#hope he gets a diff seat for next year

[hatsukeii]

god, love's fuckin' embarrassing! / bsf!suna rintarou x reader

genre(s): fluff + a bit of crack, bsf to lovers, mutual pining, mutual DENIAL SMH, set in pre-timeskip second/third year, "love is embarrassing" x "love is embarrassing", suna lowkey is a sleazy heartthrob who just gets girls, fumbling his feelings in front of a baddie but it...works???

warning(s): dirty jokes, "suna ur a p3do" jokes and punchlines (he's not), and a kys joke LMFAO, also just INSANE/irrational behaviour from diff girls out of obsession/lovesickness because i have defs! met people like that... but other than those nothing! gn reader too i THINK if it's not lmk i'll fix it :)

wc: ~3.3k

tldr; suna rintarou swears he gives up, because love is just so fucking embarrassing. i mean, seriously, what kind of guy is placing all his bets on his best friend that he's definitely, totally, 100% not in love with? (he is.)

Suna Rintarou arrives at your house approximately fifteen minutes later than he agreed to. When he walks in with your spare key, you’re already on the couch, legs propped up on the armrest and back pushed into the plush seats as you scroll on some random forum. He takes aim, and tosses your spare key from the doorway, hoping it hits you in the face. You drop your phone at the same time, and it ends up bouncing off the case and onto the ground. 

“Asshole.” You yell from the couch while reaching to claw at your keys, just loud enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to wake the rest of your household. “You said you’d be here by ten to debrief. Was she that bad?” 

Suna frowns, something you, fortunately, don’t notice. You’ve regained control of your phone now, moving on from your forum to your photo album. Through the reflection of the television, his figure is blurry, but approaching. The fabric behind your head dips when he flips onto your couch, legs hanging from the headrest and head lolling off the seat. You finally find what you were looking for, shoving your phone into his face. 

“The scale? Seriously?...Solid nine-point-five. Not a ten, though. Redeeming factor was that she had big tits, but that wouldn’t have mattered anyways, because she’s fifteen.” You drop your phone on his nose. It slides off his face and onto the ground again. 

“Fucking gross, Rintarou. You’re so gross. This is why you can’t keep any girl for longer than one hour.” 

Pushing himself up, he plucks your phone from the ground, and tosses it onto your stomach. With the rate that he’s been going at, Suna doesn’t think he wants to keep anyone for longer than one hour. Sure, casual flirting is exciting. Hookups don’t sound half bad either. But the next time that Suna  catches somebody he’s never spoken to with a love letter in their hands, he swears he will run into the nearest vehicle. It’s not to say that Suna Rintarou wants to be a prude for the rest of his life, no, not at all. He just doesn’t want to spend half an hour chasing someone off his tail again, for the fifth time in his life. 

“Not my fault they think I’d appreciate them casting love spells and carving my name into their walls.” He glances at your grossed-out grimace, and nods knowingly, a nod that says yeah, it’s been that bad. “I’d rather die alone if that’s what I end up doing while in love.” 

You snicker, turning your entire body so your legs rest on the seats of the couch and your back leans against the armrest. Suna eyes your shirt up and down, frowning at the old, but persistent coffee stain that refuses to wash off. He doesn’t think he’s ever getting that shirt back, but he’s okay with that. He wasn’t going to ask anyways. “She was not in love with you, Rin. Stop being an egotist.” 

Something goes off in the kitchen, and Suna suddenly notices how his nose tingles at smells of burnt sugar and butter in the air. You hop off the couch, disappearing into the kitchen only to return with a bowl that Suna thinks might be bigger than your chest- your head. When you set the bowl down on the fabric between your crossed legs, and stuff handfuls of popcorn into your mouth, he sighs. There’s no running from this after all. 

“So? What’s the Mitsuki level warning?” You raise your brow expectantly, the same way that you do at every debrief session, which Suna never fails to show up late to. Thankfully, that usually gives you more time for the everything shower, because the sessions also never fail to carry on through the night, and into the next day.

Ah, Mitsuki, his recurring nightmare. In hindsight, Suna should have known better than to try anything with her, of all people. For fuck’s sake, she drew gore of pre-existing couples, and posted them publicly with pride. “Not that bad, my god. You think she was a villain or something? It was only, like, cried and told me that I must be in love with someone else level bad.” For the record, that’s not even a level 1 warning on the Mitsuki scale. You roll your eyes, mouthing booooo with popcorn stuffed in your cheeks and sticking a buttery thumb down. The horrors that you’ve had the displeasure of hearing about are enough to turn anybody away from love. In fact, they’re enough to undo the security of happily married parents, and an unproblematic friend group at school, and the fact that Suna Rintarou has been looking a little too decent recently. You chalk it up to him finally cutting the stupid hair short.

Suna’s hand invades the popcorn bowl, picking for the glossiest piece. He knows it’s in there, somewhere, the piece with the best butter to caramel ratio, the one that you always find before he does when he shares a bucket with you at the movies. To his disappointment, it is once again, gone. He settles for one that has enough butter, and pops it into his mouth. You throw a dry piece at his face. He eats that one too. 

“Keep going? I need to update my catalogue of your botched dates.”

“It wasn’t even a date!” You throw another piece of popcorn at his face, and this time, he chucks it back at you. “I agreed to show her around the area tonight because she asked, and I was assigned to her, of all the new first years! I didn’t think she would break down when I said no to hooking up now, did I?” You snicker, pointing accusingly at Suna and wiggling your finger. Then, you sign directions- directions he knows all too well from telling you too much about lovesick underclassmen whose feelings go unrequited. Out the door, to the left, straight for three blocks, take a right, it’s the blue sign ahead. It’s the police station. He claws at a handful of popcorn and throws it at you while you hold your stomach and cackle. 

“I’m gonna kill you, I swear.”

“Nah, you love me too much.”

“Bullshit, I don’t.” Any type of love is too embarrassing for Suna Rintarou to be in, whether it’s what his parents have, or whatever Atsumu has got going on with that foreign chick from “another school,” or if it’s throwing popcorn at him in his old Gorillaz t-shirt, which he is still, never getting back. “Kill yourself. I hate you. If you have one hater, it’s me. I’m your biggest opp.” Yes, of course he hates when you pull this shit, because it’s not like he’s glad that underclassmen ogle over him on the daily. How is he supposed to explain that firstly, he doesn’t want to catch a case, and secondly, he thinks they’re tainting the very concept of love by embarrassing themselves like that?

You put a halt to your mindless laughter and gasp, eyes widening and pointer finger shooting up in front of you. “Whoa there!” The feigned altruism of your voice makes Suna wish he was actually dead. See? No love here. One for Suna, none for love. “Hate is a strong word, Rin. You shouldn’t hate, you should love! Love thy neighbours! Love wins!” Popcorn crumbs line his t-shirt now, and Suna clicks his tongue, running a hand over the plasticky print. It’s in pristine condition, spare for the splotch of brown, conveniently placed in one of the four white areas on the shirt. You swat his hand away, throwing a coy smirk in his direction as you shake the fabric to let the crumbs fall off. He tries to wince, holding back the muscles in his cheeks from moving the wrong way and smiling, and a pained smoulder comes as a result. Better than a smile, especially when you’re prodding at him to choose love. That would have been embarrassing, and very, very hard to explain.

“Love does not win.” Suna turns on the television now, your muted reflections turning to colour as some reality show drones on. Oh look, it’s Love Island, where all the female leads are a little stupid, and the male leads are trying unnecessarily hard not to think with their dicks. “It’s sad, and half the time girls that say they’re in love with me end up running away crying because of it.” 

You hum, questionably. Is that what he thinks love is? Well, yes, it’s sad, obviously. Embarrassing too. You’ve seen it in the sappy texts that your freshly-dumped friends foolishly shoot to their cheater exes, and heard it in Suna’s many escapades, including, but not limited to being car-chased by Mitsuki onto your poor neighbour’s lawn, which they still haven’t managed to get fixed. Still, it always wins, because somebody else thinking they’re in love with Suna means that you get to hear all about them for hours on end, and then try to convince him that there’s obviously somebody better, or at least sane, that's around the corner, ready to love him normally. Not you though, because that’s, again, embarrassing. Although you admit that you wouldn’t mind if he ever asked. 

“I told you, Rin, they’re not in love with you. They’re obsessed, it’s different.” 

Suna shrugs, blowing a raspberry. He doesn’t think you know what you’re talking about, because if you ever needed him to, Suna Rintarou would undoubtedly lay his life down for you, no questions asked. If you ever wanted another shirt, he’d give you his collection, then buy you more if that still isn’t enough. He’d let you off the hook for snatching the best piece of popcorn in the bucket from him, and settle for the butter pieces with only bits of caramel on the edges. Hell, he’d even swallow his ego, and just date you if it helped you with anything. But he would rather die than hand you a love letter stamped shut with red wax, or push you up against a locker in the middle of school rush hour, and has never, in his life, wanted to watch you sleep through a bedroom window like Mitsuki has to him. Obsession, in the name of love, is sorely inapplicable to Suna Rintarou. Therefore, he must be romantically inept. It’s okay, he accepts it. 

“I don’t see a difference. How could you?”

Your mind blanks at his question, unsure how to explain to Suna that somebody screaming I love you! with a DSLR camera full of his photos, taken of him in secret, in places that nobody but he should know, is nothing close to love. When you reach for the coffee table and place the half empty bowl of popcorn down, you catch his expression. His eyes are half-lidded, glossed over, staring tiredly at the television. You almost let it slip that you feel a bit sad for him. 

“You’re kidding. Okay, give me a scenario, anything.” He hesitates, bouncing his leg up and down and tapping his finger against the seat of the couch. His eyes dart towards you, who are staring at him. He doesn’t look away.

“Alright, what would you do if you loved someone?”

In normal circumstances, you’d probably tell them, nothing. When Suna Rintarou is sitting beside you on your couch, however, it’s different. You think, looking at the ceiling to avoid any and all eye contact.

“Well, for starters, I wouldn’t try to fight their best friend.” You blurt out, remembering the black eye you suffered as a result of telling Mitsuki off for showing up at Suna’s doorstep in nothing but lingerie. “And I’d be okay taking a black eye for them anyways, it’s just not a nice experience.” Suna nods introspectively, looking back to the television. Nope, still Love Island, but it’s enough to occupy his scrambling mind. You continue.

“I mean, flowers are kind of embarrassing, and I kinda hate them, but if they wanted to give me flowers, I’d pretend to like them. Maybe try to keep them alive too.” By ascending the stairs to your room, you would see a single rose in a vase. It’s half-wilted, the water level decided with uncertainty a year ago when Suna thought it was funny to give you the rose from one of his secret admirers on Valentine’s day. “If they loved me though, they would know that I hate flowers.” See? Not love again, two for Suna, none for love, because Suna gave you the rose knowing that you hate flowers. 

“I’d take lots of consensual photos of them, anytime, and everywhere.” Suna knows that you have an entire album, filled with god awful, non-consensual photos of him. That means you don’t love him, which is good! Because he doesn’t either, even if he also has an album of unflattering, non-consensual photos of you. Suna’s favourite is one that is actually quite flattering, where you’re leaning up against the handle of a shopping cart, and reaching for a bottle of mayonnaise on a rack. Non-consensual, unbeknownst to you, but he thinks you’d like it if he showed you. “Keep them in a cute little folder or something too.”

“Are you sure you’re not in love with anyone? Because you seem to know way too much.”

“I think s-” Stopping abruptly, you bite your tongue before the next words have a chance to come out. “I think I’m open to it.” You stretch, and your foot pokes into Suna’s side. He grabs it, sitting closer, and pulls you down until your legs rest on his own, which are now bouncing uncontrollably. 

“Okay, good to know. What’s your type, then?”

Your hands reach behind your head, cushioning it as you lie on the headrest. “Someone funny. And sane. Good looking too, but that’s a bonus.” No, this is bad. It’s two for Suna, but one for love, because Suna Rintarou is sane. Love Island on the television erupts into a flurry of applause, and when the two of you look at the screen, two people are kissing. One of them opens their mouth too much, and it clearly freaks the other person out. “Oh, and somebody who doesn’t kiss like…that.” You nudge Suna’s chest with your knee. “What about you? First year freshmen?” He pokes the side of your stomach, right where the coffee stain sits on his t-shirt. 

“Fuck you.” His curses drone off, lost in thought. Does he want somebody tall? Short? Somebody who plays volleyball like him? No, that’s not it. He looks back at you, whose eyes are still trained onto the television. He thinks he should take another photo of you, one that he thinks you’d like just as much as the shopping cart one. It’ll be a lot of effort, trying to reach for his phone in his pocket with your legs over his own, but it’ll be worth it. “I just want somebody who won’t try to climb through my bedroom window at three in the morning.” Now that he says it out loud, it sounds like the bare minimum. “And maybe someone who actually wants me around, even if I’m not romantic or whatever.” You look back at Suna, and suddenly you’re putting every single person that’s ever confessed their love to shame just by being his best friend of four years, sitting beside him like you always have. Fuck, it’s two for Suna, and three for love. He’s not sure where the extra point came from, but he probably deserves it. “I think I just want somebody who loves me. Like, actually loves me.”

“What, you finally get it?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” Suna rubs at his gradually reddening face with both of his clammy palms. You smile, because you’re not sad for him anymore. Your best friend is finally starting to see that love isn’t being chased by a car, or being cornered with a letter, or even being kissed on the cheek by girls who barely know him, but somehow think they’re in love with him. “This is so fucking embarrassing. Oh my god. Love is so fucking embarrassing.” 

“I know, Rin. It’s nice though, I think, when you’re in love.” Your words drift off into the air of your living room, and although you're punching yourself in your head, you come to the acknowledgement that you might just be in love with Suna Rintarou. Love really sets you up to embarrass yourself, especially when you realise it at a time like this.

“Have you been?”

You don't nod, and his stomach drops, because Suna Rintarou is pretending that he wants to make fun of whatever comes out of your mouth next, but hoping for you to say his name. Two for Suna, four for love.

“I probably am right now, but who am I to say? I know nothing more than you do. People don’t even go for me, which saves me the trouble.” You shrug helplessly. If love doesn’t come your way, then so be it. There’s nothing more embarrassing than putting out more than you get, which is exactly what you would do for only one person in the world.

“They would.” 

“You serious?” Suna nods, legs coming to rest. “Proof, right now, or it didn’t happen.” It’s about to end horribly, and Suna Rintarou might never live this down, but he’s lost four-two to love, so placing all his bets on this is now obligatory. 

“Okay, go out with me. I’ll take you somewhere nice.” You freeze, sitting upright. Your body is still as stone, legs still on Suna’s, which are shifting so he can turn and face you.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He doesn’t miss the grin that creeps onto your face. It’s a good sign, he thinks. A sign that you do, in fact, love him back, one way or another. 

“Well, I’m funny, and I’m sane. That’s what you want, right?” Yes, that is what you want. In fact, upon closer consideration, Suna Rintarou is exactly what you want. Who would’ve guessed? Best friend of four years, like you thought, just around the corner. 

“You would be correct. And I want you around, always, even if you don’t like romance, which is what you want, right?” Suna nods, because that is exactly what he wants. 

“Okay, and you…actually love me, and are not just trying to see what boxers I’m wearing, right?” Your eyes dart between his own, and you think about the time Mitsuki somehow managed to steal Suna’s boxers after breaking into his house at three in the morning, before she was chased out and had the restraining order filed against her. No, you’d never stoop that low. Plus, you already know from shuffling through Suna’s closet for all these years, stealing t-shirts off of him. T-shirts that you still wear on rotation to bed, sometimes to go out. You don’t tell him about your friends asking you whether they’re your boyfriend’s shirts, and how you would respond, I wish, idiots.

“I do actually love you, Rintarou. Plus, I think I’d rather not see your boxers again, thanks. And if we go out, you’ll figure out whether you’re in love with me as well, and we can work with that.” The credits roll on the television, and it cuts to an episode preview. Suna looks at you, and he thinks maybe, just maybe, if you ever wanted him to, he’d show up to your doorstep, not just with more of his band t-shirts, but with handwritten love letters tied into a stack too. 

“Nah, I know I love you. We can skip the date and just get together.”

author's note:

watch me post this at 2am sydney time and then get annoyed when no one sees it because 2am is a cursed time for me.... JOKES i don't care because i loved writing this so sosoossoos much and im putting it out as soon as im finished but THANK YOU FOR READING TILL THE END!!! i have a newfound love for suna rintarou thanks to all the research i did on his character both fanon and canon he's so me frl i need to have a suna in my life ngl... I HOPE THIS LIVED UP TO YOUR EXPECTATIONS THO!!! genuinely one of my favourites that I've written thus far

anyways tags!!!

@chuuya-brainrot @zzwon @akaakeis @blvewave @kongkhoi @hiraethwa @kuroppiii @catsoupki @laughingfcx @tulip-room @fiannee @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @wishi-selfships

ok love u all bye bye until next time

[takes1]

Hi!!! I saw the Osamu x Reader post and as a Suna girlie it breaks my heart just a lil for Suna (very good stuff for Osamu and Reader tho, that was divine) but I was wondering maybe a slight part 2 for this where Suna gets his own happy ending? I say slight part 2 cuz Suna still has his heartbreak from the Osamu story but ends up with a different reader, perhaps? In my head it was Reader's relative who's much more of his type (relative part for slight drama, iykyk) but I'll leave that up to you!! For NSFW I'll also leave that up to you!! If that's not your cup of tea, you can ignore this ask, thanks a lot!!

hi!! thank you!! i def tried to take this in a slightly diff direction, just bc i was a little confused, but i kept the themes the same and the general prompt true to form! i hope this is alright! thanks for the request!!

warnings. sfw, alcohol consumption

info. angsty / hurt/comfort / timeskip!suna / very sad!suna / heartbreak!suna / previous relationship / suna not getting over breakup / misunderstandings / miscommunication / suna checking you out / happy ending / implied needy!suna / __ words

haikyuu collection. more here.

more links. my ao3. masterlist. requests open!

"Old-fashioned. Please," The man beside you was quiet. Raspy, in a young way, but carried an age's worth of reservation in what were so few words.

He was wearing a nice, linen shirt. Orange and yellow danced off of his Harry Winston watch, but it didn't compare to the glint in his eye as he turned to look at your equally classy style.

The name that breezed off of your lips a little too easy.

"Rintarou?"

Other voices from around the rest of the bar fell away. White noise to you- a loud, gray static to him.

His fingers felt ice cold despite not nursing a drink, a decision he regretted not partaking in sooner with the rest of his team, now.

The knot in his throat kept him from responding.

"Wanna start a tap?" The bartender slid his drink towards him. He eyed you when Suna didn't take it right away.

A brief glance between this tense scene was all it took to understand.

He offered his card between two fingers and took the seat next to you without a word.

"This isn't going to work out."

Three years. So many victories, so many trials-- gone. You swore up and down you never felt anything, even after you watched him break down into tears for an hour.

Your passive stare, completely impartial to whether he lived or died, was all the solace he got.

He must've cried for days. He almost didn't show up for graduation.

The twins thought he died.

Suna held an empty stare forward at the glossy counter- fingers circling the mouth of his glass, sometimes twirling it.

Drowning in vat of ice-cold water would be a warmer feeling than this eternal torture.

The memory of you walking out of the gym, holding yourself because you knew what you were doing, and now you had nobody to comfort you for your cruelty.

A shaky sigh fogged the cool glass on his bottom lip before he took a necessary sip.

Something kind, finally.

The heat that crawled down his throat eased your next words enough for him to bare through it.

"What are you doing here?"

Your sad attempt at trying to make conversation set him off.

His nose scrunched with the effort it took to try to pull himself together. Just your voice dragged him so far back into that deep, never ending spiral of insecurity and uncertainty.

His similarly-dressed team taking up space and sound on the other side of the bar was the first thing anyone was bound to notice. After winning a game, they usually went out for drinks- but just like every other time he was dragged along, he found himself not having as much fun as he ought to.

He grew weary of their energy and insistence that he get a girlfriend to cheer him up.

This quiet separation from the pack, his sulky demeanor, and the pain he wore on his brow was evident to even the bartender. He knew you could see it and hated himself for it.

"Celebrating," His voice was so quiet it took you seconds after to completely register it.

Watchful eyes waited for your expression to shift. It made you as uncomfortable as he wanted, but he couldn't keep the fortitude to enjoy it. He opted for his glass in time to watch his ice cube drop, shift in his drink. It looked fuller, now.

He brought the bitter thing up to his lips and handled it astoundingly well.

Your pretty eyelashes looked prettier when you looked away from him. Longer and fuller when you weren't facing him. That flawless makeup, caressed by the soft, warm light of the bar must've taken you hours.

You were different. He tried not to notice.

"How have you been?"

It wasn't an apology. His fingers slipped on the gathered condensation and he hesitated to take another sip so soon.

"Busy," He looked at your glittery shoulder when you faced him again, "You?"

There were a few moments of silence that he didn't notice. His low-lidded study of your little dress was soothing the burn in the back of his throat, a painful mix from needing to cry and the strength of his drink.

Part of him was relieved you hadn't let yourself go. You were a divine gift that any man would be glad to have, and his opinion, should be willing to break himself over.

The dress honored his useless devotion well.

Part of him would never forgive you for not throwing yourself into a pit of despair for your heartless words. His eyes hardened at once, now at the curve of your thighs that stayed crossed under the bar.

"Can you look at me?"

When his eyes shot up to meet yours, it felt like you were staring down a wounded animal.

The full weight of your decision dawned on you and you realized, all at once, that you had been wrong for years.

You hadn't spared him the way you convinced yourself that you had.

Something reminiscent of fear flashed across your face. He left you to think and chugged the rest of his whiskey. His ice clinked in the glass when he set it down and flagged the bartender.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Slipped out, a little too early, as you both watched the glass refill with golden-brown color.

He squinted down and you were grateful it wasn't a look directed straight at you.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," He snapped as soon as your company left.

With more time spent sitting next you, basking in your presence for the first time in so long, and his inhibition slowly fading, he felt himself start to get belligerent.

"I was-," You sighed, trying to control the frustration in your voice because you knew it wouldn't help, "I was trying to give you more options."

It was quiet for a long minute.

The hateful stare he kept on his own hand told you he was not convinced.

"I knew it would be tough on us, with you travelling for the team."

A tough brow softened, just a little. His thumb slid against the rim of the glass, thoughtful, about a better time. When he had something else to look forward to other than practice, or games.

"I didn't wanna put you through that. I didn't want- to make you choose."

His life was empty beyond the court. He couldn't imagine any scenario that would've played out to be worse than this. His face stung when he spared a sideways glance at your pretty face.

"So you chose for me," He rolled his cloudy eyes.

His words were like acid.

You couldn't swallow the lump in your throat. You turned from him, angry that he wasn't doing well, guilty that it had to do with something you thought was a good decision.

A big breath through your nose.

"And I'm sorry," You bit the inside of your cheek when he froze, "I really can't express how sorry I am."

The apology wasn't something he could rationalize as anything other than genuine, and heartfelt.

Confusion ran through him, made much worse by his buzz-- his eyes burned and he furiously wiped one eye. He had convinced himself you were secretly an emotionless, terrible person for doing that to him. The fact that you could possibly atone for it made him wildly uncomfortable.

His chair scraped when he pushed himself up to stand and face you. He kept one arm on the bar.

"I wanted to make it work!"

His version of loud was by no means actually loud, but it still startled you.

"And- you didn't," He was already back to a soft mutter, but it was wobbly when he kept talking, "I don't know what else I could've done, to be enough for you."

"You were enough," You instantly argued, "I just-,"

Another frustrated, teary sigh, "I didn't think I was."

It must've been muscle memory. Suna didn't realize he was wiping a tear from your face until his hand was already back down by his side.

He hated seeing you cry so much that it trumped his own lingering, maladaptive thoughts. Especially when you looked so good.

Your small, sad smile at his chivalry eased the weight in his chest.

He felt like he could breathe for the first time in years.

"You were everything to me," You admitted.

He had to take his seat at that. Closer, this time.

masterlist.

requests open.

[jayflrt]

lol about your post on fate+… i agree!!! long ass rant incoming 😭

first of all, the tour is very rushed. yes ik the boys have been hinting at it since their LA show back in october but announcing the tour the day after the last show of the regular fate tour and giving engenes only a week for ticketing is wild. but kpop companies have caught on that many fans will spend $$$ to see their idols and will gather up money somehow even with a few days notice. it’s so ughhh because it brings me to my next point.

the ticket pricing 🙄🙄 wdym nyc show VIP1 was $700+ with fees. and no benefits with the VIP package were announced so nobody including the arena staff know if send off is included. (i hope it isn’t cause goddamn after that first LA show it was a mess) ive never gotten VIP/GA tickets for any concert ever because i only started working a year and a half ago and just personally don’t think it’s worth it for me considering i make minimum wage at the moment. but i spent $150 without fees fate in newark for a pretty good seat at prudential. however for UBS ticketing today, seats just as good were $250-$300. like i get it’s a diff arena so diff pricing but DAMN? luckily i was able to snag $150 tickets towards the back of the 100s section but damn why is there a $100 upcharge for sitting like a few rows in front…bffr hybe. i went to see txt at UBS last year and the seats in the same area i sat in for that concert were $300+ today 😭😭😭 concerts in general are getting more and more expensive and it sucksss!!! but like i said, kpop companies know kpop stans will buy no matter the price so they unashamedly increase prices with each subsequent tour. that’s def why some groups are touring 24/7…and enha is def gonna become that group for hybe considering their international success is crazy. i have a feeling they plan to push txt more in korea and enha more internationally so enha is gonna keep on touring and touring.

i personally believe that even $200 w/ fees is kinda pushing it for a concert even it means a good view! but you can’t get good concert tickets for cheaper with any artist (why are drake tickets like $300 for nosebleeds)

my third point is rest 😭 for the sake of the boys health, the tour should be starting in late summer/early fall and with dates more spaced out. there was so much discourse on twitter about whether the tour should be boycotted or not. i felt really guilty even considering buying tickets cause of it. imo i believe that a boycott would only hurt the boys more. it’s ok to want to go see them. HOWEVER, belift/hybe should be giving the boys some time to rest because jfc they’re also comparing for a comeback. i hope the boys get AT LEAST a week without intense practices and constant filming. a month long rest is ideal but it’s not realistic knowing their management. i really really hope all goes well this tour and the boys stay healthy. jay my pookie wookie also seemed so excited to go to tacoma, even if it’s for a day so i hope he can visit his old hometown 😫😫

and with the large influx of y/n interaction loving engenes (ik i can’t talk because im sending this to a fic blog on tumblr.com) i hope the boys don’t have to deal with the same type of bullshit they did during this last tour. it’s inevitable tho, so many people are getting into enha because they do a lot of fanservice these days. i really want to know if they flirt 24/7 on weverse because it’s entertaining to watch the aftermath or because their management really wants to push the parasocial thing with them. makes sense if it’s the management tho considering send off was very interactive (a lot of the tiktoks of it went virallll) + the boys are constantly on vlive and making flirty comments these days (sunghoon when i catch u)

right??? i loveddd the fate tour and there was plenty of time between the announcement and the actual purchasing of tickets, if i remember correctly. but today was just a mess!!! :/ how have they not realized that some engenes need more than a week to prepare and come up with the money to attend, like i had friends selling photocard collections just to buy tickets 😭 but yeah ultimately just had to dish out money from their own pockets

i believe they all have send off now (i was buying vip1 tickets for my friends and it said so on the package) but i was shocked that they even had send off still after how bad it was last time 😭😭 (to be fair i think send off was rlly nice in la tho so fingers crossed they find a big space again to hold it in) but god it makes me so sad to hear that they're just running enha dry with tour after tour 😭 and right!!! there was literally a $200+ service fee?? that's literally the price of another ticket like wtf

honestly i don't think a boycott would help. i think it could if everyone committed to it, but the moment people mentioned it i knew it wasn't happening because people aren't actually willing to give up on seeing enha. realistically there's not even much of a point to the tour considering they have like 4 new songs?? svt hasn't toured in the us since be the sun and they're gonna have two albums of songs for their next tour now. i just wish belift would let enha space out their tours like that 💔 but!! i will say i am glad that jay gets to tour in his hometown in all this

LOL it is ironic to say that to a reader insert writer but it is more of a nameless oc insert for me!!! 🥲 but i totally get what you mean, there's so many engenes who only care about interactions and "y/n moments" like this girl literally shoved me during the fate tour when they came down the aisles??? 💀 like girl chill u can have heeseung omg 🚶‍♂️ no i'm not gonna lie i think the y/n stans on twitter have fallen victim to the parasocial relationship HARD and it feels like it all started because of the fate tour too 😭 it also doesn't help that belift pushes them to fit this perfect boyfriend image with the whole "dating my fans" kind of thing. i was sooo done with them after everyone started posting their selca days for jungwon's birthday like jfc 😭😭

[autorennen]

how can something so expected be so heartbreakingly shocking

[caitimetravels]

she's insignificant

chapter 9: i missed you.. say it back

the umbrella academy x (fem) reader

disclaimer: i do not own the plot/storyline of the netflix tv series and i do not own the umbrella academy characters.

warnings: none

masterlist

"klaus?" y/n stepped upstairs, hoping he was home. she was worried after he disappeared but was relieved to feel him now. she wandered through the house, looking around for him. she called out as she walked.

finally, she caught sight of him in the bathtub. he looked distressed, eyes blown wide and flickering around in fear. with quicker steps she knelt beside the bath, reaching out and shaking his arm. "klaus?" she called but he didn't seem to hear her.

"klaus?!" she shouted, worried. he shot up, shaking. "hey, hey, are you alright?" she placed her hand gently on his shoulder, speaking softly so as not to startle him. he breathed heavily before staring blankly at her for a moment, eyes teary.

"klaus? what happened to you?" she slowly moved to take his hands, examining them. she frowned at the blood and dirt adorning them. where had he been?

klaus didn't answer her question for a while, instead sobbing quietly, leaning back in the tub. he looked broken, it was the worst she had ever seen her brother in his life. she could practically see his heart torn to shreds in his chest. not wanting to worsen his mood she reached for some soap and a cloth, letting go of his hands for a moment. she moved back to sit beside him. she took his left hand first, softly wiping away the blood and dirt. 

neither of them spoke for a while, both just enjoying the others presence. 

"i was worried" she eventually broke the silence, voice almost a whisper, "i couldn't feel your soul and i thought.. i thought we lost you"  there was a pause, "where did you go?"

klaus frowned, looking up at her now, eyes still glassy with emotion. "i met someone" he slowly begun, "i time travelled, back to 1968 in vietnam.. i fought in a war" he chuckled bitterly, "he was.. beautiful, i loved him- i love him more than myself.. we spent almost a year together before.. " he begun to choke up, eyes filling with fresh tears.

"hey, hey, it's okay" y/n reached a hand up, caressing his hair. she shifted so that she sat on the side of the bath and he could lean his head against her hip while she continued to thoroughly clean his hands. "i'm sure he was lovely. probably sweet and he'd have to be able to keep up with you" she gently teased, poking his wrist. he laughed feebly, nodding against her side.

"he was so sweet. very handsome, he was so supportive.." 

"he sounds perfect for you" y/n smiled sadly, wishing she could have done something to bring him back for klaus.

"he was perfect" klaus sighed shakily, whispering quietly. y/n didn't want him to spiral, he was probably hurting a lot right now. so, she continued talking, anything to help ease his pain. she knew it wasn't much in comparison but she couldn't just let him hurt. 

"i'm sure he would have done well at a family dinner" she joked, hoping to direct the conversation elsewhere. klaus laughed a bit louder, imagining him interacting with their family.

"oh, he'd be so intimidated" she smiled, "you'd all probably scare him off"

y/n gasped in mock offence, "i would not! i'd be very nice, thank you very much!"

"hm, i'm sure you would. i can't say the same for diego and luther though" klaus hummed, much more at ease now.

"what about five? he'd be so grumpy" y/n teased her brother and klaus chuckled too, "that's if he even showed up though" 

"the little gremlin, probably wouldn't even acknowledge us" 

"gremlin?" y/n snorted, "i suppose he always has been, huh? i have to say, he's a lot worse now than he was"

"now?" klaus raised his eyebrows, pulling back to look at her. he thought about it for a moment, "he's not too bad i guess, just doesn't want to ask for our help" 

"we never really talked much so i can't accurately comment on when we were younger but he's definitely a solo rider now" she nodded, 

"what about me?" klaus gave a small grin, 

"what about you?" she hummed, amused.

klaus rested back against her, "how have i changed?"

"you didn't change that much, i suppose" she paused her movements with the wash cloth, thinking about it. "i think you've matured though, you've been through a lot, we all have and we've all done it alone.. i guess that's just made us all grow up a bit more.. depressed then we should've. you're still the same though, you're still funny, you make me laugh, you're still drug obsessed.. you should stop but i know you probably won't.." she gently resumed washing the blood away. "you're familiar, i guess.. i really did miss you, you know?" 

klaus smiled, although it looked a sadder than before. "i know, little sis. i missed you too.. sometimes i wish i had taken you with me when i left but i knew i couldn't.. i'm sorry i left you all alone"

"mm, well.. it's okay, while i was lonely i'm glad you all found your own lives" she shrugged it off, calmly. she dropped his arm now, standing up. "now, come on, the water's probably cold by now" 

"hey.. little sis" klaus made her stop and pause for a moment. "i lied to you.. when we were younger"

"what do you mean?" she frowned,

"about ben.. he was there, he's always been there" klaus looked down, "i should have told you when you asked but i.. i was scared dad would realise i wasn't completely hopeless or some crap like that"

"no, no, i get it.. sort of" she smiled, "i lied to everyone as well"

they shared a soft look, both really having missed each other.

she then turned to wash the cloth in the sink while klaus got out, he pulled the plug and took a towel with him to his room. while she washed the cloth he dried off and got dressed. she looked up as she heard footsteps. using her powers she knew it was five. he stood in the doorway to klaus' room, looking at the bloody hand prints on the bathtub and the red trail that lead to his room.

he slowly walked into the room as klaus pulled a shirt on. he knocked softly,

"you okay?"

"yeah.. just uh long night" klaus shrugged it off, shirt hanging on his arms. noticing that he begun to pull it over his head.

"more than one from the looks of it" five stepped into the room.

"yup"

y/n wrung out the cloth, seeing as it was no longer red and left it on the side of the sink, folded over. she walked down the hall, grimacing at the trail klaus left.

"don't remember the dog tags" five pointed out as she stepped closer.

"yeah, they belong to a.. friend" klaus waved it off, pulling his shirt down.

"how 'bout that new tattoo?" five was obviously pushing him, wanting answers. 

"you know, i don't totally remember even getting it" klaus shrugged, "like i said, it was a long night"

"what are you questioning him for?" y/n spoke up, leaning against the door. klaus didn't need five picking on him right now. he glanced at her before looking between them.

"he did it.. didn't you?" he asked, smirking.

"what are you talking about?" klaus frowned, taking a seat.

"you know i can recognise the symptoms klaus" five walked further into the room, right up to him.

"symptoms of what?" 

"the jet lag, full body itch, the headache that feels like someone shoved a box of cotton up into your nose and through your brain" five paused, watching as klaus ran his hands down his face. "you gonna tell me about it?"

"your pals, when they broke into the house and they couldn't find you. they took me hostage instead" he

"and in return you stole their briefcase" five smirked,

"yeah, i thought there was money in it. or i could pawn it, you know, whatever" klaus looked away, sighing "and then i opened it.." he looked down and five begun pacing.

"and the next thing you knew, you were where? or should i say when?" he paused to look at klaus.

"what difference does it make?" klaus threw a hand up, annoyed.

"what diff-? okay, how long were you gone?" 

"almost a year" klaus sighed.

"a year.." five breathed before leaning in towards him. "do you know what this means?"

"yeah, i'm ten months older now" he joked, 

"no, this isn't any sort of joke, klaus. hazel and chacha will do whatever they can to get the briefcase" five leaned in, pausing his pacing "where is it now?"

"gone, i destroyed it. poof!" klaus made a motion with his hands,

"what the hell were you thinking?" five glared, speaking through gritted teeth,

"what do you care?" klaus annunciated, 

"what do i care?! i needed it, you moron- so i could- i could get back, i could start over!" five begun to yell, getting angry.

"just.." klaus stood, shaking his head. he was done.

"where are you going?" five asked, watching him walk away.

"interrogations over.. just.. leave!" klaus called back, annoyed.

"nice going, five" y/n called, rolling her eyes. five's head snapped towards her.

"nice going? y/n i needed that-" he seethed but she cut him off with a hiss,

"i don't care, that's not an excuse to harass your family. klaus is having a hard time right now and you just barged in here like you own the place, getting angry at him for getting kidnapped!"

"i don't have time-" five scowled, beginning to argue,

"for what, five?! for us? for your family?" y/n took a moment to calm down, glaring at him "you can save the world all you want but remember.. if you ruin your relationships with us, they can't be fixed with a simple equation" 

she was about to leave before five grabbed a piece of paper, sitting down and using his knee to write.

"what are you doing?" she leaned closer to get a good look,

"i have a plan" he simply stood up and walked to his room. what was he up to this time?

she followed along behind him, watching as he begun to write on his walls, having run out of books and paper. she sighed, flopping onto his bed, waiting for him to finish whatever he was doing so that he would finally talk to her.

"ben.. he was there, he's always been there" he was there when she felt him in the room, she knew she wasn't crazy. would he be happy.. proud of her? would he have seen her fighting with her siblings? did he know about her powers and her efforts to find five? did he see all her training with dad and the long days she would study to help their brother? 

she wondered if her father could see it too.. could he see them all fighting? their problems all resurfacing? did he see her possess that assassin.. see what he didn't discover?

ben stood in the doorway, watching as five wrote away on the walls. he walked over to the bed, reaching out to take y/n's hand. he frowned when their skin never made contact, he only phased right through her. 

y/n frowned, sensing someone else. she sat up slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed and concentrating. ben stood in front of her, confused. he bent down to see her face clearly, her eyes were black..

"ben.." she whispered with a smile, her normal e/c eyes returning. the said boy smiled back, at least she knew.

tag list: (if your name is crossed i couldnt tag you) @rxses-and-reverie @lostgreekgod @on-yourmark-99 @bicyhot1 @navs-bhat @midnightmystic @shawkneecaps @baby-bi-bi-bi-yeah @velveticxyyy

[blushingreid]

Drugs?

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N: I really made a whole ass fic from one moment in my dream AGAIN. I wanted to try a diff type of fic format for y’all so if this is bad, I’m sorry. If you read this, I hope you enjoy & pls slide me some feedback <3

“Hey Pretty Boy, do you think you can ask your girl to hook me up with some stronger pain killers? My leg has been killing me since that last door I kicked from the San Fran case.”

“Maybe you should stop kicking down doors,” Emily joked as she patted Morgan’s shoulder before sitting at her desk.

“Oooo wait do you think she could get me some too? Will really hurt his knee chasing after Henry in the backyard the other day and refuses to go to the doctors to get it checked out,” JJ chimed in.

“You all do know that Y/n is a pharmacist, not a drug dealer, right?” Spencer responded with an eye roll.

It had been 2 months since Spencer’s first date with y/n, yet he felt like it was only yesterday when he stumbled into the drugstore you were working at. 

Spencer had gone into the drugstore on a mission to get his flu shot as quick as possible, so the team would stop teasing him for being the last one. It was that time of year and Hotch had sent out a mass email reminding everyone to get their flu shots and confirmations emailed to him by the end of the week. Normally, he was the first to get whatever task of the week assigned done. However, he wasn’t exactly speeding to complete this given his unfortunate moment with Tobias Hankel and dilaudid. Though it had been 5 years, Spencer has always had a small phobia of needles. He couldn’t put it off any longer as Hotch had called him out earlier for not getting his flu shot yet.

So here he was, walking into the closest drugstore near the FBI headquarters, a jittery mess. No words could explain the relief Spencer felt when he saw there was no line at the pharmacy. No one would hear him freak out over his vaccination. He let out a small sigh of relief and approached the counter, filled out the form with all his health history and insurance information before being directed to sit in the back room to wait for the pharmacist. Spencer patiently waited and tried to take his mind off the situation by focusing on slowing his rapid heart beat.

A couple minutes later, a young woman in a white coat knocked and entered the room. Spencer was instantly breath taken. Maybe it was because he was about to get his vaccine or because the pharmacist giving it to him was absolutely beautiful. Either way, he was about to act like a little baby in front of the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen.

She sat down in the seat next to Spencer before introducing herself, “Hi Spencer, I’m y/n y/l/n. I’m the pharmacist that will be administering your flu shot. Do you have any questions or concerns?”

“N-no I uh t-t-think I’m good to um go,” Spencer said as he slowly rolled up his sleeve. He enjoyed the sound her soft voice saying his name.

“You know being afraid of needles is okay. It’s perfectly understandable,” y/n said giving Spencer a small smile before cleaning off part of his upper arm, “You can squeeze my leg, if it’ll help calm your nerves.”

Feeling the coolness of the alcohol pad on his skin, Spencer immediately placed his hand on y/n’s knee. She didn’t seem to mind. Spencer however, thought he caught a hint of red rise to her cheeks.

“Okay I’m going to count to three before I put the needle in,” she said as she uncapped the needle and looked into Spencer’s eyes for his approval. Between all the thoughts running through his head and his panic, Spencer didn’t realize how he had unconsciously leaned closer to y/n.

“Uh yeah go ahead, I’m ready.”

Y/n had gotten lost in Spencer’s gorgeous hazel eyes, that she almost didn’t hear him. Realizing that it had gotten deadly silent, she quickly cleared her throat trying to cover up her flustered look. “One.....two.....,” she didn’t get to three before she quickly stuck the needle in Spencer’s arm, pushed the plunger, and removed it in one swift motion.

Spencer immediately gripped her knee waiting for the pain to hit, but was surprised when he saw y/n throwing the needle away and placing a band-aid on his arm.

“Wait it’s over?”

“Yup, we’re all done! You did a great job,” she assured, smiling up at Spencer.

“You know you didn’t count to three right,” Spencer pointed out as he rolled his sleeve down and stood up from his chair.

“You were so focused on hearing me count to three that you didn’t even realize I had already stuck you with the needle. It helped take your mind off the injection,” y/n explained as she stood up and handed Spencer a sucker, “I think you deserve a reward for handling that so calmly and for not kicking me in the shin because that has happened too many times before.”

Spencer smiled down at y/n as she handed him the sucker. He was ready to leave the store and get back to work, so he can tell the team he finally got his shot. Something was holding him back though. Spencer wasn’t going to let this be the first and last time he sees y/n. He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out one of his business cards.

“I would uh really like to see you again,... in a different setting of course. Maybe like a date?” Spencer quickly said as he nervously handed y/n his card.

“I’d really like-”

Spencer’s daydream was interrupted as he heard a pair of familiar high heels clicking into the bullpen.

“So what’s this I’m hearing that Boy Wonder is dating a drug dealer?” Penelope asked, walking past the team into the conference room with a new case file in hand.

“I’m not dating a drug dealer!”

[hyucks-archive]

blue.

word count: 2,666

genre: angst, female!reader, ex-boyfriend!mark

member(s): mark, jaemin, jeno

warning(s): none

author’s note: did you know that blue is supposedly the #1 ‘favourite colour’ in the world? :o

“Why are you seated here alone?”

You turn in the direction of where the voice had come from, looking up to meet eyes with Jaemin, who is looking at you with a tender, sweet smile. “Mind if I join?” he asks, to which you shake your head, patting the spot next to you. He seats himself down beside you, dipping his legs into the chlorine-filled pool water. You kick your legs gently, watching as your subtle movements form gentle ripples on the surface of the light blue water.

“Shouldn’t you be with your girlfriend?” you ask. Jaemin’s smile widens at the mention of her; would the mention of you, put a smile on his face too? You scoff internally – in what world would that be possible? There’s a reason you’re seated here alone. “She couldn’t make it today,” Jaemin shares, taking a sip from his blueberry mocktail. “Why aren’t you hanging with the boys?” he questions. You have your eyes fixed on the blue water in front of you.

Johnny’s Suhmmer Party has always been an annual tradition for you and your friends. Every year, Johnny would host a massive summer party, welcoming the start of summer at his beach house. While you aren’t one to dig parties, you’d still attend, just because it’s a friendship thing. And, even when you’d sit by the pool, away from the crowd, you wouldn’t be alone. You’d be beside him. But this year, marks the first year, that things are different. You had considered skipping out on attending the party altogether, but you knew that it’d only invite unwelcomed questions. You didn’t want your friends worrying for you, at least, not after how much you tried to convince them that you were fine.

Instead, you made sure to arrive early, and steer away from the main house, where most of the guests would be. That probably makes it a thousand times clearer that you’re avoiding something. But Jaemin is the sweetest boy out of the lot, the only one who’d be willing to play dumb and act as though he doesn’t already know your answer to his question.

You smile, turning to make eye contact with him. “It’s stuffy inside,” you lie.

Jaemin leans forward, looking at the area surrounding you. “You didn’t even get yourself a drink?” he asks. You wouldn’t risk it. Jaemin lifts his legs out of the pool, pushing himself off the ground, into a standing position. “I’ll go get a drink for you. What drink do you want?” he offers. You maintain the smile on your face, replying with, “Blue lagoon.”

“Non-alcoholic?”

You nod your head. “I’ll be right back,” he says, turning on his heel to head back into the main house to get your drink.

You refocus your attention on the pool water beneath you. There’s music pumping in the background, but all you seem to be able to capture are the subtle sounds the water makes as it dances with the gentle summer breeze. You breathe a sigh, eyes travelling upwards, towards the night sky. The night sky is always said to be a dark shade of blue, but all you see, is a blanket of black. You wonder if it’s just you, or if the blue is just not striking enough to the naked eye.

Taking in a deep breath, your eyes continue to travel around, browsing through your surroundings. You smile when you spot Jungwoo in the distance, showing off his ‘perfect’ re-enactment of that one move he loves from Tom & Jerry. The group of friends he’s with bursts into laughter, and despite the shy smile on Jungwoo’s lips, you know how smug he’s feeling inside, having succeeded in being a comedic relief to his friends.

Then, unexpectedly, or perhaps, with a tiny sense of hope that it would happen tonight, your eyes land on the one being that would make up the sole reason as to why you’d get up and make a beeline for the main house. Yet, you remain still in your position, eyes lingering on his silhouette for far too long. He turns his head to look at Yuta, granting you the perfect view of his side profile. Even from an angle, you can still see the sparkle in his eyes.

The sparkle, that was once solely elicited by you.

You’re still able to recall the first time you had met Mark. He was loud, but he was also shy. He giggled often, and laughed at almost every little thing Johnny would say. When he met eyes with you for the first time, you couldn’t deny the jittering feeling that spread throughout your entire body. He was charming, to say the least. And when he introduced himself to you, you were pretty much sold on how ethereal he seemed to be. At least, in your eyes, he was.

Looking at him from a distance like that, you’re only affirmed that Mark Lee is indeed, and will always be, that ethereal being in your heart. Nothing can change that.

“What are you staring at?” Jaemin’s voice interrupts, bringing you back into reality. You shake your head, reaching for the beverage in his hand, “Nothing,” you lie, again. Jaemin glances in the direction of where you were looking, his eyes immediately meeting Mark’s. Jaemin reclaims the seat beside you, jumping straight into conversation, to ensure that he engages your attention. He knows that it’ll only leave you overthinking, if you knew that Mark’s staring.

“What are you going to do over the summer?” Jaemin begins, drawing up a topic of discussion. You hum in thought, “I haven’t really thought about it,” you say, pressing your lips into a thin line. “I was thinking, laying in bed and rotting my days away,” you inform, a proud smile punctuating the end of your sentence. Jaemin chuckles at the information.

“Come on, you have to get out of the house,” he says.

“And do what? Rot under the sun?”

“I don’t know, maybe spend a peaceful reading day by the beach? You love to read, don’t you?” he suggests. Your mind goes blank at the word ‘peaceful’. Indeed, sitting by the deep blue sea, under the clear blue sky sounds extremely pleasant and tranquil. Yet, all your brain seems to be able to think about at the mention of a peaceful day, is Mark Lee.

Mark has always been your peace. On days that you were overly anxious for your final examinations, his presence alone served in every way you needed, to calm you down. On days where it felt as though the world would cripple and fall down on you, his presence alone provided you with the serenity you sought for. Mark was always like your personal, bright sky – he was always there for you, no matter where you were. You’d look up, and you’d see him smiling down at you.

Mark Lee was always like the light blue hue of the sky; he was peace, and he was serenity.

At least, he was all that, when he was yours.

Jaemin waves a hand in front of your zoned-out face. “Hello?” he calls out. You snap back into your senses once more, meeting eyes with Jaemin. “Sorry,” you murmur. Jaemin’s shoulders sink slightly when he sees how you immediately reach for your blue lagoon, sipping at it as you continue to be lost in thought.

“Hey,” Jeno greets, taking a seat beside Jaemin. “What’s going on?”

Jaemin tries to send a signal to Jeno, by gesturing towards you with his eyes. Jeno frowns, raising a brow. “What?” he mouths. “Do something,” Jaemin hisses, nudging Jeno. Jeno blinks a few times, still failing to grasp the situation. He calls for you, and you turn to face him. “Let’s go get a drink. An alcoholic one, this time,” he says, flashing his signature eye smile at you. Jaemin nods his head enthusiastically, encouraging with, “That sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it?” He places a hand on your shoulder, smile sincere as he urges for your agreement.

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “You guys go ahead,” you say.

It’s weird. It’s funny how dependent you’ve become.

In the past, you could drink as much as you want, because you knew you had someone to fall back on, someone who’d ensure your safety, someone who’d take care of you. You’ve gotten so used to having that pillar of dependability, that you’re no longer able to drink, without knowing that he’d be there for you. Now that he isn’t, drinking will never be an idea you’re able to go along with. Sounds ridiculously stupid, but no one would understand something like this, unless they’ve been put in the same situation themselves.

You stare at the bright blue, medium hue blue lagoon mocktail in your hand. If it contained alcohol, and if you were drinking it a year back, in this very spot, Mark would’ve rushed to your side, chiming at you to watch your alcohol intake, because of your low alcohol tolerance. You chuckle bitterly; it’s as though you’re able to see the reflection of Mark so clearly in the drink – somehow, someway, Mark always seems to be able to plant himself at the back of your mind.

Mark resembles what medium blue is supposed to represent – dependability.

“Mark!”

You whip your head around – damn, the reflection in the glass was an actual reflection of Mark.

Jaemin and Jeno exchange looks. “What are you doing here?” Jaemin begins, laughing almost too awkwardly.

You remain in your position, eyes on Mark. Perhaps a part of you wanted this encounter to happen. You can’t just erase a person from your heart when they walk out on you. Then again, perhaps a part of you isn’t ready for this at all.

Cold. That’s the only word you can use to describe Mark’s gaze.

Mark always looked at you with nothing but love and affection in his eyes. When you needed assurance, all you had to do was look at Mark, and he’d send endless messages of reassurance and security through his gaze. Mark’s presence used to be like a blanket of security; his eyes would resemble the dark blue of the night sky – no matter how late it might be, no matter how alone you might feel, you can always trust that he’d be there for you.

Mark was your dark blue all this while; the most trustworthy presence in your life.

Yet the same pair of eyes that once looked at you like you were the most precious thing alive, is now looking at you, like you’re no different from the grass that people trample on day and night. You swallow. Mark keeps his eyes locked on yours, as he answers Jaemin, “Saw you guys hanging over here. Thought I should stop by to say hi.”

From what point, did Mark lose his warmth?

Blue was always your favourite colour. To be under the dark blue sky, a bright, medium blue beverage in hand, with your feet dipped in the light blue pool; blue is supposed to make you feel at peace. But somehow, tonight feels unsettlingly cold. Is it because you lack the one most important blue in your life?

“Can I sit?” Mark asks. You can feel Jeno and Jaemin’s stare, so you turn towards them. With a soft smile, you reassure, “I’ll be fine. You guys go ahead, okay?” Jaemin makes sure to leave an encouraging squeeze on your arm, whispering, “I’ll run back here if you need me,” before taking his leave with Jeno. Mark takes a seat on your right. He mirrors your position, dangling his legs over the edge of the pool.

“I didn’t think you’d be here tonight,” he says, almost too gently. He isn’t wrong. Former you would’ve refused until the end, unwilling to show up at a party where you’d potentially bump into your ex. But present you was too attracted to the colour blue, that you couldn’t stay away. You miss having the sense of trust, the sense of loyalty, and the mutual understanding that required no words at all. You smirk pitifully; it’s all still here. At least, it is for you.

“I didn’t think you’d come and talk to me. I guess we’re both full of surprises tonight, huh?” you say, mustering the courage to look at him. He’s staring at you with his doe eyes, except, they don’t light up the way they used to. It serves as a reminder – the Mark before you is different from the Mark you’re used to. The Mark before you, is cold and distant. At what point did Mark become like that? It still baffles you ’till this day.

“How have you been?” he asks, showing too much concern for your comfort. You wish he had that in him when he was minutes away from walking out from your life.

“I’ve been fine,” you lie, for the nth time tonight. “What about you?”

“I’ve been busy,” he replies, looking away. “So much has changed, it’s nice to be able to come back and see all these familiar faces.”

You take a pause, mentally dissecting his words. Furrowing your brows, you question, “You moved?”

Mark looks back at you, a soft smile on his lips. “I moved,” he says. “Why?” you ask. “We both know why,” he tells you. Your brows knit together. Do you?

You shift your gaze to your feet that’s distorted because of the water. You were both young, with your own goals that you were individually working towards. While you were passionate about achieving your goals, Mark was tenfold as passionate as you were. He worked hard, day and night. It got so serious to the point that he was barely there for you. But you didn’t mind. The process of reaching one’s dream is never easy. What mattered was that the two of you were still supportive of each other. When he was present, he was still the same sweet, dependable, trustworthy Mark.

But to Mark, he was a good-for-nothing. Who cares if he had a dream, a passion, when he can’t even make his significant other happy? He knew you were struggling. He wanted to put an end to that.

At some point in the relationship, you began to feel sad. You felt lonely. Far from peace and tranquillity.

But Mark was always your blue. He was the blue that spread in your heart, that made you feel understood, that made you feel security. You understand why they say blue is wet now. At what point, did the blue spread so much, that it began soaking your heart? Too much blue results in feelings of melancholy, negativity, and sadness. At what point, did Mark become so overwhelmingly blue?

Mark left because he knew he was too much for you. He couldn’t find the right balance. You deserved someone who could.

Unknowingly, the two of you have been sitting by the pool, staring into each other’s eyes.

Was blue always this depressing of a colour?

“Did you move permanently?” you ask.

Mark nods his head. “I’ve settled down,” he says.

You’re about to probe further, but both of your attentions are captured by the sweet voice that yells, “Mark!” from a distance. You look in the direction from where the voice had come from.

“That’s my fiancé,” he informs, voice soft. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

Your lips part slightly at the revelation.You can’t even pretend that you didn’t see the way his eyes brightened up at the mere sound of her voice.

That’s right. A heart that’s gone, can never be caught again.

You force a smile. “Congratulations.”

“We’ll catch up again?” he says, already getting up.

“Sure,” you manage out, feeling the sting in your nose as the tears begin to well in your eyes.

Maybe it is time to let go of the colour blue.

[risjime]

IM HERE TO REQUEST RIS HEHEHEHE, again congrats on 300!!

I'm gonna go with colour me pretty hehe, the colour would be #cd8cc5 (why do I remember my code from tumblr) and the article of clothing would be a skirt! with hajime fluff <333 we both simp for hajime so hard ugh 😔🤚🏽

well congrats again!!! and thanks for doing this 😫😫

NERVOUS

with: iwaizumi; no pronouns used but reader does mention wearing skirts & dresses

content: fluff!!, kinda a non-linear timeline?? [used diff colour text to represent this], college au

wc: 0.7k

a/n: ahhh thank you again mai!! we rlly do both simp for him a ton 😌 i hope you enjoy this babes 🤍

participate in my 300 event here!

your legs drape over hajime’s as you lay lazily on his couch, scrolling through your phone after a long day. he’s doing the same, snacking on an apple, as two of you sit in a comfortable silence. a sudden thought comes to your attention, prompting you to call out to your boyfriend, "babe!"

he looks towards you mid-bite with raised brows, you let out a little laugh at the adorable sight before continuing, "what’s your favourite colour on me? i need to get a dress for this weekend."

setting his apple down, he turns back to his phone, "mm one sec… the hell is this colour called?"

"just describe it to me," you giggle at his frustration.

"i would if- ahh here," he turns his screen to you, showing a bright pinkish-purple on the display.

"oh i have a-"

"a skirt that colour," he finishes for you. "yeah, i remember. i love that skirt on you."

hajime could never forget the first time he saw you. it was the first week of his second year at seijoh, oikawa was going on about something related to one of last year’s volleyball matches, and hajime’s mind was already starting to zone out. he sees the bright flash of purple in the distance, as you open up your locker, his eyes beginning to follow your movements. he isn’t entirely sure why you’ve caught his attention, but you have. he’s about to look away when you turn around, then he catches sight of your face, and you draw him in even further. 

"iwa-chan, are you even listening?" oikawa huffes.

"nah he’s got heart eyes going," makki comments, watching the interaction.

"hmm," tooru puts his hands on his hips in contemplation, "looks like love at first sight."

the next time he sees you wearing the skirt is his first year at college. he didn’t expect he’d ever see you again after graduation, but here you were, in one of his general classes, wearing that same damn skirt that caught his attention all those years ago. he didn’t talk to you all that much in high school, he was always too nervous when he’d try, but his crush on you never faded. 

he watches as you look around at the lecture room’s entrance for a place to sit, his breathing slows when you make eye contact with him, a small smile gracing your face.

you take the seat next to him, as he greets you with a smile, "iwaizumi, i didn’t know you were going here too!"

he clears his throat, "yeah me neither- i mean- i didn’t know you were going here."

ugh, why was he always so awkward around you?

before he can say anything else, the lecture starts. you try to make light conversation between any pauses, but hajime doesn’t give you much in response, his eyes seemingly trained to the front of the room at all times. when the lecture ends, you hesitantly tell him, "i’m sorry if i was distracting during class today, i can sit somewhere else tomorrow if you’d rather."

he looks at you with wide eyes, a slight blush forming on his cheeks as he hurriedly responds, "no! no thats not it at all."

a short silences passes between you as hajime thinks about how to continue, "i just… get a little nervous around you is all."

you raise a brow in surprise, "nervous? why?"

you weren’t gonna make this easy for him, were you?

"i’ve uh," he rubs his hands together, pushing his nerves away as he continues, "i’ve had a little bit of… a crush on you… since second year."

your smile grows at the realization, the pieces finally coming together to make sense of your relationship with him.

"you were so cute back then," you giggle at the memory, moving to lean your head on his shoulder.

"shut up, i was worried you’d think i was a creep or something."

you look over to see a familiar pink hue as he averts his eyes from you, "always a nervous boy, aren’t you hajime?"

he wraps his arms around you, peppering light kisses on your cheek with a soft smile, "only when it comes you."

© risjime | do not repost! reblogs are appreciated ♡

[writtenonreceipts]

If you're taking prompts, maybe for feysand - Person A catches a bus home everyday, but today, they're so exhausted that they fall asleep, suddely they feel a light tap on their shoulder and open their eyes to see person B smiling at them. "Sorry to wake you, but this is your stop, i hope you slept well"

<33

Oh my darling anon, I am always eager for prompts! Thank-you for sending this in! I altered just a few minor things, ie trains and not not busses and the diologue is just worded diff... and then over indulged in my own whims and fancies, just a touch.

2.7K words of fluff and awkwardness...all i know is awkwardness so ya know...

 #

Strangers and Favors

Exhausted.  Tired.  Sleepy.  There were far too many ways to describe what Feyre was feeling.  Not even the coffee in her hands was doing anything to give her the boost she needed.  

Amid the chill of morning and the slowly growing light of dawn, Feyre found herself hurrying from her car in the park-and-ride lot.  She practically flung herself up the small steps that led to the train platform and into the first train car she was near. 

She’d been running late that morning and nearly missed her alarm.  Alis had been a dear and poured her coffee in a thermos, but Feyre hated the feeling of being rushed.  Especially after a poor night's sleep.  And when it was five thirty in the morning.

Feyre slipped into a seat before she could finally tell herself to breathe.  She’d made it onto her train with only a few minutes to spare.  Thankfully there were other straggling passengers filtered into the train car and made their way to their various seats.

Feyre took a long sip of her coffee and tried to convince herself that she wasn’t really tired.  Even though it was far too early to be awake and she had an hour and a half train ride to sit through.  

Dawn had barely begun to rise over the horizon with not even the promise of pink and blue streaks through the sky.  She sighed and drew out her sketch pad.  

She was barely into starting the picture--of what she had no idea--when the train started moving and a form fell into the seat across from her.

Feyre blinked and glanced up.

There were plenty of other open seats lining the train.  Granted the place she’d found herself was the only one with a small table set up, but still.  

Sitting across from her was a man far too attractive for his own good.  He wore a black suit with a deep navy-blue button up beneath.  No tie, only the top few buttons of his shirt undone giving a peak at a series of tattoos on his chest.  His black hair was styled in a neat wave revealing a chiseled jaw and glorious eyes.

Feyre tore her gaze away before she could be accused of staring.  But honestly, who could blame her?

Over the course of the train ride, Feyre finished her coffee and scribbled out at least four pages worth of drawings.  Unfortunately, inspiration didn’t strike.  Not that it was surprising.  She’d not drawn anything new in months.  Oh, she’d tried.  She could sit for hours on this train, on her balcony, or out in the middle of the forest with a pencil in one hand and paper in the other--and nothing.  Nothing would come.

Alis always told her that she couldn’t force herself to draw.  She couldn’t force herself to be inspired if she didn’t make the conscious choice.  But Alis didn’t understand that sometimes, it was too damned hard.

The train ride passed without excitement.  Not even the man across from her did anything interesting.  Figured.  He was so attractive his life had to be mundane.  At least, that was what Feyre told herself while she was not covertly looking at him

She was glad to get off the train when it reached the city.  After making sure she had her things, she slipped out and onto the platform without trouble.

#

Chaos was not something she enjoyed.  

Especially not lately.  As long as everything was in its place of simplicity, life could continue on as normal.

Honestly, if Feyre could have chosen a simple life involving nothing more than eating donuts she would have chosen it.  Because living in a state of missed calls and impatient clients and looming deadlines was far from her state of happiness.

With a bag of donuts from Rita’s bakery in one hand, Feyre collapsed in her seat at the end of the day.  She’d managed to leave work five minutes early giving her enough time to swing into Rita’s and grab a few treats.  And she would not apologize for it.

“Long day?” 

Feyre glanced up to see the man from that morning taking a seat across from her.  He had an amused sort of expression on his face which made it even harder to look away.  Feyre snatched a frosted chocolate donut from her bag and glared at him.

“No.” She took a giant bite leaving sugar to lace around her mouth and narrowed her eyes at him.

He grinned and shook his head.

Feyre was able to finish her donut in peace and managed not to stare at the man the rest of the train ride home.

#

Life continued.  And much to Feyre’s dismay, nothing changed.

Her sketch book remained empty.  Her coffee remained dull.  Work did not improve.

Something needed to change.  But honestly, she couldn’t figure out what it was.  She’d left her ex months ago.  She’d gotten a new wardrobe, a new phone, moved in with her friend.  She’d started getting out more too.  Somewhat.  When Nesta called, which wasn’t often but at least her sister was trying.

It was five-thirty in the morning and she was seated on the train, again.  And the man who seemed to only own clothing that was black was seated across from her, again.  Since that first day of seeing him, he hadn’t tried talking to her again, which Feyre was semi grateful for.  She was certain she would just make herself look like a bigger idiot than before.

Had she really stuffed her face with that giant donut?

Not that she cared.  She could do whatever she wanted.

Except draw.

Feyre stared out the window of the train.  It was slowly starting to get lighter sooner and Feyre now had more scenery to watch instead of the reality of the empty sketchpad.

Inevitably, however, Feyre found her attention drawn to the man across from her.

There was something about him.  Feyre couldn’t place it, exactly, perhaps an energy of some kind.  Or it was his confidence.  Arrogance.  Something.  She found him mesmerizing.  How stupid was that?  A man she had said one word to and ignored for an entire month and she could help but watch him.

He did a cross word every morning.  Texting someone throughout--or else cheating and looking up the answers.  Other times she caught him reading a book about astrology or NASA’s recent magazine release.  She wanted to ask him about the astrology, it was such a fascinating topic, one that she liked learning about.  But she never knew how to strike up a conversation, so she remained silent.

She’d always been good at staying silent.  At least that was what she’d been told.

The thought came so suddenly that Feyre had to physically shake herself to make it disappear.  She sat up in her seat, hands clenching in her lap.

She snapped her attention away from the train window and forcibly removed her sketchpad from her bag.  In a fury, Feyre moved her pencil across the page.  It wasn’t the bed utensil to use, but it was better than bringing her entire art supply on the commute to work.  The pencil would suffice.

It wasn’t as though she liked being quiet.  It wasn’t as though she didn’t have anything to say.  Sometimes it was just easier.  Sometimes it was just better.  Sometimes the silence was how she communicated.  Sometimes people just didn’t understand that.

The scene came alive beneath her fingers.

Mountains and stars.  Storms and shadows.  All convalescing on a shape.  A person.  A…

Feyre frowned at the scene.  Someone was kneeling on a throne of night and she couldn’t see their face.

“Do you always glare at your art like that?”  The midnight voice broke Feyre out of her revere.  

Glance up, Feyre locked gazes with the violet eyes of the man across from her.  The crossword in his lap was complete.  Feyre realized for the first time that he was younger than she’d originally thought.  Maybe about five years older than she was.  And even though he oozed arrogance, there was almost a genuine sort of smile dancing across his lips.

“Only when it’s being difficult,” Feyre answered.  She offered a brief shrug and gestured to the crossword on his lap. “Do you always cheat at the crossword?”

He made an affronted sort of gasp. “I don’t cheat.”

“You’re always on your phone when you scribble answers in,” Feyre pointed out.  She smirked, unable to help it.

“I’m texting with a friend,” he said, “she’s always trying to finish the damned thing before me in the mornings.  All I do is offer a bit of...encouragement.”

“Right,” Feyre said doubtfully.  She shook her head, still smiling.

The man watched her, almost confused, before he leaned forward.  “And the art?  It’s the first time in over a month I’ve seen you actually draw something.”

“I was searching for the right inspiration,” she said.  And then as she found herself nearly drowning in the heat of his gaze--Feyre had what she’d been hunting for. “Sometimes it just takes a while to find.”

The train pulled to a stop where they usually got off.  Feyre collected her things and half expected the man to be right at her side when his phone went off.

He muttered something under his breath before answering it.

Feyre almost had half a mind to wait for him.  To linger on the platform and dredge up some excuse so that she could talk to him.  If only for a moment longer.  She still hadn’t asked him about the astrology book.

Instead she was swept up in the crowd of commuters.

#

For the next two weeks, Feyre was out of her mind with anxiety.

There really was no other way to describe it.  Because every morning and every evening when she would board the train there would be no sign of her mysterious companion.  Not even the sight of him running to try and catch a ride before the train completely left the station.  Not even a hint of him getting on a different compartment one day by accident.  Nothing.

So, naturally, her mind told her that it had something she’d done.  Something she’d said.  Hell.  She hadn’t even done anything that stupid.  Aside from stuffing a whole ass donut in her mouth.

She was an idiot.

Eventually she was able to push thoughts of her mysterious companion aside.  Not only was she drawing again, but her workload had increased.  And now she was getting up earlier and staying later and her schedule was entirely too chaotic.  

She really missed the simpler days of dashing into Rita’s or relaxing on the train bench not staring at the man across from her.

After two weeks of commuting alone and another two weeks of being run ragged at work, Feyre finally found herself being able to return to a normal timeline.  Somewhat.  At least she was going to be able catch her usual train home and get home before ten o’clock.

Feyre fell into her seat and leaned up against the window of the train.  She didn’t mean to fall asleep.  Not really.  But as soon as she was seated and relaxed her eyes drifted shut and she was gone.

The next thing Feyre knew there was a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry to wake you, but this is your stop,” said an all too familiar voice.

Feyre’s eyes snapped open and she nearly flung out a fist to the shape in front of her.

“I take it you slept well?” Her mysterious companion snatched out a hand and caught hers before it made contact.  He gave her a cheeky grin. “You didn’t even twitch between all the other stops.”

Feyre blinked up at him.  Sleep still addled her brain and he was making no sense whatsoever.

“What?” she finally managed to spit out.

“Your stop?” he said, jutting a thumb to the train doors. 

Feyre cursed, loudly, and jumped up. “I barely even closed my eyes,” she grumbled.

“Here, let me,” her companion grabbed her bag for her and helped her off the train before it took them all the way south to Hybern.

“Thanks,” Feyre said as they stepped out onto the platform.  She accepted her bag from him and gave him a smile. “It’s been a long couple of weeks I guess.”

In the still fading evening light, Feyre was able to see his easy smile and the way his eyes crinkled softly.  His black hair was tousled easily as if he’d been running his hands through it recently.

“It’s not a problem,” he said, “in fact I was surprised to even see you.  It’d been a few weeks.”

Feyre blinked.  He’d noticed she wasn’t on at her usual time?

“You were gone for a while too,” she said without thinking.  You idiot.

Her words seemed to catch him by surprise, but not for long.  A gleam flashed in his eyes.

“You noticed, did you?”

“You noticed me,” she shot back quickly.

They stood in silence as the train moved on with a loud whistle and the last few men and women passed them by hurrying to catch their connecting busses or get to their cars.

His smile stretched into a full grin. “I’m Rhysand.”

“Feyre,” she said, returning the smile.   She then noticed the small paper bag he held in one hand.  Immediately, Feyre recognized the logo on the outside.  “Rita’s?  That’s my favorite place to stop at after work.”

“Yeah, uh,” Rhysand said as he ran a hand through his hair, “I noticed and decided to give it a try.”

“And?” Feyre pressed.

“I have you to blame for my new addiction,” he said.

Feyre laughed, shaking her head.  “I take full responsibility, though I will not apologize.”

Rhysand paused only for a moment before he glanced at her and an almost sheepish smile crossed his features. “Have you been to Dreamer’s? It’s a late-night coffee shop on Main.”

“I haven’t, but I’ve been meaning to,” Feyre admitted.

“My treat,” he said almost immediately.  “I mean, if you want.  You can tell me about what helped you find the inspiration to start drawing again.”

Feyre blinked at him remembering that train ride over a month ago now where she’d finally been able to draw more than a few measly lines.  And she realized now as she watched a halo of light glimmer from the setting sun around his head that all this time she’d been trying to draw him in the outline of mountains and stars.

“Deal,” Feyre said. “But you should know, I don’t give up my secrets lightly.”

Rhysand quirked a brow. “Noted.”

They spent hours sharing secrets.  The small kinds, the simple kinds.

Feyre learned that Rhysand’s brother had broken his leg playing football and needed surgery which was why he’d disappeared for a few weeks.  She learned that it was his mother who taught him about astrology before she died not that long ago.  And now he spent most of his time trying to avoid his father.  

She’d told him about her love of painting, of art, of creating.  Anything that made her feel alive.  She’d told him about walking out on her old life and how here she was six months later and still desperate for change.

They were both trying, it turned out, to become something different.

It wouldn’t be until later that night--after sunset when the inky black sky gave way to the millions of stars overhead--that Feyre found herself home.  Rhysand, of course, made sure she’d arrived safe and she’d rewarded him with a brush of her lips to his cheek and a small smile over her shoulder.

It wouldn’t be until later that night--amid the cool mid-spring air that promised a new dawn--that Feyre would pull out her sketch pad.  She would draw sharp lines and angular features and a man kneeling amid the night.  She would draw power and beauty in something, someone, she didn’t know perfectly.  But one day.  One day, maybe she would.

#

thanks for reading my dears!  i am always eager and open from prompts so thanks for sendin gthem!  I really do enjoy them!

tags:

let me know if I put you on the wrong tag list/want to be removed.  it’s generally going to be easier for me to just have basic acotar/tog lists and not go into too much worry about that, so just and fyi...anywho

tottenhamboys20  @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx  @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @julemmaes @lysandra-ghost-leopard @harrymoncheri @firestarsandseneschals @rapunzel1523 @emikadreams

[randomoranges]

monmongary week day 2: paint

once more - i had a million diff ideas for this prompt and eventually settled for one. there are just so many different ways you can use the prompts and then it’s like what of setting?? au? canon?

the night before i finally wrote this, i came up with an entirely different idea and i was like omg this is perf im so clever.

anyways this is canon and i just don’t know in what year so 2021+ lamao

Paint by Numbers

 Calvin held his breath as Étienne reached for his carefully wrapped present next. He’d thought long and hard about what to offer Étienne and at first, he’d been so very pleased with his idea. It was so clever after all. But now – now that Étienne was about to open it up, he wasn’t so sure. It almost felt – lame. Maybe it really was lame. Étienne would probably open it up, look at it and then laugh. He would conveniently shatter and break all of Calvin’s hopes and dreams with his reaction and they could never ever be anything more than co-boyfriends to Edward, ever.

 Deep down, he knew he was being over-dramatic about it, but the truth of the matter was that he wanted to make Étienne happy and for some reason, getting him gifts always felt daunting as if no matter what he got him, he could never reach Étienne’s high standards – or something.

 There was something to be said about leftover feelings of wanting to attract the attention of a big shot city like Montreal and such, but – he was so very beyond that. Maybe.

 Anyways.

 Étienne was opening his present and Calvin had half a mind to reach over and yank it out of his hands with some fib about realising it was the wrong present or something, but Edward gave him one long look as though being able to read his mind and instead, he sat still and held his breath for whatever reaction would come.

 “Paint by numbers?! Holy shit, I love these! Thanks!” Étienne said, bright, genuine smile illuminating his face, and whatever flip-flop Calvin’s heart did had everything to do with relief and nothing to do with potential growing feelings.

 “Yeah? You sure? I can always exchange it if you don’t like it,” He added as a safe precaution, in case Étienne was just being polite.

 “Are you kidding?! I do these when I’m stressed or on edge – they’re good to get me focused on something else. They help so much. I also like to do these for fun when I want to paint but I don’t know what and can’t be assed to mount a canvas. Plus, I love these aquarium-fish themed ones! They’re so pretty!” Étienne then rose from his seat and walked over to him to kiss his cheek, “Thank you,” He smiled and then skipped back to his place.

 From beside him, Edward gave him an all knowing grin, as if telling him see, I told you he’d like the paint by number set. However, Calvin’s only reply to that was to roll his eyes and think real hard, shut up – I thought of this myself.

 So long as Étienne was happy, after all.

 FIN

[crimsonbluemoon]

6, 3, 7 H2OVanoss! You know me heh ( •ॢᴗ•ॢ⋈)

Ahhh Owlbun! So I hope this fits the perimeters of a cute-meet cause I don’t know if it does but I think it does? Idk, its cute, please enjoy this mess of a story. >.> It’s a diff style than I normally do, but….hope it works out!

AU: Coffee shopTrope: Meet cutePrompt: “You had no idea, did you?”

Pairing: H2O Vanoss

If Evan was being honest, he hadn’t expected the chalkboard wall at his coffee shop to make much of a difference. The Owl Cafe was a staple in the community, and he had an okay group of regulars that liked to come in and check out his new blends on the daily. There were ones he knew by name, like the 6 year old girl Momo who loved Brian’s hot chocolate, or the late-night writer Kryoz who always seemed to appear when the place was deserted. Some regulars he didn’t catch names for, so he titled them as he saw fit; Runner man, vlogger teen, cute sweatshirt guy. All had their place in his cafe, which was steady in its sales. He wasn’t rolling in cash, but it was enough to pay Brock and Brian, so he felt that he was doing alright. 

The chalkboard had been something of a whim. A friend when he was younger had a wall in his bedroom with chalkboard paint that Evan had always enjoyed drawing on before bed. When he’d bought the cafe two years ago, he hadn’t really remembered the fun times he had scribbling across the bedroom wall. He was too focused on payments and attracting customers to stroll down memory lane. That had changed three months ago when bumping into Lui, the two speaking about their times as a child. The wall came up, of course, and Evan couldn’t let the memory go for days after. Lots of his customers had children, and college kids were always quick to bore when waiting for coffee. So one night, after a really good week at the shop, Evan went out and bought the paint in order to make his wall next to the waiting area a drawing board. 

The result was amazing; people loved coming by and adding their own doodles to the wall, filling it with different styles of art or funny sayings. There were always the punks who tried to draw dicks or write derogatory marks, but street justice tended to stop the crimes far quicker than Evan or his friends picked up on them. Evan enjoyed looking at the board at the end of the night, seeing what secrets it held from the customers he served. He tried to guess who drew what, or where each blurb of inspiration writing came from. Was the struggling mother of three the one who drew the calm beach? Did the preppy college girl express her darker thoughts in the corner of the board? Or was that old couple who shared a coffee really sweet enough to write their 70th anniversary with a heart around it? All of the pieces of the board was a collection of minds, hearts, and souls, and the nights didn’t feel complete for the shop owner without gazing at them in appreciation.  

His favorite part was the confessions; like an anonymous message board, people left words of secrecy every day. Evan felt it was a safe way for customers to express themselves without having to reveal their identity, and so far he hadn’t gotten any confessions that worried him. Brock always enjoyed reading the romantic ones where someone would claim their love for a friend, an ex, or a person they could never have. Brian’s favorites were the weird claims; he made Evan keep the ‘I like smelling feet’ confession up for three days. Evan couldn’t really say he had a type he sought out, because all of them were fun to read. If anything, he liked taking in the handwriting of the confessions, seeing whose were quaking with fear or more broad with confidence that only anonymity provided. 

It was nearly two months into owning the board that a message caught his eye; it didn’t have much color or outlandish design to it, so Evan wasn’t sure why it stuck out to him so much. But the writing just…looked different. Friendly. A little messy but with long enough strokes to show some care went into it. The words only took up a small part of the board. 

I come here every day because I think the owner is nice. And maybe cute? I wanted to ask for his name, but I’m too nervous.

Evan blinked in surprise, feeling his face heat up when he read it again. Someone…confessed about him? It was sort of risky, since this was his shop and he could have checked in on the board at any time, but it was also endearing. Someone was too shy to approach Evan, but felt strong enough about him to confess on his wall? He read the line two more times while he cleaned off every other drawing and confession, leaving the words in the middle of the board. Slowly, his eyes dropped down to the basket of chalk at the bottom of the wall, fingers twitching by his side. Despite having it for months, he’d never actually written on it. He left designing the morning greeting to Brock, as he was the artistic one of the three. But now…

He kept the confession where it was, drawing a little circle around it with the red chalk. Then, with block letters bright enough to catch any returning customer’s attention, he wrote out a simple reply. 

It’s Evan. Nice to meet you.

He didn’t think about the teasing Brian would rain on him, or how unlikely it was for him to get a response. The confessions were meant to be anonymous, not openers for conversation. So sure that his words would be left unanswered, Evan didn’t look once at the board the following day, trying to keep focused on making his customer’s happy. Any time he wasn’t working, he rushed into the back, trying to stay occupied so he didn’t stare at the wall. The day dragged on forever, but when the final customer was out the door, Evan nearly fell flat on his face vaulting over the counter to move to the board. 

“Desperate much, buddy?” Brian’s shout from across the shop went ignored when Evan scanned the wall, looking for any sign of a response. At first, the words around the response were disheartening; nothing connected to what he’d said. The drawings were still cute, and he wanted to read the confessions, but his heart slightly dropped at the sight. Had he scared off the anonymous messenger? He felt his frown start to capture his lips, but then his eye picked up on something. A blue circle had been wrapped around Evan’s words, and a line of chalk was drawn to the left of the board. Curious, his eyes tracked the line. Like thread in a maze, Evan was led to a familiar handwriting. 

Your name fits you! I’m…Jonathan. Is that okay? 

“Jonathan.” He rolled the name around in his mouth, his smile small when he finished. He knew instantly what his new secret penpal was asking, and he found the red chalk from before in order to scribble out his answer. 

That’s totally okay. I bet your name fits you, too, though I’m not sure who you are. Care to give me a hint? 

And for the next two weeks, the hints poured out. 

I like to wear blue a lot. Luke says it matches my eyes. But I think yours are prettier.

Evan counted seventy three customers with blue eyes who wore blue that day, but it did little to limit his search. 

I saw you drop that lady’s coffee on purpose. She deserved it for treating Brock like that. You’re a really good boss.

The incident had been in the morning around rush hour, which probably meant his penpal was at least his age. 

You only wear hats when you clean the mocha machine; it really looks good on you. 

Except this was something he did at night, so maybe he had different shifts throughout the week? 

Whenever little Momo comes in, you always give her the best smile. Sometimes I wish you’d smile at me like that.

Evan’s face hurt from how many smiles he gave out that day, but there had been nobody who hinted at knowing why he’d been grinning so much. 

You’re so beautiful. I really want to ask you on a date. 

Evan’s face flush red for the rest of the night. 

After the days of trying to piece together just who ‘Jonathan’ was, Evan was almost ready to throw in the towel. The little banter between them was fun, and peeks of Jonathan’s personality came out with doodles or smilies at the end of his sentences. He mentioned his friends, his dog, and if Evan closed his eyes, he could almost make out a voice to the words. Everything just felt so familiar about this guy, like he was already seated comfortably in Evan’s life. But he just couldn’t come up with a name, or anything to sink his teeth into. 

So, with a shot of courage (Brian may have supplied the alcohol) and nothing to lose, Evan wrote out one final message. 

Anything but coffee, and I’ll say yes.

Evan tried not to look at the board, just like the first day, hoping he wouldn’t scare away his crush by staring the wall down. Brock and Brian helped distract him, jokingly picking out old men and toddlers as ‘his secret admirer’ before laughing at the outlandish suggestions. Evan tried to smile and joke with them, but his shaking hands when giving out the orders always proved how nervous he was. Each time a customer came up to him, his back tensed, wondering if it’d be his penpal. But they never were, always asking for sugar or a bag for their half eaten muffin. 

When the last minutes of the day ticked away, and just a few regular souls lingered in the cafe, Evan finally broke. He left Brian and Brock behind the counter to walk up to the wall, hands shoved in the pockets of the apron to hide his twitching fingers. Slowly, his eyes scanned the board, trying to find the blue handwriting he’d grown to adore over the couple weeks he’d gotten to see it. But there was nothing; his crush hadn’t replied. 

“I scared him away.” Evan sighed and pressed his head to the chalkboard, eyes closing in defeat. His shoulders slumped down, unable to hide his disappointment. He’d just wanted to know who this guy was, because starting to fall for a chalkboard he technically owned was starting to feel a little creepy-

“Um.” An unsure voice made Evan bite back a groan, trying to keep his composure. Even if he was being ghosted by an anonymous customer, it didn’t mean he could ignore his other ones. Pulling back from the wall, Evan turned to catch sight of a familiar face. Cute sweatshirt guy had been a regular for months, always polite but never one to really engage in much conversation with Evan or the others. He always contributed it to the slight stutter in his speech, which only seemed to come out in longer sentences. It was actually kind of late for cute sweatshirt guy to be at the cafe; he’d bought his coffee close to an hour ago, and though he normally left right after, he’d seemed to linger now. He’d been one of the people who’d come up to Evan, looking like he was going to burst out in a confession, only to ask for creamer.

And sugar.

And a new cup.

…And more creamer.

For a coffee he always drank black.

“Wait.” Evan’s breath hitched in his throat as his eyes widened on the blue gaze nervously watching him, fingers curled into the worn down sweatshirt that was identical in color. 

“Yeah, I’m-that was me. Jonathan. Who you were-I’m the guy tha–that, um, fuck. Luke said I should’ve just-but the wall was…was our thing.” Jonathan’s face lit up in color at the confession, the nervous laugh that poured out loud and uncontrolled. It echoed from the emptiness of the cafe, and both men jumped when Brian swore and knocked over a stack of cups in surprise. Tagging that as future Evan’s problem, he turned his attention back to Jonathan, who looked ready to let his sweatshirt swallow him whole. The smile he gave only lifted half his mouth, proving he didn’t feel confident. “You had no idea, did you?”

“None,” Evan admitted, hands pulling out of his apron at the defeated look that sunk over Jonathan. 

“Right, that’s- I don’t have to ask you on a date if this isn’t what you…if I’m not who you-”

“Ask me!” Evan cut him off fast, not wanting to let Jonathan feel rejected for a second longer. He rushed forward, snagging hands that tugged the end of torn sleeves to entwine their fingers. Blue eyes widened above him, but Evan refused to let his racing heart of reddened cheeks stop him from repeating his confession from before. “Anything but coffee, and I’ll say yes.” 

“Dinner? Can I-would you like to get food with me tomorrow?” Like a puppy, Jonathan’s body perked up at the possibility. Evan laughed before lifting their hands to cup Jonathan’s cheeks. He pushed up onto his toes, feeling the slight intake of his customer’s breath before he answered with a kiss.

But just to be safe, he wrote ‘yes’ on the chalkboard the next morning.

[phanlight]

Twin Flame

 .                                       ✧                   ✵                  ✧                                    �� .    ✴      .                    ✦               .                        .                 ✦                  .     ✴ 

thank u so much to anyone and everyone who’s stuck by over the years had it not been for ur constant support i would not be doing this rn not in a billion years also i hope i still remember how to write

this is gonna be v slow burn [like a big ol sage sticc] so I apologise for the steady pacing for a first chapter but I wanna set sufficient enough ~ foundations~ so things will pick up soon i promise lol

I digress ANYWAY have some magic

I literally don’t know what to describe this as I guess artist/mage/psychic!dan (if that isn’t a thing i’m making it one), bamf!phil (gotta stay tru to the roots), enemies-to-lovers, semi-surrealism, ethereal-surrealism (I s2g this is gonna be about 5 diff genres wtf am I doing)

✴      .                    ✦               .                        .                ✦                            ✴

summary:

Dan isn't lost anymore. He's finally okay with being an explorer, not a seeker. Content with being a wanderer rather than a wonderer. His checkered luck often leads him to almost hear the laughter of Fate ringing in the sky, but he puts it down to entering the world on the Thirteenth night of June; a Friday full with the Moon. A time where forces higher than usual ripple through the atmosphere, through the night. But he’s okay with that. He’s become okay with that. He’ll look for the light in life, live for the sparkle on summer tides. He’ll find answers at the end of paint tubes and poetry books; get by on his own moral philosophies rather than those of a shattered system. But when he falls into a realm in even further ruins than his own, he himself shatters – and suddenly the cycle begins again. Seeking, wondering – lost down to the soul. But with destruction comes construction. With darkness comes light. With bad comes good. And to exist, they must co-exist.

✴      .                    ✦               .                        .                ✦                       .     ✴ 

actual plot bc that said nothing about what acc happens: 

dan’s a lonely ass painter who loves crystals and one day finds a passage in an abandoned lighthouse that transports him into a spirit realm where he meets someone more lost than him. they don’t get on but for reasons they’ll have to.

.            ✴.                                  .                                .                 .✴              .     

.✴     .                    ✴               .          ✯            .                ✴                      .     ✴.

opposing forces, they attract;

yin won’t exist without its yang.

a sunless moon, a silent act;

in idleness it hangs.

galactic compounds in the skin,

harbour chemicals and cells,

particles, atomic, sub-

vibrate with polar spells.

the grounding force attraction

it ties every single bond.

becomes the gravity,

of life; existence as One.

.✴     .  - Love                                                                                               .     

                                                                                          ✴               .          ✯            .                ✴

                                                  ✴[AO3 LINK]✴

Dan stares at the pale tornado swirling inside the china. Seagulls cackle outside, as if in response to the disgusting abundance of milk.

Fuck this.

The ruined tea goes down the sink with a steamy slosh, and he chokes on the eruption of vapour that partially enters his lungs. Great. The universe has now given him enough to decipher exactly what type of day today will be.

He calls them his Horseshoe Days. He’d had one once – a gift from his grandmother. At the time it seemed something strange to give to a seven-year-old. He was at the age where he wouldn’t know what a horseshoe meant if one came hurtling down from above, bonking the top of his skull.

And it did once – well, nearly. It was only while dodging the thing falling from the shelf, only milliseconds away from meeting his forehead, he realised they might actually be as lucky as she’d promised.

That was, until perhaps, he placed it back on the shelf upside-down. His parents were both blissfully none-the-wiser when it came to anything outside the ordinary – the superstition veining back to his occult-practicing grandmother on his mother’s side (and skipping generation in the process, it seems). They saw a horseshoe as nothing more than a crescent of iron that for some reason sits in the kitchen, whichever way up. It was only once events later that day began to unravel in an unfamiliar manner did a bubbling suspicion of a correlation arise. Dan had vaguely remembered something about the blacksmith Dunstan and how a shoe upturn drains its ‘powers’, but it was only a crashed bike, scraped knee and flattened football later did he actually pay any attention to why his day might have been going so badly.

Well, eventually.  

The entire exchange sits still at the forefront of his psyche, each detail in sparkling clarity. He sees it now, even hears the voices.

“That’s why!” he’d burst out over dinner.

His parents had jumped in unison, and his stepfather elbowed over a glass. The table shone with a thin spread of water, trickling across the mahogany.

The hardness of Gerald’s voice is still nailed into the back of his memory. He used to hate it when he shouted.

“Jesus!” he’d have yelled, scrabbling around the table with a napkin. Dan remembers the kitchen towel surrendering immediately, from sheets to soggy mulch in seconds. He’d then have followed with a favourite catchphrase of his; “Do you have to yell like that?”

It was nothing they weren’t used to. He had a habit of sneaking up on everyone. ‘Feather-Feet’, his grandmother used to call him.

Dan remembers ignoring him, stretching up out of his seat and reaching for the overhead shelf. He doesn’t reckon an upturned horseshoe has ever made anyone this happy but he remembers feeling nothing but delight. It’s a bit of a backward attitude. “I knew I wasn’t just naturally unlucky!”

Being born on Friday the thirteenth certainly doesn’t help, despite giving every single birthday wish to a promise of better luck.

His grandmother used to say it was a good omen. Actually lucky; despite its reputation in amongst the ladders and scaffolding and cracked pavement tiles. The Thirteenth night of June, a Friday full with the moon, she used to muse, eyes bright with love. He misses her.

“What are you doing?” his mother had narrowed her eyes, watching her son reach for the horseshoe. When his elbow disturbed a spherical paperweight in the process and it began a bloodcurdlingly slow descent off the shelf, they flew open wider. “Careful! Mind my-“

He was already ahead of her, he remembers. Fingers clasped around the iron and flipped upright in a fraction of a second. In the other he outstretches his hand, feeling the paperweight plop into his palm in one piece instead of millions more. He‘ll never forget the sigh of relief from somewhere behind him.

He remembers the feeling. The weight of the crystal. The coolness of the cast iron. Saved antique in one hand, upright horseshoe in the other. The absolute thrum of electricity through his bloodstream. He remembers smiling and looking up. “See?”

“See what, exactly?” Gerald had then snapped, masking his panic with anything other than fear. “You nearly ruining our wedding present? A repeat performance of Aunt Nora’s teapot?”

He glanced to his mother, still completely ivory with shock. Her eyes are fixed on the swirled quartz as if it were seconds away from leaping off of his palm again by itself; under its own magic.  

“Did you not see that?” Confusion begins to seep into his initial delight. Were they even concentrating at all?

“I saw you being idiotic,” his stepfather had spat. Dan winces like he did fifteen years ago. The word still holds its weight, even now. He doesn’t know why.

“The horseshoe,” he’d tried to explain. “It wa-“

“I don’t give a shit about the bloody horseshoe!” he’d suddenly exploded. Both Dan and his mother jumped back in their seats.

“Gerald,” he remembers the softness of his mother’s tone, a diametric opposition of the echoes of steel his stepfather had the nerve to call an indoor voice.

“No, I’m sick of it!” he’s erupting now. Bubbling over the surface. A temper like a needle to an overfilled balloon. “He’s always flailing about. Knocking things over. Your mother told me about the vase, by the way,” he spat aside.

Dan’s stomach had dropped. She’d sworn not to say a word. She’d promised.

“You never know what the boy’s next move is going to be,” he continues. “I’m sick of it,” he repeats again, as if repetition be the highest form of emphasis. He snatched the paperweight but ignored the horseshoe, and Dan remembers how it had looked in his grip – the glass probably having more chance of shattering inside his big burly palm than the solid stone floor.

He vanishes and reappears two seconds later, marching back with a face of beetroot and a brow of iron, pressing a daggered glare into the back of Dan’s head. He could feel the warmth burning the nape of his neck, the stare scalding the skin.

“He’s not to be trusted,” he announced as if there were thousands of other ears also listening.

A delicate frown threaded its way across his mother’s brow.

“Wh-“

“Leave it, Penelope,” he’d cut her off before she’d even had a chance to finish the word, let alone the sentence. Dan used to hate the way he spoke to her. “If the boy wants to behave like a child, he’ll get treated like one. No more ornaments in the kitchen.”

Dan remembers thinking then it would kind-of be nice being addressed by name. Just once. Maybe. Gerald’s also about the only person capable of criticizing a seven-year-old for behaving like a child. Make it make sense, Gerald, he doesn’t say. And my name’s Dan, but you’ve probably forgotten that.

She’d thrown her son a quick sapphire glance; a gleaming silent apology. Dan’s heart had lurched at the glint of panic in her eye.

It lurches now. That absolute demon must have given her hell. He’d never been more thankful to see his mother out of a marriage. He was horrible.

And he couldn’t fucking cook. He even remembers what they were eating on the night because it was so inedible. He’s always detested mashed potato, and he’s certain Gerald knew this. He remembers stabbing the offending white lump on his plate during the sacred three seconds of silence His Lordship could manage before that cruel mouth of his opened again.

“Bloody cold, now,” he’d grumbled.

Dan remembers holding back a smirk. As if any amount of heat could make this cement any less torturous to ingest.

He’d briefly wondered if suffocation was in his hidden agenda all along. It wouldn’t surprise him. Death by potato has an interesting ring to it.

Anyway, the whole situation could have been history in under ten seconds. He could have had the horseshoe upright and the paperweight saved in three of those. Job done, panic over, back to dinner in the remaining seven. He imagines Gerald’s reaction had he spoken his mind at the time.

That was fifteen years ago, of course. Being seven, someone could have told him the sky was pink and he’d eventually believe it (maybe if it happened to be during a sunset). From that point onward he hadn’t exactly lapped up old wives’ tales, myths spinning into each other like silver silk, but his superstition remained a conscious glow in the back of his mind; going no further than avoiding three drains and ladders and watching black cats slink across his path with his breath held. Sometimes even whispering a quick wish when eleven lines up the clock (most days he misses, though).

He vowed from that very moment to save anything considered slightly out-of-the-ordinary for those who actually want to hear about it. Those who understand.

He looks at the horseshoe. It’s the same one – it always has been. Seeing three new house-changes and a hell of a lot of life, it sits, still – tightly nailed to the overhead beam of the kitchen. There’s no way it could slip now.

His eyes travel down from the horseshoe at the dazzling abundance of crystals lining and clustering every free available space surrounding the entire kitchen. He figures Gerald’s little ‘no ornaments in the kitchen’ law wouldn’t bode too well here. He’d scream in fear of the raw amethysts by the kettle. Sob at the sight of the glittering chunks of hematite by the sink. Shield his eyes from offending lines of onyx near the spice rack and the little malachite cluster by Rosa (one of many house plants). And as for the great big slabs of rose quartz and Himalayan salt on the windowsill, the glow of sunrise warming the atmosphere each morning; kissing the space with shadowy peaches and dusty pinks – well, his face would be an absolute picture. Priceless. He grins whenever he dusts, love bursting in his heart for each one and humming through every vein in his body. They make him feel like a proud father.

A short, sharp buzz on the countertop interrupts his thoughts. His consciousness snaps back into reality. Shit, how long has it been? Once he gets thinking about Gerald and everything he put his mother through he gets angry, and then half the day disappears and he finds he’s done little else other than stare at a drawer or a wall for the majority of it. It’s easy to get carried away. It happens when he thinks about crystals too.

You okay?

It’s Zema. Part-time housemate, full-time soulmate. It’s almost like he’d heard his thoughts; the voices so powerful they resonate externally. Part of Dan wouldn’t be surprised if he had – Gerald was certainly shouting loud enough in there.

Been better, he answers truthfully. Just made the worst cup of tea known to mankind

I wondered what all that clanking was

There’s a pause, followed by another quick buzz.

HSD?

Dan grins at the screen. Horseshoe day. He’d even remembered their abbreviation.

“H – S – D,” he’d once said. “It’s like LSD. But shitter.”

Dan had snorted. Zema’s about the only person who would compare having ‘one of those days’ to a psychedelic trip.

“Exactly,” Zema had said once Dan had told him this. “It’s not. That’s why it’s shitter.”

Dan hadn’t exactly agreed with him. He didn’t even think it was worth mentioning Horseshoe is actually all one word, but he’d gone along with it because HSD is a lot less effort to type and sometimes it’s good to have a code. Zema’s about the only person who knows about this. He doesn’t trust anyone else enough not to judge him when he tells them he’s basically superstitious, however blanket that definition may be. It’s probably not the correct term, but he doesn’t know how else to describe it. Drawn to the unknown? Like it matters either way. It’s not as if he’s particularly vocal about it. A twenty-three-year-old male, unusually innate occult-esque interests and a static, stagnant society don’t exactly fit together with jigsaw-like ease. Dan doesn’t know why. Dan doesn’t see what the harm is in allowing others to gravitate towards their own pleasures when the concept alone of interests and hobbies is entirely subjective. That’s the beauty of it, he finds. No two beings have exactly the same range, however similar.

Maybe the harm is that there’s no harm at all, and that scares him. The lust for destruction scares him. This planet scares him.

Something like that, he taps back, before pocketing the conversation. 

He gives up with tea involving milk and unlatches the wooden box neighbouring the kettle. It’s stuffed to the brim with teabags of spanning across the entire flavour spectrum.

He picks one up and presses it to his nose, inhaling. Ah, Jasmine.

He picks up another. Camomile and- something. He frowns. Lemon?

He puts it back. Can’t be. He finished the lemon last week.

He picks it up again and sniffs. Ginger, that’s it.

Nah, he tosses it back in for a second time. He only touches the ginger when he’s feeling jaded the morning after a night involving too much wine and not enough water (they happen more often than not).

He picks up another, inhaling the rich, fruity aroma. Red berries. It even smells like the colour red.

He puts it back nonetheless. Strawberries and- well, just about everything else with –berry tagged onto the end – just wouldn’t cut it right now. Ambitious Ribena, that’s what Zema calls it. It hasn’t really tasted the same since he said that.

He picks up another. Jasmine again, he rolls his eyes. He’s seldom ever in a ‘Jasmine’ mood. He doesn’t even know why they have so many – Zema barely touches it either.

He finally settles for a plain green tea. A bit of simplicity wouldn’t go amiss right now.

His phone buzzes again.

Don’t think I can’t hear that kettle. I’ll have a ginseng pls x

Dan huffs out a laugh. Cover blown.

We’re all out of ginseng.

Look under the sink.

Dan rolls his eyes and yanks open the door below him. Six boxes of the stuff stare back at him.

Six??? he taps with one hand, grabbing a box and tearing the cardboard open with another. Really?

Didn’t wanna run out is all that follows.

He shakes his head, but lets the grin tug his lips.

Panic-buying tea now, are we?

Don’t start. You bought six crystals the other day

Ok that’s different. Mercury is in retrograde right now and we’re not taking any chances

What does that even mean

It means u need to stop buying so much tea

I’ll stop buying tea when u stop buying crystals

Dan smirks. He’ll be waiting a while, then.

He assigns Zema the age-old High School Musical mug. It was a gift from Axel one or two Christmases ago, and he imagines the Disney franchise probably didn’t have temperamental dishwashers in mind during the manufacturing process – the boiling steam had left the majority of the characters eyeless and Troy Bolton completely nose-less. He leaves it next to the kettle with texted instructions for Zema to leave the duvet cave immediately before it turns cold, but for what it’s worth, the other boy isn’t exactly famous for his pro-activity early in the mornings. He wouldn’t be surprised if it reached stone temperature before passing his lips. Judging by the lack of audible movement, he’d be safe in assuming he’s probably fallen back asleep.

He pads into the lounge with a steaming mug and a bookmarked copy of Le Fleur Du Mal; completely falling to bits and half of the pages contemplating a permanent escape. Despite his attempts, even the strongest duct tape couldn’t keep this copy together.

There’s something about a parallel translation that fascinates him. How meaning can so flawlessly transcend dialect. He wonders if Baudelaire had this in mind. Whether he knew his works would one day be read in languages far from his mother tongue. Did he know his own craft to be so acute, so fine, that whichever order, whichever laws of letters they’re under – the same meaning shines through? The same rhythm, the same senses, colours, emotions rippling through each sign and symbol? That’s poetry.

His eyes scan the neighbouring verse. Learning a bit more French would definitely help, that’s for sure. His own skill is rusted from years of neglect; having abandoned all hopes of igniting his love for such a beautiful dialogue after school had strode into his life and seeped all the joy and passion out of just about everything he once loved. He’s glad to have reignited that. It was years until he picked up a paintbrush again.

He’s only three words in before he’s interrupted by an all-too-familiar sound.

He rolls his eyes, peering over the edge of the pages. “What now?”

Two eyes wait for him. One emerald, the other azure.

“No,” Dan immediately answers.

The reply is longer, louder.

“Ugh,” his glance scours the ceiling for a second. “It’s literally been an hour, Vee. Where are you storing it all?”

The eyes answer with an innocent glitter, but Dan knows better. His eyes flicker back to the page:

What will you say tonight, poor lonely soul,

What will you say old withered heart of mine,

To the most beautiful, the best, most dear,

Whose heavenly regards bring back your bloom?

We will assign our pride to sing her praise:

Nothing excels the sweetness of her will;

Her holy-

Then there’s a gentle chirrup. He feels his heart turn to jelly. She knows exactly what that sound does to him.

“Venus,” he groans in defeat, elongating the ‘u’. He plops the book down next to him and hauling himself up from the sofa. “Only one, okay? No more.”

She slinks down from the stool, her stool – only about fifty years old and fraying at every single edge. What was once a delicate floral tapestry now existing as aged blobs in various shades of pastel. All four legs, previously smooth mahogany, are now a splintered beige from years of busy carving. He doesn’t understand how such soft paws bear such ceramic claws.

They’d tried everything. From cardboard and cereal boxes to actual climbing towers she would barely look at, let alone touch. Beds she ignored; choosing only Dan’s favourite satin pillow. And she’ll only ever drink water out of a specific pint glass.

“We’ve adopted a human, not a cat,” Zema had once said.

“It’s like she owns us,” Dan had agreed.

She’s trotting along the kitchen floorboards now, her tail high. She stops once she reaches the drawer under the crystal cabinet, throwing her human a demure glance.

“Alright, alright,” Dan catches her up, grabbing the bronze key. He’s thankful cats don’t have the power of thumbs. The world is already chaotic enough. 

He ends up giving her three. It’s those eyes, he tells himself in a small bout of self-justification. Those fucking eyes.

“Venus flytrap,” he mutters, running his fingertips along her silky back. “What are you like, eh? Where do you put it all?”

“Hollow legs,” a voice appears from behind him.

He almost leaves his own skin.

“Jesus!” he clutches at his chest. “What happened to the No-Giving-Dan-Cardiac-Arrest-Before-Noon rule?"

He whirls around to find Zema sat cross-legged on the marble surface just beside the sink, all silken robes and bed-beaten hair. A smirk gets bitten back under his teeth.

“I texted you."

Dan can’t quite believe the twenty-first century has come to this. Texting those who not only live in the same property, but are on the same floor.

They’re not actually too dissimilar in appearance – his head also home to a gigantic mass of thick brown waves, although in a darker shade to Dan’s own hair. His eyes stare back at him in a shade of gentle grey. Chameleon Eyes, Dan calls them; for they reflect their surroundings. He remembers how they looked when they’d first met that day at the beach – bright turquoise; matching the sky and the sea. He remembers how perplexed he been the second time they’d met and his eyes were suddenly a shining shamrock; sharing the glow of the grass. Then a gentle grey on the street under overcast clouds.  He’s always wanted to go into one of those rooms covered completely ground-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall, in mirrors. His eyes would probably boast galaxies.

He’s shorter than Dan (a rare occurrence among his friends) and about fifty times as agile – something he and Venus have in common is their blatant disregard for actual furniture. Even she sits on a stool more often than he does. Zema the Lemur, he calls him.

“Because chairs don’t exist,” Dan mutters now, his tone soaked with sarcasm. “Christ, you’re worse than her,” he nods down towards their little family member, still fixated on the drawer.

She trots up to Zema, seizing the opportunity.

“Are you hungry, honeybear?” Zema coos, his eyes sparkling. He gets an emphatic ‘mew’ in response.

“Don’t be fooled,” Dan interjects quickly. “She’s had a bowl and two treats already today.”

“Those eyes,” Zema grins knowingly. Green flashes in his direction. They’ve noticed she responds to ‘eyes’ faster than her own name.

“Those fucking eyes,” Dan shakes his head in agreement. The eyes in question now dart towards him. Whenever ‘eyes’ happen to crop up in conversation between the two, she looks as though she’s watching a tennis match. Dan’s abdomen still aches at the memory of the night they’d made the revelation; both curled up either side of the room in tears of laughter at her light-like response. “How’s the tea, by the way? Not too cold, I hope?”

“It’s lovely,” he sips appreciatively. “Good mug choice. Always better when it’s from Troy Bolton’s brain. It’s like I can taste his thoughts.”

“I didn’t know Gabriella tasted like ginseng,” Dan says. “Cut her open and she bleeds the stuff.”

Zema smirks. He holds the mug up, examining the worn surface in all its glory. “Looks like someone already has. God, this thing’s falling apart,” he thinks aloud, bringing himself ear-to-lip with the partially eroded character. “What happened to your nose babe, eh? Did it fall off during basketball?”

“Troy Boldemort,” Dan mutters immediately. Zema all but chokes, droplets showering the countertop.

He loves mornings like these, mornings where neither of them have any prior academic engagements and they can just sit and talk for hours about – well, anything, really. The final year of University boasts a monumental amount of focus and preparation and just a general resounding ‘oh-shit-this-is-actually-real’ feeling that apparently never really goes away; not even after you graduate, according to one of his cousins.

For Dan, nothing has really felt real since he was about fifteen, so it’s not something that particularly bothers him. He could just do without that ten-tonne workload.

“So what are you up to today, then?” Zema swings his legs over the edge, giggling as Venus begins an attack on his slipper. “Anything exciting?”

“Not much,” he sips thoughtfully. What can he do today? It’s been so long since he’s had a free day he’s forgotten how he spends time on his own terms. “Might get another painting done.”

“Paint me,” Zema beams, carding a hand through his fringe.

“Oh yeah?” Dan raises an eyebrow. “How the fuck would I go about painting your eyes?”

“Paint me in a field,” Zema continues. “And a beach. I wanna see-…” he hesitates. “We need to go to, like, a strawberry field or something. I wanna see if my eyes would go red.”

“Just smoke some pot. Then you’ll be halfway there.” Dan says, before hesitating. “Anyway, if we went to a strawberry field it’ll be mostly green. The strawberries are only the berries.”

“A poppy field, then,” Zema says.

He literally has an answer to everything. Dan rolls his eyes.

“One day,” he finally affirms, and the other boy grins. “In Spring.”

“I’m glad you’re painting again,” Zema says. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you do anything creative.”

“Tell me about it,” Dan mumbles, taking another sip although the tea’s losing its heat. It’s always the case when talking to Zema – the rapid, quick-fire pace of every conversation leaves barely enough interval to drink (that is, of course, unless it’s alcohol). “It’s been so long I doubt I even remember how to paint.”

“I highly doubt that,” Zema fires back, gulping more tea and placing the ghostly mug beside him.

“How about you, then?” Dan gulps down the remaining liquid before it has a chance to grow any colder. “What are you doing with yourself today?”

“I’m off out,” Zema stretches, his voice slightly strained. “Need to be at Eddie’s by ten. We’re doing the bass today.”

They’re two of a wide circle of musicians playing in each-other’s orbit. Zema’s never anywhere without his guitar, Axel the same with his saxophone (Saxel, he’s often referred to as), and Eddie would be the same, he imagines, had he not chosen the piano as his instrument of choice. He bites back a smirk, picturing him struggling with a rope, trying to drag his enormous Bösendorfer Grand onto a train for a gig. Thank almighty Yamaha for the existence of keyboards.

Dan winces, his eyes flickering to the clock. “You’re cutting it a bit fine, then.”

Zema’s own eyes flash towards the time. “Oh, shit,” the remaining tea gets swallowed in seconds and the ghostly mug falls into the sink with a steely clatter. “I’d better go.”

“Nothing they’re not used to I imagine.” Dan smirks.

“Don’t,” Zema cringes, grabbing his bag and shooting down the corridor into his own room. “They brought up my punctuality only the other day,” his voice continues. “Fuck, Dan. Why do I do this to myself?”

“Alarms exist.” Dan calls after him. 

“It wasn’t even that,” he reappears holding a handful of guitar picks and a capo, shoving them into the front pocket of his case. “I decided to stop off on the way. Never in my life have I seen such a queue for the drive-through. It was ridiculous.”

“At least they got a couple of fries out of it.”

Zema stares at him. His expression speaks for itself.

“Okay. Well at least you got a couple of fries out of it.”

“Cold fries. And a melted McFlurry,” he mourns, hauling his guitar over his shoulder and looking Dan dead in the eye. “Word of advice, Dan. Never try eating ice cream while you’re driving. It doesn’t work. There’s a time limit.”

“There go my plans for the day,” Dan scoffs. “I don’t even drive.”

“And it’s about time you learnt, eh?” Zema grins. “Give your bestie a break from all that parallel parking. It’s doing my head in.”

“If it means getting you to places on time, I’m more than happy to,” his eyes flicker to the clock. “You have nine minutes, Zee.”

“Fuck’s sake!” Zema groans. “I’m doing it again. I’m going, I’m going-” he flusters around, filling both arms up with various belongings.  “Can you grab my keys for me? They’re on the plate.”

The Plate, Dan smirks to himself. Keeping vital belongings within reaching distance of the door, it’s the porcelain base to everything – keys; both car and house, cards; both debit and SD, alongside an ocean of lighters, loose change, semi-important receipts, and a Pizza Hut flier that had been there when they moved in. He remembers the delight they’d both shared upon discovering the possibility of five-pound large pizzas – crushed immediately by disappointment upon realizing the flier was from 2006.

It’s filled now to the brim with such a pile had it not been for Zema’s obnoxiously large keyring collection it would have taken him an age to locate them. He grabs them by the ‘Amsterdam’ pipe-shaped bottle opener.

“There,” he thrusts them into his hands with a jingle. “Now go.”

“Lifesaver,” Zema clutches them, slipping out of the door. “I’ll see you around five, yeah?”

“See you,” Dan grins, watching him jog to his vehicle. “Safe journey. Don’t drive through anything this time.”

The look he receives tells him all he needs to know. He watches the smaller figure amble up the road to his car; a battered blue thing with a collage of stickers plastering the rear. It was a seventeenth birthday gift; four metallic walls capturing four years of freedom. Despite having known Zema for only two of those four years, they’d already ridden up and down the country in it; halfway back home they’d had to make an impromptu visit to a tiny town somewhere along the south coast due to a faulty tire, but that ended up being one of the best decisions of their lives.

Because had they not set foot into the first tavern they’d walked past whilst the car was being repaired somewhere up the road; a crooked, old thing with bookshelves for walls and a resident cat asleep on the stool, they would never have been served by a bartender with a nose ring and hair the colour of moss (Dan remembers wondering how someone can suit such surroundings whilst simultaneously looking so out of place). They would never have stuck up a conversation about the clock on the wall and discovered it was an original nineteenth-century piece passed down from Germany, and the bartender would never have noticed Zema’s obsidian pendant and asked him about its origins. They wouldn’t have spent the remains of the afternoon sunk into the floral upholstery, swigging ale-upon-ale with this vibrant character as the sky loses the light before reality dawns and they realise they came here with a car that needs attending to.

He still can’t believe this was how they met Axel. All three of them have evolved so much since then, all grown in each other’s orbit.

(The rapid blossom of the butterfly effect has never failed to astound him. It never will.)

The fade of the engine introduces a silence he hasn’t heard since seven a.m. His smile seemed to have travelled along with the car; with Zema. Shit, has it always been this deadened without him? The quietness cuts into his eardrums, growing sharper and sharper the more he strains; searching for something, anything – a whisper of a tree, a yelp of a dog, a-

He paces away from the front door, finding comfort in the soft pad of his own footsteps. The floorboards groan with every movement, and he’s thankful for the noise.

He can never find his way back to sleep upon awakening on a Horseshoe day. It’s the tell-tale sign for him – if he claws his way out of a biting nightmare bathed in sweat, scrabbling around the duvet until his fingers touch cool amethyst, rough and raw, he knows there are challenges waiting for him.

He doesn’t know why it happens. Or how. He’s only ever tried to explain the whole thing to Zema a handful of times and even then he doesn’t really get it, doesn’t really understand how he can just know something’s about to happen before it does, just feels the flames underneath his ribcage, anticipation burning the embers red.

“You ought to get on those Beta-blockers,” he’d once told him through a mouthful of raw bagel. Several crumbs fell to the floor, something Dan viewed as a skill if not anything; uncooked bagels are near impossible to eat that messily. “They helped me when I started getting those anxiety attacks. No way would I have survived college without them,” as he took another bite, more crumbs parted ways.

“I don’t think the buckets of coffee every morning particularly helped,” replied Dan, before adding, “and every evening.” He’d stopped then, frowning. “And wherever else in the day you can- okay, that’s not the point. It’s not the same as anxiety,” he paused, the corners of his mind struggling to describe something so utterly inexplicable. “It’s-… different. It’s never constant, it’s not like that.”

As he reminisces, he feels the jolt.

Something’s going to happen tonight. Today. Sometime.

That is all he’s absolutely certain of. That an event is around the corner, and that it’ll happen sometime within the frame of the day. Good or bad, positive or negative, it’s the same spike in his gut, the same blade of intuition cutting into his senses. Such a skill sits somewhere on the fence between a blessing and a curse.

He makes every effort to swallow the feeling down, place it anywhere but the absolute forefront of his psyche, and treads upstairs. If there’s one thing he’s learnt during the years of having to contend with this (whatever ‘this’ is), it’s not to dwell on it, not to feel it too much. Whatever happens, will happen. No amount of thinking, feeling, sensing, will change that.

As far as superpowers go, it’s a pretty shit one to have, he thinks. Enemy, up ahead. Wait, it might be a friend actually. How close are they? Fuck knows. We might be waiting a while, but it could be any minute now. I know they’re coming though, trust me.

It would be useless.

He reaches straight for the art supplies as soon as he opens his bedroom door, grabbing as many paints as the laws of physics operating his satchel bag will allow. He relies on oil for today’s medium, seizing handfuls of small foil tubes spanning the entire visible colour spectrum, all thoroughly crinkled with use. A couple of sponges leap into the leather (stained, but he doesn’t have the capacity to start his cleaning ritual right now. Cleaning one art supply leads to another, and another, and then ‘just one more’ until the day sits partially behind him and all he’d have to show for himself is an empty canvas and two very wet sleeves), along with a healthy selection of paintbrushes, and the remaining dregs of his paint thinner (he really ought to get some more. He keeps forgetting.).

He releases a breath he didn’t know was taking up his chest. He’s actually ready for once. Wow.

Breakfast is crunched in seconds, accompanied by two planet eyes and a mass of black fur.

“Vee,” he mews through a mouthful of toast, his eyes rolling. “I’ve barely even started mine.”

Her expression doesn’t falter, her gaze only glittering more. He lasts two more bites before caving in and heading to the cupboard. Her paws are feathers; silent little things, but he doesn’t need to hear her (or even see her, for that matter) to sense she’s trotting along behind him – tail in the air and eyes to the sky. He awards her a third treat, internally self-justified by his forthcoming absence for the rest of the day, and watches as her nose delicately pokes the pea-sized thing before accepting it with much grace.

“What is it about you, eh?” he scratches the very top of her head, loving the way her eyes close in response and a deep purr begins rolling. “How do you do it?” his tone is weirdly devoid of rhetoricism. “All you domestic cats do is sleep and ask for food.”

He hesitates.

“I mean, that’s not all you do. You knock stuff over. Both solid and liquid. And scratch things up. And sleep on important documents. And make me late for things sometimes,” she purrs louder – almost solid confirmation cats can understand humans. Of course that would please her. “Yet we love you unconditionally,” his fingertips travel behind her ears and she leans into his touch. “All you have to do is exist.”

If only that were the case for humans.

His toast is cold by the time he returns to it, but he doesn’t care. He wasn’t particularly hungry to begin with – he doesn’t have Venus’s appetite. They should have named her Jupiter instead.

Binning the remains, he slings his art supplies onto his back and reads the weather through the net curtains. It looks fairly promising; the sky slightly overcast but showing no immediate threat of rain – they’d fallen victims to a heatwave not long ago and then a raging storm the following week.

September is often precarious; not quite summer, but not yet autumn. The sun smiles at him but he makes a mental note to pack an umbrella just in case.

✵

His concept of ‘perfect beach weather’ is a bit weird.

His perfect beach weather welcomes a threat of rain. Embraces stronger breezes. He doesn’t care if there’s a cloud bigger than the sky heading in his direction. As long as it’s comfortable enough to sit and paint without the wind claiming just about everything he arrived with, he’s happy.

When he looks out of his window towards beams of warmth, that’s forest weather. That’s lay-in-sunlight-pools-and-read-the-tree-trunks weather. When whites and greys cut the sky, that’s when it’s time for the beach.

This beach is his home. His sanctuary. The only surroundings that actually manage to cut through the thickening tar of anxiety coating his soul, the sound alone of the hissing waves setting him free of any spikes of fretful darkness still latching onto him.

Here he can think.

Feel.

Be.

His eyes match the horizon. Solitary. Still. He doesn’t understand how an element moving so fierce can appear as nothing but a perfectly straight line.

Then again; Jupiter’s a raging mass of storms and still the perfect sphere remains. As for Saturn.

He whips out his sketchbook, the A1 pages immediately making friends with the breeze. He eventually claws the pages into a surface at least half-sketchable, the paper sheets cutting through his gentle grasp as he tries to wrestle with giant flaps of paper, great white veils. The definitive opposite of a bat, he concludes decidedly. He’s probably a good ten minutes into this whole endeavour before the thought of whipping anything colourful out crosses his mind. His hands hurt now.

He starts with the greens. He always does. Touches of evergreen, of shamrock and a blue-tinged teal make their way onto the palette first. He takes a tiny amount of the brightest and begins creating a dusty emerald sky, the bristles massaging the canvas with gentle strokes. He’s never seen a green sky before. He’s seen skies spamming across the entire palette of the planet’s warmth, all rubies and vermillions and even violets. But never green. Green seems to stay on land, he finds. Maybe the trees will be blue.

The trees end up purple. He’s painting what he can see right now; a thick smatter of bushes lining the top of the cliffside. The forest. His forest, he secretly calls it, already hearing ‘you can’t own a forest, Bezos’ from a mini Zema somewhere in his mind.

He’s painted this view, this vast stretch ahead of him, so many times he found the shades to be somewhat restricting despite the sun making all the difference – indigo in the rain and a glittering turquoise in the summer light. So he’d swapped the cool palette for warmth one day, and fell in love with the idea of a ruby ocean. The sands had become a dusty lilac; something that had later appeared in a dream of his. The sky he’d kept to its natural shade that day – a gentle grey; accentuating the heightened colour of the other two.

It was like a fuse had exploded inside him after that. He’d come home from the beach with armfuls of half-damp paper; all thoroughly watercoloured at first – before experimenting with the oils and the pastilles upon realisation that soluble paints and rain-threatened skies do not mix. He’d branched out; grasping at all ends of the visible colour spectrum; knocking on every door, pushing every possible boundary. Rockpools became crystals, the shores began to sparkle – really sparkle; once he figured out how to paint with glitter correctly, - and colours began to multiply. Soon there were three colours in the sky – the gradient fading one into the other and often bearing complete contrasts; reds eloped with greens and purples entangling golds.

He’d combined just about every colour; primary, secondary; tertiary – but never attempts to create the same shade twice. It’s more fun that way, he decides.

He reads the horizon. The line of beach huts are still just as colourful in reality as on paper, so he’d taken to embellishing each door with swirls of gold using his thinnest brush. The shadow of the overhanging clouds looks to have deepened the ocean’s bed, and he wonders just how far the floor of sand slopes down. How many miles of ink until he reaches the earth. He’d swum countless times (some while drunk, thanks to a team effort involving Zema’s persuasion and his own impulsive nature), but never dared to venture anywhere past the Lighthouse a stretch of metres away from the shore.

Dan doesn’t quite know when it became derelict. How long it’s been since a beacon pierced the night with neon light; guiding the lost and the found, the leavers and returners. There are no windows; only wooden squares where light once seeped through – but the Widow’s Walkway still remains weirdly open in the air, the iron cates curling up at the top.

Some say it’s been months. Others longer. Having only lived in this town for the generous part of two years, he has no real clue himself – but every new crack on the surface, every new splinter of wood or peeled paint, doesn’t go unnoticed. However long it’s been, it’s definitely no longer in use.

It’s taken many forms on his papers, behaving slightly different with each medium. He once even took to disregarding colour altogether and using only black ink and silver glitter; each curve, dot and line finely constructed. That one, he must admit, was a personal favourite. He’d turned every crack into a vein, pumping midnight blood into every inch of the tower. Every chip of paint revealed a crystallised surface underneath – its inner beauty begging to see the light.

He adds colour today – but always acknowledges its signs of time. If it’s cracked up there, it’s cracked on the page. If he strolls by one day and there’s a chunk of brick missing; a gaping hole in the surface, he wont lie to the paper.

He’ll just cram a million stars into the space.

His eyes sink back into his own page. The violet trees have a teal cliff to sit upon, and today the sea is a concrete grey – not too many shades off exactly what he’s seeing right now.

It’s another different combination of colours; a new one, but there’s something missing. He reads the page, eyes darting between his creation and his surroundings.

He looks up, bending his neck and staring at the clouds until his eyes water. They glide over him, over them, over everything, like glaciers in the sky. The beautiful thing about just a slight threat of rain, is the sheer metamorphosis they seem to undergo a priori. He sees one turn from Yoshi into an ice cream. One that starts off as a squashed Darth Vader before growing a tail and turning into a seahorse. Another that begins as a boot, considers turning into a palm tree, before finally joining up with another and becoming the Cheshire Cat. A couple that look like skyships. And one that looks exactly like Appa, much to his absolute delight. Even down to the horns.

An idea grips him with such force he jumps, elbowing his paint water into the sand. Punished by Karma for being creative. Great.

He grabs his lightest pastels and reads the emerald sky again.

One sweeping motion, and there’s now a moon; a glowing crescent against the green hemisphere.

Two soft strokes, and there’s a surrounding haze. He softens it with the very tip of his finger, and feels something flood through him. Yes.

Three quick dots of white, and a belt sits in the sky. After another dozen more, a shield. Then a bow joins.

He’s grinning now, inspiration thrumming through his veins like a current.

After seven more, there’s a plough (Trough? He can never remember which one it is. More like the fucking saucepan. Or square with a tail.).

Completing painting after painting in colour after colour, how has this idea never occurred to him before? He should even include a couple of planets, he thinks as his pencil scrapes in a suggestion of Saturn.

Two moons later he grins at the page, sparkling with new celestial life. He throws his eyes up to the sky, wondering how inhabitable the earth would be had his interpretation somehow become scientifically correct overnight one day.

He tries to imagine a sky with three moons. Scarily large asteroids. Comet trails scarring the atmosphere.

Then his smile vanishes and his eyes return back down to this A1 universe beneath him. Tries to chow down the growing realisation that inhabitability is probably inevitable anyway with the way things are headed, and that the problem is down here, not up there – and he dabs in a small Pleiades. Up there is safe. Under the watchful eye of the Seven Sisters; that’s protection.

Aliens are probably avoiding us on purpose. Who can blame them?

[lassluna]

CS January Joy Day 31: Bad Times, Good Decisions.

AN:  The final entry of @csjanuaryjoy​ I'm so happy to be a part of it for the fourth year. Thank you for all the people who contributed to it and all the readers who showed there support. 

Thank you @profdanglaisstuff​ for beta reading this! I am so sorry I forgot to mention it earlier! I really appreciated your help!

Continuation from Part 1: Ao3 FFn

Bad Times, Good decisions

Emma hasn’t had the best holiday season. If she’s honest, it’s been pretty rough.

She was forced to go to Thanksgiving with Mary Margret and David as an apology for completely ghosting them for Halloween. Honestly, looking back, Emma doesn’t know what she was thinking.

Emma knows that they just want the best for her, so avoiding the party and spending the night and day with a complete stranger was just stupid. He could have been a real creep.

“Did you at least have a good time?” Mary Margret asked. “Ruby said you were having a good time.”

Emma nodded. She had, It had been great. “But it’s over. It was just a one time thing, a spur of the moment friendship.” She insisted. Because that’s all Emma can handle. David puffed out his chest in a bit of protective instinct. Mary Margret had simply taken Emma’s hands.

“Emma, those walls of yours...” She says trailing off. “They may keep out pain, but do you think that they might also keep out love too?” She asks. “Maybe this guy is worth lowering your walls for?” 

Emma hesitates, considering it, but eventually shakes her head.

“I’m sorry.” She says instead, wishing she could, wishing she had the strength to do as she asked, to be normal for a change. “I don’t think I can.”

            But what Emma did have the strength to do was find her bail jumpers, so from Halloween to Thanksgiving, she threw herself head first into her work, so when Thanksgiving came, she welcomed the break to go to Mary Margret’s father’s house for the weekend. She didn’t have to worry about being set up this time as the person Mary Margret had tried before actually wasn’t available.

“He had a girlfriend.” Mary Margret admitted as they’re packing up her pies. “He didn’t realize I was setting him up, apparently she’s not ready for introductions so he was keeping her a secret.” She shakes her head. “I kinda feel bad for trying to set you up with someone not available.”

Emma shakes her head. “It’s fine, you didn’t know.” She says. It would have been a disaster had she come.

Anyway, Mary Margret promised not to invite anyone extra to David’s mother’s Thanksgiving. She thankfully kept her word, and it was just their immediate family. It was sweet and nice, but honestly Emma felt a bit like an outsider there, but she tried not to let it show. 

It wasn’t their fault that Emma was so guarded, so defensive against this kind of stuff. It wasn’t their fault Emma couldn’t help but think back to Halloween and wonder how Killian was spending his holiday.

//

Christmas was considerably worse than Thanksgiving. She hadn’t wanted to spend another with Mary Margret’s family, so when her boss offered her a skip the night of Christmas Eve, she took it without hesitation.

The guy was looking for a date on Christmas Eve with his children in a foster home, alone, practically orphaned because of his blatant disregard for their well being. It enraged her to no end.

Perhaps that’s how the guy managed to realize that there was something off with her, and made a break for it. 

It ended with her dress torn, the guy handcuffed on his way to jail and an emergency room visit with a busted ankle and broken ribs.         

She didn’t see anyone she knew on Christmas, just nurses filtering in and out of her room. The hospital food was a bit better that day, but besides that she spent most of the day sleeping off the pain meds they had given her

David showed up the next day and took her home. He must have apologized a dozen times for not being there, for not being able to get her yesterday, but Emma waved him off.

“You were spending time with your family.” she reminded him. As soon as she gets to her floor and unlocks her door, Emma practically limps on autopilot to her bed. She hears David moving around in her kitchen, no doubt trying to do some cleaning.

“Leave it!” She called, barely able to lift her head she was so tired. “It’s fine...go home...”

“Fine.” David said, approaching the entrance to her bedroom. “But promise you’re going to be there at our New Year’s party?” He asks. Emma furrows her brows. 

“Then will you leave?” She asks.

He nods.

“Fine.” She murmurs into her pillow. “But no set up.”

“No set up.” David repeats.

//

The last thing Emma expects is to see Killian is on New Years Eve. 

Even further from that, is the call she gets from him two days before New Years Eve. Emma hadn’t recognized the number, but was so bored on her medical leave for her ankle that she’d picked up the phone.

“Emma Swan?” He asked. Emma had gasped at the familiar accent. “It’s Killian. Killian Jones from Halloween.”

Emma nodded dumbfounded, then recalls that he can’t see her. “Yeah, I remember you...what’s up?” Then she kicks herself for saying what’s up like an idiot.

“Well...um...I got myself in a bit of a situation.” She can practically see him scratch behind his ear nervously. 

“Do you need bail?” Emma says instinctively.

“What? No.” He responded. “Why would you think that?”

“I’m a bails bond person.” She reminds him. “It’s kinda my job.”

“Right yes, but no. I’m not in jail.” He clarified. “But I do need your help.” He replied. “It’s actually stupid really, but well, are you busy New Year’s Eve?” He asked.

“I’m supposed to go to a party-” She starts.

“Ok, no worries, sorry to waste your time-” He says quickly, interrupting her and seeming very nervous if Emma’s honest. 

“Wait, Killian, what is it?”

“Um...well....how would you feel about coming to a party my friend is throwing and pretending to be my girlfriend?” He asks very quickly. It catches Emma completely off guard. 

“It’s stupid, I know. Sorry to waste your time-”

Yet again, Emma stops him from hanging up. She definitely needs more details.

“Stop trying to hang up.” She says stubbornly. “And tell me what you’re talking about.”

There’s a long sigh. “Do you remember my friends that tried to match me up with some girl on Halloween? Well to get out of any future setups,I may have told them I had a secret girlfriend?”

Oh my God.

“And I managed to get out of Thanksgiving and Christmas, but now they are insisting that I come to their New Years Party and to bring my girlfriend.”

“Who doesn’t exist.”

“So you see my problem.”

She did, she definitely did. 

“I’m sorry to even ask this, honestly I don’t know how I even got into this mess...” He admits.

“Probably has to do with that girl you got snowed in with during Halloween.” She says with a smirk. “And if it helps keep your friends off your back, I can help.” Although Emma doesn’t know why she’s helping, it seems crazy. Absolutely crazy.Besides, she has her own party to go to and if she cancels on David, they are literally going to kill her. 

“I just have to make it to my party at some point before midnight.” She tells him. 

“I can work with that.” Killian says. He sounds relieved. “How about you come by my apartment around 7, we can prep and then I’ll drive us over.” He offers. “We can get a bite to eat before we head over.”

“Sounds perfect.”

//

  The last thing Emma expects is to see Killian is on New Years Eve, and yet here she is knocking on his door.

She hears something crashing in his apartment. “I’ll be right there!” He calls, before pulling the door open.

Killian looked good, that was the first thing Emma noticed, a black button down, even darker jeans. His hair was a little messy but in a way too attractive way.

Emma suddenly remembered why she slept with him before. Twice.

He looks up at her with those blue eyes, bright and happy. “Swan.” he greets, smirking. “You look...”

He is looking her up and down and seemed at a loss for words. 

She smirks at him, satisfied that she looked as good as she felt. “I know.” She replies, maybe a bit too smug but it makes Killian grin wider. He steps aside and welcomes her in.

The apartment looks pretty much the same as it had before, but she could definitely smell something absolutely wonderful in the oven. “What is that?” She asks.

Now he’s the one that looks oh so smug.

“Chicken Parm.” He responds, going to the kitchen to check on things as Emma takes a seat at the kitchen island. “I hope you’re hungry.” 

(she tries not to think about having breakfast here oh so long ago, or the thoughts that she could get used to a beautiful man cooking her food)

Instead, she just pulls the end of her black dress down and crosses her heels under the stool. “So tell me about this party?” She asks. “And how long have we been dating?” She knows better than anyone that they need to get their story straight before they get there.

“Just a few weeks before Halloween.” He admits. “And they’re my co-workers friends really, but the second they met me they thought I was perfect for a friend of theirs, honestly they’re very nice people.” He insists. 

Emma can tell that it pains this man to lie to them, but Emma totally understands the feeling.

“And what do you do?” Emma asks. “Because after all the time we went through, I don’t think I caught your job.”

“Oh, I work at the engineering firm down by the dock.”

Emma nods. It seemed fitting for Killian, he seemed a very organized person.

“Alright Dinner’s ready.” Killian announces, pulling out plates and serving the chicken from the oven, as well as some sauce and pasta from a pot on the stove.

Honestly, the moment Emma tries it she’s blown away. It tastes great.

“You said you work in Bail bonds?” Killian asks after a few bites.

She nods. “Mostly in the recovery.” She specifies. She never really had the eye for the business part of it. She left that mostly for Chloe.

“The recovery...”Killian repeats. “Hold on, you’re a bounty hunter?” He asks in amazement. She shrugs. 

“Bail bonds person.” Emma clarifies. “There’s a difference.” 

“How does someone get into that line of work?” He asks. It’s an honest question.

“Rough childhood, even rougher early adulthood, I had a...minor infraction with the law...” Emma admits, keeping her eyes on him to see if he was bothered by that detail. 

He doesn’t seem to be, he seems completely focused on her, warmth and understanding radiating off of him in waves.

“And a bail bonds person caught me, but I didn’t make it easy.” She’d given Chloe hell before she was finally caught. “After I got my shit together, she offered me a job.”

“Wow Swan, I knew you were a tough lass, but I wasn’t expecting that.” He admits sheepishly.

“I live to be the unexpected.” Killian laughs at that, but by then she’s just about finished her plate. “Alright so I’m guessing you drive us to your party, then about 10 you drop me at mine?” Emma asks.

Killian nods. “Perfect love.”

//

“I have friends who live around here.” Emma admits as they get out of his car.

“Oh?” She nods.

“Would you believe my party is in the same building?” She responds. “I bet there’s a lot of New Year Parties happening tonight.”

Killian nods. “Maybe we can see each other after then?” He asks. “After the ball drops.”

Her breath catches in her throat at the offer. It makes her think that maybe, just maybe the thoughts and feeling she had weren’t one sided “Maybe.” She responds once her voice works properly. “Let’s just get to the party.” Emma states. His head dips and she gets this sudden feeling like he’s disappointed.

Emma suddenly has this feeling like she’s said something wrong but she’s not sure what.

“Aye, shall we?” He says, holding the door to the apartment building open for her. 

“Are we good?” Emma says.

“Of course Swan.” He replies all too calmly. Now that was a telltale sign of things being not fine at all. Emma was not going in there with him being all not fine on her. Fake girlfriend or otherwise, it would be a disaster. So once the elevator door closed behind them, Emma made her move. She took a step towards him, stepping into his space 

  “Spit it out Jones.” She snaps.

So he kisses her. And oh my god Emma forgot how good of a kisser Killian was, and maybe it was better now. Now that she’s not drunk or sad or anything but ready to be a fabulous fake girlfriend for this man.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for the better part of three months.” He says into her neck because that’s where his lips ended up. Her hands were in his hair, his very very soft hair and-

The elevator door opens.

She hears a shriek. Emma opens her eyes and freezes. Killian jerks away but nothing can hide the mess Emma made from his hair, or the bit of lipstick smudged in his lips. 

“Emma?!” It’s Ruby. “You’re Jones’s girlfriend?”

Emma looks at Killian, and then back at Ruby, then at the floor number. She was on Mary Margret’s floor.

Oh my god. Emma realizes, she sees the horror on Killian’s face.

They were going to the same party. Where Emma had made David swear not to set her up with anyone because she was chronically single, while also having to pretend to be Killian’s secret girlfriend.

“Um...” Killian stammered. “Your Ruby right? Aurora’s friend?”

“And Emma’s supposed best friend.” Ruby says, arms crossed. “Emma, why didn’t you tell me you were dating Jones? How did you even meet if you both ditched the set up.

Emma hadn’t even thought about that, hadn’t even considered...

Too much, too much information, too much attention and she desperately wanted to keep kissing Killian. So Emma did the only thing she could possibly think about doing.

Looking Ruby dead in the eye she pressed the ‘close door’ button on the elevator and then randomly pressed another button.

“We are screwed.” Killian said in a breath.

“Absolutely.” She agrees. It doesn’t stop her from continuing to make out with Killian. Not one bit.

“You know we’re going to have to come clean to everyone right?” He says after a moment.

“Yeah.” she says. “But we’ll give a hell of a start to 2020.”

Tagging: @ilovemesomekillianjones​

[madamslayyy]

Log Cabin And A Brewing Fire Part V (Trevante Rhodes x Reader)

Pairing: Nebraska Williams (Trevante Rhodes) x Reader

A/N: Heading in a little bit of a diff direction with this story. Let me know what y’all think.

~*~

You woke up alone to the smell of breakfast coming from downstairs. You knew Nebraska was already downstairs cooking like he did most mornings. You really were going to have to come up with a way to thank him for going through the trouble every morning.

You hopped in the shower and let the warm water fully wake you up. Today was Halloween and it was going to be a busy one. The museum you worked at was going to be open until midnight for its annual Haunted Museum Walk event it held every year. You were gonna be a mummy in the Egyptian Exhibit.

You didn’t bother putting on your business clothes just yet as you got out the shower and decided to just put on a big clean T-Shirt instead. Nebraska had seen you in pajamas plenty of times so a big T-Shirt wasn’t really anything scandalous for breakfast.

As you entered the kitchen you noticed he was making French Toast, the smell of cinnamon flooding the room.

“Good Morning,” you chirped, wading over to the cupboard to grab a glass.

“Morning,” he smirked, still concentrating on not burning the French Toast.

“How’d you sleep last night?” You said, hopping on the counter next to him while you sipped your orange juice.

“Uh...,” he glanced at you then back down at what he was doing, “pretty good. Just as good as any other night.” He smiled a little confused.

“Fantastic. Just checking in on you.” You smiled.

“Well since you’re here, can you hand me two plates,” he smiled back, nodding to the cupboard next to your head. You reached overhead to get it, careful not to drop the plates and send them shattering to the floor. When you turned back around you noticed Nebraska staring down at where your shirt had risen up to reveal your tummy’s pooch.

“Thanks,” he said taking the plates and averting his eyes but it was too late. You’d seen him and felt insecure now. Weight had always been sort of a tricky subject for you and one you always wanted to avoid at all costs.

“So, tonight’s Halloween. Know what you’re dressing up as?” You said hoping to change the subject as you hopped down off the counter.

“Uh, I don’t really do all that,”Nebraska chuckled awkwardly, setting the two plates loaded with French Toasts down on the table. It looked delicious but suddenly you weren’t feeling very hungry.

“Ohh... well if you don’t have plans for tonight, you should definitely stop by the Museum. They do this Haunted thing for Halloween and it’s pretty cool for first time viewers in my biased opinion of course,” you chuckled, nibbling at the French Toast.

“Actually... I’ve gotta help Tonya tonight,” he said hesitantly. You blinked as there was a lengthy silence that said everything you were clearly thing.

“Oh....,”

“It’s just.... she’s got the two young boys and they wanna go trick or treating but she doesn’t necessarily feel safe going alone so y’know....” he trailed off and suddenly you felt really stupid. Like you’d been missing this obvious thing the whole time and only now saw the picture as a whole.

“Oh, you don’t have to explain yourself to me, you’re grown,” you laughed hoping to lighten up the tension in the room. It did, even if only a little bit.

“Whew, these were so good but I can’t eat another bite,” you said standing up to go throw away the rest of your breakfast and get ready for work.

“Um.... Y/N, I’ve noticed something and I know it’s not my place but... you don’t really eat a lot...” Nebraska trailed off. You paused again. What on earth was he asking? Was this because he saw your stomach earlier? Because this was a question you’d heard your whole life: “how are you still big if you don’t eat?” Or “if you want to get smaller, just stop eating.” Not only had you struggled with food, but you struggled with an eating disorder as well and this was a conversation you simply weren’t trying to have.

“Okay,” you said quietly, moving to throw away the food as quickly as possible. The last thing you needed was a lecture from him this morning.

“I just was wondering... if it’s healthy... to eat so little, I ju-“

“I’m fine. Thanks.”you snapped, cutting him off. You then immediately headed for your room, locking yourself in as you sank to the floor. So he thought you were unhealthy now? You couldn’t say you were surprised, everyone thought girls with curves were “unhealthy” or “killing themselves”. Hell, he was an army man, they thrived off fitness so of course he’d have an opinion on your “lazy civilian physique.”

You felt the tears well up but you forced them down. You were a grown ass woman. The time of breaking down every time someone called you fat was over. You got up, brushed it off and continued to get ready for work, refusing to let this situation get to you for even another second.

~*~

“Everything alright, Braska?” Tonya asked, intertwining her arm with his as they walked side by side, watching her sons drag their enormous bags of candy ahead of them.

“Yeah everything’s fine,” He said distractedly.

“Oh come in now, you know me better than that!” He didn’t. “You know I’m not gonna just take no for an answer, tell me what’s up.” Nebraska sighed but she really wasn’t going to stop until he talked so he decided to just go ahead and tell her.

“I made Y/N upset this morning and it’s been weighing on my mind,” He sighed, looking straight ahead. Weighing on his mind, however, was the understatement of the year. It’d been driving him crazy all day. He knew he always had a tendency to be too hard on himself, something he tried to cope with every day, but upsetting the one person in this entire town whose opinion he valued? The guilt had been literally eating him alive.

You had every right to be mad at him though. He never knew when to shut up, and it often left him wishing he hadn’t spoke at all. And then there was the counter incident this morning. She’d caught him staring at her, which he tried to quit doing but you never made it easy in that department either. You were easily the most beautiful woman, inside and out, he’d ever had the honor of keeping company. You were always so chipper and bright, with a smile that seemed to mimic the sun and a warm overall presence that gravitated everything towards it. As hard as he’d tried to distance himself from you, he couldn’t deny it pulled him in too.

“Upset her how?” Tonya asked, that smile of hers she always wore faltering. She didn’t like to talk about Y/N much and he had a pretty good idea of why.

“I just said something stupid that I shouldn’t have. And now she’s... mad at me,” he grimaced. The two of them were approaching her front door and she unwound her arm from his to open the front door. Her two boys bounded through the house, nearly bouncing of the walls with energy.

“Candy in the table boys, you know I have to inspect it!” Tonya yelled followed by the grumbling of her sons.

“Go wash up for bed, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“C’mon mom it’s Halloween, can’t we watch a scary movie?!” The oldest, Tyler, whined. He was only about 6 years old so Nebraska doubted she would say yes.

“No. Now go.”

“It’s not even a school night! Mom pleaseeee,” he pleaded.

“..... fine. But only one,” the two boys erupted once again with excitement at her caving.

“Still go wash up. Pjs on!” She yelled as they bounded up the stairs. She then sunk into a chair at the kitchen table and rubbed her tired eyes.

“They’re going to be up for week after this,” she sighed, dumping the candy bags on the table. Nebraska sat in the seat next to her and began helping her inspect.

He glanced at the time on his phone and saw it was nearing 11. You were probably home now, in bed fast asleep. And he couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be than right there besides you.

~*~

You were exhausted as you finally trudged up the stairs. It was almost 1 a.m. and you were just getting home from the museum. You opened the door to your room to find it empty but you weren’t surprised. You hadn’t seen Nebraska’s motorcycle outside when you pulled up so you assumed he wasn’t here.

You flopped down on you bed and just sank into the sheets. He was probably off busting Tonya’s cheeks wide open and you were just going to have to deal with it. Whatever bond you’d seemed to have deluded in your mind was completely onesided and you really need a strong kick or reality to remind you of that. The two of you weren’t friends, lovers, anything really beyond roommates. He was here to deal with some shit (that he still had yet to tell you about) and you had to learn to back off.

And so with that thought you fell asleep, missing your human furnace your body had gotten so accustomed to.

~*~

The next morning you woke up alone, again except this time there was no smell of breakfast in the air. You probably needed to skip breakfast anyway, that’s what you usually did before you’d gotten so settled in Nebraska cooking breakfast.

Today was Saturday so since you didn’t have work you decided to go on a hike. You hopped out the shower and immediately got dressed. Just as you were heading out the front door, Nebraska was coming in, the two of you nearly colliding into each other.

“Woah, my bad,” Nebraska said, backing out to allow you to exit the door.

“It’s okay, I wasn’t paying attention,” you said sliding past him. Don’t ask him where he’s been. Don’t ask him where he’s been. Don’t ask him where he’s been.

“Are you um... are you just getting in?” You asked, turning back around to face him.

“Oh uh, yeah, it was pretty late last night so I crashed at Tonya’s.” He said scratching the back of his head. Great, now you’ve made it awkward being nosy. You didn’t know really what to say at this point so you decided to just turn around and continue towards your hike.

“Wait... one second Y/N,” he said reaching out for your arm. You turned around to face him, the height difference between you two causing you to crane your neck up to see him.

“Um, about yesterday. I really didn’t mean to offend you. It wasn’t my place and I apologize if I overstepped my place as a guest-

“Nebraska you don’t have t-

“I want to. It wasn’t right. I didn’t mean to upset you.” You could tell his face was burning with sincerity but you just wanted to move on from the subject altogether.

“Thank you. For that. But it’s all water under the bridge now.” You said and there was silence between the two of you once again. And it wasn’t exactly comfortable so you decided to proceed with your hike, walking away from him.

Nebraska wanted to call you back but was unsure of what to say next so he simply headed upstairs to shower and start his day.

~*~

Taglist: @chaneajoyyy @queen-of-the-jabari @queennanayaa @clydevevo @queennanayaa @chaneajoyyy @killmongerthiskoochie @theunsweetenedtruth @blackgirloneshots @blmforeal @erikkillmongerstan @jozigrrl @quietstorm-73 @sailorsenshi420 @wakandamama @mxearth @chefjessypooh @macfizzle @chasingsunlight @dameshaemonique @rubiesandravens @raysunshine78 @melaninmarvel l @melanisticroyalty @softnani @vibranium-soul @itstaliaduh @cinki-the-black-goddess @thehomierobbstark @darkangelchronicles @bartierbakarimobisson @doublesidedscoobysnacks @blackpinup22 @tchokemedaddy @clydevevo @amirra88 @labelletemps @wawakanda-btch @supersizemeplz @purple-apricots @musicloveand-pride

[jjkfire]

I really really enjoy reading your writing and I’ve just finished reading Sweet Saccharine, where did u get the idea to write a story like that? In all my reading years I’ve never come across something as great as this story is

omg wait this is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me!!! I’m actually sobbing 😭 I’m really glad you like the fic! and ahh your question! that’s like my favourite question ever haha.

regarding how I got the idea hahaha well get ready to dive into the depths of my chaotic mind!!!

so it all started with that sugar baby conference article I talked about in the first chapter. I saw it on my fb timeline and read it and was like that’s just so crazy cool. then I went through sugar baby threads online just to see what it was like to be one and a few of them were talking about platonic sugar relationships and I was like huh that’s really interesting! I had always wanted to write something in the sugar daddy au sort of realm so I thought it was a nice little way to go about it. (also i watched a short video about the guy who started the sugar daddy website seekingarrangement and i find it funny cos he’s singaporean ahhaha anyway that’s probably why the sugar baby conference article was on my timeline).

so next, the jungkook in the au needed a job lol. i thought about going the businessman or maybe a tech company route but truthfully I’ve always found the logistics industry very fascinating… i even used it in my other fic escape and so i was kinda apprehensive about using the concept again but i didn’t really get to delve into the logistics world in that fic so i wanted to do it in this one. i think the idea stems from that one time i watched a very cool documentary like I don’t know 5+ years ago on national geographic about perhaps the suez or panama canal so that’s where most of the logistics part of the fic stems from… plus I watched other documentaries after having started the fic just because i find it really cool hahaha. anyway, the transportation of drugs/other illegal materials and just a lot of smuggling in general happens at ports and etc. which i thought was quite fitting because that meant i could probably fit a gang aspect into the fic.

I had been itching to write something that’s like a gang au so this was the perfect chance. though sweet saccharine isn’t entirely a gang au fic but it plays a pretty big role. and so for the gangs I had watched a documentary about the cali cartel and Escobar… actually it all started from watching a Vox video about escobar’s hippos lol. also, my father had told me stories of when gangs were thriving in my city back in the old days. also, the topic of corruption within the government and how it goes both ways is always a fun one. so i wanted a piece of that in the fic too.

and about the whole social class system I had watched another video or documentary or maybe it was an article but it was about gentrification also anyway the whole urban/rural divide prevalent in a lot of countries has always fascinated me. then shortly afterwards I had to take a class on the divide of information between races and social classes. so yeah very timely hahaha. i just think the fact that discrimination still exists between different races and also urban/rural population is just really shitty so i wanted to feature a part of that in the fic.

anyway, this answer is probably a lot longer than you wanted it to be but haha that’s just how my mind jumps from one topic to another lol. and i know the fic at the moment seems to have so many random facts sprinkled all over the place but i swear it’ll all make sense in the end haha. not to toot my own horn but i think it’ll be really fun from chapter 4 onwards. it’ll all fall into place. from the event that occurred with jungkook’s father, to the whole insurance debacle at the hospital, to oc’s uncle and mum to jungkook’s grandfather’s past. like it’ll make sense soon ahhahaha. i’m very excited to tie it all together in the next few chapters and honestly it pains me that i don’t currently have the time to write as much as i want BUT i play the whole storyline in my head in my free time like a movie ahahhaha. anyway thanks for asking this question i love it when i get to talk about my thought process lol. again, you’re really so sweet and this ask seriously made my day!!! i hope you’re having a great day anon :3

also since you asked me my absolute fave question, here’s a little preview! (also if you guys made it this far into my answer you totally deserve a preview lmao) heavily, heavily unedited and it’ll probably look diff in the final draft but very important scene haha.

////

Years Ago

“Mr. Jeon! Mr. Jeon! Please, god, you haveto wake up!” The man begs from the front seat, looking at the CEO that’sslumped in the back. The car is now tilted precariously as water begins to seepin fast. He smashes down on the window buttons a few more times, as if it couldhave a different outcome if he tried one more time. There’s a whir and a click,but like all the times before, the window doesn’t move an inch.

He undoes his seatbelt to reach for MrJeon’s phone, climbing onto the centre console, pants soaked as the water nowcomes up to his knees. Like his very own phone, it showed that there was nosignal in the area. He shouldn’t call for help, he’s been instructed not to, buthe was also promised that he would be pulled out of the car within the firsttwo minutes yet, it’s been perhaps close to 8 minutes and they were nowhere insight. From the way the water was rising close to his chest now, he thinks he’llonly have 5 more minutes to figure something out. He quickly undoes his belt,using the metal piece to strike at the window, hitting at the corners whereit’s the weakest, but this is bulletproof glass and he knows his effort is futile,but he has to do something. He grumbles to himself, trying the windscreen butif anything, the glass is thicker there. He does everything he can think of,punching the glass, kicking it even with as much force as he can muster.

“Mr. Jeon!” The man shouts one more time,this time climbing into the backseat to shake him. Mr. Jeon doesn’t move, hischest rising and falling at a set rhythm, unaware of the precocious situationhe was in. The man sighs, sinking into the backseat as he gives Mr. Jeon onelast, weak shove, almost all of his energy now expended. He wondered ifanything would be different if he had managed to wake him up. Unless he was amiracle worker, probably not because see, the Triple Axes never left any roomfor mistakes. That meant that if this was what they had wanted from the start,then it’s what they will get. He should’ve known he was going to be ascapegoat. Why else would they assign a mission like this to him?

An area with absolutely no coverage, a carwith bulletproof windows, one meant to withstand force, no walkie talkie, noplan B. It was clear now that he wasn’t meant to get out of here alive, neitherwas Mr. Jeon. The man remains emotionless as the water reaches his chin. Helaughs, almost bitterly as he turns to look at Mr. Jeon.

“I’m sorry,” He manages to say. It’s notlike the logistics tycoon could hear him, but it didn’t matter. God, all hewanted was some extra cash so he could help you and your mother. Your fathermust have sniffed out his plan. Otherwise, this was too much of a coincidence.He only hopes your mother figures all of this out fast enough.

[nadjaofstatenisland]

Parentdale Appreciation Week

Day 3 - Favorite Marriage 

halice - Alice Cooper/Hal Cooper

Instead of the radio, a medley of Cooper voices plays on the ride home from Thornhill.

Alice is the quiet one for once as she soaks in her family. Polly goes on about her short stint as a Blossom with Betty and Hal interpreting every few seconds with questions. The three of them talk over one another, yet Alice still hears everything. Of course she does. The three of them are the three most import things in the world to her. Their voices play as if in slow motion, letting her absorb every word. Her blood is still rushing from her run in with Clifford and Penelope, but for the first time in months, the hole in her heart feels full.

Hal’s smile takes over his entire face. She wonders how lonely he’s been these last few weeks, sleeping on the old sofa at The Register that’s seen better days and better nights - and it’s fair share of afternoon delight - with no company. Every few seconds he looks to the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of their girls in the backseat.

It’s the first time in nearly four months they’ve all been together. The Cooper family reunited at last.

Well, not quite reunited.

Hal looks to the mirror again, that perfect smile never faltering. She fights the urge to reach out for his hand. To hold it, rub her fingers over his knuckles. To let him twist her wedding ring on her finger, one of the silent ways he says ‘I love you.’

She wants to hold his face, rub the bit of scruff there before he shaves it away in the morning. She wants his hands on her, to pull her close. She wants to be kissed. She wants to feel loved again. To feel wanted. She wants things to the way they were before.

Before what though?

Before the brick? Before the fight? Before Polly’s pregnancy? Before her own?

She may still be wounded, but she’s not angry anymore. Not angry at anyone but herself for letting this go on so long. For letting everything go unspoken and fall apart.

Hal pulls into the driveway as Polly recaps a tale of discovering Clifford’s wig collection. He makes no attempt to unbuckle his seatbelt as the rest of them do. Betty and Polly each open their doors and pause, mouths ajar.

“Mom -”

“Dad -”

“Betty.” She looks looks next door instead of at her kids. Fred’s garage light is on and she prays Archie isn’t in the middle of a 2 am jam session. “Go make up Polly’s bed for her. Please.”

“I want to sleep in Betty’s room tonight.” Polly sounds firm but her voice breaks. “Please, Mom?”

Betty’s voice is hopeful. “Dad, are you -”

“How about,” Hal’s hands are still on the steering wheel as he cranes his neck to look in the backseat, “I stop by tomorrow night to see you girls?”

She senses the protests from her daughters before their mouths even open and she shushes them.

“Come inside, Hal.”

He looks to her for the first time since they left Thornhill. His eyes wide and jaw slack, he tries to read her but she keeps her face as neutral as possible.

“It’s fine, Alice,” he finally says. “It’s late. I have an early morning.”

“Go inside, girls.”

Betty and Polly say good night instead of goodbye, which means they know how this will end.

Good.

She waits for the front door to close. Hal’s mouth is still open, words caught on his tongue. Her teeth bite the inside of her cheek as she tries to keep her expression blank. For once, she wants him to make the first move.

“I’ll sleep in the basement, Alice, if that’s okay with you.”

She shakes her head, her ponytail swinging back and forth. “Do you know how hard it is to fall asleep in an empty bed?”

He offers her a wry smile. The smile of that boy she fell in love with twenty-odd years ago. “Probably easier than falling asleep in the office.”

“It’s not.” She reaches for his hand and squeezes. “We both know you can fall asleep anywhere.”

They meet halfway down the front seat. With her head on his chest and his arms wrapped around her, she feels safe at once. She’s sixteen all over again, back in his first car with the same long bench seat. Perfect for parking at Miller’s Point and teaching nice Northside boys all that Southside girls had to offer. Perfect for long drives and conversations and affirmations and her learning there was so much more a boy could want from her than just her body.

Hal’s chin comes to rest on the top of her head and he rocks her slowly.

“Oh, Al.” Her heart swells at the nickname he hasn’t used in years. “I am so sorry. The Blossoms. I should have told you all that back when -”

“I don’t care about the Blossoms.” She speaks against his soft his shirt. “Polly’s home. She’s safe. That’s all I care about.”

“Stealing those files from Tom. I should have said something.”

She thinks to how she sent two teenagers to break and enter into a home just a few days ago. If she’s honest, she’s impressed Hal did it himself. “I’ve done worse, Hal. You were just protecting us.”

He pushes her just enough away that he can look her in the eye. “Dinner the other night. I knew what Betty was up to. I shouldn’t have come.”

“No. No, it’s good you came.” She strokes his face. His eyes close and her husband melts under her touch. “The Register. The - the brick. I lost it. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He slides her hand over his lips and kisses her knuckles. “You can take the girl out of the Southside,” he teases.

“Don’t you dare finish that thought.” But she laughs. She laughs like she hasn’t in months. He pulls her in again and he smells like the office. Ink and dust and coffee. The smells ingrained into him since he was just that dorky kid editing the Blue and Gold.

“I want to come home, Alice,” he whispers into her hair. It’s still up in a ponytail and his fingers twist around the ends of her curls. She wants to pull it free and let him play with it. “I want us to be a family again.”

It’s all she wants to hear. She nods her head and he grips her tighter, afraid she’ll get away from him again.

His voice is soft, low when he speaks. “About back then. High school. Homecoming.” He clears his throat. “If I could go back, do things diff-”

She presses a finger to his mouth. “Don’t,” she whispers. “It was a lifetime ago. I don’t want to restart this talking about our regrets.”

He sighs when she takes her finger away. “I do regret it though.”

“Me too.” She sees the curtains move in the living room and she knows Betty and Polly are checking on them. “But I don’t regret this. I don’t regret you, Hal. Or this life we have or the family we made. I love you.”

He presses a kiss to her lips. Soft at first. Shy and gentle like so many of those kisses he gave her early in their relationship. She deepens it herself and when she pulls away some time later, the curtains in the living room are still, her girls satisfied their parents are okay.

They stay out there for some time more, enjoying the closeness of the front seat even though their bed is a short walk upstairs. She feels sixteen again, in love for the first time and never letting go.