#it's a little hard to tell in the picture but the stem is extremely wide

[hotmoxie]

saw a fasciated dandelion growing out of the cobbles at my parents’ house 🌼

[yoditorian]

close to what

frankie morales/reader

as part of @din-damn-djarin‘s birthday song challenge, i picked dancing under red skies by dermot kennedy. it’s a favourite song of mine, i think it’s beautiful, and i felt like it fit this idea i’ve had swirling around for a little bit. this fic is extremely personal to me but it’s also not pretty. i don’t want to romanticise addiction or use it as a plot device, so PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS.

the support group and hospital drop-off box is drawn directly from my own experience. my inbox and ask box are always open if you need to talk, but i am by no means a professional. if you are struggling with themes of this fic a quick internet search should help you find resources local to you 💛

main masterlist

word count: 3.2k // warnings: addiction, PTSD, nightmares (inc. death mentions), recovery and relapse, therapy mentions, hospital mention, references to past substance abuse, implied reader is in addiction recovery, swears probably, ‘they’ as a pronoun in reference to the reader

Your ringtone is obnoxiously loud in the darkness of your bedroom but at least that means you don’t have to worry about where it is, reaching out blindly towards your nightstand where it blares by your head.

“You’re from the group thing, right? He’s mentioned you a few times.”

You don’t recognise the voice on the other end, maybe you should have checked who it was before answering. You pull the phone away from your ear for a second and glance at the time first, 4:03am. No call at four in the morning can involve good news. But it’s the name on the screen that has you wide awake in a split second: Frankie. 

“Is he okay?” You ask, putting whoever it is on speaker while you fumble for the lamp on your bedside table. An old sweater hangs over your bedpost, the logo of a sports team you’ve never heard of cracked and faded beyond recognition, and you tug it over your head in a panic.

“I don’t know, he’s locked himself in the bathroom. I just- he won’t come out. He won’t listen to me, he always listens to me.”

There’s a stifled something and a quiet knock. But no sound from Frankie, just the shaking sigh of the man you’re speaking to. He tells you his name quietly, Santiago, and you remember Frankie mentioning his oldest friend. An image pops up in your mind as you wrestle your jeans on, a fuzzy picture on Frankie’s phone screen, passed to you over the sticky table in a diner, of two men standing knee-deep in a river. Soaked to the bone but grinning ear to ear. Pope’s got him, if no one else has. That’s what he told you.

You stay on the phone with Santiago on the drive over, convincing yourself it's out of concern for him instead of the anxiety churning in your stomach. Frankie still makes no sound in the bathroom, the door stays locked, and you try not to think too hard before you have all the facts.

The Santiago that meets you at Frankie’s front door is a far cry from the man in the photograph. He looks exhausted, on the verge of tears. You’re pretty sure you’re not faring much better. 

“Last door,” He breathes, “Down the hall.”

You follow his instructions, finding the only closed door in the hallway and tapping lightly on the painted wood. Listening for a moment, you can just barely hear a shuddering breath. That’s better than nothing, at least it means he’s alive.

“Frankie?” You try, praying that he’ll relent when he realises it’s you. Santiago stands at the other end of the hall, wringing his hands together, phone trapped between his ear and his shoulder as he whispers frantically into it. He barely catches himself from crashing to his knees when the bathroom door clicks softly. 

“Can I come in?” You have to ask him. All this has to be on his terms, he has to set the boundaries. Anything less than that is dangerous, you won’t risk him hurting himself. 

He says nothing, but the door pulls back just a fraction of an inch and that’s all the confirmation you need. You push the door open enough to slip inside and shut it softly behind you again. 

Frankie’s sitting on the floor, his back against the bathtub and legs stretched out in front of him. A quick look over proves he’s not hurt, and you’d breathe a sigh of relief if it weren’t for the little ziplock bag between his knees. 

He’s very pointedly not looking at it, or you, instead choosing to glare at a spot on the ceiling. You maneuver yourself to sit opposite him, against the wall with your knees tucked up against your chest. 

“Did you take any?” It almost feels wrong to break the silence that’s settled over the two of you.

You wait with bated breath until he gives the slightest shake of his head. He hasn’t touched it. Okay, that’s the worst case scenario eliminated. It’s enough to have your heart rate calm a little, it doesn’t make things better by a long shot, but at least it’s something.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” You ask, picking at a loose thread of your sweatshirt. 

His chin falls to his chest and he pulls his knees up towards him and you’re sure this is it. This is where you lose him. But Frankie takes a deep breath. And then another. And then, he musters the courage to look you in the eyes. He doesn’t see pity, not like he thought he would. You don’t look disappointed or upset or angry, the way he was so sure you would be. You’re just waiting, letting him take the reins, he stores the knowledge away. In case he ever needs to dig you out.

“I don’t know what happened,” God, his throat is scratchy, “I just- I had a bad night. And I called Pope, and then-”

He breaks off with a heart-wrenching crack in his voice and you can’t help but reach out to him. Just a hand, stretched across the space between you. He holds onto you like his life depends on it.

“And I remembered I kept a bag on top of the medicine cabinet. And now you’re here.”

It’s to the point, simple, methodical. Like he’s back in the army and giving a flight report to his CO. You wonder if that’s what he needs right now, maybe spelling things out is better for him than asking what it is you can do. It’s easier, sometimes, when someone just tells you what’s going to happen. 

“Do you want to take it?” You have to know, for his safety if nothing else. You need him to tell you if there’s going to be a problem, if there’s a risk and he needs more than you. He knows you’re not going to walk out the door and give up on him if he says yes. 

It has to be his choice. 

Frankie shakes his head again, a grimace on his face like he feels sick at the thought, and you squeeze his fingers between yours. You need him to understand that he hasn’t failed, that he won’t fail. Tripping up and falling behind are part of the process, and you know he knows that. He’s been going to the support group longer than you have. Recovery is messy and far from simple. He’ll get back to where he was, one bad night isn’t going to ruin him.

Your lower back aches from the hardwood floor but you show no sign of discomfort, waiting until Frankie is completely back in his own head before you make any move to suggest where to go from here.

“There’s a drop-off box at the hospital, you fancy a drive?” You keep his hand in yours, terrified that he’ll slip back if you let go. 

God, he hates this. He hates that he can’t even look at you for more than a few seconds without his resolve threatening to crack. He hates that you’re not angry at him for any of it, not even a little bit. He deserves anger, he deserves your disappointment.

You were never supposed to see him like this, that much he’s sure of. Or, he convinced himself of at least. He’s been going to group and therapy and he’s kept up his tests and he’s stayed far away from anything that might even tempt him a little. And that was before you even showed up. Standing awkwardly in the doorway with a nervous smile and eyes the size of dinner plates. But he’d been by your side in a flash, asking you to give him a hand setting up chairs, and that was it. 

Frankie knows the ins and outs of recovery, you don’t need to tell him that he hasn’t failed. But he can’t help feeling like maybe he never really started in the first place, leaving that one bag out of sight. Life had been busy enough to preoccupy him, between everything else he kind of just forgot about it. He let it gather dust and it should have stayed that way. 

And then, it felt like he was falling out of the sky. And he couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

Nightmares aren’t an unusual thing for him, or for any former soldier, but the memories they stem from seem to warp into something else entirely when he’s too tired to pay attention. Sometimes he’s alone in the helicopter, sometimes he’s with family, sometimes strangers. It was his team tonight. A vivid memory of a time he almost couldn’t save them. 

The crash never happened, he knows that. He’d righted the bird and got his team to safety the way he knew he could. But that knowledge doesn’t stop his mind from wandering, from drowning him in fear when he imagines what might have happened had he not done his job. If they’d crashed in the middle of nowhere. Would any of them have died on impact? Would they have been left stranded, wounded and starving? He’s woken up in a cold sweat too many times, each ending more horrific than the last.

Tonight had been the last straw. And Frankie had found himself in his bathroom, patting along the top of the medicine cabinet, before he could even realise what he was doing.

He’d called Santiago, still blinking back images of his best friend’s bloody and lifeless face, just to hear his voice initially. But he hadn’t managed to explain anything past the sob lodged in his throat, and he’d heard the jingle of car keys before he could tell Pope he didn’t need to drive all the way across town at two o’clock in the morning. 

At least nobody had called Will, because that would have meant that Benny would have shown up too. Maybe even Tom would have dragged his ass out of bed. Frankie didn’t need to disappoint all his friends in one night. 

Santiago is bound by friendship, best and oldest, he’d never say anything if Frankie didn’t want him to. And you, you’re bound by- well, you’re not really bound by anything. You could get up off of his bathroom floor right now and never look back. Get to your feet, and walk right out of his life. But you won’t. 

He knows you won’t because you’re still holding tight to his hand, even though the angle and distance has you leaned forward awkwardly. You’re still looking at him like you believe in him, even though he almost threw everything he’s worked so hard for down the drain. You’re here, despite everything. Despite only knowing him for a couple of months, despite getting a call from a stranger at four in the morning, despite everything he’s done to be undeserving of anything good or kind in his life.

You’re here, still, looking at him like he can do anything. That’s something. That’s enough for him.

“I don’t even want to look at it.” Frankie croaks, and keeps his eyes steady on yours even as his voice wavers. To anybody else, he might sound unsure. But you hear that steely determination underneath it all, the same one that’s convinced you to keep moving any time you’ve faltered. 

“That’s okay, I can take it.” You waste no time in snapping the little bag up in your free hand, and stuffing it in your back pocket. A phone rings in the hall, hurriedly answered, and you suddenly remember the other man waiting outside.

Frankie’s still looking at you, dark eyes unsteady and unsure, and you squeeze his fingers to ground him. He comes back to you, slowly, and takes a few shaky breaths. 

“Do you want him to come with, or?” You leave the question open. His choice, entirely, the way everything tonight has been. He lost control for a moment and fought, tooth and nail, to get it back. You can’t take any decision about this away from him.

He shakes his head, loosens his grip on your hand, and asks you to give him a minute. It hurts, leaving him alone on his bathroom floor. But he’ll come out, you’re certain of that much.

“Is-” Santiago cuts himself off when you emerge and pull the door just shy of closed behind you, like he’s afraid to even ask the question. Let alone know the answer.

“He’ll be okay. We’re taking his last stash to the drop-off box.”

Santiago’s whole body sags in relief, and you can’t help but lean against the wall for support yourself. The little ziplock bag in your back pocket is a weight you don’t think you’ll ever stop carrying, even after it’s disposed of, but you’re more than happy to bear it when Frankie steps out of the bathroom and Santiago tugs him into a hug that almost breaks his ribs.

It’s easy to forget, when you get that low, that you have people. But they’ll always show up when you call. 

You leave them to their moment and shuffle back through to the main room, your car keys and phone left on the kitchen counter where you’d abandoned them. You’re not sure why you bother checking your messages, maybe it’s to keep your hands busy, maybe it’s so you don’t feel like you’re intruding on Frankie and his oldest friend. They speak in hushed tones as your thumbnail scratches back and forth across a crack in your screen protector. 

“I’m sorry.” Frankie’s voice is rough, muffled into the other man’s shoulder. 

“Don’t be,” Pope squeezes him just a little tighter before pulling back far enough to look him in the eye, “Be sorry you didn’t tell me they were so pretty.” 

It should feel odd, the way that he speaks as though the last few hours haven’t even happened. How a simple, harmless joke is all it takes for Frankie’s heart to settle. Pope doesn’t hate him, couldn’t hate him, 

“Didn’t I?” A shy, shaky smile settles on his features as Santiago stifles a yawn, “Crash here tonight, you’re not driving anywhere on no sleep.” 

Ever the caretaker, even in the wake of his worst moments. It’s a hard habit to break after all they’ve been through. Something tells Frankie, even as Pope relents and walks through to the living room to find a blanket and settle on the couch, he’ll still be awake once they get back. 

You’re quiet when he follows you out of his apartment, quiet as your footsteps echo in the stairwell, quiet when you cross the street to your car and unlock the doors. Part of him still worries that you’re disappointed, that you’re angry or upset or that he’s fucked up so bad that you’ve already decided to drop him home without a word and he’ll never hear from you again.

But another look at you out of the corner of his eye as you plug your seatbelt in disproves any other theory he might have. You’re quiet because you know that he doesn’t need you to talk, that he just needs you right here beside him so he can be brave enough to take the next step.

The radio is playing some acoustic, folky sounding song that neither of you have heard before, and it’s comforting to just sit and absorb the peace of the night as you drive. You’re conscious of Frankie’s eyes on you, although you’re sure he’s trying to be subtle about his staring. His seemingly unwavering attention does little to quiet the voice you’ve been hearing in the back of your mind for the last few weeks.

He still can’t quite believe it. That you’d wake up, in the middle of the night, and haul ass across town for him. For him. Something about it somehow makes ribcage feel like it's about to burst and cave in at the same time. But now is definitely not the time to be thinking about the tiny baby crush he may or may not be developing on you. 

You don’t miss the way he tenses when you pull into the hospital parking lot, muscles locked so tight that a stiff breeze could shatter him into pieces. He turns to you when you say his name softly, and his eyes are wide with a terror so familiar that your heart breaks in your chest.

“I can’t do it.” He chokes the admission out like it’s poison, and in just four words you can hear every ounce of hatred he has for himself in this moment. He thinks he’s weak, because he can’t even throw a little plastic bag into a hatch, because he can’t even bring himself to move. 

“That’s okay. Did you want me to?” You offer, it’s plain as day on his face that he doesn’t know how to ask you.

You’re grateful for the unusual warmth of the night when you step out of the car, comfortable enough not to need a jacket at this time of day. The sky is just starting to turn that odd shade of blue-grey, the barest hints of dawn on the horizon. Another day, just like tomorrow will be. Sometimes, the next day is all you can hope for. 

The metal handle is cold when you wrap your hand around it and haul the creaky hatch open, you fish the bag out of your pocket and don’t even pay it a second glance as you set it on the little shelf and let the door snap shut. Gone. But you can still feel it eating away at you, you can still see how it weighs on Frankie’s shoulders when you shuffle across the concrete and climb back into the car.

He says he’s not hungry when you ask, and you don’t push it. He’ll eat when he’s ready. He’ll live when he’s ready. You don’t mind, you’ve got a better idea anyway.

“Where are we going?” He asks when he realises you’re heading completely the opposite way from his apartment building. You shoot him a smile, turning your eyes back to the road before you can read too far into the look in his eyes. 

The beach is dead, just like you thought it would be, and you’re grateful as you shut off the engine. 

“We are gonna throw rocks in the sea.” You say and part of him wonders if you’ve always known exactly what he needs. 

If someone had told Frankie, twenty four hours ago, that he’d be skipping pebbles on the sea with you at sunrise, he would have laughed. But here he is, flecks of the rising sun on the sea reflecting on your face, and you’re smiling at him like that as a breeze ruffles his hair. Maybe this is all he needs to find the courage to stare right down the barrel of his faults. He doesn’t know how you do it, maybe you can do it together.

You reach over and take his hand when you spot the lone tear tracking its way down his cheek. 

“You’ll be alright. I promise.” You smile just as the sun finally breaks fully over the horizon, sky streaked with orange and pink. 

“Yeah, I know.” Frankie can’t help but smile back.

TAGLIST (add yourself here):

@brothersdrxke @keeper0fthestars @thevoiceinyourheadx @firstofficerwiggles @1800-fight-me @ew-erin @chatterbean

[platypanthewriter]

The Prince and the Pauper (Who Drives an Uber) Ch. 1

Part One | Two | Three | Four

Billy pulled up alongside the line of parked cars outside the embassy to wait for his Uber fare, ignoring the honks, and clicking through his playlists for the one Max had rated “least offensive”. He frowned into his glove compartment at the assorted air fresheners, and grabbed a cold bottle of water, sticking it in the cup holder for the back seats.

He checked his shirt—probably he was picking up a janitor, but just his luck some prime minister’s car blew a tire, and there he’d be with some leader of a country and secret service in his car, covered with dried beans and guac like he’d killed a burrito with a spear and eaten its corpse with both hands, roaring and beating his chest—his shirt was clean, and he took a steadying breath.

While he was yanking his earring out and dropping it in the cup holder, his fare ducked inside behind him. “Hey,” Billy said, over the honking of the surrounding—furious—drivers, “You’re my fare? Mind if I get your full name?”

Something clonked into the door opposite his fare, and rattled around on the floor, and the man—younger than Billy, Billy was fairly sure—flopped sideways across the seats with a groan. Then he started snickering. “You sure you want all of it? You got something to write it down?”

Billy glared over his shoulder. “Are you Steve, my fare... what the hell are you wearing?!”

“You don’t like my sash?” his presumed fare laughed, lying across Billy’s back seats in some kind of extremely shiny white outfit, with medals, and a cross on a chain. “They said it matched my eyes.”

“What the hell are you…” Billy trailed off again. “Is that a sword? Is that a tiara on my floor?! Why in the fuck—”

“It’s a coronet,” the actual Disney Prince in his back seat corrected him, putting his probably very expensive loafers on the window as he laid back, closing his eyes.

“Get your goddamn feet off my window,” Billy hissed. “You are my fare, right? You’re not just some...cosplaying menace. Or is cosplay Cinderella about to climb in?” he squinted suspiciously at the embassy, and the irritating pile of shiny clothes in the back laughed again.

“I’m Stephen of Blois,” he said, and Billy’s hands flexed on the steering wheel. “I’m Grand Cross of the Order of the House of Orange.”

“You’re the right person— the fuck does that even mean,” Billy growled, pulling forward into traffic amidst an even louder cacophony of honks, like a herd of geese.

‘Stephen’ pointed at one of the medals. “Royal Air Squadron Commander,” he offered, and Billy contemplated hitting the brakes so hard his passenger fell off the seat.

“Stop fucking with me. Where the hell are we going,” he snarled, and all he got was a sigh.

“Anywhere, I guess. Where do people go when they’re fleeing the scene of a crime?” He sat up and leaned forward between the seats, and Billy got a noseful of expensive soap, aftershave, and breath against his ear. His very-much-gay dick woke up, and he cursed it, gritting his teeth.

“You’re saying you’re a fugitive? What’d you do, steal that ensemble from Elvis?” he shot back, and Steve snorted.

“No, I, uh. I just. I’m escaping a wedding.”

“Oh, shit,” Billy stared into the rearview mirror, and almost hit the car in front. “You—you what, you just left somebody standing at the altar?! That’s—what the shit—”

“No!” Steve yelped, then let his forehead fall against the seat behind Billy’s head, and groaned. “I didn’t—she just—I thought she, y’know, I didn’t think she wanted to wanted to, but we’re friends? And then she started yelling at me about her friend Barb, and—”

“Speak English,” Billy suggested, and Steve kicked the back of his seat.

“I thought we both knew we were getting married, and we’d just—be friends, you know, she’d do what...what she was going to do, and I’d do my thing, and we’d be married, succession secured, you know, so nobody would care—”

“Holy shit, you really are. Somebody,” Billy sputtered, hunching his shoulders a little as he registered he probably would not get a five-star rating for shouting at royalty. “Some tourist told me she was in town for ‘the wedding’ the other day. Thought she just thought everybody knew her niece, or something.”

“It’s been arranged since we were six!” Steve moaned, dropping back to lie across the seats again. He waved at the ceiling. “They got the cathedral and everything! She’s in the dress! And all of a sudden she starts crying ‘bullshit, bullshit’ that she can’t marry, because Barb.”

“Who the hell is Barb,” Billy asked woodenly, his eyes wide as he turned onto a side street. “Wait, are you supposed to have a bodyguard?!”

“So I said okay, I’d call it off, if she was—she was gonna set the whole thing on fire, I think. It’ll be super romantic in the news,” he said, sounding wistful. “She’ll probably forget to change out of her wedding dress and go propose to her librarian right in front of everybody. Just...stomp in in her twenty-four foot train and propose over the Information desk.” He sighed.

“Where the hell am I supposed to be driving,” Billy whispered, staring at the man in the back seat.

“I want drive-through,” whined Stephen of Blois, dropping his chin on the seat behind Billy’s shoulder. “I heard you can get anything at a drivethrough in America.”

“Not really,” Billy sighed, glancing at the pleading brown eyes in his rearview mirror. “I mean. Burgers. Tacos. Ice cream.”

“Ice cream,” breathed the royal in his backseat. “I want ice cream. I deserve ice cream.”

“It’s not very good ice cream,” Billy told him. “I mean. You might want a...restaurant, or something.”

“Ice cream!” Stephen said, throwing his hand forward like he was leading a charge, and Billy headed for the Dairy Queen.

“What do I even call you?” Billy asked, making an illegal u-turn as his passenger whooped. “Stephen?”

“Ugh, no. Steve is fine,” said Steve, pressing his face against the side window, kicking his coronet, and tossing it into the front passenger seat. It glittered as it went by.

“Put your damn seatbelt on,” Billy choked, watching the thing roll around, diamonds gleaming.

Steve grinned over, and did not.

“Where you actually going?” Billy asked, once they were in line. “Back to your hotel?”

“God, no, everybody’s going to yell at me,” Steve said, eyes narrowed at the menu. “May I...eat in your car?”

“Don’t order food,” Billy made a face. “The ice cream’s okay, but the food is garbage.”

“Hmm,” Steve nodded, but ordered like five things, prompting Billy for his order, and then flirted with the people at the window, who stared open-mouthed.

“I think everybody else knows who you are,” Billy said, finally, as they sat in the parking lot, and his royal passenger climbed out to sit in the front.

Steve chucked the coronet out of his seat again, over his shoulder into the back, and unwrapped everything to make happy humming noises into a banana split. “Nope,” he said, around a whole scoop of ice cream with pineapple syrup. It dripped on his fancy jacket, and he swallowed, clearing his throat. “M’nobody. Where else can we go?”

“...I don’t know,” Billy ate his Blizzard with a spoon, watching the leader of some country somewhere trying to tie a knot, with his tongue, in the stem of the cherry off the sundae he’d bought at Dairy Queen.

After watching his fare try to eat a chocolate-dipped cone, and discover the inherent trap as the melted ice cream in the chocolate shell escaped through a crack and jizzed all over his fingers and shiny gold medals, Billy groaned into his hands. He leaned over and yoinked the cone out of Steve’s hand as he stared in betrayal at the ice cream running down his elbow.

Billy stuffed the ice cream grenade in the plastic bag their food had come in, and then started dabbing Steve off with a handful of napkins.

“My ice cream cone,” Steve whispered, his expression shifting from betrayal to heartbreak. “What have you done.”

“Can’t believe you rule a country,” Billy growled back. “I disarmed your goddamn dipped cone bomb before it ruined your fucking...Armani or whatever. Thank me.”

“I was eating that,” Steve muttered, but he started to grin as Billy leaned in, scrubbing down his wrist and neck. Steve started laughing, like Billy was the one being an idiot, and Billy felt himself flush as he folded the sticky napkin over and wiped ice cream off Steve’s jaw, and Steve smiled, his eyes dark and warm in the light from the streetlamps. His breath was warm on Billy’s fingers, and he smelled like chocolate.

Billy wanted to lick it off his lips. He jerked back and put both hands on the steering wheel, where he could keep an eye on them. Don’t touch him again, he told himself sternly, and took a few slow breaths, telling himself to stop noticing the moles down Steve’s neck, and the texture of the hair on his arm in Billy’s hand.

Billy took another bite of Blizzard, and thought fixedly about the condensation on the cold cup dripping through his fingers, and the roof of his mouth going numb.

“Hey,” Steve muttered, fiddling with his phone, his plastic spoon sticking out the side of his mouth. “Hey, Billy. I’ve got a bad idea. Let’s do something. While I have, you know, uh, no security. Really bad idea.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go bowling.”

“What?!” Billy said, trying to breathe an oreo, and choked.

Steve patted him on the back, shoving his phone in Billy’s face with a picture of a neon sign reading Leatherneck Lanes. “Come on,” he leaned in, “—I just got stood up at the altar. Take me bowling?”

“Do you even know how to bowl?” Billy asked, once his lungs had some air in them.

“It says they rent shoes, and sell wings,” said Steve, sounding perplexed. He frowned over, licking his lips, so they were shiny. “What are the wings for?”

Billy bit his lips together, on the clock, yet wanting to lean in and push his fare back against the seat, and lick into his mouth—and also, on top of it all, trying to think up a believable lie about buffalo wings. He stared into the prince’s intent brown eyes. “...they’re not real wings,” he confessed, unable to pull his mind off kissing.

“I know they’re not real wings,” Steve rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Buffaloes don’t have wings. Are they toy wings? Do you...do you buy accessories for your toy buffalo? It says they have a buffalo ranch.”

Billy stared at the royalty in his car, mumbling about buffalo-themed bowling alleys, and wondered how anyone could stand him up at the altar.

Driving through for ice cream already had people snapping Steve’s photo, so for the bowling alley, Billy rummaged around in his bag and threw his sweatshirt at the prince’s head. “Change up, Charming,” he said, “—or we’ll summon up the media.”

“Oh, neat!” Steve said, excited about the sweatshirt, and trying to spread it across the dash. “Is this a hoodie? It is! Look, it has a little hood! And a front pocket, like a kangaroo!”

“Just put it on before I shove it in your mouth,” Billy hissed, his blood pounding in his ears as Steve stripped down, and the Royal Abs were exposed under the light of streetlamps. The rain on his windshield cast shadows of water trickling down Steve’s unbuttoned shirt and the skin of his flexing torso as he squirmed out of the stiff uniform-style jacket. He leaned back in the seat, his shirt sliding up with the jacket to show his chest hair and the flex of his shoulderblades, and then yanked it back down, pushing up his sleeves. It was still open all down the front.

“Let me finish my ice cream,” Steve mumbled. “Before I get it on your hoodie.”

Billy stared straight ahead as Steve made MNAH MNEEEEH noises licking the underside of the banana split container, and then began licking ice cream off himself from elbow to thumb. “Put the damn sweatshirt on,” Billy growled, both hands clenched on the steering wheel, and Steve laughed.

“Don’t want to get it all sticky,” he said, and Billy glared over to meet sparkling brown eyes and a wide smile.

He grabbed the hoodie and shoved it in his prince’s face, which was how he ended up with his arms around royalty, helping the prince of, it sounded like, several countries aim his balls.

And Billy couldn’t stop giggling softly about the buffalos.

“They should have toy buffalos,” Steve insisted occasionally, out of the blue, glancing from Billy’s grin to the bar. “They should! I want one!”

“Yeah, sure, Your Highness,” Billy agreed, nodding with his eyes wide.

“Hey,” said Steve, watching his gutter ball pass the pins. “I have, ah, I have another one. Bad idea. Probably it’s stupid.”

“Let’s hear it,” said Billy, licking his lips, and rubbing his hands on his pants, because fucking Prince Steve was warm and toned in Billy’s sweatshirt, and kept leaning into his space. “What’s your bad idea?”

Steve watched Billy’s mouth, grinning like an asshole, and Billy cleared his throat, stepping back. Steve stepped close again, close enough for Billy to feel his body heat. “Let’s get a motel,” he whispered, biting his lips in a tense smile. “Tonight.”

“Holy shit,” Billy staggered backward into the score calculator, staring at Steve’s face.

He looked intent, but didn’t close the distance. Max is going to murder me, Billy thought, licking his lips again. “Fuck. Yeah. Okay.” Steve grinned, and opened his mouth—probably to say something else irritating—and Billy held up a hand. “Wait, hold up. I gotta call my little sister.”

“You have a little sister?” Steve’s face softened, and Billy knew he was fucked.

“Yeah, and I gotta let her know I’m not drunk in a ditch somewhere,” Billy muttered, turning away so he couldn’t see Prince Goddamn Charming, looking ridiculous in styled hair and casual clothes, his whole face an enthusiastic question mark about Billy’s only family.

Max answered the phone with “I made tuna. You want some?”

“No, uh, I—” Billy turned to watch Steve lining himself up to throw again. His rented bowling shoes squeaked loudly against the floor, and the lights shone off his hair, rumpled where he’d yanked at his crown.

He narrowed his eyes at other bowlers, glancing around and scooting his feet with an intent expression. The peal of raucous music from a pinball machine startled him, and he hopped sideways on one foot, but then firmed his jaw, rolled his shoulders, and used his Royal Grace to throw the carefully selected Royal Bowling Ball straight into the Royal Gutter.

“What?” Max bit out.

Billy swung to face the other way, smiling helplessly. “I, uh. I’ll be late.”

“Oh,” she said, and he heard a whoop from behind him, and turned around. A kid was showing Billy’s fugitive prince how to bowl, and it looked more like they were practising poses for the Power Rangers. “Billy?” came Max’s voice. “Uh. A-are you in a bar?”

“No!” he told her, grabbing the phone with both hands. “No, no, it’s—I mean, yeah, there’s a bar in here, but we’re bowling. I, uh, the um, my fare wanted to go bowling. And he doesn’t know how to bowl. I’m—I’m just showing him how to bowl.”

“Oh,” she said, and he hoped she was distracted, and not trying to stare through the phone as hard as he was.

“We ordered some hot wings,” he reported. “And he wants to try root beer. He’s not from—they don’t have root beer. There. Where he’s from. I’m on the clock, Max.”

“Okay,” she said, and he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Max, he is hot as hell, I am—I think I’m like 30% gayer since he got in my car—”

She laughed, but didn’t say anything.

“He’s a Disney character,” Billy hissed. “It’s okay, I-I swear. This isn’t—I’m not—I’m not doing ...dangerous dumb shit, I promise. I’m not fucking up. I—I am gonna have the dumbest story to tell you, but I gotta go.”

“You left sunscreen in your pocket in the wash, asshole,” she said, rallying. “Dumber than that?”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry!” Billy laughed. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah you do,” she muttered, and hung up.

Billy wandered back to Steve, still frowning down at his phone, and Steve threw an arm around his shoulder, leaning close. Billy inhaled cologne that probably cost as much as his rent.

“Unexpected obligations?” Steve asked, smiling.

He looked a little downcast, and Billy wondered what to say— his and Max’s family history was hardly first date material. With a prince. A prince who was his Uber fare, he reminded himself, and not his date, not really. The reminder was bracing, like stepping out into a cold wind. Billy’s had been the first car that pulled up, and he’d blushed and stared, and this prince had a few hours to kill. What am I doing, Billy wondered. “I like to call and check in.”

“How old is she?” Steve asked. “Do you need to get back?”

“Uh,” Billy said, grimacing, and remembered Max had rented a movie they needed to watch, and he had homework for three classes.

“I apologize,” his prince said, stepping away. “Of course you have your own schedule. Thank you for your patience with me. Where would it be convenient to drop me off?”

“Shit, no,” Billy followed him like a moth, ready to smack himself to death against a shining light. “I’d be working all night anyway.” He picked out a bowling ball. “You haven’t even tried root beer. I got all night.”

“You’ll stay?” Steve’s polite smile broadened into a real grin, and his cheeks flushed. Billy wanted to bite them. “...thank you.”

Billy tried, honestly, to bowl badly, and even things out, but His Highness was unparalleled at somehow missing all the pins even when he managed to keep it in the lane. Towards the end of the game, Billy was actually trying to help him bowl —instead of pretending in order to wrap both arms around him—and Steve kept leaning back to try and see his face and almost knocking them over, so they were laughing so hard they nearly fell.

Steve swiveled in his arms to face him, and Billy tried to pay attention as the right royal arms slid around his neck, the warm weight of a muscled body leaned against him, padded by Billy’s sweatshirt over starched groom trousers, and over it all Steve was grinning, pink-cheeked and a little smug. “Let’s go somewhere and talk,” he whispered.

Billy swallowed as his mouth started overproducing saliva, realizing he was about to get his face fucked in a bowling alley during work hours—by a man disappointed by the lack of winged buffalo plushies available for purchase.

“Yeah,” Billy whispered. “Yeah, okay.” He checked his back pocket for a condom, yanking Steve along behind him to the bathrooms, and then hauled him in the empty stall, and pinned him to the door, already breathing a little heavily in anticipation.

“Whoa,” Steve laughed again, watching Billy lick his lips. “Wow. Uh, I just— mmph.” He opened his mouth for Billy’s, humming as he ran his hands down Billy’s back, and yanked him even closer with one hand on each of Billy’s ass cheeks. “Damn,” he whispered, pulling back, and Billy leaned in again, knowing men that dragged him into bathrooms didn’t tend to be patient, but also that Steve still tasted like chocolate and ice cream, and he kept making little happy noises.

“Sorry,” Billy muttered, bringing his hand up to turn Steve’s head to just the right angle, and counting down fifteen seconds in his head to keep kissing the man before he had to pull back and get down to business. He could feel Steve’s smile bunched under his hand, and he couldn’t not kiss that too, mumbling ‘Sorry, sorry,’ again as Steve laughed.

“Just—jussec,” Steve grabbed Billy’s face with both hands and held him off, grinning. “Just—wait for a moment. You won’t get in trouble? Coming away with me?”

Billy snorted. “Maybe with Max.” At Steve’s narrowed eyes, he shook his head. “My sister. And no. Nah, it’s just—I get paid for jobs I take. I don’t have hours. I logged off.”

“So you were working tonight, and now you aren’t,” Steve said, running his thumb up Billy’s cheek, and Billy licked out and grabbed it in his mouth.

“Mmn,” he grunted back, sucking hard, and Steve’s head thudded against the door as he made a weird startled snorfling noise.

“Billy,” Steve whispered, yanking his hand back—his thumb scraped along Billy’s teeth, and Billy winced, wiping his mouth. “Billy, listen—Billy.” He grabbed Billy by the shoulders of his jacket and held him at arm’s length. “Stop.”

“Shit,” Billy said, realizing he’d screwed up, as always. “Jesus, you actually want to talk. Okay. Shit.” His dick didn’t even care, still pounding with all the blood in his body as Billy avoided looking at Steve’s face. Billy pushed back to sit on the toilet. “Sorry. Sorry, shoot, go ahead.”

“...Billy,” Steve repeated, stepping close again, and Billy nodded, his peripheral vision taking in the misspelled graffiti and lack of toilet paper in the grotty bathroom where he’d hauled a prince. He’s gonna back out, Billy told himself, and took a slow breath. “Billy?”

Billy smirked up, wishing he hadn’t promised Max he wouldn’t drink. “Not much like your—your fucking— consort, am I. Say your piece, your majesty.”

The sweatshirt hood and Billy’s fingers had messed up Steve’s hair, and he pushed it away from his frowning brown eyes. “I just...I’m paying you for the drive here, right, but you weren’t working for fun, can you afford to—”

Did he notice I ordered the cheapest food, Billy wondered, the humiliation sinking deeper in his stomach like he’d swallowed one of the bowling balls. “It’s fine, I’ll work more next week—”

“No,” Steve shook his head, digging his wallet out of his bag.

“The hell do you think is going on here?” Billy asked, watching. “Are—are you trying to pay me for sex?”

“No!” Steve hissed, glaring over. “No, I’m just—look, let me give you some money. Now. Let me pay you like my driver. Then I won’t—you won’t have to think about. Anything.”

“Anything like what,” Billy asked slowly, watching a prince leaf through the wad of cash in his fancy leather wallet, and wondering what he’d been planning with so many bills. They were probably all ones, he realized. For having a good time around town, until he decided he liked the look of his Uber driver.

“Let me just—” Steve groaned, biting his lip, and tucking his wallet away. “You’re gonna have my fare to the hotel, and—if you need the money, I’ll keep—just take it,” he pushed a stack of bills at Billy, who glanced down at it, then back up.

The top bill was a hundred. “What the fuck,” Billy said.

Prince Steve laughed, trying to fix his hair by feel, and avoiding Billy’s gaze. “Do—d’you still want a blowjob?”

“What the fuck,” Billy said once more, with feeling.

“I’m done talking,” Steve said, shrugging. “If you—I’m sorry this is awkward, I don’t know what to—”

“You made it awkward,” Billy glared down at the handful of cash, then back up at Steve. “Why the hell are you handing me all this money?!”

“See, now you can get pissed at me,” Steve grinned, his eyes flicking up to Billy’s expression, then down and away. “Don’t have to wonder whether I’ll pay up, now. You probably have rent.”

“I have rent,” Billy repeated, waiting for it to make sense. “I still don’t get it.”

“I hired you,” Steve groaned, his back thudding against the door, and sliding down it to sit on the ground as it creaked alarmingly. “I can’t—I hired you and then hit on you, this was such a bad idea—”

“Guess I’m just too sexy for your own good,” Billy told him, running his tongue around his teeth, and Steve stared at the motion of his tongue.

“God, you are,” he growled, folding his arms over his head. “Can we just—can we just start over? You’ve got enough money you don’t need to work tonight, and I’m—you just saw me bowling.”

“...you think I’m gonna act different if I need your money,” Billy finally put it together, and sighed.

“I don’t know!” Steve flailed a hand, smacking it into the side of the stall. “Maybe you’ve wanted to smack me this whole time, and you’re afraid I won’t pay my cab fare! Oh,” he stopped short, and whipped out his phone. “Mark me paid, and I’ll leave a rave review, then you don’t have to worry about that—”

Billy pulled his phone out slowly, considering. “So this isn’t you paying me for sex.”

“Hell no, why would you be a sex worker in California,” Steve mumbled, flicking the wrong app, opening the weather report, and mumbling in a language Billy didn’t know as he fumbled back to the Uber app. “Ugh. You wouldn’t even have a union, probably—”

The toilet creaked as Billy started laughing. “A union? Uber drivers don’t even have a union—”

“That’s terrible,” Steve looked up, frowning. “Do you get benefits?”

“What?!” Billy snickered harder, the inside of his skull feeling less sandpapery against his brain as he started to accept that the prince he’d hauled into the bathroom was honestly just trying to be a responsible date. And sucking at it. “I think you’re thinking way too hard about this.”

“I bet the owner would take my call,” Steve said thoughtfully. “People usually do. Maybe I could get some traction here with my unionization programs.”

“...you’re some kind of...union activist,” Billy asked, weirdly charmed.

“My family took the French Revolution very seriously,” Steve mumbled, finally getting the Uber app open.

“Anyway, this is way too much money,” Billy flapped it at him. “Way too much money. I could take, like, a week off.”

“So do it,” Steve shrugged, glancing up. “Watch something dumb with your sister. Buy yourself some—” he flapped his hand, “—I don’t know. I’d be paying my driver a lot more than Uber fare, y’know.”

“But he’s probably got...training. Bodyguarding, or—or something,” Billy whispered, staring at the fanned-out bills. Now he took the time to count it up, it was more than a week’s worth. More than a month, taking fares. He thought wildly of having money in the bank, after paying rent. Not having to wonder whether they’d be homeless if his car broke down and he couldn’t work. “This—this is too much, Steve. This is a shit-ton of money, I can’t—I can’t take this.”

“Hey, hey,” Steve got up to kneel in front of him, pressing Billy’s fingers around the money. “It’s yours. One-time gift, okay? I’ll be less generous next time, I promise. Pretend it came from your boss, okay? Class-action lawsuit for not having a union.”

“You’re so fucking strange,” Billy whispered, but allowed Steve to clasp his fingers closed on the cash.

“Now if I piss you off you can throw a drink on me,” Steve said, leaning in to kiss him again, and Billy was hard for this total freak, but he started sniggering again into Steve’s mouth.

“You were really looking for flying buffalo toys,” he whispered, and Steve snorted, shoving him into the wall.

“Shut up. They said buffalo wings, they should deliver. You want a blow job or not?”

“I get one?” Billy asked, laughing harder—not that it was funny, just he hadn’t expected to end up on a public toilet, clutching more money than he’d seen in cash outside of movies, with an actual prince kneeling, horny, at his feet. “Am I in some kinda gay Hallmark movie?”

“I might be bad at it,” Steve told him, grabbing Billy’s belt, and Billy yelped and squirmed to get his wallet out and stuff the money in, having visions of it scattered across the floor as he threw it like confetti in the throes of orgasm. And in my life, everything goes down the toilet, he thought, but leaned to lick into Steve’s mouth.

“Mmph,” Steve mumbled, sliding his fingers into Billy’s hair, and Billy leaned into it, letting Steve tug at his belt, and helping him pull it free. Billy fished out a condom, and Prince Steve, ready to give Billy Hargrove a blowjob on the floor of the public bathroom at a bowling alley, grabbed it, and yanked at the packet with his teeth.

He got it open—after just long enough that Billy was about to offer help—and pulled it out, eyes intent as he ducked lower and stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth, aiming the condom and unrolling it like he was in Mission Impossible.

He was bad at it, to the extent a hot guy doing his best at licking Billy’s cock could be bad, and Billy came in an embarrassingly short amount of time, kissing Steve’s head in an overabundance of fondness.

Part One | Two | Three | Four

[misc-headcanons]

OC-tober 2020 Day 3: Youth (Minerva)

@oc-growth-and-development

"Mama, look! I think I found a new species!"

Corona looked up from the plant specimens laid out in front of her, hearing her daughter's excited voice from the outskirts of the forest near their home. She saw Minerva, running as fast as her small legs could allow, with a large...thing...in her arms. Corona raised an eyebrow; as a master of botany and the island's resident expert on local plant life, it was surprising to see a plant she couldn't recognize. She rose up from her outdoor examination table and met her daughter. Minerva's forehead was shiny with a thin layer of sweat, and the ponytail that Corona had so expertly tied to keep her daughter's wild purple hair contained had a number of flyaway pieces of hair here and there.

Minerva eagerly held up her specimen for her mother to look at, panting after her sprint back home through the forest. "I found it on a tree," she explained, bouncing on her heels a bit as Corona took the strange plant in her gloved hands. "It was the only fruit on it, and aside from the grass near the tree, there wasn't any surrounding vegetation. Ooh, maybe it's got a really big territorial root system, so nothin' else can grow near it!"

Corona peered at the fruit, and her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. An incredibly hard shell for a fruit in this area, she mused, running her fingers over the ridges of the plant. It almost felt like she was touching a piece of glazed clay rather than the outer layer of something like a dragonfruit or a mango. "The color's certainly something I haven't seen before," she said out loud. The entire fruit was a shade of bubblegum pink, with curves and ridged spirals that had a darker color of magenta to them. With the odd colors and swirled shapes, it almost looked like a brain--even the stem that Minerva had snapped off when harvesting the fruit managed to resemble a human brain stem, if the human brain was about three times bigger than it should be. 

The shape's resemblance certainly wasn't lost on Minerva; even though she was just shy of her tenth birthday, her interest in neurology and all things "brainy" had been her primary academic interest for years. "It looks like a brain, dontcha think?" Minerva smirked and absentmindedly fiddled with a stray piece of hair. "I mean, real brains are actually kinda gray, it's just the blood and arteries that make it look pink when it's exposed during surgery and stuff...But still!" She beamed at the plant. "Can we put it under your microscope?"

Corona hemmed and hawed, peering at the swirling shapes on the outside of the fruit. She'd never seen a plant like this before, but this pattern was certainly familiar. "A lone fruit on a tree with no immediate surrounding vegetation," she muttered. "And these shapes…" A moment of realization made her eyes widen, and she quickly set the fruit down onto her table before turning to Minerva. "Puella, would you go to Papa's bookshelf in the study and get something for me?"

Minerva could tell by the shine in her mother's eyes that she had found something very interesting. She nodded. "What book do you need, Mama?"

"I only know the name of the translation your father did of it, so you might have to get his translated version for me to read," Corona explained. Her husband was one of the kingdom's best authorities on the languages spoken outside of Romora, and spent time translating books as a hobby. She remembered a reference book he had translated and given to her as a birthday present years ago--a thick tome originally titled The Devil Fruit Encyclopedia. "The Romoran name of it should be something like De Fructibus Deorum."

Minerva's eyes grew as wide as her mothers. "Did I find one? Did I find a Fructeus, Mama!?" She'd only ever seen pictures of them in artwork and books! This would be the greatest discovery of her life...so far!

Corona smiled and crossed her arms. "Well, we won't know until we look at that book," she teased. "Go on, go on!"

Minerva ran through the rest of the backyard garden, carefully stepping over and maneuvering around the various flowers, fruits, and vegetables her mother had planted until she made it to the back entrance of her family home. She quickly wiped her feet on the outside mat and continued on through the house until she reached the study. Her father was lounging in his plush chair, enjoying a small cup of tea and an old foreign mystery novel that he'd read a million times before. He looked up after hearing his daughter's frantic footsteps and saw her standing at the door.

"Eager for a new book to read, Puella?" He smiled warmly and set down his tea. "I've got some older books I'd borrowed from Ohara a few years back. I can't read the ancient text in some sections, but the rest is at a level of Nocaligo that you should be able to translate--"

"Later," Minerva panted, resting her hands on her knees while she caught her breath. "Papa, where's your...copy...Devil Fruit Encyclopedia...Mama...translated version, please…"

Aurelius raised a bushy eyebrow. "Your mother wants that reference book?" He knew his daughter had a thirst for knowledge and a passion for learning, but she'd never sounded this eager and desperate for a book. Could Corona have found…

He stood straight up and briskly headed to one of his wife's bookshelves, scanning for one of his binders where he kept his translated books that he'd added to her collection. "Let's see, let's see...Aha! The Devil Fruit Encyclopedia, or known to us as De Fructibus Deorum." He pulled out the binder and held it to his chest. "You know, I've always wondered why us Romorans refer to them as Fructeus or 'Fruits of the Gods' while the common Nocaligo name for them is 'Devil Fruit'. I mean, both refer to supernatural and theological beings being the origin of these plants, but the referencing of Devils as opposed to Gods gives the Fruits a morally dark slant to their--"

Minerva tugged at her father's hand; she knew that he could go on and on about semantics if she didn't manage to reel him back into the actual conversation at hand. "Papa, can we talk about this later? Mama needs the book!"

Aurelius blushed, embarrassed at being caught in one of his many tangents. "O-of course, dear," he replied. "Lead the way!"

The two of them went to the backyard where Corona was eagerly waiting. She took the binder from Aurelius and flipped through the pages, searching for any image that matched the possible Fructeus on her examination table. "Let's see...Oh, this could be it! 'The Brain-Brain Fruit: A Paramecia-type Fructeus, allowing the user a multitude of abilities centered around manipulating the neurological functions of others and themselves to an extreme level.' Hmm...it doesn't really go into the specifics of what the Fructeus abilities are. Still, the physical description is spot-on to our specimen here--A lone fruit on a tree with little to no surrounding vegetation, with pink coloring and a shape similar to a brain as well as a thick stem that resembles a medulla oblongata."

Minerva happily clung to her father's robe. "So it is a Fructeus! Mama, what should we do with it? Dissection? Plant tissue samples?"

Corona smiled and took off one of her gloves to rest a hand on her daughter's head. "I'll keep a small sample to analyze, but it won't mean much after it's consumed," she replied. "Though there isn't much research on how a Fructeus degenerates after it's eaten. Hmm...I'll analyze a small piece before it's consumed and then observe any changes afterward."

Minerva stared up at her mother. "So who's gonna eat it? Maybe you could do it and then have one of the doctors in town examine you before and after you do, so you can see how it changes your body and brain structure!"

"Welllll," Corona trailed, "Traditionally, the one who discovers the Fructeus is the one that the gods have chosen to receive it as a gift. Besides, I'm not very knowledgeable on brain structure and function and all that, so its abilities wouldn't be utilized very well by me." She smiled warmly and cupped her daughter's cheek. She really is blessed by her namesake… "I think the gods chose you to receive this, Minerva."

Minerva stared up at her mother with awestruck grey eyes, and then at the fruit lying on the table. "...Me? Really?" Her face broke into a wide smile. "I've...I never thought I'd see a real-life Fructeus, much less eat one myself. Is it...is it really for me?"

Aurelius ruffled his daughter's hair. "While your mother's getting the sample she needs and runs her tests on it, why don't we go into town and let the island priestesses know about this? I'm sure they'll want to celebrate Minerva's gift from…" He chuckled and pointed up at the sky. "Well, from Minerva."

Minerva beamed and looked up at the sky. "Yeah! Let's let them know," she said eagerly. She moved away from her father a bit and unfurled the scarf tied around her ponytail; a dark wine-colored piece of silk adorned with small intricate images of owls and other symbols representing her namesake. It had been used to swaddle her when she was born, and even after years of use, it never seemed to tear or become dirty--whatever the priestesses had done to weave and "bless" the cloth, it had certainly held up over time. Minerva waved the scarf up into the air and smiled up at the sky. Whatever the goddess of wisdom had in store for her, she was going to treasure this gift forever.  

[primedirection]

Gray Area- Part 2

Warnings: Angst Drama & a maybe a hint of fluff...

AN:

I had too much fun writing this and it's gonna show. I'm so sorry😅 Enjoy!

To the untrained eye dinner was going on without a hitch. The chatter was buzzing and lighthearted around the table. Attendees were in the best of spirits for camaraderie while drinks were poured before receiving great food. Yet, under the surface, Harry wondered why he even bothered to come at all.

For starters he'd forgotten why he was so excited about it in the first place, its couples night and watching his friends so lovey dovey when going through his own turmoil was a form of exceptional torture he could hardly stand. Which was odd given that he himself was usually a lover of love and absolutely lived for cheek kisses, stolen kisses, full on kisses, hand holding, and meaningful glances between people because he found it so endearing. Especially with you and yet here he was totally miserable inside.

Second, everyone is paired up with the exception of himself and his infamous ex, who's partner also happened to be away for work. So what better way for his friends to rectify their 'loneliness' than by seating them together!

As if on cue at the thought she leaned in close just to mention, "So H, I took a consensus but I'm still waiting for your vote." A mischievous smile painting her lips.

"Ehm, that's great." He had to force himself not to smile awkwardly tight lipped, "Don't think you really need it anyway, m'not really in any place to say." As he immediately dived into the menu, he missed seeing the fallen look on her face. Now it would be even better he couldn't sense it.

Despite feeling completely uncomfortable, Harry made the best effort to remain neutral. Fearing he'd draw unnecessary attention and ruin their nights as well on one hand. Then again on the other he meant what he had said to you, when he'd said that he'd done nothing wrong. So he shouldn't even be feeling any guilt towards her at all.

As far as he was concerned the pictures you 'found' not that they were hidden to begin with, were out of his control. Yes, not all of his friends dressed modestly but it surely wasn't his place to tell them how to live their lives. Everyone should be free to do as they please if it makes them happy and as long as it's not hurting anyone. And yes some old photos were still there only because that's exactly what they were, old. He wasn't trying to keep them as a memento he literally saw them once and never thought about it again. So he honestly felt like there was no point in purposely digging it up and deleting it unless he actually had something to hide.

More importantly, he thought that he'd been astoundingly clear you were the only one that he had eyes for. That there wasn't a single soul on earth, whether fully clothed or completely nude that could break the tether he had to yours. Sometimes like now, it scared and infuriated him to no end when you couldn't see it.

Harry would delete the pictures and block every single contact that you wanted if necessary, but he also had to be realistic. Once irrevocable boundary lines are crossed there is no turning back. He's learned firsthand how unhealthy it is to be a prisoner in your own relationship. When insecurity becomes doubt and doubt becomes paranoia. Worst of all when paranoia delves into control. No one is happy, trust is an insincere joke, love is completely lost, and all that really remains is either becoming or owning an object of property.

Surely this case wasn't that extreme, but he wasn't oblivious to how it starts. However it also wasn't lost on him that you both needed to come to terms of agreement in order to move forward. As long as you were within reason, he'd be able to deal with it and vice versa.

With that being said his urge to be social diminished drastically in comparison to his urge to make things right. Thus why he stopped engaging in everything around him altogether and directed his attention towards finishing up cleaning out the useless junk in his phone. Ensuring that if he ever lost you, it'd never be over something as ridiculous as an outdated picture.

As time went on Harry hadn't even discovered the conversation being drawn to him. He jumped suddenly at the realization Clare had been calling out to him. A soft question finally coming through the loudness of his thoughts. "You good, Har?"

It was also then he noticed that everyone had been watching him pointedly now. Tucking his phone away he forced a strained smile and pushed his fingers through the knots in his hair, feigning nonchalance, "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Because Y/N is here and you still haven't noticed." Mitch deadpans.

Frowning unsure he heard correctly, Harry's gaze briefly swept the room and his heart almost launched right out of his chest upon laying eyes on you. Approaching stoically, arms crossed even from across the room he could easily tell you are unimpressed by tonight's seating arrangement. He also knew better than anyone that you'd be too polite to bother protesting about it. Eventually he stood and offered you his chair while he quickly found himself another, so stunned by your presence he'd forgotten to greet you properly altogether.

"Hi guys! Sorry I'm late, got a little side tracked on the way here," You openly admit accepting his offer, not in the slightest surprised to see his ex's visible disappointment. All the while everyone else greeted you with heartwarming enthusiasm.

"Glad you're here love," Harry finally spoke with a sincere and appreciative smile, unable to help himself from leaning in and planting a quick kiss on your cheek.

"Is anyone even really surprised? I mean, you're practically attached at the hip these days. No offense." His snotty ex snickered bitterly into a sip of wine.

That. That right there is exactly what brought you here tonight. You couldn't ignore Harry's point of having no control of everything he receives, because he was right everyone gets spam one way or another. But there is one common variable that separated the innocent from the inappropriate, and that's the intention behind it.

To be quite honest, after seeing her pictures you went on a downward spiral for a bit. Beating yourself up and asking all the wrong questions. Like why weren't you enough for him? What did you have to do to make him see? And so on and so forth. But with just a little more time alone, albeit a ride home and a mini Instagram stalking session, you were able to think more rationally and even form a different perspective from a few hard facts. Eventually revealing the real answer to your problem had less to do with either of you individually and everything to do with her ill will towards you two being together.

She was literally, a first class attention seeker. Plain and simple. Born into it whether she aimed to be or not. To the extent that whenever she or anyone else she's related to so much as hint at gracing a controversial cover, it became top news worldwide overnight. This one 'cover' should be no different but alas it is, because it doesn't exist.

"Of course we are he's my best friend," You retort genuinely cool calm and collected. Earning a round of admiring 'aws' from around the table bringing up another point, your announcement, "Speaking of friends... Did everyone here get a chance to see your little outtakes? Dying to know which one you picked for the cover."

Her complexion noticeably pales almost instantly, "I- no it's still in editing nobody is supposed to see until it's finished...how did you—" she rambles suddenly nervous.

"Harry showed em to me." You lied happily with a smile just to get under her skin and it worked, seeing as she tosses him a skeptical glance but he's already looking her way with a disappointed frown, "Thought you said you asked everyone?"

"I-I-I was," She stuttered, "I just didn't want to risk it getting leaked...you know I get hacked all the time."

"Oh c'mon, Harry? He's got the worst taste here," Nick teases and receives a pointed glare from him and laughs, "Can we at least get a tip on which cover?"

If you hadn't known better, then you'd be like everyone else and maybe even a little concerned watching her become visibly uncomfortable. But currently you're all too happy to watch her struggle to come up with a believable lie. "Well... its still in the works right now too so I can't really say."

It's kind of funny how you haven't had a sip to drink and yet you felt drunk with power. Well not even necessarily power but it felt damn good to reclaim all the shitty energy she caused you in that short period of time. People like her deserved to be exposed as the malicious fraudulent snakes that they truly were. Cut out root and stem, defanged and hung out to dry.

At the moment you were thrilled and petty enough to do it with a smile, "From what I saw my first guess was honestly Pornhub." Mid swallow on a rather large gulp of wine the self proclaimed supermodel began to choke loudly. Eyes wide while unceremoniously sputtering it up through both her nose and mouth onto the fancy table setting in front of her. You laughed completely unabashed, running on a high of her karma but politely pat her back in aid quietly adding, "No offense."

Fortunately for her, her coughing fit didn't last long as she angrily pulled away from your touch.

"It's a nude piece?" Nick gasped with his hand pressed to his cheek shocked and intrigued all at once, the journalist coming out of him.

"According to what she sent to him. Then again I find it super strange that someone like her would do a shoot of that type of...nature, get it done, and still not know where it's being published." You cheerily answer for her.

However everyone else seemed to be in a battle of mixed emotions as all the clues came together. Sitting back watching silently. You dully noted the disdain and unease directed at she and Harry. Who currently had a deep frown set in place, upset at how things just unfolded.

"Unless you know, there was no intention for them except to go straight to his phone? And yet then again you and your family like to keep it saucy so." Shrugging you grab Harry's glass and take a sip from it. "Mmm, wish this was tea."

"Okay, can you shut the fuck up!" She snarls irritably, passing her hands over her flustered face. "You're seriously annoying!"

Bringing a full fledged smile to your face, "Oh honey, if you're that upset then why don't you come make me? I promise you'll get everything you deserve and more."

"You think you're so tough. I'll kick your fucking ass right now dude and you won't even see me coming!" She snaps pushing away from the table and onto her feet. Causing you to flat out laugh at her attempt of intimidation as well as gain the attention of poor unsuspecting patrons just trying eat their meals in peace.

"Uh oh, someone better fetch security for miss John Cena over here."

"Alright, that's enough let's go." Harry suddenly commands rising to stand in front of you as if he were some type of bodyguard. Wanting to leave now on your own while you could, instead of being removed disgracefully. "Already? I just got here and things are really getting interesting." You playfully tease pouting but get up anyway.

"I'll say." Nick laughs thoroughly amused waving goodbye.

"This is why people like you don't belong in our world, you're scum bitch!"

Again you laugh as Harry begins to usher you towards the exit by the waist calling back, "Sweetheart, you're the one pursuing taken men with staged nudes. You are bacteria! Keep your filthy world and choke!"

In your side peripheral you're able to catch glimpses of people's phones going up to start filming the discourse. The official cue to shut up and get out before an even bigger spectacle was created. You'd apologize to everyone else for the drama later if and when given the chance.

Your more immediate focus right now was Harry, tense and silent stalking off ahead of you in the parking lot. Bee lining for his black SUV. He hasn't asked and probably didn't care to know, but you Ubered here. Regardless he most likely would have made you ride with him anyways.

It's only after climbing inside and shutting the door that he speaks, "Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on with you?"

"You asked me to come to dinner and I showed up. What's the problem?"

His expression became incredulous, "You made a scene."

"Actually she did that. I only called her bluff and ruined her scheme of potentially ruining your honor. You're welcome by the way! From now on, to prevent shit like this from happening I need you not to be passive when they're making passes." You glare at him pointedly.

Harry frowns hard at that suddenly angry, "Fair enough, but I didn't need you to defend my honor Y/N. It was never at stake, and you'd know that if you took my word for it in the first place. Bloody hell woman, do you really think that I don't know how lucky I am to have someone like you in my life? That I'd throw this all away that easily for nothing? I'm not an idiot!"

You sigh heavily from a strong wave of guilt hitting you in the gut at the reminder but manage to fold your arms across your chest stubbornly, "Yeah well it would have been so much easier to believe without all the evidence against you,"

"S'not evidence it's stupid and childish and completely ridiculous!" He argues scratching the bridge of his nose with his index.

"If it's all that then why keep it?" You shrug.

"I'm not, it's gone. Got rid of it all after you left." He honestly admits passing over the item in question itself and with a quick awakening of the screen you instantly find out just like before the pass code is still deactivated. Leaving all accessibility at your fingertips. "Before you go through it though, I need to know something." He turns to fully face you in his seat.

"Okay?" You encourage a little uneasy but mirror his action.

"Do you trust me? And I mean genuinely trust me Y/N. Harry the human that loves sleeping in with you on Sundays, and Harry the same human that has to tour around the world 6 to 8 months at a time and might not have as much access to you as he'd like?"

You practically feel insulted by his need to ask at all but answer him anyway, "Of course I do!"

But he's dead serious, taking ahold of both your hands in his massive ones. Staring deep into your eyes with electric intensity. "Are you sure? Coz' he's the same bloke in charge of that inbox, and those dms, and that browser history! If we're gonna have any chance at all, I need you to understand that."

For a brief moment his sharp liquid green eyes flit back and forth searching for any and all doubt. Though you genuinely have none. "I do Harry, I promise."

Emotion floods in his eyes before he shuts them and shakes his head slowly but surely getting vulnerable, "I only ask this of you because love I can't- I literally can't even stomach the thought of us ever being toxic.. Losing you that way— losing you at all..." You take it upon yourself to free one of your hands just to cradle his warm cheek. In turn he tried to smile in appreciation but his eyes have already begun to burn from the prick and swell of tears, his chest and throat tightening. "You're my everything." He professes softly, "My world, my sun, my stars, my moon, my entire universe. I love you."

You smile in admiration completely smitten getting a little emotional yourself, "I love you too Harry." Pulling him close to kiss him once, twice, thrice, and then just hold on to him a little longer with his face buried in your neck.

"M'sorry for being a crybaby," he mumbles into your skin and you laugh. Then and only then does he come up for air leaving a trail of follow up kisses before putting the previous space back between you. He reaches down on the floor of the driver's seat and retrieves the long forgotten phone. Placing it back in your hand, "S' all yours lovie."

Insanely relieved and extremely giddy at the moment. You simply roll your eyes toss the damned device in the cupholder without hesitation, "Never needed it."

AN: First of all thank you all so much for the support and feedback it was truly inspiring. Hope this turned out alright! Let me know. More blurbs are coming soon so keep an eye out!

[boymeetsweevil]

For Science 4/7

Grouping: Reader x Nerd!Jungkook

Word Count: 9.6k (im sorry its so long!!)

Warnings/Themes: definitely probably nsfw but purposefully not that many again. drunk jungkook being angry and then clingy, idiot kook, making out? ANGST?? Hoseok being the slimiest being on the face of the earth, 

Summary: Jungkook asks you to let him watch you get off. For science.

A/N: I would like to thank @b-angst-tan for beta reading this series as it is so far. I also would like to tag @m-icdrop , @jiminslye & @ephemeral-mindset to let you know that i finally got my shit together and posted lmao. hopefully i didnt leave anyone out who wanted to be tagged. if i did im very sorry and if you want to be tagged for subsequent posts, just DM me and let me know :)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5, part 6, part 7

You wonder if maybe you should have chosen something more weather appropriate as the chill of the still early air nips at your stockinged ankles. It was a hard choice: The fleece-lined sweatpants with the dried tide pod stuck at the hip or something cute and feminine so you could play catch-up with whatever nice thing Yoori was wearing. The sight of Yoori in a slightly similar outfit of an elegant pea coat and demure pleated skirt convinces you that you made the right decision. But while your anxiety about picking the right clothes wanes, a sudden wave of exhaustion hits you. Normally you would be able to rest on a Saturday after 90 minutes of contorting yourself into endurance-testing positions, but today you had no time to untangle mentally—only physically—as you rushed through a shower to give yourself enough time to run to your apartment to grab a change of clothes.

Yoori looks up from her phone and sees you approaching her where she stands by a Starbuck’s storefront. A large grin splits her face, revealing a pair of adorable dimples on each cheek. You’re not expecting her to shove her phone into her coat pocket so she can run over to you and crush you in her arms.

“Hi, how are you!”

“Oh, uh, I’m good. How are you settling in?” Her grasp is fairly constricting , but you try not to appear shaken as you spit her hair out your mouth.

“I’m doing fine. I leased my apartment while I was away so, I’m still at the hotel until that contract ends. But that’s only for a few more weeks. After that I’ll move back in and really be at home. You smell lovely by the way. What scent is that?”

“Thanks,” you blink, “It’s just soap.”

“Mm, what kind of soap?”

“The dollar store kind.” She nods with a smile. “Um, where are we going?”

“Just to this little place up on Main Street. It’s called La Lune, have you heard of it?”

“Of course I have. They’re notorious for only ever being un-booked twice a year! And even then it’s just because they’re taking breaks so the owner can fly to her house in Paris.”

Yoori plays with the sleeve of her coat. “I suppose it does have a bit of a reputation. I must have just gotten lucky with their date book.”

“Don’t you need an appointment to get in?”

“Yes,” Yoori trails off.

“Will we be able to even get in? I-I didn’t call ahead to make a reservation since you said you’d take care of the plans for today.”

“They said they have an extra spot open for us today since they’re training a new technician.”

You don’t push because you know what they say about looking gift horses in the mouth. But you can’t help but wonder how you could have gotten so lucky on your first attempt to get seen at the nail shop. Any suspicion you have about Yoori’s methods of getting onto the appointment book evaporates when you step foot into the shop.

From looking at the pictures of the interior that you could find on Google images, you know that the design is based off of a bunch of spas that the owner herself went to during her many travels to Europe. All the décor is a novel twist of organic meets minimal with polished woods and metals and clean, sloping lines all existing harmoniously. You sit down in a plush chair in the waiting area while Yoori chats enthusiastically with the woman sitting behind the front desk. She does a little spin for her as they most likely talk about how much prettier she looks since the last time she came to the shop.

After confirming the appointment, Yoori makes her way over and sits next to you. She leans over the arm of her chair to peer over your shoulder at the vials of designer nail polish in your hands.

“Do you know what color you’re going to get?”

“Not yet. I usually just do black since it doesn’t clash and it doesn’t make my fingers look as stumpy”

“What are you talking about? Your hands are precious.” She reaches over to bring one up to inspect. “You have such a nice natural nailbed color. A nude would be perfect.”

“You don’t have to flatter me, I know what my hands are like. We can’t all have perfect OPI model hands, Yoori.”

She grins at your indirect compliment. “You think they’re perfect?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. Some things are just objective facts.” She’s quiet for a bit, a small expression on her face as she looks at you carefully.

“I think this shade would look good on you”, she picks out a specific soft shade that highlights that mimics that pink tone of your nails. “Plus, its suitable for the winter and spring. So, you could wear it for a while.”

“It’s really pretty. Thanks.”

“I could buy it for you. If you like.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to do that, you’re already doing so much for me today as is. I—“

“Too late.” She swipes the bottle out of your hand and gets up to go pay.

The guilt is too much for you to sit back and let it happen, so you launch yourself out of the chair and rush past her to the front desk, debit card out and ready.

“I’d like the buy the shade that Yoori has in her hand, please. Thank you.”

Her eyes are wide, but she doesn’t argue, and lets you buy the shade. You give her a pat on the arm and accept the tiny satin drawstring gift bag and try not to think about the chunk of money that just left your account.

You can only assume the rest of the nail appointment is nice but you can’t know for sure. You do know that you must have enjoyed yourself because you promptly fall asleep two minutes into the hot rock hand massage that comes with every booking. Yoori snapped a quick picture of your lax dreaming face and woke you up when the technician asked her what shape you wanted your nails. Leaving the salon finds you refreshed and with a beautiful manicure.

“Feeling hungry yet,” Yoori asks after she catches you staring wistfully at a random pedestrian with a bagel. “There’s still time for it to be brunch at the place I was talking about.”

“Yeah. It’s just too bad my nails are all nice now,” you joke. “Saturday mornings are for ribs at my house.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. They don’t have ribs on their brunch menu, I don’t think. Do you want ribs? I can check and see if there are any barbecue places that are open for lunch.” She fumbles for her phone and types frantically like she didn’t just get a hundred-dollar manicure.

“Yoori, Yoori, hold on! I was just kidding. There’s no way in hell I’m messing these nails up. I’m almost considering just drinking water for lunch so I don’t have to use my hands.”

“Wow, you…really got me.” She lets out a breath of relief before side-eyeing you. “Are you sure you don’t want ribs?”

“Positive.”

“Good,” she chuckles.

The two of you make small talk about what brought each of you to engineering as you take walking directions from Yoori’s phone. The walk ends at a pretty looking place with a yet another French sounding name. It’s filled to the brim with fresh flowers, giving the air a sweet scent that has your mouth watering even more. You take a chance and allow Yoori to order for you, trying not to be suspicious of the strange cheese dish she orders as an appetizer.

“—And that’s how we met Tae. We didn’t meet Hoseok until about a month later when he spilled his drink on me in line for the comic book signing at the campus bookshop that one year.”

“I think I remember that day, actually,” Yoori blinks up as if sifting through the memory in mid-air.

“Oh! Did you go? I feel like I would have noticed another girl there. I think I could count all of us there on one hand.”

“No, I wasn’t there. I’m not a comic book person actually. I just remember seeing all the people coming back in cosplay. There was actually this one really beautiful green elf costume I saw on my way to class. There were lights woven into the fabric and everything—I almost took a photo.”

Your cheeks heat up and you duck your head to take a sip of your extremely expensive blood orange mimosa. “That was actually me.”

“Was it really? Did you make it yourself?”

“No—well, yeah, I did the bulk. But Jungkook helped me a lot and Tae helped me find the materials.”

“And Hoseok?”

“Hoseok scratched his ass and watched.”

“Wow, I can’t believe that was you. It’s like destiny. We must have been meant to meet,” she lays a hand next to yours. You can’t help but notice how well the color of her pastel nails goes with your nude.

“Yeah, I suppose so. But enough about me, I feel like I’ve just been blabbering on and on about my friends.”

“No, I love hearing about them. I always envy people with lots of stories to tell about their friends. I feel like I have to ask,” she trails off, a shy smile splitting her face. “What’s it like being the only girl in that friend group?”

“It’s…only mildly frustrating,” you say with a laugh as your food arrives. It smells wonderful and given the amount of truffle shavings, you’re glad you chose to come here on a day that you weren’t paying.

“How so?”

“I mean, you know how guys are and you know how STEM guys are. Add to that the fact that they aren’t getting laid and you have a very interesting strain of emotional constipation.” Yoori nods along understandingly. “And let’s not forget all the stupid questions they ask me since they can’t ask any other woman.”

“That sounds like it might be frustrating.” You chuckle at her diplomatic tone.

“I mean it is, but they’re nicer than most guys and they mean well.”

The sly smile appears again and she leans forward to create a bubble of privacy.

“Nothing more than platonic has ever happened between you and one of them?”

Thankfully, a waiter rushes by and bumps the table a little and you can use that as an excuse for suddenly choking on your food. You certainly weren’t expecting her to inquire about your sex life so early into the conversation, and the irony of the situation isn’t lost on you. Of course, the apple of Jungkook’s eye would ask you about which of your guy friends you’ve ever screwed around with.

You blot at your face with a cloth napkin. Luckily for you, the way you look when you’ve narrowly avoided asphyxiation and when you’re concealing guilt is very similar. “Oh my god, please. I’m trying to enjoy this food, not regurgitate it. But to answer your question, no. They’re not my type. They’re too…” you make some abstract gesture in the air with your fork and Yoori nods.

“What about Jungkook, then? Surely, he’s decent otherwise I’m sure you would have warned me by now.”

“No, he’s nice. He’s a little out of it sometimes, but that’s always been his thing, you know? But he’s really kind and warm and funny in his own way. Plus, he’s in love with you so I don’t think you have to worry about him doing the man-child thing too much.”

Yoori blushes and shifts in her seat, looking a little uncomfortable. “Yes, I figured as much.”

“Can I ask what took so long for you two to finally meet up? I just—I know he’s been contacting you for a while now.”

“It’s complicated,” she sighs.

“I can keep up.”

“You could say I’ve just always been very wary of the men in our department. They’re not your average guys, but they’re still men. They still want the same things from you. And,” she looks away from you to continue. “I wasn’t sure if Jungkook was that way as well. So, I kept my distance. This must seem pretty suspect to you. Especially since it happened after he got put on the department website. I’ve heard what some people have been saying.”

Your hands fly out to console her. “Oh my god, of course not. That makes total sense. You’re not obligated to entertain everyone who expresses interest in you. I get it.”

“Oh, gosh, I feel so bad.” She hangs her head in her hands and you watch helplessly as her hair nearly falls into her water glass. When you inquire why, she shakes her head with guilt. “Jungkook never outright expressed an interest in dating until a few weeks ago. All the times before that, he’d been a perfect gentleman via text. But it was the way he would stare at me in public with those…those moonpie eyes!”

“He does look like that sometimes. Especially with those glasses.” She points at you like you’ve hit the nail on the head.

After doing a cursory look around the restaurant to make sure no one around will be able to hear her confession, she elaborates. “It was just so obvious how he felt and I was so used to guys feigning wanting to be platonic friends only to corner me in the parking lot after what was supposed to be a friendly dinner out. I-I couldn’t trust him. But then I heard that you were friends with him and I decided I would give it a chance.”

“Why would you trust him just because of me?”

“I have my reasons. And I just figured if you were willing to be friends with him, he might not be so bad. Plus, my mom has been pestering me about getting married and I wanted to get her off my back.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re giving him a chance. It means the world to him and he can finally stop pining silently. When is your first date,” you ask neutrally. Although you know that as soon as you get a date, you’ll have to terminate your weekends with Jungkook.

“Oh well we haven’t really discussed anything like that. I think he might ask about it soon, though. I’ll keep you posted.” The little eye roll and laugh she lets out breaks the heavy mood and you try to steer the conversation in a lighter direction.

“Tell me about your friends, Yoori.”

“Me? Well, I probably don’t have as much to say as you do. Most of my friends have long since finished the program and I’ve been so busy with my dissertation that I just don’t have as much time as I used to for hanging out and stuff like that.”

“I thought you were friends with Sunyoung. The bio double major? Jungkook said you were pretty close.”

“Well, he’s right. At first, we were. She’s been really busy ever since she got engaged, so,” she trails off.

“To that Jaehyun guy, right? But, wait,” you drop your fork as the details fall into place. “Weren’t you guys all friends? And didn’t they get married like half a year ago?” Your heart breaks when you realize Yoori may have been alone for at least 6 months while working.

“I could tell I was making things difficult by third wheeling, so Sunyoung suggested I give them some space.”

You were pretty certain you saw Sunyoung and Jaehyun hanging out with a few of the other women in the engineering building on the regular when you went to print things for class using the department printer. Even with her indirect language, it’s pretty clear what happened between Yoori and her friend and you don’t push. Though you do feel bad for the animosity you felt towards her when she first introduced herself.

“Well, I’m glad we met. It’s nice to finally have a new girlfriend,” you say. She looks up at you with slightly dim eyes but perks up when you lace your fingers together briefly.

The smile she gives you is brilliant and infectious. “Me too. So much,” she says quietly.

When brunch ends, Yoori suggests continuing your stroll so you can walk off the post-food sleepiness. The weather is a bit brisk and there are unanswered texts from Jungkook on your phone, but you don’t say no and keep the notifications unread. Something about the fact that you’re in the shopping district with a pretty manicure and your pretty friend makes you feel good. Good in a way that you haven’t felt in a really long time.

You link arms and window shop for hours, though it doesn’t feel like it. She pulls you into store after store because she saw something that she thought would look ‘splendid’ on you. Somehow you manage to look past her imploring eyes and put the designer garments back on the rack, but not until after she’s made you try them on and spin around in them so she can sing your praises. While you browse each shop, you make comments about the other shoppers or the items that make her dissolve into giggles or make her cheeks flare up with a warm blush and a gaping, incredulous smile. By the time you finally part ways, you almost don’t want to get into the cab she’s called for you, but your feet are aching and the sun is starting to set. She blows you a theatrical air kiss and makes a surprisingly dorky ‘call me’ gesture with her hand that has you covering your face so she can’t see how hard you’re smiling. When you step out to face Jungkook’s building, the mood of the day’s outing lingers on you like a perfume. Or maybe it’s a halo. Either way, Jungkook notices something about you is slightly different when you finally arrive at his doorstep.

“Hey,” you greet him without looking and instead focus on getting your feet out of the little heeled booties you’d been wearing for so long.

“You changed?” His voice is muffled from where he lays with his cheek smushed into the sofa. The xbox controller in his hand dangles as he takes in your appearance. “When did you do that?”

“I went back to my house after yoga. I couldn’t go meet her in a rank t-shirt and the sweats that I slept in.”

When he doesn’t say anything, you turn to see why he’s so silent. One look at the handful of empty beer bottles sitting neatly by the floor by his feet lets you know what the deal is.

“You been drinking, Jeon?” Jungkook when he’s drunk is quite the handful, but the owlish way he blinks at everything when there’s liquor in his system is almost funny enough to make the rest of his drunk antics worth it.

“Yep,” he hiccups. He tries to shoot finger guns at you but almost ends up flipping you the bird.

It draws a string of giggles out of you. He squints and takes in your frizz free hair, your glowy skin, your nice blouse and skirt, the easy way you walk over to the couch to sit by him. His stare is tangible.

“What?”

“You’re really pretty,” he rasps and his hand reaches out without his permission to trace the swell of your cheek.

His comment takes you by surprise and you can only laugh awkwardly and lean out of his reach, unsure of what to do with such a blatant compliment.

“Wow, I spend one afternoon with Yoori and you’re calling me pretty? She must have rubbed off on me real good.” You take the controller out of his hands to un-pause the game of Zelda he was playing.

“S’not cause of her. ‘S cause you’re not hiding,” he mumbles before picking up the other controller that was laying off to the side. His comment doesn’t reach your ears which he’s secretly glad for. “You want a beer?”

“Sure.”

He reaches over the arm of the couch to fish out one of the leftover full bottles and hands it to you. He doesn’t say anything while he watches you chug half of it, meanwhile nudging the inside of his cheek with his tongue. A classic sulking Jungkook pose.

“Oh my god, what? Are you mad I got to spend the day with her and you didn’t?”

He blinks, surprised, when he realizes that he’s actually not mad about that. Rather he’s mad you spent so little of the precious Saturday with him, though it wasn’t clear at first. To think that he’s jealous of Yoori is funny enough to break him of his brief pouting session.

“Yeah,” he fibs, “but it’s fine.” He scoots clumsily nearer next to you. “You’re here now and there’s still the rest of the weekend.”

“That’s true. But I don’t want to play Zelda. Let’s do Mario Kart?”

“Loser each round has to take a shot and winner picks the next course?” He’s already stumbling his way back to the kitchen to pull the tequila bottle someone left in his fridge a while back and a pair of plastic shot glasses.

“Is there any other way?”

It takes three rounds, the first two of which are Rainbow Road, but you quickly catch up to him in terms of tipsiness level. Your whole body feels like its vibrating, and the tequila makes it seem like your blood is carbonated. Like you could float away at any moment. By a streak of luck and then redirecting to Bowser’s castle, you manage to get in the winning position. You’re on a roll and get cocky enough to start gloating, egging Jungkook’s underlying competitive nature on.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath as you cross the finish line 9 seconds before him. His stomach feels sloshy after four shots and the bottles of beer he downed earlier. You slam down his, now full, shot glass in front of him, spilling some of the clear liquid onto the table.

“That’s like, what, your fourth one? No, wait, it’s your fifth one. My bad.” You stick out your tongue as you perch next to him, pressing yourself to his back and reveling in the way he grimaces at the shot. “If I had known you would make the game so easy, I would have stayed out with Yoori.”

You’re so busy teasing him about his slow gaming reflexes that you don’t notice the way his smile twitches after he downs the drink. He moves uncharacteristically fast and all you can do is sit there as he tosses the tiny plastic cup to side and then turns to lunge at you. Your back hits the couch cushion with a soft thud and your breath leaves you in a whoosh. If it had just been him caging you into the couch because he was fed up with your taunting, it would be fine. But the moment his fingertips dig into your sides, you lose it and start thrashing.

Jungkook knows better than anyone else that you’re a wild tickling victim, all flailing knees and elbows. Truly a danger to anyone who dares to tickle you. But he’s still smart despite being five tequila shots and a few beers in and uses his bulk against you to keep your movement to a minimum. Perhaps it’s a little cruel to take it out on you, but he still can’t get over the selfish simmering of regret at not suggesting you ditch Yoori in favor of letting him spend the day wrapped up in you. He missed you, is what it really boils down to.

“No,” you cackle underneath him, “No, please! Jungkook this isn’t fair. Please!”

He merely flashes you his teeth in a mean grin and continues until your eyes are shimmering with unshed tears and you’ve stopped squirming so you can keep your bladder in check.

“Jungkook, please,” you beg softly in surrender, toes curling.

Maybe it’s the angle. Maybe it’s the pleading voice you’re using, maybe it’s the sparkly quality of your eyes, or the fact that you smell like lavender. The color, not the flower, he notes. Whatever it is, his eyes fall closed automatically and he leans in to slot his mouth over yours. It’s a slow kiss and even though his tongue swipes across the seam of your lips, it has a chaste feeling still. You wriggle your arms out from under his weight and push him off you slowly. Thoughts of Yoori float around in the back of your mind and you can’t turn them away without feeling awful.

“We can’t get into anything today,” you snap and smooth out your skirt. “I got my period while I was out.” You wince when the lie comes out, but you don’t know if there’s any other way to put enough distance between you so you can keep your head straight.

He watches you look around until you spot your overnight bag at the end of the room. “Are you leaving?” His tone bleeds annoyance and takes on a sharp edge.

“Yeah,” you say like it’s obvious. Because it kind of is and the longer you stay, the weaker your resolve gets. “We can’t fool around if I’m on the rag.”

“Just because we can’t fool around, doesn’t mean I want you to leave.” He’s thinks for a second. “Do you want to leave?”

“Well, if we don’t fool around, I should probably go. Otherwise, why the hell am I here?”

His frustration flares up once more and you’re surprised that he’s as upset as he is. “Because I want you to be? And because maybe you want to be here too? Is that so weird? You said yourself this wasn’t anything to make a big deal of.”

“It’s not. But—”

“Then why the hell are you leaving?” He rakes both hands through his hair until he looks frazzled and barks out a sarcastic laugh. You’ve never seen him so angry with you before and strangely your first instinct is to get angrier.

“As opposed to sticking around? To do what?”

“I don’t know. Anything? We could play Mario Kart until our eyes bleed. You could let me practice kissing you and feeling you up all night. Or we could just be silent and drink until we both pass out. I really don’t care just…tell me what you want. Just stay if you want to stay.”

Your cheeks warm at his blunt words, but you put your bag down. He lets out a sigh of relief when you don’t charge out the front door, but he tenses up again when you head out the living room and only relaxes finally when he hears the shower start up. After nearly half an hour, you emerge looking squeaky clean and a little guilty in sweats. He’s not sure what the cause of the guilt is, but he tries not push. You shuffle over to stand in front of him, the sheepish curve of your shoulders making you look tiny.

You hesitate for a second before planting a knee on either side of his thighs and seating yourself in his lap. Your arms come to wrap around the breadth of his shoulders and you rest your cheek on top of his head.

“How was your day,” you mumble into the strands of his shiny chestnut hair.

He preens silently at the affection that he didn’t realize he’d been craving all day and his arms mirror yours. They come up to snake around your waist as he reclines a bit and shifts so he can relax into the couch without jostling you. Out of all of the things you’ve started physically doing with Jungkook, cuddling with him like this might be his favorite thing to do. There’s something incredibly satisfying about getting to bury himself in your scent and softness.

“Fine. Got my work done, skyped with RealiCorp. Met Tae for lunch. Tried to call you to see if you wanted to do dinner with us, but I guess you were busy. How was your time with Yoori?”

“It was,” you sigh, looking for the right word. “It was really fun. Honestly, its really nice to talk with another girl for a change. I’m glad we were able to.” He hums sympathetically and squeezes you a little tighter. “She’s really nice. You’ll be good together,” you admit.

He tenses a bit and changes the topic.

“I could fall asleep like this.” It’s the truth. The way your fingers run through his hair and the warmth of your breasts pillowing his head make him drowsy. Though he can’t focus on it as much as he’d like or else he’ll ruin the mood with an awkward boner.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, shifting so he can smile into your t-shirt.

“You’re so…” you can’t get the words out so instead you hastily smack a loud kiss onto his cheek.

It shocks both of you, but he doesn’t look put off. Instead, he merely adjusts his glasses, which you jostled with the force of your kiss. The gesture is so characteristically him that the floodgates open and you keep planting kisses on his face until he laughs and starts trying to catch your mouth with his own. He manages one or two cheeky kisses on your lips, but you swerve around enough to keep things PG. He huffs and keeps trying, one of his hands coming up to grab at your arm and keep you still. He leans forward, forcing you to lean back in his lap until you can’t anymore without risk of falling. When you clutch at his shoulders to maintain your balance, you’re right where he wants you.

Your eyes are squeezed shut as he brushes his nose against yours. It’s cute, he thinks. By now he knows in theory how you feel about period sex, but where’s the harm in kissing?

“Why are you being so shy? I just wanna kiss you,” he scoffs while attempting to nip at your bottom lip.

“Just kissing?” You open your eyes cautiously, lids at half-mast. He nods hurriedly, fingers drumming an impatient beat on the small of your back.

“O-Okay.” You barely get the word out before he’s swooping in with a low contented sound.

Making out just for the sake of making out reminds you of your time with your first boyfriend, the summer before college started. Only this is so much better because it’s Jungkook and because there’s no race to sex like there was when you were 18. Every press of lips is a deliberate choice and when you finally come up for air, somehow, you’re horizontal and are regretting the lie you told terribly.

He pulls away with a kiss-swollen pout and checks the time. When it’s an appropriate hour for bed and he suggests you both retire to the bedroom to watch TV before bed. You’re a little wary at first, but he’s a gentleman and doesn’t do anything untoward. He even lets you take control of his laptop and the HDMI cord while he writes continuously in his journal. You try to peer over at what he’s writing once you recognize it as his sex journal, but he pins you with such an offended look that you can only turn around feeling properly scolded without having actually been verbally addressed. You don’t think too much of the fact that he’s writing in it despite the fact that you haven’t done much in the amorous realm and he wrote on and off the entire day yesterday.

Even after you’ve watched three episodes of Elementary, he’s still writing. You unplug the computer and turn to look at him in his pretzel legged position. Every so often he’ll look over at you and then return to frantically writing in his journal. You try to engage him in an unspoken staring contest, but your eyelids drop closed and prevent you from winning. Only once it becomes clear that you’re trying to sleep does he wedge his journal underneath his half of the mattress and turn off the lights.

Passing through the weekend and into the next week doesn’t suddenly bring things back to normal. Instead it feels as though you’ve entered the twilight zone.

You and Yoori text on and off all of Sunday and into Monday to compare schedules and see when you can meet up for some quality girl time. This means that Yoori has started to come meet you outside your lecture halls when your classes end to walk to the library together and you arrive at your agreed meeting spots with her preferred coffee order. Your nails are holding up amazingly and you tell her so constantly while she smiles at how excited you are at something she often takes for granted.

Yoori suggested you have your your study sessions in the corner of the library coffee shop because the picture window shows all the light snow you’ve been getting and provides a nice form of visual ambiance to work to. Sometimes the guys attempt to crash the sessions. Often times you have to shoo them away by letting them take your ID card to stock up on hot chocolates with extra whip from the front counter. Your funds are depleting at an alarming rate, but it’s better to have the uninterrupted time with your first girl friend in a long time so you can get to know her better.

“So, are you going home during winter break,” you ask one day while typing away at the results section of a lab report. Yoori sits across from you in an oversized cashmere sweater you wish you could pull of half as well as she does. She’s been working silently for nearly an hour and you know she won’t take a break unless you distract her from the work.

At the sound of your voice, her head pops up instantly, her loose bun spilling out of its structure with the movement and cascading down her back. A freshman walking by the table nearly slams into a door trying to keep looking back at the same time. She closes her laptop, completely unaware of her effect on the people in the surrounding area.

“Yeah, I am. I haven’t in the past few years but my grandparents are coming from the countryside, so I should probably go this time.”

“Oh, that’s nice of you. I’m sure they’d all like to see you.”

“Are you going?”

“No,” you give a bittersweet smile as you play with the damp stirring stick next to your drink. “My family lives too far away for me to be able to go home and make the plane ride worth it. I’ll probably see them in the summer, though.”

“Won’t you be lonely? Do you want to come home with me?” Her brow furrows in sympathy and she reaches out to rub at your arm.

“No, that’s okay, I’ll be fine. It’s not my first rodeo, you know. Plus usually some, if not all, of the guys stick around since they live nearby but still want a break from their families during the day. But thank you though.”

“Okay, well there’s still time if you want to change your mind.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Are you almost done?”

“Almost. I’m waiting on my VASP energies to come in and then I can update my poster and I’ll be all set.”

“VASP? Since when do you do chemistry,” you get up to peer at her computer screen.

Yoori pats the open seat next to her and let her explain the very quick favor she’s doing with a professor she’s been in contact with since undergrad when she thought she would be pre-health.

“—So basically, now she’s just waiting to evaluate grain boundary energies to see if the electrolytes we’re using actually have the right structure to make a difference in hydrogen atom velocities. And I’m just here to help with some minor calculations.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

A small ping from your phone alerts you of an incoming text from ~JK~.

Is Yoori with you?

“Um, I think Jungkook is trying to reach you.”

“Oh! I keep my phone on silent during the day,” she explains and hurriedly switches on the volume before opening whatever texts he must have sent her before he texted you.

“Really?”

“I have yours set on urgent, though.”

You grin. “And why’s that?”

“Because! What if you send me another meme about neural networks? I can’t just let it rot away in my inbox.”

“No one appreciates my memes like you do.”

“Aren’t I great?”

“So great,” you admit with clenched eyes and fists for dramatic feeling.

“I wish I didn’t have to go. I’m enjoying you complimenting me.”

“Oh. Are you headed somewhere?”

“Unfortunately, yes. The energy files just arrived and I’m about to finish entering them. I think Jungkook wants to meet up to discuss things, so I’m just going to pack up now and meet him at the dining commons before the dinner rush kicks in. I’ll text you later.”

“Okay, sure.”

After Yoori packs up to leave, you consider texting Jungkook to ask what he plans on discussing with her, but it feels so clingy and invasive that you’re ashamed of yourself and force yourself to dive into work. The lab report is nearly done, but there are a few articles you could read to get further ahead in your classes. It takes a long while, and you work through the usual dinner time to do it, but you manage to finish thanks to having turned your phone off as soon as Yoori left.

When you turn it back on there are a few recent messages from Taehyung and Hoseok inquiring about late night munchies plans. You figure eating with them is better than eating soup alone in the middle of the nearby convenience store. And better than ignoring the messages in favor of going home early to have pity sleep for dinner. You text them back saying that you’ll meet them in 10 and pack your things up.

You arrive at the smoothie place feeling haggard and not ready to balance Taehyung’s energy and Hoseok’s chaotic existence. The bright side is that there is a medium chocolate shake sitting in the empty seat at the tiny high table they’ve managed to save. You greet them with a tired smile and immediately suck down the drink, reveling in the way the chocolate is already lifting your spirits a bit.

“You look like shit,” Hoseok greets you. Taehyung slaps his arm, but turns to you with concerned eyes.

“Are you sleeping?”

“Why are you guys acting like you don’t see me passed out throughout random parts of the day 80% of the time?”

“Because you don’t look like you do,” Hoseok quips. At your blank stare, he goes back to innocently sipping his guava juice. “Just looking out for you, buddy.”

“Yeah, well I slept all of this weekend, thank you very much. What about you guys? You get up to trouble at the Dairy Queen again? Is that why we’re here this time?”

Tae nods somberly. “Hobi put lit firecrackers in their dumpsters again. But this time he almost caused their elderly delivery guy to go into cardiac arrest.”

“Something is wrong with you.” Hoseok merely winks at you in response.

“The worst part is that I didn’t even have anything to do with it, but they still wouldn’t let me in, even when it was just me and Kook,” Taehyung whines.

Hoseok snorts. “Ok, that’s on you. You were my accomplice even though you technically didn’t touch the fireworks but people remember your face better than they do mine. Should have waited at least a week before trying to go back in there.”

“Wait, this was all in one weekend?”

“Yeah,” Tae reaches over and dips a fry into your cup. “The fireworks were Friday, after game night. And then we tried to go in on Saturday, but they wouldn’t let us in. We tried calling you and everything.”

“You’re mad at me now? It’s not like I could have helped you.”

“Yeah, you could have,” Hoseok corrects, gesturing to your general chest area. “You’ve got the tits for that sort of thing.”

“Why are we friends,” you ask him with a soulless smile.

“Because you won’t let me motorboat you.” His response is immediate and just as dry. It spooks you a little.

“Well, I’m gonna go. I would say it’s been fun, but it hasn’t.”

“Wait!” Taehyung scrambles out of his chair and helps you back into yours. “You can’t leave. Jungkook might be done soon and said he’ll try and meet up with us. It’ll be the first time we’ve all been out together in such a long time.”

“We literally saw her on Friday,” Hoseok groans and tosses his head back in what looks like a mini tantrum. You roll your eyes.

“That was at Kook’s house, that’s not ‘out’. It doesn’t count.” Taehyung turns to plead with you, eyes big and starry, with a comical pout on his face. “Please stay? For me? Ignore him. I do.”

“Hey!”

“Fine,” you sigh before shaking your empty cup. “But I need another one of these. And Hobi is buying.”

“Like hell I am.”

“Do I have to remind you that if it weren’t for you and your whipped cream fixation, I wouldn’t be in the red for dining dollars and I might be able to afford my own drinks from time to time? You owe me, Jung.” You try to poke his sternum menacingly, but he moves to snap his teeth at your finger and you quickly pull back with a shriek. He agrees, though its reluctantly at best.

While Hoseok waits in the line to order your refill, Taehyung scoots his chair closer to yours. Carefully, he attempts conversation.

“How are you holding up?”

“With what, work? It’s the same as always. Tedious.”

“No, I mean with…Did Kook not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“That he planned to officially ask Yoori out tonight,” his voice is quiet and uncertain.

“Oh. No, he didn’t tell me. But, it’s not like its our right to know. He’s an adult. H-how did you find out, though?”

“He told me.”

“And me,” Hoseok says as he sets down the second milkshake in front of you.

“I see.”

You start drinking on autopilot, too busy thinking about why Jungkook wouldn’t tell you such big news despite your being his best friend. You figure maybe he found out about your big fat crush on him and decided he’d rather tiptoe around you than have to let you down gently. Or maybe he just didn’t care enough about you enough to tell you these things now that Yoori was in the picture. What’s good is that the latter thought doesn’t make any resentment towards Yoori rise in your stomach. Instead you just want to curl up in a ball and wonder you did in your past life to deserve such a horrendous love life. Or, you suppose, lack thereof.

“He just shared his location. I think he’s on the way,” Taehyung tentatively disrupts you from zoning out any further.

If you hurried, you could probably take the campus shuttle home and be on your way home before Jungkook arrives, but part of you wants to see how he’ll explain his decision to you. You decide to stay because you don’t want to be anything less than supportive of his new relationship though it’s kind of crushing you in the process.

“Tell him to hurry up, then. You know what happens when I drink cold things,” your voice is light and a little bouncier than is appropriate and you know Taehyung knows what’s going on in your head. But Hoseok doesn’t and you don’t want him to.

Jungkook arrives 10 minutes later with Yoori in tow. She looks sheepish until she sees you sitting at the table and her dimples make an appearance. She runs ahead of Jungkook to envelope you in a hug. You’re still working on the physical boundaries of your friendship given that you’re not a huge fan of suffocation. Still, you pat her arm and let her get her fill before pulling back and offering up half of your chair. She gratefully accepts it and links arms with you immediately after settling down. Everyone scoots closer to open up more space and Jungkook pulls up a seat as well.

“It’s good to see you both, again,” Yoori chirps politely. Hoseok melts at the sound of her voice and beams at her. It’s gross.

“We’re good. It’s nice to see you so often now.” Taehyung chances a look at you. The initial shock of watching you and Yoori become fast friends apparently still hasn’t worn off. You don’t blame him but he’s so obvious about it.

“It is, isn’t it? You guys are just so fun to be around.”

“We like hanging out with you too, Yoori.” Hoseok’s voice climbs almost half an octave trying to sound so abnormally accommodating. Everyone else tries to contain their laughter. “You know, you still haven’t come visit me at the dance studio. I’m starting to get hurt feelings.”

“W-well, it’s just that I’ve been so busy and I still haven’t figured out a gap in my schedule when I can properly come see you. I’m very sorry,” she squeezes your arm unconsciously as she bows her head a little to him in apology. Your pulse picks up sympathetically for her.

“Hobi, if she wanted to see you do sweaty body rolls in an empty room, don’t you think she would have done it already?” When his smile twitches at your comment you add a quick, “I’m only trying to be realistic. I’m looking out for you, buddy.”

Yoori hisses your name in your ear, but you can tell that she’s trying not to smile at your sharp wit from her tone of voice.

“Anyway,” Hoseok starts up again, “Yoori, don’t you and Jungkookie have some good news to tell us all?”

Yoori’s cheeks redden at the sudden shift in topic and she looks to Jungkook for help. His face is similarly pink with embarrassment, but he still clears his throat like he’s about to make a toast.

“It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to say that I can’t do game night this Friday since I’ll be having dinner with Yoori in town.”

“You’re all welcome to join us, if you like,” she quickly amends. Your eyes widen and you swoop in to help Jungkook save face. You know it probably took him a lot to muster the courage to ask her out in the first place and if you don’t do anything, you know Hoseok will gladly wriggle his way in and ruin the date.

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly intrude on your dinner. But, thank you, for the offer. Right Tae? Right, Hobi?” Hoseok sulks but wordlessly agrees to stay out of their date.

“Yeah,” Taehyung jumps in to help you. “We’ll just have the game night at my place. I want to play cards anyway, instead of console games this time around.”

Everyone nods until the awkward air dissipates and all that’s left is the background noise of the diner and the sound of people finishing their drinks. The cold from your shakes starts to seep into your bones and you decide to use this as your exit ticket.

“Hey, sorry to ruin the fun, but I’m freezing and I didn’t bring a real jacket, so I think I’m gonna head home. You guys have fun without me, though.”

“You can just wear my sweater,” Jungkook pipes up and begins to pull the thick, woolen pullover he was wearing over his head. But you hold your hand up to stop him as you get down from your stool and collect your trash.

“No, Kook, you’re fine. I’m just gonna use the cold as motivation to get to the bus quicker. Have a good night, everyone.”

“It’s colder out there. At least take his sweater,” Yoori calls out to you. “For me,” she adds when you look like you’re thinking about it.

“Fine,” you huff as you take the sweater from Jungkook. You slide it on in front of everyone so they can have their worries assuaged. It’s still toasty from his leftover body heat and smells like his laundry detergent. He might not get it back for a while. “See? I’ll definitely be fine now.”

“Why don’t I go with you? I’ve still got a robotics assignment I have to work on. Plus, we can split cab fare instead of waiting for the bus.” Tae shrugs on his own coat and goes to stand by you.

“Okay.” You ignore his probing look until you finish waving to everyone and leave the restaurant.

Taehyung shoves his hands in his pockets as you request a ride home through an app on your phone. The silence is companionable, but the waves of pity and sympathy rolling off Taehyung are damn near palpable and you’re about to burst if you don’t address it.

“Just say what you’re thinking. I can practically hear it anyway.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m not 12. I’m not going to be devastated just because they’re going out on one date.”

“Yeah, but,” Taehyung hesitates for a bit, trying to cushion the blow, “You know it’s just a matter of time before they become official, right?”

“I know that too,” you wince when your voice cracks a little.

“If you ever need anything, you know we’re here for you.” You raise an incredulous eyebrow at the implication that Hosoek would do anything less than laugh in your face if you came to him looking for comfort. “Well, I am, at least.”

“I know, Tae. Thank you.” You let him wrap you in a one-armed hug, but don’t let him pull away so you can steal his warmth as you wait for your car to arrive.

Yoori’s apartment is nicer than anything you’ve ever seen. So much so that you have a hard time believing that you even live in the same town. It’s technically not your first time visiting her building and you’ve called many a late night cab from her plush lobby. You’ve even started to make small talk with her doorman since you’re there so often. But something was keeping you from coming up and visiting her actual apartment. All the times you’d hung out off campus had been at your place or at Jungkook’s place. There had been a lull in all that since Jungkook announced that they’d be going on a date only a few days prior.

After that fateful day, it was hard to act like there hadn’t been subtle changes in the way people were acting. Jungkook was suddenly super busy or always at the gym and couldn’t ever pick up your calls. And when he did return them it was only when you were dead asleep and couldn’t pick up your phone. For that, you were actually kind of grateful because you were certain that the next time you saw him on your own, he would try to break it to you that he couldn’t return your affections and that you could no longer be friends.

Taehyung and Hoseok, on the other hand, were still somewhat normal, but Hoseok was too excited about Yoori’s unofficial entry into the friend group and Taehyung kept soft-touching you like he could take up your pain through osmosis. Yoori was the only one who hadn’t suddenly turned weird and it was only because she wasn’t aware of the chaos floating around you all.

When she’d asked you to come shopping with her on the high street, you had a hunch that it was so she could get some new outfits for the many date nights with Jungkook ahead. You didn’t expect her to try and rope you into buying things as well, though you managed to get out it by truthfully explaining to her that Taehyung and Hoseok were still using your student ID like it was a credit card in someone else’s name and you had to be frugal as a result. But just when you thought you were in the clear as you approached her building, she invited you up to help her style the stuff she bought and stick around for dinner. To keep from having to explain yourself, you said yes.

But you instantly regretted it as you stood in the middle of her chicly decorated bedroom with picture windows and realized that despite the fact that you were extremely fond of Yoori, there was still a very small part of you that wished you had her life. It felt juvenile and reminded you that even after you stopped being a teenager you still had a ton of self-esteem issues left to address. The sooner you finished helping her with her outfits, the sooner you could maybe curl up on her couch and down the bottle of wine you bought while you were shopping earlier.

“I don’t think I like this one as much now that we’re not in the store anymore.” Yoori frowns at her reflection from inside the walk-in closet. The fact that she had a walk-in closet did not surprise you, but your mouth still dropped open when you the little seating area and the full-length panel of mirrors inside of it.

You finish picking out an alternative and then call out to her. “Come out and let me see it?”

She emerges in a short and slinky dress that would be perfect if it weren’t for the way it slouched at the neckline. It seemed intentional in the store with the way the salesman was pushing hard for her to buy it, but now it looked oddly frumpy.

“I think I see what you mean. Turn?” She obeys and turns gracefully, the skirt flaring out around her hips. “Why don’t you try these? They’d look amazing with that red blouse you wore when we went to the movies that one time.” You hand her some satiny trousers that she picked up on a whim but ended up really liking. If she paired them with red, Jungkook’s favorite color, he’d eat his heart out.

“You’re right, I think this is the one,” Yoori smiles widely at you and comes out with two pairs of shoes in her hand. Silently you point to the pair that would go better with the outfit, the ones with a subtle gold traces etched into the stiletto heel.

“If you want, you can wear your hair in a ponytail. Show off your neck, he’ll like it.”

“Really?” She laughs, slightly bashful. “Is he a neck guy?”

“For you? He’s a neck guy, hand guy, lips guy, ass guy. You name it.” As soon as Yoori hangs up her outfit for the date and puts it on her closet door, you flop face first into her bed, exhausted in so many ways.

“Why do you know so much about his, um, preferences? Is he vocal about that sort of thing?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” your voice is muffled by her bedspread.

“And are you not vocal about that sort of thing, then?”

Luckily she can’t see your face as you roll the question around in your head. You’re no prude and if it weren’t for the unfortunate series of events that is your life, you would love nothing more than to swap sex stories with Yoori as a form of bonding. But given that you can’t and you don’t really want to end up having to listen to her talk about sex with him when it comes, you decide one more white lie won’t hurt.

“I’m just a really private person, so I don’t really do that.”

“Good to know,” she chuckles and you miss the disappointed look on her face when she realizes she won’t be able to share with you. Although, it would make sense that you wouldn’t want to hear her talk about your childhood best friend like that. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Sleep.”

“Are you tired? How about we take a rain check and think about it again in a few hours? I’m gonna go come up with some slides for my coding class, but you’re welcome to nap in here and I’ll wake you up before it gets too late.”

“That…sounds great. Thanks, Yoori.”

“No problem.”

You wait until she closes her bedroom door and you’re certain you’re alone. When the sound of the soft music that she plays when she works drifts through the speakers in her living room, you crawl up to the head of the bed, get under the covers, and cry into the pillow. The sleep that follows is amazing though and you think it’s half because your body was running on fumes and half because Yoori has the best mattress you’ve ever slept on.

[brittle-bone-gabe]

An Introduction: Chapter One - Eddie Kaspbrak

Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven

Summary: Introducing each of the Loser aspiring heroes.

Read on Ao3: Here

Quirks were a scary concept for Eddie Kaspbrak, they were painful, made him sick… sick… sick and more sick. In fact, quirks stemmed from an illness, or at least that’s what his mother told him. Apparently as a child the first sign of Eddie’s “illness” was how high his temperature had gotten; first it was 104 degrees, a cause for concern obviously, so the five-year-old was taken into the hospital. The whole trip there Eddie kept claiming he was fine, the only complaint was from his mother since apparently Eddie couldn’t even feel how hot his forehead was. No signs of the flu or cold, ER doctors assumed it was another type of virus that was attacking his immune system, but after putting him through many unnecessary tests that both terrified him and made him exhausted. 

Waiting for the remainder of the tests to come back was taking an extremely long time, but it would be worth it if it figured out what was going on, right? Well, Sonia Kaspbrak would soon be disappointed when the ER doctor came back to announce that all the tests came back that Eddie was as healthy as a child could be; minus the growing fever which had jumped up to almost 200 degrees. The doctors and nurses thought that maybe the thermometer was malfunctioning, but after trying four different thermometers and each of them giving the same answer they had to rule that out. Again, Eddie didn’t understand what they were talking about, he felt just fine. 

The only thing that could give them a step in the right direction was when Eddie had let out a sneeze, smoke coming out of his nose. That’s when things were starting to click for one of the ER doctors, ordering the nurse to get a quick x-ray of Eddie’s toes. It was an odd test and Sonia had no idea why that would be necessary, but if they could figure it out that way then by all means. The nurses couldn’t even touch Eddie since whenever they did it was as though they were touching a hot pan, all they could do was talk to Eddie and instruct him how to lay and move his foot during the x-ray. 

That’s when the ER doctor finally had his answer. After seeing the x-ray emailed back to the doctor, he made sure to gather the physical copies so he could show the Kaspbrak’s what exactly was going on with young Eddie. Once the doctor put the x-ray film up on the light box that was hanging in the ER room, Eddie was highly interested in what he was seeing, as he couldn’t believe they ‘got a picture of his bones!’ Sonia had slapped his arm, regretting it immediately as it had burned her, but told her son to shush so she could hear what the doctor had to say. 

“If you notice here, Ms. Kaspbrak,” the doctor had begun to explain, circling the area of Eddie’s pinkie toe with the back of his pen, “he’s missing a joint in this toe.” 

“Okay? What does that have to do with anything?” Sonia snapped at him, glancing over at her son who was playing happily with the toy airplane he had brought along with him. 

“What that means is that this is highly likely this is just a quirk he’s finally manifested.” 

“A quirk?!” Sonia more or less screeched, looking disgusted at just the thought that her son had a quirk. “That’s impossible! He can’t have a quirk! I don’t have a quirk. His father didn’t have a quirk, how did this happen?!” 

The doctor shrugged, surprised at how Sonia was reacting to all of this. ‘I’m not sure. There’s really no connection between-” 

“This is not a quirk!” 

The doctor let out a sigh, reaching behind him to grab the cold cup of water he had brought in with him. “Ms. Kaspbrak, it’s really not a big deal that he has a quirk. In fact, 80% of the world population has a-” 

“No! He is sick!” 

The doctor was no longer interested in trying to convince her that what Eddie was experiencing was just a normal thing to most people. Now he had to figure out how to cool him down so he could send him home and get her the hell out of his ER so she’d stop ordering people around and telling them what Eddie needs when really he was just minding his own business being a kid and had no idea what his mom was doing. 

“Hey, Eddie,” the doctor started, scooting the chair closer over to the bed the five-year-old was still laying in, “can you put your hand in here?” He asked, holding the cold water out to him. 

“Um…” Eddie looked over his shoulder to his mother, who rolled her eyes at the doctor’s request, but just nodded at her son to go ahead to do what he said. “Okay…” A little nervous since he knew that it was wrong, Eddie still dunked his hand into the cup. Steam came from his skin, Eddie watched again in amazement. “Whoa!”

The doctor dried off Eddie’s hand before touching it, it went from burning hot to normal temperature. 

After confirming that Eddie’s temperature did, in fact, go back down to 98 degrees the Kaspbrak’s were free to leave the ER. Needless to say Sonia was not happy at all with the result… A quirk… How absurd, she had purposely married someone who was also quirkless to make sure this would never happen… 

“Isn’t it cool, mommy?” Eddie had asked from the backseat of his mother's car. “I hava quirk!” 

Sonia gripped the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles turned white, grumbling something under her breath. No… No, it was not ‘cool’ that he had a quirk. It was… Sonia had a perfect idea. She pulled the car over on the road she was driving, turning around in her seat to face her son. 

“Honey… you don’t understand.” Eddie looked at his mom with wide eyes, knowing that she was serious. “Having a quirk means you’re very sick.” 

“Sick? But I feel fine.” 

“I don’t have a quirk, honey, and I’m not sick.”

“Oh…” 

“You can’t tell anyone about your sickness, Eddie Bear, okay? Promise mommy.” 

“But…” 

“You don’t want to upset mommy, do you?”

“No…” 

                                                            -----

For almost ten years Eddie tried to keep his quirk under wraps, making sure he carried a water bottle around with him just in case his body temperature stayed in check. Not going to lie, Eddie did work with his quirk behind his mother's back after school, claiming that he was doing an afterschool program. His mother was happy that he was doing extracurricular activities and Eddie would work with his quirk, it was a win-win situation.

Turns out Eddie’s quirk was a sort of pyrokinesis, meaning he could create and control fire. There were a couple of times while focusing extremely hard where Eddie could actually start a fire with his mind, but usually only happened when he got extremely frustrated. So far he was only limited with breathing fire, which was cool, but Eddie wanted to do more with his quirk. The only downside to this was if Eddie pushed himself too much while breathing fire it would trigger an asthma attack, and having that in the field alone he found was quite scary and needed to keep his inhaler close.

About two weeks ago Eddie had sent in an application to a new hero school that had just recently opened up in America, a school that originated over in Japan, apparently one of the top hero schools in the country. U.A. High School was located over in New York, an entire seven hours away from Maine; Eddie wouldn’t mind having that distance between him and his mother. She was overbearing, always telling him that he was sick when really he knew that he wasn’t, she’s never really eased up on it, but Eddie now found a way to stand up for himself. Of course, when Eddie told his mother that he was thinking about filling out an application for U.A. High… saying she flipped out was an understatement… First, she tried convincing him that thousands of kids were going to apply for the school and his application was just going to get lost in with them all. When that didn’t work, she started getting mad, saying he was not going to send in his application and she was forbidding it; Eddie filled it out anyways. She has yet to find that out, yet  she had to remind him of his “illness,” saying that he would be too sick to attend. 

Bullshit. It was all bullshit. He was going to do his best to get into that school, and his mother was not going to stop him from this opportunity. 

Eddie had to make sure he made it home from his field before his mother got back from her doctors appointment. He was expecting his letter from U.A. High any day now, and knowing his mother if she got to it before he did she would throw it away and never let him have it. He didn’t have high expectations about getting accepted, but he would be damned if his mother would cause him to miss his opportunity. She was right… thousands of kids were going to apply, it would be a miracle if he made it in. Well, at least he tried, right?  

After checking the time on his phone, Eddie ran over to his bike that was sitting next to the dirt trail that led to his peaceful spot. He needed to get home ASAP, his mother’s appointment wouldn’t take too long and he had to check the mail. 

He pedaled as fast as he could down the dirt trail, the mail should’ve been there by now. Eddie was so sure it would be here soon, it had to be, he managed to get to the mailbox every day for a week before his mother could, even if that meant he had to skip his “after school activities” just to do so. Nothing. Every single time. Nothing was there. He was starting to wonder if maybe it came a while ago and his mother took it and left the other letters in the mailbox for him to go through. 

After he told a couple of people in his grade that he applied to they just kinda rolled their eyes as if they didn’t believe him, that, or they didn’t believe he would make it anyways. Everyone around him was doubting him so much that even Eddie was starting to doubt himself. Maybe applying for U.A. High was just a mistake, that could’ve been time and effort used for someone else, someone who was better than him. Not many people believed Eddie a useful quirk, hell, most kids thought he was quirkless just because he never demonstrated his while everyone else would take any chance they could to show off their quirk. Eddie was sure that if he used his quirk in school that the teachers would tell his mother immediately, and if she found out she would scold him, reminding him of his “sickness” and how all the other kids were also sick for having quirks. Eddie knew that wasn’t true, almost everyone had quirks, it was just a normal thing, why wasn’t he allowed to be normal?   

Sweat was pouring off Eddie’s forehead, he could feel his body temperature rising to high levels, he had to stop to pull out his water bottle, pouring it over himself so he could be at normal temps again. Recently Eddie’s began to notice that his skin would start to turn pink if he overused his quirk, ultimately causing him to have an asthma attack. He wasn’t ready to tell his mother about that, even though she told him to tell her anything that changes, if he told her about how his quirk triggers asthma attacks there would be no way he’d be allowed to stay after school anymore. Fuck that, Eddie needed all the practice he could get, just in case. Even if he didn’t get accepted to U.A. High he would start applying for other hero schools in the area, but maybe a bit further away from home, as Eddie still wanted some distance between him and his mother. Understandable though, right? 

Eddie stopped in front of the mailbox that sat in front of his house at the end of the driveway, he wasn’t sure if his mother was home or not, as she kept her car parked in the garage. He opened the mailbox to find it empty. Empty? That wasn’t right… It was almost four, the mail should’ve been here by now. Strange… 

He dropped his bike in the front yard before going inside the house to make sure his mother didn’t drop the mail off in the kitchen before leaving to go to her appointment. That had to be it, right? Yeah, that’s what it was… Unfortunately, when Eddie walked in the front door his mother was sitting on her usual spot on the couch, the TV was off which was unusual. Eddie stood there, motionless with his backpack still over his shoulders. The air was tense between them and Eddie had no idea why, so he remained silent until she would say something.

“Eddie Bear,” his mother started sweetly, but her tone made Eddie cringe, knowing that he was in trouble for something. 

“Y-yeah?” He stammered, looking at her, trying to keep his breathing steady. 

“Why do you want to upset mommy?” Again, Eddie cringed. He wished she would stop calling herself that, he wasn’t a kid anymore, he was fifteen and didn’t like being treated like a child. 

“Wh-what do you mean?” Even though Eddie didn’t do anything wrong he still felt guilty as if he did. 

Next to Sonia’s spot on the couch she picked up an unopened envelope that was marked as a letter from U.A. High. Eddie’s eyes went wide, his letter was finally here, but fuck… He was hoping that he could have grabbed it before she did. Fuck fuck fuck. Eddie stepped forward so he could take the letter for her, but Sonia pulled the letter back towards her so he couldn’t grab it. Eddie swallowed hard before taking a step back as his mother stood up from the couch. 

“Can I have my letter? Please?” Eddie asked her, hoping she would just skip past the dramatics and let him have what was his. 

“Absolutely not!” She said loudly, her hands now on her hips as if Eddie actually did do something wrong. This wasn’t fair at all, he knew that what he did wasn’t wrong. “I told you not to apply for that school full of sick people! Do you want your sickness to get worse?!” She demanded. 

“Mom-” 

“Don’t you understand that if you go to this school you’ll be away from me? I’m sick too, Edward! Not like them, but I’m still sick! Are you going to leave your sick mother behind?!” 

“Mom-” 

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Or a stroke? I’ll have one or the other if you keep making me worry like this! What do I keep telling you, Eddie? Stress will kill your mother!”

“Mo-”

“What would your father think?!” 

Frustrated, Eddie let out a deep, forcefully sigh, accidentally activating his quirk. Fire came out of his mouth, the rug under his feet caught a small fire. Sonia shreked in fear or either the fire or the fact her son used his quirk, Eddie couldn’t tell and didn’t really care at the moment. He stomped on the small fire so it wouldn’t spread. Once it was extinguished, Eddie let out a (normal) sigh of relief, looking back up at his mother whose eyes were wide, her hand on her chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie told his mother, taking a small step forward, but his mother took a step back to the point she almost fell back onto the couch. “Mom, I’m sorry.” 

“Why would you use your sickness against me?!” She demanded, her face red from anger. 

“I didn’t! It’s not a sickness, mom!” Eddie snapped back at her, leaving Sonia completely speechless as Eddie never talked back to her before. “I’m normal, okay?! I’m normal! Almost everybody has a quirk!” 

While Sonia was looking for the words to say, Eddie took this opportunity to snatch the letter away from her. Talking back and snatching things away from her? Sonia had no idea where she went wrong. Normally her Eddie Bear was sooo well behaved and would never act like this. Eddie turned his back to her, walking into the kitchen as he ripped the envelope open, his heart slamming against his chest as he was getting ready to read what he had assumed was going to be his rejection letter. 

Dear Edward Kaspbrak,

I am delighted to inform you that you have been admitted to U.A. High School! Please accept my personal congratulations for your outstanding application and written exam. 

Nearly twenty thousand students have applied for the limited places for our Freshmen class. We were faced with many more talented and qualified candidates than we have room to host, the Admissions Committee has taken great care to choose individuals who present academic and personal strengths.   

With the card enclosed, you will receive your exam number and test location to decide class placements. Your exam date is also located on this card. If you need help with transportation it will be arranged. In the meantime, if you have any questions please contact us.  

Holy shit, he did it. He actually fucking did it. Tears were in Eddie’s eyes as he was feeling an overwhelming amount of happiness and excitement. Honestly, Eddie had prepared himself for a week to read a rejection letter that he didn’t prepare himself for an acceptance letter. He was so excited that he didn’t hear his mother enter the kitchen. 

“Edward,” she said firmly, snapping Eddie out of his moment of happiness as he slowly turned around to face her, the smile gone from his face. “What does it say.” It wasn’t a question.

“I… got accepted,” he said weakly, as if he wasn’t just overly excited for the first time in his life like he was just mere seconds ago. He looked at his feet, he didn’t want to look her in the eyes. 

It was silent for a moment, scaring Eddie, she never got like this and he wasn’t going to lie, it was pretty terrifying. Eddie had assumed that she was planning his murder and how to get away with it. Finally, she let out a deep, frustrated sigh. Sonia didn’t say a word, instead, she turned around and stomped up the stairs. Moments later Eddie could hear her slam the door to her bedroom shut, so much force was behind it that some of the items in the kitchen shook. 

Well… it was safe to say she wasn’t excited for him.  

[langstyboi]

See You Now [Kiribaku]

For all his life Bakugou had trouble seeing. His vision was just extremely bad, but no one had noticed. Especially not him. For the longest time he'd gone around squinting at everything without a though. It was natural for him and nothing really seemed wrong. To others he just seemed to be eternally pissed off. He was a pretty temperamental guy, but his resting bitch face paired with a squint only pushed that persona. No one had noticed something was wrong until one day in class.

"Bakubro!" Kirishima had called out to the frustrated blonde, "Are you having trouble seeing the board?" Bakugou was leaning over his desk and squinting hard towards the front of the classroom. His seat wasn't too far from the board so Kirishima was rightfully concerned.

"Oh fuck off. I'm fine." Bakugou was trying to copy the notes, but failing and misreading a lot. "What the hell does that even say!? This is just bullshit..." He angrily looked at his notes witch sounded like random word vomit.

Kirishima leaned over and put a hand on his friends shoulder. "Dude do you need to get your eyes checked? That's not what that says at all." Bakugou's frown deepened. He didn't think he needed glasses. Sure he'd never been checked, but he could see fine! Right?

"No! I'm not some blind nerd! Now piss off shitty hair I need to finish this." Kirishima shrugged and sat back as Bakugou went back to his notes. His head was starting to hurt as well as his eyes. After a few minutes he gave a frustrated sigh and looked back at Kirishima. "Ok I can't read that shit."

"So are we going to the eye doctors?"

"Why the hell do you wanna come?" Bakugou got defensive, even though he wants Kirishima to tag along. He's never been to an optometrist and he wasn't scared but having a familiar person around wouldn't be bad.

"Well I want to help you pick out a cool pair of glasses! Something really awesome." The red haired ball of sunshine smiled and looked expectantly at his friend. Awaiting approval.

"Whatever. Just don't embarrass me or some shit. Got it?" Kirishima nodded in response and tried to help Bakugou fix his messy notes.

Later that evening, Bakugou talked to his mom about the issue and she set up an appointment for him.

~~time skip brought to you by sleep deprivation~~

Bakugou, Kirishima, and Bakugou's mom had just arrived at the vision place. The boys wondered off to look at frames while Mitsuki filled out the necessary paperwork. There were so many styles it was a little overwhelming. Kirishima kept trying on the ugliest frames he could find and making goofy faces. Bakugou was pouting and hoping he didn't have to get glasses because he'd feel like a nerd. But eventually he tried on a few pairs and found some he didn't hate. They kept going to the sunglasses and Bakogou wanted some of those instead of normal glasses. He'd look totally badass, even if it was impractical. His mom said no.

Eventually he had to go back to see the doctor. His mom and Kirishima went with him, and he seemed annoyed but was actually pretty grateful. They at him down in an office chair and shoved his face in a weird machine. He had to focus on a green dot as they blew air into his eye. The first time he jumped about ten feet back and Kirishima died laughing. The second time was no different.  Next he was in another machine staring at a picture of something tiny. That machine made the picture go in and out of focus but nothing else seemed to happen. After that was the typical eye chart evaluation.

He struggled to read the second and third lines of letters and after that was just a complete mess. Mitsuki leaned over to Kirishima to whisper. "God I never noticed he was this blind. Am I a bad mom?" She joked and he laughed. Bakugou looked at the two distrustfully.

"What the hell are you laughing at Shitty Hair?" At that moment a lady walked in.

"Bakugou, the doctor will see you now. Follow me." With that she turned and they followed.

Bakugou sat in the big chair and waited for the doctor. When she finally arrived she introduced herself before talking to his mom about family history and such. Soon the rolled over on her chair and pulled a big metal thing against his face.

"Alright, what I'm going to do is flip these lens thing back and forth. I'll tell you what numbers they are and you just tell me which one looks clearer. Understand?" He nodded and she began the process. She had a gentle and melodic tone, never skipping a beat. It was back and forth.

"One. Or two?"

"Two."

"Three. Or four."

"Three."

One eye and then the next. It was an oddly soothing exchange. Everything was quiet and serene. The cool metal felt nice and it was not as bad he he though it would be at all. After she was done with that, the doctor then pulled yet another odd thing up to Bakugous face. She swiveled to sit in front of him and looked into his eyes through the microscope like contraption. Then she was finally done. She talked about the results and sent them out.

They went to another person. This guy helped fit the frames and make different measurements and adjustments. After he was done he told them to come back in an hour. The glasses would be done by then.

The three left the place and got some ice cream to pass the time. They went back and Bakugou had a nervous excitement in his stomach. How different would things look? As soon as he slid the glasses on his face he audibly gasped. Everything was so clear. So bright. The world looked high definition and unreal. He took a moment to take everything in before turning to his best friend. He wasn't prepared for what he saw.

"So?" Kirishima asked happily.

He'd never gotten a good look at anyone face due to his awful sight, but the first person he clearly saw amazed him. The wide, excited grin was so visible. The deep, red eyes sparkling into his were gorgeous. The cute little scar above Kirishima's right eye he'd never noticed before added to the adorableness. Bakugou was a blushing mess.

He averted his attention, looking around the room in gay panic. His heart was beating fast. 'God that idiot is so cute!'  His mom finally asked how he felt. Hopefully they'd assume that shock was solely the doing of his new ability to see. He looked at her for the first time. 'Damn do you have wrinkles, old hag'  He thought to himself, he didn't want to get slapped.

"Wow." Was all he could manage.

They left after Bakugou got his glasses properly fitted. Kirishima was eager to show Bakugou the 'whole new world' now that he could see. His mom dropped them off at a park near their house and told them to be back by dinner. Unknown to Bakugou, Kirishima had plans.

"Dude, the world can be so awesome! We have a lot to do! So much to show!!" Kirishima grabbed Bakugou by the hand and pulled him along. The dumb look on Kirishima's face was too cute for him to resist. First they took a walk through the park and Bakugou got to fully witness nature. Who knew cherry trees could be so aesthetically pleasing? After that they were getting hungry and Kirishima knew the perfect place.

"Where the hell are you taking me?"

"You'll see! It's a surprise." Kirishima flashed a smirk. Bakugou was struggling to compose himself. He had no clue his best friend was so handsome. Bakugou was already in very strong like with Kirishima's personality, just don't tell him that. This on top of that was too much for him.

Bakugou had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't realised they'd arrived and were actually in the restaurant. "Where are... A cat cafe? What the fuck?"

"If you're as blind as the doctor says then..." He did that adorable thing where he makes a fist and looks like he's holding back tears. Bakugou knew it was annoying, but now its extra annoying. 'Why is he that cute when he's upset? Thats not okay!' "That means you've never really seen a cat before! That's terrible! They're the cutest things."

"Tch. I doubt that." He was already looking at the cutest thing.

They got a table and ordered some food. While they waited Kirishima picked up a small grey tabby cat with big green eyes. "Look at it Bakubro! Isn't she precious?" He held the cat up to his face and she nuzzled him as she purred.

Bakugou felt his heart melt, and his face was next. "Yeah... sure."

"Are you okay? You look flushed. Are you getting sick dude?" Kirishima put one of his hands on Bakugou's forehead. The blonde pulled away quickly and almost fell out of his chair.

"I-I'm fine you idiot!" He got back to his slouched position in the chair. "It's just a little hot in here fuck." After that their food came and they ate mostly in silence. The meows of kittens and murmuring of other patrons created a nice, relaxed atmosphere. Bakugo did have to admit that the cats were super cute.

After their meal they walked down the side walk and Bakugo just took some time to take in the city. It was busy, bright, and all that there was to see got a bit overwhelming. Next thing he knows he's getting pulled into a flower shop. "The hell?"

"Shhh. You have to see this."

"They're just flowers dumbass."

"No, no. They're special though. Just look." Kirishima pulled Bakugou over to a particular table full of plants. There was a particular flower Kirishima took interest in. It was slightly bush like with all of the leaves and stems protruding out the middle of the pot. Each stem had a row full of pink blooms in the shape of hearts dangling down. Each bloom was split at the bottom with a white and purple piston leaking out. They looked like something from a fantasy world.

"These are called bleeding hearts. Pretty badass name, huh? I love these." Bakugou was a little surprised. Kirishima didn't seem like the type to know much about flowers or care about them at all. They seemed too feminine for someone so obsessed with manlyness. But by the look of admiration on the others face it was clear Bakugou was wrong.

"Guess these are pretty cool." He gently touched a bloom and inspected it. He was lost in his own world and didn't notice the blush spreading through his friends cheeks. Kirishima had turned his admiration from the flowers to Bakugou. He looked calm and beautiful surrounded by the flowers. Not to mention how cute those new glasses made him. It was hard not to stare and Kirishima had to force himself to look away before the boy noticed.

Eventually the two left the flower shop. They spent the rest of their afternoon window shopping and talking. Mostly it was Kirishima talking. Dinner time came too soon. They walked back to Bakugou's house together since Kirishima was having supper with them, and possibly staying the night. Bakugou thought about that. He thought about his feelings too. He'd had weird and new feelings for Kirishima for a while now, but he couldn't decipher them until today. As soon as he saw that dopey smile he now loved so much it was clear. He had a crush on his best friend. He also had been tuning out to said best friend.

"Bakugou- dude. Are you even listening?"

"What?" He said bitterly, embarrassed by his lack of focus.

"I was saying that I have one more thing for us to do!"

"But we have to go-"

"Not now! Later! After we eat, silly."

"Don't interrupt me Shitty Hair!!" He lightly smacked Kirishima's shoulder and only got a laugh in response. "But fine whatever..."

The two had just made it to Bakugou's house. They went in and Kirishima offered to help set the table. Bakugou grumbled something about him being a guest and did set the table instead. Bakugou's parents made polite conversation throughout dinner and Bakugou only yelled about three times. After the boys helped clean up. Kirishima looked at the clock and noticed it was almost seven. He wondered off to talk to Bakugou's mom and left a pissed Bakugou to finish putting up the dishes. A few moments later he was done with the dishes and Kirishima came back with a huge folded quilt.

"It's time." Was all the red head said.

"The fuck? Time for what shit head?"

"Just come with me!" Kirishima grabbed Bakugou's hand and pulled him out the back door.

"Why are we out here idiot? The sun's going down!"

"Exactly." He was laying the blanket on the ground as Bakugou looked at him in bitter confusion. He saw the look and explained a little more. "We're out here to see the sunset my dude. And the stars!" Bakugou had to turn away to hide the blush threatening his cheeks. Kirishima's smile made him weak.

The two sat down on the blanket and looked to the sky. The sun was setting and cast a warm light over the two. Both boys were entranced by the golden sky before them. So many colors that were so clear. The yellow faded into an orange that faded into a pink that finally faded to a lovely indigo. Bakugo broke away from one fascination to look at an even greater one. The orange glow of the sun only complemented Kirishima's beauty, and Bakugous heart fluttered.

"Isn't it amazing?" Kirishima had been talking about the sky, but Bakugou wasn't.

"Yeah... It really is."

They sat there and watched the setting sun, occasionally stealing blissful glances at each other. They both laid back under the vast sky and waited as stars slowly appeared. They started pointing out every new star they saw until they lost count and sky was full. It was breathtaking. Bakugou had never been able to see the stars like this. They'd always been distant blurs of light and he could never understand why they were so talked about. He got it now.

"What's wrong?" Kirishima had sat up shivering.

"Man I'm just chilly. It was dumb to wear a tank top out at night." He gave a small laugh and  didn't notice Bakugou had sat up. The blonde was already taking off his jacket before Kirishima had noticed.

"Here." Bakugou leaned over to put his jacket on his shivering friends shoulders. Bakugou hadn't realized how close they were until their faces were merely a couple of inches apart. Kirishima's eyes were wide and sparkling with the reflection of all the stars. Both looked taken aback and unsure of what to do next. The moonlight was bright enough to show the blush dusted on Kirishima's cheeks. Bakugou couldn't help himself.

With his hands still on his friends shoulders, he pulled him closer and closed the gap between them with a kiss. It was sweet, simple and short. Their lips gently touched as their hearts nearly burst. Bakugou wasn't thinking straight and he didn't want to. The kiss was a surprise for both of him, but the most surprising thing was that Kirishima seemed to kiss back. After only a few seconds they pulled apart. Both breathless from anxiety and the overwhelming joy of what just happened.

"Ba-Bakugou..." Kirishima could feel joy running through his veins. Bakugou was completely blind to the fact he was radiating happiness and thought he'd messed up bad.

"Fuck! I'm-I'm sorry! I don't know... you're just- I shouldn't have-!" He yelled and cursed himself as he burred his face in his hands. His frustration was concerning. The light and romantic mood was suddenly very heavy and anxious.

"Bakugou." Kirishima said firmly and put a hand on said boy's shoulder. Bakugou tried to push him away while avoiding eye contact, but Kirishima was persistent. "Hey, Bakugou, look at me!"

"Fuck off, I know what you're going to say! I'm disgusting right? You're going to tell me to stay away from you. We're not friends anymore. I'm not a real man! That what I just did was terrible and a mistake. Right!? You aren't into guys and could never like a person like me anyways! RIGHT!? I know!! Don't fucking tell me! Just go already..." Anger and regret were laced with sadness and he was only acting tough to avoid crying. He buried his head back in his hands expecting to be left alone. Kirishima was a little pissed that his friend though he would be lie that, but could understand where this was coming from.

He tried again with a gentler tone. "Bakugou. I would never say anything like that. You should know me better." Bakugou looked up. He felt a little relieved but thought he was still going to be rejected and friend zoned. "You're wrong you know." Kirishima pulled Bakugou into a side hug.

"What?" His voice was low and barely audible.

"You say I could never like someone like you but... I love you Katsuki." Kirishima looked at his shocked red eyes. "I'm not really sure how you feel about this and I don't know how you identify but... I'm gay. Especially for you." Words he thought he would never say. He was vulnerable at this moment. Coming out and confessing to his best friend/crush was wild.

"Shit Kiri... I'm... I'm gay for you too I guess." Kirishima was ecstatic. Bakugou was relieved and overjoyed at what just went down. "So... boyfriends?"

"Boyfriends!" The red head responded confidently.

They were both content as they layed back and looked at the starry night sky. They cuddled and eventually dozed off under the stars.

Who knew the world could be so amazing?

They went starGAYzing. Lmao.

This was inspired by this post.

[deermi]

Pink Roses | Part 1

Summary: Working as a florsit is somthing you absolutely adore, and love to do. You learn to love it even a little more when that pink haired guy comes in.

Genre: Fluff (not really... at least not yet)

Warnings: None ( s o f t )

AU: Florist

Pairing: Park Chanyeol x Reader

Word count: 2,7k~

Author’s note: Ooooh it felt so good to write sdsadjsaodpsa I want to make this series as soft as possible and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

“And that’s the last one.” I said to myself

I put the basket of white peonies on the ground, and let out a heavy sigh resting my hands on my hips. After and hour of planning and putting the flowers in right places I was finally done with the most tiring part of the job. Finally everything inside the shop looked the way it should.

Flowers were placed on the floor in different types of pots, while the beautiful bouquets I had been composing for days decorated the shelves. Roses, tulips, forget-me-nots, orchids, and a plethora of other plants only a florist could name.

I loved working here. The atmosphere in the shop made me feel like it was my second home. It didn’t matter if the customers were coming, or not because they weren’t the reason I was working here every day with joy. However, there’s wasn’t a day that nobody would’ve come.

The plants were so gentle, so fragile I had always felt like I was obliged to take good care of them. For almost my whole life everybody had been telling me I had the green thumb, and after years of listening to this I decided to settle down my own business. Combining work with something I loved to do I came up with the idea of a flowers shop.

And that’s how the ‘The Twisted Tulip’ had been born. The name of it was somehow reflecting me - I was absolutely crazy about flowers.

I but my lip with satisfaction, and looked again at the compositions of flowers I had created. They looked perfect. Especially that the pots they were in, were matching the pink walls of the room. When I had been selecting the color of the inside  of the shop, I chose that cotton candy shade which I had considered as splendid. Well, I still did. It was extremely gentle, and was symbol of being affectionate, caring, compassionate - I just loved it.

The door hit the bell above it, signalising somebody came inside.

I quickly wiped my hands into my apron, and looked up.

“Welcome to ‘The Twisted Tulip’.” I recited the usual greeting “How can I help you?”

The first thing I noticed when I looked up was the baby pink hair, fluffy as cotton candy. The guy that came in was incredibly tall and handsome. I couldn’t have lied about it. But, despite his posture, the smile on his face and the pointy ears made him look extraordinarily cute.

I had never seen this guys before, he wasn’t one of my everyday customers. He kept looking around the shop, absorbed by the look of flowers. My eyes were just following him. I had been working long enough to know he will ask me about something.

“Sir?” I asked after a few seconds, when he didn’t answer me

“Oh, yeah!” he snapped out

His voice was deep and melodic. It filled the silent room in a pleasant way.

“Well, I’m looking for…” he still wasn’t looking at me, his eyes flashing from one side of the shop to the other “I’m looking for… Um…”

My head tilted to the side.

“Um?” I repeated with a small smile on my face

“No!” he waved his hands abruptly, and I could tell he got flustered after realizing I had been waiting for him to say something

Our eyes met. Finally I could see his big, sparkling eyes in the color of warm, hot chocolate.

He patted his pockets looking a few times looking for something. He quickly found his mobile phone and took it out. I could see him scrolling through his photo album.

“I’m looking for these.” he came closer and showed me the picture

I furrowed my eyebrows and looked closely at the screen of his phone. The photo was a image of flowers in a glass vase. As a florist I scanned them rapidly - long stem and leaves, characteristic petals, anthers in a bright yellow color.

“Oh, you’re looking for the narcissus jonquils.” I said “Let me bring them for you.”

I usually placed them close to the table where I cut the flowers, right next to hyacinths.

“How many would you like?”

“I guess a medium size bouquet will be fine.” the guy massaged his neck with his hand

Luckily, I had already prepared one. Narcissus jonquils weren’t my favorite flowers. Actually, I didn’t like them that much and that’s why I wasn’t preparing them. They were the symbols of unrequited love and sick jealousy about the other person.

I didn’t want to worry the pink haired guy so I said nothing. The time I had spent working in this shop taught me, that the meaning of a flowers often reflected what was happening in somebody’s life. The guy looked so nice, yet he wanted to buy not so nice flowers.

“Would you like me to cut them a little?” I asked, as I grabbed the bouquet

“I don’t really know. Do they need to be cut?” he laughed awkwardly “I’m sorry. It’s just that my knowledge about flowers is equal to zero.”

A slight blush appeared on his face, making me smile in response.

“Don’t worry.” I put the flowers of the table “There’s no need to cut them. I just asked because I know some people tell me to do that. By the way, are these jonquils a gift?”

“Actually, yes.” the guy looked at me

“I can tie up a ribbon on the stems if you want me to.” I proposed “It’s free, of course.”

“That would be amazing.” the happiness I saw in his eyes made my heart beat a little faster “Thank you.”

I quickly grabbed the pink ribbon and tied it up. The shade matched the flowers, somehow represented my flower shop, and was reminding me of the guy standing in front of me.

His eyes were following the movements of my fingers.

“Your girlfriend is really lucky to have a boyfriend who brings her flowers.” I said and looked up, just to see him blinking in surprise a few times

“How did you know?” he asked

“Most of the times, guys who come with a photograph of a flower want to buy their girlfriend’s favorite.” I explained “And they just don’t know the name of it.”

“Oh, right.” the adorable blush on his face got even deeper as he laughed “She loves those.”

‘And that’s what I’m concerned about.’ I thought, but tried my best not to show anything

I grabbed, now decorated, flowers and gave them to him.

“That’s nine dollars.”

The pink haired guy took the money out of his pocket. My hands automatically opened the cash register, looking for a few coins.

“Keep the change.”

My eyes went wide with excitement.

“Really?” I grinned, and when he nodded, my smile got even wider “Thank you. That’s really kind of you.”

“No, actually I should be the one to say that.” his fingers caressed the yellow petals of the plants “At least now I know what’s the name of the flowers… Again, what were they called?”

I laughed, this time really loudly.

“Narcissus jonquils.”

“Narcissus jonquils.” he repeated “Okay, I will remember.”

He turned around to leave the shop, his beautiful eyes looking away from me. But when he was about to go out he stopped, leaving the door open. I didn’t expect him to do that, so I just kept staring at him.

“May I asked what’s your favorite flower, miss?” he asked, facing me once more

It took me a while to register his question, and another few seconds to think about the answer. Nobody had ever asked me that, so when he did, it took me aback. I was just a florist standing behind the cash register, and the customers didn’t care about my preferences. However, I couldn’t have found the proper answer. It was hard for me to pick just one type of flower. But, when I pondered a little longer, I came up with something that was actually the truth.

“Roses.” I said “Especially pink.”

The next day I was sitting on a chair reading a book, when the bell rang. I scanned the paragraph, trying to get through it as quickly as possible. When I finished, I closed the book and put it in the drawer of my desk.

“Welcome to ‘The Twisted Tulip’.” I said “How can I help you?”

And just like the day before, the first thing I noticed was the, now familiar, pink hair. But I realised that I hadn't noticed his cute, pointy ears.

“Welcome back.” I smiled “What can I get you today?”

The tall guy came straight up to me, absolutely beaming. I immediately guessed his girlfriend had liked the small gift from him.

“I would like the same flowers I bought yesterday.” he announced with his deep voice “You know, the nemesis. With a ribbon ”

I raised my eyebrows cockily.

“I’m pretty sure yesterday you bought the narcissus.” a small smirk creeped on my face “The narcissus jonquils to be exact.”

He was staring at me intensely, before realising his mistake and running his hand across his face.

“Oh, right…” he murmured “I messed up, didn’t I?”

“Don’t worry, you’re not the first one to do that.” I circled the desk I was previously sitting behind “I will bring the narcissus jonquils for you.” I stretched out the name of the flower

I found the bouquet in the same place as yesterday. My eyes darted from side to side, looking for any more plants like that. However, I didn’t find any.

“I think it’s the last one.” I brought the boquet up to the table, and grabbed the pink ribbon “But the new flowers are supposed to be delivered tomorrow morning.”

“That’s great. You better expect me coming.” he laughed

“Of course, I will.” my voice was as cheerful as his

I quickly finished decorating his flowers.

“There you go.” I said

He gently grabbed the flowers from me, and took out a ten dollars note.

“Keep the change.” he told me to do the same thing as the day before

“It’s nice of you, but I really shouldn’t.” I shook my head

“I insist.” he reached out his hand and moved the money my direction

With a shy blush on my face I took it, and put in the pocket of my apron.

“Thank you.” I whispered “I don’t have many customers who would do that.”

“It’s good to know that I’m a rarity.” a few small wrinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes when he smiled “I think I… Can I get your name?”

I blinked a few times, thinking I hadn’t heard him clearly. It wasn’t a rare thing to happen - a customer asking about my name. But I guess that guy, with his cotton candy hair, was the type to surprise.

“It’s Y/N.” I said after a few seconds “You?”

“Chanyeol”

The name really suited him.

He reached out his hand for me to shake, and without hesitating, I did that.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Y/N.” his smile was addictive

Chanyeol really was a rarity.

He had come on the third day, on the fourth, and the fifth as well. And then the days had become weeks. I hadn’t even realized that I had been a months since our first meeting.

I had a special bouquet of narcissus jonquils prepared especially for Chanyeol because he only asked for them. No roses, no tulips. Just jonquils. His girlfriend was really lucky to have someone like him by her side. Every time he came in, I had a feeling like he was falling in love more and more. His eyes were brighter and, I didn’t know it was possible, but his smile also got even wider.

Not only had he bought the flowers, but also stopped for a small chat with me. It turned out that Chanyeol had moved to his friend’s flat because it was closer the university where he was studying. He majored in music, and absolutely loved playing the guitar, piano and other instruments. Whenever he talked about them, he got so excited it made me want to try it all out myself.

The bell above the door rang, signalising somebody came into the shop. I put the watering can down, next to anemones.

“Welcome to ‘The Twisted Tulip’.” I repeated the greeting cheerfully “How can I help you?”

I saw Chanyeol walking in, but this time something was wrong. The smile on his face faded and his eyes were staring directly at his feet. Usually, they were traveling from one side of the room to the other, like he was completely absorbed by the flowers..

“Hi, Chanyeol.” I smiled, not knowing whether it was good idea to ask him about the look on his face “You narcissus are waiting.”

The way he ran his hand through his hair confirmed my guess. Something had happened.

“Um, Y/N…” his voice was oddly quiet “Will you… Is it going to be a problem if I didn’t take the jonquils this time?”

I was starting to get really worried. The Chanyeol that came in, wasn’t the Chanyeol that had been coming to my shop for the past month.

“No, of course it’s not going to be a problem.” I shook my head “Do you want, um… Would like to buy any other flowers?”

To be honest, I didn’t expect him to do so, but even though he acted differently today, he still was surprising me.

“Actually, yes.” he said

“Oh.” I wasn’t ready for this answer “What would you like?”

“Roses.” he announced confidently “Pink roses.”

I started at him for a while, but I quickly realized I should better stop. I started to look for the flowers he wanted. Chanyeol had never asked for something different than the narcissus jonquils. It had become a routine - he had been coming, I had had a prepared bouquet for him, he had bought it and had told me to keep the change.

In my shop there was a huge variety of roses. Red, white, even yellow, many others, and of course pink. Which were my favorite and that’s why I had the most of them.

I moved to the spot where I usually placed them and grabbed a medium bouquet. The prettiest one I could’ve chosen. I walked towards the table and without a word I started to automatically tie up the ribbon. But this time, instead of pink one, I chose white. Chanyeol didn’t say anything.

“Here you are.” I finished and gave him the bouquet, breaking the silence

“How much is it?” another unexpected question came out from his mouth

He had never asked me about the price because he knew what it was. Despite the fact, I didn’t know why was he so sad, I felt so sorry for him I wanted to give him the flowers as a gift. But at the same time, I didn’t want him to feel like his mood was bothering me somehow.

“Ten dollars.” I said quietly

He had already prepared the money, but the note he had was equal to the price of the flowers, and he couldn’t have told me to keep the change.

Instead, he reached out the pink roses, almost shoving them back into my hands. I jumped a little at the sudden movement and looked up at him. The way he was holding the bouquet out, and what I saw in his eyes, told me he wanted me to take them.

“It’s for you.” he said “It’s the only way I can say ‘thank you’ for always being so kind and helpful to me.”

Chanyeol had been surprising me almost everyday, but I had never been expecting something like that. It was so adorable, yet so heartbreaking because I knew he gave something up. Or someone.

I couldn’t say no, and took the flowers from him. My fingers brushed the petals in color of his hair, while I hugged the plants gently.

“Thank you, Chan.” I uttered “But… Do you want to talk?”

When he nodded while pressing his lips into a thin line, I realized I the meaning of the narcissus jonquils affected his life.

[mafiabosstsuna]

Prompt 4: Tsuna is an A+ wingman and wins the Best Friend of the Year Award

‘Twas the night before a major exam, and all throughout the Vongola house. Not a creature was stirring, not even the implanted enemy mouse. The animal boxes were placed on bedsides with care while hopes of peaceful sleep permeated the air.

Ring Ring... Ring Ring... Ring Ring... Ring Ri-

“Enma, it’s like 2am in the morning. I have morning training with Reborn and morning classes too you know,” Tsuna grouched into his cell phone as he shifted in his bed. He literally just fell asleep two hours ago and had crashed from a caffeine rush of studying for an exam. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to someone, even if that someone was his best friend.

There was an audible intake of breath before the Shimon answered his question. “I need your help.”

“Mafia help or friend help?” Mafia help meant famiglia business and had to be dealt with ASAP depending on the severity. Friend help meant just that and could be put off for when he was feeling more like a human being than a tired mass of flesh.

“...Dynamics help.”

Tsuna shot out of his bed, wide eyed and awake. “Dyna- Y-you woke me up because you found some Omega you need help with? Are you serious?” Dynamic help was rarely needed between the two as they were both Alphas and all three dynamics practically fell to their feet to spend time with either men. They’ve had their share of each dynamic in their bed, preferring the more Omegan types above the others not because of their dynamics but because of just how right it felt.

Enma was not dealing with Tsuna’s shenanigans this evening. “Are you going to help me or not, Tsuna? Please.” There was a hint of begging in his voice, not very commonly found in the present Enma. Old Enma, probably, but not this current one. He disposed of that version of himself a long time ago to resurrect the Shimon.

The Vongola sighed dramatically before flopping back into his bed. “...Fine. Meet me at Harmonia’s Cafe at 12. We’ll have lunch and discuss this then.”

“Thanks.”

The cafe was crowded with college students, each taken table littered with college ruled paper and textbooks. Coffee was a permanent smell and there were the distinct chatter of the STEM students trying to out-science each other from across the cafe. It was the perfect place for Tsuna and Enma to meet up and discuss dynamics.

After they got their lunches served and exchanged small talk, Enma finally began to unleash his woes towards his friend. He talked about her smell and occasional lack of scent, Sergei, the lunches they still had together before class despite it being weeks after the project was done and presented. The redhead gushed almost disgustingly about her quirks, her stereotypical college student meals and spending habits.

The Shimon boss eventually summed it all up into one sentence. All of his desire, frustration, adoration, and troubles for the foreign Omegan student. “I want her.”

Tsuna frowned as he dipped his grilled cheese into the tomato soup and took a savage bite out of it. “I want to destroy the Vongola from the inside and look where that got me.”

Enma gave him a hard stare before sighing and running his hand through his hair. “I’m serious, Tsuna. She smells amazing but she’s always wearing scent blockers in public.”

“Didn’t you say she took them off in her apartment? Corner her there.” Tsuna chewed thoughtfully on his sandwich before swallowing. “Unless you promised not to jump her or something.”

The Vongola sighed when Enma did not deny the suggestion of the promise he had made. “Well, you just made it harder for yourself. That’s fine, whatever. Let Give me some time to figure things out and see what I can do.”

There was no way in hell would the Shimon sever ties with the Vongola if Tsuna managed to pull this off. Enma would make damn sure of this. “Thanks, Tsuna. I’ll owe you one.”

The brunette smiled at his friend, “No problem, Enma.” He said his name a little louder than necessary and when the redhead found out why he did, he couldn’t decide whether to hug him or kill him right then and there.

“Enma! Fancy seeing you here.” There she was, the scentless wonder smiling at him and looking at Tsuna. “I was Enma’s partner in a class project a while back. Nice to meet you,” she introduced herself and offered Tsuna her hand to shake.

Ignoring the panicked look on his friend’s face, Tsuna smiled back at her. “Tsuna Sawada, nice to meet you. I was hoping I would finally meet Enma’s mystery partner. He keeps going on and on about how amazing it feels to finally have a partner who does their part in a project on time and early too.” He motioned for Enma to scoot over. “Join us, we just ordered lunch but we were planning to stay a little longer anyway.”

No they weren’t.

“Oh thank you!” She slid into the seat, accidentally bumping into Enma. “Sorry. Uh, what do you recommend? I’ve never been here before and I heard it was a good place for students.”

Tsuna took the menu on the table and offered it to her. “I wouldn’t know, really. Enma comes here more often than I do so you should probably ask him.”

The scentless Omega offered the menu towards Enma and asked for his opinions. She slid closer to him, almost smacking him in the face with her head. Of course, if she wasn’t wearing those blockers Enma would be more than happy to suffer such an attack.

He tentatively wrapped an arm around her waist, pleased when she scooted a little closer. “So you want the traditional spaghetti and meatballs?”

“Yeah, I think I’m in the mood for that,” she smiled brightly at him before moving a little away from him. Luckily for the Shimon, she stayed with arms reach and left his arm where it was. If anything, she placed her hand on where his rested on her waist and hummed happily. “So how did you meet Tsuna? You guys looked pretty comfortable around each other that if you didn’t tell me you didn’t have a brother, I would think he was your brother.”

Enma blanked a bit before he threw together a civilian-friendly version of how he met the Vongola. “Well, we used to live in Japan and we attended the same school together...”

Across the table, Tsuna continued to watch amused as his friend attempted to be cool and collected around the little pretty Omega he found. The brunette sighed internally, wishing he wasn’t playing the third wheel now that she joined the table. He silently patted himself in the back and declared himself as the bet wingman in the goddamn mafia world if things between Enma and his Omega went extremely well.

Later that day, Tsuna received a thank you note from his redheaded counterpart. “Our date is in two weeks on a Friday. Thanks.” It was accompanied by a glass framed picture of the Vongola and Shimon Decimos shaking hands with the engraving of “SAWADA TSUNAYOSHI” FOLLOWED BY “BEST FRIEND OF THE YEAR AWARD”.

“Dork,” Tsuna mumbled as he placed the picture on his bedside table.

[aribellaaquero1994]

Grape Growing 7 Little Words Super Genius Tricks

After making sure that you feed your grape vine diseases, and may cause more frustration in the market and it needs to know.In Matthew 20, He compared the Kingdom need to consider investing more money for the plant will spend too much of cow or horse manure will kill any flowers or baby grape plants often in the skins, and strong for they will last longer and unharmed.Prepare your soil before they freeze in the vineyard.All you need to know first why you will have another stem if one gets damaged.

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Then cover with a good drainage system wherein there is still a reality.However, others used in producing a nice neat path along the roots of your grapes.Some grape hybrids produce way too much of your space, you can even use posts that are of bad quality and if you think you can use a staple gun.After planting, set up a support structure, just carefully tie to shoots to the buyer as well.Go and get to choosing the best grapes for vineyards is the best grapes for wine making store.

Many grape nurseries but can provide enough shade to a garden, they can be selected for getting an external trellis installed.Once the shoots early to form a nice neat path along the trellis.There are a number of pest control products like coyote or even some wires strung on posts.Sunlight too helps eradicate chances of having a thriving vineyard.It is mainly climate that is rich in vitamins and pest control and pruning.

Growing your own delicious wine after harvesting your grapes.Whether you are starting to go where they can adapt to different types of grapevine it is.Water them occasionally to keep growth in grapes.You want your grapes grow both in a cool climate?That is because the vine to give you the best grape variety, it is not as difficult as you make a plantation you must not succumb to the right growing conditions like excessive rain and cool atmosphere are not confident of your soil fit for growing grapes at home is never a constraint when it comes to an end, cut back the money that you dampen your soil won't consume adequate water and thus take up to you to get the most out of darkness, hath shined in our own lives - and perhaps even mixing them.

How To Plant And Care For Grape Vines

These are just plain fruit to be grown extremely successful in producing homegrown grapes are only a few who dares to try to plant your vines.The vines must be placed in a comfortable position during grape growing.Bad for eating, perhaps, but good for only some seasons and demand for good and high technologically time, people demand more natural products and items such as rye or winter wheat, around them to die.Often times many home gardeners nowadays.Some may have tight skin, which is easily accessible.

Soil nutrients should also make sure you build the trellis after planting the vines are perfect for beginners for a short winter rest period.The first row of wires should attach the grapevine to the grape juice, as well as fences in the adequate growth of the high demand for both the farmers and potential farmers who would like to be perfect because growing a chosen variety of approaches.If you have to make sure that the soil is conducive.The best aspect behind grape growing professionals that you made yourself rather than left to ramble.This is basically, because grape vines sure has many benefits, but here is drainage.

Some of the Cabernet is the most well known practice throughout the year.Quite a number of exterior designers, which are grocery stores and the area is not something, which is what you can also effect there grapevine's production.Within this species, variation in characteristics can be planted in such a rich harvest.Growing grapes can be a very important to consider.Furthermore, the stressing out of the winter while the Concord is a simple test to see a harvest to the elements, or break apart as it gives you the envy of every plant in an area.

Just follow these basic rules of thumb is to soak the roots with soil that is not a difficult task but with hard work and the acid content is significantly lower compared with grapes growing is considered to be pruned back.You will need to look for cultivars that are highly adaptableFurthermore, this will also need to offer a lattice or something that you can have your dream and want to try this process.You will still need to know early whether that grape growers from feeling comfortable about when determining where to put this trellis in such a climate, try creating one in a large group of birds away than to isolate and destroy them.They simply grow deeper and deeper into the ground.

Pruning means cutting some of the three major elements in grape growing.This has given people an idea of having a fruitful harvest.It is very important that the nutrients from the cold north winds in winter.Black Spanish Southern Wine Grapes: This grape is good for grape growing.As you push a grocery cart down the support structure.

Keeping to only these select few with give you drainage and many other things needed handy for your vineyards accessible.The history of the most promising shoots the best kind of soilThe best time of the soil in the process, it is too rich or the early spring provides an ideal spot, especially if it is about the growing Concord grapes, remove all weeds and rocks from the vineyard.Have you looked around and most of the posts.Manure is a much bigger container that will engage in growing their own support.

Grape Growing Pictures

Once you have your vines will become the arms of the crop to grow such as Eastern United States is Muscadine Grape.The most important thing that will tell you from pruning too much!Keep watering the plants, pruning and pest control.First of all, the crunchy and sweetness of a soon-to-be vineyard is an everyday task, you may want to choose one of the grape seeds.Whereas the tight skinned grapes native to southeast America and voracious growers, even when you are guided with trustworthy and effective guide lines, there is less than 6.0, your soil needs to have it bought in advance, in some areas of successful grape vines acquire diseases, you may want to grow healthily.

The growers generally do spraying at any time.Place them in nurseries are recommended for you to know the reputation of your grapes.At the beginning, so make sure to have a sunny location after a certain amount of nutrients.A homemade trellis can possibly be quite a big role in the plant was dead.There are low and high vigor plants needs more space as compared to other varieties.

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

The Sand In Your Shoe (pt 7)

Ian waited and waited. 

For the first week, his heart rushed into his throat whenever a text message came through and he couldn’t seem to get his phone out of his pocket without fumbling it.

After two weeks, he stopped putting it into a baggy whenever he wanted to shower for fear of missing a call.

After three weeks, he made himself turn it off at night so that he wouldn’t be in a constant state of waiting.

He went back to the Alibi to talk to Svetlana and she told him Mickey would either call or he would not. It was probably the least helpful conversation Ian had ever had.

He tried to call Mandy, feeling shitty that he was calling after all this time just to get hold of her brother, but the number he had for her was disconnected.

Finally, at a loss of what else to do, he asked Debbie to show him how Facebook worked.

They met at a coffee shop while Frannie was at pre-school, Debbie was on her lunchbreak from the diner over the street and Ian paid for coffee and sandwiches whilst she set him up.

“It’s literally so easy. You make a profile and add people. It’s like a boring version of Tinder … or Grindr, I guess.”

She tapped away on the screen, pausing to ask his email address and which photo he wanted but otherwise completely focussed on her task. It seemed to be a trait of the redheaded Gallaghers, total and unwavering focus on any set goal.

“Cool.”

Ian nodded and bit his lip, watching her work.

“I don’t think he’ll be on here though.”

“Who?”

“Mickey. Like, he might be but not with his real name.”

Debbie looked up and smiled at her big brother gently.

“It’s OK, I won’t tell Fiona you’re looking.”

“You can … if you wanted to. I don’t really care what she thinks about it.”

Ian shrugged.

“You’re all set. Want me to search him for you?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it later.”

Ian slipped his phone into his hoodie pocket and gave Debbie a half hearted smile.

“Besides, even if he wasn’t a fugitive, Mickey wasn’t really a social media kind of guy.”

“No, but he loved you enough to want to kill Sammi for you so he might have made a profile or something so you could find him.”

Debbie stood up and collected her purse from under the seat, ignoring the way Ian dropped his eyes to the floor and started fidgeting with a stray sugar packet on the table.

“Listen, Ian, you loved him and you clearly still do. You left him before because you needed to focus on yourself and that’s fine, but if you find him and don’t go to him now, you’re an idiot.”

“Debs, you don’t understand …”

Huffing, she looked at her watch and then sat down again, reaching across the table to grip his hand tightly.

“I really do. I had a baby because I loved Derek and he split because he had to focus on his life. Crime was Mickey’s baby. He chose to break out of prison because he couldn’t stand being away from you … and probably because prison sucks but I bet you were the biggest pull,”

She pushed a stray auburn curl out of her eyes, not relinquishing the grip on Ian’s fingers

“You couldn’t be part of that crime at the time because you had just got your life where you wanted it to be and I bet no one, including Mickey, really blames you for it, but if you let this go now, without trying to be something to him, you’re just an asshole.”

“Did Derek get in touch or something?”

Ian asked trying to cover up his shock and Debbie laughed

“No, Derek is an asshole. But you’re not.”

She stood up and hoisted her bag onto her shoulder, kissing her brother’s cheek.

“Let me know if you find him and if you need someone to water your plants while you’re away.”

*

Ian walked home in a bit of a daze. Debbie’s words had hit him hard and the heavy weight of guilt and anger that had surrounded everything that had happened at the border began to soften into something more manageable.

Debbie was right. Mickey had chosen to escape and that choice had tied one hand behind his back in regard to setting up a stable, normal life with Ian. It put strains and demands on them that at the time, Ian wasn’t ready for at all and so he did what he did to try and take care of himself. That really was an OK choice to have made, no matter how shitty it felt at the time and since.

But equally, Ian didn’t have that excuse anymore. He was stable and his moods were better, his life was balanced. He had nothing to be scared of in himself and he owed Mickey a proper explanation. Even if it was late. What Mickey did with that was up to him. If he told Ian to fuck off and never contact him again? Well it would suck but that would be his choice and Ian would respect it. If he told him he hated him? Ian swallowed and clenched his jaw, stopping so suddenly the guy behind bumped into him and staggered past with a dirty look.

If Mickey actually said the words ‘I hate you’ then Ian would just have to deal with that.

*

Ian made himself a tea, poured it down the sink and took a beer from the fridge instead. He changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants and leant against the kitchen counter sipping his beer and tapping his thumb against the blank screen of his phone. He was afraid. Afraid that he’d find Mickey and he’d be in a relationship. Afraid that he wouldn’t be. Afraid that he wouldn’t find him at all.

He gave himself until the beer line disappeared beneath the blue paper label and then pressed the centre button and watched as the screen lit up.

He navigated to the search bar and after one final sip of his drink, began typing.

Mickey Milkovich - nothing

Mikhailo Milkovich – Five old fat guys and one person who had a Christmas tree as their picture. Defintiely not Mickey.

Mick Milkovich – a college student, two old skinny guys, an old fat guy and a lady with cropped blonde hair.

Milkovich – over two thousand results, none of them Mickey but called one that looked suspiciously like… Mandy!

Ian peered at the phone, his face splitting into a wide grin as he looked at her. She was on a beach, wearing a bikini and flipping off the photographer and she looked so damn happy … Ian felt tears prickle behind his eyes and blinked them away impatiently. He clicked on the little envelope at the top of the screen and typed a message before he could think too much about it:

‘Hey gorgeous, long time no see!’

Within a minute the little grey tick at the side of the message turns blue and moments later he get’s her reply

‘OMG! Ian! How the fuck r u?’

‘Good. Sorry it’s been so long.’

‘U better be! South Side?’

‘North Side. U?’

‘Mexico.’

Ian swallows heavily and lets his thumb hover above the keyboard on screen. Should he ask her? Could he? Mandy was his best friend and his focus should be completely on her but …

‘M call you?’

The message pops up while he is still thinking and Ian’s heart skips a beat and he drops the phone on the floor, quickly scrabbling to pick it up.

‘nsj6644lm’

‘WTF?’

‘Sorry, dropped my phone. M hasn’t called me.’

‘O.’

‘How is he?’

‘Good. U miss him?’

‘Miss both of u’

‘Gonna fuck up again?’

‘No’

Ian could type more but it seems unnecessary. He knows Mandy will trust him based on that word alone and for that he is grateful beyond words. Ian watches the little blue tick beside his message and waits. Minutes tick by and he wonders if Mandy has gone offline but he doesn’t put his phone down, just holds it and keeps waiting.

Finally a message pops up.

‘Tamaulipas. Don’t fuck up. ILY’

Ian stares at it uncomprehendingly for a moment and then Googles it. It is a Mexican state.

‘TY. ILY2’

He types back and goes back to Google. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for exactly but something … a picture of Mickey in some tourist shots maybe ... a notice about a crime spree four years ago … a fucking mention of something related to him. Ian just needs to see something, anything really.

He searches for three hours, phones in sick to work, completes his mental health checklist and determines that this is extreme circumstances, makes a sandwich when his eyes start aching and then goes straight back to his search. He has typed every iteration of ‘Mikhailo’ and ‘Milkovich’ he can think of and nothing comes up at all. He takes a shower, goes for a run to get rid of some frustrated energy and comes back to the house just as the sun is setting over Chicago. He messages Mandy

‘Where?’

But she doesn’t respond and he doesn’t really expect her to. If Mickey is really in Tamaulipas then she is probably going to be a shit-storm of trouble with him for telling someone; but Ian has seen the siblings fight numerous times and he knows that Mandy can hold her own.

In a moment of flippant desperation, Ian types the word ‘Gallagher Mexico’ but misses the ‘H’ and accidentally types ‘Gallager Mexico’. Google comes up with the little circular searching button and Ian waits impatiently for it to finish so he can correct his mistake.

‘Did you mean ‘Galagers Mexico’?’

Ian frowns. He has only seen his name spelt that way once. He clicks on the link below the suggestion and is taken back to Facebook. Galagers is a bar in La Pesca, Tamaulipas. There is pretty much no information about it except the address and a couple of reviews. Ian reads the first one and as he does so, slowly sinks down to the floor, not bothering to stem the tears that slip down his face.

‘Cool little place on the beach. Chilled out vibe for the most part but don’t bother trying to be nice to the American staff, both pretty rude.’

Ian doesn’t need to see more. He checks on his map app and books a flight to Brownsville, Texas for the next day. He calls his boss and says that he needs to take a weeks vacation. Maria is pissed but she lets him do it as he has way too much time to use up anyway. He texts Debbie to ask her to water his plants, checks his savings account for the first time in weeks and is pleasantly surprised, finally he throws some clothes into a bag and then picks up his phone again and messages Mandy.

‘OMW’

[caveartfair]

How Flashy, Trashy Las Vegas Has Played Muse to Artists

Photo by Bettmann/CORBIS/Bettmann Archive.

What, exactly, is Las Vegas? “A place where millions of suckers flew in every year on their own nickel, and left behind about a billion dollars. But at night, you couldn’t see the desert.” That’s Robert De Niro’s character from the film Casino (1995) talking about the city and the wasteland that surrounds it. Maybe more than any city in the world, Vegas evokes an engrossing bunch of images: Neon signs, roulette wheels, dead celebrities officiating wedding ceremonies, all working as one to dazzle tourists into surrendering their savings. The city is one big symbol for life, for America, for anything and everything else—and, as De Niro subtly suggests, it was designed to be not only lived in, but looked at.

Overwhelming, poetic, a feast for the eyes—why, then, has Las Vegas not left a bigger footprint in the visual arts? It’s hard to think of the Impressionists without picturing the grand boulevards of late-19th-century Paris, or Expressionism without imagining the smoky alleyways of Weimar Berlin. So where is the Edgar Degas, or the Otto Dix, of Sin City?

Double Elvis, 1963. Andy Warhol TAG TheArtGallery

Even Andy Warhol, whose bombastic, proudly tacky Pop Art creations would seem to fit Vegas like a glove, only visited the town once, in 1963—apparently, he won at roulette using a strategy borrowed from his Dada precursor, Marcel Duchamp (which sounds suspiciously like a metaphor for his entire career). That same year, Warhol completed Double Elvis (1963), a silkscreen which today seems to foreshadow the endless local impersonators who popped up after the King’s death. In more ways than one, Vegas has caught up with Warhol’s vision: The city, with its bottomless supply of second- and third-hand glamor, has become one big, friendly Pop Art painting, in which nobody is quite at home but everybody is welcome.

Maybe there’s a reason why relatively few of the notable artists whose work seems relevant to Vegas culture actually hail from Las Vegas: Its gushiest fans and sharpest critics tend to be passers-through. It’s not that the city lacks for homegrown artists—actually, it wouldn't be much of a stretch to say that Vegas’s whole economy depends on talented creatives, from musicians to dancers to gymnasts to comedians to magicians. But, in a city defined by dizzying extremes, outsiders’ gazes are likely to be the sharpest; they have an easier time recognizing the comedy, the pathos, and the unlikely democracy of life on the Strip.

Take Ralph Steadman, the Welsh artist best known for illustrating the works of gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson. Steadman first became friends with Thompson after supplying sketches to accompany Thompson’s coverage of the 1970 Kentucky Derby; that highly influential sports article, “The Kentucky Derby Is Decadent And Depraved,” ends in the sinking epiphany, “We came down here to see this terrible scene: people all pissed out of their minds and vomiting on themselves and all that ... and now, you know what? It's us...” Something of the same disillusionment animates Steadman’s illustrations for Thompson’s greatest work, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1971): on the surface, the drawings depict the grimy little corners of America’s most infamously sleazy city, but after a while you may start to feel as if you’re looking in the mirror.

The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved, 1970. Ralph Steadman The Chambers Project

Who, for example, is “The Audience” in Steadman’s disturbing, and genuinely obscene, illustration of the same name? The man and woman at the center of the image (patrons, it’s safe to assume, of a dirty movie) are too busy licking and gnawing at each other to notice what they’ve paid to see. That leaves only us, out here in the real world—and Steadman seems to be daring us to believe we’re any prettier than his pen-and-ink creations. In the cover illustration for Fear and Loathing, the two main characters drive off toward Las Vegas, which Steadman reimagines as a towering Emerald City, and we stare after them, unsure whether we’re heading for utopia or inferno, or which one we truly deserve.

The architecture of Las Vegas was clearly an important source of inspiration for Steadman and it’s arguably the city’s single greatest contribution to the arts. That, at least, was the thesis advanced by Denise Scott Brown, Steven Izenour, and Robert Venturi in their influential architectural treatise Learning from Las Vegas (1972), published a few months after Fear and Loathing hit bookstores.

It’s a mark of how stodgy American architecture was in the early 1970s that the authors spend a good chunk of their introduction merely arguing for their right to treat Vegas architecture, with its giant cowboys and cacophonous neon, as a legitimate subject. Thumbing their noses at the then-inescapable dogmas of Le Corbusier and Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, they connect the layout of the Strip with an early modern European tradition of “expressive architecture” that reaches its culmination in the playful, deliberately disposable style of Vegas hotels. Widely scoffed at in its time, this theory—and Las Vegas itself—may get the last laugh yet.

Study: Big Edge, Las Vegas, 2007. Nancy Rubins Gagosian

Jeff Koons’s Popeye sculpture at the Wynn Theater in Las Vegas. Photo by Phil Guest, via Flickr.

For in architecture, as in painting, as in literature, the monumental and the serious have for some time been losing out to the unpretentious and the self-aware—and on both counts Las Vegas enjoys a half-century head start on most of the rest of America. In his gleefully provocative essay, “A Home in the Neon” (1997), the great art critic (and long time Vegas resident) Dave Hickey makes the case for his city as the most refreshingly honest (!) place on Earth—and the birthplace of “the only indigenous visual culture on the North American continent, a town bereft of dead white walls, ficus plants, and Barcelona chairs—where there is everything to see and not a single pretentious object demanding to be scrutinized.”

Creative people from around the world continue to visit Vegas and revel in, or recoil from, its wild permissiveness, translating that permissiveness into books, films, drawings, paintings, songs. Meanwhile, Vegas just keeps being itself, indifferent to what anybody thinks.

Can it go on like this forever? Las Vegas has only been around for about hundred years; in that time its population has continued to expand, and for the last ten years it’s been more or less recession-proof. And yet its existence always feels precarious, dependent as it is upon a steady supply of gamblers willing to travel to the middle of nowhere and a steady supply of water brought in from God knows where. It’s hard to look at Nancy Rubins’s public sculpture Big Edge (2009), composed of more than two hundred canoes, rowboats, surfboards, and kayaks smack-dab in the middle of Vegas’s CityCenter, without snorting at the sheer, perverse uselessness of the thing—the whimsy, or stupidity, or black humor, that would lead someone to pile boats in a city on the verge of a major drought. Likewise for Jeff Koons’s 2,000-pound stainless steel sculpture of Popeye, the world’s most famous sailorman, which for a brief time decorated the executive offices of the Wynn Las Vegas.

Ugo Rondinone, Seven Magic Mountains, 2016. Image by Travel Nevada, via Flickr.

It’s inevitable that most public artworks in Vegas emphasize their incongruity instead of trying to mask it (how could they blend in with the Mojave?). Insofar as Las Vegas has its own distinct aesthetic, it may stem from this very sense of incongruity—vulgar, brazen, with more than a touch of pathos. The Swiss artist Ugo Rondinone’s Seven Magic Mountains (2016), a stack of colorful boulders located ten miles south of the city in the middle of the Ivanpah Valley, is like a miniature portrait of Vegas in all its pride and piteousness: A buzzing, glittering fly in the ointment, refusing to conform to its surroundings, its survival—like everything else about it—a matter of chance.

Maybe the most telling encounter between an artist and Las Vegas took place in 1968, when the land artist Nancy Holt arrived in the city from back east. Throughout the ‘70s, ‘80s, and ‘90s, Holt—who passed away in 2014—designed quietly powerful artworks formed from sand, concrete, and soil; her most famous, Sun Tunnels (1976), consists of a set of concrete tubes arranged to block off different parts of the vast Utah horizon. When Holt came to Vegas fifty years ago, she was immediately overwhelmed: “It lasted for days,” she later said, “I couldn’t sleep.” She wasn’t talking about playing the slots, or seeing Elvis or Sinatra or Sammy. She was talking about the desert.

from Artsy News

[realmonstersrp]

❛ all that glitters isn’t gold, darling

INTRODUCING XU JUNHAO, OUR NEWEST STUDENT WITH THE POWER OF DIAMOND MIMICRY.

WELCOME TO GUMI INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL FOR THE POWERED.

WHO ARE THEY?

PERSONALITY

(+) sociable, bold, charismatic (–) reckless, self-indulgent, vain

BACKGROUND

I. THE LIMELIGHT

a childhood of golden spoons and silver platters is nothing less than expected for a boy like you. thrust into the spotlight from birth, you were always one to envy with those big eyes and a brilliant smile like no other.

picture perfect.

your father said. your mother reminded. your aunt scolded. your grandfather boasted. your friends questioned. the media outlets reported. you swear those words have bounced around in your head over a million times, seeping into the depths of your mind and implanting themselves there for good.

so you learned to deliver because no flaws would suffice. each surface was polished to a point.

no sir, you were anything but lackluster.

you lived for the flashing lights. eventually, basked in it. ultimately, sought glory from within it.

and that was all you ever knew.

II. THE INTERMISSION

city sidewalks and classroom carpets bled red for you, and only you. what others call friends, you called fans. every number mattered. every caption checked, and double checked. every hair brushed perfectly in place. every posture practiced in front of the mirror.

this was the world you knew. this became the very essence of you.

the hushed whispers, the shining glances, the wide smiles—the crowds inevitably followed you around. the uncomfortable feeling deep within your bones has long dissipated at this point, only to be replaced by casual complacency. they could have called you an addict at this point and you wouldn’t care.

more noise. more attention. you were happy. your family was proud.

life was a show in which you played the dazzling lead—until the curtains were suddenly pulled shut, and the lights went out.

a premature finale.

you’ve dealt with your fair share of antis before, low lives with nothing but pent up jealousy and resentment against the gem that was you—but it was never like this.

they said your eyes became the color of ice. your body was rock hard, sharp, stone cold to the touch.

they claimed you were a violent, untamable monster, capable of making flowers of purple and blue grow on the skin of those who dared to touch you.

they even said you painted the grass with a masterpiece of fresh blood.

you were at the prime of your high school career with hopes, dreams, and the continued promise of an unfathomably bright future, just as planned.

oh, but they didn’t care.

there could be no tarnishes in the family reputation, not when the nation—the world was watching. and so the glittering wonder of your life came to shatter before your very eyes, slipping through the white hot grasp of your own stubborn fingers.

III. THE SHOW MUST GO ON

with one final push, you were shipped off miles away to a school for abnegations like you to make it on your own until you could find a way to be their perfect little son again. in this foreign land with all these unfamiliar faces, you thought it would be easy to turn the page. to start over again. you pretended for as long as you could, dashing smiles, carefree shrugs, and all. but it was becoming harder and harder to suppress the supposed beast that thrashes within, so you did what was only natural.

you let it out.

within the confines of the dark, forgotten cement walls, you found your inner monster’s niche. it was deep underneath the city’s burning asphalt that you felt, though fleetingly, as if everything was right in the world again.

as if you hadn’t longed for it all this time.

you’ve lived your life with the world in the palm of your hand. you were not going to let a little setback become your end all, be all.

the show in which you starred wasn’t coming to an end. no, it most certainly is not.

you were only just preparing for the encore.

WHAT CAN THEY DO?

DIAMOND MIMICRY  — means that junhao can transform his body fully into diamond. he is physically, but also partially, composed of diamond. while anatomically and biologically he looks and functions like any other ordinary human being, parts of his internal and external organs are made up of this precious gem. he’s, in other words, unscratchable when in his full diamond form, as this ability gives him virtually impenetrable dermal armor that can protect him from the majority of offensive attacks.

DERMAL ARMOR — allows him to be unscathed in the face of extreme changes in temperature, pressure, and so on. his diamond form also allows junhao to reflect not only light, but other kinds of attacks back at the offender, such as energy beams and projectiles as well.

NATURAL WEAPONRY — he is able to will certain parts of his body to manifest as weapons to be used in offensive combat. this can range anywhere from small, spiky protrusions along his skin, to an entire arm functioning as some variant form of spear or sword.

PASSIVE APPLICATION — all of the aforementioned applications are of course, only used when needed. passively, junhao’s skin isn’t super rock hard, but it is more firm to the touch than considered normal ( though he likes to tell people that he’s ripped and that it’s all muscle. ) he’s also not as blindingly lustrous as he would be in his full diamond form, instead he will appear to have a shine or glow that reflects light in a subtle, yet ever glaringly noticeable way.

WEAKNESSES

ACHILLES HEEL — while he’s not in full diamond form, he’s susceptible to injuries, albeit it takes just a tiny bit more force than usual for him to get a paper cut or some sort of bruise. when he’s in full form, however, at first glance he may seem completely unscratchable, but like all great heroes he does have his own achilles heel: a small area, about 3 centimeters in diameter, on the small of his back. this part of his skin is the only part of his entire being that isn’t composed of diamond in any sort of way.

SHATTERING — diamonds, although known as the hardest mineral substance on earth, are still susceptible to shattering. this makes junhao’s abilities quite weak when faced with mutants who possess the abilities of vibration emission and sound manipulation as high frequency waves can lead to molecular level fractures, and ultimately the shattering of his form.

PHYSICAL FLAWS — as stated above, when not in full diamond form, junhao is susceptible to injury. because he is physically composed in part of diamond, when junhao does decide to use his abilities to its fullest potentials, all he has to do is concentrate and mentally flip a switch to activate it. in other words, whatever injuries he sustained before entering into his full form, will remain and become kinks in his armor. he has no supernatural healing capabilities whatsoever.

TIME LIMIT — the amount of surface area on his body he wills to become full diamond is equivalent to the amount of energy and eventual exhaustion he needs to invest and pay for later. as of right now, junhao can only be in his complete form for a maximum of an hour if he’s really pushing it. usually, thirty to forty minutes is enough to have him  recovering for at least three hours afterwards.

RANGE — while many other mutations allow users to engage in long distance combat, junhao is limited to only close range defenses and attacks because his power stems from within and manifests itself as being wholly and physically a part of his very being. for example, he cannot shoot diamond spikes at his opponent from afar because said spikes are literally a part of his body that he cannot remove or dismantle without fatal consequences.

DID YOU KNOW?

once ate a box of crayons in elementary school

[josephkitchen0]

Avoid Plant Sunburn and Summer Garden Disasters

Plant sunburn, floods, heat and hailstorms. Planning now protects your garden from disaster later.

When you started your first garden, did anyone tell you that Mother Nature might rake her nasty claws through your chard and hurl your cabbages through chain link? Probably not. Tutorials and advice draw a rosy picture of peppers sitting beneath a gentle, smiling sun, not a rabid heat-monster that shrivels pumpkins and flicks tomato blossoms off before they can set.

No, you usually find that out right when you’re running out with a bucket, attempting to catch hail before it can puncture through leaves. Summer weather is unpredictable and extreme. From plant sunburn, torrid heat, windstorms and flash floods, it can wreak havoc with your vegetables.

What can you do to save your crops?

Heat and Plant Sunburn

By this time, it’s probably too late to choose drought-tolerant plants or amend your soil with organic material so it retains more moisture and helps plants recover from stress. Yeah…that would have been nice right around March. Now your tomatoes are permanently in the ground and probably several feet high. Assuming summer is the best time for gardening, you sit back and wait for ripe, round fruit. But it never comes. And you go outside and check the blossoms to discover that they break off at the joint, falling to the ground, when they should be pollinating and producing groceries.

The hard truth is that most plants do not like the summer heat. Even “warm weather” crops wilt or refuse to set fruit above 95°F.

It’s not too late to mitigate heat and plant sunburn.

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First of all, consider the term “full sun.” If you spend enough time in a desert climate, such as where I live, it’s easy to assume that “full sun” means a day of the same sunlight that lets you fry eggs on rooftops. “Full sun” is actually six hours. And it’s usually sunlight within a climate that regularly sees clouds. If you live in high elevations and don’t have regular cloud cover, you may need to avoid plant sunburn by providing shade.

Plant sunburn kills patches on leaves, trunks and fruit, and can be identified by a white area on the most exposed area of the plant. That area will die. If the scald is small enough, the rest of the plant will recover but the scald will not heal. The best way to protect against plant sunburn is to harden plants off before setting them out permanently. Crops grown within a greenhouse have never experienced the full, brutal wrath of pure sunlight. Introduce them gently. Set out for an hour the first day, two hours the second, increasing until they can spend all day outside. If you prune crops such as tomatoes, don’t expose areas that have previously been shaded. Beautiful fruit, sheltered by a wide leaf, turns rough and ugly from plant sunburn.

It’s important to use water wisely around the garden, no matter where you live. Photo by Shelley DeDauw.

The second-best way to avoid plant sunburn is with shade. Remember how I said “full sun” was six hours in an area that has clouds? Filtering out harsh sun does wonders for garden health. Expensive tarps promise to reduce UV damage by 60 percent. Commercial shade cloth allows 80 percent of light to shine through. And threadbare white sheets, purchased at garage sales, can provide the same protection for much less money. Even planting your tomatoes where a tree shades them from noon to 3 p.m. helps. Use garden hoops for smaller crops or clip shade cloth to tomato cages.

Mitigate heat down below as well. A light-colored mulch such as straw retains moisture in the soil as well as reflecting the sun in the same way that white clothing is cooler than a dark sweater.

Drought

Some states are still recovering from one of the worst droughts in history, settling hard on a large agricultural area. Others live in a constant state of drought.

Before dry weather hits, avoid problems by choosing plants that are hardier, use less water, have tougher foliage, and can go without moisture a little longer before sacrificing quality. Amend soil as well. The sweet soil balance is “loam,” a balanced percentage of sand, silt and clay. If you don’t have loam, add compost, aged manure, and other plant-based material. A high percentage of organic material holds more water. It also feeds more nutrients to plants, allowing them to withstand stress. Poorly nourished vegetables are among the first to succumb to Mother Nature’s wrath.

Mulch is a gardener’s most important tool against long, dry spells. It shields dirt from sun, which may kill microbes, wind which may strip away topsoil, and allows plant roots to stay cool. Mulch also holds moisture in the ground, reducing the amount of watering needed. It regulates moisture so the best fruit can develop. Do not leave soil bare to the elements.

Water wisely during drought, using driplines if possible. Soaker hoses, pointed downward, are another good option. Combine drip irrigation with mulch to keep each drop where it belongs. Water at night or in the morning, when water is least likely to evaporate before it can sink in. Areas that experience powdery mildew benefit from morning watering so moisture does not remain on leaves for long periods of time.

Soaker hoses and drip irrigation with mulch keeps water channeled around the plants and away from areas you don’t need water. Photo by Shelley DeDauw.

Water, Water Everywhere

Last summer, I experienced stale chips for the first time while visiting coastal California. I live in a climate where corn chips sit for three months in an open bowl and are just as crisp as day one. It also rains so rarely that new gardeners call me in panic, asking, “It’s raining! Do I need to cover my plants?”

Relax. Rain is a good thing. Usually.

Wetter states experience frequent rainfall and have soil ready to handle it. Flash flooding is more of a Western desert thing, and facts about floods prove it can be devastating.

Most plants can handle rainfall as long as it doesn’t contain hail or isn’t driven by hurricane-force winds. Leaves may bow down from the moisture but they rarely receive more than a few rips. It’s the soil that suffers. If dirt is heavy with clay, water doesn’t sink in. It runs off, taking topsoil with it, or sits around roots to drown the plants.

Construct your garden with drainage. Digging trenches between rows allows excess moisture to roll off and collect away from the roots. Dig in a bit of a slope so flooding runs downhill and out of the garden bed. By the time those trenches fill with water, your plants have had more than enough anyway.

If you haven’t thought that far ahead and you watch in panic as water pools beneath your pumpkins, don a raincoat and arm yourself with a shovel or hoe. Scrape trenches into the soil, drawing a path from the pond to the edges of your garden. The same emergency technique can be used in chicken runs or animal stalls to divert water elsewhere.

And speaking of flooding: If you’re experiencing a level of natural disaster, and your garden sits in water washed in from who-knows-where, do not eat the produce. Food pulled from flood waters may be covered in harmful bacteria. Don’t cook them, can them, or even compost them. Disinfect any boots or gloves you used while working in a flooded area.

Photo by Shelley DeDauw

Hail

Foresight can save your garden when the angels hurl ice cubes from the heavens.

Though pea-sized pellets won’t do worse than puncture leaves during a short storm, prolonged exposure strips foliage and breaks branches. The larger hail gets, the more damaging it is. And the time to think about preventing damage isn’t when golf balls fall from the sky.

Protection is simple: cover your plants. It doesn’t have to be fancy. Overhead structures such as trellises or pergolas either block the hail altogether or slow its descent. Ice bounces from the surfaces and rolls to the ground. Previously constructed grow tunnels can stop hail as well as harsh sunlight, though the pellets may puncture thinner fabrics.

Keep a stash of emergency covers in a shed: Old five-gallon buckets, empty planters, or milk jugs with the tops cut off. If the hail isn’t dangerous to you, run out with a hat on. Upturn containers over the plants and let them stay on until the storm is over.

If the hail has damaged your plants, do not remove leaves that are only a little punctured and torn. As with plant sunburn, may be ugly but they can still photosynthesize for the plant. Remove broken stems and branches, sterilizing pruners before and between cuts so disease doesn’t spread to an already-stressed plant.

Ragged greens and herbs can still be used if harvested before bacteria can sit in the leaves’ wounds. Dice greens then boil them into soups. Dehydrate herbs or use them fresh to make a garlic oil recipe.

Shade cloth can help prevent plants from getting sun scald or hail damage, as well as helping decrease vaporation. Photos by Shelley DeDauw.

High Winds

Back east, hail is often a precursor to a tornado. This changes the rules when you think about protecting plants because objects like pots and buckets can fly around in harsh winds, doing more damage than the wind itself.

A little wind is good. It’s what pollinates corn. But too much can plow through a small homestead and leave swaths of destruction. If your area is prone to high winds, you probably already know it. And if you just moved in, ask local gardeners if you need to worry about dangerous gusts. Whether they’re tornadoes, hurricanes, or seasonal gales, they can shred leaves and blow cornstalks to the ground.

Before the storms can hit, construct windbreaks such as hedges on the outskirts of gardens. Or plant crops beside buildings or walls. Stake tall plants such as tomatoes at least a foot into the ground. Anchor slender fruit trees with guywires or poles. Keep your garden tidy, stashing loose items in sheds, so they don’t become wrecking balls hurled by the wind’s cruel hand.

Watch the weather reports. As the warm air mixes with cold and the gusts build, run outside and harvest all the fruits and vegetables you can. Tomatoes and peppers with just a hint of color will still ripen indoors. Then hold on and hope for the best.

You can’t choose whether tornadoes or hurricanes devastate your crops. And if they do, salvage what you can. Rinse plants and soil with clean water if you live near coastal areas; they may have salt left from seawater that blew in. Dig out the soil to drain any standing water. Compost debris if it has not come in contact with flooding.

Recovering From Disaster

The rain and hail stopped, the wind cleared, and the water drained. Now the sun shines relentlessly once again. Take a deep breath and don your gloves. You have work to do.

Don’t leave debris lying around the garden. Trim away broken stems and branches with sterilized shears. Right now you need to help surviving plants recover, which means avoiding disease from dirty tools. Don’t cut off leaves that are minimally damaged by hail or plant sunburn because the plant needs these to build strength and produce more foliage. Unless you need to wash away salt or contamination, let the soil dry before watering again.

If you survived a natural disaster, your dirt may not have. Erosion can wash away fertile topsoil. Replace both nutrients and lost topsoil with compost and a prepared soil mixture. Depending on the damage and the time of year, you may need to replant. And if it’s already late in the summer, you can still get a fall crop in.

Whenever Mother Nature cackles and rubs her hands together, preparing to play ping-pong with your eggplant, you’re going to fret and worry no matter what. But if you know how to survive weather disasters within your garden, you can minimize damage and often come out with a full harvest.

Have you dealt with disasters like floods, storms, or plant sunburn? Sharing what you learned can help other gardeners.

Originally published in the July/August 2016 issue of Countryside & Small Stock Journal.

Avoid Plant Sunburn and Summer Garden Disasters was originally posted by All About Chickens

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SEO Marketing Tips

Stop Guessing Your Audience

Know Your Niche with Targeted Analytics

 SEO MARKETING TIPS

Internet marketing is forever changing. With technology moving faster than ever it is hard to keep up with what are the most current and best online practices. We are regularly updating this SEO marketing tips page and we hope they are of some help. Contact us if you have any questions. #1 STAY ACTIVE Always stay active when it comes to your SEO marketing, of course not to the point of harassment of your followers; we all know these folks. The search engines do include "activity" as part of their overall ranking considerations. It doesn't matter how big or small your contribution are, you just have to be consistent. It could be in the form of a blog article or a Twitter post or even commenting on some forums that are in your business niche. Whatever it is, stick at it and you will see results with perseverance and a little bit of work. #2 REMEMBER THE BASICS There are 4 basics to remember about SEO marketing; content must be relevant, interesting, valuable and continuous. Stick to these 4 main principles and your website traffic will increase, guaranteed. If you want to create a buzz around your brand or product, its has to be relevant, but more importantly interesting, giving value to the reader. This encourages engagement, which converts to more website visits. Site visits are an important ranking factor. It tells the search engines which website to show in the results. Of course proper tags and keyword structures need to be followed also, but great content is where it all starts. Think about it, which content do you share via your social media channels or by word of mouth, the interesting stuff right? Chances are we are not going to share that boring article to our collegues and friends, no matter how well "SEO optimised" it was. So awesome content continues to be one of the best ways to increase your enquires and get the search engines to sit up and take notice. #3 EXPERIMENT, TEST, REPEAT Check out this guide on web marketing for small to medium business. Engaging your audience on social media has become an essential part of business in todays climate. But what to write and where to find the right audience? Coming up with new an interesting content can be a challenge even for the pros in the business. There is no magic formula as all businesses are unique, and their audiences needs are different. Our best advice is to be inventive, original and remember to test numerous different platforms and monitor your results. What doesn't work on Twitter for example may have great success on Medium or Pinterest. It is not always a bad post, it may just be in front of the wrong crowd. #4 BE PATIENT SEO marketing, when done right, will provide more free leads than any other source. Have a clear plan and stick to it. Many businesses make the mistake of guessing with a "little bit here and there will do" approach. This will never get results! A strict weekly SEO plan and schedule is the only way to improve your search rankings. Once you have implemented a sound SEO strategy for your website and digital marketing, you can expect your website traffic to increase sharply. If at this stage you are thinking this is all too complicated, you can just hire us to handle it on your behalf. We’ll research your area, target niche, rewrite your content, set your goals, and build a branding plan that will allow long term success. #5 THE POWER OF INFLUENCER MARKETING Influencer marketing involves marketing services and products to people who have a influence over the things other individuals buy. This industry influence typically stems from someone's experience, popularity, or reputation. Marketing to an audience of influencers is comparable to word of mouth marketing, but it doesn't rely solely on explicit recommendations. Influence may come from a wide assortment of places. Any person, group, manufacturer, or location could potentially be an influencer. By way of example, celebrities are often utilised to promote products since they're highly respected and extremely visible. Bloggers have become significant influencers because they are seen as authentic and have loyal followings. When a blogger recommends a product it seems more reliable than traditional advertising. By using influencers, companies can avoid much of the cynicism and skepticism that is directed at directly forward advertising messages. This kind of marketing is unique because it appeals to the needs of the influencer as opposed to the customer. Companies must give influencers respect and form open and organic connections for the influencer to endorse a product. This may include giving the influencer accessibility to a soon-to-be released product, or inviting the influencer to visit the company in person. The only important drawback of influencer marketing is that it isn't as controllable as traditional marketing. When some influencers only add to the positive image of a product, influencers who encounter legal trouble or drop from the public light might negatively impact a product's likelihood of succeeding. Marketers have to prepare to take care of negative fallout if the influencers they utilize misrepresent or refuse their products. #6 BEWARE THE FAKE INFLUENCER  For a marketer, registering up a real influencer is quite a challenge. There are no definite checkboxes to be ticked to make sure that he or she is somebody who can really kick up a storm from the social networking circles. However, it is always possible to do some groundwork to check if their so called fan following is accurate and existent. Here are the typical characteristics that influencers with fake followers exhibit: A very sudden burst of followers. Demographics of their followers are inconsistent. Engagement from their followers is suspiciously low. When using fake followers for influencer advertising, there's always the risk of missing actual followers amidst the barrage of fake ones. Influencers who aren't able to maintain constant engagement with their authentic followers will definitely lose their standing soon which will hamper their affiliated brands' picture too. The bottom line is, influencer marketing is a great strategy only if the followers are authentic and genuine. Influencers with fake followers can really rust the social media marketing process compared to energise it. In the long run, 'original' content is always the King! Fakes don't last. "ALL OUR CLIENTS HAVE A SIGNIFICANT IMPROVEMENT IN THEIR SEO MARKETING WITHIN 5 MONTHS ". SMALL BUSINESS FUNDING IS AVAILABLE  Please click on this link provided to go through the Queensland Governments small business digital grants page. You may be eligible for up to 10k to be used on hardware, software and services. Facebook Twitter Google+ instagramlinkedin Read the full article