#but ive had the willpower and the luck to be able to do so ~

[camptv-era]

I just realized Sunday to Friday (their VA’s first and last names, respectively) would be a good alternative name for Poison Apple.

Kisses you lovingly for telling me this

Thank you for taking the time to send me this. It's such a cute detail I'm going to be thinking about! I can't believe Scarlella is canon, due to their VAs.

There are now three ship names for them omg. I'm putting them in my basket like I'm harvesting fruit.

[maandags]

Gardenias & forget-me-nots (Lance x reader)

i keep putting Hunk in the position of wingman and thats probably me self-projecting bc i wouldnt trust anyone else to wingman me tbh

-- -- --

Summary: You own a flower shop. Lance steals your flowers. Hunk is your co-worker and Lance’s best friend: a situation in which he did NOT ask to be. It leads to some interesting conversations.

Word Count: 6K

Genre: fluff with a teensy bit of angst sprinkled in there. this is probably the fluffiest thing ive written to date 

Notes: masterlist - ask me what I’m working on next 👀👀👀👀

-- -- -- 

You threw down your pair of scissors, wiping your hands on your apron and marching up to the front of the flower shop–Forget-me-not, your pride and joy–your fists balled and scowling.

The boy at the window looked up, saw you. His own eyes widened and he gave you a crooked grin and a wink before skipping off, twirling a single pink rose between his fingers. You almost growled, leaning against the doorway and watching him go about with narrowed eyes, knowing that running after him would probably cause a scene. It wasn’t worth it. It was only a single rose.

With a last scoff, you pushed off the doorframe and picked up your scissors again, finishing wrapping up a beautiful wedding bouquet of red tulips and baby’s breath. “That’s the fourth time this week,” you shouted over your shoulder at the back room where your co-worker Hunk was tending to the flowers in the cooler. He poked his head around the door and frowned.

“Serious? And he just takes one flower?”

“A single one,” you grumbled, sitting back on your chair and crossing your arms, glaring at the tulips as if they’d personally offended you.

You probably were being dramatic. It wasn’t the first time someone had snatched a flower from the display outside, but this guy had been doing it for over a month now, and it was starting to get annoying because he never came at the same hour of day, and you never seemed to be able to catch him in the act.

“They’re all roses, too. Usually pink and white ones. He’s not even original.”

“Eh, Y/N, don’t worry too much it,” Hunk said, patting you on the head affectionately. “They’re just flowers.”

You swatted his hand away before turning back to the flowers sitting in front of you. It was a slow day, not many customers had come in yet, but there was always work to do and you intended to get it done, without distractions in the form of some guy stealing flowers from your shop close to every day. Hunk cast you a smile. “Chin up, sweetie!”

When he left for the back room again, you leaned against the desk and sighed, closing your eyes. The truth was that you weren’t exactly angry with the flower thief–you couldn’t be. You had only caught glimpses of his face, and yet you felt like you’d recognise him anywhere, even though you didn’t even know his name.

Yeah, you were in deep.

It made no sense–how could you gain a crush on someone you’d never even properly seen, let alone spoken to? Hunk would laugh at you if he knew, Pidge even more. He hadn’t ever seen the flower thief as he spent almost all his time in the back room, always just managing to miss him. You were always going off about how you wanted to catch him in the act, stop him from stealing once and for all, but that would mean he had no reason to come here again. Perhaps you’d see him again. Probably not.

You’d have to snap out of it eventually. It was just a temporary crush, right? Nothing serious, nothing that would last long enough for you to become genuinely distressed about him. That’s when you made a decision: Next time you saw him, you would go right up to him and tell him to stop stealing your flowers. With a little luck, you’d never see him again, and you’d quickly get over whatever silly crush it was that you’d gained on someone you’d never even spoken to.

You didn’t know how wrong you were.

There he was. You had been lurking by the door for the whole morning, waiting for him as a predator waits for its prey. And there he was, just a few meters away from your shop, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of a dark blue hoodie, black headphones hanging from his neck and his hair a mess. He reached your shop. He didn’t notice you. His hand reached out towards the basket of pink roses.

You whipped open the door and grabbed hold of his wrist before he could do anything, and he yelped in surprise, eyes widening at the undoubtedly furious expression upon your face. “Stop. Stealing. My. Flowers,” you growled, narrowing your eyes at him and trying to ignore how cute the guy looked, startled as he was.

Immediately, his eyes softened and he gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

You let go of his wrist, pursing your lips. “Whatever. Just–quit it.”

He saluted, crooked grin still sitting on his face, and you hated the way your stomach did a little flip. “Sir, yes, sir.” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms and shifting your weight from one hip to another.

As he started to turn around, though, something in you felt the need to blurt out, “Who are the flowers for, anyway?”

You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, but the guy didn’t seem to mind. His smile turned sheepish again, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Oh. They’re–they’re for my girlfriend.”

The words were a slap to the face, and they shouldn’t have been.

He was a stranger. You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know anything about him. This was the first time you talked to him at all. Yet you couldn’t help the pang of disappointment stinging through you when the words “my girlfriend” were spoken. It made sense, too; roses were the most popular flowers gifted to a romantic partner. Pink ones and white ones especially held the meaning of pure and innocent love. You felt like facepalming: it made so much sense, why hadn’t you seen it before?

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, forcing down the blush threatening to stain your cheeks and contemplating what you were about to say next, because you were quite positive you would eventually regret it. “You know what…” you started, and you ran a hand down your face, cursing your weak heart and internally screaming, “if you–if you’re discreet, I won’t tell anyone.”

His eyes–really nice blue eyes, you noticed, and immediately cursed your eye for colour–lit up, and his grin widened. “Are you serious?”

You nodded dejectedly. “Go off. But no more than one flower, please,” you sighed in defeat. You were so disappointed in yourself. A single boy, you thought. One single boy has completely made my willpower crumble. Great.

“You are the only valid person,” he promised, eyes already wandering towards the rose buckets, and you pinched the bridge of your nose, starting back inside. “You’re the best!” the guy called after you. You gave him a tired thumbs up over your shoulder.

At lunch break, you picked listlessly at your sandwich, chin leaning on one hand. “I seriously need to work on, like, feelings,” you muttered.

Hunk didn’t even look up from his own panini. “Oh, same.” Then he frowned and set down his sandwich. “Please don’t tell me this is about the flower stealing guy.” Your silence told him enough and he leaned back in his seat. “Y/N.”

“I know, I know,” you said, rubbing your temples. “I basically encouraged him to keep stealing roses. I’m such a bad influence, I’m telling people to commit crimes–”

“Y/N!” Hunk looked absolutely baffled.

“They were for his girlfriend! How was I supposed to say no?” But even your own words sounded weak in your ears and you felt like cowering beneath a table.

“Oh my god.”

“I won’t be judged. I forbid you to judge me right now.”

“Too late for that, sweetheart.”

“Christ.” You clunked your head on the table. “I deserved to be judged, don’t I,” you said, voice muffled.

“You do.”

“Fuck.” You let yourself drip off your chair and onto the floor, where you lay on your back, staring at the ceiling. “What do I do, Hunk?”

He looked at you with something resembling pity in his eyes. “He has a girlfriend. I’d say you avoid seeing or talking to him at all costs.”

You raised a thumb from your spot on the floor. “Sounds good.”

“You don’t know this guy. You don’t know his name. That’s good, that means you can’t stalk him on social media or anything,” Hunk reasoned. He was genuinely trying to be helpful, and you appreciated that, and with as much dignity as you could muster while lying starfish on the floor of a flower shop you nodded.

“I need to detox.”

Spoiler alert: You did not detox.

Now, you thought you knew how to distinguish a simple crush from something deeper by now. You had crushes all the time, to the point where your friends were more surprised whenever you didn’t like someone than whenever you did.

But you were starting to feel like this might be something different. Almost every day you had a short conversation with the flower thief, and every time he finally went on his merry way you found yourself staring after him and smiling like an idiot, replaying his words in your head for the rest of the day.

Needless to say, Hunk was not amused.

“Is this your idea of ‘Avoiding him at all costs’?” he hissed whenever Flower Thief had left the shop one particular morning, whacking you on the back of the head. He still hadn’t seen him–he said he did not want to get involved with whatever it was that was going on between you and Flower Thief–but he always came to see you when Flower Thief left. Sometimes he’d just treat you to a disappointed glare, sometimes you’d have to listen to one of his scoldings. This particular situation was one of the latter. “Do I have to remind you that he has a girlfriend?”

You scowled, arranging some daffodils, purple dahlias, and crocuses into a purple-and-yellow bouquet, their respective meanings flashing through your mind. Positive change. New beginnings. Happiness. A beautiful message, and all of that conveyed through nothing more than a couple of blooms.

How you started learning the meanings behind flowers, you didn’t remember exactly, nor when. You just knew that you’d always been interested in the symbolism behind each flower, always keen to learn and spouting facts about every single you laid eyes on. It was a family thing, you supposed–the flower shop was still officially your dad’s, even though you were basically managing it.

“Pass me the string, will you,” you muttered, extending a hand. Hunk did so with a sigh.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

It was silent as you wrapped the bouquet, probably tying the knot a little tighter than necessary. Hunk’s gaze burned holes in the side of your head and you took a deep breath, knowing he wouldn’t let it go. “It’s harmless. We’re barely even talking, Hunk. I don’t know his name. He doesn’t know mine. It’s just…” You looked at him, suddenly very tired. His shoulders sagged slightly, and you hope he got the message. Drop it. “Let me have this. I won’t do anything stupid, I promise.”

He squeezed your hand briefly. “All right.”

– – –

Hunk opened the door to the coffee shop Lance had asked to meet, seeking out his friend among the many customers. Lance raised his hand, waving him over.

“Hey, man,” he said, plopping down on the chair opposite him and grabbing the mug of steaming tea Lance had already ordered for him. At this point in their friendship, Lance knew exactly what he needed to get Hunk, depending on his mood. Now, too, he’d done well: plain green tea. It soothed him. But their friendship went both ways, and Hunk had the feeling that green tea meant that Lance needed something from him. In just a moment, he’d be proven right. “All right. What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until next week?”

Lance sipped his own coffee before answering. “Right. So you know how it’s Valentine’s Day in a couple of weeks, right?”

Hunk nodded, already suspecting where this was going. The flower shop already had dozens of custom Valentine’s Day pieces commissioned, and you were getting slightly anxious at the various e-mails of customers you were getting every day. He’d already proposed you stopped taking Valentine’s Day commissions, or at least set a deadline, and you’d nodded absent-mindedly. I can take a few more, you’d assured him. Don’t worry.

The truth was, Hunk did worry a little bit. He was worried that you’d overwork yourself, something that had happened before and something that would happen again. But he also knew that trying to talk you out of whatever mindset it was that you’d worked yourself into was pointless; you could get unbelievably stubborn. He found it equally endearing and frustrating. You were his friend. He’d hate to see anything happen to you.

“And you work at that flower shop, right?”

“Yeah. Get to the point.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Okay, then. I want to surprise Nyma with a bouquet, but I want to make it myself, and I need to know which flowers mean what and which ones look good together so I don’t accidentally tell her “You’ve disappointed me” in flower,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“That’d be a shame,” Hunk said dryly, sipping his tea and wincing at the bite of his words. It was no secret that he wasn’t Nyma’s biggest fan, but he usually toned it down. For Lance’s sake. Lance was his best friend, and it wasn’t his business to judge his partners. Besides, he and Nyma had been together for a little over three years now, so they seemed to work pretty well. “No, but listen. I’ll have to ask my co-worker, Y/N, about that because they do all the real work at the shop, and they’re really good with flowers and their meanings and that kind of stuff. I’m just the heavy-lifting and delivery guy.”

Lance didn’t seem to have noticed Hunk’s small jab at Nyma. He nodded, eyes shining with anticipation and excitement. “You’d do that? Great. That’s great. You know, I’ve been giving her flowers almost every day. She likes it, she thinks it’s romantic. There’s this little florist a few blocks away, and they told me I could just grab a flower every now and then. How cool is that?”

And Hunk almost choked on his tea. “Hang on, hang on,” he wheezes, holding up a hand as he pounded himself on the chest. “That was you?”

Please, please, please don’t let it be him, Hunk prayed, but of course, it was him.

Lance frowned. “What do you mean, ‘That was’–” Then his eyes widened, and he set his cup on the table with a dull bonk. “Oh. That’s your flower shop? But I thought yours was on the other side of the alley–”

“That’s–it’s the back entrance, moron,” Hunk mumbled, setting his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands. A thousand things ran through his mind. You had a crush on his best friend–his best friend who already was with someone. This entire situation couldn’t get any worse, he thought. “Lord, you’re the worst.”

“How come I haven’t seen you around, then?” Lance sputtered, face red.

“I work in the coolers!”

“The what?”

Hunk raised his hands in an I give up gesture. “You know what, never mind. It’s fine. I just–nothing. It’s fine. This is fine. Keep taking those flowers. Don’t tell Y/N we know each other.”

Lance frowned. “Why not? That makes no sense.”

“Just–trust me on this one, man. Not yet,” Hunk said, the gears in his mind working overtime. How was he supposed to make this work? You would freak out if you found out about the fact that Lance was his best friend. He’d have to figure something out. He needed to talk to Pidge about this. Maybe she’d know what to do. But that was something he didn’t want to think about just yet, so he clapped his hands and shook his head. “But let’s not talk about that. Let’s forget about that for a second. Nyma. Talk to me about Nyma. What are your plans for Valentine’s day? Except for the flowers, I mean,” he rambled, silently wanting to punch himself in the face.

But it seemed to work, as Lance sat up a little straighter and launched himself into a rant about all the romantic things he’d planned for Valentine’s day. He really had gone all out this year; a picknick by the lake, stargazing, chocolates, the works. But that was Lance–every year had to be more spectacular than the last.

Hunk only listened to Lance’s pondering about which berries best to buy for the picknick and their compatibility with chocolate with one ear, wondering how in the hell he’d still managed to get himself involved in this shitstorm when he’d explicitly stated that he would like absolutely no part in this.

Looked like he didn’t have a choice.

– – –

Lance had a problem.

Valentine’s day had passed. Everything had been perfect, and Nyma had loved it, and he’d loved that Nyma had loved it–and yet he didn’t really feel like he should. The butterflies in his stomach died down whenever he saw her, and she didn’t make him laugh like she used to. He started growing more easily irritated with her, the mannerisms that he’d once found endearing turning somewhat annoying.

He had a feeling that he knew what was happening, and he didn’t like it one bit.

He could have called Hunk. Probably should have–but he was stubborn, and this was something he had to figure out on his own for now. At least until he’d had a good talk with Nyma about it, and until he’d confronted himself about it.

He was falling out of love with her.

And it was confusing. He and Nyma had been together for three years, and sure, they had their differences, but overall he figured they’d done pretty well. But as he sat down, and he buried his head in his hands, and he really, really thought about it–he began to realise that he hadn’t just fallen out of love with Nyma.

It had been building up. All the little things that hurt and all the little things she’d said and all the little things she’d done, the little things that he’d dismissed and shoved away into a far part of his brain and deemed not important. The dam he’d built to keep all the memories and feelings out of the way was cracking, threatening to break at any moment. What had made him take a step back and realise that maybe, just maybe, a relationship with Nyma wasn’t what he wanted–and wasn’t what he needed?

The answer was simple, and Lance almost felt embarrassed at how quickly it popped into his mind. One word. You.

He’d met you, and gradually his whole world had been flipped upside down.

Every day he left his house to get to Nyma’s, he looked forward more to seeing you for a couple of minutes than he did to seeing his actual girlfriend. He’d started taking detours to your shop when he got home from work, just to see you once more. And the flowers he took with him reminded him of you, and he realised he didn’t even want to give them to Nyma anymore. They reminded him of you and he felt like a traitor, giving them away, even though that was the original reason why he’d started taking the flowers in the first place.

He flopped down on his bed (the one he shared with her), looked around his room (the one he shared with her)--and found that it didn't feel like home any more. A lump formed in his throat and he sighed, rubbing his temples. His fingers itched to call Hunk, his mother, anyone that could help him figure out what to do, but he knew he had to do this alone.

This wasn’t what he wanted anymore. It sucked, but it was true. And he’d have to face it one way or another.

– – –

It had been a busy Wednesday morning, and quite honestly you couldn’t really afford to leave the shop, even only for a few minutes. But when Lance walked right past your door, not even slowing his pace, you forgot about that and shouted over your shoulder at Hunk to cover for you for a minute, ignoring his slightly panicked reply, You yanked off your apron and slipped out the door, jogging after him.

“Hey,” you laughed, slightly out of breath when you caught up to him and tapping his shoulder. “You didn’t take a flower! Are you okay?” You had originally been joking, but your eyes widened when he turned and worry jolted through you.

His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie, his hair even more of a mess than usual. His blue eyes were rimmed red and heavy bags hung beneath them. He looked like he hadn’t gotten a proper night’s sleep in weeks. You started at the sight. “Whoa. What happened to you?”

A sad smile appeared on his lips and he avoided your gaze, looking down at the ground. “I, uh–I broke up with Nyma.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh, no.” A pause. “When?”

He rubbed at a spot on the sidewalk with the tip of his shoe. “Last month.”

“Oh.” You paused again. “I’m sorry.” And you were. He used to always get this adorable goofy smile on his face when he talked about her. Hell, Valentine’s day had just passed! There probably wasn’t a worse time to break up with someone, and seeing him like this made you sad.

But he only shrugged, his eyes fleetingly meeting yours. “It’s okay. Really.”

“Are you–are you sure? I mean, you’d been together for a good while, right?” you said cautiously, fiddling with your fingers and suppressing a shiver. It was the beginning of March, and it was a cold and gloomy day, and the air was starting to bite at your skin. The shop was always heated, for the flowers, and you cursed yourself for not taking your coat with you.

He shrugged again. “A few years. I mean, sure, it hurts, and it’ll hurt for a bit of time, but…” The look he gave you warmed your cold body right up, from the crown of your head to the very tips of your toes. “I guess we just weren’t meant to be.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “I guess not,” you said quietly, another shiver running up your spine, but this time it wasn’t solely from the cold, and you quickly looked away, turning back towards the shop. “I should be getting back to work,” you said apologetically. You pretended not to notice the way his face fell slightly, forcing yourself not to think anything of it.

“At least let me walk you there,” he said, offering you his arm. You rolled your eyes but took it, shuffling a bit closer to him and exhaling when his body heat seeped into your very skin. The two of you walked like that for a little while when something occurred to you.

You leaned away from him a little. “You do realise we still don’t know each other’s names, right?”

He opened his mouth to say something, then promptly swallowed back his words and nodded. “You’re right. What should I call you, then?”

You snorted. “How about just Y/N?”

“All right, just Y/N.” You waited for him to give his own name, nudging his shoulder when he didn’t and he frowned down at you. You raised your eyebrows in a Well? gesture. “Oh, right,” he said breezily. “It’s Lance.”

Lance. The name sent butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. “Nice name.”

He smiled the smile you’d grown so fond of. “You, too.”

You had arrived in front of the shop, and Lance let go of your arm. “Well…” he started, hesitant, as if he wasn’t exactly sure, “until next time?”

You felt yourself nod, but as he turned away, you blurted, “Hang on.” You plucked a gardenia from a bucket that sat just inside the shop and twisted it between your fingers before handing it to Lance. “Here.”

Did you imagine it, or did his cheeks flush? You blamed it on the cold. Your own face would be red from the biting wind too, by now. He reached for the flower with a small smile on his lips. “Thanks. To what do I owe the honour?”

You shrugged. “It’d just be weird to see you leave without one.”

His smile widened ever so slightly. “See you around, Y/N.”

Cursing your thumping heart, you quietly replied, “Bye.”

You were still stood in front of the shop entrance long after Lance had disappeared from view. Then a voice rang out behind you and you jumped three feet in the air. “Yo, that was smooth as fuck.”

“Hunk,” you hissed, and you folded your arms in a weak attempt to cover up your embarrassing stunt, feeling your face heat up–and this time it had nothing to do with the cold. “Asshole.”

“I’m serious,” he said airily, casually sweeping the floor and tapping your ankles to get you to step aside. You did, albeit with a huff. “You guys are looking like you’re seriously hitting it off. His girlfriend better watch out.”

You pulled a face. “They broke up.”

Surprise flashed in Hunk’s eyes, which in turn surprised you. He even stopped sweeping. “Did they now?” He narrowed his eyes. “When? Why?”

You put up your hands. “Last month? I don’t know, man. He didn’t exactly go into detail.”

Hunk shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” you said, defensive.

Hunk seemed to realise he’d been talking out loud and he quickly changed the subject. “What flower did you give him, anyway? Not one of those big peonies, right. Those are so expensive–”

“No, I gave him a gardenia, dickhead.” Then, in full you-style, the meaning of the flower dawned on you and you brought a hand up to your face, staring at him in horror. “Oh, fuck. I gave him a gardenia.”

You didn’t know how well-known the meaning behind the gardenia flower was, but it sure was enough to have a sickly feeling rise in your throat. Gardenias were pretty, quite big and stark white. Popular in wedding bouquets, often associated with purity and whatnot. But you were thinking of the specific meaning a single gardenia carried when gifted to someone. A secret love. Your flower–obsessed subconscious had guided your hand to the very bloom that could ruin everything.

Hunk’s eyes widened a fraction after, and you saw he had figured it out too. “Okay, let’s not panic, all right? He probably won’t know what it means. Had you given him a rose, then it would have been a bit more difficult to explain, but the gardenia thing’s not very widely known, right?” You shook your head, heart thumping. “Well, then,” he said, satisfied, picking up his broom. “Problem solved. Trust me, when it comes to romance, Lance is completely clueless.”

Something he said had you stiffen. “I never told you his name. And how would you know the romance thing?” Your eyes widened. “Oh, lord. You knew all this time. You know him.”

Hunk froze–then he sighed, long and pained. “I do. He’s my best friend, to be precise.”

Your hands dropped to your sides. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Before you could demand an explanation Hunk’s phone rang. He fished it out of his back pocket, glanced at the caller ID, and pulled a face. “Speak of the devil.”

“That’s him?” you squeaked, hands balling to fists.

Hunk shooed you away. “We’ll talk later, okay? But if I don’t take this call he’ll just start bombarding me with texts until I answer anyway.” You started to open your mouth, but Hunk was already retreating into the back room, and he picked up as he closed the door. “Hey, man–Lance, slow down–”

You jumped at the ringing of the doorbell and spun around, slapping a smile on your face. Customer. Work was calling. But how in the everloving-hell were you supposed to concentrate on work?

– – –

Okay, so now Lance had a serious problem.

He tried to explain everything to Hunk but tripped over his own words and even as they left his mouth he knew he didn’t make any sense.

“Okay, okay, back up, man. Breathe,” Hunk was saying–calm as ever, bless his soul–and Lance did, taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair. Calm down, Lance. Breathe. He pondered how best to explain everything. He came up with nothing, his words suddenly failing him.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Lance muttered, pacing the length of his room–his own room, at his parent’s house, free of anything Nyma-related. “I’m just–I didn’t expect–”

“–to fall in love with Y/N?” He said it so casually Lance almost choked on air. But he knew there was no point denying it: after all, he’d fallen in love with you long before he even realised it.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess.”

There was a silence, and Hunk sighed. “Lance, do you know the meaning behind the gardenia flower?”

Lance stopped pacing. “The fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“Just look it up, will you?” He sounded like he would not be taking no for an answer.

“Fine,” Lance grumbled, crashing on his bed. Turning his head, he glared at the flower you’d given him before leaving. It’d just be weird to see you leave without one. He grinned stupidly.

“Listen, I need to go. But…” Hunk hesitated. “Y/N always stays a bit longer than I do every night. To close up. Ten thirty. You might be able to catch them.”

A smile slowly crept up on his face. “All right.”

“I promised myself I’d stay out of this one, you know. I mean, Y/N gets crushes all the time–and it never works out. But this time, it’s… I don’t know. Different.” A pause. “Take that as you will. Just be careful with them, all right?”

“Christ, Hunk, are you their dad or something?” Lance laughed, but only to mask his own nerves.

He could almost hear Hunk roll his eyes over the receiver. “Bye, Lance.” Then the connection broke and Lance chucked the phone onto his bed with a sigh.

The truth was that he hadn’t felt this for anyone in a long time–maybe even ever. He didn’t know what made it so different from what he’d experienced before; maybe it was the twinge in his gut whenever he talked to you. The innocent little things he noticed about you and made his heart swell. It was pure, and sweet, and good.

He mulled Hunk’s words over in his head. Ten-thirty. Maybe he’d take a look, if he didn’t chicken out and turn around before he’d even gotten to the end of the street. He pulled his phone back to him again, suddenly remembering something else Hunk had said. Gardenia. A second later, his eyes skimmed the first site that had come up, and his heart started beating quicker with every word.

He remembered something Hunk had told him a while ago. They’re good with different flowers and their meanings and that kind of stuff. It could be a mistake, of course. But then again… you didn’t seem like the person who’d make a mistake like this. And Hunk wouldn’t have had him look up that the meaning behind a gifted gardenia is a secret love.

He could be wrong. Hunk could be wrong. But if there was even the slightest chance… how could he not try?

Lance was seriously starting to regret not taking anything other than his dark blue sweater as he walked briskly to your shop, turning corners and crossing streets almost on instinct now. His breath clouded in the cold March air, and while it had been okay in the daytime when the sun shone and provided some warmth, now it was cold and dark and clammy and he was shivering and cursing himself under his breath.

The lights were still on, illuminating the wooden panel upon which was written the name of the shop–Forget-me-not. It fit, Lance found. From his spot across the street, he could see your form hunched over the counter, scribbling on a notepad in front of you. Your hair was a mess, sticking out all over the place. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. He smiled, and he didn’t feel so cold anymore.

You didn’t look up immediately when he gently opened the door, sending a gust of wind into the warm shop. At his right there was a bucket of gardenias, and in an impulse he grabbed one, twirling it between his fingers. You sighed, straightening with a groan.

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed–”

Your eyes widened when you saw him, and you immediately straightened completely. He tensed, trying for a smile. “Hey.” His voice came out an octave higher than usual.

“Hey,” you said, surprised. “You’ve never–it’s pretty late, you know.”

Lance winced. Had he made a mistake coming here? His fingers clenched around the stem of his gardenia. “I can go if–”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, no! No, I was just surprised, is all,” you assured him with a smile, the sparkle returning to your eyes. “Stay.”

So Lance walked up to the counter and laid down the flower. You looked at it, then at him, then back at the bloom and back at him. Your eyes narrowed. “Are you seriously returning–”

“No! No, I’m buying this one,” he said quickly, feeling his neck and ears heat up. “I kept yours.”

You had to bite back a smile, he saw. The small curl of your lips made his heart beat even faster–and yet also took a huge weight off his shoulders. “We’re closed, you know,” you muttered.

Lance paled, his nerves rocketing, but then you laughed. You chuckled behind your hand, eyes glittering, trying and failing to keep your face straight. “I can make an exception, I guess,” you said quietly, fiddling with your fingers. You looked up briefly, eyes meeting his. “For you.”

“Okay.”

But neither of you moved, and Lance felt his gaze pulled towards you as if by some magnetic force, drinking in every inch of your face. You pointedly kept your own eyes in no particular place, gaze zipping from his to your hands to the flower on the counter to the dozens of other flowers arranged around the shop. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but Lance still broke it.

“Hunk told me to look up what they meant,” he said, gesturing at the flower.

You stiffened. “And?”

He coughed. “Well, I’m giving you this one.” There it was again, the damned flush reddening his cheeks and ears. Rubbing his neck, he said, “I like you a lot, Y/N–”

But he never had a chance to finish his sentence, because you stood on your tippy toes and grabbed the collar of his hood, yanking him towards you and crashing his lips to yours. He hummed in surprise, but soon completely melted into your touch, his own hand tentatively coming up to cup your cheek while supporting himself on the counter with the other one.

His hip dug into the counter, and it was hard getting a good angle and it probably wasn’t the most comfortable place to kiss–what with the counter separating the two of you and all–but he found himself not caring at all, the hundreds of butterflies set loose in his stomach and fluttering around like crazy at the touch of your lips on his.

The kiss was short and sweet and all too soon you pulled away, leaving his heart beating a thousand miles an hour and your taste on his lips. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to form coherent sentences for at least a week. You giggled, quickly retreating your hands and skirting out from behind the counter, halting beside him and pressing a hesitant peck to his cheek. Lance grinned, covering his face with one hand to hide his blush–though he knew it was silly.

Your fingers ghosted over his. Hesitant. Curious. It sent electricity up his arm and a shiver up his spine, but he liked it.

“Help me close up?”

[kmelanin]

Life After Murder- JJK

idol visuals-

AN- Okay, so ive finally decided to post this. I know I know, i was suppose to post the Prince J, but guess what! idgaf lol, plus this is ready and that isnt because ive decided to changed a few things. I hope you love.

Warning: Some of the things they will be doing is highly illegal. SEx? 

Summary: You have entered a release program after complelting ten years of prison. Will you make it out into to the real world? Or will some officers put you back?

_____________________

One

Out of the window you were watching as trees go by. You sat on the boring tan bus with three other girls. You couldn't believe that you were actually out, finally.

Ten years ago, when you were 15 years old you found your best friend on her bed with a knife in her side. You freaked out because no one was home, you were meant to come over and hang out until your dad got home later that night, your mom never coming home. She had fell while trying to cut something. You remembered her words, ‘no, don't call my mother, she will never let me stay home by myself again.’ So you didn't. What you didn't know was that she was dying, the knife had punctured an important organ. You knew that the knife should come out and that you should call something. Her eyes were closed when you decided to reach for the knife and grab it, and in that moment her parents opened the door.

You didn't know she was already dead before you tried to reach it, you didn't know that the system would do you so wrong. They had no other evidence other than your finger prints on the knife.

They tried you as a adult, and you were sent away. You parents refused to visit you or talk to you. The only person that was there for you while you were locked up was your sister, she always sent you money, and made sure to visit you. But that stopped when she moved away with her boyfriend leaving you alone.

But now, you were out after ten years, you were ecstatic since you were suppose to serve fifteen. But since you accepted the offer to enter a three month program, you would be able to officially free.

You stood in front of the bus, in front of the building you will be in for the next three months. You stood in the middle of the two other girls. In front of you three were four officers.

“Good Morning. I am Officer Hyuna. I am the main officer here. You three have been chosen to be eligible for this program so don't abuse this chance. Including you three, there are four other groups of three from four other prisons making you one of fifteen.” She then pulls out some index cards from her pocket. “You will be assigned to your own officer, it's for your own protection and they will be a guide so you don't ruin your chance here. But they can only help you so much.” She passes them out to us, in no particular order. “Don't look yet. On the back of these cards you will see a name, which belongs to one of these officers.” She points to the cops next to her that barely moved the whole time. “Please introduce yourselves.”

In sync, they walk forward standing in front of you three. Then the first one goes.

“Hello,” He bows slightly. “I am Park Jimin, Officer Park to you, or just Park. I am 28 years old and Korean, and I'm here to make sure that you are ready to go out into the real world. I hope we don't have any problems. Good Luck.” He bows again. You had to admit, as you look at him, he was practically glowing, as his talked his blonde hair stayed perfectly styled and his teeth were blinding. You hoped his name was on the back of your card. You will admit, being in prison for ten years means no sex, or kissing, no touching. And so badly you wanted to be.

“Hi, I am Kim Taehyung. There are many Kims here. So you can call me anything, but I expect respect. I am 27 years old and Korean. Good luck in this program, I don't want to see you behind bars again.” He bows and nods his head. He was a different type of beautiful. Almost the opposite of Jimin, his hair was loose and ruffled. It was also a dark brown almost black. You couldn't understand how pretty he was. And when you looked down at the last officer, you knew that the next three months were going to be hard.

“I am Jeon Jeongguk, officer Jeon. I am the youngest officer here at the age of 26, and i’m also Korean. I am here to help and guide you through this program.” He nods a little and his eyes meet yours. You frowned a looked away. Just one glance and your heart was beating ten times faster. His hair was like Taehyung's but a little more put together, faded out all around leading up to the dark locks.

“Great, now Inmates. Introduce yourself, and don't forget to include your charges. Then flip your card over and say who you have” Officer Hyuna says.

You were interested in who the other girls where and what they were in for. The girl to your left, and in front of Park, begins.

        “My name is Zhang Pomo, but you can Po. I’m chinese and black since we are telling each other what our race is. I’m 24, and I robbed a grandmother's home, which caused her to have a heart attack, so I was charged with Robbery and Murder.” Then she flips her card over. You and the other girl looked over, you were thrown off when you seen some symbols that you didn’t recognize.

          “I might be asian, but I can't read Korean.” Pomo sasses.

          “When those cuffs are on, you are to talk when allowed.” Hyuna says sternly. You almost forgot about the cuffs holding your wrists together in front of yourself. You were so used to them. “Yes its Korean, it’s their names. They didn’t want you to know who you got until the very end. Next”

         When she was done explaining she looked at you.

          “Inmate 56190, or YN. I’m 25 years old, my mother is Hispanic and my father was Black, and I was charged with Murder.” You kept it simple and bland. Being in a prison for ten years has taught you not to trust anyone or let your guard down. You couldn’t afford to get more time. You’ve already missed so much, as a convicted Murder,you could only do so much in life now. You then held up your card for the Guards to see.You looked at each of them to see which one you got. But they all kept straight faces. When they nodded, you put it down. When you looked back up you seen Jeon looking at you, but quickly look away.

           “My name is Faye Winters, I am 29 years old and i’m cuban and white. I’m here for Kidnaping my daughter and for killing my ex husband.” She then hold up her card and pulls it back down.

            “Okay and close your eyes.” Hyuna demands and you do. “Hold your hands out.” She says. “Guards, go to your inmate and take her cuffs off. When you feel them, you may open your eyes and find out who you have. After that. you may enter the building, he will show you your room, give you clothes to change into since you were suppose to take a shower before you came. Then you will eat and we will move on from there.”

              You hear their footsteps move forward, you held your hands out and instantly a pair of hands grabs them and started to unhook your cuffs with a key. You slowly open your eyes and you had to use all of your willpower not to roll your eyes. Of course you got Jeon Jungkook.

               “Congratulations, You are no longer inmates.” Hyuna says and walks away. You looked over and seen that Faye got Jimin and Pomo got Taehyung. When you looked up at Jungkook he once again was looking at you.

             “What?” You ask irritated. He just laughs a little and shake his head a little.

              “Oh nothing, let’s get you out of these stripes, yea?” He then turns around and enters starts to walk towards the building, you follow leaving the others behind.

“YN?” He asks confused. He was wearing black sweats and a red pull over, and his hair was all wild and had that ‘just had sex’ effect. Which made your jealousy boil.

“So we are going to right to your room. In this program, we don’t want to treat you like a prisoner, because you are no longer one. So don’t act like one. We do have cells in the basement to hold you if you act out.” You two walked down a long hallway until you turned on corner which lead to a area that was shaped like a square with one door on each wall. And a desk in the middle.

“This is where I or another Guard on a different shift will be.” He then walks to the first door. “This is your room.” He opens the door and you were smiling like crazy. Not only was it almost three times bigger then the cells you were in. There was a actual fucking bed instead of a metal bed. There was also a closed in bathroom.

“Since you were 15 when you were arrested. We were put in this unit, because in the other two door is a kitchen and a washer and dryer so you will be in there a bit and the other room is like a rec room where you do your indoor activities.”

“And where will you be?” You ask as your face settles into a frown. You’ve been told you had one of the worst resting bitch faces they’ve seen in the last 10 years. Just your face alone has started fights and gotten you put in the hole.

“I’m going to be right there most of the time. And the rest right next to you.” He smirks pointing back at the desk in the middle. You wanted to roll your eyes at the thought of him being next to you most of the time. It's not that he smells or his annoying, in fact he smells fucking delicious. And that's the problem.

Since you were in prison at the age of 15, you were immediately thrown into the scary adult world, since you were trialed as a adult. You were in the juvenile section until you were 19, then they put you in the adult quarters. You had a rude awakening, especially when your bunk mates would touch you or try to seduce you at night. As time went on, sometimes you let them do stuff because you wanted it. But you knew that you liked guys as well. Your 8th year in, one of the guards gave you a special gift. You weren't sure if you wanted it or not, but the next time you did. You would play games with them throughout the day, it would take your mind off of it.

Your tenth year, they were caught and sentences to twenty years each, and you were put into this fucking program.

Now, Jeon Jungkook was dangerous. All three of the guards were only because they were attractive and much younger then the guards inside the walls. You couldn't help it, you could easily seduce someone, and you so desperately wanted to find out how Jungkook worked, so you could figure him out. But, then you knew that if you wanted to get out, you had to be good.

“So, clothes?” You ask.

“Right, if you look in the closet their should be some shirts hanging up and some khakis folded. I'm not sure what color shirts you wanted so I got black and white.” He points toward the standing closet in the corner of the room, across from the bed. You nod.

“Anything is better than these stripes.” You walk over to the closet, and find exactly what he said. You were excited to see some sweatpants as well, and some bigger black tees. “I can wear anything in here?” You ask looking over to him standing in the doorway.

“I mean the sweats are your pajamas, but there isn't a rule saying you can't.” He smiles softly and nods, giving you the go that you could wear anything. “I'm going to let you get dressed, let me know when you are done then we can go get some food.” He nods and he shuts the door. You quickly changed, and you through the suit in the trash.

There were some simple black off brand converses. You slip them on with the socks they gave you and fixed your hair a little in the mirror. You thanked the universe that you got the black thick straight hair from your mom. Some of the colored girls end up getting dreads or cutting it off because they can’t give it the proper care. And you wouldn’t want that. But you could use a hair cut and deep condition.

When you opened the door again you seen Jeon sitting at the desk on the phone. When he sees you walk out he hold up one finger, telling you to wait. You shut your door and stood in front of it, like you were used to. He was on the phone for another two minutes, then he hung up.

“Okay, so this program is to teach you how to live a normal everyday life. The Basics. Since you were locked up at a young age, you were taught most normal way of life, only a prisoners way. So I just got off of the phone with Officer Hyuna and in the mall cafeteria, they are serving rice and pork belly.

Your family had moved to Korea when you were five years old. Your father was placed there. He served in the army, and he was at a really high ranking in combat until he got injured. He’s home now because of it, and he loved the Korean culture so we didn’t move. They made you go to a Korean school so you could learn the language. It was a requirement, to even try to survive, and have a normal life.

You’ve learned that when some look at you, they instantly think you don’t know Korean. So you try to play with everyone as much as possible. That has also got you in a few fights behind the walls. You were surprised when the guards spoke english. Did Jeon know you knew Korean?

( when you see “( )” that is korean. There will be english words in it, but just like imagine that person speaking Korean. Okay? Okay. )

“Can we bring it back here?” You ask frowning slightly. You’ve loved the fact that you could eat by yourself in your cell. You hated being around people who actually killed someone, or robbed or kidnapped. It didn’t help your anger any.

“No. if you want to eat then you have to eat with everyone else. Make friends Yn.” He frowns, confused to why you want to bring it back.

“Fine, then I won’t eat.” You almost wanted to cry at your own words. You haven’t have Pork Belly in forever. And they most likely have Kimchi as well. But you didn’t mind really. Most of the days locked up, the meals were disgusting. They had you Fucked up if they thought you were going to eat it. You got by with the food you could buy from the little store they have and when your mother bought food during visits that were approved, you could have it in your cell.

“What? Why won’t you eat?”

“I won’t and I don’t like eating with others. I’m supposedly somewhat free, why can’t i eat here? There’s literally a kitchen behind that door.” You cross your arms. You weren’t whining or anything, you were dead serious.

But he had a smile on his face, and he shook his head

“They told me that you skipped meals. And they made it one of my jobs to make sure you get three meals a day, everyday. So, Let’s go.” he says the last part a little more sternly. But you just scoff. Did they really? But then a thought came to mind.

“Will Officer Park And Taehyung be there?” You ask walking towards him. That caused him to frown a little bit nod. “Oh, I want to talk to them first. Then fine.”

You both walked toward the middle of the whole building, and enter a cafeteria, it almost reminded you of middle school.  You see Park and Taehyung standing at the entrance welcoming people in. More like just guarding the door.

“Jeon, Yn.” Park says nodding.

“Hi Jimin.” You say stopping in front of him. “How is Faye? And How’s Pomo?” You ask looking over to Taehyung as well. “I really wish i got one of you, instead of him.” You pout a little. Of course half joking, but before they could say anything you walk in and going to the food line. You happily got a tray and got your food and utensils.  You quickly find a seat, away from everyone else. More like a seat on the floor near the back wall.

As you ate, you watched the three of them talk and Park was laughing hitting Jeon on the arm. You were too far away to see what they were saying, but you watched at Jeon walked in. He looked toward the food line, then were the drinks were. You could tell he was frowning from where you sat. He then scanned the whole room, you realized he was probably looking for you. You continued to eat and people watch, looking over at Jeon walking around the tables looking at everyone.

You seen Pomo walk up to you and squat down.

“Jeon is looking for you.” She says smiling. “Is he as dull as Taehyung is? His voice is so emotionless and annoying” She huffs. You just smile and shake your head.

“No, I’m most likely the annoying one.” She laughs at your words and looks up.

“Good luck Hun, he’s on his way over.” She gets up and walks away.  You quickly look up and see him walking up to your holding a cold water bottle.

“Stand up YN.” He sighs, you assumed it was of relief since he has been looking for you. You sighed yourself and stand up. You through your trash away in the nearest garbage and grab the water bottle he was holding out. “There are plenty of seats you know.”

“I'm not a friendly person Jeon, know that. If you ever see me smile at someone, it's because I'm getting something out of it. I might look nice and innocent, but I'm not. Now, can I take a nap?” You ask crossing your arms. He looks at you for a second, he had a slight frown in his brows, and you give him a second to understand and say something.

“We have to stock the kitchen and your bathroom before curfew, which is 8pm. So…” He looks down at his watch on his wrist. “It's 5, ill give you a hour.” He nods and you just walk past him towards your room, and he follows behind. You went into your room and shut your door, you take off your shoes and pants then climb into your new and much more comfortable bed.

Right outside of your room, Correction Officer Jeon Jungkook sat happily writing your grocery list. He wondered why your sassy attitude made him smile. He wondered why his heart jumped when Jimin said that he had a interesting three months ahead. He was also nervous, you were dangerous, and not criminally, but physically. He was definitely attracted to you, and that scared him.

Eventually you had to get up. Jeon sent you on the path the the neighboring grocery store. They had cameras in there that connected to the building, so he could watch you. He gave you the list and the money and sent you off. You quickly got everything you supposedly needed, from packaged Kimchi, to Ramen, to veggies and fruits. You of course got some things that weren’t on the list and Jeon laughed at that, only because the extra money you spend comes out of his paycheck.

Soon it was curfew and Jeon was getting ready to leave.

“I’ll be back around 6 am, wake up is 9. Officer Park will be doing a double shift, so he's taking over your unit until I come back. Behave please, I don't want to come back and see you in a cell.” He nods and walks off. He only says that because, it might be curfew, but you don't have a bedtime or ‘lights out’.

On the wall of your room, you seen a couple sheets of paper taped the wall. You looked at it, and noticed that it was a schedule. It was set up for a month, then towards the bottom of the last page, it says it repeats two more times. Tomorrow it says that you make breakfast, welcome meeting, and recreation.

It was suddenly like a weight was lifted off. You didn't have to stay in a cell for twenty three hours a day. You got to make your breakfast instead of eating cow shit. You got ready for bed and you climb in. You cried yourself to sleep, you were so happy, you felt like you could wake up at any moment and you would be back behind the bars.

The ringing of a phone pulled you out of your dreamless sleep. You were confused for a moment, wondering where the hell you were at. But once everything came to you, you sighed and sat up. You grabbed your sweats and slipped them back on and you made sure you didn't look crazy. You remembered that Park was working the desk, and when you looked at the clock you seen that it was only two a.m.

You went to the door and opened it slowly. You peaked out and you instantly thought this was a dream.

There sat Park at the desk. The desk went up so you could only see his shoulders and up, but with the one light that was on above just to light up the desk, it made his hair look golden and his face was shadowed, you were able to see his face clearly, but you didn't care, he looked beautiful. It made you mouth water.

“Mhmm, are you going to come out YN?” His voice threw you off a bit. It was different from Jeons. Much more softer, but still just as dangerous. You froze, of course he caught you. But did he know you were checking him out? His head turns toward you, looking up from whatever he was doing.

“Is everything okay?” He asks looking a little concerned. You were too stuck at looking at him to say anything, causing his frown to deepen.

He pushes himself away from the desk and he stands up. He moves away from the desk letting you get a full view of him. You throat went dry when you see a simple crew neck t-shirt version of his uniform tucked into his pants showing off his small waist. His arms were exposed more, letting you see the veins running up his arms.

“No. I’m not okay.” You pout a little.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks. You quickly nod and walk back into your room hopping on the bed and covering your legs up since you were only in a t-shirt and underwear. He comes in and shuts the door. You turn on the bedside lamp so he could see you a little better on your bed. He walks over to you. “What’s up?”

You pat the bed wanting him to sit down. His raises one of his eyebrows but instead of saying anything, he sits.

“Now, don't take anything I say the wrong way. But as you know, i’ve been locked up since i was 15. I had my first kiss at the age of 14. What i didn’t expect is to go into prison straight as a dry noodle, then come out as a wet one. I was forced at first. But then i just accepted it and learned to love women. But the thing is, i know I love men. But i’m deprived, i’ve never had the chance to be with a guy.” You couldn't keep eye contact with him the whole time. So toward the end when you looked back at him, he was looking down at his hands and he played with his fingers.

“You and I both know that nothing between us can happen.” He mumbles. He looks up at you, but he didn't look as bright eyes and cheery as before, instead, dark and concerned.

“Are there cameras in here?” You ask looking around. Maybe you shouldn’t walk around in your underwear.

“No, this whole area are your private quarter for the next three months. There are cameras, but only in the public areas.”

“Okay, so no one will know.” You push the covers back a little.

“Of course no one will, because nothing will happen.” He frowns and stands up. You follow easily and frown a little too.

“Please, just a little kiss.” You pout a little.

“YN, what? We can't…”

“Am I ugly or something?” You cut him off. You looked down and made your pout a little more dramatic. Jimin would be lying if he said his heart was beating like crazy.

“Of course not, you're actually-” He stopped unsure of what to say. “(you're dangerously beautiful.)”

What came out of his mouth really confused you at first, until your mind worked and you understood.

“(Then kiss me)” You say, a little butchered but it was still clear enough to make his head snap towards you. His face was hard and unsure still, he looked away towards the door, then back towards you. You could tell he was hesitant. You look down at his lips and you almost drooled at the thought of kiss his lips. You wanted to feel the softness and to feel his hands grab you.

You walk in front of him and grab his arms. You pulls them around your waist and you look up to him. “(Little one.)” You lean in towards his face. You knew you had him when he didn't move away, his chest was moving faster than usual. You reached your hand up and touched under his chin a little and that seemed to do the trick.

He jumped forward and smashed his lips into yours and he hands come up higher. He kissed you. It stunned you at first, at how quick he was to capture you, but once you start to kiss back he pulls you closer kissing you deeper. You opened your eyes slightly, watching his eyes as they were squeezed shut. Your eyes clamped shut when you heard a slight moan come from him as you raked your fingers in the back of his head. Your hands then trailed down and around his neck and down his chest. You grabbed onto his shirt, before pulling away.

He tries to chase you a little, and you look at his smirking lips. You looked further down at his wrinkled shirt, you smirked as well and you wiped away his wrinkles, straightening his shirt out.

Then a sudden sharp knock came behind you. It was like Jimin was set on fire, and he pushed you away, taking like three steps back. The door opens and Jimin looks at you worried.

“So, if you just put a hot towel on your forehead, it should get rid of your headache.” Jimin nods. He then looks over to who was at the door and then you finally looked. You were surprised to see Jeon standing there with a handful of blankets.

“Oh, what are you doing here?” Park says running his fingers through his hair.

“I forgot some paperwork and I thought of bringing some of my old blankets for Yn.” He looks down at the navy blue blanket. You walk over and grab at the blanket.

“Oh shit, this is so much better then the itchy ass ones you gave me.” You take it out of his hands and set it on your bed.

“Okay, well I have to piss.” He says walking out and leaving you and Jeon alone.

“You have a headache?” Jeon asks.

“Oh, Jimin and I were talking a bit, so it feels a lot better now.” You smile, then you remembered that you were only in a tshirt and underwear. Jeon walks over to you a little, you were confused to why he walked right up to you, you froze when his hand raised up and touched your lips.

“Yea, and whatcha talk about?” He mumbles frowning a little bit.

“Oh, just how annoying you are.” You swat his hand away. He scoffs and drops his hand.

“I have done nothing wrong, I even just gave you a blanket. You have no reason to think that.” He smiles and takes a half of a step back. You rolled yours eyes.

“Exactly that, you are too soft. You are a correctional officer. I don't understand why you are here at three in the morning giving me a blanket.” You jab at his chest with your fingers.

“You don't know me.” His voice suddenly a bit deeper and you felt the room tense up.

“No, but I do know that I have this sissy ass CO, while Pomo and Faye has some sexy ass-” He raised his arm up and he pushes you down by your shoulder. You were shocked at first at his sudden aggressiveness. You had to look up at him, as he stood in front of you looking down. You felt so little and you loved you. His facial expression was hard, and you could tell he was clenching his jaw. Your eyes trailed down, you see that he was wearing a big navy blue tshirt and some black sweats. You were lined up directly to his waist, and you couldn't help but to bit your bottom lip. You sneaked a look back up to him, and his eyes were lower, and darker, which made your body tingle.

Before you could do anything, he moves away from you and grabs your blanket, he starts to spread it out. You watch as his arms moves so easily as he lays the blanket on half of your bed like it was nothing. You look up at his face. His jawline catches your eyes first. You could tell he was still clenching his jaw, making it seem a bit sharper. His lips were just there, sitting on his face so pretty and pink. You became a little frustrated when you think about how much you wanted to touch him, you knew he wasn't going to be as easy at Park was. Or was he?

“Goodnight. Keep those lips to yourself.” He then turns around a leaves.

_________________________

If you have enjoyed what you read, make sure to show some love. Xx

[br0kenbutterfly]

15/5/2017

So its 2am, its fucking freezing cold, but I have to write this because if I dont, itll be just like all the other stuff I look back on and wish I had some recollection of how I felt. Like all my childhood diaries that I started. Or the abandoned derby tumblr thats still lurking somewhere. Anyway.

I had my initial appointment with a surgeon today about weight loss surgery. I’ve been thinking about surgery since about 2013, and seriously for the last 9 months or so. I’ve talked to several people who have had various surgeries (including mum, my friend and a friend of my aunts), and done my research. Ive discussed this with my (awesome amazing wonderful) GP, and our work counsellor Ann-Marie, who are both incredibly supportive. I’m paying for this surgery privately, which cuts hugely into the savings Ive accumulated since I was 15 for a house, but I can wait for a house. Every year I don't do this is a year Im kinda wasting my youth on being huge and not happy and making excuses for not doing things Id like to do. Not that Im unhappy all the time, but my weight is a safety blanket, kinda like my depression was my safety blanket for not leaving oamaru. I just dont wanna wait until Im accepted into public surgery (which Ive been on the list for since 2013) because at that point Ill probably be in my 50s and have so many health issues. Like for goodness sake, im 26 and I have pre-diabetes, polycystic ovaries that mean im probs infertile, a perpetually sore back that means i cant walk for more than a block without having to stop, my knees and ankles give out randomly. Anyway. Im rambling. 

My appointment was with Dr Flint, who I chose because thats who my friend had surgery with (and because the other guy was the one who did my consult for public surgery and he was a right royal douche). He was lovely, and explained both procedures (roux-en-y and gastric sleeve) really well. Im going to have a gastric sleeve, because the ongoing risk of complications like IBS and hernias are smaller (and because you dont have to be on vitamins for life and my god i hate taking meds). He weighed me - ive put on like 5kg since i last weighed myself (fuck) but to be fair i did have my docs on. So my offical starting weight is 157.8kg, which is a terrifying number and also this is probably the first time ive admitted my weight to anyone who isnt a medical professional in a long long time holy shit. Apparently if everything goes well i should be around 95kg afterwards (like 2 years away).

After I went through everything with the surgeon, I saw his nurse? receptionist? general fucking awesome person Denise. Shes so lovely. She talked me through the appointments I need to have next (which tbh is part of the reason I want to to it privately, because i know its not just about the surgery, its about learning to live as a smaller person, and i fucking dont know how to eat properly, and id really like to do some exercises that dont hurt my damn back all the time). So I have to see the dietician, and an exercise consultant, and a psychiatrist, and then back to the surgeon for pre-op appt. My surgery is scheduled for the 11th July, which means Ill be on preop diet from like, the 13th June I think? I might buy some optifast and try it for some breakfasts first. Im so not looking forward to that bit.

Then because I was like, nervous as fuck after my appointment, I went and cuddled ellas tiny humans and then talked to laura and watched sense8. 

My biggest fears at the moment are:

-me fucking this up. like what if i cat do it, if my willpower is awful, and i screw it up and throw $20k down the drain. How shit will I feel about myself if the surgery doesnt work, because theres not really any more drastic options. what if i put all the weight back on like my uncle, or drink frozen coke and dont eat protein like my mum

-mum. i havent told her yet....im telling her tomorrow. im worried shes gunna be weird about it. not in a “you shouldnt have the surgery” kinda of way, im worried she will want to know how much i weigh, and give me well meaning comments about how i shouldnt be eating this or that, or go the other way and want to have a massive blowout before i start optifast. 

-who do i tell? apart from the internel lol (im guessing only like 3 people i know in real life will read this). do i tell my dad? i should but again, im so worried about what he’ll think, how he’ll judge me. 

-i think in general im so used to the comments about my weight that im really caught up with it as part of my identity? Like I hate all the health and fitness ads because it just reminds me of me not being fit and healthy, but i wonder if some part of me likes being fat to be a rebel, because some weird part of me feels like im failing by conforming to societys (and my dads) wishes about how i look and act. idk. 

- hahahahahh optifast. ive heard it tastes awful and i have 6 weeks of it, then purees (goodie), then soft food. also imma have to eat veggies. fuck.

I’m excited about:

-being able to maybe actually skate well?! being able to do general things like run after izzy or go for a bike ride with people without being like yeah nah i cant do that because it hurts. itd be nice to walk up the stairs without looking like ive run a half marathon. id be nice to walk to work without my back cramping up so bad i have to stop and stretch it several times. 

-im kinda looking forward to meeting with the exercise person. I see a lot of people in the #GRRLarmy and stuff and I want to be strong, but I am terrified of the gym and im really hoping shell be able to help and be a good motivation

-the dietician will be good to because lord knows im terrible at cooking for myself no matter how many well meaning people try and teach me. i just wish i didnt have to eat. 

-possibly having lower food bills - currently i spend like a quarter of my income on food which is ridiculous and i dont know how to stop.

Right so that was a novel. Now its 3am and i have to go talk to my boss and ask her for time off for 5 preop appointments in the next 6 weeks, as well as hi im going to need 2 weeks off work lololol. Oh, and tell my mum im having major surgery in 6 weeks and i didnt tell her i had an appointment to talk about it. whoops. wish me luck x

[youknowpap-blog]

Time heals all wounds…yes even the one you don’t know about

I’m not sure what made me feel as if the world was this massive weight that imposed it’s will upon me. I do know that letting this happen while living vicariously through an alter ego of myself had to come to and end. Also not sure if it was luck, prayer or grit that made me say enough is enough. 😤

It’s easy to sit on your ass. Trust me…It’s very easy. It’s relaxing. 😎You got food, TV, air-conditioning. But you also have your conscious. This does not go away. And just like you can get up off your ass and return to that same position that makes you oh so comfortable, that doesn’t go away either. So you and your conscious fight! It’s brutal and just like the couch...it’s resilient. But there’s wear and tear on the fabric and the fabric of the mind.

As Ive aged, I realize that common sense isn’t really that common. So whether it was prayer or luck or sheer willpower, I decided I’ll try it my conscious’ way.

Applications led to jobs. 😯Working out led to strength. 💪Eating healthier led to my mind being able to think clearly for the first time in years. 🤔Cutting alcohol consumption allowed me to 👀 @ my social circle in a different light. Reading allowed me to soak in information and retain the useful bits....I was changing!🤓

I took the opportunity to carve out a path for myself that can’t be repaved. I’ve seen the worst. 😈 From money problems, relationship problems to deep depressions. I know what it’s like to be there...Trust me, I was that person.😓

All it took was for me to say to myself, enough is enough and I started by getting my “ass” up. I’m still not sure if it was prayer, luck or just the will to do something…anything or maybe it was all three and now that I’ve seen the other side of the fence…THE GRASS LOOKS A HELLUVA LOT GREEN OVER THERE! 💯

Sincerely,

Youknowpap

[uhxrp]

witches

I. OVERVIEW

witches are mortal magic-users, whose abilities are passed down from generation to generation. they classify themselves in schools: energy, abjuration, conjuration, divination, illusion, and somnambulism. from an early age, most witches feel a predisposition towards one school in particular, and are tested during their training to see which type of magic comes most naturally. that first preference can change based on effort and willpower, but every witch must eventually choose.

II. GOVERNANCE

witches exist in three different ways - covens, circles, or solitary practice.

covens are magical ritual groups where the membership is fixed, usually families or tight knit friends holding absolute trust in one another. only those initiated into the group can attend the rituals of covens and attendance may be mandatory, depending on the coven leader. coven leaders are decided by the original coven members and the role usually passes down through generations to which child the previous coven leader decides upon. coven leaders are known as supremes. covens are known to have four or more members.

circles are more open gatherings of witches. it differs from a coven in that the membership is more fluid and the level of commitment and attendance required of each witch is generally less and the meetings generally in places they aren't likely to be found, where they can hide themselves even while with a group of potential strangers. circle leadership is decided upon by the person who first starts the circle, and often shifts with whoever sets a meeting, and is much less dependable. circles are known to have three of less members.

witches can also choose solitary practice, leaving them alone to do as they please when they please and how they please. this means it's one witch, alone. necromancers in particular are known to choose this style of governance, though witches have been known to as well.

III. ALLIANCES

witches and necromancers alike, due to years of persecution of their species overall, seem to be more solitary. they may team up for joint efforts, but their alliance is always to their own species - and, more specifically, to their own sub-species.

familiars a witch's abilities can be boosted through use of a familiar, and as such they are incredibly valuable to them.

IV. FOES

witches have been hunted for ages. they've done the things they needed to do to survive, which at some points required them to hurt others. generally, witches fought only to stay alive, to be who they were without persecution — not that those they had to hurt cared about their motivations.

psychics because of the unique nature of their power, witches often feed off of their energy and try to use them in rituals, sometimes leading to forced imprisonment. this is particularly true of necromancers, though witches have been known to as well. as such, psychics tend to avoid witches.

hunters hunters will always be a witch's number one foe. after ages of persecution, there is no trust or desire to forgive between the species.

V. PHYSIOLOGY

(note: a witch's school must be described in detail in your application under the powers section. failure to do so will result in a pend. please do keep in mind that while a witch may have the power to curse another character, this needs to be discussed and agreed upon ooc.)

BEGINNER

- POTION CREATION (MINOR) user can create potions: substances with magical properties such as enhancing physical and mental abilities, healing, granting powers, chancing shape, or bewitching someone depending on the kind of potion that is made. some potions come in different forms of liquid, such as jelly, stew, brew, or even soup. they can also be made into solid form, often pills, powder, candy, and possibly drugs. at this level, a witch is only beginning to learn how to create potions, and as such, the spells contained within said potions are weak.

- SPELL-CASTING (MINOR) user can cast spells, an action that allows one to magically alter reality to varying extents. a spell, or incantation, is a series of words that take effect when spoken, though some are able to cast spells merely by thinking, with gestures, with magical objects, or through rituals. we are allowing members who create witches to decide these and as such ask that you be very careful when reading spell limitations and deciding upon which level each spell should fall. that being said, if this becomes overpowered we will set very clear constraints per level.

- TELEKINESIS (MINOR) this is the power to manipulate objects or matter with the mind, specifically allowing a witch to move things with their mind. at this level the object must weigh under five pounds and be within eyesight to the witch.

NOVICE

- CURSE INDUCEMENT (MINOR) user can place a curse on a person, place, or object. the exact effects can be nearly anything the user desires, ranging from minor annoyances to tortuously extended death. among the most common effects are misfortune, bad luck, various sicknesses, infertility, physical defects, or ugliness when affecting people. for objects, breaking or working wrong or causing problems are common effects. tendency to draw various disasters is common for places. we allow the member to create the curse and trust you to take the witch's rank in mind when doing so. a minor curse could be a sudden onset of acne when wearing a cursed necklace, and a major curse could be insatiable bloodlust after sitting in a cursed chair. should this be abused, we will set curses forth to be used, but for now we are trusting everyone to keep it realistic to power level.

- TELEKINESIS (MODERATE) at this level the object must weigh under twenty pounds and be within ten feet of the witch.

COMPETENT

- POTION CREATION (MODERATE) at this level, a witch is still learning the art of potioneering but their potions have a good dose of magic in them.

- SPELL CASTING (MODERATE) we are allowing members who create witches to decide these and as such ask that you be very careful when reading spell limitations and deciding upon which level each spell should fall. that being said, if this becomes overpowered we will set very clear constraints per level.

- TELEKINESIS (MAJOR) at this level the object must weigh under fifty pounds and be within twenty feet of the witch.

- SCHOOL SPECIFIC (MINOR) for witches, the different schools are energy, abjuration, conjuration, divination, illusion, or somnambulism. more information on the schools' different abilities per level and schools of magic will be available on site once we open.

PROFICIENT

- CURSE INDUCEMENT (MAJOR) we allow the member to create the curse and trust you to take the witch's rank in mind when doing so. should this be abused, we will set curses forth to be used, but for now we are trusting everyone to keep it realistic to power level.

- MAGIC / SUPERNATURAL DETECTION this power allows the witch to sense the presence of magic in their vicinity as well as sense and identify supernatural phenomena, including the type of supernatural creature they encounter if they've encountered it before. for example, a witch that knew a vampire would know the feeling they got from vampires whereas a witch meeting a therian for the first time would only know they were supernatural until they could indentify the species that caused that particular feeling within them.

- POTION CREATION (MAJOR) at this level, a witch is has been creating potions for a while and has their specialty potions, ones that are powerful.

- SPELL CASTING (MAJOR) we are allowing members who create witches to decide these and as such ask that you be very careful when reading spell limitations and deciding upon which level each spell should fall. that being said, if this becomes overpowered we will set very clear constraints per level.

EXPERT

- SCHOOL SPECIFIC (MAJOR) for witches, the different schools are energy, abjuration, conjuration, divination, illusion, or somnambulism. more information on the schools' different abilities per level and schools of magic will be available on site once we open.

- AGE MAGIC age magic is used to age at a slower-than-normal rate. spells and magics of this kind are incredibly unstable and dangerous and typically avoided even by the most knowledgeable of witches, but even those who are successful can only gain up to 1.5x that of their original life span and that is only if the magic doesn't backfire and take those years from them, potentially killing them on the spot. a witch who uses this ability successfully would age one year for every one and a half years from that point on until their death.

VI. WEAKNESSES

a witch's physical form is identical to that of a human, and because of this, they are capable of being killed by the same methods as men (stabbing, shootings, etc.). there are however ways in which a witch's abilities can be repressed either through highly advanced magic curses or more commonly, iron. iron is a strong conductor of magic that has been employed by men since the middle ages, when forges crafted weaponry to combat village witches. this practice died out almost completely until the 12th century, when silver and iron were crafted into the blades of inquisition fighters. after the 16th century, witches saw the use of iron to persecute them dwindle, but many hunters continued to document the effects it had. thanks to them, the information of iron's effects on witches has survived.

(note: we would like to note that we do allow the use of creative weaknesses in play, such as a witch and human coming up with their own decision on how their abilities counteract one another, but we urge you to remember that we are trusting you to keep this balanced and fair. as such, the weaknesses we list will be minimal but are by and far not a full list of possible weaknesses. should we notice a character who seems too powerful, you will be asked to bump that character back down or be denied continued play here on unholy for the sake of creative freedom for all members. this includes the knowledge of the strengths and weaknesses of the species that your character would have here on unholy.)

[vitalmindandbody]

The Struggles Of Dating When You’re Clearly Not Over Your Ex

In April 2012, I met a boy in the middle of a rainy day, on a reces of a busy street. Little did I know the moment he tapped me on the shoulder to say hello “wouldve been” the moment that would change such courses of the rest of my life.

In January 2013, the boy and I made the decision to see one another, and exclusively each another. The bond that has been initiated as a steadily-built affection changed into a quick-blossoming tale. He became person I pleased Id assembled sooner, and one I knew Id hold in my mettle for that momentary instant in time and forevermore.

He was my first love. But I also missed him to be my last.

In December 2014, after a hectic, euphoric-when-it-was-good-but-miserable-when-it-was-bad, on-again-off-again intrigue, I pointed it with the boy — not because I no longer enjoyed him, but because I was afraid of just how much I did.

One year later, the son hop-skip a plane to California and didnt look back. We were no longer together, but that didnt move his leaving any less painful.

Now, three and a half times after we firstly assembled, he is still the first had considered that intersects my psyche when I wake and the last anticipated I take with me to berthed. He got away from me, but he never really got away from me.

Everyone has that someone who got away — the guy or girl who will always be the one. Maybe he came into your life sporadically, or perhaps he was there all along, but “youve never” forget him. He becomes it was not possible to to be forgotten.

After this love with the one expires, you are hesitant to begin a brand-new one. You complain about has no such luck in love, but you dont do anything to change that. You wont used to go because youre is still in your own pate, and when you do go out, you confront potential buffs with a caged heart.

Your life is a series of one waiting game after the other: to the next verse, request or by-chance reunion with the one who got away.

Mistakenly, you believe your ex is your worst antagonist. But he isnt at all; you are your own worst enemy. You are the one containing yourself back from developing a bail with a stranger who might one day turn into someone you are fairly fond of.

And this is the unfortunate ex paradox: the idea that “were living” “peoples lives” propping out for someone imperfectly perfect for us.

But our exes are announced our exes for a intellect. Its because circumstances didn’t work out with them, and we’ve got to learn to move on from them.

Some of us, however, cannot. Some of us suffocate our cherish lives by clinging to the fantasy that the largest patrols of the universe will push us back toward one another because we were once became for one another.

Even though the boy I cherish is pas, I cant improve but hold on to the hope that one day — whether in the near future or someday far, far gone — we will end up together.

But there is danger in waiting for their own lives with your ex, a life that they are able to never come.

You look for old shortcomings in new people.

My ex had shortcomings. On their own, they were of no consequence. But as a whole, they represented something far more than precisely shortcomings in character; they were weakness I descended back on. His imperfectionwas an armchair Ive since learned to rest comfortably on.

These shortcomings are what stirred my ex, my ex — and they’re the mistakes I crave my future buffs to have, too.

I’ve persuasion myself that if I search for my ex’s flaws again in new people, I can kind of recreate him. Ive taken the bad habits Ive seen in the love I formerly knew and enforced them tirelessly onto enjoys has still not been cultivated.

But everyone pallids in comparison to my ex.

Sadly, retrospect is always clearer than actuality. To rely on an outdated image of the man we used to love is to lead with a nave leader and a faint heart.

You dwell on your ex to confuse yourself from a much more profound problem.

There are fewer realizations in life most difficult than coming to terms with the fact that youre focusing on lost adoration as a means of distraction.

My ex is a Band-Aid for something I detect I am missing within myself: his old someone. His youthful vigor. His astronomical, matchless, unquenchable appetite for life. These were all qualities I jealousy, excellences I cherished so much better that I wanted to plagiarize them from him and keep them for myself.

You cant give your all to someone else.

Giving my all doesnt simply aim articulating I will. It necessitates showing I will.

I cant move on by simply telling myself I will. I can reiterate the words all I want, but that wont attain them genuine. Ive got to both taking any decision and make it time.

Until then, though, Im moving red-flag vitality to everyone I gratify, everyone I like, everyone I year — and I can hardly even distinguish Im doing it.

As much as I care my very own willpower “couldve been” strong enough to mend me, season is no other real rectify. I cannot open other beings an honest chance to enter “peoples lives” until I leave myself an honest chance to move forward from the one who’s maintaining me back.

A moment invested wishing your ex will come back to you is a moment you’ll never get back.

I have a picture of what my life is going to be. My ex and I are together. My heart has hurriedly healed; Ive forgiven him for interrupting it. Our future is a reincarnation of the very best specific areas of our past. I live my present biding period until I bump into him again.

But I forget one little possible: Perhaps I am projecting a future that is grounded in foolish imaginations. Maybe the one who got away from me doesn’t speculate I’m the one who got away from him.

And perhaps every moment spent bidding my ex got to find his space back to me is nothing more than a wasted time I’ll never get back.

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