#crocodile? my roommate (inside joke)

[kiddphel]

sorry im feeling particularly yappy today. i hate how much im invested in one piece now for not just my faves i wanna kiss but also other characters who are just my friends. anime of sooo many free friends

[wistfulcynic]

the fall of dropping water

Summary: Emma’s pining for her roommate, a man who keeps her at arm’s length—despite those flashes of something she sometimes catches in his eyes. She’s too caught up in him to even think about anyone else, but when her deputy Graham asks her out to dinner she finds she can’t say no. 

Now she’s stuck with a date she doesn’t want, breaking down in a shower as broken as her heart—and Killian arrives home just in time to fix it all.

-

@winterbythesea has some crazy dreams sometimes, you guys. This is inspired by one of them. 

The working title of this fic was ANGSTY SHOWERING. Just to warn you.

1.8k words, rated T. 

On AO3 

-

Emma turned the key in the lock as quietly as she could and opened the door to her apartment the tiniest crack—just wide enough for her to press her ear against and listen carefully to… silence. No music blaring or sounds of cooking from the kitchen, and when she crept on noiseless tiptoes to the end of the hallway and peered at Killian’s bedroom door, no light shone beneath it. 

Emma exhaled in relief. He had been due to return that morning from his latest expedition, but must have been held up by tides or trade winds or… twist? Whatever. Something. She never could keep all his nautical terms straight, though she could almost hear his long-suffering sigh and see the sardonic look he always gave her when she forgot them before she pushed his face and his voice and him firmly from her mind.  

The very last thing she needed tonight was to spend it thinking about goddamn Killian Jones and the way he looked at her and the way he smiled… his eyes... how blue they were and how soft… in those rare moments when he let himself relax around her, when the incessant pull of whatever it was that drew her to him seemed to spark and crackle with tension and despite herself Emma yearned. There in that single beat of their hearts when he would truly look at her… before he tensed and turned away… Emma could swear that she saw things in those eyes that made her heart pound and her belly flutter and sparked her hope to life again, and—and no. That was wishful thinking and she wouldn’t, couldn’t let herself indulge in it tonight. 

Not tonight. 

(“Hey, Emma.” The soft grip of Graham’s hand on her arm. “Can I—can we—can I ask you something?”)

She unzipped her boots with jerky movements and kicked them off, leaving them in an ungainly heap beside the door the way she knew Killian hated. A tiny, petty provocation but it made her feel better. She hoped it pissed him off. She hoped he tripped over them, hoped he fell on his stupid gorgeous face and—fuck. Emma stopped walking and squeezed her eyes shut. No, damn it, she didn’t wish that. She didn’t want to see him hurt, no matter how much pain he unwittingly inflicted on her just by existing. She couldn’t even bear to think it. 

“Damn it,” she grumbled as she stomped back to pick up the boots and line them neatly along the wall with all the others. Damn him. Damn Killian, just—just damn him.

Damn him for being everything she wanted and nothing she could have, for his ridiculous hotness and his soft heart and the edge of danger in his grin—the grin of a marine salvage hunter who’d lost a hand and coped with it by making pirate jokes. 

“A crocodile ate it,” he’d tell the wide-eyed children who demanded to know where his hand had gone, smiling reassuringly at their red-faced parents. 

“Really?” the children would gasp, and Killian would give a solemn nod, holding up his prosthetic hook to catch the light. 

“Aye. And he’ll pay for it too. Just as soon as I catch him.”

Damn him for being so sweet to those children, so understanding. He always understood—far, far too much about too many things. Things like Emma’s walls and how she needed them, like the exact right thing to say and do for every mood she was ever in. He understood everything it seemed, except how deeply it hurt her each time he pulled back from those moments of theirs, dropped his eyes and swallowed hard and muttered some lame excuse then ran away. 

Graham, though, he never ran away. He was always there, right at her side, all hopeful smiles and subtle hints and casual invitations to morning coffee runs and working lunches and after-work drinks that he clearly hoped would lead to something with no work involved at all, until finally… inevitably… that very day…

(“So what do you say, Emma?” His tentative smile, the stab through her heart. “Dinner?”) 

Tears were pressing hard and hot behind Emma’s eyes as she stumbled into her bathroom to turn on the water in the shower. Her apartment was old, a converted warehouse with rickety plumbing and a creaky water tank that took ages to heat up. She always had to wait after turning it on, a good fifteen minutes before even thinking about taking off her clothes much less stepping beneath the spray. But this day, this goddamned vicious bastard of a day, seemed determined not just to kick her ass but grind her under its heel as well, and so of course the shower head—tenuously attached at the best of times—chose that moment to burst from the wall, spewing icy water haphazardly from he jagged hole it left behind. The spray hit Emma full in the face, drenching her hair and her favourite sweater and the front of her jeans, dripping down her back in frigid rivulets that raised goosebumps on her skin and suddenly it was all just too much, too fucking goddamn much. The tears she’d been barely holding back burst forth harder even than the shower head had, and she sank to the floor of the shower stall and sobbed. 

(Graham’s face, oh god his face, the hopeful look in his eyes. David’s eyes, the entire damn sheriff’s station watching her. The lump in her throat. The fake smile, so brittle on her face, the lying words she felt forced to speak.

“Sure. I’d love to.”)

The water soaked her clothes and numbed her skin but even its cold couldn’t dull the ache in her heart. The heart that beat for one man only, and that man was not Graham Humbert. 

Why, she wanted to scream. Why now? Three years she’d held Graham’s interest at bay, yet now, today, he makes a move? In the station, her fucking place of work, right in front of everyone so she couldn’t say no. A dick move, and not like Graham at all so why? 

Why couldn’t he just have let things be?

Her sobs were wild, unrestrained, tearing at her throat and wrenching at her chest, but she couldn’t care. She was alone, drenched to the skin in freezing water and tomorrow night she had to go out on a date with Graham. She could give herself this one lonely moment of self-pity. 

“Swan?” 

Fuck. Emma sat up, wiping the tears and water from her face as Killian’s voice sounded again, right outside the bathroom door. “Emma? Is everything all right, love?” 

Damn that soft tone his voice got when he was concerned for her, the one that made her want to melt into his arms and never let him go. “I’m fine,” she tried to say, but the words were choked off by a sob and then the door was opening and Killian was there, falling to his knees in front of the open shower door. 

“Emma!” he cried. “What on earth’s the matter?” 

She shook her head as sobs racked her and before she could fully grasp his intent he was in the shower too, pulling her into his lap and wrapping his arms tight around her. 

“Shhh, it’s all right,” he murmured as she clutched at him and buried her face in his neck. “It’s all right, love. I’m here.” 

He shielded her from the stinging spray as she wept, sobbing out her heartache and frustration and fear, everything she’d kept bottled up inside her for so long. He cradled her like something precious, rubbed soothing circles on her back until the water began to warm and her sobs ceased, until she lay limp and exhausted against his chest. 

“Graham asked me out,” she said, after a long silence. His hand stopped.  

“And that made you cry as though your heart were breaking?” he asked, his voice harsh. She felt the flex of his neck against her cheek as he swallowed hard. “Did you two have a fight or something?” 

“No, I just—I wasn’t expecting it.” 

“You weren’t expecting your boyfriend to ask you out?” 

“My what?” She pulled back to look up at him, at the confusion laced with anger in his eyes. Anger and… and…

“Did—did you think Graham was my boyfriend?” she whispered shakily. 

“Aye,” he replied, in a voice that trembled just as much. “Isn’t he?” 

“No! He’s my deputy.” 

“I know, but… the two of you are always together, out for drinks and meals, and I—I just assumed.” His eyes caressed her face as the anger drained from them, replaced by something hotter. “So you’re telling me you never—” 

“No.” She shook her head, fingers gripping tightly to his shirt. “Never.” 

“I—I see. And, um, what did you say? In response to his invitation?”

“I said yes.” 

“Ah.” His eyes shuttered again but she clung to him, tugging the front of his shirt until he looked at her, willing him to listen and to see. 

“And then I came home and cried ‘as though my heart were breaking,’” she said. “In your words.” 

“Do you not—” he drew a deep breath “—not want to go out with him?” 

“No. I only said yes because everyone in the station was watching and half of them already think I’ve been leading him on.” 

“Bloody troglodytes,” Killian growled. “Leading him on, my arse. From what I’ve seen you’ve been nothing but—” 

“I didn’t want to go out with Graham,” Emma interrupted, thumping his chest with her fist, “because I have feelings for someone else.” 

He swallowed again, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his wet, flushed skin. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his eyes as hot as the water. 

“So who is this man fortunate enough to win your affections?” he growled. 

She thumped his chest harder. “Seriously, Killian? Do you really not know? It’s you.” 

He stared at her as his throat continued to work, his forehead creased with a frown and a tangle of emotions in his eyes. She waited, breath caught in her chest, as his eyes widened and his brow smoothed, as his hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking across it as she tugged on his shirt and then—and then— 

His lips were on hers, hot and wet and hungry, kissing her like she was the breath to his lungs and the balm to his soul, the water to his life. She gasped into his mouth, clutching at his shoulders to pull him closer, closer, as close as they could be, as his fingers caught in her wet hair and his hook dug into her back. Their breaths laboured in air thick and heavy with steam and with lust, their movements hampered by drenched denim and wool and flannel but god, Emma thought, it was Killian and it was her and it was finally, finally them, and—and—

And it was perfect. 

—

@kmomof4 @winterbaby89, @snowbellewells, @darkcolinodonorgasm, @stahlop, @mariakov81, @teamhook, @thisonesatellite, @ohmightydevviepuu, @katie-dub

[musedblues]

Between The Lines

a/n: Here it is! Nothing but pinning and fluff for the much anticipated STL Event! This is my gift for the lovely wonderful @joemazzmatazz​ I really hope you enjoy this, lovie! And I hope that your day is beautiful regardless of this silly little holiday. 💖

w/c: 6k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was Valentine's day. Usually, you were only excited about the day that followed, when all the chocolates went on sale. But this year your roommate had plans to throw some big ridiculous party. Tilly had been planning this bash for over a month now, and you had agreed to help set up and mingle with mutual friends. But until later tonight, you had far too much more to worry over.

"I've gotta go get Joe from the airport." You sighed, sliding your arms into a thick jacket.

"Oh," Tilly realized with a playful roll of her eyes. You let out a frustrated mewl at her disregard as you scrambled to grab your purse.

"I just don't get it." Tilly continued smirking. "Why are you nervous, again?"

"Because." You hissed. "I've gotta tell him. And I don't want to."

Tilly must have registered the true dread bubbling closer to the forefront of your system; because she slouched closer to the door as you stepped out into the hallway. She said, "You have no reason to be nervous. Trust me."

Oh, but how wrong she was. Since Joe had up and left overseas to film his latest project, you missed him. But you came to realize the magnitude of your feelings for your dear friend smack dab in the middle of a grocery store's freezer section, last month. After spending too long debating on ice cream flavors, you chose cherry, because Joe loved cherry and you loved him. Oh shit. The thought seamlessly pieced itself together in your mind as if it were a fact as clear as any other. You raced home in a panic and spilled your guts to Tilly like she was a priest and you, a dirty sinner. Your roommate helped you through that night, and several more that followed when you regretfully avoided Joe's phone calls. You were afraid of letting your true feelings seep through the phone speaker,  or at all. But time was up. You had agreed to fetch your dear friend from the airport some odd weeks ago, and according to the time on your phone, his flight just landed.

Joe deserved to know how you felt, so why not rip the plaster off right away? He'd be pissed if you kept this from him for too long, and you couldn't act like everything was fine. You knew you had to tell him. You just really didn't want too.

As you slid into the driver seat of your car, you reached toward the visor for the pair of sunglasses you stashed there. From out of nowhere a tiny piece of canary yellow stock paper came fluttering into your lap like confetti.

"Oh, wonderful." You huffed a laugh. It was a note from Joe. He was always stashing these tiny pieces of yellow paper in odd places for you to find later, with silly little sentiments jotted down. This one read:

"You're only a day away!"

He must have left this one before he left to go film.

Some notes Joe left were inside jokes. Some were thank you's for dinner. Some were doodles of dinosaurs and maps. You kept them all in a ball jar on your dresser. But all you could do with the latest note was stash it in your jacket pocket with a frustrated groan as you began to drive off.

It all started the first night you went out to dinner with your hoard of mutual friends, who were the only reason you'd met Joe in the first place. They each left one by one, and soon you and Joe were alone with a basic knowledge of each other's existence, finishing dinner at a six-person table. By the end of the night, you'd exchanged life stories and ended up rambling over the topic of arcade games. You marveled over how fun they seemed growing up, but how you came to understand the sad reality that most arcades were just scams to collect change in disguise. But then Joe brought up some bowling alley he swore had a rigged Pacman machine that spit out tickets that won some above-average prizes. He decided he would invite your group of friends there, next weekend. Then, he exchanged his phone number on a slip of canary yellow stock paper because your phone had died and he left his in the car.

The following weekend you met up with all your friends at that bowling alley. They were shocked to see you'd come out of hiding two weekends in a row, and invited you to pick a team to bowl to the death. But then you locked eyes with Joe, walked past the lanes and headed straight for the arcade in the back. Joe had been right about the rigged Pacman. He showed you how to pause the ghosts by holding down a broken button to cheat. But after racking up mega points, the machine was out of tickets. You both presented this sob story to the jaded arcade prize gatekeeper, who simply did not care. Not like you did, either. Even though you had your eye on a silly looking plush green crocodile from the midlevel prizes; the time you'd spent with Joe was reward enough for you.

He called it a night soon after, leaving you with the few friends who couldn't be stopped from bowling. You joined their team, even though you already felt like you'd won something.

You were at ease that evening as you headed toward the dusty car park.

You notice something was resting against your windshield. You were alarmed enough to wonder if this was one of those trafficking tricks, where a kidnapper left something for you to be distracted by long enough to snatch you. But then you noticed just under your windshield wiper, a canary yellow slip of stock paper. It read:

"Sorry I couldn't win you the alligator you insisted was a crocodile. Hope this will do until next time."

Next to where Joe had left the note, you found a tiny keychain with a neon green frog attached. It wasn't quite the river monster you'd been hoping for, but Joe had left it just for you, alongside a note; the latter of which would become a tradition. You stashed both mementos in your pocket and wondered when you'd see Joe again.

One long year had passed by, and you managed to see Joe at least once a week since those first fateful meetings. You added the frog charm to your keychain.  And every time, without fault, Joe would leave behind a note for you to find.

You spent days accidentally snowed inside each other apartments. He bought you Christmas presents and you took him out for his birthday. You watched terrible movies for fun and wound up alone together even in the midst of your group of friends, who were the reason you'd known Joe at all. You'd seen each other cry and fought over things that did and didn't matter. But it wasn't until he flew across the ocean for a while that you realized exactly why you missed him so much.

Considering the time you'd spent with Joe, practically attached at the hip, your heart sunk at the realization that if anything romantic had been blossoming between you, Joe would have done something about it by now. But you had to tell him how you were feeling, waiting any longer would only complicate things further. So as you pulled up to the airport gates and marched into the waiting area, you practiced a speech in your head one thousand different ways. There was a swarm of people buzzing in different directions hardly paying you any mind, but soon one voice cut through the crowd.

"It's you! It's really you! You haven't aged a day in the hundred years I've been gone!"

You spun toward the sound of Joe's excitable greeting and barely caught a glimpse of his bright smile before he was pulling you into a hug. You couldn't help but laugh as you hugged him back, welcoming the boy home, but selfishly longing to be so much nearer to him all at once. Oh no. This was too weird.

"Welcome back." You grinned as Joe reached for his suitcase once more. He was still smiling that stupidly pleasant smile.

"That's all I get?" He playfully jeered. "No, 'I almost died of boredom without you? '"

A nervous chuckled escaped your throat as Joe started walking toward the sliding doors, right up to your car right outside.

"Uh, actually... I. Well." You began, sheepishly following Joe out of the airport. "I was going to tell you something but we can worry about it later."  You feigned passivity, all the things you practiced to say melting off the page in your mind. That wasn't the plan, but the words were out before you could think of reforming them.

"What? You found someone funnier than me to add cometary to hallmark movies?" Joe quirked a brow.

"Impossible." You assured, opening your back car door so he could lift his luggage inside.  "How was your time?" You scurried to change the subject, not really sure what happened to the plan you'd promised yourself to stick by.

Joe didn't seem to notice your internal battel as he eased into your passenger seat, already rambling about where he'd been and what he'd done. You listened with care, truly interested in knowing what he had to say. But one half of your mind buzzed with worry and confusion while you drove Joe home.

You unlocked his door while he managed his luggage from your car. When Joe made his way inside you remembered the plans you'd made for the rest of the evening. He was apart of the group chat where your roommate birthed the idea for her Valentine's day party. Joe was invited, and one late night over the phone (before you started having this strange crisis) you offered to spend the rest of this afternoon with Joe so he could hitch a ride with you to the party.

"So Tilly's party isn't until nine, now. I promised to pick up Zoey and Lyla  and stop for dinner someplace." You chatted naturally as any other time you'd spoken to Joe. Regardless of your feelings, Joe was still your friend and you had plans. You naturally expected Joe to shrug and agree like he always did when your shared plans became altered. He was standing before you, bright forest colored eyes searching your face as his usually permanent grin began to fade.

"Actually..." Joe frowned, flicking his eyes to the floor then back up to yours. "Well, is it okay if I just meet up with you where you stop for dinner? I kind of need to do something. Alone."

"Oh... sure." You tried to hide the shot through your heart as you processed this. Of course, he wanted to show up alone. Lyla always had a thing for Joe, never one to hold back her lingering stares. Joe was single and it was Valentine's day. And right now, you had to pretend like you couldn't care less.

"Thank you for picking me up, Y/N. Text me where to find you." Joe shifted, dawning a little smile.

"Of course, Joe." You smiled brightly, stepping out of the already opened door.

"I'll see you tonight! And you can tell me whatever it was you mentioned earlier!" Joe promised as you skipped down the steps toward your car.

"It doesn't matter anymore!" You waved a hand, opening the driver door, trying like mad to remain casual. Shit. Why did I say that? You just dug a deeper hole for yourself.

"Oh. Well okay! See you later!" Joe waved from the door, shutting it as your engine started.

Okay... Was it just you and your twisted, jumbled up mind, or was Joe acting weird, too? Maybe he picked up on your vibe and didn't want to spend any more time near you than he had too. You boggled your brain all the way home, wondering why you were such a wimp. When you unlocked your apartment door, Tilly was pinning bright red cartoon hearts across the living room wall.

"Oh." She cocked her head at your arrival as you shut the door behind you. "You're alone."

"He's meeting up with us later, I guess."

"You guess?" Tilly wondered in a curious tone.

"I didn't tell him." You huffed, kicking your shoes off.

"You were supposed to bring him here either way! He said he'd help decorate." Your roommate pouted, nodding toward a box of Valentine-themed tinsel on the sofa.

"This is all a bit ridiculous don't you think?"

Tilly's excuse was that every holiday deserved a party, even the one couples famously spent alone together. You proceeded to help decorate, draping streamers and tossing flower petals in place. Your roommate made 'Love Potion' with peach schnapps, red grapefruit juice, and vodka, while you jammed strawberries onto the side of clear plastic cups.

"I'll be handing these out. Take your pick." Tilly held out a bin full of plastic headbands. Some were pink with cartoon hearts attached to a couple of cheap springs, like an Instagram filter come to life. Others were deep red devil horns covered in glitter. You just rolled your eyes and went on setting up snacks.

"When are you going to tell him?" Tilly asked from across the room as she placed her bin of headgear on a table near the door.

"Oh, you know what?" You raised the pitch of your voice. "I think I'll do it right in the middle of your bangin' Valentine's party." You pointed toward Tilly, as if this idea had just come to you like a message from cupid himself. Tilly let out a dry mocking, "Ha Ha."

"You can break out that Prince vinyl, and I'll stand on the coffee table and rip my own heart out in front of everyone!" You really hoped you sounded more like you were joking, and less like you wanted to cry.

"I'm sure we'd all love a bit of a show. But babe, it's gonna be okay." Tilly softened.

"Isn't it funny how you keep saying that and I keep on feeling the opposite way?" You groaned, abandoning the kitchen past a doorway full of shiny maroon ribbon.

"You have exactly an hour to dress up for seduction!" Tilly comically hollered your way, skipping toward her bedroom.

"You mean confession!" You shouted back, sulking toward your own room. After shutting the door, you unearthed Joe's latest note from your pocket. The one that fell from your visor. How hadn't you found it sooner? Without too much thought, you opened the jar on your dresser where other notes had been collecting and went about getting ready.

You stared into your closet for far too long, almost talking yourself into throwing on a pair of leggings and calling it a day. But then you found an unassuming longsleeved dress, one that was passable in the cut-throat world of party fashion, but somehow remained supremely comfortable. It would do.

Then you hurried to fetch your friends from across town. Zoey and Lyla were dressed in tight velvet and equally as confused when you showed up to their door without Joe. "He's never not with you." Zoey pointed out. "Is he okay?" Lyla worried. This only made your heart hammer despite all your efforts to pretend everything was perfectly fine.

You pulled into a shitty diner because Zoey wanted breakfast for dinner. Both girls were enjoyable company, laughing over memes and telling you their latest gossip. The three of you were nearly through your meals when Joe finally showed up to join the party. He was dressed for the occasion, in a cozy blue sweater and dark jeans. You had to turn and sip your soda to keep from staring. Joe slid into your side of the booth with an arm across the seat, trapping you into his side and unknowingly making your guts twist up. Lyla seemed unusually unassuming. Every time before now, when Joe was in her line of sight, Lyla hardly ever hesitated to throw her self near him. You wondered why the hell everyone was being so insanely weird tonight, but then the thought brought you comfort, hoping you weren't alone in all the unease.

While Zoey and Lyla waited in a long queue to pay, Joe dragged you around the corner to an empty section of the diner. For just a moment, Joe stalled and looked to you with a barely noticeable furrow in his brow. It was as if he had something to say but forgot in a flash. Just when you were about to question Joe's antics, he turned away from you and walked deeper into the unused room. There was a giant, brightly painted claw machine in the corner, stuffed with prizes of the highest caliber.

"I dont have any quarters." You frowned, looking toward your friend. His smirk was back, the one you'd missed seeing all this time. Joe just chuckled, reached into his pocket and stepped up to play the game.

You should have been distracting him with a joke. You should have been saying something. He dragged you all the way back here to be apart of the fun. But all thoughts faded while you kept an eye on your dear friend. Joe was surprisingly good at operating the machine, eyes focused on the claw, fingers moving the control in just the right direction. It was becoming a challenge to keep your lovesick thoughts from burning your skin.

Joe broke out into a celebratory jig when the claw latched onto some plush toy and you laughed all the while, snapping back to reality. Joe retrieved a small plush bear from the prize slot and tossed it your way. You caught the thing without missing a beat, but the action caused your head to clog up all over again.

Luckily, Zoey and Lyla popped around the corner, excited to leave for your roommates long-awaited Valentine's day party. You kept a hold of the claw machine prize while you drove the girls in your car, watching Joe's following close behind.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. With the plush bear dangling by its paw from your grasp, you led your crew inside. Past guests who had all already shown up, mostly Tilly's friends. Men with sharp jawlines and nice cologne. Girls in tight dresses, lingerie peeking out from hemlines. And a couple of people you knew, offering hugs and demanding selfies in their matching themed headbands.

Your friends grabbed some from the bin next to the door. Joe chose a headband with cartoon hearts but turned to put it on your head like a crown. All you could do was hope to high heavens that you weren't blushing.

"Snacks in the kitchen. Don't forget to try the 'Love Potion' it's actually pretty good." You shrugged, passing a massive bowl of pink alcohol nestled behind a row of already filled cups. Joe grabbed one as he followed your lead.

"Everyone is in there." You gestured toward the living room entryway, where a group of girls lingered, taking selfies. Zoey and Lyla scurry hand in hand into the dim dance party.

"And you should be too! Nice of you to finally make it." Tilly twirled into your vision, toting an empty tray, her sequined dress sparkling right in your eye.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Joe greeted with a smile. She gave him a half-hearted hug, complaining about running out of finger foods. Your roommate loaded her tray with cups full of candy hearts and dashed back into the room where the party raged on.

The kitchen was empty and quiet now. You reached for a skewer of cherries and plucked one off to eat. A distraction.

"You look really nice. I like this." Joe actually honest to God tugged at the hem of your dress. And somehow, you magically managed to keep from fainting into a puddle.

"Thanks. You too." You shrugged, eating another cherry. You were being weird again. Usually, you'd make a joke or sashay around the kitchen to show off your look. But your feelings were collected in a mess of worried thoughts, and you were being weird. You knew Joe noticed, but if he cared, that didn't show.  He just downed his 'Love Potion' and reached for two wine glasses from the rack near your stove.

"The usual?" He asked in a funny voice, already reaching for the bottles of wine on your counter.

"Of course."

You liked white wine, but not too sweet. He liked red wine, but not too bitter. So you learned one night, to mix them together. Everyone around you practically shrieked in terror, because of etiquette or whatever. But you and Joe eventually figured out the perfect proportion to mix, and he made a show of it every time. You were laughing again, as Joe poured each wine in a separate glass and went on pouring one into the other until he was satisfied. It was like watching a middle schooler at a science fair. He offered you one of the experiments and leaned across the counter to enjoy his own glass.

Then you settled into conversation, like always. He talked about his flight. You bit your tongue. You kept waiting for Joe to mention anything about being occupied earlier. Where he might have gone and why. But he never did. So why did he skip out from you in the middle of the afternoon? And why was he acting like nothing was strange at all? Why was Joe standing in the kitchen with you, instead of flirting with one of Tilly's pretty friends with sparkly devil horned headbands peeking through their silky hair?

Your intrusive thoughts were quieted as Joe asked about you. And somehow you both stared laughing about stupid old jokes, reaching for another love potion and gripping a little tighter to the plush bear in your fist.

When Tilly turned off too many lights and cranked up some tasteless raunchy record, Joe rolled his eyes. You watched him move to the other end of the kitchen, snatching the two bottles of wine, and an unopened box of frosting covered cookies.

"Come on!" He snickered, clearly headed right toward your room. You giggled, pushing yourself from the counter to follow behind him, toward your bedroom.

Usually, when Joe hung out at your flat, you'd had to hide away in your room together often. At first, because Tilly would bring dates home who couldn't keep their hands to themselves far past the living room couch. Later on, because it became a normal and relaxing spot to unwind.

So when you shut and locked the door, to keep any drunken partiers from breaking in, it didn't feel weird. And it wasn't unnatural the way Joe flung himself toward your bed. He reached across the empty blanket-covered space to grab your remote. You ripped off your stupid cartoon heart headband and rested it on the dresser with your plush bear, the same space the jar of notes had taken residence.

Before you knew it, Joe had queued up 10 Things I Hate About You, kicked off his shoes and settled in for one of your favorite stories. Naturally, you floated to his side and tore into the tin of iced cookies, much like any other normal movie night with your friend.

Joe made you screech like a loon, adding his own commentary and laughing too hard to even go on doing so. Maybe it was the wine, but either way, it was paradise. And Joe always made you laugh that hard. Between the sweets and all the wine, You and Joe nearly laughed yourselves sick. When the film cut to the scene where Kat was meant to read her poem, Joe lunged for the remote and clicked pause.

"Okay, name ten things you hate about me, Go!" Joe laughed, laying back and looking up to where you sat cross-legged, sipping some water you'd earlier filled your cup with from your bathroom sink.

"One..." You thought for a second, glancing at the bottle Joe kept a loose clutch on. "That you're hogging all the wine." You laughed, swiping the bottle from his grasp. He gave it up easily, chuckling with you.

"Nine more to go." Joe rose a brow, searching your eyes as you held the wine bottle to your chest. You couldn't think of anything besides the way Joe's eyes peered into yours, how they still seemed so bright in your low lit bedroom. You were suddenly a little too flustered by the sight of Joe laying against your pillows.

"I can't think of anymore." You looked away from Joe's gaze and took a swig of wine right from the bottle.

"I'm sure that's not true," Joe chuckled again, egging you onto listing off the things he did that annoyed you. But you couldn't seem them right now, you couldn't see much of anything past the way your eyes fogged over with a rosy sheen.

"I dont hate you, Joe." There you went again, speaking without thinking and letting your tone reveal more than intended. You hadn't even considered a response before that one came tumbling past your lips, like a half-hearted confession. It was quiet then, with the movie on pause. Even the heavy thrum of music from past your closed-door seemed light-years away.

"What were you going to tell me? Earlier?" Joe asked, propping himself up a little so his eyes could catch yours again.

"Oh uh- no. Nope, not yet. I should probably wait." You decided, feeling vile for admitting you had something to say but holding it hostage all because you were suddenly not at all ready to give up this moment. You figured Joe would catch on to any way you acted trying to hide your feelings, but when you froze up, Joe had yet to call you out. So now you were trapped in feeling too frightened to give any of this up. Say how you felt would ruin all the fun. You didn't want to confess, watch Joe leave and spend the night locked away alone while strangers made out in the hallway outside your door.

Thankfully, Joe didn't push you any further. He just watched you watching him. You knew better than to say another word. But then, Joe shifted. He slid off the side of your bed onto the floor beside you, kneeling with one knee on the ground.

"What the hell are you up to?" You couldn't help but cackle, out of nerves mostly. Joe had that look in his eye, the one he got before telling you a story or showing you something he was proud of.

He reached into his back pocket.a Joe pulled out a pretty velvet wallet. He held it out in front of you.

"I uh... I tried to give this to you at the diner. Unzip." Joe demanded, still holding onto the thing.

You glared suspiciously out of the corner of your eye, taking a beat to try and figure out what this is all about. After setting your bottle of wine on your bedside table,  you did as he said. Inside the wallet was a tiny yellow note.

It read "Happy Valentine's Day" in Joe's writing. Nothing more. Nothing less. It was the first note he'd given you in ages, even though you'd only just found the last one he left, today... This one felt different. Your heart seemed to grow three sizes as you glanced over his holiday greeting once more.

"It always takes you way too long to find my notes. Keep this with you, I'll put them in here for you to find, from now on." Joe explained with a sleepy smile.

"I do." You mocked his kneeling on one knee, ignoring the butterflies multiplying in your belly. Joe's smile was soft as he slowly shifted to sit on the edge of your bed next to you.

"There's something else in there." His voice nearly caught in his throat, it was so quiet. The muffled music from the party outside your door was beating as heavily as your heart inside your chest. Joe was so close to you that you could practically feel him, just far enough away to leave you wishing you really could.

You let those thoughts seep into the back of your mind while you reached into the wallet once more. You pulled out another piece of trimmed stock paper. This note was an unusual shade of tea green, and three words were meticulously scrawled in dark marker.

"I love you."

I love you?

"Joe..."

"I 've had this plan forever, but I started overthinking everything. So I waited till the last minute and I had to go buy more of this paper and I felt really bad about sending you away without earlier any explanation. But I wanted you to have this. It's like a promise. You keep the wallet, I'll keep giving you these notes." Joe gestured toward the gift as you gapped at him. "And also I love you. I know it's a cheesy holiday but it doesn't matter, I couldn't as hold it in any longer and I wanted to do something for you anyway but I didn't wanna freak you out and -"

"That's what I was gonna say. Earlier. I was gonna tell you that I'm in love with you. But then I got scared. I... I never thought you'd. .. " You look back down at the note. His confession.

"Well, I do."

"You really love me?"

"I love you a whole fuckin' lot."

"I love you." You grinned in near disbelief. The irony of this situation was almost unreal. Joe was here, something you'd been so nervous about. If only you could have spoken up at the airport, maybe this day would have gone differently. But a wave of affection washed over you thinking back to Joe's sweet presentation. You wouldn't have wanted this day to have gone differently, after all.

And slowly, you both leaned in. Joe was the first to brush his lips against yours. You pressed yours back with all the care in the world. That must have been enough of a confirmation for Joe, as he moved to cradle your head in his hands while proceeding to part your lips and kiss you like a soldier coming home after too long gone. Your head spun as you registered the way he smelt like fancy cologne and the way his fingertips pressed into your head, pulling your lips closer to his. You thought of nothing but the way he kissed you, warmly and deeply. You lifted a hand to rest on his shoulder. But you couldn't tell if it was because you longed to touch him, or if you needed the extra support from how dizzy his kisses were making you. But they slowed after then and turned into lingering pecks. As you parted ways to catch your breath, you glanced to his gift still in your grasp.

"Thank you for this, Joe." He looked to the wallet you'd fixed your gaze on. "You've got a lot of notes to catch up on, ya know?" Joe had been gone for longer than you allowed yourself to keep track, feeling void grow vaster every day he wasn't around.

"I hope those two will suffice for now," Joe smirked, searching your face. His eyes were still sleepy but they were filled with all kinds of multitudes; flecks of gold and green you'd always wanted to look at a little longer each time your eyes managed to meet his.

"They're the best notes you've ever left me." You beamed, glancing at Joe with a wide smile. Then you were struck with the realization that everything still felt normal. Exceptionally normal. Tilly was right when she warned you not to worry. You rested the wallet on your side table next to a bottle of wine and turned back to throw yourself toward Joe, wrapping him in a hug that was more like a tackle. He laughed at your antics, chuckles dying down when you pressed your lips against his, again. Joe gave you a sweet kiss back before he broke out into quiet laughs once more.

"Were you really gonna lay all that on me at the airport, earlier? Why didn't you? We could have gone viral on Facebook, or something." Joe teased. Yep, still normal.

Even though some shitty pop music still blasted from the living room, you reached for the remote to start the movie over and turned up the volume. The rest of the night faded into some pulsing daydream version of all the things you longed to do with Joe. Lingering touches you'd never let yourself wish for, because you were so sure they'd never come true. Sweet, hot kisses that each lasted a little longer each time you met again after pausing to breathe. You laughed the whole night long, about how you stopped Joe from leaving marks on your neck long enough for you to focus on your favorite part of the movie. You laughed over one of Joe's stupid puns. You muffled your giggles when some drunken party people tried their luck at your locked door handle. You marveled the colors Joe was made up of and he traced every shape of you, with focused eyes and a smile you could have gazed at forever. After the deed was done, and done again, you ended up wearing Joe's sweater, polishing off the last of the wine from the bottle. Joe had somehow found that stupid Valentine's day themed headband (the one with the cartoon hearts) and wore it a little crooked while he snacked on those cookies he'd stolen from the party earlier. He actually ate the last cookie, even as you protested. You were actually kind of hungry, by now.

So once you noted that the music from the living room had been turned off for a while, and noticing the clock on your wall ready somewhere around 2 in the morning, you had no qualms with sneaking to the kitchen for a midnight snack. You collected all the trash you'd accumulated and skipped out of your bedroom door as quiet as a mouse, really hoping some of the fruit skewers were left. There were a couple of guys passed out in the frame of the hallway entry, and you had to maneuver around a few more sleeping beauties in the living room. By the time you rid your arms of two empty wine bottles and an empty tin of cookies, someone else pushed open the kitchen door.

"Holy shit, I thought everyone was asleep." You gasped with a hand on your chest, watching Tilly groggily shuffling toward the refrigerator.

"Fuck!" She cursed weakly. "Someone stole my Gatorade."

"Take one of my coconut smoothies from the back." You shrugged, knowing your roommate only sought to prevent feeling like shite in the morning.

"God, you're an angel." Tilly croaked as you snagged the last skewer of cherries and kiwis from the fruit stained cutting board. Tonight had really turned out in your favor.

"But you look like hell." Tilly went on, shutting the fridge and moving to make her exit. But before she could leave she kept an eye on you while you snacked on the leftover fruit. And the look in your roommate's eye shifted as she gave you a once over.

"Care to explain in explicit detail why you're wearing Joe's sweater?" She asked with a grin and a look in her eye that made you believe the girl would have acted far more excited if she wasn't so partied out.

"You don't need to know everything..." You turned slightly to hide the blush on your cheeks, even in the dark kitchen. But Tilly already knew everything, even what you weren't telling her. "Yet."

After you shared a hardy laugh, Tilly sulked back to her room with one of your favorite smoothies in hand. But not before she said, "I told you there was nothing to worry about."

Of course, she had been right all along. You wondered how Tilly could have been so sure all this time as you walked back to your bedroom. There you found Joe had tidied up the colossal mess you'd made of the sheets and was in the middle of queuing up one of your favorite shows. You performed the ritual of locking the door and throwing yourself on to your bed, and into Joe's arms. He engulfed you in a familiar hold and chuckled as something on the television. As much as you enjoyed being with him, you couldn't get over the fact that he was here with you. You laid next to Joe in the stillness of your bedroom, considering the whirlwind your day had been, reveling in how everything ended up.

You used to only like the day after Valentine's day, when all the chocolates went on sale. It was three in the morning on the fifteenth, and you had a whole lot more too look forward too, now.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[insomniac-arrest]

A Place for Things

words: 2k

summary: A woman goes to her mom’s funeral

----------

So, mom is dead. That’s not what you say funerals, that’s not what you say when you show up in a dress you bought at Macy’s the other day with your girlfriend’s credit card.

Mom isn’t supposed to be dead either, but you’re at least supposed to say something nice when she is. I forgot my eulogy in the car anyway, it didn’t start like that.

She was an angel, a light, a caregiver, nice words stuffed into an open gaping maw and you want to summon them so badly it feels like a throat burn. I wished I could pluck them out of some sort of word jar, loaded with just the right phrases- I would make a killing selling those.

An image burns a hole in my forehead.

My mom had jars, jars on jars on jars, she put fruits in them and jam and sewing supplies and ‘good things that happened to me’ this year slips of paper. It was the first thing people joked about when they tried to remember her.

You’re supposed to joke and say something meaningful, I can’t just stop thinking: she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead.

I don’t even know what that means.

I brought a granola bar in my bag, I never liked granola and maybe that’s why I bought it, I have my student's old tests shoved in my dashboard and my car keys down the front of my shirt. I have on two gold rings.

I show up with a toothache from some wisdom tooth removal that happened fifteen years ago, the soles of my heels are basically shredded but I wouldn’t sit down now if they paid me. My mom would have liked that, not in a direct way, but in a way that no one would have stopped her from nodding in my direction.

I have on two gold rings, I didn’t mean to put on two but some things slip your mind when you're jamming objects onto your persons the morning of a funeral. I had already driven two and half hours and walked another twenty minutes because I couldn’t find free parking and maybe I wanted to walk.

She’d call it ‘waist saving’ and maybe put it in a jar.

Cousin Ben looks at me first, he takes my hand, the right one with the two gold rings on it and gives me the most tightly crisp smile I’ve ever seen. My own teeth show up like a snarl.

“Helen,” he greets and then bows his head, “We were just talking about you.” I tilt my head, I have places to be- like anywhere but here. “All good things I hope.” I laugh like the sound might get stuck in my throat.

“I won’t spoil it then.” He laughs too and the temptation to be a musical villain is there. I want to turn, I want to be angry at a lot of people at that moment.

My cousin Ben brought his best tie from a New Jersey suit shop he found, it’s blue because it’s sad and he likes sad things. He brought three cents in his pocket, he likes to rub them together when he’s nervous and count the number of times he’s rubbed them.

He’s trying to make it less, I know that. My cousin Ben brought mouthwash and breath mint, he doesn’t kiss people, he doesn’t like the feel, but he became very self-aware of his mouth when he was a kid and still had a dead tooth.

He liked to be aware of things, though this wasn’t something he would brag about at any farm to table restaurant he visited. He just rubs his coins together in his pocket.

He knows my mom is dead in the way that she sent him canned peaches when he was six, they said it was a bad birthday present, but that’s how he remembered her because no one else was going to give him canned peaches for his birthday.

He also has a faux-crocodile wallet, an iphone 7 shoved in his back pocket, and a short eulogy just in case one of us faints on the spot and he has to take over. My other cousin Jenny would like that. She loved things like that.

I wave and try to converse through my teeth, his smile made me have to smile. I wish I was walking again, ‘waist saving’ as my mom would say.

I go in once another guest grabs his attention, I don’t know her, she’s not in the family and I can tell she might like kissing in the way he doesn’t.

I walk the other direction and the utter cool of the house overwhelms me as I enter. I briefly close my eyes.

I brought one black purse with one long black sash across my shoulder and a tiny wallet that fit inside that. It was also black.

I want to go stuff cheese in my face, someone said there was cheese on the group chat: ‘Nancy’s Funeral.’ I had done enough walking.

My aunt Flora is standing in the dim green hallway of the entranceway, she catches my eye, she has green eyes too. She opens her mouth, her lips moving without any words coming out.

She had been to many more funerals than I had, maybe she wanted to say ‘sorry for your loss,’ but it was both of our loss, the words die there.

I offer her a nod, “how are you doing Aunt Flora?” More silent words come out, she purses her thin lips and tries again, “better than Nancy I suppose.” She laughs a throaty guttural sound and I join in, it’s a sitcom sound. You’re supposed to make a few jokes at funerals, like you’re making it meaningful.

My aunt Flora brought one padded purse with extra handkerchiefs, not for anyone else, she knows she’s prone to crying and they are a stern warning to herself not to.

She brought one accessory, red lipstick that smears her teeth every so slightly and the hope that maybe someone will hint at her about it. No one does. She brought a lumpy black dress and two terribly comfortable looking shoes, she knows about shoes and would talk to you about them if you asked. No one did.

In the purse was fifty-five dollars in cash because she’s trying to save up as much physical money as possible to carry around, she doesn’t trust banks, but she’s not very good at it.

I offer her my hand, “to us then,” I almost toast, “slightly better than the grave.” She laughs this time too, the type of wheeze that meant her handkerchiefs were trying to threaten her. I turn around without ceremony.

Me and my brother always said one of those jars had tears in it, that was the story and my mom was making a deal with a great witch down the street. That’s why she sometimes took us by the ear and kicked us out of the house for a few hours.

Before dad came home, it was never long, not long enough to be a thing, later in life times like those that felt like I knew her, she locked us out for a few hours and I almost understood her.

Everything else was a mystery, a hole, and if it wasn’t a hole then it certainly was now.

That’s also what I thought of when I looked at my aunt Flora. We toast to the wind and trade condolences before I duck my head and scurry off.

There was cheese, or maybe another walk.

I have to see my brother next, I know I do because sometimes the world is never predictable but it ends up that way anyway. I see him in the cheese room inside the church reception hall inside the sweaty damp heat of the Atlanta spring.

He’s talking to his wife, who I like, and she’s not talking at all. I can see why.

My brother is moving faster than the winds could catch and maybe he remembered being locked out of the house for a couple hours too.

My brother brought tea, not on purpose, but because his daughter bought him some as a condolences present and they were the type of family to buy each other presents. He accidentally tore one of the bags when opening it and stuffed it in his pocket to hide the fact.

He brought his reading glasses but he was trying not to show that he needed them.

He brought a suit jacket he got after a promotion last year and a pair of pants that were a slightly darker hue but he hoped no one noticed (no one did but cousin Jenny. She found it in poor taste).

He had on an undershirt that was a little too small, my mom would say he should do more ‘waist saver’ walks. She’d say it with a smile.

His wife brought Advil in her purse, sticks of gum, four of the family credit cards, a water bottle for her daughter who was in the other room, a lozenge, a nail clipper, a book about Helen Keller, and headphones- taken from her daughter. Then some granola bars, she for one actually likes granola bars.

I want to eat another hole through my shoes, a gaping ones the matches the one in my heels, they were from Nordstrom Rack and also black. But my brother was talking.

“She never really could let go of those keychains we made her every year, I bet she still has them in a box somewhere! Or probably a jar,” polite laughter, “I think she never found a glass container she didn’t like. I would have cut her off and switched her to cardboard if it wasn’t at least a little charming.” Polite laughter, “I wish she knew when to stop. She never knew when to stop. With some things! A follow through-er, my mom was a follow through-er, haha, she would hate if I called her that.” Polite laughter.

Interjected words across words leave my brothers mouth. I narrow my eyes and I decide not to head right out to the cheese portion of my afternoon, Family Friend Tamara was standing there and I could tell she wanted to ask me advice about her son.

I keep my eyes on my brother, he jumped from one place to another.

“She taught me my words with those damn recipe books, and then those stupid Monkey Phonics, God, I should have told her I hated those. But then she’d make me help can peaches! I think I still hate peaches.”

Friend Tamara brought baby wipes for her hands, Mom’s old college roommate brought expired raffle tickets, my brother’s daughter brought tea and her meds. The woman talking to cousin Ben that I didn’t know brought breath mints too, Cousin Jenny brought her entire set of keys and Cat’s the musical discography.

Someone brought flowers, everyone brought flowers. I brought two gold rings, a pair of pantyhose I forgot to put on in the car, a tiny wallet, I walk across the room.

I barely get his attention, “Mom’s dead.” I put my hand on my brother’s shoulder, it’s the first thing I say. Maybe that’s why my brother always got let back into the house first.

He turns to me and the words die in his mouth, maybe he would make another joke. I shake my head and we both feel the gaping open words a little wholer than they were.

I wish we both started to cry, but he stops talking. I don’t show him my eulogy because I left it in the car.

I finish what I’m saying, something, something, and we move to take our seats for the ceremony, the priest brings a napkin in his pocket. My mom lies, lovely, gone, someone left a jar- I wish they hadn’t.

I forgot my eulogy in the car, I make a joke about it on the way up.

[stitch-xiu-up]

Paper Guns

~Gifs not mine unless otherwise stated. I will upload it so that every chapter is accessible from here~

Here we have my first Mafia Jongdae Thing. I quite like the title, I couldn’t come up with a punny title so this is going to have to do. Hope you enjoy

Lotto Love

~Stitch

~~

Word Count: 1133

Genre: Mafia!AU

Pairings: Jongdae X OC

Chapter 2

Chapter 1 - Crazy Lady

Mun-Hee woke up in an unfamiliar bed and an unfamiliar room. She yawned and stretched, the spot next to her empty and cold (not that she cared to be honest). She got out of the bed and collected her clothes (I would call it the walk of Shame, but Mun-Hee has no shame when it comes to these situations). Anyway, after getting herself dressed she headed out of the doors and navigated her ways through a few corridors until she made it to the front of the building. (She wasn’t paying attention to what the place looked like, she just needed to get out. It was 6 in the morning and she had a lecture in 2 hours).

As she made her way down the street looking for a taxi or something to get her out of this fancy ass neighbourhood, she couldn’t help but notice how huge the houses were, well, she thought they looked more like castles or mansions. They all had huge looming iron gates that were absolutely terrifying. As Mun-Hee continued to walk, she couldn’t help but notice that her hips were seriously aching. Her eyes narrowed as she gingerly lifted moved the waistband of her mini skirt and plain as day, hand shaped bruises stood stark against the contrast of her pale skin but didn’t look as bad over the parts of her skin that had been decorated with black ink. She grimaced a little as she remembered parts of last night, or at least, the amount of times that the bruises were made.

Regardless, after what felt like at least half an hour of walking around trying to find an exit to this fancy ass area, she found one and was soon able to hail a taxi and make it to her university (college) fairly quickly. After paying the taxi driver the required amount she quickly jogged towards her dorm room where she would be able to have a quick ass shower and get changed properly. She didn’t have a roommate luckily so she was able to slip inside quietly and without being noticed. She was ever so thankful for the shower she had to admit. It was warm and soothing and got rid of last nights bad choices. She had cheesecake. (If you got this joke, I don’t know whether I should be proud or disappointed.)

Once washed and dried and dressed, she still had just under an hour to get to her lecture. She was wearing the baggiest hoodie she could find, sweatpants and a hufflepuff wooly hat. No makeup graced her features  with the bigger rimmed ‘hipster’ glasses that she used for computers, so she looked pretty drab to be honest. But, when in college, you just don’t give a damn. So, off she waddled to the other side of the campus to her lecture hall. Should I elaborate a bit on Mun-Hee? I’m going to anyway, so. Mun-Hee is half Korean and half Scottish (so as you would guess, she has freckles). She has lived pretty much all of her life in Scotland, her Korean is passable but it is by no means great. She can understand pretty much everything someone says, as long as they don’t speak at the speed of light or slur words together. Also, she sure as hell isn’t great at speaking (in general) when she is drunk. Alrighty, that is enough for now I think.

The lecture was long and boring (well what do you expect of a world history lecture, I mean really). Mun-Hee was unable to stop the yawns that continuously clawed her lips apart. As she was walking towards the campus gates to go to her dorm and get food and then sleep for like five years, she noticed that there was a huge crowd of students were crowding around the gates. Interested, Mun-Hee decided to move a little closer and see what everyone was mumbling and whispering about.

Right in between both gate posts was a fabulously dressed woman (who looked absolutely gorgeous and mad beyond belief). The woman was standing with her arms folded over her chest, her red dress fell to down near her ankles (and would you honestly believe that anyone in this day and age would still use a feather boa? Well this whackjob does). Her skin was pale and clear and her black hair fell in beautiful waves down her back and stopped midway. Mun-Hee had to admit that she was super pretty.

Clearly no one here was going to offer this strange (whackjob) lady a hand. So Mun-Hee stepped forward.

“Hi, are you alright?” She asked tentatively as she got closer to the woman.

“No, I’m not alright! Some whore fucked my boyfriend last night and I’m here to find her!” She all but screamed. This took Mun-Hee off guard a little.

“Wow, what kind of a bitch screws another person's boyfriend, I mean really. Do you have any idea of who this person is?” Mun-Hee asked as she adjusted the laptop in her hands.

“I found out from the barman at the club she stole him from that she goes to this college. She also apparently has a tattoo on her ankle.” The woman said. Mun-Hee’s face deadpanned. But she recovered and she smiled sweetly as the woman continued, “I mean, why would some student go for a 24 year old? Students should stay with students!” She wailed as crocodile (fake in case no one else has heard this phrase before) tears started to pool in her eyes. (Also, if some of you are wondering, a lot of university students over here start when they are 18).

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t be of much help, I don’t know anyone with any tattoos (lie). Besides, the college doesn’t think highly of tattoos here so I think you’d be hard pushed to find anyone here with a tattoo.” Mun-Hee said soothingly. The strange woman seemed to think for a moment before sighing.

“Maybe I didn’t hear him right…” She said as the crocodile tears suddenly disappeared. “Thank you anyway.” She said before turning with a swish and sauntering off.

Mun-Hee stared after the woman and didn’t notice one of her friends sidle up beside her.

“You huge ass liar.” Were the first words out of her friends mouth.

“What was I supposed to say?” Mun-Hee glared

“What did you do? You just had to fuck a crazy person's boyfriend didn’t you…” Her friend trailed off

“In all fairness, I wouldn’t have screwed him if I knew he had a girlfriend.” Mun-Hee said as she headed towards her dorm.

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only person on this campus with tattoos… and you’re covered in them too. You got lucky today with your big ass clothes.” The friend chuckled.

[comicsbeat]

Yet more amazing comics debuting at tomorrow’ Comic Arts Brooklyn show!

Roopert August Lipp Revival House 56 pages, 8.5″ X 11″ 2 color offset
$10

The long-awaited debut by comics virtuoso, August Lipp. Perhaps you’ve been fortunate to see glimpses of his work in esteemed anthologies such as Smoke Signals, for example. Now, one can evince the full dexterity of his talent with the exuberant saga, Roopert. Roopert is excited to return to school after a summer of splendid adventures! His best chums will all be there: Clyve the shy badger, Benji the other, slightly shorter bear, Hannah the ballsy fox, Timothy the average frog, Clarissa the dentally-advantaged crocodile and many more. Hey, this school is a real ZOO! What kind of antics will they get up to when the bell rings and Miss Julienne the human’s 6th grade class begins? Irreverence and beastly nature are masked by overzealous displays of etiquette as the child animals struggle for agency in the face of less-than-responsible authority figures. Follow along as this comic meanders through Roopert’s first action-packed day of middle school! Adult supervision recommended. published by Revival House Press!

Hot Dog Beach #4 by Lale Westvind

High octane slapstick adventure starring Mop and Fuzz, two ding dongs trying to make a buck on a strange gig that never ends.

“BIG BONERZ: A Street Dawgz Comic Collection” by Lizz Lunney

This experimental comic tells the story of a group of canines that tackle depression, drug addiction and anger problems whilst roaming the streets and protecting their cardboard box home from outsiders. Lunney explores themes of fame/celebrity, mental health problems, class struggle, addiction and more through a pack of homeless street dogs. Lots of jokes! Lots of bones! Published by Birdcage Bottom Books 5.25″ x 7.5″, 44 pages. $7
Two-color risograph cover with b+w interior

The Loud Atlas

By Peter + Maria Hoey

Our new accordion fold book takes a surreal and funny look at the noisy world imagined by the Italian Futurists. Using the style of Marinetti and the rhyming pattern of Dr. Seuss. 8 panels and 45” inches long. Screen printed in 2 colors and hand bound on black book board in an edition of 50.

  DOMINO BOOKS

At CAB, we are proud to debut our ninth publication, BOOK OF DAZE by E.A. Bethea. Swing by table M3 to check it out—we will also have dozens and dozens of rare zines and art books available, many of them making their debut at the show.

  If you can’t make it to CAB, BOOK OF DAZE is available for pre-order now through our online shop.

  Book of Daze by E.A. Bethea. $6, 40 pages. Color cover, black and white interior, printed on newsprint.

“I first discovered Bethea’s stuff almost twenty years ago, she is one of the people whose work made me finally commit to comics as my medium of choice. With her barbed, nervous line and blunt writing style, she’s like a Duchampian voice calling for comics revolt. Her comics call out to us that no matter how damaged or how much of an outsider someone is, comics is our birthright.” -Josh Bayer, author of Theth

Book of Daze by E.A. Bethea is the kind of book DOMINO exists to publish. I first found Bethea’s work lying around an apartment I was visiting. I picked it up and from that moment on, have never forgotten it. As I began to read her dense pages, I was overwhelmed by the straightforward emotional statements and startlingly precise mind behind the sequences. In one moment, Bethea’s comics would acknowledge pain and disappointment, then turn to explain it away or justify things, only to finally confront the problem from a new angle. On the next page, simple pleasures became the focus, romantic notions embraced. Later on in the book cynical approaches to anything and everything were duly considered. All of this managed to congeal as Bethea kept another strong cloud hanging over it all: a refusal to shy away from an unashamed embrace of the full panorama of life. 

Bethea, a simple interpretation might offer, chronicles the web of living in the world with a heart and a mind sometimes at odds and sometimes simpatico. But Bethea gives us something more complex: at times, the work feels dead-pan as it shifts from exhilaration to resignation without a change in visual presentation, but it’s here where we have a guide to the heart of Bethea’s project. The often uniform nature of the pages and the highly non-uniform nature of what is contained within become a catalog of days or weeks or years. One page offers a subdued period in life, while the next (seemingly) similar page offers a day full of regret. Bethea talks about her work relating to cinema, specifically calling attention to what happens between one of her panels and the next. The shifts in emotion and carefully chosen images alongside highly precise language feel like walking into a film where the entire crew–from director to actor to gaffer—united in one mind to make something highly exquisite.

The Unquotable Trump by R. SIkoryak (Drawn and Quarterly)

R. Sikoryak frames Trump and his declarations as the words and actions of the most notable villains and antagonists in comic book history.

The House of Dickinson by R. Sikoryak (self published)

This mini combines the poetry of Emily Dickinson with the atmosphere of 1950’s horror comics.

Futile Comics #6 Mike Centeno

A 16 page look at a day in the life of a woman who deals with subway abuse, retail hijinx, and gym bros until she reaches the breaking point and has no energy left to keep all the black goop of rage inside of her.

Precious Little Lives By Joe Garber

This new American classic follows the melodramatic tragedies of a Tap n’ Scat Jazzist just trying to make her way in the world with a head full of dreams and a pocket full of toxic-male assholes.

Generous Consolation Conor Stechschulte In consolation for not having the third volume of Generous Bosom ready in time for CAB, this zine offers a preview of selected images from that book. Available on its own or for free with a preorder of GB3.

TRUMPTRUMP Volume 1: nomination to inauguration

by Warren Craghead III

Every day, Warren Craghead draws and shares grotesque portraits of Donald Trump and his minions. TRUMPTRUMP Volume 1 collects the first six months of these daily drawings with context and commentary, from when Trump accepted the Republican nomination for president on July 21, 2016 until his inauguration on January 20, 2017. — Retrofit Comics

Bestiary by Alden Viguilla

A collection of mythical beasts risographed in blue and gold.

  Final form #1 By Craig Bowers

A fantasy about two friends trying to make quick cash so they can go travel the world and two frogs slacking on the job.

The 12 Days of Christmas

Caitlin Keegan

The 12 days of Christmas, illustrated. A holiday zine that you can color (or not.) 

Twin Peaks poster

Caitlin Keegan

12×18″ poster featuring sketchbook drawings of characters from season 3.

 Bronze Enamel Sun Pin

Caitlin Keegan

Bronze + enamel pin with reversible sun face (1.125″)

I’ll also have copies of The Illuminated Tarot, which came out in April.

So What? Press Tales of the Night Watchman LLC

www.sowhatpress.com

  Tales of the Night Watchman is the story of Nora, a blogger stuck working a dead end job in coffee, and her roommate, Charlie, who happens to be possessed (in the nicest way possible) by a spectral detective called The Night Watchman. Baristas by day, heroes by night, Nora and Charlie answer the call to fight the city’s never-ending flux of supernatural activity.

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Issue synopsis:

The Gowanus Golem is back! In this follow up to one of the series’ most popular tales, Brooklyn’s most toxic monster is after a couple thugs who are responsible for the death of a young boy. There’s only one problem: To stop him, The Night Watchman must protect one of the killers. Oh, and did we mention it’s also a Christmas special? Written by Dave Kelly Artwork by Brett Hobson Colors by Clare DeZutti Cover by Tim Hamilton

Over Time, Every Section Was Allowed To Grow Accordingly Aaron Cockle, New York Is For Sale, Table J2

It’s part 1 of a 2-part Franz Kafka fan comic, 32 pages

Annie Mok Loves Videogames by Annie Mok

A collection of comics, essays, and an interview, all about an abiding love and critique of games such as The Legend of Zelda, Shenmue, Sonic, and others. Annie Mok freelances for Rookie Mag, The Comics Journal, The Establishment, and others, and now makes games such as The Haunted Nintendo.

Keep Going Greg Kletsel

32 page Risograph zine inspired by the phrase “keep going”.

  Animation: Dansemorphia (on custom silicone USB’s !) Zine: Frame Drain –

Roya Haroun

blurb- Danse! Morph! Ya!

Parasite Wanderer By Connor McCann

A girl wakes up with a parasite attached to her face and the two embark on a bombastic and poetic 16 page adventure.

People of Oakland Asuka Ohsawa

When I moved from Brooklyn to Oakland in 2014, in an attempt to get to know my new environment, I got into the habit of staring at people who caught my attention, memorizing their facial features, and drawing them at home. The book is a collection of some of those sketches.

Somewhere, Sometime Asuka Ohsawa

After my dad passed away in 2016, I traveled to my childhood home in Japan often and dug through his material possessions. This experience triggered an avalanche of childhood memories that I hadn’t thought of for so many years. I decided to piece together bits and pieces of these memories in this book.

Slasher #5 by Charles Forsman

It’s all been leading to this. The final issue of Charles Forsman’s exploration into violence and sexuality. After the events of issue four, Christine lets herself indulge for the last time. From the creator of the E4/Netflix series The End of the F***ing World.

Live at the Grelman: #4 Amy Magick By Vinnie Neuberg, AT Pratt, and Derek Timm-Brock

Live at the Grelman is a collaborative storytelling stand-up comedy comic strip. All strips are written and drawn in the order that they appear and nothing is preplanned. This issue features guest strips by Drew Miller, Disa Wallander, Lane Graff, Max Huffman, Kelsey Wroten, Haejin Park, Mikey Karpiel, and Michael Furler. 40pp

Touch By Vinnie Neuberg

A new mini-comic about an online date gone awry in a Virtual Reality world. Each comic comes with a foldout poster. 24pp



False Advertising By Dylan Balliett

False Advertising is a collection of recent illustrations, comic strips, and single panel gag comics by Dylan Balliett.

The Fishes’ Ball By Priscilla Boatwright

A locket. A fisherman. A steed. The Fishes’ Ball is a short tale about a man who descends to the bottom of a lake in search of his beloved.

CAB 2017 Debuts Part Two: More exciting comics to fill your brains and shelves Yet more amazing comics debuting at tomorrow' Comic Arts Brooklyn show! Roopert August Lipp Revival House…