#Coke-lore

[formosusiniquis]

bela lugosi's dead

written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt: suck | wc: 480 | T | cw: none | tags: vampire!Steve

Like every good freak worth the nickname, Eddie made a habit of reading Dracula every Halloween. 

The first read led to closeted daydreaming about getting abducted by a handsome vampire. Letting himself poke at desires he hadn’t been ready to commit to. With age his fantasies and aesthetics matured, until he was the bloodsucking creature of the night stealing pretty boys away to give in to their secret temptations. So, if he's honest, he’s having a hard time dealing with life and the lemons it’s juggling off to the side of him.

“It isn't fair.”

“Hmm,” Steve, with his red puffer vest and his coordinating Nikes, sat across from him at some point in full view of Eddie’s misery over his annotated copy of Dracula.

“There's an aesthetic you're failing to appreciate and it isn't fair that you-”

“Are we going to do this every time?” He asks around the straw in his mouth, poked into a blood bag labeled ‘Robin:)’ like he’s sipping from a juice box.

“Until you stop dressing like a JCPenney catalog model, or vampires become lame, yeah we probably are, Harrington.”

“Fine,” he sighs, having the decency to pull the blood bag away from his face, “I'm sorry that you had to have five blood transfusions and basically have new, non-vampire blood. No one has ever suffered the way you, Eddie Munson, have.”

“You're being sarcastic, but I have suffered so apology accepted, Stevie.”

“Now you.” Steve prompts, gesturing with the bag in his hands.

“Now me what?”

Steve sits up, a languid move that makes Eddie’s prey brain sit up at attention and his horny boy brain poke its head up too. “Say I'm sorry, Steve, that you had to save the world for the fourth time so a bunch of freaky bat venom metastasized-”

“You absolutely stole that word from Henderson,” breathless, the jab doesn’t carry the weight it could.

“-in your bloodstream and combined with the remains of the experimental Soviet drugs and now," He crawls closer, "you can't eat garlic anymore.”

“That's the hang up for you? Not the blood drinking?”

“I'm Italian, I can’t eat anything anymore. Sure I can supplement the blood with raw meat, but what’s the point if everything is poorly seasoned.” Blood bag all but forgotten in the arm chair, he has Eddie pinned in place looming overtop of him, talking shit about what he’ll never be able to eat again.

The white collar of Steve’s t-shirt is visible beneath the color-block vest, even that isn’t enough to stop his brain from screaming predator on repeat. Supernaturally strong, it doesn’t take more than a hand on the shoulder to push Eddie down horizontal on the couch. He has to feel Eddie’s heart beat, the way it pounds in his chest as Steve noses up the collarbone to his neck. “Really does suck for me, huh baby?”

[luc3ks]

dude named michael and his friend dani who he does not have a crush on

he works at a 24/7 repair shop as a mechanic. night shifts obviously he is a vampire. little bit of a car freak. hot rodded his 1966 mustang. living (un)happily away from all his fam

she works at a gas station a block or two away from him. also has a second job I haven't decided on ..... she's working on getting back into school, trying to get scholarships or offers to go to uni

they're the strugglers together

[beliscary]

there's a tower in belisaere called dolorous bastion

[wraithsoutlaws]

night, alternate for Dagger 🖤 makeup, canvas for Zephyr 🖤 motion for Cockroach lmao

night: What does your OC wear to sleep? Do they have a favorite pair of PJs, or are they more the birthday suit type?

when dagger does he sleep, he's usually very naked. partially because it's just more comfortable to him, and partially because of the heat. (he spends most his time holed up in makeshift/temporary camps and hideouts in the badlands). he'd never bother owning pajamas (waste of space and he's not traveling with that kinda excess), mostly he'll just pass out in the clothes he's been wearing and take them off half asleep after waking up in the middle of the night.

alternate: What would your OC's alternate universe look be? If they're a fantasy character, what's their modern look? If they're sci-fi, what's their fantasy look? What AU would you want to see your OC in, and how would they dress themself? Bonus: Prompt an AU!

i have thought about a fantasy-adjacent au for him, though nothing too extensive or elaborate. he'd definitely still be a sort of outcast, living in nature, hunting his own food, etc. i imagine him with furs draped over his shoulders and accessories/armor made from bone. lots of leather work and scabbards, painting his face with blood and dirt, but he'd have some proper full-bodied protection too. something sleek and light and easy to move in, a bit rogueish but probably still very homemade and tattered.

makeup: Does your OC wear makeup? How often? What kind? Why do they wear makeup, and do they like it?

zephyr frequently wears eyeliner, but not too much more. pretty low effort overall, but sometimes he'll use concealer if he's feeling self-conscious about a blemish or trying to downplay the severity of a black eye. he likes to look good, but it's not his top most priority. the eye makeup helps him feel less vulnerable, it's almost part of the mask he wears as he tries to play the Cool, Confident Charming Con Man without a fear in the world.

canvas: Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all?

he's got alot of tattoos, and most of them are pretty obnoxious but they also play into the ~mask he wears in public, and are a good cover for the scars he tries to downplay and ignore. he has a lot of back-alley surgery scars if you look close, as well as scars from being beat up pretty badly throughout his life, and just existing in the slums of night city. the cyberware seams on his torso are only recent additions when he got the money to pretty much replace all the skin on his abdomen after he had himself cut open to sell his own organs (which left pretty brutal scarring). he's much more comfortable showing off his body after that but he's still grateful that most people's eyes are drawn to the tattoos before anything else.

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

cockroach is a very fast little menace and he can be extremely sneaky and stealthy despite his chonkiness. he often swipes things from people's pockets without them even noticing!! (very talented). he has a very impressive jump and will hop from person to person easily. he's a little more clumsy if he's moving things, it's hard being a lil guy with paws full of popturds but he is always determined. he's also got some internal cyberware that sometimes hinders his balance so you might catch him topping over while climbing (you may pick him up to help).

[bugsbenefit]

what about the 1989 coke can in that one video with the electricity books?

oh Interesting! did someone identify that can? i must have missed that if it's real do you maybe know a post about it? i'm not proficient at coke design timelines myself but i'd love to see a comparison/sources before i run with it haha

but assuming it is, i'd still only put tentative weight on it right now. because there have been a lot of anachronisms on the show before when it comes to props. half the cars, camera's, food like the cereal Lucas is constantly eating in s3, hell, even the iconic walkie talkies the party uses since s1 are anachronisms. same with the iconic Demogorgon figurine and so on. singular set pieces falling out of the timeline is not that unheard of, ig since most people wouldn't notice unless they dug into it and no one is taken out of the show. picking something that looks more exciting even though it's few years off is fair game for the show. (even though it being a coke can is a bit more interesting since it's a sponsor of the show so it's fair to assume they'd pay more attention to release years, i totally get where you're coming from. definitely worth keeping an eye on for sure)

as of now i'm still inclined to stick to very late 1987, given that we have both a set leak and casting call that would support it (as well as roughly matching the initial 2 years idea). the set also being something with an actual date written on it, so that date not matching the timeline would be more obvious than a product in the bg

but i'm definitely keeping a pretty open mind timeline period wise until we get more hints or some type of confirmation. (it's also kind of hard to tell what we're even getting into, since we don't even know how or when the time skip is set to happen. the easiest thing would obviously be a time skip early in the season. but since we know literally Nothing yet there could also be flashbacks or something to years we skipped over or whatever, which could give us multiple dates for set pieces and so on)

[bretongirlwrites]

‘The supposition is perfectly reasonable,’ said I: ‘there is no reason it should not work; save that, –’

‘Save that the Nirnroot,’ said Tara, ‘has evaded knowledge for a thousand years. That it glows whilst alive, means nothing, –’

‘That is the sort of attitude,’ said I, – quite undeterred, put the leaf in my mortar, – ‘that has ignored things for a thousand years.’ 

I detached the roots from it; shook it a bit; crushed it a bit; and wondered at last if there was anything which might be done to stop the damnable ringing, which Sinderion after all had warned me about. – ‘I shan’t be deterred by that,’ I had told him. – ‘Could you speak up?’ he had replied: ‘I cannot hear you over the tinnitus.’ – Leastways it would not stop: and to my left, a poor scholar gave up on his own work, and departed. I mashed the thing a little more; and invited Tara to prepare the milk-thistle.

‘There are much easier ways,’ said Tara, whose skirt-hems were still damp with lake-water, ‘to make a potion of light.’

‘Oh!’ said I: ‘I do not believe the Arcane University has ever done something easily, which might be done more interestingly.’ 

‘No,’ said Tara, – mashed the thistle with good-humoured resignation: ‘no, we haven’t.’

The materials prepared, I got a flask of water on the boil; set up our calcinator; and began to hum, a vain reattempt to drown out the ringing. – Absently nibbled a bit of milk thistle: was most startled when the whole room lit up. – All was in place: we had only to boil the thing, and then test it.

‘Anyway,’ said Tara at length: ‘if you and Sinderion keep pulling up nirnroots, we shall have none left by the end of the era.’

‘That is a long way off,’ said I, ‘we are hardly four hundred years into it. Oh! there’ll be droves of them somewhere we can’t get to them. – Is that nirnroot charred enough yet? It is still ringing.’

‘Only very faintly,’ said she: ‘it must be your ears;’ but she passed it over regardless; along with the thistle-pulp. I became most delighted by it even before we had finished: for the ingredients were perfectly prepared; and Sinderion and I being pioneers in nirnroot experimentation, we must take the utmost care over it. 

‘Well!’ said I: ‘you do the honour of the thistle; and then I shall, –’

The milk-thistle is so-named, because its pulp is white: and when put into a potion, it so resembles milk, that one is fooled until one tastes it, and gets all the sentiment of having consumed a liquified hedgerow. The water became cloudy, but had no bits in it: we had done well so far. 

‘The honour of the nirnroot,’ said Tara, ‘is all yours:’ and quite to my consternation, she took two steps back. 

‘You will want to watch this,’ said I: ‘whatever happens, it will be novel.’

‘That is one way,’ said Tara, ‘of describing all of your experiments.’

I dismissed the barb; drew myself up; and already imagining the quill in my hand, to write up my tribulations and victories, I collected up the nirnroot from the calcinator, and poured it into our funnel. At once the water became not dirtied, but a wonderful glowing sort of dark green, – began to fizz, – I took out the funnel, and waited in triumphant anticipation.

The mixture settled for a moment; but quite as if to spite me, when I had just leaned over, redoubled its fizzing, and without warning shot up from the flask, and in a bright pillar almost to the ceiling. Tara, who would later suggest the addition of buckets to the Lustratorium, rushed forwards by instinct, and caught enough of it on her robes, that she could see them a little in the dark for ever afterwards. There had not been very much water in the flask; yet infinities of it poured out, and faintly ringing all the while; and when it had done, I was left to look in dismay over a table quite drenched, and an afternoon of ingredients spent in disaster.

‘If you say: I told you so, –’ said I at last, – 

‘Well,’ said Tara, ‘I did say that I did not believe it would work. If you had meant to create a potion of levitation, perhaps, – but light, –’

‘Did you see that!’ I cried: ‘we illuminated the whole room!’

‘And so might we have done,’ said Tara wringing out her robes, ‘with a potted nirnroot on the corner of the desk.’

I opened my mouth to disagree; but could say only something about utilitarianism and novelty; and becoming glad that if there was one thing that might be done easily and without exciting novelty, it was cleaning, – went laughing for the towels.

------

thanks to @druidx for the prompt ‘a magical experiment gone awry’ for julianne!

[ruvviks]

for mikhail. whats the best cereal. theres only one right answer

oc interview!

"best cereal? easy, whatever vitali has in his cupboard. free cereal for me :) i used to come over for breakfast almost every day before i moved in with him and v. every time he asked me why i kept doing that i would tell him i was too lazy to buy my own; partially true, but i mostly just...wanted some company. i think he knew."

[yudrein]

me listening to my dmj playlist with 80% of them being exo's discography

[heinrix]

getting to the point with oz and enver where i want to write modern au fics abt them🫡

[pheonix-inside]

Y'know how Miles' universe has a different version of Coca-Cola?

Do you think it has a different version of Five Nights at Freddy's?

[sun-snatcher]

Wish. If u give me a Part 2 of your Gambit fic with ❛ we'll just have to make do.  ❜ where they both make it out of the Void together I will kiss u on the mouth rn I PROMISE u. Or a hug. Whichever works. PLS I JUST NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO THEM🙏🏼😫

♧ ⎯ ‘LIMBO LOSERS’ CLUB

summ. The TVA extends an olive branch. Wade’s Universe becomes home. Above all, you’re just thankful you’re not alone in this Multiversal mess. pairing. Void!Gambit x f!Anomaly!reader (established in #WELUCKYFEW) w.count. 1.6k a/n. Shirtless Channing + romantic hand tension. That's it. That's the tweet. ( Continuation of this imagine! )

YOU SURVIVE ALIOTH.

That’s the first surprise.

The second? 

The Time Variance Authority want to help, now. 

( Granted, it’d mostly been Wade who did the gruntwork of sending Elektra and Blade back to their Universes, but he had hit a wall when it came to you and Gambit considering you two were— according to him: “A coked up version of being homeless. Universe-less.” )

So here you are, a stray of the Multiverse, standing on the platform of a mid-century aestheticised monitor room somewhere outside the constraints of time, trying not to double over from the vertiginous aftermath of being thrown through Wade’s weird orange warbling door of space. 

TemPad, he’d called the device. Or… something. You’re half-sure you have a concussion, to be honest.

Alioth had done a number on you. 

Remy’s concerned.

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Wade says, mask rolled up to his nose. (There’s a spoon and plate of key lime pie in his hands. You’re not even sure where he got it from.) “Where did Gambit come from? How come he just spawned into the MCU’s metaphysical Backrooms?”

“Candidly, he is a unique case.” 

Remy pulls his gaze from you to Hunter B-15.

“You, Mr. LeBeau, are the prime example of a Variant that’s borne from a timeline decaying just as quickly as it was formed. A rare type that fades instantly without unnatural interference, because an Anchor failed to develop.”

One of the CRT screens zip to a retro rubber-hose animated diagram: rapidly branching roots, ominous red flashing, and then an immediate blink into nothing. Talk about dramatic effect.

“Your Universe falls in the rare category of those that never managed to come into fruition; but sometimes— incredibly rarely— remnants just like you manage to slip through, and instead of ceasing to exist… Well, you automatically end up getting spit into the Void.”

A pause.

Then, from behind, Wade bursts into a cackle.

“Ha! Wow, she basically called you a discontinued fucking nobody,” he wheezes. “You’re quite literally the equivalent of a failed movie pitch that’s been forgotten on the floor of Feige’s writers’ room.”

Screens flicker. 

Your breath hitches. 

Versions of different Gambit’s play out in the monitor-wall, all alike and yet different in their individual realities. Some have black eyes. Some have top-hats (“Ah, that’s 2009 Origins,” Wade muses. “Do all Variants of you just have a beautiful face? I mean, it’s kinda unfair—”). 

Some look like identical copies.

[EARTH-TRN2922].

It’s… your timeline. 

Your friends in the Mutant war. Your Remy whose cards are scattered on the floor, blood in his hands, with you crumbling as you reach ou—

The Nine of Hearts in your pocket is impossibly heavy. You turn away to steel yourself. 

( “Yeah, okay, enough lore recap. Jesus, you guys are more of a dick than I am; Read the room and turn that shit off,” Wade chides a passing agent. He gets it. He’d lost Vanessa once, too, and he’s not quite sure even he can relive that pain. )

“Mais non, y’not makin’ no sense t’me,” Remy says, confused, “I’ve got memories; means I’ve got history jus’ like my Variants. How y’gon’ explain that?”

“Gaps of memories you have— knowledge of places, people, events— that comes from fixed synchronicities shared in your Temporal Aura across all your Multiversal Variants.” 

She’s met with slow, owlish blinks. Wade waves his hand in lazy dismissal.

“Forgive them. They didn’t watch Loki Season One or Two. Not that it matters, anyway. People barely understood what was going on.”

A sigh. “There’s no way to put this gently, Mr LeBeau,” B-15 concludes, tone dipping into something sympathetic. “But what I’m trying to say is that: you don’t have a Universe to go back to, because it never existed.”

She purses her lips as she catches his torn gaze. “I’m sorry.”

And that— That pisses you off.

“I’m… sorry?” you parrot, stepping forward. “That’s all you can say after everything that’s happened to us? His existence began with the Void, and my Universe was pruned by your agents. Innocent lives gone because your people decided they wanted to play God once upon a damn time—!” 

“Pump the hate breaks, you stray,” Wade calls. "Why'd you think I brought the both of you here?"

You reluctantly withdraw.

“I can’t bring you home,” B-15 supplies, matter-of-fact. “But I can find a compatible timeline for you. For both of you. A safe do-over, if you will.”

Wade’s smile is coy.

The ‘Merc with a mouth’ has a home surprisingly… cozy.

Albeit a little tumbledown and messy with its wallpaper-torn brick walls and creaking hardwood floors— but, it’s charming. Lived in. He has a life here in this rickety two-bedroom apartment; framed photographs of friends and snatches of livelihood sit across dressers and are pasted against his magnet-crowded refrigerator.

Reminds you abit of your home, too.

“Listen,” chirps Wade’s voice, somewhere down the short hall to his room. “My advice? Save yourself the identity crisis and brain aneurysm. All this multiversal horse-crap was created just so that Marvel can write themselves out of any corner. Just sit there and be sexy for the readers, okay, Magic Mike?”

You’re halfway towards them when the doorbell rings. 

“Ooh! That must be the pizza I ordered. Or Blind Al. Or Logan.” Wade pops out to sidle past you with a wink and a whispered: “Who knows, really? This is just the part of the story where I conveniently disappear so you and Cajun Tatum here can share a moment.”

You don’t quite understand— but you’ve learned to not bother attempting when it comes to him.

Your knock is soft against the doorframe. 

“Hey.”

Beside a lone corner of the bed, Remy turns to look over his shoulder. 

He’s fresh out the shower— faded towel tied around his waist, brown hair still damp and dripping water down his bare chest. His old clothes have been draped over a desk chair. 

You try not to stare, but—

But. 

He’s handsome. Devilishly so, with the bruises sweeping across the flex of all his stupidly lean, corded muscles.

You always had a thing for roguish-looking men.

“Hi,” he says, knowingly. ( It’s a dulcet croon, if anything. Cheeky bastard. ) “Y’okay? Got y’self cleaned up.”

Remy watches you gather yourself with a quick clear of your throat, pull at the sleeves of the scratchy hoodie you’re now wearing that’s practically swallowing you whole. 

You look rested. At ease. 

…Pretty.

“Yeah. Showered. We don’t smell like ass anymore, that’s for sure,” you say, making a face.

And then you’re nodding over to the black-and-blue contusions blooming over his skin. “You know, I’m sure there’s something frozen in the icebox for that.”

“Icebox?” 

You smile. “Yeah, that’s what you guys call it in Louisiana, right?”

“That we do, chèr,” he laughs. But it’s ducked down, quiet. Thin. “ ‘Least, I think so.”

You follow his downcast eyes to a small stack of folders— TVA files he easily thieved (unsurprisingly) from under their noses the moment he stepped foot into the room. 

He’d skimmed the manila dossiers: Absolute Points. Anchor Beings. Variant Anomalies. Some names he’d recognised and some he didn’t, most stamped or blacklisted. 

Pietro Maximoff. Edward Brock. Loki Laufeyson. 

Remy LeBeau.

Some part of you crumples. It’s one thing to not be able to return to a Universe, and another to not have even had one. 

“S’funny,” he chuckles dryly, picking his casefile up with a distant look, “My memories… I thought I’d done gon’ left a whole life behind me the entire time I been stuck in the Void— Friends. Family. An’ turns out the Void’s all I had.”

“Feels like…” he shrugs. Tries to piece his unmoored thoughts into something more cohesive. He’s never felt so horrifically adrift his entire life— whatever ‘entire life’ could mean for him now, anyway— not even when he'd been marooned in the barren wastelands of the Void.

 “Feels like I ain’t real. Hell, I don’t know what is real, anymore, chèr. I don’t— I just don’t know. I don't know anythin'."

You shake your head in disagreement nigh instantly. 

“No, no.” Pushing off the doorway, you cross the threshold with gentle admonishment lanced over your features. “You’re here. You are real.” 

The room is small. The distance you share is… close. Just enough that you catch the scent of peppermint toothpaste and coconut shampoo; Just enough that you can slide the documents out of his hands.

His fingers brush against yours. 

He wonders if you’d felt the kinetic trill of energy run through him at the contact.

“Can I be honest, Remy?”

You look up at him. 

“Mais oui, chèr. Y’can always be honest wit’ Gambit.”

You wave your hand at the TVA files. “I’m scared as shit being in a new Universe,” you blurt, truthfully. “This second chance means… a new life. New path. New everything. I don’t know what that’s like either and frankly, I am not prepared for this at all.”

You pause for a breath. “But for what it’s worth? I’m glad that you’re here. That’s… That’s about the only thing that I know.”

Then, as if dwarfed by the sheer vulnerability in your words, you take an awkward step back as you shrug. “And if you don’t feel the same, well. You and I, we’ll just have to make do, regardless.”

The sudden retreat is painfully endearing. Has him letting out a bright laugh that warms something nestled deep in your ribs.

“I’m glad I got you too, chèr,” he grins. 

“Yeah?” You flash a smile, having found your way back to the door.

Remy’s eyes fall to your face— tarrying. He follows the flutter of your lashes, the slope of your cheek, the curl of your lips. 

“…Yeah.”

Your idling, fond gaze sears him like a low-grade fever. 

The thrum buzzes in hands, again.

Your Gambit really was blind, he thinks, just as you slip away and disappear around the corner.

His palm flexes open, and shut.

[chadra-fan-irl]

Wild how Coca Cola is a trilogy

[fridgrave2-0]

BEHOLD! 80s boyfriends with A TWIST

au where felix and turbo went batshit crazy together and three games were unplugged in the end. they were living in the walls for 10 years and then usurped sugar rush. turbo is still a king and felix (while having an equal amount of power) is his "advisor"

since king candy is heavily inspired by mad hatter i chose to be a 1000 iq brain and made felix's disguise based on march hare so they can have lore accurate tea parties with coke instead of sugar

[yusukeswaifu]

splatoon 3 emems that drinks all your coke and calls you a motherfucler and splatoon 2 emems that drinks all your pepsi and calls you a bitch

not that u care but theres a lore reason as to why she barely grew an inch.. once ran away to splatsville she had no one to cook for her so she lived on instant noodles..!!! until genesis and alicia showed up...so her bad food choices stunted her growth

[dearly-somber]

20/20 Vision | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. slow burn, fluff, f2l (friends-to-lovers), pining, mutual pining, unrequited love, drama, high school!au, university!au, eventual romance, eventual smut

-> rating. 13+

-> w/c. 897

-> warnings. Literally nothing this is pure fluff 🥹🤍

-> a/n. Glasses!Kook origin story!! Y/N lore drop!! (P.S. This takes place before Because It’s Soft!)

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. Dec. 9th, 2023 @ 10:03

-> fin. Sun., Jan. 28th, 2024 @ 12:31

-> edited. Thurs., Feb. 1st, 2024 @ 17:44

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn

You knew something was up when Jungkook—a boy who’d once spotted a squirrel in the road while driving at nearly 100kph—started squinting at the projector not even five meters in front of him.

Even though the two of you sat around the middle of your class, you’d frequently turn to find him angrily squinting at the board, struggling to read your smaller than average handwriting even though he’d never found it difficult before.

Now, sitting in your living room with homework strewn all along the floors and Jungkook nose deep his English textbook, you finally come to the conclusion that his vision might not be so 20/20 anymore.

“Jungkook,” you say concerned as he lets out a frustrated sigh, sitting upright with a frown etched deeply into his face.

“I can’t see,” he complains, groaning and rubbing at his temples. “And my head feels like it’s about to explode.”

You reach out to run your hand through his hair, biting on your lip when he unhesitatingly leans into the touch. “You can’t see?”

“No,” he pouts. “Everything’s blurry.”

“Jungkook.” You rub at his earlobe once before pulling away, searching his face with a pitying smile. “The font isn’t that small—I can read it just fine from where I’m sitting.”

He manages to look offended. “Okay. And?”

You sigh, placing your hand over his, like you’re about to deliver some bad news. For someone so smart, he can be so dumb. “I think you should see an optometrist.”

His doe eyes widen. “No,” he whispers, genuinely afraid-sounding.

You smile apologetically and pat his hand.

He pulls away from you to press the palms of his hands into his eyes, fake-crying into them like the drama-queen he is. “Fuck,” he whines.

You push up from the kitchen table and walk around to massage his shoulders, as if he’s a football player getting hyped up before his next big game. “It’s okay,” you soothe.

“I need glasses?” He sounds so sad, you can’t help but laugh a little.

“It’s not the end of the world!” you laugh. “Besides, I think it’ll suit you.“

“But what about soccer? I can’t play with glasses, they’ll get broken, or, or—“

“Contacts are a thing, remember?”

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

Now, a couple of days later, you knock on the packhouse doors with an eager smile, greeting Jimin with a long hug. “Is Jungkook home yet?”

“Yeah, he’s upstairs.”

“Thanks!”

The way to Jungkook’s room is a familiar one. As soon as you enter the pack house you turn right and head a single flight of stairs to the second floor where all the rooms and main bathrooms are. What is new, is all the various pictures hanging on the wall.

You take a moment to admire the new frames you assume either Seokjin or Rosé hung up between today and the last time you were here (around three days ago, now), smiling fondly at the closeness and joy in each picture.

It’s a large 24x48 canvas framed in a beautiful burgundy wood with golden highlights (which seem to have been painted on by hand), and it makes your heart stop.

It’s of a photo you took with the pack a few days after your birthday.

Your heart aches sweetly at the sight of Yoongi with his arms wrapped brotherly around your shoulders, free arm hoisting his whiskey into the air, a large grin on his face. Next to him is Jungkook, both hands in the air, yelling at the top of his lungs with one of those bottled glasses of coke. And around you, the rest of the pack.

Rosé and Jennie crouched beneath you, forming hearts with their arms on either side of your legs; Jisoo, Hoseok, Jin and Taehyung laughing at their brothers off to the side; Lisa yelling at the top of her lungs while being carried bridal style by Namjoon; Jimin on the floor at Rosé and Jennie’s feet, slightly blurred around the edges from setting up the camera.

It was the best night of your life.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” You look at Jungkook with a smile on your face, which quickly turns into an appreciative grin. “Why, look at you!”

Jungkook laughs shyly, reaching up to self-consciously push his glasses further up his nose. It’s a simple frame: black metal, kind of large but not overly so, a little boxy.

“It looks good!” you say as you finally make your way up the stairs, giving him a quick side hug before making your way to his room.

“You think so?” He holds the door open for you and then lets it slide halfway closed, joining you on the edge of his bed where you’ve already taken up one of his controllers.

“Definitely. Really frames your face.”

He groans. “Not you, too. Jin hyung’s been making glasses jokes all day.”

You laugh, nudging him in his side while starting up It Takes Two (a game you’d asked him to get so you could play together). “I would too, Four Eyes.”

He growls, not even giving you time to think before his hands are at your sides.

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

Downstairs, Jimin shakes his head at your loud pleas for mercy and defeating scream-laughter with a fond smile, handing Jin another plate to dry off. “I wish those two would get together already.”

“Patience,” Seokjin chides with an equally fond grin. “They’ll figure it out eventually.”

[nico-di-genova]

I have more Rossi lore :)

Lost to James at a cornhole game one time, and proceeded to order professional cornhole gear with the correct dimensions and everything so he could practice properly, and thus ensure he would remain the number one victor at all times for the rest of time. Joked about going pro, but I don’t think it was fully a joke tbh, he probably fully thinks he could.

Was once denied entry to a steakhouse in Detroit, despite the fact he had reservations. Says he “pulled up in an Audi (weird flex but okay) in dark wash jeans and a sweater” and was told he couldn’t come in because he didn’t have a collared shirt. Later, three of his friends sent him photos eating at this same steakhouse. They were t-shirts and sneakers.

Alex “loves to sleep in” according to James. Didn’t want to wake up early to care for his plants so he spent a (assumedly substantial) undisclosed amount of money on an electric controller that takes care of his plants and comes on at 5:30 in the morning. You will not catch him missing out on his beauty sleep apparently.

Doesn’t like when people are bubbly and talkative at restaurants, hostesses and waiters specifically. Being social stresses him out, he doesn’t like it, don’t try to talk to James about ketchup while Alex is trying to order a Diet Coke, he will become annoyed and stressed because he “waited his turn” to speak and things aren’t going right. Clearly he prescribes to rigid social cues and structures and is thus annoyed when these are not followed. Don’t piss him off, don’t be nice apparently, this is a serious problem for him. (He’s so real for this tbh. I too become stressed annoyed and overwhelmed when waiters are overly talkative and I no longer have an established script to follow. Not their fault to be clear, I just don’t know how to process that.)

Went nonverbal once at the start of a podcast episode and was asked by James “is this a no talking day”. Alex was too involved in eating his gold fish to give more than one word answers. (Also relatable.)

Also, this whole interaction between him and Tim:

Tim: I’m over at Alex’s and he’s struggling to open this one package. He stops in the middle of opening the box, and he just looks out the window and goes, “I need to trim my roses”. And then he just- he returns to the- he gets the box open and then doesn’t even take time to put shoes on, goes out in his socks and trims his roses. Like, we were in the middle of a conversation…

Alex: the reason why- I was using my rose scissors to open the package, so it reminded me.

He’s too relatable I fear. Antisocial, frequently nonverbal, easily sidetracked king.