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lazyevaluationranch · 3 years

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On a post about the Blue Haired Girlfriend's quixotic citrus breeding experiments, @voidingintotheshout asked:

I mean, if you wanted a hearty citrus relative, why didn’t you just grow Osage Orange? They can grow as far north as Michigan which is surely further north than anyone could reasonably expect to grow a citrus tree. They’re not edible but then hearty orange isn’t either. Osage Orange are so cool and such a interesting historical plant from the Shelterbelt era of American agriculture. Apparently they do smell like citrus.

This is part three of three. Part one. Part two.

Now you've done it! It's time for A Very Brief (But Also Insufficiently Brief) History of Twentieth Century Hardy Citrus Cultivation! Growing citrus trees this far north is kind of nuts, it's true, but I promise you it is not even close to the weirdest things people have done to grow citrus in places where the citrus doesn't think it should grow.

A note: This post will written using the Swingle citrus taxonomy system, including things that are definitely wrong. The citrus taxonomic tree looks like that one box of orphaned computer cords I keep moving with me to new houses "in case I need them" except some sort of adorable five-dimensional kitten has entertained herself with them and some of the resulting knots are not technically possible in our space-time continuum.

The powers that be gave us citrus because nothing pleases them like seeing a geneticist cry.

1. The Migrant Trees

The Soviet Union wanted lemons for tea, and they wanted to be independent enough not to have to trade with anyone else to get them, which meant they wanted to grow their own citrus. That part of the world is not a great place to grow plants that die when the temperature goes below zero, but at the foundation of the Soviet Union, there were citrus orchards in the warmest part of Georgia, along the Black Sea. Specifically, there was about, uh, one and a half square kilometers of somewhat implausible citrus orchard.

Hang on, it is about to get way less plausible.

This is the great citrus migration: any tree that did well in one spot, they'd try planting its seeds a few kilometres further north, or a few kilometres further east. Prizes were offered for breeding hardier citrus. Slowly the orchards spread, but they were extremely weird orchards.

It's usually a few degrees warmer at ground level than up in the air, and there's way less wind. So as the trees grew, they were bent over and tied along the ground. Some of them had the central trunk run in a straight line along the ground, with branches spreading out from it like the leaves of a fern, like an espaliered tree on its side. Others were starfish shaped, with the central trunk looped down until it ended up next to the base, and the branches sprawling out along the ground from the centre like starfish legs. The citrus trees were no taller than particularly vigorous strawberry plants, but they survived the winters, and you could throw a blanket over them to help them stay warm.

None of that helped if the ground froze solid, so they needed Underground Citrus. You'd dig a ditch, down below the lowest area where the ground froze, and you'd plant flat Starfish Trees or Flat Frond Trees running along the bottom of it, too deep to freeze. In winter, you'd just cover the ditch with boards any time the temperature was expected to go below freezing - citrus would tolerate the lack of light, but not the cold. Mandarins (Citrus reticulata) seemed to do best, so that’s most of what was grown.

It is a nearly unimaginable amount of work to grow citrus this way, along the bottoms of pits and trenches. We are experimentally trying to grow a Soviet-developed mandarin breed of unknown parentage, Shirokolistvennyi, but we will definitely not be putting in that level of effort.

2. The Mixed Up Trees

There are a couple species of citrus that tolerate cold well, but taste awful. A lot of effort has gone into crossbreeding them with more edible citrus. The results are ... mixed.

The Ichang Papeda (Citrus cavaleriei) generally survives temperatures down to -18 degrees C. It is stoic and calm and has mastered emptiness. Unfortunately, it has mastered emptiness too well. The fruit smells like lemons, with maybe a hint of rose, but there's nothing to eat here. It has a rind and seeds. No juice, no flesh.

(Photo by Michael Saalfield)

The Ichang Papeda is the parent or grandparent to several delicious, extremely sour Asian citrus types. Yuzu/yuja smells like grapefruit and clean wet stones from the bottom of a fast-flowing stream. Sudachi smells like grapefruit and leaves with dew on them. (I haven't met kabosu or any other papeda hybrids personally, but they are numerous.) They're all too sour to eat plain, unless you really need to turn your face inside out for some reason, but make for excellent flavouring.

(We have a yuzu tree and a sudachi tree and they're surviving, but no fruit yet.)

Trifoliate orange (Poncirus trifoliata) can survive temperatures down to -30 degrees C. This may be partly because, uniquely amoung citrus, they can drop leaves in autumn or winter and regrow them in spring, like a maple tree. They also produce an internal antifreeze. They are angry, twisted, thorny little plants that yell swears when you walk past them. They make a great hedge. The fruit is furry, smells like flowers and pine trees and taste like burnt, bitter plastic. It may or may not be possible to breed the horrible taste completely out of trifoliate oranges without losing cold-hardiness, if it's due to their antifreeze chemicals. Here’s Stabby:

(Photo by Rob Hille)

Even the least terrible trifoliate crossbreeds are bitter enough to qualify as “acquired tastes.” There are recipes for trifoliate marmalade: put a dozen trifoliate oranges, a kilogram of sugar, and a kilogram of pebbles in a pot, cook until it gels, then sieve out the oranges and eat the pebbles.

We are growing a trifoliate orange / minneola orange hybrid. And, of course, someday our own trifoliate hybrids. The Blue Haired Girlfriend planted 200 trifoliate oranges a couple years ago. There are fewer now, but the survivors have lived through two winters of snow and frost, and they might have somehow gotten more stabby. We're going to breed them, to each other or to less angry fruit, try and make something new and good from them.

I've limited this post to twentieth century hardy citrus breeding, but I have to give a shoutout to somatic hybridization, a decidedly twenty first century technique, where you take a cell from each of two different plants, remove their cell walls, put them next to eachother, and shock them with electricity until they merge into a single cell whose nucleus contains all genes from both plants. Then the new plant is like, "Wow, I guess these are all my genes? It seems like a lot, haha, but it's not like somebody made me from dismembered body parts and electricity, that is not how science works. Anyway I guess it's time to do some plant stuff now."

3. The Mutant Trees

In the 1950s, people started using radiation to randomly scramble the genes of plants. You'd irradiate seeds enough to change the genes somehow, and then you'd have to plant them to see what had happened. Maybe it was people horrified by the atomic bomb desperately wanting to find some life-supporting use for atomic fission, maybe it was government-supported cold war "atom bombs are good actually, look how many we have, USSR" propaganda. Probably both.

This time period also saw serious plans for Orion, a spaceship with a huge metal plate for a butt, intended to be propelled by exploding atomic bombs under it, which I am not actually making up.

Thousands of people in Europe and the US signed up to receive seeds with random mutations in the mail, plant them, and report back on what they heck they grew into and if it had any useful weirdness. (The gamma radiation used to mutate the seeds did not make them radioactive themselves - the seeds were completely safe.) There were also more formal and carefully controlled university research programs in China, Japan, and the US, where plants where grown in a circular research garden with a coverable radiation source at the centre, so that the farther you got from the centre, the less radiation the plants got. Radiation breeding is less popular than it used to be, but Japan still has a very productive citrus radiation breeding program.

The most popular radiation-bred citrus is the "Rio Red" grapefruit and its offspring, which has a much deeper red than non-mutant red grapefruit.

There aren't many radiation-developed citrus breeds noted for cold-hardiness - with radiation you get whatever you get - but there are a few, and I want one just because I think they're neat, a monument to that lovely human vision that looks at terrible weapons and somehow sees glossy-leaved trees with bright fruit.

4. The Monster Trees

Citrus are usually grown via grafting. That is, you plant a seed from a fast-growing sturdy breed, you let it grow roots and all that, and then you cut the top off and replace it with a branch from a more delicious breed. The two citruses grow together, and you end up with a tree that's disease and cold resistant in the roots, below the graft, but makes tasty fruit above the graft.

Occasionally, this process goes Wrong.

The first recorded instance is the tree called Bizarria, discovered in 1640. Someone attempted to graft a sour orange branch onto a citron. But instead of a clean line between sour orange branches and citron roots, the graft was damaged somehow, and the two different species of cells got tangled and mixed through the whole tree. It has branches that produce citron fruit. It has branches that produce sour orange fruit. And it has branches that produce, uh ... these:

(Photo by Labrina)

Most graft chimeras are made accidentally, when the graft site is damaged. Trifoliate orange is often used as rootstock, so there are many reported chimeras involving trifoliate orange and a nicer fruit. The mixed-up cells can be arranged a lot of ways, but it's possible to have the outside layer of the tree be trifoliate orange, and the core of the tree be the other citrus (periclinal chimera). This means you could theoretically get a tree with frostproof trifoliate leaves and branches, but fruit that doesn’t taste like burnt plastic rolled in quinine.

This lucky monstrosity has, in fact, reportedly happened. Twice. There is the Prague Citsuma, discovered in a greenhouse in Prague and suspected to have been created by a Soviet breeding program. And then there is the Hormish, discovered in China and thought to have been made by frostbite messing up the clean lines of the graft. The Blue Haired Girlfriend has managed to track down budwood from the Prague Citsuma - I’m so excited! - so we'll see how the fierce thorny monster tree with a heart of gold, or at least heartwood of gold, does for us.

5. Conclusion

Humans have been trying to grow citrus trees where they don't belong for nearly two thousand years, at least since the Jewish Diaspora and people trying to grow holy etrog trees - trunks gnarled as barnacle stones and the whole tree scented like the best dream you can't remember - in Europe. Maybe longer.

The Blue Haired Girlfriend's citrus-breeding schemes aren't going to singlehandedly transform Canada into a net citrus exporter. But history shows us: it might be possible to have a little gleaming sweetness from the stony ground here, with the ravens and the fir trees and the auroras. A sweetness we made ourselves, that exists nowhere else.

Or maybe we'll just have a bunch of weird inedible fruit. I don't know, but it's worth finding out, worth weaving together leaf and thorn and stone and the light of our hands as the years unwind. Worth it to have a quixotic project we can expect to spend decades on together, hands and hearts. This is how home is made, sometimes, with a balcony full of angry thorny little trees that shout swears at passerby.

#part three of three #so much doesn't fit in this post #fog gardening #how lemons started the mafia #etrogs in diaspora #citropsis and the african citrus species #we are still discovering new citrus species in oceania!#who knows what we'll make?#and one day we'll scoop up hydrocarbons from Titan's stormy seas and polymerize them and make huge bubble greenhouses filled with citrus #small children will fling squishy citrus at their siblings by the coiled light of Jupiter #which is as it should be #thank you voidingintotheshout for an excuse for all sorts of ranting

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ahundredtimesover · 3 years

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Friday Nights and Take-Out Drabble (3)

It’s not how I wanted to tell you but doesn’t mean I don’t mean it any less.

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: strangers to friends to lovers, popstar/idol!jk, fluff, angst, future smut; this is a dialogue-heavy series so read if you’re into that!

Warnings: foul language

Word count: 1,500 sorry

Series summary: You meet pop star/idol Jeon Jungkook at the cafe, you get close, and as Hyejin says, you’re like friends with benefits without the sex. But you’re bad at feelings and so is he.

series masterlist

A/N: Fast forward to several months later with these two idiots-turned-lovebirds!

“Rock-paper-scissors! Winner decides if they want to choose the movie or the dinner tonight,” Jungkook says, right hand ready, bunny smile flashing through your phone screen.

You roll your eyes as you sit up from your upside-down position on the couch. “What are you, a child? Your game doesn’t even make sense.”

“Yes, your man-child boyfriend. And yes, it does. Now come on!” He urges you.

“Fine, only because you recognize yourself as such.”

He rolls his eyes this time.

He was late on the first try, making it not count. You usually go scissors after rock, which Jungkook knows - hence, why you often lose - but he didn’t this time.

“I win!” You say, surprised. “A bit rusty now, are we?” A smug look on your face. “We’re going with Winter Soldier tonight, babe,” you continue, his hopeful face turning into a disappointed one.

“But we watched Iron Man 2 the last time, shouldn’t we watch Iron Man 3 tonight?” He tries, towel wiping his sweaty face, their Friday night rehearsal having just ended. Months after the end of the tour, they’re still plenty busy and the month of February isn’t any different than the others.

Still, you’re happy with your arrangement. Regardless of how late they end on a Friday, Jungkook makes sure to come see you, with take-outs now a staple in your relationship. Until you both think you’re ready to go public, your little home is your little world for now.

“We’re not following any order, Kook. I win so I get to decide the movie. At least you get to choose dinner! I’m not particularly picky today. I just want me some Bucky,” you tease. He gives you a displeased look.

Something you’ve come to learn is that your jealous and competitive boyfriend will always try to one-up any person who gets your attention, regardless if they’re a fictional character or a real-life individual, regardless of gender too. He thinks he’s being subtle about it, which is the funny part, but Jungkook is anything but subtle. You’d mentioned one time how you liked Evan Rachel Wood’s undercut and he showed up 2 days later with his own undercut, in a bun. Do you like it? He’d asked later that night, lips all pouty. Safe to say it took all of you not to pounce on him the moment you saw him enter the bar.

“I just don’t like him because he did my man dirty,” he reasons. You respond with a laugh, “yeah, I hear you babe. It totally has nothing to do with me having a crush on him ”

“Baby, don’t tease me tonight, please. I’m tired and I miss you and I want to cuddle you in peace while we watch the definitely-not-best Marvel movie,” he pouts.

“Okay fine, we shall cuddle in peace, then if that’s what you want to do,” you give in, hearing the tiredness in his voice, and then bidding him goodbye.

If you didn’t miss him, you probably would’ve continued teasing him, but you do and you want nothing more than to have him next to you. It’s been two weeks since you’ve spent time together, after all.

Four months since you both got your head out of your asses and finally admitted your feelings to each other - and three since you told his agency, which was fortunately supportive - you and Jungkook have found your rhythm.

He’s still as busy, but nothing that video calls can’t solve, and still falls asleep on you over the phone after a long day at work, but you both always make time. He insists on spoiling you, despite knowing that a Chanel bracelet has got nothing on a whole strawberry shortcake, especially after a long day at work. You spoil him too in your own ways - buying him novelty items that remind you of him, stocking your pantry with his favorites, and of course, through kisses.

You didn’t think you could be this affectionate but you’ve long surprised yourself when it came to Jungkook. It seems as if every time you see him, you just want to shower his pretty little face with all the kisses you can possibly give. He enjoys this, partly for the fact that he likes seeing you be the needy one for a change and partly because, well it’s you and anything you give is more than enough for him. Except for an ‘I love you,’ though; somehow that isn’t part of the rhythm yet.

A little over an hour later, you hear the incessant knocking on your door and you jump from the couch. You open the door and take in how your boyfriend looks enveloped in his oversized black hoodie - hair damp, tired smile, but eyes still sparkling like the night sky. A shower of kisses later, you find yourselves on the floor, take-out food all but unwrapped.

He surprises you with your own favorites - ribeye steak and truffle pasta cooked by one of their chef friends who runs a restaurant that you definitely can’t afford, which also doesn’t do take-outs, to preserve food quality or something. But Jungkook, you’ve also learned, lives off of making you happy, and this is one of the ways that he, as he says, puts his stardom to “good use.”

You stare at him, eyes wide. “Babe, they gave us plates,” you say, confused and amused at the same time. “Food presentation or something, Chef Choi said,” he shrugs, but unable to help the smile on his face as your eyes scour the presentation on the table.

“We’ve been wanting to eat at his restaurant,” is all you say, still unable to process what he had done, not missing the extras included - cheese and artichoke dip and tomato soup. “These seem basic, are they even on the menu?”

He laughs. “Too basic to be on their menu, definitely, which is why he was able to whip them up,” he says proudly. “I just wanted to surprise you with something special.”

The twinkle in your eyes and the smile reaching them let him know he succeeded.

One bite into the steak and you feel like heaven. It has marbled well and tastes so scrumptious and tender, as if you’re having an orgasm in your mouth. It tastes expensive, too. You close your eyes and savor the flavor, juices spilling out with every movement of your mouth against the meat. You’ve never had steak this good, it actually makes you feel emotional.

“Fuck babe, this is so good I love you so much.”

Silence.

You open your eyes to see your boyfriend, mouth half parted, orbs even darker and rounder than you remember.

“Did you just tell me you love me… while eating steak?”

You cower on your side of the table, nervous at how he will take it. The words just slipped out of your mouth before you got to the next bite. It’s not that you don’t mean it; it’s because you do and want to at least tell him in a more romantic way than this. He’d survived practice until 10PM, made arrangements to get you a delectable dinner, and you tell him you love him like this - unfocused and unaware, prompted by food, of all things.

“Is that how much you love steak or how much you love me?” he asks, a smile slowly creeping up his face. “I was thinking maybe you’d say it while cuddling in bed or watching Crazy, Stupid, Love or even like, in the middle of sex or something but this… this is so unmistakbly you that I don’t think I can be more in love with you than I am this moment.” Now it’s his turn to look nervous.

You mirror his expression from earlier, senses suddenly heightened at what he’d just said.

“I…” he starts, unsure what to say next.

“I love you,” you repeat, unable to help the smile gracing your face. “It’s not how I wanted to tell you but doesn’t mean I mean it any less. But I do, for a while now,” you continue, hands playing with each other, teeth biting your lower lip.

“I love you,” he responds, suddenly calming your nerves. “I feel like I say it in my head too much that I’m scared you might just hear it,” he chuckles, eyes finding yours.

“Well, I’d like to hear it, everyday if possible,” you shyly smile. You becoming such a sap like this is a side-effect of dating Jungkook that you definitely don’t mind.

He easily pulls you by your waist and sandwiches you in between his legs, wrapping them around you and peppering your cheeks with kisses. He hugs you tightly and lays his chin on your shoulder. Nothing is better than this. He’s starting to think this is what he wants to come home to everyday. He lets the thought sink in; that’s a talk for another time.

“Anything for you, Y/N.”

part 4 || completed

series masterlist

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts fic #bts jungkook

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obae-me · 4 years

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Sweet and Sour Demons

Note: Thank you for 400 followers! It means so much to me that so many people appreciate what I do and write, and I’m excited to keep improving! So as a thank you, I wrote this little piece with some added visuals!

Disclaimer: I made these creations on Picrew, and I wanted to make sure I give proper credit, so, here’s all the places you can find this wonderful artist! Go support their work and make some cute chibis!

Picrew

Their Twitter

Their Website

You had no idea why you made these things. At first, it seemed like a great idea, you had sat there in a hallway at RAD, waiting just outside the door of the Student Council room. They were all having a meeting, which, of course, you weren’t allowed to attend. However, you were also barred from going anywhere by yourself, so here you were, waiting like a dog on a leash. It was, to say the least, absolutely mind-numbingly boring. You had scrolled and double-scrolled through everything on your phone, you had given up trying to read-you just weren’t in the right headspace- and even the occasional entertaining shouts and exclamations from the brothers had died down. So, you resorted to random websites, and in one, you did something you never should’ve done.

You created cute and heart-squeezingly adorable stickers of the brothers you knew so well. You knew the consequences, you had been there for the texting ban which came after those stickers were created of Lucifer and Diavolo. The house had been in chaos, and yet you made these anyway. You couldn’t help it! You were bored and your creativity and curiosity was begging you to see what they would all look like as kawaii dessert chibis. Plus, after you had made them, it had brought enough warmth in your heart to let you survive a harsh winter using nothing but your body heat.

You knew the trouble it would bring, you knew the moral consequences, so you had planned on not showing them to anybody. They’d just be your secret and yours alone, never to be shown to the world. The D.D.D. you possessed just skyrocketed in value.

Plans and secrets were hard to keep in the Devildom, especially for you, and despite what you had prepared for, you weren’t prepared for the meeting to end early. Today of all days. Right while you were giggling and hugging your phone to your chest, the doors swung wide open, each of the brothers catching you in the act.

Mammon sped past you like a whirlwind, a simple blur of white and gold. The phone was gone. Your phone was taken! Still left on the screen where all the little pictures were saved. Your heart almost stopped, that warmth snuffed out in seconds. Mammon just waved the phone around in his hand.

“What’s got you so giddy, eh? Who’re you talking to?” He frowned, the gold color of his eyes getting darker. “Since I’m so nice, I’ll let you tell me before I look.”

Before you could even open your mouth to respond, Beel came over and plucked the phone from him. “Mammon, it’s not nice to invade MC’s privacy.” You were saved!

At least until Asmo came and snatched those hopes and dreams away. “Aw, but I want to know! The drama, the intrigue, who can resist?” These brothers were playing hot potato with your phone. None of them had seen what was on it yet, for some reason all of them assumed you were talking to someone. It was only a matter of time before…

Levi rushed over to Asmo. “They’re talking to someone other than us?” His envy almost started dripping from his body. “I need to see who it is!”

Satan aggressively grabbed Asmo’s wrist and tore the phone away from his brothers. “Honestly, all of you are such children.”

A tail knocked the phone out from Satan’s grasp and into the air, landing perfectly in Belphie’s palms. He was in demon form, already enraged somehow. “Who…” was all he could mutter.

“Please, it’s no one!” You pleaded, surprised you could still breathe and say words at this point. What played out before you was like some cartoon. Was it possible to still salvage this?

The eldest brother, annoyed by his siblings’s antics, used his powers to magically move your phone into his gloved hands. He had a deep scowl on his face. “The next person to touch MC’s D.D.D. without their permission is going to have a special punishment.” He shook his head and looked into your eyes. “Here you go, MC.” There was such a thing as miracles after all! You couldn’t believe it. “I’m sorry abou-” Lucifer cut himself off short, his eyes had just briefly flickered over your phone screen. Had he really just tried to take a sneaky look after everything he just said?

Everything was in shambles. The phone that had almost been in your possession once again, just inches from your fingertips, was snapped away, plastered near Lucifer’s face as he looked upon your screen with an expression for the ages. Confusion. Slight amusement. Then bafflement. Now he was in his demon form.

“MC…” his voice was a rumbling sound, almost deep enough to make the floor shake. “What are these?” His brothers all looked intensely curious, but none of them even dared move.

“I wasn’t going to do anything with them, I swear! No sharing, no money, no nothing. I was just bored and...I thought they were cute?” You even questioned it yourself, your confidence wavering. Lucifer was silent...much too silent. You were prepared for anything, a lecture, your D.D.D. confiscated, even death.

His scowl turned into a smile, an evil smile. “I think it’s only fitting to share these with everyone else, right, MC? Once we get home, I want to see you in my study.” With a menacing glint in his eyes, he held his hand out to let his brothers, rabid with curiosity, claw their way at your phone to look at the contents.

Lucifer

Dessert: Chocolate-Covered Strawberries

Description: Despite their simplicity, this dessert is widely popular and renowned for its flavor. It doesn’t need to be overly flashy to be a prideful fan favorite. It’s not sickeningly sweet or rich like lots of other desserts. Its strong fruity tartness mixed with a sweet outer layer makes this the perfect dessert for the demon of Pride.

He’ll admit, he was shocked to his core when he saw the creation on your phone. He had felt deeply insulted that you would make him look like that. On the other hand, the fact that you had gone out of your way to make something in his likeness--no matter how disgustingly cute and humiliating it was--mixed with the look you had on your face when he opened the door left a feeling in him no human had stirred up in him before.

When you came into his study after the event, he saw you with your head hanging low, eyes sullen. He had to control himself to keep him from smiling. He only showed you a cold expression, crossing his legs in his chair behind his desk as he waved you over with one hand.

“Come here.”

His demand sent a shiver down your spine, and your face burnt up as you obeyed his order. You stood right next to his side, looking deep into his eyes as his glower burrowed into your skull. You noticed a box in his lap, red, covered in a single ribbon. Lucifer finally let his tart countenance fall, a smile on his face. He held your chin in his hand as he made you look at him. He stroked the lid of the package with one hand before gracefully opening it. Inside laid an assortment of chocolate covered strawberries, each pristine and neat. You blinked. It wasn’t nearly as terrifying as you thought the contents would be.

“What is…” you stammered, trying to look for words to express your confusion, but Lucifer’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making you lose your voice immediately, your face starting to almost share the shade of some of those strawberries.

“Your...punishment,” Lucifer explained. “Believe me, I had something else planned, but then I thought, if you helped make me look so cute in strawberries, how about I do the same thing to you?” Before even giving you a chance to catch your breath, he placed the box on his desk, reserving the space for you. With a hand around your wrist and the other on your waist, he pulled you into his lap, relishing your little gasps as you tried to get some air in your lungs.

Everything about him was making you squirm, his rich voice, the slight bobbing of his knee as you remained on his legs, his eyes flickering a deep crimson. To make things worse, he helped guide your hands behind your back, his hand big enough to reach around both your wrists. Your heart was racing a thousand miles a minute, your head going dizzy and light. One hand keeping you bound, the other one grasping one of the treats from the box, holding it tauntingly at your mouth. He brushed it across your lips, the look on his face telling you that what he was putting you through was sweeter to him than any dessert.

“Be a sweetheart and say Ahh.”

Mammon

Dessert: Lemon Tart

Description: A classy little pastry that’s a great mix of zesty citrus and sweet custard that sticks with you despite being surrounded by a flaky crust exterior. The bold flavor along with the gold and white motif makes this a good match for the greedy second-born.

As much as his brothers wanted to see him embarrassed, even he was surprised to feel...proud of the thing resembling him on your device. You made something of him. It may have been demeaning and overly cutesy, but you really took time out of your day to make something about him. Something that made you happy and that you appreciated. You didn’t make fun of him and tease him about it, you had planned on keeping it a secret for you to enjoy.

He dragged you away, both of you headed out of RAD, past stores and shops that he usually took you to, and instead headed into a popular Devildom bakery. Everyone in the shop swiveled around, and you couldn’t help but try to hide your face as Mammon shouted enough to be heard two stores over. He demanded the best lemon tart money could buy. Despite the other demons waiting, everyone hustled to get what Mammon needed. They knew who he was, and if he didn’t get what he wanted when he asked for it, there would be worse things to worry about.

“Mammon, slow down.” You were starting to get out of breath from all the running around he was doing, refusing to let your hand go. He had you and you couldn’t say otherwise. You realized the path you both were on now was heading back towards the House of Lamentation. As you slowed down due to exhaustion, his impatience kicked in, his wings spreading from his back as he swooped you off your feet, pressing his body deep into yours as he flew the rest of the way.

He didn’t stop moving till both of you were inside his room, slamming the door behind him. He crawled onto his bed with you still clinging to his neck, his knees by your side. You heard him undo the package the tart had come in. He made sure you watched as he bit into it, the crust crumbling, some of the custard lingering on his lips.

It was hard to stay focused, but you dropped one of your arms that was around his body, ready to grab a piece for yourself, but he stopped you, his irises glowing a dark gold behind his lids. He used his hand to direct your arm back to its place around him. His eyelashes fluttered as you instinctively latched onto his hair. His gaze had you so enamored, you didn’t notice his horns now sticking out of his head. He got in close, very close, close enough that your noses were almost touching and all you could smell was sweet citrus.

“Do you want to come try some?”

Levi

Dessert: Mochi Ice Cream

Description: A small round treat consisting of soft sticky pounded Mochi with cold and flavorful ice cream on the inside. It’s able to change color and flavors to adapt to people’s moods and preferences to make sure people like them. Perfect for the envious otaku.

He was used to seeing characters like those, but he never thought you would make him into one. He was equal parts embarrassed and envious. The way you looked at your phone like that over a fake digital character, the same way he often did. He could do that, but when you did it, it tied his insides in knots.

He still couldn’t get it out of his head, so later that night, he headed to your room, a bowl of treats in his hand. He would show you that, for once, the real thing was better than any 2D picture. When you opened the door, he stormed in, causing you to back up to keep him from bowling you over. He was in his demon form, his tail flipping back and forth. His face was flushed, but he was determined.

He backed you up to the bed, forcing you to sit down, still confused by the rush of actions happening in rapid succession. He looked down at you, his cheeks tinted pink, his tail brushing against the skin on your arm as it curled around your body, the scales as cold as ice.

He picked up a Mochi ball, placing it in his mouth, his orange eyes swimming with something other than envy. This was one of the only times he wasn’t shying away. He leaned close to you, preventing you from leaning back away from him with his tail pinning hard against your back. He pressed the soft ice cream against your lips, waiting for you to take it from him like one of his favorite Pocky games. You could feel the tip of his tail wagging against your shoulder blades, expectant.

You took the treat from him, puncturing through the mochi with your teeth only to feel the nerves of your mouth freeze as the ice cream came through. With one of his fingers, Levi helped pop the rest of the mochi in your mouth, a look of sweet satisfaction spread over his face. You shuddered, the ice cream and his cool scales sending a cold chill down your spine.

He wrapped you in his arms, the boldness melting away like the ice cream in your mouth as he leaned into your body to keep you warm.

“Don’t look at anything like that other than me.”

Satan

Dessert: Mint Brownie

Description: A hot and powerful tasting treat that not only has the bitter sensation of dark chocolate, but the strong and flavorful mint. An array of tastes under the simple and calm looking brown dessert matches the demon of wrath perfectly.

He was angry, which was the expected response. The way Lucifer and his other brothers teased his sticker form. It took a lot of control to not fight them off right then and there, destroying your D.D.D in the process, but he couldn’t stop looking at it. He was angry at you for making it, but also...he felt something else. He stormed away from the group, making his way home. You felt guilty, but decided to try to give him some time to cool off, but he had other plans.

He called you to meet him when he got home. As you approached his door, you couldn’t help but smell something sweet coming from his room. As you came inside, you smelt the strong scent of chocolate and mint. It filled your nose and overwhelmed your senses so much, you didn’t notice Satan standing right behind you. He wrapped you in his arms from behind, and you could feel his tail curling around your ankle.

“Here, have these.” He presented to you a plate with a single brownie on top of it, a thin layer of green frosting over the surface. They must’ve been fairly fresh since they still were giving off waves of heat. “I made them for you, since you think I’m so sweet.” You could feel his hot breath right near your ear as he curled his lips into a smile.

They were still so scorching, they almost burnt your fingers, but you picked a corner and shoved some in your mouth anyway. It was deliciously dark and minty, the temperature and flavor making your eyes water. The tail around your leg wound tighter as one of Satan’s hands came to brush away your tears. His boa around his neck tickled your skin, giving you goosebumps.

“Satan?” You swayed, overwhelmed by the heat coming from the pastry and Satan’s body, you were unable to tell which one was burning you more right now. He held you tight, keeping you planted in place. He used the fingers that had touched your face to pick up the rest of the brownie on the dish. He brought it up to you, and while you couldn’t see his face, you could feel his eyes staring you down.

“Go on, they taste best when they’re this hot, trust me.”

Asmo

Dessert: Cupcakes

Description: Undeniably sweet in every sense of the word. Soft cake, fluffy icing, not to mention you can use whatever filling or toppings you want. You can dress it up and make this dessert as fashionable as you please, the flawless comparison to flashy fifth-born demon.

He thought it was adorable. He was flattered you’d made sure to make him look as amazing as possible. He was sickeningly sweet, but something about the way you looked at your phone made his heart flutter. He had a plan. He was going to do a comparison, and you would be none the wiser.

Already he had everything prepared by the time you got home. He hunted you down and dragged you to his room, not giving you a chance to say no. As you entered, everything hit you at once. He had a plate of cupcakes on his nightstand, white cake with pink frosting. Asmo was almost glowing as he came over to get you one. You looked him up and down, noticing he had changed his clothes to make himself resemble the treat he gave you. A pink top, white bottoms, he even wore a pearl necklace and matching bracelets to resemble the pearly beads on top of the frosting.

“Asmo…” You hesitated, knowing he was up to something, just not quite sure what yet. Or even if you did have an inkling of what he wanted, it still left you breathless. He just looked at you with begging eyes, and you sighed figuring there was nothing wrong with eating a cupcake.

You peeled the paper off the base slowly and watched as Asmo blushed, getting closer to your body. You raised a quizzical eyebrow at him as you opened your mouth to get a good bite of the dessert, making a happy little noise when you tasted how delicious it was.

“Yay, yay, my turn!” He came over quickly, making you back up against his bedroom door as he stared you straight in the eyes as he took a bite of the cake in your hands. He took a finger and curled it around your hair. Your face turned bright red. “Lets keep going, I don’t like to waste things.” You kept taking turns biting your own end of the cupcake, watching it get smaller and smaller as your mouths were getting tauntingly close. When there seemed to be only one bite left, he made a little whine. “Aw it’s your turn, you win.” He let you take the last bite, some of the frosting depositing itself on your lips.

Asmo let you press your back deeper into his door as he got even closer, his lids heavy. His wings and horns now exposed as his lips got closer to yours.

“Time for me to check which one is sweeter.”

Beel

Dessert: Pancakes

Description: Not your typical form of dessert, but with its fluffy texture and satisfying nature, it’s capable of being a good meal for any part of the day. With stacks upon stacks, it’s a great match for the demon of gluttony.

Just seeing how you dressed up his little likeness made him hungry. He wanted to eat everything he saw, in fact, it was a miracle he hadn’t eaten your D.D.D. when he had it in his possession. All he could think about was making something like that with you. You made everything taste so much better, if he could let you finish making it anyway.

He dragged you to the kitchen once the two of you got home. There was a little spring in his step, being the happiest he had been in a long time as he watched you mix the batter. You had to order him to stay put to make sure he didn’t eat it before it could even get in the pan. He watched you move around the kitchen, and you could’ve sworn you watched him almost drool as he looked you dead in the eyes, not even at the stove.

It was almost like art the way you placed the pancakes on his plate, and as you turned around to get yours, he had already downed his in a single breath. You figured he’d do something like this, but you weren’t ready for him to watch you eat, him licking his lips every time you opened your mouth.

“Beel, do you want these?” You slid your plate towards him, only having taken a few bites of the syrupy cake.

“No, I want you to eat.” He slid his own chair around the table to be seated right next to you, legs touching. His response left you stunned, your mouth just slightly ajar in your shock. His gaze turned bright, snatching your fork away from you. “Ah so you want me to feed you, I can do that.”

Your little cry of a protest was muffled as he placed the fluffy pancake in your mouth. Some of the syrup escaped down your chin and he wiped it up with his forefinger before licking it clean. He hummed to himself in glee.

“So delicious.”

Belphie

Dessert: Hot Chocolate

Description: A hot beverage consisting of sweet chocolate and creamy milk. It leaves you feeling warm and cozy after drinking it, coaxing you to take a nap. It’s simple to whip up and quick to make, an easy comparison for the demon of sloth.

He wasn’t sure which one had left him more irritated, the fact that he thought you were messaging someone that left you giggling, or the fact that a digital image of him was. Either way left him exhausted, but restless. However, he wasn’t someone to let something go. He always felt like he had to get even. He wouldn't be able to get any sort of sleep till he ensured you looked as cute to him in real life as you made him on your phone.

So, when you came back home from RAD that evening, he was already waiting for you. How he had gotten there faster than you was a mystery. He was laying on the steps, still in demon form, clutching his pillow in his hands. As soon as he saw you, he was up faster than you had ever seen him move. With a twitchy tail, he grasped your arm and dragged you to the attic, the place he always seemed to take you when he wanted to be alone with you.

“Belphie, what’re you?”

He pointed to the bed, glaring pins and needles at you. He wordlessly watched you sit on the bed in confusion. You glanced to a small table and noticed that there was one mug on it, steam emanating from the top, the smell of sweet chocolate drifting through the air. He strided over to the mug, picking it up in his hands before doing something you weren’t ready for.

He came over, placing himself in your lap, knees pinned to your sides, towering over you as he pressed the warm mug to your face. You immediately flushed, and you watched his top lip twitch as he prevented himself from smiling.

“Too hot?” He droned. He brought the cup to his lips to gently blow at the drink to make it ‘cooler’ for you. It didn’t stop you from burning up. His tail came up to brush against your cheek as he let the ceramic touch your lips. “Well?”

You parted your lips to let the sweet liquid fill your body, the milky chocolate making you warm. The sight of Belphie staring you down, his tail patting your head as the smirk he had tried hard to contain finally revealed itself. He didn’t stop until every drop was gone, and then he put the drink to the side, using his sleeve to wipe away remnants around your mouth.

“We’re not close to being even yet.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie

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septembersghost · 2 years

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as ever, i'm the worst at keeping up with my mentions, but the lovely @jensenandtheboys tagged me a while back <3 (wait, in two things! somehow i missed one 🥰)

night out or night in // icecream in a cone or icecream in a cup // buttered popcorn or caramel popcorn // ocean or forest // dusk or dawn // vanilla or strawberry // fruity cereal or chocolatey cereal // sunlight or starlight // ferris wheel or rollercoaster // daisies or daffodils // fireflies or ladybugs // sky diving or deep sea diving // tea or coffee // pizza or pasta // wooden flooring or tile floors // friday or saturday // macarons or cupcakes // hoodies or sweaters // juice or milk // sunny weather or cloudy weather // willow tree or oak tree // chapstick or vaseline // dine in or take out // country/pop or alt/rock // spring or summer

(some of those i cheated on simply because i can't choose!)

Fave color : dusty rose pink, most any blue, seafoam green, metallics

Currently reading : nothing atm, i was doing so much reading for a while this summer and lost the thread of it last month! i need something to get me inspired again.

Last song : Sad Beautiful Tragic (Taylor's Version)

Last series : Only Murders in the Building, What We Do in the Shadows, currently watching the revival of Dexter

Last Movie: i...am trying to remember if i've watched a movie since halloween! i don't think i have 😳 the past few weeks have slipped away like a moment in time.

Sweet, Spicy or Savory : sweet, and i do enjoy savory, i also can't handle spicy because of health reasons!

Currently working : if this is where i'm working nowhere lol, if it's existential i'm working on braving the winter (that sounds cliche, but it's surviving one day to the next lately).

and tagged by sweet @deansraspberrypie

Relationship status: single

Favorite color: see above! 😘💕

Song stuck in my head: All Too Well, but also anything from Red TV because, as evidenced by my blog, it's the only thing I've been clinging to for a week and it's very dear and special to me to have it, and to have been here to celebrate and cry over it with everyone.

Last thing I googled: the true answer? homeowner assistance

Three favorite foods: chocolate mousse, blueberry waffles, sweet potatoes

Last thing I listened to: The Last Time (Taylor's Version) asdflkgf the theme of this whole post

Time: 6:42 am

Dream trip: the south of France. or Ireland.

Anything I really want: Happiness and health for my loved ones ❤️ <- this is such a nice answer and i agree, and will add on the hope of strength for as long as possible.

i'm tagging @someoneoffthestreet, @deaneverafter, @bi-lullaby, and @lanne13 in whichever of these you choose (if you want to do any of them! no pressure at all) 💖💖💖

#tag games #long post #about me

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bilbobagginsbrainrotblog · 3 years

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!!! Well first of all, I'm a whole fool for requesting asks and not realizing this whole time my askbox had somehow been closed 😩 and second of all thank you so much @cathilina this is such a cool question!!

I'm not an expert on agriculture and I'm certainly not a historian but I DO love Hobbits and food so here are just a few headcannons I have about it! This got long so, sorry if its more than you wanted!

1. Hobbit Cuisine is Very Seasonal! As anyone who's ever lived off the land can tell you, even with the best of modern preservation (and we can assume the Hobbits don't have deep freezers) some things just don't keep all year round. Certain crops are going to be abundant at times and scarce at others- I would guess that Hobbits being great lovers of an abundance of food have calenders marked with what seasonal crop is getting harvested when and plan their larders accordingly. In certain (unposted) fics of mine I made up a strawberry festival and a blackberry festival- but there are probably corn husking parties and pumpkin patch parties and apple butter making parties, etc etc. You could probably tell what month it was by looking in any Hobbit's larder.

2. Speaking of Preserves...being that Hobbits are untrusting of outsiders and live off of the land (and live the cottagecore life of my dreams) my headcannon is that they sustain themselves during the Winter months with lots and lots of preserves. Jams, jellies, dried and salted meats, dried fruits, sausages, aged cheeses, etc.

3. They Season! I'll bet Hobbits, being mostly sheltered from other cultures, rely heavily on the seasonings they're used to and would have a difficult time adjusting to other food. Whether they season more or less than other cultures is up for debate but I would argue for the former, based on Bilbo's objections to eating unseasoned meat (ch.6 with the eagles. He also mentions having meat delivered from a butcher here: something i just think is interesting) and Sam's aversion to leaving his salt behind (also I think he calls Lembas bread bland at some point). Not that the landscape of Middle Earth is really all that huge, but it would be interesting if say, Laketown cooks with a whole different spice set than Hobbiton, and being steeped in different traditions, uses fat and things differently. This is (in my headcannon) also part of why most Hobbits are miserable away from home. Bland food, and not enough of it 😩.

4. Their cooking is really, really good. Like comparatively in Middle Earth no other race has had the peace and time left alone to perfect this skill like they have. Other races are eating to survive, but the Hobbits are honing a craft that they are really passionate about. The Dwarves eating Bilbo's cooking for the first time probably blew their fucking minds. You better believe the Fellowship was calling Sam "sir" after the first time he made breakfast. Hobbits may not be the strongest or most influential race in Middle Earth but their cooking and baking is just, on another level.

Thanks for sending this, it was really fun to think about! 🥰

#just the thing for brain bad day #you've activated my dual hyperfixation: hobbits and cooking #asks #lotr #the hobbit #bilbo baggins brainrot hours #answered asks

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reidrco · 4 years

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summer ‘09

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: tommy shelby x reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: fluff, a very soft tommy

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿‘𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: hello!! y’all have probably nothing better to do than read my shitty writing during quarantine so here you go :)) no jk, i’ve had this idea in my head for so long and now i finally had time to write it down!! i got inspired by "live while we’re young" lmao :) oh and ik this gif is william but that’s exactly how i imagine young tommy, y’all cannot change my mind👀 i apologise for any mistakes i made and for the rushed ending :( stay safe everyone! <3

part 2

summer 1909

The sun had been shining down on earth the entire day, making everyone sweat in the almost unbearable heat. It was the hottest summer you had experienced in a long time, but you finally had the chance to wear your pretty summer dresses again so you didn’t complain. Even though you prefered winter over the burning heat, you were sick of wearing heavy coats, warm socks and gloves.

But the fact that you could finally put on your favorite dresses again wasn’t the only reason why you slowly started to adore the hotness outside while every other citizen of Small Heath hated it more than anything else. Since the days got longer during summer, your overprotective dad allowed you to stay outside a few more hours than in the cold season which meant you could spend more time with your secret heartthrob without your parents getting suspicious.

Tommy Shelby.

The handsome man had stolen your heart months ago and ever since the two of you had tried to spend every free second together. You had met at Freddie Thorne’s birthday party last year. After drinking and dancing through the night together it had just clicked between you two and now you were inseparable.

You had become from strangers to best friends in just one night, but it was clear the two of you couldn’t stay just friends for a long time. Staring at each other’s lips a few seconds too long and using every opportunity to feel each other’s warm touch was nothing unusual for you both.

But none of you felt brave enough to admit that there was more than friendship between you two, too scared of a one-sided love and a broken heart.

Tonigt you would see Tommy again. Even though it had only been less than 24 hours since you had seen him the last time, you already missed him and couldn’t wait to finally get out of the house after dinner.

Time passed slower than ever as you sat at the table with your parents and tried to swallow the delicious food your mother had cocked, but you were too nervous and excited to eat, your stomach filled with butterflies.

You looked at the clock hanging on the wall in the kitchen every five seconds, counting the minutes until you could finally go and see the handsome Romani boy again. It felt like you sat in the kitchen with your parents for three hours, the soup in their porcelain bowls never emptying.

Once your father got up from his chair and carefully carried the dishes to the sink, you rushed into your room and grabbed a package of cheap cigarettes, trying to somehow hide them in your hands behind your back as you walked back to your parents.

“I‘m going for a walk, okay? I‘ll see you later,” you didn’t give your parents a chance to answer, quickly taking on your shoes and running out of the house without looking back.

You ran like your life depended on it, knowing you were already five minutes late and not wanting to let Tommy wait any longer. Your feet carried you through the neighbourhood down to the river, earning weird glances from the people on the streets, but you couldn’t care less.

You didn’t slow down until you finally arrived at your and Tommy‘s secret spot down by the river, trees surrounding the two of you and hiding you from the rest of the world. As quiet as possible you tiptoed towards Tommy who‘s back was facing you, trying your best not to make too much noise.

Tommy didn’t notice your presence yet, being way too caught up in looking at the cool water flowing past him in the river. The smoke of his cigarette surrounded the young, handsome man sitting on the green and soft grass in front of you, the smell of tobacco floating around in the air.

You carefully got on your knees behind Tommy and covered his ocean eyes with your hands seconds later without any prior warning, making his heart skip a beat and his hand wrapping around the sharp knife in the pocket of his trousers immediately.

His tensed muscles automatically relaxed as he heard your soft giggle behind him, the panic you had caused him slowly disappearing again.

“Hello, handsome,” you greeted him and left a peck on his cheek before you removed your hands from his eyes, sitting down next to the boy with a huge smile on your pink, kissable lips.

Tommy was speechless when he saw you. The yellow dress suited you perfectly and made you look even more beautiful combined with the pretty smile on your lips. He wanted to let his fingers run through your soft, shining (y/h/c) hair which always smelled like coconuts from a heavenly paradise.

And he wanted to feel your warm skin against his so badly, having the urge to find out the taste of your lips and getting more desperate to do so every day.

He stared at your beautiful appearance a few seconds too long, scenarios crossing his mind which he shouldn’t think about. The young man watched you lightning a cigarette between your kissable lips and taking a long drag from it, exhaling the deadly smoke from your lungs.

For the first time your eyes meet his this day as you looked at him, giving him the loving smile he had fallen in love with.

“You look beautiful,” he smiled, his cool fingers suddenly brushed over your cheek causing your heart to nearly jump out of your chest. There was already a firework of emotions going off in your whole body only because of a simple touch from Tommy, but you couldn’t help it.

Only his presence brought the butterflies in your stomach back to life, the handsome man shamelessly stealing your heart.

He quickly cleared his throat as he realised he had just complimented you out of nowhere, feeling slightly embarrassed and coming back to reality while he laid down on the grass underneath him. This time it was you watching him putting the cigarette between his lips and taking a long drag, relaxing his tensed muscles.

You stayed silent as you laid down next to him on the soft ground, turning around so you could face him while he looked up into the sky, unable to take your eyes off him. You didn’t know how, but Tommy had the power to even make smoking look incredibly hot and attractive. Even though you didn’t want it, you found yourself wondering what his lips would taste like, how they would feel against your naked lips.

There was a comfortable silence between you two for the following minutes, enjoying each other’s company while smoking your deadly cigarettes in peace. You treasured moments like this the most, they made you feel alive and free, wanting to stay there with Tommy forever and never return home.

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” he suddenly asked, still staring at the blue sky which slowly turned pitch-black above the two of you. Tommy had thought about asking you out for a long time now, but he had never been brave enough. He had been scared of getting rejected or ruining your precious friendship. Only the thought of losing you made his poor heart ache, but he had to ask you or else he would never find out if you felt the same way.

A part of him was relieved these ten words had finally left his mouth, but he felt like he had to throw up at the same time. Impatiently he waited for your answer, not daring to look at your beautiful face while you couldn’t stop staring at his handsome side profile. It took you a few seconds to realise what he had just asked you. Everything felt so unreal that you thought about slapping yourself in the face to find out if you were dreaming or not.

You had waited so long for him to finally ask you to go on a proper date with him, your heart almost explosed inside your chest. Tommy couldn’t survive your silence another minute so he took a deep breath, turned his face towards you and looked right into your (y/e/c) eyes. No words could’ve described how he felt when he saw the huge smile on your lips.

“I’d love to, Tommy”, you answered honestly and giggled as he took the last, long drag from his cigarette to calm down the anxiety which had built up inside of him. Before you even had the change to tell him how happy you were, he suddenly leaned over and placed one hand next to your head on the soft gras to steady himself while his other hand gently caressed your blushed cheek, his lips closer to yours than ever before.

You stopped breathing for a moment as Tommy pressed his soft lips on yours. Although it wasn’t your first kiss, you didn’t know how to act, scared of doing something wrong. You felt Tommy slowly pulling back immediately, because he started to feel like he had gone one step too far, but before he could do so, you dropped the cigarette between your fingers to the ground and took his handsome face in your warm hands, gently kissing him back.

A satisfied sigh left Tommy’s mouth, his heart beating so loud inside his chest he was sure you could hear it. The taste of smoke and your strawberry chapstick got him addicted to the feeling of your soft lips on his own in seconds. It was a gentle, but passionate kiss, your lips moving in sync.

Having the most attractive man in town on top of you, softly moaning your name against your lips, caused the butterflies in your stomach to fly around excitedly. It was better than you had ever imagined it to be.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, desperate to pull him closer which was nearly impossible. Even though the handsome man above you nearly took your breath away, you didn’t even think about breaking the kiss for a second. You had waited so long for this moment and now you wanted it to never be over.

A sudden raindrop on Tommy’s head made him flinch on top of you and quickly pull away. You looked at him confused, your eyes wandering down to his slightly swollen lips you already missed the taste of. He had no time to explain his action, rain unexpectedly pourring down from the almost black sky and soaking your clothes and hair.

The two of you looked into each other’s eyes for a brief second before Tommy leaned down and reunited your lips once again. A few raindrops wouldn’t stop him from kissing the girl of his dreams after he had waited way too long for it to happen.

You giggled and let your fingers run through his soaking wet hair. The two of you couldn’t care less about the heavy rain, drifting into your own little world and enjoying your passionate kiss, the addictive taste of your lips taking you to another dimension.

And when you came home that night, a huge smile on your face and the water dripping on the floor from your summer dress, you already missed Tommy and couldn’t wait to kiss his soft lips again.

𝘁𝗮𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁: @sweetgoodangel @captivatedbycillianmurphy

#tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine

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pale-silver-comb · 4 years

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Leverage fic recs <3

During this quarantine, fics have definitely helped me stay sane. However, sometimes my attention span cannot handle anything over 5k and I just want a short burst of fluffy goodness to give me a smile while I’m brushing my teeth or waiting for food to finish cooking. So I thought I’d make a post of my favourite Leverage OT3 fics that you can read for a quick fluff/feel-good/feel better injection to brighten your day! Feel free to reblog and add your own.

cuddle pile by MissusCarlikins

Warmth covered Eliot like a blanket and he felt his body fully relax into the couch. He had his people, they were safe and in his arms where they belonged, where he would keep them forever.

We've Got You by bigsunglasses

Their first job sans Nate and Sophie doesn't go quite right, and Parker takes it badly.

For Luck, For Morale by sisaat

"Wait, Eliot," he says before the hitter follows Parker up the stairs. He puts his hand up for a high-five. "For morale?"

Because they might not need luck but he could sure use a morale boost.

Strawberry Kisses by dreamerfound

Eliot makes breakfast the morning after.

If It's Not Food It Shouldn't Smell Like Food by CaraMiaKitty

“It’s a candle,” he told her. “No cookies, or cake or whatever, babygirl.”

Parker frowned. “A candle,” she repeated, to which he nodded. “That… smells like cookies?”

“Well, technically it’s just vanilla-”

“Why would you have a candle that smells like cookies? That’s dumb. Now I want cookies.”

The Other Snow Job by poppetawoppet for ladyjax

While working on a job, Hardison is left unconscious out in the snow. Parker and Eliot take care of him.

Operation: Terms of Endearment by abrightgrayworld

Alec accidentally calls Eliot 'babe,' Parker thinks pet names are a great idea to ease Eliot into the idea of being in a relationship with them, and somehow it turns into a competition and just escalates from there.

They're Very Distinctive Scissors by MsWilloughby

In which Eliot and Parker bond over hair care. Basically pure fluff. Takes place after Season 5.

True Loves' Kiss by zahnie

Eliot wakes up to find he can't move and he's listening to someone he doesn't know give a eulogy for him.

The Anti-Nightmare Job by sophoklesworld

Hardison survived one more job. It still takes it's toll. But nightmares are a better option than death.

What We Want, No More No Less by sisaat

"I think you're in love with us." "Yeah, so?" (ot3 get-together story where things don't go according to plan but in a good way)

Operation TLC by tidal_race for shenshen77

Even on crutches, Eliot managed to stomp menacingly all the way into the building, all the way into the elevator, and all the way up the stairs from the office space to the living space.

Well Worn, Well Loved by BabylonsFall

You would think, given everyone’s space issues this wouldn’t be a thing. But it was. And none of them were complaining.

(Everyone steals each others clothes. They're all surprisingly okay with it.)

The Symbology of Orange Juice by facetofcathy for ekopi

Sometimes the juice is just juice.

The Jackpot Question by phnelt

Alec needs to marry these people.

He’s kind of caught off guard by the thought. He’s known they were a ‘for as long as you’ll have me’ kind of deal for a long time, but this longing? This is new.

Winter Song (To You) by letsgostealafandom

Eliot sat up straight when the lights went out throughout the apartment.

The Stolen Moment Job by HugeAlienPie

So maybe Eliot breaks his own rule a little. Runs a con on his own team. Just this once, he's betting they won't mind.

Can't Start a Fire Without by lynne_monstr

“Let me get this straight,” Eliot said. “You called me about a fake fire to get me to come over for cookies. Which then became a real fire and ruined the cookies. Now you want me to make you cookies so you can give the cookies to me. That sum it up?”

The Long Con by merle_p for Sheeana

Five times Eliot tried to teach them something, and one time they managed to teach him.

One Kiss, Two Kiss by mikkimouse

Hardison was walking down the hall, minding his own business—well, looking like he was minding his own business while he was actually minding everyone else’s business, but semantics—when someone grabbed him from behind and yanked him into a closet.

the best thing we do by alleyesonthehindenburg

When Sophie goes to get her bag out of the back room of the brewpub, what she finds is this:

Hardison is on the floor, leaning up against the counter, with a sleeping Eliot tucked into the vee of his legs, and Parker settled on Eliot's lap.

#leverage #leverage ot3 #fic recs

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orlothegreat · 3 years

Note

My dearest, entirely beloved Alexei,

Yet another birthday of yours has come and gone, and yet another one that we could not spend together. How my entire spirit sags at that thought! It feels as if Fate doesn’t want us to celebrate the coming of yourself into this world together (or my coming into the world, either, since my birthday is 5 days after yours!), and I feel a surge of vexation at the notion. Shall we ever celebrate together, ma chouette?

But it could not be helped! You were taken away on business to your ancestral estate just outside St. Petersburg, and I could not come with you without tongues fairly lighting themselves on fire about our relationship. How I wish you would’ve given in to me, Alyosha! I know you care about my reputation and how people perceive my virtue, and God bless you for it. But you are entirely too good and respectable! Imagine how much fun, peace, and enjoyment we would be having if we had gone together!

For I have missed you most ardently, and long for you all the time. My apartments and my arms feel quite bereft without you. I shall never stop believing that portraits, while treasures in and of themselves, are poor substitutes for the actual forms of those we cherish most. I miss my best beloved, my good man, my Alyoshenka more than I can express!

But rest assured, your sunny-faced queen (as you so deliciously referred to me whilst we were lost in each other’s embrace on my sofa just before you left) blesses the day you were born, and prays for many more to come whilst we live and love together.

I love you, Alexei. I kiss the paper I’m writing this on as if it were your lips, so that you may receive them somehow.

Happy Birthday! (Enclosed are your gifts! I hope you like the blanket, the edges are real sable. The waistcoat is blue satin, and I thought you would enjoy the green detailing on it. And of course I sent along some sweets! It’s those strawberry cream-filled pastries you favor so much)

With all my love, ever devotedly,

Your Elizabeth

(OH MY GOD! <33333 )

My Dearest Elizabeth,

How chided I am! Forgive your Alyosha, for he promises you, spending the day of his birth away from your comforting embrace is the greatest of punishments.

I write to you from the window of my dreary estate. Already the frost of winter encroaches. It seems the desolate wail of the winds across the long expanse of our lands only reminds me how empty are my possessions and how truly drudging the affairs of business and family without your company.

You must know, though: certainly, you are aware, that what I did, I did to safeguard you. Your status, your reputation, your means, and most importantly, your feelings, which are of the tenderest and rarest variety. So few maintain such a depth of caring in this harsh world. I would do anything to protect that part of you.

I shall wear my new waistcoat upon my arrival home, and my blanket will comfort me on the long journey. The pastries, I fear, will not survive the night.

Ever yours,

Alexei

#ic #lol <3 )#v: the greatest of virtues

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bluesora · 4 years

Text

strawberries and cigarettes

kozume kenma x gn!reader

hanahaki!au ; fluff ; slight angst

whereby you, who couldn’t let go of your first love, found yourself falling in love at first sight with a specific tattoo specialist.

song: stawberries and cigarettes — troye sivan

word count: 2.5k words

H A N A H A K I ;

a lovesick disease whereby victims suffering from unrequited love would have a tattoo of a significant flower forming parts of their body. the cure is to either have their feelings returned (in which their partner would have a matching tattoo forming on their body) or have it removed by a specialist (in which they will never be able to love the same person again).

that was the default definition written in every medical book, every website on google, and said by every parents as they casually gloss it over.

yet, nobody ever told you how much pain was coursing through your body as if having your heart shattered to pieces each time you laid eyes on your crush and their significant other—how it would burn on your tender skin; chains of thorns surrounding your fragile lungs leaving you grasping for air each time the wave of sadness hit too close to home.

you knew. you knew it was impossible to begin with and yet, here you were clenching onto the last bit of hope, surviving what you thought was the last wave.

“y/n...why? why do you keep hurting yourself like this?”

“what am i supposed to do then?! this pain had always been with me for god knows how long tetsu! if i lose this too, then...what will become of me?”

he knew. he knew how much you had been enduring this love but what he didn’t know was how much it had became a part of you. after all, nobody in the right mind would hold on for this long.

“i know regardless of what i say it’s not going to be enough to convince you otherwise, and the only way to end this pain is for you to make the decision yourself.”

kuroo let out a sigh as he slide a name card into your hand.

“at least pay this guy a visit if you finally made up your mind. he’s my good friend, the only specialist i trust wholeheartedly to be honest.”

he tugged a loose strand behind your ear before softly whispering, “but know that no matter what choices you make in your life, i’ll be there to support you. always.”

and his words never failed to fill your heart with warmth knowing he had always been there for you even before you learned how to walk.

“thank you tetsu...”

you took a quick glance to the fairly simple yet aesthetic-looking card, realizing how close the shop actually was from your house.

maybe it’s really time i end this foolishness

you kept it securely in your pocket before cleaning yourself up and making your way to where your family and relatives were.

“y/n? are you okay? what took you so long?”

your mother’s worried voice had you send her a reassuring smile as you apologized for the wait.

“now that everyone is here i’m going to make a huge announcement!”

your sibling cheered excitedly, their fingers intertwining with their significant other’s before raising it up for everyone to see.

“we’re officially engaged!”

the rings glistening under the chandeliers as if to mock the entirety of your feelings—you could have sworn kuroo was sneaking many obvious glances at you to make sure you’re all right.

and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to tear away from the happiness overflowing in the scene before you.

i need to leave. i need to leave right now.

the wave was coming, you could almost feel it creeping up your skin and for a brief moment, somehow you knew it wouldn’t be the same as the ones you’ve endured. so, you ran.

you couldn’t hear the surprise, the chaos, anything that had to do with what was behind you as you sprinted down the streets without a care in the world that it was raining and you were obviously getting yourself soaked to the bone.

it fucking hurt. and yet it had always been that way. you were supposed to be numb to this familiar feeling but kuroo’s words were making it endlessly hard for you as it kept replaying at the back of your mind.

“do you...want to come inside?”

a soft yet gentle voice snapped you back when you realized your feet had brought you to the very shop you never intended to visit.

“i—sure...but i’m soaking wet right now and i don’t want to—”

“it’s fine...”

you hesitated for a second more before following the male inside and making sure to not make a mess out of his small shop.

“you’re kozume-san right? kuroo’s friend?”

he passed a large grey towel to you before nodding slightly.

“kenma is fine...” he replied, walking over to what seem like a mini pantry and pouring a cup of hot tea for you to warm yourself up.

as you dried yourself with the given towel by the door, he had sat the cup on a nearby table and gestured for you to take a sit as well.

“urm..i—”

“have you decided?”

you flinched, your fingers tugging the end of your shirt down unconsciously.

“no...i’m sorry. i just...i know it’s impossible but i’ve been living with it most of my life so...”

kenma, though he was quiet most of the time, seems to be listening attentively to your words and although he may seem a little unfriendly with his replies but just from his actions, you could tell he was nice person.

“it’s stupid i know, but i can’t seem to be able to live knowing i’m never going to feel this pain one day, as if i’m nothing but an empty shell...i’m probably not making any sense i’m sorry—”

you weren’t sure what you’re saying at this point to be honest, but you knew you were afraid.

“...i’m not an expert on this disease but after coming across all kinds of customers, i’ve realized they aren’t really afraid of the nothingness that came after recovery...but more of falling victim to this disease again.”

his almond eyes were looking at the tip of your cup as his voice still held the same monotonous regularity that reflected his expression.

“although there were some that came back from time to time with different scars...but they still hope to have their love reciprocated one day...”

he finished, still not making eye contact with you.

“...”

you fiddled with your fingers a bit more before heaving a heavy sigh. there’s no use in running away, and you have worried kuroo enough all those years. it’s about time you face your fears and knowing kenma will be the one with you when it happen, it kind of reassured you more than you had thought.

somehow, just by being around him had your nerves easing themselves and the painfulness of what had happened moments ago was slowly sizzling down. was it because he was a specialist?

“i’ll do it...i’m ready!”

for the first time in a while, his gaze finally met your determined ones and for what felt like a second, you thought you saw the corners of his mouth tugged upwards.

you initially guessed it was going to as painful as getting a tattoo, but kenma reassured you that the process wouldn't feel a thing.

“perhaps it’s because they pitied our constant suffering and so they gave us a painless recovery.”

you joked, lying on your back as you watched the ceiling fan swirled ever so gently.

“...isn’t it more cruel to not feel anything during the last moment as if all those years of emotions you held on was equated to nothing..?”

he replied, perhaps not knowing how heavy those words he just uttered on a whim could be.

“yeah...i know...”

droplets of loose tears couldn’t help but trail the corners of your eyes as you tried to hide them by covering with your arm.

silence engulfed the two of you as you hear the buzzing sound of equipment kenma’s using to treat the rose on your right hip. it was soothing, calming, and somehow you could feel every part of your body easing itself like a knot gently untying—a weightless feeling.

“what’s your favorite flower kenma?”

you decided to break the ice.

“...i don’t really have a favorite i guess.”

he commented, still concentrating on the task at hand.

“hm...well i really like tulips. whenever i see them, it feels like spring is coming and the cold winter is ending.”

“maybe you should get a tulip tattoo over the scar then...a customer would sometimes request something like that.”

he replied, giving you a quick glance before finishing up the final touches.

you wondered, from the first time your sibling introduced their significant other to you, to how you ended up developing hopeless feelings for them. the five years you had closely guarded your heart, what were they for?

“have you ever wondered what mutual love taste like?”

you mumbled aloud, letting the comfort of his silence voice whatever was on your mind.

now that you think about it, kuroo did brought up kenma a few couple of hundredth times to you but you never knew who that person was. sure you knew he was a quiet kind of person that plays videogames and volleyball, and that he had been kuroo’s childhood friend but that was it. he never really showed you a picture of the said male so you always had to picture him in your mind.

but now that you have finally met kenma, seeing him with his hair loosely tied together and an oversize black and red hoodie looked way cuter than the image you drew in your mind. you kind of felt bad to be honest.

if only i had met kenma sooner, maybe then i wouldn’t have had to suffer. but then again, he might already have a lover for all i know. although, kuroo never did mention anything.

“hey kenma—”

wait, will it be too rude to ask?

before you could continue, a glimpse of blue on the back of kenma’s neck caught your attention.

was that a flower?

“???”

he turned towards your direction, raising a brow at the expression you had when you did not finish your question.

“um...what’s that behind your neck?”

you asked sheepishly, unsure if it was even appropriate to mention it.

kenma, confused at what you were talking about, decided to head to a mirror by the side wall to take a look. for the first time in his life, he was stunned speechless at the sight of a blue baby tulip.

“are you okay?”

you pipped up when he made his way back to his sit as if he was deeply lost in his thoughts.

“i’m fine...it’s done by the way...”

his voice softer than usual, and his gaze was more fidgety when his hands busied themselves with the equipments. you knew he wasn’t okay, and for some reason, you felt sad that he wasn’t willing to open up to you. maybe you had crossed the line this time.

“did something happen? was that your flower? is it hurting you now? i’m sorry i didn’t know you had the disease as well and i was being insensitive—i—i’m so sorry.”

your mind raced, wondering what you could do to help him after what he had done for you. it was true that you guys may have just met, and technically he might just be doing his job, but you knew the few hours you’ve spent with him had healed your aching heart in ways more than you could ever imagine.

“maybe a cup of ice tea would help!”

you got off the chair immediately before kenma could reply, and as he watched you shuffling towards the pantry in a hurry, the familiar shade of blue behind the strands of your hair had his heart skipped a beat.

was that what he thought it was?

it wasn’t like him in the first place to ever fall in love at first sight, much less with one of his customer; but to be honest you weren’t really a customer when he had been hearing about you from kuroo’s constant whining. and most of the time he would block his voice out because it’s annoying, yet he found himself listening gradually as he was intrigued by the type of person you were. after all, who in the right mind would hold onto a hopeless love for that many years. the longest time acustomer endured was probably only a year most, while you held on for three years.

despite kuroo mentioning that you would be visiting soon, he never knew it’ll be this soon when he saw your frozen stead in front of his shop. your hazy eyes staring up at dark clouds as if hoping the rain would wash all the years of tears and pain away.

perhaps it was the thinnest thread of hope surrounding your worn out being that got his attention, but after spending some time with you, he felt your soft-spoken personality that mismatched your stubbornness was rather amusing. while his fingers worked on the rough and faded rose on your hip, his heart fell. kuroo’s stories about your suffering were barely scratching the surface.

“there was only one type of tea so i guess you must've really liked strawberries.”

you brought the glass of ice tea to him, eyes swirling with worry at the lack of response from him.

“could you...turn around for a second?”

he asked softly, his eyes fixated on his fingers.

you were surprised at first, but complied in the end, unsure of what he was going to do.

you could feel his gentle fingers brushing the strands of your hair away before resting them on your nape.

“is there something—”

“take a look...”

he snapped a quick photo before showing it to you.

“when did it...?”

just as your fingers traced the baby tulip on your nape, kenma had turned himself around as he pulled his hair up for you to see as well. your eyes widened at the exact same tulip on his nape.

“you said you liked tulips so...i guess this is a blessing in disguise.”

and for the first time since you have met him, his soft smile had your cheeks grew rosy as it spread to the tip of your ears.

he looked much more cuter when he smiles and the very thought of him having feelings for you as well had you chuckling at the sudden turn of event.

“who knew love at first sight was a thing...but i guess now i can have my question answered.”

you grinned, taking a step closer to him before capturing your lips with his, your heart rattling with nervousness when you felt him flinching.

it didn’t take long before he eased himself to your soft lips, tilting your chin up just so he could deepen it when he felt your fingers clenching the fabric of his hoodie. you weren’t sure if you were even doing it right, but with his hands naturally finding yours as he intertwined them, you felt your senses tingling at the newfound emotions bubbling within you.

‘have you ever wondered what mutual love taste like?’

he remembered you mumbling about it just as you slightly pulled away from him, wrapping your arms around his waist so you could rest your head on the crook of his neck.

“so what does it taste like...?”

he whispered, gently combing his finger through your locks.

“like strawberries and cigarettes—”

you’d reply, grinning like a fool before giving him a soft squeeze.

“—but much sweeter than any nicotine i used to buy.”

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu scenerio #haikyuu x reader #kozume kenma #kenma x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #kenma angst #kenma fluff #kenma scenerio #haikyuu fanfic #kenma fanfic #kenma imagine #haikyuu imagine #hqappreciation

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cherryyharryy · 4 years

Text

Burning Words

Chapter Five: Regrets

WC: 7.9k

Previous Chapter

Songs for this chapter

Extra piece in Harry’s POV (I suggest reading this first)

I have to say my intuition is pretty decent. The only time it’s failed me, is when I’ve chosen to ignore it. There’s a fine line though, between me wanting to listen to myself, and the nagging feeling in my gut. I’m an easy person to dismiss.

So when I spent all of last week brushing off the insistent aura of regret from my shoulders, I didn’t expect it to manifest itself in such a tame manner. My life is the embodiment of ‘when it rains, it pours,’ and I’m constantly trying to find a place to feel good within my own existence.

And right now, I really regret being such a pushover. If there’s one moment I could do over again, it would be earlier today when I turned down the overtime my boss offered. Because Jessie is sick. She isn’t, but she says she is; I’ve known her for too long now. We’ve survived a lot together:

That’s three drunken nights, five catcallers, one early morning jog right after the New Year when we said we’d get healthy. Two fake Instagram accounts to spot a cheater, six tampons thrown over bathroom stalls, eight missed calls—then a hurried drive down Park Street to find yours truly in the midst of a panic attack. And now, nine minutes for me to figure out that she’s not ill. That’s like, 75 in women years. No wonder we’re so tired all the time.

I’d put money on a phone call from Anthony. She says she’s never had phone sex, but she does so with a smile, and I’m not an idiot. She’s not ashamed; I don’t think Jessie could ever feel embarrassed with the confidence she has. This only twists the ropes surrounding my organs, pulling tighter and tighter until…

I hope to have secrets with someone one day, and then I can tell Jessie a sweet lie about how I’ve never gone skinny dipping, or Russian kissed, and she’d be content with my fib and cherry smile, because she’s my best friend.

And because I’m her best friend, I’m zipping up the back of my black dress with a hanger, praying it doesn’t pop when I exhale.

“I promise, I’ll owe you,” Jessie whines.

“No you don’t. Just tell me I don’t look terrible.”

“You’re gorgeous as always, babe.”

She’s curled up in her bed, such an actress, with a heating blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a phony stuffed nose that makes her words gel together in a tight knot. I thank her anyway.

“Don’t forget the book.”

“I know, I know.” I push off the threshold of her room to gather my things: a winter coat that looks somewhat classy, my purse, and Beowulf. I button up to my neck and yell my goodbye as I cross the apartment.

We have a small mirror that hangs against a brick wall when you first enter our home. I’ve watched Jessie nudge at her lashes and scrape tiny bits of strawberry lipstick off her teeth before we leave, dozens of times. I usually pass by her while she’s doing her last touch-ups, but now I’m alone, and I have to make the quick decision to look or not. I hope Jessie’s right, that I don’t look terrible, because I close my eyes until I’m locking the door.

***

The theater is frigid, and nearly empty when I arrive. I guess the majority of Jessie’s class isn’t as desperate to watch a reenactment of a book for extra points as she is. Tickets are five dollars, and the water I bought is warm. I am overdressed, and take out my diamond earrings after a girl in sweatpants sits at the end of my row.

At intermission I debate whether or not I should leave. I can hide in my room all night and finish Jessie’s assignment, in my pajamas, with a glass of gas station wine in hand. But I guess Jessie is in love, so instead, I wobble up to the concession in her borrowed heels to buy more junk food that can promise me a breakout by morning.

“Y/n?”

Like an eruption; his voice triggers more physiological responses in my body than a lab rat. My senses have never crossed borders with each other, and yet I stand here, hunger clawing its way up my ribs, past my larynx, banging on the back of my eyes so I’ll open them.

“Hey.” My voice is filled with saliva, and I pray he doesn’t notice.

“Are you here for the extra credit, or to watch a bunch of middle aged call-backs try their hand at acting?”

My laugh is airy and sore. “Uh, Jessie. It’s her class. She’s sick, so I’m saving her.”

“Ah,” he nods. “I’m a life jacket too, tonight. Elliot’s visiting his cousin or something.”

The lights flicker above us, and he blushes like a cherry. “I uh, I guess we’d better head back.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you, would you like to sit together?” He holds up his copy of the book. “Compare notes?”

I nod. I respond, but I’m not exactly sure what comes out of my mouth. All I know is that he has me lead the way, and deciding where to sit becomes an insurmountable task, as if my seating choice is the determinate in how he will see me in the forthcoming days, weeks. Does he like to sit in the front? The back? Close to the aisle? Where had he been this whole time? Had he noticed me when I had my mouth stuffed with gummy bears?

“If you don’t mind,” he answers the questions in my head, “I don’t care for sitting close to the front.”

“The middle then? I think I read that, two-thirds back was the best seating or something.”

“Perfect.”

We settle into our seats, the theater now nearly vacant other than the two of us, and a few people tucked away in the back.

It’s a bizarre group of words to use—the two of us—in reference to Harry and I. Technically, it’s sound. There are two in a pairing. I think it’s the us that plays my heartstrings like a violin. The vibrating in my chest escalates, echoing off the hollow of my bones, wrapping around the fibers of my muscles, weakening my nervous system like a dying light bulb.

He flips through my copy of the book where I haven’t made as many notes as I should have, nodding along to my scribbles which outline the differences between the original story and this live adaptation. “We’ve got a lot of the same.” He’s smiling big when he hands my book back. “Guess we’re doing something right then.”

I feel his energy for the rest of the play. Every move he makes is somehow worthy of interest. The grip he holds on his knee, the tilt of his head, roll of his lips, bounce of his foot. He clears his throat at one point, and I turn back towards the actors as if they are the disturbance. Each time he flips through the book to scribble a note, the pages brush against his thumb, sometimes catching on his ring. When he pricks his skin on the edge of a page, he drives it straight into his mouth. I have to remind my heart to keep beating.

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you hear me? Do you need a ride home?”

When had we walked outside? When did the sun disappear? When did his hair become such a mess?

“Um, no. That’s alright. Thank you though.”

“How did you get here?” His lenses are a pink champagne color, and I hope the filter makes me aesthetically appealing, as I never have been before.

“The bus.”

“The b—you’re going to take this bus? But it’s late?”

I study his face, his eyes through the tinted glass, the lines across his forehead with his brows pushing them up towards his hairline. My intelligence is working overtime.

“I’ve taken the bus at night before. I’ll be fine.” I shrug and he frowns.

“But, I—if I give you my number, will you text me when you get home? Just, I mean, I just need to know you make it back. It’s nearly eleven. And it’s the bus.”

I stand there too long, contemplating the actions he wishes to pursue. His number, in my phone. He says my name.

“Uh, yeah, I can do that I guess.”

Vertigo and an imposture buzz seize my nerves. My hands shake; I always spend so much time waiting for things to end, so I can just live in the memory. Things are easier that way.

And I’m more vulnerable under moonlight, so I hand him my phone.

“You won’t forget?”

“No. no. I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good.” He passes my phone back, clearing his throat. “Um, I enjoyed this. Tonight I mean. Was pretty pissed at Elliot when he asked me to go for him, but...guess things worked out okay after all.”

“Yeah, not bad.”

“You um, you look...you look very pretty.”

“Oh,” I’m caught off guard, and have to take a second to scrape the word liar off my tongue. “Thanks. Thank you. You, so do you.”

He snickers, but it’s lighthearted, like a feather was tickling his chin. “Thank you, love.”

“Yeah…”

“So um, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“O—okay.”

His lashes flutter against his glasses, and his tongue darts out to swipe over his lips. “Uh, I—do you—are you sure you don’t need a ride home?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he sighs like he’s relieved, but there’s pent up nervous energy leaking out, that contradicts the lax drop of his shoulders and the fidgety hand scratching the back of his neck. “Well I’ll see you later then?”

“Okay.”

His lips are twitching when we say goodbye. He goes one way and I the other. He goes to his car, and I go towards the bus stop. My phone weighs heavy in my bag. How did I end up looking forward to admiring a sequence of numbers? I run through my options of what exactly I will text when I get home. What punctuation I will use, if I am warranted in picking an emoji, what he might respond with.

The bus driver gives me a funny look when the doors close behind me. I can’t find anything inside me to care enough though, as I normally would, and find a seat in the back. I’d give me a funny look too, if I was smiling so big at nothing in particular.

***

I almost forget to lock our door when I hurry into the apartment. I’m out of my coat and shoes by the time I reach my room, flopping down on my bed with my phone in hand.

Seeing Harry’s name at the top of the screen slows down my movements, making the moment more serious. My fingers hover over the keyboard, and I’m stifled on picking how I want to word my text.

I made it back alive

I’m home, no need to worry

I’m here:)

I consider not texting him at all, but brush the intrusive thought that he was just being nice for show, as far away into the corner of my mind as I can manage.

I’m home now

My teeth sink further and further into my lip, the skin stretching and pulling with the corners of my mouth playing tug of war. The three little dots of his incoming text seems to last forever.

How many stops did you have to make? You know how to make a man worry. I’m happy you’re home safe xx

Without much thought, because I know I’d change my mind, I send a smiley face and lock my phone, then quickly make my way to Jessie’s room. Part of me wants to gush to her about tonight, about how he asked to sit together, and how he gave me his number.

But I also have no reason to be so...giddy. His actions are easily explained if you look at them from a different angle. He didn’t want to sit by himself, that’s all. I’m a familiar face. And any decent person would offer a ride home to their...student.

I freeze in the space between our rooms, trying to pick a lane for my mind to travel down. I know myself well enough to know that my first reaction is to dismiss the entire evening, and my brain is pulling on the reins in that direction. But a selfish part of me just wants to relish in tonight’s events. He didn’t have to sit by me, and no one made him give me his number. I need to stop assuming that my presence is so revolting

When I knock on Jessie’s door she hacks a dramatic cough, and mumbles for me to come in.

“How are you feelin’?”

“Oh I’m better, yeah, so uh, how was your night? Did you like it? Did you have fun?” The covers are pulled up to her nose, her big eyes wide and shining right above them. “You look happy? Why’s that?”

“It was good,” I sigh, leaning against the door frame. “I’ll type up your notes in the morning.”

“I’ll probably feel up to it tomorrow,” she nods and I roll my eyes. “So uh, what did you like about it?”

“Oh...just...it was a good play. Really good.”

“Yeah? That’s it?”

I shrug. “What were you expecting?”

“Nothing, you just came in here with a big smile on your face, thought maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, sighing. “Nothin’, nothin’.”

“Alright, well, m’gonna go to bed then.”

“Okay...thanks for saving me tonight. Glad you enjoyed it.”

My lips twitch, but I manage to reign in a smile. “Yeah, I did.”

***

I’ll be at the Library this afternoon, so you can stop by. 4-ish.

I read over his text and check the time again. It’s four o’clock now, but I feel early. Fashionably late, that’s a thing, right…that I should have done? He said ish. Does ish mean early or late? My poor brain.

I slip the continuing rewrite of my report from my bag, as if to say when I walk in: I’m here for help with school, that’s all, no assumptions, please. It’s cool outside, and when I walk in there is no relief, and yet my hands sweat. I swipe them over the back pockets of my jeans.

“Hi!” Harry’s not in his work clothes, not in his school clothes either. Faded, light-washed jeans are not something I like, but this day is starting to feel weird, so I might as well throw that out the window too. They’re nice. The t-shirt is nice too. How is he not cold? “You made it.”

“Are you sure this is a good time?”

“I’m free all afternoon,” he chirps.

“Okay.”

He’s at the same table we worked at last time. When I sit down, he adjusts his glasses, and I notice his nails are painted black again. It’s just a color. Black. And yet he makes it look brand new, like he discovered it.

“So what questions did you have?”

How do you always look so good? “Um, I don’t like Henry Miller.”

He chuckles. Everything about me is porous, and I absorb him. I can count his teeth, brow hairs, the depth of his dimple; weird how the lines deepening around his eyes are so divinely explicit. He laughs again. “Me too, love.”

When you laugh like that I wanna pass out. “But I don’t know how to write about him like that. Everything I come up with sounds...childish.”

“I think one of the best things you can do is provide examples. Scour the text—believe me, there’s plenty to choose from—that display his character. The whole book is his autobiography with a fictional twist.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I stay in my head, and he waits for me to speak. I feel like he is always waiting for me to talk. “Um, and then the issue of feminism.” I pause and he nods. “One of the things I kept seeing online is that, um, well people were saying that the book upheld women because the man, Henry, he uh…um...”

“Couldn’t get it up?”

It’s not cold in here anymore, oh God. “Uh, yeah...that part.”

“Okay then. Tell me why.”

“What!?”

“How does that make you feel when you read it?”

I shake my head. What I feel? “It’s...shit. A man not, um, performing, does not and should never, be attributed to the value of a woman. Um, some people think this scene gives her...some kind of power or hierarchy. Or that she is this automatic winner. He doesn’t get to...y’know...and all of a sudden there’s a shift. He fails as a man, so by default she wins as a woman. And that’s how she earns her value. That’s gross.”

“Write that down,” Harry says.

“What?”

“That’s very well put. You took reference of the source, gathered your feelings, and produced a well thought-out conclusion. You can clean it up later, but go ahead and write that down before you forget it.”

***

Our conversation veers off the path once the questions I came with are answered, my report pushed aside. I’m much more calm now, and at times forget that we’ve only known each other for a couple months.

We talk about high school and then books and food. And he’s easy to talk to, I’m reminded. He laughs a lot and blushes a lot.

At one point he jumps up like a child on Christmas morning, urging me to follow him through the aisles so he can show me a book he just finished reading. There’s something very boy-like about him...very cute and sweet and cuddly. I consider making up questions about my report just to see this again...see him again.

Soon the sun starts dipping down, casting globes of shadows over the first floor. Ms. Bortnick flicks the lamps on and the room lights up, although there’s still a dark glow of evening around us. I’m busy flipping through Dickenson, looking for a poem I read years ago to show Harry. Once I find it and peer up, I’m frozen.

He’s standing right below a window, weight leaning on one leg, while he slowly turns the pages of a book. It rests in his open palm, fingers splayed out across the spine and both covers. I gulp. His hands are huge. There’s peace in his reddened cheeks, an artistic contrast to the crease between his brows. Lips are in a content line, and I’m buzzed with the thought that I now know the different looks of his lips. How to others he may appear annoyed or disturbed, but I can tell he’s quite happy.

He is serene, golden; a lighthouse beckoning me towards him. He picks up stray beams of light and swallows them whole, right before my eyes, without moving a muscle. Strikingly bizarre, his features. He’s one of those you don’t want to stop looking at. So I don’t, until he notices me and smiles, nodding back to our table.

I keep my finger in place of the page I’m on, but close the book when I sit down. He follows suit after me.

“D’you find it?”

“Mhmm.” I flip the cover open and spin the book around to face him.

“Read it.”

It’s a gentle request, soft, with the hint of a question mark at the end. I clear my throat as quietly as possible.

““Hope” is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all.

And sweetest in the Gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land

And on the strangest Sea;

Yet, never, in Extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.”

My heart beats wildly in my chest, and I have to take a moment before looking up at him. He stayed foggy in my peripheral while I recited, mouthing along with his hand lazily hung over his lips, pretending not to know the words.

“I love that one,” he croons, “haven’t heard it in a while.” He slides the book across the table and starts flipping through the pages.

I watch his nails dance, and after a minute I have to clear my throat and look away, like I’m watching something I’m not supposed to, and don’t wanna get caught.

“Ah, here.” His face grows serious, lips sewn together.

My heart somersaults, because I know I’m about to be gifted with strings of moments filled with his voice. I straighten in my seat and hold my breath.

“Remorse is a memory awake,

Her companies astir, —

A presence of departed acts

At window and at door.

It’s past set down before the soul,

And lighted with a match,

Perusal to facilitate

Of its condensed dispatch.

Remorse is cureless, — the disease

Not even God can heal;

For ‘t is his institution, —

The complement of hell.”

“I remember that one,” I whisper. There’s something about myself that I suddenly don’t like, and it’s how attractive I find sadness dripping off his tongue. In a much different way than his nails.

“Yeah,” he sighs, lost in his head. I can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. “How about something more...upbeat?”

***

We share more poems, and get back to a place where we’re smiling. Although, with each passing moment, Harry grows more and more fidgety. His hands can’t seem to stay still, traveling from his mouth to his neck to his rings. He’s the one who keeps starting new conversation topics, in between finding books, but I’m scared it’s me that’s got him anxious.

“I uh,” he starts, after he closes one of Edward Lear's books of limericks. His voice has softened like butter. Smooth like whiskey when it’s 2 am. I forget what time it actually is when he looks at me, his eyes watery, and suddenly, I wish I was drunk. “Um. Can I—is it alright if we—” he shakes his head, eyes tired, tongue-tied. “I—”

“There you are!”

We both jump when a tall, thin guy runs up to our table, out of breath and frantic, he starts tugging on Harry’s arm.

“C’mon, we’ve got a gig. Last minute. Been tryin’ to call you for an hour. Let’s go.”

Harry’s stuttering, looking between me and who I assume is a friend of some sorts, while he eventually complies with the man’s actions and rises from his seat.

“I uh, I’m so sorry...turned my phone off…” I can’t tell who he’s talking to, all I know is that he looks devastated for some reason.

“It’s okay, Harry,” I urge, gathering my things. “We were finished anyway. Thank you for helping me. Again.”

The friend, now standing by the front door, calls Harry’s name repeatedly. Harry’s clearly reluctant in moving towards him, offering up more apologies.

“It’s fine, really.” I push down the disappointment filling me up, and force a smile on my lips. “Go...do whatever you’ve got to do.”

“Right, right, uh—”

“Let’s go!”

“Well, if you need any more help, just let me know. Just text me whenever. Whenever you want.”

“Harold!”

“I will.”

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll see you then?”

“You’d better go,” I laugh, “he’s about to pop.”

“So am I,” Harry mumbles, and trudges off towards his impatient friend.

***

Pickles. Pickles are everywhere. All over our counters, in the sink, the table, the chairs. Jars of pickles. On the couch, the floor, the window sill.

Jessie broke up with Anthony.

When she broke up with Charles, it was sour kraut. Devin was jello. Kaiden was black licorice. Brian was pomegranate. She should make a scrapbook.

“One to ten?” I ask, opening a jar of kosher dill. My mouth waters when the salt hits my nose.

“Five.”

“That’s better than yesterday.” The corners of my jaw tingle unnecessarily when I bite into the green spear. I twitch and wait for it to pass.

She didn’t go into detail about what happened, or even who broke up with who. I came home from my evening with Harry at the library, to find her amongst a storm of soiled tissues on our couch.

There isn’t much to a Jessie breakup. She cries, swallows her feelings emotionally, and whatever random food—physically, calls the guy on the phone to tell him he’s a bastard, and then starts looking for someone new.

In the meantime, I pretty much steer clear of her. With Anthony living so far away, I never had to worry about coming home to them undressing in the living room, or shoving my head under the pillow while I tried to fall asleep. But I’m sure it won’t be long until she’s gushing about someone again, so I need to enjoy my boy-free apartment while I can.

“Y’know, he really pisses me off,” Jessie thinks aloud. She’s sprawled out in the armchair—my chair by the window, where I haven’t sat in a week—with her legs dangling over the side. She bites a pickle in half, and speaks through her chewing. “I mean, here I am, basically just waiting on him every day to call or text or send me a picture...like I really thought he was happy. He got a relationship without all the bells and whistles. Guys dream of that, right?”

I shrug. How the hell should I know?

“Bastard. I’m gonna call him.”

She caps the jar and springs from the chair, slamming the door to her room behind her.

I just hope the next guy has his own place.

***

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. New York, I mean. Sometimes it feels like forever, but then I remember my childhood existed elsewhere, high school sucked, and traffic had nothing to do with it. I’m pretty sure each time I leave and go back home, I’ve aged an extra ten years, like I’ve traveled to space and back. I keep finding traces of this city, in every nook and cranny of my life.

Mom was worried about me when I left. But moms worry about everything. I worry about everything, too. So her not so restrained fears, that she kind of pushed out of her mouth with a hiss, like she wasn’t sure if I was capable of absorbing the truth, didn’t really help me.

It’s a biiiig city. You’re not used to that. I just don’t want you to get swallowed up.

She was right. Sort of. Because you don’t move to New York. New York moves into you. It has its own heart and bones and skin, separate from the rest of the country. And soon your own body starts to wrap around this. Your heart becomes more tolerable to grease-soaked dinners at three in the morning. Your bones strengthen like cement so you can stand still through a harsh stop by a train. Your skin grows so thick, any number of insults bounce right off until they hit the pavement.

What New York hasn’t prepared me for, in the however long I’ve been here time-frame, is Harry Styles in my home. Using the words Harry and home in the same sentence makes me feel like I’ve jumped right into one of the chalk drawings from Mary Poppins.

Right now he’s standing at the big window, in the exact spot where I like to stand, running his hand over his stubble. He adjusts his glasses, and then I think he sees me in the reflection of the glass because he smirks. I duck my head back down and continue on the dishes.

It’s an odd string of events that places him here. Odd for other people—not so much me. Jessie apparently badgered Elliot while they were in class, complaining about her breakup, to the point where she convinced him to go out drinking. And then because Elliot doesn’t drink, and Jessie found that reason enough to drink more, I was awoken at midnight to Elliot banging on our door and Jessie singing her own version of The Way You Make Me Feel. And standing behind the two of them, after I swung the door open in my pajamas, while taking my retainer out, and swiping acne cream off my chin, stood Harry.

Harry was not in his pajamas, and he didn’t have a string of spit connecting his mouth to a piece of plastic, and he didn’t have a giant volcano ready to erupt on his face.

After Elliot dragged Jessie inside, he was left standing there, a quirky smile on his face while he did a kind of half-wave, short and dry in front of his body, and whispered out a soft hey.

Now it’s one am. I’m doing dishes because I’m nervous with this man in my space. Nervous that he’s going to pick up on details about me that I haven’t given permission to be leant out just yet. We can hear Jessie’s drinks making their way into the toilet, and Elliot encouraging her like she’s in a race. I didn’t know what to do with my hands or my mouth, so I filled the silence and busied my limbs with everything that had piled up in the sink the past few days. If they don’t leave soon, I may have to start washing clean forks and knives.

“This is a nice view.”

“Yeah,” the word drifts off, mixing and popping with the bubbles in front of my face.

“I like your apartment.”

“Thanks...most of it’s Jessie’s stuff.”

He nods. “Here, let me…” His face is stern, like he’s preparing to start working on a car engine, and not sliding the dish towel off the counter. He tosses it over his shoulder and starts rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. I forget where I’m at and what I’m doing and even my name.

“Oh you don’t have to…” Dear God his nails are still painted.

“No, no, it’s the least I can do.”

The tendons in his hands pulse, rippling, like when you skip a stone into a calm pond as he dries the first plate. His fingers are long, and there’s generous space between his thumb and the rest of his digits that, for whatever absurd reason, I find attractive.

We work in relative silence, only the slight sloshing of water and the clinks of his rings on the dishes. I regret not turning the tv on at least, and I can feel us both sorting out conversation topics in our heads.

“Is that your report?”

When I look at him, he’s pinching his glasses in his hand, and using a free finger to swipe a few suds that had found their way to the side of his nose. He nods to the coffee table where all of my school works lays in a mess.

“Yeah, among other things.”

“Mind if I have a look? Have you worked on it since we last talked?”

“I haven’t done much...but go ahead. You may have to dig a little to find it.”

He dries his hands and strides around the counter, sitting on the edge of the couch. His sleeves are still rolled up—a blood orange sweater, and charcoal slacks that rise up to reveal matching socks. He picks through piles of paper and folders and flash cards until he finds what he’s looking for. A few of his curls fall and I can only see the bottom half of his face.

I finish washing before he’s done reading. And on a random act of impulse—there’s that New York in me—I dry my hands and make my way over to Harry.

“The quote you added, on the third page,” he sweeps his hair off his forehead when I sit down in the chair beside the couch, “brilliant.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you did an excellent job. And honestly, the entire thing, it’s incredible. It’s easy to talk about your opinion, but it’s difficult to actually back it up. You make it look easy.”

“I can assure you it’s not.”

He laughs without looking up. When he finishes and sets my paper down, he starts sifting through all the other work laid out before him. “How’s your chemistry class going? Didn’t you say you were having trouble?”

“Oh that was at the beginning of the semester. I think I was just overwhelmed.” I swallow and push my brows together. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Well, yeah,” he laughs bashfully. His elbow rests on his knee, cradling his face in his hand with his mouth hidden by the heel of his palm. He blinks slowly, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “How about the homework for our class, the analysis on Slaughterhouse Five?”

“I finished that this morning, uh, I squint down at the table until I remember, “oh it’s in my bag.” I point to the space beside him where my school bag lays on the floor. “It’s right in there. You can look over it if you want.”

He slides my bag over and props it up on his lap, and I keep a hurdle of curses from leaving my mouth when my phone ringing beside the sink startles me. I hurry over to the kitchen only to see it’s just a voicemail from school, reminding me to register for next semester. On my way back, Harry’s face is set into a frown.

“Are you—did you find it? I thought I put it in there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he holds up a piece of paper, “I got it.”

When I sit back down it takes him a moment to drag his eyes off me, clearing his throat and straightening his glasses, then reading over the one page we were supposed to write.

“Very good, well thought out,” he nods along to his comments, “I like your comparison to Ubick...you made really insightful connections.”

“So...I’ll get an A, right?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, slipping the page back into my bag. After he zips it up, we’re sitting in silence again, but not for long. “So, I’ve been wanting to ask you,” Harry clears his throat, and shifts on the couch to better face me, “would you—”

“Oh my God, don’t ever let me drink again.” Jessie hobbles through the bathroom door, Elliot right behind her as he helps her to her room.

“What were you saying?” I ask once they’re gone.

“I—”

“That was intense. Horrific, actually.” Elliot bounds into the living room, plopping down beside Harry with a dramatic sigh. “And she only had like, four drinks!”

“Yeah she’s a lightweight. She doesn’t think she is, but I’ve spent many long nights holding her hair back for hours because of a shot or two.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Elliot asks.

“No I’ve got her from here. Thank you for getting her home, Elliot.”

“Anytime,” he chirps. “Okay, well,” he pats Harry’s thigh, “we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry adds, pushing up from the couch with his friend. “I’ll see you in class Monday, y/n.

“I’m sorry you spent your night drying dishes.”

“What are you talking about? It’s basically a hobby of mine.” The words are cool when they slip out, but it takes me a second to register the joke before I laugh.

“Thanks again,” I say while opening the front door.

“No problem,” Elliot assures me. “Hey, tell Jessie I like her tattoo.”

“She showed you her tattoo?”

“She showed the whole bar her tattoo.”

All I can do is shake my head and laugh.

“I’ll see you.” Harry’s movements are much more collected than Elliot’s. When I look past the threshold of the apartment, to the pair of them standing there, I have to hold back a smile that I don’t want to have to explain. It seems like Harry and Elliot are just...altered versions of me and Jessie. A bit opposite—Harry’s hands are stuffed in his pockets while he rocks on his feet, and Elliot pulls a miniature Rubik’s cube from his jacket.

“Bye, Harry.”

When he nods his dimple grows, and I know he’s fighting a smile.

***

The bell over the door jingles, and I force my eyes to stay focused on the menu hanging over the counter, and not acknowledge the attention I’ve drawn to myself. In a few strides, I’m across the room and waiting behind a short, bald man to order a sandwich.

My foot taps impatiently on the sticky floor, and I second guess my decision in coming here. It’s a little everything shop on the street corner by my dentist. And by everything, I’m including the line of ants crawling up the wall. It’s one of those places where layers of paint and wallpaper disguise the previous month’s investor. A seafood diner, an El Salvadoran bakery, pawn shop, and most recently—and with a wash of baker-miller pink slapped on—Don’s Place.

It’s eerie and unnerving inside, but cheap, and I didn’t want to eat all day before my teeth cleaning, so I’m kind of desperate at the moment. Light chatter fills the space, until someone starts coughing, and the strident atmosphere this place held disappears. When it’s ready, my order is nearly tossed to me over the counter. I grab the once frozen sandwich and fries before they hit the floor, and find a cramped two-seater booth in the corner of this place. I’m right below an air vent, so I keep my jacket on.

I pick the lettuce, that I asked not to have, off before taking a bite, and it doesn’t take long, now that I’m settled and still, for my mind to drift to Harry. He’s really set up camp in my brain—but I’m not complaining. My daydreams are stirring, a little less innocent than I’m used to, and at times I have to catch myself from drifting too far off. Even when he’s right in front of me in class, I wander, practically drowning in my own imagination, getting washed away in him. And I think he notices...I’m not sure if he knows what I’m thinking about, but judging by the smirk he gives when he calls my name, I think he might

Jessie keeps teasing me too, and it’s getting harder to keep my composure. All she has to do is stare at me for a few seconds after I come back from class, and I break. I’ll tell her what he was wearing, what words sounded particularly better from his accent, what questions he asks me in class. I don’t ever answer, just mumble out a come back to me, which spares me until the next class.

I’m rapidly finding a reason for addiction in every minuscule movement he makes. How domestication and carnal activity fuse together under his touch. Pushing his glasses up his nose is both endearing and erotic. The way his tongue hovers over his teeth when deciding his words is hypnotic and wholesome Quickly, he is turning into an adoration. He’s really almost too good to be true, and not the arrogant son of a bitch I pegged him as when we first met.

“Hey.”

I jump. This time his voice is not in my head. I force the bite down my throat and smile. “H—hi.”

“I uh,” Harry starts, eyes glistening, “saw you come in. Just thought I’d say hi.”

“Oh—yeah, hi, um—”

“Can I sit?”

“Yeah, sure,” I squeak.

He sits himself across from me, and I notice the flush creeping up his chest. His fingers dance all around each other, and his energy alone makes me nervous.

He gulps in a breath and smiles awkwardly. “How are you?” He asks.

“I’m good, just,” I nudge my half-eaten sandwich, “stopped for lunch.”

“That’s good, uh, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“Okay…”

“You—I mean I—” he clears his throat. “Would you like to go out sometime? Just...nothing fancy, the two of us? Not school related? Is that something you would like?”

If I’m being honest, I have many regrets in life. Too many to count. Most too personal to share. If there’s one moment I could do over again, it is this one. I don’t know it yet, though.

I don’t know it as I scramble out of the booth, as I blurt out something about how I have to go, as I weave through this disgusting place, my feet sticking to the floor, plowing through the door.

I run all the way home. He only calls me twice, and when a third never shows up on my phone, I start to cry.

It’s such a weird place to be in. When you know you’re right in the middle of a mistake.

If there’s one moment I could do over again, it would be the night he came into the bookstore.

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

Thank you for beta reading for me!!! @cosmospy @aileenacoustic @afterstylesmadeit

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mopeytropey · 5 years

Text

What if I told you that I received so many lovely messages about fond apu memories and autumnal weather ... that I felt inspired to write some bonus content about our two, favorite beer nerds?

Well, you’re in luck. Because I did.

“Hey, babe!”

Clarke’s voice greets her from out of sight as Lexa toes off her running shoes without bothering to untie them. She deposits them neatly, beside a pair of Clarke’s shoes, against the wall of the entryway as the front door clicks shut. Frank, their recently adopted rescue, comes skittering across the tiled flooring in a bundle of excitement, panting and pushing his cold, black nose into Lexa’s calf muscle. Squatting to her haunches with a grin, she scratches the ringlets of white fur behind his lopsided ears.

When she rounds the open doorway into the kitchen, Clarke is stood at the island chopping fresh herbs. The air is fragrant and the kitchen is warm, awash in bright, morning sunlight that reflects off the harbor. Music plays softly and Clarke is radiant. Lexa smiles.

“Hey.”

“How was the run?” Clarke asks without looking up from the cutting board.

Lexa heads for the fridge to remove a canteen of water. “It was good. The temperature along the water is perfect today.”

“I miss summer,” Clarke sighs and nearly pouts.

“You love the fall.” Lexa takes small, measured sips then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s your most preferred season. You haven’t stopped talking about the foliage along High Street for weeks.”

“Still, I miss summer. The boat. The beach.”

“Clarke, it was practically summer weather last weekend. We were on the boat for hours on Saturday.”

Clarke’s pout intensifies. “Bikinis.”

This produces an actual laugh, and Lexa shakes her head. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll parade around in swimsuits in the dead of winter. You keep it warm enough in here.”

Clarke’s face breaks into a bright smile as she looks up from her chopping. “Promise?”

Lexa smiles as she takes a longer sip of ice-cold water from her canteen. Clarke is dressed for the brunch they’ll be hosting shortly. Casual in her striped sleeveless top and fitted jeans, but nicer than her typical Sunday morning wardrobe of pajama shorts and baggy tee shirts. Nice enough for Lexa to take notice.

“It smells good in here,” she says, moving closer to where Clarke is stood chopping. A hand finds its way beneath the loose hem of Clarke shirt as Lexa’s mouth softly touches Clarke’s bare shoulder. “And, you look nice.”

“Oh my god—you’re so sweaty.” Clarke squirms from Lexa’s touch with a laugh, all the more incentive to move in closer, bodily pinning her against the edge of the island. “Lexa!”

Laughing, she finally steps away as Clarke turns from the counter with an expression that some might mistake for exasperation. Three years on, Lexa knows better. Still smiling, she takes another pull off the water bottle before using the hem of her shirt to wipe the perspiration from her face and neck.

“I’m going to shower.”

“Good, you stink,” Clarke laughs, poking a finger against Lexa’s bared abdomen just before her damp running shirt drops back into place. “And, your shirt is soaked. I love you, but I’m not changing my outfit just because all that adrenaline has made you handsy.”

Lexa heads for the stairs with a laugh. “Drenched in sweat from a long run used to do it for you, you know.”

She pulls her shirt over her head as she climbs, stopping at the landing to turn towards Clarke who has trailed behind her and paused at the base of the spiral staircase.

“Oh, I’m definitely still appreciating the view … from afar.”

Lexa’s aim is impeccable. The damp shirt hits Clarke square in the face as she squeals in disgust, and Frank barks while dancing at her feet. Lexa laughs all the way to the shower.

:::

“Better?”

Clarke looks up from the big block cutting board with a smile as Lexa shuffles into the kitchen for a second time. She is now slicing strawberries and mangoes, and Lexa does a slow spin as if to show off her clean clothes and freshly blow-dried curls.

Clarke leans forward, wordlessly requesting a quick kiss, and then hums against Lexa’s mouth when she closes the distance. “Well, you definitely smell better,” she says as they separate.

“What can I do?” Lexa surveys Clarke’s array of prep stations along the island countertop—freshly diced fruit, ramekins of chopped herbs, and blocks of cheese, waiting to be grated. Aromas of ground coffee brewing and warm pastries baking have begun to fill the kitchen. “Do you need any help?”

She is still mostly relegated to making fried eggs and grilled cheese sandwiches for them to eat, but over the years Lexa has found her place in the kitchen. Clarke is as efficient as she is talented as a home chef, but she always appreciates Lexa’s company as she cooks. She often works alongside Clarke as an adequate sous chef.

“Grate that cheese for me, and I’ll do dirty things to you later.”

Lexa responds to Clarke’s titillating grin with an arched brow and smirk of her own. “Go on.”

“Honestly, after we survive this brunch, I fully plan to do dirty things with you either way.” Clarke widens her grin and bats her eyelashes. “But, the grating would still be very much appreciated.”

Lexa returns her smile while reaching for a wedge of cheese. “Okay, how much of these do you need?”

“I would do half a block of the gruyere and fontina, go heavy on the sharp cheddar.”

Lexa begins her task, dropping a few shreds of cheese to the floor where Frank sits expectantly, tail wagging against the wood floors like a miniature dry mop.

“I saw that.”

Lexa smiles over at Clarke, whose eyes remain on her knife as it deftly slices a strawberry. “Saw what?”

Moments of comforting silence pass, and then Clarke releases a long-suffering sigh. “Is it too early to start drinking?”

“What’s got you feeling so anxious?”

“I’m not anxious just … anticipatory.”

“Well, you’re certainly acting anxious,” Lexa counters. And then, her voice softens to gentle concern. “We’ve hosted brunch a hundred times, Clarke.”

“Okay, but you know this brunch, in particular, is going to be different. You don’t feel at all anxious?”

Poised to respond, Lexa sets down the cheese grater and opens her mouth just as Clarke continues to ramble on with her train of thought.

“Of course you don’t feel anxious—you’re the most even-keeled person I’ve ever met. How many times in your life have you been nervous about anything? Twice?”

Smiling warmly, Lexa shrugs. “At least three times.” Her eyes slide to the bowl of fruit that she knows Clarke has been marinating in a light but sugary glaze of orange liqueur. “How much of that fruit do you think we’d have to eat to feel a little drunk? Or, I could slip some amaretto into your coffee.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Clarke laughs. “You know that if Abby shows up to a social event and can tell that I’ve been drinking before any guests have arrived, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Lexa moves in closer, and this time, feels Clarke sink against her as arms coil around her waist. She kisses Clarke’s hairline, the skin of her shoulder. Tender endearments that she has expressed hundreds of times. She inhales as Clarke exhales, a synthesis of their familiar proximity.

This feels different, Lexa thinks.

There is a subtle distinction that buzzes through her, warming her skin and causing her stomach to flutter. An embrace that could be almost perfunctory at this stage, is somehow much more. She wonders briefly if Clarke feels it too.

“I love you.”

“That helps,” Clarke mumbles, having nestled into the crook of Lexa’s neck and shoulder.

Lexa takes a quick breath, settling the nerves that she conceals too well. “And, Frank loves you too.”

She glances down to the floor, Clarke’s gaze quickly following, to see their fluffy companion bumping against their shins, not wanting to be left out of the affection.

“Oh, I love you too, Frank!” Clarke squats, cooing as she accepts sloppy kisses and scoops the small, eager pup into her arms, her anxieties momentarily forgotten.

:::

“Which one of you is pregnant?”

“Raven …”

Clarke is always scolding, exasperated, appalled, or any combination of all three, and Lexa doesn’t know why she still bothers. In all the years that she’s known her, Raven has never once been cowed to socially appropriate conversations no matter the reprimand.

“Don’t get mad at me—you’re the one who’s acting weird.” Raven sits across from them with a calculating stare, flanked by Lincoln and Anya and wielding her fork like a weapon. The tines point accusingly at she and Clarke as Raven says, “Something is up.”

Lexa’s gaze flicks to Anya for any hint of culpability. To no surprise, her face remains placid and untelling.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I’m not pregnant!”

“Esquire?”

“No one is pregnant,” Clarke reiterates.

The oblong dining table is overflowing with food and drinks. Clarke’s mother, who sits beside Lexa, makes an appreciative sound as she takes a bite of quiche.

“This is wonderful, Clarke.”

Clarke offers a grateful smile for Abby’s efforts to redirect the conversation, but the end result is predictably futile. Raven’s lines of questioning are often like a speeding, unmanned freight train. Virtually unstoppable.

“The food really is excellent,” Lincoln echoes with his soft smile.

“Quiet, you,” Raven snaps playfully. “Come on, Griffin. Spill.”

Beneath the table, Lexa finds Clarke’s fingers.

“We wanted you all here to tell you that—“ Clarke exhales, squeezing Lexa’s fingers. “Lexa and I got married.”

The house falls quiet for three, tense seconds, and then Octavia speaks, her voice taking on a sharp tone of mistrust.

“You mean you’re getting married.”

“We were married last week,” Lexa corrects with an easy smile.

Octavia blinks slowly, her gaze calculating between the two of them. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Clarke answers, the waver in her voice beginning to settle now that they’ve aired this secret to their closest friends. “In New York.”

Early autumn in her city. Lingering summer warmth but with a touch of color on all the trees in the parks. The promise of changing seasons ahead. Clarke stood in the courthouse in jeans and one of Lexa’s favorite tee shirts, wearing the brightest smile Lexa has ever seen. It was nothing she had ever planned for herself and somehow everything she had ever wanted in a ceremonial exchange of vows. That it was Clarke sat beside her, signing her name just below Lexa’s, no doubt made all the difference.

“You run away to New York,” Raven is saying, “exchange some secret nuptials, slink back into town as if nothing has changed—“

“Okay, you’re being a little dramatic. The plan wasn’t really that nefarious,” Clarke says.

“—and then wait an entire week to tell us?”

Lexa tries very hard not to be entertained by Raven’s exasperation, but she finds herself fighting a smile as Clarke’s best friend struggles to work out the new information.

“You were on that extended project at work,” Clarke reminds her.

“I was in Rhode Island, not orbiting in space.”

“To be fair,” Octavia chimes in, “you never check your phone when you’re locked into a project.”

“You could have texted me,” Raven argues.

“I wasn’t going to tell you that I got married over text!”

Lexa watches the pure shock and mild affront ebb from Raven’s features. “Oh my god, you’re married.”

“Yeah,” Clarke smiles, squeezing again to Lexa’s fingers.

“Hang on, why are you not more shocked by this?” Raven has turned her attention to Abby, who sits at Lexa’s right-hand side.

“Oh,” Clarke clears her throat after finishing a sip of her mimosa. “My mom was there.”

“Clarke asked for my discretion,” Abby responds calmly. “Of course I deferred to hers and Lexa’s wishes.”

“I can’t believe,” Raven says to Abby in dismay, shaking her head like an unforgiving betrayal, “after all these years, you’re still playing favorites with Clarke by keeping secrets from your other children.”

At this, Abby laughs and the atmosphere around the table decompresses. Lincoln extends his glass across the table towards Lexa.

“Cheers, buddy. Welcome to the club.”

“Thanks.” Lexa smiles, clinking their glasses together. Clarke’s hand is still in hers, and Lexa’s palm suddenly perspires.

“Yeah, took you two long enough.” Octavia’s grin is smaller, more resigned, but she too extends her glass to join Lexa’s and Lincoln’s.

“Can you estimate just how long you plan to sulk about this?” Clarke is saying to Raven as everyone else tucks into their food.

Raven clicks her tongue, though she is smiling as she says, “Ten, fifteen years tops.”

Anya has had her arm draped carelessly along the back of Raven’s chair since they sat down, and now briefly runs her fingers across Raven’s shoulder cap. “Relax, I got some pretty nice photos of the courthouse I can show you.”

Raven nearly flinches in surprise. “You were—ugh, of course you were there.” She huffs in defeat, rolling her eyes and reaching for her half-empty glass of champagne and orange juice (heavy on the champagne). “Okay, somebody needs to get me a refill because I need all the details and this mimosa is going to go down quickly.”

“It was simple and more-or-less unplanned,” Clarke explains with an easy sigh. “We drove down last weekend to visit Gus. My mom was already there on business, and … it just felt right.”

Lexa picks up the thread where Clarke leaves off. “We chose the courthouse where Gus signed the papers to make my adoption official.” She looks at Clarke, heart flapping wildly. “It was nice.”

Something softens in Raven’s features at Lexa’s words, and she exhales as Anya is refilling her glass. “Okay, that is some cute shit.”

“You sure you’re not mad at me?” Clarke frets.

“Of course I’m not mad at you, dumbass. You surprised the ever-loving hell out of me, but—I mean, jesus, you two have been grossing us out as a married couple for years.”

Clarke blows a kiss at her from across the table. “Next time I get married on a whim, I’ll text you.”

The humor drops from Raven’s face as she places a hand flat against the table. “I swear on my love of science, Clarke, if you ever soil this marriage with Esquire, I will seriously consider blocking your number indefinitely.”

Lexa grins, oddly comforted by Raven’s threatening tone. “Thanks, Reyes.”

“I’m obviously kidding!” Clarke leans over to kiss the line of Lexa’s jaw as if to underscore her joke.

“Okay, so let’s hear it. Tell me more,” Raven demands.

Lexa smiles, remembering the day. “Gus took us out for ramen afterwards.”

“Then I took them out for shots,” Anya says.

“It really was quite lovely,” Abby chimes in, understandably eager to finally have the freedom to speak of their nuptials. “The courthouse, I mean. And dinner. I’d rather not know about all the drinking that followed.”

“Aw come on, Mama Griffin. You know you’ve got some good kids,” Octavia says.

Abby agrees without hesitation. “The very best.”

Lexa feels her chest bloom with warmth to be included in the sentiment, and luckier still to have acquired such a profoundly superior family.

:::

Clarke, her mother, and their other guests have moved into the sitting room while Lexa tidies the kitchen. Still within earshot, she listens for the bright notes of Clarke’s laughter and curbs her own smile at the sound. Anya hands her items off the dining table while Lexa wraps the leftovers and loads the dishwasher. The routine between them is practiced and familiar, running through motions they have done together since childhood.

“Keeping this little secret of yours is going to have me in the dog house. No offense, Frank.” Anya looks to the dog that has fallen asleep near their feet where she and Lexa are leaned against the island.

The kitchen now more-or-less spotless, Lexa pushes off the countertop and reaches into the fridge for two beers, popping their lids before offering one to her sister.

“My condolences,” she answers with a grin. “When do you go back?”

“Few days.”

Lexa sips her beer. “Plenty of time to reconcile then. Anyway, she doesn’t seem upset anymore.”

“At you and Clarke, no. At me?” Anya runs a hand through her hair with a long-suffering exhale that brings a smile to Lexa’s face.

She is easily amused by seeing Anya—so stoic, so stable, so disaffected by almost everything else in her life—navigate the delicate nuances of a sustained relationship. Particularly with Raven Reyes.

“What?” Anya scowls as she notices Lexa’s amusement.

Lexa shrugs, finishing another sip of beer. “Nothing. You’re just very domesticated these days.”

“Says the married one.”

Lexa’s stomach jumps as she thinks of Clarke sitting in the next room. “It’s not so bad. You should try it.”

“It’s been seven days, kid. Talk to me in seven years.”

“I will.”

Anya’s narrowed gaze moves from Lexa’s smug confidence to the floor. “Your dog is sleeping beside a Yankees emblem.”

Without turning around, Lexa knows she will find Frank curled around the offensive dog toy—a plush baseball with navy stitching, emblazoned with the infamous logo—that arrived to their house the day after the cursed New York baseball team made the playoffs. Her shoulders tense even as she rolls her eyes.

“It’s a situation that is being handled.”

“It looks like he’s fairly attached to it,” Anya prods.

“The dog’s sight is impaired, Anya. He cannot be held accountable for poor judgement.”

Frank, having lost an eye to irreparable damage before he was rescued, had immediately stolen Lexa’s heart. One look at him at the adoption event earlier that summer, and she knew he belonged with her and Clarke. They have been fairly inseparable ever since.

Anya very nearly smiles. “If you say so.”

“You’re involved in a serious, long-distance relationship with a devout supporter of the Yankees—is this really the fight you want to be having right now?”

A barely audible laugh—just loud enough for Lexa to hear it—and Anya concedes with a bowed head. “Clarke won’t let you throw it away, huh?”

Lexa takes another sip of beer then exhales in frustration, her eyes finally dragging over to Frank and that damn baseball. “No.”

:::

Brunch turns into beers and board games and more coffee, Abby excusing herself after a few hours to rest before her flight the following morning. She leaves them all with lingering hugs, motherly reminders to stay safe, and reiterated congratulations to Clarke and Lexa. By late afternoon, after another round of coffee for their guests, the house is finally empty and quiet, and Clarke collapses onto the sofa with a soft grunt of exhaustion.

Lexa sits at the opposite end, near her feet, and pulls Clarke’s legs into her lap. She begins to mindlessly rub her thumbs into Clarke’s calves as her head tips back and her eyes fall closed. They are peaceful for several minutes before Clarke’s voice scratches out softly.

“That went well.”

Lexa hums. “Raven’s outburst notwithstanding?”

“She was being really dramatic.”

“Have you met Raven before today?”

Clarke laughs, poking her foot into Lexa’s stomach. “Hush.”

At the sound of her laughter, Lexa’s head rolls to the side. She opens her eyes to find Clarke already looking at her with drowsy eyes. “You’re about to fall asleep.”

Clarke hums as Lexa’s hands continue to work against the tense muscles of her legs and feet.

“Is this impending nap just a precursor to you ravaging me later?”

“Mmm. Yes.” As Clarke smiles, her eyes fall closed again. “Need to restore energy.”

“Okay, I’m going to go read for a bit.”

Clarke pouts as Lexa shifts from under her legs and stands beside the couch to stretch her limbs.

“No. Stay and cuddle.”

Lexa bends to kiss Clarke’s protruding lip. “I’ll cuddle you later when we have less clothes on.”

“I feel objectified.” Still with her eyes closed, Clarke finds the crook of Lexa’s elbow, keeping her close with a loose grip.

“You’re welcome,” Lexa smiles, and kisses her again.

:::

It’s just under an hour later, the sky streaking in hues of burnt orange and fading pink, when Lexa glances up from her book to see Clarke shuffling towards her. She is still wrapped in a blanket that she must have grabbed from the sofa during her nap. Lexa smiles at her sleepy frown and places her book on the wide arm of the deck chair just before Clarke crawls onto her lap.

“Hi.”

“Aren’t you cold out here?”

“Much warmer now,” Lexa says, hugging Clarke closer as they shift against the wooden chair to find an optimal snuggling position. “How was the nap?”

“Mmm,” Clarke hums. “Productive.”

Her voice is that fraction of an octave lower, that sensational rasp that sends a tingling chill across Lexa’s shoulders.

“Productive?”

“Yeah, I had a nice dream about my wife.”

Lexa can’t help the small giggle that erupts as the tips of her ears go red. It will take some getting used to—having a wife, being someone’s wife—referring to Clarke as such and hearing the same in return. Thinking of herself in this way still feels a bit like walking around in shoes that are too big for her feet. A week on, and being Clarke’s wife has not yet lost its clumsy weight.

A nervous energy, not unlike the jittery uncertainties that new relationships breed, has been Lexa’s stasis for a solid week. She likens this new adjustment to the flurry of unrestrained feelings she experienced during those early weeks with Clarke. When she first reached for Lexa’s hand in public without warning, or the effort it took to calm her anxious breathing when they undressed each other for the first time. Lexa’s nerves are similarly frayed now, replaying this new epithet in her mind over and over.

My wife.

She focuses instead on Clarke’s potentially filthy dream and clears her throat. “I’d like to hear more about that.”

In response, Clarke laughs against her neck and kisses just below her ear. “I bet you would.”

The next kiss, pressed against Lexa’s mouth, is even more languid, growing a ball of heat in the pit of her stomach. “So, about that dream.”

“Yeah—can we go inside now?” Clarke laughs against her lips, stealing another kiss as Lexa’s hands slip beneath the wooly throw blanket to find an excessive amount of bare skin. “I’m officially cold.”

“Clarke, you’re not wearing any pants.”

“You know I can’t fall asleep in jeans, babe.”

As she stands with a smile, nearly tipping Clarke out of her lap if not for a sure grip, Lexa thinks of all the other things she knows about the woman clinging to her shoulders.

Not just how she takes her coffee or her favorite movie, but the brand of dish soap she prefers and the way her voice shatters just before she cries. The slow rumble of her snores and the color of her eyes when they darken in a flash of anger.

That she is selfless to a fault, often putting her own wellness at risk for the sake of others. She knows the songs that Clarke refuses to listen to because they are such visceral reminders of Jake. Lexa knows when she needs space and the times she will want comfort, even if she is too scared to ask.

These and so many more—the myriad quirks that arise out of sustained intimacy.

Once indoors, Lexa deposits Clarke onto the bed before falling gracelessly beside her in a tangle of limbs.

“So, the big secret’s out. Everyone that matters knows that we’re married.” Lexa swallows. “How do you feel?”

Clarke rolls over with a sigh, her eyes scanning the ceiling above them. “Better. A lot better, actually.”

“Yeah? No turning back now. You’re officially stuck with me.”

Even as she jokes, her heart hammers a steady beat. The light teasing easily drags Clarke’s gaze back to her, and Lexa tempers her smile enough to accept a lingering press of Clarke’s mouth.

She answers as they slowly break apart, her hands latched at the back of Lexa’s neck. “I think we both know I was stuck with you a long time ago.”

:::

#apu ficlet #a pleasant undoing #brewkru!

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peace-coast-island · 3 years

Text

Diary of a Junebug

A relaxing riverside picnic

Today was a super relaxing day, the kind of weather that makes you want to snuggle up and get cozy with a hot cup of tea. Spring came a little early today so I wanted to make the most of it before winter comes back tomorrow. I don't mind the cold too much but sometimes it's nice to have a bit of spring peek through.

An occasional break from the cold winter: good, provides some variety, something that makes me look forward to the warmer weather. Sudden changes in weather going from cold to hot with no in between: bad, unpredictable, and usually ends up with me getting sick for like a week afterwards.

On a day like today, a riverside picnic sounds splendid! It's still a bit chilly, but it's nothing a steaming cup of chai tea can't help with. Lately I've been obsessed with this chai tea my mom brought for me from a small Indian store that's become one of her new favorite places. It's a wonderful blend of spices that's not too strong or unbalanced - just right! Add some oat milk and rock sugar and it's so much better than what they serve at most coffee shops, which are usually good but tend to be either too sweet or milky.

Jamie's visiting the camp, having dropped by a couple days ago for a long overdue visit. She also brought along Asher, who's all grown up now!

It's been years since I've seen Asher, who was kinda like Jamie's protégée/little brother back in the day. I think he still is, though he's flown the nest and taking on the world by storm. Jamie stuck with him through difficult times so that's why they have a special bond. I'm glad to hear that he's making strides as a writer - maybe one day he'll have his own show!

Asher's been through a lot - as in he's been through some shit. He was orphaned at a young age so he and his brother Marcel were raised by their aunt Cassie, who also raised his cousins Scott and Nolan, also orphaned around the same time. Sadly, it turns out that tragedy tends to strike more than once for the Woodley-Hiroko-Hamada family.

At fifteen, Asher was the youngest member of the entourage. With an IQ of 200, he graduated high school at fourteen and was a published writer, which caught Jamie's attention. He was originally going to join his brother and cousins at Seashore Path College, but after experiencing back to back tragedies, he couldn't see himself going there, not without his family.

In the span of a few months, Asher lost Marcel, Scott, and Nolan. The four of them were on their way home after homecoming at Seashore Path when a drunk driver - later revealed to be a professor and mentor of the latter three - crashed into their car. Marcel and Scott were killed while Asher and Nolan survived with serious injuries. The two fell into a deep depression and retreated in their own ways. Asher kept to himself while Nolan ended up getting tangled up in something that would set off a chain of deadly events.

Months later Nolan died in a mysterious fire along with another Seashore Path student in an abandoned church. The whole thing was mysterious - two people who as far as anyone knew were never seen interacting who somehow started investigating criminal gangs and end up being murdered. Their deaths were one of many orchestrated by two notorious serial killers that plagued Golden Sunset Hills in a series of events that became known as the Golden Sunset Hills Massacre.

Jamie was the one who not only helped Asher get through a tough time, but also get justice for Nolan's murder. Thankfully he and aunt Cassie were staying in Peace Coast when the massacre occurred and the neighborhood they live in was one of the few that wasn't too destroyed by the crime spree. The damage that took place in the city was devastating, all of that was in a span of a few days caused by a handful of some of the most dangerous criminals in the world.

That was a terrifying time. Hard to believe it was almost six years ago. I remember hearing about it on the news and being worried about friends who lived on the island or nearby. It was nothing but pure chaos and mayhem, a literal bloodbath. The friends who did live through that hell are doing fine right now but it's one of those things that haunt you for the rest of your life.

After graduating summa cum laude two years ago, Asher became a writer for Orla and Ozzie, a show created by fellow entourage member Levi Romero. When it's an Asher episode, expect wholesome fun with some unexpected feels and peak chaotic sibling energy. Some of my favorite episodes happen to be his - Stars That Shine being one of my absolute favorite of all time, not just from the show itself. Asher won an award for that episode and he rightfully deserves it because Stars That Shine is a masterpiece.

It's nice catching up with Asher since we kinda lost touch after he joined the Orla and Ozzie crew. I mean we follow each other online - he's one of the more active crew members on social media, making him a fan favorite - but obviously it's not the same as actually hanging out. It seems like only yesterday he was tagging along with Jamie on her many escapades on the island and now he's all grown up. I'd hate to think what would happen if Jamie wasn't there for him during those rough times.

Aunt Cassie and Matcha are doing well - Cassie's taken in interest in making ceramics and Matcha's up to usual cat stuff. Asher's considering the idea of adopting another (or three) to keep Matcha company but Cassie's on the fence about it. With Marcel, Scott, and Nolan gone the apartment feels a bit too big and lonely for the three of them. Since moving out is not an option - sentimental reasons - Asher wants to fill that empty space with cats to liven things up a little. Obviously that won’t fill the void his brother and cousins left behind but he thinks it’ll make the apartment a little less lonely. Basically, it's a win-win-win situation for everyone, or so he believes.

Jamie and Asher still hang out once in a while, though it's a little hard to meet up with their lives being so busy. This week's actually the first time Asher's had a break in a long time so he wants to make the most out of it. Likewise, Jamie's got some well deserved downtime from her many adventures, so she decided to drop by Golden Sunset Hills and catch up with Asher. Before coming to the camp, the two spent a couple days in Wizpire harvesting fruit and visiting the city.

Speaking of the city, I should make a visit there next time I drop by Wizpire. It's been a couple years since I last hopped on the bus and spoke with Kapp'n. Now that I think about it, I miss our bus ride conversations. It'll also be nice to run into some old villagers there and maybe (hint, hint) bring some new visitors to the camp. Yeah, I should be able to squeeze in a quick trip to the city one day. I'm even willing to check up on Redd and try my luck in buying a painting for the Wizpire Museum.

Since today's weather was so nice, it would be a waste for us not to be outside. I was running low on fish and bugs so we spent most of the day traveling between Lost Lure Creek, Saltwater Shores, and Sunburst Island. Jamie, as usual, was the master of catching bugs - no one can do stealth like her! Asher's pretty good at bug catching too as well as fishing, so I'll be well stocked for a while. We also stopped by the garden to cross pollinate flowers - something Asher seems to have a knack for since he accomplished getting quite a few blue tulip seeds.

In between fishing and bug catching we went for a short hike in the quarry and prepared food for a picnic by the river. I made tea - chai with rock sugar and oat milk - Mira made seafood salad sandwiches, Daisy Jane baked a chicken curry pot pie, Asher and Opal made strawberry daifuku, and Jamie made miso seaweed soup.

There's something so peaceful and soothing about sitting by the riverside. Lying in the grass under the gentle sun, listening to the water and enjoying the lovely picnic. It doesn't get better than that.

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

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