#anyway i once again tried and failed to draw something spicy

[glimmerglanger]

Hey there! Hopefully it’s an OK time to make a request! I truly love your Alpha17/Obi fic, “Just Right”!

Hoping that a prompt of Alpha 17 finally making it to the Negotiator and pretty much stalking Obi and courting Obi in a very gentle and patient un-Alpha 17 way ends with some sexy and soft love making?

Anything will do! I just love this trope and the story you’ve created has been on my mind since it was published!

🥰😍🥰😍

Oooooooh! Well, I couldn’t quite do all the courting (that probably would have gotten longer than the original fic) but! I did do a little bit about the next time they run into each other! Thanks for the request! I have a few more in my inbox that I’m working on, as well!

This is VERY SPICY. SO SPICY. NOT SAFE FOR WIZARDS. Feat: intercrural and bjs and Feelings that 17 wishes he weren’t having.

~~~~

17 felt jittery in his skin from the time he heard that the Negotiator was going to make a stop on Kamino. It was an...unusual feeling, and one he found he disliked immensely. He tried to burn it away sparring with his brothers and, when that failed to work, he grabbed a group of shinies and led them on a run around one of the longer loops on the city.

After the third such loop, he still felt itchy along his bones and gave it up for a loss, retreating to his quarters and the quiet of his fresher.

He’d received a few messages from Kenobi since they’d last worked together. They’d been the usual sort of thing. He’d kept track of mission reports coming out of the Third System Army, too, making sure they routed through to him and reading over the lines of text.

He scrubbed a hand back over his short hair. He’d wanted Kenobi to come to Kamino, wanted an excuse to go back into the field. He hadn’t expected this strange twisting in his gut when he finally got what he’d been hoping for.

That did nothing to diminish the feeling.

He blew out a breath. Kenobi was still a day away, but 17 could imagine him well enough, picture his flashing eyes and that pleased little smile of his. He recalled - their memories were, after all, perfect - the stretch of bare skin and the tight, wet, marvelous heat around his cock.

He’d imagined it all, often, while touching himself in his bunk.

His own hand didn’t come even close to comparing. But it was what he had. What he’d had, anyway, but Kenobi was coming to Kamino…

17 frowned around his bunk and wondered how one went about asking for a repeat of the three days they’d spent in transit, fucking on every available surface.

#

Kenobi walked into the city with his cloak damp and sodden across his shoulders and a grin on his face. He nodded a greeting at 17 and fell into a conversation with Master Ti, and 17 tried not to think about how easy it had been to capture both of Kenobi’s wrists in one hand, pressing them down against the floor and sliding into his body, impossibly, and--

Kenobi glanced his way, an eyebrow raising, and 17 met his gaze evenly, shrugging with one shoulder. He’d made no secret of how much he’d enjoyed their activities. It would be pointless to try to pretend he hadn’t thought about it. Often.

Still, he knew how to be professional. He set the thoughts aside and focused on the discussion.

#

17 managed not to dwell too much on what they’d done throughout the day, but that didn’t stop him from steering Kenobi back to his quarters when evening finally arrived.

His quarters were built larger than most places in the city. The ceilings were tall enough to allow him to stand easily and the bed actually fit his proportions; it would swallow Kenobi, make him look so small, sprawled across it. Compared to the cabins on the cruisers, his room must have seemed huge.

Kenobi looked around, nodded, and said, “Certainly to scale, I have to--”

And then 17 backed him against the wall, slid a hand against his shoulder, and curled down enough to kiss him.

Kenobi moaned against his mouth, shifting from a conversation into the kiss easily, like switching gears on a speeder. He tasted good, mouth hot and sweet, his hands sliding up over 17’s armor, and 17 had taken him against a wall, held him up so easily - Kenobi barely weighed anything - and encouraged Kenobi to curl legs against his waist, because they wouldn’t fit all the way around 17 and--

“How do you feel,” 17 panted out, drawing away just enough to speak, “about a good hard fuck?”

Kenobi rasped out a sound, hair still a little damp from the rains outside, and said, “Oh, I’d quite enjoy that, but, hm, our options are somewhat more limited, this time.”

17 frowned, keeping Kenobi tucked against the wall; it was easy, blocking him in, and satisfying on some deep level. “Why’s that?”

“Well,” Kenobi said, clever fingers sliding along his armor, undoing latches, so he must still have been interested. “It’s been nearly two months since last I’ve seen you.”

“So?” 17 asked, not following, as Kenobi floated his chest plate somewhere across the room and placed it down quietly. He wanted to get his own hands on Kenobi, start taking off his robes, but once he started doing that, well…

Following the train of this conversation would grow harder.

“So, I’ve spent two months around all the men in the 212th,” Kenobi said, dry, and for a moment that made no sense as an explanation, until it did. Kenobi had explained, during one of the periods where they’d both needed a rest, how his people’s reproductive systems worked.

After two months, his reproductive organs would be perfectly compatible with all the men in the 212th. There was no way he’d be able to take 17. Not safely. 17 frowned, something twisting fast and hot and unpleasant in his gut at that thought, wondering if any of them realized. If they’d like the thought as much as he’d liked it, when Kenobi fitted him just right.

“Oh,” 17 said, drawing back, setting aside the flash of unknown emotion and a deeper sense of disappointment. Kenobi had been the only person he could--

“But I’m sure there are other options we can explore,” Kenobi said, following him, an arm sliding over his shoulders. “Unless you’re not interested?”

17 considered it. His disappointment almost had him shaking his head, sending Kenobi to his own bunk. But… they’d enjoyed themselves plenty, last time, and not just when he’d slid into the sweet embrace of Kenobi’s body.

And he didn’t want Kenobi to run off.

He frowned and asked, “What do you have in mind?”

Kenobi grinned, pulled himself up to take a kiss, and said, “Come here, let me show you.”

#

Kenobi positively got lost in the middle of 17’s mattress, just like 17 had known he would. He looked small - smaller than usual, even - spread out across the sheets, bare skin all on display, covered in freckles and scars.

17’s cock ached, a solid throb of need between his legs as he stroked himself with the lube Kenobi had pressed into his hands. Kenobi had told him to get very slick before rolling onto his stomach, 17’s pillow shoved under his hips.

“You’re sure this is what we should do?” 17 asked, hearing the doubt in his own voice.

Kenobi glanced over his shoulder - kriffing hell, the way he looked - and flashed a smile. “I think you’ll quite enjoy it,” he said, “just give it a try.”

17 grunted, but, in truth, he felt utterly incapable of refusing Kenobi when he was all stretched out, back bowing from the pillow under his hips, the insides of his thighs slick and shiny with lube.

“Come here,” Kenobi coaxed, shifting his ass back and forth, and, well. 17 wasn’t going to say no to that. He slid forward, hands moving over warm, perfect skin, knees making the bed dip, tilting Kenobi back towards him.

It was so easy to blanket him. 17 could cover him completely, and had, before, on a battlefield to shield him from shrapnel. But there were no explosions in his quarters. Just slick, warm skin as he sank down over Kenobi, cock brushing over the curve of his ass.

Kenobi hummed, tilting his hips back further, and 17’s cock slid forward, easy, between his legs.

“There you go,” Kenobi murmured, pressing his strong thighs closer together and - oh - the pressure felt good, good enough that 17 rocked his hips forward, cock sliding on slick skin, feeling all the lean muscles in Kenobi’s thighs and--

And the hot, wet slide of him, of the place where 17 could no longer fit, and he groaned, frustration and want all tangled together.

“You feel so good,” he rasped out, hips dragging back and pushing forward again, feeling the head of his cock just catch at - at the edge of Kenobi’s body and oh he wanted, but he could only drag the top of his cock along, sliding between the tight pressure of his thighs, muscles flexing against him and--

He dropped to his elbows, his arms long enough to still hold him up off of Kenobi’s back. He could look down, across Kenobi’s bright hair and the bunch of muscles in his shoulders. He could see Kenobi’s hands, clenched in the blankets as 17 moved between his legs, lube making the glide easy, friction building up the heat between them, Kenobi’s ass hard and firm against his hips each time he pushed forward.

He could remember taking Kenobi like this. Force, he’d remembered taking Kenobi like this, so many times, cock sliding in instead of forward, he’d be so tight, so wet, so hot, and--

17’s orgasm caught him by surprise and he groaned, head dropping forward as his cock jerked between Kenobi’s thighs. He shifted his hips back, unthinking, wanting the come all over skin, not his pillow and sheets.

“See,” Kenobi started, tilting to look over his shoulder, “I--oh!”

He looked gratifyingly startled when 17 pushed onto an arm, grabbed his hip, and flipped him onto his back. His chest was flushed - but only a little - and his cock stretched up towards his stomach, still hard.

17 could fix that. Wanted to fix that, so badly it made his jaw ache.

He shifted around, put a hand on Kenobi’s chest to keep him still, and bulled his way between Kenobi’s legs, curving over.

He tasted his own come, when he licked over Kenobi’s cock, sliding his lips down over heated skin. His come was everywhere, there always seemed to be so much of it when they did things together. It streaked over Kenobi’s thighs and--

And 17 couldn’t help but bringing his other hand up, sliding over skin, between Kenobi’s legs and - kriffing hell - it was there, too. He groaned, helplessly, and Kenobi echoed the sound, fingers scrambling at 17’s hair as he rubbed two fingers through the slick smear of his own come.

Kenobi cried out, all thick with pleasure, when 17 slid those two fingers over him, and then, with a renewed throb of want, into him.

Kenobi felt so tight around his fingers, hot and wet and squeezing. He knew how thick his fingers were, wondered if they were just about all Kenobi could take in his present state, and the thought made something in his spine go all white hot.

He bobbed his head, sucking as he moved his hand, curling his fingers while Kenobi’s legs curled up around his shoulders, while Kenobi gasped and tried fruitlessly to squirm under him, the sounds escaping his throat getting thicker and louder and--

17 swallowed when Kenobi gave it up for him, smiling at the feel of Kenobi’s body squeezing around his fingers, clenching in waves. He slid his fingers back and out, giving a last suck, after a long moment, and Kenobi gasped his name.

He looked...dazed and relaxed, sprawled on the bed, uncomplaining about 17’s hand on his chest, his heartbeat translating up into 17’s fingers. He looked...soft. And peaceful. And 17 felt, again, the way he had on their trip, that he’d very much like to keep Kenobi looking that way all the time.

He shivered at the thought, shook his head, and said, “You’re right, that was a good idea.” He cleared his throat, and, before Kenobi could start gloating, pulled both of Kenobi’s legs up, over one of his shoulders, and went on, “Do you think it would work like this, too?”

#glimmer replies #ask me anything #spicy #SO SPICY #not safe for wizards #follow up to Just Right #alpha x obi-wan #obi17

[spaceskam]

8 for Malex? Thanks!

*hiding because this took an embarrassing amount of time I'm sorry*

tags: high school au, slight mental health stuff goin’ on, bed sharing

8. bedtime stories [ao3]

Alex never claimed to be subtle.

He watched Michael openly, his thumb between his teeth as he eyed the way he pulled his shirt over his head. He knew this was probably inappropriate. However, Michael was hot and had yet to tell him to stop staring. Sometimes it seemed like he deliberately did things to make Alex stare. So Alex kept on and hoped that, if he was only doing this to make fun of Alex, at least he got something nice to look at.

“Hey, Alex,” Michael called, tossing his sweaty shirt into his bag and grabbing a dry one, “Do you think your brother would mind if I stayed over tonight? I don’t feel like going home.”

Alex swallowed and sat up straight. He looked around at the other guys in the locker room. He was sure one of them would say something. Magically, they didn’t. 

“Clay won’t care,” Alex said, trying to seem nonchalant. Michael closed his locker and looked at him with a massive grin as he pulled his shirt down. His hair was still damp with sweat and it stuck to his forehead. Both of those things together were too much for Alex’s sanity.

“Cool. Meet you after school at my truck?”

“Okay. Yeah.”

Michael leaned close into Alex’s face and gave a mocking, “Okay, yeah,” before he laughed and walked around Alex. He twisted on the bench and followed him with his eyes as he went to the other side of the locker room where his other friends were. They instantly started talking about the game next Friday and how they were playing Carlsbad and how their team’s cheerleaders were hot. Michael didn’t deny it and Alex tried not to feel weird about it.

Instead, he grabbed his back and quickly headed out of the locker room. He hated gym and had put it off until his senior year, but now he was stuck doing it with basically no one to talk to except sophomore loners who seemed content to fail the class. He felt that.

The only highlight of it was Michael Guerin who he got to watch work up a sweat for 45 minutes every single day of the week. He got to watch him play dodgeball with too much enthusiasm and run the mile at the fastest in the class and play put-out with his friends. Alex had, somehow, befriended him when they were freshmen and both the youngest in their math class, so they stuck together. Then sophomore year they had Spanish together, junior year they had chemistry, this year they had gym. It wasn’t much but it was enough to spark an unlikely class-only friendship that turned into a school-only friendship that turned into an actual one.

He was Alex’s favorite person in the world.

The next two classes passed by relatively quickly, solely relying on the fact that Alex wasn’t paying attention and instead doodling aimlessly in his notes. Science was boring, math was easy.

Alex let himself into Michael’s truck because he was a dumbass who never locked it and sat in the passenger seat. His notebook stayed in his lap and he kept shading in the boat he was working on as the parking lot filled with other people going to their cars and people going to their buses. Michael always talked to his fellow football players before he left considering they couldn’t leave until the buses did anyway, so Alex wasn’t in a rush.

When Michael did climb in, he raised his head to get a good look at him. Because he always wanted to get a good look at him. Today, just like most days, he looked gorgeous and lit up from the inside and he was already staring at Alex.

“What’cha drawing?” he asked, scooting to the middle to look at Alex’s book. He pressed up against his side and eyed it, nodding his head. “Nice. I’m gonna get one of those tattooed on me one day.”

“What? A boat?”

“No, one of your pieces,” Michael laughed, shaking his head as he moved back to the driver’s seat. He turned the ignition and Alex stared at the side of his face. “Whichever one you think I should. Think about it.”

And Alex would think about it. It wasn’t even the first time he thought about it. Michael had spoken of getting one of his drawings on him before and the thought was quite possibly the most erotic thing Alex could think of which was ridiculous. There was nothing sexy about that in reality. But… Michael shirtless and having something Alex created permanently on his skin was just so good.

He went back to the drawing before he could entertain putting his tongue on it.

Michael turned up the radio before backing out of his spot and then they were on their way to Alex’s house. He put his drawing down in favor of watching out the window as Michael badly sang along to Nirvana and Beck.

Junior year was the first time Michael had come over to his house and it had felt weird to acknowledge that the person he’d spoken to nearly every day for over two years knew approximately nothing about his home life. Alex had half-assed an explanation about how his mother left and his dad was in jail, so Alex only lived with his brothers. Michael hadn’t judged him, only loudly made it clear he thought Clay was badass for stepping up when he was freshly 18 to make sure the rest of them didn’t get too screwed.

It was a few more after school hangouts after that that Michael confided that he’d been in the foster care system since he was a baby and had been in a group home for the last few years. Teenage boys were a hard sell to foster parents, apparently.

Clay had no problem giving his number to the group home to call for check-ins whenever Michael started staying over. 

“Please tell me he got spicy Doritos because I‒hell yeah,” Michael said, letting himself roam freely around the kitchen. He pulled the bag of spicy nacho Doritos labeled Michael out of the pantry and ripped them open, a grin on his face. Alex could watch it all day.

“Can I steal the bar mix that you haven’t touched in, like, a month?” Flint asked, his gaze stuck on his computer where he was doing homework. His eyebrows were pulled into an angry glare at it.

“Yeah, sure, if it’s still good,” Michael answered, falling onto the couch right beside Alex and holding out the bag to him. Alex shook his head. Michael often got food obsessions and would go a month where that was all he wanted, but during bad days it was the only thing he could eat that didn’t make him lose his appetite. 

Despite the fact that he was all smiles, Alex had memorized the warning signs and knew he wouldn’t be eating dinner.

“Sweet,” Flint said, sliding to the pantry to grab the remnants of Michael’s last food obsession.

One of the warning signs that Michael wasn’t doing great, despite the fact that he’d asked to come over at all and hadn’t just invited himself, was the fact that he had taken any excuse all day to be tactile Alex. He’d spent all lunch and gym with him instead of with his football buddies, he’d wanted to sit closer in the truck, he immediately sat practically on top of him on the couch.

Later that night, he sat beside him at dinner and picked at it, only eating the crunchy asparagus and the edges of the tortilla part of his quesadilla. Alex ate what he didn’t.

Michael took a shower and wore Alex’s clothes and made himself at home in Alex’s bed, all cozy and on his phone with his thumb in his mouth when Alex got out of the shower. When they’d first started spending the night together, Michael slept on the couch or on the floor. One night they’d fallen asleep in Alex’s bed during a movie and now that’s where he went each night.

Alex didn’t mind.

He shut off the lights and jumped into bed, putting on Netflix on the TV and starting up where they’d left off in their third watch-through of The Good Place. Michael scooted closer until they were touching in some way, his eyes still partially on his phone and partially on the TV.

It should’ve bothered Alex. It should’ve felt like taunting. Occasionally he did feel the need to shake him and ask him if he really wasn’t seeing how much Alex was into him. Was the staring not enough? Was the way he got a bit dizzy whenever he realized Michael was beginning to smell like Alex’s shampoo not enough? Was Alex’s eyes tracing every bead of sweat that rolled across his face like he hadn’t had water in weeks not enough? Was every single one of Michael’s other friends mentioning that they acted “kinda gay” not enough?

But mostly Alex was fine with it. Michael was safe here and comfortable and Alex wasn’t going to ruin that by wanting something more. So he would keep his hands to himself. He wouldn’t be subtle, but he wouldn’t be overbearing. He would just be Alex and hope that was alright.

“Alex,” Michael whispered, moving until his head was on Alex’s shoulder. Alex hummed in response. “Can you tell me a bedtime story about your boat?”

Alex smiled and shifted, his fingers slipping into Michael’s hair. Michael tilted his head up until they locked eyes. They were so close, just like every time Michael requested a bedtime story, as if that was the only acceptable time to be less than an inch away from each other’s face. Alex very quietly thought that their entire friendship felt like one.

“Once upon a time, there was a very loud pirate captain,” Alex started, watching as Michael’s thumb slowly started gravitating towards his mouth again, “He was old and held very strict beliefs. If you disagreed, he’d throw you overboard.”

“What a dick.”

“Mm, yeah, very. Anyway, he was always angry and his crew were like ‘shit, what if he’s lonely’ and decided they needed to get him a friend.”

“Oh no, poor lonely pirate man,” Michael said around his thumb.

“Poor lonely pirate man indeed,” Alex agreed, nodding solemnly, “So they searched high and low for anyone to be his companion. Not someone on the crew, but someone who would be his equal and separate from his employees. It was a very complicated task. They would find people who seemed good, but then the pirate captain wouldn’t like them and kick them out. It happened so many times they almost gave up. But eventually, they found an astronaut who seemed like a good fit because he was very smart and very happy.”

Michael pulled his thumb from his mouth with a loud pop, “So they really searched high, huh?”

Alex huffed a laugh and nodded, combing back his hair. His heart thudded in his chest as he stared at him, at his interested and tired eyes. God, he was so into him. Every single bit of him. Even when he needed moments like these.

“Yeah, really high. And they brought him back to the boat to meet the captain and they really, really thought he would hate him. But you know what? He didn’t. They actually got on quite well. And the captain started becoming a lot less angry,” Alex said. Michael shifted, pressing closer.

“And did the astronaut change?”

“Mhm. He got to relax too. He didn’t feel like he had to be super smart and happy to make everyone else happy anymore, he could just be himself. He could even be sad sometimes and that was okay because he had someone who liked him no matter what,” Alex explained, “He even would stop at islands to get his favorite foods.”

“Were they just best friends or were they in love?” Michael asked. Alex swallowed carefully and scanned his eyes over his face, trying to gauge what would be a better answer.

“They started as just best friends,” Alex decided, “But they fell in love. They were both. Somewhere in between.”

“Somewhere in between?”

“Yeah, like, not quite just best friends and not quite together romantically. Something different. Something special,” Alex tried. Michael watched him closely. In the background, Eleanor watched herself fall in love with Chidi for one of the hundreds of times they fell in love and Alex tried not to be too poetic about it.

“Alex,” Michael said, his hand dropping between them, “Are we somewhere in between? It feels like we are”

The question was honestly innocent but Alex stopped breathing, not knowing how to answer. He had a football player cuddling up to him in his bed. He should say no. He should save his own ass. He should keep it to himself.

But Michael was comfortable enough to cuddle him, to be babied when he needed it, to be raw and open.

So why couldn’t Alex?

“Do you wanna be?” Alex asked. Michael blinked. “Or… like… do you wanna be somewhere… not in between?”

“Like, on the other side? The romantic side?” Michael clarified. Alex nodded slowly, unsure. “Does it mean I get goodnight kisses?”

Alex let out a slow breath and laughed cautiously, “If you want them.”

“I want them,” Michael said assuredly. Alex couldn’t fucking think straight and he was just smiling stupidly at him. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Goodnight kisses, right here,” Michael said, tapping his lips delicately.

“Right. Okay.”

Alex moved his head just a little to give him a soft kiss, barely lasting a few seconds. He didn’t want to be too presumptuous. And, still, it was probably the best kiss he’d ever had in his life. His heart was trying to escape his chest.

He was really doing this. This was really happening.

“Did they live happily ever after, Alex?” Michael asked against his lips. Alex breathed and nodded.

“Yeah. They did.”

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #title tuesday #alexmanesss

[killersolo]

OC ask games but instead if reblogging the asks I answer them myself for Eugene's development

put under a read more cause this is....long [also i couldnt answer all questions oops]

dnd character ask meme by gendermybeloved

what kind of clothing does your character like to wear? do they have a style? anything they avoid wearing? Eugene wears button ups, a lot, with funky little patterns on them. Usually they are blue, turquoise, green and pink. He usually just wears blue denim pants, however if his shirt is blue he tries to avoid wearing blue pants under them. As for shoes he just wears, usually white, sneakers.

what's their current hairstyle? has it changed? do they change it often? Eugene's hair is short, but the long kind of short. He usually wears it with a small crest, but sometimes he lets it down too. During Mann Co. it was a lot shorter because Soldier demanded they'd all keep their hair short. In his mid-teens [15-16] he started off with a bit of a mullet that eventually grew into longer hair that he'd keep in place with a headband, [think Your Worst Nightmare kind of long] he cut it off at around 17.

is your character more articulate in their thoughts than their words? if yes, do they do anything about that? do they care? Eugene is more articulate in his thoughts, he tends to have very rambled thoughts that make sense to him but when he has to out those words it can be a little chaotic/rambly as well. But if he has to prepare text it comes out a lot more structured. He doesn't do anything about it cause he enjoys being a little chaotic like that.

would your character sing along to a vaguely familiar song, even if they messed up the lyrics as they went? No, Eugene will only sing along if he knows the words. If a song is vaguely familiar he'll only hum along with it.

if they wear any, how does your character go about applying makeup? Eugene doesn't wear makeup.

do they usually sleep in a certain pose? does it change? Fetal position is the go to but not a necessity when sleeping.

how would they react to eating something that was spicier than they expected it to be? Tears would form in his eyes and he'd cough a little but he's too stubborn to admit he can't handle it/it's too spicy.

are their hands steady? Yes, absolutely. Thanks to sniper training they got steadier than before.

if someone gave them flowers, what would they do with them? He'd be very confused. Eventually he'll accept them but it's very uncomfortable and awkward for him. If something like this [affection and/or something so confronting and unexpected] happens to him he'll be the type to say no out of discomfort even though he'd want to say yes.

would they sneak out at night to look at the sky? how long would they stay there looking? Absolutely, he'd use his dogs as an excuse to go outside and he'd just stay there for as long as he or his dogs like.

how do they feel about casual endearments? (babe, etc) Uncomfortable, he'd need to get used to them a lot.

what colour would they paint their room? would there be a design on the ceiling? He'd be too undecisive to choose colours or patterns. On the ceiling there are those green and purple glow in the dark stickers.

what helps them fall asleep when they're having trouble doing so? ASMR or watching those YouTube documentaries.

do they tend to run hot or cold? do they do anything to deal with that? xx I'm not sure what this question means

what's a sound they can't stand? The sound [and sight] of people eating.

would they draw patterns in frosted windows/fogged up mirrors? what would they draw? He'd draw smiley faces and dogs [and male genitalia when it's appropriate.]

do they fidget? how and/or with what? A lot! He has multiple fidget. He scratches his neck a lot, he scratches his thumbs a lot too, and he rubs his knuckles over his chest sometimes [ this also because of the scar itching].

would they sing a lullaby, if the opportunity arose? Nah, not a fan of lullabies.

do they see patterns in the world around them? do they point them out to people? All the time, but he barely points them out because more often than not people look at him weird for either not seeing the pattern or confusion.

do they like to keep plants/growing things in their space? His favourites are cacti and succulents, though most of them are fake because he forgets to take care of them a lot.

do they touch or mess with their hair/horns a lot? Usually only the hair on his neck thanks to his neck scratches, and a hand through his hair once in a while but that's it.

when they speak, do they have a default tone of voice? if yes, do they try to change it? why?

do they wrap their arms around their stomach when it hurts?

what kind of bookmarks, if any, do they like to use? No bookmarks, only memory. When it's a book they read in class, he uses colour coded sticky bookmarks for discussions in class.

do they keep books on their person? what kind? Only when he needs to bring them to his job, or when he plans on reading them [for example on a long train ride].

do they write in their books? do they mind other people writing in their books? what do they write? Yes, he writes in his books mainly for things he notices or for discussion points in class [like foreshadowing or patterns or smth similar]

do they write often? why/what about? Not really, Eugene sometimes tries to write down what he feels, because he has troubles expressing emotion and he hopes it may help him.

if they can fly, how do they feel in the moment their feet touch the ground again? n/a

if they wear any, where did they get their jewellery? He has matching sword necklaces with Demoman, but he only rarely wears it. He doesn't like jewellery too much as it feels bothersome to him.

have they ever tried to count their own freckles? do they count other people's? n/a, no freckles.

did they climb all over/onto things as a kid? Only in trees.

can they play darts? would they? He can easily play, and win, darts thanks to his aim as an ex-sniper but he doesn't because he just thinks it boring.

where are they in a group hug? (dead center, outside, etc) Nowhere, group hugs are too overwhelming [too much touching]

what's the first thing they think when they hear an alarm? what's the first thing they do? His ears perk up and he looks around to try and figure out what is going on.

do they sing with their head voice or their chest voice? Chest voice

(if they have hair that needs to be brushed) how often do they do so? do they do it gently? n/a

how would they pass the time on a train? Either reading, listening to music or playing puzzle games [like picross or I Love Hue].

do they bother to clean ink/chalk/gunpowder/etc off of their fingers? are they likely to forget it's there and smudge their nose? im not sure how to answer this one

do they keep working even when their wrists start to cramp? if they do, do they give themselves a break when the work is done? He does keep working because, once he's started something and is in the right mindset he doesn't want to stop and once again he's too stubborn to stop as well.

if their mattress became uncomfortable as time passed, would they notice it? would they do anything about it? He wouldn't notice because he already gets barely any sleep anyway.

20 assorted OC asks by pieniharmaakani

Why did you pick their name? I blame Eugene from Animal Crossing.

Why did your character get that name in-universe? I haven't thought about this yet tbh.

How do they talk in a formal situation?

How do they talk with close people?

If they got a tattoo, what kind? If they have tattoos, what would their next one be? He's got an aboriginal kangaroo tattoo on his upper right arm/shoulder. A crocodile tattoo from his lower back to his stomach, and a snake tattoo from his knee, going around his leg and ending at his foot/ankle. For his next tattoo he maybe wants something small on his hip or collarbone, but he isn't sure what.

Alpine skiing, cross-country skiing, downhill tobogganing/sledding, or ice skating? Ice skating, as it's most similar to roller-skating.

Their 2020s AU quarantine craft of choice? Music, and trying to cook but failing poorly.

Which era of historical fashion do you think would fit them?

What's their most annoying trait? His stubbornness and struggle to let go [inflexibility].

What makes them nice to be around?

What do they look for first in another person?

What do other people often notice first in them?

Their cliche YA novel scent combo? (Like 'X smelled like rhododendron and dewdrops and the pages of a 100-year-old library book 😩')

Good or bad at math? Bad/average.

Likes studying languages, yes or no? Yes!

Kitchen catastrophe or gourmet home cook? Catastrophe

What's their breakfast like? Boring, just the regular cereal with milk, and if he's late just the nearest thing he can get his hands on.

Do they have a favourite accessory / item of clothing? If yes, why that? Nope not at all.

What cute thing were they into as a tween that they cringe about now? (Let them know I love it!)

What kind of people are their type that they find most attractive? (Either platonic, romantic or sexual attraction.)

Oc Asks Game by inky-duchess

What is your character's reaction to a minor inconvenience? Such as getting their jumper caught on a door handle? Normally he wouldn't mind but when he's having a bad day he'd lose his mind.

Tea, coffee, hot chocolate or other? Tea is the usual hot drink! The other two only in specific situations.

What does their safe space look like?

What do they consider to be an unforgivable action? Why?

Do they have any nicknames or pet names or other aliases?

What kind of books comfort them? What books help them heal after a hard day?

Are they a naturally assertive person or are they painfully shy? Usually a bit assertive but when a situation is unfamiliar he can be a bit taken aback/shy, but he can adapt quite quickly.

Do they consider themselves a friendly person or aloof? He considers himself friendly, but he can come across a bit aloof at certain times.

What is your character's trigger point? What makes them angry, sad or makes them go off?

What kind of jokes make them laugh?

Do they enjoy pranks or do they hate them? Are they likely to fall for a prank? If the prank is harmless he enjoys them. He falls for pranks a lot because of his obliviousness/naiveté/whatever that thing that autistic people have is called.

Are they an overall healthy person? Do they make for a good patient or a terror?

Describe your character's typical wardrobe for the regular day. Button up, jeans and sneakers.

Are they a simple person to please or difficult?

What is the first thing people notice about them?

What do they look for in a friend? A love interest?

Who are they soft for? Do they find being soft easy or difficult?

Describe your character through a Brooklyn 99 gif or line.

What does your character consider to be their lowest point?

Does your character have a comfort item?

What would be one item that they would hate to lose most?

What are their eating habits like? Do they snack throughout the day? Or do they eat sparsely? Sparsely, he forgets to eat quite a lot and even when he does it's not really enjoyable.

What is your character's favourite food and who cooks it best?

What are your character's special skills?

What are somethings they find difficult to do? Or say?

Are they an animal person? Do they have pets? Eugene loves animals more than anything in the world, he absolutely melts at them. He's got 2 dogs himself as well.

What are their opinions on children? Do they view children as sweet angels or evil crotch goblins? He really doesn't like kids,,,at all. He doesn't want kids either.

If your character was in today's world, what social media platforms would they avoid? Or be prominent on? He'd try to avoid facebook, instagram and twitter, though he would post to instagram or twitter just once in a while. He uses discord for friends and even 1 class for the pandemic. WhatsApp is used mainly for contact.

Are they an organised person? Or more laissez-faire? It's organised chaos. He's got everything organized but only in a way that he knows where everything is.

Do they dwell better in chaotic situations or more linear situations? Linear

Your character has been invited to a masquerade ball. What mask do they wear?

Your character is having a prom night/debs. What kind of outfit do they wear?

How do they act around people they don't know? Are they shy around strangers or dismissive of them?

Can your character drive? If so, what kind of driver are they? If not what's their preferred manner of transport? He can drive just fine, he's a very relaxed driver but can't focus when other people in the car talk too much.

What attracts your character to another person? What kind of person do they do for?

Tell us something about your OC that doesn't make it onto the page? He's got quite the bit of trauma/ptsd. The reason I haven't talked about this yet is because I'm not sure how to write it accurately, yet.

Your character has been kidnapped. Who has kidnapped them and how do they escape?

How does your character unwind after a long day?

What's your character's guilty pleasure?

Your character's friend has just been mugged. What's their reaction?

Your character has been punched into the face. What's their reaction? He's not a huge fan of violent/physical confrontations, so he'd just get angry with whoever punched them. If they punch a second time, Eugene will gladly return it.

Does your character celebrate their birthday? If not, why? Yeah

What is the DND alignment? Chaotic Neutral

Hogwarts House?

Star Sign? Leo

Does your character believe in anything? Religion? Superstition? He's neutral on it, but he find it fascinating and interesting to talk about.

What is your character's reaction when someone does something nice for them? Discomfort.

Is your character easy to make cry? Or angry? Or annoyed? Not angry or annoyed but frustrated.

What is your character's biggest fear? Most irrational? Being forgotten.

How does your sleep at night? Are they a heavy or light sleeper? Do they dream or have nightmares? Do they find it easy to sleep or are they more a night owl? He's more of a night owl, but when he sleeps he does have nightmares quite often. He only sleeps when he's completely exhausted.

#out of classes #headcanons #//just wanted to do this for fun #:D

[vierafication]

Last night around 4 am, I reblogged a certain post about "villainous rp" and added my own two cents to what had been discussed within it- mostly just venting about behavior I'd seen in the past. I didn't think much of it until I saw the next day it had been reblogged, and reblogged again, and again, by some folks who seemed pretty unhappy about what I'd said. I was told I needed to get a life, that I clearly can't separate IC and OOC, that maybe I shouldn't be writing at all. That hurt. I was irritated, then, feeling like I'd had words shoved in my mouth, like I was being purposefully misinterpreted. I typed up a clarification post explaining my previous points and pressed send, but it was seemingly ignored.

I talked with @damankjol about it later. He's the best, if you didn't know. And he rp's villains! I don't think he's a sociopath! He's very empathic and honest and understanding and cool, and he helped me realize that people weren't just angry at me, they were genuinely hurt by what I'd written. I went back and reread what I posted, as well as the responses, with a more critical eye. And... yeah. What I typed up wasn't clean, organized, or coordinated. I was venting and the tone that came off was irritated and rude. While not my intention, what I wrote sounded pretty fucking disrespectful and downright mean. And, frankly, my intentions don't matter, anyway, since I wasn't able to convey them properly. I just put some angry bullshit up on tumblr way too late at night, and I didn't expect anybody to even look at it, let alone reblog it- but I should have. Tumblr is a public platform and I should have approached my post the same way I'd approach any other one during the normal hours of the day. Thinking critically is always key, but audience is too- a vent post is a vent post, but I should have thought before I vented about a topic other people were sensitive to, and properly indicate specifics instead of vague generalizations. So, yes, I really wanted to apologize to anyone who that post hurt. I’m genuinely sorry. I should not have generalized like that. It wasn't even my intention in the first place. I was disrespectful and now that I think about it, incredibly hypocritical to boot. So yeah. I really am sorry. I respect @damankjol and @miqojak a lot as writers, and it would never be my intention to tear them down. Or anybody else, for that matter- rp only works when you rp with others, after all.

Once again, I'm sorry, and I hope you won't hate me for eternity or anything. Storytime and critical analysis under the cut.

One of my first, and worst, experiences in the ffxiv rp community was a good couple years ago. I was describing my character to a “friend,” and that character happened to be Lionnet Blodoint, my Ishgardian chirurgeon. Lionnet was not a good person by a long shot, to begin with, and from his time serving during the Dragonsong War, he’d developed quite a bit of PTSD relating to any and all things draconic. He hated dragons. He didn’t even like Au Ra. “Wow,” said the so-called friend at the time. “Your character is a nazi.”

“What? No!” I exclaimed. I tried to explain that he was NOT a nazi, he was just a traditionalist Ishgardian who hated dragons because they had been, at one point in time, absolutely hell-bent on destroying his home and everything he knew. I thought it was a pretty reasonable character trait to hate, or at least fear, dragons after serving in the Dragonsong War. The core of how I’d planned to develop him would be overcoming or at least coming to terms with his trauma, and no longer seeing it in every dragon or Au Ra he met. “No,” they said. “Your character is terribly written. They’re awful and nobody would ever want to rp with them. They’re boring because they’re so full of negative traits. They’re racist and thus, a nazi. And you are just as bad, because you’re defending them! You’re a nazi too!”

So yeah, they are NOT my friend anymore. But that whole convo really stuck with me, and I was afraid to bring out Lio afterwards- it took me another year before I actually began to use him in rp. And he turned out wonderful! His story became one of my favorite rp character stories of all time, and he had great relationship development and a happy ending. He’s still around, canonically, but I have a different main toon now.

So it shocks me that what that person told me about Lio is more or less the same as what I wrote in that post. I’m honestly dumbfounded at how I could just casually type that up and post it, when it draws so many parallels to the way I was bullied back then. So yeah. Huge hypocrisy right there. I swore to never act like that. And to an extent, I suppose I have. But that post I made was pretty fucking close- just directed at a vaguely generalized audience instead of a singular person and character. Maybe that’s actually worse. And I am sorry. I guess because it wasn’t directed at anyone but the void (even the op’s url doesn’t exist anymore), I just didn’t think about it. Which sounds like a lame-ass excuse, but... it’s true. I just wasn’t thinking. I was just venting. It’s really fucking with me that I could’ve hurt somebody so much completely unintentionally, to be honest.

So, what did I say- or, to be more clear, what was I attempting to say? What was my intention, and what wasn’t? I’m going to go over that now, more for my benefit than anyone else’s. Please note that I am not trying to make excuses or shove any blame elsewhere. I am just trying to clarify what I meant and address the issues that made my post so negative, for my own sake.

To begin, I’m gonna link this post by @lilac-memorials. It goes into detail about the trouble with “villain” discourse, and addresses a number of issues from a much more unbiased standpoint, far more eloquently than I could. Also, it seems to reference (the worse) parts of my posts at some points, or maybe I’m just paranoid. Regardless, it’s a much better post than the trainwreck that was the original one, and I agree with every bit of it. It also addresses the difference between a “villain” and an “antagonist,” which is something I attempted to go into but failed miserably.

Anyhoo. My post began with this paragraph:

Seriously. I do not trust anyone who refers to themselves as a “villain” rper. A character can take an antagonistic role in another character’s story arc, that’s fine, that works. It goes back to the “everyone is the hero of their own story” sorta thing. But playing a villain, only as a villain… what’s the point in that? It’s just someone roleplaying as an evil asshole that expects to be treated as stronger than other characters, expects to be feared. It reads like some twisted power fantasy. It doesn’t sound fun and it sure isn’t fun for the people rping with you. Like dude, calm down.

To begin with, yes, I am indeed a little distrustful of people who label their characters first and foremost as villains, before anything else. I am more suspicious of engaging in rp with them than I am with other types of characters, because I have seen some pretty crappy villains out and about and I just don’t wanna deal with that. Next, I go on to try to draw the line between a villain and an antagonist, and how I am much less suspicious of “antagonistic” characters than straight-up “villain” characters. “But playing a villain, only as a villain... what’s the point in that?” I ask. Very rudely. Insinuating that their is no point whatsoever in playing a villain. Which I didn’t intend to. But honestly, I don’t know how else that would’ve translated- I don’t know what I was thinking. I go on to describe this “villain” as somebody who is an evil asshole with a power fantasy, and how it ruins fun for anybody. Which can be read very easily as saying “all villains are like this.” No, they are not! I was describing the bad type of villain rper. The rper who “plays a villain, only as a villain,” and not as a character. Do you get what I mean now? The controlling, toxic, power-hungry rper that plays a villain as an outlet to be further controlling, toxic, and power-hungry, moreso than they ever could in reality. We all know that type of person exists. We’ve met them, somewhere. Sometimes they aren’t playing the villain at all, anyway. They’re playing the hero, or somebody else entirely. But here, I am just venting about that type of person. They are what my post is about. The key line should’ve been “playing a villain, only as a villain,” but it was shoved into a passive-aggressive question addressing self-worth instead of a proper sentence describing the difference between a well-written villain and a badly-written villain. And thus the post begins as if it had been rudely addressed to all villain rpers everywhere, labeling them as the evil asshole with a power fantasy, instead.

Next is: Anyway hot take but maybe the reason people kept trying to “redeem” and “change” OP’s character is because their character is boring af!

Yeahhhh, that one’s just mean. And, given the first paragraph, easily able to seen as an attack saying that if you are a villain rper, your character is boring af. They’re not! The op’s post is a little much, to be honest, and I guess I thought I was feeling spicy at 4 am. Now I think I must’ve just been being mean. Aurelia explains what’s wrong with the initial post here, though, instead of trying and failing to poke fun at it in that special pseudo-mean tumblr way like I did.

Lastly, Like, honestly! Play a character as a foil to another, play to fucked up ideas about morality, play an antagonist arc to a protagonist character, play a character who makes bad decisions. But don’t play a “villain.” Don’t play a character whose core personality traits are simply being cruel/evil. Don’t play a character whose sole focus is to kill npcs, be scary, and lord over other players’ characters. Don’t play a character who never develops or changes, and doesn’t facilitate change in other characters. Just don’t be an asshole edgelord. Don’t be flat and one dimensional. Don’t use rp to live out your fucked up power fantasy. Get therapy instead.

Honestly, I think this is the most clear part of my entire post, and also the worst, at the end there. I just am listing off behaviors that this figurative “bad villain rper” exhibits, and what offsets them. Play a villain that’s complex, had depth, nuance! I’m saying don’t play the “villain,” and then listing off what this specific hypothetical villain is. The opposite of deep and nuanced. The “bad villain rper” type the whole post is a vent about.

Then comes the dreaded “ Don’t use rp to live out your fucked up power fantasy. Get therapy instead. “ The villainous power fantasy. No, I do not think everyone who rp’s villains is like this. Yes, I believe there are people like this, who are INCREDIBLY few and far between, and if they solely use rp as an outlet to harass others both ICly and OOCly, that is bad! And maybe they should get help! And even, then, that was only half-serious! But therapy is a serious subject and I should have known better, and done better. Did all of that come off as intended? Hell no! Instead, it was the final nail in the coffin.

So! That’s what I was trying to say. Badly-written villains are a pain. If I had written up a post like I am now, with this long-ass thing, actually trying to be eloquent and clear. Not 4 am word vomit. This 4 am word vomit instead has gotten me to be read and interpreted as:

-being completely unable to separate character and player to the point where i think every villain’s player is a Real Life Bad Person and/or needs mental help

-saying all villains are boring because they’re not heroes, and thus are incapable of being complex and nuanced

-saying people who play dark/antagonistic characters are, in general, living out their fucked up power fantasy through them

-thinking that villainous characters are incredibly boring and just plain terrible

No! None of that is what I think! Absolutely none! I’m not going to go in and refute each of those claims, because, like I said, I’m not trying to make excuses here. But I WILL end this thing with what I do think of villainous characters and their players:

They’re fucking great, okay? A good story is made a gazillion times better by having a good villain in it, be the story a book, a movie, or an rp scenario. Well-written villain rpers are a TREASURE, and need to be appreciated! It is often harder to find rp with antagonistic toons, to begin with, and their players may find themselves getting shit on more often than others, which should absolutely not be the case. Characters that are complex and deep and nuanced are great no matter what their alignment is.

There ARE some pretty shitty villain rpers out there, too. And, in my own personal experience, they tend to be much more obnoxious than shitty hero rpers. A badly written hero will ruin a villain’s rp. A badly written villain may well try to ruin everybody around them’s rp.

Badly written villains suck. They’re the worst. And they make things worse for those that dedicate a lot of time and effort to crafting complex and cleverly written, compelling villains! Badly written villains are something I can and will complain about, just as well-written villains are something that I can and will praise. But I’ll try not to complain or vent on this platform anymore, to start.

And I do NOT blend IC and OOC. That’s the rper’s taboo! I will critique others who do it, though, which ironically is what I was sort of trying to do- complain about those specific villain players who do that. But anyway. If you’ve read this far, good for you! This has been way too long.

And. Please. If I do say or do something that hurts you in the future, regardless of what type of post it is, talk to me! Tell me what’s up! Thank you!

#THIS IS A LONG ASS POST U HAVE BEEN WARNED #u dont need to read all of the rest if u dont want to #in fact u dont need to read it at all if u don't know what post im referring to anyway

[redbeanboi]

Hii. New anon here. I love your hcs!!!! Its so good and im wondering if your requests are open if yes. May i request for a mista x reader hcs where she wears a mask bc shes insecure about her face and doesnt like to take it off just like how mista doesn't like to take off his hat? Can u do something like the gang finding a way on how to take off her mask and his hat? If not you can totally ignore this ask. Thank youuuuu

hi anon! Thank you for the support :) I am actually not a hc blog; just accepting them for the fun of it. ((I can’t remember when, but I reblogged a post asking for hc requests and that’s when I started “unofficially” doing them.)) That being said, I’ll gladly fulfill your request. Thank you for asking first though! I appreciate that. Will keep this a bit on the shorter side since I have a habit of making stuff wayyy wayy too long (looking at you 3.0k mista mini-series)... xx

Mista and F!Reader who wears a mask. 

Here’s mysterious Y/n and Mista:

Mista never takes off his hat

Everyone’s been mostly okay with it, mostly because they assume it’s either always greasy or just very messy looking (fair enough, hat hair, right?)

but! once you’re assigned to Bucciarati’s team, everything changes. 

Fugo’s made a game out of guessing what’s under your mask and what’s under Mista’s hat

Narancia is curious but he doesn’t really say much other than “don’t you guys get tired of wearing the same thing all the time?”

Giorno hasn’t put much of a dress code in place and frankly doesn’t see the point in forcing either one of you to indulge in their curiosities

Bucciarati is curious but, like Giorno, isn’t interested in making you or Mista uncomfortable. Think: ‘If you’re wearing those things all the time in public, it’s probably for a personal reason’

Abbacchio claims he “isn’t very curious” and tells everyone to cut it out, but he does stare at you and Mista now and then.

Mista, on the other hand is very curious about your face. He hasn’t seen much of it, but he has seen your eyes and he thinks they’re very pretty. 

You’ve overheard him gushing about it to the others one time

“C’mon, it’s such a waste to hide all that away! Aren’t you guys curious too?”

And he only drops it when everyone else points out that ‘you cover up your hair all the time, doofus’

And as MUCH as he’d like to see the rest of your face, he’s not about to force you to take the mask off

really you’re only insecure. 

just a tiny bit

and who isn’t?

and while you’ve considered maybe taking it off once in a while around these guys

you’re terrified of letting mista see the rest of your face

what if he thinks you’re ugly 

wait

why do you care

not like you like him or anything right? haha

either way

you wouldn’t be the first person to wear a mask for those reasons

and it’s not like anyone needs to know what you look like anyway

as long as you do your job well, it shouldn’t matter whether or not you wear a mask or look cute

and it doesn’t matter if a certain team member thinks you’re attractive because--

right

ahem

anyway, mista’s got his hat, and you’ve got your mask

So the others (Abbacchio, Narancia and Fugo) decide to find a way to get your mask and Mista’s hat off

Giorno and Bucciarati want absolutely no part in any of this, but don’t think they’ll actually try to stop any of them

most of it includes very very stupid things

Like sabotaging the laundry 

which is not very effective when they realize you have dozens of that same mask in your stash

And Mista’s hat just almost never comes off

one time fugo tried to offer you something to drink, thinking you’d take the mask off

except you just sneak the straw underneath your mask and hand back his drink and respond with “that was pretty good! thanks”

and then they went back to the drawing board and asked Trish to take you to a spa

unfortunately you refused to take off your mask there

Abbacchio once slyly asked if you were into makeup and offered to give you some lipstick samples he received in the mail

but you politely decline and say “I don’t usually wear lipstick with the mask on, but thanks”

and dammit he thought he was so close

One time they tried to stain your mask with some pasta sauce (after a failed attempt to feed you some of their food again) 

and in that same afternoon they tried to dunk Mista’s head into some gross and questionable looking fountain

but then you panicked and used your stand on them 

they got a couple of bruises and mista happened to hit his head on something as he tripped and fell

Mista just got very angry at them (and makes sure to reassure you and tell you that none of this is your fault whatsoever)

And now three of Bucciarati’s team members are getting treatment from Giorno because of the injuries you gave them

And then Giorno decides to do something a little underhanded

because really, enough is enough and he’s sure that you’d both rather face a little discomfort for a brief passage of time than deal with this for the rest of your lives

“Mista, you must have hit your head on something earlier. Let me take a look at it”

And before you can blink you rush over to him

“oh that’s right. Mista, are you okay?”

“yeah i think--”

and just when you get to him and Giorno

Mista’s hat just

magically turns into a frog

and your mask just turns into a rabbit and jumps onto the floor

and bucciarati just asks the others “are you all happy now?”

Narancia’s just pointing at your face and his mouth is wide open

Fugo is kind of surprised, brow is quirked up and everything

abbacchio just shrugs because, yeah.. he’s satisfied now

“good”

bucciarati is just telling the others to quit it and leave you guys alone

and to your surprise, Mista hasn’t really said much of anything

you were expecting him to just scramble for his hat again, but instead he’s staring right at you

He’s also making an expression that you can’t exactly read

does he like it?

or maybe he thinks you’re ugly

why

does he think you’re ugly or--

Mista suddenly tears his eyes off of you and smirks at the others over his shoulder

 “would you look at that fellas--I was right after all!”

oh god

he thought you might have been cute but he’s seen your face and now he HAS proof that you’re not as cute as he initially thought

that’s why he’s smiling and blushing right?

or

well, if you’re so ugly, 

why is he smiling like a goofball?

part of you wants to scream because he just keeps looking and smiling and you’re not so sure if you can take any laughs from mista

you’re convinced he’s gearing up to make fun of you

why else would he be smiling like that

but Narancia immediately follows up with

“well I never said you were wrong”

whats that mean

“stop staring and being creeps, guys, she obviously doesn’t feel comfortable with all the attention”

and mista’s mostly right

but when you see mista’s hair

you are ready to just ignore the rest of them because his hair

it’s so

perfect?

It’s short enough to be completely covered by the hat, but !! it’s glossy and dark and kinda wavy

and it’s so cute and you just

pat his head

pat pat pat in silence

its so soft and pretty

and it smells kinda spicy

like cloves and cinnamon or something

nice warm scent

and just as you’re patting away, Mista just grabs your wrist and pulls you in a little closer and says 

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this before, but you’re really cute”

A/N Thanks for being patient and for sending this in! I’m planning on writing a few things for Mista sooner or later, so please keep an eye out on my ao3 for those.

xx

#asks #anon #guido mista x reader

[chapitre7]

The heart at the tip of a brush

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

College / Drama Club AU

Read on AO3

Mo Xuanyu had always been their make-up artist. Lan Zhan had always been in charge of the costumes, ever since Wei Ying found the sketchbook where he kept the designs he came up with in the hours between sleep and homework, when he allowed himself to flounder the wings of his imagination. Embarrassed as he was of his hobby, he didn’t even know why he had carried the sketchbook with him that day (maybe confused it with his regular notebooks?), but after the initial shock of being discovered, he had relented to Wei Ying’s cries and pleadings and had agreed to be the last member in his brand new drama club. What set them apart, Wei Ying had told him with exaggerated gallantry, was that they’d write their own plays and enact them, instead of somebody else’s. Pretty big talk for someone who wouldn’t actually do the writing, Jiang Cheng barked, but he still joined the club anyway, the flair for the dramatic flowing in his veins as much as it did in Wei Ying’s; truly brothers, no matter the blood ties and several other differences between them.

 So the club started then, each one of them being responsible for too many things and also not much at all, in those early days of chaotic planning, until they gathered more members and set a clear goal in mind: the school festival. It was an embarrassment, as school projects often were, but Wei Ying’s joy at seeing all of their work fulfilled in an hour of glory (“What glory? MianMian forgot her lines and ruined my impeccable script, Brother Wei! It won’t do, it really won’t do!”) somehow emboldened them to try harder and strive higher. So, at Wen Ning’s suggestion, on their second year, they started enacting plays at the local orphanage. The reward of the kids’ starstruck faces fed them better than any feast, and so they continued, every year, sometimes twice a year, all the way till college.

 With such responsibility on their shoulders, it was natural for everyone to get pumped up, even going so far as to enlist some of their family members to lend their hands. Such as Lan Zhan sewing all of their costumes with his brother’s help, who had an eye for subtle details that Lan Zhan treasured, as he always did with all of his brother’s inputs throughout his life. Along with elder brother Lan came Meng Yao, who enriched Nie Huaisang’s scripts with twists and turns that made the fan-wielding boy think up even wilder twists and turns that Wei Ying’s creative mind ate up like his favorite spicy pumpkin-flavored cookies from the local coffee shop (that literally nobody but him liked). Jiang Cheng was their lead actor, Luo Qingyang, stage name MianMian, their lead actress, and everybody did a little bit of acting, even if they had no lines, as was often the case with Lan Zhan (at Wei Ying’s request).

 And Mo Xuanyu was in charge of their make-up.

 Not Lan Zhan.

 Never Lan Zhan.

 Yet there he is, covering for the sick man, standing in front of a smiling Wei Ying, who looks every bit like the evil sorcerer that they had perfected through the years, while Nie Huaisang, the second-best make-up artist of their little rogue troupe, frenzies over MianMian.

 “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, the gentle tone of his voice coloring his name, holding the familiar hint of apology that he often uses when he drags Lan Zhan to adventures his friend doesn’t appreciate as much as Wei Ying had anticipated. “It’s really not that difficult. It’s not too different from coloring your designs, and you’ve seen the end results. This is nothing your brilliant, talented hands can’t handle!”

 Flattery could get him anywhere as long as Lan Zhan was involved, but the young man still swallows down around the anxiety that has installed itself at his stomach like acid, not having much to do with being able to pull off a decent make-up job and everything to do with leaning over Wei Ying and painting on him like a canvas.

 Unaware of the not-so-honorable battle that Lan Zhan fights against himself, Wei Ying places the eyeshadow palette in Lan Zhan’s palm and leans against the back of the chair, tilting his face up. It’s so innocent, so trusting and professional, and Lan Zhan leans over him for a brief second before remembering he’s not holding any brushes. How surprised would everyone be if Lan Zhan simply bolted out of the modest, well-lit bedroom that they used as a dressing room and screamed in the backyard full of children waiting for the play to begin? He can’t even process the mental image, but knowing that it’s impossible seems to ground him.

 Firmly holding a brush in his hand, Lan Zhan swallows again — doesn’t scream —, inhales, and sets himself to work.

 It really isn’t so difficult once he begins. He knows exactly what color Mo Xuanyu uses on Wei Ying, so accustomed he is to seeing his friend play the fearsome Yiling Patriarch. It’s a highlight of red on the crease of his eyes, to give him a sharper look, scheming and compelling at the same time. Lan Zhan uses his own thumb to smudge the same red on his eyelids, just a tiny bit, just a brush of color, a gradient of red that matches up with the color scheme that Lan Zhan set up for his character a long time ago, which was really just a fantasy take on Wei Ying’s own style.

 With a thin brush, he sets to draw a perfect black contour on Wei Ying’s lash line, for when he opens his eyes, he needs him to look as if he could transmutate into a cat at any given moment, so round and marble-like those brown eyes look then, mesmerizing the audience.

 Satisfied with his job on his eyes, Lan Zhan sparkles a peach color on his cheeks so he looks healthy and ready to gobble up misbehaving children. And then his lips...

 He curses Mo Xuanyu and his food poisoning, and then he mentally apologizes. All those years in high school trying to ignore just how pretty Wei Ying is as he tried to get Lan Zhan’s attention, how pretty he even was when he was asleep and drooling on Lan Zhan’s dinner table where they were supposed to brainstorm the theme of their next play. Years of trying not to betray the honesty of their friendship, because he could spend forever watching the endless capability Wei Ying’s ideas, and he liked being included in his group, doing something that he had been curious about but ignoring for the sake of his academic success, until Wei Ying taught him that he could have both the success and the fun of doing something you like. All of it, and also the dreams where Wei Ying kissed him (because he was never the one to initiate it), touched him, pinned him to the floor from where he fell in endless loops — all of his inappropriate desire falls upon a single, tiny brush of red.

 Holding Wei Ying’s chin, he glides the brush, shiny and glossy, over the center of Wei Ying’s lower lip and then out to the sides. Then he draws the heart shape of his upper lip, careful not to color outside the natural lines of Wei Ying’s mouth, slowly, slowly covering every corner with calculated precision. He’s mindful not to use too much product, knowing by its consistence that it can smear unsightly, but it still accumulates in the corners, and he wipes it away with his digit, using the tip of his nail to draw the proper line again.

 His gaze moves up and the eyes he framed are looking straight at him. How long had he been staring at him? How long had Lan Zhan even been working? And why can’t he hear the others getting ready around them?

 His breathing, that had been steady — and he had, by all accounts, been touching Wei Ying’s face as he hovered over him, trying to make him even more beautiful than the memory of their past plays — fails him as the tip of Wei Ying’s tongue peaks through, just the tip, before he touches his lips together. His teeth look whiter with that red framing them, and Lan Zhan can’t look away, he’s mesmerized by that mouth that loves to talk to him, pouring out considerations from topics Lan Zhan had never even considered but that he understands when Wei Ying talks about them. But now he’s not talking, his lips are just perfect and unmoving and parted, and Wei Ying still has his chin tilted up at him, and he’s so near. Why isn’t Wei Ying saying anything? Where is everyone? Why is he gripping the arms of Wei Ying’s chair—

 “Are you done there yet?!”

 Jiang Cheng’s call is very clear and very near, and Lan Zhan is aware that he has made an undignified jump away from his position in 0.1 seconds flat. He expects Wei Ying to laugh at him, as he does in almost every situation, but when Lan Zhan dares to raise his eyes back at his friend, he’s also standing and adjusting his cuffs before checking his reflection on a nearby mirror.

 “Wow,” is all that he says about Lan Zhan’s work, and Lan Zhan is surprised that, despite the panicked drumming of his heart against his chest that spells out all of his secret infatuation, he’s still glad that Wei Ying seems pleased about the results.

 “I... I kept it simple,” he says, and it’s true. Xuanyu uses a plethora of products that Lan Zhan doesn’t quite begin to understand the purpose of, and he still wouldn’t have taken as long as Lan Zhan did given his expertise.

 Wei Ying, however, just shakes his head and gives him an honest (and painfully distracting) smile.

 “These kids are in for an especially striking Yiling Patriarch today,” he says and smirks, and Lan Zhan wants to kiss him and die, and those ideas don’t feel as isolated as he originally thought they’d be. “Let’s go, Lan Zhan.”

 Lan Zhan is terribly relieved that they had decided to write him out for today, because he’s not confident he’d remember to say any of his lines, even if they were just mostly hums, with Wei Ying playing his flute in a particularly intense tempo, eyes glued on him, as if he was the one he wanted to enchant.

 ***

 “Lan Zhan, create my new character with me.”

 That is the sole reason why Wei Ying arrives early to one of the few classes they have together, the very next week after their performance. Their professor is never late, but that doesn’t keep Wei Ying from throwing his notebook at him, an old thing, full of scribbles that date to a place in time when they didn’t even know each other. Wei Ying makes a list of attributes, sitting in his own space but leaning over Lan Zhan’s desk with inspiration at the tip of his tongue. He looks up at Lan Zhan with eyes that might as well sparkle like in the comics he once convinced Lan Zhan to read.

 “I want to be a hero,” Wei Ying says, voice brimming with an emotion Lan Zhan can’t quite place, and they’re only forced out of their own world when the professor clears his throat loudly, quite pointedly looking in their direction.

 Although he takes his notes dutifully, Wei Ying keeps throwing him glances with barely contained excitement, and in the back of Lan Zhan’s mind, in-between the professor’s pauses, he’s already working on the design.

 ***

 The troupe doesn’t have to meet for some time, given they all also have to focus on their own assignments and upcoming exams. When they do, after New Year celebrations, it’ll be time to brainstorm, and Wei Ying, diligent for all the wrong things at the wrong times, plans to pitch his brand new concept.

 “He’s going to be one of two prides,” he says, sprawled on Lan Zhan’s couch, his hands raised high, as far as he can reach, palms splayed, as if he can already see the scenes playing out on the ceiling.

 “Prideful?” Lan Zhan questions from his place on the floor, leaning against the couch and looking at Wei Ying, his sketchbook on the low table before him, waiting.

 “Hmm, not his definitive trait. His brother is though — that’s Jiang Cheng, of course —, as the rightful heir to the kingdom. I’ll be...”

 “A general?”

 “A loyal servant and prized adviser? You know, sort of like Merlin. But I don’t wanna be a sorcerer this time, I wanna wield a sword. I love brother Mingjue’s props.”

 Lan Zhan huffs, and whether it’s about Nie Mingjue’s props or the idea of Wei Ying being an adviser, he doesn’t say.

 “Lan Zhan, close your eyes and imagine it.”

 He leans his head back, more against Wei Ying than the couch, and does so. One of Wei Ying’s hands sets over his eyes, for unnecessary effect, and Lan Zhan can’t help but allow himself to smile.

 “A prince and his right hand, the twin prides. One is the rightful heir, the other is... adopted, yes. Together they defend Lotus Pier against invaders, and their rising success brings them notoriety among the other kingdoms. What do you think?”

 “Purple.”

 “Hmm?”

 “The royal color of Lotus Pier should be purple. Pink is too light, purple is better. Like Yunmeng’s sky in the summer.”

 “You still remember that?”

 Wei Ying lifts his hand from his eyes, resting it on his hair as Lan Zhan turns his head around to look at Wei Ying, acquiescing with a hum. The last time he went to Yunmeng for the summer, he sent Lan Zhan dozens of pictures, including one from the beach at sunset, when the sky was a gradient of orange and purple, like a painting. Wei Ying thought Lan Zhan would love that one, and he did, making sure he told Wei Ying that instead of keeping it to himself.

 (Although he loved and saved all of them to his phone anyway, but he kept that to himself.)

 “Isn’t that what you were thinking about? Lotus. Yunmeng.”

 Wei Ying smiles and hums an agreement of his own, his fingers brushing Lan Zhan’s bangs away from his face. And because they’re both so easy to read to each other, and Wei Ying’s gaze is so unmistakably fond, and because he feels himself too open, Lan Zhan lifts his head from the couch and leans forward, fingers hurriedly taking up his mechanic pencil to scribble down a few keywords. Purple. Twins. Adopted. Adviser.

 “I haven’t figured out how to go about it yet,” Wei Ying says as he moves from the couch to sit beside Lan Zhan on the floor, “but I wanted to create a different kind of hero than we’ve worked with before.”

 “The adoption part will be important for the children,” Lan Zhan points out with a nod. “It’s good, Wei Ying.”

 Wei Ying lets out a strangled noise and takes hold of Lan Zhan’s left arm, rubbing his face on his upper arm before looking back at Lan Zhan. His cheeks and nose are red, but he has the same excited glint in his eyes that he had when he approached Lan Zhan in class the day before, and Lan Zhan thinks it simply belongs there. This is his favorite Wei Ying, creative and free, and though he’s bound by his academic responsibilities, as long as Lan Zhan is with him, he’ll make sure he succeeds in everything he does. Everything for that crescent moon smile, full of stars.

 “So, what else?”

 Lan Zhan’s mechanic pencil hovers over the paper as they think, scribbling down more keywords, until it becomes so late in the evening that Wei Ying misses his dormitory’s curfew and has to sleep at Lan Zhan’s flat, in a guest bedroom that holds more of Wei Ying’s forgotten possessions than those of Lan Zhan’s brother, who was supposedly the person he kept the room for.

 ***

 “Why did you keep the red ribbon?”

 Lan Zhan sets his red pencil down, lifting his sketchbook so both of them can think about it together.

 “Both Wanyin and Wuxian use the same clothes and hairstyle, as twins and members of the royal family. Wanyin, as the heir, wears the crown’s jewelry in his hair. Wuxian is a main character too, so he can’t look any less striking, so, the red ribbon.”

 It’s your color goes unsaid. His hair is long, past his shoulders, though Jiang Cheng keeps telling him to get it cut like a normal person, and he always ties it with a red velvet scrunchie. As the Yiling Patriarch, he wore a red ribbon in his hair, and when he played the dizi and a gust of wind blew by him, he was mesmerizing, the red unforgettable against Wen Ning’s hand-drawn background. There was always something red about Wei Ying; a red backpack, red converse, and that red lipstick... Lan Zhan still dreams about it.

 It should be there. Yet Wei Ying keeps his brows furrowed at the drawing.

 “But isn’t it too striking? I don’t think Jiang Cheng is going to like it.”

 “Wei Ying.”

 He takes Wei Ying’s wrist, bringing it away from his face, where he was chewing on his nailbeds. Sitting side by side without a space between them, he lowered their hands to their laps and his hold moved to keep his palm against Wei Ying’s. It’s a lax hold, unambitious, just sharing warmth.

 “You can be a hero too.”

 His lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. He holds Lan Zhan’s gaze for long seconds (maybe two) before he bites his lip, huffs a repressed laughter, and lets his head fall on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

 “Lan Zhan,” he says it like a whine, like a plea, and he feels his fingers intertwine with his, the connection still comfortable, still known, still familiar.

 “This whole project is yours,” Lan Zhan speaks into his hair. “You should be able to do what you want.”

 Wei Ying snorts.

 “Isn’t that vain?”

 “...You’re not exactly humble.”

 He lifts his head from his shoulder and bumps into him with a pointed, “Hey.” Lan Zhan chuckles, almost without sound, and pats the hand that’s still holding his.

 They look back at the design. Lan Zhan can already envision the fabrics he’s going to use, the details that he wants to add, and he already regrets saying that both Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng’s characters are going to dress the same.

 Wei Ying sighs. “You spoil me with your designs, Lan Zhan.”

 And he can’t really deny that.

 ***

 It’s as difficult to keep Wei Ying focused on his studies as it is for Lan Zhan to not drop his books and go to his workshop to sew Wei Ying’s costume. Even though exams are merely weeks away, Lan Zhan still finds some time to secretly buy all of the material he needs while Wei Ying tries to keep up with his own study group. And it proves to be a wise decision because Wei Ying doesn’t last two days with his classmates before he shows up at Lan Zhan’s flat with thick books recently checked out from the library and teary eyes.

 “I hate studying,” he dramatically announces as he flops down face-first on the couch. Lan Zhan knows it’s true as much as he knows that Wei Ying actually really enjoys being practical.

 He opens Wei Ying’s bag and puts his books on the low table. “Why are you even taking classic literature?”

 “It’s inspiring,” Wei Ying says, eyes closed and voice muffled by the leather of the couch. “It’s food for the soul. It’s pretty like you.”

 Lan Zhan halts his movements, not daring to turn or do anything else; one hand lies atop Wei Ying’s bag and another on the advanced physics book he last set down.

 Wei Ying is by his side before he blinks twice, putting his bag away and apparently trying to choose which of the books he wants to open, but too rushed and flushed to be doing much thinking at all.

 “You,” Lan Zhan begins, swallows, inhales and tries again. “Do you want me to help?”

 Wei Ying’s head snaps in his direction. With big eyes and his lower lip hidden under his upper lip, he just nods, and Lan Zhan either saves or dooms them both as he sets all books aside and puts the Advanced Physics book in front of them.

 “Explain.”

 Flipping the pages to the subject that would be covered in his exams, Wei Ying takes out his notebook, and he explains.

 ***

 The end of the year is marked by heavy snowfall, the kind that has Wei Ying’s teeth clattering together outside, even if he’s covered in layers that are short from hindering his mobility and wearing a scarf so wound around his head that only his eyes peak out between the wool. It’s the only time of the year that Lan Zhan feels bad for his staying in Gusu, as if the city is like a stern parent testing the object of his affections and Wei Ying barely passes, or maybe bypasses it, by sticking close to Lan Zhan even when they’re indoors. He indulges in their practiced proximity, and if his body yearns for more, he sternly shuts it down, unable to sacrifice all the years of accumulated mutual trust for the gamble of a confession.

 As always, however, he’s saved from the trap of his feelings by Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng’s end of the year trip to Yunmeng. And on cue, he leaves his own flat to spend the turn of the year with his uncle and brother at the Lan estate, set in the part of the city where the hills are high enough to almost sit among the clouds.

 Between hot tea brewed to perfection by his brother, television cooking programs that his uncle has become oddly fond of in the past year, and the occasional reading (both required and unrequired for his studies), Lan Zhans works on Wei Ying’s costume in the studio his brother arranged for him when he first enrolled in Wei Ying’s drama club.

 “Did you make this jinbu, A-Zhan?” Brother Huan asks when he brings him tea and biscuits, picking up the accessory with a purple tassel, light and dark purple beads and a white lotus that could pass as jade. At his younger brother’s nod, Lan Huan’s smile is so delighted that Lan Zhan has to look away. “It’s beautiful work, A-Zhan. You could really make a profession out of it.”

 “Brother, it’s just...”

 He trails off as his brother chuckles and gently places the jinbu back down.

 “I know. It’s just for Wei Ying, isn’t it?”

 Lan Zhan leans even further down into the fabric he’s working on, pretending to check something in the sewing machine.

 “It’s just a hobby,” he admits instead. Lan Huan doesn’t discredit him, patting his head like he’s still a child, and Lan Zhan doesn’t have it in him to dislike the touch.

 “Just remember that if you ever question the serious profession you’re seeking, A-Zhan, the answer always lies closer than you think.”

 The older Lan Sibling tilts his head, taking in all of his little brother’s work laid out in the space of his studio. He looks at the design Lan Zhan is trying to bring to life and then at all the materials on the station, and an imperceptible frown touches his face, like a ripple on calm waters.

 “This fabric...”

 Lan Zhan sighs, knowing exactly what fabric he’s questioning, without even having to try and see it in his brother’s hands.

 “I know. I couldn’t find the one I wanted in time.”

 He works the machine to keep the frustration away, so he doesn’t notice his brother leaving with the offending fabric, only to return, hours later, with such a fine material that Lan Zhan breaks into a bright, grateful smile. During dinner, even uncle, so often taciturn, makes the table inviting with an amicable mood, the three of them enjoying a meal that their caretaker made with his own hands, the elder rambling on and on about every detail of the cooking process while his nephews pay dutiful attention and encourage the little passion that seemed to burn quietly in the heart of every Lan.

 ***

 Wei Ying’s praise for Lan Zhan’s work was ever grandiose, and any other man could let it get to his head like an invincibility potion. Lan Zhan, however, is a simple man, and only his heart swells with contentment at every exaggerated compliment that falls out of that beloved mouth.

 When Lan Zhan shows him the finished the prototype costume for his twin pride character, however, Wei Ying seems to be, maybe for the first time since they started collaborating, at a loss for words.

 “It’s so...” He starts, touching the rich purple fabric with hesitant fingertips. Lan Zhan knows it’s more than their budget, and that they don’t even have a proper story yet, just the core concepts that they came up with together. But Wei Ying had been so engaged, so inspired, and though he’s usually that way when he’s working with Nie Huaisang, it’s the first time he asks Lan Zhan to create a character with him. So he was impulsive. It’s not a crime. “Lan Zhan, it’s...”

 Wei Ying brings the costume to his face, rubbing it against his cheek, and the pleased hum he lets out makes Lan Zhan’s breath cease for a couple of seconds.

 “Make-up test?” Lan Zhan offers, a little weakly, a little shy, but Wei Ying practically jumps in place at the thought, electrified with excitement.

 “Make-up test!” He announces before he runs to the guest bedroom in wide steps and Lan Zhan, left with unwelcome nerves, nervously puts Wei Ying’s backpack away on the couch from where he had unceremoniously dropped it on the floor.

 When Wei Ying comes out of the bedroom, Lan Zhan was thinking about making tea after he had paced from the living room to his own bedroom, then to the kitchen to drink some water, to the window to check the weather, until he finally stopped to sit on the couch, where Wei Ying finds him. His best friend comes out of the bedroom in the costume Lan Zhan designed for him (just for him, he decides right there, he’ll simply have to rethink how to proceed with Jiang Cheng), sets a hairbrush, a red ribbon, and a big pouch on the low table, before twirling around himself.

 “So? What do you think?”

 Wei Ying had always favored black and red. They weren’t the sole colors he used, and Lan Zhan particularly liked when he wore white, the color brightening up his features like a beacon, but Lan Zhan is sure he had never worn something like the bright purple of the robes Lan Zhan made for him. When he twirls, the light plays tricks on the fabric, like a multi-colored bouquet of hydrangeas glistening after a rainshower. The inner robes are a simple black, but the outer jacket is more fascinating still, of a dark purple, almost black, iridescent, see-through fabric that he knows his brother bought from someplace outside of Gusu. Lanling, he believes. On the back, he embroidered a lotus motif with nine petals, the symbol of Wei Ying’s royalty.

 “I love it so much,” Wei Ying says, without waiting for his response, unknowingly almost sending Lan Zhan into cardiac arrest. His hands keep petting down on the costume, and he giggles when he touches the jinbu that jingles with a small bell that Lan Zhan added as a last-minute detail. “Lan Zhan, I can’t believe you made this. We haven’t even finished creating Wuxian, and it’s really...” He laughs, somewhat strained, covering his face with his hands, before dropping on the couch beside Lan Zhan. “How am I supposed to kill him now?”

 Lan Zhan immediately snaps out of his reverie, blinking rapidly.

 “Kill?”

 Wei Ying sighs, letting his hands drop and leaning his head against the couch backrest.

 “Yeah. I was thinking that Wuxian would sacrifice himself to save Jiang Cheng and the kingdom. Like, he runs out of good ideas in a crisis but the kingdom and his family are bigger than he is, so he makes his decision. The kingdom sings songs about him after he dies, and he’s widely recognized as an important member of the royal family.”

 Lan Zhan can read too much between the lines of that script, and the fact that Wei Ying has come to the conclusion that his death, however metaphorical, is the answer, sits heavy on his stomach.

 “Wei Ying,” he calls, a bit too sternly, perhaps, as Wei Ying looks up from fiddling with his jinbu like a child ready to be scolded. “Wei Ying, you can’t kill him,” he says, more softly. “You can’t kill the adopted son in front of an audience of foster kids. What kind of message would we be sending them?”

 “I know,” he whines. “But isn’t it heroic?”

 “Death is just death.” He takes Wei Ying’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Even in fiction. The ones that stay behind are never happy to part with a loved one.” Wei Ying turns his hand in Lan Zhan’s grasp so they’re palm to palm again, puzzle pieces fitting together. Lan Zhan inches closer, brings their clasped hands to his chest, and firmly says, “We’re not killing Wuxian.”

 Wei Ying’s laugh is just a huff of air, and he can’t hide his tears when he wipes them away from the corners of his eyes.

 “Okay. Wuxian lives in the end.”

 Lan Zhan nods, letting their hands fall between them, but not letting go. The silence that follows Wei Ying’s sniffles is not uncomfortable, but there’s something in the space between them, in the way Wei Ying is wearing that beautiful purple that Lan Zhan made for him, in the way Wei Ying keeps looking at his face, that Lan Zhan feels is both thick and fragile like glass. Or maybe he’s a coward, just a coward in the end, consumed by his desire to hold that man and touch him and kiss him, but ultimately defeated by the overbearing affection that wants him to make sure he never leaves Wei Ying, never lets him think he has to sacrifice himself for anyone, when he’s the brightest star in everyone’s lives.

 “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls, and he seems to be closer than he was just a moment ago, the tears gone, leaving only a shine in his eyes in their wake. “Aren’t you going to finish our make-up test?”

 At Lan Zhan’s nod, Wei Ying smiles his wide, crescent moon smile and hops to the floor, handing Lan Zhan the hairbrush from over his shoulder. Lan Zhan, who has experience at both being a younger brother who played with his elder brother and a long-time drama club member, brushes Wei Ying’s hair without hesitation or clumsiness. Given the sheer volume of hair that Wei Ying possesses, there’s no way that the bun can be secured for long with just the ribbon, but Lan Zhan doesn’t want to get up to get any pins, so he just works with what he’s given, tying a pretty bow near Wei Ying’s nape, the ends of the ribbon still falling long, down his back. He had been right. The red looks almost mystical against the purple.

 “So, since the royal color is purple, should my make-up be purple too?”

 Lan Zhan climbs down from the couch, kneeling beside the other, and shakes his head. He takes the pouch from Wei Ying (that he’s sure is Mo Xuanyu’s, when did Wei Ying even take it?) and pulls a neutral-colored palette and a brush.

 “The clothes are already flashy enough, so we’re only framing your face,” Lan Zhan explains, although he’s more versed in colors than in make-up specifically, but it’s a test. If Mo Xuanyu has any better ideas once the story is pitched to the group, then he’s free to use them. Right then, Lan Zhan stands on his knees for a better angle to paint Wei Ying’s eyeshadow an earthy, reddish brown. With a thin, black pencil, he traces the line along his lashes in a much finer touch than the one he used for the Yiling Patriarch, just so the audience knows that his eyes are just as important as his clothes, that his person is just as big as his position.

 For his lips, he chooses a similarly neutral, peachy shade, just so he doesn’t look pale under the stage light, so his smiles can reach even the chairs in the furthest rows. The traditional lipstick makes less of a mess than the glossy, liquid red one he used before, but still the corners... No matter how careful Lan Zhan is, he still misses his mark when he gets to the corners. So he reaches out, just as he did then, to wipe the excess at the corner of Wei Ying’s lips with his thumb, and it’s so much easier this time.

 So much easier, and still... He runs his thumb along the lines of Wei Ying’s lower lip, as if there’s something there to correct, but there’s nothing, just his lips, parted and colored and waiting. Just his lips and that birthmark underneath, distracting, beckoning, a natural wonder that Lan Zhan can’t ignore, he looks, and he touches, and he’s lost, dazed again.

 Those lips open, form the syllables of his name.

 He looks up, wide-eyed, at a Wei Ying that is closely watching him. Eyes as round and attentive as they always were.

 “Lan Zhan. Do you want to kiss me?”

 He swallows and tries to look down, but Wei Ying takes his face between both of his hands and doesn’t let him.

 “Do you?” He repeats, and because he cannot lie, because he especially cannot lie to Wei Ying, he nods, and he closes his eyes, and he waits for his best friend’s judgment.

 “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls again, and Lan Zhan can hear him shift his position. “Lan Zhan, look at me.”

 He opens his eyes and he does. Wei Ying is at his eye level, standing on his knees as well. Wei Ying, always so expressive, doesn’t look anything like Lan Zhan had feared; he looks kind and patient and good. Lan Zhan’s hands, without him even noticing it, have moved to hold Wei Ying’s wrists.

 “Lan Zhan,” he calls, and in Lan Zhan’s mind, it could be the last time. But it sounds just as melodious, just as full of Wei Ying’s sincerity as it always did. “Can I kiss you?”

 All of his thought processes, all of his observations trail off then. Wei Ying looks a little flushed, though Lan Zhan didn’t apply any make-up to his cheeks. And his mouth, his beautiful, glistening mouth, displays a half-smile. Expectant. A little scared.

 Once Lan Zhan nods, everything seems to resume at a much faster pace, as if they stepped too hard on the gas pedal and their car flew off the road with a loud screech. Wei Ying exhales before their lips meet, as if meeting two necessities at once. He throws his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and pulls, his lips opening and closing around the other’s as many times as he can before he needs to breathe again. And then breaks away just to catch his breath before he’s lounging forward again, forcing Lan Zhan into a sitting position so he can climb on his lap and rob him of all coherent thought. Lan Zhan circles his arms around his middle, underneath the outer jacket, securing Wei Ying flush against him. The kiss is messy, wet, open-mouthed and inexperienced, Lan Zhan just following Wei Ying’s lead, which isn’t much of a lead, as Wei Ying whimpers between touches. The sound is enough to make Lan Zhan lose the last grasp he had on control, and that sends him to fall backwards, all the way back where he has no support, and they only have a second to disconnect their mouths before Lan Zhan’s head hits the hard floor.

 “Oh my God, are you okay?!”

 Lan Zhan winces, seeing stars in front of his eyes, and Wei Ying is quick to pull him back to an upright position, helping him lean his back against the couch before climbing back on his lap.

 “Lan Zhan, does it hurt too bad? Is it bleeding? Do you have a concussion? We should go to the—”

 “I’m all right,” he says, his voice a little hoarse. Wei Ying touches the back of his head and he winces, but he reassures him again. “It’s okay. It’s just a bump.”

 Wei Ying pats his hair into place after the mess that his hands made.

 “I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t be.”

 Wei Ying’s lipstick is smeared all around his plump mouth (from kissing; from kissing him), and Lan Zhan be damned, he didn’t think Wei Ying could look more attractive and then he looks like that. It’d be unfair if Wei Ying wasn’t following a similar train of thought, thumbs touching around Lan Zhan’s mouth in a weak effort to wipe away the lipstick there. And because he wasn’t really trying, he just kisses him again, slow, unhurried, almost chaste, a kiss that lasts long, a whole time unit in its own.

 His hair is down, red ribbon lying somewhere on the floor. Lan Zhan pushes it away from his face so he can take a good look at him, his best friend, brilliant and full of life and beautiful around him, in his embrace, his cheeks flushing darker the longer he observes him, until Wei Ying throws his arms around him again and hides his face on his neck.

 “I have a confession to make.”

 Lan Zhan hums, his hand moving up and down Wei Ying’s back.

 “I didn’t really plan on writing a play with Wuxian... I created him as a way to spend time with you.”

 When Wei Ying takes a deep breath, Lan Zhan can feel it, against his chest, on his neck, the exhale making him shiver.

 “After our last performance, I— well, we never really...”

 Wei Ying sighs, and Lan Zhan’s hand moves to his hair, petting, fond. He barely ever allowed himself to think of touching Wei Ying, yet it feels like the right thing to do, a natural step from all the hand holding and working in each other’s personal spaces. And it’s just what he can do to tell Wei Ying to go on, that he’s there, listening, although he’s not done collecting all of the fragments of his own confession, shattered in the car crash of a kiss long suffered.

 “I’ve always really admired you, Lan Zhan. Your talent, your imagination, everything you do is so good. I wanted to make something with you, to spend all of my time with you, to create something out of nothing that was ours.”

 Lan Zhan can feel Wei Ying raising his head, his chin resting on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

 “You see, Lan Zhan, I’m really selfish. I’ve had a crush on you since I first laid eyes on you when we were fifteen but now I really wanted all of your attention. The way you looked at me that day, I... You don’t have any idea what you do to me.”

 Wei Ying tries to hide again, but Lan Zhan holds his shoulders, pulls him back to look at him. His mouth is still a mess of lipstick, but his eyes are wide, exposed. Lan Zhan tries to wipe the lipstick away, just to save Wei Ying some grace, because the weight of his their attraction pulling them together was nothing compared to the weight of the heart against one’s palms.

 “I’ve always admired you.” Lan Zhan echoes, eyes still focused on those lips, still trying to clean up their mess.  “Your talent, your imagination, and everything you do. I want to spend all my time with you, and create things with you, things that everybody will look and know it’s ours.”

 His hand, on Wei Ying’s face, moves to cup his cheek; his gaze moves up, without hesitation, because being there with Wei Ying when he falls is all he’s ever done, when people laughed at their plays, when their plans were foiled, when their ideas went nowhere. They’d come together, the two of them, and rise the whole group back up, one more time.

 “I really like you, Wei Ying. I’ve liked you for a long time now.”

 How could he be pretty even when he cries?

 “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 “You’re my best friend. The only one in this lifetime.”

 It’s only when Wei Ying touches his cheeks that he realizes he’s crying too.

 “You’re my best friend too, Lan Zhan. And I really, really like you back.”

 The kiss they share then is somewhere in-between the other two. It’s tender like a first kiss between their teenage selves, pecks that follow one after the other and another again, followed by kisses on each other’s cheeks, on noses and foreheads, marked with promise and lipstick. And when they finally regain their breath from their confessions, from their laughter, it’s open-mouthed and eager, ready to discover each other’s taste, and the best angles for their tongues to come together, to elicit delicious sounds from their throats.

 Wei Ying finds as much delight in delicately peeling the clothes Lan Zhan made for him open as he did in putting them on. And the view is almost too much for the designer, who both marvels and suffers at all the layers of his creation, sprawled underneath Wei Ying, still so beautiful against his skin, but ultimately forgotten.

 ***

 “Lan Zhan.”

 It’s a snowy night. Cold and white and long, sure to trap them inside when the morning comes.

 The answer to Wei Ying’s sensibilities, in the end, turned out to be simple; cuddle up as close as he can to his boyfriend, underneath thick and fluffy blankets.

 “Mn?”

 “I thought up a nicer end for Wuxian.”

 Lan Zhan doesn’t bother to open his eyes in the dark. He just turns his head to touch Wei Ying’s, his nose cold on the other’s forehead.

 “In the end he sacrifices himself for the kingdom but he doesn’t die. He ends up powerless but he meets someone who takes care of him regardless of the fact that he’s a royal.”

 Wei Ying plays with the collar of his pajamas and Lan Zhan could burst with contentment, but he only smiles against Wei Ying’s skin.

 “So when Wanyin finally finds Wuxian again, a long time later, Wuxian has become wiser because he realizes true strength doesn’t come from battles or sacrifices, but human connection. So he promises to be Wanyin’s adviser because he loves and supports him, but he’s not going back to the palace, he’s staying with Wangji.”

 “Wangji?”

 Wei Ying hums. Lan Zhan likes that ending. It’s a good message for the kids, to follow your heart rather than a life mission.

 It takes his sleepy mind a few seconds to remember his brother’s words. He’s going to like Wei Ying’s play, very much so.

 “Lan Zhan?”

 “Mn?”

 “Will you be my Wangji?”

 He kisses Wei Ying’s forehead and places his hand against the hand that lies on his chest, next to his heart.

 “Mn. I will be Wei Ying’s commoner wife.”

 Wei Ying snorts before nuzzling his shoulder.

 “I haven’t decided if he’s going to be a commoner yet. But you’re going to wear blue. Blue and white, like Gusu’s clear skies.”

 Lan Zhan doesn’t comment on how Wei Ying didn’t deny being his partner in the play, even if they had just confessed to liking each other. There’s still so much more to be said, and Lan Zhan loves the anticipation, will dream about them with Wei Ying in his arms all night, and all of the next day, too.

 “I thought you didn’t like Gusu that much.”

 “Of course I like Gusu. All of my memories with you are here.”

 Lan Zhan turns to his side, hugs Wei Ying tight against his chest, making him laugh. He kisses him all over his face before meeting his lips, then covers him up to his chin to protect him from the cold, and together, they fall asleep, the future holding a different shape in their creative, clasped hands.

#The Untamed #Mo Dao Zu Shi #fanfiction #Wangxian #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #Alternate Universe: College #Alternate Universe: Drama Club

[shibyn]

are you blushing or is that sunburn

haikyuu!! | bokuto/kuroo | 23k | ao3

"Wuh?" Bokuto only looks slightly perplexed, munching down on his popsicle in thought. "If we can't do it this week, we can just do it next, right?" He says, like it's the most obvious thing in the whole universe, the only possible answer. A bead of melted popsicle runs down the wooden stick, spilling across Bokuto's fingers. He awkwardly gurgles, unmelted ice still in his mouth, and he tries his best to lick the trail and proceeds to knock himself in the forehead with the ice pop.

It's. Endearing, maybe, if not completely embarrassing to watch.

Ahh, Kuroo thinks and averts his eyes. His neck is warm under the sun.

It's the hottest day of the year.

And so was the day before, and the day before that.

(A summer romance where things get a little too hot and spicy— literally. Tokyo’s melting.)

"—temperatures are soaring, paired up with cloudless skies. Take care these next couple of days, and stay hydrated! A cold front is on the way, so sweat it out, there's relief coming soon!—" Blearily, Kuroo wipes the sweat collecting beneath his eyes, glancing away from the TV that's been playing as white noise as he waits. It's early morning, windows wide open to the city waking. Outside the air is muggy and hot and he would love nothing more than to close the windows and crank up the air conditioning, but he's gotta be mindful of the AC or the bill will skyrocket. First day of summer break and it's already abysmally hot, he laments, sinking further into the couch. The pleather of the couch is grossly sticky whenever it peels from his bare shoulders. It's gonna be one helluva long day. "Tetsurou!!" The front door swings open without warning, slamming against the wall and bouncing back, striking the intruder. Not even deterred aside from a sharp yowch, and only momentarily pausing to kick off his shoes, Bokuto comes romping in through the entryway. Every bit of his stride looks like he can just barely contain the energy he has. He almost strides right past the living room, double taking when he notices Kuroo. "Wha— Tetsu, are you not ready!" Rising from his sprawl on the couch, Kuroo says, "I am ready, you airhead, you just took your time getting here. It's, what—" a quick glance to the clock— "—ten thirty? You're late, buddy." "By just fifteen minutes!" Bokuto whines, shoulders slumping, "I forgot the tickets the first time I left my house so I had to run back to get them!!" "You—" but of course. What else was he expecting? He did make their meet time thirty minutes earlier than necessary— just in case Bokuto forgot something. And another thing. And then something else. "How far out were you when you turned around?" "Halfway through the station!" he announces, bouncing on his toes, awfully chipper for how sweaty he is, "I think that was the fastest I've ever sprinted home." He's got his puppy-dog grin, but he is breathing a little heavier, his shirt damp in dots along his chest. "You didn't have to," Kuroo says, grimacing. Maybe he should've said that they had plenty of time— even if they ended up being late, so what? He literally incorporated the wiggle room for a reason. Coulda saved him the trouble. "I coulda paid for us up front." Aghast, Bokuto digs at his pocket and nearly punches Kuroo in the nose he presents his hand so fast. Clutched in his hand are two brightly colored tickets, a holographic sheen to them with the shifting light. The smallest sliver of a tanuki's face peeks out from where it's covered by his thumb. "Never! I've been holding onto these babies for so long, it'd be horrible if I let them go to waste!!" Kuroo snorts, smacking his hand away. "For months, man. You won them at a raffle at what? The club fair this year? They're about to expire." "Well!" Bokuto retracts his hand, haphazardly shoving the tickets into his pocket. Kuroo tries very hard not the wince when he sees them fold wrong when they go in. "I wanted to wait for the perfect time! All the rides are open now, and it's summer break! Ideal time!" "It's gonna be packed as hell." "Yeah? It's all the more people to see how terrified you'll be on the Exterminator." Bokuto grins. There's a challenge in his voice. Of course. Wouldn't be Bokuto if there wasn't a challenge. Kuroo scoffs. Wouldn't be him if he didn't step up to the challenge. Or at least egg him on. "You wish. You'll be the one holding on to me, scared outta your mind." "Whoever closes their eyes first on a ride loses!" In either to set the deal or to pull him to his feet, Bokuto extends his hand to him. Clicking off the weather channel, Kuroo, knowing his grin is taking up most of his face, takes Bokuto's hand and pulls himself to his feet. His palms are sweaty but his grip is still firm, stabilizing. "Lets get going, then." — Both of them lose. Neither of them really knows who lost first, per se. The Exterminator, the tallest ride that the park has to offer, towers near the entrance which, of course, they beelined to once they stepped in. On the first unsuspected drop, they had grabbed ahold of each other, screaming, eyes screwed shut. Their eyes stayed shut the remainder of the ride, the force of the wind too strong for them to even pry them. The ride was long over by the time they even thought about it. (Though— Now that Kuroo thinks about it, they never really agreed to what would happen if they lost.) Since they've both technically failed already, they do not hold back. On the ride that shoots the cart backwards, they're holding onto each other for dear life, hollering. On the tower drop they're grasping each others arms, screeching and laughing, dropping, then again and again. Every time they get off a ride Kuroo's bangs have been blasted back from his forehead and Bokuto's hair is slowly and eventually coming loose of its gel. Its almost ritual now to laugh about it unnecessarily hard for five minutes, pointing at Kuroo's cowlicks and Bokuto's willowy hair. Everyone else in the park probably hates them, but who gives a shit. They're having the time of their lives. Though it takes more than half the day, they dwindle through the lengthy list of rollercoasters at the park: Mt. Everest, American Eagle, Storm Runner, Steel Dragon, Fury, the Manta Ray... They even go through the crummy water-log-ride that's more of a musical show than a ride, lined with animatronic tanukis and flowers and rainbows and shit. It's the best ride yet. Even though they don't know the words, they sing along the whole time. The day's mostly gone by the time they slump down on a bench, one that happens to have the tracks of a ride twisting overhead, rumbling with the oncoming cart of screeching passengers. Kuroo's slouched across the entire length of the bench, back against Bokuto's shoulder, absently sipping at the icee in his hand that'll probably dissolve his teeth in due time. Bokuto, on the other hand, is scratching off furiously on a flimsy map splayed across his knees. "I think that's all of them!" Bokuto beams, chewing on his straw. He draws two thick lines in a green sharpie marker over Tanuki Timbers Forge Ride, gleefully humming its little jingle. Kuroo turns his head to peer at the map. There's something very satisfying about seeing every ride crossed out, conquered by the two of them— there quite literally isn't a place on the map they haven't crossed out. "Well, except there's still the restaurants we could go to," Bokuto continues, pointing with the capped end of the sharpie to Tanuki Tavern, a medieval-themed food stop, and Derby Hall, where there's apparently incredible chicken wings. "I mean, the only thing that's worth getting is this hell drink," Kuroo says, lifting his icee as indication. Truly, there isn't really anything special about the icee— aside from being so obscenely sugar boosted, its gotta be against FDA— but the cup that it comes in is a tanuki head. He's getting sick of tanukis at this point having seen them all damn day, but it's pretty funny since he got the cherry icee flavor and it looks like he's slurping up tanuki brains. (It's honestly lost all humor value now that he literally feels his teeth fading away in his gums. A funny cup in exchange for his teeth...) Bokuto shrugs, folding up the map. His icee is practically gone already even though Kuroo didn't see him drink from it. What the fuck. His hands are too steady, too. Did he actually drink it...? "I don't think either my wallet or yours would appreciate it if we went anywhere else, anyways!" "Then all we would have left is the gift shop. Buuut..." Clicking his tongue in mock annoyance, Kuroo pulls the bill of Bokuto's new hat down until it covers his eyes. Bokuto squawks, swinging at him. "We've already been in the gift shop since somebody haaad to cover up his hair..." "I couldn't just let the world see my hair when it's down! They're not ready for that," he whines, pulling the bill up. Wisps of his hair peak out from the back. Kuroo successfully suppresses the need to tuck them underneath the hat. I wasn't ready, either, Kuroo thinks airily, then feels very stupid. The cheeky little winking tanuki embroidered on the hat seems to be smirking at him. Fucker. "The gift shop's the last place you're meant to go at a theme park," Kuroo continues, pointedly looking away from that stupid tanuki. "But since we've already been, we can just go and leave." "Wait!" Perking up, Bokuto pops the lid off his icee and downs the rest in one go. Kuroo feels his insides shrivel just from watching. Bokuto drags a hand across his mouth, grinning, "There's actually one more thing! We passed it on the way to the Exterminator so we didn't get to appreciate it in its full glory! It's right by the entrance, too, so it's perfect! C'mon!" And then they finally reach it— the Holy Grail. Unreasonably tall, stationed in its own little pond, ridiculously cheesy; the statue of the park's mascot. Tammy Tanuki. It's meant to be grand, he's sure, but— but he just can't take it seriously now that he's not ten years old. A big ole bobble-headed cartoon tanuki in some mock power-ranger outfit, waving like its calling kids into the park, a cheeky 'follow me!'. The jets of water arcing around the metal structure have apparently been misaligned over the years, because now a stream hits the Tanuki straight into its open waving palm. There's silence for a note as the two of them revere before it. Kuroo waits expectantly. "I'm gonna get a coin on its head," Bokuto says abruptly, a fire igniting in his eyes. Christ, he's got his volleyball face on. "I'm gonna get it on its nose," he changes, striding to the railing with way too much determination, leaving Kuroo to try not to fall over wheezing. It takes a whole moment for him to gather himself to be able to trail after Bokuto. To rest his elbows on the rails He has to nearly bend in half, but he does so anyway, eyes creased in residual laughter, watching Bokuto dig in his pockets for coins. "Why the nose? You're gonna waste all of your money trying to make it," he says, because while he fuckin' loves the enthusiasm, he's gotta make sure Bokuto doesn't end up completely broke. "It's special!" Bokuto says, scandalized. He digs in every single one of his pockets, back, front, shirt, jacket. Pats himself loudly on the ass, as if that'll help him find coins. "Everyone just tosses it into the water! Wouldn't it, like, up how many years of luck I get if I get it in a cool place?" Kuroo snorts. "Or it might make Tammy Tanuki extra pissed at you. Isn't it throwing the coin into the water what makes your wish come true, or whatever it is? Landing it in some sick place on Tammy wouldn't count." "It would so count! Tammy would appreciate my skills." With a bright 'aha!', Bokuto pulls coins from the funky little coin pocket in the front of his pants. He unfurls his palm, and in it are nine measly coins. On closer inspection, Kuroo chokes on his laughter. They're not even yen. They're arcade coins. Bokuto looks a little heart broken, lips wobbly. "I was gonna use these the next time I went..." he mourns. "How long have they been in that pocket?" Kuroo asks, his voice hitching too high. Flushing in something close to embarrassment, Bokuto quickly counts and recounts. "That doesn't matter! What matters is that I'm gonna fuckin' land these trick shots!" He holds them out to Kuroo, who easily lends his palm for the coins to be dumped onto. He tosses one of the coins into the air a couple of times like he's getting a feel for the weight. Kuroo rests his chin in the palm of his unoccupied hand. "Ya sure you even want to do this, Bo? What if Tammy thinks you're disrespecting 'em by throwing some crummy aluminum coin at it? Not even in the water, too," he says languidly. Now that there's no real threat of Bokuto going to go broke money wise, there's no real need to dissuade him. But it's fun to do so anyways.

"Tammy loves me!" Bokuto hollers. He winds his arm back like he's a baseball player about to throw the ball of the century, and he just. Chucks the coin. Both of them watch as it streaks across the air, pings hollowly against the tanuki's forehead, and plops straight into the water below. A long moment of stunned silence settles. Kuroo whistles. "I'm surprised you even hit it." Bokuto gasps. "No faith! You have no faith in me!" He scoops another coin from Kuroo's palm, nearly sending all of them clattering to the pavement. "I have faith in the fact you're not gonna have any money after this." Instead of retorting loudly like he usually would, Bokuto grumbles something suspiciously sounding like 'thats not true', which sends Kuroo into a peel of obnoxious laughter. He chucks the coin again in a fit. It flies right over the entire statue, and Kuroo has to hold himself upright with the rails to keep from collapsing. Like the seconds passing, the amount of coins in Kuroo's hand dwindles. Within the span of six coins, Bokuto's changed tactics, now tossing rather than throwing, and he's gotten closer and closer to the tanuki's head, more-less its nose. When the eighth coin hits Tammy's eye and slides sadly into the pond, Kuroo hands Bokuto the final coin as a passing of rite.   "Final one, Bo, make it count," Kuroo grins cheekily, raising a fist in a cheer. "It always counts!" Bokuto says, pinching it from Kuroo's fingers. Clutching the coin in his palm like he's channeling all of his energy into it, Bokuto pops his eyes open— when'd he even close them, Kuroo wonders absently— and, with his new strategy of throwing underhand, swings his arm back, and tosses. Maybe because it's the last one, but it seems so much more dramatic, the coin glimmering in the sunlight. There's no spin to it from what Kuroo can see in that split second, Bokuto's gotten crazy good at tossing in such a small amount of time— and for a brief second, he thinks this is the one. It lands solidly on the tanuki's head, the metal resounding like a gong, and it slides straight down the middle of its forehead. His breath catches and Bokuto goes ramrod straight, lurching forward and grasping the rails as if he's going to leap over them, and they both watch as it slides, slides, and reaches the nose— —and teeters right off, flipping as it drops to the water. Bokuto screams. Kuroo folds over in laughter. A mother hurries her child past them, pointedly not looking at them. "What the fuck! It was there!!" Bokuto screeches, leaning almost completely over the rail like he's yelling at the statue. Kuroo has to grab the back of his shirt before he joins the coins in the pond. "I was so close!! This isn't fair!" It takes a hot second for Kuroo to manage a breath to speak. "It technically counts," he placates, laughter still trickling in his voice, "It did get to the nose." "But it fell off! It doesn't count like that..." he whines, finally wilting from all of his yelling. He slouches against the rails. "I was so close..." A pause, then Kuroo finds golden eyes peering up at him. "Unless..." "Nope." Kuroo makes an X with his arms. "Not a chance. I'm not letting you make me go broke too." "But—! I was so close that time!! I could definitely do it if I had another chance! And with actual money—!" "Nuh-uh. This is how people develop gambling addictions, Bo." "Gambling's the only addiction that pays back!" "And that is where we end this conversation," Kuroo says loudly, ignoring Bokuto's indignant squawk. If he were here, Akaashi would obliterate Bokuto for such a statement in his quiet, judging kind of way. He actually shivers, fearful. He stoops to scoop up his icee that he'd set down, pointedly about to leave, but Bokuto clings to his arm, all hundred-eighty-centimeters of him weighing him in place. "One more! Just one more! And I promise that I'll stop! Even if it doesn't get in! I'll even pay you back!" Bokuto pleads, literally throwing all his cards on to the table. From the look that's in his eyes, he's going promise his first born at this rate. And— well. He can never say no to Bokuto. Kuroo sighs loud and deliberate. Bokuto perks up. Like a dog perking its ears. Goddammit. "Just one?" He asks, unrelenting. "Just this one," Bokuto reassures, unbelievably starry-eyed. Dude looks like he could catch the sun he's so determined. Even though Kuroo knows he'll keep his word, he keeps his eyebrows raised in challenge. Bokuto stubbornly does not crumble under the scrutiny. Then he sighs again, reaching for his pocket. "Lemme check if I actually have one—" "TETSUROU," Bokuto wails, louder than loud, christ, if people weren't looking at them suspiciously before, they sure as hell are now. If his face turns bright pink, he blames it on the stupid sun with its stupid UV rays. He doesn't quite fumble with the coin as he pulls it from his pocket, but there's a weird jerk in his motions, embarrassingly. It's a five-hundred yen. Yowch. "If you miss, you gotta buy me that shitty ice cream that's the shape of Tammy's head," he barters. "I was gonna do that anyways!" Bokuto cheers and snatches the coin, outshining the sun behind him. — "... Impressive," Akaashi says, eyebrows raising as excited hollering nearly blows out the phone's speaker. The screams last seconds too long, and he lowers the phone once he's realized the rest of the video's nothing but screaming. He slides the phone back to Kuroo. "I'm surprised he even made it." "Both of you have no faith in me!" Throwing his hands up, Bokuto slouches in the booth as far as humanly possible. "Of course I could get it! I'm thatskilled." "You missed the first nine times," Kuroo reminds, taking a long sip of his smoothie.   Bokuto stills. "Well, yeah, I was figuring it out! Warming up!" He flounders. "If Kuro didn't give you his money, you wouldn't've made it," Kenma says around his straw and Bokuto deflates even more until he's practically a popped balloon on top of the table. Not even glancing once at him, Akaashi scoots his plate of food away from Bokuto's slump, out of collateral damage, in an almost practiced manner. Kuroo leans back till his head touches the booth, laughing. The four of them are tucked at a table next to a window, which is luckily situated in the path of the air conditioner. Bokuto had rallied them all here despite the crummy heat, claiming that they had to meet up, he's got a plan. Kuroo's only slightly worried of what that plan might be, since the last 'plan' involved raiding Karasuno's gym during practice. (It was a general consensus that one was shot down before it took flight. He doesn't even want to think of the wrath Sawamura would deal upon them.) Kuroo glances at Akaashi, measuring his expression: there's no tell-tale furrow to his brow, no slight scowl... He's just steadily picking away at his fries, nodding as Bokuto laments. Okay. That's good. Knowing Bokuto, he's probably spilt his plan to Akaashi before hand, so seeing that Akaashi specifically does not look conflicted means it's not too wild of a plan. That, or he simply hasn't said anything to Akaashi yet. Yipes. "Sooo," Bokuto begins, grinning. He even does a drum roll on the table, to which Kenma straight up glares at and Akaashi looks like he does not associate with anyone at the table. "Let's go to the beach!" "The... beach," Kenma repeats, deadpan. Kuroo chokes on his sip and spends the next minute trying not to die. None of them even try to thump him on the back, more-less glance at him to make sure he's not dying. Bastards. "The beach!" Bokuto repeats, leaning in, his chest nearly flat against the table. His eyes glimmer with a near tangible excitement. "Let's find a couple of days where we can go! Or it can even be just a day trip where'd we leave in the morning and spend the whole day there! I already looked, and the train ride wouldn't be too horrible, and I know where some public beaches are!" Kuroo raises his eyebrows, surprised. "You've really done your research this time, huh, Bo." "You betcha! There's no better time then now! And— We gotta play beach volleyball! If it's us four, I'm pretty sure that's more than enough to play!" Instantaneously, Kenma's face twists up into a scowl. "I'm not going to play volleyball. I'm not." "Kenmaaa!" "I'm not." Slouching into his seat, Kenma looks as resolute as he possibly can, even with his bright pink drink clasped in his hands. "It's going to be exhausting. You'll want to play too many matches, too, and that on top of the sun sounds awful." He slouches further until his chin and mouth disappears under the neck of his hoodie. End of input. Just before Bokuto can badger him more, Akaashi cuts in. "He's right, though," Akaashi says neutrally. Purposefully pauses to eat a fry. "What kind of 'relaxing break' would it be if we're going to be playing volleyball? We'd be doing the same thing if we stayed here." "But it's on the beach!" "My point didn't change." Like he's been shot, Bokuto slumps against the table. Presses his cheek on the cool surface, pouty as hell. "Do you just not wanna go to the beach...? Is that it...?" he asks more to the table than to Akaashi. Akaashi flicks his eyes to Bokuto then back to his fries. "It's going to be packed. And hot. I'd rather go during autumn." "But that's the point," he whines. "The hot sands, the blazing sun, the hot babes..." Clicking his tongue distastefully, Kenma redirects his attention to his phone. "'Knew there was an ulterior motive." And he drops the conversation with that one simple move. Once again, Kuroo chokes on his drink. Fuck, he needs to stop doing that— "C'mon! I mean!" Bokuto rises up, slamming his hands on the table and nearly sends a fork flying. "We'd be showin' off our stuff while we play! There's gotta be someone who'd be impressed! Anyone who'd think we're cool!" "I don't think it's necessary to try and look cool, Bokuto-san." While he speaks, Akaashi reorganizes the scattered cutlery, his motions very obviously a distraction from making eye contact. Kuroo salutes him in his thoughts. Even the strongest may fall to Bokuto's puppy-eyed look. "Regardless. I'm not keen on heat stroke. There's no sanctuary in hot water that's packed with people. I'd probably wouldn't go even if you said we wouldn't play volleyball, it's just not the right season for it." "But..." Bokuto flounders. Actually droops. Poor dude looks like all of his dreams have been crushed right in front of his eyes and its crumbly remnants scattered to the wind. Right around now, Kuroo decides he's finally had his fill of letting Kenma and Akaashi rip into his silly plans, and pats Bokuto's knuckles. "It's alright, big guy," he says, not quite keeping the grin from his voice, "I'm down to go. When are ya free?" And, he sees Kenma briefly roll his eyes into oblivion, Akaashi wince and brace. By some miraculous force, Bokuto does not quite burst at the seams, but comes very close to. — [Bokuto 10:22 A.M.] TETSU COME OUT FRONT DOoR NOW !!! ! It takes him a couple minutes to actually read the message, still groggy. He's been awake for the better part of an hour, but he's been too lethargic, soaking in his sweaty bed. Blegh. Even with all the covers kicked off into a pile at the end of his bed, he's still sweating profusely. The little portable fan he's got set up on his side table is cranked to its highest setting, too! This is bullshit, he thinks, closing his eyes and breathing slow, if he thinks I'm gonna go outside in this heat, this early... It's a little foreboding, that message. A little suspicious. Bokuto has no limits, and that will not change today. Even if he were to ignore the message, it would not stop him. Bokuto Koutarou is a force to be reckoned with. So he rolls out of bed. Wriggling on a pair of pants blindly grabbed from the floor, he clunkily makes his way down the stairs. He supposes it's a little miracle his mother isn't around to experience whatever Bokuto's got in store, or to even tease him about how this is the earliest he's ever been up during the break. Then she'd invite Bokuto inside for breakfast, regardless of whatever's waiting outside the door for him. Christ, she might even invite disaster inside. Have it sit at the table and hand it a plate of eggs. When he steps into the foyer, he can hear no immediately horrendous noises coming from outside, which actually does narrow down the options of why in the hell he's been called out of his house. Still doesn't reduce the amount of disaster that may occur, but at least it probably won't bother the neighbors. He puts a little steel in his spine and opens the door. Something golden, small, and very fast darts towards his knees and the next thing he knows he is flat on his ass, completely plowed over by what he belatedly realizes is a dog. All the air's knocked outta his lungs and he doesn't even get the chance to recover, especially when there's suddenly dog tongue all over his face. "Shit!" He thinks he hears the gods laughing at him. Bastards. Somewhere behind his obscured view of dog, Bokuto peers over him, face pinched apologetically, "Sorry, Tetsu! She got really excited and tore herself from my grip..." There's a sharp tug and the dog is pried of the top of him, finally letting him breathe. Since Kuroo's chemical makeup is one-hundred percent asshole, instead of asking why do you have a dog since as of three seconds ago he was very sure Bokuto didn't own one, or even pulling himself up from his current sprawl on the floor first, he says, "Should you really be walking a dog if you can't even hold on to the leash?" Bokuto rocks back on his heels, a corgi squirming in his hands as it tries to lick his chin, gaping at Kuroo like he's been hit. "I'm a little hurt. Should I be hurt? Actually, yeah, I am. Y'know what, just for saying that, Petunia, get him." Without warning, he releases the dog. "Petunia—?" Kuroo doesn't even get time to be boggled. With the force of a canon ball, the corgi crashes head first into his stomach again, maybe bruising some of his ribs. His fate doesn't look too well, so he resigns to it and eases back onto the floor, letting the dog lick his cheeks and forehead to its hearts content. Halfheartedly he pushes the dog's face from his, staring up to the ceiling. "You... named your dog Petunia?" he asks. Petunia's ears perk up and she briefly pulls away, looking down to him as if waiting for a command. After a half second of nothing, she returns to her original plan of cleaning his face for him. From his peripheral he sees Bokuto move and resettle next to him, feels his knee pressing into his side. "I don't have a dog?" Kuroo looks pointedly at Petunia who is slobbering all over the front of his shirt. "OH!" Rather than helping him, Bokuto reaches out and gives Petunia a hearty rub on the head. Petunia licks his hand like a greeting. A fond look lingers in Bokuto's eyes and Kuroo tries not to ogle for too long. "Petunia's not my dog, she's my neighbors! Ya know the lil granny next door? She asked me to take care of her dog for a while since her son isn't around to do it, he's on a trip or something, and she's got bad knees 'n all..." "God, I was gonna say what kinda bullshit—" he throws an arm over his eyes, nudging Petunia away. Finally she seems to get the memo and bounds to over Bokuto. "There's no way you wouldn't name your dog something silly if given the chance," Kuroo says. Bokuto has the audacity to look mildly offended, opening his mouth to retaliate, and halts. Closes his mouth. Pouts. "Touché," squinting his eyes, Bokuto huffs. "I think Petunia is a fine name, thank you very much!" "Never said it wasn't," he counters, then pulls himself up. "Just not one I'd think you'd go for. Maybe something like Soup." Looking up in thought, Bokuto nods like he's seriously considering it. "Hmm! Soup! Not bad! I was gonna go for something like Chad, or..." "Chad?" "It's fun!" "I don't think I could ever look at your dog and not lose it if you named it Chad." Bokuto gasps dramatically. "How could you! It's a lovely name!" Leaning down, he bonks his forehead with Petunia's, getting almost face-to-face with her. Well. About as face-to-face he can get with such an antsy dog. "Petunia, don't you think it's a good name?" Petunia, such a darling, hops up and tries licking his nose. He laughs, though it'd probably be more correct to call it a giggle, scratching beneath the dog's jaw. "Yeah! I know! It's brilliant!" Although he could sit here for hours, just watching Bokuto mess with this little corgi, laugh softer but just as bright, they are currently just sitting in his doorway with the door open, the heat crawling in. He can hear the phantom voice of his mom scolding him, Tetsurou, what the fuck, close the goddamn door, do you even know how much of the heat is coming in? "I'm guessing you didn't just bring her here to show her off, right?" Kuroo says pointedly. Both of them look up at him, eyes all sparkly 'n shit. Dammit, he thinks, squinting, it's already enough of a bright morning. "I thought about just going on a jog and taking her along, and I was, actually!" Bokuto says, lolling his head back to look up at the ceiling. Kuroo takes the moment to actually glance at his clothes— shorts, his usual kneepads, loose shirt. There's a very slight sheen of sweat on his arms and neck. "Then I passed your house and thought, hey, why don't I get Tetsurou?" "You woke me up to go jogging with you?" "With me and Petunia!" he reiterates, lifting Petunia up slightly like he's presenting her. Her tail wags with the force of typhoon winds and audibly smacks against Bokuto's bicep. Now. He has two options. Option one: go with Bokuto and sweat his ass off outside. Option two: don't go with Bokuto, get his persistent, moping messages, and sweat his ass off inside. Both options are gross and sweaty. Obviously. Obviously. Kuroo literally has to keep himself from grinning too too wide, reaching over to prod at the fleshy part of Bokuto's side. "Ya convinced me. Lemme change first. Help yourself to the freezer if you want." Bokuto cheers and, by extension of excitement, Petunia howls with him. — The teenager with sugar-pink hair at the ice cream stand greets them by name. Almost even has their usual order ready for them by the time they step up. To change things up, Kuroo gets a fudge pop. Dunno why— maybe it's just a chocolate kind of day. Bokuto hmms and haas in contemplation for five minutes. Familiar with his antics, the sugar-pink teenager lets him take his time. A queue of children has formed behind him, but none of them are putting up a fit— some of them even give him their input. ("The sonic one tastes more like blueberries!", "Strawberry's my favorite! Get that one!!") In the end Bokuto still gets his usual absurdly bright popsicle, a fluorescent-neon blue so obscenely blue it absorbs all surrounding light, though he's mopey whenever he leaves the stand. "It's not like we don't come here all the time," Kuroo drawls, almost done with his by the time Bokuto comes shoulder-to-shoulder with him. He didn't think it was possible to be this put out by ice cream choices, but this may be the saddest he's seen Bokuto ever since his last funk in a volleyball match. "But... but..." Almost glumly, Bokuto pulls the wrapper off and takes a bite. Never has he looked so unenthusiastic about his electric-blue pop before. "I wanted to get Bubbles..." Kuroo points his fudge pop at him accusingly. "You just wanted to see how fucked up her face could get." "Well, yeah!" Shocked, like he's surprised Kuroo has the audacity to state the obvious. "They're always funny! The last one I got didn't even have eyes!" "I remember that, yeah." The poor Bubbles pop not only was missing the whites of her eyes, but her pigtails had ended up in her cheeks. He's not entirely sure why the two of them had found it so funny in the moment, but they sure as hell did. Both of them had nearly collapsed onto the pavement from how much they howled with laughter— he's pretty sure a couple of bystanders thought they were on drugs or dying. He grins fondly. "Besides, I always end up getting this one!" Bokuto whines, his teeth already turning blue, "I mean, I like this one, but the Bubbles has its own kinda vibe to it, y'know? The chaotic energy of the fuck-up that's doomed for it and the gumballs for eyes. Love that crunch." Kuroo grins, exasperated, the remnants of the popsicle stick between his teeth. "I have no clue what you're talking about, man." In no particular rush, they meander along the sidewalk. Beside them, the river glitters with the sun's reflection, only blinding Kuroo whenever Bokuto's accidentally a small step behind to block out the glare. They're at the riverside that's caught somewhere between both their homes, not too horrible a walk from either to be an inconvenience. Whenever they have time to hang, they come around here. "So!" Bokuto beams once he's made a significant dent in his popsicle, fist pumped up in the air. With a plop, a small chunk of his popsicle flings onto the pavement. The lack of reaction from him is either him not noticing or not letting it get to him. "The beach!" "The beach," Kuroo nods. "This Wednesday." "This Wednesday!" Bokuto crows, excitement exponentially growing with each passing second. "I finally got some air into my volleyball, so we can use it when we go!" Bokuto says. He pats his bag where there's a very obvious volleyball-sized bulge. Of course he brought it along with him. Of course. "Though, I think there's a specific kind of volleyball we're meant to use at the beach? Er... because it... floats? Doesn't hurt as much when you spike it?" "That's just a beach ball, y'know, the inflatable red-blue-yellow balls?" Kuroo motions with his hand although he's not exactly sure what he's trying to gesture. "Not really specific for beach volleyball. Some people use it. They're inflatable, though. We— well, you might accidentally pop it if we use one." Gasping, Bokuto swipes at him. "What! I would not!!" Kuroo raises his eyebrows. "You nearly popped a regular volleyball with your super-inner-deluxe-crosses. An inflatable one would be vanquished in a single hit from you, you volleyball beast. We'd probably be playing with people who aren't volleyball players, too— Imagine the collateral damage. I don't think I'm ready to see you actually shatter someone's arm," he says drily. Grimacing, Bokuto surprisingly does not counter his point. "See, if Akaashi and Kenma were to come, we wouldn't have to worry..." he murmurs through the side of his mouth. Not quite bitter. Maybe edging on bitter. Maybe he's a little bit more hurt by their immediate refusal of the plan that Kuroo initially thought. "Nah, I think it might be for the better," Kuroo says flippantly. Cocking an eyebrow, Bokuto just gives him a look. "Well. Yeah, I mean, them not coming means we have no setters or braincells with us, but that means we have all the more freedom to do whatever we want," he points out, like he's revealing a hidden secret. "Also. Even if Kenma came with us, he woulda stayed underneath an umbrella the whole time, playin' on his gameboy. Completely invalidates the reason of going to the beach." Humming considerately, with his chin between his thumb and finger, Bokuto actually perks up, dawning on the possibilities. "Yer right. 'Kaashi's too nice, so he would keep Kenma company, so then regardless..." "Bingo," grinning, Kuroo pats him heavily on the shoulder. "So now that they're not coming— we literally have nothing stopping us!" "Do you think we can rent surfboards?" Honest to god, Bokuto twinkles he's so damn excited with the idea. "I've never surfed before! We could go surfing!" Kuroo has to bite down very hard on his tongue to keep from immediately saying let's do it. "I mean. Just because our residential braincells won't be there doesn't mean we should go do wacky shit that may end up with one of us drowned. 'Kaashi would skin me." "What are ya talkin' about? We can totally get someone to teach us!" "I think it just might be better to test the waters, yeah?" A little overwhelmed by the enthusiasm, Kuroo backtracks. "Next time we go to the beach we can surf. First we gotta make sure we can make it without a disaster playing volleyball there. Or accidentally wiping out some old grandma if the wind fucks with us whenever we're playing." Which reminds him— "Ah, shit. Wait a fuckin'—" Kuroo nearly drops both his phone with how quickly he pulls it from his pocket. Currently occupied with a bite of ice, Bokuto just peers curiously at him. He scrolls through the calendar he's got on his phone almost desperately, spotting Wednesday and the date— "Shit. I can't make it this week," he mutters, a scowl pulling at his face. Scratches at his cheek to keep it from cutting too deep. Dammit, how the hell did he forget? "My gram's birthday is this Tuesday. Ma's been designated as party host, and..." He cranes his head back and groans at the sky. "Fucking hell. My whole extended family's gonna be here for like, three days! I can't believe I forgot." "You forgot your grandma's birthday?" Bokuto says, scandalized. Even covers his mouth in a shocked gasp, like he's some horrified maiden from the eighteenth century hearing something uncouth. Dramatic asshole. "What a horrible grandson!" "Hey, I don't want to hear anything, you barely remember your own," Kuroo snipes back, punctuating with the popsicle stick. Bokuto shrugs, beaming. Not a damn care in the world. "I always have you to remember for me, anyways! I at least remember my granny's. Unlike someone here..." Kuroo snorts. "Bastard," he says, elbowing Bokuto, which consequently nearly sends the popsicle flying from his hands. "I wish I could just bail, but I know my mom would give me shit for the next decade if I did." Eyebrows shooting up, Bokuto smacks his arm both, maybe in retaliation, maybe not. Maybe he's shocked? "Dude! Our beach trip isn't that important, you shouldn't skip out on family just to hang with me! Your mom'll give me shit, too, if I let you come along!" "I see your true motive, you bastard. You just want my mom to like you enough to let you steal shit from our fridge," he accuses. Bokuto has the gall to not look ashamed of being found out. "Anyways, you're a helluva lot more fun to be around, y'know?" Kuroo continues, tipping his head back, back until he can't go further. He feels a little bare, talking like this. About this. "You don't ask me about the college I'm gonna go to or how I'm still single. Is that just an old person thing? To snoop in my life?" Gnawing on the popsicle stick, he shoves his phone back into his pocket begrudgingly. "Plus, you wanted to go this week. You've already gotten everything ready, right? We shouldn't have to push it off because I forgot about a family reunion." "Wuh?" Bokuto only looks slightly perplexed. He bites down on his popsicle in thought. "If we can't do it this week, we can just do it next, right?" He says around his bite, like it's the most obvious thing in the whole universe, the only possible answer. A bead of melted popsicle runs down the wooden stick, spilling across Bokuto's fingers. He awkwardly gurgles, unmelted ice still in his mouth, and he tries his best to lick the trail and proceeds to knock himself in the forehead with the ice pop. It's. Endearing, maybe, if not completely embarrassing to watch. Ahh, Kuroo thinks and averts his eyes. His neck is warm under the sun. "Alright, then," Kuroo says, rubbing at the back of his neck, "Same time next week? I swear I won't get wrapped up in anything." The grin Bokuto has rivals the sun above them. "I'm holding you to that! You're gonna buy me a Bubbles pop if you skip out!!" — "Man, is the AC even on?" Yamamoto knocks his head against the wall after collapsing against it. There's a pause as he inhales half his waterbottle. "I'm. I'm melting." "It's on," Shibayama says though he doesn't sound all too convinced, even though he's planted directly in front of the airflow. He and Inuoka look like they'd like to crawl into the AC unit since maybe that would be cooler. Kenma lays nearby, almost dead. "It sure doesn't feel like it's on," Kenma says into the floor. Kuroo reaches down and pulls on the back of his shirt. The noise of his shirt peeling off his back is, quite frankly, really gross. "C'mon— get up, you're gonna become a puddle there." "I might." "No, you're not," Yaku swoops in, forcing a water bottle into his hands. When Kenma doesn't move immediately Yaku threatens, "I'm not going to force you to drink if you don't move, but I'm going to force you to drink if you don't move." Immediately Kenma moves. "Don't." "Can we end practice early?" Lev cries from his place sprawled out on the floor. Fumbling with his water bottle, Kuroo watches as Haiba Lev, residential skyscraper and airhead of Nekoma, tips the bottle back and accidentally waterboards himself. Kuroo presses his mouth into a thin line, trying to keep his expression unchanging. From beside him, Yaku's turned away, shoulders shaking. Kuroo glances towards the clock. It's not too far into practice, maybe forty minutes. Usually by this type they're all raring to go, just getting started into their groove, but as he looks around, there's unmistakable sheen of sweat already layered on the floorboards and everyone's moving so sluggishly. Even at training camp they're not this exhausted, not even on the final days. "If you don't mind going home in this heat right now, I can talk to coach about it," he offers. Lev's face twists like he's tasting something nasty. "Neither sound good," Lev says hoarsely, using his shirt as a rag to wipe off his face. His face is just as damp as it was before when he pulls his shirt away. He groans. "I can't even wipe off my face! My shirt's already too sweaty to even absorb it! I think my face just got more wet..." Yaku's eyebrows raise like he cannot even fathom. "So you just smeared all of your sweat onto your face?" "That's fucking gross, dude," Yamamoto laughs, more amused than disgusted. "It's just sweat! It's natural!" Lev screeches, growing embarrassed, flushing even more under his skin. "I was already sweating on my face!" Teshiro, an angel, gives Lev a towel to save himself. As Lev scrubs at his face, Teshiro looks towards Kuroo, curious. "Would it even be wise to end practice today? It's meant to get hotter this week, then we'll have to practice in that since we'd've stopped this one." "Hotter?" Lev blurts, jerking the towel from his face to gape. Even though he just toweled off his face, the sweat just reappears. "It's already hotter than the sun! It can't get hotter than this!" "That's what a heatwave does, dumbass," Yaku grumbles. "Are you even from Tokyo? It's like this every summer." He nudges Lev's thigh not unkindly, but sharp enough to get him moving. "C'mon, nothing gets to ya, but some shitty weather does?" Although hesitantly, Kuroo calls for break. No one audibly protests, but he sees it in the dragging of feet, the slant of shoulders. At least they're good sports about it. Except for Lev. He'll have to check with Nekomata about calling practice over early today. — If he were an asshole, he could say 'I told you so!' and point and laugh. But he's not an asshole. He's nice. So he says: "Dude, you look like a cherry." Bokuto shoots him what's possibly the sharpest frown he's ever seen on him. It should be threatening since Bokuto has never given him such a stink eye, but the skin on his face is bright pink and there is no way on the planet he can take him seriously like this. The smile that threatens to split across his face almost slips by him, so he has to press a hand to his mouth to keep it from growing. Though he can try, there's no way he can keep the amusement from the tail of his words. "How in the hell did this happen?" Parked on a stool in the bathroom, Bokuto fidgets with his shirt in his hands, borderline embarrassed. His back is open for the viewing, the tanned expanse of it abruptly changing to an angry pink in clean lines at each of his shoulders and a wide scoop on his nape, along with a small gradation on the small of his back from where his shirt probably rode up. With how the sunburn's nearly glowing it's so bright, he's surprised it isn't audibly sizzling. "That's the thing," Bokuto rocks back in his seat, miserable, "I didn't even do anything! Well, not on purpose, but..." he flings his hands up in exasperation, nearly tossing the shirt with the motion. "I was just playin' with some of the kids next door, since their dad had to go get food for dinner— I wasn't even out there that long!" "So, due to the kindness in your heart, you've... fried, for a lack of better words," Kuroo snorts. There's no other word to describe the way his skin is radiating heat. If he was out there for any longer, Kuroo's worried his skin would have started blistering and boiling. Unsurprisingly, the heatwave's been unyielding. Bokuto blinks. Gasps with his whole chest. "Oh god, I hope they didn't get as burned as I did—! It was so fucking hot earlier—" He straightens up and for a second Kuroo's pretty sure he's going to leap to his feet and sprint to their house, just to make sure they're alright, up in arms with bottles and bottles of aloe vera. "They probably didn't," he quickly intercedes, almost reaching out for Bokuto's shoulders to guide him back to the stool but deflects his motion last second. There's no place on his shoulders that's not burnt, and he's not physically or mentally prepared to face the reaction if he were to even touch the sensitive burns. Unaware of his brief dilemma, Bokuto peers up to him, puppy-eyed, unsure, jittery. Kuroo sighs through his nose. "They probably didn't burn. Since... well, I'm assuming you went out to get the mail or something and the dad roped you into watching them while he went out, right?" "Right!" he nods enthusiastically. "So they were probably already planning to play outside," he points out, "hence, they probably had sunscreen on already. Unlike you, who didn't plan on staying out there aside from getting the mail." Bokuto ahhs in understanding, settling back into his seat. "Makes sense!" He leans back, back until he touches the cool wall behind him. A wince scrunches up his face but he relaxes once the initial pain of the sunburn fades from the chill. "I just wasn't expecting to scorch like I did. I've been outside for longer and never got burned! I really did get screwed over today, huh! Does a heatwave also mean that UV rays get stronger?" "Maybe," Kuroo shrugs solemnly. He himself feels the heat of a sunburn growing on the back of his neck, tips of his ears— he was outside for, how long? A couple of minutes to the station, then couple to walk here? It's probably an actual miracle Bokuto didn't straight up get sun poisoning. He enters the bathroom a little more, resting against the counter with his arms crossed. "So. You didn't just call me over just so I could laugh at you, right?" A pout pulls at his face. It's more of a subdued pout— probably because it hurts to be expressionate with burns that bad. He looks very sheepish for a moment, and Kuroo honestly cannot tell if his face just got pinker or not. He moves to rub his neck and immediately pulls away once he touches it, making a face. "I... I needed someone to put the aloe stuff on the spots I can't reach..." The acoustics of the bathroom amplifies Kuroo's laughter to a deafening note. He doesn't mean to laugh this hard, he swears, but it's just so— so cute of him. "You—" he wipes under his eye, getting dangerously close to straight up giggling. Bokuto's coiled up like a spring, pouting, embarrassed. "—couldn't you get your mom to help you? or your dad?" "It's! It's embarrassing!" he whines, throwing his shirt at Kuroo's face. "And besides, they're out for the day! And I mean—!!" "Why not Akaashi? He lives closer than I do!" "I didn't want to bother him!" "So you wanted to bother me?" He guesses Bokuto doesn't catch the amused lilt in his voice because guilt flashes across his face. The tension bleeds from him until he's slouching. "'Kaashi woulda lectured me on being more cautious," he slumps against his knees, staring at the tiles on the floor, "I knew you woulda just laughed and, like, told me to be careful, but I wouldn't feel as ridiculous as I would've felt if it were Akaashi..." Abruptly, he straightens up. "Not that I don't appreciate his fretting! I know it's kinda weird, so, I, uh..." Ahh. He gets that. He wonders if Kenma feels like that whenever he scolds him for staying up late and playing video games. Then again, Kenma's not a soft-hearted beefcake— he honestly probably doesn't give a shit about what Kuroo says, seeing that he still does it. Kuroo just waves off the worry. "Nah, I get it. It's a little less embarrassing since the worst I'll do is poke fun at you. Where's the Banana Boat stuff?" "Under the sink," Bokuto says automatically, then freezes. And, like a dawning sun, his expression brightens. "Bro...?" Kuroo's knees crack when he crouches down to the sink cabinets. Deep in the corner, past an unfathomable stock of hair gel, is the soothing lotion. "I'm already here, so I might as well," he shrugs, grin growing alongside Bokuto's. (As if. Even if Bokuto was forthright whenever he messaged him under the guise of 'tetsu pls its URGENT', he'd still come over and help.) (Whipped.) "Tetsuuu," he cries, reaching out like he wants to tackle him in a hug but physically cannot. "You're an absolute lifesaver, man! I can do my arms just fine, I just can't reach my back..." "I mean, it's just the nape of your neck. A little below it. You can't reach that?" Kuroo asks, stepping around Bokuto and taking a seat on the tub's edge. In a near habitual motion, like they've done this before, Bokuto immediately leans back and slots right between Kuroo's knees. He pointedly does not think anything of it, not at all, and chalks it up as it's easier for me to reach this way. He does not think about how warm Bokuto's skin is, even if it's not the sunburnt parts. Not even about how Bokuto tips his head back, nearly knocking the crown of his head into Kuroo's nose, how the smile curves his eyes from this angle. Not at all. Nope. Shirking, Bokuto shakes his head, the motion pulling Kuroo from inside his head. "My shoulders are tender since, y'know, they're crispy." To show, he raises his arm as high as it can go without making him strain— which, understandably, isn't very high. Maybe high enough to pluck something off a low hanging shelf. "And I'm not flexible at all! Even if I was able to move my arms more, I don't think I can reach it? I don't... really know how far it goes down, I can't really see it. And I can't really feel it out..." "It starts riiiight here." Kuroo presses the pad of his finger shy of where the pink starts, right above where his shoulder blades meet. Immediately he feels and sees every part of Bokuto tense up, ridged. It startles a laugh from him and he retracts his finger, and like an off switch, Bokuto slumps back down. "Dude," Bokuto laughs with his belly, the sound taking up the entire space of the room. He misses by a wide berth when he swings around to smack him. "You gotta gimme some kinda warning! That scared the shit outta me!" The muscles in his back dance as he straightens up, rolling his shoulders, and, frankly, it's a little distracting. Kuroo takes to looking at the soft hair curling at his nape instead. Which doesn't help. Shit. "Well, this is rather intimate," he says right over his inner turmoil because he is a man of composure, he cannot, will not, let this be where he loses it. "Ya sure you're not squeamish enough for me to do this?" Bracing, Bokuto says, "I'm ready for whatever you've got for me!" "Then I'll be sure to slather you up," he says lowly, squirting the aloe into his palm. The pump sputters, making a weird goopy noise, and his whole ambience of being even slightly risqué is ruined instantly. Whole bodied, Bokuto shivers. Laugh reaching squeaky, he twists around, planting a palm on Kuroo's face and shoving. "Dude. I'm literally a french fry right now. A fuckin' hush-puppy! No innuendos, please, it really hurts to smile like this! Keep it tame!!" Kuroo's nearly too entranced by the pitch of the laugh that he forgets himself and nearly flips backwards into the tub. "What! That's what I do best, though!" "Banana Boat just isn't sexy enough, Tetsu!" "Yeah, yeah, sure," he says, and without warning, smears the lotion across Bokuto's neck. Bokuto shrieks. "I said warn me!!" "Oops." — "I could kill you," Kenma grumbles, impatiently tucking his hair behind his ears. It slides right back out from behind his ear, damp with sweat. The entirety of him sags, like he's about to melt into a puddle on the pavement. "I could really kill you right now." It's easy to pretend he doesn't see the smoldering glare he's being given. He's dealt with it for... how many years now? Shrugging it off is just as easy as swiping a bug off his skin. "The gym has air conditioning. C'mon, we're already halfway there." He specifically does not say anything about how both of them and every person under the sun knows the gym's AC is shitty at best. And at least twelve teenage boys crammed in front of it? It can't even be called cooling at that point. Kenma huffs. He shifts his gym bag in a restless motion, pulling at his shirt. "Why are we practicing in this hell weather," he grumbles, "I'm already exhausted. I want to go home." "We've been let off the hook a whole lot recently— we gotta at least actually get some practice in instead of just calling it a day after warm ups." "No." "Yes, we have to." "No," he gripes. His hands flutter around again, pushing back his hair, readjusting his bag, fanning with his shirt. "We are going to be perfectly fine if we miss out on practice because of a heatwave. There's no matches in forever. We can practice when it's not hotter than satan's ass outside." "Sure, but then we'll have missed out chances to level up. You want to go against Hinata at your best, don't you?" From his peripheral, he sees Kenma straighten up. He grins. Hook, line, sinker. Kenma scrunches his nose and swings a hand at Kuroo's gut. "I hate you." "Do not." "I'm not doing this. I do. I'm about to die in my own sweat and other teenage boys sweat and it's going to suck. I could be at home right now. I'm out here, going to die in this shitty heatwave, because of you." "It's just sweat. You're already sweaty," Kuroo points out, "so it's just sweat on top of sweat." "And? you think I want to get even more sweaty? Bold of you," Kenma seethes, shoving the gym doors open with more force than necessary.   Entering the gym feels like entering a goddamn sauna, and practice hasn't even started yet. Kuroo mourns in advanced. He's glad this is one of the practices they do without Nekomata around— he's not sure if it'd be alright for the old man to move in this temperature. "Ah, Kenma!" Lev cries from inside the locker room, somehow still excitable in this oven of a gym. "Don't come near me," Kenma seethes before disappearing behind the locker room doors. Kuroo tilts his head back. Breathes in deeply. This is going to fucking suck. Twenty minutes into practice they've had four breaks. The breaks so far have consisted of refilling and refilling their bottles they've been drained so fast. Also a lot of laying around. Sweaty imprints are spotted across the floorboards from where they've laid. They're almost like chalk outlines for bodies. The analogy feels a little morbid. Frankly, at this rate, they'll have laid around more than done any substantial practice. He thought that the AC coulda helped somewhat in the slightest— he probably should have known it's practically useless after it reaches a certain temperature outside. On the fifth break, Lev loses it. "Wait, wait, wait," Lev whines, clutching the spout with a desperation, "I thought global warming would get us all in thirty years! Why is it happening now?! Heatwaves just aren't like this!!" "Move, you big idiot," Yaku grits, giving Lev a hard shove that doesn't result in much, seeing how Lev is quite literally wrapped around the spout. There's a real chance of bodily harm that Lev does not seem to realize yet. "It's just a heatwave, dumbass. There's no way its global warming— imagine the kinda crap we woulda have to have done to cut the expectancy by thirty, to make the temperatures that bad." Lev shoves back. Why is he putting up a fight. Why did he think it was okay to wrap himself around the spigot, Kuroo wonders, briefly considering using his power as captain to get him the fuck off. He wants his damn water. He's going to become horrifically dehydrated from sweating, standing right here. "Its not that hard to believe! Seeing what corporations can do, if they all just said screw it, the ozone layer could be gone in a snap! The greenhouse effect could go into tenfold with their word!" Kai swoops in to refill his bottle when Yaku solidly plants his foot on Lev's gut, which, surprisingly, unsurprisingly, leads to a scuffle. "It's only this prefecture," Kai cuts into Lev's hysteria, sounding not in the least worried, though he's sweat covered and already going for another refill he just drank all of it so fast. What a saint. "I have relatives in Hyougo and they've said it's not like this there." "But that's also Hyougo, which is, like, far away!" "Very eloquent of you, Lev." "Why here?" Finally, Lev peels away from the faucet, falling away with Yaku's foot in his gut. He flops straight back onto the pavement and nearly gets trampled now that the water's free again. "Ow—! How— how could global warming just get concentrated in one area? That doesn't make sense!" "It's not global warming," Kenma says absently. There's a flurry of emoticons on his phone screen that can only come from one Hinata Shouyo. He shoves the device into his pocket once he notices the cheeky curve of Kuroo's eyes. "It's kind of like a monsoon that's just moving slow. But instead of rain, it's heat." "But what coulda even made this kind of thing happen? I've never heard of anything like that," Inuoka wonders aloud. The absolute god-send, he helps Lev from the ground where he probably would've stayed. "Supernatural," Fukunaga pops in sagely, wiggling his fingers in his strange emphasis. Lev and Inuoka collectively scrunch their faces up, unbelieving. Kenma shrugs. "At this rate it doesn't seem that far-fetched." "It's just a test of willpower, ain't it?" Taketora says, squirting the water from his bottle with such force it actually makes him choke when it hits a certain spot in the back of his throat. From beside him, Kenma makes such a face at the word willpower and the gurgling. "The more resilient we are in this kind of heat, the better we'll be in matches, right?" Smiling politely but with an exasperation around the edges, Kai says, "I'm not sure what kind of conditioning this would even be. I doubt we'll have any matches in this kind of heat." Because he's so nice and also the captain, he lets everyone else on the team refill their waters first. Finally, finally, he can refill his. Kuroo feels a century-old weariness when he finally takes an endless gulp. "Let's just call it off for today," he decides. —

"—clocking in at 39 degrees, it's officially the hottest day in Tokyo this summer! There's a sparing amount of clouds out today, but don't rely on them for cover. Take precaution going outside today, drink plenty of water—"

Pulling at the neck of his shirt, Kuroo tries to lend his ear more, but the broadcast's cutting out. Behind the counter the store attendant curses, flicking at the radio which looks a little too archaic to even been working in the first place. It reaches static before the spokesperson's voice becomes somewhat comprehensible again, the tinniness of the radio nearly drowning out every word.

From somewhere deeper in the store he can hear Bokuto still humming about which drink to choose. They took a pitstop here both because they were thirsty and because they may just have turned to mush if they stayed outside any longer. The broadcaster sounds a little too chipper about the damn heat than she needs to be.

Asshole. She's probably in some lovely air-conditioned building, unbothered by this bullshit. He's out here in this crummy store with the only form of relief coming from a rickety fan on the counter.

Ugh. Uuughhh.

Something very, very cold touches his neck. The noise he lets out is too high pitched, something he would love to say didn't come from him, but sadly, unfortunately, it does. Whirling around, he snatches the bottle from Bokuto's hands, who's face is so scrunched up to keep from laughing it's practically a raisin.

"Ha-ha, very funny," Kuroo says blandly, jabbing at Bokuto's side with the bottle. Bokuto screeches.

"You jumped! You actually jumped!" He's laughing too hard to even try and fight back. Each jab he gets to the side he shrieks at, folding in more on himself until he's basically crouched over. Kuroo decides to spare him for a moment to let him breathe. "You jumped, like, two feet in the air! Like a cat!" Comically, Bokuto gasps even louder. Unfolds like a dry sponge getting a splash of water. "Like a CAT! DUDE—"

"Don't say it."

"NEKOMA—"

Kuroo smothers Bokuto before his volume can amp up even more. "Understood, you've made this joke a billion times, alma mater cats, I'm basically a cat, yeah, yeah," he mocks. Bokuto's eyes crease up and he's laughing again, against Kuroo's hand, which is a weird feeling, so he peels it off before it gets weirder. "I can't believe you still find those kind of jokes funny. Bird brain."

"Excuse you, but owls are the smartest creature out there!" Bokuto puffs up like he's personally proud of it.

"They're literally not." Kuroo pokes his tongue out at the abashed gasp. "Crows have you beat. Even pigeons are smarter than owls."

The look of pure hurt on his face is hysterical. He actually goes through a facial adventure, which touches upon rage, grief, confusion, betrayal— before he just mutters: "Fuckin' Karasuno..."

Snorting hard enough it hurts, Kuroo puts a hand on Bokuto's shoulder to steer him out of the store. The second they step out, it's like walking into a different world, a different universe. He might be imagining it, but Kuroo feels the sweat immediately grow on his spine and soak through his shirt. Gross. Bokuto grumbles something deep. Wipes the sweat from under his eyes. They power on.

Maybe three minutes out in the heat and all energy they had earlier has sapped out of them and dissipated into the atmosphere. He thinks he saw it go with the heat coming from the pavement.

He is basically half his height he is sagging from the heat so much. Each step he takes the more he wilts. Perhaps not all that strangely, he can relate to the foliage they're passing, a grim shade of brown instead of their usual green. He, too, feels like he's withering at the edges. Overheating, dehydrated, about to set ablaze from the sun rays. In the false kinship he feels in the moment, he briefly considers sharing some water with the plants. Then he realizes that's stupid. Ridiculously stupid. There is not enough for both him and every single willowing plant out here.

"It's hot," Bokuto says, tone flat for once. When Kuroo glances over, his face is so scrunched up in a grimace so intensely Kuroo's momentarily scared it won't come off his face. "It's hot."

"Bo, if you keep talking about it, you'll only be more aware of it," Kuroo grits, lacking bite. The water bottle's already losing its blissfully cold condensation. He presses it to the back of his neck anyway— anything feels like a blessing against the sun.

"Te-tsu-rou!" Bokuto bursts, gesturing wildly, almost knocking Kuroo's elbow. It's a miracle he can even move this animatedly in this hellish beatdown. "I'm sweating my entire weight, man! I can feel the sweat between my toes! It might be pooling in my shoe—"

Grimacing, Kuroo presses the water bottle to the side of his face. The chill of the bottle seeps into his skin, an immediate comfort. He rolls it up his cheek, trying to sap out every degree of chilliness. Beads of condensation run down his face and he can feel it evaporating right off of his skin. "Wanna try camping out in a konbini until it gets cooler?"

"Nah, man, we're already so close to your place," Bokuto says, though he looks like he'd rather do nothing but exactly that. What an absolute trooper. "It's only gonna get hotter the longer we wait, right? Unless we stay till night, which like, defeats the whole purpose."

Kuroo, however, is not as strong willed as Bokuto. If he wasn't here, Kuroo would stop at every damn store to keep from being outside for longer than thirty seconds. But he is here. So he resigns himself to Bokuto's reasoning.

It is going to be a long walk.

Almost twenty-five minutes later and six stops for breathers along the way, they spill into his house, practically falling over each other once the door gives way. Near immediately Bokuto slings his bag onto the floor, punts his shoes off, but hesitates when he grabs the hem of his shirt. "Is your mom home?" he asks meekly.

Kuroo makes a face at his shoelaces, boggled. "What? I don't think she is."

"Cool." And in one fluid motion, his shirt comes flying off. He lets out a long yell that audibly comes from deep within his gut. "Aaaaugh! It's HOOOT!" Dragging his feet and his shirt, Bokuto moves sluggishly further into the house, specifically towards the kitchen. There's a loud thump and then what sounds like a body slumping onto the floor. Then a long wail. Slowly, it tapers, until it is no more.

Peering around the corner Kuroo finds that Bokuto had clipped his hip on the kitchen counter and unfortunately has passed away. He nudges the body with his foot when he passes. The body stiffens. "You alright there?"

With his face squished against the floor it's a little impossible to truly understand what is said, but Bokuto probably says: "I think this floor might be the best thing I've ever felt."

Snorting, he jabs his foot into Bokuto's side just to be an asshole. Tugging open the fridge door, he almost collapses against it, more than willing to just sit here and soak the chill in. He allows himself to be selfish for four seconds. Four seconds seem so, so short, but if he allows any more than that, he may not move away, so he quickly acquires a cold bottle of water.

"Holy fuck." Suddenly Bokuto's voice sounds a helluva lot clearer. He's peeled himself from the floor, now resting on his forearms, eyes pinpointed on the fridge like he's a predator locked on prey. "That feels fucking awesome."

"What, the breeze?" Kuroo jokes. Moves to close the fridge door.

Almost like a crazed animal, Bokuto scuttles— there just ain't another word to describe it— across the floor, planting himself directly in front of the fridges contents to purposefully prevent the door from being closed. Immediately, he sags, sighing, blissful.

A little befuddled, Kuroo laughs, bubbling. Bokuto's entire thigh is resting on his foot. "Dude?"

Bokuto simply reaches over and pats the spot next to him.

Kuroo's a simple man. Really. He allows himself a delegated amount of time to be selfish to be polite, to not be greedy. But this is an invite. So he goes. Sinking to his ass, he scoots closer and closer till his shoulder aligns beside Bokuto's and the edge of the door.

They probably look like idiots. They most definitely look like idiots. Both of them are sitting in front of the fridge's open door like they're starving, but instead of food, its the sweet bliss of chilly air. Sitting too close to each other to be even slightly comfortable, especially with how sweaty they are, but it's physically impossible to move from the sweet, sweet cold air.

Bokuto's right, though. It feels fucking awesome.

"My mom will kill us if we keep doing this," Kuroo says airly. Simply saying it to say it. With no conviction he grabs the door handle as if to close it, but with both of their bodies in the way, it doesn't go further than pressing into his own thigh. He slumps against it instead.

Bokuto hums. He looks one step away from crawling straight into the fridge, the shelves and food be damned. Anything to lower his body temperature.

Neither of them move.

As much as Kuroo himself would love to stay here, now that he's actually mentioned his mother he's very aware that she will commit murder if she sees this. It takes nearly all of his perseverance to roll out of the fridge's way, now slumping against it so it would close. Unmoving, Bokuto only grunts when it hits him. Kuroo leans harder. No budge.

"Bro."

"Dude."

Kuroo presses his cheek against the door edge. It's blissfully cold. The sunburn on his cheeks feels like it's healing right up. "C'mon. You gotta move. I do not have the power to stop my mom."

Every single muscle in Bokuto's arms and back visibly tense up. It's been a track record recently, how much he's seen Bokuto shirtless. What, is he becoming the new Karasuno's Number 5? Allergic-to-wearing-shirts? "I can't. It's too nice," he near whispers, strained, like he's caught between a horrible detrimental decision of life and death.

Unyielding, Kuroo puts the rest of his weight on the door. The vegetable compartment digs into Bokuto's side. "Just close me in the fridge," Bokuto begs, sagging forwards.

"No can do," he says. If it were an option he'd do it himself, but if his gangly limbs won't fit, Bokuto's beefy ones sure as hell won't. He puts his hands on Bokuto's shoulders and pushes. With minimum force, he falls right over.

"Auuugh, Tetsuuu!" he anguishes. Squirms like he's fight back to stop him, but is simply shoved out of the way. Like he's damming off the river of life, Kuroo closes the fridge door. Bokuto's very close to crying.

Heat lays heavy once the fridge air is used up. Bokuto has not moved, staring so longingly at the fridge. Not even blinking whenever Kuroo nudges him.

It is not looking good for their beach trip. The thought pulls at his guts, pulling them down to his feet. If such a short walk stretched into twenty-five minutes, he's got no clue how long it'll take for them to get to the station. And once they're there—

Thinking about the train cars makes him feel a certain kind of dread. He nearly didn't make it outside for ten minutes. To be in a metal death trap with tons of other people, for maybe two hours... they'd emerge as goo. Could they even make it to the next station without completely melting into the seats? The station might even be shut down. He hasn't even checked.

But it's just Tokyo, too— It's literally perfect at the beaches outside of Tokyo. Lovely temperatures, breezy days. Once they're outside of Tokyo, it's paradise.

Getting there's half the story.

"We're probably gonna have to raincheck for tomorrow, Bo," Kuroo says, knocking his head against the wall. Slouching, he inches down the wall, probably leaving a trail of sweat. Kinda disgusting. He honestly doesn't do anything to keep himself upright. Doesn't feel like he should.

For the second time, he's pushing this trip off, even though he knows how much Bokuto's prepared for it. Hell, he even went ahead and bought beach towels. (They were animal themed, too. Cats and Owls. They were so cute, Kuroo literally felt his heart squeeze when Bokuto showed him.)

Something doesn't quite wilt about Bokuto, but he slackens, sloping. "Okay," he says simply, pouting, and that's it. Kuroo waits for the refutal, the 'it's not thaaat bad outside!', the 'we can power through it!' He waits. Waits.

There is none.

Kuroo's stomach flips strangely, a weird dread in his gut, so he pulls himself upright to quell it.

"Hey," he says, quickly thinking of something, anything, to get that look off of Bokuto's face. With a curious expression, Bokuto rests his cheek atop his knee, waiting patiently. It's very cute of him. Kuroo distinctly pushes that thought aside and grins instead. "How does a water balloon fight sound to you?"

—

Practice is cancelled. Kuroo thanks every god under the sun. Someone would have died from practice if it were to happen— it'd probably be Lev, from either because he's got the heat tolerance of an ice cube or from Yaku's rage. Who knows.

However, during the time he would've been at practice, he finds he has absolutely nothing to do.

At this rate he might just fuse into the couch. His skin's already sticking, so it might as well just blend together. He can't practice volleyball, he might roast if he does it outside or break shit if he does it inside. The TV has nothing interesting on. He doesn't have school work he needs to catch up on. What is he even meant to do?

Audibly his skin tears from the couch when he rolls off. It doesn't hurt, but christ, the noise— he winces. In a haze, he moves to the kitchen, now hungry since he has nothing else to do.

When he opens the fridge with a grand swing, it's sad how hard it is to not crawl it. The popsicle box in the freezer is pathetically empty. Cursing the past him for leaving the fucking empty box like some kind of asshole, getting his hopes up, motherfucker, he plucks it from the shelf and chucks in the trash. After he's relished in the ice crystals on it, of course.

He rests his forehead against the fridge door.

Ahh. He wants some watermelon.

One-hundred percent on a whim, he goes to the store.

(It might not have been his smartest idea, bogged by exhaustion and heat, but he makes it. Somehow.)

"Welcome," the cashier calls from somewhere in the store. Politely she does not say a thing when he takes a whole ten minutes just standing at the freezer section to cool down. She also does not say a thing about how he should definitely not be outside at the height of day.

It's dead silent aside from the whirring of the plug-in fan at the counter and the cicadas outside. No one else is out and about. Usually, he can hear the chatter of the road outside, the screeches of children playing by the river. It's quiet. A damn ghost town outside. Is he in the Matrix? He's in the Matrix.

Maybe the heat's finally turning his brain to goo. He stands in front of the watermelon section for seven minutes before he realizes he's not actually in front of the watermelons, they're broccoli. He shuffles further down. Ah. There they are. Visibly there's no damn difference between the watermelons, but he still stands there and just looks at them, eying the textures. He gets a whole watermelon.

"Everything alright, Tetsurou-kun?"

He honest to god jumps, three inches off the ground and heart almost outta his throat. The watermelon in his hands literally shoots into the air and he scrambles to catch it. It's embarrassingly hard for him to catch it again. Volleyball player, who?

(Distantly, somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears a snort and a 'just like a cat!')

"Oh my, I didn't mean to scare you that bad!" Patting him heavy on the arm, it's the store clerk lady, portly and friendly. He did not realize he already made it to the counter. Jesus, he needs to clear his head. She seems more amused than worried about his whole struggle. "You feelin' alright?"

"Ah, yeah, don't worry about it, I'm just," he lets his eye wander, absently trying to fish for the right word, "out of it. The heat's getting to me, I think." Is he dehydrated? Aw, fuck. He's probably dehydrated, edging on delirious. Isn't this exactly why there's warning about going outside.

Humming, she says, "Go grab a water bottle, Tetsurou-kun, it's on me." It's the Adult Voice that leaves No Room for Refusal. Dutifully he grabs a water bottle from the freezer. She gives him a Stare until he realizes he should actually drink it in front of her. "I haven't see you here without Koutarou-kun in ages," the lady in the lieu of conversation, idly. Unknowingly, Kuroo locks up at the joints.

"Yeah," he says almost mechanically. Grins to loosen up. "It's strange to be here without Bo. Didn't want to bother him just to come with me to get just watermelon, y'know?" The last time he saw Bokuto was maybe a week ago. It's been very, very quiet without him.

"I'm sure he wouldn't have minded! That dear's too nice for his own good," waving her hand dismissively, she scans the lone watermelon he puts onto the counter.

He really is, Kuroo thinks absently. It's exactly why he didn't ask.

"The heat's always a little bit more tolerable when there's someone else with you," she continues, strangely profound, right over his absentmindedness. It makes him think of the walk he's got ahead of him to get home. Jarringly long, though it's barely that far away. Last time he walked back from here to his house was with Bokuto. They stopped at every place they passed, exhausted, but it was bearable. Fun, even.

"It is," he agrees. He looks outside while she bags the watermelon.

Outside, the city melts.

—

[Bokuto 3:56 P.M.] m guessin no beach this week either ?

[Kuroo 4:01 P.M.] don't think so : ( temps just hit highest ever recorded for tokyo jfc

[Bokuto 4:01 P.M.] WHAT didnt think it could even GET hotter here what !!

[Kuroo 4:01 P.M.] the beach might be boilin dude will there even be a beach left for us to go to....

[Bokuto 4:02 P.M.] DONT JINX IT!!!!!

—

"...despite the cold front that was meant to come, the temperatures are still astronomical. Tokyo is currently under Japan's hottest heatwave in all its history," drones the weatherman, who's looking at the broadcasted with a masked dread. "Everyone, stay inside until this heatwave passes. If you have to be outside, wear loose clothes and stay as hydrated as possible. Avoid staying outside for too long, especially if you are eldery—"

Kuroo peels his shirt off his back, uncomfortably damp with sweat. The weatherman isn't saying it, but it's clear as day on screen— the cold front didn't redirect, or gradually vanish. The blue lines are sweeping over Tokyo. The cold front is here.

Yet the temperatures haven't dropped. They haven't touched 30 degrees in weeks. Just in the past few days it's finally passed 40s and it's stillincreasing. At some point they might as well call a state of emergency for the city of Tokyo, if not the entire prefecture. There's never been a heatwave like this before.

Scrunching his nose, Kuroo gazes towards his open window. The sky is a pristine blue, completely cloudless. The sun leers in the sky just beyond the window frame, like an angry eye.

If it's only going to get hotter, he thinks fleetingly, then this could technically be called the cold front.

The thought feels like a resignation. Not groundbreaking, earth-shattering. He slumps back, head hitting the edge of the couch. Every scheduled event in Tokyo has already been postponed or cancelled altogether for the overhanging threat of heat exhaustion and heat stroke. He's got the itching feeling that public transports going to roll to a stop, and, eventually, everything else. How can you even stop a city like Tokyo?

If it gets hotter, what can they even do? Leave? Will everyone in Tokyo be evacuated, relocated?

The image makes his chest churn. He reaches for the remote and changes the channel.

—

Days pass. The temperature increases by three more degrees. It's catastrophic.

So, faced with an indiscernible future and nothing to do, he does what he does best.

He goes to Kenma's.

"Cars are overheating the second they turn on and it's practically dangerous to walk around, even to public transport, which just are functionally giant ovens now. What the hell are we meant to do?" Kuroo drawls, knocking his head against the bed frame, fanning himself with a roll of magazines as a substitute for a paper fan. The walk here didn't last longer than two minutes, but its under direct sun. The back of his neck feels like it's fried. He's gotten smarter about it, though, and brought an obscene amount of water for the walk. The bottle sits half empty next to his thigh.

Kenma looks... miserably resigned, maybe, like this is inevitable. His hair is permanently stringy from sweat, pulled back into the worlds shittiest and smallest pony tail to keep it from hanging in front of his face. A wet rag is draped around his neck, too— he minutely pats the sides of his face with it. Out of everything, the heat has yet to pry his console from his fingers.

"Melt." After a couple of powerful button punches, he glances to him. "If it becomes a national emergency maybe they'll send helicopters." He looks up in thought though his thumbs still fly across the console. "Helicopters can overheat, right?"

"Definitely." Once his arm grows tired, Kuroo lays the magazines over his face. The coated paper is slightly cool. Truthfully, it takes every ounce of his dignity to keep from smushing it into his face right now. "I'm a little insulted it's not a national emergency yet. Do people need to start dropping like flies for the government to consider doing anything?"

"Trick question. The situation needs to be unsalvageable before those in power takes notice. So. Maybe after a few hundred die and the city's on fire. Or until it wrecks some important business man's company."

Kuroo's eyebrows raise. Lolls his head back until he's looking at him upside down from beneath the magazines. "Heavy stuff, Kozume."

A victorious 8-bit jingle erupts from the switch in Kenma's hands. His eyes are sharp when he glances from over the top of it. "Lev may have been right for once, honestly— don't tell him I said that. I'll know if you do. But we could possibly be in this mess all because some rich man was thinking about how to increase production in some unethical way. We could feasibly be in a miniature greenhouse-dome if some factories let out some kind of advanced pollution all for the gains of a single man."

"I don't think there's a kind of pollution out there that can do something like that, especially to this magnitude— and to be so undetected prior? It just can't happen," Kuroo points out, motioning with the magazines, "and if anything, I don't think something that corrupt would happen here first. I'd maybe believe it if it first showed up in America."

"Doesn't matter where, the rich are to never be trusted."

"I'm going to pester you about this conservation if you become wealthy."

"If I become wealthy enough to actually have an impact on the carbon footprint, I'd want you to snipe me."

"Kenma!" Kuroo smacks his leg, scandalized. "Are you just moody because of the weather?"

Blatantly he is ignored. "Either way, you're right. This whole situation should be impossible. Even climate change couldn't just do this. There would've been some obvious kind of... sign, maybe."

"Even with a sign, it doesn't make sense that its thirty degrees in Chiba, yet it's almost fifty here." Begrudgingly, he pulls himself upright, tossing the magazines to the side. "It's only Tokyo! Just us! If it's not climate change, then what else could it be?"

Kenma shrugs, half invested. "Maybe this is how we're repenting."

Kuroo sneers. "Like this is happening because of some god? Of course you would think that, you've only been playing Fire Emblem recently..."

Raising an eyebrow, Kenma very pointedly does not look at him, focused on the game. Which is Fire Emblem. Go figure. "Well? Do you have a better explanation? Even Fukunaga said it's supernatural. That makes more sense than a selective global warming."

He slumps against the bed frame again, feeling a crick grow in his lower spine. The supernatural. He'd like to call bullshit, but at this point, what else would make sense? But— what would it be? He's not exactly religious, so he sure as hell doesn't know what kind of Shinto god has capabilities like this. Maybe some street-side shrine's god? Maybe not even that... Maybe something with its already established god-like statue?

A statue...

A snort bubbles in his throat. He has to stamp it down before he can start full-out cackling, but it still trickles out when he speaks. "Tammy would do it, that bastard— the amusement park's mascot statue. I told you about that thing, right? Suspicious as hell. If supernatural were real, that would have its own conscious."

He doesn't need to look to know that Kenma's face is twisting up in a scowl. "Tammy Tanuki. You think Tammy Tanuki would smite all of Tokyo."

"Y'know what, it's possible!" Kuroo sits up straight again, pressing his hands on his lower back to pop it. "Bo 'n I did throw coins at it! Ain't that disrespectful? Hah, imagine that! A silly amusement park statue saying fuck you to all of us because Bo landed a sick trick on it." He grins, recalling the catch of breath, holding, watching as that final coin soared through the air. That video he took was incredible, too. Two hooligans screeching, the video inconceivably blurry as they celebrated. It's almost like those bottle-flipping videos, but cooler! He should posted that to some other social media rather than just his instagram.

He wonders how Bokuto's fairing. Is he still taking care of Petunia, even in this sweltering heat? Is he putting enough sunscreen on if he does go outside?

It's... been a while since he's seen him.

A toe jabs right into the soft part of his neck abruptly. "I did not let you come over so you could mope and pine."

Jolting, Kuroo twists around, batting at Kenma's foot. "What? I am not pining. Or moping. Where the hell did you get that from?"

Kenma glances at him for a long moment,. "You're denying it."

"Of course I would, because I'm not?" "Then why would you bring up the amusement park? Sounds like pining to me."

Appalled, Kuroo sputters, "Pining for Tammy Tanuki? That thing appears in my dreams sometimes to haunt me, I'd be insane to pine for it. I literally just called it a bastard, too! Is your brain turning to mush?"

The look Kenma gives him makes him look like he's aged fifteen years in two seconds. It's the bone-deep-exasperation look he usually has around Lev, so, to say the least, he's a little hurt it's being used on him. "Kuro," he says, not even trying to school his expression into something more neutral, the asshole, "sometimes, I realize how much of a miracle it is you're academically smart, 'cause you're not smart otherwise."

"What?! Kenma—"

"Are you purposely being stupid?" Kenma sets down his switch in a way that's both gentle and irritated. From the quick glimpse, the screen's off. Instinctively Kuroo tenses. "I saw that wistful look on your face. You weren't thinking about the damn tanuki statue. You were thinking about Bokuto, weren't you?"

It sounds like an accusation. It sits heavily in the base of his gut. "I was, but why—?"

"Do I really need to spell it out?"

Kuroo's mouth is drier than it has been all week, all month. He tries to grin, tries to have some semblance of control, but its wobbly. "You might need to, because I'm not catching your drift."

Something glances across Kenma's face, but it's gone as soon as it shows. "You're pining over Bokuto, Kuro. Why else would you think about the amusement park? Don't give me the bullshit that it's Tammy Tanuki."

His heart misses a couple of beats.

"I— actually was thinking about Tammy first, though—?" he scrambles, because he's lost all purchase, Kenma's swiping out from beneath his feet��

"I don't care about that," Kenma scowls, "Even if you were, you still are pining over Bokuto. You literally just sat here, in my room, talking about Bokuto looking like a nut job in public, with some kind of lovestruck grin on your face. The audacity."

Kuroo's reeling. Mentally, physically, spiritually— he feels like he just got hit by a truck six times over. One second, he's thinking about how, hah-hah, maybe it's that stupid tanuki statue that caused a miniature global warming that scales the Tokyo prefecture, how funny would that be, and then, he's being told he's— he's in love? How the hell is he meant to recover from this? What the fuck? What the fuck?

A look settles on Kenma's face, some kind of expression that feels too soft. The turmoil is probably visible on his own. "We're going to melt to death eventually, you gotta say something."

"There's nothing to say!" Distraught, Kuroo turns away. His neck is more than just hot. He's burning. It makes sense. Does it? Is he in love with— Shit, it's, he's burning up hotter than it is outside, he's going to actually fucking scorch—

Chest tight, he tries focusing on outside because he's going to combust if he thinks of anything else. Blue sky, cloudless, shriveling trees, heat rising from the pavement—

Flashing in his head, the sun shining through the dotted clouds in the sky, coins glittering as they streaked through the air, striking like a gong, boisterous laughter—

Even if it may have possibly been that single moment that caused all of this, he wouldn't trade it for the world. Even if he angered some silly statue, chain-reaction causing a heatwave so violent there may be no recovery, he wouldn't.

The cicadas drone outside, so, so loud. He can feel the heat seeping in from outside, rolling in like a heavy wave from the windows. It trickles up his back, like sweat running backwards, and he. He.

He...

He stands abruptly, startling Kenma. For a moment he just stands and stares at nothing, thoughts lethargic but churning, churning in his head and oh my god.

"Kuro?" Kenma says somewhere, distantly, though he's just inches away. It feels like fuzz in his ears. Gauze. Cotton.

"I," Kuroo breathes, stumbling, "I, uhm. I have to... go." He turns, almost lurching, towards the door. He can't believe it. He can't believe it.

He's not thinking straight in the slightest, he realizes, as he slips his shoes on with a single shove. He's had his whole way of thinking just torn apart and reconstructed in the last two minutes, and, and what the hell is he doing. Plowing past the door, he staggers, it's like stepping into a brick wall of hot. It only stills him for a moment, but he keeps going, he may just disintegrate if he stops. There's clatter behind him and he thinks it's Kenma— if he can even move fast enough— and he makes it to the end of the yard before something nails him in the spine.

"Fuck—!" Kuroo shrieks, hands flying to his back. The point of impact on his back is strangely chilly, and he turns to see a cold water bottle sitting idly on the pavement.

"Are you an idiot?" Kuroo jerks, looking up, and there's Kenma at the doorway of his house, looking more frazzled than he has in hours— no, days. Even the agitation of the prior conversation holds no candle to the expression Kenma's got on his face now. Hand braced against the door frame, he looks like he's physically repulsed from stepping outside, but one step from lurching out and tearing Kuroo's head off his shoulders. Completely sapped of energy, too, just from the movement. "Huh? Did your brain melt out of your ears? Did it?"

Personally, he thinks this kind of assault is uncalled for. He's already been attacked not even minutes ago, come on. Sputtering, Kuroo bends to snatch the bottle from the ground. The condensation from the bottle evaporates almost immediately from the pavement. "Hey—"

"I don't know what you just thought of that was sooo urgent," Kenma bites, knuckles growing white as his agitation rises, "but did you really think you could last even a minute out here without water? Without an umbrella? Huh? We just talked about cars overheating, what the hell makes you think you can just sprint out here!"

He freezes. The heat weighs down on him, horribly overwhelming. He can feel his skin sizzling under the sun. Thinks he can hear it, too. "I..."

What the hell is he doing? Running from Kenma and his horrible confrontations? Running to Tammy Tanuki, maybe, to reconcile, beg forgiveness, please-return-the-temperatures-to-normal?

Running to Bokuto?

Kenma doesn't even give him the chance to gather his thoughts. "I don't care, it's hot." He reaches somewhere behind the door, grabbing for something— and Kuroo only has the briefest moment to catch the umbrella that's lobbed at him. Kenma points threateningly, "Whatever it is, get on with it, but be safe, you idiot, go get more water. Tell me about it later. Get out of the sun. Go before that water bottle becomes lukewarm."

Kuroo's mouth snaps shut. He nods, because that's all he can do, and turns heel and goes.

—

"How willing are you to do something that's dubiously illegal with me?" Kuroo blurts, words falling out of his mouth as he clutches himself upright on the door frame. Seconds pass and he's very, very hypersensitive of every single drop of sweat on him currently, rolling and dripping straight off him and onto the welcome mat below.

All Bokuto can really do is gape. His hair's loose of gel yet pinned back by a bright yellow clip, though stubborn strands still hang against his forehead. It looks unbelievably soft. The sleeveless shirt he's got on settles awkwardly along his neck, like he's been pulling at it to air it out, absolutely drenched in sweat. There's a spot of blue near the corner of his mouth that he can only assume is from an ice pop he may have had a while ago.

God. Even like this he is an absolute sight for sore eyes. It's been how long since he's last seen him? Two weeks? Three? Even with the recent revelations, he's. He's just glad to see him again.

Bokuto's mouth opens and closes three separate times before he settles on: "Can I even ask what dubious means?"

"I'm sure you get the context clues," Kuroo says, not quite snappish. Is he meant to repeat himself in this situation? Bokuto heard him loud and clear, yet, yet he's not saying anything. He fiddles with the umbrella nervously, unsure of how to keep going. It's unintentional, but his absent motions drags Bokuto's attention to it.

Bokuto glances past him, to where the heat rising from the pavement is visible, the browning foliage, and then back, a distraught look twisting on his face. "Jesus, Tetsu, did you— did you walk in this? How in the hell—"

"I've got an idea," he cuts off, leaning in as if it's a secret, "I think I know it! What started all of this shit— the catalyst."

"The huh?" Bokuto echoes, looking more and more confused with each passing second. The furrow in his eyebrow disturbs the sweat resting upon his forehead and slide down his temples. He's looking at Kuroo like he's lost his mind. Well— who wouldn't?

This. This is really not how Kuroo had hoped this would go. He's not exactly sure how this was gonna go, but this— this is not it.

"It was Tammy Tanuki," he plows on before he can lose face. Runs a hand through his bangs to slick them back but they just flop back over his forehead in a gross greasy mass. The empty water bottle in his hand crinkles with the motion. "We— It— Whenever we went to the park, I think it was throwing the coins at the statue. This all started after that day, didn't it? Right? The heatwave?"

Bokuto just looks completely lost at what to even think. "The heatwave? Tammy caused the heatwave?"

"Well— no, not—" he stumbles on his words, choking in his chest, "Christ, I dunno. Maybe? Remember— remember what I said about the coins, and if you landed them in a place they weren't meant to be, it'd piss Tammy off? I was totally bullshitting you, but, but I dunno, it— it's possible. With how fucked up this whole situation is, Tammy being behind all of it honestly could make some kinda sense. So maybe, if we were to, I dunno, get the coin off from Tammy's nose, then maybe? We'd be forgiven? If it's Tammy at all causing this heatwave..."

Once the words finish spilling from his mouth, he has to bite down on his lip to keep from rambling and sounding more like an idiot than he already is. Kuroo swallows thickly, running the back of his wrist under his chin.

God. This is all so fucking ridiculous, but— but this is all he's got. It's silly to think all of this rests on the shoulders of two stupid teenage boys who were just goofing off but. But...

Bokuto scrunches his nose, narrows his eyes. "I knew Tammy was fuckin' suspicious."

Kuroo, if he were a little more exhausted than he already is, could have cried right here and right now. Instead he just folds over and lets out probably the loudest laugh of his life.

—

"This is very illegal." Bokuto's voice almost wavers as he watches Kuroo vault over the fence. He isn't super successful, slick with an ungodly amount of sunscreen, doesn't land very gracefully, but hey, he's over.

"Dubiously illegal," Kuroo corrects, curses, flapping his hand from the sting of the hot metal. Any longer, and his skin might've been seared right off. The sun, hanging above their heads, is fucking vile. He can feel the heat rising from the pavement and it's scorching his damn legs. Doesn't help that the two of them just walked an abysmal distance in this goddamn heat, stopping every five minutes to rest and refresh and AUGH, his legs are already tired—

"I still don't know what that means," he whines, fidgeting. "Akaashi would kill both of us if he knew we were doing this. Without a doubt. I think I can hear him on his way over to come knock our heads off."

"All the more reason we should just hurry in," Kuroo reaches over the fence, motioning for the umbrella. "He wouldn't break in just to scold us, right? So if we're in, he wouldn't be able to kill us just yet."

"Yeah, but..." he passes the umbrella and grabs hold of the bars, wincing. While his climb over is awkwardly clunky, he does manage to land on his feet unlike Kuroo who nearly landed on his face. Once he lets go of the bars, he lets out a howl of pain, planting his hands on his thighs, then grumbles again when his hands burn the skin. "It's the yet! 'Kaashi would be waiting for us by the time we get out! We'll be trapped in here until the actual police come and get us! He might spare me, but I think he might actually beat you up, Tetsu."

"What! Why me?" He slips to Bokuto's side, putting both of them shoulder to shoulder to stay in the umbrella's shade. He's painfully aware Akaashi thinks he's a pain-in-the-ass, but damn, to actually be clobbered? Akaashi doesn't exactly look the beefiest, not like Bokuto, but regardless he's still an athlete. If he's unhinged, Kuroo's life might actually be in danger.

Bokuto doesn't really meet his eye when he shrugs. Weirdly enough, he gets the idea.

"I mean, you did just drag me along to commit a crime..."

"It's not a crime if no one finds out!"

With almost too much force, Bokuto nudges him with his shoulder, bubbling with laughter. Kuroo tries to save face but totally ends up stumbling almost completely face first onto the pavement. "Man, you're meant to be the more reasonable out of the two of us! How am I meant to argue with that?"

He's missed it. God, he's missed it.

Belatedly, he realizes just how quiet it is out here when Bokuto's impossibly loud laugh echoes through the park. He hears the tail end of it once, twice, then it's gone, and the dead silence of the air takes its place.

It's very strange to walk through the park when it's completely empty. There's no hum of rollercoasters, no jeers of children, no peppy tinny background music blaring over the speakers. Even stranger, their conversation tapered off almost immediately, and Kuroo's not sure if it's because it's too hot to talk, or there's a reason his hearts fluttering somewhere in his throat.

The path to the pond is not long. Now cleared of the usual human traffic and their brisk pace (the pavement's hot as hell, shit), they stand at the fence to the pond in minutes flat. The pond's half full— no, not even— probably a quarter full, most of its evaporated out by this point. The special theatrical arcs of water are no longer running, though the gleaming of coins beneath the statue light it up in its own kind of horrible theatrics.

Tammy looks strangely lonely out in the middle of the pond. Maybe, also, like a caged beast.

Peering from the corner of his eye, he sees Bokuto's just staring out to Tammy. There's a challenging look in his eye and it starkly reminds him of the first time they stood here, armed with coins and the air twenty degrees cooler. He bites his tongue.

"Well," he starts, inhaling deeply.

"All we gotta do is just find those coins, right?" Bokuto says clearly like it's nearly the easiest thing in the world, the single answer to all the problems. He grins to Kuroo, and honestly, maybe he's right. Anything is possible, especially with this kind of attitude, especially with Bokuto by his side. "No need to waste time standing around!" he hollers, his voice echoing, echoing. Without any warning, he swings his leg over the short fence, and begins his descent.

Blistering hot. It's abysmal. Jesus fuck, how the hell is the water not boiling yet. Kuroo breathes in deeply, steels his nerves. Even with his shoes still on— the dark polyester of the pond bottom looks like it will sear his foot right off— nothing will be able to sooth this scalding. He's glad the water only reaches his calfs. Any higher and he may just wimp out.

Water had seemed so kind, a sanction in this hell, he almost dreamed about wading in it— but this is horrible.

Splash.

"Holy fuck!"

Kuroo turns— Bokuto's hopping foot to foot, wincing 'hot! hot!' with every step. Probably seconds away from lunging back out of the water. "How the hell are you not— not dying?" Bokuto cries, eyes squished tight as he rises an inch, on his tippy toes.

"It's the perk of already being hot," Kuroo winks, and grimaces. "That was awful. Sorry. I am trying really hard not to yell right now. It's not all that different from a jacuzzi, right? Just. A couple degrees hotter."

"Tetsu," Bokuto says warily, frowning as he trudges behind, umbrella up and opened in his hand, "Are— Are you sure about this? Man, I can't tell your mom that I willingly let you roast like a turkey in a big ole pond—"

"You're roasting with me, how would you even tell my mom?" He retorts automatically. Then, momentarily, he bites his tongue, hesitating.

He's... He's really just dragging Bokuto out here, isn't he? Making him walk with him in near catastrophic temperatures, where plants have shriveled and traffic cones have melted— All under the pretense of 'just trust me'? If Bokuto had shown up at his house, telling him to come cross the city in this sweltering heat, he—

...what would he have done?

"You... don't have to do this with me," he says belatedly as he slows to a stop. The words sit awkward in his tongue, regretful, "I know this kinda sucks— er, really sucks— so you... don't have to."

Bokuto blinks at him owlishly, pausing. Fear builds up in his throat, and momentarily, he thinks Bokuto might actually take the offer and leave. He's been talking about how dangerous it is to be out here, how risky it is. Of course he doesn't want to be here. What the hell was he thinking? Kuroo would honestly not be surprised if he left at this point.

He's not sure he'd be able to convince himself to stay out here without Bokuto by his side.

"Well!" he puffs up, finally reaching Kuroo and covering him in the red-tinted shade of the umbrella, "I can't let you roast out here alone! Plus, if what you're sayin' is right, it is kinda also my fault that this whole heatwave shit happened. So I'm here!"

In the red coloring cast, the pink of Bokuto's sun burn almost looks like blush.

Kuroo doesn't get a chance to stare longer when Bokuto swivels to look at him, somehow beaming in this temperature. "Besides, who else would hold up the umbrella?"

Groaning, Kuroo shoves him but he's grinning, grinning so wide. His stomach's all warm and he knows it's not just the weather causing it. "Letting me do all the grunt work, huh! I see what's going on!"

"I mean, you did say that you're resilient to heat because you're already hot!" he counters, cheeky. Kuroo gasps.

"I can't believe you! Using my own words against me—! Where the hell did you learn the word resilient?"

He glitters. "I knew that one myself!"

Once again, the imposing figure of Tammy Tanuki towers over them. Looming more and more as they approach. Christ, it's bigger up close than he thought. Tammy's just eerie now, with the lack of theatrics and children's laughter in the distance, with hard shadows casted across its face from the sun's harsh angle.

The two of them are so tiny compared to it, it's almost like two unbelievers standing before an angry god. Once that image crosses Kuroo's mind, he really has to bite down to keep from snorting.

The umbrella tips back, too far back, and the unyielding sun nearly blinds him. "Bo, man, what—" he sputters, throwing his hands up to at least save his eyes.

"It's not there!" Bokuto blurts, boggled. He quickly readjusts the umbrella, but his eyes don't stray from the tanuki's face. Kuroo follows, perplexed, and—

The coin's no longer balanced on the stubby nose.

It feels like a joke. He waits and waits but the coin does not reappear, does not come out of hiding. He quickly skims the entire structure for— for anywhere it could've landed, if it was knocked off by the wind or something, but there's nothing except the water below.

Kuroo clicks his tongue, stomach plummeting. "Well. Shit. That just made things harder."

"I... I can't believe it..." mourning, Bokuto trudges closer to the statue, stopping right where it starts becoming a mine-field of scorching hot coins. His eyes don't leave the tanuki's nose once, like he's desperately watching, waiting for it to reappear. "My... my sick trick... my trick shot... gone..."

For a painstakingly long moment, Kuroo feels like it's all in vain. It takes an even longer moment to even think of something positive about this situation. Something that isn't... well. Making this a waste of time. "Well," Kuroo starts, trickling, coming up with it as he goes. Slaps a hand on Bokuto's shoulder blade to perk him up, maybe. "I was worried that one of us was gonna have to climb Tammy. That woulda caused more damage than breaking in. Just another charge to add on if we're caught. It's gotta be around the statue somewhere."

Unbelieving, Bokuto motions to the coins scattered around the statue. "But— there's a billion coins over here! There's no way we'll find the one you gave me!"

His feet already ache just thinking about how long he's gonna be standing in this water, ankles scalding from boiling water. Who in their right minds started the whole tradition of throwing coins in ponds for good luck? He's going to throttle whoever it was. Asshole. "Ain't no one else gonna be throwing a five-hundred yen into here but us. And even if there are others five-hundreds, then ours would be the one closest to the statue, right? Since it was probably knocked off by the wind?"

Bokuto halts so suddenly Kuroo thinks he can hear the whiplash. "You gave me a five-hundred yen to throw?" Suddenly Bokuto's wide, earnest eyes are pinned on him. It's a bit much. He leans towards Kuroo, pressing, peering at him even when he turns away. "You— Did you believe I could make it that much? You betted that much on me?"

"I didn't have any other change!" he flushes, "I mean, I knew if you had an unlimited amount of coins you would've made it at some point, and I thought what the hell—" He lengthens his stride, ducking from beneath the umbrella, just so Bokuto won't see how embarrassingly pink his face just got. However, his friend's an absolute hardhead, dearly stubborn, and easily matches his pace.

"Tetsuuu," he coos, nearly too gleeful with the information he's just obtained. "You did have faith in me! I can't believe it— you said I wouldn't make it, but all along—!!"

"Who's Bokuto Koutarou? I don't know who that is," Kuroo says loudly, mockingly, crouching down and quickly darting his hands in the water to scoop up coins. Fucking Owch— like he thought, the coins are scorching hot, even worse with the water. They clink almost musically as he rifles through them quickly. None of the coins show the arcade's logo, none of them that dull brass. Grimacing, he puts them aside, plop plop plop into the water.

He knew, but this... This is going to take forever.

There's a shuffle beside him, and to his surprise Bokuto crouches down too, arm brushing against his shoulder. He dips his hand into the water and takes his pick, though he immediately drops them out of his palm whenever they start searing into it, wincing.

Kuroo pauses to raise an eyebrow. "I thought you were the designated umbrella-holder?"

Cheeks puff up in a pout, Bokuto tries again. "It's boring just standing here. I can't let you do all the work, y'know. I've got to find that five-hundred yen and treasure it, it's the symbol of your faith in me—"

"Oh god, no more," Kuroo whines, knocking his elbow into Bokuto's side. Somehow, Bokuto's unbalanced enough that the nudge is enough to nearly teeter him into the water, so he quickly latches onto Kuroo before he can truly eat shit.

"Bro, be merciful! I think I'll instantly boil if I fall in," he cries. His grip is tight on Kuroo's forearm, fingers digging into pink skin, burning slightly with the hot water.

"Not my fault you're all wobbly," Kuroo grins, though it's uneven itself, crooked and goopy. He's not sure if he's imagining it, not sure, but he swears Bokuto's hand lingers longer than it should, grip firm yet softening. He's looking too deeply into it. Fuck, Kenma put all of this shit into his head, 'liking' Bokuto, and it's, it's— it's making him more skittish, more jumpy. He's gonna see things that aren't there, now that his world's rearranged and slotted back into place. It's embarrassing, they're really close to each other, Bokuto's shoulder occasionally brushing his, his ears bright pink, his stupid, stupid—

God, he might love him.

He turns back to the coins, gently pulling his arm from Bokuto's hand. Like a fucking coward, he does not look back.

And, after a brief moment, though it seems much longer with how double-timed Kuroo's heart is beating, Bokuto resumes the motions as well.

It's hot. Even with the umbrella, even with the sunscreen, he feels like he's fucking melting, standing in this stupid pool of water, crouching, shuffling through hundreds of steaming hot coins in steaming hot water, looking for some silly arcade coins, for the silly five-hundred yen.

The sun now peeks between the trees along the skyline, which is the only way to tell they've been at this for more hours than necessary. Now that the sun isn't directly overhead, no longer boiling the water and scorching the skin, they've reduced to kneeling and the umbrella idles in the water, abandoned. The air, however, is still stagnant with heat. Fucking humidity. His shirt is soaking wet and he has barely even touched the water's surface with it.

Maybe it's been two hours, or four. He's got no goddamn clue. All he knows is that they've got seven of the nine arcade coins and no five-hundred yen. If it's been two hours, then that's at least three coins an hour average. So another hour, and hopefully, probably, he'd have them all. But if it's been four...

My brain's too mushed to think about this, he relents, rocking back on his heels to press his palms into his eyes. It's going to melt out of my ears. It's not even that hot anymore.

He presses his thumbs in harder until colors flicker across his vision. Who am I kidding. It's still hot. It's never not gonna be hot.

Behind him, there's the telltale plops of coins into the water. A dejected sigh. Kuroo's stomach folds in on itself, so he sticks his hand back into the water to distract himself.

They've been working in a silent tandem this whole, which is so unlike them it pulls at Kuroo's stomach. Not a peep from either one of them. No jests, no snickers, no roughhousing. At this point, he's not going to lose it because he's been sifting through hundreds of coins for hours on end, but from how much the silence is killing him.

He just— hopes things will turn back to how they were before, even if they manage to get all of the coins or not.

"Hey, Tetsu," Bokuto says absently, swirling his hand in the water rather than picking up more. Full-bodied, Kuroo jumps, but quickly tries to compose himself though his shoulders remain tense. He hums, not trusting his voice— it will warble, he knows. His fingers are pruny and no longer sting from the hot metal of the coins.

"Tetsu," Bokuto repeats. Finally he looks up, his eyes are trained to the water, glassy. The coins reflect the dying sunlight onto his face, the lights dancing with the water's movement. Kuroo's never seen him this still before.

"Hm?" he barely manages, the noise caught in his throat. If it didn't feel so off, he'd bask in this image of Bokuto, soft edges even rounder, a polite orange coloring his cheekbones.

The brief pause echoes a lot louder than it should, with the lack of, well... everything, around them. Bokuto takes in a breath. It's the most defeated sound he's ever heard come from him.

"We should probably just... go back."

Kuroo straightens up from his stooped crouch. Unexpected, is what he'd like to call it, but he's had the inkling sitting low in his chest this whole time. "Wh— We've nearly gotten all the arcade coins, and the yen's gotta be here somewhere!" When he presents his hand, where he's had the coins clutched, the arcade symbol's in red impressions on his palm. He sounds desperate. Fuck, he doesn't want to, but he is.

It's just— if they leave, he feels like it'll all be over.

"I mean—" ahh, he didn't notice— he didn't realize how aggravated Bokuto is about the prospect of giving up. Didn't catch the growing frustration in his movements. "It's just... we've cleared most of the pond already, and it's been a while since either of us found one, and I know I was just kidding about it earlier, but I think your mom's actually gonna call the police if we're here longer."

He wants to protest it, but honestly, who's he fooling? The yen was already gone from Tammy's nose. His whole theory was riding on the fact that it was resting up there. But it's gone. Not even there. And if it that was the whole catalyst, then what the hell are they doing out here?

Kuroo breathes in shallowly. Once, twice. Gathers his will. "Alright," he says, standing. Disrupting the stillness around him, the swish of water from his movement is jarringly loud— he didn't think he stood up that abruptly, but huh, maybe he did. Jesus, he needs to get himself under control."Okay. Yeah. We... We should go."

There's a complete lack of motion from Bokuto.

To keep from losing composure, Kuroo moves to retrieve the umbrella instead, which has idly drifted away. He reaches for the handle only to realize he's still got all seven coins clenched in his hand still. Still. Even subconsciously, he's still hoping. He breathes in deeply— in and in until he can't keep going— exhales.

He lets go of the coins unceremoniously. No need for them, really.

Just as the coins splish into the water, there's a strangled noise from behind him.

"Dude, you—!" blurting, Bokuto leaps to his feet. In a splash that soaks most of Kuroo, he dives straight into the water. Frantically he regathers all the coins Kuroo just dumped, breathing a sigh of relief when they're all in his palm.

Jarred, Kuroo just watches, startled into stillness. The water's lukewarm from where it clings onto his skin. "What are you—?"

As if they're precious to him, Bokuto pulls his hands closer to his chest, cupping the coins like they're delicate. "I mean— I meant!" Choked up. That's the only way he can describe the floundering Bokuto's doing, the thickness of his voice. "I didn't— actually mean give up. I meant for today! It's almost dark and I think we'll become prunes if we stay out here longer, so, we can just— come back tomorrow!"

He's never been this stupefied before, he thinks. Never been this bewildered, this boggled, this what-ever-synonyms-for-shocked-there-is. "Come back tomorrow?" he echoes dumbly, "W— Why? There's no reason to?"

"No reason too—?" Bokuto parrots, squawking, appalled. He sinks lower until he's just sitting in the water, growing more confused. "Dude, we didn't even get all of them yet! We have to get them all, don't we?"

"It's not even worth it to get them all." Admitting it out loud— he can't tell if it's a relief or not. It's a resignation, and it's pulling at his guts.

The furrow between Bokuto's eyebrows deepens and deepens.

"Everything I had was literally depending on the coin being there, though," Kuroo stresses, continuing, motioning abortedly towards the statue, "I— I thought Tammy was so pissed that you got the coin there, so once it was off, Tammy wouldn't have reason to cause a catastrophic heatwave! But it's gone, there's still a heat wave, and we've been sitting out here for hours for no reason."

"It's not just for no reason, Tetsu," Bokuto tries, but something's building in Kuroo's chest, clawing higher and higher until its in the top of his throat.

"It was," he croaks, shaking his head, "It was— ridiculous, I can't even believe—" He leans back, back, face tilted up towards the fading sky. "I went out a limb more than anything. Can you believe? I pulled this theory out of my ass since Kenma n' I were talkin' about this whole thing, and I used it as..." He swallows, swallows again, but there's nothing getting past the thickness in his throat. "... as a excuse to see ya."

Bokuto's dead silent in this moment. So still he might not be breathing.

"I'm," Kuroo pauses, almost wheezing, unsure, because Bokuto's not responding, he's not responding, how is he meant to take that? "I'm sorry I, I dragged you out here to roast with me, all for some, some stupid reason. I just. I panicked and..."

Condescendingly, Kenma's voice echoes in his head, 'We're going to melt to death eventually, you gotta say something.' Fuckin' Kenma. He wasn't ready to jump this hurdle yet. He wasn't ever gonna be ready. The words rest on the back of his tongue, refusing to come out or go back down, and he feels like he's gonna puke.

"Tetsurou," Bokuto starts after a beat. Unfaltering. "I'd go anywhere with you."

The world rocks. There's no excuse this time he could possibly come up with for how he flushes. How the hell does he sound so sure—

"I thought," his mouth forms words, but he doesn't say any of them, momentarily unsure. He's silent until he looks Kuroo straight in the eyes. "I thought I maybe fucked up somewhere— been to clingy, maybe freaked you out. 'Kaashi called me out sometimes, saying I was been too much. I dunno! I just like being around you, with you. I was really scared I scared you off."

"You'd. Never scare me off, Bo," Kuroo says, just above a whisper, because, because this sounds like something and he's very scared he might misinterpret.

Bokuto's eyes crease in a smile, dawning. "Sweet!" He says, loudly. It's loud enough it echoes, disrupts the silence that's settled over the park. He winces, sheepish. "Sweet," he tries again, quieter. "So, then, it wouldn't scare you off if I said I liked you?"

Like a blow to the face, Kuroo teeters, dropping into the water with a plop. The ripples wake against Bokuto's knees, making a small personal light show for the brightest thing in his life. "It wouldn't," he says, because christ, he's gonna melt out here. He's gonna dissolve in this water and it's gonna be so embarrassing.

Rushing out a relief breath, Bokuto eases. He didn't notice his shoulders were hitching up in tension. "Cool," he says, giddy, jumpy. "Sweet. Awesome. That's great. 'cause I like you."

Laughter bubbles out of his throat, though it's wet and gooey and he might've hiccuped by the end of it. "Don't say that so easily, you big doof," Kuroo says thickly, resting back into the water.

Unfair. Bastard. How unfair, he can say kinda stuff and not have his whole world tremor.

Pressing his hands over his face to keep from growing pinker, Kuroo breathes. Maybe he can drown before he makes more of a fool of himself.

"Wanna come over?" he suggests, muffled by his palms. His stomach's fluttering like he's asking something risky. Like he's asking for a first date. Silly. Ridiculous. They've been on plenty already, haven't they? "I've got some of your spare clothes at home. We've got ice pops, too."

From the stomach, Bokuto laughs, something chime-y and wonderful. He presses his palm against Kuroo's stomach, pushing him, and he jerks to smack at his hand. "D'ya even need to ask?" he says, doughy.

Backlit by the setting sunlight, Bokuto's probably the best thing he's ever seen in his damn life.

"I just hope Akaashi's not waiting by the park gates," he admits sheepishly when he pulls Kuroo upright. Throughout the park, Kuroo's laugh echoes, scratchy, loud, but it's the loveliest.

Behind them, Tammy Tanuki shrinks and shrinks, then disappears in the distance.

—

"Can I get a Bubbles pop? Ah, actually— two of them?"

Resting his elbows on the wood of the counter, Kuroo looks out to the ocean. The edge of the sea, dotted with the bright colors of people, blends near seamlessly with the sky.

"Here you go," the teenager says, handing him the popsicles. She's not the pink-haired one from the stand by the riverside, but she's got the same charming smile. Must be an ice-cream stand employee requirement.

Thanking her, he steps out from the awning onto piping hot sand. Unbelievably hot sand. Jesus fuck. He doesn't hop on his toes, not quite— he couldn't even salvage his dignity if he did. A mere couple minutes in the shade, and he's already lost his numbness to the heat. He wishes he brought sandals or something. His toes fucking hurt.

God. Where did his damn immunity go? He managed two weeks in a catastrophic heatwave, why the hell is hot sand his downfall?

It's, frankly, quite wild that just last week Tokyo was on the edge of becoming a giant hot pot. Literally one of the most extreme heatwaves on the planet— relative to location, of course— nearly closing down the entire city to a stillness.

And, somehow, within a two day period, the temperature in Tokyo plummeted from near fifty degrees to a helluva-lot-more-tolerable thirty. A month long disaster, cleaned up and wiped away in two days. Ridiculously unbelievable. But hey, it's whatever. It took a while for everything to get back onto its feet— train tracks were still cautiously looked after, and things that had melted had to be repaired or replaced. But everything's crawling back to normal.

And for the first time in nearly a month, he's actually willingly standing in the sunlight.

Growth.

Fuckin' Tammy Tanuki, he thinks, idly strolling back to their spot. What a rat bitch.

"Ah— Tetsurou!!"

Mid-motion he turns and proceeds to get blinded on the spot. He has to throw his hands up to block the sun, what the fuck, the motherfucker's bright, but it's awkward to try and block it with the ice pops in his hands—

A hand shoots up into the air and waves around haphazardly until it casts a shadow over his eyes, the palm blocking the sun for the most part. It momentarily helps but the fact that it keeps moving and light keeps peeping through his fingers generally makes it useless. Laughter bubbles from his throat, giddy, and Kuroo smacks Bokuto on his shoulder whenever he's close enough. "You're not helping much, bud."

Bokuto puffs his cheeks out, smushing his hand over Kuroo's eyes. "At least I tried!" His hands are grossly sweaty and gritty at the same time, a really weird feeling on his face, so Kuroo tries prying his hands off, snorting. In retaliation— just because he can— Bokuto presses both his hands on his face, squishing his nose. Then he halts very abruptly. Peeling Bokuto's hands off his face, he sees that all focus is directed to what's in his hand. "Dude, is that what I think it is?"

Cheekily, Kuroo presents the ice pops with flourish, bowing with an arm extended, holding Bokuto's long-desired Bubbles pop. "You betcha."

With how loud Bokuto's gasp is you woulda thought he'd be proposing. "B-Bro," he says, watery. He takes it with certain kind of gentleness Kuroo didn't think he had in him.

Knocking his own pop against his, Kuroo grins, "Wouldn't be a proper trip if we didn't have ice cream, right?"

Momentarily there's no response from Bokuto. An expression's on his face that's a little indiscernible— a little too heartfelt. It's very soft on his face. Feather-soft. It makes his pulse rise in this throat, just before a grin splits across Bokuto's face, dispelling the fluttering. "'Course," he says, and he steps close enough to Kuroo to where their elbows and shoulders knock while they walk.

Kuroo tries very, very hard not to go bright red in the face.

Completely ungracefully, Bokuto practically flops straight down onto his towel, disrupting just about everything and sending sand everywhere. Doesn't seem to bother him, though— he fidgets, patting Kuroo's towel with vigor. "C'mon! We gotta open them at the same time!! Tetsu!!"

"Alright, alright," he grins, exasperated, ducking beneath the umbrella and settling onto his towel. The umbrella's just barely big enough for the two of them with their broad shoulders (more like just Bokuto's broad shoulders—), so they're thigh to thigh, elbows and knees knocking together. Bokuto's jittering so much Kuroo can feel his bones vibrate.

Pinching the wrapper, Bokuto looks towards Kuroo, expression bright, eyes creasing. "On the count of three, okay?"

"One, two... three!"

In his vigor Bokuto nearly drops the entire popsicle onto his leg. Side by side, they present them. And like an off switch, Bokuto's smile plummets. With a laugh that grows and grows, Kuroo has to turn away from Bokuto to keep from totally losing it. "No way," Bokuto mutters, sounding so so confused, appalled, and it's sending Kuroo into a fit of laughter again. "They look normal?" Offended, Bokuto squints at the Bubbles pops, eyes roving over each part.

They're the most normal looking Bubbles pops he's ever seen. Didn't even think it was possible to get one that looks normal.

Honestly, it's kinda funny in how ironic it is. "I think its due— after all the misfits we got, there's finally a proper one," Kuroo says placatingly, grinning. He inspects his own— Maybe the gum ball eyes are a little off-centered, but honestly, she's not a monstrosity.

"I want a refund," Bokuto grumbles. Kuroo throws his head back and howls in laughter.

"I knew it, you only want them for the funny-factor," he accuses, leaning heavily against Bokuto until he leans over too, though he's laughing too much to make it sound like a real accusation.

Bokuto looks confused that Kuroo would assume anything else. "It's one of their defining features." Grumpily he pops it in his mouth, munching with such a scowl on his face. It's probably the angriest he's ever eaten ice cream before, and the whole ordeal just Kuroo wheeze.

"Anyways—" Kuroo starts, trying to divert the conversation so that he stops looking so down, "How's the games been going?" He nods towards the net Bokuto had just been playing at. Teenagers currently are bumping the ball across the net with the ease of those who truly don't give a shit who wins or not. One does a spectacular dive to save a ball, getting a mouthful of sand. Unfortunately, the ball does not go far up into the air from their save, sadly hitting the sand with a pomf. The lost point doesn't bring them down, though— everyone's laughing at the mess of sand on the teen's face. Even the teen's laughing, too, practically spewing sand outta their mouth.

"Oh!" Almost too easily, Bokuto brightens up. Takes a huge ass bite from Bubbles's pigtail before speaking. "It sucks ass! Absolute ass! It is impossible to get a good jump! All I've got going for me is that I can still hit it over okay-ish, but it's horrible, man."

"Well, at least it's not solid wood you're diving into." Residual sand is dotted all over Bokuto's face— it would look like freckles if it wasn't so pale. Brushing his palm over Bokuto's cheeks, he really ends up just smudging the sand across on his face, but the flush that grows along his neck is well worth it.

"It's not really any kinder," Bokuto whines, "Like, sure, I'm not breaking my ribs against floorboards, but... but there's sand up my ass."

"Gross."

"SUPER gross!" Shaking the sand from his hair, which has grown willowy with the humid air, he takes another bite from his ice pop. Then he sputters so loudly people walking by glance to make sure he's not dying. "Why! It's everywhere! Everywhere!" he cries, spitting the chunk of ice to the side. When Kuroo looks closer, there's the sprinkling of sand particles all over the remnants of Bubbles.

"That one was totally on you, you doof, you just shook the sand outta your hair with your pop in your hand," Kuroo grins, not sympathetic in the slightest. However, he hands his still-completely-intact Bubbles to Bokuto, who watery blinks at it, mid scrapping the sand off his tongue. "Have mine— I can try to wipe it off of yours in the meantime."

A dopey smile crests across his face. Simply looking at it makes Kuroo flustered, unbearably to the core, so he forcibly switches the pops to look away. "D'aww, Tetsu," Bokuto coos, the affection palpable in his voice. He nudges his elbow into Kuroo's rib, obnoxious, but so fond. "Yer bein' so nice to me. D'ya got a crush on me or somethin'?"

Nonplussed, Kuroo scoops up a handful of sand and reels back, threatening. Bokuto screeches. Bodily turns away, shielding his ice cream. "You wouldn't!" he cowers.

Though having the power is very nice, he lowers his hand because he's a patron saint. "You're right, I'm too nice to ya," he sneers. Smears the sand off the pop with a spare napkin. The napkin does not get the sand off. There's sand on the napkin. Fuckin'— there's sand everywhere.

What else is he expecting? It's the damn beach. Ah. Whatever. He sticks the pop in his mouth. The sand granules scrape against his tongue, but soon enough they're just in his saliva, which he spits out to the side.

Bokuto's nose is scrunched up like he's watching the worst thing occur. His Bubbles pop is already nearly demolished. "Gross. How can you eat sand."

"Didn't," he corrects. The ice cream's sugary sweet now that the sand's out of his mouth.

"You so just did."

"Didn't you eat some earlier?" he prods, grinning a sharp cat's grin. Bokuto bristles full-bodied, embarrassed. "I saw that dive." He whistles, taunting, "Didn't even save it. A whole mouthful of sand, for nothing... Top ace of the country, who?"

Looking like he's five seconds from just leaping at him, Bokuto almost bursts. "I'd like to see you try! Which one of us will eat the most sand! I don't think you'd even be able to block me," he challenges, puffing up, very smug about it.

Kuroo snorts. "Who's the one here who can jump higher? I can block you easy-peasy."

Briefly, Bokuto's momently stilled. Like he's genuinely surprised. Then he leans, far, far into Kuroo's personal space, "You— You're actually gonna come play a round?" he asks, glimmering. The gold of his eyes glitters so brightly, a sparkling so tangible. Even if he wasn't already planning on playing a round, that charm— he'd be convinced in a second. Bokuto could probably convince him to do whatever he wants.

"'Course I will," he says, fondness pulling at his guts. What a volleyball brain. They're at the beach and they haven't even gone in the water once yet. "What else did I come here for?"

He'd go anywhere he'd ask, after all.

"Besides. Gotta show ya how to set properly, after all," smirking, Kuroo stands up briskly, striding out from their little umbrella to leave a gaping Bokuto to scramble after him a second later. In a couple of long strides, Bokuto falls in step with him, bumping their shoulders together. This time, it's his smile blinding him. He might need to wear sunglasses every time he looks at him.

"You're on!"

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #kuroo tetsurou #bokuto koutarou #bokuro #this is my pride and joy #do not take it seriously. its a lil silly #sappy #fluff #italics didn't move over but! not feeling like adding them in rn! go to ao3 lol

[ain-t-bovvered]

Epiphany 4

read first ACT 1 

EDIT:  @waywardbaby​

Summary: Less than two years later, you finally passed the men of letters’ initiation and, finally, you now set foot in America eager to be reunited with the Winchesters. But if Dean thought that you spent your days only with your nose in books and hands in monster’s guts, he was dead wrong. Your mission? Something that the British branch tried and failed miserably,  or at least that’s what they told you anyway.

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel and Jack

Warnings: slow burn guys…slow burn. Also, some fluff, humor, feels and angst

Legs starting to give in. 

Chest burning with every ragged breath you took.  

Blood pumping and buzzing in your ears. 

Everything was moving in slow-motion. Finally, you reached the doors of the barn, you and your team slamming against them.  They gave in easily but no one was prepared for the scene that was transpiring in front of your eyes. Tony was hanging from his wrists, bloody and unconscious, the glowing blue son of a bitch still feeding on him. You shuddered and bit down a whimper. While the other two took charge, you stayed behind, gun pointed, hands shaking.

This was not your first hunt but it was the first where you had to use a weapon and the first where one of your team’s members had been captured. You watched helplessly as the djinn struck down your colleagues and that was your cue. You raised the gun and fired.

One, two, three shots.

You missed the head all three times.

The Djinn laughed sickly and moved towards you, hand on your neck, slamming you back against the wall, the smell of Toni’s blood and of the straw all around you, assaulting your nose, sharply. The guns slipped from your sweaty grasp and your breath hitched in your throat when the thing brought its face up to yours. As its cold breath spread on your skin, you had time to see the others wasting no time getting Tony free.

The Djinn followed your gaze…

“Wait��!” 

You quickly turned its attention back to you, buying them time. 

“How about a deal, yeah?” You nodded slightly at your colleagues who nodded back and shifted toward the exit, “…my friend is a bit battered, huh? I’m fresh…just had a nice meal and I’m sure you can smell me.”

The tattooed, glowing monster looked at you interested and took a long sniff, slowly dragging its nose along the nape of your neck. And fuck, that was gross.

“Listen…how about I take his place?” 

You watched as your friends looked at you one last time before running out. “I mean, I know what you do, staying in a dream-like state in a beautiful fantasy sounds awesome. I’m tired of all of this, anyway” you said, trying to gesture with your arms. 

The creature looked at you suspiciously. “Your friends are gone and they left you here.”

“Yeah …I know…some friends right? And now you have no midnight snack …so, deal?”

The Djinn smiled viciously and pinned your hands over your head, licking your neck up to your ear. Yeah, scratch the previous notion. This was way worse, you thought, biting down a sound of disgust.

 “Yeah…” it said purring “... you could work too,”  he said tossing you on a pile of hay. Your stomach dropped.

Shit! Hell no!

You tried in vain to retrieve the knife you had hidden in your boot but the monster was faster and your arms were squeezed into a steady hold. You froze, a chilling wave of fear running inside you as your mind prepared to go to its happy place, and you could already see green eyes looking at you softly.

“Oh, don’t worry...” the djinn snarled, almost offended,“... I’m not going to lower myself like you humans do. Your disgusting bodies mean nothing to me. I just prefer…” it continued, dragging you by your wrist and hauling you up in Tony’s place, your body dangling a few inches off the ground “…my meal spicy. You see…. you humans have these little things called pheromones rushing in your blood when I craft a special kind of dream” he purred, lips sliding in the inside of your thigh, “... and they are just delightful”.

You squirmed again in repulsion. “Don’t worry, I’ve read your mind. You’ll love what I’ll create for you” and before you could feel the intense pain running down the inside of your thigh, you lost consciousness.

You re-opened your eyes, feeling drowsy, warm and snuggled. Stirring to stretch your limbs, you heard a muffled groan. 

Oh god! 

You tensed again and that caused another moan near your ear. Looking down you saw two muscular arms, clad in plaid, wrapped around you. Your legs were trapped and you tried to untangle them but the movement made your lower body rub against the warm one behind you. The body stirred, and you stopped breathing when an arm slid down and sneaked under your sweater grazing your skin. A big, warm, calloused hand drawing circles on your ribs. You whimpered as you registered ahead buried deep in your hair, soft warm whispers of breath brushing on your skin. The head nestled into your back, something hot and hard pressing into you, a leg brushing between yours, rubbing just in the right place and in the right angle. Your body arching into the touch without even a second thought.

You heard a groan and your eyes widened. Dean?

His breathing was shallow and regular. He was still sleeping. Was he…dreaming…  about you? What was that?...a dream…? But it felt too good. Too real. You gradually wriggled around, turning to face him. And boy, was that a vision. 

Wait..why is this so familiar? 

His hair was messy, sticking up all over the place, nose almost squashed in the pillow and his mouth slightly open. Golden sunlight danced on his skin, and you knew how warm it was, feeling his hands on you. Eyelids fluttering and lashes grazing his cheeks.  You could count all his freckles and lines, the temptation to trace them making you bite your lips.

The deja vu feeling settling in your heart, making you feel calm. Relaxed. You knew how this was going to go down and you were more than fine with it.

Gently brushing his eyebrow with your fingertips, you softly drove them through his hair. He exhaled and nuzzled his face deeper into the pillow, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. 

A smile threatened to break your own face and something pulled at your heart. In spite of everything else, you felt so comfortable that you thought you could easily let him smother you, right here and right now, falling asleep again.

Maybe …

No, you sighed.

With regret, you removed your hand, his face frowning at the loss, an emotion that intensified when you slowly traced his eyelashes with your finger. His eyes twitched, fast,  under the eyelids. You felt him awakening. He started moving his hand away, but it was too slow and in the wrong direction. It moved to the side instead and when his rough palm grazed against your nipple, the feeling aroused a stifled moan, your body, once again, arching involuntarily into his touch. You opened your eyes and looked into his.

“‘Morning” he beamed brightly at you and brought down his face to kiss you.

Your eyes widened, shocked. 

Wait! This… this was different. 

It was not what you remembered, but you responded enthusiastically, your entire body pressing against his.

“Hey…someone’s feeling frisky this morning huh?” he nuzzled your nose with his, chuckling low, as he embraced you, grazing your jaw with his lips, placing an open wet kiss in that perfect spot on your neck and you moaned clutching his- there was no shirt, his chest was bare.

Yes! Definitely different!

Actually ….he was completely naked. You pushed against him to look down at yourself.

“Why are you naked? Why am I naked? ”

“…so we don’t lose time in the morning to get out of our clothes,” he said hungrily, covering you with his perfect and very naked body. 

What the fuck was happening? 

“Wait …wait…shouldn’t we be looking for your brother?...and I have to go to school”

He looked up at you, stopping what he was doing, which was unfortunate because it was something spectacular.

“Gross, keep my brother out of our bed, and school...? Are you still sleeping?” his voice purred again before you could say anything, his head disappeared under the sheets and whatever you were going to say was quickly forgotten.

“Y/N?” Sam’s hand waved in front of your face and you blinked. “You okay? We lost you there for a bit”

“Err...sorry, where was I?” you asked, shaking your head

“You were telling us how you stupidly offered yourself as a Djin's midnight snack, zoned off right after that” Dean said, harshly.

“Ah…uhm…yes, anyway. That’s where I got the scar...” you let the phrase float there not really wanting to continue it. You saw the gears moving in Dean’s head and when it clicked, the look on his face made your blood freeze. Sam saw it too.

“Dean?” 

Dean’s stare was hard, jaw clenched. “She has a scar on the inside of her thigh,” he said without moving his eyes from yours and you wanted to look somewhere else so freaking bad. Sam’s brain got to the same conclusion as his brother’s and he almost looked at you in the same way. 

“Did -” he started gently, “Did the Djinn…?”

“NO!” you quickly said, raising your voice. “No…God, no. I - I thought it would but, no, never did.” They relaxed a bit. “The feeding scar is there because…” you blushed deeply “…because it liked the ...um, the blood...spiced up”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up and he cleared his throat “...Oh..!”

Dean looked at his brother.

 “What…?” Sam looked at him and then at you, looking anywhere but at them. “WHAT?” Dean repeated, impatiently.

“Dean…I don’t thin-” Sam tried to be considerate.

“…Horny!... Dean…he wanted my blood filled with horny hormones, so it made sure it gave  me plenty of ...fun.”

Covering half your red face with your hand, while Dean looked at you with his mouth open, you shot him a glare and he closed it. Clearing your throat you continued. “Um…ok, so I eventually realized that I was in the dream and knew what I needed to do, but waited so that the team would come back. I just lived the fantasy until I was free from it. And that’s why I don’t like to use guns when I need to be super accurate, ok?” you said in one breath.

“Still…Y/N, you need to learn,” Sam said concerned. “I… we… can help you. Dad taught us when we were just kids. We can teach you, too.”

“... I don’t know Sam…I like my crossbow…”

“If you want to hunt with us, you can’t always use that. When we go back to the bunker we are going straight to the shooting range” Dean interrupted you.

“Fine, “ you said crossing your arms and leaning back.  

“Don’t expect too much, though. Just a heads up there for ya!”

After Sam announced that he was going to the bathroom and to order another round, Dean stayed silent, drinking, until he looked up, his brow furrowed.

“Wait ...how did you know it was a dream?” 

Of course, Dean had to ask that! Of course!

“Because I knew,” you said trying to avoid to answer. 

Dean smiled smugly. “What was your fantasy about?”

“A lot of ...stuff.” 

“When did you realize?” he pressed.

“First day. The first day of the fantasy, which was probably faster in the real world.”

“How...?”

You blushed and rolling your eyes, “you really won’t stop annoying me about it, am I right?” 

The stupid smile he had on his face gave you the answer. Well, what the hell? It’s not like you were a teenager anymore.

“I knew because your brother was missing…kidnapped by a witch…” you said slowly, watching as it dawned on him, “... and you didn’t want to get out of bed…and off of me…” you said hiding behind your empty bottle as you fake drank from it.

You saw him poorly hide a pleased smile and you felt your face be on fire. “And what were we doing, exactly?” 

Oooh, you could just slap that smug face!

“Oh, I don’t know. What do you think?” you said, sarcastically.

“Was I good?” he said leaning in.

“...You were…very generous” you smiled anyway, remembering it.

Dean chuckled amused. “How much time passed before they rescued you?”

“Four or five days, I think. Probably a week or something” you shrugged.

Dean's face fell, “…you were that long in the Djinn’s fantasy?... How far you lived your dream?”

 “Oh my God!! Are you, freaking, kidding me? Again?” you huffed, rolling out of bed, Dean snoring peacefully beside you. You padded across the room that looked bigger than usual. The cries grew louder and you hoped that Sam wouldn’t wake up too. “Yeah, yeah I’m coming. Which of you started it this time? Huh?” the cries muffled, hearing your voice. “I know it was you,” you said as you picked up the infant girl. “Such a fussy one, took it all after your father, you know?”

You balanced her on one arm and picked up the other who stopped crying the moment he was in your other arm. The girl tried to latch on you, “I’ve just fed you two hours ago! You are definitely Dean’s spawn.” You sighed, sitting down on the armchair.

“I heard that!” Dean’s sleepy voice came from the bed. You heard him shifting and his steps coming closer. 

He stood in the doorway for a fraction of a second, his eyes glowing softly as he was taking in the image of his family. Realizing that you were trying to feed them, he left his spot and moving closer, bent down to kiss you. 

“They have your attitude, though,” he said, taking them from you so you could bare your chest and placing them back in your arms but not before making stupid ass faces at them, earning a fit of little giggles. 

“You can go back to sleep Dean, I got this.”

“If you can’t sleep, neither will I. We made these two troublemakers, we deal with them together,” he said massaging your shoulders from behind. Your eyes prickled watching him looking down at you and at them with such doting eyes, that you almost wished no one could come to your rescue. You hadn't even thought of this happening. Well, you had always wanted kids and that’s what the djinn gave you. 

The sick motherfucker.

All of this could end at any given moment and you were exhausted trying not to get too involved. But…how could you not? You loved them. They were your babies, fake ones sure. Dean’s too and they were going to disappear…any minute, now. This Dean was going to disappear, too. You choked out a sob watching them yawning with their tiny, little mouths.

“...What happened, why are you crying?” he asked, turning to look at your face.

“ I’m…I’m just so happy.” you lied. He embraced you and you breathed him in deeply. He smelled like you remembered but at the same time something was different, and you used that to not forget that this was just a dream. His hands traveled down your body and cupped your ass, lifting you up, you locked your legs behind him as he walked back to the bed where you both fell, his hands already reaching to undo the buttons of your pajamas shirt, his mouth hot on your neck. You desperately reached to grab the string of his sweater pants, pulling him down and you gasped in his mouth when you felt how much he wanted you. This was all fake, but….you really didn’t care right now. Your hips grinding, him groaning, you grabbed his head and lifted it to your face, kissing him deeply and pressing yourself against him with need. His bottom lip caught between yours, thrusting his hips into yours low and hard you moaned letting him go to whisper in his ear, “Dean Winchester, fuck me right now and don’t be gentle about it “.

He looked at you, eyes darker than you have ever seen, he smiled, “what’s this all of sudden?” he said getting rid of his shirt and pants and fuck yeah that’s hot, “not that I’m complaining, but..” he chuckled when you squirmed to get out of your underwear, “just wanna make sure” he helped you with that, throwing the pants somewhere behind him,“everything’s ok down here ? I mean... don’t want to hurt you “ he said kissing your hip-bone and slowly moving down.

“Dean…” you growled grabbing him by his hair.

His little throaty laughter vibrated against your skin “As you wish ….”

“Y/N!”

Caught daydreaming again!! Damn it!!

“…what happened in the dream?” Dean asked, sounding troubled.

“Nothing much. Why?”

“….you look like you are about to cry…”

You lifted your hand to touch your face, and sure as hell, it was hot and fat tears threatened to fall. 

“It’s ok really. Just got a little … carried away…” you said fiddling with your pendant.

“ …how long?”

“How long what?” Sam said putting down three new bottles between you two.

“How long, Y/N?!” Dean insisted.

Your eye twitched. Was it Dean’s mission to get under your skin? Because he, damn well sure was crawling under it real fast. Silently fighting with your eyes, you just knew that Dean wasn’t going to lose this one. Groaning, you arched your back on the chair before letting your head fall limp. 

“Almost two years …” you murmured.

“Two freaking years?!” he said shocked. “How far?” he added without thinking. You looked at him with hollow eyes, then up at Sam, and back at Dean.

“Long enough for Sam to... um...to become Uncle Sam.” 

Sam, who was still walking around the table to get to his chair, stumbled and kicked it. The noise of the furniture falling and rolling on the floor filled the heavy bubble of stunned silence around you. Your eyes steady on Dean, his face motionless, but his eyes… 

God…! His eyes were screaming.

His hand gripped the bottle, knuckles whitening and suddenly you couldn’t breathe.  “I- I need some air.” 

You slowly rose from your seat and took a few steps back. Dean’s eyes didn’t follow you. They seemed fixed on where you were seated before. Sam tried to follow you but a flick of your hand stopped him. “I’m okay. I’ve dealt with it. Just…” you didn’t say anything else and went out.

The table was silent, Sam was nervously looking at Dean who was still frozen in his seat.

“Dean…maybe you shoul-”

“-aby..” he whispered. “A friggin’ baby,” he said louder and Sam winced. “She –” he had to stop to calm himself, his fist slowly closing over his mouth.

“She was lucky the blue asshole was a dumbass.” 

He turned his eyes towards the door you had gone out through. 

“Damn kid!” he whispered, scrambling to get up and following after you.

The chilled air of the night filled your lungs as you took long breaths, calming yourself down. It’s not like it was a fresh wound. In the beginning, it had been hard to come back to reality. You had to physically mourn what you had lost, even as fake as it had been, but you were ok now. 

“Ouch!!” 

You slammed into someone’s chest as you turned to go back inside. 

“This is becoming a habit I don’t like,” you said rubbing your nose. You looked up and there was Dean. “Oh…um… hey!”

“Y/N ...” he began.

“Don’t! I’m ok! ” but you saw his expression. How he was trying to find the right thing to say and most obviously, failing. 

“I am, really!” 

So, he closed his mouth again, a fleeting shadow of pain registering in the green of his eyes. You didn't want this. It wasn't his fault. Laying a hand on his arm you tried to speak in a steady tone, “Ok, listen. I’ve dealt with it. It was difficult, nasty and rough and yes… I miss them, but that’s all they were…fake. And I’ve made peace with that. So let’s just drop this. You wanted to know about my scar, that’s the story. Now, can I just go back inside and drink my ass into oblivion? “.

His mouth opened and closed and then he babbled, “them?”

“…twins” you very quickly explained and grabbed his hand. “Come on, let's celebrate the hunt. Don’t forget, you have to buy me drinks” you said, glossing over his dumbstruck expression and dragging him inside. Sitting down, Sam had ordered something stronger, and if that ain’t the Winchester way… He looked at you and it was as if he said everything with his eyes and you smiled back.

“A - and then… I had this idea… listen to me!  You remember the light bomb of those British idiots, yeah? Well, I put that idea into darts. From that, I just did the same thing with whatever” you snorted into your glass, which was depressingly empty again. You looked around squinting, eyeing Sam’s still full glass, “so now we have witch killing darts, angel darts, demon trap darts, silver, iron and salt ones, vamps ones and so on…” 

You knew you were babbling, you could hear your own slurred words, your face felt hot. “I’m hot…” you mumbled, stretching languidly over the table. You heard their muffled chuckles and it reached your ears like cotton. Your chin came to rest lazily on your hand, watching them with glazed eyes.

“I think she's had enough Dean.”

Offended you scoffed at Sam, “What?...shh...” you leaned toward him, clumsily pushing your fingers on his lips missing the target and squashing his nose instead.  “Shhh Sam….” you giggled, patting his face, “Sam, shut up”

You touched your face. It was indeed hot. “Why is it so hot in here ?” You asked and stripped out of your flannel shirt and threw it in Dean’s face and while you had him blinded you snatched his glass and gulped it down.

“Hey, hey you…! Ok!! That’s enough, now.” Dean grinned, standing up and picking you up by the elbow.

You allowed him to lead you out of the bar and to the car, probably because you would have otherwise crawled there but they didn't need to know that. The fresh air of the night hit you right in the face like a punch to the stomach. Suddenly, your head spun and you stumbled forward.

“Woah!" Dean caught you before you could hit the ground.  Yeah, the whole escorting thing had been a great, fucking idea. Head was buzzing and he sure said something but fuck if you heard that.

Did you care, though? 

Yeah right… 

More importantly, there was a real, firm, warm chest against your cheek, his smell hugging you. Without thinking and definitely without realizing it, you nuzzled your face in it, arms sneaking around his torso, locking behind him. Next, you pressed yourself to him, closing your eyes and sighing contentedly.

“Dude, she’s trashed“ Sam chuckled. Dean tried to pry your hands away but you moaned in protest. He fished Baby’s keys from the pocket and threw them at Sam. “Really?...”

“What do you suggest, Sam…? Drive with her on my lap?” 

Sam shrugged almost wanting to see that, but Dean’s frown convinced him to stop even thinking about it and went around the car to the driver seat, sliding you in.

Dean started walking and that, you decided, you didn’t like at all so your arms went around his neck and you jumped up, crossing your legs around his waist.

“Son of a b-” 

He started to walk again with you, lazily, draped on him. “A monkey! I can’t free myself” he said, waving his arms at Sam.

“Just sit in the back, man. It’s not a long drive”

Feeling the shift of his body again you let yourself be maneuvered, settling on just being sitting across his lap, legs draped on the seat, nose nuzzling his neck, his short beard scratching your face, and your arms still hanging around his neck. You fell asleep lulled by his hand slowly drawing circles on your back.

“Don’t you fucking dare to puke all over me or Baby, you hear m-she fell asleep.” 

“She drank almost as much as us. I’m surprised she’s not been sick all over you.”  Sam looked in the rear mirror, at his brother, cradling your slumped form. “You know, Dean...that smile right there… That's something I haven’t seen since Lisa and Ben”

“Sam-”

“No, really! What’s the problem? She clearly likes you a lot - Dude! Don’t roll your eyes at me…you know Djinns read minds, remember?”

“Yes but...”

“She consciously stayed in that for 2 years, going as far as” he waved his hand, “ -that!. She could have escaped any minute and she stayed, knowing all of it was fake and that it would end at any given moment. If that’s not telling you something I don’t know what else can”

“But you..”

“I care about her, okay? But...” his eyes fell softly on you “... she reminds me of Charlie, sometimes”.

Dean stayed silent for a long moment, looking down at you while you mumbled something in your sleep.

“I can’t let what happened to Charlie happen to her….I can’t go through that again”

“I know that, but with or without us, she’s still going to do what she wants. You prefer she does that here, with us or back with her people on the other side of the world?” Dean didn’t answer. He leaned into the seat and closed his eyes.

Once at the motel, Sam helped his brother open your door and he called dibs on the shower, disappearing in their room. Dean sighed and closed the door behind him with his foot, carrying you. 

“You’re so hammered”  he chuckled.

“... mmnot “ you mumbled in the crook of his neck. You felt really, really good where you were. In fact, you didn’t want to stay anywhere else but there, wherever it was. Dean put one knee on the bed, mattress sinking under both your weight. As your body touched the cool sheets, you shivered and your hold on him tightened. Dean tried to pry your arms open.

“Come on. Be a good girl now, let go” he said softly in your ear.

“Bad choice of words...” chuckling drunkenly, you pulled down hard.

“Ooof…” Dean fell face flat on the pillow beside your head. He immediately shifted to get off but you kept him in place, burying your head in his neck. Yeah.... really loved that place, you thought.

“Mmm, stay” you mumbled, your lips grazed from the base of his neck to under his ear. He shivered against you, breath catching on his lips.

“Y/N…” he said, trying to free himself again. The bending of your knees kept him there and he sank down on you and shit that felt awesome. Your lips continued their path to his jaw. You felt him panicking over you and he propped up on his elbows. 

“What are you doing?… Hey, you ok?” he asked, searching your eyes.

“What do you think I'm doing? do I have to draw it for you?” giggling, you trapped his hips between your legs, and fuck yeah he groaned. He tried to say something but you stopped his mouth with yours, the thing you wanted to do since he first spoke to you the day you had arrived. He froze for just one second and then melted into it, sighing as the tip of your tongue swiped his bottom lip. Soon, his own lips moved enthusiastically in dominance and you didn’t protest. 

Not one bit. Especially, when he parted yours, deepening the kiss. His hand traveled up your sides, drawing your curves and sneaking under you, he lifted you against him, sliding you higher on the bed. You hands slipped under his many, too fucking many, layers and Jesus Christ his skin’s hot, your nails dug in it. Something like a grunt resounded in his chest, both his hands followed your example and sneaked under your top, his fingers digging. All of this while his mouth was paying attention to a particularly sweet spot under your jaw. You felt his eat shit grin after the filthy desperate sound you had made.

“Dean …” you breathed out, panting, not that you were calling to him. You just wanted to say his name, let it dance in the space between your lips, and on his skin, “Dean…” you whispered again. He stilled suddenly, like your voice had startled him, his head shot up and you were suddenly looking into his gorgeous eyes. His gorgeous, stormy, troubled eyes.

You lifted to kiss him but he pushed you down gently, protesting and you saw him smiling, bitterly. 

“What’s the matter?” you purred, trying to bring him down again, but he stopped your wrists, firmly, “…not like this…” he whispered, cupping your cheek with his hand and you looked at him with big, shiny eyes trying to focus. It seemed you couldn’t keep them open.

“Uhm, like what?” you mumbled, nuzzling your face in his palm, closing your eyes. He let you down on the pillow gently and stood up. He took off your boots and you curled on your side mumbling nonsense. He chuckled and covered you with one of the spare covers that were stored in the closet. Placing a glass of water on the bedside table, he sat beside you, watching you already be asleep.

As he caressed your hair, you smiled in your sleep. He kissed your forehead, lingering before switching off the lights and walking to the door, gazing at you again before closing it behind him.

Throat feeling like sandpaper, tongue so dry it hurt, you groaned at the pounding in your brain, that felt like a set of fists banging on the door.

“Y/N, wake up!!”

Funny, you thought, sinking even deeper into the pillow. Now, even your brain was talking to you. 

Two more bangs.

Ah shit! It was, indeed, the door. 

“It’s open” you croaked with your face deep in the pillow. The door opened with a nasty, and loud as fuck sound, the latter followed by a set of heavy, fucking footsteps which you felt all over your frontal lobe, you hid your head under the pillow.

“Ah no… Come on!! Time to go, Sleeping Beauty”

You felt hands tugging your pillow and your grip tightened when two sets of chuckles came from above you.

“Can you chuckle silently, please?” you hissed shifting away from the offending sound. The covers you were under were caught by something and suddenly your underwear covered ass was attacked by the crisp morning air. You heard two loud gasps, your own squeal, and your head cleared, just like that.

“Where are your pants?!?” you heard.

You sat on the mattress, stretched yawning, grimacing at whatever died in your mouth.

“Who the fuck sleeps with pants?” You rubbed your eyes and your vision cleared. The two brothers were turned around as if you were all living in the nineteenth century and seeing a woman in her underwear was a sin or something. Laughing, you threw the pillow at them, “It’s just underwear guys, come on!”

You jumped out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom, leaving the boys awkwardly looking around the room.

“We brought you coffee. Figured you needed it.” Sam said. 

Your head popped out of the bathroom, the toothbrush hanging from your mouth and a brush in your bird nest hair. Your nose scrunched up eyeing the three tall paper cups.

“I told you she’d made that face,” Dean said grabbing one of them and sitting on the bed, picking up your pants and throwing them your way. You tried to say something, snarling back but you almost made the toothbrush fall.

After you were presentable enough and the lower part of your body covered in jeans, you heard your stomach growling in angry protest. 

“God, I need to eat something,” you said trying to lift Darcy’s case. When it slipped, Dean caught it in time and you saw he was trying to complain “…you don’t want me to get car sick …”

“... Let’s go get you breakfast”

That had been so easy!

“What can I get? What is the American breakfast cure for a hangover ??? “

“Green smoothie”   

“Bacon,” they said in unison.

“Bitch…gross” 

“Jerk!”

Your eyes rolled and you smiled behind the menu letting them bicker over nothing, like always. God, you had missed them. You had missed these moments. The HQ gave you unlimited time here, at least until you reached enough hunters. But the thought of going back made you anxious. You really didn’t want to go back and it’s been bugging you since you had arrived. The waiter came to take the orders and you decided on a fruit smoothie and some bacon and eggs. Dean went for pie and that was the obvious choice. You wondered if he could ever go for something else and Sam asked for a coffee refill.

“Hey cute accent, where you from? ”

“Huh?” you blinked confused when -you squinted your eyes, trying to read his tag- Mark, the diner-boy talked to you, completely ignoring Sam and Dean, “uh…what?”

“I've never seen you around here before. What are you doin’ after?” 

You tried babbling an answer, all flustered by this forward attempt at flirting.

“I… no.  I - I’m just… I was… I had a job…here”

As he was about to continue, the cook yelled at him. “Quit hitting on customers and give me the orders!” Mark winked at you and left.

“Wow…smooth, Y/N “ Sam snickered.

“…that was embarrassing… first thing in the morning…I can’t” you said, looking out the window, pouting. Dean stayed silent looking very intensely at his turned off cell phone.

“Anyway…” you said, grabbing the boys attention, “In the next few days, after the rest of my things have arrived, would it be okay if I asked you for some of your hunter  friends’ contacts?”

“Sure, why? “ Sam asked, grabbing Dean’s phone and turning it on, scrolling through the contacts.

“Well…I was thinking…  if it’s alright with you…” you swirled a lock of hair around your fingers “…that maybe I could …I don’t know…pay them a visit?...so I could start doing what I was sent here to do…” your voice became small.

“Err…” they started.

“...it’s a problem right?... I know, I hate this part, I sound like a saleswoman! Ugh!” your forehead met the table.

“No, no, Y/N! … it’s not that. You know…we, um…”

“American hunters don’t like being told how to do their job” Dean finished for Sam.

“Yeah….that”

“Oh ...but I’m not here to change that…”

“…yeah but still…they’ll be stubborn, and coarse and rude…” Dean chanted.

“Aaw Dean… are you worried about my feelings?” you extended your hand, touching his arm. “It’s ok! I can take a bit of hostility"

“That’s not w-”

“Here you go, guys!” Diner-boy put down the food and then leaned into you “sooo…you free tonight or you have to ask permission from your uncles here?” he asked nodding with head towards their direction but not actually looking at them. 

Well, that’s just rude, you thought snorting just a little bit, and you could see a vein throbbing on the side on Dean’s temple. 

“I’m sorry, how old do you think I am?” you asked leaning into him too. Dean twitched.

“I don’t know, my age, I guess.”

“And that’ll be…?”

“18…?”

You snorted, picked up your smoothie, wrapping your lips slowly around the straw and looking up at him while you took a sip.

“He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man. And he that is more than a youth is not for me, and he that is less than a man…..” you smiled, straw caught between your teeth "…I am not for him.” He looked at you confused, trying to wrap his mind around what you said. Then his boss called him again and he went back to his work, the confused look most probably imprinted on his face for the days to come. 

“Quoting Shakespeare to scare the youths away now?” Dean chuckled pleased. You watched as Sam turned to look at his brother with raised eyebrows. 

“What ?... I read.” Dean shrugged.

The ride back was faster than you remembered. Mid-road you started to doze off, Dean lowered the music and you fell asleep lulled by Baby’s purr. The road for Dean seemed twice as long, his mind racing.

“I’ll talk to her once at the bunker” he whispered to Sam, who just smiled and looked out the window

#Epiphany 4 #Epiphany #dean winchester #reader insert #reader fanfiction #reader x character #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n

[riverchester]

Killer-Stuffed-Dinosaur In Love

(a 13x16 "Scoobynatural" Coda) - read also on AO3 

Even when yet another apocalypse is just around the corner, the events of their trip to the Scooby-Doo cartoon have a lasting effect on the boys. May it be a fond memory to put a smile on their lips or a piece of fabric that contributes to complete new developments.

Rating:  Teen And Up Audiences No Warnings Category: M/M Fandom: Supernatural Relationship: Castiel / Dean Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester Additional Tags: Episode s13e16: Scoobynatural; Coda; Fluff; Love Confessions; Making Out; Language: English

Blood of the most holy man – check. Fruit from the tree of life – check. Archangel grace – … still to be found.

Sam, Dean, and Cas don’t even have the slightest clue where to search for Lucifer. It’s like he has fallen off the face of the earth – and yes, they actually considered this option. In fact, the more days pass, the more viable it seems that maybe, somehow, Lucifer found a way open the rift and get back to the other dimension. Or maybe he’s just stuck again in one of Colonel Sander’s cells. Because let’s be honest, if he and that other angel would still be running around freely, they would’ve heard of them by now, right?

Sam sits at the table in the war room, hacking something on his laptop – as always – and Dean downs one beer after another while reading through some lore that probably doesn’t even have one hint – as always – when Cas comes down the stairs of the bunker after yet another shot at finding his absent brother.

“Well, your body language speaks volumes, Cas. Let me guess, nothing?” Dean says, stretching his arms over his head. Really, they need a break.

“Nothing, nada, rien, nichts,” Cas sighs, slumping into a chair “I don’t understand it, I searched every place. I actually consider contacting other angels to see if they can help. Although I can imagine they won’t be too excited.” The angel massages his temples as if he has a headache. A very human habit, considering he doesn’t feel that sort of pain.

“Probably not,” Sam says, rubbing his eyes, “but we need every bit of help we can get.”

The loud thud of Dean closing the books in front of him has Sam and Cas turn to him. “No, what we really need, like right now, is a break.”

“Dean – ” Sam starts, but he doesn’t get as far as a second word, because his brother interrupts immediately, raising his hands in defense.

“I get it, Sam, I do. Believe me, I wanna get mom back as soon as possible, and Jack too. I know I was pretty hard on that kid at first, but he’s family. Damn, he already tried so often to save our asses and help us with mom, how could I not see him as a Winchester? And I also know that we have to be quick to stop this Michael 2.0., but look at us,” he gestures wildly between himself and the other men to prove a point, “Sam, when was the last time you looked at something else than the screen of your damn PC? You can hardly keep your eyes open, they must hurt like a bitch. I start reading the same paragraphs over and over again because I just can’t concentrate anymore, the words are swimming before my eyes. And Cas doesn’t exactly look peachy either.”

“I am an angel, I don’t need – ” Cas starts, but again, Dean doesn’t want to hear a word.

“Yeah, I know man, but come on, the last weeks strained your mojo a lot. Don’t act as if it is nothing, cause I saw you napping at the kitchen table. And if I learned one thing in the ten years that I deal with angels, it’s that sleep never means something good for you guys.”

With his arms crossed, Dean sits and waits for a snarky reply, but his brother and best friend just look at each other for a second before they give up and sigh exhaustedly.

“Okay, maybe you’re right,” Sam says, shifting his weight on the chair he sits on for eight hours straight by now, “maybe we really could use a break.”

“Good. So, I’d say you hit the sack and I go for a food run. I wanna eat something real again and not this microwave crap. I’m gonna make chili for dinner. Hot, rich, and spicy. It will get our circulation going.” Dean stands up and the joints in his legs creak. He really could use some time under the hot spray.

“I can join you, if you want,” Cas says to Dean as the hunter grabs his keys from the table.

“Sure.”

“Could you two maybe grab some stuff for smoothies then?” Sam asks, already yawning.

“Okay, but don’t expect me to mix you this stuff. It’s violation of fruits and you know it. Really, apples belong in a pie!” Dean gruntingly says.

Without another word, Sam disappears in direction of his bedroom, while Cas already makes his way over to the garage. Dean stretches and flexes his arms one more time before he follows the angel. They’ve been cooped up in this place for too long. Not that the bunker isn’t a nice place to live in, but even the nicest place can give you cabin fever after a while. The drive to the store will hopefully help him to blow the cobwebs away.

Behind the steering wheel, Dean feels already better. The sound, the smell, and the vibration of his Baby never fail to soothe him. Out on the road, he cranks down the window to feel a bit of the airstream in his hair, and Cas emulates.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have let Lucifer get away in the first place, then we wouldn’t be in this situation now.”

“Cas, this is not your fault.”

After a minute of silence, the angel mumbles, “I’m still sorry.”

Dean sighs. “Could you please stop apologizing for it?” God, when did this become so awkward?

They are still in somewhat of a process of getting comfortable and natural around each other again, after yet another death, yet another time of being forcefully separated from each other and not knowing how the other is. They’ve done it plenty of times over the last years, but it’s an ever-continuing process nonetheless, and it doesn’t get easier.

The hunter can see his best friend eyeing the ascot that he knotted around the rearview mirror. “Sam told me it looks weird to wear it, so I put it up there. In memory of our little adventure,” he says, side-eyeing the angel to wait for any sort of reaction.

“It… didn’t look weird,” Castiel answers carefully after a while.

Dean yanks his head in the other man’s direction, surprised by the answer. “Really?”

“Really,” Cas says. He stares at Dean for a second, before his averts his gaze and looks out of the window. “I mean, it was not what one would call your ‘usual style’, but it was very obvious how much fun you had in the cartoon, and how much you care for these little reminders. I like seeing you happy.”

The hunter stares at the road in front, hoping that the warm feeling in his cheeks doesn’t show on his face. He doesn’t even know what to answer. It’s always like that when Castiel, angel of the Lord, lets out a compliment or anything else slightly emotional in his direction. It still gets Dean every time.

“Ehm, thanks Cas,” he answers to not let the awkward silence drag on for any longer.

“I think I understand now what draws you to this cartoon. I already knew how much you like it before we got sucked into the television, but I never really paid attention on why. But I can imagine now, that as a child who got confronted with the supernatural from a very young age on, those stories were a secure place. You saw this group of people on the screen, who also fight monsters, but in the end, it turns out good. No one dies, and there is nothing to be afraid of in the long run.” The angel stays quite for a moment, as if considering something. “It must’ve been very important for you to have this sort of escape, if only for the length of an episode, once in a while.”

Dean feels a lump forming in his throat. He knew this, sure, but no one ever spoke it out loud, no one ever put it together this simple. And of course, Cas did it. His always curious, billions of years old angel, who gets fascinated by things as cereals and foosball, might have problems at times with slang or social interactions, but he never fails to amaze Dean with his train of thoughts.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he answers, although he would like to say more. He would like to say “thank you”, he would like to say something smart, but to be honest, he also just wants to grab this guy and kiss the shit out of him.

It’s not like Dean doesn’t know about his feeling for his best friend, he knows it very well. How can a guy not, if the face of his angel friend is the picture that follows him into his dreams at night, or if the tingly feeling on his skin whenever they touch stays for hours? And even if Dean might be too naïve or suppressing to figure it out with that, the boner he’s sported on several occasions is not exactly a thing to ignore. But he also knows that neither him or Cas are well known for having luck in their lives, especially considering romantic interests, so to make the first step, to actually act on those feelings, is more than he can usually handle.

Their shopping trip is quick and efficient because Dean knows his chili recipe by heart and Cas gratefully undertakes the task of selecting fruits and veggies for Sam. It’s a nice and utterly normal activity, to go grocery shopping together; Dean would even call it domestic and he enjoys this togetherness while walking up and down the aisles and adding things to their cart. They don’t even have to talk much, that was never their thing anyway. It was always more staring than words, but somehow they get along with it quite well. Maybe it’s this ‘more profound bound’ thing that Cas talked about. Dean always wondered what that exactly meant.

The drive back home is comfortable and Dean turns up the volume to sing along the radio. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watches Cas drum with his fingers to the beat. God, how he loves those little gestures of the angel. He grins from ear to ear and lays off the gas pedal a bit, just to have a minute or two more with the other man. But Lebanon is tiny and although the bunker is hidden outside the town, they arrive back in the garage sooner than Dean would’ve liked. Not that he doesn’t feel comfortable around Cas when they’re in the bunker, but in Sam’s presence, he’s far more aware of what he’s doing and how he acts around the angel. Which is stupid because his giant moose brother would be the last person to judge him. On the road, however, he feels a bit more confident – at least in his head. Out on the road, he sometimes has the feeling like he might have the guts to make a move.

The garage door closes, and Dean shuts down the engine. Without the constant background noise of his Baby, it’s dead silent. Before he can get as far as touching the handle of the driver’s door, he can see Cas starting to fumble with the ascot. Dean squints his eyes and watches his best friend untying the knot and carefully straightening the fabric in his lap.

“Cas, what – ” Dean starts but immediately shuts his mouth again when Cas crawls over to his side of the bench and places the ascot around his neck. The hunter shudders at the feeling of Cas’ fingers on his skin, and they are so close, that he has nothing but the angel in his field of vision, nothing but his best friend’s breath that sounds in his ears.

Cas takes his time with tying the fabric and Dean holds his breath the whole time. Every muscle in his body is tensed and the thoughts running through his mind make his head spin. How can the guy smell so amazing?

After what feels like an eternity, the angel straightens the perfect knot one last time and whispers, still close to Dean’s face “It suits you.” Then he is about to lean back, to take his hands away from the hunter’s body, but Dean reacts out of instinct and grabs for Cas’ wrist, holding him in place.

“Dean?”

He hears it, the gravelly voice calling his name, but he’s like in trance. That’s exactly what he was afraid of, acting without thinking and then not having a clue how to proceed. He can’t go further, but he can’t let Cas go and pretend as if nothing happened either. So he just stares. They’re Cas and Dean so staring is their thing, right? In fact, he knows that he’s pleading, that he looks desperate and if this bond between them truly exists, he hopes that Cas gets it and will interpret it right.

And boy, does he interpret it right. The first touch of lips on lips is careful and reserved, their mouths barely brushing against each other. But once this hurdle is cleared, they only separate for Dean to breathe. And they still try to get closer, with Cas fisting the ascot and Dean reciprocating by grabbing for the angel’s tie. His back is pressed against the driver’s door, but although the handle is a bit uncomfortable, Dean can’t stop grinning against the kisses. Turns out, he wasn’t the only one needy to get this on the road. They grasp and touch and kiss, and slowly get from a sitting to a more lying position, with Cas on top; not at all surprising for Dean.

Their breath fogs the inside of the Impala and it’s pretty obvious that they either need to stop soon or lose some clothes and move to the backseat. Dean is torn between both possibilities. On the one hand, he already feels the familiar spark pooling deep inside his body, ready to go further, but on the other hand, it’s also too much at once. This is Cas, not some random girl from a bar. He deserves something special, and although the thought of sex with Cas in his Baby has Dean moaning against the angel’s mouth, their first time should be different. They should be able to fall asleep next to each other… or at least Dean.

He puts one hand flat against Cas’ chest and breaks their kiss. The angel’s grumpy moan makes it obvious that he’s not amused by this, but he reluctantly leans back and stares at Dean. He looks totally debauched, with swollen lips and lust-blown eyes, sweat forming on his forehead. Dean can only assume that he himself looks equally tousled.

“Dean?” There it is again, this one syllable that goes straight to Dean’s groin. He almost regrets his decision and thinks about just leaning in again, but his stomach uses the moment of silence between them to growl. Cas chuckles and Dean shrugs – a very awkward gesture in his position.

“Ehm… maybe I should start making dinner,” he says and the angel nods.

“Can I help you?”

“Sure.” They stay like this for another few moments, share another sweet kiss, and then straighten their clothes to look decent once they crawled out of the car.

In the kitchen, they stay as close as possible while washing, chopping, and cooking. Sometimes it’s their hips touching, sometimes their arms. One might let a finger trail over the other’s shoulder when they walk across the room. When the chili simmers on the stove, Cas crowds Dean against the counter and presses their bodies together. The hunter immediately looks to the door and Cas steps back, knowing his favorite human well enough to not risk him feeling uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” Dean mutters, looking at the ground.

“It’s okay, I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” the hunter adds, “I… I’m not ashamed of this,” he gestures between them, “and I don’t wanna hide it from Sam. I just… I don’t want to… well, tell him like this. I’m gonna talk to him.”

“You want to talk? By choice?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Seems like being in love makes me sappy and talkative”

It takes Dean a moment to realize what he just said, and he’s already getting nervous again until he sees the huge grin on Cas’ face, who leans in and claims the other man’s mouth in a passionate, sweet and loving kiss. “I love you too.”

Their confessions and following making out is cut short when they hear a door opening and closing pretty loudly down the hall. Bless this bunker for the echoing corridors. “To be continued,” Cas whispers into Dean’s ear.

When Sam scuffs into the kitchen, they already set the table. Team Free Will sits down and enjoys the meal that turned out truly delicious. After his second serving, Sam shoves the bowl to the side and leans back in his chair, sighing in contentment.

“Really, Dean? The ascot again?”

Just then the older brother looks down at him and sees that he’s still wearing the piece of fabric. Before he can answer, though, Cas starts to speak and pats his hand under the table.

“Well, I can see why Daphne likes it.”

#supernatural #fanfiction #scoobynatural #coda #spn 13x16 #Destiel #killer stuffed dinosaur in love

[themanicgalaxy]

SPN 4X7 It’s the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester

wow working off of....a very fun...adrenaline crash

I’m so tired, panicking is a bad vibe 

let’s do this, I hear Sam meets Cas in this episode

wow look at this nice and lovely family, can’t wait to see how they FUCKING DIE

why is the candy shot like this, what happens to the candy

WHY IS THE RAZOR LODGED IN HIS THROAT

WHY IS IT BLEEDING

WHAT THE FUCK

HE’S COUGHING UP RAZORS WHAT THE

just my luck it’s a scary one and on the big screen

the *holds up spell bag and then hides it once Sam sees and starts questioning* was smooth, I like when they do the teamwork thing

Dean why are you eating candy, there are razors in the halloween

oh lovely that’s a Cursed Hex Bag

“he made vanilla look spicy” is a funny line

These people look so young 

OH GOD NO DON’T BOB FOR APPLES

STUPID FRAMING DEVICE

ah I see love triangle or something

oh mY GOD SHE’S STUCK

IT’S BOILING THIS IS HORRIFIC

they’re high schoolers ah 

because the hail bait comment wheeee

Sam does the hold up this time!

AGENT SEGER

Samhain! Halloween origin! that’s kinda neat

600 years! “and the next cycle is” “Tomorrow” “naturally”

so it raises All the Supernatural that’s fun

DEAN STOP EATING CANDY WHY

aH THE TEENAGER!

Of course her name is Tracy

never heard of Luke Wallace my ass

“if you could pick any costume to come back in, wouldn’t you pick a hot cheerleader? I would”

DEAN WHAT THE F U C K DOES THAT MEAN THAT’S DEFINITELY NOT HOW OBJECTIFICATION WORKS

ooo flashbacks to hell in the mask!

Sam asks if it brings back memories of being a teenager, Dean interprets Hell

...what...brings back memories?? DEAN?

huh the Occult Drawings that’s interesting

“emancipated teen” DID NO ONE FUCKING CHECK THAT

“Trick or treat” “This is a motel”

Dean just wants to eat candy

Dean stop antagonizing the kid

CAS CAS CAS!

SAM IS SO STARSTRUCK THAT’S SO CUTE

Castiel what the actual fuck you’re adorable but fucking terrible at communication 

“we’re working on it” “that’s unfortunate” KILLED ME

That was a Significant Look of Uriel 

of course it’s a seal

“purified a city” aka kill 1000 people wheee

“you’re bigger picture kind of guys” oooo interesting

“have faith” 

OOO CAS BLINDLY FOLLOWS ORDERS

heh puts it in context of his daddy issues but Dean’s been growing past that

Uses his own life as a bargaining chip AGAIN DEAN

Although to be fair, that works

Castiel takes! chance! on DEAN!!!

Angels are assholes, time to figure ir out

“they are righteous that’s the problem”

“there’s nothing more dangerous than some asshole who thinks he’s on a mission from God” OHHHH COME ON THAT’S SO LOADED YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE THAT THERE

“This is what I’ve been praying to” OH M Y G O D I HAVE THING ABOUT THE FAITH AND SIBLINGS AND AHHHH

“bad apples” SERIOUSLY THIS LOADED ASS CONVERSATION

DEAN WANTS HIS BROTHER TO BELIEVE IN SOMETHING STILL O W 

Sam figures out where to go based on the burning of the bone wow!

Sam being smart Sam being smart!!!

“you shouldn’t call them that” Castiel #1 human stan

Why stand and then sit, why stand and then-

disobey orders oho

ah so Tracy’s the sacrifice, and Don’s the Evil One and used her as a scapegoat? ?

of course the perving on the teenager why wouldn’t we god fuckign dammit kripke

...that’s her brother? what the fuck?

ok the eye glitter/lighting was neat

no ok but Magic Witch Lady is kinda a fun character too bad she’s gonna die

Sam do ur magic

Dunks them in blood? Sam what are you doing?

kills her? I feel like kills her?

bro that’s your brother’s body technically

yep

...whore...

Still kinda funny tho

heh they play dead

OH THE MASKS! THE MASKS CALLBACK!

SMART SAM SMART SAM SMART S A M 

“you gave it a shot” god i love that, I love when Sam just tries Wack Shit 

“BeCauSe thE aNgEl SaiD so”

Angst Teen Sam

bUT DEANNN Why can’t I use my POWERSSSS

just gonna kill the teenagers and trap them with the corpses

oh sweet jesus

oooo CLASSIC horror iconography

IT JUST DOESN’T FUCKING WORK ON SAM OH HELL YEAH

And then they graduate to fistfight but still

Dean’s just going on the Murder Train

GOOD YES DO IT SAM!

FCUK EM UP BABE HEAVEN’S A PIECE OF SHIT ANYWAY

OOO THE ANTICHRIST IMAGERY, THE HORROR IMAGERY, THAT’s SO COOL

AND THE STAND IN FRONT OF STAINED CLASS AND DEAN IN FRONT OF LIGHTS WITH LIKE THE “OH SHIT AM I GONNA HAVE TO KILL MY BROTHER”

November 2nd is the day AZAZEL killed Jess and Mary, making the day before, day after, day of, two days before thing Neat

“you were told” THAT’S NOT COMPELLING H E A V E N 

~wing flap~

“ask Dean what he remembers of hell” oof

CASCASCAS CAS AND DEAN CAS AND DEAN CAS AND DEAN

ordered to follow Sam and Dean?? what?

the ripped jeans by the way, good

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow” he never knows, that��s why-

THE KIDS! THE K I D S 

the angel that loves humanity ~too much, the way God told them to 

Aziraphale and Cas should hang

“I’m not a hammer” “daddy’s blunt little instrument” DAOFIHADSPIASFSIP

RIGHT AND WRONG RIGHT AND WRONG RIGHT AND WRONG

DID THEY PASS? WE DON’T KNOW AHAHHH

MEANINGFUL STARES

and then just the Disappear is so good

ok uh first

1. Sam praying. I don’t really know why this one got me, but the fact that Sam believes in a higher power, or tried to believe with his entire soul, and Dean desperately tries to get his brother to believe in something(unbroken? tries to make sure he’s ok because Dean never will be? Something like that?) feels important? Or maybe it’s that for Dean, Dad’s Orders and Consequence hit as the Ultimate Punishment, whereas Sam got to relax about it a bit

Look am I directly finding parallels to my own experience now? yes of course, it’s my unparalleled media experience and I can project if I want to. I’m WAY more scared of my parents/dad and what they do than I am of any higher power(crying while driving home as Vibe Music that I generally enjoy vs the Season 3 finale scene wheeee), whereas my sister actually tried to give religion a fair shot and used to pray. It’s not a direct parallel, but it’s been a bad day, I wanna put that in there somewhere

(also if it genuinely wasn’t my fault and I just assumed that I would never be able to explain my way out of anything so I shouldn’t try, leading me wishing to never be perceived so I don’t get punished for things that weren’t my fault. If true then Pain)

*insert Paws Meme*

2. Smart Sam. I liked Sam being smart, doing shit for the case in interesting ways, and I really like his powers plot line! Like you’re right dude! Heaven has no compelling reasoning other than “because I told you so” and it’s way more practical to just do it! His mom and girlfriend are already dead there’s nothing else to be done now! Like! Sam’s Antichrist arc is actually interesting! And I like him getting to be a character! The mask Idea was SO NEAT!!

3. bad apples+mission from God. I. Ok. Listen. This is just that one loaded conversation with “bad apple”(I’d like to point out that at some point it shows Cas as the Only Good One, right? dismantle the institution type thing, right? Is that what they were going for?) and also that “people who believe they have a mission from God do bad thing” LIKE SO CLOSE ! To SO MANY! lOADED THINGS! A G H

Look I’m too tired to type out all my thoughts to this, but I think you get the point that this is shit I wish they’d explored more

4. I entirely forgot that whole thing where they tried to show Dean objectifying teen girls and accidentally made Dean sound like he wanted to be a girl. Like even if that’s simply sexuality, or both gender and sexuality...like that’s. how did you do this. How did you accidentally make him like this.

5. Cas/Cas+Dean. Ok first off, having him desperately try to save humanity(reminds me of aziraphale) is so interesting! like It feels like Dean(who's working on not taking orders blindly anymore following that demon deal) doesn’t like seeing Castiel and Heaven because it reminds him of that part of himself he’s worthing through! and that one scene where Cas said “I’m not a hammer”(Directly parallel to “Daddy’s blunt little instrument”) is like. Dean started that journey in Cas. Getting him to question things. 

that whole thing about “I know this was a test, but we don’t know if you failed it or not” because I don’t know what God would want because God’s the ever present father figure for Cas, and Dean’s lack of faith in God, and Cas’s lack of faith in God and

ok they have an INCREDIBLY compelling story currently, and I am kinda excited to see where they go with it.

yknow before the queer bait REALLY sets in

6. I was ready to write this episode off with the horror but the iconography at the end with the seal/witch/Sam and Dean scene was rEAlly fucking cool and I loved it.

7. the beginning of the stares

#pawswatchesspn #Very Big Brain in this episode #but still incredibly compelling #to me #again circumstance circumstance #yada yada yada #I just like the Cas episode building the dynamic leave me alone #4x7 It's The Great Pumpkin Sam Winchester

[lovelysvtn]

5 senses at a college party with boyfriend!Mingyu 1.8k words; fluffy but suggestive, kind of? (WARNINGS:  this story includes mentions of alcohol) NOTE: firstly, thanks to sophie for the prompt idea.  secondly, while this isn’t technically very smutty, you can obviously tell my mind went to the gutter again. so sorry for that (but not really). enjoy :)

Sight

As you squeezed through the crowd of dancing bodies, your eyes slid across the area; arms flew in all directions and dribbles of liquid flew from the cups said arms tried to preserve whilst moving wildly.  You set your sights above the ocean of heads, searching for mound of brown hair that would stick out significantly high above all others.  

Your eyes finally landed on the familiar face of a tall, slender boy with yellow hair ruffled across his forehead, to which you hurriedly flocked to. “Hey, Minghao!”  You yelled above all other imposing sounds to get the boy’s attention, stepping up to him with a big smile.

“Heeeey,” he gleamed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “What’s up?” He led you away from the crowd of people and into the kitchen, where empty cups littered the floor, abandoned half-filled cups rested on the table and stools, and a line of liquor bottles and sodas lined the counters. “What do you want, I’ll pour you up,” your friend offered, grabbing a red cup from the upside down stack.  

“Whatever you feel like pouring,” you confirmed, not feeling the right to be picky about his house’s free booze.  “Uh, d’you know where Mingyu is, though?”

Minghao shrugged his shoulders, his earring bouncing with the action, “Nah, haven’t seen him in a bit.  He’s probably waiting around for you, too,” he laughed at the idea of the pair of you searching in opposite directions for one another as he handed you the cup.

“Thanks.” You blew out a sigh, “I’m gonna check his room, if you see him send his lanky ass to me,” with a shared laugh between you both, you retreated to the back of the house.  Muttering apologies and excusing yourself, you pushed past the few couples who were pressed together against the walls of the hallway.  Your knuckles tapped against his door three times before you entered, your eyes dropping upon the long legs that rested comfortably on the bed.  

Your eyes skimmed up his long body, taking in the clothes he donned tonight first.  You always loved how stylish your boyfriend was, legs clad in black jeans, torso covered with a thin, loose grey tee shirt accompanied by an even more loose plaid flannel comprised of dark green and navy blue.  Dangling to the side of his neck was the plain gold chain you’d gotten him a while back (you’d only gotten it because he whined about not looking cool enough without one), but you didn’t regret it, he did look heavenly with it on.  Scanning the hunk further upward, you were met with a smile of pearly white teeth and those two cute canines that stuck out, and finishing the eyeing of your man led to his hair, slightly messed up from having been laying down, but even before he’d lie down he had probably forgotten to brush through it, anyway.

“Here you were,” you cooed, a smile dragging across your lips at the sight of his own.  The moment you walked in, he’d gotten up from the bed and picked up a bottle from the table, lifting it to his smiling lips, eyes gleaming as they scraped over your entirety.  

Smell

Arms quickly engulfed you in a loose embrace, your nose meeting with the chest in front of you just as quickly.  With a pleased giggle, you leaned forward and rested your weight against Mingyu, breathing in deeply.  His shirt smelled of fabric softener and detergent, provoking you to rub your face against him.

“Huh, finally did your laundry, did you?” You chided, a playful smile overtaking your expression.  You wrapped an arm around his waist and gazed upward, scrunching your nose as his breath flowed across your face; you’d expected a heavier stench of beer than he’d given off, but only a light bitterness accompanied by a hint of his toothpaste’s spearmint flavor invaded your senses.

“Actually, I just borrowed this from Minghao,” he joked along with you, lips curling into another beautiful smile.  His neck craned downward as you lifted to your toes, lips skimming across yours lightly before throwing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you to his side.  “There’s a whole party out there and we’re missing out, let’s go!”

Letting out a hearty laugh, you held your arm forward and called out in agreement, your head resting against his shoulder as he led the both of you out the room.  You inhaled his cologne as you made way through people once more; Mingyu being the kind of guy who never left his room without making sure he didn’t reek of manly stench.  Yet, although you would never admit it to him (his ego would positively explode), even his natural aroma was pleasing; a unexplainable musk that gave you a filling sense of security when it were just the two of you, lying side by side in his bed.  His cologne, however, gave Mingyu a different vibe; the warmth that emits from his fragrance heats your nostrils, the blend spicy yet still sweet.  Honestly, Mingyu may as well have irresistible written across his forehead with the way just his scents alone make you feel.

As the two of you made your way into the living room, the once pleasing aroma flowing from your boyfriend was overpowered by the amount of people whose bodies produced disgustingly powerful stenches.  “I need another drink, come with me,” Mingyu whined and moved his arm to your waist, pulling you along with him to the kitchen.

Taste

You brought your own cup to your lips as Mingyu poured his, eyes shutting and lips pinching as the searing liquid slid down your throat.  Silently, you cursed Minghao, an unintentional laugh rising through you.  Of course, of all possible liquor options, he would give you the drink with a heavy bite; the flavor alone was enough to send chills down your spine, it tasted smokey and had the brash flavor of cinnamon.

Mingyu returned to your side, leaning against the counter and throwing back a big gulp of his preferred drink.  He nudged you with his shoulder to get your attention, “You’re admiring me very heavily, ya’ know?” He teased you while pulling you in front of himself and putting his drink aside. “But I guess I’ll give you a free pass to admire, I mean: I am quite the attraction.”  

You let out a scoff, along with a roll of the eyes, as you reached for each collar side of his opened flannel shirt. “And I’ll give you a free pass for that, because you really are,” you gave your boyfriend a wink before pulling him in for a kiss.  Mingyu’s lips, no matter what he’d consumed, are always just as sweet as his persona; not the multiples of unhealthy candies sweet, definitely not that.  His lips always taste of genuine sugar, the kind that you eat as a child before pouring it your cereal, expecting it to be just as nice as candy but really it’s just sweetness, there’s no flavor to the sugar, just that singular sensation. That’s what he tasted like, that and a hint of booze, of course.

Touch

Mingyu’s hands made their way to your waist, one arm quickly winding itself around you and pressing you flush against his body, the other hand came up to meet your neck, fingers brushing gently through your smooth strands of hair.  Your own pair found themselves moving from his collar to his hair and his chest, one combing through the feathery soft tufts of brown, while the other pressed flat against him, right on top of his accelerating heartbeat.

Your lips curled into a smile at the feeling of his heart rate, sliding from his own lips to his cheek, from his cheek to his jaw, and from there to his neck.  Although you knew you were flush in the middle of the kitchen and pinned together with Mingyu, his skin just felt so soft and so warm and plush under your kisses that it were impossible to tear yourself away from such an intoxicating man.

Meanwhile, Mingyu’s own fingers had began to hike up your shirt, gliding across your own smooth skin and drawing small circles upon each of your hips.  His head lolled to the side as your lips continued to the crook of his neck, teeth scraping against him, drawing small goosebumps to his skin and sending a crude chill down his spine.

You feel the vibrations of the  grunt that leaves his chest as you make your way back to his lips, hovering them with the lightest touch you could muster.  The fingers that were previously circling your skin were now pressed onto your back causing you break into a smile and skim your hands up to Mingyu’s cheeks.  Pressing them firmly, you leave a lingering peck and let your eyes graze up his face to meet the eyes that were now fiery hot, a combination between the alcohol and your incredibly intense teasing.

Sound

“HEY, could you two stop being gross right here, you’re in the way!”  A loud roar from Minghao broke the concentration you had on your boyfriend as you turned around and flipped a rude finger toward him.  With a laugh you pushed yourself away from Mingyu and grabbed onto your drink again.  “Go be nasty among the other dancing nasties, would you?3”

“He must be lone-drinking tonight, huh?” Mingyu quipped, spurting into a heart-warming laugh at his roommate’s expression.  Although he frequently laughed—not just small laughs but hearty, full laughs—the sound never failed to bring an instant smile to your face.  His laugh always sounded so pure and warm, and it alone showed Mingyu in his entirety; a warm, playful, gentle kind of guy.

“Piss off,” Minghao scowled, shooing you and your boyfriend out of the kitchen.  The closer you got to the living room the louder the blaring of music got.  Mingyu clinged to you as you continued to one of the inner corners of the room where other familiar faces of Mingyu’s friends were holed up.  The two of you joined in with most of the others at the party, bodies syncing to the beats of the song, one of which you were unfamiliar with but all the same provided you with something to move to.

“I just think you should know,” your boyfriends silky smooth voice started, close enough to your ear for only you to hear—but to hear very clearly.  “You got me all worked up in there,” he pressed on, the depth in his voice sending tremors through your body, a smirk lacing itself on both yours and his lips. “And I’m definitely getting payback tonight.  No free passes anymore, baby.” A few sentences had never evoked so many reactions from you before; Mingyu’s deep, sultry voice flooded through you in heavy waves, you could honestly listen to him speak nonstop in this tone.  It was almost chocolaty, smooth and velvety, terribly delectable and leaving you to whither in anticipation for the events to come.

#seventeen scenarios #mingyu scenarios #seventeen #mingyu #g:suggestive #g:fluff #t:senses #ch:mingyu #a:meagan

[louisianaspell]

She Paints Me Blue

Part 1

Warnings: Nothing spicy, it is all pretty mild. Mentions of insecurity.

Word Count: 2980-ish

Request: “Oh!! Can u please do a turn boys+girls with a artist s/o, like them having paint fights, the reader drawing them and making unneeded commentary 'I ain't no pirate but yo booty lookin FINE', not realizing the reader sneakily left a handprint on the bum of the boy/girls pants, reader constantly complimenting them, spontaneous and heated make-out sessions turning into inspiration and the reader fleeing to write down the idea”

A/N: I am by no means an artist, so I hope this came out okay. Anyway, I decided to split this into two parts to keep it from being too long, Turn Guys and Turn Ladies. Once again, if there is a character you want me to write for, feel free to ask.

Tag: @beautifulfound  @im-way-too-many-fandoms

Table of Contents

Caleb Brewster

“Caleb! If you don’t sit still, I am going to tie you to that chair!” You peeked over your easel to scold your squirming model as you pushed back a few stray strands of hair off of your face.

“Is that a promise, [Y/N]?” He replied with a wink and the smile that always makes your heart skip a beat. From the moment you laid eyes on Caleb, all you could think about was trying to capture the essence of his smile on canvas and how it made you feel like seeing the sun for the first time after a long dark winter’s night. You were currently trying your best to capture all of that, but Caleb was currently squirming in his seat like an impatient toddler.

“I am not going to give into your flirtations today, Mr. Brewster. I intend to finish this painting today, even if that means holding you against your will.” You replied with your best assertive sounding voice as you tried your best to hide your smile while you tossed one of your brushes at him.

“Oh, is this how you want to play, [Y/N]?” He laughed as he picked up the paintbrush off the floor in front of him and threw it back at you. You laughed as you watched the paintbrush narrowly missed your head.

“Caleb Brewster! That almost hit me!” You feign shock as you picked up another brush and dipped it in yellow paint and flung it at him, hitting him and splattering the paint on his face. “Oh, no.” You covered your mouth as you laughed. You watched and tried to contain your laughter as Caleb tried and failed to wipe the paint from his face, instead he just ended up smearing the paint into his beard.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think I would actually hit you. You know me, I have terrible aim. Come here, let me get you cleaned up.” As he walked over towards where you were standing, you turned your back to him as you tried to find a clean cloth to help clean his face. Once you turn around you’re greeted with Caleb grabbing your face with his paint covered hands and sloppily kissing you.

“That was uncalled for!” You laugh as you touch the paint on your cheek.

Soon the two of you start chasing after each other through your studio, laughing as you both fling paint at one another. After what feels like hours of just running around like children, the two of you collapse on the floor next to each other, both exhausted and covered in paint.

“So much for getting that painting done, aye?” Caleb teases.

“You’re a terrible influence, Caleb. Oh, you have a little something right...there.” You roll onto your side, facing Caleb as you caress his cheek smearing just a little more paint on his cheek. You smile and kiss a spot on his face that wasn’t currently covered in paint. “You’re helping me clean this mess.” You look over and see him smiling at you.

“I know.” Caleb laughs as he answers you.

Alexander Hamilton

While there were many perks to being an aide-de-camp to General Washington, Alexander couldn’t think of a better one than the privilege of being in the same room while you worked your magic sculpting a bust of the General. The passion and intensity you had while you tried to capture the likeness and authority of Washington in clay was completely mesmerizing, he couldn’t help but watch you work, even if that meant enduring the unamused glares from Washington.  

The relationship started off innocently enough, the stolen glances at one another when you each thought the other wasn’t looking and the shy smiles at each other when you were each caught red-handed. But soon it became clear to Alex that you were not the quiet and seemingly shy young woman who spent her days silently turning a mass of clay into a likeness of the General. There were days he felt like he met his match, and others where he felt like he was in over his head with you.

“You do realize I snuck away from Washington to see you, right?” Alexander walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. You used every ounce of self control to keep yourself from turning around to return the embrace since your hands were coated in clay.

“Are you telling me this so that I can make arrangements to attend your court martial hearing, or a warning that I’ll be called as a witness?” You joke as you feel him quietly chuckle.

“Possibly both, but also as an attempt to get you to pay more attention to me, I'm starting to get jealous of the Old Fox. He seems to be taking up all of your time, especially in clay form.” You watch him reach his hand out to poke the wet clay, but you smack his hand before he can touch it. You smile as you feel him wiping the wet clay onto your smock.

“That might be true, but he has nothing on a certain handsome young man in camp that I’ve had my eye on for awhile now. Everytime I see him in uniform, my heart skips a beat.” You lean back against him, biting your lip trying to conceal your smile.

“It is quite possible this certain young man might have his eye on you as well.” He kisses your neck before you spin around to face him.

“The Marquis De Lafayette is interested in me?! Please tell me more! Has he said anything about me? Does he wish to court me? Do you think he’ll take me to France?” You tease him as he rolls his eyes. You carefully drape your arms around his neck, cautious not to get any clay in his hair. “Don’t be jealous, darling, you know I only have eyes for you.” You pull him in closer to you, your eyes meet as you wait for him to make the next move. It doesn’t take him long to get the hint as things soon become heated.

He picks you up and carries you bridal style over to the one small desk in your makeshift studio that was currently unoccupied by art supplies. He sets you down on the desk as his lips reconnect with yours. You lose yourself in the heat of the moment as you wrap your legs around him, placing your hands on his lower back, pulling him closer to you. As you start undressing each other and throwing the clothes onto the floor, a knock at the studio door puts and end to the affair.

“Just a moment!” You call out while you grab your discarded smock off of the ground, putting it on while making your way to the door, trying to make yourself look presentable. When you open it, you’re greeted with a young soldier.

“Ma’am.” The young man nods. “I am sorry for bothering you, but General Washington is looking for Col. Hamilton and it was suggested by Major Tallmadge that I check here.”

“Oh. Yes, of course, he is here. ” You reply, quickly glancing over your shoulder to see Alexander fixing his uniform. “He came to check on my progress for the General.” You said, trying to keep the young man occupied while you waited on Alex. Once he’s finally presentable, he walks up to the door as you step out of way for him.

“I shall let the General know how the bust is coming along.” Both Alexander and the young soldier give a small bow before walking away. You laugh quietly to yourself while watching Alexander walk away from you.

After a brief reprimand from Washington about his disappearance, an intelligence and strategy briefing with Benjamin gets underway, unfortunately for Alexander today was a painfully long briefing. By the time it was all said and done he felt it was too late to return to your studio, instead he planned on returning to his quarters and focus on getting caught up on his work. As he turns away from Washington and is about to walk out of the office, George stops him.

“Oh, and Hamilton?” Washington calls out to him.

“Yes, Sir?” Alexander spins around to face the General.

“Next time you wish to spend time with Ms. [Y/N], just ask. There’s no need for you to sneak around.” George’s statement left Alexander a bit confused, wondering how could he possibly know? Alexander looks at Benjamin, who shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders.

“Of course, Sir. Thank you, I shall keep that in mind.” Alexander responds before once again heading towards the door. Once he walks out of Washington’s office, he hears Benjamin call out to him. He turns around to see Benjamin chasing after him.

“Hamilton, are you aware that you have a set of handprints on your arse?”

Benjamin Tallmadge

Benjamin watches as you once again attempt to not-so-discreetly sketch him, he could always tell when you were trying to sketch or paint him. You would get this very specific look on your face while working, you would look at him with love in your eyes which would quickly turn into a look of complete disappointment the moment you looked back at your book or canvas. Ben never knew what you be trying to do that would warrant such a reaction, he just wished he could know what was going through your mind while you worked.

In the time that you had been together, Benjamin could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually seen your work, and each of those times they had been pieces that he later found out from someone else that they were your pieces. He never understood why you were so self conscious of your pieces, he loved your work and was always tried to be your biggest supporter, but no matter how hard he tried you always made excuses to keep him away from the small studio he built for you or why you weren’t able to show him what you were working on.

He could tell the stress of your current piece was beginning to take it’s toll on you, he became familiar with all the warning signs; first you would become frustrated and withdrawn whenever a piece was giving you problems, which would lead to you not leaving your studio for days at a time. Once he noticed you were beginning to spiral, he finally decided to step in and surprise you with a day away from your canvas with a picnic in a spot that he used to frequent with Anna, Abe and Caleb while growing up. Ben was stretched out on his back in front of you, feeling accomplished as he watched your stress seemed to melt away as you spent the afternoon together in the sun. That was until you pulled out your sketchbook and began sketching.

“What are you working on?” He asked, rolling onto his side to face you.

“This? Oh, it’s nothing really. Just an idea I had, but it’s not turning out how I’d like it to.” You quickly closed the book.

“May I see it?” He asked, reaching out his hand for the book.

“Not this one, as I said it’s not turning out how I wanted it to.” You replied as Ben watches you slip the book underneath your skirts. “It’s a mess really, I don't know why you’d want to see it,” you muttered.

“[Y/N], why haven’t you ever shown me your paintings or sketches?” He softly asked you. You looked at him for a moment before answering him.

“I can’t explain it properly.” You looked away from him, staring down at your hands as you start to nervously wring them. “It’s just that...I don’t feel like anything I create is good enough, for you or anyone. It almost feels like I’m waiting for the rest of the world to realize that how horrible my work is. You’ve been the most supportive person I’ve ever met, and yet I’m still afraid you won’t like it. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I can’t silence the part of me that keeps thinking it.” You look at him, nervous at what his reaction will be. He sits up and crawls over to you and sits in front of you, he gently lifts your chin so he can look into your eyes before taking your hands in his.

“[Y/N], I’ve seen the pieces you’ve created in the past and I have loved each one, even before I knew they were yours. And I know that I am not the only who feels that way about your work. Knowing they were yours just made me love them even more. No matter what that voice in your head tells you, I will always love and support you. You will always be my favorite artist. Always, [Y/N].”

Lafayette

“I still do not understand why you want to do my portrait.” Lafayette complains as he sits on a stool in front of you while you sketch.

“My dear, this is what I do. You knew this when you first met me. I am fairly certain it was one of the first things I told you.” You shake your head, smiling as you answer while continuing to work.

“True, but if you want my portrait, why won't you just let me pay someone to paint one for you.”

“You would rather sit for another artist? But not me? That makes me feel wonderful, thank you, love.” You sarcastically reply.

“You know that is not what I meant, [Y/N]. I enjoy spending time with you, but I think our time together could be better spent than just having me sit while you draw.”

You stand up from your chair, setting down your  sanguine crayon and sketchbook on the empty chair and walk over to him. “You think I would trust another artist to draw you?” You sit in his lap as he wraps his arms around you.

“You think I can trust another artist to get these beautiful doe eyes right?” You softly kiss his temple. “Oh, and this beautiful face? The one that makes me weak everytime I see you.” You delicately trace one of his cheeks with your fingers. “Or this beautiful mouth of yours? Do you think another artist can capture how every time you speak or even smile, my heart feels like it’s going to burst through my chest?” Lafayette leans in to kiss you and right as your lips are about to touch, you pull away.

“Stay just like that. Do. Not. Move.” You hop off of his lap and jump back over to your chair, picking up the sketchbook and crayon, sitting down and once again start sketching as if nothing happened.

“Merde, [Y/N]. You are going to be the death of me.”

Edmund Hewlett

Before Edmund signed over the deed of Whitehall, he sent you home to England to help settle your new home. The entire trip all you could think of was the perfect housewarming gift for Edmund. You knew he had been through so much during the war, and you wanted to give him something that would always make him smile. It took you a few weeks of working through the night and using every reason you could think of to delay his arrival. But finally it was done, and you were ready to show him and hoped that he loved it as much as you did.

“May I open my eyes now, please?” Edmund asked as you dragged him through the halls of Whitehall towards your bedroom.

“No, you may not. You’ll ruin the surprise if you open your eyes now. Just a few more steps.” You replied as you positioned him in front of the bedroom door. “There. Now, you may open your eyes.”

“Our bedroom door? This is your surprise? I don’t understand, [Y/N].” He looked back at you confused as you were trying to contain your excitement.

“It’s a gift, my love. You have to open it.” You take his hand in yours, placing it on the knob before turning it and pushing open the door. You can tell by his reaction he hasn’t noticed your hard work as he looks around the room.

“My dearest, you did a lovely job furnishing our room, but don’t you think it looks a bit dark?” He pulls you in for a kiss, you catch him off guard when you pull away. “What’s wrong, love?” You take his hands in yours.

“Furnishing our bedroom wasn’t the surprise, Edmund.” You look up, trying to not-so-subtly give him a hint, and look back at him hoping he’ll pick up the hint. He doesn’t. “For goodness sake, Edmund. Look up.”

You watch as he looks at the ceiling and sees the mural of the night sky and the constellations that you created for him. The smile and look of pure happiness of his face makes every hour spent painstakingly painting each constellation worth it.

“[Y/N]. You did all of this for me?”

“Of course I did. Edmund, you are the love of my life. If I could I would pull every single star out of the sky and give them to you.” You barely finish speaking before he pulls you in for a sweet but passionate kiss.

That night, your first in the house together, Edmund cradles you in his arms as you listen to him list each constellation you recreated for him and telling you the myth behind each one. You begin to fall asleep in his arms, listening to the comforting sound of his voice, feeling like you were truly able to give him all the stars in the sky.

#caleb brewster x reader #caleb brewster #alexander hamilton x reader #alexander hamilton #benjamin tallmadge x reader #benjamin tallmadge #lafayette x reader #lafayette #marquis de Lafayette #edmund hewlett x reader #major edmund hewlett x reader #major edmund hewlett #turn fanfic #turn fanfiction #turn fanworks #turn fandom #turn imagine #turn amc #i like posting these things at night #fan fiction #marquis de lafayette x reader #hamilton x reader #cha writes stuff

[jerrisdiction]

SeoulSearching: Chapter 01

Long story short, the perfectionist in me considered this trip a complete failure. But I'll accept that with gratitude- after all, there's a first time for everything.

One of these "first times" was using automated check-in, which did not work for us anyway, since there were other procedures we were to complete in person. Nonetheless, the staff were all relaxed and helpful.

And yes, more surprisingly, it was the first time we used McDonald's automated ordering kiosks to order light supper, for the counters were closed that night.

I've had better spicy nuggets than these.

Another 'first': being on a late night flight, which we all regretted. Even Mum, who's usually a heavy sleeper, complained of being sleep deprived. As for me, it goes without saying that I disembarked in the morning half-disoriented.

I did look forward to witnessing the sunrise on the plane though. It wasn't crisp clear, and I couldn't take a shot of the crimson horizon from my seat. But a beautiful 5am view, it was.

In-flight meals were served shortly before 7am, but I suppose most of us were just tired and indifferent towards the food by then. The three of us opted for stir fried noodles with fried fish fillet, which surprised me a little as I thought Dad would prefer having porridge. Then again, Korean style porridge is likely very different from what we're used to.

｡･:*:･ﾟ

Upon arrival, Dad was amused that the immigration there, like Taiwan, used index fingerprints instead of thumbprints. I couldn't care less, so long the process was smooth. It did take slightly shorter than clearing the Taiwanese customs.

The next step was to purchase our T-money cards - also the first time I spoke Korean to a local there. As expected, it failed quite miserably. My mind already went blank when the GS25 staff told us that they did not sell normal 2,500won T-money cards. Thank goodness another staff came in and intercepted the awkwardness with some English.

Along the way I learnt that it's okay to speak a little bit of simple English. In fact, much better than struggling to be understood in Korean, only in vain. Fast forward to our arrival at Hongdae, where we deposited our luggage with Safex, their staff was pretty relaxed with conversing in English. (I think it's me who needs to relax LOL.)

Hongdae was a place with inexplicably good vibes that afternoon, even though most recommend going in the evening. We settled at a random restaurant, and it turned out to be our favourite meal in the entire trip. Each of us got this huge portion of bibimbap at just 6,500won.

At this point I probably figured out the distinction between traditional bibimbap and the more 'modern' ones like this. Traditional vegetable toppings typically include mushrooms, carrots, spinach, soybean sprouts, and cucumbers. But I don't recall much of those in this bowl- instead, alfafa sprouts, chopped yellow radish and cabbage were among the highlights. Making a wild guess right here that these modern variations are more widely seen in areas like Hongdae to appeal to youths and tourists. Not saying that traditional bibimbap tastes worse, but it had become a tad boring for our family overtime.

We later ventured down the smaller streets of Hongdae, passing by several stores and cafés- each with their own character. I recall being in awe with one of the many accessory stores; its rustic industrial design was well complemented with its scent, probably from a diffuser. Almost felt like stepping into an unfamiliar realm, even though earrings were its highlight.

We also visited Market A, but somehow none of us had a thing for their pieces. They just felt like elegant vibes I couldn't carry. Mum also commented that their pieces are mostly in 'plain' colours. Yes, precisely that- there isn't really a colour the locals can't manage, given their fair skin. In subsequent days, I also observed that they mostly wore such neutral, muted colours to work, especially black and cream.

Meanwhile, Dad had been sitting outside the store, coughing non-stop still. He was obviously displeased with all the walking, and the lack of sleep was taking a toll on him. Surprisingly though, he suggested to find a café nearby to recharge (he was never the type to visit cafés). So we gradually tried to find our way out.

The parents were doubtful when I started going underneath one of the bridges, but wow it turned out to be a really nice spot with shade. 책거리, or what I'd interpret as "Book Street" is such an apt name for a path leading students from the subway station exits towards the university. The afternoon breeze blowing under the bridge also came refreshing after a long walk in the sun. And witnessing some elderly folks reading together in the shade simply completed the picture.

Hongdae is, indeed, definitely more than its nightclubs, restaurants and fashion trends.

Thanks stranger for making this picture even more perfect. Really love the lines and warm vibes in this shot.

That street also had me noticing all the gorgeous flowers Seoul had to offer. I don't have good shots of them up close, for they were better admired in abundance.

Lots of white daisies in this city... I guess the more you avoid something, the more often you see them.

｡･:*:･ﾟ

This café (located in a mall near Exit 4) caught our attention so after some mindless shopping there, we picked a few items for afternoon coffee.

Their coffee (forgot which one Mum ordered for us) wasn't really something I'd fancy. It was our first time trying an beurre - seemingly just bread with cream and red bean filling but, of course, more sophisticated.

I picked up a chocolate financier as well, for I hadn't had one in years. Dad did not think much of it, but I never expected a financier to be the highlight anyway. But it's decently rich (damn, is this a pun HAHA) for me.

｡･:*:･ﾟ

Little did we know that the real challenge was to come after we collected our luggage and headed to Seoul Station. Mum suggested visiting Lotte Mart before checking into our apartment, but it was a really long walk from the airport line. Hell, if the walk within Dhoby Ghaut station was already a chore, I bet this was way, way worse especially with us lugging our baggage around.

By this time, Dad was having the runs and displaying more discomfort, so he decided to rest outside Lotte Mart, giving us 30 minutes to shop. I'd thought this was a great place with variety, for I'd always liked shopping in supermarkets but... The crowd, the tourists, even the promoters enthusiastically drawing customers in with Mandarin were quite a turn-off for me. It really just felt like a place for tourists to sweep all those goodies away last minute before they head home. And seeing Mum almost turn into a child in a candy store got me thinking, this is a bad sign.

When we finally got out of Lotte Mart, somehow Kakao Map failed us and could not point us in a direction that seemed right. Some bickering and struggling later, we decided to lug all that baggage underground once again back to the airport line to find the other station exit, since the subway was our only hope with more visible signs.

And after what seemed like endless walking, we reached our apartment in sheer exhaustion.

｡･:*:･ﾟ

By the time we recharged ourselves enough to go out for dinner, it was yet another challenge to decide what to eat. There were several (probably family owned) restaurants near the estate, but after passing by the lots of them, we headed back to Lotte Mart - this time via a shorter route we'd found.

Lotte Mart isn't so bad after all, for there were a few stalls that sold really affordable and filling meals. We ordered one set of steamed dumplings and 2 sets of kimbap for 13,000won, and though that wasn't way too filling, at least we were able to finish it all - Dad didn't like the tuna kimbap while I didn't like the tonkatsu kimbap so we swapped LOL. Somehow the dumplings were the highlight for me, not sure if it was the filling or the soy sauce.

On our way back, we hopped into a minimart and bought some bread for breakfast the next day (though later on I ate none of it). Oh, and out of curiosity Mum and I tried a spicy vegetable kebab thingy, it kind of set my tongue on fire but felt super shiok (much better than Spicy McNuggets, huh).

Back at the apartment, the duo started generating more complaints of our humble home for the next 4 days. Again, I was the one to blame (who else?), but that didn't bother me much for we were all scrambling to catch up on sleep that night.

#jerringjourneys #jerringseoulsearching

[livingwithashipname-blog]

Ermanda’s Inner Sanctum: Scorpion 3.19 “Monkey See, Monkey Poo”

Thank you Scorpion for addressing the environmental issues facing the Amazon in terms of logging, missed pharmaceutical opportunities, and the impact of smaller niches for an area that houses the largest number of species, named and unnamed, on Earth!  Thank you Don Tardino for directing this episode!  Love him!  Overall, this episode is so hilarious!  I mean, we could have guessed this from the episode’s title alone, but it delivers so much more comedy than I anticipated.  Give me all the puns!  The Quintis “bicker clicker”, Sly’s tomato conundrum and psychosomatic breakdown, Ralph as the king of shade, and Toby’s twerking are just a few of many great comedic moments!  We also meet a new animal friend (Simian Freud) that could easily become a part of Team Scorpion like Ferret Bueller!  Cool fact: In the same way Happy gains a friend in Ada, Toby establishes a camaraderie with the monkey!  It pays off because the monkey saves Toby’s life!  Aww!  And is it just me or have we seen the cyclone handle a lot of animals this season?!  And a scorpion isn’t even one of them (😉 @aspiestvmusings)!  Ha!  Anyways, this review will expand on topics I have addressed in previous reviews as various story arcs unfold this season.  Let’s get started with a song to commemorate the episode!

     Milkshake by Kelis

Sly’s Genius Breakdown

Since this season’s focus is more on the personal sides of Team Scorpion, various scenarios explore how the geniuses and normals react to a loss or disappointment.  The geniuses retreat to their brains while the normals create emotional distance.  These coping mechanisms affect team dynamics and the biggest changes occur amongst those whose disappointments/losses have great impact to the plot.  The most prominent example is Walter’s reaction to Taige.  Other obvious ones include Happy/Quintis and the false pregnancy and Ralph’s questions and comments about Waige.  Now, Sly’s mannerisms after the election loss are another drop in this emotional bucket.

How is Sly coping after his election loss?  Looks like he caught the silly experiment bug from Walter!  Hahahaha!  And it’s no surprise that Walter is supportive in Sly’s endeavor to grow the perfect tomato slice for sandwich bread.  Even the way Walter places his hand is hand on Sly’s shoulder in a supportive manner is a testament of his EQ growth and Sly’s openness to contact even if he brushes his shoulder afterwards.  The quest to find a new passion leads to some hilarious brainiac moments!  At least this gardening project is more useful than Walter’s u-dog.  Lol!  However, a caterpillar that lands on his hand induces a psychosomatic reaction that leads to skin irritation from an itching sensation at the point of contact and transitions to anxiety-induced hand paralysis.  When Ralph conducts an experiment to test his hypothesis (it’s all in Sly’s head), Sly sees that his reactions are a manifestation of guilt for electing to stay in the garage for the mission because of his phobias.  Sly tries to remain supportive by pushing himself past his fears, but he has his limits.  The support from Ralph and Walter in this episode again convinces Sly to do things he would have never done 3 years ago.  He’s not doing anything major soon, but as Sly says… baby steps!  Yay Sly!  Yay for character development!  

Ralph Dineen: Scorpion’s Budding Little Genius

Ralph is growing up guys!  He is seeking more autonomy with his decision on a new haircut!  In addition, he is a steady voice of reason to everyone this season.  This is a great juxtaposition because he is the genius who is growing up with a lot of EQ exposure as opposed to the others.  Therefore, he relates to everyone in many ways and provides the team with perspectives they usually wouldn’t see without prompt.  Given that the cyclone is curious about EVERYTHING, Ralph knows what’s happening in the garage.  He’s the first to point out Cabe’s need for emotional support after his breakup.  This juxtaposition is also present whenever Ralph mentions his school curriculum.  Paige always reminds him about the importance of his secondary level schooling as much as his part-time student status in university.  This schedule fosters his psychological development in addition to his intelligence.  Gotta love this kid and the mother/son dynamic!  And I love that his haircut has a practical purpose!  It is an efficient means to get his lab goggles to form a proper face seal!  Love it… and so does Paige!  Once again, this show addresses conformity and uniqueness through Ralph, sending the message that individual uniqueness is lost when one conforms to societal standards.  Gain the EQ, but don’t sacrifice the IQ for it!  

Toby, You Good? Pt. 7 (via Quintis)

Happy presents some really great reasons to choose Dr. Rizzuto as a marriage counselor.  He helped Toby and Walter stop bickering 😉 last year and discovered that she and Toby were secretly dating.  Plus, it is also better to have a third party.  Happy also claims that they probably wouldn’t even be getting married if Dr. Rizzuto hadn’t pulled that news out of him.  Happy’s focus is primarily on herself based on her emotional faults.  Yet, Toby insists on ignoring Dr. Rizzuto’s successes in his life because his degree is not from a world-renowned university as his (and because he’s not a genius like him).  This is another explicit exploration of a Quintis dynamic shift where the focus pulls away from Happy’s emotional failures to Toby’s image of perfection that he projects onto his fiancé!  We are seeing more of Toby’s pathology at work.  First major clues were seen in 3.11 Wreck the Halls.  In all his loveliness, he has one that works to his detriment like the other geniuses.

Let’s break this down once again.  Notice Toby has a similar approach to every psychologists’ visit (reference 1.06 True Colors, 2.16 Fractured, & 2.17 Adaptation).  He also has the same fashion styling in each of those scenarios (wardrobe foreshadowing 😉).  Toby, like the other geniuses, are the best in their field, so they carry a sense of intellectual confidence that comes off as arrogance.  He expresses this through sarcasm.  Also, Toby’s childhood fostered feelings of inadequacy when he failed to fix his parents and picked up his father’s gambling habit.  The latter is one of several devices Toby uses to self-sabotage when things seem perfect.  Furthermore, he makes love declarations all the time, but he still struggles to make his needs known from the beginning (x).  And the image of perfection Toby projects on Happy doesn’t always create a platform for her to express her innermost thoughts since there is uncertainty that she will get a honest assessment as Dr. Rizzuto so perfectly states to him.  So I ask once again: who comes for Toby when he can’t help himself?  Notice how he has moments of truth at the end of each psych sessions and when Paige, Happy, or Ralph helps him.  In this episode, the answer is Dr. Cecil Rizzuto!  All of this continues to suggest that Toby has a secret he’s not sharing with the class or something happens where Toby learns to more consistently give Happy space to come to him.  You know, the scent of that Quintis shift is getting stronger! 😉😉😉    

The Waige Flip (via Walter O’Brien)

HOLY CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!!  The end scene adds a new and exciting chapter to this ongoing saga!  This moment is important for several reasons.  First, Walter reaches a new level of EQ on his own.  He doesn’t get a hint from the others.  In fact, he’s the first between him and Paige to suggest a way to meet Cabe’s needs because he relates to the emotion.  Second, it’s an enlightening moment for Paige.  One of her concerns is Walter’s emotional availability for a romantic relationship.  This is not surprising considering that Walter claimed more than once that the notion of romantic love is fantasy.  It’s also not easy to deduce that Walter’s jealousy and pettiness was more a projection of deep, emotional pain when he already has difficulties relating to emotions period.  After Tahoe, Paige was not convinced that Walter truly related to the feeling of love and heartbreak.  And Veronica didn’t help the cause through her example.  So Walter’s change has her wondering about the possibilities.  And I think that Toby and Paige's linkup in this episode is done because they both experience enlightenment when it comes to their relationships.  Third, it links to the “sink or swim” philosophy.  Walter is getting like Dory and swimming well!  Go Walter!  🎤 Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming! 🎤

Overall, this moment makes everything Walter said to imaginary Paige in 3.03 It Isn’t the Fall That Kills You 10x more profound.  In fact, it is necessary to Waige developments.  Remember Cabe’s “half-baked” advice from 3.02 More Civil War?  Walter is cooking quite nicely I must say!  And now Walter goes to Cabe in a time of need when it comes to the women in their lives.  Hello parallels!  Now Paige is in the position to address her hesitations and ask herself again if a relationship with Walter is worth the risk given that he has reached a level of EQ on his own, without her help by drawing from his own experiences.  And another thing… What happens between them when some of Walter’s memories return in pieces that make him curious about what happened during the space mission?  Let’s see… this is episode 19, right?  It’s only a matter of time.  This relationship flip is unfolding quite nicely!  Btw, I am still looking for a ship catchphrase guys.  Quintis is to “The Mighty Love Oak” as Waige is to… [fill in the blank].

Drabbles…

Toby: My Spicy Asian Noodle… 😍😍😍😍😂😂😂😂😂😂

Happy: I think you’re being overly critical.  T: I’m not being critical.  I just think that Dr. Rizzuto should live on a pond and we should throw bread at him ‘cause he’s a quack. 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

Quintis is already starting to get into that married couple flow, even in the midst of a conflict.  Happy has the “don’t even try it” wifey stare on lock! 💚👌🏾

Timothy Armstrong Commemorative Greenhouse… 😂😂😂😂😂😂 It’s really sweet how Sly continues to admire Tim even in his absence.  (Still waiting on the Megan O’Brien pediatric wing though… 👀 *ahem writers*)

Sly’s face when Paige reveals that she uses the blue bowl (the one currently holding his chips) to cut Ralph’s hair… 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

H: Well, nobody looks good in that hat.  T: (taps bicker clicker)  H: (confused) For insulting the hat?  T: The hat and I are one. 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

Did you catch that Waige glance when Ralph clicked on Walter’s haircut?!  (parallel by Nicole aka. @webuiltthepyramids)

Poor Cabe!  He misses Allie.  He’s suffering in silence because of his choice to protect his children.  

Happy and Sly’s sibling-like banter when Sly talks about his phobias… 😂😂😂😂😂😂

Did Toby just “bicker clicker” Happy’s “not good”??!! 😱😱😱 Umm, Toby, we need to talk.  She says that for EVERY CASE at the least! 😂😂😂😂😂😂

The coloration and richness of the greenery in this episode is so breathtaking! 😍😍😍😍💛💛💛💛

Sly: I could’ve ingested a toxin!  Ralph: Well I don’t. You ingest an iced tea and calm down. 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

T: My milkshake brings all the monkeys to the yard.  Me at that entire scene: 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂💀 And did you see Happy checking him out (even though she was more amused by it all)?! 😍😍😍😂😂😂

R: What’s Toby talking about?  S: A pile of crap.  R: Isn’t he always? 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

Walter: Time for exercise. Cabe, studies have found it’s good for depression. 😂😂😂😂 Walter looking out for Papa Cabe!

Cabe moving the machete around like he’s a samurai… 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

Happy electrocuting Toby to remove the spider… 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

The actual name of the bon bon fruit that saves the day and beats the virus… dragonfruit!  And it’s actually very delicious!  

I guess the choice to have Happy snip off the needle from the syringe is to have Happy use a tool and create a bonding moment between Toby and Happy amidst the bickering.  Funny thing is that the needle actually screws off quite easily to expose the blunt opening in reality.  I do it everyday depending on the medication I have to administer!  Haha!

Toby’s jean shirt is back!!!  Thank you wardrobe! 😍😍😍😍🙌🏾🙌🏾🙌🏾💚💚💚

Dr. Cecil Rizzuto confirms what we’ve known all along… Happy Quinn and Toby Curtis are perfect for one another!  He also thinks the hat is stupid. 😂😂😂 Man, Happy is getting a lot of wins in this episode with Dr. Rizzuto’s help!  And Toby turns over a new leaf once again, praising Dr. Rizzuto for his work.  Ah parallels!

P: No more using the blue bowl.  S: Good! ‘Cause I destroyed it! Couldn’t have it in the kitchen contaminating the other bowls. 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

#ermanda's inner sanctum #cbs scorpion #s03e19 #monkey see monkey poo #episode review #scorpion cbs #team scorpion #livingwithashipname