#busker juice

[cherubispunk]

BARK! BITE! BLEED! (INTERLUDE) - FWB!Frankie Morales x AFAB!Reader

summary: the sting of biting one’s tongue is a lesser of two evils compared to the sting of rejection.

a note from Lucy: Not really a full part but still important to the storyline. Just a little bit of a deeper look into the reader and Frankie’s relationship, their characters and their ideas of each other.

playlist | moodboard

wc: 3046

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! no use of y/n, obsessive behaviour, frankie is obsessed and it is very unhealthy, toxic relationships, age gap (reader is 21, Frankie is 27) - though not mentioned in this part, graphic smut, oral (f receiving), face sitting, p in v sex, creampie, biting, softdom!frankie, scratching, references to suicide, references to racial discrimination and othering in American school systems.

“Is it your smile I enjoy…or the parts of me still stuck in your teeth?”

Some days Frankie liked to pretend you were a map. Easy to read. The landmarks recognisable on top of your skin. The world growing with you, shifting over bone. Breathing with life. The valley of your breasts. The bridge of your hips. The high street that was your spine. At the top of the high street, just over the fleshy part at the nape of your neck, was a library. It was locked. Always. Sometimes he would look through the window to see if anyone was still there. Peer in through grimy glass to expect someone thumbing through pages of a book, folding the corners to mark a quote, or a passage that held particular resonance. Alas, they were plastered with dated newspapers and rotting boards nailed to the over closed shutters. So he wandered back down, past the railway tracks of one rib, the empty children’s playground of another. The church on your sternum. The graveyard had no flowers by headstones. Half were smothered by a thick blanket of browning moss. Others were merely so caked in grime and crumbling that names were illegible. And passed over the bridge to the empty bandstand of your navel. Where music would play if someone gave the time of day. Behind him were footprints of marks he left with his teeth. A need to show himself he had been here. I have been here.

Behind the bandstand, deeper in, on a small mound of a hill, lay a wooden gate. And beyond the gate was an orchard fenced off from the rest. Here, Frankie would indulge his selfish tongue in the sweet fruit. Between two trunks of apple trees. Bite after ripened bite. The juice was full with a sweet flavour and sticky as it dribbled down his chin. Stained his fingers with their residue when he wiped his mouth. But there was a sharp aftertaste. And before he knew it the apple rotted in his hand. Dropped to the dew dappled grass and damp dirt.

It was always quiet in that town he roamed. No train on the tracks to go clickety-clack. No child on the swings giggling ‘higher dad!’. No busker at the bandstand humming the hymn of god loving us back. Just him. Eerie and silent with only his footsteps to accompany the low murmur of the tree conversing with the blackbird. And the gutters slugged with stagnant rain. He avoided pavement cracks. His mother would save her back. He rounded ladders. It cut himself seven years of slack. Nothing bad would come of it either way. That map was his mind's creation. So he kissed you hard enough to invert you. Fucked you hard enough to invert you. Maybe then he would see what was inside. What wallowed under your skin and festered hot in the gaps between? Each atom of each cell was a stone he wished to turn over. Because there must be something. You had your walls for a reason. Maybe it was written on you like a book? Carved into flesh, a signature he could run a finger over after reading. Behind the backs of your lids, under the tips of your nails. The crook of a knee or elbow. Or he’d trace the freckles on your skin like constellations. Using them like sailors in the archaic times to pass through uncharted waters. Scylla would come and feast on his weathered ship soon enough. Drag him to Davy Jones’s locker. No vessel of good intent crossed your choppy waters before.

You both agreed that you were not a mother. A wife. A bride. Or anything else he might want you to be other than human. You were happy with your independence. You didn't want to throw anything away just yet. Not at all. Not for a long, long while. You set ground rules. Had a straightforward argument that you bought up without the need for him to ask what this consisted off.

“We tell each other when we have had sex with someone else.” Seemed easy enough to Frankie. “And wear protection with them too.” Another valid request. “But most of all, no feelings. I don’t care who you sleep with, or what you do with them, and if you meet someone who you really hit it off with then we call it quits. But if you start to feel even a shred of something more, Frankie, that's it. We call it.”

That had poor Francisco swallowing back a lump in his throat before it could choke the reply back down him. His stomach felt hot, and burned all of a sudden as he tried to digest what you had said. A knot consisting of a livewire thrummed in his gut and made his skin flush. And it irked him to no end.

Frankie remembered his years as an outsider. In a school where the white outnumbered the other. A child of immigrants, lucky enough to have skin that passed. He heard stories of a boy who sat two rows down from him in his American history class. A boy with dark skin and textured hair. Who was teased about his colour. Who threw himself from a bridge because every time he looked down at his hands, darker than those of other students, he felt like he didn’t belong. Frankie felt it too. He could memorise the names of presidents. He could recite that the capital of Texas was Austin. That the United States of America were at war with the United Kingdom from the twelfth of April 1861 to the thirteenth of May1865. But no matter how much of a textbook he would splurge out from between his lips he was always from the outside looking in. It made him wonder in silence to his pillow if he would ever belong. If any fact, or word, or story would make him fit in. He’d have even the gaps between two. He’d squeeze into it, no matter how small, and make it his to belong in. He thought the army would be his ticket in. That if he served a country he would earn his place in it. A foolish thought. For even now, looking at you, he felt the chill from the other side of the window pane. The side in the cold.

While you lay draped in bed, strewn out like the sheets, smoking a cigarette in languid drags, he thought to himself how little he truly knew. Yes he knew about America. But not a sentence about you. Your past. Yes, he knew you did your laundry on Sundays. You came home from the bar you worked in at 1:00. But nothing of note. Nothing important. Part of him liked it. Mystery left room for the mind to entertain. Often fantasy was far more intriguing than reality and it made you seem all the more interesting. A comfort to know he wasn't wasting his time on no one; But rather devoting it to someone. However, the other part— the part of him that watched smoke serpentine from the glowing end of your cigarette— hated it. The way it felt in his gut. Anxiety. He felt it before. But never in this situation. In combat he knew he didn't have time for it. It didn't ululate or linger. It was there, then he swallowed, and it wasn't. Now? Well…he had these moments between. Moments where you would light a cigarette, inhale, exhale. And he would watch as your chest rose, then fell in a pattern enough to hypnotise him. Something so simple as your breathing engaged him. Frankie wondered what it would be like; to live under your skin and have the steady up and down lull him to sleep at night. A rocking back and forth. To and fro. Up and down. Belonging. Moments where he would trace the line of your spine with his eyes. Too scared to touch what wasn’t his until he would bite his tongue and press a single finger to the dip and back down its soft curve. Earlier in the evening, when the sky started to stain tangerine, you had been canting your hips into his, dragging up and down on his length and singing his praises in a breathy chorus. Lost on the feeling of the stretch. The welcome invasion. Then you did the same with his face. Clit brushing zealously over the hooked, aquiline bridge of his nose. Your slick devoured by his wanting mouth. Frankie was the river that ran and unravelled in valleys to feed into your ocean. He hated being in the dark. Only when he fucked you did he have a chance at turning on a light.

“Read it.” He mumbled, nodding to the book in your hands, and rolling over between your thighs to part them. A classic of some century long past. One he never cared much for. But he wanted something. Needed something to tell you to do. Or just something to say. Because the silence was torture for his lonely mind.

You were halfway through stubbing your cigarette into the chipped ceramic dish on your bedside table when he spoke. “What?” You asked, tilting your head in curiosity, eyes searching his. As if the answer lay in their storm-brewing shade of chestnut. Although in the dark, under nothing but halogen street lamp glow, they looked a lot more like black. A nothingness that promised the existence of something.

“I said,” Frankie mumbled again, his voice firm, low and with a gravely finish to it that was just like him. Rough around the edges. Hard to part with. “Read it.” and then, Out loud.”

The words were smudged into the skin of your thigh as he trailed his lips over the inside of the right. His hands skimmed down the outside and squeezed plush flesh. Plump and smooth. Small divots of silver stretch marks on your flesh like ink carved into flesh. Hand painted by some deity in the sky that paid no mind to him now. When he traced his mouth higher he stuck out his tongue. You were wet and hot with his breath and his spit, his come too, still sticky between your thighs at the apex of them. Your very centre. Where his prominent, aquiline nose traced through your folds before his tongue flicked your clit once. “Frankie…” you whined, toes curling. Because you were so sensitive. So worn and stretched and aching. He hushed you, taking liberty over the time where he called the shots. When he was able to bend you to his will and have your head spinning dizzy instead. He didn't feel so motion sick when that was the case.

“Shhh…” he soothed, and pressed the flat of his tongue to your aching sex where heat melted and spread out through your limbs, seeping into muscle and unwinding tension. “Just read…”

Silence. And he thought he may have taken it too far. Finally sent you over some indiscernible edge that appeared too quickly for him to press the brakes. But then your honeyed voice filled his ears;

“Orpheus wished and prayed, in vain, to cross the Styx again, but the ferryman fended him off. Still, for seven days, he sat there by the shore, neglecting himself and not taking nourishment. Sorrow, troubled thought, and tears were his food.” You started, eyes blurring under the hazy weight of pleasure. His tongue delved a little deeper, circled your clit, flicking over the hood of it once, twice, thrice in quick laps. The tip of it pressed to a point and rolled it in careful, full circles. Your nerves thrummed like livewires, humming the same way telephone lines would in a hot summer rainstorm. Where heat lightning flashed ahead.

“Pretty pussy all used and fuckin’ soaked still.” He murmured into you slick, now in a generous shine across his chin. You whined, keening your hips up so his nose pressed to your mound and the smattering of curls there. He lay belly flat to the mattress, hips rutting slowly in tandem with the torturous, bold, and thick laps of your cunt. “C’mon, baby. Léeme a mí. Keep going.”

You read on, lips quivering, words dying by the dragging slice of a moan, a whimper, or simpering whine. Toes curling as his tongue lapped at you. “Three times the sun had ended the year, in watery Pisces, and Orpheus had abstained from the love of women, either because things ended badly for him, or because he had sworn to do so. Yet, many felt a desire to be joined with the poet, and many grieved at rejection.”

His mouth made a sinful soaking sound, wet and generous and full of your taste. “Que cosa mas linda.” He crooned into your cunt, lips smearing into your drenched sex while you stumbled over the words on your page. “Coño— tan mojado, bebita.” You whimpered again, a pathetic sound, fingers daring to curl into the thick head of brown hair at the crown of his head and press him deeper— because, god, you had never wanted something so carnally in your life. “Son deliciosas.” The glint of wanting in his eyes was like the blade of a knife catching the light. A flash of warning before it sliced tender flesh and let blood bleed red. You watched in quivering liquid smooth heat while he tasted, and favoured, and lusted over the seam between your thighs. It was such a pretty sight. Such a wonderful feeling of freedom that sat aching and twisting in your belly. The feeling of impending relief— release. A little death.

“I cant–” You gasped, legs jolting before the malleable, soft and round swell of your thighs clamped over his ears. Your core bearing down on the plane of his nose at your clit and his tongue that dipped in and out of your slick, drooling hole. Large hands, rough to touch, unforgiving and telling, pressed them back to the mattress again. He had you spread completely, open and melting into a pathetic resolve of messy sounds. He dragged his nose through your folds once more, before his lips enclosed around your bud and drew it between them in a sharp suck that had you seeing stars. Ovid’s Metamorphosis, Orpheus, they were put back between the pages of a closed book. Shimmering away into mere dust of thought. A coiling pressure replaced them. One of pleasure, and a slight pain of overstimulation. Hot like a wire in a ready-to-blow fuse. “Fuck– Frankie…” You yelped, and he replied with nothing more than a guttural groan into your centre. A lewd slurp of the slit of your cunt as if it was his last meal. Like it was divine to him. Tasted sweeter than a slice of heaven. Here he could blur into you and forget he was separate. Ignore that you ended somewhere and he started some place after. No gap between could exist with his face pressed into your pussy. Gushing all over his lips and tongue and cheeks just for him. Drenching his face in the thick shine of your slick.

And then there was the slow release of the ache; The coiling heat blooming in your lower belly. Growing with each circle of his tongue over your swollen clit. Your legs twitched from a moment, breathing heavily and staggered as you squeezed your eyes tightly shut. Your vision fizzled behind your eyelids for a moment, making opening your eyes to look down at him retreating would probably have you passing out.

“Bien hecho, chica.” he mumbled as he smeared his lips over your goose pimpled skin, hair stood on end from the tone of his crooning voice, the rough scrape of his moustache over flesh. “Good girl.”

He climbed back up the bed to lie next to you, and the two of you lay still for a while. Your mind felt dormant under the heavy guise of something dragging, your eyelids like paperweights, stinging with the need to just sleep.

“Been meaning to ask you something…” Frankie spoke up, smoothing a hand over your stomach atop the bedsheets you had slipped back under.

“Mhm?’ You asked in a voice that was hazed by the want to sleep, eyes still closed, but awake.

“I’ve got this…thing.” He started, and he watched art you opened one eye to peer at him sceptically, lips pursed ever so slightly. “And all my mates have dates because they're either married, or engaged, or have been planning to get round to proposing…” You scoffed before he had the chance to pick up the trail off of his own sentence. He couldn’t quite meet the scrutinising eyes of yours. The ones that narrowed a fraction as they watched him smooth over the top of your sheets, over a thread that had snagged there when being washed in the machine.

“What thing are you bateing me into going to, Morales?”

“Just a military thing.” He shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, but the way his thick fingers found and pulled at the same stray thread of your duvet cover said otherwise. “A formal.” There was a hint of fear settling like silt at the bottom of a river in his eyes. A flicker. If that. Maybe you could call it a glimmer from afar. Whatever you might call it, it was better left unsaid. You sighed to save him the embarrassment, rolling onto your side and propping your head up with your arm.

“And there isn’t a single soul on this planet that you know of who can accompany you other than me, hm?”

“Please?” He practically begged, rolling on top of you to speak to the skin of your hot neck, skin still slightly salty from the sweat that had previously lain there. “Just as a friend. Nothing more, I promise you.” It would would be nice to have someone there he wished to add, but but his tongue to hold it back. He hated the idea of seeming soppy. Either way, the sting of biting one’s tongue is a lesser of two evils compared to the sting of rejection.

“I suppose I better find a dress then.”

[meetinginsamarra]

Fanfics I Really Liked in April 2024

So. Since I keep a list of what I´ve read anyway (there´s always a list), I will rec all the fics I´ve wholly enjoyed on a monthly basis. Old and new, canon or AU, big or small authors, long or short but nearly always Johnlock (-ish).

+++++

Guess Who's Coming for Christmas Dinner by Raina_at @raina-at

Sherlock hates spending Christmas with his snobby parents. John has nowhere to go over the holidays. The heat in 221B is broken and their fridge is empty. Plus, Sherlock's parents will hate John. So of course Sherlock takes John along.

Very fun to read how they deliberately upset the bigoted parents and its results.

Complementary Colours by unicornpoe

A delightful enemies to lovers, set in an art class. John hates Sherlock and Sherlock hates that he likes John. SOmehow, it still works out. So much fun!!

Enjoying The Scenery by tiger_in_the_flightdeck @tiger-in-the-flightdeck

Sherlock Holmes is on a stakeout in Regent's Park, and his mind keeps wandering to the attractive jogger who passes him each day. John Watson is recently home from Afghanistan, and during his daily jog, he catches the attention of a gorgeous busker. Too bad they can't work up the nerve to make a move before an assassination attempt tries to ruin everything.

Fratros, Eros and Agape by emma221b

When John Watson found Sherlock Holmes lying shot and bleeding on the floor of Charles Augustus Magnussen's office, he had no idea of the events that would turn his life upside down in the following months.

Great sickfic, hurt/comfort and a Johnlock ending.

the lingering taste of orange juice by darcylindbergh

Sherlock felt the familiar heat surge in his abdomen again at the touch: hope strung taut between head and heart as in all the quiet moments between them, when Sherlock sometimes got the clues all mixed up and thought maybe John felt something too.

First kiss, pining, fluff and humour. Balm for the soul.

[blurban-form]

Blu-economics: Velocity of Money

What goes around comes around

In “Markets”, at the farmer's-market type market, Bluey can't decide on what to get with the $5 she earned from the Tooth Fairy.

Bluey eventually buys a toffee apple from Winton's Dad. She regrets doing so almost immediately. But we then get to see how money circulates locally.

This one's long...

After she buys the apple, Winton's Dad gives Winton the $5 bill to go get him a German Sausage from Gruber's sausage stand.

Gruber's Dad gives Gruber the $5 bill to go get him a carrot juice from Juniper's Mum's stand.

Juniper's Mum gives Juniper the $5 bill to go get more carrots to make juice with from a produce stand.

Honey's Mum then gets the $5 back in change when she buys some mushrooms at the same stand.

(We get to see a $10 bill - I missed that both a $5 and a $10 were shown in this episode the first time I watched it.)

Honey's Mum then buys some cake with the $5 bill from Indy's Mum.

Indy's Mum gives Indy the $5 to put in the Busker Dog's case, and Indy lets Bluey put it in. Bluey is surprised to recognize the bill!

…We see the busker dog use the $5 downtown to buy an ice cream in the episode "Quiet Game" later on. (You can see the sticker dot on the bill!)

There are websites where you can register the serial numbers on (marked) money to track where it goes around the country, (assuming other people log the bills in.) An American example of this kind of site is “Where’s George?”.

Marking the bill with the sticker made it possible to be tracked.

How fast money changes hands is actually a thing in economics.

Sometimes a Business Improvement District will create special “local currency” that can only be used within a community that will encourage people to shop locally.

Probably could write way more on this topic but this is already a long post. One last thing…

Back when I was still writing fan-site stuff about PBS’s Arthur (more than a decade ago,) there was an economics episode.

In S7E1, “The Sock Market”, Arthur’s dog Pal and his baby sister Kate (who could talk to each other) were in a story which featured a dog-person version of (then) Chairman of the United States Federal Reserve Alan Greenspan.

Alan Greenspaniel: (in a dead-on monotone parody of Alan Greenspan) Our challenge is to ensure that we extend the favorable macroeconomic performance and bolster the capabilities of all to share in the prosperity that is being generated.

[tommyoboe]

BERLIN 2024.

I don't have a plan for this post and I believe that's pretty apt for talking about this place. For me, Berlin is not just a city but a character and a way of life. I embrace the hippie nature of this statement, just as I embraced the German capital with Cameron. With everything we had.

Upon arriving Monday morning, we enjoyed the ease of self check in at the vibrant Urban Loft. We then toddled along in the scorching but not entirely unpleasant heat to grab a coffee and Anzac cookie from the renowned Barn Coffee. The service was superb and the coffee outstanding. This is one of our top roasters, so to experience the coffee in person was a real treat.

On to charming Prenzlauer Berg we went, showcasing remnants of the Berlin Wall, that is a huge part of Berlin's personality. It was fascinating to walk through wide sunlit streets and capture the contrast between West and East. Second hand shops and adorable cafés lined the way, displaying mid-century pieces in a rainbow of colours. It was a real celebration of culture and loudness in the home. I loved it.

With deli goods in hand we stumbled upon a tree containing books, divine cold brew coffee, a mosaic salamander, and Ting, showcasing the best of Scandi design.

An effortless ride on the U-Bahn took us to Friedrichshain, with the Eastside Gallery displaying art from times old and new. There were celebration pieces alongside works for thought and a look back through history with striking impressions on a period ruled by division. The other side led to the cute River Spree, with buskers playing folk and jazz tunes as the sun set.

Our trip to supreme Berlin chain Burgermeister rounded off a day full of walking nicely! We people watched, noticing all sorts of characters roaming the bustling but calm streets. Groups were fairly small, mainly individuals and duos going about their lives. It was a nice change the night scenes of Birmingham, swarmed with large garish groups all looking the same. I love that in Berlin everyone is truly individual.

Balu Coffee was our breakfast spot the next morning. The croissant benedict with avocado and salmon was vibrant and refreshing. Cameron's kimchi toastie was full of flavour, my grapefruit juice zingy and Cameron's cold brew packed a superb punch.

Edgy Kreuzberg was our central location for the day. The streets were lined with converted East German flats and vast greenery. Minimum was bursting to the seams with furniture from our favourite brands and the neighbouring stationery shop had a huge selection to make the mind boggle.

We found ourselves in an oasis of greenery at a garden centre set up for the homeless, then at a charming street corner for cold brew with tonic. This seemed commonplace in the city, and it's now something I miss.

Markthalle Neun was a definite highlight. The eclectic range of food options had us gasping in delight. The freshly made salami pizza slice went nicely with Fritz Kola, something that is a true German staple.

The afternoon continued with exceptional dark chocolate ice cream and as the evening approached we made our way to the Tempelhof. This was the site of a Berlin airport for many years and is now a meeting place for all Berliners. Barbecues, cycling parties and even a refugee shelter brought people together. This beautiful mix epitomised Berlin in every single way.

We rose the next morning to be greeted by bagels and cold brew coffee at Tucano Coffee, before making our way to the Tiergarten to embrace all things green. The eerie but magical sounds of the Carillon Tower were enchanting, and as we strolled through the gardens, I felt a sense of happiness and confidence. Everywhere we went in Berlin, people didn't stare or question each other, rather people enjoyed themselves and had no worries. I felt self conscious about wearing shorts, but in this city I felt this completely disappear.

They also have this thing in Berlin called summer.

The afternoon contained more contrasts, from a bombed out church from World War II that still had elements of beauty to lavish department stores in the west. We marvelled at the Vitra collection in the KaDeWe, as well as Paper & Tea and some astounding cookies.

Potsdamer Platz followed for more sensational Barn Coffee, then to the Mall of Berlin for shopping with a view over Berlin's government buildings. Alexanderplatz brought sensational currywurst and a trip to the DDR Museum for an insight into life in former East Germany. Even the U-Bahn journey home brought joy, with Berlin's Hauptbahnhof illuminating us from underground with a ceiling depicting a starry night.

We ventured to the Moabit area for breakfast on our final full day in this bustling metropolis, followed by more shopping at familiar brands like Arket, Cos and Rains. A bakery pit stop and cold brew later we were at the Kurfürstendamm, one of Berlin's most famous avenues for shopping. We took in the designer outlets on the sunlit boulevard before continuing our journey at the Musical Instruments and Deja Vu Museums. We stocked up on Ritter chocolate at their huge store before enjoying a final cocktail to close our experience in the stunning capital.

It was difficult to say goodbye to this wonderful city, as to me there is no place more brilliant I have ever visited. It has everything the imagination can conjur. The public transport is unreal, rightly putting UK public transport to shame with its vast selection of overground and underground offerings. The pace of life is slow but people get things done with no complaints. The weather is beautiful in the summer. The blend of past and future is spectacular. The history is like that of no other city. And the people are one that I can embrace. I feel I can be my true self in this city, and that is the best possible feeling.

This trip has heightened our desire for a life abroad, as I feel this is where the future really is. This is where true happiness can be found, and that realisation is one of the most exciting ones to date.

So until next time Berlin, vielen dank und auf wiedersehen.

[traipseartist]

May 10th - Omaha

After snoozing in a tent till the sun had other plans, we packed up and Lewis made cowboy coffee while I puttered about the virtual reality map in the early morning light. We had finally reached a balmy 50+ degree morning and were upbeat about seeing the sun upon waking for the first time in what felt like a while.

We walked a little of the lake's perimeter and found a nice swinging bench to sit in. Staring at water is a good human pass time.

Finally we resigned to cutting from one end of Nebraska to the other in one day and fired Stacey up, agreeing to find a coffee shop and do a little work somewhere in the giant square we were to plot across for the day.

After passing up many, many drive through cafes (why are there so many out here??) we finally found a little espresso shop in South Platte, NE which also seemed to be the center of the local universe. Lewis and I click-clacked away on our technology while an older woman braided her mother's hair and two people read the same newspaper side by side. Kate, the barista who served us coffee struck up conversation and gave us many recommendations for Omaha, readjusting her head scarf and her round glasses while gesticulating about art cinemas and Little Bohemia in the city.

When satisfied with our work, we crawled over to Sinclair #4 on our journey (the dinosaur logo feels a little too on the nose) and discovered that the portable battery Lewis uses to regularly jump Stacey (she needs a new starter but Lewis is convinced that the labor of popping her hood nigh every time she turns off is no skin off of his back) was not charged enough to get her motor humming.

While waiting for the battery to charge, we re-pack the car, wait twenty minutes, and discover in exasperation that the battery, charging in the service station on a counter, has only climbed a single percent. In a bit of desperation we ask a kind local pulling a trailer if he can jump Ms. Abrams back online and, Brett (we drink to Brett!) whips out jumper cables and doesn't hesitate to give us the boost we need.

We bless South Platte, try to get Stacey to charge her own lighter by plugging the external battery into the console, and pray we get enough juice or have enough gas by Omaha. Not even stopping for the legendary Kearney Arch--a museum that resides directly OVER the highway, regaling the voyage west by early pioneers.

We bump along across the Husker state, and come to Lincoln City before long, driving around downtown but too nervous to shut Stacey off to stop, and then barrel into Omaha some 65 miles later to check into the Magnolia Hotel by sunset. We made it!

After hucking our bags in our room, showering off the soot of campfire, and stretching our backs on a real bed, we dress for dinner and troop out to see downtown Omaha.

I personally was expecting very little from Omaha, Nebraska. I figured it would be a very industrial city surrounded by the flat of middle-country. I did not expect an INSANE SCULPTURE GARDEN! Right in the middle of downtown!! The Riverfront park system opened in unity sometime late last year, but the park was alive with art, buskers, giddy locals, roller skaters, and dogs dogs dogs everywhere. Omaha was alive, and it was easy to feel the hum of the city from where we stood.

After catching a beerish night cap, we rolled back to the Magnolia, and fell down into clean sheets. Nebraska's in the books. Tomorrow, Minneapolis!

[ukonciertos]

Busker Juice. 21 de julio. Plentzia

Empieza a ser una tradición lo de ir al festi de jazz y al día siguiente tocar con los busker en Plentzi :-)

Este domingo tocamos a la hora del vermu con calor, mucho calor.. y bueno, digamos que lo pasamos muy bien luego con el barrio fino

Go Busker, Go!

H:4 M: 2

[pianostarinwonderland]

Hi!! Could you do Rook and Vil for the character bingo?

[From here!]

I did Vil’s over here!

Rook

Back when Rook was first revealed, I could not accept the fact that he looked like… that. Why was his smile so off? Why is he a guy? He looks like a girl. He looked like a witch to me. 😂 The hair, the odd smile, Rook weirded me out, and I couldn’t even reconcile his looks with his gender, which made it worse.

When the game was released, I kept thinking he looked like Madame Red from Black Butler. I knew his voice, and I could not reconcile the fact that that deep voice belonged to someone feminine-looking at the time. And it was because of this that I disliked Rook to the point I couldn’t understand how people could like him. This lasted for a few months until Pomefiore came out, I knew more Rook stans, and eventually, that dislike of Rook faded away, now turned to interest.

I like to think of Rook as the version of me that isn’t dulled by the world. My mom always says that I see the beauty in the little things, and I am like that. I love to stop and listen to a busker playing music, I love to slow down, whether in a mall or in a park, just to admire the sights and sounds. But I’d be ashamed to say that this is beautiful or that is gorgeous, simply because I know the people around me would scrunch their eyebrows and go, “What makes it pretty?” But Rook doesn’t care, he just basks in the beauty of something or someone. And he isn’t ashamed to express his admiration for it. That in itself is beautiful—the world has not dulled him of his love for beauty, and that’s amazing.

I can also relate to the stalking part 🧍when I was a kid, I used to follow people in my school who interested me. Back then, I didn’t really know, nor did I care. BUT DON’T WORRY, I’M A BETTER PERSON THAN THAT NOW 😭😭😭 please don’t stalk people.

Rook is one of those characters that has already kind of gone through his character development. He’s one of the more mature members of the cast because he’s already found himself, learned about his own identity. So the main thing I want for Rook now is to learn more about his family and his own secrets rather than looking forward to seeing how else he’d grow further (but of course, he can develop further! There will always be room for improvement). There’s the theory that Rook and his family are spies or agents for governments. This has strong evidence stemming from Snow White, where the Hunter does the Evil Queen’s dirty work essentially. Since the Hunter was tasked with the murder of Snow White, it’s very much possible that Rook and his family may have those kinds of tasks too. It makes sense, especially when knowing about Rook as a child and even as a first year—he was rather unfeeling as a child or even apathetic, and it took listening to an opera to awaken emotions inside of him. Even in his first year, while he admired beauty, he didn’t care about his own self. Rook is full of stories, and I’d love to hear more about him.

Understandably, a lot of people don’t like Rook for his stalkerish behavior. I personally don’t care too much about it, but I do find that Rook is more favorable when thinking about his relationships with Epel and Vil. He’s acted as a sort of mentor to Epel, being the person who’s helped Epel with how to use his UM in chapter 6 and many more things. And with Vil, you can see that he is a good friend. He knows what are things about Vil that need improvement in, whether it’s in his appearance or in his character. And he’s going to point it out. He wants Vil to become even better and even more beautiful. And honestly, that moment when Rook was about to drink Vil’s poisoned apple juice because he wanted to believe Vil wouldn’t poison Neige 😭😭😭 like nobody touch me, that moment will always do shit to me.

[inkmemes]

this  country  (  2017  -  2020  )  sentence  starters ↪  taken  from  the  bbc  mockumentary.  trigger  warning  for  mentions  of  religion,  death,  sex.  alter  as  you  see  fit  ♡

“i like the underdog.”

“don't be a fucking dick.”

“everyone comes together on days like today and just forgets their utter hatred of each other.”

“everyone who's anyone's going to be there and there are people from my past that would love to see me slain.”

“there's a tea rooms there and under the counter they've got a panic button and if i take one step inside, they can press that. the police will be there in three minutes.”

"he whatsapped me the other day asking us to go laser quest with him and i ... well, i clicked on it by accident, didn't i? so he knows i've seen it."

"i mean, i get it, but it's not making me feel nothing."

“it's baffling. i'm baffled by the entire situation, if i'm honest.”

“what the actual fuck? what the actual fuck? you have fucking lost your head, mate. you have lost your fucking head.”

“when i get hold of you, i swear to god i will fucking deck you.”

"someone's just been throwing plums at my house. i'm going to kill them. i can't believe it. i can't believe it. all over this. plumming on here, plumming on that. plum on the sofa, look! there's nothing left that hasn't been plummed."

“i've had a target on my back since the day i was born.”

“thank you very much, enjoy your free potatoes.”

“do you know how small your brain is?”

“hogwarts is that way, dumbledore.”

“he used to say i looked like the puppet off the dolmio advert.”

“there's a kid crying over there. do you want me to...? i can tell him to shut the fuck up if you want?”

“he genuinely looked like a moomin.”

“on my first day of karate club, karate master goes to me, [name], i don't know why you're here because i can't teach you anything. if anything, you should be teaching me." and just gave me his black belt.”

“you know that little old blind man? yeah, when i was punching him in his face, the lens from his glasses broke and cut my knuckle.”

“some things are just best left in the past, where they belong.”

“what's the point in knocking if you're just going to walk in anyway?”

“it was a miscarriage of justice though, cos what people forget is 12 out of them 20 hostages actually found it funny.”

“i lied so much i still don't know what's real life and what's plain lies.”

“i'm so glad you're out of that lying phase.”

“he likes to be the only person on the road, so whenever he sees a car coming the other way he just pulls over.”

“nasa went through hundreds of them in the '60s. and now every time i see a really bright star in the sky i can't wish on it, cos in my head i'm thinking, ‘that's probably just a spacecraft with some monkey bones in it.’”

“you absolute traitor. that's my cheese - it's my fucking house!”

“don't you dare eat that cheese. you eat that and i will smash this. i promise you, i will smash you with this.”

“fuck! you switched them!”

“yeah, i can see it's fucking burnt, sherlock.”

“i honestly am ashamed to know him, sometimes.”

“if you knock on someone's door, don't take no for an answer. get into their house. if they say, ‘leave my house’, stay. and if they say, ‘i'm going to call the police’, you walk upstairs and see if there's anybody else upstairs to sell to.”

“she looks like uncle fester.”

“right. i'm going to piss in their flowers, then.”

“you really need to go home. your mum's called the police and everything.”

“you're also fired from being my best mate, by the way.”

“in business, there will always be setbacks. i don't drink my own juice, fray bentos doesn't eat his own pies. but that's business.”

“do you know what, i don't actually want to play this any more, because it is actually very, very boring.”

“i'm ashamed of myself, that's not usually me, so don't get the wrong impression.”

“i genuinely think one of them fancies me as well.”

“it's fate her moving across the street.”

“the problem with finding a girlfriend in the village is that most of the girls you meet round here are old-age pensioners.”

“yeah, i am looking for a relationship, but thing is i've just got so many trust issues, yeah, with being fucked over massive in the past, so no matter how much i get close to someone now i'm thinking in the back of my head, ‘shit, am i going to get fucked over?’ because i've been fucked over in the past massively. my last relationship proper fucked me up.”

“i went through a really dark phase. listening to papa roach and just blowing everything up with them little french bangers.”

“shut up, you don't know what you're talking about!”

“i don't like the man. i know he's my uncle, but i don't like him.”

“it's just malicious lies, that's all it is.”

“i'm not saying i've got a cruel heart, but if she ain't willing to take me as i am rather than the monster i've become, then she can literally just jog on back to sea with all the other fish cos i don't care.”

“what do you look for in a boyfriend?”

“the key to dating, yeah, is the two rs and the three ts. 'respect, rapport, and talking, talking, talking.' don't ever let that ball hit the ground. good relationships are built on great conversation.”

“on a date, you've got to tell them all the interesting stuff about you, because that's what they'll be interested in.”

“he said to me, he goes, ‘you can't smoke on here.’ i said, ‘i'm not smoking, i'm vaping.’ the look on his face when i said that. i don't think he knew what vaping… what a vape is.”

“you would make me the happiest mouse if you say yes and become my spouse.”

“here's a tip, [name], next time you take a chick out on a date, don't bore her to tears.”

“roses are red, violets are blue, i've got five fingers, the third one's for you.”

“get out of my way, pipe cleaner.”

“[name] phoned me the other day at three in the morning saying, ‘come quick,

there's a hedgehog in the garden that looks exactly like grandad.’ so i got up, i got dressed and i ran over to [name]'s as fast as i could and then i just stopped in the middle of the street at three in the morning and thought, ‘what the fuck am i doing with my life?’

“you're joking me? because if you are joking me, that is massively harsh.”

“oh, let me get a song up on youtube. you're going to absolutely love this, [name]. here we go… listen to this. oh, for fuck's sake, advert.”

“let's go down the pub and get shitfaced.”

“where do i see myself in five years? well, me and [name] will have a flat in the middle of the village and all of our furniture will be inflatable and we'll have cable and it will pay for itself, because we're going to use the spare room to breed quails, because their eggs are worth fucking shitloads.”

“is this about the calippo, still? because you offered to buy me that.”

“if he wants to go, good luck to him, i say. i reckon he thinks that i can't live without him, which is a laugh, because he went a whole weekend away once and i got on all right. i just ended up following this cat around the village.”

“i've got to do what's right for me, at the end of the day, instead of worrying about other people.”

“how about you say sorry? sorry for the massive knife that's hanging out the back of my back because of you.”

“oh, and while you're stabbing me in the back, feel free to bend down and kiss my arse.”

“can i just ask you an honest question? why would you want to leave the village when we've got a pub and a shop?”

“i think you don't know how lucky we have it to be doing nothing with our lives, like. we're all going to die, anyway, so what's the point in doing anything?”

“i want ownership of the words fucknut and dickmilk.”

“i had this come through the post. and i've got a few concerns about it. firstly, this guy on the front looks really arrogant. not the sort of guy i was expecting, if i'm honest.”

“this is starting to stress me out a little bit.”

“why are you trying to stress me out? you know i'm already stressed out as it is.”

“the bloke that used to live in there, right, kept hearing strange noises coming out of his attic at night. and he'd go to the fridge and find that food was missing from the fridge. so he thought, ‘i'm just going to go up to the attic and check this out.’ and he found an entire family of peruvian panpipe buskers just living up there. and he thought ‘i'm just going to leave them to it, ‘cos they're not really doing me any harm.’ and then, a few years later, he thought, "well, i'll just go up to the attic to check on them. ‘see if they're all right.’ and it turned out they'd all died of asbestos poisoning. yeah, he doesn't live here any more.”

“some people will always be scared of me, and i can't change that, no matter how nice i am. but there's a balance to be had between being nice and being feared.”

“don't really like catching up. it's not my thing.”

“i just watched this video of this girl doing a random act of kindness on youtube. she basically paid for this old man's shopping at the till. and this old man was, like, about 90 years old. and he's so fucking old, like, you could see through his skin. and he just starts bawling his eyes out. he's like, ‘you're fucking joking me, this ain't fucking real life.’ i just thought... i want to make someone feel like that. ‘cos that's... i really… that's what i want to do.”

“i'm not dead. just can't be arsed to text her sometimes.”

“you know, correct me if i'm wrong, but four texts a day is complete madness. no-one can keep up with that.”

“i am doing kind things selfishly.”

“i was at midnight mass one year, right, someone got tipped off i was there. as i was coming out the church, someone tries to shoot me with a crossbow.”

“well, i haven't seen the film, have i? that's why i came here - to watch the fucking film - like a normal human being.”

“i've made an effort by coming here tonight. i didn't want to come.”

“i had to wheel him here from his house in an asda trolley, cos he was just too heartbroken to move.”

“sometimes you don't know what you got until you ain't got it any more. like blockbuster's. i just took 'em for granted - and then, one day, gone, and you spend ages trying to figure out what went wrong, and then you realise it was your fault all along.”

“i thought you said you wanted to fix things.”

“she wanted it to go that way, and it just wasn't gonna go that way. she even got me thinking that they'd get back together… ..but that's manipula.... manipulative people... do that. and he's better off without her.”

“that wasn't much to write home about.”

“it's fucking dead, isn't it?”

“basically, somebody's been sending me threatening letters, and i don't know who's doing it - and i am concerned, because my peripheral vision is poor, so, if somebody attacks me from the sides or snipes at me from an upstairs window, i am fucked - but my hearing is excellent, see? so i just need to spend a few days inside honing my sonar, and i'll be fine then.”

“if you don't like the work, the circus is in town and they're always looking for clowns.”

“his soul is just going to crumble to dust.”

“this really is not a good situation for me. a physical threat is something that i can deal with, but a sexual thing is not my area of expertise.”

“just really fucked in the head, mate.”

“what have i done? i haven't done anything wrong.”

“do you know how sad that is? that is so, actually, sad. that makes me sad for you, that you can't take a joke.”

“i think i just got a bit carried away with the whole thing.”

“your finger's going up my arsehole, mate.”

“i'll hold the back of your head, so you don't bash yourself.”

“when i lie in future, i don't want a massive lecture on how bad lying is, cos deep down, you're the worst of us all, mate.”

“i'd quite like a coke.”

“it's going to be like gluing a breadstick back together, because… like, as if a breadstick's been in a blender and it's all… ...the pieces smashed up.”

“like, this one time i started a fight club in the village hall, and i got a black eye from beating myself up. but it made my enemies think, ‘fuck, if she can do that to herself, what the fuck can she do to me?’”

“i'm absolutely 1,000% sure i've broken it in two places.”

“i knew this day would come.”

“i should be in tk maxx, getting the bargains that i deserve.”

“unlike you, [name], i'm not a fashion disaster.”

“i'm still warm in my grave, and she's sucking off the pallbearer.”

“you know, it took me ten years to get over [name], and i only went out with her for half a day.”

“i swear to god, if i see him here again, i swear to god, i will have no hesitation in just going up to him and just planting one on his face.”

“right, then keep your nose out of my business, yeah? nosy old cock-womble.”

“[name]’s attitude to me is puzzling. if i walk past her in the street

and say hi, she'll tell me to fuck off. yet every year, she sends me a really sweet, nice christmas card. you know, there's just no consistency there.”

“he's good-looking up close, isn't he?”

“don't show me any weakness, because i will take advantage.”

“no, put the brick down, you fucking psychopath.”

“when i asked him, he just said, ‘come to my office now,’ which means we're in the fucking shit, cos we're always in fucking shit.”

“i shouldn't be paying you at all.”

“i've always had a son. i talk about him all the time.”

“he's my son. he's not my dog.”

“it reminds me of the wicker man. i don't really know why.”

“i just find it weird how you can be so close to someone and they can be such a big part of your life, and then the next minute, you're just sort of strangers in the night.”

“i don't want the emotional implications.”

“well, about five years ago, i sold my birthday to my mum for about 200 quid, which means my mum's legally entitled now to never celebrate my birthday ever again for the rest of my life. not even, like, a happy birthday cup of tea, or a moonpig card, nothing - which is the worst decision i ever made in my entire life.”

“he deserves that anyway, because he's been sexting my nan, so…”

“what's this surprise? cos i need to know whether it's going to be worth this walk.”

“i always see them banners above the motorway, and i always thought, ‘who the fuck does them?’ well, now i know. people like me.”

“did you know you can't get stung by a stinging nettle if you grab the leaf top and bottom, like that? it's only when you touch it on the sides, it stings. agh, actually, that stung, then.”

“pez dispenser, they're cursed. they are, i'm not even joking. honestly, when i had one of them, i had the worst bout of bad luck i ever had in my life.”

“i swear down, it's a short cut. it might be a pleasant walk, we might enjoy it.”

“i'm not scared of the fox twins. i'd just like to sit them down and ask 'em plainly, ‘look, guys, what is going on? ‘cos this has just gotten completely out of hand now. you know, stop walking on your knuckles, stand up straight, be the best version of you that you can be. get a job, even. there's a trolley boy who works at tesco's, you know, who may as well have been raised by wolves. if he can get a job, you guys can walk it.’”

“yes, there has been talk of strange goings-on in the woods, ghost sightings and the like. but… ...they're never from particularly reliable sources.”

“i live with a ghost. there's a ghost in that house. he's like a civil war cavalier, with all the hair and the hat and all that. and every time i walk into the living room, he doffs his cap. and on his shoulder, he's got this crow that barks at me. it means i spend less time in the house, really. not because of him, because he's-he's quite peaceable. but the crow is malevolent. and i'm not having that. i can't share my house with a malevolent bird.”

“that's haunted as fuck.”

“am i going mad here, or does that, to you, look like that's where just ghost will hang out all the time?”

“look at him, little red riding twat.”

“if he's got an attitude with me, i swear to god, i'll just grab the steering wheel and drive us all into a wall.”

“it's a bit annoying, actually. cos this is not the first or the second time i've had to tell you, really, is it?”

“his sparkle has just gone.”

“you know my dad actually wrote the song wonderwall on the back of a beer mat in the space of ten minutes, don't you?”

“i've just got a tiny, tiny, tiny little favour to ask you.”

“when i think of [name], i think of someone who is very loyal. and very, very stupid. sort of more stupid than loyal. sort of 70% stupid, 30% loyal, probably. because she's very loyal. but extremely stupid.”

“do you know what? i actually don't think he loves you at all and i don't think he's ever loved you.”

“all right, that's harsh and unnecessary, but fine.”

“frankly, she is behaving like the antichrist.”

“i literally just got here.”

“you are such an unemotional slab of ham, [name].”

“i've got so much shit on that man you would not believe.”

“there's something in my eye.”

“i just can't quit him, you know?”

“yeah, we might have a fiery relationship,  but when we're together, it's just… it's just pure chemistry, isn't it?”

“i'm not proud of it, believe me. but at the end of the day, i'm a very vindictive person, you know? it is what makes me me.”

“i basically went out and bought an alpaca off gumtree for £500. of all the mistakes i've made in my life, that was possibly the largest. definitely the physically largest.”

“yeah, i really don't wanna talk about that.”

“her only loyalty is to herself, staffies, and the tv channel dave… ...which, in my opinion, is a tv channel made by knuckle-draggers for knuckle-draggers.”

“i can't move on till i've seeked revenge, unfortunately.”

“if that was in france, that would be fine, but we're not in france.”

“the only thing we had in common, really, was stealing, and that was more my thing that i got him onto. but it just goes to show, you know, some friendships last and some friendships don't, but that's just the way it is.”

“you know it was me that got you sacked, don't you?”

“the thing i learnt about friendship is, you gotta accept each other's flaws, no matter how toxic they may be.”

“shit-stirring from beyond the grave.”

[kichous]

✧･ﾟ:*   baby, you already know

summary. the pack mule with the pink hair looks like he could use an ice water, and you tell him as much. series. history lesson. part one you’re here ! . part two . part three . pairing. itadori yuji x f!reader. past ryomen sukuna x f!reader. warnings. briefly mentioned ---- childbirth, body horror, child murder. word count. 2265.

07.11.23 / read the updated re-release on ao3!

Your manager hates it when people ask for it. ‘Screw you for knowing you can get this for free, instead of buying an overpriced plastic bottle from the cooler below the pastries.’ You can only imagine what he might think of you independently giving an ice water away, which is why you’re thankful he’s in the back room using what remains of his little pea brain to come up with next week’s schedule. He’d probably rip your head off for wasting a cup — for a refresher! an iced latte! iced coffee, even! — on a cute guy.

You’ve had your eye on the manspreader at the corner table, surrounded by at least a dozen shopping bags, for ages. The sunlight filtering through the lightly tinted windows behind him gives his pink hair almost an angelic glow. The fact that he actually managed to nab a table (albeit one with only a single seat) during rush means he must actually have God watching over him too.

And he’s really cute, and you’re a fifteen year-old girl. Sue you.

The real problem arises when your fingers touch. But let’s backtrack to the first moment you saw him.

It’s two weeks before summer break.

You barely managed to get permission to get a job, and that’s likely because your homeroom teacher is really trying to be one of those caring, involved ones from the American TV shows she loves so much. You fudged the paperwork a bit and said that you’re older than you are. You’ve been working at this job for about four months now, and every time you clock in, you think to yourself, ‘I wanna quit.’

It’s a Sunday, and people have nothing better to do with their free time than get a sweet, sweet cavity-inducing drink while waiting out the busy crosswalks outside. A busker with a makeshift drum set plays and sing-speaks loudly outside. You can’t hear him, but you can tell from the wide berth people are giving him that he’s being obnoxious.

Facing the blenders as you clean, pour, pump, scoop at the speed of light, you don’t see the three of them coming in. Twenty minutes later, your coworker announces she’s going on lunch, and you leap at the chance to take her place at the register. The trio bickers as they step up to the counter in unison. Really, like they all step forward with their right legs at once.

The tall one with the dark hair orders first, and your little ‘ooh, pretty customer’ gets drowned out by your judgment at his quite boring drink. The girl adds six different things to her white mocha latte, a recipe you just know she found online somewhere. And then the third guy, carrying three bags (UNIQLO, Hikarie, and ZARA, same as when you first touch) slides a juice box over for you to scan.

‘What are you, like six?’

He pays, using the shopping bags to muscle his companions out of the way, and for a moment you feel a little bad for being so mean, even if he hadn’t heard you. You hand him back the juice box and the trio moves off to the side to wait for their drinks. You don’t speak to them for the rest of the day, as the line remains endless even after you clock out. Closing is at 4am, after all.

The second time you meet, he orders the same drink as the girl did last time. You get his name then, Yuji, and you ask which characters he uses in a flirtatious manner that flies directly over his pretty head. He doesn’t notice because he reads his order directly from his phone, but he smiles at you when you hand him his change, and that makes your heart flutter. You walk over to the espresso machine with his cup and the shift lead rolls her eyes at you.

“Bye, Yuji,” you tell him when you slide his drink over to him. He must finally hear the lilt in your voice, because he pauses, glances down at your chest, and then thanks you by name.

“You should just ask him out,” your coworker said as he left, and so that’s why you’re now handing him the cup of ice water.

Your apron draped over your arm, you double check in the mirror that your zipper is up and that you’re not covered in syrup stains before you make your way across the busy store to him. It’s July now, just shy of three weeks when you first laid eyes on him, and the most interaction you’ve had is him waving at you when he passes into the bookstore with his friends. The dark and broody one doesn’t always buy something, which is why they often duck in and out and why it’s only now that you’ve gotten him alone. And on your lunch break, no less.

“Hi, Yuji,” you say eloquently, heat rocketing across your cheeks when his head snaps up at the sound of your voice. He’d been dozing off, his chin drifting closer and closer to his chest over the past fifteen minutes. That he’d perked up at all was a good sign, right? Unless he was always this nice. Which is still a good thing, but you’ve always been a little self-centered.

“Hey,” Yuji says. He scoots the bags over and leans across the way to ask for a chair from a family of three, dragging it over to the other side of his too-small table. “You just got off work?”

“I wish,” you huff as you sit down. You almost set your apron down on the table before you realize it’s sticky on your side. “I’m just on my lunch. Four more hours to go, woo!”

“You’ve got this,” he laughs. “You look like an octopus when you’re on the back line.”

It’s not the most flattering creature to be compared to, but you grin at him nonetheless. You cast a glance around for his friends. You hadn’t seen them at the bar, and they weren’t with him on the second floor, so they could be anywhere in the basement or the four floors above you. Point being — it would take some time to get back to him. So you’re effectively alone, at least for the next five to ten minutes.

You extend your legs, crossing them at the ankles. If you had any idea how to reach him outside of work, you definitely would have picked a cuter outfit for this occasion. A black polo, black pants, and awful, beat-up sneakers don’t exactly scream ‘date me!’ Plus, even a quick glance into the bags at his feet show that he’s close to at least one fashionable girl.

Oh, shit, it didn’t even cross your mind — does he even like girls?

A brow lifts as he says, “Are you okay?” and you feel like an even bigger idiot than you did before. So much for thinking you’d perfected your customer service face. That one businessman who wants this much soy in his drink probably realizes that you think his requests are this much of a pain in the ass but is too polite to complain.

“Yeah, I just forgot if I actually hit submit when I clocked out or not,” you blurt, waving your hands in front of you. The ice in your cup rattles at the motion, a couple droplets of water swishing out of the strawless lid to dot the junction between your thumb and forefinger. “No biggie, just me being… duh, again. Ha.”

“You wanna go and double check?” He’s trying to get rid of you.

“No! No, I’m — I know I did it. I got it. It made a little ding noise, I remember now.” Smooth. Real smooth.

Yuji tilts his head, almost puppy-like. “If you’re sure… I just don’t want to get you in trouble.”

After all the trouble you went through to get this job as a high school first-year, he’s right to worry. But here’s the thing — you were lying. And few feelings are worse than someone taking a one-off white lie and running it into the ground, whether they’re trying to suss you out or not. Yuji’s consternation seems genuine. That may be the worst part.

“Don’t worry about me,” you insist, before taking an exaggerated look around. Would it kill you to just be yourself? (Are you kidding? How is that gonna get you a boyfriend?) “Is your girlfriend not around? Or… boyfriend? The one with the crazy hair?”

His eyes go comically wide. “They’re not my — they’re just classmates, that’s all. Dating Nobara…” He shudders, actually full on shakes in hypothetical fear. “No thanks. And I’m not really sure if Fushiguro’s even into that sort of thing. We’re just friends. Do we look like a couple to you?”

“Nah, more of a throuple,” you tease. You laugh as he shakes his head vehemently, patting his forearm. “I’m messing with you. You look like good friends. I just didn’t want to overstep when I asked you out.”

Oh. Well that just sort of slipped out of you, didn’t it?

To his credit, Yuji recovers quickly. His face is tinged pink, but he acts like it isn’t there. Not like you, trying to cover half your face with your hand in an attempt to appear mysterious and suave and totally not mortified. “Well,” he says, lips twitching, “for your information, I am single. So.”

“Good.” This is the part where you say something else. “I got you something, ‘cause you looked tired.”

“You didn’t have to,” Yuji protests, leaning back in his chair. His shoulders float towards his ears as one hand reaches back to scratch absently at his undercut. It isn’t like you went out of your way or anything; it’s freaking water. You dug some ice out of the bin and stood in front of the faucet while your coworker was waiting to make more lemonade, that’s all there is to it. But he’s certainly behaving like you got him a dozen roses or something.

“I insist.” You thrust the ice water at him, sloshing some more onto your hand and onto the table. Half of the ice is melted, and it clacks pitifully against the plastic. You chuckle, more out of pure instinct than anything else. “Consider it a courting gift.”

Yuji laughs. Gosh, you’d love to hear it again. Every day possibly. For the rest of your life. Wouldn’t that be nice? “Cool. My dowry is water and solid water.”

“Dowry is for marriage,” you snort. “This is my equivalent of picking you up in a limo for a night out at Makudo. Which, by the way — the Mega Mac? Perfection.”

“Are you allowed to advertise other restaurants at work?”

“Probably not, but I’m off the clock anyway.” As Yuji reaches out to take the cup, his fingers close over yours. It’s an innocent touch, though it’s one that has your heart racing nonetheless. Electricity crackles through you —

But not in the good way.

Terror creeps into your every pore as your mind races back to over a thousand years ago.

Scratchy grass beneath you, long hair spilled across the ground as you lay next to a stable boy with big dreams. Heavy makeup on your face and even heavier clothes on top of your frame as you looked up at a man fifteen years your senior, your hand promised to him the moment you were born. Agony, your lower half splitting apart, tears, the smell of iron in the air, and then two little tiny babies placed into your arms, their cries still ringing in your ears. The stable boy’s body warm against you as he promised he’d never let anyone hurt you again. His laughter as your father called him the King of Curses. Your husband’s fury and your sons pressing themselves into your arms, your pleas for him to believe you, that you had been faithful. Your father, still bearing scars from his fight with the Two-Faced Specter, saying he has no daughter.

The unnatural bend of your arm at the bottom of the ravine, numbness gravitating up your legs. You look over to the left to find very little of you there, bone sticking out of the stump of your shoulder. Your boys have stopped whimpering for you, stopped begging for their father’s forgiveness. They are silent and still, like broken dolls. They were only eight years old. The King of Curses hovers over you, bloodlust radiating out of him. You beg him not to do anything rash. To take that rage inside of him to turn it into good, the good you knew he once possessed, the good he just had to strive for — good he was capable of. Your last sight, one of his four hands reaching to close your eyes for the last time.

Whose memories are these? you wonder. They have to be yours. How else would they come so vividly?

You come back to yourself and find Yuji staring at you with concern. One of the markings at the corners of his eyes cracks open, and a red orb swivels to bore holes into you. Goosebumps appear over your arms. It’s almost 29 degrees, and the AC does nothing with all of the bodies packed into the building.

You must be in the sweltering pits of hell, as evil itself sees you and remembers you.

Pure malevolence cracks a sly grin. Its vessel is none the wiser.

[huacheng-zhu]

bee’s lonely birthday self-love promo post

the title says it all: today, november 9th, is my birthday and I’m spending it alone with my dad because my sister ditched me and, well, we’re in under restrictions again

so I’m just gonna use all this as an excuse to self-promote my own fics because self-care! recycled an ask post and added more fics. all are mxtx fics except one lonely sha po lang short fic

enjoy! 🤭

the recluse at the end of the moonlit path | rated T

reincarnation au, post-canon, lan wangji is immortal, and wei wuxian is an artist visiting gusu. he invites himself into lwj’s life and is very confused but very happy when lwj just... lets him. way less angsty than the immortality thing makes it sound, good vibes!

under the starlit sky | rated T

this was my first fic in over a year, so I kept it short and simple to test the waters, both writing and characterization-wise. post-canon, just quiet wangxian moments and nothing else. some feels, but mostly sweetness.

all of you (only you) | rated T

decided to live dangerously and write my first tgcf fic from hua cheng’s pov. post-canon hualian, a very tender and self-indulgent domestic fic. lots and lots of kisses and healthy communication aka classic hualian. they only drink Respect Each Other juice. short and soft read.

all yours (all mine) | rated E

was possessed by a demon and wrote my first ever smut fic. that’s right. “I will Never write pwp,” they said. give me that clown costume. this is technically a sequel to the previous fic but can be read as a standalone without issue! will hopefully fulfill your tender sex needs. 

your touch in the dark (your voice in the silence) | rated M

modern au, strangers to friends with benefits to lovers. lwj is a lonely and touch-starved musician and wwx is an equally lonely and touch-starved busker. mutual pining while fucking, because they’re idiots but also, you know, them self-worth issues. but, happy ending!

recovery likes company | rated T

post-canon fluff for all your soft changgu needs. just some injury recovery and bathing/washing, and a surprise! (a cat. a cat is the surprise)

riding shotgun | rated T

modern roadtrip au. trying to prove to the world that I’m funny via jiang cheng, wei wuxian, nie huaisang and lan wangji getting stuck together in a car for eight hours. if you need a laugh this thing is probably what you need

If you liked a fic, don’t forget to leave a kudos, and comments are much appreciated! <3

[angelictaehyun]

𝐓𝐗𝐓 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄: going on summer holiday.

song ; budapest by george ezra

「 𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐍 」

His choice destination was Alberta, Canada. This boy is quite energetic, of course, he decided to take you skiing! Honestly, he just wanted to see you in the snow, he thought you’d look like an angel. Naturally, he was correct, he whipped his camera out as soon as he saw snow land on you.

Tried competing with you to see who could ski down the mountain the quickest, but you were too cute, so he didn’t let you lose. His competitive nature was tossed out the window as soon as he saw you bundled up in all your winter gear, he immediately cooed. 

Every night was spent cuddled in bed, warming each other under the comforter, him pressing delicate kisses along your back.

After each day spent in the snow, you both would walk to a local cafe and drink an absurd amount of hot chocolate... extra whipped cream and chocolate drizzle, of course. He’d always get cream on his nose and you’d wipe it off gently, but not before planting a quick peck on his lips.

Sure, the vacation spot was cold, but all you felt was warmth from the love he radiated for you. 

「 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍 」

He’s quite laid back, naturally, when you both chose a vacation spot, it had to be a beach so you both could relax, so he decided on Krabi, Thailand.

Soobin loved sleeping in, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as the sound of your soft breathing and ocean lapping against the shore lulled him to sleep. 

He also loved laying in the sand with you, the sun hit your skin beautifully, you looked absolutely ethereal. If you weren’t reading a book, basking in the sunlight, then you were swimming in the ocean, getting flustered by a shirtless Soobin, something he found adorable. 

You both loved the relaxing aspect of the beach, but also being able to explore Thai culture! The temples were stunning and the history behind them was even more fascinating, it never failed to capture your attention. Though he thought you looked radiant standing amongst the vibrant gold and red of the architecture. 

Street food was an absolute must on your trip, the crowded streets were always filled with exotic fruit, sugary desserts, and savory snacks. He loved feeding you sweet mango, catching the juice as it fell down your chin, giggling as he did. 

Both you and Soobin loved the vacation as it was much needed. The blend of relaxation and exploration was absolutely perfect. You couldn’t wait to return. 

「 𝐁𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐘𝐔 」

If there’s a place he knew you’d both love, it’s Sydney, Australia. 

He was there to spend quality time with his beloved, possibly pet a koala, even though you told him it’d be unlikely, surf, and fight anything poisonous that came after you or him. 

His favorite part of the trip was the day you both walked around Sydney Harbor, sipping on iced coffee and talking about everything as the gentle sea breeze kissed your skin. 

It was truly a trip of discoveries. He found out he’s not great at surfing, like, at all, but he really just enjoyed swimming in the ocean with you, splashing around and quickly kissing you before you could splash back,

He took you to Rottnest Island to photograph the friendly quokkas and he couldn’t help but coo over how adorable they were. Truth be told, he found you much cuter... he ended up taking more selfies with you than them!

The trip was more relaxing than anything, he loved being able to sleep in with no set schedule. He especially enjoyed watching you snuggle into his chest at night. 

No, he didn’t get to pet a koala, but that was fine by him because he got to fall deeper in love with you. 

「 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍 」

He thought Paris, France would be the perfect place to bring you. The city is a perfect mixture of history, art, music, food, and love. Though a bit cheesy, he wanted to take the love of his life to the City of Love. 

He took you all over the city, starting with Lourve, then the Eiffel Tower, and then to Versailles. At the end of each day, you’d walk hand-in-hand along the Seine and he’d buy a pretty flower for you from a street vendor.

He made countless remarks about how your beauty outdid any painting in the city. You blushed every time, hiding your face in his chest as he giggled, placing light kisses to your forehead. 

Breakfast was your favorite part of the day since you’d eat on the balcony of your hotel room. The combination of french pastries and Taehyun’s arms around your waist always made for a fantastic morning. 

He made sure to take you out one night just to listen to a street busker and dance to the music on the cobblestone. He loved holding you as you swayed softly to the distant, whimsical melody. 

Long story short, your vacation was magical and full of love, culture, and beauty. 

「 𝐊𝐀𝐈 」

This sweet boy wanted to visit his hometown, so you went to Honolulu, USA! Naturally, he wanted you to tag along! It was a big, important milestone in your relationship as it was the first time you ever traveled together, and it was the first time he traveled without the group. 

You swam with Manta rays and he definitely freaked out when one swam too close to him, but he overcame his fear as soon as he realized they were friendly and cute. He was so soft, he couldn’t stop petting them! He also adored watching you interact with them, it made his heart burst.

He was so adamant about trying Hawaiian pizza in Hawaii, like he wrote it on his bucket list and he was excited to scratch it off. His smile was so big when he finally ate the pizza, you couldn’t help but snap a photo to look back on. 

You both flew around the major island, visiting a large volcano site. Obviously, he knew it wouldn’t explode, but he couldn’t help but clutch protectively onto your arm. “Don’t worry, Y/N! I’ll always protect you, that volcano is going to have to go through me!” — Kai, immediately before kissing your nose. 

Every single night was spent walking around the beach, searching for pretty rocks and shells — each time he found something of worth, he’d show it off proudly. He also loved searching the sand for crabs running around, he thought they were tiny and adorable. 

Your vacation was everything you expected it to be: fun, exciting, and full of love. 

[apsaraqueen]

options

another day, another gift! this one’s for the marvelous @leondaltons, one of the hardworking mods at @ssminibang and truly one of the loveliest people in this little corner of fandom. enjoy!

title: options fandom: Sailor Moon characters/ships: Minako/Venus x reincarnated!Kunzite, with a side of reincarnated!Nephrite  rating: R for some slightly limey content

Khaleid knows better than to try and keep her to himself when she’s in this state; it would be like trying to put a mountain lion to bed, or swallow the sun.

options

At night they go to a bar Nacio recommends. Dark, cramped, and dirty, just like all the places Nacio likes, “run by Argentines,” he says dismissively, “so the asado’s not bad.” He comes along, too, “to get them a seat” but Khaleid suspects it’s for dinner on their dime. He orders expansively: ribeyes, chorizo, morcilla, salad to share. Two bottles of Salta red. The three squeeze into a table for two on the sidewalk, where it smells smoky from the grill out back. Nacio and Mina’s knees bump under the table; Khaleid turns his outward, facing the curb. He lights a cigarette, watches the crowds on the street thicken curdlike, chattering and laughing. He feels out of place and terribly old. It’s past midnight. Music - music everywhere.

“I like this wine,” says Mina, a bottle and some later, a little drunk or pretending to be. Not easy for Khaleid to tell, even among friends. Her eyes are bright, hectic. “A lot. What is it?”

Nacio grins. “This, madame, is a noble Bordeaux varietal made in the Argentinean style.” Across the street, a busker sends a pointedly hopeful twang of his guitar in their direction. “Tobacco, vanilla bean, ripe black cherries.” Their friend looks thoughtful. “A little horse shit.”

When Mina laughs her head tips all the way back and it sounds like two glasses striking each other on the edge of excessive force, ringing and anticipatory. It’s how she laughs when she wants you to know what a good time she’s having, and very likely she is, snatching bites of beef and vinegared tomatoes out of their pink juices, washing them down with mouthfuls of wine. Khaleid knows better than to try and keep her to himself when she’s in this state; it would be like trying to put a mountain lion to bed, or swallow the sun. She has innumerable moods, some even tending to tranquility. Later he’ll have her, in the turmeric light staining the dark hotel window. She’ll come down slow, arms wound about his neck, her gaze warming. She’ll touch the hair escaping his tail, his temple, her thumb on his cheekbone; sighing, soft.

Or perhaps she’ll kick open the door and yank him inside, press him to the wall and slide her hand down his trousers. She’ll be insistent, combative, the slim knife of her heel grazing a warning along his calf and her teeth at his ear; always knowing the exact mileage between where he is and the dark precipice to which she can drive him. Her hands are small but not soft. They’ll close around his collar and pull, backing them up to the nearest flat surface, and anyone looking in from the outside would think he was the one walking her to it. She is ardent but precise: desire has its cadence, its thrums and pauses, and like any player, even when in its throes, she can’t help but play. The knowledge that she goes further with him than with anyone is more than enough. Khaleid knows better than to ask her to be who she can’t be.

After they’ve done she’ll stretch herself out along his side and fall deeply asleep, instantaneous. Like a light being flicked off, throaty little snores emptied between his shoulder and neck. Or she’ll stare up at the dark ceiling a moment, eyes flaring wide, then fling herself resolutely into the shower, the room billowing with the steam off her skin. Neither of these options leaves him colder than the other. When he’ll press his nose into her discarded clothes they’ll smell like the must of her body and her floral, indolic perfume. Breathing in he thinks he smells it even now, through the waft of charred meat and warm asphalt, and he can draw a direct line between the selves occupying this table, in this moment, and the selves they’ll occupy tonight, later tonight, this morning. He thinks of her as the changeable one but perhaps that’s not entirely true. Within himself there are so many ways to want her.

“Khaleid?”

Nacio’s voice brings him back. Khaleid blinks, just once.

“What do you think?” Mina rests her elbows on the rickety table. Her thin gold chain slips out from the bodice of her black dress, flickering palely. “We’ve only asked you twice already.”

The cigarette between his fingers is half ash; the rest of it has fallen on his trousers. On his plate the meat has gone cold and purple and the wine in his glass is hardly much different. When he looks at Nacio he finds his old friend’s gaze traveling over him. Glittering, dark.

“Well, shit,” he murmurs. “Guess I’ve overstayed.” He stands, hands in pockets. “Enjoy what’s left of dinner.” He nods at Khaleid. “And the rest of the night. Hope I left enough for you both.”

“There’s still plenty of food,” Mina says. “And Mako’s probably asleep with the girls already.”

“Not what I meant,” says Nacio cryptically. “Anyway, it’s late. Time I got back to my pornographically beautiful wife and perfect, angelic offspring. Boring family man, you know.” He pats his pocket, where Khaleid can see the bulge of his wallet. “Buenas noches, friends.”

“Did you say this would be our treat,” Mina begins, moments after he’s left earshot. She frowns as she watches him round the crowded corner. “And what happened to dancing?”

Her hand small in his, not soft. She shifts her cool gaze to him, electric eyes questioning.

“Never mind.” Khaleid leans forward, stubs his cigarette in the bowl. “We have other options.”

[rightwildish]

Inordinately longing and craving the bustle of crowds... The chatter espresso whirr of a crowded cafe, scents and sizzles of food vendors line a busy street, shouts, dancing, shared laughter in a public space, wandering used bookstores and thrift shops hiss of the subway, running for the doors closing please stand clear, buskers at the center of the train, the heat and pulse of bodies pressed close, bright lights and bass throb, thrum in the dark, seedy bar drunken karaoke, the ritual understanding of mutual closeness. touchtank at the aquarium, we ooh and ahh at the glass of a strange fish, strangers together in the blue dark. You feel me? We didn't have to ask before. Is it better now we do? I tap the glass of my phone and wonder where you are on the other side. Homebody no longer by choice, I crave experiences I didn't want before like a funky blue cheese, like a tin of sardines, bracing vinegar pickles. we are in a restaurant, the eaves-dropping conversational clatter and hum and the intimate gratitude of being served food someone else prepared. the gentle thrill of not knowing when it will arrive or how it will be like. hands brush passing dishes over a full table, cocktails, languid lingering in a sea of otherness. I want to be sensorily affronted, squeezed of juice with the abrasive outside world, cast into the ocean of so much bigger, not just me, never alone, always alive, feeling, feeling, together. (Art: The Sorceress Circe, John William Waterhouse, 1911) — view on Instagram https://ift.tt/2X7adSt

[heroprose]

hand... hold.... hand hold MONOMA !!!!!!!! this is as vague as I can get................ ur giving us JUICE! by writing him ( and others ! ) so well btw... I love u

a/n. handholding with monoma coming right up (rings bell) thanks for requesting! ily anon for giving me the good stuff

//

“oh, wow,” says neito monoma abruptly at your side. from your peripheral view, you notice his face turn away and you struggle to peer around him and the telephone pole. 

“what?” you say with a squint into the evening darkness. “are there buskers? do you want to watch or something? it’s kind of cold out though.” for good measure, you let out a sharp exhale, watching your breath appear in a pale fog and fade out under the streetlamp light. your fingers tremble from the chill and you flex them at your sides.

“even better,” he says, and points. “clowns! just look at them, just bumbling about down the street.”

you pull back warily. “huh?” and you look closer. “hey, isn’t that midori--”

“hey! clowns!” shouts neito, his voice turning shrill. “you guys lost or something? the circus is that way--”

cringing as you watch passerbys jerk their head up to gawk at neito’s speech, you reach over to push his arm down. “let’s go, neito,” you say, exasperate as you pull away. “the crosswalk is flashing.”

“hold on, i just--”

“and i’m cold,” you persist.

neito doesn’t even pause when he reaches out to take your hand. his fingers are warm from being in his pocket and your grip is steady. you give a pull for good measure but he doesn’t seem to notice, and instead, he swiftly brings the back of your hand up to his lips. you glance over to midoriya and his friends, who just look uneasy now that they’ve spotted neito. oh no.

“let’s chat with them a little bit, what do you say?” he says with a strange sort of hubris in his snicker, warm breath on your skin before dropping your hand back to his side. “and then we can go home and-- mmph?!”

with your other hand, you’ve pulled him in for a kiss. a hard, fast kiss that required the turn of the cheek with frigid fingers. when you withdraw with a gasp, you shoot a quick glance at his frozen visage that melts just as fast.

“come now,” he says, pivoting fully towards you, his hand hovering over his mouth. “i know you like to flaunt, but you know, i like to think words are plenty. and you really are cold, goodness.”

“who cares! there’s only five seconds left on the crosswalk, let’s go!” 

neito can only oblige in a daze, his weak mumbling lost in the wind as you tug him down the street, away from the chaos, his hand tight in yours.

[ukonciertos]

Busker Juice. 28 de abril. Hotel Bahía

Y una vez los Busker tocamos en esta nuestra casa con nuestro flamante nuevo batería. Pollo!

GO BUSKERS!!

H:4 M:2

[idkhyuck]

21 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS WITH NCT

DAY 6 Jisung *we’re all caught up!

PARK JISUNG IS A WHOLE SWEETHEART CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE. 

SUMMARY: PARK JISUNG DEALS FALLS FOR A GIRL FOR THE FIRST TIME. FIRST CRUSH READER. I kinda wanna continue this if y’all like it 

Jisung watched on as the street dancers put on one of the best performances, he’d ever seen he’s sure of it. He liked to come to the Hongdae district by himself some days to watch the performers and study some of the dancers. Christmas had the performers out in full force. Lots of foreign buskers were out today. Jisung was finishing his shopping when he decided to stop by. The hip hop group he was watching were just finishing for the day so I dropped some money into their bucket and moved onto the next thing he could find. There was a bit of a crowd forming a few yards down, as he got closer, he could hear Christmas music but remixed? He walked over and he was met with a group of girls around his age doing a hip-hop routine to here comes santa claus. The girls were dressed in elf costumes and were really pretty, Jisung felt shy to stand there and watch them but he couldn’t help. The short one at the back really caught his eye. When she looked his way he almost turned and left but something told him to stay. He became immersed in the performance and the little one at the back kept looking over at him. She could see the blush rise on his cheeks every time their eyes met. He was adorable. She’d never seen him here before, but he looked so familiar. Soon the performance was done, and the girls went out to hand out their business card and little candy canes to all the people who watched. The small one started out on Jisung’s side hoping he’d stick around til she got to him. He was about to leave when he saw her coming to him next

“hey.” She said looking up at him her bangs in her eyes

“hi” Jisung said shyly.

“Here’s our business card, it had a little schedule for when we’ll be here on the back. And a candy cane.” She said sweetly “I hope to see you again.” She sai smiling at him

“Thank you.” he bowed quickly and turned and left. She wondered if she had done anything wrong to scare him. Jisung felt bad he left in such a haste, but he really didn’t know what to say to her. His heart was beating so fast in his chest he thought for sure he was going to die if she looked at him like that a moment longer. Once back at the dorm the others asked him where he was, He quietly showed off his packages and made himself some ramen. He took off his sweater and the girls business card fell out of his pocket. Jeno picked it up

“What’s this?” he asked

“it’s nothing.” Jisung panicked and took it from him

“it’s something.” Renjun said taking it from him. “a girl group?” he said confused

“I was watching performances in Hongdae.” He said quietly

“you like one of them!” Jaemin said picking up on Jisung’s awkwardness right away

“No, no.” Jisung said trying to play it off as he sat right his ramen and juice.

“I bet it’s the tall one in the middle.” Jeno said “She’s pretty, poor little jisungie would die if she talked to him.” He laughed

“no, it’s the one with the died hair.” Renjun said.

“you guys are blind.” Jaemin said grabbing it “it’s obviously the short adorable chubby one.” Jisung was slurping his noodles and choked “See” he said handing the card to jisung who was trying to save himself from his imminent death although he’d gladly take it over the teasing that was never going to stop now.

“wait until we tell Chenle.” Renjun laughed “He’ll get a kick out of this.” He said patting jisung on the back offering him a cup of water in effort to help him live. Jisung took the water and sank in his seat as the boys talked about all the ways jisung could mess up his chances.

 The next week.

Jisung wasn’t going to go to Hongdae this weekend, the boys ribbed him all week and he was tired, but after a late-night call with chenle last night here he was with a game plan. He had regrets of listening to chenle once he saw the smaller crowd around their group. He’d be spotted right away in the best- and worst-case scenario. He took a deep breath as he walked towards the crowd. He tried his best not to draw attention to himself as he watched them. He didn’t want to admit he was looking for her but he was and she wasn’t there. He hated the disappointment he felt upon the realization that he wouldn’t see her. The song came to an end and then one of the girls came over to Jisung

“I couldn’t help but notice that you might be the boy that Y/N talked about all week. So if you are, she got injured and is in the café down the road if you wanna go see her.” She said, “it might cheer her up.”

“she talked about me.” Jisung said mostly to himself. “Thanks.” He bowed to the girl and walked down the street until he saw a café. Sure, enough there she was in the window seat with he foot up on a chair.  Jisung paced back and forth for a few minutes thinking of what he was gonna say before he took a deep breath, walked towards the café, once inside he panicked and was about to turn back out but she smiled at him and he couldn’t stop himself from going over

“uh hi.” He said softly

“Hello.” She said

“is this seat taken?” he asked

“I can be by you.” She said looking up at him, there went his heart.

“oh.” He said sitting “I’m Jisung.” He said offering his hand

“I’m Y/N” She said shaking it “Park Jisung, that’s where I know you from.” She said

“huh?” his heart sank, was she a fan

“You came to my dance academy the first year you debuted to donate some money.” She said

“ah yes. I did donate to a few dance studios.” He said

“your donation kept us open.” She said “thank you. I was able to find my group; I’m training under a small company right now.” She said. His heart sped up a little she was in training too.

“you’re a really good dancer.” Jisung said

“Thank you.” She smiled looking down “I won’t be doing any of that for awhile.”

“Is it broken?” Jisung asked

“it’s just a sprain, but I don’t want to hurt my chances of debuting on time by making it be a nagging injury.” She said

“ah.” He said, “do you want a drink?” he asked

“sure.” She smiled at him. that was the start of their friendship. That week Jisung would go hang out with her when he wasn’t working. He texted her a lot. The boys teased him a lot, but he did not care for once. She was really sweet, and he really liked her. She made him feel understood. She loved listening to him talk for hours on end she encouraged it even. Jisung didn’t understand why he was so trusting of her so fast. He was still getting used to these new feelings he was feeling for her. He worried a lot about what could, would and should happen but in those moments with her all his worries were gone because he truly felt in his heart the start of something beautiful