#it’s why i made ice responsible for rooster’s whole deal

[compacflt]

i am pretty solidly anti-fic printing except when its my fic that i wrote & i want to hold it in my hands for editing purposes

final (final!!!!) edit & slider one-shot inbound soon

[brokutosan]

Title. Quarantine Tales Or alternatively; Bokuto Tries Baking and Nearly Poisons His Two Roommates/Best Friends

Pairing. Bokuto Koutarou x Platonic!Reader x Kuroo Tetsurou + Minor BokuAka and Kuroo Tetsurou x Fem!Reader

Summary. In which a pandemic hits the world and tests the ten year long friendship between three roommates. Or; Kuroo enters quarantine as a cheeky bastard, and walks out of it as a cheeky bastard with a really pretty girlfriend.

Warnings. Manga spoilers, very strong language, and lots of sexual innuendos. Also lots of platonic cuddling and skinship. It gets kind of steamy at the end but nothing too bad. This is basically just a collection of short stories that also kind of has a plot. Fair warning: excessive use of the words ‘bro,’ ‘dude,’ and ‘man.’

Once the news of the pandemic hit Japan, the three roommates were confident they’d come out as better individuals. Maybe pick up on a new hobby, drop a few pounds (or in Bokuto’s case, gain some muscles), and just have a good time, making the best out of the worst situation. They were good at that.

At first, however, the three friends each had a different response to the news. Bokuto decided to splurge and buy everything they need and then some they didn’t (he was making bank from being a pro athlete). He was convinced that the apocalypse was going to happen soon, and that they’ll need all the rations they could get before it’s too late. Kuroo decides to confiscate his Netflix account and told him to stop watching The Walking Dead.

During the first few days Y/N easily got swept up in Bokuto’s bullshit, also convinced that the apocalypse was coming. (“Kuroo, look! The cases doubled over the last few days! Tell me that doesn’t mean something!”) But she was easier to snap out of it, mostly because she’s not as childish as Bokuto. She did, however, buy all of her favorite snacks and put them in a secret stash. (Although Kuroo figured out where it was within three days).

Kuroo is the mediator between them. He’s a man of science, so “no, Bokuto, there’s no way the infected ones are turning into zombies, now stop crying!” He also took the liberty to create schedules and laid out some ground rules on when and how they should shop for groceries and things of that sort. He also made the rule that no one joins their Zoom meetings in the living room after Bokuto walked in on his screen ass naked.

All in all, they (Kuroo) were able to set up a system that ensured Bokuto doesn’t lose his mind out of boredom and Y/N doesn’t try to kill them in their sleep.

-

“If aliens take over the planet do you think I could become their overlord?”

“Doubt it. You need to have the brains for it.”

“Hey! I’m pretty smart!”

“Explain the process of osmosis.”

“Fuck you, Kuroo.”

Y/N listens in on the idiotic conversation between her two roommates, not daring to speak up in fear of losing her much needed brain cells.

“Y/N! Listen to this, Kuroo doesn’t think I’m smart enough to become an alien overlord!” Bokuto sits up from his spot on their living room floor, one elbow propped up to support his body. Y/N sighs, closing her book realizing there’s no way she’ll get the peace she needed.

“Kuroo doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Bo.” It’s only been one week since the mandated quarantine started. If Y/N gives in now, then she’ll only spiral into madness as the months go by.

“Hear that, you bastard?! Y/N-chan believes in me!” Kuroo looks unamused. There’s a shit eating grin on his face that Y/N wants to wipe off. Or punch off. Whichever happens first.

“Y’know what they say, owls of a feather stick together.” Kuroo’s probably referring to the fact that both Y/N and Bokuto attended Fukurodani. Either way, he’s insulting her. Y/N is seething.

“Shut up you cocky cat!” Y/N screeches, flinging her book to his relaxed figure on the floor. Kuroo lets out a groan as the hardcover book makes contact with his groin. “Shit, there goes my future generations.”

Bokuto emphasizes with his bro, placing a protective hand over his ‘lil man.’

-

During the third week of quarantine, Kuroo comes down with a cold. Or maybe he got the virus. That’s what Bokuto and Y/N are currently trying to figure out.

“Kuroo, man, I searched up your symptoms here and it says you have network connectivity problems. What does that mean?” Bokuto grumbles, aggressively tapping the laptop screen. Y/N scowls at the way he’s manhandling her laptop before snatching it away from his hold.

“That’s not what that means, dumbass.” Bokuto pouts. “It means someone fucking forgot to pay for the wifi for this month.”

Y/N is glaring at her bedridden roommate through her face mask, but the rooster head throws his hands up out of innocence. “Sorry, I was too busy trying not to die!”

“So what now?” Bokuto asks, trying to cut through the tension between his two roommates. Y/N sighs in response, shutting off her laptop. “Now we just have to wait for him to sleep it off. If he has the virus then we burn his room with him in it.”

“Hey!” Kuroo tries to object. Instead what comes out is a garbled noise followed by excessive coughing and Bokuto screeching something about the ‘zombie virus infecting his home,’ and then he bolted out of Kuroo’s room.

“Whatever,” Y/N sighs, knowing Bokuto would have been useless in this situation anyways, “just try to rest. I’ll come in to check on you every now and then to bring you food. You better eat it!”

“Aw, Y/N-chan, you really care about me, huh?” Kuroo fake gushes, pressing one hand on his chest and another on his forehead. “It’s sweet how you try to act all tough.”

“Bo! Go find the lighter!”

-

Six weeks into the quarantine, Kuroo is over his ‘virus scare’ and now it’s Bokuto who’s sick. Correction, lovesick. It’s starting to test Y/N’s thinning patience.

“Do you think ‘Kaashi would get annoyed if I call him again?”

“Bo, you’ve been facetiming him every single day since this quarantine started. What changed?”

“He hasn’t been messaging me back the last three days! Do you think he got tired of me? Do you think he realized I’ve been in love with him and now he hates me? Do you think he hates my owl memes? Damn, I should’ve just told him before this whole thing started.” Y/N snorts. Clearly. One less headache for her. Even the sight of Kuroo breathing is starting to irk her. One time she nearly slapped him across the head for sleeping on the couch. Quarantine is doing something to her.

“Y/N? Why aren’t you answering? Oh my god, you hate me too, don’t you?” Crap. She was too absorbed in her hatred towards Kuroo’s existence that she forgot this big baby was lying down on her lap crying about something. What was it again? Akaashi hates him? Impossible.

“Impossible.” Y/N doesn’t realize she is running her hand through his two-toned hair. Bokuto hums in content. Y/N is suddenly reminded of her dog from back home. She wonders how he’s doing.

“Keiji’s like, in love with you. If anything he’s probably just drowning in work. You know how busy he gets.” Even Y/N’s not buying it. Busy or not, three days of radio silence from Akaashi has to mean something. She just doesn’t want to deal with an emo Bokuto. She decides to pass the responsibility to Kuroo.

“Bo, I bet Kuroo has some pretty good advice for ya. Remember when he had that crush on Akari-chan for all of highschool?” Bokuto shoots up with a new look of determination. He yells out a ‘you’re the best, Y/N-chan!’ over his shoulders before dashing straight to Kuroo’s room.

Y/N smiles in triumph as she receives a plethora of messages from one very angry Kuroo Tetsurou, ranging from ‘Why would you do this to me?’ to ‘I fucking hate you.’ Serves him right for finishing the ice cream.

(Later they find out that Akaashi simply broke his phone and had to wait three days to get it fixed. Bokuto was over the moon).

-

Sometimes Y/N wears their highschool jerseys because she thinks they’re comfortable. Some days she wears Bokuto’s. Other days she wears Kuroo’s. Today she’s wearing Bokuto’s, and Kuroo doesn’t know why it’s pissing him off.

“Oh man! That thing looks like a dress on you!” Bokuto squeals like one of his fangirls. He dashes to where she is, minding her business making toast in the kitchen, and picks her up from under her arms a la Lion King style.

“Bo! Put me down, you dumbass!” She wiggles in his hold, legs thrashing around. It’s all meaningless though. Bokuto is a pro athlete and is 190cm. Any attempts to free herself remains futile against this giant man-baby.

“Kuroo, look! So cute!” Bokuto gushes, showing her off like a baby. He lightly loosens his hold on one arm and extends his hand to bring a finger up to her cheeks. Y/N is emitting a strange aura. Kuroo suspects she’ll start tearing his ass into pieces within ten seconds.

Correction, three seconds. Because somehow she figures out how to kick behind her and shove an ankle deep into Bokuto’s groin. Now Bokuto is wriggling around on the living room floor as Y/N returns to her toast.

Kuroo finds this amusing, yet there’s a foreign feeling deep inside his chest. Is he getting sick again? He’s gonna need to check on that later.

-

“Ou! What ‘ya watching?”

“Your Name.”

“Huh? Bokuto Koutarou. Did you forget?”

“Dude...” Y/N stares at him in disbelief. Bokuto doesn’t notice but that’s because he’s Bokuto, and just about everything flies over his head. Instead he plops down on the couch next to her and hogs all the blanket.

“Get the fuck out! Get your own blanket!” Bokuto doesn’t reply, but he hums and opens his arms as an invitation. Ah, another platonic cuddling, as Bokuto puts it. Y/N is touch starved and she can’t deny it, so she slides closer to his lean figure and lets her head fall on his chest.

Eventually they settle in, huddling impossibly close to each other as the movie reach its tear-jerking climax. They don’t notice Kuroo walk in with a scowl on his face.

“Oh hey, bro. Wanna watch?” Bokuto notices him first, lifting his head up from the crown of Y/N’s head. Y/N finally looks over Bokuto’s chest and spots Kuroo moving around in the kitchen.

“I’m good.” Is his short answer before he trudges to his room with a loud bang! from his door. Y/N flinches a little, but pays no mind to it. Instead she directs her focus back to the movie, where another sad scene is unfolding.

The movie reaches its ending, but not before Bokuto could ask, “So, what’s the actual title of the movie?”

-

One peaceful afternoon Bokuto decides to take in a stray cat. Except...

“Bokuto, you fucking idiot that’s a racoon!” Y/N screeches as she climbs Kuroo’s back. The rooster head screams as he backs away from Bokuto and ‘Mr. Fluffles.’ Bokuto stares at his frightened roommates and the ‘cat’ in his hand and then back at his roommates again.

Realization strikes, and now Bokuto is screeching with the other two, holding the raccoon as far away from his body as possible.

“If you fucking drop it, I’ll kill you!” Kuroo threatens, holding onto Y/N’s arm that’s starting to dig into his throat. “Take it outside!”

“But it’s raining!”

“Bokuto!”

“It’s you or him, man!”

The two continue their little back-and-forth, not noticing the raccoon had escaped Bokuto’s grasp. But Y/N notices. And it’s heading into her room. And now she’s seeing God.

“Bokuto, gah-!” Kuroo is rudely interrupted by Y/N’s tight hold on his throat getting tighter. Before he could give her hell for attempted murder, he notices the look of horror on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Your fucking raccoon went in my bedroom!”

“Ah shit!” Both Kuroo and Bokuto scramble, the former forgetting all about the human person hanging onto his back. Said person is too scared of letting her foot touch the floor, afraid that it might be met by the furry abomination Bokuto brought home. So she kinda just...lets Kuroo run off into her room with her dangling off his neck.

“Where’d he go?!” Bokuto panics, not seeing Mr. Fluffles anywhere in his immediate vicinity. He starts flinging stuff off the ground and her table and her bed, making a huge mess in the span of ten seconds. Y/N takes one foot off of Kuroo’s waist and kicks him square in the back.

“Quit trashing my room!” She scolds like a mom. Bokuto pouts but continues looking, until they hear the quiet pitter patter of claws hitting the wooden floor. “Wait shut up!”

Y/N huffs but still complies, wanting nothing more than Mr. Fluffles gone from her room. Kuroo takes the liberty to start questioning Bokuto’s stupidity.

“How could you have possibly thought that thing was a fucking cat?!”

“In my defense, it was pretty dark outside.” Bokuto grumbles in his low and whiny voice, before firing back, “And stop calling him a ‘thing!’ Mr. Fluffles has feelings too!”

“Bokuto we’re not keeping it!” This time it’s Y/N yelling at him with fire in her eyes. The poor guy looks like he’s about to cry, but Y/N is far too gone over the thought of a raccoon making its home in her bedroom.

Bokuto lets out an ‘aha!’ as he emerges from under her bed with Mr. Fluffles. Y/N visibly relaxes knowing that the raccoon is safely contained. Until she remembers what was stashed under her bed.

“Ah, there’s something in his mouth.” Bokuto announces, holding Mr. Fluffles disgustingly close to his face. Her secret stash of snacks. The bastard got into it.

“Bokuto!!!”

(They later find out that at least four neighbors filed a noise complaint against them).

-

It’s two months in to the quarantine when Bokuto discovers TikTok. Within one week he’s dropped his towel in front of Kuroo, sat on Kuroo’s lap during his work Zoom meeting, smacked his gym bag across Kuroo’s face, and then some. Y/N finds humor in this, of course at Kuroo’s expense, but that’s even better.

Speaking of Kuroo and Y/N. Lately there’s been undeniable tension between his two roommates, and Bokuto doesn’t know how to resolve it. Everytime he tries to get them to talk they end up arguing.

He’s asked Akaashi for advice, but Akaashi simply told him to let them resolve it amongst themselves. Bokuto does not have the patience for that. He’s scared their meaningless arguments might rip a tear into their ten year long friendship.

So Bokuto does what he thinks is best, bake them cookies! No one could possibly be in a bad mood while eating freshly baked cookies, even Bokuto is drooling at the thought. So with a new resolve, Bokuto scrolls through his new favorite app (TikTok) to find some good recipes. Because TikTok has all the answers.

Except when he bakes the cookies he later finds out he used two cups of salt instead of sugar. He doesn’t know how that happened, but it could be because he grabbed the first white substance he saw and dumped it in the bowl.

Kuroo and Y/N somehow found a way to blame each other. Bokuto is reaching his limits.

-

Bokuto calls for an emergency meeting. He needs help deciding whether or not he should drop 40,000¥ on the Animal Crossing Limited Edition Switch that comes with Animal Crossing: New Horizons.

Y/N says go for it because she’s secretly plotting on stealing it the moment he gets tired of the game (which knowing Bokuto, would be fairly quick). Kuroo objects because Bokuto blew 50,000¥ last month buying shit he didn’t need for the quarantine.

And now there’s a fullblown argument between the two. Bokuto is reminded of his parents, except their fights never got this hostile and he’s pretty sure his mom never called his dad a “rooster-hair bastard!” He’s too scared to cut in. He thinks they might cut off his head. So he decides to sneakily crawl back into his room.

He ends up ordering the switch anyways, and when it arrives a week later Kuroo calls Y/N a bad influence. They argue again.

Bokuto has an epiphany.

-

Two days after Bokuto’s epiphany, they take a trip to the supermarket. Bokuto wants to drive but he can’t because his license got revoked after he ran through five consecutive red lights. Kuroo tells him this but he gets pouty so Kuroo had to buy him ice cream on the way there to get him to shut up.

So now Bokuto is slobbering up Kuroo’s car, much to the latter’s distaste. It isn’t until Kuroo brake checks him and Bokuto slams the ice cream on his face, does Kuroo show a look of content. Bokuto pays no mind, and decides to bring up his recent epiphany.

“So, bro, when are ya gonna tell Y/N you’re in love with her?” Kuroo slams his foot on the brakes again, this time out of shock. “I - uh - what - what did you just say?”

“Oh man,” Bokuto lets out a boisterous laugh while licking the ice cream that dripped down his shirt (gross), “you didn’t know?!”

“You two have had this sexual tension between you brewing for weeks! It’s like - I could actually cut through it with a knife, like a piece of pie or something!”

“I hate everything you just said.”

“Whatever man, just let me know if you want me gone for the night. I’ll even come up with a good excuse.” He winks, and Kuroo resists the urge to crash the car into a tree.

-

Bokuto’s words affect Kuroo a lot more than he would like to admit. Ever since that fateful trip to the supermarket with his owl-eyed friend, Kuroo’s been too wary of his other roommates existence. He wants to prove Bokuto wrong. He, Kuroo Tetsurou, is not in love with L/N Y/N, his best friend since his first year of highschool.

L/N Y/N is one of the guys! That’s like saying he likes Bokuto (Kuroo bites back his disgust). And Kuroo doesn’t like Bokuto, thank you very much.

Except L/N Y/N is not Bokuto.

L/N Y/N is his endless highschool memories that he always goes back to on a bad day. She is going to the beach during the summer and playing in the ocean until they tire themselves out. She’s like a warm hug that welcomes him after a long and tiring say. She’s like the rock that was flung at his ex’s window after she cheated on him with some other guy. She’s like the fun he’s had during the summer away games, where he got to play volleyball with his friends for one week straight. She’s like taking the long way home just so he could walk back with her. L/N Y/N is his best friend.

No, Y/N is not all those things. She is, however, the person he’s shared those memories with. The person Kuroo could say one hundred percent, without a doubt, knows him best (aside from Bokuto and maybe his mom). She’s the person that’s always been there through thick or thin, for ten years and counting.

Oh god. Kuroo Tetsurou is in love with L/N Y/N.

-

Bokuto has a plan in mind. A plan to help his two best friends hook up (and maybe date afterwards). Bokuto tells Akaashi his plans but Akaashi tells him all his plans are moronic, so he goes to his teammates Hinata and Atsumu, who says he’s a genius.

(The plan is simple: make Kuroo jealous. That bastard is as possessive as a dog over his food).

Which is how he finds himself seated at the kitchen table, phone in hand with a disgusted Y/N right across from him.

“No, you’re not giving my number to Miya Atsumu. That guy has shifty eyes!”

“Come on, you’ll learn how to love it! ‘Sides, Tsumu-tsumu is a nice guy! Did’ya really think I’d set my bestest friend in the world up with some sketchy guy?” If Bokuto’s normal talking voice is at a hundred, he’s talking at a hundred twenty now, just to make sure Kuroo can hear him from his room.

Y/N presses her palms to her ears, not really questioning why he’s talking so damn loud. Instead she blackmails him. “Bokuto if you don’t stop I’ll send Keiji all your embarrassing pictures from our first year.”

“You wouldn’t!”

But the look in her eyes says she would. And the ping! sound that came from her phone says that she just did. “Y/N!” Bokuto cries out, scrambling incredibly fast to his room where he left his phone plugged in, hoping he could stop Akaashi from witnessing the embarrassment that is Bokuto Koutarou as a fifteen year old.

Moments after Bokuto bolted to his room and is screaming out, “‘Kaashi! Block Y/N-chan right now! Don’t open her texts!” Kuroo steps out of his bedroom, having been shamelessly eavesdropping on their previous conversation.

“So,” He leans over the kitchen counter (he thinks he looks like hot shit but Y/N begs to differ), “Miya Atsumu, huh?” Her face contorts into something out of digust or discomfort, he can’t tell which one. Is it bad for him to say he likes that reaction? Probably.

“Don’t.” Is her short response, bringing up a hand in front of her body. “If Bokuto thinks I’m desperate enough to go for one of his teammates, then I’ve got a surprise for him. No offense to Shouyou.”

“So what I’m hearing is...it’s not the aspect of being in a relationship you’re totally against, but the guy himself?” Kuroo thinks out loud. Y/N throws him one of her infamous ‘what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about’ looks, but he feigns ignorance to it.

“I mean, yeah? I haven’t had a good fuck since-” Kuroo decides to cut her off there, not really eager to learn the name of the man she’s...well, you get it! (Bokuto was right, this man truly is possessive).

“Anyways, good choice. I heard the other twin is where it’s at.” Kuroo ends the conversation there, with new knowledge about his new found crush and confidence over the fact that he still has a chance.

-

A week goes by just like that. Bokuto makes it painfully obvious he’s trying to make Kuroo jealous. Except painfully obvious is not obvious enough for his slightly-frustrating friend, Y/N.

At one point, when obviously Atsumu didn’t serve much of a threat to Kuroo (curse that idiot for being too easy to mock), Bokuto took matters into his own hands and tried flirting with Y/N himself. And while Bokuto is a lot of things, being smooth isn’t one of them. There’s a reason why he hasn’t made whatever he has with Akaashi official yet, he’s terrible at relationships and anything related to it.

(Though Kuroo had a riot witnessing Bokuto’s failed attempts at heterosexual flirting:

“So, you come here often?”

“Bo, I fucking live here.”).

And as much as Bokuto wants to just go out with it and announce to Y/N (and the world) that his totally radical bro, Kuroo Tetsurou, is in love with her, he has just about enough self control and conscience to know that doing that could only result in his immediate death at the hands of a very angry rooster-head. So he’s just been beating around the bush. For a week he’s tried to drop subtle hints that were, sadly, left dropped by Y/N. She’s almost as helpess as Bokuto. Almost.

But when an opportunity like this falls on his lap, Bokuto just knows he has to take it.

It’s at one of their annual roommate-bonding, a tradition they’ve held since moving in together during college. This time Kuroo is unable to join due to some hold-up at work. He’s in his room furiously typing away at his computer.

“So...” He makes sure to drag out the last vowel to gain her interest. Though it’s pretty useless since Y/N is as easy to fool as Bokuto himself. They’re best friends for a reason. A very bad reason, one might say.

“So what?” She asks, shoving about ten pieces of popcorn in her mouth all at once. Bokuto realizes he is tired of beating around the bush. He decides to set the metaphorical bush on fire. “Admit it, Y/N. You like Kuroo, don’t ‘ya? You wanna screw him or something?”

“Shh!” Suddenly Y/N is more invested in whatever Bokuto has to say than the shitty movie he picked out. And now she’s launched herself off her side of the couch onto his, pressing a greasy, buttery palm to his lips.

Bokuto easily swipes her hand away with a shit eating grin on his face. “So I was right! Which one is it? ‘Ya like him? Or you wanna screw him?”

“Bokuto!” She warns. Her eyes dart to Kuroo’s closed bedroom door, suddenly too aware of just now thin these walls actually are. It also didn’t help that Bokuto’s normal speaking voice is about as loud as a race car engine.

She realizes there’s no point in hiding it, since he’s looking at her with those creepy owl eyes, just daring her not to spill everything. “How’d you even find out?” She sighs in defeat.

“Come on! You’ve been so irritated lately that there was only two possible explanations: ya either love the guy or hate his guts. I don’t think you’d be friends with him for ten years if you hated him so much.” Y/N blinks in surprise. That’s surprisingly perceptive, coming from Bokuto. She tells him this.

“Hey! I’m capable of using my head too!” He doesn’t like how she’s giving him that judgement look. Clearing his throat, Bokuto decides to skip past that.

“So? Since when did ‘ya like the lucky bastard?” Bokuto expects one month, maybe two at best. What he didn’t expect was this: “Probably since highschool.”

“Wha-?!” His outburst is contained by a smaller body flying on top of his, as well as two palms pressed tightly over his mouth. Eyes wide, he looks down to see a flustered Y/N, pink cheeks and all, looking menacingly at Kuroo’s door, trying to see if he heard any of that.

Once she confirms she’s in the clear, she lets out the breath she’s been holding and smacks Bokuto across his biceps.

“Idiot! Don’t just scream like that!” She huffs, arms crossed at her chest. “I told you ‘cus I trust you, Bo. Don’t do anything stupid with that trust.” The man simply nods, still too shocked to form coherent words.

Once he does however, Y/N is hit with an onslaught of whispered questions. “Since when? How come I didn’t notice? How come anyone didn’t notice? Why-” He pauses, realizing his questions aren’t being answered. So he waits as she brings her legs up to her chest with an unreadable expression.

“I mean it was pretty easy to hide it. We went to different schools, and whenever we hung out you were always there,” Y/N starts, but quickly adds, “I mean, not like I didn’t want you there! It’s just - it was easier to forget I even liked him whenever the three of us were together.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, probably still wary of the fact that Kuroo was only one room over. Bokuto notices this and turns up the volume of the TV, earning a small smile from his nervous wreck of a friend.

“At one point I was actually gonna tell him, but then he started dating Akari-chan.” Bokuto scowls at the name. Akari, the girl that Kuroo crushed on for a full year, but also the girl that ended up cheating on him with some guy in her painting club. “I wasn’t really the type to cry over a small crush, I had other things to do. Actually I was kind of relieved. Kuroo being taken meant I didn’t have to act on these weird feelings I started having.”

“And next thing I knew we were off to college. I started dating other people, and my feelings for him started shrinking. Even when we decided to move in together, we were all so busy with our separate lives, so I wasn’t really worried about it...until, y’know, we kinda got stuck here together. I guess seeing him 24/7 just caused my head to malfunction. I thought fighting with him would stop these weird...feelings, from coming back. But I guess that backfired on me since you ended up finding out. Wait - Bokuto are you crying?”

The said man tucks his head in his arms, mumbling out “No,” even though it was pretty obvious. Y/N softly smiles, finding his reaction kind of cute. It was nice to know he cares that much, no matter how infuriating he could get.

“I didn’t even know you went through that much, Y/N-chan. C’mere! Lemme give you a hug!”

“Bokuto, no! I don’t need-” The rest of her complaints are drowned out by a sturdy chest meeting her face. Great. Bokuto’s way too emotional now.

“I’m sorry, I promise I’ll help you tell him!”

“Wait what? I don’t want that!” Y/N tries to argue, but her voice is muffled due to being stuffed into his chest. Suddenly remembering that Bokuto has a tendency to be a loud mouth and could never keep a secret from Kuroo, Y/N shoots up, pressing her palms to his chest to release herself from his hold.

“Bo, you have to promise me you won’t tell him anything.”

“But -”

“Bokuto!” He slightly recoils from the sternness of her voice, before he bows his head and nods. Y/N relaxes a bit, settling back into her previous position and fixed her focus back to the movie playing on the TV as if their previous conversation never happened.

Unbeknownst to her, Bokuto is already putting the pieces together for his master plan.

-

Y/N comes to regret telling Bokuto her ‘dirty’ little secret exactly one week later, at their next roommate-bonding. This time Kuroo is there, with Bokuto right in between them on the couch. There’s another shitty movie playing in the background (curtesy of Bokuto’s horrible choice in films), but Y/N can’t bring herself to pay attention.

She does however, snap out of her little daydream when Bokuto shoots up, phone in hand and reaching for the door. Oh no. Both Kuroo and Y/N think to themselves.

“Ah! What’s this?! There’s an emergency at ‘Kaashi’s apartment?! Guys, I’ll be right back!” Bokuto is out the door before either of them could object. Y/N knows Akaashi. Akaashi is a safe guy. He’s not the type to call out of nowhere because of an emergency, and even if he did, Bokuto surely would not be the first contact in mind. Which means, Bokuto, that sneaky bastard, planned this with the single brain cell he had left.

Silence fills the air for the next five minutes, until Kuroo’s phone sounds off. It’s a text from Bokuto, reading: When I come back you two better be-

Kuroo decides to turn off his phone there, fearing the contents of the very explicit paragraph Bokuto sent following those words. Instead he turns his head to his friend next to him - or rather on the opposite side of the couch, avoiding him like he’s the plague.

He doesn’t like this awkwardness at all. Conversation between them used to always just flow, even if most of them end up becoming a heated debate over the most trivial things. Kuroo decides to man up. It’s now or never.

“Okay so -” “Hey -” The two pause, finally making eye contact for the first time in past week. All of Kuroo’s brain cells fly out his brain and out the window, leaving him to fend off for himself in this awkward situation. His head is like that one Spongebob meme. Oh god, he’s turning into Bokuto-

“So,” Y/N’s voice snaps him out of his train of thoughts, or rather his lack of it. This is pathetic. He’s a grown man and he’s acting like a highschooler over a pathetic crush. Except this isn’t a pathetic crush. This is Y/N - his best friend for the past ten years, who he’s just now realized is a lot prettier than he initially thought.

“I’m in love with you.” Yes, yes he is. Wait, that wasn’t his voice. And that definitely wasn’t his subconscious trying to patch up what’s left of his decimated ego, which means -

“Kuroo?” Jesus fuck, when did she even slide over this close? “You don’t have to answer or anything, I just thought I should tell you first before Bokuto breaks. I understand if you don’t feel the same way-”

“No!” She flinches at how loud his voice is. “I mean, fuck - wait. You gotta let me process this real quick.” Kuroo is suddenly aware he’s redder than his Nekoma jersey, and her face is super close to his, and her lips look totally kissable right now.

“I’m in love with you, too.” Kuroo finally speaks up. He notices how she goes stiff, and how quickly her face turns into a bright shade of red.

“You don’t have to say it just ‘cus you feel bad! This doesn’t have to change anything between us! I mean, I’ve kept it a secret for ten years, I can do ten more-”

“Y/N.” She finally stops her rambling, meeting his eyes. And she doesn’t know why, but suddenly she just knows he’s being sincere. She could probably die right now and she’d say she lived a happy life.

“I’m gonna kiss you now.” Kuroo waits for her confirmation, in this case a shy nod, before cupping her cheeks with his large and warm hands. He inches over slowly at first, but lets his lips eagerly meet hers with a smile. He feels her hands wrap around his waist, letting him deepen the kiss.

It starts of slow and steady, everything Y/N could have ever dreamed of, until needy hands start roaming her body. She has to crane her neck to meet his lips, and Kuroo probably sensed her discomfort because now he’s gripping her waist tightly, lifting her up gently and placing her down on his lap.

The new and more comfortable position allows Kuroo to deepen the kiss, and Y/N finds her hands grabbing the hair she’s been insulting so much for the past two months. Kuroo sighs into the kiss, with Y/N smiling a bit at the situation. As things escalate, a loud gasp breaks them out of their trance.

“Oh. My. God!” Bokuto is squealing like an idiot and Akaashi is behind him unamused. “Finally.” Is his short statement.

“What the fuck Bokuto!” Kuroo growls. Y/N, suddenly a bit too self conscious climbs off the spot she made for herself on Kuroo’s lap. Though her embarrassment doesn’t last long, before she joins Kuroo in glaring at Bokuto.

“I just came back ‘cus I forgot my wallet, but oh man! You guys are adorable!” Akaashi is still behind him, but this time he looks more apologetic. “Bokuto-san, maybe we should leave.”

“Nah, I kinda wanna stay.”

“Bokuto!”

“Get the fuck out!” Bokuto only laughs as he catches both the pillow and the remote control thrown at him. He drops both items back down on the living room floor and snatches his wallet from the counter before calling over his shoulders,

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure ya make me the best man and the maid of honor!”

A/N. Reupload! This fic was totally self-indulgent bc I am so bored of quarantine and am currently wishing I had a Bokuto and Kuroo to keep me entertained. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! And as always, thank you for reading! Leave a like if you...liked it? Is that how it goes? - chuu

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

linger like a tattoo kiss

chapter two of the peter losing wendy series

*inspired by Taylor Swift’s Folklore*

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Original Character (Liz Walker)

Warnings: mentions of suicide, PLEASE proceed with caution, drinking/partying, smoking, mentions of emotional abuse, does not follow the plot of the canon material

Word Count: 5.4K

Summary: Liz has a run-in with a Kook at a party. JJ, strangely, shows up late.

May 4, 2019

With a headache, Liz awoke, scrunching up her nose at the sound of the rooster out in the chicken coop. The sky was just barely alight with the rising sun, and a chilly morning breeze blew through the screens in the windows. Early May, and summer had still yet to set in. Not a problem to Liz, though. She was always glad to go a few extra weeks without the thick blanket of humidity which began to suffocate the Outer Banks every year by June. Debating whether or not to move, she stared up at the ceiling with tired eyes. There were cracks on the white surface, and a couple brownish water stains from the last tropical storm.

Despite the open windows, John B’s house still smelled stale after a night of debauchery. Empty bags of chips, green glass bottles, and rolling papers littered the rickety dining table. After the party at the Boneyard, the Pogues had migrated back to the Chateau and continued into the darkest hours of the night. Judging from the orangey hue of the sky, they couldn’t have gone to bed more than a couple hours prior. Of course, Kie and Pope had gone back to the Carrera residence, claiming to want to sleep in a ‘real’ bed. Kie could never stand the uncomfortable springs sticking out of the pullout couch mattress, or the mattress in the spare bedroom.

JJ usually got the spare, but both he and Liz had ended up sprawled out on the pullout instead. She would have worried about John B suspecting something fishy going on, but she could hear his faint snores coming from the direction of his bedroom. Not that he would’ve ever raised an eyebrow at seeing them share a bed. Liz was just a textbook worrywart. Besides, the living room was empty save for the two of them after everyone else had gone to bed, when they’d stayed up talking and sharing a final blunt to take the edge off and kissing softly. No; they’d had the whole world to themselves, it had seemed, in the living room of the Chateau in the wee hours of the new spring day. Though she felt silly, Liz couldn’t help letting a small smirk ghost over her lips at the memory of only hours earlier.

After a moment more indecision, she found herself doing her best to rise from the bed without waking JJ. It took more than a few seconds to pluck his arm from where it was draped over her stomach. Drool leaked from the corner of his mouth where his face was smashed up against the pillow. Liz’s smile widened just a bit at the sight. Noticing the goosebumps which rose on her arms at the lack of JJ’s body heat, she grabbed the crumpled gray cardigan from under the pullout mattress. She’d noticed it under there the night before as JJ was sucking on her neck.

Grimacing at the light from the back windows, Liz went up to the kitchen sink and got herself a glass of tap water. There was simply no way she was getting back to sleep with the hangover throbbing behind her eyes. But she didn’t particularly mind with such a beautiful sunrise. She had seen it so many times over the course of her life, on daybreak fishing trips and in the aftermath of long nights, but it always felt like the first time. Through the windows above the sink, she could see the reflection of the warmly painted sky against the water in the marsh. It glistened in small, glowing pearls on the dewy blades of tall grass in John B’s backyard.

As she was setting the emptied glass down in the sink, she felt a pair of arms snake around her waist. She startled, but relaxed into JJ’s touch after a moment. He had barely made any noise at all while padding over to her in his socked feet.

“Fuck, JJ!” she exclaimed quietly, letting out an anxious, breathy chuckle. “Announce yourself, sunshine.”

Not quite yet awake, JJ leaned against her. His head was on her shoulder, eyes closed as he spoke in drowsy slurs.

“Jesus, what time is it?” he asked.

“My name’s Liz, not Jesus. But, hey, we’ve only known each other since we were seven, after all,” she quipped, teasing.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, eager to lay back down. The flashes across his memory of all the alcohol he’d downed the night before made him a little nauseous. “Gimme a break, Lizzie.”

She snickered, but relented, looking over at the clock on the microwave. “Half past five.”

He groaned in response, shaking his head a bit. “I have to leave for work in like twenty minutes.”

“Shit. Why?”

“Early bird breakfast,” he grumbled.

“That sucks ass,” Liz said. “There’s some aspirin left in the medicine cabinet, I think. If you want to take some before you leave.”

He hummed in acknowledgement. The tank top Liz wore slipped down over her right arm just a bit. JJ pressed a kiss to the exposed skin of her shoulder, on which her small, black and white tattoo of a betta fish peeked out from the neckline of the cardigan. She’d gotten it the day after turning sixteen, with a forged signature on the parental release form. It was the only tattoo she had. Since JJ had begun kissing her, it had become one of his favorite spots. Hers, too. The feather-light pressure of his lips reminded her of the night before, when she’d touched him just as gingerly.

.   .   .

Rarely did Liz arrive at a party before JJ. He was usually the first to run down the beach, leading the way as he helped carry the keg. As he shouted in excitement, she could normally only manage a nervous half-grimace. But JJ was still nowhere to be found fifteen minutes after they’d finished setting up shop. Even the bonfire was lit. The past few days had been dry, and Liz hadn’t encountered too much trouble getting the logs to ignite. She was a former girl scout, and had slowly become the honorary firestarter of the group. She stood next to her creation, a red solo cup in her hand. John B had gone all out, supplying not just a keg but also the materials for mixed drinks. Liz was nursing a vodka-cranberry, taking slow, small sips. She was being careful to pace herself after the sloppy table dance she’d performed a few weeks back.

The late afternoon had just begun bleeding into evening, and the sky had darkened to a strange mixture of pinks and blues. A chilly breeze blew past her as the sun disappeared behind the horizon, and she took a couple more steps towards the heat of the bonfire. Still, she kept a careful distance from the main crowd. Kie had gotten into a conversation with Pope about use of fracking on the mainland as they sat next to each other in the circle around the fire. Liz could see how completely engrossed Pope was in Kie’s words, and if JJ had been there, she would have faked a gag at how cute they were. John B and Sarah, too, were lost in their own world, sharing flirty touches and lingering looks as they manned the keg. Though it had been months since the two had started dating, Liz still wasn’t sure how she felt about Sarah. The ice had melted between the Kook princess and the rest of the Pogues, but Liz just couldn’t bring herself to feel comfortable. Not around a girl who wore necklaces made of solid gold and got her highlights professionally done. The most Liz could afford was a seven-dollar box of dye, but years of practice had served her well. She’d started dying her auburn hair a fiery shade of copper during freshman year, just after her father died, and never looked back.

While she’d been getting ready for the party, she’d decided to channel Halloween, even though it was May. John B and Pope had watched curiously as she donned her black lipstick and smudged eyeliner. Sarah had extended the offer for Liz to come and get ready with her and Kie. But Liz brushed it off. Most of her makeup was at John B’s house, anyway, considering how often she stayed there. Why bring it all the way to the Figure Eight? Liz couldn’t imagine stepping into Sarah Cameron’s room, seeing the closet filled to the brim with designer dresses; velvet and silk and tulle. Especially not when the best Liz could do for a party outfit was an ancient Jimi Hendrix t-shirt and a semi-clean polka dot skirt.

Before she could spiral deeper into the bitter storm in her mind, Liz was pulled from her reverie when someone bumped hard into her shoulder. Liz barely registered what had happened until she felt the lukewarm drink spill down the front of her shirt. The gray fabric on which Jimi Hendrix’s face was printed was splashed right down the front with a deep, pinkish-red stain. Furrowing her brows, Liz looked up to see the Kook girl who had walked into her retreating, barely casting Liz a glance. The girl, who Liz recognized eventually as being called Ally, was struggling to walk on her high heels in the sand, while also typing away on her brand new phone, adorned with a sequined case. Maybe it wasn’t such a big deal. Maybe it didn’t matter that Ally hadn’t said a word, hadn’t looked Liz’s way, hadn’t apologized. But Liz looked around and found almost no one had seen what happened. John B and Sarah were all the way across the beach, and Liz could see Pope and Kie in a lively debate. JJ had still yet to arrive, it seemed. The t-shirt had been Liz’s father’s, vintage from his youth. And Liz knew it was unlikely such a stain would come out. She saw a flash of red and gripped the plastic cup so hard in her hand that it crumpled.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, as her stomach swirled with nerves and her hands began to shake. She knew she should have just let it go, as she always did. The idea of starting something with a Kook had her heart in her throat. But it was her father’s shirt. Sometimes, she thought she could still smell him when she wore it.

Ally didn’t turn around until Liz called out to her a couple more times. She spun around slowly on her heel, just barely looking up from her phone. Confusion painted her face as she realized who was addressing her. “Yeah?”

“Do you see what you just did to my shirt?” Liz asked, gesturing down at herself, voice raised over the blaring music and the chatter of fellow partygoers. A few people at the edges of the bonfire circle, where Ally had been headed, began to look up at the commotion.

Ally stared blankly at Liz’s shirt for a moment and then shrugged in disinterest. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

Scoffing, Liz let an angry, sardonic smirk cross her face. “Damn, someone should give you an Oscar for that acting.”

“What’s your problem?” Ally asked, finally giving Liz her full attention as her face twisted in disgust.

“My problem is my shirt is ruined,” Liz continued, not knowing exactly what she wanted to get out of the exchange. She only knew that she was pissed, and she hadn’t felt quite so pissed in a long time. It confused her, but the few sips of vodka she’d downed were apparently making her more courageous already.

Ally looked at Liz’s shirt for another moment. “I don’t know. I’d say I did you a favor.”

Liz narrowed her eyes at Ally, who appeared to think the exchange was over and began turning away again. But before she could disappear into the small crowd of onlookers which had formed, Liz grabbed the drink from Ally’s left hand and tossed the mixture onto the girl’s white crop top and mini skirt set. The color was even more vivid against such a light fabric, and it looked like a scene out of a horror movie. A chorus of cliché gasps erupted from the voyeurs standing around, and Pope and Kie had finally gotten wind of the situation. They had yet to intervene, standing with hesitation. It wasn’t like Liz to start fights. Usually, she was the one who ended them. Pope always called her the dependent variable, but she was certainly deviating from the norm tonight.

“Pogue bitch!” Ally shrieked, looking down at her ruined outfit.

Liz only smirked, feigning innocence and shrugging in a mock imitation. She couldn’t help but feel instant satisfaction. “You could always buy new, right?”

Ally’s face grew red with anger at the sound of Liz’s aloof tone. “This was two hundred dollars in New York, you cunt!”

“Tragic,” Liz replied coolly. “You poor baby.”

Ally took a couple threatening steps forward and Liz let out a bark of laughter. She threw the cups in her hands to the side (which she would be picking up as soon as she could, knowing how upset Kie would be if she didn’t). She advanced to Ally and met her eyes. Without the heels, Ally would have been significantly shorter than Liz. With them, she was almost as tall. But it didn’t matter. Liz stared her down like she was a bug about to be squashed.

“You gonna fight me, princess?” Liz asked huskily, feeling the lively fire in her stomach rising in her throat. Her smirk was ever-present, joyless. “Do it. Fight the Pogue cunt. See how that works out for you.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Ally said. She wasn’t quite scared, only surprised. Her brow was crinkled analytically. All this over a t-shirt.

“Oh, am I?” Liz asked, eyes wide in askance and mocking.

“Yeah. Just like your daddy,” Ally replied viciously, letting a smugness come over her face. She had recognized Liz only a few moments prior. On such a small island, word of tragedy got around. Most everyone knew about the girl whose father was found dangling from a beam in the attic. The audience made a sound of shock and awe.

Feeling her stomach do another flip, Liz clenched her hands into tight fists at her sides. Her nails began to cut into her palms. Just as she was launching herself forward, ready to hit someone for the first time in many years, she felt herself being pulled clumsily away by the shoulders and the waist. She struggled in the hold for only a moment, before she saw Ally retreating back to her friends and heard Kie yelling in her ear to calm the hell down. Sarah and John B were running over, the entire beach now aware something was going on.

“Let me go, Pope! I’m fine!” Liz yelled, tearing his arms from her sides and feeling freer at the release. Even though it was Pope, she still couldn’t help the panic which bubbled up within her from being restrained.

“What the hell was that?” John B asked as he came over, Sarah trailing behind.

“Why do you care? Why don’t you go fuck your girlfriend?” Liz snapped coldly.

A pit of regret immediately sank in her stomach. Her entire body was flushed and adrenaline pulsed through her. Even if John B was pretty much her brother, she couldn’t help but let all her negative feelings about everyone mix into an indecipherable rage. Not her father’s shirt. Not some lousy Kook calling her father crazy. She simply couldn’t handle it. Sure, she knew people whispered comments to each other when she walked down the street. She knew the Kooks talked shit about her behind her back. But to her face was something else entirely.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” John B said, taken aback by the outburst.

“Just forget it, alright?” Liz sighed, breathing harshly. “I’m sorry...I’m just...my fucking shirt!”

Kie tilted her head at Liz in confusion, bringing a gentle hand to her shoulder. “Why-“

Liz shrugged her off. “I said forget it! Can someone please just get me a new drink?!”

Recoiling, Kie stepped away and plucked the cups from where Liz had tossed them in the sand. Liz wanted so badly to make a full apology. She really did. And she would, once they got back to the Chateau. But she felt almost incapable at the moment, stewing with such uncharacteristic rage.

Silence and doubtful looks were exchanged, but eventually Sarah volunteered to go get Liz the drink and John B followed, tossing concerned glances over his shoulder at Liz as they went. She thanked them quietly, embarrassed, but then yelled after them, requesting they keep the cranberry juice to a minimum. Not much more than a chaser.

“Are you sure-” Pope began, but he stopped immediately when Liz locked eyes with him. She meant business. No more fun and games.

“Not tonight, okay, Pope?” she asked, a pleading, tired crack in her voice. It made Pope want to say more, but Liz cut him off again with another exclamation as she began walking away. “Where the fuck is JJ?!”

.   .   .

Down the beach from the party, Liz could barely see the orange glow of the fire past the crowd. She was still nursing her vodka-cranberry, a bit buzzed but not nearly enough to forget what had happened. Her eyes were burning with tears, but whenever she felt herself truly welling up, she would stop it. She’d sniff and look up at the sky until her eyes were dry. It was clear, and she could see the swirl of the stars so vividly against the pitch-black sky. Humming a Nirvana song under her breath, she sat with her arms on her knees, one hand clasped around the opposite wrist. The drink on her shirt had long since dried, but she was still chilly in the ocean wind. She’d thought about going back to the Chateau, but decided she didn’t have the energy to make the walk alone. Instead, she’d gone a good distance down the shore, and sat a few inches up from where the tide was coming in. The moon shone silver on the waves, and the sight of it almost made her feel better. But it didn’t.

She was only sad and tipsy. In her solitude, her mind wandered to her mother and father. To her siblings. She wondered what her mother was doing, probably already asleep. A bottle of Jack somewhere near the bed. It made Liz feel guilty for getting buzzed, but she only downed more of the drink in an effort to get the feeling to disappear. Her sisters, too, she wondered about. They didn’t call much, and she didn’t blame them. The oldest two were off at college on the mainland, living separate lives with their scholarships. The other, Nicole, checked in even less reilably. Last Liz heard, she was somewhere in New Mexico finding herself. And Liz was where she had always been, spending her nights at home cleaning up after her mother, sitting through tearful diatribes about what a saint her father had been. Biting her tongue through her mother’s lies. She was glad the Chateau had become the place to rest her head since her father’s death. Had she been forced to stay at home every night, she imagined she would have run off long ago.

JJ strode up to her with his hands in his pockets, hat backwards on his head as usual. He sat down next to her without a word, carrying his own cup. Liz didn’t startle at his presence. Instead, she only breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure exactly what time it was, but he was more than late.

“Contemplating the mysteries of the universe?” he asked, a small smile on his face.

She chuckled humorlessly, clearing her throat and sniffing. “Not quite. Just thinking about Kurt Cobain.”

“Well, no wonder you’re down here all angsty and alone, hot stuff,” he teased, but when he spoke again his voice was more solemn. “JB said you got in a fight with a Kook.”

“He’s a drama queen. I didn’t fight her,” Liz said, staring out at the ocean still. The breeze was cold but welcome, clarifying, and she took in a deep breath through her nose. “Ally spilled her drink on me. And then she said some shit about my dad...it was nothing.”

“Sure doesn’t look like nothing,” JJ said, eyeing the stain across Jimi Hendrix’s face in the dimness.

She snorted a laugh, looking down at herself. “Maybe not. But I was going for a Patrick Bateman thing tonight, anyway.”

JJ sighed, licking at his lips. He debated arguing, maybe even getting fired up enough to go find some random Kook in retaliation. But he didn’t. He knew how she hated when he fought. Instead, he only took off his hat, pulled his sweatshirt over his head and went to hand it to her.

“You’re cold,” he said insistently, watching her shiver in the nighttime wind. She still hadn’t looked over at him, only staring out blankly at the waves. “And your shirt looks like you just went all Mrs. Crain on someone.”

After a long moment, she nodded, taking a final sip of her drink and then placing the cup down on the sand beside her. She still didn’t look over at him as she put it on. It warmed her up instantly.  The smell of JJ, Old Spice and weed and smoke, mixed with the ocean breeze. The wind blew past her again, the tips of her red hair just brushing her shoulders. She would have to cut it again soon. Since she was little, she could never handle her hair getting longer than her collarbones. It was just too much effort.

With JJ’s sweatshirt on, she wasn’t nearly as freezing.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, red,” he replied easily, taking another sip of his drink.

“Where’ve you been?” she asked quietly, trying her best not to sound needy. “We got here, like, three hours ago.”

“Oh, you know. Just robbing a bank or two,” he quipped.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. Her face fell, though, when she finally ventured a full glance at him. In the moonlight and the distant glow of the bonfire, she could see the cut on his cheek which was still oozing blood.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed, placing gingerly fingers on his jaw so he would face her. But his eyes didn’t quite meet hers.

“I’m fine, Lizzie,” he muttered, swatting her hand away.

“Who did that to you?” she asked softly, tilting her head at him.

JJ shrugged. “Just ran into Rafe on the way over. I would’ve called, but I figured I should clean up a little so you wouldn’t freak out when you saw me. I guess that was a waste.”

She shook her head a little. “That motherfucker.”

“Seriously, it’s fine. You should see the other guy,” JJ continued, smirking though it didn’t reach his eyes.

Liz breathed out a sigh and thought about asking more, but didn’t. Instead, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on the apple of his cheek, the skin around the cut already bruising a deep purple. Her black lipstick had long since been wiped off, after her scuffle with Ally. Before JJ had arrived, she’d used the inside of her shirt to rub furiously at her face. Her lips were sore and pinkish, but soft against JJ’s skin.

Fighting to keep the shine of tears from his blue eyes, JJ let a small giggle slip. If his father’s fist had been a scream, her kiss was a whisper. It was so gentle he could barely contain himself, his heart skipping a beat. “Feels better already.”

“Does it?” she asked, pulling away with a tiny smile.

He hummed in confirmation. Tossing a glance over his shoulder at the party, he shifted closer to her. The kiss that followed was heated and hungry, both tasting vodka on each other’s tongues. Liz wasn’t surprised JJ was a bit buzzed as well. If she knew John B, he had shoved a drink in JJ’s hand as soon as he saw his eye. JJ was hard to read at times, but alcohol or weed were always surefire ways to cheer him up. And John B always made himself the captain of the party and the guests’ happiness.

Liz was out of breath, but she still smiled against JJ’s  lips. As fishy as his late arrival was, she was just happy to see him. Simple as that. In the weeks since they’d gone from friends to something more, she’d found herself thinking of him always. What he was doing, how he was feeling, whether he was thinking of her too. Usually, he was.

Away from the party, she could kiss him like she meant to, nowhere near the lingering eyes of her friends. No one else in the world knew but the two of them, not even the other Pogues. While the inter-group macking rule had long since been broken, there were other reasons to keep the secret. Sure, everyone had always said they belonged together. But neither of them were ready to let it be known to the world. Truthfully, Liz feared the pit of dread in her stomach, worrying over what would happen to their friendship if whatever they were doing fizzled out, would only grow heavier if everyone knew. JJ’s hand slipped beneath the soft sweatshirt and the stained t-shirt as they kissed, though. And, for the moment, Liz forgot all of her worries.

.   .   .

Despite everything, Liz found herself laughing wildly in the back of Twinkie, the rear doors opened. As she sat on the edge of the car’s floor, the carpeting plush against the backs of her thighs, she watched JJ dancing beneath the streetlight. They’d decided to head back to the Chateau, not particularly in the mood to deal with the Kooks who had ventured over to the other side of the island for the rest of the night. John B had thrown JJ the keys while they were still on the beach, instructing his friend to head to the car while he gathered Sarah, Kie, and Pope up. Liz looked more freezing by the minute, and while Twinkie’s heating wasn’t optimal, it was better than braving the ocean wind. John B was partial to being the designated driver, especially on the night of such a big bash. And, of course, especially when they already had supplies for an after party set out on his kitchen table.

Instead of huddling down in the trunk with Liz though, JJ took advantage of the pleasant, alcohol-induced flush warming his skin. He danced along to the Elvis tune playing from the radio in his cutoff Levis. The keys were in the ignition while the car sat in park, the heat blasting and the engine whirring quietly. Liz had heard the song many times on her father’s records. JJ gyrated his hips, ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to create a sloppy pompadour. He wasn’t very drunk, still coordinated enough to make a real show of it.

“Just take a walk down lonely street, to the heartbreak hotel,” JJ sang along, curling his lip in a decent imitation.

Liz snorted and rolled her eyes at his theatrics, but giggled along. Ever since they were little, JJ was always performing, mostly for her. A strange sense of nostalgia washed over her as he watched him, under the makeshift spotlight in the inky blue midnight. Down below, the party raged on, but neither Liz nor JJ took notice any longer. For the moment, it was just the two of them. Eventually, the song faded away and JJ finished his impression. Liz clapped a few times, slow and almost mocking. Pouting at the lackluster response, JJ sat down heavily next to her and put his head on her shoulder. The laughter would suffice to please him; he’d only done the dance to cheer her up, after all, guilty he hadn’t been at the party earlier, when she’d needed him. But he whined playfully, nonetheless.

“Tough fucking crowd.”

“I’m just kidding, sunshine. You were just like the king, alright?” she said, starting to sober up but still focusing on the tingling of her skin at the drinks and his touch. Slinging an arm around his shoulders, she brought him closer and kissed the crown of his head affectionately.

.   .   .

Rolling to a stop, Liz leaned her bike against the oak tree and ran her hands through her hair. It was greasy, and she decided she needed to shower before her lunchtime shift at the Wreck. It was a double, but she’d be back at John B’s by nine, with plans for a chill movie night. Kie and Pope probably wouldn’t make it, more eager for alone time in recent months. But there would still be the four of them. After they all went to bed, Liz could pad over from the pullout couch in the living room to JJ’s bed, as she’d made a habit of doing in the past few weeks. Though she was always annoyed with such a long shift, especially when the damn Tourons were starting their vacation season, it was good to know there was something to look forward to at the end of the day.

The sun was high in the sky, having risen fully, as she ascended the creaky porch steps into her house. The wind chimes near the door jingled quietly in the slight breeze. Doing her best to shut the rusty screen door silently behind her, Liz jumped when she saw her mother already up and having her coffee at the kitchen table. Usually, she was still out cold.

“Hey, mom,” Liz said, forcing a weak smile on her lips. She slipped her backpack from her shoulders and set it down next to the door. Then, she tugged her shoes off and went towards the kitchen.

“Oh, hi,” her mother muttered, yawning, looking up from her paper and over the reading glasses on her nose at her daughter.

Ruth Walker was lately a quiet woman, but still remained every bit as incisive as she had been before her husband died. She watched as Liz poured herself a mug of black coffee, dressed in her cardigan and one of JJ’s t-shirts. Only her skirt was the same from the night before. Liz had been careful to make sure she left her ruined t-shirt at John B’s. The sight of it might have been enough to make her mother burst into tears. Liz’s hair was back in a low ponytail, and Ruth immediately noticed the dark mark peeking out from the neckline of the t-shirt.

“Guess it was a fun party,” Ruth said, eyebrows raised but voice mostly disinterested.

Liz furrowed her brows at her mother’s tone, taking a sip of the coffee and turning to face her. “Hm?”

“That love bite on your neck,” Ruth explained, staring at the hickey.

Immediately, Liz flushed scarlet. She was glad she had left just after JJ, as the rest of the Pogues were still snoring. Certainly, someone would have noticed. They were usually careful, but as high as she and JJ were, she wasn’t entirely surprised they had gotten a bit carried away. She didn’t have time to stutter out a response before her mother continued.

“Just make sure he’s clean. And please don’t get pregnant,” Ruth said, sighing slightly. “Girls your age know nothing about nothing. We can’t add another mouth to feed into the mix. I don’t need that right now.”

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Liz looked down into her coffee and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I won’t. You know I won’t.”

Shrugging, Ruth went back to her paper. From her spot leaning against the sink, Liz couldn’t quite make out what her mother was reading, but she knew what it was anyway. Especially since her mother held a red pen in her left hand. She was circling real estate listings from the Figure Eight. Houses they could never even dream of living in. Swallowing harshly, Liz tried not to think too hard about what her mother was doing and instead straightened her back, about to head to the bathroom.

“So, mom, I’m gonna shower and then head to work. I’m probably gonna stay at John B’s again tonight. And maybe a few more nights after, since John has-”

“Fine,” Ruth said flippantly, not bothering to listen to her daughter’s rambled reasonings. “Make good choices.”

Ruth didn’t look up from her paper as she spoke. Liz waited a minute for more, then finally made her way towards the small hallway when her mother kept silent.

[midas-or-khaos]

Spirit, chapter 2

Ughhhhhhhh...waking up is shit. Ice sat in place for his heart, but waking up to these covers is amazing; so soft, like lamb wool or something and it’s all so WARM, like a 360 blanket draining away the frost in his marrow. Whatever was causing that gentle swaying was a life saver. Nice, gentle, swaying...

...Wait. Beds don’t rock, something’s happened. Ohhhhhhhh shit he fainted yesterday hadn’t he? Who (with the exception of trainee surgeons and Victorian women in novels) faints?

People who meet things that don’t exist apparently, ‘cause last time anyone checked giants don’t fucking exist! SOD IT! Ok, calm down, level head, this isn’t the time to go crazy ‘cause otherwise he’s fucked. Just breathe and think it through, what happened? He fainted for the first time in his life, and is now in the possession of whoever found him. Bright side, he was now warm and healing his busted feet, so if a chance to escape occurred, the odds were more stacked in his favour. His head rattled, was it all against him, or was his head pain something else? Concentrate. Other side, the giants could pull him out of whatever cranny they’d stuffed him into at any point and crush him. One option then, he had to try and escape unnoticed before anything happened.

Ok what was the environment Bill was working with? Through the fuzzy walls, the muttering from before was still going on (just quite a bit louder, though not painfully). The language used wasn’t anything recognisable, even the sounds seemed completely left field with the occasional use of whistling on certain words. No ability to communicate, great. Made sense now why whoever shouted back when he called out just said ‘argh’. Bill couldn’t distract them with bullshitting if he was spotted, so that meant extra stealth. He could do that, but how? They’re awake and aware so they’ll notice him moving around wherever he was. Especially if he was close to the body of whichever giant he was attached to. No knife though, so he couldn’t make a hole and slip out. He’d have to force his way out the top, but take it slow.

Lightly patting around in the dark, the smooth wool came to a dip above his head. There’s the bitch. Trying with a hand first, a few fingers managed to slip through the sphincter. Chattering he hadn’t noticed had been there started up at at a whole new level. Chilly, ok, but not too hard. Trying again, the whole hand pushed through, frost lapping at exposed finger tips. Freedom, but dangerous freedom. If there was no shelter once he got out, he’d be back to square 1, freezing his balls off and potentially dying from exposure. However, there was still no change from anyone on the outside, so coast was clear. Better to take a chance. Taking the second hand, it snugly fit in beside the other; now came the tricky part. The angle wasn’t the best, but with all the might he could muster from string bean muscles (and shot glass worth of excitement induced adrenaline), the clenched entrance came apart, and a blinding spotlight snuck through. It’s just there!

On shaking thighs trying to keep balance, the brunette stuck his upper half out, almost instantly a gush threw Bill around like a daisy hanging on for dear life to its stem; the bittersweet outside. As the whoosh past, the opportunity to look round dame at last. The boy wasn’t sure what was worse: seeing nothing, or seeing reality.

He was nowhere, adrift a sea of swaying spines that rolled and tumbled for an eternity all round, in a boat he had no control of, and had no idea of its intentions or direction. Even if he were to escape, there was nowhere he could hide. No shelter he could find. No experience on how to find food. He was as dead out there (he found with shuddering breaths, unsure if it was the chill, or his own rising panic) as he was in the pockets of his captors. There was no way to find home. Jesus...

...his captors had been awfully quiet...

“Doyo?”

Throwing his head back, the boy’s blue orbs grew wide and doe like as a new face held what little concentration he could get from himself in place. Younger, much younger, around mid 20’s? But he held similar features to the older man, so maybe a relative. Wait was he talking to Bill? A shiver, CRAP, he’d been spotted trying to escape!

“Wwwwwwwha?” Was all that could dribble out of the O of his lips.

Curious buttercup coloured irises were hidden by furrowed brows.

“Doyo...deskja jo?”

“I, errrr, em. I’m sorry, I literally don’t understand a word you’re saying, but pleeeeaaaasssse.” He reasons with bated breath, “Pleeeaaassseee don’t hurt me.”

No reply this time, just an abrupt stop, throwing him forward. Rising up rollercoastered his stomach down. A full-shadowed jaw was coming closer, he was about to get eaten, a gruesome death.

“OH FUCK PLEASE DON’T-”

Smush

“-ww...wha?”

The giant pressed Bill to his forehead, holding him there. What the hell was he doing? The heat radiating off was like lava, steaming off his fingertips whilst the wind at his back felt that much worse for it. His holder turned back and called out.

“Sit mayert. Demnot doing great.”

What was that?

The youthful face looked back, the cords of his throat tight and bulging, like he was holding his breath. Did he just switch to English? What he imagining that? HOW WAS THAT POSSIBLE! HOW WAS ANY OF THIS POSSIBLE?!

He was losing his mind, and his body. Limp all round, this unusual unresponsiveness was feeling less like fright, and more like what little heat was being sapped out once more. Bill couldn’t go on, the icy ache was taking over all thought.

A hand like fallen tree descended in like it was nothing, plucking up his upper body and stuffing it back inside his baking prison (which was doing little to warm him truly) and sealed the top shut once more, footsteps becoming thunderous all round. They were moving fast. Fuck, he couldn’t stay awake, the heat was a lullaby, and no matter how much his mind wanted to fight, in the end the body submitted.

...This was getting ridiculous. Where was he this time? Well, at least the supposedly unmoving ice in his body was shifting its way out again, because now he could feel his fingers and toes. Opening his eyes, he was greeted to a pointed roof of what looked like thatch, only it was some ridiculous amount of meters up above to accommodate the gigantic residents. The whole room in fact smelt earthy, walls made of waxed wood and thatching, with something that looked like clay or mud plugging in holes and leaving the air tasting of dust, however non of the elements had any chance of getting in so win some lose some.

Sitting up, a groan threw him back down, a migraine putting him back in his place. Oh the joys of feeling like life’s punching-bag. Something foul smelling and wet suddenly smacked his feet, before trailing over and over his legs. Ew. Shifting to try and pull away, the thing only came back with more vigour, going for the whole body, mo matter how much he tried to pull away. Whatever it was eventually pulled back, and heavy pants came from above. Like that...of a dog. Uncurling, the wide smile, stout snout and wide face was unmistakable. It looked like some kind of Tibetan mastiff, if only some 100x bigger. It seemed friendly though, and that smile was too wonderful to hold a grudge against, it was doing its best to take care of him. Despite being slobbered on thanks to its exuberance, Bill couldn’t help but coo and call it back, wanting to stroke that lion mane ginger hair. Probably felt like silk. The dog was all too happy to oblige, short nose leading in to nuzzle his middle fondly. This was a better way to wake up, lying on a bear-like dog, being snuggled.

“Thanks mate. You’re lovely, aren’t you? I wish I had a dog like you back at Uni, so I would always have someone nice to come home to.” He slurred, draping over the good boy’s snout. A chuff was replied.

How had he become acclimatised to this level of insane so quickly, that he didn’t question or care about lying down with an enormous dog? Had he really given up trying to comprehend, or had his subconscious decided to flood his systems with enough serotonin to not panic himself into oblivion? Because consciously, he still saw this day as maddening. Giants were real, he was tiny, and he was making a bed on a dog. To think, he’d thought leaving his mother to stay on the other side of the country was a big deal. That managed to put a bit of a sour note in his mouth, eyes dulled as he concentrated on his mother. What he wouldn’t do to have her back. Bill’s poor mother must be losing her mind with fright, and in all honesty, he wanted her back more than anything in this world that made less and less sense. Just the sight of familiarity, the smell of floral unconditional love, and the touch of a warm hand.

“Hey.”

...reality made no sense. It sounded like buttercup eyes from before.

“Rooster, you’re not still Ill, are you?”

Rooster?

Not bothering to turn and get up to only let pain drag him down (plus Doge, as the boy decided to coin his new friend, was comfortable), Bill chose to instead groan to the air.

“My name’s not rooster.”

There was a small shift from behind. A new set of breaths, much lighter than the dog’s filtered lightly across his back. He was so close, all that nonchalantly was being replaced by adrenaline. He could grab and control all he wanted. Stay calm.

“Did...you just reply?” Came a stuttered response.

“Surprise. I don’t know either, but I can understand you now.” How very monotone of him, good.

There was a pause on Buttercup’s behalf, so he chose to carry on.

“I think it started when I was pressed to your forehead-” snapped out.

“-You remembered that? I’m surprised, I thought the hypothermia had driven you out of your mind.”

“Hypothermia?” Was that what was messing his head round? To think he’d been that vulnerable.

“Yes. Didn’t you notice?”

“I’ve never had it, so I wouldn’t know.”

A light touch, maybe a finger, grazed his spine. Trying not to shiver is harder than it looks.

“You feel warmer to the touch Rooster, so it’s probably gone.”

There it was again. “Why do you keep calling me rooster?” That may have been a bit too forward. Luckily, Butter seemed to take it in stride.

“Sorry, your determination to live when you were faced with arid land was like that of a rooster. Stubborn. Well, that and the hair. You were tenacious enough to outwit death.”

Don’t really think it was tenacity mate. Looks more like it was luck. It also looked like his luck was out.

Multiple rough finger tips touched both sides. That was the last straw. Unable to stay calm and pretend not to be terrified, Bill let out a shout of “no!”, but the hand had already scooped under his squirming body and lifted him again.

“Shhhh shhhhh shhhh. It’s ok, you’re ok Rooster. Where’s all that bravery from before?”

It was never there, it was all a facade crumbling like dust in the wind. He wasn’t brave, never was, always too afraid to speak up. All of his so called bravery was simple survival tactics that had failed him miserably. He was stupid, and impulsive, getting so caught up in one direction of thought that he never saw the consequences. It was all go, and less stop and think. And now, that immediacy to react had made him scared of the same person that had saved him from hypothermia.

“I’m sorry.” Whispered out.

The hand lifted the boy to a scruffy cheek, sweet almond-shaped eyes looking over adoringly as a curtain of thick, onyx locks cascaded around and just let him be in that moment.

“Don’t be. You’re scared, that’s alright. I would be too if I were picked up by strangers. Let’s get you some food and you can tell me your name. Mine’s Ekashiba.”

“I’m Bill.” He could already tell he was going to forget that name quickly.

At last the brunette was pulled away, feeling better. It wasn’t often that Bill enjoyed close contact, hating to be touched by others (even his own family to a point, though it wasn’t personal), but for a reason even he couldn’t comprehend, Ekashiba’s touch wasn’t as pervasive and unwanted as usually all things were. It was...nice.

As the boy was held at waist level to the man, he couldn’t help but notice in fact, all of Ekashi spoke of warmth, literally. He was wearing some sort of monochrome robe, like a Kimono but made of thick wool, with a similar sort of linen version peaking underneath. On top of that, a deep crimson sleeveless robe and finishing it all off, ring earrings and a bead necklace. But no pockets, Bill noticed with a confused head swivel. How was he carried here then?

Trotting through connecting dome-shaped rooms, the heat started to permeate the air and a sweat was building. There in the centre of the room, a wide birthed fire pit made of sand, surrounded by what looked like the whole family sitting on the raised wooden, tatami matted floor, cooking. They were all chatting amongst themselves, not noticing or uncaring that Buttercup had entered. It was a much larger family than his own, with both grandparents all the way to a kid around 12. 9 of them in total, including the familiar bearded man. Here in the light, the resemblance was striking. Same squat button nose, same sunny eyes, hell even the same thin, bowed lips. Just the addition of crows feet and full beard.

“Dad, Rooster’s woken up.”

The man in question looked up.

“Situ mitsku do toyuma?”

What? Why couldn’t he understand them! For god sake, why’d he have to go through this song and dance twice?

“What did he say?”

Buttercup shot a look down, wide eyed.

“You can’t understand him, but you can understand me?”

“I don’t know! This is all new to me too!”

“Nea...wataki mo?”

“Yes Dad, everything’s fine. It’s just for some reason the little one can only understand me-”

“-Oi, dickhead! I’m 18, not 10-“

“-And we don’t know why.”

The Dad seemed to ponder this for a while, catching the attention of the other members that weren’t cooking (grandparents, wife and the other couple). It got quite heated at one point, and Bill was only managing to be ok with all the frighteningly boisterous shouting because he was still steaming about the earlier comment. Ekashi looked like a cat trying to focus in on one target among a flock of birds, barely keeping on track, and throwing the odd comment here and there.

“Are you sure?” “Doesn’t seem likely.” “I think we need to-“

This was like GCSE French all over again. Tidbits of understanding and the rest a sea of bollocks. Was this good news or bad?

“Buttercup, please, I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Buttrvrup?”

Crap. The brunette forgot only he called him that behind his back.

“That’s not the important bit, what’s going on?”

“They’re trying to decide what you are and if you’re safe to have round.”

“...but I’m like the size of a mouse, why would I be unsafe to have around?”

“They fear you may be a Monster.”

Of course. Why didn’t Bill see that coming.

“...fair enough.” What kind of an answer was that?! He should’ve made more of an effort to try and change the family’s mind through Ekashi.

The conversation just kept going on and on in circles, but one member of the debate was starting to take notice in the boy’s mind. The grandmother, hunched, skin like cracked earth and silvery. She hadn’t said a thing the whole time, just stared at him and watched his hawkish lay with beady eyes. Like she was debating his worth just through observation. Was he doing alright? Was he making a good impression.

“Boy, lift up your shirt.”

Holy shit. “Y-you speak English?” Why didn’t she say anything this entire time!

“Please, do as I ask.”

Everything fell silent, save for the bubbling wok of oil, and everyone came round to see what she was talking about. So silent, the anticipation was cutting.

“...ok.” Taking both hands to the edge of the roughed up t-shirt, the boy himself was reluctant to see what was there, but it had to be done. Putting up resistance as much as he could, shaking hands lifted the edge with nervous twitched rising. There was a black strip. No way. Lifting more the strip became strips, till he got the lip of the edge into his mouth. It was a symbol, like a kanji. A perhaps dreadful realisation, she’d seen this before.

“As I thought. The sign of the heavens. Oki, you can’t harm the child.”

“Kamita odo?”

She didn’t break eye contact once.

“...because that, is your son’s new spirit.”

[dfroza]

A twin set of chapters

which begin Today (April 10, ‘17) from a point in ancient History when God confronted Job directly as read in chapter 38 of the book that tells of his story. and God does this from chapter 38-41 of the book comprised of 42 chapters, in which He speaks of many things in Creation and in nature that reveal who He is. and we can learn a lot from this conversation recorded in Scripture as well, in how we think of God and of things in the world and the universe.

[Job 38]

God Confronts Job

Have You Gotten to the Bottom of Things?

And now, finally, God answered Job from the eye of a violent storm. He said:

“Why do you confuse the issue? Why do you talk without knowing what you’re talking about? Pull yourself together, Job! Up on your feet! Stand tall! I have some questions for you, and I want some straight answers. Where were you when I created the earth? Tell me, since you know so much! Who decided on its size? Certainly you’ll know that! Who came up with the blueprints and measurements? How was its foundation poured, and who set the cornerstone, While the morning stars sang in chorus and all the angels shouted praise? And who took charge of the ocean when it gushed forth like a baby from the womb? That was me! I wrapped it in soft clouds, and tucked it in safely at night. Then I made a playpen for it, a strong playpen so it couldn’t run loose, And said, ‘Stay here, this is your place. Your wild tantrums are confined to this place.’

“And have you ever ordered Morning, ‘Get up!’ told Dawn, ‘Get to work!’ So you could seize Earth like a blanket and shake out the wicked like cockroaches? As the sun brings everything to light, brings out all the colors and shapes, The cover of darkness is snatched from the wicked— they’re caught in the very act!

“Have you ever gotten to the true bottom of things, explored the labyrinthine caves of deep ocean? Do you know the first thing about death? Do you have one clue regarding death’s dark mysteries? And do you have any idea how large this earth is? Speak up if you have even the beginning of an answer.

“Do you know where Light comes from and where Darkness lives So you can take them by the hand and lead them home when they get lost? Why, of course you know that. You’ve known them all your life, grown up in the same neighborhood with them!

“Have you ever traveled to where snow is made, seen the vault where hail is stockpiled, The arsenals of hail and snow that I keep in readiness for times of trouble and battle and war? Can you find your way to where lightning is launched, or to the place from which the wind blows? Who do you suppose carves canyons for the downpours of rain, and charts the route of thunderstorms That bring water to unvisited fields, deserts no one ever lays eyes on, Drenching the useless wastelands so they’re carpeted with wildflowers and grass? And who do you think is the father of rain and dew, the mother of ice and frost? You don’t for a minute imagine these marvels of weather just happen, do you?

“Can you catch the eye of the beautiful Pleiades sisters, or distract Orion from his hunt? Can you get Venus to look your way, or get the Great Bear and her cubs to come out and play? Do you know the first thing about the sky’s constellations and how they affect things on Earth?

“Can you get the attention of the clouds, and commission a shower of rain? Can you take charge of the lightning bolts and have them report to you for orders?

What Do You Have to Say for Yourself?

“Who do you think gave weather-wisdom to the ibis, and storm-savvy to the rooster? Does anyone know enough to number all the clouds or tip over the rain barrels of heaven When the earth is cracked and dry, the ground baked hard as a brick?

“Can you teach the lioness to stalk her prey and satisfy the appetite of her cubs As they crouch in their den, waiting hungrily in their cave? And who sets out food for the ravens when their young cry to God, fluttering about because they have no food?”

The Book of Job, Chapter 38 [The Message]

and paired with this chapter of the Old Testament, i read a chapter of the New Testament as well each day going in sequential order as laid out in the Bible in 66 books, repeating when reaching the conclusion of each Testament (with Malachi and Revelation). all with the exception of the Psalms and Proverbs from which i read on a daily basis.

which for Today the New Testament chapter is 1st Corinthians 5 where we see a confrontation of Paul toward those of his bothers and sisters in the family of faith as it regards to sexual relations and other problems that arose, to further proceed this week in subsequent chapters reflecting upon marriage as well. but specifically for Today this chapter mentions the Passover Lamb, which is perfect timing in Light of Passover being celebrated at sundown tonight. and as i’ve been going through the Scriptures like this for several years now being paired up in twin chapters, it seems to have lined up with things in an interesting way by revealing signs of Authenticity along the way.

and for Today in addition to these two chapters, being day 10 of April and day 22 of Spring, simultaneously day 100 of the year, i read Psalms 10, 22, and 100 to coincide with this, along with Proverbs 10 for April 10. just my own personal way of going through the Heart of the Scriptures to reflect upon History as it is mirrored in things, right here & now. because the truth of eternal Love is the mystery of it all, which is sourced in God. and it is all about creating a real and lasting friendship, with God and with others. the heart of family.

[First Corinthians 5]

The Mystery of Sex

I also received a report of scandalous sex within your church family, a kind that wouldn’t be tolerated even outside the church: One of your men is sleeping with his stepmother. And you’re so above it all that it doesn’t even faze you! Shouldn’t this break your hearts? Shouldn’t it bring you to your knees in tears? Shouldn’t this person and his conduct be confronted and dealt with?

I’ll tell you what I would do. Even though I’m not there in person, consider me right there with you, because I can fully see what’s going on. I’m telling you that this is wrong. You must not simply look the other way and hope it goes away on its own. Bring it out in the open and deal with it in the authority of Jesus our Master. Assemble the community—I’ll be present in spirit with you and our Master Jesus will be present in power. Hold this man’s conduct up to public scrutiny. Let him defend it if he can! But if he can’t, then out with him! It will be totally devastating to him, of course, and embarrassing to you. But better devastation and embarrassment than damnation. You want him on his feet and forgiven before the Master on the Day of Judgment.

Your flip and callous arrogance in these things bothers me. You pass it off as a small thing, but it’s anything but that. Yeast, too, is a “small thing,” but it works its way through a whole batch of bread dough pretty fast. So get rid of this “yeast.” Our true identity is flat and plain, not puffed up with the wrong kind of ingredient. The Messiah, our Passover Lamb, has already been sacrificed for the Passover meal, and we are the Unraised Bread part of the Feast. So let’s live out our part in the Feast, not as raised bread swollen with the yeast of evil, but as flat bread—simple, genuine, unpretentious.

I wrote you in my earlier letter that you shouldn’t make yourselves at home among the sexually promiscuous. I didn’t mean that you should have nothing at all to do with outsiders of that sort. Or with crooks, whether blue- or white-collar. Or with spiritual phonies, for that matter. You’d have to leave the world entirely to do that! But I am saying that you shouldn’t act as if everything is just fine when a friend who claims to be a Christian is promiscuous or crooked, is flip with God or rude to friends, gets drunk or becomes greedy and predatory. You can’t just go along with this, treating it as acceptable behavior. I’m not responsible for what the outsiders do, but don’t we have some responsibility for those within our community of believers? God decides on the outsiders, but we need to decide when our brothers and sisters are out of line and, if necessary, clean house.

The Book of 1st Corinthians, Chapter 5 [The Message]