#its hard to draw on the plastic lol

[struck-by-the-rain]

rh shrinky dink earrings batch 2 ready to be shrunk!!

[coleslawleviathan]

okay so. i challenged myself to try and draw some snakes and try to capture the features i want to stand out for them. i wanted to see if i could make them all look distinct but where its obvious they look extremely similar.

heres the main lineup but i want to get into design elements for them as well as some personal headcanons.

FIRST! bibo.

okay so. i'm going to toot my own horn here. i think his beard looks so fire and i did a good job. i imagine this design is around the portable ops era... not much else to say because most of the interesting stuff (at least to me) comes from the differences the others have from him.

V!!! I LOVE YOU V!!!!!!!!!!

for venom snake, i made him look like big boss but Something's Off. in the game people often (notably huey and the boss' ai) don't recognize him as big boss for a few seconds. an imperfect replica because you cannot get that close with plastic surgery. i made the fat distribution on his neck a bit different from bibo's because i imagine the way that the human body configures itself is hard to change. if you noticed the little snake-tongue-shaped-hair-doohickeys, he is the only one with a slightly different shape. it's a genetic thing, you wouldn't get it. just thought that was silly. his hair texture is different, too. can u tell i like him a lot. also, my favorite detail might be his different nose shape. they never got bibo's nose right i guess. in mgsv, he actually has a bit of a downturned nose, and i honestly don't think i captured that enough.

TIME FOR MY FAVORITE BOY. LOVE OF MY LIFE. HOLDER OF MY GENDER ENVY. solid snake :3

SNAVID! the most obvious difference here is his nose. he broke it as a kid lol. i love headcanons. there's not as much to say about him as with venom, but i can say that he is incredibly handsome and i like him. i think he is cute. was he free yesterday? if so i would like to have dinner yesterday with him yesterday. well... i will say that out of this specific lineup i think he looks the most like good old dad. which is awful and i feel bad for him.

FINALLY: LIQUID!!!!!!!

i gave him his canonical sharp nose and high cheekbones! i based a lot of his features off how he looked as a kid so he really has little shit vibes about him. he also has thinner eyebrows, and i headcanon that he does them himself lol. he has less sideburny sideburns than his brother. his eyelids are also smaller. he also does look kinda like kaz so its plausible that he tricked dave! yippee! i also like drawing his hair. its such a great hairstyle. it reminds me of a lion's mane.

N E WAYS... i hope you enjoyed me rambling about giving these goobers a more realistic design for future reference. i like talking about this kind of stuff. life is so much better without same face syndrome.

[bunnieswithknives]

Ok sorry to bother but this question has been haunting me for a while about the Two of Us Au.

HOW DOES DAVID TAKE A SHOWER WITH THE PATCHES

I made a visual diagram with some ideas of mine but ill also list them out

So idea number one: He uses some kind of plastic face mask or plastic bag.

Now the pro to this is that it will work 90% of the time to not get in water and its easy to use if its a light shower. The cons are that if water gets in, its hell and after a while it’ll get hard 2 breathe in

Idea number two: He avoids getting his face wet.

Now the pro to this is that patches wont get wet but a major con is that 1: No hair being washed. 2: from experience, this will hurt your neck for a while

Idea number three: He just suffers with wet patches

Pros: Clean guy!! It also gives him time to think about his mistakes in the shower and think about his sins

Cons: If he doesn’t have a hair dryer, It’ll take HOURS to dry out and after a while, the patches will feel and smell bad

Idea four: resew each time

Now the pros are the same with the past one. Squeaky clean and shower time

MAJOR CONS: He has to take off the patches each time which must hurt like hell and resew them back on. Lots of money will get put down the gutter (But he has rich boy dead parent money so…) and David will have to look at the scars each time which he doesn’t like so it can just make it emotionally worse. ALSO! Huge time waster! If he woke up late one day and he has to dash to class, there’s no time to sew!!

Idea five: No shower..

Theres no pros from this besides a guarantee that the patches dont get wet

Lots of draw backs tho like: He is not clean! He will be stinky! Also he’s living with Rowan! Rowan might be able to put it up like about a day or two at most before trying to get David to take a bath like a rabid cat.

Anyways that’s just my question cause its been spiraling in my head for the past 3 days HELP-

He alternates between suffering through the wet and just avoiding showering, he def has a hairdryer but I imagine it still SUCKS lol

[draculovemp3]

@revenge-of-the-assbutt @firstaidspray @sachermorte thank u for enabling me NEWAY since I’ve been too dead to do any of my own hobbies here’s some thoughts on House & Co’s physical hobbies/lil crafts & such they do in the comfort of their home<3:

House: canonically does a ton of shit like piano/guitar/cooking/so on but In the spirit of him resisting change (At Times!) I think he’s gotten very good if not makes a fun time out of mending clothes🥺…. Didn’t wanna throw away his favorite shirts so it started w small hems+resizings until he looked up more tips online and get decorative w it. Pretty contrasting colors/patterns now randomly laid on his shirts and pants w only the careful eye(Cuddy+Wilson) to notice. If anyone cares

Wilson: gardening. Well as much one can do within his apartments/pretty nonplant friendly homes. He’s not a super greenthumb expert but it always gives him a lil confidence boost when he’s able to grow out spices and herbs & such to use in his cooking ♥️

Cuddy: she seems like a collage-making kind of girlie💗💗 no specific theme in em or anything but she still holds onto the potential self-aid of making vision boards and it’s relaxing for her to go thru magazines/etc + cut out whatever interests her enough to use. Rachel tries and cutely fails to help 💓💓💓

Chase: ironically enough for the prodigal son lol but . He genuinely seems like someone who enjoys spending time in silence/music doing puzzles w 1000+ pieces & such #DWEEB❤️. House once got him a 5000 piece puzzle of a kangaroo or w/e as a joke and he is Determined to complete it. In due time chase…

Foreman: the thought of Foreman crocheting is so dear to me….. he doesn’t rly tell anyone ab it but there’s a lot of half-finished + worn projects as proof around his home. #angsting it sorry but I think he took it up after his mom started deteriorating bc she crocheted too and it was a fonder reminder + sumn they could do together. One yr he gave the fellow ducklings scarves he made as Xmas gift. Not that he told him he made it tho😅#repressed

Cameron: I think she has a moderately sized zen garden on a table somewhere in her home she takes SERIOUS. Changes the lines/circles in the sand periodically, sees what new arrangement of rocks she can do etc etc. Girl that thing is meant to be relaxing!! also colorcodes/sticker-covers/etc her planner like a CHAMP.

Amber: she has the most well-detailed prettiest most concerning-when-read journal/diary everrrr. Dedicates a specific time in every day to it w specific pens of various colors. Some of the recounting even have lil doodles or if she takes the journal out w her she draws her view wherever she is<3 they’re literal chickenscratch but its still fun and fulfilling. It’s a bibleesque piece to Wilson’s Amber shrine btw

Thirteen: she’s hard to analyze for me soz 13heads I do love her #trust… nonetheless I bet she goes to hella dance classes. Partially for the exercise partially for the fun partially for the need to experience Life partially for the women. Heh. She’s rly into zumba, jazz, contemporary classes to be specific.

Taub: ok ok so remember when he did/bought pottery or w/e to convince his wife he was being faithful. I think he’d do it for real as a joke/alibi then be like wait…. This is kinda fun…? There’s no constraints to what he can make + the sculpting reminds him vaguely of plastic surgery work so he keeps it up.

Kutner: I think he draws + writes his own lil comics/zines 🫶 they’re mostly scifi or superhero and more than a lil inspired by his fave preexisting medias . He likes using the crazy cases he’s experienced w House as story inspo. Also he 4 sure runs dnd campaigns so well and fun. Btw

Masters: she’s a suckerrrr for trivia nights my lil nerd wife<3 but um anyway when she wants to relax she Really doesn’t want sumn that can become info overload so in free time she’ll make friendship bracelets, lil shapes/figures out of string, etc. Will someone please give this woman a full on loom to go cray with!!!!

Park: I can see it so clearly . I can see her lil handpainted warhammer and other tabletop game figures so perfectly in my head. She paints more than she actually plays(but she does !). God save you if you touch or tumble them.

Adams: I kinda DGAF about her sorry women… hmm there’s sumn compelling ab her doing blackout poetry plus occasionally full-on written when the inspo hits! started as a boredom thing in her job in the prison w whatever book she brought in then she kept on doing it w more and more written pieces she comes across.

I put so much time into this. Perhaps too much.😭feel free to gimme y’all’s thoughts on this/ur own ideas :3

[wooahaes]

cause you’re my flower

pairing: non-idol!seungkwan x gn!reader, ft roommate!dk

word count: 9.3k~

warnings: angst, no happy ending. usage of the hanahaki disease trope + mentions of surgery (& hospitals). heartbreak, depictions of illness (via hanahaki), reader struggles with breathing some. vernon says ‘dude’ but its unclear whether its aimed at reader or toward chan (it can be easily read either way). minimal proofreading, my bad.

daisy’s notes: ok google play flower + fallin’ flower by svt. in my heart theres a sequel of reader n joshua + jeonghan (or just reader and seokmin tbh, both could work) slowly falling in love lol but i doubt anyone wants that fic

It all started with a tickle in the back of your throat in early winter.

In your defense, you’d just thought you were coming down with something. From the corner of a cozy cafe, you waited for Seungkwan with a burning hot cup of tea in a to-go cup between your hands. Maybe you’d make another cup when you went home--black tea, maybe, with honey for your health. Seokmin would probably give you a soup recipe if you asked and help you make it, too (the perks of having a lovely roommate). But that could wait, as you saw Seungkwan walk into the cafe. He spotted you, smiling and waving before he went to order his Americano. He’d asked you to meet him here, and yet you’d arrived before he did. You’d tease him about it later: you always seemed to be the one who showed up to places before he did (out of habit for getting places early, to be fair).

Soon enough, Seungkwan had sat across from you, making small talk while he opened the plastic. You’d been talking about work when you noticed the way he fumbled the straw, the plastic hitting the table.

Was he nervous...?

“Everything okay?” You tilted your head, as if it’d give you a better look at him. His eyes flickered up to meet your own, and you smiled. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

Seungkwan let out a sigh a moment later, annoyed that his nerves had triumphed over his attempt to act casual. “I went out on a date.”

For a second, your smile faltered. “Oh?”

“And it went well,” he said, pushing his straw into his drink. The ice clinked as he picked it up, taking a long sip before setting it back down. “She wants to go out again, but...”

“But?”

He met your gaze again. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

In another life, you’d probably laugh at him. Tease him over being clueless before asking what they’d agreed on. But that damn tickle in the back of your throat made you cough, smile falling as you reached for your drink. Seungkwan, kind as he always was, had immediately moved to push it into your hands. He waited, watching you take a long sip of your tea until your throat felt soothed.

“Are you sick?” He frowned, brows drawing tightly together. “I should have asked before asking you to meet me--”

You waved him off. “I’m fine, Kwannie,” you forced your voice to stay lighter, as if nothing was wrong. “Don’t worry about me.”

Yet he pouted, “Have you been taking your vitamins? It’s cold out. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll get sick...”  

Again, you dismissed the thought. “I’m fine,” you pushed further. “So... Do you like her?”

His face flushed at the question as he averted his gaze, taking another long sip through his straw instead of answering your question. “She’s... really kind,” he settled on a moment later. “I think she really likes me.”

Who wouldn’t like you? You cast that thought aside. “That’s good,” you kept your tone even. “So... You’re telling me all of this because...?”

“I want to buy her flowers,” he said. “And I want someone to go with me, and Vernon can’t--not that I’d ask him. You know flowers. So...”

Despite that same damn feeling in your throat picking back up, you swallowed hard and nodded. “Of course I’ll go with you,” you said. “You didn’t have to ask me out to coffee to ask that.”

Seungkwan’s face flushed once more. “I...” He knew you had a point. “I just wanted to see you. Is that so wrong?” When you began to cough again, Seungkwan frowned, “I’ll get you some napkins. You should go home and rest,” he stood up. “Seriously...” He huffed, “We’re friends. You should have told me you weren’t feeling well.”

Truthfully, you didn’t know you were coming down with something. You’d been fine up until he asked you to come meet him, and even then it had only been that tiny tickle in the back of your throat. With napkins pushed into your hands, you bid Seungkwan farewell before leaving--but not without him saying he’d text Seokmin and demand that he take care of you. He was your close friend, that’s what friends were for (and Seungkwan could probably recount the times he’d helped Vernon and Chan when they were feeling awful, albeit from a distance with a mask on and a bag of medicine held as far from himself as possible to minimize the risk of getting sick himself). You’d promised him that you’d let him know when you were home safe and sound, because Seungkwan was a worrier when the people he cared about were struggling, and that had been enough for him to finally let you go.

When you came home, Seokmin had been looking through the fridge. “Seungkwan said you’re sick,” he called out without looking up. “I think I have a recipe--”

“Oh my god, it’s not that serious,” you said, slipping into your house slippers. “I might be getting a cold. I’ll make some tea and rest--it won’t be a big deal.”

Seokmin looked up. “Are you sure? I’ll make us soup tonight,” he turned his attention back to the fridge. “I might run to the store--”

You immediately began to sputter and cough again, something in your throat moving upward with each hack. Seokmin immediately rushed over to you, wide-eyed as he hit you between the shoulder blades as you leaned over the sink. Gasping for air, you continued to choke until something finally fell from your mouth: a wet glob of petals, bright yellow standing out against the stainless steel. You stood there, heaving as Seokmin wordlessly rubbed circles into your back as you caught your breath.

Fuck.

Hanahaki Disease. Of all the things your family was saddled with, this was the absolute fucking worst. While not purely related to genetics, there were the rare families that were more prone to the stupid disease. You’d never win the lottery, but you’d win this shit. Your mother had it once when she was a teenager, and so did her father, and her father’s grandmother because not every bitch in your family has been saddled with this shit. You’d hoped that you’d lucked out.

Considering you were sitting on an examination table and the plastic bag of those stupid yellow carnation petals you’d coughed up, clearly you had not. Seokmin had brought you to the doctor, insisting that you have someone out in the waiting room. And since you knew exactly who these feelings were linked to, you refused to bring Seungkwan or Vernon or Chan into this: two of them would spill shit because this was too big to keep secret.

“Surgery is an option,” the doctor said to you. In your pissed state, you almost wanted to snap back that you knew that because of your family history. But she hadn’t done anything to you, and you bit back any bitter comments as she continued to talk about how the procedure was entirely safe.

Your parents, luckily, had already agreed to pay for the procedure before you even brought it up. You’d called them after spitting up the flower, and your mother had said they’d pay for it to save your life. What you hadn’t told them was that you weren’t entirely sure about the procedure at the moment. You’d heard the horror stories both from family and people outside of it. Your mother had woken up and gone back to school a few days later, and she felt... nothing when she saw her former crush. He used to be her friend, and the surgery had been what led to their friendship ending. Your grandpa told you that he hadn’t regret itted in the slightest: the young man he’d been smitten for had moved on, he never saw him again, and he recovered well. 

But you? Seungkwan was your friend. One of your close friends. How were you supposed to face him after surgery and feel nothing? At the worst, you might not even remember him since the recovery period differed for plenty of people. Your grandpa had told you that: his grandpa had told him when he was a boy that he forgot her face entirely, and that it was for the best. Better to live without remembering them than die gasping for another breath and choking up flowers. How were you supposed to tell Seungkwan that you couldn’t get close to him again? That this would be it between the two of you because if you stayed around him too much, you held the risk of it coming back?

You couldn’t. The idea of hurting Seungkwan was... hard to swallow. Or maybe that was also the petals you started coughing up again, your doctor quickly pushing a paper towel into your hands.

“Luckily we have medication that’ll help slow the process,” she told you, already jotting something down. “A surgeon will get in touch with you to help you figure out what comes next, alright? I’ll give you a call in a day once we get those x-rays back.”

You mumbled some sort of thanks before gathering your things. Seokmin rose once you re-entered the waiting room post-payment for your visit, and made his way over to you.

“I’m fine,” you said, continuing past him. “Gotta stop by the pharmacy.”

Seokmin’s gaze softened. “Well? What did she say?”

You waited until the two of you were outside. “I guess I’m getting surgery.”

“You guess?! You have to get it,” Seokmin said, “you’ll die if you don’t! You aren’t considering not--”

“I don’t know!” You hugged yourself tight. “I just--I don’t know. How am I supposed to tell Seungkwan I can’t see him anymore?”

Seokmin slowed to a stop, staring at you. “It’s Seungkwan?”

... Fuck, you weren’t supposed to say that. No one was supposed to know. But if you had to pick a person, Seokmin was trustworthy. He wouldn’t tell. Not until later, at least. And if you went through the procedure, you’d at least have someone who could keep him away, if not break the news for you...

Seokmin said your name, pity in his eyes. “You should tell him.”

“I can’t.”

Seokmin reached for your hands, gently curling his fingers around them. “You should,” he pushed further. “I’ll be there with you if you want me to be. But you should tell him. What are you going to do if you don’t? Just stop seeing him?”

Honestly, it didn’t seem like such a bad plan. A dick move, definitely, but cutting him out entirely and letting the news get to him secondhand? He’d never want to see you again after that heartbreak. It’d do the job.

“Don’t,” Seokmin said, knowing the look on your face. “We need to go to the pharmacy, right?”

You nodded, pulling your hands free from his. You started forward, only to feel the telltale feeling in your throat of flower petals again. With a tissue pushed into your hand from Seokmin, you coughed up a few petals before curling your fingers around them tight, hands shaking. Seokmin came back to your side, leaning forward to see that tears were brimming around your eyes.

Your name fell from his lips, and before you knew it, Seokmin had enveloped you in his warm embrace. “It’s okay,” he promised. “I’ll help you. You’re not in this alone.”

At least you had Seokmin. In the end, he’d be all you’d have, and you knew it. But you could manage with just Seokmin for right now.

“Seokmin said you went to the doctor.”

Seungkwan stood a little further from you, happily looking over the different flowers on display. True to your word, you’d come with him after promising that you were fine. The medication was working at temporarily slowing down the disease’s progression (thank you, modern medicine--you only choked up flowers every once in a while now), and you hadn’t felt anything. Maybe a little numbness in your chest, but nothing major. That was a normal side effect, apparently, to help with the whole flowers-growing-in-your-lungs thing. You side-eyed the stupid bouquet of yellow carnations, though.

Seungkwan called your name, and your attention snapped back to him. He’d come over, looking down at the flowers. “These are pretty.”

“You don’t want them,” you pushed past him. “If you’re going to pick carnations, you should pick the red ones. Or the pink ones, if you want.”

He’d stayed right where he was. “I don’t know,” he said. “These are pretty.”

“There’s better yellow flowers,” you said. “If she knows anything about flower language, you’d be telling her a big ole “nope, not interested.””

Seungkwan immediately turned away. “This is why I have you here,” he made his way back to you, already latching himself back onto your arm. “You’re the expert... What do you think? I want to give her something bright and pretty.”

You were far from an expert. You just... looked up flower meanings sometimes. Maybe it came from a morbid curiosity when your mother told you, after your badgering, what flowers she had (purple hyacinth--sorrow, a beg for forgiveness). You had looked up your own: of course loving Seungkwan would give you something pretty and bright like him. At least they were better than the red spider lilies (death) that your grandfather had coughed up.

“Are roses off the table?”

“Aren’t they too serious?” Seungkwan frowned at you. “This is our second date... I don’t want it to look like I’m moving too fast.”

“Then go for tulips,” you said, guiding him over to where a bouquet stood of pink tulips. “The pink ones would work.”

“Are you sure?”

If you didn’t know that Seungkwan was anxious, you would have rolled your eyes. He... really seemed to like this girl. There were legends that said if you could convince him to love you back, the flowers would go away on their own. But if doing that tore him away from someone else he already liked...

“Of course I’m sure,” you smiled at him. “She’ll love them.”

Seungkwan had smiled at you, squeezing your arm. “This is why you’re my best friend,” he said. “Besides Vernon.”

The disclaimer there made you smile. If he didn’t specify, you would have texted Vernon immediately. You turned your attention away from him for a moment, gaze caught on a bouquet of white lilies kept in a case. Seungkwan followed your gaze, his grasp on you easing up. He quietly excused himself to go speak to the florist, and you made up something about needing fresh air.

Standing outside the shop, you watched people trudge past. The paint on the bench was beginning to flake off, pieces of dark green and pale white petals coming off onto your fingers. You dragged your hand along the leg of your jeans, and pulled out your phone. You’d need to take your medicine in another few hours, before you went to bed. Once in the morning, once at night: the nightly dose kept you from waking up with petals in your throat (as well as knocked you out pretty well). It worked. It wouldn’t work forever, not when the disease became worse, but at least you had a little more time before you needed surgery. It gave you time to think about what really mattered now.

“Is something wrong?” Seungkwan had exited the store, bell still jingling as the door shut behind him. He held the bouquet in his arms securely, yet gentle enough to keep from crushing a single flower.

Tell him. You could practically hear Seokmin urging you to do so. “Seungkwan...” You felt your hope dwindle in your chest. Guilt. Don’t ruin this. Leave him with good memories of you. “What would you do if something happened to us?” 

He frowned, settling into the spot next to you. “Did the doctor say something?”

“No! No, just...” You frowned. “Theoretically... if we couldn’t be friends anymore... Would you move on?”

Seungkwan watched you with careful eyes, mouth slightly agape as he struggled to answer the question. How would you answer that kind of thing? “You’re scaring me,” he said a moment later. “If something’s wrong--”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you insisted. “It’s just--I dunno, I watched a stupid movie the other day,” you lied, hoping he would buy it. “And I just kept wondering about what would happen if we couldn’t be friends anymore. It’s stupid.”

He let out a sigh of relief, back falling against the bench before he immediately smacked your arm. “You scared me! I thought you were dying!” He huffed, “You shouldn’t talk so seriously about a movie. Seriously...”

“You didn’t answer the question,” you pouted at him. “Would you move on?”

“No,” he said, “because you’re stuck with me forever.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “Uh-huh.”

“You love me,” he laughed, one of his arms slipping through your own. His cheek pressed against your shoulder. “Right?”

... Right.

Seokmin sat behind the wheel, fingers drumming against it as he slightly bobbed his head to the music. He still hadn’t told you where the two of you were going--only that you had to go with him because this was important. Important enough that he was driving to a different part of the city, listening carefully to each instruction from his phone’s map service. He told you that he’d explain when you got there (which was what he told you after he told you he’d explain in the car). Despite your slight demand that he take you out to dinner at a casual place in the area that Mingyu had been raving about, you trusted Seokmin enough to blindly follow him like this.

He pulled the car into a spot, quickly shooting a text to someone before he turned his attention to scrounging up the change to pay for parking. “Okay,” he said. “You said the surgeon called for an exam before setting the date.”

“Uh-huh?”

“And you told me that you were still on the fence about it.”

Stupidly, you had. Although, when you thought about it, it was good that you told someone. Your parents were completely set on it without giving you space to decide: Seokmin at least listened to you.

“I’m going to help you make up your mind,” he said. He pointed up to a higher apartment on the building. “My friends live there. I’ll introduce you when we get there.”

Once he’d paid the meter, Seokmin took your arm and guided you into the building. Soon enough, the two of you were standing in an elevator. You ignored the worried look Seokmin gave you when you coughed up petals into another tissue (this time your own--you’d stolen one of those pocket packs from Seokmin so he wouldn’t have to dote on you so heavily). The elevator whisked the two of you higher and higher before chiming, and Seokmin gestured for you to follow as he looked back at his phone. Wordlessly, you followed him down the hallway until he finally arrived at a door.

Before he could even knock, the door opened. A pretty man stood in the doorway, hair pulled back into the tiniest of ponytails as he warmly greeted Seokmin. Then his gaze met your own, and that warm smile fell a little.

“Is this them?”

Seokmin nodded. He said your name, before turning back to his friend, “this is Jeonghan. We were in a choir together in college.”

Jeonghan stepped out of the way. “I’ll let him know you’re here,” he said. “Just a warning that he doesn’t really remember too much, so... Please don’t stress him out too much.”

The two of you stood in the entryway as Jeonghan left, calling out for someone named Joshua. With a curious glance to Seokmin, you began to pull off your coat to leave behind as Jeonghan returned with another man--equally handsome in looks, with the gentlest eyes you thought you’d ever seen on a person.

“Hi,” he said, voice warm already, “so, uh... You’re the one with Hanahaki?” When you mustered up a nod, he extended a hand to you. “I’m Joshua.”

You introduced yourself in turn, giving Seokmin another weird look. “And... I’m here because...?”

“Hanahaki nearly killed me,” Joshua told you outright. “And Seokmin said you’re considering not getting the surgery. I’m supposed to tell you why it’s a really bad idea before you make up your mind.”

You immediately glared at Seokmin. “I thought you said you wouldn’t force me to change my mind--”

“And he’s not,” Joshua said, gently guiding you forward. “I wasn’t going to get them removed either. But things were... really, really bad. So I just want to tell you what you’re signing yourself up for.”

Jeonghan made a comment about making the two of you some tea, and you followed Joshua out onto the balcony for some privacy. He brushed a hand through his hair, settling into a cozy chair. There was an easel set up in the corner, empty of a canvas but stained with paint. Joshua followed your gaze to it.

“Do you paint?” He asked, and when you shook your head, he smiled. “I don’t, either. It’s Jeonghan’s.”

“And you two are...?”

“Friends,” he clarified easily. “Really close friends. Look... Seokmin told me a little about you. You’re in love with your friend, right?”

It felt weird for a stranger to say it out loud. But you settled into your chair, nodding. “Yeah. His name is Seungkwan,” you said quietly, “and I didn’t mean to fall for him, but I did, and now...”

The conversation died as Jeonghan stepped out, setting two mugs between the two of you. You thanked him, and waited until the balcony door slid shut again before reaching for your own mug.

“And now you’re coughing up petals,” Joshua said, taking his own mug. “I get it. I didn’t think it’d happen to me, either.”

“What happened?”

Joshua opened his mouth to speak, only to wince for a moment. “Shit--” He lifted a hand to his temple, rubbing at it before setting down the mug. You watched the way he went quiet, eyes squeezing shut. “I--I don’t know,” he said. “Jeonghan told me that there was a girl. I fell in love with her, she rejected me, and then I started coughing up flowers.”

You raised a brow. “He told you?”

The pain began to subside, and Joshua opened his eyes again after a moment before nodding. “He told you, right? I don’t remember all of it. Her name, her face... her favorite color.” He stared off for a moment. “Nothing. I’m apparently a rare case, but the doctors said it’s because I let it progress too far.”

“You didn’t see anyone?”

He shook his head. “I told Jeonghan I wasn’t going to. He’ll say I was being dramatic, and maybe I was, but... I didn’t want to lose her. I loved her,” his gaze didn’t meet yours again. “It wasn’t her fault she didn’t love me. Not all cases are fatal, I mean. Jeonghan says I had this stupid hope she’d change her mind because the guy she liked was a dick. My mom kept telling me that I needed to see someone. I think...”

He took a deep breath. And then he slowly exhaled, curling back up in his chair. The thick sweater he wore fell down over his hands, and those pretty pale brown curls were rustled by the cold breeze. But neither of you moved to go back inside.

“I think I was punishing myself. I don’t remember why, or how I came to that conclusion, but it makes sense. I was the one who fell in love with her when it wasn’t going to happen. I was the one who deserved to suffer for it.”

Something about the somber way he spoke shook you. Like he had resigned himself to death there, the heartbreak of a love so powerful not being returned had broken him. Maybe that was why you still weren’t sure about the surgery. It’d be admitting you were stupid enough to fall for someone who never liked you. 

“So it got worse,” Joshua continued after a moment, lidded eyes staring down into his tea. “And worse. And then Jeonghan came home one day, and found me collapsed and gasping for air. He called the paramedics, they managed to clear my airway of the blood and flowers, and I was taken in for an emergency procedure to remove the flowers. If he hadn’t come home, I would have died...”

He didn’t need to say more. You understood the feeling well. If Seokmin hadn’t pushed you to see someone, you’d probably be in the same boat. A morbid part of you had to wonder if you’d be the same way: lying on the kitchen floor, cold tiles under your fingers as you gasped for one last breath of air.

“I’m a rare case,” he said, eyes meeting your own again. “Most people who get the procedure done before it progresses too much still retain all their memories. And I know there’s research still being done on whether Hanahaki always returns if you stay around the person, since a lot of people are reluctant to break ties when they’ve fallen in love with their friend. But if I could go back in time... I don’t think I would hesitate.”

“Have you met other people?” The question pushed out of you before you could process it.

He smiled at you warmly. “I’ve met you.” But then he laughed softly, “A few. No one I’ve liked yet, but I have hope. I started seeing a therapist once I was released from the hospital, and she’s helped me with everything. They say it’s really rare for Hanahaki to take hold twice in the same person--something about the antibodies created, I’m not sure.” He set his mug down. “But... I think Seokmin’s worried you’re trying to punish yourself, too. Just because you fell in love with your friend.”

You said nothing, arms curling back around yourself to hug yourself tight.

“It’s not a crime to fall in love with someone,” Joshua said slowly and clearly. “Just like how it’s not a crime he doesn’t love you back. I know you don’t want to cut him out of your life, but you need to do what’s best for you. You’ll love someone else one day. But if you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t live to experience it.”

Not all cases are fatal, you wanted to point out to him again. It goes away in rare cases.

Rare. Just like the disease itself.

He began to reach into his pockets, pulling out his wallet. “The therapist I see is a grief counselor, but she apparently did some major studies in helping people like us recover after the surgery. If you tell me your room number, I’ll send you a bear.” He slid the card across the table to you. “I figured you’d be tired of flowers.”

The thought made you smile. Without a word, you accept the card, pushing it into your own wallet to consider later. “I didn’t say I’d go through with it.”

“I know. Send me your room number. I’ll give you my number when we’re back inside,” he pushed back his chair. “It’s freezing out here.”

You scooted your own chair back, about to stand when Joshua turned back to you.

“When you tell him,” Joshua said, “make sure you tell him that you still treasure him. Okay?”

You stared at him a moment, brows drawing together.

“Jeonghan didn’t get to do the same before his own procedure,” he said quieter. “She was his friend, too."

(It wasn’t until then that you noticed the top few buttons of Jeonghan’s shirt were open, and you could see the faint incision scar up the center of his chest.)

Seungkwan had invited you over to a movie night--just the two of you. With your medicine kicking in, you’d agreed. Saturday night movie nights were a longstanding tradition, sometimes including Vernon if he wasn’t busy (and occasionally Chan, ever since you unbanned him from them (he had bad taste in college)). But tonight would just be the two of you, and you’d had a long day at work, so something about curling up with Seungkwan and watching something stupid seemed more appealing. At least the petals weren’t a huge deal. You could hide them if need be, but they hadn’t been acting up too badly yet. Maybe you coughed them up a bit more, which wasn’t great when you had to answer phone calls at work, but people were usually understanding when you made a quick apology and went straight back into that mask of professionalism. You’d fully be off while you recovered from surgery, taking off a few personal days leading up to it as well, and hopefully be fine to return soon enough. But you kept tissues on your desk and had grown better at coughing up the petals and immediately tossing them away before anyone could see or be bothered by it. Even Seokmin rarely noticed when it was acting up again. 

And yet the universe seemed to have the absolute worst fucking timing.

“You didn’t have to say yes,” Seungkwan said from the other end of the couch as he watched you shift uncomfortably, coughing into your elbow while searching for your pack of tissues. “If you aren’t feeling well, you should be resting. I don’t know why you’re even at work right now. Your doctor should have given you the written excuse to get your boss off your back.”

“She did, I just didn’t use it. I’ll take off next week.”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the drama on the screen--something he’d been meaning to watch. “I have extra vitamins you can take with you. Remind me and I’ll give them to you before you leave.”

The female lead had begun coughing up flowers dramatically on the screen, and you felt a sense of bitterness at the sight of it. You had seen this one already. She’d die in the end, right before the male lead could confess that he fell for her instead. It was the dramatic tragedy of someone suffering for their love. Talking to Joshua had been enough to push that thought out of your mind: you’d get the procedure done to remove your own flowers. The harder part, and maybe the part people didn’t talk about often, was the way to cut someone out. You’d read articles both for people like you and for people trying to get out of toxic situations in general.

They said that you didn’t owe anyone an explanation. To do it publicly to keep yourself safe. That this was a process you had to go through, too, and that it was okay to dwell... except for the timer you had on your own situation, but you still had a little more time. Some lists even said to block them entirely once everything was over, just to keep them away for good. Other people said to have a real talk with someone, to explain the situation to them in order to ensure your health in the future. Everyone said it was the hardest thing to do to tell someone that you loved them and that them not reciprocating meant you were struggling worse all because of stupid flowers in your lungs, but to make it clear that it wasn’t their fault (although you’d seen people bitter and angry on both sides, some claiming it was guilt-tripping, others claiming that it technically was their fault). There was a mature way to say “I love you, I know you don’t love me back, so we need to end this so that I can live” according to plenty of people. Some people said the distance helped once the conversation was over.

But every time you looked at Seungkwan, you felt an ache in your heart and a deeper one in your lungs.

“Does this ever bother you?” He said, not looking up. He picked up another piece of popcorn. “Seeing it treated like this?”

“It’s dramatic,” you shrugged. “People use illness all the time for stuff.”

“Still...” He sighed. “I can’t imagine what it feels like to be physically hurting like this. Heartbreak is hard enough. But coughing up flowers? Isn’t that worse?”

“It is,” you hummed. “That’s what my family said, at least.”

He sighed. “If this ever happens to you, I’m taking care of you until you recover. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Kwannie.”

He looked at you, offended. “I would be a great nurse! You know that,” he huffed.

You wanted to respond and say he couldn’t keep that kind of promise to you. But instead you turned over, watching the secondary male lead in a scene with his own love interest and the actual male lead eavesdropping. “What would your girlfriend think, hm?” You settled on teasing him, if nothing else but to shove your own feelings aside. “Taking care of someone else...”

“She knows I love my friends,” he said. And then you felt him smack your leg. “She’s not my girlfriend yet!”

“Yet.”

He looked sheepish at his slip of the tongue. “It feels a little too soon,” he said, turning back away from you. “I’ve known her for a while, but...”

“If you love her, you shouldn’t hesitate.” You curled up into yourself a little. “Life is short. What if something happens? You shouldn’t wait forever to tell someone how much they mean to you.”

“I know that,” he said, casual as could be. “That’s why I tell you all how much I love you.”

You cracked a small smile, almost telling him that he only did that because he was a big softie who loved all his friends (and liked being told in return that he was loved, too). Seungkwan was always the most physically touchy of your friend circle: that was why he was either hanging off of you or Vernon most of the time, more than content to be snuggled up to your arm or hugging you from behind during casual moments. It’s something that’s made both of you be mistaken for Seungkwan’s partner, sure, but you were always able to laugh it off both before and after you developed feelings for him.

(There was one instance of the two of you playing up the dramatics when someone tried to tell you that your boyfriend was cheating on you with the other person. Vernon had mouthed for you to slap him, and you’d stormed off only to meet back up in the car with a incredibly flustered Seungkwan who swore he couldn’t take the two of you anywhere anymore.)

“Yeah,” you said, half-heartedly as realization hit you again that these moments were fleeting. Soon you wouldn’t be able to see him anymore, not for prolonged moments. You couldn’t risk the flowers coming back once they were gone. “Love you, too, Seungkwan.”

Maybe one day you’d tell him just how much before you lost the feeling entirely.

You’d set the date. You’d gone in for the visit your surgeon had requested, which was primarily for them to take a new x-ray to check the progress. In another world, you’d be looking at the flowers on that results sheet and thinking that it was a pretty art project. But the reality of the situation was that the disease had progressed, and you’d be going in on Friday to have them surgically removed. Your parents had already come into the city with a hotel room booked for the week (the downside of your apartment with Seokmin being so small: you sure as hell weren’t going to boot him from his own room despite his offer, and your parents would rather stay somewhere closer to the hospital). You’d had dinner with them yesterday night after your appointment, talking through everything with them. Although your father would never know the feelings your mother described to you, he had been supportive as he could be while she talked you through the procedure for the third time since that first phone call.

Which was why you were now, on Wednesday, waiting for Seungkwan... and Vernon and Chan. Seokmin was sitting next to you, happy to play moral support as you broke the news. You’d figured everything out: you’d tell them about the procedure, and then ask for a day with Seungkwan tomorrow in order to experience something nice before you were stuck in the hospital for your recovery period. Except for the past where you broke the news that you could never see him again, that you loved him, and that you treasured your friendship and would never hold it against him that he didn’t reciprocate. Maybe Vernon and Chan would never speak to you again, too, but that was a fallout for later you.

Except you could see Vernon and Chan walking up to the restaurant without Seungkwan, and you knew for a fact that they would have come together.

“Seungkwan couldn’t make it,” Chan had said as he took his seat. “Didn’t he text you?”

(He did: his sister was in the city for the day and he rarely got to see her, so he apologized and said he’d talk to you tomorrow. You just hadn’t heard your phone go off, or you would have left with Seokmin far earlier and figured out something else.) 

Seokmin could see the panic on your face. He said your name, hand grazing your arm as you pushed it away.

“I’m fine,” he said.

He lowered his voice, albeit it was useless considering how close the other two were, “You’re supposed to be taking it easy now. Panicking only makes it worse--”

“Makes what worse?” Chan asked, looking between the two of you. “Wait. Are you dying?”

“No--” You said, and at the worst fucking possible moment, you began to cough. “Shit.”

Seokmin reached for the napkins as you shielded yourself as best as you could, flower petals falling in a thick clump into the white napkin. The petals, while on your medication, were rare. Not gone entirely, and of course they’d pick this moment to act up.

Vernon stared at you, hand groping through the air until it hit Chan’s arm. “Dude.”

You could practically see two bulbs light up above each guy’s head. “Don’t tell Seungkwan.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘don’t tell Seungkwan’?!” To your surprise, Vernon had raised his voice a little. He immediately lowered it after nodding in apology to the other patrons, “you have Hanahaki! You could die if--”

“My surgery’s on Friday,” you said, “so technically I won’t die.”

“That’s beside the point!” Chan stared at you. “You’re--Why didn’t you tell us sooner?! How long have you known?!”

You said nothing. Seokmin only looked at you.

“A few weeks,” you finally confessed. “But I’m fine and I’m getting them removed, so I’ll be fine. Just... I wanted to tell Seungkwan myself.” I needed to tell him I love him before I don’t remember feeling it anymore.

Vernon knew you, though. Chan might be a little oblivious at times, but Vernon had observed you and Seungkwan enough to know. He tore his eyes away from your own, and you could hear him mumble something about how this was awful timing. The thought made your chest ache.

This was awful timing? For who? For Seungkwan? Sure, you were pretty much dying right now and having to make sure you didn’t choke to death on flowers in your sleep--But, fuck, this was inconvenient timing for Seungkwan apparently. If you had it your way, you wouldn’t have ever developed feelings for him. But Seungkwan was sweet. He was your close friend. He was the one who came over and nursed you back to health a year ago when you had the flu, even if he scolded you for not taking better care of your health.

He’d probably scold you now, too. Seungkwan would have told you off for not telling him sooner, and then he would probably have let you cry in his arms because of how terrified you were underneath everything. The procedure itself was safe: the aftermath could be anything. Meeting Joshua had confirmed that for you. What if you were like him one day? Still living with your roommate, unable to remember the reason behind the scars on your sides (or down the center of your chest--you shivered to imagine what that would mean for you, and you refused to bring that topic up to Jeonghan who clearly would rather not talk about it) without pain? You’d looked it up before: the pain was a psychological thing... or, at least, that was the leading theory. Joshua was rare, people were still researching it in full, but they said it was in the same vein as people who lived through trauma only to not remember a thing because they blocked it all out. A safety measure out of your own control.

(Sometimes you wonder whether Joshua even wanted to remember.)

Hanahaki tore people apart. The fact that you were more prone to it only made you angrier at the world, at the stupid flowers stuck in your lungs. At yourself for being so foolish to fall for Boo Seungkwan when he was only ever going to be your friend.

Vernon’s gaze softened as he watched you, so quiet and acting so much smaller. Like a child, almost: uncertain of what would come next, but with only so much guidance that you could fully understand. The swelling, the stiffness, the different feelings around your incisions. But what about what really came next? The empty feeling when you saw Seungkwan again unless you pulled yourself together to tell him that he couldn’t see you again. Not for long, not without risking yourself. He’d heard the stories and was lucky enough that his own instances of unrequited love were met with plenty of chocolate and nights with his friends, watching movies and giving him a space to feel and breathe and think.

“So what do you want us to do?”

You lifted your gaze from where you’d begun staring down into your lap, meeting Vernon’s eyes. “I...”

“We’re not gonna tell him,” he promised, despite the look Chan gave him. “I mean, that’s your thing, right? It’s your thing to tell, unless you want us to tell.”

You shook your head. “I’ll meet up with him tomorrow,” you said. “And I’ll tell him everything.”

Chan looked between the two of you, realization slowly swallowing him whole. “We’ll come visit,” he said quietly. “Is that okay?”

“It’s not a huge deal,” you shrugged. “I mean. It’s surgery, but they’ll probably keep me in for a few days of observation before I can go home. Just... Don’t send me flowers.”

It’s a weak joke, but it earned a smile from Chan. With that, you decided to shove the conversation aside for a meal with your friends instead. It felt comforting to pretend that everything was okay, as much as you wished Seungkwan was there with you. It’d be nice to hold his hand under the table for a minute, just to know that he cared about you still. That, even after you walk out of his life for good, he’d still care for you in the future.

It wasn’t until you were back in the passenger side of Seokmin’s car that you called Joshua and asked if he was busy. That night, the two of you were sitting in the Hong-Yoon apartment so you could have a cozy night. As much as you wanted to go out for dinner with your parents, you needed to stay away from surgery talk (and, unfortunately for you, that was how your mother calmed herself down: going over the procedure out loud to try and reassure both of you that everything was going to be fine). Joshua had an arm draped around your shoulders, blanketing you in his warmth as the four of you were watching some drama they’d found on Netflix.

Seokmin left to use the bathroom, and Jeonghan shifted over so that he’d be resting against Joshua’s other side. A moment later, he lifted his head, eyes meeting your own. “It’s going to be okay,” he reached out, hand finding your own for a reassuring squeeze. “I recovered well. You’ll be okay.”

Wordlessly, you snuggled further into Joshua’s chest now that you didn’t have Seokmin anchoring you from the other side, still holding Jeonghan’s hand for a moment longer. You shut your eyes for a moment, just listening to the sound of Joshua’s heartbeat. “Which one of you was first?”

Quiet. The sound of the movie felt so distant, a mere mumble of background noise as Jeonghan let out a long sigh.

“He was,” Jeonghan said. “I thought I’d be okay. Then we had to call our friend, Seungcheol, to help us.”

Joshua wrapped an arm around you. “Do you want me to be honest?”

You nodded.

“They still hurt sometimes,” he said. “The incisions. I can barely see them, but they’re still there.”

Suddenly, your stomach turned at the thought. You squeezed your eyes shut a little more. “I’m sorry--I know I brought it up, but can we drop this?”

Neither said anything. You merely curled up closer to the two people who’d been strangers until days ago, yet already felt so safe to be around. They felt like an escape from what you knew would come tomorrow. Even when Seokmin returned, curling up close to this bundle of limbs and shared trauma, you only felt safer.

Seungkwan had asked her to be his girlfriend. You only found out because he’d blasted it on every social media platform he was on, only tagged with the caption ‘day one ❤️‘ alongside a picture of the two of them silhouetted with the sunset in the background. Any other life and it’d be sweet. In this one, you merely felt bitter as you finally sent the text you’d been sitting on all day.

it’s really important. can we meet at the usual spot?

The moment he gave you his confirmation, you left your apartment. The park wasn’t too far from where you lived, although you’d always prefer to take the bus to it instead. With your coat pulled over your hoodie, you made the trek by foot instead. This used to be your picnic spot with Seungkwan, although you could easily see him going on dates there instead. As much as you wanted to be happy for him, the stupid ache in your lungs and the tickle of petals that eternally seemed to be plaguing you (at least it would be until you took your last dose of medicine before surgery--a smaller one than what you usually took to avoid complications, but enough that you’d be able to sleep easily) served as a cruel reminder of what would never be. That this would be the end.

Yet you saw him sitting on that stupid bench the two of you always met at, the glow of a streetlamp bathing him in light and making him look stupidly radiant. Or maybe that was what love could do to a person. The moment he saw you, he stood up, coming to hug you tight.

“Vernon said you’re having surgery tomorrow,” he said once he stepped back, hands holding your own. “Is it true?”

... At this point, you couldn’t be surprised Vernon would at least let that slip. Maybe he’d been debating coming to see you, and Vernon told him outright how important it was.

His fingers tangled with your own as he brought you to the bench, sitting down next to you. “Is it serious?” He paused, and then vaguely gestured toward his mouth and throat, “is it... you know?”

Seungkwan knew of your family history. You’d lamented it to him forever ago, saying that you hoped you’d be lucky enough to be spared by it. When you nodded, his gaze softened tremendously.

“Do they know?”

You don’t, you almost wanted to say. It’s you. I’m sorry. “I don’t know if I want to tell him.”

“Do I know them?”

You shook your head, unable to verbally lie to him.

He stared ahead, visibly upset. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t notice it sooner. I’ve just...”

He’d been falling for someone else more and more with each day. Deep down, you couldn’t blame him for that. If you didn’t know someone was going through it, you’d probably be blissfully doing the same.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you,” he said a moment later. “Are you scared?”

“Terrified.” You tucked your hands into your hoodie pockets, leg bouncing. “I don’t know how I’m going to react.”

Seungkwan was good at faking smiles when things were rough, just to try and instill some confidence into someone who needed it. “You’ll pull through,” he squeezed your knee gently, and he left his hand there. “You’re strong. And... and when you get out, we’ll go out. Just the two of us. I’ll pay for our meal, and you can pick, and... and it’ll be thanks for helping me while you were struggling.”

Something about how genuine he sounded squeezed your heart tight, almost as if it’d pop with just a little more pressure. You looked up, “Seungkwan, I...”

I love you. I know you don’t love me back, and it’s okay. I’m sorry our friendship has to end like this.

And then he smiled at you, a little more genuine than before, just to reassure you. “It’ll be okay,” he said again, clueless to the storm inside of you.

Your words died in your throat. Instead, you just bit back your tears as you dove forward, hugging him tight. “I love you,” you said, a confession you couldn’t make directly to his face. “Thank you for being a good friend.”

His arms wound around you after a moment, squeezing you tight. “You’re not going to die, you know,” he said, laughing just a little. “It’s a safe procedure. I’ll see you when you wake up. Okay?”

Drifting back from him, you lied again, “Yeah. I’ll... I’ll see you then.”

With one truth spilling from your lips about going home and getting proper rest, the two of you parted ways. Despite the fact it only served to make your lungs ache worse, you jogged the way home. The sooner you were inside, the better. With the door shut and secured behind you, you let out a long sigh and then a groan of frustration at backing out yet again. You’d been pulling your jacket off when you heard Seokmin call out your name.

“Did you tell him?”

You sniffled hard, already feeling those tears welling back up. He opened his arms to you, and you almost tripped over yourself rushing to him as you broke down crying.

“I-I couldn’t,” you said between sobs.

And Seokmin could do nothing else but hold you tight, head resting against your own as he sheltered you through your storm.

Everything felt fuzzy.

The anesthesia hadn’t fully worn off by the time you were a little more awake. You’d answered their questions as best as you could while your head still felt full of clouds, but the procedure had been a success. The flowers were gone to good, likely going to get tossed out with the other waste and burned. Your mother recognized how completely out of it you still were, but you could see the relief on her face that you were okay. It took the sound of your dad gently coaxing her for her to agree to come back when you were far more lucid and well-rested.

At some point, Seokmin came in to see you. You barely remembered the encounter, but you stared at the teddy bear that sat nearby with a card being held between its plush paws (thanks to Seokmin’s efforts). It wasn’t from him, you’d later discover, but from Joshua and Jeonghan wishing you well (and making promises to see you again once you were discharged, maybe while you were recovering if they could make it during visiting hours).

Three days into your stay, you were fully aware and alert... and also recognizing the annoying tinge of pain that came from your incisions every single time you moved or even breathed. You could breathe clearer now, sure, but the ache was annoying nonetheless. Your doctor had been kind to you, understanding how tiring it could be to recover from the procedure. Your nurse, a tall kind man named Wonwoo, had taken your vitals. So when you heard a knock on your door, you were sure it was either whatever breakfast you were getting (you barely remembered your own order now), or your parents.

And after you called out for whoever it was to come in, you were met with Vernon’s face. He stopped where he stood, staring at you for a moment before apologizing and saying he wasn’t sure what to do. Chan was with him, too, hugging a big teddy bear that was clutching a ‘get well soon’ heart.

“You said not to send you flowers,” Chan said as he made his way over to you, and you accepted the stuffed animal with a thanks. “It was my idea.”

“Our idea,” Vernon rolled his eyes. Then he stopped, looking at the open door. “You wanted to see them. They’re awake.”

The guy that Vernon had been talking to walked into the room, pushing the door shut with an apology for hesitating. He started rambling about how he didn’t know whether you’d want so many people crowding you at once, sitting down at the edge of your bed as he started asking how you were doing. Were the flowers gone? Was the staff taking care of you? If you needed someone to speak on your behalf while your parents were gone, he would happily do it for you.

Vernon noticed the confused look on your face as this guy--friendly as he might be--kept talking to you. You’d answered his questions, sure, but you could see the way this stranger’s heart was visibly breaking in his eyes. His smile fell, and Vernon nudged him out of the way so that he could sit and talk to you for a few minutes. 

“Is there anything we can do for you? I mean, we were gonna pool together for one of those edible arrangements, but I wasn’t sure if your doctor was gonna restrict any of it...”

Chan had apologized, saying he needed a cup of coffee--it was too early for him--and he left with the other guy.

Vernon pushed himself back into your field of vision, and you felt yourself flounder a little for words. “No restrictions,” you said, brain still catching up as you had questions. “Sorry, Vernon, do I know him--”

He shook his head. “Nope. Just, uh... Rest up,” he patted your thigh. “I’ll see you when you get out, yeah?”

When he stepped back into the hallway, it was to the sound of Seungkwan sobbing. Chan had already gone to him, holding him and waving off any concerned staff that had probably seen this kind of thing before.

One of his best friends didn’t recognize him at all. He knew that that meant when it came to Hanahaki.

Chan had patted his back gently. “It’s not your fault you moved on,” he said quietly. “You didn’t know. None of us knew they liked you back--”

Vernon could feel his heart sink in his chest as he made his way over. His own future with you (as well as Chan’s) was in the air--both knowing the weight of keeping you in their lives could lead to future pain for both you and Seungkwan. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I told you--”

But Seungkwan shook his head, the weight of his own decisions beginning to suffocate him. “You were right,” he started to walk away, his heart breaking all over again. “I shouldn’t have come.”

taglist: @twancingyunhao​ @synthetickitsune​ @wonuziex​

[anonslash]

hi there! (im not sure if your requests are open so im v sorry if this is a bad time /gen) its soso nice to see a fellow trans guy who's a slasher writer on here!! :>

i was wondering if i could request Bubba Sawyer and Leslie Vernon with a s/o who loves all things spooky? (funky ghost and skeleton pattern stuff, horror movies ofc,black cats, ect) i hope you have a good rest of your day/night! :))

I’m so sorry this took so long man. Surprise lol. Also Leslie’s section is really short because I was lost on ideas and just wanna get something posted.

Bubba and Leslie with a spooky S/O

Contains: canon typical violence and gore mentions

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba loves the spooky aesthetic! He thinks it’s super charming and he’s glad you’ll at least kind of fit in with his family.

He might misinterpret it. Please don’t get mad at him if he gives you a necklace made of bones. He just wants to make you something nice and he tries very hard!

He would love to help you decorate for Halloween if you celebrate, or even to just draw you little ghosts.

He’s also a big fan of animals. If you tell him about how you like black cats you will find him holding a stray one on the porch in a few days. You won’t be able to keep it, with Bubba’s brothers, but he just wanted you to see it.

Scary movies are hard for him. He can handle gore just fine, he’s used to all that. But he’s not a fan of the jumpscares or loud noises, and he’s easily startled by them. He might get overstimulated or upset if something is too sudden or there’s too much going on.

He loves spending time with you though, and he loves to see you happy. Just hold him close and give him tons of affection, and make sure to pause if it gets too intense. He thinks you’re so brave for liking these movies. He's also glad. Even though you’re together already, he gets worried his family will scare you away sometimes, so he’s glad you have a strong stomach. Even if it’s only for the fake stuff.

Leslie Vernon

Please. He is also obsessed. More so with the horror and some true crime, but he loves your commitment to the theme.

Be warned he will take this as permission to drag you into his shit. You’re helping him plan his next killings.

Will binge movies with you for hours on end. Way late into the night. He loves them and he jumps at the opportunity to spend time with you.

He brings home one of those plastic skeletons for Halloween. (And all types of other decorations)

[randomgooberness]

👀 Gordon amputation HCs? (If you don't mind talking about them!)

Y;HES

ok disclaimer: I am not an amputee! I am not a medical professional! I am not a prosthetic maker! I am not an engineer! I am simply an autistic writer and artist who has had a webcomic with an amputee character for 5+ years and I have done my research- but PLEASE if you like these headcanons and use it as advice for writing amputees I would also suggest listening to other sources, too!

The prosthetic:

-the arm ends about maybe like five inches under the wrist- which makes it just enough to get basic prosthetics going. Something a LOT of people don't consider is how much space you need to get robotics in there!

-This is the case for everyones(?i have yet to see otherwise) headcanons whether they know it or not but he specifically has a myoelectric prosthetic- which in itself is an EXTREMELY high-tech one! What it does is it detects electricity(YES! YOUR MUSCLES HAVE ELECTRICITY IN THEM!) from the muscles under your skin and amplifies them to be movement!

I would actually HIGHLY suggest people do research into these prosthetics because they are SUPER cool but also not as good as you think they are! That being said:

-He cannot feel with it and has to guess how hard he has to grip something! There's research for prosthetics like this, but they're extremely faulty and- if anyone wants to correct me on this that's fine but I'm pretty sure- it would need Constant upkeep and repairs, ESPECIALLY if it could feel like a normal hand.

-at first he only used it when he went out and when he was doing something that might need two hands Because of this- he didn't really wear it much around the house. Not to mention like...he went from losing it, to an immediate gun arm, to suddenly having a prosthetic- whiiiich. Isn't good for the psychological part of a traumatic amputation! So yeah he didn't really like it all too much at first. Don't get me wrong it was a great tool and he appreciated it over no hand especially because he could actually properly articulate the fingers but...it also just. Was jarring.

-eventually, he and Dr. Coomer teamed up to make it more adaptable, and by that I mean a fucking pirate-ass thing where he could swap out his hand for other things like forks or electric screwdrivers or like. Anything. They like to get together to make new hands on the weekend. It's enrichment. With these add-ons he wore the prosthetic more, but sometimes he just. prefers taping a fork to his limb and calling it a day.

-^this hc is based off of adaptive devices that people make to work with whats left of the limb instead of trying to replace it! They range from other robotics to something plastic and/or 3d printed that just holds a pencil in place. From what I've researched they tend to be more liked than clunky fingers you cant feel lol

-IF THERE IS ANY ADVICE YOU GLEEN FROM THIS: please please please he doesn't sleep with his prosthetic on he SHOULD NOT SLEEP WITH HIS PROSTHETIC ON. DO NOT SLEEP WEARING YOUR PROSTHETIC- this also goes for just chilling out ect. Do you "chill out" in your jeans with a belt on?

-I've said it a few times already but I DO want to encourage other people who draw art or write fics that it's OKAY if his prosthetic doesn't work like a perfect, new hand and in fact is more realistic and something that should be done more often! It's very common to want to write off an amputees disability with "ok now they have a prosthetic they're all better <3" which isn't true at all and it really IS worth it to do some extra research- I might just have an engineering and medical special interest so it might just be me but its SUPER fun to learn things and it makes it more interesting writing how a character interacts with their disability!

The amputation/specifics(WARNING FOR TALK ABOUT GORE, OBVIOUSLY):

-I usually write/draw it being a combat knife because that's specifically what he mentions was used, but realistically it would've been something that could get through the suit itself. Either way, it was a really slow and painful process. Fun fact- while this is like...a debate in the medical field, the forearm is one of the most painful things in the body to break!

-Continuing from that last part, there ARE a lot of nerves in your forearm(ever hit your funnybone? yeah. yowch), as well as TWO bones. Arms and hands are SUPER complex so injuries are...just As complex!

-In the full VOD in act 3, Gordon mentions his suit cauterized it- which if you dont know what that is- it's basically Burning A Wound Shut. I can see this being the case, actually- seeing as the suit itself detects specific things in the body being injured- electricity IS a way to cauterize something. I want to point out that cauterization, however, is AGONIZINGLY PAINFUL and is SUPER DANGEROUS, even when controlled! He's SUPER lucky he didn't go into shock and die in his sleep lmao.

-Oh speaking of sleep. I said this in another post but it was sunset when they betrayed him- and daytime when he woke up. So he was asleep in the garbage compactor for hours.

-It's implied because he keeps talking about how he's still bleeding, but yeah even with the suit cauterizing the wound it wouldn't be fully shut. So he'd be bleeding a lot- ESPECIALLY if it didn't want to kill the nerves in his arm(which makes prosthesis easier in the future, via the myoelectric method I mentioned earlier).

-Because of this Tommy(and later Dr. Coomer and Bubby) had to make him make-shift wrappings and have him lean on them a lot. He lost a Lot of blood and by the time they found a fully functioning medical station it wasn't able to just...give him more. It could give him iron and such but yeah this guy has anemia.

-this is just a really funny note but in act 4 when he's leaving Darnolds lab in the VOD he goes "well I guess I'm able-bodied again!" NO YOU ARE NOT THAT IS GUNHAND. But anyways because of this statement, I think for the first few days after being without his arm hes like. oh im not really disabled though even though he is like. stereotypically disabled. sir

-Phantom pains and nightmares are. A nearly nightly combo.

-Whether they're triggered by something or not, phantom pains in general suck so so so so much. Just so much.

-He actually took a Long time to go to a doctor for his issues. Gordon. Buddy. Look Me In The Eyes. you can get medicine for your pain. you can take physical therapy. please . He wasnt even trying to like...tough it out like part of him was but it was mostly that he just. didnt know and forgot.

-it took him a really long time to trust Benrey touching where his hand used to be, but once they grew close post-rescas him and Tommy became Gordons go-to for phantom pain/itch help. slap my dumb arm thank you

Aaaand thats all I can think of at the moment! I might add on if I have any like. Sudden crushing things I need to say about him and my amputation hcs!

[pinyatapix]

i never played Concord nor had interest in it but i felt an insatiable drive to redesign all of its characters before the game shut down ever since i saw how absolutely dripless they were

anyways here’s my scuffed ass sketches of the gang. i was originally going to finish these all before the game’s shutdown but i was so stuck on Teo that it took 6 extra days rip me. also i cant draw guns. these are all first drafts so expect them to change a bit if i feel like drawing em again

more info on these designs below (warning i yap a lot)

Itzi (i am not calling her “It-Z” cuz it reads rly weird and i can imagine someone bri’ish calling her “It-Zed” it’s so dumb): Wanted to make her more of a goofy lil gremlin creature, like some combo between a jerboa chameleon and raptor, to make her more appealing and interesting, imagine being shot to death by this silly little scamp. Everyone loves Ivy Deadlock for her gremlin charm so maybe they’d love Itzi too if she had that as well. Her chest has a hole in it containing the weird ball she throws to teleport and shit, because a Concord critique by TBSkyen said that a character’s powers should appear on their physical design or whatever, also to show that she got mutated in a freaky space storm

Bazz: nothing about her reads as “agile deadly knife-throwing assassin”, especially with that annoying puffy bright red coat, she looks completely stupid running around doing backflips with that thing on! So i made it a more sharper mysterious black coat she wears like a cape to give her that sense of shadowy agility like a phantom thief, which she keeps all her carbon steel knives all neatly stored in. Gave her a slight diamond motif on the coat and the glasses because it felt elegant and sharp. Thought her hairstyle kinda fucked hard so i kept it but made it a bit more pointier and added a little stylish side swoop.

Lennox: i actually love this guy’s voice acting and the slightly manic goofy personality it had but his design did NOT fit the voice, so fuck it im making him even more of a lizard man than they were trying to do. His self-healing ability is him shedding a bit of skin after it took damage, and his “splodey knife” is probably a back scale spine he yoinks out of his back that can explode because it’s a biological property of his species for some reason. I do not know what clothes to give him

Lark: Discarded all semblance of a humanoid silhouette to make them even more of a weird mushroomy alien. I don’t really have much to say but i can easily see them slithering around like an octopus on land but faster. Their gun would look way more like some organic fungal creation

Haymar: not much changes here but i wanted to make her more mystic and “wizardy”. The “fireballs” she uses as her main ammo are now a floating bead necklace rotating around her neck (kinda like that zen robot from overwatch) and her clothes now have more of a slight flame motif, along with more of a mystic vibe. Got rid of those ugly ass mustard sneakers too of course

Daw: gave him more turtle motifs to match his “turtle-esque” gameplay style by giving him a protective hoodie and turning his “healing pad” pack into a bulky turtleshell backpack (he’s also wearing a turtleneck sweater shirt underneath the coat lol). His coat is somewhat translucent like shiny plastic cuz i thought it would look neat, tried to ditch the goofy-ass jumpsuit thing he had by giving him a belt to separate shirt and pants. Not too sure if i made him appear enough as a medic as that’s his main thing, the coat and gloves could probably help but idk, but i adjusted his personality presentation to be more easygoing and warmhearted with the closed-eyes so maybe that could give a healer energy.

Duchess: old ladies who know how to kick ass are rly cool. her whole thing’s making walls and constructs out of this golden gooey energy but nothing in her design tells you about that, so i decided to give her a cape/cloak made of that same golden essence so that it’s more apparent on what she can use it for, it also makes her appear more like royalty which was prolly what they were going for. Kept the haircut cuz that beehive thing was very goofy but it fits the vibe of everything else

Roka: she looked like a blowup sexdoll version of Master Chief which is… very cursed, and it tells nothing about her being able to fly around and stomp on people, so i made her bug themed! She’s like a cross between a wasp and dragonfly, the bulletproof wings are rocket-powered and can fully rotate the other direction to give her a forward boost of momentum to stomp people with her slightly more exaggerated boots, they also neatly fold away when she’s not flying. She’s rockin’ that tokusatsu hero look, it gives her a lot more energy to her personality.

Daveers: hated drawing them and i feel unsatisfied but i do like what ideas i had for them. Gave them more of a “sketchy mad scientist” vibe and personality with a shit-eating grin and all that, also tried to give them a “test tube contraption” thing going on by having their helmet be entirely glass and there being tubes and bottles all over their baggy jumpsuit full of poisons and chemicals. Gave them a spray-can backpack that stores all their toxic sludge tho im not too sure if it fits the rest of them or not… whatever. Tried giving them a chemical burn mark on one half of their face but it’s blending in with the hair rip

Jabali: he’s a healer whose powers come from “his own pulse”, but the weird pacemaker thing on his heart is the only way of knowing that so i made him waaaayyy more heart themed! His cool-ass hat’s got a blood cell design on it, his coat’s got a vein pattern, his shoulder pads look like aortas and arteries, i think his dreadlock ponytail could also match the aorta look. I seriously felt that vibe of the cool badass black guy with the glasses and coat and wide tippable hat needed to be enhanced even more, he had all the ingredients to be one stylish mfer but they weren’t mixed in properly, depressing.

Vale: i was racking my head on what to do with her because the only thing going on with her was “sniper” and “bionic legs”, but i decided to make her a “scrapper” like what they called Emari in that one short by turning that “burlap sack hobo” look she originally had into more of a defining feature as something recycled from a bunch of scrap she collected. Turned her “how do you do fellow kids” backwards hat into a slick bandana that has her sniper goggles attached to it, made her braids/dreadlocks into a cool ponytail befitting of a sniper though i wished i decorated them with more stuff other than the power plugs at some of their tips, like nuts and bolts acting as hair beads. Her bionic legs are also more heavily emphasized here, she’s like 70% leg like Byakuya Togami Danganronpa and that makes her a bit more taller than most, i can see her running around with them rly fast also they have large springs in them for extra jump (also they matched those spring like curly tips in her og hairstyle)

Emari: tried to make her bulky armor even more like it’s made of scrap like the “scrapper” she is, tho since i kinda suck at mechanical greebling she looks very cluttered and hard to read. I tried putting cute little stickers and graffiti on her armor to give her more of a fun-loving vibe despite her imposing build, felt like she’d decorate her armor for fun. Gave her helmet a visor to give her some cool toughness and added lil things on it reminiscent of bear ears cuz her silhouette needed a lil something. Problem i have with drawing her is that her silhouette ended up looking too similar to 1-0FF’s redesign, it really needs some fixing cuz it’s pretty damn rough.

Kyps: she could’ve served so much cunt but she didn’t, so i needed to change that. To match her invisibility powers as a spy i themed her off of chameleons and mirrors — i un-balded her for improved silhouette by giving her a hairstyle similar to a chameleon tail (tho it also looks like a glass Prince Rupert’s drop and mirrors are also glass), gave her “earrings” similar to mirror handles, made her coat a lot longer and have it slightly reminiscent of fractured or cut glass, give it a coattail like a chameleon tail, and tried giving faint patterns on the clothes and especially the tied that gives a sort of “shimmery” kinda vibe??? She’s reminding me a lot of Inteleon right now

1-0FF: actually my favorite out of the redesigns, he was so tricky to do but i think i got him pretty right. Wanted him to appear even more of a friendly recycling bot toughened up by constant battle, replaced that menacing eye of his with a friendly smile on a screen (that i took from an app icon from my ipad out of laziness lol) and gave him little symbols of recycling like little sprout iconography and a recycling symbol heart, though as contrast to all that i gave him scars and battle damage so you know he kicks ass. Still wanted to keep the trashcan look so his head kinda resembles those trashcans with the spinny rotating lids, tried my best to make the rest of the body also trashcanny. Turned that vacuum gun of his into a megaman-type arm gun because why did they make it a separate component that’s so stupid.

Starchild: turned him from a rip-off Guardians of the Galaxy character into something more like a rock monster guy since his main ability's called Diamond Skin and it does.... guess what. I put crystals on different parts of his body and I thought about the "hair" on his body being made of those weird fuzzy kinds of crystals (realized it was a missed opportunity to give him chest hair rip). Wanted to make his name "Star Child" a lot more literal by inspiring him off of a shooting star, which is why I gave him that plume of smoke for hair. Since he's a (former) proud tribal warrior guy I wanted his design to lean more heavily into that by giving him tattoos that are like geometric stone carvings??? and giving him clothes and jewelry that give a sort of non-existent tribal culture vibe, his clothes also have a sort of bismuth pattern to them.

Teo: okay this fucker was the reason why I did not finish this. His design was so unimaginably boring that it was very difficult to come up with a "twist" for him while still having him be the standard shooty guy. Days later I immediately thought "Space Dandy" and decided to make him be way more flamboyant with a pompadour as his main feature, befitting of the "goofy space adventure" vibe this game tried and failed to capture. In my head his backstory was that he was raised from birth to be a regular ass disposable space soldier, leaving the army much much later to pursue a quest for self-identity... the identity he chose for himself being that of an over-the-top galactic popstar. I imagine his "Smoke Bomb" ability being glittering colorful smoke instead, like a popstar entering the stage out of artificial smoke clouds.

okay I'm tired. i am cooler than playstation. goodbye

[skelemoonz]

Have you ever wondered when you are drawing transformers or the artists drawing transformers do you have to draw the inside of a transformer's body?

This's such a stupid question I'm so sorry- 🤧🤧⁉️⁉️

This is one I had to think about for a moment lol but if I’m understanding right you are wondering if I ever thought about how the transformers are internally built?

If so, yes absolutely I have, I frequently think about it actually, trying to figure out how they transform, how their body structure can change so drastically (more specifically talking about the live action movies tbh, like Kightverse) it has always fascinated me

To put it simply, I imagine they are built very similar to that of animatronics, if you want to get a visual. The frame/skeleton, the wire’s surrounding it, the plating put above that to act as a base for the shell or muscles of sorts.

More explanation, specifically for my personal au, under the cut. Warning there will be images of animatronics without their..skin? Ig? It can be freaky looking

So, for Cybertronians I imagine that their internal structure is incredibly complex, with their ability to transform an all, but in my au Cyebrtronians have the most complex transformation out of any of the other colonies in turn giving them the most complex internal structure. This isn’t even talking about if a bot has an experimental T-cog lol

While yes the general structure would be the same as I explained before, similar to this, the wires, the plastic plating acting as muscles or as an extra skeleton of sorts

I also imagine that the skeletal structure looks as if it can just be taken apart with ease, because it can.

A Cybertronians skeleton in their transformation will end up forming the skeleton of the vehicle they turn into.

To try giving a visual, ROTB Jackie turns into a VW Van with the back seats taken out, or in other words, hollow inside. Now all that robot jazz gotta go somewhere right? So his skeleton would transform out, pushing the armor out at well to make the shape of the van

to get a good idea of what pose he would be doing for this transformation, look at the ss and mainline figurine, kinda a mix between those. Transformation can be changed with Cybertronains though.

Now, all of this compared to say, Eukarians in my au is very complex. With Eukarians being half organic an all, they have the simplest transformation out of any colony. If they tried transforming like a Cybertronian does, their bones would shatter and they would most definitely die, it’d be like you getting folded and squished into a ball shape, very bad.

While Cybertronians are close to animatronics, I’d say that Eukarians would be more like crustaceans, or actually..maybe like a Pangolin, hard shell outside, organs an all that soft stuff inside (including the half metal half bone skeleton in their case). While a Cybertronians skeleton can come apart, a Eukarians cannot..

Picture of Pangolin to show what it is, show it has armor, this is like a Eukarian, and just look at them I love them

Other colonies tend to be more similar to Cybertron, like Velocitron and Gigantion. Generally speaking these two can transform in the same way that Cyebrtronians can, the only difference is their sizes, Velocitronians are fairly small, not tiny but…lets say (these are not the real heights) that Cybertronains are 20-50ft tall, Velocitronians would be 20-30ft tall, then you got the Titans, they can turn into cities 👍

Ofc this height difference and what they do in day to day life will change their internal and external body structure, Velocitronians are built for speed, their cooling system, sharp points and light frames are meant to make them easily fly and cut through the air while they drive like its nothing. Hell even their transformation is quicker than usual. They’re like land jets

Then theres Caminus and Junkion, these two don’t transform, they have T-cogs but they rarely ever use them to do big transformations, for Camians it was to reserve energy (they are also the smallest colony in size) and Junkonians found no use for it. So yes over the centuries these colonies have lost their ability to do complex transformations, meaning their skeleton is similar to Eukarians, can’t come apart, but it’s very flexible.

I imagine they’re more similar to this underneath all that armor. At least Camian’s..Junkonians are very messy tbh

Anywho, man I rambled…a lot..yeesh..my bad lol, I don’t get to talk about this stuff a lot

[thecameronchronicles]

Minx

TW: Smut. Language. Degrading Language. 

SUMMARY: A night of teasing leads to a rather thorough lesson Rafe has planned for you…

WORD COUNT: 1840

*REQUESTED*

Anonymous asked:

Hi! Can you write something where Rafe and reader are dating and they go to a party, reader teases him all night in front of their friends and Rafe finally has had enough so he takes her to the bathroom and is like really rough, this is lowkey embarrassing to type lol but you're great at writing so i thought you would be perfect at writing this!

*IT”S REQUESTS LIKE THIS THAT MAKE ME SO ANNOYED! NOBODY SHOULD FEEL ASHAMED OF THEIR KINKS! LIFE FUCKS ALL OF US, MIGHT AS WELL ENJOY IT WHILE WE CAN ;) 

Minx

You wore it because it was his favorite. Tight silk clutched at every curve that held his fingerprints well into your skin. Thin fabric leaving every breath and beat of your heart noticeable beneath its coal hue accented by the diamond embellishment leaving the light to become captured in the star-like illusion. And finally, the slit allowing him accessibility whenever he desired, whether it would be five minutes from now or at five that next morning, you were willing to reveal yourself to him whenever he pleased. And this was because Rafe wasn't selfish. Not when it came to you. At least, not with sex. But it was an activity he felt he deserved and earned on his own merit. For that, he didn't want to bring you to that edge before the eyes of other guys or even other girls. He wanted this reserved for him. But you loved pulling him to that line of desperation. And in this dress, it left him feeling a very specific type of way. 

"Jesus, are you trying to kill me, sweetheart?" 

"That depends..." 

"On?" He raised a brie, completely amused by your feisty coquettish banter as you batter your lashes and chewed playfully on the edge of your plastic cup. 

"If its from suffocation..." His expression twisted in confusion, "Between my breasts..." You trailed your fingers over your clavicle before sending them to your hip, "Between my legs..." 

"Baby-" He warned as you realized as deeply as you needed him to fill you to that satisfactory numbness he always left you in, you craved this mire. His reactions. That warning. The lack of your obedience that made him shift in such a way that you knew how badly he wanted you and what it meant for you once he would get you alone. For that, you would push him. Every single button. 

"Then yes, I want to drown you between my legs...you could right now." He swallowed hard behind clenched teeth, your wrist escaping in the nick of time before he would be forced to watch you disappear into the near crowd. You offered one final look of mischief before joining Sarah at the kitchen island serving as a bar as his steps were slow but firm as he struck up a conversation with Topper and Kelce. 

"You HAVE to let us do body shots! You're the hottest girl here!" Kelce urged as Rafe gave a look of rejection. Even if he wasn't domineering over your dress, as you wouldn't obey him even if he tried, his look was still weighed in enough dominance that you would reject. With a smile of approval, he returned to his rest upon the wall as this responsibility for entertainment would change to some other girl. 

"Shit..." You groaned, the juice of your lime having shot down your cleavage as his eyes remained to you. Lifting your gaze to him as if to warn him with the pull of your smile, he would shake his head, well aware that every move you made was a game to you. 

Drawing the liquid to your lips, a single drop taken to your mouth, and you savored this by closing your eyes and moaning to its taste. If not for how beautiful you were doing it, he would have been angered. But when that smile widened across your face, he was only angry at how hard you made him. 

"Dance with me!" Sarah pulled you to the floor as he was forced to watch you sway and grind on a multitude of guests. Staying mainly to those more feminine as to not get him upset, you would eventually allow Topper to be a momentary partner as he was oblivious to Rafe's glare. 

"Stop. It. Now." He mouthed as you would only move closer against Topper, his hands cautious on your hips as everyone knew you belonged to Rafe in every context, but still tight enough to guide you to the beat of the remixed radio hit. 

Tired and breathless, you would now join Rafe on the couch before wrapping yourself around his arm. Even though he tensed in annoyance to your continuous need to torment him, he needed your touch more than his grudge and so he kept from moving away from you. 

"Rafe?" You questioned as he pulled himself into a rest against the back of the couch, your body remaining on the edge as you looked back towards him. 

"I think Topper is going to be really mad..." 

"Why?" 

You leaned closer to him, hand pressed as close to his dick as possible without actually making contact. 

"I'm staining his couch with all the ways I'm imagining you fucking me right now...all because I forgot my panties..." You feigned innocence by biting your bottom lip as he would scoff. 

"Let’s go..." He muttered while pulling you away from the group and down the corridor leading to a series of rooms, most occupied by other couples. A line outside of one of the bathrooms would act as a beckoning to him as the door happened to open as you passed, him pulling you inside as you were cursed at. Giving a look of intimidation to the foolish peer that tried to rival him, he returned his focus to you as he slammed the door closed. 

"Show me. Take off that fucking dress and show me how much of a whore you are tonight..." You kept your eyes to him, pulling the zipper into its descent and revealing you were completely nude beneath that fabric. 

"You just gonna stare at me Rafe?" You teased, moving towards the vanity on the left side of the bathroom, "Or are you gonna bend me over this sink and fuck me?" You asked, pulling yourself to that angle he would need you at, before looking at him in the mirror. 

"And giving you what you want? What does that teach you?" 

"Please Rafe..." 

He stood behind you, his foot kicking apart your stance before he pulled back again. 

"Do you turn yourself on acting like a slut? Dripping down your own thighs...The echo of your pleas coming back to you?" He asked, standing at your back but not touching you, knowing his words affected you all the same. Relaizing he wouldn't aid your need for him, you began to reach for your sex with one hand and your breast toanother, but his hands would apprehend you immediately. 

"You don't get to act like that and feel the reward. I had to behave myself...so I'm expecting the same from you-" 

"Please Rafe, I'm sorry. I won't do it again..." 

He scoffed, one wrist holding your small ones with one grasp as the other came wrapped around your throat. 

"Don't fucking lie to me, sweetheart. I know you get off on it...." His knee came between your legs, stationed at your sopping lower lips. 

"Ride my thigh." 

"I want your cock, Rafe-" 

"This is what you get. Take it or-" You began to move, gracious he was allowing you anything at all, before you would feel him purposely tense his muscles. 

"Good girl...getting it nice and wet for me..." Your eyes rolled as this hinted to a release he was planning to offer you. 

"I need you drenched, sweetheart. That way I can be as rough as I want-" 

"You can anyway..." You whined as he pulled your hair tighter. 

"Shit, you really are desperate for it, aren't you?" 

"Always..." You moaned as he smirked before shaking his head. 

"Come on, man, you can fuck her anywhere else! Some of us need to take a piss!" Someone called from the other side of the door as Rafe turned to face the banging caused by impatient patrons. 

"You want to come?" 

You nodded, desperately, unaware how that very impatience of both you and the nameless stranger outside had given him an idea. 

"Then I want you to do it loud enough so they all know how much my cock does for you. I want them to know how good it feels, how deep it is...I want them to know every dirty thought it gives you. Make me happy with thay and I'll let you come, fuck, I'll make you squirt if you please me-" 

"I wanna please you...." 

"Then start screaming for me baby..." You didn't notice how he had undressed until his cock was suddenly in a plummet inside of you. The rough penetration and depth of each insertion making him bottom put had made you silent as your body froze to the sensations. 

"I thought you said you wanted to come-" 

"I do!" 

"Then let them fucking hear you!" He scolded as you cried out for him. 

"Fuck, Rafe! You're so fucking good! So big! Please don't stop!" 

"Why shouldn't I? Just a whore needing any dick-" 

"No! Yours! I need YOUR dick!" 

"You wanna come all over it, don't you baby? Make it even easier to slip in and out of you?" 

"Oh, God, Yes!" You spoke through clenched teeth as he grinned. 

"Then fucking do it." 

"I thought you said-" 

"Do it before I change my fucking mind!" 

"Ahh! Rafe!!!!" He kept his grip behind your back as you trembled between him and the sink. 

"Look at yourself. So goddamn desperate. Tell me what you are.-" 

"A whore-" He slapped your ass. 

"Who's?" 

"Yours..." 

"Tell them, not me-" 

"I'm Rafe's whore!" 

"Fuck, that's right!" He quickened behind you, releasing your hands and seeing one palm to the surface before you and the other came to a rest in a fistful of your hair. 

"Play with 'em....play with your tits for me-" 

"Oh God!" You obeyed. 

"Here..." He paused, pulling your mutual slick over the nipples, a gasp fading into moans and an eventual plea left your mouth. 

"Rafe, I'm gonna come!" 

"I'm right there, baby...give it to me! Come on! Like that! Just like that!" 

"Rafe!" 

"Again!" He smacked your ass. 

"RAFE!" 

"Tell me...tell me what you want-" 

"I want you to come!" 

"Where?" 

"Anywhere!" He pulled your hair tighter. 

"Tell me!" 

"Inside me! I want you to come inside me!" 

"Then take it!" He groaned before the tightness of his balls found relief in the splurge of his seed. 

"Oh fuck..." You groaned as he turned you to face him. 

"You put that dress on. Walk to my truck and get in the back. Legs wide, but don't even think about touching anything that's mine!" 

"I-" 

He took your jaw until you faced him. 

"I'm gonna eat you out until you can't walk around with that entitled little attitude. Then...I'm gonna make sure I fuck it out of you." He pushed pushed towards the door, a slap to your ass turning you to him. 

"You don't want to do it now?" 

"You gave them a show...they don't get to hear what you do to me."

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae

[bmpmp3]

the drawrings from the mesmerizer cover i just finished <3

but more importantly, i must now explain to you the hashtag situation i created for myself because of my foolish yet absolute refusal to colour it digitally:

SO doing animation on paper is fine. its normal, hell for me its easier than digital, i just use this shitty lil 15 dollar light panel and go to town you know? historically animation was done on paper and/or clear celluloid/acetate plastic sheets (thats why they're called cels after all) for decades and its still being done that way today.

but usually. nowadays. when animation is done on paper it is still coloured and shaded digitally. we are in the age of digipaint. and thats good. before digipaint we used stuff like poster paints or other flat, consistantly coloured paint and applied that on the under side of the clear acetate cels with the ink lines drawn or xerox'd over top.

but acetate sheets for animation are expensive and hard to source where i live. so. instead of something sensible like drawing all my lines and then digitally painting the final pieces. what i did was um. i still painted it with watercolour. so this was the situation:

faceless...........

i drew the main piece, and then on the same type of paper i used my lightbox to draw on new faces (to save paper i put them all over the paper, using things like quickly traced hair, etc to help line it all up later. for the paint i had to carefully try to match the skin tones around the facial features so when i digitally re-attached them they would match up........ hell of my own creation

i was chatting with my father about it, he doesnt know much about animation at all (his preferred art is b&w sketches and linework) so he didn't understand why i was complaining about the hell of my own creation so much as first. he was like "isnt watercolour what most animation was made with?" and i was like NOOO no no absolutely not <3 backgrounds, the final layer under all the sheets of clear acetate, sometimes may be done in something other than poster paint, gouache, acrylics, whatever paint they used to colour the cels: maybe something like oil or watercolour for stylistic purposes

but no one in their right mind would make even a simple barely moving PV with just watercolours <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

the bg was easy tho LOL took longer to dry than to paint :)

[spacecolonie]

Hello! Do you have any advice with painting? Every time I start I end up just doing lineart with colours underneath, and when I do kindles art it looks kind of like plastic. Am I supposed to merge the two layers and then start shading? What would you recommend?

Hey anon!! I actually do have some advice for that!! I'll shove it under a cut because it got way longer than I thought it would, sorry for the infodump everyone _(:3 」∠)_

quick tl;dr: painting process should consider both personal taste & the desired aesthetic of a painting, & to avoid plastic-y colours, make sure your hues vary within your values (and layer modes are ur friend) ♥

there's a million ways to start paintings & its all down to personal preference -- the end goal for the illustration can often influence the approach you take; a crisp digital painting might call for meticulous layering & sharp edged flats, but if you want something to look like an oil painting, you should try and mimic that process as close as you can! here's some examples:

this is the sketch for my FYR zine piece from last year; i intentionally approached it in a way that looks like traditional underpaintings so that when I worked directly on top, those orange tones would peek through like this:

after doing that undersketch, i manually painted everything -- no fancy layer modes, just me, one layer, and screaming ಥ_ಥ it was hard but it worked for the vibe i wanted!!

now v.s something like this:

simple shapes, roughly blocked in shading that just gets merged and painted over, as well as lots of layer modes on top for those colour changes! this is by far the easier one & the one i'd probably recommend, solely because it lets you keep more control. i go more in depth here on that -- but to quickly answer, i personally block everything (including shading) in before I merge & render!

for the other thing you mentioned, a lot of the times that 'plastic' feeling can come from either a lack of transitional shades or only using white/black for your value tones. this tweet thread (direct image links 1, 2 & 3) by frozensoba demonstrates it incredibly well -- by adding certain colour shifts in your values, it can create extra depth which is what makes stuff look more alive!! don't be afraid to really push it and get wacky

an easy way to add it while you're learning is using gradient maps to add richness in your midtones. It's not perfect since different surfaces & materials diffuse light differently, but adding one at the end of a drawing can help tie everything together. If you can do both at once though it always looks best; here's some very quick 2 minute orbs as an example:

ok I'm almost done (and im so sorry for how long this got... special interest moment TM) -- one last thing is to try varying your brush strokes & adding textures if you want. using only an airbrush or heavily relying on blurring brushes can make things look plastic too; sometimes you want that, but for the times you don't, adding some texture & leaving brush marks in can do a lot!!

lastly, since this is just me rambling, here are some artists that are incredibly talented & i highly recommend looking at for their advice & processes because it will be much more coherent than this:

Marco Bucci -- amazing educational content. if you check out any of these artists, he's the one to look at first imo. his 10 minutes to better painting series is a great place to start

Sinix Design has some amazing tutorials on anatomy & the mechanics of painting! This video & the intermediate part 2 are super

Dao Trong Le -- a veritable goldmine of speedpaints

Bo Chen & any of the riot splash artists. If that's the vibe you're after, you can't go wrong with the LoL splashes as reference

i hope that helps!!!

[eudaimonia111]

Thomas | Lemon (Bullet Train) x GN! Reader Part 1

Summary: Lemon and reader have love at first sight, reader must navigate the scary bullet train and find Lemon. (Not very good at summaries sorry lol)

Warnings: Not edited, all warnings covered in the movie, kind of grumpy x sunshine?

Words: 2528

A/N: So we aren’t really told if the boba Lemon wants is those ones in a can or an actual boba drink but because of the can that knocks against the water bottle in the vending machine, I'm choosing to assume it is the Milk Bubble Tea that comes in those cans.

The POV switches between them so pls tell me if its weird or something

ANYWAYS, I’m so sorry for taking so long on this fic, some family things have come up and writing is a new territory for me. Sorry for the wait, hope you enjoy!

Part 1, Part 2

Masterlist

Please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work. Thank you.

________________________

Lemons POV:

Neon lights glitter in the darkened sky at the train station, shimmering on vehicles, jewelry, and the reflection of people's eyes.

The air is slightly stale but clean, a cold feeling catching in the back of my throat. People bustle, their fabrics rustling as they bump into each other, in a hurry to get to their stop on time. Through the plethora of people, my eyes absentmindedly drift towards the person in front of the vending machine.

The almost overwhelming sounds of people talking, music playing, and the taps of feet moving became quieter and quieter. Almost as if it became fuzzy. It’s like when the sound is broke on an old Television. My fingertips have the feeling of the shock you felt when you would touched one of their screens. 

Numerous light reflectances dulled and faded away. However, in contradiction, the light around my person of concentration brightened, almost to the point that it burned.

It was as if they had their own outline. 

Their own halo.

“Oi, common, stop dilly dalli’an, we got work to do.” The voice Tan broke me out of the trance-like state. I felt my eyelids moved at an accelerated rate, trying to blink the dryness away from staring for so long, seeing the exasperated expression on Tangerine's face.

Snapping my head back in the direction of the person, I hoped to get just even a glimpse of them. Instead, I found an unoccupied space of concrete and emptiness in front of the aforementioned vending machine. Disappointment at not seeing the angel ran through my veins and I followed my brother through the crowd.

Y/ns POV:

The doors to the shiny metal machine open with a smooth mechanical clunk. People bustle out of the vehicle, bumping into passersby. My shoes briskly thump along the cart of the train. Looking at the piece of paper I got from the ticket lady, I scan along the cart for my seat. Finding the number and letter printed on it, I allow myself to bring my hefty bag toward it, my arms bending at the weight. 

After lugging my bags up to the overhead shelf, I let myself sink into the blue fabric of the bucket seat, the fabric brushing up against my arms as I get situated. Hearing a commotion in the aisle, I look up and see an altercation between a tall Japanese man and a train attendant. Taking the hard plastic of my earbuds out of my ear, I hear the last of a conversation with two men in suits up and across the aisle from me as well as the apologetic attendant, even though it looked like he ran into her. “-he fucking blind or something?” 

Glancing over, I see the back of the head of a man with combed brown hair, wearing an expensive brown jacket. The man across the table from him is the one my gaze is drawn to.

Dark soft skin and bleached blonde hair with the roots showing through. The small gold hoops through his ears gleam in the light, reflecting in the window of the slowly moving train. He has rich, shiny brown eyes and full velvety lips, which are accentuated by the rough dark hair of his beard and mustache. Drawing my eyes down, I see him in a matching brown jacket over a jean one and a light peachy-colored tie. 

The eyes I’d been focusing on a few seconds prior drift in my direction. I as quickly as possible snap my eyes downwards, my fingers tensely intertwining in a nervous action. Counting to ten in my head, I tentatively look back up to see him quipping at the man opposite him and pulling his jacket together.

Deciding to stop being a creep, I go on my phone and stick my earbud back into my ear, occasionally stealing a glance at the beautiful male down the carriage from me.

Deciding to crack open my can of bubble tea with the silver pull tab, I slurp down a sip and set it back on the table in front of me. Two big brown eyes glace in my direction at the sound. “Can’t believe I'm stuck with water.” The man gruffly mumbles. “Lemon, It’s a fucking drink, man up. Too sugary anyways.”

Looking up, I notice the duo have switched sides of the carriage and are now accompanied by a sleeping man in a washed-out pink hoodie, gray fuzzy jacket, and big hot pink glasses on his face.

I look down at my two cans and back up at the man who has a disappointed, unhappy-looking face. 

“Excuse me?” I try to keep my voice down but stick out my hand a little in hopes of catching his attention. My wish is granted when his whole body faces me, eyes and ears waiting for my reason for interruption. The one with the slicked-back hair turns his head in acknowledgment. 

The indents at the corners of my lips lift up in what I'm hoping is a comforting smile. “Um, the vending machine gave me two of these. I probably won't finish both anyway. Would you like to have it?” My voice tips up at the end in a question. I grasp the aluminum can in my hand and tilt it in his direction, watching his eyes sweep across it, scanning the label.

I can practically see his eyes brighten. The rich dark brown sparkling in the light outside of the train. His eyelids widen a fraction of an inch and his lips twitch into an almost smile.

From his reaction, I hopped up from my booth, my clothes rustling in the process, and stepped a few feet to set the can on his table with a thump.

Lemons POV:

Seeing the angel from outside sitting a few seats away is one thing. But the smile they give me warms my whole body. Like a heater of happiness and care comes in from my fingertips and leads to my core, making my mind stand still for a moment before I process their words and look down at the drink in their delicate hands. Recognizing the can I had wanted earlier in the day, I was shocked by the situation.

Before I can say anything, they stand and make their way to me. The clink of the drink on the table knocks me out of my stupor and I’m finally able to make sounds come out of my mouth and speak. “Thank you.” 

A bright, splitting smile graces their face, their teeth gleaming in the light. Their eyes squint from the force of their cheeks rising, long pretty eyelashes are perfectly framing them. Wrinkles are more prominent around their temple and mouth, but all the lines show, is how happy and cheerful they are.

“My name is Lemon. This is tangerine.” I gestured to my brother in front of me. Even though I hated the sound of the code names coming off my tongue, I had to use our aliases. I can hear in my head her asking ‘Like the fruit?’, I am just waiting for it to be uttered from their soft-looking lips.

“Oh! I love lemons! It’s so nice to meet you, I’m Y/n. And you’re welcome for the boba.” I’m stuck there for a second, my mind empty of how accepting they are of the silly names. Names that are so obviously fake, that everyone questions them without fail. Everyone except Y/n. They complimented them.

“I um.. I like your tie.” The expression on their face turns sheepish and they duck their head, looking at their shoes. Almost embarrassed in a way. As if they hadn’t meant to say it. And fuck me if I didn’t think it was the most adorable thing in the world.

“Thanks, love,” I utter, almost forgetting to reply, it comes out a few seconds later than necessary.

They pivot on their feet, swinging around in the direction of the table they were just sitting at. “Would you like a goldfish biscuit?” I would like to bash my head into this table, thanks. They turn their head and I internally thank myself for that stupid remark. 

As long as their face is in view, everything is worth the effort.

“Sure. Thank you.” That breathtaking smile again. All I can do is stare. Tangerine eventually gets the hint and hands them both packets, knowing full well neither he nor Lemon is going to eat them. 

They finally take their leave after all the delays. My eyes are locked on them the whole time, the dryness setting in.

“Oi bruv, stop starin’, it’s starting to get creepy.” A British accent breaks me from my trance, making my eyes blink a thousand a minute. After the stinging subsides, I divert my gaze to the blue eyes looking at me. One of his eyebrows is raised, mouth slightly agape in a confused expression. 

“Wasn’t staring, mate” My eyes roll to my right, upset that he caught onto my oogling. “I beg to fuckin differ! What would Thomas say, Lem?” The force of my head snapping back to him almost gives me whiplash, feeling almost dizzy. 

“Don’t you dare!” I gasped out, offended that he would even mention Thomas. How dare he-

After settling down, I took the tab of metal at the top of the can Y/n gave me and pulled it back, a loud cracking sound filling the air as it cracked into the aluminum. Bringing the beverage up to my lips, the sweet flavor filling my mouth. 

I can see Tan's eyes rolling, his lips set into a hard line, the arms covered in his jacket crossing and the fabric wrinkling, he's obviously effectively annoyed.

Thinking about the kind gesture of the drink I peek over, seeing them lay their head down on the gray table in front of them, taking a nap. Glancing down at the drink in my hand, I see the words ‘Brown Sugar’, my favorite flavor.

The drink is sweet. Like her.

Y/ns POV:

My eyes jolt open at the feeling of someone pushing me. I draw my gaze upwards and am greeted by a train attendant. 

Her hands grip my jacket, pulling me toward her with her eyes wide and wicked-looking. I instinctively kick my foot out, hitting her side with the force of pushing her back into the table behind her. 

Coughing is heard as the air is forced out of her lungs, her body slumping down onto the floor for a second. Seeing the opening in the aisle, I rush past the automatic doors, they efficiently open with a ‘slunk’. Pushing my body into the bathroom door, It falls open and I stumble in. Reorienting myself, I quickly close and lock the door frantically. 

I scramble backward to get as much space as I can between the door and me as if she could burst through it. “Bitch!” I hear a muffled shout of frustration and thudding on the metal, the flesh of her fists repeatedly hitting it. 

After a few seconds of my panicked breathing and her pounding, it stops and tiny thuds are heard, leading out and into another car.

“Fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck. Oh my god! Okay! It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.” I breathlessly whisper out, as if she can still hear me. I wheeze and sit down in the spacious bathroom. My arm pushes against some buttons on the wall and a jet of water violently hisses out of the toilet, hitting the wall in front of it and spraying aggressive streams everywhere.

I cover myself with my jacket, my arm lifting out in front of me as I turn to the red buttons on the wall, mashing my fist into them with a clacking sound as I beat the plastic. 

The water continues to soak my jacket, the color turning darker as it becomes saturated. The water slows to a stop, and all that can be heard is the in and out of panting and drops meeting the puddle on the floor. 

“Holy shit.” I gasp out into the echoey space. 

After metaphorically shitting my pants for a looong while and using the towels in the cupboard underneath the sink that was always stocked. My jacket is effectively sopping wet, I took it off a while ago, the crisp air hitting my damp skin, creating goose bumps. 

Sighing, I stand up and slowly click the lock on the bathroom door to the other side, peeking my head out, almost anticipating the sight of the attendant who attacked me. I haven’t heard the sound of walking or train doors opening in quite a while, and curious as to where everyone has gone. 

The coast is clear, only the spotless resting area and the luggage. Well, where some of the luggage used to be. All that resides there is the stainless steel of the shiny shelves. Not a personal item in sight. 

Where is everyone? Someone should have come by if I missed the last stop or something.

I decide to head in a random direction. Aimlessly wandering through the train cars, the pitter-patter of my feet becomes frantic and louder, ricocheting off the empty walls. The only thing I can hear. 

The windows display the beginning of a warm yellow, the sun still below the skyline but waiting for its time to fully be seen. Who knows how many hours have passed. 

I throw as many doors open as possible, trying to find any sense of a living being. A certain door wouldn’t budge from its position and I let my gaze drift down, a pink band with hot pink glistening plastic balls decorating the fabric. My eyebrows furrow, disoriented and puzzled, I undo the fastening, the band falling to the ground in a clatter. I let my fist wrap around the cool handle to the door and pull.

The door snaps open at my touch, and the handle loudly thwacks against the wall. A Japanese man sits in the corner, blood soaked through his clothes, but breathing nonetheless. 

The air is stolen from my lungs, not being able to take any more oxygen in, as if I was punched in the chest. What really makes me stop in my tracks is the large man slumped down on the floor. His hair is bleached-blonde, him wearing a jean jacket. His shirt has holes all over it. Bullet holes. Dark blood in his beard glints in the light, shiny and red. His full lips were now stained with the offending liquid.

My knees collapse underneath me, then hit the floor with a sickening smack, pain shooting down my legs. “L-Lemon?” 

My hands come up and push at his chest, waiting for the rhythmic beating to reach them. All I feel is his button-down. Red droplets around his collar match the suspenders hiked onto his shoulders.

I can’t control my hands, my whole body is shaking uncontrollably. My arms twitching back and forth. Cupping his large, warm cheeks in my hands, I choke out, “Lemon?”

“No. No no no no nonono” my panicky slurred mumbling filled the space, my tongue feeling heavy and dry. The nice man who I couldn’t manage to take my eyes off of the whole train ride. The one who was considerate enough to give me something in return for a stupid canned drink.

The one with the big eyes that twinkled in the light. With big, full, round cheeks that adorably lifted wherever he smiled. His smile that would light up the whole room. The one people so rarely saw.

The one who now slumped against the wall, covered in blood.

[scarletiswailing347]

postinf the text for my day 2 bsweek prompt here cause its making me lag lol

do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to be a zombie in this economy? you just go out there trying to have a bite to eat so you go up to some randos and they just start SHOOTING YOU! like straight up just SHOOTING YOU! like what the hell man? i mean i know im trying to rip your brains out and shit but cant you let a guy just fucking eat???? speaking of, this guy's brain tastes weird like im pretty sure its at least fifty percent plastic, maybe even a hundred percent i don't know. was he your boyfriend or something? does this mean you're single? wanna go out sometime? you're annoying as shit but i like that in a man, keeps you on your toes y'know? keeps you humble as well like you just wake up in bed one day and go &quot;oh god this is the guy im dating and i don't even want to break up with him or anything what the hell's wrong with me,&quot; which i think is a pretty important thing to have-- at least for me 'cause im awesome as shit and if i don't have that sort of anchor i'll probably lke turn into god or something and i dont wanna be god. not out of self-esteem issues or anything, just out of principle 'cause i think that everyone should have a fair chance at killing me which not gonna lie is pretty easy but that's besides the point, the point is that i think anyone who wants to be god is fucking stupid and should just fucking die. like, hello??? who the hell do you think you are rying to reign above other people? are you stupid? are you dumb? hello? anyways, if you wanna know more about what i think of this i post a lot on r/atheism, im user u/waffleontopp-- wait , do i have to explain reddit to you? 'cause you seem more like a tumblrina to me, honestly reddit's pretty similar to tumblr so you won't have a lot of trouble figuring it out on your own but don't be shocked ifbyou see cock and balls on there since porn isn't banned there unlike tumblr. how's that whole thing treating you by the way? must be tough not seeing some girl's boobs every once in a while-- wait are you gay or bi? must be tough not seeing some guy's boobs every once in a while, that won't be problem if you start dating me though. haha just kidding, my chest is basically concave now after a survivor beat me repeatedly with a baseball bat so ive got like negative double D's now. oh but i do know this one guygirlthing whose boobs are out basically 24/7 who likes to hang out with me and this other guy so maybe that'll make up for it. they're not zombies and im pretty sure they didnt get infected so you don't have to worry about that but they miiiight have rabies or something im not sure to be honest so maybe watch out for that instead. if youre wondering why two non-infected humans are hanging out with a zombie then we're in the same boat, might have something to do with the possible rabies i mentioned earlier. also if they tell you that im their pet zombie that is simply not true, if anything it's the other way around, they're my pet guard dogs and they do basically anything i say even if it kills them. or at least i wish it would kill them, they're way too hardy in my opinion, i need them to die so i can eat their brains-- oh but then i'll have to do manual labor. hmm, on second thought, they can stay actually i don't wanna deal with all that. normally i dont even do my own kills nowadays, i just leave a trap or get the other two to do it for me, you guys just caught me offguard which is lowkey embarassing but trust me i am a huge, like Huge alpha sigma gamma male and would totally dominate everyone else around me. but not in a god way of course, just in a lone sigma alpha gamma wolf kinda way like those anime wolf furry drawings. you know the ones. and like im not a furry but not gonna lie they totally popped off with those

[mantisgodiveblog]

Good to hear that you are okay! I was wondering it you were doing better, and it’s good to see hear that you are at least somewhat! Take your time to recover- being sick sucks!!! (((I debated whether or not I should speak on Mira- didn’t want confirm or deny but decided to: Honestly, just seeing rep is so rare. And from my small vantage point of being the the vanilla flavor of aroace (I tried to word that in a different way, failed, and landed on a joke lol), I think she’s a pretty good one.)))

Currently, mostly Doing Tired. Fairly standard state of being for us, admittedly. We will persist regardless. Unclear on what you mean by "vanilla flavor of aroace", here - perhaps a sign of the fact that an incredibly disproportionate percentage of our friend circle is on the spectrum, but we cannot for the life of us figure out what would be treated as "default" here. In our books, any representation is good - what someone might like varies enough by person that it's a bit hard to gauge "good" versus "bad" compared to just... what appeals more or less to any given person.

Our personal preferences when it comes to most media, for example, are in an area where something like 90% of what we really want to see is stuff where we have to "make our own food", so to speak - though, admittedly, the way that our own personal preference tends to complicate things a bit. Our love for picking things apart is a double-edged sword, in that being capable of picking apart things to the extent that we do often offers them far more opportunity to wear thin.

We are very capable of identifying trends, both in stories and people, and this has been both a great source of fun and a great source of frustration, because at the point we're at, we're often very well capable of picking apart underlying patterns of behavior to a degree that we're not necessarily "supposed" to. Because we are who we are, this means that a lot of stories can draw... dull, after we've seen enough of it. Because we know the motions, and we've most likely analyzed the underlying structures to death and back, if the story itself falters or does not succeed at offering enough new to interest us, we tend to have our interest rapidly drop off.

The degree of this, of course, varies. Body horror, transformation, gore, and a great deal of similar topics are very unlikely to wear thin for us. Good character studies tend to be the sort of thing where we can reread the same words over and over again without it getting dull. On the opposite side of the spectrum, pure fluff is the sort of thing that we struggle to get through more than maybe once every few months, and we're of the personal opinion that fandom as a whole has worn the idea of "found family" thin enough that you could stick its cloth in front of your face without noticing any difference in visibility.

This is, of course, thoroughly in the realm of "tangent" by now. A trope, like any other narrative tool, is a building block - how well it works out will depend almost entirely on execution, and if executed well, pretty much any building block can be used to spin a damn good story.

We are, however, ourself, and knowing ourself, we're going to have to start taking breaks just to make sure that the game remains enjoyable if we stray too. We're banking on things getting worse, we're banking on the warnings on the site paying off, we're hoping that the narrative we're walking into won't dull its teeth, and we're... admittedly, mostly hoping that whatever they do with Mirabelle is interesting, because we generally prefer "interesting" to "something that would be considered good representation", and we've spent enough time being aro by now that explaining things to us will feel thoroughly... plastic.

[cherrygorilla]

The Mixtape Mysteries: Chapter 1 (Part 2)

Crazy Train - Ozzy Osbourne - 4:53

Yes, it is a ridiculous amount of time since I last posted anything to do with this (or anything at all really), but I've been dying to write for this story again, so I thought it would be a good way to help me get my groove back. Plus, I wanted to wait until Camp Wanamaker was done before I went back to working on Acting School Drop Out (because I feel like I might be able to use some stuff that's been mentioned in the next part lol). So, after months and months of uni stress that's kept me away from my google doc, here's the next installment of the story that's kept me going through it all.

Listen along with the gang here. Enjoy!

Heavy eyelids dropped over a pair of umber eyes trying, and failing, to focus on the computer screen in front of them. Whilst the radio often felt like Butchy's only co-worker, today it just seemed to be functioning as a lullaby machine - and the smooth, fade-out ending of Electric Light Orchestra's 'Evil Woman' just proved the point further. One second he was staring blankly at a page of pixelated text on a fuzzy screen, and then the next thing he knew he was drooling into the palm of his hand and almost falling off his chair at the sound of a car racing past his window. 

It's not even that he was tired - it was barely even 11am for Christ's sake - he was just so bored his brain was shutting down from lack of stimulation. And considering the latest turn of events, his body wasn't far behind. The roaring engine disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the incessant ticking of the plastic wall clock in its place. It didn't matter what kind of car it was, or where the hell it was going; all Butchy knew was that he wanted to be in it. Hopefully travelling far, far away from this crappy, dead-end town, and this shoe box of an office, that was more dust than desk, and smelled like a wet rat. 

Begrudgingly, he gathered himself together and finished typing out the latest file he'd been working on - something about trespassing in the old steel mill, he didn't care enough to look into the details. Tipping his head back, he rubbed his palms across his eyes, trying to press as hard as he could to draw some sort of alertness to the forefront of his mind. If anything, it just made him more tired.

One glance across his desk let his gaze settle on the dorky Star Wars mug Royce and Bentley had gifted him on his last birthday, and for the first time since he'd slumped in the splitting leather swivel-chair that morning, a ghost of a smile graced his features. He took a swig and drained the mug of the last of its contents: bitter, room-temperature coffee. Wincing at the taste, he picked up the next file to work on, but swiftly dropped it in favour of refilling his mug. After all, the walk to the coffee pot in the main office was the only change of scenery he got all day. Sometimes he watered the dying yucca plant beside him with the rancid liquid just so that he had an excuse to get away from his desk.

The tapping of keyboards and mumblings of the same, tedious phone calls he overheard every day met Butchy's ears as he lumbered down the hall and pushed open the office door. Lurking behind the frosted panel, caked in as much dust as the rest of the building, was the rag-tag reception team, consisting of three women Butchy had absolutely no intention of even looking at, let alone speaking to. He'd given up trying to make conversation with his co-workers pretty quickly after every meagre attempt on his end had been ignored. Most shifts passed without him uttering a single word. However, Lela ditching his ride that morning must have thrown him off more than he realised, because this shift was about to become an anomaly. 

"So I said to him: If you know so much about the damn sausages, why don't you cook 'em yourself?" 

"I bet he knows a lot about one kind of sausage."

"Oh Jen, pull your mind out of the gutter, you sound like a teenager."

"She practically still is one."

"I'm right though, aren't I?"

A strained sigh slipped past Butchy's lips before he could stop it. The nasal drones from the women behind him were enough to make his eye twitch at the best of times, but the added scraping of Jennifer's nail file made it inevitable. Before he could short-circuit altogether though, one of the adjoining doors to the main office was pushed open, and the conversation unfolding behind it immediately caught his attention. 

Heaving a sigh that put the young trainee's to shame, the fourth, and final receptionist, led the charge into the room - two officers hot on her heels. "Well, you'll just have to go alone then, won't you, gentlemen?" 

"We can't just 'go alone', the chief's the only one that goes on solo investigations. What if it's dangerous? What if we need back-up?"

"And what, pray tell, Officer Reynolds, is so 'dangerous' about a broken store window?"

"Well from the sounds of things it's a pretty clear-cut robbery. What if the culprit's still on the scene? What if he's armed?"

"Why are you assumin' it's a 'he'?" Jennifer piped up with a smirk, punctuating her question by blowing the acrylic dust from the tip of her nail. 

As expected, neither officer batted an eyelid at her interruption. 

"We got the call last night. You've got a higher chance of him sticking the damn window back together."

"But what if it's like that time when Old Man McRoberts'-"

"Enough, boys. I don't want to hear it," she finally snapped, slamming the stack of paperwork down on her desk so hard it even made her glasses chain quiver. Turning to the pair with her hands planted firmly on her hips, she continued. "Callahan, you're on patrol with Officer Powell; Reynolds, you're investigating that store window. Alone."

"But Fran, that never-"

"No, I don't want to hear another word. You're going solo, Reynolds, and that's that." 

"...Uh, I could go with you."

The whole office fell silent. Even Jennifer's nail file seemed to pause for thought. But all too soon, six pairs of eyes fell on Butchy, whose grip on his mug instinctively tightened under their bemused glares. He couldn't exactly blame them; even he couldn't believe that he'd dared to speak - let alone suggest such a thing. But then again, this was a perfect opportunity - perhaps the only opportunity he'd get (at least for the foreseeable future) to prove himself a worthy member of the team. Being stuck behind a computer screen all day was getting him nowhere - in fact, he was pretty sure he had even less respect now than when he'd first set foot through the door over a month ago. But working on a case, a real case, meant he could put all the skills he'd learnt in his training to the test - show everyone that potential he'd promised in his interview. This could be the making of Officer Bandoni. This could be his ticket out of that godawful, stuffy office. This could be-

"Oh my god, look at his face; he's serious."

God, he hated Jennifer. But he hated that cackling laugh of hers even more. 

"Jennifer," Linda, the crotchety receptionist to her left, scolded. If Butchy hadn't known better, with her brusque, hushed tone and sharp glare from over the top of her tortoise shell glasses, he'd have thought the woman was her mother. 

"Yeah right," Officer Callahan snorted. But a pause, followed by a brief glance in the new recruit's direction soon had his confidence faltering. "I- Oh…" 

"Hey, cut him some slack, Jen; the kid's still learning the ropes," Officer Reynolds piped up, ignoring Officer Callahan's attempts to hide his smirk by smoothing out his moustache, and instead sending the smarmy receptionist a blasé, yet stern frown. "Of course he wasn't being serious."

"Actually, I was," Butchy corrected. He set his mug down and stood his ground opposite the two officers, gently nudging his chin up and puffing out his chest in an attempt to outwardly show some of the confidence he was so desperately trying to scrounge together. At least that would help to mask the stubborn rage bubbling away in the pit of his stomach. The staff's dismissiveness was frustrating enough on its own, but being reduced to a 'kid' was downright infuriating. 'Kids' did not single-handedly raise their little sister. 'Kids' did not give up their weekends to go and work in a shitty garage for two bucks an hour all throughout high school just so they could have food on the table. 'Kids' did not shoulder the responsibility of four adults after stepping up to parent, not only his own sister, but the three boys next door too. Butchy hadn't felt like a 'kid' in years. He had always been the oldest - the most mature, the most dependable, the most capable… So for these six adults, who had barely given him the time of day in the month he'd been working with them, to stand there and tell him he was nothing more than a 'kid'...it was insulting. And he was determined to prove them wrong. "If you need another officer for back-up, and no one else is free, then why can't I go with you?" 

"Well, for one, you're not an officer-"

All Reynolds had to do was hold up a hand for Callahan to snuff out his snickers. "Because you haven't finished your training yet, son," he plainly explained. At least his withering look was softened by a bored tone. 

"But I've aced every part of the course I've completed so far," Butchy argued. "And this could be a chance for me to learn on the job, out in the field-"

"Son, let it go."

"You said, yourself, that I've got potential. Why can't I just show you-?"

"Look, kid, you're not ready - you won't be for a long time. I admire the optimism but we've gotta look at the facts here. And truth is: the dirt on Callahan's shoe's got more experience walkin' 'round a crime scene than you do. I know you want to get out of the office and get a taste of the action, but I can't work the case and babysit you at the same time. It's just not realistic."

'Babysit'? Butchy could feel the word in the palm of his hand as he clenched his fingers into a fist around it, crushing it, along with all its juvenile connotations. "I'm not a 'kid', I'm eighteen years old," he insisted, choosing his words and tone very carefully as he fought not to lose his cool. 

"Yeah, and I'm not a chainsmoker neither," Jennifer sniggered, appearing to have swapped her nail file for a cigarette during the confrontation. She took a long drag as her, deep, carob eyes latched onto his, lashes sprawling across a rough sea of streaky kohl, before letting the smoke leak out through her crimson-painted smirk. 

Butchy didn't know what was more nauseating: her attitude or the stench of tobacco hanging in the air. 

Officer Reynolds let out an exasperated sigh that soon stole back the trainee's glare though. "That's all well and good, but it's not gonna change my mind. You need more experience before you go out in the field, Bandoni," he explained, with an expression that told Butchy he was well-weary of the conversation now. "You can't learn to run before you learn to walk. It's just not realistic - if anything, it's naïve."

"But how am I supposed to get more experience when I'm stuck behind a desk all day?" 

Butchy's question was shot down though as the pair of officers crossed the room to the office's main door, back to their usual routine of barely acknowledging his existence. "If I'm not back by two for your CPR training, Officer Powell will handle it, okay?" Reynolds said as he plucked his hat from the coat stand in the corner and secured it atop his head of thinning, taupe hair. Knowing the new recruit wouldn't be satisfied with any answer he could give him, he'd just decided to brush the question aside altogether. 

And knowing that defiance, and further provoking, would get him nowhere, Butchy finally relaxed his hand, and gave a stiff nod. He silently watched the officers announce their departure to the room and felt his shoulders slump in defeat, his chest aching with betrayal. Officer Reynolds was supposed to be his mentor, the one who would take him under his wing as he learned the ropes - and yet he'd kicked him to the curb and spat in his face the one time he'd tried to do the right thing. At least that's how it felt to him anyway. 

"Bye boys," Jennifer trilled with a flirty giggle as the office door closed behind them. Tapping the ash from the end of her cigarette, she turned her vampish smirk to Butchy. "Nice little show there, Bandoni. And there I was thinking today was gonna be boring." 

Butchy's frown deepened as her scornful laughter battered his ears. The thick-headed she-devil wasn't worth his breath though - even the sickened huff that escaped his throat felt like a waste. His fingers once again closed, although this time they at least found the warm ceramic of his mug beneath them. Letting the heat seep into his skin, he took a deep breath in through his nose and tried to focus on anything else other than the anger boiling in his chest. At least the Star Wars mug, and the memory of receiving it, gave him something to anchor himself to: a way to discharge all the bitter resentment that had been steadily building for weeks, but had finally come to an ugly head. One more snarky comment from Jennifer and he'd have hurled the coffee at her sloppy up-do, he knew it - he could feel himself teetering on the brink. 

And yet, a friendly hand in the centre of his back was all it took to draw him back from the edge. "I should be thanking you," Fran said with a sympathetic chuckle, and roll of her eyes at the officers' expense. "I thought they'd never leave."

Managing a weak, but grateful smile to the receptionist, Butchy finally picked his mug up from the drink station and took his leave before he could draw any more unwanted attention to himself. Jennifer's squawking voice still rang in his ears as his footsteps pounded down the hall, desperate (for once) to shut himself away in his office. At least in there he knew he was safe from further embarrassment, even if the only thing waiting for him was a stack of files on petty traffic crimes. Apparently reading about speeding fines and parking tickets was all the excitement his life could afford him for the time being. But, for once, he actually found some comfort in that. 

"Well, Wuthering Heights, you were fun while you lasted, but I am not going to miss you," Vivien snorted, holding the worn paperback out in front of her, as if to address it like an old friend. 

The gentle chuckles that bounced the soft, chocolate brown curls beside her set her innocent little middle-school heart aflutter, and she caught herself clamping her lips shut in case it tried to escape. Craving the thrill of that sensation again, she snatched a shy glance in his direction before plastering the jovial grin back on her face. "Thank you for the 'A' though, Emily." 

"What are you thanking her for? We did all the hard work," Royce scoffed. "I wrote so many notes on the moors I'm pretty sure I almost gave myself Carpal Tunnel."

A snicker crinkled the brunette's nose. "Well you do have the neater handwriting."

"And you have all the good ideas," Royce chuckled, praying desperately that the prickling he felt across his cheeks wasn't what he thought it was. 

Stopping in front of a set of painted metal doors, Vivien turned to him with a disapproving frown. "Not all the good ideas." 

"Fine… most then."

Whilst Royce may have been able to keep his blush at bay, Vivien felt hers raging like a wildfire as she downplayed his compliment with an affectionate eye-roll and pushed her way out into the crisp autumn air of the Hawkins Middle parking lot. Hopefully a bracing breeze like the one that smacked her across the face the second she set foot onto the asphalt would help her systems stop running on overdrive, because right now she felt like a live wire about to catch light. One wrong move from Royce and he'd be fried to a crisp. 

Wrapping her free hand around the forearm that flanked him, protecting his arm from being barbecued should he decide to fondly bump her as they fell into stride once more, Vivien, composure regained, offered him a smile. "I guess that makes us a pretty good team then, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess it does," he agreed, holding her gaze for a beat and letting the sincerity of the moment swell alongside the tingly, warm feeling spreading through his chest. "...And we've got the A to prove it." Terrified by the sensation, he snorted out a laugh that shattered the tenderness of the moment just as awkwardly as how he almost tripped over his own feet because he was spending more time looking at Vivien and her freaking dimples than where he was walking. Damn his stupid hand-me-down sneakers from Miles and their stupidly long laces.

More awkward, cheerful chuckles tumbled from the middle schoolers' lips as Royce steadied himself again and they made their way over to the cluster of trees by the soccer field. It didn't take Vivien long to break the comfortable silence that had fallen over them though. "I don't know what we're going to do with ourselves now that project's finished; it completely took over our lives for like two whole weeks there."

"I'm sure we'll find something."

But Royce's laidback grin was the complete antithesis of Vivien's tense shoulders and skittish gaze. Then again, he had no idea what she was planning, or what her skating friends had been begging her to do for weeks. 

It couldn't be that hard, right? It was just one little question. She asked him questions all the time, this one didn't need to be any different. And besides, there wasn't really anything Vivien felt as though she couldn't talk to Royce about; he was her best friend, he was always her first port of call for anything that was bothering her - well, unless it was about something like her period; that was strictly for her mom…

But this was just a question: one that could very well have been asked without another thought had she not attached all the extra weight to it in her mind. And yet here she was, fighting her own tongue, trying to persuade it to recite the script she'd meticulously planned out in her head the night before, because for some reason it wasn't convinced by her promised ability to brush the sentiment off as 'just a friend thing' should Royce take it badly. And neither was her mind, really. 

Realistically though, what was the worst thing that could happen if he had a weird reaction? It's not like a meteor would crash out of the sky and strike them both down or anything, no matter how much she may want it to in the moment - she knew; she'd checked and it wasn't the right time of year for it. The worst that could happen is things might be a little awkward between them for a couple days, right? He wouldn't- 

-Actually, scratch that. Vivien didn't want to think about it. 

"Well, actually…" she began, before she could talk herself out of it any further. 

Vivien felt Royce's gaze land on her the second she stopped to clear her throat, which had become inexplicably scratchy ever since those last words had left it, clearly so reluctant to be said they'd dug their heels in the entire journey out into the cool, October air. And as soon as it did, it felt as though all her sweat glands released at once, adding a glistening sheen to her already crimson skin. Horrified, Vivien kept her gaze on the ground a few paces ahead of her to avoid having to find out if Royce had realised, and pushed her round, silver-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of her nose in an attempt to shield herself from further embarrassment as a result of her thirteen-year-old hormones wreaking havoc in her own body. 

Fearing that the longer she dragged this on, the more her subconscious would betray her, she swallowed her nerves and ploughed ahead. "Do you remember how you missed out on going to watch The NeverEnding Story this summer because you had to spend your ticket money on a new wheel for your bike?"

In her periphery, Vivien saw Royce's hand shift up to play with the fraying fabric of his backpack strap. He only ever did that when he felt uncomfortable. She didn't even have to look at him to confirm it either, the pause before he responded told her almost as much as his tone of voice did. 

"...Yeah, but what does that-?"

"Hey nerds!" 

Despite their disdain for the term, both Vivien and Royce's heads whipped around to try to locate the source of the voice, mentally cursing themselves for even acknowledging that the phrase could have been used to refer to them, let alone responding to it. But as green and brown eyes scanned a sparse sea of middle schoolers, searching for signs of anyone with ill-intent, they came up short. 

"Over here!"

The voice, carried on the wind, drew the pair's gazes to a figure, practically standing on the bench of a rotting, wooden picnic table to try to grab their attention and their disgruntled grumblings fell from their lips within seconds of one another, replaced by fond sighs. 

Bentley waved the duo towards him so spectacularly that, for all they knew, he could have been directing a plane to land. And whilst Vivien couldn't help but smile at the blond's boundless energy, she also couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment with how easily Royce shelved their conversation by letting out an almost relieved: "Duty calls."

"Yeah," Vivien agreed with a forced smile and a breathy, awkward laugh to match his. Although it dropped from her face the second he turned his back to head over to the shaded seating area. 

Once he was a good few paces ahead of her, and she was sure he was out of earshot, Vivien let out a frustrated huff, so hot she was surprised it didn't steam up her glasses. "Goddammit, Bentley," she muttered, shoving her library copy of Wuthering Heights into her backpack as she started trudging along behind Royce. "I almost got through it all that time."

But Bentley was none the wiser to Vivien's grand plans; too excited by his own news to consider that the pair may have been busy. And besides, the easygoing grin his older brother shot him as he approached made him none the wiser. 

"You've gotta come up with something better to call us, Benny," Royce said, fondly shaking his head as he climbed the last few steps of the hill leading up to the picnic table, adorned by Bentley's friends, the contents of at least three up-turned pencil cases, and enough sheets of paper to paper mache a small child. Thankfully, the table was sheltered from the worst of the breeze, so the most that a stray gust could do was flutter the edges beneath the various, makeshift paperweights (dog-eared textbooks and unopened juice boxes) strewn across the splintering surface.

"Why? You are 'nerds'," the boy laughed as he bounced back down into his spot on the bench seat beside August. 

"We are not," Royce protested.

"It got you to come over here, didn't it?" Bentley replied with a cheesy smirk. 

Royce let out a slightly bitter sigh as he fumbled through a response. "Well- yeah, but it's… demeaning." 

"Then why'd you respond to it?" Kona snorted, apparently more focused on selecting the right shade of crayon than bothering to look Royce in the eye as she insulted him. 

The bluntness of the eleven-year-old's comment drew a snort of laughter from him before he could stop it, whether it was in amusement or incredulity though he'd never know. But the smile that threatened to envelop his disapproving frown stayed firmly in place as he said, "Because I'm so used to everyone else calling us it, that's why. And you shouldn't be contributing to the problem anyway; I thought we were all on the same side here."

"You calling us nerds, RJ?" Zack piped up with a challenging quirk of his eyebrow. 

"Pot calls the kettle black," Royce smirked.

"White boy says what now?" Zack retorted with a confused frown that soon gave way to a mischievous grin the second that Royce rolled his eyes and playfully ruffled his hair, insisting through shared laughter that the boy knew what he meant. 

"What are you guys doing up here?" Vivien asked with a breathy laugh of her own as she arrived at the picnic table and caught the end of the boys' friendly roughhousing.

"Having fun until you nerds showed up," Zack scoffed as he shoved Royce's chest in an attempt to get the older boy away from him. But the bubbling giggles that tumbled from his lips as Royce expressed his disdain for the name once more told everyone all they needed to know about how much he enjoyed the brunet's company - proved even further when he resorted to wrapping his arms around his torso and tackling him into a hug from his spot on the bench. 

"Looks like it," Vivien noted with a bemused chuckle. "What's all this then? You writing out your own comic book or something?" she continued, gesturing to the vast collection of paper spread out before the quartet. 

"We're designing our characters for this cool new game Gus brought in," Bentley raved, holding up his sheet of paper for Vivien to see. "Look at my guy, he's got a wand that's disguised as a paintbrush and this magic flute that lets him talk to animals." 

"Damn, Benny, that's so cool," she grinned, marvelling at the artwork with almost as much care as the blond put into creating it. 

"And look, here's the one I'm doing for Gus," Bentley continued, shuffling the papers around until he selected the right one. 

"You didn't want to draw out your own?" Vivien asked the boy, whose sandy blond eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. 

"Nah; Ben's better at art," August admitted, only glancing up from his work to shoot his oblivious friend a shy smile. "And I enjoy the planning part of it more anyway," he went on to explain. "So he's doing the drawing, and I'm filling out his character sheet for him." 

"Yeah, 'cause there was no way I was gonna be able to deal with all that," Bentley snorted.

"This looks like a lot of work for just one game," Vivien noted, inching another piece of paper towards her and finding it covered from top to bottom in meticulously written words, numbers, and the occasional, scribbled doodle. 

"Tell me about it," Kona scoffed. "I feel like we got extra math homework with this stupid number system we've got to work off of," she added with a huff that blew a straw strand of hair away from her eyes. Begrudgingly tapping the open, yellowing pages of an intricately illustrated book with the end of a pencil, she brought the thirteen-year-old's gaze to the table she was drawing from. 

"You guys are willingly doing math over lunch and you're calling us nerds?" Royce asked with a teasing incredulity that earned him further, playful bickering from Zack. 

"So what do you do with all this when you've created your characters then?" Vivien continued, feeling a fond smile tugging at her lips as Royce's unbridled laughter tickled her ears. Fighting the urge to swat the imagined sensation away, she focused her attention on the other children at the table. "What's this dorky wizard math game called?" 

"Dungeons and Dragons," Bentley explained.

Vivien’s ears perked up. “Dungeons and Dragons? That weird roleplaying game Riven plays with his sweaty high school friends?” 

“Who’s Riven?” Kona asked.

“My skating partner,” Vivien said, throwing the explanation away like a used napkin so that she could get back to the main point at hand. 

“Ew, so is he like your boyfriend then?” Kona teased with a devilish wiggle of her eyebrows. 

“No!” Vivien blurted, maybe a little too quickly if everyone turning to look at her was anything to go by. "No, not like… It's just- He's like my brother, ok?" she hurriedly tried to explain, trying to ignore the bile now creeping at the back of her throat the very thought alone had placed there. 

"Ok," Kona snorted, smirking to herself as she caught Royce's shoulders slump in relief in her periphery. Making the ninth-graders squirm was a favourite pastime of hers, and lately, all this girlfriend-boyfriend talk around them, despite making her want to hurl, had been a homerun every time. 

"I didn’t know Riven played DnD,” Bentley piped up, earning himself a grateful smile from Vivien for taking some of the heat off her. 

“Neither did I until he made us switch our practice days so that he could go play pretend with a bunch of dorks out the back of Eddie 'the freak' Munson's trailer."

"Riven's in that weird Hellraiser club?" Royce asked, bushy eyebrow raised in disbelief. 

"My sister says they're all devil worshippers," Zack mumbled.

"It's Hellfire," Vivien corrected. "And they're not devil worshippers - well, Riven's not anyway. As far as I know they're just losers in matching shirts who play make believe like they're still in first grade."

"It's more than just playing make believe," August dared to pipe up with a somewhat defensive frown, immediately toying with the corner of Bentley's character sheet the second the group's attention landed on him. A sideways glance in the blond's direction earned him a reassuring smile that breathed some much needed confidence into his lungs, and as he released it, he said, "There's this whole world you can build your own stories around with all these super detailed characters and a bunch of lore you can discover. I spent my whole weekend reading through the books my cousin gave me and that doesn't even cover half of it. It's like one big choose-your-own adventure story, but everyone gets a say in what happens, and gets to feel like they're a part of it."

A beaming grin and steel blue eyes, sparkling with excitement, found Royce with startling ease. "Doesn't that sound cool?!" Bentley enthused.

"...It actually does," Royce admitted, even surprising himself with his answer. 

"Hear that, Auggie? You didn't even have to mention dragons to convince someone that time," Kona snickered, firing the curly haired boy beside her a smirk. 

"Whatever," Zack scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You thought they sounded cool too," he added with an accusatory nudge of the blonde's elbow that had her cursing him under her breath for making her pencil skim across the page. 

Ignoring his friends' sibling-like arguing, so used to it by now that it honestly would have been stranger to acknowledge it, Bentley kept his attention, and his toothy grin, focused on his older brother. "I knew you'd like it! You're always borrowing those old fantasy books from the library and writing your own versions of them."

"Well- yeah, ok, but what does that have to do with this?" Royce stuttered, cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment despite Vivien's small, amused smile. 

"Well this is just like that! Gus wrote out our first campaign all by himself," Bentley gushed before leaning into the shying blond beside him. "That's like the story, right?" he checked in a hushed tone. And after receiving a confirmatory nod, he turned back to Royce with renewed enthusiasm. "The plot, the monsters, the bonus quests - he came up with it all!" 

Bentley pushed a stack of papers towards his brother, bound by treasury tags and bearing enough ink to have drained an entire pack of ballpoint pens. "Holy shit," Royce breathed as he picked it up and began flipping through the makeshift book, becoming more and more stunned with every turn of a page. "You wrote this whole thing by yourself?" he asked August, who timidly nodded. "In one weekend?" Again, the boy nodded, this time a little more eagerly. And Royce could see why. "...Wow," he marvelled, smiling as he watched the younger boy swell with pride. "This is really impressive, August."

"You put some serious work into this, huh?" Vivien noted.

"Yeah, I guess," August admitted as his steadily reddening cheeks were pulled aside by an appreciative grin. "It's not like I minded though," he went on to hurriedly explain. "It all came together pretty quickly once I got into it. Plus it gave me an excuse to shut myself up in my room away from my stuffy aunt and that stupid dog she carries around in her purse," he added, earning himself a bright laugh from Bentley that completely stalled his train of thought. Luckily, it was nothing that clearing his throat and refocusing his gaze on the blond's character sheet couldn't fix though. "I guess I just thought it would be something fun for us all to do together, you know?"

"Yeah, it sure sounds like it," Vivien said with a warm smile. But there was still a little, nagging thought hammering away at the back of her head, and she feared that if she didn't use this opportunity of an out as her last-ditch attempt at getting Royce alone before the end of the school day then that nagging thought would break right through her skull and puncture her brain with its pesky little pickaxe. And she needed all the brainpower she could muster to get through this, so she did not want to take any risks. "Anyway," she continued, snagging the attention of the table of eleven-year-olds as she clapped her hands together. "We'd better let you guys get back to planning. We wouldn't want to be the reason for you guys delaying your first adventure now, would we?" she asked rhetorically, firing a knowing look across at Royce that was not-so-subtly hidden behind a theatrical grin.

If Royce picked up on the intensity behind Vivien's gaze though, he didn't show it, instead remaining as blissfully oblivious as he always seemed to be when it came to her intentions as he took his turn to offer a fond smile to the table of his brother's friends. "You'll have to let us know how it goes," he said, before adding with a chuckle: "I'm invested now; it sounds awesome."

Breathing out a sigh of relief between her teeth as Royce rounded the picnic table to join her, Vivien kept her almost clown-like smile plastered to her face as she thanked whatever great powers were at work for making Royce ever so slightly more perceptive than the other, gormless teenage boys in their class. But just as she was inching her way back down the hill, and readying her opening line for the brunet once they were out of earshot of the eager little gremlins, one of them piped up with a perfectly pointed pin to burst her bubble. 

"Why don't you just play with us then?" 

Bentley's wide-eyed, hopeful grin was the only thing keeping Vivien from snatching up Kona's muddy jump rope and strangling him with it. Besides the years upon years of sibling-like friendship, obviously.

Forcing out a strained laugh, she managed a tight, "It's alright, Benny, we don't want to crash your fun." 

"You're not crashing anything; we want you to join in. Right, guys?" 

Ok, so Bentley can't read social cues… Good to know. 

It would have made things a hell of a lot easier if Vivien could have known about that before she set the wheels of her master plan into motion though, because right now she felt like they were so out of sync they were about to derail the handcar she'd strapped this grand idea of hers to. But even if she could have brought herself to get mad at Bentley, Zack jumped to the blond's defence before she even had the chance. 

"Yeah, we're gonna need all the help we can get because Kona can't add up for shit and I'm not about to let my guy Omar Scale Crusher die after I've spent all this time working out his stats."

"I can't add up for shit?! What the hell are you talking about? You're the one who got put in Math 2!"

"Only for a week! And I totally got a better grade than you on that test last week."

"No you didn't!"

"Did too!"

"Bite me!" 

As the pair energetically bickered about Zack's accusations, which Kona steadfastly claimed were built on entirely false foundations, Vivien found her frustration with the picnic table occupants crumbling away. After all, they weren't to know that she'd been practising for this lunchtime conversation with Royce for weeks. How could they? The only others she'd confided in were her three skating friends and the balding Big Bird stuffed animal from the end of her bed that had taken on the role of Royce during her many rehearsals. And she couldn't blame them for their excitement over the game either; even she had to admit that it sounded pretty cool. Plus, after hearing Riven rhapsodise about Hellfire's epic campaigns for weeks now, she was starting to get a little curious about the game and how it was played. 

"Omar Scale Crusher, huh?" she eventually chuckled, raising a quizzical eyebrow at Zack that soon ground his and Kona's squabbling to a halt. "How'd you come up with that?" 

"Isn't it sick? Auggie had this big list of names with cool meanings to help us decide."

After shuffling through the endless sheets of paper around him, August found the right one and went on to explain for a very enthusiastic Zack: "Omar means 'one who has a long life'."

"Yeah, so he'd better live up to his damn name! I'm not planning this whole thing out to have him die in the first round," he declared with a hearty laugh, before tagging on: "Plus my uncle's called Omar and he's awesome."

Vivien couldn't help her snort of laughter at the blunt innocence. "Very creative," she noted. "What is he then? Like a viking or something?"

"No, he's a wizard," Zack stated matter-of-factly. "'Cause why would I bother using a sword when I could just kill an enemy with magic?" 

"How come your guy's holding a sword then?" 

Royce's frank delivery, from over the younger boy's shoulder, had a laugh spurting from between Vivien's lips before she could stop it. And Bentley, August, and Kona were all quick to follow suit. 

However, as to be expected, the brash brunet soon scrambled a retaliation. "Well I'd still want one for backup."

"No duh," Kona chuckled as she finished shading in the metallic sheath of the dagger her character clutched in a leather clad fist. "Magic or not, you still need a weapon."

"Is your character a wizard too then?" Vivien asked Kona, but the incredulous snort the blonde let out could have told her all she needed to know on its own.

"No, Andromeda doesn't need to rely on magic to keep herself out of danger; her dexterity's off the charts." 

Before another argument could break out between Zack and Kona as a result of her roundabout dig at him, August decided to speak for the table. "Zack’s our mage, Kona's our thief, Ben's our Bard and my guy's a ranger."

"But you're the dungeon master too, right?" Bentley checked, mischievous blue eyes peeking out from beneath furrowed bows. 

August's own eyes were drawn to Bentley's the second that he'd opened his mouth, but the smirk tugging at his friend's lips was what captured his attention. "What's so funny?" he challenged through a chuckle that coaxed one out of Bentley too. "You don't think I could be a dungeon master?"

"I never said that," Bentley laughed. But the look the boys shared meant they both knew that's what his tone had implied.

"You didn't have to."

"Well can you blame me? It just sounds so menacing and scary. I know you read all those horror books and stuff, but come on, you're about as intimidating as Winnie the Pooh - who, last time I checked, was still tucked under your comforter next to your pillow and your old baby blanket."

Jaw dropped in incredulity, August lightly elbowed Bentley in the ribs. "I can so be intimidating," he retorted. But if he was pretending to be mad at the boy, his true feelings were soon revealed by the smile he couldn't seem to keep off his face.

"Yeah, well, we've yet to see it," Kona bluntly noted, which once again set Royce and Vivien off giggling at the sixth graders. 

"You sound like you've got a pretty well-rounded group then," Royce carried on, drawing the conversation back to August's point from earlier. "Are there even any roles left for us? Or are we going to have to start doubling up?"

"You can double up if you want, but there's still a bunch of classes that haven't been picked yet," August explained, flipping through the large book spread out before him until he got to the right page. "We've not got a druid, a cleric, or a fighter."

"What does a fighter do?" Royce asked.

"Fighters are weapons-oriented warriors, who fight using skill, strategy, and tactics," August recited from his handbook, bringing the group's attention to the detailed illustration of an armoured swordsman, wielding what looked to be an incredibly heavy shield with almost no effort at all.

The second Vivien's eyes met the page she knew it was game over; her imagination kicked into overdrive and tossed all other thoughts about how she could have been spending this lunchtime to the curb. Racing at a million miles an hour, her brain plucked ideas from seemingly thin air and began piecing together a muscular young woman, strong enough to knock an ox clean off its feet in one quick shove, although you'd never know it since her frame was cleverly disguised in roughened leather padding, tarnished silver armour, and rich, violet robes fashioned into a sort of cape. Her face was weathered, but kind, and her vibrant, emerald eyes sparkled with determination, and the promise of adventure. Like the picture in August's book, the woman carried a large, battle-scarred sword by its ornate handle, and kept a hefty shield vigilantly by her side, painted in, again, deep shades of indigo, violet, and the blood of her enemies, naturally. She also had a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder though, nestled beside a crossbow, just peeking out from behind a head of flowing, chestnut locks. The heroine had no time for preening, so her hair was tousled with grease and grime from combatting the elements on her journeys, but as it fluttered in the wind, it was kept away from her face by intricate braids, weighed down by silver rings and stolen jewels of amethyst and topaz. She smiled at Vivien from the forefront of her mind, as if marking her territory there, and Vivien felt her heart skip a beat as she breathed out a quiet, and hopefully nonchalant: "Hmm…cool."

"That sounds like a good one for you, Viv. Strategy and tactics? You're great with planning stuff out," Royce noted. But one glance in her direction and his face broke into a knowing smile the second he clocked her eyes, glazed over in thought, and lips, parted in awe. 

"Yeah, and look, you'd make a great cleric," Bentley continued, pulling Royce's gaze away from Vivien, albeit reluctantly. Flipping the page of August's handbook, he excitedly tapped at a drawing of a tall man, draped in heavy, fur pelts and bronzed chainmail. A glowing staff was held in one hand, and a massive axe was thrown over his shoulder as though it weighed no more than a sack of flour. 

"Clerics are versatile figures, both capable in combat and skilled in the use of divine magic," August recited from the page after a light, nudge from Bentley. "They're also powerful healers."

"See? That's perfect for you! You're always helping patch us up if we fall off our bikes," Bentley enthused, undeterred by the amused chuckles that his brother unleashed as a result of what he thought was an adorably innocent explanation. 

"Yeah, and we could use a healer on our team, especially with those two and their lack of impulse control," August snorted as he gestured to Kona and Zack, who jumped at the chance to express their indignation. 

As the group of friends returned to jovially bickering amongst themselves, Royce and Vivien's minds were quietly whirring with ideas. Ideas which, upon glancing at one another, they soon realised were all too perfectly aligned. 

"What do you say then, losers?" Kona finally asked once she'd finished fighting her ground against the boys, snapping the eighth-graders out of their heads and bringing them back to reality with a knowing smirk. "Are you playing with us or not?"

Royce, as always, left the decision to Vivien. But the hopeful glimmer in his caramel eyes, paired with her own, itching curiosity made that decision all too easy. And besides, even if she wasn't spending time alone with Royce, she was still spending time with him. And that was good enough for her.

…For now. 

"Well… I guess one game couldn't hurt, right?" she said with a smirk that soon broke out into a grin as Bentley's face lit up like a firework display. And it only grew when she glanced across at Royce for one last confirmation that she'd made the right decision, only to find him beaming with almost as much enthusiasm as his brother. 

If this nerdy little game brought Royce this much joy, and was even half as much fun as it sounded, then Vivien knew it would be worth another few hours of crippling anxiety. Besides, she hoped that she could immerse herself in the story so much that she'd forget all about her predicament with the brunet anyway. But as they took their places at the picnic table, and Royce's sneaker brushing against her shin shot a jolt of adrenaline up her leg with such a force that she almost jumped straight back out of her seat, she knew that that was just wishful thinking. Covering up the brief waver in her cool, confident exterior with a quiet cough, she tried to refocus her mind on the endless streams of information August was unleashing on the pair of them.

"-and so the group our characters all belong to is called The Circle of the Emerald Torches, but part of the first campaign is about how we get our name, so I'll explain more about that later. Before you start, and before I give you your character sheets though, if you want to be in our party then you'll need to recite the Oath of Noble Heroes so that we know you're serious about this."

"Don't worry, we had to do it too. But it's so cool, you'll love it! And then there's a declaration of loyalty for you to sign somewhere too," Bentley tagged on before the boys started animatedly babbling amongst themselves about the ins and outs of their party's rules again. 

Shaking his head at the pair, Royce took the opportunity of them being distracted to lean over to Vivien and teasingly chuckle, "What the hell have you just gotten us into?"

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the boy, knowing that his enthusiasm for the game was a major driving factor in her decision to play, and that he was also well-aware of that fact, she looked him square in the face and hid her smirk behind a deadly serious, blank expression, "I'm pretty sure we just joined a cult." 

American History, Volume 2, lay open on page 38. And it had laid there like that for the past 45 minutes, having been abandoned by its current owner almost as soon as it had been removed from their backpack. Because instead of completing the assigned history homework, the desk's occupant was using their study hall period much more wisely: by shredding a solo, courtesy of Ozzy Osbourne, on possibly the most prestigious instrument of all: the air guitar.

Ethan's eyes slid shut, and a blissful smile curled his lips as he mashed the volume button on his Walkman with practised ease. Bar after bar of 'Crazy Train' pounded through his skull at a staggering volume, rattling what little of his brain was left in the mostly vacant space between his ears, helped along by the bopping of his head in time with the song's beat. When his fingers weren't plucking out riffs on imaginary strings, they were banging out the drumline on a drum kit that was just as real as his Gibson SG. And all the while, he was passionately miming the lyrics for his audience of the pencil shavings and dust mites that hugged the wall beside his desk. 

He felt the music in his bones. The bass line pumped through his veins. Every note that was played resonated through the chambers of his heart until it felt like the song was as much a part of him as his left arm. And the deeper he let himself sink into the music, the less aware of his surroundings he became - or the less he cared to remember them anyway. Until a sharp elbow to the ribs shattered his rockstar illusions, that is. 

Bleary brown eyes met earnest, steel blue, and held nothing but confusion for the several seconds it took him to realise that Miles’ mouth was moving without making a sound. 

“What?” Ethan bellowed, prying a wailing headphone speaker away from his ears as he leaned closer to the exasperated brunet. 

“Jesus, man!” Miles exclaimed under his breath as he reached across to his friend’s Walkman to frantically turn the volume down. “Are you trying to blow your eardrums out or something?” 

“That would be pretty metal, so maybe,” Ethan chuckled, entirely unphased. But Miles’ disapproving frown soon had him rolling out an explanation. “You’ve got a front row seat for my biggest show yet and you’re choosing to lecture me about volume control? I can care about my hearing when I’m in the retirement home.”

“You’ll be lucky if you make it to a retirement home," Miles snorted. "You've got the survival skills of a two dollar house plant."

Instead of arguing back, or even rolling his eyes at his best friend's dig, Ethan just continued chuckling along in agreement as he slid his headphones down to rest around his neck - still blaring out Ozzy Osbourne's vocals, although they were only just audible over the hubbub of chatter and laughter that filled the rest of the classroom. "What were you saying before anyway?" he went on to ask. "Did you want something?"

"Yeah, the answer to number four."

"Pfft, you think I've even made it past one?" Ethan guffawed, astonished and highly amused that Miles thought highly enough of him to assume he hadn't been shirking his responsibilities all afternoon. "I've got no fucking clue. What chapter are we on again? Abraham Lincoln?"

The mix of despair and disbelief Ethan was faced with when he glanced back across at Miles told him his guess might not have been as accurate as he'd pitched it to be. "...Are we not on Abraham Lincoln?"

"We haven't done Abraham Lincoln since freshman year," Miles deadpanned before letting out a chuckle of his own. "When was the last time you actually paid attention in one of Mr Bishop's classes?"

"Probably freshman year," Ethan noted with a laugh, slumping back in his seat and starting to rock on the back two legs of the flimsy, plastic chair. "I think the only chance I've got at retaining any of the information in that textbook for this month's pop quiz is if I eat it."

The look of reproach Miles shot the carefree stoner could have fooled any passerby into thinking that he was the boy's father, but he blamed that on the past however many years of having to act as a sole parental figure for two young boys - who, on several occasions, had actually proved to be far more mature than the lank-haired brunet before him. More often than not, Ethan felt like a third child he had to keep alive. And somehow, his lack of height was not one of the driving factors behind that reasoning.

"Oh come on, don't give me that look," Ethan groaned, ever the resentful teenager in their relationship. "You've not exactly been Mr Studious yourself today."

"What are you talking about?" 

"Well you've been stuck on that same question for the last twenty minutes 'cause you keep making goo-goo eyes at you know who," Ethan smirked as Miles' eyes widened in horror and his forehead started to prickle with sweat. 

"No I don't," he indignantly tried.

"I thought you said you were over her," Ethan teased.

"I am! It's not like that anyway," Miles muttered, then added. "And it's not been twenty minutes."

"It totally has."

"How the hell would you know? You've been listening to Motorhead since we sat down."

"Yeah but my fuckin' eyes still work," Ethan snorted, hitting Miles with a loving grin that had him rolling his eyes before Ethan had even finished his sentence. And yet, the boy's frustration did nothing to deter him from probing further. "What's the stalking for this time then? You know, if you're not trying to get in her pants anymore." 

Miles was at as much of a loss as Ethan. His eyes found the head of bouncing, blonde curls with almost no effort at all (likely a result of an entire study hall period of practice), searching for some sort of answer. But all he found was a dull, fluttering in his chest. 

Even the giddy, lovestruck butterfly that had been trapped in there for months seemed to have admitted defeat. 

Still, his gaze never wavered. He watched airy laughter spill from her glossy lips, and her nose crinkle beneath brilliantly blue eyes, framed by thick, black lashes and copious amounts of mascara. Whilst before, Miles could have eaten through a movie theatre's entire popcorn supply and still want to look just a little longer, in that moment he just felt empty. And that’s when he realised it wasn't actually Carrie herself that was occupying his mind, it was everyone else around her, and how she was treating them. Plucking a proudly presented flyer for a house party from one, impishly teasing another, waving at Sharon Frye on her way out the door, firing a flirty wink in jest at Steve Harrington after giggling at one of his jokes…

Miles was certain she'd looked at every other person in that room at least once since their study hall period had begun, and yet the closest her eyes had ventured over to him was when she glanced at the clock on the wall. Every thought in his head was plagued by her smile, or her voice, or her laugh… Had he ever even crossed her mind? 

"Do you think she actually cares about us?"

Miles hadn't been able to bring himself to tear his forlorn gaze from the blonde in question, but that didn't stop Ethan from snorting out an answer. "Well yeah, I'd hope so; we spend enough time with her." 

"Not by choice," Miles huffed. 

“Well she talks to us now, and that’s more than we could have said before we worked with her, so that’s got to count for something,” Ethan chuckled. “But if this is about what I think it’s about, then she absolutely cares about you, dude. Like way more than the rest of us.”

“You really think so?” 

“Dude, it’s like you two are glued at the hip. I can’t get you away from each other for shit once we close every night,” Ethan replied. And when Miles still looked unsure, he added, “Why else do you think I always get stuck cleaning the kitchen with Mick? She hates my guts!”

“No she does not,” Miles softly chuckled.

“Well I definitely don’t think she likes me, not like Carrie likes you anyway,” he retorted with a smirk and a wiggle of his eyebrows. “I’m telling you, man. There’s something there. There’s no way she’d laugh at your crappy jokes like she does if she didn’t at least have a little interest in you - I don’t care if Mick thinks it’s bullshit, I know I’m right.”

Miles just rolled his eyes, but a hopeful smile desperately pulled at his lips, no matter how many times he tried to dismiss it. “I don’t know, I think she probably just does it to be nice,” he mused, watching as Carrie animatedly responded to Rachel Price before turning back to resume her conversation with the girl sat beside her - the very girl that Miles still had an irrepressible urge to swap lives with: Juliet Harmon. Now faced with nothing but the back of her head, he quickly lost interest in the view. “…She seems to act like that with most people.”

“She definitely does not, man. Why do you think the entire marching band is scared to look her in the eye? She’s like one of the biggest bitches in school,” Ethan scoffed. But he paused when he realised Miles wasn’t laughing along with him. “Why does it matter how she acts around other people anyway?” 

“It doesn’t,” Miles huffed. “…Not really.” 

But the second he dared to make eye contact with his oldest friend, the floodgates opened and the truth came tumbling out. 

“I just…feel stupid for letting her get in my head, and for actually thinking that we had something special - that I was somehow different to all the other idiots who throw themselves at her to get a second of her attention. But here I am, thinking about her constantly, hanging onto every interaction we have like my fucking life depends on it, only for her to… Ugh, I don't know. I just…don't want it all to not mean anything to her, when it means so much to me - no matter how much I try to convince myself it doesn't. I mean, yeah, she's nice to me at work - really nice - but she barely even acknowledges me outside of All Skate… It's like I don't even exist, like she doesn't even realise I'm there. And it makes me feel like shit."

"She barely acknowledges anyone," Ethan absentmindedly mused. "I wouldn't take it personally."

"That's a lot easier said than done," Miles huffed dejectedly. There was something freeing about Ethan's nonchalance over Miles' feelings though; it made them feel less suffocating. And whilst he still felt entirely hopeless about the situation, he did feel a little bit of the pressure ease off as he rested his chin on his hand and let his mind start to wander. "...You think she actually considers us friends?"

"Sure; she calls us her work friends all the time."

"No but like her actual friends," Miles clarified. 

"Dude, I don't fucking know; the female mind is a mystery to me at the best of times, but hers is on a whole other level," Ethan scoffed in incredulity. "Do you not remember that like thirty minute debate I had with her about diet sodas? Actual insanity.”

Miles' quiet chuckling as he reminisced about what had started as an innocent question, yet progressed to a full-blown screaming match, with each participant equally as confused and frustrated as the other, was soon silenced by Ethan's next prompt though. "I know a way you can find out though…"

"...No!" 

"Oh come on, man. Don't be a sissy. It'll be so easy. And then you can stop getting hung up on all these bogus hypotheticals."

Miles' initial horror slowly dissipated as Ethan's reasoning started to lure out a far greater force from its hiding place in the corner of his brain: his curiosity. "...You really think I can just go up and talk to her? In class?" he asked, as his eyes once again found that jumble of golden curls. 

"Sure, why not? It's only study hall." 

Again, Ethan's nonchalance, which was only heightened by the fact that he was trying to balance a pen on his curled upper lip as he responded, did far more for Miles' confidence than any pep talk of his own could have. And besides, maybe he was onto something - maybe it really was that simple; it always was in his world. 

"It wouldn't be weird?" Miles double-checked. 

"Why would it be weird? All you're gonna do is talk to her. And we already established you two are friends, so what could go wrong?" 

Miles shuddered at the very thought. "So much."

Ethan glanced across at him, ready to fire out further encouragement like a sixth grader with a penchant for making spitballs, but when he clocked his friend's nervous fidgeting, he reconsidered his situation and gained a little clarity. "Ok…yeah, fine, stuff could go wrong. But are you gonna die?" he proposed.

"No," Miles begrudgingly mumbled.

"Are you gonna break something?"

"No, but-"

"Then how bad can it be?" Ethan cut in with a lopsided, optimistic grin before Miles could tie himself up in any more self-conscious knots. "Just get over there and scratch that itch that's been bugging you for weeks; it's not gonna stop until you do. And you'll feel so much better after."

It took Miles by surprise every time it happened, but yet again, it seemed as though Ethan might actually be…right. This question of Carrie's loyalty had been eating away at him for weeks now. And, as he'd stressed earlier, it was making him feel shittier and shittier with every day he let it drag on. Asking her outright was a definite way to get his answer… It was just going to require him growing some balls, as anything to do with All Skate's resident disc jockey apparently made his own shrink to the size of peas.

"...Just walk over and talk to her?" Miles checked. Although, between us, he was just stalling to give himself more time to muster some courage.

"Yeah, as a friend," Ethan confirmed. 

"You really think I can pull that off?" Miles asked with a dubious, but hopeful quirk of his eyebrow that had Ethan melting like a bomb pop that had been left out in the 4th of July sun.

"Absolutely," he grinned, totally enamoured by his friend's giddy trepidation, and the promise of a relationship he so steadfastly defended. "She's got a major soft spot for you, man. I see it like every night," he went on to reassure. "There's no way she's gonna blow you off. You'll be fine."

And as a result of that dopey grin, complemented by the ratty, chestnut locks, and vacant, dark chocolate eyes… Miles believed him. 

"...Ok, I'm going in," he breathed through a determined smile. 

"Atta boy," Ethan chuckled, fist-bumping Miles before tipping his chair back onto all four of its legs again, as though to signal the resolution of their predicament. "Go scratch that itch," he added, finishing their little handshake with a bolstering point before lifting his headphones back over his ears and disappearing back into his wildest rock star fantasies - totally oblivious to the disaster about to unfold right behind him as Miles took a deep breath and waded into the wild, uncharted waters of the female mindset. 

"So now that we know that y=7, we plug that into this side of the function, that we've already simplified, to give us this…which then means that we can carry this over here, giving us x=3." 

…Silence.

"Right?" Juliet checked, although the satisfied smile that had settled on her carnation pink lips as soon as she finished the sum was beginning to falter into one of desperation as she turned to her tutee. "Did you follow along ok that time?"

But all Juliet was met with was a glassy stare and an infatuated grin, smushed between two fists as its owner rested their chin on their palms. "You're so smart, Julie," Carrie breathed. 

Juliet just rolled her eyes, although she did little to hide the bashful blush tickling her cheeks. “Never mind that, did you understand how I worked it out that time?” 

"...Kind of?" Carrie tried, offering a lopsided, hopeful grin to try to lessen the blow.

If Juliet's exasperated huff was anything to go by though: it didn't work. But her frustration dissolved the second that she met Carrie's gaze. "Where did I lose you?" she asked with a gentle, patient sigh. 

"The whole reversing the function bit," Carrie admitted as she bit her lip and braced herself for Juliet's reaction. Although the blonde's expression never wavered, the dismay that flashed in her eyes soon had Carrie barrelling through an explanation. "I swear I was getting it before that this time, but then it all started to sound like you were talking in another language, and then I got distracted by that pretty way you write out the 'x' again, and then I just…"

"...Stopped listening all together?" Juliet teasingly offered with a fond smirk.

Carrie scoffed in mock-defence. "No, I listened the whole time, I just stopped taking it in," she went on to clarify. But as soon as she drew a giggle from Juliet's lips she melted into that same infatuated grin from earlier as she admitted, "I'd never stop listening to you. You know I could listen to you talk for hours."

"Even about algebra?" Juliet teasingly tested with an affectionate smile of her own. 

"Of course about algebra," Carrie gushed with a glittering honesty that soon had Juliet giggling again. "Believe it or not, this is the most I've ever understood a math module," she carried on, straightening up in her seat to help give her point a little more credibility, before tagging on a jovial, "And it's all thanks to you, smarty pants."

"Would you stop calling me that? It's so lame," Juliet protested, hiding her smile behind a frank eye roll. "And besides, I'm not that smart." 

"You so are; you're like the smartest person I know," Carrie gushed, never one to let her friends downplay their successes, much to Juliet's disgruntlement. The blonde's frown didn't deter Carrie from continuing to lovingly babble straight through her stream of consciousness though. "That brain of yours has to be huge - no wonder you get headaches all the time, it's because it doesn't have enough space in there."

Carrie's knack for making herself giggle never failed to make Juliet smile, but yet again she found herself trying to cover it up with a bashful roll of her hazel irises as she let out a sigh and attempted to get their conversation back on track. "You wanna try another question then?" 

"Don't try to change the subject," Carrie fired back with a mischievous grin. 

"I'm not, you are!" Juliet retorted, biting back an incredulous laugh. "We're supposed to be doing algebra, not Juliet 101."

Carrie's mischievous grin only broadened. "Now that's a class I might actually get an A in."

Rolling her eyes for the third time at her best friend's antics, Juliet teasingly tried, "What? Not an A+?"

"Maybe," Carrie smirked. "But then again, I might get distracted by my teacher." Her wiggling eyebrows soon had Juliet reprimanding her and attempting to draw her focus back to her school work, but Carrie's mind was already wandering off too far down a different path altogether. "...Do you think you'd ever wanna be a doctor, Julie?" 

The comment, that fell slap-bang in the middle of Juliet's offer to rewrite the steps of the previous algebra equation, baffled her into silence - so taken aback by the suggestion that she almost thought she'd misheard the golden-haired girl. "What? No," she spluttered, looking at Carrie as though she'd just sprouted a third nose. "Where did that come from?"

Juliet's confusion didn't seem to faze Carrie though, because her dreamy smile stuck it out through her whole, rambling explanation. "I don't know, I just figured you should use your big brain for a job one day. You know, like one that actually actually makes you think instead of just like a working a cash register, or stacking books or something. And you need to be super smart to be a doctor, so…"

Juliet was quick to shoot down Carrie's optimistic grin. "I do not have what it takes to be a doctor, trust me."

"Sure you do," Carrie defended. "I'd let you be my doctor."

"Oh well then hand me my diploma," Juliet sarcastically replied, once more fondly rolling her eyes and chuckling at her best friend's enamoured stare and incessant bolstering. 

"I'm serious," Carrie pressed on though, determined to get through to Juliet despite her doubtful smirk. "I'd trust you with my life, you know I would. I'd let you save my life any day of the week," she grinned. But, after giggling to herself and absentmindedly twirling her pencil between her fingers, when she finally latched onto Juliet's hazel gaze again, only to find it significantly less jovial, it was her turn to express her confusion. "What? You don't believe me?" she teasingly challenged, with a quirk of an eyebrow. 

But Juliet still didn't seem to be in the mood to joke back, as her lips fell in line with the horizon and her gaze darted to Carrie's right before finding her again. 

Ok, now Carrie was really confused. 

"Huh?" she murmured, clearly not as in tune with her best friend's thoughts as she assumed she was. 

However, this time, Juliet flicked her eyes to Carrie's right with a touch more resolve, and paired it with a slight, but very purposeful nod of her head in the same direction. And finally, Carrie seemed to get the message. 

Following Juliet's line of sight, Carrie turned to look over her shoulder, only to find herself face to face with a person that almost caught her off guard as much as Juliet's sudden shift in dynamic had. "Oh," was the first word to jump from her lips, startling her back into what Juliet lovingly dubbed as 'show-mode' as she rolled her shoulders back and fixed a brilliant smile to her face. "Hey, Miles."

The second that Carrie acknowledged Miles, any confidence he'd managed to trick himself into conjuring fled. And whilst he had a Herculean urge to do the same, he too plastered what he hoped was a convincing smile to his face as he finished his approach to the blondes' shared desk. "Hey, Carrie," he said, breathing a sigh of relief for even managing to get the words out. And yet, he still pushed a little further to add, with a nod of acknowledgement too, "Juliet." 

The entertained smirk that started pulling at the corner of Juliet's lips in response caught him off guard, and he felt his stomach gently clench in defence. But he chose to ignore it, returning his gaze to Carrie's bright smile - its familiarity putting him back at ease and igniting that usual fire in his chest that sent warmth spreading throughout his- 

Wait, why was she turning back around? 

"Right, where were we?" Carrie said, dazzling Juliet with a grin as she readied her pencil on the page. "I've got a good feeling about this next one; I think if you just take it slow-."

"Ahem," Juliet interrupted. Her gaze caught Carrie's once again and held onto it for a beat before she tilted her head forwards, signalling with her eyes that there was still something - or rather, someone - behind her. The confusion, almost disbelief, swimming in Carrie's eyes made Juliet have to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing, and locking onto Miles' look of bewildered dismay just made it even harder. But luckily, Carrie was quickly able to decipher her visual message once again, with little prompting this time.

Turning around to find that, to her surprise, Miles hadn't just been greeting her as he passed by her desk, he was, in fact, standing there - well, expectantly shuffling from foot to foot anyway - Carrie remounted her smile. Although now, Miles realised, it wasn't so welcoming. It felt almost…uncomfortable.  

"Oh, sorry. Did you want something?" she offered. 

He did - desperately so. And yet, he felt as though the sudden shift in tone had already started to write out his answer. 

The hairs on the back of his neck started to twitch as the walls of his stomach steadily closed in tighter. But, determined to stand by his heart, and prove to himself (and Mick) that his feelings weren't all built on fantasies he'd created in his head, he brushed the unease away and stood his ground. "No, not really. I just thought I'd…stop by…see how it's going."

Carrie's smile faltered again, giving way to further confusion. "...See how what's going?"

"...Study hall?" Miles said. But the response came out as more of a question than an answer, which he supposed was down to the fact that he wasn't even sure of it himself. And despite his hopeful grin, which he feared was now looking more like a grimace, he couldn't seem to stop trying to rub the growing discomfort from the back of his neck. 

God, he hoped that he didn't have any sweat stains. 

"Oh, uh, it's going fine," Carrie politely replied. Although her awkward fidgeting with her pencil's eraser told a different story. "We're just going through the algebra homework."

It was weird; it wasn't as though the conversation was making her seem 'off', it was like…the very fact he was talking to her was so distracting she couldn't settle. She was the centre of Miles' universe. And apparently he was just an asteroid in hers: a misshapen hunk of space rock, hurtling past in the blink of an eye, and completely blindsiding her with his very insignificant existence. 

A fellow asteroid must have collided with him at some point, because he could feel this weird twinge in his chest, by his heart, almost as though the impact had chipped a corner off. He swallowed thickly, pushing the creeping discomfort away. "The one for Mr Moreno's class?" 

"Mhm," Carrie confirmed with a nod. 

"Oh, nice…" Miles trailed off with an awkward chuckle and what he feared was now looking like a rather desperate smile. And he was sure his expression only got worse when his gaze was pulled off-course by Juliet, who gave him a look that made him want to give up altogether. How her hazel irises had managed to harness the ability to hiss 'you are totally blowing this' in his ear, he had no idea. And yet, the urge to prove her (and everyone else) wrong gave him the motivation to plough on. "Well, if you still need any help with it later, I don't mind going through some of the answers with you at wo-"

"It's alright," Carrie bluntly cut in, slicing out a chunk of Miles' self-esteem as she did so. "Julie's got it covered," she added, turning to dazzle the blonde with a brilliant grin. 

By the time that grin made its way around to Miles though, it felt cold. And it seemed suppressed, like she hadn't really wanted him to see it. What he feared was the beginnings of a smirk were tugging at the corners of her lips too. And whilst he wanted to believe that it wasn't at his expense - some cruel inside joke the pair of blondes had whispered with their oh-so talkative eyes in the second that Carrie's back was turned - something in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise. 

"Thanks though," Carrie lazily tacked on, with a brightness in her tone that just felt hollow to Miles now. 

"No problem," he breathed. But there was a problem, and he was staring right at her.

Miles tried to find it in him to mean the smile he sent her, but he just couldn't. Somehow, what was supposed to have been a simple conversation between 'friends' had left him feeling more insecure than ever. Why was she so difficult to talk to? And was she making it so difficult? If they'd been at All Skate, cleaning the rink after their shift, he'd have had no trouble talking to her - their conversations flowed like the Mississippi River when it was just the two of them. And yet here, he felt like he was trying to coax water out of a rusty garden tap in the peak of a summer drought. 

He couldn't find the words to piece together what he wanted to ask - he didn't think such a sentence existed, not one that he could construct anyway. Carrie seemed hellbent on getting rid of him, which did nothing for his creeping fear that she was only nice to him at work because she had no other option for company. And the damn heat radiating from Juliet's pitying smirk had so much sweat running down his back he contemplated running to the nearest bathroom to wring out his underwear. 

And somehow, those glittering, sky blue eyes of hers still threw him a line - a glimmer of hope to cling to. After all, she'd surprised him before - countless times - maybe she'd be able to do it again.

Just as Miles was moving to open his mouth to try one last time though, he was beaten to it. 

"Was there anything else you wanted? Or was that it?" 

Any hopes of a redemption for the blonde were snatched from Miles' grasp, and the reality of it felt like a punch to the gut. Thoroughly deflated, he accepted his fate with a heavy sigh. It may not have been the outcome he wanted, but at least he had an answer now, and there was a silver lining to that, he supposed. 

"...No," he breathed through a forlorn, but relieved smile. "That was…that was all."

Miles felt he must have imagined the concern that flickered in Carrie's gaze - wishful thinking, he supposed - because the airy giggle and laidback grin she flashed him certainly didn't marry up with it. "Oh, alright then. See you later!" she chirped with a wave as he started the walk of shame back to his desk. Again, just as he was turning back to offer a farewell of his own though, she managed to get her words in first. "Don't forget your thick socks."

Miles stopped in his tracks. Now he was more confused than ever. The cheeky glint in her eyes, the knowing smile, the reference to a throwaway joke from their closing shift last night… Everything he'd just come to terms with about her vehement disinterest in him had been called into question with those five, simple words, and a wink that just about made his heart stop.

…Maybe she did really care after all. 

With his heart leaping up from its dejected slumber, Miles shot her a grateful smile and chuckled an earnest, "I won't." Breathing out a contented sigh, mind already racing with ways to talk to her about this more that evening, Miles finally felt his shoulders relax as he raised the hand that had been rubbing the back of his neck his whole time. "See you la-"

Nevermind, she'd already turned around to talk to Juliet again. 

Again the brunet was flummoxed. The only thing he felt truly confident about as he slunk back to his desk was the very thing he'd been warned of before wading into that mess: the female mind was a mystery. And he had never felt further from figuring it out.

Turning back to Juliet, Carrie couldn't help but shake her head and chuckle under her breath. "That was weird," she noted, tilting her head in the direction of her retreating co-worker.

But Juliet's eyes had never left the bumbling brunet. "Mmm… He's kind of cute," she mused. Although her prompting smirk was lost on her tutee, since her sapphire gaze was immediately pulled to the back of Miles' head.  

"Yeah." Carrie's breathed response fell from her lips with startling ease, so much so that it even surprised herself. Hoping to catch it before it slipped into Juliet's ears though, she shook the starry-eyed gaze from her head and scrambled together a cover-up. "Uh, yeah? I can try to set the two of you up if you want. You know, put in a good word at work and stuff." 

If she expected Juliet to accept her optimistic offer with open arms though, she was soon proved wrong.

"Yeah something tells me he's not interested in me," she snorted.

Carrie looked at her, perplexed. "What are you talking about? Why wouldn't he be? You're like a total babe."

"Oh come on, Carrie. Please tell me you know that he's got a major crush on you," Juliet said with an almost disapproving frown. "Like major major."

Carrie scoffed at the accusation. "It's not major," she tried, rolling her eyes in a further attempt to downplay the gravity of what Juliet was implying. 

"Carrie," Juliet pressed as she knitted her brows. "The guy could barely speak."

Caving under the blonde's hardened gaze, Carrie let out a resentful huff. "Ok fine, so he's got a little crush," she finally conceded. "What's so bad about that? It's not like anything's gonna happen; he knows I've got a boyfriend."

"Mhm… And what does Eric have to say about Miles?"

Carrie rolled her eyes so hard Juliet thought for a second that they might never come back down again. "Why does it matter?" she groaned, her skin prickling with irritation. 

"Well he's not exactly got the best track record when it comes to being understanding about you hanging out with other guys," Juliet sighed, with a sneaking suspicion that her tutee's frustration had been triggered by the mention of her boyfriend's name alone: a welcome sign that their relationship was as healthy as ever. Not.

Carrie scoffed as a bitter scowl settled into place. "It's not like I'm 'hanging out with him', we just work together. I barely talk to him during my shift anyway, only when we're clearing stuff up at the end."

"Oh yeah?" Juliet started, curiosity piqued. "And what happens then?"

"Nothing!" Carrie insisted. "We just talk - you know me, I can't keep my mouth shut even when I want to, so of course I'm gonna talk to the guy." Letting out a sigh to try to blow off some steam, she softened under Juliet's gaze and allowed the blonde to lead her through her haze of thoughts. And if Juliet's gentle nudge in the right direction wasn't already enough to do the trick, one glance at Miles' retreating form completely burst the dam. "We've been talking for like the whole last hour of every shift since I started - about school, movies, whatever really - it's like the only thing in that dump that's worth sticking around for. I kind of just did it because I was bored out of my mind at the start, but turns out he's actually really fun, and sweet too - you wouldn't believe some of the stuff he does for his little brothers, Julie; I've literally gone and cried in the break room before after he was telling me about it. It's that cute." 

"You cry at everything," Juliet countered with a fond, teasing chuckle. 

"Oh come on, not everything," Carrie retorted. Naively hoping that their conversation on the matter had ended there, she let her eyes settle on Juliet's again, only for them to inch open the floodgates once more with a simple bat of her lashes and a tilt of her head. "We just talk and…goof around," she tentatively began - defensive, despite her nonchalance. "You know, make each other laugh about weird things customers have said, or stupid things we did. It's not like we're fooling around or anything. And before you say it, because I know that face: no, I am not leading him on. It's all totally platonic, I swear."

"Ok…" Juliet softly trailed off, taking a moment to choose her words before raising her next point. "Does Miles know it's all 'totally platonic'?"

Carrie let out a groan of despair, as she always did when her best friend lovingly lectured her. "I don't know, Jules. I'm not a mindreader. He's not grabbed my ass or spiked my water bottle, if that's what you're getting at," she grumbled, before promising, "I've got it all under control, I swear."

Somehow, Juliet didn't seem to be buying it; as impervious to Carrie's confident charm as ever. 

"So Eric's totally chill about this whole thing with Miles?" she tested, arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow.  

"He knows I work with him…" Carrie mumbled.

Juliet nodded understandingly - almost too understandingly - in Carrie's periphery. 

"...And does he know how he makes you feel?"

Daring to challenge Juliet's calculated point with ignorant defiance, Carrie whirled around to meet the blonde's smug expression with a gasp of indignation, and an argument that fell away the second she realised that she didn't have a single word in her head to back it up with. Admitting defeat, she sighed and let her body slump, along with her hopes of her vindication in her best friend's hazel eyes. "Ok, yeah, fine. I know Miles has a crush on me," she confessed. Although the guilt laced into her words steadily morphed into hurt the more she tried to defend herself. "And yeah, I do lean into it sometimes because it makes me feel good about myself. Is that really so bad? Is it such a bad thing to want someone to be extra nice to you for once? Or to give you some positive attention?" 

"No, of course not," Juliet assured, assuming a fierce determination of her own. "I just think your boyfriend should be able to do all those things and more, and clearly he's not."

Carrie sighed, exhausted by the very thought of him. "This isn't about Eric."

Juliet sighed back, exasperated by her best friend's submissiveness, especially when she was usually so domineering. "How can you still want to defend him, Carrie?"

"Because, I love him, Julie," Carrie replied, finally finding the contented smile the thought of him should have immediately slapped on her face. "And because he's a good guy."

"Really? Because he's been nothing but a dick to you lately," Juliet flatly countered, hoping that with a little pushing her friend would see sense. 

"We've just had a couple of arguments, it's not a big deal," Carrie casually defended. "And they're all resolved now, so I don't know what you still have to complain about."

"Just because you had make-up sex does not mean that the problems were resolved," Juliet rolled her eyes before fixing the golden-haired girl with a more earnest look. "Did he actually apologise this time?"

"We talked it out first-"

"Did he apologise?"

Carrie squirmed under Juliet's gaze before muttering a reluctant, "No."

"Ugh," Juliet groaned, rolling her eyes again as she wound up to unleash a rant she'd been working up to for weeks. But, to her dismay, Carrie's defences beat her to it.

"Neither of us did, really. We just agreed to forget it and move on."

"How is that resolving anything?" Juliet asked with an annoyed frown that Carrie was starting to take personally. 

"Well I hadn't thought about it until now, so it must have at least kind of worked," she attempted to justify. 

But Juliet's nettled scoff told her that her stance on the matter wasn't budging. "You and Eric might as well speak two different languages; I've seen a pig and a fly communicate better than you two." 

The comment drew a giggle from Carrie's lips before she could stop it. "Don't try to distract me with your cute, Southern lingo," she said as the amused smile settled on her face and she affectionately bumped her friend's arm - the act bringing both their tempers back down to Earth. Before Juliet could launch into another lecture though, Carrie hoped to diffuse the situation once and for all. "Anyway, we worked it all out and everything's back to normal," she said. Although Juliet's questioning glance made her correct herself, "Better than normal. In fact, we're going to go look for Halloween costumes together this weekend," she finished with an optimistic grin. 

Now that was an improvement. For the first time since they'd sat down, Juliet found herself pleasantly surprised. "The Barbie and Ken costume's back on? I'm impressed. You two really must be getting along." Knowing how excited Carrie had been about the idea, she couldn't help but smile at the prospect of it finally coming into fruition. 

"Oh no, the Ken idea's long gone. I think he's going as a firefighter or something now."

Juliet's optimism shattered in a split second, and yet she stayed frozen in place, mouth hanging open in disbelief. "...You're kidding, right?"

"No, but I don't really mind. I'll just find something else to go as," Carrie sighed through a small, indifferent smile. If she'd spotted the disgust hidden in Juliet's eyes after her last revelation, she chose to ignore it. "It'll be fun getting to plan out my own costume anyway; I've got so many more options now. And plus, the Barbie one was only gonna be a pain in the ass to-"

"You're not even doing a couples one?" Juliet asked, far too concerned with what she was learning to care about hearing out Carrie's excuses. 

"He thinks couples costumes are lame," she explained with a huff. "Or at least that's what Adam told him anyway. He said he wanted to just do his own thing."

"But Carrie, you've been excited about doing a joint costume with him for like a whole year."

"So?" Carrie asked, with an eyebrow quirk of her own, shoving the accusation aside as though she was kicking an ice cube under the refrigerator. "It's just a dumb Halloween party, it doesn't matter what we wear; everyone will probably be too drunk to even pay attention anyway."

"Yeah, but it matters that he doesn't care about stuff that's important to you. He never has, and it's selfish, Carrie - super selfish…" Juliet trailed off with a frustrated sigh, praying that she might finally get the ditzy DJ to see sense. "You need to stop defending his shitty behaviour."

"And do what?" Carrie mumbled, unknowingly giving Juliet just what she wanted: a chance to unleash her anger with the infantile blond bozo and the mockery of a relationship he had roped her best friend into.

"Hold him accountable," she urged, hazel eyes blazing with passion. "Relationships should not have to revolve around making excuses and placating your partner with blow jobs - it's a fucking joke. I don't care about all the 'good times' you guys have, or all the memories you've made; the way you've been treating each other lately is appalling, and you deserve way better," she said, pausing to let Carrie absorb everything she'd just thrown at her before delivering the finishing blow. "And I know you know that too, because you're already looking for it in someone else."

Carrie's blood stilled in her veins. Sometimes it scared her how deeply Juliet understood her, and other times it felt comforting. This was not one of those times. 

She took in a slow, shuddering breath as Juliet's words seeped into her skin, carrying a deep sense of guilt with them. As much as she wanted to denounce Juliet's observations and stand by her own, joyously declaring her undying love for her boyfriend at the top of her lungs…her mouth made no attempt to move from its crestfallen frown. It couldn't, because she knew she was wrong. 

The despondency in the blonde's vacant, blue eyes soon drew Juliet down from her soap box though. This time she approached with a gentle, almost apologetic, smile as she entwined their fingers and began rubbing circles into the back of her tanned hand with the pad of her thumb. "I just want what's best for you, Car," she quietly promised. 

"I know," Carrie murmured, mustering a grateful smile as she squeezed her hand back, as though to say a 'thank you' her mouth wasn't quite ready to commit to yet. "I'm fine, Julie, I swear," she went on to profess. But when she started to get a sneaking suspicion that the statement wasn't all that convincing, she decided to switch up her tactic. "Now can we please get back to algebra?" 

The genuine laughter that tumbled from Juliet's lips was music to Carrie's ears. "There's a sentence I never thought I'd hear you say," Juliet chuckled as she picked up her pencil again. 

"I'll do anything to get us talking about something else," Carrie admitted with a woeful chuckle of her own. "And besides, I think I've got a better chance of wrapping my head around this than anything to do with my love life at the moment."

"Boyfriends suck, huh?" Juliet snorted with a knowing smirk.

"Try all boys suck," Carrie countered with a smirk of her own, at last feeling as though some of her signature confidence was leaching back into her frame. Although the pair's giggles took a few seconds to die back down, a mischievous glint remained in Carrie's eyes before she let them glaze over in thought. Mind idly wandering down untrodden paths, a wistful sigh escaped alongside a rogue proposal. "Wouldn't it make life so much easier if we could take them out of the equation altogether?"

Carrie was too lost in thought to notice, but the words that left her mouth forced an entire systems reboot in Juliet's brain. She had to do a double take, certain that she must have misheard her, or had at least missed the joking undertone. But no, the glassy, pensive blue irises held nothing but sincerity. And that confused Juliet more than ever. Her mind whirred with possible explanations for the brainless musings that definitely didn't sound as though they came from a girl in a committed, heterosexual relationship, but before she dared to question her on any, a tanned hand, the size of a frying pan, pulled her prospective interview subject right out of her seat. 

Carrie's eyes widened as she was whisked into a pair of cotton-clad arms the size of tree trunks, hardly able to catch her breath before it was being exchanged for someone else's. A faintly stubbled smile pressed into hers several times before she fully regained her bearings and was able to catch the frying pan hand from travelling too far south of her waist. "Eric," she giggled once she finally managed to inch their lips far enough apart to mumble a greeting against his skin. A subsequent flurry of kisses kept her from elaborating any further though. It was a wonder they didn't pass out from lack of air. 

"Hi, beautiful," he eventually greeted with a smitten grin. But their lips didn't stay apart for long as the dopey quarterback seemed hellbent on keeping his coated in his girlfriend's saliva. "You have a good study hall?" he mumbled, nuzzling his nose against hers. His roaming fingers shattered any hope of his interest in her life being genuine though.

Even if Carrie had wanted to answer Eric's question, his tongue was shoved so far down her throat she couldn't get her words out. "Eric," she finally gasped, jerking her head back from his with a breathy laugh as she felt his thumb start to lift the hem of her cheerleading skirt. "You're gonna get us both detention." 

"I can't help it," he chuckled, pulling her back towards him for another seemingly endless stream of kisses. "I missed you." And whilst a stupefied grin played at his constantly interlocking lips, something didn't feel quite right with Carrie. Her kisses were lazy, almost reluctant, and whilst her body normally felt like putty between his palms, today it felt…stiff. She seemed distracted. And because Eric's head was only ever swimming with thoughts of her, this worried him. "Hey," he gently prompted, nudging her chin with his knuckle to bring her gaze up to meet his. "Everything ok?"

Carrie's breath stuck in her throat, too scared of getting caught in the crossfire of two sets of brown eyes to dare to leave. Eric's sat beneath a pair of thick, furrowed brows, marred with insecure concern, and she could feel Juliet's boring holes into the back of her skull, begging her to remember everything they’d just spoken about. Tensions were high in her usually spacious brain - thoughts flying back and forth too quickly for her to make sense of as she tried to let her conscience guide her in the right direction. And although she felt herself inching towards a blonde ponytail-bolstered confession, her conscience's valiant efforts were all for naught. Carrie's fingers found purchase in the bristly blond hairs at the nape of Eric's neck, her cheeks were dusted in the scent of spearmint and the sweaty must from his football helmet. The profound warmth of his embrace seeped into her bones, and she curled up into it like a cat in the glow of fireplace embers - helpless to resist. "Everything's great," she promised, drawn in by the comfort of familiarity. "I just missed you too."

Disappointed, but not surprised by her best friend's decision, Juliet sighed as she tore her gaze away from the stomach-churning couple and began gathering together her and Carrie's things. She'd get through to her eventually, she had faith in the pit of her steadily grumbling gut. She just needed to be patient…or to find something that could drive a wedge between them once and for all.

"Ethan!" 

The pint-size pothead almost jumped out of his skin at the barked greeting, which actually felt more like an accusation than a 'hello'. He didn't know what was more offensive, the girl's tone or the fact that she'd interrupted his concert-for-one. 

"Jesus, Mick! You scared the shit outta me!" he cried. 

Rolling her eyes, Mick let go of the headphone speaker she'd had to pry away from Ethan's ear after he'd blatantly ignored her fifth call of his name, letting it thwack the side of his head. The look on his face as he recoiled in bewilderment did have a faint smile tugging at her lips though. But it soon disappeared when he slumped back in his seat and readied himself to tune her out again. 

Moving to stand in front of his desk, Mick didn't give him a chance. "Where's Miles?" 

"What?" Ethan squeaked.

"Where's Miles?" she reiterated, crossing her arms across her chest and nodding at the empty seat beside him.

"He's talking to Carrie," he revealed with a blasé wave of his hand in the vague direction of the pair.

Even with AC/DC blasting through his headphones, Ethan swore he heard Mick's face crack.

"He's doing what now?" she demanded, flames roaring in the mahogany logs that made up her irises. 

"He's just asking her something, it's no big deal," Ethan said - although his attempts to reassure the brunette were ham-handed at best given his lazy grin and total lack of concern. 

This was further backed up by Mick's growing urge to strangle him. "Can I not trust you to do anything?" she hissed. 

"What did I do?" Ethan squawked in indignation.

"Nothing - that's the problem! All you had to do was keep his mind off her-" 

"I don't know what fucking mind-control powers you think I've got, Mick, but that was a bogus plan in the first place."

"Oh so what? You just weren't gonna go along with it at all?" Mick scoffed. "I just said to try to keep him distracted."

"And I tried, so I don't know what you're getting all pissy at me for," Ethan retorted. "What's so wrong with him talking to her anyway? I thought 'working through your feelings' was supposed to be a good thing."

Scowling at him for using her own advice against her, she snapped, "Talking to her is not helping him distance himself from her." But when her eyes scanned the room for that familiar mop of coffee brown hair, the sight it settled on made her heart drop to her collegiate green Campuses. "And neither is a run-in with Eric Brennan."

Trailing back to his seat, muttering to himself about the mystifying female mindset and what the hell all of that could have meant, Miles soon realised he wasn't looking where he was going when he collided with what felt like a wall of meat. 

"Shit, sorry," he muttered.

When he looked up and saw who it was that had almost knocked him off his feet though, he realised his assumption hadn't been too far off.

"Woah, watch it, man," Eric guffawed.

The amused twinkle in his eye, and the smirk that blossomed as soon as his gaze landed on him, made Miles' stomach twist. Something told him that this interaction wasn't going to be nearly as quick as he'd hoped. 

"Miles, right?" Eric went on to ask, eyebrow cocked in recognition. 

"Uh, yeah," Miles stammered, although he was more confused than concerned at this point. 

"Why you in such a hurry, bud? You got somewhere to be?" he continued, a charming smirk still sitting proudly on his chiselled jaw. 

"I'm just going back to my seat."

"Oh yeah?" Eric probed, steadily turning up the pressure. "And why were you out of it?"

Miles immediately regretted the exasperated huff that fell from his lips, but he couldn't help his frustration. "Why does it matter?" 

To Miles' surprise, the jock didn't snap back at his remark - there was no sign of meat-headed defensiveness at all. Instead, the guy just laughed. "It doesn't," he reassured with a jovial smile. "I just thought I'd ask 'cause, you know, from here it kind of looked like you were going over there to talk to my girlfriend." 

Any relief that jovial smile had filled Miles with steadily leaked out as Eric's words sunk in. "I was just asking her about our work schedule," he explained with a careful, albeit tight smile of his own. 

"Yeah?" Eric tested.

"...Yeah," Miles confirmed. Although he could feel his bravery slowly shrinking under the hulking weight of Eric's arched eyebrow, he stood his ground, hoping that a nonchalant tone and a set of squared shoulders was enough to convince the dopey blond.

"Oh well, that's a relief," he said with another booming guffaw. Miles' wishes were seemingly granted as the warning smirk slipped from Eric's face, replaced with a laidback grin. "There I was thinking you might have been trying to make a move on her or something."

Miles managed to eke out a chuckle, more at his own expense than anything. "I wouldn't do that, man," he promised through a freshly starched smile. "I know you're both very happy together."

Eric's shit-eating grin must have been powered by at least three AAs with the way it lit up his face. "That we are, my man," he proudly proclaimed. "And that's good to hear 'cause I know you spend a lot of time with her at the end of your shifts, and she says you two get along super well, so I'd hate to think that you were getting the wrong idea or-"

"Not at all," Miles assured, cutting the blond off before he could drive the knife any further into his chest. Fixing a plastic smile to his face to cover up the wistful sigh that escaped between his teeth, he delivered an admittedly painful, "We're just friends."

Eric's rich brown eyes seemed to scan every inch of Miles for any sign of a lie before he proceeded, and the brunet's lack of acting skills left him squirming like a worm on a hook as a result. But the satisfied grin that soon surfaced, dropping the tensed shoulders to help it rise, told Miles the quarterback probably needed an eye test. 

"Good," Eric said with a contented sigh. "'Cause you and I both know that it'd be stupid to think anything else, right?" he went on to cockily taunt. "Like, no offence, but she'd have to be fucking insane to choose you over me… Right, Miles?" 

Although his ego was severely bruised, to save his face from meeting the same fate, Miles forced himself to maintain a smile, albeit reluctantly. "Right," he confirmed.

"That's what I thought," Eric smirked, finally satisfied that Miles had taken enough of an emotional pounding if his lazy grin and affectionate arm bump was anything to go by. "Alright, nice talk, bro. I might catch you tonight if I drop by to see her, ok?"

"I'll be there," Miles verified with a strained sigh. Finally daring to drop his gaze from the sturdy blond, he made his escape without so much as a goodbye.  

Apparently Eric thought he could take a little advice on the road with him though. 

"Remember, watch yourself, Murphy," he hollered.

But the words didn't even register with Miles, because the swift shove between his shoulder blades was so jarring his entire focus was dragged to keeping himself upright. 

Miles kept his eyes trained on the scuffed linoleum as he hastily lumbered back over to his desk, cheeks burning with self-hatred as he tried to push Eric’s no doubt smirking face out of his mind. It wasn’t until he heard a familiar voice that he finally dared to lift his head again. 

“Are you ok?” Mick asked, expression overrun with an almost frantic concern. “What was that about?”

“I’m fine,” Miles brushed off, retrieving his threadbare backpack from its spot, slumped on the floor in one swoop. Haphazardly shoving the books from his desk into the main compartment, he mumbled a quick, “Can we just go?” 

But Ethan’s glassy-eyed intrigue held him firmly in place. “Yo, what happened, man? Did he bust you for flirting with her?” 

“No,” Miles sighed, wearily shaking his head at the stoner’s excitement. 

“Did you flirt with her?” he pressed. 

"No, I just- ugh," Miles huffed, quickly giving up on trying to explain the situation he didn't even fully understand himself. "It doesn't matter. Let's just go."

"I told you to just forget about her," Mick sighed. 

"Yeah, well, that's a lot easier said than done, Mick," Miles retorted, returning her disapproving frown with a defensive one of his own. 

"Did you at least get some closure?" Ethan offered as he rose from his desk - partly from curiosity, partly to try to prove a point to Mick. 

Whilst Miles' tongue instinctively prepared to shoot Ethan's optimism down, his brain jumped in to tell it to hold fire. And after a few, brief seconds recalling the interaction, his answer soon changed. "Actually, I kind of did," he admitted with a chuckle of incredulity. 

"You gonna try to talk about it more with her tonight then?" Ethan asked, smirking to himself at Mick's look of disbelief. 

"Fuck no," Miles snorted with a nonchalance that took both of his friends by surprise. "I just want to forget it ever happened- just…move on."

"From her?" Mick asked, trying to hide the hopeful edge in her tone with a gentle smile.

Sparing the blonde in question one last glance over his shoulder, only to catch the tail end of her and Eric getting pulled up for their excessive PDA by their (up until now) entirely uninterested study hall supervisor, he let out a wistful sigh. A chorus of voices swelled in his head - Mick's, Ethan's, Carrie's, Eric's - each one telling a different side to the same story. He couldn't have picked one to listen to if he'd tried. So, in the end, his own took over, steering his heart down a path that promised the least damage in the long term, and that Carrie's indifferent dismissal of him had already forged in his mind. "...That's the goal."