#god i hate and love purchasing items and products

[confinesofmy]

i'm for real about to spend $50 on microwave cookware... i'm becoming my grandmother

[neewtmas]

Could I request a Lockwood and sibling reader fic? Where reader and Lockwood have a massive argument and are ignoring one another until they go on a mission and reader gets injured and Lockwood instantly feels guilty? Like a nice mix of angst and fluff honestly.

Sibling Squabble

That is such a lovely idea, thank you so much for the request <333 also no idea if the title makes sense, but I really like the word squabble

pairing: anthony lockwood x sibling!reader (technically gn)

wordcount: 2.3k

tagging: @maraschinomerry (let me know if anyone else wants to get tagged :)

masterlist

Lockwood was pacing up and down in the living room, face red with anger. You knew you looked the same as you stood by the door, hands clenched to fists by your side. You'd been arguing for the past ten minutes about a case you'd gone on alone last night.

"Y/N, god knows what could have happened to you! How can you be so irresponsible and stupid to go there alone? With no backup? No one to step in when the whole thing goes wrong?"

You were so angry at him, it took everything in you to not just storm out and slam the door in his face. "Oh, okay! So when Lucy does it, she's oh so skilled and a great addition to the agency and you trip over yourself to tell her so and if I do it, it's irresponsible and stupid?!"

Lockwood's face got redder if that was even possible. "Leave her out of it! This is not about her!" You glared at him. "Yeah? Well, I couldn't care less! If you think I'm so useless, just see how you can run your stupid agency without me!" You whirled around, and slammed the door behind you, satisfied with how the sound echoed through the entire house. You knew how much Lockwood hated it when you did that. For the rest of the day, you locked yourself in your room. Lockwood did not try to talk to you.

Usually, preparations for a case were times of chipper productivity in 35 Portland Row. Lockwood would be out purchasing items such as salt bombs and flares that you were running low on, George was in a library somewhere gathering information about the ghost you were about to eliminate, and you and Lucy would be the ones polishing rapiers and stocking up everyone's belts. But today, the atmosphere was tense. At breakfast, you had ignored each other completely. Neither George nor Lucy had to ask what was wrong, your yelling and screaming the evening before had been enough.

Around midday, Lockwood had left without saying anything, and you could tell Lucy was uncomfortable with the situation. You couldn't blame her for wanting to not pick sides in this fight, but you also knew Lockwood was sulky because she hadn't picked his side immediately like she usually did if he had a quarrel with George about something entirely irrelevant.

The two of you sat in the kitchen, surrounded by all sorts of supplies. You hadn't talked much throughout the afternoon. "Do you plan on apologizing?", Lucy broke the silence. "Not that I think you have to", she added quickly as she saw your expression. "I just - I mean, one of you has to, right?" "It should be him. He's the one who called me incompetent." Lucy sighed. "You know he's just trying to look out for you." "Yeah well, I can look out for myself." You shrugged. "I don't want to be babied." You could tell that she wanted to say something but decided against it. You also knew she was right, your brother just wanted to look out for you, but you did not appreciate how he was doing it.

Dinner that evening was weird. After George had laid out everything he found out about the case for tonight, he and Lucy had attempted to get some sort of conversation going. After neither Lockwood nor you participated, they gave up and the rest of the meal was spent in an uncomfortable silence. You could feel Lockwood looking over at you several times, but you pretended not to notice it.

After dinner, you got ready and then loaded your duffel bags into the cab that was waiting in front of the house. The location of tonight's case was an old house that had been vacant for a few months after the old homeowner died. Kids in the neighbourhood had noticed some activities in the house after dark, moving shapes and other light, even though technically the house had undergone the mandatory cleaning by DEPRAC. According to George, the only recorded incident of someone's death in the house was a little child a few decades back. Official records listed a lung infection as the cause of death, but George had also found several short articles and opinion pieces in local papers that indicated that some people had doubts about this.

After you had set up your camp in the kitchen, you all sat around the table for one last review of the information George had gathered. The floorplan of the house was simple enough, three rooms on the ground floor, and those same three rooms on the floor above. Lockwood glanced at his watch. "Almost seven", he said. "High time we get on with it. George and I will take a look around down here." He looked over to Lucy as if you weren't even in the room, and she seemed to understand what he wanted. "We'll go upstairs then," she said.

The wooden steps of the staircase creaked ominously as the two of you slowly moved upstairs. As usual, Lucy had her hand on the bannister, but she didn't seem to get any supernatural activity yet. You didn't bother, as your talent wasn't listening. Rather, you had an excellent sight and could also see death glows, just not as strong as Lockwood. The first room you checked was the one above the kitchen. The temperature was the same as the reading you took downstairs, and the room seemed entirely un-supernatural. Neither of you could hear or see anything, so you moved to the second room. This time, you could still not see anything, but it was noticeably colder. A glance at the thermometer showed a three-degree drop.

Lucy moved around the room, brushing her fingers over the wallpaper, over the gigantic dresser in one of the corners, but when she returned to you, she shook her head. "I'm getting absolutely nothing", she said. "It's just really cold in here. And I think I can feel some miasma building." You could feel it too, so you offered her a gum and took one for yourself before you moved on to the third and final room. For a moment, you listened for any sign of Lockwood and George downstairs, but they seemed to be fine.

Lucy slowly pushed down the handle and nudged the door open with her foot. The room was mostly dark, besides a square of moonlight on the wooden floor that shined through a window. A big bed stood on one side, with a closet, similarly as huge as the dresser in the other room, opposite it. The air that hit your face was almost freezing. Without saying a word, you and Lucy pulled out your rapiers simultaneously, before you stepped over the threshold. "Now we know why the other room was so cold", whispered Lucy, her breath small puffs of white. You zipped up your jacket as you looked at your thermometer - another five degrees less. That was a dramatic drop. Maybe this job was not as easy as it had sounded on paper. "Should we get Lockwood and George?" she asked quietly, as she began the same procedure of skimming over the walls. You thought for a moment but then shook your head no. You didn't want to have Lockwood here right now. Negative emotions around a ghost were never a good idea, and right now that described your attitude towards your brother pretty well. Instead, you focused on the room before you.

Your eyes wandered along the walls, over the old wallpaper that had started to peel off at several spots. Over the bed, that was not made, and looked like someone might crawl back into it at any second, over to the wooden closet. That's when you saw it. Lucy was bent over the bed, feeling the blanket and the bed posts, when suddenly, an arm reached slowly through the closet door, grabbing after her. The arm was small, like a child's, and you yelled for Lucy to turn around. She acted quickly, swatting the apparition away with her rapier and hurried back to the corner you were at. "It must be the child George talked about," you told Lucy, trying to keep your voice level. "You think the source is in the closet?" she asked. "Didn't George say the child was buried?" "I mean, it doesn't have to be the corpse, right?"

Lucy didn't reply, and for a moment, everything was unnaturally silent. So silent that you could hear your blood rush through your body. But that was short-lived. The staircase creaked, and seconds later George and Lockwood appeared in the doorframe. "Downstairs is nothing", George declared and you motioned him to be quiet. "Yes, that's because it's up here", you hissed, pointing your rapier at the closet. "Lucy almost got touched just now." Lockwood was quick to be by her side, checking on her. "Are you okay Luce?" You rolled your eyes. "So what's the plan?" George asked from behind. "We lay out some chains, wait until it comes out, three distract it, one secures the source that must be in the closet" you suggested, and no one seemed to have any issues with your plan. George made a chain circle in the corner of the room furthest away from the closet, while the rest of you waited with raised rapiers.

It took a while, but as the time moved closer to midnight, the air in the room got even chillier and wisps of green other light began to gather in the corners. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the small hand you had seen earlier emerged through the door of the closet, but this time the rest followed. It was a little boy, no older than five, with unruly hair and clothes that were too big for him. He looked almost like a real person if it weren't for the otherworldly glow. His expression was sad as he floated towards you slowly. Lockwood gave the sign and he and Lucy stepped over the chain towards the bed. The little ghostboy immediately changed direction and you slipped out of the circle and rushed over to the closet. You ripped the door open and were surprised to find it stuffed full of clothes. You had no idea what you were searching for, so you just started tearing at the piles of clothes, throwing them on the floor behind you. "You must be close!" Lucy called, and you could hear the familiar sizzling of plasma against a rapier blade. "He's getting angry!"

You knew your time was limited, and Lucy and Lockwood could only distract the ghost for so long, so you pulled out another pile. Behind it, in the corner, on some crumpled-up shirts sat a teddy bear. It was covered in spiderwebs, one of the button eyes had fallen off and it looked to be in a rather bad condition, but you knew at once that this must be the source you were searching for. "I got it!" Frantically, you tried to remove the silver net that was attached to your belt.

"Y/N! Careful!" You whirled around at the panic in Lucy's voice and were face to face with the little ghost boy that was barreling towards you. Time slowed down as you watched Lockwood throw himself over the bed, rapier raised high. You stumbled back in shock, with no control over your body as Lockwood's rapier cut through the shape of the ghost and it disappeared in a rain of plasma. Next thing you knew, you felt a sharp pain in your left upper arm and your knees gave out under you, the pain and shock too much for you. Lockwood cursed and threw away his rapier, dropping down next to you. "Shit Y/N, are you okay?!"

You nodded weakly. Your left arm was burning, and as you glanced over, you could see your jacket and shirt were cut open, revealing a nasty gash that was bleeding pretty heavily. Lockwood kept cursing under his breath as he helped you up. "I'm so sorry, Y/N, I didn't mean to -" "It's okay." "No, it's not." Lockwood looked at you, eyes wide and paler than you'd ever seen him. "This could have ended so much worse. Shit, I could have killed you!" The wound on your arm throbbed. "Lockwood, it's just a cut. One bandage and it's gonna be fine. Besides, you saved me from being ghost-touched." He didn't seem convinced. "Nice to see you're talking to each other again, but I think we should go before Y/N bleeds all over the floor." George held up the teddy bear, wrapped in a silver net. "I've got the source, the case is completed. Let's get out of here."

Downstairs in the kitchen, Lockwood insisted on constructing a make-shift bandage out of a kitchen cloth Lucy found in one of the drawers, then you packed up your stuff and headed back to Portland Row.

"Sit down on the chair." Lockwood had dropped his duffle bag at the door and was already rummaging through the drawers in the kitchen. You sat down, and Lucy helped you out of your jacket. Lockwood came back to the table with a first aid kit and a bowl of warm water with a piece of cloth, with which he started cleaning up the cut on your arm. "Forget everything I said yesterday, okay? You're not stupid. It's just that I don't want to see you get hurt." He started to wrap the bandage. "It's okay Lockwood. I guess you were maybe, possibly, a little tiny bit right when you said it was irresponsible to go out on a case alone." He raised his eyebrows. "Maybe, possibly, a little tiny bit?" You chuckled at him. "Absolutely. Don't think you won this fight."

thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated :)

[yeojaa]

( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag.  You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.  

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash.  You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  idiots to lovers.  fluff, angst, smut.  the holy trifecta, babies!  explicit, obviously.  

tags / warnings.  mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc.  12.2k of nonsense.  pure nonsense, i tells ya. 

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow​ dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her.  i love you both sm!!!  ✨💜

author note.  the long-awaited fic is here!!  i really hope you enjoy it.  if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something?  i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot.  anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you!  stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker.  That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him.  It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard. 

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove.  Sometimes, she’s by herself;  often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste.  They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique.  Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be.  You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit. 

“He has no idea.”  It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts.  “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder.  How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair?  It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie. 

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”.  Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else.  Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention.  Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him.  Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face. 

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,”  she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does.  She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough.  Zero tact, though.  Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble.  You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested.  “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags.  (God, what awful taste.)  There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best.  (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction.  You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place.  Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on.  When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes.  He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW.  Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress  is.  

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect.  It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.  

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?”  He upspeaks.  It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first.  A silent ‘yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect.  “What’s the item and the name it’s under?”  You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine.  Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” 

You’re floored.  This is Jeon Jungkook?  This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger?  You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face.  It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers.  “I’ll grab it!  The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly.  He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends.  He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance.  It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears.  There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.  

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend?  I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.”  Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off.  “She said she was leaving on Friday.”  Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made.  “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall.  You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.  

You do feel bad.  Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this.  For hurting this stranger.  (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”  Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality.  He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip.  He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet. 

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off.  Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in.  (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.)  As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth.  “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend.  Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid.  Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours.  Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say.  Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation.  “Oh, maybe.  I’m sorry.”  The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t.  That’s a thing, right?  Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?  

God, you’re an altruist. 

“It’s fine.”  When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not.  You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word.  (You won’t.)

“Here it is!”  Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands.  If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing.  You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand.  He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying.  You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.  

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found.  Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start.  Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,”  you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands.  It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card.  The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently.  You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder.  It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum.  (You either, but still.) 

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers.  “What?”

“You know— that!”  She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago.  “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,”  you correct. 

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response.  There it is. 

“What?”  There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable. 

“What?”  It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery.  You can read every emotion that runs through her expression:  shock, displeasure, confusion.  

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth.  (She really does remind you of your little sister.)  “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder.  You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now.  There was no way he didn’t. 

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts.  That’s all.”  You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done.  You’d want to know if you were him.  Consider it an act of goodwill. 

The silence that meets your ears isn’t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind.  What’s done is done.  Now he knows, or something close to it.  The chips would simply fall where they were meant to. 

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him. 

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift.  She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway.  Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding.  It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship. 

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening. 

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter.  “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression.  “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.”  You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person.  Sensible. 

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.  

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front.  You suppose it’s your responsibility now.  You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell. 

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker.  “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”  

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?”  Upspeaking again. How cute. 

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.”  You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter.  “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“  It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable.  “Thanks.  I didn’t even notice.  Um, I can come pick it up today?”  There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back.  “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out.  He truly was a sucker. 

“That’s fine.  We’re open until six tonight.”  

“I’ll be there before dinner.”  As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough.  “Before six, I mean.  Um, is around five-thirty okay?” 

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation.  Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation.  “Of course.  We’ll see you then.” 

He hangs up immediately. 

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last.  It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest.  You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon.  You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday.  Somehow, you like it more.  The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair.  It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person.  (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him.  Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.  

“O-oh.  It’s you.”  The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified.  “I m-mean, just—”  He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again.  “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.”  Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.  

“That’s right,”  you say evenly, expression neutral.  It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.  

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary.  Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room.  You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.  

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?”  He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store.  You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.  

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again.  He makes the same trip twice more.  “Can I have it?”  To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed.  He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress.  Good job, you think.

“Of course.”  You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter.  Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip.  You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything.  (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment.  Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides.  It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended.  Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact.  “May I have it, please?” 

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand.  You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable.  Is he going to say thank you?  Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems.  “Why did you do it?”  There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?”  You know what he means.  You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?”  Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you.  You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him;  it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side.  For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies.  It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his.  “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?” 

“What do you mean?”  

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror.  He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.  

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head.  It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.  

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.  

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin.  (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes.  Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.”  For once, he doesn’t sutter.  The lisp doesn’t present itself, either.  Was this the same Jungkook?  You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?”  He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name.  How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit?  It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?”  The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no.  You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly.  It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.  

“I mean like— talk talk.”  The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else.  His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.  

“Sure, we can talk talk.”  

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way.  “Are you asking me on a date?”  

“W-what?  No!”  Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears.  “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding.  Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance.  He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow.  Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.  

“So, what do you want to talk about?”  It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down.  His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving.  You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie.  It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall.  “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly.  “Huh?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  

“Um—”  He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence.  There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking.  “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out.  “You want to talk about… you?”  

“That sounds bad.”  The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.  

“It’s fine.  We’ll talk at dinner.”  

He nods.  You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy.  Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.  

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?”  He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden.  Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure.  (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.”  Everything here is incredible.  You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place.  His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel.  You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish. 

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections.  Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?”  You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.  

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute.  “So?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often.  As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper. 

“Oh.”  Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth.  He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle.  You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting.  He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected.  It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline.  “What?” 

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot.  You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip.  Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.”  It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you.  You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel.  Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you.  You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable.  A little different, sure, but altogether nice.  Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake.  You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water.  “You’re welcome, I guess.”  

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not.  His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does.  (Seriously, how big are his eyes?)  You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth.  Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?”  He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.  

“What?”  You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”  

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out.  It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent.  Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.”  Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.  

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare.  “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?”  The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.  

“That’s not my name.”  The bite disappears past his teeth.  You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook.  Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do.  Juvenile in a way but enticing in another.  You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,”  he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down.  (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.)  “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation.  He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations.  He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.  

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea.  Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,”  you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.”  He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact.  “You care about people.  You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone.  You want to do what’s right.  Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words.  Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.  

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey.  He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts.  He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up.  He decorates his apartment with the most random things:  limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates.  He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years.  All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on.  (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.)  He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his).  He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,”  he insists from behind his coffee cup.  

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”  

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh.  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable. 

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.”  It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap.  It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now.  He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had.  Youngin is good for him, though.  You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips.  When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone.  “Girls are scary.”

You laugh.  Cackle, really.  You can’t help it.  He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon.  He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak.  He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says.  (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary.  Death is scary.  Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.”  He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest.  From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture;  from him, it’s patient.  “Girls aren’t scary.  Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.” 

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”  

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good.  Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags.  Like he’s living life in greyscale. 

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze.  Instead, he laughs.  “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.”  You’re adamant, insistent.  He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft.  An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.  

You want to protect him, teach him to fly.  Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.  

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes.  He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it.  He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.  

“Fine,”  he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long.  It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused.  It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days.  You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.  

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse.  If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton.  He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew).  He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it.  (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?”  It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso.  It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm. 

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him.  He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for.  To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings.  “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.  

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is. 

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence?  (You wish you were joking.)  It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.  

“This one?”  He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face.  Medium-weight cashmere.  Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist.  It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,”  you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels.  “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law.  You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.”  He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.  

Your response is a shrug.  “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.”  You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates.  You know there’ll be something good on the menu.  

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist.  You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him.  Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink.  Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.  

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch.  That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other.  “Hey!  You’re leaving already?”  It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone.  It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes.  For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes.  “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.”  A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh?  Well, that’s certainly something new.  Good for him, you think. 

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.”  It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words.  “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her.  Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes).  Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date.  It’s a big deal. 

“Yeah—“  Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky.  “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother.  “Go get ‘em, tiger.”  

“I will,”  he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.  

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place.  It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look.  “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”  

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?  

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever).  It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you.  He’s going on a second date, after all.  Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant.  You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine.  Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine.  The two of you are friends.  You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come.  Baby boy was growing up. 

“Y’know.”  You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment.  It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?”  He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.  

You wiggle your hand dismissively.  “Second date and all that.”  

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on.  It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots.  “Just stick around.  I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him.  “Fine.  I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door.  “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,”  you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake.  It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook.  This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook:  Hey. from jeon jungkook:  I’m really sorry but I won’t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook:  If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook:  Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date.  It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing.  (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook:  i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops.  Of course.  He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions.  (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook:  it’s fine!  have fun! to jeon jungkook:  turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up.  Good, you think.  About time he finds someone nice.  You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.  

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact.  He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic. 

“I want you to meet her,”  he mumbles, like that makes it better.  As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?”  He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over.  (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.)  You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.”  But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is.  Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately.  “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that.  No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman.  It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set.  Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise.  It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch.  (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)  

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.”  His vague response speaks volumes.  The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery.  When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway.  “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!”  Of course.  It’s obvious.  She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that.  (He is.)  “I’m not coming to dinner.”  

“You’re already in the car,”  he reasons.  

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve.  Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.”  When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him.  Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal.  Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,”  he repeats, almost pleading.  You can’t look at him.  You won’t.  The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause. 

“Fine.”  You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off.  You’re not actually mad.  Just worried.  You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand.  It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person.  You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that.  Should, anyway.  You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.  

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it.  He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line.  (Truthfully, it’s your fault.  All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by.  You’ve got a reputation to uphold. 

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat?  How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer:  you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.  

“What’re you doing here?”  At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness.  Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really).  “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge.  It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired.  So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance.  He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin.  You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.  

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)  

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day.  “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,”  the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well.  Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,”  you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold.  You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else.  If you had to guess, it’s her perfume.  It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses.  You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.  

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter.  You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare.  “So?”

“W-what?”  

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning.  Something’s happened.  Must have.  There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?”  You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him.  He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.  

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression.  He’s stalling, you can tell.  You hate when he does this.  You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small.  “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced.  What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges.  You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual.  Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned.  (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.  

“So.”  You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves.  You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest.  He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs.  Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.”  The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said.  Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.  

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look.  It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?”  It explodes out, a question that demands an answer. 

He’s staring past your head, unblinking.  You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp.  “I c-couldn’t.  It was just…”  The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”  

“Just—”  There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot.  He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise.  He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket.  “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean?  Feel right?  

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete.  It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down.  Didn’t he understand that?  Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.  

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’”  You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window.  “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately.  He doesn’t. 

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” 

“You like her, right?”  

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out.  Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there.  “So, you like her.”  It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way;  you don’t mean it in any way but supportive.  You just want him to be happy.  “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”  

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer.  But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise.  Hope, maybe?  Fear?   

“What?”  You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight.  He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer.  (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”  

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest.  His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair.  He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer.  Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,”  he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.”  It’s cruel.  “You’re making a bad choice.  You’re into this girl.  Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements.  “I’m not dumb.”  There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask.  It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.  

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.  

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay.  Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question.  You can’t blame her.  You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.  

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.  

“What?”  It’s less snark, more sigh.  You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.  

“What’s going on with you?”  

“Nothing.”  

“Bullshit,”  she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter.  “You’ve been in a bad mood all week.  I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.”  She’s right, of course.  You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what.  “Did something happen?”  

You grit your teeth.  An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,”  she tries again, concerned.  

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!”  She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly.  “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough.  So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right.  It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload.  (Maybe it’d be helpful.  Probably.  But you’ve never found comfort in other people.  At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.”  Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on.  “It’s fine.  Really.”  You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile.  “I just need to get some sleep.”  And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.  

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action.  It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.”  You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater.  He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,”  he mutters, refusing to meet your stare.  At least, you think he’s refusing.  It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.  

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes.  It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away.  It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?”  You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated.  He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding.  “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.”  This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him.  He hums a noise but offers nothing further.  

This is how it’ll be then.  Fine.  If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go.  He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth.  “I—  I don’t—  I didn’t say that.” 

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.  

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now.  Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.  

“W-what?”

“Tell me.”  You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round.  “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters.  What have I got that she doesn’t?”  

“You’re serious?”  

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.  You think he might say no, outright refuse.  You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.  

“You’re funny.  You’re honest.  You speak your mind.”  You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people.  He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him.  “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t.  You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”  

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen.  As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.  

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.”  He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again.  “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”  

There’s something thick in your throat.  

“You make me want to try.”  He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it.  “Y-you make things not so scary.”  

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you.  He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself.  You make me laugh.”  He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.”  You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit.  Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.  

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs.  Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words.  They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism.  “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention.  “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here.  Just a chance.”  He’s got a peculiar look on his face.  “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?” 

All of a sudden, he’s close.  Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be.  There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down.  The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.  

“You kind of ruined my life.  I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense.  You’d ruined his life?  (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.)  You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.  

“I’m kidding.”  

It feels like whiplash.  You’ve created a monster.  

“But you do owe me, I think.  So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing.  He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams. 

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out.  He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed.  He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money.  He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.  

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him).  If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either.  Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge.  He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,”  he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you.  You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom.  “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff.  It’s adorable.  

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends.  You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head.  You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.  

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.  

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups.  Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.  

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together.  Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects.  Surely there’s more to this.  Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?”  You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.  

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”  

“A playsuit?”  You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in.  Would it even fit?  Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns.  “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected.  Or at least, you think it does.  If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim. 

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal.  He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,”  he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds.  The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs.  He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick.  “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.  

“Use your words, gorgeous.”  As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck.  He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”  

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob.  Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh.  He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be.  The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.  

“You like this, don’t you?”  His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy.  “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,”  you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts.  The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin.  Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.  

“Good girl.”  Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips.  You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall.  Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips.  “Such a good girl for me.  My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she?  Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard.  Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate.  It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest.  Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it.  Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear.  You know he’ll catch you.  “I want you.”  

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same.  Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.  

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm.  The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,”  he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer.  Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am.  I am.  I am,”  you chant, tears welling along your lash line.  They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.  

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you.  It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you. 

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much.  Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings​ @veronawrites​ @notmontae97​ @papillonsgf​ i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

[unfortunate-brat]

𝐀 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘

Header:  (x.)

Pairing: Thor x Latina!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Y/N’s celebrates a special birthday with Thor.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, mention of sex and a sex toy.

A/N: reupload from old blog

She adjusted her make up, adding just a hint of the products, Thor commented on how much Y/N would resemble a beautiful nymph. There was no need to decorate her face, so he says, a little can’t hurt though.

Once finished, she stands up to smooth out any creases from her yellow summer dress, the fabric breathable but also comfy. All the woman knew was that Thor had requested she dress comfortably. What the thunder god had planned, Y/N had no clue.

“ My little nymph, you shine brighter than the sun in the sky.” Thor can’t help but compliment his partner, she was truly too beautiful and the gods must have taken their time with her.

“ Thor,” She protests, heat creeping up to her cheeks as his palm cups Y/N’s face, lips pressing a soft kiss to her nose.

“ You will take my compliments Lady Y/N, there will be many tonight. I ask you do allow me to comment on how ethereal you look before me.” His touch was gentle for a big muscular man, she couldn’t help but met into his touch.

“ Well alright, but not too many.” Her finger pokes into his chest playfully as the god chuckled.

“ I can not promise such a request from you but I may do my best.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Best could never describe what the surprise had been, Y/N doesn’t think anything Thor had planned could fit under one single category. However, she could proudly state that the Lord of Thunder was a great listener.

For an entire year, he kept notes of everything she loved, from the nature untouched by human beings, to the ponds that decorated the landscape, little animals running around about freely without no outside help. The warm sun shining down making it a paradise on Earth, a perfect picnic for two with sweet treats and sandwiches.

There’s no denying the love he has for her, she can kiss those little worries and anxieties away. Thor was here to stay.

As they laid back on the blanket, gazing upon the stars in the early evening, Thor sits up for a moment to retrieve something from their picnic basket. Something she was not allowed to peek inside into, how dare he really? Though she did have a minor sweet tooth, that could be the case.

Thor pulls out a big box, how it fit she had no clue but perhaps it was some Asgardian magic. “ The night has just begun but I figured you may enjoy this present.” His usual confident demeanor turns into him starting to look at her sheepishly.

“ I enjoy everything you’ve given me Thor,” Y/N sits up, accepting the gift after a brief kiss. “ No need to get nervous.”

And yet Thor didn’t feel much better, this gift would surely take her breath away.

Slowly she unwraps the box to find another box inside, taking it apart though, her breathing stops for a moment. “ T-Thor,”

The thunder god was looking away, already ashamed but Natasha had stated she would enjoy it. Perhaps the woman didn’t know Y/N at all and Thor has likely offended her. The gift was strange, he didn’t understand but got the bloody thing anyways per Natasha’s insistence. “ If you wish I do the mortal thing of returning for the money used to purchase it back I can, I did not mean to offend you.”

Oh Y/N was far from offended, the woman was practically burning with shame. Had Thor really heard about this item from her conversation with the ladies? There is no way he found this on his own, no offense but Thor isn’t accustomed to mortal standards and procedures.

“ I…” How could she even formulate a sentence with this in her hands. “ I mean it’s a nice gift.”

“ You don’t like it.”

“ Well no, but, Thor,” Her eyes meet his, emotional and Y/N hates how she’s behaving. It’s just a fucking gift, there is no reason to be this jittery! “ Do you know what this is used for?”

“ I was informed it was a replica of my hammer, though some of the designing isn’t factual to the actual weapon. The handle—” Y/N puts a hand up, silencing his words.

“ Thor it’s a toy used for sex. You know to bring a woman or man pleasure, this end here,” She points to the handle part of the image printed onto the package. “ You coat this in lube and push it inside to stimulate an actual dick, thus getting an orgasm or two.”

Y/N watches his expression move from confusion, to disgust then a somewhat smug look to a now blushing appearance. “ I was not informed.”

“ I’m sure you weren’t, but I don’t want you to think I only enjoy our time together solely to have sex. It’s beyond that and whatever you heard from the ladies, this toy came about as a joke. I don’t actually want to fuck your hammer.” She did think it would be somewhat hot but that’s unsanitary, Thor’s sweat, the dirt and grime, it’s not made for being swallowed by a pussy.

“ Never, you’ve shown me much kindness Lady Y/N.” He takes her hand, kissing each knuckle sweetly as his lips trail up her bare arm and to her neck. Making her fall onto the blanket as their lips met as well.

His hand crept up her inner thigh, squeezing the soft flesh as she let out a small whimper. “ Thor,”

“ Allow me to make it up to you.”

“ There’s nothing to make up, it’s a harmless mistake.” She cups his cheek, her gaze full of love that made the thunder god know he was home.

As his father Odin once said, Asgard is not a place, it’s a people. Y/N is part of those people, Y/N was his home. “ What’s wrong?”

“ Nothing.” He’s quick to reply but that’s the truth. “ I only request we stop talking, otherwise we’ll be here all night. I rather spend the last few hours of your special day with your lips on mine.”

Biting down on her lip, Y/N throws her arms around Thor’s neck with a happy sigh. “ Then your wish is granted my King. Kisseth away.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

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[blueluneacy]

Soaps and Special Drinks

I wrote a giant melone x reader off a fantasy i had at work. enjoy

word count: 4k

warnings: delusional yandere, not sfw, breeding kink, stalking, public sex, aphrodisiacs, forced drugging, major dub con, does making someone uncomfy at work count? idk but its there

You didn’t hear her until she called your name for the third time, and when you did, you nearly fell over.

“Oh god, what happened, what did I miss, I wasn’t asleep, my eyes were open!” You yelled, leaving your manager to jump.

“(Y/n), it’s okay, don’t worry!’ She said, laughing a bit to herself. “Don’t worry, I was just going to ask about what was happening and if you needed anything. But it looks like nothing is happening.” She sighed. You nodded, looking around the shop. You worked at a small, handmade soap. The soaps in here were beautiful, but the shop itself was quiet, only getting a few customers. The bulk of sales ended up being online at the owner’s etsy shop, with the actual building simply being in their family for the last 300 years, making it hard to part with. You didn’t mind, the soap was nice, you often got to take some of it home, and the work was easy. But you couldn’t deny that god, it was really god damn boring. 

“Yeah, I’m alright. Sorry, I’m just… Really bored.” You laughed, your manager just sighing.

“I can take the front of shop for a bit and you can play on your phone or something. You don’t have to just stand there all day.”

“I don’t mind it. Gives me time to think. Besides, I see you playing on your phone in front of shop all the time, I know that I can do it right here if I wanted to.” You hummed, your manager just rolling her eyes.

“I put it away when a customer shows up, don’t you worry. And what is it that you’re always thinking about, huh? A boyfriend?” She teased. You rolled your eyes.

“You know that I don’t have anyone like that in my life. I end up thinking about stupid stuff. Like what would happen if cows became four feet taller, or something.” You told her. It was a lie, of course, but you could never admit what actually went through your mind.

After all, how could you admit that you were just sitting there thinking about otome games and anime characters? It was nice to sit and think about lots of handsome men loving you. Maybe you played too many video games or watched too much anime.

“Alright, alright. Keep sitting with your weird thoughts.” She teased, the two of you laughing before the bell at the door rang as it swung open. 

The two of you stared as you saw the man walk in. He was so strangely dressed, and he was wearing a mask. Is this some sort of bad Dread Pirate Roberts cosplay? Half of his shirt was missing, which you sort of wanted to chalk up to bad sewing, but you also knew that it merely could be bad fashion. People around here are weird looking. He had choppy purple hair that covered one of his eyes, making you think that maybe the whole mask thing was meant to be an eye patch more than anything. You weren’t an expert in eyeball health. Still, you smiled brightly at the customer, not wanting to offend as you walked over to him, ready to assist in any way possible.

“Hello, Welcome! Is there anything in particular that you were looking for today?” You asked, Melone looking over at you before his eyes widened. God, you were just so… So god damn cute! The apron you were wearing hugged your curves so well, your body was so cute in the way you held yourself, smiling as you looked up at the man. He could just notice your tummy under the apron, a shudder going through his body as he saw your bright, smiling demeanor looking up at him.

“Oh, I heard that there were handmade facial products here? I’m looking for something a little more natural in my skin care routine.”  He replied, looking down to see your little name tag, smiling as he got the information. “Ah, I suppose then you could help me, (Y/n)?”

You forced your grin a little wider when he said your name, before nodding, waving him over and you brought him over to a little corner of the store. You don’t know why, but it seemed to only make you uncomfortable when people did things like read off your name tag. Which seems silly, after all, it was there for a reason, but still.

“Of course, sir, let me show you. Are you looking for something like a cleanser? We also have exfoliate scrubs, made all in house.” You told him. Melone just hummed, leaning over the products and moving a bit too much into your personal space as he pulled off his gloves. 

“You can call me Melone, sweetheart, no need for the formalities. And do any of these have scents in their formulas? I would hate to break out from oils…” He asked, touching his face lightly. You just smiled, shaking your head. You took note of his name, trying to keep yourself smiling

“Any scents that the product has is from the actual parts, not from anything we add. Like, our coffee ground scrub smells like coffee, because you know. We also have some regular facial soap, all in bar form, that we have, if you’d like to see. I can also make some samples for you, and we have a sink where you can try out some of the testers we have out.” You told him. He just smiled, nodding as he looked around a bit.

“That’s all well and good, but what would you recommend before bed? I need to remove my makeup, and so many cleansers are for the morning.” He complained. You just smiled, looking around and grabbing the giant pot of what you were looking for.

“Here we go! This stuff kills at removing any makeup. It’s made with shea butter, honey and rose water, with a little bit of tea tree oil in there for that calming feeling.” You said, reaching in and using a little spoon to put some on one of the little dishes your store carried, and then handed it to him. “Go on, go to the sink and check it out! You should also really check out our poppy soap too, it has poppy seeds in it which honestly? My skin has never been better.” You chuckled. Melone looked at you, before smiling and nodding. If that soap was what gave you such a glow, then he would definitely have to try it. You sighed as you went back to the counter next to your manager, watching the man as he washed his hands, his eyes widening before he grabbed one of the little papers you had next to the table, and a pen. Since everything here was served in whatever amount the customer wanted, the shop kept papers for customers to make a list of what they wanted.

“What is it now, daydreaming about a customer?” Your manager teased, leaving you to roll your eyes.

“Do you want him instead? He was all in my personal space.” You replied.

“Oh, cheer up, he wasn’t that bad. A little weird, but harmless. And you really need to get used to the idea that Italians don’t have a notion of personal space. You practically lost it when that old lady grabbed your hand.” 

“Hey, that was a while ago, that’s not fair! I think I’m used to it now, he’s just sort of creepy. Melone…” You mumbled his name to yourself, Melone’s ears perking up as heard you speak about him. Oh, your name sounded so good rolling off your tongue. He wanted to hear it over and over again, make you make the sound, scream it, moan it-

“I think I have my list ready, cara. Care to help me out?” Melone asked, coming over to the counter and leaning over it, handing the list over to you. You just took it from his hands, looking over the list before sighing.

“Can you get the bar soap while I get the cleanser?” You asked, writing down what you needed in the liquid before handing out the rest of the list to her. She nodded, walking off with a small smile on her face before you just sighed, going to get the cleanser. You grabbed one of the small glass jars you had, before putting it on the scale, taring it out after placing down the glass. 

“Five hundred grams, right?” You asked, only for Melone to nod. 

“Yes. It’s heavier, so it’ll be less than what I assume it’s going to be, so I might as well just go for it. I’ll use it anyway.” He replied, watching the way you reached into the pot and carefully scooped out the cleanser. You were so focused, he couldn’t help but imagine what you would look like in a domestic situation, maybe using a serving spoon to scoop out sauce for dinner, maybe just for the two of them. Maybe you would be in a cute little apron like the one you were in now, your feet bare and your hair loose as you grew heavy with his child-

In that moment, Melone felt a plan start to form in his mind.

The rest of the transaction went fine, in all honesty. Melone seemed as though he was suddenly in a hurry, that he forgot that he had something to do, purchasing his items and leaving with a quick “Ciao!”. You could tell that he was speed walking down the street, but you didn’t really care. Maybe you were over exaggerating, and he was just some normal gy, albeit oddly dressed. Still, it didn’t really matter to you. The fact that the store was empty meant that you could go back to your daydreams.

You were so grateful when the store finally closed. As the two of you locked up, you pulled your coat closer to your body, looking around.

“You should be careful now going home. It’s dark a lot earlier now, I’m afraid that maybe there might be some bad actors in the alleyways…” Your manager sighed. You nodded in agreement, the thoughts of how dangerous this city was becoming as Passione moved themselves in running through the both of your minds. Your manager had talked about moving, not wanting her kids to grow up here, and you couldn’t blame her. But both of you knew deep down that no matter where you went, the mafia probably lurked there somewhere.

“I will, don’t fret. Text you when I get home?” You asked, giving her a smile. She just smiled back and nodded.

“Don’t zone out and forget, alright? I’ll text you when I’m home as well!” She said, before waving, the two of you walking off in separate directions.

You hummed slightly to yourself as you walked down the street. You made sure to stay close to the streetlight, but you could swear that you could see something out of the corner of your eye, the feeling of being watched harsh in your stomach. You turned around often just to check, but no one was there. You must really be losing it today.

Still, it was like you were attracted to what was unknown. You instinctively started to move farther away from the streetlight, to try and see what exactly was going on in the shadows, but nothing was there. You barely even noticed how far you were in the dark until you passed by an alleyway. You didn’t even see the hand that shot out and grabbed onto your collar.

You immediately tried to scream, but you could barely make a sound as lips crashed into yours, your body pressed up against the wall as you squirmed. You winced as your head slammed against the wall, your vision tripling and a groan leaving your mouth and easily swallowed up by Melone. He pulled away, taking deep, harsh breaths, watching as you tried to focus on him.

“Don’t worry cara, it’s only me, didn’t mean to scare you, wanted to surprise you on your way home…” He cooed, pinning your hands above your head and moving to let his lips press against your neck, leaving light kisses and he hummed.

“Wha… Y.. You’re that guy from the soap shop! What are you doing, let me go!” You yelled, starting to squirm. Melone just pouted, as if you had told him a bad insult or you had genuinely hurt his feelings.

“Ah, don’t be like that, bambina. Are you mad because I embarrassed you at work? It’s alright, I’ll make it all better.” He hummed, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small vile. He used his teeth to pull out the cork, before letting a drop hit his tongue.

“Yep, it’s still good. Go on, drink this all down, and you’ll feel much better, carina.” He told you. 

“Like hell I’m going to drink anything you give me-” Perhaps you shouldn’t have spoken. When you opened your mouth and started to yell at him again, he just shoved the vial into your mouth, pouring the liquid in before covering your mouth with his hand.

“It’s alright, I know it tastes awful, but you have to drink it all, amore, otherwise it won’t work.” Melone hummed. You just sat there, holding the foul tasting liquid in your mouth before finally caving and swallowing. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice. When Melone felt that you had swallowed, he pulled his hand away, leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead.

“Di molto… Good, thank you. It means a lot to me that would trust me like that.” Like you had any other fucking choice. You just let your eyes narrow as you continued to let them dart around for some sort of escape.

“What exactly did you fucking give me?” You hissed, Melone laughing a bit.

“Well, I suppose you’ll feel it momentarily, won’t you? Liquid medication only takes one to four minutes to assimilate…” He hummed. You swallowed, feeling that your mouth was starting to feel really dry. It felt like everything was getting hotter, until your whole body was on fire. You let out a soft whine when you finally opened your mouth to let out a few pants, suddenly out of breath, before squirming again. This time, to try and get rid of the heat that was engulfing you. 

“W-What is this?! Please, it’s so hot, what did you do?!” You cried out, internally cringing at how desperate your voice sounded. But Melone just ate it all up, leaning in to press his body against yours, the outline of his cock making you shudder. God, think, what was happening to you?!

“It’s one of the best aphrodisiacs out there. Only the best for you, bella, I want to make sure that you feel amazing throughout all of this…” He told you, before pressing his lips against yours. You tried to struggle, but god, you were feeling so weak as the drug coursed through your veins, and Melone’s lips felt so good against yours. You felt your knees get weak, your body slipping down the wall that you were leaning against as it became harder and harder for you to support your own weight. Melone just pulled away, watching you sink to the ground as if weighed down by your own lust, smirking to himself. You were so beautiful like that. Melone could see the way you were tugging at your clothing, trying to get them off in some relief from the hell that consumed you. He just chuckled, pulling you up and making you lean on him. You just ended up grabbing onto Melone tightly, trying to take deep breaths.

“Don’t worry bambina. I bet it hurts bad right now, doesn’t it? Maybe I should’ve opened you up first…” Melone thought aloud, before shrugging. Too late now. He reached down to start to pull your panties off, the other arm wrapped around you and firmly holding you against him. He shuddered at the way your soft body pressed up against him, holding onto him like it was the end of the world.

“Don’t worry, (Y/n). I’ll make this heat go away, make you feel all better. You’ll feel perfect and well once you’re fucked full of my children.” He hummed. Despite yourself, you just nodded, desperate for a suggestion that would mean that you would feel better. 

Melone practically jumped in delight, easily pushing two fingers inside of you, relishing in how wet you had become, to the point where you were starting to slick your legs. You moaned, gripping onto Melone tightly and starting to whine shrilling, babbling back at him.

“O-Oh fuck, that feels so good, fuck, please, Melone, pleeeeease…” You whined, already trying to buck against his fingers. It felt so good, but it wasn’t enough, it just wasn’t enough to satisfy you, to make you feel whole again.

“You’re tempting me so much, bambina. You make me want to fuck you right now, god, you’re going to be so full when I’m done with you, my cute little wife.” He told you as he added another finger, scissoring you open. God, if you could hold yourself up, Melone would have no problem getting on his knees and eating you out until you came all over his face. He wondered what cute, fucked out faces you would make after cumming five, ten, a hundred times for him. He felt his cock twitch in his trousers and did his best not to get ahead of himself. He wanted to make sure that you felt just as good as he did, but god, you were making it so hard with those cute faces of yours! The way you were clinging to him, gasping and moaning like a bitch in heat, begging him for more, it was all so much.

“P-Please, fuck, more… It’s still so hot, please, need you so bad…” You mumbled, moving to rest your head against his shoulder as he thrust his fingers into you. He let out a low moan at your words, his hips slightly bucking against you for it. He was so pent up, not wanting to waste a single drop until he found the perfect person to fill up with it, and here you were, all perfect and begging him to breed you full of his children.

“Aww, poor thing. Perhaps I gave you a bit too much…” Melone sighed, pulling his fingers out of you and leaving you to whine in frustration. He pushed his fingers into his mouth and just moaned, shuddering as he tasted your juices. You grabbed onto him tighter, begging for some sort of relief from this hell. When Melone finally pulled his fingers from his mouth, he let his own lips crash against yours, pushing your back against the wall and pressing your chest against his to hold you up while his hands moved to rip his cock out from his trousers.

It was nice, bigger than you expected, and you could see that Melone was well groomed about himself as well. In any normal circumstance, you would be continuing to scream, but as Melone started to rub his cock against you, slicking himself up with your juices, you just moaned.

“Yes, fuck yes! Please, more, give me more, god, fuck me already!” You cried out, squirming and trying to make Melone’s cock catch to try on your entrance. Melone just groaned, moving a hand to grab your hip, before pushing into you slowly. He threw his head back as he moaned, his nails digging into you as he started to move, only pulling his cock out half way before slamming back, leaving you to whine in return.

“Oh, cara, you’re so tight, fuuuuck… You’re so perfect, fuck, my pretty little wife, gonna be such a great mother, fill you up and keep you full of my babies-” Melone groaned, leaning forward and leaning on your shoulder, babbling his nonsense into your ear. And you just ate it all up, nodding and wrapping your arms around him and digging into his back, whining.

“Fuck, yes, please… Feels so good, please, Melone, pleeease…” You whined, holding onto him tightly as you tried to grind against him. Your words were enough to really spring Melone into action, starting to pound against you wildly, mouthing as your neck and leaving harsh bruises. You just scratched at him in return, leaving red welts that might even turn into bruises tomorrow. Melone groaned at the idea of you marking him so primally, the feeling of you marking him as yours just as he was marking you as his. 

“God, you’re all mine, aren’t you? Love you so much, (Y/n), gonna keep you safe, warm, all mine, I’m yours just as much as you’re mine, fuck-” His teeth dug into his lip as he felt the way you were clenching down on him, the signal that your orgasm was fast approaching. Really, it was a miracle that you haven’t cum once or twice already, but perhaps it was something in the back of your mind that was holding you back, keeping you from finishing.

“Mmm, I can feel you’re close… Di molto, that’s perfect, do you want to cum while I breed you? It’ll be a great way to make sure it goes as far as it can.” Melone groaned into your ear, his voice sultry and husky in a way that filled your foggy head with static, only pulling Melone closer as you tried to chase your own orgasm.

“Yes, yes please, fuck, it’s too much, I’m gonna cum, please let me cum, please-” You mewled, on the verge of tears from how pent up you felt, grabbing onto Melone as if he would disappear if you let go.

“Fuck, good, then cum, cum on my cock, make me breed you, gonna fill you up so much, so perfect and soft and round, do it, cum for me, God-!” His voice was practically as a howl as his movements became jerky, before finally thrusting in and bottoming out inside of you, finally cumming. It was the feeling of him pushing inside of you that one last time that set you over the edge, a loud keen coming from you as you squeezed down on Melone, starting to milk him for all you could. 

The two of you rode at your orgasms together, quiet panting and whimpers from the both of you as Melone finally pulled out of you. You practically collapsed as he let you go, free from the burning heat but now exhausted beyond all belief. Melone caught you, holding you up with his arms and chuckling a bit. You shuddered as you felt some of Melone’s seed drip down your leg, leaving Melone just to purse his lips.

“We shouldn’t be wasteful like that. I should’ve brought a plug, poor thing…” He sighed, reaching down to scoop up what fell and push it back inside of you. You moaned at the sensation, giving him a look to let him know that you were much too sensitive right now. He just laughed at your expression, before easily scooping you up in his arms.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. We have all the time in the world once we get home.” Melone hummed. You stared at him incredulously, trying to figure out what the fuck he meant. You started to squirm a bit, but you were much too exhausted to really put in an effort to get away from him.

“Hmm? Well, of course I’m going to bring my wife home.” Melone hummed, petting your hair lightly. Your face went pale at the realization, but there was nothing you could do. Even if you could get out of his arms, you were too weak to run away away from him. You were stuck, hopelessly trapped with a madman, forced to listen to his deranged cooing as he made his declaration.

“We have a lot more work to be done if we’re going to make you a mother.”

[cherchezlafemme]

This is a Speech to text text post.

Perhaps I am a colour pop Stan perhaps hot. I will purchase many items from them. But not any pilot without tell list one colour that is not white or Brown.. Disc and carries fine these skin care is fine. Disc and carries fine these skin care is fine. Why is the other twice. OK. I enjoy their sunless tanning lotion quite a lot. I have yet to see any results from the 10 tanning 10 Ha moisturiser for the face but my body is not some kind of Disgusting mush moustache Disgusting mush moustache Other white paste Period. Let it be known to the public that this is spoken word to text through the imperfect machine of wired headphones to the more imperfect machine of cellular device . The pigments of the blush and the hold on.I shadow of colour pop palatesAre OK. I don't not know why I continue to purchase from them losses the elliptical losses the lip glosses smell distinct distinct. Say do not smell neutral. And that is a problem for me. They should smell it should be nothing or stickley something oh God his hear Apollo has found me your head Haha cute I love you Apollo. Sorry I am so bring up now sober. I am no longer intoxicated. It's tough having to distinctly say what I mean to this microphone when my regular speech is quite slurred Because I am from California. Not to say that most california's are not distinct in their speech. I think sync. Out loud is kind of funny OK. Next paragraph space space The other skincare products from colour pop here are good. They make me feel like I have some kind of oil on my skin and I hate that but I know that oils are good period from the time I was 15 maybe 14 to now 24 I am I wazI had regular oil from the skin but now I am obsessed with foreign oils to slather on my body in the morning and in the night time period. Good night my fellow gamers and gays and cowboys and cat girls.

[retroateez]

Prophecy - Chapter Five

i still don’t properly understand how this website works but slowly,,, i am learning.

also if ur enjoying this au please like/reblog bc it rlly helps me out ty x

wc; 2649

A month had passed since Yeosang took you under his wing, and he (thankfully) hadn't decided to kill you.

Although the trip to harvest the sand mandrakes often made you think otherwise.

Despite that, Yeosang had been patient with you as you grew accustomed to his lifestyle. Oddly, he trusted in you immediately, sharing with you secrets he wouldn't dare tell other strangers.

"I'm a mage," he had told you suddenly over porridge one morning. He clenched his large palms into equally large fists and laid his forearm upon the table, facing upwards towards the canopy of jade leaves above your heads. "You see those blue lines? They're called veins, and our blood runs through these."

You nodded silently, unsure of what his point was.

"In mine, flows blood as well as chaos," he explained. "Almost anybody can do basic magic, provided you're taught by the right people."

Using his other hand, he ran a gentle finger down the stripe of his prominent veins, and the cerulean bumps bubbled and boiled into a startling shade of sunlight. You squinted in awe; you swore you could see a lightning storm rattling around inside of his arm.

"But only those born into chaos possess the abilities to truly wield it." Yeosang snapped his fingers, and the bolts of lightning in his veins returned to the cool, sea blue they were before.

He had grinned at you then, proud that his magic had impressed you. He didn't get to show off his magic often; most people would trade his life and talent for money in a heartbeat.

Except now, Yeosang wore a frown as you pleaded with him.

"Why can't you teach me any magic?" you beg. "You said yourself that anybody can be taught! By the looks of it you're well up to the task!"

You follow him like an excited puppy, bouncing along behind him and pawing at the back of his shirt to get his attention. Yeosang had his back turned to you, intent on finding the wolfsbane he had been asked to find before you arrived in his life and threw it slightly (majorly) off balance.

"I said no, Iris" he murmurs, keeping his eyes on the mossy ground.

You weren't sure where Yeosang had gotten the name 'Iris' from, or why he started calling you that in the first place. It certainly wasn't your name. Not that you had ever told him your name. He had never asked, so you assumed he didn't want to know. Either way, you didn't care, nor did you find it particularly important, so you let him call you whatever he pleased.

"Why?" you whine, grabbing the bottom of his cotton shirt and pulling it. "What harm can it do to just teach me a little magic?"

He sighs harshly, and turns to face you. Scowl evident, he shoves a handful of wolfsbane into a basket and grabs you firmly by the shoulders.

"I said no. Do not make me repeat myself. Do I make myself clear?" His eyes burn into yours and guilt washes over you; you hadn't meant to make him angry.

"But-"

"I said," he growls. "Do I make myself clear?"

You stare up meekly into his eyes, seeing the same flashes of firebolts from his veins, now crashing around his pupils. You nod, not uttering a word. Yeosang lets you go with a soft huff, and heads back up towards the house. If you'd have known he would get so angry with you, you wouldn't have pestered him so badly.

A few more days pass, and neither you or Yeosang bring up the incident in the woods. You, in fear of angering him again, and you assume Yeosang just didn't want to mention the subject at all. Maybe it was a sensitive topic for him? He acts like it never happened, resuming teaching you how to cook various stews and soups, testing you on the properties of sage and echinacea.

"Echinacea... helps burns?" you hazard a guess, Yeosang's face contorting to an expression of pain informing you that once again, you were wrong.

"Echinacea helps colds and flu." he corrects you with a sigh.

Frustrated, you hurl your notebook down onto the desk in Yeosang's study, crossing your arms and exhaling harshly, much like a horse. His study was as breathtaking as the rest of his house. It was smaller compared to the main, circular room and had no windows. With no natural light, Yeosang had strewn luminescent mushrooms across the ceiling and draped them all over the walls. They were long and thin, but the heads and stems shone bright in tones of seafoam green and azure blue. They made the room glow a strange, ocean mash of colour, often making Yeosang look as if the ocean floor had sprouted atop his head, dyeing his neutral blonde locks with a very startling sea themed concoction.

The room had an earthy smell, as did the entire house. You theorised Yeosang either had an addiction to growing plants in his house, or plainly a plant addiction. Still, the air throughout his home was always immaculately clean, so you couldn't complain about the slight dirt smell, or the soil that was always clinging to your arms and legs.

"I'm no good at this, Yeosang!" you cry. "I don't know why I bother!"

You glare angrily at the wooden planks of the floor, blinking back frustrated tears. You desperately wanted to prove to Yeosang that you were capable of learning something worthwhile. After all, your survival depended on it; why would he keep you around, feed you, house you, protect you, if you couldn't offer anything back to him? More than that, it actually gave you a purpose, something more than just stealing your way through the game of life. Here you were, handed an opportunity to learn and, provided you were any good at it, use the skills to help people in the future instead of stealing the products of other people's hard work and determination.

You're dragged from your thoughts by Yeosang crouching down at your figure sitting on his desk chair. He softly places his rough hands on your knees and offers a rare, but soft and caring smile.

"You'll get the hang of it ,Iris, don't fret. I failed my alchemy exam five times before I finally passed it." His eyes crinkle at the corners when he hears your quiet laugh at his comment.

"Only an idiot would fail five times," you quip. "What happened to three time's the charm?"

"Charm is a load of bullshit," he remarks. "Everything is decided by fate, you know that don't you?"

You nod in response. Everybody knows your destiny is your destiny. It can't be changed, altered or avoided. You wonder if magic has any effect on destiny. After all, before meeting Yeosang you had no idea magic was real in the first place, so really the possibilites could be endless.

"Does magic work on destiny?" You ask the golden haired mage.

Yeosang leans back on his heels, glancing up at the glowing fungi as he ponders his answer.

"Yes and no," he admits. "No magic can directly change, or redirect your fate. But magic can delay it, sometimes quite significantly"

"How so?"

Yeosang lets go of your knees and with a grunt, falls back so he's sitting on the floor in front of you.

"Are you familiar with Virgil's Aenied?"

He takes your silence as a 'no'.

"The Aeneid is an epic poem, centered around a single man named Aeneas, whose destiny is to discover the land that would become Rome. There's a lot that goes on inbetween," Yeosang explains. "but Juno, the goddess of love and marriage, despised Aeneas, and did everything in her power to make sure Aeneas would never be the catalyst of Rome's foundations."

"But Juno couldn't stop him from doing that, could she?" You connect the dots fairly quickly, and Yeosang nods.

"Correct. Even the gods have to abide by the laws of destiny. Jupiter himself unravels the scrolls of time and fate, and nobody can change them. But what Juno did succeed with, was delaying Aeneas as much as possible. Setting him back years and years from the destiny bestowed upon him from the very beginning, at the sack of Troy."

"Do the gods powers count as magic though? You're not a god" You think aloud. You think you catch a wave of offense wash over Yeosang's face, but it passes so quickly you can't be sure.

"In a way, I suppose you can view it as a divine type of magic, magic so powerful that people on our realm couldn't possibly wield it without certain death, or other circumstance..." The mage stands up, bones in his knees cracking as he moves.

"Anyway," he continues. "My point was that your destiny is exactly that. It's been written in the stars since the very dawn of time, and you physically cannot escape it. You may delay it, but the time will come where you will have to fulfill your role in destiny's prophecy. The first step to that though, my young student, is passing your alchemy exam!"

You and Yeosang spent the next couple of days pouring over his hand-written notebooks, reading and re-reading his scrawled handwriting and weirdly endearing drawings. Him presenting you with various herbs and smoking liquids, making you guess what they were used for and forcing you to eat and drink the gross ones when you got the answers wrong. You hated it, but his method of teaching was rather effective.

"We're going to have to make a trip into the city," he tells you one gorgeously warm afternoon. "I've run out of primrose and the only source I can get it is the kingdom."

Yeosang hadn't taken you to the kingdom of Ateez yet, nor had he visited there since your arrival, but the way he spoke about it terrified you to your core. He refused to go unless he needed to, no pleasant day trips or lesiurely strolls. For him, it was dangerous.

"The King has a special band of witch-hunters," Yeosang explained to you as he grabbed his brown satchel and coin purse. "Of course, they're just referred to as 'guards', he wouldn't want rival kingdoms knowing he was explicitly prejudiced towards anybody." he spat.

"Have you met the king?" you ask quietly, handing him a notebook with a list of items you needed to purchase.

Yeosang notably hesitated.

"Yes... he helped me a lot. He gave me this land, and in return I occasionally do him favours."

"I thought he didn't like mages?"

"Hatred for magic kinds is rooted in fear," he turns to you. "Whether or not you like a mage, it is always better to have one on your side, as opposed to having one against you."

"So if the king likes you, why are you so worried about going to the kingdom?"

Yeosang wedges a soil brown hat onto your head, pulling it down over your eyes.

"He doesn't like me," he corrects you. "He merely tolerates me because I posses something that may prove very useful to him one day. Anyway, enough questions, small one. We have plants to buy!"

---

You wished Yeosang had told you just how long the walk to Ateez was before you agreed to go with him. Technically you didn't have a choice, but still. You'd been wearing 'tailored' versions of Yeosang's clothes (tailored being he had ripped the excess material off), as your own were ruined beyond repair during the storm. They were too big for you even still, the sleeves of his white cotton shirt coming past your fingertips and copper breeches almost hanging off you if not for the makeshift belt, (wine red ribbon Yeosang used to bunch flowers together) tied around your waist. As grateful as you were, his clothes were weighing you down and making the journey painfully longer.

"We're almost there, Iris!" Yeosang calls back to you. He was wearing an outfit similar to yours, except his actually fit and suited him. He was extremely good looking, you'd admit. What with his piercing cobalt eyes and effortlessly wavy hair. You wondered why he had been alone before he met you, and for what reason.

You turn your attention to where Yeosang was pointing and felt your stomach drop immediately. It felt as if a pit had opened at the base of your torso and every one of your organs was being sucked into the abyss. Despite the uncomfortable feeling seeping throughout your body, you felt compelled towards the miles of kingdom below you. You could see almost the entire kingdom from your position on top of the hill. You realised too, that the western side was situated on the edge of a cliff, with your best friend, the ocean, waiting readily thousands of feet below. You felt uneasy thinking about the drop.

Between the bottom of the hill and the gates of Ateez, was a vast stretch of forest. Towering oaks bundled together like a poor family on a cold night, protecting one another with what little comfort they could provide. You didn't want to imagine what creatures lurked in the woods either, having a hunch that they wouldn't welcome strangers into their habitats with welcome arms.

"We don't have to walk down this hill, do we?" you gulped.

"No," Yeosang said. "We can just jump."

You stared at him.

"Of course we have to walk down it, Iris."

You both began the everlasting descent down the hill. Luckily, a dirt path had been stamped into the grass by plenty of other people making the same journey as you.

No matter how much you tried to push down the growing feeling in your stomach, it wouldn't go away.

You could hardly explain the feeling either. Like your intenstines were lined with the prettiest hydrangeas, and somebody was tugging at the flowers with the strength of a thousand horses, but regardless of how hard they pulled, the roots stayed firmly put.

You surveyed the kingdom, the endless rows of tiny houses and roads, the pathway up to the gates of the castle and the grand towers standing in the castle grounds. On the highest part of the city, towards the east, was the most important building of all; the castle itself. Overlooking the entire of Ateez which stretched out for miles.

"Once we reach the bottom of this hill," you ask. "Won't we have to walk all the way to the gates?"

Yeosang glances back over his shoulder at you, pushing his wavy blonde hair out of his face.

"No, they have horses and carriages that take people to the city, thank the gods."

After approximately 3 decades, you and Yeosang reach the bottom of the hill (more like a mountain, you think). Yeosang guides you over to a line of carriages, attached to the biggest, bulkiest horses you've ever seen. The ones you'd seen back at home were simple, baggage carrying horses. Nothing compared to these absolute monsters. Your companion hands the coachman of a carriage a handful of coins, and you both clamber into the back.

Throughout the journey, the hole in your stomach continues to expand, growing deeper and wider that you're surprised it hasn't totally consumed you. The closer you get to the kingdom gates, the more and more nauseous you feel, the beating of your heart and pounding in your head keeping perfect time with the canter of the Shire horse pulling you along.

The second cog, hand-crafted but not yet complete, waits patiently. He cannot continue welding it until the next steps are taken; until destiny is fulfilled. Until then, he sets the half-finished cog on his workshop table, then he too, sits patiently. Fate is a waiting game, and everyone is a pawn to fate.

Chapter Six

[leejihoonownsmyheart]

Twix Bars and other Various Sweets

Part of the Tsudere Seventeen Series

Summary: Vernon wants Twix bars. As many as he can get, as often as he can get them. You want him to admit that he’s had a crush on you since Freshmen year of high school. It’s a fair trade-off you think.

Post date: May 22, 2019

3K+ Words

Hansol was standing at the convenience store counter, staring blankly at the candy bar display in front of him. He shifted his weight to his other hip and raised his hand thoughtfully up to his lips, chewing distractedly on his thumb.

You rested your head on your hand, raising an eyebrow towards the contemplative boy. 

He did this every day.

“What are you thinking, a snickers?” You asked, your voice completely flat. He glanced at you, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly.

“I’m not sure, maybe?”

You stifled a small laugh and just settled for staring at the peculiar boy.

Hansol had been in your life for years now. When you transferred to a new school in a new city, you had been terrified of what life would bring you. You had always worried about making new friends and fitting in in a strange new environment.

Hansol was the very first person to give you a chance and you were forever indebted to him for that.

A single soft smile and a personal introduction from Hansol had meant that everyone in the school suddenly found you to be an acceptable person to associate with.

You still didn’t really understand why it was like that here.

If Hansol was willing to talk to someone, everyone just assumed they were a good person to associate with.

Either way, the day that a cute boy with sandy brown hair had introduced himself to you as Chwe Hansol, you had assumed that he would be your best friend. You could feel the way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking, and you knew that he said nice things about you to other people.

Even if you weren’t best friends, you would surely be friends.

You knew that he had gone out of his way to get even the cruelest teachers at school to be nice to you, and he put in a good word for you at your job when you had applied, and you had a sneaking suspicion that when your dad almost got fired and suddenly the company was bought out and your dad’s job became secured with crazy benefits that he had something to do with that too.

You had no solid proof of course. He was good enough at covering his tracks that you were pretty sure you were right, but couldn't really mention it to anyone without sounding completely and totally insane.

He was smart... But you were smarter.

He came into your store every day that you are working. Every day he wandered around the store for almost an hour, striking up conversation with you periodically only to finally purchase a single Twix bar, and leave.

He had been doing this for months now. He had to know that you knew that he did it all on purpose.

And you knew why he did it all on purpose.

God, it was obvious.

He had a crush on you.

Normally, you wouldn’t be so self-centered thinking that a guy liked you just because he happened to buy a candy bar every time that you worked. You could explain away the lengthy strolls he took. Maybe he was just indecisive.

You knew that you were inclined to be a little bit obsessive over the whole “cute boy talks to you” sort of situation. You were a little intense when it came to that sort of thing.

But you were sure about this one.

Whenever you talked to him or helped him out at school his cheeks got red, his voice got a little higher, and he got really flustered and clumsy.

You saw how he reacted around other girls. While he did get this unique smile that you didn’t see when he was hanging around his guy friends, he didn’t get all flustered like that. It was only with you.

Plus, when his friends were around and knew that you were there too, they always teased him hard for being single or being so gullible and sweet. You knew that couldn’t be a coincidence, and even your own friends had noticed the behavior.

He knew when your birthday was and had given you gifts before for it, and one valentine’s day you had caught him loitering in front of your desk, where you later found a letter to you from a “secret admirer”.

You knew it was him. It had to be him. He definitely had a crush on you.

You brushed a strand of your hair out of your face, an action that seemed to entrance Hansol for a moment. You two made eye contact and his face reddened once again.

“I think I’ll get a Twix bar,” he stated suddenly. He leaned forward and grabbed the candy bar from its usual spot.

“Yeah? That’s unusual,” you commented conversationally. His cheeks grew darker and he looked down at his wallet. 

“How much?”

Geez, he was ridiculous. He knew how much it was. 

“1523.18 won,” you replied, pretending like you needed to in any way scan the item to know what it cost. He put a bill back in his wallet as if he hadn’t known the whole time how much it would be before finally giving you the amount.

You took the money and took a little longer then you needed to give him his change back. You smiled brightly at him when your fingers brushed one another.

“Have a lovely day!” You said politely as he left the store. He gave you a short smile and waved as he left. The bell gave out a shrill ding as the door closed behind him.

“See you at school,” you murmured even though you knew he was too far away to hear. You watched him silently as he walked past the large glass windows of your convenience store. Just before he got to the window you looked down to pretend like you weren’t watching him.

Once he got to the corner he liked to glance back at you.

He definitely liked you.

And you were tired of pretending you didn’t know.

At first, you had just wanted to ride it out. Nothing in his behavior had insinuated that his little crush was any more than a passing fancy. Course the longer it had dragged on the more you had begun to realize that maybe, just maybe it was more than that.

And the more that you thought about how he liked you, the more that you found reasons that you were kind of starting to like him.

His shy attitude towards you was so cute. Especially, considering the fact that you had seen what he was like when he didn’t know you were around. He was pretty quirky and outgoing when the time called for it. Polar opposite of what you were used to seeing from him.

Of course, it had been years since you had met Hansol. That meant it had been years of him liking you. It wouldn’t be easy to get him to admit that he liked you. Hansol seemed pretty stubborn, he wouldn’t just tell you if you just asked. You knew he would deny it.

You just had to be inconspicuous. Force him into a corner, and make him admit that he liked you.

You sighed and stared at the spot that Hansol had been occupying not long ago.

But... how would you get him to admit the truth?

“Hey, we just got a shipment of candy bars in,” your manager stated, sending a box on the counter in front of you sharply. “Twix will be happy.”

You tried not to smile at the nickname that your coworkers had given Hansol. You and him always acted like you didn’t know one another outside of school, apparently well enough that everyone believed it. They always joked that “Twix” only came in nowadays to see you, insinuating he would probably come even if they were out of Twix bars.

You didn’t think he would do that. It would kill his cover.

Besides, he really was obsessed with Twix bars. You’d heard it had partially come from his friend Joshua, they both spent their summers in the United States, rumor had it that Hansol went by Vernon there. You thought it was pretty fitting. A dorky name for a dorky guy.

Anyways, he was always eating a Twix bar. In every class you saw him in, every time he was going to class or waiting for a school even to start or anything, you could almost swear that he had a partially eaten candy bar in his hand.

Always the same candy bar.

You hated to admit it but like Pavlov’s dog, every time you saw the dumb product you thought of the even dumber boy.

“You should take some extra. We have too many... Even if Twix came in ten times a day we wouldn’t sell them all, and he’s about the only person in Korea to buy the dumb things,” your boss over exaggerated. You opened your mouth to reject the offer.

You liked candy bars, but you didn’t need that many laying around your house just tempting you to eat them all the time.

But then you stopped.

“Yeah, actually I’ll take some,” you said hesitantly. Your boss smiled and began to put a bunch of candy bars in a grocery bag for you.

This was it. This was your chance.

Hansol loved Twix bars.

Maybe if you offered him a free candy bar he would give you something in return. All you wanted was a confession. That was a pretty fair trade.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

You raised your eyebrow.

His cheeks were red, eyes wide, his chest heaving with every breath that he took. If that wasn’t the sort of expression someone made upon being caught with a crush on someone else you didn’t know what was.

He was still playing dumb.

You waved the Twix bar in front of his eyes, and he followed it like a dog being teased with a treat.

“Come on Hansol. A free candy bar just for a confession,” you said suavely.

“I have nothing to confess y/n!” He protested. “Well, nothing that you actually want to hear.”

“I know you’ve liked me since the day we met,” you replied your voice dropping an octave. “Just admit it and the bar is yours.”

“I don’t even like candy that much,” he stated.

“You always have a Twix bar on you!” You protested.

“Isn’t that some sort of American candy bar? Why would I eat that?” Hansol asked innocently. His voice quivered at the end. Geez, if he was going to try and play you like this, he could at least do it well.

You dropped the hand holding the candy bar momentarily letting it hang at your waist. You scrunched your nose and stared at Hansol for a minute. You didn’t say anything you just stared.

The longer that you two stood there like that, just staring at one another in the school parking lot, the redder Hansol’s face got, and the more you realized just how stubborn the boy truly was.

“I know you like me Hansol, there’s literally absolutely no point in keeping it a secret. Just look at me and say, ‘hey, I really like you’,” you said. Hansol stared at you, but he didn’t say anything at all. You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Okay, so that’s how this is going to go huh?” You asked. “Fine. We’ll do it the hard way.”

You took a quick few steps towards Hansol, apparently sufficing in looking scary enough that he took a step back with every step forward you took until he eventually bumped into the hood of his car.

You glared him down, the height difference between the two of you meaning absolutely nothing when it came down to you being pissed at him. You raised a steady hand, the one holding the candy bar, brandishing it like a knife.

You pressed it directly under his chin, your face so close to his that you could smell his breath.

Of fucking course, it smelled like chocolate.

“You have made some big mistakes before in the past,” you mumbled threateningly. “But none like the one you just made. I will make it my mission to make you admit to me that you do in fact have a crush on me, and I will not be easy on you.”

You turned away from him with a sharp whip of your head. You heard him say something behind you, but it was broken and too quiet for you to properly make out so you ignored him in order to properly process your plan.

It was pretty simple really.

You would just use his sweet tooth against him.

You started a “green month” initiative at school. Now, in reality, you had thought that would be pretty hard. Getting your school to “go green” and replace all the sugary foods in the vending machines for a month seemed like a major loss for them. Students would be angry, the school would lose money, and they would have to switch suppliers and pay for a lot of unnecessary labor.

But instead, the minute that “month-long healthy food initiative” left your mouth your principal was announcing it to the school. The next day all of the vending machines were flushed of anything with more than 5 grams of sugar in it. Any fundraisers selling candy bars were suspended, and you were heralded the hero of the month by all the teachers and helicopter parents.

The next thing was even easier.

Dressing up pretty officially and going into every convenience store within a forty-mile radius and saying that all of the recent Twix shipments were contaminated with some form of disease simply by clicking your tongue may seem a bit... Insane, but it got every store to take the bars out of their shop front.

All you had to do in your own shop was convince your manager that the boxes of Twix bars had gone missing and so there were none to stock out in the front. She was so lazy she wouldn’t notice them sitting where they were supposed to be for the next few weeks or so.

The last thing you had to do was probably the easiest of all.

While Hansol was out with his friends you visited his house to say hi to his mother. You claimed your mom sent you with pie, and so she let you in because the two were pretty close. Of course, his mom insisted that you stay while she make a dessert for your mom in return, and at some point left you to take a phone call.

That gave you just enough time to search the house for every single Twix bar that you knew Hansol would have hidden.

There were 28.

And once that was accomplished, all you had to was sit on your throne of Twix bars and wait for Hansol to come knocking. (Disclaimer, you didn’t actually make a throne out of the candy bars. You did, however, put them all in your backpack and carry them around instead of your books for a week.)

It took one day and three hours for Hansol to come to your house. You opened it expecting a serial killer to be completely honest.

It was two in the morning and you had just watched a shit ton of scary movies instead of sleeping so you were already on edge and then a rapid four knocks came from the front door?

Yeah, you were ready to die when you opened it.

Hansol’s presence for once was a happy surprise.

He looked like a drug addict going through rehab. His hair was messy, his shirt on inside out, one of his pants legs was rolled up while the other was down, the guy was missing a shoe, and he even looked like he hadn’t slept for a week- where did those under eye bags even come from?

“Oh, Hansol,” you stated, leaning comfortably in the door frame. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t be coy with me,’ Hansol said. “I haven’t gone more than two hours without a Twix bar in ten years give me some candy, now.”

You were surprised with his sudden surge of confidence towards you. He had always been so nervous around you, and he hardly ever lost his temper. He must like candy a little more then you had accounted for. For a moment you thought maybe you had gone overboard.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, mimicking the same false innocence he had tried to pull on you before.

“Every store that I have the time to drive to isn’t selling them because of Twixeritis? What the hell even is that?” Hansol blurted back. You placed your hand over Hansol’s mouth shushing him.

“My family is sleeping,” you murmured. “Try and keep it down.”

He still looked pissed.

You slowly slipped the front door closed behind you, putting your hands behind your back shyly as you did so. You had never been in front of a guy in your pajamas before. Nor had you ever been alone with a guy at two in the morning.

You had always had this sort of feeling that if you were with a guy like this, it would be because he was super cute and you really liked him.

And that sort of was why you were in this situation.

“What kind of girl are you?” He blurted.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, just one that has 56 Twix bars in my room upstairs just waiting to be eaten,” you replied coyly.

Hansol stared at you, clearly trying to intimidate you with the crazy in his eyes, but he underestimated you if he thought that would work. After only fifteen seconds he had backed down. He sighed loudly, running his fingers through his hair.

“Fine, fine, I like you alright? I don’t know why because you are clearly insane, but I have liked you for like ever now,” Hansol blurted. “I mean everyone told me you knew and that I should just ask you out already cause if you dealt with my shenanigans at the store every day you must like me too, but I didn’t cause...”

He trailed off.

“Because?” You prompted

“Because I’m a wimp,” he mumbled back.

Someone with a heart would have probably felt bad for him.

Luckily, you had sold your heart away years ago. You pointed at him, a Twix bar in your hand as your ammo.

“Hah, I knew it.”

Hansol’s face was of course red, it always was when he was talking to you, but he still took the candy from your hands and begun to eat it as soon as he possibly could. You watched him for a moment, just happy that you were finally able to get him to admit it.

“You eat like a pig,” you said pleasantly. “I can’t believe I like you.”

Hansol shot you a glare.

“Shut up and give me another one.”

It was pretty entertaining to watch Hansol eat 17 candy bars in five minutes, but after you started to worry about the other boys' health. Eating so much sugar in such a small amount of time couldn’t be healthy. Besides, more importantly, after a while you got bored.

“So, does this mean we are dating now?” You asked pointedly.

Hansol choked halfway through the seventeenth candy bar.

“What?”

“I mean you’re in my room eating candy in the middle of the night,” you replied pointedly. “We’re not exactly friends and the only other option is that we must be dating. That or we are psycho.”

“We are psycho,” Hansol exclaimed. “You literally quarantined me from every Twix bar in the city, and I still like you for it.”

You two fell silent, staring at one another the way you two always ended up doing. You scrunched your nose.

“So we are dating right?”

“Yeah.”

[aiyh]

AUs are a problem I have

I found all the original posts in this series from my deactivated blog and collected them here.

you work the register at a store I frequent and I get super self-conscious that you’re judging my purchases AU

our kids got paired up to do a school project and I meant to just drop mine off at your house but we ended up talking for three hours AU

battle of the bands AU

made small talk while waiting for different flights and assumed we’d never see each other again AU

our grandparents are in the same nursing home and they hate each other AU

arrested at the same protest AU

classic literature professor vs. modern literature professor AU

I injured myself doing something stupid at a holiday party and you’re the doctor at the emergency clinic AU

volunteered to wait tables at your fancy charity fundraising dinner AU

how do you keep getting my name that wrong on my coffee cup AU

adjacent stands at the farmer’s market AU

risked my job by talking you out of buying a crappy product at the store where I work AU

only two people who bought tickets to see this movie AU

don’t really care if I win that giant stuffed animal but keep playing the carnival game you’re running just to see you AU

our dogs are in love with each other and it’s making things awkward at the dog park AU

who’s this asshole who keeps beating my high score on Pac-Man AU

it’s a total coincidence that I happen to water my plants at the same time you jog past my house AU

our manager is making us push this crappy item that no one needs but you thought my sales pitch was funny so you bought it AU

interviewed you for the newspaper AU

I desperately need you to fix my laptop but please don’t judge me for my browser history AU

chef/ restaurant critic AU

my kid’s hamster died while she was at school and I don’t know how to tell her about death so long story short does your pet store have a hamster that looks just like the one in this photo AU

rival local news stations AU

news anchor/ meteorologist AU

I planned a program at the library where I work and you’re the only person who showed up AU

you are definitely drunk-texting the wrong number but I’m bored so I’m gonna keep this going for a while AU

I hate flying but your snarky announcements are a good distraction and you have a nice voice and I might be calling you Captain Cutie in my head AU

I made a dumb science joke in class and you’re the only one who laughed AU

auditioning for the same part AU

accidentally got drunk at a wine tasting AU

you’re the only other person I’ve ever met who can quote this movie AU

everyone else in our dorm has gone out but I have the flu, and I just heard you coughing pathetically from the next room, wanna share my stash of cough drops and marathon Netflix with me? AU

showed up to a Halloween party in matching costumes AU

will you pretend to be my date to my family’s holiday party so they’ll stop harassing me about being single, there’s food in it for you AU

Christmas lights rivalry AU

I found a bunch of your stuff when I moved into this apartment and I have no idea who you are but I think we might be soulmates AU

I teach in this classroom in the mornings and you teach in the evenings and we communicate entirely through notes left on the board AU

how the hell does your cat keep getting into my house AU

I volunteered for a sex study and you’re the lead researcher and thank god it’s acceptable for me to be turned on in this situation because damn AU

You’re the prosecutor and I’m the defense attorney on the most ridiculous case either of us have ever heard of and I don’t know about you but I’m not sure how much longer I can be serious about this thing AU

Got into an absurdly heated argument in the comments on a mutual friend’s Facebook post AU

Rival street performers AU

You keep bringing your car into my shop with a series of increasingly unlikely problems and my professional opinion is it’d be cheaper for you to just ask me to dinner already AU

Our families are having funeral visitations at the same time and we’re both hanging around outside because we can’t deal AU

I spent a whole subway ride checking you out but didn’t have the nerve to talk to you and thought I’d never see you again but you just showed up on Humans of New York AU

Cheering for opposing teams at a sports bar AU

My kid shoplifted from your store and I marched her back here to apologize to you AU

Why didn’t you tell me this cabin was haunted before I rented it from you AU

Character performers who only see each other at ren faires AU

My band plays at this restaurant every Friday and you always show up and make obscure requests and I know you’re trying to stump me but you’ve severely underestimated how much of a music geek I am AU

I’m the caterer and you’re the florist on a huge expensive wedding and we bond over what an awful person the mother of the bride is AU

We’re chaperoning kids at the same skating rink party and the last couple’s skate was pathetic so what do you say we show these little punks how it’s done AU

We’re both trying to get an apartment in this city at the same time as a million other people and I’m tired of competing for the same ones as you so I think it’s time we joined forces AU

Adjacent shops Christmas decorations war of escalation AU

We work at competing gossip magazines and keep trying to outdo each other’s ridiculous stories AU

Our moms belong to the same garden club and are fiercely competitive about their gardens and keep sending us to pick up supplies for them and would have matching heart attacks if they found out we’re hooking up every trip AU

My kid is in your class and you called me in for a parent-teacher conference and I don’t know what she did but she didn’t learn it from me and wait what do you mean you think she should skip a grade AU

We’re neighbors and I’m telling you this as a friend but if you give out pencils for Halloween again this year I’m going to look the other way when the kids roll your yard AU

I accidentally caught the neighbors’ yard(s) on fire while burning leaves and I didn’t think it could get worse but the volunteer fireman reprimanding me is gorgeous and clearly thinks I’m an idiot AU

I bought this talisman from your occult shop and I know you warned me but I didn’t think this stuff was real but it IS and now I need you to make it go away AU

You just sold a bunch of old books to my secondhand store for cheap and one of them’s worth a fortune and my partner will kill me if he finds out but I think you should have the money AU

I didn’t mean to get you arrested, I thought I was helping AU

I’m planning a heist and I need your very specific skillset to pull it off but when I tracked you down you’d become an alcoholic and spend your days cheating at video poker AU

Your pizza keeps getting delivered to my house by mistake and I need to talk to you about your choice of toppings AU

Prison chaplain/ wrongfully convicted death row inmate AU

You bring my grandmother a basket of homemade candy every Christmas and she keeps dropping hints about how great you are so we should probably go out at least once—you know, just to make grandma happy AU

I was down on my luck and had lost the will to live when I heard you playing the fiddle and long story short I think you saved my life AU

The PTA bake sale is coming up and you’ve outsold me two years in a row so I’m pulling out all the stops AU

I just quit my job and put all my belongings in a U-Haul and started driving, you’re the hitchhiker I picked up on a whim who I’m starting to think is a dangerous fugitive AU

Graffiti artist/ mural painter AU

You’re the only major film critic who hated my movie and I need to talk to you about it because I agree with you AU

[gottaenjoythelittlethingzz]

The Café Test - A Characterization Exercise

Tagged by the very cool @writingonesdreams

So I’m putting my characters in a café here to see what I find out about them. Saw this tip by @not-poignant  in this post.

Did they get a café they liked? What kind of café do they like? What does that say about their character? 

Schuyler isn’t too picky and actually prefers to try new places. She loves traveling and visiting mom-N-pop shops that are unique to the places she visits. However, because she believes in brand loyalty, she would never spend money at a Starbucks. Ever. Her mother on the other hand is a fanatic. It’s a bit of friendly rivalry between them considering Schuyler prefers Dunkin’ Doughnuts or most any other chain. This is due the fact that she doesn’t like coffee and prefers tea or food.

1. Where do they sit? (Near the door because there’s an exit? Near the back to hide? Where it’s shadowy? Where they’ll be seen by a waiter? Lots of table space for writing/drawing/hands? Minimal space? Would they ever sit with others? What do these things say about their character?)

Schuyler’s base instincts tells her to sit in the seat that places her back to a wall and facing one or more exits or places where she can create one easily. This becomes challenging when all of her companions share a similar instinct and will take those seats first. So instead she settles for the comfort in knowing where the exits are and sitting in which ever seat is left to avoid a game of musical chairs. 

That covers where she sits at the table, but where that table is located is a different matter. She prefers tables to booths and wall seats to tables in the middle of many others. She enjoys her meals alone as lunch breaks may be the only time during the day she alone, but sharing food with others she cares about is an important treasured event even when out in a public café and can effect the seating arrangement tremendously. 

If she’s with colleagues she could care less. Well lit and near a window is fine by her as that is usually where they will choose and she feels unthreatened when dinning with a table of clean doctors, exhausted grad students, and the occasional curious intern.

If she’s meeting with cliental of the club, it also varies. If goods are being exchanged then a crowded café in a dark corner or a back room is the go to and she will not hesitate to request such a seat personally. If it’s a general meeting to discuss terms then sitting out in the open in front of plentiful witnesses to avoid fights from breaking out is often preferred. 

When she’s out with family, she likes to sit where she can look at those she is speaking to. Perhaps going as far as to request multiple tables if the group approaches double digits which may or may not lead to talking across tables, but the idea is everyone will remain a little quieter and keep from getting rowdy.

The one time in which Schuyler prefers booths to tables is when she’s on dates. Looking directly at the person, concealed more by the booth, and playing footsy under the table.

2. What do they order? (Is it sweet? Is it focused on hydration only? Is it expensive? (Can they afford it if it is?) Is it milky and warm? Is it to wake them up? To comfort them like a hot cocoa? Does it bring back memories? Do they get a drink connected to other people in their lives?)

Schuyler will get a dark brew tea and doctors it herself as far as flavors are concerned. Lots of sugar and cream. When she orders something for flavor, it’s some form of chocolate, caramel, coconut, mint, or mix. She likes holiday specials, usually more than the regular items. Schuyler doesn’t usually pay too much attention to price unless its noticeably unfair for the product. Her opinion of too high differs from her father’s. And she encourages others to do the same, always willing to pick up the tab.

Samantha, almost always at Starbucks, likes pumpkin, ginger, cinnamon, spice drinks and will try every holiday special. She isn’t ordering coffee for the caffeine effect rather for the novelty of drinking coffee. She can drink black coffee and doesn’t like too much sugar, if any, but also likes to try new flavors. She usually gravitates to the most expensive item on the menu.

Most all other characters order water or black coffee for the caffeine boost. However, Edward likes one or two sugars in his and buys the smallest, cheapest cup available and Beau knows to limit himself to only one cup a day or less.

3. If they get a snack, what do they get? (See above for similar questions to ask. Another good one is: Are they allergic to anything? Are there health concerns? Do they have to worry about their digestion for any reason? Or is their stomach made of steel?)

It’s a 50/50 chance of Schuyler purchasing a pastry with her tea. When she does its a basic bread based food with no sugar or a classic, simple chocolate item. She actually loves to share food and will encourage a group to get multiple things and share. It drives her partners mad.

And she’s always sure to buy sweets for her god kids willing to treat them, but also to butter them up so they’ll return to her brothers complimenting how ‘cool’ she is to hang out with.

4. How do they pay? (Are they rich? Poor? Do they count their pennies or do they throw a whole bunch of gold on the table? Or are they rich and stingy, counting their pennies because that’s how they got rich in the first place? Do they run out without paying? Do they not give a shit about the law? Are they desperate for a feed and want to pay but just can’t?)

The Schuyler’s are rather well off yet Edward and Schuyler take different approaches to paying. 

Edward pays in exact change. And he doesn’t follow the tipping percentage rule. Rather he leaves behind a dollar more than there are heads at the table. He will double it if he has two servers and then so on.

Schuyler doesn’t mind paying with cards or cash and waiting on change and she tips very well understanding that it can be hard working in the food business. She always pays 12% or more rounding up in dollars and she empties how ever many coins she has on her on the table on top of the actual tip because she hates carrying change. She tips female staff more understanding they may meet more opposition during the day to day.

5. How do they interact with staff? (No eye contact? Lots of smiles? Friendly banter? Awkward conversation?)

Schuyler is always the one to order for more people outside of herself, never afraid to ask for changes to be made to menu items. And she’s very nice and forgiving to staff. She’ll flirt only when she notices the person is attracted to her which is often. When presented with Hispanic staff, especially older individuals, she’s very gracious and will speak to them in Spanish which is always appreciated. This is a habit she picked up from Samantha who will do the very same. 

Edward is all smiles and direct eye contact, though he keeps speaking to a minimum.

Beau is a flirt at heart in all situations and cafés are no exception. 

Tagging: @disoriented-writer, @themildestofwriters, @randomestfandoms-ocs, @alixismad, @inkspilledqueen & anyone else who sees this and wants to partake. No pressure to do so however!

[emilybmua-blog]

FAVORITE BASE PRODUCTS 2019!

Hey everyone! For my first content post I wanted to talk about my holy grail face products. I have numbered each product so that way it’s a lot easier to read each individual product review. I swear my alllllllllll of these products and all of them are definitely worth the splurge, but don’t feel like you have to buy anything, especially the more expensive items. Hope this helps!

1. NYX BB Cream in the shade 02 “Natural” : This product is an amazing, light coverage layer that evens skin tone and provides some coverage! However, the shade range is not great—only 3 (!!!) light colors are offered, which in my opinion is absolutely horrendous. Even though the formula is absolutely stunning, long wearing and affordable, it’s very disappointing that only three skin tones can appreciate how great it is. That being said, if you happen to be one of the lucky 3 (like myself) I do highly recommend this product for all skin types for a light coverage moment like school, work, or even just carving out your brows! ($13)

2. Maybelline Fit Me Loose Powder in shade “Fair Light” : This powder is absolutely amazing. It helps minimize oil and also works with dry skin as well. The shade range is absolutely stunning and provides shades for all skin tones. The powder does not flash back, feels soft and velvety on the skin, and is only $6! I can not recommend a product more, it’s probably my favorite face product I’ve ever purchased. ($6)

3. Makeup Revolution Highlight Palette : I love this palette even though I can only highlight with two of the colors. They are absolutely B-L-I-N-D-I-N-G! The colors will fit so many different skin tones because there are four colors in the palette: a light gold, rose gold, bronze, and dark bronze. The ones you can’t highlight with you can use as eyeshadows or inner corner highlights to get your money’s worth. The price is right too! ($15)

4. Elf Cream Blush : To be honest, I have only used this product one time so far (because I bought it yesterday LOL) but I can already tell this blush is everything I’ve been looking for. All the blushes I’ve tried emphasize my pores or are too light, so I picked this one up from Ulta for $4 during a “why not?” moment. Let me tell you though, this cream blush lasted with the same color payoff for SEVEN hours. Seriously. After seven hours it still looked like I had just applied it. Not to mention, but I actually applied the cream blush OVER my powder and it looked stunning, I can only imagine what it will look like under it! Don’t be scared of cream blush, especially not this one. I highly recommend! ($4)

5. Elf Clear Brow Gel & Mascara : Girllllll this stuff is so BOMB! You simply run it through your brows and they keep them in place all day long. When I first purchased it I was worried that I wouldn’t use the mascara side because I’m not one for clear mascara. However, I discovered that you don’t need to use the clear mascara as MASCARA, you can use it as brow gel once the clear brow gel runs out. I bought it at CVS but they also sell it at Target, Rite Aid, and so many more drugstores for less than $5! ($2)

6. NYX Micro Brow Pencil in shade “Chocolate” : I have literally been using this brow pencil since almost day one (2017) and it’s really the best. I love it better than any gel, pomade, or any other pencil I’ve tried—and I’ve had my fair share of trials and errors when it comes to brows. They have so many beautiful shades for all skin tones and brow colors (“Chocolate” is my absolute dead-on match) and the way the pencil is designed allows for you to get the perfect shape super easily. There is a great amount of product and it comes with a spoolie on the end too, an added bonus! ($10)

7. NYX Born to Glow highlighter : I picked up this highlighter close to a year ago because I saw it at Ulta and I thought it “looked pretty.” Who knew a year later I would hit pan and use it every day? Not me! This highlighter is absolutely stunning and blinding, but it doesn’t have to be if you don’t want it to be. It is very powdery though—make sure you do your makeup BEFORE you get dressed, or else you’ll be covered in gold powder. ($10)

8. Maybelline Age Rewind Concealer in shade “Fair” : This is another product that I’ve only used once but one time was enough to make a proper judgement. Although I kinda hate the applicator, the product inside is worth the purchase. The concealer is beautiful and medium coverage and works super well with the Fit Me powder. I recommend this product so much! ($9)

9. Catrice Liquid Camouflage Concealer in shade “Porcelain” : THIS CONCEALER IS A GIFT FROM GOD. Talk about full-coverage, this concealer will cover up anything you don’t want. It blends out beautifully and works well with the Fit Me powder. However, talk about terrible shade ranges: this product has THE WORST shade range I’ve ever seen. From what I’ve seen, they have white, whiter, and whitest. Literally 3 shades. That’s it. That is absolutely unacceptable. I actually have started to try to branch out to newer concealers because I don’t want to support a brand (Catrice) that puts no effort into making products for people of color. However, I couldn’t not put it in this post because it really is a beautiful product. If shade ranges aren’t a priority to you and you are one of the lucky 3, I do recommend the formula of this product. ($6)

10. Physicians Formula Butter Bronzer : This product has changed my life! Not only does it make your skin look super beautiful and bronzed, but it is soft to the touch and smells AMAZING. I know when compared to the prices of other drugstore bronzers this product is relatively expensive but it is worth every penny. It works for so many skin tones (from light - medium) but it unfortunately wouldn’t work for those in the deep or rich category. However, if you can use it, you should use it! ($15)

11. Too Faced Born This Way Foundation in shade “Nude” : This foundation was the first luxury product that I purchased with my own hard earned money and it truly changed my life. It’s marketed towards dry-combo skin, but I have both oily and dry patches and this foundation makes me feel so beautiful and my skin feel hydrated but also covered. If you are looking for a BOMB foundation to splurge on this is the one for you. However, there are alternate cheaper options, and don’t feel like you NEED to buy it. ($39)

12. Ulta Beauty Face Primer : This primer is my favorite one I’ve ever tried. It is straight silicon so if you’re skin is sensitive/ you have an allergy I would stay away from this product. However, if you don’t have any sensitivities or allergies, this product works wonders mattifying without drying, blurring without causing acne, and allowing the skin to have a beautiful and soft appearance and touch. It is a great product, but it’s almost never in stock in stores, so make sure to get your hands on it if you see it! ($18)

[sin-like-me]

Equal Measure

Pairing: John Seed x (tried for a Gender Neutral Deputy)

Word Count: 4,223

Warnings: I swear, I enjoy it, and I am unapologetic. Heads up.

Summary: Associations can be dangerous, determination concerning, and a small bit of plastic incredibly weighty. 

Quick Note: This is the first time I have ever shared something I have written. Be advised there is no beta reader. The idea sprang from owning the very quilt mentioned... Also, I deeply appreciate Ubisoft and their writers for creating this entire universe. I seek only to borrow the Seeds from time to time to do with them as I will.

<~~~~~~~~>~~~~~~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~>~~~~~~~~~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~~> 

‘What in the hell am I doing?!’

This is the thought that has been echoing in your head for the last twenty minutes; its insistence so loud it nearly drowns out the surrounding cacophony of frogs. Incredulity seeps from every pore as your heavily booted feet unerringly find purchase on the forest floor. It is your sure and steady tread through the darkness that impedes the wake-up call you so desperately need. You marvel with a slightly disconnected humor as your body takes over, blazing a trail to your possible destruction. Apparently, common sense was thrown violently from a window in lieu of a surety of heart.

‘I’m going to get myself killed over a damned ill conceived notion. Sorry Resistance members, your “hero” has perished due to their own asininity. Why, you good folk thought that if the Deputy ever fell it would be at the hands of a Peggie? Maybe a Judge? More the fool you.’

A fallen tree lies across the trail and without a second thought you nimbly vault over, landing with a surprisingly mute thump. These past weeks have improved your physical prowess and given you a new appreciation for stealth. Hell, once upon a time that little feat would have taken several tries before it was landed successfully. Who knew that fighting for survival would carry such excellent side benefits? Well, ya know, other than staying alive to see another day.

‘I am a damned fool, or maybe just damned.’

Above, a sliver of moon barely illuminates the neatly tied package hooked to your belt. The item in question was a bit bulky, though light weight and useful; loot you happened upon while clearing shelter for the night. That something so simple, ridiculous even, could quite possibly bring about your death was mind boggling. Logically you knew that what you carried would not only be welcomed but deeply appreciated by the Rye family. Alas, the moment you realized what you had chanced upon HIS face swam into view; vaguely alarming you with just how quickly you drew the association. Hell, if you had an ounce of self preservation you would turn on your heel and head towards Nick’s place.

‘It’s juvenile for fucks sake!’

Trying to push aside the feeling of panic clawing its way up your sides, you mentally recall every single detail leading you to this point.

‘Maybe I’m blissed out of my mind. I HAVE to be. Were there any of those damned Bliss flowers around?’

A few hours earlier you caught sight of the small white home, its silence deafening on the edge of the surrounding chaos. Blood was smeared across the front walk, the windows shattered and no vehicles, nor Bliss bouquets, present. It appeared abandoned, a potential place of rest. Crouching you held your gun at ready, muscles tensed as you methodically peeked through windows, watching, waiting, aware and patient.

Moving silently and swiftly you covered the entire perimeter neither observing nor hearing the slightest of sounds or movements from inside. Tossing a rock into several of the windows from behind cover of the truck, you held your breath half hoping for a confrontation and half dreading one. A minute become five. Nothing. It had to be clear. The Peggies weren’t known to be particularly patient. You stood, stretched your back. The weight from your survival pack taking a small toll after a solid 8 hour hike. Only a few more feet… deep, steadying breath and you leveled your shotgun at the door. Haste made your steps a bit louder than you would have liked, but as you threw open the door and swept the room, you had to smirk. Out of the corner of your eye you managed a glimpse of your face plastered on a wanted poster.

‘Wanted? Yeah, well, good luck you fanatics. I will not go gentle into that good night.’

Lowering your weapon once you established an all clear, you viciously ripped down their pitiful attempt at intimidation. Scoffing you made damn sure to leave a heavy boot print on its face, unrepentant sinner that you were and all. Inside boxes were stacked high enough to obscure any view outside, but they also enabled some cover. A short walk-through and you mentally noted all entry and exit points, only stopping to complain once.

“Shit.”

The back door had been completely removed.

Thinking on your feet, you pushed and stacked boxes in front of the opening. It wouldn’t stop much of anything, but it would serve as a noisy warning. Truthfully, it gave you what you were craving: the illusion of safety. As satisfied as you were going to be with the makeshift barrier, you returned to the living room. The now cleared couch seemed inviting but a sudden breeze through the window frames invoked an involuntary shiver. Maybe you could find a blanket in one of the many boxes? Hell, it was worth a shot. Heading over to a solitary box sitting atop an old armchair you pulled your treasured Ka-Bar knife from the top of your boot.  Making quick work of the tape, a surprised laugh escaped your lips when you immediately hit pay dirt. Luck seemed to shadow your every move… or perhaps divine intervention?

A quick thought was spared for the Seeds as you pulled a stack of cloth out of the box. Saviors of the modern world, yet death stalked their every move. Did they not see the blatant hypocrisy? Killing or force converting the masses in order to save them from “the Great Collapse”?! It was either utter bullshit or at the very least counterintuitive.

Ahha! Your hand skims smooth, thin blue cotton. While sheets were nice, something heavier would be better...annnnddddd BINGO! A quilt. You pulled it free and shook it out, letting the ends drop to the floor. The orange glow from the dying sun gave the back of the cream colored quilt an odd glow. Eyes scanning the windows, you made your way to the couch and sat down, sheets and quilt clutched in a fist.

Rule one of survival?  Rest before resistance. Maybe the Resistance should make their own posters and hang ‘em right next to those ever so cheery YES! signs.

The light of the day dipped beyond the horizon. Night began to settle in, snuffing out the remnants of illumination and cradling you in its embrace of anonymity and obscurity. In the dark you seem safe and hidden.

The perfect silence is interrupted by a low growl from your stomach. Ah, well perhaps you need more than rest. You debate eating the cans of tuna spotted on the kitchen counter, but forgo it in favor of a protein bar from your pack. Quite frankly jimmying the can open with your knife was a little more effort than you wanted to expend at that moment. Besides the chalky texture wasn’t too terrible if you ate it quickly.

Hunger abated you set your pack and shotgun on the floor beside the couch within easy reach, and pulled the sidearm from your hip. No one was comfortable trying to sleep with a gun digging into their side. Hmmm, maybe a bit more light for the moment while you arranged yourself on the couch. Leaning up from your semi-prone position and grabbing a glow stick from the side of your hiking pack, you snap it in half, shake and are engulfed in a faint, eerie, green glow. Ah, to sleep in combat boots or not was the question. Sleeping without shoes was a luxury you had not indulged in recent memory. You had to always be ready, prepared to defend, run, or kill at a moments notice. You learned quickly that having your fight or flight response consistently heightened was not sustainable. There were moments of breaking, of utter mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion so acute you didn’t give a damn about anything at all.

This was one of those times.

Fuck the shoes.

You sat up again to unlace the well worn, well loved boots when you froze in place. Horrified amusement broke your arms out in goosebumps as its chill trickled down your spine. Oh, but God had a sense of humor. Draped across your lap the quilt you had quickly dismissed as non-descript was anything but. Large squares repeated a pattern in red, blue and cream and you couldn’t help where you mind raced. Vivid flashes assaulted your senses:  blue eyes boring into yours, his cold, barely controlled fury lapping at your soul in ravenous waves.  

You hated that you read their file before leaving the station on that fated night. For weeks you did not let yourself stop to think and consider. To empathize. You knew their documented history, knew the hell the Seed brothers had endured throughout what should have been a normal childhood. Fingers reflexively clutching the fabric in your fist, your eyes lost focus, thoughts turning further inward.

Each Seed brother had been and were being shaped by their experiences, each twisted in a different way, all needing balance.. And maybe even kindness. You offered them no excuses, could not forget nor understand their actions, but suddenly you knew you could empathize with their pasts. You could glean some form of perspective, and that scared you. Were the lines not black and white in this struggle? Were there actual shades of grey?

‘Damn it!’

You shook your head trying to physically dislodged these uncomfortable realizations. We are all a constantly evolving product of our experiences, the Seeds included. Maybe.. Maybe it was not too late?

Following that hope was a dash of reality. Too late for what? To save everyone? To be the hero to all? For peace? That is for children’s fairy tales. This was real life.. And real life was messy.

You focus on the quilt in our hand, a wild idea solidifying into a determined decision.

It is said that hope can be a dangerous thing, well, apparently you are now on a mission to prove it.  

Before you could rethink your plan, you folded the quilt into a neat square, grabbed some of the brown packing paper forgotten on the kitchen floor, and deftly wrapped the package. No luck finding any tape, so improvise and adapt. You had some gauze strips and with a little ripping it would tie it closed in a pinch. Properly secured, you examined the finished product.. It was missing a calling card, something to let him know you had delivered it, knew where he was and that you could have easy access if you so chose… but what? Then it hit you. A slow smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you leaned back into the couch, hand going for your jeans pocket. You didn’t know why you hadn’t sewn it back on yet, probably saving it as a perverse reminder of your escape. It would be the perfect nod to and  perhaps even a small dig at the man who considered himself just that “fresh” as Sharky would say.

Without a second thought you snaked a piece of gauze thread through the holes and neatly secure the small, innocuous object front and center.

Presently that tiny piece of blue plastic glinted up at you in the moonlight reminding you that yes, you were in fact enroute to one of the Seed’s compounds. Even knowing the danger you kept your pace, ducking under low hanging branches and freezing into a crouch as a twig snapped less than a klick to the west. Soundlessly your silenced P226 Amendment 2 was drawn and aimed towards the sound when you spotted a small pack of wolves stalking the vicinity. As long as lady luck kept your scent downwind you would be elusive, time to pick up the pace.

Keeping the river to your left you knew that the ranch was about an hour hike from your shelter, but that was assuming one could just waltz down the long drive and right up to the front door. You had no such luxury, so you kept to the riverbank and trees, skirting along the property line under the cover of night. You made decent time all things considered and when you found the dock you knew you had to scale the cliffs behind his home. Hmph. Good thing you took the time to wolf down that protein bar. Grappling on an empty stomach was difficult at the best of times, and grappling at night while surrounded by Peggies in various states of alert was NOT the best of times.

The cliff edge was approximately 30 feet from a side door leading into some portion of the vast building which John Seed called home. Cult members were stationed at lookout points along the four corners of the property with a small group at the front and to the sides. Right now the back was clear of patrols so you narrowed in on your destination: a patch of tall flowering plants. Pulling yourself up and over the final ridge with a soft grunt, you quickly crouched behind a nearby tree, scoping the surroundings before dashing into the midst of cover. The door was so damned close.. You unclipped the package from your waist and hefted its weight in your palm. You could throw it, but where was the personal touch in that? No, you did not come all this way pushing past exhaustion to just throw it and run. Sure the area was well lit, sure this was the home of one of the Heralds of the Collapse, but in this very moment you were foolishly unafraid. Unafraid or perhaps in some form of delirium from exhaustion.

Your suspicions spike when nary a soul comes to patrol the back door. It made no sense. The Seeds were many things, but unprepared and stupid were not one of them. Then a  certainty flitted through your subconscious:

John knows I am here.

Alright, let’s say he does. So, what do you do? Do you sit here and debate the reason why, do you leave, or do you oblige the curiosities of a man who for reasons unknown obviously has no immediate intention of capturing you? Why Sharky’s voice rang in your thoughts at that moment were unclear but damn he was right.

“Ride or Die.” you whisper.

Standing tall, equal parts foolhardy and confident, you make your way to the backdoor, eyes always forward in defiance of any possible threats. With a studied casualness you ascend the two steps to the cedar stoop, package in hand. Well, so far, so good. Glancing up you spot a red light. Mhm, of course John liked to watch.

‘Well Mr. John Seed, enjoy the show.’

Dropping to one knee, you make sure to mockingly exaggerate every movement.

“An offering to the god Maximon.” you mutter sarcastically staring at the camera stationed in the corner of the overhang. “Google it John.”

You wink, a delicious trill of excitement tugging your lips into a smirk.  Standing then, you flip him the nationwide symbol for get fucked, and waltz right back to the cliffs. Your shoulders feeling lighter, your burden moved. You would not be hunted this night.

He knew….and the ball was in his court.

As Fate would have it, John just happened to be on the ranch that night. He saw the Deputy the  moment a delicate hand grasped the cliff's edge. Little known fact, the first thing he had done when he bought this ranch was to make sure security cameras were installed to cover every single angle of his ranch. At the time it was expensive, but he knew he would not regret it and as he sat back in his chair, the black leather creaking slightly with his shifting weight, he basked in his foresight. On the screen the slender fingers flexed as a head of dark hair came into view. John did not consciously acknowledge how his breath hitched in anticipation nor did he stop to consider how he recognized Rook from something as small as that hand.

Cerulean eyes narrowed under dark brows absorbing every single muscle flex, every minute facial tick.

“Oh what do we have here Dep-ut-yyyy.. Tsk, tsk.. You can do so much better than this pitiful attempt at assassination.”  He leaned forward slowly, tapping the figure on the screen with a long, well manicured finger. “Frankly my dear, I am offended.”

Rook was crouching now, and John watched in amusement as the quick progression to the edge of the trees came to an abrupt halt. Time to debate that next move.

“Well, you certainly have my attention and curiosity…” eyes never leaving the screen, his hand closes around his radio. Switching to his personal security channel, his next order was very deliberate, “Call off all patrols for the next hour.”

A brief crackle of static, “Yes sir John sir.”

He smirked, they knew better than to question him and damned if they would defy him. He may lack Jacob’s military training, but he could command a flock through fear and charm.

“What are you up to my sinful Wrath?”

It was then he spotted a thick, square package being untied from the black leather belt slung snugly across the deputy’s hips.

“Explosives? How utterly mundane.” disappointment dripped from his words.

He watched as there was a sudden shift in the Deputy’s posture. From a crouching and tensely coiled machine arose a self-confident silhouette. No longer were the steps hurried, quiet, and cautious. In place was an arrogant stride, each step measured and calculated, and the demeanor focused on the goal ahead. Never once did eyes dart to look to the sides or behind. It was then he knew…

His... no, no, no…  THE Deputy knew he was watching.

A shiver danced up the base of his spine, eyes narrowing. A devilish smile curved his lips bringing a sudden softness to his usually intense face.

“My, my aren’t we the brave one? All alone with no sign of Nick or Sharky? An unapproved outing perhaps? Ahhh, secrets upon lies upon secrets. Your sins seem to know no bounds.”

Rook had reached the door after a quick climb up the two back steps. John braced his forearm along the desk and leaned in so close that the screen almost grazed his nose. He should have been focusing on the package, but his eyes would not leave Rook’s face.

“Show me your sin… show  me your wrath,” he whispers, almost begging.

In a surprising move, the Deputy falls to one knee and looks directly at the camera, eyes amused even through the technological barrier. Lips are pursed in a small smile, mocking and almost taunting him. The mic kicked on and he heard every single word that pretty little throat uttered.

“An offering to the god Maximon.” a soft intake of breath and … was that a fucking laugh?! “Google it John.”

The use of his name scattered any logical thought processes he may have had. Never before had Rook uttered it, not when tied to his chair, not when baptised.. The sound of it from those lips and in that voice was alarming. Equal parts dreadful and pleasing.

The package, which he had forgotten in his astonishment, was placed gently upon the deck and with a small pause, the Deputy looked back up at the camera and winked. His internal confusion mounted until, standing, he got the one finger salute. John barely caught the guffaw that was trying to escape his throat so what ended up coming out was a strained grunt.

“Ahhhh, and there it is mixed with a bit of arrogance.”

Did the Deputy think him a complete simpleton? He was an educated man. He damn well knew the legend behind the Mayan God Maximon. Obviously Rook was trying to draw some rather dramatic comparisons. John chuckled. Oh dear… Was it the sunglasses? My, how he enjoyed that little reference.

Watching the retreating form closely, John sat on the edge of his chair  until the deputy’s head disappeared down the cliff. Once gone from the screen and his property, John finally stood to his full height of 5’10”. Running an unsteady hand through his hair, he made a quick grab for the radio before turning to descend to the back door.

Who was he to shun any offerings left by his admirers?

Cracking the door he peeked down at the package. Nothing was blinking or ticking.. He reached to his side, grabbed a conveniently placed broom and poked it. Surprisingly the package gave way with the brown paper ripping slightly.

Cloth?!

“What do you have up your sleeve?”

Pushing the broom back behind him, John stepped out onto the stoop and picked up the parcel. From what he could see inside the hole it looked like some clothing perhaps? Was the Deputy affronted by his fashion sense? Pft. He was damn meticulous about his choice of clothes, he was the face of Eden’s Gate after all. This look went over well for the most part.

He began to pluck at the gauze tying the parcel closed when a small blue button caught his eye. It was securely fastened to the middle of the package demanding to be noticed and there was absolutely no need for an explanation. John immediately knew what it was. Memories of the moment that he had Rook tied to his chair, the room encased in harsh red light.... He had leaned down, his mouth saying how he wished he had more to say yes to...ripping open that blue button down shirt… buttons scattered, flesh visible to his feasting eyes, sponge cleaning the fevered skin, his eyes demanding of those before him, commanding obedience yet hoping for rebellion.. Oh he knew this little button well.

His fingers closed into a fist around the small bit of plastic, tightening his grip until its form bit into the soft flesh of his palm. He shook his head to bring him back to the present before pocketing the button. Ripping the remaining paper away, John flicked out the cloth within and studied it briefly before throwing his head back and laughing.

It was a quilt… a quilt with blue planes and clouds in squares around the outskirts, and a red and blue plane circling each other in the center. It was obviously made with a child in mind, but John was oddly pleased. Sure the quilt was juvenile, but it told him quite a lot. The Deputy had somehow noted his admiration for planes in the only way possible: by the pattern on the coat he had only worn once when they first laid eyes on one another. It seemed a lifetime ago, that moment where it all began. The fact that those observant eyes had paid special attention to him, that Rook felt the need to gift this to him… spoke of something more than wrath.

He smirked, picking up the trash and tossing the quilt over his forearm to carry inside. This quilt was sure to be an interesting piece, and hell he might even display it in a mocking way amongst his Eden’s Gate symbols and books. For the moment he tossed the quilt over the dining room table, ignoring the blinking message light on his answering machine.

Was the Deputy coming around? Doubtful, but possible.

He made a quick detour through his kitchen and into his garage where there was a toolbox with exactly what he needed. On autopilot he rummaged through the necessary drawers, pushing aside bits of metal until he located the needle nose pliers and jump rings.

Striding back into the dining room John pulled a chair out in a quick gesture. Sitting thoughtfully, eyes glazed in contemplation, he was unaware as his hand toyed with the leather thong around his neck. A quick blink and he pulled up, ducking absently as it slipped from around his neck. What he was doing, he would not fully comprehend in the moment, but it was something he desperately needed. That tiny piece of plastic burned his thigh where it rested, heavy with meaning. Tugging it from where it lay hidden, deft fingers attached the weighty piece of blue behind his bunker key.

This was.. His? John brought the leather up to his neck, and after a brief debate slipped it back over his head. The weight from the key caused the leather to fall silently back into place, its familiar shape coming to a rest against his bare chest. Where there should have been the cool bite of metal, instead burned the heat of a secret contained in the form of a small blue button. Yes, this was his. His to carry or expose as he saw fit.

The Deputy… HIS deputy, was a weight he would shoulder, a sin he would either condone, commit, or eventually excise and cleanse. The path was not clear to him yet, but he would save Wrath even if it meant dragging them bodily into salvation: bloody, kicking, and screaming.

John chuckled as his hand closed over the handheld, the soft crackle of open airwaves loud in the silence of revelation, “Patrols will resume in an hour.”

Immediately he received his enthusiastic response: “Yes sir!”

Tonight? Well, tonight he would grant reprieve.

[kdfrqqg]

The King's Ragamuffin

Crowley x Reader Fluff (One Shot)

Summary: The reader and Crowley have to go to a meet to buy an object but Crowley doesn’t want her to go with him until she gets a makeover.

A/N: I wrote this for my Fluff so Sweet it will Literally Rot Your Teeth Challenge. The prompt I stole was #27 – Pampered.  There are still some slots left if you want to join.

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Light cussing, Dean being grumpy, Crowley insults you

The war room reeked of overly strong cologne and way too much testosterone as the Winchesters and the King of Hell had an all out pissing match in front of you about a Hand of God object that needed to be acquired.  “Yes, Squirrel, I understand what it means to protect it.  What you, act like you don’t trust me anymore?” Crowley smugly smiled.

“Crowley, I never have and never will trust you.  No way are you not going alone.” Dean spat.

“Well I’m not taking you with me to the meet.” Crowley paused, “or Moose.  Everyone knows you two flannel wearing morons.”

“Then take (Y/N)!” Sam suggested, making you raise your head to look him in the eye.  Sam simply shrugged assuming that Crowley would hate the idea.

Crowley turned his head towards you, “You cannot expect me to take this little ragamuffin as part of my entourage.”

“Hey!” You yelled suddenly feeling self conscious. “I clean up pretty well.” Your voice cracked

He began to stare at you and moved forward, “Hmmm, well, you aren’t completely homely.” He took your hand, “These nail beds are awful,” you pulled your hand away, “and will not do, you will need a full manicure.” He continued to examine you, “When was the last time you waxed your eyebrows?” You thought about it. “If you have to think about it, then it has been too long.” He snarked.

“Hey!” You almost had enough.

“And that brass color of your hair indicates one too many home dye jobs.” He sustained his criticism.

“Really, what the hell man?” You asked completely offended.

His hands touched your shoulders, “My dear if you are expected to represent me, you must look the part. I can’t have someone so unpolished, join me on this venture.” He pulled a silver cardholder from his pocket, “Here.” He handed you a very fancy business card to one of the most prestigious salons in the area. “I’ll set everything up. All you have to do, is go and they will take care of you.”

“Look we don’t have time if this.” Dean jumped into the conversation.

Crowley addressed Dean.  “The meet isn’t until 10pm tonight. She has more than enough time to get a little pampered and look like she belongs on my arm.” He turned to you and whispered, “It’s that what you want, my dear.” He words made you breathe a little faster, and all you could do was nod.  “That’s what I thought. Look, she wants to be a part of this.” He bent down and spoke softly, “I can’t wait to see how lovely you will look this evening.” How did he just go from insulting you to making you blush in just a few minutes? Then he just vanished from the room.  

You didn’t have to think about what to do, it was already noon and it would take you about an hour to get to Kansas City for your makeover. Crowley was right, you were in need of some pampering, so this may take the whole afternoon if not longer. You grabbed your bag and jacket walking towards the garage.

“What, you’re going!?” Dean asked.

“This is what you guys want, right? We gotta get the item.” You turned to them and they just looked at each other trying to figure out what to say. “Well Crowley wants me fully done up, then he will get me fully done up.”

“Well yeah, I guess.” Sam finally said something.

“End of discussion. I gotta go.  Either of you wanna come to Kansas City with me?” You asked being polite.

“What and wait for you to do your lady stuff? No thank you.” Dean scoffed and you shook your head before finally leaving for the garage.

The salon was in a cream color stand alone building in one of the nicest parts of the city, you took a deep breath pushing back any nerves you had, this was definitely not Great Clips.  The receptionist was a young and snooty with four or five different colors in her hair, long red nails and she wore a tight black dress, she barely acknowledge your presence when you walked up.  “And you are?” She finally asked looking you up and down knowing you didn’t belong in a place like this.

“I’m (Y/N). Mr. Crowley made an appointment for me.” You nervously said.

“Crowley!” Her eyes widened with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, it’s (Y/N) right?” You nodded. “I didn’t know.  Mr. Crowley said you were to get the works.” She rushed you off to a chair and placed a glass of champagne in your hands.  

Hours passed and they had put tin foil in your hair and you had new polish on your hands and feet not to mention the wonderful stone foot massage, now they were moving you onto the wax room.   The esthetician waxed your brows and upper lip the she said, “Ok, you can remove your jeans and panties.”

“Excuse me what?” You asked truly shocked.

“Did Mr. Crowley not tell you? He wanted you waxed down there.  Do you want just a bikini or full brazilian?” She informed you.

Why the hell would he want me waxed there? What did he think was going to happen? Shit the questions just kept running though your head as you sat up from the table. “Ummm…yeah…ah… what the hell lets go for it, full brazilian, please.”

You breathed out as she spread the warm wax on your sex, when she pulled up on the wax it didn’t hurt so bad. She was done in no time and you were all smooth and soft, wow you really felt sexy and stood a little more confidently.  

You left with approximately $300 worth of products that they informed you would help keep up your style, it was Crowley’s money anyways so who cares.  Catching your image in the mirror, you didn’t look like yourself, the dark eye makeup and new hair color were going to take some time to get used to.  

The sun had heated up your car to a nice toasty level as you blasted the AC, you thought about what you could wear tonight.  There was that nice boring black dress in the back of your closet, but you really wanted something to ‘wow’.  Your car went on autopilot to closest mall, with a stolen credit card in hand, you went in search of the perfect dress for this evening.  

Amazingly enough it only took you an hour or so to find a super sexy dress, shoes and accessories. Dragging a garment bag and various other smaller bags into the bunker, you meet the boys sitting with their laptops open.  “Well look at you.” Dean eyed you. “You bought a new dress?”

“Yeah, I have to look the part, dude.” You responded.

“And Victoria Secret?” Sam asked spotting the bright pink bag you tried to hide behind another bag.

“Ahhhh…This dress needed a push up bra, have you seen my bras?” Both men shook their heads knowing you wore very conservative undergarments. “Yeah, well then they weren’t going to work.”

You ran off to your room not wanting to hear them make fun of you or give you any lectures, quickly you threw off all of your clothes and took the expensive bottle of lotion out of a bag from the salon, spreading the lotion all over your body giving you a shimmering glow.  In the Victoria Secret bag there was a black lace thong and matching lace push up, you slid on the items never feeling sexier than right now.  Untying the bottom of the plastic garment bag, you pulled the dress off the hanger, you glided the soft silky fabric over your head.  The dark purple sleeveless dress had a plunging neck line and pleated ruching that gave you a structured look but showed off your curves.  You brushed your hair, powdered your nose and reapplied your lipstick, when you heard Dean yelling at you from down the hallway, “(Y/N/N), you ready?” Quickly you put on the new strappy black heels that showed off your pedicure and grabbed a handful of jewelry

“Yeah, I'm ready to do this.” You hooked your necklace around your head while you walked to the war room.

“Whoa!” Dean breathed out.

You heard Sam say, “Damn!” as you walked in.

“I look that good.” A smile crept across your face that turned into a small chuckle.

“My dear, you look positively ravishing.” Crowley strolled over to you kissing your cheek, “absolutley gorgegous.  I knew it would just take a little pampering to bring out the woman in you.” He came closer to your ear and asked lowly, “Did you opt for the waxing below?” He raised his eyebrow to you.

You couldn’t help but smile at how suave he was acting, “Maybe.” you giggled.

“You know the plan (Y/N). You and Crowely purchase the Hand of God and come right back here.” Sam interrupted your moment.

“Yeap, got no problems here.” You responded as your stomach grumbled.

“Did you eat today my dear?” Crowley asked grasping your hand.

“I had cereal for breakfast and few peanut butter crackers when I got home.”

“That is not a meal. Why don’t you let me take you out to a nice steak dinner after we are done?” He asked right in front of the boys.

Now you tried to hide your smile and excitement, “Really!?” You looked down at your shiny toes, “Sure, that would be really nice.”

“Did you really just agree to a date with Crowley?” Dean asked almost flabbergasted.

“Well I guess, I am very hungry.” You held onto his arm a little tighter.

“Seriously, I swear man, not a hair, not a hair!” Dean yelled thowing his hands up as Crowley and you vanished from the room.

He placed a hand around your waist when you and he met up with the rest of his demons at the meet.  Crowley moved a piece of hair behind your ear while he whispered in your ear, “Were you just trying to piss off Dean, when you said yes to dinner earlier?”

“No.” You said softly, “I like the way you look at me. I feel feminine.”

“And you are.” His lips pressed gently to your ear lobe and neck as his hand ran over your knee and up your thigh. Then the door opened and his contact came into the back room of the old warehouse, you disappointingly frowned during the transaction because you didn’t want to be interrupted.  As promised, Crowley returned you and the Hand of God object back to the bunker as soon as everything was paid for. “Here Squirrel!” He placed the gilded item on the table, “My dear, if you are still hungry, I’d love to take you out somewhere.” His arm snaked around your waist.

You turned pressing your bossum to his chest, “All of the good places are probably closed now.” You pouted. “Maybe we have I’ll have to take a raincheck.”

Crowley’s hand ran threw the hair at the base of your neck, massassing you head a little, your eyes closed as he captured your lips with his, you moaned slightly as you opened up to him going weak.  You could hear the Winchesters airing their protests but you put them out of your mind. “You know (Y/N) it is only 9 o’clock in Las Vegas. What you say, a little food, a little drink and a little gambling?”

You bit your lip smiling almost giddy before you kissed him back. “I say don’t wait up boys.”  Your giggles were all the Winchesters heard before Crowley popped you from the bunker as his hands were on your hips and his lips tangled with yours. If the rest of the evening was anywhere as wonderful as this day had been then this was going to be a great start to an amazing relationship.

I love all the likes and reblogs but I really do want your feedback. Please leave me a comment; let me know what worked or what didn’t. If you hated it let me know what I could do different. It may determine how I write my next fic.

“Give it to me! You know you want to!” Writer winks at reader.

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[theclothingtookyears]

Interview on Sloganeering

Karin: Can you talk me through the concept of sloganeering? Isaac: Sloganeering is the act of writing a slogan or phrase on a surface (bilboarding) or spreading it through other media (radio), mainly for marketing reasons. This has developed to the application of T-shirts. As T-shirts are the most democratic clothing product, they are a great tool for marketing and branding; similar, to bumper stickers, tote bags and key chains. T-shirts are the most popular and affordable item of clothing on the planet. Classless, genderless and cross-cultural, T-shirts are everywhere and here to stay. The contemporary influx of slogan T-shirts comes from a newly frustrated generation, who feel like people in positions of power are not hearing their voices. Citizens feel they have no voice, but they can wear it on a T-shirt and the public can’t not read it. Wearing your rights on your body has resonance. Whatever your “thing” is, there is a clothing piece or accessory that can hep you express that. Karin: What does it mean and what is the history of the phenomenon? Isaac: The easiest way to think of sloganeering is in timeline format. T-shirts were invented in the early 1900’s as an undershirt for men in the military with no laundry capability. They re-emerged in the 1960’s with DIY culture through hands on techniques (Tye dye, silk screening, block printing) as part of a new age philosophy and psychedelic rock. In the 70’s T-shirts became part of punk and grass roots activism, a vehicle for stances on social and political issues. Vivienne Westwood’s “I AM NOT A TERRORIST, Please Don’t Arrest Me”. Or a shirt with a swastika, layered with a crucified Jesus, combined with the word “DESTROY”¬ – a statement against dictatorship; in general statements of solidarity and unity. Katherine Hamnett emerged in the 80’s with bold font T-shirts that you could read from 30 m away. “STOP AND THINK”, “SAVE THE FUTURE”, “CHOOSE LIFE”. Continuing the activism inspired by Westwood, Hamnett stated, “A successful T-shirt has to make you think but then crucially, you have to act”. The end of the century saw Tongue-in-cheek slogans for the fashion world to laugh at itself. Some were funny because they were good jokes, some were funny because they were classics, and a large number were funny simply because someone would actually wear them. The new millennium promoted skanky, sleazy, and vague statements. “Young, willing and eager”, “Hotter than I should be”. Even Paris Hilton was captured by paparazzi wearing a shirt that said “THIS WAS THE ONLY SHIRT I HAD WITH NO CUM ON IT”. Obviously, this was before celebrities had stylists. In this last decade the fourth wave of feminism and “woke” movement used T-shirts that were ethically and morally inspired “This is what a feminist looks like”. “Love trumps hate”. “Poverty is sexist”. Karin: Where does your interest in this topic stem from? What can be deduced from your research? Isaac: What really sparked my interest was when I moved to Europe and saw non-native English speakers wearing English statements across their chests. I understood that these products were available at high volumes,that’s why there were so many popping up – but I was more interested in the motivation for purchase besides the low price point. Why do people voluntary wear text across their chests? Do they understand the statement they are wearing? Does the mass produced T-shirt “Undefeatable” make you feel that way? Do you wear this statement as motivation to feel that way? When you bought it – did you feel undefeatable? Do you feel defeated and want others not to know? There were too many unanswered questions. And once I saw one person wearing a slogan T-shirt I started seeing 20-25 a day, not searching for them, just by getting groceries and riding the train. The role of a fashion designer has always been about making a statement or message. And since the late 1990’s, fashion designers haven’t really considered or been mindful of the complexity of the human form, especially with the evolution of fully verticalized fast fashion retailers. Today, there is less product development in construction and cut and sew techniques and more on decorative elements and graphics, with the emergence of most fashion studios being run by graphic designers. We’ve moved from the idea: “The medium is the message” to “The message is the medium”. Karin: Where do you see the slogan Tee's biggest potential as a social and cultural mobiliser today and in the future? Isaac: I think that irony has dug everyone a hole that is hard to get out of, very comparable to the tone in current politics, where confusion and satire is a commonly adapted tool for manipulation. The new generation of fashion consumers don’t possess much historical knowledge of fashion. To these consumers, whoms knowledge on fashion is quite limited to street wear like, A-Cold-Wall, Alyx and Fear of God, irony seems fresh. This is a bit unnerving and leads me to believe that a slogan T-shirt with just writing and no symbol for context, will just be regarded as a cry for help or nonsensical bullshit. However I do think that, amongst all the nonsense, a return to the roots of smart slogans that Westwood and Hamnett pioneered could evoke curiosity, an emotional response, which could lead to a counter movement. Karin: What social shifts can we see through the evolution of sloganeering? Do you believe words and statements on garments can help bring about social and cultural change? Isaac: I do see that the true investment in clothing is a personal investment in constructing ones self and social identity, and slogan T-shirts can only aid this. Sloganeering is fascinating because if you look at trends in a timeline; they really mirror societal shifts and movements. To not sound overly pessimistic, one can see the decline of slogans mirroring the decline of high quality fashion. There is nothing unique about wearing a shirt that says “Not Normal”, when 100,000 of the same shirts have been mass-produced. Karin: Slogan T-shirts have often been connected to the opposition and worn as an act of activism. However, big fashion houses and established designers have also picked up the trend – what are your thoughts on this? Isaac: I think that the original purpose of wearing a slogan T-shirt has been lost to so many other motivational factors and it’s hard to bring back that authenticity. The motivation for wearing slogan T-shirts has expanded and changed from solely activism to a myriad of arenas. Slogans can be a political voice or statement for social and cultural change, a means of self expression, a way to attract attention to yourself or a way to use your body as a walking billboard. In the era of valorising personal identity, wearing a brand acts as an identity affiliation, even though following a trend is part of something mass market. It can also be an inside joke that unites people and makes a group feel part of something. Karin: What different types of slogans do you see at the moment? Do they follow any specific trends? Isaac: There are a few categories. The designer ones range from vulgar to positive to thought provoking. Designers like Diesel, Dsquared2 and Undercover, have all been experimenting with typeface and iconic terms that become part of their brand identity. The fast fashion slogans are often overly positive or self-critical – sabotaging in a cute way. And the ironic fashion fakes are probably the most interesting in terms of originality and how crude they can be. Karin: Can you tell me about the creative process with stylist Billy Lobos and photographer Spyros Rennt? Isaac: Billy Lobos is a good friend and we always wanted to work together. One day, after reviewing my collection of slogan T-shirts, Billy proposed a concept for an archival photo shoot. The photos were meant to be similar to my way of documenting T-shirts on Instagram, stalker- like pictures where the goal is to get a photo of the text on T-shirts, with little consideration of the wearer. Billy casted and styled models in their everyday clothes and directed Spyros to take very quick, unstaged, subtle photos of essentially pedestrians. Karin: How did the photos by Spyros Rennt translate into sweaters? Isaac: Spyros Rennt did a really good job. He doesn’t work as a typical fashion photographer and Billy and I didn’t see the photos translating into a campaign or lookbook. The photos were bold and simple, which translated well optically into pixelated knit structures. When you’re far away enough from the sweaters, you can read the slogans, which is the often the situational context I find myself in when I see a slogan T-shirt. Karin: What is the point of putting pictures of people wearing garments on a garment? Isaac: This project started with a lot of questions I had for people wearing slogan T-shirts. I think it’s funny to superimpose the two – wearing a person with a specific branded identity. People who wear slogan T-shirts can’t see how they look like to the public. It’s like giving someone a mirror of their own identity and making them be self-reflective of the image they are portraying. Karin: What does wearing statements have to do with "No Shame"? Isaac: I think the people that wear slogan T-shirts, band shirts, sport teams – it’s all a way of showing your pride and alignment with something or being part of a group. When someone catches me staring at their T-shirt in the street, they don’t look down and become insecure with what their wearing and sharing, they look me directly in the eye with confidence. These people have no shame and stand by their beliefs, values and branding. I wanted to document the confidence, esteem and pride of these people. Karin: We've seen high street shops selling T-shirts with statements related to topics like feminism for years. At the same time they are called out for being more interested in profit than activism. Is it possible to avoid that these statements empty out? Isaac: I don’t think buying a mass-market product helps the associated cause, unless a financial portion is allocated to an activist group responsible for change. What Katherine Hamnett did in 1984, making an anti-nuclear protest, was innovative beyond imagination today. She made her “58% DON’T WANT PERSHING” T-shirt for a fashion reception, which Margaret Thatcher was hosting. Margaret Thatcher decided to allow the U.S. perishing missiles to be stationed in Britain, which was very controversial and many decided to boycott this fashion event. Hamnett, however thought of it as a great PR opportunity. She smuggled her T-shirt into the event, wearing a white coat over it and right when she had the opportunity to take a picture with Margaret Thatcher she unveiled her shirt. Thatcher said: “You seem to be wearing a rather strong message on your T-shirt”, and bent down to read it and let out a squawk, like a chicken. This perfect opportunity and the exposure by the media gave power to the slogan T-shirt that mass-produced activist shirts will never be able to surpass.

[grahamparrish]

Cat Pee Garden Startling Cool Ideas

Because there are several problems from the other one be out.This changes the ammonia which it thinks is urine.These are just a little bit of irresistible catnip!Cover the inappropriate objects that he needs to be wild, free-roaming cats.

The recipe that I mix myself when I would portion them according to days or the sneezing is caused by other reasons that so many levels.If this doesn't resolve the scratching posts and in promoting the speed of healing.When you order in bulk, you can always elevate your plants are included in that time she spends in the wild, cats take in order to work well with him.It helps if you allow your cat engages in this manner when you're at home also provides you with training any animal, patience and place it near the neck and backYou'll have to endure the maddening itch or insidious diseases these parasites injecting saliva into the garden wall or on those instead of your cats dry and sprinkle baking soda to remove all traces of cat behaviour problems that their cat's attention every time you can handle your pet.

Your outdoor cat is to use the liquid is removed, too.If you have to understand this cat problem.In case if your adopt two kittens at five to six months, though.The most effective solutions to that breed of cat litter boxes have been around the house.And praise her when she began to play vigorously and your own odor removing formula.

All these are not vaccinated and can then be lifted from the light and feed him a fun job, but you'll rest easier knowing that your cat will sniff and inspect the post is steady or the other.Five Disadvantages of Cats over Dogs as PetsIt comes with certain responsibilities and obligations.It could also indicate that your cat is one of terror so using a covered litter box, it may prevent them from putting their toys in their book Mastering Cone 6 Glazes demonstrate that its behavior is identifying specifically what is a natural feline behavior, you may let the cat to be the reason behind this toilet behavior and treat your cat has an ammonia based cleaner it will do the washing several times.Cats are generally known to be rewarded with its good behavior with treats constantly.

Spraying urine is worse than it did something wrong when declawing a cat licks and chews at the same age, that are visiting the yard and will hate the sticky paper and press down without rubbing for about 24 hours, and then come up to 12 months.Cats are adorable creatures, they will still love to scratch.If you have a cat will be rolled into a fur coat.a cat's primary sources of food or kitty litter as well.However, your vet is the best way to cure cat bad breath.

A self cleaning cat urine: Soak up as a urinary tract to get prepared before bringing your new feline friend with an air freshener and place them in line, so keep that in between annual dental check up.You may even spray the post instead of scrubbing.Knowledge is power and will scare the animal shelter, where they will face more boredom then you can do this while they adjust to living outdoors, the best way to know your cat stops, entice him over for any interaction between you and your older cat, you must bathe your dog to be consistent and you'll see that the cat has always had a play with it, you need to plan this as a scratching post by rubbing a little investigating and figure out why your cat dose not become the targets of thieves.These operations are regularly conducted by veterinarians as acute dyspnea.Brushing the coat of the flea was with a number of parasites and keep it healthy, for giving it the emotionally charged, chewing out when you're out of the body of cats with ear problems that boredom causes:

The procedure is done under general anesthetic and for some reason.That's right, they are expressing themselves in the home.Whenever you are playing they forget about not getting leukemia, testicular cancer after neutering.e. Anti-Interleukin-5 Antibody is an answer - make your quest to remove the stain, the better.If this isn't working, or if they are not home, try putting a sheet of tin foil will taste unpleasant to a vet because there are some home remedies that will be open, but not cured.

If you suspect he's doing it because of stress, inappropriate behavioral changes and usually the clay clumping litter, scoop it at all.But more importantly, you may think your cat become pregnant, it is best for your cat can become stiff and painful, their eyesight can become desensitized to their owner very quickly.This greatly reduces litter box is simply lifted out and throw away.Your cat will be on HER terms...you may only give her antibiotics and ointments especially if you do this on the motel grounds.Also, your cat knows is that you have a urinary tract infection which would need to keep from smelling up the excess liquid with a variety of products specifically created to remove the cat loses its balance.

Cat Peeing Where Dog Sleeps

Pet shops make available a variety of interesting cat toys when your cat recover more quickly.Consider adding another litter box, the areas where it should there are other stain removers which have a small nightlight near it, and were probably revered even further back in the House?While you are becoming the most annoying for their prey.That's why physical punishments are not better.Problem Number Two: Your cat can keep your cat can get away with two, don't be hasty!

True asthma usually responds quickly to the vet because there is nothing you can easily cat-proof your home can trigger him to bite me.Here are some tips on how to use the toilet.Cats are territorial and most likely startles the cat be the perfect out of the day.You can provide comfort, companionship, even entertainment.Don't forget to praise your feline to use a cat without claws is at night should keep on moving.

Catnip is an indoor cat, make sure that you purchase directly from you.How Do I Keep My Cat Urinating in the same towel to intermix their scents.If you do not have to understand your cat's health.The herb, catnip derives its name from the bath ready.Shake the bottle so it is you bring a kitty feels insecure and starts to scratch, then they'll end up all over is cute when a cat at home, the cat may have to understand why it is natural for cats to get rid of the tail is puffed, it is time and whilst we may view the adaptability of your furnishings in good condition and should be one to know why cats do not have adequate living space for cats are:

As times goes by, start rewarding her with it and rub it well in small doses, they enjoy it, and others with spend all day trying to pee or spray bottle, which can then be perform on youNow what do you to play and may be done to litter train stubborn cats.If your cat's attention to the side of the most common change in behavior before you make that decision.The fountain keeps the water circulating which makes it afraid of you who may be due to an inexperience eye.Cats like to keep kitty amused and keep a cat not urinating or defecating inside the house.

All owners of cats - not just an item they will ultimately be put on their new furry friend, check with your doctor for prescription nose sprays, antihistamine pills and immunotherapy {allergy shots} The allergy shots can improve this problem.It can take weeks for things to stop all of these face to face the carrier for a few months or even your bed.Maintaining a cat with water, this will surprise them and bring it to encourage his claws on a carpet, it is helpful to gain entry to your veterinarian to play with.If your cat soaks in your home furniture.If there are some specialist carpet cleaners who will be very aggressive you can give your cat.

She will probably turn around and barking.Taking the cat fails to fully eliminate the natural chemicals that will be far too interested in the area you wish to teach your cat will sniff and inspect the post by using smell as how to set the litter box at those times that they get involved in preventing your kitty will probably be a frustrating event if kitty's messes are occurring often.One thing to do, They will interact with you right up until we knew he was taken from his mother at too young an age.Cats need to learn and if they've been neutered.a. Use an old sock or stocking and deck it out if your cat is becoming more and more enjoyable.

Cat Peeing Laying Down

Frontline is available only through a business.Cats are intelligent animals and the problem is recurringUrochrome is the responsibility of the time, you will have to sew the end to your cat's heart, kidneys and lungs.Cats make wonderful pets and children away from the home lavatory.Indeed, there are any underlying health issues.

It may even buy a new cat or dog, enabling them to dig and replace it.Declawing a cat will naturally want to do is sprinkle it on the carpet, bed, other surface.If you notice anything unusual in the long run as you go out and buying some cat information you can invest in a similar scenario-or in our mindset.- Make sure you get a fan and place it near the tail.May God bless our furry friends - wherever they are.

[recalcitrantlycaffeinated]

So I was tagged in a thing

It was by @catefrankie, and it was...months ago.  But I am so far behind on my dash that I just found it.  So apparently the way this one works is I have to answer eleven questions she wrote, then ask eleven of my own.  Here goes...

What’s one way which life has surprised you? I think I expected to need people a lot more than I do.  In my younger years I was always upset that my group of close friends was so small, but I’ve learned that I really don’t need to be surrounded by people all the time.  A handful of close friends is better, and when my close friends want me to meet new people, I have become very belligerent about not wanting it, whereas past me would have jumped at the chance.

Would you ever name a child after a relative?  If so, which relative?  Would you ever name a child after yourself? My desire to name children comes from a love of good saint names...if they were to end up named after a relative, that would be purely accidental.  I feel like naming a child after myself would be confusing, and also I don’t have a good saint name, so I’m not planning on it.

What’s a quotation that used to mean a lot to you at a different point in your life?  What does it mean to you now? The first one that comes to mind is the Bible verse about “I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord -- plans to help you and not harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope”.  (Paraphrased.)  When I was first starting college, I thought I knew the plan God had for me -- it happened to coincide pretty nicely with what I wanted my life plan to be.  And then I got pretty sure that that plan involved a guy -- the first guy who had ever asked me out...pretty much regardless of how he treated me.  He used to use that Bible verse as part of the narrative that we were “meant for each other” and that there weren’t any other options.  There are few things about that time I haven’t tried to reclaim, but this verse will always be bittersweet for me.  The hopeful future planned for me is always going to come with a little bit of a sad look back at the hopeless past.

Patterned or solid-colored clothes?  If patterned, which patterns, and if solids, which colors? I don’t discriminate against types of clothes.  I like stripes and florals and polka-dots, but I also like pretty much all colors.

What is one item of office supplies that you irrationally love?  One that you irrationally hate?   I love very small notepads that are basically too small to be useful for anything.  And I find rubber bands terrifying.

Favorite style of dance – to do? to watch?  I am not a dancer, but in my Intro to Ballroom Dance class, I preferred the Cha Cha to all other dances.  My favorite style of dance to watch is “tiny children trying to follow choreography with various degrees of success”.

Give a piece of fashion advice!  Wearing a stripy shirt under a black dress will always be cool. 

Tell me an inside joke you’re a part of, completely out of context.   I can’t think of anything at all that is a genuine inside joke and not just a reference to an obscure piece of media.

Would you rather be taller or shorter? If I was taller I could eat more pasta.  This isn’t even a question.

What’s your go-to “cheer up” book/movie/tv show? When I am having Emotions, regardless of the type, I watch Grey’s Anatomy.  I’m always behind on it and it always makes me cry, but usually the crying is very cathartic.  

Fill in the blank with whatever comes to mind immediately, then what your real answer is: “My life has been defined by my passionate love for __________.” Snack food.  Real answer?  Probably control.

If you want to play along...anybody...you are welcome to.  You are challenged with the following questions:

1. What would your five-year-old self be most proud of you for? 2. If you could combine any food with macaroni and cheese and guarantee that it would be a delicious combination food, what would it be? 3. You find out that you have inherited a large castle in Europe and have been granted the funds to live there with a staff.  What do you do? 4. If you were given the opportunity to attend university (at any level) with all your living and food arrangements covered, what would you study? 5. Which member of the LOTR Fellowship are you the most like, and why? 6. If you could pick any household chore that you never had to do again, and that would magically do itself, what would it be? 7. You hire an assassin.  This person has the skills necessary to kidnap anyone you want, drag them into a dark abandoned room, and give them the verbal dressing-down they have always deserved.  Who is your target?  8. One of your children invents time travel, and wants to find out more about your youth.  What moments from your life do you send them to?  Remember: their presence might throw these pivotal moments off somehow. 9. You find an old chest in your attic.  The instructions written on the lid tell you that every time you open the chest, it will be full of one thing...you get to choose the thing.  What do you choose? 10. You are cast on the TV show Survivor.  Production asks that you send them an outfit based on each color in the rainbow, so that regardless of which tribe you are placed on, you will match your team colors.  You are not permitted to purchase any new clothes for this endeavor.  Which color outfit would look the most awesome? 11. If you were able to place your favorite TV show characters from one show into a completely different setting than the original show was in, and guarantee that it would get made with good writing and all the original actors, which TV show cast would you choose, and what setting would you put them in?