#wool special interest

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

try new technique (“stranded intarsia” - mix of intarsia & stranded colorwork) for athena sweater by knit owl swatch for athena (< the ancient greek goddess) 🦉

[id: rectangle piece of knit with light blue background & navy owl on branch with moon in back. behind knit is other knit swatches & gypsum/selenite stick n jars of quail egg n rainbow sheep n stuff. end id]

hope she like it👉👈

is not same yarn for what plan for sweater (not buy yet) or color scheme (decide on navy background/pink? figure bc pattern is reverse of this one where it look better if lighter color against dark background. even tho light blue/navy look so good)

(pattern from pinterest)

bonus picture of The Floats

[id: picture of background of knit. in center is strands of 2 blues (stranded colorwork) n outside around it just light blue (bc intarsia). end id]

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

answer in reblog bc easier! fun >:) sheepies

1. favorite sheep to look is jacob!! hehe they look like cows. even have favorite photo of them is in AAC & look very silly in them hehe

not know what favorite spin yet want to do breed study not yet done though & mix of memory issues n awareness issues (!!) n other cognitive disability issues dont yet know why but not really able tell difference between different wool feel like when spin, or remember :( feel very sad when people talk about able tell difference when spin

though right now like leicester longwool because fleece so shiny & lamb fleece very soft still!

2. start spin december 2022! not sure how explain exactly why start but probably just. was knitting & by extension started spin

3. first drop spindle was random amazon top whirl!!! dropped several times hook wiggling n fell off n had to glue shut, had to make notch deeper, etc but really do like & served long time!! not really comprehend yet different weight/types of spindle for different yarn so have spun both thick (worsted & bulky) yarns & thin (lace) yarn on it.

now use EEW 6 which electric spinner bc severe physical disability. is loud n vibrates lots n mine randomly stop sometimes but really do enjoy. is most affordable spinner can find. allow em still spin & also so much faster!

4. not sure favorite but most common use (prob because easier) is spin entire roving/etc front to end & then ply two end together

if want more matching color then split braid or batt in half n spin separate n ply together but like this one less because always spin one single more than other always leftover. but results better

want try lock spin

5. knit! snail parent!!!

n ramble abt disability >:) focus on severe disability & high support needs esp HSN I/DD as you all know

6. not really have one stand out

7. directly from farms or small business dyers n batt makers

(favorite yarn place is WEBS my beloved)

8. RAINBOW!!!!!!!!!!!!

not have to be pink/red/orange/yellow/green/blue/purple in that order or all of them but multicolor rainbow

especially ultra bright or pastel (duality)

9. not sure yet!!!!! foot stepping spinning wheel expensive & not sure how much can use a disability but want one day try

spinners of tumblr: I want more fiber friends on here so I've decided to do a little q&a type thing!! pick a question or two and answer in the tags (or however else u want to answer idc). I'm a fairly new spinner and it would be great to meet some of the other fiber artists in this space :)

please note that I am queer and pro-palestine, and that terfs are not welcome here <3

questions:

1: favorite breed of sheep (to spin, to own, to look at... up to you!)

2: how long have you been spinning and why did you start?

3: tell me about your wheel or spindle- how did you acquire it? favorite thing about it?

4: favorite spinning technique

5: outside of spinning, what hobbies or professions do you do?

6: a pic of your favorite spin

7: shoutout your preferred place to buy fiber

8: favorite color to spin- include some pics if you'd like!

9: dream spinning wheel, if money was no issue?

[horsemeatluvr23]

hermitcraft s10 is just a documentation of the hermits descent into madness. wdym xisuma spent an hour on his hands and knees recording himself howling like a wolf ??

[ghostsaretrans]

Going to start tracking my spinning progress here.

I got this spinning wheel about 2 weeks ago secondhand. Single drive scotch tension made in Christchurch in the 70s sometime

After tightening the drive band, it's been working wonderfully. The conrod is connected to the treadle with just a strap which means that it's a bit harder to treadle slowly. The wheel I learned on had some provision for putting my heel down and pushing the conrod up

[quarterlifekitty]

if devils were real (they'd be in the military)

john price/succubus!reader part 1

When John lays down for sleep, he does so with a smile. Talismans greet him from each cardinal direction of his room, ready to bring his darling home to stay. When you come through his window, you're none the wiser. In the dark of his room, your tattoo glows a faint pink over your womb.

You settle yourself gently atop John's hips, just barely grinding your panty-clad pussy against his boxers before he starts to stir. He stares at you with that dumb, sleepy smile like a man in love. It almost makes you feel a bit bad for what you're about to do to him. But not quite.

The scent that begins to pour from your skin is heady and saccharine, making the air heavy as it coats the insides of John's lungs better than a cigar ever could. He's hard in an instant. You giggle, rubbing your hands up and down, cupping the swell of his chest and raking your fingers through the coarse, dark hair.

Price lazily brings a hand to the curve of your hip, perfectly playing the part of the fool out of his mind from your pheromones.

"Daddy," you purr, "I missed you so bad… wanted this cock more than anything…" the words drip like honey off of your tongue, landing feather-light against his throat, threatening to catch the breath within. Your pinkie finger ghosts at the elastic of his boxers, just barely catching and slipping underneath with a perfectly timed bite to your lower lip.

His heart does pound. But not for the reason you think.

The night follows your usual routine. A few special tricks to keep things interesting for him (or maybe your just do it for yourself). Grinding that pretty, wet little pussy against him until he's aching. Taking him into your mouth with a tongue just barely too long to be natural. More and more teasing until you finally let him into your soft, wet heat. You languish in it when you're fully seated— hips flush with his. A drawn out moan escapes you, a shiver running down your spine as you feel his pre leaking out inside you. An appetizer for what's to come.

"Always feels so big… I'll never get used to this cock, daddy. It's just so much—" another rehearsed bite to the lip, tears at your lashline as you grind yourself down and choke out a sob.

John often doesn't speak much during these encounters. Pretends he's too hazy on your cocktail of a scent to formulate a full sentence. But if there's one thing you've always noticed about him, it's his gaze. Men tend to keep their eyes firmly locked on the hypnotic bounce of your tits as you ride them, minds too addled to focus anywhere else. But John keeps his eyes firmly locked onto yours. You chalk it up to his rather severe case of loneliness, but it does unnerve you. Like his line of sight is an ice pick being driven under your eyelid, probing in a place you yourself haven't mapped.

Like he's looking in your eyes just long enough to pull the wool over them.

But you're too much of a professional to let silly little ideas like that affect your performance. You can feel him start to swell and throb inside of you, your tattoo pulsing in anticipation. He lets his eyes close, and he quirks his lip enough for you to see the grit of his teeth as he cums inside you, a shiver running through you from the surge of power it creates. The mark of your womb radiates a bright fuchsia as you take it all in.

It takes some restraint on John's part not to dig his fingers deep into the fat of your hip when he cums— he's just so ready for you to be his. But he hasn't gotten this far by acting in haste. A rustling of paper, a glimpse of calligraphic sigils in the corner of his eye, all a sign of victory on the horizon.

This would typically be the part where you say goodnight. Kiss his forehead and stretch your onyx wings wide to take back off into the night.

It's worth everything to John and more— when your wide eyes betray the searing tension binding the muscles at your shoulder blades.

A careless fly treading six-legged over the trigger hairs of the carnivorous plant.

It becomes your turn to grit your teeth when every attempt at unfurling you wings just makes more pain bloom in their place, almost causing you to double over. John's other hand creates symmetry, planting itself on your other hip. He holds firm and bucks his hips.

The sound you make is beautiful. Unplanned. For a man so neurotic, it's shocking that something so spontaneous could please him so much. It's not the kind of sound a performer makes. No, it sounds like someone thoughtlessly tied a silk ribbon around the neck of a swan just a little too tight.

In the fraction of a moment after that strangled cry leaves your throat, you're on your back, staring up at the cat who caught the canary. His stare is unrelenting, wanting to burn your vulnerability into his synapses. A chuckle rumbles through his chest, deep enough that you swear you can feel it where you're connected still.

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart. Why don't you tell daddy what's wrong, hm?"

[lillatorg]

A few months ago, I got to inform a vegan friend that wool came from animals. It was a fun conversation.

How sad that my friend will never know the joy that comes from stroking a vintage 70% lambswool 20% angora 10% nylon sweater. Not for my friend the subtle disdain of walking into a store and feeling up an "extra fine merino" sweater that is so cheaply made that it will pill within a month.

I sigh when someone tells me wool is scratchy because capitalism has messed that up too. Good quality wool isn't scratchy. My favorite cardigan is 100% lambswool, made in Hong Kong from a brand that went out of business in the 80s. My favorite sweater is also 100% lambswool, made in Scotland in the year of god knows when. Both are soft enough to wear against my skin.

Every winter I have to buy new wool socks, which inevitably pill by the end of the season. Granted, I don't wear my sweaters on my feet, but they're OVER FORTY YEARS OLD and show no signs of pilling. What have companies done to wool? It's not worth buying.

Other things about vintage wool:

100% lambswool is a good place to start. Filter by country of make; I usually go for the UK or Hong Kong or Australia. I've found the quality to be inconsistent with other countries.

If you're buying a vintage wool coat instead of a sweater, then you filter by United States and get something with an ILGWU tab. My wool coat is so heavy that no hanger will hold it.

Be suspicious of brand names *known* for using wool, because they probably stopped using wool in the 90s and shipped all their labor overseas. The modern incarnations of those brands are garbage, while the vintage pieces are way overpriced.

I love lambswool-angora blends, but you have to watch the nylon content. I won't wear anything with over 10% nylon. Itchy itchy.

This is rank speculation on my part, but I suspect "extra fine merino wool" is a modern invention because I haven't seen it on any pieces from the time periods and countries I look for. I also know my extra fine merino wool sweaters have fallen apart while my 100% lambswool sweaters are still going strong. I don't buy extra fine merino anymore, and I'll only buy merino if the garment was made in one of the countries above.

Obviously, lambswool is my favorite wool, but my bathrobe is made of just plain? normal? not of the lamb variety wool made in England in approximately the 70s/80s. It is smooth against my skin and warm and gets my wet hair dripping all over it every day and is still fine. Honestly I don't know if I believe the whole "never get wool wet" stuff anymore. Maybe that's just another scam capitalism has fed us.

Thank you, OP, for letting me wax lyrical about lambswool on your post. I've very much enjoyed this journey through my wardrobe.

[moonlightwritingf1]

Number One | LN4

⋆꙳·̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙₊⋆ ͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ summary ━━━━━━━ At a Christmas party, Y/N nervously gives Lando a Secret Santa gift with a very special meaning. 

⋆꙳·̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙₊⋆ ͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

⋆꙳·̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙₊⋆ ͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ word count ━━━━━━━ 4.1k

⋆꙳·̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙₊⋆ ͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ author's note ━━━━━━━ I know I said I wouldn't be accepting requests until next month, but this request was so good that I had to write it.

Based on this request.

The flat was warm with the familiar hum of Christmas music softly playing in the background. It was the kind of night where everything felt just right—the snow falling gently outside, the lights twinkling like stars, and the chatter of friends mingling with bursts of laughter. Pietra and Max, the evening's hosts, had turned their cozy London flat into a festive haven. Friends filled the space, each holding glasses of mulled wine or eggnog as they celebrated the holiday season together.

Y/N stood near the kitchen, quietly adjusting the string of lights on the small tree in the corner of the living room. The colorful lights reflected off her wool sweater, casting a soft glow. Her breath came out in puffs as she concentrated on the decorations, though her mind was elsewhere. Among the gathered friends was Lando Norris—the one person who had made her heart race from the moment they met.

Lando, with his easy grin and mischievous charm, stood out effortlessly. His glistening eyes had a way of locking onto hers, making her feel like the only person in the room. She had noticed his attention before, but tonight felt different. There was an energy between them that she couldn’t ignore, and it left her both nervous and exhilarated.

The evening had started hours earlier when Y/N braved the cold London air, walking briskly toward Pietra and Max’s flat. The holiday season had transformed the city; streets sparkled with twinkling lights, and festive window displays adorned every corner. Despite the magic of the season, Y/N carried mixed feelings about Christmas. It always reminded her of the fractured ties in her family—estranged relatives back in her home country, and the quiet distance that had grown between her and her parents after years of unresolved drama. The holidays, for her, were bittersweet.

Still, she pushed those thoughts aside. Tonight was meant to be about friendship, warmth, and celebration. Pietra and Max had created a safe space for their circle of friends, and Y/N cherished these moments of connection. She had met Lando through this same group a little over a year ago. From the start, it was clear that Lando had taken an interest in her.

His gestures were subtle yet unmistakable: lingering glances, playful teasing, and the way his demeanor softened when he spoke to her. Yet despite his obvious affection, Y/N had kept her emotions carefully guarded. Her shyness and cautious nature acted as walls she wasn’t ready to let down. Falling for someone like Lando—whose glamorous, fast-paced life was worlds apart from her own—felt too risky.

Y/N stepped into the flat, the familiar warmth wrapping around her like a comforting hug. The scent of cinnamon and pine filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of carols. She could hear bursts of laughter from the living room, where Pietra and Max had outdone themselves with their decorations. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed the ceiling, and a massive Christmas tree stood proudly by the fireplace, its baubles catching the flickering light.

Tugging nervously at the hem of her sweater, Y/N’s fingers brushed over the gift she had brought with her. She had drawn Lando’s name for Secret Santa, and the thought of giving him something personal made her stomach flip. It was one thing to be around him in their usual group settings, where his flirtatious remarks were playful and easy to laugh off, but this felt different. Intimate.

She hadn’t seen him yet, though she knew he would be there. Her heart raced at the thought. Lando always had a way of making her feel seen, and for someone like her, who preferred blending into the background, that was as thrilling as it was terrifying. She’d spent so much time building walls to protect herself, but tonight felt like the night to take a chance—to allow herself to believe in the magic of the season, and maybe even in the possibility of something more.

''Y/N!" Pietra called out, her voice bright with excitement. “You made it!”

Y/N smiled and made her way over to her friend, who was standing next to Max. They greeted each other with a hug, and Y/N’s eyes briefly flicked around the room. There, near the corner by the Christmas tree, stood Lando. He was talking to some of the guys, but when he caught her gaze, he smiled that signature grin—the one that made her heart flutter in spite of herself. He was leaning casually against the wall, looking effortlessly handsome in a dark jacket and a white shirt that highlighted his toned frame. But it wasn’t just his appearance that captivated her. It was how he made her feel when he looked at her.

As their eyes met, the intensity of his gaze was enough to send a shiver down her spine. But she quickly looked away, trying to ignore the knot forming in her stomach. She had a gift to give, after all. Lando’s Secret Santa gift.

“Everything okay?” Pietra asked, noticing Y/N’s distracted expression.

Y/N blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. “Yeah, just... thinking.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Pietra teased, a knowing smile on her lips. “I think you’re overthinking something.”

Y/N laughed nervously. “Maybe.”

“Just do it already,” Pietra said with a wink, nudging her toward Lando. “You’re both miserable, and I’m tired of watching you dance around each other.”

For the past few weeks, she’d been agonizing over what to get him. A Formula 1 driver. What did you get someone who had everything? After much thought, she’d come across the idea of something symbolic. Lando had achieved so much in his career, and though he hadn’t won the World Drivers' Championship yet, to her, he was already a champion. The T-shirt she’d ordered, with his name on the back, but instead of his usual number 4, it had the number 1. It was bold. It was daring. And it was her way of saying, in the quietest way she could, that she believed in him—no, more than that. She admired him. And more than anything, she wanted to show him that in the most personal of ways.

But the T-shirt wasn’t just a gift. It was a confession.

For months, Lando had been nothing but open with his affections toward her. He would tease her, give her that irresistible, sideways grin, and often say things that made her heart skip. Every time they were in the same room, it was impossible to ignore the way his gaze would linger just a second longer than necessary, the way he would find reasons to stand closer to her, brush his hand against hers. It had been maddening, especially since Y/N had tried so hard to keep her feelings hidden.

Tonight, however, something felt different. The atmosphere, the way Lando looked at her, the way she felt about him—it was all coming to a head. She could feel the pull of his gaze across the room, like a magnetic force. Every time she looked up, he was watching her.

After about an hour of mingling, Y/N found herself surrounded by a small group of friends, their laughter and easy conversation helping her momentarily forget the nerves fluttering in her chest. She sipped on her wine, smiling as one of Pietra’s friends recounted a particularly funny story about a disastrous skiing trip.

Despite her best efforts to stay engaged, her thoughts kept drifting to Lando. She could feel his presence in the room, even when she wasn’t looking. Every so often, her gaze would flicker to where he stood, effortlessly charming everyone around him. The way he laughed, the way his face lit up when he was telling a story—it was impossible not to notice.

“Y/N.” Pietra’s voice cut through her thoughts as she appeared by her side, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Can I borrow you for a minute?”

Y/N turned to her friend, her brows knitting slightly in curiosity. “Sure. Everything okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” Pietra replied with a grin, looping her arm through Y/N’s. “I just think you could use a change of scenery.”

Before Y/N could protest, Pietra gently steered her away from the group, weaving through the crowd in the cozy, softly lit flat. The scent of mulled wine and pine lingered in the air, mingling with the low hum of festive music and the sound of cheerful chatter.

They stopped near a quieter corner of the living room, where the soft glow of fairy lights wrapped around the Christmas tree cast a warm, golden hue. The noise from the party was more distant here, the space offering a reprieve from the bustling energy of the main room.

Pietra turned to face Y/N, her expression shifting to one of gentle seriousness. “Alright, spill. What’s going on with you tonight?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been half here all night,” Pietra said, crossing her arms and giving her a pointed look. “And I know it’s not the party or the people. It’s him.”

Y/N’s stomach flipped, and she let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Pietra rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, please. You’ve been sneaking glances at Lando every five minutes. And, spoiler alert, he’s been doing the same thing with you.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest but found she couldn’t. Instead, she looked down, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s not,” Pietra said firmly, her tone softening as she placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “You like him. He definitely likes you. So what’s stopping you?”

Y/N sighed, her fingers brushing the edge of the gift bag she still held. “I don’t know, Pietra. What if he doesn’t see me the way I see him? What if—”

“What if you’re overthinking this, like you always do?” Pietra cut in, her voice teasing but kind. “Y/N, trust me, anyone with eyes can see how much he adores you. You just have to let yourself believe it.”

Y/N hesitated, her heart pounding. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes naturally seeking him out. Lando was standing by the fireplace now, deep in conversation with Max. But even as he spoke, his attention seemed to drift, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. When their gazes met, his face lit up, and he gave her that boyish, lopsided grin that never failed to make her breath catch.

“See?” Pietra whispered, her voice breaking Y/N’s trance. “He’s not even trying to hide it.”

Y/N turned back to her friend, her cheeks burning. “What do I do?”

“You give him the gift,” Pietra said simply, her smile encouraging. “And maybe—just maybe—you tell him how you feel.”

Y/N’s gaze lingered on the small bag tucked under the Christmas tree, its festive wrapping suddenly feeling like a spotlight on her nerves. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her sweater, the anxiety bubbling inside her making it impossible to stay still.

“Y/N, what’s going on with you?” Pietra’s voice broke through her thoughts.

Y/N shot her friend a nervous smile, trying to brush off the question. “Nothing... just second-guessing, I guess.”

Pietra narrowed her eyes knowingly, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Second-guessing what? The gift? Don’t be ridiculous. He’s going to love it. You always put so much thought into these things.” She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “And let’s be real—it’s Lando. You could hand him a lump of coal, and he’d act like it was the most thoughtful, perfect gift in the world just because it came from you.”

“Pietra,” Y/N warned, her cheeks flushing a deep pink as she swatted at her friend.

“I’m just saying!” Pietra laughed, raising her free hand in mock surrender. “You have no idea how obvious it is to everyone. He’s absolutely crazy about you.”

Y/N glanced at the bag again, her heart pounding harder. “I don’t know... It’s just a T-shirt. What if it’s not enough? What if he doesn’t—”

“Stop.” Pietra cut her off firmly, placing a reassuring hand on Y/N’s arm. “It’s not about the gift itself. It’s about what it means. You’re showing him that you believe in him, that you see something special in him that maybe even he doesn’t fully see. That matters way more than whatever’s inside that bag.”

Y/N’s lips parted as if to protest, but she found herself falling silent. The sincerity in Pietra’s voice made her heart ache with a mix of hope and fear. “What if he doesn’t get it? What if—”

"Y/N, I swear, if overthinking were a sport, you’d have a gold medal by now," Pietra interrupted with a soft laugh, her expression warm. “Y/N, it’s not just about what he thinks. It’s about you letting him see how you feel. You’ve been holding back for months, but it’s so obvious that you care about him. And trust me, he knows. He’s just waiting for you to say it.”

Y/N let out a nervous laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

Pietra’s smile softened, her hand giving Y/N’s arm a gentle squeeze. “You’re better at it than you think. And besides, Lando doesn’t need perfection. He just needs you. He’ll understand, Y/N. He always does.”

Y/N glanced back at the bag under the tree, her heart fluttering with both anticipation and dread. It wasn’t just a gift—it was her way of saying something she’d been too afraid to put into words. And tonight felt like the moment she could finally let herself try.

“You can’t keep hiding forever,” Pietra added gently, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. “You’ve got this.”

Y/N took a deep breath, summoning the courage that felt just out of reach. “Okay,” she said softly, nodding as determination began to edge out her nerves.

After her conversation with Pietra, Y/N made her way to the kitchen, seeking a moment of solitude and hoping another drink would give her the courage to finally give Lando his gift. As she stood by the counter, pouring herself a glass, the sound of laughter drifted from the living room, breaking the quiet. Instinctively, she glanced over. There, in the doorway, Lando stood with a playful grin on his face, his eyes locked with hers. The moment their gazes met, it felt as though the world around them paused, his smile widening as he excused himself from the conversation and started toward her.

"Hey, there she is," Lando's voice was warm, low, and filled with playful intent. He leaned casually against the counter beside her, his presence filling the small space. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me tonight."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat, and she quickly looked down at her drink, her pulse quickening. "Just... getting another drink," she mumbled, trying to steady herself.

Lando raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting to the small Christmas tree in the corner. "It’s a bit much, don’t you think? We’re not all here for the holiday cheer, you know."

She chuckled softly, her cheeks flushing. "It’s festive."

"Festive, huh?" Lando’s eyes flicked over her, and for a moment, it felt like there was something deeper in his gaze than just the usual teasing. "You’re looking good tonight. Not that you ever don’t, but... tonight, there’s something about you." His voice dropped slightly, and he leaned in just a little closer. "I’ve been looking forward to seeing you."

Y/N swallowed, her breath catching in her throat. "Thanks," she whispered, feeling a rush of warmth spread through her at his words.

Lando straightened up, still casual but with an intensity in his eyes. "So, where’s my present, huh?"

Y/N’s stomach flipped, and her breath caught. She hadn’t expected him to ask so directly. "I, uh... I got you something," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Let me grab it."

Hastily, she moved toward the big Christmas tree, grabbed the small gift she had carefully wrapped, and returned to the kitchen. Her heart was racing now, nerves bubbling under the surface. Lando’s eyes followed her every movement, and as she handed him the gift, she couldn’t help but feel a rush of self-consciousness under his gaze.

"Oh? I’m honored," he said, his voice teasing. "But you didn’t have to get me anything. You know that, right?"

Y/N shrugged, her voice quiet but firm. "I wanted to. It’s... it’s something special."

Lando’s fingers tore into the wrapping with childlike excitement, revealing the black and orange McLaren T-shirt neatly folded inside. At first, he looked at it with that familiar grin, his fingers tracing over the name on the back. But when he noticed the number, his expression faltered, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. The playful banter he always carried slipped for a moment.

"Wait..." Lando muttered, his fingers brushing over the number. "This isn’t... this isn’t my usual number."

Y/N’s stomach tightened as she met his gaze, her nerves suddenly spiking. "No," she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. "Number one."

Lando’s expression softened as he studied the number, his lips parting. "This isn’t..." he trailed off, his voice barely audible as he looked back at her. "You... had this made?"

Y/N nodded, a sense of vulnerability creeping in. "I just thought... It’s not... I thought it suited you better. You’re already number one to us. I mean, your friends. Not us... not like that. But—"

But then, something shifted in Lando’s gaze. His eyes softened, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. "You’re incredible, you know that?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

The room around them seemed to quiet as Lando carefully set the T-shirt down on the counter, his hand reaching for hers. Y/N felt her cheeks burn as he gently took her wrist and pulled her closer. "You’re amazing," he repeated, his voice low, sending a shiver through her.

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming, making her heart race even faster. "You have no idea what this means to me," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "No idea."

Y/N shook her head, trying to brush it off. "It’s just a T-shirt," she muttered, wishing she could disappear into the floor.

"No, Y/N. It’s not." Lando reached up, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. The tenderness of the gesture made her chest tighten. "It’s... God, I don’t even know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot."

Her heart was pounding now. "Say what?"

Lando took a deep breath, looking into her eyes with a vulnerability that took her breath away. "That you mean more to me than anyone else ever has," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I don’t care if it’s too much or too soon or whatever, but I can’t keep pretending that I’m just happy being your friend."

The world around them faded as the gravity of his words settled between them. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she processed what he had said. She looked into his eyes, feeling the weight of her own confession stir inside her.

"Lando..." she began, her voice trembling. "I... I’ve wanted to tell you this for a while now, but I didn’t know how." She hesitated for a moment, her heart hammering in her chest. "I like you. I really like you. And I’ve been too scared to say anything, but... but when I saw you tonight, when I gave you the gift, I couldn’t keep it in anymore."

Lando’s eyes searched hers, the quiet understanding in his gaze making her feel as though her words had finally found a place to land. "I’ve been waiting for you to say that," he murmured, his thumb brushing over her wrist. He whispered her name, his voice so tender it made her pulse quicken. "Why didn’t you tell me sooner?"

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she met his gaze, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. The weight of her confession was heavy, but the way he looked at her now—so soft, so full of emotion—made everything feel worth it. "I was scared..." she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Scared that it wouldn’t be enough. Scared of how I felt."

Lando stepped even closer, closing the distance between them. "You don’t have to be scared. You never have to be scared around me."

His words, his closeness, left no room for doubt. She smiled softly, feeling the tension in her chest slowly start to ease. 

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she looked up at Lando. The world around them seemed to slow down, the sounds of the party fading into a distant hum. It was as though there was only him and her in that quiet space, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. His eyes held hers with an intensity that made her knees weak, and his hand reached up, gently cupping her face. His thumb brushed softly across her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine.

"I..." Lando began, his voice low and earnest. "I think I’ve been falling for you for a while now." His words were soft but filled with a certainty that made her heart race even faster. "And I don’t know how to make you see that, but this... this is more than just a gift. You’ve got me, Y/N."

His confession hung in the air between them, and for a long moment, Y/N couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. His words seemed to fill every inch of her, making it hard to focus on anything but the warmth of his touch and the intensity of his gaze. But then, as if everything had fallen into place, she found herself reaching up, her hand trembling slightly as it touched his.

"I’ve been falling for you, too," she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with the weight of everything she had been holding back. Her heart felt like it might burst from her chest as Lando’s expression softened, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"You’re everything I’ve ever wanted," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin as he leaned in closer, his lips just inches from hers. "And I’ve been too afraid to admit it."

Before she could even process his words, he closed the gap between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that started slow and tender, as if he was savoring the moment. It was everything she had imagined, yet so much more. His lips were soft, warm, and every touch sent a rush of electricity through her. But as the kiss deepened, it became more urgent, more desperate—as if all the feelings, all the tension between them, had finally reached the breaking point and erupted in a single, beautiful moment.

Y/N’s hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she kissed him back, her heart racing in her chest. This was what she had always wanted, the connection she had dreamed about. Everything else in the room faded away, leaving only the feeling of him—his hands on her waist, pulling her closer, his body pressed against hers. Every second felt timeless, each touch a promise.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Lando looked at her with a smile that made her feel like she was the only person in the world. His eyes were full of something deep and tender, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile back.

"I’ve wanted to do that for so long," Lando admitted, his voice husky, a mix of emotion and disbelief at the moment they had just shared.

Y/N searched his eyes, her heart full to the brim. "Me too," she whispered, the words almost too simple to capture what she felt.

Lando cupped her face gently with both hands, his expression serious now, his eyes never leaving hers. "I meant it, you know," he said, his voice steady, but thick with emotion. "You’re everything to me. And I promise, no matter what happens, you’ll always be my number 1."

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as a smile spread across her face, her heart swelling with the weight of his words. She had confessed her feelings, and now Lando had done the same. She didn’t need anything else. In this moment, surrounded by the warmth of his affection, everything felt perfect. For the first time in a long time, Y/N allowed herself to believe it. She had found something real, something she never thought she’d have—and it was right here in front of her, in Lando’s eyes.

[phoenixyfriend]

Trade Deficit/Surplus and Their Relationship to Tariffs

Hey, let’s talk about trade imbalances and why they’re not an optimal way to dictate tariffs. A few people showed interest when I asked if I should talk about it, so I've written up about [checks] 3.2k about it.

(If you want to support me in writing these up and living my best life, you can prompt me for more on ko-fi. I'm trying to move out of my parents' house.)

Previously, I explained comparative advantages and why they can be a crucial indicator for what fields are a reasonable target for import/export taxes. Let’s have a quick recap:

A comparative advantage is when two countries are both capable of an industry, but one is much better at it. Ideally, the two countries have different specialties, and can complement each other. The classic example is England, specializing in wool, and Portugal, specializing in wine. Both countries could and did engage in both industries, but they put greater amounts of resources into their specialties and then traded. If Portugal did one quarter resources on wool (to maintain a domestic industry in case of a breakdown of trade relations or natural disaster) and three quarters resources on wine, they could trade part of that wine to England for the wool, and both countries would end up with more of the product due to specialization. England has better conditions for rearing sheep, and Portugal has better weather for growing grapes.

That is comparative advantage. If two countries are largely self-sufficient, and they have one industry respectively that stands out as exceptionally efficient each, then you see a trade balance: equal amounts of wine and wool exchanged, as measured by monetary value.

An imbalance occurs when one country sells drastically more of their product than the other. Say Portugal has a bad harvest, and makes less wine than usual. They then sell less to England, but may buy the same amount of wool as usual, dipping into savings or making their money elsewhere in order to buy. In that year, England is experiencing a trade surplus, and Portugal is experiencing a trade deficit.

Four things to cover:

The nature of an enduring imbalance in a stable economic system

Artificially enforced imbalances

Indirect profits

Excluded industries

What can cause an enduring imbalance?

Let us say that we have a closed economy of three countries.

Country A has good weather and soil, and so they specialize in agriculture and are a bread basket for the region. They are self-sufficient in terms of raw minerals or metals, but have little in the way of energy resources.

Country B has a large amount of energy; they have large deposits of gas and oil, and have built out infrastructure to capture energy from offshore wind farms and hydro as well. Their farmland is decent enough to support their population, but they have little in the way of metals and minerals to build those oil drills and windmills.

Country C has a strong mining industry, and is rich in mineral resources and key metals like iron and copper. They are self-sufficient in terms of energy, but their farmland is poor and they cannot easily feed their people.

To recap:

Country A: sells food, buys energy. Little trade in mining.

Country B: sells energy, buys metals and minerals. Little trade in agriculture.

Country C: sells metals and minerals, buys food. Little trade in energy.

You can probably see where this is going: Country A sells a lot of food to Country C, but doesn’t buy metals and minerals from them, so A has a trade surplus with C. Meanwhile, they buy a lot of energy from B, which doesn’t need their food, so there they have a trade deficit there.

Country A:

Buys energy from B: deficit

Sells food to C: surplus

Country B:

Buys metals and minerals from C: deficit

Sells energy to A: surplus

Country C:

Buys food from A: deficit

Sells metals and minerals to B: surplus

As you can see, any bilateral trade relationship in this closed system is heavily imbalanced. However, when taking the full scope of the system into account, it’s balanced, because all three are feeding into each other. They cover each others’ weaknesses, and so the trade is stable.

Introducing tariffs would disrupt that balance. If A starts to tariff energy from B, because they see it as a threat to their own minimal domestic industry, then they disincentivize purchasing energy. In turn, B’s profits fall, which means they have less money to buy metals and minerals from C, which means they have fewer resources to build wind farms and oil rigs, which means they have less energy to sell in the first place. This then also impacts C, which now isn’t making as much money from selling their mining products, which means they can’t buy as much food from A, and that means… the perceived deficit, which was stable, may have been shrunk, but so has the efficiency of the entire circle.

In a global economy, there is always a good chance that the ‘deficit’ is just part of a larger balance. India buys energy from Russia, which buys food from China, which buys tropical foods from Thailand, which buys machinery from Germany, which buys electronics from Japan, which buys minerals from Australia, which buys pharmaceuticals from… India.

This is very simplified, but you see what I’m getting at with the complexity of the web of international trade. One perceived deficit does not a holistic view make.

(This is especially true of imports that are near impossible domestically. We literally can’t grow coffee in the United States outside of Hawaii and a few island territories like Puerto Rico or American Samoa. There small attempts in California and Florida, but it’s not commercially viable. Most of them cannot grow enough to export to the rest of the US, especially when factoring in other high-demand foods that require these climates, such as oranges and bananas. While there are places in the US that can grow these tropical foods, those places are so limited that we just can’t grow enough of each and every one to meet demand, so those places specialize in the foods they can grow most effectively, which is how you end up with the majority of Florida’s exports, at least in terms of cash value, being citrus, peppers, and tomatoes.)

There are valid reasons for tariffs to be implemented as protectionist measures, even when specialization seems to dictate otherwise, and I covered that in my other post. However, the above is meant to illustrate that the simplified view of trade deficits as the only dictator of tariff policy is a very poorly thought-out exercise.

Let’s look at a case study of recently-implemented tariff policies: Lesotho.

Lesotho is a small country surrounded entirely by South Africa; it’s the largest sovereign enclave in the world (the others are San Marino and Vatican City). Lesotho is a fairly poor country. They cannot afford to import much from the United States, simply due to the low GDP per capita.

For reference, the US GDP per capita is over $86k.

South Africa, Lesotho’s nearest neighbor, has a GDP per capita of about $16k, adjusted for PPP.

Lesotho’s GDP per capita, adjusted for PPP, is about $3.2k. (These numbers were pulled from Wikipedia, current as of 2023-2025.)

The people of Lesotho, by and large, cannot buy goods from the United States.

Meanwhile, they have two major lines of export. One is garment manufacturing; much like China and Southeast Asia, the low wages ensure that garment costs are kept minimal, which the people of the US find palatable. These wages to the local population are low enough that they cannot in turn buy from the US. The other export is diamonds, an industry that heavily favors the upper classes when it comes to profits, again relying on comparably low local wages that have been the subject of union actions as recently as 2020.

This article from 2017 stated that garment workers earned about $96 per month; that number has doubtlessly changed in some way since then, but it’s definitely still in the ballpark of ‘skilled workers in Lesotho make in a month what minimum-wage Americans make in two or three days.’ This study from 2022 talks about the lack of general impact of the mining industry on the population of Lesotho, addressing the employment opportunities, impact on local resources like water and air quality, and how money is or isn’t cycled back into the community.

Because of the above, Lesotho has a notable trade imbalance with the US. From the US, this is a trade deficit. The US has a very diminished capacity for garment production due to outsourcing to cheaper pastures, and only one active diamond mine, which is used for tourism rather than commercial mining. We can’t make what they do, and they can’t afford what we do.

The trade imbalance with Lesotho is 120-130 billion USD, depending on the year. They export a lot to the US, and buy very little, and I’ve hopefully illustrated why.

The tariffs laid against Lesotho, a country that cannot realistically buy much from the US due to the general poverty, were set at 50% on Trump’s so-called liberation day.

So what would that accomplish, realistically?

Artificially Enforced Trade Imbalances

We now take a look at trade imbalances that are the results of manufactured pressures rather than natural ones.

With the earlier model, I covered three countries with complementary industries and a desire to cooperate in favor of overall better outcomes. That model assumes good faith.

The real world has Walmart. Also Amazon, Apple, SHEIN, TEMU, H&M, Zara, Target, and more.

Also, a history of colonialism.

…we need to go back a bit, for this one.

For several centuries, European powers had control over large portions of the Global South and East, for a variety of reasons that mostly involved spreading diseases and having guns. The East India Companies (Dutch and English) were major factors in this.

Let’s zoom in on England and India. England had partial or full control of India from 1757 to 1947. This was achieved through superior weaponry, a navy (controlled by the East India Company) that could blockade ports, and a generally higher willingness to commit crimes against locals. Due to English control over many aspects of trade and access to resources, the economy was aggressively molded to be in greater favor of the British. This includes deindustrialization, taxes that favored British imports over domestic products, and enforced trade barriers to other nations. A particularly notable example is the cotton trade; raw cotton would be shipped to the UK with no tariff, spun into threads and woven into fabric, and then sold back to India at a high tax rate. This meant that India was pressured into sending away a central pillar of their economy, and then sold that same product back at a massively inflated cost that they had to pay, because they no longer had the resources to do it domestically. This led to a widespread reduction in the infrastructure to make fabric as they had once been known for, along with a massive transfer of wealth from India to the UK, much of it under the oversight of the British East India Company.

This had a lasting impact on India, one that they’ve been working to recover from since before gaining independence. This is true of many countries that were colonized and exploited by the West, which includes most of Latin America, Africa, South Asia, and South-East Asia. Some of East Asia can be read broadly as having recovered, but few economies managed that kind of economic bounce-back, and few did so quickly.

These days, there is no British East India Company, as it was dissolved in the 1870s. Instead, we have companies like Walmart and Amazon. Their tactics involve a few less guns, but there is still a massive impact on things like local wages.

(The guns do still make an appearance; ever heard of union-busting?)

Due to the size of the American economy, military, and political influence, smaller economies with less power are pressured to submit to Western whims. America, in particular, gained a lot of international power with WWII, setting up bases all over the world, as well as experiencing a massive economic boom. The two factors combined resulted in an economy that could buy in bulk for sales at department stores, even setting up individual factories of their own in these countries that were, in many cases, only just achieving independence from their Western colonists. They were still in the agricultural period of economic growth, often due to forced de-industrialization like in India, and the manufacturing business was created by foreign investment, or by a government inviting such from foreigners.

Newly independent, struggling economies, searching for a way to strengthen their positions and banks. Factories, and a wealthy overseas client that wants all the goods you can make.

They will pay you pennies for it. Those are pennies you don’t have, and maybe you have a debt to pay off. Maybe the government incurred debts building those factories, and people have to work to pay that off, but once it’s paid, you’ll get the money for real!

(You know those $200k student loans you spend forever working off? Imagine that, but it's your regional government owing money to a foreign company.)

Or maybe they pay you decently, for now.

So, countries with decimated industries agree to work for these companies. They get into factories, sit down, and start sewing. They agree to do petroleum refinement because the US doesn’t want to stink up its own air anymore, could you do it instead, pretty please? They mine, or cut lumber, or destroy their own rivers making that pretty ‘vegan’ leather.

And your local economy is reliant on Walmart now, or Amazon, or Apple. Ninety percent of the town works for them, after all!

But inflation is a thing, so you ask for a raise.

And the factory says no.

In fact, they cut your wages. You’re making too much, they say. The shops in America want it cheaper, they claim. Too bad, so sad. If you don’t like it, go work somewhere else.

But the factory employs 90% of the town.

So because America wants cheap goods, there is a trade deficit: buy whatever you want from China, or Bangladesh, or Vietnam. They can’t afford to buy anything back, but that doesn’t matter, does it?

Oh hey, we are sending them so much money by buying all their stuff! That’s not fair, is it? They’re taking advantage of the United States by not buying any of our products. Let’s tariff them.

Western companies placed interminable barriers on these economies, and now the US government wants to punish the victims of those barriers. And that’s frustrating for many reasons, but a big one is this:

Indirect Profits

A lot of the ‘imports’ that the US gets are actually bringing a net profit.

Let’s say Apple set up a factory in China ten or twenty years ago. They are pretty entrenched as part of the economy, and it also took a long time to establish. There is nothing in the US that can replace it in a realistic timeframe.

Let’s say that iPhone takes $400 to build in China. $150 for parts, $250 for labor and overhead, and then toss on $5 for shipping, since that’s a cost that easy to scale. Bring that phone to the US or France or Singapore, sell it for $1000. That’s almost $600 in profit!

Something that is valued at $1000 gets tariffed at the $400, and then sales taxed at the $1000.

And that profit goes toooooooooooooooo Apple.

Back in the US. Except it’s actually Ireland. (They do this to avoid other taxes.)

(The Ireland situation is insane, by the way. They call it leprechaun economics. You can read about it, though this article is much more Accounting Terminology than most people looking to read.)

Now, I do need to clarify that the Trade Imbalance Numbers are still using that wholesale rate of $400, not $1000. So it doesn’t necessarily impact the trade numbers as massively as it could, but the end numbers are that the perceived value of the trade deficit isn’t the actual end value of the products being imported.

And the thing is, that profit still gets back to the US (technically Ireland), even when that phone goes to Germany or Nicaragua or Burundi or wherever else. The American company still gets the money, which then gets spent on physical imports like mangoes and cobalt.

The US takes advantage of China in this regard, because so much of that profit is pocketed by the parent company, in the US (technically Ireland), rather than the employees themselves. The given reason for this is that the Americans are bringing the product development and coding and marketing to the table.

Phone made in China, sold to Germany. Trade imbalance reflects the relationship between China and Germany, but the profits go to the United States: the US is making money that isn't reflected in trade deficits.

And that brings us to our last point:

Excluded Industries

Did you know that the trade deficit only counts physical goods?

These numbers do not include IP or service trades.

That art your friend in the UK commissioned you to draw does not factor in. The South Korean showings of the latest Marvel movie do not factor in. That Adobe Photoshop that someone downloaded in Brazil does not factor in. That Netflix subscription in Italy doesn’t factor in. That financial analyst getting paid by a US company to report on the Nikkei index in real time, from Japan, does not factor in. That head of operations that the US company is paying to run product distribution in Dubai does not factor in. That C drama you streamed in Colorado doesn’t count. That eBook you bought from a writer in Darfur doesn’t count. That app you bought from a company in Peru doesn’t count.

None of it counts.

None of this is included in the calculations. Even the WSJ is annoyed (that article is paywalled but I like their chart at the top, and that part is free to see).

Now, the services surplus isn’t enough to compensate for the trades surplus, but it doesn’t have to be. Remember: if you make something in Vietnam, and sell it in Spain, but the money still comes back to the US… that doesn’t count towards either side of the trade balance.

But it does raise the GDP.

(Unless you send the money to Ireland, maybe.)

Trade deficits are a genuinely bad thing to base your tariff policy on, in the sense that it cannot be the only factor. It can factor in—doing so with China in particular makes sense given shifts in the global market since the early 2000s, especially with regards to de minimus exemption—but it can’t be your sole deciding factor.

This is especially true when the government both isn’t doing it for the reason they claim (likely), or doesn’t understand what tariffs and trade deficits really do (Trump, at least, has been talking about this since the 1980s, so I’m pretty sure he actually believes in this, and thus doesn’t know the actual ramifications).

Conclusion

Sometimes you need to understand how comparative advantage and trade webs work before you take someone’s word for the nature of deficits. Tariffs play a role in the balance of trade and protection of domestic industry, but trade imbalances cannot be your only factor in deciding on tariffs, nor can tariffs be your only tool in reindustrialization.

Anyway. Prompt me for more on ko-fi or something. Help me move out of my parents' house.

[swordsandholly]

Live in Five

Reporter Reader x Cameraman Kyle Garrick | Ao3

MDNI | NSFW | cw: sexism, almost car wreck, driving in blizzard, PiV sex, fingering, afab reader, consent checks, unprotected sex, barely edited

Word Count: 4.9k

Summary: After your boss sends you and your cameraman out into a blizzard you find yourselves stuck in the snow in your news van. With no signal and no way to get the van out, the two of you have nowhere to go for the night. You have to entertain yourselves one way or another.

A/N: Y'all thank @mareiasereia for sending this ask that reminded me of this idea.

You sigh, looking down at your feet for the time being. As long as you can until you’re forced to stare into the sun behind the silhouetted camera. Cold wind bites at your cheeks, nearly seeping through the thick wool of your trench coat. You hate these winter outdoor broadcasts - can’t ever quite get used to the weather despite doing them for years now. It takes all your concentration to keep your teeth from chattering while you speak.

“How’s my hair?” You ask, squinting as you try to meet Kyle’s eye where he works on setting up his camera.

“Just perf- oh!” He jogs forward, gently tucking what you assume to be a stray piece back. “Perfect. As always.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warming. He always manages to get you flustered, even after years of working together. You’d think you’d get used to it - the way his dark eyes focus in and the slight grit to his voice. Instead it infects you - pools at the base of your spine and gnaws at your concentration.

Kyle whistles at you, holding up a three.

You nod, adjusting your stance and clearing your throat.

Two.

One.

“Thanks, John.” You grin, meeting the camera’s ‘eye’. “The downtown winter festival is well underway. Everyone seems to be enjoying the festivities-”

You go through the normal song and dance. Kyle follows as you move closer to the wooden, painted entrance to the park for the vent. It’s nice this year, actually. The city sprung for a real artist to craft something interesting. Though, nothing will top that one time they let the local elementary school decorate it. It isn’t anything special, this story. Just the usual yearly coverage of the usual winter activities. You’ve done the festival for the past three winters - the first just after the station hired you. If it weren’t for the icy air on your cheeks you might enjoy it more.

Kyle cuts, lowering his camera and you sigh in relief. Even after all this time your cheeks still hurt from smiling for so many minutes straight while talking. At least you didn’t stutter at all. Or slip. You almost wiped out last year. That clip became more popular among the highschoolers than you might have liked.

“Great job, luv.” Kyle grins, giving you a supportive thumbs up.

You snort. “Thanks.”

“It’s so cold.” Kyle sighs as he packs up his camera carefully into it’s case. His hands are always so delicate. “I’m thinkin’ a coffee stop on the way back?”

You hum and glance at your watch. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Always so serious.”

“One of us has to be.”

“Think you’re mixin’ me up with Johnny, luv.”

“Oh, right.” You snicker.

The station you work for is small. Local. Buried in the back woods, covering a single populated town and the surrounding rural counties. Most of the news pertains to weather for the sake of farming, or livestock related accidents. The occasional violence makes its way onto the main, evening segment but generally it isn’t anything that can’t be covered in an article. That’s the other half of your job - updating articles and writing short columns about recent events. It’s not glamourous, but it’s still journalism. Plus, picking up the extra work boosts your pay and vacation time enough to make the job a little more worth it.

You watch from the side while John and Kate prepare for the serious evening news. The big, main anchors of the station. They might as well walk on water around here. Not that they act like it. They’re actually quite kind. Kate’s suits are always smart and often brightly colored. Her hair is always quaffed and you pray that your skin looks that good at her age. John… well, everybody loves John. Hard not to with that warm smile and those wide set shoulders.

“Can you drop these at my desk, sweetheart?” Philip pulls you from your daze. He smirks down at you in that twisted, snake-like way while holding out a file. “Since you’re headed that way.”

You frown. “I’m not your-”

“Thanks a lot.” He drops the papers, the last of your coffee sloshing as you just manage to catch them. Philip is easily the most insufferable asshole in this place. You curse the day you volunteered to move cubicles because it would put you closer to the tech guys. To Kyle. Now you’re sharing a wall with the human embodiment of liquid shit.

It’s not just him, really. Most of the men here don’t see you as anything important. Too young, too new to hold any weight around the station. The pretty, soft girl that does feel good, soft stories. A petting zoo. Some fluffy little thing for them to caress and coo at. You glance back at Kate. The men don’t mess with Kate. What does she do so differently?

It’s not that you mind doing fluff stories. Those are fine. You enjoy them, even. You’d rather spend your time talking about kids selling lemonade to fund their future college (still dystopian) or some dog that managed to save it’s owners life (still cool as hell.) You just wish they took you seriously. That you weren’t treated as lesser for it. Lesser for not wanting to be subjected to violent accidents and crimes that make your gut churn.

So, you do what you usually do when you want to slam your head through a wall, disappear into the tech room. After messily throwing the file on Philip’s desk, of course.

“Alright, darlin’?” Kyle leans back in his chair as you push through the door into the designated ‘bat cave.’

You nod silently, glaring at your feet as you flop down into the open editing bay. It’s nice in here. Calm. Separated from the main office. You feel like you can actually breathe in here.

“There’s my bonnie lass!” Johnny appears from the supply closet with his usual ear to ear grin. You don’t miss the extra pinkness of his lips - or the way Simon follows him out.

You glance over at Kyle who has turned back to his editing. You watch his hands as they move, his eyes locked in on the screen before him. Are you the only person in the world that follows rules? That does as they’re told? How come everyone else gets to break them?

It’s Friday. A massive blizzard blew in seemingly out of nowhere halfway through the work day. Your meteorologist practically scrambled to figure out what to report on and how long it might last. Roach, they call him, on account of that time he survived getting picked up and thrown by a tornado. Most people mutter about leaving early, some preemptively grabbing their coats. A few snuck out the back nearly an hour ago when the weather first started. You opted to hunker down and get some work done, considering the universe blessed you with a lack of Philip for the day.

The harsh utterance of your name has you snapping up, back straight and eyes wide. “Mr. Shepherd! Uh, how can I help you?”

The station owner steps into your cubicle, face as taught and stern as ever. He isn’t the one that hired you but part of your onboarding included a brief meeting with him. You hated every second - an inexplicable pressure building in your chest the entire fifteen minutes. It’s back now.

“There was a massive wreck on the highway. Fifteen cars, apparently.” Shepherd says. “I want you at the hospital giving updates for the site. Take your camera man, too.”

You blink up at him dumbly for a moment. “Sir, I don’t- In this weather? It’s a blizzard out there! We’d just be in the way-”

“It’s not a request.” Shepherd snaps, staring down at you with that bored, icy gaze that makes you desperately wish he had hair you could rip out. You know you have to, though. You’ve seen him fire people more important than you over lesser infractions.

“O-okay.” You murmur, hands balled into fists. Partially from anger, partially to keep them from visibly shaking. It isn’t right. It isn’t right that he’s putting you in this kind of unnecessary danger. Kyle, either. Oh, Kyle…

You drag your feet as you head to the tech room, heart dropping into your gut as you see him packing up and pulling on his thick bomber coat. Probably assumed you’d get to leave early, too. You should get to leave early. You should have ducked out an hour ago like the others. Why do you always follow the fucking rules?

“Hey, angel.” Kyle grins, smile dropping as soon as his eye meets yours. “What’s up?”

“Shepherd wants us to go to the hospital.” You swallow roughly to keep your voice from cracking. “Wants us to cover some big car wreck from there.”

“Tha’s so far from here!” Johnny gasps from his perch at the editing bay. “He cannae expect ye tae go out like this.”

“He can, apparently.” You mutter, staring at your feet. You want to say no. You want to give him an earful - to really lay into him about his sexist, careless attitude. Y’know, girlboss stuff or whatever. Whatever Kate would probably do. She wouldn’t take this laying down, belly up. Instead your hands shake and your eyes sting with frustrated tears. You can’t breathe right. It’s wrong. This is wrong. It’s wrong and you can’t do anything about it without losing your job at the only station in town.

“Hey.” You jump as Kyle’s hand strokes down your arm - gentle and warm. Grounding. “It’s alright. The vans got chains on the tires. We’ll take a backroad and see how far we can get. If we have to turn back, I’ll take the heat.”

You snap your head up to meet his gaze. “Kyle-”

“It’s fine.” He smiles reassuringly. “C’mon, go get your coat.”

“O-okay…”

You stay quiet at you load into the van. Guilt gnaws at your chest while you do the same to your inner cheek. The idea that you’ve put Kyle in danger just because you’re too weak to argue with your boss makes you feel weak. Pathetic. You’re pathetic. Neither of you talk much as you drive, opting to keep the radio low so Kyle can concentrate on the road. It’s just as bad as it seemed. You can barely see to the end of the headlights - the sun having already nearly set - everything else pitch black while the snow glints in the light. It’s falling sideways. You can feel the truck sway every so often from a massive gust of wind. At least no one else is on the road.

You wish you didn’t feel like crying so badly.

There’s a loud cracking sound somewhere. You can’t tell from what direction - unsure if it was even real. You can’t hear much of anything over the howling wind and snow beating against the van.

“Did you-” You’re cut off as a massive trunk appears in front of you, crashing down onto the street.

Kyle gasps. You screech, the van whipping off road and he redirects away. A strong arm braces itself over your chest to keep you steady as you careen off the road. You screw your eyes shut tightly, bracing for a likely impact. Between the snow and the darkness you can’t tell what direction you’re facing when the van finally lurches to a stop in the icy mud. A loud grunt escapes you as your seatbelt locks against your sternum.

Several beats of quiet pass between you. Both of you panting, trying to clear your heads and take in what just happened. The moment breaks when Kyle drops his arm, hand resting on your thigh. You don’t think anything of it past a comforting gesture - there isn’t any room in your brain for anything else as you blink slow. It feels good, though. Grounding. It slows your heart and evens your breathing.

“Scary, huh?” Kyle chuckles nervously, still staring forward out the windshield.

You can’t help but giggle back, nervous energy making your hands shake. “Uh-huh. You okay?”

“Yeah.” He finally turns to look at you. “You?”

You nod quietly.

“Alright.” He grunts. “Let’s see about getting out of here.”

The moment he hits the gas to reverse you both know you’re in trouble. The tires spin, whirring loudly along to the wind outside. The van doesn’t budge an inch. You’re stuck on the side of a random backroad, in the middle of a blizzard, with a felled tree in your path, all alone.

Kyle pulls out his phone, tapping around. He sighs loudly, resting his head back on the car seat headrest. “No signal out here. Fuckin’ hell.”

You’re well and truly stranded.

Your shoulders start shaking and you bend forward, curling in on yourself. You bury your face in your hands, hot tears swelling in your eyes. “Kyle, I’m so sorry…”

“Oh, angel-”

“I could’ve gotten you killed! I could’ve - all because I couldn’t - It’d be all my fault!” You sob.

Kyle’s hand comes to rest on your upper back, rubbing in gentle circles. “Love- it’s okay. We’re okay. Hey, look at me.”

You shake your head. How could you? How fucking could you? Pathetic.

He takes your wrist, peeling your hands away from your face. ��Look. At. Me.”

You sit up slowly, still hiccupping, though no longer sobbing like before. Something about his touch, his hands on you, just feels right. The world feels right. Grounded.

“It’s not your fault. Shepherd’s an arse. He shouldn’t have put us in this position. He knew you couldn’t say no. That’s the only reason he asked.” There’s a snarl at the edges of his voice. Something bitter - wrong sounding in his sweet voice. He glances over at the dash. “We’ve got plenty of gas. The battery is basically new. We’ll be fine for the night. Roach said it should be over by morning and they’ll figure out we didn’t make it back.”

You sniffle, nodding weakly and undoing your seat belt to breathe properly. Your chest still hurts. “I’m sorry…”

“Here.” After rooting around in the glove box, Kyle comes up with a small pack of tissues. You reach for it, but he makes no move to hand them over. Instead, he takes one out. Cupping your jaw in one hand and slowly, gently, patting around your eyes to fix up the mess you made. Like he always does.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur.

“No more sorries.” He shakes his head.

Kyle shuts the high beams off, leaving the regular lights on just in case someone drives by. Not that anyone will. This road is underpopulated even during the best summer days. Neither of you speak for a long while. You keep glancing over at Kyle out of the corner of your eye. He’s thinking about something - you can tell by the pinch in his brow and the pull in the corner of his mouth. He looks so pretty in the moonlight. The contours of his face softened by the low light, eyes nearly pitch black besides a pinprick of light.

“How are your moms?” You blurt.

He chuckles. “Good. Think they’re on a cruise right now.”

“I’m jealous.” You snort, looking out the window at the ice.

“Facts.”

You lapse back into quiet, emotionally and physically drained - he probably feels the same. Neither of you quite able to muster your usual, easy banter. A slimy little part of you is glad that Kyle came with you - even if is did put him in unnecessary danger. You don’t think you would have handled this situation well on your own. Adrenaline makes your hands shake, your heart still pounding in your chest.

“Want t’ fuck?” Kyle breaks the silence suddenly, head leaned on his hand and elbow on the window seal.

You sputter out an awkward laugh. He’s joking right? He’s just fucking with you because he’s bored. “Don’t mess with me, it’s not nice.”

“Not messin’.”

You slowly meet his eye. Even in the dark with only the moonlight and the glow of the electric buttons in the back of the van you can see the seriousness of his expression. The unwavering way his eyes rake over you. He means it.

You shrink away, bashful now. “Kyle-”

“You can’t deny that there’s something here.” He gestures between you. “I know you feel it. That night at the pub-”

“We were drunk.”

“We were honest.” He shrugs. “Besides, what better way to pass the time and keep warm?”

You stare at him, eyes searching his face for some other meaning. Some secondary, malicious intent. It’s not there, of course. Kyle simply isn’t like that. Those dark eyes meet yours honestly. You glance down at his hand laying on the arm rest. It’s been so long since you've been held; touched. You’re coworkers, though. Close knit professionals. A team. What if moving forward ruins your dynamic? What if you lose him? It would be wrong, wouldn’t it? A total HR violation.

Then again… why should you always follow the rules?

Fuck it. “Okay.”

“C’mere.” Kyle smiles and reaches over to pull you by your waist and you follow.

It’s too easy, almost, to let yourself go over the armrests and right across his lap. It takes a moment with your wide hips and thick thighs to get comfortable straddling him. At least the van seats are big. You hover over him slightly, leaning your weight on the hand holding the armrest.

He clicks his tongue, the hands on your waist pressing down. “On me, love. Want t’ feel you.”

How could you ever deny that? You sigh softly, letting your weight fall into his thighs. Kyle hums appreciatively. The hands on your waist begin to knead down over your hips. You aren’t quite sure what to do - what the social protocol is for this situation. Your hands find a resting point on his shoulders, so strong and firm under your touch.

You don’t have to worry for long. Not when he leans up to you, the hands on your hips arching you into him, “Kiss me?”

You nod, for some reason, before pressing your lips to his. It remains chaste, at first. Little pecks and presses as you feel each other out. His lips are soft, moving so naturally against yours you nearly miss when his tongue swipes across your lower lip. You gasp, giving him just enough room to make his move forward. Suddenly, you’re collapsing into each other. He tastes like his usual morning coffee - sharply sweet caramel. Your hand finds it’s way to the back of his head, one of the hands on your hip scrapes down to grip your thigh.

The moment only breaks when he leans you back too far, sounding off the van horn into the empty night. You both stop, looking at each other for a beat before giggling.

You gasp as the hand on your thigh suddenly disappears under your skirt - your laugh breaking off into a gasp as he cups your pussy through your tights and underwear. His nail catches on the thin fabric. A promise if what’s to come.

“You and these fuckin’ skirts…even in the middle of winter…” Kyle murmurs, breath warm against your ear. “D’you have any idea how good you look? Prancing around for my camera, huh?”

“Kyle…” A shiver runs down your spine.

“It’s just for me, isn’t it?” He chuckles, big hands running up your thighs to the bend of your hips. “I’ve seen you with the other guys. Not nearly as excited. Lackin’ that little pep in your step.”

He lightly smacks your ass for emphasis. You squeak - face so hot you almost want to get out of the van and bury it in the snow. The heel of his hand grinds against your clit and you can’t help but whine quietly. His other hand travels up, pushing at your sweater. His hand catches your bralette as he moves, hiking both up over your chest. A gasp rattles in your throat as he catches a nipple between his teeth, your hands tightly fisting his shirt while you let him explore.

A tearing sound echoes through the van. You can’t complain - it’s not like these were your nice tights anyway. Kyle drags his finger along your lips through your underwear. He’s teasing, eyes locked on your face as he waits for you to react. You just sigh each time his fingers glide over your clit ever so slightly until they stop, catching the hem of your underwear and pushing them to the side.

Kyle pauses, looking up at you. “May I?”

You huff. “You better.”

He grins up at you from ear to ear, pressing his lips to yours once again as he drags his fingers between your folds. A low, gravelly hum rumbles in his chest. “So wet already… all this for me?”

The reply gets caught in your throat - cutting off into a moan as he circles your clit with the pads of his fingers. His middle finger circles your entrance, eyes never leaving your face as he gauges your reaction. You’re sure you look ridiculous - face hot and utter disheveled. He seems to like it, though, quietly moaning with you as he presses one digit inside. You tip your head to the side, matching his slow pace until he adds another. They reach so much deeper than yours ever can, lightly prodding until he finds what he was looking for.

“Fuck-!” You gasp, whole body shuddering.

“There she is.” Kyle murmurs, almost to himself more than you.

“Kyyy-!” You whine, rocking back and forth on his hand, desperate for any friction on your clit.

“Thassit, take what y’need, babygirl.” He sighs, catching your nipple between his teeth. “Be good and cum on my fingers.”

It doesn’t take much. A few more bounces of your hips just as his fingers curl even further into that spot that leaves you seeing stars. You keen loudly, face buried in the crook of his neck as you fuck yourself on his fingers. You slow to a stop, breathing heavy. Your skin feels electric, body practically humming happily. A pathetic sigh pushes past your lips as Kyle removes his hand.

He slowly brings his fingers to his mouth, groaning as he licks them clean. “Taste just as pretty as you look, love.”

You whine back dumbly, mind and body still coming down from your first orgasm in a long, long time. Well, with a partner at least. Fuck, if Kyle doesn’t know what he’s doing. Your find yourself clumsily pawing at his shirt, suddenly desperate to get to see him properly. He just chuckles, pulling it over his head and tossing it toward the passenger seat.

Kyle leans the seat back. It doesn’t go far, just enough to give you some extra room to maneuver. Your hands drag over corded muscle just under a layer of soft. You run your fingers through the light dusting of hair on his chest. He lets you take your time, lets you feel him out until you’re satisfied and leaning down for another kiss.

“Y’want to keep going?” He murmurs against your lips. “No pressure.”

You nod vigorously, the hands you braced on his chest gliding down toward his belt. “Do you?”

“Fuck yes.” He sighs, hips bucking up into your hand - telling you to get a move on.

You don’t, brain to cottony to care much as you take your time with his leather belt. His breath hitches when you palm him through his trousers - the size of him registering somewhere in the back of your mind. You clumsily undo his trousers, hands shaking in anticipation. He lifts his hips just enough to help you pull his pants and boxers partially down his thighs.

Kyle sighs as his cock springs free, eyes still fixed on you as you take him in. Your eyes widen - raking over the length of hum to the perfectly groomed curls at the base. He’s what you imagine an artist would carve - curve and veins too perfect. Another shiver runs down your spine.

“Pretty…” The word falls from your lips before you can stop it. You cover your mouth, embarrassment forcing you to look away. Kyle just laughs, reaching up to pulls your face back to him.

“I know.”

You suck your teeth. “Arrogant man, you are.”

“Just self aware.” He shrugs, smirking up at you.

You roll your eyes, raising your hand to lick a long, wet stripe over your palm and fingers. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, giving him a long, slow stroke from root to tip. Kyle groans, hips bucking up into your touch. You wish you could reach down to wrap your lips around it - let him rest warm and heavy on your tongue. Another time, perhaps.

You meet his gaze as you position yourself over him. A brief moment to let either of you end it here. To stay on this side of the boundary. To leave things as they were - for the most part, at least. Neither of you take it.

The hands on your hips help guide you down. Slowly, an inch at a time. Without any extra lube there’s a slight burn to the stretch just on this side of too much. You moan, low and quiet as you finally rest at the base of his cock. He sighs out a moan as you lean your weight on him again - fully sheathed inside you. You peek your eyes open to look down at him. His dark eyes have locked onto where you’re connected, the hands on your hips grip so tight you wonder if they’ll leave bruises. Kyle’s jaw is set as he breathes long and deep.

“A-alright?” You gasp out.

“Feel so fuckin’ good around me, doll.” He grunts through grit teeth. “Christ.”

You tilt your head to watch his reaction while you tentatively roll your hips. Those pretty lashes flutter and Kyle tips his head back, groaning.

A newfound confidence overtakes you. “Feels that good, huh?”

He nods with another low groan as you begin to roll your hips at a rhythm. A slow grind down onto each other. Lazy. You’re both tired after that adrenaline spike earlier, and your legs still feel loose and jelly after already cumming once. He fills you so perfectly, though. His warm hands drag over your skin, leaving an electric feel in their path. His teeth nips at your neck, mouthing along your jaw. He’s everywhere - all consuming.

“Kyle-” You whine, cheek pressing to his temple.

“Yeah, baby?” He moans back. “C’mon - shite -say my name again.”

“Please, Kyle, f-fu-” Your words trail off into nothing. Just unintelligible chants that you think are supposed to be his name. You can’t tell anymore, to enraptured in the feeling of your bodies moving against each other.

Kyle’s hand drifts up your back to cup the base of your neck, pulling you down until your foreheads press together. Your eyes may be screwed shut, but you can feel his on you - boring through to the very core of you. He shifts under you, just slightly, suddenly forcing a startled, keening sound out of you as he thrusts up into you with his newfound footing. The pace becomes desperate as you both careen toward the edge.

“Oh, fuck!” You whine, nails biting into his shoulder and the fabric to the seat beside his head.

“Gonna cum again?” He pants against your lips. “I can feel it - pretty little cunt’s clenching around me like a fuckin’ vice.”

You nod sloppily, only managing a choked, “Y-yea-”

“Together?”

“Mmhmm!”

You cling to each other, eyes screwed shut. Your teeth sink into his shoulder, muffling the high pitched whine that tears through your throat as you climax. Kyle moans in your ear, hands digging into your skin so hard they’ll surely leave bruises in their wake as he spills inside you. You stay like that for a moment, catching your breath - his cum dripping from you as he slips out. You sigh, far too content to just stay here with your face buried in the crook of his neck. Warm and comfortable. It feels right - laying in his arms.

“Hey.” Kyle pats your hip, pointing behind you. “We did the Titanic thing.”

You glance at the fogged up windows and laugh.

[unicornlovers10]

Fun Fact: LBP1 was my first PS3 game that I played. I played it at my Auntie M's with @jumperk and my aunt's ex.

This series has been my comfort series and special interest since that day.

(I also learned how to loom knit on that day, but it's not exactly relevant to the convo.)

question to clear your mind of all conscious thought

[sockdreams]

Sock Dreams turns 25 today!

Welcome back to our birthday celebration! Today’s the big day – our 25th birthday! Yesterday we gave you the deep lore of our company’s journey over the years, and today we want to celebrate where we’re at today!

p.s. if you missed yesterday's sale announcement and lore post, we've got you: 20% off most items August 2nd through 4th, excludes gift cards, collaborations, donation specials, starter packs, stickers and regular sale collections.

Currently Sock Dreams consists of a team of fourteen Dreamers who manage all of our operations, as well as modeling all of our socks!

Also two dogs and a baby, who offer invaluable insight, HR consulting services, and moral support. This is probably the most harmonious group of colleagues we’ve ever had, which keeps employee turnover low and mischief high.

Continue reading for more Sock Dreams lore!

We see running this business as a collaborative effort, with everyone being given a voice in how we handle matters, rather than a typical top-down hierarchy. Most of us wear several hats, which keeps things from getting too monotonous, and makes the most of our varied skills and interests.  Like it or not, we now live in an era of megacorporations, outsourcing, and replacing jobs with AI wherever possible. We fall on the “not” side of “like it or not”, which is why we’re sticking to our principles when it comes to having our Sock Dreams brand manufactured domestically. We believe in the importance of employing genuine people to answer your calls and emails, so you don’t have to fight a chat bot or try to find your way through an endless series of phone menus to ask a question that only a human can answer. Heck, we still hand write “Thank you!” on every invoice!   

We’re really excited about all of the new styles and colorways that have joined our Sock Dreams brand this summer! From spooky circus-inspired stripes, to wool kilt socks, and bold new color combinations, it’s been one fun arrival after another. Several of these new colorways, such as the Pride Stripes Extraordinary Thigh Highs in AroAce colors, and XL Foot Longer Extraordinary Programming Socks in black and maroon, were specifically requested by our customers!  

We’d also like to draw your attention to our current line-up of non-profits that we’re donating to via our Donation Partnerships program! From larger organizations with the power to make big waves, to smaller, grassroots programs making a difference locally, we believe in the importance of what these groups are doing. We’re always interested in hearing about the causes you’d like to support! After all, this is a joint effort.  

As a group of people who probably wouldn’t thrive in a more corporate environment, we’re so grateful to have the continued opportunity to do what we do as a small company. It’s because of the ongoing support of our community of customers that we’re still here to celebrate this milestone, and so, as we say on your invoices,

THANK YOU! 

- the Sock Dreams crew

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

see many people do this >:)

*coral = color

** EEW 6 = electric spinning wheel

*** said mohair fleece can be combed into functional fiber to spin w patience n strength

**** rainbow mini sheep (rainbow not in order)

[jmdbjk]

Jimin's exhibit: The Truth Untold, in New York City.

My first glimpse of NYC:

We calculated carefully and figured we had time to spare to get to our 7:30 p.m. reservation at Antoya... but we didn't take into consideration New York traffic from LaGuardia. A trip that should have taken about 30 minutes ate up 2 hours of time but finally, we made our way into Manhattan.

Our hotel was one street over from the Empire State Building and in Koreatown. When we made the hotel reservations, we were unaware of that fact. Thanks, Universe!

We made it to Antoya just in time. I had requested the special table and they acknowledged that but it’s on the third floor which is usually for large parties or special events. In any case they weren’t seating any one on the third floor at the time but they happily chatted about Jimin and Jungkook being finished with their military service while showing us to our table on the second floor. The food was delicious and service was fast and efficient.

Then we hit Koreatown and had a taste of tanghulu, mochi donuts and Tous les Jours, the South Korean cafe chain. Highly recommend the egg tarts (Not pictured).

We shopped at the little shops and at the Korean Market.

The next day we headed to Lower Manhattan and the Financial District.

We were early so we wandered around, got some coffee, looked for bagels but didn't find any.

FINALLY, we entered Jimin's exhibit. We all received our gifts and I promptly confiscated all the photocards.

My traveling companions are not Army but they were very interested in everything in the exhibit so I happily explained what everything was. Any excuse to talk about Jimin, right? Jimin's handwritten notes impressed them (I love his English handwriting). My companions also were impressed with the Set Me Free Pt. 2 MV that played on a wall opposite this one covered in photos of Jimin in one of the small rooms. The photos were huge and amazing. All of them.

The main thing I wanted to see and the whole point of this trip were Jimin's clothes. The fabrics of the suits I touched (yes I know, DO NOT TOUCH! but I did anyway), the fabrics were very fine and supple. I'm assuming wool. The leathers so soft. My traveling companion suggested I sniff the clothes. So I did. She really gets me, you know? They smelled fresh from the dry cleaners and not like Jimin's sweat. Oh well. Jimin probably doesn't stink anyway. Of course he doesn't, what am I even saying? ANYWAY.

I stood next to one of the mannequins standing on the floor and was able to tell that, with shoes on, Jimin would tower over me. Judging the size of the jackets, he is bigger in the body than I thought he'd be. Tall and lanky. And yes, his waist is very small.

I was particularly interested in the leather jacket from the Who MV. I can't believe I saw that with my own eyeballs. And Jimin had it on his body and danced in it. And I touched it...the jacket I mean. Don't tell anybody.

Some other visitors and I were tempted to sit in (mannequin) Jimin's lap here but we abided by the rules.

All of his awards were so cool to see! The MAMA award is a very impressive little trophy. Of course the Billboard award was front and center.

The Hybe staff were lovely. The female staff were stunningly gorgeous women.

It was a small exhibit but I'm so happy I was able to see it. The messages left by Armys in the previous weeks were wonderful to see. We were not able to leave a message. At least I didn't see where we could.

Next up was Times Square. What a hot mess. BUT! I saw the Times Square TSX stage where Jungkook performed and wow it is much closer to the street than I thought it would be. ITS SO CLOSE.

Popped into the Line Friends store: couldn't find anything I wanted. I was disappointed.

We moved on to Rockefeller Center and witnessed a wedding of all things, happening in the middle of everyone out on the plaza. Then we went to the end of the block to St. Patrick's Cathedral where they were just finishing up another wedding while tourists streamed in from off the street. It was weird. But what a beautiful church.

The next day was The Museum of Natural History and then into Central Park. The Museum of Natural History has great bones. Ha. Lots of them. Lots and lots and lots. Bones everywhere. Yes, this is the same museum in the movie Night at the Museum. All the critters were in their displays waiting for night time.

The day was getting kinda hot for a stroll through Central Park but we did it anyway because damn, I'm not going all the way to NYC and not go to Central Park.

From one end to the other, we exited Central Park and headed to the Tiffany Landmark store a few blocks away.

The 20-story high stack of Louis Vuitton trunks was surprising:

The Tiffany Landmark store was gorgeous and the people there were so incredibly nice. And ugh, yes, that is a Tiffany's box in that pic with Jimin's photocards. Yes, I splurged. The HardWear collection micro link bracelet jumped out at me from the glass case and begged me to take it home. So I did. Willpower. What's that?

That wasn't on my bingo card but here we are. I will cherish it forever.

Things we ate other than the aforementioned Korean food and snacks: Joe's Pizza. Liberty Bagels. Dim sum. The hoity-toity-est meal we had was lunch at the Museum of Nat History. Go figure. I had a tuna sandwich (not made with canned tuna) and a purple flower lemonade. Fan-cehhh. (that's smartass for fancy).

Other things we saw: Ground Zero. Incidentally, Spotify's offices are right there. We saw the Statue of Liberty from Battery Park and the Brooklyn Bridge when we headed back to our hotel. I have so many more photos of Jimin's exhibit and the trip overall but only so many photos are allowed in a post here on Tumblr.

Things we did not get to see: Grand Central Station. The inside of Macy's Herald Square even though we stayed right across the street from it. We had important business.... SORRY. We didn't see the charging bull statue at the New York Stock Exchange either. We couldn't find the thing.

But the numbers were numbering for this trip: Level 7 was where I parked my car at the airport. Row 7 was my seat on the plane. Our rooms were on the 13th floor at the hotel. Sadly, I did not get room 1310. I don't think there were that many rooms on the floor anyway. But I could have had 1306! Oh well.

Other takeaways from this trip: Taxi drivers and NYC traffic is no joke. I recommend Uber all the way. You can even get the same taxi you hail off the street for half the cost through Uber. We ventured down to the subway but it is too complicated and risky for noob first-timers especially when you have to be somewhere on time. But if you are there for a length of time it would be well worth learning how to use it because it's less than $3 USD per ride.

Uber Eats was quick and convenient. We were very tired Saturday evening and our Joe's Pizza arrived in 15 minutes after ordering. I don't know how they did that so quickly.

And then it was time to head home on my airplane, airplane....everyday above the clouds.... are those otters!?

No! It's a squirrel!

Or is it Koya?

I was never good at cloud shapes. I think I see Shooky back there...and RJ...definitely it's RJ...

[orellazalonia]

This ended up so much longer than I intended 😭 But hello hi there! I’ve stumbled upon your blog recently and I’m in love with your stories. I’m a fandom blind fic enjoyer and your fics are just absolutely top tier. You write in such a way that makes all your stories so special to enjoy despite being fandom blind

Sooo I’m humbly requesting for the girlies like me who aren’t all that shy in personality for a story with a Confident!Reader who’s aware of how cool they are because they’re genuinely themselves to the fullest and not bothered by what others think. (Thinking vibes along the lines of a person on the train wearing super cool/fun clothes and being captivated by them)

One day they meet (whichever love interest character you want, I’m not picky I just love reading your writing style) who’s used to getting what they want, and they’re thrown for a loop when reader doesn’t fall for their charms immediately. Thinking it a fluke love interest tries again but after getting politely turned down once more it forces love interest to actually have to work hard to get readers affection because reader is so used to being shallowly sought after.

Cue love interest starting to pay attention to little details about reader that no one else bothers to see (I’m gonna be biased and say reader crochets as a hobby) and actually falling in love with them instead of just seeing reader as another conquest. And reader is slowly falling in love to but still dubious until love interest shows reader just how much they’ve actually been paying attention by crocheting reader’s obscure favorite animal. And even tho its horrendously wonky reader loves it so much and finally agrees to a date.

Thank you in advance if you do decide to fulfill this prompt. But of course no pressure, I wish you the best in life and health

Hello!!! I’m so glad to hear you’re enjoying my work!! That makes me happy to hear anyone can read my writing. I also thank you for this thoughtful request! I feel like this reader could also be described as grounded, confident in herself.

Anyways, I think the Bucky in the past would’ve been perfect for her since he’s always used to charming his way out of everything lol. I hope you enjoy and happy reading!!!

Thread by Thread

Summary: You were used to being admired for your confidence, but never truly seen until Bucky Barnes showed up with awkward sincerity and a horrendously lopsided crocheted animal that you couldn’t help but love. Slowly, stitch by stitch, he unraveled your doubts and earned your heart not with charm, but with quiet effort and genuine care. (1940s!Bucky Barnes x confident!reader)

Word Count: 3.1k+

Main Masterlist

New York was its usual blur of steam and bustle, the sound of heels on pavement and taxi horns creating a constant undercurrent beneath the clipped rhythm of passing conversations. The kind of day that invited routine, predictable commutes, and the gray of morning suits and navy wool coats blending together like a painting left out in the rain.

But you? You were a jolt of color in a city that had forgotten how to look up.

Bucky saw you the moment he stepped out of the corner diner. You were sitting alone on a bench nearby, legs crossed in a carefree way that made your bright red socks peek out above sturdy black boots. The hem of your coat swung open just enough to show a patchwork skirt that probably shouldn't have matched your floral scarf, but somehow did, perfectly. Not because it followed any fashion rule he knew, but because you wore it like you’d invented it. Like every thread had been chosen with purpose, not approval.

And there you were, hooking yarn through a crochet needle like it was second nature. So casual and focused like the world didn’t exist around you.

You weren’t trying to be noticed.

But that’s exactly why you were.

Bucky had seen a lot of beautiful people. Dated more than his fair share of women who giggled at his compliments and leaned just a little closer when he smiled. His charm was tried and true, smooth as jazz on a Sunday night. But standing across the street from you, watching as you looped and pulled at lavender yarn with practiced ease, he felt a momentary pause in his step, like someone had nudged a record player.

You looked… content. The kind of content that didn’t beg to be seen or photographed. You just were.

And for once, Bucky wasn’t sure what to do with that.

He lingered longer than he meant to, waiting for a glance, or a flicker of acknowledgement. But you didn’t look up once. You were humming something under your breath, the rhythm of the needle seemed to follow whatever tune you were hearing. You looked completely at peace with yourself.

A guy in uniform wasn’t usually ignored in this part of the city.

But you? You didn’t even blink his way.

He told himself it was just curiosity. That he hadn’t been rejected, exactly. You hadn’t said anything at all. You hadn’t noticed him. That had to be a fluke, right?

So the next day, he tried again.

Stepped into the café across from the post office just as the lunch crowd was thinning out. He spotted you immediately with that same energy and same unapologetic flair at one of the smaller tables. Today you wore mismatched earrings and a jacket embroidered with tiny flowers near the collar. You were crocheting something again, pink this time, puffy and squishy-looking as a cup of tea sat in front of you.

You glanced up when the bell above the café door rang but your gaze passed right over him, like he was just another guy in line. Not Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, beloved by Brooklyn and its entire female population.

His pride took a small hit, not enough to bruise, but just enough to make him grin.

This was his moment.

He adjusted his collar, smoothed the sleeves of his uniform jacket, and crossed the floor with that signature, effortless charm. Women turned to watch him pass. It happened without fail. A nod here, a flirty smile there. He didn’t even have to try.

But you? You were humming, completely unbothered.

The seat across from you was empty, so he rested a hand lightly on the back of it. “Mind if I join you?”

Your eyes flicked up, quick but calm. Not startled or flattered, just curious. You studied him like he was a street performer who’d wandered too close.

“Sure,” You said simply, without warmth or hostility. Like you were just… letting him exist there.

He sat, a little off-balance from how easy you made it seem. Like you were the one granting him an audience.

“I couldn’t help noticing your… project,” He said, nodding toward the mass of pink yarn. “Is that a hat, or am I just lucky enough to be witnessing art in progress?”

Your lips quirked slightly, not a full smile though.

“It’s a frog,” You replied.

He blinked. “A… frog?”

“Yeah, for a friend. She likes them in pastels.” You turned the piece slightly in your hands, inspecting a stitch. “Still needs legs.”

Bucky chuckled. “Well, he’s already got personality. You make all kinds of stuff like that?”

You shrugged. “If it brings someone joy, why not?”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, letting his voice dip into something smooth. “You’ve got a real talent. Haven’t seen anything quite like it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You say that like I’m supposed to be impressed.”

His grin faltered for the briefest second. “No, just… making conversation.”

“I’m not a puzzle to solve,” You stated softly, not unkindly. “Or a riddle to charm your way through.”

The words weren’t sharp, but they cut through the usual rhythm of things. You didn’t need to raise your voice. You just spoke plainly, like truth didn’t need decoration or sugar coating.

Bucky held your gaze, struck by how steady you were. You weren’t trying to knock him off his game. You just weren’t playing.

There was no flustered reactions, no flirting, just quiet confidence.

You returned your focus to your yarn, fingers moving with a rhythm that seemed to have existed long before he arrived and would continue long after he left. The conversation was over. At least, for now.

He sat back, nodding slowly, lips pressing together in thought.

Most people he met were impressed by the uniform, the smile, or the easy charm. It was enough to get him just about anything he wanted.

But you weren’t most people. And for the first time in years, Bucky Barnes wasn’t entirely sure what to do next.

Bucky wasn’t the kind of man who stewed over things. He lived fast, talked smooth, and moved on before things got too complicated. There were dances to attend, friends to meet, war looming in the background, but even with everything spinning around him, you stayed in his head.

It didn’t make sense.

You hadn’t flirted back. You hadn’t blushed. You hadn’t even bothered to finish your tea while he was trying to win you over. And yet, here he was three days later, waiting outside the small park you always passed through after the café.

You weren’t hard to find. Same bench, same yarn, though today it was green, deep and foresty, coiled in your bag like something half-alive.

Bucky approached a little slower this time. No cocky lean or theatrical grin. He simply held a paper cup of tea in one hand, steam curling from the lid.

“You always pick the perfect weather,” He commented, lightly.

You looked up, then down at the cup.

“Chamomile and honey,” He offered. “Figured I owed you for the frog lesson.”

You reached for the drink, examining the label. “Not bad. I usually go lighter on the honey.”

He grinned. “Guess I’ll have to try again sometime.”

“Might not be a next time.”

The words weren’t mean. You even took a sip. But you said them like a boundary drawn in chalk. Clear, quiet, and unmoving.

Bucky sat beside you anyway. Not too close but just close enough to notice the small pouch hanging from your bag, crocheted of course, with what looked like a hand-stitched constellation on the flap.

He tilted his head. “What’re you making now?”

You hooked the yarn without looking up. “A scarf.”

He watched your fingers move. “For someone special?”

“I am someone special.”

That made him laugh, real, warm, and caught off guard. “That you are.”

You gave him a look. It wasn’t a glare or a smirk. It was something in-between, sharp and knowing.

“I don’t usually go out with people who treat me like a curiosity they want to solve,” You spoke, voice even.

He swallowed once, smile dimming to something quieter. “I wasn’t trying to–”

“You were,” You cut in gently. “But I’m not offended. Most people do it without realizing.”

Bucky looked down at his hands. That stung a little. Not because you were wrong, but because you were right. And you weren’t trying to shame him for it. Just… telling the truth.

You sipped your tea, still crocheting.

But, he didn’t leave. And that? That surprised you more than anything else.

Something changed after that second conversation. Bucky didn’t flirt again, not in the usual way. No teasing, no grin meant to melt or distract. No showmanship.

He still showed up, though.

Sometimes at the café, sometimes across the park, once even at the bookshop where you loitered through the mystery aisle. He didn’t always say something. Sometimes he just watched. Respectfully and thoughtfully. And each time, you let him.

Which meant he started noticing things.

You never rushed things. Not your tea, not your words, not even your projects. There was a deliberate steadiness to you, each stitch purposeful and each silence comfortable. You made the world slow down around you without even meaning to.

He also caught on to the little details.

How you carried two extra hooks, how you tapped the table twice before starting a new row, ritual or habit, he didn’t know, how your music taste changed by the day: punk one morning, old soul the next.

Most people, Bucky realized, were so busy trying to be seen that they forgot how to see.

But not you.

And you started noticing him too, albeit subconsciously. Not because he was charming or persistent or wore the hell out of that uniform, but because he didn’t push.

You half-expected him to disappear after the second conversation. Most men did, either offended or bored by the way you didn’t play along. You weren’t rude, just… aware. You’d been flirted with before, complimented, pursued for your looks, confidence, or different personality. It never lasted long though. People wanted the idea of you, not the reality. Not the slow, complex, sometimes silent parts of you.

But Bucky came back and never left.

He sat across from you with a patience that unnerved you more than any come-on ever had. He asked questions, real ones. Not about your appearance, not about where you were from or who you were seeing. He asked about yarn, about patterns, or about what you liked to make when it was just for you.

He remembered things.

Once, when you were talking absentmindedly about your favorite animals, not the usual ones, but the oddballs, the ones no one ever appreciated, you mentioned maned wolves. Called them “awkward foxes on stilts with the energy of a cryptid and the soul of a misunderstood poet.” You figured it would go in one ear and out the other.

But the next time you saw him, he had a crumpled magazine in his bag, folded open to a page with a photo of one.

“They really do look like they know secrets,” He said, holding it out with a sheepish little grin.

And you laughed. Full-out, loud, and genuine.

He looked stunned by it. And from that point on, he didn’t just see you, he kept noticing you piece by piece, thread by thread.

And that?

That scared you a little. Because part of you had started noticing him, too.

Bucky didn’t know what made him do it, exactly. Maybe it was the way you said it. Or maybe it was the slow, surprising realization that he wanted to make something for you. Not buy, not charm, make.

It was a terrible idea.

He knew it the second he walked into the little corner craft shop you always went to. The woman behind the counter smiled too brightly and asked what he was looking for, and Bucky realized he had no idea how to answer.

“Yarn,” He said finally.

“What kind?”

“…The good kind?”

It took forty-five minutes, three confused salespeople, and the emotional energy of a full combat drill before he left the shop with three skeins of brown, one of black, and something labeled “rust.” He had a hook, somehow acquired a pattern, and a printed photo of the weird, spindly creature you liked so much.

He was going to crochet you a maned wolf.

God help him.

The attempt was, in a word, catastrophic.

His fingers fumbled. The loops turned into knots. The legs came out uneven, wildly uneven. The head was lopsided. The tail refused to attach properly. He stabbed himself with the hook more than once and cursed loud enough that Steve poked his head in, saw the pile of yarn and horror on the table, and immediately left.

It looked… cursed, like a feral sock puppet.

But Bucky couldn’t stop.

Because every time he wanted to quit, he thought about how your hands moved when you crocheted. How peaceful you looked, even when things were tangled. How you called the process “a mess, but mine.” How you made strange, beautiful things for people you cared about.

So he kept going. Stitch by awkward stitch.

And when he finished, when he held the final, wonky, too-long-legged mess in his hands, he laughed because it was terrible.

Yet it felt like the most honest thing he’d ever made.

When he finally presented it to you, it was raining that day. it wasn’t a storm. It was more so the kind of soft, misty drizzle that made the city feel quieter than usual. Your usual café was half-empty, the windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside. You had a fresh ball of blue yarn in your lap and a half-finished shawl trailing from your hook. The rhythm of your hands was steady, patient, as the world went on ignoring itself around you.

Bucky stepped in, damp at the shoulders, hair a little windswept from the walk.

You saw him the second he entered because of course you did. His presence had long since become familiar, like a comma in a sentence. Always appearing at the right moment, never asking for more than you were willing to give.

But today?

He looked nervous. Actually nervous. Not his usual fidgeting-for-effect, not the grin that followed. Just real, quiet tension under his collar as he approached your table, one hand behind his back.

You raised an eyebrow.

He sat and didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he pulled something out from behind him, wrapped in paper that looked suspiciously like an old pattern printout.

“I made you something,” He said, voice too casual to be natural. “Don’t laugh.”

You set your yarn aside slowly. “That depends on what it is.”

He handed it over, eyes trained anywhere but your face.

You peeled the paper back.

And blinked.

It was… something. Brownish-rust colored, with long uneven legs, too-large ears, and a wildly misshapen tail. One button eye sat lower than the other, and the stuffing peeked out of a seam near the back.

But you recognized it immediately.

“A maned wolf?” You asked softly, holding it in both hands.

He winced. “I was going for ‘charmingly odd,’ but I think I landed on ‘traumatized woodland cryptid.’”

You stared at the thing: at the yarn, the uneven stitching, and the fact that the legs bent wrong. And yet, somehow, it was perfect.

Your fingers curled around it gently, thumb brushing one of the crooked ears.

“You made this?” You asked.

“Every stitch,” He said, sounding half-proud, half-terrified. “Took me a week. The tail fell off twice. I stabbed myself four times. Steve thinks I’ve joined some kind of yarn cult.”

You looked up.

And there it was, something soft in his eyes. No performance. No smooth delivery. Just a man who remembered something small. Something you loved. And tried, really tried, to make something just for you.

It was awful, but it was yours.

You let out a quiet breath, the kind that broke into something halfway between a laugh and a sigh.

“I love him,” You said.

Bucky blinked. “You do?”

“He’s got character,” You nodded, clutching the wonky wolf to your chest. “Looks like he’s been through something. Probably has opinions on taxes.”

A slow smile spread across Bucky’s face, genuine, lopsided, and beautiful.

You met his eyes.

“So,” You spoke. “About that date.”

He straightened. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m ready.”

He didn’t take you somewhere flashy which honestly surprised you.

You’d expected a swing club, maybe a jazz lounge with polished floors and the kind of place where he’d nod to the staff and slip the host a folded bill. You’d expected a little show because people always liked to show they liked you, never quite willing to just be with you.

But Bucky picked a bookstore.

A quiet, tucked-away shop that smelled like old wood and paperbacks that had lived full lives before ever being sold. He opened the door for you, and when the bell above the frame rang, he looked a little sheepish.

“I figured you might like somewhere that doesn’t talk too loud.”

You blinked at him, then smiled.

He was learning.

There was no pressure in the air. No grand gestures. Just warmth.

He didn’t hover, either. You wandered off for a while, and he let you. No over-the-shoulder glances, no need to fill silence. When you returned with a book about South American wildlife and a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, he raised an eyebrow.

“Let me guess. Maned wolf trivia night?”

“Preparation is everything,” You said, flipping it open.

He laughed.

Afterward, you walked together in the evening light. It was still misting a little and still quiet. He didn’t try to hold your hand or try to read your mind. He just matched your pace, his jacket slung over one arm, the faint sound of passing streetcars humming through the city.

“You know,” You said finally, “You’re not what I expected.”

“Yeah?” He asked. “What were you expecting?”

You thought for a second.

“Someone who wanted to win.”

Bucky looked over. “And now?”

“Now,” You said, softly, “I think you just wanted to understand.”

He nodded once. “You make it easy to want to.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. Just walked together, but your hand brushed his.

This time, he took it and this time, you let him.

And later that night back in your apartment, you set the crooked maned wolf on your nightstand. It leaned a little too far to one side, its tail still threatening to fall off, and one leg almost comically bent.

But it looked like it belonged there, like it had been yours all along.

You smiled, touched the top of its head gently, and turned out the light.

Taglist: @yasmin12312 @herejustforbuckybarnes @eeveedream @wingstoyourdreams @figtreesandmoonlight @happygalaxymilkshake @hits-different-cause-its-you @the-galaxy-fiend @ordelixx @itsmejen

[chrizzzbang]

Don't Get Them Wet

pairing: Bang Chan x Gender Neutral Reader

wc: 4.1k

cw: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (dont even think about it), oral, dirty talk, gremlin chaos, town destruction, crack humour (lmk if I missed anything)(not proof read)

🚫 Minors DNI

Requested

Summary: You and Chan were just trying to have a cozy, horny Christmas weekend… until his grandpa dropped off a “low-maintenance pet” with three very strict rules. Now you're knee-deep in gremlins, chaos, and questionable fluids. Between dodging knife-flinging toaster traps and getting jumped in the bathroom, you somehow still manage to squeeze in a wild living room hookup. But when the gremlin leader escapes and town goes full monster-movie madness, all bets are off. Can you survive the tiny terrors and still get laid? Probably not. But you're gonna try.

Snow fell in thick, slow flakes outside the windows, coating the trees and smothering the world in a cosy, quiet blanket. Inside, the complete opposite was happening.

An aggressively cheerful Christmas movie was blaring from the TV, the kind where the plot made no sense and the love interest was almost definitely a sentient candy cane. Fairy lights blinked along the mantle, garlands looped from the stair railing, and the smell of cinnamon-scented candles mixed with hot chocolate in the air.

You lay sprawled on the couch, half under a fleece blanket, head resting against Chan’s shoulder. Your socked feet were tangled with his under the throw pillows, and a massive bowl of popcorn balanced precariously between you.

“This movie is so bad,” you said around a mouthful of popcorn. “I think the elf just proposed to a snowman?”

Chan chuckled. “Yeah, but like… emotionally.”

You turned your head to give him a look. “They don’t even know each other. The snowman’s whole personality is ‘hot chocolate and trauma.’”

“That’s a valid personality,” Chan said, tossing popcorn into his mouth. “Honestly, I relate.”

You snorted and were about to reply when a knock came at the front door, sharp, urgent, and completely unexpected.

You and Chan both froze.

“Who the hell is knocking during a snowstorm?” you asked, sitting up.

“Grandpa, maybe?” Chan said, peeling himself off the couch. “But he said he was staying in all weekend.”

When he opened the door, it was his grandfather, but not his usual bundled, sleepy self. He stood tall in a heavy wool coat, snowflakes caught in his white hair, eyes gleaming with strange purpose.

Chan blinked. “Grandpa?”

“I need a favour,” the old man said, stepping inside like he owned the place (which he technically might have, depending on whose name was on the deed). In his arms was a beautifully carved wooden box, polished and inlaid with tiny golden swirls. It had a handle on the top and a strange pattern of holes in the side.

He set it gently on the coffee table, then turned to you and Chan.

“This is very important,” he said gravely. “It’s a pet. Very rare. Very special. I need you to take care of him until Monday.”

You both stared at the box like it might bite.

Chan hesitated. “Uh… what kind of pet?”

“Three rules,” Grandpa said, holding up a weathered finger. “Number one: no bright light. It hurts him. It could kill him.”

Your eyebrows crept up.

“Number two: don’t get him wet. Not a drop.”

You leaned toward Chan and whispered, “This sounds like a curse.”

“And number three,” Grandpa said, now looking dead serious, “never feed him after midnight. No matter how much he begs, no matter how pitiful he looks. Never.”

You blinked. Chan blinked. The fire crackled in the background.

“…That’s all?” Chan asked.

“That’s everything,” Grandpa replied, then promptly turned and walked out into the snow again, without giving a single explanation. The door clicked shut behind him.

You stared after him, then looked at Chan. “That was either the beginning of a heart-warming holiday adventure or a found-footage horror movie.”

“Only one way to find out,” Chan said, reaching for the latch.

The wooden box opened with a soft creak. Inside, nestled in a cushion of soft fabric, was a tiny ball of fur with enormous ears, a squished little face, and wide, suspicious brown eyes. Its fur was cinnamon and cream-colored, and it stared up at you both like it was already over this entire arrangement.

“…Holy crap,” you whispered, leaning in. “It’s like a teddy bear and a gremlin had a baby. And it’s judging me.”

The creature blinked slowly, then fished into its little chest fluff and pulled out a crumpled slip of paper. It held it out toward Chan with a grunt.

Chan unfolded it. “‘Mushu’?” he read aloud. “Like the dragon from-”

“The Disney movie!” you interrupted, grinning. “Oh my god, I love that for him.”

Mushu narrowed his eyes and turned his head sharply toward the TV, as if trying to ignore your nonsense.

You reached in carefully and scooped him up, grinning as he nuzzled into your hand, then immediately swivelled his head to give Chan a full-on stink-eye.

“Oh,” you laughed. “He likes me.”

“I feel judged,” Chan muttered as Mushu slowly reached out a tiny paw… and batted at Chan’s hoodie string with the most dismissive flick you’d ever seen.

Mushu climbed out of your hands and waddled over to the TV, grabbed the remote in both paws, and began flipping channels with laser focus. He stopped at a grainy black-and-white horror movie, something with bad special effects and dramatic screams.

“Okay,” Chan said slowly, watching him settle into a squat. “I think the gremlin just picked Nosferatu.”

“He’s not a gremlin! He’s cute! And he’s got taste,” you said proudly. “And clearly no patience for Christmas cheese.”

Mushu crossed his arms and watched the screen like a bitter film critic.

Chan flopped back on the couch, rubbing his face. “This is gonna be fine, right?”

You leaned into him again, eyes on the tiny movie-loving monster at your feet. “It’s just a weird little guy with some easy rules. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Snow kept falling outside. Mushu scratched behind one ear with his tiny foot, then curled his fingers around the remote like a throne-bound king.

“Okay,” you said, waving a kernel of popcorn in front of Chan’s face, “but if you had to pick a love interest in this movie, who’s your type? Alien B with the weird slime arms or Alien F with the three butts?”

Chan didn’t even hesitate. “F. Butt alien. No question.”

You choked on your popcorn. “Seriously?!”

“Three times the cushion,” he replied smugly. “You know I like a good-”

Mushu, seated below like the tiniest grumpy grandpa, suddenly growled.

You both looked down.

“Did… did he just judge us?” you asked.

Chan grinned. “He’s like, ‘These idiots are horny in front of me again. Disrespectful.’”

Mushu rolled his eyes (you swore) and turned up the volume on his latest black-and-white flick - some noir movie with dramatic voiceovers and constant cigarette smoke. He was curled up like a judgmental bean, tucked in with a small throw blanket you'd given him, sipping hot chocolate from a thimble-sized teacup.

Chan leaned over to you again, his voice low and teasing. “If you were an alien, what kind would you be? Slime queen? Galactic warlord? The sexy kind that uses their mind to-”

He nudged you with his elbow and accidentally tipped his hot chocolate off the side table.

The world moved in slow motion.

The mug tumbled.

Mushu squeaked, tried to scurry-

SPLASH.

It splattered everywhere - the rug, the floorboards, and squarely across Mushu’s fur.

A horrible silence filled the room.

You stared. Chan stared. Mushu… began to twitch.

“Oh, no,” Chan breathed.

“Oh, NO,” you repeated.

Mushu flopped backward, limbs flailing, fur puffing like a popcorn kernel. His eyes rolled back. Gurgles and wet squelching sounds started. You both leapt back, horrified.

“IS HE OKAY?!”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENING-”

With a horrible SPLOP, a pulsating green blob popped off Mushu’s back and hit the floor.

And another.

And another.

You screamed. “HE’S LAYING EGGS?!”

Chan shrieked: “NO, HE’S CLONING HIMSELF!”

The blobs began to unfold - snarling, sharp-toothed little gremlins, already hissing and spitting and climbing over each other like evil toddler velociraptors.

They were everywhere within seconds.

You and Chan hadn’t even had time to process before the living room was flooded with gremlins.

And they were not cute.

They were toothy, screechy, deranged little demons - like if chaos had legs, sharp teeth, and a meth addiction.

“WHY DO THEY SPAWN FULLY FERAL?!” you shrieked.

One launched itself at the popcorn bowl, grabbed a handful, and threw it directly at your face. Another bit Chan’s sock and took off running with it, dragging his leg like a prize.

Mushu lay dramatically collapsed on the floor, sipping the rest of the hot chocolate and waving a hand as if to say, “You deal with it,” before waddling to the bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

Three of the gremlins vanished into the kitchen. You heard frantic scampering, glass clinking, and then-

BOOM.

Something launched out of the toaster and embedded itself in the doorframe.

You turned to Chan. “Was that a butter knife?”

He peeked around the corner. “It’s a chef’s knife. They figured out velocity.”

“Oh great,” you groaned. “Tiny goblin scientists.”

In the hallway, two more were clawing open cabinets and flinging spices like confetti. One stuck cinnamon sticks up its nose and started dancing on the counter. Another discovered the blender and was threatening the others with the lid like a tiny gremlin warlord.

Great. A whole gang of gremlins had locked themselves in the kitchen and were conducting some kind of culinary war crime. You could hear them cackling and slamming pans while the blender roared nonstop.

“I think they’re making a smoothie,” you said, face pale.

“With what?” Chan asked.

You opened the door an inch.

One gremlin was dumping an entire jar of pickles into the blender. Another was trying to shove a Christmas ham in there. A third was gnawing on a stick of butter like it owed him money.

And in the corner?

A gremlin had discovered fire. It was torching a tea towel with a lighter and laughing like the Joker.

You slammed the door again.

“I’m gonna throw up,” you whispered.

In the living room, the gremlins had climbed into the Christmas tree and become the Christmas tree. One wore a star as a helmet and was pelting you with ornaments like grenades. Another wrapped itself in tinsel and kept trying to choke Chan with it, giggling like a maniac.

Chan grabbed a Nerf gun off the mantle. “Cover me. I’m going in.”

“You’ll die,” you warned. “They’ve made it a fortress.”

“I’m not letting them take Santa hostage again.”

One gremlin had figured out how to ride the Roomba. It was armed with a fork and zipping around like Mad Max. Another rode shotgun with a spoon, whacking at your ankles.

You tried to scoop it up with a laundry basket. It swerved and launched itself off a shoe, straight into your chest.

“GAH! TINY DEMON!”

“GET IT OFF- OH MY GOD, IT’S EATING YOUR HOODIE STRING!”

Chan tried to help and got kicked in the face.

You burst into the bedroom only to find three gremlins re-enacting Home Alone. One had built a marble trap on the floor. Another dropped a snow globe on your head. A third was on the bed wearing your sleep mask and waving a condom like a flag.

“I don’t even want to know what they were planning in here,” you muttered.

Chan ducked a flying shoe. “I think they’re unionizing. Wait- my condoms! I need those!”

You made a dive for one with a pillowcase. It flipped onto your back and bit your shoulder.

“OW! LITTLE FREAK!”

You rolled onto it, trapping it beneath a laundry basket. Chan threw himself on top, holding it down.

“That’s one!” he panted.

“It’s bucking like a mechanical bull!” you yelled.

“I know!”

“Why does it have abs?”

Chan stared at the tiny creature inside the basket. “That one definitely does crunches.”

Chan ran off after hearing a pipe burst. You followed, slipping on something slimy in the hallway.

You skidded into the bathroom just as one gremlin yanked the entire shower head off the wall.

Water exploded from the pipe like a geyser, and Chan took the full blast to the chest.

He stood there, blinking, soaked from head to toe, hoodie clinging to his torso, hair curling at his temples.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“No,” he said flatly, dripping. “I got jump-scared by a faucet.”

A bar of soap flew past his head and hit the mirror. You ducked behind the door.

One of the gremlins slipped, landed in the tub with Chan, and began flailing around like it was possessed. Chan tried to grab it, slipped himself, and fell back with a squelch onto the bathmat.

Somehow, the room was full of fog.

Sexy fog.

You stared.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

“You’re soaking wet. Half-naked. Dripping.”

“I’m fighting for my life.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, but… hot.”

He threw a sponge at you.

From the living room, a beat dropped.

“What the-” Chan muttered.

You both ran in to find two gremlins had discovered his production gear. They were remixing Santa Baby with what sounded like whale mating calls and horror movie screeches.

One of them scratched a vinyl like it was DJing a rave in hell.

“MY MONITORS!” Chan cried. “My midi keyboard!”

“Your babies!” you gasped.

He dove for the gear. A gremlin bit his arm. He whipped it across the room with a “YAH!” and trapped it under a floor tom.

“YOU WANT TO DJ, DO IT FROM UNDERGROUND!”

You swore you heard a tiny, muffled "wub wub" from under the drum.

A gremlin had stolen your vibrator from the drawer and was wielding it like a lightsabre, making “ZWOOM ZWOOM” noises.

You dove to snatch it. It dodged and smacked you in the temple.

“You are going to regret that when I plug you into a blender,” you hissed.

Two gremlins were trying to put themselves in the dryer. A third one was hiding in the basket and jumped out when you opened it. You screamed. It screamed. You fell backward into a pile of socks.

Chan tried to wrestle it into a pillowcase and got bit on the thigh.

“They go for the thighs!” he shouted. “WHY DO THEY GO FOR THE THIGHS?!”

At last, after three hours of screaming, swearing, chasing, netting, getting pelted with dry pasta, slipping on syrup, and Chan getting stuck halfway through the doggie door (don’t ask), you had them.

The final gremlin was yeeted into the crate with a scream and a trail of chewed-up spaghetti.

You slammed the door shut, Chan threw the latch, and for a moment, just one glorious second, there was peace.

Silence.

No shrieking. No sharp-toothed assholes flinging waffles at your head. Just you, Chan, a wrecked living room… and a dog crate full of pissed-off gremlins shaking the bars like they were in an ‘80s prison movie.

You stood there, dripping wet, hair matted with shampoo, bruised, scraped, and absolutely glowing with victory.

Chan wiped a smear of what might have been sauce from his jaw, looked at you through soaked lashes, and held up a hand.

You high-fived. Hard.

“...That was insane,” he muttered.

“I need alcohol and a tetanus shot.”

“You need me,” he said, with a crooked, wild grin.

You blinked. “Wow. Horny and confident.”

“You tried to seduce me with a net earlier.”

You smiled lazily. “I was aiming for the gremlin.”

Chan leaned closer. “Missed.”

Mushu sat on a throw pillow in front of the TV, sipping from his tiny mug, watching It’s a Wonderful Life with the captions on.

He didn’t even glance at the noise.

He just shook his head and muttered: “Fucking amateurs.”

Chan grinned. You grabbed him and kissed him mid-laugh, sloppy, adrenaline-fueled, a little teeth. He caught your waist, hand sliding under the hem of your shirt. It was ridiculous. And hot.

Breathless, you finally collapsed onto the couch, both of you still giggling, muscles jelly, clothes clinging to skin.

Mushu waddled past, clutching a half-finished mug of hot chocolate and muttering something about “disrespecting classic cinema.” He vanished down the hallway to bed like a tired, judgmental grandpa.

“I never wanna see a gremlin again,” you sighed, flopping your head on Chan’s shoulder.

He chuckled, head dropping back, chest still rising and falling. “We just survived goblin war.”

You tilted your head toward him, eyeing the slash across his shirt, the scratch on his cheek, the glint of wild pride in his eyes.

“I should reward you.”

“Oh?” he drawled. “Medal? Cash prize?”

“Nope.”

You straddled his lap, fingers working at his soaked shirt. “Sex.”

He blinked. Then grinned. “Best payment plan ever.”

Clothes were peeled, tugged, half-ripped, pants tangled around ankles, Chan cursing when he stepped on a sticky gremlin trap mid-kiss. You laughed, and he shoved you back onto the cushions, pressing hot kisses down your neck.

Your shirt hit the Christmas tree.

The tree fell over.

Neither of you noticed.

He licked a drop of water from your collarbone, eyes dark and playful. “We should be careful not to spill anything else.”

You smirked. “We’re already screwed.”

“I hope so,” he said, dragging his teeth along your jaw.

You pushed him back, dropping to your knees between his thighs, palming him through his soaked boxers.

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, breath shaky. “Not unless you’re ready to-”

“Feed you after midnight?” you cut in sweetly. “Or should I say let you feed me after midnight?”

His groan was filthy.

You pulled him free, licking a broad stripe up his length, eyes locked on his. He cursed, head thudding back against the couch. “Shit, you're worse than the gremlins.”

You swallowed him down, teasing him with slow, wet drags, hands curling around his thighs. He panted, hips jerking slightly, hand slipping into your wet hair.

“Y-You’re gonna kill me,” he moaned.

“Then die messy.”

He didn’t last long. Not with the teasing, the grin you gave him right before sucking harder, the whisper of “Come on, baby, show me how much you appreciate my help.” He came with a grunt and a shudder, fingers tight in your hair, voice breaking.

But you weren’t done.

You barely let him catch his breath before crawling into his lap and kissing him again, slick, demanding, greedy.

“You’re insatiable,” he panted, already hardening again.

“You’re hot when you fight gremlins,” you said, grinding down.

He thrust up into you in one smooth, desperate motion, the stretch hot and delicious. You both gasped, arms clutching, mouths meeting. The rhythm was fast, needy, wild. The living room was a disaster, upturned furniture, eggnog dripping from the ceiling, gremlin goo on the walls, but you didn’t care.

Every thrust was a snap of tension, every moan a victory cry.

He grabbed your hips, muttering, “Let’s be louder than them.”

You took it as a challenge.

The couch groaned. The crate shook. A gremlin inside howled in response, and you both paused mid-thrust, startled.

“...That was not a mood enhancer,” Chan muttered, eyes wide.

You giggled, breath hitching as he rolled his hips again. “Just means we need to finish strong.”

“Oh, I will,” he promised, flipping you onto your back and driving into you with renewed determination.

Moans. Breathless laughter. The thump of bodies on cushions and limbs tangled amid disaster. It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t gentle, but it was hot, real, and exactly what you both needed.

You came hard, clinging to his shoulders, biting his neck to muffle your cries. He followed with a gasp, face buried in your hair, body shuddering.

You lay there tangled up, panting, flushed and messy. Chan kissed your jaw, a lazy smile tugging at his lips.

“Best post-battle reward ever,” he murmured.

You hummed in agreement.

Then- CRASH.

A window shattered in the distance.

You both sat up, heart hammering.

Outside, under the moonlight…

A tall gremlin with a spiked white mohawk and a bandolier of stolen dog toys rode a stolen tricycle down the street, flanked by three more.

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

“We didn’t get them all,” Chan breathed.

Mushu, from the hallway: “Grandpa told you idiots not to get me wet.”

Chan grabbed his phone, swiping frantically. His face paled.

“Oh no.”

He turned the screen toward you. News clips and livestreams flickered by:

“BREAKING: Downtown Electronics Store Explodes in Holiday Sabotage”

“Santa’s Village on Fire - Three Elves Hospitalized After Toy Rebellion”

A TikTok of someone screaming as a gremlin launched fireworks inside a Coffee Shop.

People were crying. Screaming. Bleeding. One gremlin apparently hijacked a snowplough.

Chan stared at the screen. “We’re going to jail.”

You blinked. “We’re going to hell.”

“But like…” you said slowly, still flushed and bare beneath the blanket, “hotly?”

He snorted. “Absolutely.”

You geared up. Or… did your best.

Chan wore a ski jacket, his sweatpants tucked into one boot and one sneaker. You grabbed the laundry basket lid as a shield and taped three spatulas together to make a “trident.” He duct-taped a flashlight to a broom handle. You stuffed your pockets with frozen waffles. Why? You didn’t know. Seemed smart.

“Let’s end this,” you muttered like you were in an action movie.

You stormed outside into the chaos-

-and immediately ducked back in when something exploded down the block.

A gremlin in a tutu hurled a Molotov at a snowman.

You turned to Chan. “...So hypothetically, if we didn’t end this…”

“...And we let professionals like animal control, the military, or like, actual adults handle it…”

“...We could go back inside and pretend none of this happened?”

You both nodded in unison.

Back inside, the living room was still wrecked, crushed Christmas ornaments, the faint smell of burnt cheese. The caged gremlins had passed out from sheer rage. One snored.

You padded into the bedroom, following the glow of the TV.

Mushu was dead centre on the bed, a blanket tucked around him burrito-style. He had a mug of something steamy and was deeply engrossed in Invasion of the Body Snatchers, eyes narrowed like a film critic with a personal vendetta.

He didn’t look at you.

You slid into bed on one side. Chan joined on the other.

Mushu sipped his drink.

Chan, cheek resting on the pillow, glanced over at you, smirking. “You still wanna babysit my grandpa’s ‘low maintenance pet’ next weekend?”

Mushu finally turned, glancing between you with narrowed eyes and a dramatic sigh.

Then he shook his head.

Like he was genuinely disappointed in your entire bloodline.

Snow was falling again.

Not peacefully. Not softly. More like the sky was trying to smother the evidence of a three-day supernatural riot.

Downtown was in clean-up mode: sirens wailed, fire trucks rumbled past melted candy cane displays, and someone on a megaphone screamed about "rodents on jet skis." The news was calling it “The Great Holiday Prank.” You suspected the government was covering it up. Again.

Meanwhile, at home…

You and Chan stood in the middle of your now almost-recognizable living room, soaked with mop water and shame.

The rug was gone. The tree was duct-taped to the wall. The couch still oozed green goo if you leaned too hard.

But it was clean. Mostly.

You wiped your forehead with your sleeve and looked over at Chan, who was struggling to hoover up something that still twitched.

“That… is not a pine needle,” you muttered.

He shuddered. “Don’t tell me that.”

Behind you, Mushu lay cocooned in three blankets on the couch, remote in one paw, sipping tea with a tiny straw. The Day the Earth Stood Still flickered on the screen. He glanced up at the mess and simply shook his head like a tired dad forced to raise his adult children.

Then, the front door creaked open.

“Hey, I’m back! I brought fudge!” came the cheerful, booming voice of Chan’s grandpa- waltzing in from his weekend Tai Chi retreat.

He took one step into the living room… and froze.

The overturned furniture. The faint smell of singed tinsel. A stocking nailed to the ceiling. The cage in the corner holding sleeping but definitely monstrous creatures.

“…What the hell happened to your house?”

Chan’s smile was a little too wide. “You’re gonna laugh.”

You added, deadpan, “It was a learning experience.”

Grandpa slowly turned to Mushu, who didn’t even blink, just raised his tea cup in greeting, like “These amateurs. I warned them.”

Grandpa narrowed his eyes at the cage, then back at you two.

“Did you spill something on him?”

You and Chan shared a long pause.

“…Define ‘spill,’” Chan hedged.

Grandpa groaned, clutching his bag of duty-free fudge. “I leave for one weekend, ONE week-”

“I thought you said he was low maintenance!” you said defensively.

Grandpa pointed at the gremlin cage. “THAT is not low maintenance! That is city-wide property damage!”

You nodded solemnly. “Yeah, we might be getting a bill.”

Chan nudged you. “I think we deserve hazard pay.”

The snowy woods outside of town.

It’s quiet. Eerily still.

Then… movement. A gremlin with a white striped mohawk limps into frame, singed but furious. Behind him, a handful of surviving minions trail behind, dragging Christmas lights, broken electronics, and possibly a rotisserie chicken.

They stop in front of an abandoned shopping mall.

The leader snarls.

The others cheer.

COMING NEXT HOLIDAY SEASON

“GREMLINS 2: ATTACK OF THE HORNY LIZARD THINGS”

Santa’s not the only one coming to town…

[strawbrrychan]

your side; hwang hyunjin

pairing; hyunjin x reader

genre: angst, highschool au

warnings: cheating, cursing, suggestive themes, panic attacks

word count: 5.5k

a/n: ITS FINALY HERE!!!! i went through a several year long writing slump,, but im finally back!!! thank you guys for the support and i hope you enjoy this as much as i did!!

Growing up with Hyunjin, you could only remember good things - if anything at all. When you were little, the two of you were practically connected at the hip. Whoever was around would quite literally have to peel you off of each other- you both cried every time. Your parents had become friends quickly, thus making you and the blonde the same way. You had played at each other’s houses all the time, watched shows while eating gummies, bathed together, and did whatever else your little imaginations would bring you. If you had baby photos, it was guaranteed that Hyunjin was in at least half of them. It was always “you and him against the world”, you remember promising him. Not much changed throughout primary school, your seemingly endless playdates at the park continued. When middle school rolled around, you got closer- sleepovers every weekend, study sessions which turned into tickle fights, and movie marathons was more than regular for you. And even with high school gnawing away at you, you still managed to pull your way through with him at your side.

Hyunjin was known well for his good looks. He’s practically a walking wet dream as a high school student. You didn’t think there was a girl who wasn’t head-over-heels for him at some point, he’s just that beautiful. Every year there were at least three girls that approached you, asking if Hyunjin was interested in a relationship, or what his ideal type was like.

Thus, at the beginning of your junior year, Hyunjin had managed to have his eye on someone.

“She’s pretty, don’t you think?” Hyunjin asked you with a tired face, the early autumn breeze swirling around your bodies as you entered the school building. “Who? That girl you like? What’s her name…” you trailed off, searching the depths of your mind to remember. Hyunjin mentioned her a lot, but you could never seem to recall it. “Minhee,” he reminded, his voice lowering so no one could hear him. “Thank you,” you nodded, hoping you’ll remember her name at some point.

She was tall; taller than you at least, with short brown hair around shoulder-length. She had gorgeous, shimmering brown eyes and a sharp nose too. Her skin was like porcelain; pale, and practically untouched. She was borderline flawless. Everyone you knew had a crush on her at some point. There was never a time where you didn’t hear Minhee’s name buzzing around the halls. She was pretty, and she was popular - everything you could want in a girl in high school.

And yet, with cold autumn breezes fading into the bitter frost of late October, Hyunjin had already devised a plan to ask Minhee out by the end of that semester. You loathed the idea wholeheartedly, never really trusting her even as she grew closer to not only Hyunjin, but to you as well. Although Minhee treated you kindly, you couldn’t help but be slightly wary of her.

He was going to take her to an ice skating rink, and then get them both coffee from her favorite shop nearby. “That’s the most important part,” he told you. You loved how observant and considerate he always was, picking up minor details that any other person would have deemed insignificant.

Hyunjin called you that night, preparing for his date with the girl. “My little baby is all grown up!” You laughed, sneering at your camera. What he wore wasn’t anything special, considering the bitter cold knocking outside your warm homes. But Hwang Hyunjin could make a potato sack look good, so it didn’t matter much. “Do I look okay?” He stressed, standing in front of his phone, looking at himself. He wore a black turtleneck with dark blue jeans, and a grey wool button down coat on top. His hair was its usual style; half of it tied into a loose ponytail with the rest of it resting above his shoulders. You stared at him for a moment, frowning. “What?” He asked, fear written all over his face. “Do I look ugly? Is the coat too much?” You couldn’t help but laugh at this, how he could even think for a moment that he, the one and only Hwang Hyunjin, could look ugly.

“I’m teasing you,” you said after calming your laughter. “You look amazing. Minhee’s gonna love it.” You smiled. “And regardless, its cold out! We can’t have our little baby getting sick!” You watched his face intently, his sweet eye-smile showing its way through the screen.

“Okay, I have to leave now.” Hyunjin announced, picking up his phone and holding it closer to his face. “I’ll tell you how it goes!”

“Have fun,” you smiled again, “Don’t get her pregnant!” You teased, before hanging up.

Hyunjin huffed, shoving his phone into his jacket before ushering himself out of his house and to the car. He flopped into the driver’s seat, typing the directions to his date’s home. He turned to look at himself in the rearview mirror once more, before shoving his keys into the ignition and driving down the street. It only took him a few wrong turns and a handful of short stops to reach her house. He smiled at the thought of being with her for such a long period of time. His phone buzzed once more, Minhee telling him that she was on her way. He smiled at his screen, quickly lifting his head to meet Minhee. She walked in an unbuttoned pink sweater over a white t-shirt with a rose bush on it, as well as light washed jeans and a pair of white boots. A pink beret sat neatly on top of her head, pulling the look together. Hyunjin exited the car quickly, meeting his date at the bottom of her stairs.

“You look wonderful,” he smiled down at her, guiding her to the opposite car door, opening it for her. She smiled, thanking him and sitting in the passenger’s seat. He joined her in the car, pulling out of the driveway and making their way down the street.

A few bruised butts and trips over the other person (and a few other skaters), their time spent at the ice skating rink was up. With shared laughter and light brushes of hands, they made their way into the dimly lit streets. Hyunjin’s body shivered, snowflakes finding their way into his hair as he sauntered down the street. “It’s so pretty like this,” Minhee spoke, her warm breath escaping her mouth and floating away with the wind. Hyunjin nodded, a smile forming on his face as he watched her. His gentle footsteps began to taper, leading him to a complete stop before he took out his phone. He pointed it towards his date, snapping a few photos of her admiring the setting. Hyunjin brought his phone down again, studying the photos he took with a small grin forming on his lips. “Hey!” Hyunjin’s head shot up, his eyes meeting a very upset Minhee. She jogged over to him with a playful smile on her face, a tinge of pink at the end of her nose from the bitter frost surrounding them. “You were just gonna leave me walking like that?” She laughed, peering over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. Her face softened, studying the candids he took of her. Hyunjin lifted his eyes slowly, drinking in Minhee’s features. He never noticed the light dusting of freckles across the apples of her cheeks, or the small beauty mark on the tip of her nose. He could feel his face heating up, the realization of the proximity of their faces finally processing. He swore his heart would’ve bursted out of his chest if it weren’t for his ribcage shielding it. “Its so cold, let’s find that coffee shop, yeah?” Hyunjin smiled, praying his voice wouldn’t falter. He began walking again, slipping his phone into his back pocket and wrapping his opposite arm around Minhee’s significantly smaller shoulders.

Minhee let out a small huff, with a cloud of steam following it as they continued walking to the coffee shop in the distance.

Hyunjin rubbed his arms vigorously, following Minhee inside. A small bell chimed, notifying the worker at the register that more customers had come in. The cashier’s head lifted above the pastry glass, a soft smile forming as the couple approached it. “Can I have a small iced americano please?” He asked, taking a step back for Minhee to see the menu, looking around. “And can I have a small matcha latte with steamed milk please?” The cashier nodded, typing in their order. Hyunjin payed for their drinks, and walked over to where Minhee sat. The walls were a soft pink, complimented by streaks of brown and white. Hyunjin watched Minhee, as she stared at the gentle white flakes whirling in the wind.

“Are you enjoying yourself at least? I hope I’m not boring you!” A sheepish smile crept onto his face. “Of course I am,” she replied, smiling directly at him. “I’m with you.” Hyunjin could feel a gentle blush crawl up his neck and onto his face. “I-I think they just called our drinks,” he said quickly, “I’ll go get them.”

Only a few hours later, you could’ve sworn someone died. Your phone was vibrating non-stop, interrupting the show you were watching. You snatched it off of your nightstand, staring at the screen for a moment. You tapped on one of the notifications, opening the continuous messages flooding your screen.

Hyunjin was telling you all about how he and Minhee were a couple now.

His excitement made you unbelievably happy. You smiled, typing a just as enthusiastic reply.

A small, melancholic smile crept onto your face.

But you knew how badly your best friend wanted this.

Just about a year had passed, and the familiar white snow was coating the ground once again. A cold shiver went down your spine as Hyunjin approached you in the bustling hallway. “Christmas is soon, what do you think I should get Minhee?” He asked you, slinging his arm around your shoulder. He was so warm. You still didn’t trust her much, but you learned to endure it. It was probably just petty drama from the year before. “Why don’t you get her some sexy lingerie? We all know you’ll get a rise out of it,” you nudged at him, snickering. You watched the way his eyes went wide, and a bright pink hue brushed across his face. The laughter bubbling in your throat only increased at his reaction. “..you’re not wrong,” he half agreed with you once your laughter calmed down a little bit. “But seriously, has she mentioned anything she’s wanted to see or something recently?” You asked, making swift strides with the boy still at your side. You and Hyunjin had made an agreement ages ago, to not get gifts for each other for Christmas, since the other always managed to get to it before it was actually time to gift them. “Actually, there was! She posted a ring she really wanted on her Instagram,” he recalled. “Isn’t it super expensive though?” You cringed, thinking of the price. It was pure diamond, nearly $1,000. Hyunjin shrugged. “It’s for Minhee though,” he reminded. He knew he could afford it. “I swear, im gonna marry her someday. I love her so much.” He was grinning like an idiot in love, which wasn’t too far off from the truth. A moment of silence passed before you spoke again. “If you’re willing to spend that much, then do it! I think she’ll love it,” you replied. He smiled at you, but more gently. There was a look of gratitude behind it. “Thank you,” he said. “For helping me.” You could hear the way his sincerity practically oozed from the way he spoke. Your heart squeezed at his words.

Hyunjin invited you back to his house after school, where you chased his chihuahua Kkami around the house for about an hour before flopping yourself onto his bed in exhaustion. Kkami followed you soon after, placing himself at the foot of his owner’s large bed. Hyunjin was sat comfortably next to you, unbothered by your stray limbs sprawled out around him. He was scrolling through the website that sold the ring Minhee wanted. “You’re really gonna buy it?” You leaned over him, looking at his screen. he shifted his position for what felt like the umpteenth time in the past five minutes. You couldn’t tell if it was from stress, or your palms digging into the mattress right next to him. “I want to, I’m just scared that she won’t like it,” he stressed, turning to you, who was now comfortably curled at his side. “Hyun, she literally said she wanted it,” you rolled your eyes at his doubt. Hyunjin smiled at the newfound nickname you’d given to him. “There’s nothing to worry about. She’s gonna love it.” He sat there, staring at his screen in thought for a few moments. Suddenly, his arms flung in the air. “Okay, I’ll buy it!” He declared loudly. Kkami’s head flew up, glaring at you and Hyunjin. “Sorry Kkami,” he reached over, patting the dog’s head to ease his poor nerves. He huffed, readjusting his position and facing away from the two of you, falling asleep as quickly as he sat up.

You were on your way to class when you heard an all too familiar voice behind you. Your head whipped around, searching the sea of people for the jogging boy’s face. He hopped his way up to you, ending with a dramatic huff and pose with his hair falling in his face. You smiled as you continued your walk to your upcoming class. The blonde brought his hand up to rake his fingers through his hair before speaking.

“Are you going to Sana’s party tonight?” He asked, watching people pass your figures as you sauntered down the hall. “Only if you will,” you shrugged, not caring much for parties unless you had familiar company. “Okay! I’ll pick you up tonight and we’ll go together, deal?” He clapped his hands together, like a child opening gifts on their birthday. “What about Minhee? Is she coming?” His head perked up at the sound of his girlfriend’s name. “She said she’d meet me there,” he stopped moving, reaching the door of your class. You gave him a confused look, waiting for him to continue. “She’s getting ready with Ryujin and Mina.” Your lips formed an o shape, nodding your head slowly in acknowledgment.

The end of your day went by smoothly. you huffed, dumping your remaining supplies into your locker, considering they’d be deemed useless during your winter break. Hyunjin greeted you right on time in front of your locker, leaning against the one next to it, watching you closely. You slammed your locker closed and slung your backpack over your shoulder before making your way out of the school with your gorgeous friend behind you. “What are you wearing?” He asked, pulling his car keys from his pocket. “To the party I mean,” he corrected himself. “I figured you meant that,” you said turning to him, plopping yourself into the passenger’s seat. “But I don’t know yet.” You sat for a moment thinking over your options. “I might just go in a sweater and some pants.” You shrugged. You were never really a party person anyway, nor did you really care enough to make yourself look over-the-top gorgeous for people you didn’t know. It’s not like you had that kind of attire anyway.

You decided on something simple to wear. It was a Christmas party after all. Downstairs, you could hear your front door close. 
“Y/N! I’m here!” Hyunjin called from the bottom of your stairs. You gave yourself one last look-over and decided you were ready for the party. You were greeted by Hyunjin’s lean figure at the door as you came down the stairs - looking flawless, as always. He smiled at the sight of you. “Ready?” He asked, grabbing the keys from his pocket. You nodded quietly, the two of you exiting your house together.

On your ride there, you could only think about how lucky you got with your friend. He was gorgeous, and unbelievably kind.

So why did he take such an interest in you?

The drive was short, only about five or ten minutes. You probably could’ve walked, but it was far too cold to go in what you were wearing. Different colored lights could be seen through the house’s windows, shining onto the lawn occasionally. It was huge. As you and your friend walked closer to the party, you could hear the buzz of conversations and music from inside. There were a few people littered in the yard, speaking quietly to one another.

Hyunjin swung open the front door, the smell of booze and people hitting your face like a train. It was so strong.

People greeted you and Hyunjin kindly, giving smiles and hugs. You didn’t know a lot of people there, but you at least knew the host.

The house was a maze, so you decided to take a seat on one of the empty chairs in the living room and scan the room. Most people were dancing, some were already blacked out. You grimaced, turning away. The party only started a few hours ago.

“Hey Y/N!” a girl’s voice broke through your thoughts. It was Sana. She smiled at you, pulling a chair closer to you. “How are you?” You asked, rather loudly. It was hard to hear your own thoughts when the music was so loud. “I’m pretty good, are you liking the party so far?” She shouted back. Your loud conversation continued for a while, until someone called Sana away. She smiled at you, disappearing into the crowd. More people came and went, making small talk with you before walking away again. Is this what parties are like?

You let out a sigh of near boredom. With a huff, you stood up.

You tried to make your way through the sea of people to the kitchen, where very few people lingered around the white marble counter. The music was quieter in here, easier to talk to people that way. There was a huge bowl of red liquid in the middle - presumably punch - and it reeked of alcohol.

You’re at a party, might as well get a little tipsy, right?

You reached for the stack of red cups and poured yourself a cup. Pieces of strawberries and cherries floated on the surface.

You recognized some of the people in the kitchen, looking around as you took a swig from your cup.

One of them was Hyunjin’s friend, Jisung.

“Hey Ji! How are you?” You smiled, walking over to him. He was talking with Changbin - another one of Hyunjin’s friends as well. His eyes lit up when he saw you.

“Y/N! Its been so long! It’s great to see you.” He said, wrapping you in a tight hug. 
“Hey, Y/N,” changbin smiled, watching you being crushed by jisung. when he let you go, you tried to catch your breath. Jisung doesn’t know how strong he is. “Jesus, you’ve gotten so much stronger since I last saw you.” you smiled, looking at his insanely large arms. “I’ve missed you guys so much!” You said, hugging changbin. The leather of his jacket made you shiver.

“Did you just get here?” Changbin asked, trying to make conversation.

“Yeah, a little while ago. I haven’t really seen anyone I know, so im glad I ran into you guys.” You smiled sheepishly. “Is everyone else here?” You were referring to the rest of their shared friend group. Changbin nodded, taking a sip from the can he held in his hand.

“Did you show up with Hyunjin?” Jisung started. You nodded, wondering about where the boy had run off to. You were only there for about an hour or two, and you’d only seen him when you entered together. “Yeah, im surprised minhee wasn’t insisting that they get ready together.” You tried to suppress your eyes rolling in annoyance.

“Maybe she wanted to surprise him with her outfit, girls do that, don’t they?” Jisung shrugged. “I guess, maybe im thinking too much into it.” Jisung and changbin nodded in agreement. “It was great seeing you guys, i’ll see you later,” you smiled, walking back into the sea of bodies.

More dancing. More booze. More laughter.

You finally ran into Hyunjin, after seeing him once since you arrived at the party. He said he’d been looking for Minhee. You didn’t know what she was wearing, making it harder to spot her in the house of people. you promised him you’d look for her. He frowned at your response, turning away to continue searching.

Many hours into the night, you found yourself a bit buzzed, mixing into conversations like it was nothing. You found yourself with Minho and Seungmin discussing who the hottest people at the party were.

You were way too drunk for this.

You reached for your phone, but its battery was dead. Of course.

You stood up, walking into the kitchen to find someone to take you home. minho called for you once, but gave up quickly. Luckily, chan was propped against the sink, staring at his phone.

“Can you take me home? Im really drunk.” Your words came out in one string of sounds. You were barely coherent. He looked at you with soft eyes. He nodded, wrapping an arm around you to keep you upright. “Where’s Hyunjin?” He asked, looking around. 
“my phone is dead, I don’t know.” You mumbled.

As you walked, you looked around the living room again, seeing at everyone. So happy. So carefree. Your eyes lazily scanned some faces until you finally caught a glimpse of an all too familiar one.

Minhee, in her champagne dress, giggling away. She was making her way to the stairs, sneaking away from the rest of the party.

“Wait…” you said, looking at the scene. Something wasn’t right, but you couldn’t figure out what exactly.

Chan swung open the front door, the frosty air hitting your body immediately. Goosebumps covered every inch of your skin. By the time you were in his car, your whole body was shaking from the cold.

“Here,” he said, reaching into the back seat. He draped a hoodie over your shivering body, hoping to warm you up. you smiled at his attentiveness. “Sorry it’s not much. You’ll be home soon.”

You thanked him in a whisper as he pulled onto the street.

You don’t remember much else from the night.

Hyunjin let out a sigh, closing his bedroom door and kicking his shoes off. He never found Minhee at the party. He texted her numerous times throughout the night, but all of them were left unanswered.

He was shocked when he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. It was minhee.

“Hey,” he answered urgently, worried sick about her. “Where were you all night? Why didn’t you say anything?” He spoke again.

He was met with a sigh, and Minhee’s beautiful voice.

“Hyunie babe, can we talk?” Her voice sounding so sweet and kind. “I’m not doing this with you anymore. Can’t stand you, actually.” She sighed.

“What?” hyunjin’s voice was small and weak.

“Oh, how naive you are. You really couldn’t tell? Hyunjin, you mean nothing to me.” She smirked into the phone, her words spilled through it like poison. “But thanks for the sex and all the cash, I guess. this’ll be the last time I talk to you. So bye! Oh, and delete my number too-” The phone call ended with a click. He couldn’t listen to another word from her. he could feel a lump gather in his throat, and his eyes burn quickly.

Soon after, almost immediately, a video appeared in their messages. It was short, but more than long enough for him to realize what was happening. He heard her moaning - screaming even - another guy’s name. He could see her face so clearly.

He covered his mouth, trying so desperately to suppress his sobs. How could someone he loved so much do such an awful thing to him? Did he deserve it?

You awoke with a start, your phone buzzing incessantly on your pillow. Chan plugged it in for you when he took you home.

Not bothering to look at who was calling, you brought the phone to your ear, mumbling a lazy “hello” into it.

You were met with sniffling and choked sobs. The voice was familiar. Too familiar.

“Hyune?” You asked, sitting up. “Hyunjin, is that you?”

You were met with more sobs before a response. “Minhee..” He spoke, his voice shaking. You didn’t say anything, hoping he’d say more.

Then the four words that felt like poison filled your ears.

“She cheated on me.”

That’s when you remembered part of the party. When you were leaving, you saw Minhee going up the stairs. Is that what this was about?

“Hyunjin, I’m so sorry. That’s horrible. Should I come over?” Your words were laced with pity. Hyunjin didn’t answer. more sobs.

Without another thought, you slipped on a pair of shoes, and left the house. Hyunjin only lived up the block from you.

“Im coming, hyune,” you said promptly, throwing your phone in the passenger seat of your car. You turned the key and pulled out of the driveway with one swift move. Within a minute you were at his front door. the driveway was vacant, besides his black car in the back.

By this point, your phone was off and he wasn’t on the other end of the line.

You tried the door without thinking, knowing his house too well. It was locked. A pang of fear struck though your body. That wasn’t like him.

Being at his house constantly, you knew where the spare key was and snatched it from its hiding spot. You flung the door open, running through his house to find him.

“Hyunjin?” You called out loudly, your voice bouncing off the quiet walls.

You could hear his faint sobs across the house. “Hyunjin!” You yelled, running to his room.

He was screaming.

Not crying.

Actually screaming.

You opened the door gently, trying not to startle him. the lights were off and he was sat between his bed and the wall, curled into himself. your heart shattered at the sight.

“Hyune..” You started gently, walking over to his corner. He was still in his clothes from the party, just.. more disheveled. You sat down next to him while he held his head in his hands. he refused to look at you.

“Hyunjin,” you placed your hand on his back, rubbing slow, gentle circles into the fabric.

“What did I do wrong?” He sobbed, gripping his hair at the root. It looked like he was going to rip chunks out. You could feel his shoulders tremble with every sob that ripped itself from his lungs. The sobs turned into loud, labored gasps. He was spiraling.

“Hey, hey, look at me hyune.” You said, grabbing his hands gently. His glossy bloodshot eyes finally met yours.

“Breathe with me,” you said, taking in slow, deep breaths, trying to convince Hyunjin to follow. Eventually his breathing slowed and his sobs were reduced to quiet sniffles.

“what happened..? Can you tell me?” You spoke gently. He didn’t respond. He stared at you for a moment, before handing you his phone with a sigh. The screen displayed the final messages between him and Minhee. There, a video waited. You played it, and stopped it immediately. It was a sextape. You didn’t need to listen very long to know.

You were disgusted. How could she do something like that? Especially to someone like Hyunjin?

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hyun. She didn’t deserve you.”

“No.. I just..I loved her so much.. why?” He choked, voice hoarse from screaming.

“It’s okay. I know it sucks right now, but things are going to get better. It’s you and me against the world, remember?” you smiled at him.

He sighed and shook his head. “No.”

You were shocked. “What do you mean?” concern laced your words.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with this…im sorry, Y/N.” He whispered, his voice unwavering.

“No, Hyunjin. I’ve been here since the start. I want to take care of you. I’m here for you.” You grabbed his hand tightly.

“It’s pointless, Y/N.”

“Not to me, Hyunjin. Not if it’s you.” Your hand made its way up his frame, playing with strands of blonde at the nape of his neck. “I’m on your side.” tears burned his eyes yet again, silently marking their trails on his cheeks. It was quiet for a moment.

“Promise?” He turned to look at you, breaking the silence. You stared at him for a moment, taking in his pure beauty. Even after crying for hours, he still looks just as perfect. Even with his puffy, disheveled hair and haphazard shirt, he was beautiful all the same.

“Of course I promise,” you smiled, hugging him tightly.

You stood up, holding out a hand to help him up. He looked at your hand and then up at you, and grabbed it tight.

“How about we just hang out for a little while? i can even start a shower for you.” You offered, brushing yourself off. he shook his head, declining the offer.

“I don’t have the energy to shower.” He said blandly, making the exhaustion evident in his voice. he slumped onto his bed, letting out a sigh.

“How about you change out of that and we watch a movie, hmm?” You looked at him. His eyes were closed as his body was sprawled out on the bed. For the first time in hours, he finally looked at peace. You walked over to his desk, covered in old sketches and poems, flicking on the lamp and watching it illuminate the room. you couldn’t help but see a familiar face sketched out in black and white on a crumpled sheet of paper. It was you. You could feel the undeniable heat creep up your neck and ears, and your heat beat just a little bit faster.

Your focus was back on Hyunjin, watching the light bounce off of his face. He was so perfect.

Now you too, were sat on the bed. You lifted his head gently to remove the hair tie holding half of the blonde heap together. Hyunjin groaned, reaching his hands up to scratch his scalp. He sat up after a moment, walking towards his dresser. He slipped off his button-down shirt and dress pants and swapped them for a t-shirt and a pair of sweats.

You were already under the blankets, preparing a movie for the both of you when he switched off the light. He joined you under the covers, just like he would have when you were little.

“We used to do this all the time,” you laughed, rolling on to your side.

“I remember,” he smiled. “My mom used to come up here and tell us to be quiet.”

Silence fell between you two for a while, your focus trained on the movie.

“It feels good to have you here, Y/N.” hyunjin broke the silence, staring at you.

You had propped your head up on your hand at this point, locking eyes with the boy in front of you.

“Im glad to be here. I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else but right here.” You spoke, genuine and sweet. He smiled, and turned back to the movie. You didn’t stop staring. He looked like he was carved out of stone by the gods. He was absolutely perfect.

“You are so beautiful, Hyunjin.” You spoke, so softly you weren’t sure he would hear you.

“So are you, Y/N.” He was now on his side, staring back at you. A blush crept its way on to your face once again, but under the blanket of darkness, he couldn’t tell. You moved your body closer to him, so you could lay on his chest. He welcomed your warmth and let you settle in before relaxing himself.

“You know I love you, right Hyunjin?” You looked up into his eyes from his chest. “More than anything.”

“I love you too, Y/N.” He whispered into your hairline. He left a gentle kiss at the crown of your head and began to play with loose strands of your hair.

“I’ll always be on your side.” You whispered to him, but he had already fallen fast asleep with you on his chest. 
This was peace. Not just for you, but for Hyunjin too.

This was real love.

You were real love.

And that’s all he needed.