#but this week ive been actually able to be a person and do my hobbies and THINK | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

demon-that-slayed · 2 years

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alright hello I'm already gonna warn you, this'll be long. btw, thank you sm for doing it, I'm really hyped! you're gonna do amazing, I know that, so do ti as you wish, full creative freedom. (btw, I'm gonna copypaste this because I've already written it once, hopefully that's alright with you)

okay! so. starting with me ig. i dont even know how to begin.

im listening to music atm. i always do - people that dont always listen to some music are kinda psychopaths if you ask me. like, if im not listening to music, i'll be listening to an audiobook or a podcast or be watching some video or netflix. i cant not do anything. i say i love reading, but the last time i read a book has been weeks ago. i just have reading slumps sometimes. not saying that i dont read regularly - god, no. i'll find enough fanfics and oneshots and shit to count for a book. but most of the time i can spare, i try to write. and at the moment, im really doing good! i write drabbles almost daily, and i try to finish a chapter for my actual wip bi-weekly. which... i gotta admit doesnt work all the time but im trying! im just a shit ton of a procrastinator. like, sometimes it physically hurts telling myself i need to do something but not being able to get up and actually do it. i kinda zone out a lot too when im forced to sit through something boring or just when i cant listen to music/watch something at the same time. i fidget a lot, too. so basically as you can see im always doing something, always have something going on inside my head, am quite loud. like, literally, im the loudest person i know, except for maybe my dad, and im really expressive. could be italian with how much i gesture.

for my hobbies, well, ive told you about some of them so far. im not really... sporty. in the slightest. and i dont like sports either. but the one thing i do indeed like is badminton, which i do somewhat regularly. i think i'd suck at quidditch, but, unlike football, i do believe i'd be interested in watching. also i just really want to fly a broom - like, if i could pick any animal to be, i'd be a bird. always would have said so in the past too. maybe a cat, just because i really love them, and am planning to get one as soon as i get my own apartment. i'll take one from the shelter, i think, and if i could pick it'd be a black one so i can call it toothless. i do have a dog right now tho, or rather my family does. i love her, but she's not as cuddly as i'd like her to be, which, i mean, is fine im trying my best not to step over her boundaries, but then again my love language most certainly is physical touch, so my favourite moments with her are when she just allows me to cuddle her in front of the fireplace. its kind of a tradition at this point when theres fire in there. what else is there to say?

ive said quite much already but i feel like im still missing some.

i guess im really insecure of some things. dont get me wrong, i know my strengths, and i fucking love correcting people, my ego is over the moon sometimes. im stubborn and i hate being wrong and i know that im obnoxious when i discuss, just because i cannot stop discussing if theres still something to discuss. but im trying to better, really. some of it at least. still, i am in fact really insecure it seems. i worry so much what people might think of me - i cant present anything to anyone other than my closest family or friends because my voice will start to shake and i will start to sound like im gonna cry. on the topic of that, i cry so so easily. its horrible, really. plus, i have huge anxiety and i get panic attacks regularly, which kinda fucks with my sleeping schedule because they always happen when i go to bed.

okay, but enough with the depressive shit, im not done talking about myself yet. if you let me talk about myself i can and i will write paragraphs. really, dont worry putting all of this into your response. just think of it as me being super happy youre doing this because, honestly, genuinely, i am.

but getting on with it. when im excited, im kinda... like a child, in a way. like i let out unnecessarily high pitched screams and i cant stop laughing when ive started, and i clap my hand in front of my mouth or shake my arms out. im just really, really emotional tbh.

my favourite feeling is melancholy though. its... beautiful, in a very terrifying way. its the kind of feeling you get when you think about your childhood, or old friends, or family members you dont see anymore. its a feeling but its so much more and - i dont know. i dont know how it couldnt be my favourite.

i love sunrises and sunsets and i love the sun in general. im a summer person, partly because im always really cold (my circulation in my hands and my feet is fucked lmao, plus my blood ran low on iron for a while) but like, its summer, i dont get how it cant be people's favourite. plus, my birthday is in june, and my birthday is my favourite holiday. with christmas following.

okay i match you with…

REMUSSS

okay so be warned this is a very bad description but i think you guys would be great with eachother like these are very random things sos I’ll make a list :

(these are like headcanons if that’s fine)

okay so at night when you can’t sleep, he’ll just like cuddle you and make sure you’re fine, and you would make him happy just being there I guess, yk

anyways you two would like bond on liking music and what books you like and you always would have like mini arguments which end in him sarcastically admitting youre right which makes you feel good even if it’s not bc atleast you are right about this song being better or this character being more beil. than the other.

in summer and winter you always dragged him out for the sunrise/sunset and like he would jokingly complain sometimes because he would melt in the heat because it was always cold in the dorms and he had his sweater on

in the winter though you would steal lots of his sweaters and wear them piled on top of eachother because you froze in the cold

also when the full moon was near you’d always like be there and make sure he’s okay and you’d be like there for eachother all the time and like

he would sarcastically/jokingly be annoyed at you but actually really enjoy being around you, especially before you guys date.

oh yeah and you have picture albums filled with pictures that you, remus, or someone else takes that fill the albums

anyways, i hope this was good, ive never done this before lmao

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seqka711 · 3 years

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10 Years Later - The Seven Barian Emperors adjusting to adult human life

So I just discovered it's Zexal week! I'm actually doing a rewatch of Zexal right now, my roommate has decided they want to watch all of the YGOs and having finished GX and 5Ds, we're now on Zexal! Zexal is my second favourite YGO show and I have a huge soft spot in my heart for the show!

As for the characters ten years later, I DO have some thoughts.

Specifically I really want to talk about the Barians. 10 years later, they would all be between 22 and 25. For some reason, Astral just decided that some of them are older than others and I don't know if there was any logic behind that Numeron Code decision. Regardless of age, I feel that some of the Barian Emperors are far better equipped for adult human life than others.

Shark and Rio would be just fine, for obvious reasons. Shark genuinely enjoys competitive dueling, as we saw in the flashback before IV screwed him over, so I think he could definitely make a living off of it. He would use the prize money to help the other Barians, especially Durbe and Rio, who are in school. Shark also has to deal with fame now that he's the Asian Champion, and with that fame comes a lot of fans, hassle and memes, all of which he handles extraordinarily badly. But he keeps going for love of the game.

As for Rio, she is the most ambitious, and I see her becoming a doctor/nurse. She wants to take care of people (like we saw in her past life) and her life was saved by doctors multiple times in the series, causing her to look up to them. So she's currently in medical school, which is very difficult work. However, I also think she plays a role in protecting the human world and the Astral/Barian combined world from outside threats. In early season 2 we saw that she clearly has gifts of prophecy, and I think she would definitely use those gifts to help protect the worlds. She's also the whip that keeps the other Barians in place when they get too rowdy, especially when they all get together.

The third Barian that I could see adapting really well to personhood is Durbe. In school I think he would ignore classes like Japanese and Math to fixate on history. Not necessarily history from his own time, but rather trying to tie together the history of duel monsters and how the world got to where it is now. Even though his teachers tried to tell him that a degree in history wouldn't get him very far, he didn't care and went for it anyway. He's also a menace to the Barians who aren't getting higher education, which is most of them.

The Barian least well-adjusted is Mizael, who has basically abandoned human civilization and is now living on the combined Astral/Barian world. He completed middle and high school (entirely against his will) and now only goes to the human world to duel Kaito or because the Barians are holding a party. Mizael can no longer Barianphose, which sucks for him because he doesn't really like his human body, something he mentioned a couple of times in Zexal. He and Astral have also become surprisingly good friends over the years. The two of them are the kind of friends who like being in the same room but doing separate things. He also deepened his friendship with Kaito, and Kaito and V are the people he goes to when he doesn't understand something about humans, which is often.

Girag, Alit and Vector are all somewhere in the middle. Vector is struggling with the human world a lot. But unlike Mizael, he isn't willing to simply abandon it. Vector hasn't been able to find happiness in the human world, but he doesn't think Astral/Barian would make him any happier. He ran a gang all throughout high school, but when he turned 19 he abandoned it, and now he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't really have the energy to hate Nasch or Yuma the way he used to, but he doesn't really like them either. He's emotionally numb in a way he never used to be. Yuma is trying to help him find a goal to get him "out of the boring world" and encourage him to kattobing. But after living with hatred for hundreds of years, living without it is an adjustment that, even ten years later, isn't easy.

Meanwhile Alit has adjusted pretty much right in the middle. He isn't really thriving or struggling. He took a bartending job at the BARian, and he likes it well enough that it can support him while he does the stuff he actually cares about, which is sports, dueling, and hanging out with his friends. And dating, A LOT of dating. He engages in a lot of casual hook ups and parties. To the rest of the Barians, whom are either fairly milquetoast or not at all interested in relationships with humans, he's kind of embarrassing.

Lastly there's Girag, who basically takes adult life one challenge at a time. He's sort of like Alit, in that he lives for his hobbies. But unlike Alit, who has a steady job, Girag is kind of a mess and goes back and forth between employed and unemployed a lot. Whenever he's unemployed, he usually makes a run at professional dueling. He never really succeeds at pro dueling though, since his skills just aren't polished enough. He actually spends a lot of time at the Duel Lodge, because Ponta likes it there, and he'll do whatever Ponta says.

So the Barians, from most to least adjusted adult (in my own personal headcanon, anyways) goes something like Rio, Ryoga, Durbe, Alit, Girag, Vector, and lastly Mizael.

#yugioh #yugioh zexal #zexal week #zexal week 2021 #ryoga kamishiro #rio kamishiro #durbe (zexal)#mizael #vector (zexal)#alit (zexal)#there's no girag tag #barian emperors

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twst-headcanons · 4 years

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Hey! I was scrolling through some of your older posts and i found the band au one. I was really interested about it so maybe if you haven’t done it, could you do a continuation of it through hcs?

AUHROENFOSHDJNDKD WAIT OHMYGOD ANON THANK YOU IVE BEEN MEANING TO POST MORE STUFF I ALREADY HAVE PLENTY MORE WRITTEN ABOUT EACH SO I HOPE YOURE OK WITH ME POSTING THE BASIC BIOS

HEARTSLAYBUL

A band of five boys looking to enjoy the rest of their highschool experience together before moving on to the real world as adults.

Riddle Rosehearts; A junior at Night Raven, and the young heir to his mother's company. He wishes to do the best he can to take on her business once he graduates, though feels pressured to do so.

Trey Clover; A senior at Night Raven, and Riddle's childhood friend. He looks forward to having enjoyable moments with Riddle and the others before graduating and moving on to college.

Cater Diamond; A senior at Night Raven, and a generally easy-going and "people's person" type of guy with a need to make others around him smile. He thought joining a band might be a good way to promote his social media, and an overall nice change of pace.

Deuce Spade; A sophomore at Night Raven, and a former "bad boy", Deuce is looking to redeem himself so that he can have a pleasant and worry-free highschool experience.

Ace Trappola; A sophomore at Night Raven, and a bonafide flirt as well as an active troublemaker/class clown. He thought joining a band might garner him more attention from girls.

SAVANACLAW

A band of three boys looking to make a change, and their voices heard in the world. Struggling with different issues, they decided to come together to form a band.

Leona Kingscholar; A "super" senior at Night Raven, and the second-born son of a recently-deceased millionaire. Feels as if he was cheated out of his "rightful" inheritance, he hopes to vent his frustrations via music.

Ruggie Bucchi; A junior at Night Raven, and a lower-class student who was lucky to make it to the prestigious school in the first place. He joined Leona's band in hopes of getting famous and being able to give back to the struggling community he grew up in.

Jack Howl; A sophomore at Night Raven, he looks up to his seniors and hopes to support their efforts as best he can, and joins Leona's band to put his drumming skills to good use.

OCTAVINELLE

A band formed by three childhood friends hoping to promote the Monstro Lounge, a restaurant gifted to Azul by his parents. Found out that they enjoy performing together as a band, and decide to continue even after the Lounge gains traction.

Azul Ashengrotto; A junior at Night Raven, and a young yet passionate restaurant owner. He hopes to make it in the restaurant business, and formed a "temporary" band with Floyd and Jade to promote the Lounge.

Jade Leech; A junior at Night Raven, and childhood friend of Azul. He wishes the best for his friend, even if it means joining his band and working at his restaurant.

Floyd Leech; A junior at Night Raven, and childhood friend of Azul. A bit of a loose cannon and rather unpredictable, it was a miracle that he agreed to joining Azul's "temporary" band.

SCARABIA

A duo focused on sharing their culture with others, Kalim's only real goal being to make others smile while Jamil tries his best to keep him out of trouble.

Kalim Al-Asim; A junior at Night Raven, and a wealthy foreign-exchange student sent to attend with his servant, Jamil. He thought it would be fun to perform music and pick up an instrument, hoping to spread the joy his culture brings him to others.

Jamil Viper; A junior at Night Raven, and a fellow foreign-exchange student sent to watch over Kalim while they're overseas attending school. He decided to perform with Kalim as to make sure he wouldn't get in any trouble or messy situations, picking up an instrument as well.

POMEFIORE

A band of three boys formed by an agency with the goal of spreading Vil's influence as a celebrity. Clashing opinions oftentimes cause concern for the stability of their band in the long run.

Vil Schoenheit; A senior at Night Raven, and a famous model/social media influencer hoping to dip his feet and test the waters of the music industry. He demanded that the agency only pick him the "fairest" musicians to choose for his band.

Rook Hunt; A senior at Night Raven, as well as a friend and admirer of Vil's. He decided to pick up the bass in the past but never got serious with it until he heard that Vil was looking to form a band, and asked to join.

Epel Felmier; A sophomore at Night Raven, and a candidate hand-picked by Vil's agency. He hates the thought of being seen as fragile and "pretty", and started learning how to play the drums by Jack. He oftentimes has opinions differing from Vil's, and gets irritated easily by arguing with him.

IGNIHYDE

A pair of siblings hiding anonymously behind the alias of "Ignihyde", they work together as a DJ duo.

Idia Shroud; A senior at Night Raven and a textbook shut-in, he has a talent when it comes to technology, and secretly enjoys making his own music in his free time. Prefers to keep to himself, and is viewed as "the strange student", or even as "mysterious".

Ortho Shroud; A child attending the local middle school, he oftentimes comes after school in hopes of Idia opening up more around others. He was involved in an incident that left him missing a leg and needing a prosthetic, oftentimes joking that he's like a robot because of how the prosthetic is modeled. Asks Idia if he can sing for some of his songs, or at least help him with the instrumentals, even if the answer is usually an embarrassed "no".

DIASOMNIA

A band of four who've known eachother for most of their lives and act as family, and are hoping to stay with eachother for many more. They have decided to create slightly altered "personas" to act as onstage.

Malleus Draconia; A college student attending the local university his grandmother works at, in hopes of taking up her place as a professor once she retires as a means of "continuing her legacy", as Lilia jokingly phrases it. His "onstage persona" is a powerful mage and dragon fae who rules over a civilization.

Lilia Vanrogue; An older college student who never had the chance previously to attend, becoming a father and caretaker by the time he was fresh out of highschool. He used to play the bass, but had to prioritize taking care of Silver and Malleus over his own personal hobbies. He thought it might be fun to start a band with Malleus and Silver. His "onstage persona" is a vampire fae who acts as an advisor to the powerful dragon fae in power.

Silver Vanrogue; A junior at Night Raven, he's a rather sleepy and quiet individual who suffers from narcolepsy, even if it isn't immediately obvious. He's rather indifferent to the idea of being in a band with his father (and Malleus, who he somewhat views as an adoptive brother), and his "onstage persona" is that of a knight training to protect and serve the powerful dragon fae ruling over the faerie civilization.

Sebek Zigvolt; A sophomore at Night Raven, he's actually a rather shy and skittish boy when not acting as his onstage persona, though he's taken to adapting it into his regular behavior to fit his tall and intimidating stature. He decided to join his childhood friend, Silver, in Malleus' band, hoping to grow less shy and to impress Malleus, seeing him as an older brother figure. His "onstage persona" is a rather boisterious yet serious knight-in-training, hoping to live up to his master's expectations and more.

EXTRA INFO

- Night Ravens is a group formed by all seven main vocalists to perform a song for homecoming week, as per the request of the oh-so-generous Principal Crowley.

- No magic exists in this AU. Think of it as a sort of "spin-off" BanG Dream! universe.

- The Diasomnia boys still go by their names onstage, though they act differently according to their onstage personas.

- Each dorm name is their band name. For example, Octavinelle would perform regularly at the Monstro Lounge.

- Any boy that might have "strange" or non-human features are human. If they get body modifications (such as the twins with their teeth, perhaps) then they keep it, but Malleus doesn't have horns offstage, the Savanaclaw boys don't have animalistic features, the Octavinelle boys cannot turn into mermen (sea creatures?), and both Idia and Ortho have normal hair, even if it may be dyed.

- Ortho is a normal human boy, though he lost his left leg in a currently unspecified incident that might be delved into at a later point in time. All that will be currently mentioned is that Idia feels immense guilt and like he was the one responsible for it happening.

- In this AU, it isn't specified whether Silver is adopted or if he's Lilia's biological son. Malleus was put into Lilia's care as his parents couldn't be bothered to raise him/make the time to care for him and his grandmother is busy as a well-known and highly-regarded university professor.

- The setting that this AU takes place in is a city based in a country similar to the United States, and works on the United States school system. This is moreso for convenience on my end, though as it is unspecified it can be adapted to other school systems as needed.

- The faculty are all teachers at the school, though Sam runs an on-campus convenience store. Yuu is the insert character, and Grim is an online friend of Yuu who very conveniently happens to attend Night Raven as well.

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warmau · 4 years

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painter!au jihoon

*this post was commissioned | based very lightly off seventeen - fallin’ flowers tw: break up mention/general angst

“something in your gentleness entraps him you make it look so easy, to love and provide for something he knows a flower is one thing, a human is another - but could you do that for him too?”

you had thought jihoon was going to marry them

so standing in the middle of his studio with the remnants of their relationship, a broken vase of lilies in the corner, his undone portrait of them dripping down with the streaks of paint he’d thrown at the canvas in a fit of confusion and pain

feels .......... wrong

as if you were the one who was broken up with, and not jihoon who is on his knees a couple of feet away

hands stained in watercolors, eyes blank and burrowing

you reach for the wilting lilies first, you’ve known jihoon long enough to be aware of the fact that trying to use words to comfort him right now won’t work

so you silently begin to clean up, plucking items that belong to his ex and placing them out of sight

you take the ruined canvas with half their face sketched out and turn it over

jihoon doesn’t move from his spot as you work - doesn’t say anything - doesn’t even look at you

when you’re done you finally kneel down beside him, bring the hot wet towel to his hands and start to scrub the dry paint from his palms

you try to be gently but jihoon finally speaks

“harder, you have to scrub harder if you want to get rid of them.”

you can’t tell if he’s talking about the paint or of the memories that must be flooding into him

you had remembered how happy he had looked, being in love, being with someone who seemed to understand him

now he was empty and you were scared of what could happen if he was left like this alone

you don’t argue, you scrub harder and finally you get some of the colors off his skin

there’s still smudges thought, the same way there will still be those pieces of his ex scarred across him

time heals everything - you want to say that, but its too early to start preaching

instead you tell jihoon he should go to bed now, you’ll take care of the rest of the cleaning up and put his art supplies away

he gives a vague sort of look toward the bedroom and then back at you

“i broke the vase, the one with the lilies.”

“it’s ok, ive already cleaned-”

“i should go buy fresh ones.”

his eyes glaze over, he gets up and you scramble to your feet in the process

you put a hand on his chest to stop him and jihoon stares at you, but you can tell he isnt focused

“ill buy them, please jihoon. go to bed.”

somehow you manage to get him to turn around

and you are standing now in the doorway to his apartment, with a trash bag full of his exes things and the pathetic looking lilies

you had bought them as a gift when you’d come over to celebrate jihoon’s successful art show

his ex had put them into a vase and gushed over how pretty they looked - jihoon had never been one to be so romantic, but he had said that they looked almost as pretty as his ex did

you had watched them be so loving toward each other just days ago

but now it was all gone and part of you is angry at both of them

at jihoon’s ex for leaving him, out of the blue and with no real reason but the excuse of having “outgrown” him

and at jihoon for calling you after it had happened

but that anger toward him is really just a cover for something else

the hollowing pit in your stomach that has always been there since you met jihoon in college.

the pit you’ve covered with years of support for him and his relationships and his art

the pit, in which sits the actual emotion you’ve been hiding from the world

if you had picked me, i would have never hurt you like this

the thought is cruel and you tell yourself never to think such a thing like that again

but its there, it will always be there, because you love jihoon

not that you ever plan to let that truth come to the surface......

the next morning, you stop by the florist to pick up the lilies you promised you’d buy

you look at them, watching as one of the petals sags to the side, threatening to fall

you dont know what it is about lilies in particular - they bloom so big and beautiful that they often steal the attention in a garden

they’re quite the opposite of you

who has always found yourself more of a queen anne’s lace, playing a side role in the main stories of all your friends

but you adore them above all other flowers, touching the petal made of velvet and suddenly remembering that you had seen lilies when you first met jihoon

you had taken art in college as an extra credit class

you weren’t at all any good, but it was enjoyable to take a course that didnt demand much from you but creativity

one of the first assignments had been still life: drawing baskets of fruit, books on tables, flowers in vases

you had ended up with a vase with one purple lily in it.

the only other person who had also chose it was jihoon

you didn’t know his name back then

just that he was so beautiful, like he had been drawn himself and came to life off the page

his eyes like umber, russet sunsets - his mouth slightly parted in concentration as he let his pencil flow across his canvas

you had trouble focusing on the flower, which is probably half the reason it came out terribly

but it had also allowed jihoon to look over and offer with a quiet tone, that you maybe work on shading here - and dimension here

you had told him you weren’t in the art major and he had given you the kind of look that read, i could tell

before smiling to himself in the way you caved your head in a bit of embarrassment

it wasn’t like you ever thought the meaningless, sometimes only minute long conversation you’d have with him in the art room would turn into a friendship which harbored its way into one-sided love

somehow you had just ended up being invited warmly into his small knit circle

jihoon extending his hand to you after getting a text about dinner with seokmin and jeonghan

jihoon allowing only his and your eyes to fall upon his works in progress, you taking the free time you had to spend at his studio mixing paints and organizing his drawing materials

he never ask you to do those things - but he also never chided you for it

jeonghan had mentioned it once, when you were all walking in the summer evening after a movie outing

that you being able to earn jihoon’s trust was a higher honor than one might think

you had looked from jeonghan to jihoon - who had been walking a bit in front with the rest of your friends

head turned, his profile against the setting sun

“ah - are you buying another bouquet for your artist boyfriend?”

you jump at the sudden question and shake your head

“he’s not my boyfriend.”

you swallow and find that your throats gone dry

“he actually just got broken up with so......”

the florist frowns, taking you gently by the hand and leading you away from the lilies

“then those are not the flowers you should be getting him, you need to get him something that will say cheer up! there’s someone better out there for you - could i suggest tulips?”

you give a polite smile

“no, i think i have to take the lilies.”

when you arrive at jihoon’s apartment, the door is unlocked and jihoon is still in bed

from the way the kitchen is untouched and he’s wearing the same shirt he was yesterday you assume he hasn’t moved in all this time

“jihoon”

you softly speak

“it’s already well past lunch, have you eaten?”

he pulls his feet up so they disappear under the covers again. you look around the room and find a vase full of old paintbrushes

you take it and tell jihoon you’re going to go make him something to eat and that you’ve brought the lilies

he doesn’t reply, not until you turn in the doorway and his voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard before

“can you put the lilies in here?”

“you don’t want them in the studio?”

“no, please put them here.”

you quickly fry up an egg and make some coffee, which you set down on the night table beside jihoon’s bed

you move his sketchbook away and realize that it’s open to an empty page

your eyes briefly glance to see if jihoon has reacted at all, but he’s still

you go back to wash out the waves and put the lilies in

you wrap a rubberband around his paintbrushes and set them by the others which are stock piled in the studio room

a small ping of relief floods through you when you enter the bedroom and jihoon is up, holding the cup of coffee in his hands

usually people would suggest you make conversation to help ease jihoon’s mind out of whatever dark place it has wondered into it

but you just put the lilies down and tend to cleaning up whatever other paper and things you can see on the floor

even though jihoon only finishes the coffee and maybe a quarter of the egg, it’s still a start

the pain he’s feeling is fresh and you don’t want to push anything

but as you tell him you’re off to leave again - you remind him that he does have another exhibition planned in two weeks

on the way back home you hope his love for painting can cradle him through this all

whenever you think of the sadness that comes with being unloved, you throw yourself into your hobbies, scribbling down poems or re-reading novels from your time in school

you’d done it all to stop thinking about jihoon - you hope he does the same too

about a week passes when you return to jihoon’s again, and it’s only because this time jeonghan calls you with a serious worry about jihoon’s exhibition

“he isn’t painting, that’s the problem.”

“what do you mean he isn’t painting?”

“when i came over, he was sitting in front of the canvas with his hand pressed against it - but ........ he wasn’t drawing or painting or doing anything.”

you show up to the apartment after the call and take a deep breath before you let yourself in

today might be the first time you mention the breakup to jihoon, and you don’t know if its too early yet

to make the dread bubble even harder in your stomach is the fact that sitting outside of his apartment is that undone portrait of his ex

its half shrouded with other trash bags left to be collected

you look at the familiar face and clench your fist a bit tighter

if you hadnt done this to him, if you hadnt made this mess - i wouldnt be stuck cleaning it up.

you chide and immediately fall into regret

its not a mess, taking care of your friends is not a mess.

you knock on the door and wait for a moment till you hear jihoon turn the lock

you’re relived to see that his hair is wet from a fresh shower, but the bags under his eyes like crows wings cancels it out

as well as the fact that he looks as if he’s seen the devil himself

“what’s wrong?”

jihoon’s shoulders shrink

“do i really have to answer that?”

you step inside and the door closes behind you two

“jeonghan said you’re having trouble painting”

jihoon’s head drops and the darkness of the hallway makes everything feel closer and more intense

he turns and starts to walk toward the studio and you follow, gasping a little at the sight of it

canvases broken in halves, paint spilled on the floor - but not a single new painting, not a single completed project

jihoon sits down in the middle of it all and puts his head in his hands

he looks like he’s in agony, silent and torturous

is this what happens when an artist loses their muse?

you don’t know how to help and that makes it all the more worse

you just sit down beside jihoon

he lets you take his hands in your own

in the corner of the room those fresh lilies youve bought have wilted again

on one of the broken canvases, the only thing jihoon has been able to paint is those scattered and browning petals

you start to come by everyday after that because as much as you share jeonghan’s worry about the art

you are more so worried about jihoon shutting down

now he has nothing to focus on, just the fact that he’s lost the love of his life

so you try and entertain and keep him alive to the best of your ability

with groceries and company, bringing over his other friends - trying to coax him into going outside

jihoon reacts on some level, but you can tell that he just wants to paint again

all he’s done is brush strokes on the white paper, the shape vaguely like that of a flower but you cant ever tell what kind

he also keeps asking you if you can bring him lilies again

you do, and this time they live longer because you tend to them - and when you do you fail to realize that jihoon starts to watch you

he takes note of the way you move the vase with both hands

the way you keep the steams between the same two fingers every time

you arent burdened by the little chore because its takes at most five or so minutes out of the day

but jihoon unfolds each step you take like a storybook page

something in your gentleness entraps him

you make it look so easy, to love and provide for something

he knows a flower is one thing, a human is another - but

could you do that for him too?

he looks into his hands and the cup of coffee you made for him is sitting on the table to the left

have you already been doing it, all this time?

which is why on the day before the exhibition

when you ask him if he wants you to help him cancel it

he says no, he thinks he can fish something in time

you light up and ask if he’s finally found a new muse, but jihoon blinks slowly

“a new muse?”

“yes, i mean i thought - well i thought they were your muse and losing them meant you couldnt paint but if youre saying you can now then-

jihoon’s eyes turn to ice at the mention but then he shakes his head

“they ...... i never saw them as a muse.”

he stops to think on it, he isn’t lying

“but you loved them, i mean -”

he keeps his eyes down and you fidget, “sorry, let’s not talk about that.”

“i did, you’re right i did love them but that doesn’t mean they inspired me.”

he taps a finger and then looks at you

sitting across from him, how you’ve done a million times before

suddenly jihoon thinks if he can look at you like that for a little while longer

he can create again

he can paint something

so when he asks you to stay still, you do - and jihoon brings his pencil down to paper

only to get up half an hour later and take you with him

he sits you down again and sets up a bigger canvas this time, brings his paintbrushes

and then he moves the vase with the lily from behind him to sit at your feet

“jihoon, are you going to paint me?”

“yes”

“why?”

he looks from the lily to you

“because i want to, and it’s the first time in a while that i think ill be able to.”

you don’t realize it yourself not until you’ve fallen asleep in your position and jihoon is deep into his painting

that the muse you were talking about and thinking he’d lost

had been you all along

jihoon knew it, even when he was in a relationship, that there was no one else in this world that could make him paint

he’d felt it the first time you met in that art class, he’d watched you fumble through your drawing

and usually he wasn’t inspired to draw the mundane, the everyday

until he started seeing just how much it could mean to him

he had been painting that portrait of his ex out of obligation, they had asked him to do it

and so it had been taking a while - it had been unfinished not even because of the breakup but because jihoon didn’t want to do it

and yet here he was, the brush strokes pouring out of him in an attempt to capture every little detail there is to you

he had been wallowing in his pain and hadn’t bothered to look at you again

until you started to be there, everyday, like those lilies

and those lilies, beautiful and sweet

they were yours, you were theirs. to jihoon something about the silk of the petal and the sway of your hair made sense

he doesn’t wake you up, he’s been your friend long enough to know the parts of you he wants in the painting

he only stops when he’s done and his hair is stuck to him with sweat and the sun is rising outside his window

you’ve slumped over completely onto the couch and jihoon comes closer to move you into a more comfortable position

this is the first time in these weeks that he is taking care of you instead of the other way around

when his fingers touch your skin he suddenly feels the kind of sparking urge he has only felt with others who hes been intimate with

your small stir in his arms causes him alarm and excitement all at once, when your eyes open slightly he jumps back before he fears he’ll do something you wont like

in the morning, jihoon is passed out cold in his bed and you get up and rub your eyes

finally you let yourself move toward the canvas to see what jihoon has painted

its you.........its you in every way..........you stare at that face of yours like a mirrored reflection

seeing it like this something ties a knot in your heart

“is this what its like to be a muse?”

jihoon’s voice floats through the room

“you’ve always been mine.”

you turn - because you don’t think you’ve really heard it - maybe its just your drowsy imagination speaking

but jihoon is there and the phone is ringing, jeonghan about the exhibition

neither you or jihoon reach for the phone

instead you ask him,

“what do you mean?”

he doesn’t know how to explain it

instead he looks at you and then over his shoulder into his room

the exhibition doesnt start until the afternoon, and you are in his studio and you are whats brought him back from a point of emptiness

you are more than a muse

somehow you end up with his hand on yours again and this time that spark is searing up through both of you

jihoon’s paint stained fingers splay on the small of your back

you are still a little scared that its too early for this, if its just the wounds on his heart speaking

but jihoons lips only centimetres from yours promise that its more than that

its all that time wasted, his attention was yours that day in the art classroom

and he was an idiot for ever trying to put it on someone else

but like all good things - they come with time and if you want him how he wants you then hes here

and he’s ready to let this between you bloom into something more

you giggle when his breath tickles you before you finally kiss

you wonder if everyone will be surprised by that painting jihoon has done of you when its up in the wall of the gallery

when the lily petals fall from the flower in that vase and land at your entangled feet.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen au #jihoon scenarios #jihoon imagines #jihoon au #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines #woozi au #member: woozi #sfw #writing commissions #seventeen #woozi #park jihoon

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actiontoad · 3 years

Text

i had a realization recently that i am just now, in my 30s, legitimately figuring out who i am as a person.

i spent a decent portion of my 20s pretty depressed and kind of just floating along in life- working and hanging out at home. then i got unexpectedly pregnant at 24 and from there i would spend the next while in a different sort of fog, where everything about my life was only about how it related to and served others. i worked, i paid bills, i cared for the apartment. and i grew, birthed, and cared for a couple of babies. i didnt have an identity that was just myself.

my kids are a little older now and they need a little less of me on such a constant and immediate basis than they did as babies and toddlers. ive been able to think about things that i might like to do while they go to school, goals i have personally, all of that. for me. obviously i am and always will be a parent, my kids come first, all of that. i wouldnt trade that for anything. but i also now have the opportunity to simply… be me… for the first time ever.

i love running, thats no secret, and being active in general. i used to say i didnt like being outside because there was no internet out there and all of my friends and interests were online. but ive realized that hey i actually am just a little bit outdoorsy. i like the forest and mountains.

ive always liked video games casually but i realized wow, i am legitimately passionate about zelda! sharing video games with my kids has been special in its own way but its also an interest that is mine, separate from them.

there are more examples of this but the point is- i didnt have much of an identity of my own or the chance to explore myself as a person until the last couple of years. and i didnt notice the contrast there until i was talking to my fiance about an adjacent topic last night. the short version of which being that i realized that i didnt have any hobbies to share with him because i had been too engulfed by my role of caretaker to be able to think of things that i enjoy.

im turning 32 in a couple weeks and i am so excited to find out who i am

#long post #✌🏻#my personal posts will always be novels thanks for noticing #the ads were right… it gets better

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tsurangaconundrum · 3 years

Note

honestly i think ive brought the mood down by talking about dead birds. but luckily i have a fun story about live birds! actually this is one that i find kinda strange myself.

im going to assume you know whatabouts the typical county fair looks like. actually you did say you dont have squirrels so mbby ur not american... it basically looks like theres this huge field and a huge barn and a rather decent sized inside bit and a few little wooden structures nearby to make shade. and pretty much all year its super empty, i think part of it becomes a dog park the rest of the time? i dunno. anyway, once a year a carnival will roll in and the ffa and 4-h roll in and the entire place is filled with trailers and tents and rides and, especially with animals. and it goes on for like a week, opens rlly early and closes rlly late. i know we had a rather large fair where i live. its a Big Deal.

now, if youre a regular person youll go to the fair maybe once or twice, look at some of the historical stuff or whatever thats in the building, maybe walk through the barn, go on a few rides visit a few vendors, and go home. if you’re participating in the fair its a whole nother story. ill spare you the details but it involves getting up early grooming a pissy animal that youve been raising all year specifically for this (or training for this, it depends on what you do. i wont be talking about my own experience because i’m pretty sure you’d be able to find out exactly where i live from it and im not too keen on that) getting dressed up (white buttondown shirt, wipe the mud off your boots, and new jeans) and driving down to the fairgrounds to set up in either a tent or a barn.

so i find the tent im supposed to be in and we start setting up. since we were a small group they stuck us in a tent with another small group, a handful of chickens, some fancy, some just regular hens, but all pretty. so anyway we get judged, my animal will only perform AFTER the judging when its not her turn so it didnt count (but she fucking nailed it). and apparently she wasnt a good example of her breed or whatever but idc how much experience this guy has she was damn cute and had straight legs and everything. (im not mad about not winning im mad that he went out of his way to be a dick). (also my sister won and she was also a dick.)

anyway, we start slowing down, its hot as the dickens, so im just trying to keep myself and my animal cool until we can leave. so i look over at the other side of the tent and youll never fucking believe this: these dudes are dressing up their chickens. IT WAS A CHICKEN COSTUME CONTEST. have you ever heard of such a thing???? so of course i stick around for the judging. and admiring these hand sown chicken garments. im talking dresses and little hats and even props, it was a damn beauty pageant. i kept expecting mama june to come through the door with her toddler. ok and this wasnt /just/ a chicken costume contest, oh no, i wasnt clear on if they have a theme every year or if this is just how they do it, but it was a historical chicken costume contest.

there were only a few chickens there. apparently runway training a hen isnt a popular hobby, cant imagine why, but oh boy were they fabulous. its been maybe... i wanna say six years so excuse me if my memory is fuzzy.

most of the chickens were dressed fairly sparsely, draping things, hats, etc. dont get me wrong these were still incredible (ex; chicken abraham lincon. chicken cowboy that i should probably reckognize. chicken union solider.) but compared to this one guy they were party city cuz this guy had sewn an honest to god suffragette costume for his lovely red hen. he blew the competition out of the water even though his hen wasn’t fancy and i think the moral of this story is that it doesnt matter who you are or how good at things you are if youve got great legs and know how to sew youll make it in life. pretty sure mark twain said that. i just- words cannot describe seeing this chicken in her blue dress and her sunhat with the sash and the “voting rights now!” sign. it was magnificent! i havent been able to find the chicken costume contest since and now the only proof that it ever existed is on my moms shitty old camera. i think.

why did the chicken cross the road? for women’s voting rights.

my ask box is now a bird confessional do not send asks unless youre talking about birds thank you very much.

#i am an american but my town does not have a town fair like that (we have a carnival tho? does that count? anyway.)#dead bird anon #asks #also the dead birds are chill idk mood isnt real dead birds can be fun sometimes

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callmeelle22 · 3 years

Text

Blue Dream III

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 4, 559

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

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything; It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i... she feels… (Read below or on the AO3 link on the chapter title.)

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Anything

Maybe I should kill my inhibition

Maybe I'll be perfect in a new dimension

On the Saturday the week after Barry’s impromptu visit, Iris finds herself down on Main Street about half an hour after 10 in the morning. Nearly the entire 8 blocks of the street are sectioned off, with a plethora of white tents set up on both sides of the street. She glances on as she makes her way down the sidewalk, as people set up books and jewelry and clothes; beer and wine and harder liquor; food and sweets and other treats.

It’s the setup for Central City’s Fall Fest, one of a multitude of fests in the city that Iris calls home. It’ll be open to the public in a few hours and, like usual, Iris will make her way up and down the blocks a few times, holding a beer in one hand and something fried on a stick in the other, a couple of bags filled with things she doesn’t need in the crook of her elbow.

Now, though, she steps into the alley that leads to the side door of Golden’s, an Asian and American fusion restaurant and bar owned by the parents of her best friend, Linda Park. She gives a heavy-handed couple of knocks and only moments later, Linda opens the door to let her in.

Iris first met the other women when they were in the 7th grade. Iris’s parents had divorced several months prior to a new school year and for reasons not then known to Iris, her dad had gotten full custody of her and six-year-old Wally. They’d moved into a new house on the other side of town and that had meant a new school for her. Linda had sat beside her in their homeroom/advisory class and the girl with beige skin and long dark brown hair was constantly scribbling something in a notebook. Iris had discovered that they’d been stories, usually with families as the starring characters. By then, Iris had begun to write in her own notebook—musings and wonderings about the neighbors she’d just met, about what it meant to be the oldest child of divorced parents. They’d bonded over their writing; well, that and being two of only a handful of girls at the school with skin darker than the pale and spray-tanned skin of their classmates.

For over a decade, it’s been Iris and Linda. Through the messy stages of puberty and their even messier interactions with high school boys; through late-night study binges and even worse interactions with college boys. Through the drug addiction that took Iris’s mom and the car crash that had put Linda’s older brother on life support until he’d succumbed to his own injuries, they’ve navigated it all together.

Now, life gets in the way. Linda, almost immediately after undergrad graduation, had begun shopping around a number of short stories and personal essays she had written until, finally, a publisher had bit and opted to publish them as an anthology. A few years and too many nights spent locked in a room later and Linda’s book is a New York Times bestseller. Iris’s own success story is pending. In addition to completing her graduate degree (which, at 26, she’d started late, after taking some time off and working at a local newspaper), she runs a blog, one she’d started by accident. Her middle school musings had become pointed interviews and, with the classes she’d taken in college, had gotten the necessary skills to begin writing up her own human interest stories. It’s amazing, she’s learned, what people will tell you when they can hide behind the face of someone else. What a Life You’ve Lived is growing in popularity, making some money too, and it’s starting to become more than just a hobby for Iris.

Neither Iris nor Linda is ever truly free; but in a concentrated effort to make time, they brunch at least twice a month. This morning, it’s at Golden’s (where Linda is working as a bartender while she writes her next book) because her parents want them to try out new menu items. When the door shuts behind them, Linda turns and gives Iris a hug, wrapping her arms around her neck. Iris returns it, smiling into her hair, her familiar lavender scent a warm comfort she didn’t know she needed.

“I’ve missed your beautiful face,” Linda says, squeezing her hard once before letting her go.

“Yeah?” Iris asks, mouth lifting in a smirk. “Is it because you’re tired of looking at Daniel’s beautiful face?”

Linda rolls her eyes. “Never, though I’d rather put my eye out before I tell him that.”

Linda has been dating her boyfriend Daniel Ngyuen, nerdy engineer and man ridiculously head over heels for her, for a few months, after they met at a book signing hosted by Linda’s parents.

“You’re ridiculous,” Iris tells her, and Linda preens in response.

Something in Iris tightens, a faint film of green clouding her view for all of a millisecond. She’s ashamed she even had the thought, that she feels anything but happiness at the light in her friend’s chocolate brown eyes or the glow in her cheeks. She’s not jealous of Linda, of course she’s not. But Iris can’t help but find some envy at the feeling of contentment that so obviously surrounds her friend and the juxtaposition of her own drifting existence.

It’s almost tangible, these differences, at least to her. Iris can see the confidence practically emanating from Linda’s dress-clad form, the long-sleeved maxi dress and tall sandals, her wavy shoulder-length hair, making her look a little like a goddess. But Iris imagines that’s what it must look like, to be at the start of a career you’ve always wanted, to have the love of a man you’re secure in, to just...know your place, your purpose.

And maybe Iris is being dramatic. She supposes she looks as put together as she’s always thought she needed to be in her light denim jeans, pale pink cropped sweater, and tan block-heeled sandals. She’s been wearing her natural hair out this week and the wavy curls are piled up in an artfully messy bun. Still, even if Iris can’t touch on why she feels so scattered, like all of the pieces that make up the whole of her are floating aimlessly around her body, she cannot deny that the feeling is there, taking up space in her head like the songs she latches on to keep focused, maybe I should pray a little harder, or work a little smarter.

They walk through the restaurant, bustling with the waitstaff preparing for the 11 am opening. Golden’s isn’t an overly large place, only able to fit about 50 people at a time, but Iris thinks it’s a part of the charm. It’s decorated in dark brown wood and bright white and gold light fixtures; the tables and booths are spread out in a way that allows for privacy, making customers feel as if they’re in their own little worlds.

Linda leads them to their usual table, one actually tucked into a little alcove where only the Parks and their guests are allowed to sit. At the table, there’s already a carafe of juice too close to red-pink to be orange juice, along with a bottle of champagne. Outside of the wine and marijuana Friday nights and the occasional party or club, Iris only really indulges in alcohol when she and Linda have these brunches. They slide into the booth and Linda immediately reaches for the champagne.

Over the next couple of hours, Iris is reminded of why, regardless of her own issues, she loves his woman. They laugh, sharing stories of Iris’s students and the customers who come into Golden’s. They get on each other’s nerves, making jokes and ribbing the other any chance they get. At one point, Linda’s parents come out, her honey-skinned Chinese mother Xuan and her dad Theo, Chinese and white with skin like baked sugar cookies, and Iris blinks adoringly up at the both of them, always lost in their beauty—both tall and elegant with ridiculous cheekbones.

“It’s sickening,” Linda mutters as she watches Iris watch them walk away, “how you look at them.”

“I’ve had a crush on your parents for as long as I’ve known them,” Iris replies. “If they ever want a thre-”

“Don’t you finish that fucking statement,” Linda gripes and Iris howls in laughter until Linda points out the attractiveness of Iris’s own father. “You know I’d always hop on the chance to be your stepmom.”

“And I’d happily sabotage your wedding day.”

“But it’d be worth it when I got to climb on top of Daddy West during the honeymoon.”

Iris throws a strawberry at her.

She hears him before she sees him. She’s been at Fall Fest for only about twenty minutes after leaving Golden’s, full and tipsy, walking through the steadily filling streets. Of all of the festivals in Central City, of which there are several (seasonal fests like the Fall and Spring fests; food fests like the Food Truck and Italian Food fests; cultural fests like the Juneteenth and Hispanic Heritage fests), the Fall Fest is one of her favorites. It’s during the best time of the year, when the sun is still blazing but the wind cuts through the heat. When the leaves have begun to drift off trees and dance onto the ground, changing into the shades of yellow and orange and red that only nature can paint. When the booths run the gamut in what they sell, from cooked and packaged foodstuffs, to clothes and jewelry, to dance or golf lessons. It’s the one festival, besides the Pan-African Celebration, that their entire family would attend, even for a few years after the divorce. Her parents would take off work and put aside their differences to spend time together--until Wally had felt too old and her dad had needed too many more work hours and her mom had gotten too lost; and then Iris had started coming with Linda and then, this year, alone.

But she doesn’t dwell—she tries not to dwell these days—and besides, she’s just heard him.

He doesn’t sound any different in the light of the day. In her head, she keeps hearing him as he is in the throes of passion, when his voice is more of a throaty curse, when it’s a rumble against her heated flesh. Here, out here with children screaming from their blocked-off sections and ladies laughing as they smell through candle selections and men arguing from the faux sports bars set up at random tents, he should sound like anyone else. He shouldn’t even be heard over the music coming from the speakers they can’t see—down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; do do do down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; i hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will—or the sheer noise that’s true for events like this. But he is.

She looks up, ignoring the woman still trying to convince her to buy a bottle or three of perfume, and she sees him, right at the booth beside hers. He’s with two other men, one shorter with light brown skin and dark brown eyes and black hair pulled back in a ponytail; the other only a bit taller than the friend, with skin darker than Iris’s, glasses, and a short afro. Iris vaguely thinks that the three of them together are some sort of setup for a bar joke. They’re dressed similarly, in pants and t-shirts, though Iris’s eyes catch onto Barry’s hunter green chinos and white shirt, the beige pocket square matching his desert boots. All three of them have relatively full beers in their hands and Iris is looking at the cup in Barry’s hand (or rather, his fingers wrapped around the cup) for about three seconds before it jerks, beer spilling out. She looks up to find he’s looking back at her too, muttering “Iris,” in surprise.

She watches her hand and smiles back at him, a bit awkwardly, stepping away from the booth where the woman has already moved on to a new customer.

“Hi Barry,” she responds, walking over to them. She spares a glance at the other two, the Black man looking at her curiously, the Latino man a bit more humorously. “Fancy seeing you here.”

It’s not her smoothest line, but Iris thinks she might be in shock. When he’d left her, again, before she woke up on Saturday morning, she’d found his number written in tiny handwriting on the notepad on her desk, the unimaginative “call me” scribbled beneath it. She hadn’t. She’d thought about; oh had she.

On Monday, she’d debated calling him up to grab a coffee during her break. On Wednesday, she’d gotten an email about a new story and she’d wondered, for a moment, what he might think about it. But then she’d thought of his sweet mouth telling her “I wanted to know if it was as good as my memory,” and she had decided that he likely wouldn’t care about her days.

Now, he gives her a thorough once-over, probably remembering, and Iris feels a flush of heat run through her that she knows has very little to do with the warm late September sun.

“Iris,” he says again, his voice a touch higher than normal. His companions look at each other, eyebrows raised.

“Iris,” the long-haired one repeats, laughter coloring his tone. “I’m Cisco.”

“And I’m Chester,” says the one with dark skin, and they both stand there looking at her, grinning like loons until Barry cuts in.

“Alright, stop being weird.”

They don’t. Barry rolls his eyes and pushes past them to stand in front of her. Even with the heels she’s wearing, she has to stretch her neck a little to look up at him.

“Hey,” he says, this time lower, a soft breeze on her skin.

“Hi,” she repeats, just as softly.

The sounds of the carnival don’t disappear so much as they become muted, such as if she were submerged in water or if there was a rushing in her ears, because everything becomes background noise save for the concentrated sound of his voice.

“You didn’t call,” he says to her.

“I—” she starts, but she’s got nothing to say, not anything that won’t make her sound needy or desperate.

“Hey Barry,” Cisco calls.

“Yeah?” Barry answers, but he doesn’t turn away from her. No, he’s looking at her still, assessing her almost. He’s trying to figure something out, she decides, or at least that’s how it seems, what with the way he stares so intently, blue-green eyes pouring into her, bringing up images of them staring up at her from between her thighs, bringing out impressions that feel like more than lust, like more than just two people who’ve only ever bared their bodies to each other.

“We’re gonna go to another tent,” Chester says. “Catch up with you later.”

“Alright,” is the reply, those eyes glittering like the sea in the afternoon sun, still fixed on her. There’s a slight frown to his mouth, and when he speaks again, she can’t tell if he’s reached his conclusion or not.

“Walk with me?”

She nods before she even thinks about it. “Sure.”

They start back down the path. The booths are in abundance this year; it’s a bigger festival than she’s seen before. For a while, they don’t talk. They walk side by side, arms brushing every so often, stopping at booths that catch their attention. For him is a booth with a variety of multi-piece puzzles, some featuring landscapes and gardens, others of the solar system or space. For her, it’s one selling notebooks, beautiful leather-bound journals. She stops, enthralled, picking up one in coral-colored leather with rose-gold edging.

“We can also engrave the name,” the sun-tanned woman with pale blonde hair behind the tent says. “Or you can order custom colors.”

Iris nods, murmurs, “these are really nice,” and continues flipping through the heavy cream paper in the coral notebook. These days, much of her writing gets done on her overused Macbook; it’s just easier that way. But when she writes, for herself—little anecdotes about her day, her feelings spelled out in poetry—she does so in notebooks like these.

“You’re a writer,” Barry wonders and it’s a statement as much as it’s a question.

“Yeah.” She looks up at him and nods. “I’m actually getting my master’s in journalism.”

She puts the journal down once she notes the $40 price tag and thanks the woman as they walk off, Iris looking back at the notebook with longing.

“I also run a blog,” she tells him, and the words tumbling out of her mouth are a shock.

“Really?” he looks at her in surprise. “What’s the site? Is it popular?”

It’s not like she’s embarrassed of her blog or anything, but it feels different, to tell people she knows about her work. Because it’s one thing for strangers to read what she types out in earnest, and in tears and in vulnerability, but it’s something altogether different for people she knows to do the same. They aren’t her stories, not actually, but they are always her words, always her emotions she puts into them, and it feels too, too telling somehow.

“It’s growing in popularity,” she tells him, because she’s the one who opened this can of worms. “It’s called What a Life You’ve Lived.”

He hums, like that means something to him, but before she can ask what, two kids come barreling through the aisle. Iris tries to step out of the way and she slips, her heel catching in a small crack in the asphalt. Her knees buckle, but before she can hit the ground, Barry’s arms are around her. One of his large hands holds onto her, pressed against the bare skin of her belly, and then she’s pressed fully against him.

It’s absurd how much she likes the feel of him—the slim but corded muscles in his arms, the apparent strength in his fingers; and she likes the smell of him too, the faint hint of his laundry detergent mixed with the heat of the sun mixed with the citrus of his cologne. It’s another moment (™), which doesn’t make sense because he’s only just caught her from falling. But he’s looking at her like there is more in her gaze besides the brown of her irises, the flutter of her lashes. It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i...she feels…

“Are you alright?”

Barry’s voice is quiet, too quiet for the energy they’re surrounded by. And maybe she doesn’t even hear it as she does read the movement of his pink mouth.

“Yeah, I am.”

He straightens, then, and gives her a half-smile. “You know, Iris, if you wanted to fall all over me, you could have just called.”

He likely had been trying for levity, but it’s pointed, right there at the end. She steps away from him and he lets her, his fingers sliding along the small of her back until they’re no longer on her skin. It leaves her cold

(only that can’t be true, because it’s far too warm out)

and she watches as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“I was waiting on your call, Iris.”

They've moved into a corner where the direction of the festival booths turn right. Straight ahead of them is a 21+ section; it features a stage where performances will begin around 5 as well as a number of makeshift bar stations. There’s a similar set-up with kid-friendly activities on the other side of the festival. Barry’s friends are standing at one of the bar stations talking to two women, both with chestnut-brown skin and long kinky hair. Iris’s eyes shift to take in the rest of her surroundings, to the sound of people laughing and the couples holding hands and the families who seem elated to be together on a day like today.

When she turns back, Barry is patiently watching her, head tilted to the side, expression thoughtful, like it always tends to be.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” Barry suggests “We can walk around some more. And once we get sun-tired, I can take you to this spot that I like nearby and we can talk. Maybe about why you didn’t call.”

She licks her lips, pulls the bottom one between her teeth. She hedges, long enough to tell herself that this would be a foolish endeavor, that she should just say no, that he’s nice and cute and what harm would it do. But, really, when he asks, those cyan eyes gleaming and his cheeks faintly pink and his face so goddamn hopeful it almost makes her look away, she really has no other choice.

“Okay, sure.”

She doesn’t tell him why she doesn’t call.

What she does is tell him about her dad and how she’s always been in awe of him, of his grace and his strength and the lessons he’d taught her. She tells him about Wally, who’s brilliant and searching, trying to figure out his way (not unlike her, though this she doesn’t say). She tells him about Linda, her sister in all of the ways that count, who’s always with her, even when she isn’t. And when he asks, because of course he does, she tells him about her mother who was beautiful and kind, all the way until sickness took her away.

She tells him this because he tells her first, about a larger-than-life father whose proximity to wrong-doing bureaucrats had landed him in prison, and an easy-going mother whose life had ended because someone else had been desperate for the money in her purse.

They do indeed walk around ‘til they’re tired, until around 6. Then Barry takes her to a little American bistro where they pride themselves on grass-fed meats and homegrown vegetables. They devour burgers the size of their heads and a mountain of fries that deserve their own table. He stuffs her with food and a piece of pie after, and he asks her some questions. He wants to know her favorite color and the television show she’s currently watching and if she’s always wanted to be a writer: yellow and Bridgerton and only since her parents’ divorce, when she’d needed to know that hers was only a unique story—or maybe she had needed confirmation that it wasn’t. She wonders about his dream job, his favorite hobby, the one thing he wishes he could do: forensic scientist, which he is, amateur theater, and getting his dad out of prison. That opens up a space for more convolution than should be allowed on a first date, and so she asks him more about amateur theater.

After, he walks her back to where her car is parked past Golden’s. When they get there, he listens for the sound of her car alarm, and then he turns her around, pressing her back against her car door. He walks closer, a hand at her waist, the other reaching up to cup the back of her neck, thumb circling lightly around her throat.

“Thank you for dinner,” she whispers. “I had a really nice time.”

“Yeah?” His mouth ticks up, that half-smile that is somehow both charming and a little bit maddening. “Enough that I might get a kiss?”

She tilts her head as if in thought, even as she gives in to her desire to touch him too, reaching up to finger at the faint moles dotting her cheeks. She only barely nods her acquiescence when he closes whatever distance is left and kisses her. Iris is always surprised by how warm his mouth is, by how sweet he tastes. He tastes like the apple pie they had earlier, but also like early sunset coffee on cool fall mornings and like how slow sex in the middle of the night feels.

He’s gentle in some ways, his mouth moving slow against hers, his tongue licking into her mouth like he’s trying to find life inside of her. But he’s a little rough too, squeezing at her waist so he won’t fondle her in the middle of the street, tightening his hold on her throat, only a little, but enough that Iris begins to feel the action in the throb of her sex. They kiss, eyes closed, her own fingers scratching at the nape of his neck, her hips thrusting against his in time to the flick of his tongue across her bottom lip, until she feels the swell of his dick against her belly and her loud moan tears him away from her.

“Fuck Iris,” he all but growls, licking his lips as he looks her over, a little wrecked. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, playing with the soft strands of his hair, until she notices it’s all messy, matching the state of his swollen mouth, his wrinkled skirt, the heavy dent in the center of his pants. She wonders what she looks like.

“Get in the car, baby.”

Wide-eyed at the endearment outside of sex, Iris does as he tells her to, sliding in and buckling up before he closes the door. When the purr of her engine starts, he motions for her to roll her window down. She does, waiting as he plants his elbow on top of the car, bending his lean frame down so that his face is level with her.

He smiles softly at her. “Go out with me next Sunday.”

She bites at her lip, if only to give herself another moment to breathe. Because this date would be moving beyond a two-night stand, beyond an impromptu date, far beyond kissing on the side of the street.

“What time on Sunday?”

“Early afternoon,” he says and leans in even closer. “I’ll pick you up.”

She nods before she can talk herself out of it, even if she knows that she should. Barry motions for her with a crook of one of his long fingers, and it makes her think of what’s been playing in her head, of down for the ride, down for the ride; you can take me anywhere, and when she comes to, he places a sweet kiss on her mouth.

“I’ll see you next week,” he says, pulling away slowly.

And then Iris watches him—his strong and assured walk, his compelling and commanding aura—until she can’t see him anymore.

Do do do down for the ride, down for the ride

You could take me anywhere

I hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will

#westallen fanfiction #strangers to lovers #iris west #barry allen

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marshmallowprotection · 3 years

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hi can i request a matchup? :)

i use they/them and my appearance is masc leaning androgynous. i have an undercut thats basically covered by my short dyed hair and im 5’4”. i wear baggier black clothing generally, but i want to take more inspo from the techwear style. usually have black nail polish on and the makeup i wear basically extends to a lip tint and eyeliner! i have 6 piercings in total (3 in each ear) and really want a tongue piercing and tattoos eventually :]

my personality— i act really cutesy/nice when i first meet people (to increase the chances of them liking me tbfh LOL) but once im more comfortable that persona kind of drops and i am just. a brat. just an absolute stinker man. like the type that shows my love by either ranting to them for 20 minutes without a breath or teasing them during conversation. i am. not usually a fan of opening up to people (i find it embarrassing) and deflect using humor. this usually goes out the window if im trying to relate to something someone is telling me, but id rather chug hot sauce than willingly open up on my own out of the blue LOL

speaking of ranting i genuinely do not stop thinking about things i like the entire day. im an ISTP and i usually like entertaining myself by making content for the things im really interested in at the moment (which usually changes monthly to yearly), so i have a bunch of sketchbooks and notes filled with ideas or AUs or stuff like that. ive been drawing for around 7 years so its been a big de stressor for me :)!! i also have a lot of trouble keeping up with people/relationships in general due to my adhd :’). a lot of the time i just... forget that things outside of my own head exist? and then that turns into me accidentally ghosting my friends for a week or something. id like to think im pretty smart! i was in the gifted program when i was a little kid after they found out my iq made me “moderately gifted” whatever that means. im kind of going through a burnout atm but i am stubborn as fuck and live my life to spite people i dont like so i wont let this get me too down.

a lot of the relationships/super close friendships ive had ended badly bc of the therapist role i adopt early on (thats how i feel like i “earn” their affection at first). my love language is physical touch!

i really love tea and ghibli movies!! the things i like change often but those have been constant for as long as ive been alive haha, im also really into mythology and religion, specifically in relation to irish/celtic faerie lore! it really makes me want to live in places like that.

the one major dislike i have is when people assume things about me. whether thats what im gonna say or what im comfortable with, i wish they’d just ask me. largely because they get the assumptions wrong. something similar is when people lie to me unless they have an actual reason for it. little white lies people use to “spare my feelings” only make me feel like they cant trust me enough to tell me whats actually happening

for hobbies, as i said, i draw. but another major hobby i have is rock climbing! i like being active and ive been doing it for around the same time i picked up art. currently, im actually getting back into serious cosplay which is super fun! i put too much pressure on myself to make it look good (+ no funds) that i sapped the fun out of it real quickly, but now im reapproaching it and i genuinely like it.

thank you so much :] have a good day!

I match you with....

Zen!

You have a very solid love language. You know what you like and you know how to treat the people around you with the utmost care and respect. Your friendship is like a whirlwind and there is no denying that. You're looking for people that you can show the world to and that you can hold on to when you need them the most. You know who you are and not a lot of people can say that they know that. This is that weightless feeling of knowing that you are who you are. You're always giving more of yourself and you intend to give. It's not always a bad thing but it does weigh on you like a rock at times because you wished that people would put you first instead of the other way around. That's not a selfish wish. You want someone to be honest with you. Even if it's not kind. You're just looking for someone who has a passion for life and a passion for you. That is why the person that works for you in these circumstances is Zen!

Not only are the two of you are very active and very open with everything that you enjoy. The passion that you have for the things that you try is insurmountable. There's no denying that you put your heart into everything that you do even if it changes every now and again. Zen is the kind of person that will love passion. He loves when he can see how much something means to someone and whenever he sees you exploring what makes you happy, nothing makes him happier. It took him forever to be able to find what made him a happy seeing other people experience that, especially the one that he cares about the most, is better than anything. Are both honest types and you're very blunt with each other and that keeps the relationship very healthy. Because neither of you have anything to hide it just means that you're both open books.

With a man like this at your side, you can learn what it feels like to have someone put you first. Your needs are what matter to him. It honestly might be a little overwhelming with how much praise he gives you, but with every kiss and with every nudge oh, he means every word that he says. You're the most wonderful person that he's ever met in his entire life and he wants to show you that so you can learn that for yourself.

#mod kait #mystic messenger #ask #anon #matchup #hyun ryu

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