Peeta.

His answer is practically immediate.

Peeta Mellark: It's a date then! Meet me tomorrow at my brother’s bakery? Corner of Twelve and Capitol? They have the best cheese buns to pair with that hot chocolate… and I’ll get the privilege to show you off as my date. My brother set me up on tinder too.

I’m not sure if the smile I’m wearing is for what I’m reading, or because I’m now free to fantasize about my teacher, but when I see the rest of his reply, I know this would’ve happened anyway some way or another...

Peeta Mellark: Full disclosure at the risk of still sounding creepy, but I think it was lucky our profiles got matched together. It gave me the chance to ask you out, and I sorely wanted to approach you, but didn’t know how. This is the perfect excuse. Thank you for swiping right.

“See, Brainless?! You’re welcome!” Says Johanna breaking the nice little bubble I was in.

I roll my eyes not even trying to stop my smile, “Fine, Johanna, thank you for swiping right… now get out of my phone, and don’t even try to crack the new password! Also, I’m definitely deleting Tinder!”

#everlark fanfiction #my fics #prompt #professor tinder

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englishmemoirthing-blog · 4 years

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Memoir Project

Preface

I am not a parent. I will be one of these days to my own children, but at this point in time, I am not a parent. I am a sister. I am a first-year college student, studying nursing with the goal to become one of the best and most experienced nurse practitioners out there. I like to draw and I’m a pretty amateur singer. I am an 18-year-old who still drinks juice boxes and eats microwave chicken nuggets for lunch. I am not one to take on something that is too big, mostly because I know from experience. I am not what you would define as your typical parent. I’ve never even had children of my own. And yet, I was handed a cranky 4-year-old at the prime age of 10 years old, and I call her my kid. She is my child, even to this day. I am not a parent, but when it comes to my sister, my one and only source of happiness, I am one.

The Initiation

I’m sitting in between my sister’s bed and my own on the floor, playing with my dinosaurs when I hear the loud banging on the front door. I immediately look up from my imaginary Jurassic world, knowing that in my 10 years of living in that house that no one ever knocks on our old, broken down front door. I sprint up around to the back door of my mom’s room leading to the living room to see who our loud, new guest could be, but by the time I get there, my grandmother is being pushed aside by the police barging into our house. I could see their police cars blocking our driveway and in the road by in front of our house through our front door, now left wide open. I watch them as they head out of my sight, towards the hallway to the kitchen, which I promptly circle around using the back entrance.

I jumped up onto my grandparents’ old armchairs, through a large window looking into the kitchen. I remember slipping a little bit, making me giggle a little while I got back up. However, the sight that I saw once I got up wiped my tiny, innocent smile off my face. I watched as the police took hold of my father, handcuffed him, and started to recite his Miranda rights. My heart sunk to my stomach, and all the noise in the room started to fade around me. I then looked to my right to realize that my 3-year-old sister, who had climbed up onto the chair next to mine, was trying to see over the window, just as I had been doing. I calmly and quietly climbed down from my perch on the chair, pulled my sister away from the window, and quietly led her back to the room we shared. I shut the doors so she couldn’t escape, then sprinted back to the front of the house. I had just missed the cops putting my dad into the police car in our driveway when my mom came up to me with a look of utter disbelief on her face. “Can you please go get your father some clean pants to take with him before he leaves”? I stared at her as if I was waiting for her to laugh and tell me that she was joking. When that moment never came, I slowly turned around and ran to my dad’s closet for the pants. When I got back to my mom, she yanked the pants from me, almost knocking me over, and walked out the door. I wanted to follow her, but something was holding me back (in due time, I found out that my grandfather had held me until everyone left the driveway). My mom didn’t come home until about 2 in the morning. I had to figure out how to feed my baby sister without my mom or dad helping me. And sure enough, this continued on for the next 5 years after my dad got arrested. This was my first day of becoming a co-parent to my sister.

Every mother can attest to the hardships of motherhood, from birthing the child to watching them leave for college, nothing is easy for parents these days. However, being the child having to take care of one or more of your siblings makes it 10x harder, especially if your parents are still around, but are too caught up with everything else to worry too much about taking care of the kids. And this isn’t me trying to bash my parents or the thousands of parents relying on the older siblings to help with the younger ones, they do the best they can with the circumstances they are given. I wanted to share my story considering that there are thousands of others out who could possibly relate to my experience. Each situation is unique and some definently had it worse than me, but speaking on behalf of myself and all the other older siblings out there that had it somewhat like me, raising a kid when you’re still a kid can either the worst thing or the best thing for your childhood.

There are a plethora of things that I have learned from becoming a co-parent (which is technically between two divorced parents, but my parents agreed that we could call all three of us to be co-parenting), but the most important thing I could’ve learned is the art of patience. From the start of my parenting journey (awful word to use but I’ll work on it) to now, my patience threshold had risen to levels that still make me wonder how I was ever impatient with anybody. If I had a dime for the amount of times I held my tongue when my sister would back talk me or throw a tantrum, I could go into early retirement (and I’m only 18).

The Struggle

Ever since my father decided to make the mistakes he made that ruined our family dynamic, I’ve been left to be my sister’s primary caretaker. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve had to help her with homework, and the amount of recipes in my head that I have from having to scramble to make for dinner is more than I’ll ever need. From getting her to 7:00 am theatre practices to following her and her friends around the mall for hours on end, I’ve made sure that she still gets the childhood that was taken from me. And in doing these things and having to be there for her, it triggered this unexplainable love for my sister that I have never (and probably will never) experienced in my entire life. She is the most important person in my life and my absolute favorite person on this planet. I would do anything for my younger sister, and at times I have had to make sacrifices so she could be happy, but I was more than willing to do them for her. My school schedule is solely based off of when I need to be home to get her from school or make sure she’s not at home alone for too long. In about two months, I’ll be getting her first and middle name tattooed behind my ear. She has become my whole life, the one person I could not live without. And yet, she is also the person that gets to me the most. She’s the only one who knows exactly what button to push to make me a certain kind of angry. She knows every single thing to say or do to get her way with me. She bends every rule in my rule book and uses that against my parents now that they take care of her more with me. She learns from everything my parents and I do so she can use it for the future. She’s the smartest, yet most annoying and manipulative child I’ve ever met. And I bet many parents (or siblings with the same case as me) could say something like that about their kid as well.

I’ve come to learn very quickly that guardians are the most predictable human beings ever, knowing from myself and my parents equally. We use the same punishments and same phrases when talking to our children or telling them right and wrong. We say the same lectures when the kid runs with scissors or tries to touch the hot stove or telling them not to talk to strangers. Everything is the same with us, mostly because kids tend to have a hard time learning from certain things, but we tend to prepare what we want to say in certain situations in order for them to understand. We want to be ready for the worst of the worst, for the stuff that will stick with them in the long run. The first time they go out with friends by themselves, the first time they stay home alone, their first boyfriend or girlfriend. Looking into the future at that stuff is scary, so we prepare something that is going to get the point across, but still give them room to learn in a safe manner (whether we know it or not).

Another harsh truth of childcare is the no sleep thing, especially when they’re little. She always had a hard time sleeping in her bed, so I let her sleep in mine when I first started taking care of her. My only problem with it was that she tends to sleep like a starfish and kicks like a horse in the middle of the night if you get too close to her. I was constantly covered in bruises, and the bags under my eyes looked like they weighed 50 pounds. It went on for about a year before I found a good way to kick her out for good. One day she started crawling in with me, and at one point I started to apologize. “What are you saying sorry for?”, not knowing the horror she was about to endure.” Oh, not much, I just thought you should know that I farted in my bed a minute ago”. She never stepped foot in my bed after that.

The Aftermath

After being a tired, baggy-eyed witness to my parent’s divorce, and they finally stepped away from the problems they had with each other, they finally started to help with me with my sister. Of course, they had their struggles considering by the time they started pitching in, she was around 8. They didn’t have too much experience with the madness that is my sister. Frankly, they didn’t really know her personality all that well. So, in a very awkward and weird set of conversations with my parents, I began to teach them the ABC’s of how to raise a little girl who wants to become president or a lawyer some day at the age of 8. I taught them her little quirky things like not to question her when she names her stuffed whale Jefferey, or not to correct her when she says deodorant like de-do-dar-ant because she knows the correct way, she just wants you to correct her so she can laugh at how concerned you get when you correct her. However, the most important thing I taught them about her is that she is one of the most individualized people on the planet, and she will always try to do everything by herself first before asking. The last thing she wants to do is ask for help, but I taught her when to realize your capacity for doing something and that it’s ok to ask for help sometimes when you really can’t do something. And the last thing I wanted them to do was to undo everything I taught her because it didn’t fit with how they wanted her to be.

At times they wanted her to be something she wasn’t, like the time my mom wanted to put her in gymnastics even though all she wanted to do was play in the pit with all the foam blocks every time she went. My dad had an easier time accepting everything, maybe because he felt bad for missing out in the first place, or because he wants the same things I want for her. My mom never felt like she did anything wrong, so she came back into it as though she already knew her. However, after a while she realized that the 4 year old she used to know was not the same as the smarter, more independent child that was in front of her. Even to this day she says my sister scares her, because she never got used to the fact that there’s a good chunk missing from her memory of my sister in the time she was chasing my dad around everywhere and going to court all the time. She learns something new about my sister every day, even as an 11-year-old middle schooler who wants to join the volleyball team and is constantly mumbling internet memes to herself to make herself laugh.

Now, my parents and I both equally split the work of raising our tall, very strange 11-year-old girl. Sometimes I take her all the way into Katy for school in the mornings in exchange for one of them to go and get her or to babysit when I want to hang out with a friend or something. And in some ways, they pay me back for all the lost time. Both pay me whenever I go out with her to buy dinner, but my dad gives me more freedom when it comes to going out with friends or my boyfriend or someone. My mom still likes to think she was there all those years to cope, so the most she’ll do is not fight with us when we want to have fast food instead of meatloaf. They both, however, have grown into the whole parenting thing, and both love how my sister turned out in the end.

My time with her was long and hard, and sometimes I think I lost apart of myself as a kid that I know I won’t get back. But I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world, because I gained something so incredible and I gained so many good things I can use for my own children someday. I’d go back and do it all again if I had the chance. I’ve learned so much, and I’ve become someone my sister is going to look up to while she grows more into who she is. And I hope one day I can show her this, so she knows our past a little more and can understand why she is who she is. Because in a way, she lived out the part of my life that I lost, and for that I am eternally grateful.

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allthegodstars · 5 years

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Sapphire Flames Snippets

Little Snippet:

The Harris County Institute of Forensic Sciences occupied a nine-story building on Old Spanish Trail. Its blocky lines, rectangular windows, and orange brick practically screamed that it housed some sort of government agency.

I maneuvered our Honda Element into the parking lot. It used to be our surveillance vehicle, but last year Grandma Frida decided to rebuild it from wheels up. Now the Element sported a new engine, a reinforced suspension, and custom dampers for enhanced shock absorption. The windows were bulletproof, and the new glass had both the safety glazing and a polycarbonate layer on the inside, so if someone did shoot at us, the windows would crack but hold together. And most importantly, the Element was now equipped with B5 level armor, which meant it would stop most handguns and shotgun blasts. It could have been armored enough to withstand a sniper shot; however, Grandma Frida reasoned that our best chance of survival was getting away fast, and armor was heavy, so she stopped at B5 and added a reinforced floor and run-flat tires.

Unfortunately, even Grandma Frida had her limits, and steering was a bit sluggish. I was used to it by now and I aimed for a parking spot in the middle row.

“So, what’s with you and Alessandro Sagredo?” Runa asked.

The steering was sluggish, but the brakes worked perfectly. I jerked forward, and my seat belt slammed me back.

“Nothing.”

“Aha.” Runa pulled on her own seat belt. “That’s why we screeched to a stop halfway into the parking space?”

“My foot slipped.” I gently eased forward and brought the Element to a smooth stop.

Last night, after Bern carried Rutger into the guest bedroom and Runa settled in on inflatable mattress next to him, I went back to my office, rescued Alessandro’s picture from my desk drawer, and brought it upstairs to my bedroom. He looked so carefree, caught in a magic moment somewhere sunny and warm. When I looked at the picture, a disquieting, unpleasant feeling squeezed my chest, not pain exactly, but a kind of discomfort. I stood in my bedroom and wished with everything I had that I was there, in the sun, with a backdrop of green mountains and Alessandro and I were going somewhere. Together.

It was stupid, and childish, and it would never be. I hid it all inside, put the picture on my nightstand, and went to bed.

“So, you’re just going to go with ‘nothing?’” Runa asked.

“That’s right.”

“Your sister said you met during your trials.”

Sistercide was not a word, but it would be after today. “Yes.”

“Yes what? Is there a story behind that?”

No. He didn’t follow me on Instagram, and he didn’t take my breath away during the trials. And he definitely didn’t show up under my window after trying to convince me to go for a drive.

“We met during the trials, and my sisters haven’t stopped trolling me about it for the last three years. There is absolutely nothing between me and Alessandro Sagredo.”

Strictly speaking, there was 5,561 miles between our warehouse and the Sagredo estate near Venice, Italy. A commercial flight with one stop could get me to Venice in thirteen hours.

“Your cheeks are turning pink,” Runa said. “Are you imagining there being nothing between you and Alessandro?”

***

On Rants, Well Deserved Nature Of:

As I’ve pointed out four times now, this entire incident has been recorded by security cameras. The footage will show that Ms. Etterson and I were attacked without provocation and we defended ourselves as is our right under Article 3 paragraph 1 through 4 of the House Protection Act.”

“Is that so?” Sgt. Munoz’s eyebrows crept up a quarter of an inch.

“You have no cause to detain either me or Runa Etterson. We have cooperated, and we have given our statements.”

“Ms. Baylor.” He frowned. “You wouldn’t happen to have an older sister, would you?”

That was just too much. “When Nevada encountered you, she was under a great deal of stress trying to keep us alive and save Houston. She didn’t have a chance to note that every time there was an incident requiring a law enforcement response, you mysteriously appeared on the scene. But I did.”

He watched me, impassive. I kept going.

“You are attached to the House Response Unit of Houston PD, tasked specifically with handling incidents involving Houses. Every member of this unit is assigned a number of families, in which he becomes expert. So, you know perfectly well that I have an older sister and that she is currently out of the country. You know the names of every person in our family, their birth dates, and their magic. You probably know the exact nature of my powers, despite the fact that my records are sealed. You are here because my last name popped up in your system. So please don’t insult my intelligence.”

***

When English Language Is Just Not Enough:

Warning: hilariously odd bad language ahead. Poor Catalina.

Bug served as Rogan’s surveillance specialist. Magically altered, he processed visual information at an astonishing rate. If anybody could find [Redacted], Bug could. He was also fanatically loyal to Rogan.

The moment we involved Bug, Rogan would know every detail of what we asked and why. Then Nevada would know, and, considering the usual colorful way Bug made his reports, there was a strong possibility that she would freak out. Bug found the vast array of curses available to an average English speaker completely inadequate and used every opportunity to add his own, which often amounted to a random collection of expletives that left you befuddled. I could just imagine the way that report would go.

“Hey, so you’ll never believe this dick fart thing: they want me to find [Redacted]. Isn’t that just pork balls? The gnome molester apparently stabbed somebody. Whore dimwit shit brain dungarees!”

***

A Simple Menu:

Since it was my turn to cook breakfast anyway, I headed to the kitchen. Cooking was basically my and Mom’s job. When Nevada lived with us, she was too busy keeping us fed and clothed. Bern and Leon usually made meat, preferably, steak, and they served it charred on top and raw in the middle. Grandma Frida came from the generation when things weren’t cooked unless they were slightly burned, and my younger sister, who was actually a decent cook, when she had to be, couldn’t be trusted to stay in the kitchen for the duration of the cooking process. She’d start something and then end up outside texting to her friends or in the media room laughing at some show, while we raced to save the meal.

I decided on a simple menu. I put two packs of bacon into two baking pans and popped them in the oven, mixed the batter for the blueberry pancakes, and called Nevada while chopping mushrooms for the egg, mushroom, and cheese scramble.

***

Just You Wait:

My cell rang. An unlisted number. Oh good. Ten to one, somebody wanted to sell me super-special medical insurance or inform me that the IRS was about to arrest me unless I dropped everything and bought an armful of gift cards at Wal-Mart.

I answered it. “What is it?”

“You’re tracking me,” Alessandro said.

Runa’s eyes went big.

“I am not tracking you,” I told him. Technically, it wasn’t even a lie.

“You’re having me tracked. I understand that I’m irresistible. It’s a cross I bear. But do try to have some self-control, Catalina. I’m embarrassed for you.”

He… Argh. “As I recall, I never had a problem resisting you.”

“I thought we agreed that you would drop this.”

“I didn’t agree to anything.”

“Catalina, listen to me. This is serious, the people involved are dangerous, and your well-being is important to me.”

Since when? “Why don’t you tell me more about it? Maybe if I fully understand the danger, I’ll stay out of it.”

“No, you won’t. You have no sense.”

“I have all kinds of sense.”

“This is your last warning, Catalina.”

“Or what?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to find out.”

He hung up.

“I have all kinds of sense?” Runa quoted.

“I was too mad to think of a snappy comeback.”

I glared at the phone. Insufferable ass. When I got my hands on him, I would pry his mind open like a tin can. And then I would make him do a little dance, record it, and play it for him on a loop after I drained my magic off. Irresistible. I’ll show you irresistible. Just you wait.

***

A Pithivier:

Steps sounded behind me. I turned. Runa caught up with us. “Matilda said you would be out here. That child is odd.”

More like unsettling, until you got to know her. “She’s an animal mage. They are unique. Did something bad happen?”

“You mean in addition to everything else? No.”

We both watched Shadow sniffing at cracks in the asphalt.

“Whatever is cooking in the kitchen smells amazing. What are we having?”

“Lemon roasted chicken with rosemary baked potatoes, chive butter, kale and brussels sprout salad with tahini maple dressing, and an apple pithivier.”

Runa gave me a long look.

“I cook when I’m stressed out. It sounds more complicated than it is. In reality, it’s mostly season things, dump them in a baking pan, and stick them in the oven.”

“What’s a P.T.V.A.?”

“It’s a French pie-cake made with puff pastry. The traditional version uses rum and almonds, but nobody likes rum, so I make mine with apples.”

***

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thesweetestofsweetpeas-blog · 6 years

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Destress

Summary: You’ve been looking after your little brother for years and the stress has been getting to you. So Toni and Fangs decide to babysit so Sweet Pea can give you a night of destressing.

Requested: Hi! I’d like to request a sweet pea x reader imagine where she has to look after her little brother maybe 4 or something cause her parents left (you can make a storyline) and she is really stressed so Toni or fangs babysits him for a night so she can relax with pea and he helps her( smut or not ). I just feel like sweet pea would be really supportive and so proud and love her little brother and want to help her relax/show her how much she means to him.❤️ thanks!💕

Warnings: Smut

Your mom passed away giving birth to your little brother, Henry, just over five years ago. Her death left you and your dad to look after and raise the baby all on your own. However, your dad’s jobs limited his time at home. He worked 3 jobs, trying to provide for his family, thus leaving you to raise and look after Henry. You’ve been solely looking after him for the last 2 years, your father never being home except for late nights and the occasional weekends.

The stress of junior year and Henry’s constant needs were starting to get to you. He refused to go to bed and only wanted to eat chicken nuggets and candy. In all honesty you didn’t mind because it was an easy meal, but he’s a growing boy who needs other sources of protein and vegetables. Getting Henry to eat anything else though, almost seemed impossible. You’d have to sit on him, amidst all the screaming just to get once piece of broccoli in his stomach.

Not only that but, your teachers were piling on the homework. You had at least 4 Chemistry worksheets a night, 2 chapters of The Scarlet Letter a night, and usually 30 Algebra 2 problems. You were so overwhelmed and stressed out. And to top it all off, you haven’t had a night with just you and your boyfriend, Sweet Pea, in months. Granted he was over almost every night “helping” with Henry. His help usually consisted of winding him up and challenging Henry to the oddest competitions, such as who’s wind-up toy would win the race.

---

You smiled remembering the first time Henry met Sweet Pea. It was at Henry’s 4th birthday party. The Serpents helped plan it, FP agreeing to host it at his place. Henry adored FP and wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was early on in your relationship and Henry’s approval of your boyfriend meant the world to you. You figured his birthday would be the best time for the two to meet. As soon as introductions were made, the two boys hit it off. “Guess what!” Henry exclaimed, excited to share some news with his new found best friend.

Sweets bent down, attempting to be eye level with the young boy, “What, little man?”

Henry struggled, but held four fingers out, “I’m four!”

Sweet Pea’s eyes lit up as his face contorted to one of surprise, “No way! Wow you’re getting so big!”

“Want to see my muscles?”

“Yeah dude, show me.” Henry flexed showing off his nonexistent muscles. “Whoa due, you better put those away.” He leaned in closer, bringing his voice down to a whisper, “Some of these older guys might get scared.”

“Oh.” He stopped flexing and ran off, jumping in the kiddie pool splashing his friends from both the trailer park and his day care.

You looked on in both humor and amazement. “Did you get scared Sweets?”

---

“Seriously babe, let me babysit tonight. You need to destress.” Toni urged. Biting your lip, you looked on at Henry as he wiped a bugger on the couch. Your nose scrunched in disgust, if Toni wanted to deal with the farts and buggers for the night then so be it.

“Hey Hankie, how do you feel about Toni hanging out with you tonight?”

“Fangs!”

Toni faked hurt and tickled Henry, “Fangs! You want Fangs and not me?”

Henry burst out in giggles and squirmed about, “YES!”

“What does Fangs have that I don’t?” Toni asked, picking him up and throwing him over her shoulder. He pounded his fist on her back, begging her to let him down. She tossed him a few inches in the air and dropped him on the couch, “Well little dude, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Fangs has” he let out another fit of giggles and lowered his voice, “candy and soda!” at this point he couldn’t contain his laughter as Toni pouted.

The door to your trailer opened as Sweet Pea and Fangs sauntered in, “Did you convince y/n/n to take a break?” Sweets asked, wrapping his arms around you.

Toni sent Henry a glare and crossed her arms, “Depends, Fangs do you want to babysit with me?”

“I can’t I have…” he stopped midsentence as three pair of eyes burned holes into him. “Um, yeah of course, who wouldn’t want to hang out with this monster of a little guy?” Fangs said as he pounced at Henry. Henry screamed and scrambled away, pretending to bite at Fangs with a stuffed shark.

---

You sat on Sweet’s bed as he climbed on, handing you a glass of wine. You swirled it around before taking a sip. He stretched out and placed his hand on your thigh, releasing a sigh of content, “I’ve missed this.”

“Me too Sweets.” You smiled and leaned your back on Sweet Pea’s chest.

“I’m really proud of you baby. You’re so strong and good. So so good.” He said kissing the top of your head with each word.

“Mhmm thank you.”

“This is the part where you say I am too.”

“Now why would I lie?”

“Oh haha, you’re so funny.”

You giggled while he tasered your sides, “Wait, wait, wait!” you laughed, trying to avoid spilling the red wine all over the place. Sweet Pea stopped, allowing you to place the glass on the bed side table. Once the glass was safely out of your hands, he resumed his attack on your sensitive skin. You grabbed his hands, forcing his fingers to stop, “I’d rather you do something else with those hands of yours.”

Sweet Pea’s fingers danced along your sides, setting your skin on fire. He leaned in closer until your noses touched. “You really shouldn’t say things like that.”

Breathlessly, you responded, “Oh yeah, and why is that?”

“Because then I might actually do it.,” he growled smashing his lips on yours. He wrapped one arm around your waist, laying you flat on your back. You tugged at his shirt, trailing your hands up his back as he removed the pesky piece of clothing. You could feel the muscles in his back contract with your touch leaving you with a sense of pride. You moaned as he trailed his lips down your jaw and found their place on your neck. He sucked on the spot before sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin. He removed his lips and blew on the bruise that began to form.

“Please, Sweets.” He let out a growl and reached behind you, unclasping your bra. You pushed him off of you and straddled him as he laid back. You removed your shirt, throwing it on the ground. You ran your cold hands up and down his chest, reading the goosebumps that formed as if they were braille written on his skin, spelling out how much he wanted you.

His hands gripped your waist following along with the movement of your hips. Your clothed core graced over the zipper on his pants causing you to hiss. You arched your back as you trailed your hands up your body, palming your breast. Sweet Pea’s eyes darkened as lust washed over him. The little moans that graced your lips as you grinded down on Sweets made him lose his mind. He quickly switched positions with you and placed hot kisses on your stomach. Your legs wrapped around his waist as you brought his lips back up to meet yours. He began to twist your nipple between his fingers, causing you to gasp in pleasure. He slipped his tongue in your mouth claiming dominance.

One hand was tangled in your hair as the other slipped inside your shorts. You bit his bottom lip, sucking it in your mouth as his fingers did wonders to your clit. You gasped and moaned out his name releasing not only your pleasure, but the stress that’s been plaguing you for the past few months. “That’s right baby, let it out” Sweet Pea whispered before removing your shorts and underwear and replacing his fingers with his mouth, continuing your night of destressing.

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veganbased · 2 years

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On Thursday of this week, Dec. 30th, I woke up and helped my grandma make our favorite breakfast: Biscuits and gravy. I wasn’t satisfied with just that, I also made myself a plate of scrambled eggs cooked in butter. An American breakfast. I went on with my day and made it to my interview at PetSmart (landed the job, Jupiter's lucky influence on Thursday). I wandered into an herbal shop across the parking lot to kill time before work. I took my time shuffling through each isle, inspecting whatever caught my eye. I thought about how nothing is safe from being commodified looking at 40 dollar bottles of herbal infusions. I thought about how I want to make my own natural products someday instead of feeding into their schemes. I wandered into the back of the store where tall book shelves lined three walls. This is where I was going to spend my money. It took a while to decide what information I wanted to take home with me but I settled for a book about herbs, ``Forks over Knives,” and an expensive bottle of women's multivitamin. I spent 75 dollars in total. An exercise of abundance haha. I made it to work a bit late ubering from decatur but as soon as my manager left, I whipped out “Forks over Knives' ' and began my descent. Every piece of information I read in that book started to appall me as I thought about my heavy breakfast slowly working its way through my body. The effects of animal products on my body, the environment, the inhumane treatment of the animals. how pigs breath in their own noxious gasses. I had just eaten sausage earlier in the day! My body was digesting fart meat. When I got home later that night I had finished the beginning portion of the book and I was petting my cat to sleep when nausea overcame me, and I ran to go puke.

I was puking every hour until the morning, I had to call off work. Cool, I didn't have to work on new years eve. Sadly, my body didn't expel what I speculate it was trying to: my breakfast, which is why I think it lasted until I finally took a poo. But I'm not a doctor, maybe I had a parasite or something. anyways. that put me on the warpath. The family had already planned chicken wings for new years eve and I had offered to buy, I still bought them, but I also picked out a bunch of random favorites out of the produce aisle to start my new diet. I even bought plant based ranch. Passing the meat and dairy made me gag, literally. I had already developed an acute disgust to animal products, half the battle is over, now I just have to figure out how to prepare vegetables into main dishes now, and throw out everything I know about having to have a meat at every meal “or it’s not a meal.” I tried to steam some artichoke I got 2 for 5, cut them up right, filled the pot with a little water, threw some garlic, rosemary, and a lemon wedge in there and put the lil steam rack in and stuck em in there for 40 mins, and they tasted like ass, I was disappointed they weren't the artichokes I remembered growing up. I gave up and snacked on cheerios and oat milk. When my grandma did make the wings I thought ah what the hell, one last kiss of the beak, they smelled so good I couldnt resist! but after only two wings, I could feel them settling in my stomach. ugh what did I just do! At least I ate it with the dairy free ranch, or else it would have felt even heavier. Since I had the wings so late, I was up until 3 am because I didn't want to go to sleep on a full stomach.

Knowledge opened me up to a diet I never would've ever seen myself going for- especially cant see myself giving up sushi- but I know I have to try. Because I’ve been eating animal products and processed foods my entire life. I am so curious to know what it feels to have your body not running off of that crap- because I literally have no idea. What it feels like to be a healthy weight, have healthy skin, regulated moods, energy. To see if a shift in what I put in my body will cause even more things to change for me. Guess I’ll just have to find out.

#my reason for going vegan #day 0

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familycuisinee · 3 years

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how to eat boiled eggs boxer | Family Cuisine

<figure><img src="https://ift.tt/3A7JNyu" alt="Can Boxers Eat Eggs" /></figure>You must agree with me that a dog with all the above traits is just amazing and deserves the best treatment. Like most dogs, Boxers has its basic needs to stay healthy and strong. This would definitely include Nutrition. The right nutrition matters a great deal and this brings us back to the question; ‘Can Boxers eat eggs?’ Yes, Boxers can eat and should eat well-prepared eggs which are excellent for strong and active dog breeds like Boxers. Eggs supply essential nutrients such as proteins, vitamins, and minerals for their everyday activity. In this article, I would be discussing the advantages of including eggs in your Boxer’s meals and how they are beneficial to your dog’s health and growth. As you read, you would come across the best and healthy ways to serve your dog its eggs. <h2>Benefits of Eggs for Your Boxers </h2> Let’s take a look at the many reasons you should begin feeding your Boxers with eggs, or for you to continue if you do. <ul><li>Eggs make a very tasty lip-smacking meal for your Boxers. Your dog would not need to chew much to take one and finish a meal with a taste of cooked or boiled eggs.</li><li>Eggs are a source of essential amino acids, the building blocks of protein. Remember, protein is one of the major classes of food for you. It turns out your dog needs it too!</li><li>Eggs are also rich in essential vitamins such as Vitamin A and B12.</li><li>Eggs supply calories, needed to stay strong, active, and vibrant.</li><li>Feeding your Boxers with eggs also supplies it with other nutrients such as fatty acids, iron, folate, iron, selenium, and riboflavin.</li><li>Eggs also contribute to a healthy coat and improved skin condition for your Boxers.</li><li>Eggs are also able to help in settling your Boxer’s upset stomach.</li><li>Eggs can be used in preparing nutritious homemade meals for your dog. Eggs are considered very safe for consumption for your dogs.</li><li>Eggs are relatively cheap, hardly scarce, and very easy to prepare. </li></ul>The above nutrients are very beneficial for Boxers to grow and strong healthy bones and teeth. The claim by some that eggs are a high source of cholesterol and would not be healthy for dogs should not be a source of concern. According to Nutritionists, dogs are not at risk of the type of cholesterol-related diseases that we as humans suffer from. This is because the effect of cholesterol in dogs is very different from the kind of effects it has on humans. If for any reason there should be a source of concern, it would be observed in its weight first. As a matter of fact, eggs should make up for about 15 percent of the total calories needed by your dog daily. <h2>How Frequent Should You Feed Your Boxer Eggs?</h2> Consulting with your vet on this issue would be a great move. However, if your dog is overweight, you must apply caution on feeding your dog so many eggs, considering that it is rich in fatty acids. You won’t want your Boxers to develop other health issues such as obesity. Overfeeding your dog with eggs can also put it at risk of other illnesses such as Salmonella. As a matter of fact, eggs cannot be used as a primary source of nutrition. You only need to just incorporate eggs into your dog’s meal. Your dog deserves to be served a complete and balanced diet, as you would love to. It is recommended that your dog should be fed eggs a few times weekly but this would also depend on your dog’s health status, weight, activity level and of course your dog’s age. Whatever the case may be, just ensure it is done moderately. <h2>Serving Your Boxers Eggs</h2> In time past, wild and free dogs were known for snatching eggs out of next and consuming them like that! However, these days, it is not recommended for domestic dogs to eat raw eggs. Feeding your dog or letting it consume raw eggs place your dog at risk of certain illnesses, especially when done frequently. Though some may argue that serving eggs in another method other than raw like cooking or boiling, eliminates most of the nutrients contained in the eggs. There are also those who go further to insist that the dog is made to eat even the shells! It’s said it is a source of calcium and phosphorus. This is especially for those having problems chewing bones. It is suggested you dry them out, grind them as powder and sprinkle them on your dog’s meal. They further argued that eggs have to be taken in very high quantities to get these diseases, which is most unlikely. Besides, the dog’s immune system should be able to effectively handle any bacteria found in raw foods. It is also said that egg yolks supply enough biotin to make up for the effects of Avidin, an enzyme in egg whites. As such there should be no concern over this effect. Though these arguments can seem very logical, I still do think I love my dog too much to put it at any avoidable risk! <h2>Possible Risks when Feeding Your Boxer Raw Eggs</h2> <ul><li>Salmonella Infection: Do you know both you and your Boxers can get Salmonella infection from eating raw eggs? This disease is accompanied by symptoms such as vomiting, fever, diarrhea, low appetite, fatigue, reduced activity level. If this ever happens, contact your veterinarian so your dog is placed on antibiotics and you should dispose of those poisonous raw eggs!</li><li>E .coli Infection: Your Boxers can also be infected by this bacteria by feeding on raw eggs. Though rare too, it is still possible. Bacteria have to be cooked to about 145 degrees F to be gotten rid of from your dog’s meal.</li><li>Biotin Deficiency: Another health concern is that raw egg contains Avidin, a substance that inhibits Biotin. Biotin is a vitamin that helps in your dog’s metabolism, digestion, and improved skin condition. This substance prevents the absorption of biotin into its body. </li></ul><h2>Simple Tips for Preparing Eggs for Your Boxer</h2> It is best you prepare your Boxer’s egg meal by boiling or cooking it. You can also make egg scrambles! Just avoid using oils, butter, spices, salt, cookie, and other additives, your dog would not react to these additives the way you do. Remember to make this part of its meal and not a primary source of nutrition. Whether raw or cooked, check your dog’s reactions after feeding it the first time to see if it has stomach problems. You would need to make necessary adjustments if this happens. Note that except if done excessively, farting is quite normal for your dog after feeding on eggs. Also, it is advised you get your eggs from organic healthy chickens or pasteurized eggs from the grocery store. After purchase, ensure you store them properly. Storing in a refrigerator can also be very helpful. <h2>Final Thoughts</h2> So we see that Boxers can actually eat eggs! For the very same reasons, you would love to have this very nutritious and tasty food in your own meals. Especially if they are prepared and served right. If for some reason, your Boxers have not had eggs in a long while, we both must agree it is time you get them bought and stored up! <h2>Related Questions</h2> How do I prepare scrambled eggs for my Boxers? First, break your egg and pour the content into a bowl and stir it. Then, heat a frying pan and pour the content into the pan. Use a little water to prevent it from sticking since you would not be using oil or butter. You can choose to split into smaller pieces or just serve your dog whole. Do not use other additives as well. What part of the day is the best time to serve my Boxers its eggs? Since breakfast is the most important meal o the day and it is advised you serve him just once daily, several times a week, then make it a part of its breakfast. If for any reason you skip breakfast, you can still make it a part of its meal at any time of the day. source https://familycuisine.net/how-to-eat-boiled-eggs-boxer/

#familycuisine

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graymalkyn · 7 years

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Messy twister with both Zhan Zheng Xi x jian Yi and mo Guanshan x he tian

Confession: I’ve never played Twister (it was never a popular game here), though I’d heard of it. Messy Twister does sound fun. I wrote this as a continuation of the napping drabble. Thanks for the prompt!

9) Jian Yi x Zhan Zheng Yi, HeTian x Mo Guan Shan ~You say TWISTER and I raise with MESSY TWISTER (paint!)

“Tian Heee,” Jian Yi whined, struggling to get into hisfriend’s apartment, his face squished against the door Tian was trying to shut.“You’re the only one who’s got space for this, pleeease!”

“I said no! Why did you come here without even askingfirst?” He Tian grunted. “I’m busy right now.”

“Oh? Could it be… you have a girl?” Yi’s eyes suddenlyseemed to glitter. “Zhan Zheng Xi, lend me your strength!” he yelled.

“Leave him alone,” Zheng Xi droned, without moving.

“Hyaaaaaaaaaaa!” Yi screamed as he shouldered the door andpushed Tian away. “I’m sorry to interrupt, miss!” he said in a singsong voice,prancing in, “but I’ve got business with this guy and I was wondering if…” Thewords died in his lips as he saw Guan Shan sleepily emerging from underneath ablanket. “Mo?”

“What’s…” Guan Shan’s face went pale as he realized what hisposition was. “No-nothing happened! We were just sleeping!”

“Together?”

“Yes. No! Yes, but no!”

“Which is it?”

“It was just a nap!” Guan Shan shouted, his face redder thanhis hair as he scrambled to get up. “I’m leaving now!”

“Where do you think you’re going? I thought you were stayingover for dinner,” Tian said. He was holding a bag that Zhan Xi had handed tohim. “These guys brought snacks and there are leftovers, so you might as well stay.”

“Yes, the more the merrier!” Yi beamed as he tackled GuanShan and pinned him down. “Besides we’re all friends now, right?” He leanedover and murmured, “But are you and He Tian just friends or—”

“What the chicken dick are you saying?!”

“Hands off that guy,” Tian said, grabbing Yi by the back ofhis t-shirt and pushing him onto Zheng Xi. “You, this guy’s yourresponsibility.”

Xi sighed. “I told you he wouldn’t be into it. We shouldjust go back.”

“Eh? No, no way! Tian He, what do you have against Twister?Could it be you don’t trust your luck?” Jian Yi patted his friend on the back.“Oooh… Or is it that you’re not flexible enough?”

Carefully avoiding both of them, Guan Shan approached ZhengXi. “What is this ‘Twister’ thing? The game?”

“Jian Yi found some video online where people use paint oneach color, so he wants to try that.”

“You don’t look like the kind that’ll go along with stupidideas,” Guan Shan remarked, raising his eyebrows.

Zheng Xi shrugged. “It’s not going to kill me. Giving it atleast a try, I mean.”

Guan Shan blinked. Ever since they’d fought, Zhan Zheng Xihad somehow become an enigma in his mind. It wasn’t as if there was bad bloodbetween them these days. In fact, since he’d never meant to attack him, oncethe problem was settled, it was really over. He’d seen that guy and Jian Yitogether all the time, but it wasn’t as if there was something between them, right? He Tian had said they were closefriends, but Guan Shan still wondered if “close friends” would throw themselvesinto the fire the way that guy had done for Jian Yi.

Then again, that was pretty much what He Tian had done when he’d beaten She Li, wasn’t it?

Giving it at least atry, he’d said.

“I’ve decided we’re going to play with them,” Tian announced,being applauded by Jian Yi. “So let’s move everything to the terrace before thesun goes down.”

Zheng Xi patted Guan Shan on the shoulder. “I don’t knowwhat Jian Yi told him to persuade him, but… Good luck. Don’t let your guarddown.”

“YES!” Guan Shan grinned, having won the rock-paper-scissorsgame to decide who would be the referee for the first game. “So I’ll bespinning for you all? Your hands are gonna get dirty and—He Fucking Tian, wipe that smirk off your face!”

“Ah, I didn’t say anything and he knows me so well,” Tiansighed, leaving Zheng Xi confused.

“I’ll go first, I’ll go first!” Jian Yi claimed, his eyessparkling dangerously.

“Okay… Left foot, red.”

“Okay!” The puddle of tempera paint went spurt! as his foot landed on it.

“What a strange sound,” He Tian commented.

“Zhan Zheng Xi,” Guan Shan called, spinning once more.“Right foot, red.”

Spuuurrrt. “Argh,disgusting!” Zheng Xi groaned.

“My turn, then. Spin me round, Don’t Close Mountain.”

“Fuck off. Left foot, yellow.”

He Tian looked at the mat and seemed to ponder for a while.He hopped onto it, his left foot landing on the yellow paint with a squelch!, almost making him slip.“Woah!”

“Do you even know how to play this?” Guan Shan pointed out.“You should have started from—”

But He Tian shushed him. “It’s all part of a plan,” hewinked.

And after a good number of rounds it was evident that he’dhad a plan from the very beginning, because his body acted as a blocking wallbetween Yi and Zheng Xi.

“You bastard!” Jian Yi shouted when Guan Shan spun a red,right foot for He Tian.

“Oh, looks like I’ll be shoving my ass in your face, ZhanZheng Xi,” he laughed. “Don’t get too excited.”

“If you fart, I’ll kill you,” Xi replied in deadpan fashion.

“I don’t like this!” Jian Yi whined. “I’ll forfeit!”

He Tian arched an eyebrow. “Really? Because if you do,you’ll be doing a Truth or Dare—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Guan Shan said, alarmed. “Who saidanything about a dare?”

“Hmmm…” Jian Yi pondered. “It could be good. But then again,you’re a bit of a dick and sometimes you creep the hell out of me, so I’m notsure about your dares.”

“I could make it good for you, Jian Yi…” He Tian teased. “Orit could be hell, who knows.”

“I w-wouldn’t trust him,” Guan Shan mumbled. “A truth-or-dare thing i-isn’t a good i—”

“What are youbitching about?”

“Oi,” Zheng Xi grunted. “I’m getting cramps. Spin it, Redhead.”

Mo used the spinner one more time. “Red, right hand.”

“Why is it always red? Is this game rigged?” Jian Yi whined.

“You’re the one who wanted to play, bastard.” Zheng Xiconsidered his options. If he went back, he’d run the risk of slipping – itwould be extra hard to hold on till the next turn, and one of his legs wasalready getting stiff. Going forward, however, meant sliding under He Tian’sleg…

“I’m going down now, He Tian,” he finally announced, slowlycreeping between Tian’s legs and resting his hand on the red puddle. Spuuurrrt.

“That’s a phrase you’d do well to remember!” Tian said toMo.

“Stop being so gross and move your ass!” Guan Shan shouted. “Blue,right foot!”

Tian looked down. “Jian Yi, what should I dooo? If I moveforward, I’ll be riding Zhan Zheng Xi’s head… Ah, but if I go back…”

“Come forward!” Jian Yi yelled.

“Nah, too late,” Tian grinned, sliding back and resting hiships on Zhan’s back. “Oops, my bad… If I slip any further, I might butt-bumpyou…”

“Waaah! Don’t be dirty! Get off Zhanxi’s back!” Jian Yi rubbed his hand against a circle, grabbeda scoop of paint, and flung it at He Tian, who instinctively raised his hand toprotect his face and lost balance, landing on Zheng Xi.

“Bastards!” Xi shouted, writhing under He Tian’s body.

“Jian Yi, you fucker…” Tian lunged forward and grabbed Yi bythe collar of his old t-shirt, pulling him down and squashing his face againstthe mat.

It was at that moment that it occurred to Guan Shan that thebest thing for him to do would be to quietly slip away. Slowly, he stood up andwalked to the door without looking back.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” He Tian asked, pushingJian Yi away to go after Mo, as he snatched a tube of paint on the way.

“Shit!” Guan Shan dashed towards the door, but he stoppedwhen he heard a squirt! and felt somethingcold running down his body. “You didn’t…” he murmured, sliding his hand up hisback. “My clothes, you dickhead! My t-shirt was brand new!” He turned aroundonly to find that He Tian had quickly closed the distance between them and was nowhauling him over his shoulder. “What the chicken balls are you doing?! Put medown!”

“Stop kicking or I’ll carry you princess-style!” He Tianshouted as he took Guan Shan back to the messy mat.

“Momo, I’ll make you pay for giving He Tian the best spots!Zhanxi, give me a hand!” Jian Yi urged his friend.

“No no no, just—Jian Yi, let go of my leg! He Tian youfucker, where are you grab—You too?!” Guan Shan exclaimed as he saw ZhanZheng Xi squeezing a green tube.

“Why not,” he shrugged. “You’re one of us now.”

Guan Shan gaped at him. He barely paid attention to He Tian’sfingers running through his hair, or Jian Yi smearing the leftover paint on hispants. He was one of them? The image of those three teaming up against himbecause of his hotheadedness… He could tell, as soon as Zhan Zheng Xi hadgrabbed him by the arm, as soon as He Tian had stayed behind to settle thatmess, that nobody had ever had his back the way those three did with eachother.

He was one of them? They had come after him, treating him thesame way they treated each other – dragging him around, laughing and shouting,being annoying and supportive and oddly caring… Why would anyone care if hewere to drop out? Why would they care about what happened to him? A feeling of sadness set in, but it was quickly overridden bysomething else, something that felt like a bubble bursting out.

Shit. He was actually happy.

He curled up, hiding his face, letting out a loud groan. “ARGH!LEAVE ME ALONE!” But his lips were trembling with the promise of a smile.

He Tian took off his shirt and turned it inside out beforehe dropped it on Mo’s head. “We’re all dirty, so… you know what that means?” He smirked, walking back without taking his eyes off them.

Zheng Xi raised an eyebrow. “… Crap. No, He Tian. Don’t doit.”

“Wh-what’s he doing?” Mo asked a bit anxiously.

“Fuck, he’s bringing it out now.”

Jian Yi tilted his head. “Wow. Just how long is that…?”

“What?” Mo peeked from underneath the shirt. His eyes openedwide. “Fuck no.”

“Oh yesss,” He Tian grinned, petting the fire hose. “It’sbath time…”

#writing prompts #19 days #jian yi x zhan zheng xi #he tian x mo guan shan #asks #anonymous #that's a wrap!#otp prompts

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nationallampoon · 7 years

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Tripping Balls with the Founding Fathers

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Many observers of President Donald J. Trump believe he is crazy. That he has some bats in the belfry. How did Trump become so narcissistic? So delusional? When did reality begin to slip from his grasp? How in the balls did he not change that absurd hairdo over the years?

All valid questions. Journalists and biographers have noted that Trump was born rich and raised privileged, never receiving an understanding of how common life operates. That he has surrounded himself with sycophantic yes-men his whole professional career that have only told him what he wants to hear, therefore tilting reality. That he is the greatest living example of the Dunning-Kruger effect; a psychological disorder where one assesses their abilities and intelligence much higher than what is accurate. All that is true, but there’s another, more influential factor that hardly anyone outside of Trump’s inner circle knows about.

National Lampoon has spent the last seven months confirming the details of this new bombshell revelation. For the following shocking information, we have traded to various sources, three million dollars cash, a rare Les Paul guitar that I stole from Slash at the Whiskey a Go Go in 2002, a box of John Belushi memorabilia, a Honus Wagner T206 baseball card, and two intern’s lives. They are missed. By their families.

What our exhaustive investigation has confirmed is that since 1987 Donald Trump has been a habitual user of the exotic psychoactive drug ibogaine. Every month an unmarked private airplane flies in an ibogaine supply from the Republic of Congo or Burundi.

Thirty years of regular ibogaine use has scrambled Donald Trump’s already-addled mind. This has begun to explain his erratic and strange behavior. As well as his bizarre speech patterns. Trump believes he is smart and informed. He believes he’s still handsome and in shape, not a tubby sack of goo. He thinks his hair is acceptable for a human being. All because of the longterm effects of ibogaine abuse.

With this startling revelation made public, National Lampoon presents to you, faithful reader, our next report from Washington D.C.

Be sound,

Read Episode 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Meanwhile, in Donald Trump’s White House…Episode 7

The hallucinogenic drug is sandwiched between two Chicken McNuggets. A sort of fast-food/narcotics Oreo. This is how President Donald Trump has been self-administering ibogaine for thirty years.

The bark from the iboga root smuggled to the White House from Burundi has been scraped into a mortar and ground with a pestle into a greenish mush. The President then begins layering: chicken nugget, highly potent ibogaine paste, chicken nugget. Within an hour, a 20 piece McNugget is devoured with the entire bowl of ibogaine. All washed down with a Diet Coke.

An hour later, at 1:45 am in the Treaty Room, after six hours of watching television, President Trump has begun to hallucinate. The first image he sees is his father. A hatrack in a corner of the room has a bowler hat on top, forgotten and left behind by trusted longtime advisor Roger Stone. As the President fades into higher consciousness, as if it were a character in Beauty and the Beast, the hatrack smoothly transforms into Fred Trump, bowler hat on top of his head. His three piece suit’s lapel is accompanied by a red and white “Blood Drop” button from the Ku Klux Klan.

“Dad? Is that you? It’s me, Donny.”

“Hello son. How’s everything going?”

“Dad, I’m doing great. Tremendous. You’d love it. Love me. You’d love me. Do you love me?”

Fred Trump furrows his brow and says, “You’re doing okay, son, but I don’t like how uppity the darkies are getting. Those town hall meetings are a problem. Why are women allowed to speak in those? Those marches are a problem.”

The President of the United States starts peeling off his baggy suit as he says, “Dad, don’t worry, we have all kinds of people, great people, the best, working on voter suppression all across America. It’s going great. You’ll love me. Uh, dammit … you’ll love the voter suppression thing. And me. I think. Please.”

As he finishes that sentence, President Trump has stripped down to his white Fruit of the Loom briefs and navy blue socks.

Fred Trump says, “Son, I’ve been thinking. I think you should reach out to some of your peers for feedback on how the presidency is coming along.”

“Where should I go to do that, dad?” the President asks.

“There’s only one place that has all your equals gathered in one spot. I think you know where. Now shag ass and get out of here. Remember, blood and soil, son.”

Fred Trump dematerializes into smoke and is gone.

President Trump, in his tighty-whities, passionately hugs the hatrack in the corner of of the Treaty Room. “Thank you, dad.”

At 3:07 am, President Trump has donned the outfit he always wears as he trips on ibogaine. His white Fruit of the Loom briefs, leather Birkenstock sandals with socks, and a lion’s head cape. The full hide of a male African lion is draped over the shoulders of the President. The front paws of the beast are around Trump’s neck and tied together like how a preppy douchebag would wear a teal Izod sweater to the country club in 1984. The jaws of the lion cover his, uh … distinctive hairstyle.

A couple floors below the Treaty Room a Secret Service agent finishes a phone call with President Trump and tells his coworkers, “Bird’s Nest is hopped up on that weird iguana-root-whatever-the-hell-it-is stuff again tonight. He wants to go to the National Gallery. Bring an unmarked car around. We’ll sneak him out the North Portico.”

The President of the United States stumbles down the hallway of the second floor of the White House, past the Lincoln Bedroom, in his underpants and lion’s head cape. The ibogaine has fully kicked in now. From above, the crystal chandelier morphs into a silver octopus, its tentacles reach down and caress Trump’s orange-tinted cheek.

“Thissss wayyyy to your carrrr, sirrrr,” the octopus hisses, and points a tentacle towards the elevator.

Two Secret Service agents emerge from that elevator to grab the President by the elbows and lead him to the driveway outside the North Portico. Once it is made sure nobody is around to witness the President in his current state, Trump is hustled into the backseat of an unmarked black Cadillac CTS-V.

In the dead of night, it only takes seven minutes to travel from the White House to the National Portrait Gallery. Along the short journey, Trump stares out the window of the Cadillac and remarks to the Secret Service agents in the car that “Those green trees outside are fuckin good dancers.”

Once at the Gallery, the Secret Service usher President Trump inside, bring him up to the second floor, close the doors, and post two armed agents at every possible entrance or exit.

The National Gallery’s floors are covered in crimson carpet. Ivory-colored walls. President Trump walks down one of the corridors, studying his left hand, waving it in front of his face. His fingers have become a crude but colorful hand turkey. Like what a kindergartner would trace and draw just before Thanksgiving. As Trump waggles his feather-fingers and giggles, the portrait of George Washington turns his head, watching Trump shuffle by.

The painting of Washington turns his head the other way, towards Thomas Jefferson’s portrait. Washington says aloud, “Tom. Tom! Wake up. We have a visitor.”

The portrait of Thomas Jefferson rolls his eyes and says, “Oh for heaven’s sake. What the blazes is he doing here? Attention, gentleman! All Presidents! Everybody up and pay attention! Like it or not—” Jefferson’s voice dips a few octaves, “Trump is here.”

The paintings in the gallery come to life, stretching their arms, cracking their necks. John Adams slaps himself in the face a few times trying to come to.

Lyndon Johnson spits a green loogie onto the crimson carpet and farts loudly.

Ronald Reagan is the only President that stays asleep. He never wakes the rest of the evening, snoring softly, dreaming of horsies.

The crest of the ibogaine high has hit President Trump. To his eyes, his hands now look like campfires, orange and yellow flickering flames, and his feet are steelhead salmon. Trump stands in front of George Washington and says, “Which one are you?”

“I’m George Washington, Donald. I started all this.”

“Right. Right. I knew that. I predicted you’d be the first I talked to. Back to last week I said it. Ask anyone. Everyone knows that.”

Washington sighs. “Uh huh. I have a question for you.”

“Yes. Yes. I answer all questions,” Trump says.

“We don’t understand your hair. Would you like to borrow my wig?”

The Presidents on the second floor of the National Portrait Gallery burst into laughter. Calvin Coolidge snorts twice as he laughs.

Even tripping balls, even off his tits, Trump is as thin-skinned and overly sensitive as a spoiled 15-year-old girl forced to wear a secondhand gown to a debutante ball. “How dare you, you motherfu—“

“Whoa nelly! Easy, son!” cries out Teddy Roosevelt’s painting. “Come over here, boy.”

Trumps limps over to Teddy Roosevelt, nearly tripping into the painting of Ulysses S. Grant in the process. “Watch it, you Neanderthal flapdoodle!” Grant yells.

Inside his portrait frame, the great hunter Roosevelt points to President Trump’s lion’s head cape. “What in holy hell is that?” he asks.

Trump proudly says, “Lion cape! Modeled after the great Emperor Commodus’ cape! Great leader. Strong leader. Little crazy, maybe, murdered a lot of people, but you have to say he was a strong leader.”

“Look at that puny lion!” Roosevelt roars, laughing from his belly. “You’re like a little old lady with a house cat!”

In three seconds, Trump goes from strutting peacock to head-burying ostrich.

Teddy continued. “It was nineteen-aught-nine, my boy, and I led the Smithsonian–Roosevelt African Expedition. Mombasa, British East Africa — what you call Kenya — and some other far off African locales. Perhaps some where that intoxicant you are currently receiving the benefits of originated from.” Teddy knew about the ibogaine.

Most of the the of Presidents in the Portrait Gallery are rolling their eyes and yawning, knowing the longwinded former President may not stop talking for a while. Theodore Roosevelt is not known for brevity. This is a man who once delivered a fifty page speech with an assassin’s bullet lodged in his chest.

Teddy continued. “Seventeen lions, my boy! That’s what I bagged personally. And sixteen of the beasts were larger than that bobcat wrapped around your fat turkey neck! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!”

Intently listening to this exchange is Abraham Lincoln, who is waiting patiently in his picture frame, scraping underneath his fingernails with a pocketknife. Lincoln begins softly whistling “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

Drawn to the music, President Trump begins stumbling over to the portrait of our 16th Commander in Chief. He watches his steelhead salmon feet flopping across the crimson carpet that now appears to be flowing lava.

Passing Thomas Jefferson’s painting, Trump pretends not to hear Jefferson say, “You are a cockered, motley-minded, maggot-pie. The vast chasm that is your ignorance is shocking. And your hair is stupid.”

Trump stands in front of Lincoln’s framed portrait. He raises a hand with fingers that now look like purple slugs, their small tentacles twitching, towards Lincoln, wanting to touch who he just found out was a Republican.

“Do not put your hands on my frame, Mr. President, its an antique.”

“You called me Mr. President. President Lincoln, you’re the one in here that respects me. I’m doing a great job as President. A lot of people are saying the best job since you.”

“Who are these people?” Lincoln asks.

“Everyone is saying it.”

“Who?”

For someone who speaks fluent hyperbole, but limited English, Trump struggles to find the answer to Lincoln’s simple question.

“Who says you are doing a great job, Donald?”

Trump finally stammers out, “Some people, great people, loyal people, on, uh … Fox News.”

Lincoln’s craggy face slowly moves into a smile. Then a chuckle. Then a hearty laugh. He is then joined by thirty-eight dead Presidents of the United States in laughter. Reagan still hasn’t stirred.

Lincoln says, “That’s hilarious, Mr. President. That Fox place is bringing hypocrisy to new levels of amazement. Donald, you haven’t achieved anything. Nothing. You are a stain on this hallowed office. And the dumbest individual to ever step foot in the White House.”

This statement is met with various cries of “Hear, hear!” and “Well said!” and “Amen!” from around the gallery.

“President Lincoln, ple—“

“Let me tell you something, Donald,” Lincoln went on, America stands alone on this, our Heavenly Father’s Earth. All the armies of Europe, Asia, and Africa combined, could not by force take a drink from the Ohio River or make a track on the Blue Ridge Mountains in a trial of a thousand years. I said that a long time ago. With you at the helm, Donald, I no longer believe it.”

The ibogaine is beginning to wear off. President Trump’s trip is winding down. He stands, in the National Portrait Gallery in his underpants, weeping.

Lincoln had one more jab left. “Donald! Don’t know the manners of good society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old boy — you sockdologizing old truth-trap! It’s a shame, Mr. President, that you have no idea how funny that is.”

Illustration by Mikey B. Martinez III

Read Episode 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Tripping Balls with the Founding Fathers was originally published on National Lampoon | The Humor Magazine Est 1970

#drugs #Fred Trump #GOP #hall of presidents #paintings #Trump #white house

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