#Lucky Rabbit Cafe AU | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeojaa · 4 years

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( VELVETEEN RABBIT. )

What do you get when you mix Thumper and Bambi? Answer: Jeon Jungkook.

pairing. french lop bunny!jjk x ragdoll cat f!reader.

genre + rating. hybrid!au set in college. super fluffy, a little angsty, with a dash of smut to balance it all out. explicit towards the end because i just can’t help myself. oops.

tags / warnings. honestly, this jungkook should just come with his own warning. but more realistically, mentions of kook using a scrunchie, kook being cute, kook railing his date after using the world’s worst puns... the usual.

wc. 4.4k

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif as always become, c’mon. i’m me. she’s her.

author note. this was written as part of @thebtswritersclub‘s a hybrid fest and is gloriously late (i’m so sorry @ditttiii). i’ve never written anything hybrid-related before so hopefully you enjoy. feedback goes a long way! xoxo

He orders the same thing every time he’s in. Iced Americano, no room for cream, and a single almond croissant. (Every once in a while, he switches it up for matcha but that’s exceedingly rare.) He always pays with a tap of his wrist - a sleek black AppleWatch with rubber band - and flashes his trademark slightly too-big smile. All the girls swoon. So do the guys. Everyone except for you.

He’s unnervingly handsome, with long dark ears that sometimes hang in front of his eyes. You’ve caught him with them pulled back Lola Bunny-style, knotted with a loose silk scrunchie that looks nearly as soft as his fur. His hair’s usually unkempt, tossed into a little sprout of a bun, overly long fringe falling all over his big round eyes. He wears butterfly clips sometimes, though that’s usually on days where he isn’t freshly sweaty and carrying his gym bag. They appear in his hair when it’s damp from a shower, the smell of papaya and honey clinging to every inch of him. You know, because you have a great nose - one that’s sensitive to every smell under the sun but especially his. (You try not to think about it much.)

It’s a Wednesday morning when you notice the change. It doesn’t register at first, acknowledgement coming in a curious sniff at the air. Weird.

“Thanks,” he says like clockwork, a well-oiled polite machine, deceptively slender hands receiving the exceedingly hot cup without a care in the world. He’s got his usual bag over his shoulder - overly big, black, almost tactical - and a pair of comfortable looking pants on that seem more like they belong on your beloved grandmother. Somehow, he rocks it (but he always does). “Have a nice day.”

Because of course he says that. Of course he steals the words right out of your mouth, turns them back on you as easy as he makes your heart rattle around in your chest like it’s a Friday night bingo ball.

He moves toward the bar - he only ever grabs three napkins, tucks them into the slot on the left side of his bag - but pauses halfway there. Rooted to the same spot as always, sleek ears following the imposing line of his shoulders.

One, two—

The thumping starts, so quiet it’s almost negligible. But you catch it, because you always do and because you’re the reason for it.

He turns then, levels you with a look from the corner of those pretty, pretty eyes and you can’t help but laugh, openly, unashamedly, with the back of your hand plastered to your mouth. A true ojou-sama.

His mouth quirks - does that funny thing where he sucks in his cheek then rolls it back out with his tongue - and you think he might finally say something. Call you out for writing his name wrong for the past five weeks, finding more and more creative ways to do so every time. Even occasionally using nicknames - silly things you’d come up with while on the walk home, or during lunch, or in bed.

“Good one,” he states, laugh lines threading over his face, prominent around his eyes. His nose wiggles with the sound - another of his traits that comes out to play often. Your favourite of them all, if you’re being honest.

“Anytime.”

You don’t realise it’s him until it’s too late, until you’re practically running into him, bouncing off the broad expanse of his back with a startled squeak. Lucky for you, you’re quick on your feet, catching yourself before your skull can become too well-acquainted with the red brick wall to your right.

“You okay?” Though he asks, you have a sneaking suspicion he knows you’re not and an even stronger suspicion that he’d been waiting for you, hovering past the entrance of the cafe with his big university hoodie on.

“Barely,” you manage around a laugh, straightening the backpack slung over your shoulders, packed to the brim with goodies you got to bring home at the end of the night and two of your textbooks.

“Should watch where you’re going.”

This is the most conversation you’ve had - ever. But it’s fun, easy, organic and natural. You wonder why that is.

“You should watch where you’re standing, actually.”

He’s so much bigger than you, imposingly tall (especially being part of the Leporidae family) and wide in the chest. Not bulky by any means, but big. Strong. Threaded with a strength you don’t normally see in hybrids of his kind. It probably has to do with how often you see him covered in sweat and panting, basketball hooked under his arm, soccer cleats tied to his bag.

When he speaks again, it’s full of mirth, squeezing his round eyes near shut. “Got a problem with me standing here?”

You nod, solemn as ever (which is really never, but that’s besides the point). “It’s dangerous to block entryways, didn’t you know?” You’re gesturing to the awning, the dark interior just past the window of the shop. “You’re loitering, Jungkook.”

“So you do know my name.” You can tell he’s not surprised - that he’s hamming it up for dramatics, softly pink lips rounded in a little ‘O’. He’s cute like this, you think. Playful in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I do?”

There’s that cheek thing again. It’s even more attractive up close, the shape of his jaw thrown into prominent relief when he sucks in a breath.

“You just said it.”

You nod, thoughtful, finger tapping upon your chin. “I guess I did.”

“Say it again,” he states, expression inscrutable, eyes bright. They’re so glossy even under the dimmed streetlights, impossibly big and undeniable. So easy to get lost in - if your attention weren’t caught by something else.

“What is that?”

You’d noticed it earlier in the day, caught the scent in passing sometime during the early hours. You’d been unable to place it then, too distracted by freshly ground coffee, a girl’s three too many spritzes of Daisy by Marc Jacobs, and baking banana loaves.

It’s heady, masculine. A strong musk that sinks into your nose and makes it twitch, ears rotating as if that’ll help pin the smell down.

“What’s what?” You hadn’t realised how close you’d become, your face five seconds from planting directly into his chest. (It’d probably be nice - you know how soft your school’s merchandise is.) “Are you okay?” He asks because you’re now, actually, planting your face right against the worn navy cotton. It’s terribly nice, silk upon your cheek.

You answer more to his clothes than to him, nosing into the fabric. “You smell different.”

You feel more than hear his laughter, the sound barreling past his teeth seconds later. The vibrations running along his spine jostle you from your position face first upon him but you don’t mind. It doesn’t send you far, dark eyes peering up into the face of the bunny hybrid. True to his kind, his nose is twitching, puffs of laughter expanding his cheeks when he meets your stare.

“No I don’t.”

“You do.” Tone firm, a finger lands upon the neatly embroidered N on his hoodie. The white stitching stands in stark contrast to your baby blue nails. “You smell… off.”

Whether Jungkook’s offended or not, you can’t tell. He’s got that same strange expression on his face - the one from this morning when he’d received his coffee. It’s made up of too many moving parts: the flutter of his lashes, the coil of his jaw, the minute tick of the corner of his mouth. You can’t read him for shit, somehow more confused now than in your 300-level art history class. (You’d taken it as one of your optional electives assuming it’d be an easy A. You were wrong.)

“Sorry you think so,” he hums, looking down at you. You’ve seemed to fully forget the meaning of personal space, edged up beside him as if you’re best friends and not just two ships passing in the night.

“It’s not bad.” Really, it isn’t. It’s strong and sensual, vegetal in a way, calming in another. But it isn’t unwelcome.

In fact, you think you might like this scent a little more - less sweet than what normally clings to his skin, natural honeycomb rather than processed sugar. It zings across your teeth, pieces broken up and scattered behind your molars. You can practically taste it. Him.

“Is that so?”

“Yep.”

You share a look - one that says more than all the words you’ve ever spoken, that threads together all the silly laughter, narrowed stares, (written) flirtations. It settles between the two of you, filling the spaces with something akin to cotton, light and airy and soft.

The desire to speak lingers, hidden just beyond the cotton candy dusting. Should you? Shouldn’t you? You still have no idea what he’s doing here, a street urchin making his rounds on the campus village.

He beats you to it. “Can I walk you back to your dorm?”

You don’t think you could want anything more. “Sure.”

Silence falls again but it’s comfortable, a caress rather than a crutch. The grounds are surprisingly quiet - wayward students on their way to the library or heading home from lectures. There are no picnic blankets spread across the grass, no gaggles of girls dressed in school colours. It feels like the first day of fall, change sitting heavy in the air.

“So—” You start.

He finishes, “do you wanna go on a date with me?”

That’s surprising. (Or is it? You’re not really sure.) You nearly trip over your own two feet in your haste to look at him, entire body swivelling on the spot because apparently you can’t just turn your head like a normal person. Something something all or nothing.

“What?”

“Do. You. Want. To—” He’s being insufferable for the hell of it. You can see it in his eyes, glossy things shining down at you like he’s got the entire fucking nightsky hung in them.

“Not if you keep that up,” you retort, though you both know you’re lying. You’ve been waiting - wishing, wanting - for this moment since the day you laid eyes on him. Since Yuri had elbowed you so hard in the ribs you’d thought you’d be bruised for days, since Jae had rambled on and on for his entire shift about the cute new bunny who’d come in that morning. Since that very first wrongly spelt name on his plastic cup and every visit since.

“Is that a challenge?”

“You won’t get it in.”

He scoffs, loud and drawn out, cheek rounding with disbelief at your disbelief. How can you possibly doubt him - school basketball star and all-around athletic freak of nature?

“What do I get if I do?” The ball rests in his palm, poised to be shot through the hoop, sunk without making contact with the rim. He’s confident - he’s done it a million times.

“A pat on the back?” As much as you tease him - loop mockery around nearly every syllable you speak, you’re endlessly supportive, already carrying the fruits of his labour under your arms. A Pikachu shoved haphazardly into the purse slung across your body, a Snorlax tucked under your arm at an awkward angle that crushes his poor head, a Sylveon tucked into the side pocket of his joggers. (The arcade was really into Pokemon, apparently.) “Me saying thank you?”

“Not good enough.” He leans in close - those big galaxy eyes practically swallowing you whole - and taps a single finger upon your nose. It makes your nostrils flare, an itch blooming under his touch. “Gotta sweeten the deal.”

You must look hilarious because Jungkook’s biting back a smile, smirking down at you. Then, all at once, without breaking eye contact, he’s extending his arm, flicking his wrist, and— swish!

In goes the ball, leaving him with a perfect score.

“I want you to stay the night.”

You think he’s joking. He must be joking. This is your third date.

But he’s staring at you like he’s completely serious, gaze expectant, lips pursed around something that reads like a smile but has your heart doing a strange little one-two step in your chest. It soars for a moment, high above the clouds like the string orchestra of a choral work - Beethoven’s Ninth in D minor.

“Are you propositioning me, Jeon Jungkook?” It’s the same reaction he always has when you say his name: a twitch of his ear, the corner of his bottom lip quirking and then resetting, eyes so sparkly it’s almost absurd.

“No. I’m just telling you what I want.”

“Huh.” You should say no. Guys like him - with charm that oozes out of every pore, whose offhanded smiles break more hearts than you ever have - are almost always bad news. Too sweet, too funny, simply too much for your feeble heart to take.

“Is that a yes?” He’s got you in his clutches - a viper rather than a hare, with a smile so dangerous you’re paralysed by just the sight of it. (Who needs venom?)

Your words catch in your throat, stick to one another like the deformed gummies at the bottom of the movie theatre bag. What comes out isn’t what you expect. “Okay.”

Damn you. Damn him. Damn how good he smells and the big dumb grin that spreads over his lips, sunshine in human form, undeniable and warm and cute enough to start a war over. (That’s probably what’s happening - a vicious battle between your head and your heart.)

Damn his stupid thumping foot that you can make out over the sound of the video games, the boisterous din. It’s so cute you can’t help yourself from smiling, mouth pulling and pursing around the delight that begs to be freed.

“Cool,” he says, and you almost think that’s not very cool. He’s so nonchalant, cavalier about it as if it means nothing. You’d be bothered if you felt like you didn’t know him so well - hadn’t learnt his idiosyncrasies over the last two months.

How he looks when he laughs really hard, his slightly too-big front teeth taking up all the real estate in his mouth. How he sounds when he’s tired (groggy, with a lisp that rarely sees the light of day otherwise) or when he’s told he’s wrong (pouty, with his bottom lip jutted out so cutely you want to scream). How he runs every morning, hits the gym every night, and eats double your protein because fitness, bro! How his cheat meal of choice is soy garlic fried chicken from the place off-campus and he hates tangy, tart desserts (your lemonade lip gloss not included, he insists). How he can’t sleep if he’s too hot - which he often is - and he spends way too long combing through his ears with a specialty brush he doesn’t let anyone touch. How he’s secretly raindrops and gummy bears and hand holding in the car, so much more than his high school superlative of most likely to grace the cover of GQ.

You wonder, because you know those things, does that make you special? Does it make you immune to the heartbreak that you swear you imagine whenever your mood drops (not often, but often enough)?

You hope so.

“Let’s go shoot guns?” He’s tearing you from your reverie, planting an open-mouthed kiss to your temple. It’s sloppy and not very refined, much less suave than what you’d expect from your school’s soccer captain (and basketball small forward and swim team stand-in). You suppose that’s why you like him so much - because he’s always surprising you, keeping you on your toes.

“Let’s.” You agree, letting your date drag you toward the Time Crisis machine. It’s blissfully unoccupied, allowing the two of you to slide into place. He takes the blue gun, you the red.

He squeezes your hip when you take up position, one eye squeezed shut as you look down the barrel of the plastic weapon. “Better not let me die.”

“Better not get shot,” you return.

He doesn’t listen - failing halfway through the helicopter scene, his shot missing and resulting in some sad miserable death in the form of Continue? blinking across the screen. Neither of you mind that much though. He occupies himself on his phone, free hand tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. You play better when he’s not shouting terrible call-outs, nearly crashing into you because he gets so into it.

(How he’s never got a concussion on the basketball/soccer/etc. field before, you’re not sure.)

By the time you’re done - a good five minutes later, you think - Jungkook’s growing restless, tugging at your belt loops enough that you stumble with every shot, nearly knocking yourself out when you have to steady yourself on the centre console.

“Kook!” Your glare is barely that, too affectionate to dissuade him from his childish antics.

He pulls you forward, traps you between his thick thighs, tattooed hands settling comfortably on your hips. “Let’s go home.”

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

Of course, he doesn’t deny that.

It’s not the first time you’ve been over. Not even your second or third. You’ve met up with him before his games, thrown his jersey overtop and helped him wrap his fingers before hitting the court. You’d even had to grab his cleats for him once, running across campus as he did drills in his socks as punishment.

This time feels different. You know why but it doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow. It lodges somewhere in your throat, makes it hard to breathe when you kick off your shoes and tuck them neatly beside Jungkook’s.

“Are you hungry?” He’s already in the small kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at you as you linger in the adjoining hallway, bag halfway over your head.

“I’m good.” You are, really. You’d eaten one donut too many at the arcade, indulged in a little too much disgusting nacho cheese goodness. You don’t really understand how your date’s still hungry, a cucumber crunching between his teeth when he turns back to you.

Standing there, vegetable devoured in quick, decisive bites, he looks every inch the French lop bunny he is.

You reach him in the same instant he finishes his midnight snack. Arms fold around you like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing, head dropping to rest comfortably upon yours. Like this, his ears tickle your cheek - velveteen fur lost to the silk of your hair. “Are you tired?”

Another no comes - spoken into the fuzzy fabric of his sweater - and he hums above you, whole frame rattling with the noise.

“No bed then?”

At least he’s transparent, you think.

“One track mind much?” You’re only teasing. A part of you looks forward to… whatever it is that sits over the horizon, lost past the creaky bedroom door and somewhere beneath his surprisingly soft sheets. (You’d asked about them once - he’d told you his mother liked to send him housewares to remind him of home. He was a real mama’s boy that way.)

The monster only laughs, snuggles into your hair like it’s home. “Can you blame me?”

You can’t do much of anything when he’s like this - so utterly adorable and enticing and good for your heart that it feels as if you’ve taken a straight dose of morphine.

“Let’s go to bed, Wookie.” Another nickname, recently coined after you’d spent an evening watching Star Wars for the first time.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You whack him on the way to his bedroom, smack a hand over the arm curled around your shoulders. He pretends like it hurts, howls in a way he he thinks resembles a wounded animal but really just sounds stupid. “Not a ma’am.”

“Sir?” He asks, just to make you laugh.

“If you don’t shut up—”

He pushes you through the door of his bedroom while giggling to himself, sound puffing out of his cheeks. “Don’t be mad, kitten.” The two of you drop to the bed, a tangle of limbs and silken fur and squeaking laughter. “You’re so purr-ty when you’re annoyed.”

He’s doing it again. Dropping those stupid cat puns that make your nose wrinkle, ink-tipped ears folding back against your head.

“I think I’m hiss-terical, don’t you?”

Face adamantly buried into his sheets, you don’t give him the time of day. You don’t even care that your mascara is probably rubbing off against the charcoal fabric, lipstick tint doing potentially irreversible damage. He knows how unfunny you find these jokes, how you’ve heard them your whole life and roll your eyes so hard your optic nerve might sever every time you face another.

What’s the point of sharing your pet peeves with him when all he does is lean into them? Use them against you like it’s the cool thing to do. Make you wonder what you’d seen in him when he was just another customer, another boy in Seoul National indigo and bedhead so dishevelled it begged to be managed.

(You’re not sure why you’re so irritated suddenly, caught in the clutches of a moodswing as you curl into your side and ignore his bad jokes.)

Stupid Jeon Jungkook. Annoying, silly, too-cool-for-his-own-good Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook who makes you second guess your choices, leaves you breathless and confused with just one dumb look. Who has convinced you into his bed and teases you mercilessly, snickering to himself as his foot bounces against the floorboards because he finds himself that funny.

“Baby?” The pet name comes, presses itself past your curtain of hair and invades your thoughts.

You say nothing, adamantly faced away.

He doesn’t like that, sneaking his hands around you and cradling you into his chest as if that’ll lighten the mood. (It does, a little bit, but you don’t tell him that.) “Don’t ignore me,” he mumbles, warmth breath tickling your ears, fingers dancing over the rungs of your ribs as if they’re ivory and not bone, playing a tune only he can hear.

“Stop with the shitty jokes,” you retort. You’re being difficult - can feel the vinegar turning your blood even as he tries to will it all away.

You feel the intake, the rise and fall of his broad chest. You can only imagine how hard he’s biting his tongue, careful to keep his next errant pun at bay. People don’t tell him no - only you. Maybe that’s why you do it, to remind him you’re not just like everyone else.

“Sorry.”

You don’t tell him to show you how sorry— but he does anyway.

You’re astounded by him, utterly entranced by the way he moves. How power runs the length of his frame, manoeuvres each of his limbs and turns your own to jelly.

He’s got you face down, ass up, hands cradling your hips like they’re his home and he can’t bear to let go. Every upward stroke feels like heaven - feels like a million lifetimes of pleasure you can barely wrap your thoughts around. He’s impossibly big, thick and long. The first thought you’d had when he’d stripped his black Calvin Kleins was pretty.

You realise now there’s nothing pretty about him. He’s filthy - the devil come to collect as he fucks you across his bed, nearly loses you to the pillows at the head with each snap of his hips. (What they said about rabbits was true, you think.)

“B-Bunny,” you sob, scratch over cotton that’s worn soft and smells exactly like your favourite sweater of his. The linens are defenseless, tangled up and wrinkled with each flex of your fingers, bunched up within your palms every time he buries himself like he’s looking for the answer to life, thinks he might find it within the fluttering walls of your pussy.

“Not my name.” When he sounds like this, he’s more predator than prey, a thousand volts of electricity shooting up your spine. He’s demanding and unrelenting. It makes your head spin.

“Wook—”

“Not.” Bunny teeth are just as painful as a feline’s, doing their job as they dig into the flushed skin over your back, marking his territory with two prominent indents right between your neck and shoulder. “A.” He ruts into you as if he’s got something to prove, snaps his hips to a beat you can’t keep up with. “Wookie.” Grips you so tight you might snap, red blooming beneath his hands.

You sob under him, drool against the pillows because you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut. (You feel like Jungkook post-win, spewing nonsense as he prattles on about game winning plays with his teammates.)

“K-Kookie.” It’s what he wants to hear - hits him right in the chest, a bull’s eye to the thing that beats wildly and in tandem with your own.

His rhythm stutters. The bed is shaking and not because he’s practically breaking the weak wooden frame. No, his foot’s thumping, bouncing across the sheets even as he tries to regulate the roll of his hips, return it to the assured, teeth-numbingly good tempo it’d been at.

It doesn’t work. You love it anyway. Like it more, because it means he’s just as affected by you as you are him. Your heart sings, leaps out of your chest on hummingbird wings, and dances around your head. You’re a goddamn cartoon - Pepé Le Pew in ragdoll form - animated pink shapes circling like a crown.

You don’t care. You can’t. Not when he plasters himself to your back and asks you to say it again, begs you to tell him how good he is, tells you how he wants to make you his.

Who cares if it’s three dates in, if your meeting was cliched and silly and he’s the campus heartthrob?

You don’t - because he’s yours and when he flips you onto your back and you curl your fingers into his hair, it’s your name he stutters out. It’s you who has him coming apart beneath your hands, the feel of his ears like velvet, the little whines he huffs growing louder each time you tug at the base. It’s you who knows what he sounds like as he falls to pieces, throws himself against you as if gravity demands it. It’s you who holds him to sleep, whose skin acts as a canvas for the doodles he traces as he drifts off.

It’s you and it’s him and that’s enough.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

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lilyharvord · 3 years

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Very random question but, what kind of people would the Red queen characters be like in modern day parties. We already know a little bit of Annie's perspective based on her fics but what do you think?

AHAHAHAH I share a very similar opinion with Annie on this matter, but for more specifics, have my head canons:

Mare: modern day femme fatale at parties. She wears an outfit that has men's eyes popping out of their sockets and rolling around on the floor like marbles. She knows what she's got and she flaunts it. When she and Cal are dating during the Modern AU time line, she especially likes to dress like this cause it makes him: 1. squirm 2. become super territorial so that his hands are all over her the rest of the night 3. Feel like she owns him body and soul. She drinks like she has the liver of a Russian. She does straight tequila/vodka/rum/whiskey without a chaser (chasers are for pussies like my boyfriend she says when people offer her one). When she does get drunk (and that can be very quick depending on how easily Cal can slip her shots of water instead of alcohol) she is on the bar or on the table dancing. If Cal gets lucky, she'll climb in his lap and give him a good old fashioned show. He spends most of it trying to keep her shirt on without making it look like he is trying to keep her from taking it off. But she recovers every single morning like a champ.

Cal: Due to personal (familial) reasons, and through choice, he really doesn't drink. But he always has a good time at parties with his friends. And when he goes with Mare, he has a really good time. When he does drink (the few times Mare literally teases him and begs and pleads with her puppy dog eyes) he can get TRASHED very quickly. It takes like five shots or seven beers in very quick succession. But when he does, he's weirdly in control. He becomes a lot more quiet, and sort of just exists. Mare thinks its hysterical. But he's also a fucking bunny rabbit in heat when he gets drunk. He keeps his hands to himself until they get home and before they even get through the door he already has his hands under her shirt or down the front of her shorts. She loves it and thinks it's wonderful. He does not recover as well as Mare, and usually has to lay in bed all morning until his headache goes away while she's prancing around in his t-shirt.

Kilorn: happy drunk. He laughs so much people think there's something wrong. But he loves going with his best friend because he helps her terrorize people at the party. He is the shorts, t-shirt, sun-glasses on at night guy who is holding a beer and smiling in every picture. He has such a good time, and he has only had to help carry Cal out once but he NEVER lets the man forget it. He took a selfie while Cal was hunched over a bush being violently ill to commemorate the night. He will dance on a table with Mare, no questions asked.

Maven: casual drinker, he's not big into the party scene. He prefers being with close friends in a quiet party drinking wine comfortably and maybe smoking a cigarette. Depending on what he feels. If he does go to the loud massive parties Cal and Mare go to, he keeps to himself and stays glued to Thomas's side. His boyfriend smiles and shoos people away when they start getting a little too drunk, and then he takes Maven out and they usually stop at a small cafe for coffee cake and coffee when he takes him home. He NEVER drinks enough to even be tipsy. He sips mostly, people watches.

Farley: She's also a quiet drinker, a beer to two, a game of beer pong maybe that she always wins. She spends most of the night with Shade or her friends discussing politics and sometimes it gets a little intense. Especially when she starts getting a little deeper into her drink. But she's a good time, if she gets really drunk, she'll tease Shade to no end, and he still swears to this day, he saw her on stool and a table dancing. She denies it of course. She usually is the one throwing a party if she wants to. She'll invite her friends, provide the alcohol, and the entertainment/games.

Shade: quiet, fun. He drinks if he feels like it, but does stay lucid enough that he can take care of Farley if he needs to. She hardly needs it, but he still subtly takes care of her (puts aspirin and a glass of water within her reach for when she wakes up, has a yummy, greasy egg and bacon sandwich ready for her when she wakes up too). He'll take hard core shots too with Mare, sometimes egging her on. Neither takes a chaser. As he gets older, he calms down, sips at beer, but can still have a good time with his sister and his friends if he feels like it. Holds his alcohol well though.

#(*ask lily*)#(*shut up lily*)#red queen #glass sword #kings cage #war storm #broken throne #post broken throne #mare barrow #shade barrow #diana farley #cal calore #kilorn warren #all my babies #i love modern aus

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angryinternetduck · 4 years

Text

Masterlist

harry styles x reader:

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oh to stay - 4.9k a friends with benefits situation featuring rules, tennis balls, and crumby bread puns.

Lucky - 6.7k 🎃 The house is haunted, the cat is lucky, and the neighbor is not, in fact, a ghost. A halloween fic published in August! Cocoa - 4.5k 🎄 A Christmas party at James Corden’s house turns into a hot chocolate excursion with Harry Styles. You’re supposed to call, he’s supposed to text, you look cute and in love... And according to Harry, you’ve got a nice voice. Harry Styles x famous!reader; a Christmas fic published in August <3

sleepover - 1.5k Pure fluff. You and Harry have a sleepover, he does a gecko impression, and wow, he sure does love you a lot. yellow & blue - 2.7k Pure angst. Harry reminiscing, regretting, despairing you and his relationship with you at the 2020 Brits.

a mutual feeling - 9.5k You’re antsy, Harry’s not your friend, and the answer - is yes. Harry doesn’t do relationships but he does do sex. a boxerry au of sorts where Harry’s dad is your trainer but you’re a better fighter.

When All Feels Lost - 30k Three chapters of you, a struggling actress, and Harry Styles, a has-been producer, trying to find a play just terrible enough to be perfect.

Pickpocket - 1.5k Stolen rings, a far away Harry, and lots of ice cream. You moonlight as a pickpocket, and Harry’s proper entertaining.

‘twas the night before tour - 925 Quiet dinners, sweet singing, and clumsy dancing. When he comes back, he’ll bring you a wedding ring.

goodnight n go - 5k Harry’s gotta go. He’s always gotta go, always just about to miss his train, and your apartment feels emptiest right after Harry leaves. Your heating’s down, Harry can’t cook, and it’s disorienting to wake up in Harry’s arms. A game of Go Fish and some not-so-cool moments later, and, well, Harry’s goodnight n go is pretty much out the window. Based off Ariana Grande’s goodnight n go!

Key - 4.3k Harry’s a cute barista, he wore some atrocious neon green crocs, and his sole purpose in life is flattering you. You’ve got to quarantine, so you consider buying a monkey and painting the cafe. Two proposals and several cookie deliveries later, and still nobody knows what’s happening with quarantine. But you and Harry will figure it out together. Written for the Quarantine Challenge!

Questions - 855 He’s missing out on all the fun, you’re less subtle than you think you are, and Harry stole a telescope. Plus a shooting star. For the amazing Fic Slam!

A Clean Break - 1.9k You said you wouldn’t cry, and he said it would be a clean break, but the “want” is present tense. Harry’s got a dog named Noodle. Noodle - 2.2k The before and after of A Clean Break. Harry gets a dog, eats some ramen, and then takes a detour on his way to a double date.

Sweet Creature - 1.2k It starts with a few notes, and ends in a kiss, and Harry’s written a new song.

I Guess So - ~400 You want to drive, but it’s just so hard to argue with Harry Styles.

Sunshine - 4.6k Harry calls you Sunshine and you light up his world like nobody else. Only problem is that you’re both involved with other people. Then, suddenly, you’re not, and he’s not either, and Harry still compares you to a star.

Cheers - a little under 1.5k A college au kinda thing where you’re a bit tipsy, very rambly, and not a fan of the Christmas in July party you’re at. Written for the 20k fic celebration!

Like a Fool - just under 2k A college au of a reader insert featuring a coffee discussion, some rom coms, and a bad Grease reference. Also, there’s a party, and there’s a kiss, and there’s just a bit of heartbreak. ...In Love - 2.5k A little while later, and there’s a double date. Harry has a thing against pencil tapping, and this wasn’t his plan at all. One more double date, and a little switcheroo, and you’re a fool in love. [part two of Like a Fool]

Meant to Be - 1.5k It’s cheesy, but true: you and Harry were meant to be. You just hope your first fight won’t ruin everything. Written for the Boyfriendathon!

fireworks - 2.5k A reader insert featuring lots of fireworks, a lack of wine, and a New Year’s Eve party. Harry doesn’t like fireworks, but he gets them anyway. He should dye his hair pink. Some failed dates, a birthday surprise, a summer wedding.

Ice Cream - 1.5k Maybe you work at an ice cream shop. Maybe Harry Styles comes in one night, pissed off his face, and maybe he throws up all over you and figures he’s got to take you out to dinner to make up for it.

Brit Awards 2014 - 415 words He was having a wee. The toilets were ages away. Really.

harry styles x original female characters:

Kiwi - 2.3k

She’s crazy, she has a cactus, and she smells like caramel; Harry Styles is into it and gets a song out of it.

Carolina - 2.7k She’s got a family in Carolina, and she’s at a bar, and Harry Styles sees her, and they click, and then she’s gone, and Harry writes a song.

Canyon Moon - 3.2k She’s got a yellow guitar, and a rabbit named Rabbit, and Harry Styles keeps thinking back to that time under the canyon moon.

Only Angel - 2.3k She loves old rom coms, and she used to play piano, and she’s got Harry Styles wrapped around her little finger. She’s pandemonium, and there’s nothing she can do about it. Meet Me in the Hallway - 1.8k She’s still pandemonium, but she’s breaking his heart. Over and over, but Harry can’t let her go, because she may be the pain, but she’s also the antidote. Arabella’s gotta get better, Harry needs his morphine, and purple is the color of royalty. [part two of Only Angel]

~ fic rec ~

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somuchnonsense · 4 years

Text

October Drabbles

Previous drabbles

26. Garden (post-canon Wangxian featuring bunnies)

Wei Wuxian doesn’t have a farm yet, but he does have a garden on the back hill in Cloud Recesses. “Why here?” Lan Wangji asked him when he started planting. “The rabbits will eat everything.”

“I don’t mind if my hard work goes to feeding the rabbits,” Wei Wuxian responded, grinning. “Besides, I’m not here consistently enough to tend to it and harvest things when they’re ready. At least this way, someone will enjoy the fruits—or vegetables, I suppose—of my labor. And maybe then they’ll love me like they love you.”

Lan Wangji smiled, petting one of the rabbits as they both curiously watched Wei Wuxian work. “I’m sure they will.”

It’s debatable, a few months later, whether the rabbits love Wei Wuxian any more than before, but they do love Wei Wuxian’s garden, and Lan Wangji loves watching him kneeling in the dirt, celebrating the first shoots of a new plant or complaining when the rabbits ate one before it even had a chance to grow. He looks so happy, so comfortable, so relaxed, not the fearsome Yiling Laozu or the brilliant cultivator Wei Wuxian with his ever-active mind, but just an ordinary young man, content with his simple life, with no fears and no painful memories weighing on him.

“What’s that look for?” Wei Wuxian asks, eyeing Lan Wangji with a freshly pulled carrot in his hand. There’s dirt on his cheek and a sparkle in his eyes.

Lan Wangji says nothing, keeping his thoughts to himself, but Wei Wuxian smiles like perhaps he knows anyway, and cheerfully turns back to his garden.

27. Serendipity (Wei Wuxian canon gen/character study)

It would be easy to think that Wei Wuxian has bad luck. He lost his parents young, and then the people who took him in when he was alone. He lost his adopted sister, and the people who lived with him like family for a year. He lost his golden core and the trust and respect of his peers, and the love of his adopted brother. He lost his home, and the one he found to replace it. And after all of that, he lost his life too soon.

But if you ask Wei Wuxian, he’ll tell you he’s lucky. He lost his parents, but then he was taken in by a new family. Sure, they weren’t perfect, but they saved him from a lonely life on the streets and they loved him, mostly. He lost them too, though not all at once, but then he had the Wens to care about him. That didn’t last, but he got Wen Ning and Sizhui back, at least, and he has the other junior disciples who are ready to fight for him, and Lan Wangji, of course. As much as he’s lost, he’s also been loved by many people, and isn’t that lucky?

As for the rest, well, the loss of his golden core was a fair trade for Jiang Cheng’s life, and it led him to abilities that helped avenge the Jiang Sect and defeat Wen Ruohan and later Jin Guangyao. He’s not the strong cultivator he was as a teenager, but he’s found new ways to be strong and fight the battles he needs to fight. He’s also blazed a new path and invented new things and made a name for himself, in his own way. Isn’t that lucky?

And yes, he died once, painfully, but that’s over and done with and he got a second chance at life. In his second life, he’s fallen in love, made new friends, done some good in the world, and at least done a little to make up for his past mistakes. So few people get a chance like that, including many who are much more deserving than him, so in the final sum, isn’t he lucky?

28. Drunk Confessions (junior quartet gen)

It started with a few bottles of wine and Zizhen declaring that true friends share their secrets with each other, but nobody could have imagined that it would end like this.

"You're what?" Jin Ling asks, his voice low and strained.

"You're what?!" Jingyi echoes in a loud squawk.

"I'm a Wen," Sizhui repeats, his nervous expression belying his calm voice.

"You never told me!" Jingyi's voice is still far too loud, his expression almost comically betrayed. "How could I not know that?"

"You knew Hanguang-Jun took me in," Sizhui points out.

"Yes, but I thought your parents were Lan cultivators who died back then, or at least non-cultivators from Gusu. Not...Wens." Jingyi grimaces, but wipes the expression of his face when he sees Sizhui's face fall.

“Sizhui is still the same person, right?" Zizhen puts in. "And we know Wen Ning's a nice guy. It's not like all Wens are bad."

"Right," Jingyi firmly agrees. "But I can't believe you didn’t tell me sooner!”

"I didn't know until recently. After meeting Wei-qianbei and Wen Ning, some memories came back." Sizhui finishes the drink in front of him, getting some liquid courage before he looks at the conspicuously silent Jin Ling. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I hope this doesn't change anything between us."

Jin Ling clenches his fist on the table, brow furrowed, and for a long, tense moment, the whole group is silent. Finally, he sighs exasperatedly and says, "Well, it's far from the worst secret I've heard about someone I knew. Do you two at least not have any dark secrets?" He waves his cup and Jingyi and Zizhen.

"None, I promise," Zizhen declares.

"If I do, I don't know them myself," Jingyi says.

"I've met his parents," Sizhui interjects. "They're nice, normal Lan cultivators for several generations back."

"Good," Jin Ling says. To Sizhui, he adds, "For this, you can at least buy us another bottle or two of wine."

Sizhui smiles brightly, getting to his feet. "Right away."

29. Cars (modern AU Wangxian featuring the Jiang sibs)

Jiang Cheng says Wei Ying drives like a maniac. Wei Ying says Jiang Cheng is a wimp and also boring and besides, he doesn’t go any faster than he can safely drive, but he does always slow down when he sees Jiang Cheng’s knuckles turning white.

“You’d better drive more carefully on your date with Lan Zhan,” Jiang Cheng tells him. “He probably drives perfectly the speed limit and obeys every traffic law to the letter. He won’t be able to deal with you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Wei Ying insists. “And it’s not a date!”

“Just don’t rush,” Yanli says. “You’ll have more time with Lan Zhan that way. And I’m pretty sure it is a date.”

“Not you too,” Wei Ying whines.

Later, though, when he picks Lan Zhan up and sees him looking very dashing even though he’s in what passes for casual clothes with him, Wei Ying has to admit that okay, yes, he wants it to be a date, and sure, okay, he wants to impress Lan Zhan, or at least not scare him away by driving too wildly. He forces himself to go only a little above the speed limit as he drives to the cafe where they’re going to study together, and Lan Zhan doesn’t complain or grab the panic handle like Jiang Cheng does.

On the way home, though, after endless hours of Lan Zhan sitting across from him looking casually hot but looking at his textbook or talking about economics instead of kissing Wei Ying, he forgets himself and drives as usual. Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything, so Wei Ying doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he stops in front of Lan Zhan’s building and sees him looking suspiciously paler than usual, his hand still gripping the door handle. “Oh, uh, Lan Zhan…you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lan Zhan says tightly.

“Say, um…” Wei Ying feels bad and all, but he’s spent hours not kissing Lan Zhan and wishing this was a date and he just has to know if maybe it was, or at least could be. He unbuckles his seatbelt, turns in his seat and presses his lips to Lan Zhan’s. He’s not expecting to promptly get pulled into Lan Zhan’s lap, but he’s definitely not complaining, especially when it’s followed up with a whole lot more kissing.

They only stop when someone honks and Wei Ying realizes he didn’t pick the best parking spot for making out. “So,” he says, grinning shamelessly as he moves back into the driver’s seat, “let’s go out on another date some time soon?”

“All right,” Lan Zhan agrees without hesitation. He’s not smiling, but he is eyeing Wei Ying in a way that he really likes. “But next time, I’ll drive.”

30. Dessert (modern AU Wangxian, just a tiny bit NSFW)

The first time Wei Ying sees Lan Zhan in a cafe daintily eating whipped cream off the top of a parfait, he can’t believe his eyes. There’s something so unexpected about strong, serious, stoic, ever-responsible Lan Zhan enjoying any kind of dessert, let alone the same kind Wei Ying’s sister and her friends love—unexpected and adorable.

“Wow, Lan Zhan! I had you pegged for the health food 24/7 type,” Wei Ying says, sneaking up on him from behind. He’s obviously trying to surprise Lan Zhan, but he doesn’t expect it to actually work, so he’s thrilled when it makes Lan Zhan jump and then turn a glare on him. “Hey, no judgment. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying something sweet.” The temptation to stick his finger in the whipped cream and dab some onto Lan Zhan’s nose is so strong, but Wei Ying doesn’t want to die today, so he restrains himself.

It takes nearly a year after that encounter for them to start dating, though Wei Ying does manage to put whipped cream on Lan Zhan’s face twice before that. (Maybe he should have guessed that Lan Zhan liked him, despite never mentioning it, by how he didn’t murder Wei Ying for doing that.) It takes another five months after they get together for Wei Ying to convince Lan Zhan that whipped cream will also be delicious when licked off his body, but oh, is it worth it.

31. Trick or Treat (modern cultivation AU, A-Yuan and Wangxian)

“I want to go as Uncle Wen!” A-Yuan declares. Wei Wuxian blinks at him, turns and blinks at Lan Wangji, and then starts to laugh. “I mean, I think a ghost or a vampire or a cat or something is more typical, but sure, you can go as a fierce corpse.” “Not a fierce corpse!” A-Yuan protests. “Uncle Wen!” Lan Wangji gives Wei Wuxian his patented You are not treating this child as he should be treated look. “Yes, of course,” Wei Wuxian amends. “We’ll find you the best Wen Ning costume anyone has ever had.” “Can Uncle Wen come with me?” A-Yuan asks. Wen Ning won’t do well with crowds or a sugar high A-Yuan, but on the other hand, he’ll blend in on Halloween in a way he usually can’t. “We’ll all come with you,” Lan Wangji tells him. “Yay!” A-Yuan jumps up and down in excitement. “What will you be? Ooh, I know! You should be a bunny.” He gestures at Lan Wangji, and then to Wei Wuxian, “And you should be a carrot.” “A carrot?” Wei Wuxian grimaces. “Come on, between the two of us, don’t I look more like a bunny?” “At least he didn’t say a donkey.” Lan Wangji keeps his voice low, and before A-Yuan can demand that he repeat it, says, “Those are excellent choices.” “You’re so mean to me,” Wei Wuxian whines, but that doesn’t stop him from going out on Halloween evening in a big carrot costume, hand in hand with rabbit Lan Wangji, with mini Wen Ning skipping on ahead of them and actual Wen Ning looking fondly on.

#mo dao zu shi #mdzs #cql #the untamed #mdzs fic #cql fanfic #the untamed fic #wangxian #wangxian fic #wei wuxian #lan wangji #lan sizhui #jin ling #lan jingyi #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #mine #fic #flufftober

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xmagicxshopx · 5 years

Text

Girl Meets Evil - Prologue

Genre: Action Adventure, Romance, Comedy, Angst Rating: PG-13 - M Warnings: violence, immoral and unethical behavior, smut (eventually), mild language Pairing: Jungkook x reader, Jimin x oc, Taehyung x oc Notes: mafia!bts / gang!bts au. Not idol!bts. Same goes for VIXX. Single quote marks ‘ ‘ are for thoughts and double “ “ are for talking. Additional Notes: It’s not required, but you might want to read my post about meeting the gangs and their job descriptions. You can find it under the tag “s;girlmeetsevil”

Tagging: @justbangtanandjams @och-ako @jiminnies-baby @lizardsocial

Summary: How could something so bad taste so sweet? All you wanted was an iced white chocolate mocha no whip extra ice on a hot summer’s day.

SERIES MASTERLIST

It was so freaking hot out today. Perhaps you should have packed your lunch instead and just ate in the cool, air conditioned space of the company break room. Granted, all you had to do was pick a place to eat and you’d be in just as much air conditioning. But it was the whole idea of having to sweat your butt off to get there. It was then that one of your coworkers, nicknamed Sunshine, chirped up and suggested,

“How about Cafe Fantasia? I hear the employees there are super hot.”

You glanced over at your other coworker, who liked to go by the alias Raven. It was because of her raven black hair but you personally preferred her real name. With Raven giving a casual shrug as it was really no big deal to her, you nodded back at Sunshine and said with a bit of pep in your step,

“Sure! Let’s go there. I’m due for an iced coffee. It’s freaking smoldering hot out here.”

Thankfully the ritzy cafe wasn’t too far down the street from where they worked. Speaking of, thank goodness for good paying jobs since it seemed to be such a rarity anymore. Otherwise you weren’t sure you were going to be able to afford the lunch here.

Being the last one to step inside and hearing the little bell rattle against the door, you took a moment to soak everything in. The place was elegant to say the least. Wow. It was more than obvious that this place was meant to draw in a particular crowd. The place was practically filled with monkey suits. Briefcases on the tables everywhere. This was like big business central right here.

“The sign says to take a seat anywhere we’d like. Let’s get the one by the window.”

Following Sunshine, you took notice how a lot of the businessmen were eyeing you and your coworkers up and down. Ugh. Disgusting. It made you want to tug down on your pencil skirt so that it’d hide more of your legs. Lucky for you, you had chosen to wear a blouse that had frills and buttoned all the way up to your neck.

“Hello, ladies. My name is Hongbin and I’ll be your server today. Can I start you off with something to drink? We have Coke products, iced and hot teas, coffee.”

‘Wow. He is definitely hot.’

It was Sunshine who went first. Mostly because you were too busy drooling over the handsome server and public places already made Raven nervous enough without having extra attention drawn to her. The longer she could put off speaking, the better.

“I’ll take an iced tea, extra sweet. No lemon.”

It was then that he turned his eyes to you and you couldn’t help but blush. Wow. He had a really handsome smile. You took notice that he was a lefty. Not many people were. Why did you even care??? Clearing your throat and trying not to blush any more than you already were, you smiled a little sheepishly and said,

“I’ll have your guys’ iced white chocolate mocha, no whip, extra ice. In the largest size you have.”

He chuckled a bit while he wrote down the last part of your order; nodding with a wide smile of amusement. It was now Raven’s turn and you felt your heart clench for her.

You discovered that both your coworkers had been individually, at different times, been diagnosed with social anxiety and therefore found it hard to go out and about. So you took it upon yourself to try and help them face their fears by occasionally taking them out to lunch.

“I um.....I’ll just take a water.”

“Sure thing, dear. Any lemon or sweetener?”

“N-No thanks.”

“No problem. So I have an iced sweet tea, extra sweet with no lemon. An iced white chocolate mocha, no whip, extra ice in the largest cup I can find. And an ice water.”

When he got the nods of approval, he flashed that charming smile one last time before he handed the three of you each a menu and added smoothly,

“Great! I’ll get these drinks in. You ladies take a moment to look over the menu and I’ll be right back.”

As soon as their handsome waiter was out of earshot, it was Sunshine that immediately spoke up as she leaned against the table with both hands.

“Oh my god! Did you see that smile!? Raven you’re so lucky. He called you dear! I almost winked at him but I chickened out at the very last second.”

You couldn’t help but snort in amusement at your coworker. Well.....honestly.....these two were more like your friends. At least you wanted them to be your friends. The three of you got along pretty well and you did lots of things together outside of work hours. So yeah......perhaps you three were friends. Gal pals.

“Don’t laugh, girl. I saw the way you were looking at him all rosy cheeks and crap.”

Since the three of you only got an hour for lunch, you decided quickly on what to eat. It wasn’t too long after that Hongbin came back with your drink orders. You watched the muscles in his arms flex thanks to the semi see-through white dress shirt he was wearing as part of his uniform. After he had carefully set down all three drinks and placed three straws on the table, he whipped out his paper and pen once more; poised at the ready.

“And what will you fine ladies be having today?”

“I’m going to take your guys’ lunch special for the day.”

“Yeah me too.”

“Might as well make it three of those.”

Laughing softly, he shook his head in amusement while writing down the order. After putting the pin in his apron pocket, he smirked at the three of you and said with another shake of his head,

“You girls are just too easy. I’ll be back with those shortly.”

Once again, it was Sunshine who spoke as she dramatically sighed and fell back in her chair; her hands moving over her heart. Speaking in a tone to match the dramatic actions, she said,

“A guy just called me easy. Wow. I want a boyfriend. Do you think I could get his number?”

You had been in the middle of a long drag from your iced coffee when she said it and the next thing you know, you’re choking and the caffeinated drink almost came shooting out your nose. Quickly picking up your fancy napkin, you held it to the lower half of your face to help cover yourself in case any liquid did in fact come dribbling out of your nose. You looked up to see Raven smiling around her straw but otherwise she remained silent.

“Sunshine, so help me god, I will not hesitate to dump that iced tea over your head.”

Shortly after the playful bickering died down, the three of you moved on to talking about weekend plans. Raven had a family reunion to go to while Sunshine had errands to run and an apartment to clean. Honestly, you should probably think about cleaning your own apartment too. But, eh, it could wait another weekend......for the third week in a row.

“Whoa who’s that? He’s hot too.”

You had been shoving around the ice in your now empty cup when you looked up to see who your coworker was talking about. Wow. Dang. He took your breath away. Unknowingly letting your mouth hang open, you watched the handsome young male walk through the crowd of tables. Looks like he was heading for the back of the cafe.

He was decked out in all black. He had a graphic black t-shirt that had a bit of color to it but that was it. His leather jacket fit him in all the right places as did his black ripped jeans. His boots as shiny as his ear piercings. Which you took notice he had quite a few. His whole image screamed bad boy but you couldn’t care less. He was definitely easy on the eyes.

“Hmm. Weird. Looks like he went straight for the bathroom. Maybe he just couldn’t hold it any longer and walked into the first place he came to.”

“I’m packing your lunch tomorrow.”

The two laughed softly at your determined declaration to eat in tomorrow. Either that or you were going to have to start taking the girls back to cheap, lame fast food places. Maybe the mall food court, even. No----The mall would hold even more potentially hot guys. The mall was a bad idea. Yeah. You’d stick with packed lunches from here.

Just as your food was being set out on the table, you had asked the waiter Hongbin for a refill. After taking the empty glass from you, it was then that you felt a sudden pressure in your lower abdomen and stood up which only seemed to make it worse.

“I’m gonna use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

“The men’s is on the left.”

You just playfully shoved Sunshine’s shoulder a bit before smiling and shaking your head. However, that didn’t mean you hadn’t turned paranoid and triple checked to make sure you were, in fact, walking into the women’s before going to do your business.

After washing your hands thoroughly, you dried them off with a couple towelettes and made sure your blouse was all tucked back into your skirt nice and neat before heading out of the bathroom. But as luck would have it, just as you were exiting the women’s, someone was exiting the men’s.

“Ouff!”

“Oh my gosh!----I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

But all you were met with was soft chuckles and you looked up to see that it was the hot, bad boy looking male from earlier. Involuntarily gulping, you took notice of his more finer facial features.

He had a bit of acne but what young man didn’t? You could tell despite the small and few blemishes that he took great care of his skin. It looked soft to the touch. And his nose. Gosh he had a cute nose. Like a bunny rabbit’s. You had to resist the urge to boop him right where you stood. Those eyes, though. His eyes was what wrapped your attention the most. They were almond shaped and doe-like. But there was something there swirling in his cocoa colored orbs.

“I’m really sorry, sir. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Aigoo. Please. Sir is my father. You can call me Jungkook.”

You watched nimble looking fingers dig into the pocket of his leather jacket and he pulled out a card. Holding it out for you to take, you could see it was a business card. Was this guy even old enough to have a business? He looked young but something told you age wasn’t a factor for this guy. Despite his jacket, you could tell this guy was fit. He had the physique of a young man verses a boy.

“Jeon Jungkook. Here’s my card. Don’t be afraid to call me........for anything.”

You had looked up just in time to see him flashing you a sly wink. Heat immediately rose to your face and you could feel it radiating off your cheeks. Without another word, he was sauntering off towards the exit of the cafe like he was never even there. Looking back down at the card, you read softly out loud to yourself,

“Jeon Jungkook. Professional tech support and repair services. Interesting. Never pegged a guy like him to be a geek.”

As soon as you walked back to your table and sat down, you were shoved almost clean off of it by none other than Sunshine herself. Mildly glaring at your coworker and assumed friend, you huffed and whispered in a scolding tone,

“What the hell was that for?!”

“I’m the one who’s trying to get phone numbers here!”

“You wouldn’t want him. He’s a geek.”

You managed to pull your arm back as the petite girl tried to snatch the mystery boy’s business card from your hand. It wasn’t till the two of you had settled down when you started getting less than pleasant looks from some of the customers around you that Raven spoke up. She gave you a small smile while saying in a soft, shy, but teasing tone,

“Looks like we know what you’ll be doing this weekend. Need your laptop looked at?”

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snowlotusmelody · 5 years

Text

Friday, February 21, 2020

1.)Libra (9 / 23-10 / 23) A day when multi-talent is required. Good if you polish your specialty. Attention has increased, and a feeling of great success. Lucky color: green The key to good luck: ballet music

2.)Gemini (5 / 21-6 / 21) The spirit of challenge is your chance. The sleeping talent has blossomed. There are many exciting discoveries. Lucky color: brown The key to good luck: mobile cairo

3.)Aquarius (1 / 20〜2 / 18) A day when people are more inclined to climb. The more difficult things are, the more motivated they can demonstrate their abilities. It will lead to a further step up. Lucky color: pink The key to good luck: key cases

4.)Sagittarius (11 / 23-12 / 21) The day when conversation is buzzing with a lot of buzz. The idea of “from gourd to piece” seems to come up. In the romance side, you will be introduced to a wonderful person. Lucky color: blue The key to good luck: towels

5.)Aries (3 / 21〜4 / 19) The best day to start investing. You can demonstrate the results you have learned. The sense of the talk is outstanding and attention. Lucky color: silver The key to good luck: tableware

6.)Pisces (2 / 19-3 / 20) Take care of your friends. Focus on organizing documents at work. I read a book after returning home and change my mind. Lucky color: purple The key to good luck: teapot

7.)Capricorn (12 / 22〜1 / 19) A day to steadily step by step. Accept objective advice even if your ears hurt. Fashion will decide the theme. Lucky color: Gold The key to good luck: sports newspaper

8.)Leo (7 / 23-8 / 22) Friendship is likely to change significantly. Discard your preconceptions and exchange opinions with the type you meet for the first time. It seems to get good stimulation. Lucky color: white The key to good luck: curry bread

9.)Cancer (6 / 22-7 / 22) A sloppy attitude is a minus point. Let's behave well. Everything is based on the advice of experienced people. Lucky color: navy The key to good luck: dryer

10.)Taurus (4 / 20-5 / 20) Do not use straight expressions. Keep your emotions down and try to speak softly. Smooth to match the pace around. Lucky color: gray The key to good luck: cafe au lait

11.)Virgo (8 / 23-9 / 22) It seems to be able to demonstrate power as aimed. On the other hand, there is also concern that "one who follows two rabbits will not get any rabbits." Hang out with everyone. Lucky color: beige The key to good luck: museums

12.)Scorpio (10 / 24-11 / 22) The tension is not going as planned and the tension is going down. Try to change your mind. Motivation is back. Lucky color: red The key to good luck: soy milk

PS. I am not a translator so it may be wrong.

#Oha Asa Horoscopes #Daily Horoscopes #Kuroko No Basket

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artificialqueens · 6 years

Text

Honey (Monet x Monique) - Ortega

a/n: this is just my way of letting u all know that i stan Monet and Monique and ship them so bloody much that this happened. me n Salem (Citrus) were talking about how funny it would be to call this fic Honey bc of all the Trixie stans that fucking hate the brown cow/sponge chat, but also because of the Kehlani song Honey that reminds me so much of these two being pure. enjoy n pls let me know what u think! (p.s. last chapter of Game is coming i promise xxxxx)

Summary: performing arts college au, two gals being pals. Monet reminisces over how she got together with her girlfriend. Monique just wants to eat ice cream tbh.

The clock was ticking so slowly. Time seemed to be moving slower than it ever had done before in Monet’s life, but that always seemed to happen in tutorials. It seemed to happen even more frequently, she found, when Valentina was talking. Usually she would listen and try to contain her laughter as the girl flipped her long, straight hair about her shoulders and went on a long, self-centered tangent which had nothing to do with the topic at hand, but today her voice was grating. Performance showcases were coming up, and she had to practice. She had better things to do with her time than listen to her drone on in that high, affected, airy-fairy voice about…what the fuck was she even talking about?

“…and so I think if I chose that it would really highlight my vocal versatility, plus I could work in a costume as well, and maybe do a dramatic monologue at the start to illustrate the character,” she said, appearing to be finished. Monet looked over at her tutorial leader, Jinkx, who was half-asleep and very confused.

“Um…sorry, I don’t see how we got from the prevalence of 5/4 time signatures in later Jazz music to…” Jinkx blinked. “…you performing in your final showcase as Jean Valjean.”

All eyes shifted to Valentina, who blinked back at her. “I mean, isn’t it obvious? I feel I made my train of thought very clear.”

As Jinkx steered the conversation back to whatever the fuck it had been about in the first place, Monet scribbled in her notebook. She still hadn’t sorted her setlist out for her performances, or organised the band, and it was only a fortnight away. She was stressed. She almost didn’t notice her phone buzz.

Mo: bitch what the fuck was that all about?!?!?!!?

Mo: is she on crystal meth?????

Pause. Buzz.

Mo: why u ignoring me sis???

Mo: this is no way to treat ur girlfriend u whore

Pause.

Mo: i know ur seeing these u bitch

Monet gave a light sigh and looked up. There, opposite her, was the living spambot herself that she had the privilege (or curse, she joked internally) to call her girlfriend, Monique. Her huge mane of dyed orange hair was blown out to frame her face perfectly, and the lids of her eyes sparkled with purple glitter which matched her highlighter. Monet’s heart did a flip. It still did when she looked at her, even after the 1 and a half years they’d been together. It seemed simultaneously like such a long time and also no time at all. It didn’t even count the two years beforehand that Monet had spent with a crush on her, which probably made it seem longer. Monique hadn’t noticed Monet looking at her yet and was still typing with her huge pointy nails, a feat which never ceased to amaze Monet.

Mo: here’s a nude i took earlier

Mo: 26012019_602040.jpeg

Just as Monet was about to tap on the picture, she heard her name being mentioned. She looked up with a start, the heat rushing to her face as if everybody could see her texts. The whole room was looking at her expectantly, save for Monique who was looking just as rabbit-caught-in-headlights as Monet imagined she was.

Jinkx gave a kind smile, obviously seeing that she hadn’t been paying a blind bit of attention. “Have you started thinking about the showcase much yet, or not at all?”

Monet gave a grateful exhale. Then, she thought for a second. “I know that I need to get a setlist done but I almost feel like I have too many ideas going on and I don’t know which one to go with? Like I don’t have a theme.”

“Oh, I feel that, honey,” came a theatrical voice from across the room. Trixie Mattel, the scholarship kid, was bright and talented, but also annoyed fuck out of Monet because of her incessant catchphrase. “I sat for ages trying to think of what I should sing. But then I thought, what’s really going to show me for me? A bit of who I am? And then it just hit me- honey! I say it so often it’s such a huge part of me, so why not theme all my songs around it?”

Jinkx smiled at the student. “Which are?”

“Honey, Honey from Mamma Mia: The Musical, Honey I’m Home by Shania Twain, and Honey, I’m Good by Andy Grammer,” she smiled proudly. Monet heard a tiny snort across the room and her eyes immediately drifted to Monique who was sniffing as if she had a cold.

“Well, at least someone’s sorted,” Jinkx shrugged, raising her eyebrows and checking the clock. “Okay, that’s us done. Go practice and get organised.”

There was a wild scraping of chairs and bags flying over shoulders as the other students raced out of the seminar room. Monet was last out by the time she’d packed up and thrown her jacket on, and she left the room to find Monique leaning against the wall in the empty corridor waiting for her. She smiled gently as she saw her girlfriend.

“Good to go?” Monet asked her, running a hand down her arm and taking her hand.

“Well, you took long enough,” Monique pouted, cheering up when Monet squeezed her hand. “If we go get ice cream will you share it with me?”

Monet feigned a sob. “I really need to practice.”

Monique stopped in the hall and did her best impression of a dying kitten. Monet rolled her eyes. “Fine! We’ll go.”

Monique was happy as she walked hand in hand with Monet to the ice cream parlour. She radiated bubbly excitement as she talked about her showcase and how she was going to perform all original songs, including one about a brown cow. This was precisely what Monet loved about Monique- her neverending energy, her lust for life, her complete fucking off-the-wall ideas and creativity that nobody else seemed to have. She’d always been like that in high school, too- you could hear her before you could see her, and it was as if every moment was part of her own, Monique-Heart-based reality show. She was always popular, but not quite in the bitchy sense, and she was always surrounded by her friends: Mayhem, the queen bee, Asia, the makeup artist, Vixen, the bitch never out of detention. Monet always stayed in her lane- after all, there was no real reason for their paths to cross- but she’d often look across the lunch hall to the table of goddesses and feel intrigued and shy at the same time, confused by the feelings that years later she’d recognise as a classic, embarrassing high school crush.

They arrived at the cafe where Monique sat down, all but grabbed the menu from Monet’s hands, and began flicking through it.

“What do you want?” she asked Monet, not looking up from her flicking. Monet let out a burst of laughter.

“Bitch, you just took the menu from me! How the hell am I supposed to know?! Get whatever you want,” she shrugged, leaning back in her seat and looking out of the window. “I don’t mind.”

It was cold and grey outside but somehow Monique made it seem so much more colourful- a huge lilac sweatshirt with an enormous pair of eyes stitched onto it, patterned blue and green exercise leggings. Stuff that anyone else would be afraid of wearing, but not Monique. Monique was fearless.

Monique decided on a red velvet and white chocolate sundae. She proudly announced that she chose it because she remembered red velvet was Monet’s favourite, Monet smiling and not letting on that she had no intention of sharing the sundae and she only agreed to get ice cream because Monique would have been sad if they didn’t.

“I can’t believe you’re performing that fucking cow song at your actual showcase. You’re crazy,” Monet laughed suddenly, shaking her head.

“What?” Monique asked incredulously. “So it’s okay for Trixie to theme her whole show around fucking honey but I can’t do a song about a brown cow?”

“Yeah but…” Monet smiled, knowing it would annoy her girlfriend. “…it only works when she does it.”

Monique launched herself across the table to wallop Monet on the arm. Suddenly guilty, Monet reached across and took Monique’s hand, stroking her knuckles gently and taking care to avoid getting stabbed by her nails.

“I’m kidding. Your song’s fun.”

“Oh, it’s a bop,” Monique nodded emphatically.

“Facts are facts,” Monet smiled, using the phrase she knew Monique loved so much.

“Facts are facts,” Monique repeated, beaming at her from across the table. “I ever tell you how lucky I am to have you?”

“No,” Monet deadpanned, taking a sip out of the glass bottle of coke she’d ordered. Monique laughed and mirrored her sip. That was all their relationship seemed to consist of- laughter, constant fun and affection. Monique was funny in her own crazy way, hyper, and Monet was always joking about with her, teasing and poking fun at her until Monique went in a huff and Monet had to faux-beg for forgiveness. She knew Monique always found her funny, though, even though some people thought she wasn’t. In fact, humour was how Monet managed to get Monique on side when they first met properly. It was the first week of Year 13, and they had been put in the same Drama class. They’d been going round the circle talking about the classic bullshit start-of-the-year stuff- what they wanted to get out of the course and suchlike- and a loud-mouthed, domineering girl called Eureka was having her turn. Monet recognised her- she’d always been the year above her in school, but for some reason she was repeating Year 13 (there were rumours it was because of exam failures). Eureka was talking in a faux-humble style of how she already had an agent and how she was going to become a famous actress once the year was over, and that she didn’t really need to be taking Drama to be a professional anyway, she was just doing it for fun.

“Is that why you’re taking it to AS Level for the second time?” Monet had muttered. She thought she’d been quiet, but it had come out way louder than she’d expected, and it got her some glares from some of the bitchier girls. There had been a snort, though, from the other side of the room, and Monet’s gaze had followed it to the source- Monique Heart, who was smiling at her guiltily.

After class, Monet had taken a bit of heat from Eureka and her friends outside the Drama studio, until Monique had turned the corridor. She looked at the girls surrounding Monet, narrowed her eyes, cocked her head, and they’d left. That was the influence she held, and it captivated Monet slightly.

“Did they give you any trouble?” she’d asked, gazing at Monet intently with kind eyes. “Because if they do, just let me know. Vixen’s been looking for an excuse to drag that bitch since she joined our year.”

“Thanks,” Monet had given a quick, awkward smile and walked away, assuming the conversation had been over. She’d been surprised when Monique had caught up with her, walking quickly to match her footsteps.

“I thought it was funny, by the way. What you said. The bitch is so full of shit.”

“Someone had to say it,” Monet shrugged. She smiled to herself. Her heart had felt as if it’d swollen twice its size and she’d felt so satisfied that Monique had found her funny.

“Facts are facts,” Monique had agreed. It was the first time Monet had ever heard her say that. “So how come you’re crashing AS Drama?”

“It’s not a crash, I did A Level last year. I just think we were in different sets,” Monet explained, still amazed that Monique was talking to her. “I’m applying to Performing Arts college. The Academy?”

“Oh, same!” Monique had cried, a high-pitched shriek of recognition. “This is great! Now we can be each other’s emotional support when we do our auditions.”

Monet had smiled, and had gone to say something else when Monique omitted another large cry. As she waved, Monet realised she’d seen her friends.

“I gotta go but I’ll see you tomorrow, Monet!” she’d all but yelled as she ran off to join the other girls. Monet had been disappointed that their conversation was over, until she remembered that they had Drama in first period the next day which was less than 24 hours away.

Monet was suddenly distracted by a wet spoon hitting her nose. She blinked, surprised.

“What was that for?” she asked. Across from her, Monique was halfway through her sundae. Monet had no idea how long it had been there.

“You’ve been staring into space for like, two minutes solid,” Monique explained. Monet took another look at the sundae and laughed.

“You ate all that in two minutes?”

Monique rolled her eyes at her. “Can I be me?”

Monet smiled. “You can finish it. I don’t want any. I’ll still go halfers with you when we’re done.”

“You’re sweet,” Monique said softly, then followed Monet’s gaze out the window. “What were you thinking about anyway?”

“Just us before college. Before we were together,” Monet gave a small shrug and Monique grinned. She seemed eager to say something and was hurrying her current mouthful of ice cream so she didn’t have to speak with her mouth full.

“Remember how nervous I was the first few months we were together in case my parents found out?” she laughed, as if it was a joke. Monet didn’t remember it being a joke at the time. “Then we came here and I’m like ‘Hi, everyone, this is my girlfriend, Monet!’, ‘Hi, America, this is my girlfriend, Monet!”, “Hello, world, did you know I have a girlfriend? Her name is Monet!’. I think the whole college knows by now.”

Monet smiled. “I’m glad you can show me off, it’s what I deserve.”

Monique turned suddenly quiet, something that Monet hardly ever saw. A light blush had hit her cheeks. “I still remember being so happy getting partnered with you for our performance pieces, because it meant I’d get to spend more time with you.”

Monet smiled affectionately. “So was I, but then I was like ‘shit’ because I was already so nervous around you.”

“So was I!”

“Shut up, no you weren’t,” Monet let out a laugh. “You were a motherfucking foghorn around me, I swear I caught tinnitus from working with you.”

“Yeah! I get loud when I’m nervous, sis,” Monique muttered, taking a sip of her drink and looking so meek and so un-Monique that Monet wanted to both laugh and wrap her arms around her and never let go. “If it hadn’t been for Vixen we wouldn’t even be sitting here together now, how crazy.”

Monet snorted. “Yes we would. We’d both have got in here, just we’d probably still be friends and we’d both have huge crushes on each other but be too scared to tell.”

Monique looked indignant. “Hey, I would’ve told you at some point! Just needed to get my nerve.”

“Well, Vixen did it for us.”

It was true that neither of them really had had to make the first move because one lunchtime, just after their final performances and after Monet and Monique had found out they would both be going to the same college, Vixen sat down at Monet’s lunch table right beside her. Monet remembers Bob, Pepper and Cracker looking at them both and then dropping their conversational volume about ten decibels so that they could both talk and listen in. Her friends were so predictable.

“Hey,” Vixen started off. There was a sort of scheming little smile on her face, like she knew a joke that she’d never share with the world. “So Monique wants to know if you like girls.”

Monet vividly remembers drinking from a carton of orange juice and nearly choking on it. “Um. Why?”

Vixen looked at her nails, a small frown coming over her face as she realised she’d chipped one. “Monique’s never been with a girl before but she has this lesbian crush on you, it’s kind of adorable. Anyway, I thought I should ask in case you’re not into that. Pointless raising her hopes if they’re just gonna be crushed.”

Monet had blinked a little at her, while noticing that her friends beside her had dropped all pretence of talking to each other and were now full-on listening to their conversation.

“I mean, I kinda…like her too, I guess?” Monet replied, trying to sound casual when her heart was beating so fast she was afraid it would land her in hospital.

Vixen narrowed her eyes at her. “You kinda like her, or you like her? Which is it?”

“I like her,” Monet replied immediately. Then that same smile had appeared on Vixen’s face as she’d slid off the chair and sashayed over to her usual table. And then Monet had been thrown into a state of panic and anxiety- what if Vixen had been asking for a joke? What if she had just wanted to embarrass Monet, and Monique didn’t feel the same at all? She wouldn’t have been able to look Monique in the eye. She hadn’t dared to look over to the other table and, as her friends had consoled her, Monet thought she’d made a dreadful mistake.

So when Monet had been rushing to her next class after lunch and taking a shortcut she’d though that only she knew, she’d been surprised to see Monique sitting on a bench deep in thought. Self-conscious, Monet tried to hurry past her, but was stopped by a call.

“Mo!”

She turned and Monique was smiling at her gently. It was a genuine smile. It didn’t seem scheming, or part of a set up. In fact, it looked a little shy.

“Hey,” Monet smiled back nervously, perching on the bench. “Sorry I kinda blanked you, I was rushing to get to class.”

“Oh well sorry, you better go!” Monique insisted, appearing more embarrassed by the second. Something in Monet wanted to find out why, so she replied.

“No, it’s okay. I’m late now, might as well commit to it,” she shrugged, looking at the other girl whose brows were furrowed. “How come you’re up here anyway?”

“Just thinking about stuff,” Monique said simply. Still with her eyes on the grass below, she continued. “Monet…”

Monet’s heart was rattling against her ribcage as if it was trying to escape her body. “Mm?”

“Did Vixen tell you? You know…about…me? And…you?” Monique asked calmly, even though looking back Monet thought that her insides were probably as fucked up as her own.

She’d wondered about whether or not to tell the truth. “About you liking me? Yeah, she did.”

Monique visibly cringed. “That motherfucking fruitloop bitch. I’m gonna kill her.”

Monet let out a laugh and Monique joined in too, softly. Her gaze finally met Monet’s own. “She told me that you like me too, though, right?”

Monet was sure she’d felt her heart stop completely, if only for a second. “Um. Yeah, I guess I do.”

There was a pause, and Monet panicked. “Monique, look, I don’t know if this is a huge in-joke you and your friends have, but-”

“Oh no, it’s really not! I promise,” Monique had blurted out. She’d been so far away from her usual chilled out, calm self, and she’d looked back to the ground. “So, uh. Do you want to go get food after school?”

Monet’s heart exploded. “Yeah. That sounds fun.”

“Just to clarify, this would be a date. Like this is me asking you out on a date,” Monique repeated, her eccentric energy slowly coming back. Monet snorted.

“Girl what do you think I am, hard of hearing? I get it,” she’d laughed, leading to Monet thumping her with her bag, standing up, and walking away.

“Don’t bother! It’s cancelled!” she’d cried out to her as she walked off, Monet doubling over laughing and happy in the knowledge Monique didn’t mean a single word.

Fast forward to today and they were leaving the ice cream parlour, hand in hand again, Monique happy and full of ice cream and Monet happy because her girlfriend was happy.

“I never thought it would be this easy, you know?” she mused out loud, Monique turning to her and pulling a confused face. Monet smiled and clarified. “Us. We always wondered how we’d do when we moved here and had to be on the same course but it’s so easy.”

“Of course it’s easy. You’re with me! What are you trying to say, that I’m hard work?” Monique all but screamed, Monet’s face remaining deadpan.

“Yes.”

“Shut up,” Monique laughed, turning and pulling Monet in for a kiss. Monique’s kisses were always so much like her- soft and gentle but with a crazy passion that knocked Monet for six every time. They were interrupted by a disapproving voice muttering something about Jesus and tradition. Monique immediately whipped herself round from Monet’s face, found the culprit (a balding old man) and fired back.

“Sir, the ten commandments said ‘love thy neighbour’, and Jesus said ‘why do you break the command of God for the sake of your tradition?’, so I think the fuck not, bitch,” she all but spat at him. As the man walked away, stunned, she turned and wrapped Monet in a protective hug, which she was grateful for. “Try to out-Jesus me, whore.”

“Do you want to come back to mine and watch something?” Monet asked, trying to take her girlfriend’s mind off the situation.

“Like what?”

“X Files?”

Monique whined. “Bitch, stop trying to introduce me to your fucking alien fantasy! I’m not interested, I don’t get it!”

Monet tried to pull the same puppy-eye face that Monique loved to pull so much. It appeared to work because Monique’s face softened and she smiled, tucking a lock of Monet’s huge wavy black mane of hair behind her ear. “But you like it, so I’ll try to get into it.”

They ended up at Monet’s flat lying spooning on her bed, Monique the little spoon and getting a better view of the laptop screen, Monet just happy at getting to hold her around her small waist. They had long since changed into pyjamas even though it was only around 4 in the afternoon, Monet in a massive t shirt and sweatpants, Monique in a borrowed cami top and cotton shorts, and Monet had drawn the curtains so that her whole room was cosy and dark and illuminated by fairy lights and the laptop.

“It’s alright. The X Files,” Monique yawned sleepily. “Not the best but not the worst.”

“Mm. Just like sex with you,” Monet joked, Monique suddenly waking up to walk across the room as if she was leaving, then returning to her spot in Monet’s arms.

“You can literally go fuck yourself,” Monique bit back, but the yawn that escaped her mouth halfway through softened her words.

Fuck, Monet loved her so much. It got her thinking about how long it could be this good for. All couples hit snags and bumps in the road and, although they hadn’t had any yet, it was surely inevitable. Monet wondered what their first proper argument would be like and if they could recover from it, or if Monique was the type to walk away.

“I can hear you thinking,” Monique interrupted her train of thought, Monet feeling sheepish at having been caught out.

“Just thinking about us,” she admitted. “Wondering how long the honeymoon period is going to last. Before we eventually have a big fight and you leave me.”

Monique sat up abruptly. “And who says our honeymoon period won’t be our whole relationship?”

Monet laughed, tugging her girlfriend down with her. “Okay, yeah. That sounds good to me.”

“Anyway. I like annoying you too much to ever leave you,” Monique smiled, satisfied. She lay back down on the bed, and Monet could feel her stretching.

“Nap?” Monet suggested, stroking Monique’s hair and flipping it over her shoulders and out of her face.

“Nap,” Monique confirmed, wriggling a little in Monet’s arms and getting comfortable.

“I love you,” Monet smiled, kissing her girlfriend’s shoulder then reaching back to tie her own hair in an elastic.

“I love you too, girl,” Monique replied, reaching around to grab Monet’s arm and replace it around her waist.

“Goodnight, Mo.”

“G’night, honey.”

#ortega #monet x monique #college au #established relationship #monique heart #monet x change #rpdr fanfiction #honey by ortega #s10 #rare pair

51 notes · View notes

breannasfluff · 11 months

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Cafe Bake Sale

Today was the pumpkin bake sale. The boys promoted it all week and, judging by the line outside, it is going to be popular. Purple does one final glance across his brothers. Everyone is in their uniform—except Gleam, who’s late—and Cyan even manages a smile when he meets Purple’s eyes.

Time to get this started! Purple switches the sign and pulls the door open. “Welcome to the Lucky Rabbit Café! Today is our pumpkin bake sale! Proceeds go to fixing the oven Gleam blew up last month!”

He’s still not sure how Gleam managed to send the oven through an entire wall. Suffice to say, it’s expensive to fix and Gleam is banned from baking again. The boys have gone all out on the baked goods. Cupcakes, muffins, bread, and cookies. Pink was in charge of decorating, even if Purple had to stop him from decorating every cookie with hearts and Legend’s name.

Little tags with prices are placed in front of each item, courtesy of Gold. He’s a lot more invested in this than Purple expected. Then again, his brother likes anything to do with making money. And so what if the prices are a little high? Ovens aren’t cheap!

Purple loses himself to directing customers, smiling, and handing out samples of cookies on a tray. That is until someone taps him on the shoulder.

“Gleam. You’re late. And…” Purple rapidly weighs the worth of complaining about the uniform. He’s paired one of the skirts with the top and vest from the butler uniforms. The chances of him changing are minimal. At least he’s wearing clothes. “Your table is down there,” Purple finishes. “Do you have your baked goods?”

Gleam holds up a basket and, for once, it seems like he followed instructions. Then he turns on his heel—where did he get stilettos, for Hylia’s sake—and clicks down to his table to set up.

There’s a gaggle of girls eyeing him and tittering. What they see in Gleam, Purple will never understand. Gold likes to market on it, though.

“Can I buy one of your cakes?”

Purple turns his attention back to the other booths. Blue is helping a customer. Or—he’s standing there smiling. He’s not responding.

“Cake?” The girl points at one. “Cyan?”

The fixed smile remains.

Gold swoops in, never one to lose a rupee. “Of course you can! Don’t mind my brother.” He hip-checks Cyan out of the way.

Purple circles to the other side of the tables and grabs Cyan’s arm. “Hey, what’s up?”

“You told me to smile at customers.”

“Yeah, when you talk to them!”

His brother gives him a flat look. “I don’t want to talk to them.”

Nayru’s ass, why is Purple cursed? “Just…respond when people want to buy something. We’re trying to make money.”

“Do I still have to smile?”

Rather than respond, Purple groans and leaves him. Pink has a line at his table.

“And what do you think of these?” He’s holding up a cookie decorated with hearts.

“Not as cute as you!” And there’s Legend. Pink giggles and leans over the table, nearly trailing his sleeves through the frosting.

“Nope!” Purple grabs the bow on the back of his dress and yanks him out of range. “You are here to sell, not flirt. Legend, buy something, and get out of the way. You are holding up the line.”

Legend frowns and looks behind him like he didn’t notice the others.

“But Purple,” Pink whines, “I don’t want to sell these to other people. Legend should get all of them!”

“Then your boyfriend can pay for all of them.”

For a moment, it looks like Legend gives the idea serious thought before he sighs and passes over some rupees. “Sorry, Pink, I can’t buy them all.”

“I’ll give you a discount for a kiss!”

“Absolutely not!” Purple gives a harder yank to Pink’s bow until he grumbles and packs the baked goods into a box.

Once Legend moves away, Purple turns his attention to Gleam. Gold is already back at his table next to Gleam, although his ear keeps flicking to the side to listen.

The group of girls crowd around the table, although no one seems to be buying anything. Purple heads over.

“Gleam, these look lovely, but they are white. How did you manage that?”

“Bone.”

“Ah!” Gold slides in next to Gleam, slinging an arm around his neck. “What he means to say is bon appetit! Now, these baked goods are made with a rare white pumpkin! We only get a few because they are so hard to grow.”

The girls take the bait. “What do you mean?”

Gold lights up. “Oh, it’s a long and delicate process! The pumpkins are buried in loose dirt and protected from the light. It keeps them white and sweet as they grow. When turned into baked goods, they retain the white color. Of course, that means they are more expensive to procure. Goods like this are available at a slightly higher markup. You understand.”

The girls coo and nod. “What about those? They are green.”

For once, Gold is lost on how to sell it and turns to Gleam.

“Zucchini.”

There’s a moment while everyone processes this statement. Purple’s hand meeting his forehead makes an audible slap in the silence.

Gold, bless his heart, saves them. “What if someone was allergic to pumpkin? Gleam here is always thinking of our customers.”

On cue, the girls squeal and crowd the table. If there’s one truth here, it’s that customer safety is the last thing on Gleam’s mind.

Purple tugs him aside. “Hey, what did you mean by bone?”

“Bone. Ground bone.”

“Why…no. Where did you get the ground bone?”

“Stal.”

Purple presses his lips together to hold back questions like, where did you find a stal and why did you grind its bones, or is there a bone dust black market and if so, don’t tell Gold.

All he asks is, “Will it make people sick?”

Gleam shakes his head. “Perfectly safe. Edible.”

“Right. Right!” Clapping his hands together, Purple pushes Gleam back to his table. “Anything else I should know about your baked goods?”

“Frog guts.”

He pauses, letting this sink in, then shakes his head. “Forget I asked. Plausible deniability.”

Gleam shrugs and settles back at his table.

Purple heads back to the door, slapping Cyan when he tries to take a cookie for sale and glaring at Pink, who’s making eyes at Legend across the room. It’s not until he’s greeting people at the door that a thought occurs to him.

Wasn’t Gleam banned from baking?

#flufftober2023 #pumpkin #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu flufftober #breannasfluff #mywriting #Lucky Rabbit Cafe AU #ravio #albw ravio #lu ravio #fr gleam #fr gold #fr pink #fr purple #fr cyan #modern au #lu legend

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nedcanquen · 7 years

Text

Chapter 4: Mr 7th Floor

Tags: Slow Burn (like…really slow burn) - endgame is NedCan but they don’t get there directly, Single POV, Yep, Canada will date other people before endgame because he’s very desirable even if he doesn’t always know it, Audit firm AU, Office AU, some angst.

Pairings: NedCan (endgame), NorCan, implied NedDen, DenNor (I can’t believe I missed this in the last update), implied Spamano, France/Jeanne d’Arc

Photo from Pexels/Skitterphoto

It’s in the opposite direction of his home but Matthew has to make a diversion to the cafe. It’s earlier than the last time he’d brought Emil there, so there’s a good after-work crowd. Matthew pulls the door open and feels his heart warming at the sight of children playing in their little fairytale corner and the smell of freshly baked goods and warm foods wafting in the air. This cafe is truly something, and Matthew notes a few high-school aged students running up and down as waiters, but still not enough to match how popular the place is.

“Can I help you?” Matthew turns to see one of these teenagers smiling at him. His eyes fell to her nameplate ‘Yuka’.

Maybe he hadn’t thought out the idea of thanking Mathias in person, especially considering how busy the place is, “Hi Yuka, I’d just like to leave a message for Mathias, if that’s alright,” It is likely a bad idea to bother Mathias in person. “I’d like to thank him for the maple syrup danishes.”

“Oh, so you’re the lucky taste tester for those. Okay, I’ll pass the message along. Your name…?”

“Matthew. Please also let him know that I...really appreciated them.”

The back door swings open and Mathias is carrying a tray of freshly baked goods, grinning and puffing with exertion. Yuka takes the tray and Mathias wipes his brow with his arm. His hair is a little messy but it doesn’t take away from his charm apparently, as his customers turn and greet him excitedly. Some of the children run up and Mathias greets them with bear hugs and has to bribe them with candy to get them to go back and play.

Matthew can’t help but smile and a short laugh escapes his lips. That’s when Mathias notices him and stiffens somewhat. He can’t really see the expression on Mathias’ face as he’s wearing a face mask for hygiene, since he’s baking the goods, “Hi Matthew! If you’d like more of those maple syrup ones you’ll have to put in a special order, I just made four.” Mathias says with forced levity as he pulls down his mask out of politeness.

“Oh please, don’t worry about it. I just wanted to come by and thank you in person. I think if you do add them to your menu, you’d have people lining up non-stop, all-year-round,” Matthew looked out at the loud and crowded cafe. “Not that you’re unpopular to begin with...”

“Yeah,” Mathias laughed ruefully. “I didn’t expect to be this popular this quickly, so my hiring plans, expansion plans and all have been sped up! I should probably do something like...hire an accountant, a manager and stuff but...anyway you’re not here to hear my business woes.”

“Do you need help?” Matthew didn’t know why he said that, considering the amount of work he already had. “I mean, I’m surrounded by accountants, and so technically, is Daan. You may be tired of PKDE people but it shouldn’t be too hard for me to reach out to other people from university and stuff who decided that the big firm route wasn’t for them. Some went freelance. That may help with the accounting. The floor manager and stuff well...I don’t know anything about that.”

Mathias looks at him incredulously, then laughs in earnest. “Ah...sure. That’d be nice. Just a first step to get a handle on the money so I can figure out where I want it to go, and preferably someone who doesn’t need much guidance and is trustworthy - the goes without saying I guess. Daan would be offended I didn’t ask him but he doesn’t get to complain because he’s hardly ever here. Speaking of, would you happen to know anyone who’s willing to babysit some rabbits too? We’d pay by this point.”

“Rabbits?!”

Mathias pulls out his phone and shows Matthew a picture of three particularly adorable rabbits - one as white as snow, another caramel colored and a black-colored one. Matthew didn’t hear the whine coming out of his mouth as his heart melted at the sight. “Oh my god…” He murmured, covering his mouth with his hands.

“Here, this is a video. I figure it won’t be hard to find someone who wants to take care of them, the problem is finding someone that they trust AND wouldn’t steal them.” Mathias added with glee and tapped on the screen. Someone was feeding the caramel one a baby carrot and Matthew couldn’t take his eyes away from the wiggling of that cute nose and munching little mouth greedily chewing on the carrot.

Matthew forced himself to close his eyes and shake his head. “They live here?”

“Hah! No.” Mathias replies. “The noise is a little too much for them, but the problem is, rabbits are social, they need people around, and these are not caged so someone would just need to drop in and make sure that their litter is clean, they’re fed on time, they’re not accidentally killing themselves, that kind of thing. I used to do that but now this place takes up all my time. Belle travels as much as Daan, Christian, uh, Daan’s baby bro? He works worse hours than Emil and Daan is so fucking picky with who gets to take care of his rabbits, he won’t even-”

“Those are Daan’s?!” Matthew almost yelled in shock. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised but he can’t really process it at the moment.

Mathias gave an evil smirk. “Oh yeah, they’re not mine. I mean I suppose he tries to have this badass rep in the office, but who says an evil bastard can’t have pets? Frankly, I don’t think they need as much care as he thinks, they’re well trained, but you don’t know how much I’ve been chewed out already for not being with them as much as he wants, which is how taking care of them became something that involved more than three people! So I tell him, ‘you got pet rabbits and you’re the one who decided it was okay to fly everywhere’ and what does he do? Gets a new rabbit ‘oh they’re social! The third should make them happier!’ Damnit man that isn’t the point!”

Matthew’s jaw has dropped by now, trying to imagine these two adult men who look like posterboys for GQ magazine, having a spat over the proper care of pet bunnies. Trying to imagine Daan, the man who makes managers quake in their shoes, whom the other Partners call a miser, who stole projects from other directors on his way up, who flat out uses the word ‘stupid’ when evaluating work (and fine, maybe he isn’t wrong but doesn’t he know what positive reinforcement is?). Daan, the man who Michelle called a bond-villain lookalike, has three fucking adorable pet bunnies. Whom he fights with his boyfriend over. The third of which he bought because he didn’t want the first two to be lonely when he travelled. What world is this?

“Yeah, sorry, a little off topic, but out of all things, it’s the rabbits that are taking up a lot of my time now too, I run back at slow periods to check in on them! So I really ought to hire someone, but Daan will insist on a full background check and want to see how his bunnies interact with any newbie so it’s not like I can just hire anyone when he’s out of town, which is most the time. Just a little venting there, and a bit of revenge. Because someone at the firm now knows about his bunnies, and that’s one person he can’t intimidate.” Mathias grins smugly.

Matthew just stares back wordlessly.

“Don’t get me wrong! I do love them! It’s literally impossible to be down when they’re hopping all over you but…”

“They’re adorable.” Matthew breathes. “I’ll ask around for them too.”

Now it’s Mathias’ turn to look at Matthew wordlessly, a curious expression on his face that had rapidly changed from annoyed to remorseful. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck...you really are a nice guy aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Matthew shoots back, and what kind of people has Mathias been talking to that he shows them pictures of cute bunnies and they still behave like assholes?

“It’s a compliment! I meant it as a compliment. I,” A short laugh escapes him, “Forget about the rabbits, I really wanted to hate you. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m jealous though I have no right to be and...”

Matthew waits for him to continue, figuring that he’s not really thinking about what he’s saying, so it’s as honest as it’s going to get.

“Take care of him please,” Mathias finishes, a sad smile on his face. “Lukas. I know I don’t have any right to ask and he doesn’t belong to me or anything and heck, he’s more than capable of taking care of himself, but...you’re a nice guy, and I’ll be happy just knowing that Lukas has found what he’s looking for.”

The mood is heavy again. Somehow, Matthew walked into the cafe expecting this to come up but the rabbits and overall warmth of the place made him temporarily forget.

“I should get back to the kitchen. Thanks for dropping by Matthew.”

Saturday comes too quickly. Matthew makes sure he’s brought everything he needs for the hike, checking through his backpack one more time before messaging Lukas and heading to his car. It’s early enough that the sun hasn’t risen, and he’s scheduled to pick Lukas up from the apartment that he shares with Emil before they drive out to their chosen trail. It’s an hour’s drive out of the city and they want to be able to reach the end of the trail with plenty of sunlight and time to spare, because they’re going to be having a long talk at the waterfall they’re aiming for and they’ll need time to return to the car after that. It only occurs to Matthew now that they’re fairly optimistic about still wanting to spend that much time together after what’s said today, but he supposes that they’re not the explode-in-rage type. Besides, even if Matthew somehow finds himself angry, he’s not going to strand Lukas out there, it’s just not right.

The streets are quiet at this time of day and Matthew enjoys the quiet as he drives the familiar route. He and Lukas had been exchanging messages about today since the cafe incident. Matthew had taken a picture of the danishes and sent them to Lukas with a simple message “Delicious. Has Emil told you?” Maybe that was passive aggressive, but Matthew didn’t want to sound confrontational to the extreme either.

Oh God he is so bad at this.

Lukas responded with a simple “Yes.” Then sent Matthew a map of the chosen trail for the weekend. They only discussed their plans for today after that. When he arrives he finds Lukas waiting for him outside, tired and tense. Well that’s not what Matthew wants to see. He leans over to open the passenger door.

“Hey.” Matthew smiles in greeting. “You can nap on the way there if you want.”

Lukas seems to relax a little after that and smiles as well. “Doesn’t sound fair to leave you bored.”

Matthew looks at Lukas with the strange light of early morning resting on the pale planes of his face, and wonders how they ended up together in any capacity. “Thanks.”

Before he can start up the car, Lukas squeezes his wrist. “Wait, Matthew.”

Oh God were they doing this now?

“I just want to suggest that we enjoy the hike, no matter what words get said at the waterfall.”

Lukas’ voice is deep and calming, it has a trance-like effect sometimes, even when he’s agitated. Usually there’s a good amount of dry humor involved in speaking to Lukas as well, but that seems entirely absent now. Matthew reaches a hand over the squeeze the one on his wrist. “I agree.”

They don’t really talk on the drive, not in a continuous way to fill up the silence the way Matthew is used to having to deal with when he’s out winning clients or visiting his brother. But occasionally Lukas will see something and comment on it, something that Matthew can’t see because he’s driving and paying attention to the road, but he appreciates it all the same. It’s just enough to keep him awake but quiet enough that Matthew feels comfortable. Lukas and the promise of a hike has this effect on him - he can stew away for weeks with toxic thoughts that may or may not lessen when they meet up for simple dinners in the city, but together like this out here, Matthew almost remembers what it feels like to be at ease again. It’s this calm companionship that he appreciates but it’s probably nature gifting it to both of them. Nature gives enough to fill the world with wonder, and simultaneously provides a solitary challenge as well as a joint one.

They reach the trail and set out, just in time for day to begin creeping out over the land. It’s early enough that there’s barely anyone there and it feels like they have this national preserve all to themselves. Matthew breathes in the fresh air and feels it rejuvenating him after too much time sitting in offices with its recycled air systems, or walking through a city with the inevitable smell of car exhaust. He lets the sound of leaves rustling in the wind, birds and insects chirping and the many thousands of sounds of woodlife that he just can’t see, rush through him and calm him. It’s familiar and safe, in a way that most things in his life right now aren’t. He can still identify certain birds from their call as well as the names of some trees and plants that they pass by.

Matthew’s family loved the outdoors. In happier days, his fondest memories involved camping with his parents and warm nights by the fire. It’s something that his father’s other family shared with theirs, which meant that whenever he and Alfred got a little too frustrated with each other or their Dad, they’d pack up and disappear into a place like this. Even now, retreating out here to a place where there were no buildings in sight, where he knew how small he was, served as his sanctuary. It was amazing how it lifted him everytime he came back out here - the smell of plants and trees, the physical exertion of putting one foot in front of the other. How it felt to sit on the rough surface of a rock when they took a break, the comfort of feeling dirt in his hands, of how he had to pay attention to every part of his body. Before he met Lukas, Matthew had forgotten what returning to this sanctuary was like, and he was thankful that being with Lukas gave him a reason to make time for this in his life again. That was probably why they were still together in some ways. Matthew feared that coming out here alone would ruin this last sanctuary the way this thoughts at night had now ruined his bed.

They take their time, stopping quietly to observe the birds that alight and sing from the trees, to let animals walk past safely. It’s easy, it’s nice, it’s the kind of peace that Matthew knows he has to fight to have more of in his life. And isn’t it strange that it’s something that one has to fight for when one’s life is effortlessly overwhelming?

Hiking is a meditative experience - the deep breathing, focus on the body, walking in something that was obviously larger than yourself...than you’d ever be. Distantly he wonders if this is in anyway comparable to what Alfred feels on the job. Matthew remains aware of Lukas, and they’d reach out for each other to steady the other if one stumbled, or slow down if the other was getting tired, but for the most part they match each other’s pace. Occasionally they talk about the week, safe topics such as the books they’re hoping to read, if the other knows what kind of plant that is, or type of bird.

By the time they reach the waterfall, the tension that suffocated the air in the morning is gone. Even with the conversation to come, Matthew can’t summon the same level of nervousness as before and he’s grateful. They make themselves comfortable, set up a tarp overhead and dig out food and camp cooking gear from their packs. It’s not fancy - bread and crackers, cheese and tea with assorted nuts and dried fruit. Lukas gets the small camp burner going as well as the small kettle for the tea and they sit together with the waterfall ahead of them, but far enough that its roar is not overwhelming.

“Thanks for speaking to Emil.” Lukas starts.

Matthew shrugs. “I’m glad I did. It’s nice to see that so many people love him. You, Mathias and even Daan offered to speak to him. I guess that’s why he feels he needs to be more independent. He hasn’t quite figured out yet that having support doesn’t make one dependent.”

Lukas pours out the tea with a dry laugh. “I think the issue is that everyone you just mentioned was mostly on their own, well, except for Mathias, but he was an only child so in a way he was on his own. Daan’s parents weren’t married, they just lived together for a while and had children together, then went where life took them. Daan didn’t have much growing up but he’s always taken care of himself and his siblings. Daan and Belle have a similar mercenary self-reliant streak and Christian looks up to them, especially Daan, so I suspect he’ll have his own version of it. So...Emil looks at us and thinks that you have to be alone to grow up, and it’s not like I was much better at encouraging otherwise.”

Matthew nodded. “Are you sure you’re ready to talk about this? You look...” Unhappy was putting it mildly. It was the kind of unhappiness borne from trauma that one desperately tried to hide.

“You’re going to ask me about Mathias right?” Lukas responded.

“Among other things, if you’re ready to talk about it. I felt an urgency earlier this week but now that I know there’s more to consider here and it still affects you strongly...We can wait until you’re comfortable.”

Lukas let out a short laugh. “Matthew, no matter what happens after today, I’m going to be fond of you, so I’m going to speak to you about Mathias and these other things, and I’m going to ask you that no matter what the circumstance or what you feel about a person, that…” He reaches out and squeezes Matthew’s hand. “If it’s important to you, it’s important. Kindness is well and good, but if you’re kind at the expense of yourself, it doesn’t help anyone and I don’t want to see the anger you may be capable of because I abused your patience. So be honest if something bothers you. Don’t hide it for anyone sake.”

These were the most words at one time that Matthew could remember Lukas saying, which meant a lot. He found he had little to say, so he just squeezed the hand back and nodded. “I’ll try.”

Lukas nodded as well, looking at the waterfall in front of them as if gathering strength. “Well, Mathias and I were neighbours growing up. Expat communities tend to bundle together, and the Scandinavians are no different. But anything that involves the more complicated part of my relationship with Mathias has to start with what happened with Emil and my parents. You know we’re orphans.”

That had been the extent of Lukas’ early life that he had been told.

“Well, my parents died in that accident when Emil was still in middle school, and I wasn’t even in university yet. Actually, I was in the middle of my conscription when it happened. I was literally somewhere in the Norwegian Sea. I was Emil’s only remaining family and it was impossible get hold of me. I remember being called in to see the CO and wondering what catastrophe had happened. Even after hearing the news, it didn’t seem real. Of course, they couldn’t turn the boat around just for me. Arrangements were made, but by the time I was finally back with Emil…”

Matthew knew that the Bondeviks had been living in Canada, Lukas’ father also worked for NorgeOlje and was posted there by the company. Lukas’ mother was an artist, a painter from Iceland. Due to citizenship laws and Norway disallowing dual citizenship, Lukas was Norwegian, but Emil was both Icelandic and Canadian. Matthew can only imagine what kind of a mess it must have been, with three countries involved, not many extended relatives to rely on and Lukas not even being employed at the time.

“So he was alone for a few days.” Matthew stated.

“More. I had to get back to land, there are no direct flights between Norway and Canada, I couldn’t leave until the paperwork waiving the rest of my conscription was done and then there was...I’ll spare you the legal details. But yes, I couldn’t go to Emil immediately. I will forever be indebted to the Kohlers, Mathias’ family, for taking him in. For all that they did. I was never the most demonstrative of brothers to begin with, and Emil and I are both reserved by nature. Mathias was the brother he needed then, which he managed to do despite just having started working himself.”

There’s a broken voice and regret lacing those words and Matthew finally understands why Lukas is so protective over Emil, sometimes in contradictory ways - that he has to house and feed his brother, but doesn’t want his brother to feel overwhelmed and so discourages his boyfriends from helping him...unless it’s bad. Lukas doesn’t know how to make up for those lost days, and he’s been desperately trying to ever since.

“I came back and had to convince the courts to award me guardianship.”

“How did you manage to do that?” Matthew asked, honestly amazed. “You were citizens of different countries, unemployed…”

“I didn’t.” Lukas scoffed. “So the Kohlers legally adopted Emil.”

Oh. Mathias’ actions and the protectiveness that Lukas and Daan also seemed to exhibit over Emil now made more sense. “So...you went to university after that?”

Lukas nodded. “Because Emil now had a place to stay, I had the liberty to get a degree and maybe earn enough to actually take care of him one day. Thankfully university in Norway is free. There were living expenses of course, but those were manageable with me working odd jobs. But if I wanted to qualify for permanent residency in Canada and work and live here, it made sense to study here. I worked for a year in Norway, then moved back to Canada and started an MBA, which of course, is not free and I paid foreign-student fees. I got to stay with Emil briefly but then it was time for him to start university. Thankfully for Emil, even though he didn’t really get to choose a place for himself, Icelandic universities are also free, even if living costs are far more expensive, but he was happy there. My parents left us money, otherwise it would have been impossible. Also, we had so much help. Help and luck. Help that...again, I’ll never be able to repay.” Lukas sinks, looking at the ground, arms resting on his knees and all Matthew can do is run a comforting hand up and down his back.

Matthew absorbs all this and can understand why Lukas never mentioned it. He can’t understand why everyone else seems to think that Lukas ought to able to share this so easily. When Lukas looks up again, Matthew adds, “And Mathias, he helped didn’t he? He helped put Emil through university?”

Lukas smiled bitterly. “He helped me. I insisted on helping Emil, Mathias and his family had already done so much for Emil’s high school. I lived with Mathias so I didn’t have to pay rent or residential costs, while I was studying here and that’s when we...our relationship changed, while Emil was back in Reykjavik. Good times I guess, Mathias was quite a fast riser at LEGO before he burned out. I suppose that was my fault too.”

Matthew can’t help but let out a laugh. “He worked at LEGO? Seriously?”

Lukas had to laugh too. “Seriously. He designed new LEGO worlds and built those giant dinosaurs and ships and things that get displayed. Perfect match don’t you think? Though every night he’d come home complaining about how corporate life strangled the fun out of it, and there were always the pieces! Everywhere! All over the floor, I stepped on them so many I was always yelling so I’d vacumm them all up in revenge.” Lukas grinned, before the smile fell. “Maybe if it weren’t for me, he could have let himself enjoy it.”

There - for a brief moment, Matthew saw how happy Lukas had been. It was in the softness of his smile at the memory, which Matthew had never seen before. “How did...how does that lead to now? You and Mathias don’t really see each other do you? And you don’t like to talk about him.”

“The thing about gratitude is that sometimes, it silences you.”

Matthew frowned in confusion and tried to read Lukas’ expression. He failed. “I don’t follow.”

“Remember what I just told you about not letting your kindness let people take advantage of you? It’s also unfair to those who love you. Kindness can make you...fail to express yourself, fail to communicate and they will never know what you actually need. It was the same with me and gratitude. I felt like I owed Mathias and his family so much, I loved him but...I stopped talking to him, I couldn’t talk to him. And Mathias is...he has so much energy. He’s like a sun, a light that draws everyone to him because he emits so much warmth and adventure. I resented that. I could never understand his jealousy and possessiveness, when I was the one who had more reason to feel that way, but I swallowed that down too.”

Lukas let out a tired sigh. “It catches up, you know. The things you don’t say, all of those things, combined with my gratitude ended up making me feel trapped and imprisoned. The worse it got, the more jealous and possessive we both became. We were turning into terrible people, just by being together, so...I ended it. I had no idea who I was. My parents died when I was nineteen, the life I had planned for was off the table, everything was a mess. I convinced myself that I was living and working only for Emil for the following years. I knew I couldn’t find who I was if I stayed with Mathias, and I knew it would be worse for him if we stayed like that.”

“And so you stopped talking to him?”

Lukas looked a little ashamed at that, still staring off at the falling water. “I may have dated his cousin not too long after I broke up with him. A cousin that I knew he hated at the time.” At the look on Matthew’s face, Lukas added. “I don’t think I ever said that I was never going to be blameless here. But yes, Mathias was furious and since then...we’ve never…”

“You haven’t even been to the cafe?”

Lukas takes another nervous sip of tea. “I’ve seen pictures of it.”

A thought suddenly occurs to Matthew. “You don’t like maple syrup do you?”

Lukas let out a chuckle. “No. I don’t hate it, it’s nice, but I don’t go looking for it either. Interesting line of questions, from ‘what’s the story with Mathias?’ to ‘do you like maple syrup?’ immediately after.”

“Oh. I was just wondering if maybe those danishes he made for me were meant for you, somehow, indirectly.”

Lukas lets out a bellyfull of laughter at that, surprising Matthew but pleasing him all the same. It was nice to hear the laughter after such a heavy topic. “Mathias doesn’t work like that.” Lukas eventually got out. “He made you maple syrup danishes? Probably his thank you for taking care of Emil. He’s a horrible liar too, you’d be able to tell when he gave them to you if there was anything else he intended.”

Matthew shook his head, embarrassed. “Daan delivered them to me. So I didn’t know if maybe-”

But Lukas only chuckles. “Those two? Sure, Daan is better at lying, no, lying isn’t the right word. Deceit is the better word. But anyway, Daan is one a Partner in your firm right?”

Matthew nods.

“Unless he’s changed drastically, Daan is aware of what image and authority means when someone as young as him is in charge. He only sacrifices those when he thinks he can win a deal by doing so. There’s no deal here, so I’m willing to bet he was just delivering danishes, once again, as always, dragged into something, thanks to Mathias.”

Lukas looks out smiling fondly, lost in memory and Matthew only just realizes that he’s long since brought his own hands back to himself, resting on his knees in front of him. It’s as obvious as day, from the soft look on Lukas’ face, that he still loves Mathias. He always will, and now Daan’s words make sense, the warning and honesty. The advice that being together with Lukas may mean just accepting that a part of him will always love another man.

Matthew feels a sense of finality with this because he knows he can’t. He can’t accept being less than someone’s one and only. Maybe he’s being unreasonable, considering what he has to offer, but he can already feel the tendrils of romantic affection for Lukas shrinking away out of defensiveness. Maybe if they had a chance to know each other longer – if they somehow dropped their walls more naturally, if Matthew had time to more fully appreciate how comfortable Lukas made him feel or even if Matthew had a better idea of himself – a couple of years more, or a thousand other ‘what ifs’ and maybe Matthew would have found himself in love and able to accept this condition. But somehow even with that...he doubts it and besides, it hasn’t been years and the ifs haven’t happened. It’s been two months and Matthew has issues layered upon issues. He lays down on the dirt to look at the canopy and hints of sky beyond, and thinks of his mother living in happy (he hopes) retirement, walking the dogs in St Johns, of his brother living not only his dream, but the dreams of countless others while Matthew is simply satisfied with checking numbers.

“Are you that angry with me?” Lukas’ question interrupts his reverie.

“Huh?”

“You looked mad just now. And far away.”

Matthew shook his head, feeling too comfortable to move. “I’m not mad at you. I was just thinking I guess. I don’t feel...well I don’t really know how I feel.” He confesses. “I guess I can see why you never wanted to mention this before. Emil seemed to give me an impression that we were taking too long.” He laughs. “You’ve been together for two months! Why isn’t my brother wearing a ring?” He mimics.

Lukas looks taken aback. “What? He did not say that!”

“No,” Matthew chuckles. “Struck me as the sentiment though.”

Lukas nods. “I was desperate for something new with Berwald. And yes, Mathias and I had known each other for a long time but actually crossing the line from friendship to more had seemed sudden to Emil. I was trying to learn from previous mistakes with you, but maybe I couldn’t hide my impatience, or rather...it’s just that I’ve never really had to wait, or be the one to make the move. But, you’re a good man and I could see...us together and building something solid if I just didn’t mess up. So yes, I didn’t mention the past because I didn’t want to scare you away. Maybe that was dishonest of me.”

The words take Matthew’s breath away and he can’t move, speak or even think. The thought that he was considered so good, that Lukas was afraid of losing him. Even if it meant a little dishonesty. Well that felt entirely new too, so new he wasn’t quite sure he could believe it.

“Matthew?” Lukas’ face hovers over Matthew’s.

“I have issues!” Matthew blurts out. He can’t quite believe he said that but there’s no taking the words back now.

Lukas raised an amused eyebrow. “We all do.” He responds with his signature dryness. “Okay well, it’s your turn. What are Matthew William’s issues?” He too, lies down on the ground with a sigh of relief beside Matthew and Matthew is grateful that he doesn’t have to look at Lukas hovering above him to tell his story.

“Well, I’m luckier I guess. I have my parents at least, though they’re divorced. My Dad travelled to the States a lot for work, ended up having two families and I have a brother. Mama and I found this out when I was eight. Alfred is a year younger than me.” He shrugs. “I’ve never been able to understand it. Mama found out, called up Al’s mom, her name is Polly.”

“Polly?”

“Yeah, I call her Aunt Polly. People still have these types of names. Anyway, she called Aunt Polly and Aunt Polly thought that Mama knew and was okay with everything? And she’s hopping mad at Dad but loves him, so can’t they just continue this way? And somehow Mama actually agreed to try it out.”

He hears Lukas shift. “Wow. That’s...not where I thought that was going to go.”

Matthew let out a short laugh. “Yeah well it didn’t last. Aunt Polly is a sweetheart, but Dad didn’t change. It was almost as if he was given a ‘get out of jail free’ card too easily and just rolled with it instead of learning from it and well apparently the whole thing was about him promising to be a more honest man? I don’t have all the details and frankly, never asked. So, Mama realized that she just didn’t trust my Dad anymore. And she tells me anyway, that she has no idea what possessed her to agree to sharing a man, but she finally gave Dad an ultimatum - us or them. So Dad moved to America, and chose Polly and Alfred. Mama didn’t tell the courts that he was illegally married, in return for full custody. He tried to blame Mama for the separation over the years whenever I had to visit him, saying that he was kicked out, that it wasn’t as if he abandoned us.”

Matthew sits up, stretches and sighs. He now understands why Lukas kept staring at the waterfall. His nerves make him restless with adrenaline. Lukas thankfully, had reverted to his usual silence and didn’t rush Matthew for more before he was ready. “...Anyway, later on I found out about...polyamory which answered a lot of questions but still, it has to be open, respectful, honest. Dad wasn’t any of those things. He knew that it just wasn’t for Mama and didn’t want to lose her. I don’t actually blame Aunt Polly for anything, and it seems that the experience was good for my Dad, he was a better husband to Aunt Polly as a result of all that happened, and they’ve had boyfriends and girlfriends along the way since, oddly no takers for another marriage though, and that seems to work for them. But I just didn’t get it, still don’t and I think that still lingers, I didn’t know why we weren’t good enough for him, especially Mama. Once I met Al, I understand him leaving me but Mama?”

He heard Lukas shift beside him. “Do you really believe that? That he left because you weren’t good enough?”

Matthew fights tears, because yes, he absolutely believes that. There’s no proof and everyone around him can say all the sweet words that they want, but that’s what he believes. “Alfred was already everything Dad wanted in a son. Sure he said he loved me but that was out of obligation right? What father sleeps well at night admitting that he’s not all that excited about his firstborn? But every year I remember him telling me to get out more, play more, go on more adventures, live. When I met Alfred, I understood why.”

Somehow he found it in himself to talk about it, how Alfred was a genius and he was proud of him, but that meant that Al had finished university by the time he had turned nineteen and then joined NASA as an astrophysics genius and became a social-media celebrity when Matthew was still figuring out what he was good at. How people forgot about Matthew, all his life, after meeting Alfred, how he made the mistake of taking a year abroad in the US to get to know his brother better and the ‘friends’ he made used him to get to Alfred. How he had a lovely boyfriend during that time but even Carlos could never tell the difference. “I cut the year abroad short, just spent a semester, Alfred was mad at me and if he were still in school he could have applied for a semester abroad in Canada, but...he wasn’t in school. He had already moved to Houston. And right now, at this very moment,” Matthew looks up at the sky, though he knows it’s the wrong time of day the see the International Space Station’s steady light moving across the sky. “Now he’s on the ISS and he’s the youngest astronaut in space.” Matthew says with pride, this isn’t the first time he wishes he could untangle his feelings about his brother - the love and pride mixed with the hurt. “I’m fine when I’m on my own. When he visits though...it’s like all these things rise up to the surface, we end up being ridiculously competitive over the smallest things.” He laughs. “And I know it’s not actually his fault and we’re both old enough that we can’t blame Dad anymore. But...Al is like a sun that people can’t help but be drawn to, even if he pisses them off. He makes himself invaluable, he believes so much in the best possible version of humanity and fights for it. He makes mistakes and talks over you when he thinks he’s right, and he doesn’t always respect your space but he genuinely tries. That’s infectious somehow, he’s my brother and I’m proud of him, but oh my God, I’m the worst brother ever because we get along best when he’s not even on earth.”

Matthew feels the warmth of Lukas’ arm on his shoulders. He turns to see the other man looking up at the sky, where Matthew had been staring just a moment ago. “You won’t see it. It’s easier at night actually.”

“I figured.” Lukas shrugs and looks back at him, back to earth. “Matthew...have you and Alfred ever talked about this? For all you know, he envies you. Maybe your Dad yelled at him to be quieter and be calmer like his brother? As an older sibling with a bigger age difference who can remember the things said to me as opposed to my brother, I can definitely say that parents change their stories depending on the child. With two drastically different sons, I’m willing to bet that your Dad fell back on that, and no one was the wiser.”

Matthew considers it, and wonders why he never thought of it before. Probably because he had never confessed his true feelings about Alfred before, trying to be a better brother than he felt. It’s a hilarious image, a younger Alfred being told to just calm down and be quiet for a few minutes oh please. He can already imagine his brother’s reaction, knowing his natural competitiveness. Objectively, Matthew knows that Lukas is probably right. There’s little reason for Alfred to be as competitive as he is against Matthew otherwise, but personally and emotionally, the hurt has lived there longer.

“It makes sense.” Matthew admits. “But it does mean that,” He takes a deep breath, not wanting to say what he has to say, but he can’t lie either. “It means that in my personal life I’ve never wanted to feel second best to anyone ever again. Alfred probably responded by doing something that no one could hope to copy, work-wise. Me? I set my goals lower - I’m happy with being good at what I do, and my work actually affects people’s day to day lives, their jobs and whether they’re cheated or not. Al may be trying to save humanity by giving us a future in space, I’m happy with keeping us going in the world we already have. Admittedly, I feel appreciated here, I’m happy that Francis has fast-tracked me. I’m recognized here even if I’m not the best in the entire firm like, well, like someone like Daan, who makes Partner before even hitting thirty. Which is ridiculous.” He scoffs and Lukas tenses for a moment. It occurs to Matthew that he shouldn’t talk about Mathias’ boyfriend in front of Lukas, even if they were childhood friends of a sort. There’s a reason why Matthew hadn’t learned about that history until now and just thought that Lukas was Arthur’s friend. It’s not ridiculous to conclude that Lukas hasn’t spoken to Daan for as long as he hasn’t spoken to Mathias. “Sorry, I shouldn’t talk about them, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lukas looks at him with those mysterious dark blue eyes that Matthew can’t read. He withdraws his arm. “Talking about them doesn’t hurt me. They’ve been best friends for a long time. I used to be jealous, admittedly, at the thought that Daan was comforting Mathias when I couldn’t, because I was the one who had hurt him, but that’s so long ago now. Now I’m glad Mathias had someone he could turn to, to help him when I couldn’t.”

They sit in silence for a while. Until Lukas says, “You’re going to ask me to talk to him aren’t you?”

Matthew laughs. “I can’t be the first to suggest it. Sounds like you want to and that makes sense I mean, it just seems to me that you guys aren’t...done. There’s so much that is unsettled, unspoken, assumed. The last time you both spoke to each other was years ago, and in anger, when neither of you were thinking straight. Now you both seem to be in different places in life and you seem to regret leaving things as they were, which is why everyone surrounding you both is still stuck in your story, waiting for it to...continue or end but none of that has happened. It would be different if you guys were resolved.” It’s a eureka moment for Matthew but Lukas recoils, his face looks terrifying but Matthew knows better. It’s not anger, it’s fear.

“I’m not saying that you have to march up to him today, but I don’t think I can be with you when there’s still this hanging question weighing on you. Mathias is the elephant in every room, even when I didn’t know about him, I could feel something tense, something I didn’t know but was important.” Lukas looks even more terrifying, but Matthew soldiers on.

“I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, I mean, I really couldn’t even if I wanted to. I do like you and I do respect you, and I think that...you’re amazing, I can’t really believe most the time that you give me the time of day. All I’m asking, if I even can, is that you just...speak to Mathias. Like...one on one, at peace, apologize, tell him you’re happy for him, whatever it is you want to say that you felt you haven’t done yet, to close this wound. If you can, when you can...when you’re ready to.”

Matthew forces himself to hold Lukas’ steely gaze with one of his own. He knows he’s right, at least, that this is the right thing to ask Lukas to do for his own peace of mind. Based on what he saw of Mathias, he guessed that the man would be open to such a respectful conversation, if only to put things at rest. Mathias oddly, had seemed to be more at peace, having acknowledged the past and his feelings while Lukas it seemed, avoided it.

“Matthew.” Lukas responds softly, controlled. “I don’t know if I can speak to Mathias. I wasn’t joking when I said we were terrible people together. You haven’t seen us fight.”

“You both have a couple of years and growing with you now. Do you still feel as uncertain of yourself as you once were? You said you had to find yourself?” Matthew prods.

“I…” Lukas looks down and gulps. “Fine, you have a point. I’ll even say that I’m proud of what he’s done with his cafe, and getting himself back up. So I don’t want to ruin it, and he’s moved on. He doesn’t need the past weighing him down.”

“Neither do you. And if you don’t talk to him, the past will weigh you down. Not to be mean but I kind of care about you more right now than him, even if he makes damn good danishes. Remember what you told me earlier about kindness? And gratitude? And silence?” It’s a bit of a low blow, using Lukas’ words against him, but what was the point of sharing wisdom when you couldn’t handle it?

Lukas is glaring at him now but it’s not long before he just sighs, lies back and covers his eyes with an arm. Matthew doesn’t push the issue, so they remain in silence for a while.

The sun has climbed in the sky and the relative increasing silence of the birds and life around them tells Matthew that more people are making their way through the preserve, even if they haven’t reached them yet. Matthew mulls over his words and wonders about how he feels about everything. He’s glad that they’ve talked, and Matthew can’t really believe how therapeutic it is to have gotten these things out.

“So, just to summarize this.” Lukas eventually speaks. “We are on a break, until I speak to Mathias, and say things.” He glares at Matthew. “You know how I simply ache to talk about things.”

Matthew chuckles in understanding, while he himself doesn’t mind talking to people, Lukas seems to loathe it, which makes today memorable. Somehow, Lukas had decided to trust him. Matthew can only respond by being honest, still. “Maybe I’m mean. I don’t quite get why people think I’m niceness incarnate. Is it the volume of my voice?” He teases back. Lukas didn’t speak much louder than he did and no one ever thought him kind at first meeting.

“You have the face of a damned cherub, curly hair, big eyes and all. If we ever walk into a cathedral, I’ll take a picture and prove it to you.”

Matthew didn’t quite know how to process that. “This, coming from the man who literally looks like an elf from Norse mythology?”

Lukas just gave him a sardonic look that spoke loads, before shaking his head. “Fine, if I speak to Mathias, and resolve my feelings...if you’re still keen, we try again...”

His heart thumps in his chest, hardly believing that Lukas is even willing to try. “If you want.” He smiles, he can’t help the tiny flutter of hope in his chest even if a bigger part of his awareness is telling him that there will be no second try. “I suppose if we do we’ll have to keep this up - being honest, talking.” There’s an odd feeling inside, where part of him likes Lukas more than he used to, but the other part is well aware of Lukas’ unresolved feelings and is still holding back. But if...if Lukas speaks to Mathias, who has himself, moved on, and that gives Lukas the closure he needs for both him and Matthew to honestly try again? There are no guarantees in life but Matthew can see himself wanting to try, can see them making something good out of it.

Lukas however, doesn’t smile. “But if I speak to Mathias, and nothing changes…”

Maybe the light feeling was premature. “Even if nothing changes I’ll be here for you, but as a friend…” He sighs. “Because of my own hangups, I don’t know if I’d be able to develop feelings for you as you deserve. What you feel isn’t...wrong, I know that it’s normal for people to always have lingering feelings for others, heck even I sometimes just admire attractive people on a bus or train, but that’s nothing compared to this. Your lingering feelings are...they’re strong, and I’m not strong enough to just accept that.”

Lukas pulls himself up, shaking his head. “You have a right to ask any significant other of yours love you more than someone else. But since we’re doing this and I’m going to walk into that damned cafe and speak to Mathias because you’ve asked me to, you have to speak to your brother, and your dad, maybe your mother too.”

“What?!”

“You heard me.”

“That’s...three people! I asked you to speak to one!”

Lukas just gives him a look and Matthew looks down, properly chastised, he knows what he said was silly. “Al calls me every other week from the ISS, I don’t want to bug him with this stuff while he’s up there doing spacewalks and spending 99 percent of his efforts keeping his very human body alive in an environment that is pretty hostile to it. But he returns to earth in three months’ time. I’m planning on going down to the States to spend some time with him, and of course I’ll see my Dad. I’ll speak to them then.”

“You can’t speak to your parents before your brother gets back?”

Matthew gulps. Lukas is right, there’s no excuse really. “What is speaking to them supposed to accomplish? We’ve put all this stuff behind us, the person who’s failing to deal with it is just me.”

“A therapist then. Whatever you need to do to realize how…good you are. How worthy, because frankly, even if I resolve everything with Mathias and came back to you, until you resolve that particular hang up of yours, we wouldn’t last anyway.”

The words strike him like a punch to the stomach, but Lukas doesn’t stop. “I know how jealousy starts Matthew, believe me, I know how it feels and how it works. I spent years feeling inadequate and hiding it with bravado. If you continue feeling inadequate, you won’t let yourself believe that I would want to be with you, and if you don’t break it off for some imagined reason, I would get mad because of the trust issues. Passive aggressiveness would ensue and the break up after it.”

Matthew has nothing to say, but he can feel the defensive anger uncurling in his gut. “So you have it all figured out then?!” Honestly didn’t he just say that he understood how it felt?

“No Matthew. I don’t. And here the part where I also warn you that I’m horrible at comforting people.” Lukas lets out an exasperated sigh. “Look, I’m not even asking you to resolve this immediately, that’s impossible. I’m asking that you be willing to try to. Just like how you know I wouldn’t be able to resolve this mess of memories I have with Mathias in a few days, months even. I’m asking you the same as you’re asking me - to try, to want to fix these things, and then, maybe, we can help each other through it.”

Matthew calms down, his anger dissipating as quickly as it rose because he knows that Lukas isn’t suggesting anything wrong, or unfair. He’s right really.

“Fine, I need to have a think on how best to tackle it. Speaking with my Dad may not get me anywhere, but maybe the...therapist, and I’ll definitely speak to Al when he gets back.” Matthew felt a little odd about the therapist. He knows he has hang ups but they don’t seem serious enough to take a therapist’s time away from people who really need them. Not to mention, spilling out his insecurities to a stranger?

Lukas holds out a hand to help Matthew up and he grabs it. “We have our quests then. But for now, with the sun this high, let’s head back.”

There’s an awkward silence at first but the hike back is long. The same lull and peace that calmed them on the way in, worked the same on the way out. Matthew is grateful, and wonders if he fell into the trap of underestimating nature, believing that if he wasn’t careful, he would lose another sanctuary to his thoughts. He gazes at the boreal forest and its tall trees, older than he will ever be, bigger than he will ever be, have witnessed things that make his own personal problems insignificant. He thinks of the preserve he’s walking through, how awe inspiring it is, and revels in the sensation of being a tiny part of something bigger than himself. He feels inspired, real, and oh so small. Even if he messes up, it really isn’t the end of the world. Matthew smiles to himself with the knowledge that no matter what happens, there’s still one place where he can find truth and peace.

Notes:

Sorry if Matthew and Lukas are kinda OOC? It’s tough to write two characters who don’t like to talk much when they have to have a talk. But I tried.

Also, I realize that I’ve been making up company names but LEGO is LEGO.

#fic: Mr 7th floor #nedcan

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pseudocitrus · 8 years

Text

condition variable // touka x haise

it’s been a long year thus far of trying to stay afloat and figure out what i’m doing with my life, so, i haven’t been writing much fic……but here’s a (honestly casual and kind of weird ~___~) small tousaki fluff :’)

this was inspired by nei’s remark on chapter 113 about how touka sitting in front of those monitors made her think of a spies au /// and also inspired by those so so so good tousaki moments in 114 ♪( ´////｀ i hope you are having a good day/year thus far :)

~2500 words // no content warnings // excerpt:

“There,” Touka says.

“Wait, now?” Nishiki gasps. “Right now? Where? Where?”

“Shut up. Right there.” Touka points, and Nishiki leans, eyes squeezed into slits, trying to see. Beneath Touka’s finger, the shadowing on the video forms a shape that to her is unmistakable and to Nishiki is a simply a blur of pixels.

“Are you sure?” Nishiki asks sharply, and Touka knuckles his shoulder without looking at him.

“I’m sure.”

“What’s with his hair? Weird. Is that really another one of his disguises?”

“Nishiki. I’m sure.”

She hates being assigned to staring at monitors all day, but there’s no doubt. Ever since that first meeting, she’s always been sure.

One day, the thought crosses her mind. Abruptly — silently — so softly that recognizing it is an accident, like spotting a fleck of dust on a smooth pool of water. Small but henceforth un-unseeable.

If things were different, then —

Touka pauses. The thought is really just the first half of a thought. To have the rest of it, she’ll need to reach out herself, and try to scoop it up.

If things were different, she thinks. Then.

Her hand has a tremble in it. The pool quivers, disfigured.

Then.

For the first time, she isn’t sure of the reflection she’ll see when it quiets.

:::

The first time they meet, she has no idea. She stuffs food into his mouth, with a sort of justice, not thinking that she’ll ever regret it. She laughs when they tell her later, and stops when no one joins her.

“You’re…joking,” she says. “Right?”

Yoshimura is silent. So is Yomo. Nishiki is the one that replies, with a sigh, dragging his hand through his hair.

“No,” Nishiki says, grimacing. “That was him.”

Centipede.

:::

She’d heard that he was one of them once, Anteiku. Before then, he’d worked the other side; and before then, they realized, probably yet another. Now no one has any idea what side he’s on, and it’s that — more than the violent lab raid, more than the mysterious missions, more than the powerful enemies crumpling left and right — that has everyone jumping at shadows and small noises. Centipede could be anywhere. Centipede could be any one.

He has more personas than anyone, and until her first meeting with him, there was no recourse. His disguises are impeccable. The age-old rule of holding cross-agency meetings behind masks was crumbling beneath the terror of having him sneak unwittingly into someone’s ear. Even so, having meetings face-to-face didn’t stop Aogiri from taking a blow so strong it was teetering on splinters.

And until her first meeting with him, it looked like Anteiku might be next.

“There,” Touka says.

“Wait, now?” Nishiki gasps. “Right now? Where? Where?”

“Are you sure?” Nishiki asks sharply, and Touka knuckles his shoulder without looking at him.

“I’m sure.”

“What’s with his hair? Weird. Is that really another one of his disguises?”

“Nishiki. I’m sure.”

She hates being assigned to staring at monitors all day, but there’s no doubt. Ever since that first meeting, she’s always been sure.

Nishiki frowns, but she knows that it’s less that he doesn’t believe her and more that he doesn’t want to. Even with her eye, she’s lucky to spot Centipede once a month. This is the sixth Centipede sighting in as many days: unheard of, for someone who can move through the city like a ghost. He’s on the move. But for who?

“Who’s that he’s with?” Touka mutters. They scrub the video back and forth until the security footage yields something clear. And white. And massive.

The blood drains out of their faces.

“Get Yoshimura,” Touka gasps, but Nishiki is already off, his footsteps are already faint. Mortified, Touka remains glued to the monitor.

Is he a Dove now? she thinks in panic. Is he working for the Doves?

She stares hard at the back of his head, as if she could find the answer, right here, right now. And Centipede —

Touka’s heart jerks. It’s impossible. She’s watching through a traffic camera, tapped secretly into the feed. To anyone on the street she’s more invisible than an insect. It’s impossible.

But Centipede turns, and stares straight back at her.

:::

They make it out of the raid.

Mostly.

Thanks to Touka’s just-in-time warning of Centipede and his movements.

Mostly.

In her line of work it’s necessary to have flawless acting skill, and Touka uses it to its fullest as she accepts congratulations and thanks. She smiles, and smiles, and smiles, and doesn’t stop, not even for Nishiki.

“Something happened, during the raid,” Nishiki says. His own acting skill could use work; he can eat all manner of things that he actually can’t stand, he can kiss someone while actually wanting to vomit, and yet, right now, he can barely conceal his triumph.

“I think we won’t have to worry about Centipede anymore.”

“No,” Touka says, and Nishiki so completely doesn’t expect it that he leaves for a drink and then comes back five minutes later, bewildered.

“Wait,” he says. “Did you say ‘no?’”

“He’ll be back,” Touka says. “I know it.”

:::

No one believes it but her. Quickly, she realizes that no one wants to believe it.

So when her eyes find him, again, as a teacher in an academy where the Doves cast off their orphans to oil their ancient, incomprehensible machine —

When she spots him perusing horror novels in the bookstore just blocks beside the new cafe —

When the silhouette of his black coat striding with his own squad of Doves makes her spine cold —

When she catches his eye in the mirror of a women’s bathroom —

She doesn’t say a word.

Just like before, she only looks at him, and he looks back.

In the mirror, he smiles at her, and brushes aside the bangs of a well-kept wig.

“Do you happen to have any lotion?”

His expression is apologetic. His lipstick is impeccable. Touka rummages in her purse and holds out a small peach-scented tube that she squeezes over his open palm.

“Thank you,” he says. “Rabbit.”

Only acting skill keeps her breathing evenly.

“No problem,” she replies, capping the lotion and replacing it in her purse.

The way he called her by her codename seemed more friendly than threatening. That wasn’t what she expected.

I could ask, she realizes. She’s been thinking on it for months now, ever since she watched Anteiku’s HQ burn — she’s been chasing her questions in circles, chasing them down holes, trying in vain to find the answer no one else can.

But now —

I can ask.

Whose side are you on?

And.

Why did you show yourself to me before the raid?

And, maybe.

Was it that you were trying to save us?

She traces a finger along her bangs, aligning them properly, though they are already perfectly in place. She nudges the corner of her own lip.

Whose side are you on?

“No problem,” she repeats. Glancing over, she she says, “People like us have to help each other out, right?”

He blinks, and then smiles, again. He doesn’t look like someone that could have been wheeled into a Ghoul auction and escaped intact. He doesn’t look like someone whose appetites still inspire shock and not a little terror. He doesn’t look like someone who is a prodigy of the Dove’s Reaper. He closes his purse.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

“See you,” Touka replies, but by then, he’s already gone.

:::

If things…were just…a little different.

She doesn’t see him, for a while, and, uneasily, she begins to wonder if everything was just her imagination. Maybe the memory of his voice quietly saying “Rabbit” is errata formed by too many nights spent sleeplessly trying to unknot the Doves’ motivations and plans and talons. Maybe, she thinks, he’s already forgotten me, but then their eyes meet again, in Cochlea’s deepest sectors, and she spots something crack behind his round glasses, sees something slipping through the grip he makes with his red gloves.

“Hurry,” Ayato gasps, “hurry, hurry, while they’re distracted,” but Touka can’t make sense of it, why Centipede under contract with the Doves would turn on not just on them, but on the one who raised him. In her astonishment, she doesn’t move until Ayato grabs her, and she is dragged, and she sees the White Reaper drawing his quinque, and she has to say it, suddenly, “I’ll see you later.”

She’s never seen his gaze this clearly. No resolution can capture his flinch, the ripple her thrown words make on whoever it is that he is. She looks at him, and he looks back at her with a certain misery, and then she is gone.

:::

If things were different…

If she weren’t someone whom the world spit on for simply existing. If she didn’t have a tightrope to walk while working and also during every moment of her life spent under anyone’s eye. In that other world, maybe it would be almost exactly like this, with a loud person walking into her second cafe, and turning, abruptly, silent, and soft, in front of her. Maybe it would be with her, a simple barista, whose scope of duty includes merely smiling at him, serving whatever coffee he orders, and offering a handkerchief when his expression fractures.

“Please don’t worry about it,” she tells him, but he brings it back anyway, washed, and smelling faintly of peaches.

“I was wondering if you’d be interested in attending something with me,” he murmurs, feet shuffling. “A…a thing at my work.”

“Your work?”

“Ah — yes — we’re having a banquet. Th-that is, I mean, the CCG is. Having a banquet. Just sort of. A promotional thing. Because we all got promotions, I mean.”

She looks at him. A normal barista might accept this invitation — a normal barista might only see a person sheepish with insecurity and hope. A normal barista might take pity. A normal barista certainly wouldn’t think of this as the perfect opportunity to get inside the CCG’s HQ with relatively little notice.

Probably, Touka thinks, it’s a trap.

“It’s really just a party,” he says. “Nothing too serious.”

His squad is shuffling, peering over at her curiously. He doesn’t notice; he is watching the ground. When he finally dares a glance at her, Touka smiles.

“I’d love to.”

:::

If she were a barista. And he, just a well-meaning teacher, or investigator, or anything else. If this were just a building, housing just a party. Then…

Touka arrives, alone, and waits outside. She keeps her gaze distant, telling herself that there’s no way she could be recognized, mustering all her skill to appear cool and detached even as her hands ball up in her coat pockets. When he finally does arrive, she almost, almost doesn’t recognize him. His hair is the usual color he has for this disguise, but combed, and half swept-back. He waves at her, and smiles, and hands her something that she realizes is a eye mask, with sequins, and rabbit ears.

“For…for the dance,” he explains, scratching his head. “I thought it might suit you.”

��And what suits you?” Touka asks back dryly.

A plain white one, it turns out. He fixes it on, and clears his throat apprehensively, holding out his hands — What do you think?

“Good,” she tells him, and he seems sincerely pleased.

They enter, Touka taking his proffered arm, which shakes a little, and then stiffens with intention. He grips his identity, and Touka takes hers as well: barista, a manager, calm, polite, shy. As a barista, she knows no one, and remains at his side, and allows herself patiently to be led around the room. She makes note of the room features, windows and exits; she makes note of the presence or lack thereof of certain executives; she makes note of the medals being pinned to suits; and, mostly, she watches him. Though she’s seen his face an uncountable number of times from a distance, though she has always been able to parse him at any resolution, she is finding that his other faces are starting to fade in her mind. She watches him carefully. Is this him? Really him?

She thinks this as she adjusts her own mask; she thinks it when the lights dim, and the floor clears, and he, with a gulp that is almost audible, takes her arm and leads her out, first, before everyone. Touka makes a sound that is uncomfortably like a yelp as she realizes what’s happening, and her panic makes her stumble, which makes it easier for him to pull her to the very center. His hand rests on her hand, and lifts it. His hand rests on her waist, and squeezes.

He knows what he’s doing, which she tells herself shouldn’t be a surprise. Laughter at her transparent shock dies out as he guides her around the room, or maybe she just isn’t hearing anyone anymore over the sound of her blood roaring in her ears. She’s glad for the ridiculous mask, suddenly, which at least covers up the majority of her red cheeks. He smiles when she picks up the rhythm, and spins her in a light flourish that makes her skirt flare and ends with a series of applause across the room.

The floor fills, with more dancing pairs. She’s glad for it, to be curtained, to know that eyes aren’t on her, to feel some strange comfort in the intimacy of being surrounded like this, by enemies. His hand is warm. When she looks up at him, she finds that he is looking at her, and he laughs a little, nervous. He brushes her hair out of her face, and something turns tight in her chest.

“If things were different —”

She says it without thinking, and her mouth quickly shuts. But he blinks at her.

“Different?”

“I don’t know,” she says, “I don’t know what I was saying,” but he persists.

“How different?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Touka says, and she doesn’t know if this is the right thing to ask, or even if the person that he is now will acknowledge it, if merely by allowing it to slip she’s crossing some invisible boundary that they’ve been looking across for as she can remember. She has no idea, and then she says, “Maybe just a little. Just…the order, or something. Maybe if…I met you earlier. Or later. Maybe,” she says, helplessly, “if everything was just in a different order completely.”

Her dancing slows. Now’s the time when any teacher, or investigator, or anyone else, might pause and furrow their brows at her in confusion. Instead, he turns away.

“Maybe,” he says, “if it started with the cafe,” and Touka blinks, and then nods.

“Yeah…maybe then.”

“It would be the same as our last meeting,” he continues slowly. “But I’d give your handkerchief back. And…we’d have a proper introduction.”

They draw to a halt. It’s because the music is slowing, probably, but Touka can’t quite hear it. The world is beginning to fuzz a little, abruptly, silently, softly. She reaches again, for the barista, and somehow, can’t find it. The only thing inside her is one realization.

I can ask.

Her mouth opens.

“Who are you?”

Her hand has a tremble in it. She looks at him, and he looks back. Then something in his expression shifts, as subtly as a fleck of dust on a smooth pool of water. As the music starts again, he leans down to her ear, and whispers.

“I am the One-Eyed King.”

#tousaki #sasatou #kirishima touka #sasaki haise #touken #tg #mine #it's so weird....i have such a weird feeling about this fic honestly....but i guess that's ok.......!#mostly meant for my practice and so i'll have something to post for february for my yearly writing meme;;;;;#if you are feeling kind of bummed today #please accept my weird gift 🙏

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oselatra · 6 years

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Essential New Orleans

An extensive guide to eating, drinking, dancing, karaoke-ing, strolling and Carnivaling in the Crescent City.

Carnival season in New Orleans kicked off in early January and reaches its peak on Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras day, which falls this year on March 2. Any time is the right time to visit New Orleans, but there is something special about this time of year, when it can feel like the whole creative force of the city is devoted to the art of celebration. No rough guide can do it justice — the city is inexhaustible — but here's a starter kit. If you're picturing frat boys barfing on Bourbon, don't worry: There's a better way.

Eat

First things first, pack in as many of these New Orleans classics as you can: The fried chicken at Willie Mae's Scotch House, the muffaletta at City Grocery, oysters at Casamento's, the jambalaya supreme at Coop's Place. Other good spots for Cajun/Creole/soul food: Li'l Dizzy's Cafe and Dooky Chase. And yes, I'm stating the obvious here, but it must be said — go get beignets and a cafe au lait at Cafe Du Monde. A tip that might save you an hour: If there's a line, ignore it. They don't make this clear to tourists, but locals know — there is no hostess, you just keep your eye out for someone leaving, have a seat at any un-bussed table, and a waiter will swoop in before you know it.

While this is a topic of endless local debate, for my money, the best po-boys in town are at Domilise's. For a different twist, try the immaculately stuffed barbecue shrimp po-boy at Liuzza's by the Track. If you want the full po-boy tour, longtime midtown haunt Parkway Bakery and Tavern is also worth a visit. And to cure your late-night hankering, Gene's dishes out hot sausage po-boys 24 hours a day from its can't-miss-it bright-pink building at the corner of St. Claude and Elysian Fields, always a wild (if occasionally dodgy) scene in the wee hours.

On the fancier end of the spectrum, the hottest table in town might be Saba, the new Mediterranean restaurant from James Beard Foundation Award-winning chef Alon Shaya. Among the elaborate and unforgettable hummus options: blue crab with beech mushrooms, lemon butter and mint; lamb tongue with pickled barberries, red onion and almonds.

Cochon, from another James Beard award-winner, Donald Link, is a favorite spot for casual splurging for locals and foodie visitors alike. Cochon serves up Cajun-influenced downhome gourmet; it's the sort of place where you can find both a world-class wine list and fried alligator. The Louisiana Cochon is its show-stopper: pork braised overnight into a succulent and crispy cake, topped with pork cracklins, cabbage and pickled turnips. If you can find the room, other highlights include the wood-fired oyster roast, the rabbit and dumplings, and the indulgent charcuterie plate. Ask about moonshine offerings. Other great restaurants from Donald Link: fine dining at Herbsaint, seafood at Peche and casual Cajun deli and butcher shop Butcher next door to Cochon.

Cochon is one of a number of contemporary restaurants in New Orleans that blend fine dining with country cooking. A couple of other masters of this form, both uptown: Coquette and Patois. If you can score the one outside table at Patois, it's the perfect romantic spot for a date. Have yourself a pickle-tini: Hendrick's gin plus juice from Patois' homemade bread-and-butter pickles.

Meanwhile, for fine dining on the finer end, the big spenders should make a reservation at August or Compère Lapin. Or if you have a hankering for old-fashioned New Orleans decadence rather than the contemporary foodie scene (think turtle soup, Oysters Rockefeller, bread pudding, classic French Creole rabbit dishes, served up in roaring-'20s opulence), some of the best options: Brigtsen's, Brennan's, Clancy's and the ultimate classic, Commander's Palace, where the 25-cent martini happy hour for Friday lunch remains the supreme see-and-be-seen scene for the dandy set.

If you want to go fancy but you're on a budget, check out the city's best happy hours: Domenica — 2-5 p.m., half-off wood-fired pizza and half off drinks; Luke — 3-6 p.m., 75-cent oysters on the half shell and half-off drinks.

The best bang for your buck in town: Boucherie. Everything on the rotating and vibrantly eclectic "casual fine dining" menu is good: boudin balls, scallops, grit fries, sashimi, bacon brownies, Waygu beef brisket, Krispy Kreme bread pudding. And it has the best Pimm's Cup in the city, if you ask me. Its sister restaurant around the corner, Bourreé, a Cajun smokehouse, butcher and patio beer garden, serves up seasonal fresh-fruit daiquiris, hot wings, boiled peanuts, boudin links and more — an absolute gem for laid-back al fresco dining.

Other cozy, relaxed neighborhood spots: Bennachin offers up West African comfort food in the French Quarter; Bacchanal is a wine bar in the Bywater that serves exquisite tapas in a picturesque outdoor courtyard with live jazz; the small and intimate 1000 Figs serves impeccable (and affordable) Mediterranean cuisine in mid-city; and Pizza Delicious is a casual, counter-service restaurant in the Bywater that has become a local favorite — true to its name, its thin-crust pizza is delicious. Be ready for lines, but check out Turkey and the Wolf, the Irish Channel sandwich shop that was recently named the best new restaurant in the nation by Bon Appétit magazine.

For breakfast, the best vibe is Pagoda and the best food is Toast, while the talk of the town is a new spot, Molly's Rise and Shine. Satsuma Cafe and Surrey's Cafe and Juice Bar are great neighborhood spots. If you're in need of morning munchies in the Quarter: Stanley is a touristy but fine option in Jackson Square; Clover Grill on Bourbon Street is an inviting greasy diner for the hungover set.

Drink

My vote for the best cocktail in the city is the Ramos Gin Fizz at the Sazerac Bar. Yes, it has a hefty price tag at $14. But you're on vacation: Treat yourself. The Sazerac Bar, in the Roosevelt Hotel a block off the Quarter, is an art deco masterpiece, with a mahogany bar, walnut-paneled walls and iconic murals by the artist Paul Ninas. This is the bar where legendary Louisiana Gov. Huey P. Long held court, always with a Ramos Gin Fizz in hand. The story goes that Long got a highway built between Baton Rouge and New Orleans just so that he could speed his limo from the state Capitol to the gin fizz awaiting him at the Sazerac Bar in an hour flat. Among the other too-good-to-check stories: While staying at an upscale New York hotel, Long was unsatisfied with its version of the drink and flew the top bartender at the Sazerac Bar up to "teach these New York sophisticates how and what to drink." I don't blame the Kingfish — the Sazerac Bar's Ramos Gin Fizz remains heavenly stuff.

Meanwhile, for inventive and contemporary takes on fancy cocktails, stop by Bar Tonique, or check out the Cuban-inspired frozen cocktails at Manolito.

But maybe you just want cheap beer that's cold, and you don't mind a little grit and grime. The following dive bars have low prices, an aroma that lingers from before the city's smoking ban, and plenty of character (and characters): Iggy's, The John, Big Daddy's, BJ's, Bud Rip's, Cutter's, Snake and Jake's Christmas Club Lounge, Miss Mae's.

While gallivanting around in the French Quarter, have a Bloody Mary at Molly's at the Market (ask for it spicy). Other cozy bars downtown that are worth a pit stop: In the French Quarter — Lafitte's, Carousel Bar in the Hotel Monteleone, Cosimo's. In the Marigny — Lost Love Lounge, R Bar, Mimi's.

And when it's time to take it all in, the best rooftop bar, with stunning views of the city: Hot Tin.

Be merry

Preservation Hall remains the city's premier place to see traditional New Orleans jazz; make sure to get tickets in advance, as the intimate space inevitably fills up. For the booming funk of the city's many brass bands, the more adventurous souls among you might seek out the hallowed neighborhood dives that serve as meccas for live brass: check the listings at the Candlelight Lounge, Bullet's, Vaughn's and the Mother in Law Lounge. For the uptown set (Tulane students like to dance, too!) — the Maple Leaf is another great spot. Or just wait for the happy surprise of seeing a brass band play in the street — walk around Frenchmen Street and you'll inevitably come across one blasting on a corner. Frenchmen is home to the Spotted Cat, a terrific spot for trad-jazz, klezmer, Cajun and blues, with patrons spilling out to dance in the street; other spots to check the listings on Frenchmen include Snug Harbor, d.b.a. and Blue Nile. If you are lucky enough to be in town when a second line parade is rolling with a brass band on a Sunday afternoon, this quintessential New Orleans experience is not to be missed — check wwoz.org for upcoming second lines or just keep your ear open for tips.

Karaoke in New Orleans is like karaoke everywhere, except the guy belting out "Born to Run" might be wearing a space insect costume made of immaculately woven neon tinsel. Kajun's, a divey downtown joint, is thusly one of the most spirited karaoke bars I've ever set foot in. Located on St. Claude Avenue, a hard-partying street in the heart of a hard-partying city, Kajun's has all of the cheap-beer-fueled abandon with a dash of psychedelic mayhem. If New Orleans is famous for its high-culture musical traditions, the city also hums on pastiche and kitsch. Kajun's is the sort of establishment where the besotted fool singing a Lisa Loeb song begins to feel like a messenger from God.

St. Claude Avenue is rapidly gentrifying these days, but remains home to longtime bars that serve as nightlife headquarters for the city's outré scenesters. Just down the block from Kajun's, the AllWays Lounge, an expansive freaky-deaky performance space and watering hole — what David Lynch might imagine for a dive bar — is one of the most joyously unique venues in the city, and a great spot to see the full creative wizardry of local revelers. Other venerable bars on the strip to check out, hosting everything from dance parties to brass to death metal: Hi-Ho Lounge, Saturn Bar, Siberia. One block up, the extremely divey St. Roch Tavern hosts raucous and sweaty nights devoted to New Orleans bounce music. The St. Claude corridor would also be the area where you might befriend a crusty rogue at the bar who can fill you in on the wacko happenings in the New Orleans downtown scene that are too spontaneous and secretive to find in listings like this one.

The best place to swim in your undies and/or eat a waffle: The Country Club, a Bywater mansion that houses the late-night after-party scene for weird New Orleans — with a bar, restaurant, swimming pool, sauna and hot tub. They no longer allow skinny dipping, but the Country Club retains a swanky anarchy in the wee hours; meanwhile, once the sun comes up, they serve one of the best brunches in the city.

Out and about in town

If you need a quiet moment to get away from it all, head to City Park. The 1,300-acre sanctuary is one of the nation's oldest parks, offering a green respite from the concrete bustle and buzz of New Orleans since 1854. Rent a paddle boat, canoe or kayak to explore the park's waterways, or wander around and check out the botanical garden, the sculpture garden, the antique wooden carousel at the old-time amusement park and the New Orleans Museum of Art, the city's flagship fine arts museum. It's also worth a stroll to follow the bayou on the east end of the park down into the picturesque Bayou St. John neighborhood.

City Park features the oldest grove of mature live oaks in the world. The Singing Oak, near the park's Esplanade entrance, is one of the most enchanting spots in the city. The work of local artist Jim Hart, the tree is subtly adorned with giant chimes (up to 14 feet long), positioned to catch the breeze from the nearby lake and ring a pentatonic scale. Sit beneath the shade of the drooping live oak and enjoy the gentle symphony. It's the perfect place for a picnic: Grab provisions at mid-city's neighborhood grocery store Canseco's or, better yet, pick up a few pounds of cooked crawfish from Danny's #1 Seafood in the Seventh Ward. Short of stumbling upon a neighborhood crawfish boil, a do-it-yourself, peel-and-eat picnic is the best way to have crawfish in New Orleans; skip the buckets at overpriced French Quarter restaurants and get a big bag fresh from Danny's or from Cajun Seafood, which has various locations around town. FYI for the hardcore mudbug fanatics eager to host your own boil: You can get live crawfish shipped home or even take them as a carry-on on a plane.

One of the most delightful ways to see a long stretch of the city is to hop on a streetcar. If you're in the French Quarter and want to see uptown New Orleans, take the St. Charles streetcar, which goes all the way from the heart of the Quarter to the riverbend on the other side of the town, through the north end of the Garden District, Audubon Park and just south of the Loyola and Tulane campuses. It's a perfect trip for house-gazing and people-watching. New Orleans Original Daiquiris is just around the corner from the last stop uptown; pick up a daiquiri to give your ride a little buzz. Warning: Trying to take the streetcar on Mardi Gras weekend can be nearly impossible because of the crowds; the St. Charles streetcar is also not an option when St. Charles is on a parade route.

For shopping and strolling, try Magazine Street six blocks south of St. Charles at the other end of the Garden District, a charming stretch of boutiques, antiques and restaurants. The French Quarter is also great for ambling. Skip Bourbon Street unless you just have to have a grain alcohol concoction in a novelty neon container; instead hop one block over and try walking the length of Royal Street from Canal to Esplanade during the daytime. You can also catch a $2 ride at the foot of Canal Street on the Algiers Ferry, which offers beautiful views of the city as it crosses the Mississippi River to Algiers Point, a walkable neighborhood on the West Bank.

And make time for these absolute New Orleans treasures: Domino Sound Record Shack, a collector's paradise; the interactive sound installation Music Box Village, an open-to-the-public wonderland of musical houses and structures; and the Backstreet Cultural Museum, a warmly curated collection honoring Mardi Gras Indians, second lines, jazz funerals and other aspects of the city's black cultural history.

Carnival

If you want the absolute pinnacle of Mardi Gras madness, you'll want to make the trip for Mardi Gras day and the weekend preceding it, but keep in mind that the parades and celebrations of Carnival go on for weeks beforehand, with schedules easy to find online.

The bigger parades can be overwhelming, but they're a fun window into how much of a communal, family event Carnival is (particularly further from the Quarter on the parade routes). The best of the biggies: the irreverent Krewe du Vieux, famous for its wicked satire, kicks things off in mid-February; the all-female Krewe of Muses rolls uptown on the Thursday before Mardi Gras (its elaborately bedazzled shoes are one of the most prized "throws" of Mardi Gras season); and the historically black Krewe of Zulu tosses hand-painted coconuts in its mammoth procession on Mardi Gras day.

Everyone, at least once, should try the bone-rattling thrill of hanging out under an overpass on a Mardi Gras parade route, where the processions pause for the high-school marching bands to take advantage of the throbbing acoustics under the bridge.

Various nontraditional parades have more manageable crowds, more opportunities for impromptu participation, and often the most interesting DIY art. Dance along with the costumed revelers at the Box of Wine and Red Beans walking parades; check out the incredible shoebox-sized tiny floats of the all-miniature parade, 'tit Rex; gawk at the rolling art installation that is the science-fiction-themed Intergalactic Krewe of Chewbacchus; and woof along with Barkus, the all-dog parade. Things get stranger still if you can hunt down one of the various secret, no-permit parades by word of mouth; the Mystic Krewe of Eris provides an experience you won't soon forget if you can find them.

If you are in town for Mardi Gras weekend, check out the Panorama Brass Band at AllWays Lounge on Saturday night. Make sure to get some sleep on Monday — the party on Mardi Gras day starts first thing in the morning and lasts all day. Start downtown with the walking parades of the Society of St. Anne or the St. Anthony Ramblers, featuring the most lovingly outlandish costumes in the city. They don't follow precise routes, but R Bar or Mimi's are good spots to join up, and they roll down Royal all the way into the Quarter. Or start your morning uptown on St. Charles to watch Zulu and follow them into the Quarter. One way or another, spend some time checking out the costumes and mini-krewes on Royal, which provides a steady stream of wonders all day. Catch an outdoor band in Jackson Square, then duck into Pirate's Alley around the corner for an absinthe, then mosey to the Moonwalk riverfront park, where the day's adventurers take a minute to relax by the Mississippi.

It may take some searching, but Mardi Gras day is also one of just two days a year that you can witness an utterly singular New Orleans cultural tradition: Mardi Gras Indians are out chanting, singing and strutting in the stunning costumes that they have worked on all year. The best spots to find them are under the I-10 overpass on Claiborne and outside the Backstreet Cultural Museum in the Seventh Ward.

Essential New Orleans

#Essential New Orleans

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