#and that bubble burst pretty fast even while it was on the shelves

[rlyehtaxidermist]

I think the biggest test of nostalgia goggles for the N64 era is Donkey Kong 64.

A lot of the big N64 classics do still stand on their own (I would list SM64, the Zeldas, Paper Mario, SF64, F-Zero X) or feel a bit dated compared to newer installments but still have their merits (Kirby 64, MK64, I’m not an FPS fan but I’ll include GoldenEye for completion’s sake).

And then there’s DK64. Which despite being lauded as better than most of the games I listed above on release, has aged a lot less gracefully.

[h2bakugou]

Hi there! Can I please request the main three + Kirishima with an s/o who has younger siblings and is used to them buttering them up thinking it’ll help them avoid getting into trouble so when their boyfriend compliment them they instinctively turn to him and is all like “Alright you demons, what did you do this time?” Before realizing that it’s just their boyfriend? Thanks!

a/n: hi!! of course! this request is super cute, having siblings is both a treasure and a nightmare lmfao. thank you for the request love!!

headcanon: them with an s/o who has younger siblings

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing

»»————-　★　————-««

izuku midoriya

»»————-　★　————-««

Having younger siblings is truly a blessing. Sometimes.

You love your siblings, you do, but they are pure chaos. 

“Did we ever tell you how pretty you are?” Your younger sister’s voice rang out. You were just shopping for some snacks and they wanted to come with you.

You knew they’d done something. They always buttered you up so you wouldn’t get mad. But no matter what they did, you’d still love them. Being stern was just a way of teaching them, you wouldn’t go as far as actually hurting them if they did something bad.

“What’d you do this time?” You question, turning around to eye both your younger sister and brother.

Covered almost head to toe in what you assumed was baking flour, your brother and sister smiled back up at you. You let out a small laugh before returning to your older sibling instinct.

“What were you guys even doing?!” You placed the snack you’d picked up in your basket and sighed, taking both of their hands and walking over an aisle where the opened bags of flour laid, covering the floor.

“We wanted to get the sugar you needed! So we stood on the shelves to get it.” Your younger sister spoke softly, smiling.

“I see. Well next time, if you can’t reach something, ask first okay? You could get hurt if you fall back.” 

No matter the situation, you always try to make the moment a teachable lesson. They’re still growing, they’re going to make mistakes. That’s okay.

If there’s anything you can do, you just want to teach them the right way to do things, or at least the best of the options.

“We will!” Your brother promises, hugging you, coating you in flour from your waist down.

“You’re going to need to pay for the bags of flour.” A store employee speaks, already bringing the equipment to clean it up.

“Of course, here you go.” You hand over the money and head to check out, bringing your flour-coated siblings along.

“We’re gonna get a bubble bath after this!” Your younger sister spoke up, which started your brother.

“Bubble bath! Bubble bath!”

It’s a long day of cleaning up before you can relax.

You sometimes forget you’re at the dorms. Despite not actually having your siblings around, you still feel like whipping Mineta into shape is about as close as you can get.

It never works, but maybe one day it will.

“You look beautiful, (Y/n).” The comment totally throws you off. And you’re quick to come with a response.

“What’d you demons do this time-”

Realizing it was Izuku who complimented you, you immediately started to feel flustered.

“What?!” Izuku’s a bit confused. You waved your hands and eventually hid your face.

“My younger siblings always butter me up and compliment me when they’ve done something. I forgot I was at the dorms for a second.” You laugh. Midoriya smiles and gives you a hug.

“That’s so cute. I didn’t know you had siblings.” You hug Midoriya back and sigh.

“I love them to death, they’re little shits but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

Your younger brother reminds you a lot of Bakugou. He’s loud and obnoxious, but he can be sweet.

It doesn’t change the fact that the little devil practically butters you up when he knows he’s done something to get in trouble.

For example, the time he put superglue on his teacher’s chair. 

“You know I love you so so much and I wouldn’t have anyone else be the best older sibling?” Your brother smiled at you, even handing you a store-bought cupcake.

“Something seems...suspicious. Is there hot sauce in this cupcake?” You eye the cupcake.

“No.” Your brother laughs.

“What’d you do then?” You quirk an eyebrow up at him, waiting for what line of trouble you’d have to get him out of now.

“I sorta put superglue on my teacher’s chair and now they’re going to call home and I don’t want mom to be mad at me, it was just a harmless prank and no one got hurt!” Your brother explained. Despite wanting to burst out laughing, you knew where he was coming from. 

“Alright. I’ll talk to them, and I imagine I’ll have to sign something too?” You set the cupcake down on the counter and look at your brother.

“Yup!”

You extended a hand for a high-five which your brother joyfully completes.

“Good prank, but let’s not do it again. I might not always be able to pick up the calls made home.” You gave him a hug, ruffling his hair.

“Thank you for being honest with me.” You smiled.

“You’re welcome!”

Your brother, while being a little devil, was honest. You’d tried your best to help teach him while he was growing up that honesty was a good quality in someone strong, and your brother wanted to be the strongest.

Answering the phone call, you sat beside your brother, telling them how it wouldn’t happen again and that if need be, you’d replaced the pants his teacher had been wearing that day as a sort of apology.

Also signing the note that ‘proper punishment’ would be distributed for his actions, you packed it up in his bag for the next day.

Being in the dorms was honestly a bit lonely. You loved your brother, albeit he was chaotic, you missed him coming to you with his tales of how he was king of the schoolyard.

Walking down the seemingly empty hallway toward your dorm, a compliment threw you off.

“Did I ever tell you how much I loved you?” The voice didn’t belong to your brother but your first instinct was to ask what the hell he’d done now.

“What’d you do this time?” You turn and see your blonde boyfriend staring at you with a funny look on his face.

“I mean uh...hey Bakugou!” You can feel your face heat up.

“I was saying I loved you, I didn’t do anything.” Bakugou confronted you. You nodded and let out a laugh.

“I have a brother who says the same thing to me when he gets into trouble.” You lay your arms across his shoulders.

“He reminds me a lot of you actually. He wants to be the strongest hero ever one day.” You smile, knowing that Bakugou’s goal was pretty close to that.

“Oh really? Well, he’ll have to surpass me!” 

“I think you’d really get along with one another. He’s a secret All Might fanboy too.”

»»————-　★　————-««

shoto todoroki

»»————-　★　————-««

Todoroki knows what it’s like to have siblings, but being the youngest himself, he wasn’t aware of what it was like to be an older sibling.

You, on the other hand, were an older sibling. You had a younger sister that was quite devious.

She usually found herself getting into trouble out and about, whether it be in school, or whenever you went out to the store with her, she always caused some chaos.

Like the time she ‘laid a trap’ in one of the grocery store aisles.

She’d spilled some water and waited for someone to come and walk through the puddle. But she was caught before someone did something.

The store attendant brought her over to you where she proceeded to butter you up.

“You’re so beautiful, I love you so much you know that right?” She smiled, grabbing onto your hand.

“Oh yeah, what’d you do this time?” You ask, turning your attention toward her.

“She spilled water all over the floor which could’ve lead to an accident. I’m going to have to ask you both to check out and leave.” The attendant wasn’t happy. You were a little upset but you’d make this moment memorable.

“Just a second please.” You spoke to the attendant before bending down to your sister’s level.

“Why did you spill water on the floor?” You asked, waiting for her response.

“I was laying a trap!” 

“Yes, but what could’ve happened if someone got caught up in the trap?” You asked, holding her hands as she starts to come to a realization.

“They could’ve gotten hurt.” She speaks softly.

“Mhmm, and would you want someone to get hurt?” You tilt your head to the side.

“No. Only bad guys hurt people.” She nodded, her smaller fingers looping with yours.

“That’s right, and you want to be a hero one day right? Like All Might?” You smile.

“Yup! He’s the coolest!” 

“Alright, so no more laying traps! Let’s apologize okay?” You turn to the store attendant who seems almost impressed by how fast you’d turned the interaction to positive instead of negative.

“I’m sorry Mr. Man! It won’t happen again! I’m gonna be the next All Might!” Your sister cheers as you head out of the store, not buying anything.

You take your sister with you to the dorms on one of your days off. You promised she could meet All Might, and while they’re playing in the common room, you completely blank at a compliment made to you.

“You’re so beautiful.” Todoroki says softly.

“What’d you do- Sho!” You try not to embarrass yourself. You look over and see that your sister is still playing with All Might, holding his action figure and zipping around imaginatively.

“I didn’t do anything. Why do you ask?” Shoto hugs you briefly before looking at you with concern.

“No no, my sister usually compliments me before telling me she got into trouble. I blanked for a second.” You reassure him that he hadn’t done anything. You give him a quick kiss on his cheek before looking back to watch your sister.

“I didn’t know you had a sister until today.” Todoroki smiles, holding your hand.

“She’s a little rascal but I love her. You’re the youngest of your family aren’t you?” You nudge him.

“I am-”

“Awe you’re the baby!” You hug him, poking his cheek and teasing him lightly.

“I’m 16, not an infant-”

»»————-　★　————-««

eijiro kirishima

»»————-　★　————-««

Your little brother is quite spirited. He’s chaotic but as sweet as can be.

But he never fails to butter you up when he gets into trouble.

“You’re so pretty, red really is your color!” He smiles as he stands before you, holding something behind his back.

“Mhm, what trouble did you find yourself in now?” You ask, sitting down in a chair at your kitchen table.

“I need someone to sign my report card, and my grades are low.” He says softly. He’s a bit sad, and for some reason, you feel upset.

“I can sign it for you, but why are your grades low?” You ask, looking at his report card. His math grade was dangerously close to failing, and his science grade wasn’t too high either.

“I fell behind.” He speaks quietly, ready for a scolding.

“I’ll sign your report card, but can you promise me something?” You ask, getting a pen ready.

“Mhm!” He lights up, a half-smile on his lips, still worried he’s about to get yelled at.

“If you need help, ask for it. There’s nothing wrong or unmanly about asking for help.” Quoting your boyfriend, you feel a bit silly. You sign off on his report card and hand it back to him, ruffling his hair.

“I have a study group you can come to if you want, you could meet Eijiro!” You know it’s probably a bit overwhelming to study with a bunch of high schoolers while being so young, but you’re positive Bakugou would help him out.

“Yes! I wanna go!” He smiles, vibrating with excitement.

On the day of the study group, Kirishima compliments you like he usually does. But being so focused on picking your brother up for the study group you space out.

“You’re so pretty, and wow red is so you’re color!” Kirishima comments, his favorite red sweater resting over your shoulders.

“What’d you do this time...” You freeze when you notice it’s Kirishima complimenting you instead of your younger brother.

“I just complimented you is all!” Kirishima smiles, his toothy grin making you smile as well. You hug him and laugh.

“I know, my brother tends to call me pretty when he gets into trouble. He’s coming to the study group tonight actually.”

“Awesome! wait you have a brother?” Kirishima’s excited, probably more excited to meet your brother than he is.

When you return with your brother and arrive at the study group, everyone is happy to meet him.

“This is Ei, my boyfriend.” You introduce your brother to Kirishima.

“What’s up, little man?!” Kirishima gives your brother a fist bump and smiles.

“I see why you chose him.” Your brother comments. You turn red, shaking his head.

“He’s about as red as you are!” Your brother teases you, poking fun at your blush. You sigh and sit down with him, showing him the basics.

“Bakugou can you help me with number four?” Your brother bravely approaches the blonde who isn’t exploding for once.

It’s the most calm you’ve seen Bakugou in a while. But your brother learns a lot from him, and from Kirishima. 

Kirishima loves your little brother and he’s happy he got to meet him.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[bnhabadass]

Pairing: Dabi x Reader Genre: Crackhumor, fluff Warnings: A little spicy and some course language Rating: 16+ for some spiciness  A/N: This is a collaboration for the crackhead sanctuary discord server. You can find everyone else’s work here. So Please enjoy this super fluffy and fun quarantine collab!

“We’re out,” Shigaraki had said.

You looked up from the bar stool you were sitting at. You were scoping out the newspaper on the counter, trying to find any updates on the global pandemic, anything that would calm your nerves. “Out of what?”

“Everything.” You watched as he chucked the empty cereal box in his hands at Dabi, who was asleep with his arms folded over the bar counter.

Dabi grumbled and rubbed one of his eyes with his charred fingers. “It’s too early for this shit.” He nuzzled his head back into his folded arms on the counter.

“Ash tray,” Shigaraki said. “I need you and (Y/n) to run to the store and get us some food and I need you to do it without getting caught.”

“Why?” Dabi’s muffled voice whined.

“Because Twice and Toga did it last time and because I’m the boss and I say so,” he demanded. “Now get up, put on a mask and a disguise and get out there.”

You didn’t like arguing with Shigaraki. It was never worth it to pick a fight that he always ended up winning. With you obliging easily and Dabi too tired to pick a fight, the both of you ended up at a crowded supermarket. People wearing safety masks scrambled around the store to try and get their items as soon as possible. So much for social distancing.

“Where should we start first?” you asked. You wore a black cloth mask over your mouth and chin. You figured it was disguise enough incase anyone regularly watched the news and might have seen your picture floating around. black gloves were fitted onto your hands and a larger than average pocket knife was hidden in your jacket pocket in case something went wrong.

“Well what’s for dinner, doll?”

Hit language hit different, and you weren’t sure whether or not you should be offended. “Excuse me?” A faint blush spread across your face. You hadn’t interacted with Dabi much since joining the league. It was usually Kurogiri you spoke to, being the only other member who could cook and had some responsible edge to him.

“It’s your turn to cook tonight, right?” Dabi’s bright blue eyes bore into you from under the shadow cast by the big hood he had up.

You faced away, refusing to look at him. Mumbling, you said “It isn’t much of a turn when it’s just between me and Kurogiri.”

Dabi chuckled. The deep and raspy sound of his voice sent shivers to your spine. “In any case, I haven’t had a hot meal in a while, so you better have something good planned, doll.”

Your face grew more flushed. “S-stop calling me that,” you said, irate with how he was acting. “Now grab a cart and get whatever non-perishable, healthy foods you can find.”

Dabi rolled his eyes but you could still feel his smirk under the cloth of his masking digging a hole right through you. “Whatever you say. I guess we’ll meet back here in, I dunno, half an hour?”

You nodded, keeping your composure and a straight face. “Half an hour.” You grabbed a cart and busted your way through the over-crowded store. It was a nightmare of people wrestling over the bare-bones of the produce section, boxes and cans of soups and non perishables, and of course the few rolls of single-ply toilet paper that no one wanted when the first wave of ransackers came through the store.

You were in awe of how undermanaged the store was. It was like the Hunger Games. You swore you saw an old woman stab someone for the last box of Cheerios. Mustering up the courage to wheel your way through the store, you found yourself dragging through aisle after aisle of nothing but a few torn up boxes littering the shelves.

You did find yourself chucking a few dented cans of tuna, dusty boxes of whole grain cereal and near expired medication into the cart. Who knows, it could be useful. It was slim pickings, but in all honesty it was better than you expected. Maybe there was a little mayo left at the hideout you could make some tuna salad with. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

You walked through the aisle of baking supplies, hoping to find a small bag of flour, when you felt a hand grasp your shoulder. Thinking fast, you grabbed the strange hand, pulled the knife out of your pocket and turned around, bringing the blade up to the stranger’s throat. But it wasn’t a stranger.

Dabi looked down at you with a deadpan expression. His mouth slowly turned upward to a smirk. “Someone’s a bit feisty today,” he said.

You looked down, hiding the blush you could feel coming through the mask over your mouth. “Don’t scare me like that,” you said, glaring back up at him. “I could have slit your throat just then.”

His eyebrows raised and his smirk grew upward. “You wouldn’t have.”

“And why not.”

He leaned in, brushing his mouth against your ear. “Because I would have stopped you.”

Your spine visibly contracted as you felt shivers move through you. “Have you found anything substantial?” you asked, trying to move the conversation along.

“Yeah,” he said, pointing to a cart behind him nearly filled to the top with snack food, cans of soups and vegetables, boxed foods and instant ramen. There were also two six packs balanced on the sides of the cart.

You were shocked. How could he find so much while you were stuck with the bare bones of dented cans and healthy cereal that no one wanted. “How? How could you find so much stuff?”

Dabi just shrugged. “Found some guy’s cart. Took it when he wasn’t looking.”

You looked back at your own pathetic cart and frowned. “This is nice and all but I don’t know how we would be able to afford all of that. We barely have ten dollars combined.”

You looked up at Dabi, waiting for him to come up with some genius way for the two of you to make it out with only paying the measly few cents you carry around.

“Who said anything about paying for this?”

Your eyes widened. “What do you mean? We can’t just walk out the door. Someone will stop us.”

He smiled under the black mask. “Take the cart and go to the front entrance. Wait for me there.”

You quirked an eyebrow up at him but followed his orders. You took the overflowing cart and made your way to the front of the store, shoving aside anyone who tried to take anything out of it. You eventually found yourself at the store’s entrance. With nothing else to do, you watched as the madness unfolded around you. The store had been ransacked entirely and the remaining people in the store were willing to fight one another for the smallest ounce of anything.

“Alright, let’s go,” you heard Dabi say as he approached you.

“What do you mean? What did you do?”

He yet again pointed behind him only to reveal the smoke and the tips of blue flames which were rapidly spreading across the aisles.

“Fire!” a bystander yelled. Everyone was quickly making their way towards the entrance.

“We better run,” Dabi said, grabbing your wrist with one hand and the cart with the other. He pulled you out of the store and the two of you ran outside to a nearby hill, far away enough to not be caught but close enough to see what was happening.

“I can believe you set the fucking building on fire,” you said through heaves as you tried to catch your breath.

“You gotta admit it’s a little funny.” Dabi cracked open a beer and you could hear the bubbles inside sizzling. He tossed you one, which you caught but did not open immediately.

“What else is in that cart?” you asked. The pile of snacks was much bigger than you first believed it to be.

“Let’s see.” Dabi thumbed through the different boxes and bags of snacks hiding the more substantial foods at the bottom. “We got some chips, a couple chocolate bars, some cereal, popcorn and crackers–”

“Ooh pass the popcorn.”

Dabi tossed you the bag of popcorn and you smiled at the satisfying sound of the bag bursting open. Pulling down your mask, you delicately tossed a piece in your mouth.

The two of you sat on the hill eating snacks and drinking beer, watching as the blue flames slowly rose further up the building. The smoke swirling along with the orange sunset looked pretty, and you didn’t even mind when Dabi put his arm around your shoulders, edging you closer to resting your head on his chest.

[gukyi]

tattoos together | kth

summary: you aren’t necessarily terribly particular when it comes to tattoos, and when you arrive at your favorite tattoo parlor one day in search of a new addition, one in particular catches your eye, but more importantly, so does the artist behind its creation. and slowly, you come to realize that art does not need sentimental value to be meaningful—it just needs to be loved.

{tattoo artist!au}

pairing: kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff word count: 5k warnings: mention of tattoo needles a/n: a huge huge huge thank you to @guksflavor for commissioning me for this piece, and thank you for contributing to the blm movement !!!! for anyone wondering--this was commissioned prior to my drabble commissions post, which is why it’s longer. hope that you enjoy!!!! 

When you go to a new city, your favorite thing to do is explore. 

Unpacking has never really been your forte, because it takes forever and it’s not as if any of the packages contain a surprise. You already know what’s in every single cardboard box strewn around your apartment, from the old clothes you never wear to the single set of nice dinnerware that you never use because you don’t ever have guests fancy enough to require usage of them. 

The beauty of the world is that it has so many hidden corners. So many hole-in-the-wall stores and secret alleyways shielded from street lights. Secrets unknown to even some of the locals. 

So yes, the boxes against the barren walls of your apartment can wait. 

They have been for the past couple of years, at least. What’s one more day?

Besides, if you hadn’t prioritized exploring over unpacking, you never would have found that little tattoo shop on the corner of South and Brooks, the one that looks more like a cottage-turned-overgrown-flower shop than a place where you go to get permanently inked. The walls are a pastel neutral shade, accented by exposed brick near the back and lined with drawings after drawings, new designs tacked over old ones, pages curling in on themselves after years of being hung up. 

From the inside or the outside, it doesn’t at all read like a stereotypical tattoo parlor. No black walls, no leather, no gothic lettering on the door. 

And that’s really the beauty of it all. That you would never know of this place if you hadn’t gone wandering, hadn’t decided that your unpacking of boxes could wait another couple of days (and maybe months, too). That there are secrets blanketing the city, and that you can learn them all, if only you keep your eyes peeled. 

Also, the tattoo parlor is right next to what you happily designate as the best bakery in the entire town, but that’s just a bonus. 

Still, Jungkook doesn’t ever seem to mind when you show up to a session with two coffees and a bag with two muffins inside of it. 

The bell above the door rings when you open it, stepping onto the beige welcome mat onto the tile. It’s been raining the past couple of days, and you can make out damp spots on the fabric where people have wiped their shoes. It’s busier than normal, today, several of the artists fielding requests and questions from eager clients, pointing at the designs on the wall or handing them their own sketches. 

But as always, Jungkook is free, loitering in the back corner with his hands tucked into the pockets of the dark jeans he’s wearing, as if he’d been expecting you all afternoon. 

Considering you are pretty much confidants after so many years of seeing him, you suppose that he’s picked up on your predictability—if only just a little. 

“What, don’t you have a job to be doing?” You ask instead of a hello, catching Jungkook’s attention immediately as you walk in, a bag of two scones in your hand. 

“Don’t have a job if you’re not here,” he quips back, strolling over casually and happily taking the napkin-wrapped baked good from your hand. He eats approximately half of it in a single bite as you settle down by his station, a vintage vanity that Jungkook says that the owner found at a thrift store. It’s awfully beat up as is, but looks more at home inside here, little succulents sitting, pressed up against the wall, and ink stains covering the countertop. 

“Touché,” you concede with a nod. 

“What are you here for today?” Jungkook asks over a mouthful of scone. “You got an actual design in mind or just want me to wing it?” 

“Am I not allowed to just say hello to one of my favorite people in the city?” You tease. 

Jungkook frowns. “‘One of’? Who else is there?” 

“Me, of course,” you tell him happily. “You got any new designs I can take a peek at?”

“See for yourself,” Jungkook says, motioning to the wall beside him as you giddily skirt over to take a look. You’re in here so often that Jungkook’s long foregone showing you which ones were recently added—deigning to sit at his table while you pick out the new ones from the old, which sketches weren’t tacked to the wall the last time you were in. 

There’s a couple of ones that you don’t recognize taped along the wall, or peeking out of the open binders that they have spread out on spare shelves and countertops, new designs of birds and flowers and snakes. But the one that really catches your eye is a small one, drawn on a piece of paper the size of a Post-it note. You almost miss it, half-hidden behind a much bigger sketch of an old grandfather clock, lines dark and heavy. It’s a simple line drawing, really, of the sun rising or setting along the horizon, its reflection shakily echoed in the water it stands above. It could almost be straight out of a scrapbook, a Polaroid of a real moment in time, a real sight someone saw. 

“This one’s new,” you say, fingers reaching up to page at the edges. 

Jungkook gets up to see what all of the fuss is about. “Oh, yeah, just added yesterday. You like it?”

“It’s pretty,” you say, unable to tear your eyes away from it. It’s so simple, so modest. Like a doodle that someone would draw in the margins of a textbook, like the start of a flipbook design in an old library book. “Looks almost like it was printed from offline.”

“You know everything in here is usually hand-drawn,” Jungkook chides. 

“Reminds me of a photograph,” you say as Jungkook reaches out with his hands to take the design down. “You know, like some really picturesque scene on a beach. With the sun reflected against the water.”

“Can’t tell if it’s rising or setting,” Jungkook comments, holding it out in front of him. 

“I think that’s the point.”

“So, where do you want it?” Jungkook asks. “And don’t say the bottom of your foot. I know you’re joking.”

You laugh, reminded of the time you had teasingly told him that you wanted a flock of birds tattooed beneath your feet, and he almost believed you before you burst into a fit of giggles. Pausing, you think. Where would you want something like that? Not your back, surely. To you, the whole point of a tattoo is to be able to see it. And not on your torso, either. You’ve grown rather accustomed to the feeling of a needle on skin, so the pain isn’t the issue, but a drawing like that isn’t meant to be kept secret. Not supposed to be hidden by your clothes. 

You can’t say that you’ve ever kept tattoos particularly serious, plotting out exactly what you’ll get inked and which part of your body will make it the most meaningful. Tattoos are but another art form, one that uses the skin as its canvas, and not all art is supposed to be perfect and purposeful and mean something. Art is in the eye of the beholder. It is, above all, supposed to make you happy. 

You love every single thing that Jungkook has drawn on your skin, and every single thing that was drawn before you met him. But this one is special. 

“Here,” you say, pulling up the sleeve of your shirt so it rests on your shoulders, tapping the empty space on your upper left arm. It’s surrounded with tattoos, with flowers and words and pictures, but there has always been an open space. One that you were saving for something extraordinary. 

“You sure? You know I can’t undo this as fast as I can do it,” Jungkook says, not to mock you but to make sure you aren’t making a mistake. 

Perhaps it’s your impulsive nature, the part of you that doesn’t really care about making mistakes so long as you can recognize that they happened, that makes you shrug. That isn’t terribly particular over where Jungkook places the needle. Tattoos are for fun. Taking everything serious is boring, anyway. 

“I’m sure,” you tell him, and Jungkook nods. He goes to transfer the design to a tattoo stencil as you wait, finishing up your scone. It’s a little harder now that you’ve waited a bit to eat it, not as soft as it was when Jungkook tore through his, but it’s delicious nonetheless. 

As you’re waiting, you hear the bell above the door ring. You turn around to look at the latest patron out of habit, that instinctual people-watching urge that bubbles up inside of you. 

You don’t recognize him. 

Which isn’t a first, per se, but you are in here rather often and have come to know most of the regulars, at least on a first-name basis. You wonder if he had just wandered in after strolling down the street, noticed the flowerpots hanging from the ceiling or the walls littered with designs or the cracking white paint that makes this place look like an old-timey ice cream store. His eyes, dark and brown and mysterious, go straight to the designs on the wall beside you, as if he knows exactly what he’s looking for. 

He looks down at you and the two of you meet eyes, his partially hidden by his caramel brown hair, yours looking up at him because it feels like you can’t turn away. There is something about him that makes you want to ask him to come here more often. Just so you can see him again. 

“Oh, Taehyung!” 

You turn back to see Jungkook returning with the design on a stencil, toothy smile widening when he sees the boy in question, a wave of familiarity rushing over his features. 

“Jungkook,” Taehyung says, and the two of them greet each other the way that all men do, with that unspoken hand grab-turned-back pat. “Was in this part of the city and thought I’d stop by. See how my favorite skin artist is doing.”

“Ugh,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, “I hate when you call me that. It’s weird and makes me sound like I make art with skin.”

“Don’t you?” Taehyung poses teasingly, making Jungkook shove him playfully. 

“Shut up,” Jungkook responds, heading over to where you’re seated and placing the stencil down on the table. “Y/N here is getting one of your designs on her arm.”

That has you engaged. 

“You drew this?” You ask, picking the stencil back up and holding it out to him. 

Taehyung takes a couple of steps forward and reaches a hand out to look at the drawing in closer detail, before nodding. “Sketched it a couple of days ago. Jungkook said that it might make a nice tattoo.”

“Jungkook has terribly good judgement,” you agree. “I didn’t know you drew for Jungkook.”

“Eh, it’s not a job or anything,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “I like doodling things on the side. Jungkook being a tattoo artist is just a bonus.”

“I’ll say,” Jungkook says with a forced cough. “Y/N’s got a couple of your drawings actually, Tae. That one of the cherry blossoms, and the one with the teddy bear.”

“You did those, too?” You ask, getting more and more pleasantly surprised with every minute that passes. 

“You kidding?” Jungkook scoffs. “Taehyung’s art is all over this place. My boss is actually getting kind of annoyed with how much real estate his drawings take up, but clients seem to really like them, so they stay.”

“So you’re saying it’s not my infectious personality?” Taehyung quips, making you laugh. He and Jungkook seem to go well together. 

Jungkook sighs, a smile tugging loosely at his lips. “Get out of here, I’ve got a client,” he says fondly, motioning to you. 

“Kicking me out after five minutes? I think that’s a new record,” Taehyung says, peering at the old clock on the wall. 

“Don’t get used to it,” Jungkook says, even though it’s obvious that the both of them already are. Jungkook’s too kind, too sweet, too wonderful to ever turn away a friend. Even if he does have a client. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Taehyung says with a tip of an imaginary hat. His smile makes the blood rush to your cheeks, charming and for some reason, irresistible. “Hope that we see each other again soon. I’d love to see your tattoos.”

“I hope so too,” you say, positively enchanted, as he exits, the bell ringing on his way out. 

You wonder why you hadn’t met him before. You suppose that you just always missed each other. 

You sort of hope that, after this, you never do.

You run into Taehyung a couple of days afterwards in the bakery next door to the tattoo parlor. You’re standing by the coffee counter, chatting to one of the baristas who always teases you for buying two of everything whenever you’re there, when you spot him wandering in, the same curious look on his face. He doesn’t notice you at first but you see him straight away, recognize him instantly. It looks like he just accidentally stumbled upon this place, like he had been walking and walking and walking and when he looked up, he was inside. 

You wonder if Taehyung comes here as often as you do. Wonder if he makes an effort to always stop in since he drops by the parlor on a regular basis. Wonder how long you’ve gone, cruelly so, just missing each other. 

“Y/N?”

You look up to see him gazing at you, a lopsided smile tugging at his features. Next to you, the barista hands you your bag of baked goods, two as always, and winks before getting back to work. 

“Hey, I didn’t see you come in,” you lie, hoping that he didn’t catch you ogling him as he walked inside. “You stop by often?”

“Whenever I get the chance to,” Taehyung says back. “I like carbs and coffee.”

“Then I suppose you’ve found the perfect place to be,” you say. And then, in a blaze of courage, you ask, “Are you just popping in, or do you want to sit down for a little?”

Taehyung smiles, warm and wonderful. “I’d be happy to.”

You snag a table in the corner, facing away from the barista who keeps sending you nonsensical and exaggerated facial expressions and gestures, because this is not a movie, and he is not your beautiful love interest who waltzes into your life and sweeps you off your feet. Even if he is rather beautiful. 

“I got two pastries,” you say, tugging them out of the bag, still wrapped in napkins. “Want one?”

Taehyung chuckles as you hand one to him. “Do you always get two of what you order?”

“Hey, I like carbs too,” you tell him defensively, making Taehyung nod in agreement. Seeing as you bought them just a few minutes ago, they’re still warm, soft between your fingers as you pull apart the dough and slowly take a bite. It tastes even sweeter than usual. 

“Do you come here often?” Taehyung poses. 

“Anytime I drop by the parlor,” you add cheerfully. “And sometimes even when I don’t.”

“We seem to always be missing each other, then,” Taehyung muses. 

“Hopefully that will change,” you add with a grin. “Jungkook finished my tattoo a couple of days ago. Do you want to see?”

“The one of my drawing?” Taehyung asks, even though he already knows the answer. 

“What else would there be?” You say, pulling up the sleeve of your shirt to reveal the design. It’s only been a few days, so the tattoo hasn’t had nearly enough time to fully heal, but the sketch is just as prominent as it was when it was first pressed into your skin. It fits perfectly in the empty space that was there before, the lines filling out the blanks between the other pictures. Almost as if that spot had been waiting for the right thing to fill it. Almost as if it had always belonged there. 

Taehyung’s mouth opens in awe as you show him, the skin still raised where the needle had pressed against it. You have to say you don’t really mind showing off your tattoos to others, especially when they bring you so much joy yourself, and people are usually more appreciative than disapproving, but watching the way Taehyung’s face lights up when he sees his design, his sketch, his art on your skin makes your heart beat something terribly fierce. 

The beauty of tattoos is that it is permanent art. Art on the wall of a museum will need to be constantly restored, will be moved from place to place as people bid hundreds of thousands of dollars on owning it. But tattoos follow you wherever you go, will keep you company no matter what the circumstances are. It is art that is permanent, because it will never leave you. 

It seems that Taehyung has realized that as well. 

“Wow, I—” Taehyung says, rubbing at the bottom of his lip, unable to tear his eyes away from the dark ink decorating your body. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ll let Jungkook know that you really like it,” you say, pleased. “He did an excellent job, as always.”

“Why?” Taehyung asks, the simple question being the only word he’s able to form, the only thing he’s able to think. 

“‘Why?’” You repeat, an eyebrow raised. “Why did I get it?”

“Why did you get that one?” Taehyung says for emphasis, pointing to the design laced along your upper arm. “Out of the millions of possibilities, why choose mine?”

“Oh,” you say, at a loss for words. It’s difficult to pinpoint why. It doesn’t have a terribly sentimental meaning to you. No long-lasting symbolism that has followed you throughout your life. You chose it because it was simple and easy and beautiful. Because you thought that it would be the perfect fit. “Well, I don’t have a great reason.”

“It’s permanent ink on your body,” Taehyung says. “You must have thought it meant something.”

“I just liked the way it looked,” you say. “It was so plain and modest, but it looks like a scene out of a movie. Like a moment captured in time. I don’t know—” you shrug, “—it sort of reminds me of a Polaroid picture. The sun halfway above the horizon. Its reflection on the water.”

Taehyung is speechless, a soft grin slowly inching its way across his face. He looks fond, looks grateful and honored. Like what you told him was the perfect answer. 

“Is the sun rising or setting, Taehyung?” You ask, curious. You suppose that no matter what he chooses, it’ll be the right answer. That the sun can either be rising or setting, so long as you know that it will always return. If it’s rising, it is but a reminder that there is a whole day ahead of you. That you have so much to do and so much to look forward to. And if it’s setting, it’s to let you know that you made it another day, another twenty-four hours. The sun may be saying goodbye, but you can never lose faith that it will come back to say hello. 

Taehyung seems to ponder for a moment, eyes tilting upwards as he thinks, lets the question weigh on his heart. And then he turns to you, a glint in his eye, and he says, “You think it’s the sun?”

And truth be told, you had never considered that it might be the moon. 

In the stark black-and-white of a single-color tattoo, it could be anything you wanted. It could be a massive planet in another galaxy, could be a sweet chocolate ball sinking into a warm cup of milk. But Taehyung thinks it’s the moon. He sees the absent sky as dark, sees the circle in the center as the one that watches over you when you sleep. 

The sun and the moon are the only two constants in everybody’s life. One will never be without the other. And they will always chase after each other, circling the sky every day and every night, eternally unable to stay together. 

Perhaps it is the moon. Or the sun. Perhaps it is rising, or setting. 

And perhaps that is why you chose this design. Because of its ambiguity. Because it can mean so much despite being so little, which is what art is for, isn’t it? To see something and make it beautiful in your eyes? To always look at the world through rose-colored glasses?

No matter what it is, it will remind you that you are never alone. No, even when you have nothing left, the sun and the moon will always stand by you, watch over you. They will light up the path in front of you and guard you on your journey. 

“Well,” you ask Taehyung, smiling. You wonder briefly if that was the whole point of his design. For it to represent whatever the viewer wanted it to. And then you realize that of course that was the point. That Taehyung drew it like this on purpose. Tattoos will follow you for the rest of your days. So will the sun and the moon.“What do you think it is?”

You don’t see Taehyung for a while after that. 

Not that you had been expecting to inexplicably bump into him on the street, or anything, but you were secretly hoping that your luck had changed. That you were slowly beginning to make up for all of the moments you missed each other, all of the times you were just five minutes away from meeting, always just a little too early or a little too late. 

Still, you wish that you could see him more, or at least more often than you currently do, which is never. You know so little about him and yet there is something that draws you closer, makes you want to sift through the layers of dust between his bones, find out what makes his brain tick and his heart beat.

Ever since he walked into the tattoo parlor that day, strolling in with his hands on his pockets and witty comeback on the tip of his tongue, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. About how his art is etched onto your skin eternally. About how he does everything with purpose. 

Meeting him was no accident. 

Is it possible that you were always meant to know each other?

After a month, you return to the parlor, half in search of another design to add to the collection and half hoping that maybe your luck will change and you’ll be able to see him again. And if not, at least there’s always Jungkook to keep you company. 

You drop by the bakery and pick up a very optimistic three scones, just on the off chance that Taehyung may be there when you arrive. Besides, you can’t imagine Jungkook complaining about free food, let alone extra of it. 

But when you arrive, you’re shocked to see that Jungkook is busy working on someone. 

“Taehyung?” You ask, his name the first word to come out of your mouth when you enter. He’s sitting at the same stained white vanity sleeve rolled up as Jungkook presses the needle against his skin. He’s wincing, in that way that people who are getting their first tattoo do, not necessarily from pain but simply from the feeling. 

Jungkook pulls the needle away from Taehyung’s arm before the two of them both turn to look at you, equally as shocked by your presence. 

“Y/N,” Taehyung says back, almost as if your very existence has taken his breath away. 

“You weren’t supposed to come for another hour or so,” Jungkook says, checking the clock on the wall. 

“Are you complaining to the person who brings you free baked goods?” You ask, making Jungkook shake his head in a guilty no. You saunter over to the table to pull out the scones, giddy about having rightly purchased a third, when you notice the design slowly being imprinted onto Taehyung’s skin. 

It’s the same one you have. 

“Hey, what’s this?” You ask, not necessarily looking for an actual response so much as wondering aloud. Taehyung’s getting it in the same place as yours, the upper arm, a single drawing of ink on bare, untouched skin. It must mean something rather special to be his first. “Is that—?”

“Don’t be mad at me for copying you,” Taehyung says sheepishly. “The more I thought about it the more I liked it.”

“I’m not mad at you,” you tell him. 

“I don’t know,” Taehyung says with a sigh as Jungkook motions towards the needle, a silent question to see if Taehyung’s still alright with him continuing. Taehyung nods, letting only his eyes drift upwards to yours as Jungkook goes back in. “I mean, I guess it’s kind of impulsive, isn’t it? Getting a tattoo after seeing what it looked like on someone else. But when we were talking about it, I just thought about how detailed it really was. How it said so much despite being so little.”

“That’s what I thought about it, too,” you say with a grin. “It’s special. I mean, every tattoo is special, but this one is because it can mean whatever you want it to mean. Whether it’s the sun or the moon, rising or setting. And the beauty of it is that you can change your mind about it, too.” 

If one day, you would rather the moon watch over you, keep the waves calm on a quiet night, where your thoughts are loud and heavy, then it will. But if, the next day, you want some light to shine down upon the field of daisies and wildflowers in your heart, then the sun will come out. No matter which it is, it will stand guard over you, protect you from what the rest of the world will try to throw at you. 

“What do you think it is, Jungkook?” Taehyung asks, making Jungkook stop. 

Jungkook looks down at the drawing, at what he is pressing into Taehyung’s skin, and he says, “I think it’s the rising sun. Telling all of us to look forward to a brand new day.”

You smile. “And what do you think it is, Taehyung?”

Taehyung doesn’t skip a beat. “I think it can be all four all at once—the sun rising, the sun setting, the moon rising, the moon setting. It just depends on what you want it to be.”

“You know,” you say with a grin. “We’re going to have matching tattoos now.”

“Oh, are we?” Taehyung asks cheekily, even though nothing he ever does is accidental. Not the sketch, not the tattoo, and certainly not its placement. 

“We are,” you say, pulling up your sleeve for good measure. “They could be buddies. Hang out and take pictures together.”

“What about us?” Taehyung asks. “Can we hang out and take pictures together too?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” You pose, even though you already know the answer. 

“That depends,” Taehyung quips back. “Are you saying yes to one?”

“I think I am,” you say, pleased smiles lacing their way across your faces. Taehyung is beaming, the discomfort of a needle barely even registering, as he grins at you, charming and brilliant and bright. “And I look forward to it.”

“Me too.” Taehyung nods. 

“I’m here to hopefully get another tattoo,” you tell him, raising your eyebrows. “If you want, you can stick around and maybe we can get tattoos together.”

“Isn’t that a bit impulsive?” Taehyung smirks. 

“Aren’t you?”

And you think that, even though the universe kept you apart for so long—separated by minutes, perhaps even seconds—it sort of always knows what it’s doing. You were never not going to meet. It was just a matter of when. 

And the sun and moon will never not protect you. It is just a matter of which. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[silvanable]

heyyo sliv! So glad you're back :") may i request a fluff hc of isaac, mozart, comte, leonardo and mitsuhide comforting their SO when they are having a panic attack? Or if you're not comfortable with that, maybe the boys comforting their SO after a very long and tiring day? Thank you :" kinflda need some fluff to ground me right now

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hey i’m glad to be back!

love this request, as i suffer from severe anxiety and panic attacks so this is something i both know and appreciate when someone helps me through it!

i will go ahead a put a disclaimer now, because i’m writing off the perspective of panic attacks i have had or coaxed people calmly from, because every reacts and is effected by different things.

these specific characters are great because i pretty much adore all of them oops.

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↪  GUIDELINES

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ー COMTE DE SAINT GERMAIN

comte and his s/o had gone out for the day, peruse and enjoy paris, ya know?

it’s quite a busy day, lots of noise and people, quite a crowd, but things started out well.

one minute his s/o is fine and the next those unsettling bubbles of anxiety start crawling up their throat, their senses being overwhelmed.

comte by far would be the most observant of the sudden changes in his s/o’s persona, especially if he has prior knowledge of their panic attacks.

it’s the nervous twitch, the frantic way they move, and suddenly the heavy breathing.

comte is quick to gently put a hand on their arm to alert them he’s there.

a soft, “are you alright, ma cherie?” leaves his lips as he’s guiding them away from the busy and noisy street.

he ends up leading his s/o to a small park bench, some place quiet, just about the time they start to unravel.

his s/o is in tears and gasping for a breath, which is hard by the way they’re trembling and unable.

comte is beside them, rubbing gentle circles into their back and holding their hand, allowing them to squeeze as they need to know he’s right there.

he’s whispering small reassurances all the while, “just breathe, deep breathes.”, “in and out. good, another one.”, “there you go, ma cherie, deep breathes, i’m right here, you are safe.”

it’s a process but a steady cycle as slowly the tears stop welling from his s/o’s eyes and their breath is evening out.

he will most certainly ask what set his s/o off in the first place, next time to be sure and mindful if it happened again.

he stays their on the bench for a short while as his s/o calms down before suggesting they return to the mansion.

his s/o’s wellbeing is very important and he does not want to push them to stay out, especially when they aren’t feeling well.

the carriage ride home is sweet and quiet, with comte who ushered his s/o to lean against him as he holds them close and rubs circles over their back.

ー ISAAC NEWTON

small, personal headcanon that isaac also suffers from a degree of anxiety and panic attacks.

so the moment his s/o starts to display those little tics he was by their side.

he knows exactly what’s going on.

there was no saying what started it in his s/o, they just knew the familiar escalating heart rate and the shortness of breath.

depending where the two of them are depends on what isaac does.

if they’re at the mansion, he’s pulling his s/o aside to sit down on his bed or a nearby chair away from everyone else.

if they’re out and about he will guide them away from the crowds of people, some place quiet and secluded.

the entire time he has his s/o’s hand in his, gently running his fingers over their knuckles.

he’s not quite sure what to say and where to start, but he eventually decides just to coax them softly through what he does when he gets an attack.

“hey, just take a deep breath,” the words leave his lips with a quiet reassurance, “and let it out.”

he even does it with his s/o, and the softness of his voice and their breathes are the only presences for his s/o to focus on.

once his s/o is calm enough, isaac will ask what started this and why they didn’t say anything about it earlier.

he understands entirely needing a break from crowds and people and the fast pace of everything.

so he’s not against taking a break, especially if his s/o needs a moment because he knows how badly things can build up.

“just give it a minute more, then we can go.”

will still be holding his s/o’s hand even when they say they’re okay.

ー LEONARDO DA VINCI

leo is as he usually is.

asleep in a very inconvenient place for most of the residents of the manor in the library.

however it was a quite convenient napping spot.

they had barely been able to excuse themself from cleaning when they felt it.

the closest supposedly unoccupied room was the library and they had rushed in right before unraveling.

they burst into tears.

it was the noise of their crying that he heard first and knew almost instantly who it was.

he absolutely hated it when his s/o cried. and it roused him from his sleepy state.

his s/o was quite surprised between their sputtering when leo came around one of the shelves.

they’re on the floor blubbering “i’m sorry” and “i didn’t mean to” through broken gasps.

he’s down by their side in a moment, hushing them softly as he places a gentle hand on their head.

his voice is a soft lull when he asks, “what’s wrong, cara mia?”

of course he knows it’s another attack, he learned that early on his s/o had them from time to time.

they are still in too big of a fit to respond, so leo takes his seat beside them and pulls them into his lap.

he’s rubbing careful circles over their scalp and running his fingers in their hair.

reassuring his s/o other that everything will be okay and all they need to do is take a deep breath.

by the time his s/o is taking in deep but stuttered breaths he began to inquire about the cause of this attack.

they explain in a quiet voice how it was just the load of work.

a build up of stress over the days.

leo has half a thought to ask ‘comte’ to get sebastian to lighten their workload.

instead he just opts for holding his s/o close in his embrace as he calms them down.

ー WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART

mozart’s s/o was going about there day when it hit.

one minute they were absolutely okay and in the next moment, while they’re dusting the music room, it hits them.

like a train.

their heart rate spikes sudden, their breath leaves them, and there is that unwelcomed overwhelming feeling of panic.

they’re gripping the nearest surface in the room and trying to hold themself up on shaking limbs.

it just so happened that wolf had been in the room too, practicing as usual when the loud slam caught his attention.

the worry is upon him as quickly as he’s by their side.

his gentle touch and “mein liebe” is cut off when he sees their face and how they’re hyperventilating.

it’s actually his s/o who acted and grabbed him, hiding in his arm as they take a shaky breath and cry.

that catches him off guard at first but do not doubt he’s wrapping his arms around them protectively in seconds.

wolf is trying to get them to breathe, just small whispers of “deep breath, in...out.” and rocking back and forth gently on his heel.

that brings a small comfort to his s/o and gradually the steady motion and calmness in his voice brings them down.

things are quiet between them both before he breaks it and asked what happened.

his s/o hesitates before quietly admitting that it was just a build up of small things that just built up.

and then the bubble just popped so suddenly.

they stay there for a moment before wolf ushers them back towards the piano, pulling his s/o to lean against him.

will play soft tunes on the piano as he focuses on the weight and the calming breath of his s/o.

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ー MITSUHIDE AKECHI

mitsuhide is observant as they come.

it would not have been the first time he encountered his s/o having a panic attack either.

and he most certainly would have learned that they were a build up of emotions or situations whether his s/o knew it or not.

but that does not mean it doesn’t scare him.

he had been reviewing letters in his room when kyubei entered with his s/o at his arm.

in tears, trembling, and hyperventilating.

he’s by their side in an instant as kyubei dismisses himself.

his s/o just collapses into his arms, clinging onto him like he’s their only lifeline in a turbulent sea.

their sobbing makes his heartache and the thought passes his mind on how to make the one to hurt his beloved like this suffer.

he’s gently hushing his s/o and pulling them against his chest, rocking them gently as he runs his hands over their back and through their hair.

“you’re safe, little mouse, no one will hurt you here.” his voice is reassuring as he whispers in their hair, “deep breathes. i’m right here.”

he sits with his s/o on the floor until it passes, until they find a way to anchor themself and breathe.

once he’s certain that his s/o is calmed down, he begins with the interrogation.

it’s a series of carefully crafted questions to what brought this one.

and if it was any person may whatever higher force have mercy on them because mitsuhide would not.

his s/o other is reluctant to answer and stays unusually quiet until they take in another shaky breath.

they explain it was just the resurfacing weight of the whole time travel event and all the dangers that had been posed to them.

how they had almost died.

multiple times.

their mind began to linger back and forth and then suddenly spiraled.

they had hardly noticed it happened until kyubei found them collapsed and leaning against the wall in the halls.

mitsuhide is holding his s/o protectively in his arms, listening to each quiet word.

“you are safe here with me, little mouse.” he would softly mumble against their forehead.

absolutely would give a forehead kiss as he rubs his s/o’s back, repeating his words again.

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[pollenat]

RED VELVET and A secret romance with their gang’s rival

➛ Note: Obviously, gang!au. These scenes are super random and not exactly as long as others, but I had this in my drafts for a while now, didn’t feel like completely discarding the work I’ve already done.

IRENE

Joohyun’s body moves on its own, her mind still asleep. Otherwise she wouldn’t have (or maybe she would) turned and reached for the other side of the bed. The lack of a body disturbs her awake.

She’s not home, though the bedroom is far from alien to her. The contents of shelves, the number of stains on the rug, the location of small holes in the walls - she already knows them by heart. Something she’s proud of, but shouldn’t share with others.

Lonely, perhaps scared of the word’s meaning, she calls for you. Usually, you’re fast to drop everything for her. Whatever it may be, nothing seems as important as Joohyun. This morning you’re not running like crazy to learn her demands. A repeat of your name makes no difference.

An electric shock of nervousness makes her get up after long hesitation. This is a safe haven, somewhere the outside world can’t reach, and yet her mind comes up with only the worst of possibilities. Nude feet stomp down the wooden panels. The floor feels cold against her heels, but Joohyun doesn’t show any sign of discomfort. She makes a stop by her jeans, lazily discarded the previous day. Fingers tighten around the object pulled out of a pocket. The black surface gleams under a ray of sunshine. Its owner has enough experience to always expect the unexpected.

Close to the wall, she slides down the corridor. Quiet and eagle-eyed, she’s ready to notice the abnormalities. Her ears pick up the sound of ragged breathing first. Then she notices a silhouette reflecting in the tiles of a corridor.

“Why are you holding a gun?” You ask her, genuinely confused.

Joohyun scoffs, partially relieved, partially annoyed. It’s 7 a.m. and you’re opening a jar of pickles instead of sleeping in. She drops the weapon on a countertop. The sound that comes from the meeting of hard surfaces makes you cringe.

“I thought something happened. Why are you up and not in bed?” The frown turns into a pout as Joohyun hugs one of your arms.

“I just felt like eating some pickles-” Without another word, she grabs the jar you are struggling to get opened, and easily does what you couldn’t. “Here, open. Now let’s go back to bed!”

“I love it when you unload frustration on objects.”

“Yes, yes. I’m aware.” She doesn’t hand you back the jar. “Pickles will come later. Now, we’re going back to bed. You’ve got a lot of making up to do.”

You may have abandoned the snacks, but something about Joohyun’s strong pulling and a sweet smile tells you there are better things to do.

SEULGI

The night sky is dotted with stars, as if they were its pride - jewels decorating collarbones. Something poets have always described as dark, being light. Although you want to share that thought aloud, you don’t. Not because of embarrassment. Seulgi would never laugh at something you’re serious about. Your choice is led by the dreamy atmosphere of your evening.

The two of you are lying on a blanket, somewhere in the middle of a forest. An hour long ride away from the city. A spot you feel like asking Seulgi about.

In your peripheral vision you can see her face turned towards you. There’s a smile you must’ve somehow caused.

“What?” She hums, hand sneaking under yours. “You’re staring.”

“Can’t I?” Fingers tighten around each other for a moment, before you push yourself up to lean over her.

Seulgi’s smile is still adoring, though now it’s sunken in shy undertones. She’s like that with you only. Otherwise, everyone knows her as the scary right hand woman. Her boss would’ve shot you in the face, had they known how close you were. It’s the sweet adrenaline of forbidden romance for you. Now, smiling, your fingers curl around loose locks of her dark hair.

“So, how many people have you taken on a date here?”

“Believe it or not, you’re the first one.” She brings her hands up to play with laces hanging from your hoodie.

“Then how did you find out about this place?”

“You know, drove by. Was followed, so I hid here and figured its a pretty lovely place.” One of the laces curls around her finger, just like a strand of her hair around yours.

“And you thought of me? Aww, you’re a real romantic.”

She laughs shyly, embarrassed by the conversation. You don’t intend on playing around though. A kiss is enough to silence her laughter. Seulgi hums in enjoyment, her face now covered by the shadow of your silhouette. As you press yourself closer to her, the back of her gun, always pinned to the belt, pokes the inside of your thigh. It’s a strong sensation. One that’s bound to burst a bubble. Yes, you’re used to it, but for some reason it’s not the same as holding the weapon in your two hands.

“What’s wrong?” Seulgi asks, feeling that something’s not right.

“Nothing, just got lost in thoughts for a moment here.” But instead of leaning forward once more, you return to lying on the back.

WENDY

You’re smiling widely in anticipation. The door opens suddenly, but it’s not able to startle you.

“Are you crazy?!” Her voice drips with pure anger, but her eyes scream relief.

Without any second thoughts, you push her inside and cage her little silhouette in a tight embrace. Seungwan does a poor attempt at escaping. She’s aware it’s of no use. She needs the comforting gesture as much as you do.

“You could’ve at least texted me first.”

“I did, but you’ve never answered me.”

When you finally let her go, she pulls out a phone and then gives you a look of pure disbelief. You might’ve written the message on your way to her apartment, but in your defence, Seungwan is the type of person that always has her phone close.

“What if someone was here? What if others saw you? Do you ever stop for a moment to think?” She scoffs at your ridiculing smile.

“Oh come on. What’s life without a little bit of excitement?”

“Umm, a good life?” Seungwan states as a matter of fact, which makes you wanna laugh in her face. But not to spite her. Rather to show her how sweet her whole being seems to you.

Yes, you’re the blunt one in whatever your relationship is. You’re the one to be touchy, clingy, also the one to piss her off with how “little” you care about being caught.

“Babe, you really need to chill. I’ve got it all covered. Of course, unless someone decides to pay you sudden visit, but even if, then that’s not on me!”

Her feet don’t follow you inside the living room. Instead, she’s watching you make yourself comfortable from the hallway. Expression of annoyance still present, it’s only a matter of time before Seungwan joins you.

“Stop being grumpy and come to me! I need a hug!”

She secures the lock first, but eventually does as predicted - joins your side on the couch. There’s still doubt on her face which you’re not at all worried about. These moments with Seungwan are the only way for you to experience normality. It tastes of the woman’s favorite toothpaste, feels like a fluffy rug, sounds like scoffs and occasional laughter.

“The things I do for you.” There’s still anger in her gaze, though much gentler than the one that welcomed you few minutes earlier.

JOY

It lasts a moment. In just a matter of few innocent seconds, she turns from a blonde in over-sized clothes to the Sooyoung you know, but maybe that shouldn’t be said. The passenger side in your ride quickly goes from free to occupied, and you don’t even hesitate before pressing accelerator. A taxi driver you’ve pretty much almost hit, honks. Your ear registers a string of curses thrown at a “senseless fuck”. Unimportant - the window closes.

“So, I suppose it went well?”

Sooyoung is redoing her lips in the mirror. Bright red is stark on the canvas of fair complexion. The corner visible from your point of view turns upwards.

“It did. Your boss is rampaging tonight.”

“Eh.” Indifferent, you wave the image of the closest future away. “When is he not.”

Soonyoung finishes her makeup with a loud pop of lips. She’s no longer the cold Mrs. invisible you saw earlier. Now, she’s the version you’re the most familiar with - the happy-go-lucky girl that happens to be doing shady business on the side.

“Where are we going?” She leans over the armrest to stare at you. Her chin rests on a hand, like a child does when watching movies. “Or wait, don’t tell me! I want it to be a surprise!”

“In a few minutes you’ll change your mind again.” Without missing a beat (this time), you change lanes.

“Yeah, probably. And you won’t tell me either way.”

“That’s just how well we know one another.” Your smiles meet.

Soonyoung returns to her previous position, but leaves her arm behind. An open palm catches your attention. Fingers wiggle in anticipation. Amused, but in no position to reject them, you give in. Soonyoung’s grip is a strong one, full of need and comfort.

The car zooms through the city sunken in the remnants of a sunset. Pedestrians walk by, unaware that someone who should be behind bars is passing them. Same with the drivers. The thought makes your heart flutter from excitement. An overpowering feeling of having the world at your mercy causes you to put more pressure on accelerator. Soonyoung’s thumb caresses the side of your hand. Her red lips are a stable point on the blurry and constantly changing background.

YERI

Funny how the two of you live for the adrenaline.

“Isn’t it a bit risky?” You ask, swiping the corner of her lips with your thumb.

Yerim’s eyes follow, as you put the crimson colored tip in your own mouth. It humors her, and drives crazy at the same time.

“You love risky.” Neither of you address the tension, nor are oblivious to it.

Music may be blasting above you, but right now, here, by the bar, it’s just you two, a pair of bodies pressing at each other’s side without doing much more. Truth be told, the crowd is so busy with itself, you don’t know why you’re too hesitant to follow their lead, and join them with Yerim.

Your eyes meet again. These rendezvous that the two of you have every now and then are a rare occasion. Therefore, you always make an effort to take everything about the notorious Kim Yerim in, starting from the depth of her gaze, ending at the height of her heels. She’s a masterpiece, and your worst (best) rival, but not tonight. Tonight, she’s your alluring date.

Her head moves a little bit closer, pink lips opening to speak.

“Are you sure you don’t want to dance?” Yerim’s brows rise in a manner that could seem innocent to anyone else. But you know what she means, and you want to tease her a bit before eventually giving in.

“Why? Am I boring you with my wine?” Acting indifferent to her hand on your thigh, you grab a glass and sip on it.

She smirks knowingly, but sighs anyway. It’s all just an act to keep you going. Something of a roleplay - faking that you’re not putty in each other’s hands. The truth is much different. Had Yerim’s tone been stricter, you would have been the one to lead her onto dancefloor.

“What’s wrong with it?” Before Yerim gets a chance to respond, she makes a face of surprise, and pulls out her phone.

You don’t have to ask to get a gist of the situation. It’s business. As always.

Yerim meets your gaze with evident sadness. But that’s your line of work, and you’re not the one to keep someone from doing what they have to do.

“Just go.” You smile bitterly. “Before I try to steal your job.”

The kiss she gives you is too short, and too weak for your liking.

“I’ll text you later.”

➛ pollenat’s list of headcanons

➛ pollenat’s list of shorts

➛ pollenat’s list of scenarios

[razorcat26]

Chat Noir Weight Gain Story: Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Professor Animate    

Ladybug and Chat Noir have to fight a new villain. How will Chat Noir manage to fight evil and fight off his desire to eat more.

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Relationship: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug                                                            

Characters:Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug Plagg (Miraculous Ladybug)  

Tags: Weight Gain Force-Feeding Belly Rubs Stuffing 

All characters at 18+.

All characters are owned by their respective owners.

AO3

Their trip back to the city centre of Paris was fairly uneventful. Ladybug was just surprised at how agile Chat Noir was. He still managed to keep up with her, although every time he would land on top of a building, he would cause it to shake.

As the sun was beginning to rise, many Parisians were heading to work. Chat Noir would get the occasional glance from people on the street as they tried to figure out what that large black blob was, that was bouncing across the skyline. 

Moving past the Eiffel Tower they both landed of one of the cobblestone streets, which was surrounded by small corner stores and terrace homes. They started to hear screams coming from one of the boulevards. They both turn towards where the noise was coming from. In the distance they spot a large wall of people running towards them. They both jump out of the way of the crowd and land back on their feet. The heroes then saw in the distance what looked like normally inanimate objects roaming around, causing chaos. Cars without people, lamp posts, post boxes and buses without drivers were walking, hoping, and driving by themselves. They were bashing and crashing into everything they saw. They were all glowing green like they were under some kind of spell, thought Ladybug. While all Chat Noir was thinking of was how hungry he was starting to feel after his labour-intensive journey.  

Suddenly the objects start hurtling towards them but luckily both Ladybug and Chat Noir move out of the way from the out of control objects. The heroes then hop onto various signs and posts which were not affected by the mysterious green glow. The sign which Chat Noir landed started to bow from his weight. Ladybug then see a civilian trapped underneath a collapsed bus shelter. Using her quick thinking, she grabs out her yo-yo and lifts off the bus shelter to rescue a middle-aged woman who was trapped. The women then thanks the much skinnier hero and runs to safety.  

Just then a tall, thin man appears from around the side of a building.  He was wearing sharp pointed green glasses and was in a black and white striped suit. He had a long face with a clearly defined jaw line. He had a curly moustache and a sly grin on his face. “Well well well if it isn’t Ladybug and Chat Noir. I’m glad you’ve decided to show up to my lecture,” said the mysterious man. He did a double take when he glanced at the much larger Chat Noir, pointed, and said, “Wow… well it looks like this kitty has been having way too much milk,” laughs the man.

The heroes land back on the street pavement, ready to attack as Chat Noir growls, “I may have gained a little weight, but I can still move just as fast.”

Ladybug yells, “Who are you?”

“My name is Professor Animate and I’m here to teach you a lesson in physics,” he says as he pulls out a black fine tip pen from his dress shirt pocket. He then uses it as a wand, as a green beam of energy emerges from his pen and zaps one of the stationary cars. It begins glowing with a green aura as its engine begins to start up. It then races towards the two heroes.  Ladybug uses her yo-yo to lift her up to safety. While Chat Noir dives out of the way. His gut freely jiggling as he places his hand on his belly to try and steady it.

Ladybug then uses her yo-yo to strike the akumatised villain, but he manages to dodge her attack. Ladybug then helps Chat Noir to his feet as he places his hand on his gut and says, “Still trying to get used to this.”

Ladybug, blushes bright red as she says to herself, “C’mon, stay focused.”

The Professor observes the increased tension between the two and then turns towards a now quiet bakery. He then uses his pen and zaps the pastries and cakes which were on the display shelves. They begin glowing with a green aura and miraculously start to roll out of the bakery. Ladybug charges towards the Professor and goes in for another attack.

While this was happening, the pastries roll towards Chat Noir. He uses his staff to push them away. However, he accidently trips and lands on his large rear. He drops his staff, and it rolls away from him. The pastries begin to overwhelm the large hero as they force themselves into his mouth. All Chat Noir could do was munch down on the sweets as they continued to enter his mouth. He begins to feel full of the pastries as he was still stuffed from his trip to the factory. While chowing down on a cinnamon roll he thinks to himself that he should come here on his next bakery raid.  

“Enjoying your meal, fat Chat?”, laughs the Professor.

Ladybug, who was caught up with battling the akmatised villain, turns around to find her partner being force fed. “Don’t worry M’lady I got this. I’ve trained for thi…. mmmmffffh”, Chat Noir muffles a danish enters his mouth. Chat Noir lets out a burp after devouring the sweet. He then grabs the next danish and stuffs it in his mouth. Sweet after sweet and pastry after pastry he devours them all. He begins to feel uncomfortably stuffed from the mountain of food he demolished. His belly pushing further out, which causes his suit to rip even more. Chat Noir then rolls onto his side to reach his staff. He then uses it as a support to stand up.

“Hufff… Well that’s what you call fast food,” Chat Noir says patting his large belly.

“Hmmm, well you finished your meal earlier than expected you greedy cat. How about round two?”, Professor Animate replies.

“Not so fast mister. Lucky Charm!”, Ladybug yells as she swings her yo-yo into the air. A red and black spotted old school rotary phone appears above her head.

She then catches it and says, “Hmm… I think my grandmother has one of these, but how is this going to help me?”

She then looks around to see what she can use to defeat the villain. She turns around and sees a streetlight down the road, Chat Noir, and manhole cover light up. Ladybug then says, “I’ve got it,” as she summersaults over towards the stuffed and groggy Chat Noir and whispers her plan to him.  

Whilst still holding the rotary phone, Ladybug dashes over to pick up the manhole cover. She then equips it as if it were a shield. The Professor uses his pen to zap more sweets from the bakery. She then uses the manhole cover to deflect the Professors green beams. “Yes, I’m right… his attacks only work for objects he is mentally aiming for,” Ladybug says whilst the Professor growls.    

She then charges towards Professor Animate and yells, “Get into position Chat!”

Chat Noir then runs or more accurately wobbles, panting heavily with each step he takes. Ladybug then continued to push back the Professor, who appears to have a look of concern on his face. Ladybug’s eyes slightly peer above the manhole cover as she then swings the rotary phone like a boomerang. The handset cord catches the Professor’s arm while the handset swings around the nearby streetlight. His arm is then pulled back as the phone tightly wraps around the streetlight. Trying to free himself, Chat Noir who was still running, changes direction towards the villain. He then jumps and lands on the Professor, belly first. This then knocks him down as he is smothered by Chat Noir’s hefty bulk.

“Looks like this kitty has caught you. Also, I want to thank you for my breakfast. Too be honest I’m still pretty hungry, but unfortunately for you, you won’t be getting your just desserts,” Chat Noir says as he smiles and burps in the Professor’s face.  

Chat Noir then yells, “Cataclysm!” as his hand begins emitting black energy bubbles. The Professor tightens his grip on his pen as Chat Noir grabs it from him and it begins to disintegrate. The akuma flies out from the pen. Chat Noir then rolls off the Professor and he transforms back into the science professor from the nearby university.

“No more evil doing for you little akuma, time to de-evilise” says Ladybug as she captures the butterfly. “Bye bye little butterfly. Miraculous Ladybug!” yells Ladybug as she releases the butterfly and throws her yoyo into the air. With a woosh of magic, everything returns to normal.

She then helps up Chat Noir whose belly was still on full display for her to ogle at. “Well I must say your extra weight definitely helped take down that villain. Maybe Master Fu could train you in sumo wrestling,” Ladybug giggles.

“Yeah I’ve come to really enjoy being big,” Chat Noir replies, giving his belly a shake. “Maybe next time I won’t eat too much that I burst out of my suit,” he blushes.

“Not if I can help it,” Ladybug mumbles.

“What was that M’lady?”, Chat Noir asks.

“Ummm… not... It’s not a bad look,” Ladybug says as she blushes bright red.

Chat Noir smiles cheekily and says, “Well since you turned everything back to normal. I might make a trip to a bakery on my way home. Who knows maybe I’ll eat everything they have in store.”

Ladybug bites her lip and thinks to herself; she couldn’t believe she was attracted to Chat Noir.   

[bensboynton]

the bookshop on the corner b.h

this request was originally a blurb but then i wrote a few thousand words and it turned to a fic. so. oops?

WC: 3.3k

warnings: none besides typos!! only ONE curse word.

John Green once said, “As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once.”

And as a hopeless romantic, Y/N has wished since the original publication of the novel said quote appeared in (The Fault in Our Stars; one of her more modern favorites) that she could relate. In even the slightest!

Although, it was quite hard being a hopeless romantic who had absolutely zero men who were even slightly interested in her, zero social skills, and zero opportunity to fall in love with anybody. 

Until today. 

Y/N works at a bookshop in the corner of a quiet East Sussex street, in a town called Rye. The shop is squished between a small deli and a bland boutique that sells flowy shirts she swears she’s seen her grandmother wear on a few occasions. 

The store itself is quaint and small; an absolutely staggering number of seven whole bookshelves filled to the brim with words, a lounging area, and her desk where she also had an old cash register. Y/N often worked alone, as the owner had other businesses and placed almost all her trust in Y/N. The girl was completely okay with working alone. 

Her routine was always the same; wake up at 6 am, get ready while dancing to whatever music she’d been listening to recently (you’d be surprised by how fast her music taste changes: just yesterday she was listening to Miley Cyrus and now she’s listening to various punk bands she discovered on the internet). She’d then walk to the café that was exactly 95 steps away from the stoop of her apartment (give or take a few) and she’d spend around 20 minutes talking to the old woman who runs the place. 

After stalling at the coffee shop, she makes her way across the street to the book shop where she works with one other person; the owner of the shop. 

Y/N’s life is very monotone, and to other people, extremely boring. But not to her. 

Y/N’s entire life exists in a 5 block radius of East Sussex. She goes to the grocery store sometimes, but that’s about as far away she gets from her apartment and she’s completely okay with that. She eats takeout a lot, anyways.

As pathetic as that sounds, this is probably the happiest Y/N has been in her entire life. Besides when she adopted her cat. That was a very close second in her book. 

Y/N was completely satisfied with her life. She’d talk with the woman who owned the book store she lived in, would greet her mailman with a cheery smile every morning. She knew everybody and everybody knew her. She was friends--scratch that, acquaintances-- with everybody who was around her. And that’s how she liked it. 

In fifth grade, Y/N was bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to find a love like she saw in the movies her big sister watched on the TV all the time. While other kids her age were watching Finding Nemo, Y/N was watching Pretty Woman. 

Then one day, Dale Erdelac, otherwise known as Y/N’s crush, asked her to be his girlfriend during lunch. She stood there with her mouth full of sharp metal braces and her heart full of adrenaline and butterflies. She said yes all too quickly. 

Needless to say, Dale wasn’t serious. Y/N found out a few hours later that it wasn’t, in fact, a serious proposal. It was a dare from his snotty little friends. Y/N cried a lot more than she’d like to admit that day. 

It would be completely immature and nonsensical if the only reason Y/N’s love life was so disappointing was because of a dumb mouth-breather in fifth grade. It’s not, but that’s definitely part of it. 

Y/N has never truly been in love. 

Her mom tries to tell her she has, but she knows she hasn’t. She dated a guy in high school for two years just to pass the time. She told him “I love you” and he said it back, but she didn’t feel love. She didn’t feel the speeding up of her heartbeat when she saw him, or the warmth that spreads across your chest when they laugh like the pretty girls talk about in the movies. 

Her older sister, Peyton, tells her to move on a lot. “That fairytale love doesn’t exist,” she’d say, “it’s a creative outlet for fictional writers to display their nonsense dreams and desires. It can exist in your head, but never in real life.” 

That’s what she said every time. 

Y/N ignored her and kept on living her life in the small bubble of 5 blocks in Rye. 

She was happy. She told herself that. No, she knew she was happy. She was secure! What else could she want in life? 

And then he showed up. 

The tiny bookstore in the corner of the block didn’t get a lot of visitors (although that could be easily inferred due to the description of the little community there). Y/N pretty much knew the name and story of every single person who stepped foot into the shop. 

Until one day, she didn’t anymore. 

It was a cold January day; not the kind where the wind pierces your skin like daggers. It was the kind of cold that felt dry; like it was sucking the water out of your body through your skin and leaving behind a red numbness in its wake. 

A man walked in. He was tall and blonde, muscular and carried a chaotically calming energy. His eyes raked over the book store slowly, as if he was trying to imprint the old wooden rocking chairs and chipped bookshelves in his mind forever. 

It was like every move he made had a perfectly logical purpose. 

Y/N watched him intently from across the room, hidden by a pile of books she’d been meaning to put away for more than an hour now. She was so intrigued by him it made her stomach do a backflip. This was unusual for her. 

As soon as the man started looking her way, she looked down into the book sitting open on her lap, scrambling to pretend she was deep in thought over the passage she was reading. 

Her pupils glossed over the same paragraph three times, but she couldn’t comprehend a single word knowing he was in the same room as her. 

“Excuse me?”

Y/N’s body jolted slightly due to the sudden sound of his deep voice. She was the only one in the bookshop at the moment, as the owner had gone home for the day and it was her turn to close up. The store was never populated by more than six people at a time, and it would be especially dead considering New Year’s Eve was two days ago. 

“What can I help you with?” she spoke, mentally slapping herself for the way her voice sounded. It was pinched and sounded like a squeak. She cleared her throat desperately to return it to its normal sound. 

“I’m looking for a book.”

“What kind of book?”

“Well... that’s what I need your help with.” 

She smiled as an involuntary blush made its way to her already rosy cheeks, “I think I can help you.” 

She stood up and walked from behind the desk, beckoning the tall blonde man to go with her. The pair made their way to the bookshelves in awkward and palpable silence. The girl was panicking- she had no idea what to say. 

“I was wondering if you had any recommendations?” The Brit added to the nonexistent conversation. 

Y/N thought for a moment, “...well, I’m not sure what kind of person you are, but I recommend any classic literature to people who ask.” 

“Does the type of person I am happen to determine the type of books I like?”

“It’s the only thing that determines what type of books you like.”

The girl turned around, her fingers lightly dancing over the spines of the books as she walked. The tall man was on her heels, seemingly just as intrigued by her and she was with him. 

“Of course we have Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, To Kill A Mockingbird, Wuthering Heights, and of course, my favorite of all time, The Great Gatsby.” She was picking out the books from their places on the shelves that she had memorized over her six years of working here. She knew the placement of books and authors like the back of her hand.

The man gazed at the pile of books in her arms thoughtfully, before meeting her eyes. “I’ll take it.” 

“Which one?” 

“All of them.” 

She grinned at his eagerness. 

--

After ringing up his books and a slight burst of confidence, Y/N was able to discover the man’s name and his reason for suddenly buying four books two days after New Year’s Eve. 

Ben (a name she thought suited him particularly well) was starting a New Year’s Resolution; read one book a month. He confided in her his self-doubt on his ability, but with a small grin, she said she believed in him. His smile grew as he picked up the bag and left. 

Y/N could’ve cursed herself into oblivion for not getting his number. 

--

The girl walked across the street that next morning, balancing a coffee and a copy of the newest book that had arrived at the store. 

That was one of the best perks of her job, she thought. Access to the newest stories. While she pondered the last chapter she had read of her book, a blonde head of hair in the distance caught her eye. 

“Excuse me?” a very familiar voice spoke. Y/N’s cheeks almost immediately flushed at those two words. Deja Vu. 

“You’re back!” she spoke, almost as to question why. It’s not often someone new comes back twice, much less is standing at the door before she even gets there.

“I am,” he spoke breathily, scratching the back of his neck, “I wanted to come back to... well...” he trailed off, eyes dancing to the floor. 

Y/N waited patiently for him to say what he meant to (she knew that’s what she’d want if she was in his shoes).

“I needed to get your name, at least. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t.” 

The girl bit the inside of her cheek to stop her mouth from stretching into a grin that was a mile long. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear as she stared at her shoes for a moment. 

She made direct eye contact with Ben’s hazel eyes and smiled, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose slightly. 

“Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, his eyes going hazy as he thought about it.  

Ben followed her inside and sat down next to her desk quickly, almost as if he was afraid he’d run out of time. 

“I read The Great Gatsby yesterday... you said that one was your favorites, right?” 

Y/N nodded, taking a delicate sip from the paper cup of coffee still in her hand. 

“Right. Well. I have a few questions.” 

Y/N nodded vigorously. She could practically feel the twinkle in her eye, “I’m all ears.”

--

Y/N went home that day with a swarm of butterflies making a home in the pits of her stomach. Ben had spent the better part of four hours with her, discussing the book he read and many, many other things. 

When Ben left the shop that day, she had learned that his favorite color was clear (he thought it made him quirky) and he had a dog named Frankie. Y/N saw quite a few pictures of Frankie that day. She was a cat person, but she couldn’t tell if it was the dog or the way Ben’s eyes lit up when he talked about her that made her heart swell. 

She also learned that Ben hated reading, and that he was mildly confused as to why he seemed to enjoy the Great Gatsby so much. 

“It’s got to be because of you,” he mused, “I’ve never enjoyed reading a book until this one.” 

Y/N also learned that Ben was an incredibly smooth talker. 

He made her blush and giggle like a school-girl almost all day. It physically pained Y/N when she had to leave him alone to help a customer. She wished she could sit there and bask in him and all that he was. 

Y/N wasn’t positive if love at first sight existed before, but now she hadn’t been more positive of anything in her entire life. 

--

Y/N hadn’t had anyone new to talk to in years (she wishes that was an exaggeration). 

So you could definitely imagine the girl’s surprise to see a young British man with a shared admiration for the Great Gatsby at the book shop again before opening time. 

The day prior seemed to repeat itself. And then, every single day after that. 

For three months, Ben would come to the book store and wait outside for Y/N to come and open up. And Y/N spent three weeks barely getting any sleep and talking to her cat about how excited she was to see Ben the next day. 

Y/N and Ben got very close. 

Insanely close. 

So close to the point that Ben knew every single secret she had kept to herself. He knew the name of her first pet and childhood address (which she realized Ben could easily use to change the passwords on innumerable online shopping accounts). 

Ben knew about the one time she had an allergic reaction to a medicine she was on when she was younger, and he even knew about fucking Dale. That was a story Y/N kept to herself. But she told Ben. 

But this relationship was definitely not onesided. Y/N knew just about everything there was to know about Ben. 

She knew the names of his childhood best friends and his favorite flavor of ice cream. She knew about the one time he got arrested when he was a teenager because he was lighting off fireworks in the street at 3 am. She also knew that Ben was an actor that was currently working on a new film. But she wanted to know even more. 

Ben left every day at around 11:30. Y/N had no idea where he went or what he did, but he was never more than five minutes late before he stood up, gave her a big smile and left. 

Y/N had never been in love before but she knew with every fiber of her being, with every bone, muscle, and cell in her body that she was in love with Ben. 

And almost as soon as she realized this, there came some news. 

Earth-shattering, heart-wrenching news. 

He was leaving. 

“I have to go back to the states to finish this film in three days,” he muttered into the quiet air of the book store he had grown so familiar with, “and I won’t be back for at least two months.” 

Y/N could physically feel her heart drop in unison with the butterflies in her stomach. He was leaving, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. 

She had given him a sad smile and taken a thoughtful sip of the tea sitting on her desk. 

“Oh well. Guess I’ll see you in two months, right?” 

"Yeah,” Ben said with a grimace, “right.” 

--

The two of them spent those last few days talking quickly; trying to fit as many words into as little amount of time as possible. It felt like they were suffocating with how fast they were talking and how fast the conversation was moving. Her head would hurt at trying to process so many conversations and stories and little peccadilloes the pair were hurling at each other. 

It was like they were making up for the time the two of them knew they were going to lose. 

On Ben’s last day, Y/N told him of her fear of love and the lack thereof in her life. She told him of her strong desire to be able to relate to the John Green quote. He didn’t say much to that. 

She was so in love with him. And she didn’t think he was in love with her. 

His flight was at 1:00 that day. He left at noon instead of 11:30. Y/N felt her heartbeat increase as the seconds passed by for that last half hour, almost like she was genuinely frightened of him leaving. 

He said goodbye with the first hug the pair ever shared and a light kiss to the top of the head. Y/N’s face was comparable to a fire hydrant. 

Ben swore he would keep in contact, but with the differing time zones, Y/N knew deep down that wouldn’t happen. 

So, with a heavy heart, she caught up on some things around the shop she had been slacking on these past few weeks. 

She blinked away the tears in her eyes a few times, mentally shaming herself for being so upset this man she met three months earlier was leaving. She should’ve known. Or even better, she should’ve said something. 

The girl watched in agony as the clock hit 1:00 that afternoon, and felt a pang in her chest as she thought of him jetting far, far, away from her. 

He would never remember her. She was a quiet girl who worked in a quiet bookshop that was located in a quiet corner of an even quieter town. There was nothing she could do. 

She started sweeping lazily, letting the broom lightly drag across the floor. She didn’t even acknowledge the fact that she wasn’t sweeping anything up. 

She almost peed her pants, though, when a loud noise sounded throughout the otherwise empty bookshop and the door was thrown open the fastest it’s been in its entire life. So fast, in fact, that it fell off its hinges and onto the floor, simultaneously shattering the glass panes that made up the middle.

The girl stumbled backward in shock, her heart pumping not only because of the loud noise, but also because of the person who broke the door. 

Ben. 

The widest smile to ever adorn her pretty face was stretching across her lips. In an adrenaline filled moment, she was off the floor and in his arms. He was stiff and shocked at first, but almost immediately melted into her strangely warm embrace. 

“What are you doing? Your flight was supposed to leave 15 minutes ago!” Y/N exclaimed, the confusion finally finding its way to her intricate brain. 

“I-I couldn’t do it. Not without telling you something first.” 

Y/N’s heart was beating so hard she swore he could see it pounding out of her chest like it does in the cartoons. 

“There’s really no easy way to do this, but here goes nothing,” Ben spoke, clearing his throat, “Y/N, I know we haven’t known each other for that long but I really, really, really like y-” 

Before the beautiful, perfect man could finish his sentence, Y/N was pushing her lips against his in a mad frenzy to release a tension that had been palpable for months. 

Ben melted into the kiss faster than he melted into the hug, his lips moving against hers oh-so-perfectly. 

It felt like they were made to be together. 

It felt like Y/N had been searching for the final puzzle piece to her life for 27 years, and now here she was, standing in the middle of the bookshop on the corner with the glass door shattered on the floor, finally finishing her life-long puzzle. 

“I think I love you.”

“I think I love you too,” she whispered into the quiet that had again settled over the bookstore. 

Maybe Y/N didn’t fall in love while watching Ben read, as John Green said one of his characters did. But she did fall in love like she fell asleep. 

Slowly, then all at once. 

[writing-for-amusement]

Commission for Confidence, 6

Summary:  Y/N has been struggling with her self-esteem for years. After incessant pushing from your best friend, Y/N decides to commission an artist to draw her, expecting everything to happen via Internet. However, when your phone is stolen, you try to cancel the commission, but Peter Parker has other ideas. He quickly becomes enraptured by you, and a friendship forms easily. Will it lead to something more? Or will your past fears get in the way?

A/N: I hope you guys like this chapter! It’s probably gonna speed up a little bit after this one, at least in time passage. I might try and draw a layout of Y/N’s apartment, but I don’t have such a concrete idea of how it’s formed yet, so who knows what’ll happen with that.

Remember, if you want to be on my taglist for this, just let me know! If you want to be on my “everything” taglist (since I have a new series started), just let me know!!! If you’re already on this taglist and want to be on the permanent one, just tell me, because I don’t want to assume anything!!

Taglist: @pparkerwrites​, @scatterbrainedgenius​, @jordyns-library​, @wildfirecracker​, @pastlives-purplesouls, @maybemona​

Word Count: 2322

Warnings: photography, awkwardness as always, getting in your personal bubble but not aggressively, Peter being a cutie patootie

“H-how about we get started?” you asked rhetorically. “How do you want me?”

“Uh, just sort of relax, don’t mind me, I’ll be pretty quick with the camera,” Peter said, putting the camera up to his face.

Rather awkwardly, you shifted slightly, looking at your mug. With a quick idea in your mind, you put the mug next to your face and turned, pretending to kiss Spider-Man’s logo while looking at the camera.

Peter almost tripped over his feet again, but you chalked it up to a spare pencil that was on the floor.

“Why don’t you tell me about your favorite place?” Peter asked as the shutter clicked.

You puffed your cheeks as you tried to think, blowing out the air as you made your decision. “I have this little spot in my apartment,” you began, glancing out the window and holding the mug to your chest. “It’s in my closet, under the corner shelves, which are kinda wide. I can fit down there, along with my laptop and some snacks. Maybe I could even fit another person in there, I don’t know, I’ve never tried.”

“What do you do there?” Peter prompted you to continue.

You smiled gently as you thought about how comforted the spot made you feel. “I have some blankets draped over the shelves to close it off from light. I taped a bunch of little fairy lights to the top and along the walls, and I piled a bunch of pillows and blankets down there. When I’m feeling down, or like everything is too much, I can go to that little spot and shut out the rest of the world. It’s really comfy and makes me feel safe.”

“Sounds like it,” Peter hummed. “Look this way, please.”

You turned your head and smiled at Peter’s sincere response. “Maybe someday you’ll get to see it. It’s a nice little hidey hole.”

“I’d be honored,” he grinned at you.

After a few more minutes of Peter asking you to pose your arms and face various ways, he asked you to stand up and put the mug on the stool.

“Oooooh,” you teased, “we’re mixing it up.”

“Gotta stay on your toes,” he replied easily. “Stand against the wall as comfortably as you can, try not to look stiff.”

As you followed his directions, you said, “You know, Peter, by telling me to not look stiff, I’m gonna look stiff. You know that, right?”

Peter chuckled and let his camera hang from his neck. He crossed towards you and guided you into a leaning position instead of a standing one. Your body was angled to the window, and he positioned your right arm to be slightly above your head against the wall.

You tried to keep your pulse and your breathing under control, but it was hard when Peter was making you so aware of everything you’d ever done. He smelled faintly of the coffee shop from earlier, and also just slightly of some sort of sweet fruity bodywash. Your hands wanted nothing more to cup his gorgeous jaw, but you kept your body posed the way he wanted it.

“Perfect,” he whispered, looking down at you. You looked down to avoid bursting into flames from the intensity of his look.

After a few more moments, Peter moved away from you and you felt like you could breathe again. He talked aimlessly to you, his voice getting you to relax, as he snapped a few more photos. After a joke about the elements had you laughing with your head thrown back, Peter announced that he was done with the photography portion.

“Now what?” you asked, picking your mug up and taking a long drink.

“Well—” Peter stopped as he looked at his watch. “Actually, can I walk you home really quick? I just remembered I have something to do.”

“Ah, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he reassured you, quickly putting away his camera and heading to the door. You followed, a little surprised by his longer-than-normal strides.

The two of you quickly put on your shoes and you made sure you had all your stuff. Peter opened the door and let you out, quickly shutting and locking the door after asking Karen to turn off all the lights. You almost couldn’t keep up with Peter because he was walking so fast and you didn’t have his long stride.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as you waited for the elevator.

“It’s alright, I run late more than I’d like,” you waved off his apology.

Sooner than you knew, you and Peter were walking down the sidewalk, and a more comfortable pace than before. Peter kept you entertained with stories from college and you were laughing so much that you nearly fell over multiple times.

You stopped in front of your apartment building and Peter faced you, a smile on his face that made your heart do jumping jacks.

“Hey, I’m sorry to ask this,” Peter rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “but can I come up and use your bathroom?”

You blinked a few times before nodding. “Of course, just follow me.”

After crossing the empty lobby (no doorman for you), you began your trek up the stairs, Peter following closely behind you, but not uncomfortably close. You truly hated that the elevator hadn’t been fixed yet, because when you were carrying groceries, you often dropped at least two items on the climb to the eighth floor.

“Here we are,” you announced as you made it to your floor, panting only slightly. You crossed to your apartment and unlocked the door, letting Peter in.

“This is a cute little place,” Peter said sincerely, making you chuckle.

“It’s nice, I do enjoy living here,” you replied. “Though it could be better, it could be much, much worse.” You toed off your shoes as you said, “The bathroom is the first door on the right down the hallway.”

“Thanks,” Peter nearly sprinted to the hallway.

You chuckled to yourself and put your bag on your couch. You turned on the TV and opened the HULU app, thinking to yourself about the incredibly enjoyable afternoon you spent with Peter. He was so sweet and funny that he constantly had your heart in disarray, trying to maintain your composure.

After a few minutes, a slightly ruffled Peter appeared out of your bathroom. He was slightly flushed, but you pushed the strangeness of it aside.

“Thanks so much,” Peter smiled at you, standing not even a foot away from you.

“Thank you, Peter,” you beamed. “I had so much fun this afternoon.”

“I did too,” he breathed, stepping ever so slightly closer. “I want to hang out again soon, anytime you’re available, just for fun.”

“I don’t find that to be unreasonable,” you grinned.

Peter’s smile grew. “I’ll email you later, okay? That’ll be the easiest way to get in contact with you until your phone is in, right?”

“Yeah!”

“Awesome,” he beamed. “Well, I’d better get going.”

You walked him to the door. “Thanks again for a wonderful afternoon, Peter. I’m glad we did this. You are a delight.”

“So are you,” he murmured as he faced you. Contemplation crossed his face and he quickly leaned forward, kissing your cheek. “I’ll see you soon,” he stated.

“Bye, Peter,” you managed to keep the stutter from your lips.

“Bye, Y/N, my new bestie,” he winked as he walked backwards out the door before nearly running to the stairs.

With the kiss still burning on your cheek, you slowly closed and locked your door. You leaned against it and couldn’t contain the small squeal and giggle that bubbled up from your chest. You couldn’t remember the last time your heart felt so incredibly light.

 About two hours of restlessness later, you decided to sit on your fire escape and read a book. You liked to sit there in the evenings and watch the traffic dip before coming to life with the night scene. There was a strange sense of peacefulness that came with sitting on the fire escape and sipping your tea, thumbing through your book or work, depending on the day.

You brought your small reading lamp out with you so that you could read when the sun went down completely. It was a nice night and you were soothed by the ambient noises of the traffic below; it helped calm your restlessness that had cropped up after Peter kissed your cheek and winked at you.

Your tea was long gone by the time you closed your book to look out at the buildings and life going on around you.

“Hello,” a deep voice surprised you.

You jumped in surprise and looked up to see Spider-Man perched on your fire escape railing, watching you with a tilt of his head. His mask moved slightly as you clutched at your chest instinctively to try and calm your heart.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice obviously altered.

“I-it’s fine,” you stuttered, glad that your tea was definitely gone, and the mug was sitting next to you. Otherwise, you definitely would have accidentally thrown it at the superhero. You’d nearly thrown your book at him.

“Whatcha doing on your fire escape?” the hero asked, sliding off the railing to gracefully sit facing you. “Is there something wrong?”

Your eyebrows knitted together, and you shook your head with a reassuring smile. “No, why would you think that?” you asked him.

“A lot of times, I see people sitting on their fire escapes when they want to escape the world, so,” he shrugged, “I figured that I’d ask.”

You chuckled at him and shook your head slightly. “I like the ambient sound of the traffic. I got a little restless a few hours ago and thought this might help,” you found yourself explaining to the hero.

He nodded in understanding before looking at you with narrowed white eyes. “What made you restless, random citizen?”

“Why do you want to know so bad?” you shot back with a smirk.

The white eyes of the mask widened and that made you chuckle. “I-I was just curious, that’s all, maybe I could help?”

You laughed lightly and raised your hands to placate his stuttering. “No worries, hero of Queens!” you smirked.

“So,” he prompted, scooting closer the eyes of the mask widened and narrowed, appearing to act like eyebrows, “are you going to tell me?”

Your laugh floated through the air again and you nodded. “I met this guy today,” you began almost shyly, a soft smile on your face. “He’s super sweet and funny and smart, and, well, I find myself already liking him a lot. He’s really easy to get along with, really easy to talk to, you know? He has this light inside him that makes me want to be around him more and more. He walked me home, which is more than I can say for a lot of my ‘friends’ I’ve had in the past.” You trailed off slightly, your eyebrows furrowing.

“What about this made you restless?” Spider-Man asked gently.

“Well,” you sighed, “he’s really cute, and he’s kinda flirty. Not that I mind, of course, but after he left, I found myself thinking about how I wanted to see him again, but I don’t want to bother him, and I know he probably has cooler friends than me. And, well, he kissed my cheek and that nearly made me burst into flames. I don’t know,” you sighed again, “I think my anxiety just had me thinking a lot about everything.”

Spider-Man nodded in understanding. “Well, how do you know he doesn’t think you’re cool? Or at least as cool as his other friends?”

You chuckled sadly. “Look at me, Spider-Man, I’m a very lame human. It’s a Saturday night and I’m sitting on my fire escape, reading a book I’ve read eighteen times before, with no more tea because I already drank it. I’m hardly the coolest kid on the block.”

“Well,” he tilted his head in thought, “I barely know you, and I think you’re pretty cool. Just don’t worry, I’m sure he thinks you’re as great as you think he is.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Sure, Spider-Man. So,” you leaned towards him, “what brings you to my fire escape?”

He shrugged. “Saw a beautiful woman on a fire escape, figured I should make sure she’s okay.”

You giggled slightly and covered your mouth with your hand. “Okay, sure, Spider-Man,” you drawled teasingly. “Maybe you were just lonely.”

“I’ll never tell,” he informed you dramatically

You laughed again and shook your head at his antics. “Alright, well, Spider-Man, if you ever do get lonely, feel free to knock on my window. And, well, thank you for dropping in,” you tried to push the heat away from your cheeks. “My first time meeting you has gone pretty well, if I do say so. And, well, I think talking about it helped me out.”

“I’m happy to help, Y/N,” he stated firmly, standing gracefully. “And thanks for the information. I enjoyed talking to you.”

“Likewise, Spider-Man,” you smirked, standing as well. He hopped on the railing and turned to give you a mock salute. “Wait, how did you know my name?”

“Bye!” he exclaimed quickly, swinging away immediately after that.

You sighed affectionately—because Spider-Man was as nice as everyone said—and climbed back inside your apartment with your stuff. Meeting Spider-Man was nice, but it ended up draining your social battery the rest of the way. After locking the window, you closed the curtains and went about your nightly routine.

As you stared at the ceiling from your bed, trying to hunt down sleep, you thought back to your day once again. Your cheek tingled and warmed at the memory of the kiss and you found yourself drifting off to sleep with the same warmth filling your body.

[minjinlix-blog]

of ramen and duck slippers (minho x reader)

➥ words: 2.4k ➥ genre: fluff, college!au ➥ pairing: lee minho x reader ➥ summary: you keep running into this guy on campus. but hey, he’s pretty cute. ➥ warning: mentions of alcohol & suggestive comments from a greasy minho

The first time you run into Lee Minho, it’s 3am and he’s drunk.

You’re in your pajamas, hair more unkempt than a bird’s nest, and you’ve walked across the street from your university dorm to pick up some midnight ramen from the local convenience store. Well, 3am ramen actually. You and your roommate Jisung had been marathoning your favorite TV show in celebration of the end of another week of classes but he had fallen fast asleep next to you, his snores getting louder and louder by the minute.  You didn’t have the heart to shove him off your bed, and you figured you were craving some spicy noodles anyway, so you had slipped your feet into your duck-printed dorm slippers and left the building.

Tapping your slippers back and forth as you’re debating between the super spicy ramen or the super super spicy ramen, a body stumbles into your aisle, startling you out of your intense mental debate. Looking over in surprise, you see a boy roughly the same age as yourself, black hair disheveled and mussed. He clearly had been at a party of some sorts - it’s a Friday night, after all - given the faint whiff of alcohol around him and the slightly glazed over look in his eyes. He’s really cute, and all of a sudden a wave of self-consciousness washes over you. You’re aware of how nasty you must look - when was the last time you showered? Did you still have stink breath from the bag of chips you and Jisung ate earlier in the night?

The boy gives you a half smile, a little lopsided, and you’re surprised by how perfect his teeth are and how pretty his eyes are, even glazed over from being buzzed. “Hey there,” he says, his voice light and teasing.

“Hi,” you say a little unsurely. “Can I help you?”

“Hm.” The boy walks over closer to you and stares at the rows of ramen. “That’s a good question. Got any good ramen suggestions? I’m kind of feeling the munchies.”

“The what?” You ask. Who even is this boy?

“Oh. I’m Lee Minho, junior computer science major.” He - Minho - sticks his hand out for you to shake. Shoot, had you said that last thought out loud?

You take his hand - it’s small but his grip is firm. He seems surprisingly put together for someone who had clearly been partying. “Y/N. Uh, also a junior. But an English major. And I recommend the Nongshim ramen; it’s my favorite,” you confess. You point at the ramen cups in front of you, and Minho’s eyes trail down slowly from your face down your neck and across your arm to shelf. You feel weirdly exposed, even though you’re wearing a ratty old sweater that’s two sizes too big for you and covers any sort of shape you might have under it.

Minho blinks at the shelf, then grabs three cups from the rack. “Great! Thanks, Y/N!” He walks away toward the cashier. As you watch him go, he accidentally drops a cup. As he bends down to pick it up, he shouts down the aisle: “By the way, cute slippers!”

You look down and flush as you stare at the duck-printed slippers, the bright yellow pattern glaring back at you.

The second time you run into Lee Minho, you thought he had forgotten you.

“Hey, it’s you!” Minho exclaims as he catches your eye on the first day of spring semester, approximately four months after you had first met him. You’re in the front row of your comparative literature class, ready to get swarmed with the usual millions of pages of reading assignments, and seeing the cute boy from the convenience store you ran into once upon a time was a pleasant surprise. You’re pleased to remember that you did in fact brush your hair today and that you were actually wearing something kind of cute.

“Hi,” you smile at him as he slides into the seat next to you. “Why are you taking this class? It’s not in your major, right?”

“Nah,” Minho smiles easily.  “I just heard it was an easy class.  Gotta maintain that GPA, you know.”

You raise your eyebrows.  “Was someone trying to play a prank on you? Comparative lit is the required class for junior English majors.  It’s notorious for being, like, the hardest class in the major sequence.”

Minho’s eyes widen almost comically. “Shit! Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? Is it too late to drop the class?”

You shrug. “You could go talk the the registrar about it.”


Minho groans and slumps backwards in his seat, hair falling into his eyes. “That’s so much worrrrk,” he blows a piece of hair out of his face.  He’s quiet for a moment before he sits straight up again.

“Well, I’m off to go beg them to let me drop the class,” he says, standing up.

As he leaves the classroom, he shouts across the room: “Give my love to those cute duck slippers of yours!” He winks at you, and you feel your face heat up as your eyes follow his body disappearing around the corner.

If you keep running into this boy, you’re positive you’re going to have a heart attack.

The third time you run into Lee Minho, it’s because of Jisung.

You’re walking together with him, bubble tea in hand, and as you pass by the performing arts department building of your university, a boy walks out. Jisung gasps.

“Minho my man!” He calls out. “What’s up?”

Minho jogs over, grinning at Jisung. “Hey, Hannie-boy! Haven’t seen you in a while!”

“Hannie-Boy?” You whisper to Jisung.

“It’s what all the dance majors call me,” he explained.

“Wait, I thought you were a computer science major, Minho,” you narrow your eyes at the taller boy.  His eyes slide over from Jisung to you, his smile never faltering.

“Well, Duck Slippers, there’s something called ‘two majors.’” He winks at you.

“How do you two know each other?” Jisung asks, looking curiously between the two of you.

“Oh, we had a drunken 3am tryst between some shelves,” Minho says suggestively. You choke and Jisung looks at you with wide eyes.

“Y-Y/N? Really?” He sounds shocked, and you almost feel offended.

“Shelves of ramen,” you clarify, clearing your throat. “And he was the inebriated one, not me.”

“I wasn’t inebriated,” Minho protests. “I was simply...tipsy.”

“Sounds fake, but okay!” Jisung pipes up, giggling.  “But why do you call Y/N Duck Slippers?”

“Jisung, we’re literally roommates. How have you not seen my duck slippers before?” You smack his arm. He whines in pain.

“What do you mean duck slip-oh. Wait. Is that what they are?” Jisung looks almost scandalized. “I thought they were sunflowers!”

“In what world do sunflowers and ducks look alike?” Minho laughs. You join in.

Jisung pouts and crosses his arms, sniffing. “Well, I can see I’m not wanted here.  I’m going to the library to wallow in self-pity.”

“Okay, byeee,” you and Minho both say in a singsong manner.

“Have fun!” Minho calls out at Jisung as he walks away in a huff. Jisung slaps his ass in response.

“You seem to know him well,” you comment.

“Yeah, we were in the same dance class last year,” Minho says offhandedly. “And he’d always come over to my room to steal my lollipops.”

“Oh my god, you’re the mystery lollipop guy!” you gasp.

“The one and only,” Minho winks at you, and you will the heat building up your neck to subside. “Why, has Jisung talked about me? Good things, I hope.”

“Hardly. You’re the reason why my room was filled with lollipop wrappers everywhere!” you groan. Last year you had gotten so fed up with Jisung’s dirty habits that you’d withhold his snacks from him until he had cleaned up his side of the room.

Minho snickers. “I don’t think it’s my fault that Jisung’s a slob. But,” he sighs. “If it makes you feel better, I could make it up to you.”

“How?” you ask suspiciously.

“Let’s get lunch,” Minho offers. “On me.” He smiles, flashing his pearly white teeth at you.

“Like...a date?” you press.

Minho shrugs offhandedly. “It could be a date...or it could not be a date. You choose.”

You take a moment to think. Minho’s cute and you want to know more about him.

“It’s a date,” you say decisively.

Minho’s smile turns into a devilish grin. “How did I know you were going to say that?” he muses aloud.

The fourth time you run into Lee Minho, it’s literal. Like, you literally run into him.

You’re sprinting across campus, and it’s 12:10pm. Your class had gotten out late because your professor had been a little too wordy at the end of class, and it was only until you had left the building and checked the time when you realized you were late for your noon lunch date with Minho.

You pull out your phone as you start running over to the campus center where Minho wanted to meet so you can text him that you’re running late. But as soon as you open your messages app, you collide into another body, essentially body slamming the other person to the ground.

“Oomph!” Both of you exclaim in surprise.

Totally winded, you look down at the poor soul you just rammed straight into and realize it’s a familiar face.

“You know, if you wanted to be on top, Duck Slippers, you could’ve just asked.” Minho gives you another lopsided smirk from underneath you. You roll off his body and push yourself off the ground.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you apologize, speaking fast. “My professor let class out late and I was running because I didn’t want to make you wait, but clearly I was worrying for nothing because you also are late and I was just about to text you but then - ”

Minho cuts you off. “Y/N. Breathe.”

You breathe. In and out.

Minho smiles at you, and you think you’ve maybe forgotten how to breathe again.

“Great. Let’s go get lunch.” And with that, Minho reaches out and grabs your hand and drags you over to the campus center.

The fifth time you run into Lee Minho, he’s really sweaty.

The stage is dark, and you’re holding your breath in anticipation. You can feel your heart pounding as the crowd is hushed.

All of a sudden, a beat drops and the stage lights flicker on. Your heart bursts when you see Minho rush out onto stage to begin his dance number. You watch in awe as his body moves in sync with the music, each move sharp yet somehow relaxed - Minho makes dancing look easy. It had taken him a while to agree to let you come to his showcase (“No, I’m not good enough yet. Maybe senior year,” he had said) but you had begged with some wise-chosen words (“What kind of a boyfriend doesn’t let their significant other see his dance performances?”) until he had finally given you his extra free ticket.

(“Yeah, boyfriend. Unless you don’t let me watch your dance performance. Then you’re not my boyfriend.”

“Okay, I’m your boyfriend. And you can come watch, I guess.”)

After the performances end, you rush out of your seat and toward the backstage entrance. Running past the other performers and giving them quick congrats and praise, you spot Minho running a towel through his black hair, the front pieces still matted to his forehead with sweat. You beeline toward him and as he’s tossing his sweaty towel away, you throw yourself at him.

“Whoa!” Minho’s arms wrap naturally around your waist as you hug him fiercely.

“You were amazing!” You exclaim, but then pull away quickly. You look at your arms, damp with Minho’s back sweat. “But ew, you need a shower.”

“I know.” Minho leans in close to you, and your heart almost stops. He pecks you on the lips, short and sweet, before moving his lips to your ear. “Wanna shower with me?” he asks suggestively.

You pull away and hit him. “Gross!”

Minho just laughs and snakes his arm around your waist again, pulling you up close to his sweaty side. “One day, Duck Slippers, one day.”

It’s 3am when the credits of the third Lord of the Rings movie start rolling, and you yawn and snuggle deeper in Minho’s body, legs tangled together, your arm splayed across his chest. He’s breathing slowly, and you think he’s asleep when you look up to peck him on the chest.

His eyes flutter open, his unfairly long eyelashes bobbing up and down as he blinks. Minho looks at the rolling text on your laptop. “itssover?” he says groggily, running a hand through his hair to wake him up. “What time is it?”

“Uh,” you check your phone. “Three in the morning exactly.”

“Oh.” Minho drops his arm. It’s quiet for a second. Then his stomach grumbles.

“Wanna go get ramen?” Minho asks. You laugh.

“How cyclical of us,” you snort, hoisting yourself up on the bed so you’re sitting up.

“Hey, don’t go using that English major to say big fancy words around me when I’m too tired to understand.”

“Cyclical isn’t even a big word,” you say dryly before tossing an oversized jacket at Minho’s face. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Just as you’re about to leave your apartment, Minho pulls you back in.

“Wait,” he protests before running back in. You wait a second for him to come out. In his hands are your duck slippers.

“Can’t forget these,” he winks, dropping them at your feet. “Now we can roleplay our first meeting.”

“So you’re saying you want to be inebriated?”

“For the last time, I was tipsy, not drunk!” Minho huffs, but he still wraps his arms around you and dips his head so your faces are very, very close. You can feel his breath wash over your skin.

“Besides, just being with you makes me feel drunk,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek, making your skin tingle. You turn your cheek so your lips meet in a long and deep kiss. Melting into him, your lips mold perfectly against his as his teeth catch your bottom lip and graze against your skin. Your hand comes up to cup his jaw, his skin smooth and warm, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt happier.

“Come on,” you say a minute later when you’ve broken apart. “Let’s go get some ramen.”

[believerindaydreams]

the one that happens after the Baker one

"We're going to be okay," Tuco promises Angel Eyes, as he shuts and locks the broom cupboard. Wishes he had a name to call the man, that wouldn't sound so stupid to say aloud in public.

(trigger warnings: in which various racist comments are made, and Tuco is bratty and unwoke on the subject of feminism.)

He ought to have known better than taking Angel to such a questionable joint- but a part of him had already been itching to get back to a place like this, sizzling neon lights and watered beer, girls who'll spit in your eye once they notice who you're with and why. Living at the hacienda's so safe. And Angel had been the one to suggest it.

"Blondie told me stories. But countrified, prettied up for my benefit-" this with a sardonic look in his eye, the one Tuco used to think was bitter but has since decided is Angel's idea of humour. "I wouldn't mind getting a notion of what the scene looks like to you."

"You promise not to talk too much?" Anybody else, he'd be on pins and needles, ready to cringe at an overplayed hand (it's different for him, that's the whole shtick). But by now they've gotten to know each other; Tuco has a rather definite idea that if he told Angel to shut up, he'd actually shut up. At least in this particular context.

"Easily done. Lay out any ground rules that make sense to you."

Simple as that, eh? "If I say we leave, we go and no argument. Let me take the lead unless some damn cowboy decides that beating me to a pulp sounds like a fun Friday night out, then you do whatever makes sense. Even if that's just leaving, I don't want to look after somebody in a fight when they don't want to be there. And since it's your idea," Tuco had said, drawing just enough irony into his voice- "I'll let you stake us out for it."

"Fine," Angel had said. Before adding, "Anything you win, keep for yourself."

Now that's where the trouble had come in.

Being so broke they'd started dipping into the stake for tequila money, that had not been a good state of affairs. Not that the best room and board he's had since leaving Brooklyn is anything to sneeze at- who's he kidding, the hacienda's way better than that rusty tenement. But there hasn't been a word about the green stuff since meeting Angel, and while that's strangely reassuring, it also worries him what'll happen if the bubble bursts. (How the hell is Blondie managing alone, with only half their cash? Maybe his partner will come back when he gets hungry enough).

Tuco knows better than to stare and lick his lips, watching Angel count out enough money to keep him and his partner for months- but the notion crosses his mind, to just grab the cash and run. Not gonna happen. It's a bank, and there's such a thing as cops, and he could confidently set his life expectancy at three days pus or minus a couple, after a play like that. Doesn't stop him thinking about it. It's a free country.

"We're not doing the hustle, obviously," he explains once they're on the street. "I only do it with Blondie, and anyway we'd have to split up for that. And I'm not dressed for it."

In lieu of his usual eye-catching gear, he's plumped for the skirt-chasing outfit: khaki pants and matching drip-dry jacket and a shirt with just two colours in it, something Angel's been giving him weird looks for ever since they left the house. It's slightly uncomfortable, wearing it for a night like this. Somebody who looks too crazy to fuck doesn't have to worry about anybody trying. Not like Blondie, fending off the offers with a stick whenever people notice he's pretty.

(In a way he's always been jealous of that. But also, it'd just be another problem, make him more vulnerable than he is already, and he'd just as soon give that a miss.)

"Then what did you dress for?" Angel asks.

"A few drinks, a few hands of poker, nothing too messy- I guess you're not looking for a girl at the end of the night, huh? So we won't do this by the book."

"Certain companionship wouldn't necessarily go amiss," Angel Eyes says, taking him by the hand. Thin white gloves for a change, suitable for cardplay, and he's guessed that someone must be getting fairly horny in his partner's absence, but this is almost comical. By Angel's usual standards, they’re practically fucking in the street. He should have gone with that blue-toned Hawaiian shirt after all.

Then again, Baker finally getting the hint and going yesterday means that he's fresh out of options again. And deprivation always gives him an appetite.

"...see how the night goes," Tuco mutters, in a deniable fashion; and then takes his hand away because there are about fifteen good reasons for them not to be seen like this. "And we'll have a few drinks, like I said."

"I don't often drink in public," Angel Eyes says. There's a vibe of transgression there, that he would expect, but maybe not with that much wryness to it. As though it's a private joke instead of a statement of fact.

"Why, you want people to think you're on the wagon?" Plenty of good reasons for that. He's done it himself with girls a couple times, if he hasn't ordered yet and it looks like that'll impress them. "I know you're not a teetotaler, with all the red wine that goes into your soups."

"Believe it or not, the way I cook them burns the alcohol content off. There's no risk of intoxication from my venison stew, I can assure you."

"Oh. That's a little disappointing, I thought it made it more fun...well, if you don't want to, you don't want to. I can fix you up, there's a couple tricks so nobody will know the difference."

"Just the one...shouldn't hurt. No."

Cue a sudden warmth washing through his gut. The tense, attractive quality of that rueful craving- somebody who knows better, not even trying to resist temptation- that doesn't sound like buttoned-up Angel Eyes one little bit, that sounds like him. Or somebody who's been listening to him an awful lot, the last couple months.

Skirt-chasing gear, yes. The clothes he wants other people to see him in, when he wants to fuck them. Damn his instincts.

And damn you too, Blondie. I hope you get back soon...

Which had been the last thought he'd spared for his partner that whole evening, two bars and three nightclubs and a few hands of poker. That he thinks had gone a little better than usual, without having to juggle the hustle and betting and trying not to drool over Blondie looking zesty, although Angel Eyes proves more of a distraction there than he'd like to think. Angel’s certainly never going to cut it as a cardsharp; he’d easily been the weakest player during that Carson foursome, and calling his playing tonight desultory might be kind. Too busy staring at the room, like a wet-behind-the-ears tourist. 

Him ordering the expensive mixed drinks, the ones he'd never had the money to risk trying before. Angel had held off for a while, until they'd accidentally landed up somewhere halfway clean, with a bartender willing to open a new bottle of whisky on request, and had downed the shot in one.

That had been a good two hours ago, but if Angel's not drunk enough to be desperate now, Tuco's at a loss for what's wrong with the man. The moment there’d been a crash on the door downstairs,  Angel had grabbed him and made for an exit as though he’d be rehearsing. 

"Look, these police raids happen all the time. They round you up, you're in the slammer for a night, all a man like you has to do is pay bail and get out." He glances at the door again. Sooner or later somebody's going to look in here and then they're going to be in for it.

"I am not going to let anyone take me anywhere," Angel says, flipping a gun out from somewhere under his coat. No doubt it's loaded. Tuco's positive he knows how to use it.

"You said you'd listen to me, huh? You gonna break a promise? Right now it's just a raid. The cops shove some people around a bit, somebody gets beaten up, they'll survive that. You start shooting, they start shooting, people end up dead. And I'm the kind of guy who's ready made for a target."

"If I have to, I'll use it," Angel says stubbornly; but he shoves the gun in his pocket, and actions always matter more with him. "I can't afford a run-in like that."

"Okay. I said to trust me, I'll get you out of this."

His mind's been working on it, while his mouth's been busy; there's shelves of cleaning products, buckets, a mop cart. Too bad he didn't bring his Duluth- damn it, this is exactly what's wrong with wearing something too stylish to pair with a canoe pack. "You see any rubbing alcohol?"

Wordlessly, Angel takes a bottle down from a high shelf, wraps his fingers around it when they won't cooperate. It occurs to Tuco he might be drunker than he realised.

But the basic idea's solid, he just has to make it work. "Now- um. We take everything off the cart, put it back on the shelf, you hide inside under the tablecloths. Pour some alcohol on me, I'm going to be drunk."

"You are drunk."

"I know, I want to look it. Make me messy."

There's something much too sexy and familiar at once, about the way Angel Eyes almost chokes in disbelief- Blondie ought to know better but still does the same thing, when he's caught off guard. There's something even worse about how fast Angel intuits what he wants, mussing up his hair but good and trickling alcohol down his shirt and adding an artistic scruff of dust to his collar. Fuck it, he's getting a hard-on like nobody's business. Tight pants too, that's not going to help.

"If I were a janitor," Tuco says, with what he's aware is a slightly exaggerated dignity. 

Glances around, paws hopefully at the ventilation duct. Out comes- yes! a beat-up but serviceable edition of Playboy, two of them in fact, and it's not quite what he had in mind but maybe the detail will sell it even better. "Now Angel, you hide yourself in the cart, and for the love of- of somebody or other, don't sneeze."

"You're sure you know what you're doing."

"I better be sure, or with a trigger-happy idiot like you I'm dead. Get movin'," and the last sentence sort of slurs into a yawn, but Angel must get the idea because he disappears from sight.

Now all he has left to do is dab on alcohol like a 'specally good cologne, arrange the magazines in a convincing position and fall asleep on top of the cart, his legs dangling down. Easy.

So easy, in fact, that the next thing he knows is a click of a door unlocking. He snuffles noisily, inches his position slightly so his face lies against the cart's hard plastic; it's easier to fake sleep that way. His breathing's nice and loud when the door opens.

"Hey, you. You work here?"

He keeps snuffling away, happily enough. Two cops, maybe? Not more than that but there must be more around within earshot.

"I guess this idiot's been snoring his way through the whole raid. Stole a magazine to look at the dirty pictures- well, he probably can't read."

"Lusting after them white women," somebody else says, in a mock high-pitched tone. "All right, get him cuffed and bring him down to the station, we're done here."

"Fine. Wake up, you-" at least he's not being handled too harshly, the cop doesn't seem to want to touch him. He sits up after a bare minimum of shoving.

"What's your name, bud?"

"Janitor! Janitor- comprehende? Americano," Tuco says with considerable eagerness, and offers up his stupidest smile. It's one he's practiced in mirrors. "No speaka English."

"Oh christ, you're one of those...."

They take him out to a squad car, him blathering cheerful Spanish for every step; shove him inside. Could be worse, Tuco figures; he's done Angel Eyes enough of a favour that he can probably count on a bailout. He listens to the engine start up with no small satisfaction.

He's just settling against the seat to recommence that nap, when a familiar voice pipes up.

"All right. If you're here, where's Angel?"

"Baker?"

"One and the same. Now think about that question very carefully, because if you don't have an answer by the time I round this corner, you won't live long enough to worry about getting arrested."

"Back inside," Tuco says immediately. "I left him in a broom cupboard."

"Right. We're going back to get him."

"...so, you were a cop all along?"

"Good lord, no," Baker says. "I'm only borrowing this squad car. We'll use mine for the real escape."

The fact that they get away with the operation scot-free says more about the damn improbability of anyone stealing a police car and then giving it back inside of two minutes than Baker's street smarts, Tuco figures.

************

"You were following me," Angel says, once they're back at the house. He looks dead on his feet and Tuco doesn't blame him. "Baker, if you ever do anything like that again, I will-"

"You'll what?" Baker asks, in a jaunty, top-of-the-world fashion. His enthusiasm fades at Angel's frozen glare; Tuco finds himself watching the interplay with genuine curiosity.

Angel turns his head, glances at him. "I will never go on a hunting trip with you again. Ever. Understood?"

"Angel, you wouldn't- would he?"

Now they're both staring at him. "Yes. I think he would," Tuco says.

"Okay, okay! I promise. But you have to admit, I came in handy."

"You were not, and I don't owe you a damned thing. You're needlessly theatrical, it's going to get you killed one of these days, and as for Tuco, my partner and I had it under control."

(He doesn't like the notion, that he might be claimed as anyone else's partner; but he does enjoy the way the words make Baker droop in his tracks.)

"...understood."

"Good," Angel says, casually wiping his knife clean on the cuff of his shirt. "Now go away. Don’t call me, I’ll call you."

"I still say you need a better bodyguard."

"I'll take your opinion under advisement."

"You really are awfully happy together, eh?" Baker asks. "Well. I guess I'd better just go and tell that sweet Blondie he ought to take up with me, since it looks like you two won't be needing him any time soon..."

Tuco eyes Angel; Angel eyes him back.

Baker's bluffing.

He doesn't know what brought Angel to that conclusion, but to him it's obvious enough- Blondie's pushing up their value a little, reminding Angel the two of them have other options. They know each other well enough to trust the other's play, even at a remove.

It's a smart thing his partner's doing, a good move. Maybe he wouldn't have thought so this morning, but that'd been before realising he was still this desperate, that the mere chance to grab a little hard cash had made him stupid enough to stick around in a place long after his instincts had told him to leave. If they'd been smart and kept moving, they never would have been at risk in that raid in the first place.

Then again, he wouldn't have found out that Angel is a gun-happy maniac, and that's worth knowing. And Blondie's coming back. He's bound to.

"Give him my best regards," Angel Eyes says, languidly. "He's welcome to a bowl of soup here whenever he likes."

Tuco opens his mouth. Shuts it again. Years of habit are strong; they don't tell people they're partners, or the whole hustle doesn't work...so he'd better not say anything. Blondie's the one who's always the most worried about secrecy, anyway.

"I'll let him know," Baker says.

He looks rather hurt when he goes.

***************

"Here, you'd better take this back," Tuco says at dinner, pulling the remains of Angel's stake from his pocket. So much for turning a profit; he'd blown through it rather freely, what with drinks and tips and prairie oysters.

"You might keep it for next time," Angel says, in a distinctly abstracted way. Twice already, he's dipped the spoon into his coffee cup instead of his soup bowl, sipped it without apparently noticing the change in flavour. 

"No, no." If this is the way Blondie wants to play it, this is the way they'll play it.

Though it proves an awfully hard thing, to sleep alone that night.

[quantumfizz]

I wrote another OC fanfic at 1 am

(One day I'll write Spinner in-character. But not today)

It’s funny what can happen at a convenience store. You can find a brand of candy bar that you haven’t seen in a decade, you can make a new friend in the form of a tired and overworked cashier in need of a raise, or you can meet a cute reptilian guy in the pastry aisle that's trying to shoplift.

Prior to the creation of the UA dorms, Millie Jones was living in a small flat in Kamino Ward. The rent didn’t cost much, the landlord didn’t mind Millie decorating the entire space with glittery pastels and Looney Tunes posters, and there was a Family Mart across the street that made the best late-night snacks in the universe! Well okay, maybe not the best, but when you’re a transfer student that’s training to become a Hero, there are only so many places that are open 24 hours and carry your favorite pastries and fast foods. Millie got most of her food from that Family Mart, and she enjoyed getting a few ice cream sandwiches and watching the people go by. She made friends with a few of the regular customers: the old man who enjoyed showing off pictures of his Pro Hero granddaughter, the exhausted single mother and her three kids who Millie loved to pieces (and offers to babysit them any time their mom needed a break), the insurance accountant who only drank black coffee and would rant about how reckless Heroes were going to turn his hair grey before he turned 30…

         There was one person she met that stood out in her mind, though. She first saw him on a late Saturday night with a few sweet buns in each hand. He was dressed in a simple grey hoodie and some tattered jeans, but he definitely wasn’t mundane-looking; his skin was scaly and a vibrant shade of green, and his shoulder-length hair was dark purple. Millie noted that it was the exact same shade as her favorite grape soda, and wondered if he dyed it or if he just naturally had cool purple hair. Either way, he was super cute. He had a mysterious air about him, and Millie swore she'd seen him before. Maybe he was an actor or something trying to keep a low profile?

The stranger stuffed a few of the buns into his hoodie’s pockets, and turned to go to the front of the store. He glanced at the register; the cashier’s nose was buried in a gossip magazine, and she hadn’t even noticed that there were any other customers besides Millie. He tentatively took a few steps forward towards the front door, but stopped in his tracks when he heard a bubbly voice behind him.

“Hi~!”

He jumped at the sound and whipped around to face Millie, with a look on his face like he was expecting a fight. After realizing the person behind him wasn’t a cop or Hero, and was in fact a high school girl dressed like a discounted Rainbow Brite doll, he relaxed a bit.

“Uh...hi?” He shifted uncomfortably. This was so awkward. All he wanted to do was get out of this stupid store with a few buns so he could have something to eat this week. This wasn’t his first time grabbing a few snacks and leaving without the cashier noticing, but he was usually at the store by himself. And now he wasn’t.

Millie twirled a finger around one of her pigtails. “I know this is super random and out of nowhere, but I wanted to say you look really cool! I’ve never met someone with purple hair colored like that. It really brings out the green in your uh, scales.”

The stranger was taken aback. Had she really not noticed he was planning on stealing? And wait...did she just call him...cool-looking? He blushed. “Th-thanks,” he replied. Squeaking out a single word counts as a reply, right? He didn’t know how to respond; plenty of people had commented about his appearance before, but never in a nice way.

Millie giggled at his shy response and looked down at his hoodie pockets, which were bursting with different pastries. “Ohmygosh, they restocked their dorayaki shelf!?” She turned towards the cashier, who was still buried in her magazine. “Yuki, what the heck? I thought you guys weren’t getting more until later this week!” Yuki shrugged, and Millie faced the stranger again after letting out a small huff. “I love the dorayaki here,” she gushed. “I could it eat every day, but they only put out 20 of ‘em on the shelf each week and that’s not nearly enough for me. So the manager said the next time he ordered some more, he’d get an extra box and just sell it to me in bulk from now on.” She pouted. “But I guess Yuki forgot to save my box or something and just put all of them on the shelves…”

She looked at the shelf with the remaining dorayaki, and then at the stranger with his full pockets. “Hey, how many of those do you have? Ten or so?”

The stranger glanced at his pocket pastries. “Yeah,” he replied. “But there’s plenty on the shelf if you want some.”

Millie started stuffing her purse with the forty leftover packages. The stranger noticed that despite how small it looked on the outside, the dorayaki fit inside easily; there weren’t even any sticking out of the top. She looked back at the stranger with a bright smile.

“My name’s Millie, by the way.” She held out her arm for a handshake. “I live across the street, so I’m always in here.”

The stranger just looked at her outstretched hand for a few seconds. He tentatively shook her hand, and noted how soft it was. Though when you have scales, everything feels softer by comparison. “I’m Iguchi,” he replied. “Shuichi Iguchi.” He gave a small, nervous smile. This was the longest interaction he’d ever had with a girl that didn’t end with him made fun of at school the next day. “And, uh, your hair’s cool too! Very...bouncy.” He immediately felt his cheeks turn pink. Bouncy? What kind of compliment is ‘Your hair is bouncy?’

Millie laughed. “Yeah, I get that a lot,” she replied. “Hey, do you wanna eat some of these with me outside?” She patted her purse. “Snacks are better when you have someone to eat them with.”

Shuichi stiffened. He had no money to pay for these buns and one potential witness to him shoplifting. Was she trying to trick him into confessing he was going to steal them? He thought for a second. No...nobody would go through this much just to get someone on the hook for stealing a few pastries from a convenience store. Still, he had to find a way to pay for these.

He decided he’d try to bluff his way out. He started to reach for his “wallet”, and acted surprised when he didn’t feel anything. “Hmm...well I guess I would,” he replied in a super natural, ‘I’m totally not acting’ voice, “But I can’t find my wallet! Maybe I dropped it outside. I’ll go check!” He took a few steps towards the front door, ready to break out into a run the second he was outside. Iguchi, you criminal genius.

Millie let out another giggle. “No, no,” she replied, “You don’t have to pay! The manager let me buy the bulk box of dorayaki in advance, so the ones on the shelf are already paid for.” She walked up to him and held open the door. “I was gonna let you have the ones you wanted, and we could eat together! And, like, get to know each other and stuff.”

Iguchi paused for a second. He was actually going to get out of this with a bunch of free buns and not deal with the awkward fallout of getting caught? He followed Millie outside. This girl was a bit weird, but you can’t say no to free snacks, right? “Yeah, okay,” he eagerly replied. They started walking towards a small seating area meant for customers who wanted to enjoy their food outside. He watched her fish out one of her sweets from her purse and take a gigantic bite. “Just out of curiosity, are you usually this nice to people you’ve just met?”

She shrugged and leaned against a small chair while she ate her dorayaki. “Yeah, pretty much,” she replied with a mouth of crumbs. She waited a bit to talk again after her mouth wasn't stuffed with food, and smirked. “But I’m always this nice to people who I think are cute.”

[magic5ball]

Nature Trail to Hell Arc II: Watt Outta Hell (14)

Chapter 14: We Get on Up (Out of Hell, that is)

The way to our escape route was… odd, putting it light.Raposa took us to a corner of the cathedral, drawing out a kitchen knife tied by the hilt to a thread of dental floss.

F-Bomb, naturally, asked the real questions:

“What the fork is that?”  

“Throximundeer, the World Reaver.” 

When neither of us dignified that with a response, she went on: “I named it when I was ten, okay! But the name’s not important. THIS, on the other hand, IS!”

Wedging her knife under the corner of a wall, Raposa… well it’s hard to say, but to me it looked like she had peeled back a corner of the wall like it was paper, exposeing an inky black void under it.

“Alright guys, here’s the deal: we’re about to enter the abyssal zone. Not exactly a place for the faint of heart, even for residents of this craphole, so I’m gonna have to ask you to close your eyes and pretend not to hear anything.”

Seeing as our peepers were shut, we had no choice but to link hands, eyes shut with Raposa as she went into the void. What followed was a walk so long it made the hikes I had to do at Camp Sham seem like a trip to the bathroom (which, based on the way my camp bunk had smelled, was pretty much EVERYWHERE to the point where it was less a loo and more an omnipresent deity). Except the whole time, I felt somethings brushing up against me, whispering in my ears. Made my skin go cold, let me tell y! F-Bomb wasn’t doing much better. Guy sweated so hard I was surprised he didn’t turn into a puddle. When the Hell Princess finally let us open our eyes, it was in front of an automatic sliding door I’d recognize anywhere. Inserting Throximundeer into a keyhole and turning, she grunted. 

“Welp, here we are, guys. Welcome to Hell’s very own Goodwill.”

But instead of white shelves and the scent of day old deodorant, instead the inside held a canyon so vast it made my Dad’s buttcrack look like the Mariana Trench. . The whole time, we had to stay on this narrow path on one side of the canyon where one wrong step could potentially send us falling to… actually, I don’t know how far down we would fall. It was too deep to see the bottom. But what was most baffling of all was that, despite being so deep underground, there was a giant sun in the crimson red ‘sky’. When I asked Raposa about this, she let out a teenagery sigh.

“It’s my Moms. They always, always, always leaves that stupid light on! I try to tell them we don’t need it, Mom. We could always just use torches Mom! It’s much scarier anyways, Mom! But noooooooo! They always gotta say things like ‘No good running around in the dark like that! Wouldn’t want you to stub your toe, sweetie!’ Bad for my eyesight, she says. Sweet Porcelain God, it’s like they think I’m 15 or something!”

“Moms?”

“Nine to be exact. They’re a handful, but I love ‘em!”

F-Bomb and I gripped hands in a way that was ball-blowingly manly, trying not to lose balance. To distract myself from my newfound fear of heights, I looked at the giant red rock face opposite us. There, embedded in the sediments, were the preserved remains of forgotten treasures”

The Lighthouse Alexandria.

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

Shrinky-Dinks.

Greek Fire.

And the further down we went, the more ancient the hand-me-downs got, until...

“Dinosaurs!”

If it weren’t for F-Bomb grabbing my arm, I might have jumped off the cliff from sheer joy then and there. There they were, the greatest scenes from the Mesozoic, preserved in rock, just out of reach. There was even a vintage copy of ‘Dinosaur!’ (And believe me, F-Bomb really had to reel me in from that one!)

“You know kid, they weren’t all wiped out.” Corrected Raposa “Some were turned into birds.”

“Sellouts.” Muttered F-Bomb.

After that, we walked along in silence, deeper and deeper into the canyon until at last we reached the bottom, right next to a fossilized Chicago Cubs player holding a world series trophy.

“Welp.” Said Raposa “We’re here.”

And there, in the deepest, darkest part of the canyon, where the sky seemed nothing more than a sliver cracking through the midnight gloom around us, something emerged from the shadows, something…

Soft and fluffy.

Now it was F-Bomb’s turn to go nuts. “Sailor Moon!” he cried.

And it wasn’t just her, either. Lying next to her was none other than my trusty machine gun!

“SweetPorecelainGodareyouokay?!” he dashed over to her, inspecting for any torn fabric or other possible injuries.

While he had his happy little reunion, I took my gun back. Thanks to my little black hole, it fit perfectly in my pocket. All well and good, but…

“So where’s the Sex Masheen?” I asked.

Raposa pointed to a dimly lit area behind F-Bomb. A giant wall, about as high as the roof to my school’s gymnasium stood in our way. There was no door, but the thing was covered in disorganized, multi-colored squares. I couldn’t believe it.

“A wall of Rubik’s Cubes? A WALL OF STINKING RUBIK”S CUBES?! WE RISKED OUR LIVES FOR THIS?!” Though most of my irking stemmed from my past. Because for every Christmas for as long back as I could remember, I’ve always gotten one of those stupid cubes, no matter how hard I tried to be good. It was like Santa’s way of saying I’d been a bad boy instead of just giving me that baby dinosaur already! Turned out even in the darkest pits of the Underworld, those dumb toys were inescapable.

           Raposa craned a pointed index finger upward. When I followed, my jaw darn near hit the ground (I should get insurance, seeing how often that happens.) Towering above us, higher than a thousand school gymnasiums was what could only be described as some sort of snake, except it didn’t have any head and was covered in a buncha arms and legs constantly grasping for something. The only thing protecting us from this abomination was some kind of enormous red bubble the thing was constantly scratching at, kinda like those play tubes guinea pigs play with. Except it was the size of freakin’ Empire State Building and could potentially raze an entire city just by walking. (Seriously though, why can’t the pets back home ever be that awesome? Take notes, Petco!) One thing was certain: It didn’t look like a masheen at all. So while that may not have been a worst case scenario, I still kinda felt ripped off.

Raposa coughed to get our attention. “So, uh, yeah. This is Sex Masheen. Funny story about this guy. So we were hosting our annual First Circle of Hell Rabies Awareness Fun Run-“

“So can it take us to the surface or what?” Interrupted F-Bomb. “Looking at that dang thing is making Sailor Moon nervous.”

“Yeah, and why’s it called a ‘Sex Masheen if it doesn’t have anything to do with sex?”

(Granted, this was back in the days when I thought ‘sex’ was kissing a girl on the lips, but even then, I had Ben Franklin slippers back at home sexier than that... thing!)

“To answer the first question: yes, it can take you to the surface. The second: the name Sex Masheen just sounded really cool at the time, okay?! So anyways, Sexy over here hasn’t left because it’s been trapped in a bubble. But not just any bubble- a F*CKING Bubble, which has the strength of, like, a billion regular bubbles.”

“And I guess you made that, too?”

“Excellent deduction, my dear F-Bomb! And right here-“

She pulled out the longest, thinnest needle I’d ever seen from a pocket on the leg of her denim jeans. “-is the only needle in the entire universe pointy enough to pierce it. When I do, you’ll have maybe five seconds to grab on before the big guy penetrates its’ way to the surface.”

“And you know this because-“

“Look you little prick. You want to go topside or not?!”

Let me tell you, F-Bomb shut up right quick after that.

“Alright, alright!” She pointed the needle at the giant bubble “Like I said, once this thing pops, you’ve got maybe five seconds, ten tops, to hop on this thing and ride out of here! You ready?”

F-Bomb and I looked at each other, ready to go where no lost soul had gone before. We nodded.

“Righteous! Sex Masheen going live in one, a two, a one, two, three, four!”

What followed was a pop loud enough to break the sound barrier. The ground rumbled. F-Bomb and I knew we had to act fast. Bursting through the wall of cubes, we found ourselves briefly intimidated by the barrier of arms and legs just twitching around in the air in front of us. Didn’t last long, though, because one of the arms got the idea to nab Sailor Moon, and before you could say Moon Prism Power, they were all vying for a piece of the Moon pie.

“Hands off the waifu, ya creeps!” shreiked F-Bomb, holding Sailor Moon hard as he could. Naturally, I followed suit.

Have you ever been on the outside of a plane as it took off? Well, neither have I, but what I felt after Sex Masheen took off must have been pretty similar. A few seconds into flight and I worried the skin was gonna get peeled right off my body. As the abomination rose into the air, I took one last look at the pit of the Underworld below us. Looking back at me was Raposa. All well and good, until I noticed the rocket launcher in her arms. Where she got it so quick, I’ve got no idea, but the important thing was she had it pointed right at us.

“Nobody’s allowed to leave the Underworld…” she chuckled, clicking the trigger.

A speedy projectile shot right at us. F-Bomb and I tried to move, only to find Sailor Moon locked tight in the Masheen’s grasp. Even if it would make F-Bomb mad, I wanted to slam my head multiple times against the pillow. Why didn’t I see this coming!? Of course a Princess of the Underworld wouldn’t just let us waltz right out of her turf!

My griping was cut short by something hitting me in the face. Something that smelled of fresh cotton and lavender. With a free hand I unfolded it: a white t-shirt (made with 100% organic cotton, if the tag was to be believed). Printed on the front, in bold black letters, was the phrase

I ESCAPED FROM HELL AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT

“…without getting a souvenir t-shirt first!”

           I would have fainted from the craziness of it all, if the Sex Masheen hadn’t chosen that moment to pierce the surface and send twenty pounds of muscovite schist into my open mouth. Below, Hell became nothing more than an Arkansas sized hole in the ground, then a New Jersey sized hole in the ground, then a little dot in the distance. All well and good, until I realized sooner or later we had to get off this thing, especially after the thin air started making my head woozy. F-Bomb and I tugged at Sailor Moon, trying to get off before we became the first dinosaurs in space (not all it’s cracked up to be. If you’ve tried  those astronaut ice cream bars, you know space travel is overrated). It wasn’t until I started beating the hands back with the butt of my machine gun they finally let go.

           A wave of relief swept over us as we escaped a future of freeze-dried crap and no internet connection, only to be replaced with the realization we were now freefalling from a height where we could see California. You ever talk into a fan? You know, the old ones that chopped up your voice? Well, that’s what freefall felt like, except so strong you’d think the wind was trying to dismember you. As for me, I did what any ten year old would do in this situation: spread me limbs out and SCREAM!

“THIIISSSSS IISSSSS AAAWWWEEESSSOOOOMMMEEE!”

And that is how I got over my short lived fear of heights. Fortunately, F-Bomb had done some quick thinking and converted Sailor Moon into an air surfboard, otherwise we might have plummeted right through the planet and wound up on the other side in Fiji. (Wouldn’t have been so bad, now that I think about it). Anyways, we air surfed at 500 miles an hour to the ground, F-Bomb steering, me looking for a landing space. And wouldn’t you know it, right below us was a white trampoline! That could break a fall (I hoped). I had F-Bomb steer us around in circles, spread weight, anything to slow our descent. But just as we were about to land, F-Bomb noticed something.

“Hate ta break it to ya, Turd, but did you know trampolines aren’t covered in tiles?”

I didn’t even have time to answer before we crashed through the roof to wherever we were. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was the Sex Machine, now just a twinkle in the distance, still charging into space.

Now, at this point, you’re probably thinking this story isn’t true. That I made all this up to get an extra hundred words on my ‘How I Spent My Summer Vacation’ report. And you’re (sorta) right, but I will say this: if you ever go to a public pool in New Jersey, you might come across a kiddie pool that smells suspiciously of fire and brimstone (well, more than usual, at least). Amazing what folks will do with giant holes they find in the ground.

And that was the last I heard of the Sex Masheen. Last I heard it was chugging along to Uranus to do Lord knows what. But that’s its’ story, not mine.

As for F-Bomb and I? Well, let’s just say our troubles were only beginning…

                          Nature Trail to Hell Part II: Watt Outta Hell: End