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jewish-privilege · 3 years

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[December 12, 2020] - For this year’s Hanukkah, Amir is lighting menorah candles and reciting blessings to celebrate the holiday’s eight nights, as many Jews are around the world.

But he does so in secret, worried that Chinese officials will come around – as they often do on religious occasions – to enforce a ban against Judaism, pressuring him to renounce his faith. Sometimes, he’s even called in for interrogations.

(...)

Since 2015, Chinese leader Xi Jinping has waged a harsh campaign against foreign influence and unapproved religion, part of a push to ‘Sinicise’ faith – ripping down church crosses and mosque onion domes, and detaining more than a million Muslims in the western Xinjiang region.

As well as Christians and Muslims, Mr Xi’s suppression has hit China’s tiny congregation of Jews, whose ancestors settled more than a millennium ago along the Yellow River in Kaifeng, then the capital of the Northern Song Dynasty.

That such a small group can attract the Communist Party’s ire shows how far the crackdown has spread. Only about 1,000 people in Kaifeng claim Jewish heritage, and of those, only around 100 or are practising Jews, experts say – barely a splash in China’s sea of 1.4 billion. Even at its peak in the 1500s, the community only numbered around 5,000.

“It’s government policy – China doesn’t want to recognise us as Jews,” one man, who dreams of training as a rabbi in Israel, told the Telegraph. “Their goal is to make sure the next generation doesn’t have any Jewish identity.”

At home, he teaches everything he knows to his child, just as his forebears – most likely merchants from Persia – did for generations.

In that way, Kaifeng’s Jewish heritage survived dynasties, wars, natural disasters and the Cultural Revolution, when many destroyed genealogical records to hide their lineage. It has also helped them manage without a rabbi for more than 150 years.

They are fighting to keep their history alive, even though “asserting their desires to be connected with their Jewish heritage falls afoul of the official [Chinese] position on unauthorised religions,” said Anson Laytner, a retired rabbi and president of the Sino-Judaic Institute.

(...)

Chinese authorities are also concerned about undue foreign influence if the Kaifeng Jewish community is allowed to build links with Jews abroad.

“In terms of numbers, it’s so insignificant, but in terms of potential attention, it’s much, much bigger,” said Noam Urbach, an Israeli academic who has studied the Kaifeng Jews. Their existence can “raise a lot of attention among the international Jewish community.”

In Kaifeng, stones engraved as far back as 1489 with the community’s beliefs and ancestry that used to mark a 12th-century synagogue have disappeared from a public exhibit.

An ancient well, believed to be the synagogue’s last ruins, has likewise vanished under a cloak of cement. The authorities have also torn down the city’s few Hebrew signs that once marked the Teaching Torah Lane.

In that same lane, a spot where a few dozen Jews – some of whom were government officials – used to meet for services is now plastered in propaganda about China’s “management of religious affairs.” They include reminders that Judaism is prohibited. A security camera is directed at the entrance.

(...)

The crackdown is so intense that Kaifeng residents are afraid to dine together in public. “It’s a small place,” one Jewish man said. “Restaurant managers know that we are the Jews, and they will report us to the authorities.”

Across the city, the remaining trace of Jewish heritage appears to be two tombstones with the star of David and epitaphs in Chinese and Hebrew – but even this, they fear, will soon be gone.

Yet the Jews in Kaifeng are remarkably resilient, and have found ways to keep their faith alive underground.

Each week, meetings are held in secret to celebrate Shabbat, the Jewish day of rest. Many don’t eat pork, though keeping fully kosher is risky and expensive. But for holidays, they pool money for kosher meat and wine procured through a network of friendly intermediaries.

At home, residents decorate with photos of Israel, stars of David and traditional Passover seder plates, and serve guests tea in jars that used to hold yahrzeit candles lit in memory of the dead.

(...)

Groups like Mr Laytner’s Sino-Judaic Institute and Shavei Israel had previously set up centres to teach Hebrew and Jewish history and traditions, and helped some to emigrate. But both groups were expelled a few years ago, among the first targets of the government crackdown.

Mr Laytner does not consider the suppression to be specifically anti-Semitic – a sentiment experts say is unusual in China. The country sheltered thousands of European Jews fleeing the Nazis, and today, many Chinese view Jews favourably, typecasting them as an affluent bunch in influential positions – bankers, politicians, lawyers, doctors, film directors.

“In fact, the history works in their favour, because Jews were treated like garbage all over the world, but the Chinese accepted them,” said Moshe Yehuda Bernstein, a researcher in Australia who has written on the Kaifeng Jews.

“It’s something the Chinese could be proud of, yet recently in this clampdown on unofficial religions, they’ve taken away all historical evidence of a Jewish presence in Kaifeng, which is absurd.”

China’s ministry of foreign affairs denied the “so-called suppression,” instead highlighting that it had once welcomed Jewish refugees in a written response to the Telegraph.

Kaifeng Jews hope Israel will support them, though they aren't considered Jews under Israeli law – after generations of inter-marriage, Judaism has not been consistently passed down the maternal line. Mr Laytner also doubts that Israel wants to jeopardise Sino-Israeli relations “for the sake of a couple of thousand people."

Indeed Israel has deepened trade ties with China over recent years. The Israeli embassy didn't respond to multiple requests for comment.

But while those in Kaifeng insist they’re proud to be Chinese and only want to preserve their history and traditions, the crackdown has been very painful.

“We love our country; we’re not criminals; we just don’t eat pork,” said Amir, blinking away tears. “Why do we have to practice our faith in secret, and live floating on the fringes of society? It’s really hard to bear.”

#antisemitism #china #kaifeng jews #religious suppression

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romanoffscottage · 3 years

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fire hazard

a/n: flufftober day 7 - baking

warnings: none

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

summary: natasha wanted to make you a surprise for your anniversary, but things didn’t go as planned

words: 887 | natasha x reader masterlist | navigation post

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated and welcomed <3

Today was you and Nat’s 1 year anniversary and Nat could not wait to surprise you when you got home from work. She decorated the living room with candles and rose petals and got all the stuff ready so you two could take a relaxing bath. In your bedroom, Nat already pulled your favorite movies and snacks out. There was just one thing left Natasha wanted to do for you and that was bake you a cake.

She could have just gone to the store and ordered one, but she really wanted to make it herself. Nat knows she can’t cook or bake to save her life, but she was using box mix so how hard could it really be.

She got to combining the ingredients in a bowl while she blasted her music and danced about the kitchen. Once she finished, she went to dump the batter into the cake pans and plopped them into the oven. The box said it would take 1 hour so she set a timer and went to wrap your anniversary gift.

While she was away on a mission she stopped by an antique store and found the most beautiful locket she had ever seen. It was perfect for you. The locket was gold with flower engravings on the circular pendant. Natasha placed a picture of you two on your first date into one side of the locket and the most recent picture you two had taken on the other side. She carefully wrapped the small box containing the necklace and when she finished she noticed a faint smell of smoke coming from the kitchen

Natasha ran out to the kitchen and saw smoke coming out of the oven. She ran over and pulled the cakes out of the oven. She stuck a toothpick through the centers and noticed that the middle was completely uncooked while the outsides were burnt.

As you walked up the stairs to you and Natasha’s apartment, you smelled a whiff of smoke. You started running to unlock the door and were met with Natasha trying to scrape burned cake out of your cake pans.

“Baby what are you doing?” You said laughing as you walked over to help your girlfriend. “I was trying to make you a cake for our anniversary and I thought it would be easy because I was using box mix, but I really can’t bake for shit and you weren’t supposed to be home for another hour and I was going to-” Natasha quickly spewed out before you cut her off, “Baby take a deep breath, its okay, lets clean this up together alright?” You said with a laugh. Natasha nodded and started explaining to you the steps she took while baking the cake. You noticed the size of the pan she used and checked the box, “wait you said you put it in for an hour? Natasha these cake pans are way too small for that, these should have max been in there for 30 minutes.” You walked over to her pointing out how on the back of the box there were different times for different size pans. “I thought a pan was a pan!” Natasha said laughing. “I think I should officially ban you from using the oven,” you joked, “I agree, I am a fire hazard in the kitchen.”

After you two finished cleaning the mess Natasha made in the kitchen, she dragged you into the living room. “I set out all your favorite candles,” you looked around the room and noticed the rose petals, “you’re such a romantic.” Next Natasha dragged you to the bathroom and showed you all the stuff she set up for your bath later and then brought you to the bedroom.

She showed you the snacks and movies she grabbed, they were all of your favorites. Natasha reached behind her and pulled out a small box wrapped in red paper. “Happy anniversary Y/N.” You slowly unwrapped the box and revealed a beautiful locket. “Open it,” you carefully did as your girlfriend had told you and saw the two pictures. One of your first date and one you two took a few days ago. You jumped at Natasha pulling her into a hug, “it’s beautiful thank you baby.”

You got up off the bed for a moment to go and grab the gift you had gotten Natasha. You handed her the small bag, “I hope you like it, baby.”

“I’ll love anything from you,” she leaned over to give you a gentle kiss. She opened the bag to reveal a scrapbook. She flipped through the pages and saw tickets to movies you two went to, dried petals from flowers she had given you, memories from everything you two had done together for the past year.

“I don’t know what to say, this is- Wow, love thank you.” She went to kiss you again, more deeply and passionately this time. “I think we should add how you almost burned the apartment down to the book,” you and Natasha erupted into laughter.

The rest of your night was spent watching movies, eating snacks, and taking a long bath holding each other tight. You had found your forever person and you loved her more than anything in the world, even if she was a fire hazard sometimes.

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ksqwildwest · 2 years

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What's the Birthday Bash Bonfire incident?

Thanks for the ask!

Basically, early on in Mason officially becoming a part of town, Mason wanted to thank Connor for bringing him into the fold and put on a little fireworks show as a thank you. So he bought the fireworks that came with a safety instruction packet that explained how to properly use them. Mason took one look at that and went, "Ah, Kindling for the fire pit! Perfect." And did not read it at all.

Long story short, he didn't quite set them up correctly and the fireworks nearly blew up the saloon, the post office, as well as Connor himself. There was some damage to the buildings but Connor was quick enough to only get a minor burn to the back of his hand. Mason apologized profusely, but that combined with many smaller near accidents involving fire (dropped a few lanterns and almost set fire to the carpet a few times, let a candle burn too long and almost set fire to his side table when he lived in the saloon for a bit, etc) got him banned from handling fireworks.

#tales from the smp #tftsmp #tftsmp wild west #tftsmp mason #tftsmp connor

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twoidiotwriters1 · 2 years

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Iron 19 (Peter Parker x Fem!Oc)

Words: 1,908

Masterlist

Chapter 18 / Chapter 20

"You have five minutes to explain everything," I warn my dad.

“I'll need more than five minutes,” he smiles tensely.

“Tony,” I scold him.

“Okay, okay. Why don't you sit down so we can talk?" He points to a sofa.

I take a deep breath and sit where he says. A short distance away is the Iron man armor. "How did we end up here?" I ask to it.

"Alright, shoot," says my father sitting on a bench in front of me. The unknown boy watches us from behind a desk.

"How could you be so stupid?" I cross my arms.

Tony sighs. "Not the worst thing I've done..."

"That's no excuse to-"

“I know,” he interrupts me making a face.

"Who's the bad guy now?"

“He calls himself the Mandarin, a terrorist who thinks he’s invincible. He and his group have been pestering the military and no one can find him."

"It's all in the news," adds the boy. The moment I turn to see him, he blushes and hides behind the desk one more time.

“I don't like watching the news,” I answer turning back to my dad. “They’re never good,” I raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well,” Tony claps once. “Happy's accident may also be connected to this,” He says changing the subject.

"Wait, what?"

“I need to look into it.”

We stayed in a tense silence for a few seconds.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" I sigh

"You were busy."

I raise my eyebrows and laugh sarcastically. "Oh, I was busy, you didn't want this affecting my work, right?" I say incredulous. "Or maybe, you just didn't want me to get in your way."

"No, that's not true, Lily."

“Your lying skills are good, Tony. But in the end, I always find out, you know it.”

“I just wanted to protect you.”

"From who?" I grit my teeth. “The Mandarin? Or child services?

That surprises him.

"How did you know?"

“They decided to pay me a visit,” I smile tensely.

"I can explain it..."

I shake my head.

"That doesn't matter now," I stop him.

I lean back, close my eyes and massage my temples. There are so many emotions in my little body that I don't know where to start. That bit of hope of Tony and Pepper fully trusting me is gone. Again.

"What's the plan?" I say.

"What?"

"You don't think I'm going to leave you alone now, do you?" I stare at the boy. "Or have you already found my replacement?"

***

"So, the sandwich was fair, the spring was a Little rusty, the rest of the materials, I'll make do," says Tony as he walks next to Harley, the boy. I follow them a few steps behind. “By the way, when you said your sister had a watch, I was kind of hoping for something a little more adult so that.”

"She's six," Harley laughs. “Anyway, it's a limited edition. When can we talk about New York?”

I laugh at the inevitable question.

“Maybe never. Relax about it,” Tony answers.

“Nice try, kid. That topic is banned even in my house,” I add looking at the houses around me.

Harley turns to me and frowns before going back to Tony.

“What about the Avengers? Can we talk about them?

I sigh shaking my head.

“I dunno. Later. Hey kid, give me a little space.”

It doesn't take long for us to reach our destination at the end of an alley. The scene is disturbing, the walls that remain are just a few bricks, there are candles, flowers and decorations covered by snow. I frown as I feel a shiver run down my spine.

“What's the official story here? What happened?” Tony asks.

Harley walks to the center of the room while my father and I stand back.

“I guess this guy named Chad Davis used to live roundabouts,” begins Harley. “He won a bunch of medals in the army,” Tony approaches one of the walls to get a better look, “And one day, floks said he went crazy and made, you know, a bomb. Then he blew himself up, right here.”

I look towards the walls, five shadows in the form of humans are there.

"Are you cold? Do you want my jacket?” says Harley rising from the small crater in the center.

"No, it's fine," he stops, "I can't be cold, kid."

“Oh, right. Cause you have the fire power. Cool. That's really cool,” he sits again.

I purse my lips to keep from smiling.

"Six people died, right?" Tony asks.

"Yeah," Harley replies.

“Including Chad Davis?”

"Yeah."

Tony looks around and returns to sit next to Harley.

“Yeah. That doesn't make sense. Think about it,” says Tony. “Six dead. Only five shadows...”

I walk around the place, reading the letters saying goodbye to the victims.

"People said these shadows are like the marks of souls going to heaven," says Harley. "Except the bomb guy," I stop in front of a shadow and turn to see them. “He went to hell, on account of he didn't get a shadow. That's why there's only five."

“Do you buy that?”

"It's what everyone says," replies Harley. “You know what this crater reminds me of?”

I roll my eyes. I know that Harley wants to know about New York and will take any opportunity to extract information.

I walk back into the shadow as they continue talking. I'm trying to find out something about this explosion. Perhaps, by being able to control the fire, I can detect… something, but I only feel the warmth of the candles on the ground. I sigh, raise my hand to touch the shadow.

The chill is stronger and more electrifying, it runs through my entire body like lightning. I take my hand away and look at it. There’s nothing. This is very strange.

"It wasn't just any bomb," I whisper.

My thoughts are interrupted when I hear my father complain. I turn around and I’m surprised to see that they both walked away. Tony reaches the corner of the alley and falls to his knees. I run to them and kneel in front of Tony.

“Dad?” I put a hand on his shoulder.

"What the hell was that?" Harley asks.

“It's his fault. I have spazzed me out,” Tony points to the boy. His breathing is labored.

"What?" I ask.

“He has anxiety. That's what he said,” adds Harley.

"Dad—"

"I'm good."

I cup his face, I close my eyes and carefully send a warm signal to his body. I hear him sigh. I move my right hand to touch his neck and I can feel his heartbeat slowing down. I open my eyes.

“Thanks, Flower,” He smiles at me tiredly.

I smile and nod before removing my hands.

"What happened?" Harley asks.

"It doesn't matter," says Tony. “Okay, back to business. Where were we?” He continues as if nothing had happened.

It's pretty obvious my father hasn't been the same since New York, I know he has been distant, working, his nightmares are very bad, almost like mine. Pepper and I have tried to help, when he found out that I can use my powers when he has these kinds of attacks, he said he just needed that.

I wish it were different, but he always manages to avoid these topics and continue with his disastrous life.

“The guy who died. Relatives? Mom? Mrs. Davis, where is she?

"Where she always is," replies Harley a little stunned.

“Yeah? Now, you're being helpful.”

***

“So, we have to wait here?” says Harley leaning against a utility pole.

I sigh.

“Obviously we can't get in, kid,” I cross my arms and lean against the wall of a store. I look up to see the bar Tony walked into a few minutes ago.

"You're only two years older than me, why do you call me kid?" Now I turn to him, I raise an eyebrow and he looks down.

“I'm thirteen years old, kid,” I say emphasizing the last word “I have every right to call you that. I’m already a teenager.”

"It's still unfair."

"Life is unfair."

"Are all teenagers just as bitter as you?" He asks bravely. I clench my teeth losing my patience.

"I don't know, wait a few years and you'll find out," I roll my eyes. “Now shut up and wait there.”

“Why don't you like me? I haven't done anything wrong,” he claims again.

"Why should I like you?" I reply. "You're just a little boy lucky enough to meet Iron Man. After we finish this, we'll go home and you'll stay here," his expression changes and this time he doesn't answer, he returns to his spot.

Finally, a little peace. How annoying are children?

Unfortunately, the quiet doesn't last long, but this time, the noise is from the bar across from us. Screams are heard, people run away. Harley and I share a look.

After Tony walks out of the bar, his hands are handcuffed, I try to analyze what is going on, but everything keeps getting weirder.

“Oh no,” Harley says as he forms a snowball out of the ground and throws it at a guy in a suit with a gun, pointed at Tony. The man looks in our direction and walks over with a smile. I get in front of Harley to protect him and a flame starts to grow on my hand. The subject laughs.

"I have some tricks too, sweetheart," he says before causing an orange light to travel from his eyes to his hand.

I frown, completely confused.

"Hide, kid," I whispered to Harley before walking towards the man.

“Brave girl,” he growls.

“You have no idea,” now the fire is in both of my arms to then launch it towards the man.

I'm surprised it doesn't affect him at all, I take advantage of the distraction to punch him in the stomach. He leans in with a snarl and when I try a second blow, he dodges and shoves me hard to the ground.

“This isn't normal,” I whisper through my teeth at the impact.

The man's hands glow, he balls them into fists and drops them toward me, but I protect myself with a shield of fire. Still, he keeps pushing. His strength is not of a normal human.

The man pushes my shield back, so I decide to focus more energy. I close my eyes for a few seconds and when I open them the shield gets bigger and surrounds the man. He screams and now I'm the one pushing him hard, his body goes flying into a shop window.

"Cool," I hear Harley behind me. I sit on the floor with my breath hitching.

An explosion interrupts the moment, I turn towards it, get up and run in that direction.

“Dad?” I see my father walk clumsily dropping a small door.

He can't answer as a new blast is heard near us.

“What the hell?” The man from before stands up as if nothing had happened. His hand glows as it touches the metal holding a water tank. Little by little, it melts.

"Lily, Run!" Tony yells, but it's too late.

Water destroys what is in its path, my heart races hard seeing it all, I make a new fire shield, in a weak attempt. I close my eyes waiting for the blow. Everything else turns black.

Taglist:

@silenthappyplace @yourbonesaremybody @aylauwuuniverse @skittles-skittles @hufflepuffzutara @poetryislife0715 @21bruhs @heavenlymistakes @my-love-of-books @dielgonacoffee @thelastpyle @aconfusedslytherin @scarlet-marie @letsfly-andbe-free @greengarsstuff @caliscott @jesuswasnotawhiteman @wildflower-cherry @emilyefronhudgens @avengersz-biotch @23victoria @moonhoonie @raajali3 @ieatpanicattacksforlunch @espressopatronum454

#Iron #Peter Parker #Peter Parker Oc #Peter Parker x reader #Iron Man #Iron Man 3 #Avengers fanfic #Marvel #marvel fanfiction #Tony Stark #Lily Stark #Stark! reader #harley keener

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thenovelartist · 3 years

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Burned Beginnings, Chapter 8

<<Previous Next>>

22. Anniversary

“Happy three month, one week, and four day anniversary!”

Marinette snorted, hanging her head instead of looking up to see him. “We are not doing that, are we?”

“Yup!” Adrien said, beaming.

With a sigh, Marinette looked back up at him, an accepting smile on her face. “And why, pray tell, are we celebrating this specific anniversary?”

Adrien gave his best pout. “Because it’s been almost three weeks since we’ve been able to have a date and I miss you.” The bakery had been busy the last couple weeks, packed with longer lines than normal and more special orders. Sadly, this meant he hadn’t been able to spend time with Marinette, and their attempt last week to get together ended up with them falling asleep in the middle of Fruits Basket.

Which attested to just how tired they were, because that was really hard to do in the middle of season three!

He supposed a nap date where she’d laid huddled against his chest while he snuggled her wasn’t a bad thing. On the contrary, it had been one of the best naps he’d ever had. But still, it wasn’t quite what he’d label as a date.

“Has it been that long?” Marinette questioned, her brow furrowed. “I feel like the days have all blended together lately.”

“Yeah. Our last official date was when we went out for breakfast and then around the park before coming back and working that first chaotic night shift.”

“Oh yeah,” Marinette said, eyes brightening in realization. “I totally forgot about that.”

“How could you forget me?” Adrien pouted.

“Easily,” Marinette sassed back with a wink.

He theatrically grasped at his chest above his heart. “Ouch, ice princess. You put Elsa to shame.”

She leveled a flat look at him.

“Oh? Does the princess wish I’d let it—”

“You’ve been banned. Good bye.”

“Wait, wait,” he cried, quickly catching the door before she could slam it in his face. “Come on, that was funny.”

“That joke is already dead. Don’t continue to beat the dead horse.”

“But it’s still relevant.”

“No. No, it’s not.”

He pouted, shooting her with his best pair of puppy dog eyes he could manage.

“I don’t care how cute you are.”

“Ouch,” he said, smile growing. “That was a cold one, princess.”

“Yeah, and don’t you forget it,” she said with a smirk.

“I won’t,” he assured. “Now, may the lovely royal princess of the bakery deign me worthy of entry into her humble abode?”

“You are such a dork.”

“Your dork.”

“My amusing peon.”

“Ouch!”

Giggling, she opened the door, letting him in.

Adrien happily walked in to the house that had become his second home. “So, for our anniversary, you want to go grab an ice cream on this nice day?”

Marinette frowned. “Actually, I’m really not up for going anywhere.”

“Oh? Are you not feeling we—”

He stopped, his eye catching the plastic Marinette had wrapped around her left arm. More accurately, catching sight of what was underneath the plastic.

She grinned, looking down at what looked like a fresh tattoo. “Yeah. Guess you could say that, but supposedly, that’s pretty typical.”

“Yeah, it is,” Adrien said, walking over to her so that he could examine the design better. “Mine hurt for days.”

“You have a large cat that wraps around your entire forearm. I don’t have anything that big.”

It wasn’t too big, but it was pretty. A few ladybugs sitting on some swirly flowers, a design that took up half of her inner forearm. The design was only about a quarter the size of his, but it felt very similar design-wise, each having an animal in a colorful, misty background that he believed was referred to as a watercolor affect. Hers was just pink compared to his green.

“It looks great,” he eventually said. “And really suits you.”

She grinned. “Thanks. And now, we match.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, look.” With that, Marinette bounced over to his right side, same side he had his tattoo on, before sliding her left hand into his right. “See? You’re the bad luck cat, and I’m the good luck ladybug. We match.”

Adrien stared at their conjoined hands, his eyes slowly drifting up to where his tattoo and hers met. “You got a tattoo… to match me?”

Marinette grinned. “Maybe it’s a little early for ‘matching couple tattoos, but I thought ‘why not?’ I’ve always liked your cat tattoo, so I planned out what I wanted to get so that we could match. I got yesterday after work, and since it’s the beginning of my ‘weekend’, I have time to just relax and let it heal.”

Adrien stared at it, his grin widening. “It suits you.”

“Thank you.”

“You know what this means, though, right?”

Marinette cocked her head. “What does it mean?”

“It means…” he drew out, leaning closer to her with a grin on his face. “You’re stuck with me forever, now that we have a couple tattoo.”

With a grin of her own, she leaned in closer, her nose just a centimeter from his. “Not until I get a ring.”

Without any hesitation, Adrien reached into his pocket. This was just intended to be a gift that he saw that made him think of her. One he impulsively bought one day going home from work. The tag said it was for the right hand.

But at the moment, he could think of no better place to put it than sliding it on her left ring finger right then and there.

“There you go. You’re mine now.”

Marinette froze, staring at the ring for a moment before chuckling awkwardly at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

Adrien knew why she felt so awkward. He did to. It had taken too long to realize for his head to catch up to his actions, and when it did, he himself had froze.

What did he just do?

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to marry her. On the contrary, he had actually already talked with her parents, gotten a blessing from her father, her ring size from her mother, and had ordered a ring last night. He’d planned out just how he was going to propose to her. It was going to be during a perfect date with dinner and candles and a chance to let her dress up. Basically, the whole shebang.

And here he was, proposing with an inexpensive cat ring.

Actually, he realized he hadn’t proposed at all. He’d just stuck the ring on her finger and called it good.

He had to fix this. He had to get his mouth to formulate words first.

“I… I mean…”

Great, his face was red, Marinette was waiting for a well-deserved answer, and he was incapable of giving it to her.

“Adrien, you are not serious.” Her words came out flatly, but Adrien knew her well enough to hear the undertone of panic in them

“Um…” he fought hard for the words that came to him next. “About marrying you? Yes. Absolutely. Without a doubt, I’d chase you to the ends of the earth to make you mine. About this ring being the engagement one, though, no. Most certainly not.”

“You are not serious,” she repeated, her voice weaker than before while her knees began to bend as though she might collapse. Tears began welling in her eyes, and Adrien was growing nervous.

“I’m sorry!” Adrien finally got out, panicked. “I had something so much better planned out, and I definitely should have thought that through—”

“I’m not talking about that, you stupid idiot!” she cried. In a flash, she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung tight. “That was so unromantic and I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you.”

By now, Adrien could hear the tears in her voice, but considering the way she clung to him, she wasn’t too mad about this poorly planned out engagement. “Yeah, it will be one for the books,” he surrendered, hugging her back tightly. “But, is that a yes?”

She nodded, clinging to him tighter. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said with a sigh, the tension leaving his body. “But you’re okay with that, right?”

She sniffed. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Unfortunately, I’m a little too okay with that.”

Adrien just chuckled. “I’ll take it.”

23. Sunset

Marinette looked at the little black kitty ring on her finger. Under normal circumstances, it signaled that she was engaged.

In her case, it signaled she was engaged to an idiot.

“I still can’t believe I did that.”

Marinette chuckled at the blonde man beside her hanging his head in his hand. At the moment, they were finishing up their impromptu date of actually getting the ice cream Adrien had wanted to get last weekend before staying out the rest of the afternoon and finding a spot to grab dinner. But dinner had ended and they hadn’t wanted to hog the table at the restaurant, so Adrien was escorting her home. However, as per usual, neither wanted to part, hence why they were procrastinating their parting on a bench in the park while they watched the sunset.

“Can’t get more spontaneous of a proposal than that,” she teased. Shockingly, she didn’t mind it, though. Adrien looked like he hadn’t even realized what he’d done until after he did it. The horror on his face still shone clear in her memory, bringing a grin to her lips. It really would be one for the books.

But still, he’d made it clear that he earnestly wanted to marry her, and in the end, that’s all that mattered to her.

“You have to know I meant it!” he cried, looking up to her with a faint blush on his cheeks. “I just… did not think that through.”

“At least you’re pretty.”

“Hey, I am plenty bright!”

“Really? Because I think a few bulbs need to be changed in your attic.”

“Says the crazy woman who not only accepted that proposal but is still wearing the cat ring.”

She sniggered. He had her there. “Well, I guess I’m a sucker for honestly.”

Adrien shook his head, a bemused smile on his face. “I’m glad that part came through, at the very least.”

Looking over at the man next to her, Marinette couldn’t help but feel happy. Botched proposal and all, she didn’t mind it one bit. They would always be a little chaotic, they’d always have their back-and-forth banter, but they’d also always have each other’s backs and ultimately would always be each other’s biggest support. The proposal just felt par for their course.

Plus, it would not only make for great stories but great teasing fodder, and Marinette was always down for anything that gave her the upper hand.

“Hey,” she said, voice earnest as she reached out to grab his hand. “Just so you know, I’ll probably never let up teasing you about it.”

He huffed in amusement. “I would think there was something seriously wrong with you if you did.”

“But,” she finished, “I am still very happy.”

His smile turned soft, and Marinette thought she might as well melt right then and there. “Well, I’m glad about that,” Adrien said, raising her hand to his lips so he could kiss her knuckles. “But there is definitely one thing I have to fix.”

Marinette quirked a brow, confused for a second before realizing what he was referring to. “The ring?” she asked, wiggling her left ring finger. “Because I’m not gonna lie, I would like an actual one.”

“Yeah? Well how about this one?” That’s when Adrien slid off the park bench, getting on one knee before her and reached into his pocket. Biting her lip to withhold a girlish squeal, Marinette found that she really didn’t care what the ring looked like.

But she wasn’t going to lie, the stunning blue sapphire he presented her with was freaking gorgeous.

“I know diamonds are traditional,” he said, tugging her left hand closer to him. “But you’re not some average girl. I didn’t think something like that would suit you. Marinette, I would like to apologize for not doing this right the first time, but I’m so grateful that you accepted anyway. I’m so thankful to have you in my life, so much so that I want you to stay by my side as my life-long partner. So with this ring, I’ll ask you properly this time. Marinette, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Marinette felt the tears prickling her eyes. It was such an easy question, and yet, getting the word to roll of her tongue was difficult. She nodded fervently. “Yes!”

With a grin, Adrien took off the kitty ring and replaced it with the one glittering in his hand. Once he did that, she threw her arms around his neck, clinging tightly to him just as she had the first time he proposed.

There were a few cheers and a round of applause from the people around them, but Marinette couldn’t care less. For better or worse, she was going to marry this idiot.

She couldn’t ask for anything better than that.

24. Balcony

Adrien stood out on his tiny balcony, looking up at the stars and purposefully ignoring his phone.

More specifically, the message his father had left him.

It’s been over a year. The message said. What are you doing with your life now?

Good question.

Adrien sighed, his eyes shutting as he hung his head. Well, he was still working at Tom and Sabine’s bakery, and honestly, he was pretty happy with that. He got to work with people he loved doing something that he did find enjoyable. He never really fancied himself to be the creative type, but finding himself in the kitchen while crafting desserts and making bread had brought more joy into his life than modeling ever had. On top of that, he was getting married. He thought that was a good accomplishment.

But he knew it wouldn’t be good enough for his father.

He heard his phone buzz again and groaned. The last thing he did was want to answer it.

What would I even say? He thought, rubbing his forehead in a vain attempt to relieve the growing stress headache.

Unfortunately, he was too curious for his own good. And that curiosity won out over his reluctance.

He walked inside to where he’d left his phone sitting on the bed side table. Bracing himself, he tapped the screen, only for all tension to instantly drain form his body upon learning it wasn’t a text from his father but rather from Marinette.

You want to go do something tomorrow?

He smiled, collapsing back onto his bed with a smile. Of course he wanted to do something tomorrow. What, he didn’t know, but didn’t really care, either. They always had fun together whatever they did.

He opened the text and started a reply before stopping and deciding to give her a call instead.

“Hey, hot stuff,” she said. He could hear the flirty grin on her face. “Missed the sound of my voice?”

He grinned. “Yeah. Guess you could say that.”

There was a pause on the other side of the line. “Something wrong?” she asked, all teasing gone from her tone.

Adrien sighed. “My father.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know, he kicked me out and now is wanting to know what I’m doing with my life.”

He heard her scoff over the phone. “Really?”

“Yeah, but I don’t really want to talk about that right now,” he said. “Right now, I just want to hear your voice.”

“Oh? What do you want to talk about then? My thoughts on that new anime you showed me?’

He chuckled. “You could talk about the weather and I’d be cool with it.”

“Well,” she began in a smooth voice. “Tonight’s forecast includes clear skies with no stars due to light pollution. A light breeze blows through the city tonight towards the Eiffel tower, whatever direction that is. It is an undetermined temperature, but comfortably cool enough to be outside in a short sleeve tee-shirt. How’s that?”

Adrien could feel his worries ease away at the sound of her voice, her sass, spunk, and sarcasm still coming through even through her calm tone. He really loved this woman and was the luckiest guy alive to be marrying her. “It’s perfect.”

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #AdrinetteApril2021 #adrienette #adrinette #fluff #just fluff #2 proposals

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immortallycelestial · 3 years

Text

here’s how i think morgana finding out she had magic should have gone plus some merthur/morgwen

morgana was absolutely terrified when that candle suddenly lit in the middle of the night

she instantly ran to merlin’s chambers and broke down crying, saying she hated herself but didnt want uther to kill her

merlin being merlin made butterflies appear and dance around her to cheer her up

she was shocked at first but asked him to teach her

that was the first thing he taught her, at 1 in the morning

they began having lessons every week that gaius would come to and offer his expertise

eventually gwen came in and found them, but loved their magic and became a lookout

merlin taught morgana how to use her magic for good

although once she learned how to use it for practical jokes she never stopped

the castle was plagued with harmless pranks

they could never figure out who or how it happened

meanwhile morgana would be laughing in her head as merlin mentally scolded her

he did find it hilarious when she made arthur’s pants disappear during a banquet

one time they were out practicing by a huge cliff and merlin laughed so hard at her setting her eyebrows on fire he rolled right off

morgana was terrified he was dead but he just got back up with a broken ankle

thats when they figured out he couldnt die

she began to pull pranks that would be fatal to other people on him, which he never figures out because they never actually hurt him

one time gwen caught her putting poison on his brownies and was extremely concerned and scared until they explained the situation

as weird as it sounds it helped morgana keep her... *cough murderous urges cough* in check

when uther was killed by the assassin, morgana and merlin revealed their magic to arthur

he took a few days to get used to it, but soon after removed the magic ban

merlin became the official court sorcerer and morgana became his apprentice

around that time, morgana realised she was in love with gwen

they were sitting in a field practising magic with merlin when gwen laughed and morgana’s heart went ohfuckfuckfuck

after that her head was consumed with thoughts about her

finally after a month she has enough

it was dinner, and morgana, gwen, arthur, and the knights were eating together

gwen smiled at something elyan said and morgana’s heart thumped painfully

she couldnt take it and grabbed gwen, kissing her intensely

the knights of course cheered their heads off (especially elyan who had suffered many hours of gwen venting her love and was so done)

arthur just sat there with an open mouth

merlin rolled his eyes and took a long swig from his goblet

“took you long enough” he snorted

“like you can talk.” gwen retorted, cheeks flushed and beaming

“you and arthur have been dancing around each other for eight years!”

the knights were crying of laughter by now

leon looked like he had just aged ten years

merlin flushed deep red and arthur looked wildly between gwen and merlin

“so- wait- you-“ he stuttered

“you- you feel... the same?”

merlin rolled his eyes

“you cabbage head...” he muttered

then he grabbed arthurs shirt and pulled him into a kiss

literal fireworks exploded over their heads (courtesy of morgana, grinning like a maniac and holding gwens hand)

when merlin and arthur finally broke apart gasping with red cheeks, the knights cheered and tackled him

“THANK YOU MORGANA HOLY FUCK-” gwaine yelled

leon was banging his head on the table by now

the next day, morgana and gwen married

it was a small ceremony with just their close friends and family

arthur officiated it, stealing glances to merlin the entire time

mainly because he had borrowed one of arthur’s shirts and it was so low cut on him arthur couldnt focus

morgana just wore one of her dark purple gowns

gwen borrowed one from her fiancee that had never been worn and it fit her perfectly

it was light pink with white flowers embroidered on the bodice and a slight lace train

morgana could barely tear her eyes away from her bride and didnt even wait for arthur to finish saying “you may kiss the bride” before sweeping her up passionately

the audience of 7 cheered wildly

after the ceremony morgana came up to merlin

“thank you.” she said

“for what?” he asked

“for helping me. for teaching me all those years ago how to control my magic and use it for good. and for helping me control my... urges by - well, killing you.” she laughed

“anyways, without you, i wouldnt be here married to the love of my life. i wouls probably be dead or trying to kill everyone and take over camelot.”

merlin just grinned

“anytime, gana.” he said, and walked back to arthur.

#how it should have been #morgana is amazing #merlin can be a shit sometimes #still love him though #morgwen #merthur #the knights of the round table #gwaine #elyan #leon #percival #lancelot #arthur pendragon #morgana pendragon #morgana #bbc merlin

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min-youngis · 4 years

Text

Are You Allowed To Tell God To Suck It?

gif not mine

~ Pairing : Kim Namjoon x Reader (Human x Angel)

~ Genre : Fluff, Humour-ish

~ Rating : PG-13

~ Summary/Excerpt : “I’m not leaving anytime soon,” you whisper, making sure he understands every single word, hears the sincerity in your voice, realises that you wouldn’t just send God a massive fuck you and give yourself a new name (that you found in one of the books in this very library, actually) on a whim.

Established Relationship

~ Word Count : 1,938

~ Warnings : passing mentions of insecurity and g*d and r×lig×on, some philosophical waxing about how fucking sad we all are but nothing too serious

~ A/N : this ... idk what it is. love the concept tho. would like to expand on it eventually. for now, here, be a badass angel that loves human joon. gives me a vague good omens kinda vibe.

i'd love to hear feedback, spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

~~~

‘Hey, uh, God? Yeah, this is Angel Number 7625H. Remember me? The one you didn’t allow back in for falling in love with the human I was supposed to reform? Well, I’m just sending this to say suck it and that I don’t want to come back anyway. While we’re at it, I'll be needing my stuff, so if you could have them tossed down whenever you’re free, that'd be great. I’m sure you know where I live, with your omniscience and all. Thanks and regards!

P.S. : I go by Y/N now. I like it better than a serial number.’

“Are you allowed to tell God to suck it?”

With a grin, you lick the stamp and slap it on the envelope addressed to ‘Up There'. “Well, first of all, it really is a toss-up between which form God ends up being in when they receive the letter.”

Namjoon gets that light in his eyes as he leans forward in his large, mahogany armchair, that brightness and eagerness that you’ve seen in children who get too excited, right before they pee in their pants. “Tell me about their forms.”

You indulge him. You always do. None of your other subjects were this intrigued or this intriguing. But then, none of your other subjects were Kim Namjoon.

“They constantly shift. One moment as Shakti, another as Jehovah. There are millions, if not billions of shapes.”

“Have you ever seen them? God, I mean?”

No, you had not. But no harm in hyping yourself up.

“Once,” you say, gravitas in your voice as you drop the sealed envelope on the table. “Accidentally transported myself too far to the left after one of my missions and ended up in the inner quarters.”

Satisfyingly awed, Namjoon asks, now at the edge of his seat, “What form were they in?”

“Couldn’t tell,” you shrug, leaning back in your chair, arms comfortably slung on the rests.

He seems satisfied with the evasive answer. It only serves to make him think more.

It’s like this. Eight months ago, you were sent down on a routine mission. There is a person who is an asshole, make him not-an-asshole. Except, well, the asshole wasn’t really that much of an asshole. Just...kinda sad and maybe an unhealthily high blood pressure. Bit of an entitled dick, but not unkind. He wasn’t one of those intrinsically distant people. Just circumstantially. But you had a job and you were going to do it, goddammit.

So in your barista disguise, you had begun your reformation of one, 28 year old, Kim Namjoon, big shot CEO of Kim Enterprises. Ivy League graduate, trust fund baby, featured in Forbes' Richest Under 30. Cold to people who don’t know him, lukewarm to people who do.

The instant you saw him on the first morning on the job, not looking up at you as he placed his order in a high, cold drawl, eyes focused on the phone in his hand, bluetooth headset on, complete with an expensive wristwatch and a black briefcase, you knew the problem. Angels have that kind of power.

He was entirely too repressed. Humans were not made to lock things up, to be reserved with shields as high as the sky extending ten feet in every direction.

So you slowly began to get under his skin. A little by little, making him let out everything he had kept sealed in short bursts, like a pressure cooker with a defective weight. Few times a week, you’d purposely mess up his order, adding some extra sugar or taking it easy on the caffeine. Once a month or so, you’d nudge the paper cup while handing it to him over the counter so the coffee would spill on his fingers. When you weren’t messing up his morning for him, you’d slink out of the shop, following him to his office, hit the elevator buttons on every floor so it would take longer to reach him or dress up as an employee and purposely bump into him in the corridors. And obviously, you weren’t scared of getting caught.

If there’s one thing you’ve learnt in your career as a Reformation Angel, it’s that humans are shockingly unobservant. But then again, you hadn’t encountered a human like Kim Namjoon before.

You hadn’t been bothered about him figuring out what you were, realising that he was being deliberately poked and prodded so that those tight shoulders of his could finally begin to droop once in a while.

And for the first four months, everything seemed to be going according to plan. He had scowled a bit, shouted some, ranted at a closed lift door. But more importantly, and as more of an upside, you had also caught him smiling at his phone once, some lovely dimples appearing, and when you were mixing up his schedule after convincing his assistant to take a break, you had seen that he had even marked a weekend as Vacation – talk to Yoongi.

But then, small problems began to crop up. For one, he started to spend more time around the coffee shop. Which you were glad about, at first, because it signified that he was slowing down, but it made you antsy because you kept catching him staring at you with a shrewd look on his face. He'd look away immediately, but you still knew.

For another, he stopped spending so much time inside his office, often taking to walking around, looking for something, for somebody. It hadn’t bothered you much. In fact, it only served as an opportunity for you to sneak in and jumble the papers on his desk. But the more time passed, the more convinced you became that he was looking for you.

And then was the slightly worrying issue of how you began to take more than a purely angelic interest in him. Of course, you never recorded in your observations how your immortal heart would beat a tiny bit faster when he began to actually thank you after receiving his coffee, dimples popping in a small smile. Or how occasionally, you’d maybe spend a little more time everyday on the job, under the guise of ‘finishing ahead of schedule' just to be around him.

But you were an expert, so all those feelings were, ironically enough, locked up and compartmentalised, ready to be purged when you finally went back up after completing this job.

Until everything finally came to a head. You had been on your way to his office building, walking rapidly, winding in between the crowds so you could reach in time to mess up some of his cue cards before his meeting, when you were brought to an abrupt halt by the man himself, standing at the corner of the office, waiting, it seemed for you.

He had a gleam of new-found knowledge in his eyes, a just-elapsed eureka moment, and with a sinking heart, you had noticed a thick, leather-bound book in his hands.

Angels and Their Types : Do They Still Exist Today?

And now, here you are, leaning back on your own, cushioned armchair in Namjoon's large, crowded library, letter telling God that you’re officially retiring, whether they like it or not, as the dim, yellow lights indicate the lateness of the hour, tall bookshelves casting shadows on the little nook you’re both sat in.

“How are we going to send it?”

“I’ll be needing pepper, some chalk and nine lavender scented candles. Also a wooden floor.”

“What’s the pepper for?” he asks, once again excited at the prospect of knowledge.

“Garnish.”

His eyes narrow and he lets out a small huff, leaning back on his chair with a pout when he realises that you’re messing with him.

With a giggle, you rise from your seated position, rounding the coffee table and making your way towards him, bottoms of your feet sinking into the soft carpeting as you pad over.

“We have people in postal services everywhere,” you say soothingly as you perch yourself on the arm of his chair, body tilted towards him, legs languidly crossed and nudging against the side of his.

He forgets his petulance at this thrilling, new titbit of information, this glean into a world that he recently discovered and has been greedily learning about from you. “Are they angels as well? Do they have humans to reform? Can they travel to heaven whenever they want?”

In his rush, he tilts forward excitedly, arm coming up to steady you around your waist as he apologetically winces when he nearly knocks you off with his enthusiasm.

Give him a chance to gain some knowledge, and he really does become a child. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, so many possibilities waiting to come to a standstill at your response.

His wide eyes look up at you, waiting eagerly for your answer. You give him as stern a look as you can muster, despite the fondness in your eyes that you can’t quite mask as you reply, “Yes, they’re angels as well. Only some of them are Reformation Angels, we're rather rare, you see. And I don’t know why you'd ask the last question, even I can go up whenever I want to.”

“Didn’t they ban you last week?” he cheekily asks, eyes mirthful, words softened by his fingers gently dancing along the curve of your hip.

Frowning, you reply, “Okay, in theory I can go up whenever I want.”

“Do you think you’ll want to?”

You can see his shields slowly coming up, the carefreeness of the last hour being masked by that façade you had worked so had to ensure would make an appearance only in important board meetings. But you’re an angel. Even if he weren’t the reason you’re giving up an eternity in heaven, condemning yourself to staying in the middle place, you’d be able to tell what he’s feeling.

Humans are so very fickle. So insecure and scared and constantly preparing for everybody to leave.

You turn fully sideways so you’re facing him, looking down at his face as you tilt his chin up with a finger, forcing him to make eye contact with you. His palm, now at the small of your back, feels cold, only lightly resting, like he’s steeling himself to let you go. On his knee that you aren’t half sitting on, his fingers twitch nervously.

“I’m not leaving anytime soon,” you whisper, making sure he understands every single word, hears the sincerity in your voice, realises that you wouldn’t just send God a massive fuck you and give yourself a new name (that you found in one of the books in this very library, actually) on a whim.

His gaze that was hovering somewhere near your left ear snaps to your own as he regards you for a bit, indecision and childish hope swimming behind his cool, unbothered exterior. A few seconds later, he gives you a small, accepting nod. His only indication of pleasure is the subtle flex of his fingers as they rest more solidly on your back, nudging you close so he can burrow his head in the folds of your billowy dress.

You soothingly card a hand through his hair, acknowledging everything he isn’t saying. The seal on the letter glints in the light, catching your eye, vaguely shocking you as you realise that you’re about to sign yourself up for eternal damnation.

But the years have been long, and not entirely kind, and you have a reason to say goodbye. You’ve met hundreds of humans in your lifetime. But none of them have been Kim Namjoon.

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glitterge1pen · 3 years

Text

Duke Thomas Rings The Bells

Ch.1 , synopsis ; Moving to an elite boarding school Duke struggles to find his footing. But he clumsily stumbles his way into some friends, and soon his friends turn into comrades and allies. Duke knows his friends won't fall, and he doesn't plan on falling either. How long can people keep secrets? And what secrets are worth anything at all? Maybe Jason is right, and this is all just some really dramatic Dead Poets Society shit. But Duke liked that movie.

Duke's locker was articulate in it's decoration. There was the usual magazine cut outs, the stray polaroid, and the magnets he had made from postage labels. The organization of said locker was lacking a bit.

He didn't mean to just throw things into the metal cabinet but he was still adjusting to the ways of his new home. The locker also reeked of marker ink and the alcohol of his hand sanitizer. Duke learned early on in his young artists career that hand sanitizer killed ink.

Duke switched out his math textbook for the book they were currently reading in English, On The Road by Jack Kerouac. The cover was new, no finger printers or stray penned obscenities. Duke hadn't gotten a chance to read most of it yet but he got an extension from Mr.Farlane.

Transferring a week into school meant that Duke had missed most of the "Welcome Back To School" activities, part of him chided himself for being relieved about having avoided such crowds, but the other half dreaded his lack of basic information about the school. He didn't know the whole layout by heart yet, the schedule felt awkward and clunky, and of course he knew no one.

Despite the school's prestige the extra curricular art courses and clubs were lacking. On top of that most kids Duke had deemed assholes were in said clubs. Duke's current list of assholes was growing. In his throw up book, which was what he called his sketchbook, there were doodles of people he thought were noteworthy.

In his classes he tried to match names to makeshift seating charts on his pages. Not wanting to be caught in some embarrassing slip up of not knowing someone's name. Next to these names were things to pin them to a person. Ones who had bumped into him without apologizing, ones who said weird things in class, had been late or walked funny.

In his second period bio med class was a boy named Tim. Next to his name was a brash doodle Duke had done of the boy along with the phrase 'This is bullshit, the woman obviously died because of her diabetes! Look at the blood splatter you absolute fool! ’ which is what he had said to his lab partner.

Tim had been scolded for disturbing the class and Duke was surprised when his own lab partner also scolded Tim instead of finding the situation funny or amusing at least.

Even though they hadn't officially met yet, Tim so far was the only boy on the 'not asshole' list Duke had formulated. Duke wished there were girls around. They were always so much nicer, and they made guys less defensive.

Blue River Academy For Boys was an all boys boarding school that Duke would compare to a hell on a trust funds budget. Not to mention that so far Duke was the only black kid in sight. Beyond that he was the only not white person on campus he had seen so far.

With nothing but rich white boys surrounding him Duke was already feeling out of his element. Top that off with a new school, a new home, and his general positive attitude was taking a beating.

Duke sighed a heavy breath as he prepared to enter his AP English class. Only four days into Mr.Farlane’s dry, boring lectures were enough to have Duke dreading the class, he still had the whole semester ahead of him.

Fortunately Duke had managed to snag a window seat in the back, as it was the only desk left when he had arrived. Outside was the main courtyard, where most boys went during their study period. There was a stone fountain, several garden benches, and rose bushes that littered the grassy yard below.

Duke couldn't decide if it was cliche, pretentious, or both. All the architecture of the place was overly grand like this. Gray stone walls, silver railings, blue and white mosaic tile floor. None of it felt real. It made Duke miss his neighborhood, his home.

"Today we will be covering chapters ten through fifteen,"

Mr.Farlane’s voice was robotic and empty as he spoke to the class. Mr.Farlane had several conversations with himself about the themes of the book, the overarching plot, and how Jack Kerouac was an exemplary writer.

This was when the boy in front of Duke raised his hand. Mr.Farlane didn't notice him at first but the boy slammed his other hand onto the wooden desk to grab the teachers attention.

Mr.Farlane only let out an annoyed huff of air, Duke noticed the other boys in class had perked up as well. It felt like the moments before a great battle in a movie, like two unstoppable armies had come to face each other on a hill.

"Yes Jason,"

Mr.Farlane’s voice at least wasn't terribly dull anymore, Duke thought.

"Kerouac was not a good writer, he drones on and on, he deals in drivel-"

Mr.Farlane cut Jason off with the palm of his hand.

"That's subjective Jason-"

Jason cut him off in return.

"It's not subjective, he was high as shit when he wrote On The Road , and apparently even being intoxicated wasn't enough to get his ass to write anything good"

"Mr.Todd-"

"I'm Mr.Todd now?"

Jason asked, raising his voice with a snarl.

"Mr.Todd," Mr.Farlane said slowly repeating himself, "Please go to the office if you're going to act like this"

Jason, who was a tall boy with dark hair and icy blue eyes, a streak of white running down his bangs, didn't look handsome as he stormed out of the room, he looked pissed off. The other boys in class also stared at Jason as he moved through the room, knocking or bumping into desks not seeming to care who or what he intruded on.

Mr.Farlane continued speaking once Jason had left like nothing had transpired at all. Duke then deduced that Jason must be one of those moody brooding types who was prone to getting in trouble. A person who sat quietly until they exploded with rage. Which in this case was induced by bad literary opinion.

While Mr.Farlane’s hollow lesson went on, Duke drew. He drew Jason in a loose cartoon style. Putting emphasis on the boy's odd hair color, his angry scrunched up face which Duke only got a few glimpses of because he had been sitting behind him. Duke in scratchy bubble letters drew the words Jason had spoken as well. When it came time to put Jason's name on the asshole list Duke couldn't bring himself to do it.

Because yeah, yelling at the teacher, throwing around curse words, having tantrums in class, that definitely wasn't cool. It made Duke wonder if Jason was putting on some sort of bad boy act. But even this seemed pretty dramatic for something that was just an act. Regardless of the right or wrong of the situation Duke hesitated, because Jason was right. Jack Kerouac couldn't write for shit.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

That night Duke looked at the two boxes that he still had left to unpack. The school had confiscated their phones, so Duke had the radio on low. The radio had been his mothers, and it used to sit on their kitchen window sill, but it hasn't had any CD’s fed to it for years. It had been a long time since he had used the radio at all, and the stations were different out here. Eventually he settled on the ‘Rockin 80’s’ station that was playing that Easy Lover song.

Duke’s room was the same as all the other rooms in the dorms. One bed, one desk, a chair, a closet, and one small window that overlooked the empty fields beyond the school grounds. Duke had almost skipped dinner today like he had yesterday but had forced himself to go to the cafeteria. He didn't want himself to get stuck moping here. Even if he did very badly want to mope about.

His casual clothes were tucked into the back of the closet, while the pieces of his uniform took up most of the closet. The two sweaters vests, one blue with white stripes running along the bottom, the other an inverted version of the first. His black slacks, the gray ones, and the two pairs of khakis. Of course the variety of collared button ups and polos, then the singular school jacket. The crest was embroidered and intricate. The silver string shone even the dim light of his room.

Duke took the jacket off and hung it with the rest of his clothes. He used the key to his dorm to cut the tape off the last boxes. In the first box were posters, photos, pieces of paper he had tacked up on his walls at home, the halloween lights he strung around his room back home and his lava lamp. It took Duke longer than he thought it would to hang all the contents of the box on the walls. But when he was finished and flicked the lava lamp on, he did feel better. Like some sort of normalcy was placed back into his palms.

The second box was one he had been careful to keep from his mother, and one he had made sure to label school supplies. Because Blue River had rules about everything. The length of your pants, scented candles, music, and even books. But more hated than the list of curated books that had been banned from the school curriculum and hence the school grounds, was an even simpler rule and instruction that Duke had not only broken, but disregarded entirely.

In the school handbook, on page ten, was a list of contraband. Underneath the incredibly long list of banned books, was rule 15. No comic books. Duke appreciated his mothers sentiments of good education, he appreciated the scholarship that the school had offered. But Duke, like always, had his own plans.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N: These chapters are also up on ao3 if that is your preferred reading space, and of course The Duke Thomas Playlist

LINK TO NEXT CHAPTER

#duke thomas #jaime reyes #tim drake #jason todd #the signal #blue beetle #robin #batfam #Duke Thomas Rings The Bells

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beerecordings · 4 years

Note

Umm is it possible to ask for different ipliers/septic egos accidently walking in on a Jim Jim religion meeting?

hahaha okay okay a goofy piece for a funny prompt. credit to the anon who suggested that the Jim twins would think JJ stood for Jim Jim, an idea which then progressed into us all joking about the twins starting a JJ-based religion (posts about it are tagged Jim Jim Jameson lol). so here’s a slightly crack fic but still a funny and sometimes cute look at the way the Jims interact with the others. a quick piece, slightly ridiculous hahaha <3

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

“Burgers? Who wants burgers and who wants hot dogs? Cheese? Who wants cheese? You know what, Derekson, just get me a list of everybody and what they want.”

“Wilford, sir, that’s not a spatula.”

“No? Then what is it, my dear boy?”

“Looks like somebody’s Wall-E DVD, Wil.”

Chase chokes on his soda and tries not to laugh aloud, though all he ends up doing is spitting Dr. Pepper out of his nose.

“Chase!” gripes Marvin, shoving his lawn chair away. “Gross!”

“He’s out of his fucking mind,” wheezes Chase, trying to keep it down.

“They all are,” hisses back Marvin, but he’s laughing too. Chase can see it in the shine in his eyes.

“Hey, shut up, man,” laughs Bing.

“You shut up,” shoots back Marvin.

“No, you.”

“You are two to one here, Bing-a-ling,” teases Chase, grinning.

“Aw, come off it,” chuckles the robot, sitting back. “Pass me a beer, will you?”

“You can’t drink liquids, Bing.”

“I like the aesthetic!”

“Wilford!” Edward is boxing Wilford away from the grill, trying to keep him from using Eric’s glasses as his second impromptu spatula. “I am grilling, you are absolutely one hundred percent banned from anything involving fire.”

“Now, see here, Bim,” growls Wilford.

“I’m Edward, Wilford. Google, tell Wilford he’s not allowed on the grill!”

On the other side of the space between the three houses, a head with shining black hair turns only slightly, and a smooth voice sounds.

“Wilford,” calls Google. “I have yet to see the darkness. Do you think he is in pain, stuck in his room?”

Wilford’s eyes flicker, distracted, even a little unnerved. He puffs himself up after a moment, dropping Eric’s glasses into the grass as if they were never in his hand to begin with. “What, my blackbird, stuck in his bedroom? I shall carry him if I have to. And we will sit on the grass and drink this cocaine soda everyone is always raving about!”

“For the last time,” groans Edward. “There’s no cocaine in Coca-Cola anymore!”

But Wilford is already hurrying off towards the house behind the peach trees, whistling to himself as he goes.

“Thank you, Google,” calls Ippy, sighing deeply, and across the yard the android raises a hand in silent acquiescence, his attention still on Jameson’s rapid signing. Something about American tea, as far as Chase can tell. He laughs and sits back against Bing’s legs, sprawling his own boots out in front of him and finishing his soda with a quiet sigh. There’s beer for his brothers but, like the residents of these three houses, he won’t have any. He’s supposed to be happy while they’re visiting this mess of a – would you call it a family? – and he won’t let old habits get in the way. He casts his eyes quietly around the yard, almost sleepy with the comforting laziness of the little vacation. Jackie is the center of Shep and Host’s attention, telling an enthusiastic story about a burning building that turned out to be a drug front he busted back in Brighton, Henrik is exchanging a birdie back and forth with Bim as they wait for Ippy and Eric to come back for doubles, and Marvin is right here, kicking Chase’s foot for fun while Google discusses Earl Grey in a monotone behind them.

“This is weird,” says Chase.

“Yeah,” says Bing.

“But not so much in a bad way,” adds Marvin, and they exchange grins over sodas and beers, warm in the sun and the scratchy California grass.

“Okay, I got everybody’s order, right?” calls Ippy, flipping a burger. “Host, you – oh, no, here you are. The twins, where are the twins? Hey, who knows what the twins want? Where are they?”

“I saw them going down into that little, uh, door?” says Chase, pointing at a pair of wooden doors sticking out of the earth by the third house.

“Oh, yeah, an old shelter,” sighs Ippy. “They hang out down there sometimes. I should get them, maybe, uh – ”

“Aw, no sweat, doc,” says Chase, clambering to his feet. “I’ll see what they want. You focus on getting the meat just right.”

“Thanks, Brody.”

Chase tweaks Marvin’s ear teasingly as he passes and steps towards the doors across the way, setting his feet and pulling them gently open. He steps down into the concrete basement and finds that it’s actually been decorated quite nicely for an underground bomb shelter – thick rugs are layered across the floor, leaving a little patch of space in the corner for a heater, and a pair of electric camping lanterns surround the twins where they’re sitting in the middle of the shelter, working on –

“Um,” says Chase. “Is that Jamie?”

Both twins let out shrieks of surprise and the first leans hurriedly down to blow out the candle of his lantern. It is, however, still electric. He groans in despair and flops down onto the rug, hiding the papers and pictures that litter the floor in his arms.

“Intruder!” wails the second, covering his eyes with his hands. “Jim’s fortress is breached!”

Chase is too distracted to reply by the pictures of his brother, which he now sees are not just littering the floor, but also covering the walls. Some of them are hand-drawn, hurried stick figures with mustaches and black hats, while others have been printed off from the internet, showing Jamie’s smiling face in sepia brown or grey and white.

“Uhhhhhh,” says Chase. “I, uh. What is this?”

“Nothing,” promise both twins, grabbing each other for support.

“Chase! Chase!” Feet patter down the stairs, bringing wild laughter with them, and Jackie and Shep appear with Jackie’s hands wrapped around the biggest toad Chase has ever seen, struggling in his hands. “Look at this fucking toad!”

“He just snatched it right off the ground,” howls Shep, who has always found anything Jackie did to be hilariously funny.

“I thought you’d appreciate more than Henrik, who slapped me for trying to make him pet it,” giggles Jackie, shoving it into Chase’s face. “He’s perfect and he – what the hell is all this?”

Shep and Jackie go just as quiet as Chase did, staring around the walls.

“Did you marker a mustache onto your puppy?” asks Shep, pointing at the stuffed animal in one of the Jims’ arms.

“Why does your computer have a livefeed of Jamie eating a hot dog?” asks Jackie a little more dangerously.

“Okay, fine, you have caught Jim!” cries the first one. “Jim is celebrating the great Jim Jim with knick-knacks and cute pictures.”

“His name – ” Shep pauses to sigh and smack his own forehead. “Boys. We have talked about some of these obsessions. The last thing you ‘celebrated’ was that three toed-sloth you saw on Planet Earth.”

“She was perfect!” howl both twins in sync. “Perfect, she was perfect! She just wanted a mate, Silver Jim, she just wanted a husband! She could swim, Silver Jim! She was a sloth with three toes!”

“Are they going to like, uh. Hurt and/or kidnap Jameson?” asks Jackie, touching Shep’s arm.

“What, the twins? No. They’re harmless. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well, not on purpose. They once tied a string around one and then it died because they didn’t know how to feed it and they cried until Eric brought them popsicles, but that’s just the twins.”

Jackie steps politely over the babbling twins and carefully turns off the livefeed of Jamie.

“Jim likes JimJim!”

“Why is he leaving tomorrow?”

“Freedom of worship, Silver Jim! America!”

“Okay, okay,” cries Silver, waving his hands to quiet them. “Sh, boys, it’s okay, hey. Don’t fuss. Look, Jackie found a toad!”

The twins sniffle and turn their attention to the toad, instantly excited again.

“Oh! Like in Frog and Toad!”

“Like in Rango!”

“Like in the Princess and the Frog! But a toad! Can Jim have it, Mr. not-quite Jim Jim, please?”

Jackie shrugs and hands them the toad. “What are you going to call it?”

“Jameson!” cry both twins at once, happily petting the toad’s head as it croaks.

Jackie, Chase, and Shep exchange glances.

“Well, we’re heading out tomorrow,” says Chase.

“And I’m driving back to my apartment in the city,” adds Shep.

“Pretend we never saw this?” Jackie suggests.

“Yep,” answer Shep and Chase together, and the three of them turn and head right back up the stairs, passing a confused Ippy with two plates of hot dogs, who gives them one odd look and then continues down.

“Boys!” he hollers a moment later, and Chase, Jackie, and Silver all burst into laughter and hurry away, sitting down around Jameson, who wants to know what exactly is so funny?

“Nothing,” they all promise, ignoring Google’s eyeroll and Jamie’s indulgent smile. “Just another obsession of the Jims, haha.”

“Well, they go through three of those a week,” sighs Google. “Don’t get too excited. Whatever it is, they’ll be over it in a couple days.”

Perhaps that is usually true.

But not this time.

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

“Okay,” says Ippy, surveying the room besides the kitchen, blinking slowly. “This has officially gone too far.”

Host laughs rich and low, covering his mouth and leaning against the doorway, apparently endlessly amused by this newest interest of the cameramen’s. Eric giggles weakly, glancing around, but there’s a light of alarm in his eyes too, and it only makes Host laugh harder when he senses it, halfway collapsing against the doorway.

“Why is typewriter Jim laughing?” complains the second Jim, pasting another picture in a scrapbook labeled ‘the greatness of JimJim.’

“Is this a fucking cult?” asks Host. “I’ve seen worse but this one is certainly the cutest.”

“Jim is not cute!” protests the second Jim, while the first asks, “Oh, Jim, would you like to join Jim?”

“No, honey,” laughs Host, striding away. “I leave more patient men than I to deal with this.”

“Host,” grumbles Ippy, before sighing and turning his attention back to the Jims. “Boys, this isn’t a cult, right?”

“What’s a cult?” asks the second.

“Jim thinks the word doctor Jim is looking for is religion,” pipes up the first helpfully.

Edward turns around so he can swear without them hearing. Eric laughs again, relaxing the more he looks around and stepping over to sit down with the twins.

“Come on, Ippy. They’re just having fun.”

“Worshipping Jameson is not an appropriate way to have fun,” protests Edward.

“They’re scrap-booking.” Eric holds up the little book, which is, admittedly, rather well-made for a Jim project.

“And making a documentary!” exclaims Jim, holding his computer out to Eric, where iMovie is open to several very shaky shots of Jameson sitting on the couch or talking with the others or, on one screen, cooking omelets and turning occasionally to smile at the eagerly narrating twins.

“And making a documentary,” repeats Eric fondly, ruffling his hair. “It’s just arts and crafts.”

“There’s a poster of Jameson made out of sticky notes on the wall!”

“And look how good they did at putting the notes together!”

“Thank you, sweater Jim,” say both the twins politely, smiling.

“Eric, it’s creepy. They don’t need to learn to be obsessing over other people.”

“You let them stalk Mark for two months.”

“Oh, yeah, cause that was hilarious,” laughs Ippy, throwing his head back. “He was so confused. Fuck Mark!”

“Fuck Mark,” repeat the twins eagerly.

“No! Don’t swear, guys, I know you’ll start doing it at work if I let you do it at home,” sighs Ippy.

“Jim would never swear in front of the petting zoo animals!” cries the first Jim.

“And Jim would never swear while helping with the news!” adds the second, indignant.

“See how responsible they are! Ip, let them be. I’ll make sure it doesn’t get too creepy. Like, uh. The hairs in this scrapbook aren’t actually Jameson’s, are they?”

“Yes, from Jim Jim’s mustache,” answer both twins, beaming.

“Well, why don’t you let me have that,” suggests Eric, carefully unstapling the plastic bag with a few stray dark hairs at the bottom.

“You two will be the death of me,” says Ippy, shaking his head.

But they do look damn sweet when they’re smiling that big.

“Okay, but no filming Jameson when he’s not looking anymore.”

“Okay, doctor Jim,” promise the twins.

“Jim will do it when Jim Jim and doctor Jim are both not looking,” whispers the second.

“They’ll never suspect it,” agrees the first in a hush. Eric laughs, tidying their scrapbook materials a little.

“You could even learn BSL like Jamie, maybe,” he suggests.

The twins light up like fireworks.

“BSL!” repeats the first one, clapping his hands together.

“JIM CAN SPEAK AS THE GREAT JIM SPEAKS,” screams the second at the top of his lungs, and this is enough to startle Bing, who was about to ride his skateboard down the stairs. He yelps in alarm as his board slips beneath him, and a moment later he comes crashing hard down the stairs and lands in a heap of sparking parts at Ippy’s feet.

“The death of me!” repeats the doctor furiously, waving his finger around accusingly. “All of you! This whole house! This whole clearing! I’ll die at thirty-four! You’ll have to bury me! Have fun with my funeral expenses, you complete bastards.”

“Bastards!” repeat the twins.

“Look bastards up in BSL!”

“Look Jim up in BSL!”

“Look everything up in BSL!”

Ippy has the distinct feeling he’s being made fun of, just a little, but even Bing is laughing, and all he can do is try not to smile as he heads back out the door.

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

“Can’t you move a body a little more quietly?”

Wilford hauls the heavy tarp across the pathway and grunts, flicking a little blood off his fingers. “Well, you could help!”

“Why would I do that when I have you to do it for me?” purrs back Dark, following him down the pathway towards the car.

“You just like to feel like you’re manipulating something,” scolds Wilford, pausing just to boop Dark’s nose. In protest, Dark vanishes back into the void and leaves Wilford with nothing but a sulking shadow drifting around his feet.

“And now you’re a smoke kitty,” coos Wilford, dragging the body farther down the path.

“Just hurry,” says Dark, re-appearing in a masculine form this time. “You know I prefer for the twins to stay sheltered and I don’t want them catching us again.”

“Catching what?” asks Jim, standing in the trees with his camera.

Wilford swears colorfully and Dark dissipates back into shadow on instinct, spitting out curses of his own.

“Now, see here, Iplier,” says Wilford. “It’s quite rude to be sneaking up on a fellow.”

“That’s Jim, Wil.”

“Oh. What in the name of Burt Reynolds are you two doing out here so late at night?”

“Oh! We’re filming for a documentary for Jim Jim.”

“They mean Jameson,” Dark tells Wil.

“Who’s Jameson?” whispers Wilford.

Dark sighs very deeply.

“He is the great Jim!” cries the second Jim, rising from the bushes like a Peanuts character on Halloween.

“The great Jim,” repeats the first Jim solemnly.

“He’s that little old-fashioned…” Dark waves his hand, trying to find the right word. “Jackson. You’ve met him.”

“Oh, I know who you mean. The British chap with the truly excellent mustache. But he’s not even out here, what are you filming?”

“Well, he is not here. But Jim has heard is very fond of hedgehogs. So Jim is trying to find some!”

“Are there hedgehogs in America?” whispers Wilford.

“Fuck if I know,” answers Dark irritably.

“Would you like to join Jim in the search for hedgehogs and ultimately the eternal worship of the great Jim Jim?”

“Don’t look so hopeful, you little miscreant, you know I avoid engaging with you at all costs,” growls Dark, but the twins just giggle.

“They used to be afraid of you,” teases Wilford.

“Shut up,” snipes Dark. “I could make them afraid in about two seconds.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“But you won’t.”

“The real question,” interrupts one of them – Dark can’t tell them apart. “Is what are Dark and pink Jim doing out in the forest late at night? Jim is a very good reporter, you know. Jim uncovers mysteriousnesses.”

“I think you mean mysteries,” says Dark. “And we’re, uh.”

Wil and Dark glance at the body in between them.

“Returning a lamp to the store,” finishes Wil.

Dark closes his eyes. His exasperation has set in so deep he can feel it in his broken spine. He’s going to kill Wilford. But then again, he thinks that about three times a day and never seems to make good on his threat.

“A lamp,” says Jim.

“A lamp,” repeats his brother.

They stare down at the wrapped corpse.

“That checks out,” says the first.

“Jim is an investigative journalist so Jim can tell,” agrees the second.

“Just get out of my sight,” snaps Dark, advancing on them with shadow cloaking his set shoulders, and the twins shriek in equal parts fear and excitement and go darting back into the underbrush.

“You’re it, Mr. Dark!”

“Run, Jim! Run!”

Dark crosses his arms over his chest and turns to glare at Wilford.

“I could scare them if I wanted to.”

Wilford just smiles and picks up the body again, pausing only to give Dark a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I know you could, little ghost. Hey, should we be worried they appear to be worshipping Jacksepticeye?”

“Should I be concerned you told me you worshipped the Pillsbury dough boy while you were drunk last week?”

“Oh, no, the body is slipping! Let me just – ” He picks it up and slings it over his shoulder, sprinting towards the car and away from any further questions. Dark rolls his eyes and drifts back into the shadows, following peaceably after him.

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

Google blinks awake to a pair of eyes staring back at him.

Check that. Two pairs of eyes.

“Boys,” he says levelly. “I’m charging. This had better be an emergency.”

Jim and Jim exchange looks.

Carefully, they push a crumpled pamphlet with Jameson’s face drawn on it in crayon beneath his nose.

“Join our religion?”

Google gets out of bed in one swooping motion, drags them both out of the house, and, ignoring the shrill cries of “why, cruel computer Jim?” and “persecution! Persecution! Persecution!” dumps them both bodily into the lake.

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

Everybody gets to hear about it at one point or another. The Jims’ amicability for JJ, taken a little too far, is occasionally annoying, but nevertheless remains largely harmless. In the name of the great JJ, they pick up more than one of his hobbies – taking care of injured animals, painting with watercolors, dressing in black and white – and develop rudimentary BSL that actually turns out to be really helpful on the days when the twins are distressed and won’t talk out loud. Most of them learn to tolerate it with amusement, though Host never stops thinking it’s one of the funniest things they’ve ever done and Google makes sure they learn the consequences of being too irritating. Bing and Eric bring them craft supplies and trinkets from the store that remind them of JJ, while Ippy entices them to eat their vegetables and sit still through examinations with made-up stories about how tough and healthy Jameson is. On Christmas Eve, as a reward for being good all year, Ippy asks Jameson to Skype with them for a little while, and he’d never seen the twins so excited and yet so well-mannered at the same time, even managing to use first-person pronouns for themselves once or twice, eager to impress JJ.

“Good signing,” he congratulates them, looking soft and snuggly in the Christmas Eve pajamas he and his brothers all exchanged for the night.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” sign the twins eagerly, and Ippy chuckles, blowing on their hot chocolate to cool it before he brings it to them.

“You must have been dedicated,” says Jameson, and when they don’t understand, he substitutes the word “good.”

“Good!” chirps Jim, clapping his hands together. “Good! We have! We have!”

“You will tell Santa to bring us gifts, then?” asks his brother eagerly. Ippy smiles and takes a sip of the chocolate, checking the temperature carefully.

JJ laughs. “How will I tell him? Did you write letters?”

“Yes, we did. But I bet he will believe it if Jim Jim puts in a good word for us!”

“That’s sweet,” chuckles JJ, keeping his hands slow. “But I think he will listen to you too! I’m just little old me.”

“Yeah,” says Jim cheerfully. “God.”

Ippy spits the hot chocolate out and races over to slam shut the computer before he can see Jameson’s reaction.

“Boys!” he hollers. “Too far!”

Iplier hears a thud as, up the stairs and narrating this story to himself, Host laughs so hard he tumbles right out of his bed.

#2020 prompts #jim jim jameson #anon #jim twins

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