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flourgirl · 3 years

Text

Heart Skips a Beat

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You work at a coffee shop on campus and develop a crush on the cute astrophysics major who studies there everyday.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Pure fluff. One curse word.

A/N: There WILL be a sequel to Even If It’s a Lie! Until then, here’s a little something to hold you guys over :-)

“I saw you on a Sunday in a café And all you did was look my way And my heart started to race And my hands started to shake” -Nervous, Shawn Mendes

3 p.m. had quickly become your favorite time of the day. Sure, you had already been working for half of your shift by then, but it was worth it. Because despite how tired you were from a full day of lectures, like clockwork, the cutest guy you had ever seen walked into the café to order a caramel latte and do his homework.

You were a hopeless romantic. A homeschooled bookworm whose only experiences with romance were through the many YA novels you had read growing up. College was honestly your first experience with independence and having a social life outside of your mom, your cat, and your elderly neighbors, Brenda and Pat.

The first day he had come was at the beginning of the semester. You had just started working there to help cut the costs of tuition that your scholarships couldn’t cover. Even though you barely knew how to use the machines at that point, and it took you almost 20 minutes and one phone call to your shift manager to give him his order, he was still really nice to you about it.

By the end of the first week that he started hanging out here, you had memorized his order. For a stranger, there was a lot to like about him. He was super sweet and always dropped his spare change in the tip jar, a rare occurrence amongst struggling college students. He always greeted you by your name, which he only knew because of the tag on your uniform, but you didn’t care. You liked hearing him say it either way.

The more you learned about him, the bigger your crush grew. His name was Peter. Peter Parker, which matched him perfectly. He was an astrophysics major, and he was always busy. So what was he doing hanging out in the café where you worked? Sure, homework, but you had always preferred to go somewhere more quiet, like the library. Not some noisy little coffee shop in the middle of campus where everybody hung out after class.

In between making coffee orders for other customers, you would oftentimes steal glances at him. You thought about how soft his messy brown hair would feel between your fingers, or what it would be like to smell his fabric softener from closer than the width of the countertop that always separated the two of you.

But it was just a silly crush. When you thought about it, the two of you were virtually strangers. He had an entire life outside of the walls of the coffee shop, and he probably didn’t think about you other than when you were taking his order every day. Still, just when you thought about how weird it was to think about somebody you barely knew this much, Peter found ways to make you like him even more than you already did.

Every now and then, Peter wouldn’t show up, and you worried that maybe he had found another place to get coffee or came at another time because he didn’t want to see you anymore. You knew you were overthinking. There was no way that Peter was planning his entire schedule around you. You were just the coffee girl to him and nothing more.

Little did you know that on your days off, Peter was disappointed to find that someone else would be making his coffee that day. Sure, he started coming here to study because it was conveniently located across the street from the laboratory that he interned at, but it was more than that. He came to see you. To see your smile and the way your eyes lit up whenever he walked in. The way you still managed to look cute in the unflattering café uniform and how you didn’t even have to ask what his order was.

He had the biggest crush on you. The five minutes that he spent talking to you each day made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and he took comfort in the fact that maybe, just maybe, you felt the same way about him. But he didn't know what to say to you past small talk. He told Ned and MJ that he had been planning to ask you out for a while now, but every time he walked up to the register, he chickened out. You made him too nervous, and he knew that if he tried too hard, he’d start rambling about string theory or something and scare you away.

Peter thought about what kind of person you were outside of these four walls. Were you dating anybody? What was your favorite subject? Did you like pineapple on your pizza? He wondered if you even noticed that he was gone every time his “internship” at Stark Industries dragged him away for days at a time. Probably not. He thought about what it would be like to walk you to wherever you went after your shift ended, to make sure you got there safely, but he always had to rush off to somewhere else before you had finished working.

You had started experimenting with leaving little designs on top of his coffee instead of just haphazardly pouring the milk in. At first, they were just sad little blobs, but then you graduated to vaguely leaf-like blobs, and you could now make something that was shaped like a turnip on top of his lattes. You had been working up the courage to leave little hearts, but every time you did, you swirled them away and served it to him without any design at all.

Your friends would lovingly describe you as a klutz. You were constantly tripping over nothing or knocking things over. There was even that one time you almost broke your leg trying to climb one of the supermarket shelves to reach your favorite brand of maple syrup. But out of all of your clumsy mishaps, none of them lived up to what had just happened.

You had sworn you had looked both ways before crossing the street. But when the barrage of car horns and tires screeching interrupted your favorite song, you saw your life flash before your eyes. That was, until, you were flying through the air. Looking at your savior, you were both starstruck and shocked to see Spiderman holding you tightly as he swung from building to building.

It felt like forever before your feet touched the ground and he let go of your waist, but when he did, you were a little disappointed. How did he even know to drop you off at this specific coffee shop? It was insane, but you felt like you knew him. You just couldn’t place why or how before he saluted you and swung away without a word. “Thank you!” you screamed into the sky, knowing he definitely couldn’t hear you over the hustle and bustle of the city.

Peter’s heart was about to burst out of his chest. That was way too close of a call. What if you found out that it was him? What would you think? But he knew that if he hadn’t saved you, he would never forgive himself. Sure, you might get free tuition like that rumor people always talked about in middle school, but you’d also have a ton of hospital bills to pay because Spiderman was a selfish idiot and let you get hit by a taxi.

Your head was still spinning from what had just happened. You quickly changed into your uniform and started your shift, giddy with excitement to tell Peter who you had met today. As 3 p.m. came and went and there were no signs of Peter, you started to accept that the only person you’d get to tell about today was your mom. Go figure, you thought. You finally had something interesting to say to him and he doesn’t show up.

Eventually, after many disappointing coffee orders later, it was time for you to go home and curl up to a cup of tea and watch the latest episode of the Great British Bake-Off. It was ironic, but your favorite contestant this season was Peter, and every week was more and more tense as you worried whether or not he’d make it to the next episode. Sure, he was really good at technicals, but sometimes the flavors of his signature bakes were off. And when was stupid Laura going to get eliminated?

You were so caught up in worrying about who would be going to the finals that you didn’t even notice the guy walking through the doors just as you were leaving the café, knocking you onto the ground.

“OW!” you squeaked as you hit the tiled floor that your co-worker had just finished mopping.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice apologized from above you. You squinted up to see Peter’s brown eyes full of worry, and at that point, you couldn’t even tell that you were hurt anymore.

He held out his hand for you to take and pulled you up as if you weighed nothing. Still a bit dizzy, you stumbled, and he wrapped his hand around your waist to keep you from falling again. That same familiar feeling you felt earlier that day was rushing back to you.

“Hey, don’t worry. I’ve got you, Y/N,” he assured you, walking you over to a table to sit down.

You laid your head down on the table, both embarrassed and woozy from having your crush knock you flat on your face because you were too busy thinking about a televised baking competition to watch where you were going.

“You know we’re closed, right,” you groaned, lifting your head to see him staring attentively at you.

“Yeah, I know,” he answered, laughing nervously and running his hands through his hair. You wished that you were the one doing that instead.

“Oh. Well, you can if you really want to,” he said, leaving you confused as to what on earth he was talking about. It wasn’t until a few moments later that you were ready to curl up into a ball and hide forever. Did you say that you wanted to touch his hair OUT LOUD? TO HIS FACE?

Your cheeks turned crimson and you buried your face in your arms again. “Peter, I’m okay. You can go now.” If he didn’t leave now, you’d probably die of embarrassment right in front of him.

“Y/N,” he started, running his thumb across your arm. “I don’t want to go. I… I came here to see you.”

Your head shot up and you stared at him in disbelief. “You know I’m not the only one here who knows how to make a caramel latte, right?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, nodding his head with a soft smile. Even in the dim lighting of the café at night, his eyes sparkled. “I hope this is okay for me to say, but… Y/N. I like you. I like you a lot, and I don’t even like caramel lattes but by the time I realized that I would never get used to the taste, you were already making them without me even having to ask you to.”

“Oh,” you replied, instantly feeling good as new. “I, uh...I like you too.”

You watched as the smile that never failed to brighten your day returned to Peter’s face. “So... Do you—would you, maybe, like to go out with me sometime?”

“Yes!” you replied enthusiastically. Checking your phone, you realized just how long you two had been sitting down. “But we should probably go. The doors were supposed to be locked thirty minutes ago.”

You grabbed his hand, pulling him out the front doors of the coffee shop before scrambling to lock them. When you turned around, you were standing face to face with the guy you’d been crushing on for months.

Right before Peter could lean in to kiss you, you remembered what you had been dying to tell him about all day. “I almost forgot. I met Spiderman today!”

Peter’s eyes widened. He had hoped you wouldn’t bring it up, but then again, he probably shouldn’t have come here in the hopes of seeing you tonight. Play it cool, Parker, he thought as the two of you walked towards the subway station.

“Oh. That’s really cool,” he said in a tone that was suspiciously underwhelmed. “How’d that happen?”

“Well, I was on the way to work and I guess I was listening to my music a little bit too loud,” you started. “And suddenly I hear all these cars honking at me and WHOOSH! I’m in Spiderman’s arms and he drops me off right in front of the coffee shop. I mean, how did he even know that that’s where I was supposed to be? It was incredible!”

Peter really liked listening to you talk. He liked the softness of your voice and how excited you sounded whenever you spoke to him. “Huh. Are you sure you have a crush on me and not on our friendly neighborhood Spiderboy?”

“Spiderman,” you corrected, intertwining your fingers with his. “And no. I like you and only you.”

Peter laughed, thinking about how mad you’d be when he finally let you in on his little secret. But for now, there was no Spiderman. It was just you and him, and that’s how he liked it.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman #mcu

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dhwty-writes · 3 years

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A Health Hazard

This took a lot longer to write than it had any right to. The first 1.5k words were written in under 2 hours, the rest in thrice that time. I'm done with today and this prompt. Written for day 3: Reading by the fire/cuddling by the fire of @witcher-and-his-bard‘s winter prompts Have fun!

Summary: Geralt of Rivia is bored. This hasn't happened in forever. Literally. He learns to understand Jaskier's whining a lot better.

Warnings: none, besides the fact that this is unedited

Read on AO3

All things considered, it had taken a surprisingly short time for the impossible to happen. Apparently, all that it took was three weeks. Three weeks cooped up in Jaskier's generously-sized lodgings in Oxenfurt with nothing to do and lo and behold, Geralt of Rivia was bored. Bored! Could you imagine that?

It hadn't been so bad in the beginning. After five days he finally hadn't felt the need to rise with the sun and had let Jaskier kiss him goodbye, running late for a lecture, while he turned over and slept in. He couldn't remember when he had last done that. Truth be told, he couldn't remember if he'd ever done that.

Certainly not since he'd gotten to Kaer Morhen; there was no slacking in the witchers' keep. He briefly wondered if passing out after a fight and waking up days later could count as sleeping in. Probably not.

No, sleeping in was something for the safe and comfortable, and for the first time since he could think Geralt could count himself among them. All thanks to Jaskier, of course, who did his best to spoil his lover rotten. All on the cost of the Oxenfurt Academy, naturally.

The Academy spared no cost or effort to ensure the comfort of their lecturers—and Jaskier wasn't just any lecturer, he was probably the most popular bard on the continent. Geralt had first realised that Jaskier was rich when he had seen his personal study, stocked with books right up to the ceiling. Most of them were beautiful leather-bound tomes, written by hand with detailed pictures. He had felt a bit faint when discovering that some of them were in the second row.

No matter what Jaskier said about gifts from colleagues and magical innovations called a printing spell, books were immeasurable luxuries. And the bard owned close to a hundred of them. Personally.

Still, Geralt had been hesitant, at first, to make use of the private bath that came with the four-room apartment, or to call upon a servant to fetch him things. That was until Jaskier had told him outright how much they paid him for a single lecture, let alone several of them each day for months. If they were willing to pour that much money down the drain, he couldn't really feel bad about it.

So, the following days and weeks Geralt allowed Jaskier to teach him how to enjoy himself. He learned how to sleep in, indulged in almost daily baths, spent his days reading novels and poems out of Jaskier's personal collection. He didn't protest when the bard ordered too much food. Didn't comment on the overabundance of sweets—he even admitted he liked it. And when Jaskier asked for too exotic spices he only raised his eyebrows.

Once he had even ventured into the extensive Academy library—Geralt had never seen so many books in one place in his entire life—to find a collection of chivalrous legends Jaskier had told him about. He had been welcomed by an overly polite librarian, who had gone ahead to recommend him a dozen other books with the same topic, complete with annotations noting upon all the different possible interpretations. And if that hadn't been enough, he had been offered to take them with him. All of them. At once. As long as he liked. With no credentials but the name "Pankratz". He couldn't fathom how the library hadn't been robbed empty yet. When he had told Jaskier so, he had only laughed and kissed him gently, calling him a silly witcher.

It all had culminated when later that day, after Jaskier had ordered their dinner to be brought up to their rooms, it had been Geralt to stop the servant by the arm and ask for a bottle of wine.

"Right away, sir," the servant had answered. "Do you have any preferences?"

"Umm-" After a quick glance back to Jaskier, who had smiled encouragingly, he had added: "Est Est?"

He had half expected to be reprimanded, but the servant had only looked at him as if that had been obvious. "The year, sir. Do you have any preferences for the year?"

"I hear 1260 was especially good," Jaskier had piped up and that had been the end of that. They had had a very nice evening and an even nicer night, albeit neither of them had gotten a lot of sleep.

The problem was that since then over a week had passed. Geralt had read through all the books he had borrowed and leafed through a number of volumes of Jaskier's personal collection. He wasn't feeling like reading anymore. He had visited several taverns to play Gwent, but that too was interesting only for so long.

He had taken Jaskier up on his offer and accompanied him to a few lectures, but that had grown boring, too. Of course, he could talk about his adventure and the content of the poems, but that wasn't what Jaskier and his students were talking about. Instead, they lead very heated discussions about rhymes and metaphors and what Jaskier called a meter ("It's like a rhythm, Geralt."). But in the end, he didn't care if the rhyme was a pair or not, or if the rhythm was an asbestos or a dromedary or something.

He flopped down on the couch with an uncharacteristically dramatic sigh. Jaskier had returned from his last lecture an hour ago and was now holed up in his study doing... something. As if him being away all day wasn't bad enough, he had to continue working afterwards!

Geralt sat up with a start. Shit, was that how Jaskier felt all year round on the Path? It was a horrifying thought; no wonder the bard was so whiny all the time. Well, Geralt was different. He certainly wouldn't stoop so low. No, he definitely wouldn't whine.

~*~

"Jaskier," Geralt whined from his place on the extra armchair they had acquired the previous day. "Are you done yet?"

The poet mouthed some words along while he frantically scribbled them down on yet another snippet of parchment. "Almost, darling, give me a minute," he muttered absentmindedly just like he had half an hour ago.

Geralt threw his head back and groaned loudly. He was going mad; he was sure of it. It was not normal for people to go such a long time without someone charging at them with swords or claws or dirty underwear. It could not be healthy. "D'you think I should talk to Shani?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jaskier mumbled under his breath, flipping through the hundreds of pages of notes he was keeping.

"Hmm." So Jaskier agreed that boredom was a serious health hazard. He drummed his fingers on the armrest. Maybe he should go do it right away?

He got to his feet and was almost at the door when he halted. No, it was late already, sundown a few hours past. He walked back to the armchair. But maybe-

"Geralt," Jaskier said with a heavy sight and put down his pen. "Love. You're pacing."

"Really?" The witcher grit out. "Wouldn't have noticed."

"Can you just-" He rubbed at his temples. He looked incredibly tired. "I'm sorry, five more minutes, alright? Then we can do whatever you want, what d'you think of that."

"Hm." Geralt thought that was bullshit and that Jaskier should take a break.

But the poet was too engrossed in his own mind to even hear it.

'Alright then,' he thought and sat back down, arms crossed. 'Five more minutes.' He could manage five minutes of meditation. Easily.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, waiting for the calm to settle over him. What followed were probably the longest five fucking minutes of Geralt's life.

No sooner were they over that his eyes snapped open and he rushed over to his bard, holding him close from behind and nuzzling against his neck.

Jaskier chuckled softly. "Hello there. Five minutes over already?"

"Yes," Geralt said resolutely. "What're you writing anyways?" he asked, trying to peer over his bard's shoulder.

Still scribbling, Jaskier answered: "A novel, dear."

"A novel?" he replied and pulled back a little. "Since when?" Jaskier never wrote novels. Songs and poems, yes, and on one memorable occasion a play, too, but they had both agreed that it was horrid and that he should stick to shorter stuff.

He shrugged and slammed the piece of paper onto one of the piles. Apparently, there was an order to the chaos. "The day before yesterday, I think? Didn't really pay attention."

Geralt snorted. That went without saying. "Please tell me you didn't write all that in-"

Jaskier gasped softly and pulled up another sheet of paper. "Shh, give me a minute, love, else I'll forget this sentence. Oh fuck, this is so good-"

He bared his teeth. "You said-"

"Please, Geralt," Jaskier begged. 'Fuck.' The cursed bardlet knew damn well that he couldn't resist him; not with the pure desperation in his voice.

So, Geralt contented himself with grumbling displeased and pressing his nose against Jaskier's neck, while he waited for the scratching of the quill on paper to finally subside.

Thankfully, it didn't take too long for Jaskier to slam the quill down and forcefully push the paper away. "Done," he declared, exhaustion plain in his voice. "I'm done for today."

He raised his eyebrows. "You sure?"

"Y-yeah. I'm sure." The tiny pause was enough for Geralt to know that, no, Jaskier wasn't done in the slightest. If not for him the poet would probably stay up until the early hours of morning, crafting one masterful line after the other. Until he'd inevitably collapse from the exhaustion, smudging the ink of his uppermost sheet of paper all over his face.

He couldn't fathom how much self-control it cost Jaskier to turn around and ask: "So, what is bothering you so terribly, my beloved witcher?"

Geralt glared at him defiantly. It took him all of three seconds to cave. "I'm bored," he complained and frowned.

The effect was instantaneous and his expression grew soft. "Oh, my dear, I'm terribly sorry."

There was something about Jaskier's voice, something about his touch, about the way he brought Geralt close for a gentle kiss. Something that made him go from wanting to believe his words so badly to actually believing them.

The smile on his bard's face was nothing short of adorable when he asked: "Anything I can do about it?"

"Hm." Well, he could think of quite a few things to bide their time.

Before he could voice any of them, though, Jaskier continued: "Yeah, that's what I thought." He stood up and took his hand. "Come on, Geralt, I'm dead on my feet. Let's get somewhere more comfortable, then we can figure that out."

He gladly let himself be led. As long as it meant spending time with Jaskier, he was hardly about to object. The poet flitted around their apartment, collecting pillows and blankets, while he sent Geralt off to heat the kettle and get them some tea, all the while humming with excess energy.

Not fifteen minutes later Geralt found himself on the floor in front of the fireplace with a lapful of bard who was cursing quietly whenever he sipped his too-hot tea and inevitably burnt his tongue. Geralt couldn't help but smile as he cradled his Jaskier closer to his chest.

"What's your novel about?" he whispered into his ear.

"Oh, it's a romance!" he replied cheerfully.

Geralt pulled back, a horrible thought dawning on him. "Jaskier...," he growled. "Please tell me you're not writing a romance novel about us."

"Well," the poet drawled and Geralt groaned. So that was a yes. "I am not writing about Geralt of Rivia, the witcher, and Jaskier the bard."

"But?"

"But it might be that the two protagonists are a chivalrous monsterslayer and his loyal painter companion."

"Jaskier...," he pleaded even though he knew it was useless.

"What? In my defence, it was you who dragged in the knightly ballads!"

"Hm." That was a shit defence and they both knew it. Unwilling to start an argument, though, he just pulled Jaskier closer against his chest and leaned his forehead against his shoulder. "Tell me more."

And tell him more he did. Thank the gods it was so easy to get Jaskier rambling. He told him about the two protagonists, Eric and Dandelion, who had met shortly after the artist had abandoned the court; he had been living at, to find real inspiration out in the world. He was, apparently, entirely insufferable and a notorious womanizer-

"What?" Geralt interrupted him with a quiet chuckle. "Next you tell me he set out into the world to draw nude portraits of all his lovers."

"Oh no!" He felt Jaskier tense up before even the lament had left his mouth. "Oh, fuck, Geralt, that's brilliant, I-" His mouth snapped shut. His eyes flitted around nervously as he was obviously contemplating what the worse fate was: abandoning his lover or risking the loss of an idea.

Geralt quickly made the decision for him as he opened his arms. "Go on, bard," he said with a soft smile. "Write it down before it's gone again." He had lived with Jaskier long enough to become well acquainted with all of his sorrows.

The smile he got in return was almost worth it. "You're the best, I love you, I'm so sorry," he blabbered, scrambling to his feet. He pecked him on the mouth with a quick: "Be right back."

'No, you won't,' Geralt thought adoringly as he watched him bolt to his desk. "Just bring something to write with when you do!" he called after him and leaned back against the couch. He couldn't quite bring himself to wipe the lopsided grin off his face.

It was going to be a long winter. But he wouldn't have it any other way.

#my writing #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #winter prompt challenge

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patandpran · 4 years

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What love feels like

Pairing: Tin x Can

Summary: It really was like Tin had adopted an adorable, helpless stray dog that had just randomly wandered up to him one day.From the beginning of their friendship, to Tin wanting something more, to a re-imagining of their first kiss, Can teaches Tin what love feels like.

Slight canon divergence from season 2, mixing bits of pieces from the canon of season 1/2.

Can was like an annoying little puppy that Tin was not sure what to do with. Tin just knew that he had to feed him regularly, keep a napkin in his pocket at all times because Can tended to messy and always be ready for a barrage of sounds to be constantly thrown his way when Can went off on one of his rants. It really was like Tin had adopted an adorable, helpless stray dog that had just randomly wandered up to him one day.

Can was quite feisty and in those hotheaded moments was when Tin thought that Can was the cutest. He looked like a little kid having a tantrum and his words would start to string together in non-sensical patterns and Tin would just nod and try to make sure Can knew he was listening. It was hard to keep the smile off of his lips in these moments because of how freaking adorable Can looked.

Tin had never met somebody so energetic, whether it was positive energy or negative energy, Can ran at full gas all the time which is likely the reason he needed to eat and rest so often: to refuel. He was like a firecracker compared to the way that Tin moved calmly and slowly through the world, in an attempt to be unnoticed. Can made such a scene wherever he went it was like he was wearing a ‘Hey, look at me!’ neon sign, even though he did not seem to care much about the attention that his antics brought him. He was just being Can.

Whether he knew it or not, Can forced his friendship on Tin in an almost violent attack. They went from being complete strangers who were at odds with each other to Can looking out for Tin’s wellbeing and forcing Tin to take him out to lunch as a reward. While they did not exactly get along at the best of times, Tin found himself quietly amused at the way Can seemed to care about him and have a shockingly strong moral base, despite how erratically he operated in every other part of his personality.

Tin also loved that Can did not give a shit about his last name or what that meant. Can, for whatever bizarre reason, seemed to truly enjoy Tin’s company and care for him in a way that was completely separate from the money that Tin had. He was not used to people treating him well unless they wanted something, either a familial connection or sometimes even money itself. Because of this, Tin had developed a cold outer shell to ward people off and built a wall of innate distrust between him and the rest of the world. He would wade through his life untouched if people didn’t even bother to approach him.

But, of course, Can had been the wrecking ball to bring that wall down in a matter of seconds. Sure, there was still still times that Tin had the instinct to build it back up again but Can always proved his suspicions wrong and any conflict between them was particular to their interactions and had nothing to do with Tin’s last name or trust fund. Every second that he spent with Can was a breath of fresh air and Tin soon became addicted to that feeling.

Tin began to go out of his way to run into Can, making excuses about his promise to Pete about checking in to see how Ae was doing so he could get away with being on the Thai Program campus. Can seemed confused by his presence at first but quickly got used to the routine of Tin ‘randomly meeting him’ after class to take him out for a meal (when Tin had actually made a point of memorizing Can’s class schedule) and ‘just happening’ to drop by after Can’s football practice with a cold bottle of water (Tin had bribed Techno with concert tickets to send him the football practice schedule). Can was always pleasantly surprised to see Tin and it quickly became their norm.

Tin had never wanted been the one to pursue friendship with anyone so the experience was completely foreign. He sometimes called Pete to ask what was appropriate and not (every time that he did, Pete asked when Tin and Can were going to make it official but Tin just laughed it off). Can was blunt and honest about everything so when Tin something out of line, like try to buy Can’s Mom and sister designer bags, Can shut that down really quick and was kind enough to explain why it was not what friends did.

Can sometimes said some pretty hurtful things to Tin when he got frustrated but would always apologize seconds later. Sometimes the damage was done, though, and Tin would throw on his armour and throw venom right back at Can. There were some pretty heated moments but Can knew how to bring Tin back down to earth, usually by making puppy dog eyes up at Tin and suggesting they go for a walk to get some air.

Tin wasn’t sure when things changed between them but Tin found himself wondering if Can would start to annoyed by him. They texted all day, usually met up at some point before or after classes in person and made a point of talking on the phone before either of them went to bed. Tin attended each of Can’s football games, to the point where Techno and Champ started teasing Can that Tin was his ‘cheerleader with no cheer in him’. Can always laughed off their jokes and made a point of thanking Tin for coming to the games to support him. This always did something funny to Tin’s chest, making his heart feeling it was going to leap right out of his ribcage.

One time, over a meal, Tin found himself staring at Can’s lips for an extended period of time. They were so pink and soft and Tin just couldn’t keep his gaze off of them, even though Can was in the middle of some rantfest as usual. It took a few minutes for Can to notice where Tin was looking and he asked if there was something on his lips. Tin felt his cheeks grow hot and muttered an excuse before shoving a napkin in Can’s face. Can didn’t react further after wiping his lips and launched right back into the story as if nothing was amiss. Tin, on the other hand, was still consumed with the urge to look back at Can’s lips and the bright idea of how pleasant it would be to press his own lips against Can’s.

After this interaction, Tin tried to put some distance between himself and Can. It didn’t seem fair to Can for Tin to force his feelings on him and, to be honest, Tin started to wonder how long he had felt this way when Can clearly just wanted friendship from Tin. It felt wrong for Tin to keep being around Can when he wanted much more than just platonic companionship. The worst part was that Tin didn’t want to ruin the best friendship he had ever had just because his stupid feelings were getting in the way.

Tin had given a valiant effort to avoiding Can and letting Can have some space but because of their established routine, Can probably thought Tin was backing away from their friendship entirely rather than just trying to pull the reins in a bit. Tin felt like he was being tortured when he was around Can because all he wanted to do was reach out and slips his hand into Can’s - but that’s not what friends did. But then the texts and calls started coming in at alarming rate and Tin couldn’t just ignore Can, could he?

“Hellooooooo. I’m hungry. I thought we were going to meet up for lunch today. And by meet up, I meant I thought you were going to buy me lunch today.”

“Tin. I didn’t see you at all yesterday or today. Who am I supposed to tease if I can’t tease you? I miss your dumb face. Call me.”

“…. Did I do something wrong? I am trying to think back over what happened the last time we hung out and I can’t think of anything in particular… Is there something going on with your family? Is your brother being an asshole to you again? I will come beat him up for you. Just let me know when and where.”

“Tin… I am sorry for whatever I did. I hope that we can still be friends because… as much as I hate to admit it, I really care about you and even though we’ve only known each for a few months, I think you’re one of my best friends. I just… please call me.”

Listening to the voicemails and reading the texts that came in during their time apart made Tin feel ill wit guilt. He owed Can an explanation and with how open and honest Can had been with him throughout their friendship, Tin owed Can the truth, even if it meant the end of their friendship. It seemed like a risk worth taking.

“Meet me at the football field.”

Tin knew that Can would be getting out go class soon, as long as he actually attended his lecture (which Can often didn’t) but Tin hoped that today would be the exception to the rule. Once he stepped onto the turf of the field, he felt his heart begin to race at a million miles an hour. How could he possibly put into words how he felt about Can? This was particularly a challenge for someone who didn’t use many words in the first place.

“Tin?”

Tin tensed as soon as he heard Can’s voice but was relieved to hear it as well. It had been painful to be away from Can and as Tin turned to face Can, he felt himself relax entirely knowing that Can was only a few feet away from him. Can looked exhausted and his eyes looked a bit weepy, as if he had not been sleeping well or he had cried recently.

Immediately, Tin approached Can and put his hand under Can’s chin, gently tilting Can’s face to closer inspect him. The worry that spread through Tin, seeing Can look so unlike himself, once again confirmed exactly how he felt about his friend. “Can, are you okay?”

“I… I missed you.” Can began to blubber, his eyes filling with tears. Tin was once again reminded about how vulnerable and sensitive Can was and felt guilty for ever ignoring him. Can continued as Tin wiped his tears from under his eyes, “Why did you disappear like that?”

“I’m sorry.” Tin responded, feeling as if his heart was being torn to pieces right then and there. “I didn’t realize it was going to upset you this much. It won’t happen again…. unless you don’t want to see me after what I’m going to tell you.”

Can pressed his head against Tin’s chest and wrapped his arms around Tin, pulling him into a tight hug. “What could you ever say that would make me not want to see you? That’s ridiculous.”

“I was scared of how you would react so I tried to give you some space so I could sort through things in my head.” Tin gently pulled away from the hug so that he could look into Can’s eyes again but kept his arms wound around Can. Can looked up at Tin with confusion so Tin continued, “I… I have feelings for you.”

“Feelings?” Can repeated and Tin was reminded of just how naive Can was. “I mean, I have feelings too, I’m crying right now! I know you have a hard time being open about your emotions but surely you can trust me enough to be open with how you feel.”

“Can.” Tin grumbled, wishing that Can was a better listener. “I have feelings FOR YOU. As in, I like you…”

“I mean, of course, you like me.” Can beamed up at Tin. “We’re friends.”

“I don’t know how to make this any clearer.” Tin groaned in frustration. “I guess I’ll just have to

show you what I mean if saying it doesn’t make sense to you.”

Before Can could utter another question, Tin kissed him. The kiss was gentle and exploratory, and Tin hoped that it wouldn’t change everything between he and Can. He wanted to make up for the pain he had caused his friend and wanted to share with Can just how important he was to Tin. Shockingly, Can did not pull away from the kiss but remained still for a few moments and Tin’s heart hammered immensely against his chest, wondering what could possibly be going through Can’s mind.

Tin slowly pushed away and separated from Can. Can’s eyes were still closed but Tin watched as Can’s eyes slowly opened and revealed that a look of pure fascination was reflected in them. Tin smirked slightly and murmured, “Does that make things any clearer?”

“It still doesn’t explain why you were avoiding me.” Can was clearly still processing what had happened but a flash of pain appeared on his face and his gaze dropped to their shoes. “You didn’t want to hang out with me because you want to kiss me?”

Tin chuckled slightly at Can’s blunt thought process. “I suppose you could put it like that.”

“Why does everything have to be so complicated?” Can answered defiantly and looked back to Tin with a pout on his mouth. It took everything for Tin not to kiss Can again right then and there. Can continued, “If I’m hungry, I eat. If I’m tired, I sleep. If you are mad at me, we talk about it. If you want to kiss me, kiss me.”

“It’s a lot easier said then done.” Tin shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling a bit embarrassed by the conversation. “Plus, do you even like me back?”

“I’ve never wanted to spend so much time with someone. Whenever I’m not with you, I’m thinking about you and when you stopped coming to see me, I felt like I was going to lose it.” Can expressed urgently, the words practically tumbling out of his mouth before his lips could even form them. “I don’t know what love is because I have never experienced it but, if I had to make an educated guess, even though I’m not that educated, I think this is what love feels like.”

Tin’s jaw fell slightly slack as Can stated everything he was experiencing with such matter of factness, especially when Can said the word ‘love’ so casually. Nothing about this felt casual to Tin and the fact that Can was reciprocating the feelings that Tin had been so terrified to share with Can in the first place was a whole other piece of information for Tin to have to process. As usual, Tin felt overwhelmed while Can just looked happy to be once again sharing space with Tin.

“You are very smart, Can.” Tin shared and brought his hand up to ruffle Can’s hair fondly but Can dodged it easily. Tin rolled his eyes, “So I can kiss you without warning but I’m not allowed to play with your hair?”

“I am a man, not a puppy. I prefer kisses to being pet, thank you very much.” Can explained before putting his hands stubbornly on his hips.

Of course, this only made him look even more adorable so Tin swept in and dropped a quick peck on Can’s lips. After the kiss, Tin rested his forehead lightly on Can’s forehead and murmured, “I think you’re right.”

“Right about what?” Can wondered, staring up at Can through his eyelashes.

Tin smiled, “This is definitely what love feels like.”

#tincan #tin x can #meanplan #love by chance #lbc #love by chance 2 #thai bl #studio wabi sabi #my writing #cass writes

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Don't Strauss Too Much (Crygi) - Mumu

A/N: Back on my Crygi clownery! A big thank you to the lovely @sportcox who helped me brainstorm this title <3

Summary: Gigi needs a tutor, and Crystal is happy to help her out.

Gigi Goode is going to throw herself off a cliff.

She’s been staring at her flashcards from yesterday’s music theory lecture for what feels like forever now, and she’s still no closer to memorizing the information she needs to know for her quiz on Friday than when she got here.

She and Nicky are sitting in the corner of their favourite cafe, notebooks and highlighters sprawled out on the table among cups of coffee and various sweet treats. Normally, the cozy atmosphere always puts Gigi into a good mood, but today she’s far too stressed to enjoy the experience. She has a week to memorize a whole chapter’s worth of material. So far she’s wasted most of her time just staring blankly at her notes.

“What kind of demon professor gives a quiz on a Friday, anyway?” She complains.

Besides her, Nicky laughs. “Take a break if you’re so upset about it.”

“That’s not how it works,” Gigi mumbles, even as she closes her folder and takes a sip of her iced coffee. She slumps back into her seat. “Music theory is gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

“I don’t even understand why you’re taking it,” Nicky says, tapping her pen against her teeth distractedly.

“I needed the credit,” Gigi explains in a monotone. “I thought it would be easy, but Professor Visage doesn’t even give us completion credit for homework.”

“Oh, the horror,” Nicky smirks at her. “Imagine, Stanford professors not giving you full credit just because you turned your work in.”

“Shut up,” Gigi pouts. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Can’t you just drop?” Nicky steals a bite of Gigi’s tiramisu, giggling when the other girl swats her away. “Hey, I’m helping, I deserve some of your cake.”

“I can’t,” Gigi says, rolling her eyes at Nicky’s antics. “Missed the deadline.”

“Just get a tutor then,” Nicky suggests. “Isn’t that Crystal girl you like also taking it? You said she was doing well last time.”

Gigi very nearly chokes on a macaroon.

“How… do you even remember that?” She gets out, coughing.

“As if I could forget. That’s all you talked about the entire two hours we hung out. You were all, ‘Crystal’s so good at theory’ and ‘Visage likes her so much’ and ‘if she weren’t so pretty I could be able to hate her.’” Nicky teases. “Besides, you know I love to play matchmaker.”

“Yeah, well, I hate to break it to you, but that’s not happening. I can’t even talk to her, let alone survive a tutoring session with that girl.” Gigi says.

“Okay, well, it’s not like you have any other options.” Nicky is unimpressed.

“Then I’d better just accept that I’ll bomb this quiz.” Gigi pops another macaroon into her mouth in self-pity.

“No, not on my watch.” Nicky insists. “Just message her, it’s not that hard!”

“Absolutely not,” Gigi says. She reopens her folder, looking glumly down at the index cards tucked into the pocket. “Like I said, I’d rather fail.”

She’s too busy staring down at the material in front of her to notice when Nicky grabs her phone until it’s too late. “Hey!”

Nicky just cackles, angling her body so that Gigi can’t interrupt her typing. “If you don’t have the guts, I’ll do it for you.”

“Nicolette Doll, I’ll kill you,” Gigi says, trying to grab at her phone.

Gigi glares at her friend, calculating about a hundred ways to dispose of her body. She has half a mind to drive her dessert fork into the blonde’s neck in an attempt to stop her from going through with this. Gigi bats at Nicky’s arms, attempting to wrestle the device away from her.

It’s no use. Nicky’s grip is strong, and Gigi watches with growing horror as the blonde types Crystal’s Instagram handle into the explore page. Nicky doesn’t even need to type the full name; Crystal pops up into her recent searches as soon as she inputs the first few letters.

In usual circumstances, Gigi would at least be embarrassed, but right now she’s more horrified at the prospect of messaging Crystal Methyd.

Crystal, the girl who she’s been crushing on since the very first music theory lecture. Crystal, who’s probably the reason she’s barely pulling a big fat D in the class in the first place, since, as it turns out, staring at the pretty Latina sitting in the front row isn’t a very effective learning strategy.

“Nicky,” Gigi says, trying a different approach. “I’ll do the dishes for a week.”

“Too late!” Nicky grins at her, far too proud of herself. She hands the phone back to Gigi. “Your welcome.”

Gigi stares down at her phone screen, blinking dumbly at it.

Hey! This is Gigi from music theory. I needed a tutor and was wondering if you might wanna help?

Gigi’s gaze darts from Nicky to the screen, and then back again.

“I hate you,” She decides, puffing out a breath at the end of the sentence. “Why am I friends with you?”

“You’ll be thanking me soon enough.” Nicky shrugs. “Oh! Look, she’s typing!”

Gigi feels a rush of dizzying panic at Nicky’s narration. She snatches her phone closer to her chest, doing her best impression of a chipmunk with a peanut. A glance down confirms, yes, Crystal really is typing out a response. Now that Crystal’s already seen it, it’s too late to unsend the message. God, she’s probably weirded out by the random request. Why did Gigi think bringing this up with Nicky was a good idea?

“Uh-uh, I don’t trust you anymore,” She scolds, voice only shaking a bit, as Nicky tries to peek over her shoulder. “You can sit there and if you’re lucky I’ll fill you in.”

Nicky huffs, pouting. “Putain.”

Gigi’s about to retort when Crystal’s typing icon disappears, and a message replaces it.

hi gigi :) of course!

Gigi fights the dumb smile that’s threatening to burst across her cheeks, hyper-aware of the fact that Nicky’s watching her intently. She can feel the french girl’s gaze on her, practically burning a hole through her ponytail and skull.

Crystal typed the message in lowercase— Gigi’s not sure why she finds that so endearing, but the detail lodges itself in her brain and Gigi files it under the mental list she’s begun to keep this semester. Little things about Crystal: she likes big earrings, her laugh sounds like liquid sunshine, her hair is a different colour every other week. And now, the newest addition, she types in lowercase.

The smiley face Crystal sent peers up at her.

Her phone pings again. how does tuesday sound? maybe at 3pm?

“Bitch, what’s happening?” Nicky asks, craning her neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of their exchange.

A flash of annoyance shoots through Gigi. For some reason, she feels very protective of this little exchange. Nicky’s well-meaning, she knows, but she’s not quite ready to share Crystal yet. It feels kind of exciting to know that this… well, whatever this is, is just between the two of them.

“Nothing so far,” She says. Nicky seems to accept the answer, going back to reading a section in her textbook.

Sounds good. We can work in the Lane reading room if that works for you?

The response comes almost immediately. totally, yeah! see you then

Gigi tries not to feel disappointed at the lack of a smiley face this time around. Keyword: she tries to. But it’s hard to read the signs over a couple of text messages, and she re-reads the last text she sent. Did she do something wrong? Was it too formal? What does Gigi respond, now that she isn’t sure if Crystal just texts everyone smiley faces, or if the girl is flirting with her?

Gigi grabs a chocolate chip cookie and takes a bite, stalling. There are two chunks of chocolate in the mouthful. Gigi takes that as a good sign and decides to go for it.

Looking forward to it! See you then <3

She regrets adding on the heart as soon as she presses send, but there’s no way to take the message back now. Gigi settles on stuffing her face with the rest of the cookie in regret.

She waits a few excruciating seconds, but no response comes. Fuck, she shouldn’t have added that heart. Crystal must think she’s totally creepy. Gigi flips her phone facedown on the table and picks up those flashcards again.

Nicky sees her make like she’s going to continue studying and lets out a snort. “Good luck, girl.”

“Nice to know you have faith in me,” Gigi shoots back, chewing at her bottom lip.

Nicky’s right, though. She doesn’t get anything done for the rest of the half-hour they’re there, her mind too full of thoughts about study dates and smiley faces to focus on anything else.

***

“Ugh!” Gigi tosses another dress aside, falling back onto her bed dramatically. “Why is this so hard?”

Nicky looks up from her phone. “You’re the one that’s making it complicated.”

Gigi throws a pillow in her general direction and the blonde shrieks as it hits her. The impact makes her fall out the beanbag she’s currently sitting on with a loud thump.

“Merde, okay, I’ll help!”

“Thanks.” Gigi flashes a cheeky smile at her.

Nicky puts her phone down and contemplates murdering her friend. “What do you have so far?”

“Uh,” Gigi holds up a tweed dress. “This?”

Nicky can’t help it: a snort escapes her. “What are you, Blair Waldorf? That’s way too fancy.”

“Alright then, uh,” Gigi fishes around for a bit, before showing Nicky a floral two-piece. “What about this one?”

“Hell no, a set looks way too put together.” Nicky shakes her head. “You wanna creep her out?”

Ten minutes and half of Gigi’s closet later, they’ve finally settled on a winning combination: a leather jacket and Gigi’s favourite pair of jeans.

Nicky insists that she doesn’t need a bra under her mini cardigan, so Gigi rolls with it.

A little part of her is glad that Nicky’s so passionate about Gigi flashing Crystal her nipples: at least she will have someone to blame when this all ends in a train wreck because she’s coming on way too strong.

Also, the mental image of Crystal getting flustered— well, Gigi would be lying if she said it wasn’t convincing.

Gigi’s alarm goes off and she grabs her phone, groaning at the time. “Shit, I’m gonna have to power-walk there.”

“I’ll see you after then,” Nicky says, winking at her. “Have fun with your little crush!”

As it turns out, Gigi didn’t have anything to worry about, because Crystal is late. Gigi takes a seat by the windows, spreading out her stuff. She tries not to think too much about the girl she’s currently waiting for, occupying herself instead with watching the people outside.

“Hey, sorry I’m late!” A voice says. Gigi turns and comes face to face with Crystal. The girl slides into the seat next to Gigi, her smile a little sheepish. “Art History is on the other side of campus. I guess I didn’t give myself enough time to get here.”

“Oh, uh,” Gigi flounders, not sure where to look. Is it weird to look into Crystal’s eyes? That feels a bit too intimate. She settles for focusing on moving her pencil case from her left to her right. Crystal’s looking expectantly at her, and she swallows hard, trying to clear her mind of Crystal’s tanned skin and cute freckles.

“No worries!” Her voice comes out weirdly high-pitched and she cringes inwardly.

Crystal doesn’t seem to notice her strange behaviour, flashing her another sunny grin. “Okay! Is there a specific section you want help with?”

Right. Tutoring. That’s why Crystal is here. Not so Gigi can stare at her, and certainly not to get to know Gigi or anything like that. Gigi can’t help the pang of disappointment that she gets at the reminder. Part of her forgot this is strictly a school-related thing. Gigi suddenly feels stupid for overthinking her outfit and draws her jacket closer to herself. Hopefully Crystal doesn’t notice how dressed-up she is today, because Gigi doesn’t know if she’ll be able to survive that embarrassment.

“I’ve been having trouble with secondary dominants,” Gigi says, pulling out her workbook.

“Okay, yeah, I can help you with those!” Crystal grabs a pen. She leans over, tracing the chords with it. “Can I write on this?”

“Huh?” Gigi asks stupidly, cheeks warming. Crystal’s shoulder is pressed against hers, and although it’s perfectly innocent, Gigi’s still hyper-aware of the way her skin feels too warm from the contact. She tries to stay perfectly still, not wanting to spook the other girl into moving away from her position. “Oh, uh, go ahead, totally. That’s fine.”

“Right, great, so let’s use this question,” Crystal says, marking something down on the book.

She’s close enough to Gigi now that her perfume envelopes the space around them. She smells like honey and coconut, a warm mixture that Gigi finds comforting. A curl slips over Crystal’s shoulder, and the girl bats it away. Gigi almost melts at how cute the action is.

This week Crystal’s hair is a muted matcha colour, and Gigi thinks that it suits her. It’s the prettiest she’s ever seen Crystal. Then again, she thinks that every time Crystal walks into class with a new colour, so maybe it’s less of a testament to the colour itself and more to how utterly head-over-heels Gigi is.

“The key signature is A Major, and this chord starts on a C. So you can count down a fifth from C, and you get F, which means that the chord is an F Dominant Seventh,” Crystal explains. “Do you know what the next step is?”

“Um,” Gigi says eloquently, brought back from her daydream by the question. How long did she zone out for?

“Sorry,” Crystal says, tapping her pen on the workbook rapidly. “I lost you, didn’t I?”

“No, it’s okay, just,” Gigi chews at her lip nervously, then immediately regrets it because she definitely has lipstick on her teeth now. “Can you go over it again?”

Crystal nods. She takes a sharp inhale like she’s going to say something, but seems to change her mind, instead offering Gigi a reassuring smile. “Of course, yeah.”

Gigi shifts awkwardly in her seat at the action, unsure what Crystal’s thinking. She’s about to ask, or say something when Crystal jumps into the explanation again. Gigi tries her very hardest to pay attention this time, but she still finds herself staring at Crystal’s lips. They’re coated with a glittery red gloss, and they look so shiny and plump that Gigi really, really wants to kiss them.

“Wanna try one on your own now?” Crystal asks.

Gigi blinks. “What?”

Crystal sets her pen down, eyebrows raised. “Did you get any of that?”

“I, uh,” Gigi stammers, trying to find some way to save the situation. Her cheeks warm, and the realization that she’s blushing makes her even more flustered. “Sorry, I’m just really out of it.”

Crystal offers her a sympathetic smile, patting Gigi on the arm comfortingly. “Hey, you’ll be fine, okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m just worried, I guess.” That’s not it at all, but Crystal doesn’t need to know that.

“I won’t let you fail, promise,” Crystal says with a wink. Gigi can’t help but giggle at the action, and Crystal pokes her playfully. “You got this!”

“Thanks,” Gigi mutters, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth through a soft smile.

There’s a slight pause, both girls regarding each other with a hint of shyness. Gigi swallows thickly, eyes flicking around Crystal’s face. Her breath is coming quicker now, and she feels a bit lightheaded.

Crystal has picked up her pen again, nervously clicking it under the table. The sound is threatening to overpower Gigi’s already scattered thoughts. Gigi’s hand goes to cover hers out of instinct, to stop the rhythmic clicks. The back of Crystal’s hand is soft, and Gigi’s fingers loop lightly around her wrist, feeling the fuzz brush against her fingertips. Crystal stops clicking the pen, but Gigi doesn’t remove her hand.

Crystal takes another sharp inhale in, and Gigi thinks the girl is going to shake her hand loose. Nothing happens, though, and for the second time, Crystal seems to swallow her words.

Gigi’s mouth feels sticky, and she runs her tongue along her teeth in an attempt to get rid of the feeling. Crystal presses her lips together at the sight, and Gigi feels a wave of adrenaline so strong it almost knocks her flat. Every fibre in Gigi’s body wants to crash herself against Crystal. She wants to feel the lip gloss slathered on the other girl’s lips on her own, and to drape her arms over Crystal’s shoulders. Her clammy hands twitch as if they might truly act on the desire without Gigi’s approval, and she balls them into fists to suppress the urge.

“You look pretty today,” Crystal says, more air than sound to her words.

Gigi hums. “So do you. You always do.”

Another few moments of stillness. Gigi finds it surprisingly comfortable, existing in Crystal’s space. She focuses on the rise and fall of Crystal’s chest, subconsciously mirroring the pattern with her own breathing.

Crystal’s the braver of the two.

She makes the first move, flipping over their hands so that hers is on top and using that to tug the redhead closer to her. Gigi slides obediently forward in her seat, her legs slotting around Crystal’s. Crystal walks her fingers up Gigi’s arm, raising goosebumps as she gets higher and higher. A chill runs through Gigi’s body, and she regrets not wearing a bra for the second time today. She shifts, straightening her spine, and immediately has to bite back a whimper when she feels her nipples brushing against the knit of her cardigan. By the smirk on Crystal’s face, the moment hasn’t gone unnoticed. There’s a challenge in her eyes, and Gigi feels her throat close when Crystal’s hand brushes her cheek.

Fucking tease, Gigi wants to say, or maybe scream. Hurry up and kiss me.

But Gigi doesn’t, she just sits there and tracks Crystal’s movements with her eyes, and shivers when Crystal tucks a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, agonizingly slow.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Crystal asks, tilting her head in faux innocence.

Gigi bristles and feels her hands jerk impatiently in her lap. “Yes, fuck.”

But Crystal doesn’t let her get it that easily. She shakes her head, curls bouncing gently around her face. “No, say it.”

Gigi splutters something in between a curse and a laugh. The absolute nerve of this bitch. She doesn’t bother saying it again, just rolls her eyes lightly and leans in. Her patience has worn thin, and Crystal’s lips are too inviting to not feel them on hers right this moment.

Crystal ducks away and Gigi is left hanging there for a second, confused, before she opens her eyes with an annoyed huff. “You-”

“Say it,” Crystal repeats. The corners of her lips turn up slightly like she’s fighting a smile. Her hand goes to cup Gigi’s chin. “Wanna hear you say it, Geeg.”

Gigi literally feels her vision cloud over for a split second at the nickname.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but her blood is buzzing in her body and she swears everything has gone a bit fuzzy around the edges. In any normal circumstance, Gigi would probably be over this little game of cat and mouse. She could just kiss someone else. But this is Crystal Methyd in front of her, and that’s enough to make her decide to shelve her pride for now.

She wets her lips and whispers what Crystal wants to hear. “I want you to kiss me.”

Crystal narrows her eyes at Gigi, and for one terrible moment, Gigi thinks Crystal is going to find another excuse to deny her, that she’s going to pull away and tell her that this has all been some kind of cruel power play. But then Crystal’s closing the remaining distance between them, and Gigi takes a sharp shock of air in and has to blow the breath out in one great big rush because Crystal is finally, finally kissing her. It’s tender and soft, a bit more elementary school than anything, and it’s perfect.

Crystal pulls away before Gigi can slide even closer, and she whines unashamedly, shuddering out a shaky breath. Crystal’s hand brushes against Gigi’s chest as she lets it fall, and Gigi’s breath catches. This girl is going to be the death of her.

“Been waiting to do that for a while,” Gigi admits, still a bit breathless.

“I know,” Crystal says. There’s a pretty blush adorning the highs of her cheeks, still visible when she continues. “I was wondering when you’d work up the nerve to talk to me. You stare at me every class.”

“Bitch! I wasn’t that obvious,” Gigi defends.

Crystal just blinks at her. “No, you were obvious as fuck.”

“Oh.” Gigi feels heat blooming on her cheeks.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how I know that?” Crystal prompts. Gigi still looks a little confused, so she continues. “I only noticed because I was watching you, too.”

“You liked me and didn’t make a move?” Gigi exclaims, hitting Crystal on the arm playfully.

“It was more fun to watch you struggle,” Crystal says, waggling her eyebrows.

“You suck.”

“If I kiss you again will you forgive me?” Crystal pulls an exaggerated sad face, clasping her hands together.

Gigi just snorts and closes the distance. Their lips mesh together softly, just as dizzying as the first kiss, and when she pulls away Gigi can still feel Crystal’s gloss on her lips. She smacks them together, trying to blend her own lipstick with the bright red goop.

“So. Do you think you can try a problem now, Miss Goode?” Crystal grins mischievously at Gigi.

“I don’t know, you’re quite distracting,” Gigi counters, a smile pulling at her lips.

Crystal just hums, pointing at a row of questions. “If you get three of those right in a row, I’ll kiss you some more.”

“On my own?” Gigi really would rather go on kissing Crystal.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun, we can make it a game!” Crystal sounds hopeful enough that Gigi finds herself wanting to keep her happy. “Please?”

“What, now you’re the one begging?” Gigi teases.

She picks up her pencil, getting to work. Something about this new studying strategy is more effective than anything she’s tried before, and before long, thanks to Crystal’s teaching (and the kisses peppered between each problem set,) Secondary Dominants make perfect sense.

Come test day, Gigi sits right next to Crystal, in the front row, and makes a respectable 82.

If Professor Visage notices the hand-holding and stolen glances they exchange in the following lectures, she doesn’t mention it. The professor just seems grateful that Gigi’s finally absorbing the content for once. And as for the extent of her knowledge of why Gigi is suddenly so motivated to come into her class every day, well, Visage’s knowing smile says it all.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #crystal methyd #crygi #nicky doll #lesbian au #college au #fluff #mumu #concrit welcome #s12

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rizzizzsins-blog · 5 years

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From the Ashes, Ch. 3

Wanna read the fic on Archive? Click here.

Finally. 9 PM. Asher grabbed his things, pulled his regular clothes on, and signed the discharge papers. It was time to go…

Go where?

He really didn’t want to go home, even though Theo had demanded it. He was a grown-ass man, and he didn’t need Theo leering at him until he went to work. Nonetheless, he needed to change clothes and shower, so home it was.

Gabriel had told him not to drive today, and Theo had the car anyway. He opened his rideshare app. Was Scamp around? He could use a couple of jokes and uncomfortable advances right now.

Thank fuck. He was. He presses his profile picture and waits for a reply.

Ping! Scamp was on his way. His phone went off again. Theo’s live picture feed. He was already out on the town, posing with some nightmarish, inebriated frizzhead of a woman. Of course. All that bitching that Asher wouldn’t come home, and Theo had started his night before 9:30.

Fuck that. Fuck Theo. He changed his destination to go straight to work.

BEEP BEEP. Scamp pulled up right in front of him.

“Hop in. Daylight’s a wastin’, nyeh heh.”

“Fuck daylight,” Asher mumbled, before getting in.

The drive was quiet for a while. Asher’s work was on the other side of Ebott.

“Cigarette?” Scamp asked. He seemed as content with the silence as Asher was. It was nice. They didn’t need to fill the quiet with bullshit.

“Can’t. It’ll kill me even faster than you.”

“Hey, these are nicotine free.”

“Smoke is smoke when you’re a walking tree,” Asher got the last word.

Was Scamp pulling over?

Asher got a notification. The driver had canceled the ride and he’d gotten his money back. Was Scamp going to kick him out of the car?

“What’s wrong?”

“Why do you care?” Asher grumbled.

“Who said I cared? Satisfy my curiosity and you get a free ride,” Scamp smirked.

“I don’t wanna share. There’s no point.”

“What’s that mean?” Scamp pressed on, amused.

“Look, if you can see that I’m feeling like shit, why are you harassing me about it? Just let me out. I’ll walk.”

“Nope. Spit it out.” Scamp rolled down the window and blew out a puff of smoke. “UEbott’s janitorial night shifts don’t start for another hour or so. Your head’s busted open and you want me to take you straight to work when I don’t even know if you’ve eaten dinner. If you die, the rideshare service will find some way to dump the responsibility on me, so tell me what’s going on so I can cover my ass in court.”

Okay, that was funny, if a little cold. Asher snickers a bit.

“My partner said I needed to be home by ten. Turns out he went clubbing at 8. I don’t even know what clubs are open and full at 8 pm, but Theo finds a goddamn way. I got the bump on my head from Sparkby Embers himself.”

“Sparkby punched you? Be thankful you’re not dust, kiddo. What did you do? He usually just throws people out of the bar and kicks them around a bit. If he punched someone, it meant they really fucked up.”

Asher hesitated.

He didn’t want to seem like some kind of white knight.

“You don’t seem like the type to get into fights easy, especially if you let your boyfriend walk all over you. So what did you do? I’ll throw in some fert if that makes you feel any better.”

Fertilizing capsules? How was he affording those by being a discount chauffeur and smoking half his paycheck?

“... he was talking shit.”

“About you?” Scamp shrugged.

“.... About you.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep. Happy?”

Scamp burst into wheezing, uncontrollable laughter. It was half cough, half laugh, and for some reason, Asher didn’t mind the sound.

“What’s so goddamn funny? Stop laughing or I’ll start laughing, and my laugh sounds like nails on a chalkboard,” Asher snorted a little.

“You took a punch. From Sparkby. To the face. Because he was saying filthy shit… about a hooker! I don’t wheeeeeeze think I’ve ever heard a more stupid way to bust your skull open! Asgore on a cracker, you’re hilarious, rugrat!”

Oh.

So the rumors had been true.

“Even so! He’s the one who hired you, so… I said it said more about him if he had to hire someone to blow him.”

Scamp was still mid-conniption, when, on a particularly strong inhale, he sucked his entire cigarette right into his gullet.

“Oh my gods, are you okay?!” Asher panicked.

“Hey. Ashy. Check this out.”

Scamp turned around, and blew rings of smoke at Asher through his eyesocket. Normally Asher would have been pissed, but the amount of smoke was negligible, and the stunt had impressed him.

“Can you do it out the other one?”

Shit. Asher immediately regretted asking, having temporarily forgotten the patch over Scamp’s other eye. “I’m s--”

“Yep. Look.”

He blew smoke up until the eyepatch lifted a bit, then timed it with the whistles of a steam train.

“Choo choo, motherfucker. One Eye Express, coming in hot,” Scamp managed, before wheezing and laughing again. Asher had to wipe his eyes; his stomach was hurting from laughing so hard.

“Aw, man. Still can’t believe you almost dusted yourself to defend a whore’s honor. That’s one I’ve never heard.”

Asher shook his head. “It wasn’t about honor. People shouldn’t talk that way about anyone they’ve slept with, even once. It’s just not okay.”

Scamp sighed, kicking his feet up.

“Lots of shit in the world isn’t okay. There isn’t a damn thing you can do but smoke and work till you die, so try to make it last. Don’t do that shit again. You’re a fun passenger who puts up with my shenanigans, and I wanna drive you around some more, okay?”

Asher grinned. It was nice to have someone care, or even pretend to like Scamp was.

“Got it. Get me to work. You promised me a free ride.”

“Right on it, Cap’n.”

Scamp gently eases the pedal into ridiculous speeds, maneuvering through alleys and potholes to get Asher there as soon as possible. His eyelight seemed to brighten when they were cruising down the lanes. His cigarette went out, and he didn’t even light a new one; he was enthralled with the drive, and Asher kind of was too. He was a little sad when the car came to a stop.

“Nice. Didn’t lose the left windshield this time,” Scamp grins. There’s a bit of a spark to that smile.

“Not gonna lie, that was awesome. Stay out of trouble, though. You’re a meter maid’s wet dream,” Asher gently warned him.

“Heh. As if they could catch me. Only Edge and my big bro can keep pace with my Nadine.”

Of course he named the damn Lada.

“I’ll see you later, Scamp.”

“See ya.”

And he was off, just as fast as he’d come to get him. Asher felt a little empty. Why was that?

He pushed it aside, scanned his card, and hopped in the elevator. He liked to start from the third floor; by the time he reached floor one, it was time to clock out, and he got to walk right out the door. It was already nice and dark, the glow of his soul the only light in the building. It was all he really needed to see anyway. He opened his closet, pulled out his cart, and took a deep breath.

Time to do the only thing he could ever fucking do right.

The Biology wing was first. There were ten lab/classroom combo rooms and a large lecture hall for the building. It was best to get that out of the way first, because cleaning the lecture hall carpet sucked.

The repetitive work put Asher’s mind at ease. The sound of the carpet foam, the whir of the vacuum wheels. The clink of quarters as he bought himself some canned coffee; in the quiet of the night shift, it was all music to his ears. He was half asleep, half dead, half angry, but none of that mattered. All he had to do was go up, row by row, spraying the foam, till he reached the top, then he vacuumed on the way down when the foam dried. Any trash he found, he could pick up with a vine and toss in the can; any pencils or pens, he could keep.

There was one more thing Asher did that wasn’t in his job description; when he’d first entered his new job, he’d noticed how barren the halls and classrooms felt. Throughout his first year, he’d been sneaking large potted plants into places throughout the building. It had been four or five years since then and everyone had assumed the plants were supposed to be there. Of course, Asher didn’t put them in labs or places where they might contaminate something important. He gave them water when they needed it, and just a touch of his own magic, to keep them nice and vibrant.

Seeing wilting leaves perk up to his touch made him feel like he wasn’t a complete failure.

Eventually, the Biology wing was finished, and the biology offices were next. These were kind of easy. All he had to do was unlock each office, wipe down the floors, and not knock anything over.

Most of the professors were human, and of little interest. Asher just cleaned their offices, tried to ignore their family pictures, and moved on. But the few monster offices were more interesting. It was cool to see where they came from, what they were up to. He at least understood their whiteboard notes a little better. All this talk of organs and systems made his head spin. There was a reason he chose Intro to Monster Bio to fulfill that particular prereq. It was easier to memorize a hundred species than to remember the difference between Squishy Lump #1 and Squishy Lump #2, much less what each one did.

Occasionally, he ran into other janitors on his shift, but it seemed like tonight wasn’t that night. Thank goodness. He knew the building wasn’t exactly his, but he treasured the solace and hated intrusions on it. Even professors working late made him a little uncomfortable.

He pulls a small speaker out of his cart. He’d kind of made a secret compartment for it, so that it’d always be there no matter who used his equipment. With one last look around, he turned the volume up.

The rhythm of the music moved his feet and gave him a second kick of energy during that “one-third through my shift” slump. He was through with the offices in no time. Time for the second floor- the Psychology and Chemistry floor. Asher was especially careful with the “don’t knock anything over” rule in the chem labs. There were things that would give a regular monster a nasty rash that would outright kill him. This floor wasn’t too hard, since psychology labs required little special treatment, and the chemistry professors and students were extremely thorough about keeping their spaces clean.

Normally, he didn’t pay tooo much attention to the names of the professors he cleaned for, but wasn’t that Clemm’s room at the end of the hall?

Now he had to go inside. Well, he technically had to go in either way, but he was very invested now. What kind of man was he? How did he decorate? Why didn’t he have his office in the Philosophy building?

As he approached, he could hear the faint sound of music, so he turned his own off. If Clemm was working late, Asher would rather avoid direct interaction. But all the lights were turned off. He reached for the doorknob; the office was locked.

Apparently Clemm had left music playing in his office by accident. Wow, his office was incredibly nice, a corner office to boot. Asher had seen it before, but he had context for who worked in it now. The walls were painted the shade of pumpkin soup, and a couple of Himalayan salt lamps sat unlit. One on his windowsill, and one on his desk. He had a fancy coffee machine and an expensive tin of rooibos and black tea, with a dash of cinnamon. Asher almost wanted to spend his breaks in this space. It was so relaxing, with the faint scent of some essential oil in the air.

He felt kind of bad for being such an abrasive little shit now. Maybe he could leave a note.

Professor Clemm,

This might be a little out of place, but I’m Asher from one of your PHIL 101 online classes. I do the night cleaning in the building. I wanted to say I was sorry for being so rude in my first assignment. I’m going to do my best to be a bit more open in future assignments.

That should do it. Certainly better than his cold as ice email before.

Now for the first floor- Physics. For some reason, this level took the longest to clean, even longer than the Biology lecture hall. Turned out physicists were messy people. There were several smaller lecture halls on the first floor that needed upkeep. The first floor bathrooms saw the most traffic, so they took longer to tidy than the others.

Finally. The physics offices were a goddamn nightmare to clean.

Especially the offices. Papers everywhere. No way of knowing what was trash and what was important. There was only one office that wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. Asher was always relieved to reach it; it meant his shift was almost over.

Wait…. Who did the office belong to? Asher squinted at the nametag. A “Dr. Crimm Gaster”. Was this the interdimensional travel physicist he’d been mixing up Clemm with? In his defense, Crimm and Clemm weren’t that far apart sounding. He’s about to open the door when…

“Can I help you.”

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Asher yelped, vines immediately wrapping around the object of surprise. If he was human he would have shat his pants.

Asher’s query easily teleports out of his grip.

“I would suggest that you refrain from suddenly attacking unknown monsters in the future. You do not know where some of us are from, or what we might do if startled.”

It was the professor from earlier in the library. He was still as frigid and stiff as before, but in those red eyes burned a cold, calculating fire that chilled Asher to the roots.

“Y--Speak for yourself! You just snuck up on me!”

The professor blinked. “Hm. Your alertness could use improving. I passed you several times this evening. I suppose you were too busy with your little song and dance to detect my presence.”

Oh, now that was embarrassing. Asher reminded himself to never have fun again.

“Well… would you like me to clean your office?”

“Is it not sufficiently ordered?” Cripes, was that a pointed question.

“N-no, it’s the most organized room in the department. I still like to mop the floor just in case, that’s all.”

“Then I would prefer that you refrain from entering. I expect my request to be respected.” With that, Dr. Crimm slipped into his office and closed the door, not even saying good night.

There was only one space left to clean, and it was the worst part of Asher’s night.

The VOID collider.

He despised everything about the room. It was too spacious, had too many warning signs on it, as if the university knew they shouldn’t have built the damn thing in the first place. The door had to be unlocked with an alphanumerical password. It as 198X, when the first accident with the VOID had been rumoured to happen, a sobering reminder to not fuck around with this machine.

The door opened silently and closed just as quietly. The familiar indiscriminate hum of noises emanated from the machine’s ventilators and cooling system.

The monitors and computers were on. Asher did his best to ignore it. It just meant he’d have to be even more careful, if such a thing was even possible. The scent of licorice, air dust, and ashes filled Asher’s nostrils. Tonight it was especially strong, to the point that he almost gagged on it. Regardless, such a thing happened sometimes. From what he could see, the machine itself was firmly in the OFF position.

The floor had to be cleaned first, with a special friction-increasing spray to help prevent slip-and-fall accidents. The keyboards usually needed to be cleaned, but Asher passed on it, since the computers were running. The last thing he needed was some professor ripping his branches out because he’d ruined a crucial calculation.

Ç̸̢̪̞̩̯͖͖̜̗̟͖̫͐̊ͅǫ̸̣̠̞̩̱͊͜m̶̯̞̹̺̪͉͙̘̥͔̟͑̄̇́͑̂̓̓̅̔̚͠͠ȅ̸̟̼̎̉̊͆̏̋̈̐̈́̃̈͒͝ ̴̡̘̖͂̾̈͐̄̈́̊̅̍̑̐̈́̈́̿̚j̶̨̼̤̼̖̯̣̰͎̲͖̫̤̮͛̌̉̒̈́̒̅͗͝͠͝ȯ̷̡̝̜̠͚̩̲̋͊̑̈́͑͛͐̓́͐͜i̵̢̨͍̞͍̥̬̬͎͐̈́́̿ṇ̵̢̛͚̰̩̠̗̖̜̊̌̎̍̿̅̄̓͗̂͐͜ͅ ̸̮͕̝̲͉͈̤̤̎̐̆͌͘͝ṯ̷̡̢͎̮̰͈̭͋̈́͐̽̅͂̓̾̅͒̓ͅh̸̛̰̖̫͒̓̇̈̽̀͛̓̋͐̂̅̕̚ę̸̹͉̝̗̲̹̲͈̭͎̐͐̀̐̀͊̈͠͝͝ͅ ̶̨̢̩̮̟̰̖̥̬̠͇̹͖̬̻͒̒͂͆̄̈́͘͠f̶̦̖̍û̷͖̖̼̦̝̘̞͙͎̙̩͖̣͂̇͊̃̃͜͝ͅn̵͈̝͋͗͌̽̅̓̾̾̑̾͌̅.̶̮͍͚͔̩̪͚̟̼̬̪̈́̎̈̇

What the fuck was that?

Asher’s soul pounded in his chest. From time to time, the humming of the machine sounded like voices or other noises. The same thing happened when Asher listened to white noise for too long; he would start picking out voices or even music that wasn’t really there.

It was fine. He just needed to breathe, to think about being safe and warm in bed…

And to clean the inside of the collider.

Fuck, this was the worst part.

First, Asher stripped down to nothing but his underwear, leaving his phone and clothes in his cart.

Next, he used the same passcode to open the protective gear vault. Several spacesuit-like objects waited for him. He found the one closest to his size and stepped into it, one piece at a time. First, the bodysuit. It zipped loudly, so that people would know it was secured shut.

Secured. Check.

Then, the helmet. He set it on his shoulders and twisted it until it locked into place. Check.

Lastly, the gloves and boots. He connected the fasteners tightly, so that they would stick to the rest of the suit properly. Perfect. He would be protected from the background contamination of the collider.

He opened a smaller cabinet with one of his keys and took out a large, cherry red, fire-hydrant looking sprayer with about a hundred labels on it. It was inspected daily.

WARNING: CAUSTIC TO MONSTERS.

WARNING: USING D.T. CLEAN FOR ANY PURPOSE OTHER THAN INTENDED USE WILL RESULT IN DISFIGUREMENT, LOSS OF SELF, AND MAY CAUSE OR PREVENT DEATH.

LAST INSPECTED __/__/__AT _:__ __

Y̶̼̝̲͖͇̣͐̿̾o̵̢̱̩͙̣͑ṷ̸̬̲̮͈̂'̴̧̯̳͙̥͛l̷̯͔̠̱͇͕͊̉̉l̵̝̏͐̒̎̃͠ ̷̲̤̱̳̭̞́͋̑͒̆b̷̧̻̙͚͚̤́͆̓̍͌̑e̶͉͈̙̭̬̎͐͐̕͠ ̸̜͉̱̺̠̼͂͠w̷̧̙̹͇̱̠̿̋͋i̷̛͚̰͖͊̇̌͘͘t̸̘͐̐͋̏ḥ̵̾ ̶̤͕͊̐͑͆͝u̶̫͇̼͐͂̿́̽͒s̴͕̍̃ ̷̖̪͖͊͊̈ş̵̜̰̤̼̜͒h̶̡̩͕͔͉͔̃̄o̶̞͉̲͍͇̊̾̍ř̶̢̤̝̤̫͗̆t̵̛̫͉̝͐̈̈̿l̸̦͕̈́̾͝y̸̞̞͍͈̾͐̔̽̑͝ͅ.̵̼͎͓̲͑͒̉͒͠

He really needed to stop letting himself get distracted.

Before entering, he checked all fifteen safety locks. All of them were active. Good.

He put in a much longer passcode, and the black glass doors of the collider slid open with a hiss of compressed air.

They shut behind him with the same sound. Asher pulled out his special, titanium wool scrubber, and put his hand on the D.T.C trigger.

R̶͉̍U̸͓̹̎N̵̩͔̣̔̃N̶̺̒I̶̧̥̔̆͝N̴̝̦G̵̨͖̫̏̈́͐ ̸̼̩̀͗P̸̠̰̫̓R̷̦͒͜O̴̦̠̓͋̈́Ć̷̭̘̱͂È̵̡̦D̷͔͚̮̆̏Ű̵͓͠R̶͎̓͠͝Ê̸͕̅ ̵͈̺͉̈̑̈́Ṉ̷̹̑A̸̗̼̺͋̎̕M̵͐͜É̴͇̭̔ ̸͙̇_̷̣̈_̶͚̹̩̔͌̅_̵̼́͂͠_̷̢͛̈̚_̸̗̌͌̎_̶̣͍̐

̵̩͐C̸͎͗Ö̴̠̘͍D̸̛͈̲̘͝E̴͙̱̋ ̴̻͈͐̐͝F̴̖̥̒̉͝Ơ̵̑͜R̷͉͎̙̃̌ ̶̮̅̇̔Ȧ̷̲͕P̸͓̈́P̵̺̳̈́̐̚Ṛ̴͋͒Ô̷̠̹̎V̴̰̈́͒A̵̼L̵̜̲̼̈́ ̷͕̾͊R̵̟Ẻ̸̙̜̦̏̑Q̸̙͖̄̋̈U̸̘̣̎́͊I̵͖̖̊R̸̨̺͇͂̈́͝Ḛ̶̦̣̾̌D̶̮̜̠̍

̶̡͈̂C̷̠͛Ŏ̷̹D̴͇͕E̸̞̥͔͊̏ ̵̤́͠O̸̥̦̎V̶͓͓͜͝͝͠Ę̷̰͠ͅŘ̴̘͓͓R̵̰̕I̸̡̤͂̌D̸̨̮͕͂Ę̷̳̖̏͒Ň̷̫͇̠

̶̨̦̪̀Ẽ̷͕͘R̸̹̍Ṟ̴͌̉O̷̫͉͊̎R̷̢̰̓͛̅

̸͖̐̔C̶̰̝͗͐ͅO̴̻̱͆M̵͕̆̽̑M̷̪̳̾̆͒E̷͚͆N̶̢̤͕͐̍Ć̴̫̖̠̂̕I̸̧̩̎͊N̸͕͋̈G̸̳̮̙̑̓.̸̺͐.̷̓̈͜.̶̫̿̊.̷̗͌.̸̻̮͝.̵̙͗ ̸̡͎̟͑̏P̸̹̈́L̵̼̂E̷̼̅Ȧ̸̦̪S̷̩͇̥̈E̴̠͐ ̴̢͇̳̐́͝B̸̧̩͍͠Ạ̷̤͕̾̾͠C̸̼̪͙̋͂͋K̸̩̈́̓̿ͅ ̵̛͉̓͜Ą̴̼͔̇̅W̶̲͚̽̔̎A̵̛̼̜Ȳ̸͎͖͚̚͘ ̷̺͎̔̆̊F̴̣͚̅Ȑ̶̳͓̩͐͠Ó̸͔M̶̜̝̿͐͝ ̷̡̺̎̂C̸̯̺̀̂̎͜Õ̸̤̪̟̑̎L̴̖͕̥̂̕L̷̻̙̋͑Į̸̧̈́D̸̡̢͋̚E̸̙̒Ȓ̵͎̅ ̶̲̤̃͐D̵̲̾ͅÒ̷̪͕̇O̵̺̘̕Ṟ̴͇͂̈̋S̶̟͈̣̒̉̅.̴̻͋̕

Wait what the FUCK

Ş̸͚̂C̴̫͉͖̏A̷̻̅̈N̴̰̓N̶͉̩̝͠Ȉ̴̟̘̄͌N̶̮̆Ģ̵͓͉̈́͂ ̸̦̉̃F̴̢̋̈́̇O̷̹͌̽͌ͅR̸͎̈́̍ ̵̢̟̫̈́͝Ĺ̵̜̉͘I̶̤̤̞̾̈͐V̸̢͚̿I̴̺̋̌Ň̸̡͇͙G̸̟͙̺̋ ̴̡̬̍̃Ỏ̴̰Ḅ̶͚̦̈̈́̌J̴̜̪͇͌͝E̸̘͚̓͠Ċ̵͚̺T̸̥̻̓̉͋S̶̨̲͙̅̚.̷̟̰̓̌ ̶̞͑̎̈

̶̞͖͋1̴̛͙̮̞͋͑ ̷̮̝̉̈O̸̭̬͊͐͝B̴̖̼̣J̴̹̈́E̵̥͎̝̒͌C̷̬̅T̶̯̉͗͐ ̷̤͈̱̋̈̏F̷̫͑̿Ō̶̭̫͋̀ͅU̴̢̥̔N̷̨̺̱̅Ḋ̷̤.̸̨̛̞̍

̵͓̂Ạ̷͚̊L̴̝̘̜̋̿L̷͎͗̿ ̸̳̒͗̕C̷̡̗̈L̸̈́̓ͅḘ̴͖̔͒Â̴̧̻R̵͙͛̓͒.̶̛̼̕

̴̰̗͋Ċ̴̢̺͂̽Õ̷̟̥̔Ḿ̶̫M̶̻͔̒͝E̵̩͇̟͊̃N̶̥͕̒͝C̵̛̯̠̀̂I̴͓̯̝͛͐͘N̴̳̠͑͠͠Ĝ̸̭͙̝̂ ̷̦̅I̷̧͂̽̾ͅN̸̤͎̻̿̍ ̸̺̑̈̓5̴͈̮͗͑̕

“HELP! PLEASE HELP ME! SHUT IT OFF, SHUT IT OFF!”

Asher hurled himself at the EMERGENCY STOP button, slammed it down once.

4̴̡̙̬͛͛

Twice, three times, four times, countless times. Nothing was working nothing was working

3̷͇̺

“HELP ME! DEAR GODS, FUCK, PLEASE! SOMEBODY! ANYBODY!”

2̴̱̬̍̓

Asher screamed until his throat was hoarse

1̴̨͖̇̈́͝ ̴̪̦̠̽͝:̵̡̦̅͠)̴͇̊

But nobody came.

#from the ashes #ssll inspired #ssll #undertail #undertale

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inthesummerswelter · 5 years

Text

recipe for disaster: chapter two

Chapter Two: Basil

He always comes and bothers her when she’s trying to get some work done.

Penn deliberately tip-toes around Ashton when he’s deeply in the throes of studying, placing little juice glasses at his elbow and sliding a plate of homemade garlic bread when he lets out a particularly frustrated fuck this shit goddamn out into the crisp air.

(She learned early on that small gestures like that were the best way to deal, considering that asking him how things were going was greeted with either glares and discontented mumbles or an hour-long lecture on how absurd higher education is that she really didn’t have the time to listen to.)

But, no. He can’t return the favor.

Always poking his fucking head in the small greenhouse on the terrace – an attachment that Penn had to beg the landlord to fund, with the promises of fresh fruits and veg year-round – when she’s trying to keep to her watering schedule.

He’ll sneak up on her and stick his cold nose on her neck, causing her to slosh the watering can’s contents all down her front, or tell her that she’s got something on her face when she’s pulling weeds, smearing dirt on her cheek when she turns to look at him.

And she’ll go to try to wipe it off and only make it worse, because her hands are already covered with soil, and he just stands there and sniggers at her.

Five years old in a grown man’s body.

So, Penn really shouldn’t be surprised when she’s yanked backwards by the suspenders on her gardening overalls, then, but she stumbles anyway, a yelp escaping her lips as her trowel goes flying off into the bed beside her.

“Fuck, Penn, get a hold of yourself!”

He says it with a smile tracing the words, the bastard.

She turns around, whacking him in the chest – which admittedly hurts her hand more than it should have – and relishing in his wince of pain, even though Penn knows it’s been faked.

Ashton’s hair’s a bit more mussed than usual, which is saying something, but it’s also a bit, well, different.

She steps closer to him, straddling the rows of soil, and squints. “Did you get a haircut?”

Reflexively, his hand goes up to shuffle through it, and there’s a touch of uncertainty on his face, too, which Penn finds quite strange.

“Well, not just one hair. Quite a few, I think.”

She turns back around, ignoring that poor excuse for a dad joke, and starts to pick up the beets she’s been unearthing and tosses them into the colander sitting on the gravel path.

“It looks good. What’s up? You never bother me unless it’s something importan - oh, wait.”

She lets the end of the sentence drawl off lazily, stretching the kinks out of her spine.

Hearing his bark of laughter behind her, Penn smiles to herself - a secret little grin that only tilts up the corners of her mouth – but she makes sure not to let him see. It would go straight to his head.

Excitement laces his voice as he says, “It’s autumn now. First day and all, and it’s getting nice and brisk outside, and I thought we could maybe go out and get coffee and such.”

He ends the thought firmly, much more of a statement than a question, because he and Penn both know she’s definitely going to say yes.

It’s autumn. The season of pumpkin-spice and cinnamon and chai and anise and rich, earthy flavors that send Penn’s head spinning in the best possible way.

The way the sunlight filters through the panes of glass forming the walls of the greenhouse hides the truth of the colder winds, Penn soon finds out, as she and Ashton step over the threshold and back out onto the terrace, making their way towards Penn’s flat.

They hunch towards each other instinctively, elbows brushing, and Penn’s regretting the thin long-sleeve she’s got on now. Ashton kicks the back of her foot accidentally, muttering, “oops,” and Penn just nudges her elbow into his ribs.

The colander of beets is dropped unceremoniously on the kitchen counter, to be washed later, and Cardy opens one bleary eye from where she and Clove are lying on the day’s mail.

Penn clucks her tongue at them after letting herself relish in the warmer atmosphere, and Clove’s tongue lolls out.

She decides right then and there to take them along, so she opens a drawer in the kitchen and throws two leads in Ashton’s general direction.

He catches them in the face.

“I’m assuming we’re taking the scamps with us today, then?”

She mumbles out a yes around the scarf she’s got gripped between her teeth, caught up in searching for her mittens and hat, and Ashton huffs, getting down on his knees to complete the task. Found, mittens, hat, and scarf get tossed onto the counter beside the beets as Penn exchanges her gardening clogs for proper boots, lacing them up as fast as she can.

“Okay, ready,” she says, slipping hands through the sleeves of her coat, flipping her hair out from where it’s caught under her collar, and pulling on the necessary woolen accessories.

“Jesus, it’s just a walk, not a march to death-row!”

Ashton’s practically lying on the floor, wrestling with Clove in vain to clip the lead onto his collar. Penn shares a look with Cardy, who’s already prepped and perked up considerably, considering that the word walk generally means a treat of some sort.

Finally, what seems like ages later, a sudden click and an exclamation of victory lets Penn know that Ashton’s caught himself a pup.

Of course, Clove soon catches on to the concept of treats himself and practically drags all of them down the five flights of stairs leading to the outside world.

The Shelties trot along happily in front of Ashton and Penn, pausing every so often to snuffle along an interesting piece of pavement, giving them a good leisurely pace at which to wander along to their favorite bakery.

When they go out together – which isn’t often, considering that Ashton’s classes and her work schedule aren’t really cohesive – he’s an idiot.

And by an idiot, Penn, of course, means that he’s an absolute child. Always grabbing at her hand and pointing at something shiny and colourful that catches his attention, or hunching over to whisper more terrible dad jokes in her ear, eyebright and full of laughter. So much, that they get stopped on the streets and asked where they met and how long they’ve been together.

He usually butts in before Penn can answer, twining their fingers together and inventing a convoluted story on the spot about how he rescued her from a burning building or something like that.

(She doesn’t actually know what he says. She usually tunes out his tales and instead concentrates on how his hand flexes in her own and how his eyebrows smush together after she pinches his side.)

There’s a lot of ridiculous pet names, too, normally. Things like sweetums, honeycakes, and muffin, to name a few. Generally gag-inducing and sugary enough to rot some molars.

And when she wrinkles her nose at his blatant overacting, he just smiles back at his, dimples poking into his cheeks as he prods her nose with a finger. Which she, of course, bites.

(He always fakes a grimace and ruffles her hair, much to the amusement of the inquirer.)

Eventually, when some nice young girls a few years younger than them ask the inevitable question – after they had entered the shop and Ashton had plucked off Penn’s beanie and shoved it crookedly on his own head, mirroring his slanted smile - Penn takes a stand.

Ashton’s momentarily distracts by the display of scones in the bakery’s shelves, so she jumps in immediately, rattling off their usual order and then turning back to the girls.

“I saved him from drowning,” she says, entirely serious, fingers curled around her customary to-go cardboard cup of cocoa.

And, it’s true, too.

Well, sort of.

They gasp and begin to press her for more information, but she holds up a hand to her mouth and tells them that he sometimes gets flashbacks, so she can’t really say much more while he’s around. They’re out of the door long before he straightens up again, and Penn’s sure that he’s left a few more fingerprints on the glass cases.

The current worker in the shop – Lord’s Oven, as the locals know it – already has their order memorized and boxes it up within minutes. She thanks Michael, complimenting him on the stripe of blue he’s recently added into his hair, and picks up the simple white box, carrying it over to a table situated right on the edge of the outdoor patio area that the shop recently opened.

The scent of lemon-poppyseed muffins and pumpkin ginger-snap biscuits wafts up from the opened box, and Penn smiles when she sees that Michael’s thrown in a few slices of the spiced upside-down apple bundt cake for free.

He’s a sweet kid, really, for his slightly daunting exterior.

Ashton’s already reaching one large paw in, not a hint of manners about him as he practically tears through the pretty packaging ribbon still trapped around the edges, and Penn smacks his hand away. She shushes him as he begins to protest, and then he frowns down at the top of her head, grumbles, and steals a sip of her peppermint hot chocolate.

Prat.

Ironically enough, it was the first day of autumn, two years prior, that they’d met. Not the autumn that it always says on the calendars, the date that comes and goes with little mention. No, the real first day of autumn that steals the breath from your lungs and hands it up for the brisk wind to waltz around the burning trees.

It was a day that caught Penn by surprise, as many of the season-changes do. She’s out on the terrace, sweeping up and trying to keep the new space clean.

Looking at the little dial on the watch that she’ll eventually lose in a month, she sees that it’s her one-week anniversary of moving into this rooftop flat, and her brush-work gets a bit more chipper.

It’s exhilarating, being out on her own for the first time in what feels like ages, getting a proper job and a proper start at a new life.

Penn’s shuffling about with her broom, clearing away the cobwebs and dead leaves left from the lack of inhabitants, trying to scope things out up here. She hasn’t had time to explore the outdoor space all week, considering the long hours she’s been working at the restaurant. The terrace itself can’t be very large. It spans a small gap in between the neighboring flat and hers, but, as she puts up her thumb to judge the distance, she thinks that there might be room for a small greenhouse.

Maybe only big enough for two benches or raised beds, but that’s definitely enough to grow her own herbs and maybe start a small veg patch, something that Gran would definitely approve of.

“Fresh is best,” she would say, puttering about her own blocks of tilled soil in her back lot, warden of the tiny gravel-bed streets that wound their way around her city of plants. The bean trellises were skyscrapers to Penn’s young eyes, leafy towers that sprung out of the ground like green magic, and the tomato cages exotic, with the circles of metal modern art.

Penn’s knack lies in more of the preparation of the food rather than its cultivation, really, but Gran’s taught her enough that she’s reasonably sure she could handle a rooftop garden of her own.

If she can wield a boning knife, a trowel shouldn’t be much harder. Right?

There’s another small pile of last season’s leaves resting just where the bend in the building occurs, an architectural addendum that gives her at least a modicum of privacy from the person residing in the flat across the way.

She’s yet to meet them – whoever they may be, she doesn’t have a fucking clue except a pair of black wellies abandoned by their slider door – but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Penn’s more of a loner to be quite frank. She’s a singular in a world of plurals.

Peas and carrots.

Cookies and cream.

Prosciutto and melon.

Thinly sliced duck liver and braised sweet onions.

And then there’s Penn.

And she is quite alright with that. After all, she’s got her own little plural to look after, a gift from Gran, although she doesn’t even know where the idea of getting two small dogs for a nineteen year-old grandchild would ever come from.

But, yes, sadly on some days and happily on others, Penn’s the mother of a pair of Shetland sheepdog pups, a brother and sister named Clove and Cardamom respectively.

(Right now, they’re just settling into their middle teens – in human years – so Penn’s got to keep a sharp eye out for any mischief.)

She can see Clove through the sliding glass doorway, slouching about on their shared rug by the kitchen counter, his impression of a dead log spot-on. But Cardy, who had been trotting around outside with her, exploring her new domain, is nowhere in sight. Quickly gathering up the last of the leaves, Penn puts away the broom just as the first few trickles of rain start to come out of the sky.

“Fuck.”

And that pretty much sums up her feelings on the downpour that drenches anything and everything still stupid enough to be outside in the seconds that follow.

But, even after much calling and wheedling and shaking the treat bag, Penn’s forced to return outside into the deluge to physically locate her wayward dog.

The terrace itself is shaped in a sort of ‘L,’ the only difference from the letter being that the angle of the actual space is quite a bit greater, more of an obtuse shape. Penn can see most of the patio and a good expanse of the neighboring flat from her spot at the kitchen door, but there’s still a blind spot right where the corner occurs.

With a deeply heaved sigh that’s got Clove staring up at her worriedly, Penn tugs on her own pair of wellies – brown with bears speckled all over them - and pulls on a mac, striding out into the torrent.

It’s the kind of rain that intends on getting its victim as drenched as possible, throwing all sorts of tricks about so it can slide under a hood, glue long strands of hair to the back of a neck, freeze the tips of fingers. Penn digs her heels in, gritting her teeth, as the wind gives a particularly violent gust, pushing her into the wall.

Grabbing the corner for support, Penn goes to round it, intending on finding Cardy if it’s the last thing she’ll do. And it might be, considering the storm seems to have ricocheted up the scale from heavy downpour to raging sea squall.

However, something’s blocking the path that her legs had intended to take, and Penn falls forward, eye clenched shut and palms out. She’s fully prepared for the stinging grit coating her hands, imprinting into her skin in angry patterns.

Instead, her hands hit something – remarkably – warm and very much animate, judging by the whoosh of breath that’s let out, catching her left ear.

Her fingers flex in with shock, nails digging into skin, and a hand curls its way around her wrist.

“Ouch.”

It’s a person.

Her neighbor, she can only assume.

Her neighbor, lying half-naked on a plastic lawn chair, apparently deciding that the middle of the rainstorm is the perfect time to go sunbathing.

“Hello. ‘M Ashton. I live just across the way.”

The voice, a mid-baritone, comes from the area above her head, and she nods, carefully extricating herself from where she’s laying on top of him and trying not to stare. Which she fails at tremendously.

(But it’s really not her fault.)

Hazel eyes blink up at her, rainwater coating the lashes and turning them a dark honey colour, just two or three shades darker than his hair, which, though being plastered against his forehead, appears to be wavy and unruly in the best of circumstances.

A dimple pops out of his cheek, drawing her attention to his mouth and a crooked grin.

Fuck.

“And you are…?”

“Penn, I’m Penn Bunting. Have you seen my dog?”

Surprisingly, Ashton nods, reaching one long – tanned, muscular, God – arm underneath the chair and drawing out a damp Cardamom, who looks more like a rat than a dog at this point.

She gives Penn a pitiful, apologetic look, but Penn’s having none of that, thank you, and frowns back down at her, already preparing a scolding in her head.

But the neighbor’s talking again, and she vaguely registers that he’s got an Australian accent.

“Are you cold? You should get your dog back inside. The weather’s absolutely dreadful.”

There’s a horribly long moment where she just stares at him in shock, completely baffled, and then her mouth starts moving before she can stop it because it’s either talking or uncontrollable laughter.

“I mean, I’m at least wearing a mac and boots! You need to get inside, before you catch pneumonia and die or something. What are you even doing out here anyway?”

He shrugs, sitting up from his prone position, skin obviously paler than normal due to the extended exposure to the elements. Already, Penn knows that he’ll be much taller than her once he stands, given how close his head is to her shoulders right now. “Just, uh, hanging out, I guess. I like the rain. It’s rejuvenating. And, anyway, I’ve got a hot bath drawn, so, if you’ll excuse me…”

She’s almost tempted to ask if he’s got little floral-scented soaps and floating tea candles too, but Penn doesn’t know him nearly well enough yet for that sort of teasing, which is why she surprises herself when she blurts out, “I make omelets most mornings. For breakfast. And tea, too. You’re welcome to come over sometime, if you’d like.”

Apparently, she surprises him, too, because he trips over the leg of the chair as he’s turning back to his flat. His hand flies up to ruffle the back of his head, and Ashton begins to nod cautiously, saying, “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good…definitely sometime.”

He waves at her, a manly shake of the wrist, and Penn tries to smile back, inwardly cringing at her lack of social etiquette – who invites a half-naked man to breakfast after falling on top of him? – and the feeling of Cardy wriggling and dripping water down the front of her mac.

(When she gets back to the flat, however, stripping down to her knickers – the rain’s soaked through practically everything, so she’s doing this for warmth – and grabbing a blanket to wrap herself in and a towel to rub Cardy down with, she doesn’t expect to see a porch light on across the other side of the terrace and a dark head peering through a window.)

(And she certainly doesn’t expect Ashton to pop by in three days’ time, bringing a carton of orange juice and a blush in his cheeks, because – didn’t she mention? – Penn’s casually flipping the eggs in her bra and a pair of men’s boxer shorts.)

She gets knocked out of the daze of memories quite literally. Clove’s tangled himself around one of the legs of her chair and spotted a flock of doves. Her chair shakes violently, tilts onto two legs, and Penn has to pinwheel her arms furiously to stabilize herself.

Ashton chuckles, collecting their napkins and waste, settling the leftovers back into the box neatly, and tying the ribbon back up in a reasonable approximation of a bow.

The joke’s on him though, because he’s got a nice little froth’stache sitting on his upper lip, and she’s definitely going to let him walk around with that for a bit. Maybe she won’t even tell him at all.

They keep walking down the sidewalk, taking a few turns here and there until the dogs begin to recognize the area and tug on the leashes. Here there are tree-cages lining the streets, providing a red-gold overhanging archway of foliage. The door they stop in front of – for all that it and the rest of the facade looks like any other building on the well-maintained street – gives Penn a buzz of excitement that travels under her skin, a mild electric shock.

The bay window, full to bursting with leafy ferns and looking like a veritable hothouse in the middle of the city, gives no other indication as to what might lie in wait inside the flat. Penn shifts the bakery box underneath her left arm, passing over Cardy’s lead to Ashton, who accepts it gamely.

He’s as full of eagerness as the dogs, just as bright-eyed and enthusiastic. The moustache is gone now, evaporated, and that’s probably for the best, considering who they’re visiting.

She reaches forward and grasps the patina-coated knocker, rapping it firmly against the wood of the door twice, before leaning back on her heels and waiting.

A solid three minutes pass before it slowly creaks open to admit them, and Penn feels like she’s four years-old all over again, staring at the entranceway with unwarranted anticipation.

“Well, are you just going to stand there like a pair bloody loons, or are you going to come inside?”

#5sos fanfiction #5sosff #fic: recipe for disaster #updates

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ac-ars · 6 years

Text

Oh my, my, my

it’s been 84 years, or even longer, my laptop kept being freezing bitch and didn’t want to work so i had to backup all shit, but it doesn’t matter, im close to failing physics, and idc as well, because this is finally done lol

thanks to people who were telling me i am not shit while writing this ily all

also!!!! pedro used here isn’t the pedro from rollerband please remember this

anyway have fun with physics teacher asshole Matteo here

Oh my, my, my

If you ask Luna Valente what she likes the most in the guy who is teaching her physics, she will not be able to answer. There is no full, logical answer for this question, because Luna simply can’t tell what about Matteo Balsano is the hottest, or more like, hotter than the rest.

She had thought that her college experience was going to be filled with parties her friends make her to go when she wants to stay home, hangovers and headaches, sleeping during boring, morning lectures and a fuck ton of studying. All those things above have been happening so far, ever since she stepped into the building of her faculty, but damn, it’s been three years and now he happened, changing whole studies imagine to the worst and the best thing Luna could have ever made up in her mind.

She has been dreading physics classes for quite long time; in highschool she wasn’t the best when it came to science, but here she is on engineering faculty and physics is kind of inevitable on engineering faculties, isn’t it? So she had to take it anyway.

It was expected that physics is going to kill her in every possible way: tire her, confuse and ruin her, turn her brain into the jelly, yet Luna would never think that the problem wouldn’t be in physics itself.

Currently she is having troubles in physics class because of her ta, who makes her the least and the most focused when he talks. And suddenly his class became Luna’s favorite class ever.

The thing is that he chose her. They have group president, yet he wanted someone who doesn’t talk much, still knows everyone and has no kind of responsibilities on their shoulders, and that’s how Luna turned into his private group post pigeon to share any stuff that needs to be shared.

She has his email in case he is stuck in morning traffic and can’t get to class on time. He uses it to give them notes after any topic and exercises to solve before the tests. It’s mostly because his lazy ass is too lazy to create mail group, but whatever. Why would Luna complain about any extra time or contact with him? She doesn’t have his phone number, and hopes he is never gonna give it to her; it wouldn’t be any good idea, because she would end up texting him something weird and lame like your shirt would look great on the floor in my bedroom after alcohol.

Still, she is doing better than all her friends who are crushing on him, trying to find some ways to seduce him or some shit, yet Luna is really above this all mentality, since she is very self conscious, enough to chill and stop believing in some crazy, hot fantasies, focusing more on what she can see instead. Not on what could someday happen, what she could do to him or with him. Her imagination is all she needs at this point. Besides, Matteo doesn’t seem to be the one to make any move towards any of the students anyway.

Hands. His hands are currently roaming her back with softness, yet quickly because he can’t get enough of her. His eyes are closed finally; he decided to learn her without any help of his sight, using other senses instead and looks like he is going to memorize all of her. His lips. His lips are moving on hers urgently, trying to get as much as possible from her, as if the whole universe is depending on this very kiss they share, but Luna doesn’t mind; she is willing to give him as much as possible.

He is pressing her to his desk with his hips, like he is scared that she is going to run away, but cursed the one who would ever say something like this, because Luna Valente isn’t the one to avoid any chance of getting at least a tiny bit of Matteo Balsano. She pulls away for a second to take single breath, since he doesn’t let her take another, needing more and more. His teeth close on her lower lip making her hiss softly, but he only smirks and moves away before letting her go. His eyes are dark, dark, black, even though she has always been sure of their sweet brown color, and are making her crazier than all of his touches.

Her fingers slide up his arms slowly, trying to feel the shape of his muscles moving when he tries to unclasp her bra from under her blouse. Shivers keep going down her spine since his hands are cold, almost sobering her, yet not quite and every of his movements makes her wake up from this crazy moment, but takes her back at the same time. She reaches his shoulders and his neck before tangling her fingers in his soft, soft hair which she has always wanted to touch, checking if it’s like she imagined all those times before.

He still demands more; his mouth gets hungrier and more careful so Luna just kinda slows down playing with buttons of his shirt. He smiles against her lips, letting her know how much he wants her to keep going and all she can do now is starting to undo the buttons slowly while his mouth ends up on her neck, kissing her skin as properly as he kissed her lips. Her heart is beating too hard for him not to feel it, but nobody here seems to care about it as long as the moment isn’t interrupted by anything. She is letting out small, soft sighs as his lips tickle her skin, his tongue is teasing from time to time and his fingers try to sneak their way under her skirt.

This is all she needs from the world, so, dear stars, if someone is going to ruin this-

“Jesus Christ, Luna, could you please stop eyefucking him finally?” She feels an elbow in her ribs, which makes her jump and very gracefully push her hardcover notebook off the desk to the floor. Obviously, it does make loud thump and now everyone is staring at her, while Pedro is giggling under his breath and she is so going to murder him one day. She just looks at the notebook, not sure what to do something; if do something at all, but of course he has to get into the whole moment.

“Luna, is everything okay?” Matteo asks with his soft, smooth voice that has her shivering in many fantasies and she already feels like melting into small paddle of blushing mess.

But she doesn’t. She gives him small nod, obviously, she has to keep it cool no matter what, despite the fact that she can’t move. Her brain isn’t really helping her in those moments; daydreaming is very, very bad, especially in class when he is real in front of her eyes and all she can do is try to keep her heart beating in any rhythm. He is looking at her with raised eyebrows, kind of amused eyes and small smile. When she doesn’t do any move, hearing Pedro’s snickers obviously, Matteo moves away from his desk and walks slowly towards her, frowning after few steps, and she just wants to disappear in the very moment he picks up her notebook and places it on her desk.

“Are you sure you are fine?” He asks once more and Luna’s head is blank. “Yes, I’m just-”

“She was studying whole night and she is super slow today, so don’t mind her.” Pedro jumps in, grinning completely casually and Matteo sighs. Luna keeps nodding continuously and notices how her friend kicks the chair of girl sitting in front of them and she jumps, exclaiming loudly. “Yes! We were studying together on skype, but I manage lack of sleep better.”

Honestly Luna is kinda thankful for this and she is definitely gonna buy them some alcohol they want, because she had no explanation on her tongue except ‘could you please just stop kissing me in my head?’ and this one doesn’t seem like good idea at all.

“Fine.” The Balsano shrugs. “Just make sure you have notes from today, and start studying earlier, right?”

He winks at her, she dies, Pedro laughs too much and the whatsapp conversation of entire group doesn’t get a break.

This day is basically a mess. Luna managed to oversleep and didn’t have time to brush her hair, so here she is trying to sip the shitty hot chocolate from coffee machine as her high ponytail is tickling her nape. Glasses on her nose are barely keeping in one place and as always she is fixing them with her finger and small growl.

It’s kinda cold today, the sweater is sliding off her shoulder all the time because of her hurrying and putting it too quickly, so it ended up too stretched, but who cares? Is it socially acceptable to not wear a bra? If it’s not that’s a boomer, but she was too much in hurry to care. The only good thing about this morning was the fact that her phone was fully charged and it’s not dying like she is.

They all are waiting in front of chem class, which is gonna start in like 20 minutes, so her friends are talking mostly about random stuff, while Luna only tries to minimize the amount of yawns for an hour to thirty-two. She is scrolling through insta feed, but there is nothing there except kittens and food videos, but this is all she needs at this very moment.

Her ears catch the name Matteo in between the songs and she just looks up at the girls with a smile, reaching for one earphone and taking it away, to listen what they are saying. At first it’s just safe topic, talking about upcoming physics test and Luna is very fine, very comfy with this, so she half gets into the conversation, half focuses on the song played in her other earphone.

Pedro texts her something, asking if she is gonna move her ass to uni and she just snorts texting him to turn around, because he is dumb and blind. Few seconds later she can hear his lame laugh and feel his arm wrapping around her shoulders.

“You are very funny today, tiny you. Tell me, what got you so happy? We aren’t having physics today after all.” He grins and Luna lowkey feels like punching him. Giggles of the girls tell her that they heard that, which means no chill for the Valente today.

Whatever.

“I am not in funny mood. You are the funny one here, Pierre.”

Pedro laughs probably too loud at this version of his name, but no one seems to care. “Are you gonna speak the language of love to me now? Will you finally accept to go out with me, Luna Valente?” He says dramatically, pressing his hands to his chest, over the heart.

Luna opens her mouth to reply, but one of the girls just laughs and shakes her head. “You aren’t half as hot as Matteo, so stop your high hopes here.”

Everyone bursts into laugh, even Luna when Pedro just rests back of his hand on his forehead with dramatic, dramatic sigh. She would focus on the second more, but her phone vibrates with text message. Her brain can manage to handle only one thing at once, so all people are turned off when she answers Simón’s message.

“…Luna, what do you think?” Someone asks and she wakes up, nudged by Pedro once again. “He is hot as hell, right?”

“Who?” She raises her eyebrows, not sure which guy is judged here.

Jazmín rolls her eyes, probably completely done. “Matteo, you silly.”

Luna shakes her head, taking deep breath and ignoring Pedro’s tapping on her shoulder quickly. Despite that she shrugs. “Obviously, people like Matteo, who are so attractive should be kept away from teaching others, because it’s very not helping.” She answers, turning her attention back to her phone and feels how everyone is staring at her weirdly. Their eyes are pointed at behind Luna and her blood suddenly freezes.

“Please don’t tell me he heard that. In any possible way.” She mumbles to herself and turns around, feeling like she got into hell.

Matteo himself looks very amused, and very, very smug. He gives her a small stare before turning to Pedro and giving him a nod. “Good job, buddy. You tried to stop her at least. You are the true friend here.”

Her knees get weak and she feels like falling down, but at the same time she can’t make any of her muscles move and this is the shittiest moment ever, ever.

Matteo crosses his arms, his eyes back to Luna as he sighs. “Looking at your grades I don’t think you should complain that much. Unless, of course, you have someone else to explain what I can’t.” He smiles raising his hands up, as if he is giving up.

“If anyone else has any advice here, just send me an email, I’m always open for new suggestions.” Someone snorts and Matteo laughs fixing his tie. “Anyway-“ he looks at Luna again. “I hope you all have a nice day.” After that he winks at her and leaves, walking through the hallway casually and not looking back.

They look back at her and Luna can’t tell who, but someone pulls her to the chair and gives her water.

Few seconds pass until she manages to speak. “Jesus, fuck, I’m fucked.” Her heart keeps beating too fast as Pedro laughs. “You wish you were, tiny, you wish.”

It’s Friday night and Luna is definitely good at making people think she is drinking as much alcohol as they are. Or maybe they are already drunk. She needs to be drunk. Pedro made her wear pretty dress and go out with them to this one club to chill, forget about the science for once and get some proper hook up, because she has been ridiculous recently. Especially after how she exclaimed loudly that Matteo is probably too hot for her liking. At least her group decided to let her have few days chill and didn’t mention this situation while she was around.

Now she is only sipping slowly her mojito through two straws, playing with the ice in her glass and nodding softly, since her hairstyle is a mess and she’s not the one to fix it right now.

Her lipstick is leaving stains at the straws and Luna sighs deeply, fuck you Kylie Jenner for all your lies. It’s not like she cares about that, but lie is a lie, and it did cost money, so Luna is going to very complain about this, even more after alcohol, so here we are.

Someone tells a joke and everyone laughs, Luna does too, not even knowing what it’s about, though it would be weird if she just stared at them with confused eyes, because she was more concentrated on asking herself what is wrong with her. She should definitely focus on getting drunk with her friends and maybe hit on some hot guy, yet the point is that Luna doesn’t want that. Or more like she does, very much, but not at all at the same time and she is a big mess here, trying to figure what the fuck she should do and how many mojitos to drink. As many as possible; students get discount today.

Pedro rests his elbow on her knee as they all lean towards Jazmín, who seems to be jumping excitedly about something.

“Hey, tiny you, look what she has for you.” Pedro says, poking her and Luna wakes up from all of her thoughts, pressing her lips together to make sure her lipstick isn’t looking like she just made out with a frog.

“What do you want, Peter Pan?” She asks with a sigh, leaning more against him. He only grins. “Our fabulous queen of stalking has news for you.” Luna rolls her eyes and turns to Jazmín who is drinking her margarita with big smile, and all the brunette can notice is the fact that there’s no lipstick stain on her glass and, dear stars, Luna needs it.

“Lu-na, listen, but carefully, okay? Carefully.” No one is sure if that’s the right way to say it, but no one says anything either, so Jazmín jumps on her seat, fixing herself and her eyes are shining showing how tipsy she already is. “I have a friend, she told me that she knows the guy, who knows the guy, who is kinda dating a friend of Matteo and this source told me they like to come here to hang out, so who knows, maybe you will get lucky tonight!”

Everyone laughs and Luna only growls trying to not cover her face with hands, because God protect her from smudged makeup and looking like a very rich badger. She sighs dramatically, and ignoring the straws, empties her glass in completely not ladylike way, because their physics ta is the last thing she needs here.

Pedro laughs at her but gets up pulling her with him and leads towards the bar with intention of getting her another drink. “You know, for a person who fucked him in every possible way in your head, you are pretty embarrassed when someone mentions him.” He snorts softly and Luna sighs dramatically. “It’s because this is, despite everything, very ridiculous idea and you all should stop.”

“But you are so into him!” He exclaims loudly, changing his voice in the half and making Luna laugh. “And he is into you, I’m super sure of this.”

“I don’t care!” She loud-whispers to him. “Just shut up and buy me a drink, please.”

Pedro shakes his head with disapproval. “This mojito is like cheating on normal people who drink normal alcohol, not some fancy wannabe glasses filled with grass and ice. But I guess I won’t win here.”

Luna grins, flicking his nose. “Someone has to know what is happening when you don’t anymore.”

“I hate you.”

She sends him a wink. “That you do.”

He is about to say something, but they both hear someone calling Luna’s name in this very specific way, that just spills who wants her attention.

“Lunita! I see you! Turn around and stop pretending you don’t know who I am.” With every word the voice gets louder and her cousin is either very drunk, or is approaching her and Luna can be never sure which of above is worse.

She decides to turn away from Pedro and not roll her eyes at Ámbar walking towards her on those extra high heels the brunette almost killed herself because of the other day. “Ámbar, it’s such a nice surprise to see you.” She mumbles, kinda lying, kinda not.

It’s actually soothing that someone here is able to kill a person with the spiky heel of a shoe without a blink, no matter of amount of alcohol they drank before. And they are nice to each other since Luna went to college and they can hang out or some shit, even if she is sure her cousin gave her this shitty Kylie lipstick mostly because it sucks.

“Any chance of seeing me is great, obviously.” The blonde flips her hair, spreading around soft scent of her expensive perfume. “You look pretty, tonight, I would be surprised if not the fact I made you buy this dress.” Ámbar smiles a little proudly and wraps her arm around Luna’s waist.

“Take your drink and come with me to the table over there. I wanted to text you tomorrow anyway. Do you want to meet my friends? They are assholes, but I guess they will be nice when they see you in this dress. And I will promise them death if they are mean.” Luna frowns, not sure what to say, but Pedro pushes the glass in her hand and winks at her. “Maybe you will catch some hot one there, just be nice, tiny you.”

Ámbar snorts. “Obviously they are hot. I am not friends with ugly people.” Saying that with huge disgust, she pulls lost Luna away from there, talking something about doing well by drinking classy things in the club and that she should start doing this herself, but vodka is stronger than any of her safety reflexes.

Luna just keeps nodding at her, sipping her drink, since the temperature keeps being high as hell, until they get to the blonde’s table. She looks around forcing her brain to memorize faces until she stops on one and chokes.

What the actual fuck is he doing here out of all people in Buenos Aires and how the hell is he friends with Ámbar?

Luna has bo idea so she just stares at him as he is talking to other guy with curly hair and she has no idea what to do now, because if she thought he was hot in class, now this is breaking all his records at once in this black shirt with few first buttons undone, what obviously sticks her eyes to his skin. She is such a mess because of some guy, and she would feel ridiculous if not the fact her brain is fried.

“Hey, idiots, you wanted to meet Luna and now you act like the least classy guys in the city.” Ámbar growls, resting her hands on her hips and suddenly all stares are on Luna. Matteo’s look catches her eyes.

She drops the glass.

The other guy chuckles getting up immediately while Matteo seems to be as lost as Luna herself, but only for few seconds.

The blonde girl shakes her head dramatically. “Since neither of you all is able to think at this very moment, you-” she points at guy with curly hair, “-will get Luna new drink while we all just sit down and try to make you all speak, because r-i-d-i-c-u-l-o-u-s.”

The guy smirks widely at Matteo. “No, no blondie, he will go, he was supposed to get new vodka after all so it won’t make a difference.”

Luna is just trying to not faint, because here she is in short dress, wearing high heels, very tipsy and apparently the one and only Matteo Balsano is gonna get her something to drink.

He acts completely casually as Ámbar sits down saying whatever, and approaches her as if he has never seen her again - despite the smirk of the other guy, who probably knows, but Ámbar doesn’t.

“What was in the glass you dropped?” He smirks and she pouts, before opening her mouth to answer, but he interrupts leaning closer. “It’s too loud here, just come with me for it to the bar, is it okay?”

Luna can only nod, wondering if she shouldn’t go for clear vodka today, because any sober, any tipsy, any anything will not help her survive this. She is sure of it when he smiles at her and rests his hand on her lower back in order to lead her out of people dancing around. Someone bumps into her and she almost trips over her own leg which goes unfortunately behind the other, yet Matteo manages to catch her with another hand on her waist. He chuckles softly, but says nothing, pulling her behind a little faster and all Luna can do is follow him as if he is her own icebreaker.

She is praying for neither of her friends to see them; she would end up photographed from every angle and definitely interviewed later, hit by questions like did you finally get laid and are ready to move on with your life? Yeah, not gonna happen. Hopefully. For now Matteo is talking to the bartender casually, leaning his elbows on the counter and smiling widely, since the girl is making his drink with dreamy eyes and Luna feels like dropping another mojito.

That’s totally her luck, though it’s not like she had any expectations; the hottest ones are usually assholes and apparently this one ain’t no exception.

She is ready to leave when he pays, but after he does he just turns to her, completely ignoring the bartender. Luna frowns, yet takes the arm he offers her, they walk away and he leans closer to her. “You don’t seem to be glad that I flirted us half price discount.”

She blinks surprised, not sure if to curse at him again in her head, or just ask what, so she nods softly, making him laugh.

“Looks like that’s a thing you should teach me as well.” She mumbles not really stopping herself from throwing this and Matteo laughs. “Am I not too hot for teaching people anything?”

Luna almost chokes, but keeps herself cool to not spill the drink probably either on her dress or on his shirt.

“Okay, okay, it was just a joke,” he says but it doesn’t feel like a joke at all. His hand is suddenly in front of her and she gives him surprised look. “Are we going to the table?” He asks, offering her his hand.

Luna sighs and looks around. If no one comes from the future to stop her from doing it, then how bad this decision can be? She just smiles and laces their fingers surely, seeing him smile.

“I need help.” Luna says, throwing papers on Matteo’s desk. He looks up at her from above his laptop, his glasses sliding softly off the bridge of his nose. She sighs dramatically, trying to focus, because she drank vodka with this guy few days ago, so no big deal. Not at all.

“Help with what?” He asks raising his eyebrows and lacing his fingers on the desk.

Luna pouts and pushes this little annoying strand of her hair behind her ear. “With physics, obviously. I don’t get a shit here, and I want you to explain it to me.” She says super quickly and guesses she should be nice, so she adds soft: “Please, Matteo.”

He takes deep breath, looking around before he reaches for her papers. The brunette keeps her breathing still for a moment, hoping that he is gonna chill his ass and help her or at least tell her where to start.

“Let me think about this.” He hums softly, looking around as if he is deep in thoughts. “When?” The question falls between them and Luna bites on her lower lip.

“I don’t know, but somewhere before Thursday I guess.”

“I have extra time on Fridays as always, can’t you come to me then?”

Luna crosses her arms with dramatic sigh, not sure how to get out of this. “I can’t on Friday. If I could I wouldn’t bother you the here and now.”

He stands up, brushing the chair against the floor loudly and she scrunches her nose as he gets closer to her and leans back against the desk. “Well then why didn’t you come to me last Friday?” He takes the pencil from his desk and starts playing with it. The tone of his voice breaks a little and shows hints of teasing, but Luna is hopeless here; no one really from her friends gets this shit so Matteo was it, yet he seems to make fun of her.

“Because I was busy, listen, I need this and I need you here.”

“Oh so now you need me? We reached this stage faster than I thought we would.” Luna chokes seeing his smirk when he rolls his sleeves up. “I guess I can give you some hints here and explain this or that, but under one condition here.”

Her shoulders fall with relief, because she knows he wouldn’t pull any weird shit here. “Okay, what is it. Tell me.”

Matteo crosses his arms, as always when he feels that he has the advantage. “You will go out with me, okay?”

#soy luna #lutteo #luna valente #matteo balsano #my writing #ta au

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choisgirls · 7 years

Note

okay so, how about the RFA + V and Saeran (and Vanderwood if you want) reacting to MC who never celebrated Halloween? like, never dressed up for Halloween or went to houses or Halloween parties. I'm a sad case T~T

A/n: Aw love, im sorryyou never got to celebrate! But, hey! Fun fact! (i think?) In South Korea, fromwhat I’ve learned, people don’t celebrate it too much as well. It’s forforeigners and children. Mostly, from what I understand so don’t take my wordas law for this, they can be offended by the half-naked costumes some adultstend to wear?? ^^;;

(I did a littleresearch on that but I’m not Korean in any way so my word obviously is not lawso if I’m wrong then I am very sorry;;) bUT ANYWAY ENOUGH RAMBLING FROM 4 IMMAPRETEND THEY CELEBRATE IT FOR THE SAKE OF SPOOK MONTH™

*YOOSUNG:

What!!! Oh no!!!You’ve never gotten to trick or treat?? No candy??!! He literally trains youfor this night. He has you come up to the front door, knock, ring the bell, trainsyou to use your cuteness to your advantage to still get candy at your age, evenhas you practice until you can do it all as fast as possible without soundingrushed! Goes over the game plan he’s created to get THE MOST candy as possible-makes you memorize it because!! It’s a team effort MC! He’s finally the masterof a craft and /you/ were the newbie, he’s excited to show off his expertise!(what expertise yoosung- getting free candy??)

*ZEN:

He isn’t too intothe scene since he dresses up as an actor all the time, but it’s sad that youhaven’t gotten to celebrate! He decided to accept an invitation to a Halloweenparty with some previous co-workers just so he could give you the experience! GentlyTalks you into a couples costume and tells you to leave it to him. Once you’reat the party he’s on high alert for anything that may be frightful, or ofanyone checking you out in your adorable costume. He’s a complete gentleman thewhole night, getting you drinks, stepping into conversations if you getawkward- nothing he wouldn’t do for you normally. But you were left to defendhim from the black cat decorations. That’s always fun.

*JAEHEE:

She doesn’t even/decorate/. She’s always super busy! Then she doesn’t wanna spend all the timeafterwards putting it away… she just normally doesn’t do it. But you haven’tdone anything Halloween-like? At all? She’s breaking out any decoration shecan- that isn’t much, by the way. The two of you go pick out a few differentdecorations, all completely adorable, and set them up around the house. Shedoesn’t mind the set up so long as there’s someone with her willing to takethem down. Pumpkin shaped candle holders around the house, lights in the shapesof ghosts and bats hang around the house, little ghost figurines onbookshelves! No one told them usually you’re supposed to decorate the outsideof the house instead.

*JUMIN:

Could probably careless about the holiday in general because he can have all of the candy he couldever want? Even as a child? Also really into being healthy so if hisnutritionist and dentist say no, even little Jumin is turning his cheek. But,he loves to make you happy, so he comes up with something for the two of you todo for this Halloween. You come home to find an entire living room full of anycostume you can imagine. You’re to pick one, knock on the bedroom door,“trick or treat”, receive your candy, and repeat the process- in thatorder, according to Jumin. It goes smoothly, he’s handing you king size candybars, until he decides to be a little shit. You receive a shoe. A couple timeslater, a tie. One time, he simply handed you Elizabeth and shut the door. Hethought those would work as the “trick” portions of, what heconsidered, the game.

*SAEYOUNG:

The /MASTER/ ofdress up. You haven’t gotten to dress up for Halloween? He’s dramaticallythrowing himself to the floor, crying out about the cruel, cruel world. Then hesprung right back up to remind you that dressing up is a year round thing, MC,so long as you take it seriously. He takes you to the costume store and runsaround like a child at the playground. He’s putting on masks and jumping outfrom behind things, trying on the most ridiculous costumes for you, even messeswith the fog machine. No one kicks him out of the store- they just don’t care,they’re so used to him. Any and all costumes you even /remotely/ consider, he’sbuying them for you. Demands a costume fashion show later that night- sexiestcostume wins. He won, what the fuck.

*JIHYUN:

Have you at leastgotten to dress up and pass out candy to the children?? No?? Well then he’s gota job for /you/ my friend. After finding the most adorable costume, the two ofyou pick out mountains of candy to pass out to kids. You questioned if you werereally going to pass out this much, but all he did was chuckle and tell you towait for it. The moment you opened the door for the first trick or treater, sawthe most adorable lil kid (probably no older than say, 3-4? Adorable age), andalmost started to sob. Their cute little outfit, the bright smile and shinyeyes, you wanted to give them all the candy you had on hand. You settled forgiving them a handful instead of just a few pieces. When you closed the doorand turned, he stood there with his arms crossed and an “I told youso” smirk on his face. You shoved the bowl at him and stuck your tongueout at him playfully.

*SAERAN:

You’ve never beento a haunted house and you wanted your “strong, scary boyfriend” tohelp you get through it. He sighed but hearing you call him your“boyfriend” gets him every time. So he reluctantly goes. Every littlejump scare leaves you screaming, holding onto him tightly. He was in the middleof a lecture of how this was stupid, all of it was fake, and that you wereridiculous for bringing him here, until this guy broke through the fake wall toscare the two of you. He screeched, punched the guy, and practically scoopedyou into his arms to run to the exit as quick as possible. There’s a picture ofhim mid screech and mid punch. You buy it. He denies it ever happened. Alsotells you that the two of you are never going to one of those again. Bonus: thenext day, Saeyoung popped out of the fridge in a mask and punched him in theface.

*VANDERWOOD:

Doesn’t want to doany of the Halloween activities that involve dressing up or going out. Justisn’t his style. Now, binging cheesy horror movies all night and laughing atthem with the one he loves and /NOT/ dealing with Saeyoung, /THAT’S/ his style.So you’ve never done anything Halloween related? Say hello to his horror moviecollection. He’s lined them up from the more ridiculous ones to the ones thatcan even scare him a little. Gotta start off slow, get the really creepy oneslater into the night. He’s laughing at them all while you’re cuddled next tohim, hiding your face against him, screeching most of the time. If it trulyscares you, he’ll turn them off of he’ll make ridiculous commentary on it toshow you it isn’t scary. Lowkey loves that you hide against him when you’rescared. Does not like the fact that he has to walk you to the bathroom in themiddle of the night because he freaked you out.

Masterlist~

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theaveragekenyan · 4 years

Text

Industrial Disease...

Industrial Disease…

To anybody that worked in the UK TV industry circa 2000, ask them what their favourite TV shows of all time are and I guarantee, that somewhere amongst ‘Big Brother’, ‘Harry Hill’s TV Burp’, ‘X Factor’ ‘The Day Today’ and ‘Noel’s House Party’ all great shows, but ‘Faking It’ would definitely be mentioned.

‘Faking It’ had a memorable format, by where the programme selected a protagonist to see if they could perform a job in which they held no previous experience, i.e a Plumber being a Chef, a Traffic warden being an Orchestra Conductor, a Politician being an Politician, you get the idea. Then, from within a group of candidates who had actual experience, a panel of experts would decide who was the best and thus work out if anyone was actually faking it.

‘Faking It’ was particularly relevant because in one of the episodes they set up a person who had no experience at all to fake it as a TV Director. They did remarkably well and actually beat the other 3 contestants who were proper TV directors.

I’ve been working in Kenya for 8 years now and ever since I started working here, that show has constantly been at the back of my mind.

My first Kenyan contract started in 2012 and this was the first time I came across the expression “Fake It ‘til you make it”. As soon as I heard that expression, It never sat right, it made no sense to me. I mean, I know the TV show was vastly entertaining and proved that you can fake it, but then again the ‘Faking It’ contestants had a team of experts essentially providing the greatest intense training course ever.

To me, faking it, means that you can’t do the real thing, yet people use that saying to help them believe they can fake performing a job until they succeed. From my experience, I saw straight through the expression and anybody that was indeed “faking it”, or a better description “shit at their job”, would be found out and fired, we switched the format to ‘The Apprentice”.

In my early days of working in Kenya, we went through a lot of fakers. Back then though, I was working for an International company, so it was always easier to work honestly, without fear and tell people the truth about aptitude in the workplace. Of course, we’d train, nurture and encourage all of our employees to change, open their eyes and become better, smarter, more productive and skilful workers, but sadly, for too many annoying workers, change was a skill they weren’t happy to learn.

It’s deep working in Kenya, really deep. On the vast majority of days working, you will have the best day ever of your entire career. The pace is much slower, you get no way near as many of those socially awkward colleagues you find elsewhere in the world and it’s usually warm.

Put simply though, it’s impossible to compare working in a productive, efficient, time conscious, rule compliant business, because companies working to all of those standards don’t exist here.

Of course, any international that’s worked in Kenya would add balance to my thoughts. They’re probably of the type that came here and worked for two weeks, taught people chapter one, stayed at a lovely hotel, discovered the better parts of Nairobi, went to the Mara and then fucked off home leaving us to deconstruct their incredible ideas.

In those early days of working in Kenya, I was tied up in knots, I became so confused it was scary. We inherited a magnificent team who’d learnt from “the best”, only problem was that “the best” was a scattered, dysfunctional and obtuse role-model at best. So the ‘magnificent’ team had learnt all those crippling behaviours thus creating a magnificently illogical mess of wires that we had to sort out.

And I feel this is the problem, Kenyan’s have had to learn most of their technical skills from Westerners and this does not help at all if the Westerners that are sent here are cluttered with Western Anxieties and conditions, which from the ones I’ve met, is mostly the case.

You see, if you give orders for a Kenyan to go dig a 3’ x 3’ x 3 hole in the ground’ , that’s exactly what you’ll get, no questions asked. If you need it deeper, you can have it deeper, no questions asked, if you want to hit Magma, that’s fine. The problem arises when instruction becomes blended, so the 3′ x 3′ x 3′ hole is now a 4′ x 4′ x 4′ hole and not round, but square, hang on....triangle, no, keep it round, don’t dig it there though, dig it over there, yes there. This scattered instruction style creates a pandemic of distrust, by where Kenyan’s assume that white people coming to work here are all insane and should not be trusted.

Again, within those first few weeks, I’d give my Kenyan team instructions and always would be met with a “yes” then the instruction once it had been processed would either be executed incorrectly or simply not executed. This used to make me wonder why?, then it was explained to me very clearly that Kenyan’s will say “yes”, to anything a Westerner says.

A typical example of this is;

Me - “Can you do that?”

Kenyan - “Yes”

2 hours later

Me - “Where is it”?

Kenyan “I can’t do it”

Me - “but you said you could do it”

Kenyan “you know…blah blah blah…lie…lie…lie…it can’t be done”

Me - “Thanks, I’ll do it myself”

Always get your new colleague to repeat back the instruction to you, once you’ve learned that, it’s ‘Welcome to Working in Kenya’.

Sadly the majority of people in the workplace tell lies which does not help. It’s tricky to cut through the lies and the genuine problems. I’m used to it now, but Kenyan’s will happily lie about taking their sick child to Hospital, their Uncle dying, their Aunty dying, their Uncle dying, their Aunty dying, their Uncle dying, their Aunty dying, their Uncle dying, their…ok all Uncles and Aunties are dead, their cousins dying. No shame at all, no fear of tempting fate, anything goes to get a few hours off work to go and moonlight i.e do another job elsewhere. They will then wonder why you have zero trust in them at all.

I work in the Kenyan creative industry, which means the imagination gap leaves creativity as a challenge for many, but that’s a gap I see closing with more and more automated technology. Unfortunately, by the time AI has destroyed the world, Kenyan’s should be just about ready to compete.

It’s tricky trying to explain natural skill, instinct, aptitude, how to look between the lines and not just follow rules but create them.

There are three simple factors that have determined this situation.

1 = Incorrectly privileged bosses in the wrong positions.

2 = A binary style of working, inherited from the NGO / Finance world.

3 = An under valued creative arts industry.

I have no idea how this translates across industries, but from what I can see, the story theme is common, an expectation of being told exactly what to do, fear of responsibility, fear of losing a job and copying too many bad habits.

The most obvious industry where apathy is plain to see is customer service. In all honesty, Customer Service is considered in about 20% of the country and this is often exclusive to where foreigners will be. Kenyan’s know foreigners demand a better level of service i.e they expect to be greeted, they expect to be welcomed, they expect customer service. Whilst this will be a certainty in the nicer parts of Nairobi, lusher parts of the coast and the more modern game lodges, the rest of the country generally sucks.

I had to go and collect a TV from repair, it wasn’t repaired. All I had to do was collect a TV, but I couldn’t help myself so it turned into a lecture about customer service.

I walked into the shop and was greeted by two assistants sat down at the counter eating their lunch, this practice is common in Kenya, so, now the persons mouth is full of beef. I waited for the gob full to be finished and I waited for my greeting. This greeting never came, so through my silence she became uncomfortable enough to shrug her shoulders at me in an attempt to ascertain why I was deliberately disturbing her lunch. I try and say as little as possible these days, the majority of what I say is indecipherable to the average Kenyan anyway.

We go through the motions of me doing the persons job for them and I end up with the TV. It’s at this point I request the person searches “customer service” on YouTube, I explain it may help to get a promotion. That’s a positive solution right?

In Kenya, the first disagreement a foreigner will have with the average Kenyan will be whilst in a customer service scenario. This is why I implore every single possible online feedback opportunity to be completed in full detail. I believe businesses are learning the importance of reviews and stars and are generally increasing their responsibility to customers because of this.

When it comes to opportunity, Kenyan’s have been shafted by their adversaries far more than any white man. Colonisation sadly set the tone of working for a boss and being told what to do without any questions asked. In 2020, I find the legacy remains, which is sad.

I’m proud of the people who have learnt from myself, and vice versa, what I’ve learnt from them.

I’ve been able to open minds, increase focus and promote a productive way of working, however far too many people have chosen not to take the opportunity and preferred to stay blinkered.

I am all for the notion of Kenya working out its own destiny, to take control of its ambitions and develop the nation, but from what I’ve seen, this is not happening. There are too few people benefiting from the corrupt economic model for the country to succeed anytime soon.

If we’re led to believe what NGO’s and Embassies spout, then the road to a prosperous Kenya is just around the corner. All except it really isn’t, this is their agenda to keep the blinkers on the people. Evidently, the country has a huge skills gap, yet remains reticent against making foreign investment and implementing international expertise a priority.

The lies need to stop, corruption needs to end, the people need to be honest with themselves, international aid and investment needs to be regulated and to produce their development goals plain as day. Kenya needs to work out what is most important to itself, it needs to take an online course in customer service.

The most disappointing thing about living in this country is the inept apathy that exists. So many Kenyan’s I talk to tell me this, they are sick, fed up, embarrassed, disgusted in the way their country is governed.

The potential of Kenya is incredible, yet week on week, we read stories of businesses and even even whole industries unable to survive because of greed.

Whilst the hand out mentality and legacy of foreign aid remains, for now, this country will never be an entrepreneur, but rather remain a hired help faking it until it makes it.

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jamesnbarnes · 6 years

Text

i did something bad

Pairing(s): Steve x Bucky

Summary: College AU.

“Steve Rogers has not thought about Bucky Barnes for years. That’s a fact. He could be dead for all Steve cares. And Steve definitely does not care.”

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Lots of cursing and mutual pining

Notes: This was requested by a lovely anon. I hope you enjoy, friend! I had a lot of fun writing it. Why do my shorter fics always end up being fics I could turn into longer narratives? Of course, if you’re interested in seeing this become a longer fic, shoot me a quick message. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Comments are always welcome.

Requests: currently open!

Steve Rogers has not thought about Bucky Barnes for years.

It was the summer before they left for college. It was the classic Friday night lights tale. Steve and Bucky were legendary. Steve was the top wrestler who was graduating at the top of his class. Bucky was the quieter type, the best damn artist in his graduating class and a total biology geek. They nerded out together over everything from comics to Star Wars to random TV shows that no one ever watched except for them. They were the golden children of their high school. They were the kids that were going places. No one knew Steve without knowing Bucky. No one talked to Bucky without asking how Steve was.

It was how things were. It was the way they used to be.

They kiss one night in Tony Stark’s backyard.

It ruins them.

“Did we just-”

“You know what, I don’t-”

“I’m drunk, yeah?”

“Yeah, me too.”

“You know what- I’ll call you tomorrow Buck, yea? I just need to, uh-”

“Y-yeah.”

“Okay. Cool. Umm. Congrats on graduating.”

“See you around.”

The call never came. That was the end of Steve and Bucky. People asked a lot of questions. Steve deflected them all. He got a text later on that night from Tony, saying “did you know Barnes was bi?” Steve’s heart is pounding almost worse than his head, and he shoves that factoid deep down where he barely thinks about it.

Steve Rogers has not thought about Bucky Barnes for years. That’s a fact.

He could be dead for all Steve cares.

And Steve definitely does not care.

Bucky comes back into Steve’s life on a random Wednesday. It is the worst day of Steve’s life.

Steve hates biology. He hates it more now that Bucky is out of his life, but he has never enjoyed the subject anyway. He’s in this stupid Biology 101 lab course that has nothing to do with his major. If he had done better on his previous exams, he could have tested out of it, but he’s stuck now. He’s barely making a decent grade, and he doesn’t have the motivation to work any harder than he already is.

Everyone is checking the project rosters on the board outside the lecture hall. When Steve finally clears the crowd to look for his name, his heart drops when he sees the name next to his. Panic wells up in his chest. It’s not fucking possible for James Barnes to be here, at this university, in the same fucking entry level biology lecture class section as Steven Rogers.

The world is out to get him, Steve decides. He can’t focus the entire lecture. He doesn’t take a single note. He doesn’t even pick up his pen.

“You should check the boards outside for your partner project pairings. Everything is due a week from Friday. You can find the specific project outlines and what I expect from your teams on my website. If you have any questions, I have about 10 minutes before my next lecture. If not, I’ll see you next class.”

Steve is one of the last people in line. Dr. Fitz starts packing up his things while answering the question asked by the student in front of Steve. Finally, the man walks away, looking far more confused than he was before he asked. Steve steps up to his desk, readjusting his backpack where it’s slung over his shoulder.

“Hey, Dr. Fitz. I just had a question about the project pairings you posted outside your door?”

The professor sighs, continuing to pack up his belongings in order to change rooms for his next lecture. “I did them by last name for pretty much everyone, Steve.”

“Dr. Fitz, we’re nowhere near each other when alphabetized by last name. Please” Steve adds, desperation in his tone. Dr. Fitz just shakes his head.

“Sorry son. It’s just for the next few weeks. If you work fast enough, you won’t have to deal with him that much. You and Barnes both added this class late so you’re not organized on my roster like everyone else. You can do it. I’ll look forward to your presentation.”

He walks away, leaving Steve with his jaw slightly unhinged.

Fuck.

Steve gets a text from an unknown number as he’s walking across campus to his next lecture.

Hey, it’s B. Got your # from the redhead who sits behind you. Library at 15:30 to work on project?

Steve sends him a thumbs up emoji and hopes it’s enough to get his point across.

Sitting across the table from Bucky Barnes is something Steve never expected to be uncomfortable. Yet here he sits. His body is rigid and he can’t seem to relax his brain. They sit in silence for a long time. Steve can’t help but think that Bucky looks good; healthier than he did when they parted ways.

Bucky coughs quietly. It’s probably just because he swallowed wrong, but Steve takes it as an invitation to a conversation between the two of them.

“How the fuck did you end up here, anyway?” Steve blurts. Bucky doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest, slouching back in his chair.

“I transferred after last semester. State ended up being a shit hole,” Bucky says, not making eye contact. “The people had no passion. They just partied and drank and stuck their dicks in each other. I didn’t care for it.”

“Really?” Steve says, feigning shock. “That didn’t appeal to you at all?”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Bucky states simply. “Now did you research the shit I told you to? It’s gonna be pretty hard to fuck this project up if you just follow my lead. I know biology was never your strong suit.”

Bucky really has gotten so kind as he’s gotten older. “Yeah. I already sent you the Google Drive file. It’s even organized alphabetically so it’s easier for you to understand.”

“Well aren’t you kind,” Bucky deadpans. Steve snickers.

Time passes as they both work in silence. Bucky’s nervous fidget has always been bouncing his leg. He starts to do it without even noticing. Steve is trying so hard to ignore it, but it gets to be unbearable. His screen won’t stay in place and he can’t keep his hand study while he’s trying to make sense of these jumbled up equations Bucky is having him memorize.

"That's starting to get annoying," Steve says finally.

Bucky coughs. He turns another page in his book. “I don’t remember caring.”

Something inside Steve snaps. “Fuck’s sake, Barnes, cut me some slack, okay? This isn’t even in my damn major. I’m just trying to get through this project with a semi-decent grade so I can get the fuck away from you and continue living my life like you don’t exist.”

That fucks Bucky up more than he would like to admit. “Wow Rogers, I really messed you up, huh?”

Steve doesn’t look at him. He’s shaking his leg nervously too, just like Bucky, pen tapping against the yellow pad of paper filled with scrawny notes and equations that don’t make any sense.

“You didn’t do shit to me.”

“So we didn’t kiss that night at Tony’s party,” Bucky asks inquisitively, feigning genuine interest.

Steve’s jaw drops slightly. “Shut up. That was years ago.”

“I said I didn’t remember. I lied.” Bucky knows the confession is damning in a way he could never imagine.

Steve can’t deal with this now. He can’t. It was bad knowing Bucky was on the same campus as him. It made his skin buzz in weird places; he’d get a shiver up his spine while in the line for a sandwich only to look up from his phone and discover Bucky had just walked into the dining hall. It’s worse thinking about the time they shared together in high school. All of the inside jokes, the late night gaming sessions, the cramming sessions in the library the morning before midterms, the way the teachers always put them in the same group together because that’s just the way things were.

But it is absolutely unbearable to think of how good it felt to kiss his best friend, the hot, humid summer air enveloping their bodies, pushing them close, how desperately Steve wanted to whisper ‘more’ against Bucky’s lips, the way Bucky’s hands were gripping his hair, always trying to pull him closer, like he couldn’t get enough of how perfect-

“Bucky. Stop. That was a long time ago. I don’t have time for this now.”

Bucky’s eyes flash dark. “Of course you don’t. I should have figured. You were always the tough guy, yeah?”

Steve doesn’t know how to respond.

“Always wanted to be a fucking hero,” Bucky spits. “Fuck if I care. I came out as bisexual that summer. Did you?”

Steve looks down at his laptop. That cut deep. Bucky knows it.

“Fuck this. I’m over it. I’ll finish the presentation and paper and print everything out for class Friday. I’ll send you your slides so you can make your note cards. Otherwise, you can fuck off.”

It’s not exactly fair to leave Steve like this. They both said things over the course of the conversation that weren’t fair. It’s safe to say that they probably shouldn’t leave things here, naked and bare and out in the open with no resolution in sight, but Bucky is either going to kill Steve or kiss the shit out of him, and the choice is too alarming. He has to leave.

Bucky gets up from his seat, shoving the loose papers and notes strewn across the desk back into his backpack. He closes his laptop and slides it into his case before slinging his bag over his shoulder and skulking away.

Steve hadn’t noticed it before, but Bucky had torn off the Star Wars rebellion emblem sticker. Steve had bought them both one their sophomore year when they were at the height of their Star Wars fandom.

Steve still has the matching one in the upper right-hand corner of his. It’s worn and tattered, hanging on by a mere thread in some places, but still there. Steve imagines that even when the adhesive has long worn off, an imprint of the symbol will forever remain.

What a shitty metaphor for his life right now.

#my writing #stevebucky fic #stevebucky prompt #stevebucky drabble #stucky fic #stucky prompt #stucky drabble #stevebucky #stucky #this was sooooo much fun to write holy cow #i hope you enjoy anon!#likes and reblogs help keep me motivated #so if you enjoyed this fic please leave feedback #and give it a quick reblog!#it means more to me as a writer than i can even express #much love to you all #<3

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fuck-customers · 7 years

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a couple of small annoyances from msulta smuty:

1. getting looked down upon/judged/shit talked behind your back for asking for 1 additional 15 minute break during an 8.5hr shift besides your 30 min lunch. same for asking for 1 15 minute break during a 5hr shift.

2. customers bitching at me at the register for free gifts/samples/etc claiming they spend 'hundreds of dollars here a month'.... girl, sorry not sorry, but your purchase of 1 maybelinne eyeliner doesn't qualify you for shit.

3. customer coming to my register and demanding i price match his YSL 3.4OZ EDP with walfat.com which in reality is a retail seller from asia selling a very fake version for 15$

4. customers who come up with one of our shopping bags, empty it, and place the bag ON THE FLOOR in front of the till bar. WHY?! Put it anywhere but the fucking floor or turn around to hang the shopping bag on the shelves behind them. Hand it to me you fucking idiot, put it on the counter near you, or hell hang it back up on the bag rack 1 foot from the register stand. I'll never understand this one. Then they get annoyed at me when I asked them to pick the bag off the floor and hand it to me.

5. same as above ^^ but people who decide at the register they dont want an item turn around right in front of me and shove it onto the shelf behind them or put it in the small counter display in front of the moniter that I can't each while I'm literally standing there in front of them. How hard is it to say you don't want it and hand it to me???? or leave it on the counter... or hell, I'll talk people invading my space and actually tossing it behind my computer at me than people shoving it back on a random shelf IN FRONT OF MY EYES.

6. customers who try and threaten me that they will go to walfart to get their mass cosmetics cheaper and then stand there and stare at me... and stare... and stare... and stare like I'm actually able/want to price adjust their 5$ loreal eyeliner.

7. we recently got some 'department store counter' brands in our store and shout out to the lady who came to the counter with a travel size eye remover bottle (read: 12$ aka the cheapest thing she could have gotten from the brand) and then lectured myself, my manager, and the BRAND REP who was finally called over that we have the x brand gift with apparently was a 3 types of bags filled with products. Lectured us without letting any of us get more than 5 words in at a time that it was in our flier. We showed her the current flier AND then next one and it was in neither. With all our fliers in hand continued to stand there totally convinced we have it with no proof just repeating 'its in the flier, it's in the flier, it's in the flier' and maybe 10-15 minutes later after finally realizing she wasn't getting ANY gift started going off about how she's never coming back and going back to Bacy's for this brand and turned to the customers in the line behind her and tried to engage them in her ranting. ((We all finally decided she was talking about a Bacy's or Bozcovs flier)).

8. fuck managers who automatically assume i'm okay extending my shift an extra 10-20 minutes every time a certain co-worker works after me because 'oh, she's always late'. Maybe the first 1-2 times was okay, but this is now an everyday thing. I always walkie at 5-after and ask to leave (i'm usually on register alone) and now my mangers have taken to not responding to me until she arrives or they tell me they'll be right there and then just don't come up until she arrives and comes up herself. It's not that much time after my shift, but it adds up. And then if there's any sort of rush I'M expected to stay even later and help take care of it with this co-worker. Ugh.

and lastly, 9. When I ask people for their phone number for rewards tell me the first number and then turn around to browse the shelves behind them and tell the shelves the rest... and then turn back to me and act like I'm lower than scum because I didn't catch anything after they turned around and that I'm physically hurting them to ask them to repeat it. Bonus points if they get so angry that I couldn't hear their number as they wandered down the row of registers to look at a display, tell me to skip it, and then yell loudly at me when they didn't get the points. Double points if I have to return/rering their entire purchase to imput their number and they mumble/fast talk their number and I have to ask them to repeat it and they can't brush me off this time. I'm NOT your friend, I DON'T have your number memorized, you have to tell me slow enough that I can type it at the same time. Yeesh.

#submissions #fuck customers #cashier problems #fuck co-workers #fuck retail #fuck managers #submission

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itsybitsylemonsqueezy · 7 years

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Gotham 4x05: A Liveblog

Phew... long, long day, super delayed liveblog, but here it is, in all its glory. And frankly, after last time, I am not hoping for much : |

TL;DR - So there was a footrub and- HEY LET’S TALK ABOUT SOLOMON GRUNDY!

You know I’m disappointed in Gotham when I have not been chomping at the bit to see the next episode. If they get ANYTHING right today, I'll be pleased

Buuuutch :c my baby, my angel :cccc

...there’s literally location called “Slaughter Swamp” there’s literally... *throws book on floor* *walks out*

And yeah, I'm sure dumping a mostly dead body in... this swamp is Very Safe and will not lead to Anything Weird Ever. After all, it’s not like the waters in this town have literally resurrected people...

HARVEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY. HARVEYYYYY *sobs* Oh god and you look so good and your boyfriend has been AN ALL TIME LOW recently and... HARVEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY *cries into 50 pillows*

This season was supposed to be about you two getting married. And instead what do I get? The divorce. I fucking hate how this show writes Jim. HATE.

Is lil Bruce contemplating murder??? Daaaamn boy. Is this show finally actually going to become ABOUT Batman??? Am I actually going to start giving a fuck about Bruce? Jesus, how the turn tables.

Side note: David was younger here, they shot this episode earlier, not later

MMMM, all them good funeral feels for Bruce, MMMMMM. This is fine. I’m sure he’s... fine.

Jim what the fuck, fuck off. None of your shit now.

Oh my GOD Jim, you’re going to lecture ALFRED about PARENTING??? JIM. JIM. REMEMBER WHAT YOUR USELESS ASS WAS DOING FOR LITERALLY ALL OF LAST SEASON? IT WASN’T FUCKING HELPING BRUCE. FUCK YOU.

Why this show is choosing to make me hate Jim is beyond me. Holy fuck.

Bruce, I know you’re not Batman yet but... Batman is No Killing for a reason buddy. *pets* You gotta learn that lesson.

Babs hair this season continues to be... I don’t even know what her style is this season

HOLY FUCK WHY IS RA’S IN A HANNIBAL CAGE. HOLY FUCK OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD.

How Hannibal is this show going to get??? HOly SHIT.

Don’t tell me they gave Babs the fucking “soft paper, no clips, no staples, do not accept anything he hands you” rules (that BY THE BY we used on Frank too and that will NEVER stop being hysterical, although most of you are probably not in that fandom) too??/ HOLY FUCK WHAT THE SHIT

RA’S IS NOT A SERIAL KILLER, HOW THE FUCK DO YOU JUSTIFY THIS... WHAT THE FUCK OH MY GOD

I want to be paid a dollar every time Gotham borrows from Hannibal because... WOW. wow.

Jesus Fucking Christ What Even Just Happened

Oh thank GOD we’re back in Slaughter Swamp, I’m so sorry for what I said about you earlier, NEVER MIND, you are MUCH better than that, VERY welcoming, bless you Slaughter Swamp

...is that Oswald’s murder trailer? Welp, for the purposes of amusing myself, I’m just going to say that it is. Just come full circle on it. That trailer stays in the family.

Apparently none of you have seen Frankenstein or you would know not to wave fire at the recently returned from the dead : ||||

That... I guess that’s as good a way to get a name as any

*groaning about Sofia’s existence*

Is it an f or a ph? does anyone know? Meh

Mmmm... Oswald’s twitchy, he makes bad decisions when he’s twitchy. Of course, why Oswald should be twitchy now is a mystery. I can only hope the decision to abandon Ed isn’t sitting well with him. BUT that might make Too Much Sense because Fuck This Show

Hi Ed. I see your pill addiction is... still a thing. I’m not sure how i feel about the fact that you turn to drugs when you can’t handle shit.

...okay, I kinda love that Ed is now bad at everything in a new and entirely understandable way, as opposed to when he was bad at everything but we were SUPPOSED to think he was oh so smart (personally I think there are WAY better writing angles in that in regards to hubris and you know... actual fucking development but, WHATEVER writers, you do you). I have no idea where this will eventually lead, probably nowhere, because this show sucks and is determined not to make any progress of any kind but rather run us round and round in the same circles for all eternity, but this gets props for being entertaining if nothing else

“Butch, I have never had an issue with you” ...Ed. Edddddd. I’m. I’m just going to sit here silently.

Butch, I love you to death, you are everything, please drag Ed, both figuratively and literally, back to your cave and fix him. I love you so so much, please take care of him and then the two of you can be bros for life

Niiiiice, Alfred in his casual Night on the Town clothes, mmhmmmmmm

JIM SHUT YOUR FUCKING USELESS WHORE MOUTH YOU SELF-ABSORBED PRICK, YOU ARE NOTHING BUT DEAD WEIGHT TO EVERYONE HERE, DON’T YOU DARE PRESUME TO TELL ALFRED HOW TO PARENT YOU UNWANTED CODPIECE

NANANANANANANANA BATHOOK!

...you’re kidding me, I’m supposed to believe Bruce has memorized the changing of the guard at Blackgate? *siiiiiigh*

...yes, I also keep my ceremonial murder weapons stuffed down my shirt. It’s almost like you need a utility belt or something

I hope to god Sean flubbed that line and everyone just went with it

“Under crackers” is now the only way I am going to refer to my under garments and/or genitals

...OKAY SO GRUNDYGMA IS THE NEW NYGMOBBLEPOT WE ALL KNOW THAT RIGHT?

Holy shit, I thought y’all were just being crack but THIS IS SUDDENLY THE BEST THING ABOUT THIS SHOW I AM IN LOVE THIS IS PERFECT PLEASE GOD MAY THEY NOT RUIN IT IMMEDIATELY

Holy shit, ONE good scene, ONE good fucking scene in A MILLION years, oh... sweet jesus THANK YOU, I’ve waited SO LONG for literally ANYTHING to be good again and HERE IT IS

Uhhh... is Sofia gonna murder Oswald over lunch? Because if so: No.

Oh boy, back to overplot

...okay, I have no idea what to make of Ra’s al Ghul, if he’s lying or not, not a clue

Ed... Ed you REALLY need friends right now, would you please just TRY to human being for a second. Jesus. You’re stupid and you’re still SO BAD at EVERYTHING.

Awww, see, there you go! There you go sweetie, you can be friends!You can do it, good job not letting your only friend burn to death, that’s a good step forward!

Uhhhhhh oh, Oswald’s having mom feels. Oh boy.

Alfred, confirmed 300% more useful than Jim ever was

Poor Oswald... damn, without an Ed as a clutch for balance, Oswald’s spinning his wheels. This is 100% what I expected when the season started, but I”m a little upset at the pacing. This should have been obvious and building from day 1 and AGAIN, LAST episode should have had a VERY different emotional tenor. His limp is also atrocious right now, he’s very stressed and jumpy and there are obvious reasons why, but they haven’t PLAYED any of them, which is annoying.

...

. . .

The List Of Things I Could Say Right Now. I’m Just.

do you know who fucking else has seen Oswald’s fe-EDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

ALL OF THE ANGRY GIFS IN THE WORLD CANNOT EXPRESS MY RAGE

So uh... are you a mummified corpse in all reflective surfaces and you’ve just been avoiding mirrors, or does this trick only work in puddles?

...really milking that death there Alexander. Which is fair, this is a comic book show after all.

GREAT acting on David’s part tho, mad props

Yes, yes, cute jaw drop, very hammy, good job

Jim, I’m pretty sure this is the first time you two have spoken in like... 2 seasons. Just saying. you don’t know each other that well... or at all really.

Also, I‘m not positive killing someone who was immortal and who wanted to die is really murder either. Especially considering he was The Worst. Like... you shouldn’t feel bad, at all, that he’s dead, you’ve actively saved lives by killing him. Even if this is murder, I”m just saying... probably the best murder you could have done. Good job Bruce? Meh, I really don’t have any investment in this storyline, I'll be real.

Ed, why must you lie to your own and only friend? Why Ed? *siiiigh* Baby steps of friendship I guess, baby steps

...annnnnnnnnnnd there it is.

Knew it was too good to be true, couldn’t have ANYTHING nice this season could we. No, no of course not. Ooof course not.

May the all-consuming void swallow me up whole so I don’t have to deal with This.

#Gotham spoilers #Gotham liveblog #Gotham 4x05 #I am half rage half joy #PART of this was nice #part of this was THE WORST EVER

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