#face economy so fine it made me pick up a pencil for the first time in 6 years 🥺

[stguccy]

bebe linda

#face economy so fine it made me pick up a pencil for the first time in 6 years 🥺 #it’s a big deal for me. #ik its not perfect but it’s so much better than i thought it would be #all things considered #young royals #wilmon #simon eriksson #omar rudberg #art #sketch

[heartofsnark]

Black Market Wonderland (Chapter Five): Mischief In Your Eyes

Notes:  Thanks everyone for the continued love and support for this fic, as well as Tsuneko. I read every comment and bit of feedback, it absolutely makes my day and keeps me motivated to keep writing. I hit a bit of a block during this chapter and the one after this. Also, had to rewrite bits because British food confused me.  

Word Count:  7676

Warnings:  Fat Shaming/Body Shaming (Eisuke and Soryu are dicks towards Carolina and I don’t approve), Some Petty Jealousy Stuff (Carolina is a dick towards Tsuneko and I don’t approve) 

Missed the last chapter? Link Here! 

Tsuneko really thought that the first limousine ride with Ichinomiya was as awkwardly tense as any car ride could be, apparently the missing ingredient to make it worse was Oh. The mobster is still glaring daggers at her as she tries to ignore him, tapping on her phone as she sits across from the pair of men.

Ichinomiya still won’t explain what they’re doing or why she’s being asked to tag along. She’s done her best to dress for an occasion she knows nothing about, it’s earlier and he didn’t call it an event, so she went safe and kept it more conservative,  a simple blouse tucked into a pencil skirt.

She’s saving yorkshire pudding, apparently it’s English bread,  and lemon chiffon pie recipes for The Mad Hatter’s next party. Tsuneko has never made either, so it will take some trial and error. Technically, she could just ask room service or pick them up elsewhere, but she offered to cook and those would be cheats. Any vegetable dishes she makes need to be hot, he liked the raspberry sauce, so some sweet fruity treats may be good? The limousine comes to a stop and Tsuneko peeks out the window.

“The airport?”

“We’re picking up the Buccis, Antonio and his daughter,  Carolina.”

“They’re members of the Italian mob, so don’t mouth off to them,” Oh warns her as they start to get out of the limo. Tsuneko rolls her eyes and follows them. They slowly work their way through the crowd.

“Eisuke! I missed you so much!” A loud accented voice rings out above all other noise in the lobby. A woman comes rushing towards them, she’s a glamorous beauty. Her hair is golden blonde falling in curls, bright blue eyes, and bright red lipstick. She’s full figured with her dress showing off her ample chest. Tsuneko finds a spot on the ground to look at when she realizes she’s staring at the woman’s cleavage.

“She’s an intense woman,” Ichinomiya grumbles and Oh is scratching uncomfortably at the back of his neck. The woman, Carolina she assumes, opens her arm for a hug as she runs over to Ichinomiya.

“Is there something in your hair Tsuneko?” Ichinomiya moves towards her, one hand pushes her hair back behind her ear and the other holds her cheek to keep her face still. His eyes are intense but softer than usual as strokes through her hair. It’s weird, her face is hot and bile is rising in the back of her throat, she doesn’t like this. It’s like when he weirdly touched her hand at the event.

Carolina’s hug misses him when he moves towards Tsuneko and she stumbles to stop herself from running into a column. The foreign woman spins on her heels and levels a glare at Tsuneko. Oh, fuck no. Ichinomiya pulls away and Tsuneko glares at him, he’s smirking. He’s acting touchy-feely in order to dissuade Carolina.

“Eisuke!?” Carolina yells and pouts.

“Welcome to Japan, Carolina.”

“I just love how cold you are! It’s been a long time, Eisuke,” Carolina gushes, but Tsuneko doesn’t miss the hint of sadness in her eyes. No one likes being dismissed by someone they like.

“Eisuke!” A male voice yells out, it’s an older man with slicked back gray hair who’s puffing on a cigar.

“Mr. Bucci! It’s great to see you again.” Ichinomiya is putting on his fake smile, the same one she saw at the event, Tsuneko wants to knock it off his face.

“And who is this?” Mr. Bucci looks up at Oh, he’s fairly hard to miss given his height and intense expression.

“This is my friend, Oh Soryu, he’s with The Ice Dragons.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bucci.” Oh nods his head and Carolina seems to notice him for the first time, a sparkle in her eyes before she winks at him. Seems like he might have been Ichinomiya’s other plan for this.

“Oh,” Mr. Bucci’s eyes land on Tsuneko, “you didn’t need to bring arm candy just to meet little old me.”

“I’m Tomori Tsuneko, Mr. Ichinomiya’s assistant,” she tells him, holding back her annoyance at being called arm candy.

“She’s your assistant?!” Carolina brightens up like the sun.

“Ah, yes, she’s my assistant but she’s very important to me.” Ichinomiya makes a point of putting his hand on her shoulder and giving her another look, too love stricken to look natural on his face.

“Arggh,” Carolina lets out a loud groan.

“You look well,” Ichinomiya compliments her, finally giving his unwanted suitor a little attention.

“Yes, both Fang and I are just fine!”

“Fang?”

“Oh, haven’t you met him? I got a chihuahua, look!”

Carolina gets a small dog out of the arms of a man in a black suit, a hoard of which have been lingering behind the Buccis. The dog is adorable with fluffy black fur and starts yipping as soon as he’s held before Ichinomiya.

“Now, now, don’t bark at Eisuke, Fang,” Carolina scolds the squirmy dog, “you should bark at her instead!”

“Aww, he’s adorable.” Tsuneko ignores the comment, as everyone else seems to, and instead lets out a little coo as she watches the dog. She doubts Carolina would let her, but she really wants to pet him.

“Fang is very well trained, he hardly ever barks at people.”

“Maybe he’s just in a bad mood…” Ichinomiya stares at the ground like he’s been scolded and Fang continues to bark at him, “let’s go back to the hotel, you two must be exhausted.”

Tsuneko’s not sure of the exact time zone differences between Italy and Japan, but the Buccis definitely look more than a little jet-lagged. They all walk back to the limousine. She tries to sit as far away from everyone else, but Ichinomiya seems content to sit right next to her, so close she can feel the warmth of his body. He’s committing to this whole idea and it’s driving her crazy, all she wants to do is push him away. Part of the bet was her doing her job appropriately and not going to extremes to be useless, if she breaks it she’ll automatically lose.

“You’ve been very busy with the Tres Spades, your business always seems to be growing, if you ever lost your ambition I’m sure the Japanese economy would collapse,” Mr. Bucci praises Ichinomiya as he settles into his seat. Carolina sits next to her father and shoots daggers at Tsuneko, while Fang scurries out of her lap to curl up next to Oh.

“Yes, so that’s why you can rest assured leaving the matter we discussed earlier in my hands.”

“I’ll think about it. I’ll go with whatever gives me the most profits.”

“I can guarantee you won’t suffer any losses with me handling it.” Those pair talk business and Tsuneko only half listens as she’s watching Fang try to nuzzle his head under Oh’s hand, eager to get attention from the stoic mobster.

“Fang never warms up to someone this quickly. Looks like Fangy has great taste in men just like me!”

“Aren’t you lucky that Fang is so fond of you Soryu.” Eisuke jumps at the chance to tease Oh, a smirk across his face.

“I don’t really like dogs.”

“What? Who doesn’t like dogs?” Tsuneko looks at him confused and he glares at her, that’s like saying you don’t like sunshine or happiness. She ignores his look of disdain and calls Fang over to her, the dog scurries into her lap excitedly then barks at Ichinomiya one more time before snuggling up to her.

“Fang! Don’t be nice to her!” Carolina scolds, no one acknowledges the comment as Tsuneko scratches Fang’s ears and coos at the puppy.

Between Cheshire and now Fang, she’s in animal heaven lately. She feels eyes on her, from her peripheral she notices Ichinomiya and Oh looking at her like she’s grown another head. They probably think she looks stupid grinning over a dog, but she can’t be bothered to care.

“A girl who cares about animals is a keeper,” Mr. Bucci says with a big grin and Carolina pouts at him.

“Not you too, daddy,” she glares at Tsuneko, “I’m sure you’re pulling some kind of trick to make everyone like you!”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re going to talk back to me?! You’ve got guts.”

“Calm down. Tsuneko works as the penthouse maid at the Tres Spades, I saw what a dedicated worker she is and decided she’d make an excellent assistant for me as well.”

“She’s just a lowly little maid, nothing special.” Carolina sneer as Ichinomiya not too casually pulls Tsuneko closer, trying to paint the picture that his feelings for her are more than professional. Fang barks then runs off to avoid him and Tsuneko wishes she could do the same.

“Tsuneko is a hard worker who doesn’t give up on anything, she’s irreplaceable.” His words are going to make her vomit, even if she has to do her job, she doesn’t have to go along with this bullshit.

“Oh please, you’re too kind Mr. Ichinomiya,” she scoots away from him, “I’ve only been your assistant for two days, after all.”

“Yet, you’ve already made such a big difference in my life.” He’s smiling but his eyes are harsh, glaring at her.

“You know I’m determined too! I’m not giving up on you. I’ll just have to make you fall for me while I’m in Japan!”

The limousine pulls up to the hotel, the Bucci’s men and hotel workers start putting away their luggage. Takahiro is helping them pack thing and Tsuneko stares at the ground, hoping he won’t notice her. She doesn’t want any questions or more rumors flying around about how she’s being asked to do other work for Ichinomiya.

“We’re still jet-lagged, but if you’d like Eisuke we can still discuss some business over lunch,” Mr. Bucci offers after checking in.

“I wouldn’t mind getting something to eat.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t, but we can wait to discuss matter over dinner, once you’ve both rested up,” Ichinomiya explains to Carolina and Tsuneko glares, not missing the little snide dig he made at the mafia princess’s weight. He can’t be serious.

“You’re so sweet Eisuke!” Carolina beams, but she can’t be that oblivious, Tsuneko doesn’t buy it.

“You’ll be coming along with us too, Soryu and Tsuneko?”

“Of course.”

“I’m sure Mr. Ichinomiya will want me to tag along.” Tsuneko ignores Ichinomiya’s glare and smiles at Mr. Bucci, waving him and his daughter off as staff members show them to their room.

“See you tonight, Eisuke!”

“Do you get joy out of making my life more difficult?” Ichinomiya asks her, the moment the Buccis are gone.

“Considering who you are, yes.”

“You’re free until it’s time for the dinner, when I page you for it, I expect you to be here within five minutes. You will not embarrass me or jeopardize this deal.”

Ichinomiya and Oh leave to the elevator, not allowing her any opportunity to discuss everything that’s happened. As frustrating as it is and how much she’d like to explain every reason she’s upset, she also really wants to be far away from them. She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs.

“Tomori, is everything okay?”

She turns to see Takahiro, looking at her concerned. He has such sweet looking warm brown eyes and right now she’s just excited seeing people who care about her, even if she’ll have to deal with rumors or bullshit.

“Yeah, just exhausted.”

“Kenzaki said you were doing assistant work for Mr. Ichinomiya, is he overworking you?”

“No, no. I’m just not use to it, I guess. I’ll manage, but I appreciate the worry, really.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Uh, no not yet.”

“Not even breakfast?”

“No, I don’t eat breakfast much.” She’s pretty sure the only time she eats in the mornings is when she’s had an orgasm the night before, then she’s starving, but usually she focuses on feeding Kiyo before she leaves.

“That’s not good, c’mon, it’s my lunch break we can get something together.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice, you wanted something in particular?”

“Anything is fine with me.” Takahiro gives her a bright smile, he must be excited to get away from work for a bit.

“Really? ‘Cause I’m honestly just craving garbage right now, like burgers or something?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Takahiro and Tsuneko find a nearby burger place, sliding into a booth before making their orders. The smell of the kitchen and the burgers being made is making her hungrier. A few people give them funny looks, Takahiro’s uniform consists of a suit with a tie and she’s still dressed in her assistant outfit, they’re extremely formal in a casual restaurant. But, Tsuneko’s growling stomach doesn’t let her care too much about the strange looks.

“So, how’s working with Mr. Ichinomiya going?”

“You really wanna spend your lunch break hearing me bitch?”

“Go for it,” he tells her as their drinks comes out, he’s entirely too nice.

“Well,” she takes a deep breath, “he’s the absolute worst and I’m losing my fucking mind dealing with his constant bullshit. He’s an entitled arrogant asshole who surrounds himself with other entitled arrogant assholes, and I wanna fucking kill him.”

“Pfft, is it really that bad? I haven’t see you this mad since the toilet paper lady.”

“He’s like the toilet paper lady times a thousand, I swear to fucking god. Literally, all he does is make unreasonable demands and piss me off.”

“Well, at least you’re getting bigger jobs, they recognize your hard work.”

“Pssh, yeah right, he just wants someone to boss around. Pure and simple.”

“You look nice in the outfits, at least…?”

“You’re really trying to find a bright side, aren’t you, the blouse is cute though,” Tsuneko admits, looking at the royal blue fabric.

“I think you look nicer in your uniform, though.”

“You’re only saying that ‘cause the top would bust open, aren’t you?”

Takahiro chokes on his drink and his face goes bright red, “No, no that’s not why I promise,” he manages to say between coughs.

“I know, I know you don’t look at me like that. I just wanted to tease you, not kill you.” She pats his back and gently rubs as he continues to cough.

“Uh, no, uh, you just caught me off guard.”

“Sorry, my brain to mouth filter is, well, I don’t have one.”

The red of his cheeks are just starting to fade when they get their burgers, Tsuneko takes a bite and a glob of barbecue immediately falls on her chest, that pretty blue material now made a mess.  

“Oof, that looked expensive too.”

“I…should not be allowed out in public,” Tsuneko gasps annoyed with herself wipes the sauce off with a napkin, thankfully she has a little cleaner pen in her purse. She starts wiping it over the spot so it doesn’t stain.

“That’s handy.”

“I may be a disaster, but I am a prepared one.”

“I swear you carry everything with you, anytime anyone needs something they know to ask you.”

“My paranoia pays off, finally.”

“Y’know,” Takahiro starts after swallowing down a bite of food, “I’m honestly a little happy that you dislike Mr. Ichinomiya so much.”

“That sounds sadistic, but okay.”

“That’s not what I mean,” his cheeks are red again, “there’s been a lot of rumors floating around about him liking you or something. I’m not saying he’s a bad guy, I don’t really know him, but he seems to have a revolving door of women around him. I’d hate for you to get hurt by a guy like him.”

He’s talking about Ichinomiya, but she immediately thinks about Shinobu, “do you not like people who have casual sex?”

“Ah-uh, it’s not like that. I just, don’t women usually get hurt in that situation?”

“As long as everyone is a consenting adult and understands what it is then I don’t see the problem.” She knows she’s getting defensive, but she can’t help it.

“Tomori, you and him aren’t-”

“Oh god, no, no, no,” she waves her hands frantically, “I wouldn’t touch Ichinomiya’s dick if I was sick and his cum was the cure.”

Takahiro chokes on his food and laughs, Tsuneko finds herself having to reach over to rub his back again. She might be the actual death of him.

“Well, that’s good to know I guess.”

“I just mean generally, I don’t see the big deal.”

“I guess, but guys like Mr. Ichinomiya tend to mistreat girls and lead them on for it, I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I understand, it’s really sweet of you to worry and listen to me complain.”

“It’s no problem, I hope you feel a little better.”

“I do, thanks.” The check comes and Tsuneko starts getting her money out.  

“Oh, I can pay, don’t worry about it.”

“No, you’re already being too nice, I can pay for us both, if you want.”

“Uhh, no no, I’d rather split it than you pay it all.” He gives up, but he’s pouting a bit. It’s cute and she has to resist the urge to pinch his cheeks. Takahiro is really adorable, with slightly overgrown dark brown hair and warm umber eyes. She’s heard more than a few of her coworkers gush over him.

“Really, thanks for listening to me, Kuroba.”

“You can call me Takahiro, if you want.”

“Oh, um,” Tsuneko hesitates, while she doesn’t mind thinking of him as Takahiro in her head, she’s not comfortable yet calling him by his first name. She sees Sakiko and Chisato almost everyday, has for basically a year, and only recently started using their first names. It’s something that shows a closeness, that she doesn’t like.

“It just sounds less formal, can I call you Tsuneko?”

“Sure.” She shrugs her shoulders, she doesn’t mind having her own first name used, but she doesn’t like returning the gesture for some reason.

“I gotta go back to work, see you later Tsuneko.”

They wave each other off after paying their parts of the bill. It’s still fairly early and she figures she’ll have at least an hour or two if not longer before she’ll be paged for the dinner. Tsuneko goes back to her dorm first, changing into more casual clothes and tossing the assistant outfit in the washing machine. She lets Kiyo out and  plays with him as she waits for the clothes, as well as saving a few more recipes for the Mad Hatter’s party. She’ll have to do some grocery shopping for everything she’ll need. Once the clothes are dry and Kiyo’s decided he’s done playing tag, she tucks him into his cage then heads out to the market.

It’s a farmers market she likes to frequent that has plenty of fresh produce and goodies. She’s made a  list of what she needs and meanders through the little tables getting things. Her bag has started to get heavier and heavier with each new item, she also needs some other things. Once she’s made her way through the marketshe might have to go by a proper store, she still hasn’t restocked her booze supply.

“You making a feast or something?” A hand pulls just a bit at one of her bags and she can smell the stench of cigarettes.

“Hey!” She jolts and turns to sees Kishi peeking into one of her grocery bags.

“Don’t be so jumpy, kid.”

“Sorry, didn’t recognize you without the lounge couch under your ass.”

“Ha ha very funny, you little brat.” Kishi ruffles a large warm hand over her head and she squirms away from his touch.

“Stop that! You’re tangling my hair,” she swats away his hand and he chuckles, “why are you even here?”

“Work.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Hey, I can work when I feel like.”

“That’s not how jobs work.”

“Eh, what do you know? Shouldn’t you be helping out Ichinomiya today?”

“I got some free time before he drags me off to some bullshit dinner.”

“Sure, you aren’t slacking off?”

“I fucking wish, but no.”

“If he heard you say that he’d get real pissy.”

“He gets pissy if I breathe in a way he doesn’t like.”

“You really need to learn to watch your mouth, kid.”

“Why’s that?” She wrinkles her nose, his tone annoys her, like he’s scolding an actual child.

“You’re gonna get yourself seriously hurt if you don’t, that’s probably what got you in this mess in the first place.”

“Fuck off, all I did was break a damn statue, don’t act like I brought this bullshit on myself.”

“Ugh,” he puts his hand to head as he groans, “this is why I hate kids, too sensitive.”

“I think you’re just an old jackass.”

“Hey,” he follows after her as she tries to walk away, “so you didn’t talk much to the guys who sold you?”

“No, I was a too busy being in a blind panic to make small talk.”

“Nothing about them stood out to you, they didn’t mention working for anyone?”

She racks her brain for a moment, it almost feels like he’s interrogating her, is he actually doing his job? Kisaki did mention a human being sold at the auction is rare, even if Kishi’s a dirty cop, maybe that’s too far for even him? But, then why wouldn’t he have been doing this when it first happened? Something is off.

“No, they were just two goons,” she shrugs, “why do you ask?”

“No reason, just figured you would have mouthed off to ‘em.”

“You make me sound like some sorta reckless smart-ass.”

“’Cause that’s exactly what you are, funny as it was, you have to be pretty stupid to treat a mobster like that.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“You sure about that,” he teases and grins at her, like he’s the funniest person in the world.

“If you’re gonna harass me, can you at least make yourself fucking useful and help me carry stuff?” She shakes the stuffed grocery bags at Kishi.

“Yeah, I gotta get going, see you around, kid.”

“Seriously, are you that afraid of effort, you fuck,” she yells as he ruffles her hair a final time and walks away. What an asshole. She takes it back, he’s just as annoying as the rest of the penthouse guys, maybe worse. At least they don’t stink like cigarette smoke as they annoy her.

Tsuneko finishes buying everything she needs and goes back to her dorm. She’s putting things away in her cupboards and fridge when the penthouse pager buzzes. She lets out a load groan before answering it, already anticipating that irritating voice on the other end.

“Be ready and at the hotel in thirty minutes.”

“Oooh, thirty minutes, how generous.” She rolls her eyes, either he didn’t hear or he doesn’t care because she gets no response.

Tsuneko puts everything away and then goes to change, picking one of the dress out from the ones Ichinomiya bought. She fixes her hair up in a french twist and fixes up her makeup. It’s not as good as Kisaki’s but it gets the job done.

Once she’s got her appearance sorted she makes her way to the hotel, knowing they’re just going to leave, she doesn’t see much point in going up to the penthouse. His car is already pulled up to the front entrance, but neither him, Oh, or the Buccis are here. She fumbles to get the pager out of her purse and after a few moments finds how to send a message to them. It would be so much easier to just use their damn phones.

“Hey, I’m down here by the car when you’re ready.”

“...Fine.”

She groans at his attitude, like her being the one to page him and to be the one waiting on him. Tsuneko checks the time and begins to absent-mindedly play on her phone. She’s just won a plushie through the crane game app and the sun is starting to set when she sees Ichinomiya and Oh walking through the door. The Buccis are a few steps behind and she can’t resist.

“You’re late,” she mimics his tone of voice and can’t resist smirking when he scowls.

“Ahh Tsuneko, there you are!” Mr. Bucci greets before Ichinomiya can say anything.

“A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Bucci.” She takes it upon herself to open up the car door for them with a customer service smile.

“Oh, you’re too kind.” Mr. Bucci is the only one happy to see her, the other three giving her dirty looks to varying degrees. Should be a fun dinner. She slides in, making sure to roll a window down slightly because of Mr. Bucci’s love of cigars.  The limousine starts moving and Ichinomiya hands off his tablet, he tells her to take notes and his hand once again drags purposefully slow across her skin, earning a glare from Carolina.

“So, have you been thinking my offer over?” Ichinomiya starts the business conversation as Mr. Bucci starts to puff on his cigar.

“I have and I’m still interested, I haven’t gotten the thought of opening a casino of my own since I visited the one at the Tres Spades.”

“Partnering with me would insure its success, under the Tres Spades name, your casino would be guaranteed easy press coverage which is invaluable with how much competition there is in Italy.”

“I don’t deny that, but having it within a Tres Spades would be giving you full control. Nikaido is offering me almost complete creative freedom and allowing me a larger percentage of profits, since I’d be the main force behind it.”

“That may be true, but I can guarantee you more profit. It’s better to get twenty percent of a billion than seventy percent of a million.”

“True, you know the business better, but that doesn’t always mean guaranteed profits and I’m not sure if I want to completely hand over the reigns to someone else.”

“You can rest assured, that the project would be safe with me and you’d be free to give input at any time.”

Tsuneko bites her lip and stifles a laugh, the idea of Ichinomiya considering someone else’s opinion seems like an absolute pipe dream. But, even with his unbearable personality, Bucci would be an idiot not to take the deal. Ichinomiya is an absolutely intolerable pain in the ass, but he’s a brilliant businessman, the Tres Spades is a monument to that fact. The limousine comes to a stop outside a restaurant, it looks fancy to say the least, a huge building that seems like entirely too much.

The sky has gone dark when they leave the limo and take an elevator up to the top level of the restaurant. City lights twinkle outside the windows, a beautiful view no matter where you sit. Sleek black chairs at tables with white tablecloths, candles as centerpieces at each one. Men in tailored suits and women in slinky gowns sip wine from crystal glasses.

Ichinomiya mentions a reservation and they’re shown to their seats. The atmosphere is so formal and uptight, Tsuneko feels the need to sit completely straight, like slouching would be a sin here. She’s not suppose to put her elbows on the table right? Oh god, is this one of those places where you have to use specific forks or spoons?

Menus are put in front of them and she only absently listens to the rest of them chatter, she doesn’t have to take notes at the moment. They all seem comfortable in this environment, she’s the only one who can’t relax. She looks over the menu and a noise catches in her throat, she didn’t know there was food this expensive.

“Are you still planning on showing Carolina around tomorrow?” Mr. Bucci asks once they’ve ordered wine and appetizers for the table, the price of both make Tsuneko’s mouth go dry.  

“Of course, we’d all be happy to show her around tomorrow.”

“I’m so excited for you take me out Eisuke! I finally get to try out the shops here!”

“Is this your first time in Japan?” Tsuneko decides to try starting conversation, Carolina can’t hate her that much over Ichinomiya, he’s certainly not worth it.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”

“Your Japanese is really good, I assumed you visited regularly.”

“Well, of course, I’m exceptional when it comes to language.” Carolina bats her eyelashes at Ichinomiya and Tsuneko decides to just focus on finding the cheapest entree she can order.

She might just get some sort of side salad, the least expensive one costs more than twice what she paid for a burger earlier and from the description it’s literally just lettuce with cheese. What the hell is wrong with rich people? The menu is pulled from her hand and she pouts, seeing it now in Ichinomiya’s hand. He shoots her a glare that neither of the Buccis can see. She’d kick him under the table, but knowing her luck she’d end up hitting Carolina or her dad.

The waiter has returned, filling all of their wine glasses and placing the appetizers out, the smell makes her stomach growl. Everyone at the table prattles off orders and it comes to Tsuneko.

“I’ll-”

“She’ll take the sixteen ounce wagyu steak,” that over seventy-eight thousand yen and he’s starting to order sides with it.

“Uh, no, I’ll-”

“Don’t bother worrying about price,” he cuts her off with a small pointed glare.

“Well, you can’t expect much, girls like her aren’t use to luxury. Maybe ‘cause they know they don’t deserve it,” Carolina comments as she drinks from her wine glass.

“Maybe that’s why I like spoiling her so much.” Ichinomiya has the fake soft expression he been favoring during this entire ruse and Tsuneko clenches her jaw.

“Well, spoiling beautiful women is one of the greatest joys in life,” Mr. Bucci boasts as he puffs away on his cigar,

“That’s why Eisuke would be better off spoiling me, instead of her.”

Tsuneko takes a drink of wine, strong with hints of cedar and berries. She’s not a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, but too much of that and she’ll be shitfaced. She doesn’t mind during her alone time, but drunk her doesn’t mix well with others, a lesson she’s learned the hard way far too many times.

“Are you alright?” Ichinomiya asks and places a hand on her shoulder, she slides just a bit away, evading a lingering touch while still not making a show of avoiding him.

“Yeah, it was just a little stronger than I expected.”

“A girl like you just can’t appreciate fine wine like this,” Carolina scoffs.

“It’s a fantastic blend,” Mr. Bucci starts then prattles off details that go in one ear and out the other, some sort of Cabernet is all Tsuneko manages to grasp.

“All of that is absolutely lost on me, I’m sorry,” Tsuneko admits with a shrug and a laugh, lying or trying to act like she knows any of this will just make her look stupider.

Ichinomiya shoots another glare her way, Oh rolls his eyes, and Carolina scoffs. Maybe she was suppose to lie? But, that seems stupid. Mr. Bucci guffaws and bursts into laughter, like she’s cracking him up.

“At least you’re honest, if Eisuke ever brings you to Italy there’s a beautiful vineyard that does wine tastings, it’d give you a chance to learn more.”

“That does sound lovely, I’ll have to make a trip sometime.” Ichinomiya jumps at the chance to network, his smirk barely hidden by his glass of wine.

‘Oh, I’m sure by then, she won’t even be around.”

Tsuneko ignores Carolina’s comments and snacks on appetizers, a noise of content escaping as she eats a crab cake. It may be expensive, but at least it’s good.

“There’s a lot of things Tsuneko hasn’t experience, but it makes it more fun having her around.”

The appetizer tastes bitter now, hearing Ichinomiya’s saccharine tone as he plays up like he cares about her. It doesn’t count for the bet, though. She doesn’t even need to be an active participant, she’s not sure if he even realizes she’s caught on, so it’s not unique to her. Anyone could fulfill this duty and she’s confident she wasn’t even his first plan to deter Carolina. She can’t think of much reason to be bringing Oh along, other than to hope that Carolina’s affection would shift focus.

But, does he know that? IF he genuinely thinks this is his chance to win the bet, then he’d be wasting all of his time on it for no reason. So, it’d probably be best to play stupid, at least to an extent, as much as the idea pains her. If he focuses all of his attention on this plan, thinking it’s a guaranteed win, he won’t bother to think of another one.

She’s not even sure why he’s doing this though. Sucking up and kissing ass is a part of the business world, she gets that, but certainly not being interested with someone won’t completely compromise the deal. Maybe it’s because he’s the only one at this table who seems to even almost like her, but Mr. Bucci doesn’t seem so cruel that he’d terminate the entire deal because Ichinomiya won’t date his daughter. And Carolina isn’t daft, if he just told her no directly, she’d probably back off and it would be a lot easier than this whole hullabaloo.

The meal comes out while Tsuneko has her mouth full of crab cake, the fancy steak dinner is placed in front of her and her pride is wounded by how good it looks. She hates having people buy her things, but she knows how much she’s going to enjoy this. She takes her first bite of steak, careful not to spill food on herself, and lets out a noise. It’s tender and savory, she’s never had steak this good.

“I take it you like it,” Ichinomiya asks her with his stupid fucking smirk and her face flushes as she nods, she’s a glutton and it always seems to show. The dinner continues with Tsuneko remaining as quiet as possible while they prattle on about business and Carolina’s plans for the day out tomorrow.

Ichinomiya has made it clear that she’s going to be expected to tag along while they show Carolina around, but she’s hoping she won’t be forced out for too long since she has the Mad Hatter’s tea party to go to. If necessary she’ll have to find a way to weasel out of the entire thing early, which sounds enticing. Mr. Bucci mentions the I.V.C and auction briefly, but nothing else jumps out to her among their chatter.  

The dinner winds down and the check comes, Ichinomiya shoots her a glare the second she reaches towards her purse, he’ll kill her if she even offers to pay in this situation. She puts her hand down with a pout, but she knows how much her meal costed and she’ll pay him back when the Buccis are out of sight. It will be a decent chunk of her savings, but she’ll do it. She’s still reeling from how much he spent on clothes, she can’t let him spend anymore on her.

The night drags on as they leave the restaurant and return to the hotel, Tsuneko only half listening through it all. She’s dropped below even half listening by the time they’ve reached the hotel and waved the Buccis off to their rooms.

Her attention drops still when Ichinomiya starts lecturing her about some sort of mistake she made during the dinner and how she better not make the same mistake during the day out with Carolina. Tsuneko considers telling him off for his whole scheme, just out of spite, but she knows still that it’s better to stay quiet on the matter. The only thing that matters is her winning the bet.

Her night is spent playing with Kiyo, taking care of little things around her dorm, and starts working on applying to colleges back in Kyushu, before finally finding sleep at a late hour.

The next morning she’s back in Ichinomiya’s limousine, in another tight dress, and praying for a quick death. Carolina is going between making heart eyes at the men and glaring at Tsuneko. The dog isn’t even here anymore, this is ridiculous. Tsuneko doesn’t even have a reason to be here, she’s not taking notes, this is just Ichinomiya dodging Carolina.

The streets of Ginza are filled with people all bustling around with arms full of shopping bags. Tsuneko hasn’t ventured into this area very much, she’s never had the time or energy for big shopping excursions. The limousine pulls up to a boutique, the clothes in the window look pricey and elaborate.

Carolina’s eyes go wide and sparkle as they enter the boutique, rushing towards a rack of dresses. She’s oohing and awing as she holds dresses up to herself, seeing how they look against her.

“Which dress looks better on me,” she turns to face Ichinomiya, “the dark red or the black lace?”

“Black is more slimming, so isn’t that the best one?”

Tsuneko bites her lip and glares at a sneering Ichinomiya, remembering his last snide remark about her weight. He’s being serious, he’s going out of his way to mock her size.

“Black, hmm? Well, if that’s what you like, that’s what I’ll get!” Carolina either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about his insults, her face bright with excitement.

“Tsuneko, why don’t you try on this dress?” Ichinomiya asks her and gives her that fake doe eyed look as he shows her a blue lacy dress.

“No thank you, Mr. Ichinomiya, I have more than enough work clothes.” She turns him down flat and he glares at her, she can’t help but smile at his irritation.

“Oooh, don’t worry about her Eisuke, these kinds of clothes aren’t meant for a girl like her. It’s like putting lipstick on a pig.”

Tsuneko resists lashing out at Carolina and clenches her jaw. Carolina seems to believe putting other women down is the way to make herself look better, between her and Ichinomiya’s fat shaming Tsuneko feels like she’s back in high school. The only difference is this time she’s not the petty mean girl, whether that’s a step up or down is debatable.

An employee shows Carolina into the fitting rooms to try on the dresses she’s picked out and Tsuneko pulls out her phone to pass some of the time without having to bother talking to Ichinomiya or Oh.

“Ugh,” Ichinomiya scoffs, “she’s going to take forever.”

“It’ll be a miracle if any of those dresses even fit her.”

Tsuneko bites her tongue, heat under her skin, they’re back on their bullshit. Carolina hates her and is a bitch. Ichinomiya and Oh are jackasses who seem to think her size is the most pressing matter about her existence. She thinks back to the event she went to with Ichinomiya and the girl who called her a pig; she didn’t think much about if he was involved in insulting her, but now she has to wonder. If he’s willing to talk this way about Carolina, why wouldn’t he do the same to her? The circles he runs in are inherently superficial, an extra pound can make all the difference in someone’s worth.  

Carolina is bigger than her, the blonde woman is plus sized by western standards, but Tsuneko is still chubby by Japanese standards. She’s gained around thirty pounds or so since high school and has definitely gone up at least two or three sizes. More polite people might call her a marshmallow girl, but assholes like Ichinomiya and Oh just see her or Carolina as targets for ridicule.

“Eisuke what do you think?!” Carolina emerges from the dressing room and the shopping trip continues. She goes through dress after dress, before unceremoniously deciding to order them all and has them sent to her hotel room.

Not five minutes later they’re in another boutique and the process begins again. Carolina looks over every item, trying them on and desperately trying to get Ichinomiya’s attention while him and Oh make snide comments. Tsuneko tries to stay calm, ignoring every attempt Ichinomiya makes to act as if he likes her, listening to Carolina’s insults, and playing on her phone to make the time pass quicker. Ultimately Carolina buys everything, again.

The third boutique Carolina tries on a tight crop top and Tsuneko gets to bite her tongue when Ichinomiya makes a comment about her stomach the second she’s gone.

Fourth boutique, Oh makes a comment about how shameful she looks in a tight skirt and Tsuneko has to refuse another attempt by Ichinomiya to buy her something with a clenched jaw.

Fifth boutique, comments about the cellulite on Carolina’s thighs when she comes on in a short dress and Tsuneko feels her face heat, anger burning a hole in her chest.

Sixth boutique, Carolina shows off a body con dress, proud of the way it hugs her curves and when she leaves the peanut gallery comments about how they’re amazed the fabric didn’t rip. Tsuneko’s lip breaks and bleeds under her bite, the force needed to hold back her response.  

They arrive at the seventh boutique and Tsuneko’s feet are starting to ache. She leans against a wall as Carolina disappears into the changing room. Tsuneko glances around the new store, her phone is already running low on battery they’ve been doing this for hours. She’s confident this is actual hell on earth. Her eyes find a rack of accessories there’s a cute watch, it looks like a high end fancy version of a chunky digital watch she owns with it’s little cat ears.

A heavy sigh and groan escapes the dressing room, the noises make Tsuneko’s heart sink, the sounds of clothes not fitting. She’s experienced it more than a few times herself, trying to pull on something that should fit but it doesn’t, the feeling that there’s something wrong with you and your body.

The shopping attendant comes scurrying from the hall where the changing rooms are, looking through racks of where Carolina pulled clothes from.

“Is something wrong?”

“Um, none of those fit,” the attendant frown as she searches the racks, “I don’t think we carry the size up.”

“I’m surprised this didn’t happen sooner,” Ichinomiya comments with a roll of his eyes.

“It’s a disgrace to walk around Ginza with a woman like her.”

“This entire thing is a waste of time, she’s going to look the same no matter what she wears.”

“Dear god, do you two ever shut up!?” Tsuneko breaks, the heat of anger has been building under her skin all day and it’s like someone set a fire in her veins.

“Be quiet, woman!” Oh yells back and narrows his eyes at her.

“Seriously, you’re grown men acting like you’re in high school, it’s pathetic!”

“You’re the one making an idiot out of yourself right now,” Ichinomiya talks sharp and harsh under his breath. Shoppers are staring at them and the attendant looks like she hasn’t been paid enough for this.

Tsuneko rolls her eyes and spots a dress on the rack, the bottom flares out well and when she checks the waist has some stretch to it. She grabs the dress and throws an arm around the shoulders of the flustered attendant, pulling the woman closer.

“Try taking this to her and tell her Mr. Ichinomiya picked it out, okay,” Tsuneko whispers low in the attendant ear and sends her back to the changing room.

Grinning to herself, Tsuneko checks her phone, it’s about time to make her escape. If she wants to be able to make everything in time for the Hatter’s party she’ll have to be getting out of here. She gives Oh and Ichinomiya another pointed glare before tapping away at her phone.

“Oooh, it’s perfect,” Carolina gushes and spins around, the soft white fabric fluffing out around her thighs from the movement, “of course, you’d be able to find the one that suits me perfectly. You know me so well, Eisuke!”

“Yep,” Tsuneko interjects, watching Carolina attempt to hug Ichinomiya again, he simply steps aside and grimaces, “ Mr. Ichinomiya saw it and couldn’t wait to see you try it on.”

“I knew I could win you over.” Carolina’s cheeks are flushed pink, Ichinomiya is glaring at Tsuneko and all she can do is smirk.

“I’m happy you like it,” Ichinomiya comments but he’s still sneering, even Oh is grinning at the situation.

“I love it, I’m gonna wear this out, we should go out for something to eat so I can show it off!”  Tsuneko’s phone buzzes and she checks it, smiling at the notification.

“Well, as much as I’d love to come along, I actually have to get going.”

“You mean it will just be me, Eisuke and Soryu! That’s wonderful!”

“What do you mean, you have to go?” Ichinomiya asks, his tone low and harsh.

“Didn’t Mr. Oh tell you? I have to help with the next auction, I’m meeting with the Hatter.”

“Is that so, well, we’ll end the day early. The driver will have to take you back, after all.”

“Don’t be silly, I couldn’t do that to you, I just requested a taxi. They’re already here too, see,” Tsuneko proudly shows the message on her phone, “hope you all have fun~!”

Ichinomiya’s hateful sneer and Oh’s glare makes pride bloom in her chest, pissing them off brings her a special kind of joy. Carolina is squealing, elated to have both the men to herself, as Tsuneko leaves the boutique. She slides into the back of her taxi and relaxes into the seat as it starts moving. The busy streets of Ginza pass by as she heads back to the hotel.

#kissed by the baddest bidder #kbtbb #eisuke ichinomiya #Soryu Oh #Mitsunari Baba #Ota Kisaki #mamoru kishi #rhion hatter #black market wonderland #kbtbb eisuke #kbtbb soryu #kbtbb baba #kbtbb ota #kbtbb mamoru #kbtbb rhion

[curlswithcreativity]

Smell the Roses - Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Prompt: “Why are you bleeding?”

A/N: I think this is the first Stiles piece I’ve written? I miss my freckly boi. I should have proofed this more but I’m out of energy!!! sorry!!! Thanks @musiciatee for the prompt

Teen Wolf Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

The warmth of the room was not helping your inability to stay awake; you found your attention drifting quickly, and you hoped that Lydia would lend you her notes for next period's class if you were nice enough. Try as you might, you found your head bobbing, and your eyes fluttering to half open slits as you listened to Coach Finstock drone on about scarcity, efficiency, and sovereignty.

The sharp whack of a small projectile caused your eyes to whip open as you sat up quickly, looking around for the source of the disruption. Your eyes landed on the messy haired, freckled boy sitting in the row across from you. You glowered. Stiles mimed yawning before acting out a comical snore and you found yourself holding back a smirk at his theatrics. He gestured wildly to the crumpled ball of a note he had thrown at you, and you picked it up daintily to study its contents.

 ​Stop staying up until 4am watching that dumb doctor show.

Glancing back at up at him, he fixed you with a pointed, haughty look and you rolled your eyes.

 Coach was facing the blackboard, and you used this opportunity to tear a narrow strip of paper from your notebook. You hastily scrawled your response, Stop going out and playing in the forest until 4am, before lobbing it in Stiles' direction. He caught it easily in his uplifted hand, opening it under his desk while you studied him. He chuckled and scribbled down his retort.

 I'm not the one who can't keep their eyes open, Y/N.​

 You crumpled the small piece of paper and tossed it into your bag as Coach turned around to study the class for an answer. When his back was to you once more, you sent over your reply to Stiles.

 Bold of you to assume that's not because of Finstock's lesson. Stiles snorted loudly and quickly covered his face as Coach whipped around, studying the young man with contempt.

 "Something funny, Bilinski?"

 Stiles straightened in his chair, wiggling his pencil between his fingers as he pursed his lips and shook his head. "No, Coach. I was just suddenly struck by the fact that my generation will be in charge of the economy one day and you're probably going to have a huge impact on us future stock investors."

 Coach shuddered as he processed what had been said. "That is a truly terrifying thought. But keep it to yourself next time. People smarter than you are trying to learn, here."

 You snickered and tried to pass it off as a small cough as Stiles sunk back into his seat raising his eyebrows and giving you a triumphant grin at his deflection. Following your close call, the two of you remained uncharacteristically silent until the bell rang to release you a few short minutes later. You shoved your books into your bag quickly in an attempt to escape the crowdedness of the hallways on your way to grab a coffee, but you slowed when you heard Stiles calling after you. He was fumbling with his textbooks, shoving them into his open backpack haphazardly as he tried to catch up to you.

He knocked into a desk in his hurry, groaning and clutching at his thigh as he limped out the door. "Ow. Damn, why do you always have to move so fast?"

 You shook your head wearily, clutching your bag tightly to your side as the two of you headed towards the front entrance. "Stilinski, it's a damn miracle you're still alive." He grinned at the statement, pulling his bag higher on his shoulder as he matched his pace to yours. Your hustle had paid off; you were far ahead of the crowd by the time the masses finally left their classrooms.

 "Clearly the higher powers at be realize it would be cruel to deny the world of such a gorgeous specimen of a human being." He mumbled absently as he rubbed at his growing bruise.

 "Right..." You drawled as you searched for your purse for your keys. "Are you sure it's because not even the Devil can handle you?"

 "I mean, it definitely could be that I'm too hot for hell, Y/N. Yes, thank you for bringing up such an insightful point." He was relentless. You had already made the short distance to your car, and you leaned against the frame for support as Stiles moved to the passenger side door without speaking. You raised an eyebrow quizzically and he paused, his long fingers grasping the handle. "What? Was I not invited?"

 You shrugged, pulling open the door to the backseat to throw your bag in. "I honestly don't think you would listen if I said you weren't allowed to come with me. I accepted that a long time ago." He pondered your words, raising his shoulders and nodding in agreement as he slid into the car. He was already tinkering with your seats and the air conditioning when you closed your door behind you.

 "I think you take my presence for granted, Y/N/N.” He mused. “One day, you'll be all like, "Hey, where's that anxious young man, Stiles, who I love so much?" And I'll be off somewhere, surrounded by models who have come to love and appreciate my intricate and complex levels of humour and intelligence so much so that they decided to create a town in my honour. How will you feel then, huh?"

 He was staring at you so intently, you were losing the thread of whether he was joking or not. You searched his eyes, finding nothing but deep pits of amber instead of answers. You shoved the keys into the ignition after clipping on your seat belt, promptly ignoring his question. "Is Scott busy? Why aren’t you harassing him?"

 The freckled young man sighed, and shoved his backpack down between his feet, rolling his eyes when you reached across his chest to pull out the seat belt he had been struggling with. "He's playing hooky with Allison, but that's not the point. The point is that I'm a joy to be around, and you need to stop and smell the roses." Stiles quickly began fiddling with your radio, letting out a small huff of protest when you slapped his fingers away.

 "Come on, you know the driver picks the music." Stiles groaned dramatically as he played with the window controls, the front and back windows rising and lowering, much to your annoyance.

 "The rule only applies if the driver has good taste."

 You gasped in contempt, your fingers sliding over the volume knob to increase the sound in an act of defiance. "I'm sorry you're uncultured? What's wrong with Leon Bridges and Nat King Cole?"

 "You don't want me to answer that."

 By this point in your relationship, you were surprised your eyeballs were still in your head, and that you hadn't somehow developed a rare muscle strain as a result of the constant eye rolling you seemed to partake in in Stiles' company. "You are, by far, the biggest baby I have ever met. And stop messing with my windows."

 He pouted indignantly and crossed his arms, his leg bouncing wildly as you continued down the empty road to the nearest coffee chain. "Then entertain me. Or let me drive…you're slower than my dad."

 "Stiles, I am a safe driver. And the speed limit is 35. I'm doing 40."

 "No one actually drives that close to the limit." He scoffed as you slowed down for a stray pedestrian. "You drive like you're making a mad break from the nursing home. You're like, the opposite of Quicksilver or the Flash. You're so slow, a baby who hasn't learned how to walk yet could 100% beat you in a race."

 Your lips lifted into a smile as you checked your blind spots before turning on your signals to switch lanes. "I'm fine with that, Mr. My-daddy-gets-me-out-of-parking-tickets."

 If Stiles had intended to respond, he didn't get to. The deafening crunch of metal and the intense force of the speeding car that collided with yours pulled a loud gasp from your lips. Your body slammed back against the driver's seat, your breath caught in your chest at the suddenness of the impact. Time seemed funny to you. It would have been only a few seconds that had passed, but it had seemed so much longer than that.

 Dazed, you turned to look at Stiles who was observing you with increasing distress. From your position, you could see how a speeding car would have missed this little road if they had turned off the main street; they wouldn't have had a lot of time to correct if they hadn't spotted the yield sign. Your friend’s hand grabbed your arm, and you drew your attention from your window and the smoke that was emanating from your hood outside.

 "Are you okay?" You murmured, feeling oddly constrained in your position behind the wheel as Stiles' hands brushed over you with a gentle urgency. His face was pale, but he seemed fine to you until you noticed the redness on his hand. "Hey, what-.”

"Oh my god, Y/N, you're bleeding. Why are you bleeding?" His words didn't make a lot of sense; if you were bleeding, why was he the one with blood on his hands? You yelped when his fingers brushed over your thigh, and you realized that the pressure you were feeling was a result of your buckled door and the strip of metal that had sliced into your upper leg.

 "Oh my god." You turned to look at the man who was standing outside of your window, peering in at you and Stiles who was frantically searching for his phone. Based on the fact that his car door was wide open, and his face was ashen, you assumed you were looking at the man who had hit you. Somehow, his bumper had only just been dented along with his cracked headlight. "Oh my god, is she okay?" He repeated speaking to Stiles who was glaring at him angrily, his phone pressed to his face.

 "Dude, there's a yield sign for a reason!" Stiles spat out. "Hi, yes, I've just been in a car accident at LaCinta and Grove. We need an ambulance."

 "I didn't think to..."

 "Yeah, clearly!" The venom in Stiles voice was unlike you had ever heard before as he snapped at the man.

 We should get out of the car, you thought mindlessly, as you sat there in shock. Cars always blow up in movies.

 "It's not going to blow up," Stiles said quickly as he reached for your hand to reassure you. "Yeah, no, I'm still here, sorry. My friend just said something."

 You groaned and Stiles turned to you quickly, worry drawing his eyebrows together. "My mom and dad are going to murder me." You mumbled as you watched the blood pooling in the grooves of your seats. You heard Stiles speaking frantically, before saying something along the lines of, "I don't know how deep it is, but there's a lot of blood."

 Things were fuzzy after that.

 When your fog began to clear, you felt much better. It took you a moment before realizing that you were no longer pressed up against the crushed driver's side door of your car but that you were now sitting in a hospital bed. Your thigh felt tender, but the sharp stabbing ache that had been present earlier was no more. A quick scan of the room revealed you were alone, but you recognized Stiles' backpack occupying the chair nearest to your bed and noted the bouquet of pink and yellow roses.

 When you sighted him outside of your room, speaking anxiously with his father and your mom who you quickly recognized despite only seeing the back of her silhouette, you sighed with relief. Stiles noticed you were awake almost instantly, and you watched as he nudged the Sheriff before saying something to your mom who quickly whipped around and hurried through the door to your side.

 "Oh baby girl, I'm so glad you're awake. Are you feeling okay? Can I get you something? How is your leg? Are you thirsty?" You withdrew slightly from her urgent coddling and looked at the Sheriff in a silent plea. He slipped an arm around your mom, who tried to shrug him off as she fussed over you.

 "Y/M/N, remember the doctor said she would feel a little overwhelmed after she woke up."

With a start, your mom nodded, wiping absently at the stray tear that had fallen down her cheek without consent. "Right. Sorry." She continued her questioning in a more relaxed manner, and you did your best to keep up. Stiles hung back nervously as he watched the exchange, and you rolled your eyes in her direction as he gave you a weak smile

 She patted the edge of the bed to check for an empty space before she sat down beside you. "Stiles told me what happened, and your dad is on his way back from Montreal... We're just so glad you're okay. We don't want you to worry about the car right now. Just focus on getting better."

 You nodded, relieved. "Okay."

 "You should be very grateful you have such good friends. Stiles was a superstar." Your friend itched shyly at the back of his neck, his face reddening slightly at the praise while his dad gave him a proud smile. Your mom looked as if she wanted to say something more, but she stopped, changing her train of thought. "Can I get you something to eat? I told them you wouldn't want to be woken up, but I can go grab you something."

 "Can I just have some tea, please?" Your mom hummed and patted your arm before kissing your hair. You could see that she was happy to have something to do, and knew you would be getting a talk about your driving skills when you recovered.

 "Yes, my sweet girl… I'll see if I can find some chicken noodle soup." With that she left the room, the Sheriff choosing to head out soon after.

 "There's still some issues I have to deal with on our side," Stiles' father explained, his hands clutching comfortably at the sides of his jacket. "Based on what Stiles said and the fact that the man who hit you is currently having his stomach pumped, I might be here a while."

 "Arrest him." Stiles sung, irritably from his position leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Sheriff Stilinski shot his son a look that resided somewhere between disdain and understanding, before leaving. "I'm serious!" Stiles shouted after his dad before muttering, "Drunk idiot." quietly to himself. When the two of you were alone, your friend edged closer to the side of your bed. He studied you with a strained look of concern as you winced; the metal bar of the bed frame had knocked against your wound in your attempt to move over to make room for him. You patted the space beside you, beckoning him forward.

Wordlessly, he sunk into the newly vacant spot beside you, his slender fingers intertwining with yours. You couldn’t remember the last time you had held hands like this, but felt it was probably back when you were in grade school. You sat in silence for a few moments, shoulder to shoulder, before he turned to you.

 "I'm never getting in a car with you again, you know, right? My life is too precious."

 You groaned and let out a small laugh despite everything, squeezing his hand tightly as you grumbled, "You aren't going to let me live this down are you."

Stiles clucked his tongue at you, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "I'm JUST saying that if you were driving faster, we would have completely missed that asshole getting to that intersection."

“Or if I had driven the speed limit instead of driving over, he would have blasted through that intersection ahead of us.” You countered as you gave his shoulder a bump. "Anyway, I'm still alive…I guess the Devil didn't want me either." His arm snaked around your shoulder and he pulled you gently towards him in a loving hug.

"Good. I'm not ready for you to die just yet." Your body relaxed against him, the lack of conversation that followed comforting; Stiles was one of the few people who you could spend hours with, talking or not, and still feel like your time was well spent. You were glad he was here with you now.

Your eyes felt heavy, but you opened them again when Stiles began to speak. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Y/N.”

“Thanks… Me too.”

He pointed towards the vase of flowers you had noticed earlier, “I got those for you. I thought if you were on bed rest you should actually spend some time stopping to smell the roses.”

You let out a small sigh and grinned happily. “That’s so cheesy…”

 “Yeah, but you like it anyway.”

You studied the petals of the roses, and shrugged jokingly in an attempt to convey disinterest—but he was right, and you both knew it. You liked it a lot.

 @thetenthdoctorscompanion @inkstainedfanfics @everyday-imfangirling @galaxies-behind-my-eyes @kkiyomizu @greysanatomyimaginesworld @twilightparker

#stiles stilinski #teen wolf #dylan o'brien #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x you #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf imagines #dylan o'brien imagine #dob imagines #curlsincriminology writes #curlswithcreativity

[trash-the-tozier]

Dog Days (1/7)

Title: Dog Days

Length: ~36.6k words (5k for this part)

Summary: Richie Tozier is twenty years old, over halfway through a Chemistry degree at the University of Maine, and in love with his best friend and roommate, Stanley Uris. And he figures that it's fine, with no cause for change, until he finds an injured puppy near his apartment.

Warnings: Explicit language, small amounts of smoking/drinking, vague description of a dead animal, mentions of animal abuse (the animal stuff is all about the injured puppy, it’s not like... a recurring theme or smthn) and like... one punch is thrown (it's a cute fic I promise)

Pairings: Stan/Richie, background Ben/Beverly

A/N: I have a bunch of losers club x dogs headcanons, so I finally wrote one! this fic was originally written for the @itbigbang, and while the exchange ended up falling through, I did have a wonderful time writing this fic ♡ also posted to ao3 here

"Oh, here." Richie pulled Stan's phone from his hands, who let out a dissenting breath from his nose, but didn't attempt to stop him. "Beverly just sent me the mix she made. I'll put it on while we study."

"What's it called?"

"Uh..." Richie plugged Stan's phone into the speakers he'd left on the coffee table, opening up Spotify. Beverly's playlists usually had hilarious names long enough to rival Fall Out Boy themselves, but this one was unexpected. "It just says 'idiots'. No capitalization."

"Sweet, isn't she?" Stan asked, amused, pulling a notebook and a pencil from his backpack, tucking the writing utensil behind his ear so he could use both hands to pick up his Statistics textbook. That thing was heavy, Richie knew; Stan had dropped it on his head once. He frowned, scrolling through the tracklist.

"These songs are weird."

"Yeah?" Stan slid the textbook to the edge of his knees, beginning to open it.

"Yeah." Richie frowned, reading out the first song. "This Guy's In Love With You."

Stan dropped his book on his foot, cursing loudly as Richie laughed.

"...excuse me?" He finally asked.

"Do you know that song?" Richie asked back, instead of repeating himself. "It came out in 1968! Justify My Love? What is all this stuff?"

"Isn't Justify My Love that really risque Madonna song?" Stan asked, and Richie gave an incredulous little laugh, pressing play on the playlist and laying back against the couch. He nudged Stan lightly with his elbow.

"You're so gay, Stanley."

"Right." Stan raised an amused eyebrow, nudging Richie back. "You kissed four different guys at a party last week, and I'm the gay one."

"That was just for spin the bottle! Besides, I didn't say I wasn't the other gay one."

Stan rolled his eyes, turning to his Statistics homework. Richie was supposed to be working on an English essay but he felt painfully distracted, staring at his laptop screen every couple of minutes before picking up his phone. Justify My Love was, in fact, an incredibly risque Madonna song, and Richie ended up leaning forwards and skipping it because Stan was turning so red that Richie worried he might explode. Thankfully, Richie knew the next song inside and out.

"Def Leppard!" He exclaimed, as the opening guitar notes from the iconic 'Pour Some Sugar On Me' began. Stan glanced over at him.

"Don't pretend you're some classic rock fan." He said. Richie opened his mouth in offense.

"But I am!"

Stan tried to go back to his books but Richie interrupted almost immediately, splaying himself across Stan's lap and singing along in a terrible, dramatic voice, his face screwed up in a way he probably thought was 'punk rock'.

"I'm hot, sticky sweet! From my head, to my feet."

Stan glanced down at him, pursing his lips, but he did look amused.

"You're not hot, Richie. Especially if you're sticky."

Richie pouted at him.

"But I'm sweet!"

"...right."

A huge grin spread across Richie's face, catching Stan's eye and sticking his tongue out.

"Why don't you give me a taste and find out?"

Richie expected an eye roll, already imagining the dramatic position he wanted to land in on the floor when Stan inevitably shoved him off his lap. Instead Stan leaned in close, a nervous jolt racing up Richie's chest when his eyes began to close. His lips were mere centimeters away, Richie's heart hammering, when Stan stopped.

"Shut up, Richie." He murmured. And then he shoved Richie off his lap, but Richie was caught so off guard that he didn't manage to stick his landing, letting out in undignified yelp as he hit the coffee table on his way down. That had Stan laughing, laughing so hard that he leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes, and in spite of the dull throb Richie now felt in his shoulder, he had to grin. He crawled back up onto the couch, staring hard at his computer screen, trying to use the assignment as a distraction to get his heart rate back to normal. He got about a paragraph of something barely intelligible written, his fingers freezing when he heard Stan murmur a curse under his breath. Richie wasn't sure if he should say something or not, but it quickly became too much to handle.

"Fuck!" Stan finally growled, Richie trying to ignore the way his breath hitched and be a sympathetic friend instead. He'd been doing that a lot lately, when it came to Stanley.

"What?"

"I've tried this problem three times." Stan said in frustration, stabbing at the paper with his pencil tip. "And I've gotten a different wrong answer all three times. I swear I'm using the formula correctly, but..."

Richie leaned over Stan's lap, glancing over his work. He pointed at the third step of his most recent attempt.

"There. You forgot to carry the one."

"Carry the one?" Stan asked in slight disbelief, and when he realized Richie was right, he let out a groan and collapsed onto Richie's shoulder in defeat.

"I hate it when you make me feel stupid." Stan mumbled, his voice slightly muffled.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Because you're stupid."

In spite of himself, Richie chuckled.

"Why are you majoring in Accounting if you suck at math?" Richie asked. "You're so much better at other stuff."

Stan sighed, pulling himself upright. He turned back to his homework, twirling his pencil between his fingers. Richie watched his hands.

"A stable job, Richie."

"A stable job? In this economy?" The question was more of a joke than anything, and thankfully Stan laughed. Richie got to his feet, his shoes already on by the time Stan spoke up.

"Isn't that essay due by midnight tonight?"

"Yeah. I'll get it done." Richie waved a dismissive hand. "I can't focus right now, anyway."

"Going on a walk?" Stan asked, but it wasn't really a question, the answer already obvious. Richie took walks off campus when he needed to de-stress, or exhaust himself enough to get his brain to calm down and focus on an uninteresting task. This essay definitely qualified as uninteresting. Richie nodded.

"I'll probably be at work then, when you get back." Stan told him, Richie nodding a little when he realized Stan was right.

"Good luck during your shift! Don't die, or whatever." Richie said, pulling on a jacket. He took his cell phone from his pocket, showing it to Stan. "Feel free to text me if you want."

Stan nodded, Richie giving him a salute, checking his pocket for his keys and his cigarettes before stepping out the door. He kept his phone in his hand, and when he'd made it down the apartment complex steps, he called Beverly's number.

"Hey, punk." She greeted, and he grinned. "What's up?"

"Not much. Just on a walk."

"And you missed the sound of my voice?"

"C'mon sis. I always miss you." Richie told her, and she laughed a little.

"Ben and I live on the other side of campus. You can come over any time, you know that. I gave you a key to our apartment for a reason."

"Yeah yeah, I know." Richie held his phone to his ear with his shoulder, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up. "Bev, about that playlist..."

"Did you like it? Did you and Stan make out or something?"

"That's what that was about?" He asked, amused by the excitement in her voice. “I threw myself in his lap, and but he didn't go for it.”

“Oh, damn.”

Richie laughed. “C’mon Beverly, how many times do I have to tell you that I don’t like Stan?”

“You can’t fool me, Richie.” She sounded slightly reprimanding. “You want him to stick his tongue in your mouth so badly it’s insane.”

“No!” Richie insisted. “I don’t. I don’t like Stan, and I have to keep telling myself that. I have to, because if I don’t then I will definitely kiss him, and it will definitely ruin everything.”

The line was silent for a few moments, Richie watching his feet as he walked. He veered off the sidewalk and the pavement turned to drying grass underfoot, taking himself in the direct opposite direction of campus and towards a distant patch of trees.

“It might not, you know.” Beverly said quietly. “Ruin everything, I mean.”

“Yeah, but it could. We’re roommates, and we’re friends, and that has to be good enough for me.”

Richie heard Ben’s voice in the background, sounding like he was asking some sort of question, and decided he didn’t want to interrupt their afternoon any further.

“I’ve gotta go, alright? I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Rich--”

“Bye Bev!” Richie hung up before Beverly could protest, slipping his cell phone into his pocket and taking a long drag on his cigarette. He appreciated Beverly trying to help him in her own, playful way, but he needed to be deterred from kissing Stan, not encouraged. Beverly just didn’t understand the complications of love, Richie supposed. She’d met her Prince Charming when they were all thirteen, and while the two of them had taken a while to get together, they’d always liked each other. It hadn’t been that way with Stan.

Richie had thought for years that Stan didn't like him at all. Stan tolerated him, maybe, but didn’t prefer his company. They never hung out one-on-one. Stan was transparent about Bill being his Loser of choice, always next to him, always close to him. Stan liked Eddie too though, connecting with him over things like calling Richie an idiot, or being clean and neat (though Richie knew that truly Stan was the neat one; Eddie was a germaphobe, sure, but he was still a chaotic teenage boy with a unorganized room and backpack full of loose papers. Stan grew up creating alphabetized binders of bird polaroids.)

Richie made an effort, though. When he learned that Stan wore that little circle thing on his head because he was Jewish--and that Jewish people spoke a different language, which was so cool--he studied up to make puns in Hebrew, made probably too many jokes about birds, and learned that poking Stan on the cheek made him blush. Despite all this though, they didn’t hang out independent of the others when they were fifteen, and the rest of the Losers (a group which now included Mike, Ben, and Beverly Marsh) weren’t able to make Richie’s impromptu sleepover. The two of them had stayed up until nearly four in the morning, half watching the Die Hard movies and half talking about nothing and everything all at once. Stan confided in Richie that night that he was gay, not telling him until later that he was the first person he’d come out to.

“Do you like me?” Richie had asked, almost immediately after. He didn’t realize the terrible timing of his question until Stan had turned red and punched him in the shoulder.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I mean… I meant as friends.”

Stan looked incredibly surprised.

“Of course I do. I always have.”

“...oh.”

Richie’s cigarette burnt itself out between his fingers, a cold gust of wind bringing him back to the present. It was chilly for March, even by Maine standards, Richie bringing his jacket in closer around himself, fumbling with the zipper. He closed the jacket up to his chin, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He didn't remember when his crush on Stan had developed, if he was being honest. Stan was just… Different. Different from all the other Losers. Different from anyone else Richie had ever known.

If Richie was in the mood to go out and save the world, he went to Bill. If Richie wanted to recline on a couch and laugh his ass off, he went to Mike. But Stan made him feel balanced. He was just deadpan enough to take in Richie's chaotic energy, just sarcastic enough to be amused when Richie made a joke, but still bite back with a retort of his own. Stan made him feel happy, made him feel right. He couldn't explain it really, but he knew it was a feeling he couldn't lose, and if all he could be to feel like that was Stan's friend, then so be it. Friend could be agonizing at times, but it was infinitely better than nothing at all.

The sound of rushing water registered in Richie's ears a second before his shoe landed in the creek. He cursed and jumped back, losing his footing and pinwheeling his arms in a desperate attempt not to fall entirely into the water. The creek was a familiar route in his walks, the body of water a full mile from campus, and Richie turned to follow along the bank. He kept a safe distance, stepping carefully. He already had one soggy shoe; he didn't need another.

Richie forced his mind to focus as he lit a second cigarette, trying to stop daydreaming about Stan and start planning out his essay, which was much less enjoyable, but much more productive. He didn't know why he needed a literature class, being a Chemistry major and all, but he had to take it, so he was at least going to try to pass. Good grades would help him keep his scholarships, and he needed those; his job at the pizza place he and Stan worked at was barely enough to cover his share of the rent for their tiny apartment.

There was a dark pack of birds up ahead. They looked large, all having landed by the creek bed, huddled close together. Richie had to get a little closer to them to see what kind of birds they were, but once he did, they were easy to identify. Vultures. A group of them, with their wide, dark wings and ugly bald heads. Richie didn’t realize until too late what a committee of vultures must mean, the unmistakable stench of rotting meat hitting him full in the face only a few paces later. He staggered back, his face scrunching instinctively, trying not to gag. But curiosity got the better of him, approaching slowly, wanting to see what it was the vultures were all crowded around.

He couldn’t tell what animal the carcass used to be. It was decomposed, waterlogged, and in the process of being ripped apart, but he still squinted at it in confusion. The bits of fur that remained were fuzzy, dark brown and black, the creature roughly the size of a dodgeball. A rabbit, he supposed. Something like that. It was too round to be a cat, and too dark to be a raccoon, and he couldn’t think of any other animal that would find its way to the creek to drown. Feeling unsettled, and unwilling to get between a pack of vultures and their prey, Richie turned tail and headed back home.

As he said he would be, Stan was gone to work by the time Richie returned. He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks, both feet freezing--though the wet one much more so--tucking them under his body as he pulled his laptop into his lap. He'd left it open with the screen on, and there was a little message at the bottom of his essay that Richie realized must be from Stan.

Man, you have to analyze Grapes of Wrath? Sucks to suck, that book is terrible. I’m like 99.9% sure you didn’t read it, seeing as I never saw you holding it, so make sure to talk about the multiplying effects of selfishness and altruism, and the symbolism of the dead dog. You’re welcome. And also... good luck! c;

Richie couldn’t stop smiling and he didn’t even care, taking a picture of the message with his phone, and attaching it in a text to Stan.

To: S(a)tan You flirty little bastard

From: S(a)tan ;)

To: S(a)tan ;D

From: S(a)tan If you send me the eggplant emoji I will block you istg.

Richie bit his lip to try to stop grinning but it was futile, leaning back on the couch.

To: S(a)tan What’s wrong with a harmless vegetable? I hear they’re quite NUTritious

He could almost hear the eye roll.

From: S(a)tan I hate you. Also, since you’re only looking at theme and motif for that essay, you probably don’t have to mention that part in the book where the teenage girl breastfeeds the dying old man in a barn

To: S(a)tan Excuse me the WHAT

From: S(a)tan I told you the book was terrible. But you have an essay to write. I’m not texting you back until it’s done.

To: S(a)tan But stanleyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

Richie didn’t get a response. He sent a few more whiny messages (and even the eggplant emoji for good measure) but true to his word, Stan didn’t text him. So Richie turned to Beverly instead.

To: Lavagirl Bevvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv im lonely and bored

From: Lavagirl What, your other half went to work?

To: Lavagirl ***Stan. My Stan went to work. And I have a stupid essay to write

From: Lavagirl I know. He told me. He also told me not to text you until you finish it. Bye!

“Fucking Stanley.” Richie grumbled, when after a few attempts, Beverly didn’t respond either. Out of distractions, Richie stared down the word document for a few moments, sighed, and got to work. But Stan didn’t text him back even after he’d finished and submitted the paper, so Richie assumed he was simply busy, taking Beverly up on her offer from earlier and making the trek to her and Ben’s apartment, picking up a pizza on the way.

He knocked when he arrived--he’d walked in on too many compromising situations not to knock at their door--beaming brightly when Ben answered.

“I didn't want to only invite myself over, so I invited myself and a pizza.” He explained, Ben laughing a little as he stepped back to let Richie in.  

“I was literally just about to text you.” Beverly said when she saw him, getting up from the couch in greeting, her cell phone extended in his direction. Sure enough, an in-progress message To: Sharkboy shone on the screen. “You got that Steinbeck essay finished?”

“Yep!” Richie set the box of pizza down on the small table in the kitchen. “Didn't read the book and submitted the first draft without revising it, just like my momma taught me.”

Beverly slapped him a high five, while Ben looked disapproving. Richie caught the expression.

“C’mon, Ben! It was Grapes of Wrath. That book is terrible. It doesn't deserve a good essay.”

“How do you know it's terrible? You just said you didn't read it.”

“I was told that it was bad by one very reliable source, thank you.”

“But it's Steinbeck!” Ben sat down at the table next to him. “He’s an award winning author. The way he puts prose together--”

“Steinbeck is a dweeb.” Richie said flippantly. Then, when Ben opened his mouth to protest, he continued. “And so are you, Ben.”

“Yeah, but he's my dweeb.” Beverly interjected, walking up behind Ben to come to the table. Ben looked back at her.

“You think I'm a dweeb?” He asked, Beverly grinning and looping her arms around his shoulders, kissing his cheek. He turned pink and the conversation was effectively closed, Richie grinning and moving to open the pizza box.

“We already ate.” Beverly interrupted. “Ben made dinner. It’s just chicken and pasta, but you can have some if you--”

“Thank god.” Richie closed the box again, getting up with it in hand and walking to the trash can. After working at a place that made pizza, he didn't enjoy the pseudo-Italian food as much as he used to. He would still eat it if there was no alternative though, unlike Stan, who would rather starve. “I really--”

“Woah, hey! What are you doing?” Beverly intercepted his path, taking the pizza box from him. “Not everyone here works at a pizza place. I still enjoy eating one of the greatest food inventions of the century.”

“Good for you then.” Richie helped himself to the aforementioned leftovers, the healthy food causing him to frown and turn back. He’d just remembered something, how Ben had slowly but surely been slimming himself down. “Wait, are you sure you want that, though? Isn't there some diet thing you guys are doing?”

“It's not a diet.” Ben said quickly. “It's just… I'm just making my own food, instead of eating that processed, high sodium crap I was fed all the time when I lived at home.”

“Well, it's working for you, buddy.” Richie put the plate in the microwave, turning to give Ben a wink. “You're looking good.”

“He's getting really good at cooking, too.” Beverly said in excitement, sliding the pizza box into the fridge. All of the praise had Ben's face slightly pink again. “That is the best way to a person's heart, you know.”

“I've heard that between the fourth and fifth rib is a pretty good way, too.”

Ben frowned at his pessimism, Richie sitting down. Beverly sat down across from him.

“You're just jealous because you don't have a dweeb.” She declared.

“Stan isn't a dweeb.” Richie said quickly. A grin grew on Beverly face.

“I didn't say anything about Stan.”

“Sure, but you were thinking it, and he was thinking it--” Richie pointed his fork at Ben with a sigh-- “and I was thinking it, so…”

“Why don't you just tell him?” Ben asked. “What's the worst that could happen?”

Richie stroked an invisible beard, pretending to think.

“Let's see. I confess my feelings--probably by kissing him because let's face it, I'm hopelessly in love and rash action is very much my style--and he's so freaked out by his roommate having a big gay crush on him that he changes his name, moves to Yemen, and I never see him again.”

“Don't give yourself so much credit. You're not so bad of a kisser that it drives people to move to another country.”

“Bev, I kissed Cynthia Anderson in ninth grade, and a week later she moved to Canada.”

“That was a coincidence!” Beverly exclaimed, as Ben laughed. “Just be charming! You could… I don't know, write him cute notes or something.”

Richie rolled his eyes.

“I'm not Ben.”

“Hey, it worked.” Ben pointed out, Beverly nodding.

“If I leave him love notes like Ben did, then he'll probably just think the notes are from Bill, like Beverly did!” Richie pointed out. He frowned. “Bill is cool. Stan would probably go out with Bill.”

The following silence lasted a little longer than Richie liked, neither one of them rushing to his defense.

“C’mon, guys!”

“You won't know until you try, and that's all I'm going to say.” Beverly said. “Speaking of Bill though, I talked to him today. We talked about possible tourist stops for The Road Trip.”

“Oh, tell me.” Richie said excitedly, stuffing a bite of chicken in his mouth in preparation to listen without interrupting. The Road Trip was a dream hatched up by Mike, an idea to get a van after graduation and drive around the country, fueled purely by nothing more than the desire to get the hell out of Maine. None of the Losers, aside from Ben and Eddie, had ever left the state before. But Ben had simply moved in from a different state in middle school, and Eddie was out of the state now, at a pharmacology school in New York with his tuition, housing, and meal plan all controlled by his mother's money. He claimed to like the freedom of the city, though.

They spent the next couple of hours brainstorming about things they could do, and places they could go. Most of it was simply amusing and unrealistic (in truth, the whole trip was unrealistic, but they tried not to think about that) Richie in the middle of explaining just how they would get away with stealing the world's largest boot out of Minnesota when his phone began to ring. It was Stan.

“King Stanrick the Third!” He answered grandly, putting on a rather bad British accent. “How was your shift at the pizza palace?”

“Monotonous.” Stan answered. “You finished that essay, then?”

“All done with time to spare, thanks to you!” Richie told him.

“Yeah, you're welcome. Hey, have you had dinner yet?”

“Yeah.” Richie said apologetically. “Ben and Beverly took pity on me and gave me their table scraps.”

Ben looked a bit disgruntled at his home cooked meal being called table scraps.

“That's awesome, actually.” There was a smile in Stan's voice now. “I am craving sushi, and now I can get some without you complaining.”

“You disgust me.” Sushi was about as abhorrent as asparagus, which Richie lovingly referred to as 'the green stalks from hell’. Stan laughed.

“Anything we need from the store while I'm out?” He asked. Richie thought for a moment.

“We are out of ice cream.” He said. The line was quiet for a moment, Richie able to hear the background noise of the road as Stan drove.

“...anything essential we need from the store?” Stan tried again.

“Ice cream is essential, Stanley! It shaped me into the man I am today!”

“Really? Then maybe you should never eat it again.”

“Fuck off.”

Stan laughed again, a quieter and more private kind of laugh that had Richie grinning, holding the phone a bit closer to his ear.

“Alright.” Stan allotted. “We're broke as hell, but I'll see what I can do.”

“See you soon?”

“Yeah.”

Then Stan hung up, Richie slowly lowering his phone. He'd all but forgotten about his friends, and Bev had a shit-eating grin on her face.

“Oh, fuck both of you.” He said, the words made infinitely less menacing by the light blush on his cheeks. “Also, thank you for having me over, the food was delicious, I love you both so so much, and I'm going home.”

He said it all quickly, rushing around the table to give both Ben and Beverly tight hugs, then made his way out the door. Richie showered and put on comfy clothes, and about thirty minutes later Stan was home, a half-eaten roll of sushi in one hand and a small grocery bag in the other.

“Hey.” He greeted, but Richie made a show of scrunching his nose up.

“You smell like raw fish.” He said. He couldn’t actually smell the sushi, but knowing it was there was bad enough. Stan rolled his eyes.

“No I don't. I smell like pizza grease, and I need a shower.”

Stan was right, and soon disappeared into the bathroom. When he re-emerged he was clean and warm, soft in a loose t-shirt and old pajama pants as he sat next to Richie on the couch, his curly hair a little damp and slightly frizzed from drying.

“Well Stanley, it's nearly nine-thirty on a Sunday evening. Ready to get crazy?” Richie asked.

“Crazy. Right.” Stan gave him an amused look. “I have class tomorrow, so no. And you have work.”

“I do?” Richie didn't remember being put on the schedule. Stan nodded.

“The manager asked me if you were free to cover an opening shift tomorrow, and I said yes, because you are.”

“Opening shift? Those are so early though!”

“Ten-thirty is not early, Rich. Just because you only have class on Tuesdays and Thursdays doesn't mean you can spend Monday doing nothing.”

“I'm pretty sure that's exactly what it means, actually.” Richie countered. “Real talk though, anything you want to do?”

Stan thought for a moment.

“I still am only on season three of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.” He said, and Richie gasped.

“Yes, that, we’re doing that right now.” He quickly pulled up a streaming site on his computer--prompting a “we really need a TV” comment from Stan--hurrying off to get his laptop's charger cord. When he returned Stan was holding a half pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream, and two spoons.

“You said you wanted ice cream. Want to share?” He offered, and Richie felt his heart melt into a puddle of goo on the floor. The episode started and they settled in in front of the computer screen, Richie remembering something almost at once. He pointed his spoon at Stanley in excitement.

“Stan! Can I spoil something from season five?”

“What? No.”

“It’s really important! Please? Please?” Richie repeated the word eleven more times, and finally Stan relented.

“Fine! What is it?”

“Rosa is bi! She’s bisexual.”

“Oh.” Stan smiled. “Cool.”

“Yep.” Richie winked. “Me and Rosa Diaz, two badass bisexuals.”

Stan laughed, shaking his head.

“No, you cannot compare yourself to Rosa. You’re more of a Scully than a Rosa.”

“Hey!” Richie protested, eventually convincing Stan that he was much more like Jake, the show’s main protagonist. After some hilarious back and forth Stan was likened to Amy, the character Jake just happened to be in a relationship with. If Stan noticed the comparison he didn't let on, and Richie sure as hell wasn't going to say anything about it.

“That was fun, but let’s not do the other Losers.” Stan requested.

“Oh! That Was Fun But Let’s Not Do The Other Losers: title of your sex tape.” Richie exclaimed, knocking his spoon against Stan’s. Stan laughed at the reference, leaning back into the couch cushions and resting his head on Richie’s shoulder. Richie’s breath caught in his throat, and he tried to slowly ease into the contact, Stan staying cuddled close to him for the entirety of the episode, even after the ice cream ran out. This was Richie’s third rewatch of the comedy, but for those thirty minutes, he couldn’t have said a single thing the episode was about.

#stozier #stozier fic #richie tozier #stanley uris #it 2017 #myfic #I'm so excited to post this fic #dogs #dogs!!!! #all the animal stuff sounds bad but this is a really cute n domestic fic #where pining idiot richie is front and center #dog days

[connorrenwick]

Circular by Design: Tino Seubert Turns Air Pollution into Art + Usable Products

The circular economy is a proposed alternative to our traditional ‘take, make, waste’ model of production and consumption – one that offers hope in the face of environmental catastrophes from climate change to ocean plastic. Designing out waste and pollution, keeping materials and products in use and regenerating our natural environment are so important to contemporary design that we wanted to create a dedicated space for the projects bringing these ideas to life. Circular by Design, a new weekly column by longtime contributor Katie Treggiden, will start by exploring the potential of waste as a valuable new raw material.

German-born London-based product designer Tino Seubert draws upon history and contemporary art as well as science and material research to make products that make statements. For The Colour of Air, he took air pollution and turned it into ink and dye, with which he made screen-printed artworks, pencils, and clothes, to demonstrate the fact that even invisible, airborne waste could be turned into something less damaging and more meaningful. We caught up with him to find out more.

Tell me a little bit about your childhood, education, and background in terms of how you first became interested in creativity, design and sustainability.

I grew up in a small village in the north of Bavaria. My neighbors were farmers and I used to pick up fresh milk from them as a kid – life then was definitely very different from my life in London these days! My parents both worked in technical professions, but they made sure that my creative side was nourished from a very young age. I have been drawing, painting, and making things non-stop since my earliest memories. My mum sent me to an additional art class twice a week after school in the next town and my dad helped me to develop my technical skills – he was always repairing TVs, radios, and other electronic devices in the garage and I would often help him out. I grew up with the idea that things could be fixed instead of replaced, which is essential to sustainability. When I was about 13, I figured out what design was and that it was what I wanted to do in life. At 19, I moved to Bolzano, Italy, where I did my Bachelor in Design, spending a year in Paris as part of an exchange. After graduating, I moved to Berlin and worked there for a year before moving to London to do a Masters in Design Products at the Royal College of Art. And that’s where I have been living since.

How would you describe your Colour of Air project?

Carbon black is the main component of fine Particulate Matter (PM), produced by the incomplete combustion of fossil fuels across homes, industry, and transport. As smog, it obscures visibility and is the main cause of air pollution. Recent studies suggest it is the number two contributor to climate change. Drawing on the idea of ancient Egyptians, who used carbon black from candles to produce ink, The Colour of Air filters PM from car exhausts to produce for pencils (PM-LEAD), and ink for screen printing posters (PM-K), and for permanently dying outdoor sportswear (PM-DYE). Smog becomes wearable, touchable, and visible to the very people who, unwittingly, inhale it every day.

What inspired this project?

The project was actually initiated by a brief we received in the first year of my studies at the RCA. I can’t remember the exact words, but it was about waste and sustainability. I wanted to think about unconventional or invisible waste, rather than the things we put into our bins and see every day. So I started researching topics like light pollution and things that are in the air. My research brought me to particulate matter and the fact that the biggest part of it is carbon black. Combining this with what I knew about the ancient Egyptians using carbon black from candles to produce ink, I decided to turn the carbon black from our air into pigment.

What waste (and other) materials are you using, how did you select that particular material and how do you source it?

This project is actually a very specific one in my portfolio and I wouldn’t say that I always, or even usually, work with waste. Or at least not in the most obvious way. What I do is work with materials that most people would consider ugly, because they are industrial, rough, or not in fashion. I see a beauty in them and I enjoy helping others see this beauty too. One example is Regalvanize, where I developed a surface treatment for hot-dip-galvanized steel material, which usually only used for outdoor and industrial applications like fences or highway guard rails.

When did you first become interested in using waste as raw material and what motivated this decision?

I think consciously the first time was actually during the brief at college, which made me develop The Colour of Air. But subconsciously it has been a big part in my upbringing and the education I received. More than a single project, sustainability should be an underlying philosophy for any project we conceptualize, design, or produce.

What processes does the material have to undergo to become the finished product?

First of all the material needs to be collected. One option for that is to put up active air filters to get the particulate matter out of the air. However, it’s a very costly and energy consuming process, which, for me, defeats the purpose. Why should more electricity be used to collect dirt from the air, which had been caused by other machines? So I looked at existing filter systems for cars. Some diesel cars do have filters in place already, others don’t, which creates a big problem. The ones that do, burn the collected carbon into more carbon dioxide. So to collect the material, I opened up existing ceramic filters on diesel cars, emptied them and put them back in place. To then I process the material into screen printing ink, pencil leads, and fabric dye, sometimes adding small amounts of agents. Making the ink and the pencil leads is pretty easy and straight forward – the fabric dye turned out to be a little bit more complicated, so I got some help from the college’s textile department.

What happens to your products at the end of their life – can they go back into the circular economy?

They can, if the carrier material allows it. For example, screen prints can be recycled like any other paper. The pencil hopefully by the end of its life doesn’t exist anymore or is only a stump. The paper that it has written on can be recycled like any other. With the fabric, it is a bit more complicated and it depends on how recyclable the fabric itself is. What is important to say is that particulate matter and carbon black isn’t generally bad if it’s bound onto a surface – it is when it is in the air and we inhale it.

How did you feel the first time you saw the transformation from waste material to product/prototype?

I was quite impressed and surprised how easily and well it actually worked and that the color of the ink seemed to be a very specific grey.

How have people reacted to this project?

Generally, the reactions have been very positive. People are impressed by the fact that something invisible has been turned into something tangible. Some people criticized that it wasn’t feasible or scalable, but that was never my intention – my point was to showcase what is in the air, what we are inhaling, and that even that kind of waste can be reused.

How do you feel opinions towards waste as a raw material are changing?

I think a change is taking place. In our social circles, it is very much appreciated and almost trending. But that’s not necessarily reflective of a change in reality. Because it is trending, a lot more cosmetic sustainability and greenwashing is happening. Also, outside of our bubble, things still have a long way to go or are even worsening.

What do you think the future holds for waste as a raw material?

It’s hard to generalize because waste covers so much. It depends on the specific material, but with dwindling resources, I hope we will be forced to look more closely, and use existing things we have already extracted from the earth.

via http://design-milk.com/

from WordPress https://connorrenwickblog.wordpress.com/2020/05/26/circular-by-design-tino-seubert-turns-air-pollution-into-art-usable-products/

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