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python333 · 8 months

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task force 141 reacting to [reader] telling them corny jokes during a mission — python333

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synopsis just as the title says, tf141 reacts to you telling them some corny dad jokes during a mission!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], bad jokes.

note ME AND MY 23 FOLLOWERS ARE STRAIGHT CHILLING RN. i love all of u. anyway gaz is in this one!! yippee!! i thought about ghost and his jokes in that one part of one of the cod games idk ive never played them i watch other people play it but you guys know what im talking about. i also just figured out that i should probably specify gender neutral reader for my fics?? so i'll start doing that! ANYWAY enjoy!! this is all fluff and has some classic tired parent & hyper toddler energy in the first part :}

JOHN “BRAVO SIX” PRICE

➥ insert exasperated sigh here.

➥ he will let you keep telling him jokes, however he will only respond to them with a simple, tired, “Uh huh. Good one. Very funny. Nice one.”

➥ tired dad energy.

➥ the first one you told was okay. he laughed at that one. the tenth one? please, god, just stop talking and put him out of his misery.

➥ he wonders how you know so many jokes, and then wonders if you got them all from ghost.

➥ if you did get them from ghost, trust that he will be telling the man himself all about how you constantly told him bad jokes over comms.

➥ if you just happen to know all of these, he won’t be surprised.

➥ he’ll put up with all of the jokes, for your sake, of course.

➥ the first time this happens, you’re both on a pretty insignificant mission compared to other ones you’ve done.

➥ you’re both talking over comms, just making sure you’re both okay.

➥ that’s when you started your attack.

—

“Captain?” You’d asked, listening as Price hummed in acknowledgment of you talking, “Wanna hear a joke?”

You could practically hear his hesitation, before he responded with a tentative, almost scared, “... Sure, [c/n].”

A delighted grin split across your face as you asked him, “How does dry skin affect you at work?”

He thought for a moment before asking, “How?”

“You don’t have any elbow grease to put into it.” You heard Price give a small chuckle, and decided to ask, “Wanna hear another one?”

Price’s second mistake of the evening, “Sure.”

“Where do boats go when they’re sick?” You asked, still keeping a lookout on your surroundings on your end while focusing on telling your Captain shitty jokes.

“Where?” Price asked.

“To the boat doc.” It took Price a moment, before he huffed out a small laugh and muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “Jesus, that’s terrible.”

Without warning, you tell him another one. He asks why, when, how, or what, whichever was appropriate for the joke you told, and slowly but surely his questioning tone became tired and exasperated. You don’t know why, but somehow his miserable tone made you even more motivated to tell him corny jokes.

“Do you just… memorize all of these?” Price asked in the middle of you telling a new joke, sounding almost astonished.

“Yes I do. Just for these missions, I do,” You answered confidently, smiling when Price sighed. You continued on with your joke, and even though Price didn’t respond verbally, you still told the punch line. You had repeated this for at least ten minutes, all of those minutes appallingly slow to Price, the poor man having to endure your bullshit for such a short yet such a long time. At the tenth minute, the only thing that stopped you from continuing was Gaz’s voice coming on over comms and interrupting you, telling everyone else on the mission that they could head back to the rendezvous point. Price, relieved at the interruption, gave a thankful sigh and you could hear him getting up from his spot before he muted himself.

You sighed as well, yours a direct opposite of Prices, full of disappointment, but you let it go. Besides, you’ll always have more opportunities to terrorize Price with your jokes on the ride back to base!

—

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

➥ he has the same reaction he had with ghost telling him corny jokes.

➥ he’ll call your jokes terrible, but will still laugh at them somehow.

➥ will 100% put up with your jokes, will laugh every time, even if his laughter slowly becomes more and more strained, he’ll laugh.

➥ tells you some jokes back, but after your 4th joke, he gives up and accepts his fate.

➥ he will suffer for your entertainment, guaranteed.

➥ he will be sure to remind you of how terrible your jokes are though!!

➥ he’s honestly impressed by how many jokes you’ve memorized.

➥ he’ll happily support you doing this to other people, no matter how much it damages his soul when you do it to him.

➥ the first time you do it to him, he starts getting deja vu from when ghost did it to him.

➥ “Oh, God, no’ ye too,” he’d groan playfully the moment you start telling him jokes, getting flashbacks.

➥ enjoys your jokes, even if he would do anything for you to shut up, he still enjoys them.

—

You and Soap were camping out in the same spot—atop a roof of a tall building that was just tall enough to give you a view of practically every other building in the area as well as the ground. It was cold up there, the air so cold that every time you’d exhaled, your breath turned to white condensation before fading into the clear sky.

It was fair to say that you and Soap were fairly bothered by the cold, so you really had no other option, you just had to start telling your jokes. How else could you warm the both of you up? Sure, it wouldn’t do anything physically, but mentally? It was sure to practically melt Soap’s brain.

“Soap?” Soap hummed and looked over at you, “Wanna hear a joke?”

Soap smiled, and decided to humor you, “Sure. Joke ‘way.”

“Why couldn’t the bike stand up by itself?” You asked, turning fully towards Soap. He didn’t bother to think before asking, “Why?”

“Because it was two-tired.” It took him a moment, but eventually he huffed out a small laugh and nodded.

“No’ bad,” He’d hummed, “Want me to say one?”

“Go ahead.”

“How did vikings communicate with one another?” Soap asked, turning fully towards you in turn.

“How?”

“By Norse code,” Soap had said with a grin on his face, clearly proud of the joke. You laughed quietly at it.

Without asking, you tell another joke. “Why did the bed wear a disguise?”

“Why?”

“It was undercover.”

Soap chuckled and turned back down to the ground, assuming you were done. But, oh boy, did he assume wrong. You told another one. He asked for the punchline. You delivered. You told another. He asked again. You delivered, again. Can you recall just how many jokes you told that fateful night? No. Does that make the memory any less funny to look back on? No.

Soap’s expression slowly turned to one of misery, his laughter becoming strained and slowly coming to a stop, the light in his eyes fading away as God himself seemed to appear behind you and reassure him that it would all be over soon. God, how he wished that were true.

Soon enough, you were both told over comms that you were able to safely make it back to the rendezvous point, and Soap couldn’t be happier.

He let you tell him more jokes during the walk over there, of course, and made sure to tell you how awful they were, but still endured them for your sake.

—

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

➥ it’s like he’s been preparing for this moment his whole life.

➥ he’ll put up with your jokes and will tell you a joke back every single time.

➥ at some point you guys will probably use a joke on each other that the other one told you.

➥ he actively enjoys the joke-telling.

➥ he probably tells the first joke and that’s what triggers you to tell him your own.

➥ he’s annoyed soap, gaz, price, and a few others with his jokes, yet you’re the first one to go back and forth with him.

➥ every time you tell him one he’ll make a mental note of it and remember it for annoying people on future missions.

➥ probably thinks some of the jokes are genuinely funny but still knows that it annoys people.

➥ if you tell him a corny joke related to ghosts, he’ll probably laugh more.

➥ i am aware that that is pretty corny in itself but look at the title man what did you expect.

➥ he’ll probably tell some jokes about your [c/n] to you back.

➥ he’ll know when you’re reusing a joke and calls you out on it.

➥ “Does this require more creativity than you expected, [c/n]?”

➥ [in a perfect imitation of matpat’s voice] i find his jokes delightful! [in regular voice, now whispering as if scared i’m going to get caught by ghost saying this] i’m lying. he’s my fictional father figure so i am very much obligated to enjoy his jokes.

—

”[c/n], how copy?” You heard Ghost’s voice crackle through over comms, and pushed the PTT button on your small ear piece to respond.

“Copy, doing just fine,” You responded, “Little bored, if I’m gonna be honest.”

“Oh really?” Ghost breathed out, sounding amused. You could hear some gunfire on his end, and the wind his his earpiece making the annoying whoosh noise you hated. Just a few moments later, Ghost spoke up again, “Y’wanna hear a joke to ease your boredom?”

“Sure,” You’d hummed, looking around to make sure you were still safe to just stay where you were and chat for a moment.

“What do you call a boomerang that doesn’t come back?” Ghost asked, his voice dry and sarcastic. You thought for a moment before shrugging—even though he couldn’t see you—and asking, “What?”

“A stick.” Ghost delivered. The stupid joke made you huff out a small laugh and mutter under your breath something about how good it was, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could practically hear Ghost’s self-satisfied smile.

“Another?” Ghost offered.

“How about I tell one?”

“Alright. Go ‘head.”

“How do ghosts stay in shape?” You asked, listening to Ghost’s amused huff on the other end of the line, like he knew where you were going with the joke but decided not to say the punch line for you.

“How?”

“They exorcize,” You responded, grinning, proud of yourself for thinking of that one.

“That’s not bad,” Ghost hummed, “Not bad at all.”

Ghost stayed quiet for another moment before asking, “Where do fish keep their money?”

“Where?”

“In a river bank,” Ghost said, his smile almost audible in his words.

“Nice one, L.t,” You breathed out, laughing quietly.

“We could do this all night,” Ghost mused, oddly happy at the sound of your quiet laughter, a little rustling audible on his end.

“Is that a challenge?” You asked in response to his musings, to which Ghost responds with a simple, affirmative hum. You think for a moment, before asking, “Why can’t a leopard hide?”

“Why?”

“Because he’s always spotted.”

Ghost hummed, mentally writing that one down before asking, “Why did the scarecrow get an award?”

“Why?”

“Because he was outstanding in his field,” Ghost delivered. With each joke you cringed more, and yet you kept responding with the same bullshit. The two of you went back and forth with the shitty jokes, eliciting responses from each other like, “That’s a good one,” or, “God, that’s awful.” It really had no in between, it was one or the other.

Eventually, and just in time because you were beginning to run out of jokes, Price’s voice crackled through over comms, letting you both know that everything was now under control and gave you both the coordinates for the rendezvous point. Before you get up from your spot, you can hear Ghost asking Price, “Wanna hear a joke?”, and Price’s quick response of, “I’m good”, the quick interaction making you laugh quietly.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on,” You muttered, voice full of amusement.

“Damn right he doesn’t,” Ghost huffed out, chuckling quietly when Price groaned and muted himself.

—

KYLE “GAZ” GARRICK

➥ he just gives up and accepts his fate.

➥ i’m actually in full belief that he’ll just let you tell jokes and won’t even respond.

➥ if y’all are in the same spot, he’ll just stare at you in astonished silence, wondering how you know all of this and also wondering if he’ll make it out of this alive.

➥ i think he’s lovely, i also think that he would just let you do whatever.

➥ it’s like an older brother participating in his younger sibling’s tea party with their stuffed animals and bright pink plastic tea cups and fake tea.

➥ he considers taking out his earpiece but then realizes that that’s a bad idea so he just suffers through it.

➥ surprisingly, it’s easy to focus on his tasks even with your voice in the background.

➥ he’s only heard of ghost’s shitty jokes, and thinks that this might be worse, somehow.

➥ i mean, it’s not like he can’t ignore it, but he feels kind of bad that he does.

➥ he hums every now and then to remind you that he’s listening but he’s too caught up in pretending to listen to actually listen.

➥ when the mission’s over and you eventually stop telling your jokes he realizes how quiet it is without your voice in the background laughing at your own jokes.

—

“Why do bees have sticky hair?” You asked, this being about your twentieth joke of that evening. Gaz hummed in response, tone questioning, and you delivered the punch line, “Because they use a honeycomb.”

Gaz didn’t pay much attention to any of your punchlines, really just letting you get all of this out of your system, figuring that if you didn’t do it now it’d happen to some poor soul later. He accepted his fate early on, the moment you told your third dad joke, he knew it wouldn’t end. Call it a sixth sense of his, knowing when you’d be persistent in your quest to annoy every member of the 141, but he just knew.

“Where do surfers learn to surf?” You asked, giggling quietly at your own joke, despite the punchline being stupid. Gaz didn’t even respond, yet you still delivered, “At boarding school.”

Gaz considers taking his earpiece out for a moment, then thinks again and decides it’s probably better not to, knowing Price’s voice could crackle through into the earpiece and let you both know to head to the rendezvous point. Sighing quietly, he continued to look around him, scanning the area as he walked around, making sure no enemies were left alive. Your voice still hummed in the background, the sound becoming more normal to him and less distracting.

“Why did the tourists feel disappointed after seeing the Liberty Bell?” No response from Gaz. “Because it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

“What do rabbits need after getting caught in the rain?” A small, questioning hum. “A hare dryer.”

You continued to tell your jokes, and in the middle of one, Gaz interrupted.

“Y’know,” He started, “If you didn’t already have a call sign, we’d be calling you Jester.”

“I’d love to go by Jester,” You laughed quietly, lightly, “I feel like it’d be more fitting.”

“Probably, yeah,” Gaz chuckled quietly, about to say something else before Price’s voice came through over comms and let you both know to head over to the rendezvous point. After you stop telling your jokes and mute yourself, Gaz can’t help but notice how quiet it becomes.

He got a bit too used to your voice, it seems. He muted himself and sighed, pulling up the coordinates to the rendezvous point and heading over there.

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usimp4women · 1 year

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Okay hi! First I have to thank you for writing anything related to Lady Lesso! Honestly ppl are sooooo slow and im soooo obsessed and in love so THANK YOU, also i have requested this to another writer, but they kinda ignored it ir they r busy, sooo here i come to you!

I wanted to ask if you could write a oneshot, where at SGE (when it is the united-like its one school now) is ball for parents and their children and there's Lessos student (girl who will become vampire after graduation, she still has the basic magic that u can see in film-shining finger blahblahblah) and the girls parents didn't come.

(Don't know the reason, but I feel like no matter if you are an ever or never, you are just normal person and most of the time have normal family relationship? So it's kinda disappointing?

Like evers and nevers would be equaly appreciated, cuz both sides are important, evers r proud for making good etc, same nevers?)

And them there's dramatic entrance where we (the reader) come in ( we are that single rich aunt- and very powerful and respected vampire, who loves tea and has a cat) and we flirt with Lesso, dance or something like that? Or maybe Lesso makes first move? Not sure about that😁😁🥰

Also maybe some ever could hit on us, but like in disgusting way and we would scare them off and Lesso would find that hot?

(hiss maybe ? Turn our eyes red, bcs of our anger? Like u lnow strong emotion or hunger makes our eyes red?)

Here r some pics of vampire aesthetic and face claim that I had in mind (if you don't have time, then u obviously don't have to write it.) Have a nice day! Don't forget to drink and eat! And happy Halloween 🎃

PS: IF I have more ideas maybe we (mainly YOU) could make a series of oneshots ?

PS2: IF you could name her Nova i would loooooooove it, but feel free to use Y/N.

Your Attention.

Pairing; Lady Lesso (Dean of The School for Evil) X Reader

WordCount; 1144 words, 6730 characters.

Warnings; Slight NSFW?

Summary; Lady Lesso's hot 😫

Note; THANK YOU FOR SHARING THIS I REALLY LOVE THE IDEA OF BEING A SINGLE, RICH AUNT 😍 Anyways, I think I've got the idea here, so hopefully it makes sense regarding your submission, also— the cat is insanely adorable! (It's not long but hopefully it'll do..) BY THE WAY HER WINK IN THE GIF AHSFUHWR BARK WOOF WOOF

+++++

You observed the ceremony in solitude within the shadows. Parents and their children could be seen gathering around the ballroom. Normally, you would've been somewhere else right now but oh— the loneliness, you couldn’t take that chance.

Besides, you’ve got a reputation to uphold so why not indulge yourself a little?

While taking in the scene, you fixated your attention on a particular girl lingering around in the corner. You've heard something about her before, a rumor that she'll transform into a vampire after completion of the course, and although she still possesses some basic supernatural abilities, she will indeed develop a flawless student for you to impart wisdom, considering your 'substantial immortal expertise.'

She was one without a parent beside her, you tilted your head in curiosity, beginning to feel more intrigued.

Your thoughts were shattered once you discovered your cat stroking its head against your leg, following a mild purr. "You want me to go out there, do you?" You murmured, while you shrug with a smile. Your cat simply agrees with nothing but a faint meow as you stretched out to stroke its neck.

So, you got down and arrived at the entrance. Seeing a few neatly arranged wine glasses around the doorway, you reached out to consider holding one with your free hand. At that moment, the entrance gates began opening automatically. You felt the time going in slow motion, You walked gradually with an amusing smirk on your face when you realized that everyone's attention was peering upon your grand figure.

Yes, now this is delightful.

With a glass of wine in your right hand, your fur flowed elegantly behind your frame. Your head held high in dignity. Swaying your hips graciously while you approached a specific girl in the distance as everyone shuffled aside to provide space.

The majority of them even lowered their heads when they realized it was you.

Oh, of course, the spotlight. As a superior, well-known, and respected immortal, being placed in the center of attention was always your personal favorite.

The girl was flabbergasted by your presence, Is she coming towards me? She thought.

“Why yes, dear. You can’t enjoy the night without a guardian by your side, can you?” You gleamed amusingly at the girl; her glance was welcoming and enthusiastic; it may have been your proudest moment throughout the day.

You could still detect people staring at your physique, thus you spun around, "Nothing to see here," whilst arching an eyebrow.

Almost instantly, they promptly diverted their focus away from you. However, you can still feel someone gaze at the back of your head whilst you proceeded to continue conversating with the girl, which frustrates you significantly. All your intentions here were just to utterly comfort the poor thing and, if there was any, to offer her some complimentary tea.

Eventually, you sensed a presence beside you, hence you shifted your head to see a woman who had a somewhat intense amount of make-up on her face. You reluctantly bit your lip against your teeth to prevent yourself from almost laughing uncontrollably.

“Hey, you must be Nova, right? Do you mind if I borrow you for a moment? I've had my eyes on you ever since you came here." The woman giggled confidently while twirling a stroke of her hair.

You cocked your head, very innovative, "You must truly have some nerve inside you to ask me personally."

The woman replies, extending her hand to stroke your arms with her fingers, "Well, obviously I got some faith in myself."

You shoved her hand away in disgust, Your eyes glowing scarlet from arising anger. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Her eyes were enlarging in dread, then you snarled ominously and displayed your fangs to insist her to stay out of your sight. She shrieked in response out of pure terror and hastily grabbed her regal gown to flee. Unfortunately, her garment was so cumbersome that she struggled and stumbled as she sprinted.

You and the girl laughingly mocked the woman, “You do this often?”

She raises an eyebrow in your direction while engagingly grinning. You winked, raising the wine glass to your lips with a smirk, "It makes my day more entertaining."

You proceeded to converse with the girl until you came across the sound of heels clicking against the floor. Oh, I wonder who it is... Her presence and aura seems formidable and overpowering.

You spun your head to gaze upon a woman with oh my god– The coat, the suit, the dangling chains on her midsection, her rings, her cane, and her curly, ginger hair. Everything about her was definitely captivating.

It was almost as though a goddess appeared before your eyes. Your posture nearly collapsed out from beneath you while your eyes began to flicker abnormally, but you quickly picked up reality. "Well, well... Look who's finally come to the show." She spoke in a rich, enticing tone.

"For a woman like you, you surely are capable of handling a complicated situation." She stood before you, setting her palm on your jawline and raising it up to meet her eye-level using her finger; you felt your breath hitch at the interaction.

Nonetheless, you maintain your composure as you glimpse into her amethyst eyes. "Now, how would you like it if you were to dance with me?" The redhead grinned haughtily at your stature.

You responded with a head inclination, "I would love to." Was she challenging you?

As you approach In the middle of the ballroom, she then guides you to the main stage. She positioned her hand on your waist practically immediately when you were there, ushering you to sway seductively with her body.

You angled your attention towards the girl you were previously with, poor thing had to witness the scene in the front seat. But she didn't even bother stopping you both though; all you could see was her shrug and a wide grin.

You then redirected your concentration to the redhead once again. You both swung your hips back and forth.

Your body was tenderly pressed against hers as her fingertips traveled from your waist to your upper chest, swaying alongside you as they performed so. Your muscles tensed up as you felt her front in contact with your back. Consequently, you closed your eyes and buried your head where her neck and shoulders unite.

She twisted your figure around enough to confront her as the music stopped. She looked down into your eyes with domineering intensity whilst you bore her stare in defiance.

“Oh, you…”

A few inches from your lips, she begins to lean in your favor. A brief lick of her lips gave you the impression as she was preferring to focus her stare on your neck. She subsequently tilted her head slightly and smirked knowingly, drawing your attention to her.

“Why don’t we continue this somewhere else?”

#dean of the school for evil #lady leonora lesso #lady lesso #lady lesso x reader #leonora lesso #the school for good and evil #charlize theron

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seerofmike · 23 days

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mike's media medley--March 2024

yo whats up. so at the end of the year i do a top 7 ranking of my fave movies released that year and a top 7 ranking of video games i played that year (regardless of release date) which is VERY fun and im still gonna do it but!

there are a lot of things that i like that don't make the cut that i would like to talk about...and things that i did not like that i would also like to talk about. so i will be doing a post every month about *all* the movies i watched for the first time, including older movies and new releases, same for games i played for the first time. and occasionally a book if i can manage it. it is taking me one billion years to read The Plague

here are some things i watched and played for the very first time this march:

(thoughts below the cut. minor spoilers)

starting off in alphabetical order with:

Good Time (2017)

i watched Uncut Gems a couple of years ago and I actually didn't remember the directors' name(s) for that movie, so when I watched Good Time i was like damn that made me feel like Uncut Gems. im gonna check out more of these guys' movies. lo and behold

i think overall Uncut Gems made me feel more stressed, but Good Time made me feel more bad for basically everyone involved but Robert Pattinson's character and watching this dude just make awful decisions and treat other people like shit was like. so nasty feeling. i would like to watch more.

i liked the directing of this movie but i liked Uncut Gems's better. not to keep comparing the two but theyre made by the same people with the same like. goals of being a fucking Stress Simulator. i did love robert pattinson's performance which i won't compare to adam sandler's in Uncut Gems because even though they're both the driving forces of their movies they're both pretty different characters and even if i thought pattinson's character was slimy and just like a shite fucking person i think he did a good enough job expressing the desperation of getting the hell outta there with his brother. the emotional hook was There but i wish it was explored slightly more so i could be a bit more invested in seeing how he makes everything worse.

overall decent. i did like it. would maaaaaybe watch again but not like regularly. 70/100. also if you think 70 is a low score it is Not. it is a good score. just putting that out there before someone takes 70/100 to mean i think something is bad (<- damage control for a later score)

Late Night with the Devil (2024)

this movie has like 10 FUCKING COMPANIES CREDITED AT THE BEGINNING when i saw it in theaters by the time it got to like the 7th one everyone in my theater was exasperatedly saying 'oh my god'

but once the movie gets started. oh hell fucking yeah

i didn't watch any trailers for this or love lies bleeding (i dont rly watch trailers in gen tbh) so idk if the trailer conveyed that this would be set up as like...a lost TV episode, complete with bumpers and brief sponsor mentions, 'behind the scenes footage' etc, but regardless i did not know that going in and you can imagine my utter fucking delight when the movie started playing and after a minute or two i realized the gimmick

i REALLY liked this movie. i thought it was appropriately cheesy for a talkshow hosted in the 70s and i liked some of the subtle moments you really only catch on rewatch (which i did rewatch it w/ my mom), like how the doctor says abraxas thrives on the attention of an audience and the whole time lily is trying to stare directly into the cameras smiling.

the ending is really fucking cool and the mystery unraveling through the supernatural occurrences was compelling. i thought most of the actors did a pretty good job. im not really a fan of demon possession stuff for very personal reasons but i stuck it out for the concept which i really did enjoy.

that being said i found out shortly after i watched this movie that they used AI art for some of the bumpers and i was legitimately so disappointed. there was clearly a talented production team working on this thing to ensure the 70s night talkshow vibe was maintained and they couldn't get one of them to do bumpers, or hire an artist?

it really sucks. i dont want to rag too harshly on smaller indie filmmakers for doing this when big players in every industry are forcibly trying to incorporate AI into their stuff so i won't be review bombing the movie like ive seen some do in response--which i *get*, and i hope the team takes that as a sign to just hire a fucking artist next time--but it did kind of sour the movie for me despite how much i enjoyed it.

so im docking 5 points for the AI art and im also docking 5 points for the 10 companies credited in the beginning because that just makes the AI art feel more egregious to me.

75/100. maybe if they release the movie on shudder with the AI art removed they'll get their 5 points back

Love Lies Bleeding (2024)

everybody in this movie is so fucking sweaty and grimy and everything looks kind of dirty and like it smells like sweat and deodorant and tbh i kind of dig it. especially when next to the cleaner 'aesthetic' version of the 70s presented in Late Night with the Devil

but man this movie was really good. i dont want to spoil it too much but PLEASE go watch it. its decently horny so if you dont like that sort of thing Sawi but if you can look past that its so fucking weird and like strangely funny when it shouldnt be (but is definitely trying to be, so its not like unintentional humor, maybe more like morbid humor?) and theres horror and fantastical elements that you simply arent expecting and my theater screamed at the ending. please go watch it. truly the epitome of i support womens rights AND womens wrongs. honestly i could go on about this movie but i will not right now because you WILL go watch it in theaters NEOW

85/100

Spirited Away (2001)

okay im gonna be really blunt and rip the bandaid off with this one. i just thought it was Fine

like obviously the animation is stellar but that was about it for me. maybe i listened to this movie get hyped as one of the best animated films ever and set my expectations absurdly high but i watched it and i enjoyed it but i wasn't like...blown away or struck with Whimsy And Wonder or overcome with emotion.

i do think some of the characters were charming and it was entertaining and i dont want it to sound like i didnt like the movie but i guess i just felt underwhelmed? i might rewatch it another time with my expectations readjusted and see if i enjoy it more but when i watched it and the credits rolled i just went 'oh okay. was that it?'

anyways 70/100

viddy game time

(the) gnorp apologue--

she gnorp on my rock until i shard

funny clicky idle game . it is NOT an idle game where you can just buy all the upgrades and 'win', theres some strategy involved, but its honestly a really funny game. theres breaking bad references in there. in fact there are all kinds of references in there. you should go play it for the low low price of just over 5 dollars

minami lane--

so i will say first i am not like an avid player of 'cozy' games and find a lot of them pretty boring but i did really enjoy this one. it's a short city builder game with a really cute art-style. it has a sandbox mode (which i havent played) but it also has about five challenges to complete with multiple objectives and i had a good time trying to 100% them all. i would love if they added more challenges but tbh! it's not a bad way to spend about 3-4 hours of your time. im sure if you play sandbox mode you'd get even more but honestly i was satisfied with doing the challenges. it's just under 5 bucks there are definitely worse ways to spend your money.

if you've read this whole thing i love u. feel free to use this post as an opportunity to recommend me movies, tv shows, and games you think i should check out.

#mike's media medley #its my post and i get to put twerking thanos on there.

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sho-minamimoto · 5 months

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6 20 23 Sho

1 7 8 23 Shiba!

Sho

6. What's something you have in common with this character?

Hmm.... hard to say since Sho is just. completely batshit. I guess the easiest and most obvious answer would be that we're both artists and like to find beauty in aesthetically strange things. But I dont think i have a single thing in common with him personality wise LOL

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

I think susukichi and sho have extremely similar temperaments + quirks and if they weren't on opposite sides of The Conflict they'd get along great. I said once before that Susukichi would be the Sho Minamimoto of NEO if sho literally wasn't also already in the game. Their vibes are super similar and they both want to have a fun time.

23. Favorite picture of this character?

This one marketing image from when the anime was airing is the funniest thing in the world to me. like. why the fuck is sho even here. he is in no way buddies with anyone in the hachiko gang (during this specific timeframe anyways) there is literally NO logical reason for him to be posed alongside this specific group of characters here. This image from sho's pov is just him + guy hes actively trying to kill + guy he's stalking only bc he's joined at the hip with the guy he's trying to kill + guy he met twice and beat the shit out of one of those times + 2 people he's never met or interacted with before ever. On a marketing level its clear they just wanted to include him with the main characters simply bc hes a super popular character among fans but it's makes for the most unintentionally hilarious image ever.

Shiba

1. Why do you like or dislike this character?

First. he's extremely funny and dresses like a harlot. Second THE LAYERSSSS Shiba's primary motivation is like a puzzle that the narrative gives you all the pieces to and then invites you to solve. Not in that the game doesn't tell you what it is At All, it says as much that he's on a powertrip towards ascension, but it's difficult to wrap your head around Why until you deliberately examine and unravel each of his relationships with the other shinjuku reapers: how they affected him, what their side of the story is, why they're emotionally estranged but still sticking together, etc. I enjoy that you have to take the time to put it together yourself, but also the full picture you get once that puzzle is complete is one that i enjoy immensely. The fact that the core of shiba's plight is rooted in his relationships (or lack thereof) is very true to the spirit of twewy and I greatly appreciate that they applied all this to the game's main villain AND gave him a chance for redemption on top of it. His final scene is one of my favourites in the game and really sticks with me.

7. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

The memes. Shiba's so easy to meme on its great. I have a folder of shiba memes on my desktop whenever i see a new shitpost or edit i Have to save it. im glad he gets clowned on so hard. Shi Basuks Cok lives in my head rent free. I wish shiba's va did small comms like I've seen other voice actors do sometimes bc i would pay him money to hear him voice act that post as Shiba for real. But i can dream

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

I know i like Just finished talking abt how much i love the shiba memes but i also dislike how Majority of what i see of shiba is Just the memes and jokes. I wouldn't go as far as say i despise them at all (or i wouldn't have a folder of shiba memes) but I think its disappointing that i hardly see anyone actually take him seriously as a character or give him any consideration for analysis. Or not as much as I'd like to see, anyways (when i do see it it fucks hard though.) I also get the impression sometimes that some people take delight in the memes + clowning on shiba specifically bc they think he's just Not well written or interesting which bums me out a little.

23. Favorite picture of this character?

this clown shiba edit i made a yearish ago. i hold it close to my heart.

#initially for number 20 i was going to answer sho/coco bc i think their canon dynamic is hilarious #but its hardly the ideal friendship for him. its the ideal friendship for ME as a spectator.#i think if sho was open to relationships w other ppl the main thing he'd want out of them #is just someone to bounce off or entertain his wacky thoughts and ideas with. of which i see susukichi being more receptive to than coco #any other character would either be confused or terrified or just be like ''yeah ok sure whatever dude''#ask #twewy #neo twewy

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frigfridge · 2 years

Text

galloping ghost arcade

i went there. it was cool. they have like 800+ arcade cabinets, and most of them actually work! heres some of the stuff i played

the outfoxies: very funny, very chaotic. better dynamic stages than smash bros. theres so much going on in this game and i gotta see more sometime

chimera beast: i love this game! i wish it got released. i love eating enemies to mutate and gain new powers. i also appreciate how getting hit just depletes the mutation meter instead of being instant death because i am secretly bad

space bomber: just delightful. i really enjoy the art style and the enemy capturing mechanic, though if nothing else you gotta take a look at the marquee

golly! ghost: this is actually the game i came to see, but i ended up disappointed. i think the cabinet might have been fucked up somehow because it was hard to really see the screen, like the sprites and diorama lights were both too dim. really unfortunate because the mixed-media visuals are like the whole point of the game

the first funky fighter: amazing to see this in person, its a blast. the cabinet has these huge, poundable buttons that make the play experience SO satisfying

bonks adventure: i am a casual bonk enjoyer so i was surprised by how different this was from the turbografx games, its got a bunch of weird score attack mechanics and unique level environments. definitely want to look into this one more

avenging spirit: super creative idea, i love games where you can play as the enemies. another hit from jaleco...

castlevania the arcade: real neat! once i got used to how the game tracked your “cursor” the whip controls felt pretty natural. i still got rocked by death though, i think there was a dodge mechanic i didnt have to use until then or something

ninja baseball batman: ive really wanted to play this because ive got a friend whos super into it and im glad i did. excellent beat em up, feels great to play and the art style is so charming

chocovader contactee: i was surprised they had something like this, its a japanese-only minigame compilation that relies somewhat on being able to read instructions. most of the games you can figure out without them, though. of course i like it

black heart: fantasy shmup with a unique aesthetic thats a little hard to describe, its like halfway between gritty and cartoony. i dig it, but the player sprite is pretty huge and ive heard it gets frustrating fast. also jeanne is cute

dolphin blue: metal slug-like where you ride a superpowered dolphin and blow stuff up. the 2.5d art style looks great and its lots of fun to ram into stuff with the dolphin

segasonic the hedgehog: unfortunately this one was also fucked up, the monitor was too dim and one of the trackballs didnt work properly so there was just an immobile mighty the armadillo onscreen for the entire credit. but at least i can say i have played it...

virtua racing: i have very little experience with steering wheel controls for arcade racers so i was bumping into shit the whole time, still fun though

dariusburst ex: just nifty to see in its original resolution

sinistar: terrifying

time traveler: another one that was really neat to see, but didnt hold my interest. also i think the game audio was muted because all i heard from the cabinet was the beeping noise

primal rage: doesnt seem that good as like. a video game. but i liked playing as the gorilla and making loud puke noises for everyone nearby to hear

vicious circle: unreleased killer instinct-ish thing? not that into it, though i like how cinematic it gets with the stage intros and such

games which i wanted to play but were out of order: lucky & wild, holosseum, carnevil, half-life survivor

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famousblueraincoatmp3 · 1 year

Text

favorite books 2022

hello !!!!! this year was the year i read 70 books which is crazy considering i work so much lmao

re-reads:

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT, F DOSTOYEVSKY: one of my all time favs, i re read a lot of his books this year and i love them still. there’s something about the way he writes the psychological decline of man in such a way that you can still feel he wants them to be better than they are and is disappointed in their unchanging nature. THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV, F DOSTOYEVSKY: the first time i read this book was at 16. i sat waiting for the bus in -45 degress snowstorm when i started it, and my copy had stains of water damage in it. i donated it when we moved, but i recently treated myself to a brand new edition and i cant overstate how much i love this book. its so beautiful, and it always feels like you are listening in on a religious sermon of some kind, in the best way possible. WE HAVE ALWAYS LIVED IN THE CASTLE, S JACKSON: terrific book, i read so much fiction sometimes i am reminded of how often it is that they blend together for me. but shirley jackson is always such a delight. she writes in a way that is both inviting and terrible. this book is my favorite of hers, i think about merricat so often she feels like a real person to me. THE BELL JAR, S PLATH: i read this one on a plane again recently, another re-read. 2022 was the year of the re-reads, but i forgot how tender this novel is. from the first page to the last, the psychology of esther is such a fascinating subject especially with how shamelessly inspired by plaths life it is. ANOTHER COUNTRY, J BALDWIN: a staut all time favorite for me, this book knocks me out every time. its rapt, ever-changing and delusional sometimes, but it explores its own characters so tediously and specifically until you are forced to acknowledge them as people. when italo calvino wrote in the literature machine, “a classic is a book that has not finished saying what it meant to say,” he was talking about james baldwin. while other books age badly like spoiled milk, baldwins texts are as relevant and timely as when they were first published.

new-to-me books:

THE STARVING ARTIST, F KAFKA: kafka is one of those people, i think, that can write his grocery list and i would pour over it looking for its meaning. this is a collection of his finest stories, from the metamorphosis to judgement. i read this copy in swedish so im translating the stories from my language to english, sorry if that is confusing. it was fun to read but quite redunant as a longtime fan, my favorite story in this collection was “i straffkolonin” (?) which was a typical text by him. i also enjoyed the first story, “domen” which was about a man trying to live with his fiance alongside his critical uncle. i also enjoyed the story, “eldaren”, which felt like a prequel to the trial in some way. my favorite part was the translators introductions to the most vital texts, in that they commented on the different diary entries and how the stories were written. it was interesting in the way that kafkas translators often are very invested and nerdy about his work. this was way longer than i anticipated it being sorry, lol THE ODYSSEY, HOMER: the more i think about this book after i finish it the more i understand why people love it so much. i read the robert fagles translation and by the end of the story i had laughed, cried and felt alongside these characters written by someone that may or may not have lived such a long time ago. to quote t*d h*ghes it was “wonderfully readable”. VILE BODIES, E WAUGH: last year i read “brideshead revisited” and watched the limited run bbc show to go alongside it. evelyns writing of post-war britain and british society is such a delight to consume. i think that while most british ww1 era writers are quite a chore to get through, evelyns satire and humor makes it durable. A FAREWELL TO ARMS, E HEMINGWAY/ A MOVABLE FEAST: my mother told me that long ago she read “the old man and the sea” and loved it, so she bought me a copy of a movable feast to read. it was special just for that, but i genuinely really loved it. the descriptions of a mans mental health, the severity of his situation, his failmarriage, all complete with tender notes on pre-war and post-war Paris from the eyes of a young man at the beginning of his best years, is something special. It is therefore interesting to move directly to a farewell to arms, because it is clear that his drinking that was only the tip of a problem takes a centerstage. it made me deeply uncomfortable that his surroundings tended to favor his addiction and often encourage it but it was so engrossing at the same time. it also includes a lot of fitzgerald-esque sentences that feels like something ive seen on tumblr before, which is funny to me. “’if you are lucky enough to have lived in paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for paris is a moveable feast.”

#sam.txt #sorry it is so long and mostly classics. i get a lot of my books from the library or second hand

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finelinevogue · 3 years

Note

Can you do a bad boy Harry blurb because he is my weakness and I would do anything for him? Thank you.

hun bad boy harry is ALL of our weakness. that man is kryptonite. anyways let’s do a lil blurb for something that might become a lil series - lemme know what you think?! im thinking maybe strangers to fuck buddies to lovers hmm??

You had been on your third fourth jack and coke by the time you saw him.

Burning, lustful, emeralds for eyes. Hair that was so messily unkept that it looked so put together. Black t-shirt. Black jeans. Black shoes. His aura was dark, but his smile told you otherwise. The dimples that were carved into his face told you he was hiding a completely different person behind this exterior, which is why he was so enticing. You saw a piece of yourself in him. Your outfit was a lot like his; black upon black, but it was veil to keep your true self protected. Hidden. You’d exposed yourself before and it hadn’t gone too well for you. The lesson had been learnt.

Other lessons, like ‘stay clear of bad boys and danger’ were much harder to learn. This moment being a prime example of that.

“Another round?” His voice was not as you expected. It held gravity and strength. It was holding so much behind it, you could tell.

“No thanks. I think i’ve drank my poison for the night.” You countered back and turned to look at him for the first time up close.

Fuck, was he perfect.

His cupid pink lips. The freckles on his nose. The slight signs of a permanent frown line to his upper forehead. He was just… wow. You suddenly felt like he could put Brad from Sex/Life to shame - a recent show you’d watched where you’d questioned your entire existence and entire future existence. You could sense there was so much behind his emotionless front too, just waiting for someone to take the risk and divulge in him completely.

He leaned his arms on the bar, letting the weight of the bar-top hold him up. The way he stood let his arms bulge from his tight t-shirt, expressing the veins and concentrating muscle making him look like a Greek sculpture, let alone a human - beautiful - being of a man. He was so carefree in his body language and he definitely didn’t shy away when you caught him checking you up and down.

“Yeah? Well i’m staying for one more round and I kinda hoped you would too.” He waved a hand for the bartender to come over, standing up properly now. He towered over you, even with you sat high on a barstool. He was intimidating and powerful, and you liked that.

“What can I get for you?” The bartender asked, wiping down the counter you two sat behind as a good-willed gesture.

“Whiskey. Neat.” The mysterious hunk of a man ordered, nodding his head in thanks to the man but before he could go off anywhere you quickly added in your own drink too.

“Another jack and coke too.” You said, causing the man to turn and smirk at you only for you to then do the same. “On his tab this time.” He chuckled at you for being so bold and demanding, but didn’t resist nonetheless as the bartender walked off to fulfil your order.

“Jack and coke?” He sounded surprised, but also not.

“Disappointed. You want a girl who drinks pink gin or white whine?” You teased, sucking on the end of your straw from your previous drink. He looked at your mouth, watching the way your lips danced with the straw and the way your tongue licked the remainders of a previous drink away. The sight was so minimally sensual, yet it sent his body into overdrive.

“No, but why? Are you offering, darling?” The way he spoke so smoothly had you weak at the knees, so you were grateful you were sat down.

“I’ll be whoever you want me to be.” You kept eye contact with him as you spoke, biting down once on the straw for added effect - until he snatched it away. You didn’t expect him to be so quick with his movements, but as he stole your straw he kept his face close to yours.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He whispered hotly against your face, before leaning back again. Just in time, your drinks came and both of your thanked the bartended. Watching him put your straw back into your new glass, you weren’t expecting him to lean over and take a sip from your mix. He hummed in delight, looking up at you as he leaned back to sit closer to his drunk.

“And?”

“Tastes like you.” He chuckled before facing back forwards to watch the passing bartenders and crowds of people in this thumping club. “You have a name, darling?”

“Obviously, but why should I give it to you sweet cheeks?”

“Sweet cheeks?”

“Seems only fair, what with you calling me darling don’t you think?”

“No.” That made you stop drinking your drink and look at him abruptly, to find he was already waiting for your stare, “I don’t play fair.”

You thought he was joking about the whole thing, but the look in his eyes told you a completely different story. He was angry and frustrated, a combination in your history that doesn’t mix nicely together. At least not as nicely as jack and coke. If you were ever going to get this guy to reveal at least an inch of himself you were going to have to obey his rules, even if they were slightly indifferent to you.

“No more sweet cheeks then. Sorry.” You blushed, turning away from him to stir through the liquid in your glass.

You had never really been one to apologise to people. Never really had the need you. You’d always kept yourself to yourself, although that not always being most helpful. Apologising, you thought, made you seem weak. Turns out you’re weak for not. Manners make you stronger, build you to be a better person and strengthen you to me mentally stronger.

The crowds of youths and strange elderly people swarmed the sweaty room, making you sweat more than you would like. Still, the room had atmosphere and reminded you that your life was very much alive. You were very much alive.

“Sorry what?” You realised the guy had said something next to you, but you’d completely missed what. Apologising, again.

“It’s uh Harry.” He cleared his throat midway through speaking. You understood that he was nite telling you his name and you could tell he wasn’t lying by the sincerity in his eyes, the same way he could tell you weren’t lying about yours.

“Y/N.”

“Lovely name.” He smiled at you when you caught his eye, making you grin back.

“Well I like yours too.” You nodded, trying to repay a compliment even if it was slightly lacking something special.

“Mhm,” he laughed, throwing back the rest of his drink, “you come here often? I haven’t seen you before.”

“I come when I need a release.”

“Oh I bet.” You didn’t miss the words he boldly spoke. You like him. Harry had spark and he was passionate. You could feel the lust radiating from him body like a heatwave and you craved it all so badly.

“I also come when I shouldn’t.” You finished the rest of your drink, returning your mouth to your straw whilst looking at him. Harry was now standing so close to you that your head was tilted back ever-so-slightly.

“So you’re disobedient.” He asked, reaching his hand forwards to take the straw of your mouth and putting it down on the side. The distraction was unnecessary and, quite frankly for Harry, a real dick-hardener.

“I like being punished.” You spoke quietly, as if the walls weren’t vibrating from the loudness of the music amplifiers.

“Are you here right now even when you shouldn’t be?” Harry asked, licking his lips and looking between yours and yours eyes. He was having a hard time focusing on which one he found more perfect. Your eyes were full of treasure and wonder, but your lips. God, were they so kissable. Too kissable.

He wanted to make your lips bleed from lust.

“Yes.”

“And so you’re going to be punished for it, you say?” Harry’s torso was getting dangerously close to your chest. His head tilted down so he was only inches away from yours, allowing you to smell the whiskey on his breath and the perfume on his body. He was sensory overload.

“Mhm.”

“By who?”

Now that was an interesting question.

You chuckled, invasive and repulsive thoughts running through your head, as you stood up out of your seat, standing tall in your high heels and yet even still you were small in comparison to Harry. In a good way though.

Too bad you had to cut it all short.

“Find a pink gin lady, Harry. She’ll be easier than me.” You picked up your jacket and your bag, swinging it over your shoulder. You tap his shoulder as you round the chair, giving him a half-hearted smile before leaving.

#ha lol im sorry bout the ending im a tease #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #finelinevogue #finelinevogue harry styles #harry blurb #harry oneshot #harry styles concept #harry styles masterlist #ask finelinevogue #ask harry styles #anon response #anon #harry styles badboy #harry styles bad boy

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carpisuns · 3 years

Note

hiiii maryssa!! i had a capri sun for the first time in like ten years today and i thought of you lolll and it got me wondering which flavor is your favorite?? i got fruit punch bc i was very confused what both "pacific cooler" and "splash cooler" meant, and i thought i could consult with you to help my future purchases lmaoo

fLSKDJFLJKDSF it is very appropriate that this is the first ask i’m answering with my new url 😂

girl, i got u. let me break it down

first of all, u made a very solid choice with the fruit punch. that’s my favorite 😌 can’t go wrong with that. well done. i commend u

as for pacific cooler and splash cooler, those are just two of the many Cooler™️ flavors. tbh i couldn’t really tell u the exact flavor differences alsdkjfaj actually i think pacific cooler tastes kinda similar to fruit punch? idk but it’s good lol. splash cooler is also tasty. i think it has a stronger apple flavor. but mountain cooler is even apple-y-er. i like all of the cooler flavors!

basically, here are my recommendations:

1. fruit punch

2. tropical punch

3. any of the coolers

there’s also a strawberry kiwi, which i personally don’t care for much, but a lot of people love that one. wild cherry is ok. uhhhhh i don’t care for the lemonade one. those are p much all the flavors they carry at my grocery store so i couldn’t tell u about the others haha

side note: it’s weird that i’ve never had the orange flavor? cause that is the original flavor for caprisun in other countries, but i don’t think i’ve ever even seen it on sale here in the US even tho it is apparently available lol

ok but my biggest caution when buying caprisun is to make sure you’re getting the right TYPE. please study this visual aid carefully:

roarin’ waters is nothing but a DECEIVER ok!!! do not be fooled. it is not True caprisun. it’s just flavored water. which is not necessarily a bad thing in and of itself but i cant tell u how many times i’ve roarin waters’d myself thinking i was about to get a tasty sip of the classic caprisun Juice Drink Blend and instead i get the unsatisfying, watered-down, fake-sugar taste of roarin’ waters. it’s like thinking you’re about to bite into a chocolate chip cookie but then it turns out to be oatmeal raisin. which would possibly be a decentish cookie if that’s what you’re expecting but which is a devastating disappointment when you you are expecting something of superior taste and quality.

any flavor of regular caprisun u get will range from aight to v tasty but every flavor of roarin’ waters is the Worst. in my humble opinion. some people enjoy roarin’ waters equally, and those people are called “very nice, but also Wrong”

TLDR:

there is also a 100% juice kind of caprisun at my grocery store, which, unsurprisingly, tastes exactly like whatever flavor of juice it is lol. i had apple and it tasted. like apple juice. which is good but also not what i was in the market for lol. plus those look like they’re made for smol children and im a Big Kid so i get the cool stuff aka REAL (fake, but not as fake as roarin’ waters) caprisun

one final thing to note in your caprisun-buying adventures:

the joy of drinking caprisun come not from the flavor of the drink (which is probably kinda mediocre tbh) but the experience of DRINKING IT FROM A POUCH!!

juice in a cup: tasty, but boring. panache-less.

juice in a shiny silver pocket that you get to stab with a sharp yellow straw: YEEHAW SIGN ME THE EFF UP!!

so any flavor u get will at least bring you the delight of The Pouch. yes, even roarin waters.

thank u for coming to my TED talk. hope it was helpful lmao

#ask #caprisun #long post #???#i cant believe this is what im doing at 4am LDSKJFDSLJFDKD #smellerbeee

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

...surprise

um okay so here I am trying angst again. this is kind of intended to be open ended bcos might have a part two at some point. im also lazy and has a few time jumps. also if someone could pls explain if you just get pics for the top of these off internet or credit on like gifs or something that’d be appreciated.

Summary: Tom comes home and everything is most definitely not the way he left, nor is it healthy

Warnings: please read with caution esp relationship with food / weightloss, but just generally a person in a bad bad head space, lots of self blame - then next parts will carry different warnings too

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

Tom had been away for months. Months and months away from his girlfriend, separated entirely by his filming locations in Europe and America; while you were busy slowly and steadily climbing the ranks of your law firm. Being an intense period for the pair, you hadn’t managed to see each other in 2 and a half months. Of course, both go you were used to this - 3 years deep into a relationship between an actor and a wanna-be lawyer- this was the name of the game.

But honestly? You both just kept falling deeper and deeper, making the separation harder to deal with - rather than getting used to it as one might hope.

That's why Tom felt such an incredibly overwhelming wave of relief as he dumped his bags just outside his front door. Even though he was exhausted from the travelling, just the mere act of finally phishing out his housekeys brought a massive grin to his face - caused particularly by the sight of his tacky little keyring from a Moroccan market that you’d bought him. That had been your first holiday. There’s that old saying that before you move in with someone go on holiday first - Tom understood it to mean you supposedly see all the bad and ugly stuff people can hide from each other, a prewiring before committing to living in the same space. However that holiday all he’d learned was incredible you are to him. To his dying day, Tom will never forget the moment he looked over to his left when the two of you were on this night time stargaze in the depth of the Moroccan desert. Y/n had never seen stars like it, the skies so incredibly clear and lit up with an array of magical blues and purples and whites on its sark background. The sight, for no unexplainable reason, had you completely opening up to Tom about things she’d never told a single soul. And in that moment he’d had this sort of realisation. Not about how much he loved her - because that is just the cliche thing everyone says… and also just wasn’t true.

In that moment he’d rather realised the potential. The sort of ‘I’m not there yet but I know you could become the centre of my universe’. The sort of ‘I’m not ready to say this yet, but I want to spend my life with you’. The sort of ‘at some point in my life I’m not sure my heart will be able to beat without yours’.

He still hadn’t quite got to explicitly saying all that yet, by asking you for the ultimate commitment. But he planned to now he was coming back to you.

Even with the chill of the early evening winter air, Tom was almost ecstatic as he unlocked the door and let himself in. He hadn’t told you that he was coming home, you thought he had another two weeks on the job, but Tom was a bit of an old romantic - he loved seeing your eyes fill with wonder as he surprised you in whatever way. Sometimes it was as simple as a note on the fridge, or a small bouquet from behind his back or as fancy as a surprise holiday.

However, this time, though it was only 6 in the evening, all the lights of their house were off making Tom raise an eyebrow as he quietly slipped off his shoes - not wanting to scare Y/n just in case.

Tom had sworn when he’d been on the phone with you the previous day, you didn’t have any plans tonight but perhaps maybe a spontaneous pub trip and been offered with work colleagues. The house felt a little cold as he padded through it, poking his head into every room just to check Y/n wasn’t there. His last port of call was the bedroom.

By this point, Tom was pretty resigned on the fact you were out and he’d maybe cook a meal for when you got back or hide about the house or something. But instead, when he poked his head around this door, he sighed in delight at the sight of a still mound under the plush white sheets. For a brief moment, Tom paused, before tiptoeing steadily round to her bedside. The light was still off but the hallway light illuminated the room enough so he could make out your soft features and the messy ball of hair that had been haphazardly thrown in a bun. Furthermore, he could also notice in the light the packet of painkillers and migraine tablets lying opened on the bedside - which made him freeze. Y/n didn’t get migraines often at all, but when she did Tom knew just how bad they could be. That explained the fact you were spark out at six o’clock, making Tom give a sympathetic smile. He crept back out the room with a little spring in his step, deciding that since he had had a long day travelling he'd grab a snack and join you. Unfortunately though, when he enthusiastically yanked the fridge open the sight was a rather depressing one. He didn’t really know what he was craving but the fridge contents were of almost no use to anyone. The place was bloody baron, apart from a tub of butter and of course his special beers that Y/n would never dare touch. With a small huff though, Tom resigned himself to some bread and butter, before getting ready for bed.

It was probably an hour later when Tom was carefully crawling under the duvet to settle in beside Y/n after the disappointing snack and maybe a solitary ‘welcome home beer’ - it would be rude not to. God was he excited to just have his girlfriend in his arms again though. So, Tom naturally reached over and powerfully yet gently pulled you back towards him - making your back flush with his as you mumbled something incoherent. Chuckling slightly at your apparent annoyance of being disturbed, Tom pressed a kiss to her temple before settling down momentarily.

But something wasn’t quite right, making Tom shuffle about a bit - ever adjusting huis grasp on your waist as he attempted to get comfy. With the migraine medications forcing you into a deep deep sleep you barely stirred and that just made the unease increase for Tom. Because you didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel right. Ever so slowly Tom started to peel back the duvet from your body from his now sitting upright position. Typically, Y/n was wearing one of his hoodies, however more concerningly it seemed to pool and collect around your frame more than normal.

Now, Y/n was never the most petite person in the world - by no means overweight, instead of beautiful curves and muscle. To Tom now though, it was as if someone had literally shrunk you - like a picture on a word document you needed to make narrower to fit the margins. Even in the dim light of the bedroom he know realised you looked pale. Honestly, Tom didn’t know how long he just sat there staring at you, until you sighed a little and pulled the duvet back up to just under your chin.

He didn’t know what to think or do. All he knew was you didn’t look well and that you hadn’t said a thing to him. Feeling so very uncomfortable within himself, Tom climbed out the bed and simultaneously grabbed his phone. He knew he had to call someone, to check that you hadn’t been ill - but then who to call? Someone that wouldn’t judge or instantly worry- your mum was completely off the cards. Also, he hadn’t even given you the chance to explain yet, so really he knew there was only a couple of options who were close enough to him too.

“Hey what’s up?” “Um nothing much, back in the UK though so-“ “Oh shit really! Kept that one quite bro” “Yeh well came back to surprise Y/n” “Oh you're soooo whipped” “Fuck off Haz, have you um… have you seen her recently anyway?” “You're asking me if I’ve seen your girl while you’ve been away?” “I’m being serious. You’re pretty much brother and sister and I’m -I’m a bit worried.” “What? You know she wouldn’t cheat especially with me” Haz’s tone turned less serious, using a goofy accent “ I know too much.” Haz still attempted to lighten the mood, this conversation very unexpected and making him grow more and more concerned himself. “Haz quit it. I’m worried she’s been ill. I’ve come in and she’s asleep with a migraine but there’s no food in the fridge and she’s skinny as hell.” “Fuck er sorry I didn’t realise. But um no she’s been cancelling on us for the past like two weeks cos like…I don’t know said she was just snowed under at the firm so” “But before then?” “No yeh she was fine. Went to the pub a couple times and she always drove so didn’t drink but nothing weird - think she wanted to keep a clear head. What are you thinking?” “I don’t know to be honest mate. She seemed fine on the phone but I swear to god she looks half the size of what she was when I left.” “Just talk to her in the morning? She probably is just stressed if work has been mad busy.” Tom hummed in agreement, half trying to convince himself too. “Yeh yeh, sorry for bothering you.” “Oh shut up mate - I’ll see you both at your parents for the roast tomorrow? Sams got some new recipe I think, he’s been wittering on about it for days.” “Yeh we’ll be there, see you then mate.”

After signing off to Haz, Tom placed his phone on the little table on the upstairs hallway and sighed. He knew he was being over-protective but he couldn’t help it. Y/n was always the one to care for him, in fact to care for everybody int he room and then some.

He’d get to the bottom of whatever this was tomorrow, and so the rest of the evening Tom spent rather unhappily get ready before bed yet again before climbing back in next to you.

///////////////////////////

Tom woke before you, a combination of jet lag and the worry in the pit of his stomach meaning he stirred awake first. Instinctively he pulled you closer and nuzzled his nose into the side of your neck as he slowly began to wake up properly - shrugging off the grogginess. Tom was still really excited for you to realise he was back, predicting you to excitedly hug him ever so tight and then spend the morning between the sheets. He knew you found the distance tough, especially when all your closest friends were coupled off, it meant you just didn’t have ‘your person’. It was almost as if you were single again and instead of pining over an ex, hopelessly and completely in love with someone across the globe. But that just made your time together even more invaluable and precious.

So even with his slight unease at your slimmer silhouette, Tom didn't have any control over the loopy grin that came to his face as you started to stir and mumble something incoherent, all the while (and subconsciously) inching closer towards him. By the slight fluttering under your eyelid, Tom knew you were waking up and so took the moment to tuck your frizzy bed hair behind your ear. Sighing contently Y/n’s eyes fluttered completely open and Tom met your gaze with the most gently of smiles.

However, he then watched moment by moment as your expression morphed for one of peacefulness and content, through confusion, and ending at pure terror. He had barely thought of asking you why, before you yelped, throwing yourself up into a sitting position and backing as far away on the bed as you could from Tom. “TOM... I-you can’t be here! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!” “Y/n hey what’s wrong-“ “GET OUT! G-GET THE FUCK OUT! YOU CAN’T BE HERE” you yanked the bedsheets to completely cover your huddled up body, as if trying to protect yourself. At this point, tears were streaming down your face and what truly terrified Tom was the expression of horror in your eyes. He threw his hands in the air and unsteadily stumbled to his feet. “O-okay I’m-“ “GET OUT!!! YOU CAN'T SEE ME GET OUT!” Completely bemused and shocked, Tom just nodded jerkily -already halfway out the door and accidentally slamming it in haste.

He had absolutely zero clue what that was about. But what he knew for a fact? He’d never ever seen you like that… you looked so completely terrified… of him? Tom couldn’t for the life of him work out what the hell was going on, as he paced from the shut door to the hallway wall and back again, running his hand through his hair throughout. He could hear you sobbing and whisper yelling - presumably at yourself. It felt as though his heart was being torn out, seeing you that upset and it appearing as his fault? He was acting on pure instinct and adrenalin because your pain hurt him too. He had no control of the physiological response in his body, making his hands shake and breathing increase in speed as it inversely got shallower too.

And so he took a short inhalation, biting his bottom lip as he knocked on the door. “Y/n?….” He got no response after waiting a couple of seconds so tried again - because he could hear you trying to stifle your sobs. After another two failed attempts he opted for a different approach. “Y/n… I’m worried about you… look, I know your upset right now but I need you to let me know your okay… or I’ll have to come in and…and I don’t want to spook you” “Don’t come in.” It was a sharp reply, with a voice that was cracked and clearly trying to keep It together. “Okay… I-I’m sorry if my surprise of coming home was a dumb idea…I-I’ve missed you.” Tom tried speaking softly, as he knelt down and sat with this back against the wall while nervously fiddling with his watch strap that he’d forgot to take off last night. Again he waited for a response but got nothing, again having to warn you he needed to know you were okay. He heard movements from the other side of the door, making him turn his head to the left, pressing his ear on the cool gloss paint. “I-I’m sorry” You barely were whispering, but Tom could sense you were now sitting in a position mirroring his “You don’t meed to apologise love” Returning her tone, Tom sighed at the end - trying to get his brain to process what was going on.

Y/n wasn’t one to overreact and Tom could count on one hand the number of serious fights they’d had in the three year romance. And even then, he was the one to raise his voice - when she argued it was more reasoned, slow and controlled. Actually it was one of the things that in those moments infuriated him even more - you were just so level headed and sensible. Scratch that, sensible purely in this context - everywhere else you were just as loopy as him. So this situation felt so very alien. He didn’t know how to help you and he bloody hated feeling useless.

After a few moments, you replied to apologise once again, for shouting specifically, and Tom nodded - not that you could see. But that was one of the things Y/n had taught him, sometimes you just have accept things - no matter the context. Accept he wasn’t actually a superhero and couldn’t do everything, accept that sometimes he could be a dick and out of line or accept an apology.

“Can you.. can you try and tell me why your upset? I want to help.” He was trying to be gentle, non-confrontational. But he knew something was so wrong. He needed to know so he could try and help out. “I…”Y/n began, but quickly trailed off, as if trying to formulate the words properly. “I’ve just been ill and” again another pause “and I haven’t been looking after myself very well. I just planned to be umm- to be better when you got back.”

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t really the truth either, at least not the whole truth. But it wasn’t a lie.

“I’m not sure I understand why your so worried about what I think though?” Tom inquired, as he started to fiddle with the door handle in his left hand - as if easing the idea of coming into his girlfriend without scaring you. In reply, you sighed again trying to put the words together without explicitly spelling it out to him. “I don’t- I thought you’d just be disappointed or-or think I’m reliant on you. I’m not and I can handle myself I just…. I don’t know.” “I love you, you idiot.”Tom chuckled at that, while standing up. “Can I come in now please? I promise I’m not disappointed just want to help you feel better.”

The door opened and no sooner could Tom take a step forward than Y/n ran into his chest, wrapping herself tightly around him in apology. He knew that he didn’t have the full story but really didn’t want to push her, more preferring to just love her. So that’s what they spent the rest of the morning doing, in their pyjamas and watching TV. Quite obviously, she wasn’t really making a lot of conversation, Tom filled some gaps with talking about filming - to which she’d hum in agreement or chuckle along. But for the most part Y/n was concentrating on something else.

The all-consuming guilt. That was what was eating away at her.

part 2?

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #Tom Holland angst

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shaechans · 3 years

Text

dream! reaction

group: nct dream (ot7)

desc: someone flirting with their s/o!

genre: fluff and angst?????

word count: 1.1k

a/n: lmao lmao i remember writing this last year and drafted it cause it was too cringy puke but now i have gained a tiny bit of confidence and let’s see maybe i might be able to post some more in the future!! y’all can request. also, this is pretty short but i hope y’all like it anyway<33 also random gifs sooooo yay! also also i have so much to say im so sorry i tried to make this as gender neutral as possible so please let me know if i need to change something, i would like everyone to enjoy!!

lee mark

usually, in your relationship, mark is pretty mature (which means you be wildin and he's always there to control your ass). that also means that he's real protective of you and is basically a second mom to you. so when he saw that dude actually picking up guts to talk to you while he was literally standing next to you in the mcdonalds queue, oh was he pissed! although, he would try to keep his chill, which did not exactly work by the way you would end up trying to calm him down. he would start by sending off cold and sharp glares at the dude while wrapping a protective arm round your waist, completely violating his pda rule. with mark's stares striking his soul, the guy was soon gone, with which mark heaved out a relieved sigh.

“babe you need to stop being so pretty. it's not helping me in anyway!”

huang renjun

this boy is already damn whipped for you, even if he acts all annoyed and shit, that's all the loving he's giving (so you better fucking accept or there's gonna be a gun to your head). when he first saw that dude acting up all over you and flirty he would activate his over protective switch and turn all manly and serious. renjun pure baby boy lasted long anyway. as soon as he walked over to the very uncomfortable you, he'd make sure the boy fled taking in his cool and broad shoulder exterior. after the guy wasn't in his sight anymore, renjun would mutter a few curse words, only heard by you and wrap you in his arms, making sure to have you pampered by him and never letting you leave his line of sight.

“thatʼs right, you better make a move before my gangster shoulders do.”

lee jeno

BABY BABY BABBY BABY-

being already very vEry over protective boyfriend he is, the guy flirting with you better think twice. jeno absolutely hates when he sees you talking to a someone that is a not him. you better damn expect him to be pretty much raging when he saw this one dude's hand on your leg while you were seated next to some fountain waiting for jeno's arrival. without wasting a second, he would rush over and stand behind the guy, fumes very evidently leaving his ear holes. ʻiʼm sorry but who do you think you are touching her like that?ʼ he would start to question, startling the guy in front of him. when he saw you heave a huge sigh of relief and rush to his side, he would feel so guilty for not reaching there sooner and grabbing the jerk by his shoulders, he would shove him away. after he calming down a little, he would pull you into a hug and never leave your touch for the rest of the year.

“oh my god baby i'm so sorry for leaving you here alone with that asshole.”

lee donghyuck

now this boy is already super cocky and shit so you'd expect him to take this whole situation as a joke. but hell no you nasties. hyuck's much more than just a jokester. he's a great boyfriend and so if he ever witnessed a scene like this, it'd make him feel quite disappointed with himself, saying that he's never there for you and stuff like that. anyway, seeing you trapped in a somewhat alley that your house stood on, almost at a dead end, a disgusting man trying to have you appealed by him, he would never just stand there shocked. donghyuck would probably do the unexpected and punch him square in the face. rethinking the situation you got into, a few tears would appear at his eyes while you pulled him into a hug, comforting him.

“no one else is allowed to touch you or i will so not spare them!”

na jaemin

jaemin's already super head over heels for you that you cannot count the number of heart eyes he gives you. so when he saw to have a ʻconversationʼ with a dude not him, you'd expect him to feel really sad and upset. at first he thought he was a close friend that you were happily catching up when he took in the look on the guy's face. although when his eyes flickered toward your quite uncomfortable expression, he would make his move as to save you from the discomfort. marching over to where you stood, he would wrap both his arms around your waist, placing a quick kiss to your cheek, looking up at the guy asking

“so what were y'all talking about babe?”

zhong chenle

chenle is that boyfriend who is always super delighted at your presence and again, super whipped for you. he may not be the person to step up or initiate stuff but if it's for you then consider it done and there's a very limited amount of stuff you can deny coming from him. so when chenle had come with the idea of stepping out of the house for a small walk, you could never ever deny (and don't you dare!). so while walking, chenle decides to get ice cream and leaves you by yourself on a bench, when some boy around your age shows up with his dog and bad flirting skills. while so intrigued by the little poodle, you hardly payed attention to the guy so when chenle showed up all angry, to say that you were puzzled would be an understatement. not able to say much before the boy got dragged away by his pup, chenle was quite relieved he didn't have to test his muscles. although, he still wanted to let you know that he would risk it all for you, even his five minute work out energy.

“i'm so sorry for dragging you here only to be flirted with some dog man, ugh! here's some ice cream though<33”

park jisung

jisung is that boyfriend who seems to be pretty shy and embarrassed by literally everything you do (damn it y/n). not only that, he may be a little insecure as well as he sees a heap of good looking korean boys his age everyday. afraid to lose someone as precious as you, he would at times join in the weirdness with you like how chenle taught him. anyway, despite his insecurity being at peak lately this random dude from your class decides to ruin everything and bring his levels to a max. whilst flirting, jisung would overhear the conversation thinking that you would flirt actually back. this suddenly him and he would distance himself from you. so you were surprised to not find jisung and when you eventually did, he was crying (poor baby). so of course you comforted him saying that you loved him only and there was no way you were flirting back there with stupid han gongjoo.

“so you still like me?”

#nct #fluff #nct fluff #mark #mark fluff #renjun #renjun fluff #jeno #jeno fluff #haechan #haechan fluff #jaemin #jaemin fluff #chenle #chenle fluff #jisung #jisung fluff #mine #nct reactions

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elentiyawhitethorn · 3 years

Text

Sneaking Around | Chapter Six

Aelin clicked on Rowan’s contact. want to get out of here? She made sure to keep her phone angled away from Manon, who was smirking next to her.

A moment later, he responded. I thought you’d never ask.

you’re not still pissy about me judo flipping you?

I’ve come to terms with the fact I’ll just have to get you back for it. Aelin blushed at the implications.

“What, is your sweet boyfriend sexting you?” Aelin had almost forgotten Manon was there.

“Shut up.” we’ll see about that

I’ll leave now. You come in a few minutes.

alright

You sure you remember where I live?

yeah, i think so

Aelin heard Rowan’s voice distantly saying he was off. Not wanting Manon to put it together, she started speaking. “So, you don’t mind if I ditch you?”

“And have you spend the night lusting after some dude? No thanks.”

“You’re one to talk. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve gone to gay bars as your wingwoman.”

“That was only a few times and I am grateful, but I still get to tease you. It’s my job. Shouldn’t you be leaving now?”

“So anxious to lose my delightful presence?” Manon rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m off now.”

They walked into the living room to find Rowan already gone and Vaughan on his way out. Good, that would be a little less suspicious if several people were leaving. Aedion and Lysandra had rejoined the group. Manon said, “Aelin’s headed out to her secret boyfriend’s place, so looks like I’m stuck with you losers.” Yes, Manon was very genteel.

Everyone tried to get her to spill, but Aelin just said, “See you Monday.” Then she flipped them off as she walked out the door.

The drive was short, but Aelin was jittery, desperate to get her hands on Rowan. And she had unintentionally memorized his address.

She walked up the stairs to the second floor quickly. Aelin lacked the patience for an elevator ride right now.

Upon reaching the landing, she caught sight of Rowan leaning against the wall next to his open door. “You certainly got here quickly. So eager to-”

Aelin cut him off with a hungry kiss. His lips began to move against hers and he grabbed her, pulling her into his apartment. Rowan kicked the door closed, then pinned her to it. He used one hand to lock the door and the other to unzip her jeans. She grinded against his hand, bucking her hips forward.

Rowan pulled down her jeans, waited for Aelin to step out of them, then picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. Aelin shrieked as he carried her to his bedroom.

“That’s what you get for judo flipping me.” The damned bastard was chuckling.

He tossed her on the bed, then swiftly unclothed himself. Rowan looked up to find Aelin had done the same, and was now lying seductively on his bed. She let her legs spread.

Rowan, panting now, climbed on top of her. She moaned as his hips pressed against hers. Neither one of them could get enough of the other. Both of their hands were roving accross the other’s body. Aelin’s tongue parted his lips.

Her hand drifted down to caress him, and Rowan groaned. He let Aelin push him off of her then move down to take him in her mouth. Rowan moaned Aelin’s name. Yes, she could get used to this.

Light was streaming through the curtained window. Aelin awoke to find Rowan’s arm around her. She was pressed into his side, fitting like a glove.

Aelin gently slid out of his grasp, then put on his shirt from the night before. It was so large, she nearly drowned in it.

Then she walked out to the kitchen. If he was going to carry her around like a sack of meat, she would feel no qualms about raiding his fridge.

Rowan walked out ten minutes later in another pair of sweatpants to find Aelin dressed in his t-shirt, devouring a bowl of cereal. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he said sarcastically.

“Thank you, I will,” replied Aelin. “Though I’m rather disappointed to find all this health junk. You need to buy some Fruit Loops.”

Rowan smirked. “Planning on eating breakfast here often?”

Aelin blushed. “Just in case.”

Rowan poured himself a bowl of the “health junk.” “Well, I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

Aelin blinked, then smiled.

“Did you ladies really sign up for mixed martial arts?” he asked.

Aelin laughed. “Yes. Lys and I had been taking it for a while, and we convinced the others to join. And I still can’t believe you bet against me!”

“How was I supposed to know you’re a fucking ninja?”

Aelin laughed again, louder this time. “I like that almost as much as fire-breathing bitch-queen.”

“That was meant to be an insult when I came up with it.”

“That makes it even better.”

Aelin hadn’t felt so happy in a long while. They finished breakfast, then Aelin said she should leave.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” Aelin asked.

“You should stay. It’s still the weekend.”

Aelin’s heart raced. “And if I were to stay, what would we be doing?”

Rowan’s sultry smile was answer enough.

Aelin pulled up at her apartment just past six o’clock. She had totally lost track of time, though she didn’t regret it. Rowan had spent the better part of the afternoon coaxing noises from her she didn’t even know she could make.

Upon entering, Aelin found Ansel at the table eating Chinese takeout. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back,” she said with a raised brow. “I got extra in case you did.” Ansel gestured to the other container of Chinese.

Aelin replied, “Thanks. I need to change first.” She was still wearing last night’s outfit. Again. This was becoming a habit.

When Aelin came back out in a t-shirt and yoga pants and sat at the table, Ansel just looked at her. Stared, like she was seeing deep into her soul.

“Okay, you’re going to have to stop that. It’s freaky,” Aelin stated.

Ansel sighed. “I’m working on my tell-me-all-of-your-secrets stare. Ugh, just fess up, will you?”

Aelin tried not to laugh. “No. Stop prying.”

“I know I blab a lot, but if I swear not to tell a soul, will you at least answer, like, some minor questions? I have nothing else to do with my life.”

Ansel looked so pathetic that Aelin hesitated. “If you won’t tell anyone, you may ask some things. I might not answer, though.”

Ansel immediately brightened. “Great. Okay, I’m assuming his name is a no. Mm, do you like like him?”

Aelin could only imagine if Ansel went and told the others, including Rowan, that she liked the dude. That would be humiliating. Ansel wouldn’t break her word, though. “Yes,” she answered firmly, surprising herself. She realized she did like Rowan a lot, though.

Ansel smiled. “Interesting. I can only assume he works at the office because of your secrecy, not to mention hooking up with him at an office party. Do I know him?”

Most everyone from the office went to the bar; this wasn’t a revealing question. “Probably.” Okay, definitely, but whatever.

“Is he good in bed?”

“Gods, Manon asked the same question. You perverts. Yes, he is very good in bed.” Aelin was tiring of the interrogation and also started to get nervous she might reveal something. “I’m done with the probing now. Want to watch Grease?” The two of them lived for old movies. They had seen Grease about a dozen times already. She knew the offer would be enough to get Ansel off her back.

“Sure. I’m not done with you, though.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. Then they spent the evening watching movies and gossiping about their friends. Luckily, Ansel seemed to have dropped the subject of the secret boyfriend for the night.

Yes, it could be troublesome to deal with her friends’ inclination to snoop, but she and Rowan would tell them if it got serious. Was it heading in that direction? At first Aelin had thought the attraction was purely sexual, but then they talked and laughed he made her heart flutter and Aelin wasn’t so sure anymore. The only question was whether Rowan felt the same about her.

Out of pure desperation, Aelin pulled out her phone. help im bored.

If Rowan was the type to use emojis, he surely would have sent an eye roll. He wasn’t though, and he annoyingly wouldn’t stop using correct grammar and punctuation. Prick. Only a minute after Aelin texted him, Rowan replied, What’s Ansel doing? Is she still at Fenrys’?

she’s currently laying on my lap sound asleep. not before finishing the fried rice though

Poor thing. Aelin could feel the sarcasm oozing out of that text. What do you want me to do about it?

be entertaining. tell a joke or something. im lonely

You’re a very needy person.

i am not

You certainly were today. Aelin blushed at that.

tell me rowan whitethorn is not sending me dirty texts! i should block you or something

Needy and overdramatic. No surprise there.

you need to work on your flattery skills

Fine, then, Your Majesty. You are the most genteel, sensitive, kind, and respectful person I have ever met. Please accept my sincerest apologies. Aelin snorted at this.

*sigh* you could at least try to say something accurate like awesome or fascinating or something. we all know im not nice

How true.

stop bullying me. ask me on a date

Is that an order?

yes

Would you like to go on a date with me?

hmm... i’ll have to think about it

Why do I even bother?

because im irresistible

I’m going to sleep now. Work tomorrow. You should too.

night

Goodnight.

Rowan was right; she should get some sleep. Even if she wanted to text him all night.

“Ansel, up.” Aelin poked her on the forehead. “I can’t get up with you snoring on my lap.”

Ansel was nearly impossible to rouse. Aelin settled the matter by shoving her off onto the floor, which earned her a severe scolding.

In bed, Aelin couldn’t stop thinking about Rowan. It got to the point where she couldn’t help but shove her hand under the waistband of her yoga pants, getting off with the help of the thought of his capable fingers.

Great. Now Aelin was just praying she wasn’t going to start blushing and batting her eyelashes at him. She wondered if he was thinking about her as he touched himself. Probably not. He was probably asleep, untroubled by thoughts of her.

Rowan Whitethorn was distracting Aelin from... well... everything. Maybe if she tried thinking about when they hated each other. Or when she judo flipped him. Yes, think of beating him up.

How was Aelin going to handle work tomorrow, being able to see him but not touch him? Rowan Whitethorn. Damn him.

#rowaelin #tog #sneaking around #my writing

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some-random-loki-stan · 3 years

Text

Catchin’ The Vibe

Pairing: Loki x reader

Word Count: 2,543

Warnings: drug use (devils lettuce folks), wee bit of angst, fluff if you squint, awkwardness if that counts lol, older GenZ!reader

A/N: Ahhhh! This is my first time posting something I’ve written! I hope you all enjoy!

Classes that day were less than pleasant. The reminder of 4 major exams coming up did nothing to soothe (Y/s) constant stress and anxiety and she couldn't help but rush out of her final class, ready to finally relax.

The brisk walk home got her thinking and she quickly pulled out her phone and sent a text to her roommate, Cassie. The girl was well aware of Cassie's habits of bringing friends over unexpectedly. She'd learned to text ahead so that she could change her course of direction before it was too late and Cassie made her begrudgingly agree to stay with them. For as much as their external personalities clashed, she really did love Cassie but she also really didn't feel like trying her own patience today. Instead, she prepped for her backup plan.

When the inevitable response came from her roommate, she sighed and set a course for Avengers Tower. Even if a group of super heroes lived there, the tower was big enough to grant her space from them.

Walking in the front door, she flashed the card that her aunt Pepper gifted her upon her arrival to the big city to the security guard. If you need anything, Pepper had said, pressing the card into the girls palm, just come find me. She absolutely adored her aunt Pepper and although she didn't particularly need anything from her aunt in person, she was ever grateful for the unlimited access to the tower.

The girl was pleased to find that the residence atop the tower was seemingly empty. Out on a mission, she presumed. Thank God.

She wasted no time plopping herself down on the couch and reached deep into her backpack, searching for the little ziplock bag. The perfect little cookie she had placed in there earlier that morning had crumbled to bits and she made a sound of disappointment. She opened it and poured a handful of crumbs, careful not to spill any on the couch. Only after carefully putting the rest away, she finally let herself fall back against the sofa and unwind.

When the girl found her eyes sore and red, and her mouth dry as the desert, she knew her high had hit. The previous anxious pounding in her heart and head was replaced with a subtle, pleasant throbbing throughout her body. Finally, she felt like she could take a deep breath. Reveling in the feeling, she closed her eyes and thought back on the day.

Unbeknownst to her, Loki stood in the doorway of the living room, watching her intently. His fingers softly tapped on the hardcover of his book, debating whether or not he should go back to his room. He could sense that there was something different about her today. Something off. Now that Loki thought about it, the girl's energy always seemed a little ‘off’ compared to the other mortals on Midgard, but never this heavy before. It made him shift in discomfort.

Before he could turn and sneak away, her soft yet dry-red eyes peered over the couch and caught his own deep green ones. He was caught.

“Hello,” she said kindly. "You can join me, if you'd like." Loki's presence was one she always welcomed. She smiled softly and gestured to the sofa across from her. Loki hesitated for just a second but then slowly took a seat. She sat up to address him better and continued. “I wasn't expecting anyone to be here. I thought everyone was out on a mission.”

Only a couple feet from her now, the god could clearly see the red in her eyes and her exhaustion radiated off of her. His curiosity got the better of him and the question shot out of his mouth, quiet but clear. “Is something wrong?”

The girl froze suddenly. Her thoughts fluttered excuse from excuse. But she stopped, suddenly. She wondered with a bit of mischief -and defiance, probably-, what if she just told the truth. She realized quickly that Loki would probably be the last person to rat her out, quite honestly. Besides, something told her that Loki'd had his fair share of, well, exotic herbal substances, for lack of better term. Forgetting herself, she laughed a little at the thought.

Thinking he'd said something foolish, it took everything in Loki not to stride out of the room then and there. Irritation and perhaps embarrassment bloomed deep in his chest. Instead he let out a little huff which luckily got her attention.

“Im sorry, but no. Why do you ask?” Her voice lilted up in a teasing manner. She had a small smirk on her face as she took a sip from the water bottle in her bag.

Loki knew that look all too well. It was the same one he got on his face when he was up to no good. Suddenly intrigued, he narrowed his eyes at her and slipped on his shit-eating grin.

“Your eyes are red. And your presence feels more... tense than usual.”

She leaned forward and swallowed quickly. “What, you mean like my energy?”

Loki paused pensively then nodded.

She snickered and thought about that particularly interesting tid-bit of information. The scientific and spiritual knowledge on Asgard is far different and more advanced than anything on earth, she knew.

Minutes passed and the girl found her thoughts wondering, as well as her eyes. At some point, they landed on Loki reading his book and suddenly a light bulb went off in her head. Surprising herself with this idea, she mulled it over in her head. He is literally the most stressed individual I have ever met...and aunt Pepper has to deal with Tony on a daily basis so that's saying something... there's no harm in asking.

"Loki, have you ever heard of weed?" she asked as innocently as she could muster. He looked at her, contemplating. Eventually, he shook his head no. Delight spread across her face before caution took its place and the girl thought of the best way to explain to Loki what exactly the Midgardian herb was.

"On Earth, there's this plant called marijuana." A look of slight recognition passed over his face. "It's used as a destresser, antidepressant, muscle relaxer…” She paused pensively. “Some use it for spiritual purposes. It's got loads of uses. Not to mention it gets you nice and toasty."

With the Avengers away, his normally stiff and stoic facade was softer, allowing the girl to just barely make out the contemplative faces he was making. She had also noticed his brief look of uncertainty at her use of the term 'toasty'.

"So this is Midgards form of the Gift," he concluded.

"If that's what you guys call drugs on Asgard then, yeah. Sure." She let out a little laugh and looked at him intently.

After a second of thinking, he finally looked at her again, mischief seeping into his words and face. "And why might you be telling me this, dearest?"

Leaning back with a grin, she fished the baggie from her backpack once more. The loose crumbs looked less than impressive to the god but the girl didn't seem to care. She gave Loki a look to rival his own and for a second, it actually made him falter.

The amount left in the bag was just the amount she felt comfortable giving him so she handed him the plastic baggie. When he didn't take it right away, she pulled back.

"You don't have to if you don't want to." The gentleness in her voice caught him off guard and reassured him that it was his choice. He had no doubt after that, he wanted to do this.

For as much as he didn't trust Midgard or their people, Loki was quite comfortable around her. The child of the group and yet she seemed to be the only tolerable one. Her normally quiet disposition drew him in and her ability to launch passionately into one of her stories only made him enjoy her company more. It reminded him of his mother.

Shoving those thoughts aside, he did his best to pour the cookie crumbs into his mouth then set the baggie on the coffee table. Leaning back, they both fell into comfortable silence and waited.

---------------------------

She was in the kitchen when out of the corner of her eye, she saw Loki slowly close his book. The girl looked up and across the space to the connected living room where he sat and saw him staring blankly at a spot in front of him. Finally, he let out a small groan and fell backwards. It had finally hit.

"Loki?"

His hand twitched in her direction and she knew he wasn't doing well. Quickly filling a glass of water, she was at his side in a second. His head was all the way back, looking at the ceiling and his eyes were wide, pupils blown. His breathing was labored and his hands were shaking.

"Hey, ok," she said, sitting gently next to him. She placed her hand on his arm but he flinched away. Paying it no mind, she spoke gently. "Don't fight it, Loki. Just relax and breathe."

Loki tried his best to relax, truly. But there was this relentless twitching all throughout his body and his senses felt dulled by this incessant tingling. His mind was flitting through thoughts faster than he could grasp. Not having control over his mind and body was completely unexpected. The Gift was nothing like this.

On Asgard, the Gift clears your mind and energy and makes you feel present and centered. It connects mind and body, bringing them together in harmony. This was the opposite. It was incapacitating his body and his thoughts swirled senselessly in his head.

"May I touch you?"

He looked at her but the words were lost on him, he couldn't focus. He stared at her until she spoke again.

"Loki? Is it alright if I touch you?"

Before she could even finish the question a second time, he was already nodding his head yes. The girl smiled and softly placed her hand on his shoulder for reassurance. She rubbed her thumb gently back and forth and held up the glass of water.

"Take a sip, it'll help," she urged. Loki mustered enough composure to sit up and take a few sips. When he was done, he rested back against the couch, shutting his eyes tightly.

Putting the glass down, the girl sighed as she looked at his rigid body. Poor thing was torturing himself with how tense he was. "Loki, if you don't relax, you're gonna cause more harm than good. Your muscles are going to snap."

He only shook his head.

Suppressing her own increasingly anxious thoughts, she continued. "Then what can I do to help? Please? I want to help you…" But Loki couldn't bring himself to say anything. Instead he shakily took her hand. Gentle but firm, it was the smallest of acts but she could already feel the difference it made.

After a few moments, his scrunched up face was finally smoothing into one of ease and his breathing began to level out. The twitching was unavoidable and so was the probability of zoning out a couple times but that was all a part of the experience. After regaining control of his breath, Loki finally seemed to be letting himself unwind.

As his body started to melt into the couch, she gently readjusted herself next to him so that she was more comfortable. Not once did they let go of each other's hand. They sat in silence, enjoying the buzz but also each other's quiet presence.

---------------------

As the night got darker and the high mellowed out, Loki found himself actually enjoying his time. He could still feel the tingling in his body but had decided that he liked it. The girl had managed to pull him out of his trance when she pulled her hand away to put on some slow, quiet music that was pleasant to his currently sensitive ears.

"How are you feeling?" She asked, softly.

Still lounging back against the couch, Loki took a moment to think then nodded his head. A lazy smile spread across his face. "I feel...good."

"Yeah?" she chuckled.

"Yeah."

They both let out a lazy chuckle and the girl fell back against the couch. "So…" She hesitated and wondered if she should say something so soon but continued anyway. "Are you okay? That was kind of... intense and I just want to make sure you're alright."

Loki took a second to gather his thoughts and cleared his throat. "My mind went places I try very hard to keep hidden. I wasn't prepared, is all."

When he didn't say anything more she decided it was best to leave it there. She watched him lose himself in his thoughts again and immediately scooted closer. Grabbing his hand wholly, she pressed herself into his side lightly as not to startle him and gave him a reassuring laugh. "I've gotcha. You're stuck with me now, buddy."

He just closed his eyes and exhaled heavily, the slightest hint of a smile on his face. But then he remembered why he was in this strange situation in the first place. When he had initially walked into the common room, the girl's abnormally heavy presence had made him want to flee. He wondered for a second if it could have been an effect of the Midgardian drug but if he focused hard enough, he could still sense that same tension deep in her muscles.

"And how about you?"

She looked at him uncertainly. "What about me?"

"Are you ok?"

She shook her head in confusion as she couldn't understand what he was trying to get at. Loki thought about giving it up but he managed to convince himself otherwise. Pay her the same courtesy she did you, he willed himself.

"When I walked in I noticed a particular...mood settling over the room. It wasn't much like you and I wonder if something upset you," he spoke, afraid he might be over stepping.

Recollection spread across her face and she laughed begrudgingly. Now that she had time to relax and let the day sink in -not to mention the external help of her good friend Mary Jane-, she could separate herself from the anxiety and stress of everyday college life. Four exams were nothing, she concluded. She'd gotten through worse before. She could do this.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just some trivial human stuff. But I'm ok, I promise."

They looked at each other, both their eyes red and droopy. She had a soft, genuine smile on her face and Loki felt himself relax all over again. As the music met their ears once more, they fell into pleasant silence.

----------------------

When the team got home early the next morning, they were surprised to find the two asleep on the couch. With Loki's head hanging back against the couch and the girl's face smothered into his shoulder, it definitely wasn't the most comfortable condition to sleep in. And yet, these two, in their stubborn chaos, managed to make it work. Deciding not to disturb them, the team just let them be and didn't dare mention a word to them when they woke.

#loki x y/n #loki (marvel)#loki x reader #loki #the avengers #mcu fanfiction #mcu fic #mcu #devils lettuce #genz!reader #tom hiddelston x reader #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction

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ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

the lighthouse | jjk

⇢ pairing: reader x jungkook

⇢ genre: one shot, fluff (what's new), strangers to "lovers", mutual pining, so much sap you're gonna have to shower after reading this, ANGST, jungkook is a literary scholar (?) of sorts

⇢ word count: 12k

⇢ warnings: as stated before, it's Cheesy with a capital C, lots of introspection, brief mentions of death, explicit language, mommy issues, (((major plot twist)))

⇢ summary: you and jungkook had one thing in common: you were both lost souls stagnant in the search of some fulfillment. the one of many differences was that your story had been written on your sleeves, while jungkook’s was a story needed to be unriddled. was this going to be another disappointing chapter in the book of unattainable desires or could your encounter with the mysterious man who lived in the lighthouse lead to something much more?

a/n: i'm super proud of how this turned out even though it ripped my heart out of my chest... this was probably my favorite fic to write and ahh im so happy to release it!!!! i hope you lovely little angels enjoy!! :) <3

What makes us human? This question posed by your philosophy teacher had been stalking your thoughts hours after class had ended. As the rain padded against your umbrella, you piled in a few answers to this question.

What makes us human? A question that would seemingly have a clear cut answer, but when you got down to it, there was no distinct characteristic that differentiates humans from other animals. It was easy to say something such as how we have complex linguistics or industrialized civilization, but that is to discredit how the packs of wolves howl to each other, the birds sing from tree to tree, the beavers diligently construct their dams, or the dirt cities in which ants build their own societies not much different than humans.

You pondered the idea that we love so deeply, even when it is often unreturned, but there is no denying the way a mother bear strikes down any and all enemies to protect her baby cub is anything other than true love.

So, what makes us human? You sat on a bench placed on the sidelines where you could witness small scenes of the lives of passing strangers. This sonder might be what makes us human. The knowledge that each person lives and loves and cries and fears and speaks and dies in ways with which you will never begin to familiarize. Life continues on around you despite how unimportant it may seem to the rest.

Does a lion waste any moment of his time wondering how the deer had found its way to the shallow pond, whilst preparing to strike? Of course not.

You watched a couple clinging onto each other and wondered where they met. You then were captured in the peace of an old woman prodding around in the grass with her golden retriever; perhaps it was her last companion. Then, your eyes drifted towards the two boys pushing each other over but with the gentleness one could only assume that was out of friendship or perhaps brotherhood.

And then you saw him.

Gentle fingers tracing the stacks of magazines lined in a perfect column; an arm that disappeared into the sleeve of his dark, wool coat. A tweed newsboy hat sheltering his eyes, and deep chestnut Oxford shoes stepping lightly, nearing a tiptoe, between the cracks of each cement plate, weathered by the infinite other shoes that tread on those very grounds. A body so magnetizing and moving as if it were a secret, and you couldn’t imagine why no one else had been ingested by the enigma that is this man. You longed for him to reveal these secrets that hid underneath his hat and coat, though if he wouldn’t, which he most likely wouldn’t, you had no problem with seeking them out yourself.

In a city filled with young souls draped in modern streetwear, jeans, bright colors, and converse or Dr. Martens or perhaps high heels, catching this needle in the haystack plugged into every synapse of wonderment. The muted tones of his clothing gleamed the brightest out of the sea of strangers.

This is what made you human. Your desire to know everything that lies barely beyond your wingspan. Everything you could hold was close to nothing in meaning, and everything your arms could not reach was always all you could ever want. The rise of your legs, the way you replicated his every movement, running your fingers along the stack of magazines, fastidious prancing in the spaces between the cracks, and your subtle pursuit of the man just out of reach was what made you human.

Bodies bustling through your path failed to untether you from this chase. It felt far beyond your power to stop yourself from the rising excitement and allure in your chest that pulled you towards him. The man was quick and swift to dodge oncoming bystanders, however your eyes became a missile fixed on a target.

The unexpected turn he took had you floundering for you had been trapped behind an older lady and a couple walking side by side. Sadly, your memorization of the streets and landmarks had been admisal, so you found yourself in uncharted territory. Each road sign and corner store had been displayed like a foreign language, and you mentally cursed yourself for letting your silly lust for learning what shouldn’t be learned lead you into this difficult position.

You stood defeated, the man had evaded your fragile trail behind him with ease. You lost him, or maybe he got away.

It was still midday, prompting you to make an end of this means. Your eyes discovered the coast set along the edge of the town, and though this was the furthest you had ever gone, you dared to go further. This mishap of yours granted you the opportunity to introduce yourself to the shore, and the waves have always delighted your interest. So, you found it just to walk down to the sand. The sound of the water pressing into the wet sand was calming; it was something you could find yourself getting used to. Luck presented itself kindly, giving you a moment unencumbered by the rain that had ceased not long after you stepped foot on the beach.

You took this time to be with yourself and sort out all the problems that have been worrying your mind these past few weeks. Your best friend, Chaeyoung, had an upcoming birthday that had snuck up on you before you had the chance to even think about getting her a card, let alone a gift or celebration. And you would be disappointed with yourself if you failed to outdo last year’s efforts. There was also the test in your Chemistry class scheduled only a day after her birthday, curtailing your plans of staying out late because there was no way you would allow for anything less than your very most on this exam. Then, there was the essay on what makes us human that you denied any chance of regaining priority to your list of worries, knowing it would gnaw at your mind until you forcibly shut it out.

And the man that willed you to seek him out, and that wore the title of his stories as if he intentionally wished to spark your wonder to learn them.

That should have been the last of your worries. It should have been.

The day began to fade into a warm, orange dusk. Skies once gloomy and grey now covered in blankets of clouds reflecting the sun’s gentle rays and you found yourself reunited with the calming feeling similar to when you first stepped on the beach.

Not long after registering how far you had traveled along the shore, you noticed a quaint lighthouse with a house-like structure at the base. The off-white stones cemented up until a red paneled roof covered it, tempting you to know what lies behind those walls.

It looked like it was about to rain again.

Are lighthouses closed off from the public?

There’s a house, there must be someone inside that could help me find my way home.

All these comments to yourself made to premise the conclusion of entrance into this lighthouse. As you approached the door, framed in oak lining and painted red, the clouds appeared heavy once again. A few drops of condensation was enough persuasion that what was about to be done was for the good of your well being. You pushed it open and a creak echoed around the room inside.

The walls were covered with stone bricks and there was one table in the center of the room. Other than that, this house was barren and if it weren’t for the second door that you guessed led to the lighthouse you would have called a car to take you home.

Your walk was pensive and mouse-like; there was some quality about this structure that made you feel like you weren’t alone and sudden movements would disrupt an established peace. Your hand turned the cold, gold-plated handle and pulled open the door, soon being met with a warm gust of air that engulfed you into the lighthouse.

This part of the building was exponentially more decorated than the room that preceded it. A staircase cemented into the sides of the lighthouse plastered with shelves upon shelves of books spiraled along the cylindrical walls, paired with dull lanterns that illuminated each level of railing had you drawn into its magnificence.

You stared up to what looked like a platform that held a place in which one would rest and look out into the ocean. There was no one in sight, and you assumed permission to climb up the staircase. Your eyes scanned each spine, creased and slightly warped from the moisture of the air, like they had been read over and over again. Your breath became heavy and your stare was focused on the books to ignore the dizziness settling in.

Reaching the top of the staircase came as a blessing, your lungs were close to catching fire. There were two armchairs, side by side, one fashioned a knitted blanket and the other was used as a table for five to seven or so novels, and the walls behind buried in high stacks of more books. There had to be at least seventy in the first half of piles you accounted for, and before you had the chance to snoop around the rest of the room you heard a voice coated with alarm behind you.

“What are you doing in here?” Your breath halted as you turned around, about to explain why you had let yourself into this building, however no amount of words could fully justify this invasive act.

You recognized the wool coat and the tweed hat now resting in his hand instead of on his head. His eyes were shrouded in a youthful innocence despite his attire that implied he was a sophisticate of some sort.

“Are you going to answer me or do I have to call the police?” The boom of his voice was chilling, sending shivers along your neck and chest.

“Sorry, I’m-” How could you possibly defend your intrusion without sounding juvenile or absolutely insane? “I was… It was raining and I just was walking on the beach so-”

“So, you decided breaking and entering was better than getting a little wet?” His barbed responses hurdled how you plaintively stuttered around excuses. Despite his efforts to seem menacing, you couldn't let go of his boyish facial features. It was absolutely astonishing to you that someone who looked young enough to attend your own college and handsome enough to garner quite a bit of attention had anything to do with this dingy, aged lighthouse.

“No, I was going to come in here to ask for directions. I’m lost.” The pitiful temperament of this comment was not intentional, but the man who now stood in front of you felt itched by it. He couldn't ignore how your legs trembled, partly from the cold but also because of his raised voice directed at you, and how that admittedly aroused some guilt.

“It’s fine. Just-” He sighed deeply, placing his hat on the side table adjacent to the left armchair, “You can just wait here until the rain stops. Though, I have to say it looks unrelenting at the moment.” The man’s attention was captured by how the heavy rain seemed to wage war against the raging tides. You caught a glimpse of a smile. The slightest upturn of the corner of his lips almost compelling you to reveal you had spotted him in the town earlier today, and that you found yourself enamoured with his every movement, and he was ironically the reason you were stuck here.

“Are you sure? I can go, I shouldn't have been here in the first place.” The words escaped from your mouth quickly as if they were trying to race each other to be spoken.

“No, I said it’s fine.” The suddenness of this offer hushed you. He then removed his wool coat, unveiling the clothes he wore beneath it. The burgundy crew neck sweater layered tastefully over a collared shirt was just as old fashioned as every other article of clothing he sported. How intriguing.

“I'm sorry.” Your muscles grew sore from suppressing how aggressively you would have been shaking from the cold. “Thank you.” Him granting you shelter gave you motive to keep the umbrella that would suffice to protect you from the rain under wraps. The option he presented was far more favorable.

“Sit down. Please, use this blanket.” He gestured towards the throw draped over the right armchair. His eyes avoided you as much as he could manage though you had this glow emulating from your wanting eyes and soft looking skin that crept to the corner of his vision too brightly to ignore. Consequently, this comment soothed both your body and mind for he unguarded a kindness that was hidden when he first spoke to you.

“My name is ___.” He was facing the window that displayed the sea, now thrashing and falling into itself, and without moving his head, his eyes drifted towards you.

“I know who you are.”

“Wh- How?” Maybe accepting an invite in a secluded lighthouse on the beach wasn’t the safest thing you could be doing on a Friday afternoon. Anxiety pioneered a place in your breathing, turning it rushed and choked.

Before your mind could theorize all the ways in which you could make an escape from this room or how quickly you could use your hidden umbrella as a weapon he said, “I noticed you following me in the town’s square earlier today.” You sighed, releasing the terror that pricked your lungs. If anything, it was he who should be afraid of you.

“I’m not a stalker!” That weak defense was all you could push from your throat before any well constructed explanations could be put forth.

His laugh, along with his cryptic gaze towards the waves, made you feel even worse about your actions.

“You were just so stunning and I wanted to know what kind of person still wears a newsboy hat without trying to make a statement.” Your lower lip tucked between your teeth stopped the nervous laugh about to spill and expressed worry that the more you tried to explain yourself, the more this man believed you should be charged for stalking not to mention trespassing.

“Stunning?”

“I mean, like, someone I’d want to meet.”

“What were you planning on doing once I stopped somewhere, or noticed you?” He questioned you only because he relished how you were scrambling to a proper defense. He knew you weren’t any threat to him, not many people were, however he enjoyed your chatter more than the silence that would have taken its place.

“I don't know, maybe just… introduce myself?” This sheepish, yet honest, reply had you drowning in humiliation, while the man before you seemed as if he were floating effortlessly along the surface.

“I’m Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” Relief replaced the worry that he would turn you away, leaving you to the hands of the storm outside. The fact that any other person would have done so led you to believe Jungkook held a lot more compassion than he let on. You held your hand to greet him, finding it only polite to execute this formality. His, however, remained folded behind his back, notably denting your ego as you retracted your hand quicker than you extended it.

“Okay.” You muttered to yourself in slight embarrassment from this trivial rejection. “So, do you live here or something?” Your question was first replied to with a breath of annoyance. Jungkook was kind enough to allow you a sanctuary from the rain, exemption from the intrusion and stalking, and now he found himself having to entertain you.

“Yeah, something like that.” All this disinterested answer did was persist your attempts to break his catatonic gaze. However, his reserve had been solidified steadily over the years, so this venture was going to be tough.

“I didn’t know you could live in a lighthouse?” Your inquiry was spoken with the hopes this would ignite a lasting conversation.

“It’s not a lighthouse, technically.” Jungkook’s affirmative tone flew right over your head, conjuring even more annoyance that oddly enticed him to continue responding to your dense questions.

“Well, it looks like a lighthouse. It’s shaped like a lighthouse. It’s on the beach, just like a lighthouse.” A chuckle joined the sigh of his breath and his head that shook at your shallow observations. Jungkook eventually turned around and made his way towards the stacks of books, trying to preoccupy himself from whatever this exchange was. “All signs point to this being a lighthouse.”

“Well, it’s not. Lighthouses are meant to send signals to the ships out at sea. This doesn't,” His curt response tickled your amusement, only encouraging you to further aggravate him. “Therefore, not a lighthouse.”

“Okay,” You sounded agreeable, but this was soon followed by a doubtful comment whispered just loud enough for Jungkook’s ear to catch it, “It’s a lighthouse.” He found his stoicism melting away due to your spiteful attitude and conniving giggle in the face of his frustration. You wanted to get a rise out of him, and he knew this, and you were doing a fine job at it.

“It’s not-” His voice elevated with excitement, but he soon tamed the defensiveness threatening to spill from his lips, “Do you want to go back out into the rain?”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Though, you sounded all but remorseful. The sly smirk resting on your face matched Jungkook’s satisfied expression, despite these smiles surfacing for different reasons. You couldn’t deny how humorous it was to distemper this man. How all the worries you laid out like the pebbles and seashells on this beach were washed away by the tides. Meanwhile, his grin provided little contribution in masking his enjoyment of your company and relentless curiosity.

You now sat in the right armchair, bundled in the blanket. It was not necessarily a thick blanket, but the chills once disturbing you had dwindled almost immediately. You were still entranced by Jungkook's movements. His hands were now occupied with a book from one of the stacks he’d been eyeing; the way he cradled the book like it was a newborn baby further revealed he had a somewhat protective attitude towards them.

“What are you reading?” His eyes remained between the pages and lines of the book, but his focus was yet again thieved by your incessant curiosity. Jungkook thought it irritating similarly to how one would find a cat disrupting their owner from work, annoying yet ever so endearing, and adorably distracting.

“I’m not reading, I’m being bothered by you.” His snark was meant to damage your brazen pestering, but unknown to him it merely fueled it.

“Boohoo.” No matter how elementary that retort was, you still managed to fever him and hold hostage his attention.

“I’m reading The Odyssey.” Jungkook surrendered to you, placing the book on his lap that was now sitting in the armchair next to yours. “Why do you ask so many questions?” His eyes laid on you the same way they laid on the sea, filled to the brim with fascination.

“I just wanted to know what you were reading.” Even when he expressed a clear indication that he was past your nonsense, it went unnoticed like the particles of dust flitting around the darkened room. This oblivion of yours prompted your next question. “Could you read it to me?”

His eyebrows furrowed at this request. Jungkook had already found himself exhausted by your persistence, and predicted ‘no’ would not be accepted as a viable answer. He just sighed and began to read aloud.

His soft voice somehow drowned out the sea’s commotion. The words flowed off his tongue as if he wrote the book himself; such poise for a young man lured you to immerse yourself in his narration and time grew more and more abstract.

After a bit, Jungkook paused to examine how you'd received his reading and he was pleased to find your chin resting in your palm and your eyes and ears fixed onto him as if he were reading the gospel. This made it difficult, impossible, to deny entry for the subtle blush working its way on his cheeks.

“Are you satisfied?” He closed the book, peering out of the window to check if the weather had eased since you arrived. Though the intensity of the storm hadn’t lightened in the slightest, there was a new tranquility adopted by the drizzling sky waters that sank and fed into the waves.

“Never.” You replied with a hungered conviction twisted into your words, “What happens next?”

Jungkook laughed in shock of how eager you were to hear more of this story. It was unlike someone who wasn’t well versed in literature to genuinely enjoy listening to this archaic novel.

“Why are you laughing? Read more!” Your whine came off a bit childlike, but succeeded in its goal.

“It’s getting late.” He commented with a gentle sternness, though he proceeded to reopen the book. Your peculiar attention naturally drew him to oblige your desires. Even in the midst of a storm, even as the hours slipped by and the evening had been born, he continued to read.

You settled back into your chair in rejoice that you’d get to spend a bit more time with Jungkook. He was practically a stranger, and still there was a climate of comfort and intimacy that took the place of the crisp, winter air when he read from his book. He felt it too, and that was reason enough to allow you this company.

Throughout the chapter he had been working to finish, he snuck glances to find your eyes growing heavy with sleep as each page turned. Jungkook halted from reading and was trapped in the flush of your cheeks and lips and how your mouth hung slightly ajar as you inhaled the cold, wet air of the lighthouse. The puffs of breath that billowed from your lips had him yearning to know a warmth so full with life and curiosity.

“Are-” Jungkook tensed at the idea of disturbing your sleep, as if you hadn’t barged into his life without a hint of permission. “Are you asleep?”

Your head lifted slowly, then held stiff to maintain consciousness, “I was just resting my eyes. I’m not tired, I want you to read more.” You said this in spite of knowing you would drift asleep if he did.

“I think we are done reading for now.” The book closed for the last time, his hands pressing against the cover to seal his assurance. “You should head home.”

“But, I don’t know how the book ends.” This weak argument came from a place of jaded desperation. Regardless, he almost fell victim to your subdued urgency but any sensibility he could garner warned him not to allow this. You were quite obviously tired and he prefered you be safe in your own bed before the night advanced.

“Well, that’s because I only just started this book and it is very, very long.” Jungkook hoped this would usher you out even if that meant the return of loneliness would seep between the pillows of the right armchair after you left him with his solitude.

“Well, I won’t be able to get these questions out of my mind unless I finish the book.” Another weak argument drained from your inventory of excuses. Maybe a change of subject would present an opportunity to linger in his company. “Also, why do you live here all alone?”

“I just do. I feel like I don’t have to explain this to you.” Jungkook was bewildered at his admission to give you, an unannounced and uninvited visitor, any explanations and still he was close to doing exactly that. “You’re quite invested in my personal life.” As much as that was true, his withdrawal from your curiosity wasn't all that effortful. Living in secrecy and desolation had the feeling of companionship nearly vanishing from his memory and you reunited him with that warmth. And, he had not realized how it had nearly been forgotten or how much he missed it until he finally felt it again.

“You seem like someone who has better things to attend to.” The lament that stained his words bore such heartache that was soon displaced in your chest.

“No, no. My life is boring, and I don’t know. What person wouldn’t be interested in the personal life of a hermit who lives in a lighthouse?” You stood and paced around the platform towering over the swirling bookshelves below, towering over what felt like the entire world with Jungkook. The end of the blanket trailed your footstep as your drooping eyes skimmed the multicolored novels which were remarkably arranged alphabetically by author. How he had the time or patience to organize the hundreds of books he owned was beyond your comprehension. Every detail you acquired from Jungkook was stored in a compartment of your heart, almost as if it were assigned by fate. They were told in riddles and secrets and everything else meant to be deciphered.

“Not a hermit, and not a lighthouse. I couldn’t imagine someone like you being bored with your life.” His voice had become welcoming, with a hint of genuine interest, and this transition felt imminent ever since you first introduced yourself. The tilt of your head signified your agreement with his last statement and implied there was something that bothered you about this truth.

“Someone like me?”

“Someone like you. Curious, young with your whole life ahead of you. It's hard to believe you should be bored with that.”

“You say that as if you aren't the same age as me.” Jungkook shrugged lazily and scuffed his shoes against the rug as he now stood against the window sill, observing your interest of his books.

“I shouldn’t be a lot of things, and yet I am all those things. Bored, curious, and I’m here talking to a complete stranger that totally has the capability to murder me like in those movies instead of going back home.” Your comment that snuck out had wrested a soft chuckle from Jungkook. They were absentmindedly thrown into the air that filled the space between you and him, nurturing his reciprocated fascination with you. Your diligent grazing of each book had distracted how the weight of your eyelids heavied by the minute.

“It’s not like I don’t have great people in my life or a quality education that takes up most of my time, I just,” Your brief pause was to turn your attention over to Jungkook, who did not hide how he was listening intently to these confessions, alleviating from a place in need of emptying. His eyebrow was arched in a manner that jolted you back to your senses. You’d revealed one too many privacies to someone who you had been acquainted with only hours ago. Mortification would have bathed your body if not for the way Jungkook seemed to strongly engage with your openness.

“You just?” He staged his interest overtly to correct the imbalance of how your genuinity left you hanging lower than him on the emotional scale. Jungkook believed that was the least he could do to mitigate the embarrassment about to silence you.

“Uh, I just never seem to be satisfied with what I have. And that makes me seem like a greedy, spoiled child which makes me even more frustrated with myself.” You admitted, pulling the blanket over your shoulders tighter as if that would shield you from the compromising guilt slithering out of your body. “And that’s how I see myself. Ungrateful and spoiled.” This certainly scraped the barrel of your deep rooted disgust with yourself.

“Not spoiled, just lost.” His response felt like a soft and thoughtful embrace, granted that this was meant to ease the tinge of reproach in your heart. The words he spoke caressed your cheeks and told you that every horrid thing you thought of yourself was flawed.

“I’ve certainly been in your position.” He euphemized what he really wanted to say to you, that he saw himself in you. Even though you spoke very little on this, he felt himself living every experience you alluded to as if he had been right beside you your whole life. Or rather that you had witnessed his life and suffered identical desires and grievances and adversities and were simply retelling his story down to the most intricate detail; and somehow you made it sound brand new and a thousand times more aching. He was stranded in a state of amazement, ambushed by your pain and how even in moments of emotional destitution, you were unquestionably beautiful.

Likewise, this stranger, who was no longer estranged, and his kind words nearly compensated for the billions of people you could never meet, all the dreams you wanted but could never alter into incarnation, and all the disappointments that plagued your heart.

And you felt held by his words, his voice, him.

“You’ve been in my position?” You requested confirmation.

“I was. Certainly.” And he confirmed.

“Where are you now?” In turn, you wanted this to suggest, ‘where can I find you?’

This question carried profound sentiment on both the giving and receiving end of it. To you, this yearned for advice. Any piece of wisdom would gladly, gratefully be accepted to ease this rampage of constant dissatisfaction. To him, it resurfaced a series of speculations long undisturbed until you had asked this question; a place intentionally void of all attention because it was sometimes too grim to remember. A haze of difficulty crowded a definite answer, though he knew there was one. He couldn’t place his finger on a fitting response and found himself next to you in search of the answer.

Where are you now?

This haunted his mind for a bit, leaving him speechless and albeit impressed, for once, by your curiosity.

“It’s hard to say. Somewhere in between, I suppose.” Whatever meaning this carried did not resonate as sound to you. The mere idea of being on the end of perpetual longing, waiting for a clear path to the end that promised fulfillment, made it implausible to settle on being somewhere in between the two. Again, you were left unsatisfied and feeling a burden placing itself on your shoulders and wallowing a fit of disappointment in the pit of your stomach. Jungkook noticed how your eyes fell from his, down to the maroon accents of the rug, and felt out of place. Out of place, in his own lighthouse, all because your gaze and attention he’d grown used to in this short time wasn’t directed at him.

“That’s the kind of ambiguity that leaves me so hungry.” He nodded in agreeance with the twisted cruelty of his response you had pointed out. Jungkook didn’t know how or why he’d come to turn every corner and check each crevasse to find what could settle your appetite. This whole time, though, he sailed through this painstaking search without a trace of uncertainty. His illusion of disinterest and annoyance soon dissolved into the floor that your eyes hadn’t strayed from.

“Maybe if I lived in a quaint, not-lighthouse I would be satisfied with that answer, but I don’t. I live a normal, normal, normal life.” The repetition of your words stressed your fatigue of this dullness, your desire for everything just inches away from your fingertips.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a normal life. I think it’s wrong that we have put the idea of drama and excitement on a pedestal.” This outlook, unlike the last, did gain traction in stripping the thick ambiguity around Jungkook’s mind. To your surprise, you could be satisfied with the small pieces of this man’s mystery being chipped bit by bit.

He was well aware of his deep rooted appreciation that accompanied your eyes as it moved towards him once again. There was some sense of purposefulness in this glance that demoted his callousness to tender captivation.

“Can I ask one more question?”

“I have a hard time believing you only have one more question.” His doubtfulness didn’t seem to discourage you, or him.

“For real! Only one more, it’s important.” The only way to prove whether or not this question was truly important was for you to ask it. His head nodded his approval.

“What do you think makes us human?” Before he could answer, a swell of perplexity had overtaken his thoughts on this. You could tell, out of everyone, Jungkook would have a profound answer that could save you hours of contemplation over your philosophy essay’s prompt.

“That’s an interesting question.”

“An interesting question in need of an answer.” You prodded him for his response, though this was pointless if there was no response that could possibly be constructed. Not a response of reason that you seemed to require, but of feeling. Like an instinct, and that in itself made it inapplicable to this question.

“Ask me again some other time. I don’t know if the answer is that simple.”

But, of course, it was. The answer, in his eyes, was blindingly clear.

“I’ll hold you to that!” He gladly took accountability for that commitment. An unfamiliar contentment with the unknown had lodged in your chest when the promise of spending time together emerged through the once conditional circumstances. The promise that transformed those conditional circumstances to voluntary acts.

This humbling discovery left a wide grin on your face, beaming directly towards Jungkook.

Jungkook peered over to the antique clock placed on a shelf next to the window. The aversion of his eyes was to save face from how your soft smile that projected praise and attachment had effectively unnerved him; he stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide his fingers that twitched out of pure elation.

The hour hand stationed on the twelve carved in roman numerals verified how his company had erased any discern for the hours that passed. They had floated away so silently, slowly that you could have sworn time froze altogether.

“Oh shit, it’s midnight? Fuck me.” The decibels of your voice boomed against the walls, it could have shaken the stacks of books down to a pile of mess. “I’m sorry, shit. I didn’t even realize it was so late.” You unraveled yourself from the blanket and collected your belongings in a bit of a frenzy.

“It’s alright. I, um, I had a nice time.” He distanced himself from you swiftly as you dashed across the room to the edge of the stairs. Even in a hurried state, you still looked back to him and offered a smile, unsure if that was enough to suffice for a proper gesture of gratitude.

“Me too.” The words were close to inaudible, but you knew he heard them loud and clear, along with the string of implications that were laced in them.

“Oh and by the way, make good use of that umbrella. It looks like it could start raining again.” Your ears felt engorged with flames when he’d revealed his knowledge of your little secret. It was foolish of you to believe you could outsmart Jungkook because what you thought obscure was well within his range of astuteness and the umbrella, still damp from the rain, was apparent from the beginning.

You didn’t catch how he’d been smiling when you turned away bashfully, strutting down the stairs in an attempt to portray false confidence. But if you did, you would have picked up on his mutual indulgence in your visit, the absolute bliss laden in his eyes. You grasped tightly to the joy evoked from the thought of seeing him again, however your nerves held a tighter grasp that did not allow you to express this to him. Perhaps your giggles of excitement, surely heard by Jungkook, spilling from your throat as you rushed out the empty room or the way you clutched your umbrella to your chest in admittance you had purposefully kept that fact from him would give Jungkook a clue of how thankful you were to meet him. And even more so to be able to see him again.

As you parted from the lighthouse that was not a lighthouse, something in between, you felt that the comfort you once had taper off with the growing distance from the not-lighthouse. You were fraught with a gentle yearning to turn back, run up the spiraling stairs, settle yourself back into the right armchair, and ask humbly to stay a while longer.

Little did you know, Jungkook’s hopes coincided with yours like two concentric circles.

(One week later)

If it wasn’t the question left unanswered that motivated you, it was the fact that you missed the view of the beach from the window. Or maybe it was the countless supply of book titles that you didn’t get to finish inspecting. Perhaps it was that you missed how the soft blanket complimented the feathery cushion of the right armchair.

Any of these excuses could be suited to explain how you rushed through the town, determined, goal-oriented and passing down streets now ingrained in your memory, with a destination clear in mind.

But it definitely couldn't be how dearly you missed the sound of his voice when he read to you or his smile or the way he studied the waves with gentle affection. No, it couldn't be that.

Either way, you arrived at the base of the lighthouse. It had been a week since your first visit and you hoped that the invitation still stood for your return. Making your way through the empty room felt quick since you hadn't wasted time to notice how the table now had a vase of flowers in the center. Nor did you notice the new mat placed in front of the interior doorway to the lighthouse.

Your heart dropped from your chest when you reached over to the door knob only to find it was locked. You turned the handle back and forth as if that would miraculously function as a key to unlock the door. After a bit of knob fiddling had proven itself useless, you turned away with a huff of air releasing your frustration.

The click and turn of the handle had you twirling around optimistically and seeing him made all that disappointment dissolve.

“You’re back again.” He was smiling at you, then cocked his head to say come in. The moment you stepped into the lighthouse, its lackluster disappeared as if by magic. But Jungkook knew it wasn’t magic at all; it was the person that hid their umbrella, and asked him to read and promised to return as much as he promised to let you return.

“I believe you promised to keep reading to me.”

“Did I?” The reasons for your return weren’t all that important to discuss, both you and him were just glad to make your way up the stairs to the two armchairs once more, hearts both racing not because of the physical exertion from the stairs but from the excitement rasping through yours and his bodies.

“Yes, but this time I won’t fall asleep.”

“We’ll see about that.” There was no question that your intense focus wasn’t because you cared about the book he had been reading. In all honesty, you would not be able to summarize any bit of the plot if someone asked. You probably would have a hard time even naming the author of the book because what sank you into the words on the pages wasn’t the story itself, but the voice that read them. Jungkook made those languid paragraphs sound like the first words ever to be spoken; he reinvented the English language through his unique dialect, inflections and phrasing that had the words of Homer dancing off the pages. So, of course there was no question that you wouldn’t be able to name any of the characters or recognize the writing style of Homer because those details faded away, leaving only the memory of his voice with you.

This time, Jungkook didn’t have to offer you a seat. He made it clear that this spot had been reserved and waiting for you by the way the blanket had been folded and worn by the arm of the chair and the new pillow resting at the base of the chair’s backrest. You planted yourself on the cushion that felt more plump than the last time you sat in it and faced towards the large window that showcased the ocean’s energetic swaying.

“I would never get tired of this view.” You commented while Jungkook pulled back the curtains further to widen the seascape. He too was drawn to the deep blue waters making their way to and from the shore.

“I usually don’t leave the windows this open, but my love for the scenery of the ocean has rekindled.” When he said this, your eyes hadn’t budged from the window unlike Jungkook’s that peered over to you. You pretended not to notice that or the way your heartbeat had taken a quickness that had your skin growing warmer.

“How could it leave in the first place?”

“It is well known, especially by you, that having an abundance of something lessens your appreciation for it.” A corner of your lips lifted at this, knowing exactly what he had been referring to. Each wave passed by and in a comatose-like state, you wondered where on the shore it would land.

“No need to call me out already, Jungkook.” He had left the window and retrieved The Odyssey that hadn’t left the side table since the night he read it to you. This broke your trance, and you shifted to face the left armchair.

“You made it too easy, ___.”

“Okay, Hermit.” Your smile did wonders to ease the irritation in Jungkook’s chest to tenderness. Though he refused to admit it, this otherwise taunting nickname sounded affectionate coming from you.

“Technically a hermit is-”

“Technically, I don’t care about your technicalities. No amount of facts will persuade me that you aren’t a Hermit.” Jungkook dug his tongue into the side of his cheek to resist from joining in with your laughter. He’d been fidgeting with the book that was waiting to be read, but neither of you seemed to mind putting that off.

“Ho- How was your day?” You shouldn’t have felt as proud as you did for making a man who could read aloud for hours stutter over his own words, and nonetheless you were extremely flattered by this.

“It was good.” Good never really meant good, and Jungkook knew this.

“And what’s the truth?” Your playing field had once again been unleveled, the advantage returned into the palm of Jungkook’s hand in the blink of an eye. His perceptiveness had been bordering on annoying but still remained on the side of impressive.

“Well,” You bunched the blanket in your fists as an expression of worry, “My mom called today.” Anyone who could hear would be able to tell you sounded unhappy about that.

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” Jungkook articulated his question to get the answer he’d been looking for, finding the hostility in your voice far more interesting than the actual conversation between you and your mom.

“You don’t know my mom, but she projects her over achieving personality onto almost everyone she meets, but most of it goes onto me.” Your back had straightened when mentioning your mom, almost as if it were a reflex, like Pavlov’s dog, that you were conditioned to be on guard at the thought of her. “I don’t know why I get so mad at her when she does that because I know it comes from a place of love.”

Jungkook hummed softly, granting you space to continue talking.

“Yeah, it probably comes from a place of love but part of me doesn’t believe that. Part of me thinks every time she calls to check on me it’s really just a ploy for her to nag me on what I could be doing better.” You scoffed as the conversation from earlier in the morning played out in your head again. Envisioning the back and forth between you and your mother only fueled your frustration but you couldn’t help yourself. There was no stifling the seething anger imploding before Jungkook’s eyes. “She always says stuff like, ‘Maybe if you applied yourself more you would be doing better than this.’ or ‘I told you that you should have done this or that and now it’s too late’ or the infamous ‘Do you not care about your future?’ lecture that just gets under my skin. She’s so good at saying the wrong things at the wrong time. I don’t know how she does it but she always manages to rub dirt in the wound.”

“So, she’s never satisfied with you?” Jungkook observed.

“No, never! And you’d think a mother would be supportive or happy with all the things her child had already accomplished but somehow it’s never enough. And she knows what she’s doing. That makes it worse. She knows how she weaponizes my guilt against me.” You held your tongue from the much longer rant about to digress, feeling a sudden discomfort in the way you’d been complaining to Jungkook. You couldn’t understand why it was all too easy to talk of these kinds of things to him, why he looked so interested in what you were saying even when anyone else would have grown tired of you by now, why you found in him a warm confidant much more comforting than you’d expected, yet there was no way to dismiss this reality.

Jungkook did not offer advice, or tell you that you should be thankful or that maybe you were handling these situations poorly. He did none of that. His silence was more thoughtful than any number of things he could have said. He simply listened.

You rose from the chair to get a closer view of the sea. Past your reflection in the glass, the consecutive tides seemed to grapple over the next and the next; the previous wave always just short of reach to tackle the immediate wave. He had followed you without a word, living up to your desire to have him at your side. There was no need for mindless comments or condolences to fill the silence, only mindful amity, at your side, because watching the ocean with you was enough.

“So, that was my day.” It was the first thing spoken after a period of quiet, perfectly timed and delivered for it to bear a dry humor in its intention. Jungkook and you laughed, finding this the long needed release of tension in your head.

“Is this going to become a habitual thing?”

“What’s that?”

“Me complaining to you about my personal struggles that would have gone in my journal or somewhere far more private than this.” All said while your and Jungkook’s gazes didn’t wander from the view of the window. “Me inviting myself into your lighthouse, or not-lighthouse, whatever.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Two heads turned towards each other almost as if it were on que.

The way your pupils dilated and softened conveyed every bit of thanks you held in your heart but couldn’t muster the courage to voice. Jungkook’s doe-eyed smile thanked you likewise and confessed the gratitude for how you had rescued him from yet another lonesome afternoon with a curtained window, an unused blanket, an empty chair, and a melancholic silence as he read his one of thousands of books. Not including The Odyssey, that was for your ears only.

“You wouldn’t?”

“Maybe a little.” His tease succeeded to provoke that smile of yours. And even though that was a favor on his end, he was the one that felt graced by it. Realistically, a smile costs nothing yet there grew an enormous debt in his heart; and even though he couldn’t afford it, all he could do was bask in every detail your smile, of the crease of your eyes, and of the way your cheeks took the form of a sweet Spring Peach, and the scrunch of your nose and brows. Before he sank himself deeper in debt, Jungkook beckoned for the two of you to return to your seats and read all your worries away.

---

Who would have guessed that The Odyssey, of all things, would be the thing that would occupy most of your Fridays through the rest of the winter? Sometimes you visited a Sunday, and other times you’d find yourself needing to hear The Odyssey on a Wednesday evening or a Monday morning. The days on which you swung by the now familiar lighthouse would vary, but they remained a weekly occurrence.

Jungkook had grown comfortable with this routine, reading to you while you watched him and the waves, but mostly him. Occasionally, his reading would cease to an interruption of his own doing to ask how your day was in a very specific way that only Jungkook seemed to exhibit. He’d ask you say anything but ‘good’ or ‘boring’ and he’d clarify that he wanted you to not leave out any details.

“Why?” You would ask. And he’d look at you as if you set yourself on fire.

“It’s important to me.” He’d reply as if it were that simple, or the answer you were looking for. Still, if it was important to him you didn’t need any more persuading.

Like when you told him you stopped by a coffee shop, he’d tell you to specify which drink you ordered and how it tasted.

“Cinnamon.”

“Is that your favorite?”

“No, I prefer peppermint but sometimes I combine those flavors and that becomes my other favorite.”

“That sounds sweet.”

“It absolutely is.”

“Does that make you happy?”

“It makes my insides feel like Christmas.”

“Is Christmas a feeling?”

“It is to me!” He smiled at your childlike enthusiasm because it made life seem a lot more appealing than he’d ever believed. Before you, the world was a little greyer. After you, suddenly full of vibrance, saturated to the grandest extents.

Or the time you brought a candle to fill the air with something a bit more pleasant than the smell of the old, wet stones of the lighthouse.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a candle, vanilla and patchouli.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I don’t remember. I just found it in my house and thought this place needed something sweet.”

“But you’re here.” Your teeth bit down on your tongue when he said this. You almost fallen trapped in figuring out what motivated him to say this, but the flattery of his comment was all too pleasing to ignore.

“But I don’t smell like vanilla and patchouli.” You said, only to save face from the fact that you suddenly felt like a deer in headlights when he looked at you, bracing for when he would crash into you and hoping to god you can absorb the exhilaration of souls colliding; and hoping to god he would crash into you.

“Could you light it, then?”

“Of course.”

And the room filled with a sweetness that complimented your company finely. Now, whenever he would smell the scents of vanilla and patchouli he would think of you, and you of him.

He would continue asking these simple questions, and so on.

Why he thought it was essential for you to relay these almost invaluable intricacies was beyond you, but it did make you feel heard; it made you feel held as it always did. It made the value of your life gone without the need to be earned or proven, the value of the smaller moments that fell between bigger moments.

It made it all okay that you felt like you stripped the clothes from your whole life off for him to revere and that he’d rarely ever display such emotional nudity for you; you were okay with lying bare before his eyes, vulnerable and pliant to his every whim. Even when you wanted to know all of these things about Jungkook and he’d hold them captive or he’d only offer half sufficient answers, you collected as many bits of the puzzle as possible to try and piece together his story.

“How are your parents, Jungkook?”

“Long gone.”

“Oh, Jungkook… I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I watched them grow old and content and that softened the blow.”

“Are you lonely?”

Yes, it’s excruciating when you are not here. I am tormented in your absence and all too plagued with despondency and I wish you knew that.

“I’ve grown used to it.”

“So you have.”

“So I have.”

You did not want him to be lonely; you didn’t want him to ever be sad but you wanted him to be able to say that he was to you. You wanted him to be able to tell you he was lonely; you wanted him to want you to know his heart. You wanted him to feel as naked as you felt. Vagueness was all you could ever manage to arrest from his gated mind.

And for once, the little he had given was more than you could ever ask for.

Sunday mornings with Jungkook were your favorite. The ocean was tame during this time on Sundays specifically and sailed you into its calmness; you were half asleep, resting on the sill running along the base of the window panes. Spring had been approaching which meant there were radiant glimmers of the early sun that reflected and glided along the ripples of the waves. Jungkook once said that every time he looked at these little pieces of diamond rays, he believed the sun and the sea performed in devotion for you and him alone.

“I love that.” And indeed you did. The idea that no one else witnessed this ocean, not this one, not the way you and Jungkook had, was a greedy disposition but felt so true.

“Would you like me to read?” He said in place of, Is my voice properly fitting for something as lovely as this moment?

“I want you to talk, but not of books.” You blinked slowly at Jungkook, “Could you tell me about yourself? Just one thing, anything you choose.” He saw those specks of diamonds glimmering in your irises. He felt so close to you, sitting on the other end of the window, and close enough to finally surrender a bit of his gated mind.

“When I was a child, I knew my days were numbered. The details of why aren’t important, but I digress.” You stuffed a scoff down your throat at the assertion that the details weren’t important. Him, of all people, claiming the details were unimportant had you whirling in a paradox. “With this in mind, I did my best to fulfill everything any child would have wanted. And I don’t think I’ve ever stopped because that list of desires was never ending.”

Was this what he meant when he said he was in my position once? You wondered.

“I spent all my time looking for the next best thing I could achieve, because the best things that I had was, as you know, never enough. One week, the best thing would be finding a four leaf clover to give to my mother. The next, it was being the first in line for the new, long awaited comic book. Or, it was the time my father took me fishing on the lake, and then seconds after it was the first fish I caught and threw back into the water, and that best thing was soon replaced by my father’s proud smile.”

Your throat tightened as you visualized a young Jungkook sitting on the dock with his father, full of youth and excitement, and how nostalgia had ripened into your heart even though you had no place in this memory of his. This dream-like sequence had compelled a few tears to fill your eyes, fogging your vision of the older Jungkook that sat before you.

“When I grew older, in my adolescent and teenage years, the next best thing was fulfilling a newfound passion. It prompted me to buy out almost the entire library and major in World Literature. I spent the rest of my days from then on immersed in reading, as you can see. It was the only place I felt like I was achieving the next best thing, and it was cruel when I came to realize there was no way in hell I could finish all the books I’d collected in time.”

“In time for what?”

“In time... for the next best thing to come along, I guess.” This answer appeared fabricated, but was subtle enough to pass through your mind without a second thought.

“And did it? Did it come along?”

It would have made no difference if your question had been asked to a brick wall because Jungkook brushed it off as he did every other question that would have given you another piece of his puzzle. He took precautions to avoid a defeat to your pouting by walking over to the left armchair and burying his face in the book’s fortitude. Before you had the chance to reiterate your question, Jungkook began to read, making it all too clear he was evading.

“Jungkook?” You whined to which he paid no mind by continuing to read.

“Is he being serious right now?” Again, you might as well have been talking to an inanimate object. There was nothing to be done when he lodged his restraint other than joining him in your armchair, quietly, permissively.

Every day, like this one, spent with him had you convinced it couldn’t be surpassed in enjoyment. And every day, your expectations had been exceeded. That was something you’d never think could happen. Soon, the cares and worries of this Winter melted as the avenue of Spring had unfolded before you. A long path, surrounded with flower blossoms and diamond coated seas, or in other words, the unfathomable had fallen into your hands.

The remainder of this pleasant Sunday had been consumed by The Odyssey and Jungkook’s voice singing its words as smoothly as the waves surrounding the lighthouse and small conversations during the pauses of his reading. One struck you into reminiscence of the first night you met.

“You never answered my question.” He paused, flipping through the many unanswered questions he’d left with you. Jungkook raised his brow to order specification of which one you referred to.

“What makes us human?” The due date of your essay passed over two months ago, however this didn’t diminish your curiosity to know his answer.

“In all honesty,” He paused and looked to assure you would believe his answer would be honest, or honest enough to cater your satisfaction. “I think it’s our desire to achieve the last best thing.”

Every fiber in you compiled its own list of questions in regards to his yet again ambiguous answer, though you had grown to accept that as a part of Jungkook. And you sure as hell accepted Jungkook, ambiguity and all.

“Hm.” It didn’t take a mind reader to know you had theorized any and all connotations branching off from his answer and he didn’t mind that you could be lost in search of whatever the actual meaning of it was.

The moon was in its fullest bloom tonight, and tomorrow, it would begin to wane into a crescent then into nothing but an empty space full of new and perhaps fortunate opportunities. Jungkook found the romance of this lunar phase well equipped for the dusty instrument he discovered in the base of the lighthouse.

“I found something that I think you’d like.” Your ears perked like a dog when it’d been presented with treats. “But you have to go get it. It’s in the other room.”

Whatever this surprise was, it had excited you enough to ignore how you’d have to descend and re-ascend the many stairs that would surely tire you. Your eager legs would have jumped right from the platform to the bottom of the lighthouse if the reality didn’t result in broken bones. As you rushed to the door to the other room, you pushed through and discovered a telescope standing in the corner of the otherwise empty space. A few moments later you were hustling back up the stairs, the telescope making the re-ascension of the stairs ten times as strenuous. All the while, Jungkook just stared in amusement at the way you struggled your way to the platform.

“No, I don’t want any help, thank you!” You said sarcastically through grunts of exertion before positioning the instrument in front of the window.

“Well, I didn’t offer you any, so, you’re very welcome.” He stood on the other side of the telescope, admiring the way you fell so easily in love with it, hands scaling the length of the scope.

“Do I just?” You pointed to the eyepiece at the end of the rod and he nodded. You brought your eye to the magnifying glass which was flooded with the enchanting glow of the stars. You’d never seen them this close, but this little gift of Jungkook’s had catapulted you into the illuminated abyss of the night sky. A measly woah was all that squeaked from your voice, because all the other words were stolen by the stars.

“Can you find any constellations?” He’d seen all the stars in the galaxy; that he was sure of. But none had shone brighter than the person he couldn’t tear his eyes from. Three o’clock had crept onto the antique clock, this late hour had worn down Jungkook’s walls completely as the soft glow of adornment laminated his eyes.

“I think I see ORion's belt. That’s the only one I know other than the Big Dipper.” You laughed at your own lack of knowledge of the stars. Knowledge didn’t seem to matter though, the beauty of the stardusted sky had taken care of that deficiency. You lifted yourself away from the telescope, allowing Jungkook a turn to stargaze.

“Have you heard of the Astral Plane?” Jungkook asking you something other than, ‘how was your day’, was a rare occurrence which most likely meant this was of some importance.

“I’ve heard of it, but I think I’ll need you to refresh my memory.” You really did need clarification on what exactly the Astral Plane entailed, though you mainly just wanted to hear him explain it.

“Some say it lies in the fourth dimension. It isn’t tangible or something that can be touched. It lies between everything, every atom, every cell, every city and forest and mountain and even between the crevasses of one’s own mind and soul. A place like this is full of divinity and complete attainment and the way it is reached has been theorized by many.” Jungkook’s meticulous readjustments of the telescope had you wondering which constellations he was searching for, or maybe he’d been looking for Venus or Mars or the Moon. “Some say you arrive there in your dreams, or when you reach enlightenment, or when death draws its curtain on you… I-I don't know why but I’ve always thought that it was stitched into the sky. Far beyond our galaxy, maybe the Astral Plane has situated itself in between each star, just like it does our souls, and exists as the vastness of outer space.” It turned out he wasn't looking for any of those things, he was looking for the Astral Plane.

Could the heat rising throughout your body be merely adoration, or was it something along the lines of a forlorn longing? When he spoke, you felt this sensation growing dense in your bones; you felt a gravitation towards him.

“Seems about right to me.” Fondness had stained your tone which filled some void in Jungkook’s hungry heart, and he’d failed to predict you were the one that would be able to settle it. “Maybe we’ll never reach the Astral Plane, but at least I’m here with you.”

When you said this, the hairs on his arms pointed towards the ceiling. For once in a very, very long time, Jungkook felt a euphoric resurgence striking through the catacombs of his soul and hot tears dripping down the expanse of his cheeks, to the tip of his chin, and onto the glass scope that was shielding this sudden emotional combustion. He blinked away the tears to the best of his abilities and turned away from you and the telescope and the sky. Jungkook felt the push of air from your movement towards him, but he shifted further away.

“Are yo-”

“I found a cluster of stardust, go look.” He averted you from him and you always fell victim to every trick in his book.

“Wow, that’s amazing!” The grip you had on the telescope was firm, like you were trying to hold onto the stars themselves.

“Amazing.” He said. This reiteration wasn’t for the stars, however. He wondered if you knew that. He wondered if you could feel how consumed he was by your magnificence under the full moon that reigned with gentleness over the waves. The once wild tides, now moving with the same serenity and romance embedded into Jungkook and this lighthouse. He wondered if you could see he had been emotionally disrobed and bearing all his affection for you. And he wondered how he was so okay with that.

Six o’clock didn’t feel like six o’clock. Your eyes that struggled to keep open told you otherwise, so again you and him were parting ways as the sun had begun dawning over the horizon and there were no more stars to fill the hours slipping away. Jungkook did all he could to compose himself. He’d offered to walk you out; you reached the door that led to the dewy, Spring air awaiting your departure from the lighthouse.

“Wait, ___!” This exclamation echoed louder than the beating of his crimson heart. After stepping through the threshold, you turned to meet his gaze, teary-eyed from what you guessed was from lack of sleep. Teary-eyed from what he knew was because of another egregious goodbye. “Thank you.”

This moment seemed fitting to test the theory that actions speak louder than words. This moment called for the lapse of courage in need to act, not speak. This moment was the moment when you finally expressed the thankfulness that, to you, seemed to outweigh his by pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. It was much colder than your lips and the docile warmth of the morning, but once you pulled away the warmth had stained his cheek.

Jungkook felt like every cell in his body was evaporating into the space around him. Like the way a fire would extend its heat into the air or the way Spring melted away the frost ridden Winter, your act had covered him in a blanket of love and refuge from the loneliness once vaulting his heart. And it certainly spoke louder than words; all the words in every book Jungkook had ever read and the words left unsaid and the words passing between everyone in the universe.

“I’m the one who should be thanking you, Hermit! You helped me see Orion’s Belt up close and personal!” You called as your strides began a slow fleet from a laughing Jungkook. You waved, now standing a generous distance from him, and he found this gave him the space needed to finally let his tears fall.

“I love you.” He whispered, hoping the wind would carry it to your ears and heart.

A revelation had overcome him, and no matter how many times he tried to wipe the tears away, they’d be instantly replenished like a stream of water rushing from a conquered dam, spilling over endlessly, with all control suspended in the air around him.

Was it finally here? The last, best thing?

---

A week after the stargazing, your mind had mapped out the stars as you too searched for that Astral Plane. To you, Jungkook’s proposition of it being strewn in the night sky was the only theoretical that made sense. You wanted to flaunt your newfound passion for this concept he’d introduced, and admittedly - and more importantly - you wanted to kiss him again, leading to yet another blissful walk down the seashore to the lighthouse. The air was warm but not humid, carrying a breeze that evened out the sun’s heat nicely. A few pillows of clouds were cascading through the sky, never staying in one spot for too long; you’d come to appreciate each one’s temporary presence and when they passed, you grew to appreciate that as well. The gaze once fixed on the sand had now traveled to the waves of much gentler motion than ever before.

This walk, unlike the dozens of others, felt different. The streets looked lovely and the air felt clean in your chest, giving you a pleasant journey far more intimate than the last. Then you realized, it felt like you were walking back home.

When you grew closer to the lighthouse, you noticed the curtains had been drawn which was strikingly unusual for a sunny day such as this one. This was a passing observation as you made your way to the base of the lighthouse.

Through the door to the room before the lighthouse, you were taken aback to find your armchair sitting in front of the table. you walked up to discover a single, folded parchment sealed with a red wax stamp labeled with your name along the top of the paper.

This felt eerie, for some reason, and you called out his name only to be met with silence, before sitting yourself down and unsealing the note.

It read in his voice:

My Dearest, ___

I wrote this to relay a lot of things left unsaid. The first being goodbye. I’m sorry to have to leave you like this, though no amount of remorse could possibly appease my actions.

Your heartbeat had grown rampant, until your eyes read those words. It was then when it stopped altogether. Still, you continued to read.

I kept things from you like the fact that our encounter in the town’s square was all but coincidental. The truth is scary, and my truth would have turned you away from the beginning. It was selfish, I admit, but I do not think I could have endured such a loss. Forgive me for keeping you in the dark all this time, but I am beyond gratified for what you granted me in spite of that.

Maybe it might seem cruel. You are not alone in feeling that — never alone. But, we were never meant to spend every Sunday morning, or Friday evening, or Wednesday afternoon together to watch the waves float along with the hours lost reading to you; I knew this was not the end of your story, just mine.

The books I have read over and over have imprisoned me in search of the “next best thing”. To my dismay, I thought I had run out of time to find it. But then you came along. You helped set me free by allowing me to live out a few more “best things” through the way you shared your life with me, unselfishly, warmly, kindly— You helped me move on.

I know you too will move on from this. I hope I could at least leave you with the tools and courage to find each “next best thing” in store. If not that, then this lighthouse, open to you and only you, and a myriad of good memories to ease our parting. I know in my heart you deserve nothing less.

I hope you find contentment somewhere in the sea or on the sand or in the stars, or perhaps somewhere in between.

Once you do, we will meet again within the Astral Plane, my love. I swear it. And if you miss me, just look through the telescope and find me woven in the spaces amidst Orion’s Belt.

Thank you. Again and again I thank you and it is still not enough. Thank you for you, for your warmth, for your salvation, for your smile, for your endless questions, for re-introducing me to the aroma of vanilla and patchouli but it was not as sweet as your companionship, for putting good use of the right armchair and the view from our window, for making the odyssey a little less lonely to read, and thank you for stepping into my lighthouse and my life.

Don't you see, it was you. You were my last, best thing.

with love and sorrow,

Jeon Jungkook

Before you got to the end of the letter, you were racing up the spiraling stairs, ignoring the burn in your tightened chest, how the air in the lighthouse had suffocated your lungs. The dizziness that blurred your eyes had not slowed your climb up the stairs, and the wetness of your tears now seeping into his letter.

You reached the top, The Odyssey greeting you on the chair Jungkook would have been seated in. Your breaths were staggered and warm, filling the mournful emptiness of the lighthouse.

“Jungkook.” You whispered. You begged for a reply. The curtains were drawn over the window, like never before, and exposed a bronze plaque peeking out from the end of the fabric. You pushed the drapes aside to read what was engraved into the metal plate and the first page of The Odyssey that hung below it.

In loving memory of our beloved son, Jeon Jungkook. May he rest in peace. 1918-1942.

The note below read:

The Odyssey

Jeon and ___ Lighthouse.

You pieced the puzzle together, finally. And with that, came the final picture, so beautiful and mesmerizing and everything you could have ever hoped for, and more.

“Jungkook.” You repeated as a bid of farewell, with a heart full of satisfaction and content, and Jungkook. You pressed the letter to your chest in hopes his words would mend your aching heart.

And it was true, he was not your last best thing, only one of them.

But he was undoubtedly your most cherished and beloved best thing.

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angrylizardjacket · 3 years

Text

dirtbags // 2: Lola

Summary: High school AU, 1984, Winter. It’s hard to make friends when you’re the new kid starting halfway through Junior year, but slowly Lola seems to be making a few. It’s much easier to have a rumour started about you, especially when you tend to make questionable choices at parties, but that’s much less fun.

A/N: 8173 words. Lola’s dad is the MVP, trust me. i meant to put this out a week ago whoops!! also im allowed to reference my own Queen oc as a treat. @bluehourmotel, @misscharlottelee and again, interludes are A Softer World quotes.

[ m a s t e r p o s t ]

the best revenge is living well. the second best revenge is fire ants.

The fact that after being in town for a total of two weeks, Lola’s closest friend is the gas station attendant a full fifteen minute drive away from her house is kind of sad. Not that she’s disappointed to be Mick’s friend, he’s got a dry sense of humor but a good heart and he’s refreshing honesty, but she’s been at this new school for about a week and a half, has already made out with at least one person, has possibly convinced said-person’s cousin that she’s trying to corrupt him, and started to make a name for herself - whether it’s good or bad is yet to be seen -, and yet Mick Mars, nineteen-year-old gas station attendant, apprentice electrician, and aspiring guitar player is her closest friend.

But she’s always been kind of terrible at making friends her own age.

“You have lost all respect from me,” Mick told her on Monday morning after the party, over the counter of the gas station as he’s ringing her up for her smokes and iced coffee before she went to school, “you could have picked anyone to mack on at that party, and you chose Tommy fuckin’ Lee?”

“He was nice to me, what was I meant to do?” Lola declared, realizing too late that that statement revealed absolutely too much about herself to a near stranger. Mick, however, just gives her a flat look.

“You need higher standards.” He doesn’t seem too phased by her. Lola takes this in stride, and nods, agreeing with a sigh.

“What time do you finish work?” She asks, changing the subjects quickly as she’s pulling out a bill from her back pocket, “dad said he’s happy to let you have a look at that weird light switch that doesn’t do anything that I was telling you about.”

“I finish at ten tonight, I’m working a double,” he groans at the very thought of it. Lola gives him a sympathetic look, and tells him to only come around if he’s up to it, otherwise leaving it for another day.

That’s the day that Lola realises the whole school knows about her and Tommy at the party, that she has Art with Charlotte before lunch, and also that Charlotte can’t look her in the eye.

Tuesday the school realises that she’s not just Lola Who Gives It Up For Free At Parties, but that she’s Lola The New Girl and that they don’t know anything about her beyond that. There’s a guy in her wood working class with long black hair and a dangerous smile that winks at her; she flips him off, knowing all he cared about was knowing if the rumours were true. She’s got AP French last period with that ginger from the party who wouldn’t stop laughing, Eileen; she’s a lot more serious, sober. The cheerleader, Heather, won’t stop giving her these weird, calculating looks.

Wednesday there’s a new rumour, that she was expelled from her last school. The population of the school hasn’t decided what exactly they think she was expelled for yet. Turns out she has English with that guy from her woodworking class, he just hadn’t turned up for their lesson on Monday; he sits at the back like Lola, in the other corner, and the teacher calls him Nikki in a tone like she’s already disappointed. Lola can see why, he fell asleep at his desk. Art last period with Charlotte; she still barely looks at Lola.

Thursday. Heather asks in AP French if Lola’s heard what everyone’s saying about her; her tone is sweet and dangerous in equal measure and Lola doesn’t trust what’s about to come out of her mouth. The new rumour is that Lola was expelled for sleeping with a teacher; something about the glint in Heather’s eye is cruel, and Lola asks her sweetly if she’s more jealous of Lola or the teacher. That shuts Heather up fast, and Eileen’s cough behind them sounds more like she’s trying to hide a laugh. But it still gets to her; Lola focuses so hard on ignoring the girls gossiping loudly about her at their station behind her in Home Economics that she burns the apple danishes she was attempting, and she throws the burnt pastries, and the tray they’d been cooking on, into the bin until she realises her mistake and sulkily fishes the tray out again. Thankfully, the teacher didn’t notice.

Friday, and Lola hasn’t paid much attention to Vince, whose house she’s been to but who she hadn’t properly met until their classes had P.E at the same time; he’s in the year below her, but still manages to sidle up to her while they’re both waiting for their teachers to prepare the field for whatever torture they’re masquerading as physical exercise today. She tells him to fuck off; there’s something about the way he conducts himself that she doesn’t like, like he’s putting on a show of being shallow and vain and the life of the party. Instead, Vince’s voice goes quiet and he tells her that Tommy’s a good kid with a good heart -

“You give this speech to everyone you caught making out at your parties, or just me, ‘cos you think I’m a bitch and I’m gonna hurt one of ‘your bros’?” She snapped, lip curling, and Vince’s brow creases into a frown, “I’m not his fucking girlfriend, we made out a little, you don’t have to act like I’m going to break his heart, so piss off.”

A moment passes, and he appears to don his shallow, playboy mask when he asks her slyly if the rumours are true. She shoves him hard enough that he skitters back a few feet, and Lola earns her first after school detention.

The thing is, she and Tommy are already on the same page about this, it was a what happens while drunk at a party stays at that party. Or at least, it’s meant to. Either way, Charlotte’s protectiveness, and Vince’s... attempt at protectiveness was unwarranted. Maybe it’s because Tommy, for whatever reason, has started hanging around Lola at lunch.

She doesn’t sit in the cafeteria like the rest of them, or even on that little section of the roof the intimidating pack of punks, rockers, and smokers have found a way to get to. Lola sits against the fence near the science building, close to the carpark that’s always open for some stupid reason, as though she’s contemplating bolting.

“Don’t you have friends?” Lola’s tone is kind of hard, and perhaps her words are on the nose, and a little cruel, but it’s Wednesday, and this is the third day in a row he’s found her and spent the entirety of lunch with her. They don’t speak much, Lola smokes and picks apart whatever her dad’s latest cooking experiment is before she eats it, and Tommy practices twirling his drumsticks.

“I have friends, do you?” Tommy responds, more than a little defensive, rubbing at his brow where he’d just managed to hit himself mid-drumstick-twirl, taken aback by her question. Lola gives him a flat look. “Someone told me you were expelled from your last school,” Tommy’s gaze shifts to the carpark, to the last car and it’s telltale rocking and fogged up windows.

“They say why?”

“Nah,” Tommy shakes his head, scowl softening as he gets back to practicing, “it true?” Lola’s picking out and eating the apple chunks from the slice of pie her father had packed for the day, still watching the car with the mildest of interest. She shakes her head. Tommy hums noncommittally. They spend the rest of lunch in silence.

“He keeps hanging out with me!” The following afternoon, Lola gripes to Mick on his smoke break after she gets out of school for the afternoon.

“You keep hanging out with me,” Mick points out, peeling the label off of a bottle of soda.

“And?”

“I don’t tell you to fuck off.”

“Yeah? So?”

“Because,” and Mick heaves a heavy sigh, like it pains him to admit, “we’re friends, Lola,” but he pauses and amends, “God knows why.”

“Fuck you, I’m a delight,” Lola huffs, and pulls her oversized denim jacket tighter around herself to ward off the chill of the afternoon breeze. If this were pretty much any other state, they’d be knee-deep in snow; thank God for LA, snow’s pretty for five minutes before it’s a pain.

“Do you tell him to fuck off?” Mick asks pointedly, as if exhausted that he has to spell it out for her. Lola’s quiet, but her answer’s clear. Mick clears his throat with a cough. Lola’s scowl deepens.

She brings it up to her father that night.

“Do you reckon Tommy’s trying to be my friend?” She asked, gaze intense as she focuses on slicing apples into little cubes. Leo, her father, who was kneeding a blend of spices into a ball of dough that would end up being a pie crust, paused.

“The kid who has been hanging out with you at lunch?” He thought for a moment, “the one from the party?”

“I told him it was nothing serious-” Lola tried, exasperatedly cutting the apples a little rougher, but her father’s warm, gentle laugh cut her off.

“Yes, I think he’s trying to be your friend,” he told her, which Lola hadn’t exactly wanted to hear, but the information was easier to digest coming from him than it was coming from Mick, “he obviously likes you -”

“But I told him -”

“I know, you told him it wasn’t serious, but dear, that doesn’t mean he likes you less as a person - you’re a very cool cat, I can see why he’d want to be your friend,” he gives her finger guns, and Lola can’t help but laugh softly at his attempt to be hip.

“Christ, dad,” Lola huffs, smiling fondly, but he’d managed to cheer her spirits considerably.

“I burnt my danishes today,” Lola’s voice goes quiet as she goes back to focusing on her task, and her dad makes a noise of intrigue, “got distracted and crisped the whole tray.”

“You’ll get ‘em next time; just fifteen minutes, remember?”

“Fifteen minutes, no distractions,” Lola agreed, almost by rote, thankful that he doesn’t ask about what had distracted her. She can still hear the whispered gossip and giggles that had come from the cooking station behind her in Home Economics.

Her dad knows that her peers think she was expelled from her last school, but she keeps her mouth shut about the fact that today they’d decided it was because she had relations with a teacher; he knows almost everything about her, but he didn’t need to know about a whole school calling her a slut. He’d blow it out of proportion, and it isn’t getting to her since she knew for a fact it wasn’t true.

They finish the apple pie with it’s rosemary and lemongrass crust in good spirits. The flavours don’t go together as well as Leo had hoped, but it’s another step closer to the perfect apple pie he’d been trying for. Leo packs her two of the leftover slices for lunch, as a not-so-subtle hint.

On Friday, Lola hands Tommy a plastic container with a piece of apple pie, with a rosemary and lemongrass crust in it.

“Is it poison?” He asks. Lola doesn’t look at him, picking the individual apple pieces out and eating them one at a time.

“The crust tastes weird if you eat it with the filling,” Lola’s voice is flat as she explains instead of answering, “but the apples are sweet.” She eats another cube of apple, then breaks off a corner of the golden, perfectly cooked crust, now cold and stiff from spending the night in the refrigerator.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“Eat it or don’t, I don’t care,” Lola tells him, hunching further in on herself; like this, she can’t see the way Tommy’s expression has broken out into a smile.

“Thanks Lola,” but the smile is evident in his voice, confirming all of her suspicions at once. Tommy took her at her word when she said the rumours weren’t true, even if the rest of the school believed them, so Lola supposes she’s actually okay with the fact that her second ever friend in the entirety of California is the marching band geek in the year below her who she made out with at a party once.

Also maybe she’s just kind of terrible at making friends.

you and me baby! we are the future! and the future is bleak.

“Wait, you’ve never met Nikki Sixx?” Tommy asked, sitting patiently with his back against the fence, his hand resting on her knee as she fills in the the nails of his left hand with black sharpie, “didn’t you go to his gig the other week?”

“I didn’t know anyone,” Lola pointed out, and Tommy makes a thoughtful noise.

“You’d love him, he’s so fucking cool,” he assured her, which made Lola give pause; Tommy also thinks Vince is fucking cool, and she wants to throw Vince out a window, “he was the one on bass.”

“The one in the leather pants?” Lola couldn’t help but smile at the memory; she’d appreciated it at the time, and could appreciate it now. Tommy, however, rolled his eyes.

“The girls love the leather pants,” he gave a quiet sigh, before adding, almost to himself, “wish I had leather pants.”

“Leather pants would look good on you,” Lola pinches at his thigh for a moment, and goes back to filling in his nails. missing Tommy’s pleased, flustered little smile.

“You know Freddie paints his nails like this,” Tommy says instead, changing the topic of conversation.

“Freddie?”

“Mercury. From Queen; you know Queen, right?” And he sounds kind of skeptical, like if she doesn’t know them, they can’t be friends anymore. Lola pauses again, her hand soft on Tommy’s where she’s filling in around his ring finger’s cuticle.

“I wanna climb John Deacon like a fucking tree,” she mutters, which startles a laugh out of Tommy, his hand jerking up to cover his mouth, making Lola leave a black line against his knee, through the rip in his jeans. When she looks up at him, however, her eyes are shining with mirth, “come on, man, you must have seen the video of them performing in Montreal last year!” And she licks her lips, watching Tommy’s blush grow steadily darker. After a beat, Lola bursts out laughing, shattering the tension and shifting to sit beside him, idly doodling on her own hand with the marker as Tommy shakes his head with amusement.

Lola starts humming Back Chat to herself, and Tommy leans his head back against the wire of the fence, listening for a moment.

“You and Charlie would get along great too,” he considers, and Lola doesn’t stop humming, nor does she look to him, “she likes Roger, but probably just because she thinks he’s pretty.” Lola can hear his eyeroll without even seeing it, and she’s not sure why, but she files that information away in the back of her mind; she’d never gotten an especially shallow vibe from Charlotte, but there was a uncertain undeniable appeal to Roger Taylor’s pretty-boy charm.

“Didn’t his girlfriend leave him for Bowie?” Lola asks mildly, barely pausing to speak between humming notes.

“Rocket Mercury?”

“Her name’s Rocket?” Lola snorts, finally looking at him, and Tommy’s lips twisted into an amused grin.

“Her name’s Ash, but everyone calls her Rocket,” he says, like he’s in the know, and Lola stays quiet, nodding and trying not to laugh, “and yeah, I think so, she’s been with a few people since him I think; Bowie, this girl from this English band Hawkwind, Elton John maybe? Or someone around him I think.” Tommy nods, and Lola’s kind of intrigued as to why he knows so much about Queen’s drummer’s partner, but something else has caught her attention.

“A girl from Hawkwind?” Tommy doesn’t seem to notice the way Lola’s voice has softened, or how her expression has dropped to something carefully neutral. She’s drawing a little flower on the knuckle of her thumb.

“One of their dancers, Stacy, maybe?” Tommy’s own tone is light, like he doesn’t even realise Lola’s hanging onto his every word regarding this one little detail about a woman she doesn’t even know, “was kind of a scandal, but it was years ago; she’s Freddie’s sister after all, maybe it’s genetic.”

“Genetic?”

“Liking girls and guys, you know?” And he pauses. Lola’s frozen beside him, the marker pressed hard against her skin, breath caught in her throat. He throws it out so casually, so easily. Her hands are shaking. The words so kind when he says them, so unlike what she’s used to hearing. Tommy’s already moved on to the next thought. “actually, I’m not sure if Freddie’s like, legit her brother, but anyways, she and Roger are back together; I’m glad.” As if a sixteen-year-old’s opinion on a rock legend’s love life mattered, “he seems happier with her, all his best live shows were when they were together.”

“I’d kill to play half as well as him,” it’s almost wistful when Tommy says it, interrupting Lola’s thoughts, his gaze trained on the sky, as if imagining he’s on stage himself. Lola lets out a long, quiet breath, recentering herself as she looks to him.

“You wanna play drums?”

“I can play drums,” Tommy tells her like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “but not nearly as good as Roger Fucking Taylor, can you imagine?” But Lola’s more focused on the -

“I thought you just played in the marching band, can you play, like, full -” and she sits forward, gesturing like she’s tapping on a full drumkit, eyes shinning. Suddenly, in the face of her rare, unrestrained smile, Tommy feels himself growing nervous, like he’ll let her down if he’s not actually as good as he thinks he is.

“I’ve got a kit in my garage,” he admits, and Lola pauses, letting her excitement simmer, as though realising it had gotten the best of her, breaking her cool and aloof facade.

“That’s cool as hell,” she does add, however, and Tommy beams.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, all flustered at even the slightest praise, “man, you’d really like Charlie, I know she looks all fancy and intimidating, but she’s a real softie inside.”

“You are really pushing hard for me to be friends with your cousin,” Lola notes, giving him a sidelong glance, and Tommy’s nose scrunches up, caught out.

“She thinks you’re trying to corrupt me,” he grumbles, “but if you guys met she’d know you’re not.”

“I am corrupting you,” Lola smirks, “next week I plan on peer pressuring you into smoking.”

“I’ve smoked before!” Tommy’s up in arms, like the implication that he hasn’t done something as low-level cool as smoking offends him.

“Dude I was kidding, I gave you half my cigarette yesterday,” Lola reminds him, and the bell rings.

While Lola was more than happy to let sleeping dogs lie, it appeared that Charlotte was not, and less than two days after her conversation with Tommy, Lola finds herself sitting by Charlotte’s side in their shared art class.

It’s the last class of the day, and Charlotte’s the one who sits by Lola. There’s no preamble, barely acknowledging the decision, just opening her notebook and focusing on the theory the teacher had already started to jot down on the whiteboard.

When they’re given free time, however, to work on personal projects, Charlotte opens her sketchbook and sharpens her pencil, and without looking at Lola, begins speaking quietly.

“Tommy thinks we’d get along,” Charlotte sounds completely innocent and perfectly harmless, but Lola remember how Charlotte had looked at her, part deer-in-the-headlights startled at the realisation, and knee-jerk protective fury, at Vince’s party when she realised who Lola had been kissing.

“So I’ve heard,” Lola doesn’t look up, but Charlotte’s pencil stills on her paper. After a beat, Lola turns to see Charlotte giving her a curious look. Propping her head up on her hand, Lola gives a thin, amused smile, “he also thinks I’d be good friends with Nikki Sixx; was he the one you yelled at, at the gig?”

Instead of being flustered or going red at the mention of the moment, Charlotte’s expression lights up, as if the idea somehow delights her, and slowly she’s nodding. All her earlier reservations and hostility was quickly leaving her.

“Yeah, actually I told Nikki you reminded me of him, actually -”

“I remind you of Nikki?” Lola’s grin widened, and she shifted to face Charlotte further.

“He’s kind of a tool -” Charlotte blurted after a moment of contemplation, and Lola’s eyebrows raised in amused surprise. Charlotte’s quick to backtrack, “I mean, I’m not saying you are- well, I don’t know you, but I mean, Tommy -” Charlotte frowns at that, expression falling as she considered quietly, “actually, I mean, I love him, but he’s not the greatest judge of character; he thinks Nikki hangs the stars, despite never really speaking to him,” she pauses and heaves a sigh of realisation, “that probably why he thinks so highly of him -”

“I thought they were friends,” Lola’s genuinely surprised, given how kindly Tommy had spoken of him.

“Half the school is terrified of Nikki, half seems to be in love with him; Tommy’s in the second half.”

“And which half are you?”

“I’m the only person who seems to think he’s just kind of a pest,” Charlotte’s response is surprisingly mild, as if she doesn’t quite believe what she’s saying.

“He’s talented, though,” Lola offers, and Charlotte looks back to her, as if brought from her own thoughts. There’s a pause, a lull. Lola puts down her pen, and turns more fully to Charlotte, stretching her arm out over the desk, and resting her head fully on it, like a particularly smug cat stretching out in the sun. Charlotte is slower to put down her pencil, but does so after another moment, pristine fingernails drumming against her sketchbook for a moment.

“He was talented,” Charlotte agreed, thought it sounds like she doesn’t quite want to, “my ex actually got me into his kind of music, he was a fan of Nikki’s too; I’d tell Nikki I enjoy his music but it’d go straight to his ego,” and she casts Lola a sidelong look, lips stretched into a smirk, which Lola returns.

“I am a little bit of a tool,” Lola finally admits with a self deprecating grin, and Charlotte shakes her head.

“You’d fucking love him,” Charlotte tells her, with a strained, sort of resigned huff of laughter, like the concept of them meeting was a little bit horrifying, and already exhausting.

“You like his kind of music,” Lola circled back around to quickly, “never pictured you as a hard rocker, you’re very...” and she trails down, looking at Charlotte’s pristine cheerleading uniform, and thick, black tights, the only thing protecting her legs from the Winter air. The blonde shifts a little uncomfortably under the scrutiny, brow furrowing.

“I know,” Charlotte says flatly, crossing her ankles, far too self aware in the moment, “you expect me to just be listening to nothing but Abba and Madonna all day?” She sneers, suddenly haughty again, and Lola licks her lips, intrigued; she can tell she’s pushed a button, and debates for a moment if she wants to press it further.

“Not all the time,” Lola said, sitting back up slowly, “but I mean, I’m kind of partial to Does Your Mother Know, there’s no shame in loving Abba,” she shrugs, and Charlotte lets herself visibly relax.

“Never pictured you as an Abba fan,” Charlotte actually grins.

There’s a distinct lack of hostility in the air between the two girls by the time the class ends, after spending the entire class gushing over various bands across a surprising range of genres, and Lola quickly finds she appreciates how wrong her initial impression of Charlotte had been.

As they’re leaving for the day, or well, Lola’s leaving, and Charlotte’s heading to cheer practice, the conversation lulls as Charlotte grows thoughtful.

“Hey, just... Tommy’s kind of a hopeless romantic,” and even as she speaks, she knows Lola’s growing irate at Charlotte’s hesitant tone, “and honestly, the girls he goes for usually don’t... they don’t usually give him the time of day, and he obviously thinks the world of you, I just don’t want you to -”

“I’ve told him that I don’t want to date him; he’s the one who keeps hanging around me,” Lola’s own tone appears to surprise Charlotte, now that she understands the root of the other girl’s protectiveness, “we’re...” and the word catches in Lola’s throat for a moment, knowing that speaking it makes it true, “friends.”

Lola glances at Charlotte out the corner of her eye, and sees the way Charlotte’s lips twist into a pleased little smirk.

“I was just making sure.”

love is stupid. happiness is admitting we aren’t better than stupid.

Leo Fields, thirty-nine years old, owner of soon-to-be-named Leo Diner’s in suburban LA, a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America, who worked in the luxurious Parker House restaurant in Boston and quit after ten years there, including three years as Sous Chef and one year as Head Chef, only to open his own 50s style diner a mere ten minutes away in Salem, has and will always claim his favourite food is Easy Cheese.

Once, a long time ago, Lola had asked him why.

She’s asked him a lot of things, why he’d left his high-end restaurant to essentially flip burgers, why he kept his hair long, what his tattoos meant -

Lola’s eight, sitting on the counter and swinging her legs while Leo was crushing garlic to add to their dinner, his hair tied back into a large bun atop his head.

“People will try and tell you that just because something is expensive, fancy, or higher class,” Leo had rolled his eyes exaggeratedly at that, putting on a voice to make his daughter laugh, “that it’s better; they are wrong. If something brings you joy, it is better than all things that do not bring you joy, no matter how fancy the things you don’t like are,” he’d told her very seriously, “better is not real, better is what you believe; better for you means healthier, and that’s real, but when people use better to mean good, they mean that it’s good in their mind, and maybe you agree, but maybe you won’t.” And he scrapes the garlic into the pan and oil cooking on low as he then began dicing onions.

“I use all my fancy training and knowledge to make foods I think are better, but now I get to also serve them with a smile, and I get to talk to the people I’m giving the food to, get to know them, let them know they’re welcome here,” he tries to smile while his eyes are watering from the onions, almost finished cutting them. “People in my old fancy restaurant didn’t want that, they wanted you to think they were better than you, and if you thought their food wasn’t good, that’s because you’re not fancy enough, and you’re not welcome here.”

“But that’s wrong,” Lola said with a slight frown, looking to her father for confirmation, and after he wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, he beamed.

“Exactly,” he nodded and scraped the diced onions into the pan too, moving easily about the kitchen to pull mince from the refrigerator, “people liking something different to you is actually great; if everyone in the world liked Easy Cheese, we’d never be able to buy it!” And Lola laughed at that, the example making it easy for her to understand his point, “but making them feel bad for liking those things, that’s bad; that’s why I have my hair long, why I have my tattoos, they’re part of who I am, they’re part of my family’s history and where I come from, and I like them. If someone else is rude to me because of them, then I know right away that’s not someone I want in my life. People like to think they’re better than other people for stupid reasons sometimes.”

“Like if they’re fancy or not?” Lola asks, and Leo gives her a fond smile and nod.

“Like if they’re fancy or not.”

Leo’s not sure if Lola even remembers this, but he does. So when Lola, seventeen years old, standing in the kitchen, eating a ham and Easy Cheese sandwich after school, tells him that Charlotte, the girl in her art class, Tommy-from-the-party’s cousin, complimented her jacket, the pin-and-patch-covered, black, denim, proto-crust-punk, heirloom he’d loaned to her since she’d asked to wear it when starting a new school, and had barely gone a day without it, he can read into her smile even when it’s hidden behind her sandwich.

“Sounds like she has good taste,” Leo leans his hip against the counter top, legs feeling the warmth of the oven where he’s got a loaf of herb and garlic bread baking away.

Lola spends a full twenty minutes enthusing about Charlotte’s taste in music, eyes bright and tone animated. He only interrupts her to hand her a packet of prosciutto and a bundle of asparagus, so she could help him prepare for dinner, but it doesn’t slow her down, hands working quickly, while Leo boiled potatoes and simmered some garlic in butter on a low heat.

Both Lola and Leo know why Lola’s been so hesitant to make friends since moving, and she knows he’d never push her into friendship, but Lola also knows it hurts him to see her lonely.

“Hey dad, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Lola says after a long pause, finally taking a breath after she’s finished recounting her day to him, “you know Queen, right?”

“Do I know Queen?” Leo jokingly scoffed, “Lola, I’m the one who introduced you to Queen.” He reminded, and Lola gave a small smile, but her heart wasn’t in it; she wasn’t usually nervous, but talking about this sort of thing still made her heart race a little. Seeing her hesitant expression, Leo’s own softens, and he turns down the potatoes to turn his full attention to her, “what about Queen?”

“I didn’t know Freddie’s sister was with the drummer,” Lola starts, fiddling with the final piece of asparagus. She’s quick to follow it up before she can chicken out, “and I didn’t know... she’s like Bowie, and Fred, and... and me, you know?” Lola finally wraps up the final vegetable and places it on the glass baking tray with the rest, before she looks to her father who was watching her pensively, hoping he understands what she’s trying to say.

“That’s little Rocket Mercury you’re talking about, isn’t it?” He asked as a smile stretched across his lips, “I heard that about her, I always thought she was so cool, she worked on Spinal Tap, you remember I took you to see Spinal Tap a few months ago?”

Lola’s heart eases in her chest at his words, his warmth, the way he seems to reflect positively on the news. While Lola knew she didn’t have anything to worry about, since the whole reason Leo had taken her and moved across the country was her mother’s less-than-kind reaction to the news of Lola dating a girl, the memory of it all still made her nervous.

Leo’s entire face lights up, and he makes a loud exclamation, like suddenly remembering some vital information, snapping Lola out of her dwelling.

“How have I never played you any Dusty Springfield?” He announces, picking up the glass tray from the table and placing it to the side, “I’ve got some of her records in my collection,” the oven timer goes off and he asks Lola to watch the potatoes so they don’t overboil while he takes out the bread and puts the asparagus in, “Dusty’s like you too; she’s a pop-star from the sixties, lovely voice, told the Evening Standard she liked girls and boys all the way back in nineteen-seventy.” He says as he sets the timer for the asparagus, and Lola wraps her arms around him from behind, if only to hide how wide she’s smiling.

“She pretty?” Lola asked, grinning against his soft, woolen sweater. Leo gently pet her hands where they were wrapped around his middle, giving a warm laugh.

“Very; it’s no wonder girls and boys liked her too.”

Lola had never seen her father flinch in the face of change, and for that she would always be grateful for him. The only time she’d ever seen him lose his cool was when he’d come to her defense against her mother’s bigotted views; apart from that, she’d never known anyone more willing to go with the flow.

Take last week, for instance, Mick had taken Saturday off from the gas station to go look at the fixture Lola had mentioned not seemingly connected to anything. Leo had finally had the red and white, checkered floor installed earlier that week, and the booths had been reupholstered over Thursday and Friday in a shiny, inviting, deep peach, to compliment the warm aesthetic completed by the pleasantly sunny walls.

One of the many things about Lola is that she know when people look at her father, they never expect him to be the embodiment of sunshine; six-foot-something, built like a tank from doing a majority of the manual labor around his diners on his own. His traditional, Hawaiian tattoos were on full display today, across his chest, arms, and legs, wearing a singlet and shorts despite it being the middle of winter, after spending all morning hauling an industrial freezer into the kitchen, with what little help Lola could offer. He wears his long, wavy black hair in a ponytail down his back; the only thing that ever betrayed the warmth of his personality was the crows feet by his eyes, the laugh lines around his mouth, and the kindness in his eyes themselves.

Leo Fields, teddy-bear in the body of a GI Joe, took one look at Mick Mars, the weary, rather scrawny teenager with barely any face visible for his long, shaggy, dyed black hair, and gave him a bright smile, ushering him inside. He introduces himself, and immediate asks what kind of music Mick listened to.

“I fucking hate Kiss,” Mick had said immediately, knee-jerk hostility, the way he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other being the only giveaway to how intimidated he felt.

“They can be a lot some times,” Leo had shrugged, gesturing to the jukebox, “I’ve already put a few of my favourites in, you wanna see if anything catches your eye?” Mick moves quietly, as if afraid to make a noise, even stepping in combat boots he barely makes a sound, and Leo makes mention that he’s going to freshen up, and that Lola knows what switch needs to be looked at.

“Hendrix?” Mick says with a hint of pleased surprise, right before Leo leaves, and Lola’s father gives a nod.

“Put it on, man, turn it up loud; it’s Electric Ladyland in there, right?” And at Leo’s question, Mick nods. Leo gives a delighted thumbs up, and heads upstairs to the flat above the diner.

“That’s your dad?” Mick asks, voice low after Leo’s disappeared, hitting play on the Jimi Hendrix record. Lola’s sitting on the counter, swinging her legs; she knows looks like him, same face, same long, dark hair, same copper complexion, it’s usually the staggering difference in their respective physicalities that seemed to trip people up, so his confusion wasn’t a surprise.

“That’s my dad,” Lola agrees, with a slight nod, looking around the warm and inviting diner that still smelled like new vinyl from the seats. She’d light a candle or two later.

Lola knows the rumours going around town about the diner, about how it’s owner was a chef, about how it’s hopefully going to serve better food than the last owners, but also how everyone knew very little about the new owner beyond that. It made her giddy, like she had a secret, to know that her father was capable of blowing their expectations out of the water with his food alone. Back in Salem, Leo’s was known for restaurant-quality food at, well, diner prices. All the fries were hand cut, there was always home made pie or slice or cookies on sale, the beef patties were made with real mince and mixed with Leo’s special blend of herbs and spices, and fish was delivered fresh, daily.

Lola knew her father knew what it was like to be discriminated against based on his looks, and how hard he’d fought to prove his skills as a chef, so in turn, he hired based on attitude and experience, and trying to give those who may not have had a fair shot an opportunity. Leo had always paid well, treated his workers with kindness, and tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. The diner had only ever made a modest profit, despite it’s popularity, but it had never been about the money for her father.

Back at Lola’s old high school, if you were popular, you looked for a job at the mall, but if you were an outcast, a loner, or a stoner, you applied for Leo’s; her dad had the ability to bring out the best in people, no-one wanted to disappoint Leo.

Her dad would never go anything as gauche as brag, but he has always prided himself on the quality of his diner and his food, glad to be putting his years of training and experience to use for people who’s appreciate it.

Mick clears his throat, snapping Lola out of her thoughts.

“Light switch?”

Mick thinks the switch probably connected to an exhaust fan the previous owner had removed, which baffled both Lola and Leo, seeing as how they’d had several exhaust fans installed, and the idea that this place had it’s one removed is unthinkable; how had they ever gotten the smell out?

After, Leo invites Mick up to have a look through his record collection, to recommend some for the jukebox, while he attempted a maple and walnut soufflé.

The moment Mick mentions he wants to join a band, Leo lights up, peppers him with questions, what type of music he likes to play, his influences, what type of band he’d like to form. Seemingly unused to the overwhelming interest and positivity regarding his aspirations, Mick is almost startled into being forthcoming, and quickly warms to Lola’s dad.

While the soufflé’s in the oven, the three of them sit on the roof and smoke, while Leo reminisces about seeing Cream live, a few months after Lola was born, and how he’d swaddled her in his concert shirt, only for her to take a liking to it, and had used it as a blanket up until she started daycare. At hearing this, Lola ducks her head to hide her smile, knowing she still had that shirt, though it was more hole than shirt at this point, hanging in her cupboard.

Occasionally, when she looks to him, Lola sees Mick regarding her with confusion, and okay, maybe she can understand why; he knows her to be reserved and dry, but with Leo, she’s outgoing and talkative and smiles so wide he can see her teeth. There’s barely a hint of her aloof façade around her father, and as Mick spends more time with him, it’s clear he can see why.

“Mick’s cool,” Leo announces with a grin when Mick himself has left, putting foil over the leftover soufflé for later, while Lola washes the few dishes and is more than happy to agree with him.

They spend Sunday decorating the diner, making it look less sparse with photos and hanging and various bits of music and pop culture memorabilia, while the jukebox blared rock and roll. A few people pass by in time to see Lola and Leo in an air guitar competition, but neither of them really care. Leo’s looks more like home by the time the sun goes down.

there will always be someone better than you. but on the bright side, who cares?

Eileen sits next to her in AP French during the entire last week of school for the semester. Everything she does seems so perfectly calculated, this change in seating included, but she refuses to acknowledge it. Heather clicks her tongue, clearly annoyed that Eileen had taken the seat she had previously vacated the day Lola staked her own next to it, and judging by Eileen’s innocent little smile, that alone made it worth it.

Lola tries not to pay too much attention to Heather, pretty, mean, and popular, almost the exact stereotype Lola had assumed Charlotte to be before she’d actually befriended her. They only have French together, but Heather keeps watching her, Lola sees it out of the corner of her eye, but her glare has become more speculative, more thoughtful as the weeks have passed, and Lola’s not quite sure what to make of it. Whatever scathing personal attack Heather’s probably working on is her business, she doesn’t know shit about Lola, so Lola tries not to care.

Once Eileen sits next to Lola, the glare comes back in full force anyhow.

On Thursday, the last AP French lesson for the semester, Eileen offers Lola a stick of spearmint gum, and it feels kind of like a test. Lola takes the gum anyways, and Eileen smiles at her, surprisingly genuine.

“You’re Charlotte’s friend,” Lola says, and Eileen’s smile widens.

“You’re the girl who kissed her cousin,” she says. Lola’s whole expression falls, mouth flattening into a thin, unamused line, ready to go on the defensive.

“And?”

Eileen shrugs, says nothing more on the subject, instead, glancing at Lola’s hands.

“My mom would kill me for wearing black nail polish, but it looks so cool on you,” She says, and Lola bites back a jaded response about her own mother, looking to her own hands, and the fresh and shiny coat of polished she’d applied the night before.

“Your mom kind of sounds like an asshole, if black nail polish is enough to get her riled up,” Lola says, without even thinking about how harsh the words sounded, but once the words are out, she adds, “and I know from asshole moms,” for good measure. Internally, she’s berating herself; if she talks about her mom, she’s terrified that she’s eventually going to answer questions about her mom, like where she was, and why Lola hates her.

“She’s just a perfectionist, and I don’t think black would suit me anyhow, so it’s not really an issue,” Eileen responds, as if she barely cares that Lola implied her mother was an asshole, and Lola lets herself relax a little, “I’m partial to a french tip,” Eileen holds out her hands to show her own manicure, the pale pink and white practically gleaming, obviously salon done.

“I coloured Tommy’s nails with sharpie,” Lola says while looking at Eileen’s elegant fingers, and Eileen actually huffs a laugh at that.

“I saw; he’s very proud of them.”

Something in Lola’s chest tightens at that; Charlotte seemed to be a good enough judge of character, and she liked Eileen well enough, so that, for now, was good enough for Lola.

Perhaps that’s why Lola had taken so long to actually speak to Nikki Sixx, despite both Charlotte and Tommy being adamant they’d get along, Charlotte’s proclamation that Nikki was kind of a tool held her back.

It’s not that she doesn’t know who he is; she’s figured out the guy who sleeps through her English classes, is trying to make an acoustic guitar in shop, and who is part of her music classes - once she’d decided to show up to those - is the same person she’d seen on stage in leather pants back at the pub. The guy who Charlotte had yelled at. A tool. Apart from the week the rumours had started circulating about her, he never paid her much attention, so she never felt the need to introduce herself. If he was a tool, she could leave him well enough alone.

Until the first day of the Winter break, apparently. Though for the record, he was the one who spoke to her.

There were technically two music shops in the local mall, a ten minute walk from Lola’s flat above the diner; she’s glad to be close to the CBD, but it also means she can’t justify asking her dad for a ride when it would take her less time to walk than it would for him to find parking.

But Monday, December 27th, was absolutely fucking freezing.

The mall itself is teeming with people looking to spend the money they’d gotten over the holiday period, and the workers had already taken down the gaudy Christmas Tree that had sat in the middle of the food court.

Lola was there at her father’s behest, sticking up and handing out flyers announcing New Year’s Day as Leo’s grand opening, and that they were hiring. She gives everyone at the food court a flyer, sticks up several in various locations, and thinks about heading back to the food court for a second round, to catch any newcomers, or anyone she may have missed, when she spots the music shops.

Bass and Treble were owned by the same people, however Treble seemed to be geared towards more classical music, with pianos and violins and flutes and all manor of orchestra-esque instruments available, while Bass seemed to be committed to rock and roll.

Nikki Sixx finds Lola crouched in front of the display of sheet music on sale in Bass.

“Lola, right?”

Lola stands so fast at his voice that her head spins, but she tries not to let it show. She’s on alert when she looks at him, tense, already scowling, which only deepens when she sees who it is.

“Nikki Sixx,” his name is not a question when it leaves her lips, but he seems pleased rather than concerned, that his reputation apparently preceded him. He nods, and looks over at what she’d been examining.

“Anything good?” He asked, and Lola looks over her shoulder at the display. She’d been seriously considering a book of Elton John’s hits for piano before he’d come along.

“Still deciding; why?”

“No reason,” he shrugged, taking his time to look nonchalantly at the various amps nearby, “you look like you’d be into this sort of thing,” he notes, acting all smug and coy and weird; Lola rolled her eyes, but didn’t answer.

“You were at my gig, we’re you? Hanging out with that guy from the gas station, right? Mick?” Something about his tone had Lola on edge and defensive.

“You guys were okay,” she says flatly, making it clear as she can that that’s barely a compliment; Nikki, however, smile widely.

“Glowing review, I’ll add it to our poster,” he smirks, before he finally looks her over, gaze zeroing in on the flyers in her hands, “speaking of -” and he snatches one, not that she’s protesting, that’s another one she doesn’t have to get rid of. Nikki’s reading the flyer and frowning, while Lola lets her attention wander to the various keyboards they have on display.

“Where’s this?” Nikki pipes up, sounding genuinely interested, while Lola’s idly playing scales with one hand on the closest, off keyboard.

“A few blocks away,” Lola still hasn’t quite gotten the hang of the town’s geography, “across the road from The Kings Hotel, where I saw you play -”

“The old MacCready place?”

“It’s Leo’s now,” Lola says, arms crossed, sitting low in her hips as she regards Nikki, and the way he’s going over every little detail of the poster, “Charlotte says you’re a tool.”

“Charlotte just hates that she likes me so much,” Nikki doesn’t even miss a beat before answering, and when he looks up to catch Lola’s reaction, his grin is all teeth. Lola can’t help the slight smile she wears as she takes in his response.

“I can see why,” Lola’s not quite sure what she’s going for with her own response, but it comes out more teasing than cutting, and there’s something in Nikki’s eye, or in his smile, or maybe it’s in his easy laughter, that has her heart beating weird in her chest.

A moment passes between them, a shift in the tone, the energy of the interaction as Lola drops her immediate hostility; she’s been doing that a lot lately, but she tries not to dwell on it. It’s now she gets a proper look at him, at his ripped jeans and all black, leather jacket, hair sprayed to high heavens like he’s about to join Poison; he looks unkempt and mean, and Lola’s kind of really into it.

They’re checking each other out, sizing each other up, and they both seem to find something in the other they like, because Nikki’s grinning at Lola when gaze meets hers again, and she’s smirking right back.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she tells him, hip cocked for a moment before she saunters past him, knocking into him with her shoulder purposefully. When Nikki stumbles back, he huffs a laugh, and Lola calls over her shoulder, “Leo’s is hiring by the way, Leo himself would probably love a fucker like you.”

#nikki sixx #tommy lee #mick mars #the dirt #motley crue #motley crue imagine #nikki sixx imagine #tommy lee imagine #tommy lee & oc #the pack #lola&charlotte #charlotte & lola

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