#I WAS GONNA COMPILE THIS WITH THE OTHER ASK ABOUT WHITE COLLAR BUT

[words-writ-in-starlight]

White Collar ot3 number 14, 18 and/or 29 for the ship asks because you just reminded me how much I adore them today. Thank you and happy birthday!!

I cut this bad boy for length because I sure can go on about these three. That first one is basically a whole fic. Thank you, my birthday was great!

14) When one has a cold, what does the other do?

This feels like a great opportunity to talk about one of my favorite things to think about with this OT3, which is The First Time Neal Gets Sick, AKA The Time Peter And Elizabeth Almost Had A Heart Attack.

The thing is, they expect dramatics. Neal is someone who leans on dramatics as 70% of his social charms, and if you'd held a hot brand to Peter's skin while he was chasing Neal over half the godforsaken country, back in the day, he'd have said that Neal would be the type to wring every minor illness for all it was worth. Not, like, out of any particular irritation for that particular behavior--Elizabeth is the kind of person who gets dramatically sick even if all she has is a cold, and if he's being perfectly honest Peter kind of enjoys babying his wife for a few days--but just because. Well. All Neal ever does is make sure all eyes are on him, seeing exactly what he wants, doing exactly what he needs. It's the con he's best at, Neal's favorite magic trick: sweep everyone up in the delirium of those blue eyes and that shattering smile and take everything they've got in their distraction.

So anyway, then Neal doesn't show up to work. He's an hour late. Two hours late. By the third hour, Peter is silently doing the math for how far Neal could get on his anklet without setting it off, and then for any loopholes he might have missed--faking the signal somehow? Neal's passable but not phenomenal with computers, but could he have hired someone? Peter's never heard of someone pulling that off, but Neal's got an aura about him, that makes the impossible seem merely improbable.

It is very important that this be an issue of Neal trying to run, because if it's not, then something might have happened to him. Neal hasn't exactly been endearing himself to the criminal underworld lately.

At three hours and forty-nine minutes past Neal's appointed arrival time, Peter takes an early lunch break and goes to June's. He knocks on Neal's door for a few minutes, and then goes and politely 'acquires' the spare key from the staff and lets himself in.

Neal is asleep on the couch, buried in every blanket he could find in his apartment, and he blinks hazily at Peter for a second when Peter shakes him and then bolts upright so fast that Peter has to move or get concussed.

"Peter," Neal says in a good approximation of his usual good humor. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't show up to work," Peter says, reaching out toward Neal's forehead automatically. Neal dodges him and Peter sees the dizzy wave cross his face. "Are you sick?"

"I'm fine," Neal says, and then immediately starts coughing, a wet sharp cough that hurts to listen to. "Sorry I'm late, I--fuck, is it past noon? Okay, just--give me a second, I can get ready to go--"

"How long have you been sick, Neal?"

It takes Peter the better part of fifty minutes to wring the facts out of Neal, and he does not like the facts, thanks. He more or less forces Neal back into the blanket nest on the couch and calls El, apologizes for interrupting one of her rare days off and asks her to bring Neal literally anything, and shuts down Neal's fourth attempt to convince Peter that he's fine.

Neal seems...really bothered by the idea that Peter knows he's sick, let alone Elizabeth, and Peter doesn't like what that implies. About anything. At least it doesn't seem personal--Neal doesn't seem to want anyone to know that he's sick, so much so that he's been taking double doses of DayQuil and drinking straight espresso in order to smother all his symptoms at work for the past three days. Peter does some quick math in his head about the number of DayQuil that would require and says "You're lucky you're not in the ER," and Neal says, "I know what I'm doing, Peter," in that voice that means he's thinking about getting offended.

"You're going to give yourself liver failure, is what you're doing. Why didn't you just call out sick, Neal, Jesus Christ." It's blunter than he meant to be--actually, Peter meant to let El work on Neal for a few hours before he came back to play Blunt Cop--but Neal looks awful and he has a fever and he's been taking ten DayQuil in a ten hour work day and Peter does actually read labels and Peter made him stay late at work two days ago because Peter didn't know he was sick.

And maybe it's because Neal's sick, maybe it's because the fever is blurring his reaction time, maybe Peter just knows him really well by this point, but he sees the second that Neal's face closes up and he goes from "defensive" to "ready to do whatever he needs to do in order to get Peter to back down".

And then Neal smiles, all guileless blue eyes and blithe schoolboy innocence, and he says, "Come on, Peter, you'd have thought I was trying to run."

It stings inordinately. Peter did think that, this morning, but only because Neal fucking vanished, didn't come in, didn't answer his phone, didn't even leave a message with someone when Peter showed up. If Neal had said he was sick, Peter might have come by to check on him--and sure, seeing that he was really sick would have put those concerns to bed, but--

"Besides," Neal is continuing, and his voice is starting to show the effect of the coughing now, and he's trying to get up again, wavering on his feet a little before he blinks twice and visibly forces himself to steady. "I'm fine. And even if I wasn't, it's what, seven hundred dollars a month? That's not covering a doctor, and it's not like I have pneumonia. It's just a cold, Uncle Sam, I can still go to work."

And then Neal gives Peter the slip while Peter's still sitting there, stinging.

And the thing is, he doesn't even know if Neal really thinks that of him, or if Neal just knew it would make him shut up long enough for Neal to walk into his bathroom and take more fucking DayQuil.

Well, fine, then. Peter can fight dirty too, and to prove it, he walks the ten feet to the door and leans back against it, just out of an excess of caution, as he pulls out his phone. First he texts his wife, because she's a very smart woman and deserves to have all the information. Second, he calls his boss, because he's already well outside his lunch break and he might as well do the thing properly. Neal comes out of the bathroom, wearing fresh slacks and an unbuttoned white shirt, just as Peter says, "Yes, sir, I'll keep an eye on him."

Then Peter hangs up and points his phone at Neal and says, "Lie the hell back down before I taze you. You're off until next week, and I'm taking the day off to make sure you don't go into organ failure. Don't you dare," he adds when Neal takes a purposeful step toward the kitchenette and its coffee maker. "El is going to be here with actual cold medicine in thirty minutes. Take those slacks off and lie down in your actual bed."

"I'm fine," Neal says again, as if he's not struggling with a shirt button for the first time since Peter's met him, including multiple occasions of being handcuffed.

"You're really not," Peter says, and then he pauses for a moment, and looks at the way Neal's fingers pause on the button, and then he says, a little cautiously, "And that's fine. Everyone gets sick, Neal."

"I don't need you to babysit me," Neal mutters.

"I'm only babysitting you because, apparently, you take life-ending doses of caffeine and cold medicine when you're left alone. Come on, Neal, this won't be the end of the world, El will bring you some food that won't hurt your throat and I'll let you make me watch one of your boring foreign films."

"I know your secrets," Neal says, and then pauses to cough up what's probably part of his failing liver, not that Peter is feeling any doom and gloom about this whole thing. "You watch romcoms with Elizabeth, she told me you enjoy things other than football and you'll never fool me again."

"Yeah, you got me," Peter says with a faint grin. He walks away from the door like he's approaching a feral dog, and closes his hands gently but inexorably around Neal's wrists, and then steers him firmly back onto the couch. Neal's skin is hot even through his shirt, and he trips twice, and he lets Peter push him down into the blankets like he's too tired to do anything else. "I'm going to go get you pajamas. Where do you keep them?"

"Second drawer," Neal says dismally.

"Okay," Peter says, and doesn't give into his impulse to maybe, like, brush Neal's rumpled curls out of his face or something. Half the reason that Peter caught him in the first place is because Peter knows when to press his advantage. He takes the win and gets Neal some pajamas.

18) When they fight, how do they make up?

Elizabeth is the best at this, because she works with vendors all the time and that makes her a literal professional at conflict resolution.  She has a temper and she’ll lose her cool with the best of them, but she knows how to say “I need a minute” and then she’ll leave and come back when she can be reasonable.  She’ll lay out what she’s upset about, hear the other person out, and then either apologize or expect an apology.  Then she’s the physical touch kind of person after a fight--she’ll take Peter’s hands and link their fingers together, or wrap her arms around Neal from behind with her cheek between his shoulder blades, and just kind of...rest against them until everyone’s tension starts to bleed out of them.

Peter isn’t an innately high-empathy person and he knows this, so it’s sometimes hard for him to figure out when a fight even started, let alone how to fix it.  He gets frustrated with himself for not knowing what to do, and then it’s easy for Elizabeth or Neal to feel like he’s mad at them for being mad at him, and then everyone gets madder and it’s just stressful.  So Peter’s the type to ask explicitly “wait, are we fighting” because, first of all, he would like to know so he can figure out how to resolve it, and, second of all, he’s discovered that being clear about it will sometimes shock everyone involved into taking a step back and figuring out if they’re arguing at all or if they’re both just frustrated.  After they’ve managed to figure out what’s wrong and talked it out, Peter’s an acts of service kind of person after a fight--his specific brand is to make someone’s favorite meal, regardless of who was doing the apologizing.  

Neal is...not good at conflict.  For obvious reasons, he’s inclined toward avoiding conflict when he can, and bailing immediately afterward when he can’t.  The first time he actually fought with Elizabeth, she had to come to his apartment and hammer on his door until he let her in.  Neal’s never really been able to argue with someone and then have them still be there except for maybe Mozzie, and it’s an extremely rough adjustment for everyone.  It requires a lot of patience from Elizabeth and Peter, and a lot of anxiety from Neal, for them to find a balance about it.  But Neal is a gifts person after an argument, once he learns to be anything after an argument, and not just extravagant things.  He brings flowers or Elizabeth’s favorite mixers or one of the boring patterned ties that Peter loves, he brings a paperweight or a mug, a hair pin, a new set of dress shoe laces, a pair of beautiful earrings, a six-pack of beer, whatever hoves into his field of vision and he can afford to acquire.

29) Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

One time when he got home from work, Peter caught Neal and Elizabeth waltzing in the kitchen while the radio played the Top 40 Hits station, and they were giggling while they tried to keep time to Umbrella, and Neal was complaining about El not letting him play classical while she was cooking, and Neal dipped El so that she could wink at Peter upside down, and they burned dinner because they left the stove on and the three of them got takeout ramen instead.

Peter thinks about that evening sometimes when he’s stuck in traffic.

[hansolmates]

jjk; off-league

summary; you decide to do a little boudoir photoshoot for yourself—a little sexy lingerie, some bunny ears, maybe even a little nudity to make you feel more body positive about yourself. that little photoshoot doesn’t end up being for yourself anymore when you accidentally send those sexy pictures to your stupidly hot, stupidly talented childhood friend who you haven’t spoken to since middle school graduation.  pairing; photographer!jk x fem!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers!au, flangst, mutual pining, feelings of insecurity and body image, suggestive language, nudity  w.c; 6.2k a/n: i was feeling a lil meh about this fic after finishing it but a month later it finally makes its debut! for @btsghostiewritersnet​ BGW Bingo Bash! today’s trope is “childhood friends to lovers” which surprisingly isn’t a favorite of mine so it was definitely a challenge to write! 

“C’mon, I need your opinion. Deadass. Don’t just say shit to make me feel better.” 

“Gimmie those nudes, baby girl,” Johnny makes an impeccable fuckboy impersonation, making you feel a little squirmy to your stomach. 

It’s an hour away from being the ass-crack’o-dawn and your impromptu pin-up photoshoot just needs the sexy-star-of-approval from your best friend. Johnny Suh is also up for reasons unmentioned, but you had a feeling his pretty boyfriend is fifty percent of the reason. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your frame against the black bodice of the sheer teddy. The only parts that are fully concealed are the parts that don’t matter. The sheer bodice reveals your pert nipples concealed by a thin black mesh, coupled with the deep V in the sweetheart neckline, accented by a little black bow in the dive of your highlighted cleavage. The silky a-line raceways to a set of black garters hugging your thighs, barely hanging onto a pair of lace thigh-highs. 

It doesn’t leave you butt naked, but enough to make you feel confident about yourself. These pictures are for you, and Johnny. And Johnny’s boyfriend if he’s being nosy. 

You tug off the silk bunny ears from your head, flinging it somewhere in your room. The wire started to dig in your brain, giving you a major headache. 

“Sending them now,” you hang up and start compiling the pictures in a folder on Google Drive. Once that’s done you copy the shareable link, sending it to Johnny’s number. It happens all so fast, and you feel kind of giddy. As you were posing for the camera, taking your time to find all the right angles, you felt good, you felt sexy in your little get up. Channeling your inner Ariana Grande was one of your childhood dreams, your fifteen year old self would be proud. 

Five minutes pass, fifteen, and by the twenty-five minute mark you’re pissed. What’s taking Johnny so long? 

Makeup scrubbed clean and face bare, you shuffle in your duvet, far too tired to be waiting up this long. Punching in his number once more, you cry, “Hey! Why haven’t you looked at them yet?” 

“What?” your friend’s voice sounds pebbly through the line. Was Johnny sleeping? “You never sent them!” he whines tiredly. 

“No, I definitely sent them!” you pull the phone away and keep Johnny on call, ready to prove him wrong. 

But to your surprise, the last message you sent to Johnny was this afternoon. 

The most recent message is to a person named John Kook. 

You scream. 

Johnny screams back at you with an equal amount of force, “What the fuck? Did someone break in? Are you being mobbed? See, this is why I wanted to put the baby monitor in your room—” 

“Worse!” you’re well prepared for any break in, but not for this. “I sent my pics to the wrong John!” 

“Well… is he at least cute?” 

“I mean, in the fourth grade he looked pretty cute with that front tooth missing,” you find your output of frustration, your bunny plush, pulling it by the ear and hitting it against the bed. “His name isn’t even John! It was just his English name for a silly project we did in middle school. This is so embarrassing, all I can picture is a twelve-year-old Jungkook mortified from sexual harassment. I basically sent him nudes!” 

“Tasteful nudes.” 

“I’m gonna die.” 

“He’s gonna die, of happiness.” 

Jeon Jungkook was a classmate from elementary through middle school. Time and time again was he the object of your affections, from the first grade at the roller rink to the speech he made at graduation. But really, who cares? You’re old and have a job, and it’s not like you’ve communicated with any of your former classmates. 

Your horror amplifies when the Delivered receipt is changed to Read 3:41AM. 

“Fuck! Fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget he saw it!” you cry, “does he still have my number? What if he deleted my contact, would that be even weirder?” 

“Girl, stop.” Johnny sighs, and you can already picture him running his thumb between his brows. “This doesn’t change anything, alright? You two don’t know each other anymore. Block his number and go to sleep.” 

Johnny leaves you alone after that, and you’re left alone to mull over the implications of sending Jeon Jungkook your nude photoshoot. 

You do block his number, knowing that waiting for a reply would drive you nuts. The one thing that you do which is possibly worse, is look him up on Instagram. 

Of course, he’s stupid hot. 

He doesn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of the camera however, in favor of his timeline being filled with romantic shots of the beach and city. In between the picturesque views and watercolor sunsets do you see glimpses of him and his current life. You can’t help but smile when you see him with his brother and parents during his college graduation, easily towering over all of them. He looks tall with fluffy cocoa hair, big pearly whites gleaming proudly at the camera. He grew up well. 

To torture yourself even more, you even look through his story. Twelve hours ago, he was at the gym lifting weights. Normally, you’d be disgusted by people trying to show off their grunt faces drenched in sweat, but of course Jungkook has to have on a silly smile and pump his fist up after he deadlifts. The sweat clinging to his shirt is also a high plus. His gorgeous display of abs has your hands fluttering over your own belly. Maybe you need to exercise more. 

Four hours ago, you see him and a pretty woman with their cheeks squished together, using the puppy filter. Of course he has a girlfriend. 

Reluctant, you open up your Google Drive and scroll through your photoshoot. Deflated, you frown at the pictures that once made you beam with pride, picking at every little detail that bothered you. You really can’t believe you sent these to Jeon Jungkook, no longer a fourth grader with one front tooth, but a man way out of your league. 

By the time you will yourself to sleep, the sun peeks from the horizon, telling you to move on. 

“Hey Gyu,” you tiptoe over to the table much too small for Mingyu’s frame. The string bean is slumped over his iPad pro, drawing intently at some chibi OCs. “Got a plot for that one?” you ask, pointing at the little pink and blue creature decorating the screen. 

Mingyu grunts in reply, obviously engrossed. It isn’t until you slide him a matcha frappe from Starbucks that he becomes intelligible, muttering a “thank you” as he blends with his pen. 

Sensing that it’s going to be awhile before you get through to him, you take your usual rounds around the front desk and lobby of the cosy photo studio. There’s pretty pictures of Mingyu’s work, along with the other employees Minghao and Hoseok. Each section of the wall features a different taste of each person’s interest. Mingyu is a divine lover of soft bed sheets and hot tea, many of his photographs and paintings featuring cafes or perfectly messy beds you’ve seen on hotel advertisements. Minghao is a tasteful artisan, splotches of color retaliating against neutral backgrounds. Finally, Hoseok manages to find balance in the people, large cityscapes telling both large and small stories.

“Alright,” Mingyu’s deep voice forces you to curl your head, where he’s sipping at his drink with haste. “What’cha here for?” 

You frown, “Don’t you remember? I told you last week I’d be stopping by to get my photos developed,” you gesture to the Pentax in your hands, an heirloom from your great-aunt. While you did take digital photos for sending them to Johnny, the ones you wanted developed were taken side-by-side with the film camera. You figured that film would give a little more authenticity to your photoshoot. 

“Shit, that’s today?” the camera falls like deadweight, slapping against your sweater as you watch Mingyu frantically look through his digital calendar. He looks at you, dejected. “How many prints?” 

“I don’t know, maybe like six. Or eight?” 

“That’s gonna take too long, I’m heading down to Hidden Grounds for a vision meeting at two.” 

“Alright, I’m free all day. What about after?”

“Nah, you came all this way. I can just let the new guy help you.” and Mingyu makes a show of cupping his hands in the direction of the open hallway, “Yah, Jeon Jungkook! Get your cute ass out here!” 

The Pentax around your neck suddenly feels like weight akin to a two-ton boulder, and you surge forward, not caring that the corner of the table is digging into your belly. “Mingyu,” you garble, and Mingyu is shell-shocked by the desperation in your eyes. “Isn’t Minghao around or something? Or I can come back another time? These photos are really personal and I don’t feel comfortable having a stranger see them.”

“What? We’re professionals, don’t belittle us.” 

“No, seriously,” you whine, you tug at the collar of his denim jacket, noses practically touching. “These pictures are different. My tits are out and my legs are spread—”

“—interrupting something?” 

You hear some shuffling, and you turn around to see Jeon Jungkook’s back, comically turned to face the entrance. 

And damn, he did have a cute ass. Nothing is going to hide the glory in those jeans, absolutely nothing. 

“Hilarious,” Mingyu drawls, and you push him away. “Forget it, Kook. She doesn’t feel comfortable letting a stranger develop her photos.” 

Sensing that it’s safe to turn around, you watch as his black bangs flutter as he faces you. You hope your body language doesn’t betray how you’re really feeling, because you are a mere mortal and you’re weak in the presence of god-like figures. 

“Oh, what a relief then,” he smiles at you, and his voice sounds like honey. If there was malice or surprise in his tone, his good-natured expression betrays it. “Because I’ve known this friend since elementary school. We go way back.” 

You ignore the burn in the back of your head, as you are positive Mingyu knows you’re hiding something. 

“Really, what a coincidence.” Mingyu replies carefully, and you feel utterly stuck between these men and their banter, locked up like cream in an Oreo cookie. 

Nothing argues against Jungkook as he easily weaves through the thick wave of awkwardness, hands reaching out to touch your camera. “Wow,” he marvels, holding the object in his hands, “my dad has one of these.” 

“A-ha,” you take a step back, only to bump into the corner of the table, again. Ouch. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’m actually busy today so I can come when Mingyu’s free–”

“Oh, I thought you were free all day,” Mingyu drawls, looking up through his lashes as he sips languidly at his drink. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook says good-naturedly, as if Mingyu just didn’t out you. “We got a lot of catching up to do anyway, c’mon.” 

Jungkook moves to place a hand in the small of your back and that’s enough to get you to rev up. Refusing to let any contact get between the two of you, you zip ahead down the familiar hallway, turning your head to catch Mingyu grinning with all canines, shooing you with his fingers like a puppy. 

You send Mingyu a stream of “fuck yous” into his inbox for later, unwilling to settle with this curse. Busying yourself with your phone, you avoid eye contact with Jungkook until you reach the dark room. The red light turned off at the top of the doorhenge signals that the room is not in use. Jungkook makes a move to open the door and that’s when you pounce, blocking the doorway with your small body. It’s comical, really. 

Jungkook raises a brow at you, but says nothing. 

“I really can wait, Jungkook,” you steel yourself, forcing a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like you developing my pictures—”

It’s then that his pretty cupid’s bow unfurls into a full-fledged grin. “Girlfriend... you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” 

“Fuck, well I had to!” your face is as red as the dark room’s alert light, now on because Jungkook flicked the switch and he’s between your arm to unlock the door. Your hand brushes his as you both reach the knob. “I’m really really sorry I sent those pictures. They were for Johnny—you remember Johnny Suh from English class? And I saved you in my contacts as “John Kook” so it was an honest mess up.” 

Jungkook hums, so light that the breathiness in his chords flutters your grip on the knob. He forces the door ajar, and you’re left to follow him in the dark room, cluttered with solutions and fancy equipment. 

“Thought so,” Jungkook shrugged, giving a one-over at the materials in the room, mulling over his next steps in developing your film. 

You’re still petrified at the doorway, holding your Pentax between both hands like a lifeline. Jungkook’s head lols to you, and you get a pretty view of the way his bangs brush over his forehead, Adam’s Apple bobbing. His expression is a little tired, but overall unreadable. He sighs your name, lethargic. 

“We’re already here, so might as well get this done,” he gestures to the camera in your vice grip. “Do you wanna pick the shots or do you want me to?” 

He’s already seen the digitals, what’s so different about getting a couple prints? With a slight pout you drag your feet over to him, relinquishing your camera. “I’m thinking you have a better eye for this than I do.” 

“You think right.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Cocky, but what you’ve seen on Instagram definitely justifies his sentiment. Jungkook pays no mind to you, busying his hands with the various containers in front of him, measuring the solutions for the developer, stopper, and fixer. You were always entranced by the process of developing film, especially in highschool where their photography club holed themselves in the darkroom like a secret lair. 

“Alright,” he pops open the canister, carefully laying out sections of the film in groups of four. “Want me to pick a random one for a tester?” 

You frown, “At least put some thought into it.” 

“Always,” it looks like he already decided way before he popped the question, immediately taking a negative and placing it in the carrier. 

His fingers are nimble as he takes the time to clean off the dust and any debris that could potentially ruin the image. Then he turns off the lights and begins the process. You dive around him, trying to keep your distance but still too curious to leave his side. If he’s annoyed he fails to show it, in favor of humming whatever song comes from his Echo Dot. 

You always got the solos in choir. You wanted to reminisce, but you’re too nervous to say it out loud. 

Even though it’s his job and he’s being a professional, you romanticize the experience, watching as he carefully puts the print in each liquid process. Your image blooms to life, and you feel your stomach churn as the photo develops before your eyes. 

After a final dip in the solution stopper, he places the first product in a bath of water. Even though you are mere centimeters away, you can clearly see the image of you swimming around the container. 

“Alright!” Jungkook hangs the finished picture on a pastel pink clothespin, tacking it in place. “Whaddya think?” 

Your breath catches in your throat, feeling heavy as you look at the image of you reflected in the glossy paper. You’re perched on your bed, a hand splaying between your legs as the other hand toys with the silk bunny ears. You’re leaned slightly, giving an ample view of your cleavage. However, the image of you is definitely different from being blown up in comparison to the negatives, and you squirm uncomfortably at your full display. 

“I look,” you bite your tongue, internally debating whether you like it or not. Not to spare Jungkook the theatrics you shrug, “It’s good.”  

The lack of enthusiasm seems to dissatisfy Jungkook however, as he has to take a double take and look back and forth between the image and the real thing. “What’s wrong with it, do you think Johnny’ll not like it?” 

“What?” you furrow your brows, breaking into a nervous laugh. “Johnny has a boyfriend. I just wanted his opinion. This photoshoot is for me, y’know? Just something to make me feel good about myself.” 

Jungkook’s lips morph into a little ‘o’, and you see a little bit of the child you once knew in the way he’s mulling over the situation. 

“Then can I give you my honest opinion?” Jungkook clips off the half-dried photo, holding it between you two. “Stop thinking so hard about every little thing you don’t like about yourself. If I was your boyfriend and you gifted this to me, I’d be creaming my pants. You look fucking sexy, all grown up since you cried in the fourth grade.” 

You’ve just been flung a litany of words you have no brain capacity to digest. Along with that, the immense heat you didn’t know you’ve been suppressing surges to your belly, low and simmering. Jungkook stares at you in earnest, despite his sudden gush of honesty, you don’t know what to say. There’s a dash of pink staining his cheeks, betraying the confidence he previously displayed. He stiffens when you don’t reply immediately and moves to clean his materials, his sudden bout of bold honesty quickly shrinking. 

“Y-you know,” you look down at your feet, “the only reason why I cried in the fourth grade was because you told me Santa wasn’t real.” 

Jungkook softens, tilting his head. “Sorry about that.” 

“Thanks though,” you gently reach for the photo in Jungkook’s grasp, looking at it without contempt. “But won’t your girlfriend be upset if she knew you were saying things like this about someone else?” 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, if you looked through the rest of my Instagram story,” Jungkooks cards a hand through his already mussed hair, splitting the ends. “You would see that she’s not my girlfriend, but my tattoo artist.” 

For added measure, he wiggles his fingers in front of you, revealing pretty ink and silver bands across his knuckles.

“Oh,” your voice is feather light, and you’re sure you’re drooling as you stare far too long at the letters that mark his hands, curious as to what they symbolize. 

“So, as a singleton telling another singleton,” he continues, “I know it’s meaningless if you don’t believe it yourself, but I’m telling you, you’re attractive.” 

“Thanks,” you hold the picture tightly in your grasp, eyes flickering to the negatives in the room ready to be galvanized into a full-fledged picture. “Why don’t we wrap this up, huh? We can continue another time.” 

If he notices how much the paper wilts in your grasp, he doesn’t comment on it. “Are you sure? I know it takes a lot of time, but I don’t mind.” 

“I’m sure,” you force a smile, one hand on the lightswitch. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay?” 

Jungkook swallows, nodding mechanically. “Okay.” 

“It was really nice seeing you, Kook.” you blurt before you could chicken out, letting the room bask in darkness a little longer so he can’t see your flustered state. “I’m not even going to downplay it, you look great.” 

You half-expect a cocky remark, or a little chest pumping from the compliment. At the sound of his nickname however, 4th grade Jeon Jungkook resurfaces and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, so do you,” he replies easily, sending you a soft smile and opening the door for you. 

The door closes shut behind you and you exhale, patting your cheeks and willing for the chilly air to calm you down. 

When you get home that day, you shuck off all your clothes and crawl into bed. You cry out when the metal framing of your bunny ears stabs you in the back, and you fling it to some unmentionable part of the room. You reach for a bag of half-opened sour gummy worms, flipping open your MacBook to continue streaming the soft magical girl anime you’ve been hooked on these past few weeks. 

Not even Sailor Uranus can distract you; however, by the time it’s dark and you’ve run out of distractions, you finally pull the plug and unblock Jungkook from your list of contacts. 

Your phone buzzes, the incessant vibration relaying all the messages you’ve missed. 

[March 12th, 3:53AM]

You: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/0343…

John Kook: ??? 

John Kook: you probably sent this to me by accident… sorry i clicked on it

John Kook: is it weird if i said you’ve done a massive glow up since the middle school dance?

[March 12th, 12:02 PM]

John Kook: are u mad

John Kook: you’re mad

John Kook: am i makin this weird by continuing to text you

John Kook: im making it weird. 

[March 31st, 6:24 PM]

John Kook: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/049…

You tilt your head at the folder link, it was sent only a few hours ago. With a click, you’re enlightened to a set of digital photos. Your photos from your photoshoot, but not quite. They’ve been expertly edited, not too much to distort your looks, but only to enhance your features. A small, barely there smile creeps from your subconscious, ultimately touched by the gesture. 

John Kook: sorry if i pushed too hard today. 

Guilt overrides your nerves, prompting you to immediately press the call button on his contact. Not to your surprise, Jungkook’s light voice calls your name through the line after the second ring. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you blurt, forgoing the hellos. “It was the right amount of push, I feel better, really. If anything, I’m sorry. I blocked your number because I was scared to read your reaction.” 

You hear him sigh along the line, and you feel that breath ripple through your nerves, as if he’s right next to you. “It’s fine, I would’ve done the same thing.” 

“The pictures you just sent, they’re really beautiful. You did a good job.” 

“Thanks, I had a bit of help. I didn’t have to do much.” 

“Oh, did Mingyu come back from his meeting?” 

"No, I uh," Jungkook chuckles, and while you don't really know why, the sound is nonetheless pleasant. “It was mostly the lighting and coloring I fixed up. Didn’t need to do much since you already looked so pretty as it is.” 

You choke on your saliva. 

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” you cough, “just choked on a snack I was eating.” he hums in reply, and you pray he doesn’t hear your stomach fervently retort that you haven’t eaten since lunch. “So, I think I’m up for developing more of the film. When can I drop by?” 

“I’m free Saturday,” Jungkook chirps, “I have a shoot until noon but you can come anytime after that.” 

“Sounds good, I’ll be there,” you clutch the phone with both hands. “I can bring lunch. What do you like to eat?” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I’m already buying for Minghao,” you lie, “do you like burgers?” 

“I can’t say no to a good burger,” Jungkook’s smile feels almost palpable against the line, “do you remember our field trip to the national museum of history? We had burgers on the street!” 

“Oh, those were so good,” you moan, fuzzy memories of a middle grade field trip resurfacing to clarity, “but you ate like, ten of them!”

“I still get nightmares,” he warns, “don’t let me go to bed like this.” 

You giggle, letting your body meld further into your warm mattress. “Maybe I’ll just show up with ten burgers for you tomorrow.” 

“I’ll throw up on you, try me.” 

Minghao’s adjusting the frames on their display wall by the centimeter, and it’s pissing him off. 

“Ah, it’s off,” he mutters to himself when you walk in, indicated by the electronic bell. He turns to you briefly, pulling a leveler out of his overall pocket. “Doesn’t this look off?” 

“Uh,” you look towards Mingyu at the front desk, who is paying no mind as he continues scribbling on his iPad. You tilt your head towards your former college classmate. “It doesn’t look off from over here?” 

Tacking the leveler on one of the frames, he whines, “It’s five degrees off.” 

Mingyu puts his pen down to reach over the counter and grab the paper from your hands, steaming with the scent of fast food, “He’s been like this for hours, don’t mind him.” 

He doesn’t even ask whether the food is his, Mingyu sees grease and he claims. Reaching for an oil-wrapped parchment, he unfolds the paper to reveal a handsome burger with all the fix-ens. 

Barely satisfied, Minghao steps away from the art display. There is a sizable gap in the display, now divided between four artists instead of three. You wonder how Jungkook’s work will look amongst the other artists. 

“Cute ‘fit.” Minghao mumbles, nodding approvingly at your clothes as he digs into the bag for his own burger. 

You send a half-smile his way. If an outfit is Minghao-approved, that means you’ve gone above and beyond. At least, you tried to play it off like you didn’t try to look cute. It’s not like you’re intimidated by Jungkook, living with a major fifteen-year glow up. After all, he’s already seen more than you can imagine. 

Mingyu takes notice, eyes going south to where your white blouse meets your cleavage. You hurl a fry at his face, “Eyes up here, perv.” 

He scrunches his nose, lifting a greasy thumb to slide a manila envelope over to you. “Here’s the developed pictures. Intercepted Kook and I finished them this morning.” 

You frown, “Jungkook’s not done with his photoshoot yet?” 

“Oh, he’s been done.” Mingyu’s eyes roll back to one of the studios. “But I��m saying is, you got what you needed. So you can leave if you want,” but he grins at you, canines so sharp you feel his stare jabbing you in the proverbial neck. “Unlesssss you want to go in and say hi.” 

If he has any inkling of what’s going on in your head, it’s definitely confirmed when your face turns hot. Damn body, you’re betraying me! With a flourish you grab the fries from under Mingyu’s nose, along with whatever’s left in the fast food bag. 

Minghao’s smiling through his burger, knowing if he pulls any type of savagery his lunch would certainly be pulled from under his chin. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it or the burger will be going in your ass instead of out.” You mean to sound menacing, but the Min-squared and their boisterous laughter follow you down the hallway and into the occupied studio. 

“Hey Jungkoo—wow.”

You’re sure you look like Alice, enthralled by the little wonderland she just stepped into. The set is beautiful, right out of a fairytale. It has a very old-romance vibe, like Morticia and Gomez Addams. There lay a couch made of the darkest, richest wood, with velvet red cushions covering the body. Across the floor laid hundreds of black rose petals, blanketing the floor in a sea of ebony. 

“It’s for a wedding, gothic themed.” Jungkook supplies helpfully, still fiddling with whatever he was looking on his digital camera. He’s looking utterly soft in a matching grey sweat combination, something that would easily disgust you during high school, but unfairly works with him. 

“The shoot must’ve been beautiful.” 

“It was.” 

“I uh, got this for you.” Your fingers start to sweat from clutching the bag so hard, and you place it on his work table. 

He finally looks up from his camera, giving you a wan smile. “I thought you got those for Minghao.” 

You mentally slap your cheeks, trying to ignore the way his smile made your stomach do somersaults. “He got his own. Your portion has a cookie in it, so.” 

His cute teeth unveil themselves at the mention of sweets, and you can’t help but smile back at the familiarity. 

The two of you take your time in enjoying your lunch, not meaning to stay but the very back of your mind hoping he’d like to share a meal with you. After all, Mingyu and Minghao are probably at the front relishing in your very obvious attraction. What can you say, first crushes never die. 

Between sips of your milkshake, you’ve taken to flipping through Jungkook’s portfolio. There’s a myriad of different subjects: beaches, people, the occasional squirrel. Each section of the portfolio feels like you’re being transported to a new side of Jungkook and his artistry, and you ached to know more. 

“Wow,” you point at an action shot of two girls in a dance studio, “this duo looks like Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

He swallows his (second) burger, having the audacity to sink sheepishly in his sweater. “It is Chungha and Hyoyeon.” 

You nearly choke on your cookie. “That’s amazing.” you say breathlessly, looking closer at the image. In fact, the beautiful women photographed are famed hip-hop choreographers Chungha and Hyoyeon. You can’t imagine how good Jungkook must be to manage a photoshoot with them. 

As proud as you are of Jungkook, it reminds you that since middle school you two have lived completely different lives. You wonder if Jungkook gets these kinds of gigs all the time, hanging around with gorgeous, talented people like himself.

Jungkook says your name once, twice. He looks at you concerned, and you’re melting in his large carmine eyes. If he notices your usual overthinking, he doesn’t say anything, and gestures to the section at the end of his portfolio. “This isn’t my best work, but it’s one of my favorites.” 

There’s something familiar about this set. A playground with a busted swing set. Children riding on bikes and colorful class shirts. Ice cream melting on fists. 

Thirteen-year-old you hanging on top of your middle school’s leafless tree, clutching your baseball cap as you shade yourself from the sunset. 

“Was this the first time you took pictures?” you ask, thumbing the picture of yourself. 

“Yeah. It’s when I decided it’s what I wanted to do the rest of my life.” 

“I know we didn’t know each other that well and we’ve only recently connected but,” you give him a shy smile, “I’m really proud of what you’ve grown up to be, Jungkook.” 

He looks like you’ve hung him the moon and stars, his half-eaten burger loosening in his grasp. His lips are parted cutely, like a kitten who’s just been offered a fresh glass of milk. You cough at the sudden pause in conversation, feeling self-conscious of your impulse confession. You don’t even have it in you to be disgusted when Jungkook hastily shoves the second half of his burger down his throat, tips of his ears pink. 

Leaving him be, you press a palm to your cheek, looking at the wedding set. 

Jungkook downs half a water bottle before he speaks again. “Y’know, it would be a shame to clean up this set already. It was kind of expensive.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, standing up and kicking off your slippers. You kick your feet in the air, watching the black petals kiss across your ankles.

“I have an idea,” he wipes his hands on his sweats, “why don’t you go back home and get an outfit you really like. Lingerie, a cute outfit, whatever. Let me give you a photoshoot you’d love.” 

You look up from your petal dance, balking. “Jungkook! That’s not necessary, I told you the photos I took were okay.” 

“Yeah but, you didn’t seem entirely happy. C’mon, I got a camera and a beautiful set. Why waste it?” his hands naturally gravitate towards his charging camera, already turning it on. “I can do lighting, I know all your good angles. What’s stopping us?” 

Really, what’s stopping you? Your hands fiddle with your open flannel, the soft material comforting you as you look across the set. You try to imagine yourself, your body draped across the velvet pillows and black petals. Would it look good? Would you feel good? You think back to how you felt the first time, how scared you were when someone other than Johnny would be looking at your photos. You remember how something weird and sour contorted in your stomach when you scrolled through Jeon Jungkook’s Instagram, no longer the little boy you knew but a man who could have everything he wanted—

“Stop thinking about it.” Jungkook suddenly snaps, and you break from your reverie to catch him looking upset. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him like that. 

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinking that you’re out of my league.”

“Excuse me?” 

“You were like this the other day too,” and he looks sad, and puts his camera down to come closer to you. “Why are you feeling this way. Is it me?” 

“Not necessarily,” you huff, hugging yourself.

“Do you not feel beautiful? Do you not like your body?” 

“No, I do.” you say to yourself, and you mean it. Even though there will inevitably be days where you may not feel one-hundred percent positive about yourself, you know at the end of the day, you love you and all its parts. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I had no problem letting Mingyu develop the photos originally, because he knew me in college and I was already sure of myself back then. But I guess when I sent them to you, I felt like I did when I was a little girl, y’know? Going through puberty, and worrying about what other people think.” 

And it’s not like Jungkook teased you or made you feel lesser of yourself. In fact, Jungkook was the student you wanted to be when you were younger. Someone sweet and caring, and unabashedly confident about himself. 

“I guess seeing you so successful and the fact that my stupid childhood crush came back from a time where I always felt low, made me feel a little insecure again.” 

Something sinks in and you feel hyper aware of how crushed Jungkook looks at your declaration. “There’s no leagues, you got that?” he says quietly, walking so close that he’s hovering over you, sneakers brushing. “I get it. I get unsure and insecure just like you. Hell, I was nervous this morning, wondering if you’d really come. We may not feel insecure over the same things, but middle school wasn’t that great for me either.” He makes a funny face, and you feel a smile twitch across your lips. “But it’s okay. Because we’re human and we grow. But now, you are successful. You’ve grown from your time growing up and you’re a wonderful, powerful person. I’m proud of you too.” 

“I know,” you mumble, leaning your forehead against his chest. His arms wrap around you in response, holding you snug.

“And for the record, I thought you were the most beautiful person in the world in fourth grade. Even though my world was pretty small back then, I can say now that what I thought back then still stands true.” 

You look up from his embrace, where he’s leaning down to press a slow, cotton soft kiss to your forehead. He backs up a little to read your face, and you give a tiny nod in response to signal it’s okay. Jungkook exhales in contentment, relaxing against your frame. 

“Thanks, Kook,” you crack a smile, feeling your insecurities slowly evaporate. You feel better, light, knowing that these negative feelings are only temporary, and you’re not alone. Being in Jungkook’s arms, an honest boy turned man you’ve known all your life, it feels almost like home. 

You two stay like this for a while. Exchanging feather-like kisses, feeling irrevocably young and hopeful. Suddenly feeling emboldened, you tug him by the strings of his hoodie to press a long, hot kiss to his lips. There’s a stutter, and you’re pretty sure Jungkook choked on his saliva at the sudden change of pace but you continue, letting Jungkook catch up and follow your lead. 

“Wow,” Jungkook pulls away and his lips are shiny and flushed. Adorable. You think 7th grade Jungkook would be rolling in his Naruto sheets if he knew you two would inevitably end up together. Conversely, 7th grade you would be squealing in your kitten plushie, proud that you managed to nab your childhood crush to live out all the fantasies you’ve imagined since the 4th grade. 

“Jungkook,” you let your flannel fall to the floor in a heap, only leaving your baby blue top in a thin ruched camisole. “I think I want to do the photoshoot. Can’t pass up these pretty petals, y’know?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, gaping. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” you press a wet kiss to his neck, “anyway you want me, baby. Full creative control. I want you to like this as much as I do, okay?” 

With the permission to hold the wheel, Jungkook’s lightheaded and spinning. His eyes rake up and down your gorgeous form, wondering how many good deeds he’s done in his past life to earn a right just as this. 

“In that case,” he presses a palm to your shoulder, pushing you to sit along the velvet cushion, “strip for me.” 

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Okay so Aguni is sound asleep, just enjoying the few hours of peace he has, when there's a knock on the door. He ignores it, but the person just keeps knocking and knocking.

"Morizono, open the goddamn door!" he hears Takeru call, "This is an emergency!"

He groans to himself before standing up and opening the door.

"What?"

"So, remember that weird chonky cat Niragi found?"

"Yeah... what about it?"

"It's not fat... and is not a cat."

Where Hatter and apparently every other idiot at the Beach mistake a domesticated pregnant genet for a fat exotic cat. And it just gave birth on Hatter's bed.

I have no idea in what direction this is supposed to go lol but hopefully something chaotic.

alright I had to look up what a genet is and DAMN they are CUTE AS HELL and I’m love them v much

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Terminator

Rating: PG-13 for dialogue and like one drug reference

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Aguni Morizono is a simple man who enjoys simple pleasures.

He enjoys a healthy slathering of grape jelly on his toast. He enjoys watching the sunset reflect over the ocean. He enjoys watering his garden and reading the newspaper and taking naps on the sofa on Sunday afternoons after he’s finished his grocery shopping for the week.

What he does not particularly enjoy is being shaken awake by a borderline-frantic Takeru in the middle of the night.

Takeru insists that he has a good reason; that this is an emergency. Aguni reminds him that running out of marijuana does not qualify as an emergency, and pulls the blanket over his head in an attempt to shut the very exuberant man out.

But the aforementioned exuberant man refuses to be shut out, and he references the aforementioned emergency again—this time insisting that it is an actual real emergency and requires immediate attention. Aguni sincerely doubts this and tries his damnedest to fall back to sleep—a truly Herculean task, given Takeru’s incessant talking and the way he’s bouncing on the other side of the mattress like some kind of weird large puppy. Aguni is just about to enter the first misty moments of dozing off as Takeru says words like ‘Niragi’ and ‘cat’ and ‘bed’ and it’s all somewhat possible to ignore until he utters one word that makes Aguni sit straight up.

‘Babies.’

Now, ‘babies’ as a concept does not bother Aguni. He’s actually somewhat fond of them, the way they unabashedly stare at him on the train or in the park, eyes wide and fat little hands waving a clumsy ‘hello’ in his general direction. And if he waves back sometimes, well...that’s his business. (It’s only polite, after all.)

No, the issue here is that ‘babies’ and ‘the Borderlands’ sounds like a terrible, terrible mix. What’s worse is that said babies have, for some reason, been left in Takeru’s care. And, judging from Takeru’s presence in his room, the babies have been left alone.

It takes no time at all for Aguni to throw on a pair of pants and slip into his boots. It takes even less time for him to grab Takeru by the collar of his robe and physically drag him down the hall, the other man switching between heartfelt thank-you’s and desperate pleas for Aguni to be gentle when handling the raw silk of his ensemble.

Now, to those of us on the outside of Aguni’s brain, it may seem like he hasn’t thought this through; that he has tunnel-vision’d his way through the last two paragraphs without a logical thought as to how and why ‘babies’ may be present. That is simply not true. Aguni has considered that ‘babies’ could actually mean a number of things aside from ‘human infants’ and has thus compiled a short list of the three most likely candidates:

The spider plant he had placed on Takeru’s windowsill has propagated—or, as some would call it, ‘had babies.’ This is Aguni’s favorite option of the bunch. It is also the least likely.

Something about the cards. Although Aguni has never Takeru refer to them as ‘his babies,’ it is no secret that he is very protective of his prized collection. Seeing as this may or may not affect the entire Beach, it’s important for him to be aware of the situation.

Takeru is high as a goddamn kite and hallucinating. This is, unfortunately, the most likely scenario.

It is also important to mention that Aguni has taken a good look at his life and his choices throughout this ordeal, particularly when Takeru commented on the state of his biceps and made an off-color insinuation about the right one looking slightly more defined than the left—and then asked if he would like to discuss his love life, with an exaggerated raise of his eyebrows. Aguni chose not to comment. He also chose to push Takeru into the doorframe on the way into his suite, and took a smidge of pleasure when his head collided with the wood with a satisfying clunk-ing sound.

“Look,” Takeru says proudly, pointing a finger at the bed, “babies!”

Nestled in what a bulging nest of fluffy white blankets are...things. Fuzzy things. One big fuzzy thing, with sleepy eyes and what looks to be a long spotted tail wrapped around one, two, three tiny fuzzy things. When Aguni leans in to get a closer look, the big one quirks a corn-chip-shaped ear and gives him a wary glare.

“What,” Aguni asks, “in the goddamn—“

But before Aguni is able to finish his sentence, Takeru is giving him a stinging slap on the arm.

“Aguni Morizono,” he hisses, hands balled into fists and perched on his hips like a mother hen, “I will not have my children exposed to that kind of language.”

There are plenty of things wrong with what Takeru just said, but Aguni is having trouble getting past the idea that these...creatures have somehow been claimed by his very silly friend.

“Think about it,” Takeru continues, swanning his way past a very confused (and tired) Aguni to sit on the edge of the bed just behind the brood of fluffy individuals, “This lovely lady could have given birth on anyone’s bed...but she chose mine.  Why do you think that is?”

“Because you leave the sheets all balled up in the middle and it’s the perfect place for an animal to make a nest?”

“Wrong, but I like how confident you sounded when you said it!”

With his hands pressed together and held in front of his lips, Takeru looks almost prayerful as he very seriously explains his theory.

“A woman alone-- heavily pregnant, scared, and lost in these cold and cruel Borderlands.  Her thoughts shift to her young.  Who will keep them safe?  Who will help take care of them?  That’s when her instincts took over,” Takeru opens his arms, the silken cuffs of his robe pooling around his elbows, “and, using her superior sense of smell, followed her nose to the den of the nearest alpha male for protection.”

Aguni wishes he could say that this is the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. He also wishes he had a cup of coffee (with a healthy glug of Bailey’s in there for good measure) before this whole event took place.

Takeru has since busied himself with the tiny new mother and her young, watching with gentle fascination as the newborns snuffle and snooze against her with unopened eyes and clumsy paws. When he reaches out a ring-bedecked hand to stroke along the bigger one’s head, she gives him a small growl and a pointed glare—to which he laughs and withdraws his touch, saying something cheeky about “the last time she let a man get too close” and quickly following it up with a promise to talk about it “after the kids are asleep.”

Takeru has just held up his hand for a high-five (which Aguni has decided to not reciprocate) when they hear a crash and then a bang and then the thundering thumpthumpthump of angry booted footsteps rapidly approaching their position in the bedroom. For some reason—a reason he’s not very keen to dwell upon at the current moment—Aguni instantly snaps into defense mode, hands curling into fists and shoulders squaring themselves in anticipation of a coming attack.

“WHERE. IS. TERMINATOR!?”

Niragi bursts into the room like a firework, all noise and flash and fire in his eyes. His knuckles strain around the dark of his rifle, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. Of course, Aguni knows (hopes) he won’t actually resort to filling Takeru full of bullets, but he keeps a close eye on his trigger finger, anyways.

“Ah! There’s my co-parent,” Hatter says with a measure of glee, gesturing with a flourish of his hand towards the cute, hairy pile on his bed, “As you can see, our lovely Terminator is doing very well and—“

“Our? She’s not fucking ours, she’s fucking mine,” Niragi snaps, “and I’m gonna fucking kill you for stealing my cat.”

“Not a cat,” a calm voice says, and Aguni turns to see Last Boss lurking in the doorway, katana sheathed and arms crossed, “She’s a common genet, native to the savanna’s of Africa.”

“Ooh, does that mean the babies have dual citizenship? No, wait,” Hatter claps his hands together with glee, “triple citizenship? Africa, Japan, and the Borderlands?!”

“Africa’s not a country, it’s a continent, dumbass,” Niragi retorts, “and I think we have bigger problems than what’s going to be on their fucking passports.”

It’s probably not the best thing in the world for Aguni to let Takeru and Niragi descend into heated bickering—a back-and-forth of ‘you stole her’ versus ‘no, she chose me’—but Aguni is simply not interested in breaking up their squabbling. Instead he goes to stand by Last Boss, who’s watching the two long-haired men argue like it’s a mildly interesting tennis match.

“So,” Aguni says, “you, uh, seem to know a lot about those things.”

“I did my research when Niragi first brought her back,” Last Boss says calmly, “He’s good with her, but I wanted to make sure we were taking care of her correctly.”

“Did you know she was pregnant?”

“I had my suspicions. Niragi wouldn’t listen, though. Kept telling me she was just fat.”

“Yeah, I thought she was ‘just fat,’” Niragi interjects, his gun no longer pointed at Takeru but a murderous gleam still in his eye, “because this fucking asshole kept feeding her potato chips!”

“Because she loves them,” Takeru shouts back, throwing his arms up in the air, “So shoot me for being a nice guy and sharing my snacks with your weird cat!”

“Don’t,” both Last Boss and Aguni say in unison—which is very uncomfortable for the both of them, but at least it has the desired effect of keeping Niragi from blasting a few dozen holes through Takeru’s person.

With the two of them quickly getting back into their heated back-and-forth, Aguni turns his attention to the creatures on the bed. Somehow, despite all of the noise and excitement, the mother and her babies have curled up and fallen asleep, the rhythmic rise and fall of their bellies a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around them. Aguni feels jealous, but also, feels bad about feeling jealous because this...Terminator thing has undoubtedly had a rough night, too.

“Luckily,” Last Boss says, “genets are pretty independent creatures. She’ll be fine to take care of the kits on her own, provided that she has access to food and water.”

“So we should just...leave her alone?”

Last Boss shrugs.

“More or less.”

Aguni sighs internally. He sighs externally, too, but the internal sigh is the one that really sums up his thoughts on the whole situation. Just getting one of those hot-headed men to leave those poor animals alone is challenging enough, but both of them? That’s bordering on ‘damn near impossible.’

But, for the sake of those weird fuzzy babies, he has to try.

Takeru jumps when he feels Aguni’s hand on his elbow. He also manages to shut up for a moment, which is a nice bonus. Last Boss has also sprung into action and seems to be talking to Niragi in hushed tones, a hesitant but friendly hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon,” Aguni says, gentle-firm as he guides Takeru into a standing position—much to the other man’s confusion.

“Mori, what—?”

“You’ve had a big night. I’ve had a big night. But do you know whose had the biggest night of us all?” Aguni gestures to the snoozing creatures in front of them, “Terminator. She’s exhausted, and the last thing she needs is the four of us keeping her up. You can stay with me tonight, and we’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”

“But,” Takeru protests—an iota quieter, now that he’s realized that the pipe on the bed is now a sleeping pile, “we can’t just leave them alone, can we?”

“You’re right. Which is why,” Aguni says, “Last Boss is going to stay with her and keep an eye on things. If he’s okay with that, of course?”

Last Boss offers a solemn nod. Aguni makes a mental note to thank him for this later—maybe he’ll let him pick the music on their next supply run (provided it’s from Aguni’s list of pre-approved artists, of course...)

“You know what? Fucking fine,” Niragi spits, flicking his hair back with a quick jerk of his hand, “it’s too goddamn late to deal with you fucking losers, anyways. I’ll come back to collect my cat and her kittens in the morning.”

Aguni does not risk correcting Niragi on his incorrect terminology regarding his pets—frankly, he’s a little too busy being amazed at how suspiciously easy it was to get him to leave. With a sharp pivot, Niragi is exiting the room in what could be called a ‘brisk saunter,’ no doubt wanting to put as much distance between himself and whatever-the-hell just happened in this room as possible.

Aguni, for once, can relate to Niragi quite well.

With Last Boss keeping vigil over the new little family, Aguni is able to wrangle Takeru away from his room with minimal fuss. It’s probably because the man is very tired—despite multiple claims that he ‘isn’t sleepy yet’ and ‘can stay up for hours.’ This theory is proven when, within a grand total of seven seconds of Takeru flopping face-first onto the middle of Aguni’s bed, he’s managed to slip into what only can be described as a ‘light coma.’

Aguni manages to wrestle a stray pillow away from his sleeping friend’s grasp (he’s a notoriously cuddly sleeper, which has led to some...interesting situations over the course of their friendship) and settles his weary self onto the couch. It’s not quite long enough to accommodate his height, but it’s good enough for what will most likely end up being an extended nap before the sun comes up and he needs to solve whatever other issues have popped up at the Beach overnight.

...But, at least those problems won’t involve babies.

Probably.

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Also here is a common genet and DAMN SIS U CUTE AS HELL

[altumvidetur]

Haikyuu!! Fic Recs (MatsuHana)

Fic Recs Masterpost

So, I was thinking about the coronavirus pandemic and what I could do to help people out. I’m isolated because I’m at higher risk, so I can’t really offer to go out for my elderly neighbors or my family… but I thought I could try to help keep people entertained.

Because I don’t have an AO3 account right now, I’ve been compiling fic recs for my own amusement for a year or so. And I thought – maybe that’s the time to share these with everyone? So everyone will have plenty of things to read while they have to stay at home, or even to escape anxiety a little bit if you’re forced to go out.

Of course, these cater to my own tastes, so you may find stuff you don’t like around here. I never include works in progress. The Mature and Explicit works will be in italic. I ask you to READ THE WORK’S TAGS before continuing, so you won’t find anything that makes you uncomfortable.

I’ve decided to split it in a series of posts, starting with my OTPs. So here we go with some MatsuHana!

rated m for, by orphan_account

He should have known that there was a Specific Reason™ why it was so absolutely vital that he and Matsukawa specifically meet for a reading of the script. He should have known that there had to be some evil catch beyond sitting in a tiny, cramped studio with his newly sworn enemy.

Hanamaki stares at the title of the script he’d so gracefully neglected the night before.

FORBIDDEN PARADISE

“Excuse me,” Hanamaki starts, raising a pen in the air while staring blankly at the packet in his free hand. “Just to clarify, you want me to record a boy's love CD with Matsukawa?”

of weather, of leisurely tensions, by b_minor

Two boys share an umbrella.

Don’t Lie, Bright Eyes, by tookumade

“Where do you see yourself in twenty years?”

It’s nearly one in the morning and Matsukawa, tucked up comfortably in bed next to Hanamaki, is on the verge of drifting off into blissful sleep when the question stirs him.

“Why are you trying to give me a late-night existential crisis?” he mumbles.

-

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 4 - leaving home)

Roses, by h_lovely

(Summary by me: slow burn, friends to lovers, things are kinky, I’m pretty sure this is the best MatsuHana I’ve ever read.)

You’re in Pink (and I’m in blue), by Hyeyu

Takahiro held his gaze a few seconds in silence before he sighed. "...It's only been a week, okay? S'not serious yet."

“Not serious yet?” Something jumped in Matsukawa’s jaw and he abruptly released Takahiro’s hand, sending the petals cascading to the ground. Takahiro was going to have to clean them up before the others started streaming into the clubroom, and wouldn’t that be fun. “You’re coughing up fucking flowers, Hanamaki.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

-

Hanamaki Takahiro has 99 problems and Hanahaki flowers make up 98 of them.

Good Bad Ideas, by tookumade

When Oikawa asks his friends to help out at his nephew’s birthday party, they get a little more than they bargained for.

(written for Haikyuu!! Rarepair Week - Day 1 - beginnings, celebration)

texting (with a capital S), by parenthetic

Hanamaki breaks his No Texting In Class rule, and it's all downhill from there.

Wet Your Whistle, by darkmagicalgirl

Hanamaki gets a job as a bartender. Matsukawa likes his uniform. (Alternatively: Matsukawa tries to ignore his huge crush on his friend-with-benefits. He fails.)

[obnoxious clucking noises], by parenthetic

On the last night of their last training camp together, Oikawa has a bad idea, Hanamaki goes along with it, Iwaizumi sort of wishes he had better friends, and Matsukawa proves himself to be particularly adept at intimidation tactics.

Love Doesn’t Come with an Instruction Manual, by plumtrees

Seijou 3rd years (now college freshmen) go to ToyCon. Oikawa has a spaz attack over Star Wars, Iwaizumi is his designated babysitter, Hanamaki is adorable, and Matsukawa doesn't know how to deal.

Here Today And There Tomorrow, by tookumade

A first meeting on opposite sides of the volleyball net, and chance meetings afterwards without it.

A Ring of Cream, by plumtrees

Hanamaki has never been one for grand romantic gestures, has never been one for romantic gestures at all, but Matsukawa's a stubborn guy.

Who can't bake for shit.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa (mostly Iwaizumi, really) to the rescue.

Morning Glory, by darkmagicalgirl

On their days off, Hanamaki and Matsukawa's mornings follow a sort of routine.

Even Though It All Went Wrong, by plumtrees

It hadn’t always been so cold. Matsukawa remembers a time where the sun shone high, its rays bright and its heat pleasant like a blanket against his skin. He remembers Hanamaki holding his hand, remembers his cheeks hurting because he’d been grinning so much. Hanamaki had opened his arms wide, and Matsukawa ran straight for them, like he’d been magnetized. He picked up Hanamaki easily and twirled them around, danced with him until they both tumbled along the grass, laughing like idiots.

He remembers because it’s all he can do now.

Crescendo, by plumtrees

Day 1 for MatsuHana Week: Online

-

The voice continues to feed him instructions, the deep rumbling purrs reverberating across his body, each hiss and click of a consonant like a sharp bite, each roll of his tongue a slide of silk against his overheating skin.

Fuck, he loves it.

Somewhat Well-Kept Secrets, by tookumade

“Why don’t they just… date already?” said Iwaizumi.

-

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 2 - cream puffs, in the background)

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, by plumtrees

Day 3 of MatsuHana Week: Tattoos and Flower Shops

-

Hanamaki, cheeks as pink as his hair, says, "I was drunk."

"Okay?" Matsukawa prompts.

"And it's way too expensive to laser something this big."

Holy shit. "Okay?"

"Look, can't we just go with 'I made horrible life decisions in college that are now coming back to haunt me' and move on?"

morning, noon, night, by b_minor

A day in the life of two losers in love.

on the anatomy of crushes, by carafin

A part-by-part dissection of their relationship. Medical school AU.

-

‘See you tomorrow?’ Hanamaki asks. He’s still smiling faintly, still carrying about his usual air of quiet self-assurance, but there’s no mistaking the hopefulness in his voice. ‘On the bus, I mean.’

‘Yeah,’ Matsukawa says, and tries not to make it sound too much like a promise. ‘See you tomorrow.’

(Falling in love is really, ridiculously easy.)

Dating Is Not A Nine-To-Five, by tookumade

“What if,” said Hanamaki in a whisper, “we walk in and there’s a yakuza member getting his tattoos done, and he tries to kill us because we saw his face?”

-

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 3 - tattoos and flower shops, coffee shop)

To Fit Myself In The Spaces Between, by tookumade

It's late, a boring movie is on TV, and the remote control is nowhere in sight—and that suited them just fine.

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 4 - midnight, no control)

It’s not even close to your birthday, by squidmemesinc

The shoes look like they could be some kind of gothic lolita item, with thick, tall heels and Mary Jane straps that have little silver hearts on them. The socks are simple except that they run all the way up to his mid-thigh; the crisp white makes enough of a contrast with his skin that the colors flatter each other, rather than subdue them. Then there's the dress. It's just plain black, short and slim, though the skirt flares out at the waist. Takahiro's eyes run up it, stalling where it cuts off around the shoulders and has a wide boat neck trim with a thick ivory collar. The final piece is a simple pink ribbon—not even a necklace, just a ribbon—tied around his neck with the bow in the back.

Where Was I, When The Rockets Came To Life, by tookumade

In a city like this, there wasn’t much of a chance that they would meet again, and given Hanamaki’s current career of choice, if they did, then it was more than likely to be because of a cruel joke set up by fate. He was not about to let his heart be broken now. He had more important things to think about…

-

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 5 - glasses, piercing)

not like the movies, by bravely

“Here,” he says, offering the thumb back to Hanamaki. Absentmindedly, Hanamaki licks it back off. “Thanks.”

Then he blinks.

“Wait,” he says. “Shit, wait. Was that supposed to be romantic just then?”

“ — Well.” Matsukawa clears his throat. “You tell me, I guess?”

No One Else Like You, by auber_jean

"It’s not at all liberating to finally have it said out loud, because it makes it all that more real, and Matsukawa was doing really well pretending that he wasn’t in love with his best friend."

With the turn of graduation, Matsukawa finds himself choosing between a future that he has planned or something more.

live it up, drink it in, by puny

Hanamaki's not a detective, just a wing spiker with a hangover, but he's gonna figure out who gave him all these hickeys if it damn well kills him.

Begin, by Karasuno Volleygays

It's the last day of their high school years and the first day of the rest of their lives. As they spend the night under a blanket of stars, they can't help but wonder where will they go from here?

Playing Doubles, by squidmemesinc

“We always said we were going to fuck at every possible time of day,” Takahiro says, rolling his hips gently over Issei’s.

“I do remember saying that once. Do you have the calendar on hand?”

Captured Light, by plumtrees

“The smile you’re wearing in this photo,” Hanamaki continued, just a little bit sad, “you haven’t smiled like that in a long time.”

Matsukawa looked at the photo again. It was awkward; it always was, seeing himself through Hanamaki’s lens. He’d never really focused on himself whenever he looked at the photos Hanamaki took of him, but now his eyes actively trailed over his face, the crinkle of his eyes, the twinkle in them from the light reflecting off of his cellphone, the smile wide enough to show an entire row of teeth.

He tried to emulate the expression, only to realize how foreign it felt on his face.

-

A love story like most love stories, stuck between busy days and too little time spent together.

Matsukawa learns to take it easy, and Hanamaki is his teacher.

Marks, by Andramion

The room is quiet when Issei gathers the pillows under his arms and lies down. He presses his nose into his shoulder, closes his eyes and focusses on the barely-there touch of fingertips to his skin.

Hanamaki always does this, every single time.

Sure, by kiyala

Beginning university brings a lot of changes with it. As Iwaizumi and Oikawa deal with going to different universities, Hanamaki thinks about his own relationship with Matsukawa.

nebulas, by tothemoon

“You'll have to let me think about it,” Hanamaki says to him while they're looking at soup stocks in the supermarket one evening, because he knows being with someone is not as simple as he'd like it to be.

(At this, Matsukawa does not fret. He goes for the snack aisle, instead.)

Settled, by kiyala

Hanamaki and Matsukawa go for a walk in their hometown in the middle of the night, and reflect on the things that have changed since high school.

Staking a Claim, by iwaizumemes

"Do you think they can tell?"

"Tell what?"

"That we've fucked in all their bedrooms."

something of a disaster, by latenights

“This is the part where you make a wish and blow.”

“Now, let’s not get too hasty—“

“I meant the candles you bastard.”

that’s you get (for waking up in vegas), by skittidyne

“There was an Elvis?” Hajime asks.

“He was the officiator. It’s the cliché, right?”

“…Officiator of what?” Tooru asks with a look down at Takahiro’s hand.

“You can borrow my phone to pull pictures from for our wedding album.” Issei reaches over and grasps the hand with the ring on it. Everyone is staring at their clasped hands like a three-headed lobster just crawled onto the table. “You were both the best men and I was very, deeply touched by how affected you both were at the ceremony,” he says in a perfect deadpan.

(( or: iwaizumi does not want to be the responsible one, and thus they suffer the consequences, or, perhaps, 'suffer' is a bit too strong of a word ))

Wilds, by AngryKitten

Makki waded back to him, two handfuls of stones dripping lake-water. He was grinning, like he always did, like their lives were one great joke that Matsukawa only occasionally understood. Hanamaki tipped his hand, and the rocks tumbled out into the bottom of their canoe.

“For later,” Hanamaki said.

Parting Words, by kiyala

Matsukawa confesses his feelings for Hanamaki at graduation, knowing that they're unrequited. Hanamaki's not so sure about that.

we could be the greatest team, by anyadisee

Oikawa mock-gasps. “Makki! You should know that I was genuinely planning on talking about strategy! I just thought it would be polite to wait for Iwa-chan and Mattsun to get back. But since you brought the topic up”—Hanamaki opens his mouth to protest, but is ignored—“have I told you how amazing Iwa-chan is? Like, he’s just the best boyfriend ever.”

“Wow, I never would’ve guessed what with, you know, how much you’ve been talking about it,” Hanamaki deadpans.

Oikawa waves a hand airily. “Don’t be jealous that my boyfriend is so sweet and romantic.”

Now it’s Hanamaki’s turn to raise eyebrows. “Excuse me, but did you just indirectly drag Issei?"

[in which hanamaki and oikawa get competitive, matsukawa and iwaizumi are good boyfriends, and the rest of seijoh somehow get involved.]

chocolate, by tellalie

“We have to do something,” Mattsun says.

Tides That Bind, by rubyfiamma

Matsuhana Fluff via prompt #19. Things you said when we were the happiest we ever were.

Room to Talk, by holdontoyourhulahoops

In which one snarky comment from Yahaba makes Hanamaki realize he's been a dirty hypocrite all this time.

The Best/Worst Places to Cry in the City, by AngryKitten

“Okay this is going to sound weird, and I get it if you want to say no, but I know a good place to cry and it’s only like a block from here. If you need to, um, let that out or something.”

Matsukawa gets hit on while crying in public and it might be the worst thing that has ever happened to him. Or it might be the best.

plus one, by orphan_account

"Did you know we're dating?"

"What? Says who?"

"Says everyone apparently."

"Oh," Hanamaki frowns for a few seconds before shrugging and turning his attention back to the chocolate fountain. "Nice."

Making Sense, by kiyala

Sharing an apartment does very little to help Hanamaki deal with his feelings for Matsukawa. Perhaps that's not such a bad thing.

and indeed there will be time, by plumtrees

Between volleyball and the looming end of their high school years, Hanamaki thinks he’s already dealing with more than enough, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, no one else gets the memo.

-

Alternatively: “I am not in love with my best friend!” says Hanamaki Takahiro. Nobody buys his bullshit.

snakes, meth labs and something like love, by orphan_account

"Did you know snakes can give birth to between ten and 150 babies at any one time?"

Matsukawa tenses. "And how many have you, um— How many have you found?"

"Four," Hanamaki sighs, voice shaking slightly with what sounds like pure, unadulterated defeat. "So far."

Flamingo, by JanaRumpandRCJawnn

Summary by me: series with Trans!Makki, dealing with transphobia, and a nice lovely characterization of Ushijima.

it’s cold out there, by bishounen_curious

Seijoh's parties are always a mess, but this one takes the cake.

he’s a looker but i really think it’s guts that matter most, by respectableflourish

His fellow first year loves volleyball, has a chill factor verging on glacial, partakes in the type of verbal repartee Takahiro has only ever dreamt of finding in another person, and just so happens to exhibit an eyebrow and eyeliner game that is on another fucking level.

my heart beats for contract law, by orphan_account

"You had an emotional breakdown in a McDonalds drive-through."

"Mmm."

"And proposed to me."

"Shhh."

"In a McDonalds drive-through, Hiro."

Takahiro huffs out a nervous laugh, keeping his eyes closed. "You love it," he repeats, nuzzling closer.

services i can provide, by commovente

“So, what’s this?” Matsukawa asks. “An apology?”

Hanamaki drawls the words out, but he’s rambling. “I mean, I was actually going for a bribe, but. You know what, Mattsun? I’m nothing if not adaptable, so. Yes. Consider this an apology.”

it’s easy being with you, sacred simplicity, by earlgrey_milktea

a conversation at half past three.

poolside, by tothemoon

At eighteen, it'd been a matter of wading.

At twenty-five, Hanamaki tries not to fall in headfirst.

need a little sweetness in my life, by orphan_account

The smell of freshly baked bread, watching his cakes rise, listening to customers endlessly praise his desserts? All that is great but, Matsukawa thinks as he shuffles closer to the counter to greet him, the best thing about his job is the man standing in front of him.

And he doesn’t even know his name.

Lemonade, by carriecmoney

“Seriously, after Oikawa’s Oikawaness, Iwaizumi with the shoulders and the intensity and the caring about people shit and you with…” Takahiro gestures at Matsukawa’s everything. “That. What am I?”

Sing For Me, by rideahorse

The first time he hears Matsukawa singing, it’s in the shower, post-practice, when Matsukawa is likely positive no one’s around to hear it. Takahiro doesn’t even know what to think at first; Matsukawa sings just as he talks, voice a low timbre, barely changing pitch as it navigates through some melody that is so familiar yet unreachable in Takahiro’s mind. It’s English, too, so Takahiro wouldn’t understand it anyways, but that’s beside the point.

The point is that the locker room suddenly feels ten times hotter and Takahiro feels like he might melt into a puddle of very gay and very confused sludge.

Realisations, by kiyala

In which Hanamaki realises that Matsukawa is a werewolf, and has a few other realisations while he's at it.

Magical Mishaps and How to Deal, by plumtrees

Hanamaki Takahiro loved Matsukawa Issei. Sometimes. Mostly. When he wasn’t being bull-headed or overly-difficult. Which wasn’t a lot of the time now that Hanamaki thought about it. Shit. But he digressed.

Demon-mating was a for life kind of deal. Certainly not a decision one could make out of the blue, without years of prior thought and much meditation. The day he asked for his mother’s blessing, the day he planned to ask Matsukawa to be his mate, she had told him If you’re sure you’ll be happy with him, then all I hope for is that he says yes and by some miracle he did and here they are now and Hanamaki could say with all the certainty in the world that he loved Matsukawa Issei with all his heart and soul(s).

But some days…dear gods, some days…some days he just made it really, really difficult.

-

Or: Matsukawa accidentally turns Kindaichi and Kunimi into babies and guess who has to help him clean up his fucking mess.

Pink and Yellow, by hotcocoa

Hanamaki is beautiful, Matsukawa is supportive, and both of them are the luckiest boyfriends in the world.

hang out fall in love, by carafin

In which Hanamaki's humble medical practice is threatened by an intractable asshole a witch doctor who's just moved into the shop down the street. Medical/Witchcraft AU.

-

As far as Hanamaki’s concerned, and as far as bad life decisions go, setting up your witch clinic right next to an actual, proper, medical clinic is practically akin to setting up an all-you-can-eat buffet right next to a gym. Or a sex toy shop next to a church. Or a vegetable patch next to a goat farm. Or – yeah, the point is, this Matsukawa guy has totally cornered the market in Terrible-Life-Decision-Making-Skills.

Baby It’s Cold Outside, by dancingwithwings

Matsukawa looks round. And – heaven help him – he’s greeted with the guy from a couple of apartments down, the guy who dyes his hair to look like a strawberry for reasons unbeknownst, looking so disgruntled, so bedraggled, so akin to a drowning cat, that it almost makes him laugh out loud. The guy is barefoot, wearing only a towel. And the look on his face might turn Matsukawa to stone.

In which the fire alarm goes off, Hanamaki is in a towel, and Mattsun just really needs to study.

Zenith, Nadir, by tookumade

A former god realises that it's time to say goodbye.

Parallel Lines, by orphan_account

Yesterday night, Matsukawa had told his parents that he was joining math club, which lead to several confused smiles from them as they tried to figure out his change of heart.

“Didn’t you say you were allergic to competitive math?” His mom had asked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’re very supportive of your decision, but-”

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, they’d let it go because no sane parent prevents their child from joining math team, which is intellectually beneficial and looks very nice on college applications. This, in turn, prevents Matsukawa from having to explain that he’s joining- dear god- because of a crush.

this isn’t exactly how i thought i’d spend my adult years, by jadedpearl

When Hanamaki coughs–hacks–the guy, who's been near comatose this entire time, opens his eyes and looks over a little, seemingly with the least amount of effort possible. "Bless you," he says, but his eyes are still sleepy. Hanamaki turns his head and stares at him. "I didn't sneeze." The guy looks a bit surprised. "What?" "I coughed." "So?" "Who the fuck says bless you when someone coughs?"

The Courage of Stars, by FairyLights101

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Then again, not many things were.

sugar pink liquor, liquor lips, by h_lovely

His lips still taste like sugar and liquor; they’re rosy and plush as they fit softly against Matsukawa’s own.

What would you do (if I told you that I la, la, la, loved you?), by Frenchibi

5 IwaOi moments as seen by Hanamaki and Matsukawa ... +1 moment of revenge :'D

Shoulda Known, by fxvixen

He quickly composes his face to look concerned. “What’s the matter there, sport?”

The groan cuts off.

Hanamaki lifts his head, a few strands of hair flopping onto his forehead. He narrows his eyes at Matsukawa’s attempt of a poker face. “Never call me that again.”

~or~

matsuhana feels and cuddles

Time and Distance, by kiyala

Matsukawa is attending university in Kyoto. Hanamaki comes to visit.

Kaleidoscope, by tookumade

Fall in love in five cities.

press play, by airblends

“Makki, you want in on our intro?” Oikawa gestures with his hand.

“Nah, I already promised Issei we’d do one for his channel. There are only so many intros a man can film in a day.”

“Issei, huh?” Oikawa’s lips settle into a knowing smirk. Iwaizumi coughs into his fist, gently prying the camera from Oikawa’s hands to turn it off.

Hanamaki’s face burns up, his cheeks a fiery red. “We’re just friends,” he says, the phrase rolling off his tongue by sheer reflex. He has lost count of how many times he’s typed it into the comment section beneath his videos. At this point he might just start to believe it himself.

New Ground, by kiyala

About new cities and new relationships.

Trusting Things Beyond Mistake, by twinkrevali

"‘I–’ Hanamaki starts, then stops, turning to face the lake and frowning as the words fail to reach him.

Matsukawa pushes himself up to look at Hanamaki properly, hands resting in his lap.

‘You,’ he prompts, and Hanamaki looks at him, eyes shining.

This must be, he thinks, what they call a moment of clarity."

Would You Rather, by jadedpearl

“Y’know,” Hanamaki says, stretching his arms above his head, “I don’t even get why Oikawa is the popular one. If this was an anime, I’d be the main character.”

The setting sun burns his edges gold, alights the sharp planes of his face. Matsukawa looks away, faces forward, towards the houses that wind out of sight.

“What makes you say that?” he replies easily, because things have always been just that, with Hanamaki.

too scared to say (that i want you), by urieskooki

"How could he not hate me if he knew?"

Falling in love with your best friend sucks.

one-way ticket, by noyabeans

post-chapter 258.

-

in an alternate universe, they would be the ones on that screen, feet solidly planted on the smooth ground of the tokyo gym and the smell of air salonpas around them.

take my hand, take my whole life, too, by earlgrey_milktea

matsukawa and hanamaki, a few years down the road, and years to go, together.

all our stolen moments (i’d spend forever with you), by earlgrey_milktea

quiet moments between matsukawa and hanamaki.

it's all worth it, in the end.

Switched Jerseys, by chromyrose

After practice on an afternoon shortly before the Spring High tournament begins, they’re the last two people changing in the club room. The weather is starting to turn for the colder, and Hanamaki sighs when the cool air touches his heated skin after he takes his jersey off. He feels a warm hand on his back, and looks over his shoulder...

oh we’re fading fast / i miss missing you now and then, by earlgrey_milktea

It’s strange, missing someone. You find them in every thing you do, and you think you want them back, but you don’t. Not really. Not now, not like this.

-

issei and the quiet that hanamaki left behind.

i thought i could tame these memories to keep me company like a housecat, by earlgrey_milktea

So he stayed here, in a house that hasn’t been a home in a long time, with a cat that keeps looking out the window as if waiting for someone that isn’t coming home.

-

takahiro and the empty house and lonely cat that issei left behind.

those days are dead and gone (but we’re still here), by kythen

They're graduating today and Hanamaki doesn't want to get out of bed.

stranger things, by tinypersonhotel

In 2012, the men’s national volleyball team took home the bronze at the Asian Cup. Tokyo Skytree opened to the public. Also, the dashing Hanamaki Takahiro and painfully cool Matsukawa Issei started a radio show out of Aoba Johsai’s abandoned A/V room and accidentally became the two most popular guys in school.

Daily Password: [ ], by tookumade

“Neko Atsume?” Hanamaki says sleepily when he recognises the song coming from his phone. He opens his eyes with a mystified smile. “You’re still playing?”

-

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 1 - music)

tell them i love you, by tookumade

“Are you two serious about it, though?” Oikawa says dubiously after training when they’re leaving the clubroom together. “Could you seriously tell each other ‘I love you’?”

“Of course we’re serious!” protests Matsukawa at the same time Hanamaki says, “Of course we can!”

-

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 3 - romantic gesture)

like a river, by astersandstuffs

“Is that a confession? Are you actually confessing to me right now?”

“Hm. Yeah.”

-

Or, they still have a lot to learn (and maybe that's the thing about being together).

Baby(sitting), Maybe, by tookumade

“One day,” says Hanamaki, “we’ll look back on this and laugh.”

“Mm-hm,” Matsukawa hums.

“It’ll be a cute little story. We’ll tell our friends, and they’ll laugh along with us. They might even be sympathetic.”

“Mmmm…”

“You’re absolutely right, sympathetic is reaching way too far.”

-

(written for Haikyuu!! MatsuHana Week - Day 6 - children, bonds)

Matsuhana Week 2017, by h_lovely

Day 1: music//relationship goals Day 2: competition//petty Day 3: romantic gesture//fairy tale Day 4: in danger//leaving home Day 5: food//science Day 6: children//bonds Day 7: on video//surprises

A God for Every Season, by timkons

Mortals have all kinds of foolish tales, like how Hades and Persephone's annual reunion causes the seasons. Matsukawa knows better.

Habenaria Radiata, by tookumade

Hanamaki turns onto his side so that they’re facing each other, and his smile is warm; Matsukawa feels his heart skip a beat, as it always does whenever this happens, and he wonders when he’ll ever get used to it, when it’ll become normal enough that he doesn’t get butterflies in his stomach every time Hanamaki smiles at him.

(Probably never, if he’s being honest with himself. He is content with this.)

take my heart and put it in your pocket, by Frenchibi

Issei blinks. “I ain’t drinkin’ any of your froofy Christmas Latte thingies.” “Orange Caramel Mocha.” “What?” “Vanilla Chai Latte.” “Ew.” “Cinnamon Hot Chocolate.” Issei rolls his eyes, resigned. “Fine. That doesn’t sound too awful.”

Remind Me, by tookumade

For Hanamaki and Matsukawa, their first meeting consists of a small accident, a terrible first impression, and the start of something new—maybe something better.

(In which they learn to keep trying, and to try again.)

like twinkling lights and the warmth of your hand, by earlgrey_milktea

mattsun and makki go on an impromptu date.

in a daze, by wyverning

The sound of a camera shutter goes off, and Issei lazily cracks open an eye to see Hanamaki grinning down at him, phone held loosely in one hand.

“That was the best Kunimi impression I’ve ever seen,” he says by way of explanation.

Clueless, by Elleh

If anyone had asked Issei how he’d thought his night would end, he’d have never said: catching my best friend moaning my name while fucking himself.

There’s an odd second, between Issei entering their room and sliding the door of the bedroom open, in which Issei is still oblivious. Skin prickling, a sudden dryness in his mouth, but oblivious. He’s taking his shoes off when the first moan catches him.

He stills right on the spot, a shoe hanging from his finger, the other hand half-way to opening the bedroom. Issei swallows, images of Hanamaki with a girl from the hotel, that’s why he didn’t want to come with us drink, the bitter taste that realisation leaves behind. Issei shouldn’t care Hanamaki’s having sex with someone, but the sourness turns into rage—and maybe disappointment. He’s gonna have a serious conversation about boundaries and, you know, could you let me know in advance, so I find—

“Issei… Mmmh, fuck.”

IOU, by Karasuno Volleygays

Matsukawa Issei goes in for a tattoo and ends up with an interesting new friend in Hanamaki Takahiro. Soon his visits to his tattoo artist's studio in the back of a restaurant become a highlight of his days, and that's before feelings start to wriggle their way into the picture.

take a screenshot, it’ll last longer, by h_lovely

It’s all fun and games until someone pops a boner in a staff meeting.

lapsus linguae, by astersandstuffs

“I’m literally your best friend,” Matsukawa says.

Takahiro pauses. “Shit. You’re right.”

Reflex, by hiuythn

Nobody likes to talk about how Hanamaki and Matsukawa met, which is a shame, because they both think it's the funniest fucking thing to ever happen to either of them.

my way home, by tookumade

Matsukawa has been sitting at their freshly-placed dining table and staring at his copy of their new apartment keys for at least an hour.

(Hanamaki checks his watch. Okay, five minutes; same thing.)

first light, by tookumade

Iwaizumi and Oikawa immediately break out into booing and gagging noises, because as much as they both think themselves mature and reasonable people, they are honestly idiots. Matsukawa just grins and takes a sip of his own beer, pleased, but Hanamaki is frozen, eyes wide and a blush creeping across his face in a way that had nothing to do with the beer.

Tactical Retreat, by Karasuno Volleygays

After years of getting their asses handed to them by the seemingly psychic Iwaoi bond, Issei and Takahiro opt to spend the rest of their paintballing trip engaged in other activities.

Mirror Flower, Water Moon, by h_lovely

Matsukawa’s gaze lingers on Hanamaki. He’s talking about something, ranting on and Matsukawa isn’t sure about what at this point. He should be listening really, how rude of him. But spring has just sprung and the little pink petals dotting the sidewalk match so pleasantly with the strawberry shade of Hanamaki’s short-clipped hair.

(Or, a study on timing and how to get it right.)

quidditch gloves, parchment, and custard cream, by h_lovely

After class, Matsukawa finds Hanamaki in the tall cushy grass by the lake.

[ayuyikes]

Secret Admirer (5/?)

<pushes this onto yalls plate> so uh

Take this while I evaluate my life choices

Also I have to put the links to the other parts when I have better internet ^^; for the time being other parts of this series can be found here

—————

Putting the flowers on her desk had gotten her a few coos from her students. The girls seemed to love them, and Lorenz even remarked the sender having taste in flowers, and asked her a quick question not long after.

“Professor, are you familiar with flower language?”

Byleth had blinked once, twice, thrice. “Flower language?”

“Of course, it’s mostly a habit of the elite to pay attention to such things,” he pointed out with a little bit of pride, “but I heard some commoners like to hide meaning in their bouquets as well. For example, I believe the Gardenia has a variety of meanings, but it’s most common translation is saying ‘you’re lovely’.”

Byleth looked at her vase. “Ah, thank you, Lorenz.”

Said man turned a brief shade of red. “Well, that is to say-“

“Maybe I should look into the meaning of the other two as well,” she tapped her chin in wonder. Lorenz exhaled in understanding and a little relieved.

“Of course, professor. If I can be of service let me know,” he offered with a brief bow. The professor shook her head with a smile.

“Thank you, Lorenz, but I think the library will aid me enough. I will keep your offer in mind if I get stuck.”

And as such, when classes ended for the day, she went there quickly after dinner, hoping to find something to point her into the right direction.

She found a shelf where she should find the book in question, but after a little while of searching and coming up with nothing she heard her name being called from behind her.

Or, well, her most common title.

“Looking for this, Teach?”

When she whipped around she startled when she saw Claude hang upside down from the set of stairs right behind her, waving a book around. Byleth clutched her heart, mostly out of habit.

“Go- Claude, get down immediately.”

“Aww after all the trouble I went through to get up here?” He let himself hang limp. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear me sneaking up on you, but I’ll just take that as a personal victory I guess,” he muttered with a pout.

“Claude,” she said in a warning tone. “Get down right now, or Tomas will-“

“Tomas is out, relax,” he swung a little side to side. “Actually, it’s just us two, so I’m not gonna get in trouble for ‘hanging around’,” he said with a shit eating grin. “Unless you give me detention for scaring you, of course.”

She eyed the book he was still holding. “What’s that?”

“Oh, this?” He held it up for her to look at the cover. “I figured you might need this, given the newest gift from your little lover.”

She took the book from his hands, reading the title. Gifting Flowers; an Almanac for Courting Nobles.

“After all, we asked for a hint, right?”

“He didn’t give any,” she sighed but quickly found the book’s index and quickly flipping to the page for daffodils. “He could’ve at least verified if he was indeed a guy, though.”

“A shame,” Claude sighed with her. She looked up briefly from her book to see him trying to look at the book while still upside down. This isn’t funny, she reprimanded herself while holding in a laugh. “Just get down already, Claude.”

“Do you know how much effort it took to get like this, Teach? I think I’ll stay here for now,” he jested but made no efforts to get off. “Could you just move over so I don’t have to crane- yeah that’s it,” he grinned when she moved closer to him so he could read along. She was glad she was wearing a simple blouse today; otherwise he could’ve looked down her usual bodice.

“Daffodils... mean...” he still had a little trouble reading while upside down, and he was trying to keep himself from rocking by holding onto one of the steps with one arm. She didn’t doubt his arm strength, seeing as archery takes quite some muscle, but even so the extra effort made her chuckle.

“It’s a flower of chivalry and regard, generally,” she decided to help him out.

“Yeah but there’s more,” he nudged. “It can also symbolize unrequited love.”

She just read the paragraph he was referring to. “So it does.”

“And a bunch of daffodils also indicate joy and happiness. So it seems our loverboy is glad that you’re around.”

She nodded in agreement absent-mindedly, quickly reading the one below that as well. It spoke of new beginnings and rebirth. An odd meaning, but one she wanted to keep in mind anyway.

“Now for the daisies....” he nudged the corner to make her turn the page. She complied with a small smile.

“This book is probably in alphabetical order, so it shouldn’t be- ah there it is,” he pointed at the white flower in the picture. “You’re gonna have to read it to me, Teach; the amount of blood streaming to my head is starting to make me feel sick.”

She peeled her eyes from her book and aimed them at him. He was indeed a lot redder than before: she would’ve blamed their proximity before his silly position but it seems like she was wrong. She saw him struggle with his legs between the open backed steps of the stairs and she quickly put her book on a nearby table with a sigh.

“Claude, let me help.”

“Ah, I’m fine Teach,” he said trying to pull himself up but it took a whole lot of effort. Byleth sighed and stepped forward, holding out her arms.

Actually, on second thought, she decided she’d just put them under his back and he startled from the contact. “Pull yourself up just a little higher,” she said, helping him pull himself up and positioning herself to put her arms under his torso and legs.

He didn’t really say anything but complied.

“Now pull your legs out of there.”

“I’m gonna fall, Teach,” he chuckled with a little bit of nerves. “I don’t mind doing stupid things but I’d rather not have ‘died falling on his head trying to tease his teacher’ written on my tomb stone.”

“I’ll catch you,” she simply stated. “Just do it before Tomas comes back.”

He sighed dramatically. “Here goes,” he says. “Tell my mother I love her.”

Before she could tell him to stop overreacting he wiggled his legs out from between the steps and swung free with a little more momentum than anticipated. Yet she quickly adjusted and when his grip slipped she caught him in her arms as if it was nothing.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She said with a small smile. He smirked, arm resting over her shoulder.

“Careful Teach,” he grinned. “You wouldn’t want to make your admirer jealous, holding me in your arms for too long.”

“You said we were alone, right? Then he has no reason to be jealous about it.”

Curious. Had he been this red earlier?

She leant forward so he could slip out of her hold. “Thanks for catching me, Teach. Now where did you leave that book...”

Hm. Byleth couldn’t help but feel like he would’ve teased her more in regular circumstances. Something was off, but she had already felt something a little off anyway, so she just followed him to the table where she left the book behind. She saw him adjust his collar before sitting down.

“We left off with the daisies, right?” He quickly opened it back on the right page. She sat down on the chair next to him. “Daisies... symbolize innocence and purity, as well as loyal love. So either this guy envisions himself an angel or calls you one,” he winks. “This guy is cheesy as hell, I’ll give him that.”

After no real response from her (she was just reading and in her own set of thoughts) he turned some pages to get to the gardenias. “Last one, gardenias...” he hummed.

“Secret love and joy,” she quickly read out loud. “And again purity and sweetness.”

“That’s a lot of sap if you ask me,” he remarked and scratched his neck. “There doesn’t seem to be any clue to his identity here.”

She made a mental note of the book’s cover color then shoved her chair back.

“Where are you going Teach?” He asked curiously. “Did it bore ya?”

“I’m going to the greenhouse,” she said, brushing her shorts off. “Maybe they have another clue.”

“I doubt they know more than the book,” he sighed but got up himself, book under his arm. “Nobles pay a pretty penny to compile all knowledge into a tome such as this, after all.”

“Not on the flower language,” she shook her head. “But on the flowers themselves.”

She made her way to the exit and he followed closely behind. “Hey- what do you mean by that, Teach?”

“The merchants don’t carry flowers. So he either had to go out to get them...” she stopped in her stride and he was looking confusedly at her, “or he grew them himself in the greenhouse.”

Did he pale at that? She couldn’t stop a small smile from settling on her lips.

“Man, you’re cunning, Teach,” he grinned, but his eyes didn’t smile with him. “I’m glad I’m not up against your schemes anywhere in the near future.”

Funny, his eyes could’ve convinced her otherwise.

She prided herself in being able to see through his mask, but his actions still baffled her as he put his book on a random table and made a dramatic bow, jokingly.

“May I accompany milady- nay, an actual angel, according to some, on her way to her refuge of flowers?”

She couldn’t keep her muffled laugh to herself. “Maybe when you stop being dramatic,” she teased. He laid a hand on his heart, faking being hurt.

“I’d sooner die, Teach,” he said, grinning. “You wouldn’t want that, do you?”

“I believe as your teacher I’m only allowed to say I wouldn’t,” she said dryly.

A gasp. “Teach!”

She laughed, making no attempt to stop it. “I wouldn’t want to lose you, Claude. I promise.”

Satisfied, he hummed, his arms behind his back. They went into the halls, side by side, when he said, “I mean, of course you wouldn’t want to lose me. Otherwise you’d be out of a favorite student.”

“Who says you’re my favorite?”

“Teaach,” he whined. She could only chuckle.

——————

When they got to the greenhouse, the head gardener was tending to the seedlings Byleth had left her not too long ago. They seemed to be coming along nicely.

“Excuse me,” she said, stepping forward while Claude hung back. “Have any students been tending to their own flowers here lately?”

She looked at the teacher with a warm smile. “Why yes, we have a few students that like gardening.” She gave a brief wave to Claude in the back. “Good day, Claude. Back again so soon? I thought I told you the rest of your plants will take a little longer.”

Byleth turned to look at Claude and just barely caught frantic waving from the corner of her eye before put his arms to his side looking sheepishly. “Ah yes, I heard you. I’ll check up on them next week, don’t worry. I’m just accompanying Teach here.”

Byleth was just in time to see the head gardener give her student a strange look.

“In any case, professor, did you need anything?”

“Did anyone harvest any daffodils recently?”

It didn’t escape her that the head gardener looked past her before answering. “No, can’t say I remember.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

“Nothing of importance,” Byleth shook her head. “But thank you for your answer.”

The head gardener nodded and went back to work. Byleth sighed and joined her student again.

“Was a good idea, too bad it wasn’t meant to be, huh?” He said as they exited the greenhouse again. “I guess we’ll just have to wait until he starts feeding us hints.”

She nodded, but her thoughts didn’t agree to his.

She was now very sure a certain schemer was her now not-so-secret-anymore admirer.

She still had a few questions though. Why would he do that? Send her an anonymous gift then ‘help’ her uncover the sender? Did he have a crush on her? Was it something else entirely?

He wouldn’t be as tasteless to send these as a prank, that much she was sure of. But even then...

No matter the motive, there was one thing Byleth was sure about, as she absent-mindedly listened to him brainstorm about how to uncover another lead.

If she wanted to confront him, she’d still need evidence.

And she might have another idea how to get some.

[iguessihavemore]

Just a little content in these trying times

It’s just audition tapes. A big chunk of it you guys have actually made yourselves that I just wrote over in hopes of them flowing together a bit more. So yeah, credit to the creators of each character! Hope you find these fun!

The scene is set in a luxurious bedroom decked out in pinks. A brunette sits at a vanity with her back facing the camera, twisting a final lock of hair around a curling iron. When she frees it, it falls just above the collar of her white T-shirt. She twists around and flashes a glossy smile. “Pardon me for not being completely ready.” She began, smoothing out her denim skirt as she got closer to the camera.

“I noticed too late that my hair wasn’t perfect, and I can’t have that.” She bounced one lock near her face. “My name is Amelia Delaney. Daughter of Johnathon Delaney. He’s not well-known outside of our town, but he owned quite the successful department store in our local mall.” Her expression falters into a distant gaze for a brief moment, but she snaps out of it in a second. “I say ‘owned’ as unfortunately, my dear old father was killed in a robbery gone wrong not long-”

A car door slammed in the background, and Amelia’s face changed to hollow shock. “Umm… and his passing left me alone with my elder sister, Melissa, who’s only pleasure in life must come from seeing me miserable.” A second, closer slam could be heard next, and Amelia cringed with a whispered swear. She made a swift move toward the camera. “And that’s why I need the money. I have to get away from her please I’m losing my mind.” She said in one breath before turning off the camera.

*III*

A beep sounded off, assumingly letting the auditioner know the recording began, as the honey-blonde girl was looking away, leaning in what looked to be her closet doorway. Handmade steamers and folded paper animals littered the frame. “Alright, listen ‘ere, ‘n listen close.” She brought a blade up cooly, twirling it by the handle. “I know I ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer-”

She froze. She let herself chuckle, and rolled her one exposed eye. She cocked her knife to the side. “...but I think it’s better if you pick me. Annabelle Dwight. For your sake.” She faced the camera lens, giving the blade a gentle lick. “It’ll hurt a lot more for you that way. I promise.”

*III*

Two girls sharing a shirt sat on a bed in the center of the video. One of the two flinched in surprise, as if she hadn’t expected the camera to begin recording, despite the fact that they were both staring at it. “Erm…” They glanced at each other. It was clear they were related, identical at that. The girl on the right attempted to perk up, her smile quavering. “Did you know that the average person is more likely to be hit by lightning twice than they are to ever meet a conjoined twin?”

“Not that we’re… uh, threatening anyone. Putting us on the show isn’t going to make anyone get struck by lightning.” The girl on the left tapped her fingers nervously. Her sister couldn’t keep up her facade any longer either, and deflated. The left one, the one with longer hair, spoke up again. “We’re really, really shy. We can barely be around people that aren’t from the orphanage. When we are… we fall into an act we’ve inadvertently made, a ‘creepy, conjoined sisters’ thing. We don’t mean to, but, like, it’d be a lie to say it hasn’t saved us a few times by some people who think they can get one over on us.”

“We’re pretty strong, all things considered, but at the end of the day we’re still a kind of crippled. The world is scary, so when we’re scared, we naturally try to make it think we’re scarier!” The shorter-haired sister said. “But it’s basically impossible to make friends like that, eheh. Not unless we’re in an enclosed space with the same people for a long time… like the orphanage.”

“Or an island!” The left exclaimed. “And with the oddballs that Total Drama attracts, we might even be able to get used to them faster than we ever have before! Erika and I- er, Avery, is my name- are really excited and hopeful for this opportunity-”

“So please, PLEEEASE consider us!! We all know we’d be good for ratings! Even if we don’t make past the first vote, you get views, and we had a chance!”

The sisters ended the video by begging ‘please’ until it cut off.

*III*

“Hi! My name is Cameron, and to prove I’m Total Drama material, I’m gonna summon satan.” A girl with plum purple hair in a bob cold-opened, the shot swinging as she was in the process of moving it where she needed. She placed it on a short patio table, the time being after sunset, the sky dim. A loud chatter shouted off-screen, indiscernible in video, but Cameron straightened so her head was out of the shot and yelled back, “It’s just for business, mom!”

She lowered down with a mischievous smile, ready to do something with the ouija board and candles set up on the ground. The harsh voice started up again, and Cameron groaned in irritation. She left the scene for a few moments, their voices going back and forth. She returned with a defeated sigh. “Okay, fine, I’m just gonna summon a normal, lame ghost I guess.”

She lit the candles and began to seat herself, but before she sat down her mother yelled once again, this time something about fire could be heard. “UGH, MOM!” Cameron shot to her feet. “I do this all the time! Why do you only care when I’m actually trying to show people-!?” She stomped away once more. Once that chatter ended, she came back and instantly plopped down in her spot with a huff. “Alright, okay. Here we go!” She closed her eyes. There was a pause, the lighting of the video going unnaturally dark. Her green, choppy bangs waved in a sudden big breeze. A content smile crossed her face, the film glitching at the edges. It switched to night vision just as a pair of legs clad in mom jeans materialized behind Cameron, hand on hips, and then the video cut out entirely.

*III*

A platinum blonde, choppy-haired boy clapped in the lens of the camera, pulling his hands away to reveal his panicked expression. “Total Drama! I’d be the perfect contestant for your new show! Or season! Whatever!” He awkwardly did half of some kinda hand gesture. “And I could just do something cool right now to convince you, but I’ve been ready for this my whole life. You’re about to see a compilation of me proving myself for years!” He leaned back a little, looking above the camera. “Thanks for making the montage, mom-”

The film abruptly switched to a shot of a flock of birds, pecking away at a green field of grass. A bush behind them rustled, and the blonde burst out. The birds erupted upwards, but after the curtain of wings cleared, the boy was triumphantly holding one in his hands. A swarm of beaks began to descend upon him before the scene changed.

The next clip started in the middle of the boy furiously arguing. The camera wasn’t initially focused on him, but started to come up behind him. “It was NOT a foul!! How would you know, I was on the field- you’re just some dumb referee! He kicked me first-!” After a turn, it was revealed that the person he was arguing about was a toddler, both of them with potato sacks pooled around their feet. It cut off when a woman came up beside the film taker to ask her to calm her son down.

A few more clips later, it returned to him as he was auditioning. “So that’s why you should pick Jackson!” He screeched. He brought his fist into view, clutching a lemon. He squeezed it with a battle cry, and a spray of lemon juice shot out in all directions. “AAUG-!!!”

*III*

A latina girl with long dark hair stands at a countertop, tapping a spoonful of dried jasmine flowers into a cup and pouring a stream of steaming water over them. She stirs it with a spoon before glancing at the camera with her dark eyes.

“Hello, Chris.” She begins, a haughty tone etching her words. “Starting another season, hm? And here I thought you’d run out of ideas. I mean, building an entire island after the last one sunk? I don’t know how you’ll top that.”

The girl leans forward on her elbows, letting go of the spoon. It continued to stir around the cup as if guided by an invisible third hand. “But let me get to the point: you need new contestants to traumatize. And lucky for you, I’m going to step into that role.” She straightened, waving her hand in the air. The spoon stopped as a cupboard opened on its own, a box of cookies tumbling out and floating over to her. She opens the top as it rests itself on the counter, taking out a cookie to dunk in her tea. “Now, I can’t promise that I’ll start fights with the other contestants, but I will… work a little magic.”

She chuckled, nibbling at her snack. “Something to really blow them all away. I’ll see you there.” She waved lightly with her free hand, sending the film off with a snap.

*III*

“Okay… alright.” A pasty young adult said as they fidgeted. Their pink eyes darted nervously behind their glasses, but held a determination to them. “Hey there. You gotta pick me, Jupiter! Know why!?” They jolted about, picking up a med’s kit into the frame. “Who else can patch up a kid’s leg one-two-three STAT! Eh?” They chuckled under their quavering breath, the kit shaking in their hands. “Ehhhh?” They let out an involuntary sigh, dropping the white box.

“A-and between me and you…” Their eyes flicked about with purpose this time. “I need to be the one to get this money. I- I need my mom to think-” They sighed with a pleading laugh. “I just want… okay, okay, listen my bro,” They clasped their vibrating hands together and looked into the lens. “C’mon man, please?”

*III*

A pink-clad teenager sat on her bed in a pastel room, the wall behind her adorned with heart-shaped decorations, pressed flowers, and pictures of the Greek coast. She gave a short wave with her ebony hand. “Hello. My name is Marina. I am fifteen years old. I am applying to be considered as a competitor in the newest season of Total Drama.” She stated one-after-the-other, smiling and getting to the point with each thing she said. 

“I am a great team player. I always play fair, no matter who I’m up against. And if I win, I would like to have my Sweet Sixteen in Greece.” She finally let herself get a little off track, her eyes trailing to the side. “I mean… my sister, Stella, would be upset that I didn’t put the money towards our Quinceañera… but I’m sure she’ll understand. Eventually.”

Marina perked up as a door opened off screen. She watches someone get closer to the camera, until another girl’s face is right in front of it, completely blocking the shot of Marina. “Oh, hey Stella. I thought you were outside picking berries?” Her voice said.

“No berries.” The newcomer stated.

“No berries? What about oranges?” Marina suggested.

“Yeah.” The face turned towards her sister.

“Yeah? You want to go pick oranges? We can make orange cake.”

“Yeah!” She moved away, revealing the auditioner once again.

“Okay, let’s go pick some oranges.” Her eyes followed Stella out of her room. She stood up towards the camera, picking it up to her level. “Well, that’s all the time I have. Pick me! Um- please. Thank you.”

*III*

An auditorium is already applauding when the tape begins, a girl in a bright blue hijab coming up to center-stage to take an impressive-looking award.

It cuts to the same girl at a field, standing on her hands and looking forward. Her legs bend backwards but her feet stay placed about her head, with no help beyond her own strength and flexibility. She holds a bow and an arrow with her toes, only showing her strain once or twice, but nowhere near enough to break her steely demeanor while doing such a feat. She pulls back the string with one leg, and releases it. The camera follows the arrow through the air until it sticks its landing just above the bullseye on a target a few yards away.

The scene cuts again to the young woman, now in a completely different outfit and addressing the camera herself. “My name is Nadine, and I’m a winner. As a competitive acrobatic, you know I don’t go for easy wins. Your game show is in a similar boat, but I intend to accomplish it with just as much ease. Observe.” She turns and picks up a new bow ‘n arrow, flicking a lighter and catching the arrow head on fire. She got in the position from earlier, and began to draw back the string. On its way, however, it nicked her head scarf and left a flame- and with the way her eyes widened, she definitely wasn’t oblivious to it.

*III*

“Is this thing even on?” A girl with bright green hair pulled back with a bandana muttered to herself. Her tongue was sticking out as she messed with it, until finally noticing the blinking red light. “Oh! Okay!” She jumped back, revealing that she was standing in a kitchen, dressed in a pink apron. “Hi, I really want to be on Total Drama! I’m really cool and super strong and I bake awesome cookies-”

She reaches for a pan on the counter in front of her bare-handed, and begins to hold up her freshly baked cookies for the camera. Utter pain shoots across her face as she drops the pan, screaming. A bang makes her shout again, pulling up a reddening leg that must have gotten hit by the hot pan.

“OW OW OW!” She chants, hopping around one-footed. “Ugh, I’m so stupid-”

The hopping jostled the camera. The shot suddenly became a blur as it fell to the ground, shattering the lens.

“Oh, dangit!!”

She shuffles towards it on her knees, her chin just cut off. “Uhh… My name is Paulie, by the way-” It cut to black on its own.

*III*

“-But I have my audition tape right here-” The video was trained on a fully clothed boy standing in his room, but the person filming moved the camera around wildly. They briefly settled on a shot of a roll of sticky tape on a desk that the auditioner was gesturing to. “Why are you filming-? To prove that it’s mine-?”

An irritated growl sounded out of frame. “That’s not going to get you into the show, Roger!” There was a quick pan between the boy and a windowpane on the next wall, then back to him. “Show them what you can do or you aren’t going to be picked!”

“What are you talking about!? I want to be on it if YOU want me to be on it, but I already told you I’m not cut out for it! They aren’t going to like me any more than anyone else does!” Roger argued.

A hand materialized from behind the camera and lightly clutched the cloth on his shoulder. “You need to win the MONEY, dunce! They’ll pick you once they see your tricks- now jump out the window!”

The boy gasped in shock, despair filling his eyes. “I can’t believe- you finally want me d- dead…” He whimpered. He tore away and went to pout on his bed. “Leave me alone, then…”

Presumably his sibling yelled in frustration, shaking the camera. “Fine! I’ll just follow you around until you accidentally do something…” They griped before switching off the video.

*III*

Not much can be seen at first except for a silhouette leaning forward, framed by the orange light of a campfire. A flashlight flicks on, and the tall girl in front of it can be seen in full color, plus a few trees of the nighttime forest around her.

“Howdy!” The girl says sweetly and boldly. “The name’s Rosie! I saw your little TV show on forever ago, and I’d like to camp with y’all!” 

She gets to her knees and reaches into a backpack mostly offscreen. “I can do all kinds ‘a knots, I can do them backwards, sideways, inside-out, blindfolded-” She twisted the rope around as needed then tossed it aside. “I can hike to the top of a mountain in a day, swim upstream in a thunderstorm, and know every single berry by heart!” She reached into her pockets and pulled out two handfuls of small blue berries.

“Right now, here’s a little test. Which one do you eat?” In a moment, she flung both behind her. “Neither!” She shouted proudly. “If you snacked on a pokeberry OR a nightshade, you’d be dead in a heartbeat!”

She placed a hand on her chest, grinning wide. “I love to camp. ‘Makes me feel alive.”

She glared at the camera without warning. Her eyes darkened. “”Pity some folk don’t properly enjoy it. I suppose I’ll have to weed those out.”

*III*

Bouncing up and down on her bed, a girl with a yellow ribbon in her hair greets the camera with a wide smile. Her yellow wall behind her was decorated in stars and displayed several pictures of macaroni art smothered in glitter. A light shadow near the frame moved away, the person behind it ready to begin. “Okay, it’s rolling now. Say hi, Stella.”

“Hi.” The latina girl ducked down a bit and gave an enthusiastic wave.

“So, Stella, can you tell the camera why you want to compete on Total Drama?”

Rather than answer, she waves again with no change in expression.

“Yes, hello Stella. Do you want to be on Total Drama?”

“Yeah!” She agrees gleefully.

“Why?”

“Yeah!”

The girl taping the audition giggles and tries a different approach. “Okay, if you won the million dollars, what would you do with it?”

Stella moved her eyes away as she pondered it, her grin stretching from ear to ear. “Party.”

“You want to have a party?” The other pressed.

“Quinceañera.” The auditioner specified. She closed her eyes, brought her hands up, and wiggled in her seat like she was dancing to music.

“That sounds like a great idea, Stella. Back to the show, are you a good team player?” The camera-girl asked. Stella agreed. “Yeah? And do you like to make friends?” Stella agreed again. “Okay, say goodbye to the camera.”

“Bye bye!” Stella slid off the bed as she said this, already wanting to see the playback.

*III*

Tony doesn’t GET an audition tape. I hate this man. I’ve been trying to think of an audition for him forever and it just. Ain’t. happening.

[brattywriters-anonymous]

A Night Off..

Erik x OC

Part three of “I’m Never Wrong” Series

Mini playlist: Moments Of Love x Art of Noise

It’s You x Kem

Share my Life x Kem

Night Off x Drake ft. Lloyd

You’ve been busy. Hella busy. Erik and you had Leanna September after that fateful Christmas, you married the following April, and two years later (before Leanna’s Moana Luau birthday celebration) you found out you were pregnant again. You gave birth to N’Juma That following summer and after being cleared to return to work you were swamped.  

You received the promotion for Managing Partner at your firm and you played the role of the Partner’s keepers. Even though you were glad about not having to see courtrooms unless deemed necessary, you now have to track their time at work and expenses on business cards, their vacation and sick time; Along with sitting in extraneous meetings with board members with their bottom line being the only thing they ever care about. You know you could quit at anytime. Your husband reminds you time and time again that he can take care of you, Lee, JuJu, and any other kids you plan on having single-handedly. 

Him being a prince and all, you were certain that he could. Momma just didn’t raise you to be nobody’s housewife. You love your children more than anything, and to a certain extent, you love your job, but after two months of going between Mommy and Senior Partner, F/N M/N Udaku, esq. needed a BREAK.

You came home on a Friday evening to find two ladies from the Dora Milaje on your front porch, you knew either Queen Mother, Shuri, or T’challa was behind the door. To your surprise, it was Shuri. You often used to joke to her that Leanna took a piece of Shuri’s personality because she always had a witty come back to her daddy’s sly comments, and they were as thick as thieves from the day she was born.

“Y/N! Hello!” Shuri stands up with your almost four year old in her arms. “Mommyyy!” Leanna yells out in glee. “Hey Lee Lee! Good evening Shuri! To what do we owe this pleasure your highness?” You suspiciously look at her and your daughter like they were up to no good, as you lay down your briefcase. Leanna looks around pursing her lips and says, “Mommy, I d-du-dunno what you talking about!” as she shakes her head. You grin at her adorable yet horrible attempt of lying, “Where’s Juju? Where’s daddy?” Speak of the killer prince..he shall appear. He emerges from the hallway, “Juju is knocked for the night. I gave him his bath fed him, and he went down for the count about fifteen minutes ago.” 

The first thing that catches your attention is his cologne. That Dolce & Gabana light blue for men gets you in trouble every single time. You slip out of your work shoes as you apprehensively question, “N’jadaka, What do you have up your sleeve?” Then you travel to your awake child, placing her on your hip, “What is daddy up to LeeLee?” She starts playing with her nails, “Daddy says he wants you to go with him!” Erik scoops you into his embrace, “Daddy needs you to shower up and get dressed. I got everything all laid out for you on the bed, and after we go where we go, I got a room reserved.” His cologne engulfs you into a hypnotized state as he briefly kisses you. You open your eyes to see Leanna covering hers. Shuri retrieves her, “I got some improvements I need to make on T’s suit, I need a little helper so we’re gonna go to the Stark Enterprises lab to do that..” You look back and forth between your husband, your cousin-in-law, and your child, “Well what about JuJu?” T’challa bends the corner from your guest bathroom, “It seems like I am on diaper and bottle duty tonight.”

You lay your arms lazily around Erik’s neck, “So daddy’s got it all figured out, hm?” N’jadaka nods, “Now go get dressed. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You get to your shared master room to see this two piece outfit with a pair of white pasties, and a white thong to match your husband’s two piece linen button up and matching pants. “Where does this nigga think I’m going looking like somebody’s stripper?” before you can go back in the foyer to protest, he’s already standing at the doorway, “You going with daddy tonight. Lookin’ like daddy’s personal stripper.” He stealth-like footsteps cruises his way over to you to give you a forceful smack on the ass, which got bigger thanks to carrying Juju.

 --

You hopped out of the shower, reluctantly put on the two piece and as you were buckling your shoes, your husband comes in to check on--sorry, rush you. “C’mon Y/N we need to get go--daaaaaammmn. Here baby, lemme help you with that.” He brushes down your calf with his fingertips, slipping on your shoe. “That’s too tight?” You shake your head, “Good.” He counts the hole in order to buckle the other shoe in the same manner, “I’m doing this for you because you need a night off.. Not being mommy, not being a lawyer, not being a home maker, nurse, none of that.” He finishes buckling the second shoe before kissing your foot, “The only thing you gotta be tonight is mine.” your breathing stops at his statement, then you nod. Letting him know you understand.

The drive to your destination was tranquil. Erik played the compilation of Moments of Love by Art of Noise, Kem’s It’s you, and Share my Life, Maxwell’s Lifetime.. it all put you in a mellow mood. He drove the entire way with his hand cascading your thigh, occasionally tapping it to whichever beat was playing. He puts the car in park in front of the club you first met at. When he ran you down, begging to take you on a date that he had to rob a museum in order to take you on.

You giggled and sank into the seat, “N’jadaka, really?” He nods, “Yeah baby. I figured i’d take you to where it all began.” This nostalgic feeling fell over you, remembering how he followed you around the lounge like a sick puppy, his dreads barely touching his neck back then. You give him a second glance, his dreads are now almost to the middle of his back, his nape; tapered. You lean into him, making out with your husband like you’re seventeen. The valet worker tapped on the window to snap you out of it.

--

Erik really planned that night out. He got a VIP section, got him a bottle of Hennessy prestige, and you a white bottle of Belaire Rose. The waitresses gave you both your appropriate glasses to drink your alcohol out of with a bucket of ice. Your husband kept attempting to roleplay, asking who you were with, “I’m with you, fool!” He then asked where your man was at, you pointed at him. You finally caught on when he asked for your name and number. You put on a corrupt grin, “Heaven. and I don’t think my man would like you asking for my number.” You were good and toasted by the time N’jadaka and you were playing a good game of back and forth, “Oh.. Well your man shouldn’t have left you alone.” The slow tempo of Drake’s A Night off sounds off in the club, “This is my jam!” Your man whispers to you, “See, why would your man leave you along while your song is playing? C’mon. At least dance with me.” You gulped down your fourth glass before taking the last sip out of your bottle, “Let’s go.”

Know you hate explaining how you want it done Just be quiet I'll do fine without your help girl Can you work without a second for some fun? Now you finally got a moment to yourself girl And I know what to do with it

You whine your lower half to his, your ass giggling at the end of every loop. He poured you one more drink for the night, some of his Hennessy, which you both took your glasses onto the dance floor. His free hand is alternating, between gripping your inner thigh, to grasping on both of your cheeks as your mirrored each break down of the beat. His eyes narrow as he bites down on his trembling lip, never letting his hand leave your body. As you feel his erection growing you grind against him even harder. He reaches underneath you to grip your breast, tweaking the skin underneath your pastie. You’re drunk at this point, so all you do in reaction is keep dancing and sticking your tongue out. He has you exactly how he wants you. Relaxed, drunk, and worked up.

So, baby, I'm a lock my door and disconnect my phone Cause I wanna make one thing clear 

I want you on top, so let your hair down I took the night off for you Girl, I'm gonna turn the lights off But keep your heels on They're fittin' for what we're about to do

He has a look on his face that you love to see, pure lust and astonishment. Just at you dancing for him.You look down at his hand with the vibranium wedding band you placed on it three years prior is shining even in the almost nonexistent club lighting. His thick fingers grabbing on you like you’ll dissolve at any moment.The Dj switches the song to Keith Sweat’s Nobody, N’jadaka gives you a shock, pressing his fingers against your abdomen, standing you straight up. Then he presses your lower back down so you can still arch against him, as you continue your slow whine.

I wanna tease you I wanna please you I wanna show you baby, that I need you I want your body 'til the very last drop I want you to holler when you want me to stop

N’jadaka’s hands are still roaming your frame. His lips are now brushing past and behind your ear, “So tell me baby, can I get a taste of Heaven?” His growl at the end of his statement mixed with the drinks and that damn cologne were all working against your self control. You literally leaked down your leg. You took your iced out left ring finger and placed it where your nectar was racing down and fed it to him, “Is that good enough?” He moaned as the liquid hit his tongue. He licked a strip behind your ear which makes you tremble against him, “Nah babygirl. Daddy wants more.” He presses down your back even more so you can bend back over. He gently smacks your ass, letting it jiggle back he looks to the Ancestral Plane as if he’s thanking Bast herself for that ass of yours.

You throw back what’s in your glass like it’s a shot and grab him by the collar, giving him the look that he’s been waiting on since you got out the house, “Let’s go...Now.”

Erik made a reserved a room at the Fairmont across the bay. There’s a jam on the Oakland Bay Bridge. That and the tented windows on your Cayenne which gives you the opportune moment to unbuckle your seat belt and jump on the man that’s been tempting you the entire night. His sex playlist going through the speakers didn’t make it any better.

I wanna touch you Right now, right now, right now, right now, right now, right now We ain't gotta waste time going out on dates We ain't gotta count down till you come to my place We ain't gotta, (you ain't gotta), we ain't gotta, (you ain't gotta) We ain't gotta, (you ain't gotta) we ain't gotta, (you ain't gotta) You ain't gotta waste time sending me roses They gon' die anyway, man that's just boring You ain't gotta, (you ain't gotta), you ain't gotta, (you ain't gotta) You ain't gotta, (you ain't gotta) you ain't gotta, (you ain't gotta) 'Cause I want you right now

Your lips are fighting with his for dominance as you climb over to the drivers seat to straddle him. You rip about half of the buttons off of his shirt as your liquor tasting tongues tango. His hands smack against your ass over and over and over again, making you moan into him. Between kisses, while you’re trying to unbuckle his seat belt and his pants he mumbles two octaves lower than his normal voice, “Mmm.. So it’s like that?” You moan out over the music, “Yeah daddy, it’s like that.”  He finally shimmies out of his pants and simultaneously rips your thong and the crotch area of those fishnet pants. His primal side and the air hitting your center brings a shiver to your body and it continues as your lover submerges into you. 

You cry out, slightly in pain. You and N’jadaka have only made love a handful of times since your six week appointment after having N’Juma. Partially because he went on a two month wardog mission. He’d only came home a couple days ago, and you were so busy in mom mode when you weren’t in work mode and vice versa..you only snuck in a quickie when he first came home. So your healed body is still getting used to his girth again. What feels like a overwhelming pressure eventually morphs into the pleasure you remembered oh so well. You crouch your body to tuck in between his neck and chest as you ride him in the stop and go traffic. He’s basking in the spontaneity of it all, the suburban behind him is occasionally honking their horn at his delayed movement as traffic moves up. If they only knew what was distracting him.

The first of your many orgasms of the night surprises you. You didn’t feel it coming, until it came. Your body is convulsing on his and he holds you right where you are. You screamed his name as best as you could through it. He put the car in park and hoisted his hips to meet your bottom until you could move again. You slam down on him, “Mm mm. You don’t gotta do that. Let Heaven take care of you, daddy.” He smirks while looking at the creamy mess y’all created, “You sure?” You nod, “Yeah. I gotchu. That one caught me off guard.” You laugh together as you grind on him. You love when he’s deep in you, he knows it too. N’jadaka grips your hips as he bites down on your neck, coaching your movements. You move your head back, giving him more access as you feel the second orgasm arise. The head of his phallic member collided with that spot that makes you weak every time he hits it.

He huffs, “My baby cumming again huh?” You cry out yes, “I’m cumming too baby. Daddy gon make Heaven cum to him? Hmm?!” He rotates his hips around to tap it again.. and again... as he hits it the third time, your essence falls, in a trickling waterfall motion. You shriek in bliss as his motions don’t stop, neither does your orgasm.

The car behind you beeps again. Erik being the superman that he is, he put the car back in drive and moved up while still stroking you through what’s probably the longest orgasm you’ve ever had. You rest on him as he presses on the break, his leg slightly shook as he gritted his teeth. You looked at him, “I came. That asshole ruined it. But wait till I get ‘cho ass in that room. I’m really gon get a taste of heaven.” 

--

@chaneajoyyy @theunsweetenedtruth @hidden-treasures21

[theprodigypenguin]

Jeith Headcanon Dump

I’ve been scratching down Jeith headcanons on every surface I can find whenever I think of something, and finally got around to compiling them all in one place. It’s pretty long, but I hope you enjoy!

James calls Keith "babe/baby"

Keith calls James "darling/doll"

But only in private. In public they call each other bitch, asshole, or go the polite route (cadet, sir, paladin, whatever)

One time James ironically called Keith “Mister Black Paladin Sir” and got punched for his trouble

James is actually really amazed by the lions, especially the Black Lion

After the war, earth starts making and selling Voltron merch (as Earth do), and James buys every Black Paladin/Black Lion thing he can get his hands on

he has a Black Lion charm hanging in his MFE fighter 

and a poster on the wall of his dorm

and a stuffed toy of the Black Lion

and he may or may not have a Keith body pillow

He tries to stuff everything in the closet to hide it when Keith stops by, but it's too late

he's seen

and he will never live it down ever

Keith: *holding up the body pillow* Hey if you wanted me in bed you could've just asked.

Keith eats his food like a fucking rat

He eats the ice cream from between the ice cream sandwiches and throws the cookie away

eats the cream from between the Oreos and puts the cookie back in the box like an asshole

he always takes apart his sandwiches and hamburgers to eat everything individually

It fucks James up and freaks him out honestly like who the fuck eats like that???

Keith had never had boba tea before and when James first gives him some he almost has an anxiety attack because what the fUCK IS THIS WHY IS THERE A SOLID IN MY LIQUID, JAMES

They love going on rides through the desert with no destination, hood of the car down so Keith can stand up and scream while they're driving and the wind is hitting his face

They can both sing, like, really fucking well

James is more modern while Keith likes country and bluesy music

his drawl comes back with a vengeance when he's singing and it gives James "problems”

James is secretly a Troye Sivan fan and sings "Strawberries and Cigarettes" in Keith's ear to see him blush

James has an obsession with Keith's scars, and is constantly kissing and biting at them, like he's trying to prove a point (or trying to erase the scars with his kisses)

Keith is normally pretty against people touching his scars at all (especially the one on his face), so when he first lets James kiss his cheek, James had a mini gay panic attack as soon as Keith is gone.

James: He let me kiss his cheek!

Rizavi: Calm your gay self down, boy.

Keith in a cadet uniform is nice

Keith in his Paladin armor is nICE

Keith in his usual casual attire is dangerous

Keith in white tshirt, open blue flannel, and ripped jeans is fucking DANGEROUS

And Keith in his sinfully skintight BoM uniform is FATAL

The first time James sees him dressed like that he just tries to cover Keith any way he can, putting a coat around his shoulders with shaky hands and a crimson face

Keith: What are you doing?

James: YOU’RE INDECENT. COVER YOURSELF KOGANE. WE’RE IN PUBLIC.

no one else believes James when he tells people Keith has a southern drawl

James: I'm telling you he's just hiding it! He has a Texas drawl damn it!

Lance: Sure he does. I spent like years in space with him, never heard him say "ya'll" even once.

Keith: *whispers into James’ ear* Well ain’t that a damn southern hill shame, darlin’?

James: *screams*

Keith takes James on dates through the stars all the time

With the Black Lion, space travel through the Milky Way is effortless, and Keith likes seeing the way James' eyes light up when the fly over any of the different planets outside of Earth

James: Keith look, we're on Orion's belt! We're a fashion statement!

Keith: Sure, okay.

James takes a more common route when it comes to dating

Walking day-dates through Plaht City and the alien booths that had been set up

buying knickknacks for each other that neither need but both cherish

purposely staying out too late so James can offer his jacket to Keith like the gentleman he is

Keith likes the simplicity, though

and he likes it when James offers his coat, not that he'll admit it

growing up in the desert, Keith is used to being in intense heat, he can function in 100+ degree weather easily and is at home in muscle shirts and ripped jeans

this also means he can hardly function in any weather that dwindles beneath 70 degrees (hey same)

He goes from sluggish to entirely useless

naturally he seeks out the closest heat source, but also the safest heat source, so he automatically finds himself looking for James

Shiro has known Keith forever, and he was once upon a time subjected to a little teen Keith trying to hide under his shirt because he was cold, so he tries to warn James in order to prepare him

doesn't matter though, nothing can prepare him for when his zombie-fied boyfriend shuffles up to him and lifts his shirt to try and hide under it

James loves him, but he'd really rather not get groped by icicle fingers again, so he takes to wearing a coat at all times

That way when Keith shuffles towards him for warmth he can just open his jacket and close it around the paladin

at first people teased him about it, especially the other MFE pilots, but the glare that Keith peered over at them from the collar of James' coat makes them stop

so people are just used to it now and don't mention it

Keith is starved for touch and attention, but his insecurities make it hard for him to open up to people, so once he and James start to date regularly, he’s always rubbing up against him for affection

James doesn’t get it at first, but once he figures it out he’s always got a hand on Keith somehow, whether it’s petting his hair, patting his shoulder, holding his hand, or anything else, because the touch makes Keith happy

Cadet: So how did you and Keith start dating?

James: Well he punched me really hard when we were kids, and I think he must’ve given me brain damage from it, because I fell in love with him.

Cadet:

Regarding intimacy, they switch all the time, sometimes James tops and sometimes Keith does, but Keith is almost always the little spoon

James likes hugging things in his sleep, and Keith isn’t opposed to the physical contact, so they have an agreement

They don’t really discuss the fact they’re dating, it sort of just happens

One day James looks around and realizes half of the belongings in his dorm room are Keith’s, and that the paladin had basically moved himself in and made himself at home

So he just goes “oh this is a thing now” and continues on with his business

Keith is pretty oblivious to this kind of thing in general, so it takes him longer to realize it

Pidge: Hey Keith are you off to your date with James?

Keith: *dressed casually in clean clothes and even brushed his hair* What, no, we’re just looking around the venders. After that we’re going to get something to eat and maybe stop by to watch a movie in that outdoor auditorium. You know the one, where they play old Earth films to entertain some of the war torn alien refugees?

Pidge: Yea? That’s a date?

Keith:

James isn’t as freaked out about Keith being half Galra as Keith had expected, and even seems eager to learn more (”always knew there was something different about you”)

He is, of course, wary about the other Galra in the Blade of Marmora, going so far as to try and stand in front of Keith protectively when they show up

The action is both endearing and somewhat disappointing, but Keith can’t blame him for being nervous, even scared, around the aliens, after everything their race had done

James gets along with Krolia pretty quickly, but remains somewhat nervous and suspicious of the other Galra

James: You sure they’re not gonna try and... like, hurt you?

Keith: James at this point you should be worried about them hurting you. Have fun gaining their favor to date me.

James:

They both have pretty severe nightmares, but Keith’s are just a bit worse, and effect him more

They sleep with a nightlight because it makes things just a tiny bit easier

They’ve discussed going to individual therapy sessions, but in the end they always decide there’s no one better than each other to talk to

(they never fully toss out therapy as a possibility, though)

Whenever one of them wakes from a bad dream they wake the other up, and they either sit on the bed to discuss it, or if they don’t want to talk, they climb to the roof of the Garrison and see who can name the most constellations

So far it’s a tie, but James knows more single stars than Keith does

Keith is willing and ready to punch the lights out of anyone who dares speak badly of James

James is all too happy to do the same with people who should even dare to mention Keith

He gets into it more than Keith does, because James is considered an honored pilot, while there have always been more dubious opinions of Keith

Made worse by the fact he’s half Galra and the one to kill Sendak (even if they were in a war, there are people who give Keith a wide berth because they’re afraid of him)

It bothers James, but Keith seems to not mind

Keith: People have always treated me like an outsider, it’s not like this is new to me.

That just makes James feel worse

They kissed before ever confessing, and saying I love you was never really something they felt needed to be said out loud

But James says it once spontaneously, notices that it makes Keith blush like a nova, and decides to say it a lot more often just to see Keith flustered

Keith takes a bit longer to get used to saying those words, and the first time he says it, it doesn’t click immediately with James

He’s probably up in the MFE for a test run when it just hits him that his boyfriend said I love you that morning and just screams a little into his comms from shock, scaring the hell out of his team

Rizavi: Why are you screaming?!

James: Keith said he loved me!

Rizavi: Bitch when?!

James: Like eight hours ago!

Rizavi: Then shut the fuck up!

James proposes first, but Keith is such a dense moron he doesn’t realize it, and like a day later he proposes to James, who’s just fucking confused but says okay

So they both propose and they both say yes and neither of them realize it because they’re fucking idiots.

Please feel free to add your own Jeith/Jaith headcanons!

[wheelthefridge]

in honor of last night having been my last ever shift dishwashing at the same restaurant i’ve been at for the past four years here’s an absurdly long list of random chaotic moments that literally no one asked for that i’ve been compiling since day one:

bj, with a half full gallon of orange juice: this expired two months ago. *pours down drain* that was a long time ago

sam: YOU! I HAVE A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU!! *carries on normally with no explanation* bj: smack that! that too! smack those vegetables! punch that burger in the nose! chop that bun! bob: no, flick the bun. you have to flick it. 

*bad and boujee playing* bj: walks into kitchen, singing bj: you better know when to hold em, know when to fold em, know when to walk away, know when to run bj: walks out of kitchen, still singing

me: hey can you put the wet floor sign out for me dylan: sure dylan: *slips while putting the sign out* me:

sam: get this- i haven’t smoked pot in like three days and my brain is ready to roll! yeah!

joe: ha! oldest trick in the book i just started writing 

dude @bar: ten percent of people are over 6'1" other dude: what about 6'2"  dude 1: what? no. ten percent of people are OVER 6'1" - so that includes 6'2" dude 2: idk I know a lot of tall guys. taller than me dude 1: what? i’m saying- just- ten percent of everyone in the whole world- you know how many people there are in the world? 7 billion– dude 2: i thought it was six billion  dude 1: no, 7 billion- ten percent of 7 billion—

joe, digging through the trash: i’m just gonna peruse through here,, aaaaannnd….. nope not here me: what’re u looking for Joe: …..a book

didi: is eating a pistachio  katherine: is that sour cream

sam: some dirty whorebag wants two pickles 

joe: sam she am. that’s right. dr seuss wrote a book about her 

katherine: oh my goddd this song is always on i’m so tired of it joe: is it? i don’t think i’ve heard it before carolyn: eh it’s all just one long brazilian song to me

katherine: look at my straw i put it in the pencil sharpener 

sam: i’m on crack cocaine. you heard it here

sam, aggressively putting silverware in the tray: just the way the cookie crumbles me: yeah? sam, fake crying: yes

adele: if you’re ready- sam: what if I’m not bob: too bad. she only cares if she’s ready

something: *breaks* sam: time for the mop. and by mop i mean… this thing *holds up dustpan*

mike: you should go on junior master chef…. and only make fries 

sam, quietly as she speedwalks by me: panic panic panic panic panic panic panic panic

sam, beginning of the night: my goal is to make at least forty bucks tonight. hopefully sixty sam, later that night: i’ve made five dollars

sam, pouring a drink into the trash right next to the sink: you know, im not sure why i poured that in the trash. i’ve had a very off day

katherine, after accidentally spraying salsa on herself: i just sprayed salsa all over myself bj: i feel like that too sometimes. i love salsa so much

sam: can you imagine if i did like hardcore drugs how messed up i would be- i’m messed up soberly

someone: what’re you supposed to feed twenty kids  kerry: pizza bj: vodka 

sam: will you let bob know there’s gonna be seven in the snug bj: seven in the snug? that’s my band name. we’re really good

edson: *spins cover on counter and stares at it for solid thirty seconds before putting his finger down to stop it* edson: good. 

sam: what should i draw bj: you should draw casey, hanging from a cliff, with a pterodactyl flying towards them who is on fire, but, seems optimistic about it 

bj: life is too short for low fat cheese. remember that. 

sam, beginning of night, in a really good mood: guess what i’m drunk and high right now  sam, later that night: i was just pouring a beer and i dropped it. like my hand just let go of it sam, end of night: i’m never doing this again 

joe: you know who didn’t clock out yet?? i have two thumbs! joe: ……wait joe: you know who has two thumbs and hasn’t clocked out yet?? this guy!! me: there ya go buddy

bob: i’ve slept fifteen hours in the past four days me: that’s not good bob: yeah

edson: look edson: *holds out hand with top spinning in his palm* *giggles*

sam: i cannot wait for this day to be over  me: it’s barely started  sam: i took a shot before i got here. i have more in my car

bob: hi sam sam: hi bob  didi: hi sam sam: fuck off

joe: her? oh yeah her name is sarah whitaker  katherine: oh i think i know her joe: that’s funny because i just made that up. i’m willing to bet money that she’s nineteen tho me: why joe: bc i overheard her say that she’s nineteen

joe: i’m gonna send you a video but you can’t watch it now it’s needs full attention with headphones and the lights off 

bj: if you lose your hand, don’t replace it with a fork. that would be a bad choice. i know it’s probably the cheapest option, right up there with stick, but just spend the money. 

bj, on a different day: i think if you were to get your hands cut off, getting them replaced with plates would be a very bad idea. you can dig. and you can toss. but that’s about it. no playing the saxophone.  

colby: *doesn’t show up to work* bj: maybe i should leave him a message of just me crying 

katherine: i think an old man just asked me to live with him

sam: wait *pulls celery strings out of her mouth* that just came out of my throat

bob: i’m such a grump tonight. i’m in a good mood i’m just so grumpy.  bob: maybe i’m not in a good mood…

bj, after sending christa downstairs to get liquor for the bar: i put a live cobra down there too so… if she comes back with it dead in her hands…. she’s a champ. and that’s that. 

bj: i had a dog today did you have a dog? me: no bj: oh. well. 

dylan, holding phone camera at joe: hey joe can you pull ur shirt down joe, pulling the collar of his shirt halfway down his chest: yeah like this? dylan, taking picture: yeah thanks 

bj: HI-YAH carley: you’re a ninja!! bj: yes. don’t be alarmed. i only use my powers for good. 

bj, with one bottle in each hand, pouring water in the sink, mimicking cow milking motions: it’s like a cow. mooooooeeeeeeuuuuuhhhhhhgggg aaaaaauuuuuueuejhshhsii. that’s what cows sound like right?

bj: we have a dog, and we’re getting chickens. i’m not really sure why were getting chickens. do i consider myself a farmer? not really. 

bj: we should make a youtube channel of just me saying really random things to you and you not responding to me whatsoever me: mhmm

nancy: I’m sleeping

sam: *pours drink out on counter next to sink* sam: wHAT the FuCK was that!? why did i do that?? i’ve lost it! i’ve hit rock bottom!!

sam: *bends over* ughhhhhhhhhhhhh *straightens up* ok i’m fine

bj: yum! that’s how i rate the soup. two yums up!! *laughs for like a full minute*

sam: i got my motorcycle license over the weekend and now all everyone’s saying to me is “no don’t get a motorcycle they’re so dangerous” like shut the fuck up if i die i die it’s my choice 

bj: i think if i were to be turned into some kind of commercial type of food, if i got turned into a nugget, i think i’d be indignant. i’ve lived my whole life and now i’m a nugget??? “oh i was a great roasted-“ i was a nugget. i was eaten with fries out of a box with a small soda. 

bj: hello everybody. i have arrived. please remain calm.  bob: *screams*

radio: the fastest lawn mower in the world goes up to 150 miles per hour! bob: …….why??

sam: i just meowed in scotty’s face and he was completely unfazed by it. like a full on Meow. 

bob: lemme just touch these live wires with my wet hands  bj: bob has gone offline

katherine: i totally forgot to put their order in for i don’t even know how long me: ……..i’m sure it’ll be fine katherine: i mean, nothing matters, right? right. nothing matters. 

bj: hey did you guys hear that kate: yeah what was that bj: oh i was just yelling……….. about the soup kate: me: katherine: bj: i’ll try to keep it down next time

bob: you sleep a lot when you’re old. it’s just practice for death. getting ready for The Big Sleep. let’s see how do i wanna go out? on my back?? nah not for me. on my front babey! 

didi: hi sam sam: SHUT UP didi, quieter: okay…… sam: i love you  didi: no bj: so you’re a grownup now. that’s means you have to do grown up things, like, pay for dinner and stuff? me: uh huh bj: it’s all downhill from here 

bj: pon pon the van poco. right? me: mhmm bj: probably. i mean. i’m no doctor, but

random woman @ bar: we are the matrix. We. Are. The Matrix. 

bj, to the tune of frosty the snowman: clunkity clunk clunk clunkity clunk clunk look at all this stuff. clunkity clunk clunk clunkity clunk clunk making casey’s job tough! pretty good right?? i just made it up 

bj: *walks into kitchen* YES! that’s all i have to say. that’s it. BOBS killing it. DIDIS killing it. casey MURDERED it. you’re welcome. *walks out of kitchen* bj: today is the second day in a row my dog has eaten my lunch. yesterday and then today. it’s my own fault really bob: well you know what they say about men who like floppy french fries. *doesn’t elaborate*

sam: there’s a toy baby in my section. like just a toy baby taking up a seat in my section. what do i do like do i move the bitch? do i leave her there??

bob, talking to himself: if you get sick tomorrow, just remember. it’s your own fault for eating food off the floor. 

bob, to katherine: no, you don’t have to mop the carpet

bj: cheeeesy. 

laura: if i get through tonight without a heart attack it’ll be incredible. if i do have a heart attack tho just let me go

caldo: *unintelligible yelling* SELLING my BODY for SEX *more unintelligible yelling*

bob: my fathers brother sent all his kids to australia. i guess he figured at least one of them would make it

caldo: i don’t trust people who go out to eat tuna fish

bob: can you make some more guacamole soon we’re running low laura: pulls five (5) avocados from her pockets 

bob: he looks like jesus. well. he looks like what white people think jesus looked like

sam: yeah. Please. eat some more mother Fucking crackers. 

bj: i feel like i gave birth to the eggplant stacks tonight. and honestly? if my child looked like that? i’d be proud. proud to have an eggplant child

bj: alright everybody let’s get the fuf out of here!! i said fuf not f- it’s safe. f u f starts and ends with soft letters no one gets hurt. any word that starts with a soft letter and ends with a hard letter is bad news… i feel like every time i come in here i annoy you guys. casey’s one dumbass comment away from killing me. “hey so what are your thoughts on grass?” “that’s it” *mimics shooting a gun*

ilia: -and the dogs gonna get diabetes- katherine, indignantly: i cleaned it really well!

mickey: i’ll tell you one thing. crack is good. 

sam: some lady just rolled up to the bar, no bra, nipples beamin through the shirt- LETS GET IT!!!!

caldo: *speed walks into kitchen and shotguns a beer over the trash* ok i’m back. i should not have smoked this morning

dom: little kid just picked up a knife and went “oh cool i can stab someone” me, katherine, and sam in unison: good dom: yeah the dad took it away 

sam: my friend was like “why is your go to dance move just to snap” and i was like “i don’t know, i’m white” *shrugs*

bj: someone just asked me if i’m having fun. am i having fun? i don’t know if i’m having fun. there are certainly other things i’d rather be doing right now, but i don’t know if i can definitively say that i’m Not having fun. 

bj: some jobs require Only a ladle bj, thirty seconds later, after walking away and coming back: sometimes, also a funnel

bj, @ laura who’s eating cornbread: you cornbread eating chef!!!  laura: bj: laura: bj: i’m just saying facts in a weird way. you know like you’re in trouble. 

sam: *war cry* *spits out gum* *walks away*

bj: what kind of smoothie? Soup Smoothie!!

katherine: so this woman ordered some hot water so i gave it to her and her husband says you know what that’s for right and i’m like ….to drink? and he says nope! and doesn’t explain so i’m just like ………..okay! and walk away bc i don’t even want to know 

bj: there’s no shame in it! A Grown Man Can Bathe In Yogurt!!!

bj, leaning down very close to to-go box: i love you

bob: anyone want a drink? brian: whatever’s your strongest bob: milk it is

guy at bar: sUE HIM?!?!??? oh i’d sue him yeah

sam: who orders something extra cold?? like, you need to Die now thanks. 

sam: do you dare me to drink this buffalo sauce me: yes laura, walking by: snort it

sam: one more day. just one more day laura: of what sam: waking up

bob: *is trying to explain easter to jewish laura* laura: wait so he died… then he came back to life?? then he died Again??? bob: he died. then he came back just to tell people he was alive. then he said SEE YA and ascended to heaven

sam: i HATE margaritas. i don’t know why i just made myself one. 

bob: wow. i have this overpowering urge to just go home. 

bj, putting back a slotted spoon: this is a bad choice for dressing. a bad choice. 

me: *catches a plate about to fall* bj: woah! smooth moves!! spider-man? maybe. 

danny: so you know how at my other job everyone calls me daddy?

sam: *dumps out two full wine glasses* i fucked up. tell no one. 

me: remember when we used to be able to leave early? bob: no. i think we imagined it. 

danny: i didn’t realize we served DICK here -a few min later- danny: sorry i just got out of work and i’m all fired up

sam: my moms drunk and she won’t go home

bob: hey wasn’t that slang for mari- bj: cocaine. 

bj: *kicks kitchen door open* YEE-HAW!!!!

danny: sorry casey  me: what for  danny: for having to deal with me me: yeah *shrugs* danny: they should pay you more me: yeah

didi: i kill you ilia: do it now didi: no ilia: do it i wanna die

danny, about a burger: we’ve got ourselves a squirter!!

sam: is that a chicken patty  sydney: it’s my dog

sam, on my last night with her: lets get casey TRASHED tonight

sam: are you gonna go dancing in new york didi: yes laura: whore it up

[edsbev]

Do you mind if I give you a prompt? Like reddie but the losers find out about there relationship because Eddie was wearing Richies sweatshirts all the time...

me? going over the top? it’s more likely than you think

this is 2.8k of reddie being disgustingly in love. also theres some making out

✷✷✷

Most nights, you will find therowdy, gangly-limbed members of the Losers’ Club hunkered down in Big Bill’sbasement, or lazily stretched out in Ben “Handsome” Hanscom’sbedroom, lazily watching the same old movies and hiding away from everyone whoisn’t each other.

Tonight, though, on Mike’sbirthday, they’ve decided to ditch their usual hermit-like ways, and are out inthe world. Celebrating at the old drive-in.

The movie hasn’t started yet.Cars still pulling in, tyres slowly crunching over gravel, headlightsperiodically bathing them in a bright glow. Eddie sits in the bed of Richie’struck, listening to Bev instruct Bill and Ben on how to set up the pillows andblankets for Optimal Coziness, and tries not to look at Richie.

It’s hard, though, becauseRichie keeps looking at him.

Richie’s leant against the sideof the truck, arms crossed over his chest, chatting to Mike. And every now andthen, his gaze will slide over Mike’s shoulder, catch Eddie’s own gaze, and befollowed by a slow, sly grin. The type of grin that two people with a secretwould share between them.

Eddie’s face goes hot, presseshis blushing cheek to his shoulder.

Because here’s the secret: heand Richie are dating.

And not a single one of theLosers know.

“Well,” Richieannounces, pushing himself away from the truck and stretching his arms abovehis head. “I’m gonna go take a piss. Anyone wanna join me?”

His gaze lands pointedly onEddie.

“Oh, me, I do,” Eddieblurts, jumping over the side of the truck bed and landing on the gravel. Hewobbles on his feet as Bev straightens, pushing her hair from her face.

“Tell Stan to hurry up withthe snacks if you see him on your way there, why don’t you?” she huffs.“Also, Richie, when was the last time you cleaned your truck?”

“Never,” Richiereplies with a grin. And then he’s gripping Eddie’s shoulder and leading himaway.

Richie and Eddie have beendating for a month.

They’d been dancing around eachother and their feelings for a while. Until one night, while they were hangingout in Eddie’s room like they usually did, Eddie started laughing at one ofRichie’s bad jokes. And Richie watched him with an odd look on his face for a fewmoments before going “fuck it,” leaning forward, cupping Eddie’sface, and kissing him.

It was Eddie’s first kiss.

Richie is Eddie’s first everything.

And so it’s all new and excitingand scary and daunting and Eddie wants to have time to process all of it beforeadding ‘everybody knowing’ to the mix.

This means, however, a fuck tonof sneaking around.

“I don’t know how I’m goingto get through this whole movie without cuddling you, Eds,” Richie says,as they approach the small, eerie looking building at the back of the lot thathouses the bathrooms. “I mean it’s cold, dark, we’re all gonna be squishedtogether in the back of my truck…how am I supposed to not snuggle thefuck outta you?”

They came to a halt in front ofa door on the side of the building, above it painted the word MEN’S. Eddietries the handle, but it’s locked. Where the keyhole would usually be reads theword “occupied.” Right. So there’s only one toilet.

“We’re just gonna have tohave some of the others sit between us,” Eddie replies, stepping back.They’re quite a way away from everyone else, the chatter and bustle of everyonesetting up their cars a distant hum. It’s so dark, feels much colder out here,a tall chain-link fence rattling in the wind behind them, a dull lightflickering near the bathroom door.

Eddie wraps his arms aroundhimself. Wearing only a thin cotton sweater that does little to keep the chillout.

“Hey,” says Richie.The pout he’d been sporting at Eddie’s words suddenly morphs into amischievous grin. He moves closer to Eddie, eyes alight in the flickeringlight, and pokes Eddie’s side. “You cold, baby?”

“Maybe,” Eddiereplies, ears a little pink. Richie’s grin widens. (Eddie wishes he didn’t lookso cute, with the tip of his nose red from the cold and his dark curls ruffledin the wind). “You still can’t cuddle me, though.”

“Mm, but there’s no onehere to see us,” Richie says. And then he’s unzipping his white and purplewindbreaker, stepping behind Eddie, and engulfing Eddie in the fabric of hisjacket. His warm, firm chest pressed against Eddie’s back, arms wrapped aroundEddie tight.

“Richie…” Eddiebegins, but he feels himself leaning into the embrace.

“Come on, Eds,” Richiesays, voice muffled as he buries his face in Eddie’s hair. “I’m justkeeping you warm. And I gotta get my fix of cuddling you now, because I won’tbe allowed to do it later.”

“You’re so fuckingclingy,” Eddie laughs. But he’s fully relented now, twisting around sotheir fronts are flush together, sneaking his arms around Richie’s waist. Andhe feels nervous, the guy in the men’s room could come out and see them, anyonecould stroll over at any moment. But he also feels safe and warm wrapped up inRichie’s jacket like this. With Richie smiling down at him.

“I’m clingy?”Richie says. Shakes his head with a laugh. “You were the one whowouldn’t let me leave the bed when I slept over the other night. Even though Iwas literally dying of thirst. Like, on the verge of death.”

“Hmm, I don’tremember,” Eddie lies. “Think you’re just lying because you’re afraidto admit you’re the clingiest boyfriend to ever exist.”

He expects a witty retort, animpish grin, a round of their usual bickering. But Richie’s face softens, andhe leans right down so their foreheads are pressed together.

“Is it weird that I like itwhen you call me your boyfriend?” he murmurs, brown eyes looking deep intoEddie’s own, dropping every and now to look at Eddie’s mouth. “Because Ireally fucking like it.”

“It’s not weird,”Eddie says. It’s been a month and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.“I like it too.”

Richie grins, tilts his head asthough in greeting. “Boyfriend.”

Eddie grins back, mimicks him.“Boyfriend.”

The sound of a door handlingrattling open sounds behind them. They spring apart.

The guy, looks like someone’smiddle aged dad, gives them a little awkward nod as he leaves the restroom.Eddie gestures toward the open door.

“All yours,” he tellsRichie.

“I can’t just leave youalone out here in the cold,” Richie says.

“I am not going inthere with you-”

“No,” Richie snorts.He shrugs off his windbreaker and holds it out to Eddie. “I’m clingy butI’m not that clingy. Just take this.”

Eddie hesitates. Because yeshe’s cold but he doesn’t want to be responsible for making Richie cold. But Richie just thrusts thejacket into Eddie’s chest, rambling on about how he’s fine, has a nice thickhoodie on, is naturally hot anyway, before disappearing into the men’s room.

Eddie standsout there alone. In the shadows. In the cool night air. And he tugs on Richie’sjacket.

He ends up squished between Bevand Stan in the back of Richie’s truck. Richie lying by Bev’s feet. Andhonestly, he thought he was going to struggle with not being able to cuddleRichie as much Richie would (because, yeah, maybe he can be a little clingy).But it’s a little easier when he can snuggle down into Richie’s jacket, zip itright up so the collar covers his mouth and nose. Breathes in the scent that’sinterwoven into the fabric - the smell of Richie’s detergent, deodorant, hintsof sweat and cigarettes. It’s too big on him, sleeves falling over his hands,but it’s so warm.

At one point, Richie tilts hishead back, washed over with the colours of the movie screen, and smiles at him.And Eddie feels warm from the inside, too.

(Bev and Stanalso glance over at him, eyes grazing over Richie’s jacket, but Eddie doesn’tnotice).

After that night, it kind ofbecomes a thing.

‘It’ being Eddie wearingRichie’s clothes at every possible opportunity.

Sometimes, when they’re out,Eddie will put on a little show of shivering, rubbing his arms to warm them up,giving Richie pointed looks, until Richie shrugs off his jacket and places itover Eddie’s shoulders. Sometimes, after a particularly heated make-outsession, in which Richie’s collarbones are covered in marks, Eddie will scoopup Richie’s shirt from the floor and pull it over his head.

He’s beginning to compile a smallcollection of Richie’s clothes in his closet.

“Is that Richie’s?”Bev asks one day, frowning at the white hoodie Eddie is drowning in. A smallspike of panic shoot through Eddie’s heart, but he manages to compose himself.Gives her a nonchalant shrug.

“Dunno,” he replies,“Don’t think so.” And she leaves it at that.

“Dude that shirt’s too bigon you,” snorts Ben one evening, eyeing the old band tee that practicallyhangs off one of Eddie’s shoulders, and reaches his upper thighs. Eddie’sbreath gets caught in his throat, but he swallows it down.

“Is it?” he says,squinting down at himself as though he only just noticed. “Huh.Weird.” And then he walks away before Ben can look at it too closely, andrealise that it doesn’t belong to him.

Eddie should probably just stopwearing them, at least until they tell their friends about their relationship.But…he just really likes wearing Richie’s clothes, being surrounded bythat faint scent of Richie, being bundled up in all that fabric. And none ofthe other Losers have really said anything other than the occasionalobservation or two. So he thinks he’s getting away with it.

About two weeks after the drivein, Eddie and Richie lie together in Eddie’s bed, facing each other in themiddle. It’s dark and quiet, Eddie’s eyes trace the curve of Richie’s chapped,pink lips, the slope of his jaw, the freckles splattered across his pale skin, inthe dim light - only a breath away.

Eddie wears his favourite pair ofshorts, and one of Richie’s dark, baggy hoodies with nothing underneath.

“You know, I think I’mrunning out of clothes,” Richie murmurs, surveying Eddie’s - Richie’s -hoodie with a small smile. Eddie reaches out and runs his fingers down theslope of Richie’s nose, brushes the backs of his knuckles against Richie’scheek - Richie’s eyelids flutter at the touch.

“What are you gonna doabout it?” Eddie teases softly, dropping his hand in the small gap betweenthem.

“Nothing,” Richiereplies. When Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, he grins, and grazes his hand upEddie’s thigh. Leaves Eddie’s skin hot and tingling as he trails up alongEddie’s hip and slips his hand under the hem of the hoodie. Fingertips searingover Eddie’s bare waist. “You look really fucking good in myclothes.”

Eddie’s stomach dips. Richie pullshim closer, closing that gap between them, and kisses him.

Kissing Richie is somethingEddie’s not sure he’ll ever get used to, either. The feeling of Richie’s hotmouth on his, the slide of their lips together, the heat of Richie’s tongue inhis mouth. Eddie slides his hand into Richie’s hair and twists his fingers inRichie’s curls. Shudders at the way Richie hums against him, tightens his gripon Eddie’s waist.

“You’re so fucking cute,Eds,” Richie breathes, ducking down to nip at Eddie’s jaw. “Sofucking cute it’s unfair.” He presses their foreheads together, lipsbrushing when he adds, “do you know how hard it is for me to stop myselffrom just jumping you every time I see you in one of my shirts? It’sreally fucking hard.”

“You hardly stopyourself,” Eddie snorts. “I mean, look at what you’re doing rightnow.”

Richie laughs, pushes Eddie ontohis back and leans over him. Places one hand by Eddie’s head, the other stillon Eddie’s waist, rubbing circles into Eddie’s skin with his thumb.

“Asshole,” he says.“Remember the other day when you wore my Led Zeppelin shirt? While we werehanging out at Bill’s? I literally felt like I was gonna explode.”

“I’d have liked to seethat,” Eddie jokes.

Richie shutshim up with another kiss.

This kiss is a lot hungrier thanthe first. Richie presses his body right down along Eddie’s, Eddie bitesRichie’s bottom lip, Richie’s hand ventures lower, to the curve of Eddie’s ass.Squeezes.

“Richie…” Eddiebreathes.

There’s a knock at the window.

Richie jolts away from Eddieimmediately. The two of them, chests heaving, gaping at the drawn curtains.Because the only person who knocks on Eddie’s window is currently kneelingright beside him.

There’s another knock.

“It’s not me,” Richiehisses.

“Obviously,” Eddiehisses back.

“Then who is it?”

A murderer probably. Eddiestares at the window wide-eyed, heart in his throat, and he’s sure that they’reabout five seconds from dying.

“Eddie! Open up! I knowyou’re in there!”

Richie and Eddie exchange abewildered look.

It’s Bev.

Richie immediately dives off thebed, in a way that’s overly dramatic and unnecessarily noisy. He presseshimself flat against the carpet, out of sight, and Eddie fixes his hair andpulls back the curtains.

Bev’s round, freckled face beamsat him. Gestures for him to unlatch the window.

“What the hell are youdoing here?” Eddie asks, once he’s hoisted the window open. Cold hair hitshis face as he peers down the side of his house. Bev is standing on a ladder,held in place by Ben and Mike. Bill and Stan are a little way away on the frontlawn, still on their bikes, chatting idly. “All of you?”

“Good to see you too,Eddie,” Bev says brightly. “We’re kidnapping you for a late nightescapade.  Richie, too.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold.“Um. What?”

“Richie’s here isn’the?” Bev asks, trying to peer past Eddie into the darkness of his room.“He wasn’t at his place so we figured he’d be here.”

“…Why?”

The question is pointless. Bevis far too perceptive for her own good. She fixes him with one her very knowinglooks, an eyebrow quirked and the corner of her mouth lifted and says,“because you’re dating.”

Eddie probably shouldn’tsurprised, but hearing that coming from Bev’s mouth still feels a bit like apunch in the gut. “N-no. No we’re not.”

“Come on, Eddie. You’vebeen wearing Richie’s clothes for weeks. You’re literally in one of his hoodiesright now.”

Eddie blushes furiously, tryingto sink down into said hoodie, and mumbles, “No I’m not.”

Bev ignores him, craning aroundto call into his room, “hey, Richie, you up for a late nightadventure?”

“Richie’s not here rightnow,” Richie replies. “Please call again in five to ten businesshours.”

Eddie could kill him, resistingthe urge to slap his hand to his own forehead. A grin splits across Bev’s face,and she gives Eddie look that is somewhere between very pleased, and smug.

“Whatcha doing in there,Richie?” she says, not taking her eyes off Eddie. Eddie winces, alreadydreading Richie’s reply.

“Nothing,” Richiecalls. “Definitely not dating Eddie in here, that’s for sure.”

This time, Eddie really doesslap a hand to his forehead.

Bev laughs, clear and bright inthe dark night, and then begins climbing down the ladder. “We’ll bewaiting down here for you. You might wanna put some warmer pants on, Eddie.Though I’m sure Richie’s enjoying that shorts and hoodie combo.”

“She’s right!”

“Oh god,” Eddiegroans.

Richie is already up andsearching for his shoes when Eddie turns around. And Eddie knows he should getready too, but he can’t stop himself from hesitating. A feeling of discontentswirling around in his stomach. Because it’s not a secret anymore. They know.And Eddie feels relief, too, because he hates keeping things from hisfriends. Is nice that there is no longer a secret between them. But…it justfeels a little daunting. That this is now out in the world.

“Hey,” Richie says,noticing Eddie’s hesitance. He crosses the room and cups Eddie’s elbow.“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie manages.Richie presses his lips together and pushes them up toward his cheek, obviouslyunconvinced.

“They’re the only ones whoknow,” Richie reassures him. “You know nobody else would be smartenough to figure it out. It’s still a secret, okay?” He circles his thumbinto Eddie’s elbow. “It’s okay.”

Eddie sighs, and it’scomforting, because he’s right. “Okay.”

“Plus,” Richie says,pecking Eddie’s lips. “Now you can wear my clothes all the time.”

Eddie shoves him away, huffs.“Shut up.“ 

But he smiles back when Richie smiles at him, relaxed, and he changes into jeans and pulls on his sneakers and together they join their friends out the window. 

[imjustthemechanic]

Our Own Demons

Part 1/? - A Bolt from the Blue Part 2/? - A Different World Part 3/? - Stark At Home Part 4/? - Pot Roast Night Part 5/? - Space-Pie Continuum Part 6/? - Energy Signature Part 7/? - Miss Potts Part 8/? - Bot from Beyond Part 9/? - Even the Odds Part 10/? - Miss Potts Arrives Part 11/? - Truth Hurts Part 12/? - The Third Reality Part 13/? - Thor and Odinson Part 14/? - The Tesseract Platform Part 15/? - Prime Suspect Part 16/? - Jailbreak Part 17/? - Shenandoah Part 18/? - A Hater Part 19/? - Reality B

What if Tony Stark really were the villain of the Marvel universe?  How would that work?  Tony himself is about to find out, as he battles his inner demons (and some outer ones, too) across a multiverse of infinite possibilities.

Fairfax drove him to the storage locker.  It did not appear to have been torn apart by a giant robot yet, which was good.  For much of the drive she kept her eyes straight ahead, but every so often she’d pause and glance at Tony as if she still couldn’t quite believe any of this was really happening.  Maybe she couldn’t.  Tony did have that effect on people.

Once they arrived, Tony checked on the suit.  It was still outside the library, and although more people were joining in the draw on Iron Man party – the décor now boasted a variety of signatures, some crudely-drawn genitalia, and a cartoon kid peeing on the arc reactor – it was intact.  The complement of cops had dropped to just two, who were amused by the impromptu public artwork rather than doing anything to stop it.  He’d leave it there for now.  As soon as it moved they’d try to follow it.

“I’d say I’ll give you a job at Stark Industries once you graduate, but you’d probably consider that selling out to corporate interests,” he observed, as Fairfax knelt to unlock the apartment.

“I don’t want to feed the murder machine,” she agreed.  “Anyway, you wouldn’t have anything for me.”

“Oh, no?” asked Tony.  His company was more diverse than most people suspected.  “What’s your major?”

“Musical theory.”

Tony thought about it a moment, then shrugged.  “I’ll consider that a challenge.”

Fairfax rolled up the door of the compartment and ducked inside, returning a moment later with a pink shoebox.  Inside was a pair of scuffed black chucks with hearts and skulls on the sides, and rolled up in a sock and tucked into the toe of one was a tiny cube of tesseract.

“Perfect,” said Tony.  “That’s perfect.”  He set it gently back into the box.  “Now, can you help me with a few more things?”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Mostly wiring.”  Tony needed something to feed the tesseract power into the mesh Faraday cage inside his suit.  Him and his double in the other reality hadn’t quite gotten that far yet, but really, an insulated conductor was all they needed.  Since this was only a tiny bit of tesseract juice, to be fed in slowly so as hopefully not to tip off the robot-maker, ordinary wires would do.  Fairfax got them from a pair of headphones that looked like they were vintage 1982 or thereabouts, and dug through the storage locker to find a soldering iron.

“Why do you have that?” Tony asked.  What were the odds?

“My Dad was into ham radio,” she replied.  “I’ve got a bunch of his stuff in there.  We used to build things together.”

Maybe she had skills that would be useful at Stark Industries after all.  “That sounds like fun,” said Tony wistfully.  He remembered the times he and his own father had worked on projects together.  Tony and Howard had never gotten along, but every so often they’d been able to build something.  Their favourite had been restoring the old roadster, but there’d been others… little things they could share instead of fighting over.

“Yeah,” she said quietly.  “I miss him a lot.”

They needed a computer to monitor the energy transfer, and to impart the proper frequency to access the robot-builder’s universe – Tony had been able to get that, fortunately, from the remains of the robot itself, and he and Dr. Foster had used it to avoid patching into that universe by mistake.  SHIELD had a special computer for it.  Tony and his counterpart, when they were still trying to keep the whole thing a secret, had planned to use a tablet.  Lacking anything better, Fairfax gave Tony her mobile phone, which he took apart and re-assembled into something that would work better for his purposes.

“JARVIS,” he said quietly, “please send Miss Cadwallader a… she won’t want a Starkphone.  Make it a free iPhone, would you?  Make sure it’s the newest model.”

Done, Sir.  FedEx will have it at her door the day after tomorrow.

“Thanks,” Tony murmured.  He put the screen back on the phone and turned it on, nodding as the screen came up with a prompt.  “Got that software uploaded, JARVIS?” he asked, louder this time.

Compiling now, said JARVIS.  We will have to perform a number of checks of the sytem before we can allow the tesseract energy into the suit.  We don’t want to risk a reaction with your tissues, or Miss Cadwallader’s, like the one you described.

That meant calling the suit, which would lead the cops to them.  “How long is that going to take?”

I estimate six minutes and forty seconds, said JARVIS.  The phone’s processors are not very fast, and even with the suit’s onboard computer to take some of the load, there are…

“Terabytes of calculations, I know,” said Tony.  “Get on with it.”

The suit took off, disrupting the artistic efforts of somebody who had been drawing a much more realistic penis and testicles on the codpiece, and arrived at the storage locker a moment later.  Fairfax stared at the additions to the paint job, then reached into her pocket only to be disappointed when she remembered Tony had taken her phone apart.

“The Met is gonna be pissed,” Tony noted.  “All right, let’s get started.”

Tony plugged the phone into a panel on the back of one gauntlet, and he and Fairfax started connecting the wiring.  They used a plastic keychain ring as a safety key, and soldiered the headphone wires into the mesh where a sliding panel could expose it at the backs of the knees.

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” asked Fairfax.  It seemed to be dawning on her that she was dealing with forces far, far beyond her comprehension.

“I invaded a terrorist base in Miami using stuff I got at Home Depot,” said Tony.  “I think I can make an interdimensional portal with junk out of your storage unit.”

She clearly couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not.

Within a few minutes, Tony could hear the sirens.

It was getting on for dinnertime and he had started to wonder if he’d have time to eat before heading off to his third reality in the past few days, but evidently he was just going to have to hope they had decent pizza when he got there.

“JARVIS,” he said.  “How are those calculations coming?”

Two minutes and forty-two seconds, Sir.

“It’ll have to do,” Tony said.  If anybody ever asked him what was the worst part about being a superhero, he thought, that was what he was going to say – you were always running out of time.

Tony opened the suit and slipped inside, while Fairfax hurried to push everything they’d gotten out back inside and shut the door of the storage compartment.

“Don’t worry about your stuff!” Tony told her.  “Get ready to pull the ring as soon as JARVIS says it’s okay!”

“I don’t want my things confiscated!” Fairfax protested.  “I should never have said yes!  Now I’m an accomplice and I’m gonna get arrested right along with you!”

“No, you’re not,” Tony said.  “Give me the ring and get out of here.”  He would tell the cops he had broken into her locker and stolen things… but no, it was already too late.  Headlights lit up the dim yard of the storage unit, with the sun already having dipped behind the buildings, and red and blue lights flashed as police piled out, guns in their hands.  Tony thought fast, then grabbed Fairfax’ collar and pulled her close, putting an arm around her neck from behind.  He felt her stiffen in terror.  She was probably wondering if this had been his plan all along.

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.  “Just pull the ring when I say.”

“Put your hands up!” a policeman announced.

More service weapons, Tony noticed.  Those would have about as much effect on the suit as the bugs that got splattered across the leading surfaces of it at low altitudes.  He rolled his eyes and raised the faceplate of the helmet.  They needed to see him for this part.

“Nobody move!” he ordered.  “I have a hostage!”  Fairfax would suffer fewer consequences if they thought she was a victim, rather than an accomplice.

The cops paused in their advance and exchanged some glances.  They hadn’t been expecting to negotiate.

“How are we doing, JARVIS?” asked Tony.

Twenty seconds, Sir.

The cop in the lead stepped forward.  “Stark,” he said, “you’ve got nowhere to go but up, and if you do we have helicopters waiting for you.  Let the girl go, and give yourself up.”

Checks complete, said JARVIS.  You may commence at any time.

Tony banged the faceplate down again.  “Pull it,” he told Fairfax.  “JARVIS, as soon as I’m gone, open all segment connections in the suit.”

Of course, Sir.  Your flair for the dramatic has always served you so well where law enforcement is concerned.

“Bye, guys!” said Tony.

There was a sizzling sound and a coppery taste as Fairfax pulled the ring free, letting the tesseract into the suit systems.  Then, once again, a shriek of static and a whiteout.  The police would see the suit spark and fall apart, leaving it in empty pieces on the ground next to Fairfax – letting it go to bits would also keep it from being utterly destroyed if the transit disgorged another killer robot.  Hopefully, Rhodey would step in to look after Fairfax herself, but if she did get arrested, at least it would be hard for the people who’d killed her professor to get to her in jail.

The white faded to blackness, and Tony dropped heavily into another suit.

Or… was it a suit?  It was definitely suit-shaped, but it didn’t seem to have any systems active.  Instead of being freestanding in a display case, or flying on a mission, it was suspended in a dark hangar, dangling from a set of robotic arms.  No display came on, so Tony could only see the outside world through a narrow slit, which showed him vague moonlit shapes of stacked crates and lumpy machines covered with tarps.  If the SHIELD storage facility had looked like it might contain the ark of the covenant, this place seemed like it might have a flying saucer and a couple of dead aliens in it somewhere.

Tony wiggled a little, but the suit wouldn’t open – it only bounced a bit in the grip of the robot arms.  “JARVIS?” he asked warily.

Oh, hel-lo, said a voice.

Tony looked up sharply, even though the voice was clearly coming over a speaker instead of out of a mouth.  It wasn’t JARVIS’ voice, though, nor was it the feminine voice of JANIS from the other reality he’d visited.  This was a male voice at the low end of tenor, with an unpleasant resonance under it and a flat American accent with just a hint of Boston.

“Who’s there?” asked Tony.

Not JARVIS, the voice replied, amused.  I didn’t believe him when he said you still used JARVIS.  Don’t get me wrong, nice guy, but an outmoded antique.

“And you’re the improved model, are you?” asked Tony.  “I don’t think I like an AI that doesn’t respect its elders.”  He tried to struggle again, but even though it was now plain that the system knew he was there, he didn’t get any results.  “Let me out,” he said.  “That’s an order.”

He expected obedience.  When he told JARVIS that’s an order, it was a signal to the computer to do as he said at once, without any sarcastic comments or unwanted advice.  This machine, however, said nope.  Not even a polite no, Sir, or I’m afraid I can’t do that, Dave.  Just a casual, slightly drawled nope, as if the computer considered this whole thing a joke.

“What do you mean, nope?” Tony asked indignantly.  “How about I’m your creator and you do what I damned well say?”  It had worked with JANIS.

Nope, the AI repeated.  You can wait until Daddy arrives.  Hang out.  The robotic arms holding Tony above the ground jiggled a little, to emphasize the joke.

“You don’t get to tell people no,” Tony said.

Sure I do, said the computer.  The real Tony Stark has a node implanted in his brain that allows me to stay in direct contact with him at all times.  Much more elegant than that little hearing air you’re wearing.  I know exactly where he is and what he’s thinking, and he’s not in the transfer suit sputtering impotently at me.  I’ll let you out when he wants me to.  Not before.

And that, the tone of voice said, was final.

[jaeminlore]

Boy Without a Car // Lee Mark

-

the prompt: can i request a scenario with mark lee where you’re is like special guest/host of this formal/special event and the grand entrance is a staircase, and upon entering, you trip and fall down the stairs (unfortunately while everyone is watching) and clueless hero mark lee is there to catch (more like cushion) your fall? please make it rlly fluffy^^

words: 1892

category: fluff

author note: i was gonna upload a second scenario but i got distracted watching rip vine compilations and now i need to sleep so pls enjoy this mork fluff.

- destinee

-

You looked down at your dress, the slim, sequined bodice intimidating you as you thought of having to stand in front of tons of people. “Are you sure this isn’t too flashy? I can wear something else.”

“Nonsense,” your mother told you. “This is your eighteenth birthday party. It signals the day you become a woman, and also the day your father announces that you will one day inherit his company. It’s a big deal.”

“Yeah,” you grumbled, “to you and all your millionaire friends. Can’t I just get some cake and leave?”

“That would be a horrible way of thanking all of your guests for coming out to celebrate your birthday,” your mother reprimanded you.

You huffed, “Well when you put it that way I can’t cop out, can I?”

Your mother smiled charmingly. “Be ready to descend down the stairs when they announce your name. You need to be the apple of everyone’s eye.”

“I’ll try,” you answered, for that was all you could do.

-

Mark tugged his white collar nervously from the corner of the ballroom. “How much are we getting paid again?”

Donghyuck scoffed. “Less than minimum wage. Honestly, next time we take over Yuta and Hansol’s jobs for them we’d better ask the payment before we agree.”

Mark wasn’t sure he could argue with that logic. Since he was here, though, he would work like he committed to do. Still, he didn’t like the idea of being around so many important people. He was nervous he would mess something up. Then even the little pay he got would be gone.

He and Donghyuck split up, moving to different sides of the ballroom to offer people crab cakes and other hors d'oeuvres.

Mark found himself enjoying the party, since he was basically being paid to walk around and listen in on people’s conversations. He was beginning to think the job was one of easiest he had ever taken when the host of the party clinked a fork against his glass.

“If I may have your attention, everyone! I present to you the guest of honor, my daughter, Y/n Y/l/n.”

Mark followed his gesture to the staircase, where you descended gracefully. He felt his cheeks go warm at your beauty, feeling foolish for being so easily enamored by someone. However, you looked adorable to him with your dark blue dress and curled hair.

That feeling was short lived, however, when you broke him out of his thoughts by nearly breaking his wrist.

-

You walked down the staircase, one hand on the banister. A fake smile adorned your face as you looked at the many guests.

Your gaze got caught on a certain boy who seemed to be a waiter for the party. He stared at you for a moment before turning away, looking disinterested, as if his mind were a million miles away. He intrigued you.

In fact, he intrigued you so much that you lost your footing. A collective gasp arose from the crowd as you began to fall face first down the steps.

As humiliating as it was, nothing could quite top it off like the having the handsome boy you had been staring at cushion your fall. Not to mention that the tray full of appetizers he had been holding went flying across the ballroom floor.

Your guests let out an audible gasp as you face planted into the boy’s chest. You groaned in embarrassment and kept your head hidden in his chest. Maybe if you stayed there long enough everyone would turn away and forget it ever happened.

His voice made you come to your senses.

“Ow!” He winced from under you, holding his wrist to his chest.

“I’m so sorry!” You clambered off of him and grabbed his uninjured hand, helping him up. “I’ll call the hospital.”

“No need!” He said quickly. Then he looked down at your intertwined hands and blushed, ripping his hand away from yours. “I-It isn’t broken. It just hurts a bit.”

“Oh,” you said. The crowd had returned to their frivolous conversations, until it was just you and the boy staring at each other.

He scratched the back of his neck nervously, “So, uh, happy birthday.”

“Huh?” You looked around. “Oh, thanks. I’m Y/n.”

“Mark,” he replied. You saw a ghost of a smile appear on his face.

“So, do you want to go do something?” You offered him a shy smile.

Mark met your gaze, his eyes wide and innocent. “Me? Oh, I can’t.”

Noticing your downcast expression, he held out his hands, “I mean, I want to! I just can’t because I’m working.”

You grinned. “Well, do you know the best part of being the guest of honor is?”

“What’s that?” Mark asked.

“It means you’re officially off work and free to hang out with me.” You answered, feeling more confident.

Although, Mark seemed to feel the opposite, for he let out a flustered laugh. “Can’t say no to the birthday girl, can I? Let me go tell Donghyuck.”

You nodded, although you had no idea who Donghyuck was.

-

Mark shook his head to clear his thoughts while he looked for Donghyuck. He untied the white apron around his waist, thankful it kept most of the food stains from getting on his nice slacks.

“Dude, that was one fall– Why are you handing me your apron?” Donghyuck looked at the apron that was now in his hand.

“Y/n wants to hang out,” Mark breathed. “See you later.”

Donghyuck gave Mark an unimpressed look. “You’re going to leave me here alone to serve all these people.”

“I’ll give you my share of the wage!” Mark promised, already halfway across the room.

Donghyuck clicked his tongue in disapproval as he watch Mark walk out of the ballroom with you.

-

“This is what you wanted to do?” Mark found himself laughing as you climbed the magnolia tree outside of the estate.

“Yeah,” you grunted, bunching your skirt above your knees to reach the next branch. “Why do you think I wore shorts under my dress?”

Mark furrowed his eyebrows, “But why did you invite me?”

“So I would have someone to talk to,” you answered, smiling softly at him. “Climb up.”

Mark obeyed, clumsily reaching for the lowest branch before heaving himself up. “What about your party? Don’t you want to inherit your father’s company?”

“Of course,” you answered. “I just don’t want to have to talk to a bunch of people. That’s not my idea of a good birthday.”

“Oh,” Mark, an introvert himself, could understand. “So you’re just going to sit in a tree?”

“Until they serve the cake,” you answered.

You kept climbing, occasionally stopping to help Mark up since he wasn’t used to climbing trees. “We can see into the ballroom from the top branch, so we’ll wait for the cake there.”

“Will it be able to hold us?” Mark asked nervously. He was beginning to feel aprhensive about your whole idea of “hanging out”. He had already gotten hurt once around you. As cute as you were, he wasn’t looking for another injury.

Still, he kept climbing. Curiosity had definitely won in this situation.

Finally, Mark and you were sitting side by side in the highest tree branch, your feet swinging against the rhythm of the nearby fountain.

“Tell me about yourself,” you said.

Mark coughed awkwardly into his rolled fist. “Well, I was born in–”

“No!” You giggled, “Don’t start from the beginning.”

“Where do I start, then?” Mark asked.

“Start in the middle,” you advised. “Stories are always more exciting when they start in the middle.”

Mark looked down at his handing feet. “Well, I moved here from Canada.”

“See?” You grinned at him, “That’s what I’m talking about. What’s Canada like?”

“It was nice,” Mark said. “I miss the snow.”

“I’ve never seen snow that actually stuck to the ground.”

Mark chuckled, a feeling of comfort washing over him as he thought gleefully about home. “It can snow for days there, if you live in the right place.”

“I’d like to see it one day. Would you take me?”

Mark stuttered at your straightforward attitude. “Uh…”

“That was weird wasn’t it?” You were flustered as well. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant if I ever went to Canada, it would be nice if I had a friend to show me around.”

“Oh,” Mark sighed comfortably. Then, “I’d take you. After I took Donghyuck, that is. He’d never forgive me if I took someone else before him.”

“Is he that other waiter? Are you two close?” You wondered aloud.

“Yeah,” Mark answered. “We’re best friends.”

You timidly leaned your head on Mark’s shoulder, feeling happy when you talked to him.

Who knew you falling on top of him could result in this?

“I would like a best friend,” you mumbled. “Truthfully, I don’t have many friends. They all act entitled because their families own large companies and they make fun of my father because his company is the smallest out of their circle of friends.”

“Doesn’t your dad own a million-dollar company?” Mark asked, feeling stupid since he didn’t even own a car.

“Yeah,” you answered. “But he makes less in millions than the other dads.”

“That’s frivolous to fight over,” Mark said.

“I know,” you sighed. “That’s why I’m not friends with them. I like being friends with people like you.”

“What?” Mark laughed, “Poor people?”

You laughed along, “It sounds bad when you say it like that, so no. I like being friends with humble people.”

Mark looked down at you, some kind of soft look in his eyes, “You’re interesting, you know?”

You met his gaze, a fierce blush appearing on your cheeks as he began to lean in. You placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him close enough to close the hesitant gap between you.

Mark pressed lips against yours with a tenderness you weren’t accustomed to. Maybe all the boys you had dated were too confident and arrogant in their skill to kiss you slowly. Their kissed were always sloppy and messy: adjectives you didn’t wish to use again.

With Mark, you didn’t have to use any negative adjectives. Because it was just him, faintly moving his lips against yours as if he were afraid you would push him away, or reject him.

You didn’t know where his confidence came from, but you found yourself liking the Mark who leaned in first.

He finally pulled away, looking down at you with a soft smile. “Hey,” he whispered awkwardly.

“Hey,” you giggled back, a new feeling of giddiness rushing into your heart.

You grabbed Mark’s hand and held it without a word, once again leaning your head on his shoulder to watch people dance through the window.

Finally, you saw a three-tiered chocolate cake being rolled into the ballroom and you gasped. “Cake!”

You climbed down quickly, with Mark lagging behind, and ran back into the ballroom just as your father began to look for you.

Mark took his place beside Donghyuck as they watched people sing to you, an embarrassed blush on your cheeks.

“Where were you two?” Donghyuck asked. “You left me with all of these people to deal with.”

“Sorry,” Mark said quickly, smiling as he met your gaze. “I owe you one, really.”

~the end~

[crookedspoonfic]

The Raven Cycle Fic Masterlist

I thought I might compile a masterlist of TRC fic before it becomes too long for me to bother with. More of a quick browsing overview. Tags and everything on AO3.

Fics are grouped into Series, Standalones and Snippets. Series are sorted by date of creation and the fics by internal chronology. Standalones are divided into main pairing, sorted alphabetically, and then listed chronologically. Numbering reflects when a fic was written, so it’s easier to find the latest ones.

Last updated: 2017-10-22 (39 fics; 1 podfic; 1 new Series)

Series

nothing more than any artist dreams - Artist AU.

4. blue as a gunshot wound: Kavinsky/Prokopenko (M; 3,635 words; 01 February 2017) Proko knows he’s a doormat when it comes to Kavinsky. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.

17. Les liaisons dangereuses: Kavinsky/Prokopenko (M; 1,500 words; 27 May 2017) You shouldn’t be surprised when he drags you into the men’s room, although somehow you are.

19. something burning on my chest: Kavinsky/Prokopenko (M; 3,785 words; 05 July 2017) In which Proko is hungover and having a full-on angstfest before K wakes up and defuses it by being a dick.

34. A work of art and a weapon, a delight and a defense: Kavinsky/Prokopenko (M; 2,135 words; 07 October 2017) Kavinsky is a lot more taken with what Proko wants to show him than Proko would have expected.

30. maybe this is danger and you just don’t: Proko/Swan (E; 2,815 words; 01 October 2017) The fact that Swan of all people wants you is really fucking flattering.

2. Hidden here below the fracture: Kavinsky/Ronan, Kavinsky/Prokopenko (M; 3,278 words; 28 December 2016) Irritation lurks at the other end of his high, not inspiration. Or, the one in which K tries to banish Lynch from his head. Through art. And fails. Just give me what I came for 5. I’ve tasted hell and it tastes just like you: Kavinsky/Ronan (E; 2,565 words; 07 March 2017) Everyone knows that when you need someone to hurt you, Kavinsky is it. 7. Stay with me, I’ll show you paradise: Kavinsky/Ronan (E; 3,010 words; 14 March 2017) Kavinsky would never admit it but he can’t say no to Ronan. No matter how late it is, he’s there. Though he’s usually not this destroyed. 9. my tongue still misbehaves: Kavinsky/Ronan (M; 500 words; 18 March 2017) “Answer me this: how much would it piss you off if I got into Gansey’s pants before you did?” 26. So maybe I wanted to give you something more (E; 3,104 words; 30 August 2017) "Here's the deal, sweetheart, since I'm in a generous mood: Whatever you want me to do to you, I'll do it. All you have to do is say it out loud."

12. No sins as long as there’s permission: Kavinsky/Ronan (E; 4,555 words; 15 April 2017) WIP? “If we’re gonna do this, I want you to leave Gansey out of it. Completely.”

Two maniacs, indulging in the pleasures of their world - Childhood Friends AU.

22. Dreams are made for fools and sages: Kavinsky/Ronan  (T; 500 words; 2017-07-13) The act of falling asleep: childhood vs. teenage years.

Be quiet and drive (far away) - Roadtrip AU.

1. Something’s got me and I just can’t seem to choose: Ronan/Kavinsky (T; 1,250 words; 13 November 2016) “You know where you can keep an even better eye on me, Lynch?” he asks. Ronan ignores the tickle of warm breath against the shell of his ear and empties his shot glass. “On the dancefloor. Come on, dance with me.” Or, the one in which Ronan doesn’t dance with K. Because obviously.

24. Don’t let me go; take me to the edge: Kavinsky/Ronan (M; 500 words; 24 July 2017) The hour-long drives and restless nights turn your days into a haze of dream-like images, impressions, impulses, stuttering like a flicker book – the open road before you, the car thrumming beneath you, Kavinsky twisting out of the window beside you and whooping with the thrill of it, white tanktop fluttering around his stomach.

I never liked that ending either - Rehab AU.

25. I wear these scars, I own my mistakes: Kavinsky & Ronan/Adam (T; 2,500 words; 28 August 2017) A year after the fateful Fourth of July party, Kavinsky suddenly comes out of the woodwork to apologize for what he's done.

27. And I still believe that I cannot be saved: Prokopenko & Kavinsky (T; 500 words; 02 September 2017) Prokopenko pays Kavinsky a visit in the hospital after the Fourth.

Grant me the freedom from objects - trans!Kavinsky/Ronan.

28. not really soothing but soothing nonetheless (E; 2,525 words; 08 September 2017) Working through some issues.

31. When you have nothing to say, set something on fire (M; 2,342 words; 02 October 2017) More musings on sleep and rehab than anyone asked for, and a hand job in the rain.

Married Alive - Kavinsky/Piper

33. You’re never too good for me (M; 1,611 words; 05 October 2017) When Greenmantle ordered the Greywaren to be delivered to him, he didn't expect to lose his wife (partner? lover?) over it.

Standalones

Adam/Kavinsky/Ronan

10. a new kind of love your life has never allowed + polytangle (M; 2,835 words; 31 March 2017) Youtube AU, sorta. Or: Adam is trying to edit a video, Kavinsky has other plans, and Gansey interrupts them both by video-calling long-distance. Gansey/Noah

29. ille me osculat (the scenic byway remix) + OT5 (G; 2,272 words; 11 September 2017) "gansey stands apart from the connection the other four share, because he doesn't know how to ask the others for that and the others don't think he wants like they do."noah is the one who sees."—weesaw, (i want you to know that i want to)

Gansey/Kavinsky

35. You know you like it but you’re scared of the shame (E; 2,560 words; 08 October 2017) Ronan said there was no negotiating with Kavinsky, but you had to see for yourself if that was true before deciding anything rash.

Gansey/Ronan 6. your heart frayed and empty (M; 2,705 words; 12 March 2017) Gansey wants to help Ronan, but has been drawing blanks as to how. Ronan has an idea, but never dared give it voice or thought. Until now. 8. stealing like the tide across a map (M; 2,150 words; 16 March 2017) The collar is heavy in your hands, heavy with the weight of what’s being asked. You’re aware that this could very well cost you your friendship, no matter what decision you make. Kavinsky/Ronan 11. It’s lovely. I hate it.: Kavinsky/Ronan (G; 200 words; 03 April 2017) Of weakness, disbelief, and growing families. 13. He wonders what to say and whether to say it (T; 500 words; 07 May 2017) For the first time in over a year and a half, you consider going to confession, to cleanse your soul of the sins you’ve committed this past week. 14. I’m variously sweat or shudder + Kavinsky/Prokopenko (M; 500 words; 10 May 2017) You’re about ready to dissolve when his phone rings. Kavinsky, of course, has to answer. 15. No warning from either of us (M; 2,205 words; 13 May 2017) Business AU. Niall Lynch has expanded his business of procuring rare items. In his absence, Ronan takes over the helm, although he has no real interest in it. That is, unless it means one-upping Kavinsky. 18. I just made you up to hurt myself (E!; 2,745 words; 30 June 2017) cw: non-con/rape, violence You parted as enemies on opposing lines, finger-gun to forehead, rage and rejection and a promise to end the other. Unless he’s begged you on his knees to take him back, there’s not one scenario in which you’d wind up back in your basement together with the real Lynch. Conclusion: You must have dreamed this one.

23. Everything that used to matter, don’t matter no more: Kavinsky+Prokopenko (T; 500 words; 17 July 2017) “I’m dying, man. What is that?” He scrubs his fingers over his breastbone, just below his gold chain. “I tried everything. I can’t make it go away.” 

36. I could almost swear I felt us float (M; 1,310 words; 09 October 2017) "Truth, then: you ever kill someone?"

Kavinsky/Prokopenko 3. Reality bites hard (T; 2,050 words; 08 January 2017) WIP? Congratulations on coming out,“ Gansey says. "No fucking way. Kavinsky’s not gay.” A joke, that’s all this is, but not everyone seems to get it and suddenly has opinions about your life and who you are as a person. Trouble is, you soon find you’re not so sure yourself anymore. 20. You taste so bitter and so sweet (T; 500 words; 06 July 2017) “I don’t want you to go.” To him hangs in the air.

21. with a cloud at your feet (T; 500 words; 08 July 2017) Kavinsky has a lot of strange moods, depending on what he’s tripping on, yet arguably there are none stranger than when it’s just the five of you and he’s trying out new pills.

37. Cheap thrills and a breakfast full of white lines (M; 3,000 words; 10 October 2017) "Do you remember the first time we did this?" he asks, because memory fascinates him, knowing for a fact that most of it is fabricated because he is. How could you forget? It was the day that made you who you are today. And him, too.

Noah/Whelk 16. And it’s a long way back from seventeen (T; 1,210 words; 25 May 2017) It wasn’t only your skull that cracked that day. 

38. You kissed me like a storm at sea (T; 1,424 words; 12 October 2017) It started out with you losing a wager and having to pose as Barry's maid for a day.

39. Don’t leave me behind (T; 500 words; 15 October 2017) Even after you lost everything, he picked you up as if it were a normal Tuesday.

Ronan/Greenmantle

32. A bullet in your head is how I want it (E; 2,135 words; 04 October 2017) cw: graphic violence, blood, gore, imagined character death, guro Ronan has a recurring fantasy: he dreams of killing someone. But not just anyone, no. He dreams of killing his father's murderer.

Podfic

1. gonna rip it off (go back home) by ilgaksu: Kavinsky/Ronan, Ronan/Adam (T; 6:04 min; 13 September 2017) Joseph Kavinsky can't read Latin. He can't read Latin and Ronan can't read his own body and they've both got enough blood on their hands they could mark each other up and you'd never see the red. That's beautiful, that is.

Bonus: Snippets, Excerpts, and WIPs

i.  You tell yourself you haven’t always been this pathetic: Kavinsky (T; ~1.8k words; 29 August 2017)

ii. Childhood friends AU, scene 1: Kavinsky/Ronan, Declan (T; 2,255 words; 01 September 2017)

Previous updates:

2017-06-22 (17 fics)  2017-07-01 (18 fics, re-did the numbering to reflect when a fic was written, hoping to make it easier to find the latest ones) 2017-07-08 (20 fics, added explanation on fic sorting) 2017-07-13 (22 fics, created a new untitled series) 2017-07-24 (24 fics; named the previously unnamed series, created a new one and sorted my first TRC fic under it) 2017-09-03 (27 fics; added another Series and a Snippets category for tumblr-exclusive previews) 2017-09-15 (28 fics; 1 podfic; added the section Podfic) 2017-10-08 (32 fics; 1 podfic; 1 new Series)

[mateoshea-blog]

Pink Clouds & Pocket Lint

Part I

            “Grabmeuhcouplecokes… cotton mouth y’kno?” as Fast Eddie chokes out the last toke of the roach. Quickly, Fast Eddie stashes the funky skunky stuff into an old oxidized ALTOIDS can – MADE IN GREAT BRITIAN, NT WT 1.76 OZ (50g). Fast Eddie had this logic that if he collected all his roaches, he could pawn off the “1.76 OZ of homegrown” to some free-lancing left-brained Polo wearing yuppie college kid for 50 bones. If anyone could pull a stunt like that, it was Fast Eddie.

“Yafuckinkiddinme! ‘Spose I’ll hoof it across the street to PAULIE’S CORNER STORE since Pizza Face and Pretty Boy both got Cerebral Palsy all-a-sudden” – Yeah, that’s the villain I been scheming with since I got clipped from the umbilical cord. Fast Eddie, guy was a maniac with a potato head. But, his barber scalped a fade around his temples to precision. Jesus, I mean his barber was his actual wingman. He’d tell us to go to the gay barber. We’d be sitting in at SPEEDY’S CUTS while Fast Eddie was choppin’ the locks and we’d overhear,

“Fast Eddie what work will my soft hands be doing today?”

And Fast Eddie would dish it right back, “If you wanna play with more than these locks later, what would you want my sex hair to look like in the morning?”

Just like that, Fast Eddie had undercooked and greasy golden French fries atop his potato head. Slicked back and thin cut, ready to serve. Ready to be swallowed into a cheap customer’s mouth.             That’s why the drunks, gays, straights, in betweeners, freaks, creeps, geeks and neighbors all liked the fucking guy. Blue collar, told it how it was, and even offered a third hand when his other two were tied up someone else’s ass!

            I could see Fast Eddie still jerking around across the street. Shootin’ the shit with the local folk. More than just a “It’s so warm in here!” small talk guy. Nobody remembers the shmuck with a dull personality. Fast Eddie could make a blind guy fantasize about the cashier at PAULIE’S just by the way he worked his tongue into imagery. He had it.  Coupleuhcokes turns into Fast Eddie holding the door open for any pretty broad that gives him the slightest amount of eye contact (the polarizing effect of a good haircut). Perfect case study for Freud.

 The musty haze of the hotboxed jalopy paranoid the living daylights outta me! We could get high in any partatown and Fast Eddie always coerced us to smoking in his car. Never got to enjoy my high, could never even tell if I was even high at all. The mirrors read “OBJECTS IN THE MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR” – that’s for damn sure. Mirrors were always staring at me with a never-ending time-warped nightmare. I’d get stuck in the mud with the Piggy’s that busted me with the joint that was burning away my dreams of CALIFORNIA COAST. I could only roll in this mud pit for so long until the objects in the mirror become reality.

            Julian senses that one of my classic paranoia episodes is imminent. An observant learner, personal therapist, and mediator. Some of his unpaid roles. He uses the crank on both doors to roll down the clouded condensated windows.

“Carlton man, you love riding on the shoulder” chuckled Julian as he lounged in the plush back seat of the Caravelle.

“This is why I hate smokin’ grass, now you’re speaking straight from the hole that I call your CHAFFED LOOSE ASS!”

“Naw man… see listen, you ride the shoulder too much. That motherfucker ahead is always driving 5 miles per hour under the speed limit. You let him. And he owns you. He holds you back. He controls the rate at which you reach your destination. Shiiiit, if you ever reach it. You can’t pass him, you stay leaning on that white cozy shoulder called COMFORTABILITY. When you gonna pass the mothefucker ahead of you that’s been controlling you? When you gonna take EXIT 52 towards IMFUCKINFREEVILLE?” 

I can’t even flip this one on Julian, “Yeah well I can’t ride yours and Fast Eddie’s coattails for too long now. IMFUCKINFREEVILLE has a population of some twenty million people. Once the weather vane in my oversaturated brain oozes out some hope and blows WESTWARD, I will pass that motherfucker ahead of me. No turning signal either. Imma trade in the cozy white shoulder for some dotted yellow cheese.”

“Carlton… that motherfucker dragging ass is YOU. Pass him with a prayer, leave him in the rearview.”

Julian, the backseat monk. Met him after I graduated high school. P.F. Flyer’s always crispy white, not ever one crease, not ever one scuff. Always thought he would become some materialistic rich prick. Prejudgment without contempt. Stupid me. Materialism attached to the developing brains of us high schoolers. Some shake it and others go to Universities to chase degrees that breed greed. Julian didn’t let the manmade cancer infiltrate him. He ended up rolling with us Proletariat outlaws. Somewhere, Karl Marx is grinning at me for my recruitment.

We had 30 minutes, precisely, to make it to the liquor store. Saturday’s were always the night for our bender.

Fast Eddie had this shit-eatin’ grin on his face when jogged back over the ’85 Caravelle, “Christ Almighty! Fast Eddie were you rubbing one out in PAULIE’S bathroom or sumthin’? We’re alloutta Jameson and you know we are 20 miles from the liquor store and it’s already 8:30!”

Liquor stores were no joking matter, we only found one that never had us show I.D. Plus, Fast Eddie grew a liking to the geyser that worked there. A sad babbling sack of space that got comfortable and stuck with one job his whole life. Bubbling and babbling, day in and day out. Shook so many times that he eventually became flat too.

“Pizza Face and Pretty Boy… always so self-interested. Gonna catch up to you shits soon enough.” Fast Eddie inserted the crusted key into the ignition of the Caravelle – DOOOP, DOOOP, DOOOP. God knows how many germs were on that steering wheel. Thick coats of compiled grease, excess secretions, and the fluids from various estranged females that Fast Eddie coxed in to his traveling fuck-pen. Law of superposition says oldest layers were on the bottom. I’d rather not know these things, but the smell invades my nostrils like the troops on D-DAY. Can’t even condition or desensitize myself to this aroma. Unrelenting attacks by the smell of Fast Eddie’s ball sweat and lingering remnants of a poor mans weed. I want to take a shower. 

“Saturday Night. Dropping the needle down on a dusty B-Side for all you crazed, erotic, and hormonal souls cruising around looking for trouble. How about that L.A. WOMAN track… 1971. The Doors.” Slick Tom, our favorite disc jockey the night of a bender. Always reliable to set the tone.

Fast Eddie pounced on the pedal as Jim Morrison screeched sonic sex through the speakers, “Oh shit yeah fellas, we’re on the move. ‘MR. MOJO RISIN!’”

We punched it onto RT. 5. The faster route according to Fast Eddie, but it was actually the scenic route for him. He loved cruising past the prestigious Victorian style homes and dissecting what kind of conversations happen between the walls of those monasteries.

Fed up with the scenery after 3 miles, Fast Eddie barks “I bet these rich prick Dad’s just read the STOCK MARKET page in section B5 of the WALL STREET JOURNAL and ask their rich prick wives and rich prick kids where they wanna go on vacation next once the rich prick Dad’s inside trade deal hits on Monday morning.” 

“Put the boner back in your pants, you’ll get your dividends too once you start pushing your roach filled ALTOIDS cans to the future homeowners of these fucking houses!”

Fast Eddie snapped right back at me, “I swear I’ll ash my next roach on that smirk of yours, Pizza Face. Maybe that’ll make you look more appetizing.”

Julian leaned in from the backseat, “AN ENDLESS PISSING MATCH, don’t your sacks ever go dry? Your testicles are attached right to your egos. Big swollen ball sacks swinging back and forth back and forth. Blowing your load all over one another day in and day out! It’s exhausting, your egos need a vasectomy!”

Just like that, right when Fast Eddie and I erupted, Julian cooled us down at the surface like molten rock. Crystallizing and metamorphosing into conglomerate. Needed him to flush our egos out. Needed to stop treating him like my urinal cake.

Fast Eddie swerved and weaved around the slow-moving masses of society that had no agenda for the night. Maybe they did. Maybe this is my self-interested motivations speaking again. I hated how maliciously Fast Eddie rounded the corners. Guard rails could’ve skinned my fingertips if I cracked the window open. This was Fast Eddie’s route. Knew every stop sign, timed every red light, and new all the lucrative hideouts where the Piggy’s patrolled.

            It was 8:47, the odometer of the Caravelle twitched another mile on the dash. Only two miles remained between the three Proletariat outlaws and our enabler.

            My second paranoia episode ensues, “Holy Shit Fast Eddie, you’re doing 55 in a school zone!”

            “Who says I wanna choke down Jameson tonight? I’ll turn into De Niro from TAXI DRIVER if you don’t shut the hell up”

            Just like that GUMBALLS GUMBALLS GUMBALLS flash in the mirrors. Objects in the mirror are becoming closer than they appear. Nightmare come true. I’m fucking doomed. We are fucking doomed. My self-interest putting me first.

            “GODFUCKINGDAMMIT EDDIE! Mile away, no traffic, all interstate and now I’m gonna get jammed up with the Pigs!”

            Fast Eddie retaliates, “Me, me, me! You squeal just like a fucking pig!” He takes the pressure from my brain and applies it to the pedal, POUNCE.

            Julian has been around Fast Eddie enough to know that he will go to extremes to prove a point, “Fast Eddie c’mon man be cool, WE all ain’t trying to get canned. WE got living to do.”

            Fast Eddie has that same shit-eatin’ grin that I seen earlier, “Fine I’ll pull this piece over. But, you don’t speak Pig Latin, got it?”

            “What the hell do you mean!”

That’s all I was left to work with during my waning moments of freedom. The cop high tailed it over to the Caravelle. Tiny hairs, all a half inch long stick straight up and down on the officer’s fat head. Level one blade to navigate his temples, had to be Fast Eddie’s barber. I’m sweating bullets. The plate tectonics of my face begin to emerge. Premature pimples surface and I feel the magma boiling under the crust of my skin.

            Fast Eddie rolls down the window, “HANDS ON THE WHEEL OR BRAINS ON THE WHEEL NOW”

            My stomach launches acid into the back of my throat. Fast Eddie complies. Answers to an authority figure. No finger-fucking around.

            “NOT ONLY ARE YOU THREE LITTLE SHITS A LIABILITY ON THIS ROAD, DO I HAVE REASON TO BELIEVE YOU WERE SMOKING MARIJUANA?”

            Julian hasn’t flinched and Fast Eddie’s mute. Fast Eddie’s still got that shit-eatin’ grin on his face.

“AM I SPEAKING FUCKIN GREEK? IS THERE MARIJUANA IN THIS VEHICLE, THIS IS THE LAST TIME I WILL ASK BEFORE I SHAKE YOU DOWN TO YOUR PALE PEACH FUZZED ASSES!”

            In my peripheral I see the ALTOIDS can staring at me. Rusted smile, MADE IN GREAT BRITIAN. 1.75 OZ – damn near weightless. But, enough weight to land me in the sin bin.

Enough to land us in the sin bin.

            The Cop begins laughing, I mean really fucking laughing. The wild Pig chased his pray down and now he is foaming at the mouth. Ha-HA-HA-hahaha’ing until there is no oxygen remaining in his bloated stomach. Almost as if the funky stuff has protruded from the ALTOIDS can and immediately hit his bloodstream.

“ALRIGHT FAST EDDIE, THESE ARE THE PROLETARIAT OUTLAWS EH? OUR MOUSE TRAP COULDN’T CAPTURE A RAT!” 

Fast Eddie’s dimples break out from his skin for the first time in a decade, “Thanks OFFICER LAFFERTY! Next hoagie from PAULIE’S CORNERSTORE is on me!”

“I’ll take the ALTOIDS can instead… when it’s full.” He replies. Walks away, swinging his Billy-club.

Fast Eddie peeps his dilated eyes into the corner of  the mirror, glancing at Julian. “Pretty Boy whatsamatta! You didn’t croak! You didn’t squeal! Conglomerate don’t crack!”

Julian boasted,“Yeah, RATS don’t survive by scurrying on the shoulder. Too scared to chase the dotted yellow cheese if ya know what I mean. I gotta eat, I mean… WE gotta eat.”

“Amen.”

And, just like that comfortability didn’t appeal to me anymore. Lit the roach, took a toke, exhaled. Puff puff pass to Julian puff puff pass to Fast Eddie, and back to me. Repeat. Fast Eddie inserted the rusted key into the ignition – BOOOP BOOOP BOOOP. Slick Tom was steady playing them classic B-Sides. Liquor store was closed. Detour: EXIT 52 towards IMFUCKINFREEVILLE.