#i like thick crust and pineapple on my pizza okay?

[love-fireflysong]

2. We were dancing but all of a sudden it’s a slow song and we’re standing here awkwardly staring at each other

(gotta tag both @torahime​ and @nick-furcillo​ in this one now. kenize because I’m a complete moron who originally posted this like a week early and deleting the og post meant I had to make another one, and tora because she too hilariously enough ALSO requested this exact premise lol)

Nick had never so badly wanted to die in his whole entire life than right now.

Which, all things considered, he really should have expected considering that this whole shebang was really Jacob's idea in the first place. That wasn't to say that all the other counselors certainly hadn't made their own contributions in making this party what it was though, Nick included.

Emma had been the one to suggest making the party eighties themed in the first place and opening the drama cabin's costumes up to the camp so everyone could dress up. Dylan who made the playlist that everyone could dance to out of all the music records found. Abi who was in charge of decorating the lodge to give it a sufficient eighties inspired look and fun for the kids. Nick himself the one who recommended having supper that night be a 'make your pizza' party complete with too many soft drinks and bags upon bags of potato chips. Kaitlyn who organized the shooting stars tournament that would determine which cabin of kids would be making (and thus eating) their pizza’s first and getting first crack at all the ‘good’ ingredients.

And Ryan? Well he had had the most important job and contribution of all: convincing Chris Hackett that they were allowed to even throw the eighties themed dance party in the first place on such short notice. Especially with camp ending in just another short couple of days.

Though at this point, Nick was starting to wish that Ryan had failed, or that Jacob had never been punished with tidying the lodge attic that had resulted in him finding the music records that started this whole thing in the first place.

Which was a shame, because the night had been going so fucking smoothly too! There had been almost no arguments over the pizza toppings, and only one kid had burst into tears when they had dropped their pizza and it fell face down onto the floor. And sure, Nick had nearly sweated to death in the kitchen with the oven cranked as high as it could, but that happened nearly every night he made supper so really that wasn’t a big issue. Plus, he hadn’t changed into his own costume until afterwards, he probably would have actually died otherwise wearing the nearly all-white khaki ensemble with the heavy jacket (and that wasn’t even mentioning all the stains he would have ended up with too).

He had even been able to join in on the dancing himself once Kaylee and Caleb had both switched with him and taken over making sure that the punch and snacks bowls stayed filled and clean cups always at the ready. And, best of all, the last couple of those dances had been with Abi. Abi, the girl he’d had such an embarrassingly large crush on all summer, but had been, as Jacob so loved to eloquently put it: ‘too much of a chickenshit to do anything about it’.

And seeing as the last day of camp was pretty much tomorrow, Nick wasn’t exactly jumping at the bit to let her know about any of that. Not when the chances of them ever seeing each other ever again after they all split ways was pretty much nil, and he didn’t even have her number or socials or anything to keep in contact afterwards.

(Okay, fine. Yes, he still had her email address that had been listed on the orientation packet. Yes, he had maybe stared it at long and often enough that he had memorized it ages ago. No, he was absolutely not gonna be messaging her through it, are you insane Kaitlyn?! Doing that would just make him look like some sort of desperate creep oh my fucking god!)

So Nick was more than content to just share a couple of quick dances with Abi. Keeping a friendly and respectful distance between each other as they danced to whatever band Mr. H had apparently listened to in his youth. Occasionally laughing with her when the both spotted one of their campers doing some absolutely ridiculous dance move that apparently both were now too old to recognize as being the new, cool thing if one had to judge from the excited shrieks that would always arise from nearby kids every time one was pulled off.

It was nice. It was good. And if this was the last chance that Nick would ever get to spend some time with his summer crush, then he would enjoy every last second of it.

As the last couple of notes of Danger Zone had begun to wind down, Nick knew he should probably have excused himself and gotten back to the kitchen so he could relieve Caleb and Kaylee a song or two back now, and that he should definitely do so now. That was the responsible thing to do after all, but the problem was that he also wanted to stay and continue dancing with Abi a whole lot more. Not that he had time to make either choice when the music faded not into another of the hard rock songs that Dylan had been playing all night, but into a song much, much softer.

A song that sounded suspiciously like one someone would have to slow dance too.

Whatever shock was on his face though was clearly reflected almost identically onto Abi’s as well. Staring up at him with the same wide-eyes and almost gaping mouth, bodies frozen in place awkwardly as all the campers continued to dance around them, not caring or even noticing what the change in music meant as they grabbed nearby friends to dance with.

Slowly, Nick turned to look over his shoulder to where Dylan was standing with the music equipment, demanding to know exactly what the actual fuck he thought he was doing. Only to be met with a wide, beaming smile of encouragement. Encouragement only matched by the double thumbs up he sent Nick’s way.

Forget dying, he was going to kill that Patrick Star looking ass motherfucker if it was the last thing he did. And considering he felt like he was going to die from the mortifying embarrassment of staring at Abi awkwardly as literally everybody else in the room continued to dance, it probably would be.

And yet, despite the fact that this was literally the perfect time to excuse himself and get back into the kitchen where he could wither away and die in peace, he found that he wanted to leave the dance floor even less now.

“We...we can keep dancing if you want. I’m okay with it if you are...”

Nick could only blink down at Abi in shock. There was absolutely no way he had heard her right, no way at all. There was no way that she was fine still dancing with him, that she wanted to keep dancing with him. Not when the extremely romantic Listen to Your Heart was currently playing very loudly and clearly throughout the lodge.

If Dylan had thought he was being subtle with the message of the song, then he clearly had another thing coming. Cause his definition of subtlety was far, far closer to hitting someone up the side of the head with a brick.

“...You sure?”

“Yeah, totally,” Abi nodded, even as she kept her eyes firmly planted on her feet. “I mean, it’s just like any old song, right?”

“R-right. Yeah. Totally.”

Even with that agreement, neither still made the first move to actually reach out and put their hands on each other. Instead partaking in their own little awkward dance of trying to figure out where exactly the safest place to put said hands would be, squeakily apologizing every time their arms managed to collide into each other and pulling back before trying again. It took them both until about midway through the first chorus to actually get settled and into a somewhat appropriate position with her hands on the top of his shoulders and his resting lightly on her waist.

Nick’s honestly not sure what part is the most painfully awkward to look at: the fact that the full foot in height difference means that Abi’s almost straining to try and reach him even though he’s hunched down slightly to make it easier, or the even more obvious fact that Mr. H would have been thrilled with how much distance they were keeping between themselves as they held their arms stiffly out. Forget ‘room for Jesus’, Nick was pretty confident that Jacob could have easily fit in between them!

And, surprisingly, it was easy to ignore the soft weight (and warmth) of Abi’s hands up on his shoulders as they awkwardly swayed side to side. Though the main reason it was easy to ignore was due to the pure fact that she had cut the bottom off of one of her band t-shirts for tonight, meaning that Nick was trying extremely hard to forget the fact that he had his own (likely super sweaty) hands on the extremely bare skin of her waist.

“So,” Nick starts off, wincing and hoping that Abi didn’t notice the sharp crack in his voice as he did so, “the decorations look nice?”

He’s currently in the middle of kicking himself for the very unintended way his voice had decided to catch at the end, turning what was supposed to be a statement into a question, when Abi nervously laughs. “Thanks, but it was mostly the kids that made everything, I just showed them examples that I had already made to give them ideas.”

“Well they clearly must have had a pretty great teacher then, cause they did an amazing job.”

Nick can’t help but catch Abi’s face starting to go pink even under the dim lights, and as always he’s pleased with himself that he was even able to make her blush in the first place. He’s ready to continue in the same vein as those compliments—willing and able to say whatever it takes if it makes her continue to keep blushing pretty pink like that—when someone (ie: Emma) bumps into Abi from behind and sends her crashing into him.

“Whoops! Sorry about that Abi!” Emma calls over her shoulder (not sounding very sorry about it at all in Nick’s opinion) before she leads Jacob back to vanish into the crowd...or at least, she would have vanished if it wasn’t for the fact that the crowd pretty much consisted of nothing but kids that were still shorter than Abi and Kaitlyn.So instead Nick got to watch her head straight back towards where Kaitlyn and Ryan are also sharing a slow dance of their own. Ryan somehow looking more awkward than Nick felt and like he would rather be anywhere else but here as Kaitlyn does her best to keep a light mood with a forced smile on her face... all while Dylan watches them both with a not very well hidden sulk.

Nick would be feeling bad for Dylan honestly if it wasn’t his own fault that he was in this mess in the first place. That, and it’s hard to feel bad for him when all Nick can pay attention to is the fact that Abi’s all but pressed right up against him right now, her arms now nearly wrapped all the way around his neck to try and catch herself and his own hands having tightened their grip around her waist to try and steady her. Slowly, she turns her face up to look at him and the colour had changed from the light dusting of pink across her cheeks to a dark magenta that almost matched the coloured tips of her hair.

A shade that Nick was very sure matched the one on his face almost exactly.

“I’m sorry!” She squeaks out, hazel eyes wide as she tries to regain her footing. “I didn’t mean to!”

“I-It’s fine,” he stammers out, trying so very fucking hard to ignore the way that he can literally feel her pulse fluttering nervously beneath his palms. “It wasn’t even your fault to begin with. Really, it was just Emma being Emma if anything.”

“Yup!” Even as she nervously laughs it out though, he can’t help but notice how shrill and high pitched her voice is. “Just...just Emma being Emma!”

It only takes another couple of seconds to sort themselves out, but Nick doesn’t let go of her just yet. Doesn’t want to let go of her honestly. Now that they’ve started that dance, even as awkward and stiff as it was, he doesn’t want to stop until the song ends. So instead he swallows and works up the courage to say as much. “Listen, just because Emma was being—well, Emma, I guess—that doesn’t mean we should let her ruin our good time. I—” he takes a breath and readies himself for whatever may happen next “—I’d like to finish this dance if it’s alright with you.”

Abi doesn’t say anything. Staring up into his face with a contemplative furrow of the brows that he recognizes oh so easily as the same one that he sees on her face whenever she’s deep in sketching. He doesn’t know what it is that she finds, but whatever it is it clearly causes a shy smile to break out across her face. A smile wide enough that he can see her dimples starting to deepen at the corners of her mouth, and his breath can’t help but catch at the sight. “Yeah, I’d like that too. I’d like that a lot actually.”

This time when they both start the side-to-side sway from earlier, it looks far less stiff and stilted than before. Abi never bothered to remove her arms from where they had wrapped themselves around his neck and Nick was more than alright with that, hunching his shoulders down just enough so that she doesn’t have to reach very far like before but even that looks less awkward and more natural due to the fact that it means that his forehead is bent over hers. Nick’s hands are still on her waist as well, just holding her and enjoying her warmth beneath his palms, but even those are starting a southern drift until they rest almost naturally on the swell of her hips. Feeling not her soft skin anymore but the rounded studs of metal on her belts, and yet it’s somehow more intimate. They still make sure to keep some distance between them of course, but it's less Jacob-sized now and more like camper-sized, and even then only Daisy likely would be able to fit comfortably as the smallest of them all.

The silence isn’t suffocating anymore either—listening as Marie Fredriksson sings about voices wanting to be heard and the scent of magic—just enjoying the moment more than anything, but then Abi starts to chuckle lightly under her breath. He can’t quite help (and doesn’t want to, honestly) the wry smile that forms at the sound.

“Oh no,” he sighs dramatically, “what is it?”

“It’s nothing. Just surprised is all that you managed to go through this whole night in that outfit without a single pizza sauce stain on it. Was so sure that you’d leave the kitchen looking like you’d been attacked by a pizza monster or something.”

He snorts. “And that’s why I obviously never wore it in the kitchen, you dummy. Nah, I just made sure to shove it away somewhere safe and then changed into this when the pizza and dishes were all done. Was sort of the reason why it took me so long to join the rest of you guys: kitchen duty never rests and all that.”

“Well, I for one think it was worth it. Don’t know what you put in that sauce but that was definitely the best pizza I’ve ever had.”

Nick pretends to groan as though in physical pain at her statement. “If you think that was what a pizza should be like, then I am so sorry for your taste buds. You savage Americans have no idea what a true pizza should taste like.”

Abi looks up at him as though offended, but the twinkle in her eyes is clearly saying otherwise. “Oh, I’m sorry, and you Australians do? At least we don’t put actual eggs on our pizza.”

“Of course not,” he scoffs, thickening his accent just for the hell of it (but mostly because he knows that it will make her laugh), “and that’s because you guys are once again American savages who’ll gladly put something absolutely terrifying like deep fried butter on your pizza instead.”

Just like he had expected, Abi’s caught somewhere in between laughing and pretending to gag at his joke, and the pleasant flips that start in his stomach only spur him on to continue. “But I was talking about Italian pizza actually. Not even we Australians know how to make good pizza either, unfortunately, only Italians can manage that one.”

That alone is worth it if only for Abi’s sudden snort of laughter. “Oh god, that’s right. Totally forgot that you were part pompous, stuck up Italian, and that you came with all the high class opinions on what real food is because of it.”

He gives a mock, disdainful sniff. “Excuse me, but you should be thanking me and my ‘high class, stuck up and pompous’ opinions right now. You should have seen what kind of food Mr. H was keeping stocked in the camp kitchen before I got here. You’d have been stuck eating slop all summer if it wasn’t for me.”

Abi laughs again, and right on time too. Nick can feel his heart doing its usual gymnastic routine in his chest at the bright, ringing sound of her laughter. The laughter that he so rarely gets the chance to be the cause of, so just the fact that he knows for certain that she’s laughing with him (and not at him like he usually fears) means that the kaleidoscope of butterflies that had taken residence in his stomach at the beginning of summer are absolutely fluttering like crazy as well.

He’s so busy centering on the ever pleasant sensations that always seem to fill him when spending time with his crush, that it takes him a moment to realize that Abi had asked him another question. Only noticing after realizing that she had been calling his name for the last few seconds.

“Shit, sorry. What was that?”

Abi sighed, but it wasn’t without a great amount of amusement. “I was just wondering if you were able to speak any Italian as well?”

Nick shrugs. “Well sure. I mean there’s cappuccino, lasagna, spaghetti, pizza, piazza—ow!”

Abi laughed after having stepped on Nick’s foot on purpose—not hard enough to hurt of course, but just firm enough to make him stop. “I’m being serious right now, you dork!”

“All right, all right already. Sheesh, should report you to Mr. H for physical abuse of your fellow coworkers.” The grin on Nick’s face never fades even as he actually answers her question seriously this time. “But yeah, I can say a few phrases and words I guess. Stuff like hello, goodbye, thanks, ‘where's the bathroom?’, ‘go fuck yourself’. You know, simple and basic everyday stuff like that.”

Abi rolled her eyes but it’s clear even to him that she couldn’t help the grin that formed either. “God, should have known that you of all people would have absolutely memorized all the ways you could swear at someone in another language before moving onto hello of all things.”

“Be a pretty terrible Australian if I couldn’t do that now, could I?”

“Wait, doesn’t this mean that you could have just sworn in Italian the whole summer instead? You had a chance to actually keep swearing all summer unlike the rest of us monolingual idiots, but instead you wasted it!”

Nick snorts so hard that it actually sort of hurts a little. “Oh yeah, cause that’s not obvious at all what I’m really doing. And when all the kids start spouting off actual Italian curses every five seconds just to show off, Mr. H totally won’t figure out which one of us started it. The fact that one of the counselors has an actual Italian last name with the known Australian stereotype for swearing to boot, and not to mention has been heard saying random Italian words repeatedly is just a total coincidence.”

“Hmm. Well, maybe one day when you show me what a so-called ‘actual’ pizza should taste like, you can teach me some of those curses for the full immersive experience.”

The song’s finally starting to wind down now, but Nick’s not paying any attention at all to that. Not when he’s experiencing that rare moment of time again, the one where he swears to god that she might actually like him in the same way that he likes her. That maybe—just maybe—she’s been nursing a little crush on him of her very own. Because she just now pretty much came out and said that she would have had no objections to going out and spending some one-on-one time with him. And normally, this would have been a thought he could easily brush off as just seeing what he wanted to see, but not now. Not when camp is ending in just a couple of short days and there’s no time for them to meet up for a pizza and language lesson before they’re separating to different parts of the country again.

And Abi hadn’t said if he’d show her, she’d said when. As though it was a foregone conclusion to her that of course they’d be meeting up again in the future just for a pizza of all things.

Maybe, just letting her know that he likes her even this close to the end of summer wouldn’t be the worst choice in the world.

The song hasn’t stopped yet, still going through its last couple of repetitions of the title, but Nick has. Stopping the dance well beforehand so Abi can look up at him in confusion just as he looks down at her in trepidation.

“Hey,” he starts off nervously, trying very, very hard not to pay attention to how pretty she looks in her outfit under the atmospheric lighting right now, “can...can I talk to you outside?” If he’s going to actually do this, then he wants it to be at least somewhat private, and right now the wrap around deck outside is the best place even if they’d both be able to still easily hear the music playing inside. He’s not expecting anything crazy or inappropriate to happen, but he wants it to be a moment just for them.

Even if it turns out that Nick got this all horribly wrong and she’s just going to shoot him down in the end.

Abi’s eyes widen in her face and he’s really hoping that it’s a mixture of hope and excitement that he can see shining in her eyes and not anything else. “Oh! Um, yeah—”

“Alright Hacketteers! That’s the last song and I think it’s time for you all to get your butts to bed for the night!”

Immediately, all the lights are turned on and Nick is nearly blinded by how bright the lodge is as a loud chorus of groans and whines erupt from the campers. All aimed completely at Chris Hackett who’s standing just outside his office by the light switch.

“Come on Mr. H!”

“Just one more dance Mr. H, please!”

“But we’re not tired yet!”

Chris shakes his head. “No can do, already let you kiddo’s stay up later than I agreed to, and we all got a big day of cleaning ahead of us tomorrow before I send you all back home to your parents.” He turns his head to look at Ryan who had probably all but gladly extradited himself from his dance with Kaitlyn the second that Chris had turned on the lights. “Ry-guy, while I supervise the clean up here I can trust you and Kaitlyn to lead all these wayward souls back to their bunks for the night, right?”

“Yeah, of course Mr. H. You got it.”

Nick looks back down at Abi from where they had frozen in shock, still with their arms around each other in the dance from only seconds before. Hoping to take advantage of the confusion while Ryan tries to herd all of the still grumbling and complaining campers out the door and back to the cabins, he’s crossing his fingers that he’ll be able to sneak outside with Abi without anyone noticing. That no one will notice that they’re missing while they spend a couple of minutes having what Nick is beginning to think was a sorely needed conversation and confession before joining the others again.

He doesn’t even get far enough to take a step backwards, much less towards the door that leads outside.

“Abi, I’ll need you, Emma, and Jacob to start taking down the decorations and then mopping the floors. Nick—” Chris frowns in disapproval “Weren’t you supposed to switch back out with Caleb a while ago?”

Already feeling the ever familiar sensation of shame, Nick can feel whatever courage he had had already slipping out between his fingers as not only all eyes in the room turn to him, but Abi has already vanished from his arms to grab for the garbage bags. Her face is as red as he’s ever seen it. “Uh, sorry sir,” he apologies nervously as he awkwardly makes his way back to the kitchen with his hands shoved tightly in his pockets, “must have lost track of the time I think.”

Except as he walks into the kitchen with his mood somewhere near rock bottom now, he’s pretty sure he lost more than just the time. He’s getting the sinking feeling that he also just lost his very last chance of maybe becoming something more with Abi.

#asks #nick-furcillo #my writing #the quarry #nick furcillo #nick #nick/abi #furblyg #whoop whoop time to get my first actual quarry fic into the wild lol #also i need to be completely honest #but the when i was reading over all the prompts for this list before sharing them all those weeks back #the second i read this prompt the idea came to me fully fleshed out instantly #i just didnt think i would get it asked though for the very simple reason #that only kenzie really knows that ive been working on a different nick/abi piece since like july #so i laughed my fucking ass off when not one but TWO different people requested it anyways sjdhsdjhfjkhsdf #thank you both for being able to read my mind apparently ❤ #also i think its very important to point out that i wrote nearly the entirety of this fic #while eating a chicago deep dish hawaiian pizza like the canadian heathen i am lol #i like thick crust and pineapple on my pizza okay? #and if that makes me wrong i don't want to be right 😔 #also also i owe roxette my life for gifting me this near perfect song to use for these two morons slow dancing #every song on this album was a complete banger imo #so realizing that this song actually fit the very exact 80s only songs i was going for was a godsend

[peachteaships]

Okay so, my own food takes-

I really really like foods that have a BIG strong flavor. If it's not BIG, I can and will get seasoning to make it better.

Also I haven't tried it, but seeing peaches in cottage cheese makes my mouth curl. Like the texture looks so off. I don't care how it looks, the texture alone is making everything worse fjendi. It's funny cuz I love both on their own

Pineapple is good on pizza. As long as the pizza isn't...soggy. (I've had pineapple make pizza soggy. It's more sad than anything.)

And I can't stand the texture of regular boba, I have to get the bursting boba. Plus it's more fun anyway

Yeah, that's fair. I prefer my food to have plenty of flavor, or then I'm going to feel disappointed and feel like it's bland. For example. Instant Ramen. Sometimes it doesn't taste as good, and it makes me go "needs more." Thankfully, my household had a big jar of powered chicken boulion (hope I spelled that right), and I just add as much as I feel like is needed. Yes, it's extra sodium, but shhhhhhhh, it's so good.

Oh hell no, I would never do that, hell no. That is like a crime to peaches, in my opinion . Why would you do that to a perfectly fine peach??? Why?????

Also, we can't be friends anymore./jk I'm sorry, lmao. I'm a pepperoni pizza lover till the end of time. But also, it can't be like fire cooked or cooked on a fire too long, or then it tastes like nothing but charcoal covered in sauce cheese and toppings. But also the crust can't be too doughy or thick you know??? Like needs the right amount of crispness.

Also, yeah, brown sugar tapioca boba is too sticky and sweet to me. I love a local boba shop's cherry blossom boba cause it's not sticky and just the right amount of bounce, ya know? Plus, it's tasty with peach and passion fruit tea. Also, popping boba is good, too, but sometimes it's a hit or miss, depending on my mood. I do like lychee jelly too tho!

#peach answers #food takes

[eggyolk-eyoqy]

my stances on

ranch: okay, not my fave tho. too thick and heavy, i prefer other salad dressings

dipping pizza in ranch: okay i guess, i generally dont think pizza needs to be dipped but i guess you could dip pizza in a sauce/dressing

pineapple on pizza: i dont like pineapple in general (except in my fried rice) so i do not like pineapple on pizza

eating the pizza crust: depends on the kind of pizza ngl bc sometimes they are very hard (i think you can dip the crust into sauces)

sprite: i do not like sodas so sprite and certain fantas are the only acceptable carbonated drinks. given the chance tho id rather drink water

#im a new yorker so my opinions on pizza are objectively correct btw

[honeybammie]

burn › hwang hyunjin

↳ all you’ve been able to think about for weeks is your drunken kiss with hyunjin, but he doesn’t even remember that it happened.  ↳ i guess this is fluff? it’s basically just,,heavy making out with jinnie ↳ wc: 3,751  ↳ hyunjin has been wrecking my bias list lately (sorry felix) and i rlly just wanted to write about making out with him so enjoy if ur thirsty like me 

I have been avoiding Hyunjin for three weeks minus one day, which is the longest we’ve gone without talking since we were elementary schoolers, but after what happened last time we were alone, I can no longer look him in the eye without blushing a furious red and sputtering on my words. The easiest way to keep myself from turning into a fool is to avoid him entirely—not the best method, but it’s all I can think of.

Chan is having a party, like he does every so often, and there are enough people around that I think I can continue to avoid Hyunjin, since I know he’ll be there, too. He never misses the opportunity to mingle amongst friends and friends-of-friends. Part of his charm is being able to whisk people away with his easy, comforting smile and breezy laugh, and it works on everyone. Including me.

I attend because I know my best friends will be there and drinks won’t be far out of sight and I have to uphold my tipsy solitaire record. I haven’t lost a game in months, but for the past few weeks I’ve barely been drinking anyway, afraid of letting myself go and losing my senses like I did so recently.

I’m sure Hyunjin notices that I’ve disappeared. At first, he continued texting me as normal, but after I failed to reply to half a dozen messages, he stopped trying to get a hold of me. If he does see me at parties, he doesn’t approach. When I see him, I turn the other direction and distract myself with something else.

Unfortunately, whether or not Hyunjin realizes, someone else does. Jisung corners me in the kitchen as I’m sitting on the countertop, slice of pizza in one hand and plastic cup full of juice and rum in the other. Minho is trying to tell me a story, but he’s already had a few drinks and can’t keep his wires straight.

When Minho sees Jisung, he forgets his story entirely and throws his arm around his friend. “Jisung!” he exclaims. To me, he says: “Look, Jisung’s here.”

“I noticed,” I say, lips quirking into a smile.

Jisung is less concerned with Minho than he is with me, looking straight into me as he asks, “Can I talk to you? Alone?”

I raise my eyebrows, ready to object or ask why, but there’s a clear intent in his eyes that makes me realize he wasn’t really asking me to join him, but telling me to.

“Alone? Without me?” Minho gasps. “We’re not supposed to keep secrets!”

“It’s not a secret, it’s just…something important.” Jisung tries to come up with an excuse, but it still sounds like he’s talking about a secret. “Will you come with me?”

“Sure,” I agree, taking one last bite of my pizza and throwing the crust in the trash. I bring my cup with me, but on my way through the threshold I cast another glance at Minho. “Take it easy, alright? Drink a water or something,” I instruct, which he replies to with an enthusiastic thumbs up. I don’t know if he’s going to listen or not, but I don’t have time to confirm because Jisung grabs my wrist and leads me out onto the front porch, where no one is because everyone is either crammed into the living room or hanging out on the back patio or in the swimming pool.

“What is it?” I ask when Jisung releases my wrist. I take a sip from my cup. It’s still my first drink, despite the fact that the party is entering its third hour.

“Why are you avoiding Hyunjin?” Jisung demands.

I almost choke on the alcohol, and it burns hotter in my throat than usual. “What?” I feign ignorance, like I can somehow lie my way out of this one, but I already know I’m being backed into a corner.

“He’s been saying for weeks that you won’t speak to him. At first he thought maybe you were busy, and I told him to wait it out, but this is week three and it’s getting out of control. He says he can’t even find you when you’re both at the same party, so what the Hell is wrong?” Jisung is demanding, defensive, and I imagine the pitiful look in Hyunjin’s face, wondering what he did to upset me.

I bite my lip, pondering my next words carefully. “He really doesn’t know?” I ask Jisung. “Why I’ve been avoiding him…he has no idea?”

“Should he?” Jisung pressed. “All he remembers is that a few weeks ago, we were all at a party like this, and we were all pretty drunk hanging out on the couch, and then suddenly morning comes and you won’t even look at him.”

I had considered that Hyunjin might be avoiding me, too, but Jisung only proves that Hyunjin has no idea what happened, which should make it easier for me to go forward in our friendship, but the fluttering pit of my stomach forbids it.

“We kissed,” I admit, and it’s the first time I’m saying the truth out loud. I expected to feel like a weight was lifted, but the two words sit heavy on my chest. Jisung’s stare does nothing to help.

“You what?” He gathers himself after a few moments. “There’s no way. He’d remember.”

I shrug, trying to be nonchalant, but I’m almost certain my face is a half-dozen shades of pink. I can only hope Jisung doesn’t notice in the dim lighting of the porch lamp.

“Clearly he doesn’t, and I’d kind of like to keep it that way, but I can’t hold a conversation with him without thinking about…yeah.”

Kissing is an understatement, actually, but I don’t tell Jisung that.

Three weeks ago, ten of us were crammed on seven seat cushions, watching the newest episode of a shitty reality TV show we all liked despite being too drunk to follow along properly. Hyunjin had been next to me all evening, and I was quickly noticing that he was twice as affectionate when he was drunk, which was saying something considering how often he clung onto us in his everyday life.

I wasn’t sure if Hyunjin was doing it on purpose—laughing into my neck so that his lips grazed my skin, splaying his palm across my thigh and lingering there far too long for me not to notice, leaning into me so that I could smell his cologne and feel his taut figure underneath his shirt. I tried to credit all of these things to our close proximity on the couch, but that didn’t change the way my breath hitched every time he brushed close enough.

I excused myself to the bathroom, half because I actually had to go and half because I needed to clear my head of all of Hyunjin’s little touches. He did this all the time, I told myself. He was known for his constant want for physical contact, and he would’ve done the same things to any of the other guys if he had been next to them. Right?

The bathroom was attached to Chan’s bedroom. When I opened the door to return to the group downstairs, I found Hyunjin sitting on Chan’s bed, glassy-eyed and swaying a little bit, his center of gravity thrown off. He was completely harmless, but I almost screamed at the surprise, clinging onto the doorframe to keep my balance.

“You scared me,” I hiccuped. His attention was locked on me, eyes slightly hooded. I assumed he was tired, dazed, lost in a world of his own intoxication. “What’re you doing here?”

“This is the line for the bathroom, right?” He asked. The sentence came out in a singular word, spaces blended together, and he stood, stumbling towards me on unsteady feet, all of his dancer’s grace gone.

I don’t remember whether I answered or not. I tried to step out of his way, make room, but he stilled me by placing one hand over mine on the doorframe, his palm warm against the back of my hand. He was only steadying himself, I thought. If he didn’t hold onto something, he’d fall.

I meant to say something, but whatever it was left me when I looked up at him. Bottom lip caught in his teeth. Eyes scanning my face. I flinched when his other hand came to rest on my jaw, my pulse thick underneath, pumping blood and alcohol and maybe a flicker of courage.

He was staring with an intensity usually reserved for longtime lovers. That much I remembered, since it was my last thought before leaning forward and closing my eyes, welcoming him, silently begging, and he pressed his lips to mine and his fingertips held deeper into my jaw. He tasted like fruit, like alcohol diluted with pineapple juice because he didn’t like the burn. But I wanted the burn to swallow me whole.

I reached for the back of his neck, running a hand through the silky wisps at his nape, and for a moment I felt myself falling forward before I realized he was stepping backwards. Not pulling away, but pulling me along until we fell together. His back hit the springs of Chan’s bed with a dull thud, forcing us apart for a brief second. His chest was solid underneath mine, his body as intoxicating as the liquor coursing through both of us.

“Was that okay?” he asked, raspy. His eyes were still barely open, but he must’ve noticed when I gave a slight nod. “Can I do it again?”

“Please,” I mumbled, my mouth already aching to meet his again.

The coolness of his rings made me realize that he had worked his hands under my shirt, not yet roaming, but gripping my waist in silent need. When he pulled away to catch his breath, his lips ghosted against my collarbones, nose nudging the side of my neck. “You taste like cherries,” he said, and I sighed in response to him digging his nails so gently into the flesh of my sides.

When he readjusted his hands a couple inches to find the hem of my shirt, he looked me in the eye again, brown eyes almost black with the dilation of his pupils. “Can I take this off?”

I almost said yes, almost let him devour me. A million thoughts of drunken bravery flashed through my mind at once, all of them filthy. His chest and his lips and his hands and his—

And then clarity, just enough for me to push myself up, opening up a canyon between the two of us. We were in Chan’s bedroom, with all eight boys waiting for us downstairs, and we were in no condition for sex. Hyunjin sat up, vaguely confused, but already he looked like he had no idea what had happened. He needed to sleep, or drink some water, and in any case kissing me or sleeping with me should be at the bottom of his to-do list.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, fixing my shirt and running a hand through my hair so no one would notice what we had done. I gave no more comment, still running through the last couple minutes as I hurried out the door and back to the living room, completely oblivious to what was happening on TV.

“Took you long enough,” Changbin teased.

“I was fixing my makeup,” I lied, but no one would’ve suspected as such. None of them could’ve guessed on their own what had just happened, and they were so entranced by the show or by their drinks that I doubted any of them noticed I was gone a moment too long. And when Hyunjin returned a couple minutes later, I was the only one who looked at him, desperate for him to return my gaze, but he didn’t even sit next to me.

Now, with Jisung burning a hole into my head, I shrink into myself, all of the confidence from a few weeks ago gone. When I think of Hyunjin, all I can remember is his body beneath mine and his lips on the edge of exploring every inch of me, but he has no idea. He was probably off in the pool flirting with someone else while I was with Jisung.

“Do you…like him?” Jisung ventured when it was clear I wouldn’t give more details on my own.

“I…I’ve been trying not to think about it. We’ve all been friends since we were kids, and I can’t imagine ruining that. Maybe it’s best that I don’t tell him, you know?”

“And avoid him forever?” Jisung scoffed. “He deserves to know what happened so the two of you can work it out.”

“He was probably just pent-up and I was the closest person available. It probably doesn’t even matter,” I argued, but in honesty, I was terrified of telling Hyunjin the truth, terrified of him brushing that night off like dust. He had looked at me like kissing me meant something—like it meant everything—and having him forget was bad enough without him telling me that it was a mistake, that he hadn’t really wanted to.

“If you don’t tell him the truth, I will,” Jisung said. “He’s distraught that you won’t say anything, and you can’t lie to him. This is serious, and—”

“Fine, okay. I’ll do it.” I couldn’t stand listening anymore, and if anything was worse than Hyunjin telling me that kissing me was a mistake, it was losing him entirely. “Do you know where he is?”

“Out back. I’ll show you.” Jisung doesn’t drag me this time, but leads me through the house and to the stone patio in the backyard, lit up by string lights, and when I find Hyunjin amongst Woojin and a couple girls I vaguely know, he knocks the wind out of me.

“Wait, I changed my mind,” I blurt out, turning away to go back inside, but Jisung is too fast and grabs my arm.

“Hyunjin, over here!” Jisung calls, waving his hand. I despise him, but to keep unwanted attention off of me, I don’t struggle against him.

Hyunjin’s whole group glances over, and I hold my breath as he meets my eyes. His expression is unreadable, a far cry from his usual transparency. There’s no drink in his hand, I notice, and I wonder if both of us have been avoiding alcohol these past weeks.

He says something to the other three that I can’t hear, and Woojin pats him on the back as he goes. Hyunjin’s looking only at Jisung now, expression unchanging

“What’s up?” he asks, showing a faint smile, but it’s so forced I can’t stand it.

“We…need to talk,” I say because Jisung has gotten us this far and I know he’s not going to help any longer. “Can we go somewhere?”

I don’t want to be alone with Hyunjin, but having to explain in front of anyone else might turn me into ashes, so it’s my only option.

Hyunjin casts a wary glance at Jisung, as if asking if this is a trap, but Jisung nods toward the house, earning me a short, “Sure,” from Hyunjin. “Should we go upstairs?”

“That’s fine,” I say, but already I’m sweating. As I wind through the house again, I barely check over my shoulder to see if he’s following, and part of me wishes he wasn’t. I don’t know if I’m ready to be in Chan’s room with Hyunjin again, but I don’t have much of a choice and can’t think of another plan before we’re exactly where we were three weeks ago.

Hyunjin sits on the bed, waiting, just like before, but this time he’s waiting for me instead of the bathroom, and all I can do is pace the carpet.

“Are you going to explain why you haven’t spoken to me at all in almost a month?” Hyunjin asks, and I can’t tell if his tone is demanding or desperate.

“Are you mad at me?” is my first question. It’s the one that burns most in my head and if he’s already mad, I’m scared that the truth will anger him more.

“I’m…” he starts confident but trails off, his exterior starting to melt as his eyebrows crease together. “I’m confused. One night we’re best friends, and the next morning you refuse to talk to me, or look at me, or even be near me. I just…did I hurt you? Did I say something, or—”

There’s a fear in his eyes that has me standing in front of him in a heartbeat, anxious pacing forgotten. “No, no, Jinnie. You would never,” I cut him off, half-whispering. “You didn’t do anything wrong. We just…”

“We?” he asks, something new crossing his face, like his fear has met curiosity.

“We kissed,” I say, which is all I told Jisung, but I realize this is going to require the full story and I spit out words faster than I think of them. “When we were all watching that show, you kept touching me, and I tried to tell myself that you’re just clingy, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I came up here to go to the bathroom. When I came back out, you were sitting on the bed, and then you stood up and—” My voice catches. It’s only a memory, but in all of its shrouded haze, his eyes are still clear as day, and his lips soft and satin.

“And?” Hyunjin presses, reminding me what we’re here for.

“You kissed me. Or I kissed you. And you pulled me back to the bed, or I pushed you back to the bed, and you asked to kiss me again and I said please and we kept on kissing for…forever, probably. I don’t remember how long, and you asked if you could take off my shirt but then I remembered this is Chan’s room and we were so drunk, and I ran out and…yeah.”

“And yeah,” he echoes, and I step away to brace myself. I wish I had a way inside his thoughts so I would know what he intended to say before he said it. As things are, waiting is torture and stretches to infinity.

“I’m sorry,” I say even before he gets angry. “Neither of us knew what we were doing, but it’s okay if you’re upset or don’t want to talk to me.”

He runs his hands over his face once and stands, like his body is made of lead. “I can’t believe this,” he says, and I shuffle backwards one more step. I think I’m going to cry, a decade of friendship ruined by one mistake that I could’ve avoided. I was more sober. I should’ve stopped him before he had the chance to kiss me.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, resisting the urge to run out again. I have to face whatever happens.

“Sorry?” he whispers. With every step backward I take, he follows, and I’m the one this time who can’t look him in the eye until he cups my chin with both hands and makes me. He doesn’t look angry, at least not with me. His eyebrows are creased and his mouth hangs a little lax and—don’t look at his lips.

“The first time I got to kiss you…and I don’t even remember it.”

I watch him harder, search deeper, and notice that he looks like he’s reaching for a memory that’s just out of grasp, and he can’t stand it.

“I’m so sorry.” It’s his turn to apologize, and I can’t figure out why. He lets go of my chin to reach for my hand, and I don’t look away, nor do I move when the tips of his fingers nervously brush mine. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, and I wasted our first kiss when I was drunk.”

I barely understand what he’s implying. I’m not even sure he’s real until I reach my other hand to the back of his neck, a vaguely familiar territory. “Are you drunk now?” I ask because I’m afraid that the same thing will happen twice, that he will only want me when he can’t think straight.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t had anything since that night.”

So these are his sober thoughts. Part of me doesn’t believe him, but I have to. His regret at having forgotten makes me feel almost as bad as his anger would’ve. He’ll never remember our first kiss.

But he’s still looking at me with those eyes that remind me of lovers and I know that this is real and I have been holding my breath for three weeks while waiting for another chance.

“You can do it again,” I whisper in a voice barely my own.

I think he’s about to ask twice, but I don’t let him. Still holding the base of his neck, I bring him back to me, remind him how our lips fit together, and even if he doesn’t remember, his subconscious does, somewhere deep down, because he picks up where we left off, all needy hands and tongues and breathless sighs into my neck that prick my skin and send jolts through my spine.

I’m backed against a wall, hardly aware of how I got there, and Hyunjin is talking again.

“If we hadn’t been so drunk, and if we hadn’t been in Chan’s room, what would you have said?” he asks, balling the front of my shirt in his hand. The bigger question makes me dizzy, all of the blood in my head draining elsewhere.

“We’re still in Chan’s room.” I gasp when he presses a grasping palm against my hip. His face is disguised in the crook of my neck. His open mouth leaves a trail on my exposed throat, my collarbones, my shoulder.

He stops, briefly, to say, “Entertain me. If we weren’t in Chan’s room, what would you say?”

I didn’t realize before, but my hands are no less guilty than his. They have wandered from his neck to his jaw, down his torso so that I, too, am holding onto flimsy fabric, sinuous body underneath, one I have been picturing every day for weeks and dying to discover.

He’s patient as he watches, waiting for my decision.

“I’d say yes,” I tell him, burning all over, just how I want to be. “Please.”

#i wrote this in like 2 hours last night so if it's awful im sorry but i feel better now #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #stray kids #stray kids oneshot #stray kids fluff #stray kids au #stray kids hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin imagines #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop drabbles #kpop oneshot #kpop au #kpop fanfiction #stray kids fanfiction

[sunnybimbo]

Shunk - Hunk helping to teach Shiro that he can handmake pizza. Anytime he wants, even! (Modern AU or canon are both good) (Welcome back!!! I'm glad to see you getting back into the swing :D )

I LOVE YOU BOSS THANK YOU FOR SPOILIN ME

hope u like it :3c short n sweet

Shiro is lying face-down in a pile of fluffy pillows, half-dozing as he listens to Hunk try and fail to beat the final boss of the video game he’d borrowed from Lance, when the hunger strikes him like lightning to a metal pole.

He rolls off of his mini-mountain and watches as Hunk succeeds in taking the enemy down to a sliver of health, only to be finished off by a cloud of poison he’d accidentally ran into.

It takes everything in Hunk not to hurl the controller at the television. Instead he throws it at the couch where it’ll be much more likely to survive, and swears vehemently under his breath, “Cracker jack.”

Shiro reaches over to tickle him on the back of his neck. “Take a break. Let’s find something to eat.”

Hunk does the expected motion of trying to recede into himself like a turtle, complete with a cut-off gurgle at the sudden tickle. Shiro ducks out of the way as Hunk swings at him with a pillow, grinning wide when Hunk can’t stop himself from giggling.

“Yeah, okay. I was getting hungry anyway, too.” Hunk stands up, stretching his arms until they pleasantly crack. “How about pizza?”

Shiro reaches for his phone, which had decided to hide itself in the couch cushions, and quickly checks his notifications. “It’s almost three in the morning, so most places nearby are closed. I might have a frozen one somewhere?”

Hunk plucks the phone out of Shiro’s hand and tuts at him. “Young, naive Shiro. You don’t even know who you’re talking to. Rooming with Lance in college made me a master of past-midnight pizzas.”

Shiro furrowed his brow, quickly stealing back his phone with nothing but a distracting kiss against Hunk’s cheek and a firm squeeze. “I… honestly wasn’t aware it was an option.”

“Come to my office.”

His office was, of course, the kitchen. Where all of Shiro’s culinary dreams came true— including some he didn’t even know existed. He had a peculiar feeling that pizza from scratch was going to be added to that list soon, too.

“Since we’re making this for the first time, I’m going all out.” Hunk warned. “And you’re gonna help me.”

Shiro grimaced. “I’ll try?”

Hunk only slid him a bowl, with a determined look in his eye.

Because Hunk loved to cook, they had most of the ingredients for a quick pizza already— so Hunk decided to treat him to pineapple and sausage pizza. “We don’t have any classic pepperoni, so we’ll just have to make do.” He’d said, kneading the dough after Shiro’s disastrous attempt wherein his prosthetic did not agree with how sticky it was.

“Pidge would be horrified.” Shiro hummed, carefully slicing open said pineapple. “She hates how much you like pineapple pizza.”

Hunk exaggeratedly rolls his eyes. “She’ll see the light one of these days. We’ll have to invite her over the next time we do this.”

“If I don’t blow up the house first.” Shiro hums, narrowly missing his finger with the knife. From then on, he pays extra attention to how slippery stupid pineapples are when you try holding onto them with your bare hands.

It comes as an incredible surprise to Shiro that things don’t go sideways during the few hours in the kitchen. Hunk ends up with mozzarella-stained hair after Shiro cracks open the bag too hard, but that’s not even the worst thing he’d been covered in after inviting Shiro into the kitchen, so it’s a win for the latter.

“Now sprinkle however many toppings you want on your half, and I’ll do mine in a minute.” He’s instructed as Hunk turns away to make sure the oven is preheated, and to clean up the mess a little.

The sausage was already in chunks so he didn’t worry about the size too much as he eyeballed a good handful or three to lay on top of the thick layer of cheese they’d slapped on the dough.

When Hunk turned around again, Shiro had just finished what looked like an entire wall of meat.

Hunk had to take a moment to comprehend what he was looking at. “Shiro… why?”

“What? What’s wrong with it?”

Hunk hid his smile behind his hand at Shiro’s sincere confusion. “That’s way too much sausage. Like… Enough for two pizzas, too much.”

Shiro frowned (read: pouted) and looked back at his little hill. “I thought it was supposed to… shrink.” He mashed his fingers together in demonstration. “Isn’t that what food does when it cooks?”

“Only sometimes.” Hunk assured, cutting between Shiro and the pizza before he put the entire pineapple on it. “Your heart was in the right place, but your stomach may literally murder you for feeding it a pound of sausage per slice.”

Shiro didn’t hesitate in handing Hunk the reigns for the rest of the baking process after that, though he did get handfed a bit of the removed sausage while they waited for the treat to finish cooking.

So, again, it was a win for him.

---

The pizza came out marvelously perfect, if you asked Shiro. The crust was crispy on the edge but soft where it mattered, and it wasn’t drowned in sausage and oil!

Hunk gave him a beaming grin as he took his first bite and couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him. “Tasty, right? A good time killer and midnight snack.”

“More like breakfast.” Shiro says with a motion of his head towards the oven clock that’s nearing five in the morning.

Hunk shrugs, helping himself to another mouthful. Shiro slides his hand across the table, almost casual-like if not for the meaningful look he shoots Hunk’s way. “Thanks for making it.”

Hunk quickly wipes his greasy fingers on his hoodie and eagerly slots them between his boyfriend’s. “Of course, Shiro. And now you can make it whenever you want.”

He receives a dubious look at that, which he responds to with an encouraging smile. When Shiro’s gaze only withers like a sunflower in December the longer their staring contest goes on, Hunk fondly sighs. “I’ll help, too. Whenever you want.”

Shiro leans across the table to give him a kiss. “Thanks, babe. I’ll try not to get too crazy.”

Does Hunk spoil him a little too much? Probably— but Shiro deserves it.

#shunk #voltron #vld #shiro #hunk #jam writes #spoil shiro 2k18 #i like this actually #i tried to make it where shiro was Competent and Logical but still shit at cooking 🤔 #other than the sausage thing tho i think he did pretty good! :D #TY AGAIN BOSS ILY!!!!!! #also nobody @ me about pineapple and sausage #bosstoaster

[barpurplewrites]

Keep an open mind - Chapter 3

Previous chapters (HERE)

-x-x-x-

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Belle nibbled her bottom lip as she set her pint down squarely on the coaster. She’d been expecting this question, so had given some thought to her answer.

“I used to, in the same way I used to believe in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. Ghosts are just another fairy tale.”

She’d been focused on her glass as she spoke, when she’d finished she looked up and caught a sad smile on Gold’s face. Was he judging her? No, it didn’t look like judgement, or pity, it was sadder, more personal. How odd.

Jefferson waved an expressive hand; “I take the role of Mulder in our little troop, but for magic not aliens, although I believe in them to, it would be the height of vanity to assume we are alone in the universe.”

Belle hadn’t expected anything less from Jefferson. She’d known him long enough to have heard his excited babbling about various unexplained phenomena.  

Ariel nudged her shoulder; “I’m a full-on season one Scully. The only things that go bump in the night are dodgy pipes, animals and other humans.”

That surprised Belle; her first impression of Ariel had been of a flighty and fanciful woman. Her skill with sound engineering had shown a strong practical streak, but Belle still would have expected her to believe in all this ghost stuff.

Gold sighed; “Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy are lies we tell children to make the world more magical. Ghosts are lies we tell ourselves to make the world less painful.”

His voice was steady, but the depth of emotion in his eyes was heart-breaking. Belle wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she resisted the instinct. She didn’t not know Gold well enough to know if her actions would be welcome, and she didn’t want to overstep on her first day on the job. There was a story behind his words, one that was clearly personal and painful.

Jefferson cleared his throat and said jovially; “Time for trampoline tennis.”

“What?”

Belle looked around the bar wondering what sort of crazy game that could possibly be. Ariel chuckled; “Don’t worry. It’s what we call bouncing ideas back and forth about the episode. Not sure when we started calling it that, but it’s stuck.”

The other three pulled out notebooks from pockets and bags. Belle felt awkward that she didn’t have anything on her, she’d not been warned about this. She was just about to say she’d run back to the motel when Gold slid a brand-new notebook and pen across the table to her. It was a handsome thing, black fake leather embossed with Bumps in the Night logo.

Gold shrugged; “Should have given you this this morning, to welcome you to the crew, but I forgot it along with my gloves.”

“Thank you.”

Belle was a compulsive notebook buyer. She had some lovely ones at home, far too many still unused to justify buying more, not that that ever stopped her. This one was more of a journal, or project book. The paper was a nice thickness, and lightly lined, ideal for making sketches and for taking notes. Pockets inside the covers allowed for the safekeeping of loose paper and there were dividers that could be repositioned. It was something she would have bought for herself.

Gold smiled at her obvious enjoyment of the notebook. He flipped to the back and showed her the printed pages tucked within the pocket there.

“Our most commonly used resources. We do have a few free lance researchers who help out from time to time, but we’re such a small crew that everyone needs to pitch in. I know the pay doesn’t reflect that, but we normally get a decent end of season ratings bonus.”

Belle nodded as she scanned the list. It wasn’t unusual on small productions for everyone to muck in. The experience was always helpful, and the promise of a bonus was a nice thing to look forward to. The list was a mix of normal web addresses for land registry, archives of old maps and ancestry records, then there were the odder items that she supposed she’d have to get used to in this job; Reddit and Tumblr accounts that focused on ghosts and the supernatural.

“With so much of this being on line I surprised you don’t just give us tablets.”

Ariel and Jefferson laughed. Gold rolled his eyes; “You’re not the first to suggest it. I’m old fashioned, I like writing things down.”

“That and he’s terrible for leaving chargers in motels.”

Gold laughed at Jefferson’s comment; “Aye there is that too.”

 They decided to order food before they got started on the trampoline tennis. There was some friendly bickering about pineapple and its place on pizza. Jefferson was dead against it, while Ariel and Belle were indifferent. Gold was for it, claiming that it was vaguely healthy. Food on the road frequently was deep fried, so getting fruit when you could wasn’t a bad idea. A quick look at the menu proved that salad wasn’t an option. Belle made a note to herself to pick up some apples from a grocery store tomorrow.

After everyone had had a slice or two Gold asked: “So, what do we think of our Hanging Figure?”

Jefferson flicked a piece of pineapple off his slice of pizza and shrugged; “I think this one is going to end up being something mundane.”

Gold wiped his mouth with a napkin; “I think you’re right. No deaths in the property, no missing people, nothing that would suggest a ghostly presence.”

“Not even a creepy feeling, just an empty house. Although I wish the owner had left the carpets in place, the echoes we’re getting from footsteps are annoying.”

The heels of Gold’s boots had caused Ariel some major sound problems. Viewers would never know that Gold had done most of the internal shots in his stocking feet. Belle had managed not to giggle at his ghost Pokémon socks, just.

Belle took her camera out of her bag and flicked through some of the photos she’d taken of the window. There was an outline there that looked like a head and torso hanging from a rope. It was visible from all the angles she’d been able to take a photo from, outside and inside. There was nothing on the glass that would rub off, that had been one of the first things Gold had tested. She dipped a pizza crust in the pot of sour cream and jotted down some ideas.

“What are you thinking Belle?”

As was typical of these things Gold asked his question just as Belle had taken a bite of pizza. She chewed and hurriedly swallowed almost choking herself in the process. Gold grimaced and handed her a glass of water.

“Sorry about that.”

She waved his apology away as she glugged the water down.

“No worries, it happens,” – she looked at her notebook, - “If the window hadn’t been replaced twice I’d say that there was a defect in the glass. Is it possible that this is some long running prank and the window fitter has deliberately put the outline there?”

Jefferson thumbed through his own notebook; “Possible, but the replacements were done by two different owners twenty years apart, both used different companies. Nah, I don’t see it. Besides where’s the money?”

Finding out who would profit from potential haunting was the best way to discover the truth. One of the episodes Belle had watched after she’d accepted the job had used this approach to uncover a brother attempting to scam his siblings out of their inheritance by claiming the house was haunted.

Gold tapped his own notebook and shook his head; “There’s nothing like that here. If anything, the previous owners have lost money because of that window, and the current owner is hoping that we find an ordinary explanation, so he can sell up.”

���Okay so that leaves us with damp, or maybe a structural defect in the window frame? Y’know causing the glass to warp?”

Belle felt her suggestions were weak, but everyone else nodded encouragingly.

“We can look into both of those the day after tomorrow, the owner has given us permission to replace the window.”

“I should set up a camera, maybe two, one inside and one out, to film the window over night after it’s replaced. We might see the Hanging Figure reappear.”

She said it with a smile on her face but received serious nods from the others. She was going to need to remember that this gig might feel like a joke to her but two of the people who could fire her believed in this spooky stuff. Just because the content was on the kooky side didn’t mean that she shouldn’t do a thorough job.

While she’d been mental chastising herself Ariel had said something that had made Gold pull a face. Ariel poked in his direction with a pizza crust.

“Look I know you’re not a fan of them Gold, but they’re expected on a spook show, so we will set them up and show that we used them even if we don’t get anything.”

Ah, this was about the EMF and EVP. She was about to ask why Gold didn’t like them, but he spotted the obvious question on her face.

“It’s daft, but those damn machines give me tinnitus, especially the EVP. But Ariel is right they are expected, so we’ll set them up for the overnight, okay?”

Ariel gave him a happy grin; “Good, it’s usually more of a battle than that.”

“To be fair you do normally ask me about it first thing in the morning before I’ve had a cuppa.”

Ariel turned to Belle; “Did Jefferson warn you about that? Gold is a bear with a sore head before he’s had a cup of tea in the mornings. It’s his only diva-like quality.”

Gold gave a over the top gasp and place his hand against his heart; “You wound me Ariel I’m not that bad at all.”

Jefferson and Ariel both cocked an eyebrow and him and nodded. Gold deflated and flapped a hand at them; “Okay maybe I am,” – he smothered a yawn with the back of his hand, - “and I’m going to be much worse if I don’t call it a night and get some sleep.”

It wasn’t late, but it was heading in that direction and they did have an early start the next day. Belle was surprised when Gold collected the receipts for their meal and drinks. That sort of clerical work normally got shunted off on to one of the women. When she mentioned as much to Ariel on the walk back to the motel, she just shrugged; “Gold likes balancing the books, it’s relaxing for him. I suggested he try yoga, but he laughed at me.”

Belle snorted as she tried to picture Gold in various yoga poses. It was all the funnier because her imagination had conjured suit wearing Gold doing yoga. She was still smiling at the idea when she bid everyone good night and headed into her room.

#rumbelle #ghost hunters

[mosylufanfic]

I request prompt 22nd; Happy birthday month!

Thank you! Also requested by a nonny, although you might see another reply for that, nonny! I keep thinking these are going to be short and cute and I look up four pages later and go, “. . . shit.”

Best Laid Plans

Caitlin heaved a sigh, dropped her head back, and told the ceiling, "I'm trying very hard not to see all this as a metaphor for my life."

The smoke alarm shrieked. The lasagna that she'd worked on all afternoon was a scorched-black lump. Her pan was probably ruined too.

She sniffed and wiped away tears. "It's just a lasagna," she scolded herself.

But it wasn't, and she knew it. The lasagna had been a single but critical cog in a carefully crafted plan, and now it was trash.

Cisco was due any minute, and she was still in her robe, with no makeup and her hair barely blow-dried. Her main dish was completely ruined and there was no time to throw together something new.

She sniffed again and then pulled a chair over and climbed up on it to turn off the smoke alarm. When it had been silenced, with a last surprised tweet, she rested her head against the top of the door frame and mourned briefly for her ruined evening, which was supposed to end with her in Cisco's arms.

Sometimes it seemed like her dating life since Ronnie's death had been nothing but trying to feel more than she did, or disastrous breakups. Or both. Often both. But Cisco had always had a place in her heart. Sometime after he'd first gotten together with Cynthia, she'd realized that the place he occupied had transformed from platonic to romantic without her noticing.

She'd told herself then that it was hopeless. He had a girlfriend, one he was madly in love with. She'd hated herself for the ember of hope that had blossomed when he'd told her that they'd broken up. "Too different," he'd said, sagging in her comfy armchair with his third or fourth stiff drink. "We love each other, but we don't want the same things. And the things we want - they’re kind of all or nothing."

"I'm sorry," she'd said, and gotten more ice cream out of the freezer.

She'd counseled herself to wait, to let him heal, to watch for signs that he was ready to risk his heart again.

In the past month, she'd been seeing those signs, and more, signs that he might be already willing to risk it with her. Casual touches that lingered longer than usual. Banter that leaned toward flirtation. Small, thoughtful gestures, that wouldn't have seemed out of place in Cisco's history of thoughtful gestures except for the smiles he gave her along with the cup of tea he brought to her desk, or the candy bar he picked up when he was out. Long text conversations about nothing in the middle of the night.

But if they were ever going to be anything more than text buddies, one of them was going to have to move things along, and she'd decided it was going to be her. Except that her meticulous plan had gone off the rails the moment she turned on her hair-dryer and missed hearing the over timer go off.

She looked over and saw the wine on the counter. She hopped off the chair, grabbed a corkscrew, jammed it into the cork, and worked it out of the bottle with a pop. Without bothering with a glass, she took a deep chug straight out of the bottle.

It was a nice red wine, and it would have been really nice with her burned lasagna.

She was considering another chug when the doorbell rang. With a gasp, she stuck the bottle back on the counter and bolted for the door.

"Hey - what burned?" were the first words out of his mouth when she opened it.

"Lasagna," she said, letting him in. "I was drying my hair and I didn't hear the buzzer."

"Awww," he said. "I’ve been there. Sorry." He gave her a quick hug and she told herself to let go when he did, not to cling to him, not to snuggle close and bask in the smell of his shampoo and the feel of his body against hers. "You didn't have to make dinner. I told you I'd bring something over."

"I wanted to," she said. "But I screwed it up."

He squeezed her upper arms to comfort. "Look," he said. "Why don't I go get a pizza? Will that work with the rest of your menu?"

"Sure," she sighed. "Go for it."

"Be right back," he said, and opened up a breach in the middle of her entryway.

When it sucked itself closed, she went back into her bedroom to put on clothes. Half her closet was scattered over her bed - pretty ruffled skirts that showed off her legs, low cut tops that showed off her decolletage, dresses in a fine-gauge knit that clung to her curves. They'd all seemed not quite perfect for the intimate dinner she'd had planned.

They definitely wouldn't work over pizza.

She put on a soft, drapey t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants, then pulled her hair into a ponytail and put on basic makeup. She started to put on a simple, sheer pink lipstick, then paused, wiped it off, and selected a redder shade.

Even if she couldn't seduce him tonight like she'd planned, that was no reason not to make him think about her lips if she had the chance.

She shut her bedroom door behind her and went to see what else could be salvaged.

By the time he knocked again, she was feeling more cheerful. Yes, the charred lasagna was occupying a place of dishonor on the back of her stove, but that wasn’t the only thing she’d prepared. She did swap out her table settings, though. Thick-crusted, cheesy, greasy pizza just didn't go with her fine china. She let him in with a smile.

"All right," Cisco said, bearing a heavenly-smelling cardboard box toward her table and setting it down in the center. He plopped two twenty-ounce bottles next to the box, one orange soda and one iced tea. “We’ve got a large sausage and mushroom, because I ain’t looking at pineapple on pizza tonight, you Hawaiian-loving weirdo.”

Although sausage and mushroom did go better with the rest of the meal, she scowled playfully at him. He always gave her grief for her taste in pizza. “Keep talking like that and you won't get any caprese salad.”

“Any what now?” he asked, transferring slices onto her red Fiestaware plates.

She shifted the box and showed him the plate. Fat chunks of mozzarella alternated with tomato slices, garnished with basil leaves, and all of it drizzled in olive oil and balsamic vinegar. She’d assembled it and put in the fridge before jumping in the shower earlier.

His eyes lit up. “Fancy!” He nudged his two slices of pizza aside to make room on his plate.

“Okay,” she said after serving herself. “Are you ready to plan?”

“Born ready,” he said, twisting the cap off the orange soda. “Hit me. What are you thinking?”

She pulled out her notebook. “I’ve jotted down some ideas. This is Iris’s thirtieth birthday. It’s a milestone. We want it to be special.”

He cut up a slice of mozzarella and swabbed up balsamic vinegar before popping it in his mouth. “Remind me why we’re planning this and Barry isn’t?”

“Because it’s supposed to stay a surprise for more than thirty seconds,” Caitlin said.

“And he folds like a cheap suit when she cocks her eyebrow. Right.”

She should feel guilty, using a party planning session as a pretense for luring Cisco into her clutches. But Iris, who’d listened to her agonize a few times, would more than understand. Anyway, Caitlin had ditched that plan.

Mostly.

She watched Cisco lick pizza grease off his lips and grin at her as he suggested a country western theme (which she shot down with a quickness) and reminded herself that she wasn’t going to jump him.

Which was too bad, because in that shirt and those pants, he was looking really good. And he was having an incredible hair day.

They settled on a private room at Iris’s favorite restaurant the Saturday after her birthday. Caitlin wrote herself a note to check availability, and to figure out backup restaurants if that one didn’t pan out.

“We should have a decoy celebration,” Cisco suggested. “Like, tell her to meet us for lunch on Sunday.”

“Right! If we all just pretend to have forgotten, she’ll know something’s up. A decoy sounds perfect. Now, who are we inviting to the real thing?”

Cisco pulled up Facebook on his phone and went trawling through Iris’s friend list. “I’ll take care of contacting everybody,” he said, scribbling names down. “Hey, have you got contact info for Linda Park?”

“I can get it,” Caitlin said, writing herself another note. “Iris would love it if she made it from Coast City for this.”

By the time they’d eaten half the pizza and all the caprese salad, they had the beginnings of a really nice party. Cisco closed the box. "Want to keep the rest of this?"

"You take it home," she said, hopping up. "But I do have a new recipe that I tried for dessert."

"I'm going to get fat if you keep making me all your finds," Cisco said, not sounding terribly worried about the prospect. "They're gonna start calling me Jello instead of Vibe."

She grinned at him. "Maybe it's awful. I did burn the lasagna."

"Yikes," he said, and loaded her dishwasher while she pulled the dessert out.

He tilted his head to study the mound of white dessert that she set in front of him. "Is this flan? Because I have to tell you, it’s on the pale side."

"No," she said. "It's panna cotta. Taste it."

He did, and made a noise in his throat that made her skin buzz. "Holy shit. What's it called again?"

"Panna cotta. I made it last night." She tasted it herself and almost sighed. It had really turned out well. Good choice to garnish with raspberries. Next time, she would have to do the mint chocolate variation she'd found.

"Just for funsies?"

"Well, I found the recipe and I really wanted to try it out."

"And you knew I'd be here to help you eat it," he said, taking another bite. "So how did you make it?"

She launched into an explanation of the recipe, how the cream had to just simmer, not fully boil. How you had to let the gelatin dissolve just right, why you had to warm the mixture and let it cool in a particular pattern so the chemical reaction could happen properly. How you could add vanilla or almond or tea or anything, really, to flavor it and then add even more things on top when it had chilled overnight, and then - if you chose - unmold it onto a plate before garnishing. It was her favorite kind of recipe - scientific precision on the one hand, endless flavor choices on the other.

He watched her, smiling as he ate his panna cotta. “Maybe you should make it for Iris’s party,” he suggested.

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I’m up to making this for that many people, and the restaurant might have something to say about it.”

“Okay,” he said with a laugh. “You’ll just have to make it for me again.”

She looked up to see him smiling at her, and her heart skipped a beat. “Okay,” she said, telling herself that her voice wasn’t breathier than Jessica Rabbit’s. “Sure. Anytime.”

Their gazes locked and held until her heart fluttered again, and his lips parted. He blinked, breaking the spell, and set his spoon in his empty dish. “I’m gonna - “ He gestured vaguely in the direction of her bathroom. “Um.”

“Sure,” she said, and had to sit for another five or ten seconds, catching her breath, before she could get up and take the panna cotta dishes to the sink. They had to be hand-washed, but she couldn’t do it now. She’d probably break one.

She cleaned up the rest of the table, checked that Cisco had loaded the dishwasher properly (he had) and was considering how salvageable the lasagna pan was when Cisco called out, “Hey, Caitlin?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can you come here a minute?”

She went to the living room to see him studying her coffee table. “So, what’s this?” he asked.

She swallowed hard. She’d forgotten about that setup. “Um, candles. And wine glasses.”

“Fancy candles,” he said. “And your good wine glasses. And I couldn't help but notice there was a pretty nice red wine breathing on the counter all through dinner.”

“Oh,” she said. “I forgot about that. Yes.”

“And I know you’ll probably be mad and I’m sorry, but I may have slightly snooped in your bedroom on my way to the bathroom and I noticed your closet had exploded.”

She felt herself go red to the hairline. “. . . Yes,” she admitted. “It did, kind of.”

He tilted his head. “Did you have a plan for tonight?”

She nodded slowly. Her face felt hot enough to cook an egg. “But I burned the lasagna and spent too much time looking for the right outfit and ruined it.”

He smushed his lips together. “That’s an easily ruined plan.”

“You know how I am about my plans,” she said.

“Yeah,” he admitted, and picked up one of the wine glasses. “Too bad. This looks like it would have been pretty nice.”

She stood looking at him twisting the wineglass in his fingers, and thought, I’m on Team Flash. Plans going wrong is where we live. I should be able to improvise.

She curled her toes against the carpet. “Do you want to know what end I was planning toward?” she asked.

He looked up at her. “Kinda would. Yeah.”

“Okay,” she said. Whispered, really. “Okay.”

She reached out and took the wineglass from his hand. Setting it down on the coffee table, she rested her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss him.

He went still, and she thought, Oh, oh no, I’ve misread everything, I -

Then his arms slipped around her waist and he kissed her back. Cautious at first, learning how they fit together, what she liked, what he liked. Then the kiss became more confident, hungrier. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed up against him, and he hummed in his throat the way he had when he’d tasted the panna cotta. This time, the sound thrilled her right down to the marrow.

They had to break for air eventually, and leaned together, panting. “So,” he said, his thumb rubbing against her rib cage through her thin shirt. “That was the end of the evening? In your plan?”

“Well,” she said, stroking her fingers through the baby-fine hairs on his neck. “No. Not necessarily.”

He smiled at her, his big joyful Cisco smile that she’d always loved to see, and said, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

FINIS

#Caitlin Snow #Cisco Ramon #Killervibe #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #birthday prompt party #gang aft agley #Caitlin honey breathe #it'll be fine #the flash #thapnbkrsnowvibe

[alethiaii]

I love how Steve McGarrett goes from Navy SEAL, who has trouble reading people and expressing his emotions, to teddy bear in .1 second when Danny arrives to the game with Grace in tow.

‘Hello Gracie.’ Why do you sound so fucking precious Steve? 

‘Your daddy talks about you all the time.’

And Grace, the MVP. ‘He talks about you a lot too.’

Ahem, Danny...What exactly have you been telling your little monkey about Steve? Because I have hard time imagining he was have a paced yelling about Steve’s laser focus and trouble magnetism. You are certainly not commiserating as you say. 

But I do love your rants. And frankly, your rant about kids and guns is very much on point. Sorry Steve, I love you but you don’t just let an angry kid just walk away after you have taken a gun from him. Odds are, he’s going to find another one and innocent people might get hurt in the process. 

‘You weren’t held as a baby, were you?’

‘It’s called tough love.’

‘And by the way, I was held as a baby. I have pictures if you want proof.’

‘Photoshopped.’ 

I love this fucking married couple bickering. And A+ for my very resourceful Navy SEAL and impromptu chemistry lesson. I love how he and Danny complement each other by being well of useful information on different subjects. 

‘Thick crust, extra bullets please.’ The look on Danny’s face like *I can’t believe that actually worked. Coincidentally, I am turned on right now.*

‘You should try lolani's in Waikiki. They do the best ham and pineapple on the lsland...

‘Oh! Oh!’ 

‘What?’

‘Let me explain something to you, okay? Pizza is mozz, sauce and dough. That is it. All right, you want to put a pepperoni on your slice that's fine, but ham, out. Fruit, out. Okay, I don't care where we are. Pizza and pineapple do not belong in the same airspace.’

‘I guess you feel quite strongly about this.’

Well of course he does Steve, you should have guessed that from ‘pineapple infested hellhole’. However the face. The face during this mini anti ham and pineaple rant is so fucking precious. It is literally Steve inwardly screaming because his potential life partner sounds fucking righteous and horrified about something that is probably one of Steve’s favorite meals.

Now...Since I have additional information and I am completely aware that Danny said ‘no’ to marriage counselor even though in all likelihood would not have saved it, I still get really irritated every time I see the third episode and Rachel wants to drag Danny back to court over visitation because ‘it is not safe for Grace to be around her father’ as if he should have some sort of foresight abilties to predict that going to a high school football game would end up with a shootout. 

Like woman, no. You divorced him, married someone else very quickly afterwards, took his child and dog five thousand miles away so you practically forced him to leave behind everyone he knew and everything he had just so he can get some odd days to see his daughter all the while your new husband keeps buying ridiculous gifts to ingratiate himself to Grace and would have gone through with revoking his rights had Steve not poked around and put a pressure on step father to back off.

You could be charming, maybe even well reasoned in some of your fears but the fact you declared father of your child to be a danger to her because of series of events that were completely out of his sphere of influence and control just makes me dislike you. Let’s not for now mention your later actions that were just about unbelievable. 

Moving on. Episode three, we have so far seen Steve driving a car onto the deck of a freighter, hang a guy off a roof and now...shark cages. It’s like the writers had a competition to see just how far they can go with Steve being extra. And then you have Danny who looks like he is one second closer to a stroke with every case he works on alongside Steve. 

‘Your dad couldn't stop screaming.’ 

‘You were there with my dad?’ 

‘Yeah. I was fresh out of the academy, he was my training officer. I'll tell you, any day that Steve McGarrett was starting at quarterback was an official day off.’

Cue to me sobbing because that look in Steve’s eyes...It’s amazing really that you could read so much from his eyes even if the rest of his face is a total blank. ‘McGarrett men do not show their feelings.’ Look, I get that John wanted to protect his children and all but that statement is such a bullshit and it’s really painful to Steve to constantly find out that his father shared his feelings with everyone else but he got the strained, fucked up version. Luckily, he has a short partner from Jersey doing his best to do some sort of damage control on that front. 

#mcdanno #steve mcgarrett #danny williams #Hawaii Five 0 #nina loves to ramble #season 1 rewatch

[dapplemii]

tagged by @pond-pajamas

rules: 1. Always repost the rules 2. Answer 11 random questions posted for you then come up with 11 new ones 3. tag 11 people

1. What’s your catchphrase or something you say too much?  Hmm the “Cosplay is not consent” shout is my specialty. I guess say “same” and “me” a lot. 

2. Favorite way to be creative? Cosplay of course! Photoshop collages and color meshes too.

3. If you were a cartoon character what would you wear everyday? (oooh I like this one) Lets say its a cool cartoon with cool outfits. I’d wear a long jacket that’s short in front then have a skirt there. Something like Asuna’s uniform outfit from SAO. Then either knee high boots or short boots with thigh high socks.

4. Pineapple on pizza? Cold or hot pizza? Thin or thick crust? Um ew, hot, I like both.

5. Have you ever had a moment where your life flashed before your eyes and you momentarily believed you were going to die right then and there? Yes, when I was like 11 or somewhere around that age I went bike riding around the lake at Centennial Park and when we got by the rocks and water I wanted to go down closer but I slipped and started falling backwards. Someone who was going by caught my hand as I was falling and helped me back up. I still got a bit banged up but I was okay.

6. If you could eat at one restaurant for the rest of your life, what restaurant would you pick? If we’re ignoring heath and money costs, Ledos.

7. What’s some from of media or art that you’ve seen/watched/read that had a profound impact on you or really made you think? There’s honestly so many so I’ll name a few:

TWEWY: so so many valuable life lesson’s packed into that game. Learning to value yourself as you are, working to better yourself, learning that trust and relationships can be difficult but ultimately it is important to make meaningful relationships with other. “The world ends with you. If you want to enjoy lie, expand your world.”

Homestuck: Honestly redefined what I view a story as. Despite all its craziness it utilized so many forms of media and ultimately told a meaningful story that was both a world construction and deconstruction of itself.

Shin Sekai Yori: made me contemplate what really defines humanity and the extremities that we are willing to go to. Made me think the entire time about what was right.

Your Name: Also made me think about the beauty of life and connections with others.

Pippin: That show straight up gave me an existential crisis

8. Best decision ever made? Becoming friends with @pond-pajamas

@lemongunpowder and @llamalpacas and getting us all into fandoms in 7th grade.

9. Who do you wish was your next door neighbor? All of my friends and we need a giant communal yard like the Backyardigans or something.

10. If you could live in any fictional world which would it be? (OOOOOOH GOOD ONE) Probably the pokemon universe. That or right into Neko Atsume just put me in the middle of all the kittes,

11. Favorite fashion style? (lol does cosplay count?) Honestly, I never feel better than when I’m in pretty formal wear or something like my deer makeup but according to Alice’s amazing guide to J-fashion, I’m pretty attracted to fairy kei and mermaid kei.

My questions!

1. What is your dream cosplay/outfit and when would you wear it?

2. What pokemon would be on your team? (Doesn’t have to be a fully-functional team)

3.What’s your favorite language to hear spoken or sung? Least favorite?

4. If you got the chance to talk to your elected official what topic would you address?

5. (I really like this question so I’ll ask it too) What is some from of media or art that has deeply influenced you and the way you think?

6. What electives are you taking?

7.Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr or Snapchat which is your favorite?

8. What’s the name of your group chat?

9. Do you still have pokemon go on your phone? Neko atsume? Mystic messenger? Miitomo?

10. Do you play and instrument? If not which instrument do you wish you could play?

11.  Favorite mythology?

tagging: @queenleprechaun @lizzythedoodlebug @spoopyiris 

any mutuals who want o go right ahead.

[greaterthan-curls]

My First Love

Bullets, Bandages, and Metaphorical Cigarettes:

I passed by 2 girls smoking cigarettes today and realized I was more concerned with their form of killing than my own.

suicide (noun) suicide: the act of killing yourself because you do not want to continue living

murder (noun) murder: kill (someone) unlawfully with premeditation

Bandage #1:

Her palms had a callous over the left knuckle from rubbing them over her jeans. Her love line was longer than her life line which I always found surprising in ways that I will not disclose to the reader. Her nails were trimmed by her molars. She didn’t drink, smoke or swear.

She told me she loved me in her bed and the words smelled like chocolate. Her right arm was tucked around my hip and she didn’t look at me when she said it. So I didn’t say it back.

The stars were trapping us in her car and I threw up the words. If I hadn’t said them I would’ve burst into the constellations. Her eyes were diluted by the barricade of her pupils. Momma told me she wasn’t real. But I always loved faking it.

Bullet #1:

She said she kissed him on a Saturday. I had let her borrow my heels. She made love in my stilettos. I tasted the salt before I knew I was crying. Now that I’ve kissed someone else I know why she did it. But it’s still equally as fucked up.

She was at my house before I could tell her to go home. I wouldn’t of told her to go home anyway, but I still would love to believe my will is stronger than my act of loving her. It was raining, I marinated in the cliche and the scent of her sweaty apologies. I didn’t hear them, probably because they weren’t true. I said it’s okay even though it wasn’t, and I smoked a joint when she drove away smiling. I still wonder if it’s because she was happy or because she was in control. I took a hit and forgot about it.

Bandage#2:

She didn’t like holding hands in front of her mother. I could only kiss her with the lights off. She held her palms over her breasts and turned around when changing cottons. I think it alarmed her when I told her she was beautiful. I kissed the places that she disregarded and her body ignited under my hands. I trickled my fingers down her arches and when she blushed, I’d hit rewind, I’d hit rewind, I’d hit rewind. This unwrapping of the woman.

Bullet #2:

Tight shirt, curls pressed, eyes swabbed. The elixir for someone to finally love you. Laugh at her jokes, in the purple skirt, and flirt with boys so maybe she’ll hold you. I didn’t even like boys. I guess that makes one of us.

She wrote the words in No.2 pencil. I got the flu when I read them. I wanted to throw up from my chest rather than the pits of my stomach. I was wearing the low cut blouse, lodestone, her eyes wandered passed me.

Your best friend is never your best friend. Her best friend handed me the recycled Notice of Breaking and my eyes welled. She had scrawled it messily, all lowercase. We weren’t worth the capitalization. Or a definition of any this. I threw up once, cold tile, my head making relics to television static. I stumbled to her car and cut loose ties. She didn’t cry when I said it. So she didn’t say it back.

I wore my strapless dress so she could see what she was missing. She texted him after and he didn’t respond. I think that’s when she realized it, baby girl was blind.

Bullet #3:

Your best friend is always more than your best friend. We slept in the same bed and she wrapped around my baby like weeds in a chokehold. I watched them like a horror movie, my eyes were curious, the cat got shot. I held out my palms for her crucifixion, my unholy drug holding onto another lover. Weeds eyes shot open and looked at me from the crook of Baby’s neck.

“She’s mine” they screamed.

I should’ve let her have her. She already had her anyway.

Bandage #3:

Breathing isn’t natural, the art of the lungs is a necessity we take for granted. We had fucked and I didn’t cum, my curls lay on her chest as she danced circles around the small of my back. Her fingers burned, my body was on fire.Her nails were matches that scraped my brick walls.

My tears were the only thing to put me out. I sobbed twice before I realized I couldn’t breath. The flames were in my lungs and I tried to take them out with my inhalations. One too many for each second.

She didn’t ask what was wrong, I wouldn’t of been able to tell her. Shivers although my body was on fire. I knew my body was on fire. I put myself out in 3 hours, blowing out all of my candles and making a wish for Momma to come home. We watched cartoons and she watched me breathing. One hour even after I was dreaming. She turned off the lights and her arms made things go easy. I was in too deep. I was in too deep, and in ashes. Again.

Bullet In Disguise:

I lit incense to keep my head cluttered, put my momma’s scarf to my nose and heaved: Mac Redberry 92 and cashed Pineapple Express. The room was lit by self loathing and cheap candles bought from piles in Ikea. I could feel the darkness but I loved it. I was terrified.

The wind didn’t mind disturbing, I called her and it rang twice. I said hello, she said she was tired, it took me a few seconds to ask ‘of what?’. Silence, preparing, my cuticles bled in my mouth.

“Of you and everything that encompasses. Of the way you twirl your curls around your left middle finger, of the way you blow bubbles in every second chew, the way you toss and turn and wake, repeat, repeat, repeat. Call me when you’re drunk to say you love me while eating thick crust pizza and letting men finesse what’s underneath. Your waist is wider than what I like, I’d rather it be wrapped in blonde twists like blue eyed Bambi. I only fuck you, my tongue to your body, but I close my eyes and imagine this girl. Baby please forgive me, but this is it,” inhale, exhale. “Baby I'm in love”

What I thought she’d say.

“School is just a lot right now,”

What she actually said.

I cooed and consoled her, stayed up for 3 hours listening to my heart quicken and stop, breath, hold, listen. I bit my tongue all night, eyes closed, mind ravished. Toss turn wake, repeat repeat repeat.

Last Hit:

I wanted to cry just like I wanted to cum with her between my legs. I was forcing, a yearning, inconceivable plateau. It was Sunday, God’s day, I guess this is what I get for sinning. I sat watching the washing machine twirl dirt from loose clothing. I wanted to climb in and be scrubbed too. I wanted to twirl around with my pants and panties until I was nothing but skin to hang on her line. She’d fold me up and stuff me away. I guess I’m going back in the closet.

It’s hard to not match your tone to your tears. They streamed down but my voice was paved even.

“I think it’s just better like this,” she said.

“Like what?”I responded .

She didn't answer, not until I asked again. “I’ll love you forever but I’m prone to letting go.”

I clicked my tongue, my throat went tighter, a side effect of allergies related to bullshit.

She said she was sorry 12 times in 20 minutes, 7 more times before I said it was okay.

I told her I loved her and she mumbled distortions before the line fell silent. I threw the phone across the table, hung my head to the sky. Not much changes when everything changes at once. The numb was comforting. I opened the washing machine and didn’t climb in. I was already drowning.

The Funeral:

Let me stop trippin in poetry. Love isn’t worth all of this. Maybe somewhere underneath nail polish and lip liners, passed diets debris and after the facts; but watching someone else carve out your body is a worthless artifact buried under dirty dishes. Over 8am coffee I realized it, then throwing up over a trash can, listening to my heart pound in my ears. It sounded nice. I wasn’t dying.

It’s morbid really, just passing me around like spliffs rolled poorly. I loved it, catching her lips and blowing ashes into her lungs as if to spew herself back at her. Fill her up with me one last time.

Maybe it never happened, maybe it never will. Maybe her eyes were windows to search with spectacles for someone else. She kept them open while kissing me anyway.

Maybe we were like that one time you stay home from the party, watching everyone else stumble home from badly lit bedrooms, standing on one night with another soul while we were sipping boxed wine jealous. We never carried the pounding headache, but we took ibuprofen and pretended something hurt.

Maybe we wished we could trade places with girls in dirty soles and smeared Dolce, taste someone else mixed with vodka and bad decisions, to get away from the facts of all this, to get along with our own killing.

Murder: loving someone

Suicide: loving someone.

Bang.

#love #brokenheart #lovely #life

[priyankafoodfuntravel]

Located at HBR layout, min road- it is a very underrated place. The visibility of the place is the only loophole of this joint, as the food, the ambiance and shots are top notch.

The place gives out a vibe of a very ‘Irish Pub’, polished wooden tables and chairs, open brick walls as well as wooden plank walls with catchy posters will give a feel of a very rustic and posh Irish pub at the same time.  It has two floors, ground floor  is a no smoking floor more of a family sitting area. 1st floor is the one with the bar where the mixologist create magic behind the counter. Smoking is allowed here. They have a DJ who plays some food numbers to uplift everyone’s mood. This place is a kids friendly and have an awesome kids menu which every kid will definitely enjoy..

Couple of foodie friends and me decided to check out the place few weeks back. We began from ordering ourselves some mocktails and cocktails first.

Mocktails: 

Spiced Guava: This was a spicy thick guava smoothie textured drink. Decorated with green olives, this was a drink with lot of pepper. Please take caution before drinking as the pepper can make it little difficult to drink it suddenly. But if taken slowly it might surprise you.

Spicy Apple: It was a spicy mocktail again but not the thick texture. Blue curacao was used at the base of the drink for a dramatic look. With some Tabasco sauce it was hot drink to handle.

Cocktails: 

Millionaire: A whiskey based drink with fresh watermelon juice is sure a perfect drink for the Summers.

Lipstick Jungle: This was a visually beautiful as well tasted nice too. Served in a martini glass the colours of the flavored syrups worked it’s visual magic. A vodka based drink with green apple flavoring was indeed a treat.

After 5 AM in the morning: This is a vodka and tequila based drink. It had quite a punch, so caution for the light headed, It might be a little strong than u can take. It had pineapple and cranberry juice in it.

Smooch of Fire House: True to its name, this is vodka based drink served in a margarita glasses with pomegranate syrup with watermelon juice. Beautiful play of colours..

Jalopenoe Spice Cocktail: This was a specially created drink by my request, a vodka based drink with a spicy and tangy amalgamation of jalopenoe. I loved it as I love my drinks to a spicy side.

Then came the mind boggling shot curated by the mixologist.

Brain Damage:  A shooter with vodka and monin syrup carefully layred with Kahlua and then again a small pour of syrup to create a visual magic, literally as a screwed up brain would look like.😂

Layer Shot: This shooter was amazing, layers of Kahlua, Bailey’s Irish Whiskey and colourful flavoring syrups for visual effects. Though I took my shot without the syrup as I do not like anything which is too sweet. It was a pretty shot.

Coming to the food, we experimented with lot of starters, main course dishes, pizza and desserts. The starters aka the finger food is exceptional. I would recommend them highly.

Chilly Garlic Basil Pork: This is a catch for the pork lovers. Perfect use of spice, and the right amount of basil which gave it a beautiful flavoring.

Butter Garlic Prawns: This was good but a little too bland for my taste. This would be the favorite among kids for sure. Those who like their garlic Prawns hot, pls mention to add some hot sauce to it.

Fire House Fried Chicken: This was surprisingly quite crispy from outside and juicy from inside. The best part of the dish was it’s amazing plating, the fries served with the chicken was stacked on each other as a caged box. This catched my attention the most.

Tangy potatoes: This was an average dish and could use a dash of herbs and chilly flakes to it. Baby potatoes deep fried and then tossed with some dry herbs.

Coorg Chilli Pork: This was recommended us by the FireHouse staff and it turned out to be a wise choice. Succulent chunks of pork cooked in the tangy coorgy masalas, a punch of spice and tanginess was really appreciated by me.. I went ahead and squeeze half a lime on it too.

Grilled Fish Fingers: This was again a good choice by us. The best part was the basa fish was fresh and not the freezed one. Perfectly marinated and grilled to perfection just melted in our mouth. This one was one of the most liked dish by all of us.

BBQ Buffalo Wings: This was an ordinary chicken wings which could definitely use some more of BBQ sauce as once I bite the chicken the juice was lacking for the second bite which we mentioned to the staff serving us.

Mushrooms with Olives: This dish took us by surprise, trust me, not everyone can pull up serving a simple sauteed mushrooms with olive oil with some dried herbs and green and black sliced olives. A very simple dish yet one of the best I ever had.

Half and half Pizza: As we were quite filled so we inspire of ordering different pizza, we ordered a half n half pizza which was half chicken and half veg supreme think crust pizza. Then we went ahead and asked for extra cheese one, the greedy us😂😂

Barbeque Chicken steak: This is was again very ordinary bbq chicken with some BBQ sauce served with mashed potatoes and grilled veggies. This definitely could use some improvement.

Chilly Garlic Basil Fried Rice: This was again quite a good flavored rice with perfect spices and garlic and basil tossed with rice.

Kampao Chicken: We paired our fried rice with chicken in kampao sauce. They compliment each other perfectly.

I had just 2 spoons of it as I wanted to keep some desserts which we were about to order next.

Cheesecake: Blueberry cheesecake, which was ok but nothing very great but still good.

Tiramisu: I love tiramisu so I might sound a little baised here, but I loved their Tiramisu a lot. A perfectly moist and the coffee could come through perfectly. A must try at FireHouse.

Caramel Custard: It was again quite tasty but a lot too syruppy… But surprisingly the Custard was not very sweet so it complimented nicely. It was an amazing evening with friends, chatting over drinks and food.

The service was really commandable, they were very polite and taking our feedbacks positively. Three cheers to the kitchen team as they took a lot care for the presentation of whatever they were serving. The prices are okay with respect to the quality and quantity of the food they were serving.

My personal rating for the place will be : Location : 4.0 Ambiance : 4.5 Taste : 4.5 Pricing : 4.0 Overall : 4.3

I was very happy by the end and looking forward to visit the place again, specially during IPL matches. I believe that would be tremendous fun with friends.

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FireHouse – Bar & Kitchen… An evening to remember.. Located at HBR layout, min road- it is a very underrated place. The visibility of the place is the only loophole of this joint, as the food, the ambiance and shots are top notch.

#bangalore food #food review #hangout in bangalore #HBR layout #menu review #menu tasting #pubs in bangalore #Restaurant review #restuarants #where to eat in bangalore