#a bunch of these cuttings already have a new leaf growing!!

[lakemichigans]

my babies

[epicspheal]

Alright so that Neo Champion event was...disappointing. Infuriatingly so. So to start off Professor Oak sees that there are a bunch of new trainers who are struggling. Professor Oak feels like they are aiming too high and that could cause problems for them and wants to help them. So he calls Lance to gather Red, Blue and Leaf. The Kantrio think they are being summoned to help be judges when Lance surprises them by saying he wants them to be participants by teaming up with the beginner trainers. Lance and Professor Oak mention the parameters of the tournament which provides my first and probably most major critique. There's two parts: a knowledge part and a battle part. Now, the problem I have here is there should've been three parts. The name of the event is "Three Trainers, Three Minds" which implies that we're going to see how three trainers with different mindsets mentor others. So theoretically there should be three parts that showcase the strengths of their individual training styles Only there's two...so someone is going to get left out. Leaf suggests to Red and Blue that because this is an opportunity to grow they should try using new Pokemon. She mentions she was inspired by the Galar NC trio, so this gives the hint that the three had already caught the legendary birds (par for the course so far for the Neo champion events in that the Pokemon they're paired with are ones they already owned). Now it's time to train!

First we have Blue, who enlists the help of three previous neo champions to help train his team: Bede, Hop and Calem. Now this is cool because they all have the same thing in common with struggling to beat their rivals (the protagonists) and it seems like there might be some discussion where Blue talks about learning from past mistakes...or not they just kind of skip over any discussion. Oh and where's Zapdos? Not around apparently. Blue was really eager to take up Leaf on the idea of using his legendary bird but of the three he's the only one not shown to be practicing with it with his mentees. Leaf does actually use her Moltres to her team and her part of the story involves her instructing her team on how it's important to deepen their knowledge of Pokemon not just by looking at a Pokedex but by bonding with them. It then cuts to Blue meeting with Leaf in the town square. Both of them feel like training is going well for their teams, but then the conversation switches to Red. They're both concerned about their silent friend as they don't know about his teaching skills. So they decide to check on him They eventually find Red and his Articuno...relentlessly beating his team. The trainers look visibly panicked and even say they surrender at one point. Blue and Leaf try to caution Red about overdoing the tough love and that they're being judged on how well they mentor the others. Red assures them (silently) that he has this in mind and that's why's he going all out on them Now Red going ham on his team invokes him Gigantamaxing his Snorlax in the Rocket Hideout back in the Villain arc. He clearly isn't one to go easy. But where you can at least justify him really not liking Team Rocket and wanting to shut them down with haste...it's hard to say the same when of the Kantrio, he has the youngest mentees (a youngster and a camper). It felt like overkill. I can 100% buy Red not being the most natural mentor. He's not perfect and it's a good way to show that. I thought it was a little much to have him go that hard on newbies. If his team was slightly more experienced trainers but who were stuck in a rut it would've felt a little less heavy-handed. Then it's the day of the tournament. We see Blue and Leaf with their teams who are clearly nervous. Blue's team tell him they're scared of holding him back and despite them winning against Hop, Bede and Calem, they apparently lost more times than they won. Blue tells them to have more confidence in themselves but honestly it felt like they needed to hear different words of encouragement. Meanwhile Leaf's team is also feeling similarly, however Leaf manages to respond with telling them to relax and have fun. That they won't be able to show their best if they're too anxious. Where's Red and his team? Well thankfully he didn't scare his group off. In fact they run into Diantha, Alder and Steven and eagerly challenge the three champions to a battle. Congrats, Red you're Bootcamp was successful.

The tournament begins. First part is the knowledge assessment. Everyone does well but Leaf is the clear winner. Professor Oak compliments her and her team's deep knowledge of Pokemon and their love too.

Blue remarks "trust and love in your Pokemon"...which almost certainly reminds anyone who played RBGY/FRLG of what was told to Blue after he lost to Red. That was a key part he was missing. And years later, he missed it again.

Now to the battle portion. We already know Leaf has secured her spot as a neo champion so now we know narratively we're about to see another Red vs Blue matchup. Well with the Neo champion stadium being about growth and seeing interesting upsets (Calem finally beating Serena and Bede, Hop and Marnie finally taking down Gloria, Victor AND Leon) surely we're about to see something unprecedented right? Ha. Hahaha. Red, Blue and Leaf all make it to the semifinals, with Blue's team taking out Leaf's team. But then it's time to face Red's and it's clear he's at a disadvantage. Where Red's team takes the powerful hits in stride, Blue's team quickly becomes frazzled and his two mentees get knocked out rather quickly leaving only Blue left. A final clash happens between Zapdos and Articuno but Red's Articuno emerges victorious. So Blue focused too much on training them up quickly that he forgot to teach them to enjoy battling. Despite Red's training from hell, his team managed to at some point lose their fear of losing (as seen by them being fearless enough to challenge the likes of Diantha, Alder and Steven to a battle). Once again we see Blue repeat a mistake that cost him the championship title years ago: being so afraid of losing he forgot to just enjoy the battle. This leads me to my second major problem with the arc. Blue has been hinted throughout Pokemas to not only enjoy mentoring others, but to be good at it. Yet if I'm being honest, he did poorly in this story. He failed to realize his team needed better words of encouragement, he was the only one of the Kantrio to not use his legendary in training, and he failed to teach his trainees how to better bond with their Pokemon and how to enjoy battling. The only saving grace in this is that he at least in both instances of failure against Leaf and Red recognizes where he messed up and apologizes... Which would've been a great jumping off point for a third arc where he can correct those mistakes and give his team a chance at victory...oh wait...it's only two parts to this tournament. Welp With the trend of Neo Champion events being a chance for the rivals to triumph over the protagonist friends, it was really jarring and disheartening to see Blue not get a clear distinct moment to shine against both Red and Leaf (yeah he wins against Leaf in the battle portion, but it's never stated he came in second place to her for the knowledge portion which would've implied that he at least beat Red at something). We come to the end where they announce the Neo champions. Leaf is first and she's praised for having a deep knowledge of Pokemon and true love for them as well. Red is last and he was praised for being able to conquer his team's fears of losing and how sharp they looked, reminding Lance of when Red challenged him. Oak does mildly chide Red for his methods being harsh but it was kind of downplayed.

But Blue gets told his team was solid in both performances so the judges thought he should get the title too. Honestly didn't feel like he was really solid because he made two critical mistakes (that again were supposed to have been ingrained in him after his loss at the Indigo Plateau). Also the praise was more directed at his team having a solid showing but not the one thing I felt like he did really well which was own up to his faults and saw room for improvement. It's an important part of leadership and the fact that was dismissed too was annoying. Again, a third leg of the tournament the writers could've used that strength of his to give him a chance to unequivocally defeat Leaf and Red instead of just being the solid number 2. Yeah it was nice to (finally) see Professor Oak praise Blue to his face, but it honestly felt a little unearned in the sense he didn't feel amazing the way Leaf and Red got to be. It felt more like a participation trophy than him getting to back the claims up that he's made over the story of Pokemas of being a good mentor (and as he said in his sygna suit sync pair story he's supposed to be better at it than Red). So yes, the Kantrio get to all be Neo Champions but it felt like this story didn't capture the same level of growth and resolving loose ends the previous two did. Blue failed to triumph, Red kind of got away with harsh training that would've been scolded a bit more harshly otherwise, and Leaf kind of shines in a safe way but not really challenging her skills.

[magnus-and-the-dragon]

The library in my new city has a seed / cuttings library and it has honestly been such a joy for me.

Growing up, our house was always full of plants. My mom loves them and has such a wonderful green thumb, and I never realized how cool that was until I went away to college and realized how much I missed having green, living things around me.

So I started building a collection of plants! But I was busy, and constantly having to either leave them at school over breaks or haul them home with me, and ultimately, it didn’t go so well.

(I still have one plant from those days, a philodendron that my mamma bought me. She’s been repotted a few times now, and spawned more cuttings than I can count, but she has come everywhere with me since then and I intend to treasure her as long as I can.)

I struggled more with my plants once I moved back home. There wasn’t a good space in my room for them, and I was busy again, and I think a few of my plants were absorbed into my mom’s collection, but I just couldn’t figure out their care.

Then I went to Philly, and started to figure things out. I had my own space again, picked up a few new members for the family, but the light was crappy in our basement apartment and we were fighting drainflies and I was still traveling SO much, having to leave them or haul them along.

Which brings me to now. Our gorgeous new apartment, with big windows and ample natural light. I have a shelf dedicated to my plants, with a growlight and a new watering can and everything we need.

And it is so fun to see them THRIVING.

My African violet, which I got as a tiny little thing and nearly killed, is MASSIVE, almost eight inches across. I just had to repot her for the first time!

My spider plant, which my mamma propagated from her own— this is actually the third one she’s been generous enough to give me, and the first one I’ve managed to keep alive, and I’m finally seeing new growth!

My variegated umbrella plant, who I have such high hopes for; my grandparents have a massive one, proper floor-plant sized, and mine is tiny now, but maybe someday she can be so impressive too.

My shamrock, who is somehow thriving even though I put it in a ridiculous pot with no drainage and am still figuring out how to avoid crisping her leaves with too much light.

My orchid, who I’m rather worried about honestly, used to be SO good with them and haven’t been able to keep one alive since I left college— her roots aren’t looking so good— but I’ve switched up her medium and I’m hoping, HOPING this can save her.

And my sweet philodendron, who is currently in a planter my brother gave me, as tidy and beautiful as she’s ever looked.

I’ve always struggled with how to keep her looking nice; they grow so fast and so wild, and I hate to throw healthy growth away, but I already have a big pot of propagated vines and another big bunch growing in a vase, and at some point, I just can’t keep up.

So, the seed library 💗

It honestly makes me so happy.

Every month I inspect all my plants, do any trimming or fertilizing or repotting they need, and it feels so good to snip off those leggy bits that don’t fit and pop them in a jar to become something new.

I’m lucky that our library is big and beautiful and well-used; the librarians are always so happy when I bring by a new set of cuttings, and so often, they’ve all been taken by the time I leave a few hours later.

It makes me so, so happy to see my own plants thriving, and to be able to share that joy.

And I’ve gained some friends too!

I picked up a lovely piece of tradescantia (another one I’ve been scared to buy since I killed the first one I bought) and it’s been growing like a weed, putting out the most velvety, gorgeous new leaves— enough that I’ve already trimmed another piece to root.

I also grabbed a beautiful little pothos, only one leaf when I took it and still not ready to be planted, but it’s variegated and ruffled and I am unbelievably excited to see what it grows into.

Anyways. This is somewhere that I feel like my progress is Visible, where I can look back and see where I’ve come, and now the seed library has just renewed that joy again. I wish I could thank the people who left those cuttings I took, that I could tell them how important these little plants are to me, and I hope I can find the courage to thank the librarians too. But for now, I’m going to voice it here.

I love my little family of plants, I’m so grateful to everyone who had helped me to grow it, and I am proud of my own growth too 💗

[finsterhund]

Baby beans update:

I now as of writing this have four confirmed scarlet runner plants. Got the fourth new sprout just today.

I had to prune a leaf off of my first and biggest and favourite because it got stuck to a pest trap on the window but it seems to be doing alright in spite of that. Has yet to start vining around supports despite me giving it one to try out already and attempting to coax it onto it. Maybe it's way too soon. I have multiple trellis styles for them to choose when they actually start wanting to anchor themselves.

Been on the hunt for plant rooting hormone with no success. I don't want to have to buy it off Amazon but looks like I might :( I want to get into propagating cuttings as it's more interesting to clone pieces of a plant than waiting for seeds to germinate (blame all the fucking parsley my roommate wanted me to grow for his rabbits. That shit is boring as fuck. Things still haven't sprouted. So much of my limited window space is dedicated to parsley. I can't wait until it sprouts so I can stick it on the patio and give sprouting real estate to something that doesn't go to hell and back before sprouting. Then when I finally get to go to a garden center I see they're selling already established parsley plants and for fucks sake... Oof... Should have just gotten one of those and tried to propagate it to grow it out more. I know for next time I guess)

I got a mysterious plant at the store. No clue what it is but my friends say elephant ear and I'm losing my mind at what are the chances!!! I hope it is because of that. No clue how to take care of it. The only words on it were the barcode that said "tropical" so I'm just winging it and hoping it likes what I do for it. Here's a photo if you think you can identify it

This mysterious plant looked sad and alone and fucked up like me so I rescued it. Repotted it and it seems to be doing okay considering I have no idea its care requirements.

My neighbor who's been super nice gave me random bulbs and seeds so I've got tulips I think. Roommate wanted to learn how to plant things so I let him plant one of the bulbs and it seems to be doing alright. Thinking about putting them on the patio in these little hanging planters I got from the dollar store. Not a flower man to be honest (blame my allergies and the fact that flowering can kill a potted Venus flytrap) so I'm less interested in having them in my room. But what I do like is daffodils. I associate them with my grade 3 teacher and I'm pretty sure the school planted a whole bunch of them in his memory so when I saw daffodils I had to get them. They're doing pretty good in a terracotta pot I got for them. I've been pruning off flowers and leaves when they dry out and it's been shooting up new ones.

I'm trying to propagate a blackberry cutting without rooting hormone and there's buds sprouting but no visible roots yet. Oof. I heard raw honey is a good rooting hormone alternative and I have raw honey so maybe I'll try.

I desperately want to propagate cuttings from beloved trees of my childhood. Since cuttings are clones it's like literally having part of that tree with me. But I'm so far away I can't collect cuttings. That's why I called my mom last night but she doesn't understand or know how to do it and didn't want to do it so that's a bust. Apparently willow is really easy to propagate and also really easy to make a bonsai tree so my immediate thing I will beeline to if I ever get to go back there is the beloved willow tree. Willow is so good at propagation you can make a steeped tea out of fresh willow growth and use it to propagate other plants! So if I ever get my hands on a clone of my beloved childhood willow tree I'll be doing that with the cuttings.

My mom might if I'm lucky passively try to get me acorns from one of my favourite childhood parks though so this is something at least.

Someday I want to do grafting!!?! Which is like propagating cuttings but more like a dark arcane abomination magic. It's where you take a branch or something from one plant and surgery it onto another plant. And it lives!!?? Yeah. Turns out that's how you grow fruit trees that don't suck. That's why my childhood attempts at apple trees never bore fruit (hahahahahahahaha look I made a funny) because especially with things like apples and avocados the seed you grow doesn't necessarily result in a tree that has those fruit. It's weird as fuck tbh. So you have to graft from a plant that does. Apparently there's possibilities for certain abominations. Aka different fruits on different trees. I think that's extremely cool but fucked up. kinda like if you got an organ transplant and it brought with it skills or talents or interests of the person the organ came from.

I want to get cuttings of the fruit trees from the Spot house also. So many places so many plants.

Mom also said there are oak trees in grandma's garden. More reason I want to go back there. What must the garden be like now? What survived? Hnnnn

I want to live in the farmhouse and restore the garden so bad. I'm more of a greenhouse guy so maybe I'd convert it into a greenhouse. Would be better in the long run for retaining moisture and overwintering.

Truly feel like I'm in my magic rock special powers era right now. Apparently I'm too focused on my plants and that I should be patient and that I'm expecting them to grow too quickly so hopefully the novelty will wear off to some extent so I can be more casual.

I'm looking for good full spectrum grow lights to use as bulbs for my main bedroom light. So far I've only found those weird purple grow lights. If I had sun emulation as my bedroom lights that'd mean I could grow plants anywhere in my bedroom and also it would probably help me. I just gotta make sure that having grow lights on all the time isn't carcinogenic, you know? I wish I could find one of those lightbulb splitters that's also a timer so it would switch from the grow bulbs to a normal bulb after a certain point. That would be the dream. Having my lighting situation automated without stupid smart bulb phone app stuff that dies after a year *glares at my previous setup*

Having bulbs that are enough for plants as the main light source of my room and being able to put plants everywhere would be nice I think. Imagining sunflowers and runner beans just all over the place. I'm having difficulty figuring out how to put hanging pots into my window but if I was able to grow plants anywhere I could just screw hooks from the ceiling and do that instead.

I wish I had so much more space. Like if I had an entire room dedicated to being a greenhouse. I want bonsai trees so much. Apparently the conditions I keep my bedroom make it more ideal for bonsai than people's homes which is neat. I also heard that if you plant a bonsai tree properly even after years it will grow into a normal healthy tree. So I could have bonsai of rare endangered or otherwise desirable trees and then upon my death they could be used in reforesting efforts. Or just put at my gravesite instead of a body.

It's sunny today. Happy because it's good for my plants.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Christmas Specials: Jake and Kauri

Honestly, this is mostly just some genuinely sharp pining and yearning.

“Merry Christmas.”

The box, small and light, drops onto the kitchen table with a sound more like a tap than a thud. Jake blinks down at it, cheerfully wrapped in a bright cacophony of rainbow colors in vaguely ornament-like shapes. Jake sets his coffee mug slowly down, steam curling up into the air, particles of dust briefly visible floating through the beams of early morning light.

Kauri hasn’t slept, and it’s clear - his hair is still mussed, he’s wearing clothes from the night before, that particular look of shadowed satisfaction he has after a night well-wasted. Red-rimmed eyes and the slightest wince at the sun coming in through the curtains, and still… still, he’s Kauri, and Jake’s glad to see him.

“Not Christmas yet,” Jake offers, carefully casual. If his eyes are on Kauri’s too long, neither one of them mention it. Kauri smells like cigarette smoke and another man’s cologne, and he doesn’t smoke so Jake knows that means he’s been with someone who does. “You’re up early, Kaur.”

“At what point,” Kauri asks, with the air of a philosopher posing a question for the ages, “Does it stop being up late and begins being up early?”

“When it’s 7 o’clock in the fucking morning, you’re pretty safely at up early. What brought you by?”

Kauri shrugs, pouring himself a cup of coffee. The house creaks around them, ancient bones settling into the foundation. There’s the telltale squeak of the spot just outside the bathroom door, and then the sound of water rushing through pipes. Chris, in the shower, Jake thinks. Antoni steps around the spot on the floor that squeaks. Leila moved out, and they haven’t gotten anyone new for her old room yet.

“I just decided to,” Kauri says, yawning, and something about the way his eyes close makes him look like a sleepy kitten, rumpled and ready to simply list to the side until he collapses. “Had this to give you.”

“I have something for you, too, but I haven’t wrapped it.”

Kauri blinks, pouring peppermint mocha creamer into the coffee cup and topping it off with plain milk. He turns and leans back against the counter, sipping, and the way he smiles a little at the taste of the coffee makes Jake’s chest twist in an anxiety he can name but can’t afford to linger on. “You got me a present?”

Kauri sounds so fucking surprised that it hurts.

Do you really think so little of yourself?

“Of course I did. So did Chris, and Nat, and Antoni.”

Kauri lets out his breath, disbelieving, shaking his head with a half-grin. “I don’t know why. I can’t have anything that doesn’t fit in my backpack.”

“I mean, you could stay-”

“No.” Kauri cuts him off. “No. I can’t.”

“Fair. But I think everyone got you stuff that you can carry with you easy. Plus I think Nat got Keira something, but don’t ask me what. What you buy for a fucking Roomba is beyond me.” Jake watches the way Kauri relaxes back into the easy joking, the more sensitive minefield of simply being cared for avoided for now. “I’ll be right back, then we can exchange, yeah? Just us, first.”

“Yeah.” Kauri gives him that cockeyed grin again, turns to look out the window. The sky is a riot of purples and pinks as the sun slowly rises on a California December. The only change is that it’ll start raining soon, and Kauri wears a sweater sometimes.

Jake pushes himself to his feet, ducking his head as usual to avoid knocking it on the top of the doorframe, heading up the stairs with the solid creaks from the old steps that are as much a part of the house as the pictures Nat keeps on the wall. Chris meets him coming out of the shower, towel-drying his longish hair - he’s growing it out, he says, and it has the slightest curl against the back of his neck and under his ears - and wearing all his clothes already.

With some of the rescues, it’s a sign they still didn’t feel safe, when they took all their clothes into the bathroom and never let their skin be seen. With Chris, as with most Romantics, it’s the opposite. He feels safe enough to know he can make himself comfortable any way he wants. Not feeling like he needs to show skin is a sign of security for him.

“Hey, hey Jake,” Chris says, one green eye covered by the pastel purple towel. “Did, did I hear you, um, you talking to, to-... is, is breakfast-”

“Can you chill up here for a sec?” Jake interrupts him, voice pitched low. At Chris’s confusion, he says softly, “I just… want to do something. Give me ten minutes, yeah? Then I’ll start on breakfast and you can come down.”

“Um, oh-okay,” Chris says, frowning, but he slips into the room he shares with Antoni, and Jake heads for his own room, digging out Kauri’s gift from underneath a carefully arranged pile of basically trash papers in his desk drawer. Hidden, like Kauri was a kid who still believed in Santa.

Hidden, like Jake didn’t want to explain what he did to anyone but Kauri, and definitely didn’t want to explain why.

He heads back downstairs with the gift carefully slipped into his back pocket, unseen until he wants Kauri to know. Ducks his head again - and Jake has been ducking to avoid doorframes since he was sixteen, he thinks, or eighteen maybe - and finds Kauri right where he left him, still sipping his coffee, lost in thought.

Warm gold light edges his mussed-up black curls, sets off the blue of his eyes when he turns to look at Jake. Lights his smile a little, too. Jake’s eyes catch the barest hint of a flash of bare skin at his stomach, where shirt hem and low-slung jeans meet. 

“Want to do yours first?” Jake asks, and his voice sounds airy to him, but Kauri doesn’t seem to notice.

“Nah. You open yours, then I’ll do mine.” Kauri gives a smooth shrug, effortlessly graceful. Or maybe it hadn’t been effortless, before it’d been beaten into him until he couldn’t be anything else. 

Jake nods, slowly, and sits down, carefully shifting his weight not to put any on the phone, and takes the box in hand. He rips open a seam very slowly and shifts the box out, then folds the wrapping paper and sets it to the side. 

He catches Kauri watching him, eyebrows furrowed again and glances up. 

“Why-... why didn’t you just tear it?” Kauri points at the folded square, as neat as origami. “Why did you do that? It’s like 15 cents of paper.”

Jake shrugs, running his fingers over the smooth, plain brown box the size of his palm, mostly flat. “We always saved wrapping paper to use the next year, when I was a kid. It’s just a habit, guess I never lost it. What’s in here?”

“Open the box and see.” Kauri holds his mug in both hands, giving him a pleased little smile, and not for the first time, Jake thinks, if I’d met you any other way…

He opens the box. Inside, there’s three gift cards, slightly shiny, and Jake looks each one over, blinking, before he looks up. “This is… the Mitchells Center downtown, the Blue Martini, and… Holden’s Harbor… Kauri, this is-... what is this?”

“A date.” Kauri bites down on his lower lip, looking at Jake over his mug, and his eyes are sparkling bright. Jake almost opens his mouth to say, I’m so sorry, we can’t do that, we just can’t, when Kauri quickly adds, “For you and Addie.”

Jake’s protest dies, unspoken. “For… for Addie?”

“Yeah. You’ve been talking for months about saving up for a big anniversary thing, and then, you know, I heard you say you were giving Nat a bunch of your money when the pipe burst and the basement flooded, so…” He shrug, again. “I didn’t want you to miss out on your date. And I remembered you said she likes that bar, the Blue Martini, I know the bartender there-”

You know everyone, everywhere.

“-so he’s gonna give you drinks half-price, just tell me the night and I’ll let him know. Then Holden’s Harbor, that’s the big one, but I’m friends with a waiter and the hostess is going to give you a table that looks over the Bay, she’s fun, I partied with her a few week ago. And then… the Mitchells Center is doing Hadestown, and you said that’s Addie’s big thing right now. So. Happy anniversary.” 

Jake is, for a moment, utterly speechless. “Kauri this is like-... three hundred dollars of-... you can’t possibly-”

“Four. But don’t worry about it. I had a bunch of really good weeks a couple months ago and I don’t spend much money, anyway. Is it good? Do you think?”

Jake just stares at the gift cards for a second, swallowing around a lump in his throat, a tightening threatening to take his voice. “It’s, um.” His voice cracks a little and he has to clear his throat to recover it. “It’s amazing, Kaur. Thank you. Um… like I said, I didn’t have time to wrap it, but…” He pulls the gift out of his back pocket and lays it out on the table between them.

Kauri steps forward, setting his mug down. “What-... a new phone? Thanks, I-”

“Yeah, but, um, that’s not what’s important. Just…” Jake picks the phone up, and it feels like such a dumb thing, now, what he did, but he powers through it. The phone isn’t locked yet, and it’s easy to pull up the apps and folders, select one, and open it up. He slides the phone closer. “Pick one of those, and click it.”

Kauri looks down, and Jake looks with him. It’s a file folder open to a bunch of sound files, each one labeled with an emoji rather than words. A heart, a broken heart, a smile, a sad face. A gravestone. A tree. A cat.

His finger hovers, and then taps deliberately over the heart. A line of options pops up, each one punctuated with new emojis. The one Kauri picks is marked with a face that has blue eyes and black hair, a leaf, and a flower.

“I swear,” A voice - Jake’s voice - comes out of the phone’s speaker, “since seeing Your face, the whole world is fraud and fantasy. The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf or blossom. The distracted birds can’t distinguish the birdseed from the snare.”

“What is this?” Kauri’s voice is hushed, and uncertain. He almost sounds scared. But he doesn’t stop the recording. 

“A house of love with no limits,” The voice continues, “A presence more beautiful than Venus or the moon. A beauty whose image fills the mirror of the heart. The Divani Shamsi Tabriz XV.”

Jake clears his throat again. “That’s, um, Rumi.”

Kauri’s breath catches in his throat, and he looks for a second like he’ll pick another choice, then pulls his hand back, looking up at Jake wide-eyed. “You… recorded poetry? For my Christmas present?”

“Yeah.” Jake licks at his lips, his heart pounding for reasons he can’t really explain to himself, or maybe just doesn’t want to. “You, um, you quote-... you quote shit all the time, so I started looking it up, and it’s almost always… poetry. So I figured, maybe, um, maybe-... you liked that shit, you know? And you shouldn’t have to… not get it, just because you can’t read yet. So I recorded, um, like… two hundred poems or something?”

Kauri opens his mouth to speak, closes it again. 

“Oh my God,” is all he says. His voice cracks.

Jake’s chest twists, nervous, he finds himself tapping his foot on the floor, twisting fingers into his pajama pants. 

Kauri leans over and pushes another poem, in a sudden burst of movement like he wants to stop himself and can’t. “Sometimes, I think you get the worst of me.” Jake’s voice is softer on this poem, and it’s uncomfortable listening to himself read this. Why did Kauri choose the love poems? “The much-loved loose forest-green sweatpants, the long bra-less days, hair knotted and uncivilized, a shadowed brow where the devilish thoughts do their hoofed dance on the brain.”

“This is Ada Limon,” Kauri whispers.

“I’d like to say this means I love you, the stained white cotton T-shirt, the tears, pistachio shells, the mess of orange peels on my desk, but it’s different than that. I move in this house with you, the way I move in my mind, unencumbered by beauty’s cage.”

“You, uh, mentioned her one day when Nat was listening to NPR-”

“Ssshhhh,” Kauri says, holding up a hand, as Jake’s recorded voice keeps reading.

“I do like I do in the tall grass, more animal-me than much else. I’m wrong, it is that I love you, but it’s more that when you say it back, lights out, a cold wind through curtains, for maybe the first time in my life, I believe it. Ada Limon, Love Poem With Apologies for My Appearance.”

There’s a long silence broken only by Kauri’s harsh breathing, and Jake watches tears build in his wide blue eyes. He’s done something wrong, somehow. It had seemed like a good gift but he’s ruined it, somehow it wasn’t right at all, it wasn’t-

“Thank you, this is-... this is amazing,” Kauri says. Barely words. More just a breath.

Some part of Jake had been tense and coiled to turn in on himself in anger. That part, at the words, relaxes. “You’re welcome. Is it-... is it good, or…”

“You, um-... you fucking heard, some shit I said, and you-... got me something, I just...” Kauri’s hands move nervously, over himself and over the back of the chair, to the phone, back up to his hair. He meets Jake’s eyes, and his brim with tears and Jake feels his own heating up in response. “You just… I, I don’t-... no one’s ever done anything like this for me.”

“Really?”

“I m-mean, not that I know of anyway.” The joke falls flat, Kauri’s voice is too full of tears. Kauri picks up the phone like it’s a precious object that might shatter or disappear, holds it with reverent hands. Swallows and looks at Jake like he’s seeing him for the first time. “I didn’t-... know you listened to me so much.”

“‘Course I do. Merry Christmas,” Jake says, voice maybe a little thick, buried in the things they don’t say to each other. “Merry Christmas, Kauri.”

Kauri pours himself another cup of coffee, and Jake lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding at the sign that Kauri will stay a little longer. 

With his back to Jake and the phone still clutched in one hand, Kauri says, “Merry Christmas, Jake.”

They both pretend that Kauri’s voice isn’t shaking.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 01 | Context Switch | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst [later on], humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 12.8K

Fic Summary: Jungkook wasn’t always like this. Or maybe he was and you don’t want to admit that he had you fooled. You quickly discover he has a lot more to offer than exchanging pleasantries and awkward small talk. In fact, he never seems to shut up.

For the better part of a year, he’s held your irritation hostage, never passing up an opportunity to deliver savage one-liners at your expense. When he discovers you’re on Tinder, he turns up the brattiness factor and intentionally seeks you out. Who knows? Maybe if you gave him a chance he could charm the pants right off of you. Then again, maybe he’s just a fuckboy.

Tags: Fuckboy Jungkook, like cannot stress enough Fuckboy Jungkook but gets soft later, dirty jokes, talk nerdy to me, PUNS, friendship feels, sexual tension, Jin being bad at copying Mario’s accent, Namjoon being bad at accents

CW:  panic attacks, filthy language, this whole chapter is setup so like nothing too bad i dont think???

Series: Activate your SIMCard Fic: Swipe Right (1/?- Ongoing) Do not repost. masterlist // next chapter

(A/N: This is part of my “Activate Your SIMcard” series. Each member of BTS has their own AU in which IT/TechSupport/NerdReader gets dating help/advice and ends up falling in love with them instead. As with a dating sim, the same characters are utilized--same professions, similar scenario placement-- but different interactions/pathways lead to different romances. ~Anyway here’s the Jungkook route.~ The Namjoon route, “Love Bytes” is currently in the works.)

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Nerves wrack your stomach as you make your way down the hall, clinging to the man beside you. His strides seem gigantic next to yours and you find yourself struggling to keep up with him. “Stop walking so fast, Namjoon.”

The man laughs, but slows his pace just enough to allow you to walk side-by-side. “Sorry. I’m just excited for you to meet them.”

Digging your fingernails into the flesh of his elbow, you swallow hard. It’s been a couple months since the young English professor stumbled into your life holding the pieces of some very expensive, very shattered college property. State of the art technology, brand new, busted in less than a week of his arrival. He’d get the biggest chew-out of his life if he presented it to your boss, and you were too sympathetic to let that happen.

While you’d willingly paid for the whole thing out of pocket to cover for the newbie, it had definitely put a strain on your finances and what little social life you had. Within a week he’d worked up a repayment plan than spanned the course of a year. He even started buying you a coffee every Friday as an apology for how long it was going to take.

After a few months of bonding over kung-fu movies, life before Namjoon’s friendship seemed like a distant past, a hazy dream. It was natural that your new bestie wanted to grow your pitiful social circle. But there was a reason you didn’t let people get close to you. The fact that Namjoon had slipped past your defenses so fast made him an anomaly worth dissecting for scientific discovery.

Just the thought of having to now socialize with people you don’t know has your temperature boiling and your head spinning.

He attempts to tug his elbow away from you, and you stumble forward, keeping your death grip on him. “I know, but talking to people isn’t exactly my strong suit. Are you sure it’s best I meet all six at once?”

“You’ve already met Jimin,” he begins, clawing at your hand with long, veiny fingers until you release your hold on him, “but he’s not coming tonight, so don’t worry... you can relax a little.”

Your face twists into a sour grimace as you try to sputter out a response. “I-Pfft. I mean. Jimin’s a model. His face is on billboards and shit. Like… how is that supposed to not be intimidating?”

“Jimin is the world’s biggest sweetheart,” he laughs, shoving his hands into his pockets as you continue down the hallway. “You don’t have anything to be afraid of. I have a feeling you two will get along fine once you stop being so shy.”

You huff and tick your jaw a few times before wringing your hands together. Maybe.

“Anyway. Taehyung is out of town on business, but you can meet him another time. He’s kind of quiet when meeting new people too. Hoseok and Yoongi texted they might be a little late. It’ll just be Jin and Jungkook you’re meeting now. And it’ll be just the four of us for a bit.”

A deep breath escapes you as you hook your elbow with his. “Okay. I just… I’m nervous.”

He stops at the door at the end of the hall and looks down at you. “Give them a chance. If you’re still feeling bad in an hour, then we’ll leave, and I’ll hang out with y’all separately from now on. Deal?”

You eye his extended palm peeking out from beneath the crook of your twined elbows before a smile creeps across your face. You shake his hand. He always knows what to say. “Deal.”

As Namjoon knocks, you leave the comfort of his side, realizing how your anxious clinging might be mistaken for a romantic gesture. You begin to shrink back, trying to hide in his shadow before the door opens. You’re about halfway there when a young, well-built man appears, prominent leg muscles bulging from beneath his basketball shorts as he props the door open with his foot. There’s a cup of instant noodles in his hands, and you’re pretty sure at least half of its contents are dangling from his mouth.

The scent of garlic and rosemary drifts into your nostrils, and you freeze as you cower behind Namjoon, realizing how long it’s been since you last had a decent home-cooked meal. You were promised free food so maybe it won't be so bad after all.

“Ah, Namjoon,” he greets and gestures with his head towards the domicile. “Come in--Oh!”

He chokes a chunk of noodles back into the paper cup as he notices your figure standing behind the tall man.

“Jungkook, this is Y/N,” Namjoon says, stepping to the side and pushing you out into the light of the apartment “I told you she was coming tonight, remember?”

Jungkook’s dark brown eyes widen and he pumps a fist into his chest a few times as he tries to get the remnants of spicy noodles dislodged from the back of his throat. Namjoon sent a bunch of texts this week making sure it was cool to bring someone to hangout night since he’d made a friend at work and wanted everyone to meet them. The way the texts were worded definitely didn’t give any indication that the friend he was bringing tonight was a woman. Maybe they did. Maybe he should have read more of them.

The muscular man before you holds the remaining food in his cheeks and waves bashfully with two fingers as he swallows. "Jungkook," he mumbles, as if the name itself is introduction enough and all but sprints from the room.

Seconds later, a new voice shrieks out from the other room. “What are you doing eating that?! Dinner will be ready soon! Jungkookie if you don’t put that down--!”

A dull smacking sound accompanies the clattering of silverware and plates. You swallow hard, trying to think about anything other than the way the young man had rushed out of the room at just the sight of you. Maybe you’re just that ugly.

“Hey! I’ll eat! I’ll eat! I promise!” Jungkook cries out. His voice drops an octave. “Namjoon is here.” Their conversation becomes indiscernible, but you can’t shake the feeling that you are definitely the subject of their quiet discussion.

You throw a worried glance in Namjoon's direction. "Did I do something wrong?" your voice is hushed as you work your sneakers off, trying to hold in the crazy amount of anxiety that threatens to unscrew the top of your head and send your brain exploding into the ceiling.

Namjoon shakes his head, unbothered by his friend’s odd behavior. "Honestly, I texted him a bunch this week to make sure it was cool and I got one-word replies so I'm wondering if he even read them." He bites his lip and spares a glance back at you, knowing he probably should have kept that to himself.

"Oh," your heart sinks into your stomach and threatens to fall out your butt as you straighten your spine. "If that's the case, should I... leave?"

"Leaf?!" A bright green piece of lettuce is thrust into your face. "How about a whole salad? You can't go before you try it! It's unbe-leaf-able."

You blink in rapid succession, trying to stifle a laugh at the cackle emanating from the man whose bony fingers are holding the lettuce. It sounds like a... windshield wiper? A giggle slips out, stronger than your will to keep it tucked behind your lips, and it only seems to make the grin on his face stretch impossibly wider. Heavy shoulders rise and fall with his laughter, causing the bright pink apron across his chest to wrinkle.

Namjoon groans. "This is--"

"Now do you smell that delicious flavor in the air? Because this just a taste of what you will find at my amazing restaurant 'Heart and Seoul'," he announces, cutting off the man beside you as he clutches the lettuce to his chest with eyes closed. "Where I give you a piece of my heart and soul... Some refer to me as Worldwide Handsome, others call me the God of Cookery. Some call me an angel and believe I fell from heaven." He bows with a flourish and takes your hand in his. "But you can call me..." He finally looks at you, a dark smoulder in his features that sets your cheeks on fire. "Later?"

He seals your fate with a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. Your jaw, which has been hanging open for some time, finally decides to snap itself shut.

"This is Seokjin, and he's going back into the kitchen to finish making dinner." Namjoon is already ushering his friend back towards the kitchen and chiding him as you purse your lips together to hide the smile spreading across your face. Did you just stumble into some alternate universe where all of the men you meet are ridiculously good-looking?

"It's nice to meet you, Seokjin," you call after them before letting your eyes wander around the room.

Paintings line the walls and photos sit on the bookshelf in the corner. As you approach the shelf to get a closer look, you realize those aren't books, but video games. There must be hundreds. Don't people use cloud storage for most of their games now? Your eyes curiously scan the photos on the top shelf. The man who had introduced himself as Jungkook is in all of them. There's another man in a couple that you don't recognize, but his gaze is piercing and cold when he's not smiling. You're able to pick Jimin and Namjoon out in a few, but it feels like looking at a family photo. Everyone seems so close; it makes you envious.

You lick your lips and can't help but admire the collection of video games underneath. You crouch to get a better look at the ones lining the bottom shelf. You're surprised to see there are games for all types of consoles: PS4, XboxOne, Switch, WiiU, Nintendo DS, SuperNintendo, PlaystationVita, PC... The list keeps going. Jealousy spikes your gut as you note a Mass Effect "SSV Normandy" ship figurine on the shelf above your head. You eye it with wonder and pride as your memories flood with the hours you spent playing the trilogy. Your fingers reach out to brush against the raised letters on the side of the ship.

"Have you played Mass Effect?" a quiet voice asks from behind you.

You jump in place and spin on the balls of your feet in a fluid motion that nearly sends you careening into the basketball shorts in front of you. Surprised by how close Jungkook is standing, you gasp and stumble back into the bookshelf, causing it to wobble and bring some of the frames filled with photos tumbling down onto your head. You wait for the impact but it never comes.

As you look up, Jungkook has several frames balanced on his arms and between his fingers, carefully maneuvering them away from you and back onto the shelf. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you! Namjoon told me you liked video games too and I saw you looking at the Normandy and I thought maybe you've played it. Ah, I'm sorry."

It's hard to miss the crestfallen way he rubs the back of his neck and stares at the floor once he places all the photos back on the shelf. You're still in shock that he caught everything before it smacked you in the head, but you force yourself to respond anyway. "No, it's okay. I'm just a jumpy person. It's my fault. I'm just glad I didn't break anything. I'm... asari? Get it? 'Cause like, I'm sorry... but also hot blue alien chicks, am I right?"

He smiles wide and laughs softly as he offers to help you up. As you take hold of his hand, you're quickly thrust to your feet with an ease you weren’t quite expecting. You steady yourself by reaching out to grip his arm, a movement you reverse the moment you feel the firm muscles beneath his t-shirt.

"Thanks," you mumble. Feeling his hand tense around yours, you take it back and twiddle your fingers. "So what decisions did you make? Renegade or Paragon? Rachni Queen? Samara's mission? Quarian and Geth dispute? Genophage?" You pause only to take a breath. "If you let Wrex die, we can't be friends."

He blinks at you a few times before breaking into a relaxed smile. “Of course not. What kind of monster do you think I am?”

You allow a relieved sigh to pass your lips. Maybe this wouldn’t be so painful after all.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You must have made a good impression that night. It’s been nearly a month and Namjoon’s friends have started pulling you into their group texts and Saturday night plans. This had been fine by you since you rarely had anything going on. Honestly it was kind of nice to be included.

While you still don’t exactly know everyone, you feel fairly comfortable talking with your new friends. Seokjin is absolutely hilarious. He’s so full of himself that his cockiness rides the line between charming and annoying; it’s hard to decide which aspect overwhelms his personality more. But you know that you find him irrefutably, irritatingly attractive because of it.

Jungkook is still polite and rather gentlemanly towards you. Your conversation about Mass Effect was enough to tide over any residual awkwardness regarding your initial meeting. He’s just a muscular, nerdy introvert who seems genuinely nice. However, Namjoon insists that Jungkook is still hiding a louder, brattier side when you’re around. He’s got this theory that since you’re a friend of a friend, Jungkook is holding back his usual antics for some reason. The harmless little crush you’ve developed on him has you secretly holding out hope that it’s because he wants to ask you to be his girlfriend. You’ve considered asking Jin what he thinks, but that man has no tact and honestly you’re afraid he’d just ask Jungkook with you standing right there.

Hoseok is a ball of smiling energy, one who has been begging you to visit his dance studio. It’s hard to say no, but you’ve managed for this long because of the very real possibility that you won’t be able to do anything but stare at the dazzling way he moves. He seems to take pride in his ability to make others feel good and absolutely beams when he’s the cause of his friends’ happiness. You can easily see yourself talking to him without Namjoon around to act as a buffer, which is amazing for someone with your level of social anxiety.

Yoongi is quiet, but when he speaks his words are sharp with purpose. Some people might mistake that for coldness, but you can tell he has good intentions and a soft heart underneath. His pointed remarks in the group interrogations have poked fun at you, but never in a condescending or cruel manner. And it’s certainly not in the way you see him absolutely roast the others. Maybe he’s taking it easy on you.

Jimin is still so beautiful to look at it devastates you, leaving a flustered, stuttering mess behind every time he leaves. Now that he’s become aware of the effect he has on you, he’s been testing the waters of your friendship with some teasing that borderlines flirtation. But you have a feeling he’s just screwing with you because he finds it funny to see you squirm. You’re hoping to build the confidence to dish it back some day.

Taehyung has been a little standoff-ish, but Namjoon had already warned you about that. You wonder if it’s because he’s a hundred times richer than you’ll ever be. Despite seeming like he’s in a different social class, he still seems deeply fond of his friends, and relatively down-to-earth. He’s a bit quirky, but he’s an artist, so you expect that kind of thing.

Namjoon says that he’s known almost all of them since college, so he’s been able to absorb most of the discomfort associated with meeting new people. He’s sweet, and more relatable than you originally would have thought for an English professor. He’s kind of like a pillar that you never knew your life had been missing. And now that he’s got your back, you can’t go back.

The smell of coffee pervades the air as you skim an article on your phone regarding the latest Halloween skins for Overwatch. You’re supposed to be meeting Namjoon here but Seokjin, and Jimin showed up and have been chatting about their plans for the weekend. Apparently they throw a Halloween party every year and it’s Jimin’s turn to host. Seokjin is supposedly in charge of planning the decorations due to his love for theatrics and has been discussing the possibility of a haunted house walkthrough. You smile at the thought of Seokjin popping out of the shadows to drop fake spiderwebs on people. It sounds like the kind of thing he’d get off to.

Namjoon flops down on the couch next to you. “You’re coming, right?”

You’re broken from your thoughts as you scroll further down the page. “E-Excuse me?”

“The Halloween party. You coming?”

You look up from your phone, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. “I mean… I don’t want to intrude on your group thing.”

“You’re not intruding!” Jimin, Jin, and Namjoon’s voices all stack upon each other and you’re taken aback by the sound.

Jin frantically scrambles to make you feel included. “Y/N, we just assumed you were coming. Of course you’re invited! You can help me get everything set up for the scary walkthrough. Please come.”

“Don’t give her work to do that you should have already figured out,” Jimin hisses before sending a warm smile your way. “I’ll text you the address later. It’s a costume party so make sure to dress up!”

Your bottom lip unconsciously protrudes in a pout as you pass a discouraging look Namjoon’s way. “What are you going as?”

He gives you a heartfelt, dimpled smile. “Sherlock Holmes,” he says with the worst british accent you’ve ever heard in your life. “World’s greatest detective.” He drops his accent and starts gushing. “The tweed suit is fairly iconic and most people will recognize the costume so I think it’s a safe option. Originally, I was going to go as Judge Di but Jimin kept telling me no one would get it. It would take some research to really get a feel for how he’d dress, but I’d be willing to put in the work.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Judge Dee? Like…. Judge... Ju...dy?” you trail off in confusion, immediately regretting your decision to ask.

Jimin throws his hands up as if this is the proof he’s needed to convince his friend that he’s wrong. “You see? I told you no one knows who that is.”

“Judge---! Really?!” Namjoon looks like he’s about to go off, but he shakes his head and sighs. “You know what? It’s okay. I look really good in a tweed suit. That’s all that matters.” He finished his statement by gesturing towards his chest.

You can’t help but laugh. “You’re such a dork.” You turn your attention to the others and raise your eyebrows at them. “What about you two?”

Jimin drags his teeth over his lip and shyly smiles. “I’m going as Iron Man. Tae’s been helping me build my costume for a while now.”

“Jungkookie and I are going as Luigi and Mario,” Jin proudly states he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees while tenting his fingers. “I’m Mario, of course, since everyone knows he’s the best.”

You roll your eyes. “Sounds like you, Seokjin.”

“What will you come as?” he questions with a smirk, cocking a mischievous eyebrow at you.

“Well...” you hesitate, knowing that most costume shops will be sold out of anything interesting or slutty; at this point your options are limited unless you want to be a Crayola shit brown crayon. “I’m not sure yet,” you mumble, scratching your cheek sheepishly. “I only found out just now so I don’t have anything ready. I usually go over Jennie’s place, hand out candy in my pajamas and watch scary movies, so I don’t know if I should bail on her like that.”

Solid excuse. Great job, brain. Really. Can I sound like more of a loser?

“She can come too,” Jimin offers with a thoughtful tilt of his head and a warm smile. “It’s a very open party. Lots of people will be coming and going, so it’s no trouble if you want to invite more of your other friends, if that makes you comfortable.”

Other friends. Like you have more than this group and Jennie. You’re going to just pretend like you didn’t hear that part. You can already hear her shrieking at you to say you’ll be there. She loves dressing up and would be more than happy to exchange a night of handing out candy for a night of partying. You suppose you can always get some vampire teeth and dab some fake blood on your mouth, but it feels like a cop-out. It’s a solid back-up plan at the very least.

“Okay. I’ll think about it,” you murmur with a fleeting look of panic directed at Namjoon.

He offers a sympathetic smile and pats your shoulder. “It’s okay if you don’t come. I’m just saying there will be free food.”

Your spine straightens and you perk up.

“Free food?” The words on you’re about to utter spill from a different source. A chin drops into the space between Namjoon’s shoulder and yours. Jungkook’s hair is still wet, but thankfully it’s not long enough to brush against your skin. The soft, sweet, almost floral scent of his body wash wafts into your nose as you turn your head to look at him. You surmise he’s come directly from work if he’s showering in the late afternoon. You internally swat the butterflies playing with your ribcage, trying to remember how to act normal.

Jungkook smiles sweetly, his eyes nearly closing with how high his cheekbones have risen. “Where is this food?”

“At the Halloween party,” Namjoon comments with a dismissing wave of his hand. “I was just telling Y/N that she’ll miss out if she doesn’t come.”

Jungkook raises his eyebrows and drops his smile as his surprised stare pierces your periphery. “Oh, you’re not coming?”

“I was thinking about it.” You immediately feel the need to defend yourself. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“So don’t wear--” Jungkook catches himself before the word anything comes out. “A costume,” he finishes simply, straightening his spine and clearing his throat. “I mean we can make an exception. No one’s gonna kick you out.”

A devilish grin spreads across Seokjin’s features. “I’m sure I can help you find a pink dress and crown if you’d like to be our lovely Princess Peach. We can give each other items.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen at his friend and Jin stares back with anticipation, waiting for him to make the mushroom joke he clearly set him up for. Jungkook purses his lips and quietly regards you. As the moment passes, Jin’s brow furrows and he crosses his arms in a huff, wishing that he’d said it instead. It’s been too long since you’ve blushed for his liking.

“Maybe I’ll show up in a leotard, spiked collar, and fishnets as Bowsette instead.” You nearly snort at your own joke.

Jungkook and Jin spill their surprise over one another.

“Whaa? Really?” Jin’s mouth hangs open, the image already permanently searing its way into his brain.

“You what?” Jungkook clamps his hands over the edge of the couch, hulking figure looming over you.

While Jimin and Namjoon are both oblivious what a Bowsette is, the words “spiked collar and fishnets” have certainly grabbed their attention as well.

You blink a few times, realizing how serious everyone has become as you sputter out a nervous laugh. “Kidding, guys. Kidding.”

Jin tuts in disappointment, slinking back into his chair. Jimin simply smiles. Namjoon breathes a relieved sigh. Jungkook starts walking away, distracted by the signage on the counter promoting a cinnamon chocolate chip milkshake.

“Besides, I’m more of a…” A lightbulb flicks on in your head and the thought comes spilling out your mouth before you can process it. “Oh, I have a cosplay from the gaming convention I went to a year ago. Maybe I can wear that.”

All three men lean forward, suddenly very interested in the concept of you using a cosplay as a Halloween costume. Jungkook’s head snaps in your direction just as he extends his hand to give his money to the cashier, but he drops it prematurely, sending coins scattering across the counter.

The sound causes all of you to look over at him and he quickly turns back to the cashier. She raises her eyebrows at him as he scrambles to recover all of the money for her. His ears turn bright red from the attention and you can’t help but put yourself in his shoes, cringing at the embarrassment coursing through your veins at the thought of swapping places.

Spinning back to face the others, you find Jin and Jimin on the edge of their seats, staring at you. Namjoon blinks at you and tilts his head expectantly. “You were saying?” he prods. “Something about an anime costume?”

Suddenly you’re embarrassed for yourself rather than Jungkook. “Don’t be weird, Joonie. It’s just a Princess Zelda cosplay.” You scratch your cheek in contemplation, murmuring, “Actually, I don’t even know if it still fits since I’ve gained some weight since then.”

Namjoon pats your shoulder assuringly. “Ah you’re fine. Don’t worry too much about it, ok?”

“He’s right. Just bring your smile, cutie,” Jimin says encouragingly.

You blush at the nickname and grin in response. He said it innocently enough, but you get the feeling that you reacted exactly as he had hoped because he exchanges a smug smirk with Seokjin. “See? Bring that.”

“Ah, you guys are embarrassing me,” you mumble, diving back into the article on your phone. “I’ll talk to Jennie about it later.”

Jungkook listens carefully as he tongues his cheek and waits for his drink to arrive at the counter. Are you really going to show up in that? He pulls out his phone and starts skimming amazon. There’s no way he can pass up the opportunity, regardless of what’s at stake.

A familiar veiny hand sets the drink down on the counter, and he outstretches his palm. “Service was good, yeah?”

Jungkook looks up from the checkout page and locks eyes with Yoongi. He scoops a large portion of whipped cream from beneath the lid and pops it in his mouth thoughtfully, smacking his lips as he washes it down with a sip through his straw. Yoongi raises his eyebrows at him expectantly, but remains silent.

“Hmm, I’ve had better. Maybe if I had some more whipped cream?” Jungkook suggests as he tilts his cup forward and gives it the tiniest shake, shit-eating grin strewn across his features.

Unblinking, Yoongi squirts a puff of cream into the top of the container before loudly setting the can on the counter. Satisfied, Jungkook reaches into his pocket and fishes out some money for a generous tip. “See this is why you’re my favorite barista. You always make it just how I like it.”

Yoongi forces a smile as he stuffs the cash into the half-filled tip jar. “The Java Stop values your patronage, customer.”

He catches a glimpse of Jungkook’s phone screen before the younger man snatches it from the counter and walks away. What the hell is he up to?

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You curse your past self for choosing Zelda’s outfit from Twilight Princess rather than Breath of the Wild; style over comfort rarely is a good choice, but it’s a choice you often repeat without forethought. It’s tighter than you remember, and not just because there’s a corset sewn into the chestpiece. As you sit in the passenger’s seat of Jennie’s Civic, you fidget with the hem of your dress. Without taking her eyes off the road, she reaches over and slaps your hand.

“Stop it. You look great.”

You rub the back of your wrist and pout, knowing it does nothing to change her mind. You eye her tattered dress, wishing you could pull off something so slutty with the same confidence she does. White contacts make her look even more ethereal than she normally does. Natural waves and curls poke out from beneath the bent witch’s hat atop her head and you can’t help but admire her beauty.

“I look like a nerd,” you say, feeling shittier the longer you compare yourself to her. It’s not her fault. You’re just insecure and wish that you could be more like her rather than the you that you are.

“You are a nerd,” she laughs. “What’s wrong with that?”

You smile. “Nothing, I guess. I don’t know why I’m so worried about it. It’s not like I’m gonna be getting laid any time soon. This costume solidifies it.” Negativity is something you’re used to dosing yourself with, but you know it’s an action you need to work at correcting.

“Hey if no one wants to fuck you in a Zelda costume, do they even deserve to fuck you?” Jennie asks, wagging her pointer at the ceiling as if scolding some invisible source above. “I don’t fucking think so.” She tuts for a second. “So speaking of… Which ones are off limits?”

You scoff and stiffen in your seat, trying to play dumb. “What? What’s off limits?”

“Y/N,” she starts in an accusatory tone. “I’m sure there will be lots of hot people there, but I’m talking about seven hot people in particular. Now if they came up to me and said ‘hey Jennie you so fine you wanna suck all seven of our dicks?’ I’d be like hell yeah I’ma suck all seven dicks. Get in a circle and let me at ‘em.”

You smack your hand to your forehead, wishing you could purge that image from your brain.

“Now I’m just saying in this hypothetical situation that I would never turn down going down on any of them if they asked. Unless I remembered that one time you told me you were crushing, maybe, just maybe I wouldn’t suck that particular dick.”

“We’re about to go see these people. I don’t want to be thinking about this while sipping my drinks across from Seokjin. That man can smell fear, shame, and insecurity,” you mumble, looking out the window at the trees lining the side of the road.

“So that’s why we get it out now before we get there. Can’t possibly slip out if you’ve already got it out of your system,” she explains with a confident smirk.

You cross your arms and give yourself a moment to truly think about the seven men. You certainly find all of them attractive, but crossing that line might make things weird. But maybe, hypothetically… “I don’t know… They’re all pretty hot in their own way…”

“You’ve got to be attracted to one more than the others,” she prods. “Come on, Y/N. Which one does it for you?”

Your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth before you sigh. “I guess…” You subconsciously lick your lips and give it a few seconds before the memory of falling picture frames surfaces in your mind. An embarrassed smile flickers across your face as you give your quiet, honest answer. “J-Jeon… Jungkook.”

“The young one!” Her mouth falls open. She drums her fingers against the steering wheel excitedly and spares a delightful, yet surprised look at you for a fraction of a second before her eyes return to the road. “Really? I never would have guessed. But I haven’t talked to him much honestly. Doesn’t he work at that nerdy-looking gym you almost joined? What was it, Iron Kingdom? You could always sign up for personal training. Ya know, get some one-on-one time with those muscles...”

“He’ll think I’m dumb for not knowing how to do anything,” you mumble. “Besides that’s not why.”

You shake your head and pause to start counting the list on your fingers. “Okay so he’s got muscles, a cute laugh, he likes video games, he literally always smells so fucking good, he has a great smile, he’s nice, and like he’s so mature for his age. I’m so surprised.”

“I mean from the few times I’ve seen him, I thought for sure he’d be a tool and a major shithead,” she admits.

“I know, but seriously don’t judge a book by its cover. He’s been so chill and respectful and has made me feel so welcome over the last few weeks. None of that fuckboy shit you’d expect to get with younger guys like, he doesn’t talk over me, no mansplaining, he looks me in the eyes and not at my tits, and listens when I say something, even if it’s just me talking about my day.” You pause, registering the words you just said. “Wow, the bar is really low, isn’t it?”

“Sad, but true.” She nods, glancing at the GPS on the dashboard. It’s says you’re nearly there, but it’s kind of further out from the city than you’d both been expecting.

She laughs, mulling over everything you’ve said. “He seems kinda shy. You probably need to make the first move. Maybe you should tell him you have a big fat crush on him. Tell him you wanna hold his hand. Do you think he’d blush? I bet he would. I bet he has a cute flustered face. You should totally do it.”

Recalling the way his ears turned red at the cafe causes you to purse your lips, but the action can’t hide the smile curling at the corners of your mouth. So you have a little crush on Jungkook. Who wouldn’t? He’s practically flawless and totally swoon-worthy. Your heart races as you imagine his reaction to your outfit. Would he be taken aback by how good you look as one of the hottest, most iconic female characters in gaming history? He’s a huge geek so you know there’s a possibility that he could appreciate it. Sweaty fingers work their way down your wig, carefully smoothing out any loose strands. You hope he does.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Walking into Jimin’s place feels like entering a mansion. He told you that he lives with two other people from the same modeling agency, but you didn’t realize how big the place would be. Seokjin’s ability to gather this many decorations and display them with such attention to ambiance is certainly a feat worthy of praise. You find yourself lost in the orange and yellow lights that border each doorway and drape along the walls. Their soft glow is comforting as you walk down the dim hallway, exploring the house just enough to find the table filled with fruits and snacks.

Jungkook is nowhere to be seen and you find yourself breathing a sigh of relief as you sip punch out of a red plastic cup, filling a plate with an excessive amount of strawberries, peaches, and other sweet fruits. Contrary to your previous belief that admission would mean freedom from the thoughts swirling in your brain, uttering the words out loud has made you paranoid that everyone now knows about your secret crush. You’re hoping that drinking will remove the worry from your brain, so you do your best to down the liquid fast and refill your cup.

Jennie immediately hit it off with one of Jimin’s roommates moments after walking in. You’re envious because holy fuck that guy is tall and jacked, and he’s wearing a Captain America outfit. Jennie is about to make out with Captain America and you’re gulping down spiked punch from a little plastic cup. You appreciate being able to silently agree to split, but know that you have each other’s back if either of you were to suddenly express interest in leaving, even if Captain America is balls deep.

She’s an extrovert. She loves socializing. Tossing a strawberry into your mouth, you eye the table of snacks again. You don’t. You love food. Food or sex would be a tough toss-up for you depending on the menu, and in this situation food definitely wins. There’s a buffet table of appetizers looping around the room and into the kitchen. It doesn’t get much better than this, especially knowing it was catered by Seokjin’s restaurant.

You remove a glove and tuck it beneath your armpit as you stuff your face full of sweet treats and survey the amount of people on the dance-floor. There are a good amount of people here --some with ludicrous costumes-- and it makes you feel better about being able to blend in.

You had arrived fashionably late only because Jennie may have passed the house a few times, thinking this place couldn't possibly be it. A hand skates around the periphery of your vision and you frown as it attempts to surreptitiously claim a peach slice from your plate. Following the hand to its owner, you find a smile quickly claiming your mouth in place of the previous sour grimace.

"There's plenty of peaches left over there," you say, pointing to the table of snacks beside you.

"Mmm," Namjoon hums as he pockets the fruit in his cheek. "But this pile is better. I can deduce that you've already picked out the best pieces, Zelda."

You look him over from head to toe, examining the details of his tweed suit. You hate to admit he's looking dapper as fuck in this outfit. Despite often wearing three-piece suits to work, you rarely have time to stop and really appreciate just how flattering they are on his frame. Your eyes settle on the dark brown silk carefully knotted around his neck. "Don't you get sick of wearing ties?"

His eyes widen and he blinks at you as if you'd just told him that he sat in some gum. "Do you think I should have gone with the bow-tie? I spent hours weighing the pros and cons to both and which would be more quintessential to the whole ensemble. Did I make the wrong choice?"

You open your mouth to respond, meaning to allay his concerns and tell him that he looks fine, but he interrupts rather quickly. "You know what, don't say anything. I brought the bow-tie as a backup. It's upstairs in the guest bedroom. I'll go put it on."

You grab his arm just as he's about to leave, noting the plate full of chicken wings precariously balanced on one hand. "Namjoon. Chill. Your tie looks fine. I was only asking because I would strangle myself if I wore one all the time. Now gimme some of that chicken."

His eyes dart from you to the plate in his hand and his anxiety seems to visibly melt away, replaced with a soft smile. "I'm overthinking again, huh?"

The words have never come easier than they do now. "No shit, Sherlock."

At that he offers a laugh. "How about a trade? I share the wings for access to the princess's treasury of peaches."

"Deal," you agree with a smirk, wiggling your eyebrows up and down. "Wanna people-watch with me?"

He nods enthusiastically as he tosses a handful of fresh fruit directly from your plate into his mouth. "I was gonna wander aimlessly and socialize but this sounds way better."

"Glad we're on the same page," you murmur into the chicken wing at your lips, sucking the sauce off of it and scanning the room for any particular eye-catching costumes.

The flash of red, flowing satin catches your eye. Is someone wearing a bathrobe? Seriously? The taste of hot buffalo sauce causes your lips to tingle as you note the soft, fuzzy edges of the robe. It looks comfy, actually.

You elbow Namjoon in the ribs, directing his attention to the slender, black-haired figure gliding across the room. Namjoon opens his mouth as if to identify the stranger, but the flourish of the robe beats him to it. As the material spins, you catch a glimpse of tan skin peeking out from the chest, long legs exposed as he reaches for the sash at his waist.

The silk billows as it comes undone, cascading to the floor like a river of crimson. There's no mistaking it. You're now staring at the nearly nude, half-painted body of Kim Taehyung. You can't help the way you jaw drops open at the sight of so much skin being flaunted seemingly without a care in the world. Namjoon's hand flies up to cover your eyes, as if he's going to spare you the sight you've already taken in. Now that you've seen Taehyung in a thong, there's no going back.

Sauce-covered fingers pry his away from your eyes just in time to meet the piercing gaze of the man across the room. Is it mirth or anger that graces his features? It's hard to tell with a paintbrush trapped in the box his teeth make. He takes lazy strides across the room as you struggle to keep your eyes off the unforgiving fabric outlining every last curve of his dick. It's not until he's closer that you notice the thin belts crossing his hips, which appear to be holding six tubes of paint, three strapped to each side like gun-holsters. You have to admit they frame his crotch rather nicely.

It takes every ounce of willpower you possess to keep your eyes trained on his face. He carefully takes the paintbrush out from between his teeth and extends it to you. "Draw something pretty on me, Y/N. You too, Joon. Tonight I'm a human canvas on display for the universe."

Your eyebrow quirks as you exchange a look with Namjoon and set your plate down. "You know people are just going to draw a bunch of dicks on you, right?"

He scoffs, waving off your concerns. "Don't be so negative. I will have a beautiful mural by the end of the night. Mark my words."

"I think you're putting too much trust in the goodness of human nature," Namjoon comments, his lips pressing together in an attempt to hide the amused grin that is quickly spreading across his features.

Taehyung cocks his head to the side and leans forward with a lopsided grin. You're afraid he's about to get even closer and whisper some dirty secret into your ear. Instead he asks in a breathy, low tone, "Princess Zelda wouldn't draw such dirty things on me, would she?"

Twirling the thick handle of the paintbrush between your fingers, your eyes dip to the paints secured at his waist. His eyes chase the trail yours make down his side and his delight splits his mouth into a goofy grin. "Oh. Help yourself." He gestures to the colors available with a sweep of his hands just above his hips. "Feel free to use your fingers instead.” He pauses when your mouth falls open slightly. “You know, to paint... Just be careful what you grab, Princess," he jokes.

Removing your other glove with your teeth, you drape them over your shoulder and reach out for the tube of yellow paint, trying to hide the way your hand trembles. He looks down and smiles as the cold paint touches his skin. Before long you have the faint shape of 3 triangles at the center of his chest.

“How fitting,” he murmurs, offering an amused hum as you fill in the last triangle with a glob of yellow that threatens to run down his torso.

“Oops, sorry,” you apologize, moving to tap the brush against the excess, but he grabs your wrist before the bristles can make contact with his skin again.

“That’s alright. Let it do what it does. I like it like this,” he says, watching the clump of paint slowly slide down his midriff. “Besides I’m sure someone else can use it.”

“Like Sherlock!” you suggest, holding the paintbrush out for your companion.

Namjoon takes it begrudgingly and uses the excess yellow to draw a small smiley face beside the triforce symbol.

“Cute,” Taehyung laughs as he takes the paintbrush back from Namjoon. “I love it. Thanks guys.”

Just as he turns to find his next artist, a long object bars his path, pressing against his chest just above the collarbone. You follow the shape of the bar to its owner, revealing a grinning Hoseok clad in an officer’s uniform.

“That’s a bold choice Taehyungie,” he says, securing the faux nightstick into a loop at his waist. “Just make sure you keep that thing on…” He gestures to the small bit of material at Taehyung’s crotch and holds up a pair of handcuffs with his index finger before continuing, “or I’ll have to arrest you for indecent exposure.”

“Impersonating an officer is a crime, you know,” Namjoon says, even as he’s reaching out to touch the shiny metal. “Wait. Where did you get these? Are they real?”

You squint at the device in Namjoon’s hands, looking for the safety release latch like the cheap pair you bought to use with your ex. You don’t see it. That can only mean that these are the kind where losing the keys would have real consequences. But you’re not about to out yourself as the kinky freak you are, so you bring your nearly forgotten drink to your lips and guzzle what’s left in the cup.

As the empty plastic hits the table, your eyes happen to trail across the room and land on a crowd of people gathering around a very impressive, fully-lit Iron Man costume. Jimin seems to be soaking the attention up as the crowd grows ever larger. The massive room has begun to diminish in size, and it’s as though the once comforting lights are now wilting and closing in on you, threatening to strangle the air from your lungs. The adrenalin spiking your veins is telling you it’s time to seek the comfort of open space and solitude. Fast.

You duck beneath Namjoon and Hoseok’s arms, carefully sidestepping around Taehyung to avoid brushing against the wet paint on his skin. “I’m gonna get some air. Try not to get cuffed, Sherlock,” you manage to joke with a smile before turning on your heels and booking it from the room.

If anyone responds to your joke or even acknowledges your exit at all, it’s lost on your ears. Sweat beads on the back of your neck as you hastily attempt to make your way down the hall. If you can just get outside, you can breathe. You’ll be fine. You know it.

Warm bodies clutter the path to your freedom and you can’t help but feel more and more breathless by the never-ending apologies spewing from your mouth as you squeeze past each blockade. You don’t feel like yourself, even as you speak. Taking in sharp, greedy breaths like this isn’t helping. Why is this place so devoid of oxygen? Your body moves on autopilot, seeing the faces of the people you pass, but not feeling their eyes on you.

You float out of the front door, your head as light as a feather, but your eyelids feel like they’ve been anchored. You’re positive you’re about to gracefully glide down the front steps, legs becoming amorphous blobs beneath you that will surely allow you to fly. Just as you’re leaning into the momentum of gravity, two pairs of hands steady your shoulders and criss-cross around your midriff.

“Deep breaths,” Jennie’s voice briefly cuts through the ringing in your ears.

“Do you need to sit down?” The other voice spills into your eardrum as a rushed whisper, one that’s dripping with concern.

Huh? You work on steadying your breathing instead of trying to answer.

“What did she drink?” the familiar voice asks Jennie, the brief flicker of panic quashed by the evenness of his tone. “How much has she had?”

“Relax, Yoongi. Not even our lightweight champion gets drunk that fast,” Jennie reassures him as they help you seat yourself on the top step. “Are you familiar with panic attacks?”

Yoongi rubs the back of his neck and nods silently, backing up to give you some space.

“Jennie. I’m fine now. Thank you,” you mumble, shaking your head and regaining your sense of self. “I’m glad you have my back.”

“Of course. I saw you in the hall and I just knew.”

You jump when you meet the gaze of her white, eerie contacts, which causes both her and Yoongi to laugh. You look up at Yoongi. He shoves his hands into his pockets, long flowing shirt obscuring any flesh poking out from beneath it.

“Hey, you’re not dressed up,” you blurt, realizing he’s sporting a very goth, natural Yoongi look.

He scoffs before bending at the waist and baring his teeth. A single vampire fang is affixed to one of his canines.

You tilt your head like a dog hearing a strange noise. “What, only one fang?”

“Just as dangerous, princess,” he warns with a smirk, standing up straight.

You swear you see a wink, but then again maybe you’re imagining it. You have been known to exaggerate things in your head. Still your stomach somersaults and you focus your attention on Jennie. “I’m okay. I think I’m gonna chill out here for a bit. Get back in there and dance with… god what was his name? Jackson? Jae-beom?”

“Jin-young,” she corrects before biting her lip and glancing back towards the house.

“Go. Hottie McYoungie won’t wait forever,” you tease and point your thumb over at the man hovering above you. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine with toothless over here.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes at the nickname but nods at Jennie. The answer seems to be satisfactory and she gifts you with a tight hug. “Text me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay. Love you. Now go get laid.” You whisper to her before playfully pushing her back. Before you know it she’s scrambling up the steps and slips back inside, tattered dress swinging wildly with the sway of her hips, revealing just enough of her fishnet-clad thighs to draw Yoongi’s attention. There’s a fraction of a second where he wets his lips as he watches her go, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye. You don’t have time to tease because his dark eyes fall to you.

“Is there anything I can do?” His face is stoic but you can hear the sincerity in his tone.

“Wanna take a walk with me? I’d like to keep away from the big crowd.”

“I know the perfect place,” he says, hopping down from the steps and offering you his hand.

You take it with a smile and rise to your feet, carefully moving down the steps as you dust off your butt. The night air is a bit chilly and you start to work your gloves back up your arms to fight the goosebumps forming there.

That’s when you hear it. You want to misread the sound for a flute, recorder, oboe, or even someone’s radio, but you know those are all incorrect assumptions. It’s an ocarina: an ocarina playing a crude rendition of the opening to ‘Gas Pedal.’

Turning slowly, nothing can prepare you for the sight before you. Jungkook stands on the top step of the porch dressed in a green cap and tunic, tan leggings, and the ugliest dark brown boots you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s got the ocarina nestled between his lips, slowly descending each step with a roll of his hips that accentuates the definition of muscles behind the thin material hugging the shape of his legs.

Your eyes are wide, mouth falling open in surprise. “Jungkook?”

As he jumps down the last step he stops the tune and cups the ocarina in his hands, bowing slightly. “Princess.”

“What are you doing?” you ask, biting back the intimidated voice in your head that’s telling you you’re being picked on.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks in a low tone, a crooked smile crossing his features as he takes a few tempered steps towards you.

You swallow. How are you supposed to answer that? You take a deep breath, trying to drive off the urge to run as he advances on you. Yoongi takes a few steps back and folds an arm over his torso, cupping his elbow as he brings a knuckle to rest against his mouth with intrigue. He couldn’t hold out for one more day? Should I step in? He brings his weight to the front of his foot, ready to diffuse the situation.

“It looks like you’re trying to fuck with me.” You stand your ground, clasping your gloved fingers and calmly resting them against your dress in true Zelda fashion.

Yoongi’s weight shifts back, retracting the step he had taken. A direct accusation isn’t exactly something he would have expected from you, but he finds himself pleased nonetheless. He certainly chose a difficult target this time.

Jungkook gets close enough that you can see the tick of his jaw and the part of his lips as he drags his eyes across your form, settling on the cleavage created by your corset. “Some of those words were right.” He pauses, leaning to whisper against the shell of your ear. “Can you guess which ones, Princess?”

Heat consumes your face as his posture straightens. He doesn’t budge past the space he’s already claimed as his, but he doesn’t move forward again to invade yours. He watches, basking in the full on show your face puts on for his own entertainment. First comes the confusion, next realization, and then shame.

It’s hard to tell if he’s coming onto you or picking on you. You swallow, throat growing drier by the second. “You knew I was coming as Zelda. Weren’t you coming as something else?”

He throws his head back enough to feign exasperation while keeping his eyes trained on you. “Come on. You don’t like my costume?”

Instead of giving you time to answer, he brings the ocarina back to his lips and blows an obnoxious amount of air through the hollow space inside, producing a piercing rendition of ‘Talk Dirty to Me.’

Your shoulders raise as you inhale, suppressing the irritation bubbling within your belly. You wince, turning your head as a particularly shrill note escapes the instrument. Yoongi’s expression sours as he plugs both ears with his fingers.

Jungkook immediately stops playing and offers a sheepish grin. “Oops. I learned that one for you. Maybe I need more practice. Do you want to help me?” He briefly pauses to wet his lips, presenting the ocarina to you. “I can show you how to blow.”

You grind your teeth as your jaw ticks back and forth a few times before answering, “No thanks.”

Yoongi silently tents his fingers over his forehead and tries to massage the secondhand embarrassment from his skull. This is a trainwreck waiting to explode and at this point there’s no looking away.

Jungkook raises his eyebrows at you as he stuffs the ocarina into a small brown pouch hanging from the flimsy belt at his waist. “Ah. Sorry, Princess. I don’t mean to insult you. You’ve probably already mastered the art. Hah. Maybe you could show me a thing or two?”

Unable to form a proper response, your lips purse as the wheels in your head spin. Say something clever. Think of a comeback. Something. Come on. But here you stand, mind blanking for even the simplest of clapbacks. You’re having trouble coming to terms with the fact that your innocent little crush on the once “sweet” Kookie has come crumbling down with his facade, leaving your chest aching with the humiliation of your naivety.

He looks you over, admiring the artistry in the gown you’ve lovingly crafted. For a moment he’s lost in the embroidery stitched into the sash swaying in the breeze of a chilly October night. “I love your…” he trails off, eyes darting across your shape to capture every last detail of your attire.

He pays special mind to the gems adorned at your hips, and the heavy-looking chain belt which links the sash to your dress. He marvels over the color and velvet texture chosen for the purple corset at your torso. The sheer attention to detail and craftsmanship in your costume stuns him into silence for half a second.

His eyes reach the perky mounds of flesh peeking over the top of the corset. Miraculously his voice resurfaces. “...costume.”

The way his dark eyes linger on your chest isn’t lost on you. Your cheeks burn in the cool air, despite the goosebumps littering your arms. You cross your arms over your chest, higher than you normally would to combat his lurid gaze. The green hat atop his head folds over itself as he cocks to one side. Dark, hungry eyes snap to yours, voicelessly pouting at your blockade. For a split second a guilty excitement pulses through you, but you’ll be damned if you’re the cause of an obviously already inflated ego.

“You never said what you think of mine,” he prods. His eyebrows wiggle up and down as he slowly runs his hands along his torso, as if feeling himself up is going to sway your opinion.

You tell yourself not to fall for it, that he’s playing you for a fool right now. Still, your jaw is tight as your eyes helplessly follow the flow of his fingers down his body. His pinky purposefully catches on the flimsy pleather strap acting as the belt at his waist. An impish grin spreads across his face as he notes the way your chest stutters out the breath you’d unknowingly held. Satisfied, his hands continue their languid journey down his body. Your eyes are glued to the way he traces the contours of his thighs.

Finally his fingers dig into the meat of his those muscles and you feel the need to look away before answering. “I hate it.”

He sighs. “Hate is a strong word. Are you sure that’s how you really feel? Why don’t you look at me when you say that?”

Strengthening your resolve, you force your eyes back to his smug face. Stupid doesn’t even begin to cover how you’re feeling at this point. Biting back tears, you swallow hard and do your best to remain composed. Here he stands, a crooked smile amplifying the air of arrogance surrounding him. He’s playing you. He’s been playing you this whole time hasn’t he?

“I don’t even know who you really are, do I?” your voice cracks, only adding to your humiliation.

“I’m the bad guy. Duh.” With that he cackles as he pulls the ocarina from his pouch, proceeding to play the melody from ‘Bad Guy.’

You spin on your heels and storm past Yoongi, the blood rushing through your ears in a distraught rage, drowning out the bitter sound of the notes. A pang of guilt strikes the half-assed vampire as he stares at his friend. “One more day. You couldn’t make one more day?”

Jungkook shrugs, making his way back up the stairs. “If you see Hobi, tell him I’ll have his money tomorrow.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Dragging your hands across your face, you keep your gaze cast towards the ground.

How fucking idiotic, how self-absorbed have you been to assume that he’s been nice because he likes you and not because he was playing some game with you? He's probably just been waiting for an opportunity like this and you fell right into his trap. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

A hand clamps down on your shoulder and you spin, ready to deck the person you assume to be Jungkook. Yoongi's eyebrows raise as you stand poised to punch. He ducks to the side just in time. As you realize your mistake, it's too late. The momentum brings you forward.

His arms come up around you in a soft embrace, one that you're quick to return. "It's just me," he mumbles, kneading his thumb against your back. "...Sorry."

You bury your face into his shoulder, allowing the tiara to slip from your head and hit the soft ground with a dull thud. Why is he apologizing? He didn't do anything wrong. You want to tell him that, but any sound you make might bring about a slew of tears you've been holding back. Instead you just squeeze your arms around him even tighter.

He awkwardly pats your back a few times, not quite knowing what to do with the hug that's lasting longer than anticipated. Sensing his discomfort, you pull away and adjust your wig as you offer an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry."

A figure approaches, bending down to pick up the forgotten adornment. Out of the corner of your eye you see him rub the dirt off the tiara. Jin carefully places it on your head. "A princess should have a crown."

You look him over, noting the giant overalls, red newsboy cap and hideous fake mustache. You can't help but laugh as he forces a hard blink and puckers his lips, alternating lifting sides of his mouth so the mustache comically tweaks itself in a seesaw motion. "I like your costume," you manage between giggles.

He grins back, donning an over-the-top Italian accent. "I a-like-a yours too! A beautiful costume for a beautiful a-woman."

"Please stop," Yoongi groans.

Jin ignores him, fiddling with the corner of his mustache. "I don't-a know where my brother went. I think he's a-scared of the haunted mansion."

You roll your eyes at the joke. That's right. Jungkook was supposed to be Luigi. "He's busy playing a dick for the night."

A look of realization washes over him and he nods, puffing out air through overly inflated cheeks. "Hmm. You know what might-a make you feel better? Helping me scare-a the pants off of people!"

He folds his elbow and holds it out for you, tempting you to lace yours around it. Channeling your bruised ego and hurt feelings into scaring people for fun? That might just work. You feed your elbow through the crook in his. "Zelda and Mario working together."

Jin laughs. "The dream-a team!" He makes a motion to skip towards the outer entrance to the basement that he's dressed up with spiderwebs and a large, hand-made sign that says "MARIO'S GHOST HOUSE." Beside the entrance is a giant blown-up decoration of King Boo, its pink tongue flapping in the breeze.

As you're tugged in the direction of his creation, he stops abruptly. "Oh, we haven't had that many people though. So we have to make the few that come through count!"

Yoongi's eyes light up. "Hey. I’ve got an idea. I’ll get you a the best customer. But you have to really scare him. I promise it will make your night."

Puzzled, you furrow your brows and tilt your head. “Okay…?”

Jin grins like a maniac as Yoongi makes his way towards the front of the house. “Come on. I’ll show you the best spots to hide.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

About twenty minutes have passed since Yoongi left in search of his promised customer. Only a few people have wandered in. You have to admit it’s therapeutic to watch people scream and jump when you bang on the false walls within the maze Jin has somehow constructed in this basement. Watching people run up the final stairs to safety leaves you with a feeling of satisfaction, always giving Jin a prideful high-five before returning to the beginning to await more guests.

“Ah! My-a new-a guests!” you hear Jin enthusiastically greet the latest people to stop at the entrance. “Are you a-ready to have fun?”

There’s some hushed whispering that you can’t quite make out from your hiding place within the set.

“Don’t be such a pussy,” Yoongi chides loudly. “Seokjin made this. Do you really think it’s that scary?”

“P-Pussy?” Hoseok stares wide-eyed at his friend and scoffs. “Don’t be rude. I just know Seokjin. It will be worse than whatever I think”

Is that Hobi? You were kind of hoping Yoongi would get Jungkook to walk through. Knowing what you do now though, you have no doubt that Jungkook would be unphased by something like this. All you can hear in your head is the echo of his obnoxious laughter and a pang of hurt slices through your heart. God, you’re so stupid.

Yoongi points to the Boo’s tongue flapping in the wind. “It will be like that, probably. It’s silly to be so afraid.”

Hoseok bounces from foot to foot in uncertainty. Even a police uniform can’t steel his spine or guarantee safety. “Why should I do this to myself?”

Yoongi sighs. “I’ll help you look at new places and… help you move. I’ll even be your roommate if the rent is too high.”

Hoseok is beaming. How long has he been asking for help searching? Jin looks from one man to the other, hiding the subtle smile beneath his mustache. He knew Hoseok wouldn’t go in so easily, that something had to be offered up, but he really didn’t expect Yoongi to go so far.

Hoseok points at Jin. “You’re my witness. I go through this and he’s my roommate.”

“If the rent is too high only,” Yoongi tries to reason, but it’s too late. Hoseok has heard what he wants to hear. He grabs his friend and marches into the depths of the basement.

Immediately you bang the walls on their journey down, feeling Jin rush past you to set up for the next scare. Hobi screams. “Never mind! Never mind!”

Yoongi scoffs, dragging his friend forward. “Come on, officer.”

You listen for their footsteps as you circle the walls behind the maze. Hobi’s frantic yelling breaks through the room, slipping into loud curses. You pull your glove up and wait, peeking through the hole you’re hoping he’ll get close enough to. Even shrouded in shadows, Yoongi’s form peeks out from around the corner.

“Don’t think about the dark,” Yoongi says, slowly shuffling towards the wall with Hoseok crouched behind him, using him as a shield from any more scares. “Think about how you bet Jungkook he couldn’t stop himself from trying to get in Y/N’s pants, not even for one month.”

You freeze. Yoongi knows you can hear him, right? He has to know.

“Think about how well he was doing. You would have been cleaning his house tomorrow. Maid Hobi, bound by servitude.”

“I know…” Hoseok groans. “It would have been awful. He’s so messy! I wouldn’t even be getting paid! What was I thinking?”

“But instead, he bet you a month’s rent that he could,” Yoongi continues loudly. “He blew it tonight for the chance to dress up as Link and tease Zelda. He only had one more day.”

“He’s a dumbass,” Hobi comments with a nod, turning to look at the ceiling and making sure nothing is going to drop down on him.

You swallow, taking in the revelation Yoongi has just bestowed upon you. All this time you had spent thinking Jungkook was a sweet gentleman was actually due to Hoseok making a bet with him? You would rather have known Jungkook was a dick straight up because now the innocent, harmless crush you have on him feels so dirty and foul that you wish you could swipe it from existence.

It’s Jungkook’s fault. He lied. He pretended. You know this. But still you can’t help but partially blame Hobi for the bitter taste in your mouth. As Yoongi passes, you reach out, letting your fingers swipe down Hobi’s forearm and retract through the hole in the wall as he lets out a high-pitched scream.

“Hoseok, get off.” Yoongi tries to push away the man climbing onto his back.

“Something grabbed me! Something grabbed me!” Hoseok wraps his legs around Yoongi’s waist and huddles close to his neck pointing. “Over there! It grabbed me from over there!”

“Let’s keep moving, then.”

“No! No more! I’m standing right here until the sun comes up.”

“How is it standing if your feet aren’t touching the ground? I won’t carry you all night,” Yoongi says, adjusting his stance to compensate for the weight on his back.

“You will, too,” he pouts.

Jin helps you position a furry spider decoration above them, slowly dangling it lower until it finally hits Hoseok’s shoulder. The wail that escapes this grown ass man almost makes you feel bad. Almost. He swats the creature into darkness as he spurs Yoongi on by digging his heels into his belly. “Get me out of here! Please!”

Jin’s shoulders move up and down with the sound of his laughter as he slaps your hand in victory. Scaring Hobi made you feel a little better at least.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

The party has died down quite a bit and at this point Jimin has been passing you far too many drinks as he and Namjoon regale you with tales from college. Namjoon is clearly feeling toasty, laughing like a dork at every memory Jimin brings up. Apparently they were roommates and Jimin has a liberal arts degree from four years of being undecided.

Your head lolls around to rest on Namjoon’s shoulder, your backs pressed against the bottom of the couch as Jimin sits cross-legged in sweats and a t-shirt on the floor before you, his costume laying discarded beside him. He’s spinning his latest story of how Namjoon had accidentally thrown up on some girl he really liked. Yoongi silently lays on the couch behind you, smirking with his eyes closed. You can’t tell if he’s sleeping or just relaxing as you struggle to stand, using Namjoon’s shoulder as leverage to prop yourself up.

“Bathroom?” you ask distractedly, searching the room like a door will appear if you look hard enough.

Jimin smiles pointing at the doorway across the room. “Go out that door, take a left down the hall. It’ll be on your right.”

Your head dips a bit as you try to take in the directions. Namjoon looks up at you as you stumble forward, clearly off-balance. “Do you need some help, geeksquad?”

“I’m fine,” you mumble, hating the nickname he’s given you from work. “I’ll be right back. Don’t drink my drink.” You narrow your eyes at Jimin and he blinks at you in surprise, like you’ve accused him of such a heinous, unthinkable crime.

Rounding the corner, you pass a grinning Taehyung being led upstairs by a cute girl in a red beret, black and white striped shirt, and miniskirt with suspenders. Art hoe? Mime? It’s hard to tell what her costume might be. While his skin is covered in a beautiful mess of colors, your tri-force symbol still stands untouched at the center of his chest. You smile as you watch him climb the steps, clearly distracted. But as his back is revealed, your eyes widen at the sight of a mural of painted dicks. Well. At least he can’t see them.

You walk down the hall for what feels like an eternity, passing a few closed doors on either side. Maybe you should try one? Knocking on the one closest to you once, the door swings in and you lose your balance, not expecting it to open.

“What took you so long? I almost came without you.” The voice is pouty and low, somewhat familiar. He gasps when he realizes you’re not the person he’s been waiting for.

You stumble forward, falling to your knees and catching the bed frame before your face smacks into the wood. As graceful as you can manage, you pull yourself up. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to! I didn’t realize it was open and I was just looking for the---” The will to speak leaves you as soon as you see him.

A very sweaty, very naked Jungkook crosses his arms and he leans back expectantly, smushing the pillows behind him into the headboard. Your eyes take in the pleased expression on his face, quickly scanning the muscles of his folded arms, his chiseled abs, his bulging legs. The pointy green hat he had been wearing earlier tents across his sculpted hips and pelvis, thankfully obscuring any shape hidden beneath it.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again tonight,” he says, licking his lips as he watches your form tremble, practically falling apart in front of him before adding, “...Princess.”

A devilish grin overtakes him at the sight of you spinning around a little too fast, staggering towards the door and holding onto the frame for dear life. “I hoped I wouldn’t see you again tonight.”

“I can’t say it isn’t a nice surprise. You don’t have to leave,” he coaxes. “Do you wanna see my Master Sword?”

“Grow up!” You make sure to slam the door shut behind you. You hate him so fucking much it hurts.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

“Jennie, how could I be so wrong about him?” you sigh, dropping your forehead against the kitchen table. It’s been three weeks since you’ve talked to him, but it’s still the only thing you can think about.

Jennie takes a sip from her beer. “Sweetie, you’re not good at reading liars. Maybe you should look at some dating apps. You could get good read quick.”

“But I don’t wanna,” you whine into the coated wood. “Why can’t people just be nice?”

“Because. People suck. Come on, Y/N. Jungkook ain’t worth the headache. Drink with me. I’ll show you how Tinder works. It’s not so bad.”

When you don’t say anything, she tugs your chair across the floor, dragging your form close to hers and setting her phone down on the table. You peek out at the screen as you raise your head and rest it on a lazy elbow.

“Swipe right on the hotties. Swipe left on the fuckboys and losers. Jungkook? He’s a swipe left. But look at all these good ones on here. These are all swipe righties.”

You nod as she goes through a few profiles and begin downloading the app on your phone. Maybe she’s onto something.

[bangtanfancamp]

Into the Garden (JJK)

∴ masterlist

∴ series masterlist (part one of 2 )

∴ pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader

∴ word count: 5k

∴ rating: pg-13

∴ genre: fluff, romance, strangers to lovers, dinner theater au? Lol

∴ warnings: none to speak of, eventual affection? sexual tension? Probable future make out sesh

∴ summary: It’s a Friday night out with your friends— a perfect opportunity to try out that mysterious new restaurant everybody’s talking about. Always game for new things and a good time, even you never expected to stumble upon the smart, incredibly handsome waiter you meet there who knows his flowers. Who knows where the night will take you now?

∴ vibey playlist that kept me company during writing

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“God, this place is gorgeous.” You gasped.

You felt yourself go still once you’d finally managed to push the heavy wooden doors open. Was it unreasonable to wish you lived in a restaurant if it looked like this? Because it was beautiful in here. Every corner was immaculately decorated- rich, emerald velvet in the waiting area, cognac wood floors, industrial light fixtures… each element carefully designed, but aged and warm, like maybe this place had been here forever, and you’d only just noticed it.

And the plants- there were plants everywhere, on every available surface. Shades of green wrapping and weaving around iron railing. Ivy crawling up the side of the exposed brick like nature was trying to take this luxurious place back for itself. You’d never seen anything quite like it.

This place was all anyone could talk about lately, but you’d never seen it first hand until tonight. It had been your coworker’s bright idea to get a bunch of the staff together and blow off some steam here this Friday night. She’d even wiggled her way into getting the company to pay for it by calling it a “team building experience,” a.k.a “let’s all get drunk together and moan about our problems on the boss’s dime.” You’d be skipping the alcohol tonight, but this place was a million years beyond your “guac at chipotle is a treat” personal budget and there was no way you were going to miss out on a free dinner here.

So far, no regrets as you wandered across the hardwood. You hadn’t even eaten any of the food yet, but it was already your new favorite place in the city on decor alone. And on top of that, you had something else to look forward to. Apparently, the hook here — not that it really needed one— was an upscale version of dinner and a mystery. You wondered how that was supposed to fit with this whole industrial utopia theme.

You hadn’t been to a restaurant that did a show with dinner since you saw Cinderella at a children’s dinner theater in eighth grade, but the shabby, primary colored castles of your memory clashed distinctly with the elegance of this place. The gaping imbalance made you chuckle. Sherlock dinner theater and artisanal hand glazed pottery seemed like an odd mix to you, but you were intrigued nonetheless, knowing you’d have fun whether the plot was brilliant or not.

After gawking an appropriate amount of time in the foyer, you realized you should probably check in for your group since you’d arrived first. Gliding through the Garden in search of the hostess booth, you found it hidden away beneath the shade of an almost prehistorically large fiddle leaf fig tree. You smiled up at the gargantuan plant, fingers tracing the edge of a leaf. If the millennial garden of Eden interior of the place hadn’t already been an indication, this alone reinforced what a miracle worker their main gardener must be.

Every fiddle leaf fig you’d ever owned had died many a gruesome death long before it ever even reached two feet, but this one almost brushed the exposed ceiling beams. You wished you could ask whoever was in charge here for some pointers, but they’d probably smell your plant mom failures on you from a mile away and decide not to waste their time. Plants just never seemed to like you back the way you loved them… oh well. That’s what plastic is for, you supposed.

Getting back to the task at hand, you leaned up on your toes to look for assistance, quickly noticing that the station was empty. Maybe they’re busy watering the crops, you chuckled to yourself wondering if this place really was pretentious enough to grow their own inventory-they certainly could- when you were suddenly greeted by the most stunningly handsome boy you’d ever seen.

“Hello, welcome to the Garden.” The living, breathing Adonis statue could speak apparently. You tried not to stare as he smiled back at you politely, his silky curls shagging about his face as he slid behind the hostess booth. Holy crap. Did they grow him in the back too?

He was beautiful- some undiscovered demigod with broad shoulders and a jawline so strong it could cut glass. He lifted his eyebrows pleasantly, waiting to assist. “I apologize for the wait—how may I be of service this evening?”

You couldn’t help the silly grin that spilled across your face when his wide chocolate eyes smiled your way.

“Um, Hi. I need a table for, lets see… 1,2,3,4...10 people I think?” You counted unashamedly on your fingers as the host’s lips quirked into a smile. “Oh! Actually, you know what? What am I doing—do you guys take reservations? My friend Beth might have called about us earlier?”

“Let me see…” The boy’s amused doe eyes drifted over a computer screen. You fiddled with the edges of a particularly plump succulent on the counter as you waited. “Here it is. Beth party of 10. Now usually when we have a group that big, we do offer the option of one of our private rooms. You guys would have your own separate narrative from whatever the main restaurant is doing….Would you be interested in that this evening?”

“Sure! Why not—that sounds amazing!” You answered, a bit too enthusiastically admittedly, but when his face lit up at your bubbliness, you found you couldn’t be bothered to feel embarrassed. Not when a boy who looked like that was looking at you that way, all soft around the edges. Will you be there? you wondered.

“Okay, then you’ll come right this way. Oh! And you’ll need this.” Dipping into a crystal bowl behind the counter, he fished out a crisp white piece of paper and slipped it into your hand, fingers brushing over yours as he did.

Something in your belly reacted sharply to the contact. Apparently, the electric crackle affected him too. His already round eyes widened, a nervous chuckle tumbling from his lips as your cheeks blossomed a warm, soft pink.

Suddenly, a ruckus erupted behind you, crashing into the tranquil silence. You turned over your shoulder to see your friends piling in the tall front door, laughing and smiling widely at you.

Tearing his eyes away from you with a self conscious gulp, the host cleared his throat before leading you all back past fountains, lush greenery and elaborate floral installations into yet another beautiful space. This room was just as intricate as the rest of the restaurant, with its warm terra cotta-colored walls dripping with ivy and orchids, lit with the dappled light of melting pillared candles piled atop the elaborate raw wood table spanning the length of the room.

As everyone happily clamored to find a seat along the banquet table, you noticed your friend, Erik, crashing along its opposite edge. Erik had been a football player in college, some defensive position you didn’t know the title of. He was a mammoth of a man, his blonde Nordic hair making him look like an off brand, out of shapeThor.

He paid little to no attention to where he threw his weight around like a puppy who didn’t yet know his size. So when he dropped himself onto the neatly slatted bench (gosh, every detail here was dripping in aesthetics) and promptly leaned against the wall, crushing the intricate orchid display, you couldn’t help but laugh. You heard the host’s strangled gasp and giggled at the beautiful boy's wide eyes as his horror-stricken face went pale across the room. Before he seemed to realize he was even doing it, his feet began to march across the floor to say something to your friend, until his politeness overtook him and he froze a few feet away. He grumbled to himself as your friend carelessly peeled himself off of the bench, annoyed complaining about something scratchy digging into his back. The host was positively fuming as irritation ticked in his jaw, but His big brown eyes betrayed his disappointment and downright bewilderment as the bedraggled orchids limped back into place.

“No.... They’re ruined. Now what am I supposed to display?”  You heard him attempt to mutter under his breath, but his anger seemed to make his volume louder than intended. He was so flustered—it was oddly...kind of adorable. You couldn’t help but laugh. You knew your friend had meant no harm. He was a sweet guy, but generally oblivious, so things like this seemed to happen a lot. Chuckling under your breath, you couldn’t help but notice the strain in the host’s angular jawline, not to mention how good he looked with his eyebrows furrowed like that. Intense. It made you want to kiss the creases to relax him. Man, this guy was really getting to you...

Maybe it’s time to have some fun, you thought.

Leaning over the edge of the bench, you whispered surreptitiously, “Hey, maybe you should consider wheatgrass instead.” You sent a quick wink in the host’s direction, a thick cloud of giggles falling from your lips. Lashes fluttering , the poor guy seemed startled by your comment. He had been so wrapped up in blinders over his restaurant being ruined that he hadn’t realized anyone had been watching the entire interaction. For a quick second, embarrassment flashed over his features. The sudden chagrin on his face as he nervously ruffled his hair softened him. The Greek god of a man suddenly a soft, flustered boy. He looked so... sweet.

The whole scene gave you the oddest urge to pinch his cheeks and tell him how cute he was. But just as fast as it had appeared, the innocence in his wide eyes was gone, his composure swiftly resettling itself as his shoulders rolled down, his posture lifting him back up to full height. His confidence was back, and so was a lopsided smile that you decided you quite liked. “Might not be the worst idea.... certainly less overhead,” he sighed resignedly, hands hanging low on his hips as the tick in his jaw loosened, replaced instead by the beginning of a smirk.

“Much less upkeep. Less horizontal space. Equal level of pretension. I see no downsides,” you shrugged nonchalantly. You felt your own smile bloom wider the longer your gazes stayed fixed on each other. His eyes were dazzling- coffee brown and deep- as they glittered back at you. “I’ll look into it...might be a solid option. Have,” he hesitated. “Have you been here before? I don’t think I’ve seen you... I get the feeling I would have remembered you.” His face was so soft and unguarded, his pretty mouth just a bit too open as he searched his memory for a glimpse of you. You pulled your lip between your teeth as your smile threatened to grow.

“No,” you shook your head, hair bouncing around you. “It’s my first time here. First time for all of us actually. Hence, my friends lack of good graces with your horticultural displays.” you offered an apologetic shrug.

“May my orchids rest in peace,” he sighed with a shake of his head. “Not your fault though. You guys, uh, celebrating something?” He was suddenly too close for a stranger, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“Oh, no. We just work in that massive upstart down the block. Kept hearing about the place, and Instagram kept hacking our feeds with ads for it so we finally caved. Figured we’d try it out. ” You waved across the table gesturing to everyone. There were all so deep in their own side conversations that no one seemed to pay any mind to you lingering oddly with the wait staff. “Glad to see the marketing is working out,” he chuckled. “Well...if it’s your first time, then you’ll need a proper guide through the story.” A glint of mischief sparkled deep in his chocolate eyes, and you felt something effervescent glitter up your spine in excitement. “I suppose we will.” With a bow from his hip and a nod, he turned on his heel with no explanation, leaving you to smile down at your menu like an idiot in his absence. Trying to read was pointless honestly. The letters might as well have been in Arabic as they swam across the page- you weren’t processing anything. Far too lost in a dreamy eyed splendor over the boy you’d just met until a bony elbow nudged its way between your ribs. “What was THAT all about?” Eileen’s eyebrows bounced with curiosity. “ I don’t know.” You answered honestly as your head shook. At this point, you were smiling so much your cheeks were beginning to hurt. “But my God, isn’t he CUTE?” You hid behind your hands. “Cute??” Eileen shoved you in the shoulder. “He’s not a corgi, y/n. He’s a grown man.” She bit her lip. “A GORGEOUS, full grown man....did you see him when he walked away? God, what a view.” You pressed your forehead into her shoulder and whimpered, “I knowww. His smile, those thighs, my god...and his butt. Did you see it? It’s better than mine.” You both fell into a fit of giggles.

“All I know is that if you don’t give him your number then he’s definitely getting mine tonight. Or anything else he’d like for that matter.” Your jaw fell open at her brazenness. “Hey! slow your roll. You can’t call dibs before I’ve even gotten his name!” you laughed.

“Then you better work fast, babe. Cuz butts like that don’t stay single for long.”  She tipped her head to the side matter of factly.

“Oh my gosh, shut up! You don’t know when he’ll come back. He might hear you.” You breathed.

“Let him. It’ll make my job easier.” She bit down seductively on her red straw. Swatting at her, you both giggled before back into the table’s office gossip.

Apparently, Elliot had shown up to the office wasted again today- either from getting trashed the night before or from getting sloshed the morning of, no one was quite sure at this point. Either way, everyone was annoyed as hell that he’d never get more than a slap on the wrist for it since his dad managed their branch. Nepotism still alive and well. Clearly.

Popping an entire potsticker in your mouth, your belly ached with laughter as Sean told you all how his assistant had accidentally walked in on two higher ups making out in the supply closet this morning and how traumatized the poor intern had been. He described in detail how the poor slob had still tried to get around them to get the extra printer paper, and what a mess the whole ordeal had been. He owed you a clean fifty bucks now.

With your keen eyes, you’d been the first person to be suspicious of them- you’d called it a solid month ago- and had put your money where your mouth was. You’d started the office pool that they were in fact a secret couple- a bet you’d clearly just won if Sean bleak expression was anything to go by. Lunch on him all week. Potstickers til i burst? Don’t mind if I do.

It had been a great evening, full of unwinding and bonding. So great, that you’d completely forgotten about the mystery element of the dinner. That is, until a crystalline voice spoke above you, snapping you to attention.

“Pardon me, everybody. But it’s time for the mystery of the evening to begin.”

Surprised, your eyes darted up to see the cute guy from earlier. He was standing right behind you. Your pulse spiked as he sent a smirk your way. What were you supposed to do with that? He was so close now that you could hear the fabric of his dress shirt rustle every time he shifted or gestured above you. With every movement, a burst of his scent surrounded you. It was something citrus, something fresh. A dizzy smile tugged at your lips as it enveloped you like a cloud. God, you wanted to bury your nose in it. You were such a sucker for a good smelling boy...

And this one was so in your personal space. Which should have been off putting, honestly. Especially since you’d barely known him for half an evening. It was a bold choice on his part, to get so close to you. It should have been a turn off. Should have. But it wasn’t. Instead, you found yourself almost vibrating with excitement at the proximity of him. Whatever this gravitational pull was around him, you were perfectly content to get pulled straight into it.

If you’d had the nerve to, he truly was close enough that if you tipped your body back just a few degrees you could’ve rested your head against his lean stomach if you’d wanted to… which, of course you did want to do… but you’d only just met him. So instead, you bit down to stifle your smile, eyes flicking over to Eileen who was just as giddy on your behalf.

God he’s so cute, you thought. Wait- is he still talking? Crap-focus, you scolded yourself, tuning back into his monologue.

“As everyone knows, we all have the same five senses. But what happens when we lose one? How does it affect our instincts? Our gut? How does it change the way we listen to each other?” he paced around the edges of the table, hands clasped behind his tailbone. It made his dress shirt bunch deliciously in all the right places, and you bit back a smile. It was getting harder and harder to hide your little infatuation.

“When each of you arrived,” he continued, “you were each given a character and a backstory- No one should know it but you- but only one of you received the card that said killer. Someone at this table has committed a murder, but who? Often, our eyes can deceive us, so as part of tonight’s story, your sight will be taken from you as you try to decipher the truth. Can you rely on your other senses, your hearing, your intuition to solve this case?” A few other waiters approached the table with baskets in hand before the room went dark- completely.

Not the “the lights are off but we can all still see” kind of dark. It was the “it's so black in here that you can feel it” kind of dark. The kind of complete nothingness you never get with the ambient glow of street lights and screens everywhere. It was heavy and consuming, the absoluteness of the suddenly inky black room.

Swirling your own fingers in front of your face, you saw absolutely nothing. Not even the glint of your own jewelry, and something fantastic bubbled up in you. This is going to be so fun. Your heart began to race in anticipation- you didn’t even know what for yet. You felt your knuckles wrap around the bench beneath you, bracing, waiting, holding your breath, wondering when the night would finally be-

Only to have your thoughts stop. Completely.

Each individual one of them halted in their tracks by the sudden contact of warm fingertips against your skin. The gentle press of a large set of hands melted into the tops of your shoulders, thumbs bracing on the back of your neck. It was him again, wasn’t it?

He squeezed once, tense and hesitant despite his obvious strength, like he wasn't sure touching you was the best idea, but he couldn’t back out now that he’d started. The delicacy of it left you buzzing. In the silence, the pads of his fingers sunk deeply into your skin, and your breath caught. You’d never been this grateful for off the shoulder clothing in your life.

“May I?” he asked, tone honeyed and sweet.

You realized he meant the blindfold you’d heard so much about before you came and nodded your head just once, tension sticking in your throat as you tried to swallow it down. It was only then that you realized he probably couldn’t see you in the darkness. You’d have to gather your wits enough to verbally respond. You hoped he wouldn’t catch the way the “yes” that left your lips was embarrassingly breathless.

You heard him hum in response, holding whatever was left of your breath as his fingertips slowly fell from the tops of your shoulders, dragging across the edges your sleeves like he was in no rush to let you go. It was a strange intimacy from a stranger, but to be honest, you didn’t want him to let go either.

Until, quick as a whisper, his warmth was gone, leaving you alone in the dark. The shift so abrupt that part of you wondered if you’d imagined the last thirty seconds. His lingering hands had fallen away so abruptly at the end. Where had he gone?

It all felt like a fever dream you’d cooked up, like your own subconscious was mocking you for wanting him so bad. For a second, you wondered if you should be concerned by how obviously attracted you were to him. Should you be ashamed by how quickly you welcomed his touch? By the way your traitorous body showed no intention of pushing him away? Maybe you should, but he didn’t give you the time to overthink it before he was beside you again.

“Jungkook.” He whispered, only loud enough for you to hear.

“What?” You breathed, face turning toward his sound in the blackness.

“That’s my name. Jungkook.” He repeated, his voice airy and soft. You hadn’t realized how beautiful his voice was until it was the only thing you had to focus on. You could feel that he was bent low, his chest just brushing the tops of your shoulders. You felt dizzy at the sensation of his warm breath ghosting over the shell of your ear as a cool satin ribbon was draped over your eyes.

“In case you were wondering.” He whispered, pulling the edges of the fabric into a soft bow as he dipped to the other side of your shoulders. “But I’ll also answer to ‘guy with the butt that’s better than yours’ if you prefer.” His breathy laugh filled your ears, and you could practically hear him smiling. “Oh god, you heard that?” the back of your hand smothered your mouth, a smile emerging even as you cringed.

“Oh absolutely. Acoustics are insane in this place. It was kind of nice though... I mean, how often do I get to hear such a pretty girl compliment me ?” You could feel the rush of blood practically crashing into your cheeks. You knew the whole world would see you blushing if the lights were on. “I’m out of witty comments for that one.” “Don’t smile. You’ll mess up the blindfold,” he warned, the endearing softness in his voice undermining his words. “I’ll try. Don’t think I can help it though.” A satisfied hum left Jungkook’s lips as he pulled away and went back to the task at hand.

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And just like that, the mystery began with Jungkook as the narrator and weaver of your tale.

Your group had been given a story set in feudal Japan. Clashing samurai, feuding houses, forbidden love- Your friends all got surprisingly into it, losing their normal voices into the adopted lilts and pitches of their newfound characters.

It really was incredible the nuances you caught when you focused on your hearing. Jin’s voice, for example, was far more nasal than you realized. He had a tendency to react dramatically any time someone pressed him for details- clearly signaling how close they were to the truth the more he tried to hide it. Lina’s expressionless monotone was nearly impossible to read on voice alone, but it made her all the more fun to try to figure out. Despite focusing on the story, you couldn’t help but notice that while Jungkook had the entire table to canvas as he narrated, he still stayed suspiciously close to your side the entire time- like he couldn’t help himself. His fingertips would brush the fabric of your blouse when he’d pass. His taut arms would graze the swing of your ponytail as he walked by. He had no mercy on the fragile hummingbird flitting with wild abandon in your chest at each of his actions. In fact, you could hear the distinct note of something that sounded an awful lot like laughter in his voice anytime he gave instructions to your character specifically. Smug son of a gun. Soon, the story unraveled as it was revealed that Jin had, in fact, been the murderer. He was jealous of Lina’s love for samurai Hoseok and had killed him in a drunken rage but tried to frame Bobby for the dishonorable act.

With the crime solved, the lights were turned back on, a fuzzy halo emerging around the edges of your vision as a staff member came behind each guest to remove their blindfold. You were unsurprised when you were met with a gentle waft of clean citrus as Jungkook appeared once again to help you with yours. The warm pads of his fingers grazed your cheeks when he removed the satin ribbon. It was so quick- it was so hard to tell if it had been on purpose- before his touch was gone again far too quickly for your liking. “I must say, you were particularly clever.” He offered softly as he stood behind you. You dropped your neck back to look up at him, eyes wide. “Anyone paying attention would have known that wasn’t Bobby’s blade work.” “Still, most people don’t catch it on their first time through the story.” He tipped his head matter of factly. “Maybe I just had a good guide,” You winked, tucking your chin back to normal when you saw a faint pink color his cheekbones. He cleared his throat before addressing the table. “You’ll find your individual checks have been placed in front of you, along with a complimentary dessert. Thank you for dining with us this evening. It has been our pleasure.”

He bowed at the waist as he gave his farewell, making his last words spoken dangerously close to your ear. Adrenaline spiked in your veins at his proximity for the thousandth time tonight. As he returned to full height, another man approached the table, this one taller, leaner than jungkook, with a smile so innocent and wide it could have belonged to a child.

“Good evening everyone! How was your experience with us tonight?” His voice. It boomed like a clap of thunder. It was oddly deep for someone who looked so young. Everyone at the table chattered with random superlatives about how amazing the night had been as the man's smile glowed brighter.

“I’m so glad to hear it!! You had a real treat tonight- guided by our finest story teller.” Pride swelling in his eyes, the man clapped an embarrassed Jungkook on the shoulder. “Such a shame it might be the last story he tells here.” The baritone lamented. “What am I supposed to do without my partner?” The man used his other hand to clutch at his chest dramatically, face scrunched in distress, as you felt your heart free fall into your shoes.

Last story? “Calm down, Taehyung. You make it sound like I’m dying.” Jungkook rolled his eyes and swatted at the man. “You might as well be!” Taehyung huffed. “He’s leaving us tomorrow to start his new life! Off galavanting in the mountains somewhere with flowers and goats. Leaving all his old, true friends behind.” He wrapped an arm around jungkook’s shoulder, dragging him against his will into a side hug jungkook vehemently tried to escape. “Quiet down, bro. You’re making a scene.” Jungkook balked, face pale at the unwanted attention.

He’s…. leaving? Your stomach took a swan dive. No. But I just met him. How... where was he going? Your eyes fell back to the table as you steadied yourself.

You’d been so excited about where this all might go. It was hard enough to accept that you’d already gotten this attached to him. Let alone invested enough to be this disappointed…..but, you’d felt something so strong around him. The kind of glittering spark you hadn’t felt with another person in a long time, if ever.

Every time his eyes had lingered on you or his body had brushed against yours, a supernova had ignited in your chest. You’d spent the whole night going mad with the electric possibility of him- just to what? Feel like a fool for being infatuated with a stranger? Look like the naive girl you were, pining over a daydream?

This was ridiculous. You shook your head at yourself. This boy didn’t owe you anything. He was a stranger two hours ago, he’d stay a stranger when you left twenty minutes from now. But no matter how you tried to convince yourself, your poor heart still felt sick about it all. He’d just seemed so— you don’t know, special. So magnetic. And You’d thought he’d felt the same pull bringing him to you too.

Because why else would he have flirted with you half the night? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to lead you on if he knew it was going nowhere. An assumption you realized was a heck of a leap. You didn’t actually know anything about him, but somehow, something about that narrative just didn’t sit right with you. The look he’d had in his eyes each time he smiled at you tonight had seemed too sincere to be a lie. But from the way his loud friend was still talking, he made it sound like Jungkook was moving to the Alps.

So even if his sweet eyes had genuinely meant every smile tonight, was it really all for nothing? You knew the night was ending, and it was a long shot, but you’d really been holding out hope it might go somewhere beyond this. Apparently not. In an instant, he reappeared by your side, having broken free from the grip of his affectionate friend’s grasp. Jungkook dipped beside you once again as you stumbled to rearrange your now troubled features into something resembling disinterest.

“Hey, Sorry about that. But, I um, really do hope you have a great night. So your uh, your check is on the table.” His poise seemed a bit more rattled than before, but you were too glum to give it much notice.

You sent an out of focus glance in the ticket’s direction and nodded. He’d already told everyone that. Most of the table already had their debit cards out for their tickets. You didn’t know why he was bothering to mention it again when all you wanted to know was where he was going and if it was far.

“I um...didn’t get to catch your name earlier,” the smile he offered you was gentle, hopeful, as his wide brown eyes looked down at you. You felt yourself sigh withought meaning to. You’d have found the sheepish look in his eyes hopelessly adorable just a few minutes earlier, but now all it did was make your chest hurt. “Not a detail you need if you’re moving away though right?” You asked, a sadness creeping in your attempted smile. God, you weren’t fooling anyone. This was pathetic. His brows dipped at your response, confused by the shift in your demeanor. “I’m... I mean, i told you mine.” His gentle eyes tried to salvage the situation. The confidence he’d exuded all night was slipping away, a boyish vulnerability taking its place. There was no harm, you supposed. “Fair enough. It’s y/n.”  you conceded. “Y/n.” He repeated, like he was trying to make the shape a new habit for his mouth. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

The smile you gave him back was a limp, pitiful thing, but it was the best you could give. Half an hour ago, you definitely didn’t think him calling you pretty would have made you so sad. Compliments didn’t usually send you into a craving for solitude and halo top ice cream, but this one certainly did.

“Well, y/n, I may not be as far away as you think. Have a good night.” And with that he was gone.

Bummed, you looked over your shoulder as he disappeared into the kitchen. “Shoot. Well, that was a fast track to nowhere,” you sighed to Eileen, slouching in your seat. “I know. Bummer. Seemed like he liked you too.” Eileen commiserated. “Right? So it wasn’t just me? You could tell too?” “Oh, he was totally obvious about it! He  also gave you more ice cream than me. Shameless. Boy has no subtly.” You chuckled at her accusation, but sure enough, you did in fact have one scoop more ice cream in your jadeite bowl than the rest of your friends. This boy already knew the way to your heart.

“Still. Why act interested if you’re disappearing the next day?” You pouted. “Why show interest when he’s just a server you’ve never met before?” She asked pointedly, eyebrow arched as your eyes fell away. “People react when they feel something- and clearly you two were feeling something the entire night. His eyes didn’t leave you for a second....We don’t get to pick the timing of when we’re attracted to people, y/n. Nobody’s working with that kind of control.” Flopping onto her shoulder, you heaved a heavy sigh. “Again... you’re right. I just, I don’t know. There was just—something about him. He felt... special.” “He looked special in that outfit. Those buttons were crying.” She mockingly bit her lip as you swatted your napkin at her. “Eileen! Unhelpful! I’m aware.... I guess you just don’t always get to know where things could have gone.” You shrugged, wilting into her warmth. “I know, babe. Sorry.” She patted your head comfortingly.  You turned to your ice cream to heal the wound, accepting that beautiful Jungkook would just be a passing meeting and a quick deadend to nowhere. After polishing off your dessert, you pulled out your cash to at least leave him the memory of a good tip when your eyes caught on scribbled handwriting in the top corner of your receipt. Hey, I don’t normally do something like this, but there’s a place around the corner that stays open super late. Meet me for crappy coffee + good conversation at 11? -jungkook xxx-xxx-xxxx You choked on nothing as you processed what was going on.

“Eileen! Eileen!!” You grabbed at her sleeve. “What?? What is it?! Calm down.” She pried your clutching hands off her cropped leather jacket, brushing off any damage you’d done.

“He gave me his number!” You nearly shouted.

“What?” She almost spat out her cocktail.

“He gave me his number!!” You waved the receipt wildly in her face. “He invited me to coffee and gave me his number!!!” You squealed, shrieking at an octave usually reserved for wild piglets. “Shut up! No way!!!” “Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh!” You rambled ecstatically. “But wait!” your face fell,“ we’re supposed to go out for drinks with everybody after.” “And? Is that a joke??? You see us every day! What are you doing talking to me?? Text him! Go meet your man, honey. I’ll cover for you.” She winked as she swung her purse over her shoulder. “Really?? I love you! I owe you!” You yelled as she made her way to the door. “Um, You really don’t, but I’ll never turn down a favor. Let me know how it goes. See you on Monday.” She waved back at you, flipping the platinum ends of her ebony hair over her shoulder. “Hey! Where’s y/n? Isn’t she coming with us,” Jin seemed to be the only one alarmed by your absence. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, dear. I’ll fill you in later.” She grabbed him by his shoulders and nudged him out the door frame. “Ooo, bulking up are we, Kim? Feeling solid these days.”

“Yes actually!” His face glowed. “I have been! But you know, muscle tone is 80% genetics anyway. You cant just make yourself handsome, you know.You have to be born this good looking to start with and work from there.”

She knew there was no quicker, sure fire way to get Jin off topic than to ask him about himself. Once that train had left the station, there was little hope if any of ever turning back.

Eileen really took one for the team there. “Call me” she mouthed back at you as they slipped off into the night. You chuckled to yourself at the scene, finally realizing the turn your own evening was about to take. You plugged his number into your phone and shot him a quick message. [10:35pm] Hey, how did you know I was always down for quality conversation? Moments later, your phone began to buzz. Jungkook [10:36pm] Just went with my gut ;)

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[coldbrewtarot]

Brief Succulent Care Guide for the New Green Witch

Gather ‘round, lil new green witches! I received a lot of engagement on my last succulent-related post, so I wanted to make a little bit more thorough post on succulent care. Allow me to impart with you some of the knowledge I’ve gained from my fuck ups while on my green witch path. This is not a comprehensive guide to succulent care! These are just notes from my personal grimoire and what works best for me when I care for succulents. I’ve had the highest success rate with my succulents when I follow my notes below, but other people have their own methods that may not be the same as mine (i.e. mixing their own soil vs buying store bought premixed soil)

🌱General Notes:🌱

Great plants for people that are looking to improve their gardening skills; great beginner plants.

Great plants for dry climates and sunny weather.

Don’t require much maintenance and you can accidentally ignore them without much consequence!

The bright vibrant or sweet pastel colors that you see on succulents when you first bring them home or in photos are from stress. Succulents don’t always stay this color and will typically turn a green (ranging from light to emerald to forest greens) when they’re not stressed. This is ok! This does not mean the succulent is dying or unhealthy.

You can stress succulents by giving them less water, more sunlight, and have them in cold temperatures.

💧Water notes:💧

Don’t water too often

Only water when the soil is completely dry

When watering, completely soak the roots

Don’t let water sit on top of the soil in the pot or overflow

It is easier to revive dried out succulents than it is to save succulents that have drowned and/or developed rot.

When watering, aim for the roots by using a plastic syringe or squirt bottle with a very fine spout.

Do not water the leaves on top, only water at the base where the roots are.

🌵Soil notes:🌵

Use soil that drains well

Cactus/succulent potting mix if using pots

If you’re not mixing your own soil, use the cactus potting mix and mix in pumice (can be ordered online or bought from garden stores)

This helps drain the water

Pearlite can also be used to drain the soil and is more cost effective than pumice, but isn’t as effective.

💸Buying Succulents:💸

Can be purchased at big box stores, bought from mom & pop garden shops, or ordered online from etsy or IG.

When ordering succulents online, be careful and be sure to order from reputable shops. (Some stores on IG or Tumblr may be scammers, so be cautious! It is possible for them to pass off stressed succulents to inexperienced plant guardians as rarer varieties. Some shops may not have the succulent at all and may’ve stolen the photos they used.)

When you take succulents home from the store (especially big box stores) immediately remove the soil from their roots and repot them in your soil mix. Store bought succulents most likely haven’t been cared for properly and will need a lil bit of love and care when they first come home. Big stores typically either drown succulents, pot them in the wrong soil, or didn’t maintain them properly.

🌿Potting Succulents:🌿

If you’re potting multiple succulents in a container, to give succulents enough space to grow (about 2″)

With roots: plant as normal!

Without roots:

Freshly clipped/cut: Wait until callous has formed. Don’t plant or try to water because it will just rot!

With callous: Go ahead and stick them in soil! Water and treat as normal. New roots systems will form soon and your plant may sprout pups and offshoots!

Pot Notes:

Use pots with drainage holes when first starting out (This help prevents root rot and lets water drain all the way through)

Elevate the pot to be above ground (maybe in a pot holder or something that allows air to flow through the bottom)

Glazed pots retain less water, so they’re good to help water drain through

Terracotta pots specifically absorb and retain water (which is good for plants that really like water, but need close attention when used for succulents) 

🌤Weather notes:🌤

You’ll need to water more in the dry weather and when it’s really hot

Water less when it’s colder or humid

Succulents like bright indirect sunlight (Direct sunlight can burn succulents!)

If you live in a colder climate, don’t get much sunlight, or are growing succulents indoors, you might consider getting a grow light so that your succulents can thrive in climates they may not typically grow naturally in.

🍃Propagation notes:🍃

When succulents begin to rot or die, they shed their leaves. While the plant may be dying, the leaves can be saved to create new baby succulents!

If you’re going to prop them, separate the leaves in a lil tray and let them dry over a few days.

When the tips where the wounds are (where you cut them) dry up, a callous will form.

Once this happens, you’ll be able to place the leaf on top of a tray of soil.

Once roots begin to form, you can spray them with water to help promote growth.

Once roots grow, you’ll eventually be able to pot them in your own starter pots.

Proplifting/propstealing: This is when you go to a store (usually a big box store) and kind of scavenge around for fallen leaves. Some people clip leaves off existing succulents, but I don’t condone this and don’t engage in this sort of theft. Plants have spirits and to steal a leaf is like stealing from that spirit. However...

You definitely *shouldn’t* proplift leaves (pick fallen leaves up off the floor) from big box stores that can afford to lose a leaf they will throw away. You definitely *shouldn’t* stick it to big box stores that take advantage and abuse their employees. You really really *shouldn’t* and I definitely encourage you *not to* proplift.

(Note: On the real, don’t even think about stealing even a little leaf or petal from a mom & pop shop. Don’t even put that energy out there. But big box stores who overwork their employees and pay them way too little, as far as I and my higher power are concerned, fuck ‘em.)

🛠Care & maintenance notes:🛠

If leaves are crispy, they are either dry or sun burnt.

If leaves are squishy and yellow/orange in color, this is from too much water

Occasionally, the leaves at the base of the succulent beneath all of the other leaves will dry out. (This is normal!)

DON’T TOUCH the powder on top. This protects them from sun, pests, etc. and will never grow back if you touch it.

🔮✖️🔮✖️🔮MAKE IT WITCHY 🔮✖️🔮✖️🔮

🧚🏻‍♀️Pixie Gardens:🧚🏻‍

There are vendors that will sell little itty bitty succulent gardens called pixie gardens. You can incorporate these pixie gardens into your practice and keep one handy for your lil fae friends. (If you don’t already work with the fae, please do research beforehand!)

🌕Moon Magick:🌕

New Moon: Take this time to plant new arrangements, prop succulents, repot succulents (within reason, don’t do this like every month), etc. This is a fresh start!

I create moon water when there is a new moon. I have a mason jar, typically, (a few if I’m honest) and fill it with water and a bit of succulent fertilizer. (Use the appropriate ratio based on the fertilizer instructions.) Then I set the jars out over night, allow the new moon to charge them, and then use this water to spray onto my propagation leaves or in plants I’ve recently repotted. This is great for succulents you’re hoping to revive or new babies you’re hoping to grow.

🔮How I incorporate magick into my gardening and gardening into my practice:🔮

When I garden, I set my intentions with each succulent I pot or arrange. I speak to it while I do this and communicate with my higher power. I whisper what I hope to manifest as I set the pot on my plant stand or find a place for it on my balcony.

I release stress and hand over my worries over to my higher power while I garden. It’s very therapeutic and helps me reflect.

You can create new life by planting and gardening. Succulents that you have birthed from propagation are extensions of you.

As you water and nourish your garden, you are watering and nourishing your intentions, hopes, and dreams.

I plant succulents (and other plants) in the name of others and pour my love into the plant as I would for that person. My energy flows back into my garden work and continues through the universe.

~~~~~

Additional Resources:

Youtube:

Laura Eubanks // Design by Serenity

Cerriscapades

My Succulent Garden

SuccsForYou!

Angel’s Grove Gardening

Books:

Idiot’s Guide: Succulents (by Succulents and Sunshine / The Succulent FAQ podcast)

IG:

@/lauralovessucculents (Laura Eubank’s IG)

@/chrissysuccs (this is my personal plant account; i post a bunch of succulents and IDs)

Podcasts:

The Succulent FAQ (spotify)

Websites & Blogs:

Succulentsandsunshine.com

~~~~~

I have a full shelf of books and magazines on succulents that I have to get through. As I go through them, I’ll add them to the list of resources and add in the new info that I learn, so stay tuned for edits within reblogs! If you have any questions, feel free to DM me! I’m happy to help~

[springtimebat]

The Autumn Meeting (Part 1/4)

Six suns peer down from perching clouds, leaving heavy, gilded dents on the heavens. They watch with amused, greedy eyes, their eyelids soft and rusted. They sit and wait for a hymn to be sung.

The city of tomorrow arrives in the early morning, on a thousand dying legs. The crow is beginning its call as the sun sets in the east, and the queen begins to cross the old town bridge just as the sky turns pitch black. The queen is young and full of life. Her hair is dark and wild. Her eyes are electric green. Naturally, the shadows clamber over each other, desperate to touch her skin. They claw at her footprints, grasp desperately at her diadem. The Queen places a shawl, a piece of midnight, careworn and devoid of stars, around her shoulders. She places galoshes on her feet. They snap against the cobblestones. The shadows attempt to bash her brain in. The queen pulls the shawl tighter around her neck and carries on. She must begin her quest before it's too late, before she misses her window. She pulls apart the ghoulish bonds restraining her and slips into the forest, the heavy frame of her home balancing on stilts behind her.

When the clock strikes the right time, three pilgrims meet deep inside the bowels of the forest to tell stories they stole off of wanderers backs. One is skull and bones, the second is more shark than man, the last is cast in iron and gilded armour, kept together with unsteady bolts and springs. The three are old, dear friends with different destinies that lead them to separate for months on end. Still, now they gather for a night in. They gather for the stories and for listening.

The forest is a protective shield, swarming with thistles, brambles and decaying pieces of junk. Years before, during the days of the dust, a king set up booby traps in the forest, hoping to capture some kind of beast. Now spikes and barbed wire festered among the moss, weary of a world full of colour beyond the tree trunks. The queen notices flashes of silver as she races through the trees; simply shadows against the bruised sunset and the sad oaks. Her feet dance around the puddles and quicksands. She flies through the grass and the rock until she comes across the meeting place from her stories. In a clearing stands a roaring fireplace and three men, huddled together like three fates. One stands up and hurls wood onto the fire, his back muscles tensing. He is a fish-man, with silver scales framing his brow and giant saucers for eyes. He wears the same strange uniform the Queen had seen him wear in an engraving once, all frills and ridiculous trimmings. The second man sits watching the third as they recite a poem. His body is masked by a suit of metal armour. Atop his helmet sits a boar’s head, its eyes closed, bored. The final man shakes their bones and clacks their teeth. He disguises his lack of skins with a cloak, similar to the Queen’s. He is standing by the fire, whistling a strange sonnet:

“-so the little girl set off to win back her foot. But the ogre’s own pair of feet were large and heavy. He was quicker than the little girl and it took her months and months of travelling to catch up-”

“Didn’t her parents worry about her?” Interrupts the fish man from his space at the mantle-piece, “Poor girl out on her lonesome.”

His friend groans and stamps his foot.

“She had no parents Abram. She was all on her lonesome to begin with and that’s how she lost her foot. Haven’t you been listening, you knucklehead?”

“Surely she has friends who would wanna know where she is...right? I mean, surely one of you guys would wanna know about my fins being cut up? Or my scales being punctured-”

“Enough! I have a story to finish Abram. Leave questions ‘till after the workshop.”

Abram lets out a tiny squeak but speaks no more. The skeleton grins in the firelight and begins again:

“The little girl carried on, always searching for her missing foot. She asked everyone she came across and slaughtered the many who tried to take her for their own, with their nets and their traps and their cages. By the time she finally found her foot she was covered in blood and guts and body parts. Still, she had found her foot and that’s what truly matters-”

“Where’d she find it Emil?” Abram asks, his eyes widening.

“I’m getting to that! Now where was I- oh right! The little girl, all alone and bloody in middle of a winter wood, found her foot on the low branch of a great oak much like these-” The skeleton waves his arms at the trees encasing the three storytellers, “The bone was still brand new, like a new pair of shoes elastic new. It had been left there many, many moons before by someone very tall.”

“What did she do then?” 

“Well, she grabbed her foot from the oak tree and put it back, snapping it into place so to speak. Then she began the journey back home. As she did she thought to herself, “The ogre must have not needed the foot as much as I did.” The End.” Emil raises his skull to the sky, grinning proudly. 

His friends give awkward coughs.

“What happened to the ogre?” Abram asks, frowning, “Surely something interesting happened to him.”

“Unimportant.” Emil growls. 

The suit of armour gives a squeak and stretches his wiry arms. Emil rolls his head to the side in annoyance. 

“What the girl did once she got home does not matter Gus. Not in the slightest. Don’t you understand what I was trying to get across? What I was trying to convey?”

“Not really.” Abram says, poking at the fire with a stick. 

“The moral of the story, of the stanzas, was that quests of revenge, of bloodshed, are simply pointless. The journey is important and needed. All the other benign details are just...unnecessary!”

“It was good ‘till the ending. You just need to rework the ending.”

Emil scoffs, “Amateurs! Both of you! And Francis, Boris and Johnson and…all of the folding folk at the board up in the mountains! I cannot compromise my masterpiece with...amateurs!” 

“I enjoyed it.”

The three men turn to see a young girl approaching their campground, her eyes an electric green, her pupils dancing. She has an amused smirk on her face. Her hair is a dangerous dark brown. Abram just stands there, blinking, confused. Emil turns his back on the visitor, muttering some obscenities about damned fairy folk under his musty breath. Gus on the other hand, recognises the queen immediately and falls to the ground in a bow, his chest plate and helmet clinking. The queen’s smirk grows into a grin and she pats the knight on the shoulder. 

“I enjoyed the blood and the guts...and the body parts.”

“Yeah you would,” Emil growls, “You and your tasteless, tasteless people.”

Gus gasps and places himself in front of the queen, as if Emil’s words can pierce her skin. Emil simply laughs.

“Look at this old fool! This old, old fool! She doesn't care for you at all my boy! She looks at you as she looks at the bugs swarming around her feet. Learn that Gus! Learn these young girls only want to look at you in amusement and never want to settle down!” 

“I want to settle down,” The queen replies, and she strides towards a chair the men have manufactured from fallen Autumn leaves, “I am going to settle down.”

“Ah see! I knew it! I knew you were that queen I’ve heard gossip about!”

“Gossip?” The queen’s eyebrows raise, “Gossip about me?”

“Oh yes. I’ve heard quite a lot of tall tales about you. Stories about you eating babies, stabbing your own knights with their own swords-” At that, Gus swallows and sits back down on the forest floor, shaking, “-stories of you charming snakes and cobras. Stories of you sleeping in their coils.” Emil stares at the queen, goading her to respond. The queen tuts and stretches her short, stubby legs. They were tired from hours of running as their owner searched the dark places. Her skin stretches and shifts in the firelight.

“I only ate one baby. The rest is just nonsense.”

“Hmmm. All the gossip came from your kind so I never took any of it seriously. Seeing you now makes me think it wasn’t so far fetched.”

The queen furrows her brow and rolls her eyes. 

“Are you all telling stories?” She asks, focusing on the dirt beneath her leaf throne instead of the man in front of her, “ When I was little I read stories about you telling stories together. In an endless loop.” 

The men fall silent. The queen sighs. 

“I would like to join you all. For just one night.” 

Emil growls. Abram roasts a marshmallow. Gus shivers in an invisible wind. His legs make a strange croaking sound and detach themselves from his waist, stumbling about on the rocky terrain.

“What are you queen of, exactly?” Emil asks.

“All sorts of things really.”

“Like what? What do you do? What are your day-to-day ac-tiv-teees?” 

“I look after the lost ones most of the time.”

“The lost ones?” 

“Folks made of time and sand. They come to us, my husband and I, full of regrets and sorrows. They lose themselves in our corridors and become our subjects. We transform their troubled minds into something sweet.”

“Sweet for the monarchy, one supposes, but not for everyone else,” murmurs Emil, picking at his cloak,“ I heard you two aren’t married already.”

“We will be soon.”

“Once your quest is complete, I’m guessing.”

“Yes. Once I return.”

“Do you take babies?” Abram asks, sitting cross-legged on the milkwood grass, “I heard you take babies.”

“Sometimes.”

Emil clears his throat, which makes his bones rattle in a very unattractive way. He then nods to Abram, who nods back. He turns to Gus, who by now is just a bunch of scraps flailing about in the mud. Gus’ head, however, has enough time to tilt his head back in agreement.

“Very well. You may join the club for a night. A single solitary night-”

“No baby eating!” Abram shouts from his corner. The Queen tuts and crosses her heart with a wicked finger. 

“I promise. No baby eating.” She grins. 

“-And you’ll be the last to go. No cuts!” Emil growls.

“Very well.” The Queen sighs and closes her eyes, listening to the whispers in the breeze. 

Emil looks to his companions, sitting by the campfire as they always do, and shrugs.

“Now that…compromise has been met I suppose we can continue with the workshop.”

“Finally,” Abram mutters. 

And as the four take their places in the storyteller’s guild, the woods begin to shiver with excitement. 

The annual Autumn meeting was only beginning.

[ranty-ramblestein]

(captions~) Weirdly, Katrina said the same exact fortune as yesterday, and Kicks had the same v2.0 bags as yesterday?  Anyway, after a cute haircut and paying for Redd’s stall in full, Croissant talked to Lief, who has a weeding service going again, just like in New Leaf!

Of course, if I used it, he would ruin my Fairy Circle, so I can’t do that! (Also, I don’t get weeds after the Beautiful Ordinance was set up anyway.  ...Though I accidentally plucked one and replanted one a while ago, and it doesn’t seem to be growing?  I wonder if it can’t take hold, or if I just have to wait longer...?)

There’s still more talking under the cut. + What crops he has and some customization shots!

pic 1: I've seen a bunch of people wearing this one!  Just need the Kirsten Hoop-Braids, now!! pic 2: 'legitimate’, lol pic 3: Lol, no one wanted to donate towards this guy! pic 5: "Hiya, Lief!" Croissant waved back.  "Oh, so you do!" Harvey laughed. pic 6: "He was just in Solaceon yesterday," Croissant explained.  "Well, perfect timing for him to come here then," Harvey nodded. pic 7: Croissant nodded in agreement. pic 10: "I'm used to pulling weeds by now," Croissant shrugged.

“I mean, I do a lot in my Daily Patrol already...” Croissant sighed.

“I planted a bunch of weeds on my own, I don’t want you picking them anyway...” Croissant sighed. ...Though that got Lief curious, so he had to tell the sloth about his fairy circle idea, which he thought sounds very cute!

ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND!?  Daaam, Lief!

“MORE CROPS!!” Croissant gasped, very excited now.  He bought ten of each.

Perfect for a fast food house!

“This is way better than the dead one in my Nook Miles Shopping thing...” Croissant sighed, disappointed.

[enigma-im]

Wanted Dead or Alive

Prompt #10 

Subject: Weapon play Monster: Orc

            Orc hunts a criminal through the woods, get a little in over his head

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

He isn't subtle, not that one should expect an orc to be. Though thinking himself as being stealthy is cute, after a week of this it becomes less so. I'm almost tempted to confront him and get the meeting over with so I can be on my way. Still, this game hasn't grown tiresome yet. Perhaps a few more days, to test his patience a bit.

His limbering steps echo in my ears, making them twitch every time he interacts with a crunchy leaf or twig. At this point, I'm just curious if he knows I'm aware of him or he is just that stupid. Perhaps I give the man too little credit, maybe he is playing the long con. Make the enemy underestimate you. Though I don't believe him smart enough for that. Today though I assume he feels bolder, getting close enough for me to hear his breathing. Hear his heart fluttering around in his chest. His nervous beating catches my attention though. A new exploit I look forward to using.

He is young, and now I'm intrigued.

Hunters, especially bounty hunters, have a tendency to keep towards the older generation. Nothing against young adults, it just this career favors the experienced over that untried. The middle-aged have the triumphs of safe ventures under their belt, not likely to fret over the nerves of a hunt. this may explain his tedious stalking and loud as hell steps.

The sunset holds a captivating sight as I set up camp. With the tent pitched at the peak of dusk and fire burning bright I settle with my dinner. Some dried meats and nearly inedible bread. Not a meal meant for a queen or any such royalty but one fit for an outlaw. All I need now is some wise-cracking henchmen and I will truly be worthy of such hateful praises the good folk spit my way.

As I mindlessly nibble on the stale bread I hear my friend lumber about again. He fidgets with some leave before ceasing his extremely loud actions. Seems he is also settling for the night. As he has grown bolder with his nearness I feel that tonight is the night he will make his assault. I smile into my food at the thought. I have been eagerly awaiting our meeting ever since I first heard his steps.

Waiting has always been one of my strong suits; patience is truly a virtue. This virtue pays off tonight as I fight off rest in my tent to finally catch eyes with the ever 'talented' hunter. I pinch my skin and wiggle my fingers and toes to keep awake. This buffoon might have fallen asleep, I think as midnight approaches. I swear if that idiot leaves me waiting again I will-

A snap of a branch stops my inner monologue. The annoyance gets ghosted by anticipation as the sounds get closer. When I hear his labored breathing then do I shut my eyes and feint rest.

The tent flap is gently brushed aside as the orc enters. I can hear the soft steps the come nearer. I can almost taste his nervous energy in the air, his sweat suffocating the space. Each little step ramps up my heart, almost convinced he could hear how excited I am to finally meet him. His breath ghosts over me, the barely noticeable sound of a blade being taken from its sheath echoes in my ear. He takes in a large inhale before I leap from the bed.

I catch him off guard, knocking the blade from his hand as my own startles him back. He falls to the ground with a thud, landing on his rear before I force him on his back. I straddle his chest, keeping my knees on his bicep. My knife rests at his throat, a wild gleam in my eye as I finally look upon the vermin who has been stalking me.

My first thought is of his attractiveness. I was correct in assuming he was young, perhaps at the limit of my guestimation but still considered youthful. He is definitely well above age to be wedded, nearing his more trying years. His facial hair is cleaned kept, close to his chin but still full. His hair has a similar cut, kept shaved close to his head. It's an unusual look for an orc, most I've met have had long flowing locks decorated with braids and beads. He is outside the norm on many fronts it seems.

"Well, handsome, we finally meet," I tease. The man doesn't answer, instead snarling at me as if that would will me to get off him. At my unflinching gaze, he takes to lifting his arms, trying to roll my knees off him. I press the blade closer to his throat, nicking him a bit. As his blood trickles down his throat his efforts cease.

"If you wish to kill me then get on with it already," the orc growls out. He holds my gaze, glaring hard with a brave front.

I scoff at him," you assume I wish to murder you?"

"Of course," he tsks, "What else would a criminal do with a bounty hunter?" I snort at his words, too amused with his confidence when he says 'bounty hunter'. He is hardly worthy of the title but it's still adorable.

"A criminal could do a lot of things with a bounty hunter such as yourself. Especially such a handsome one," I grin. His brave sneer twists to subtle confusion. My grin widens at the sight," something wrong about what I just said, orc?" for the first time since he has shown up he looks away, nibbling on his lip as he does. I'm almost convinced to say he is blushing. The sight thrills me, empowering me to grab his face and point it back towards mine.

"Such a handsome, rugged face," I stroke my thumb over his lip, guiding the flesh away from his teeth," clearly haven't seen many fights. Your face holds no scars unlike your kin normally does. It makes me curious if the rest of you has any battle wounds." I trail my thumb over his tusk before going lower to the wound on his neck. I roll my knees off his arms, wiggling down his chest so I can lick the blood off of him. His body stiffens, his neck going taunt. I can't help but sit up, meeting his confused face with a grin.

"What are you doing," he asks. I don't bother answering, instead, looking down at his shirt. He has forgone armor, having only normal clothes on. A light-colored shirt with laces at the top is all the keeps his torso safe. Either he is smart enough to wear this in the hopes of silence or stupid enough to enter danger with no protection. I notice a bit of chest hair poking through the top. Investigating further I trail the knife from his collar to the shirt. The tip of the blade flicks the laces, cutting it easily. Out the corner of my eye, I see the orc's hands raise slowly.

"Don't think about it," I dig the tip of the knife into his sternum, twisting it slightly. His arms fall flat, his body still stiff as I continue. I shred the top half of his shirt, parting the fabric with a interested quirk of a brow. His chest is broad, strong, and littered with hair. Burly man. Curious, I pet a finger down his chest. I investigate his torso, parting the clothing more to find his nipple. The pebbled nub is barely visible amongst the forest of hair. I can't help but lean down and take a lick. The instant my tongue touched him his stomach clenched, his heart beating loudly against his ribs.

"What are you doing," he asks again, this time with a strain to his voice. Once again I don't answer. I sit up, looking up at his extremely conflicted face. I pass him a grin before sliding down his body again. Resting over his lap I rip the rest of the shirt in half. The sound of the shredding fabric makes him jump, bucking his hips into mine by accident. Still, I feel a bulge against my ass. Though not fully hard enough to tent, it still holds notice. I grind into him, feeling his semi-hard cock. Meeting his eyes I grin smugly. He turns away with another blush.

Now too interested in his growing erection I slide over him once more, revealing the ties to his pants. Grabbing the knife again I take to unfastening him. The laces fall apart easily, his bulge helping the fabric part. I pull his clothes down to his thighs, completely lost at the sight of his cock resting against his stomach. He is just as hairy as the rest of him.

"Well isn't that a sight," I purr. Nearly drooling I grab him in a loose fist, holding his hardening member in my hand. I feel the weight of him in my palm, my crotch throbbing at the view. "Not the smartest of the bunch but you are gifted in other places I see," I tease. I look up at him, grinning at his flustered face. His hands are clenched at his sides making the sight more fulfilling. I think I'm quite taken with this orc.

Grinning from ear to ear I decide to lay on my stomach between his sprawled legs. I rest my arms on his stomach, his erections nestled against my shoulder close to my cheek. The knife hangs lazily in my hand, the tip indenting the skin on his hip. I think for a moment, listening to the uneven breathing of the orc below me.

"I like you," I nuzzle against his cock with my cheek," not many catch my attention but you are very different from the hardened warriors I've met before. I think I might keep you."

The orc huffs," as much as I'm flattered by your admiration I have to decline the offer." I snort, leaning back a bit to press a kiss to his cock. He grunts at the gesture, his thighs twitching.

"That’s cute you think you have a choice," I grab him, slapping his cock to my cheek before pulling the skin back to press a kiss to his tip. His eyes nearly roll shut. His stomach, along with his thighs, clenching. "Yea, your mine now," I lick up his shaft before letting him go. As his cock rests back against my shoulder he chokes on a whimper, seeming to fight it off at the end. It was damn cute of an attempt.

I look to my knife resting against his body. Holding it firmer in my hand I raise it over his stomach. He tenses for a new reason, the worry almost palpable. I press the tip firmly into his skin, enough to breakthrough. He grunts as I trail it down, making a bleeding line.

"The orc who stalked me for weeks, it's almost flattering," I joke as I continuing carving up his stomach, " the orc with no armor, short cut hair, and a huge dick. It feels almost like a gift." he grunts and twitches, watching me slice into his skin. His lack of thrashing and fighting is nice, his precum dripping from his tip is more so. A grunt of pain sounds more like a moan of pleasure when I dig just a bit deeper on the next line. I pause in my assault, looking up at him with a sly grin. He blushes once more, turning away with a guilty look. "Kinky, cute, and strong. It must be my birthday," I laugh.

I sit up, looking down at my handy work. My name scrawled across his stomach is a view to behold. The orc even looks down, rolling his eyes before he falls back to the ground. His hips roll, his tip poking at my neck reminding me of my previous task. I switch my attention, sighing gratefully at his leaking cock. The sight would make a nun faint, perhaps even make his own kind weary. The orc cut up with a criminal's name now tattooed onto his skin with his pants torn around his thighs and his cock about to be in someone's mouth. Oh, what a sight he makes.

I admire his cock some more, even taken with the view of his balls. The bloodied knife trails down his hips to his thighs. I use the flat part to lift his sack, leaning down to press a kiss to them. His musky scent is prevalent now, almost dizzying. I carefully slide the knife out from under his sensitive anatomy before applying it to another sensitive area. His most pronounced vein is the perfect spot to trail the tip of the knife against. I keep full attention on my blade as his cock twitches against it. Be a waste to ruin the fun before it got to finish.

"Woman, have pity," the orc growls out. I almost forgotten about him, way too focused on admiring the way his prick jumps and throbs, dribbling drool down its shaft. Beautiful.

"Hmm? You need something," I rest my cheek on my hand. I wiggle his cock using the flat of the knife, watching as a drop of precum slides onto it. He grunts again, trying in vain to hold his hips back from bucking against such a dangerous weapon.

"Cease with your teasing," he snaps. His tone is demanding like he has any say in how I give my attention. I glare up at him, he glares back. It is almost adorable to see him try to be threatening, especially when I'm the one holding the knife. With a fighting grin, I lift the knife up, raising it well over his cock. His glare fades as worry takes its place. His eyes bounce from me to the knife, a fearful question attempting to leave his lips as his body fights against itself to sit up and run. With a flick of my brow, I bring the knife down.

The knife cuts through the air towards his scrotum, barely missing it as it punctures the ground below. The sigh of relief is amusing, as well as the sight of the knife hidden between his legs. I look from that to him, almost baiting him to snap at me again. Instead, a chuckle erupts from his throat.

"Please, you wild woman you, will you please make me cum," he smiles. The toothy grin is precious; heartwarming and panty-dropping. I fall for his plead, grabbing his cock and stroking him. The sigh of gratification is loud.

I admire the way his stomach twitches roles as I jerk him off. The drying blood on his stomach is beautiful against the letters. A thrill of satisfaction rolls through me at the possessive statement. He is mine now.

Growing more giving with the pleasing tones of his rising groans I take his tip into my mouth. I clean the precum off him, slathering him with my spit before taking him further in. his back arches as a cry rips from his mouth. I see his hands raise up to grab me but fall back down into fists. I give pity, reaching over and letting him grab a fistful of hair. He pets a strand from around my face before grabbing his fistful, guiding my head along his cock.

His cries and whimpers thrill me. I palm his balls as I bob, racing him to his finish as quickly as possible. I want to taste him, to feel his load jet down my throat. Just the thought of it makes me needy. He pulls my head up to his tip before he quickly thrusts his hips upwards. He uses my mouth for his pleasure, using me to reach his end.

With a few more thrusts he slams my head down onto him. I choke at the suddenness of having my throat clogged. The forceful action is forgiven as he treats me to his cries of peaking pleasure. His load spirts into my throat. I swallow it, gulping around him as I take all he gives. He keeps my head down while he slowly relaxes. Soon letting go and falling lax to the ground.

I sit up, wiping the bit of drool and seed from around my lips. I grin up at him, watching his relaxed face. I take to standing up and looking at the mess I made. His shirt is ripped down the middle to present is broad chest, my name carved into his stomach. His pants are kept around his thighs just above his knees, the knife still resting between said clothing and his balls. His cock rests flaccid on his hip, covered in spit and cum. Now, this is a sight I could treasure always.

I finally meet his eyes as I once again admire his body. His grin is lazy but relaxed. He reaches a hand up to me, asking me without words to join him on the floor. I agree, falling to my knees beside him. He grabs my shoulder, forcing me down into a kiss. The sudden action is alarming, especially after what I've done to him. His lips are soft, the tusks are strange, and his taste is similar to that of ale.

"Thank you," he mumbles against my lips.

"For what," I ask, stealing a kiss before he could answer.

He scoffs," For what? For everything you have done. I would have never guessed that something as threatening and terrifying as you would be so damn sexy."

"Kinky bastard," I laugh. He laughs along with me, wrapping an arm around my waist to pull me to his side. He tries to tease a finger under my nightshirt but I stop him.

"Not tonight," I scold playfully.

"then another night," he asks hopefully. The idea of a future night like this is nice. Though some errands have to be ran first before that.

His ruined shirt is removed along with the knife that still rests between his legs. We find ourselves resting on the floor though a perfectly good cot sits inches away. Shortly after he falls asleep, worn from the night he had. I give him one last look before sneaking out of his arms.

The light shines through the tent entrances as morning comes. I watch as the orc comes to, groaning as he wakes. He starts to lift his arms but finds them bound together over his stomach. His confusion grows as he notices his feet bound in the same fashion. The orc quickly looks around the room settling his sights on me with a sneer.

"What are you doing," he asks. I look him over lazily, twirling our knife in my hand.

"Saying goodbye," I answer before adding," for now." he glares, beginning to fight against the ropes as he sits up.

"Like hell you are," he growls. I watch him try to wiggle his hands-free, knowing he wouldn't be successful just yet.

"relax, I said for now. You think I'm going to claim you then ditch you. That's just trashy," I scoff," no, I just have some things to take care of before I can whisk you away, or whatever a lovely way of saying that is."

"So you are just going to leave me here defenseless till you come back," he snaps as he continues fighting the binds.

"Course not. I want you alive when I come back," I walk towards him. He ceases his pointless struggling as watches me with frustration and anger in his eyes. I can't help but cup his face, leaning in to peck his lips. His anger fades but frustration still stands proud.

"Don't go," he grumbles. His tone makes my heartthrob. I pet his cheek once more before lifting the knife to catch his attention. He sits up, excited at the prospect of being untied. Instead of doing just that I toss the knife across the room. The weapon sticks into the ground, standing up just in the corner of the tent. He growls once his attention falls to me.

"I have some things to deal with and I don't need you following me so here is what is going to happen. First, I'm going to leave then you are going to crawl to that knife and get yourself free. By then I'll be long gone but don't fret. In one week I want you to meet me by Spearhead River near Hartford. I will set up camp there and patiently await your arrival. Is that clear," I ask. He doesn't answer, keeping his anger despite all I said. "I said am I clear," I say louder. He slowly nods.

I give him one more smile and a kiss before grabbing my things and leaving. At the tent's entrance I give him one last longing look. I'm going to miss that handsome face.

"You better be prepared when I find you, there is going to be consequences," he threatens with an amused sneer.

"I look forward to it," I blow him a kiss before stepping out of view.

A week later I sit in my cabin reading near candlelight. The storm outside rages, tinging against the glass with great vigor. I try to invest in my story, ignoring the pang of anxiety nestled in my chest. It's hardly been a day since I've come home but the fear of being rejected is fierce. That night was hardly something that anyone would come back to. It was very demeaning and emasculating, I imagine. Though he never rejected my advancements and seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed it doesn't really mean anything. It's not a given that he would want to come back.

As my mind wanders I hear the clap of thunder, startling me from my wanderings. The sound wasn't like the ones before, too close and deep to be thunder. Before I can think more about it the sound echoes again. This time I know where it's coming from. A new fear sits in my stomach as the door rattles on its hinges. It bangs again and again until the door swings open to slam against the wall.

The silhouette of a tall man fills the archway, the lightning brightens his features just briefly. The sight is thrilling, erasing the fear from before.

"Found you," he purrs.

"So you have."

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

It took a lot to stop myself from writing more on this. i kind of like them.

Last weekend! almost done with all the prompts, just two more left.

Complete Series

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

[chocoluckchipz]

The Other You - 7

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

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Chapter by Maerynn

The first morning Marinette woke up in Chat Noir's mother's apartment, the most accurate word to describe how she was feeling would be "awkward".

Chat had carefully wiped the apartment of any hints of his mother's identity before bringing her here, but Marinette still felt as if she was invading this faceless woman's privacy. Sleeping in her sheets, showering in her bathroom, cooking with her appliances, leafing through her books. And yet, she couldn't help but love it. Marinette knew it was wrong, that she was playing with fire and jeopardizing her own identity, but by living in his late mother's apartment, she felt closer to her partner.

Laying on her back in that wide bed, Marinette found herself wondering what kind of child her partner had been. Had he crawled into his mother's bed at night, claiming to have nightmares to be allowed to sleep in that very same bed? Was he a picky eater, forcing his mother to deploy ingenuity to have him eat his broccoli? Was he the kind of little boy to get into trouble every day or, on the contrary, was he a little angel?

As she stretched out on the comfortable mattress, his ridiculous rent fee came back to her mind—a meal. It was kind of cute, in a way. Yet that obnoxious kitty had to go and ask for the single thing she didn't have to spare: time. Luckily though, being a daughter of two bakers, Marinette had a few quick but tasty recipes up her sleeve, and would probably be able to cater to her partner's culinary needs.

Reluctantly tearing herself from the sheets, she ventured into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Chat Noir was definitely a really thoughtful man. Even though the apartment hadn't been inhabited for the past few years, the fridge was fully stocked with everything she could ever possibly need to cook delicious meals for both of them. Various fresh meat and fish, vegetables, multiple kinds of fruit, and seasonings were waiting for her. The pantry hadn't been forgotten, bursting with spices, crackers, and every possible type of oil, flour, and sugar she would ever wish to use.

With a fond smile dancing on her lips, Marinette wrote a quick list of the supplies she would need to feed her silly kitty over the course of the next week, marveling once again at the apparent infinite kindness of her partner. Why would he go out of his way like this for a girl he hadn't seen in years?

The idea that he was ready to go to such lengths for a long-lost friend made her heart clench painfully in her chest out of longing. Because if she was entirely honest with herself, Marinette wanted more out of their relationship. Way more. She was done hiding behind masks, done playing games. Yet, this recent development had thrown some sand in the gears. How could she reveal herself to him now? He would know what a complete failure she was, would know she had kissed him out of sheer selfishness, would know she had been on the receiving end of his kindness without offering anything back.

No. Keeping her identity to herself, at least up until she could manage to look in the mirror again, was a safer bargain.

She was almost done with her grocery list when her phone chimed on the countertop beside her.

Alya: Please. Let's just talk. Nothing else, I promise. No questions. I just need to see you to make sure you're alright.

Marinette groaned. One would think that if someone wasn't answering your calls and texts for a week, one would give up until that person is ready to reach back. Not Alya. She kept trying, again and again, all while Marinette hesitated. On one hand, she really wanted to avoid revisiting all the issues they had, much less having to explain her new living arrangement. But another part of her, the one that was currently lonely and lost, wanted her best friend back, no matter the cost.

So she shook her head and grabbed her phone before she could change her mind.

Marinette: I'm free around noon.

Alya: Works for me. Usual spot?

That was how Marinette found herself sitting in the café they liked to frequent, nervously sipping on a vanilla latte.

Alya came in right on time, taking a seat in front of her best friend without even bothering to order a drink but not before wrapping her arms around Marinette in a tight hug.

"Okay," Alya said in a soft voice, "I know we have a bunch of things to talk through, and we'll come to it, but first I wanna know if you're safe. A little birdie told me you were sleeping in your office, and I won't let—"

"I was," Marinette cut her rambling short. She knew she had worried Alya sick, that her famous mama bear instincts had kicked in the second Marinette had walked out the apartment. "But I'm not anymore."

"What?" Alya squealed. "Are you homeless? Where is all your stuff? Hang on, I'm going to call Nino and—"

"Alya, stop." Marinette smiled softly to herself, her heart warming up despite herself thinking of her current living arrangements. "I'm staying at a friend's place, that's all you need to know for the time being."

Her best friend eyed her critically, from head to toe. "Who? I know for a fact that you aren't staying with Rose and Juleka or Mylene. Who else could you stay with?"

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you more than that right now," Marinette sighed. "But it's not someone you know personally, and I really can't say anything."

"Are you sure you can trust this new roommate of yours? How come I have never heard of them before? This whole 'can't tell' sounds a bit fishy, don't you think?"

Marinette sipped on her latte, a fond smile spread on her lips. "I trust him with my life, Al. And he's not living with me, he just lent me somewhere to stay until I get back on my feet."

"So this mysterious friend is a he. Mari, you can't possibly be that naive. He'll expect something in return."

"No. Don't worry, Alya. Not him. He already has someone in his life, anyway."

Marinette could almost picture Tikki rolling her eyes in her purse upon hearing those words, and she had to repress a giggle. In front of her, Alya merely frowned, looking at her friend intently.

At last, seemingly reaching a decision, Alya sighed, "Look, I'm sorry, Mari. I should've realized you were stressed out much more than you let on, and instead of supporting you like a best friend should, I just yelled at you and kept putting pressure on you."

"You've had stuff going on too, with the wedding and everything," Marinette said softly.

Her best friend huffed, looking down at her clasped hands in her lap. "That's no excuse. You clearly needed someone to lean on, and I failed you. Marinette, please come back to the apartment, it's yours as much as it's mine."

The young woman couldn't help the smile that spread on her lips. This was the Alya she knew and loved. The one taking charge of everything, making sure everything was alright, caring for her friends more than herself.

"I can't, Al. You and Nino are gonna be married in a few months, I'm not gonna third-wheel you guys forever. I'm going to be fine."

The frown still lingering on Alya's face was eloquent on its own. She was still worried sick about her friend, worries that had been growing for quite a long time now. "Why don't you quit that sinking job then? Everyone's quitting; it's all over the newspapers."

"I can't quit." Marinette tried to ignore the knot tying her throat up, focusing on explaining herself, at last giving some sort of sense to her actions. "I didn't complete my degree at ESMOD, if you recall. Gabriel pulled me out of school midway, said it was a waste of time and money, that he'd show me everything I'd need to know. And without a degree, I don't really have a bright future unless I prove myself with this new collection—"

"And with him gone that's your only option," Alya ended for her. "Okay. So there's a dude at work that owes me a big favour for conveniently forgetting to mention to his wife he lost his wedding band. I might be able to score you a four-page spread covering the next Gabriel fashion show. Do you think there might be a way to have the months you spent working for Gabriel recognized by ESMOD? I mean, you have paychecks to prove your experience, and definitely the skills to own up to it. Whose ass do I have to kick or kiss to get you your degree?"

Marinette lifted wet eyes toward her friend. Alya had always had her back, through thick and thin, and for a minute, she wondered how she could have let herself forget that. At a loss for words, she ultimately mumbled weakly, "Why would you even help me?"

Alya scoffed, looking at her best friend disbelievingly. "You're my best friend, Mari, and I love you to pieces. Obviously I'm gonna help you tear yourself out of that dump."

***

That same day Marinette stood outside of Adrien's office, sighing softly to herself.

After her talk with Alya, she had devised a bunch of things she had to take care of right away to salvage what was left of her name.

And Gabriel's women's line was among them.

Clutching the heavy folder to her chest, Marinette raised her fist and landed two sharp knocks on the door, her heart beating heavily within her ribcage.

"Come in," Adrien's familiar voice compelled her, tossing all of her worries aside. No matter how she felt, no matter how hurt and lost she was, Gabriel Agreste was gone and there was no one who could help her right now but herself. She had to carry on his legacy and in the process help herself even if it meant dealing with a man she'd rather not even see right now. All that was needed was to be a professional, and that she was.

Taking in a hefty breath, she pushed the heavy door. "Good evening, M Agreste."

"Marinette?" Adrien blinked. He seemed a bit tired. "What can I help you with?"

"I have a favour to ask of you."

Adrien straightened up in his chair, staring at her curiously. He seemed to search his words for a few seconds, before replying disbelievingly, "A favour from me?"

If they were still friends Marinette would almost certainly have giggled, seeing his dumbstruck face, how his hand was still clutching the pen that had halted its course on the paper. But as of now, they weren't, so her face remained emotionless. Yet, for the first time since crossing paths with him again, she really paid attention to him. Saw the dark circles underlining his familiar green eyes behind his glasses. Saw how his hair was wildly swept back, sticking out in every direction. Saw how wrinkled his shirt was, saw how poorly his tie knot had been done.

He looked exhausted, at his wits' end.

He looked broken. Just like her.

Immediately Marinette shook those thoughts away. She was here on a mission, and couldn't let wandering thoughts distract her.

"I need some papers from your father's office in order to proceed with some of the designs. Would you be kind enough to retrieve them for me?"

If he looked surprised a minute before, now Adrien was looking completely dumbfounded. "You have full access to his office at any given time, why would you need me for something like this?"

Shaking her head, Marinette pushed the heavy file on his desk. She couldn't help but notice physics exams scattered through legal documents in front of him. "The designs I need are most likely kept in his personal office at the mansion. I scoured his entire office here without any success."

"The mansion?" Adrien's eyes widened. For a moment he remained silent before quietly adding. "I'm sorry, Marinette, ask me anything but this. I haven't been there since I moved out."

"Maybe you could send someone trustworthy on your behalf then?" She sighed. This conversation wasn't going in the direction she would've liked. "Listen, I understand that going back there might be hard for you emotionally, but those last few designs were the best pieces of the line. If I want to succeed, I need them."

Adrien stared at her for what felt like an eternity. "You need them that much?"

"Desperately."

Raking his hands through his hair, Adrien dropped his pen on the desk beside him and pulled the file she had given him closer. "So, those are the designs you need?" he asked quietly, the traces of uncertainty still lingering in his eyes.

"Yes, those are only preliminary sketches I drew for him in a creative meeting. He should have the final designs with all the specs in his personal files. If I want to meet the deadlines, I need those files. I can't start over from scratch on time."

"Alright," Adrien sighed softly, "I'll get them for you. If they're really in that office, you'll have your designs first thing Monday morning."

A sigh of relief escaped Marinette's lips as his lips twitched into a tiny smile. At that moment she clearly understood that this was an olive branch, offered to her to try and make peace between them after years of a feud that had lasted way too long. She wasn't sure, though, if she was ready to accept it yet.

As she reached forward, shaking his hand firmly while thanking him as professionally as she could, Marinette couldn't help but suddenly wonder if a teenager's mistake was worth ostracizing an adult who had just suffered the loss of his last relative and had had a withering fashion empire thrust upon him without warning, an empire he neither asked for nor wanted to deal with. Walking out of that office, she also found herself thinking that even if she wasn't quite ready to forgive him his past cruel actions, maybe, just maybe, Adrien Agreste wasn't as horrible as she thought he was.

Next >

[searchingwardrobes]

The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 11/11

I can't believe we are at the end of this fic! I am immensely proud of it, and I am so thankful for those who were willing to go on the journey with me to re-imagine Someone to Watch Over Me. I feel like the original was just a germ of an idea, and this event gave me the courage to build an entire world around it. A world similar to canon, yet unique. World building has never been my strength, and this re-write stretched me and helped me grow. In that way, I am so thankful to the ladies in the csrt discord chat, especially @optomisticgirl​ who stepped in as one of my last minute betas. B, you are the queen of world-building, and you have no idea how many times you helped me in chats to work out my own world in this story! Character development was also a big challenge in this fic, and for that I thank @shippingtheswann​, my other beta. Emma and Killian's relationship wouldn't be as rich if not for you! And thank you to @distant-rose​ for helping me with the Lost Boys, the pirate crew, and the Neverland mythos. (If you ever need any info on pirates and ships, she's your girl!) I was nervous to take the story into some dark places, but you cheered me on and helped me trust my instincts. And of course, tons of thanks to the mods of this event at @captainswanbigbang​. I was contemplating abandoning this fic until I saw you were organizing this, so massive kudos for putting this on!

One final thing, and I'll shut up and get to the actual chapter. My original vision for this fic was to take it where people had been begging me to - with Emma reuniting with her parents and the fall out from that - yet with my own version of the Enchanted Forest and the curse. However, as I worked on the story, I realized I had bitten off way too much. Therefore, I decided to split up the story. Sooo, this isn't the end! There will be a part two, which I am already working on. I will not be posting it until it is complete. It is shorter than this story, however, so hopefully the wait won't be too long!

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape (all in previous chapters - this last chapter is mostly fluff)

Words: 6k and some change in this chapter

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Emma and Killian: Age 24

When Emma was a little girl, she had found a book of fairy tale stories at the school library. Inside was a picture of a little cottage by the sea made of a hodgepodge of stones and a thatched roof, and rolling all around it were hills of soft grass. She can no longer remember what story the illustration accompanied, but she does remember how often she would stare at that picture, thinking how cozy the family must have been who lived in that house. She checked the book out every chance she got, and when she was moved yet again to a new foster family and a new school, she had committed a grievous sin: she had ripped the picture out of the library book.

Well, it had felt like a grievous sin to her seven year old self. Especially when the sweet librarian, Miss Stacy, had reminded them gently on numerous occasions of the proper way to treat the books. Ripping pages was definitely not the proper way.

Somewhere along the line, she had lost that ripped page. Yet here, below her now, nestled in the dip of the hills and facing the sea along the shores of Avalon, is that dream house of her childhood.

“Killian,” is all she can manage to say.

“Do you like it?” he asks, dipping his chin and scratching behind his ear. How can he be nervous giving her such a gift? Henry yells in delight and races down the hill towards the cottage.

Finally, she finds her voice again. “Like it? I dreamed of a house like this. When I was a kid.”

“Truly?” he asks incredulously, eyes bright with hope.

“Yes!” she exults, throwing her arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses. She shakes her head as she pulls back, cupping his face with her hands. “But we can’t live here. Won’t you miss the sea?”

“A pirate ship is no place to raise our son, and besides . . . “ he pulls her closer to the quaint home. Once they crest the hill, the land levels out, and the view is breathtaking. “ . . . there’s the sea right at our back door,” he finishes with a wide grin.

“Mama,” Henry cries as he comes flying out the front door, “can I pick out my room? There are three. Cause I want the one upstairs. Can I have the one upstairs?”

Emma laughs at her son’s barrage of questions. Killian reaches down and scoops up the wriggling child.

“Sorry, my boy, but you’re mum gets first choice.” He successfully cuts off the lad’s whines by tickling him. Then he sets Henry down upon his feet and ruffles his hair. “In the meantime, why don’t you pick some flowers for your mother? The field over there is carpeted with them.”

Killian points west away from the sea, and Henry eagerly scampers off. Emma calls after him to be careful.

“Don’t go too far! Make sure you can still see the house!”

“He’ll be fine, Swan,” Killian assures her, pulling her inside the house. “He never fell overboard on the Jolly despite your worrying, now did he?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Haha, that really puts my mind at ease.”

Killian winks at her, then gives her a tour of the first floor, which is bigger than she would have expected. There’s a small foyer, then a formal sitting room to the right and a formal dining room to the left. At the end of the hall is a kitchen that opens up into a family room with a stone fireplace identical to the one in the parlor. Next to the stove in the kitchen is a door that opens out onto a patio with an even better view of the rocky sea below. Between the hallway and the kitchen is another door that leads into the master bedroom. The bed is tucked right beneath the window, and Emma can imagine falling asleep to the soothing sounds of the crashing waves.

“There’s no indoor plumbing like in your realm,” Killian explains as Emma circles the room, her hand skimming over the furnishings, “but there is a stream practically in our backyard, and the kitchen is large enough to put a tub in one corner.”

Emma pauses in her explorations and arches a brow at him. “You think I’m going to complain about a lack of plumbing after six months on the Jolly Roger?”

Killian manages another nervous laugh. “So you like it?”

She steps close to him, resting both of her palms on his chest. “I’m more worried if you’ll like it. You won’t miss the adventures at sea?”

“As I’ve said many times, piracy is ten percent adventure, ninety percent sheer boredom.” He lifts one of her hands and kisses it. “I’m ready for a life with you and Henry. I’m ready for the family I haven’t had since my mother passed.”

Tears well in Emma’s eyes. It’s still hard to believe sometimes that anyone would choose her, put her first. Yet this man isn’t just anyone, is he?

“Besides,” Killian says, thumbing her chin, “the Jolly still belongs to us.”

“But are you really satisfied turning her into a merchant ship? Is your crew?”

He draws her close, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Mason has always wanted to go to the naval academy, and with a year or two on a respectable merchant ship, he can. Hawkins wants to go to university, and Curly is looking at a plot of land to purchase and farm. Starkey has a sweetheart in Camelot, though he’s tried to hide it. As captain of my vessel, he can now ask for her hand. They’ve all grown up, Swan, and they have dreams and plans of their own.”

“And they’re loyal to their first captain,” Emma amends with a smile.

“I don’t know why.”

“I do,” she tells him, brushing a kiss to his cheek. “Are you sure you won’t get bored doing ledgers, placing orders, or whatever else merchants do?”

Killian shakes his head and bops her nose. “Quit doubting me, love! Besides,” he leans closer and stage whispers in her ear, “don’t tell anyone this, but I rather enjoy keeping the ledgers.”

Emma finds the nerd beneath his swashbuckling swagger incredibly sexy for some reason. “Well then,” she teases, stepping away from him to saunter over to the large bed. She grasps one of the bedposts and drapes herself around it in what she hopes is a sexy maneuver. “In that case, Mister Jones, maybe we should christen this bed.”

Killian growls and pounces, yanking her close and claiming her lips hungrily. Emma’s just dropped to the bed with a giggle when Henry comes pounding inside.

“Watcha doin?”

Emma almost falls to the floor in her haste to push Killian off her and jump to her feet. “Um, Papa’s just . . . tickling me.”

Killian chokes as he tries to hold back a laugh, but Henry is oblivious. Their son sticks out his hand, and clenched in his fist are a bunch of small yellow flowers.

“Oh, well, I did what Papa said and got you some flowers, Mama!”

“Buttercups!” Emma can’t help the tears that spill down her cheeks. “Thank you Henry!”

She picks up her son as Killian steps closer. He embraces both of them, brushing kisses to the tops of their heads.

“Welcome home, my loves,” he tells them.

******************************

After removing his boots by the door, Killian tiptoes through the cottage, the light of the full moon helping him avoid the furniture, Henry’s toys, and Emma’s shoes which she always leaves wherever she happens to kick them off. When he gets to the kitchen, he’s able to light a lamp so he can find the supper that Emma promised to leave on the stove. The Jolly was late coming into port, and going through the inventory took much longer than he had anticipated. Luckily, Emma is used by now to that most unpredictable of mistresses: the sea.

“Killian?”

The sound of his name is weak, yet he can still make it out on the other side of their bedroom door. He crosses to the bedroom, opening the door as quietly as possible. Emma’s curled up on the bed, her hair lit gold by the moon, and she’s so still he thinks maybe he didn’t hear her after all. He wants to reach out and touch her, yet he doesn’t want to wake her.

“Killian? Killian?”

She stirs slightly, but it’s clear she is still half asleep as she mumbles his name.

“Aye love, it’s me.”

“Killian?”

“Yes?” He touches her lightly through the blankets.

She says his name a few more times, like a question, and he can’t help smiling at how disoriented she is. He’s learned over the past year that she does in fact talk in her sleep. She finally seems satisfied that he’s here, and that he’s Killian. Her body relaxes and she mumbles good on a sigh. He pats her gently again and turns to go, but before he can, she reaches out and manages to find his hook in the dark.

“But you’re not leaving?” she asks, still in that sleepy voice.

The question makes his heart swell. “No love, I’m not leaving.”

“Henry’s not leaving?”

He lifts his hook and brushes his lips across her hand, which clings to the metal tightly. “No, Swan.”

She lets out a little shudder and releases his hook. He bends, brushes a kiss to her brow, then turns back to the kitchen.

“Killian, have we done this before?”

The question has him frozen with his hand on the doorknob. He isn’t sure what she means by the question.

“I only just got home, Emma,” he tells her gently.

“Oh,” she murmurs, sleep finally beginning to claim her fully and slurring her words. “I guess I dreamed it, then.”

Killian tiptoes out and slowly closes the door behind him. He chuckles to himself as he sits down at the table with the food Emma had left on the stove. Yet as he takes a bite of the roast on his plate, he sobers. He hates the fears that sometimes plague Emma. He wonders how long it will take for the love in their little home to ease them.

******************************

Killian awakes the next morning to the banging of pots and pans, sometimes punctuated by curses in their small kitchen. He may have had second thoughts about the location of the master bedroom if he had been aware of the fact that Emma was completely incapable of moving about quietly.

“Can I have more strawberries, Mama?” Henry calls out, far louder than necessary, and Killian groans as he shoves the pillow over his head.

“Shhh,” Emma admonishes, in the exact same volume as their son, “you’ll wake up Papa.”

“Why’s he not up? He said he’d bring home more paper for me.”

“You know the ship doesn’t always arrive on time. Now eat.”

Killian flings aside the pillow with a sigh, knowing that getting any more shut eye is impossible. Yet as he buckles his brace and slips into his shirt, he only feels joy well inside his chest. He did get Henry more paper for his scribbles, and he can’t wait to hear what tall tales the lad will weave next. He can’t, at only six, truly write yet, but he feels with fatherly pride that it’s merely a prelude of what is to come.

Once he’s dressed, he grabs the parcels wrapped in brown paper and string that he’d hidden in the nightstand before he went to bed. He tucks them under his hooked arm, then bursts through the bedroom door. “Making an entrance,” as Emma would say.

“Papa!” Henry cries out, tossing aside his fork and jumping up from the kitchen table.

“Killian!” Emma admonishes, turning from the stove with a spatula in her hand. “I was trying to let you sleep.”

“A pointless endeavor, love,” he quips with a wink. Emma rolls her eyes and turns back to the stove. Henry leaps onto his back, trying to grab the parcels.

“Whaddya get me, Papa?”

“Well, get off me, you little monkey, and I’ll show you.” Henry slides to the floor, and Killian hands him the largest parcel. “Paper, as requested.”

“Yay! But what’s the other one?”

Killian hands him the small, compact, rectangular package and grins as Henry rips into it. The paper falls away to reveal a leather bound book with beautiful gilt-edged pages and hand painted illustrations in deep hues.

“That, my boy, is a book of tales from Agrabah where the air smells like spices and the sultanese keeps a tiger for a pet!”

“Wow! Will you read it to me right now?”

Killian glances over his shoulder at his wife. “Not until after you eat your breakfast.”

He ruffles Henry’s hair, and the boy obeys. Killian turns to the stove where Emma is purposefully keeping her back to him, though he can’t fathom why. He saunters up behind her and leans over her shoulder, breathing in the vanilla scent of her hair.

“Mmm, something smells delicious.”

“It’s just pancakes,” she retorts, but she is unable to hide her smile.

“I wasn’t talking about breakfast,” he growls lower against her skin. He feels her shiver beneath him, but when he tries to grab her around the waist, she dodges him. She grabs the plate of pancakes and carries them to the table.

“Eat them before they get cold,” she says with forced cheerfulness, and he frowns. She sits next to Henry, sliding a pancake onto the boy’s plate, and Killian sits as well.

“I got you something too,” he tells her, sliding a small parcel across the table with his hook.

Emma still refuses to meet his gaze, fiddling with the string around the square package that could fit in the palm of her hand. “You know I never need anything but you.”

“Yet a man likes to spoil his bride. Go ahead, open it.”

She glances up at him from beneath her lashes, then tears into the paper with a tentative smile. It falls away to reveal a small velvet box, and Emma gasps before she’s even lifted the lid. When she does finally open it with trembling fingers, she breathes out his name. Killian slides off his chair and falls to his knees next to her. He pulls the gold ring with its simple jade stone reverently from the velvet and slides it onto the ring finger of her left hand.

“I promised you I would get you a ring the day we wed, remember?”

Emma nods, staring at the gem and turning it in the light.

“I know diamonds are the usual choice, but this immediately made me think of your eyes. Then the gold like your hair . . . “ he trails off worriedly. “Emma?”

She looks up at him finally - and promptly bursts into tears. Killian glances at Henry worriedly.

“Take your breakfast outside on the patio, okay?”

Henry nods and scurries off without argument, his brown eyes wide as he glances at his mother. Killian rubs his wife’s back and whispers soothing words, most of them nonsense. He hands Emma his handkerchief, and she wipes it across her eyes, then blows her nose loudly. She cocks her head at him, and the words out of her mouth are the last ones he expected.

“Did we have a conversation when you came home last night?”

“Um . . . yes, love. You said my name about a hundred times then asked if I was staying.”

Emma nods, twisting his handkerchief in her hands. “I thought so. Did I ask if we’d done this before?”

Killian laughs and rubs her back again. “Yes, you did. I wasn’t sure if you meant last night, our entire marriage, or since we were ten.”

Emma nods, but says nothing. He’s entirely confused. It isn’t like Emma to cry out of nowhere. Or refuse to look at him. Or dodge his touch. He’s beginning to become concerned, truth be told.

“If you don’t like the ring -”

“Of course I like it! It’s perfect!”

“What then?”

“Oh God,” Emma pants, hugging her middle and looking up at the ceiling. “Last night, I dreamed about this conversation. In my dream - my nightmare - you got angry and left.”

Killian’s brow furrows. “I can assure you, Swan, nothing you can tell me would ever make me leave.”

She levels him with a steady gaze. “You used to. Through the wardrobe.” He starts to open his mouth, but she lifts her hand to stop him. “I know it wasn’t intentional, and I’m not blaming you, I just . . . I just . . .”

He grasps her hand firmly in his. “Breathe, love, it’s okay. You just get scared sometimes. It’s okay. So do I.”

“You do?” her voice sounds so small and fragile that it breaks his heart.

“Aye, of course. It has nothing to do with love or trust. The wounds of childhood tend to linger.”

“But I do trust you!” she exclaims.

He draws nearer and cups her cheek. “I know that. That’s my point entirely. The fears are irrational, for both of us. Now, what is it you have to tell -”

He stills when Emma takes his hand and places it on her abdomen. It’s different somehow, and he freezes. He had noticed the last time they made love, but couldn’t quite put his finger on the change. Now he gazes into Emma’s blushing face - how had he not noticed the sudden roundness in her cheeks? The pieces begin to fall into place - her fatigue lately, that illness that seemed to linger far too long . . .

“Emma, are you . . . “

She nods, her eyes welling up with tears again. Her tears - of course! He swallows thickly.

“Emma you’re . . . “

She grins wider, cocking her head saucily. “I’m rather proud that I’ve rendered you speechless. I think the word you’re looking for is pregnant.”

A grin fills his face, a goofy, joyous grin. “Well, I was going to say with child, actually.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course you were, my old fashioned sailor who -”

He cuts her off with a passionate kiss, and when it ends, he scoops her up and spins her around with joy.

“Careful there, buddy. The morning sickness is mostly gone, but I make no promises that I won’t puke on you.”

“Wait,” he says, shaking his head, “how long have you known about this?”

“Well,” she hedges, “this realm doesn’t exactly have a stick you can pee on.”

“Sorry?”

She laughs, “Never mind. Let’s just say it took me awhile to figure it out, and then it took me a bit longer to get up the nerve to tell you. I’d say I’m at least twelve weeks along, probably more.”

Killian cups her face with his hand and locks his eyes intently on hers. “Do you honestly believe I would leave you over this?”

She bites her lower lip and shakes her head.

“Can’t you see now how happy this makes me?”

“Well,” she says with a shrug, “you spinning me around the kitchen sort of convinced me, I guess.”

He throws his head back and laughs before kissing her soundly again. But he doesn't do any more spinning.

No sense testing fate.

***************************

“I’m sorry, Captain Jones, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The midwife has the audacity to grab Kilian by the arm and try to forcibly remove him from his own bedroom. On the bed, Emma is crying out as her next contraction hits.

“I’m not leaving,” Killian says firmly.

“It isn’t proper for a man to be present,” the midwife argues, though her words are almost drowned out by Emma’s cries.

“Bullshit,” Emma interrupts the argument, her breaths coming raggedly as her

birthing pains abate for the moment.

“Mrs. Jones, it just isn’t done,” the midwife snaps back, aghast.

“Well it is in the realm I come from,” Emma tells her, “not to mention the whole

impropriety thing is ridiculous. He’s obviously intimately familiar with my vagina.”

The midwife’s eyes grow impossibly large, and Killian can’t stop the chuckle that escapes him.

“Mrs Jones! It isn’t ladylike to -”

“Yeah, well ladylike has never described me anyway.”

The midwife presses her lips together in a disapproving way as she draws closer to the bed. She lowers her voice, but the woman is seventy-three and hard of hearing, so Killian can hear every word.

“I’m aware that your husband isn’t the biological father of your son, so I’m going to assume this is a bit new to you. If your husband sees you in this state, well . . . it may . . . turn him away from you, if you catch my meaning.”

Emma’s face turns a deeper shade of red that has nothing to do with her labor, and her eyes blaze in a way Killian knows well. He grins wider, knowing that his wife is about to render this woman speechless.

“My husband wasn’t complaining about my pussy when he was between my thighs last night, so I think I’m safe.”

Yep, speechless. Killian can’t help winking at the midwife as he saunters past her. The woman looks like she might faint. Killian kneels beside the bed and brushes a kiss to Emma’s forehead. Her face crumples as she clutches desperately at his hand.

“She was trying to make you leave!”

“Nothing could tear me away, love.”

“Oh God!” Emma yells, drawing her knees up as another contraction rolls through her. Emma releases Killian’s hand and grabs onto his hook instead as she groans in pain. This one is stronger than the last, and just as Killian is about to lose his mind because he can’t help her, she collapses against the mattress.

“I didn’t want to break your one good hand,” she tells him with a wane smile.

“I appreciate that,” he quips back with a lopsided grin.

The midwife has pushed the sheets back and is examining Emma. “Well, Mrs. Jones, your contractions are longer and closer together, but the baby isn’t crowning yet. We’ve got a while still.”

Emma whimpers and shakes her head. “It didn’t take this long when Henry came.”

Killian puts his arm around her and whispers that he loves her. She drops her head wearily to his chest, and he kisses her sweaty brow. Another hour goes by the same way, and it feels like time has stopped altogether. Killian feels her labor is unceasing, so he can’t imagine what it must be like for her. Though she’s clearly exhausted, he’s amazed at her strength.

“I see the head!” the midwife finally says excitedly, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. “Can you push for me when the next contraction hits, Emma?”

The look on his wife’s face is full of determination as she draws her knees up. He sees her tense when the pain comes again, but she bears down with a scream. She has to do the same thing again, and again, and yet again before the midwife laughs out that the baby’s head is out. The midwife shocks him when she pushes back the sheets further and asks if he wants to see. Killian does, and he blinks back tears when he sees their baby.

“It’s almost over, Emma,” he encourages her.

Emma pushes a few more times, and finally, cries fill the air. Emma laughs even as she collapses in exhaustion. Killian kisses her and murmurs over and over how bloody brilliant she is.

“It’s a girl!” the midwife announces as she rubs the baby down with salt to fend off infection.

“A girl,” Kilian breathes and kisses his wife again.

The midwife then washes the baby off with the water Killian had boiled for her hours ago. The little thing is red, screaming, and oh so tiny, but the midwife is all business as she cleans her up and wraps her in a blanket. The woman only softens when she gently places the baby girl in Emma’s arms.

“Oh Killian, she’s so beautiful,” Emma whispers as she brushes her fingers over the baby’s cheeks.

Killian lays down sideways on the bed next to his wife and gazes in wonder down at the tiny baby. She has a tuft of dark hair on her head, and her skin is damp and feather soft beneath his fingers. She’s ceased her crying, her eyes wide as she gazes up at Emma, as if she recognizes her mother instantly.

“She has your eyes,” Emma whispers with a smile.

“And your chin and nose,” Killian adds.

“And your ears,” Emma says, her thumb tracing over them.

“Poor thing.”

“Hey,” Emma admonishes, tearing her gaze away from the baby, “I love your ears.”

They just gaze down at her for several moments, Killian grinning broadly when the baby’s tiny fingers wrap around his pinkie. A tear slips down his face, and Emma reaches up to wipe it away.

“Do you want to hold her, Papa?”

He can only nod, his emotions overwhelming him. He gathers the bundle into his arms, holding her close to his chest and out of the way of his hook.

“What shall we name her, Swan?”

“I’ve been thinking about that a lot, actually. I sort of had a feeling she was a girl, and well . . . there’s only one name that seems fitting. A name that I will always associate with love and home.”

“I know exactly what you’re referring to, my love, and I think it’s absolutely perfect.”

There’s a soft knock at the door, and they both turn their heads to see Starkey in the doorway with Henry in tow. Kilian grins.

“Henry, would you like to come meet your baby sister Martha?”

Henry’s eyes are wide as he draws closer to the bed. Emma reaches out and encourages her son to climb up and join them. He settles in next to his mother and leans over to look at the baby.

“She’s pink,” he observes, and they laugh.

“She won’t be forever,” Killian explains, “all babies are that way at first.”

“Even me?”

“Yes,” Emma teases, kissing his cheek, “even you.”

Henry gets bored of the baby fairly quickly and asks if he can go back down to the beach with Starkey. After he leaves, Emma and Killian cuddle together to love on Martha, until she starts to fuss.

“Okay,” the midwife says briskly, “Papa needs to leave so Mama can nurse.”

She let’s Killian stay the minute she sees Emma’s scowl.

Emma and Killian: Age 28

“Papa, again, again!”

Killian laughs as his three-year-old daughter makes futile attempts to move the rocking horse back and forth. “Okay, okay, anything for my cygnet.” He presses his hook down on the horse’s tail, setting it in motion again as his little girl squeals with delight.

Emma laughs too from her chair by the fireplace. “That’s the truth. You know the kids don’t need you to bring gifts every time you’re away.”

“It’s part of the inventory I own, love, I can do what I please with it.”

“You spoil us.”

“Happily.”

He winks at his wife as she settles back into her chair and sips contentedly on her mug of hot chocolate - another gift from his latest shipment. Business is booming with the addition of a second ship. Starkey is still the captain of the Jolly while Nibs has taken the helm of the Jewel II. The Jolly is what sets Killian’s business apart, however. With the pegasus sail, it’s able to bring exotic goods from far away realms that no other merchants can acquire. Though Hawkins, Mason, and Curly all left to pursue their respective dreams, Killian had no trouble replacing them nor acquiring a crew for Captain Nibs. Jones Shipping has developed a reputation for treating their sailors well, and Killian has been able to hire the very best at sea.

The Jones family enjoys frequent trips on the Jolly as well, with renovated accommodations that Killian made specifically to make his family more comfortable. Henry and Martha are just as content at sea as they are on land, though this little cottage of theirs is always a joy to come home to.

Killian continues to rock Martha on her new toy as his gaze lands on Henry, now nine years old. As usual, he wanted more paper and pencils, which he goes through at an alarming pace. His writing is incredibly engaging and complex for a boy his age, and Killian couldn’t be more proud. Henry’s no slouch behind the wheel of the Jolly, either, and can read the stars as well as any of Killian’s crew. No father has ever been more blessed than he.

Their domestic evening scene is disrupted by a knock at the door. Emma frowns as she rises to her feet, setting her mug down on the coffee table.

“Who could that be?”

When Emma opens the door, she lets out a pleasantly surprised gasp to find Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily standing there. Despite Martha’s protests, Killian joins Emma at the door with his little girl balanced on his hip. There’s the typical round of greetings, hugs, and exclamations over how much the children have grown, but Emma and Killian both get the feeling this isn’t just a social visit. Not at this time of day, and not by the looks of those nervous expressions on the fairies’ faces.

“I just brought home cocoa and tea from Agrabah,” Killian tells his old friends. “Would you like some?”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Tiger Lily says, “tea for me, please.”

“I’ll take some cocoa,” Tink adds, “remember how Wendy used to love it?”

“Yes, she sure did,” Killan says, his mind going back in time to a frightened little girl with leaves in her hair. He hopes wherever she is, that Wendy is happy.

“Um, Henry,” Emma says slowly, “why don’t you take Martha upstairs with her new rocking horse?”

Killian holds his breath for the lad to protest. His baby sister in his room isn’t his favorite thing in the world, but the boy must pick up on the tension radiating off the fairies because he immediately agrees.

“Come on, Martha,” Henry tells her as he hoists up the rocking horse, “I bet I can rock you even faster than Papa.”

Martha squeals in delight and eagerly follows the big brother she idolizes up the stairs. Emma settles in at the kitchen table with the fairies while Killian goes to the stove.

“What’s this all about?”

That’s his wife, direct as always. Tiger Lily sighs and cuts a quick glance over to Tink.

“Emma . . . “ she says slowly.

“We found your parents!” Tink interrupts, practically vibrating with excitement. Tiger Lily rolls her eyes.

“What?” Emm breathes, and Killian abandons the tea pot to rush to her side and take her hand. “Are you sure?”

“Well, lost princesses are more common than you might think,” Tiger Lily says dryly, “but in the case of the lost princess of Misthaven, it all adds up.”

“Adds up to you, Emma,” Tink put in. “The birthmark, the princess’s birthdate, the wardrobe - all of it!”

“Wait,’ Killian interjects, “did you just say wardrobe?”

He’s cut off by the whistling of the teapot, and he goes quickly to retrieve it from the stove.

“I think we need to start from the beginning, Tink,” Tiger Lily says as Killian sets out the tea and cocoa on the table. When he joins the women, he draws his chair as close as he can to his wife so he can put his arm around her and take her hand.

“You may have heard the tales about Snow White, her Prince Charming, and their battles with the Evil Queen,” Tiger Lily begins.

“Snow White and Prince Charming?” Emma asks. “You mean they’re real?”

“Says the woman married to Captain Hook and having tea with Tinkerbell and Tiger Lily,” Killian quips, earning him an eye roll from his wife. She’s told him the version of Neverland in her former realm - a ridiculous version, in his opinion.

“Yes, they’re real, silly,” Tink says with a shake of her blond curls.

“I’ve heard of them,” Killian says, “go on.”

“Well,” Tiger Lily continues, “you may have heard that though they banished the Evil Queen after taking back the kingdom, she returned when Snow was with child. She cursed the baby with an evil spell.”

“Yes,” Killian says with a shake of his head, “and it came to pass. The child came too soon and died.”

“No, she did come too soon, but the child did not die. Secretly, the Blue Fairy helped the court woodworker fashion an enchanted wardrobe -”

Emma gasps and clutches her husband’s hand tighter. “Killian! A wardrobe!”

“I know, love,” he whispers.

“The wardrobe was supposed to send Snow safely to a land without magic where the curse couldn’t touch the unborn child,” Tiger Lily says.

“It could only carry one,” Tink clarifies.

“But the baby came too soon, so they had no choice but to send the child through alone. The Evil Queen and her minions were mounting an attack on the castle, so they had no more time.”

Killian nods. “I’ve heard of that battle. It’s a favorite tale in every realm, though not one with a happy ending. The Evil Queen was slain, and everyone was led to believe that in the chaos, Queen Snow lost the child.”

“And you believe this baby was me?” Emma asks softly.

Tiger Lily reaches across the table and gently turns over Emma’s left wrist. “The Blue Fairy cast a spell over you in the womb so that when you were born, this mark would be upon you. So your parents would know you when you found them.”

Emma’s eyes well up with tears. “How did they know I would ever find them?”

“They had faith and hope. Even with the Evil Queen dead, her curse still remained until your 21st birthday.”

Tink jumps in, bouncing on her seat. “The best part, Tiger Lily, tell them the best part!”

Tiger Lily smiles indulgently at the blonde. “I think you’d like to tell them, so go ahead.”

“The Rose Fairy imparted a gift to you, Emma - that the wardrobe would bring you your true love, and that when the time was right, he would lead you home.”

Emma turns to Killian, her eyes bright with tears as she cups his face. “Our wardrobe, Killian, that’s why it appeared to us.”

He shakes his head in wonder. “Emma, I know how you feel about me, but true love? That’s the strongest magic of all. Surely someone more worthy . . . “

Emma’s face softens as tears slip free and roll down her cheeks. “Don’t you see? The wardrobe brought us together right when we needed one another the most. Right before I lost Martha, right before you lost your brother and Milah. Then it brought us together for good when you found Henry.”

Killian lets out a breath of wonder as Emma’s thumb traces the scar on his cheek. “We always find one another, don’t we?”

Tiger Lily and Tink both beam as they speak again.

“It’s funny you should say that -”

“Because it’s kind of your family motto.”

To Be Continued . . . . 😉

Tagging: @snowbellewells​​​​  @kmomof4​​​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​​ @teamhook​​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​​ @let-it-raines​​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​​ @wellhellotragic​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​​ @courtorderedcake​​​​ @branlovestowrite​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​ @vvbooklady1256​​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​​ @carpedzem​​​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​​ @spartanguard​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​ @scientificapricot​​​​​ @stahlop​​​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​​​​ @snidgetsafan​​​​​ @ohmakemeahercules​​​​​ @thislassishooked​​​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​​​ @nikkiemms​​​​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​

[akechicrimes]

You have the best takes and I was wondering what an actual Akechi redemption would look like? Sending him to prison is a weird take I've seen considering the themes of power, corruption, and manipulation of youth, and quite frankly it's just boring and lazy from a plot/character standpoint. I imagine the first step would be talking to Futaba and Haru (and others who were affected by his actions) but I'm not sure what would happen after that.

ok firstly THANKS i do my best yellin into the tunglr void

second “Sending him to prison is a weird take I’ve seen considering the themes of power, corruption, and manipulation of youth, and quite frankly it’s just boring and lazy from a plot/character standpoint” is the SEXIEST sentence ive ever read re: goro and thank you for putting these words in this particular order i want it framed, truly it makes zero sense whatsoever

third thanks for this super duper cool question because weirdly enough i havent…………….. really thought about it before??? ive seen more than a few really interesting goro redemption arc fics but if i were gonna do one myself………………….. hmmmmmm

ok ok ok ok ok ok i will. do my best. big psuedo revisionist fanfic under cut

a redemption arc needs to address the wrongs and hurts that he’s done, as well as just generally other noxious junk. to rattle them off so we know what we’re working with, he

killed wakaba (unknown circumstances), which hurt futaba

killed okumura, which hurt haru

assisted shido in his rise to power

assisted an unknown number of other douchebags like shido in their rise to power

killed an unknown number of other douchebags

created psychotic breakdowns, involving casualties and potentially some deaths

was generally a shit on live television

lied to sae.

betrayed joker.

and from there he needs to address these in such a way that his character grows and is better for it.

simultaneously i think it’s important to weigh the opposite issues, which are the ways that akechi is either right or has a valid point, the ways that akechi has presumably been mistreated/abused by people around him, and just generally following through on seeing akechi become happier and healthier for having gone through a redemption arc. in no particular order, he:

apparently desperately craves approval/recognition from others, but not in a productive way (sorry the TV audience does not actually love you lmao!!!!!!!)

has some kind of complicated relationship with shido to say the fuckign LEAST, and i think addressing that angle of shido’s abuse is important

really suffers from his inability to be honest with just about anyone; how deeply he’s hidden his true self has not only exacerbated his loneliness, but it’s done so in a way that i think should be really understandable to any one of the thieves, who also need to hide their true selves and feelings when in public

is 100000% correct about how much shido should eat shit and die

does have a valid point about how dangerous the phantom thieves are, and, in irony of all ironies, probably is a good critic and moral barometer to make sure joker doesn’t go over any lines

is canonically the character who is most unafraid to go against joker’s orders

is smart all absolute FUCK while maintaining an attitude of FUCK COPS

so with all that in mind:

i’d say, the engine room confrontation happens as SOON as they enter shido’s palace. not necessarily specifically in the engine room, but that confrontation happens off the bat. the phantom thieves take two steps into shido’s palace and find that they can’t go anywhere–everything’s locked, or off limits, and the whole place is under more surveillance than any palace they’ve ever seen. sojiro was right when he said that shido’s paranoid as fuck.

they try to leave the palace for the day to regroup, and akechi’s there like a guard dog ready to defend shido’s psyche. why wouldn’t he be? he must have planned that perhaps the thieves would retaliate like this, whether or not joker was alive.

that whole very embarrassing breakdown happens. haru and futaba already canonically seem in favor of akechi rejoining the team, so although haru does say she won’t forgive akechi, i do think that doesn’t need to be at odds with them being in favor of him working with the team.

so, say, akechi’s on the verge of being convinced to work with the team, and he’s not necessarily all in on this whole “being alive” thing, and he’s not super convinced that he deserves redemption, but the phantom thieves really really really insisted, because the phantom thieves can and do change hearts, even when they’re not in palaces, and they’ve just changed akechi’s. 

cognitive akechi doesn’t show up because i’m using him later.

first thing: akechi, haru, and futaba need to have a talk, which is actually pretty easy and not even irrelevant. go through shido’s palace, get the letters of rec, everyone recognizes akechi. like haru in okumura’s palace, akechi’s practically their ticket into half the ship.

getting the letters of rec naturally brings up okumura and wakaba, imo, because it hammers home that these sorts of scumbags are the kinds of people that akechi was killing. and also that this is the kind of scumbag that okumura was, in life. have haru go through the five stages of grief all over again, like she did back in okumura’s palace, realizing that her father kills his own employees for the first time. have her struggle all over again to reconcile the father she loves with the father who died with the father who murdered and exploited and drove his employees to the brink of death. have akechi face that even the people he killed were people, too.

depending on your interpretation of wakaba, she was either just as corrupt OR she was genuinely a nice woman, but that can be addressed in a bunch of ways–akechi didnt know what he was doing at the time, or he totally did but didnt feel like he had any other choice–either way, some sort of contextualization of wakaba’s role in shido’s conspiracy needs to be unearthed. 

say futaba wants to know what her mother was like. say she asks akechi because akechi knew her, maybe knew wakaba better than futaba ever did, because futaba was young and also because futaba never spent a few days literally crawling through her mother’s psyche like akechi did. make akechi tell futaba about the woman he killed with his own mouth. maybe he tells her only the good parts. maybe futaba MAKES him tell her the bad parts. maybe futaba thanks him for it, and akechi figures out that an apology could never be enough.

the point, basically, is to use shido’s palace to have haru, futaba, and akechi come to terms with each other. forgiveness isnt necessarily the point–understanding is more important. haru and futaba come to understand how and why akechi did what he did, while akechi has to sit through several weeks of looking his victims in the eyeballs.

for extra bonus points of making akechi look his victims in the eyeballs, personally i think that futaba would be the most supportive of all the phantom thieves of akechi turning over a new leaf. she canonically tells him that “it doesn’t matter where you start over” and relates his struggles to her struggle to turn her own life around, and honestly i think sympathy would fuck akechi up the most.

meanwhile, in the real world, capitalize on akechi’s position: if he’s deep in shido’s conspiracy, it really only makes sense that akechi could locate the people they need rec letters from in the real world, and use that to find their cognitive equivalent in shido’s palace. show me akechi’s relationship with shido, founded on akechi trying to appease shido and trying to avoid shido’s wrath simultaneously. 

maybe shido’s closing in on the phantom thieves in the real world. he suspects that things haven’t gone according to plan. make use of the fact that shido trusts (to an extent) akechi’s word, and have akechi cover for the phantom thieves in the real world. 

maybe show me shido actively manipulating akechi with praise. show me the greys of that relationship, like how we saw madarame treat yusuke well, or saw sae at her best and worst with makoto. show me how difficult it is for akechi to continue to help the phantom thieves even while actively engaging with his own abuser.

make akechi a traitor to shido. being a traitor was his role, wasn’t it? to betray the thieves? just have him betray shido back. he’s good at being a traitor, isn’t he? akechi probably volunteers himself for the role. let him capitalize on his ability to lie and outsmart those around him. let him make it up to joker in the only way that akechi feels he can: even more lying.

get all the rec letters. akechi himself hands shido the calling card. confront shido–cognitive akechi is there and just as much of a bitch as always. show me how much disdain shido has for akechi, how little he thinks of akechi, how nasty he is–and how blindly adoring cognitive akechi is in return. it’s gross as all hell, but it’s a final nail in the coffin to haru and futaba’s grieving process, even forms some sort of solidarity. 

there’s half a second where akechi is in the position to kill shido. shido’s shadow is down, akechi’s got a gun, he could pull the trigger before anyone could stop him. futaba tells him not to. 

haru tells him that he can kill shido if he wants to.

everyone’s like HARU??? HELLO???? but haru says, as far as i’m concerned, this man is just as much my father’s murderer as akechi-kun is. if you want to, i won’t stop you. but i know that it’s harder to survive than it is to die, too.

akechi does not kill shido. they steal shido’s treasure and return to the real world.

at this point in the canon plot, yaldabaoth starts to happen really fast, but bear with me for five seconds–bring sae back on the scene. shido confesses, and akechi’s reputation goes up in smoke. people call him a fraud, people won’t stop talking about shido being his dad, akechi’s name gets dragged through the mud worse than back when the PT were at their most popular.

sae takes up prosecuting shido’s case, and akechi can’t avoid her forever when he’s supposedly a key witness. sae says, i’m going to give you one chance to explain yourself. you lied to him, you tricked me, you pretended to be my partner all that time and then ran rings around me. talk.

so akechi explains himself, even though half that stuff isnt permissible in court. he doesn’t butter her up and he doesn’t use his cutesy prince mask, and for the first time sae sees him as he really is. and sae says, those are some pretty serious offenses, akechi, what are you going to do now? 

akechi’s just gone through that whole bonding session with haru and futaba, during which akechi had to realize, ah, shit, i fucked over the lives of these two very nice girls and even inflicted the same trauma that i myself went through onto other people. so akechi tells sae, well obviously i don’t fucking know, i dont have a career, i might be expelled, and i’ve killed a shitload of people and there’s no way that i can make up for that. but if i could, i would want to do something to right the wrongs that i did–i’d want to address the murders i committed, and maybe do something to fix it.

sae says, you’re smart as all hell, what you’ve done is irrevocable, you know your way around the police and its corruption, you’re willing to do better and you know how hard doing better is going to be. i’m the same way. i might not have killed anyone, but i’ve ruined the lives of so many people in the name of my career and a distorted sense of justice. if you want to do better, i could use a person like you. what do you say that when this case is over, we become partners for real, this time?

akechi says, but sae-san, what about your reputation, what about your career, wouldn’t it be bad to have a fraud like me by your side?

sae says, i didnt have you as a partner the first time around because you were stupid. use your head, make it work, and maybe i’ll buy you sushi off the conveyor belt someday.

case number one is prosecuting the shit out of shido. sae said they’d be partners after akechi is no longer a key witness, but at this point, being a key witness is basically like being her assistant. sae’s there every step of the way while akechi gets shoved through the public wringer. i say, make him lose all his public fame and reputation and more, everything that he thought he wanted, and he come out with sae’s respect, akira’s support, and the phantom thieves on his side.

the trial starts to stall because of yaldabaoth’s influence, which then brings us to that whole reveal about yaldabaoth using akechi as well for yaldo’s own ends. yaldabaoth offers the p5 vanilla bad end, in which the phantom thieves continue on and become incredibly famous and eliminate most crime because they just change the hearts of anyone who does anything halfway wrong.

i say, let the thieves deliberate on that one. all of them, not just joker. it’s not actually a very bad deal, necessarily; it’s just vaguely skeevy and authoritarian. let’s say, akechi is the biggest opposer, and points out that if akira goes down that route, akira will be doing exactly the same thing akechi did for so long–using his power for his own self-satisfaction, power unchecked and out of control. let akechi use the fact that he’s akira’s “rival” and outspoken critic to good use. akira tells yaldo where he can stick it.

fight yaldabaoth, win. sae takes akira into custody. akechi makes good on his deal with sae, and both of them work together to use akechi’s testimony, akira’s testimony, and shido’s testimony to nail shido and clear akira’s name. 

from there, flash forward to the epilogue in the same way that it happens in canon, except akechi is now sae’s lackey and she’s overseeing his efforts to undo whatever damage he did to all the nameless people he’s hurt over the years. she’s going to become a defense attorney, and akechi’s probably going to become her assistant and later paralegal. both of them are committed to reforming the justice system for the better and addressing their past wrongs.

im actually big fucking mad at how little i had to change about persona 5 canon to make this redemption arc work. @ persona 5 royal meet me in the pit.

[undermounts]

Empire of Light—Chapter 3: A Most Dangerous Game

AO3 | Table of Contents  | Ashes and Embers | Playlist

Fic Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Ash, the party travels across Morella in search of allies to defeat the Empire of Ash, once and for all.

Chapter Summary: Aerin meets with his mother and the Lords of Whitetower to discuss the war effort while Iliana and Kade go searching for clues about the mysterious attacks.

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Aerin Valleros strode through the rose garden, the early morning breeze sliding through his curls like gentle fingers beneath his heavy crown. Dew and hints of frost clung to the serrated leaves of the manicured rose bushes, which were well-tended and enchanted to bloom year-round. The mornings were growing colder and the sun was rising later as the last, lingering dregs of summer faded away into the heart of autumn. 

It was strange, Aerin mused, the passage of time. These last few months felt as if they had crawled by at a snail’s pace, but also as if they had zipped by at record speed. He could not fathom how it was possible that only two months ago, he was held prisoner in the depths of the Khagan’s fortress, hidden in the snow-blasted peaks of the Frostwhisper Mountains of Vishanti. Then, he had been a prince with no crown, hands still stained with his brother’s blood, and haunted by the ghost of his mother.

But now… Now he was the King, with hands that were no less bloody, and he walked with the Queen Mother on his arm.

In another two months, they would be deep into the dead of winter, and it would not be a thin layer of frost that coated the gardens, but snow. Aerin could only speculate how much would change before then. Would his life even be recognizable? Would his kingdom?

Aerin’s mother, Rhiannon, walked beside him with her arm hooked beneath his, her fine-boned hand laid atop his forearm, and a dark veil concealing her face. She was dressed in the rich reds and golds of House Valleros, the perfect complement to Aerin’s midnight blue and silver tunic, which, ironically, were the colors of her family, House Archeron. 

While Baldur had taken after his father in looks, there was no doubt Aerin was his mother’s son. They had the same high cheekbones, straight nose—although Aerin’s now had a faint ridge from all the times it had been broken—and full lips. And thus, the veil that hid her royal visage. had been added to the Dowager Queen’s wardrobe. Without it, there was no way to pass her off as Lady Anielle, a royal advisor whose face was said to have been horribly burned in the explosions that took out the upper half of the palace. As far as the rest of the kingdom was concerned, Rhiannon Valleros was long gone.

Every time he, Captain Ristridin, or Rhiannon herself decided that the King was in need of her counsel, Aerin was faced with the small dilemma of deciding where they should meet. His quarters or his study offered sanctuary from prying eyes, but being alone with his estranged mother in such a small space left Aerin with a creeping feeling of vulnerability, as if allowing her into his quarters allowed her to know more about him than he would ever know about her. Because truthfully, all Aerin had ever known of his mother was nothing.

Aerin thought he had made peace with his mother’s disappearance. After all, he had taken part in orchestrating it. But if that was truly the case, then why did he feel so damned angry whenever she was around? So bitter?

Aerin did not have the answers he sought nor did he have the time to sort out and analyze his own feelings. So he preferred to meet with his mother in the gardens, trailed by attendants and members of the royal guard, even if the veil Rhiannon had to wear in public made him feel like he was part of a funeral procession. Like he was speaking with a ghost. 

If he could, Aerin would simply avoid the meetings altogether, but he could not deny that his mother’s advice about navigating the court was invaluable. 

His memory held true. No one was as skilled at courtly intrigue as Rhiannon, even if she was an outsider.

The Halfling Queen. 

Aerin had so many questions. About his mother, about their heritage, about where she had been all of these years… But unsurprisingly, Rhiannon had been less than forthcoming with her secrets.  All Aerin could get out of her was that yes—she was, in fact, a human descendant of wooly halflings, and yes, that meant he was as well, but no—she was not a true Archeron, at least not by blood. Any questions beyond that, Rhiannon had simply said, Another time, Aerin. We have more important issues to worry about.

Ah, yes. More important issues, like convincing the Lords of Whitetower to go to war. 

“We should be producing supplies, building weapons, and training our soldiers,” Aerin muttered as he and his mother meandered through the hedges beneath the cloudy sky. “Not wasting time convincing the men in charge that this war is real.”

“They say the battle begins long before the troops are even sent to the fields,” his mother mused, her long and graceful steps in sync with his. Even her voice was just as he remembered it—low, rich, and wise, with regalness he could only hope to emulate.

“Half of them don’t even believe the Empire is an imminent threat,” Aerin huffed, irritated. He reached out, plucked a leaf off of a nearby bush, and pressed the pad of his thumb into its frost-covered surface, feeling the small crystals of ice melt against his skin. “They are comforted by the victory at Cragheart and forget how close we were to defeat. And that was just a test. If Iliana hadn’t—”

Aerin cut himself off, his fingers curling around the leaf in his palm as he recalled the crater of destruction she had left on that battlefield. He’d visited Cragheart the day after the battle, once all the pyres had been constructed but before the mass funeral had been held, and was astonished by the ruin Iliana’s magic had left behind. He did not know precisely what the hells had happened to Iliana that day on the fields, only that it had left her changed. Well, he supposed none of his companions were the same people anymore.

“If it hadn’t been for them,” Aerin said vaguely, not trusting himself to speak of his friends without revealing some vulnerable part of himself, “we would have lost that battle.” He shook his head, fuming. “Have they already forgotten how many dead men filled the pyres?”

“I’d wager that they have not,” the Queen Mother replied from beneath her veil, and without looking, Aerin knew her gaze was boring into him. “But this is what happens when men are born into power but given no purpose. They’ve grown complacent, accustomed to peace. These lords grew up on stories of the fiefdom wars, of squashed rebellions. But they do not know how to get their own hands dirty. They would rather ignore the threat and hope it goes away on its own.”

“It won’t go away,” Aerin insisted, although he knew he needn’t try to convince his mother. “Why can’t they see that?”

Through the veil, his mother gave him a pitying look. He despised it.

“They do not want to,” she informed him, gently. Too gently. Aerin found himself wishing she would just be stern with him, like his old tutors were. Not like… not like she was still trying to be his mother. “They are scared, Aerin, and unlike you, they have never confronted the things they fear.”

“So they would let people die instead?” he retorted, his voice sharpening in response to her gentleness.

“Success belongs to everyone involved,” Rhiannon replied sagely, her tone cool and unruffled by Aerin’s bitterness. “But failure rests solely on those in charge.”

“They would let the fault be mine,” Aerin said dryly. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“They do not know you yet, Aerin,” she reminded him, and Aerin bit back the urge to snap, Neither do you.

But he ground his teeth, reining in the words before he could come to regret them.

“It remains to be seen what kintd of king you will be,” Rhiannon continued slowly, lowering her voice so that only he could hear her. “That is the case for all new rulers, not just those with your… past. They know not whether you will be a tyrant or a fool, someone who threatens what they have or someone they may take advantage of. Today, you must show them that you are neither.”

“If Father had been in charge—” Aerin’s breath hitched ever so slightly, and he disguised the hoarseness in his voice with a cough. “If Father had been in charge, they would have listened,” he said morosely. “Just as they had when he sent the standing army to Cragheart.”

“I would not be so sure,” the Queen murmured, shaking her head. “The Battle of Ash is an isolated incident, and the order to fight was a decree given in a state of emergency. Had the lords been given time, they would have fought your father until he gave them what they wanted.”

Aerin bristled, his lips thinning with displeasure as he echoed, “What they wanted?”

“The key to convincing them the war is worth their attention is learning what they desire. All men want for something,” she explained, thoughtfully drumming her fingers against his forearm. “If duty is not enough to spur them into action, perhaps a deal might.”

Aerin frowned, nose wrinkling. “We cannot afford to waste resources that should be dedicated to the war effort on convincing a bunch of lords to defend their own people.”

“We won’t have to,” Rhiannon stated confidently and Aerin glanced over at her with a single brow arched. “Some lords are more important to this cause than others,” she informed him. “Strike the tower at its base and the rest of the pieces will follow.”

Aerin pursed his lips pensively, mulling that over. His mother’s advice reminded Aerin of something he had told Iliana once, when they faced down Ristridin and his Thirteen in the poison fields. There’s thirteen of them, but only one leads.

He really was his mother’s son.

“You have… given me much to think about,” Aerin said at last, drawing them to a halt. Behind them, their retinue of attendants and guards paused as well. 

Aerin looked skyward, taking in the dim rays of sunlight that just barely streamed through the dense array of clouds. The time for his meeting was drawing near. He pulled away from his mother, inclining his head in a polite farewell. “I will consider all of this as I prepare to meet with the Council of Lords.”

Through the opaque veil, his mother’s face fell. The hand at her side twitched, as if she had intended to reach for him, then thought better of it. “Aerin, I want to tell you—”

“No need, my lady,” Aerin said swiftly, his stomach twisting in discomfort at the sudden tenderness that crept into her voice. “I have heard all that I need to hear for today.”

For once, Aerin was glad he had an audience. The nearby attendants and guards were perhaps the only thing saving him from whatever it was his mother had suddenly deemed was important enough to share with him. He stepped back, retreating toward the path that led to the palace. “Thank you for your counsel, Lady Anielle.”

His mother stared at him for a few moments, the shifting clouds stealing away the watery light that had allowed Aerin a glimpse at Rhiannon’s countenance. At last, she nodded, dipping into a low curtsy. “Of course, Your Majesty. I wish you luck with the lords.”

Aerin merely inclined his head, then turned on his heel and strode back toward the palace, leaving his mother behind. It was not until Aerin had cleared the rose gardens that he allowed himself to let out the heavy breath of relief he had not even realized he was holding. Some of the tension slackened in his shoulders now that he had put some distance between himself and the Queen Mother.

“You could stand to be kinder to your mother,” Ristridin mumbled beneath his breath as he fell into step beside Aerin, gravel crunching beneath their boots. “I know it must not be exactly easy having her back after all this time, but she wouldn’t have come if she didn’t care.”

Aerin seriously doubted that. He scowled slightly, glancing at Ristridin sidelong. He refused to believe she came simply out of the goodness of her heart or whatever sense of duty she still miraculously possessed toward guiding her only remaining son. There must have been some other reason why she had returned to Whitetower, a place she had despised so vehemently, she abandoned the city and her family. Aerin just had yet to figure out what that reason was.

He tilted his head, regarding Ristridin with an expression of innocent curiosity. “Have you ever contemplated getting married, Captain?”

Ristridin arched a dark brow. “Not recently. Why?”

“Perhaps you should,” Aerin replied as they stepped into the palace proper, nodding to the guards that were stationed by the doorway. “Then you could start a family of your own whose business you can stick your nose into.”

That startled a laugh out of the knight. Aerin glanced over at him once more, a small smile curling his lips as he watched the old man’s brows raise in amusement.

“Aye,” Ristridin chuckled, shaking his head as he followed Aerin back to his chambers. “I will consider it, Majesty. But let it be known that you are trouble enough.”

Read the rest of the chapter on AO3!

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[chuckasangplants]

Plant Mail!

First thing I will say is before you decide to get a new plant you should do your research on its growth habits, where it was sourced, and the climate of its natural environment. This will help give you an advantage when it comes to caring for the plant. Plants like aroids and anthurium are often imported from the tropics and have adapted to their old climate with higher humidity levels. These plants most likely are used to a lot of rain as well so they will be stressed out moving into a dryer climate. Not to mention what the plant went through in the shipping process. 

After you receive your plant via mail or pick it up from the store, make sure to quarantine that plant for at least two weeks before you introduce it into your collection. This avoids introducing pests or diseases to your plants. You should double check the plant (if you can) before you buy it to make sure the plant is pest and disease free. However, aphids aren’t so easy to see at first and there could be eggs in the soil of a pest that haven’t hatched yet.

As a preventative measure I will spray my newly aquired plants with a horticultural oil or a neem oil. This really makes a difference. You can clean the leaves with castile soap and water if the leaves are dirty.

Now the thing everyone repeats when you get a new plant is ... 

DO NOT REPOT!

A lot of people want to skip to this step because the plant is probably still in its nursery pot which is not as aesthetically pleasing as a fancy one you can exchange it with. If you find you are this person what you can do is get a cache pot. A cache pot is a decorative container you can place your pot in. Remember these pots usually do not have drainage holes so you must ensure that you let your plant completely drain after watering and make sure that the plant is getting enough air flow to its roots.

If the plant is rootbound, I would carefully consider repotting it. Having a rootbound plant does stunt its growth, which could be a good thing with huge Monsteras and if that is the case you can just trim the roots. Severely rootbound plants should be repotted.

DO NOT WATER 

UNLESS the plant unless it is very very dry. Most likely before the seller ships the plant they have already watered it. All too often in big box stores the plants are watered by employees who are just doing their 9-5 job. They do not have a passion for plants. Thereflre, you will notice that most plants you can find in these kinds of stores are water logged. It is almost always one of two things, too dry or too wet. If the plant was delivered with out soil in sphagnum moss then obviously you would need to repot it. 

DO NOT RUSH TO FERTILIZE!

When you get a new plant you need to ask when was last fertilized? If it has slow fertilizer in the soil… how long has it been there? If you are buying from a greenhouse you should assume that the plant has been fertilized and you should wait a couple of months. Most of the time plants that are to be sold are pumped with fertilizer speed up the growing process and to make sure the plant looks appealing. You do not want to over fertilize your plants because it most certainly die.  

WHERE ARE THE ROOTS?

Ever repotted a new plant and notice that the plant has barely any roots? It is because a bunch got hacked off prior to shipping. Roots can heavy which makes shipping expensive. You must ensure you are being consistent with your watering cycles for the first new months. You also must be diligent in making sure that plant has a decent amount of light. Make sure the light is bright but not too hot. Light is important because it stimulates new growth in the plant. We will discuss lighting in depth in another post. 

Another thing, anytime I have had a plant shipped to me I do not bet on the plant keeping the big, beautiful leaves it came with because most likely it will lose its “shipping leaves” due to it acclimating. Once your plant gets accustomed to your environment these leaves will be just as beautiful if not more because the plant has not been stressed. If the plant came with the not so nice the ugly leaf that will fall off anyway, so don’t stress it. I do not recommend cutting this leaf off.

Before/after of acclimation photos around 2 months apart. This is one of the "shipping leaves" it came with

A couple of months later a new leaf unfurling followed by its hardened state. The new leaf is much bigger than its previous shipping leaf. 

You will know that your plant is acclimating effectively if you see that it has start to develop new roots, and new leaves. When this happens, you can finally relax. If your plant has no signs of growth there is usually a problem. Do some digging (literally) and see what is up with its roots. If the roots seem fine and no other issues can be found.. it could just need more time to acclimate.

-Rian