#brown IPA

[gaasublarb]

Hobie's Accent Challenge/Practice

I tried to find a sentence with every english phoneme and this came up.

That quick beige fox jumped in the air over each thin dog. Look out, I shout, for he's foiled you again, creating chaos.

So here goes /)////(\ Wish I knew more IPA

Me:

ðat quick bæj fahx jəmpt in ðə ær ohver ɪch thin dahg. Look owt, aɪ showt, for hɪs fohɪld you əgin, crɪæding kæahss

Hobie:

Tha' quick bæj fox jəmpt en ðə eh ohvə ɪch thin dog. Look ow', ah show', foh 'ɪs foɪld yə əgen, crɪæ'en kayohss

[brandonsdrunkagain]

Hit up Grain Creations Brewing for a few, Rusty Cage Brown Ale, Technicolor Bliss IPA, Second Death Imperial Stout. Tasting a few thing from Gilla Brewing, Goose Island, Jester King and others!

[auraeseer]

Going Rogue at Crater Lake . . .

[shotmrmiller]

tw: mentions of roofies, murder, then smut:)

cbf!simon would absolutely kill for you.

cbf!simon has always been your partner in crime.

even in your youth, back when he was built like a daffodil, he was always by your side. kept you safe from the mean girls at school, always got in trouble for throwing hands at boys who made crass comments at you and the like. then he'd left his butcher job to join the military. "I gotta learn how to keep you safe, love. i'll always come back to ya."

and he had. he returned to you almost four times his size; he left a boy and came back a man. down to your very bones, you knew that he would always keep you safe.

which is why he was the first person you called when the guy next to you at the bar roofied your drink. the beer fizzed irregularly and had an almost milky colour even though it was an ipa.

the idiot had dared to smile at you, an oily, crooked grin with yellow teeth, and lifted his own glass to toast with you.

you bolted out of your seat in seconds, heading straight to the ladies' room, and dialed.

he answered on the second ring.

"please come get me." you hadn't meant to sound as terrified as you felt.

"be there in 5," then hung up.

he lived 15 minutes away from the dingy bar.

true to his word, he was there in 5, texting where you were at.

inside the ladies bathroom.

he let himself in, put his jacket around your quivering shoulders, and with a strong, comforting arm, guided you toward the exit and into his truck. simon remained silent as he sat you in the passenger seat, gently pulling the seatbelt over your chest, clicking it into place.

he stood next to you, his hands resting on your jean-clad thighs, waiting patiently for you to explain.

your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you sort out your thoughts. you no longer felt afraid, that much was certain. simon has always been your pillar of strength. there was nothing to fear with him at your side.

so why do your hands continue to tremble? digging deeper, you realize that you're angry. no.

furious.

some imbecile thought he'd take advantage of you. if you'd been any more drunk, you would have been a victim— wound up lifeless in a dirty ditch.

you burned with fury, your blood boiling under your skin. how dare he? how dare he?

simon softly touches your tightly clenched hands, coaxing your fingers to unfurl.

everything pulls hard to port when your eyes land on his disfigured knuckles— scarred by battle. you've never liked what simon did for a living. he just fought and killed people that some higher-up told him were the bad guys.

in war, there is no good or bad side. the field is too soaked in blood for anyone to recognize where the line is if there even was one to begin with.

until now. just this once, you couldn't be more grateful that simon possesses the skills he does.

you make your decision. "there was a guy in there. green hat, ugly brown jacket with yellow, crooked teeth. he drugged my beer, then toasted me so i would drink it."

his hands tighten around yours marginally. "and now i'm here, safe, with you. but he's still in there, with potentially a pocket full of pills, on the lookout for his next victim. how am i supposed to sleep tonight, knowing that if someone goes missing tonight, the blood will be on my hands?"

you cut your eyes to his dark, hardened ones, and the words tumble out of your mouth with surprising ease.

"there's trash in there that needs throwing out, simon."

nothing but a wretched mongrel that needs to be put down.

simon's nod is subtle, but it's there. you exhale a shuddering breath, heart slamming against your ribcage.

he's a gun in your hand, and you've just pulled the trigger.

simon hands you the keys to the truck. "are you sober enough to drive home?" he quietly asks.

hard to keep a buzz when you almost became a victim of—

"yes."

he's opening the glove compartment, taking out his skeleton gloves, and a tac knife that he tucks inside the waistband of his jeans.

"go home. i'll see ya in a bit." his voice is flat, lifeless.

simon closes the door and raps his knuckles on the hood of the truck before heading inside.

and so the elephant marches to war.

-

it's well past midnight when he crawls in through your window. one moment his boots are on the windowsill, the next he's pinning you onto your mattress, hips flush against yours.

his chilly, clean hands lift the hem of your loose shirt, dimpling the soft skin that his fingers dig into— his bare lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"he is no longer a problem."

he grinds his clothed erection against the flimsy fabric of your sleeping shorts.

"you did the right thing by telling me what he did."

simon trails a path of open-mouthed kisses from your ear down to your mouth, licking your bottom lip.

"nothing gets me harder than when my girl looks at me to keep her safe."

your breath hitches when a hand begins to move south, lifting the waistband of your bottoms and sliding his fingers over your slick pussy. "it seems you like it too. does it turn you on, ordering me around like a dog? i bark at your command, pet."

one finger sinks into your wet heat, his groan drowning out your own.

"you like having this much power over me? how easily i bend to your will?" he croons.

there are two fingers in you now, so much thicker than your own, and the way they curl and drag along your nerves has your toes tingling. he takes you to the precipice at frightening speed— the expert hands that kill without remorse are the same ones that are bringing you your pleasure.

he thrusts his fingers into you with an obscene squelch and a thumb circles your slippery clit.

"i'd burn the world to ashes if you asked it of me."

the coil in your stomach is tight, your body tense in anticipation.

"so... would you? would you ask me to bring the world to its very knees?"

the answer sits on the tip of your tongue when you climax around his fingers, walls pulsing rhythmically, arousal dripping from his knuckles.

later will be a good time to reflect on how you don't feel even remotely guilty for what's been done.

for now, you focus on how good simon feels as he slowly sinks into you, splitting you wide open with his heavy cock.

-

simon finds no pills in the guy's pockets. no baggie, no bottle.

nothing.

shame that his little love has declared the guy's life forfeit.

your wish is his command.

[retrobutterflies]

Ambrosia | billie eilish

Billie Eilish x Female!Reader

Summary: Your avoidant attachment style can only work for so long until it's time to face the music.

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: Bi panic, hurt/comfort, fluff

Part II

A/N: If you've gone to see her on tour, you and I are in a fight.

You had been acting off. You knew it. And you weren't a very good actress so you could tell your friends knew it too. But no one had said anything, at least not yet. You had tried to drop hints of work being stressful or your lease ending soon but they were halfhearted and pitiful attempts to camouflage your real turmoil.

You could tell Billie knew it too. Her eyes lingered on you a little longer when someone would say a joke and everyone would laugh and you would be quiet in the corner consumed by your thoughts. A few times she called your name to pull you back into the conversation, a quirked eye brow and side smirk barely concealing the confusion or concern lingering in her eyes. Sometimes it was a gentle nudge in the side or handing you a fresh drink to pull you back from your mind. And it would work for a while until you couldn't stop focusing on how close she was sitting to you on the couch or how every time she would laugh her body would lean into yours and you would feel her warmth and smell her perfume. And then you would be sucked right back into the buzzing thoughts of panic and fear and confusion and you would be plotting your escape route before you imploded.

Tonight was harder than usual. You had been in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and sipping your third beer that was finally giving you a little buzz, softening your brain for the time being. Oliver had come up to you with an award winning grin and glinting eyes. He was a friend of a friend but he seemed to be at every party you were and slowly but surely you started talking and flirting every time you saw each other. You knew if you wanted someone to dance with or chat or make out in the bathroom you could find him and he would give you his charming smile and an enthusiastic yes.

Only tonight it was different. Everything had felt different since your startling realization on the floor of your room a month ago. You noticed him before he reached you and instead of the usual feelings of excitement or anticipation, all you felt was anxiety. Your stomach had been in knots on and off all night and suddenly at the sight of him they were back to full power.

"I thought I'd never find you," he mused, strolling up to you and leaning his torso against the marble counter top. "I thought maybe you were avoiding me."

You let out a soft puff of a laugh, taking a larger gulp of your beer before replying, "I'm avoiding everyone.”

He quirked an eyebrow, pushing back a brown tuft of hair out of his forehead. "For any particular reason?"

You pursed my lips, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, thinking about how to respond. "Just, tired, I guess," was your intelligent response.

"Just tired, you guess," he echoed, eyebrows raising further as he tilted his head at you. His eyes were piercing and you could feel him trying to peel back the layers of your newfound shell.

"Too tired to even dance with me?" he asked, giving you a soft, playful nudge in the side. You tried to give him a smile though you were sure it looked more like a wince.

"I'm sorry, Oliver, I'm just–" You struggled to find the words, the knots tightening in your stomach, "–out of it today."

He let out a hum, taking a sip of his IPA, and stared at you long and hard.

"Is this about a boy?" he questioned.

You winced but it only seemed to encourage him.

"So it is. C'mon, I'm not upset that you have a crush, I’m just upset its not on me," he joked, nudging you again. When you didn’t respond he continued.

"So," he repeated, "Who is it? I promise I'll keep it a secret."

You shook my head, taking another large sip of your drink like it could wash away the anxiety blooming in your chest.

"Is it Ben? You guys used to talk didn't you?" he continued, eyes now scanning the busy kitchen and through the archway peaking into the living room.

"Or Sebastian? I know he's always had a thing for you. He glares at me sometimes," he let out a chuckle.

"Oliver–" You tried to cut him off.

"Wait no, it's Griffen isn't it? God, I should've guessed that first."

"Oliver, stop, please," You put a hand up to rub the spot between your forehead that was starting to ache.

He looked back at you and frowned. "I get it, you don't have to tell me. I have been told I give good advice though," he said.

You looked up at him. His big brown eyes were sincere and there was a time when they used to make butterflies erupt in your stomach. But now it was like any fascination you had had with him before had puffed out like a candle.

"Listen, I appreciate that, but–" You let out a breath, trying to choose your words carefully, "this has nothing to do with a boy."

"You sure?" he replied, skeptical. Your stomach twisted again.

"I'm sure," You breathed.

He left you alone after that, strolling away to find his next playmate. You stood there for a while, people watching and sipping on your beer. It didn't take you long to notice Billie with a few of your friends, perched on a couch in the living room, a perfect view from the kitchen. Someone said something and she laughed, throwing her head back, hair glinting in the low lighting. You stared for longer than you should've.

And then she finally noticed you. Her eyes caught yours and her smile morphed into a softer more tentative one. The anxiety that had been appeased for the moment roared back to life and you felt your heart rate quicken to the point that you could feel your pulse in your neck. You looked away, clenching onto your near empty beer can before sliding it onto the counter. You looked up to see the far door to the balcony and before you could think your legs were taking you there.

It was surprisingly empty and the chill of the autumn air felt refreshing against your burning cheeks. You leaned your elbows on the metal railing, taking in a few deep breaths as your eyes scanned the glowing lights of the city skyline.

You felt like you were going crazy. Everything you had known about yourself had suddenly flipped on its head on a random Tuesday and now you couldn't function normally. You were overthinking everything. All of your relationships, all of your friendships, all of your actions. How could you have not known? How could it have taken you this long? Don't people usually know right away?

"Hey," her voice hit you like an electrical shock. You jumped slightly and usually this would've made her chuckle but you could tell she knew something wasn't right. "Sorry," she said, her voice a hair softer, "I didn't mean to scare you."

You finally turned to look at her as she was closing the sliding door behind her. Her eyes seemed cautious and she took slowed steps towards you like you were a frightened animal.

"No, it's fine. Sorry, I'm–" losing my mind, "just a little tired."

She came to stand next to you, leaning her arms on the railing as well, and nodded. A few pieces of dark hair fluttered in the crisp breeze and your eyes lingered for a moment. You took in her side profile, the slope of her nose, flush of her cheeks, the pinched wrinkle between her eyebrows. She was quiet for a while, eyes looking out at the city, seeing through it like it wasn't even there at all.

"You seem to be tired all the time now," she finally said, her voice low and soft. You could hear her attempt at light humor, trying break the tension that had settled between you as the weeks went on but you could read her well and you could see the worry etched on her face and feel the apprehension in her words.

"Yeah," was all you could muster to reply. Your mind flashed back to all of the plans you had turned down or cancelled on last minute under the ruse you were tired. You turned your attention back to the city, trying hard to focus your eyes anywhere but her face.

You could practically hear the thoughts buzzing in her head, all the words and questions she had for why you had suddenly sunk into yourself. And why you had suddenly started avoiding her. She let out a soft sigh. You could feel her gaze on the side of your cheek but you couldn't bring yourself to look at her.

"Are you doing okay?" she asked, voice even softer than before.

You bit the inside of your cheek. You weren't sure how to respond. Any wrong word and you might very well burst into tears.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" You replied. You tried to sound nonchalant but even you could hear the slight waver in your voice. You moved your hands to grip the railing, an attempt at grounding yourself so you didn't lose your resolve in front of her. You were already thinking about an escape route, maybe to the bathroom to cry or maybe straight out the front door where you could call someone to come pick you up.

She paused for a moment, staring at you. You could tell she was trying to read between the lines, hear the words you weren't saying. And you knew if you met her eyes she would be able to pull them from you in an instant.

"You know," she paused again, her eyes still boring into the side of your face, "usually I don't pry because you always come to me when you're ready but–"

She let out another sigh, finally pulling her gaze away and back towards the twinkling night. She tapped her fingers softly on the railing. You could hear her rings making gentle clinks against the metal. It was a tell tale sign she was nervous or agitated, or maybe both.

"You're worrying me a little." She took another breath. "And I just want to make sure you're alright because I can tell something is bothering you even if you're not ready to tell me what it is yet."

You could feel your eyes start to sting and your hands were starting to freeze from clenching the cold steel of the railing for so long but you didn't dare move them for fear their fidgeting would give you away. But your throat had tightened to the point that you weren't sure you could say any word without it sounding strained and threatening tears.

"And–" she started again, her voice taking on a slightly pained sound, "if I did something that upset you I'm really sorry. I know I can be a lot sometimes but I don't want that to make you uncomfortable or . . ." She trailed off, grimacing at her own words.

You finally plucked up the courage to look at her. She looked pained and you felt the anxiety in your stomach turn to dread. She looked so worried and it was obvious that your strange behavior had been affecting her for a while now. And somehow she knew she was the cause.

"You started acting strange after the last time we hung out and I–" she scrunched her face up in regret, "–didn't mean to do anything that would make you uncomfortable and sometimes I get too comfortable and I forget to check myself–" she let out a frustrated sigh. You turned your gaze away sharply.

Your mind spun back to that moment a month ago, both of you sitting on the floor of your room. You didn't even remember what you had been talking about but you remembered your stomach had cramped from laughing so hard. And your faces were so close together. And she had started playing with your hair, first brushing it behind your ear and then twirling a strand or two. And then her finger had brushed so lightly against your cheek once, then twice, then it travelled down your jaw then towards your neck and left goosebumps and tingles in its wake and then so suddenly like a bolt of lightening you had wanted her to kiss you.

Your whole life you had thought you only liked boys. You had only ever had crushes on boys and dated boys and then suddenly you wanted a girl and you had to double back through every interaction in your life to see if you had been deluding yourself, refusing to acknowledge this second side of you. And it was an earthshaking realization that you hadn't even known yourself and that you had been so blind to it.

And then the worst part about it was that it wasn't just any girl but it was your best friend. The most major, important, integrated person in your life and suddenly you had feelings for her and you had no idea what to do.

"I just–I didn't mean to let it get–" she cut herself off, letting out another frustrated huff.

You couldn't risk looking at her. Your eyesight was already blurring from the moisture building up in your waterline and you knew if you made a sound it would cause them to start falling, ruining any last shred of dignity you had left.

You could feel her gaze on you again, penetrating and heavy and from the corner of your eye you could see her shoulders sag and her head dip slightly.

She was quiet for another few seconds before murmuring a quiet, "I'm sorry."

It made your heart clench painfully and you wanted to turn to her and reassure her that nothing was her fault and you were just dealing with your own inner turmoil but you could already feel a few tears escaping your eyes and rolling hot and fast down your wind-bitten cheeks.

She took your silence as rejection and pulled back suddenly from the balcony. "I'll, um, leave you be for a little. If, uh–" her voice sounded pinched and low and you could picture the look of defeat on her face and it made you feel like throwing up.

"If you need a lift home, just, uh, let me know," she murmured.

She turned around and took a few steps to the door, hand resting on the handle. You turned to look at her, sudden panic and desperation clawing at your neck at the thought of her leaving even though a second ago that was all you had wanted.

"Bil–" Her name got caught in your throat that had tightened so much you felt like you were choking.

She turned quickly, shock filtering across her features as she noticed the tears.

"Are you crying?" her voice held a quiet tone of surprise but it was enough for the rest of the tears you had been desperately holding back to break free.

You cupped your hands over your eyes, a hiccup of a sob leaving your lips, and pressed your sleeves into your eyelashes in a piteous attempt to dry up your tears. You heard her whisper your name before you felt her in front of you.

"Please don't cry. I didn't realize–" Her hands went to your shoulders, squeezing slightly before pulling you forward until you could feel her torso pressing against yours and feel her arms winding around your body.

It was useless fighting your emotions. They had always won before. It was silly of you to think you could beat them now. You felt yourself sink into her, your hands moving to wind around her neck, pressing your cheek against her warmth.

"I'm–I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you were so upset. I–" she sounded like she couldn't find her words, still surprised by your reaction. Her arms tightened around you, one of her hands reaching up to cup the crown of your head.

She dragged her hand down the back of your head, fingers raking through your hair, brushing against your scalp. You stood there for a while, your tears soaking into the sleeve of your shirt, her delicately stroking your head, dolling out a few hushed apologies even though there was nothing for her to be apologizing for.

Finally, when your choking whimpers and nearly ceaseless tears quieted down, she pulled back. She pulled her sleeve over her hand and pressed it gently against your cheek and with slow and deliberate movements she wiped away the wetness on your face. It was an intimate enough gesture to bring more tears to your eyes but she tutted at you.

"Come on, baby. I don't want you to run yourself ragged," she cajoled though her voice was still hushed and the worry never left her face.

'Baby' hit you right in the chest. She had called you that before, and more often in recent memory, and though it had always made you feel warm it had never quite knocked the breath out of you like now.

She swiped her thumb over your eyelid, then the other, brushing the new tears from your lashes. Then she swiped the delicate skin under your eyes, once, twice, maybe a third for good measure. You couldn't tell where the flush in your cheeks from the cold stopped and the blush began. Her eyes now held yours and in the darkness their hue was almost as dark as the deepest part of the ocean and you could see the lights of the city glittering in her irises like she had plucked all of the stars from the sky and sprinkled them in her eyes. And for a second time you were breathless.

"Why don't I take you home?" she breathed, eyes now flittering around your face.

You wanted to reply with something witty, something to ease the tension even a hint but you couldn't find your words. All you could do was give her a nod. She held out her hand to you and like it was second nature you took it. Her rings were cool against your skin but her hand was warm and soft and she gave you a reassuring squeeze before gently tugging you back inside the apartment.

She didn't bother to say goodbye to anyone. You were sure she was doing it for your sake. You knew you looked like a mess. Her car was parked on the street and she opened the passenger door for you and waited until you were seated before shutting it and going towards the driver's side.

She didn't say anything, only turned the radio on to a comfortable buzz before starting in the direction of your apartment. You leaned your forehead against the cool glass of the window and shut your eyes tight, trying to take in the small moment of peace before you knew you would have to finally explain yourself. You could feel her heavy glances and for a moment you swore she was going to reach out to touch you but she didn't and soon enough you were pulling into the parking garage of your apartment.

She pulled into one of the designated spots for your unit, the other one reserved for your roommate. It was essentially hers since you didn't have a car and the familiarity of her pulling in like normal when she hadn't done it for a month had your heart clenching again.

The elevator ride was quiet as was the walk to your unit. When you opened the front door, your roommate and her boyfriend were cozied up on the couch, watching the newest slasher flick. You had calmed down enough to offer them a pleasant greeting as you took your shoes off and they turned their attention from the glowing TV to respond. You could see the peaked interest on your roommate's face at the sight of Billie standing next to you who she hadn't seen since that fateful day.

"Let us know if we need to turn the volume down," your roommate said and you gave her a small smile before leading Billie down the hall and to your room, shutting the door behind you.

For the first time ever, she looked somewhat lost being in your room. You were so used to her sprawling on your bed, borrowing your clothes without needing to ask, using far too much of your body wash when she took a shower and now she was lingering by the door, arms crossed over her chest like she was too scared to touch anything. You dropped your bag onto your desk and sunk down to sit on the bed. You patted the spot next to you.

"You can come sit," You said, before adding, "If you want."

She relaxed slightly and nodded, shrugging off her jacket onto your desk chair before taking the space next to you. You sat there in a thick silence. You opened your mouth to speak but your courage was depleting at a rapid rate and your eyes kept flashing back to that moment a month ago, seeing you both like ghosts sitting on the floor in front of you. She finally broke the silence first.

"I just want to say that," she took a steadying breath, eyes focused on her hands that were wringing nervously in her lap, "I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable and I'm sorry that I overstepped a boundary."

You let your eyes wander over her face. Her brows pulled together, furrowing slightly as she thought back to that day.

"I know you don't have those feelings and I–" she shook her head, pieces of dark hair falling into her face making her brush them back behind her ears.

"I shouldn't have let myself get close like that. It wasn't fair to you," she admitted, letting out an irritated exhale.

She was quiet again. You weren't sure if she was waiting for you to answer or trying to find the words to keep going. You felt your pulse quicken as you stared at her. She lifted her head and her eyes met yours and again you were breathless. She had always been beautiful but you had never let yourself view her as anything more than a friend. And now looking at her you had the crushing realization that you didn't think you could ever view her as anything but anymore.

"Billie," your voice was quiet and you didn't realize what you were going to say until the words were spilling out of your mouth.

"I love you."

She blinked at you, eyes wide and flickering between yours. And then she grimaced. You couldn't help but feel the wash of rejection settle in your chest.

"Don't say that," she said, shaking her head and looking like you had just slapped her.

"Why?"

She stood up abruptly, like being close to you was suddenly suffocating her. She crossed her arms back in front of her chest, eyes looking around your room but focusing on nothing.

"Because you don't mean it," she muttered, her eyes following the myriad of pictures and polaroids you had decorated over your wall, her face smiling back in more than a few of them.

"What do you mean?" You almost laughed at the absurdity. "Of course I do."

She shook her head again and turned back to look at you and you were taken aback at the sudden anger swirling in her eyes.

"You fell of the face of the planet four weeks ago," she snapped. Her eyes were narrowed and her thick liner made them look darker than normal.

"You barely answered my texts. I thought I had done something horrible. And then when I realized what I had done you were no where to be found for me to apologize. You iced me out so fast it made my head spin!"

You couldn't help but gape at her. She bit her lip, her eyes now glimmering with her own tears threatening to fall. The sight of them made your insides coil up so tight you almost felt faint.

"One second we're talking about the future, laughing at the possibility that we could ever live apart from each other and the next second you're gone like I was suddenly nothing to you," she exclaimed, her voice raising in a mix of anger and pain. A couple of stray tears rolled down her cheeks and she angrily wiped them away with the back of her hand.

"You can't just leave me like that and then . . . and then–" she let out a shuddering breath, "say you love me."

You felt your tears resurface, stinging against your lashes as you stared at her. Guilt was wrapping around you like vines and you couldn't believe you didn't realize how much you had hurt her from pulling away like that.

"And it's not fair because you don't even mean it. Not–" she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment like she could force her tears back.

"It doesn't mean the same thing to you,” she finally met your eyes, "Not in the way that it does to me."

"Billie, I–" You felt your breath get caught in your throat, "I'm so sorry."

She stared at you for a painstakingly long moment before the anger seeped out of her and was replaced by dejection. She sunk down to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

"No–" she rested her forehead against her knee, her face now hidden from your gaze, "I'm sorry. I just–You'd think at this point I'd be able to deal with it better, you know? But it doesn't seem to get any easier."

You got up from your spot on the bed and sunk down to the floor with her.

"You have feelings for me," You suddenly realized, eyes scanning her as if you were trying to see what you had been missing all this time.

She let out a humorless laugh. "Brutal, isn't it?”

She chuckled again, raising her head to rest her chin on the top of her knee.

"You don't even like girls. And I can't seem to like anyone but you," she admitted, her voice rasping at the end. It sounded like she had accepted her fate long ago and you couldn't help but feel the pang of regret in your chest at wishing you had realized this so much earlier.

"I tried to make it go away. But sometimes I would just let myself pretend just for a second that you felt the same way," she let out a heavy breath.

"The last time I was here, I just, I let myself pretend a little too long and I got carried away."

She met your eyes and a few rouge tears dropped down her cheeks. Instinctively, you reached out and brushed them away, cupping her face and swiping your thumbs across the swells of her cheeks. She closed her eyes and you watched her face relax for a fleeting moment before the anguish was creeping back in again.

"You can't do that," she whispered, eyes blinking open as she pulled her face out of your hands. "You're only gonna make it worse."

You stared at each other for a few moments, the air heavy and thick with emotion. But you could feel your resolve strengthening after she bared her heart to you. You figured it was only fair to do the same.

“I love you,” you repeated, this time more firm than the last.

She winced again like the words were painful to hear.

“I mean it,” you said, “I love you.”

She shook her head, not believing your words or maybe thinking you didn’t understand her.

“You don’t,” she denied, opening her mouth to retort again but you cut her off.

“I do,” you insisted. “Please, just–Let me explain.”

She closed her mouth, blinking at you before giving you a short nod.

"I grew up in a very traditional household," you started, taking a wavering breath to ready yourself. "My whole life I was surrounded by nothing but heterosexuality. My parents, my relatives, all of my friends. And I had always liked boys but it had never crossed my mind that I might like girls too."

"And when I met you I knew you were going to be so special to me. It was kind of frightening how quickly we grew attached. But I had always valued my close friendships with girls that I just–" you shook your head, eyes straying to your hands nestled in your lap, "I hadn't realized that sometimes my feelings went beyond the scope of platonic."

"But last month, when you were here and we were talking I . . . I had this sudden realization that I wanted you to kiss me.”

You looked up to see her eyes boring into you. She kept so still like she was worried one wrong move and you would close back up.

“I had to . . . comb back through my life to make sense of it. I didn’t realize–I thought you just knew. I thought it was so crazy of me to only realize now and . . . how stupid could I be for not knowing I felt like this.”

You shut your eyes, thinking back through all those memories you had replayed over and over again.

“And then I thought back to moments between us,” you let out a shaky exhale, feeling your eyes sting, “How close we get, the things we talk about. How I don’t let anyone do the things you do. How I always look to you first for anything.”

You could feel her penetrating gaze even with your eyes shut.

“And then I just . . . I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Your friendship is so important to me but I didn’t know how to be around you without confronting these new feelings. And I couldn’t,” you winced, letting out another shaky sigh, “I couldn’t bare the thought of losing you because of them.”

It was so quiet for a moment you thought maybe she had left. But after a few beats of silence you heard her shuffle towards you and then slowly her arm curved around your back and she was pulling you into her.

“You could never lose me,” she said so softly it was nearly a whisper, her voice thick with emotion.

You bit your lip hard to stop it from trembling. Her other hand found your face and cupped your cheek, nudging you to look up at her. You opened your eyes to be met with her anguished expression, eyes glossy in the dim lighting, eyeliner smudged at the sides.

“And you’re not stupid,” she said, brows furrowing further.

“But how could I not have known–”

“That doesn’t make you stupid. There’s no calendar for this shit,” her thumb danced softly over the plush of your cheek, so light, so delicate, you couldn’t help but lean into it.

“So you believe me?” you finally asked after another bout of silence.

“That you love me?” she questioned, a rasp in her tone. You nodded.

She moved her hand to stroke back your hair from your face, thumb lingering on your hairline as she brushed back the soft baby hairs.

“Yes,” she finally conceded, eyes roaming around your face like this was the first time she was able to openly admire it. Her face drew closer and you could feel the warmth of her breath graze your lips.

“You just can’t go cold on me like that again,” she breathed, her eyes so blue and captivating like this was some sort of spell she was weaving on you. “I felt insane.”

You let out a weak chuckle. She mirrored your smile, eyes straying to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, making her eyes meet yours again, “I really am.”

“I know, baby,” she replied.

That was all it took for you to lean in and kiss her. She took a sharp intake of breath, maybe in surprise, but her lips responded to yours in an instant. They were so soft, velveteen and silky, and you could smell her sweet perfume overwhelming your senses. And she tasted like honey and mint and ambrosia and you couldn’t believe you hadn’t kissed her before.

Her hand raked through your hair, curving around the back of your neck, massaging the tendon as her kisses grew deeper and sweeter. You felt your mind start to mellow into a hypnotic buzz where you couldn’t think much past her and her satin lips and her soft exhales fanning over your face. Her other hand slid around your torso, palm centering on the small of your back, before she was pulling you into her and up onto her lap.

“Fuck,” you breathed between kisses, wrapping your arms around her neck so you could press yourself in further.

Slowly her kisses strayed from your lips, tracing the edge of your jaw. She nudged her cheek against the underside of your jaw making your head lift so she could press fiery kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck. You dug your fingers into her hair, tightening your hold when she found an extra sensitive spot making her let out a pleased hum against your skin that vibrated and tickled.

“Bil–” You could barely speak, so consumed by her ministrations.

She littered kisses on your neck and over your pulse point where you were sure she could feel how fast your heart was beating. You felt her grin against your skin, nipping softly before apologizing with a searing kiss. Your body was turning lax and her arms tightened around your torso, anchoring you to her.

Then her lips were moving back up, leaving a wake of tingles as they climbed before they found yours again. You kissed back eagerly, trying to convey everything you weren’t able to in words, your guilt, your fear, your worry, your adoration, your love. And she drank you in, evaporating the remnants of your anxiety and doubt.

It took you a moment to realize one of her hands had slipped under the back of your shirt, her palm warm and pleasing against your bare skin. She dragged her nails lightly down your spine and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sensation. You felt her smile against your lips and after pressing one, two, a third, another kiss she finally relented, pulling her head back so she could look at you.

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed. Hers were half-lidded and penetrating and her lips were a bright pink, bruised and swollen. Her free hand reached back up, pushing your hair back and stroking her fingers delicately along your cheek.

“I love you too,” she murmured, voice so soft you could’ve missed it.

A flood of warmth filled your chest and a blush rose on your cheeks and she seemed unable to stop herself from leaning in and pressing a kiss against the flushing skin.

“I really missed you,” you confessed, sighing in contentment as her lips lingered on your cheek.

“Not as much as I did,” she said, leaning back again so she could look at you. She rested her head back against the foot of the bed, looking at you low through her dark lashes.

“No I was going crazy,” you admitted and she let out a spluttering laugh. You smiled for the first time in what felt like forever, gaze lingering on her squinting eyes and the small dimple that appeared on her chin.

“Dude, I was out of my mind. I wouldn’t shut up about you. I literally wrote a fucking song because you were ignoring me,” she confessed.

“No way,” you laughed, delighted at the thought that she would ever like you enough to write a song about you.

“I did,” she affirmed, snickering, moving both of her arms down to rest behind your back, tugging you in again so you sat higher on her lap.

“Will you let me hear it?” you asked, moving your hands down to her neck, finding the soft baby hairs at her nape and brushing your thumbs against the sides.

“I was really in my feels,” she warned.

“That’s okay,” you said and she smiled at you so softly that you felt a swirl of butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“Okay,” she said, biting her lower lip, eyes flashing back down to yours.

“Really?”

“Mhm, you just can’t make fun of me though,” she replied and you let out another soft laugh at the thought.

“I’ve never made fun of you in my entire life,” you said unable to stop your smile and she guffawed at you.

“Still a shit liar I see,” she retorted.

“I’ve never lied either,” you said, grinning and she squeezed your side making you let out a shocked giggle.

“‘No, I’m fine Billie. I’m just tired. Nothing is wrong and I’m not ignoring you’,” she paraphrased, poking fun now at your sorry excuses for avoiding her.

You groaned half in regret, half in embarrassment.

“I mean, it’s not entirely a lie. I was sleeping like shit,” you admitted.

She hummed, eyes seemingly now noticing the darker shadows lurking under your eyes, your makeup long gone from all of your tears.

“I was too,” she said, taking a deep sigh, “How do you think I had time to write a whole song?”

You laughed again and she smiled at you. All of the worry and sadness that had clouded her face for the past few weeks had finally left. She looked like she had her sparkle back and you felt breathless at the thought that it was because of you.

“Would you, um,” your eyes flickered between hers, suddenly nervous, “wanna stay the night?”

She let out an affronted laugh. “Did you think I wanted to leave?”

“I was just checking. I didn’t wanna push you or anything,” you replied, narrowing your eyes at her but unable to quell your smile.

“I know, baby. And I appreciate it,” she cooed, leaning in to kiss your cheek again.

“I like when you call me that,” you confessed, the words leaving your lips before you could even think to stop them.

“Yeah?” Her grin deepened and you nodded, your cheeks warm. She hummed again.

She stared at you for another long moment, eyes scanning your face, her hand reaching up to brush your hair back. Your eyes fluttered shut at the comfort.

“You’ll tell me next time when you’re this upset?” she asked, voice softer now.

You blinked open your eyes. Her worry was seeping back and you felt the guilt pool in your stomach again but you pushed it back, confident in the fact that you couldn’t ignore her again even if you tried.

“I promise.”

She stared at you long and hard. And then she leaned in and pressed another silken kiss to your lips.

“Good because otherwise I’m breaking down your door,” she mumbled against your lips and you couldn’t contain your laugh. And then she pressed in further, kissing away all the guilt and fear that lingered, replacing it with nothing but the touch of her lips.

billie masterlist ✩

[smoketransformer]

The Bear’s Den

It was a busy night at The Bear’s Den; the bar was full of bears and cubs who were chatting, drinking and smoking. The brutish bartender was busy, but constantly had a large cigar clenched in his bearded jaw.

Jay stood in the street and watched from the window. He wanted to go inside, he has been wanting to for a while now, but was hesitant to. He always admired big bellied, muscular and hairy men. He wanted to be one himself, but could not grow a proper beard and had a high metabolism which prevented him from gaining any real weight. He always wanted to enter The Bear’s Den, but never felt like he would fit in himself.

Jay was working up the courage to walk in, when he heard a deep voice behind him.

“You lost, bud? Or you going in?”

Jay quickly turned around and saw a large man, both muscular and fat, who was smoking a large cigar.

“Oh, umm…yeah. I’m going in,” Jay stammered.

The large man walked past him and opened the door. He held it open. “After you,” he said.

Jay’s heart was beating quickly as he entered the bar. Was he going to get any strange looks because he wasn’t bear enough? Was everyone going to ignore him? These were the questions that ran through his mind.

Jay tried to hold his coughs as the cigar smoke lingered; many of the men were smoking large cigars. He looked around for an open table, but they were all full. He was tempted to walk out, but figured he would never return again after that. So he took a seat at the bar with a nervous smile.

The man who held the door for him took a seat next to Jay. He place his cigar in an ashtray and motioned four fingers to the bartender, who then acknowledged with a nod.

“Never seen you before here. First time?” the man spoke in his deep voice.

“Umm, yeah. Didn’t know if I fit in here. Was kind of nervous,” Jay replied.

The man chuckled that was a little raspy. “Now why would you think that?”

“I’m not bear-like. Or cub-like for that matter. Always wanted to come in here. Be like the men here. But as you can see, I can’t even grow a proper beard,” Jay said, a little embarrassed for admitting this to a stranger.

The bartender, still with his lit cigar in his jaw, dropped off four shots of whiskey in front of the man.

“What’s your name?” the man asked.

“Jay.”

“I’m Dan,” the man added as he handed Jay two of the shots, “and I say, we should change that. He raised one of the shots and Jay followed suit, “To new beginnings.” They both clinked the small glass together and shot them down.

Jay tried not to cough as it stung, but Dan took notice. “They get easier as the night goes on, son.”

Jay liked being called son by this bear of a man. Dan was large, muscular, hairy and smelled of cigar smoke. His beard was brown and massive; it made up for the fact he was bald. Jay assumed he was in his mid-forties.

“You come here often?” Jay asked Dan.

Dan let out a deep laugh as he exhaled his thick cigar smoke. “You could say that. Time for the other shot,” Dan said as he picked up the other shot and Jay copied. Both men took the shot. Jay coughed again from the sting and from the smoke. Dan slapped Jay’s back and said “You’ll get use to it. Hell, you’ll love it.”

Jay didn’t drink much, but he wanted to keep up with his new friend. He wanted to impress him.

“So you want to be a bear? Like myself?” Dan asked with a grin.

Jay was opening up to Dan, “I always fantasied it. Just don’t know if it is really me.”

“Sure it is you,” Dan quickly assured Jay.

“I tried putting on some muscle and weight, but I either give up or it just doesn’t stick.”

“Son, all you need is a few beers a night. Hey, Max - could we get two of the Bear Brew? The special ones.” Jay noticed Dan wink to the bartender named Max, but didn’t think anything of it.

“Sure you need a Bear Brew, Dan?” Max laughed and asked.

“Not for me, for my new friend Jay here,” Dan laid his beefy, hairy arm across Jay’s shoulders, “I’ll just have any IPA you have on tap.”

“You got it,” Max called back from across the bar. Max went to a door from behind the bar. Dan returned his smoldering cigar back to his jaw and grabbed a fresh one out of his shirt pocket and pointed it to Jay.

“Want one?” Dan asked clearly, despite having a huge cigar in his mouth.

“Oh, no thank you. I don’t smoke,” Jay politely declined.

“Suit yourself, but I’ll just leave it here on the bar just in case you change your mind,” Dan said with a wink.

Max returned from the back room with two pints of the beer called Bear Brew, “Two is a big change for a new guy. Sure he’ll handle it?”

“It’s what he wants. Ain’t that right, son?” Dan looked at Jay.

Jay, almost feeling a little pressure, nodded and said, “Yes.”

“Good, now chug,” Dan smiled and handed one of the pints to Jay.

“Chug? All at once? I don’t really even like beer,” Jay said, not knowing if he even could chug a whole beer.

“This will go down alright, the next one even better,” Dan assured him as he puffed on his cigar.

Jay grabbed the pint and started to chug. Some of the beer ran down the sides of his mouth, which we caused Dan to smile a bit, but he managed to finish it.

Jay gave a loud burp on accident, but Dan just laughed and patted him on the back. “Now that’s what we want to hear. Good job, son.”

Jay felt proud. Little did he know though, his clothes were getting a little tighter and his face rounder.

“Think you can do it again, son?” Dan asked.

“I know I can, dad…I mean Dan,” Jay replied. Feeling a bit more confident than before. He eagerly grabbed the other pint and chugged it once again. It was easier than the first one as Jay drink every last drop.

Dan liked what he saw. He saw Jay growing larger in size. Jay was becoming the bear he always dreamt of, but he just didn’t know it yet.

“Shall we keep the party going,” Dan suggested.

Jay let out another belch and nodded in agreement. The cigar caught his eye, but he didn’t want it. He wasn’t a smoker.

“Max, two of the Hair of the Bears drinks, please,” Dan requested.

“That’ll look good,” Max replied. Jay didn’t know what he meant. He was noticing a tightness around his body, but didn’t identify it was because he was out growing his medium sized clothes.

Max was mixing together a drink. “What is Hair of the Bear?” Jay asked.

“Max’s special concoction. They say it’ll put hair on your chest,” Dan laughed as Max set down two double shots.

Jay grabbed one, “I wish.”

As he took the shot, Dan added, “As they say, be careful what you wish for.”

The shot didn’t sting going down, but Jay noticed his face getting itchy. Jay scratched, but didn’t notice the thicker beard growing in.

“Like it, son?” Dan asked.

“Yes, dad,” Jay replied, not catching he was calling Dan “dad” now.

“Good, cause you got another,” Dan said as he handed him the other shot.

Jay wasn’t feeling himself, but he wasn’t feeling that drunk. He was feeling good. He was feeling like he was belonging. He took the shot.

His face wasn’t itchy anymore, but maybe just warmer and a little heavier. He thought maybe it was just all the alcohol, but it wasn’t. His beard had grown larger, making his face look even bigger.

“Son, you don’t look so well. Let’s go to the bathroom,” Dan suggested.

“I don’t?” Jay asked. He was feeling a bit heavy and tight around the body. His breathing was a little bit heavier than normal, but it must have been all the cigar smoke around him even though he was starting to enjoy it.

“Come with me,” Dan got up, grabbed a barstool and motioned him to the bathroom. Jay obediently followed.

They both walked into the bathroom, Dan set the barstool down and then locked the door.

“Take a seat. You look warm,” Dan said.

“I do feel pretty warm,” Jay agreed.

“Let me fix that,” Dan said has he opened up the mirror in the bathroom, which was also a medicine cabinet, and grabbed an electric shaver. He started buzzing down Jay’s hair, all the way to the scalp. The alcohol was kicking in because Jay didn’t think anything of it. He also trusted Dan.

When he was done, Dan spun Jay to face the mirror. Jay at first was shocked, but then he smiled. “What happened to me?”

“You became who you always wanted to be,” Dan assured him.

It was like the first time he was seeing his authentic self. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, son,” Dan said, “But these changes won’t be permanent unless we make them permanent. Do you want to be like this from now on?

“Yes Dad. How do we do that?”

“That cigar I offered you, the one sitting on the bar still, was a special one. You smoke that, and you’ll stay a bear. Only smoke it if you want to, because there is no turning back after. Understood, son?”

“Yes, Dad.”

The two of them emerged from the bathroom and sat back down at the bar.

Jay looked at the cigar, wondering if he will take the chance and smoke it. He wondered how this life will be for him. If he actually wanted it.

Dan knew he was going to smoke it; Jay’s fate was pretty much sealed. Most of the men here at The Bear’s Den were once in Jay’s shoes: timid, skinny, non-smoking boys. That was Dan’s goal when he decided to open this bar. As owner, he had made many men into bears and he knew Jay would seal his fate as one of the regulars here at the bar. He would be just another hairy, large, cigar smoking bear.

After a couple of minutes, Jay gave into temptation. He reached for the already cut cigar and placed it in his jaw. Dan grabbed a match, struck it against the bar and held the flame to the end of the cigar.

Jay puffed and puffed until the cigar was lit and alive. Jay eagerly puffed and greedily inhaled the thick smoke. He was now forever a cigar smoking bear.

“Welcome to The Bear’s Den, son.”

[metamorphesque]

Instead of Killing Yourself, Derrick C. Brown

wait until a year from now where you say, “Holy fuck, I can’t believe I was going to kill myself before I etcetera’d… before I went skinny dipping in Tennessee, made my own IPA, tried out for a game show, rode a camel drunk, skydived alone, learned to waltz with clumsy old people, photographed electric jellyfish, built a sailboat from trash, taught someone how to read, etc. etc. etc.”

The red washing down the bathtub can’t change the color of the sea at all.

[rebelwhump]

Breweries & Beautiful Women

This fic has been in my drafts for a couple months now, and I finally finished it! It tells the story of how Alice met Julie. This is a continuation of the main storyline, and follows this fic here. If you like these two, I have another Alice & Julie fic here that's set some time in the future.

cw: emeto, burping, alcohol consumption

—————

It was Saturday night, and Alice was getting dressed to go out with Jasmine and Brett. They had plans to meet up with Brett’s brother, Paul, and his new boyfriend. Currently rummaging through her drawers, Alice was tossing clothes onto her bedroom floor in a huff of frustration. She had been struggling ever since the party and her subsequent arrest, and she just wanted to drink and forget. Finally, she fished out a pair of black jean shorts and a nirvana t-shirt that she cut into a crop top. 

This was Alice’s first time meeting Paul, and Jasmine reminded her to play nice. She had a habit of coming off as a bit of an asshole when she met new people. It was a defense mechanism - at least that’s what Jasmine said.

“Brett’s going to be here in a few minutes to pick us up!” Jasmine chirped. Since talking things out with her boyfriend while they were both sick with the stomach flu, the two had grown even closer. They spent almost every waking minute together, displaying a ridiculous amount of PDA and smiling like idiots. It made Alice a little nauseous. 

The three of them rode downtown to Dovetail Brewery. Since Jasmine didn’t drink, Brett handed her the keys as they entered the building. He had planned on having a couple beers tonight. Alice immediately clocked the bar, quickly muttering to Jasmine that she’d be back, before making a beeline over to the bartender. She ordered a dark IPA, taking a large sip and sighing with relief as it slid down her throat. Jasmine and Brett later joined her with two other men. Paul was slender, with tan skin, short dark curls, and a full beard that was well groomed. Next to him was Oliver, a pale redhead with brown rimmed glasses. 

“Al, this is Brett’s brother, Paul, and his boyfriend, Oliver. Guys, this is my friend, Alice,” Jasmine said with eyes that looked slightly nervous. 

“You’re that prick I spoke to when I called your brother's phone a couple weeks ago, right?,” Alice said before she even realized the words coming out of her mouth. Jasmine elbowed her friend in the side and tried to laugh it off as if Alice was just trying to be funny.

Paul chuckled as well and turned to her, “yeah, that’d be me. Nice to put a face to that voice.” 

“So, Oliver!” Jasmine spoke up, trying to redirect the conversation, “Paul tells us you’re a paramedic. That’s so cool!” 

“Uh, yeah I am. It’s definitely a demanding but fulfilling job,” the redhead replied with a smile. 

“Yeah, I bet you’ve seen some serious shit. Especially working in this city,” Brett adds. Upon bringing the tall glass up to her lips for another sip, Alice discovered that her drink was empty. She abandoned the conversation, not feeling especially chatty at the moment, and made her way over to the bar for a refill. Sitting down on a stool, she nursed her beer, then another, while playing Scrabble on her phone. Carbonation from the beer kept sending up small burps that she blew out under her breath. 

At one point, Jasmine came over to check on her. Alice had been in a sour mood more often than not this past week and was drinking more than usual. Of course her best friend picked up on that. 

“I’m fine,” Alice replied grouchily and Jasmine rolled her eyes, not believing a word. “Just let me…URP” A thick belch bubbled up her throat and Jasmine grimaced. “…forget about this shitty week,” she continued, swaying slightly on the barstool. 

“Maybe you should cool it with the drinks, Al…how many have you had?” She asked, looking slightly concerned. Alice rolled her eyes, annoyed that her friend was giving her shit about her drinking again. Brett suddenly appeared behind Jasmine, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend's waist and nuzzling his face into her neck where he planted several kisses. He was obviously tipsy, so why did it matter if she was? Okay, so maybe she was more than tipsy, verging on drunk, but yet she ordered another beer. Jasmine was too distracted to notice.

“Babe, c’mon! Paul and Oliver snagged us a pool table. We’re gonna play doubles and I need you on my team,” Brett said as he nibbled on her earlobe. She giggled and turned to face Alice once more, hesitating briefly, before following her boyfriend in the direction of the pool tables. 

As Alice glanced around the brewery, sipping her beer, her eyes zeroed in on a petite woman with auburn hair that sat just above her freckled shoulders. When the two locked eyes for the third time, Alice grinned. Alcohol fueling her confidence, she sauntered over to the woman across the room. 

“Hi” Alice leaned in and smiled seductively. Although she couldn’t be sure, she had a feeling this girl was into chicks too, given the looks she kept sending her way. 

“Hello,” she smiled back. “I’m Julie…nice to meet you.” Extending her hand, Alice took it and gave it a firm shake, holding on a second longer than usual and looking into Julie’s eyes. They were a beautiful emerald green with flecks of hazel in the center. She had on a yellow dress that showed off her curves, and wedged sandals to make her appear taller. 

For the first time in her life, Alice suddenly forgot how to speak to a pretty woman. Maybe because this wasn’t just any pretty woman - the kind she would match with on Tinder, sleep with, and never talk to again. This woman was gorgeous, maybe even out of her league, she feared. It wasn’t like her to get nervous or tongue tied, but here she was. 

“I’m A-Alice,” she stuttered. Well, at least she remembered her own name. It was then that her stomach decided to let out an audible gurgle, the beer she had earlier struggling to be digested. Normally, bodily functions didn’t embarrass her, but right now she was sure her cheeks were as red as a tomato. Julie was polite enough not to say anything about the sounds emanating from her belly. 

Awkwardly fumbling through a conversation, she discovered that Julie was a school nurse and had been playing the piano since she was five. Every few minutes, Alice was forced to either swallow down or stifle a burp into her fist. Eventually, Julie reached out and lightly touched her arm, asking if she was feeling alright. 

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I’m fine. Just a little…too much beer,” Alice said, pausing to hiccup. 

“Can I get you anything, like a glass of water or some tums? I always carry a packet in my purse,” she smiled. Feeling a tightness in her throat and the taste of bile on the back of her tongue, Alice knew a couple of tums wouldn’t do her any good. Shaking her head, the blonde set her drink down on the nearest table.

“I just…need to use the bathroom,” she said, her voice strained as she tried to hold back a gag. “Be right back.” Without waiting for a reply, Alice made a beeline for the women’s restroom and shoved open the first unoccupied stall. Not even having time to lock the door, she bent in half and burped wetly over the toilet. A second burp morphed into a heave and a torrent of amber liquid splashed into the water below. 

Alice swayed with her hands on her knees, burping up all the beer she had that evening and whatever she’d eaten for lunch - she couldn’t recall at this point. The sound of the stall door opening was drowned out by the sounds of her coughing and gagging. Julie came up behind her and held her blonde locks out of her face as she got sick. 

“You poor thing,” she cooed. “You’ll feel better once you get it all up.” 

Alice coughed and spluttered, tears of exertion running down her cheeks as her belly convulsed again and sent up another gush of watery puke. The room was spinning and she was having a hard time standing. Despite the grimy condition of the brewery's bathroom floor, she knelt down in front of the toilet. Alice joined her, crouching down and balancing on the balls of her feet while she rubbed the girls back.

Once she finished expelling the contents of her stomach, the embarrassment of the whole situation began to creep in. Having someone witness her drunkenly puking wouldn’t normally bother her, but this was the girl she was actively flirting with - or had been attempting to. 

“Do you think you’re done?” Julie asked, tearing off a wad of toilet paper and handing it to her.

“I’m sorry. This is so gross.” Alice blew her nose and wiped the vomit off her chin. 

“Don’t worry about it. I deal with puking kids on a weekly basis, so I’m kinda desensitized to it,” Julie smiles. “I just want to make sure you’re okay…is there someone I can get for you? Did you come here with friends or…?” 

The acidic taste of bile and beer sat on Alice’s tongue and she grimaced. “My friends are here somewhere, but my roommate can’t know I barfed or she’ll have a fucking panic attack and I’d lose my ride home,” she chuckled as she washed her hands at the sink, avoiding her reflection. ”I think I’ll be okay…I just need something to drink.” Without hesitation, Julie grabbed the blonde's wrist and led her out of the bathroom and into a nearby booth.

“Stay here, hon. I’ll be right back with some water.” Julie returned quickly with a glass of ice water, which Alice sipped slowly. The cold liquid soothed her burning throat and she let out a sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Jasmine and Brett walking towards them. 

“There you are! We’ve been looking all over for you,” her roommate said. Alice wiped the queasy grimace off her face and attempted to look as sober as possible.

“Sorry, I was…” she paused, her drunken mind sluggishly trying to think of an excuse that didn’t involve her puking her guts out in the bathroom.

“She was with me,” Julie explained with a grin. Jasmine looked over at her friend, as if seeking confirmation. Alice just nodded, feeling too queasy to speak. 

“Oh. Oookay.” A mischievous grin spread across Jasmine’s face. “We came to tell you that we’re heading over to the arcade. Brett thinks he can beat me at Frogger,” she scoffed playfully, then looked over at Julie. “Do you want to tag along, or do you already have plans?” 

Alice’s voice was strained as she tried to force down a belch, “I’ll…catch up with you later.” Her friend nodded and left hand in hand with her boyfriend. 

“How’re you doing?” Julie asked sympathetically. 

“Not gre-URRP” a deep belch escaped from her lips as she sagged in the booth. “Oof…I needed that.” Julie grimaced and patted her back.

“Can I give you a ride home, doll?”

“Already inviting yourself over and giving me pet names? How forward.” Alice flashed a sloppy grin.

The young woman giggled and shook her head. “I would feel better knowing you got home safe…so what do you say?” Alice nodded and allowed herself to be helped up from the booth, leaning on Julie, who was at least five inches shorter than her, even in heels.

“You’re pretty,” Alice mumbled, her voice slurred. She nuzzled her face into the woman’s silky auburn strands, “and you smell good too.” 

“Wow, you are quite the charmer, aren’t you?” Julie chuckled warmly as they made their way to the parking lot.

[ereardon]

Friends Don't || Chapter 2

Summary: Bob Floyd has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly agreed to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late? 

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC [Reid] 

Tropes: Friends to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, mention of doctors/illness/crashes, illusion to death, blood

WC: 2.1K

Series masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

“Got everything you need, Sunny?” 

You turned around. Bob was standing in the doorway to your room, wearing a pair of blue striped pajama pants and a white t-shirt that hung off his lean frame. You smiled and nodded. “Think I’m good for the night at least.” 

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you crossed your bare legs and looked around the room. It was a mess. You were waiting on the rest of your stuff to get shipped from your Brooklyn apartment where you had been living for the last eight months, so all you had were the two suitcases that you’d taken on the plane, now spread out on the ground, their contents spilled across the hardwood floors. 

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you said quietly. 

Bob tipped his head. “Don’t have to thank me, darlin’. It’s your house now, too.” 

It was a sweet little two bedroom house, only a fifteen minute drive from the beach. But it was sparsely decorated. Your room had just a bed and a dresser, no art, no rugs, no lamps. “What are your thoughts on letting me redecorate, in that case?” 

He laughed. “What, you don’t like my style?”

“Bachelor chic? You’re about one step above a 20-something guy in Bushwick who has his mattress on the floor so that he’s closer to the Earth but the reality is that he has fifty dollars in his bank account so when he asks you on a date he takes you to his sweaty roof in July and plays shitty guitar music and tries to mansplain to you the difference between IPA and other beers.” 

Bob raised an eyebrow. “Tell me you haven’t actually met guys like that.” 

“Unfortunately, I’ve met every single kind of guy you could ever imagine.” 

“Well, if my options are Brooklyn douche or you redecorate, by all means Sunny, do whatever you’d like with the place. I’ll leave my credit card on the kitchen table.” 

You stood up and crossed the room. “No way. It’s on me. I want to do this for you. Make a nice house so one day you can have some lucky girl over and she won’t get the immediate ick when she sees that you still have gray sheets and brown towels.” 

“What’s wrong with gray sheets?” 

You shook your head. “Trust me, Bobby.” 

“Sure, honey,” he whispered. You took one step closer, wrapping your arms around him. Bob immediately folded you into an embrace, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“I missed you so much,” you whispered. “Thank God you’re home safe.” 

“Were you worried about me, Sunny?” he asked quietly, his low voice rumbling.  

“I worry about you every fucking day,” you murmured into his chest. “When you’re flying and I don’t know where you are. When you’re on the ground somewhere far from wherever I am. All I can think about is the next time we’re going to talk. The next time I'll know for a fact that you’re safe. And then that call comes and I’m elated. But it has to end sometime, right? So when it ends, the second you hang up, I’m back to being worried about you.” 

Bob pulled away, his hands folded into yours. “You worry too much, Reid. I’m always gonna be here for you. Always have been.” 

How could he forget? There was a reason you were scared all the time. You had almost lost him to the skies once. 

You were living in San Francisco and Bob was stationed out of Lemoore. It was the closest the two of you had ever lived since you graduated, four years prior. 

That’s when you got the call. 

“Reid Coleman?” 

You sat up straight at your desk chair, looking out the window over Market Street. If you really craned your neck, you could see the Ferry Building. “This is.” 

“I regret to inform you that Lieutenant Robert Floyd has been in an accident. You were listed as his emergency contact.” 

“Oh my God,” you whispered, heart plummeting in your abdomen. “Is he OK?” 

“He’s sustained injuries, ma’am,” the person on the other end of the line said. 

You didn’t even register that the phone had fallen from your grasp until you heard it drop to the floor at your feet. You were out the door in a second, practically barreling down to the lobby of the building, fingers shaking as you tried to search for rental cars nearby. 

The three-and-a-half hour drive went by in an instant, and it was the longest car ride you had ever been on. Every single second all you could think of was the fact that Bob could have died out there. 

And that the last thing you might have said to him was that you hated him. 

By the time you arrived on base it was dark. You barreled through the hospital doors, panting as you made your way to the nurses station. “Robert Floyd?” you asked, panicked. 

“And you are?” 

“His emergency contact.” 

The nurse nodded. “Follow me.” 

You trailed after her down the hallway, the clacking of your high heels on the linoleum floor the only noise in the sterile hallway. 

She stopped in front of the door. “He’s intubated,” she warned you. “So he can’t speak.” 

You nodded and she opened the door. But you weren’t ready for what you saw. Bobby, lying there on the bed, with a thick clear tube sticking out of his throat and mouth, taped to his lips, the whirring sound of the machines as they kept him alive. The way he practically blended into the white linens of the bed he looked so pale and fragile. 

You collapsed onto a chair next to his bed, taking his hand, the one that didn’t have an IV in it, into yours, letting your salty tears fall onto his cold skin. 

“Bobby,” you whispered, voice thick with tears and pain. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please, Bobby, come back to me.” 

He stayed in a coma for three days. You spent nearly every waking moment at his bedside, watching him with bated breath, waiting for some semblance of life to overtake him because the boy lying there in that hospital bed was not your best friend. He was a stranger. He didn't look or feel at all like the boy you had come to love over the last seven years.

And then, on the third day, you heard a familiar voice. 

“Sunny?” 

It was dry and scratchy. That morning the doctors had taken out the intubation and said he was awake, and you had rushed over from the hotel. There were tears in your eyes as you bolted through the doorway to where Bob was sitting up in bed, his glasses settled on his nose, a slow pinkness coming back to his rounded cheeks. 

You bent in half over the edge of the bed, sobs wracking your body, silent tears streaming down your face. Bob reached out one hand, softly patting your hair. “Honey, don’t cry.” 

You pulled away, looking up into his familiar blue eyes. He had looked so small before, and that had terrified you. He looked like himself again. Like the Bobby who had picked you up and carried you halfway across campus when you accidentally stepped on a rusted nail and had to go to the ER. He looked like the Bobby who had dared you to go into the caves in Vietnam even though you were terrified of small spaces. He looked like the Bobby that you loved with every cell in your body. 

He looked like your Bobby again. 

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered. 

“Never going to lose me, darlin’,” he murmured back. 

You sniffled, gripping his hand. 

Bob’s eyes widened after a moment. Then, “Wait. Where’s Denver?” 

You raised your eyes to him, unable to say it but knowing that they could convey what had happened without words, and watched as your best friend fell apart right in front of you. 

***

“OK Floyd, spill.” 

“Spill what?” Bob asked, tossing down a hand of cards. Payback laid his cards down. Two pair. He grabbed the pile of chips in the middle of the table and slid them closer, stacking them up with his own poker chips. 

“About Reid, Floyd,” Phoenix said, exasperated. “These two boneheads,” she pointed at Hangman and Rooster, “want to know if she’s fair game.” 

“Hey!” Coyote pouted. “So do I.” 

Bob shook his head as Fanboy dealt a new round of cards. “She’s not my girlfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“So we can ask her out,” Hangman was practically salivating. “Cause she’s hot as fuck.” 

Bob raised his head and glared at the blond. Hangman put his hands up in a defensive maneuver. 

“Woah, chill Floyd.” 

“She already turned you down, Bagman,” Phoenix chimed in. 

“She didn’t turn down Rooster,” Payback pointed out. “Or should I call him Chicken Man.” 

All eyes turned to Bradley, who took a sip of his beer. Then, “Never said I was gonna ask her out.” 

Bob sighed, trading in three cards from the five card draw. “Sunny is an adult,” he said. “She can do whatever she wants. So Rooster, if you want to ask her out, you’re free to. It’s up to her if she says yes or not.” 

Bradley nodded, tossing out one card, waiting for Fanboy to deal him a replacement. “Maybe I will.” 

Bob pursed his lips, grabbing for his beer glass, taking a chug and then slamming it down. He didn’t realize how forceful he was until the glass shattered on impact in his hand, sending beer rushing over the table and down the sides. Everyone jumped up in a panic. 

“Shit, baby on board, what the fuck?” Hangman called as he rushed to grab a roll of paper towels. 

“I’m sorry,” Bob shook his head. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“Come here,” Phoenix said, grabbing his arm and tugging him into the kitchen. She held his hand over the sink, pulling out a small splinter of glass from his palm, running the bloody hand under water. She doused it in soap and he winced at the sting. 

“Thanks,” Bob said as Phoenix wrapped his hand in a clean dish towel in Hangman’s kitchen. 

She looked up at him, knowingly. “You can say no to them, you know.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Phoenix sighed. “Yes you do. Reid. You don’t want those idiots to touch her.”

Bob grimaced. “She’s a big girl. If she wants to go out with them, she can.” 

“Just admit it,” Phoenix said. “She is more than just your best friend.” 

Bob’s blue eyes bore into hers. “Sunny is, and always will be, the love of my life. I’m just not hers.” 

***

You looked through the sliding glass door to where Bob was carefully peeling an orange at the kitchen table, his eyes glued on the TV hanging over the mantle. 

“Ms. Coleman, have you found a new physician in the San Diego area? If not, I can recommend one to you. But it’s imperative that you go in for new scans immediately.” 

You sighed. “I’m working on it.” 

“Ms. Coleman.” The voice on the other end of the line was hard. “This is no joking matter.” 

“Don’t you think I’m aware of that?” you hissed. 

“I’m going to email you a list of five physicians in the area.” 

“They’re going to say exactly what you said,” you whispered. 

“You need to get a second opinion. And either way, you need a local physician now that you’ve relocated.” 

“Fine,” you said. “Send me the names.” 

“Ms. Coleman?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Please make an appointment.” 

You clicked off the phone and slid open the door. Bob had moved to the couch, one arm slung over the low back. 

“Everything OK?” he asked. 

You nodded, walking around the edge of the couch and settling into the spot next to him. Without even thinking, you leaned into Bob’s side, letting his arm fall around your shoulders, tucking you into his side. 

“Sunny?” he asked softly. He read you like an open book. He could practically see the anxiety and tension radiating off of your skin. 

“I’m fine,” you whispered, looking up at him with a small smile before resting your head against his thigh, lifting your feet onto the other end of the couch, lying down so that Bob’s hand was now firmly pressed against the dip in your side where your ribcage ended. 

You closed your eyes, breathing in his familiar smell, letting yourself relax, feeling your heart rate slow. 

“Everything is going to be fine,” you murmured.

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[ultimate-word-tournament]

Ultimate Word Tournament!

Season 2

cirmos (Hungarian) [ˈt͡sirmoʃ] 1. a tabby cat 2. brindled; of a gray color with brown streaks or spots; used for cats, poultry, and dogs.

𐌂𐌄𐌋𐌀 (Faliscan) cela No IPA :( a burial chamber; tomb.

[coolduucks]

What would you choose between a cider and an IPA

my taste in beer is more brown english beer anyway and while I've liked the odd ipa im definitely far more of a cider girl

tend to lean more sweet than dry but tbh i will enjoy the cheapest nastiest £2 for 3 litres supermarker cider so its not really a concern lmao

[colormepurplex2]

As Fate Would Have It | 'Kismet' My Ass

↳ Producer!Yoongi x Bartender&TattooApprentice!Jungkook ⤜ Reincarnation/Soulmates, Strangers to Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 6,490 ⚠️ Crass language, drinking, smoking, vaginal sex, anal sex (mm)

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist

Jungkook

If it weren’t for the lack of being paid during his apprenticeship at Electric Fox Tattoo, Jungkook wouldn’t be working the bar at Chuck’s. But, as it is, the lights don’t stay on with hopes and dreams. He’s nearing the two-year mark of his apprenticeship and is hopeful he won’t need to sling drinks for much longer.

Tattooing isn’t Jungkook’s first love, but it’s the one he chose to pursue. Maybe, once upon a time, he tried following his dreams, but it always felt like something was missing. So, instead of trying to fulfill some unobtainable fantasy, he turned his sights elsewhere…something much more tangible.

“Whatcha dreamin’ ‘bout, sugar?” Jocelyn’s throaty voice snaps Jungkook out of his fugue and back to the raucous din of the pub. Jocelyn laughs, the sound all gravel and sex. “Hope it was me.” She winks at him before grabbing his hips as she slides around him to the other side of the bar.

Jungkook clears his throat and directs his attention to the man waiting patiently on the other side of the bartop, a polite smile on his face. “I’d be dreaming about her, too.” The man chuckles. “And maybe you,” he adds with a wink. “I just need another round of beers and a bottle of soju, please. Can you add it to the tab for our party?”

It’s not uncommon for large groups to gather for one occasion or another at Chuck’s. After all, it is the best place to get cheap drinks in large quantities. Jungkook glances over the man’s shoulder, accessing the room and his mental catalog of party tabs that are going on tonight.

There are only two groups this evening, though, one a bachelorette party and the other a birthday, he thinks. “The birthday party, right?”

“That’s the one!” The man flashes Jungkook a broad smile, deep dimples popping in his cheeks. “Not every day your best friend turns thirty.”

“Yeah, guess not,” Jungkook says. “It’ll be just a moment.” He moves to begin pouring a set of glasses with the beer on tap. It’s a new blend, some sort of IPA hybrid, he believes. Heard it was good, but he’s yet to try it himself.

“Thanks, man!” the guy says. He tries to gather as many glasses as he can but is short on grabbing the last few and the bottle of soju. “Um, would I be able to get a hand? If you’re not too busy.”

Jungkook looks at the handful of patrons waiting and is about to apologize to the guy when Jocelyn steps up beside him and pats him on the arm. “You take care of it, sugar. I’ll be fine servin’ these handsome gentlemen,” she tells Jungkook. However, her attention is sweeping across the men standing along the bar, the words intentionally smoky and full of dripping sweetness.

Jocelyn is all charm and Jungkook is confident she could flirt the pants off a priest if she wanted. “Thanks, Jo,” Jungkook mutters, leaving her to pander and flirt her way to hefty tips from the guys waiting to order. With her luscious, umber skin and mischief-filled light brown eyes sitting atop the tight leather mini skirt and purple lace corset she has on, he’s sure she won’t have any problems doing so.

Grabbing the extra cups of beer and the bottle of soju, Jungkook uses his hip to pop open the access door hidden in the bartop. It clicks shut behind him, and he follows the man towards a cluster of partygoers waiting on the other side of the bar.

A tingling sensation slices across the back of Jungkook’s neck, making him roll his head back to try and itch it away. It lasts only a moment, the movement of his head helping to dispel the sudden sensation, though it lingers like a phantom, sending chills over Jungkook’s arms. He tries to shake it off, putting his attention back on the man he’s following.

“I’m not getting drinks on my own next time,” the man proclaims, breaking through the conversation hanging around the table. “Had to borrow one of the bartenders. Everyone say ‘thank you’!”

A loud round of gratitudes greet Jungkook as he hands off the drinks, setting the bottle of soju off on the table once the glasses have all been taken. “It’s no problem, guys. Enjoy.”

As Jungkook turns to head back to the bar, his eyes catch on the man sitting quietly at the far side of the table. Deep brown eyes meet his through a fringe of black waves. There is something about the man that—

A hand clapping on his shoulder breaks his line of thinking and pulls him around. His gaze shifts to the owner of the hand, the man he helped.

“Thanks again, truly.”

“Sure thing.” He continues to turn back to the bar but something seeping into his periphery has him slowing his retreat. A deep, dark green tinge, the color of fresh cypress needles, bleeds in around the edges of his vision. No matter where he looks, he can’t focus on the source. “Fuck,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Maybe I’m finally going crazy.”

Jocelyn has cleared the queue around the bar and a lull settles in as Jungkook pushes back through the divider. Long lacquered nails drag along his tattooed forearm as Jo gains his attention. “You okay, sugar? Why don’t you take another fifteen? Things are slow here, and you look like you could use it.”

Jungkook blows out a quick breath. “Sure, yeah. But, you yell if you need me, okay? I’ll just be out back.”

“Let me need you later, and we’ll call it even.” She bites her thick bottom lip and winks at him.

Despite the weird feeling he’s experiencing, Jungkook can’t help but smile at her antics. They’ve been fooling around for months now, and maybe that’s just the thing he needs tonight to get his head straight.

Jungkook isn’t even sure what’s wrong. He just suddenly started to feel out of sorts. Thankfully, the green hue has dissipated, and that tingling on the back of his neck is gone. With a heavy sigh, he pushes through the door that leads to the kitchen just as a rowdy, out-of-tune chorus begins behind him.

💞💞💞

Yoongi

“Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday, dear Yoongi, Happy Birthday to you!” The singing fades, replaced by jovial whoops and a chaotic round of applause that draws most of the eyes in the pub to the table Yoongi is sitting at with his friends.

“Okay, okay,” Yoongi says, holding his hands up in front of himself. “That’s enough. Thank you, guys.”

His friends settle down, giving him good-natured claps on the back and holding up their amber-liquid-filled glasses in cheers and salutes. Yoongi plasters what he hopes is a genuine smile on his face as he holds up his own beer in salute before taking a small sip.

As far as birthdays go, this one is apparently supposed to be special. Though, Yoongi doesn’t quite understand what all the fuss is about. He doesn’t feel any different. He might as well still be twenty-nine for all the difference a year has made.

Yoongi is certain that he could have spent today, like any other day, at home, and it would have been just fine. But Namjoon insisted they go out to celebrate. Yoongi doesn’t mind, he really does love his friends. He likes to think they help keep him balanced with their extrovert natures.

“How’s that new track coming along?” Hoseok asks before flagging down a passing waitress. “Can we get another order of wings from the kitchen, please?”

“Damn, I knew I forgot something,” Namjoon adds, giving Hoseok an apologetic smile. “I think I was distracted by the eye candy behind the bar.” The whole table titters with laughter and low whistles.

“I can ask for her number for you if you want.” The waitress smirks, jutting her chin in the direction of where the scantily clad bartender is slinging drinks behind the oak bar top.

Namjoon drops an elbow on the table and rests his chin on his upturned palm, eyeing the waitress with open amusement. “As beautiful as she is, she’s not exactly the one I was talking about.”

That earns him a giggle from the waitress. “Hmm. Well, I’ll go put this order in, and if you need anything else, his name is Jungkook, and I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help you…” she trails off, her top teeth scraping over her bottom lip.

More laughter fills the space around the table as she saunters away. Yoongi sighs, trying not to groan aloud as he shifts on the hard surface of his seat. He’s used to his friends' antics, but for some reason, hearing Namjoon talk so boldly about the attractive male bartender has a surprising amount of jealousy coursing through him.

Which is completely absurd but doesn’t change the fact that as soon as Yoongi laid eyes on the man when he approached with the drinks and soju, Yoongi felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs and that the world was closing in on him; tinged in green and licking heat across the nape of his neck. The sensation lasted only a moment, but the jealousy that swept through him from seeing the man so close to Namjoon lingered.

“Sorry about that,” Hoseok says, leaning in toward Yoongi. “I was asking about your latest track. How’s that going?”

Yoongi presses his lips into a thin line, trying to concentrate on his friend. He gratefully accepts the small measure of soju that Seokjin pours for him, throwing back the shot and finishing off his beer in quick succession. Hoseok waits patiently, and Yoongi can feel his friend's eyes flicking over his face as he does so.

Finally, unable to stall any longer, Yoongi opens his mouth to speak. Only for the thick, bitter taste of cigar smoke to get lodged in his throat and choke him up. Namjoon reaches over and slaps him on the back a few times as Yoongi coughs through the burning sensation.

“I-it’s good. Al-almost d-done. Sorry, ex-excuse me,” Yoongi wheezes out, pushing back from the table. “I’ll be right b-back.”

💞💞💞

Jungkook

“Man, fuck off with that,” Jungkook coughs, waving a hand in the air to dispel the thick grey-blue cloud of smoke that Taehyung just released into the air. There is already the astringent taste of alcohol burning the back of his tongue, though he hasn’t consumed a single drop, and the last thing he needs is something else to clog his throat.

“Come on, I’m celebrating!” Taehyung pulls another drag from the thinly rolled cigar of tobacco.

As much as Jungkook loves his friend, he doesn’t care for the finger cigar he’s puffing away on. “Whatever happened to celebrating with champagne? Or, you know, just something less stinky.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes but stubs out the cigar on the outer brick wall in the alley behind Chuck’s. He followed Jungkook out here a few minutes ago, pulling off his kitchen apron and tossing it aside. “What’s crawled up your ass and died? I literally just told you that I landed that huge contract so I can finally quit this joint, and all you can do is gripe at me about my choice of celebratory treat?”

Jungkook puffs out his cheeks and kicks back one of his feet to lean against the wall Taehyung just stubbed his cigar out on. He looks up at the night sky, squinting as if he might see the stars amid all the light pollution of the city.

“Sorry, Tae. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I can’t seem to keep my head on straight tonight.” Jungkook drops his head, chin meeting his chest, and rubs at the back of his neck, fingers pushing at the neckline of his shirt.

Taehyung steps closer to Jungkook. “Since when do you like flowers?”

“What?” Jungkook asks, glancing sideways at Taehyung.

“Your tattoo,” Taehyung says.

Jungkook drops his hand and looks at the tiger lily tattoo on his arm. “I’ve had this for years. What do you mean?”

“Not that one,” Taehyung huffs before grabbing at the back of Jungkook’s shirt. “This one. Looks fresh.”

A fresh tattoo?

“A flower? I don’t have a flower on the back of my neck.” At least Jungkook doesn’t think he does. He has so many tattoos at this point that it’s possible he forgot about one. But, surely, he believes, he’d remember getting a flower besides the one on his arm.

Taehyung pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the back of Jungkook’s neck. “Are you sure about that?”

The picture on Taehyung’s phone has ice threading through Jungkook’s veins. A cluster of long, thin pink and coral-colored petals with soft scalloped edges in bright, vivid detail sits right at the base of his neck.

“What the fuck is that?” Jungkook exclaims, snatching Taehyung’s phone away to get a closer look. The momentary flash of tingling he felt earlier comes back to him, and that ice melts into a hot gush of magma. This could only be one thing; but—no, Jungkook shakes his head, that’s impossible…there’s no such thing. “It can’t be.”

“Can’t be what?” Taehyung asks, his attention waffling between the picture on the phone and the peek of the tattoo above the neckline of Jungkook’s shirt. “Looks like a peony to me.”

“Nothing. Forget it.” Jungkook shoves Taehyung’s phone back into his hand and kicks off from the wall. “I’ve got to get back inside. Congrats, by the way, about the contract,” he mutters.

Jungkook knows he’s being rude, leaving Taehyung hanging like that. He just can’t muster up the ability to do better right now. Not when he’s pretty certain that—no. Again, no.

It’s. Not. Possible.

Slipping back inside the restaurant brings an assault on Jungkook’s senses. The din is too loud, the smells too pungent, and the lights far too bright. It’s a short trip down the hall to the bathroom. Jungkook rushes, fearing he might sick up on his own shoes if he delays even for a second.

The impact of Jungkook’s body slamming into a person coming out of the dining room pulls him up a few feet short of the restroom. His stomach heaves, a dry cough choking its way up his throat. As he sucks in a sharp breath to regain his constitution, all Jungkook can smell is the intoxicating scent of whoever it is he bumped into. It’s a soft mixture of cologne and clean laundry, a scent Jungkook enjoys above most others.

“I’m so sorry,” the man gasps, reaching to steady Jungkook with large hands on his shoulders, but Jungkook moves away before he can make contact. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No, you’re okay. I shouldn’t have come down the hall so quickly. Sorry about that.”

“Are you okay?”

Jungkook waves a hand in the air, wanting to dispel the situation as quickly as possible. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Don’t worry about it. Excuse me.” He goes to step around the man, but a hand on his shoulder stops him once again.

Frustrated, Jungkook snaps his eyes up, a biting remark laced across the tip of his tongue. The words die there, slipping away like a smooth sip of water down his throat.

Beautiful dark eyes sitting beneath a fringe of dark hair meet his. They widen slightly, the lips below them popping open on a soundless gasp. The man from the birthday party gathering in the dining room stands before him, seeming far more familiar to him than just from the passing moment earlier.

“Do…Do I know you? I swear I've met you somewhere before,” the man says, his brows pinching in consideration.

Jungkook clears his throat, throwing up one of his shoulders in a nonchalant half-shrug. “I’m one of the bartenders. I helped your friend bring out drinks earlier.”

The man licks his lips, and Jungkook can’t help but watch the motion in utter fascination. “Right, okay.” His eyes drop to the floor, and he shakes his head before looking back up at Jungkook. “It’s just—well, it’s not that. I don’t think so, at least. I swear, I know you from somewhere else. I feel like I know…” He trails off, shaking his head again. “Never mind, sorry. I must sound completely crazy.”

Only, it’s not crazy. It’s not crazy at all. Well, yes, it is. But, not like that. Jungkook knows precisely what the man is talking about because he feels it, too. There is a resounding alarm ringing in his head, telling him exactly what this means—confirmation of what this means. Yet—no. He refuses; he’s never believed in that.

“Don’t worry about it, man.” Jungkook pointedly steps back, putting distance between himself and the man.

Jungkook watches as confusion and uncertainty cloud the man’s eyes—eyes of such a beautiful, deep, rich color that it hurts a little to think he can’t stare into them for a moment longer.

“Okay,” the man says slowly, as if he draws out the word, which will grant him precious seconds longer with Jungkook. Jungkook shares this sentiment but refuses to acknowledge it…because that’s a very dangerous line of thinking.

The man blows out a shaky breath before giving Jungkook a tight smile and moving around him toward the bathroom door. Jungkook clenches his fists by his sides, doing everything he can to resist reaching out and touching the man as he passes.

It’s such an intense and visceral feeling that Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. Better the ache of pain in his mouth than focusing on the way his chest constricts watching the man disappear behind the door to the men’s room.

“Fuck,” Jungkook growls under his breath, forcing himself to turn on his heel and march back to behind the bar.

For the remaining few hours that Chuck’s is open, Jungkook loses himself in work. He avoids the birthday party, even when asked for by name. Colette, one of the waitresses, apparently offered it to the group, which only added to Jungkook’s surly attitude, though he tried not to take it out on her or anyone else. 

By the time he’s clearing down the bar with Jo, she’s picked up on his mood and has promised to make him forget all his worries. It’s a familiar routine, taking her home on the back of his bike, her body pressed against his, and her warm breath tickling across the nape of his neck as she holds on tight.

Only, tonight, he doesn’t like the feel of her breath on his neck, which still tingles if he thinks too long about it. He tolerates her body against his until he pulls up outside his apartment and kills the bike’s engine. Jocelyn is all nimble fingers and hungry lips as she keeps her promise of trying to make him forget his woes.

It works for a while, the slap of his skin against hers, the feeling of her tight cunt sucking on his cock with every snap and roll of his hips. She likes it when he’s rough, so the fist around her braids and the feral growl that rumbles in his chest has her keening loudly and meeting every one of his thrusts with enthusiasm.

Jocelyn arches her back, letting her body move under Jungkook’s will. Letting loose the handful of her hair, he grips the meat of her hips and doubles his efforts, pounding into her at a relentless, punishing pace.

Ever the eager bedmate, Jocelyn tosses her head back and looks at Jungkook over her shoulder. However, instead of her lively eyes of light mocha staring at him, all Jungkook can see is a pair of darker browns, like rich espresso. Eyes that met his just hours ago, yet ones he’s certain he’s known for longer—eyes that see into his soul.

“Jung—”

Jocelyn’s moan of his name turns into another, deeper, spell-binding sonnet.

“—kook! You have to stop before we are caught!” Those brilliant eyes meet his over a shoulder covered in layers of blue and white silk.

Jungkook laughs softly, the man hushing him for a second before they both fall into fits of quiet laughter that soon dissolve into heady moans of pleasure. “I’ll never stop. Can’t when you feel this good…when my heart sings for you so,” Jungkook groans, swiveling his hips against the warm ass pressed against his front.

Yards of silk bunch around his hips and drape over his thighs, a cooling kiss against his heated skin. The beautiful call of a swallow in the distance draws Jungkook’s attention from the man bent over and writhing on the length of his cock. The thick weave mat digging into his shins stretches out around him, meeting corner to corner of the small room.

Large, open windows look out on a garden that is quickly succumbing to the thick blanket of twilight. Lanterns hang from the exposed beams overhead, illuminating Jungkook’s hastily discarded lamellar armor and helm. A beautiful Hwajodo folding screen separates the sleeping space, where Jungkook and the man are, from the seating area, where there is a low table with an abandoned teapot and half-filled cups littering the top.

“I love you,” the man moans.

Jungkook gasps, jerking back and falling off the edge of the bed and right onto his ass. “Fucking hell!” he barks, pain smarting up his back from the sudden impact.

“You okay, sugar?” Jocelyn whips around and crawls to the edge of the bed, looking at him with bewildered concern.

Jungkook shakes his head, trying to dispel whatever the fuck that was that invaded his mind. It felt so real, like an intense wash of deja vu, only instead of fucking Jo, he was balls deep inside—

Jungkook rubs a hand over his face to ward off that thought and the erotic image it produces.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Shit.” Dropping his hand from his face, he gestures at her with it. “Turn that ass back around, I’m not done with you yet.”

Jocelyn laughs, the sound sultry and inviting. It has Jungkook’s half-hard cock kicking back to attention. He pushes up from the floor and climbs onto the bed, grabbing handfuls of her ample hips as leverage. 

The warm, silky walls of her sex welcome him back in. She moans in appreciation as he uses the grip on her hips to work her over himself. Jungkook watches with rapt attention as the thick length of his cock disappears into the snug heat of her body over and over again. He’s so wrapped up in the sensation that when her soft, rounded hips turn into firm, angular ones under his fingers, he barely notices.

Layers of silk obstruct his view, but he knows if he were to lift the fabric, he’d see a glorious ass resplendent with porcelain skin—skin untouched by others, skin that is pampered and cared for as is customary with the royal blood that pumps beneath it.

The prince, whose name is a fleeting caress across Jungkook’s mind, turns those molten brown eyes on him once more. Strands of inky black hair escape the knot on the top of the man’s head as he throws it back in ecstasy—pleasure brought to him by Jungkook.

As quick as the flash of images comes, Jungkook finds himself once again on his ass on the floor.

“What’s goin’ on with you tonight?” Jocelyn asks with a sigh, slumping to the side and staring back at him with a furrow between her brows. “If you didn’t want to fuck tonight, all you had to do was say so.” Her eyes pointedly drop to his quickly deflating erection.

If only she knew what had just happened, maybe she’d understand why his body isn’t responding how he wants it to. The all-too-real feeling of his body railing the prince lingers with confusing sensations. Jungkook feels like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on his head, sending icy threads down his spine; he’s all too hot and cold at the same time.

“Fuck it,” Jungkook growls. He draws his knees up and rests his elbows on them, dropping his face in his hands. Peeking between his palms, he silently curses his dick for faltering once again. Not even the prospect of Jocelyn’s wet cunt can bring him back around at this point. “Just get out.”

Jocelyn scoffs, “Whatever, asshole.” She rolls her eyes as she climbs off the bed and begins to snatch her clothes off the floor. “Knew I should never have hooked up with you to begin with. It’s always the hot ones. Why is it always the hot ones?” She’s grumbling to herself as she tugs on her clothes, and before Jungkook can even think of apologizing, she’s gone, his apartment door slamming shut in her wake.

After a quick wipe down with a washcloth in his bathroom, Jungkook flops onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling, not bothering to put clothes on. His thoughts are far too scattered and incomplete, making his head ache too much to do more than sulk.

“What the fuck is going on with me?” he whispers into his quiet room, the words laced with anguish and the subtlest hint of dread—because, deep down…he knows exactly what’s happening.

💞💞💞

Yoongi

The beautiful warrior places featherlite kisses along Yoongi’s shoulder, the blue and white silk gujangbok long since discarded. As much as Yoongi was worried about being caught with his lover, he was more concerned about trying to explain the cum and dirt stains on his ceremonial garb.

“I should go,” Yoongi whispers into the quiet of the evening air. The swallows have nested for the night, leaving just the chittering of insects and other dark-dwelling nightlife.

More kisses nestle along Yoongi’s throat, slowly stirring his passion to life once more. “Stay with me. I will sing for you, but only if you stay.”

Yoongi sighs, turning over onto his back so he can look up at the exquisite being looming over him. Shiny black hair, tendrils hanging loose from where they’ve escaped the knot at the back of his head, and liquid brown eyes that frame a straight nose; he is absolutely breathtaking.

Even with the lamps casting harsh shadows across his face, his lover is still the most strikingly handsome man Yoongi has ever laid eyes on. Yoongi considers himself blessed with the luck of a thousand star wishes to have found him.

“I wish I could. But, I have a duty to fulfill.”

The man sighs, pulling back from the trail of kisses he was leaving across Yoongi’s chest. “Your duty is to me. I am your—”

“You are my sun, my moon, my stars…everything to me. And I swear it now, by the gods, that I will have you. But…”

“But, you were a prince before you were mine. I know this. I accept this. I just wish I did not have to share you with the rest of the world.”

“Soon. Soon, my heart, you will not have to share me. As soon as the succession—”

Yoongi wakes with a start, his alarm blaring and his heart aching in his chest as the dream slips away with the fog of sleep. Before silencing his alarm, he presses the tips of his fingers against his mouth, trailing them along his jaw and down his throat, following the line where he swears he can still feel pouty lips lingering. It felt so real, more a memory than a dream.

But, that’s impossible, considering he’s certain that dream took place somewhere in the past. The Joseon Dynasty, if the setting was any indicator. And, he’s certainly no royal prince. But, perhaps the most prominent indicator is the fact that the other man in the dream was the same one from the bar last night. A man he’s certain he’s never met before, despite feeling like he was coming together with an old friend—or lover?

Letting out a long breath, Yoongi sits up in bed and shoves a hand through his hair. Clearly, his attraction to the bartender last night infiltrated his dreams. Not that he could help it, truly. In fact, Yoongi is reasonably sure most people who have laid eyes on him—Jungkook, the waitress said was his name—probably dream about him, as well. Him or the other bartender, definitely. She’s attractive but didn’t draw Yoongi in the way Jungkook did.

It doesn’t take Yoongi long to get ready for his daily gym session with Namjoon. They keep each other accountable. Yoongi makes sure Namjoon works out, and Namjoon makes sure Yoongi gets out of his condo; otherwise, it would be weeks at a time before Yoongi ventured out of his safe space.

Working from home has its perks, yes. But it’s also led to some concerns from his friends. Yoongi has never been much of a party person, preferring the comfort of his own home to society's chaotic expectations.

Even if Yoongi only goes as far as the complex’s gym, it’s still considered a win in Namjoon’s book. Yoongi knows this as the delight that graces Namjoon’s face when he walks into the gym says it all.

“Ready to have some fun?”

Yoongi suppresses a wince. He’s not sure he would include the gym and the word fun in the same context. Especially not when he’s still feeling a bit off-kilter about his dream. There’s a sensation of discombobulation that he can’t see to shake from it, like there is something more that the dream was trying to tell him other than that he was horny for some random bartender.

Going through the motions of the workout helps. The breakdown of his muscles and the fatigue that wanes his energy pull Yoongi’s focus to a singular, thready point: just making it through the next set of reps.

“...eighteen, nineteen, twenty.” Yoongi groans, his arms trembling as he reracks the bench press bar. Sweat glistens across his forehead and soaks his unruly mop of hair. His entire body is sticky with it, causing his shirt to cling to his chest as he sits up. “I’m going to hit the sauna before a shower,” he tells Namjoon.

Namjoon executes a perfect squat, the last of many he’s performed in the last hour of their workout, before lowering the set of dumbbells in his hands. “I’ll join you in a second once I get these put away and wiped down.”

“Okay.”

Yoongi already cleaned his equipment with a sanitizing wipe, so he leaves Namjoon to it and makes his way toward the locker rooms. The showers are separate, but the sauna is a shared space that requires towels or robes at all times.

After tugging off his sodden clothes and throwing them in the mesh net laundry bag he keeps in his designated locker, which has his condo number on it, he grabs a fresh towel from the complimentary towel bin.

The complex that Yoongi and Namjoon live in is gated and fairly high-end, with exclusive amenities for the residents, including an Olympic-sized pool, tennis courts, a dog park, the gym and sauna, and even full-scale laundry services.

As he makes his way to the sauna, towel firmly secured around his hips, Yoongi hums the beat of the latest track he’s working on. Once a reasonably successful rapper, after too many years of anxiety-inducing sold-out stadium tours and endless press interactions, he decided to replace his mic with a channel mixer. Being a producer is far more his style, letting him live outside of the spotlight while still pursuing his passion for music.

“What the fuck, man!?” Namjoon’s outburst startles Yoongi, dragging him from his internal scrutinizing of the musical track on repeat in his brain. “When the hell were you going to tell me you got another tattoo?”

Yoongi stares blankly up at Namjoon as his friend plops onto the bench beside him in the sauna. “What are you squawking about?”

“The tattoo!” Namjoon practically shouts, gesturing animatedly at Yoongi’s back. “The fucking tattoo!”

Confusion etches its way across Yoongi’s face. “Another tattoo? Namjoon, I just have the one…same as you.”

“Hey, don’t play me like I’m crazy, Yoongi! I can plainly see it right there.” Namjoon prods a finger just below the top center of Yoongi’s back. “Unless it’s one of those fake stamp ones, and you’re just trying to fuck with me.”

Yoongi leans forward and swats away Namjoon’s hand. “Seriously. I haven’t gotten a new tattoo.”

Namjoon sits there for a second, his eyes boring into the spot he was just poking at. “Oh my…oh my fucking hell! Yoongi, do you know what this means?!”

Before Yoongi can respond, Namjoon grabs him by the wrist and begins to tug him out of the sauna. The sudden movement nearly makes Yoongi lose his towel, only keeping it up with a quick fist around the tucked knot at his hip.

“Slow down,” Yoongi grouches, trying to pull his arm from Namjoon’s grasp.

“No can do, not until you see what I’m talking about.”

True to his word, Namjoon doesn’t stop tugging Yoongi along until they’re both in the men’s designated locker room and in front of a set of mirrors. Namjoon urges Yoongi to turn his back toward one mirror and then points dramatically to another across the way.

Yoongi narrows his eyes at his friend, but with another exaggerated gesture from Namjoon, Yoongi lets his gaze follow the line of sight. His stomach drops as soon as he gets a clear view of his back.

Sitting at the juncture where his neck and back meet is what appears to be a fist-sized tattoo—just as Namjoon said. A cluster of long, thin pink and coral-colored petals with soft scalloped edges in bright, vivid detail stands in stark contrast to his pale skin and dark hair.

“What…the…fuck.”

“It can only mean one thing,” Namjoon echoes Yoongi’s own internal realization.

Yoongi swallows hard, chin dipping in a jerky nod. He reaches back over his shoulder and brushes the tips of his fingers over the mark. “Soulmate,” he whispers.

And Yoongi knows, without a doubt, who.

💞💞💞

Jungkook

After the disaster of last night, Jungkook dreads facing Jo at work so soon. But he can’t afford to call out. So, whether he likes it or not, he shows up at Chuck’s on time and goes about the hour-long prep process before the pub opens for the evening.

Thankfully, Jocelyn seems to be ignoring him as much as he’s ignoring her. Which only hurts a little because he typically enjoys her light-hearted ribbing, and it helps him get in the zone before the chaos of the night begins.

“Hey, JK,” Jocelyn’s voice startles him. He turns from where he’s elbow-deep in restocking one of the coolers they keep garnishes in and raises a brow in question. “Some guy is out front asking for you.” 

“Some guy?” he asks.

Her shoulders kick up in a nonchalant shrug, making the tight hot-pink minidress she’s wearing ride up her thighs. “I don’t know, just some guy.”

She disappears into the kitchen before he can inquire further. “Well, okay,” he mutters to himself. Jungkook shoves the rest of the containers into the cooler and closes the lid. He grabs a handtowel on his way out from behind the bar, drying off his hands before draping it over one of his shoulders. Jungkook regrets walking to the host stand as soon as the person standing there comes into view. “Fucking hell.”

“Um, hi.”

“What do you want?”

Jungkook wishes he could take back the snappy words as soon as they’re out. The flash of hurt on the guy's face is like a kick in the gut, but there is no way Jungkook can let himself entertain a cordial conversation with this man.

The tip of a pink tongue swipes over lips that Jungkook knows would look so beautiful wrapped around his—

“I, uh, I…this is going to sound—it’s just that last night…well, you may not remember, but we ran into each other last night. Outside the bathroom.” The man nods in the general direction of the hall where the bathrooms are.

Jungkook crosses his arms over his chest. “I remember.”

“Oh,” the man brightens marginally. “Well, I said last night that you seemed familiar…and I think I know why. Or, I don’t think…I do know why. You’re my—”

“Look, man, I don’t know what you think you know. But you’ve got it all wrong, okay?”

There is evident confusion clouding the man’s eyes. “Are you—no, I’m certain of this. I know what’s happening,” he says, hand automatically going to the back of his neck. The action makes Jungkook’s own neck prickle, drawing awareness to what he knows is beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. “I’ve read The Kismet Theory. All the signs, there is no denying this.”

“The hell there isn’t. There’s no such thing. Just a bunch of fairytale nonsense,” Jungkook scoffs, forcing himself to turn away from the man, intent on returning to work. “Kismet, my ass.”

“Please, no.” The words echo in Jungkook’s ears, made even more prominent by the hand that lands on bare skin of his forearm. It’s like being wrapped in a warm blanket, there is a feeling of clarity and rightness that settles along his body and psyche with that one simple, skin-on-skin touch.

Jungkook doesn’t like the way his stomach plummets when the man drops his hand away just as quickly. The sudden bereft feeling is troubling. There’s no reason he should feel that way about a stranger's touch. Only he knows why it does…and, it seems, so does the guy now staring at him with an open expression of awe.

There is no more denying it, no more fighting it…he’s not sure why he even tried to begin with; it was only delaying the inevitable and torturing himself for no reason. How silly, he thinks, to try and fight fate…only, it can’t be that simple.

“W-what’s your name?” Jungkook asks through quivering lips.

The man smiles, and it’s the most beautiful thing Jungkook has ever seen. He hates he’ll be the reason that it disappears. “Yoongi. My name is Yoongi.”

“Well, sorry, Yoongi.” It takes every ounce of willpower Jungkook holds in his body to force out the next words. He never asked for this, never desired it…after all, who wants to acknowledge the fact that their life is predestined and every choice they make is not their own? “But, I don’t believe in soulmates.”

The fresh lie tastes bitter on his tongue, but there’s no way he can allow the string of fate to bind his hands…nor his heart.

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2024-07-16 ColorMePurplex2

[renownedagent]

IF  ONE  ASKED  MARCUS;  DOES  AN  AGENT  EVER  CATCH  A  BREAK;  YOU'D  SIMPLY  GET  THE  ANSWER  OF  NO.  BUT  THERE  WAS  SOMETIMES  WHERE  HE  COULD  GET  SOME  DECENT  R&R.  he  had  taken  the  time  to  stop  off  at  a  local  bar,  his  motorcycle  parked  up  outside.  he  would  order  a  drink  at  the  bar,  noticing  @depictedmorada  sizing  him  up,  where  he  would  smirk  and  chuckle.  "  do  you  do  this  to  all  the  men  that  come  in  or  am  I  a  special  coincidence?  "

his  lips  softly  press  against  the  transparent  glass,  holding  the  golden  liquid  of  a  soft  IPA  beer.  this  was  one  of  the  rare  times  that  marcus  consumed  alcohol.  in  a  bar;  asking  for  green  tea?  that  would  be  weird.  marcus  adapted  with  the  environments  he  was  in;  he  was  a  spy  after  all.  his  brown  hues  would  look  at  her  as  he  turned  to  face  her.  "  do  you  have  a  name?  "

[linkyu]

Good news, everyone! To the demand of no one, I have now completed the construction of Modern Draconic (the version of Draconic featured in my DnD world, Hadee-Alard)!

I will share the full grammar rules once I've cleaned them up a bit more, along with the complete phonology and a basic dictionary.

In the meantime, please enjoy this very famous sentence about a brown fox and a lazy dog:

IPA: /jekoy xesäje sägije celä cä d̠ʒä xeʡ̆eʑe ceko celä ɸiziy säxe/

Super rough pronunciation: "yieko-u xhesayie sagiyie kyela kya dja xhe'gheje kyèko kyela fhizi-u saxhe"

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

melda tâe, pray tell: what are the ojv!style/starsev's favorite foods? <3

HELLO MELMË!!! Oooo this is such a fun ask ilysm and I love any excuse to be Incredibly Annoying abt the OrangeJuiceVerse so YEP HERE WE GO!!!

Kyle- Kyle SO has a sweet tooth!!! (I love that that’s a universal Kyle hc btw) that boy is THERE for any baked goods deadass even those shitty gas station packaged muffins (Stan is scribbling out the nutritional information (or as he calls it, Food Lore, well into their 30s)) and Kyle def consumes anything sugary. As for actual real food, he likes Italian a lot which works very well bc pasta is a general hit w everyone. Favorite fast food place is subway and he ALWAYS rearranges the sandwich components to make sure the distribution is right (he claims he doesn’t have obsessive compulsive tendencies) (he does) so this guy is THE reason the ojv is called the ojv, his favorite beverage is orange juice with seven ice cubes and a pinch of salt bc he’s picky even when he claims to not be, he’s also a red wine enjoyer

STAN!!! Oh my god he and Cartman and Kenny are bottomless pits!!! Stan is a big boi and he’s packing away everything he eats bc 1) he hates waste, and 2) he’s just hungry. BUT he’s really more of a savory guy. Veggie king, ofc, and he’s at every fast food place in town ordering any vegetarian option, ALSO!!! This man LOVES spicy food but his stomach doesn’t. He’ll get a couple crunchwraps sub refried beans and slather that shit in Diablo sauce, but there’s a pretty good chance he’s gonna be nauseous a few hours later. Also he loves Kyle’s cooking!!! Bc Ky likes to cook when he’s stressed and Stan likes Kyle, and Kyle makes this really kickass homemade bread (jalapeño cheese bread oh my god I really want some now) Stan is also SO bad at drinking water but he is in fact a soda enjoyer. Miller Lite and the cheapest vodka known to man (before he stopped drinking) are a staple, also he frequents the local smoothie king and gets a chocolate hulk. For most of their life style has been ordering an olive and pineapple pizza. Stan always dips it in extra marinara.

Tweek- he is seriously just a snacker. Like Girl Dinner has nothing on Tweek Dinner. His meals look like a Charlie Brown thanksgiving. If he even remembers food is a thing. But like Craig will come home and be like “what do u want for dinner” and Tweek’s like “oh I ate a whole jar of pickles” the amount of half eaten granola bars in that house smh. BUT he can decimate so much garlic bread. A very big lemonade fan.

Craig! He’ll eat whatever, nonchalant KING unless!!!! He’s having a bad day and is already on the cusp of a meltdown. If he’s overstimulated it’s a sprite and an uncrustable. A grape uncrustable. Also I just feel like he likes seafood? I cannot explain why, but he does. Also he’s really good about hydration, he likes routine and he has one of those bottles w the time markers lmao. And he’s weirdly pretentious abt craft beers like when he and Kyle take their lil excursions to their spot he’s drinking an ipa that’s lowkey gross but then he’s just shrugging at Kyle and being all “idk the citrus hits in the aftertaste” like an asshole.

KENNY ok Kenny is also not picky in the slightest, how could he be with how he grew up, but I feel like he’s especially fond of easy meals like casseroles, frozen pizza, that kind of stuff. When he starts actually making a stable living off his art he hits up ALL the local food trucks and small businesses and broadens his food knowledge, and he’s keeping the smaller struggling businesses going just by his support. He is another example of ojv losers not drinking enough water, thinks Mountain Dew counts, literally he would’ve developed scurvy in college if left to his own devices. SMH ily kenneth also he and Stan have both thrown up bc they tried to one up each other doing shots of hot sauce

Marj my queen! She, like Kyle, likes sugar, if the homies are going to a diner she’s getting pancakes, and she takes her coffee ALL dressed up. Also kenny is the grillmaster and Marj is making the BEST sides for the bbq!!! Omg she loves her some pasta salad and a lil shrimp shishkabab moment like put this girl on the cover of a southern living magazine with her sweet iced tea (she makes the best sweet tea) marj my goddess pls quit causing problems on the internet and just use ur hospitality degree to run a b&b and make the best biscuits and gravy ever

Cartman. Bruh. Eric Cartman. He has THE most expensive taste known to man when he’s older but until he gets into the Rich People scene he doesn’t really care about what he’s eating or if it’s of good quality. In college he dragged the m5 to some shitty steakhouse bc he heard it was a good deal, and also bc he was mad at Stan for belting As Long As You’re Mine from Wicked and he knew Stan wouldn’t have any food options there lmfao that asshole (he did have to put a dollar in the Fuckwad Jar). He will also eat the weirdest combination of things. Who is putting whipped cream and chocolate syrup on fried chicken? This man. He is a Diet Coke enjoyer lmfao also he drinks martinis with olives bc “it makes me look sexy and kewl” he doesn’t like olives btw he’s just an asshole

I HAD TOO MUCH FUN WITH THIS!!! The ask is always open for ANY of my AU’s or if ur just bored or want fic recs I’m a huge loser and my sp obsession is ever ridiculous.

[iceeericeee]

I’m just gonna… drop this here rq… *runs off to the middle distance*

Miner’s Pie

Serves 4-6

Ingredients:

Filling:

1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil

1 yellow onion, chopped

1 large leek, white and light green parts, halved lengthwise and cut into 3/4 - inch pieces

1 bay leaf

Kosher salt

2 pounds ground beef

3 garlic cloves, finely chopped

2 teaspoons finely chopped fresh thyme

4 tablespoons tomato paste

3 tablespoons all purpose flour

1/2 cup ale, such as IPA

1 cup low-sodium chicken broth

3/4 cup frozen corn, thawed

3/4 cup frozen peas, thawed

1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley

Freshly ground black pepper

Topping:

3 pounds russet potatoes, peeled, cut into 1-inch chunks, and rinsed well

3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

2/3 cup whole milk (or half-and-half, for a richer taste)

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1/3 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

2 eggs, beaten

3/4 cup coarsely grated Monterey Jack or Colby Cheese

Instructions:

Make the filling:

In a very large skillet over medium heat, warm the olive oil until shimmering.

Add the onion, leek, bay leaf, and 1/2 teaspoon of salt and cook, stirring frequently, until softened, about 4 minutes.

Add the ground beef and cook, stirring and breaking up any clumps, until no longer pink, about 10 minutes.

Add the garlic, thyme, and tomato paste and cook, stirring constantly, until fragrant, about one minute.

Adjust the heat to medium, add the flour, and cook, stirring constantly, for 1 to 2 minutes, until the flour is completely blended in.

Add the Ale, broth, and 3/4 teaspoon of salt.

Adjust the heat to high and bring to a simmer, using a wooden spoon to scrape the bottom of the skillet to loosen and dissolve any browned bits stick to the pan, until the filling is thickened but still saucy, about 15 minutes.

Add the corn and the peas and set the skillet aside, off the heat to cool slightly.

Remove the bay leaf, add most of the parsley, and stir to mix.

Taste and adjust the seasoning with additional salt, if necessary, and pepper to taste.

Scrape the mixture into a broiler-safe 2-quart casserole dish, spread evenly, and set aside.

Preheat the oven to 450* F with a rack in the upper-middle of the oven.

Make the topping:

Put the potatoes in a large pot filled 3/4 of the way with water.

Boil until potatoes come apart easily when poked with a fork, about 20 minutes.

Pour the potatoes into a strainer in the sink, and when the water has been drained completely, put potatoes into a large bowl.

Mash the potatoes with a potato masher thoroughly.

Add the melted butter and stir it into the potatoes.

Add the milk, 1 1/2 teaspoons salt, pepper to taste, and the Parmesan cheese and stir to incorporate.

Taste and adjust the seasoning with additional salt and pepper, if necessary, and set aside to cook for about 20 minutes.

Add the eggs to the potatoes and stir to incorporate.

Spoon the potatoes over the filling, spreading them evenly and making sure they reach to the edges of the casserole dish.

Sprinkle evenly with the Monterey Jack.

Place the dish on a large baking sheet and bake until the filling is heated through and the potatoes are puffed slightly, about 20 minutes.

Take out of the oven, and sprinkle with the remaining parsley and serve hot.

@heathcliffgirl1847 I hope you still have those leeks. If not, then that’s alr.