#Just did a load of creepy shape-shifting stuff with him

[mushroom-for-art]

Freakytwo and Freakingituptwo belonging to @kwispyhamburger! I love this guy very much all the belly wubs for him

[b0ba-chan]

Girls in Skirts

summary: suna was just quiet and a little weird pt. 2 pt. 3

pairing: Suna Rintarou x fem!Reader

word count: 1400

warnings: creepy!suna, panty stealing/sniffing, nonconsensual up skirt pics, male masterbation, dark, breeding kink

a/n: i’d like to thank @miyangel​ for opening my brain to creepy suna, if this is not your thing do not read it, i put warnings for a reason, send hate and i’ll just ignore it

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

“Who’s at the door?” you come downstairs to see your mother in the kitchen, preparing tea. “Ah, it’s my coworker, can you get the door? Also, can you make friends try and make friends with her son? He’s kinda quiet and shy.” 

Of course you agree, you weren’t going to be rude to guests. You run to the door and open it for the two standing behind it. Your eyes first meet a lady, about the same age at your mother and then looking up to see a taller, lankier figure behind her. He was tall and had beautiful, fox-like eyes that never left his game console. You’d be lying if he wasn’t handsome, definitely your type which made you blush, because you know your mom was setting this all up.

“Hello, welcome! I’m (Y/N), please come in,” as you move out of the way for them to enter, you couldn’t help to notice the slight blush on his face when he glanced at you. His mother is cooing at you at how beautiful you are and how much you look like your mother, to which you accept the compliment as you walk them to the living room where your mother sets up tea.

The two older women greet each other and they brush both you and the boy away to hang out. You blush a little and smile up at him. “Shall we go to my room, then?”

Suna couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. Being in a room alone with a girl, a pretty one especially? He tries to shake off his nerves, pausing the game to follow you to your room. You continue to ask him basic questions like his name and what school he goes to. Supposedly he goes to Inarizaki as a third year, same year as you but you’re in the neighboring school. 

When you two get to the bedroom, you can’t help to feel a little embarrassed around him. He’s just so tall and gives off such a bored vibe, that you feel like you’re bothering him, but maybe he was just shy. Suna is just leaning on the wall, eyes still on the psp - every once in a while he glances up back at you when you aren’t looking. He takes in your thighs and how the skirt flatters your shape, do you have anything underneath? He feels the crotch of his pants strain slightly, so he slides down the wall to sit on the ground.

“Do you want to sit on the bed, Rintarou-kun?” you tilt your head, looking at him on the ground. Wasn’t he uncomfortable sitting there? Your thoughts were shut down when he gave you a curt no and continued to play on his game. Brushing off your anxiety, you go to sit next him to look over at what he was playing. His body tensed up as your scent wafted over him, glancing down at you and your curious eyes boring at the screen.

“What are you playing? Is it fun?” Pestering him with questions to get him to talk, but he barely budges as he only gives you ever more shorter answers than the last. It wasn’t that he was annoyed that you were asking him questions, he’s just trying to hide his fluster since you’re just so close to him. Are you always this touchy with strangers? God you smell so good, it’s already hard enough to be in your room. What would happen if he just pushed your head down to his crotch?

His thoughts were cut off when you got off of the floor, leaving him confused to why you’re getting up. You just didn’t want to bother him anymore, so you go to your bed, rolling on your stomach to scroll through your phone. The silence was comfortable to you, the only noise happens to be from your phone and Suna’s console. But to Suna, the silence was deafening, as he had a clear view of the small silk fabric that barrel covered your ass. Not wanting you to catch him looking, he keeps his console on so you think he’s still busy with his game. 

He takes out his phone, making sure his shutter is off, and continues to take pictures of your cute little panties. Suna’s mind wandered to the thought of you under him with only those pairs on, presenting your beautiful body for only him. What would you do if he climbed on top of the bed, pinning you down as he had his way with you. Would you push him off or would you let him continue? There was no doubt you were attracted to him, he saw you blush earlier so you must’ve thought of him being attractive in some way. Would you flip your skirt up and present your cute cunt for him to breed you, taking him load after load, no matter how sensitive you get. You’d have to keep quiet though, wouldn’t want to alarm your mothers, would you? Suna knows his strength, being in the volleyball club for all three years of high school as well as his height giving him an advantage to dominate you. You would be so cute telling him to stop and slow down on your poor, cum-filled cunt, but you’d take it like a good girl. He could tell that you’re a people pleaser just by looking at you.

Before he could keep imagining, you shifting around startled him. His pants strain around his crotch even tighter and his cheeks tinted in a slight pink. 

“Restroom? Where is it?” Suna asks, shocking you out of your trance on your phone. You turn back to look back at him, smiling at him. “Down the hall, on the right, next to my room.”

He excuses himself, stuffing his phone and psp into his pockets as he makes his way to the bathroom. Shutting the door, he sighs at the relief of privacy and looks around the bathroom. This must be your bathroom. Your skin care products were strayed on the sink counter, shower and tub had floral shampoo which he assumed was the reason why you smelled so good. Besides the tub, against the wall was your hamper full of your worn clothes. He goes to open it and his eyes shine at the sight of a few used panties scattered around. He grabs a few and stuffs them in his pocket, keeping hold of the pink lacey ones and takes a hesitant sniff. If his cock could get any harder, it just did. Suna pulls his pants down to jerk off over the toilet as he sniffs your cute little lace. 

He thinks back to what he would’ve done to you earlier in the bedroom, thinking about you calling out his name so he could fill you up. You’d be such a good girl for him, let him use your cunt to breed and fill you up. His orgasm built up so fast at the thought of you, almost falling off the edge and muffling his moans into your panties.

“Rintarou-kun?” You call for his name right when streaks of white cum shoot into the toilet. He grunts and hides the moan, panting softling. “Y-yeah, I’ll be out soon.”

After cleaning up and making sure the panties are stuffed safely in his pocket, he opens the door to see your sweet, smiling face staring back at him. You definitely notice the blush, but you assume he was just shy around you. “Your mother was calling for you to go, do you want to exchange numbers or something?” A flush cover both of you as you ask the question. He nods and exchanges phones for you to type each other's number. 

After that, you two never really talk or text, only every once in a while. When the Spring High Tournament comes around, Suna hears his name being called by a familiar voice. He turns to see you, running to him and waving, wearing Karasuno gear and the skirt you wore the last time you saw him. 

“(Y-Y/N)?” Suna blushes, he definitely didn’t forget you after that one faithful day. His heart was racing and guilt rushed through his body, “What are you doing here? I don’t remember you going to Karasuno?”

“Y-yeah, uhh I’m cousins with the captain, had to come and support. Congratulations by the way!” Your giggle causes him to become speechless which made the twins snicker behind him.

[n7adam]

I realize I never posted this here, and I really should have. So here's my slender man story.

He's So Tall.

It’s two thirty five in the morning. I’m awake as I usually am at this time, night owl ya know? I’m up just, doing what I tend to. Browsing the web, playing games, watching YouTube videos. But these past few nights, things have been… different The internet has been acting weird. Slow, sometimes just not working at all. So I find myself using my iPad and not even playing my 360. I had been… watching random vids for about ten minutes I suppose, then… then I fell into creepy pasta. Yeah, you’re already thinking, bad idea Adam. Bad, bad idea. But hey, my iPad will load so, what the heck.

Now, I like to hear creepy pasta stories. But no matter what, I always find myself watching… his… videos… reading ‘his’ stories. Yeah, him, Slenderman. Now don’t get me wrong. When I first heard of him and other things like Jeff the Killer, and ect. I didn't care much. Web fads. “Don’t fall into them Adam.” I’d tell myself. Heh, yeah right. But the stories intrigued me. Always have. Myths, legends, Kryptids. All so fascinating, ya know. I read a bunch of stuff about the slender guy, the Tall Man, whatever his name is in German. Thought he was cool and pretty creepy. Then I heard about how he was made up by a kid to win some contest. Lost some of my interest then. But I still checked stuff out from time to time… and tonight was one of those times.

I can’t really say I was ever afraid of ole Slendy. I mean they say you have to believe and be scared for him to get cha. But… anytime I did sit and think, “What if he comes for me?” I’d just snort and figure, “Hell, if he’s real, then everything in my head would be too. And then he wouldn't be able to hurt me with my power!” Yeah, I’d be safe. Don’t have to worry bout it. Stupid way to think. Better safe than sorry.

I’m not the biggest chicken, but… sometimes I get freaked out. Well, I got thirst so I wanted to go down the hall… that… dark… black… abyss of a damned hallway, so I could get a bottle of water. I opened my bed room door and pushed the unlocked baby gate we use to keep dogs out of certain rooms, out of my way and stepped into the hall. All I could see was a little light, from the street light outside, peeking in the window. Must be a small crack in between the curtains in the living room. That calmed me down, some light. Just a little.

I started making my way down the hall, slowly, trying not to focus or think too hard and give myself a headache. I made it about two-thirds of the way to where I could just see into the living room, the kitchen to my right, living room to the left. Why in God’s holy name did I look left? I saw it, a dark figure, tall, slim. Standing, sorta... slouched, too tall for the house. I got goose-bumps up my arse crack but settle myself and rubbed my eyes, shaking my head. Just too much creepy pasta, yeah, too much YouTube. I moved my hands from my eyes and looked back up, waited for them to focus again with the tiny… tiny bit of light. God save me. He was still there! I turned and walked back to my room as fast and quiet as I could. I didn't want to wake my mom up. I went into my room, fully closed the baby gate and my door. Then I locked the door. I don’t know why, it never works when they do it in the damned stories, but I did. I’m on my bed now, writing this out. It’s now three-o-one am…. Took a while to write it but I needed to. I guess he is real, and I can’t shape-shift so. Yeah, heh, needless to say, I’m still thirsty.

[secret-engima]

Snippet of Among FFXV - Cor

(Yes I’m still doing this and still having fun, just got distracted from it for a while).

...

     Regis frowned, “He’s not creepy, he’s just … different. And a little obsessed with science. Besides, he has a child with him.”

     Cor raised an eyebrow, “I was a child when my progenitor was thrown in a pit of lava by the humans he tried to infiltrate and kill. It’s rare, but there are records of Imposters who brought their offspring with them during an infiltration. Usually male ones. It’s theorized that the females aren’t dumb enough to take their offspring into such a dangerous scenario unless there are at least two other backup Imposters.” He saw Regis’s gaping look and shrugged, “Mors didn’t have any other Imposters for me to fight or learn from, but he did have access to all the records the military has on prior attacks and observed behavior.”

     There were so many things Regis could say to that. Rather than the ones that would have gotten his mouth washed with soap, Regis managed a weak, “How do they know that the Imposters were male?”

     “Imposter remains recovered from space after ejecting them from airlocks and stuff show distinct sexual dimorphism in their hunting form.” There was a beat where Cor seemed to think that was answer enough, then he saw Regis’s baffled look and added blithely, “The females have thinner tentacles but more of them than males. Also, the females tend to have barbed stabbing tongues to pin prey in place since their tentacles are more easily injured and not quite as good at restraining a struggling target.”

     “Barbed stabbing tongue.”

     “Yeah. Imposter tongues in their hunting form are essentially spring-loaded, so males can stab prey with them too, but that just punctures the prey and then retracts. Female’s tongues have a sharp barb on the tip. It can stab through a human torso at speeds roughly akin to a small bullet. The barb then expands so it won’t go back through the hole and the tongue retracts, dragging the prey to the female Imposter’s- you don’t look so good, I’m sorry, is this hurting your mental wellbeing?”

     Regis rested his head on the cool surface of the table and focused on breathing. He felt Cor worriedly pat his back and waved a weak hand, “I’ll be fine. I just … I just need a minute.” Spring-loaded tongues. How in the name of the Astrals had humanity survived stepping two inches into space when there was a shape-shifting species out there whose women had spring-loaded barbed death tongues?

     Promptly deciding to shove that piece of information away in a little lockbox and never think about it again, Regis sat up, “Okay. I think I’m good. Well … we can’t do anything about the other Imposter yet, so let’s just … stay together and keep an eye out. The other Imposter will try again eventually.” Regis fidgeted for a moment, “Will you please keep an eye on Clarus, Weskham, and Cid? I … if the other Imposter got them-.”

     Cor nodded, “I understand. As long as it doesn’t put you in danger, I’ll protect them too.”

     Regis exhaled and tried not to feel guilty over how relieved that statement made him, “Thank you, Cor. Now, we should be getting back to bed-,” Regis caught a glimpse of tentacles as thick as his forearms sliding out from under Cor’s shirt and added hastily, “We’ll walk back, thank you, no more venting for tonight. If we walk together and anyone is awake to notice us, we can always say that you wanted a midnight snack and I was acting as your partner in the buddy system.”

     The tentacles slid back under the shirt, which then smoothed like there had never been anything inhuman there to begin with, “Okay.”

     No one was awake to notice them returning except for Verstael’s toddler, who was obediently cuddled up next to the sleeping man’s side. Regis smiled at the little boy and raised a finger to his lips in a silent shushing noise. The toddler lifted a pudgy finger in mimicry, big blue eyes wide, and stayed utterly quiet as Regis and Cor crawled under their respective blankets and tried to go back to sleep. Exhausted from everything that had happened, Regis found himself drifting off despite his stress.

     It only occurred to him in his dreams to wonder how he’d seen the blue of the child’s eyes in the pitch black room.

[itshardcandy]

Strawberry Flavor - Part 1

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader, Min Yoongi x Reader, Park Jimin x Reader

8789 Words

Genre: Fluff, Idiots Friends to lovers, crack

Warnings: None except some super light swearing, an unhealthy obsession for Jimin’s cakes ( I think i might have a problem idk ) and some light flirting ( I tried to create some mild tension at the end... not sure I did it right ) 

Summary: What’s a girl to do when her handsome colleague, her sweet business partner and her mysterious, piano playing friend compete for 1st place on the list of her favourite people?  

Heavily inspired by the “Another Story” individual stories in the BTS World game but with a twist. The final pairing isn’t fully decided, yet, so if you have some input or some suggestions or just a burning desire for me to twist the story into a certain direction please let me know and maybe we can work something out ;) 

IPlease don’t hesitate to give feedback and like & reblog if you enjoyed <3

______

“Strawberry Flavor! Strawberry Flavor, where are you?”

Hotel-service intern Kim Seokjin rushed into the kitchen of the hotel restaurant to find you, his colleague and only friend in this hell of an establishment,

“Yah, Strawberry Flavor! This is important, where are you?”

He knew the kitchen area would be empty at this time, save for you. Most of your colleagues had already clocked out for the night but you usually stayed longer to wait for Seokjin to finish his shift as well. Which is why he busted through the doors of the locker room, guns blazing, to find you already waiting for him and packing your things,  

“Ah, there you are! Didn’t you hear me?”

Accusingly, he thrust his hands in your direction, which were full of laundry items. You turned around, wide-eyed and flabbergasted at Seokjin’s dramatic entrance in the break room,

“Kim Seokjin, I swear on all that’s holy in this world, one of these days I will bash your head in with a frying pan, if you yell at me like that again!”

You pointed at his smug face and tried to look like you actually meant it,

“I could have been changing in here, you punk! Don’t you have any manners? Jeez, you give a guy leftover chicken and suddenly he thinks he owns the place…”,

Jin took a moment to process your words before he smiled at you and rolled his eyes,

“Ah, Strawberry Flavor, I’m sorry, I’m just so excited! You said there’s more leftover chicken again today, what am I supposed to do? Stay calm?”

You didn’t actually mean anything you said, of course, you adored your tall, handsome and broad-shouldered colleague and were glad that you had become friends. Or so he liked to think, at least,

“Yes! That is absolutely what you are supposed to do!”

You tried to answer without a smile creeping on your face but seeing Jin just did that to people. He was handsome, sure, but his face, when he got a little worked up over something, was one the funniest things known to mankind,

“You know I can’t be held responsible for my actions when chicken is involved…”

He dropped his gaze and kicked at imaginary dirt on the ground. You took a deep breath and remembered that Seokjin was essentially an overgrown child with an even more overgrown appetite,

“I saved it for you, no one’s going to steal it”

You said and Jin huffed, pouting at you,

“Ok…”

You noticed the laundry in his hands just now,

“Did Areum give you more laundry, again?”

You asked as you pointed at the various blankets and stuffed animals he was carrying,

“She said she wants them dry cleaned by tomorrow morning. How am I supposed to do that? Everyone already left…”

He explained and you sighed. That girl knew how to keep him on his toes,

“Well, you just have to come in early tomorrow and beg the guys from laundry to run an express load”

You checked the contents of your purse, before turning back to Seokjin again,

“Hm, you’re right. I should drop this in the laundry bins, right? Be right back!”

He mumbled and turned on his heels to leave,

“Can you heat the chicken up for me, please? Thank you”

You heard him say as the doors closed behind him. You shook your head and let out a long breath,

“This guy really has no shame”

You said to yourself as you grabbed your things and went to work on the chicken for Jin, so you both could finally leave, as soon as he got back.

------

As you walked along the beach promenade, a Tupperware in hand containing Jin’s chicken, you listened to him munch on a piece of it while he tried to recount all events of the day to you. Apparently, the lady, who had been staying in 306 for the last week, wasn’t as sweet as you thought. Jin told you about this morning, when he went to bring her breakfast to her room and she pinched his butt while he was on the way out. His eyes almost bulged out of his head, he was so invested in his own story,

“And then she said the bacon looks good this morning! The bacon, Strawberry Flavor! As in MY bacon! Can you believe?!”

Were he not so busy to stuff his mouth full of the wings you had saved for him, he would have ranted on about it for hours,

“No, Jin, I can’t, in fact, believe”,

“I know it looks good, I have eyes, after all, but just pinching my bacon like it was a cheap side dish…”

“Absolutely outrageous”

You commented while typing away on your phone. You knew by now that you just needed to pay attention at the right moment to appease Jin’s ego,

“Exactly!”

He flung his hand around and looked like he tried to fight someone with the chicken leg, that he was currently holding,

“Did you say anything to her? Or did you just do that creepy customer-service fake smile”

You asked, already knowing that, even if Jin talked a big game now, he probably just squeaked like a squirrel when the thirsty grandma felt him up and looked like a deer caught in the headlights when she shut the door in his face. Deep down, he probably enjoyed the attention, though,

“No, I didn’t. can’t risk an additional complaint from any of the guests with all the negative points I keep scoring with Areum…”  

He mumbled and his puffed chest deflated a bit at that,

“Ah Seokjin, don’t worry! I’m sure Areum will see soon how much effort you put into everything she makes you do!”

You patted his shoulder reassuringly and handed him a tissue to wipe the spicy chicken sauce off his face,

“Thanks, Strawberry Flavor, you always know what to say…”

Unbeknownst to you, Jin was thankful for more than just your kind words and company today. He was thankful for a lot more when it came to you and the chicken was only the cherry on top of the biggest, most delicious scoop of heart-shaped ice cream, he had ever imagined in his life.

When you two met on the day you were examined as a potential addition to the kitchen staff at the hotel, he didn’t think you’d become such an integral part of his life but he’s certainly thankful things played out the way they did. Even though he wishes he was brave enough to ask you for more, he is content to just be the best friend to you, that he could be. You deserved it. If not for you, he would have been kicked out of the hotel multiple times already because he just kept messing up so much. Most of the kitchen staff still avoided him because of the wedding cake incident a few months back. He cringed inwardly; it had not been pretty,

“And even if she doesn’t and tells Manager about all your shortcomings and he kicks you out, you can count on me to save you chicken from time to time!”

He almost chokes on said chicken when he has to laugh at your poor attempt to lighten the mood,

“Jin, you need to swallow!”

He could only laugh harder and it made you smile,

“Yah! Stop laughing! You’re gonna choke! I don’t know any first aid…”

You clapped him on the back and he slowly calmed down, still cackling like a little kid. You wanted to see him laugh like this more often, lately, because interning at the hotel wasn’t working out so well for him. He had a lot of difficulties with the service and it didn’t help that he was assigned as Areum’s caretaker during the time she would be staying at the hotel. That little girl… you knew she was only 7 but she drove you up the wall sometimes. Especially when she scolded Jin for all the things he did wrong, which was a regular occurrence,

“I’m fine, I’m fine, do you have any more tissues, though?”

Jin asked and you dug around your purse until you found one. He coughed roughly and then took a deep breath,

“Phew… Let’s just hope Manager keeps me around a little longer, yeah?”

He smiled at you and you nodded,

“He has to, or I’m going on strike. See how he handles the rioting guests when there are no more Special Strawberry Flavor Pancakes around!”

Jin puts his arm around your shoulder and hugs you to his side a little awkwardly,

“Ahh, don’t do that, you’ll be fired, too! And then who will be my chicken hero?”

You cough out an awkward laugh at the physical contact and quickly try to get your bearings back,

“Ok, ok… I won’t go on strike”

“And I’ll figure something out with Areum… she’s just a kid, how hard could it be to find something she likes to do? Do you think maybe I should try bribing her with candy?”

You opened your mouth to answer when a familiar voice interrupted you,

“Hey Rice Cake, I’m over here!”

It was your roommate Park Jimin; passionate dancer and number 1 rice cake enthusiast. He was waiting for you at the bus stop like he usually did to pick you up after work. He insisted on doing so, even if he had to take a few extra buses after dance practice to get here.

You happily waved at him and turned to Jin to say goodbye for tonight,

“There’s my ride. Well, my companion for the bus ride, anyway… You should probably come up with something more creative than bribing a little girl with candy, though, ok? I’ll see you tomorrow! Good night!”,

“Yeah, ok… Good night, Strawberry Flavor”

He smiled and waved half-heartedly after you already turned around and walked towards your friend. Park Jimin seemed like a good guy, as far as he could tell; he obviously cared about you enough to go out of his way to get you home safe and in Jin’s books that was the least you deserved. Still, he would rather he was the one to accompany you on your way home.

 _________

As Jimin watched you say goodbye to your colleague he briefly wondered why you still let him be the one to take you home when there was this tall, good-looking man in your life, who, clearly, was head over heels for you. He had known the minute he met Kim Seokjin for the first time a few months ago, that the handsome hotelier had the hots on for you. He couldn’t fault the guy, though; he knew first-hand the power your pretty smile and beautiful personality held. If Jimin didn’t feel so insecure and small in the presence of the other man, maybe they could have become friends but all Jimin could see, was a really tall, handsome and impressively built obstacle in the way of his plan to get you to be his girl when he looked at Kim Seokjin.

Jimin loses his self-deprecating train of thought pretty quickly though, when you enter his personal space and hug his arm to your chest,

“Jiminahh, I had such a good day! I can’t wait to tell you all about it”

You smiled at him and for a few precious moments he just felt lucky to have you in his life at all. Kim Seokjin and his good looks be damned. He reached for your hand and took your bag to carry it for you. He knows you would never admit it, because you’re a strong, independent woman, who don’t need no man but you secretly loved that he did all these little things to make your life a little easier. Even if it was just carrying a bag, that, quote unquote: wasn’t even really that heavy,

“Yeah? Tell me about it”

He smiled down at you, as you both went to sit down on the bench and waited for the bus to arrive and take you home,

“It was my turn to decorate all the little pastries and cakes today! Well… after I fried a shit ton of chicken for the buffet in the conference room”

You answered and Jimin smiled to himself. Decorating cakes was one of your favourite things to do, even when you helped him out in your spare time in the little rice-cake shop he inherited from his late grandmother. He was quite good at it himself, too, having watched his grandma make and decorate rice cakes with a burning passion for years, but he let you do it whenever possible, just so he could watch your face scrunch up cutely in concentration when you bent over the sweet little treats and painted fantastic floral works of art on them,

“Sounds like you had a lot of fun today”

He commented and you nodded,

“I did. And Manager even said I did good today, so that was worth all the hours I spent covered in chicken grease afterwards”

You stifled a yawn after you said that and Jimin laughed quietly. You did actually smell faintly of fried chicken but honestly? That was just a bonus because you looked like a snack already.

Just as he was about to comment on your fried chicken smell, the bus rolled into the station and you took your seats and fell into a comfortable silence for the duration of the ride. It wasn’t too long of a way home but it was enough for you take a quick nap on your friend’s shoulder, before he gently shook you awake again, to signal the imminent arrival of the bus at your station. You followed Jimin outside and as the bus rode on peacefully, you walked the rest of the way towards the rice cake shop and the apartment you shared upstairs.

You felt thankful for it every time you set foot in your shared home because it had been the first good thing to happen to you in a long while. Starting off as Granny Park’s apprentice in the rice cake business, you first met Jimin as he was about to head out and handle some deliveries for the day. He was shy at first but quickly warmed up to you when he noticed how seriously you took your work and how respectful and hard-working you were with his grandmother. Granny Park taught you and her grandson how to make the most delicious little cakes and she had even let you live in the spare room in the apartment she shared with Jimin. She had given you so much and you were determined to prove worthy of her trust. Sadly, not long after she had taken you in and you and Jimin became close friends, she passed away and left you and her grandson to continue to run the shop. You and Jimin had made some significant changes to the way the shop operated and now, it ran more profitable than ever before.  You hoped Jimin could see how happy and grateful you still were now, months later.

Jimin dropped your bag in your room and you took a few minutes for yourself to change into more comfortable clothing and wash up. Even though you got to do something fun at work today, doesn’t mean you weren’t exhausted and ready to drop dead on the bed. You took your phone out of your bag and swan dived onto the sheets. A few notifications were waiting for you, including a few texts from Jin and Yoongi, another friend of yours. Apparently Jin had finished all the chicken before he arrived home, which was a new record for him and he had sent you a selfie of him and the empty Tupperware to prove it. You snickered and replied with a few thumbs up.

[You 20:34]: Glad u liked it! U know I never met anyone with such an unhealthy love for chicken, right?

[SeokJerk 20:35]: Ha… then stop feeding my addiction! Shaming me while enabling me… smh

[You 20:36]: Ugh why am I friends with u…

Jin sent an angel emoji and you decided that was enough Jin for today and then switched to Yoongi’s chat. It was just a series of pictures of a few different outfits and a question mark at the end. He was a man of few words. You knew Yoongi had an important gig coming up and he desperately needed your input, so it didn’t surprise you that he didn’t send an entire paragraph voicing his concerns about the wrong choice of attire. You answered with number 3 and a few flame emojis and heart eyes. Going for the fancy choice while also maintaining his casual style seemed like the best way to go. He replied a few seconds later with a thumbs up. Just as you were about to put down the phone, it dinged with another text from your roommate. Why he didn’t just knock and ask whatever it was he wanted, you didn’t know. He was probably being lazy like you right now.

[Mochi 20:46]: u still up? Netflix? Or u too tired?

You debated that for a second; it was only 9 pm, you could probably remain conscious for another 2 hours or so. Even though you had to pass by the hotel to meet Jin for lunch, you could sleep in.

[You 20:48]: Sure, u gotta come here tho bc I’m not moving

2 minutes later your door creaked as Jimin opened it and walked in the room with his laptop balanced on his arm,

“I picked something good this time, I swear”

He did, in fact, not pick something good.

________

 When you woke up the next morning, Jimin was already out and about, busy bee that he is. You didn’t have to worry about getting ready just yet, since you didn’t have to meet Jin for another few hours, so you enjoyed the feeling of your soft and warm sheets for a few more minutes and played around on your phone until there was nothing left to do but get up.

Should you have breakfast? A question you asked yourself every day, regardless of the fact that the answer was always no. So, you skipped the trip to the kitchen for now and jumped in the shower straight away.

You should take care of some boring chores and house work today, as well, preferably before you met Jin.

The rice cake shop was closed for today so you didn’t have to worry about the mess downstairs for now. Maybe Jimin had left out some treats for you to take with you. You would go through the shop and check when you left.

___________  

“Yah, Seokjin! Stop hoarding the sauce!”

You snatched the little bowl from under his nose while he was distracted and finally, you could dip your food into the spicy goodness,

“Leave some in there for other people”

You added and Jin tried to act like he didn’t know you were chastising him, of all people. It was no use anyway, so you changed the topic,

“Did you get Areum’s laundry done on time?”

Seokjin nodded his head, while chewing on a spoonful of rice,

“Luckily, yes. I owe the guys from laundry big time”

He swallowed the rice and took a deep, sobering breath,

“Don’t know what she would have done, if I didn’t show up with her favourite blanket, this morning…”

He visibly shuddered at the thought and you also felt an unpleasant tingle slide down the length of your spine,

“Let’s just be thankful you’re still in one piece, hm?”

You smiled sweetly at him and Jin briefly forgot what had him so shook just seconds ago. He watched you eat some grilled vegetables for a few moments until he snapped out of his reverie,

“Thank you for meeting me for lunch, Strawberry Flavor, it would have been so boring alone…”,

“You mean there would have been less food for you to devour”

You snickered to yourself and Jin huffed,

“Don’t make me look so bad, you brat! I’m still older than you, show some respect!”

He couldn’t help but smile at how, even he, couldn’t take himself seriously. You started laughing and had to put down the food you were about to put in your mouth,

“Alright, alright, I’m so sorry, Seokjin-Oppa… I promise I’ll be a good girl from now on, ok?”

You dragged out his name and your lips formed the most adorable little pout. Although he knew you were teasing him just now, Jin felt warmth flood his cheeks and he cleared his throat,

“Ah… yes… don’t worry about it, Strawberry Flavor”

He tried to sound casual but his voice betrayed him. Alas, he was but a man, sat in front of the prettiest woman he knew, trying not to look like the complete simp he was for you. A few moments of food-related silence ensured until you put down your bowl,

“I almost forgot, I brought these for you”

You suddenly started digging around in your purse and produced a little package wrapped in simple brown paper,

“These are from a batch Jimin and I made last night. They didn’t come out shaped as nicely as usual but I thought you wouldn’t mind having them, since we can’t sell them like this”

You held the package out to him and he put down his chopsticks to receive it,

“Seriously? You didn’t have to!”

He stumbled over his own words because he felt a little touched. You thought to bring him some of your lovely rice cakes? He unwrapped the package and found a colourful assortment of sweet rice treats in the paper,

He slapped a hand over his face in a theatrical way,

“Ahh, I can’t look at them for too long, they are so pretty! Strawberry Flavor, what are you doing to me…?”

You giggled happily like a little kid when you saw his reaction to the cakes and he had to smile,

“You have to look, though, if you want to eat them!”

You tried to gently lift his hand from his eyes,

“It’s too dangerous, I’ll go blind…”

He loved making you laugh, so he would ride this wave as long as you would let him,

“So, you’re never gonna look at my cakes again?”

Well. Not that he would mind looking at your cakes once in a while, he just felt really inappropriate doing so. Or were you talking about the rice cakes? Probably the more likely option…

“Don’t sound so disappointed”

He lifted his hand and put the cakes down on the table in front of him,

“What if I feed you one? You won’t have to look then”

“Ah, Strawberry Flavor, you’re so smart! I never would have thought of that”

You rolled your eyes at him but still you smiled. You picked up your chopsticks, lifted a rice cake from the package and held it to Jin’s lips. He slowly opened up and let you place the small treat inside his mouth.

You stared at him expectantly, eyes wide,

“Good?”

You asked and, even if the cakes didn’t taste as amazing and sweet as they did, Jin would have told you they were the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. He closed his eyes and savoured the taste before he answered:

“They are amazing”

Your lips spread into a shy smile,

“Really?”

“Really”

“Maybe you can share them with the laundry staff as a thank you?”

You suggested and Jin’s eyes went wide in disbelief,

“Are you kidding? I may owe them but I don’t owe them enough for that”,

“You are impossible”,

“Impossible to please, yes, but these are pretty close to perfection”

He grinned and you tried to hide your smile,

“Now give me one more”

He opened his mouth and waited for you to feed him another rice cake. It really was the simple things in life, huh?

_________  

Over the course of the next week you and Jimin perfected the new recipe for the revolutionised rice cakes you were going to permanently keep in your assortment of treats in the shop and they turned out to be just the right amount of chewy and sweet. You might have used Jin as your personal lab rat and fed him an obscene amount of cakes until his eyes got glassy and his shoulders sagged in satisfaction. ‘This is heavenly’ he had mumbled while chewing and you knew it wouldn’t get any better than that. Jimin trusted your opinion but he had, of course, also tasted a fair amount of cakes before he agreed with Jin’s judgement. Both of you were lucky you got a few extra days off, since you had collected some overtime in the last month, which gave you enough time to work on the cake recipe. Jimin was grateful for the extra time he got to spend with you, even if Jin had intruded on some of it. At least he got to feed you some of the extra cakes while Jin watched and tried to hide the, very much obvious, jealousy on his face.

That evening, when Jin left, he had touched your upper arm for just long enough for Jimin to consider it inappropriate. Of course, you were oblivious to their childish behaviour.

Today was your last day off before a new week of work started and there were no more cakes to prepare for the shop. Last night, Yoongi had texted you to ask if you wanted to join him for coffee and keep him company while he practised a piece for another upcoming show. You had said yes, since you hadn’t seen your friend in a while and you were happy, he wanted to spend time with you. He was the elusive kind of friend that surfaced out of the blue after periods of being completely dead to the world.

On your way to the university he studied at, you picked up coffee for both of you and a snack for Yoongi, since he usually forgot to eat when he was working on something. You found him in the usual place, already sitting at the piano on the far side of the room, playing away and not noticing your arrival until you plopped down on the bench next to him,

“Hey, Piano Man, take a coffee break”

He stopped playing and turned to you, clearly not having expected you yet,

“I didn’t think you’d be here so soon”

He said, a surprised pout on his lips. You smiled and handed him the coffee and the snack you brought him,

“Left early so I could get you some sustenance”

“How do you know me so well, hm?”

He squinted his eyes at you suspiciously before opening the paper bag and taking an experimental sniff, then nodding approvingly,

“Well, I don’t have that many redeeming qualities but I like to think keeping the people I care about fed, so they stay healthy, is one of my better ones”

You smiled shyly and took a sip of your own coffee. You were wrong though, Yoongi thought. You had a ton of good qualities; far more than he ever thought could be found in a single person. You were the reason he was still in school, after all, and to hell if you didn’t think that counted for something,

“I don’t like it when you do that”

He mumbled under his breath and took a sip of that sweet, sweet bean juice that would bring warmth back into his heart and soul,

“Do what?”

You asked, creasing your brows in confusion,

“That thing where you talk badly about yourself and cover it up with humour”

You huffed and ran a hand through your hair,

“You act like you don’t do that, too”

You accused him and he gave you a look that just said ‘really?’

“I don’t, not like that, anyway. I know I’ve got some good qualities, I’m just super insecure, anxious and nervous at all times, there’s a difference”

Well. He got you there,

“So, stop talking like that, yeah? You know you’re a good person, Serenity, no need to doubt yourself”

He knew he didn’t have a way with words as much as he had a way with the keys on the piano. He just hoped that the essence of what he meant bled through the words and reached your core. He really did mean it like that: you were a good person. In fact, you were the best person in his life, even if he couldn’t show it in a way that he felt would be meaningful enough for you. Through all the problems and hardships thrown at him by his professors and the university and all the obstacles placed in his path by all the policies, regulations and deadlines, you had been there to support him and provide him with advice. You grounded him when his nerves threatened to reach a breaking point and you helped him find the calm and peaceful place in himself that he could retreat to when the world became too much.  

He had told you so in his own way; calling you his Serenity, when he felt you needed a push to take his words seriously,

“Alright… I’ll work on it, ok?”

You picked at your nails when you agreed and he was satisfied with the conclusion,

“Ok”

He said calmly and sipped his coffee,

“So, how’s practice going?”

You asked, changing the topic,  

“You tell me. You heard me playing when you snuck in like a damn ninja”

Yoongi answered and grinned,

“Everything you play sounds good to me but I’m also not a professional musician, so my opinion isn’t really gonna help you much…”

You would always tell him when you liked a piece, he introduced you to but beyond that? You had close to zero knowledge about music and all the terms and whatnot used to describe it, so Yoongi would have to be satisfied with you either saying ‘it’s great’ or ‘I love it’ repeatedly,

“Hm, fair enough”

He grumbled and turned back to the keyboard. To anyone else, he probably sounded condescending but you two were close enough for you to know, that was far from his intention. He just gave off particularly grumpy and unapproachable vibes at all times.

He sighed loudly and rolled his head around to loosen up some tension in his neck and shoulders,

“Alright… well, will you listen to it anyway?”

He asked and placed his hands on the keys according to the notes on the music sheet,

“Take it away, Maestro”

You said and the smallest smile crept its way onto his face before it scrunched up in concentration and he started playing.

_________  

Work was really slow today for some reason. Well, as slow as work in the kitchen of a hotel with hundreds of guests can be. But it felt slower than usual and you had yet to feel like ripping your uniform off and quitting dramatically in the heat of the moment, like you usually did. The majority of the guests currently occupying the rooms were tourists, who only visited the small fishermen town for the yearly celebration of exactly that: the fishermen who had inspired the people of the town to celebrate their work over the hundreds of years since the town had been established. By now fishing wasn’t the main source of the town’s income anymore but regardless, the tradition of celebrating was still going strong. The main source of income was now tourism.

It also meant dinner shift didn’t make you want to repeatedly punch the wall. Who would’ve thought that less guests equals less work?

As you enjoyed a few minutes of relative peace and quiet in the kitchen, you thought about your own relationship with the festival. A while ago, you and your friends, and also some of their friends, had decided you’d all visit the festival together this year and you were looking forward to it. You and Jimin would have to man your little rice cake booth for a while but since you were the business owners you could decide when you would close up and enjoy the rest of the festivities. You would probably only have the booth up during the day and leave it closed in the evening so you would have time to join your friends and get the party going. The festival was approaching fast and you had a feeling it would be a series of nights to remember.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a few new room-service orders, delivered by none other than your favourite colleague and intern, Seokjin. He entered the kitchen through the big double doors and invaded your workspace like it was nothing. Classic Jin,

“Strawberry Flavor, do you have time to make all this? It’s for Areum and another guest”

He handed you a note with a couple of orders scribbled onto it in terrible handwriting. Luckily you were accustomed to Jin’s writing by now and deciphering it was no problem for you anymore,

“Hm, sure, although… it’s already pretty late, Areum shouldn’t have any sugar before bedtime, don’t you think?”

You answered and Jin nodded, looking thoughtful,

“I guess you’re right… what else can you make for her? I don’t wanna show up empty handed”

You mulled it over for a second, tapping you bottom lip with your pointer finger,

“How about something light like a yogurt with a little bit of fruit in it? Nothing special but I can make it look really nice for her”

You suggested and taped the note to your workstation, so you could get started on the other orders, as well,

“Sounds good”

Jin simply said and leaned against the counter to watch you prepare the food. Like yours, his day had been a little less eventful than usual and he was thankful for the extra time he got to relax in between chores. He chose to use a few minutes to talk to you and watch you work. He liked seeing you whirl around the kitchen and grabbing ingredients here and there to put together a perfect meal. He loved food and he loved it even more when you were the one to prepare it. He was sure all the guests that were lucky enough to have their food made by you could taste all the love and effort you put into it,

“Jin, can you come help me? I can’t reach the damn pan on the shelf!”

Jin listened up and pushed himself away from the counter to walk over to where you were standing on your tiptoes, trying to reach the highest shelf,

“Sure”

He said and before you could step aside to make room for him, he stood behind you and placed a hand right next to you to support his weight while he slightly pushed his body forward to reach the shelf. You felt his chest pressed to your back and suddenly your hands felt a little clammy,

“I can reach it but I can’t move it, there’s too much other stuff around on the shelf”

Jin said and you cursed the person who reorganized the shelves the other day,

“Wait a second, I’ll get you something to step on”

You mumbled and tried to move away from Jin but he had a different idea,

“Don’t bother, I’ll just pick you up and you can get it. It’ll be easier, just do it like this”

He maneuvered you around until he was leaning with his back against the shelf and you stood in front of him. Usually you would have protested against this. So much physical contact was not only strange for you and Jin but it was also inappropriate in your place of work,

“Jin, what are you doing?”

You mumbled to yourself while Jin was already bending his knees and wrapping his arms around your middle. You took a deep breath and let out a surprised squeak when Jin lifted you off the ground. The position was more than inappropriate but Jin didn’t seem to mind,

“Is this ok? Am I holding you too tight?”

He asked, seeming concerned with your uncomfortable expression,

“No, no”

You cleared your throat and started to support yourself with your hands on his shoulders,

“It’s fine, just… don’t drop me, ok?”

you looked down at his handsome face and he smiled gently up to you,

“Don’t worry, I won’t”

You held onto his shoulders a little tighter. They felt nice, strong. Did he work out?

“Can you get it?”

He asked and you remembered the pan, so you let go of his shoulders,

“Ah… yes, just a second”

No rush, thought Jin. You started rummaging around the shelf and moving things around to make room for the pan. While you moved around a little more you felt Jin squeeze you a little tighter and it didn’t feel as uncomfortable anymore.

Jin knew he had taken a risk with this but he also just wanted an opportunity to get closer to you. He didn’t do anything too inappropriate; he would never touch you in a way that would make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe. He knew you trusted him and he knew you knew that he valued that trust. Thus, he also knew, you wouldn’t mind it if he held you like this. Granted, he didn’t think his face would be this close to your boobs but it wasn’t like he would ever complain about that. He wouldn’t mind being even closer.

You had finally managed to procure the pan without pushing anything else off the shelf and Jin had let you slowly slide out of his secure grip until you were the one looking up at him, again. You brushed your shirt off and cleared your throat once more before awkwardly thanking him,

“I’ll get back to work…”

You mumbled and walked back to your station. You couldn’t exactly explain why you felt a little nervous all of a sudden. Or why your mouth had run dry. Or why you felt a tingle in the places where Jin’s big and gentle hands had touched you. You also couldn’t exactly explain why your innocent friendship suddenly didn’t feel so innocent anymore.

_________

Jimin couldn’t pick you up from work tonight and when you got home, you peeked through his open door and found him already fast asleep in his bed. You had hoped he would still be up when you came home but you guessed practice must have been especially exhausting today. You quietly closed the door and retreated to your own room to unwind and then go to sleep, too. Tomorrow would be an eventful day for both of you, since you needed to transport your little booth to its spot on the festival area and decorate it; make it look pretty and approachable for all the visitors and potential customers.

Together, you had developed a nice decoration scheme and decided to go with minimal but effective. Small but cute decorative figures and little Stickers for the children to take with them. Working with Jimin was always so easy. You couldn’t remember even a single time when you and him had to argue about something because you both preferred to stay rational and talk it out like adults.  

You had recruited Jin and one of Jimin’s closer friends, Namjoon, to help you transport and set up your booth. You weren’t thrilled at Joon’s involvement in the delicate process because the independent writer had a reputation for being one of the clumsiest people alive. And even if you were thankful for the help, you were going to need to be prepared to deal with any major damage Joon would most likely cause.

For now, all you wanted to do was sleep and recharge for the events of the next day, yet you felt restless.

Nervousness started to creep in on you and you only tossed and turned in your sheets, unable to fall asleep. Were your rice cakes really going to sell tomorrow? Would the visitors of the festival actually consider your booth and try the cakes? Maybe the recipe wasn’t perfect, yet, after all… Suddenly you sat up and sighed deeply,

“Ah.,. let’s just check the recipe one last time, I won’t be able to sleep, anyway”

You mumbled to yourself and pulled a thin nightgown over your body before you made your way back through the dark apartment. Stumbling over a box you or Jimin left in the hallway, you made your way down into the shop and started putting together the ingredients for the dough. You tried to rustle around the kitchen as quietly as possible, not wanting to risk waking up Jimin, who clearly needed the rest more than you,

“Ok… let’s do this”

Cracking your knuckles, you looked at the prepared work space.

The bowls of ingredients stared back at you, taunting you and your skills as a baker,

“Ugh, this is ridiculous”

You rolled your eyes and took a deep breath. It couldn’t be so hard, could it? Why was this making you so nervous?

“Rice cake? What are you doing in the shop so late?

Jimin’s soft voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned around to see him standing on the last step the stairs and leaning against the wall. He was looking at you, squinting his eyes sleepily and trying to adjust to the light,

“Jimin, why are you up? Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I tried to be quiet”

You said and moved around a little to try and cover up the bowls behind you,

“Are you ok? You look stressed”

Jimin walked over to you and put his hand against your forehead, trying to feel your temperature,

“I’m fine, I just couldn’t sleep”

You pulled his hand away from your forehead,

“Do you need something to help you sleep? Tea, maybe? I can make you some soup or porridge- “

“Jimin, I’m fine, really”

You smiled at his suggestions, loving how he wanted to care of you,

“Thank you, though. I think I just need a minute or so, to calm down”

He nodded and pursed his lips, then he noticed all the stuff behind you on the counter,

“What’s all this?”

He craned his neck to get a better look and you gently pushed against his chest to avoid having to explain yourself,

“You want to prepare cakes, right now? It’s the middle of the night”

His creased brows and confused expression made you feel a little bit guilty,

“What’s really going on? Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

He asked and you felt yourself at a loss for words,

“I- “

You were surprised time and time again, how well Jimin knew you and could how easily he could tell what really went on inside your head,

“Well… if you really wanna know, then, yes. I’m a little worried”

You confessed and turned your eyes to the floor, then continued your explanation:

“I’m worried people won’t like our booth and the cakes. We’ve put so much work into this shop… what if it was all just a waste of time? I know the locals like what we do but that won’t be enough to sustain a growing business for long, you know? I was hoping we’d branch out eventually, maybe open up another shop in the next big city, or something. If we can’t convince a few lousy tourists to buy from us, then how are we going to establish ourselves anywhere else?”

“That’s what you’re worried about? That people won’t like the cakes?”

He asked and you pouted. When he said it like that, your worries seemed so small and unreasonable,

“Yeah…”

You kicked at some imaginary dirt, wanting to avoid Jimin’s kind eyes at every cost but he wouldn’t have it, trying to wiggle into your line of sight even if you turned your head away from him,

“Hey, Rice Cake, look at me…”

“No, I feel stupid for worrying”

“It’s not stupid to care about what you do. This shop and the cakes, they’re your babies. They’re also my babies but without you, I wouldn’t even have made it to this point. So, don’t feel stupid for wanting to succeed”

Maybe he had a point, you thought. You let out a quiet breath and lifted your gaze to find Jimin smiling reassuringly at you,

“Ok”

“Ok? You sure?”

He asked and gently nudged your arm with his elbow,

“Yes, I’m sure”

You said, finally smiling again,

“Good. Now tell me… is it only me, or are you suddenly craving something sweet?”

Jimin raised his brows expectantly,

“I don’t know, I guess I could eat something”

You answered and Jimin chuckled,

“Then it’s a good thing we’re both so good at baking, right?”

Jimi whipped past you and started to mix up all the stuff you had laid out and you just watched in astonishment, unable to believe the nerve of this guy,

“What are you waiting for? Get to it, the flour won’t sift itself”

You just shook your head, smiling to yourself and thanking every higher power out there, that Park Jimin existed in your life.

The two of you worked in comfortable silence for a while. You worked well together in the kitchen. All the time spent down here, working on recipes, manoeuvring around the limited space without bumping into each other had really helped your coordination as a team. Jimin had whipped up some creamy dough and you were about to prepare the steamer. You watched Jimin whisk the mixture a little more until he was satisfied with the consistency. You watched him curiously, prepared to take the batter off his hands and form little balls to put in the steamer but you found yourself not only watching the whisk but also the arm whisking it. A very nice arm, one might say. Smooth skin, visible veins and strong muscle, all working together to create a picture you found yourself admiring a little, if you were being honest. Objectively speaking, Jimin was handsome; no one, not even you, could deny it. Years of passionate dancing had shaped his body in a way, that you could definitely appreciate. Even though you lived together, you had never seen Jimin wearing less than jeans and a t-shirt. An unspoken rule about decency had always kept you two from crossing each other when you were wearing anything other than a full outfit. The fact that he was standing before you in a tank top and sleeping shorts, was what made this situation feel even more out of the ordinary, than it already did.

You pulled your nightgown tighter around yourself, more aware of your own state of (un)-dress. Your shorts were even shorter than Jimin’s and you wondered, if he also felt a little weird about the situation. If he did, he didn’t let it show,

“You ready for me, Rice Cake?”

He asked you without looking up from the bowl,

“Yes, I’m ready”

“Wanna taste it first? Make sure it’s good?”

Jimin’s voice suddenly didn’t sound so soft and gentle anymore. You stuttered and then cleared your throat,

“Um, I trust you”

You replied, sounding a little insecure,  

“You sure?”

Jimin looked up at you now, focused on your unsure expression. He put away the whisk and slowly dipped a finger into the batter and then placed it in his mouth, without breaking eye contact.

A quiet moan left him and he smiled,

“Come try it, have a little taste”

He beckoned you forward with a curled finger and your feet moved on their own accord until they were planted firmly on the ground, next to Jimin’s

“Ok”

You mumbled and looked up at him,

“Close your eyes”

He said and you sighed and let your eyes fall closed,

“I’m sure it’s good, we’ve worked on the recipe for- “

You were caught off guard and simply obeyed without a second thought, opening your mouth. A second later you felt Jimin place his finger on your tongue, covered in batter. You closed your lips around it and opened your eyes, finding Jimin’s gaze fixed on your lips, with his own slightly parted. You tasted the sweetness of the batter and let the taste overrun your senses. With your tongue slowly starting to move around Jimin’s finger and gently sucking on it, you were able to taste all of it; the sweet, the tangy and the slightly salty taste of Jimin’s skin.

“Good?”

He asked, voice sounding a little strained. You nodded,

“Yeah? You like it?”

He asked again and you looked up at him with wide eyes, slowly letting his finger slide out from between your lips,

“I like it”

You said and Jimin ran his other hand through his hair. He had to look away; you were too sexy for your own good.

And you didn’t even notice it! The worst of it all was, that he had never seen you wear anything like this before: just a camisole with thin straps and sleeping shorts. Not to mention that scrap of a night gown. He’d never seen so much of your skin and he had to admit, it was becoming harder and harder no to reach out and touch the smooth-looking skin of your upper arm, where your shoulders started, or accidentally brush his fingers against the soft skin of your thighs in passing.

He was about to pop the most uncomfortable boner while you licked your lips and didn’t even pretend to acknowledge the sexual tension in the small room,

“Ok, good…”

Jimin mumbled and wiped his finger on his shorts before he grabbed the bowl and stepped around you to the steamer. He quickly needed to focus on something else because he didn’t want to risk accidentally bumping his problem into you and making things awkward. He thought maybe you didn’t notice how his shorts slightly tented and he did his best to turn his body away from you, while he filled small portions of the batter into the steamer. Maybe he could get you to leave and have some time to cool down again,

“Ah… Rice Cake, why don’t you go ahead and wait upstairs, hm? This won’t take long. I’ll bring them up when they’re finished”

He smiled at you reassuringly,

“What are you talking about, this was my idea. I can’t let you slave away over this alone…”

You pouted slightly and took a step towards him,

“No, no, don’t worry! I’ll take care of it, get some rest, ok?”

You considered it for a second and then sighed. He may have sounded slightly more panicked than necessary but hey, if it did the trick,

“Ok, if you’re sure… I guess I’m a little more tired than before”

You said and promptly yawned,

“Go to sleep, you need the rest”

Jimin ushered you out with a wave of his hands and a last cute smile and then he could finally let out a deep breath,

“Well, that was close”

He said to himself, after he heard the door to the upper floor close, then wiped the metaphorical sweat off of his brow,

“Ah, seriously Jimin-ah, what are you, 12?”

he looked down at himself and pointed a finger at the, still very much visible, tent in his pants as a warning,

“You could have gotten us in trouble…”

Then he shook his head and sighed, remembering the little cakes in the steamer. He hoped you would already be asleep by the time he brought the last batch upstairs because he wouldn’t be able to handle the visual of him, feeding you a few of them, after what had just happened.

Later, when he was finally back in bed, he still wasn’t quite sure what had possessed him. You, however, slept like a blissfully ignorant baby that night.

_________

Thank you so much for reading! Part two is now here !

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Thrown Away

Case: 0092302

Name: Kieran Woodward Subject: Items recovered from the refuse of 98 Lancaster Road, Walthamstow Date: February 23rd, 2009 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

I work as a bin man for Waltham Forest Council. It’s not a bad job, really, as long as you can handle the smell and the early mornings, not to mention that when winter really gets going it can be pretty unpleasant. I’ve had to chip ice off more than a few bins in my time, just to get them open. Still, the pay’s pretty decent; at least it is once you throw in the overtime and the bonuses, and once you’ve done the rounds you’re usually off for the day, so you’re working fewer hours than your average office monkey; it’s just that those hours tend to be a lot less pleasant than anything you’re likely to find staring at some accounting spreadsheet. But I didn’t come here to talk about the benefits and problems of working in waste collection. At least, I guess I came to talk about one very specific problem that I encountered last year, when doing the rubbish collection for 93 Lancaster Road.

Now, you encounter weird things in this job all the time. People have an odd mental block – this idea that as soon as they put something in the bin it’s gone. It’s officially been made rubbish and no-one will ever see it again. The fact that someone had to take it from your bin to the landfill or the recycling centre doesn’t really enter their heads, and nobody ever seems to realise that up to a dozen people might be seeing what you throw away before it finally disappears forever. But no, as far as the rest of the world thinks about it, once it’s been thrown away, it’s gone, far beyond all human understanding. This leaves those of us who work in waste collection seeing kind of a strange side to humanity, but an honest one at that. If you’re a bit of a boozer, there’s every chance that your bin men know how much you drink better than you do because we empty all the bottles. And yes, we do remember, and we also get quite judgemental at times, although not about the things you might think – you can throw away a mountain of grotesque porn and, as long as you’ve tied it into neat bundles, we’re fine with it, but if you throw away cat litter without properly bagging that, you’d better believe that you’ve earned the hatred of every bin man that ever slung a sack. Still, I’m getting off topic.

Point is, the bag of dolls heads didn’t bother me. I mean, it was freaky, don’t get me wrong – hundreds of small plastic heads, staring out of the refuse sack at me, but aside from a slight rip on the side of the black bag, they were thrown away very neatly, and were easy enough to toss into the truck. The bag was full of them, mind. It was placed next to the green recycling bin and at first I thought that it was just a single doll with its head positioned near the tear, but when I tossed the bag into the truck the rip split, spilling forth a whole bunch of the things. At a guess I’d say there were over a hundred in there. They were made of hard, rigid plastic with that infant doll face that you seem to find on every toy like that. Several of them had different hair moulded or painted on, so it was clear that they weren’t simply from a hundred or so of the same doll. Someone had spent time acquiring a whole variety of different dolls, which they then beheaded and stuffed into the sack. They were very battered, but not with age – it looked as though someone had taken the brand new heads and dragged them over rough concrete, though I couldn’t say whether they’d have been attached to the rest of the doll at the time. It was creepy, sure, but the sun was shining and there were four of us working the truck that day, so it was easy enough to laugh it off. It was the old crew – me, David Atayah, Matthew Wilkinson, and Alan Parfitt, who drives - drove - the truck.

What it did do, though, was mark out 93 Lancaster Road in our minds as “the Doll House”, since we spent the rest of the day making off-colour jokes about the sort of people who must live there. I said before that your bin man knows a lot about you. Now that’s probably not actually true for most people – we service hundreds of homes each day and who can keep track of that many people? Who wants to? You do have houses, though, that you learn to keep an eye on; the sort of places that throw out strange or sometimes even dangerous things. Like I said, we probably know if you’re an alcoholic, but it’s not because we watch you obsessively or care about your health. It’s because smashed bottles and broken glass are dangerous and you learn to keep an eye out around houses where you’re likely to find them. I read once that waste collection is the second most dangerous profession in England. Not sure I believe it - they said the first was farming - but you do see your fair share of injuries, so you learn to keep your eyes peeled and mark out in your mind which houses you want to stay wary of.

Now after that the Doll House became one of those houses for our crew. Not so much for any known danger, but when someone throws out a bin full of weird stuff like that, you never know what else they might decide to toss. Also, Alan, well, he had kind of a twisted sense of humour, and he loved the doll heads. When we told him he insisted on stopping the truck and getting out to have a look, so after that he always made a point to ask us to keep an eye on 93. And we did. The next couple of weeks, when we pulled up to 93, I took an extra second or two just to check for anything strange in the bins, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Alan especially was disappointed by this but it was hardly something to dwell on, so we put is out of our minds and pressed on with the day’s work. This continued for what must have been a few months and the whole doll heads incident hadn’t come up, except for a few interesting conversations at the recycling plant where, to be honest, I don’t think anyone believed us, or if they did they’d immediately try to top it with their own story of bizarre finds.

It was the start of spring when we got the next strange bag from 93 Lancaster Road. Again, it was an unmarked black refuse bag placed next to the recycling bin. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was another one. The shape of it was too regular to be full of the normal assortment of rubbish. As I picked it up, I realised it was far too light as well. It seemed to weigh almost nothing, but was bulging with what sounded like a whole load of paper inside. I gave the others a look and told them I thought we had another odd bag. David and Matt started discussing whether we should open it, as this one didn’t seem to have a rip like the last one, and we were still talking it over when Alan came back to see what was taking us so long. He knew where we were and you could see it in his eyes that he’d been hoping this was the reason for the delay. One look at his face and I knew that if we didn’t open it, he would. 

I looked up towards the house, checking for anyone watching, but 93 was right near the start of our route, so it was still very early in the morning and all the lights were off. There was no sign of movement so, very carefully, I opened the bag. Inside was paper, as I expected. It seemed to be a single strip of thick white writing paper, maybe an inch wide. The paper was long, so long that it seemed like the whole bag was filled solely with this one piece of it, wrapped and curled and crumpled to fit inside. There was writing on it in another language, I think Latin. Matt, who was raised Catholic and never shut up about it, said he recognised it and claimed that it was the Lord’s Prayer, the Our Father, written over and over again. He seemed pretty rattled about it, especially at the fact that at certain points the edges of the paper seemed to be slightly singed, as though it had been passed over a candle or a lighter. He even seemed hesitant about throwing it in with the rest of the garbage, but we didn’t have anything else we could actually do with it, so into the truck it went. Alan was smiling the rest of the shift, and there was a delight there that, quite frankly, had started to unsettle me a bit. As far as I was concerned this was a bit of a let- down after the dolls’ heads, but the way the others had reacted put me on edge. 

The third bag was the one that really changed things. It was a fortnight after the one with the prayer paper in it. As we approached 93, I noticed there was another bag sitting next to the bin. The others clearly noticed as well, as everyone went very quiet. The first two had been the only times there had been rubbish bags at the house that weren’t in the actual bin itself, so there was little doubt in my mind that this was going to be more creepy trash. Alan turned the engine off as we pulled level with the house, and got out. Whatever was in this one, he was going to see it. The bag bulged, just like the others, but had a bumpy sort of look to its surface. We all stared at it for several seconds, before I realised that the others were waiting for me to pick it up – I’d picked up the others, and apparently this was how it was done now. It almost felt like a ritual.

I walked over and lifted it off the ground. It was heavier than the last one, and as it moved it made a sound, like shifting sand or gravel, or maybe more of a rattle. I started to carry it towards my colleagues to open it, when I accidentally caught the bottom of it on the low brick wall at the end of the small front garden. Already filled almost to bursting, the bag tore open easily.

From the newly ripped hole, poured teeth. Hundreds, thousands of teeth; they came streaming down it a waterfall of white, cream and yellow, bouncing as they hit the pavement, and gradually forming a pile of astounding size. When the bag was finally empty, we just stood there in silence, staring at the mountain of teeth that now lay on ground before us. They looked like human teeth to me, but I wasn’t exactly an expert and I sure as hell didn’t want to check closer. Finally, David broke the silence by vomiting loudly into a nearby drain and I backed away from the grisly mound. Even Alan looked shaken by this – I suppose some things are disconcerting however grim your interests. We phoned the police. 

That’s something else that people always forget about garbage men – we’re perfectly capable of calling the police if we see obviously illegal stuff being thrown away. Usually we don’t bother if it’s just something small, but this... for this we phoned the police. They came in surprisingly good time and I reckon they were even more freaked out than we were. One of them took our statements, while the other went up to the house itself to check on the occupants, and see if they knew anything about the teeth. As the officer knocked on the door, we all strained to get a better look at what greeted her. There was no way after all this we were going to pass up a chance to actually get a look at the residents of 93 Lancaster Road. Eventually the door opened, and an old woman stood there, blinking in the early morning sunlight and clearly slightly alarmed to see the police. Needless to say, the old lady and her husband had no idea about any of the weird bags that had been appearing in their rubbish and seemed properly upset when they were given the details. The police spent a good ten minutes doing their best to collect up all the teeth, and we were sent on our way. I have no idea what, if anything, the investigation turned up. Certainly I was never contacted by them again, and if any of the rest were, they didn’t mention it.

And for a while, that was it. We kept an eye out whenever we were heading down Lancaster Road, but didn’t encounter any further ominous garbage bags. I thought maybe the involvement of the police had scared off whoever was leaving them. Maybe the police had caught the culprit and just hadn’t told us.

I did start to notice, though, that Alan wasn’t doing well. He was often late to his shift, and when he finally got there he’d be exhausted and grumpy, snapping at everyone and rudely brushing of anyone asking about his health or how he was doing. He seemed even worse whenever we approached the end of Lancaster Road, sometimes speeding up the truck slightly so that we had to run to keep up. Eventually, after I tripped over the curb while hurrying and twisted my ankle, I confronted him, told him that whatever was going on with him, he could talk about it or get over it, but that he clearly needed to deal with something. He got very quiet, and said he’d been watching number 93 some nights. Said he wanted to see whoever was dropping this stuff off. That he had to know.

I don’t know what I expected. Trouble at home, maybe, or depression, but this took me by surprise. I told him it was a really bad idea, that if the police were still investigating they were more than likely to pick him up as the culprit, and even if they didn’t the old couple at 93 could just as easily get him arrested for harassment or stalking. Alan nodded along and agreed with me as I spoke, but I could see he wasn’t listening. He just said again that he needed to know, told me he’d be careful, as though that was meant to reassure me. It didn’t, but I could see I wasn’t going to talk him out of it and we ended in an uncomfortable silence.

What I didn’t say, is that I’d almost done the same thing myself once or twice. There was something about this, beyond anything else I’d encountered, that... I don’t know. It drew me in almost as much as it disgusted me. Almost, but not enough to do anything, and if I needed any further convincing that leaving it alone was the right decision, I only needed to look at Alan. As time went on, the bags under his eyes deepened, and I’d watch him down half a dozen energy drinks over the course of a morning, just to get through his shift. I could have said something to our manager, but even then Alan was still my friend and I didn’t want to be the one to get him in any sort of trouble. Eventually, though, it came to a head anyway. Alan fell asleep at the wheel of the truck and drove it into a parked car. No-one was hurt and the truck was going too slowly to do any real damage but, at that point, it was enough to get him fired. We were sad to see him go, but to be honest, by the end of it he’d become quite unpleasant to be around and no-one shed any real tears over it. We got a new member on our crew, a kid named Guy Wardman, and life continued in relative peace. For a while, anyway. 

Then, on the 8th of August last year, at nine minutes past two in the morning, I was woken up by a text message from Alan. It said “FOUND HIM”. I texted him back immediately – What had he found? Was it whoever was leaving the bags? Had he brought another one? No response. I texted Alan again to ask if he was ok. I sent that text a lot of times, but never heard back. I tried phoning him but nobody answered. As the minutes stretched to hours, the worry that had been growing in my gut settled into a grim certainty, and I knew that Alan was gone. I also knew that I had to go to 93 Lancaster Road and see for myself. I got my coat and headed out into the night. 

I walked slowly, with a kind of reluctance, so the sky was starting to get light by the time I arrived. I knew what I’d find when I got there, and I was right. There was no sign of Alan, or of whoever he might have seen. There was, however, a new rubbish bag sitting there in its usual place. It was full, and this time the top of it had been tied off with a dark green ribbon, arranged in a bow like an old-fashioned Christmas present. It bulged in much the same way as the last one.

I picked up the bag, which turned out to be quite light, and I took off the bow. Opening it, I saw shifting white and, for a second, I was sure it was more teeth. Looking closer, though, I saw the truth: packing peanuts. Polystyrene packing peanuts. Enough to fill the bag to capacity. I almost felt relieved until I realised there was something else in there, something making it heavier than a bag of polystyrene should be. I closed my eyes and reached in, expecting to find something horrible inside. My hand closed instead around cold metal, and I drew out a fist-sized lump of... I think it must have been copper or bronze, and had been roughly carved into the shape of a heart, but like a real heart, not like a Valentine's one. It was cold to the touch, like it had just come out of a freezer, and it almost stuck to my skin. Engraved on the side was the name “Alan Parfitt”, the letters carved in with machine-like precision. That was the last sign of Alan I ever found. As far as I’m aware he’s never been seen since.

I gave the lump of metal to a friend of mine who works the medical waste run and owes me a favour. I asked him to throw it in with a shipment, as the medical incinerators burn hotter than any I have access to, and I figured that was my best shot at getting rid of it properly. I still work the Lancaster Road route, but since then there haven’t been any more weird bags turning up at 93. Mostly I’ve just tried to forget about it.

Archivist Notes: 

It’s nice to have a statement where most of the particulars are easily verifiable. It comes with shorter supporting statements from David Atayah and Matthew Wilkinson confirming the contents of the first three bags, as well as the details of Alan Parfitt’s behaviour prior to his termination from the employment of local government. In an uncharacteristic example of actually dealing with modern technology, my predecessor had the good sense to make a copy of the final text conversation between Alan Parfitt and Mr. Woodward.

I had Martin conduct a follow-up interview with Mr. Woodward last week, but it was unenlightening. Apparently there have been no further bags at number 93 and in the intervening years he has largely discounted many of the stranger aspects of his experience. I wasn’t expecting much, as time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe, but at least it got Martin out of the Institute for an afternoon, which is always a welcome relief. 

Sasha had more luck following up with the old police reports. Alan Parfitt was reported as a missing person by his brother Michael on the 20th of August 2008*, and his location remains unknown. The bag of teeth is also corroborated by the police reports of Police Constables Suresh and Altman, though they can provide no further details, as they never made an arrest or even located any suspects. The medical report on the teeth themselves does give one puzzling detail: the teeth were confirmed to be human, but more than that, as far as the examiner was able to determine... they were all in different stages of decay and didn’t match any available dental records, but all two thousand seven hundred and eighty of them were the exact same tooth.

*corrected from 2009 to 2008, confirmed by Jon Sims (writer) as misspoken on the podcast

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 5 Thrown Away)

[kuriquinn]

Walk A Mile [7/?]

Cover & Disclaimer

Chapter Beta: None at the moment, but I’ll send it to my beta when she gets back from vacation. 

AN: So, this is a bit of departure from the usual format, but it’s kind of a time-skip. The first week of the swap, with a lot of things needing to be adjusted to hehe. I put a little bit of plot in places...but really, this is totally filler that I had too much fun writing :D Hope you enjoy reading it!

“Kakashi-sensei!”

SLAM!

The sound of a door being thrown open and hitting the wall yanks him from his dreams. Kakashi vaults upward and snaps, “Reinforce the barriers and send the first wave!”

The familiar surroundings of his living room come back to him, and his dream fades away. The panicked, slightly confused face of Sasuke Uchiha swims into view.

No, wait—not Sasuke. Sakura, he remembers. Must not have gotten enough sleep. Head’s still pounding…

“What is it, Sakura?” he mumbles—maybe; his words are rather slurred.

She frowns at him. “You sleep with your mask on?”

“Not usually,” he replies, rubbing at the scar on the left side of his face and squints up at her. “Is there an emergency, or do you just enjoy shouting yourself hoarse before sun-up?”

Sakura’s expression becomes pinched once more.

“I…have a…problem,” she reveals jerkily. 

“That’s remarkably self-aware.”

It’s possible the lack of sleep is affecting his normally easy-going manner.

Sakura draws her borrowed mouth into a thin line, emphasising her expression of utter agony, and glances meaningfully downward. It takes a beat before Kakashi follows her gaze, fixing on something in the southern hemisphere of her borrowed body. Once he does, her total panic makes sense.

A very dark part of him wants to laugh, if only at the absurdity of the whole situation, but Sakura would never forgive him for it. Instead, he schools his face into neutrality and says, “Go take a cold shower. It’ll help.”

Horror overtakes her obvious humiliation, probably at the notion of a shower, but it’s early and he’s exhausted and wouldn’t be doing her any favours sugar-coating things.

“Look, you have three options,” he yawns, falling back against the couch cushions. “Either take a cold shower, which you should do anyway because you’re beginning to stink, or you could wait it out. It’ll eventually go away. Or there’s the old-fashioned method…”

He trails off meaningfully. She doesn’t understand him immediately, but when she does, it looks like she might have a nosebleed.

“What the hell is your problem?!” she snarls. “You can’t say stuff like that!”

“Why, because you’re a girl, or because you’re a kid?” Kakashi challenges.

“Either! Both!” she yells in frustration. “And because this isn’t my body! Besides I’d never… I couldn’t—!” Her face is so flushed with blood now he’s surprised she’s still having a below-the-belt issue. She shoves a finger in his direction. “You’re a pervert, Kakashi-sensei!”

And then stalks away once again slamming the door behind her.

He winces.

And I thought it was just the boys I had to worry about property damage with, he thinks tiredly, curling into the couch and hoping he can get back to sleep.

SLAM!

The door is open once again, and he groans, pressing his face into the couch cushions.

If she does that the whole time she’s here, I’ll never get my security deposit back…

“Kakashi-sensei?” her tone is quieter this time, ashamed.

“What, Sakura?”

“Uh…where’s your washing machine?” she asks, in a tiny voice he would never have thought Sasuke capable of. “I might possibly…maybe…sort of have to do a load of wash.”

He cracks an eye open against the couch cushions. Why…?

“And, uh…do you by any chance have any other sheets?” she squeaks.

Kakashi groans, pulling the covers of his head.

Shit.

ナルト

Sakura paces back and forth in front of the chain-link fence of the usual spot, glancing around every now and then for some sign of Kakashi or Sasuke.

She’s not completely sure how she lost track of her teacher that morning, since they left from the same place. One minute he was behind her, and the next she heard him say he’d catch up, and when she turned around he was gone without even a puff of smoke.

As for Sasuke, he’s uncharacteristically late, and Sakura can’t help worrying.

What if he got caught by my parents? What if my mother says something embarrassing to him? What if Dad makes a really tasteless joke and Sasuke punches him? Oh, I’ll be in so much trouble when we switch back, and we’ll have failed Lord Third’s mission, and…

She inhales sharply and tries to clear her mind.

There’s nothing she can do about any of those things right now.

What she can do is stand here and wait for her teammates so that they can go to wherever Naruto is and make sure he and Condor haven’t killed each other yet.

Sakura tries really hard to just sit there and wait – to lean against the uncomfortable fence and meditate (or whatever it is Sasuke does when they’re waiting for the rest of their team to arrive in the morning). But she can’t stop fidgeting. Every few minutes she crosses her arms or shifts her weight or gives into the compulsion to check the very white, baggy shorts for signs of dirt or grease from the fence.

She starts to wonder if Sasuke wears white shorts just to show off how effortless he finds being a shinobi. As if he doesn’t even have to worry about getting dirty unless he feels like it. She always thought he was just naturally cool, but it might just be that Sasuke actually puts energy into it. It’s the only explanation she can come up with for how he always looks so unruffled, and yet twenty-four hours in his body she feels like a mess.

She’s sweating – is it just me, or is his body-temperature higher than mine? – and is hungry again, even though she ate all the leftovers from dinner the night before this morning.

And, of course, there’s the addition of an extra –

Her thoughts flounder for a moment, her cheeks turning red.

Appendage, she supplies, forcing herself to fight back the mortification and think of things in the same distant terms a doctor might. 

It’s not really working.

The point is, the new addition makes even walking feel utterly foreign to her, and that’s the absolute least of the problems associated with her new body.

When Sasuke finally does arrive, Sakura’s worried questions die on her lips as she takes in his rumpled, red-cheeked, veiny-eyed form.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she cries in lieu of any greeting, hands on her hips as she looks him over.

Her normally pristine hair is a tangled mess under his care, brushed in the front but a complete matted nightmare in the back. Sasuke’s borrowed cheeks are reddened by infinitesimal scratches, probably from a rough scrubbing with a cloth, and his eyes –

“You slept with my contacts in, didn’t you?” she hisses.

“I forgot, okay?” he barks, not sounding anything like his usual calm self even with the borrowed voice. “I don’t know how to take them out, or put them in for that matter, and until I do I’m not about to walk around bumping into things.”

“My vision’s not that bad!” Sakura snaps.

“Well, I had more important things to worry about,” Sasuke growls, eyes shifting from left to right to ensure they are alone. In a lower voice, he goes on, “I couldn’t find…where do you keep your…” He trails off, frustrated, and then tugs at something beneath the fabric of the tunic he’s wearing. She recognises the thick strap of a sports bra. “I was going to change this when I woke up, but the only ones I could find were…”

Realisation dawns on her, and warmth floods her cheeks too. “You dug through my underwear drawer?!”

“It’s not like I wanted to! Besides, from the look of them there’s no way to get the damn things on or off, at least with this one I can just pull it over my head!”

Sakura decides to take pity on him. “If you can’t find any sports bras in my drawer, you have to go down and check the laundry room. I wear them the most often because of missions, so they have to be washed out a lot. Maybe my mother did a load – wait.” She shoots him a sharp look. “Are you saying you put that thing on again this morning? It’s filthy!”

“I didn’t put anything on, I slept in it.”

“You’re not supposed to sleep in a bra!”

“How the hell am I supposed to know that?” he counters. “I shouldn’t even be thinking about bras, let alone yours!”

“Say that a little louder, I don’t think they heard you in Kiri,” a familiar voice says, and a second later Kakashi materialises in a puff of smoke. “Yo.”

Sakura lets out a half-groan, half-wail of humiliation while Sasuke glowers at their teacher.

“So, who’s ready for training?” the jōnin asks mildly.

“I hate you,” Sasuke informs him, and Sakura nods in agreement.

ナルト

Naruto wakes to the sun streaming through a window right into his eyes.

With a groan, stretches and yawns, then freezes as his brain catches up with his current surroundings. He is in the wide-open living area of a farmhouse, perched on a makeshift bed of pillows and blankets. He remembers Captain Yamato offering them to him yesterday when he couldn’t get comfortable on the spare sleeping mat –

Because he has cumbersome wings and claws and the weirdly shaped body of an ostrich now.

“Aw, man, it wasn’t a dream!” he wails, throwing his head backward in frustration. “I thought for sure when I woke up all this would be fixed! Aw, man, this sucks…”

“How do you funny little creatures not break your necks in your sleep with all the tossing and turning you do?” Condor wants to know, sitting up on his own sleep pallet. He shakes his arm. “And why does my arm constantly feel like it’s got pine needles sticking into it?”

“Yeah, well, I feel like I slept standing up in a closet…”

“You both snore,” Yamato informs them with a yawn, also sitting up on his bedding.

Condor sets his hands on his hips in indignation. “I beg your pardon, I do no such thing!”

“Yeah!” Naruto pipes up. “And I couldn’t have snored because I didn’t sleep! So maybe it’s you that was snoring, you creepy faced weirdo!”

Yamato blinks at him, bleary eyed from waking, and then glances at Condor. “What’d he say?”

“He says your mother wears army boots.”

“Oi! I did not!”

A knock on the door interrupts the potential bloodshed, and after a sharp look in Naruto’s direction, Yamato goes to open it. Outside, the rest of Team 7 are standing on the landing; Kakashi expression is drawn and exhausted, while Sakura and Sasuke bicker with one another.

Whoa. Now that’s weird…

To an outside observer, it already looks odd to see Sasuke Uchiha haranguing Sakura Haruno, who is clearly trying to tune him out, arms crossed and face pulled into a scowl. It’s even odder because Naruto knows it’s actually the other way around – with Sakura raving at Sasuke – and that has never happened before.

Condor shivers.

“I don’t even know them that well, and that’s just unnatural,” he says.

Naruto nods. “Funny, though.”

“Sakura, Sasuke,” Kakashi says, putting an end to the very strange argument. The two of them glance up. “This is Captain Yamato. He’s going to be working with Naruto and Condor for the duration of this…situation.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Sakura says, offering a shy wave.

Sasuke frowns and gives the man an appraising up-and-down look. Then he turns to Kakashi. “What’s so special about him? He doesn’t look like much.”

“Sasuke!” Sakura chides.

“Yamato’s Mokuton is going to be very helpful keeping the Nine-Tails under control,” Kakashi explains. “On that note – Condor, have you had any more trouble with the fox spirit?”

“Only in that I didn’t sleep at all last night trying to keep the thing from eating me,” the bird snorts.

“You big liar!” Naruto snaps. “You were snoring the whole night, remember? Stop making things seem more dramatic than they are! If I can’t hear the fox, you can’t hear the fox.”

“I’ve already told you the reason you can’t hear him is because you’re thick.”

Naruto bleats at him in wordless anger, and Kakashi clears his throat.

“Yamato can work with you on that a little then. Meanwhile, Naruto, Sakura and Sasuke – it might be best to revisit some basic skills today. Like taijutsu.”

“Are you seriously going to teach a bird taijutsu?” Sasuke deadpans.

“Don’t be like that, he’s still Naruto,” Sakura tells him. “I’m sure he can figure it out.” She smiles hesitantly at Naruto and wanders a little closer. “Hey, Naruto – are you going okay in there?”

He pulls away, shuddering. “No offense, but it’s really weird to have Sasuke look at me like that. No, scratch that, it’s not weird, it’s creepy.”

Sakura frowns in confusion and asks Condor, “What did he say?”

“He’s afraid you were going to kiss him,” Condor informs her with a straight face.

“You idiot bird!” Naruto bellows and vaults across the room, intent on destroying him. Condor, meanwhile, darts out of the way blowing raspberries, while Sakura and Sasuke begin to shout angrily at them both.

He is distantly aware of Yamato and Kakashi exchanging glances.

“Trade you?” they ask each other.

ナルト

When Sasuke returns to the Haruno household later, he is exhausted. Honestly, he doesn’t remember ever feeling this tired before.

Did Sakura not do any training before we switched bodies? These muscles feel like they’re on fire…

He’s barely got the energy to eat the meal Mebuki puts before him (he’s dimly relieved that there’s nothing sweet in it), and he must look as tired as he feels because Sakura’s parents don’t try to talk much with him.

There’s a minor moment of awkwardness afterward when Mebuki reaches over to feel his forehead – he jerks away before he can stop himself, but seeing her mouth can firm in suspicion, Sasuke mutters about having a bad headache.

“Got some mind grains sprouting?” Sakura’s father asks with gentle amusement, while Mebuki tells Sasuke to go up to bed and she’ll bring him some honeysuckle tea.

He trudges up the stairs and once again starts the laborious process to get ready for bed; he’s quicker about it today, once again leaving the lights off the whole time. He only turns them on again to take Sakura’s contacts out, having had her explain the process to him before he returned home.

These things come with containers, right?

That takes him longer to hunt down than he’d like, and the actual removal of the lens leaves him swearing and his eyes twitching in both reflex and annoyance.

Am I even going to be able to get the damned things on again tomorrow?

He waves it off as a future problem, squinting at Sakura’s reflection in the mirror. It’s blurred now, but as she said, not enough to make him blind.

Just annoying, he thinks as he stalks out of the bathroom, just like her.

ナルト

SLAM!

“Kakashi-sensei!”

He grabs his pillow and presses it over his face, groaning into it in dismay.

“Don’t kill her,” he mutters to himself, “Think of the paperwork.”

“I need you to go to Sasuke’s place and sneak in and get some things for me without anyone seeing you, it’s urgent!” she tells him, all panic and tension in her voice.

Kakashi shifts the pillow to one side, shooting her a bleary, exasperated frown with his one good eye. “Sakura…you’re literally walking around in his body. Go get whatever you need from his apartment yourself.”

“But…but I can’t go wandering around his house without him there!”

“Why not? He’s wandering around your house without you there.”

“Well…well even if I wanted to, I can’t exactly go now and I really, really need your help!”

Her bottom lip juts out, eyes wide and teary, and Kakashi thinks it’s just him being stunned that Sasuke could ever look so pathetic and helpless that has him sighing in agreement. “Fine.”

“Thank you!”

“But I’m only doing this the once,” he tells her, going back to press his face back into the pillow and cursing. “Damn it…only the second day…”

Sakura clears her throat. “And Kakashi-sensei?”

“What?”

“I’m hungry.”

ナルト

“Ow!” Sakura cries, ducking an angry beak. “Naruto, stop – ow! I’m sorry!” She holds her hands over her head. “I wasn’t trying to kick you – ow! – I just overshot and you were – ouch! – in the way!”

Her teammate hisses at her, rearing up and flapping his wings at her.

 ナルト

“Let’s try this again,” Kakashi says wearily.

Sasuke scowls, but then dutifully pulls his face into a wide smile. The slight narrowing of Kakashi’s right eye tells him he has once again failed.

“This is ridiculous,” he complains, dropping the false visage.

“It was better,” his teacher offers, and when Sasuke raises an eyebrow at him, he shrugs, “Okay, not really. We may be going about this all wrong.”

“If you try to tickle me I will stab you in the throat,” Sasuke informs him pre-emptively.

Kakashi ignores him. “What’s the first thing you notice about Sakura when she smiles?”

“It’s genuine,” Sasuke says immediately, surprising himself with how instinctive the answer is. He’s never really considered the question before, but he knows instantly that it’s true; Sakura’s smile is untarnished by darkness, anger or pain. “Happy.”

The word is foreign to him.

“Alright,” his teacher says. “That in mind, I’m going to ask you to do something difficult. And I know it’s difficult because I have to do it every day, too.” Sasuke shoots him a questioning look, abruptly curious, but Kakashi continues.  “Think back. To the last time you felt something like what Sakura feels. Think of happiness. Peace. Something that genuinely made you smile to see.”

“That doesn’t work for me,” Sasuke bites out through gritted teeth, because Kakashi knows full-well the last time he was happy about anything.

“Then work on it, because learning to smile might be your only saving grace in succeeding at this mission.” Kakashi straightens up. “I get that you have your goals, but the mark of a good shinobi is to compartmentalise their emotions.”

“I know this already.”

“Note that I say compartmentalise, not ignore. The more you ignore, the more builds up and the more likely you are to explode with all those pent-up feelings later. Or make stupid choices,” Kakashi goes on. “I really advise against stupid choices, because that gets people killed.”

“I advise against switching bodies,” Sasuke grumbles. “That gets people killed too.”

Kakashi blinks at him. “Did you just make a joke?”

ナルト

Naruto stares down at the large container in front of him, and then looks up at Yamato. “No.”

The jōnin sighs, unable to understand him, but clearly noticing the refusal.

“Come on, Naruto, you have to eat something. You’re not going to keep your strength out without eating healthy.”

Naruto glares at him. “I want ramen.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Ramen. I want ramen. Rah-men!”

“I want ramen, too,” Condor pipes up from where he’s watching the exchange.

“You’ve never even eaten ramen,” Yamato reminds him.

“I don’t care, I want it.”

Yamato sighs, shoulders slumping.

ナルト

 “Kakashi-sensei!”

SLAM!

“Sakura, if it’s related to food, bodily functions or laundry, I don’t want to hear it,” he tells his pillow.

“No, it’s…um, I think I broke the lid off your electric kettle and…I didn’t mean to, I swear! It’s just…I think I was holding it to tightly, but I didn’t realise, so…”

She trails off, and Kakashi sighs.

He has never pictured having children before, and living with Sakura – who he never in a million years imagined he would live with – has shown him the wisdom in that. It’s like dealing with a teenager and a toddler all in one.

“I’ll pick up a new one on the way home,” he tells her.

“…’Kay.”

Well, at least he doesn’t have to worry about her taking all the hot water…

He feels little guilt at chuckling over that.

ナルト

“How do any of you guys walk properly with one of these?!”

ナルト

“What are you talking about, you don’t want any?” Mebuki demands, hands on her hips. “Anmitsu is your favourite.”

“I’m…watching my weight,” Sasuke mumbles uncomfortably.

“Oh no, none of that,” Sakura’s mother sniffs. “You know how I feel about that dieting nonsense, Sakura. If you’re going to be training so hard, you need to keep your strength up.”

“This isn’t exactly going to help with that,” Sasuke deadpans.

“Well, we can’t always be sensible,” Kizashi says. “Where would the fun in that be?”

They are both watching him now, and Sasuke winces, knowing he has to play along. Swallowing thickly, he takes a spoonful of the jelly dessert and just hopes he can keep it down long enough to throw off suspicion.

ナルト

“Get your butt out of my face!”

“Get your face out of my – oh for goodness sake, must you be so crass?”

“At least I’m not a sissy,” Naruto mutters as they continue their slow trek across the floor. “Now shut up before we get caught.”

“You two wouldn’t be trying to sneak out, would you?” a deceptively calm voice asks behind them.

Condor and Naruto freeze, and then very slowly turn around. There’s a click and a flashlight turns on.

Captain Yamato looms over them, the shadows making his face seem even more hollow than usual.

“It was his idea,” Naruto says immediately, shivering at the sight.

“My idea? Why would I want to sneak out of these lavish accommodations?” Condor asks in a high voice, and then points at Naruto. “He’s the criminal mastermind – not me!”

Yamato’s eyes narrow, and Naruto crack.

“I just want some ramen!” he sobs, throwing himself at the jōnin’s feet (or at least trying to, he still isn’t used to his knees bending backward.”

“What was that about me being a sissy?” Condor asks, contemptuous.

ナルト

“Sakura, if you don’t stop slamming the door in a panic every morning, I will take it off the hinges.”

ナルト

“Your biggest issue is that you’re used to a body that has mastered its ability to control its anger and impulses and channel it into other things,” Kakashi explains to Sakura, while in the background Sasuke impatiently ducks Naruto’s clumsy kicks. Several feet away, Yamato corrects Condor’s grip on a kunai. “Sometimes it seems as if you have a second self that filters all of that for you. When you first switched, you mentioned a voice in your head?”

“Yeah – well, sort of,” she says. “I mean…I always thought it was just my conscience of something.”

“I guarantee you, most people’s consciences aren’t loud enough to have a voice,” Kakashi says dryly. “Both your parents are genin?”

“Well…Dad’s a chūnin. Barely. But they haven’t been active since before I was born, and only because of the war,” Sakura explains.

“And your father’s family?”

“Isn’t from here,” Sakura says. “Mom is, though, but I don’t know much about her side of the family. Grandmother was a Konohako, so…”

“Ah,” Kakashi nods, recognising the term. It’s a surname given to illegitimate children whose legal parents won’t recognise them. “And not even an idea where that lineage came from?”

“I would have to ask my mother.”

“Which you can’t right now,” he sighs.

“And asking Sasuke to find out probably wouldn’t be a good idea,” Sakura agrees.

He’s not exactly tactful…

“Right…”

ナルト

“What the hell is an exfoliator?”

ナルト

“I was just thinking,” Naruto says, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness.

“Did it hurt?”

He snorts, side-eying the bird in his body. “Really? Nothing more creative than that?”

“It’s been a long day. Don’t worry, I’ll reach my stride soon enough.”

“Do you think maybe all this would be easier if we stopped giving each other a tough time and just tried to work together?”

The two of them slowly glance over at each other, sizing one another up. Then, in unison, their turns their backs on each other.

“Nah!”

ナルト

“Kakashi-sensei!”

He cracks one eye open, waiting for the slam of the door, and then smirks when he remembers that he took it off its hinges night before.

ナルト

“I don’t understand,” Sakura says, frustrated. “I mean, it completely defies logic!”

“I know,” Condor nods.

“It’s like…I would understand if I was looking at something…you know…but I’m not looking at anything. I was literally staring at the wall just now, noticing the way the paint is curling and – and it happens!”

“It’s an utterly rubbish system,” Condor agrees. “Obviously it’s faulty – I mean, I don’t even find your species appealing at all. But now I – ” He makes a face and looks at his lap. “Oh damn. It’s happening again.”

“Don’t draw attention to it!” Sakura hisses, pointedly looking away from him.

She notices Sasuke and Naruto standing over them, identical looks of horror on their borrowed faces.

“What?”

ナルト

Sasuke considers the long, wet locks of pink hair spilling down his chest and back, frowning critically.

Keeping all this clean is such a waste of time. If there wasn’t all this hair, I could be in and out of the shower in minutes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a pair of scissors sticking out of a first-aid kit.

ナルト

“I don’t care if you’re used to eating it to help digest your food – if I catch you using my mouth to eat sand, I will sit on you until you pass out!”

ナルト

“What do you mean, you still haven’t found anything?” Kakashi demands early one morning after skipping out on Sakura to visit the graveyard and then the Hokage’s office. He’s trying and failing not to sound exasperated. “It’s going on a week now.”

Inoichi shrugs apologetically. “We’re combing the records as fast as we can, but so far nothing.”

“And our investigations to the shrine have yielded no information either,” Lord Third says gravely. “Inoichi and I have read the Akimichi and Nara clans into the situation, however. Given their ancestors involvement in helping to seal away Noburo, it was thought they might have some insight that was perhaps…misplaced by the Yamanaka.”

“And has it?”

“Not yet.”

“Great,” Kakashi groans. “So what do I tell the kids?”

“Nothing,” Inoichi says. “As before, we’re looking into the matter. They’ll have to be patient.”

“Have you even met my team?”

ナルト

“He’s late.”

“I noticed.”

“He’s later than you. That never happens.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Sakura glares at her teacher, wanting more than anything to punch him. She’s not sure if that’s just her annoyance or some inborn reflex that’s part of Sasuke’s body. Either way, she hopes Sasuke arrives soon to keep her from trying something so stupid.

“Oh.” Kakashi says suddenly, his visible eye widening a bit. It flits to Sakura, flashing with something that she’s tempted to call panic, even if she doesn’t know the reason for it. “Oh, fuck…”

“What?” she asks, following his gaze to the familiar figure of Sasuke in her body wandering toward them.

She has a few seconds of trying to figure out why his looks bother her today, and when she makes the realisation, it is as if the bottom of her stomach has dropped out. She goes absolutely still, barely aware of Kakashi’s continuing murmured curses.

“I would’ve been on time if your mother let me out of the house,” Sasuke complains to them in place of a greeting. The accusing explanation is as close to an apology as anyone has ever heard from him. “I had to wait until her back was turned.”

“I can see why she didn’t,” Kakashi blurts out, and then clears his throat when Sakura’s fists clench. “Now, Sakura…”

“My. Hair,” she seethes at Sasuke, eyes fixed on the messy, chin-length monstrosity that has replaced her lovingly grown-out hair.

“Just so you know, this is the opposite of blending in,” Kakashi informs Sasuke. “If Sakura’s parents weren’t suspicious before…”

“It’s fine,” Sasuke shrugs it off. “I said I saw it in a magazine and decided to try it. They seemed to buy it –”

“Are you kidding me?!” Sakura demands – but the sound comes out as a squeaky whine as Sasuke’s voice cracks.

“Stop that!” Sasuke snaps, looking around lest someone be walking by to hear. This just enrages her further.

“WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?!” Sakura screams. “I gave you specific instructions and you – just – how – why – it – how dare you?!”

“It’s hair,” Sasuke tells her slowly, like she’s missing something important. “It was getting in the way, and making…washing more inconvenient.”

She’s too angry to even get embarrassed, can only sputter in response.

“It will grow back,” Sasuke goes, taking rare advantage of her incoherence. “Besides, you’re a shinobi, not a princess. You ought to concentrate on improving your battle techniques instead of your looks.” He shrugs. “It’s not like you grew it out for some important reason.”

Sakura opens her mouth and closes it several times.

She knows that he has a point about her hair – that keeping it long is an unnecessary hazard, that every lesson she’s ever had on proper gear and appearance stress the importance of short hair. That only the supremely talented shinobi keep their hair long, showing that they have no fear of it being an impairment in battle.

But at the same time, her hair was hers. It was important to her. And he not only disregarded her wish for him to take care of it, but he hacked it to pieced.

It’s the first truly horrible, mean-spirited act he has ever committed against her. He might be short with her, lack patience and encourage her by way of criticism, might offer her blunt truths which sting at first but which she slowly comes to see are meant to help her –

But he has never been intentionally mean or hurtful to her. And this…

This is a very personal insult, and he doesn’t care.

She can see that he doesn’t care, and this knowledge above everything else makes her suddenly desperate to make him understand.

ナルト

Sakura suddenly turns on her heel and marches off.

“Oh, this isn’t going to be good,” Kakashi mutters, indicating to Sasuke that they ought to follow her. Sasuke tells himself it’s because his teacher told him to, and not because the look in Sakura’s borrowed eyes just now filled him with a very sharp sense of unease.

If she notices them following her, she doesn’t say anything, and before long they come to one of the public training grounds. Several groups of young Academy students are spread out in the area, practicing throwing shuriken and kunai at targets nailed to the posts.

Sakura marches up to the large post right in the middle of all the groups and methodically brings out a few handfuls of shuriken.

“Huh,” Sasuke snorts as he and Kakashi come to a stop several feet behind her. “Now she wants to train?”

If I’d known all it took was to make her mad, I’d have done it ages ago.

“I seriously doubt that’s what this is,” Kakashi says tensely.

The words have hardly left his mouth when, once again methodical very deliberate, Sakura begins to toss the shuriken.

And misses.

Once.

Twice –

Two dozen shuriken later, none of them have hit any part of the target.

“Wait…” Sasuke says, frowning. “What’s going on? Even in my body, she should have better aim than that.”

“Oh, she does,” Kakashi tells him.

When her ninja tools are exhausted, Sakura stomps forward, snatches the shuriken from where they are embedded and returns to her previous position. Then, she repeats the exercise.

“She’s missing on purpose,” Sasuke realises. “Why?”

“Well…technically, she’s not missing anything,” Kakashi reminds him, and Sasuke’s eyes go wide. At the same time, he notices that the lively din in the training grounds has started to go quiet as the other kids begin to take notice. There’s a growing whisper around them, and the sound of chuckles behind people’s hands, and it finally occurs to Sasuke what Sakura is doing.

She is very publicly torpedoing his reputation – a reputation he doesn’t even really care about.

Or rather, one he told himself he was above actually caring about. Right now, watching the pointing and sniggering from a bunch of younger kids, an unfamiliar sense of panic and embarrassment fills him.

“Better hope that doesn’t turn into village gossip,” Kakashi muses out loud. “If it gets around that Sasuke Uchiha can’t even throw a shuriken, we might not be considered for higher ranking missions in the future. Which I’m all for, because I’ve been meaning to catch up my reading, but –”

Sasuke isn’t listening to him anymore, instead stalking forward and grabbing on to Sakura’s wrist before she can throw another volley.

“You’re having an off-day today, aren’t you?” he says loudly, and then drags Sakura from the field.

It irritates him that it’s a lot harder than usual to do, and eventually he has to stop trying even though they aren’t even out of the training field. He hopes there aren’t any prying eyes and ears paying attention; Kakashi lingers in the background with his hands in his pockets.

“Nothing,” she snaps. “Just getting rid of something unimportant. I mean, you don’t care what people think of you, right?”

“This is not the same thing!”

“It is too! It’s something that means a lot to you, right?”

“It’s different from cutting hair!”

“That’s not the point!” she snaps. “It’s something that meant a lot to me, and I told you to take care of it, and you just…cut it all off.”

“But it’s hair,” he protests, still not understanding. “It’s not permanent, it’ll grow back, so it’s not important –”

“But it was to me!” she cries. “And I thought that you’d at least…” She trails off, swallowing and hangs her head. In a quieter voice, she murmurs, “Never mind. You never care about how people feel anyway, I don’t know why I…I don’t know why I thought…”

Her shoulders begin to shake, and Sasuke realises a beat later that she’s really crying now.

He fights down a note of panic, not knowing what he’s supposed to do, glancing around to see if anyone around is paying attention to the fact that Sasuke Uchiha is standing there crying in public! He shoots Kakashi a look pleading for help, but Kakashi shrugs, looking as uncertain as him.

This isn’t exactly an area either of them are comfortable in.

He clenches his fists, then frowns down at them, remembering that he’s in Sakura’s body. And if Sakura noticed him crying, even over something ridiculous, would she just stand there?

No, he realises.

Before he’s even aware of his body moving he approaches Sakura and pulls her into a tight embrace, winding his arms around her borrowed body and fitting his head into the space of her shoulder.

“There are so many worse things in the entire world to cry about, cut hair shouldn’t be one of them,” he murmurs in a low voice, trying to fight off his own discomfort knowing that Kakashi is watching – knowing that the people in the training field are probably watching, too. “But…if it’s important to you…I should have asked your permission first.”

Sakura is tense within his hold, but a moment later relaxes against him. He hears her sniff and then clear her throat.

“Sas…” she begins, and then coughs, straightening up and pulling away. In a loud, exaggerated groan of annoyance, she says, “Sakura, you’re choking me.”

But as she pulls away, he sees a brief flicker of a smile on her face, before she adopts scowl and stalks away from him. Sasuke watches her go, staring at the back of her borrowed neck, which is flushed with colour.

“Huh.” Kakashi is looking down at him now in speculation. “Maybe there’s hope for you after all.”

つづく

Reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated! Also, if you are in a supportive mood, I have a tip jar button for ko-fi located at the top of the page - or through this link. Thanks for your interest in my work!

クリ

[filligan-universe]

Game Review: CRASH BANDICOOT: THE N. SANE TRILOGY (2017)

Whoa! [Translation: Click “Keep Reading”]

Oh, how I have waited for this day...

The year is 1998, or something. My mom bought me a PS1 and, what was probably recommended to her by the Futureshop employee on shift at the time, Crash Bandicoot. The original. The first. The beginning. The hardest fucking thing I’d never played.

8-year-old me was dumb, though. I sunk around twenty hours into Jersey Devil without ever understanding its mechanics or how to progress (a couple years back I thought, “How did you progress in that game?” and found out that you progress like any other free-roam platform and 8-year-old me was just an idiot who liked the game’s spooky aesthetic). I played the shit out of Beast Wars and could rarely progress (in fairness, that game was tough). It took me maybe a year to get to Darth Maul in the Phantom Menace game, but I could never beat him. Then I lost the save file, tried again, and got stuck in a Rancor pit halfway through the game, inexplicably decided to save my game there, and from then on insta-died every time I loaded it back up. 

But Crash is a fairly linear platformer, and those I understood from my SNES days. What Crash beat into me and thousands of kids around the world was that the hand-holding days of cute dinosaurs was over. See that fish? That innocent little fish flopping around? IT JUST MURDERED YOU. Oh, you fell in the water? Haha -- NOW YOU’RE DROWNING AND DEAD LOOK AT YOUR FLOATING CORPSE. 

1998 was also in the era of cheat code books and passwords. I made it, impressively I think, to Road to Nowhere before I gave up and found myself copying these codes down. Once I unlocked free movement across all levels, most of my time in Crash Bandicoot was spent fighting all of the bosses in succession (the hardest is N. Brio by the way). Levels like Road to Nowhere, Slippery Climb, The Lab -- these never got touched. I beat the system so I didn’t have to beat the levels.

Then Crash 2 came out. And I beat it from start to finished. Ditto Crash 3. So enough down memory lane; how does the remade trilogy stand up?

The answer is: pretty goddamn perfectly. There are some things I’ll address, but the overall package is sharp and faithful. It feels like re-living the games of my single-digit years and that was the biggest box Vicarious Visions had to check. They’ve tszujed up that bandicoot sheen while recapturing the fun of Naughty Dog’s original gameplay. Were this a remaster instead of a remake using assets from the PS1 classics, it wouldn’t be so remarkable, but VV built this from scratch and still managed to nail everything. Huge kudos to them on this. Not sure anything of this magnitude has been achieved -- remake-wise -- in the industry before. 

When the game released, the Crash Bandicoot subreddit exploded. Highest among the complaints were: jumping is off, hitboxes are off, and Crash’s shoes have been coated with bacon grease. And they weren’t technically wrong: these things are changed from the original games. Jumps are not as high as they were and I don’t remember having to hold X in the first one to gain distance. Hitboxes can be wacky and drastically different from what they were in the originals, making veteran players misjudge when to spin. And Crash doesn’t land flat on surface edges anymore -- with today’s scary technology, he can realistically slip off instead of standing on 85% thin air. Creepy! Wrong! Worst game ever! Back to the PS1 classics that look like ass on my 70″ 4K HDTV!

I was in the same camp when I first booted up The N. Sane Trilogy. My first death was on the very first game on the very first level on the very first enemy. One of those giant fuckin’ crabs that you only see in level one because they’re huge and slow and the training wheels are still on. It killed me because I spun when I always used to spin in the original, and that was wrong. The hitbox for them changed. This probably caused most of my frustration with all three games for the first several hours, but I’m what the baby boomers call a “video-machine gamer,” all right? I’m adaptable. I can alter my approach to things. I can learn from errors. And a changed hitbox, as it turns out, is not the same thing as a broken hitbox. You just re-learn when to spin stuff. Now I’m not bothered by it.

Same goes for the jump. Mastering this again took time and patience, especially with certain parts of the game that don’t function properly like the ice physics in Crash 2. However, after nailing when to hold X for greater height and understanding that now Crash needs a more precise landing to avoid slipping, I’ve gotten adept at this as well. All of this is to say that those players who initially flipped out at these tweaks were hopefully just following their gut reactions like me but have now adjusted and are now having fun -- like me. 

The slipping, though, man. It makes Crash 1 even harder than it was, but I still won’t call it a mistake. From what I’ve ascertained, Crash’s character model is now pill-shaped, meaning he’s gonna slip, all right? It’s just gonna happen. BONUS: watch me, in the Twitch chat room for my friend’s first play-through of this game, try to offer this advice and him taking it the wrong way.

So what are the biggest criticisms I can levy against the trilogy? Well, the music stands out as subpar, especially in direct comparison to the louder, more interesting original score. The new music feels timid -- like it’s afraid to be the bombastic presence it was in the classics. A more faithful approach to the music’s original sounds would’ve been appreciated. I’m still listening to the original score because the new one is too orchestral. It’s not as video-gamey -- not as wacky, and so that charm and atmosphere are lacking in the new trilogy. Here are some comparisons:

Temple Ruins [Original]

Temple Ruins [Remastered]

Crash Dash [Original]

Crash Dash [Remastered]

This isn’t to say the music is bad or that every remastered track is worse than its original counterpart (see: Hang Eight, Toad Village, Toxic Waste, & Future Frenzy for just a few examples of excellent new takes), but even when the music is worthy of the original score it often fades into the background and gets lost in the sound effects. I know you can adjust the volume settings to make the music louder, but I shouldn’t have to, nor do I want to -- I like all the noises in Crash Bandicoot (except the goddamn didgeridoo Crash-angel plays). This is just an area where the flame doesn’t burn as brightly as it ought to.

Also? I don’t like Cortex’s design or voice. Or most of the voice acting in general. I don’t mind how Crash sounds, but I’ve been hearing John DiMaggio voice every character in existence since 2006 and now when I hear him I can’t unhear him -- I know it’s him. Kind of like when you know Tom Kenny voices Spongebob, you’ll always know when Tom Kenny shows up in something. I know the original actor for Dingodile died 12 years ago but come on. I blame Twinsanity for this, which was the first time the series saw a massive design shift and Cortex became the weird cartoon he is now. He’s lost his menace. 

I think it’s the gums. I miss Cortex’s gums. 

Cutscenes are particularly bad in Crash 2 whenever Cortex addresses you in the warp room. There are no effects to show Coco taking over the broadcast. Seems kinda lazy. 

These complaints are superficial to a quality game, though. I did something 8-year-old me couldn’t do the other day: beat Crash Bandicoot without any cheat codes. I sweat and swore through The High Road and Slippery Climb, came out of it, and climbed the tower to kick Cortex off it. That feeling of accomplishment has been missed in most games these days. And now I find myself obsessing over gems. Those clear sparklies that 8-year-old me never sought because I’d shrugged them off as “way too hard” to get. I’m over halfway to nabbing them all in each game and I’m going -- oh yes, I’m going to get that motherfucking red gem on Slippery Climb. I spent 45 minutes trying to get the yellow gem on The Lab, you think I’m gonna stop now? I’ve got a collectible mind, motherfucker. I can’t pass that shit up. I’ll probably snap my controller but that’s all right because you know what? I’m a fucking adult now and I can just buy a new one. Fucking red gem!!

...Yeah, so, I love this game.

[gaiatheorist]

“Does it spark joy?”

2.30am on a Sunday morning, and I’ve read yet another article on Marie Kondo. I’m coming unravelled again, and setting myself distraction-tasks, to avoid plummeting into one of my rabbit-holes. They’re holding strategies, last year I had the garden, this year, I have the house and the garden. I’ll grow some of my own food, because the UK unemployment benefit doesn’t leave any leeway for anything but bills. (I’m lucky, I ‘Won the Golden Ticket’ of an award of disability benefit, it’s highly probable that it will be declined when it comes to renewal in less than a year, despite my brain injuries being permanent.) I ‘caught’ myself moving things around a few days ago, it’s one of my anxiety-behaviours, I don’t have very much control about the external-world, so I focus on what I can control. 

Moving things around. Do I want/need ‘that’? Is it of any practical use now, or am I just holding on to it for sentimental reasons? (There’s very little here that isn’t of practical use, I don’t really ‘keep things’, and I do have regular periods of purging what’s left.) There’s no ‘sparking joy’, just an awful lot of irritability. My strange friend Creepy Carpet Tile Man visited recently, and pointed to various ‘things’, saying “Why don’t you put that on eBay?” “It’s not mine.” “Surely it is now? He’s been gone long enough, doesn’t it become legally yours after all these years?” My loft is full of the ex’s ‘stuff’, and I can’t use my garden shed, because that’s packed with his belongings as well. I hate being ‘tethered’ to him, I’m sick of asking him to take things away, and him ‘forgetting’, or ‘having something on’, he’s unreliable, he always was. I’m also cautious of snapping at him in front of our son, so this is, in part, a situation of my own making. The ex is doing what he always did, “Leave something long enough and someone else will sort it.”, he’s ‘not the most useful arrangement of molecules’, as the kid once described him. 

The practical thing for me to do would be to tell the ex again that I want his various stuff gone. I don’t want to be responsible for it, I have enough difficulty being responsible for myself some days. He doesn’t have the time, or the storage space, his parents aren’t well, and our son is in the final year of his degree. ‘Never a good time’ again. I’m angry at him for being generally inept, and I’m frustrated with myself for absorbing the emotional load again. I am not responsible for him, and I’m stuck in a loop of all the times he’d tantrum “I’m not happy!”, projecting his own inadequacies onto me, making himself the centre of the universe, and blaming me for not being what he wanted. I never really was, he wanted a compliant house-mouse who would bend over backwards to serve her Lord and Master, I’m not that. He wanted me to be an extension of him, and I’m a distinct entity, like Peter Pan’s shadow, I made the separation, but I’m still scrubbing away his stains, three years on.

That’s not a metaphor, I am literally scrubbing away stains. As well as being inept and egocentric, he was dirty. The lettings agents inspect the property every six months, when he was here, that would lead to me dousing the house in Febreeze and bleach on the morning of the inspection, after he’d gone to work. Housework was ‘my’ responsibility, and, apart from hurriedly shoving piles of his own worn socks down the arm of the sofa when his Dad visited, he didn’t do anything. I allowed that to continue. He never once washed the dishes, or vacuumed, and if he spilled or dropped anything on the carpet, he’d either just leave it, or blot it with one of his socks. He expected undying gratitude for mowing the lawn, and once sulked for days because I didn’t praise him for cleaning the outside of the vacuum cleaner. (No, he didn’t use it, or even empty it, he cleaned the outside of it, the man’s a melon.) At the last inspection, I asked the agent if there was any action required on my part. “No, it’s just the cleanliness again.” “Pardon?” “Well, your carpets and that, we know some of the stains were here when you moved in.” ‘Some’ of them, the rest were the ex, and his rancid dog. 

I can’t remember when we bought the Vax carpet-cleaning machine, it’s not really something I’d have marked on the calendar, but it most probably was in response to a spill of some description, and it probably wasn’t me that spilled it. (I am incredibly clumsy, more so since the brain injuries, but if I spill something, I clean it up straight away, so it doesn’t set as a stain.) The Vax worked the first time I used it, and then the second time I tried, there was no suction. The ex said he’d look at it, but it wasn’t a motorbike, or pornography, or a YouTube video of UFO conspiracies, so he didn’t look at it. For years, the lettings agents would ask me to address the stains on the carpets, and I’d end up on my hands and knees, with a bucket and a scrubbing brush, because the Vax was ‘broken.’ One year, after I’d blistered my hands really badly attempting to scrub the carpet, he hired an industrial carpet cleaning machine for me to use, then berated me for not using it properly, and leaving streaks on the carpet. The machine was faulty, he said he’d ask for a replacement, but that never happened, he ‘forgot.’ 

The Vax wasn’t ‘broken’, it was clogged. Dog-hair, and dirt, and grit had obstructed the inlet to the vacuum, and dried in position. Unclogging it would have been more pleasant if the machine hadn’t evidently sucked dog-urine out of the carpets. His dog pissed on everything, and he said he couldn’t smell it. I could. Apart from the constant-stink, wet carpet has a tendency to absorb more dirt, between the allotment, and the ex working in engineering, there was plenty of dirt. (Also lots of sand and grit, he had a tendency to dump fishing and camping gear on the carpet, “I’ll shift that in a bit.”, then he’d assume his position on the sofa, dropping yet more crumbs from toast and crisps.) 

“It was just the way he was raised.” was my old excuse for his behaviour. His family had a very traditional-patriarchal structure, the men went out to work, and the women had ‘little jobs’, and assumed responsibility for all of the housework. That was his ‘normal’, but not mine, my mother was an utter slattern, she worked full-time, she vacuumed once a week, and sporadically responded to my step-father’s desire for a basic degree of cleanliness by storming into my bedroom with a bin-liner, and a beating. Teaching me how-to-housework wasn’t on her agenda, I suppose I ought to thank her for not trying to shape me into some sort of Stepford Wife. Nobody taught the ex how-to-housework, either, when he split up with the girlfriend before me, the Mother-in-law took on his cleaning, laundry, and evening meals, lest his precious testicles fall clean off if he touched a duster. That stopped when he introduced me, and there was an assumption that I’d take over.

The first couple of months that we lived together were absolute chaos, I was working two jobs at the same time, so the house ended up looking like it had been rolled down a hill. The in-laws would ‘tut’ when they visited, and then the Mother-in-law straight-out ‘told’ me “You really need to Hoover every day, because of the dogs.” Me, not him. Some friends of his pointed out that I was ALWAYS washing dishes when they visited. I was. It wasn’t a house-proud thing, he’d always offer visitors coffee (which I was expected to make), and the mugs would all be dirty in the sink, because washing dishes wasn’t a routine thing. 

I’d moved in with him in the October, and in December, I became ill. ‘Viral illness’, which is doctor-code for “We’re not entirely sure, might clear up in time.” I’d changed jobs at the start of November, and was on a temporary ‘seasonal’ contract, which wasn’t renewed when my sick-note expired. I was unemployed, and really quite unwell, but I was ‘home all day’, and the ex quickly shifted from “I don’t expect to come home from work to find pots in the sink!” to “You need to get another job, or go.” Fine, whatever, being ‘kept’ was never going to suit me. A succession of menial factory jobs followed, frequently doubling-back, and staying for the ‘afters’ shift after doing the ‘days’ shift. Oh, look, the dishes are STILL in the sink. The company he was working for was having ‘financial difficulties’, and would ‘pay him next week’, so I kept accepting the double-backs, because it was only going to be a short-term thing. It wasn’t. The company went into administration, he was unemployed, and the dishes were still in the sink. 

He found another job, and we entered another period of clutter-and-chaos, kicking crap behind the sofa when the in-laws car pulled up outside. Their tutting and eye-rolling was never directed at him, their blue-eyed-boy wasn’t expected to cook or clean, he had a woman to do that for him. Except I didn’t. He’d have sporadic tantrums, usually directed at my books, or letter-writing, “I didn’t grow up in a scruffy house, YOU didn’t grow up in a scruffy house, why do you let it get like this?” Erm, I did grow up in a scruffy house, and a couple of books aren’t really the issue here. He denigrated the me-things, it wasn’t the physical presence of books, or writing paper, or bits of art-and-craft materials, it was the fact that while I was reading, or writing, or making things, my attention wasn’t on him. 

He’d occasionally decide he was going to clean up, but that usually lead to him emptying all of the videos out of the cabinet, dusting the shelves, and then deciding to watch a film, he really was rubbish. I started trying to play house, to please him, I had no idea what I was doing, literally, I shrunk his laundry, scorched his ironing, burned his dinner. Psychologically, I played right into his coercive control, we’d had the whirlwind romance, which had led to me excluding most of my friends, because he didn’t like them, and I didn’t want him to be angry with me. I didn’t like most of his friends, but I pushed the feelings, and their wandering hands away. I made myself less-than, back then, I idolised him, I had made him my ‘everything’, thrown myself into him, and this rabbit-hole precipice now is because I’m struggling to ‘find myself’. (Sick-bucket, please.) I spent 20 years walking on eggshells, trying not to upset him, more than half of that time, we’d accepted that the marriage was over, and I’d agreed to stay with him to avoid unsettling our son, or upsetting the Father-in-law. 

Ironically, the near-miss with my brain haemorrhage made me more aware of cleaning. My sense of smell is heightened, and I have constant visual disturbances, as well as a tendency to knock things over. Heaps and clutter are just accidents waiting to happen. More than that, nearly dying made me realise I wasn’t really living. There’s a tangent here, the ex’s mother died after a brain haemorrhage, I both didn’t-want-him, and didn’t want to be a constant reminder of his past-loss. I survived what killed his idol, she was the strongest woman he’d known, until he met me, and I really didn’t think it was fair on either of us to continue with the sham half-life. 

So, I’ll continue paring-down, throwing-out, and inventing new swear-words. Does the Vax machine that I’ve repaired with brute force, twisty-wire and duct tape ‘spark joy’? Of course it doesn’t. Does the fact that I’m finally managing to remove the stains he left from the carpet ‘spark joy’? Don’t be ridiculous, it’s physically painful, and every time I get the carpet wet, it re-activates the stench of dog-piss and engineering grease, I’m ploughing through my supplies of scented candles and wax melts at an alarming rate. I have a sense of achievement that I’ve managed to Womble-fix the Vax, and I know I’ll feel more content in myself after a couple more sessions of Vax-ing.

That was the point, I don’t do much in the way of ‘joy’, an old friend recently used ‘joy’ in a Facebook private message to me, and I shook my head. Looking for joy-and-only-joy is a futile existence, I’m not as miserable as the persona I project to the world, but humans aren’t designed to exist in a permanent state of ‘joy’ or ‘happiness’. It’s a fine aspiration to explore and embrace the truly wonderful, but it’s not a realistic expectation that everything-can-always-be-perfect. It can’t. These blogs are usually negative, it’s my way of purging, I do look for the positives in life, and there are many, but that Instagram-perfect isn’t me. I do false-front, I acknowledge that, but I refuse to buy-in to this something-saturation we’re bombarded with, I don’t need affirmation that I’m ‘enough’, I don’t need-to-be-needed, wanting-to-be-wanted is a different matter. 

I am ‘enough’, and I struggle with other-people pushing ‘happy’ as the norm. I’m content with I-don’t-hate-this, and accepting I-hate-this-now-but-it-will-be-done-soon.          

[rmjagonshi]

Whole Again - Chapter 2

Whole Again on AO3

Time was a blur. His legs ached by the time he thought to stop. He was still on the coast, still in town. He couldn’t have been running more than forty minutes. An hour at most. He was old. Even at a slow speed, running longer than it took to get from a hit to his car was tiring. And he was. His body felt loose and disjointed. His sides throbbed, punctuated with the occasional sharp pinch. His toes were numb, result of piss poor circulation. His head pulsed in time with his too rapid heartbeat. He felt dry. Dry and heated to the point of cracking. His mouth thought he had woken up from one hell of a bender.

What the HELL!? What the fuck is wrong with me!? Stan panted, hunching over to regain his balance. God damn. What was that? Stan’s mind reeled. Where had it come from? This sudden urge to maim and torture and fucking play with someone just to see what would happen was not an urge he was used to having anymore. Besides, he knew what would happen. He knew what the screams would sound like, how the organs would feel and how warm the blood would be. He knew, damn it! He didn’t need to do it. He didn’t want to. Fuck!

Had he always been like that? Had he been that violent as Stan? He wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear that answer.

He ran his free hand over his face, shoulders slumped and feet unsteady. His other hand loose and hanging onto the bag of steaks as an afterthought. It was too easy to slip into agenizing, hopeless despair. He had spent decades lost in that void, both figuratively and literally. Years lost on the road or stumbling through the forest looking for those damn journals. Centuries lost in a slowly collapsing dimension, wavering in and out of delight and regret at having killed his entire family and everyone he loved.  

His body went ridged, muscles wound tight with agitation. No. He wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t going to let this affect him. It was just an impulse. He had those, everyone did. The only difference now was he had different impulses. More violent ones. He shuddered and gritted his teeth, dentures pinching at his gums.

He should head back. He needed to pack up all the stuff he had delivered to the ship. He needed to make sure no one passed by and lifted anything.  Where was he? He had gone in a straight line, right? He didn’t remember making any turns.

He was in some residential area near the coast. The road had pulled away from the water’s edge and he could just faintly hear the splashing of the waves. He was on a bridge (a low one, barely ten feet) going over a gully leading down to the beach. The cement guard posts, made for stopping cars more than pedestrians, provided some semblance of reprieve. Everything hurt. He just needed a few minutes. He took off his red beanie and stuffed it in the pocket of his trench coat, running a hand through his hair. His hands felt tight, like the skin was too small. That’s when he realized he wasn’t sweating.

He needed to find some water.

Stan squinted at the buildings up the road from where he came, wishing not for the first time that he had been brave enough to get that cataract surgery. Anything not within two feet of his face was blurry and anything in the distance was just color. His glasses helped, but not much.

There is a bakery, 400 yards down the road, left side.

What? O Pan e Manteiga. Simple. Run by a Guy named Viktor. Makes great pita bread, oddly.

How did he know that? How do I know that?

He squeezed his eyes closed and started the slow trek to the storefront. He passed by a clothing store and a pawn shop on the way, a twang of nostalgia passing through his core.

It was there. O Pan e Manteiga. The Bread and Butter. Maybe he’d seen it and his subconscious took notice of it. I know lots of things! He shuddered. He wasn’t omnipotent. Not anymore. And not knowing everything kept things interesting.

Stan pushed the door open and winced at the tinging of the bell. A slender man about forty years old with salt and pepper hair greeted him in Gaelic. Stan didn’t respond, instead shuffling over to the counter clutching at his side that had started hurting again.  

He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. He opened his mouth to speak, stopped and tried again.

“Auga?” He asked tentatively. Stan’s voice was weak and he realized how out of breath he was.

Viktor smiled faintly and pulled a bottle of water from a sliding door cooler behind the counter.

“Douscentos trinta e cinco” Viktor spoke slowly, realizing that Stan was a foreigner.

Stan squinted and shook his head in confusion. He understood, kind of, but his mind was foggy. “What?” Viktor sighed and mimed the numbers 235. Stan pulled out the envelope of bills Ford had handed him after leaving the bank earlier. He flipped through the bills numbly and handed over far too much than Viktor had asked for but he didn’t care. The guy needed it if his daughter wanted that yearbook. Damnit! Stop that!

He gulped down the water, draining the bottle in a few short seconds. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead and nose as his body adjusted to having necessary moisture. Bodily necessities sucked. Sweating was weird, even if he had done it for sixty years, it was still weird. All that water just in his body and eking out through tiny holes in his skin. Skin itself was kinda weird too. It was mushy and soft and was fun to poke at, especially Ford. Ford had always seemed bemused whenever Stan Bill took over his body and sat poking and prodding at his various appendages.

He finished the bottle with a final gulp. Panting, he turned his gaze back to Viktor who was holding out a plastic bag with another bottle of water and some sort of wrapped pastry.

“I don’t…what?” God his voice was rough. He must have really needed that water.

Viktor sighed again, shaking the bag slightly at Stan. “Kleina. You like.”

Stan took the bag slowly, dropping the empty bottle in the bag too. The Kleina was warm and appeared to be diamond shaped donut with a hole in the middle.

“Thank you” Stan was still a little breathless and his words came out as a harsh gasp. He felt his cheeks coloring. He reached for the envelope again, but Viktor waved him off as he turned to help another customer that had walked in behind Stan. Stan pulled the second bottle out and began drinking it much less desperately and left an extra bill on the counter on his way out. That should cover part of the yearbook cost at least….aw, fuck it!

Storefront would look better yellow. Or pink. Guy’d look better with pink hair too. Stan’s fingers itched to snap, but he resisted. This is stupid! I’m human now! Been human for damn near sixty years. No more powers. Think I’d be used to it by now. He’d never wanted them before, so why now?  He was just feeling nostalgic, that was all. Being on the ocean with Ford had brought up a shit ton of nostalgia and it brought this too. That’s all it was. He sipped his water and made his way back to the docks.

*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His back ached by the time he had gotten the supplies loaded. Thankfully nothing had gone missing. He suspected the Harbor Master had been keeping an eye on things; the man had been walking back and forth in front of the Stan O’War often enough to catch Stan’s attention. Nice as it was it was still annoying because it meant he had to carry everything by hand rather than shrinking everything down and making one trip that didn’t throw his back out.

He was lounging on the galley booth nursing a Pitt Cola when he heard voices out front. Ford and some other male, both speaking Gaelic. He wanted to play dumb and pretend he didn’t understand. Let the syllables roll over him without their meaning sticking. But curiosity and the cat and all that. Actually, curiosity didn’t kill the cat, curiosity brought the cat people of Dimension Al/26 to his realm and he killed them. After he dressed them up in adorable little outfits and made them dance. Captain Puratrick the Fourth had cursed him with his last breath. Maybe that was why Lazy Susan’s cats hated him. He was cursed. Worked for him. Her voice reminded him of his aunt anyway. Creepy old trapezoid that she was.

Stan lifted himself off the seat of the booth and grumbled about being old. He let his mind shift and began listening to the conversation above.

“I’m still sure I can get a better range if I modify the receivers with reflective sheeting to concentrate the signal, but I need to know if you can supply the metal.” That would be Ford. Tongue flapping and voice rapid fire as he prattled on about improving their antenna. Stan knew it wouldn’t work. All it would do is scatter the signal even more with several receivers on their current antenna. Be better if he just ripped the whole thing out and put in a proper dish, but that would take weeks and more money than they both were comfortable spending.

Stan heard a low whistle and a regional exclamation of awe he didn’t quite understand. The hell did ‘codding’ mean?

“Jesus, an’ you came from America? You really are slaggin’ me. That’s ships pretty small ain’t it? Not even a sail. You got anyone else to keep you company?” Guy sounded more Irish than anything. Ford didn’t seem to take note of the flirtatious tone.  

“Just my twin Stanley.”

“OH, Twins, eh? Is ‘e as clean on as you are?” Nope, this was not happening.

“Umm……I don’t, I mean…the, um, the mainframe is in the top cabin if you wanted to take a look.” Great, Ford had finally caught on to this guy’s intent.    

Stan had been on his way up at the mystery man’s first comment. He exited the main cabin’s door in time to catch Ford blushing bright magenta holding his hands in front of him in defense.

“Ah, sorry, had you pegged for queer. Too bad, you’re just my type.” The Icelandic man (Irish, Stan was sure now) seemed to back down when he saw Stan hovering behind Ford. Stan put on a neutral to slightly annoyed expression and addressed Ford in English.

“Hey, back so soon? You missed putting supplies away. Who’s this clown?” He gestured to the new guy with an uptick of his chin.

Because the man really was dressed rather absurdly. Low cut white v-neck showing off his chest hair, cardigan thrown over his shoulders (he wasn’t even wearing it properly), chunky gold chain, green paperboy cap balanced on his head, 70’s porn ‘stache and…did this guy really have a fucking gold tooth?

His appearance ran like pins down Stan’s back; he instantly disliked the man, even without the knowledge that he was putting moves on Ford.

Damn kid was stealing his look! And flirting with his brother! AND getting a reaction. Time to nip this one in the bud.

“By the by, I picked up a package ‘o yer nappies. Expensive as hell out here, but if it’ll keep the mattresses clean.”

Ford’s face seemed to get even redder, deepening into near purple with humiliation. His eyes narrowed and he turned a scowl towards Stan that would have withered him some years ago.

“STANLEY!” Oh, he was pissed. “What are you on about now, you knucklehead?” Stan shifted his attention back and forth between Ford and porno guy, internally cheering when he saw a look of surprised disgust curl up and find a home under that poor excuse for a mustache. While an unfortunate fact of life, he figured incontinence was a major turn off if this guy was lookin’ to ride a silver fox.

The guy switched to English and Stan felt damn proud of himself pegging the Irish heritage when a thick accent came out. “Oy, sorry mate. Takin’ a look at yer set up, I don’t think there’s anything I can do. ‘Less you wanna get yerself a whole new rig. Ye’ best jus’ stick with what ya got. Sorry, other places ta be. Good luck, ya?” And with that, Irish prono ‘stache was hopping off the deck and hightailing it to the main dock.

Stan couldn’t help but grin; cat and proverbial canary and such, but the guy practically left trail of fire with how fast he ran. HA! He braved a glance back at Ford, who had been lackadaisically trying to call out to the guy, hand outstretched to stop him. He turned to Stan, lips pursed.  

“Damnit, Stanley, what the hell was that for?” Ford’s hands gesturing between them.

Stan frowned. Ford was naive when it came to social interactions, but he wasn’t that dense.

“Saving you from having to fend off potentially wandering hands later.” He’d thought it had been obvious. Ford apparently hadn’t gotten that.

“By implying that I’m incontinent? If anyone needs extra absorbency it’s you. And he was going to help me modify the antenna. Now where am I going to get highly polished sheet metal?” Stan decided to ignore Ford’s comment and simply address the main issue, which was that this guy was moving in on his terr, NO! Not going there. He was just looking out for Ford.

“Polishin’ sheet metal wasn’t what he was lookin’ to do.” And he did know. The guy wanted to do a heck of a lot more than just work on their antenna. He could see the guy’s fantasies of being dominated by Ford as clear as if he’d been watching a film. He would have been disappointed.  

“I could have handled it.” Sheepish and mild annoyance made Ford adorable. I need a lamb costume. Wonder if he would do the ‘Lambie, Lambie dance’ for me.

“Yeah, like you weren’t trippin’ over yer words and backin’ down like you were avoidin’ a fight.” Even in high school Ford had been all hands and confused tongue when talking to people he liked. Cathy Crenshaw being a prime example.  

“Stanley, I’ve been traveling the multiverse for thirty years, I can handle one guy. And who’s to say I wasn’t interested. You don’t know what I’m into?” Stan snorted. Yeah, he would have never expected Ford to be attracted to a yellow triangle, but there you go. Come to think of it, Ford had stammered and flushed when he had flirted with him, too. Not that he had intended to, he was just praising Ford on his calculations. And maybe implying that big brains were evidence of other big things. At the time, he had meant big heads, but Ford’s wide-eyed expression was funny, so he had let Ford think otherwise. 

“No, I don’t know, but I could see you were lookin’ fer a way out. I gave you one. ‘Sides, the guy was right. It’d only scatter the signal more.” Stan was done with this conversation, and he could tell Ford was on the last bit of his patience too. Ford arched an eyebrow incredulously, nose wrinkling in disbelief.  

“How would you know? I don’t remember you knowing anything about radio signals.”

Stan baulked. Shit…Shit. Fuck. Shit.

“I don’t tell you everything, Poindexter. ‘Sides, I had ta learn a lil’ somin somin ‘bout it. In the middle ‘o winter, havin’ a radio to let people know what’s up was damn useful. I’m gonna head down and start moving things. Got some steaks for dinner tonight. Picked up a donut at a shop down the way. Left it for you. Not sweet enough for me.” Stan waved a hand dismissively and started back down to the galley. He fully intended to spend the rest of the night avoiding any continuation of this conversation if he could help it. If that meant re-arranging stock, cooking dinner, and washing dishes, then he was glad to do it.  

He grumbled obscenities about where Irish Porn Star could shove it and about brothers who were too smart for their own good as he stomped down to the galley, back pain be damned. He snagged the bag of toffee peanuts from the table, tearing into the bag without thinking.  

“I thought they stopped making those God-awful things?” Ford had obviously followed him down and was emptying his pockets into a drawer by the stairwell. Stan glanced down at the bag in his hands, mouth open in mid-bite. Ummmm.  

“Oh, uh, found a store in town that sold them. Guy wouldn’t let me buy their whole stock. Same place I got you that donut.” He pushed the bag with the Kleina towards the other side of the table where Ford would undoubtedly sit.    

They had been in the bag that Viktor gave him,…right? Yeah, he’d asked for them. There had been a whole display. And if a bag of jellybeans appeared in the cupboard the next morning for Ford to find, well, those had been in the bag too.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The steaks had been exceptional (though he was sure they had been mutton rather than beef, but hey, good either way) and he and Ford had set up on the deck with folding chairs and a pack of beer between them. It was some domestic (Icelandic) beer that sat meaty and heavy in his mouth. But it had been cheap and tasted okay cold. Ford didn’t seem to mind it either, and he had never been much of a drinker.

“There are positives and negatives to being near civilization.” Ford’s voice was light and Stan hummed in curiosity. “This is the first night that we haven’t been able to see the stars clearly.” Ford took a sip from his bottle and leaned further back in his chair. Ford had always liked looking at the stars. Constellations and planets and the occasional light distortion of a distant galaxy. The telescope mounted on the roof of the cabin was proof enough, although that was mainly used for navigation.  

Stan grinned, “You want stars Poindexter, all you gotta do is look out on the water.” It was true. The various lights from the ships coming in and out of port twinkled and danced as their light reflected and refracted off the moisture in the air and the water’s surface. It reminded him of the clouds of fireflies that would creep out of the forest at night back in Gravity Falls.

Ford let out a soft chuckle and drained his beer before snagging another. They sat in silence and just took in the world around them. Quiet slaps of the water against the hull of the boat, gentle breath of the wind bringing in the smells of the ocean. He could almost feel the sand between his toes and the press of a wooden seat of a swing set. They used to do this, sit for hours, and not talk, watching the swirls of the mindscape float by, carrying pages of information and memories with them. Comfortable. Stan had always taken comfort in Ford’s presence. Even when he had annoyed the heck out of him and Ford was purposefully ignoring him, he still liked being near Ford. Making a point to sit next to him or float just beyond his peripheries.

At first it had just been a way to use Stanford. Get close and chummy to gain his trust and have the portal built. It was kind of pathetic how quickly he grew to enjoy Ford’s company. He used to find really stupid excuses to possess Ford’s body; he need to write something down, he missed a button, he was gonna slip in the shower, he hadn’t eaten that day, he’d been trying to…stay awake. 

Stan hated himself. All of himself. He had driven Ford to the brink of insanity, tormenting and teasing. Messing with his mind and memories in an effort to goad him into pleading, begging him to stop. It pleased him when Ford begged. He had wanted to pull Ford taut, pull him apart before giving him what he wanted. Eventually, Ford had stopped eating, stopped sleeping and he was losing control of his body. Stan remembered forcefully taking over just to get Ford to bathe and shove a sandwich down his throat before downing some sleeping pills. Yeah, Ford was a puppet. But he was Stan’s favorite puppet. 

He sighed. That was a long, long time ago. As much as he lamented it now, he couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed it at the time. Things were different now. He was a new man, a different man and as much as memories from back then nagged at his mind, this was what he wanted. This, right here. On a boat with his brother, looking for scientific and magical anomalies and finding treasure. And babes! Speaking of, Stanford had been turning something over in his mind. Stan wished he’d just spit it out already, he was ready for some action. He pointedly ignored that he knew what Ford was going to ask.        

Ford cleared his throat. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the scanner. I think there might be another anomaly up the coast a ways.” Stan harrumphed and chugged the last of his beer. “I heard today that Lokinhamradalur Valley up in the western fjords has had some issues with ghosts for several hundred years. The farmers up there have been complaining about spooked livestock, wilting crops and sand in the water pumps.” Ford scratched at his side of his face, glancing at Stan from the corner of his eye, desperately trying not so sound like Dipper discovering something new. Stan could feel his eyes rolling before he even thought to do so, and shook his head. What kind of brother would he be to deny Ford who seemed all but vibrating out of his seat with excitement.

“Alright, Nerd. We can go lookin’ for your spookums and ghosts and shit. But you’re cookin’ dinner tomarra’ and I get to decide what treasure we keep.” There really wasn’t any malice behind his words, but one had to keep up appearances.

The grin on Ford’s face could have lit up a room. His eyes practically glittering. What was a little side trip to check out some local folklore?  

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