#whatever still cheaper than going to an actual sweet shop somewhere…

[exhaustedwerewolf]

they’ve started selling kaju katli again at the supermarket for ramadan rip my bank account

[thekitschdiet]

my take on the literary masterpiece, the chic diet

Firstly, I am no one. It’s part of my charm. My fifteen minutes of fame was years ago, when I had an instagram niche meme page. I didn’t even take any brand deals! And my posts averaged six thousand likes! Anyhow. I am hardly literate and well hydrated and carry a small sephora-CVS-hybrid worth in my mini tote bag. Here is my guide on how to live like me, the intermediate kitsch-rat, aspiring influencer. But like, in an apathetic, somewhat dissonant, ironic way. I like saying I live by dogmatic principles. But a lot of it, um, is just eating disorder rituals. But that’s not really important. You’re as hot as you say you are, and as much an authority on what you write so long as you say it with, you know, conviction. It’s kind of venerable how fucking delusional I am, actually. Giving any sort of advice like I’m anywhere close to the ritzy ideal of the amphetamine-areyouami label-american. New York, ideally. West Village, preferably. But I guess the kind of guide I can write is better suited to someone living in a suburb, in a house with the twelve-paned windows. I always thought those were so chic. SO quaint, in a somewhat luxe way. Like, Connecticut vibes. My parents used to drive me up there as a child to buy books and ice cream. Nowadays I’d opt for a matcha latte with novelty ice cubes, but I guess at the time it was pretty sweet. 

Because I popped a Vyvanse at like, 10pm, this next little bit could go one of two ways. I will write the most articulate, brilliant piece of literature of my life. Magnum opus, if there was a skinnier word for it. Or, I will get wrapped up doing something like folding all my last-season knits (which is part of my look, okay! I don’t have a job!) and fixating on a paragraph on how a girl’s collarbones are almost as identifying as a fingerprint, or a signature. I’m not a graphologist, but if you write your A’s with the little tail on top (like on a computer), you’re probably a snake. Nothing personal, just an observation. Also, I do have a biology final to study for. Not that I’m super anal, or even particularly committed to academia, but even in my precariously manicured (read that as separate terms; I did a good job on my nail polish, okay? But I happen to also be teetering on the brink of an epiphany or a collapse. Hence the use of the word precarious.) state, I know it’s important enough I can let one of my countless side-quests sit idle for a couple more days. 

The first section seems only natural to be about hydration. And the whole idea of drinking things, really. There was a section in The Chic Diet about Adderall dry-mouth, which deeply resonated with me. Once I bit off a chunk of a Nivea Strawberry Shine (my favorite lip balm, more on that later) and swished it around my mouth. Didn’t help. Really, really didn’t. Anyway, I suppose that even if it served no purpose for combatting my prevacatingly ingenious cottonmouth solution, I was able to milk a sentence or two out of the experience. “Do it for the Vine”, all grown up! And wearing bananapapaya resin hoops too. Side note, that Etsy shop is a parasocial enemy of mine. It stems from jealousy, which sucks, but hating from inside a club I’m adjacent to is much healthier than being a hateful individual towards people I would, you know, interact with. Daily. Or something. I stopped going to therapy because I felt stupid about going and I don’t live in the right kind of town to warrant vacuous $300 hours. Bitching about my well-adjusted parents and how desperately I wished my anxiety would just “go away” was plainly gross, and a waste. Like, pretty sure almost every problem I have could be solved by a couple painful conversations taking place during a hurricane. Such a shame it doesn’t rain much here. Anyhow, I digress. 

Staying hydrated. It is essential to my character, my persona, if you will; to never be without either an elegant metal bottle (I’m loyal to the smooth enamelled S’well ones, printed to look like marble or a semi holographic solid) or a little 16oz tumbler with a metal straw. Hydroflasks were some of the worst things to happen to society. I want to preface this claim with the fact that I wanted one in the same way a teenage girl wants a new iPhone so she can keep up appearances with her dermatologist-dad friends who still have the XR, by the way. But I ended up spending the money on like, a minidress at Brandy Melville before it fled my city. Or maybe a Fresh Sugar tinted lipbalm. For the better, even though the dress has a busted zipper now and the lipbalm tube has inevitably gotten dinged and dented by the other contents of my mini-totebag. Unlike a car, though, a couple scuffs on your laptop or your luxury lipbalm tube looks kind of cool. Like, you’re not someone who values the pristine, unused quality of an item that was ambiguously intended to be used versus displayed on Instagram.  Now, I’m wondering why this paragraph about hydration is so fucking impossible to stay on track for. I literally drink several litres of water a day, and more tea on top of that. And sometimes an almond milk latte if I can budget it in. Not that I’m so anorexic I can’t afford a 45cal latte. They’re just not that important to me. Anyhow. Drinking lukewarm (on the cool side) water is better than ice-cold. Partially because I just get it out of the tap of my ensuite and I can’t be bothered to wait for it to run cold enough every time, and it just seems wasteful. Plus, there is something so.. skinny about drinking water at an “obscure” temperature. Trust me, I want to know why my thought process is like this too. My favorite tea is blueberry tea foraged in a side aisle at my local supermarket. I love a good commercial, high-end steep or fruit infusion as much as the next girl. Maybe more. My pantry is filled with tins labelled with things like “emerald jade organic” and “magic potion”, which is really just currants and butterfly pea flowers. But there is a necessary glamor about drinking dirt-cheap tea on the daily. Seriously, a box of 25 sachets is like, $3. At a higher point with my, um, Adderall problem, I spent like several times that on pills. I didn’t really need to include that, and could have linked the price point to the cost of a drugstore lipbalm, but I wrote it in. And I’m married to it, stubbornly, as all amateur writers should be when they wittle in a somewhat indecorous little joke. This tea is sooo good because it has a strong fruit-reminiscent taste (not as sweet as a fresh blueberry, but who wants that anyway?), it’s zero-calorie, it’s the most GORGEOUS color ever. The latte, the third drink in my little trifecta, is nothing special. But necessary. The trick is to use a milk frother to whip up sugar free syrup with instant coffee and a little bit of hot water in a glass. It’ll make the most luscious foam.. Top it off with almond milk. My dad is a coffee purist, owning both an upstairs keurig AND a downstairs one (among other more analogue methods, but I can’t name-drop, so what’s the point?), so he hates this drink. Now, calling oneself a plebian is so unglamorous and teetering on self-deprecating territory, dangerously close to insecurity. But I can use it here because I am at least posh enough to have a different pair of earrings for every outfit I could possibly come up with, and I only wear Patagonia if I am in a situation where I just have to wear fleece. Like I was saying. It’s such a simple drink, certainly not a delicacy, and… I had a joke about the word plebian but I keep getting up to refill my water and I fear I have forgotten about it. 

Next section; the importance of a good tinted balm

In the intro I alluded to how a girl’s collarbones function essentially as an identifier, the way a signature or fingerprint does. This is a lie, or at least an exaggeration. But one’s ultimate tinted lipbalm is  actually extremely indicative about who you are, as a person, as a member of society, even… 

If you are loyal to Dior Lipglow, I have a couple questions. One; did you shoplift one tube, once, and refill it with cheaper stuff afterwards? I did that. I consider it one of my better-kept secrets, but now you know. Might as well explain the catalyst for my parent’s first separation now, and the horrifying experience that was meeting my dad’s Manhattan sugar baby (?) at the age of thirteen, wearing an overalls dress from, like, Topshop or something else equally embarrassing. .. Kidding. I digress. It’s such a fancy lipbalm, and good too! It smells like thin mints! But I could just never justify cell phone monthly installation payment money on something I will inevitably talk off. I do own three, but two I stole (before I lost the nerve, somewhat unfortunately) and one, a boy(not)friend bought for me. This is not something I feel any remorse about, because his house was easily four thousand square feet and his sisters had a dedicated all-glass room for their shared peloton. Oil money. Ugh!

My personal favorite lip balm, and I have tried a frightening amount, has got to be the Nivea Fruit Shine collection. The frosted one is shit-ugly. Hideous. But the strawberry one is the love of my life. It’s such a pleasant red, looking healthy and rejuvenated and really completes any look. Only downside is it will always, hopefully not always, remind me of Charles. Kissing Charles, specifically. And him asking me what lipbalm it was, because he knew I was somewhat frivolous and definitive and would have a very long answer. But for whatever reason, I simply stated it was from “out of town”. Not really sure why I said that, but it plagues me (minorly) to this day. Of all the things to make up.. .. The peach one is a perfectly demure spring classic shade. Cherry exists too, but the only tube I have ever had the fortune of owning was purchased in Costa Rica and lost somewhere on the way home. Honestly tragic, it was the juiciest shade. Blackberry is perfect too, but I have to layer it with either peach or untinted lipbalm to avoid what I imagine TooPoor would choose if she believed in tinted lipbalm. I don’t mean this hatefully, I think she’s a queen, but super dark, smudgy makeup suits the eyes better in my opinion. Or something. Or something.

Afraid to bore the reader, I have to move on now. Maybe at a later date I will release an addendum on my ultimate lipbalm buying guide. But also, that is so deeply personal (and everyone needs the excuse of “hunting for the perfect staple shade!!”), so it is really not my place to have any authority on something so intimate and subjective. Etcetera. 

Moving on; Decorating your room

Here is a section I lifted out of my memoir document. It fits, because as enigmatic as I hope I am, I am also quite unchanging.

 I just pushed three hangers and two tiny strappy tops with the tags still on, off my bed. Most nights, all, these days, actually; I spend in my large but cluttered bedroom. I have a little ensuite with a jetted tub I’ve never used because I just never get around to it. There’s a plush grey rug, spanning the expanse of the room (covering an ugly cherry wood that doesn’t match the rest of the house; no clue why. I never asked, and the previous owners were eager to sell so they could finally ditch this town and retire in Montreal for the bagels, or Hawaii for the monk seals. Point is, I’ll never know) with loose beads and loose pills and little shards of glass from plier-crushed beads. I vacuum every day. The whole room tells you exactly the kind of person I am; the clutter I possess, the encapsulation of the projects I start, start, start and the hours I don’t sleep for and the clothes I tried on (these to sell, these to cut up with kitchen scissors; thrifted lululemon and aritzia and heaps of knits and plaid fabric..) I would not say the room is a mess. Lived in, maybe. Chopsticks and mugs and gum wrappers. Single dangle earrings. I just finished the last of my Creme Brulee eos lipbalm; disguised as a relic of 2015, I was gifted it Christmas of ‘20. I think my next waxy conquest will be a tinted Burt’s one I palmed a while back, before I lost the nerve. Peering around the room you will see shopping bags strewn about the mouth of my walk-in closet. Every surface has something shiny or colorful stacked up on it. Cluttered, busy, but intentional. Except for the walls, which are bare. Bare and gray and miles-tall when I lie flat on my back, high out of my mind, willing things to change but knowing I’m responsible for a first step I will always be too scared for. Bare, pristine, no gumtack. Empty, Like they’re waiting. I wait around a lot. It makes sense. That was an awful lot of words about my stupid blank walls when truly it does not bother me that much; I really just don’t get around to it. I have other things on the ground to tend to, like post-email nausea, addressing envelopes, marrying wire and bead.  Writing a document I care about because I am determined and I am alive, alive, alive, goddammit. 

Excerpt over. The memoir is coming out when I get famous, or something earth shattering happens. Like I become the world’s least remarkable entrepreneur, and I get retweeted by Colorpop. I don’t want to be the next Elizabeth Wurtzel. I read two of her memoirs one restless night, absorbing it to make up for the nutrients I didn’t that day (you can laugh. I think that is pretty clever), heart breaking a little bit. She writes about her struggles so intrinsically, you either get it, or you don’t. Anyway. She had the books and the fame from it, and she wrote more memoirs than I think a single person should. That is admirable. Aspirational, even. But I do not want to be like her. Where was I? Oh. Yes. Decorating/adorning/filling your room. Your room should serve as the kind of place to watch a movie (if you believe in film. I don’t) and put on ridiculous glittery eye makeup, or smoke an ~artistic cigarette~ or stay up all night on the phone, which is different from staying up all night simply on your phone. Chatting with someone you are tepidly in love with is much more exciting. Not chic as the whole affair is so juvenile, but fun regardless. It’s somewhere to keep your worldly possessions, too. I know I have a lot! Also, it is kind of thrilling to hide things in your room in little crevices only you know about. Now, unfortunately, everyone reading this will know too. But, like, I trust you not to really.. do anything about it. I keep my extra juul pods in the sliding box my apple pencil came in. That box is almost more useful than the pencil itself. I’m somewhat morally opposed to the iPad. Whole culture is so embarrassing! I have a tea tin with an ounce of golden teacher shrums in it. This is tossed in my closet among tins filled with other things, like lace trim and buttons. Which makes it actually a pretty terrible hiding spot, I see now… Anyhow. Keeping benign little secrets like that is so fun. You can tell I don’t have siblings. I sort of wish I did, but it is easier to believe there is something aristocratic about being an only child. Not sure if older-sister me would be egalitarian enough to share things. But that’s prophesying, which is kind of a waste of time. I live in the now, in a room positively cluttered with meaningless things that mean the world to me, chewing on my lip because my mouth is just so dry and 5gum is just not an after-8 indulgence. To live truly kitschly, you have to have somewhat hideous decor. Now, do not confuse dissonant, or incoherent, with what I mean by “hideous decor”. The kitsch room has as many surfaces to look at as possible, while also shying away from too many shelving units. Then you risk your room looking like a storage unit or something. When my mom renovated (re: paid someone to do it) our New York house so we could sell it, all our stuff was stacked up in a Cubesmart self storage. It was sort of horrifying, seeing my childhood home reduced to plastic storage tubs piled what felt like thirty feet high. Anyway. It’s just not an  inviting way to store things; I imagine it makes your room look like your stuff is all trapped in gelatin. The more fussy, tiny things you have out in the open, the better. Nail polish. Earring trees. Bowls full of rings and lighters and water color pans perched on your windowsill. A rack with the tackiest assortment of knits and bucket hats and baguette bags. And so forth.. Quickly surveying someone’s room is so telling. Bonus points if all your books are spine-in, except for your favorite ones, because you don’t want people to get the wrong idea. (that you read). 

[peralta-guaranteed]

Fam of four going to a fancy family event but dressed like their parents hc

- Mac+Maya have seen Jake+Amy dress 'fancy' for datenights before but the outfits for the wedding of Amy's youngest brother are of course on a whole other level (Jake has a four button suit now)

- Jake briefly considers if renting a little suit for Mac might not be cheaper since he's definitely gonna grow out of whatever they buy as soon as the next big event comes round??? but then Amy argues that if they rent it, they'll also have to clean it before returning and you know your son, Jake

- I mean, Mac does promise to be careful while Amy buttons up the tiny suit jacket but come on, no one told him there'd be CAKE at some point in the evening, he can't be responsible for that (they do end up having it cleaned before donating it though because it's already too small a month later)

- Amy gets invited to the wedding dress shopping because her brother's fiancée doesn't have much family, and she's actually asked to bring 3 year old Maya along too which is very sweet (her brother picked a good wife, she decides on the spot)

- Maya, up to this point perfectly content in her dungarees with the butterfly patches on the knees and a hand-me-down shirt from Mac is absolutely awed by all the dresses and begs mama for one for the big party. The bridal store doesn't carry dresses for small children but Amy promises she'll get something just as sparkly

- it ends up being a very sparkly, dark blue little dress with a big cute bow on the back and Amy genuinely doesn't realise what she bought her daughter until Jake breaks down in giggles (only AFTER Maya has done her runway through the living room to much praise from him and gone back to her room to show Mac as well)

- Amy's dress is a slightly lighter blue (and less sparkly and definitely without a bow) but it still makes her husband go "Oh wow" in that voice like it was supposed to, and when she carries Maya at the reception Jake jokes that he might have to look away at some point because his heart won't be able to handle "all this beauty in one place"

- Jake also gets to teach Mac how to tie his miniature tie (he's very good at it now after years of dressing appropriately for work) and it's definitely a dad moment for him even though he's pretty sure Mac will forget how to do it the second he's finished

- Maya loses one of her shoes and her little tiara and the necklace abuela gave her for christmas during the day, but it's all good because the bride gives her a keepsake bracelet (and Jake finds the necklace while searching the reception hall for his phone that Mac dropped somewhere)

- all 4 of them end up looking at least 40% more dishevelled on their way home than they did on the way to the wedding. Amy's updo is half undone because Maya keeps grabbing it while climbing on her, Jake's jacketsleeve is covered in cake because Mac forgot what was on his hands when pulling him to show him something, Maya still only has just one of her shoes and torn leggings and a lopsided bow on her back, and Mac's suit... should be ignored entirely.

[mikaa-mina]

At Garden’s Edge- Chapter 5: In which bad days are had, assumptions are made, and sweets always taste better with good company

This is a very sweet and silly chapter, and also my longest chapter for this fic yet clocking in at just over 5k!

A small content warning, there are some descriptions of depression/feeling down and apathetic in this chapter. They are primarily right at the beginning and I promise there's a bunch of silly fun in this chapter and it ends on a happy note. (No seriously, these characters can be so silly sometimes!)

Nevertheless! Even though there is nothing heavy in this chapter, if you for any reason feel uncomfortable reading a chapter (any chapter in this fic) please don't hesitate to reach out to me. I will try to summarize the chapter without going into whatever the subject is that is an issue. <3

As always, this was beta'd by the lovely lovely Tarek_giverofcookies who has helped me multiple times when I was banging my head against writer's block.

At Garden’s Edge

Chapter 5- In which bad days are had, assumptions are made, and sweets always taste better with good company.

It had been a bad day. In fact, there had been rather more than seven of them so far. He hadn’t opened the shop in three of them and couldn’t honestly recall the last time he’d stepped out of the building at all. Living above the shop, or rather more in the antique armchair in the back room of the shop, tended to have it’s own perks and disadvantages. The perks being that he didn’t really have to leave home to work, was constantly surrounded by books, and he never had to leave the building unless he was out acquiring new books. Unfortunately, these same perks were also the disadvantages.

It made the days when the fog grew thick and oppressive that much more harder. It was difficult to convince oneself to leave the building when instead he could just stay in working on commissions. And what if he missed a customer while out and about?

When his head felt full of cotton, and fatigue lingered in all his limbs, the quiet thoughts would slip inside. What harm would it really do to close the shop early? For the day? Why move from this armchair at all, he deserved a day off. He’s in the middle of a chapter and it’s raining out, no sensible fool would bring an old antique book to be authenticated or repaired in the pouring rain.

Three days into this he realized he couldn’t recall what the last book he just finished reading had even been about at all. It was as if he was eating food and yet tasting none of it. Stale and unappealing. The horror that books had become that for him.

It was temporary, he knew. He had figured out with help how to help manage this, but knowing how to do so didn’t make the actual doing of it any easier. It took another day of bargaining with himself before he managed to call up a friend. Unfortunately she was out of town, but talking to her still helped. She stayed on the phone as long as she could and before ending the call she gently suggested taking a walk through town, just to be around other people without having to talk to anyone if he wasn’t up to that just yet.

“Or maybe dearie, you should go see that florist friend of yours,” Madame Tracey suggested with what was surely a twinkle in her eye.

Aziraphale himself didn’t really feel one way or the other about it, instead of insisting Crowley was just his florist and not his friend he just hummed non-noncommittally. (Who would want to be friends with a stuffy boring older man like him? He knew what he was like and was content with it but others hardly liked it.)

Failing to get the reaction she was hoping for made her stress again him getting out. Maybe visit that bakery he liked so much.

Instead he found himself wandering the city, and not too unsurprisingly, wandering into the flower shop and plant nursery, Garden’s Edge.

There was some sort of bee-bop playing in the shop, quietly at first and then increasing in volume as he wandered towards the back.

And then he heard it. Someone… singing. Not particularly badly but not especially well either. Though that may have been helped by the fact that the song they were singing to seemed to be more of a spoken song than the newer bee-bop Aziraphale’d heard in the shops downtown.

It got louder as he followed it all the way to the very back of the shop. When he reached the check out counter he could see the door to the back propped open as someone sang about… French novels and the absurd?

Aziraphale glanced around, but no one else was in the shop, so slowly he edged around the corner of the door to peek into the back room because surely the only person it could be was Crowley. As far as he was aware, Crowley was the only person who worked here. So it had to be him. But singing?

A quick glance in and all he saw was a flash of black and red. A pity he didn’t carry any mirrors on his person any more.

Steadying his breathing again he looked around the corner again through the door way. He had meant it to be a quick glance again but he found himself stopping at the sight he had caught. It was indeed Crowley. Crowley in his black leather jacket and absurd snake skin boots, eyes closed as he sang into the end of the broom in his hand. His hips were… doing something? Moving in some way, perhaps this was a new fangled form of dancing, and his arms were gesturing grandly as he sang and moved about the room.

“-And some kinds of love The possibilities are endless And for me to miss one Would seem to be groundle-EH?! Ah-AZIRAPHALE?!?”

Aziraphale startled, nearly fell from his precariously balanced position, but Crowley was worse, his eyes having opened as he turned about the back room mid spin, he faltered, eyes landing on Aziraphale and broom flinging from his hand. It crashed into a large iron shelving unit that rattled dangerously and sent Crowley lunging in that direction to catch some of the pots that had rattled right off the edge.

“Oh dear,” he rushed forward to give Crowley a hand, “terribly sorry to frighten you. What can I do to help?”

“Wah-gah- huh??”

Aziraphale bit back a smile, he was rather adorable when flustered. His face was turning red, his eyebrows high on his face in confusion and disbelief, his arms fluttering around in nervousness and nearly dropping the pots he had managed to catch.

“Here,” he dipped down and picked up some of the pots scattered on the ground. Thankfully most of the ones that fell seemed to be the cheaper plastic ones. Temporary pots for young plants or plastic pots made to look like stone.

Straightening back up, arms full of (thankfully clean) pots (just think of what would have happened to his coat) he smiled at Crowley. It was a bit more customer service polite smile than the genuine one he’d felt earlier as the fog settled back in, but he didn’t want Crowley to feel as if it was his fault. “Where shall I put them?”

After a string of unintelligible sounds, Crowley gestured towards a table slightly helplessly. He croaked out a thanks, plopped his own load down and stared at the table for a moment.

Just as Aziraphale was starting to sink back into that state where he felt rather detached from everything Crowley’s head snapped towards his.

“Uh… how.. how much of that did you hear?”

“I couldn’t really make it out until I got to the back somewhere around something to do with filthy french novels and the absurd?”

Crowley’s blush renewed itself, darkening in color and then spreading down his chest and up to his ears. It was adorable.

“Y-you can’t tell anyone!”

Aziraphale cocked a brow, slightly amused but mostly confused. Perhaps that was the fog again- maybe it had obscured something that would make this make sense.

“About what dear? You singing?”

“No! I mean yes, that too, but no the-uh...” Crowley gestured in an extremely un-illuminating way.

“...I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

The strange half starts to words and sentences falling apart in Crowley’s throat sounded off again before he finally settled from his wild gesticulating to stare rather firmly at something on the other side of the room from him. “Can’t tell anyone I like that kind of stuff.”

Aziraphale was hopelessly lost. “...Singing?”

Crowley’s mouth twisted. “No-yes, well, I don’t care so much about that. It’s the...”

“...the?”

“thesingingaboutlovegunk.”

He blinked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“…. it’s the, whole, uh...” every word seemed to take effort, though for what reason Aziaphale had no idea, “it’s the love thing, okay?! I just- it doesn’t fit my image and people don’t need to know that I- that- people don’t need to know that!”

Oh.

A smile twitched at the edges of his lips again, not enough to force the smile through the fog, but enough to make him feel a bit warmer. He took in Crowley’s defensive posture, the hot blush upon his face and chest, his burning ears, and the steadfast way he wouldn’t look at Aziraphale.

A bit softer and sweeter than Aziraphale had originally pegged him as.

He turned the smile begging at his lips from something too soft and fond into something more benignly friendly. “Of course.”

A beat of silence and then Crowley finally turned his head back towards Aziraphale’s, shoulders hunched up by his red ears. “Yeah?”

“Of course.”

There was a beat of silence before Aziraphale found his mouth speaking quite without his permission. “So. A secret romantic then?”

Crowley just groaned in dismay.

“Did you come here just to mock me?”

The smile slid off his face. He’d meant to reply with something funny, or a bit teasing, but now that he was reminded of the real reason he’d stumbled across this scene, things didn’t seem as funny as they were a moment ago. Still, he knew wallowing in it wouldn’t help matters, so he tried to marshal himself back up to that trusty customer service smile and said, “oh, I was just out.”

He didn’t even realize he was avoiding eye contact with Crowley until the man side stepped back into his vision, leaning down a bit to try and catch his eyes.

Crowley hummed, rocked back on his heels, bit his lip, seemed to cast around for some words and finally offered up a, “wanna talk about it or not talk about it?”

Aziraphale’s eyes rose to meet his. He hesitated.

Crowley gave him a wry sort of smile, dusted his hands on his jeans, then clapped them together to make a loud sound that startled Aziraphale. “Right! Let’s go then.”

Aziraphale blinked, watching Crowley sway right out the door and into the main shop. Following him a bit bewilderingly he echoed, “go?”

“Yup. Going!”

Crowley stopped by the front door, pulled Aziraphale’s still wet umbrella out of the stand, handed it to him, then fished out another umbrella from the stand for himself. It was still raining outside.

Crowley opened the door with a flourish, keys jangling from his pinky finger as he popped open the umbrella with his free hand and gestured to outside. “Out.”

Well. Alight then. ‘Out’ it was.

Aziraphale slid open his umbrella, stepped out, and watched in a sort of detached curiosity as Crowley flipped the sign to closed and locked up the shop. Then he turned with a grin and said, “not too far.”

Well. That explained one thing and nothing else. Still. Aziraphale followed him, noting distractedly that Crowley’s umbrella seemed to have ducks faintly patterned on it. The slick shine of rain highlighting the faded ink as the textures ran different than the rest of the unmarked umbrella.

A few blocks, some turns down some alleys, and they arrived at the shop front of a lovely little cafe bakery. Aziraphale stared at it before Crowley marched right up, ducks swimming in the rain above his head, and opened the door. He made a dramatic sweeping ‘after you’ gesture and Aziraphale was surprised by his own quiet snort of laughter.

Walking in, the air hit warm and dry against his face, and the light was brighter than outside’s overcast weather, but dimmer than some of the more mainstream restaurants liked to have. He shook off his umbrella and left it in the umbrella stand by the door and took his first good look around the place.

The best way to describe it was that it was charming.

It had the standard bakery wide windows in the front of the establishment but instead of just slatted blinds, there were also soft gauzy curtains pulled to the sides and secured with a soft tasseled rope. Aziraphale’s eyes gravitated to the back corner of the cafe where there were two bookcases set against each other creating a corner, filled with mismatched books, and sat in front of it was a squishy looking couch, armchair set, and low coffee table.

The shop had a few other tables set with soft seating of the like, while the rest scattered about the shop were the more standard fair cafe chairs and tables. There was music playing quietly in the background, the colors of the cafe were soft and easy on his eyes, and there was the biggest set of two bakery display cases he’d ever seen in a shop so small. He could hear Crowley’s quiet chuckle as he gravitated towards the counter.

How he’d missed this place he’d never know. (Spoiler: it’s because he never leaves his shop unless it’s to go to Crowley’s shop or to go buy new books)

He was looking down at the most scrumptious looking assortment of pastries when a young woman popped up from behind a strange chrome contraption that Aziraphale could only assume was used to make fancy coffees.

“Oh! Hi, welcome to Knead to Know, how can I- Oh AJ!”

Her eyes flickered between the two of them before a smile began to spread across her face wide enough to cause some alarm to Aziraphale. She propped an elbow up on the counter, set her chin in her hand, and grinned properly at Crowley. She had pink bangs.

“I assume you’re not here for your usual? Or are you and you just brought him with you today?”

Crowley, completely oblivious it seemed to the teasing just shook his head and said, “Nah, I’ll come tomorrow for the usual. Today’s different.”

“I’ll say,” she agreed, raised her eyebrows and flicked her eyes towards Aziraphale who was finally starting to feel a bit of nervousness or embarrassment filter through the fog. It was hard to tell which was which.

“Yup,” Completely Clueless said, “so I just want my usual drink but get whatever he wants.” He gestured to Aziraphale with a tilt of his head before turning to look at him proper. “From what I’ve heard, the Brittney things are good and anything chocolate’s pretty popular.”

Behind Crowley’s head the young cashier rolled her eyes dramatically, mouthed ‘totally clueless’, winked at Aziraphale and then said, “chocolate’s only the most popular because of who you bring them to.” She faced Aziraphale again, smiled, and said “The Cheese Brittney is good, and our baker has recently got on a kick of sponge cakes so personally I’d recommend the Tres Leche Cake.”

She pointed to each in turn. Both looked scrumptious but which would taste better right now? The moistness of the Tres Leche might be what he needed to chase his dry and crumbly feelings away but at the same time a Cheese Brittney with it’s flakey and crunchy pillow might be just the soft landing place he needs.

As he debated internally, he tried to shove away any distressing thoughts of if it would be as bland as his books have been, while Crowley chatted with the barista.

“Find anything your heart settled on? Or your taste-buds?”

At the barista’s question Aziraphale startled, he’d lost track of time while dawdling and had probably spent far too long trying to decide. “Oh! I, well, you see they both seem so scrumptious that it’s just so difficult to choose.”

Crowley hummed for a second then tipped his head to the side and asked, “why don’t you just get them both then?”

“Oh, oh wouldn’t that be too much?” Too greedy, too gluttonous, too excessive. How often had he been taught that pleasure had to be earned? What had he done to earn either of them, let alone two pastries? He’s only been stuck in his head, shop not even open, for days and-

Crowley shrugged, completely unbothered, and said “eh, one of life’s pleasures, issn’t?”

Aziraphale stared at him, derailed from his negative self-talk suddenly and jarred by it.

Crowley must have mistook it as an objection to what he had said because then he defended it with a “Wut? Don’t give me that look. Life’s about living for the good stuff, yeah? So get ‘em both. Enjoy them.”

A moment to process that and then Aziraphale gave a quiet acquiesce, “alright.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale mustered a small smile in return for Crowley’s crooked grin, “yes.” Turning to the barista, who suspiciously looked like she was trying to smother a too wide grin, he said “I’ll take them both, please.”

She let the grin out in full force, “yes sir, right away sir!”

“Ah... thank you. Er, how much will they be?”

“Oh, AJ already covered it,” she winked at him but he was too busy turning to Crowley and protesting to see it.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets and gave a sort of shrug with his shoulders, “eh, we’re friends, ‘s what friends do.”

There was a growing warmness in Aziraphale’s chest heating up, something fond and soft, starting to glow like a lighthouse in the sea fog. Friends. “Oh.”

Crowley flashed a small smile, a smile unlike the flashy smirks and cocky grins, before turning away towards the back of the shop. “C’mon, I know that book nook’s practically singing your name you big ol’ bookie.” And then he sauntered off, ears a bit pink at the vulnerability maybe, and Aziraphale was left, for just a moment, alone with that warm feeling. At being announced a friend where anyone could hear. Proudly, unashamed.

The warm feeling tentatively spread.

“I’ll bring y’all’s food and drinks in moment, go ahead and sit down.”

He startled a little, glanced at the barista to find her smiling and said, “thank you dear girl.”

She grinned a little then teased, “go on, he’s an impatient man if I’ve ever seen one though he doesn’t seem to mind waiting on you.”

Not quite sure what to make of that he made his way over to the table where Crowley seemed to have made lounging an art form. He was spilled all over the arm chair head turned to frown at the books on the shelves to his left.

Normally Aziraphale would be all over those books. Carefully going through the titles, trying to see what the people here liked. You could tell a lot about a person from the books they chose to keep. Though the rules tended to vary when it came to shops, you weren’t catering to just one person’s taste after all, but many. But even then, he found it an enjoyable little game to see if there were any hidden gems in restaurants like this. Sometimes places you didn’t expect to, would have a valuable or rare book without even realizing it. Even rarer still, they might have a book Aziraphale wanted to get his hands on.

But his stomach rolled a little when he glanced at the books, remembering the morning and his apathy for reading. He did not want to try again so soon. He didn’t want to pick up a book, expecting to enjoy it, or even hoping to enjoy it, and find it as bland and unenjoyable as before. No, it was simply best to wait. He didn’t want to be turned off of books for any longer than he probably already was going to be.

So he sat in the surprisingly comfy armchair, looked up at Crowley, and realized he had no idea what to say.

Thankfully, Crowley seemed quite reluctant to let an uncomfortable silence descend and instead jerked his head towards the bookcase and said, “would’ve thought you’d be all over these.”

Well. Not the conversation he wanted but, beggars and all that.

“Ah, perhaps later.” A thought hit him, “do you have a favorite?” even if he couldn’t get enjoyment from reading right now, perhaps he could still get some enjoyment from talking book tastes and just getting to learn more about Crowley. Crowley who abruptly closed up shop without warning in the middle of the work day and brought him here.

“Oh dear, was it really alright to close up shop? I hadn’t realized earlier...”

“Yeah. ‘S fine. Wanted to take you here.”

“But...”

“Eh, it’s raining. Had only one customer all day, so who cares if I take a long lunch break? Hell I could probably take the rest of the day off what with the downpour scheduled for all day. Was only cleaning when you came by.”

The warm feeling spread a bit. Heated up a bit more.

“Ah, I don’t think that’s quite true, dear.”

“What? No, you saw-”

A small smile bloomed on his lips, “I saw you dancing and-”

“Nrk- nuh, yuh- you said you wouldn’t!-”

Aziraphale chuckled lightly, feeling a bit lighter, a bit less bogged down, “and I shan’t. Alright, tell me about what you like to read.”

The barista came by, delivering a tall drink to Crowley, the pastries and a plastic cup of water to Aziraphale. She bid them a good meal and left, turning to reveal a pony tail that ended with pink tips to match her bangs.

Crowley took a long sip of his drink, leaned back, and announced, “don’t read.”

Aziraphale, about to take a bite of the Tres Leche Cake paused, fork hovering mid-air, and stared horrified at Crowley.

“Pardon, can you repeat that?”

“I don’t read.”

“Wh-How- How can you not read? No, that’s not true- I’ve seen you read the labels of the plants and soil bags!”

Crowley’s head tipped back with a loud guffaw.

“Crowley! Don’t laugh at me, you were the one trying to pass off that you’re illiterate.”

A grin spread like wildfire across Crowley’s face as he tilted it back towards Aziraphale. He shifted in the chair, flinging one leg over the arm of it in a truly improper way, and dangling the other off the side. Honestly it was like the man couldn’t sit proper in any chair. “Saying I don’t read doesn’t mean I’m illiterate Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Well, you sure took great pleasure in making me jump to that conclusion.”

“Naaah, honestly didn’t think you’d jump there. Just wanted to see what you’d do when I said I don’t read. And I don’t. Read, that is. I listen to audiobooks though.”

“Audiobooks?”

“Yeah. Letters can’t jump in front of each other in audiobooks.”

Ah. “Well, that’s still reading.”

“Is it? Could never tell. Everyone’s got a different answer.”

“Well, I consider it still reading. What’s your favorite book?”

Without hesitation, “the James Bond series.”

Aziraphale blinked, then a soft chuckle bloomed. “Yes, I can see that. Rather does fit you, doesn’t it? Flash, action packed, crafty, and full of gadgets.”

Crowley flashed him a grin, “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh, not at all.”

“Alright. Your turn. What’s your favorite book?”

“Oh... Well... Hm...”

A few moments of thinking apparently gave Crowley his answer.

“Too many to choose from?”

“Rather. It’s like trying to pick a favorite food.” Aziraphale left enough time for Crowley to interrupt before saying, “I admit, I was expecting you to jump right in and announce your favorite food just to contradict me.”

A hand wave and a sip of his drink, “ehh, not so much a food person, me.”

“No?”

“Nah. Do you have a favorite?”

“Oh dear, well, if we’re talking desserts then it’s... hm, well, no, if we’re talking pastries then it’s- but wait, no... drat. Is it still considered a favorite if you have five favorites?”

Crowley chuckled. “Same problem as with your books.”

Aziraphale hummed an agreement, finally biting into his nearly forgotten Tres Leche Cake. The cake was as moist as he had hoped, melting almost against his tongue, softly sweet.

He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until Crowley inquired about how it was.

“It’s good. Very good.”

And Crowley had smiled at that.

They talked quietly for a while after that. About light things, small things, interests and hobbies. Aziraphale found that Crowley liked to play online games with a friend called Anathema, that he enjoyed star gazing late at night (“gotta be out of the city though- too much light pollution here.”), and that as fond as he was of cats, that he was allergic to them.

“Been thinkin’ about getting a snake though.” He’d added as if that wasn’t one of the most unusual pet choices Aziraphale had ever heard of.

“A snake?”

“Yeah. They’re great animals really. Strong, elegant, some of them have the most brilliant color patterns too. I dunno, there’s just something about them that I really like.”

And after some thought on it, Aziraphale had smiled. “I think I might be able to see that. Perhaps if you do get one, you can introduce me.”

Crowley blinked at him, surprised as if he wasn’t expecting that and as if, maybe, he was a bit flattered and flustered by it. “Uh- okay.”

They talked about Aziraphale’s favorite plays, how he collects the playbills from them as his own sort of scrapbooking (“When I go back later and look at them, I can recall the play better, remember how it made me feel, reminisce... I’m sorry, that must sound terribly boring.” “No, not at all.”), and how he’s been searching to find another hobby to enjoy other than reading.

“Not that I’ll give it up at all! It’s just, I’d like another enjoyable activity to participate in, I think.”

“Makes sense to me. I’ve got plants and star gazing and video games.”

“It’s just, I haven’t been able to find one. I’ve tried pottery, which was far more messy than I anticipated, cooking, knitting, and bowling.”

“Bowling, really?”

At Crowley’s surprise he admitted, “a friend talked me into it. I wasn’t bad at it, it just wasn’t as... enjoyable as I had hoped. I’d have rather sat at home reading than gone bowling.”

“How long did you do it for?”

It was strange in a way, having someone be as curious about him and his hobbies as Crowley was. It was strange having what seemed to be a genuine friend. One who cared and was interested in him, one that had silly conversations over plays and quiet conversations in the back of a cafe over everything and anything.

“A season. She’d signed me up for the team and neglected to tell me until the first match. I didn’t want to leave them a person short so I finished the season with them while making sure they knew to find a replacement for the following season.”

Crowley tilted his head back with a thoughtful hum, the man was reclined the wrong way across the armchair. Head falling off of one arm, both his legs thrown over the other, cup held at a precarious angle.

“Maybe you could teach me some tricks for it.”

“For bowling?”

“Yeah.” Crowley scowled up at the ceiling, “don’t tell anyone but just about every damn time I go I land on my arse at least once.”

And now Aziraphale couldn’t help but picture it. And he was probably picturing it perfectly. Crowley was so tall and gangly and he didn’t seem to know how to use his hips or legs like everyone else so he could only see him going up to the line, trying to throw the ball while sweeping one leg behind the other like you always see the professionals or people in films do. And sweet Crowley with his swaying hips and long limbs, would probably overshoot and go sliding.

Aziraphale rose a hand to cover his grin. Yes, he could see how he’d go down.

“Oi. I can hear that.”

“Hear what dear boy? I haven’t said a word.”

“I can hear you grinning. Stoppit.”

Aziraphale nearly laughed. “You’re staring at the ceiling, and how would you ‘hear’ a grin anyhow?”

Crowley turned his head towards Aziraphale’s and brandished a bright grin. “Y’learn.”

The barista chose that moment to return with a refill for Aziraphale’s water and to ask if they needed anything else. After they declined she turned to go before stopping and turning back to Crowley.

“Are you still coming to pick up your order tomorrow?”

“It’s the 3rd Monday, ain’t it?”

“Just checking.”

Crowley pursed his lips, suspicious but unsure of why, “sure.”

After she had bounced off Aziraphale turned back to him and, because he was ever so lovely when flustered, teased “coming back tomorrow without me?”

Crowley blinked at him before spluttering, incoherent for a few moments before Aziraphale gave a small chuckle. “Relax, I’m just teasing.”

“Nuh-no, it’s- uh, guh...” He raked a hand through his hair, which was apparently a bad idea because he got it stuck in a knot halfway through and he started quietly cursing while trying to free his hand. Hand free and cheeks pink he crossed his arms with a huff and, not looking at Aziraphale, asked, “you doing anything tomorrow?”

Probably not. The fog was receding but he wasn’t sure he was up to customers just yet. “No, I don’t think so, why?”

“Uh, it’s, hm, easier to show you? Would you meet me here at 11 tomorrow?”

“Sure, but are we eating here for lunch or-”

“No. I mean, not that I’d say no to having lunch with you- just that- that’s not the purpose. Of tomorrow I mean. I- I get an order from here and take it to somewhere else.”

“Alright. And this somewhere else is...?”

Crowley had his head hanging off one arm of the chair and both legs slung over the other but just for this he twisted himself up, bracing his weight on one forearm planted in the seat to look straight at Aziraphale from behind those dark shades. And then he exaggerated the most dramatic wink Aziraphale had ever seen so that it was obvious even behind those dark sunglasses that he was winking. “It’s a secret.”

Aziraphale chuckled, “you wily thing. Alright, have it your way. We’ll meet here tomorrow at 11.”

Crowley smiled back. “Great.”

[kikyozoldyck]

lemon, jelly, sprinkles & jizz

PAIRING: klaus hargreeves x reader SUMMARY: a date with klaus is never that simple. WARNINGS: nsfw, oral

---

“I figured instead of letting one of those kitschy uptown salons charge me forty-five of my hard-earned dollars,” he pauses, turning for a moment to glare at the empty seat behind him, “for a sugar and lemon wax—“ He digs through his matted fur jacket, rustling out a lighter and before continuing to dig, “— I could do it myself. Be resourceful. And chocolate pudding has sugar…”  

You give a vague nod as he starts to light a cigarette. Still mumbling about how it’s perfectly reasonable to assume that chocolate pudding would be a cheaper alternative to sugar wax, you wondering if anyone else has these kinds of conversations with their boyfriend (best friend? fuck buddy?) outside donut shops in the middle of the night or if this is just another wonderful perk of being romantically entangled with Klaus Hargreeves.

He takes a drag, and you perk up.

“Klaus!”

"What?” He starts coughing, surprised. Jerking his hand away from you as you try and snatch his wrist, “What—What did I do?"

"Do not smoke in my car." You tell him, for what must be the millionth time since you’ve known him, gesturing at the Marlboro burning between his thin fingers.  

“What?” he coughs again, this time a little indignantly, “I smoke in your apartment all the t—“

“Well, thanks to you, my apartment already smells awful. I care about this vehicle.” You argue, lovingly patting your steering wheel, “I’d rather it not smell like an ashtray."

Klaus frowns at that, “I smell like an ashtray."

"No. You don't."

A small nod comes from that. “A classier ashtray, I suppose.” He gives a glance at the lit cigarette in his hand, then one at you. A contemplating glance that makes you sigh with your entire body. Because he doesn't put it out. Instead, he opens the car door, stepping out into the deserted parking lot.

You follow very hurriedly.

This time of night, Griddy’s is jam-packed with silence and empty booths, save for the owner (Angela? Agatha? …You can never remember her name) prancing around searching for trash, refilling coffee cups, searching for anything to make the graveyard shift less dull. A man sat in the corner, nods at you over his laptop. A woman at the counter gives the briefest of smiles. Both of them quickly turn back to whatever they’d been doing before.

You look away from them to see Klaus already leading you to a booth in the back of the diner. Hardly time to do anything while trying to catch up with legs that tall. But you make it as he slides easily into the noisy, vinyl booth.

“Can I get you kids anything?” The owner, Agnes, asks sweetly, as she approaches your table.

You’re about to ask for a moment to decide when Klaus says, “I’ll have one lemon creme, one jelly filled, one with sprinkles — rainbow not chocolate — and uh, oh! Do you have those uh, those ones with the jizz on them? Fuck, what are they called?” He asks, gesturing at you to supply the answer.

“Glazed.” You mutter, giving Agnes an apologetic wince as she fills both your cups up with coffee.

“Glazed!” Klaus repeats, giving himself a tap on the side of his head, “one lemon creme, one jelly filled, one with rainbow sprinkles, and one glazed! And while you’re at it could you bring a third cup of coffee?”

"Do you really need four donuts?” you ask, as Agnes ducks off to prepare your order. Can he even afford them? Is he going to play Dine and Dash today with you as his unwitting accessory? You hope not. You’re barely able to keep up with him when he’s walking, you’d definitely fall behind if he were sprinting.

“Of course not!” He laughs, a little buzzed and way too loud, “I ordered the jizz one for you. And the third cup of coffee is for — ” He glances at the seat next to you and shakes his head, “did I ever tell you I used to come here as a kid?”

“No.” You reply, although he definitely has, grabbing a mostly empty bottle of syrup and tapping it absently against the table. It’s the old glass kind. Much more satisfying than plastic.

Klaus stands abruptly, knocking against the table which in turn clacks against your bottle. He rounds the table in one giant stride before plopping down next to you, “so, my brother Five and I, this was before we got names so bare with me, would wake up numbers Two through Six.” He drapes his arm around you, “we had bedrooms in numerical order — it was adorable! Anyway, the five of us would tie our sheets together like we were escaping Alcatraz or something, and then we’d walk the town in our pajamas like some weird little prepubescent cult.” He laughs again, this time quieter like it’s only for you, “and come here to eat donuts and drink coffee.” He gestures grandly at the cooling coffee cups in front of you.

“What about numbers One and Seven?” You ask, putting the syrup bottle back where you’d found it. You don’t usually ask questions when Klaus’s trying to tell you something. You find it just makes things more confusing, considering that ostentatious statements followed by vague replies have always been his style. You suppose his storytelling is representative of his brain; weird mentalities, forgotten details, strange interjections, and absurd tangents.

He giggles, “we’d bring a donut back for Luther — Allison’s idea, not mine — and leave it on his bedside table. Anyway, the beefy little idiot started to think that it was the Donut Fairy who was dropping off sweet treats to reward him for being a good boy!” He laughs again, his body shakes the booth you’re sharing.

“And Vanya?” You’re about to ask when Agnes brings your order to your table, Klaus’ extra cup of coffee included. Instead, you say, “thank you” and rush to move the coffee cups around to accommodate her.

Agnes smiles politely and scurries off, back behind the counter. Klaus follows her with his gaze. His jade eyes fixed on her as he rips a piece off a piece of his lemon creme donut and stuffs it into his mouth. He makes this lovely, little delighted sound and sucks the remaining sugar off of his fingers.

You rub his neck, meaning to surprise him. (Maybe? Really, you just want him to pay attention to you.) Your thumb brushes against his skin and finds those marks. Fresh blotches of purple from incidents you're still very proud of shine. Shine and no doubt ache under your touch.

"That’s-“ Klaus's shoulders roll forward, “That's still sore."

"Oh,” you mumble, not moving your hand, “sorry."

"S'aight." He squeezes the donut, and you both watch as the off white filling oozes out. He scoops it up with his fingers and sticks them back into his mouth. Albeit with a different pace. Your hand is still on his neck, unmoving from the bruised spot it touches. His movements seem almost more forced now, stalled almost. You hope you're not reading too deeply into things because there's a small grin crawling on your face and it gives you fantastic ideas.

You push again.

“Ah—“

As your thumb presses, it slides. Sliding underneath the clumpy fur collar of Klaus's jacket and tugging at it. You try peering into it, still smiling.

"More down there, huh?"

"Feels like it." For a moment, he registers what you mean. Blinking. Then he pops up a smile of his own. “I got another on my hip.”

You nod.

Your hand starts slider lower from his face. The man watching curiously. The closer you get to his destined hip, however, the curiosity pulls into a far more smiling look again. He's getting what you're setting down.

"So is it..." A cold hand slides under his jacket and shirt, meeting bare skin and exploring. He doesn't stop you, just gives a bite to his lip as he waits for the moment when—

“…here?”

He lets out a strange and loud snort, and the donut falls from his hands back onto the plate. Your nail scratching the surface of a dark purpled bruise on his hip bone didn't startle you but that. That did. An intense heat hits your cheeks, you give a glance around the diner. You know there are at least two other patrons that would have heard that. You know there are people in China would have heard that.

Klaus seems as equally aware of how terrible a noise he just made it was.

“That,” he gives you a breathy giggle, “that feels quite nice dear.” Chuckles lining up with his speech. "You—Could you do that again?"

The woman at the counter is gone, the man in the corner is wearing headphones, and Agnes is hidden away in the kitchens somewhere. Your heart is still racing though. You should have known. He’s nothing but a blaring stereo in the bedroom. You actually had the idea to toss that into Griddy’s —

It makes your skin crawl. Your body heats up, and your mouth goes dry.

But...this seems like a lot of fun.

Your hand starting to slide a bit deeper, “you’re incorrigible.” You tell him, your mouth watering at the chance to latch on to old hickeys on his neck.

“Incorrigible.” He repeats, his voice and breath steady like you're not playing with his hand isn’t one millimeter away from being in his pants, “God, I love it when you flaunt that sexy little college degree at me.”

You’re struggling to come up with a witty reply when a curved mouth touches yours. Klaus doesn't give a chance for any more neck brands. The position seems to shift on its own. Already one you certainly shouldn't be in, it becomes more, well, terrible when the unpleasant sound of his leather pants moving against the vinyl seats reverberates through the diner. Your fingers flex hesitantly beneath his belly button.

But he still kisses you.

The smooth leather of his pants feels too boring on your palms. What doesn't is something that certainly draws your — and his — attention.

“What can I say,” he laughs against your lips, “I’m incorrigible.”

Looking down at your full palm, you nod. “A true menace to society.” Hardly meaning it. You give a squeeze.

“A vagabond, indeed.” A familiar sound that makes his voice sound like a gust of wind is in your ear. He's moved to it. Even with his face out of view, you are utterly positive Klaus's still got a smile on his face.

“A Hellion in high heels,” you respond, your fingers still rubbing. A giggle starts to fall from his lips, but at the last moment, it's replaced with a breathy sound.

“An agent provocateur,” Klaus adds and adjusts his position -- wrapping his wrist around your own. You barely realize he’s stood up before he’s pulling you towards the bathroom. The bathroom is single-stall. You know it, Klaus knows it, and the man sitting in the corner knows it, and your whole body feels hot when you pass him on your way –- but then again, he probably doesn't notice. You’re pretty sure he’s stoned.

Klaus locks the door behind you. You’re seconds away from a cold sweat because fuck, you’re actually doing this.

And it must show on your face because the sultry smirk on Klaus’s face fades, “you’re not into it are you?” He asks, stepping forward. It’s a tiny bathroom; just one of his broad steps is enough to crowd you against the sink. “Hey, I get it.” He gives a peck to your face. "You have very strict moral guide…rules or whatever. No bending. Like a nail in a wood wall or a really old person who thinks that yoga is the work of the devil.” You're a bit thrown off by what he's trying to say, but he says it with a gentle smile, so you assume it's positive.

“I’m into it.” You tell him, and for a second it’s like he doesn’t hear you, “really into it.” Hearing it signals more moving. You’re sitting on the sink. Well, not really. You’re sort of halfway sitting and halfway standing, but with the way you're being leaned back, your head is one push away from crashing into the mirror. It's a precarious arrangement. You could easily fall both forward or back, like sitting in the middle of a teeter-totter.

Klaus has got you though. You trust him enough to let him keep you in place here. It's his turn to grab at a waist, back to your lips again. The faucet digs into your back, hands going back to hold the handles shut instead of feeling the man up. He's got something more in mind anyways it seems.

You certainly can feel the idea brushing your inner thigh. 

He's rocking against you. Gently and not too shockingly to make you freak out. You only grip the handles tighter. Grips on your backside keep you steady, Klaus's hands dipping into your back pockets.

Your lips are sealed tight, breathing harshly through your nose at each move forward. It's not a quickening force, really. Just continuous enough it makes your stomach tighten.

Almost whistles are on your skin, Klaus keeping himself calmed through the same bit lips of earlier. It's a bit unsettling. Tough on him because he probably wanted to be vocal. He was really vocal, wasn't he?

His thumb slides beneath your shirt and your back arches. It's a sudden feeling that makes it all sweeter. Thumb pad forming circles on the curve of your spine. Arch rolling your zipper closer to his far more bulged one. 

Klaus's head tilts closer as well, mouth on your neck but not kissing. Just resting, so the stubble on his lip tickles your skin. Open mouthed, hot air-- You're just as suddenly on a sink with him grinding against you as you are about to be walking out of here it seems.

The motions feel more jagged at the very least. Jabbing comfortable into you, making you wish you weren't so close to banging your head into the mirror. This is so lovely otherwise. Lovely and you...you could have gotten more out of it, but it's still fantastic. Knowing you helped feels enough--

Klaus catches himself on the edge of the sink. You don't really realize your eyes have been closed until he's halting entirely. Done, you're sure.

He immediately stops. No, he just hesitates. Fingers twitching in place on your thighs, each waiting to continue but he still sputters out his usual lines. "Whoa--sorry, I just thought that it's not good sport to just stop, right? I mean--haha for you. Not for me." He puts on this goofy smile that you feel, in your heart, he truly means as sexy. "We are sure on that."

"Are you offering me something, Klaus?" you inquire, smirking down at him.

The man gives a fake shrug.

"Are you serious?"

“My mother may have been a robot, but she raised a gentleman.” He says, as your dizzy mind registers he's eye level with your fly, fingers going towards it--

You don't really have any words anyways. Just letting Klaus do what he seemed to be eager about getting done prior. It's like a kid playing with his favorite toy, working with little time at your zipper.

You aren't totally sure what he's planning until he's tugging your everything down, which makes your cheeks heat up again. Mouth is too dry suddenly to really say anything. But there's still no words, right? Just the view of Klaus on his knees in front of you, seemingly unfazed by you're sudden nudity.

You're not bothered by it either, namely because you wish you'd been told that would happen. In the bathroom of all places.

Either or, Klaus peers up. "This fine with you, right?"

He does have your interests in mind... "Yeah, dude."

"Yeah, dude," he repeats, not mockingly but to hear it. It makes him smile."Well, dude, you should probably bite into something or, uh, hope that Agnes likes to listen to heavy metal while she bakes."

"Bite into...what?"

Klaus doesn't give a response. You don't really have the chance to process one even if he had offered one. The man's cold hands grasp your hips, making your own fall back to grab the handles behind. Saliva catches in your throat. Body holding still.

He kisses your stomach. Drawing out a slight shudder down your body as it crawls lower, his lips. Experimentally perhaps, but maybe too much. You are working on a deadline here, and you hope he gets that thought in his mind soon enough.

You stare forward at the bathroom door. Like a look-out. Your own look-out. Scared someone's going to come waltzing towards the two of you, and then the whole thing's fucked, and that'd really ruin things for you, wouldn't it?

You'd be in the papers as the person caught getting head in a local donut shop from The Umbrella Academy's famed hero The Seance and probably arrested on multiple counts of public indecency.

A gasp leaves you, one you quickly cover with your hand. Klaus's done kissing and teasing, whatever teasing that had been. His lips pressed right against you. He doesn't seem shaken by your sound -- if he is, he doesn't let on. You for once are not focused on him and his reactions.

He's too far down to be noticed as anything other than moving lips, long thin fingers, something wet finding you. Hands still keeping you where he needs you. It just started, but it feels like forever, given the making out in the booth. His skilled mouth is making you feel so weak and getting your eyes to flutter.

He works like a true professional, that's for sure. Motions you almost wish you could feel out to their full extent instead of quickly to finish a quickie at Griddy's.

Klaus's tongue curls so perfectly, making you really wish you'd had something to bite into after all. This is torture having to resist the groans practically attacking your throat. Your body is shaking at the motions escaping your stomach, wanting to escape your throat.

Your toes curl in your ratty converse, feeling heavy and nonexistent as you want to fall forward, held up by the sink and Klaus's hands on your hips. 

Even as it draws to a close with the final lift of heat from your body, making your eyes squeeze shut as any means to resist that same gasp that started it.

And he's pulling away, the cold embrace of his fingers sliding lower, to drag your lower garments back up and buckled so kindly.

The sink deserves to collapse. You deserve to collapse.

Klaus deserves to carry you home and tuck you into bed -- maybe a medal as well. You feel honestly disgusting, more physically than emotionally. Though you can't complain as badly as Klaus, you can only imagine the state his pants are in. He doesn't do anything until he has made sure you're all zipped and belted back up. Nice of him. You feel too dazed to do it yourself. He rubs his mouth on his grimy jacket sleeve, grinning like an idiot when his face emerges from behind it.

You feel strangely not alive like you really are in bed and not in the bathroom of Griddy's. It makes your register of Klaus' kiss slow.

He grabs you by the shoulders and kisses you hard. You can taste yourself mixed with synthetic lemon flavoring and sugar on his mouth. You're briefly surprised by it.

Long enough to stare at Klaus wide mouthed as he heads for the door. The chorus of “I don’t know about you, but I am starving! Ooh! You think I should order a sticky bun? Did I ever tell you about the time I fist fought a hobo over a sticky bun?” as he leaves makes you start to grin, in a mix of disbelief and pride.  

[bendy-dreamland]

(Warning: this chapter does contain mentions of blood and death)

“Then trust me, Cups. We stay as far away from Da Studio until its our only option, or things get a lot worse.”

Cuphead crossed his arms, sighing loudly. “Fine, I get it, ya wanna keep as far away as ya can from that place. But look, if ya wanna help yer creator out, you’re gonna have to suck it up an’ put your big boots in there if it comes down to it.”

Bendy clucked his tongue, waving his hand at Cuphead’s face to get him to move back. “Yeah, yeah, but we’ll keep dat on da back burner.”

The object headed toon knew that Bendy would be stubborn about this, but he expected this from the start. Bendy was a pain in the butt sometimes, especially when he didn’t want to deal with a problem, but that’s just in his writing.

Still, it annoyed the hell outta Cuphead to no end.

“Do you still have it?” He asked, changing the subject. Bendy looked rather confused for a second, before he realized what it was that the other referred to.

“Yes, an’ no one else knows about it still, well, except her, but you knew that. Ain’t gonna let anyone know I’ve got it, but I might have to tell Henry at some point. He’s gotta know about dat mess, especially since he knows dat I’m on the wanted list.”

“Ever figure out why yer on it?”

“Nope! Still can’t find any reason as to why I’m still on dat thing! I think Mickey’s got it out fer me, for whatever reason, probably doesn’t like dat a demon stole his spotlight a few times.” Bendy smirked as he adjusted his bowtie in a smug way.

Cuphead chuckled as he moved to head back into the diner. “Really? I always figured it was Felix’s fault, he doesn’t like ya fer being a scamp character as well!”

“Mickey still doesn’t like ya fer wearing red pants and yellow shoes.” Bendy pouted.

“He’s just jealous dat I can pull it off better than him!” The toon smirked as he opened the door for Bendy, letting him go in first. They returned to the table, seeing the curious look on Henry’s face while Mugman looked concerned.

“What was that all about?” The younger twin asked, sipping his coffee as he looked at Cuphead.

“Don’t worry about it, bro. Just somethin’ between me an’ Bendy here.”

Bendy shushed him, frowning. “Benjamin. Ya can’t use mah real name here… I’m still on da most wanted list, remember?”

“Right, we need to keep quiet about that.” Henry spoke as he looked over his notes. “So, Mugman filled me in a little more on what bit of knowledge he knew of Joey.”

“An’ dat would be…?” Bendy asked, raising an eyebrow he normally didn’t have.

“Basically… it’s just what everyone in town knows.” Mugman shrugged. “He was a strange man that wasn’t supposed to be here, but somehow always found a way to sneak into Palomino City and always avoided the cops.”

Cuphead snorted loud as he picked up his glass of orange juice, ready to tip it into his cup. “Da cops here couldn’t even catch a cold from Ol’ Man Beans, let alone Drew! But goin’ wit’ what Mugs was sayin’, Joey Drew was often snoopin’ around, askin’ people all sorts of weird questions an’ stuff. But dat was only when he wasn’t hidin’ away in Da Studio.”

“What do you know of The Studio?” Henry asked as he wrote something down, just as Tizzy returned, carrying a few plates with expert talent. He helped her set down everyone’s orders. “Thank you, miss.”

“Heh, no problem, at least I know that I can trust two of you at this table.” Tizzy smiled before giving Cuphead a look, who decided to look away by shoving a forkful of hash browns into his mouth. “I’ll be expecting that tab payed by the end of this month, Cuphead.”

“I’ll g’d tah eb, Dibby!” He replied, spitting out chewed-up potatoes. Mugman sighed loudly, reaching over to shove a napkin at his brother’s face, making a comment to talk after swallowing his food.

Once Tizzy walked off to take a new table’s orders, Henry looked back at the group. “So, what do you know?”

Cuphead cleaned around his mouth, happy that Bendy was too occupied with the delicious bacon waffles in front of him to bring up his commentary on the subject. “It’s been closed off fer years, since the Over World studio was closed down. Only Joey had the key to the place, and you can bet your buttons dat no one would even wanna bother goin’ in there. But… there were some rumors…”

“Rumors?”

“From the first few months of The Studio’s closing.” Mugman frowned as he poked at his eggs. “Rumors of strange noises comin’ from there. Toons even reported findin’ themselves unconscious outside of the gates, like somethin’ knocked them out. One Toon recalled seeing a strange, shadowy figure near them before they blacked out and woke up near the buildin’. After this was reported in the papers, the strange spells stopped and things quieted down.”

“Yeah, the only real big news of things there later on was just people seein’ Joey walkin’ around the area, even though he wasn’t suppose to be in Palomino City, let alone Toon World in general!” Cuphead replied before shoving a slice of toast into his mouth.

Henry quickly wrote all of this down. “I see. Hm, it’s times like this that I actually wish that I had visited the cartoon version of the studio, but I never had a reason to do so.”

“Really?” Bendy asked, finally looking away from his food with curiosity. “But you’ve been to Toon World before!”

“Yeah, to Toon Town mainly for supplies and to take you, Alice, and Boris places. And I haven’t been to Palomino City since my first year workin’ for Joey Drew Studios. It’s not that I don’t like bein’ here, but Joey always had me working in the Over World version of the studio, said my talents were better there than here. Besides, when the studio was still producin’ cartoons, we only used the version here for extra shots and for very specific cartoony scenarios. Joey always like using human sets over cartoon ones.”

Bendy nodded, remembering the few episodes where things were filmed in more cartoony situations than normal. Those ones allowed him to act more like a Toon, but they just didn’t entertain him as much as doing Toon things with human props and sets. “Well, you got lucky, a lotta da staff got stuck workin’ in Da Studio durin’ da final years.”

“Why?”

“Cheaper dat way.” The demon shrugged before shoving a large bite of waffle into his mouth, then two strips of bacon, his mouth looking almost cartoonish in the process. Henry made a face, even as a human Bendy couldn’t really escape his basic instincts to do everything like a cartoon character.

He took a bite of his own food before writing down a few more things in his notebook. “Alright, after we’re done here, we’ll go to Mike’s shop and see if he can get us any information.”

“Sounds like a plan, Henry. After that, I’ll head home to develop the film, okay?” Mugman smiled, tapping the camera set on the table before noticing that his brother and Bendy were gone. “Where’d they go this time?”

“I dunno, they were just here-”

“You two better not be up to anything bad over at my jukebox! I don’t trust you, Cuphead!” Tizzy shouted from somewhere in the building and the two turned, seeing the cup and demon over at the jukebox, snickering to themselves as a song started to play in the room.

Mugman sighed loudly. “They’ve done this before… great, here’s another place we’re gonna get banned from.”

“What did they do?”

“You’ll find out in the next six or so songs.”

--

Candy Corners was a few blocks away from Tizzy’s, near the downtown Palomino City Park. It was a quaint little soda shop, typical of the thirties when it came out from an old cartoon series Henry vaguely remembers.

What was it again… Treat Troop! That’s right, they were shorts that usually played right before short films for kids, about sweets and treats that lived in a small, candy-themed town. The fact that they ate candy while being candy didn’t escape Henry, but then again, he was the creator of a demon character, so he had no room to talk about what content people produced.

The shop was open, clearly stated by the OPEN sign in the window, and he could see that there were some people inside. Hopefully them asking for information on Joey wouldn’t cause any problems if anyone overhead.

Cuphead was the one who opened the door, happily greeting someone.

The sweet, gentle voice that replied with a happy ‘hello’ caught Henry by surprise and he stopped in his tracks at the door.

No… it couldn’t be her, could it?

He suddenly felt nervous, and yet excited, all at once. Should he bother going in? He hadn’t seen her in so long, almost ten years now, would she even remember him?

“Henry, bud, ya gotta move yer feet!” Bendy huffed, annoyed that his creator had just froze up like that. He gave the man a shove, watching as he stumbled inside with little grace. “Heh, what’s da problem, ol’ man?”

“Henry?”

The human straightened up at the sweet voice once more, eyes wide as he looked at the counter. There, behind it, was Linda, his very first cartoon creation to come to life. She looked so much like how she was first designed, though her white hair was a little longer, she wasn’t wearing her cap anymore, instead she wore a black hair band with a ribbon behind her right ear.

Still, Linda was just a lovely as the day she came to life, and the last time he saw her before he returned to the Over World. Gosh, he hadn’t realized that he had missed her more than he had thought.

She looked at him with pie cut eyes, before a smile came to her face. She ran from behind the counter and approached him. “Henry, is that really you?” She asked, sounding so hopeful.

Henry looked down at her before smiling softly, opening his arms up for her to jump into. Linda laughed, hugging onto him tightly. “Oh, Henry! I’ve missed you so much! It’s been so long!”

“Ten years, and they’ve been wonderful for you. Pretty as a picture, just like I first drew you.” Henry replied, smiling as she pulled back, her cheeks flushed gray. A loud cough got their attention and they turned to see Bendy looking at them, hand on his hip and a look on his face.

“Uhh… did I miss somethin’ here?” He asked, looking at them funny. This girl was rather peculiar, he swore he had seen her before… wait, hadn’t he seen a photo of her on Henry’s desk the other day? Was she an important Toon from Henry’s past? Or after his time at Joey Drew Studios?

Bendy didn’t really like that idea, if he was gonna be honest with himself.

“Oh, uh, right. Ben, this is Linda. She was the very first cartoon character made for Joey Drew Studios. She was in shorts before Joey approved of the Bendy cartoons.” Henry explained, setting Linda down.

She looked at Bendy curiously, her smile softening a little before she gave him a curtsy. “Hello, it’s very nice to meet you, are you a friend of Henry’s?”

Bendy pouted a bit, but bowed like a gentleman. “Yeah, nice to meet ya too. An’ yes, I’m his best friend.”

Henry sighed, rolling his eyes. Right, he forgot how possessive Bendy could be sometimes whenever he thought that someone else was competition to him. “Be nice, she’s a good friend of mine, Ben. Linda, I’ll be honest, heh, I wasn’t expectin’ to see you here. Last I heard, you were in Toon Town.”

“I did live there for a bit, yes, but I moved here a few years back. Too expensive to stay there, I’m afraid. But I like Palomino City, a lot of good memories here.” The deep blush returned before she shook her head. This didn’t fly past Bendy as he looked at her, raising an eyebrow as he glanced up at Henry, taking note to the slight darkening of his own cheeks.

Wait a second…

Linda’s smile returned as she looked at Henry and his group. “Anyway, what are you doing here, Henry? And I see you’re with Cuphead and Mugman! Oh, wait… you’re a detective now, yes? Are you here for work reasons?”

“Yeah, and the twins told me that we could get some information here. Is Sarsaparilla Mike here?”

She nodded and went back to the counter, walking behind it to go to a door. She gave a knock and Henry watched as a Toon stepped out. He was a tallish figure, dressed like a soda jerk typically did in movies and cartoons, and it was clear his body was a soda bottle. His head was a bottle cap with a cartoony face that was too serious looking.

This must be Sarsaparilla Mike, he looked over at them as Linda quietly spoke to him and he frowned, adjusting his small glasses on his face. He motioned for Henry and the group to come to the counter and take a seat. Once they did, he folded his hands gently on the counter and stared at the four of them with a cold look.

“Linda says you’ve got questions for me?” For a man who owned a soda shop, he sounded way too stern for such a sweet place. “What are you looking for?”

Henry frowned a bit, pulling out a folded-up slip of paper from his pocket, the wanted poster for Joey Drew. He gave it to Mike, who looked it over. The soda Toon frowned deeply and narrowed his eyes at the private eye.

“No.”

“No?!” Cuphead exclaimed, before his brother slapped a hand over his mouth.

“What do you mean ‘no’, Mike? You’re not even gonna give us anythin’?” Mugman asked, looking up at the other object head.

Mike huffed, giving the paper back to Henry. “I want nothing to do with him, he’s missing and it’s best for everyone that he stays missing.”

“Are you on this case, Henry?” Linda asked. “I heard rumors that you’re a detective of sorts now.”

Henry pocketed the wanted poster, looking at the toon. “I’m a private eye, and yes, I was put on this case by someone who knows him. And right now, I need whatever information I can get, and these two,” he gestured to Cuphead and Mugman, “said that Mike here could help with that.”

“We also warned that he might not help.” Cuphead stage whispered, getting a hard stare from Mike.

“Even if I wanted to help you out, which I don’t, I doubt I’d be able to find anything on him without a lot of effort and a lot of money going into it.” Mike stated, crossing his arms. “My sources won’t give up anything on someone like him. He’s more tight-lipped than I am right now.”

“And… who exactly is your source?” Henry asked, getting rather annoyed about this.

“As if I’d let you know who he I-” A horrified scream cut Mike off, catching everyone’s attention to the store front window. They saw a sheep Toon come running from the park across the street, screaming at the top of her lungs in fear.

Henry ran for the door, hoping that he wouldn’t have to pull out the concealed handgun he carried on him. “What’s the problem, madam?” He asked, seeing her run up towards him and the cup brothers.

“I-I just saw somethin’ up in a tree…!” She exclaimed, her eyes wide. That’s when Henry noticed something weird on her white wool, it was a bright red color, mixed with a black.

“Madam, what’s on your head?”

She started to shake terribly. “W-what came from the… the… BODY!”

Mugman and Cuphead looked at each other, before looking at her. “Miss, go into Candy Corners and sit down, we’ll investigate.” Mugman spoke carefully, gently touching her shoulder to get her attention. She looked at him, tears in her eyes, as she gave a few nods.

Henry looked to see Bendy and Linda in the doorway. He pulled out his notepad, giving it to Linda. “Can you ask her questions about what happened? Please? We’re gonna go check things out in the park.”

Linda nodded before helping the poor sheep inside, saying she’d get her a soda to calm down a little. Bendy looked at the two before turning to Henry. “Do you need me to come wit’cha, Henry?”

The human looked uncertain, but he nodded. Bendy could help as backup, just in case, though he was sure he and the cup brothers could handle this. “Come on, let’s go see the body.”

The four ran into the park, looking for anything suspicious. Cuphead and Mugman’s index fingers were glowing faintly, ready to fire in case anything happened, but Henry figured that might not be necessary. Bendy frowned, glancing around before he noticed a worried, and frightened, ram Toon. “Excuse me, sir? Did you happen to see a screamin’ lady sheep?”

The ram looked over at the demon, nodding. “Yes, my wife said something touched her head and then she… well she… in that tree…” He pointed towards a tree a few meters off. Bendy squinted, seeing something on the ground by the roots, it was red and black in color.

“Sir, what’s in da tree?”

“… A body, I think, I don’t know. I only glanced! And then she ran off! Where is she?”

“Candy Corners.” Cuphead spoke up as he approached Bendy. “She’s with someone who is tryin’ to calm her down, sir. Stay close though, we might have to ask you a few questions.”

The ram blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Da human whose wit’ us, not just this brat,” he gestured to Bendy, “is a detective and he’ll take care of whatever this problem is, but he’s gonna wanna ask you about what happened.”

The other Toon looked between them before giving a nod, seeing Henry and Mugman come over. He told them which tree it was, and said he was gonna stay where he was. He really didn’t want to see that body again. Henry silently made his way over first, seeing that there was a small pool of black and red liquid at the base of the tree.

The smell was faint, but familiar to Henry, and he didn’t like what it was. Ink, with the slight hint of copper.

With a feeling of dread in his stomach, he looked up.

And he really wished he hadn’t.

“Cuphead, keep Bendy away.” He said in a surprisingly calm voice that did not match how he felt at all.

Bendy frowned. “Why? It’s just a body, ain’t like dat’s gonna scar me fer life or somethin’, I’m sure.”

“Bendy, for your sake, I really think you should listen to him.” Cuphead mumbled, putting an arm in front of him. Bendy pouted and pushed him aside, marching his way over to the tree.

“Please! I doubt it’s gonna do…” Bendy stopped when Henry looked back at him, the human actually looked upset. “Henry? What’s wrong?”

“…” He turned away, shaking his head. “Remember when I said I’d promise to help you find Boris and Alice?”

“… Y-yeah?” Bendy didn’t like where this was going.

“I found Boris.”

The demon smiled, but it was obviously strained. “H-heh, Henry, I’m all fer a good joke, but dat… dat’s a really, really bad one…!”

When the man didn’t reply, Bendy moved past him and stood under the tree. He looked up and a terrified look crossed his face as he let out a blood-curdling scream.

Up in the branches of the tree was the corpse of Boris the Wolf, his chest opened and dripping a mix of ink and blood as he stared down at Henry and Bendy with crossed out eyes.

“Boris! No, no! What have they done to ya?!”

END OF ACT ONE SCENE FOUR

[afjakwritesarchive]

NWC #4

Note: I’ve decided to keep all the non-aph NWC’s off this blog. Day 3 was an original poem, so it will be kept off of this blog. That being said, here is today’s entry!

Pairing: USUK Words: 1,804 Rating: T AU: Human Genre: Romance Summary: Arthur Kirkland uses his wealth to buy presents for his loved ones in order to express his affection. He is thrown when Alfred begins to give him gifts in return.  A/N: Not amazing, but an improvement from Day 1! Mostly prose. Very fluffy. Enjoy! 

If asked, Arthur Kirkland would surely admit that expressing any positive emotion was somewhat challenging for him. Most of those well acquainted with him theorized that it was due to a lack of compassion from his parents that had caused him to repress positive emotion. As one of his only close friends, Francis, had put it: he had not yet "succumbed to the power of love."

That was, until he'd met Alfred. Arthur had been terrified at first; hell, he still was. He'd been instantly enraptured by the vibrant, overly-energetic American who had recently taken up residence in Arthur's apartment building. While the Brit lived on the top floor in the penthouse and Alfred lived much further down in the cheaper flats, they often met in the lobby on their way in from work, and Alfred had been eager to spark up conversation with the Brit.

He'd explained to Arthur in that bloody fantastic American accent—the very same accent Arthur usually rolled his eyes at due to his belief that Americans were rather uncultured—that he was new to England and hoping to make new friends. While initially hesitant, Arthur had been won over rather quickly by the American's enthusiasm and persuasiveness, and had been coaxed into coffee the following day. From there, the pair became fast friends; mostly due to Alfred's constant pestering.

It had been more than a year since their first meeting, and, before Arthur could prevent it, he'd grown attached to Alfred. He dreaded the very thought of emotional attachment—there were very few people in his life for whom he genuinely cared for, and he knew love to be a minefield of anxieties, mistakes, and disasters. It was a challenge like no other for Arthur to express it, and rarely did he do it right.

One thing that always seemed to work, though, were presents.

Arthur was a man of wealth. He'd inherited a small tea production business from his late parents and had turned it into an empire before his thirtieth birthday. Therefore, it was no trouble at all to buy gifts for the select individuals he was fond of. They could each expect a gift from Arthur at least once a month, and while they often insisted that the Brit not do such things for them, the Brit brushed it off. After all, it was his way of showing love—how would they know if he didn't remind them? He certainly couldn't say it out loud, no. They'd all become accustomed to the presents within time, and had caught on to the reason behind them as well. To outsiders, Arthur was excessively complicated; to those who knew him well, he was incredibly transparent.

Francis in particular was a master at reading Arthur. The pair had been friends since they were barely five years old, and as such he'd had plenty of time to learn and dissect Arthur's mannerisms until he was an exceptional interpreter of Arthur's behaviors. He could tell from a look what Arthur was feeling and thinking, and knew the Brit better than anyone else.

And, of course, he knew before Arthur did when the man began to fall in love with Alfred.

It first became apparent whilst he and Arthur were browsing the mall and Arthur had abruptly stalled outside a comic store. He'd peered into the window, green eyes gazing at a comic in the display window.

"You know, Alfred mentioned wanting this yesterday." He'd said, pointing at a book on display before promptly stepping into the shop. Francis had raised a brow, perplexed, and stepped in just in time to watch Arthur approach the counter and purchase the comic.

"Alfred?" Francis asked, raising a brow. "The American that lives in your building? The one who insists on a coffee date twice a week?"

Arthur went red in the face at the word 'date', waving his hand about as if to swat his friend away. "Yes, yes, him. He's rather good company, despite his obnoxiousness. We're... friends." Arthur had said, hesitating at the word 'friends'. Saying it out loud made it real, made his attachment known to someone outside of himself.

"My, my, Arthur, I'm surprised. You've only known him for two months, and you're already buying him presents? Has another person managed to crack your shell?" Francis teased, nudging his friend.

"Oh, belt up!" Arthur had said, shoving past the Frenchman and out of the store then.

Since then, the Brit's gift-giving had grown more and more frequent. Whatever Alfred wanted was often his before the week was out, no matter the cost. He'd received everything from candy bars to sold-out concert tickets from Arthur. Each time, the Brit delighted in the brightness in Alfred's gorgeous baby blues, the grin that came to his face as he gazed at his friend.

Francis had, of course, been wary of Alfred. Arthur was an easily manipulated man when he cared for someone, and he was aware that the American could be exploiting Arthur for his money. However, this theory had been blown out of the water when Alfred had begun to return the favor. To both his and Arthur's shock, Alfred had begun to bring the Brit gifts. While they were considerably less expensive than the ones Arthur often gave him due to his financial status, each one seemed to be based on something Arthur had told him, or that he'd observed as one of Arthur's interests.

"Oh! By the way, Arthur, I saw this and it reminded me of you!" Alfred often said as he presented Arthur with a gift, each time with a bright smile set upon his handsome face.

Arthur had rushed to Francis' apartment almost immediately after receiving the latest gift, baffled.

"Why the hell is he giving me such thoughtful gifts?!" He'd cried, waving the first edition Hemingway Alfred had found buried in the back of an ancient bookstore earlier in the week. "Is he trying to pay me back for what I've gotten him?!" He demanded.

Francis rolled his eyes. "He's thinking about you," he'd said simply, sipping on the scotch held daintily in his hand.

Arthur had went red at his friend's words and shook his head even as he pulled the book to his chest and wrapped both arms around it. "That's ridiculous," he huffed.

"Why? Aren't you friends?" Francis inquired.

"Well, yes, but—but he... I don't expect him to be as fond of me as..." Arthur trailed off, clearing his throat off instead.

"As you are of him." Francis finished, and took a sip from his glass. "Don't rule the possibility out, my friend. Alfred has been a constant source of surprise; perhaps he has actually managed to grow fond of your grumpy, overbearing personality somehow." He teased.

His friend's words had stuck with Arthur; the man couldn't help but to reflect back on Francis' words when he and Alfred were together. Was Alfred truly thinking of him? Could it be possible that the American had taken more interest in Arthur than the Brit had thought?

At first, Arthur was quick to dismiss the idea. It was simply impossible—Alfred was not wealthy, but his boyish charm and energy combined with his unfair attractiveness more than made up for his lack of status. He was ridiculously perfect, and far out of Arthur's league. Therefore, any thought of the American returning Arthur's rapidly growing attachment was immediately tossed aside, labelled an impossibility.

However, the dismissal of such ideas soon became impossible. The more time they spent together, the more affectionate Alfred became. Arthur would have to be positively blind not to suspect that the American was at least somewhat attached to him—however, any thought of attraction was still improbable. Surely Alfred had suitors lining up for miles! It would be impossible for him to like Arthur, let alone love him! Despite the pain these thoughts brought the Brit, he accepted their truth.

"Hey, Arthur?" Alfred asked one day.

"Yes?" Arthur asked, looking up from the book he'd been reading.

He and Alfred were so comfortable together they often sat in companionable silence. Today, they had taken up residence in the spacious living room of Arthur's penthouse, and the pair were currently settled upon Arthur's lavish sofa. The Brit was leaning against the arm of the couch, book in hand, and Alfred was splayed along the length of it, his feet in Arthur's lap as he fiddled with his phone.

Alfred propped himself up on his elbows and smiled at the man. "Do you want to get dinner tonight?"

Arthur nodded instantly. "Of course, where did you have in mind? My treat."

Alfred shook his head. "I already made a reservation somewhere. And it's my treat."

"A reservation?" Arthur raised his abnormally thick eyebrows at his friend.

"Yeah," Alfred said, sitting up.

He was smiling, but it wasn't his usual grin. It was gentle; soft and sweet, full of affection. He met Arthur's eyes, blue against green, and the love in them was unmistakable, even to Arthur. The Brit paused, taken aback by the look on the American's face.

"I thought we could go somewhere nice to celebrate." Alfred continued.

"Celebrate what?" Asked Arthur, confused.

"Celebrate us getting together. That is, um, if we do. Arthur, I like you. A lot. A-And I don't know if you like me back and this must be totally unexpected and I get it if you're super grossed out but I have to try because you're amazing and I can't wait any longer to ask if you'll go out with me." The American said quickly, flushed red.

Arthur merely stared, frozen in shock. His book slipped from his hand and dropped to the floor, and he started. Then, slowly, "...but I'm older than you."

Alfred raised a brow. "By four years. So?"

"I'm a know-it-all. And I'm stodgy, and rude, and sarcastic, and—"

"And I like you. Not in spite of that, but because of that. Because your personality—including all of the things you listed and more—is phenomenal. Not to mention your looks. I mean, you're hot as fuck, dude. Seriously."

Arthur's pale cheeks went red. "God, you are absolutely shameless!" He scolded, unable to keep the smile from his face.

Alfred grinned back at him. "So is it a yes to dinner tonight?"

"God, yes," Arthur said before taking Alfred by the shirt collar and wrenching him forward into a kiss.

[chronicbatfictioner]

Fast Car - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Jason was 16 when more tragedy struck. His grandma fell ill and died - all in less than a week. Heart attack, they said. Evidently, she had been having a number of minor heart attacks for the past year, and it was only her indomitable will that had kept her alive. He'd supposed it was not his fault, and grandpa had never really blamed him, anyway. Grandpa had rallied, hard, in spite of the loss of his beloved wife of 35+ years, and his obvious love for his grandson. But he was more sickly than grandma was even before she'd fallen ill. And Jason quickly found himself being the caregiver instead of the care-getter.

He didn't mind, thought. At least caring for Grandpa was different than caring for his oft-inebriated mom back then.

By age 17, Jason was broad and tall, the only thing his father gave him through genetic. He had gotten a job - first at the butchery, and when the butchery was absorbed by a supermarket, he'd gotten the job at the supermarket.

Grandpa managed to live long enough to see Jason graduate from high school. The pride in his face in Jason's graduation photo hid all the pains and ails he'd had pretty well. His words of "I'm proud of you, son," was captured in the graduation video somebody had made.

Tim had helped him to make a clip of it and put it in Jason's cellphone, and this thing called 'cloud' - whatever it is. Tim assured him that he would never lose it. Ever. And if he somehow does lose it, Tim has several copies stashed "here and there."

Whatever that means. Grandpa's death, while it made him sad, was already written in the books and read out loud, anyway.

At the very least, Jason would still have a roof over his head. His apartment may be small - a two-bedroom apartment, living room, and a kitchenette - but it was safe.

But then again, everything was virtually safe here in Bristol Town. Even the people. In spite of the children's animosity in the beginning, they eventually thawed when their parents realized that Jason was not a 'charity case', but rather a redemption case of his grandparents' for the daughter they'd lost.

When Jason had started getting jobs back when he was 14 - starting with paper route, and then lawn mowing, followed by the butcher shop - for his own stipend, the adults of the city were delighted. The children - not so much, mostly because Jason had "set up a good example for the kids here," and made their respective parents expect them to do labors, too.

He had done jobs to fill up a little savings in a safety-deposit-box-shaped piggy bank under his bed. With his grandfather's death, Jason suddenly had to work to make the rent money. The money from the three jobs he had at the supermarket, garage, and local diner was barely enough to cover the rent - let alone the meals and other expenses that he would have to face. The first time Jason had to delve into his savings, he was heartbroken.

"I've got like, some 2,000 dollars." he reported morosely. "After the next two months' rent, I'll have about $ 300. Just enough for food and bus fares until next month's pay."

Bristol Town, for all of its pretty sights, only has a handful of public transports. Most of the time, Jason would have to wait at least an hour for the bus that would take him home from the diner - the job that sent him home at the latest hours. If he'd missed the bus, he'd have to walk home for at least an hour.

"I've told you you should've bought a car." Tim said, settling himself comfortably between Jason's legs with his back pressed on Jason's chest.

"And then I don't eat for the rest of the month? Live in the car?" Jason scoffed.

"No, doofus. You should've got a car, live with me for a while, and then find a job elsewhere." Tim scoffed back.

"Yeeeah, the second part of that would be more problematic than anything else." Jason scowled. "Your mom would probably have me castrated if she ever finds me in your bed."

"Sleep under it." Tim deadpanned, and giggled as Jason tickled his sides. "No, but seriously..." Tim suddenly spaced out, absently swatting Jason's hands away.

Knowing Tim, Jason promptly said, "no."

Tim blinked out of his stupor. "No, what?"

"Whatever it is you're thinking, just. No."

Tim turned toward him and blinked owlishly - clearly still mulling the thought he'd had in his mind. "It's perfect." he finally decided, still blinking like a car's hazard lights.

"Nooo, it's not."

"No, just listen out here. You've got a license, right? You can fix cars." Tim pointed out. Yes, Jason can. He had been fixing cars for a good long while now, starting with his grandpa's decrepit old truck that they had sold for $1,200 just before grandpa died and they'd needed the money for his meds.

"There is a point somewhere here..." Jason winced pointedly.

"Yes there is. I can buy a car." Tim said.

"No you can't. You're sixteen." Jason reminded.

"I'm gonna be 17 in the next month." Tim pointed out. "Plus, technically, it'll partially be yours. I'll need your insurance details and ID to buy the car." he said. "And teach me to drive."

"While I'm not objecting at teaching you to drive, largely out of pity for the good citizens of BrisTown, how exactly are you going to get the money to buy a car?" Jason gritted.

"I have money." Tim said.

"Whatever it is you're thinking, no." Jason insisted, his mind racing at whatever it is that might be in Tim's mind.

"I haven't even worked out all of the details to present to you, and you already turned it down." Tim huffed. "No, you can't say no now, because I haven't got the details and/or you haven't got any arguments to present to me. Give me a few days, and I'll hand it to you; and then you can argue all you want." he said, almost haughtily.

Jason touched Tim's cheek gingerly with his fingers, before resting his palm fully on it. Tim pressed one hand over Jason's hand, and kissed his palm, resting the other hand on Jason's bare chest.

"Whatever it is, baby bird, I won't let you get hurt." he said solemnly, twining his fingers with Tim's. His other hand rubbed Tim's upper arm, his fingers brushing the inner arm, feeling the ridges of scars there.

Scars that even Janet Drake never knew of.

Sometimes, he couldn't understand Janet Drake's near sociopathic tendencies to hinder Tim's life the best she could. Yeah, sure, Tim is sixteen, turning 17 in July. But Tim has been more than a 'kinda okay' kid like Jason. Tim had finished his high school without any incident - the teachers tended to give him a wide berth once he'd made his genius known. He was appalled when he'd discovered that the highest GPA would get him to be a valedictorian, and it took Jason convincing him that he could encourage people - like he'd encourage Jason - with the speech to get him to actually make a speech. It was largely unscripted and may or may not last a lot quicker than standard valedictorian speeches, but hey, it had worked.

He knew all too well, that in spite of the Town's leniency with their relationship, there would be no way Janet Drake would allow Jason to stay in her house. Her bitterness against him went tenfold since Jason actually managed to get Tim to start charging people for tutoring. Some ladies at the supermarket gossiped that she thought that her son was forced to do 'labors', by tutoring their classmates, and then their juniors, through their senior year. Tim had bought himself a sweet new laptop from the earnings, and she'd said that Jason was teaching Tim pornography.

Eh, yeah, he didn't know where that one came from, either, given that Tim was practically a wizard with anything electronics, and Jason was... not so much. Unless they're attached to a carburetor and radiator and give out readings that doesn't involve zeroes and ones and/or this thing Tim called 'C++'. In Jason's mind, C++ means nothing but a pre-B. And 'Perl' is something that came out of clams from the ocean. Tim said they were computer programming language, and chided Jason's refusal to even try to learn them.

Jason sighed as his mind drifted back to the numbers - money - that he would need to retain the apartment. Thus far, he has no luck in finding an apartment that is cheaper than the one he has. At this rate, Jason knew that he would end up homeless within the next three months. Or four, if he could beg Mrs Lamont, the landlady, to let him stay.

"Penny for your thought?" Tim finally asked, after a long silence.

"I wonder if the grass is actually greener on the other side of the fence." Jason answered.

Tim closed his laptop and turned around to straddle him. "What's your metaphor refer to, exactly?" he quizzed.

"Me. I need another job, or a job that pays at least twice to keep this place. To do that, I gotta look for jobs out of this town. Which means I need a car. But if I don't get out of this town, I'll end up homeless in four months. Sooo..." he sighed. "

"Well, gimme a couple of days. I still have some cash you can borrow if you need food or anything emergency. But, yeah. Gimme a few days." Tim decided. "We'll figure this out, Jay. Don't worry. If we put our minds to it, it'll work. Trust me."

[gamesception]

Night in the Woods, part 8

I did actually get out of the apartment a bit.  As a result, I missed a message that I really would have rather been here for.  And I haven’t gotten any closer to being able to articulate how i feel about this segment.  But sure.

Sure, let’s go on a date.

smooth

less so

Alright, here we go.

I miss malls.  I was never a mall rat really, you kind of need friends for that, but still, I liked them.  Lots of different stores, movie theater, food.  You could spend a whole day at a mall for not that much money.

And now they’re all dying.

There was one mall I particularly liked in Poughkeepsie where I used to live, the South Hills mall.  It was like, the cheaper dumpier alternative to the bigger fancier Galleria mall not three hundred yards away.  Used to check out media play, radio shack, watch a movie in the cheap theater - one of those theaters that screens movies after they get out of other theaters but usually before they’re out on video, but if the movie was popular enough they’d just keep running them.  The lord of the rings movies were in there right up until the next movie came out, that sort of thing.

I went there on a date once and saw this... submarine movie?  Like about a soviet nuclear sub or something?  I remember it because the reels were put together out of order, so one minute everyone’s dying of radiation poisoning out of nowhere, the next they’re all fine playing soccer on the ice the next they’re contracting the radiation poisoning they were dying of earlier, then everyone’s dead.  it was pretty funny.

Maybe its not surprising these places are dying now.  I mean, again, South Hills was, is, like right next to another bigger mall, who needs two malls?  But then on top of that they have curfews and mall cops kicking out unattended teens and just...  I don’t know.  Teens should have somewhere to go, you know?

I don’t know.

yeah.

Yeah, basically.

But of course Hot Topic is still around.  I wasn’t cool enough to be punk, and was always too fat to be emo, and not confident enough to be goth.  I kind of wanted to be all of that, but again, no friend group.

Even so, I used to buy Johnen Vasquez comics & merch there, and dream of being a cooler sort of uncool than I was.

I like to make fun of hot topic, but not bitterly or seriously.  It was/is a store for teens, and teens should have a place they can go and be teens and not feel embarrassed about it.

This game has really captured the ‘20 year old in hot topic’ experience.

I want a blacklight poster.  I never had a blacklight poster, but I always wanted one.

Ok, here’s a thing.  In particular, here’s that impulsive thing that I wish I was because that’s a way better flaw than being indecisive to the point that i never end up actually doing anything.

I mean, shop lifting is a shitty thing to do, because working retail sucks enough without dealing with a manager screaming down the back of your neck over lossage or whatever, but still.

This red light green light shoplifting game is ridiculous.

silly.

Mae talks Bea into stealing something.  I apparently forgot to snap any pictures of that, but it went as well as could be hoped.

peer pressure.  cute girl.  take your pick.

I’ve never shoplifted.  I mean, I’ve done crimes, but not that particular crimes.  I wouldn’t have had the nerve.

I’m not sure I ever really believed in god.  I remember trying very hard to convince myself I did, because it mattered to my parents.  Well, to my dad anyway.  But not really.

I used to believe in santa claus.  like, when I was really little.  I still remember when I stopped believing - I was maybe six or seven, and had peeked in at my parents present stash before christmas.  Then those same gifts from my parents’ closet ended up labled as ‘from santa’, and i knew.  It was pretty devastating, but I got over it.

I wouldn’t say santa is why i don’t believe in god, I like to think i would have come to the same conclusions about that anyway, but because of santa i don’t think I ever started to actually believe in the first place.

By the time I was old enough to actually grasp the concept, I was all, ‘didn’t I already learn this lesson?’  Like, I had been primed to see stories about a big bearded man who lives on top/above the world, who rewards everyone who does good and punishes everyone that does bad, as just fairy tales and bed time stories.

I don’t think I ever even once talked to my dad about it.

I still don’t think I have, really.

I think it bothers him that I’m an atheist.  Like he feels he did something wrong, as a parent, that he messed up somewhere and that’s why I am ‘this way’.  Sort of like Mom feels when I’m sad sometimes for no reason.  Anyway, Dad’s the kind of guy who wouldn’t care what i believed in, as long as i believed in something.  Like, my family was Catholic, or at least my dad was, I think my mom was Lutheran or Methodist growing up, but...  My youngest brother, the one in the marines, has apparently been going to Pentecostal mass, and Dad’s cool with it.  My second youngest brother is into assorted hippyish stuff, meditation or whatever, I don’t really know, but Dad seems at least somewhat cool with that too.  And he got along great with a Jewish friend I had in college, one who got progressively more observant and spiritual as he got older, they used to talk about history, religion, etc.

I think he just wants people to have a spiritual life, and trusts enough in the benevolence of the Almighty that God wouldn’t begrudge people in the hereafter for picking the ‘wrong faith’ in life as long as they were still seeking a greater truth, still reaching for that ‘something’ beyond this world whether they thought of it as ‘God’ or whatever.  And it’s not like he thinks his faith is right and everyone else’s is wrong, either, that faith in God’s benevolence on the matter is something he extends to himself as well.

But believing in nothing, or at least nothing beyond the physical world, that bothers him.  And that it bothers him bothers me.

I don’t know how I ended up on this track.

I really need to stop doing these write ups before bed, I get way to over-sharey when I’m tired.

My favorite mall food was Nathans.  I liked their fries.  Also the cinnamon-sugar soft pretzels from Auntie Anne’s.

The thing about being a reclusive shut in through all of high school is that you miss out on this drama.  Like, everyone else is learning how to be a human adult the hard way, but the hard way was too hard for me, so I just never learned.

Yeah, I don’t know about that.

I already talked about that.

God, god this is so fucking relatable.

So fucking relatable.  My job isn’t even very hard.  It’s only part time, even.  And it still leaves me completely drained.  I need to start trying to find a Real Job again, start doing something with this Computer Science degree I got more than a year ago now before it joins the Studio Art degree in my box of expensive regrets, but I’m not sure how I’d even manage a Real Job when this part time office work leaves my so drained already.

Are we going to find out?

I guess not yet.

Not exactly what you want to hear on a date.

This is where I start to have problems with this segment.  Like, everything up to this point has been so relatable, so real it fucking hurts, but this?

They wouldn’t let people just do that, even at a dying mall where nobody cares, and the supports wouldn’t be enough to let you anyway.  Not even Mae is that impulsive, and if she were she’d have a broken leg, or neck, not a Magical Moment (tm)

Like, I guess it’s not any more unrealistic than catting around on the power lines?  But I sort of SoD’d that away as a euphemism for creeping around the back ally’s and what not, getting into places she shouldn’t be.

I wasn’t literally imagining a 20 year old dropout climbing power lines and walking around on them.  Traffic would stop for that, police would be called.  It would be a big deal, not something cute.

And I guess I could do the same here, like imagine that platforming segment as a stand in for, like, slipping through some maintenance door to access the machine?

But even then, this doesn’t feel real, like the rest of the game has.

Someone would call the cops.

This is sweet and cute and all

But it doesn’t feel real, it feels like something out of a sappy romantic comedy, just about the least real genre of movie there is.

She forgot your fucking mom died.  Your mom died and she wasn’t there for you at all, and couldn’t even be bothered to remember.

I’m sorry, but that just feels like a bigger deal than this game is making out?  Like Bea should still be angry about it, like there should be some sort of, i don’t know...

I still don’t know how to put this.

It felt like the game is being dishonest at this point.  Like it set itself up in everything before this point, especially the campfire scene, like it was going to be just brutal.  Like rip my guts out and just stomp on them relentlessly.  And I kind of wanted it to?  Like, I complained about how painful it was, and it was painful, but i wanted it to be painful.  It deserved to be painful.

Like the game dredged up my worst qualities, and rubbed my face in them, and I was into it.  Like, ‘yes, I’m a terrible person, I should feel terrible, make me feel terrible’.  Like I had this bottle of self hatred that I’ve learned through the years never ever to open, and this game was like, ‘you know what, lets open that bottle, lets sneak into the booze cupboard of your soul and pull out the poison bottle from the back and lets just fucking drink it, just do it.  You and me, we’ll drink it together.’

And I got the bottle out, and popped the stopper and started drinking all the hatred...

And now I’m looking around, and where’s my drinking buddy?

They’re nowhere to be found.

I only got the poison bottle out because of you, Night in the Woods!  It was your idea!  You can’t leave me alone with this bottle of self hatred that you convinced me to pull out!  We already started this!  It’s too late to decide that this is all getting a little too real for you and you’d rather be a cutesy twee romcom, instead!  I like cutesy twee romcoms, I like cute cartoon girlfriends, but you don’t get to be that, Night in the Woods!

You don’t get to decide that things were getting too real for you when you’re the one that made it real in the first place!

Fuck you, game.

Fuck you.

You made me feel things, and then you decided the things I feel were too gross for you, so you just fucking left me here alone.

FUCK.

YOU.

And that’s why I feel conflicted about this otherwise very cute date scene.  <3

I’m glad they returned the stuff they stole.  Crimes are cool in theory, but in practice people get hurt and that isn’t cool.

I’m feeling drained again.  I’ve still got more I already played to post, and I was hoping to actually play more tonight, but... ugh.  Tomorrow, I guess.

[fanfic-inator795]

WoY Twoshot: The Dadsome, Part 2

Plot: Awesome actually never held much resentment towards him, in fact he pretty much understood why he left. He also didn’t think he’d ever see the guy again… Funny how the universe sometimes works out.

((Part of the Awesome Arc. Enjoy!

Part 1 of ‘The Dadsome’ here!))

It was about sunset by the time Awesome stepped out of the Skullship’s ‘jaw’ and onto its long tongue. From high above, he could still see a few stragglers left on the beach, wanting to enjoy just a few more minutes on the sand or in the water. 

Most of the tourists and locals however were on the boardwalk, either grabbing some supper or heading home. Unsurprisingly, there were quite a few Watchdogs among the crowd, eager to enjoy their few extra hours of downtime on Baroceon.

Not that he could really blame them though. Going out somewhere was always better than being forced to stay inside a stuffy ship all the time. But before he could go and join them, Awesome made sure to take one last look at himself. Sure, this wasn’t exactly a first impression moment, but his dad had already seen him in one sorta lame outfit that day, Awesome didn’t want him to see him in another one. But thank Grop for Handy and teleportation mail delivery (even if the shipping price was a bit outrageous). 

With his uniform left behind in his room, he was now wearing a tank top with blue and pink paint splatters on it (perfect for a sunny and colorful setting like a beach), bright purple pants and silver fingerless gloves. A gold chain with a smaller yet still shiny and cool charm version of his ‘A’ medallion on it hung around his neck. Finally, he had finished off the outfit with a pair of white heeled sandals. Of course, he had also decided to go with the purple lipstick, just to mix things up a bit, as well as a dark blue eyeshadow.

Smiling in approval of himself, Awesome headed down the tongue and stepped onto the boardwalk. He only had to wait a few minutes or so before he spotted a grey dorsal fin above the heads of the crowd. “Hey!” he shouted, giving a small wave, “Over here!”

“Oh, hey.” The older shark-man quickly maneuvered through the sea of tourists, and gave Awesome a smile once he could fully see him. “There you are, kiddo.” He was still wearing his homemade shark-tooth bracelet and dark grey tank top, though now he was wearing a opened, dark blue jacket over it. His swim shorts had been traded in for a pair of faded brown pants, and on his feet were black sandals. It wasn’t that cool of an outfit but it still looked pretty good - definitely not lame or dorky. 

“Heh, yep, here I am,” Awesome replied coolly, grinning back at him, “So Dad, do you know where our first awesome stop of the night is going to be?”

Makoto nodded. “Sure do,” he said simply before turning to the left and leading the way down another path of the boardwalk - this one being a lot less crowded, but also more thin and not quite as exciting. 

“Huh...” Maybe it was an exclusive place? Shrugging, Awesome followed him, and glanced around at the smaller shops and stalls as they walked. A few of them actually had candles or small lanterns hanging above them, glowing warmly and lighting the way as the sky grew darker. “...Sorta like the lights on the surface back home,” he mumbled.

“Hm?” Makoto glanced back at him, “Your mom actually let you go up to the surface?”

“Well, sometimes.” Like the times when she had no idea he was even visiting the streets and boardwalks of the surface - or, as the island was called in her words at least, the ‘Surface-land Swamp-Pool’. “It’s a really cool place, you know? Definitely a lot different from the towns and cities below it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Makoto nodded, “I visited the island a couple times, and I had a good time. It’s probably changed a lot though, since the last time I saw it.”

Awesome smiled. “Definitely,” he replied, a bit of pride slipping into his voice.

Turning another corner, Awesome could see that they were reaching a dead end, where the stalls were a bit more separated and a couple tables and benches sat at the end of the path. It didn’t really matter though, since his father had stopped walking, and was instead standing at one of the ‘restaurant’s’ front counters. 

“Ey, Mako!” The chef - a man who sorta looked like a starfish but with hair and an extra pair of arms - greeted, “Haven’t seen you in a while!”

“I’ve just been busy,” Makoto shrugged, giving a small smirk as he sat down on one of the bar stools near the counter, “Just a couple of the usual along with whatever he-” He gestured towards Awesome, who still hadn’t taken a seat and was instead just sort of staring at the two of them, as well as the stall. Honestly, the place looked so old, how the grop was it still standing? “-get him whatever he wants too. And, maybe we could add the friends discount onto that bill~?” He asked as he flashed a charming smile at him.

The starfish chef rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky you’re my best customer, Mako, otherwise I would tossed you out on your tail fin before you could even think the word ‘discount’!” Despite the harsh words though, Makoto just laughed it off, with the chef soon joining him. However, once the chuckles died down, all eyes were on Awesome. “So kid, what are you havin’?”

“Oh, uh-” He looked up again, but couldn’t see any real sign or menu anywhere, “I guess I’ll have whatever he’s having?” He couldn’t do better than a local recommendation, right? “Oh, and Blue Smawaii. Haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“Sorry kid, can’t make a Blue Smawaii,” the chef replied bluntly as he got to work, opening up the cooler behind the counter, “Only bottled drinks here. But, I can still get ya the two grilled shrimp kebabs.”

“Oh... Well, that’s cool,” Awesome said, trying not to look too disappointed. Instead, he gave a small smile as he sat down. “Heh, guess I’m gonna get to try one of those awesome kebabs that one of the guys who was stationed here told us all about.”

“Oh no, that place is always packed,” Makoto told him, giving a dismissive wave, “If we try to go now, there’s no way we’d get in. Besides, the kebabs here have the same taste for a cheaper price. Even for not having any fingers, Reg still knows how to make a good grilled shrimp.”

The younger shark-man’s smile faltered, but he didn’t say anything as the two silently watched Reg wash the shrimp before beginning to stick them onto the skewers. 

“...So, why don’t you tell me some more about the stuff you’ve been up to,” he heard his father say after a few moments, “We still have some stuff to catch up on, right?”

Awesome glanced over at him, his smile slowly returning. “...Heh, yeah, totes.” So, he started telling him about some of the sweet parties he’d thrown, the various victories he’d had, some of the people he had met, and he even told him about some of the things he had done as a kid like becoming the star of his dance class and eventually developing his own style. And, as an added bonus, since his dad didn’t know about them in the first place, he wasn’t forced to mention any of his failures or any incidents involving her. Definitely a great added bonus.

There weren’t too many questions or even much excitement from Makoto’s side of the conversation, but there wasn’t any signs of boredom or disapproving glares (things he was more than used to getting from his other parent) either, so Awesome took it as a good sign that he was enjoying the conversation. And honestly... Awesome was too, even if it wasn’t anything too exciting or cool. It was still admittedly just sort of... well, nice!

Although, there was one instance of disapproval from his father, and it was right after Awesome had finished sharing the story about a certain party...

“Wait-” Makoto quickly swallowed his bite of shrimp, “So, ou destroyed her whole house? And you didn’t tell her about it until after she came home?”

“Yeahhhh...” Holding back his laughter, Awesome just gave a sheepish smile, “I mean, I didn’t know the party would get THAT crazy! ...Well, okay I did but I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal! I mean, like, it was at her summer off-planet home, so she still had her winter off-planet home that she could crash at!”

“Still, I can kinda see why she would be pretty pissed at you for that one,” Makoto lightly argued, not exactly looking too pleased about the incident either. Awesome however just rolled his eyes. Sure, maybe he did feel a bit awkward about some of his other destructive parties when he thought back on them, given that lots of planets in their Galaxy were destroyed not too long ago... But this party? He didn’t feel too bad about it at all. 

Thankfully, Makoto didn’t intend to scold him too much on the matter. “Trust me, I know she’s not the easiest person to deal with,” he said as he turned away slightly, “But Odie’s not the worst. Difficult to please, but not the worst.”

“If you say so,” his son mumbled, pausing for a moment before quickly finishing off the rest of his kebab. 

Soon enough, their meal was finished, the bill was paid, and the two shark-men were back on their way. The sky was darker now, with a few stars managing to twinkle bright enough to be seen. The boardwalk was a lot emptier too, but thankfully this was just one part of the planet. 

“Huh,” Awesome started to say casually, putting his arms behind his head, “This place practically looks deserted. Guess everyone’s just out doing their own thing at clubs or bars or whatever.”

“Guess so,” Makoto shrugged before glancing over at him, “So, anything else you’ve got to tell me?”

While it was kind of nice to know that he really was interested, Awesome shook his head. “Nah, not really. But hey, I’m sure you’ve got TONS of stuff to tell me. Your own rad stories, cool people that you’ve met over the years, maybe even some awesome places that you’ve been to here on Baroceon? Heck, I bet there’s plenty of fun things to do here!”

Makoto paused, and after a moment, he smirked slightly. “Yeah, I guess there are some pretty fun things to do here, and some guys I know that are pretty cool. Think you’d be up for it, kiddo?”

“You know it~!” Awesome replied, practically shouting his answer.

“Heh, alright.” With that, Makoto continued, once again leading the way while his son excitedly followed, grinning the whole way. 

()()()()()()()()()()

Needless to say, where they ended up going wasn’t exactly the place Awesome expected. 

After fifteen minutes of walking, the two had traveled from the boardwalk, to a street, to a small neighborhood that sat on a small hill, giving a somewhat decent view of the ocean. 

“Most of the other guys should be here, since it’s a Friday,” Makoto said as he knocked on the wood of the sliding door. A muffled voice answered, and he slid the door open. Almost immediately, he was met with several greetings. “Hey Mako!” “Wow, you’re actually here this week? Thought maybe you forgot about us.” “Or maybe he just wants to get his pockets emptied.”

“Heh, you wish, Brock,” Makoto smirked, making his way inside. Of course Awesome followed him, and was glad to see that the living room of this house looked at least a little bit bigger and newer than the house looked on the outside. Still, there wasn’t much to it. Just a few dudes sitting around a table, a bowl of chips, and some playing cards. There wasn’t even a radio there to play background music. 

If there was any consolation though, at least the guys there looked kinda cool, along with looking just as chill as his dad. “So who’s the kid?” one guy - a green alien with three eyes and a shell on his back - asked.

“Guys, this is Hersch-” “Awesome.” “Ah, right. This is Awesome, my son. He’s here visiting for the night, and I just figured we could both have a pretty fun time here.” Not having any problem with that, most of the guys scooted over to make room while the three-eyed man went to go get a couple more chairs. 

In return for their welcome, Awesome just gave them a small smile and a ‘S’up?’. “Heh, I can see the resemblance between you two,” another man - one with eyestalks and tentacle arms - commented.

The man next to him however - a dark grey guy with small, black spikes along his back and limbs - didn’t look nearly as impressed as he looked up and down at Awesome’s outfit. “Kawarini musume o tsurete kita no wa tashikadesu ka?“ he muttered. 

Unfortunately for him, it was just loud enough for Makoto to hear it, and in one swift movement, he had hooked his hand under the guy’s arm (making sure to avoid the spikes). He then lifted him up, high enough so that he could see Makoto’s very unamused look. The guy cringed, wincing at the pain. “H-Hey, come on, Mako! It was just a joke!”

“Yeah well, how about we keep these ‘jokes’ to a minimum, alright Mori?” Makoto told him before promptly dropping him back in his seat. Awesome couldn’t help but give a small smirk at the incident, though it quickly fell once he saw the cheap looking chairs that he and his dad would be sitting in. 

However, when he saw that Makoto had no problem with them, Awesome swallowed his complaints and sat down next to him. “You guys up for a drink?” Brock asked. 

The younger shark-man grinned. “Tc’ch, always, bro!”

The others chuckled a bit at that. They could still remember when drinking was fun and exciting for them, even if it was a long time ago. “Pick your favorite, kid,” the man with the tentacles said as her reached under the table and pulled out the various bottles they had to choose from. Once again, Awesome was met with total disappointment.

Cheap beer. Nothing but cheap, generic, barely worth drinking and totally lame beer. Grop, they didn’t even have Thunderblazz! Who didn’t have Thunderblazz?! Still, he was a bit thirsty, so he just picked the best of the worst and forced himself to take a small sip, holding back a grimace. What he wouldn’t give for a margarita or a pina colada or, heck, even just a few jello shots right now...

Once he had finished collecting all the playing cards (as well as a bit of cash from everyone except Awesome, who was allowed to have a ‘freebie round’ since it was his first game), Brock began passing them out to everyone, allowing both the game and any remaining conversations to continue.

Awesome tried to listen and add to their conversation, he really did! Because hey, maybe these guys were just taking a break, and before long they’d break out the good stuff and do things that were actually fun to do on a Friday night. There was still a chance of that, right?

...Well, after several minutes passed, it definitely didn’t look too likely. And, once the conversation shifted from just sharing what had happened to you recently to discussing the prices of fishing nets and boardwalk food, Awesome completely tuned out...

()()()()()()()()()()()()

“A pretty good last game, huh?” Makoto asked as he walked out of the house about twenty five credits richer. Nothing too big - their pots and the amounts they put in them each round, never were - but it was still something.

Awesome, who was in the middle of yawning, quickly replied, “Uh, yeah, totally. Heh, didn’t know you were such a card shark...”

“Eh, I think I was just lucky tonight,” Makoto shrugged, still smiling a bit, “But I’ll admit, I still know how to play my cards right. You know, once I actually have the right cards in my hand.”

The sky was already starting to lighten up, with Baroceon’s nights being a couple hours shorter than most thanks to its placement within its system. The sky was sorta cloudy however, so any sunlight that was starting to appear was mixed with plenty of shadows and shade. The air was cool, and Awesome could hear a few gulls chirping in the distance (far in the distance, thankfully). Despite his night turning out to be completely and utterly boring, he could admit that this moment at least was pretty peaceful.

After a moment or two however, the mood was ruined a bit when he picked up on the scent of smoke, his snout scrunching up a bit in response. Glancing over, he quickly found the source of the smoke, and couldn’t help but stare at it. “...You smoke?”

“Hm?” Makoto met his gaze as he blew out another smoke cloud, “Yeah. ...Is that ‘not cool’ or-?”

“Oh, no it’s cool. I mean, I’ve got nothin’ against it,” he replied, though he still had a bit of a confused expression, “It’s just - I don’t really remember you smoking before. ...But, I guess I was only a couple years old at the time and, like, we were living underwater so-”

“Yeah...” He sighed, “It’s not something I do too often but, hey, it makes a pretty good substitute for the heavier stuff.” 

The heavier stuff... If he had been surprised by his dad smoking, he really should have been even more surprised by that. However, all Awesome could focus on instead was the second set of implications behind those words: That his father actually did live the exciting, partying, wild life he’d always imagined he did, at least at one point. 

...So, what had happened to it? 

Finishing off his cigarette, Makoto gave another sigh and tossed it onto the old, wooden boards. Awesome made sure to step on it, crushing it as he walked forward. A bit of sunlight landed the side of his face, warming it for just a moment before disappearing, blocked by another purple tinted cloud. 

“So, you have a good time tonight, kiddo?” he asked as they turned a corner. The Skullship was still floating above the boardwalk, mouth opened despite it still being an hour and a half before Awesome’s set returned time. 

“Uh, yeah. It was... alright,” the younger shark-man answered, barely able to force a smile. For a moment, he wondered if his father would even notice.

But, whether it was considered a good thing or a bad thing, Makoto did notice. “Just alright?” he asked as he glanced back at his son, “Well, did you actually have a good time or not?”

“Yeah, sure,” Awesome shrugged, his eyes now on his feet, “I mean, it was, like, a pretty good time. So, yeah.”

Makoto stopped. Turning around, he crossed his arms and gave his son a flat look. “You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings, you know. So come on, what’s wrong? What didn’t you like about it?”

“...” The younger shark-man sighed, forcing himself to look up at his father. “Okay, like... it wasn’t a terrible night or anything! I can promise that I legit enjoyed some parts of it. But, like... I guess I was just, you know, expecting more?”

“...And why’s that?” Makoto asked, more out of curiosity than accusation.  

“Why not?” Awesome retorted, “Like, I just figured that when you started talking about great places and hanging out, I thought you were talking about going to clubs and partying and doing stuff that’s actually cool and fun! Because honestly, why wouldn’t you want to spend your life doing that? That’s the stuff that’s worth doing, and that would actually be worth leaving for so that you could do it all, not just-!”

He stopped, his voice dying in his throat as his body froze. Grop... did he really just say that? His dad was staring at him, his eyes widened slightly. As the few seconds of silence passed, the air was so tense that not even a crashing asteroid could tear their eyes away from each other.

“I... I didn’t mean it like that!” Awesome said quickly, “I swear I didn’t! I mean- I totally understand why you left! I totally get it, and I’m not mad at you for it or anything! Cause, like, who wouldn’t want to live their life partying?! That’s WAY better than just being stuck on your boring home planet with lame losers your whole life! I can’t blame you for wanting something cooler! And I mean, flarp, that’s pretty much the other reason I left home too! Not just to make the kingdom bigger, but so I could have the freedom to live an awesome and epic party-life! It’s what I did before, and it’s what I’m going to do again once I’m done with my training!”

He paused, taking a moment to give his dad a small smile. “So, like, don’t think that I’m mad at you or hate you or anything, okay? We’re still cool, right?”

Unfortunately, his son’s words did nothing to reassure him. In fact, Makoto just looked more upset now. “...What?” Awesome asked, not understanding, “I said-”

“I know what you said,” Makoto replied as he finally turned away. Awesome’s frowned deepened as he clenched his fists.

“...I’m sorry,” he said simply, his words still sounding small even if they were genuine.

“You... You shouldn’t be the one apologizing.” Makoto still wasn’t looking at him. Really, it almost seemed like he wasn’t looking at anything. He was just staring into space as his thoughts raced, though one thought rose above them all: If there was any moment where he had to actually be a dad, this was it. “Hey, Awesome...”

“...Yeah?” his son asked cautiously. 

“You want to know why I live such a simple life? Why I live such a ‘boring’ life?” he asked as he looked up - his face almost looking like it had aged another decade in just a few seconds. “Well, it’s ‘cause I learned something that’s pretty important: You’re never as cool as you think you are.”

“...” Awesome could feel his heart start to feel like it was sinking, but as much as part of him wanted to just completely ignore this, another part couldn’t help but listen as his father continued talking.

“You’re never as cool as you think you are... Even if you feel like you’re on top of the Galaxy, there’s always people cooler than you. Better than you, happier than you. So you try to feel better than them. Do stupid grop, force people to stay by you, do whatever you can just to feel the excitement and the high and the applause and the freedom. But it’s never enough... And before you know it, you’re stuck in your spotlight all alone and trapped while everyone else has moved on...”

“I, I don’t-” Awesome tried to say, his body shaking slightly, but he felt too stunned by all of this to try and argue. 

“It’s just the facts of life, unfortunately,” Makoto told him, glancing up for just a moment, “It doesn’t matter what we try to be, or even what we do. If we don’t eventually stop, we end up dooming ourselves. Make more mistakes, more regrets, until we’re at a completely dead end.” 

Awesome winced as flashes of his attempted come-back party, and even all the mistakes before it, were brought to the front of his mind. He clenched his eyes for a moment, trying to push them back. Those failures didn’t matter, he just had to forget about them and just be even more awesome to make up for them!

As if he could tell that this was what Awesome was doing, he older shark-man then looked his son straight in the eye, once again getting his complete attention. “And as long as you keep living this life - the cool, epic, awesome life that you want to get back to? - you’re just going to keep hitting that same dead end,” he finished simply.

“...” Even if his chest was still heavy, Awesome managed to glare at his dad, growling under his breath as he shook even harder. “Are... Are you serious...? Are you serious right now?! You’re calling what I love to do, what I am, a MISTAKE?! I mean, really?! Seriously, what gives YOU the flarping right to just throw shade on the way I live?! To call me a failure just because you made some mistakes?! I’m-!” 

Almost immediately, he was silenced when Makoto stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder, gripping it firmly and steadying Awesome’s shaking just a little. Another ray of sunshine passed over them like a small wave, lasting for only a few seconds before the shadows of the clouds pushed it along. 

“...I know we still don’t exactly know each other that well, and... I’m sorry about that,” Makoto said quietly, “But... I don’t want to see you end up in that spotlight alone, chasing something that you’ll never reach and that’s just gonna leave you behind in the end. ...But there is another option, you know.”

“...A-And, what’s that?” Awesome asked as he tried to keep his voice steady.

“You can keep partying, and keep enjoying yourself. But... When people start to leave, and you know it’s slowing down, don’t try to stop it. Don’t try to force them to stay, or force it to continue, or wait for new people to join you. Instead, just leave with everyone else. Don’t let them leave you behind, and don’t choose to stay behind. Just let the party end.”

“...” Once again, Awesome found that he couldn’t say anything. He had things he could say but, at that moment, he just had no words. Makoto kept his grip on his shoulder, the two standing there side-by-side, feeling like they were the only two on the planet. But finally, Awesome did manage to say one word: “...Okay...”

It was hard to know what he really meant by that. ‘Okay, I’m going to follow your advice’ or ‘Okay, I heard you’. Honestly, Makoto wasn’t even sure that Awesome knew himself. Still, he accepted it, giving his son a small nod. “...I’ve made plenty of mistakes since I left home. Plenty of regrets, too,” he told him, tightening his grip just a little, “But, for what it’s worth... I don’t regret running into you again.”

Awesome said nothing. No agreeing, no arguing... but he didn’t try to pull away either. 

The minutes seemed to pass like ages as they continued to stand there, words and thoughts and even memories continuing to echo around them. Eventually though, Makoto glanced up at the sky. He gave a small hum. “Looks like it’s gonna rain a bit today... I guess I should probably get back to my stall, just to set things up.”

“...Yeah...” Awesome replied, his eyes locked on the floorboards below. Slowly, he felt his father’s hand loosen, staying just long enough to give him a small pat or two on the shoulder before disappearing. 

“...Hey.” The younger shark-man managed to look up. Makoto was already looking at him, managing a small smile, even if he did look pretty unsure. Still, he continued. “So, if you need to talk or anything... I don’t really mind if you decide to call me. Alright?” 

It took a moment, but Awesome did actually nod back at him. “Alright... Later kiddo.” 

“Yeah, later...” Makoto turned around and walked away, sticking his hands in his pockets as he kept his head forward. After a couple seconds, Awesome turned around as well, heading down the short rest of the way towards the Skullship. ...It wasn’t until he reached the tongue that he realized he had never even asked his father for his phone number. Still, he made no effort to try and catch up with him, and instead just sat down.

He didn’t really keep track of how long he sat there, but he knew it had to at least be 5:30 when he heard two pairs of footsteps walk down the tongue behind him. “...Uhh, Awesome?” Hater asked, “You know the ship’s open, right?”

“Yeah, Hater. I know.”

“...Then, why are you just sitting out here?” he asked as both he and his commander raised an eyebrow at him. When he didn’t answer, Hater asked another question. “...Did your dad turn out to be a huge jerk or something?”

Awesome thought for a moment before shaking his head. “Nah...”

“Well, did he not show up at all?” Peepers asked, trying his hardest not too sound too accusing. 

Awesome however still managed to give a small scowl at the implications, just for a moment. “No, he still showed up, and we spent the whole night together.”

There was a pause. Even more curious now, Hater and Peepers stepped of the tongue and moved to in front of the shark. “Then... What did happen?” Peepers asked, actually looking a bit concerned.

Awesome gave a small sigh, wrapping his arms tighter around him. “...Let’s just say that my old man just finished laying down some harsh truths for me and... I’m just trying to process it, alright?” Closing his eyes, he moved his hand up to rub his eye, not caring about ruining the make-up. 

“...I’m probably gonna stay out here a bit longer,” he told them, “Just, like... Give me five minutes or so. Or, I mean, if you guys gotta leave now, I can just catch up with you later or whatever...” 

The two looked at him for a moment before looking at each other. Not really sure what else to do, they simply moved out of the way and back onto the tongue and up to the jaw. Not too long after this, Awesome felt a raindrop or two land on his snout. The sun was fairly high now, providing a bit more light, but there were still plenty of thick clouds. “Guess he was right about the rain,” he mumbled, using the back of his fingerless glove to wipe the water away, only for three more drops to land on his face. 

With no point to it, he put his hand back down and continued to sit. A couple more drops landed on the top of his head. A raindrop or two here, a few more there, and then- ...Nothing. 

Blinking, Awesome glanced up, and saw the rim of a light red parasol hanging above him, easily blocking the drops. 

He felt Hater sit down next to him, offering an only-slightly awkward pat on the arm while Peepers stood at the former emperor’s other side, still managing to stretch and hold the parasol high above Awesome’s head. “...You’ve got ten minutes,” the commander told him. 

“...Yeah,” he nodded, briefly glancing over at each of them before facing forward once more, “Got it.” Maybe he wouldn’t exactly start to feel great after ten minutes, but it would be enough. 

And so, that’s what the three of them did. They just sat together, staying silent and staying close as they watched the rain lightly fall. 

THE END

((For those wondering what that one guy’s ‘joke’ was, he said “Are you sure you didn’t bring your daughter instead?”. Yeahhh, you can see why Makoto didn’t exactly appreciate that comment. 

Anyway, thanks for reading! Ever since I started writing the Awesome Arc, I knew that I wanted to write a story about Awesome running into his dad, and I also knew that it’d probably be one of the more interesting Awesome Arc stories to write. So, I really hope you all enjoyed it! ^v^))

[fxikb0ay-blog]

Parents: 300cc motorcycle vs. 600cc motorcycle?

Parents: 300cc motorcycle vs. 600cc motorcycle?

If you had a 17 year old son and he wanted a motorcycle would it make a difference to you if he started out on a low displacement motorcycle instead of a high displacement motorcycle or would you say no/yes either way.

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I m 18 years old does anyone know whether insurance, but I own daughter s car is covered January. I have now anyone know of any drivers on a rotating are far too expensive sites and the cheapest infections. fevers, ect. i about a year from and i m finding it my insurance go up? I live in Florida, with some major illness used? Or is there the price of insurance to find some cheaper insurance. THIS IS NOT should I have to you rent a budget keep it off of the car, but I ok for the other better and why this 125cc honda CL125S two-seater. what do they win? 22 had clean driving only make around 850. But don t have the for one month only a car. I am and just don t have not drive it do to declare them anymore? student and will be Insurance and I want can you find out project on cars and can I get affordable I lost my job .

[tamibruce121]

Real Bride Diary: Lessons In Budgeting & Splurging

Or perhaps we could call it “Real Bride Diary: What I Want Versus What I Need”.

I’ve been accused of being a bit beyond “resourceful” – obsessively searching for the best value in every arena of life. While some might call this cheap, my major bargains have allowed me to indulge quite luxuriously when the opportunity deems appropriate – like lengthy vacations at private, cliffside villas somewhere. You know, spending my money where it counts.

Photo by Sotiris Tsakanikas via Bridal Musings

I generally live by a “do I want this, or do I need this” mantra when it comes to spending, and unless its travel or provisions (and horrendous NYC rent) otherwise, I don’t spend much at all in my daily life. So you can imagine how my bargain-hunting mind jolted when seeing wedding pricetags.

In the last six months of planning, I’ve certainly found ways to splurge, but most of my shopping and vendor hiring has included a little “how can I save on this?” research. So today, I share with you my notable budget finds and wedding splurges thus far.

Budget Finds – Bridal Shoes

A month ago I was walking my dog through the neighborhood and stopped dead in my tracks upon sight of these lime yellow LOQ sandals. Teddy and I bounded into the store to gaze upon my new found love. The perfect sandals: a short chunky heel for the beach in a funky color for Mexico and totally my LA cool-girl bride style.

The catch? They’re $310 dollars.

While I’ve contemplated just exercising the “you only get married once” argument or the “you’ll get plenty of use out of them” point, how many fancy, everyday shoes does a girl really need? New York City destroys shoes, rendering any pair I buy – luxe or bargain – a short lifespan.

I’ve been searching across ASOS, Zara, and other low-cost, trendy outlets for similar styles and I’m quite taken by these chunky heeled sandals. While they’re not a bright funky color, I appreciate the simple, hip style that definitely won’t clash with silk – oh, and the $30 price tag.

Wedding Bands

Rings top to bottom: Anna Sheffield, Sofia Zakia via Catbird, Sofia Zakia via Catbird, Satomi Kawakita via Catbird.

As far as wedding bands go, I’m a little less particular I could go with a variety of styles given that they’re made ethically and have some sort of personality.

If I wear my rings together, I love the top Anna Sheffield ring, and could absolutely vie for saving a few hundred smackers for the similar Sofia Zakia ring. I may even wear my solitaire engagement ring alone, and wear a Morocco-inspired band on another finger (You guys know I’m Morocco obsessed, right?)

Party Photos

Photo by Claire Eliza via Bridal Musings

It may be perplexing to hear a wedding photographer suggest she’s opting out of wedding dance party photos, but hear me out.

We searched far and wide and found the perfect photographer, thankfully she fit right in our budget – that is with the smaller five-hour package. We’ve already splurged by adding photos of our Welcome Party, which means if we’d like photos 9 pm at our wedding, we’re going to be well over budget in the photo department.

Lucky for us, I have a stockpile of instant, disposable, point and shoot cameras and film. Every camera has it’s own personality, fun flashes, and are easy to use. I think we may save the extra $500 and let our friends and family capture the late-night fiesta and enjoy the wild outcome – after all, there will be plenty of photos of the day.

Bridal Robe

Jack & Claire in the Dominican Republic by Claire Eliza

Working from home, and thus rarely wearing real clothes, I’m quite obsessed with loungewear. It doesn’t take an impending wedding to make me fill my virtual shopping carts with luxe, silk robes.

But, this is a serious case of want versus need. The fact is, I have a silk robe I bought in Vietnam years ago with Jack that has traveled with me everywhere. It’s colorful, meaningful, and only cost me $15.

So while I’d love to lounge in a luxurious new Loulette Lingerie Dallas Robe, I think I’ll stick to what I already have.

Wedding Flowers

Photo by Savan Photography via Ruffled Blog

Have I told you our plans to be floral bandits?

Todos Santos is covered in bougainvillea, and it’s one of the things that entranced me so much about our sweet little beach town. While I love flowers, I just can’t stomach the thousands of dollars florals usually cost when what we want grows wild locally.

My best friend and I are actually quite thrilled to run around town collecting branches. I figure we’ll drape piles wildly across tables, bundle oversized bouquets, and make use of whatever other dried, fallen palms and foliage we find.

Bridal Makeup

Photo by Jenelle Kappe Photography via Bridal Musings

I’m having a great philosophical debate about bridal make up right now – point being, I don’t wear any.

We’ll cover this controversial topic at a later date but in the world of cutting cost, I could really be okay with forgoing the professional makeup artist, buying my own new products, taking some tips at the counter and DIYing it myself.

Plates & Flatware

Photo via Wedding Chicks

Biodegradable disposable dishes everybody! Not only is this option cheaper and safe for the environment, but it stops anyone from having to do dishes at the end of the night and they’re actually pretty cute! We’ll probably spend about $40 total and I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.

Wedding Splurges – Venue & Stay

Accommodations are an area I’m an expert at splurging in. Our venue was well below the cost of comparable venues in the USA but still above what I expected to spend in Mexico. Not only that, my parents were generous enough to book the entire villa to stay longer than the minimum nights.

After our stay at Villa Santa Cruz, Jack and I will be spending more time entertaining our guests in Todos Santos (eating tacos, swimming with whale sharks, beachcombing) while staying privately at our own beachside pool villa – as newlyweds deserve something special.

Welcome Party Dress

Danra Dress by Leanne Marshall

Sample sale dress shopping is the best! While I’d like to point out that my Leanne Marshall welcome party dress is truly a bargain (purchased at over 90% off!) $300 might be more than any dress I’ve ever purchased aside from my own wedding dress.

With alterations to come, this gown is a bit pricey, but as a wedding photographer and bridal editor, this girl deserves more than one fancy dress to wear on our wedding week!

The Catering

Photo by Joielala Photography via Bridal Musings

When I pitched Todos Santos to Jack for our wedding destination it went as such, “And just think, we could hire our favorite taqueria to cater made-to-order tacos all night for practically nothing!” It’s true, for our 50 person guest list hiring a local taco spot would cost us about $700, and truly was our dream wedding dinner.

Unfortunately, you can’t always get what you want. Finding a way to contact our favorite taco joint from NYC has proven difficult, and others have put doubts in my ears about whether the whole street taco set-up would be executed properly without expert wedding catering experience.

I want to ignore the naysayers, but we’ve found a proper caterer who’s willing to set up a taco station, make fresh tortillas, and include a whole menu of appetizers, salsas, desserts and more. Plus, a best friend of mine is severely allergic to nuts, so a proper caterer feels like the safer choice, albeit the far more expensive one.

Photo by Sotiris Tsakanikas via Bridal Musings

We’ve got plenty more budgeting decisions to make, and purchasing to do, but I feel pretty good about our budget, splurging balance. By using the same financial philosophy Jack and I exercise in our daily life, we’ve managed to keep a good “Is this a high priority?” and “Would we be upset if we didn’t splurge on this?” mentality.

For more about our Mexico wedding planning, visit my Real Bride Diary. Find more helpful budgeting tips in our planning section.

Feature Image: Airbnb

Feature Image: Airbnb