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nullamirrors · 4 months

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finally an opportunity to write out my side order theories post and stop thinking about writing a side order theories post… here is my side order rambles

main theory: octo expansion was about envy, return of the mammalians was about nostalgia, so side order will be about ambition or something along those lines. it makes sense: you've escaped. you're climbing a tower over and over again trying to reach the top. maybe this is it. maybe after octo you were only ever out of the frying pan and into the fire.

plus, we had a storyline about forgetting the past, then a storyline about rebuilding the past, so it would make sense that this one would be about the future. (is this the future we dreamed of when we stuck in hell?) the trailer shows what might be a factory producing mem cakes - a machine creating memories. now THAT'S an interesting concept. what kind of future do we want to build, and who is selling us our visions of utopia and why? if people can be made to long for a memory they never even had, what might be the extreme outcome of that?

(if it is a simulated world this time, that means anything can happen. I'm not sure they need to up the spectacle again, but they have a track record of succeeding, so… hopefully this gets wacky.)

probably they will not do this since the splatoon series has made a point of only critiquing the status quo indirectly… but if they are committed to completing this story then it should be about the sea creature society having to reckon with their own failings. the fundamental "joke" of the splatoon series is that everything that exists in it only exists because of the extinction of humanity from climate catastrophe, and yet the new dominant lifeforms have built their own hypercapitalist hellscape with presumably no self-awareness of its shortcomings. it's established in mammalians that the new culture is explicitly modelled on human culture, so logically this is what the whole thing has been building to: an environmental crisis that isn't an external threat that can be quashed through violence but something that requires societal change in order to be averted.

of course, they won't do this. (it's good that they don't. it would feel unconvincing from nintendo.) so here is my list of potential villains for side order:

• Marina: this is a popular suggestion given her general absence from the gameplay that's been shown, and while I wouldn't be totally surprised I think it's more likely that marina is kidnapped or something. maybe the spire of order was her project but something went wrong. I'm just not sure what the storyline would be if marina is the villain (unless she is the revolutionary leader from my other idea) also pearl and marina will kiss when they reunite you heard it here first

• A Mark Zuckerberg Type: there's a lot of implication that side order takes place in some sort of virtual world, so it makes sense that this would be splatoon taking on the "metaverse". (were the levels in previous games all meant to be physical spaces?) it's probably most likely that the villain would be a new company and new character, but maybe this will be the director of ancho-v games or something.

• A Revolutionary Group: this would make sense with the idea of the splatoon series always - in its surface text - being about preserving the status quo. I'm not sure how that would connect with the design of the world, though, given that it seems to be very much about ostentatious with an aesthetic that mixes neomodern instagram bland white rigidity with pastelly makeup/fashion styles and old-school gilded art-deco (or is it nouveau) temples of wealth. it basically looks like if a bank was designed for tiktok? that doesn't scream revolutionary to me, but then this could be a case where the skeleton fish things are attacking the tower rather than them being the tower attacking the characters. maybe the bad guys are trying to corrupt the virtual world before the resources required to run it destroys the planet again. maybe they were right all along…

• Acht: well, the skeleton fish do seem like their kind of style. they could easily be a revolutionary as above. I suspect their role will be more limited though - it's not like Harmony is a main character, and even the idols in octo/mammalians have pretty limited story roles in the grand scheme of things. plus, why would they ally with agent 8 while also trying to kill them? for… test data? (well, we don't know the full implications of acht's sanitisation…)

• Commander Tartar He's Back: as great as a villain as Tartar is, I don't think there'd be any value to come from a rematch. just please not a character from the past this time

• A Different AI (ORCA?): would fit with the "metaverse" idea, but like. we already had an AI villain. I guess ORCA is basically the only loose end from mammalians - a lot of focus on a character who essentially has to role in the plot - but I wouldn't be surprised if that's just because they reused so much of octo expansion's structure in mammalians, needed a new character to fill the cq cumber role, and didn't have any greater plans. but there is that ominous gladosy chamber in the main trailer, so..? maybe agent 8 is being tested, in order to simulate their behaviour. maybe agent 8 is the villain - or a virtual clone… (no that will 100% be a boss fight)

• Toni Kensa: this is probably my favourite idea. it's a character who's been around since the first game but afaik has never been visually depicted. there is an interview in the octo expansion artbook that reveals basically nothing? while the white-and-gold aesthetic of the spire of order isn't an exact match for kensa's iconic black-white-red colour scheme, it's still monochrome, and 100% looks like the kind of thing an evil fashion emperor would build. this would also fit with the idea of a threat coming from within the squid society—although kensa could turn out to be a killer whale, which would be visually interesting but a bit annoying to have another mammal villain.

• Agent 4: another loose end, but could just as easily be dealt with in a throwaway line or cutesy reunion. if it is them, hopefully they are not brainwashed and actually have motivations. (kid icarus: uprising 🤝 splatoon 2 octo expansion - ruining an interesting twist with mind control) I don't know what those motivations would be, but they could be involved with any of these other possible groups.

• There Is No Villain: all the bad stuff is just a manifestation of human cephalopod intolerance! I mean maybe, but this is the splatoon series. they like to have you shoot a big thing with paint until it dies. it would be nice to have the conflict be more nuanced (outside of subtext) but I suspect that doesn't really suit the gameplay style of Kill Things

• Craig Cuttlefish: it SHOULD be him. but it won't

like, at the very least I hope it isn't another villain from the past. they just about managed to keep it interesting in return of the mammalians, and I do love that this is basically the only time i can think of where a sci-fi/fantasy story has outright cast humanity as the villain, but it's getting repetitive.

anyway as you can tell I think a lot about splatoon and am very excited for whatever this is going to be although it would be funny if it turns out to be bad

#splatoon #side order #splatoon series analysis

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softguarnere · 1 year

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Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 5: What They Call a Family

Summary: Something about watching Shifty in Clinchco makes Zenie look at him differently. It’s strange, to mix the two worlds. Personally, she doesn’t mind it.

A/N: Whelp, we survived the holiday weekend and tumblr finally allowed me to upload my moodboard. I hope y'all had a good holiday, and if yours was difficult, then I am once again sending you virtual hugs 💕For the curious, the title of this chapter is a reference to the opening line of Santa Fe in the original Newsies movie :)

Warnings: guns, racism, period-typical language in regards to race, mentions of improper chest binding

Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @lieutenant-speirs

December, 1942

Despite the distance between the two, Clinchco is not much different from Zenie’s hometown. It’s got a different layout and more diversity. It’s in a different state. The town had a similar experience with the Depression in the thirties. The main source of income for most of the locals is the mining company that the town is named after instead of agriculture like at home. But nothing about it feels foreign. She’s a stranger here and is relying on the hospitality of her friend, and yet, she really does feel as if she’s coming home.

“That’s where I went to school,” Shifty explains as he tours her through the town. “Here’s the church my family goes to – Baptist, like most everyone else around here. I used to shine shoes on this corner. Best business, see, on Saturday afternoons.” Through it all, he saves the best for last. “And that is where I spent most of my free time.”

Clinchco’s woods are beautiful, deep, and cool, just like the ones back home. Even in winter, when most of the trees stand unclothed, their skeletal arms raised toward Heaven in worship, the steady heartbeat of life thrums through the place, giving it a different kind of beauty than the buds and flowers of the warmer months.

Shifty is in his element as he leads her through them, rifle slung over his shoulder and eyes on the branches above them, looking for any squirrels that might come scampering along. He tells her about the things his daddy taught him about listening and being prepared. It shouldn’t come as any sort of shock to Zenie that her friend grew up getting the same education from his father that she got from her grandmother as they foraged in the woods back in North Carolina. But somehow it still brings a kind of comfort – different from any that she’s felt before – to know that someone so similar to her exists, and that they’ve found each other.

Frying Pan really does have the best view, just like Shifty told her it would. Jacket collars pulled up to protect them against the winter wind, they stand at the top and survey the sprawl of mountains and hills and town from the precipice.

“Used to love comin’ up here with my daddy. Just to stand here and listen and try and use what he taught me.” He laughs, shakes his head. “And to flip coins in the air and shoot at ‘em. That way no one could complain, you know, about wasting money.”

“Probably a good thing you did it, though. The coins and the time with your dad, I mean. You’ll be more prepared than any of us when we get into combat.”

Shifty nods, forehead scrunched, just like it always does when he’s really thinking about something. “Kinda worries you, huh? Realizin’ that not everyone grew up learnin’ how to survive. Some of those guys never even held a gun before joinin’ up.”

“Well, if anyone is gonna survive, it’s you. I might know how to walk quietly and find food, but you’ve got eyes like a hawk and hearing to match.”

He laughs at first. Then he takes a step closer to her. “Close your eyes.”

“What?” He’s far too observant not to notice the way the breath hitches in her throat.

“Somethin’ my daddy taught me. Close your eyes.” When she does, she feels his gentle hands come up to cover them – no peeking allowed. A beat of silence passes, then another. Finally, he whispers, “What do you hear?”

Besides their quiet breathing, there isn’t much. A birdsong nearby that she doesn’t recognize. The gentle whistle and wheeze of the wind as it glides over the bare trees and rustles the leaves around their feet. If she really concentrates, she thinks she can hear the distant babbling and bubbling of a creek. She tells Shifty as much.

He’s smiling when he uncovers her eyes. “See, you’re good at this too, Tommy. Observation is a skill. One ya gotta keep sharp, or else you might get outta practice.” His voice holds a tone that she doesn’t recognize on the last sentence.

He stares out across the valley, so she does the same. She feels him glance at her. He opens his mouth, and she thinks that he might say something. Instead, he only lets out a breath, readjusts his rifle, and starts to walk back the way that they came.

“Mama is makin’ pie for dessert tonight. We don’t wanna be late for that.”

There’s probably some sort of rule or commandment or something that Zenie breaks every time that she thinks ill of her own family. She’s never liked her father, and she harbors some sort of disappointment towards her siblings, and those feelings never fail to make her feel downright bad. Sure, lots of people probably wish for a different family or a different life at some point – but watching Shifty and his family, she can’t help but feel downright jealous.

The Powers’ household is filled to the brim with love. A warm household is something so foreign that Zenie feels like she needs to tread carefully or risk shattering it. But the love is strong, and even if she does trip, it doesn’t seem like it would shatter or cause any serious damage.

Shifty’s two youngest siblings are like him in that they’re good natured and kindhearted. Frankie, his youngest brother, asks them lots of questions about the Airborne and talks about how he can’t wait to be old enough to join up. Gaynell, his sister catches them up on the small-town goings-on and ribs Shifty good naturedly. In turn he’ll tug at her hair as she passes by, but there’s no malice in any of it – just the way that siblings can tease each other about small things without anybody getting their feelings hurt.

Then there are his parents. His mama is a beautiful woman of Scotch-Irish and Cherokee descent who is positively tickled that Shifty managed to befriend someone like himself so far from home. She’s so excited that Zenie, Shifty, and Earl McClung have all become friendly with each other that Zenie finds herself hoping that they can all three return someday after the war just to visit her.

She also wants to know all about where Zenie is from. Zenie hates lying to Shifty, and she finds that she hates using half-truths on his mama even more.

“What’s your town like, Tommy?” she’s keen to know. “Is it a lot like here?”

Zenie can’t bring herself to tell her that Clinchco, even though she’s been here all of a few days, seems friendlier and more homelike than, well, home. She doesn’t tell Mrs. Powers about how Shifty and Earl – besides her own sister, obviously – are the only other part-Indians that she’s ever really gotten to know – the only people whose experiences she feels like she can relate to in some way. She doesn’t tell her about how the kids at her school would war-whoop at her and run from her on the playground, begging her not to scalp them if she caught them during tag. She doesn’t tell her that she ran away because she felt like the walls of her own home were suffocating her and she couldn’t stand the sight of the streets and buildings that she had known all her life.

Instead she smiles and says, “Yes ma’am, but I think Clinchco is a lot nicer” and accepts the slice of chocolate pie that she’s offered after dinner. Mrs. Powers makes the best pie in the entire world; if she lived in Zenie’s town, she would have put the diner out of business a long time ago.

Shifty’s daddy is everything that a father should be – which is everything that Zenie’s own father is not. Mr. Powers is reserved, yet kind, and he has the same shy looking smile that Shifty does. He asks them lots of questions about their training and quietly tells them stories about fighting in the Great War long after everyone else has gone to bed. His laugh is loud and jolly, but he never raises his voice.

Something about watching Shifty in Clinchco makes Zenie look at him differently. It’s strange, to mix the two worlds. Personally, she doesn’t mind it.

Back in the woods, Shifty’s words about observation being a skill were right. Of course he meant being observant while on the hunt or in combat, but Zenie can’t help but use the skill on him. Because she’s always known that he’s reserved and kind, but she never realized that he was humble or a prankster until she saw him with his parents and siblings.

“How are you with a gun, Thomas?” Mr. Powers asks during dinner on one of their last nights in Virginia. “Darrel said in one of his letters that most of the men in your company had never used a gun before.”

“Well, I’m nothing compared to Shifty. None of us are.”

Shifty’s cheeks take on a pink hue, like a soft sunset. “Lots of the men are fine shots. Thomas is one of ‘em.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t make expert marksman, like somebody did.”

Mrs. Powers’ face lights up. “Expert marksman?”

“Only two men in the whole company earned that title, and he’s one of them.” If he won’t brag about himself, then Zenie is happy to do it for him. It’s a hell of an achievement, and he and his family all deserve to be proud of it.

“You never mentioned that in your letters,” his daddy beams. “Congratulations, son!” He claps Shifty on the shoulder, and although the expert marksman in question shakes his head, he can’t stop smiling. When his family is done hugging him and mussing up his hair, he shoots Zenie a wink as his mama insists on everyone taking a helping of banana pudding as part of the celebration, and she feels herself break into a grin almost as big as his.

They let Zenie have her own bedroom. It belonged to one of Shifty’s brothers before he joined up, and after all her time in the barracks with the rest of the company, lying alone in a bed is a welcome reprieve. She can relax, take off her bandages like Doc – or Gene, as he promises she can call him – insists, and listen to the sounds of nature outside without fear of being found out every second.

It’s peaceful. A kind of peace that she’s never known, not even back in her own home in her own town. It would be nice, after the war, to return to Clinchco and enjoy it all again.

It’s in this peace that her mind wanders a little too far. If she had grown up here, or if Shifty was from her town, she wonders if they would have become friends. Of course then he would know her as Zenie instead of Tommy, but maybe that wouldn’t matter to him. Either way, they would have gone to school together, and he might have come to the diner after playing basketball with his friends and they could have palled around.

Granny would have loved him. They would have gotten along well. Shifty would have been welcome in their house while Granny was living with them. She would have smiled and looked the other way if he brought Zenie home late from wherever they’d been, and pretended not to notice if Shifty gave her a kiss goodbye at the door –

The thought is so sudden that she sits up in the bed. Besides the pale winter moonlight streaming into the room from the window, she’s alone. Yet somehow, she feels like she’s just been caught doing something completely and utterly wrong.

Why had she thought about Shifty kissing her? He’s her friend, just like Toye or Bill or Gene . . . None of those friends makes her feel giddy whenever they walk into a room, though. And even though she smiles at Luz and Bill when they make stupid jokes, she doesn’t smile in spite of herself if she catches one of them glancing at her like she does with Shifty.

All the feelings that she’s been ignoring or writing off wash over her then like a flood that’s trying to drown her. She’s only felt this way about a boy once. Elijah Woodard, back home before the war. He had not reciprocated, and Zenie found it hard to consider romance with any boy since then.

But now those feelings are back. Now they’re about one of the men that she’s become closest to since joining the Airborne.

And there’s nothing that she can do about them.

#no proof reading we die like men 🫡#if there's mistakes I'll catch them later #but right now I am so freakin' tired #it's a problem for future me #band of brothers fanfic #shifty powers #shifty powers x original female character #shifty powers x ofc #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #oc zenie mcglamery #my writing

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juriyuna · 2 years

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A few of Ranka's voice lines imply that her home life is... not great. Her mother is strict, overbearing, and seems to be the hardcore academic type. There's this one unused quote in particular that stands out to me:

"When I was being crushed under my mom's heel, games gave me a place to belong and the courage to keep going. So it's only natural that I'd wanna protect somewhere that important to me, y'know? I didn't hesitate at all when I became a magical girl."

idk why this one got left out, since the additional context makes Ranka's entire character (including her personal memoria) SO much sadder??? She's constantly stifled and snapped at and forced to be a certain way. Gaming is something that grants her room to breathe-- she doesn't have anyone bossing her around; she doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to. It also provides her some agency, since she can be whoever she wants and do whatever she wants in a virtual world.

Even if only for a little while, video games let her step back from her mess of a life, have fun, and become the one in control. That's probably part of why she likes RPGs and MMOs so much-- those are very "free reign to play however you want"-type games. (As an aside, moving away to go to school in Kamihama must've been really liberating for her.)

... And there is a cruel irony in the fact that she wished to save an arcade because gaming granted her solace and freedom, only to later wind up as the unwilling second-in-command of the Monzenbashi gang, who used an abandoned arcade as their base. We even see the Bat force Ranka to torture some girls to death at said base in Ao's MSS. Thinking about how after all of those rough nights, she'd have to go back home to her mother, who would probably be furious with her for staying out so late doing god-knows-what... Ranka's wish got her out of the frying pan and straight into the fire. She just can't win, man.

I'm happy that her fond memories of gaming outweigh all the Blood Tragedy stuff, though, so she still has fun playing at arcades. It would be incredibly depressing if an activity that once brought her comfort ended up becoming a source of stress/trauma for her.

#originally posted this on discord a while back but wanted to compile my thoughts here too #(with some edits)#y'know before i read CR i didn't think i would like ranka #oh how wrong i was......#hard to believe i used to feel that way #magia record #chizu ranka

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writeshite · 2 years

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Main Masterlist

Welcome one and all to The Bestiary, an event to host all manner of halloween themed fics in celebration around the time of year I came up with the idea to start this blog. This collection is specifically for male!reader and gender-neutral!reader, as this is an annual event, I'll do four fics for each week of October. Blessed Samhain 🎃.

Tags:

Fluff | Smut | 5+1 Things

Status: Ongoing

Author's Note:

Since this blog was sort of thought up around October, I thought it'd be fun to commemorate that with something, there are barely any monsterfucker fics for male and gender-neutral readers, and virtually zero fic events. So I decided to add that to shit, and I know there are a lot of you who are probably waiting for something like this, and what am I if not here to provide, the tags will be updated as the event goes on, enjoy. And if you like this, then feel free to suggest prompts for next year, or even other fic events if you like.

Updated October 25, 2022

1: Light Of My Life

“You might not see me shine again if you keep this up,” you lament. “Then, I’d have tasted the heavens and been touched by an angel.”

2: Soothe The Savage Beast

3: Out Of The Frying Pan, Into The Demon’s Arms

He huffs, “I gave it away!” He points to the stumbling duo beyond Eden; Adam carries the sword, the lion he slew at his feet, “It gets cold at night, and there’re predators, and —and, and she’s with child. It’s not going to get any easier for them, and they can’t get back in. What could it hurt?”

You just glance at the angel, surprised at the confession and the generosity; any other might have reconsidered, but Steve gave the sword away - it’s that moment you decide, this one, he’s the one.

4. Safe Haven

5: Swept Away

#male reader #gender neutral reader #the bestiary 2022 | halloween event

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itsthemysterykids · 2 years

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ROTMNT quotes?

Wybie: Room 16, take corridor B! Down the stairs, past the Ibis tapestry! Sliding bookcase after bookcase shows the way to the hall! Up the pole through a hole in the waterfall!

Dipper: *As Raz beatboxes; whispering* Keep it down, Wybie!

Wybie: Wybie Lovat, with the book in his hand, saves the day and proves to everyone that he’s the man! *Out of nowhere, a winged demon swoops down and carried him off* Coppers come in and takes him away, but Wybie L will live to fight another day!

—

*After Coraline slices a small gremlin in half, the other Mystery Kids just stare at it*

Lili: Oh! What did you do?!

Coraline: It was on my head, I panicked!

Mabel: Is it gonna be okay?

Lili: ‘Is it gonna be okay?’! *One half of the gremlin lands by the other half* … It’s in two pieces!

—

*The Mystery Kids stare at an overpowered Gideon*

Raz: You’re not a hippo… Are you?

Gideon: *His eye twitches* No! I’m not a hippo! Do I look like a hippo to you?!

Wybie: *Measuring Gideon* Hmm… Maybe a baby hippo.

Gideon: I am not a hippo, and please stop interrupting me!

—

Lili: You really think that this is going to hook the thieves? The only paper we have is made from salami, which is round. Paper is not round.

Coraline: Yes. It’ll work- Neil! Stop eating the plan!

*Neil eats some of the salami paper*

—

Dipper: Okay. Salami origami doesn’t work.

Mabel: Hey, look! *Points ahead* They vanished!

Norman: Then, what are we looking at? *Notices Neil staring at the salami*

Raz: Oh… Oh, what is that? Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

Wybie: No. no. No! *Neil grabs a piece* Neil, no! Look at me. No! *Neil eats the salami* Ah!

Mabel: Ugh! Gross!

Neil: What? Five second rule.

—

Lili: We’re done. Coraline is going to blow this. She has no idea what to ask for and- Okay! Getting hot! It’s like I’m on the sun here!

Coraline: I’m not gonna blow this.

Wybie: Coraline! I love you, my best friend. But you do tend to fail in big moments, pish-posh. But that is what makes you, you! Now bring it in, pal! I’m gonna hug you ‘til a smile comes out!

Coraline: Enough! I’ve got this! Because in big-time moments, leaders make big-time shots! And I’m big-time!

Norman: *Hissing* Coraline! He must say yes! Make him say yes!

Coraline: Enough! Don’t mess this up, Coraline. Don’t mess this up.

Wybie: Don’t forget! We only get to ask for one thing my little Cora-love!

—

Mabel: I can’t do it, guys! It’ll ruin him!

Wybie: I got it. I’ll be Doctor Mom Friend. *Walks over to the owner of the yarn shop with a solemn look* … YOU GOT BUGS!

—

Wybie: I’m Doctor Feelings, and welcome to my seminar: Hug it Out.

Lili: ‘Doctor Feelings’? I thought you were Doctor Mom Friend?

Wybie: *Eerily* Doctor Mom Friend feels nothing.

—

Coraline: *Talking into her phone* Pink Submarine, are we clear?

Mabel: Affirmative, Blue Rover.

Coraline: Copy. Right, boys. It’s go time.

*Coralinec Wybie, Norman, and Neil attach their harnesses to a zip line, going right over a rooftop party where a mob boss is accepting a large sum of momey… Then they zip right past him and head towards a pool. Coraline gives them a signal, and they drop down*

Norman: Cow!

Neil: A!

Wybie: Bun!

Coraline: Ga!

Coraline/Wybie/Norman/Neil: *Group pose* Cannonball!

—

Wybie: URANIUM! Oh, we should absolutely ask for uranium! I mean, if I could get my hands on a little of that, we would be virtually unstoppable!

Mabel: What about a wood oven for pizza?

Raz: Who’s gonna clean that? What we should ask for is matching unicorn onesies; those are sick! Pun intended, and I nailed it.

—

Raz: Guuuuuys?

Lili: Anybody there?

Neil: Somebody untie us!

Norman: I’m afraid of togetherness.

Stan: *Chuckles* We will get right to that… Eventually.

—

Wybie: This is a job for Doctor Mom Friend… GET YOUR MIND RIGHT, SON!

—

Neil: We… I- uh… We- I.

Raz: *Raising a frying pan* Snitches get the stitches…

—

Dipper: To lose one pizza place is New York real state, but to lose two pizza places is…a conspiracy that goes all the way to the top! What do Lou Mike-Tony's and Tony Lou's Pizzeria have in common?

Coraline: Besides both being pizza places?

Dipper: Exactly! They're both pizza places, but not just any pizza places. Two of our favorite pizza places! And what's the key thing they have in common?! *He points to Raz with his pointing stick*

Raz: Uh…besides having the same name but in different order?

Dipper: *Taking notes*Do you think that's important?!

Wybie: … No.

Dipper… Whatever. It's us! *He points to photos of four different versions of the Mystery Kids* We are the link between all these places! Ergo, whoever's behind this isn't only after pizza. They're after us. And clearly, we all know that it's Pizzasaurus-the evil spawn of the Loch Ness Monster and Bigfoot! It's taking over Pizza Week!

Lili: Pizzasaurus?! We've been over this! None of those things are real.

Coraline: See? Everything's fine! ‘Everything was not fine.

—

Coraline: ‘Truth is I had no answers Just ideas’ Guys, Pizza week is not just a week. It is a week about family coming together.

Wybie: Does she think we don't know what a week is.

Coraline: ‘I wasn't sure they knew what a week was.’ Five weekdays! And a weekend, that accumulated me eating my favorite pizza in the whole wide crazy world.

—

Anyone feel free to add on

#coraline #mystery kids #paranorman #gravity falls #psychonauts #the mystery kids #ask stuff #answered ask #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #incorrect quotes

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lanaespot · 1 year

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Success: An Introspective Look

Written on January 3, 2023

Success.

It’s a small, seven-lettered word that should seem insignificant amongst the vast catalog that is the dictionary. However, the word success holds a lot more importance for many people on this Earth than any other.

When we hear the word success, we all have different ideas—visions, even—on what it is. For some, it is the cozy feel of a humble American Dream home, a wonderful spouse, and three little bundles of joy wreaking havoc around the house. For others, it is a modest apartment life in a great location, working a job they love with their three cats. For an even bolder crew, it’s signing a 1 Million Dollar lease to the perfect Parisian Modern penthouse and partying on a big-ass yacht. And for me, it’s drinking cranberry juice because I can’t legally have wine yet and living my best life out of pure spite for humanity.

But there is the occasional day when we may ask ourselves this: why? Why has this word wrought this emotionally-driven phenomenon? Why do we have such an idea of success?

Because, as Mark Manson puts it in his famous book Everything Is F*cked: A Book About Hope, we humans are afraid of “The Uncomfortable Truth”—the idea that if we don’t have hope for said success, then we, in truth, have nothing to live for. It’s an idea implanted firmly in the back of our minds, and some choose to embrace it while others hardcore deny it.

So then, how does one be successful? Yes, I’m almost fresh out of high school and near entering college (out of the frying pan and into the fire), but with the number of times life has tried to bulldoze me, I surely have enough credit to be remotely successful.

It isn’t just a simple 1-2-3 recipe, or a nice morning stroll down the street to that local coffee shop. The truth is that life is hard. And it never gets easier. However, you can make it easier for yourself. And no, I don’t mean hop on Indeed or Glassdoor and find a couple more jobs.

No Sense In Crying Over Spilled Milk

You’ve probably heard that phrase a lot and had no idea who it was directed at. I mean, who, other than babies or toddlers, cries over spilled milk? But beyond that, you’ve probably heard the phrase “Perseverance is Key” a hell of a lot too.

And just like before, you’re hearing it again.

Perseverance isn’t just key. It’s a part of life itself. It’s the special line in the sand between being balanced and being a jackass. It’s the marriage counselor between your heart and existential crisis.

See, the timeframe between 2018 and 2020 was, in fact, the lowest point in life for me. In August 2018, my mother passed away. I was a little shocked at first, and then I began having very healthy mental breakdowns every 2-3 business days as any normal person would. I chronically skipped school and my grades dropped from their usual A’s and high B’s.

But death is an inevitable thing, and what would it make me if I had given up on life there?

So I continued—until my dad had a stroke in 2019. Luckily, he lived, but that meant I couldn’t visit my people up in the good ol’ NC.

Then Covid hit North America. Hard. We had to go virtual, and that was easily the worst year of my high school career. While other kids were chilling behind their Zoom cameras, I was stuck as the only participant in a majority of my classes, working for a hard-earned grade that other kids got easily because the school didn’t want to look bad with their horrendous failure rate.

And then my dad died on the Thanksgiving break of that year, so I couldn’t even enjoy that.

Immediately after, my mom’s mother passed away. Given, I wasn’t as close to her given we barely got along so I didn’t quite know how to react. Even so, I’d been through so many deaths at that point I’d gone numb.

The point is: life threw a lot of shit at me all at once. However, I didn’t give up dragging my way through its graveyard of inconveniences. Success pretty much depends on your ability to accept the no’s in life. Because if you don’t, you’ll be stuck whining at missed opportunities and bawling on TikTok at how people you’ve never met before have more followers than you.

I’m not saying suck it up; I’m saying suck it up and pick yourself back off the ground. Trust me when I say this: it’s the better option over becoming a complete pessimist.

Self-Awareness: Denying Your Person Is Like Murdering Your Psyche Ten Times Over

If you’re an overthinker like me, chances are you’ve had five minutes before to sit in one spot and think about who you are and why you may or may not have done some of the idiotic things you did (I am terribly sorry for leaving my thumb in the car door as you pulled off, Mom; it wasn’t a hospital trip but it wasn’t a fun time either).

These are what I’d like to call “Moments of Realization”. Moments where you can take a minute and realize that ‘wow, that was stupid’ or ‘holy crap, I really am a good writer’. Say I’m a narcissist all you’d like but I am currently doing the latter.

Where is this leading, you may ask? Well, I’ll tell you! Many people when giving their motivational speeches or scripting their Youtube self-help videos often tell you to be the best person you can be and to not let anyone hold you back. The problem with most of these optimistic outlooks, however, is that many tend to forget the most important step to achieving this self-assuredness: accepting who you are in that moment.

Accepting yourself isn’t just a step to success. Accepting your current personality and traits is also a great step to improving your mental health. It doesn’t matter who you are, good or bad. If you want to improve, you have to acknowledge where you are on that proverbial staircase, and whether or not you truly want to move upwards. The better your mental health, the more chance you have at becoming successful without dying inside.

So the next time you sit down and think about how much of an asshole you were that day, accept it. Because if you can’t accept who you are or what you may have done despite the circumstances, you’ll spend more time trying to deny a negative self-image than getting your life together.

Material-Gurling Your Way Out of Depression

Someone once said, “Money doesn’t buy happiness”. Yes, while that is generally true, money can still buy the path to happiness. Even briefly. There will be days that feel worse than others, where not even your beyond-the-job-market abilities can help you feel good about yourself. In times like these, it’s best to find something to help cheer you up, is it not?

But sometimes, hanging out with friends and subliminal therapy doesn’t help. That’s where material possessions come in. Books, crafts, clothes, food—you name it. Find the comfort item of your choice, and indulge in it.

It, admittedly, isn’t the best habit. In fact, I have had my fair share of unnecessary purchases during my period of severe depression after my mother passed. I’m pretty sure I spent 100+ dollars on Honkai Impact 3rd to gamble away on the character gacha. It wasn’t my proudest moment, avoiding owning up to why money was gone just like that out of her bank account, but it certainly was a learning opportunity.

That’s why, when you buy for the feel-good sensation, you have to be smart about it. Buy something that’ll help, not harm. Be productive in your purchase. Don’t buy something that’ll bring you short-term enjoyment. Rather, buy something that you can think back on or use again.

Buy things like a nice, cozy sweater, or even some crochet starter kits.

Or, if you’d like to be like me, a shit-ton of Udemy courses and graphic design books to give you tons of learning material when your usual schtick isn’t working out, and the ever-looming existential crisis is coming back full force.

Of course, this isn’t to say don’t go fine dining at a restaurant, buying an expensive wine to let loose, or purchasing a delicate watch from the local jeweler. Sometimes, it is good to indulge yourself with material items if not out of spite.

Just don’t end up broke, hungover, and butt-naked in an alleyway behind a motel. That’s when it gets out of hand.

It’s The Tiny Things In Life

When it comes to success, many people tend to think along the lines of being a millionaire or billionaire, or making the biggest change in the history of humanity. That you aren’t successful until you’re enjoying weekly travel vacays and having everyone scrambling for an interview with you.

This isn’t true. Success is, by definition, the accomplishment of an aim or purpose. Bigger goals, like the ones mentioned above, tend to be your ‘purposes’ in life. A ‘purpose’ is what I’d like to categorize as a long-term goal. Your ‘purpose’ is to be successful. Your ‘purpose’ is to be a well-renowned Chemical Engineer or the best UX Designer in your field.

However, your ‘aims’ are the smaller goals in life. Your ‘aims’ are the most important stepping stones to achieving that ‘purpose’ that defines you as successful. You may think you aren’t successful in that current moment, but you really are. Because if you’re completing your ‘aims’, you’re triumphant in your long-term goal.

The major thing about aims is that they aren’t always noticeable. In fact, a lot of people commonly take their abilities and actions for granted. You could be able to read faster, purchase a book of reference material, or perhaps even watch a five-minute Youtube tutorial. Either way, these are all part of the tiny things in life that can assist your ‘purpose’.

But let’s say you don’t exactly have a purpose yet. That’s completely fine! Still adopt the mindset of your little actions mattering in life, because they do. You never know what the tiniest things could do for you.

Success Is Conditional

Overall, Success is conditional. Its definition varies from person to person. So, despite all my ramblings, the concept is what you think it is. If that’s getting accepted into your dream college, yay! If it’s winning a hot dog eating contest, wahoo!

However, remember that success is tailored to an individual’s own mindset. The next time you think you’re not winning, think about the small things you’ve done. Continue improving how you think and do things not by purchasing self-help books (though those are pretty niche; looking at you Mark Manson), but by keeping yourself off the ground and accepting who you are and the ways you can change.

If you want to think of it without all the flowery words and context: unless you’re on the streets or a deadbeat, you’re pretty much successful.

#blog #life advice

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edactually · 1 year

Text

Stede POV 2.3

‘As soon as we can’ apparently meant an hour later with Starbucks. Stede thanked god he’d invested in a video doorbell even as the sound of it ringing made him jump out of his skin.

He’d been able to do nothing else but pace up and down, getting rid of every new notification that popped up on his phone. He’d texted the people who mattered to let them know that he was physically fine and was just waiting for the whole mess to blow over.

Against Lucius’ advice, he did check some of his social media notifications but the violent vitriol against him made him wince and he quickly changed all his accounts to private. It was a temporary band-aid over the wound, but it was better than nothing.

He armed himself with a frying pan when the doorbell went, but a quick check of the video showed it was just Lucius and Frenchie, and he quickly opened the door and swept the pair of them inside before slamming it.

Maybe a bit of an overreaction, but he wasn’t taking chances. “I am fighting off a virtual mob that threatens to become a real one, and the two of you stopped for Starbucks?”

“We used the drive through!” Frenchie protested as he walked into the living room to set up his gear.

“Deliberately stopped to get you a little cheer up treat.” Lucius sipped his iced coffee as he handed a takeaway cup over. “A nice, calming iced tea. Decaf, because the last thing you need is caffeine jitters right now.”

He took the cup and raised an eyebrow at the scrawl of black sharpie on the side. “Bede Stonnet?”

“Well I couldn’t use your real name!” Lucius huffed as he sauntered over to the couch to join Frenchie.

“Could have used any fake name, and you went for pig latin.” Stede grumbled as he retrieved his laptop and powered it up. “Could have picked Sam, or Thomas.”

Or Ed.

“Yes, well, next time I’ll confirm your fake name before ordering and purchasing a treat for you out of my own pocket and the kindness of my heart.”

The sarcasm was not lost on him. Lucius was hardly subtle.

“Can you make it stop, Frenchie?” He asked as he logged into all his socials and handed the laptop over. He didn’t know the man well, but he knew that despite being half his age, Frenchie had had more careers than he’d had hot dinners.

In the short time he’d known him, Stede was aware of his past as a waiter, a butler, an artist, a novelist and now an IT specialist slash musician. The music was more of a hobby since he made good money from companies paying him to try and hack into their systems to test their security and advise how to improve it.

“Can I make people stop threatening someone on the internet for something that’s not their fault? I wish.”

Frenchie was tapping away at the keyboard, the screen just a mess of code that Stede couldn’t decipher but was apparently plain English to Frenchie.

“But I can give you the best security possible to stop people getting hold of your personal information. Unfortunately, your name is already out there so angry people with time on their hands can still do the research and find things out.”

Fuck.

The kids. Mary.

“Is my family safe, Frenchie?” His fingernails dug into the back of the couch.

“Depends on what information about them is public, but I’d advise doing a security review of their online presence as well, just to be safe. I can do that as well if you invite them over here.”

Stede left Frenchie to his work and Lucius to prop his feet up on the coffee table and scroll through his phone while he went into the kitchen to call his ex-wife.

She answered on the first ring.

“Stede, what the FUCK?”

“I know, Mary, I know—”

“I’m getting more attention on my twitter because of you than I did for my last art showing, which is pretty insulting.”

“I’m so sorry, we’re doing damage control now. Can you come over with the kids? I’ve got a friend who’s a tech wizard, he’s working on strengthening my security now.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot? I took care of all that when I first became verified on all my socials. My information is locked behind one of those bank vault doors as far as I’m concerned.”

“Oh thank God.” He sank down against the kitchen wall, phone still clutched to his ear in a death grip even as he hunched up on the cold marble tiles.

But Mary was still irritated. “That doesn’t stop the online trolls or the journalists asking for quotes, does it? We’ve been divorced for six months and I wasn’t even at the concert, yet I’m a target just for my association with you!”

He thumped his head back against the wall hard enough that it started to throb. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

There was a deep, exasperated sigh, and when Mary’s voice returned in his ear it was softer. “I know you didn’t, Stede. You fainted at a concert; it could happen to anyone. How were you to know that Blackbeard would cancel the entire show?”

He could hear the break in his voice as he choked back the sob that was coming. “It was still my fault.”

“Stede, no.” Her voice was firm. “You did nothing wrong. Honestly, I don’t think Blackbeard did anything wrong either. I think it’s pretty fucking noble that he would cancel an entire show and piss off a lot of people just because a fan got hurt. People are just angry and sounding off online, once there’s an official statement about refunds or a rescheduled show, then I’m sure this will all blow over.”

Mary had such a way about her that calmed him. Perhaps it was because they had known each other for so long, always spending their time together while their families worked on various business arrangements.

Their marriage had been just another business arrangement, really, and had done nothing but damage their relationship. It was why he had cried over the divorce rather than the affair. The last thing he wanted was to lose Mary from his life, but if anything the divorce had gone a long way in repairing their fractured bond.

“You always know what to say.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “That’s because I’m smarter than you.”

He chuckled. “You certainly are. I really am sorry for all this mayhem; I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

“I’ve already thought of how you can do that.”

The tea was cold in his hand, condensation trickling into his palm. He would have preferred a steaming cup of earl grey in a proper teacup over an iced drink that Lucius had a penchant for. “You have?”

He took a swig, the blend that Lucius had chosen was sweeter than he would usually go for, but it was still pleasantly soothing as it slid down his throat.

“Get Blackbeard to come to my next art show.”

He promptly choked on the sip he’d taken, and was hacking and spluttering down the line even as Mary continued talking and making all the plans for him.

“The way I see it, the man owes you for all this hate coming your way from a decision thathe made. He definitely owes you a favour, and that favour is going to be him coming to my next showing. A few selfies and promotional posts will do wonders.”

“Why does everyone suddenly think I have some kind of special relationship with the man?” He cut her off as she started to interrupt. “Yes, he cancelled a show to check I was ok, but he was just being nice! We don’t have some sort of special bond where I can call him up for a favour, I wouldn’t even know how to get in touch!”

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. Anne had given him her number before putting him in the car to send him home. She’d told him to call if he had any worries, and she’d certainly seemed friendly with Ed. But she’d also seemed very protective of him, maybe she wouldn’t take kindly to Stede calling her up and asking if she could put Blackbeard on the phone.

He didn’t want her to think he was using her for her connections, that was hardly gentlemanly behaviour. Maybe he could offer to take her out to dinner as a thank you? And if the subject of Blackbeard came up then it came up.

He hadn’t spoken for a while and he couldhear the smug smirk on the other end of the line. “You’re figuring out how you can do it, aren’t you?”

“Damn it, Mary!” He tried to sound indignant, but couldn’t hold back the laughter. “I make no promises other than promising to try.”

“Because you’ll do anything for me?”

“Because I’ll do anything for you.”

“You’re a good ex-husband, Stede. And an ok guy, just generally.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Shut up. Love you.”

“Love you too, Stedey B.”

First Post

#edactuallysmau

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thinkhealthylivecreative · 2 years

Text

What Can Online Cooking Games Do For Your Kids?

Joining cooking classes can be rather amazing, especially for people that have always loved food as well as are interested to make great food on their own. You need to choose as to the type of food preparation that you desire to find out. If you need more info in regards to the various kinds of food preparation classes, the internet will certainly aid you collect all the knowledge you need in order to come up with a sound decision. The slow-moving cooker gathers a whole lot of the juices because the heavy steam does not get away during cooking and also these juices can become diluted as well as watery, which can impact the flavor of the food. The slow-moving stove needs virtually no tending while it chefs, freeing you up to do various other tasks or recipes. The slow stove will make many meals for you far better than any other appliance -particularly those that tend to stick to the bottom of a frying pan. In its numerous kinds, pasta has actually come to be a component of almost every country. In its various types, pasta has come to be a part of virtually every country. Some state that Marco Polo brought the idea of pasta from China to Europe, but archaeological evidence has shown that it had actually remained in both areas long in the past then, so after doing a good deal of study, I discovered that no one actually understands for sure what society pasta absolutely originated from (if it was just one). Numerous people think about pasta as routine egg noodles, pastas, macaroni, and also lasagna, once you start taking a look around, there are many even more totally various varieties. In Asia alone, although some of their noodles are wheat-based, they utilize a great amount of rice noodles, yet additionally some with a variety of other starches. These various other starches include such things as potato flour, buckwheat flour, as well as mungbean starch, and also might be eaten either warm or cold. Noodles in Asia are normally prepared by steaming, stir-frying, and even deep frying. They also have a big selection of various dumplings, which would certainly additionally identify as pasta. Cooking is already difficult as it is without having to deal with defective food preparation materials and devices. Not just will you slow down the food preparation procedure when you buy subpar products, you will additionally place your family and also your home at danger of fire and also other injuries that faulty home appliances and also cooking products might cause. Excellent cooking devices need not be pricey. Signing up with cooking courses can be quite interesting, especially for individuals that have actually always enjoyed food as well as are interested to make excellent food on their very own. You require to choose as to the kind of food preparation that you want to discover. If you require more information in regards to the various kinds of food preparation courses, the web will aid you collect all the understanding you require in order to come up with an audio decision. Food preparation is currently tough as it is without having to deal with defective food preparation materials and also devices. Not just will you reduce down the food preparation process when you purchase low-grade materials, you will likewise place your household and also your house at risk of fire and other injuries that faulty appliances and cooking materials may trigger. Read more: https://thinkhealthylivecreative.com/

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#cooking-classes-near-me #cooking-classes-nyc #cooking-classes-jersey-city #cooking-class #cooking-mama #cooking-bacon-in-oven #cooking-games #cooking-corn-on-the-cob #cooking

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rxsethxrned · 4 years

Photo

((good morning tumblr))

#Out of control {ooc}#I'm making copies--move; I'm gay. {crack}#I spent all of 20 seconds on this #leon tryna stop rose's plans summarized in one image #hfgdjhrfdjthgx #also leon's official art saved in low quality #which actually works for this #cause when I stretched it out it got more pixel-y #and he's in the bg supposed to have some depth of field effects #so. being more pixelated works #this is why you don't let me get on my pc before 8 am #but I do it anyway cause I'm my own independent person #I say as I'm not even done with high school #on christmas break tho so. e.#rose: I'm abt to awaken eternatus #leon: move binch *smacks him over the head with a frying pan* get out the way #recognize what vine I'm referencing with that and you get a virtual cookie #(not really)

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Looking for a Place to Happen 4

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats, coercion, manipulation, hand job, loss of virginity

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: Sorry it took so long to get this out. Hopefully I can work on part 5 now that I have this posted.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 4: With its gallery gods and its garbage-bag trees

💀💀💀

Sam left you in the same daze that fogged the entire day. The night was restless as you tossed and turned, replaying the scene over and over. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the lens staring back at you, imagined yourself on a screen, your hand moving between your legs, your pathetic mewls as you came for this man and who knew how many others.

Well, he did say it was up to you how big the audience was.

You woke early and only checked in with your nan to fill a mug with coffee and start your day ahead of time. You needed to keep yourself busy after a night bombarded by your own thoughts and yet, you couldn’t focus enough to do more than stare at the blinking cursor.

You put on a Twitch stream to keep your mind from wandering too far but it did little to help your focus. You fidgeted, still without your phone, and again thought of the previous day and what you’d done. You’d never done that in front of anyone. You only ever joked about it online, that persona was everything you weren’t irl.

All your stupid online jokes and exaggerations got you into this. You fucked up because the line between virtual and reality was too blurred in your head. You got carried away and now you just had to deal. Well, you guessed it was a lesson no one learned the easy way.

You didn’t realise how much time passed until your stomach growled loudly and squeezed. You felt like throwing up but only had the slice of toast you scarfed down that morning to coat your stomach. You rubbed your eyes and headed downstairs to sneak some of your nan’s sugarless jelly cookies. She hated your snacking but she rarely finished a box on her own.

As you entered through the kitchen, you came to a sudden halt. You tilted your head and frowned as you heard your nan’s voice and the one that answered had you knocking your hip against a chair as you rushed into the living room.

“Just over there,” she directed as the leg of the couch scraped on the floor, “slide it against the wall.”

Sam stood straight dusted off his hands on his jeans. He stepped back and looked over the old floral sofa.

“Definitely looks better over here,” he remarked.

“What the hell?” you blurted out.

“There you are!” your grandmother tutted, “I called up to you but you do what you always do and tune me out.”

“I didn’t-- I was working, I--” you cleared your throat and looked at Sam, “what are you doing here?”

“He’s being very helpful,” your nan praised, “how many times did I ask you to help me with this thing?”

“Sorry, I…” you swallowed and glanced between them.

“And smell that,” your nan inhaled deeply, “he’s making us dinner.”

“And I brought sugar-free dessert,” he added, “anything else I can do?”

“You’re so sweet,” she squeezed his thick arm.

“So are you… once you get past the frying pan,” he chuckled.

“I see a man in leather, I’m swinging,” she scowled, “you’re lucky you came bearing gifts.”

“Hey, look, we’re not all bad,” he smiled as she sat and he handed her the book from the small table that held the lamp and her ashtray, “I’m not like those guys who threatened your granddaughter.”

“And more honest than her,” she shook her head, “you didn’t tell me you were down at that bar. I warned you-- you really are lucky he was there.”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” you squinted at them, “didn’t you just tell me the other day I should grab any biker by--”

“I’m old, I say things,” she laughed but her eyes had a glimmer of ‘be quiet’.

“Would you like some more tea, Millie?” he asked as he took her empty mug and neared you, stopping in the broad archway that opened up into the living room.

“One more, if you don’t mind,” she smiled sweetly. She never smiled.

You hid a scowl and turned to follow Sam into the kitchen. He moved the kettle onto a burner and turned the knob. He stopped and opened the door of the stove and peeked inside as a blaze of savoury hot air blasted out at him. You felt it just before he let it snap shut and turned to lean on the counter, crossing one foot over the other.

“What are you doing?” you uttered.

“I told you I’d be back,” he shrugged.

“I didn’t think you’d--” you lowered your voice and glanced at the doorway, “what have you been telling her?”

“Everything she wants to hear,” he ran his fingertips along the precise line of hair of his goatee, “and nothing she shouldn’t… but that can change.”

“I did what you wanted. End of punishment,” you put your hands on your hips.

“End? Hmmm, I don’t think I said that,” his forehead wrinkled, “we’re far from finished… and come on, we both know you had as much fun as me.”

Your nostrils flared and you sucked in your cheeks. He was entirely too hard to figure out. He was that sort of man you hated and feared all at once. You just couldn’t predict him.

“I don’t… I don’t care what happens to me, just don’t hurt her,” you said quietly.

“Hurt her? Now why would I do that?” he taunted, “I mean, right now I have no reason to do anything like that.”

You squirmed and let out a breath, “please, alright?”

“Settle down, honey, you’ve been good… so far,” he said, “you just gotta keep it up.”

“Yeah,” you grumbled as the kettle began to shake and he turned his back to you, “any chance I can have my phone back?”

He chuckled as he searched the cupboard for the tea and plucked out a bag, “you’re funny… I like that but you gotta stop acting like everything’s a joke. It doesn’t hold up.”

💀

You found it hard not to wear a look of unamused confusion as Sam served dinner at the table and your grandmother sang his praises as he poured her wine she could actually drink. Just one glass but it was enough to loosen her up. You hadn’t eaten in the dining room since you were a kid, more used to eating at the counter, sitting on the wobbly stools or in front of the television.

Sam offered for you to clean up and do the dishes. Your nan was overjoyed at that, almost mocking. When you finished, you found them in the living room, some old Robert DeNiro movie on the television. You sat on the couch, as far from Sam as you as your grandmother yawned into her hand.

“Well,” she stubbed out her cigarette, “I should really be getting to bed. That wine is kicking in.”

“It’s early…” you argued weakly.

“You kids don’t get into too much trouble,” she warned as she stood with a groan and gripped her hip, “these ears still work.”

“Trouble? Me?” Sam kidded, “you don’t have to worry about me. I haven’t been a kid in a very long time.”

She smiled and nodded but for a moment she hesitated. She looked at you and pushed her tongue to her denture.

“Good night, girlie,” she said.

“Night, nan,” you forced out as normally as you could.

You knew if she sensed your fear, she’d act out. She was always too brave for her own good and while you admired that, you didn’t need to get hurt because you were dumb as a brick.

She left slowly and you heard her television begin to crackle and the voices of the Law and Order actors were muffled behind her door. You hunched your shoulders and rubbed your hands together as you stared at Deniro’s wrinkled forehead and that characteristic squint.

The lamp went out as Sam pulled the cord and the screen glowed in the dark. You felt the cushion dip as he shifted closer without subtlety. He slung his arm over your shoulder and you smelled his earthy cologne as he turned the TV up a few ticks. He pulled you to him as his hand came up to cradle your cheek.

“Shouldn’t we go… somewhere else?”

“She won’t hear us honey,” he cooed, “you just gotta be good. Be quiet.”

“Let’s go upstairs. Please,” you grabbed his hand as you pleaded.

“You keep arguing and I’ll make sure to wake her up,” he warned, “now,” he twisted so that he had your wrist in his grasp and forced it down to his lap, “put your hand down my pants.”

You gulped loudly and your hand trembled. You read enough fanfic to know what to do but your lack of actual experience had you nervous. Much like many things in your life. All talk, no skill.

You turned awkwardly on the cushion, your body uncomfortably contorted as his legs stayed pressed to yours. You struggled to unhook the button of his fly and the zipper was slow to descend. You felt the bulge as your hands moved against the denim and you hesitated as your fingers pressed to the elastic of his briefs.

“Mmm,” he purred as he hugged you closer, “that’s it, honey.”

Your eyes widened and you were happy the room was dark enough to hide your face. You pulled the elastic back with two fingers and shoved your other hand blindly beneath the fabric. You brushed against his hard dick and angled your hand so that you could grip him, his smooth length felt peculiar against your palm. Was he big? He felt big but didn’t have anyone to compare him to.

“Tighter,” he groaned at the friction as you moved your hand.

You squeezed and his hot breath grazed over your hair and he pushed his head back over the couch. He twitched as you kept a steady motion, trapped in the limbo of mortification and cluelessness. Were you doing it right? What were you even doing?

“Ah, honey, you’re so good,” he said as he rubbed the back of your neck, “goddamn.”

You said nothing as you focused on your hand. He snaked his arm under yours suddenly and pulled you over as he lifted his ass. Your hand was caught in his under as he laid you down beneath him. He reached down and fixed your grip on him as he held hovered atop you, his knees pressed into the cushion between your legs.

His arm crossed under yours as he poked along your jeans and shoved his hand beneath the denim and cotton. His palm was flush to your pelvis as he slid two fingers along your folds, held snug to you by the fabric. He swirled his fingertips over your bud and you gasped as your other hand gripped his arm in surprise.

“Honey, you’re wet already,” he whispered, “you sure you haven’t been waiting for this?”

You moaned as he pushed back along your entrance and dragged his fingers back, spreading your wetness over your clit. You quivered as you struggled to keep your own hand moving. He inhaled and groaned as played with you and pressed his lips to your cheek. He trailed up to your lips and kissed you, forcing his tongue inside as he shuddered.

He drew away with a sloppy noise and withdrew his hand from your pants. He sat up on his knees and pulled your legs to rest against his torso. He gripped the back of your jeans and yanked them down along with your panties. You smothered your cry as you were shocked by the force of it and the air of the room on your bare ass and legs.

He let your jeans dangle from one ankle as he bent over you again. Your leg fell over the edge of the couch as he held himself over you with a hand just above your head, fingers tight on the cushioned arm. He wiggled as he shimmied his jeans and briefs down with his other hand and you pressed on his chest.

“Wait, wait,” you hissed, “you… please, just… slow down… I never--”

“Shh, honey, you’re making too much noise,” he muttered, “it’s okay.”

“No, no, please, can’t we--” your voice caught as he lined his tips up along your cunt and rubbed it along your clit, “I’ll… I’ll use my mouth.”

“Later,” he whispered as his tip slipped down along your entrance, “honey, I need to feel you.”

“Pl--” your voice evaporated as the head of his dick stretched you.

You whimpered as he brought his arm down and nestled it under your head. He pushed further in and you gritted your teeth as you whined at the pressure of his intrusion. With each inch, the strain grew worse as a deep pain flooded your body. He shushed you as he forced past your resistance.

He covered your mouth as you cried out and barely kept your voice under control. He kept your head on his arm as his other hand cupped your lips and smothered out your agony. He forced himself in as deep as he could and your body tensed as your walls squeezed him. Your eyes rolled back as tears welled and spilled over the corners.

“Honey, it’s okay, we’ll go slow,” he coaxed, “just like that.”

He rocked his hips carefully but it still felt terrible. He pulled back and slid back in, each time it felt like he got even deeper than the last. His breath hitched and your own grew laboured as you huffed through your nostrils.

He growled and sped up, just a little at a time, your cunt slickening his intrusion as his pelvis brushed against your clit and sent tendrils down your thighs. Even so, the pleasure was not enough to mute the pain.

“That’s it,” he uttered, “that’s it.”

He fucked you faster and the couch shook beneath you. His flesh slapped and the noise seemed to be monstrous, so much sure that you were sure your grandmother would come out and catch you.

You grasped his wrist as you felt your climax rising. You squeezed and arched your foot as you were overcome and crashed down harshly as the pain tore through the ecstasy once more. He turned his hand and framed your chin as he kissed you again, swallowing your murmurs as he thrust into you over and over.

He lifted his head and dipped his thumb into your mouth as he held in his voice. He quaked and his motion stuttered but kept on. You felt his release, hot and wet, inside of you, a strange sensation that made you both sickened and aroused you.

He eased up and stilled at last. He brushed his nose against yours and chuckled under his breath as he wiggled his hips and you swore at the way it made your walls squeeze him. You blinked as your vision cleared of tears and the darkness. His features were blue with the light of the television, sinister and shadowy.

You went limp under him and breathed out slowly. You shook as he ran his thumb along your bottom lip and left a line of spit down your jaw.

“We’ll have to get that on tape next time,” he said, “but I doubt you’ll forget that, honey.”

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shooting-starry · 3 years

Text

Trust me. Love me. Shoot me.

Atsumu Miya x female reader

Summary: Atsumu finds himself with a young woman who is more that what she seems.

A/n: I honestly don’t know how to write fight scenes but I tried my best! Please support me by giving my any suggestions on fight scenes cuz I low key suck :O( any who, please dont repost, but feel free to reblog or like!

Y/n= your name

L/n= Your last name

Warning: misgendering, blood, weapons, death, dead bodies. Honestly, if gore is a no-no for you, then DO NOT READ THIS!!!!

Masterlist

Previous//Next

For the next few days, Atsumu drifted in and out of consciousness. Each waking moment was met with someone new in his room. There was the mystery man, Akaashi, who was reading a book, a large dude with bi-coloured hair doing pushups on the ground, a small girl with long blonde hair with dark roots playing on a Nintendo switch, and a rooster head who was sitting in the corner writing something in his notebook. Of course there was L/n. Atsumu was nervous about her. He wasn’t sure if he heard you properly two nights ago, or maybe 3 nights. Astumu wasn’t sure, but he was still cautious. When he wasn’t awake, he would dream of his brother and his comrades and acquaintances. He was not sure how his gang, Inarizaki, could have lost. He was on their side and was in good shape. The lose could not possibly be his fault. He was in great shape and fought extremely well. It had to be their fault. But of course, if they were hurt then he would have to blame himself. For what even he did to end up in L/n Y/n’s home. What ever her plan was, he didn’t understand nor want to know. He just wanted to get out as soon as possible. Because wherever he was, everyone around him was in danger.

This time, he woke up feeling entirely lucid. The room was empty, excluding the pair of crutches resting on the bedside table. He pulled his pant-less self off of the bed and grabbed the crutches. He placed one crutch under each arm and balanced himself on his unharmed foot. He moved to the mirror and observed his damaged body. He was wearing a pair of boxers and bandages covering his thigh. The large bandages that were wrapped around his chest, were now gone, exposing most of his tattoos. His face looking better, the stiches were taken out of his face, leaving a long scar down his face. His swollen lip and black eye had healed tremendously as well. His arms were still covered in bandages, but showed more of his tattoos. His blond hair was still messy, but it looked cleaner and more organized.

Atsumu opened the door and headed down the hallway which lead to the stairs. He hobbled down the hallway and stairs into a sitting room to see the mystery man, rooster head, the bi-coloured hair man, who looked scarily like an owl, the girl, and L/n. The five people were sitting in the dark sitting room, which was illuminated by a few candles, all except the girl with mugs in hand. As he entered the room, all five pairs of eyes, save for the girl, who was very invested in his Nintendo switch, focused on him. He once agin felt like a poop-flinging monkey in his enclosure.

The silence in the room was deafening. The silence was broken by the owl man who got up and ran towards him. He swung and arm around his shoulder and proceeded to carry Atsumu to the couch. Owl dude was a large man. He had exceptionally broad shoulders and biceps as large as his face. He was wearing a black muscle shirt with nike workout shorts. But damn, who knew an owl could be so buff.

As Atsumu was placed down gently on the couch (Atsumu swear he felt like a princess), the rooster head started to talk to him.

“So you are yakuza, right, Atsumu?” Asked the rooster head. “How did a yakuza like you end up in our little Y/n’s care”. Atsumu swore he was being provoked, two could play that game.

“Well it was an ambush, Rooster head-kun.” Atsumu rebutted. The air wasn’t tense, but felt playful. As Rooster head-kun was hyena laughing at his response, Owl-man was fidgeting in his seat and repeatedly taping Akaashi on the shoulder, like at a game show, Akaashi, showed little interest to the Owl and just told him to calm down.

“I still don’t get why you are even here.” Said a n unknown, tenor voice. Atsumu turned around to look at the source. He was staring at the “girl” who was definitely not a girl. He had his long blond hair pulled half back. His hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, along with his switch. There was not much which was notable about this character. He was about 170cm with brown eyes.

“He is here because he was hurt on the sidewalk, Kenma.” L/n interjects, “so be nice. He will be here until he is better”. That statement seemed really contradictory to what you said the last night about “taking care of it”.

“Wait who are these people L/n?” Atsumu asked, scanning the room. He noticed the tall fire place in the room, along with the floor-to-ceiling windows which showed a yard. The room was elegant, yet modern. Shit. How much was this place?

“Well this is Bokuto, Akaashi, Kenma, and Kuroo. And please just call me Y/n. Only Akaashi calls me L/n ‘cause he is too formal.” Y/n laughs. The group seem very cozy in the large sitting room. “We are partners and room mates. Kuroo is technically a lawyer, Bokuto is a personal trainer and body builder, Akaashi is an author and editor, and Kenma is, well a lot of things”.

“Well thank ya all the help, but I have’ta go. I don’t wanna stay here.” Atsumu replied. “A don’t think I should stay so bye”. He said as he attempted to stand up. The owl head, Bokuto, grabbed the crutches before Atsumu could grab them.

“Sorry Tsum-Tsum, we can’t let you go until you are fully healed. Y/n even said so.” Bokuto said, holding one crutch in each hand.

“No! I have to go! Now please give me the damn crutches so I can leave.” He refuted. Atsumu felt a feeling of dread take over his body. The knew that they were coming. He was not sure who, but he felt that they were being watched thought the tall glass windows.

“Miya-san, you need to stay here until you are fully healed. So please don’t fight us.” Akaashi said. Atsumu knew he had to leave now. There was no way he would let these nice people get hurt, even the cold Akaashi, who really dislikes him.

“I am sorry, but I need to—” Atsumu started, only to be interrupted by the smashing of the tall glass windows and doors being kicked in. Atsumu froze, waiting for the intruders next move. He was virtually defenceless in his current state, but he could at least help the other people escape. The intruders flooded in with revolvers and knives from all angles. There were no escape routes, and he could not see their faces. He turned around to expect 5 frightened faces, but instead he was met with an exited Bokuto, a smirking Kuroo, an ever-stoic Akaashi, a scheming Kenma, and a determined Y/n, still sitting around the coffee table. In a blink of an eye, weapons are pulled from under the coffee table, under couch cushions, and behind pillows. Guns, knifes, tasers, swords and a frying pan were pulled out from obscure places.

As the group behind Atsumu stood up, weapons were in hand as fighting ensued. Bokuto had A large frying pan (why, Atsumu could figure out) and was using it as a shield from in coming knifes, and a weapon for hitting people upside the head. Akaashi and Kenma were gracefully dodging and stabbing people with black knifes (maybe it was an Eckhorn, Atsumu wasn’t sure). Kuroo was tazing the masked men left and right. As for Y/n, she had disappeared somewhere in the span of a few seconds.

As much as Atsumu was enjoying the fighting, he was stuck in the middle, utterly defenceless. Blood was everywhere as bodies hit the floor. One after another. The intruders were killed and left on the ground to be kicked on stepped on. He was so intrigued in the fight around him, that he did not notice the tall man stalking towards him. Right as Atsumu noticed, a gun was placed on his head as he heard threats of death if he called for help or moved. Paralyzed, he froze, his thoughts raced, and his heart was beating one thousand times a minute. Then suddenly Y/n appeared from the shadows and sliced the man with a tomahawk. Blood spattered along her dark cardigan and onto his back. She swung again and again until his body fell to the floor in a bloody mess. The masked men were almost completely all dead. The boys were mostly unscathed, except for a scrap on Kuroo’s forehead, but covered in blood. Atsumu was still in shock over the fighting skills of a doctor, lawyer, writer, body builder and whatever Kenma did.

“Wait what just happened?” he asked in shock.

“Well our safe house was found and we were attacked by masked-” started Bokuto, only to be cut off by Kenma.

“We saved your life and killed some people.” He interjected. The other 5 were stripping off all their bloodied clothes.

“No, who are you really, and how did you act so quickly?” Atsumu clarified.

“Well, Kuroo and Kenma are from the Nekoma Yakuza, and Akaashi and Bokuto are from the Fukorodani Yakuza.” Y/n replies, now stripped down to a simple black sports bra and black cargo pants.

“And I am a freelance assassin.”

Taglist: Open

@kayleighbeccaa

#haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu atsumu #akaashi #star writes #atsumu x female reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu x y/n #haikyuu #haikyuu x y/n #akaashi keiji #bokuto koutarou #miya atsumu #kenma kuzome #kuroo testuro

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one-more-offbeat-anthem · 3 years

Text

snow day

there’s a big ice/snow storm gracing the southeast US right now and we virtually never get snow, so I had a snow day today! it inspired me to write this ficlet <3

************ Cas woke up Monday morning to a freezing--and empty--bed. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and sliding his feet into his slippers next to his bed. He could hear the radio playing from downstairs, overlapped with toddler chatter.

"Reports say that eight to twelve inches of snow are expected, and that several major roads in the county have already closed. Both the city and county school districts have closed for the next three days."

Cas followed the sound of the news down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Dean was at the stove, scrambling eggs and frying bacon. Their son, Jack, was in his high chair at the kitchen table, and when he saw Cas, he waved his arms and pointed at the window.

"Hey, kiddo," Cas said, crossing the room and scooping Jack up. "Excited about the snow?"

"Daddy said we're gonna build a snowman," Jack said. "Can we?"

"After breakfast." With Jack in tow, Cas turned to the stove and pressed a kiss to his husband's cheek. "I take it neither of us don't have work today?"

Dean shook his head, grinning. "Snow day for everyone. Jack's daycare is closed, anyways--his teacher sent an email."

Cas was a librarian at the local elementary school, and Dean worked for his uncle Bobby's auto shop, which meant that they were occasionally strapped for time when Jack's daycare closed but they still had work. Cas breathed a sigh of relief before setting Jack down and turning to the coffee maker. Snow or not, he was not a morning person.

Jack was a little picky, so convincing him to eat all of his breakfast was tricky on a normal day, and the snow provided an extra distraction. Cas gave up trying to get Jack to eat just one forkful of eggs and let Dean trade his apples for Jack's bacon. But Cas couldn't help being just as excited as Jack. While it snowed fairly often where they lived, it was usually just a dusting of snow, not enough for snowball fights or building snowmen or making snow angels.

After spending about ten minutes wrestling a wriggling almost-four-year-old into his coat, hat, and mittens, they were ready to go out.

The front yard of their little house was a veritable winter wonderland, like something out of a movie--icicles hanging from the eaves, a dusting of snow on the shrubbery, the front walk completely obscured by snow. It was beautiful enough that Dean didn't complain about his car, the Impala, being covered in snow (although that may have had something to do with him not having to dig it out and scrape it off to go to work).

The snow was already halfway up to Jack's shins, but Jack didn't seem to mind, throwing himself face-first into the ground and then rolling over, laughing, his cheeks tinged red with cold.

Cas was too focused on watching Jack that he didn't noticed what Dean was up to until a snowball, cold and wet, hit him in the side of the face. "Hey!" he complained, bending down and scooping up some snow and packing into a ball. Dean laughed at him and ducked behind a bush. A few seconds later, another snowball hit Cas square in the chest. Cas turned to Jack. "You want to help me gang up on Daddy?"

"Yes!"

Cas showed Jack how to make a snowball, although the tiny ones Jack could make with his little hands probably wouldn't make that much of a difference. With their snowballs in hand, they crept around the bush Dean had disappeared behind.

Before Cas had chance to lob his snowball, he was being tackled onto the ground, the snow icy on his neck, Dean grinning at him from on top of him. Seconds later, a tiny snowball hit Dean in the forehead and both Dean and Cas craned their heads to see Jack standing next to them and giggling.

"You're making a monster out of our kid," Dean said, rolling off of Cas.

"Mmm-hmm, that's definitely on me and not the person who started the snowball fight." Cas took the opportunity to scoop up some snow and then grab the collar of Dean's coat, shoving the snow down the front of it. "Ack!" Dean shivered. "Rude."

Cas shrugged, trying not to laugh before another tiny Jack-lobbed snowball hit him in the face.

"That's what you get," Dean said to him, before turning to Jack. "You wanna make that snowman now?"

"Yeah!"

They ended up building a snowman nearly as tall as Jack--Dean did the bottom, Cas did the middle, and Jack enthusiastically made the head, which was shaped more like an oval than a circle. The hunt for sticks and rocks for arms, eyes, and buttons took a while, owing to the amount of snow that had fallen, and then Dean disappeared into their garage, coming back with an old stocking cap to put on the snowman's head. The whole scene was so cute that Cas couldn't help but take his phone out and snap a picture of Dean and Jack putting the finishing touches on the snowman, even if it froze his fingers. The snow was starting to fall faster, though, and was now working its way up Jack's shins, so it was eventually time to head inside.

"The snow will be here later," Cas said as he picked Jack up.

"Promise, Papa?"

"Mmm-hmm."

When they got inside and shed their now-damp coats next to the front door (Cas knew he would regret not hanging up the coats immeadiately later, but right now he was cold), Jack begged for hot chocolate and Dean was, as usual when it came to their son, powerless to say no. While Dean started heating up milk on the stove, Cas went into their living room and turned on the fireplace. Their house was getting on in years, and it could be quite drafty and cold in the winter, especially on a snow day.

The three of them curled up on the couch with their hot chocolate (Jack's had a veritable mountain of marshmallows) and watched the snow fall outside the living room windows while the fire crackled.

"Today," Jack declared, "Is the best day ever."

"Ever? That's a pretty big deal," Dean said. "What makes it the best day ever?"

"We got to build a snowman. And Papa put snow in your shirt." Jack giggled and Dean frowned over his head at Cas. "And I have hot chocolate." He pronounced chocolate with about half the letters missing.

Playing in the snow tuckered Jack out, so after lunch he went down for a nap a little earlier than usual. By the time Dean emerged from Jack's room, Cas was about halfway through doing the lunch dishes--they'd had grilled cheese with tomato soup, a snow day favorite for their little family.

"Sorry about shoving snow down your shirt," Cas said as he finished scrubbing the grilled cheese pan.

"You don't have to lie, you're not sorry at all." Dean came up behind Cas, wrapping his arms around him. "You're right, I did start the snowball fight, although it seems like Jack ended it."

"He's gonna want to play in the snow again after his nap," Cas said, moving onto the soup pot. Dean pressed a kiss to the back of Cas' neck and then disentangled himself to help rinse the dishes.

"He's not gonna be this little forever." Dean said.

"Don't remind me. In the fall he'll be one of the pre-kindergarteners coming to my library." Cas sighed.

They finished washing the dishes in comfortable silence. Once the last plate was balanced on the drying rack next to the sink, Dean turned to Cas. "What do you say we get some rest, too?"

It was a pretty good offer, a nap on the couch, curled up in his husband's arms as the fire warmed the living room and the snowdrifts built up outside. The nap would most certainly end with a toddler jumping on them, but even so, Cas had to agree with Jack: today was the best day ever.

#destiel #spn #toddler jack #snow day #ficlet #offbeatwrites

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bangtan-madi · 4 years

Text

Year of the Rabbit — Four: Resolutions

Pairing — Jungkook x Reader, Hoseok x Yoongi, Taehyung x Jimin

Tags — best friend!Jungkook, non-idol au, flower shop au, gym au, florist!MC, gym owner!Jungkook, brother!Namjoon, friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining

Genre — fluff, slight angst

Word Count — 3.9k

Summary — Blame it on the storm or the secret feelings or the snow-in, but one thing is for sure: a lot can happen to two best friends when they're confined to their stores overnight.

Warnings — language

Part — 4 / 7

Previous — Next

When you've gathered a couple pans and utensils, you scurry back to the baker. The moment to yourself made things a bit easier to hide. But the thought of Jungkook's closeness still presses against your mind's backdoor. When you return, it's even harder to ignore. He's meticulously counting ingredients, lips pursed in an adorable manner. He's organized the containers around him, with the portable stovetop in front. In the makeshift kitchen, he's completely at home as he chops protein for the Tteokguk. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the beautiful array of ink is on display. He sits cross-legged, oddly domestic in front of the bakery.

"You just gonna stand there, or are you going to get down here and help me?"

You shake your head and walk towards the dimly-lit space. On the way, you admire the colorful array of rainbow lights around you. "They really went all-out with the Lunar New Year decor, didn't they?"

Jungkook takes the pans and utensils you offer him, muttering a swift thank you. "They're pretty. I think they give the space a nice ambiance."

As he measures ingredients, you remove the blanket from your shoulders, fold it several times over, and use it as a cushion. Jungkook's skilled hands work on measuring the oils and spices, along with a healthy dose of soy sauce. He places each ingredient in small bowls and sets them off to the side.

"How'd you get the power for the stovetops?"

"The generator's through the door behind the bakery," he replies. "I plugged it in and borrowed some from that." He nods to the bottled water at his side. "Can you get some water going on the stove? Fill it up halfway. That should be enough."

"Then we add the brisket, right?" It takes four or five bottles before the pot on the largest of the three burners is to your liking. "I barely remember this from when Mom used to make it."

Jungkook smiles up at you as he offers a smaller dish of protein. His arm maneuvers around the burner, avoiding the heat source to not risk any burns. "And the garlic."

You shake your head, and after the water begins to boil, you add both ingredients. "It's a good thing you remember this, Gym Bunny. Otherwise, we'd both starve."

"No need to thank me for that," he snickers. "What you should be thanking me for is coming back for you at all. I could've stayed at your nice, warm apartment with the damn cat, but no. I braved the winter storm—"

"—Like an idiot—"

"—To save your ass. You're welcome."

"Maybe you should've stayed with Elizabeth the 3rd, then! I could've made it out on my own, or found this place, and would've had some nice peace and quiet."

Jungkook rolls his eyes. As he reaches for a knife, placing the edge of the sharp blade against the green onion, he winces. The painful twitch of both his expression and his fingers isn't lost on you. He tries to grip the knife again, and when you glance down, you see his fingers are still tinged red from the cold. That hour he spent trekking from your apartment to the flower shop took a toll on him. It's one that he's refused to acknowledge.

"Dumbass," you mutter under your breath. Reaching across, you take the utensil from his tattooed hands. You slide the makeshift cutting board (an upside-down plate) over to your side of the little kitchen. "Stop trying to grip things. Your fingers are still half-frozen."

Jungkook relents, which surprises you in and of itself. He doesn't comment on the state of his hands. He only moves onto the next task of separating the egg yolks from the whites.

Your attention shifts from the green onions up to your best friend. It's difficult not to be caught off-guard by his silence. "You okay, Kookie?"

The brunet's dark eyes move up to yours, and he gives a soft smile. "Yeah, I'm okay. Sorry, didn't realize they were still hurt...and you know how I feel about not being able to do things."

You finish the chopping and set the greens aside. "Don't beat yourself up about it. You need to learn to lean on others from time to time. A little teamwork won't kill you."

"It won't?"

A loud laugh slips out at his snide comment, which brings back Jungkook's adorable smile. He continues to tell you what to prep next, and as the minutes pass, you find yourself slipping into a rhythm with him. It's not the first time you've cooked together; far from it. Between after-school study sessions in high school, midnight mental health breakdowns in college, and post-education hangouts, the two of you have made a mess plenty of times. Much to Yoongi's dismay.

A chuckle slips out at the sudden resurgence of those college-era memories. "What do you think Yoongi would say if he saw us here right now, trying to make Tteokguk in the middle of a supermarket?"

Jungkook giggles as he adds the rice cakes to the boiling brisket and water, along with most of the spices and oils. "He'd probably just roll his eyes and warn us to clean up or he'd bury our bodies in the woods. His reaction doesn't scare me as much as Seokjin's."

The mention of your mutual friend causes you to double-over in laughter. Seokjin, the most traditional Korean man you know, would be horrified. "He'd probably just...die."

"But not before he'd scream at us," Jungkook adds, raising the large wooden spoon and gesturing to you. His eyes widen and he changes his voice to mimic Seokjin's satoori. "You can't just cook Tteokguk like that! What are you thinking? You're lucky you're not my son or I would have disowned you if I saw you using pre-made, frozen rice cakes! Hey! Stop it! I raised you better than this!"

The impression is spot-on, so much so that it has you gasping for air and red in the face from laughing. Tears burn your eyes, and you wave your hand at Jungkook, a silent plead for him to stop. You're unlucky enough that your best friend is a slight sadist and enjoys seeing you lose your mind.

"If you think it's so funny to cheat out on a thousand years of Korean cuisine history, then go ahead! But not in my house, and you have to be obedient to me because I'm an older person!"

"Stop, stop, stop," you gasp, curling in on yourself as you fall over onto the soft blanket. "It. Hurts."

Jungkook continues his impression. His expression and voice grow more dramatic as time goes on. "Is this the thanks I get for buying your meals, huh? Do you know how many times I did that when you were a broke college freshman? I can't even count on my fingers! I don't have enough! I can't calculate! Because I secretly can't count!"

"Jeon Jungkook!" you rasp, smiling so wide your face hurts. "Please, god, stop."

Finally, he relents, voice shifting to a collection of giggles. Your breathing returns to normal, and your facial redness subsides. "You okay there, Flower Child?"

"I will kill you."

Jungkook smirks as he begins to add the final ingredients to the Tteokguk. "Highly doubt that. Especially with the Tteokguk almost done!"

Pulling yourself back into a seated position, you give Jungkook a pouty expression. "You promised me Hwajeon." You hold up a container of edible flowers.

The brunet chuckles at your childish expression. He rolls his sleeves up a little farther, showing more of his tattoo sleeve in the process. He pushes the bag of flour to your side of the burners. "Have at it then. I'll finish up the Teokguk while you fry the cakes."

Your smile widens and you take the ingredients with eager hands. As you measure, Jungkook begins final preparations for the meal. He adds nori and strips of fried egg yolks. The smells that fill the supermarket are divine. For a moment, you forget the situation that brought you here. The blizzard outside. The lack of power. The fact that you're trapped in the store until morning. None of it matters anymore. Jeon Jungkook has always had that effect on you; he excels at making people forget their problems and sadness. It's one of the reasons you missed him more than life while spending time as an exchange student.

"What're you thinking about?" he asks, after a moment of silence.

Shrugging your shoulders, you begin to roll the ball of warm dough into smaller balls and prep them for frying. "Just about the past year. A lot's happened." You take a few of the edible flowers and press one into the flattened face of each bough ball. "A lot's changed."

Jungkook nods his agreement, once again stirring the pot. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. "How do you feel about your last semester at university?"

"Glad it's finally almost done," you scoff. "Been a long time coming. I loved traveling abroad, but it made me realize that what I have here with my friends, with the shop...this is home. Once the three of us graduate, I bet business will pick up."

Jungkook's shoulders relax, and he sighs in a way that almost sounds relieved. "So you think you're with those two idiots for the long-haul, huh?"

Thinking of Hoseok and Yoongi brings a sentimental smile to your face. You toss the first round of flattened dough into the oiled skillet. "I think so. We all work together well, and I love Seoul. I don't see myself living anywhere else, really. As a small business owner, you know what I mean when I say you're kinda anchored to your business."

"At least you have an online aspect," he snickers. Reaching for the serving bowls, he nods his chin towards the front of the store, as if to his gym across the street. "Can't exactly work out virtually."

"Ha! I wish."

"But I get what you mean, and honestly? I'm glad to hear it. I was kinda worried you'd end up loving the U.S. and...I don't know, want to move out of Korea or something."

As you flip the Hwajeon over, your gaze drifts upward. Jungkook's hair hangs over his eyes, but under that, you can see a rosy blush spread across his cheeks. His lip is between his teeth as he focuses on pouring the soup without spilling. If you didn't know better, you'd say he was embarrassed.

"Would you miss me if I did?"

The question comes out without you thinking too hard about it. From the way Jungkook keeps his eyes away from yours, you second-guess if it was the right thing to ask. God knows it could be read into pretty easily. But the little feeling in the back of your mind, the one you'd locked away, has found a lock-pick. It's desperately trying to free itself. It wants to know the answer. For that reason, you wait with bated breath for a response.

"Like hell," he admits. "You're my best friend. I go to you about everything. I...don't know what my life would be like if I didn't have you in it, to be honest."

His words are sentimental, filled with truth, and drag out a complex array of feelings. You're both elated and terrified. Mostly the former, but the tiny prick of dread in your chest won't go away. Your realization from earlier in the evening is accompanied by these intense feelings.

And since you have no idea what to do with them, you answer the best way you can, through a clouded mind. "Well, you don't need to worry, Bunny. I'm not going anywhere."

Jungkook's eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. Finishing with the plating, he nods to the Hwajeon. "About done?”

"What? Oh—yeah. Just about."

He passes you a plate and turns off both burners. "Then let's eat. Put them on the plate and follow me. I found the perfect place for a Lunar New Year meal."

After the Hwajeon is plated and the dual bowls of Tteokguk are on a platter, Jungkook leads you towards the front area of the supermarket. It's farther down than you previously ventured. It's past the food and drink to the small home goods, clothing, and electronics section. He must've come across it when he was looking for the burners.

In the corner, next to the large windows at the front, there's a window display similar the one at the flower shop. It's a cubby of sorts, where the bay windows extended into the sidewalk. There used to be mannequins displayed with a variety of winter clothing. Jungkook's shoved them aside. In their place, he's arranged several blankets and pillows around a low table. He's even pushed one of the storage bins up behind the pillows to have something to lean back against.

"You did all this by yourself?" you ask.

Jungkook nods, sets the food onto the low table, and settles onto one of the cushions with a sigh. "You took forever getting the utensils, so I came over here and messed with some stuff." He pats the spot beside him. "The snow's lightening a bit. It looks so pretty from inside. Maybe we'll even see some fireworks in a little while."

You take your seat beside him, trying to ignore the fact that his thigh presses against yours and his arm brushes your shoulder when he offers you your bowl. For a moment, your eyes lock. Jungkook averts his attention, his dimple popping out as he purses his lips.

Taking it with a small "thank you" and slight bow of your head, you turn your gaze from the awkward boy down to the meal. Inhaling the aroma, you let a lazy smile spread across your face.

"Holy shit, this smells amazing."

"Just like Mom's," he breathes. Turning to the side, he holds up his glass bowl towards yours. "Cheers?"

"To a Happy New Year." You tap your bowl against his, giggling at the soft clink that it makes.

After digging in and continuing to praise yourselves on a job well done, you change the topic of conversation. "So, you have any New Year's resolutions?"

"Isn't that an American thing?"

"It never hurts to look forward," you say in a snide tone, rolling your eyes at Jungkook's grin. "Fess up. What are you looking forward to in the Year of the Rabbit?"

Jungkook settles back against the pillows, taking another sip from the broth. "You first."

"Well..." you trail off, watching the blizzard slow to a soft fluttering of snowflakes outside the neon-lit window. "Kinda already told you mine, to be honest. Graduate. Grow the shop. Expand the business. Things of that nature."

"What about in your personal life?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I wanna get back to Ilsan to visit Mom and Dad more. I should also probably track down Joon and spend more time with h—"

"—Not what I meant, [Y/n]," Jungkook interrupts.

You tilt your head when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. "What did you mean then?"

The brunet shrugs and grabs a piece of Hwajeon. "You've been single ever since you dated that douche in high school. What was his name?"

"Ugh, Hae-song," you groan, not at all enjoying the resurgence of your exes name.

"Yeah! That one," Jungkook chuckles. "I get best friend rights to know if you're seeing anyone lately."

"Awfully brave of you to assume that Hae-song was my last boyfriend."

Jungkook's eyes widen. "Did I miss something—Wait, when you were in the States?"

You nod once and set your finished bowl aside, glancing over your shoulder at the drink aisle a few meters away. Hopping up, you scurry over and grab a couple of bottles of you and Jungkook's favorites. "This conversation's going to need some soju," you murmur under your breath. "I can feel it."

Settling back down at his side, you offer one of the bottles to Jungkook with a tired smile. Cracking yours open with ease, you take a long sip before settling back against the cushions. Jungkook opens his in silence and allows you to collect your thoughts.

"Yeah, I met a guy," you admit. "He was another exchange student from Daegu. Whatever the odds, he ended up in the same group as me. We studied together a lot, and then we started dating a few weeks in."

"Are you still together?"

"God no," you reply, shaking your head fervently. "I would've told you if I was by now. We broke up a little before I left. He wanted to stay in the States long-term, as in, like, get a work Visa and move there. I'm not about a long-distance relationship. So we both thought it best to go our separate ways."

Jungkook nods along to your story, doing his best to understand where you're coming from. "Do you miss him?"

"Not really. He was nice and all, but we weren't all that close. I knew what I wanted out of life; so did he. Neither of us was gonna change, so it was easier to let go."

"Oh..." he breathes, then takes another gulp of the alcoholic beverage.

"Sounds horrible when I say it like that." You laugh it off, then bump your shoulder against Jungkook's. His silence makes you a tiny bit smug, and his intense focus on the soju bottle invites a little giggle to escape. "Is someone jealous?"

Through flustered words, Jungkook manages to sputter, "Yeah, you wish. I...again, would've missed the hell out of you if you'd stayed. For a second, you scared me."

In a burst of bravery, aided by the alcohol in your system, you reach for Jungkook's free hand. Your fingers brush against his tattooed knuckles as you hold it between your own. Your touch is gentle. Even more so when you notice the slight scarlet hue that still ruminates on his fingertips.

You smile, softly running a forefinger across the ink on the back of his hand. "I hope you believe me when I say I'm not leaving."

Jungkook doesn't move an inch as your hands rest on his. He barely even breathes, afraid to move or speak or exhale. If it means running the risk of pushing you away by accident, he'd rather stay frozen for the rest of the night.

"Promise, jagiya?"

Emphasis is given to your words as you hook your smaller pinky around his. Despite the cold outside, his skin is warm, and the touch sends sparks through your body. It doesn't help that he's close enough to hear your breathing. Close enough to rest his head on yours if he wanted to. Close enough kiss if you wanted to.

You shove that thought away, squeezing your pinky to mask your true feelings. "I promise." Embarrassed, you let his hand drop to his thigh and cross your arms over your chest. The action readjusts you to put a little more space between you both, much to Jungkook's dismay. "Your turn, Gym Bunny. What are your resolutions?"

"You never answered my question, though."

Rolling your eyes, you retort, "Fine. No, I'm not seeing anyone, nor do I have anyone in mind. Happy? Now, your turn."

Though taken back by your sudden withdrawal from him, Jungkook tries to focus on the question instead of the way the ghost of your touch lingers on his tattooed knuckles. "Well, like you, I wanna grow the business. Jimin and I are planning to look at some locations in Gangnam later this spring. If all goes well until then, we're going to open a second location before the year's up."

"That's great, Kookie!"

Your best friend chuckles at your enthusiasm. "We're excited. Feels like a step in the right direction. Growth, y'know?"

"What about personal life?" you inquire. "Don't think you're getting out of that one either. You broke up with your girlfriend before the holidays. Interested in anyone else lately?"

"Actually...there is someone," Jungkook admits. He reaches for another bite of Hwajeon and offers you a second piece. "I'm not sure they see me the same way as I see them, though."

"How do you know?"

He shrugs again. "A feeling. I realized how I felt about them last fall, which is why I broke up with my ex. We weren't in love, and we both knew that."

"All this while I was gone?" you ask, feeling a sense of dread wash over you. Maybe he was lying before when he said he hadn't met anyone new in the time you were gone. From the way he's talking now, it sounds like he's interested in someone else.

"Yeah. It's been building for a while, I think, but it only hit me right before the holidays."

Popping the cap off the second bottle of soju, you take a long swig before adding, "Sounds like you got it bad, Bunny. Why haven't you said anything to them?"

"Scared of messing up?" he replies, answering it more like a question than a statement, as if he's unsure himself. "Scared of what they'd do. Scared of ruining our relationship now. Scared that it'll end up being one-sided." The brunet finishes his bottle and places it on the table. "I was lucky with my ex; both of us realized that we weren't right for the other. What if, this time, I let myself fall, only to have the rug ripped out from under me?"

If you're honest, hearing his concerns about the person he's falling for gives you a plethora of mixed feelings. Half of you desperately wants to believe he's talking about you. The other half is terrified that he's thinking of someone else. His words could lend themselves either way. You've only ever been best friends. And you realize how long it took you to finally realize your true feelings. You doubt that he's come to the same conclusion, at the same time.

No one is that lucky.

Even as your chest aches, the wish for him to be happy—no matter what—forces you to put your own emotions aside. "Do you trust this person?"

"Yes."

"Okay. And do they trust you?"

"I think so. I hope so."

You offer your companion a second bottle, which he gladly takes. "Do you think you could truly be happy if you kept your feelings to yourself? If you never told them?"

"Probably not," he sighs, forcing a smile. "I don't see this feeling going away anytime soon."

"Then, in my humble opinion, you gotta tell them. Even if it's scary, even if it ends up being awkward, even if you feel like it might be one-sided. You're not going to rest easy until it's out in the open." Your blatant hypocrisy is not lost on you, even as you speak. "If you really feel this way about this person, I don't think there's another option."

"And if they reject me?"

"'Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all'?"

Taglist — @kooala

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