#it's more expensive than acrylics but at least i can wear things made with it

[jedi-bird]

Ran a lot of errands today. Went to a local market and did a partial stock up trip. Went to a specialty market and got some really addictive potato chips and a fancy pack of mochi. Hit a craft store and checked out some yarn I've wanted to look at and found some cool star wars fabric (thank goodness for coupons). Went to a store that specializes in spices and bought a ton of stuff; for being high end, it was much cheaper for a lot of it than at the market. I still need to organize and put everything away tomorrow. Hurt too much by the time we got home so that's future me's problem.

[cherriteaa]

MITSUYA X HIS RUNWAY QUEEN

Mitsuya x Black fem reader

A/n: This was requested!! It was part of a 2 person request so I'll reply to the actual request when I do Smiley's

SPOILED. YOU WILL BE TOTALLY SPOILEDDD BY HIM GOOD GOD.

I'm talking handwritten love notes, handmade plushies and outfits, jewelry, making sure at LEAST ur nails are always done, flowers, everythinggg.

He seems to me definitely the gift giver romantic kind of guy. Esp if you're just as stylish as him. Even when yall are younger, and he hasn't gotten his big designer paycheck yet, he's still finding ways to spoil you. Including learning how to do nails. And he can do ANYTHINGGG you want. French tips, painted designs, charms, different shapes, dip, acrylic, rhinestones, ANYTHING. That man is a master at nail art. And he's starting to get really good with doing your hair. He makes a big thing of it, going to the store the day prior to hair day to get the cut fruit for you and everything. He's SO cute. He's already getting used to doing Mana and Luna's hair, so he's got the patience for it.

Always sends goodmorning/goodnight/checkin texts. He's the easiest communicator ever. I feel like if you guys ever do have arguments, they're shortlived. He's great at getting to the heart of the issue calmly and without using damaging/hurtful words.

He's another cuddly guy. Loves inviting you over afterschool to cuddle and just spend quiet time with eachother before he has to get up again to make sure his sisters are taken care of ect. If you stay over, he's more than grateful if you help him out. Be it with dinner, or with the girls. It takes a huge load off his shoulders. During these times, he likes to come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, resting his cheek against you. Something about you just helping out with / being around his family brings a domestic feel that he adores

He love love LOVES to have you wear his stuff. His clothes, things he's designed, his jewelry, anything. He thinks you look sooo cute

Romantic dates as much as he can manage. He's one of those 'if he wanted to, he would' guys. Not every romantic date has to be expensive. He finds all kinds of new and cute ideas for dates. He likes to keep the relationship interesting, and more importantly, keep you feeling like his princess.

He's never afraid to let people know you're dating. He'll invite you to toman meetings, and he isn't afraid to hold your hand or kiss in public. As far as it isnt anything too steamy, he's totally fine with it

HE'S A COOOOK. That man can definitely cook, and he has a bunch of recipes in his arsenal to keep Mana and Luna from getting bored of foods. He likes to show off and pretend to be some celebrity chef in the kitchen after inviting you over for a meal or something.

He likes to tease a little. All in good nature. He isnt the type of guy to poke at insecurities though. More like screenshotting typos you made, and making fun of long gone slightly embarrassing events like you tripping or something. He never means to make you feel bad, just to get a giggle or two. He's the type of boyfriend who will need his girlfriend to keep him in check sometimes. Not that he's out there starting random arguments, but in the sense that he'll start to overwork himself, and he'll get burnt out if you don't say something. And he'll be really grateful if you do.

Mitsuya is the type of guy to do promise rings, and then melt down the material your ring was made out of to infuse into your wedding band. He'll talk about you with his last name, and he's very open to talking about the future with you. He's one of the best types of guys to have around. He'll never leave you behind, and he'll gently push you just enough when you start slacking on your goals. Not only that, but he's the kind of guy who'll notice you're overworking you're stressed before you notice yourself. He's 10000% husband material, and the best thing about being in a relationship with him is that you both encourage eachother to grow and better yourselves together.

A/n: Requested Mitsuya Hc's! I hope they're to your liking <33

Reblogs, Requests and Comments are appreciated!!

My requests are : Open!

[tagsecretsanta]

From @MissSquidTracy

to @scattergraph

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Gordon liked to think of himself as the fashionista of the family.

Sure, his Hawaiian shirts sometimes drew attention of the unwanted kind, but the aquanaut was a firm believer in using clothing as a means of non-verbal communication. John was living proof of this theory.

Unfortunately, all of the freedom associated with self-expression went down the toilet with a resounding ‘flush’ when tradition dictated your attire, even if only for a day.

“Seriously, grandma?” Alan grouched, his bottom lip poking out to form his signature pout when he spied the Tracy matriarch descending the stairs with an armful of colourful sweaters.

“Zip it, kid,” Sally rasped, her tone offering no room for negotiation, “This year marks the tenth anniversary of the Tracy Christmas Album, and I’ll not have your attitude souring the occasion.”

Scott and Virgil shared a look of mutual disgust as Sally handed them two hideously baggy and itchy looking jumpers.

“Don’t you two start as well,” Sally warned, yanking a loose thread off the sleeve of John’s before tossing it towards the redhead, “Anyone caught sulking will be in the kitchen with me for the rest of the afternoon. I’ve just finished a fresh batch of liver and onion stuffing and could use a taste tester.”

Five jumpers were yanked over five heads in perfect unison.

A nod from Sally affirmed her satisfaction with her grandson’s new-found cooperation.

Gordon grimaced and scratched absently as the coarse fibres tickled the soft skin of his neck. Posing for the annual Christmas album photograph was a tradition that stretched right back to their days on the ranch, yet he found himself becoming more disillusioned with it the older he got. Maybe it was the discomfort of wearing an unnecessary extra layer in Tracy Island’s heat. Maybe it was the disappointment of no longer having snow to wake up to on Christmas morning. Maybe it was the absence of his parents, and for the last three years, at least one of his brothers.

“Who’s on the roster for today?” Kayo asked, striding into the room and wordlessly scooping up the one remaining jumper that was equally as ugly as the abominations adorning the torsos of her male colleagues.

In an effort to preserve the family element of the season, Scott had devised a strategy where just one member of International Rescue acted as the primary point of contact for any rescue calls that came through on Christmas Day, be them sea, earth or space based. Last year, Virgil had volunteered and been called to Nigeria to deal with a flash flood. The year before, Kayo had drawn the short straw and ended up assisting with the evacuation of a small town in Chile when a nearby volcano blew it’s top. The year before, Gordon had helped clear away the debris caused by a three-way semi collision on one of Australia’s busiest highways. The aquanaut had been instrumental in ensuring three hundred people made it home in time for Christmas, despite it coming at the expense of his own.

Fairness dictated that Virgil, Kayo and Gordon were exempt from being called upon this Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Accordingly, the honour of being ATD (available to deploy) fell to Scott, John, and Alan to hash out.

One quick round of rock, paper, scissors later, and Scott found himself wondering what brothers three and five would look like with their heads shaved.

“Alright, scoot in!” Sally ordered, returning with Alan’s tablet which she held aloft in an attempt to get a good angle, “Scott and John, you two stand at the back. Gordon and Virgil, you kneel in front of your brothers. Kayo and Alan, I need you both to sit at the front. We’re going for a tiered approach this year.”

A healthy amount of shuffling ensued as each Tracy (plus Kayo) moved into position and tried desperately to make himself/herself look decent. Scott yanked on the hem of his jumper in an attempt to cover up his belt. Virgil tried to hoist his up so that he wasn’t rocking the off the shoulder look. John scrubbed at his nose as the acrylic material began to trigger one of his many allergies. Gordon fanned his face with a hand as sweat began to bead across his forehead. Alan tugged fruitlessly on sleeves that fell woefully short of his wrists, and Kayo demanded that Virgil tell her honestly whether the shape of her jumper made her look fat.

Sally was firmly of the opinion that jumpers had to be vomit-inducingly ugly in order to be ‘festive’. The designs adorning each of the six knitted atrocities in front of her offered indisputable visual evidence of this belief.

Scott was brandishing a bright blue snowman, while Virgil sported a dark green reindeer (complete with light-up antlers). John was the unwilling wearer of an orange gingerbread man, and Gordon was proudly modelling a yellow penguin (complete with a squeezable beak that sang Jingle Bells if you so much as looked at it). Alan appeared indifferent to the red elf plastered across his chest, and Kayo was trying to make the best of her rapidly unravelling black turtledoves.

“Smile!” Sally sang, her finger poised, “On the count of three, everybody say cheese! One…two…three!”

“CHEESE!”

Click.

Flash.

The end result was less than impressive. Scott had blinked at precisely the wrong moment. The grin plastered across Virgil’s face was nothing short of horrifying. John’s eyes were almost as red as his hair. Gordon was shamelessly modelling a chunk of leftover spinach in his right canine. Alan had twisted his head to peer at Virgil at the last second and was a blond and red blur…

Unsurprisingly, Kayo was the only one who’d managed to look straight at the camera and smile like a normal person. 

After reviewing her rather substandard snap and tutting in disapproval, Sally tightened her grip on the tablet and ushered her dispersing grandsons back into formation with a ‘shoo’ motion of her free hand, “Come on you lot, form up. Nobody leaves this room until we have a decent photo. How you boys can look so good in real life but so bad on canvas is beyond me. Your dad always said-“

The sudden departure of an elf wearing Tracy brought all dialogue to an abrupt halt.

“Sorry, grandma!” John yelled as he made a beeline for the stairs, the redness of his nose akin to Rudolph, “But this wool is giving me a nosebleed. You’ll have to take the next shot without me, or just make the one we have work. It might be for the best, as you know how Alan gets unforgivable gas whenever he’s forced to pose.”

The youngest Tracy let loose a honk of outrage, but was dutifully ignored as, one by one, his other brothers began to filter out of the lounge. Excuses of varying degrees of believability bounced off the walls as three more bodies scampered to freedom.

It took all of ten seconds for most of the lounge’s inhabitants to disperse, leaving Kayo and Alan alone with a somewhat disappointed looking Grandma Tracy.

“Oh well,” the Tracy matriarch sighed, reaching to pick up the blue snowman that had been ejected over the first floor bannister, “There’s always next year.”

Kayo smiled thinly and made a mental note to spend next Christmas with her father.

-x-

As well as being the family fashionista, Gordon was also a self-appointed expert in gift giving.

His affinity for making people smile helped tremendously, since it made the process of choosing something his recipient would find meaningful much easier. He wasn’t adverse to buying his brothers practical gifts that they could use in their everyday lives (the tea cosy he’d bought for John the Christmas of fifty four was still in active service), but he knew they had all of the utilitarian gadgets they could ever want or need, courtesy of Brains and their nine figure bank account.

Cue unicorn poo bath bombs, flamingo slippers, and personalised face cushions.

This year however, he’d outdone himself.

Unbeknownst to anyone outside of the family, Gordon was quite the expert on upcycling. He had a knack for seeing potential in things that other people had written off as trash (like Scott, for instance), and took great delight in working with his hands. 

It had taken several days, but he’d finally managed to relocate one of their dad’s old hoverbikes from the ranch to Tracy Island. It had taken up most of the room inside Thunderbird Four’s dry tube station, however he’d managed to offload it in the hanger and perform the desired modifcations in the (relative) privacy of Four’s module. 

Alan had stopped believing in Santa when he was seven. With Lucy dead and Jeff away for three quarters of the year, Scott had taken it upon himself to safeguard whatever remained of his youngest brother’s innocence. Every year on Christmas Eve, without fail, the eldest Tracy donned a red suit and beard and made a big (and often loud) show of depositing presents under the tree. Unfortunately, a rather heated debate one year over Santa’s handwriting (which looked suspiciously similar to Virgil’s), had culminated in the death of Alan’s wide-eyed belief.

Gordon had found the whole debacle rather heart-breaking. Sure, he’d been a year younger than Alan when he himself had stopped believing, but the process had been much gentler. He’d made the innocent mistake of asking John one year to help him with some basic calculations regarding the speed and size of Santa’s sleigh, however had ended up on the receiving end of a lecture from his redheaded brother on reindeer anatomy and wind resistance.

His belief had died peacefully in its sleep nine hours later. 

Still, having a belief squished verbally was a lot less harsh than having it squished visually. Poor Alan.

Gordon smiled to himself as he inspected his handiwork. He’d outfitted the storage compartment on the back of the red hoverbike he’d abducted to look like the back end of a sleigh. He’d toyed with the idea of enlisting the help of a couple of real life reindeer (or ponies) to act as draught animals, but had decided against it after reviewing the vaccination and transport requirements. 

Despite managing to complete the modifications inside Four’s module, Gordon had been forced to relocate his creation elsewhere when he and Virgil had been called away on an impromptu rescue involving a couple of unqualified divers. With his back against the wall, the aquanaut had picked the first alternative hiding place that had come into his head.

The roof.

As ridiculous as it sounded, the glass roof of Tracy Island’s lounge was anchored into numerous rocky outcroppings that, when utilised effectively, provided excellent cover. So long as nobody glanced up, of course.

A sigh of pride bubbled up Gordon’s diaphragm. He might not be able to reverse the damage caused by Virgil’s handwriting gaffe, but he could at least give his youngest brother a laugh and deliver his gifts in style instead.

So preoccupied was the aquanaut with buffing out an imaginary mark from the hoverbike’s bumper, that he failed to notice the Island’s automated weather system bark out the alarm for a storm warning.

Thankfully, John didn’t.

-x-

Scott had checked high and low.

And then high again, just to be sure.

The eldest Tracy was stumped. Gordon had somehow managed to vanish clean off the face of the earth.

Not that such a discovery would usually cause the eldest Tracy any concern (the aquanaut had a knack for evading capture), but Christmas lunch was due to be served any minute and they were one body short at the kitchen table.

“Gordon?” Scott called, shoving his head into the bathroom for what felt like the billionth time that hour. He’d tried calling the aquanaut’s phone, but had been sent to voicemail both times. His biometric tracker showed that he was still on the island, however couldn’t generate an exact location for him. EOS’s heat signature scans weren’t much better, courtesy of the wonky connection brought about by the oncoming storm. 

“I’m stumped,” Scott huffed, admitting defeat with a bemused shrug, “He’s gone. I’ve checked the hanger, the changing rooms, his room, the bathroom, and the gym. Nothing. It’s like he’s poofed into thin air.”

Virgil opened his mouth to reply, however was cut off by the arrival of John, whose expression was an expert blend of concern and flippancy. 

“I’ll give you three guesses as to his location,” the redhead began, “If you win, I’ll do your laundry for a week. If you lose, you have to eat my portion of grandma’s stuffing.”

Scott quickly did the math. It was a risk he was willing to take.

“Is he stuck inside his launch chute?”

“No.”

“Is he swimming in the lagoon?”

“No.”

“Is he hijacking Thunderbird One again?”

“No.”

….

“Well?” the eldest brother demanded, hands on hips. He had no interest in John drawing out his victory for any longer than necessary.

The redhead allowed a small smile to grace his face before gesturing with an index finger towards the ceiling.

Scott blinked as his blue gaze clapped onto a jean-clad butt scrabbling around atop the reinforced glass, oblivious to the small audience he’d amassed as he tried to evade the rapidly intensifying rain.

“The roof?” Scott honked, one hand fisting itself through his hair, “I take my eyes off him for two minutes, and he ends up on the roof?”

“Whoa, whoa!” a new voice piped up, it’s baritone depth failing to bring Scott any relief, “He’s where?!”

The eldest Tracy said nothing, opting instead to stab a finger upwards. Ever the cooperative one, Virgil cast his eyes in the desired direction, a small frown infecting his face as he did so.

“We should probably get him down,” the engineer announced, cringing when Gordon slipped on the now wet glass and starfished on his back, “He’s still wearing his Christmas jumper, and the blasted thing will short-circuit if it gets damp.”

A loud ‘thwack’ echoed around the lounge as Scott’s palm got itself well acquainted with his face.

-x-

John had never been one for big displays of emotion.

A polite smile or, in extreme cases, a shoulder pat were usually the preferred methods his brothers employed whenever they wanted to convey feelings of endearment towards him. 

Christmas was an exception, however, and it was without a shred of his usual awkwardness that the redhead enveloped his fish brother in a tight hug, the scent of singed fabric tickling his nostrils.

Virgil’s extraction of their younger brother hadn’t quite been quick enough, and it was with a suitable amount of humility that Gordon shuffled back into the safety and dryness of the lounge, a thin trail of smoke rising from the beak of his thoroughly soaked penguin jumper.

“How bad was it?” John queried, biting his cheek to keep his humour in check as he took in the static strands of hair atop Gordon’s head. The aquanaut looked as if he’d just stuck his finger inside a plug socket which, on reflection, wasn’t as much of an inaccurate analogy as the redhead had originally thought.

Gordon ignored his space brother in favour of slowly shuffling towards the staircase, an involuntary yelp escaping when his traitorous jumper suddenly gave off a stray spark.

Virgil snorted and flicked a hand through his hair to rid it of the rainwater it had collected, “Nothing to worry about on the health side of things, but man John, you should have seen it. He nearly took off like a firework.”

The redhead quirked an unimpressed brow, “Serves him right for skipping over the electrical safety briefings I sent down last week. You’d think he’d have a better understanding of how water and electricity don’t mix, what with his ‘Bird being the only one kitted out for aquatic reconnaissance.” 

  A shrug was offered by Virgil in lieu of a response, “I’m sure all will be revealed once he’s properly earthed himself. Meanwhile, I’d better get that hoverbike down before it crashes through the roof and lands on someone’s head. Can you send Scott up to help? I could use a couple of his grapples.”

John threw his brother a mock salute before breezing off towards the kitchen, only to stop when he caught sight of a familiar blue outline on one of the sofas.

“Be there in a minute!” Scott mumbled, his cheeks bulging like an oversized hamster as he chomped his way through an indulgent looking doughnut.

John felt his gaze darken as he took stock of the stray sprinkles in the corner of his eldest brother’s mouth, “Where did you get those?”

Scott held a finger up as he swallowed, thumping his chest when a stubborn piece of dough got lodged, “Mainland, to make up for grandma’s sprout and salmon tart. Help yourself, there’s plenty left. I’ve only had three.”

The lack of control Scott had when confronted with unhealthy snacks never failed to amaze his brothers.

“You want to take it easy,” Virgil warned, motioning with one hand to his waistline, “Too many of those could send you to an early grave.”

Scott flicked his hand dismissively and reached for a fourth doughnut.

“Don’t care. I won’t be the one carrying the coffin.”

- FIN -

[magnoliasinbloom]

Crash Course Love

A/N: Oh wow, it seems a lot of readers were a bit upset at the ending for Ch. 14, including some who were left feeling EXTREMELY PISSED OFF at Jamie and my new fave name, “Annasleaze”. I received quite a few requests to update soon and not leave y’all hanging in angst until next week, and in these hard times, who am I to refuse. So here it is, Chapter 15. 

Infinite thanks to @anna-swims​ and @elizabeth-beauchamp​ for being awesome betas.

AO3 :: Previously

15: Time [Jamie]

“Mac na galla!” I shouted.

My phone was in the toilet, water rippling in its wake. I watched helplessly as the screen shorted out, bubbles floating swiftly to the surface. I fished it out gingerly, laying it on a wad of toilet paper on the floor to dry. No mobile meant no way to contact her now.

I was already running horribly late to meet Claire at the wedding reception. I’d thought to wear my kilt, which I only did for special occasions such as this—my thought in wearing it was to honor Claire, by trying to look my very best. But then I’d spilled the last dregs of my coffee on it. I washed out the stain as best I could, which I realized belatedly was pointless since the plaid pattern hid most of it. Then I aimed a small travel hairdryer at it, trying to dry out the wet patch I’d made worse.

Finally dressed, I headed to the toilet and accidentally dropped my phone when I took it out of my sporran; I’d heart the chirp of an incoming text message and thought it might be Claire. I cursed my clumsiness over and over as I also managed to break off a bootlace (hastily replaced with a tennis shoelace), found a gaping hole where two buttons were missing on my dress shirt (but mercifully the waistcoat and jacket would cover it), and my bow tie had another unrecognizable stain from Hogmanay (but had no time to do anything about it). At least my gift for Claire was still safe inside my sporran. I patted it reassuringly as I resolved to take better care of my formalwear, hurriedly climbing into my Jeep and plugging the key into the ignition.

Nothing.

A faint clicking noise from the engine, but no roaring motor as usual. I laid my head on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly as I tried to turn the key one more time. Still nothing. Alright. What to do? I reached instinctively into my pocket to grab my phone and call an Uber before I remembered. Fuck.

A cab trip to the venue would be astronomical; but the expense would be worth it if I could just get there soon. I reached into my sporran again and found I’d left my wallet at the flat.  I almost tore my hair out by the roots as I raced back up the stairs of my building and retrieved my wallet; traipsing back down, I prayed I’d find a cab within the next thirty seconds or I would go berserk.

- - -

Claire was beautiful.

She wore a midnight blue dress, in dark contrast with her ivory skin and the honey of her eyes. The sight of her was enough to make me forget all I had endured to finally make it to the wedding. Tucked into the back of a warm Glasgow cab, I’d finally made it to my destination.

As soon as I spotted her, I wanted nothing more than to kiss away the worried line between her eyebrows. I imagined I was partly to blame for it; the way she gripped my neck in greeting and then relaxed against my body confirmed my thoughts. With her words, I knew all was forgiven.

I sat back, enjoying the feeling of Claire’s head tucked into my shoulder. I could smell her perfume, something light and fresh and redolent of green growing things. I inhaled deeply, discreetly trying to bury my nose in her hair. I hadn’t felt such peace in a long time. I caressed her bare arm, my eyes almost closing in absolute bliss.

I thought perhaps it was time to give her the gift I’d brought. I was trying to figure out a way to open my sporran without dislodging Claire from her comfortable position when she stood up to excuse herself to the toilets.

“I can go wi’ ye, I mean, to wait outside, Sassenach—”

“Oh, no, don’t bother, Jamie. I’ll just be a moment.” She waved me off with a reassuring smile and I watched her walk away. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought she had added an extra sway to her step. God, I hadn’t ever seen a more beautiful, rounder arse—

“Bonjour, Jamie.”

I froze. It couldn’t be.

I glanced in the direction of the greeting and saw Annalise, sauntering over in what I assumed she thought was a sexy manner. She wore a bright red dress, and entirely too much makeup. Her hair fell in waves; she tossed it over her shoulder and she put her hand on my arm. She had long, pointy, acrylic nails. I shuddered as they dug into my skin.

“Are you not happy to see me?” Annalise gave me a seductive smile, but all I could manage was to blink at her.

I felt nothing, absolutely nothing. Where there had been blind panic on other occasions was now simply an empty space, and I breathed with relief. Annalise thought I was gathering my wits about me; she stepped closer to me and pressed herself against me. The perfume she wore was heavy, sugary, cloying. I remembered Claire’s evocative scent and the feel of her body next to me and I knew for certain that’s exactly what I wanted. Not this French woman, ever again.

“Annalise. What are ye doing here?” I pulled away out of her grasp, but she did not get the message.

“I’m a guest, of course. Louise is an old friend of my family. Even my parents were invited. I am sure they would love to see you.”

“Would they,” I said flatly, glancing around and wishing Claire would come back so we could walk away together, hand in hand. I decided to go find her myself. “Excuse me.”

I had barely moved a foot before she blocked my way, her hands on my chest. “Jamie, I have realized. J’ai fait une erreur. When I saw you with her, I just knew it. She is all wrong for you. Je voudrais être avec toi encore…”

With a quick glance behind her, Annalise stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her mouth against mine. She was insistent, rough even, and I tried to step back, but she moved with me easily. Finally, I had no choice but to touch her. I broke away, laying my hands on her shoulders and pushing her away.

“No. Do ye want it in French? Non, jamais. It’s over, Annalise. Please go now.” My tone was harsh and strong, rising over the pounding music.

Annalise’s playful, sultry smile vanished into a hideous sneer. I imagined it had been lurking just beneath the surface. “You would give me up for that sad, mousy little—” She gestured behind her and I looked up.

Claire.

She stood watching us for a split second before she turned and fled.

[crimsonhcadache]

      - ̗̀ NOW INTRODUCING:  IVES ❝ IVY ❞ SERRANO !

( DANNA PAOLA, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER, SCORPIO, 24 ) I just spotted IVES “IVY” SERRANO at the beach today. Don’t you know them? They live down by the TOWERS and usually hang out with the RICH KIDS & MUSICIANS cliques. From what I’ve heard, they can be DECEITFUL, but they’re also ADAPTIVE. I always think of them when i hear LAST LAUGH - FLETCHER and tend to associate them with STRAWBERRY CHAMPAGNE, A FRESH SET OF STILETTO NAILS, AND RED LINGERIE. ( tay, she/her, 22, est )

full name: natalie rose serrano ives serrano nicknames: ivy, poison ivy faceclaim: danna paola voiceclaim: lana del rey birthday: november 1st, 1996  zodiac: scorpio sun, aries moon, gemini rising sexuality: bisexual occupation: influencer, instagram model, musician, scammer / thief positive traits: effervescent, bold, creative, charismatic, coquettish, intuitive, ambitious, alluring, adventurous, perceptive  negative traits: cantankerous, deceitful, envious, manipulative, dramatic, stubborn, narcissistic, materialistic, reckless, quick-tempered character inspos: maddy perez euphoria, jackie burkhart that 70’s show, blair waldorf gossip girl, margo hanson the magicians, every lana del rey song ever, lucrecia montesinos and cayetana pando elite, rosa diaz brooklyn nine nine, the entire rose family schitts creek, jen harding dead to me

- ̗̀♡ — › background !

the main thing u need to know about ivy is that she is lying ! always !! her real name isn’t even actually ivy smh

she was born NATALIE ROSE SERRANO, to two working class parents in new york city. she knew from a young age that she was just supposed to be rich and famous, and that something had gotten mixed up somewhere and she was put in the wrong life.

in high school she got a scholarship to a fancy private catholic school, and that’s where she started to hone her craft of manipulating rich people. she would befriend all of the richest bitches at school and take advantage of everything that came along with it: vacations to far away places, stays in the family’s cabins and lake houses, even designer clothes that her friends no longer wanted and would gift to her, thinking it was their idea all along

as she grew up and got better at getting what she wanted out of people, her entitled attitude only got worse, driving a wedge between her and her parents, who kept waiting for her to develop a work ethic and kept being disappointed. a few months after she graduated high school, on her 18th birthday, her parents kicked her out of the house and cut her off, hoping that it would force her to grow up and take on any responsibility

but that plan backfired for them, her parents underestimating how truly stubborn natalie was. the day after her 18th, she wandered into a local strip club and got a job, figuring it’d be the easiest and quickest way to get some cash, and she took to it naturally and actually really enjoyed stripping

she started to embody an entirely new persona that she had created for herself, dancing under the name POISON IVY and telling everyone she was a trust fund baby that had been cut off from her rich parents, needing to dance to supplement her income, and her lies just continued to spiral out of control until she almost started to believe it herself. she had never told anyone at the club her real name, not even the other strippers, just going by “ivy” for a while.

she had learned to weaponize the power she had over people by being pretty and charming, using her looks for absolute evil and doing whatever it took to get money—from straight up pickpocketing, to making men buy her expensive gifts, to blackmailing, to sugar babying, to getting patrons wasted and manipulating them into tipping her absurd amounts… she did it all, very quickly earning enough to live the life she had always dreamed of, that she felt she deserved for whatever twisted reason.

she started posting on instagram with the name poison ivy generally just flaunting her carefree, extravagant life, often exaggerating or down right lying just to really dazzle her quickly growing audience

as she started to go down the influencer route, she realized she needed to do something to hide the skeletons in her closet ( the fact that she didn’t actually come from money and was making far more than was normal for even the best of dancers, a couple of small possession / shoplifting charges, and just generally anything that could lead people to her real identity ) so she started to tell people her name was ives, fully taking on the new identity. she even went so far as to make some of the people that had been closest to her sign NDAs about her real identity, making sure that no one could sell info about her should her plan of being famous work out

she also moved out to california to run away from everyone in the city that was starting to catch on to what she was doing, basically doing all the same shit but now in a New Place.. this was about 3-4 years ago, so she’s been in sunhollow for a while now doing the whole influencer thing !!

and it did work out !! at first she was definitely buying followers/likes to boost her likelihood of brand sponsorships, but eventually she faked it until she made it and actually attained influencer status. she then used her newfound internet fame ( and some classic blackmailing ) to get herself a record deal 

she also started sleeping around with pretty much any famous person she could, having very public relationships and breakups and scandals to keep her name in the press, which ultimately lead to more exposure/people following her, if only to see what she did next, which lead to even more sponsorships

eventually she stopped dancing and just focused on her influencing and more recently ( like... less than 6 months ago recently ) her music career. but she never stopped sugar babying and scamming rich stupid men, still very much using that as a means to keep up her lifestyle. she’s also done a few modeling things, but it’s mostly just like catalog work or being the face of a trendy campaign bc she’s way too short for the runway

she also recently made an only fans account bc she was bored one night and was mostly planning on posting once as a joke but then she made a bunch of money / got a bunch of subscribers and was like oh word ? i can do that ! so she will post on there from time to time but she’s not like… super serious about it ya know ? also her music label is big mad at her for it bc they’re like bUt yOuR rEpUtAtIoN and she’s like yeah.. but my bank account ? also it’s no secret she used to be a stripper so she rly just.. doesn’t give a fuck ! 

so basically she’s jus here making money being pretty and pulling a long ass scam on… everyone

- ̗̀♡ — › personality / headcannons !

she’s a real two faced bitch… she has perfected the art of becoming whoever she thinks other people want her to be, quickly adapting her personality to get whatever she wants

she’s usually pretty friendly actually, really charming and outgoing and just trying to have a good time

she has a pretty short temper tho and holds grudges like you wouldn’t believe, so once you’re on her bad side… good luck lol she is so ruthless

she’s like… deeply, deeply selfish and will always put herself first, but she’s so manipulative that she can make people do things that they think are their idea, but it’s really just something she planted in their head so it’s not always obvious

also very spoiled and will throw a mf fit if she doesn’t get her way or u say no to her

always going out !! always doing the most !! she’s the type to show up randomly at ur door at 8pm on a tuesday with a bottle of tequila and make u party with her whether u like it or not

she’s a lot smarter than she lets on sometimes, like she knows people expect her to be stupid and ditzy and shallow and she’ll let them underestimate her when it’s beneficial

always looks perfectly put together— her nails are always meticulously manicured, usually w stiletto shaped acrylics, and you’ll literally never see her outside her house without makeup and a perfectly composed outfit. it’s also a rare occasion that she’s not wearing at least six inch heels, trying to make up for bein so mf short ( she’s 5’3 )

she talks A Lot but is really good at saying a lot of words without actually saying anything, like you can be best friends with her for months and then just be like “i don’t actually know a single thing about her”

always up to no good and sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong !! she’s always got some sort of scheme going or getting in to some kind of drama

v much a hoe and v much proud of it, will sleep w just about anyone especially if she can get something out of it

also a serial dater !! she’s always hoping in and out of relationships and being rumored to be with a dozen people at once

most definitely calls paparazzi on herself, especially when she’s around other famous ppl but will never admit it

compulsive liar, she will literally lie about the dumbest things like she doesn’t even need a reason to lie she jus.. does

she has a luxury two bedroom apartment that she lives alone in ( one room is kinda a guest room but also mostly just a giant closet ) in the towers and the gag is she doesn’t even know how much her rent is bc one of her random sugar daddies pays her rent.. her power tbh 

- ̗̀♡ — › wanted connections !

hookups / flings / one night stands / fwbs all that shit !!

exes on bad terms … gimme drama pls

enemies / ppl she’s stolen from maybe… she would definitely deny it and say they’re jus jealous of her or smth stupid but that could make the feud worse

party pals !! like i said she goes out a lot and always somehow manages to make new friends and drag them into her shenanigans

on again / off again exes… i want the Angst so bad..

shallow friendships / influencer friends like they play it up a lot for insta bc they both have a pretty big following but they dont really... like each other that much ?? like they definitely seem to be a lot closer than they really are

pr relationships this could be past or present !! in the same vein as the last one except they pretend to date ( or maybe just act like they’re gonna date but never actually do ?? like to fuel rumors ) 

unlikely friends !! like ppl who are nice and sweet and Pure, she could use a lil good energy in her life

situationship / flirtationship like they’re super flirty and maybe hook up a couple times but everyone assumes they’re dating or like gonna date but they’re jus vibing. bonus points if one or both of them actually has feelings but can’t tell if they’re just friends / casually hooking up or if it could turn into something more.. im a slut for some mutual pining !!

neighbors … mb they hate her for always being loud n throwing mini parties OR maybe they join in

mean girl rivalries !!

someone she’s taking advantage of / stealing from without them knowing .. oof

partner in crime !!!

one sided crushes or like someone she’s stringing along smh

sugar daddies mb 😇

someone to put her in her mf place JDKDKD like they call her out on her bs and are like “i see what ur doing bitch stay away from my friends” type thing

idk anything really !! gimme all the messy plots ok :~)

[thebaconsandwichofregret]

Happy False Value Day everyone!!!

As many of you know Ben Aaronovitch used to work for Waterstone’s, a bookshop chain in the UK, and because he’s quite proud of having worked there (and they are proud of having once employed him, no seriously, every time I even look at one of his books in one of their shops a member of staff spontaneously appears to tell me “He used to work here you know!” If I had a pound for every time I’d heard that I could afford to buy the Folly) he gives Waterstone’s a special exclusive short story in the first run of every new Rivers of London book. 

Obviously this is great for those of us who are UK fans. 

It’s less great for those of you who are international fans. However in the spirit of International Magical Cooperation I managed to get my hands on my copy ever so slightly early and so I have here for your reading pleasure, the exclusive short story from False Value - A Dedicated Follower of Fashion

Please note that this story contains mentions of sex and drugs and rock’n’roll

A Dedicated Follower of Fashion

By Ben Aaronovitch

You know that song by The Kinks? Not that one. The other one. No, not that one either. Yeah, that one- ‘Dedicated Follower of Fashion’. You wouldn’t believe it to look at me now, but that song’s about me. 

These days my daughter does her best to keep me looking respectable, and I haven’t the heart to tell her that I’d much rather wear my nice comfortable corduroy trousers, with braces, and leave my shirt untucked. But back in the sixties I was the dedicated follower of fashion. And it’s true that they sought me here and they sought me there but, as Ray Davies knew perfectly well, that was probably because of the drug dealing. What can I say? Clothes aren’t cheap. 

I was a middleman buying wholesale and supplying a network of dealers, mostly in and around the King’s Road. I rarely sold retail, although I did have a number of select clients. And of course nothing lubricates a soirée like a bowl full of alpha-methylphenethylamine. It was all going swimmingly until some little shit from Islington stiffed me on a payment and I found myself coming up ten grand short. And, believe me, ten grand in 1967 was a lot of money. You could buy a house in Notting Hill for less than that - not that anyone wanted to, not in those days. 

Now, I’ll admit that as an entrepreneur working in such a volatile industry, I probably should have ensured that I had a cash reserve stashed away against such an eventuality. Mistakes were definitely made. But in my defence, not only had I just discovered the joys of blow, I was also distracted by my infatuation with Lilith. 

Now, I’ve always cheerfully swung both ways and, to be honest, I’ve always been more attracted by the cut of someone’s trousers than what was held therein. But when I met Lilith it was if all the cash registers rung out in celebration. She was so like a man in some ways and so like a woman in others. I’d love to say that it was the best of both worlds, but looking back it was a disaster in every respect. Although a completely exhilarating disaster, like a roller coaster to an unknown destination. I tried explaining what she was like to Ray Davies and that beardy writer who ran that sci-fi magazine, but they both got her completely wrong. 

So there I was, suddenly ten grand down to people whose names you’re better off not knowing - let’s just call them the Deplorables and leave it at that. If I tell you that their nicknames were Cutter, Lead Pipe and Gnasher, that should give you a flavour of their character. You could call Cutter the brains behind the gang but that would be risking an overstatement. Organised crime in the good old days required little in the way of actual brains and relied much more on a calculated defiance of the social niceties vis-à-vis psychotic violence. Terrify your rivals, bully your customers, and hand out a bung to the local constabulary and you were away. 

And it goes without saying that aesthetically they were a dead loss. 

The Deplorables had a straightforward approach to those that owed them money which I will leave to your imagination - suffice only to say that it involved a sledgehammer and, of all things, a marlinspike. 

But I had no intention of losing my knees, so I had arranged a couple of new deals that would net me a sufficient profit to cover both what I owed the Deplorables and the same again to appease them sufficiently to save my poor knees from a fate worse than polyester. 

I know some of you are thinking that polyester was hip and groovy back in the Swinging Sixties, but trust me when I say that it was an abomination from the start - whatever the elegance of its long chain polymers.

In order to keep body and wardrobe together while I waited for these deals to come to fruition I decanted, along with Lilith and my faithful sidekick Merton, to a squat in Wandsworth just off the Earlsfield High Street. Now, I normally shun the transpontine reaches of the capital. But my thinking was sound. With my reputation as a flower of Chelsea and the King’s Road, I reckoned that nobody - least of all the dim members of the Deplorables - would think to look for me across the river. 

‘No fucking way,’ said Lilith when she first saw it, ‘am I living in this shithole.’

Squats come in many flavours. But political, religious or student, they are almost always shitholes. However, I could see this one had potential and Nigel, God bless his woolen Woolworths socks, had at least kept it clean. 

But not particularly tidy. 

Outwardly Nigel was definitely one of the children of Aquarius. Inside he had the soul of an accountant, but alas none of the facility with numbers. 

According to Nigel, who could be dull about this sort of thing, the building we were squatting in had been built in the eighteenth century as an inn that specialised in serving the trade along the river Wandle. This was news to me, because I had assumed the rank channel immediately behind the house was a canal. 

‘There used to be factories up and down the Wandle,’ he told me despite my best efforts to stop him, ‘all connected up with barges. And this is where the wartermen used to get their drinks in.’

With the collapse of that trade it was converted into a grad town house, a status it retained for a hundred years or so before providing slum housing for the unwashed multitude. Occasionally on its hundred-year odyssey it would surface into the light of respectable society before descending once more into the depths of squalor. 

Which is where yours truly arrived to bring a touch of colour and a modicum of good taste to the old place. 

Looking back, I believe that might have been the start of the whole ghastly business. 

Now the thing about the drug trade is that it overlaps with the general smuggling industry. As a result a man with the right contacts can acquire much in the way of valuable cloth - Egyptian cotton and the like - without troubling the good people of Her Majesty’s Customs and Excise. Then such an individual might use his reputation for fashion to sell on said items to the East End rag trade at less than wholesale, cash under the table, no questions asked and no invoices raised. Not as lucrative as a suitcase full of horse, but safer and more dependable. 

Cloth, even expensive cloth, takes up considerably more room even than Mary Jane, so the fact that the old building had a beer cellar capacious enough to store the stock was the other reason I’d chosen it as a bolt-hole. Merton and I pressed Nigel into service to help us carry the bales, wrapped in tarpaulin for protection, down to the cellar, which proved to be mercifully dry and cool.

It was surprisingly cool - you could have used it as a pantry. 

‘That’s because of the river,’ Nigel explained. ‘It’s just the other side of that wall.’

I touched the wall and was surprised to find it cool but bone dry. 

‘They know how to build houses in those days,’ said Nigel. 

Once we’d moved the good in, it was time to deal with the ever simmering domestic crisis that was life with Lilith. In the latest instalment of the drama, she had ejected Nigel from the master bedroom and claimed it as her own. This was less of a distraction than it might be because Nigel, like nearly all men, was clearly smitten with Lilith and acquiesced with surprisingly good grace. 

And so we settled in companionably enough, especially when Lilith and Nigel discovered a common in the works of Jack Kerouac. I could see that at some point I would be bedding down with Merton for a night or two. I won’t lie and say that I didn’t find Lilith’s peccadillos upsetting but Merton, bless his acrylic Y-fronts offers compensation in his own rough manner. 

Things started to go wrong the night of the storm and consequent flood. And while our decision to drop acid and commune with the thunder- Nigel’s idea, by the way - probably wasn’t to blame, it certainly didn’t help.

I don’t normally do hallucinogenics as they often disappoint. You go up expecting Yellow Submarine and get a lot of irritating visual distraction instead. My colour sense is quite keen enough, thank you, without having a pair of purple velvet bell-bottoms start to shine like a neon sign. 

The master bedroom - now Lilith’s domain - contained, of all things, a king-size four-poster bed that was missing its curtains. But since I’d arrived, it at least had matching cotton sheets in a tasteful orange and green fleurs-de-lis pattern. They matched the old wallpaper with its geometric tan and orange florets that still showed the retangular ghosts of long vanished photographs and paintings.

At some point - Nigel had said the 1930s - the owners had installed an aluminium-framed picture window that ran almost the length of the room and looked out over the canal, or more importantly, up into the boiling clouds of the oncoming storm. 

Lilith started on the bed with all three of us, but I can’t take anything seriously when heading up on LSD, least of all sex. So I quickly disengaged and chose to sit on the end of the bed and watch the storm. I doubt the others were troubled by my absence. 

I watched the storm come in over the rooftops of South London with lightning flashing in my eyes and that glorious sense of joy that only comes from something psychoactive interacting with your neurones. I lost myself in that storm and, in it, I thought I sensed the roar of the god of joy, whose acolytes dance naked on the hilltops and rip the goats apart. 

But the mind is fickle and darts from thought to thought and I became fascinated by the patterns the raindrops traced down the window glass. Then the play of light and shadow drew me to the walls, where I found myself pulling at the torn edge of the wallpaper. Like most squats, damp had gotten into the room at some point in the past and the top layer peeled away to reveal another layer below - a vertical floral design in red, purple and green on a pale background. Carefully I stripped a couple of square feet away. And while behind me Lilith howled obscenities in the throes of her passion, I started on the next layer. This revealed a faded leaf design in silver and turquoise. The colours pulled at me and I realised that if I could just find the original surface I might open a portal to another dimension - one of style and colour and exquisite taste. 

But I had to be patient. Clawing the walls would disrupt the delicate lines of cosmic energy that flowed along the pinstripes of the layer of blue linen-finish paper. Delicately, I peeled a loose corner until I uncovered a beautiful mustard yellow bird that glowed with an inner light. Gently and meticulously I revealed more. A trellis design overgrown with olive and brown brambles sporting red flowers and crimson birds. I knew it at once as a classic design from ‘the Firm’, the company founded by William Morris to bring back craftsmanship to a world turned grey and smoky by the Industrial Revolution.

I was ready for a hallucination then, and willed my mind into the pattern in front of me, but nothing happened. The wallpaper shone out of the hole in the wall, the light shifting like sunlight through a real trellis, real birds, but that achingly rational part of my brain stayed aloof. Chemistry, it said, it’s all chemistry. 

At some point Nigel escaped the bed and fled whimpering into the cupboard and closed the door behind himself. 

The trellis and its mustard-coloured birds mocked me from the walls, 

‘I think we’re sinking,’ said Merton, for what I realised was the third or fourth time. 

I was still coming down and it took concentration to focus on Merton, who was stark naked and pacing up and down at the foot of the bed. Lilith was sprawled face down, arms and legs spread like a starfish to occupy as much space as possible. There was no sign of Nigel, and in my elevated state I seriously gave consideration to the thought that Lilith had devoured him following coitus. 

Merton rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, as if testing his footing. 

‘Definitely sinking,’ he said, and ran out of the door. 

I flailed about a bit until I found a packet of Lilith’s Embassy Filters and a box of Swan Vestas, managed to not light the filter on the second attempt and dragged in a grateful lungful. A burst of head-clearing nicotine helped chase away the last of the lysergic acid diethylamide and I was just trying to determine whether I’d hallucinated a naked Merton when he reappeared.

‘I’ve got good news and bad news,’ he said. ‘We’re not sinking but we’re definitely flooding.’

The cellar was divided into two parts. The stairs led down to the smaller part of it, essentially a wide corridor which used to house, so Nigel insisted on telling me, the coal chute - now bricked up. A big metal reinforced door opened into the larger part of the cellar - the part with over ten grand’s worth of fabric stored in it. The door was closed but the corridor part was two inches deep in filthy water. 

‘Don’t open the door!’ called Nigel from the top of the stairs. 

I had no intention of leaving the dry section of the stairs, let alone risking the cuffs of my maroon corduroy flares in what looked to me like sewage overflow. Merton, who’d been trying to force the door open, now splashed back as if stung. For a man who I’d once seen cheerfully batter a traffic warden for awarding him a ticket, it was odd how he never argued with Nigel - not about practical things to do with the house anyway. 

Nigel, resplendent in a genuine Indian cloth kaftan - or so he claimed - passed me and stepped gingerly into the water. Reaching the door, he rapped sharply with his knuckles just above the waterline, then he methodically rapped up the door until he reached head height. After a few experimental raps to confirm, he turned to me and told me I was deader than a moleskin waistcoat. 

‘The whole room’s flooded,’ he said. ‘Probably not a good idea to open this door.’

I sat down on the stairs and put my head in my hands. I did a mental inventory of what I’d stored and how it had been packed. It was bad, but if we could pump out the room half of it could be salvaged - especially the silks, since the individual rolls had been wrapped in polythene. 

Thank God for Hans von Pechmann, I thought, and got to my feet. 

‘We need to drain the room,’ I said. ‘Nigel, get a pump and enough hose to run it back out to the river.’

Nigel nodded.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said, and practically skipped up the stairs. 

‘Put some clothes on before you go out!’ I called after him. 

I told Merton that when we had the pump and the hose, he would have to cut a suitable hole in the door -  near the top. 

‘Will you need tools?’ I asked. 

Merton eyed up the door. 

‘I have what I need in my bedroom,’ he said.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea.’

It took Nigel the best part of the day to source the suitable equipment. In the meantime, I sent Merton out to the local phone box to see if I couldn’t rustle up another life- and kneecap-saving transaction. Ideally, I should have been making the calls myself but I didn’t dare show my face on the street - it’s a well-known face, even in South London. I spent the time cataloguing my wardrobe, alas much reduced by my exile, ironing that which needed ironing and casting away those items that had fallen out of style since my last purge. 

Some things never go out of style - some things, thank God, will never come back. Let us hope that the lime-green acrylic aquiline button-down cardigan is one of them. I really don’t know what I was thinking when I bought it. 

Apart from a spectacularly noisy toilet break, Lilith stayed blissfully asleep in the main bedroom until teatime and then vanished into the bathroom for the next two hours. 

Once Nigel had returned with the pump and the hose, Merton used his hammer and chisel to cut a rough hole, six inches across, near the top of the door. Nigel had brought down the cream-coloured hostess trolley and mounted the pump on that to keep it out of the water. Once it was rigged we ran a hosepipe up the stair, down the hall, across the kitchen and poked it out the back window. Merton stayed to supervise the outflow while I returned to the top of the stairs and gave Nigel the nod. 

It looked ramshackle and was, indeed, held together with string and gaffer tape. But like most things that Nigel built, especially his improvised hookahs, it was perfectly adequate. The pump puttered into life, the pipe going through the hole in the door stiffened, there was a gurgling sound and I followed the passage of the water upstairs and into the kitchen. There, an arc of water shot from the hose and into the river beyond. 

‘How long until it’s pumped out?’ I asked.

‘A couple of days,’ said Nigel. 

When I objected, he pointed out that it was a small-bore hosepipe, that the cellar was large and that we didn’t know how the river water was getting in. 

Some things you can’t control, I suppose, such as Lilith - who I found sitting in the kitchen in a loose yellow kimono, drinking brandy and letting her assets hang out. 

‘It smells different in here’ she said.

I pointed out that the window was open to allow egress of the hosepipe and was thus allowing fresh air, to which Lilith was generally unaccustomed, to enter the room. Lilith grunted and said she was going out that evening to meet some friends in Soho. 

I tried to talk her out of it but she insisted, and there was no stopping Lilith when she was set on something. 

‘What if the Deplorables see you?’ I asked.

‘Darling,’ said Lilith, throwing an orange ostrich feather boa around her neck, ‘the Deplorables never frequent the places I do and in any case - I’m invisible.’

I was making another calming cup of tea when I realised that Lilith had been right. The kitchen smelt fresh and, oddly, sun dappled - of you thought sun dappled was a smell. I went to the open window and took a deep breath. Not normally something I’d recommend given the foetid nature of the Wandle - which still looked more like a canal to me - behind the house. The air was fresh and another thing I noticed was that the water shooting out of the hosepipe was clear. I pulled the pipe in a bit and had a closer look and then an experimental tate - just the tip of the tongue, you understand. It was plain, clean water. Perhaps, I thought, the cellar had been flooded by a burst mains pipe. If so, then there was a chance that much of my stock might survive relatively intact. 

I also noticed that the house had a small back garden, or rather a side garden, an overgrown patch of weeds and brambles that filled a roughly triangular space between next door’s garden wall, the river and the side of the kitchen. I replaced the hose and went looking for the door that led to the garden. I’m not a horticulturalist myself, but to a man in my position, knowing there’s a back door - for egress in extremis - is always a comfort. 

It took three days to drain the cellar, which passed as quickly as two quarters of Lebanese cannabis resin could make it. Now I’ve never been one to get the munchies, but Nigel could consume an astonishing amount of fish and chips, and poor Merton was forced to make several supply runs. On the morning of the fourth day, Nigel declared that we could force the door and I went to fetch Merton. 

Who was nowhere to be found.

His room was as he always left it, the bed made with military precision and knife-edge creases. Merton was a thoroughly institutionalised boy, but what institution - the navy, prison, the Foreign Legion - I’d never thought to ask. His clothes, though dull, were hung or folded with the same admirable care. His tool case was missing but the canvas bag containing his baseball bat, bayonet and the long wooden stick with the stainless steel barbs that I didn’t want to know the purpose of, was tucked into the wardrobe next to his two spare pairs of Doc Martens boots. 

I returned to the basement corridor, which Nigel had mercifully mopped clean once the muddy water had soaked away. Nigel was standing by the door to the cellar, stock-still and staring at something on the floor. 

‘What is it?’ I asked.

Nigel pointed mutely at a battered blue metal toolbox sitting by the door. Its top was open and its trays expanded to reveal its rows of neatly arrayed tools and boxes of screws and nails.

‘He must have gone inside,’ said Nigel. His voice dropped to an urgent whisper. ‘Inside there!’

Since I had no idea why Nigel was so agitated, I reached out and pushed the door open. It opened a fraction and then pushed back - as if someone was leaning against the other side.

‘Merton,’ I said, ‘stop fucking about and let me in.’

I shoved harder and the door opened a crack and out poured a weird sweet smell like cooked milk. And with it a sense of outraged dignity which so surprised me that I jumped back from the door, which slammed shut. 

‘Is he in there?’ asked Nigel.

‘Must be,’ I said, but I wasn’t sure I believed it.

Neither of us could match Merton -  because that’s who it had to be - for physical might. I mean, I employed him precisely because he could intimidate your average creditor just by breaking wind. So we trooped upstairs for a cup of tea and some pharmaceutical reinforcement. 

‘Got any more black beauties?’ asked Nigel, who never could separate his biphetamines from his common or garden amphetamines. I swear, you try to educate people but there are limits. I gave him a couple of ludes, and given the day we’d had so far, took a couple myself. Lilith returned fabulously drunk at two in the morning, and we all piled into bed and didn’t get up until the next afternoon. 

The door to the cellar remained closed and Merton’s tool case was still where he’d left it. I tried the door, but it was stuck fast with no give at all. I even tried knocking it down, like they do in films, but all I did was bruise my shoulder. 

If Merton was in there, he wasn’t coming out until he was good and ready. And since I wasn’t getting in, I had to accept that I wouldn’t be realising any value from my stock of fabrics any time soon. Still, I’d already written down their value and put other deals in motion to generate cash flow - another drug deal, as it happens. A stack of Happy Bus LSD out of Rotterdam. A little bit riskier than my normal deals, but needs must, as they say.

Without Merton, I was forced to rely on Nigel to go out and make the necessary phone calls. Unlike Merton, who followed instructions without question, I had to explain everything to him as if he were in a spy movie with Michael Caine. Once he had the gist, he darted out the front door wearing an RAF surplus greatcoat. As I watched him go from the upstairs window, I realised that his hair had grown long enough to reach between his shoulder blades and wondered why I hadn’t noticed. 

The next couple of days went past with no sign of Merton, and I only managed to keep anxiety at bay with the help of my dwindling supply of cannabis resin and long punishing nights with Lilith. 

The door to the cellar remained closed. 

When I had nerved myself up to go look, I noticed that something had been jammed into the cracks around the edge of the door - as if it had oozed out from inside the cellar in liquid form and then set on contact with air. I took a set of pliers from Merton’s tool case and worried a fragment out. It’s a long time since I’ve prepared a slide in earnest, but while I didn’t have a microscope I did have a jeweller’s glass I keep for checking crystal shape. Under magnification the fragment revealed itself to be a tangle of threads - blue cotton, my good Egyptian cotton at a guess. I picked at the tangle with a pair of tweezers and a strange notion struck me -  that the threads weren’t tangled randomly, that there was a pattern to the knots.

I could imagine a circumstance where the pressure of water could both shred the original weave of a cloth and then tangle the threads. I could even imagine water pressure forcing the threads around the edge of the door, but it seemed unlikely. Before I discovered fashion and pharmaceuticals I did a degree in chemistry. Started a degree, to be precise - I stopped paying attention in the second year. But I always thought of myself as rational even when under the influence. 

If I’d known what I know now, I would have run screaming from the house and taken my chances with the Deplorables. But I lived in a much smaller world in those days. 

Although large enough for my Rotterdam connection to agree to a deal. Not only that, but it seemed my credit was good enough for me to procure a sample shipment on good faith. With the profit from that sale I could finance a larger shipment and thus dig myself out of my financial predicament and quit the squat - and it’s creepy basement.

The only catch being that I would have to provide my own mule to bring the sample in. Normally you don’t use your friends as mules, not even friends of friends. What you really want is a gullible person who’s been talked into it by someone you only know through business. I knew a guy who could meet a girl at a party and have her on a plane to Ankara the next day. He made a living recruiting mules and didn’t mind some wastage at all - right up to the point someone’s mother gave him both barrels of her husband’s grousing shotgun. The police never caught her and only Merton and I turned up for the funeral. 

It wasn’t hard to persuade Lilith to fly to Rotterdam - especially first class - and the beauty was that wherever she touched down, she paid for herself. Or to be strictly accurate, other people took care of her needs for her. The downside, of course, was that you had to allow her time to party - in this case, at least a week. You’d think that without Lilith sharing the high thread cotton sheets of the four-poster bed I’d be getting more sleep, but I found myself spending most of every night staring at the underside of the bed’s canopy. 

It didn’t help that I had to ration the Quaaludes - I needed them to keep Nigel functioning. 

‘There’s something in the cellar,’ he said, and refused to go down into the basement. 

I, on the other hand, found myself increasingly drawn to the cellar door. Especially when it started to flower. 

It started with a spray of cotton around the door frame, overlapping triangular leaves of white and navy-blue cotton that stuck to the bricks of the wall as if they’d been glued in place. I took a sample and found that instead of regular weave, the cloth was formed by the intertwining of threads in a complex pattern. Some of the threads amongst the white and blue were a bright scarlet and spread through the fabric in a branching pattern like streams into a river basin. Or, more disturbingly, like capillaries branching out from a vein. 

I did make an attempt, cautiously, to scrape one of the ‘leaves’ off the wall with a trowel I found in Merton’s tool case. But even as I pushed the blade under the edge of the cloth I felt such a wave of disinterest -  I cannot describe it more clearly than that- that I found myself halfway up the basement stairs before I realised what had happened. 

The next day the cotton leaves had spread out at least another six inches and surrounding the door were tongues of crimson and yellow orgaza. Individual threads had begun to colonise the door proper - curling into swirling patterns like ivy climbing a wall. I spent an indeterminate amount of time with my back to the opposite wall, staring at the pattern to see if I could spot them moving.

I wondered what it meant. Perhaps Nigel was right, and the Age of Aquarius was upon us and we had entered a time of miracles. 

When I was upstairs I tried to put the cellar out of my mind and concentrate on plans for the future. I had fallen into drug dealing almost by accident and had always found it an easy and convenient way to keep myself in the sartorial fashion I aspired to. But if my run-in with the deplorables was an indication of the future, then perhaps it was time to pack it in. A boutique of my own instead, one in which I could serve both as owner-manager and inspiration. Before the merest thought of doing actual work, no matter how supervisory, had filled me with disgust but now … now it seemed attractive. 

I didn’t trust these feelings. 

I needed out of the squat. I needed to be strutting down the King’s Road or Carnaby Street. I wanted back out into the world, where I could be as dazzling and as splendid as the first acolyte of the goddess of fashion. 

But you need working kneecaps to strut your stuff. And so I stayed where I was. 

By the third day the door was completely obscured behind a tapestry of red, black and gold thread, and wings of cotton spread out across the walls and ceiling. The organza had likewise spread and a third wave of pink and yellow damask now framed the doorway. By the sixth day the entire corridor was curtained in swathes of multicoloured fabric, so that it seemed a tunnel to a draper’s wonderland. 

I no longer dared leave the safety of the foot of the stairs and yet I still found myself walking down them three times a day to look. The urge to walk into its warm comforting embrace was terrifying. 

On the seventh day, Lilith failed to return. I started to seriously worry on the eighth; on the ninth, I fell into such a despair that no amount of near pharmaceutical-grade Drinamyl amphetamines could lift me from it. On the tenth, a postcard arrived with four jaunty pictures of a tram stop, a fountain, a town square, a gigantic statue of a man holding up the sky and Groeten uit Rotterdam written across the front. 

On the back Lilith sent me love and kisses, explained that she’d met a splendid sailor or three and would be staying on in the Netherlands for a bit, but not to worry because she’d found a perfectly wonderful Spaniard to courier my product back to London. Thoughtfully she’d written the travel and contact details of the Spanish courier on the postcard - in plain English. 

With a heavy heart I sent Nigel out to pick up the package and when he failed to return I was not surprised. 

We live in a universe constantly assailed by the forces of entropy. Nothing good, pure or beautiful can stand up to the relentless regression towards the mean, the dull and the shabby. A minority have always striven to be a beacon in the gloom, a constant source of inspiration to those around them. Some worked through the medium of paint, or music, or literature, but I have sought to make myself the living embodiment of style and culture. 

God knows it hasn’t been easy. 

But a man should always know when he’s been beaten. That morning, as I sat in the kitchen, futilely waiting for Nigel to return, I realised that that time, for me, was nigh. I went upstairs, stripped myself down to my underwear - not nylon and not frilly, thank you, Ray - and after taking a deep breath to steel myself, donned a pair of brown corduroy trousers and a matching moleskin shirt. A pair of Hush Puppies and one of Merton’s donkey jackets completed my transformation. I looked in the mirror -  I was unrecognisable. 

Stuffing the last of my cash reserves in my pockets, I headed for the front door. I paused by the basement only long enough to ensure it was closed. From behind it came a noise that might have been a giant breathing, or water flowing, or shuttles running back and forth across lines of thread. 

I shuddered and walked boldly out into the sunlight. 

My plan was simple. Take the train to Holyhead, the ferry to Dublin and then, via a few contacts I still had, to America and freedom. 

I didn’t even get as far as Garratt Lane before I ran straight into Cutter. I tried to braout but somehow he recognized me instantly and called out my name. 

I turned, ran back to the squat, slammed the door behind me and went for the back door. There I could escape via the garden, over the wall and run for Wimbledon Park station. 

But Lead Pipe was waiting in the kitchen, with a cup of tea on the go and the Daily Mirror open to the back pages. 

‘About time,’ he rumbled when he saw me. 

Three guesses where I went next. 

I was down the stairs and into the basement corridor before I even noticed that the walls had grown a fringe that glowed with a soft golden light. I was prepared to throw myself frantically at the cellar door but I found it open. I ran inside with no brighter plan than to barricade myself inside and hope the Deplorables grew bored.

Inside the cellar was a riot of colour. The walls were arrayed with purple organza and burgundy charmeuse, while sprays of a brilliant blue habotai framed cascades of fabric woven in a dozen colours - scarlet, yellow and green - into tangles of vines, leaves and flowers. Globes of light hung suspended from golden threads in each corner, illuminating a bundle of gold and black embroidered silk suspended from tendrils of lace - like a cocoon from a spider-s web. 

Around me was a giant’s breathing and the warp and weft of a loom gigantic enough to weave the stars themselves. I could no more have stopped myself from grasping that bundle than I could have stopped myself breathing. 

The bundle was warm and squirming in my arms. I unwrapped a layer of gauzy chiffon, gazed down on my fate and was lost. 

‘Oi,’ said a voice from behind me. 

I turned to find myself confronting the sartorial disaster that were the Deplorables en masse. I won’t describe their appearance on the off chance that children may one day read this account. 

‘Can I help you gentlemen?’ I asked, because politeness is always stylish. 

‘Yeah,’ said Cutter. ‘You can give us the ten grand you owe us.’

‘Plus interest,’ said Lead Pipe.

‘Plus interest,’ said Cutter. 

‘I’m rather afraid I haven’t got it,’ I said. 

‘That’s a shame,’ said Cutter, and he turned to Lead Pipe. ‘Isn’t that a shame?’

‘It’s definitely a shame,’ said Lead Pipe. 

The bundle in my arms squirmed a bit and made happy gurgling noises. 

‘Since the money is not forthcoming, I’m afraid we’ll be forced to take measures,’ said Cutter. He looked once more to Lead Pipe. ‘Is your sledgehammer ready?’

By way of reply, Lead Pipe held up his sledgehammer and I couldn’t help but notice that there were brown stains on the long wooden handle. 

‘And Gnasher,’ said Cutter. ‘Do you have a marlinspike about your person?”

Gnasher grunted and held up a pointed lump of metal that I can only presume, in my ignorance of all things nautical, was a marlinspike. 

Cutter turned back to me and smiled nastily.

‘I’d say that you should take this like a man,’ said Cutter. ‘But that would be a waste of time.’

Never mind his rudeness, I had more pressing concerns. 

‘Shush,’ I said. ‘You’ll wake the baby.’

Cutter’s face suffused to a fine shade of puce and he opened his mouth to continue his ranting, so I twitched aside the fine damask sheet to reveal my daughter nestled in her bundle of silk and high-thread Egyptian cotton.

Her beautiful brown face broke into a charming smile and, opening her chubby arms in a benediction, she laughed - a sound like water tumbling over stones. 

Cutter gave me an astonished look and whispered.

‘Is this your…?’

‘Yes,’ I whispered back. ‘Her name is Wanda.’

‘But,’ said Cutter, ‘you can’t keep her here.’

‘She likes it here,’ I said indignantly.

‘It’s a dump,’ said Lead Pipe in a low rumble. ‘It’s not fit for human habitation.’

‘He’s right,’ said Cutter. ‘There’s damp and mould and the kitchen is a disgrace.’

‘And there’s no nursery,’ rumbled Lead Pipe.

‘And the garden is a jungle,’ said Gnasher. ‘Totally unsuitable.’

‘Gentlemen,’ I said, ‘I can’t attend to any of these details if you break my legs.’

‘Obviously, we have to deal with the immediate shortcomings of the house before we return to the matter of breaking your legs,’ said Cutter. ‘Don’t we boys?’

‘I know a couple of builders,’ said Gnasher. ‘And Lead Pipe has green fingers. Ain’t that right?’

Lead Pipe cracked knuckles the size of walnuts. ‘That’s true,’ he said. 

‘Really?’ I said.

‘You should see his allotment,’ said Cutter. ‘He has compost heaps you wouldn’t believe.’

I thought of the rumours of what exactly happened to people who crossed the Deplorables and I decided that I actually did believe in those heaps. 

‘About my legs,’ I said but Cutter wasn’t listening.

‘And there’s the roof,’ he said, and the others nodded. 

‘About my legs,’ I said louder and then wished I hadn’t, because the trio were jerked out of their dreams of home improvement and focused on yours truly in a somewhat disconcerting manner. 

‘What about them?’ asked Cutter, taking a step towards me. 

‘I thought we might reach a more mutually beneficial arrangement,’ I said.

‘What kind of beneficial arrangement did you have in mind?’ he said. 

‘There’s the matter of the way you dress,’ I said. 

Cutter pushed his face towards mine. 

‘What’s wrong with the way we dress?’ he said. ‘It’s practical.’

‘Stain resistant,’ said Lead Pipe. 

‘Yes, but,’ I said, ‘it could be so much more.’

And Wanda laughed again and this time behind the chuckling stream was the crisp snap of fabric shears and the whistling hum of the shuttle as it plays back and forth across the thread.

‘But first,’ said Cutter, waving a blunt finger in my face, ‘we have to sort out the playroom.’

And that was that. I gave up the pharmaceutical trade and opened a boutique instead. Cutter and his boys were my first customers, and while they never stopped being an unsavoury gang of foul-mouthed thugs, at least when they broke legs they were well dressed doing it. 

Merton, it turned out, had fled the squat the day we pumped out the water and, being in need of some security, assaulted a police officer so that he could spend a couple of nice peaceful years at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Lilith visited him regularly, and after he got out they ran an animal sanctuary just outside Abergavenny until their deaths, within three months of each other, in 2009. Nigel is still alive and taught cybernetics at Imperial College until his retirement a couple of years ago. 

My daughter and I never got around to giving the boutique a name. It was always just ‘the shop’ and given that we never advertised it’s a wonder that we stay in business. We’re always at the cutting edge of fashion. We were out of flares while the Bay City Rollers were still number one and stocking bondage trousers before John Lyndon had dyed his hair. We’ve moved the shop a couple of times and, while we’re hard to find, we’re always close to the river. 

So if you want to know what the herd are going to be wearing next spring, and if you can find us and are prepared to pay the price, you too can join the ranks of the stylish, the à la mode, and truly become a dedicated follower of fashion. 

END

[ivyisms]

       - ̗̀ NOW INTRODUCING:  IVES ❝ IVY ❞ SERRANO !

( DANNA PAOLA, 24, CISFEMALE ) I just bumped into IVES "IVY" SERRANO the other day while walking down NORTH Kingsboro, where SHE lives. I hear they can be SEDUCTIVE and MANIPULATIVE, but when I think of them I immediately think about ROSE PETAL BLUNTS, STRAWBERRY CHAMPAGNE, AND SIX INCH STILETTOS.

hi hello it’s tay back again w another one of my demon spawn muses !! apparently chaotic bisexuals w fcs from elite is just my brand™️ but anyway ivy is probably my favorite oc i’ve ever made so i have A Lot to say abt this messy bitch !! if u go H E R E i have a very long stats/bio page with pretty much everything i could think of BUT i will try to summarize the main points semi-concisely

- ̗̀♡ — › background !

the main thing u need to know about ivy is that she is lying ! always !! her real name isn’t even actually ivy smh

she was born natalie rose serrano, to two working class parents in new york city. she knew from a young age that she was just supposed to be rich and famous, and that something had gotten mixed up somewhere and she was put in the wrong life.

in high school she got a scholarship to a fancy private catholic school, and that’s where she started to hone her craft of manipulating rich people. she would befriend all of the richest bitches at school and take advantage of everything that came along with it: vacations to far away places, stays in the family’s cabins and lake houses, even designer clothes that her friends no longer wanted and would gift to her, thinking it was their idea all along

as she grew up and got better at getting what she wanted out of people, her entitled attitude only got worse, driving a wedge between her and her parents, who kept waiting for her to develop a work ethic and kept being disappointed. a few months after she graduated high school, on her 18th birthday, her parents kicked her out of the house and cut her off, hoping that it would force her to grow up and take on any responsibility

but that plan backfired for them, her parents underestimating how truly stubborn natalie was. the day after her 18th, she wandered into a local strip club and got a job, figuring it’d be the easiest and quickest way to get some cash, and she took to it naturally and actually really enjoyed stripping

she started to embody an entirely new persona that she had created for herself, dancing under the name poison ivy and telling everyone she was a trust fund baby that had been cut off from her rich parents, needing to dance to supplement her income, and her lies just continued to spiral out of control until she almost started to believe it herself. she had never told anyone at the club her real name, not even the other strippers, just going by “ivy” for a while.

she had learned to weaponize the power she had over people by being pretty and charming, using her looks for absolute evil and doing whatever it took to get money—from straight up pickpocketing, to making men buy her expensive gifts, to blackmailing, to sugar babying, to getting patrons wasted and manipulating them into tipping her absurd amounts... she did it all, very quickly earning enough to live the life she had always dreamed of, that she felt she deserved for whatever twisted reason.

she started posting on instagram with the name poison ivy generally just flaunting her carefree, extravagant life, often exaggerating or down right lying just to really dazzle her quickly growing audience

as she started to go down the influencer route, she realized she needed to do something to hide the skeletons in her closet ( the fact that she didn’t actually come from money and was making far more than was normal for even the best of dancers, a couple of small possession / shoplifting charges, and just generally anything that could lead people to her real identity ) so she started to tell people her name was ives, fully taking on the new identity. she even went so far as to make some of the people that had been closest to her sign NDAs about her real identity, making sure that no one could sell info about her should her plan of being famous work out

and it did work out !! at first she was definitely buying followers/likes to boost her likelihood of brand sponsorships, but eventually she faked it until she made it and actually attained influencer status

she also started sleeping around with pretty much any famous person she could, having very public relationships and breakups and scandals to keep her name in the press, which ultimately lead to more exposure/people following her, if only to see what she did next, which lead to even more sponsorships

she’s probably been in kingsboro for a few years, living in a super fancy one bedroom apartment that she definitley doesn’t pay for ( she doesn’t even know how much her rent is tbh )

eventually she stopped dancing and just focused on her influencing or whatever, but she never stopped sugar babying and scamming rich stupid men, still very much using that as a means to keep up her lifestyle. she’s also done a few modeling things, but it’s mostly just like catalog work or being the face of a trendy campaign bc she’s way too short for the runway

she also recently made an only fans account bc she was bored one night and was mostly planning on posting once as a joke but then she made a bunch of money / got a bunch of subscribers and was like oh word ? i can do that ! so she will post on there from time to time but she’s not like... super serious about it ya know ?

so basically she’s jus here making money being pretty and pulling a long ass scam on... everyone

- ̗̀♡ — › personality !

she’s a real two faced bitch... she has perfected the art of becoming whoever she thinks other people want her to be, quickly adapting her personality to get whatever she wants

she’s usually pretty friendly actually, really charming and outgoing and just trying to have a good time

she has a pretty short temper tho and holds grudges like you wouldn’t believe, so once you’re on her bad side... good luck lol she is so ruthless

she’s like... deeply, deeply selfish and will always put herself first, but she’s so manipulative that she can make people do things that they think are their idea, but it’s really just something she planted in their head so it’s not always obvious

also very spoiled and will throw a mf fit if she doesn’t get her way or u say no to her

always going out !! always doing the most !! she’s the type to show up randomly at ur door at 8pm on a tuesday with a bottle of tequila and make u party with her whether u like it or not

she’s a lot smarter than she lets on sometimes, like she knows people expect her to be stupid and ditzy and shallow and she’ll let them underestimate her when it’s beneficial 

always looks perfectly put together— her nails are always meticulously manicured, usually w stiletto shaped acrylics, and you’ll literally never see her outside her house without makeup and a perfectly composed outfit. it’s also a rare occasion that she’s not wearing at least six inch heels, trying to make up for bein so mf short ( she’s 5’3 )

she talks A Lot but is really good at saying a lot of words without actually saying anything, like you can be best friends with her for months and then just be like “i don’t actually know a single thing about her”

always up to no good and sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong !! she’s always got some sort of scheme going or getting in to some kind of drama

v much a hoe and v much proud of it, will sleep w just about anyone especially if she can get something out of it

also a serial dater !! she’s always hoping in and out of relationships and being rumored to be with a dozen people at once

most definitely calls paparazzi on herself, especially when she’s around other famous ppl but will never admit it

compulsive liar, she will literally lie about the dumbest things like she doesn’t even need a reason to lie she jus.. does

- ̗̀♡ — › wanted connections !

hookups / flings / one night stands / fwbs all that shit !!

exes on bad terms ... gimme drama pls

enemies / ppl she’s stolen from maybe... she would definitely deny it and say they’re jus jealous of her or smth stupid but that could make the feud worse

party pals !! like i said she goes out a lot and always somehow manages to make new friends and drag them into her shenanigans

on again / off again exes... i want the Angst so bad..

unlikely friends !! like ppl who are nice and sweet and Pure, she could use a lil good energy in her life

neighbors ... mb they hate her for always being loud n throwing mini parties OR maybe they join in

mean girl rivalries !!

someone she’s taking advantage of / stealing from without them knowing .. oof

partner in crime !!!

one sided crushes or like someone she’s stringing along smh

sugar daddies mb 😇

someone to put her in her mf place JDKDKD like they call her out on her bs and are like “i see what ur doing bitch stay away from my friends” type thing

idk anything really !! gimme all the messy plots ok :~)

[harryandmolly]

Change of Pace - 8 (Summer 2019)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language, NSFW

wc: 11.3k

------------

Maya knocks her knees together rhythmically, watching her white topsheet catch the ray of sunshine coming in from her window and release it again.

Her window is open. She can smell the sea. And when she closes her eyes she can hear it.

She swears that’s more valuable than any hour of the expensive therapy she’s had in 12 years. 

When she wakes up in the morning in her bedroom in the house she bought herself in her happiest place, she gets to feel proud. She hasn’t felt true pride like this in a long time, not since she first started working in finance and felt like she had made a smart, adult choice that would support her and create a good, solid life.

She looks at it now and wonders how she got there, how she managed to convince herself that words like “solid” and “adult” would ever be enough to describe the life she really wanted.

So yeah, Maya’s proud. She’s proud she sacked up and left. She’s proud that she hasn’t gone running back, especially with all the emotional tumult she’s caused herself with this whole unexpected Shawn situation. It would’ve been like her, once, to shut this down and go running back to Manhattan where she could control everything and not hurt anyone.

Not anyone but herself, at least.

But hurting herself is not what she’s doing anymore. She still doesn’t really know what she’s doing in Avila other than surfing and painting and sleeping. Maybe that’s what she’ll do with her life now, forever. Maybe that’ll be enough. Maybe she’ll need something else.

The point is she doesn’t know. She can’t know now. She can’t control it, so she must embrace it. Embracing Avila means more than just enjoying its beaches and the occasional farmers market. It means learning what Avila can really give her, can really make her.

Maya’s ready for her Avila makeover.

+

Maya frowns at the eyeliner pencil between her fingers. Was it always this clumpy? When the hell did she buy this?

When did she last wear eyeliner?

She lifts her eyebrows and sighs. She can’t honestly remember.

She swallows and puts it down, shaking a hand through her hair and adjusting her loose-fitting sheer button-up. She unbuttons one button at the chest, then buttons it back again. She makes a face. She’s never thought this hard about her appearance around Shawn in her life. She knows he doesn’t care. So what the fuck is she doing?

She just… she really likes to stun him. For him to stare at her with that slow-growing smile like he’s thinking about how fucking lucky he is. He hasn’t looked at her that way since the night they were together. She thinks she’d like him to look at her like that again.

Breakfast felt like a turning point, but she can’t explain exactly how. Since she got home that afternoon, she’s been a churning, overflowing cauldron of artistic output. She wakes up, surfs, draws or paints all afternoon and surfs again at night. And it feels fucking great.

Feeling great has been unfamiliar to Maya for so long. She’s gonna chase it. And right now, the feeling’s got her seeking out Shawn.

She feels good about the decision to ditch the eyeliner when she walks through the front door of his shop, signaled by the little ding of his bell. She wants to feel like herself around him. Just… a vibrant, sexy version.

Sawdust overwhelms his senses as he lies on his back beneath his piano. He glides sandpaper along the not-quite-perfect edges of the underlying framework. He doesn’t mind the extra time it takes with the paper, because he can’t get the finesse, the perfection with the electric sander at this angle. 

He hums along to the new John Mayer album playing over the speakers as he brushes dust from his work goggles, before reaching for a particularly tricky edge whose perfection has been evading him. 

The sandpaper falls on his face when the door to the shop opens, the little bell chiming over Mayer’s voice. Shawn blows at the paper until it slides off his face and lands on the floor. 

“Be right there! Picking up or dropping off?” he calls as he rolls himself out from under the piano. He stands up and keeps his back to the door so he can brush himself off before greeting a client. 

He shouldn’t wear black to work anymore. It does nothing to hide sawdust. 

He gets himself as clean as he possibly can with dirty hands and a kind of clean rag, then turns to the doorway to the front of the shop. 

“Oh—“ fuck. 

Maya. He blinks at her, then looks down at himself, then back to her. He swallows; there’s absolutely nothing he can do about the fact that she looks gorgeous and he looks like he spilled coke all over himself like a desperate drug addict. 

“Hey— hi. Hi,” he walks out of the back, into the doorway as wipes his hands on his rag again, “I didn’t know you were stopping by. Did I know? Shit, I haven’t looked at my phone all morning.” 

The shop is empty. She gazes around at his instruments, each one of them holding a piece of him. It makes her indescribably happy and comfortable to be surrounded by them like this. She doesn’t even mind the smell of lacquer and sawdust. It’s as personal to her as her acrylic paints and turpentine.

He comes hustling out of the back room before she can answer his question. She beams at him, at the sweat matting his curls to his forehead and the sawdust that covers him. He looks like she’s knocked him out of an intense focus. Maybe she should feel a little guilty, but god, he looks so cute.

She lifts her hand from the back pocket of her little shorts and waves delicately, tilting her head like she’s flirting with him. The idea is funny to her, flirting with Shawn. Like he doesn’t know all her tricks. She bites her glossy lower lip and walks up to the counter. She props her elbows up and doesn’t regret leaving that one button undone.

“No, I was feeling spontaneous. I’d hug you, but you kind of smell like power tools,” she jokes, blinking up at him, hoping he touches her anyway.

She’s… different. Good different, he thinks. Confident different, like maybe she doesn’t feel like a total stranger around him anymore. She’s more familiar, he guesses. He smiles, throws his rag over his shoulder as he steps down from the doorway of the workshop and up to the counter.

Shawn leans down on his elbows and smiles at her, shrugging a little. 

“This is how I always smell now, unfortunately.” 

He wets his lower lip and lets himself study her. She did herself up a bit, for Maya standards. He knows when she puts thought into a look. His heart stutters. Why would she put effort into an outfit if she wasn’t trying to impress him or, you know, woo him or something? 

That familiar feeling of hope flares in his chest. He bites his lip as he looks down at her. 

“So, suddenly interested in picking up an instrument, Lu?” he asks with a teasing smirk and a tilt of his head. 

Shawn mirrors her position over the counter. He’s a little overwhelming so close up like this -- Maya’s out of practice. Her breath catches in her chest. She decides not to tell him that she thinks the workshop smell thing is actually really sexy in a very classically masculine way. But she thinks it. Boy, does she think it.

Maya giggles and looks around the shop, nodding at the walls. “Mhmm, came in for a private lesson.”

… What? Where the fuck did that come from?

She floors him. The last time Shawn saw her, he practically broke her heart. But she’s here now, blinking up at him with her pretty brown eyes and— and flirting with him. 

She didn’t even flirt with him before they had sex the other week. This is different. He’s not complaining. 

“I charge double for walk-ins, sugar,” he murmurs with a wink. 

Maya nearly melts into the counter when he winks at her and lowers his voice into that register that always made her knees weak. God, she’d walk into fucking fire for him.

Before she can let herself panic over that comment, she squares her shoulders and smirks at him instead. 

“Want to show me what you’ve been working on back there?”

Oh yeah, his work. He told her to come over to see his work. He supposes he’d convinced himself she wasn’t going to. 

He likes when she proves him wrong. 

He raises his brows, then looks over his shoulder into the back, where the piano waits for him to stop fucking around. 

“Yeah, totally,” he says with a grin as he looks back at her, “There are a few things back there, actually.”

“C’mon,” he says as he walks to the end of the counter and holds his hand out for her. 

She takes his hand eagerly, giggling as she walks around the counter like she’s being naughty and going where she’s not allowed. She squeezes his hand, a silent additional greeting, an extra little “hey, I missed you.”

As he guides her into the back room, she sees nothing but the piano at first. It’s enormous, of course, so it catches her eye, but it’s more than that. It’s so sleek and elegant, even unfinished. Maya gasps through a grin, dropping his hand to circle it, admiring from every angle.

She examines his piano like she would a Botticelli at the Met. His heart clatters against his ribs as she watches her admire his work, like it’s really something exceptional and not like, a pretty basic piano considering it’s his first. 

He’s clever though, so maybe it’s a little more unique than that. Maybe he sells himself short, too.

It really is magnificent. It’s beautiful, masculine somehow, poised and welcoming. It’s like if Shawn were an instrument, he’d be this piano. The thought makes her smile wider.

She turns away from him to place her hands on top, to feel its solid weight. “It’s extraordinary.”

He smiles and leans back against the desk behind him, still focused on her. 

“Careful,” he murmurs, “I still need to sand it down up there.” 

It’s actually pretty smooth but. He’s picky. And you really shouldn’t touch it with bare hands until it’s lacquered and dried anyway. Splinters fucking suck, so it’s too risky.

“But, you know, thank you. I guess it’s not bad for a first try.” 

He glances down at the ground and smiles to himself, the tips of his ears turning pink. He’s always liked impressing her, always felt warm and bright from her praise. He preens for her. He’s easy. 

Even after all these years, she’s still Maya Lu, junior art star and charismatic orientation leader and someone he just wants to know, so he trips over himself to impress her, to get her to be proud of him. To notice him. 

He shoves a hand into his hair and tugs.

Maya lifts her hands and wiggles her fingers playfully to prove she hasn’t gotten any splinters. She turns to face him with a soft smile.

“I totally get it, you know. I see you everywhere in here. It makes so much sense to me that this is what you do. I mean, beyond being meticulous or whatever, you’ve always loved everything about music. So I get wanting to be so deep in it that you build it from the ground up like this. It’s… so you.”

She bites her lip and clasps her hands behind her back, walking back toward the other pieces in his work studio. The harp catches her eye. She touches it gently, admiring its curves and angles. She grins at the idea of him sitting down to play it. She thinks that would be a sight to see. A shiver shoots down her spine. She covers it by turning on her heel to face him again.

“I hope you still write music, though.”

She talks about him like she’s read a diary he doesn’t keep. She knows his facade and can see right through it, into the depths of who he really is, or whatever. 

She’s held his heart in her hand and because of that, she can see him from the inside out. 

It doesn’t scare him. It gives him a reason to keep hoping for the future he could have with her. 

“I—“ Only about you. “I do, yeah, but not as often. I just don’t have the time, you know?” 

It’s not really a lie, it’s just not the entire truth. He doesn’t have time, but he also doesn’t have ideas unless he’s thinking about her, in one way or another. Even if he doesn’t write a love song, Maya’s still the inspiration that guides his words and melodies.

It’s so cliche, that she’s his muse or whatever. He’s kind of disgusted with himself. That’s probably (definitely) why he pretends he doesn’t write very much. 

He flirts with the idea of telling her, though. Like one desperate appeal to her emotions to convince her to stay in Avila forever and learn how to love him again. 

He digs his fingernails into his palms to cool himself down. He’s always too willing to jump the gun with her, and today he doesn’t want to ruin this good thing that seems to be happening. 

“I like to write little tunes for the different pieces I fix up, though. Like that harp. I’m not much of a harpist, but it’s fun to fuck around.” 

He’s babbling like an idiot. He hopes she comes to shut him up before he says something totally incriminating. 

Maya nods, watching him realize how much she still knows about him. After all, he’s still Shawn and she’s still Maya, even after everything. She imagines there’s plenty she doesn’t know about him but the fundamental things that make him who he is? Yeah, she still gets those.

“I’ve been… painting a lot,” she says carefully. It’s not something she needs to be wary of telling him, really, but she hasn’t told anyone that she’s dived back into her art. She hasn’t talked about art in so long. It’s like her mouth has trouble fitting around the words, or like she’s trying to speak a language she hasn’t spoken in many years.

Maya speaks like she’s telling him a secret. He smiles, wetting his lips before he murmurs, “That’s good.” 

She deserves to paint. To do something for herself and not for her career or money. Painting, surfing, falling back in love with him. You know. That kind of thing. 

He only hates himself a little for thinking it.

She takes little steps closer to him almost unconsciously, watching his chest rise and fall as he breathes. It’s meditative.

“I actually bought watercolors the other day. I haven’t worked in watercolors since I was about 15. It’s wonderful. It’s so… light.”

She wiggles her nose and chuckles to herself. “You and your harp and me and my watercolors. I guess some things never change.”

He chews on his lip, considering. “Yeah, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any watercolor pieces of yours. And you’ve never seen me play the harp.” 

She reaches out and taps his arm playfully but it sets her ablaze.

She’s such a dork. He grins at her, ignoring the way his stomach flips as she draws closer to him. He keeps himself steady, cool enough to catch her wrist in one hand before she can pull away from him. 

He pouts. “Ouch, Lu.” 

Maya feels like the way she’s creeping toward him seems maybe a little too much like a handler approaching a wild animal. He doesn’t scurry away from her though. He stays put. 

He reaches out for her. Her heart breaks into a sprint. 

Maya takes another step forward. He smells like sweat and sawdust. His eyes are curious and a little sleepy. And he feels like home. 

Maya steps forward again. She’s right up against him now. She holds his gaze as she lowers her lips to the spot on his bicep that she tapped, kissing it gently. 

“There,” she murmurs, “All better?”

Maya has always been a little too good at teasing him. He presses his fingers into her pulse as she presses her lips to his arm. He mashes his own lips together as he watches her. 

“I guess,” he says, glancing down at his arm, then back to her. “Though I don’t think that’s standard medical protocol.” 

He was not about to say something disgusting like, but that’s not the only spot that hurts. Even though he really wanted to. Like, what an easy opening. Maybe he should’ve said it. Maybe that’s what she’s angling for. He’s not used to this flirty version of Maya anymore, hasn’t seen her in 12 years and now she’s here in full force, like she never left. 

Carefully, he lifts her hand until it’s resting on his shoulder. He drops her wrist in favor of curling his hand around her waist instead. 

“But I won’t tell anyone,” he finishes with a smirk. 

Shawn is warm and responsive. He holds her around the waist and brings her up against him gently, carefully, because neither of them is too sure how far to push this right now. It feels like they’re on a precipice again. One good gust of wind could knock them both over.

But he’s teasing her back and she missed it so much. So maybe this time she’ll be the breeze.

Maya lifts her other arm to curl them both around his shoulders. She doesn’t care that he’s covered in work dust and has some paint under his nails. She always wants him. She wants him even more now after being in his sacred space getting a special introduction to how he spends his time.

Maya comes up onto her toes and brushes her nose against his. “Our secret, then?”

It’s a little pathetic, how easy it is for Maya to drive Shawn crazy. To make goosebumps prickle his skin and his heart throb in his chest. She knows how to play him better than he does any instrument. 

His eyes close, fingers curling tighter into her waist. He purrs, “I love keeping secrets with you, sugar.” 

He brings his free hand to her neck, cupping her just beneath her ear and tilting her head back with a firm press of his thumb to her jaw. 

“M’gonna kiss you now,” he breathes, before doing exactly that. 

It’s a delicate, teasing brush of his lips against hers as he slides his thigh forward, pressing between hers.

When he holds her like this, when he kisses her like this, it feels like their world is their secret. 

This kiss isn’t like the ones from the other night, frantic and a little neurotic because neither of them knew really what the other was thinking. This kiss feels more like the ones from Maya’s memory, the ones that came with years of experience. It’s not the first kiss, it’s the millionth and it feels so good.

She gives in easily, practically melts against him as she grips his thigh with hers. He hums into her mouth, tongue licking carefully at her lower lip. 

Maya tilts her head, holding him where he is. She slots her mouth against his so she can suck on his lower lip, soft at first, getting firmer as they breathe together and she snuggles a little closer against his leg. 

She’s in little denim cutoffs. The feel of his jeans pressed up against her bare legs is tantalizing. She squeezes her thighs around his, smiling into his mouth before she pulls away slightly.

He’s getting into it when she pulls away. His breath catches in his throat and he almost chases after her. 

She looks up at him, smoothing the curls down against his neck.

She tilts her head and whispers, “You bring all the girls back here, Mendes?”

He chuckles, leaning in to nip at the angle of her jaw, just beneath her ear. “Oh yeah, Lu. This is the hottest hook up spot in Avila. I thought you knew,” he smirks, nosing carefully at her earlobe.

Maya chuckles but it doesn’t quite cover the shiver she feels at his sexy teasing. She holds on a little tighter around his shoulders, very sure that he’ll hold her up if her knees give. 

That does remind her, though, that she hasn’t been on her knees for him. She misses that.

His tongue snakes out to lick her soft skin, slowly at first, before he gets worked up and starts pressing open-mouthed kisses behind her ear. 

Maya aids him by sweeping hair off her shoulder. She mewls at the feverish press of his mouth to her skin. As a 21-year-old, she’d have begged him to leave a mark. Now she’s more interested in letting him do what he wants when he wants. She thinks of it as a way they can get to know each other again. She knows he liked it when she got bossy before, though. That part of her isn’t lost.

Maya closes her eyes and leans into him when he catches a certain spot on her neck that makes goosebumps break out over her whole body. She inhales sharply, right in his ear, and hums.

She strokes a hand down his back and back up, rucking his shirt up with her fingers. His skin is soft and sizzling warm all over. She grins, knowing he’s hot for her.

He focuses on tasting as much as of her skin as he can get to, has to use his mouth for something other than babbling her praise or telling her how much he loves her. 

Tiny explosions sting his skin in the wake of her wandering hands. Her soft, panting breaths in his ear have his cock twitching in his jeans. 

He rocks his thigh up against her, gripping her hip tightly so he can pull her down onto his firm quad. His lips find their way back to her ear and he catches her earlobe with his teeth, giving her a little tug.

“Lu,” he coos after he kisses the shell of her ear, “What do you want, sugar?”

They’re grinding hard where they stand like the horny kids they still are at heart. Maya can feel herself already a little wet in her panties for him as he drags her along the thick, muscled length of his thigh. He feels so fucking good.

She hangs on him, lets him spoil her with every touch, every nip, every kiss. When he asks her what she wants, she’s almost too overwhelmed to answer. She groans and looks around the room. There’s a couch against a wall that looks welcoming. Maya drags her fingernails down his spine and nods at it.

“I want you to go sit. I want you to let me spoil you a little,” she murmurs, turning her head to plant a kiss on his cheek as she releases him. 

Waiting for him to obey, she starts tugging at the buttons of her shirt.

He’s imagined something incredibly similar to this happening to him time and time again. It’s one of his go-to shower fantasies. He should probably be a bit ashamed of that. 

He pants as he looks down at her, hand dropping to the desk once more. He grips the edge, has to get his bearings first so he doesn’t trip over himself. 

“What did I do to get so lucky?” he asks with a raise of his brow as he finally pushes off of desk and drops down on the couch, sinking into the plush leather while he drapes his arms along the back. 

His dick aches in anticipation, and he spreads his thighs in an attempt to calm himself down as he looks up at her.

Maya wets her lips, reaching the last button on her shirt. She tugs it out where it’s tucked into the front of her shorts and lets it fall open over a sweet, sheer lace bralette. She drops it off her shoulders, wasn’t really planning to give him a little show, but, while she’s here…

Maya turns away from him and slips her fingers into the waistband of her shorts, thumbing around her hips teasingly. She glances at him over her shoulder and inhales slowly, tugging at her zipper. She pulls them down slowly, wriggling out of the tight fabric, turning back around to show off her little matching panties. She’s putting her cards on the table -- Maya didn’t often bother to match her bra and underwear. She’s showing him that she put in some effort in the vain hope that this was where it might lead. 

She planned this. Maya fucking planned this. He knows because her panties match the pretty bralette she’s wearing and she only ever wore matching lingerie when she had a plan. He squeezes his eyes shut and groans a little. He’s not complaining. She makes good plans. 

She takes a couple steps forward and kneels between his legs. His cock is already getting hard in his jeans, she can see it beginning to strain against the fabric. Maya runs her hands, fingers spread wide and hungry, up and down his quadriceps from hip to knee, digging her thumbs in to massage the muscles. She looks up at Shawn, blinking innocently.

He opens his eyes again quickly, not keen on missing anything, and sees her dropping down to her knees. 

“Shit,” he breathes as she presses her small hands into his thighs, fingers scratching over his muscles. His cock twitches and his legs part just a bit more as he rolls his hips forward. His head tips back and he pushes a hand into his hair, trying to find some way to ground himself. 

Maya watches his body react without his mind’s permission, canting his hips up because he knows what he’s getting from her and knows how good she can give it. She’s flooded with power and pride, imagining no one’s ever made him feel this way. Maybe she’s wrong, maybe she’s not the best he’s ever had, maybe her ego only gets this swollen when he’s looking at her like that between his knees but she wants to believe it.

He’s that for her, anyway.

“Sweetheart,” she rasps, “You miss my mouth?”

A rough laugh rumbles his chest as he shakes his head. “God, baby. You know I did.” 

I missed everything about you. 

He manages to choke on the sentiment instead of admitting it. He moves past it, babbles on with, “Missed your pretty lips and hot tongue. Missed how good you always are.” 

His lips loosen, praising the attributes of her mouth. She hums in agreement, flushing a little as she reaches for the button of his jeans. She pulls on them, biting her lip as she watches him rake a shaky hand through his gorgeous curls. 

She wastes no time, taking his boxer briefs down with his pants in the same motion. She wets  her lips at the sight of his cock stiff and pink and nearly ready for her. She sits forward, resting her chin on his thigh and blinking up at him sweetly. She takes his cock in her hand and strokes him slowly, light pressure, because she loves driving him crazy and she’s damn good at it.

“What else did you miss?”

She loves watching him run his mouth when he’s getting worked up like this. She wants to see what kind of picture he can paint for her.

“Ah-- ah, shit,” he growls when she digs her chin into his thigh and wraps her perfect hand around his cock. 

Missed the way you looked at me when you told me you loved me. 

He can’t fucking say that, or anything remotely like it. His hips twitch and he closes his eyes, breathes in slowly through his nose to calm himself down. After a moment, he’s able to look at her, sees the glint in her eye and the sweet little smirk on her lips as she slowly works his shaft. 

“Missed how you suck my cock, Lu. Missed how you moan around me, how you rub your thighs together as you get wet with my dick on your tongue. Missed watching you touch your clit while you suck at me like a popsicle.” 

He’s panting by the end of it, his lips wet and swollen as he fucks his cock up into her fist. He’s got no shame with her, can’t bother acting like they don’t know each other like this, inside and out. Maya’s well aware of what this coy little act of hers does to him. He doesn’t mind that she uses it against him. 

“Love how wet you get while sucking my cock, sugar,” he growls, pushing both hands into his hair and tipping his head back, watching her from beneath his thick lashes.

Maya’s enchanted. He’s so fucking sexy. He’s always sexy, he was sexy when she bumped into him on the beach today, he was sexy when she walked in to see him covered in sawdust, he was sexy when he was blushing at her artwork 15 years ago. 

But when his lips are wet around the filth he’s moaning about loving how turned on she gets by getting him off, he’s so sexy she doesn’t know what to fucking do with herself. 

Maya’s head feels heavy. She tilts it so her cheek is resting on his bare thigh, tightening her grip on his cock as he starts to fuck up into it. She knows it’s not nearly enough for him, she knows it’s not at all the best she can do to drive him insane, but the best is yet to come. 

“Mmm, can’t help it,” she sighs, turning her face to leave a biting kiss on the inside of his thigh. She sits forward and forces his hips down with a press of her hand, watching his head fall back. She stares up at him, licking a hot, thick stripe up the underside of his cock. She follows it up with sweet little kitten licks around his swollen head, scooting forward on her knees. 

“Getting you hard gets me so fucking wet,” she confesses, but he already knows. She hums again, dipping her head to drop the tip of his dick into her mouth, swirling her tongue around slowly.

“God, Maya,” he grunts when she gets her tongue on him. Her confession is something he’s aware of, but hearing her say it sparks lightning in his veins. She’s so gorgeous like this, settled comfortably in his lap with her mouth on his cock. She’s always prettiest when she’s the most comfortable around him. 

“That’s it, sugar,” he practically slurs as her hot little tongue circles the head of his cock. He tugs his hair as he focuses on her mouth, watching her plump lips stretch around him, just barely covering his tip as she teases him the best way she knows how. 

Maya’s lashes flutter at the sound of his voice, hot and smooth like syrup as he purrs at her. It makes her moan around his cock as it throbs against her tongue. 

The sounds her mouth makes around his dick are so obscene --  wet, slurping pops as she sucks at him like she might never get the chance again. 

“S’this why you came over here, Lulu? Missed sucking my cock like this?” he coos, but his voice is rough, fucked from her lips and her hands and the smell of sea salt in her pretty brown hair. 

“Missed getting your thighs all wet with my dick in your mouth, didn’t you?” he asks, so he doesn’t ask her something like, Did you miss the way I used to make love to you when you couldn’t sleep at night? 

Now is not the fucking time. 

She blinks up at him and takes him back further down her throat, starting to bob her head as he speaks. She groans again, nodding, pausing on an upward pass of his shaft to kiss the tip of his dick and take a breath.

“Yeah,” she pants, “Wanted you in my mouth so bad. Miss how good it feels having you down my throat. You haven’t even touched me and my pussy is soaked.”

She’s a lot filthier than she used to be. All those years of his dirty mouth must’ve rubbed off on her. It’s incredibly fucking sexy, mostly because it’s so goddamn honest. 

He believes she means every word. She’s not just trying to be sexy, and that’s the sexiest part. 

He drops a hand from his hair to reach for hers, cupping the back of her hair as she sinks her mouth further down the length of his cock. She’s warm and velvety around him, and absolutely fucking incredible. He throbs between her lips.

With another gentle kiss on his twitching head, she grips him firmly, stroking while she holds his gaze and dips her hand down the front of her panties. When she pulls it back out, he can see she wasn’t fucking around. She’s so wet. 

She grins and dives back in, using the hand that was stroking him to reach down and cup his balls, squeezing and rolling them between her fingers. 

“Oh, fuck, sugar, oh my fucking god,” he growls when she shows him her sticky wet fingers then plays with his balls. 

“That’s so sexy, baby, Jesus Christ. Gonna let me taste you? You taste so fucking good.” 

Maya thrives on this, on hearing how completely wrecked he sounds when she really starts going to work on him. Truthfully, she was nervous -- she hadn’t had her mouth on a man in a really long time. Shawn’s eager whimpering and words of praise tell her for certain she hasn’t lost her touch.

His hand in her hair has her pumping him a little faster in and out of her mouth, meeting where her gag reflex resists him with little groaning purrs from the back of her throat.

She slides back up his cock again, tonguing at his slit. She reaches up and offers him her fingers to suck on, knowing what he wants.

She shivers, pulling off his shaft and kissing down the beating vein on his cock to press teasing kisses all over his balls. She wants to make him lose his goddamn mind. After all, it’s what he deserves.

“Suck on my fingers, baby,” she encourages, breath rough and hot on his thighs. 

It’s a little pathetic, how he scrambles for her fingers. He wraps his hand around her wrist and tugs her to his mouth, licking her fingers carefully before sucking them past his lips. He groans around her, pulling her fingers from his mouth with a pop before kisses her fingertips. 

Maya could watch him lose his mind like this for her forever. He holds her wrist steady so he can savor the sweetness on her fingers and it reminds her just how desperate he can get for her. He could never get enough of the taste of her. But she was similarly affected -- she used to drag blow jobs out until he was begging, pleading to come, it was too much to take, but she liked pushing his limits.

Her lips on his balls have his cock aching, leaking for her, dripping down his shaft and onto his abdomen. He squeezes her wrist and drops his head back, hips fucking up, cock grinding against nothing. 

“Shit-- shit, Maya, my god. You’re-- fuck, you’re so sexy. So good-- so fucking good at this, so good to me, Christ,” he hisses, nipping at her fingertips again before looking down at her, his eyes glassy. 

He wants to tell her he loves her so badly. His heart is hammering against his ribs and the feeling of it warms through his entire body as his hips rock back and forth on the couch. He feels like he’s vibrating with need, but he’ll never be satisfied until he can tell her how he really feels. 

He nibbles at her fingers and mutters hopelessly like he’ll never have it so good again in his life. It makes her stomach swirl. She’s so eager to get him off now. She wants to make it unforgettable.

“Sugar, Maya, I’m-- ah, fuck, I missed you,” he rasps, holding on just enough to choose his words wisely.

I missed you.

He’s been saying it since they started making out. Hell, he said it the last time they fucked. It just… it sounded different this time, like he was trying to say something else. Maya pulls away from him to look up, past his heaving, panting chest and his swollen lips to his big brown eyes. She closes her eyes, turns her face into his thigh and slowly, affectionately noses at the soft hair there. With one last little kiss, the only thing she can give him in return, she sits up and takes his cock down her throat, bobbing her head quickly, soaking his dick.

Maya squirms, moaning around him hot and hard in her mouth. She reaches down between her thighs and rubs her clit quickly with the pad of her middle finger, swallowing him down as far as she can, ready to make him fall apart.

“Holy fuck,” he chokes out, curling forward over her head as she takes his cock deep into her mouth and sucks at him like her life fucking depends on it. He pushes his hands into her hair to hold on, not to guide or direct her, but to steady himself as she completely overwhelms him.

He looks down at her and realizes her hand is between her thighs, sure her fingers are flicking her clit like she always loves to do as she tries to carry him to the edge. 

He wants to come in her mouth, but he also wants so much more. He’s feeling crazed for it, maybe overly emotional and nostalgic, but he wants to come with her. He wants to make her come all over his cock before he finally lets go himself. He wants her to know how he feels without having to say it. 

“Baby, baby--” he growls, tugging at her hair, grinding his hips into the couch. “Maya, sugar, I’m-- you got me so fucking close, but I don’t-- I wanna feel your pussy, sweetie. Please.” 

Shawn wants more.

Before Shawn, no guy had ever refused the opportunity to come in her mouth. He was the first to show interest in getting her off with him. It seems he hasn’t lost the desire.

She’s sure he’s practically dangling on the edge of an orgasm, so the willpower it takes to reel it in and do what he can to get her there with him is pretty stunning. Maya whimpers, overwhelmed by his desire for her, and sits back on her heels, running a hand through her hair.

“Ok,” she murmurs, clearing her throat, “Yeah, baby. Wanna feel you inside me. Always.”

The “always” was maybe a little much but her brain is fried. She stands, giggles as she nearly tips over on shaky legs, and ditches her soaking wet lace panties.

She stands before him flushed and needy as she slips out of her sticky panties. He can see the wetness dripping down her thighs as she crawls onto the couch, legs spreading so she can straddle his lap. 

He’s breathless, staring at her with his hands tangled in his own hair. He lets her take him how she wants, touch him how she wants, use him however she wants. 

He’s hers. 

Shawn watches her from the couch. She does what she can not to leap on him, instead lowering herself into his lap and sitting forward until his cock is pressed against her pussy and she can roll her hips to grind against him.

“Oh fuck,” she whines, scrunching up her nose, tightening her grip on his shoulders.

Shawn doesn’t know how he went twelve years without this. Without her. She fits perfectly against him, curves perfectly into the lines and divots of his body, so well sometimes that he can’t remember where he ends and she begins. He’s really so fucked that he thinks about her in cliches and he doesn’t even care. 

Finally, she slides forward; her pussy is hot and slick over his cock as his hips jerk up in response to the sweet sensation. 

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, dropping one hand to her thigh as he looks her up and down, from her slick pussy dripping on his shaft to the smooth curve of her belly, to her hard nipples that strain against the pretty fabric of her bra. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he says, his voice more awestruck than sex-fucked in this moment, as he gazes at her resting atop him like she belongs there and nowhere else. 

How does he not tell her he loves her? How can he not? She should know, she deserves to know. He can’t just keep doing this with her and pretending like it doesn’t mean the world to him. 

He pushes himself away from the back of the couch and presses his chest to hers, cupping her throat with his hands and gliding his thumbs along her jaw. He presses his forehead to hers and looks her in the eye, searching for something, though he’s not sure what. 

“Maya,” he breathes, nudging her nose as he grinds his cock up against her, brushing the head over her swollen, sensitive clit. “Missed how good you feel like this, sugar.”  

Maya sobs a breath when he lurches forward and presses up against her chest, holding her face in his hands. She wants to close her eyes so badly, it’s too much having him so close and staring at her like this like he’s considering not ever letting her go again. But the way he’s holding her, pressing his nose against hers gently while he finds an angle that will make her gasp (which he does easily), it makes her hold his gaze.

Her breathing is ragged. She’s half a heartbeat away from tears. How can he treat her this way, after everything? It’s not to be denied now, not at all. There’s still something very real here between them that neither of them is doing a good job ignoring. And Maya’s not running from it.

Maya lifts her fingers into Shawn’s hair, surrendering. She tips her head onto his shoulder, takes a slow, deep breath with her hips still rocking into his and wraps her arms around him.

“Take me, Shawn. Please.”

“I got you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to hers as he wraps his arms around her waist and reaches up the length of her spine to cup her shoulder blades and rock her down against his cock. “Lu, I got you, I’ll take care of you.” 

He kisses her again to shut himself up, then rolls his hips forward, smoothly sliding his length along her slit and nudging over her clit before pressing up against her tight entrance. He rocks again, pushing his tip shallowly into her pussy, her velvet walls immediately clenching perfectly around him. 

He swallows her up into his chest with the way he curls his arms around her. Maya’s never felt so safe, ever. The kiss keeps both their stupid mouths occupied, which she’s so grateful for. But when he slips inside her, hard and thick and everything she’s wanted, she groans, loud and unabashed into his mouth.

“Fuck, sugar,” he purrs, sucking at her lower lip, giving her a little nibble. He then mouths along the sharp angle of her jaw until he reaches her ear, giving her earlobe a kiss. 

“So fucking wet for me. Can’t believe how wet you get, can’t believe how fucking good you feel,” he mutters in her ear, voice rough with need. “Feels perfect, Maya, you know that. Don’t you, sweetheart? You know you feel so perfect on my cock.” 

He emphasizes his words with a flick of his hips that slides him deeper into her slick, welcoming cunt. 

“Oh my god, oh Shawn,” she gasps between his sweet lips as he starts to break away for her jaw, mumbling to her quietly like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. It makes a sharp shiver tear down her spine so she squirms hard in his arms.

His hips flick up. Her head falls back, her mouth drops open in a silent scream as her hips start to rock of their own volition.

“Never been so good, never been so fucking good with you,” she chants, shaking her head, “It was always perfect but, fuck, it’s never been this good, baby, you’re so good with me. It’s perfect, baby. It’s perfect.”

Her words are repetitive, a stream of consciousness of the hot, torrid thoughts in her head. She scrunches her fingers in his hair and tugs to show her urgency because words simply aren’t enough at this point. Plus, if she opens her mouth now, she just knows a poorly-timed I love you will come tumbling out.

She’s right, it’s never been this good. He’s never felt so desperate for her before, so determined to use his body to show her the depth of his feelings for her because they’re too much to vocalize. He whines against her ear as she praises him, praises them both. 

“Just wanna make you feel this good as much as I can,” he admits on a choked off breath, his fingers digging into her shoulder blades as his hips stutter beneath her soft, slick thighs. 

God, everything he says right now feels like an atom bomb. But he’s giving it to her so good she really can’t stop and think too hard about it. She can’t really think at all.

Shawn wisely silences himself against her neck, at least temporarily, busying himself with marking his former territory. She’s far from stopping him. If she can walk around with his love bites on her body for a few days, she’ll welcome it. They’re like a badge of honor.

He rocks his cock deeper and deeper into her sweet pussy, licking and sucking along the column of her throat, down to her clavicle then back up to her ear, nipping at the sensitive shell of cartilage. 

Her tits bounce as he thrusts hard into her. She clings to him, fingers sinking into his neck and his hair to keep herself from smacking into him as their bodies take over control. There’s nothing gentle or meticulous about it the way Shawn sometimes is with her. That’s equally as wonderful, of course. But this, this raw need for her that controls the flicking of his hips and has him so deep inside her that her toes curl, this is so fucking good.

“Jesus, sugar,” he pants, hips snapping harder and harder as he bounces her in his lap, working her on his dick. “Fucking-- love it, love having you on my cock, baby.” 

He bites down on her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut after a close fucking call that he can only blame on the ambiance of the sunset shining through the windows and panting the room in golden amber light. 

Maya doesn’t notice him fumble over his words, instead gasping and twitching when he bites at her bronzed shoulder like he doesn’t trust his mouth. She cradles the back of his head and whines, the pain and pleasure setting something off inside her.

“Baby, I’m gonna come. Gonna come soon. Wanna touch my clit for me?” she whispers, tonguing at the shell of his ear in time with the roll of her hips.

Something snaps inside of him when she purrs in his ear, asks him to help make her come with his fingers. He growls and wraps a thick, sturdy arm around her waist so he can lift her from his lap and settle her down onto the couch instead. 

Maya mewls in his ear when he lifts her and repositions her on the couch. She lets him take over her hands — as much as she likes to hold him, she knows she’s taken care of right now. 

They stay connected as he shifts around, knees on the couch, thighs pressed against the back of hers as he reaches for her wrists and pins them above her head so she’s arched beneath him, pretty tits straining against her bra. 

Shawn starts moving again, making sure this orgasm is going to overwhelm her to the point of total, unadulterated bliss. 

Her sensitive nipples arch against his chest and drag against the fabric of her bralette. Her feet are planted on either side of his legs so she can give as good as she gets, but the rhythm of her hips is starting to fail as she gets closer and closer. 

“M’gonna make you come so good, sugar,” he pants, keeping her wrists pinned with one hand while the other ventures down her body, fingertips tripping over her skin until he reaches the wet, hot apex of her thighs. 

He snaps his hips once, twice, thrice, changing the angle each time until the head of his cock finally brushes her g-spot, just as he slips his middle finger between her pink folds and flicks at her swollen clit. He presses down on the stiff little nub before slowly working her in tight circles, the rhythm of his finger slower than the snapping cadence of his hips as he stretches her pretty pussy with his cock. 

He knows exactly what she needs like he always has. He tilts his hips to rut against her g-spot with every stroke. His finger swirls tight but tantalizingly slow against her swollen, twitching clit. 

He kisses along her throat until his lips meet her chin. He moves to her mouth, sucking her lower lip between his teeth. He gives her a little nip before pressing their foreheads together. “C’mon, Lu, come all over me. Feels-- fuck, fuck-- feels so fucking good when you come on my cock.” 

She can’t keep the air in her lungs. She’s panting and writhing beneath him, thrashing like a desperate caged animal. Until he settles his forehead against hers and whispers. 

Maya goes rigid, crying out into his mouth, arching extraordinarily as she soaks his thick cock. Her body holds him in as it riots, orgasm reaching up through her until she’s rolling, slow and tortured, like she’s clinging to every piece of her release. 

He’s not sure how he manages to make it through her rippling, overwhelming orgasm without completely falling apart himself. He kisses her through it, rolling his hips faster as he picks up speed with his finger on her twitching clit. 

It’s hard to keep up with her thrashing, but he tightens his grip on her wrists and lets himself settle more of his weight atop her. She’s fucking dripping all over him, soaking his dick and his lower abdomen, along with his thighs. 

He pulls back when she starts to come down, slowing his hips as his cock throbs inside of her spamming cunt. He watches her chest heave as he clenches his jaw, forcing himself still as he pants along with her. 

It’s one of the longer orgasms she’s ever had. When it begins to fade, Maya blinks her wet eyes open and stares at him, so in love he must just see it all over her face. She coos and kisses his swollen lower lip. 

“Your turn, honey. Come inside me. Wanna feel you so deep, baby.”

His eyes flutter shut when she kisses him, purring with a loving clenching of her pussy. He groans into her mouth, his snapping tightly, just once, before he lets himself kiss her properly. 

“Gonna give you what you want, Lu, gonna—“ he cuts himself off with a moan, dropping his head down to her shoulder as he fucks her faster, hips rabbiting down and slapping her thighs. 

He goes quick and shallow, can’t help but focus the head of his cock over her g-spot with every frantic stroke, the angle ingrained in his muscle memory. 

Maya’s heart rate has just started to normalize when he starts stroking hard again. But she can’t help but get worked up again -- she anticipates his orgasm as much as her own, if not more. 

Maya holds on, wrapping her legs around his hips as he slams them into her. With each quick thrust, he bumps up against her sensitive spot that has her grunting and squirming.

“May— Maya, shit,” he bites at her collarbone to shut himself up as his balls tighten and he finally lets go. He groans into her skin, coming deep inside of her as his hips come to a clenched stop against her wet thighs.

He sinks his teeth into her clavicle when he buries himself and comes hard, letting go inside her. She groans, low and deep, at the dual sensations. She slides a hand up to cradle the back of his head, letting him rest against her chest while he comes down. She strokes his hair and lets her clenched legs slide off until she’s limp and wholly satisfied beneath him.

“That was… god, Jesus Christ,” Maya sighs, running her pointed toes down the back of his leg as she tries to remember how to talk.

Shawn’s a little out of his head. He’s pretty sure he’s never come so hard in his life. His face is buried in her neck as he finally begins to relax, legs and hips unclenching as he collapses on top of her, settling between her thighs. 

Maya’s eyes are closed as he noses at her, strokes her fiery, goosebumped skin and recovers from a truly epic orgasm. She relishes the weight of him against her, so familiar and comforting like he’s her favorite giant blanket. She scooches around beneath him until they’re both comfortable and tucked up against each other.

His chest is heaving, pressing into hers while they breathe together, basking in the warm afterglow. Shawn carefully releases Maya’s wrists and glides his fingers down the length of her body until he reaches her waist. He mouths slowly at her throat when he finally gets his breathing under control. 

He doesn’t trust himself to speak yet, though, still shaken from the heat of his orgasm. He rubs the tips of his nose across her skin and paws at her sides with his needy, wandering hands. 

She’s not doing much better than he is. 

“You’re the most incredible woman I have ever known,” he pants into the soft skin of her neck when he decides he just can’t keep quiet. He’s lame and hyperbolic and probably too much, but an orgasm is a hell of a drug. And Maya is a hell of a woman. 

His words have her eyes snapping open. She clenches her jaw and blinks quickly, trying not to gasp for breath but she’s having trouble oxygenating her brain.

After a moment or two, she speaks.

“You really always have been too good to me,” she murmurs, turning her face so her nose brushes up against his sweaty curls.

Maya’s overwhelmed. Part of her wants to spill her guts, tell him all the lovely things she’s been thinking for so long, tell him all the ways she’s missed him. The other part knows it’s not the time. Not now, not even when he’s said something so unbelievable.

He smiles into her skin. She says it like she doesn’t believe him, like he’s just nice to be nice.  But he would never say something like that just to be sweet. He nudges her jaw with his nose, kisses her just beneath her chin. 

“No,” he hums, kissing along her jaw lazily, “No, I’m just trying to give you what you deserve. Even if you don’t think you deserve it.” 

It’s strikingly honest, but it’s true. She deserves the fucking world, and she doesn’t seem to  know it. 

Maya exhales sharply. She’s still getting used to this idea that he doesn’t hate her breathing guts. She’s also getting used to not hating her own breathing guts. So him laying it on this thick for no other reason than because he truly believes what he’s saying?

It’s a lot.

He breathes out after a moment, letting his head drop onto her chest. 

“I know you think-- maybe you think I’m a glutton for punishment and you probably think I should hate you or something, but. I don’t. I never did. I was--” he lets out a gruff laugh, “I was fucking pissed, for a while. But I--” I always loved you, “I could never hate you. And I could never not think the sun shines out of your ass, because it does. You have, like, the best, shiniest ass.” 

He rests his chin on her sternum and looks up at her, biting his lip through a sheepish smile. 

He snuggles up to her chest and continues talking. She listens carefully, smirking at his comment about her ass. He props his chin up between her breasts. She plays with the curls on his forehead, twirling them around her slender fingers.

“Shawn Mendes, I think only you have a big enough heart not to hate me after what I did. I hated me. I think I’ve only recently stopped hating me. I think you’ve been part of that.”

“I don’t think you should hate yourself at all,” Shawn murmurs. He wants to kiss her, but if he kisses her, he’ll definitely blow it. He’s getting too close to ‘I love you’ with ‘I could never hate you’ as it is. Instead, he presses a gentle peck to her chest before looking back up at her. 

She’s quiet for a moment or two before booping his nose with the tip of her finger. “You know, at some point, not now but maybe soon, we should talk about what it is we’re doing here.”

He wrinkles his nose, then closes his eyes at her suggestion. He only hates her a little bit for being the adult. 

We’re falling in love again, right? 

That’s what he wants them to be doing, even if it’s rash. Realistically, he knows that it can’t be what they’re doing. They haven’t seen each other in so long, and she has a job and a life and a completely different city to get back to. But she’s keeping the house here, so it’s not like she’ll be disappearing all over again. He could do long distance for a little, if need be, and they could learn how to love each other again. 

He can’t say anything like that. 

She continues toying with, bouncing the curls against his forehead like she’s a cat and he’s her ball of yarn. When he closes his eyes to think, Maya stretches back, folding an arm under her head, letting herself get even more comfortable with him. She ignores the idea that maybe that’s dangerous.

Instead, he blinks his eyes open and smiles crookedly at her. “We’re helping you relax after being so uptight in New York, obviously.” 

It’s such a cop out. It’s cowardice, and he hates himself for it. 

She chuckles at his answer to her question and strokes a hand through his hair from crown to neck, scratching him gently with her nails.

“You’re doing an excellent job of that,” she purrs, “I haven’t come this hard in… uhm, years.”

He closes his eyes and sighs, brushes one more sweet kiss to her chest. “We’re doing whatever you want to do, Lulu. I’m just-- I’m here. For you. However you need me.” 

He kisses her chest again. She swallows sharply, her lie on her mind. He still thinks she’s leaving. He thinks at worst, she’ll be a temporary dalliance and will leave him alone again to live his life unburdened by her.

He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. She hasn’t let him.

She takes a deep breath, trying to free herself from the creeping guilt and gloom. She can be mature later.

Shawn loves the comfort of settling his whole weight atop her while she plays with his hair, even though it’s sweaty and like, pretty full of sawdust. He likes the familiarity of this, the comfort and warmth. He likes how she loves cradling him between her thighs, even long after they’ve both come down from their peaks. 

He starts spreading kisses along the length of her sternum, down between the valley of her breasts then back up again, nipping at the soft fabric of her bralette every now and then. 

“I hope you weren’t expecting any customers,” she murmurs, glancing around his work studio with a lifted eyebrow. She totally derailed his process.

He laughs, looking up at her, then around at the shop, now dark under the sparse light of dusk. He shakes his head as he looks back down at her.

“Nah,” he says with a shrug, “Most foot traffic actually happens in the morning, or right after lunch. By the end of the day it’s usually just me, obsessing over some project I don’t have to actually finish for like… weeks.” 

Maya’s trying not to let herself fantasize about the idea of getting used to this. But she can see it so clearly -- installing a board rack outside. Walking up after a session to squeeze out her hair before she walks inside because he gets pissy about the saltwater on his fine hardwood floors. Riding him on the couch while the sun sets.

Yeah. Ok. The fantasy took hold. Too late.

He blinks down at her, then carefully pushes himself up onto one arm, lifting his hips from hers so he can slip out of her. He reaches down for his briefs and pulls them back up before he wiggles in between her and the back of the couch. 

He pulls her into his chest, so her back his flush against his front, then reaches for the blanket over the arm of the couch and wraps them up. 

Maya grunts gently when he slips out of her but he doesn’t go far, wrapping them up in a blanket on the couch. She’s so comfortable she’s a little worried about passing out right here up against him. He probably wouldn’t even mind. He’d probably be happy.

She wants to make him happy.

Maya snuggles in, tucks herself so the proportions of her body fit neatly into his. Spooning has never truly felt like spooning with anyone else, not when she fits so perfectly into him. She always rolled her eyes at the puzzle piece metaphor people like to use, but now she gets it.

She doesn’t try to wiggle away or excuse herself by pulling her panties on. She lets him move her, then cuddles back against him like a satisfied cat who wants to bask in his body heat. It’s his favorite feeling. 

He sighs, presses a kiss to the back of her shoulder. “Better,” he murmurs. “Sometimes I sleep here. Like, if I lose track of time and don’t feel like walking home. This couch is really comfy.” 

He’s babbling, now, like if he finds more shit to say, the longer she’ll stay. 

Maya closes her eyes. “I don’t like the idea of you sleeping here all by yourself on this couch. It’s not even that comfy. Stop doing that,” she scolds with a smile. 

He so busy plodding kisses along her shoulder and  towards the back of her neck, that he doesn’t really care she’s fussing. He smiles into her hair as he noses the base of her scalp. 

“It’s either alone here or alone at the apartment. Not much difference, Lu,” he says with a thoughtful hum. One of his hands finds her leg under the blanket, and his fingers slowly tease the curving slope of her thigh until he reaches her knee. He trails back up, then, stroking her skin until he reaches the ripple of stretch marks that bloom at her hip. He loves them. He’s familiar with each one, has spent hours tracing their path as they wrap around her body with his fingertips. 

Maya lets him spoil her, dropping kisses all over her shoulders, sore from hunching over a canvas and paddling out to catch waves. She sighs at his words and goes to speak.

But his hand is so distracting.

God, his hands are so huge and yet so graceful. She just basks in the feeling of his touch after starving herself of it for so long. She hums and tries to remind herself what she was going to say to him next, before he started caressing her hip like he loves her stretch marks as much as he loves the rest of her. 

“Will admit, though,” he murmurs, taking a calm breath through his nose as he presses his lips to the top of her head, his cheek cradled by his own bicep, “This couch is exponentially comfier when I have you here with me.” 

He disgusts himself, sometimes. But he can’t help it. Maya brings it out in him. 

Maya opens her eyes and lifts a hand to cup his jaw from behind her, stroking along the cut of it with her thumb.

“You know what I bet is comfier than this couch with me? Your bed with me,” she points out, glancing over her shoulder at him. 

Shawn presses his jaw into her hand, like a dog nudging into a pet. His brows raise as he pushing himself up onto his elbow, looking down at her. She’s really on a roll with awesome ideas today. He grins. 

“I dunno, Lemon,” he says, lips quirking, “You kinda steal the sheets. And sometimes you kick me when you have that soccer dream from when you were in third grade.”

He’ll take any chance he can get to remind her he knows her, knows the small details and close-kept secrets whispered between them in the dark as well as he knows the back of his hand or the chords to Back to Black by Amy Winehouse. 

He drops his nose to her shoulder, kisses her gently. 

“Do you really want to?” he murmurs, his voice gruff as he breathes into her skin and keeps his eyes closed. It’s a question bathed in doubt, but he can’t help it. This is the first time since she’s been in Avila where she seems truly receptive to folding herself into his life. He doesn’t want that to go away.

He’s teasing her but she can pretty much tell by the cadence of his voice that he’s stalling, a little bit in disbelief, maybe even a little nervous about letting her in that far. Or maybe he’s nervous that if he does she’ll run again.

She’s so fucking tired of running.

Maya carefully turns over and does a 180 to face him on her other side. She slings a leg over his and scooches up the couch so her face is level with his.

“If I can deal with you clinging to me like a leech in the middle of the night and talking in your sleep like a weirdo, you can deal with my occasional light kicking and hogging of sheets.”

She swings an arm around his neck and flattens her lips against his with a smile for a brief, loud kiss.

“Take me home, Mendes.”

----------

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @desire-to-live @jillian-nd @shawnwyr @curlsofshawn @graysonmendes @tnhmblive @meltingicequeen

[lareinenoir]

∆Apple of my Eye∆

Loki x Female! Reader

Request: Hi, I love your work so much!! I was wondering if you could do a Loki x female reader where the reader isn’t heavy but she isn’t fit either. Where reader has been through a lot (depression, heartbreak, etc.) and when she sees another girl flirting with Loki she doesn’t have enough self-confidence to do anything about it but Loki notices and a lot of fluff happens.

@em18-blue-soccer-love

Summary: Body image is what you have struggled with for quite a while. Meeting Loki distracted you from it and his constant compliments always made you blush like crazy! When you are invited to one of Tony Stark's party and see your ex-best friend, the memories of your years in college come back. The memories weren't as fun as they are supposed to be.

A/N: I just wanna say, you are all beautiful and self-love is what I've struggled with for so long! For the past two years, I have learned that loving myself is the best thing for me. If you ever need a reminder on how "beautifully and wonderfully made" you are, hmu. ☺

Tag list: @tell-me-a-poem @thatweirdwalangpake @schizonephilim @hisparadox @empressoftheundergroundsun

"Morning precious." Says Loki kissing your head as you stretch your arms and look to the clock.

"Morning? It's noon." You yawn watching Loki toss an apple in his hand "Why didn't you wake me?"

"Well," he says walking over and kissing your head. "you look rather peaceful asleep and I couldn't bring myself to wake you."

"How charming." You replied and he passed you the apple.

"Eat, an apple a day gives the doctor away."

Bursting out you laughing you wipe the apple on the blanket and roll your eyes. "It's an apple a day keeps the doctor away' silly."

"Bah." He says waving his hand "Your Midgardian sayings are all so...let's just say they mean so many things."

"Haha." You shrug taking a bite. "Don't worry, I don't plan on visiting the doctor anytime soon. At least not because I'm sick."

"Good," he nods as he stands you up and pulled you to his body. "I don't want my precious queen getting the chills."

"You Asgardians never get sick." You say while chewing the apple. "Like...for the past two years I've known you and Thor not once have you gotten sick."

"Our immune systems aren't as weak as you mortals." He laughs and you snort

"Hey! Offensive to my people." You giggle slapping him on the shoulder as Loki lays his head in your lap. "We aren't as weak as you think, Loki. Especially women."

"Darling, men-" you give him a warning look and he gets your hint. "What I meant to say was...mortal men will never be stronger than Asgardian men."

"Whatever." You roll your eyes finishing the apple. "Speaking of men," you say, placing the apple core on the dresser "Tony invited us to his house for a little surprise party for Pepper. Do you wanna be my date?" You Giggle

"well..." He said pretending to think. "I'd have to ask the woman I'm currently with if she'd be OK with me going on a date with a very good looking woman, such as yourself."

You smirked and folded your arms as he twists a strand of your hair around his finger. "I'm sure the woman you're seeing wouldn't mind." You joke kneeling down your head to kiss his nose. "If you don't tell her I mean. It can be our little secret."

"Our little secret."

Sharing a small kiss you brush back his jet black hair just to study his face. You felt so lucky to have him.

Tony's parties. Always full of people. Men in expensive suits and Rolex watches. Woman in fitted dresses that matched there handbag. Not to mention some very hot eye candy on the arms of a woman or man.

"You've been staring at your reflection for two hours and have changed outfits seventeen times, not counting this one." Loki groaned getting frustrated and you shook your head

"You men have it easy. All you do is show up in a tux and add gel to your hair." You say heading back to the closet. "I don't...I just want to look the part."

Loki sits up in his elbows off the bed and squinted at you. "The part?" He questions

You instantly close your lips and bring out three more dresses. "So, which one. Blush? Copper red or Zesty-"

He appears in front of you with his index finger against your lips. His eyes in you he slowly takes the hangers and tosses them on the bed. "Y/N, I told you that you look ravishing in all of them. Asking me over and over again will not change my mind." You smile and he kisses the corner of your mouth. "You look good in everything."

"Aw." You say grinning like a ninny trying to avoid his eyes. You wanted to say, 'no I'm not' but you knew how much it annoyed him. "Thanks." You whisper biting your lip.

"Excellent, now can we please go? I'm afraid we are going to be rather late." Said Loki taking your hand in his.

"The party will just be getting started when we arrive." You shrug and you two share a laugh. "He'll have the drinks out by then I hope."

"You mortals and your alcoholic beverages." He said rolling his eyes. "They are a bit on the weak side."

You roll your eyes at him and pinch his butt cheek. "Shut up."

He winks at you and gives you a slap on the ass as you continue walking

When you arrive at Tony's place you are greeted by a whole lot of people bumping into you and Loki and are quickly offered a drink.

"Weren't sure you were going to show up." Said Rhodey handing you and Loki a glass of vodka. "Thor is over there with Steve and Bucky. He said our beverages aren't strong enough for a god."

"And he is indeed right." Said Loki handing it back. "I'm going to go over there, Y/N?" He sort of asks. "Will you be alright for a bit?"

"I will." You nod and he kisses your cheek. "Go on, have fun."

Watching Loki disappear in the crowd of people, you turn and see Rhodey is gone off and is dancing on some tables with Tony.

"Y/N!" Shouts Pepper and you take a sip of the drink as she wraps her arms around your neck. "Glad you could come. Having fun?"

"Yeah. You should be the one having fun! Happy birthday." You said kissing her cheek. "Sorry I couldn't be there to say 'Surprise' I think I spent more time figuring out what to wear than anything."

"No worries. You look great." She motions with her hands. "It wasn't much of a surprise anyway. Vision accidentally spilled the beans. He's still learning." Pepper shrugged "To surprises?" She raised her martini and you clinked it with hers

"Surprises." You say as you both take a large sip.

Walking around and partying with the others you catch a glimpse of Loki doing shots with Steve and Thor.

"What the heck?" You ask seeing they drew a big crowd. The countertop full of shot glasses, Tony filling them while Clint counted. "You've got to be kidding me." You laugh hearing everyone cheer.

In college, this is what the guys did at frat parties. Why the heck were they doing it. Grown men!

"Rogers wins!" Said Clint and everyone began to holler loudly. "Thirty-two shots in one minute." He announces

"I still think you won." You hear someone say as they approach Loki hands grazing his shoulder.

You stared at those perfectly manicured pink acrylic nails and held your breath when you recognized the black stilettoes.

"Thank you." Loki nods chuckling nervously

"I'm Missy Donaven" She introduces herself holding out her free hand. "You must be Loki."

"I am indeed. Its a pleasure to meet you, Missy Donovan." Said Loki being very polite.

You watched them carefully but couldn't help but stare from a distance at her perfectly shaped lips that curved into a smile. How her giggle made your skin crawl because of how lovely it was. Your heart beats with fear a bit as Missy and Loki talked. She would laugh then touch his chest.

Touching Loki! Touching Loki!

"You have a sense of humor. Pretty good looking too." She winks touching his hair.

Touching his hair! Touching his hair!

That's when she looked up and caught your eye. Quickly turning the other way you feel your feet begin to speed walk through the crowd.

"Where you going in a hurry?" Asks Natasha stopping you

Brushing past her you ignore and keep walking until you were in a bathroom. One perfect bathroom with a sink and mirror. And staring in it made you look away. Seeing Missy and how beautiful her red hair was made your body ache. You weren't as pretty as she was. You knew that. She had curves...you weren't sure if you had any. Missy had big boobs...bigger than yours.

Looking away from the mirror, you take a seat on the edge of the tub and bite your lip. Just as you took in a breath the door opens and a smiling Missy Donovan walks in.

"I knew it was you." She says closing the door. "The smell of loneliness was a dead give away."

You didn't want to fight. You weren't in the mood to exchange insults with her. It bothered you more because you should have known to lock the door.

"Where ya going? Don't you wanna talk to me? I haven't seen you in ages Y/N." She says face now in the mirror touching up her makeup.

"I-"

"You look like a Teletubbie. I'm actually surprised you came out of the house in a dress. I thought you were more of pants and oversized hoodie kinda girl. But I can't complain too much." Missy shrugs fixing her hair and making kissing faces in the mirror. "Its a step up. A lot of people thought you were a dike Y/N, because of the way you dressed. Hell, I thought you were. It's an improvement." She spins on her heels, red hair slapping you a bit in your face as she grazes her finger across your cheek. "A+ for trying I guess."

Sucking in your cheeks, you stay silent and hold in your tears. It was very hard to look at her small pale feet and know, in your mind, Loki would pick her.

"Lay off the twinkies? I think I'm seeing a quadruple chin. You definitely need to hit the gym." Missy giggle perking up her breasts. "Hopefully I get this sexy hunk of a man in bed with me. I'll be sure to text you what it's like to sleep with a god."

Back against the wall, you feel helpless and hold in your tears. You even stopped breathing. Missy never allowed you to look at her directly. She always said, "only pretty people can look at me." In college, you waited on Missy. You were at her every beck and call she made sure you knew your place.

She'd always remind you how fat you looked in clothes. The first day you met her, you wore a dress to a party. "Oh honey, you look like a bloated Turkey."

At the time it was a joke? Right? Missy didn't mean anything by it...

When Missy had planned parties, you were in charge but never invited. "I don't want you eating up all the snacks."

One time you did have the nerve to buck up when you found out she was making out with a guy you liked.

"I'm saving you, Y/N. Pedro wouldn't date someone like you. He doesn't go for the girls who look like street trash."

Pedro Hernandez, you had an Instagram spam page and Pedro followed it. He commented on one of your memes and then started DM you. You kept it from Missy for obvious reasons. You and Pedro never met, or even sent pictures to each other. Unfortunately, Missy found out that you guys were planning on meeting and pretended to be you.

"I can't believe I ever thought we were friends." You said but you were more upset with Pedro then anything. He ended up picking Missy Donaven over you.

You and Missy stopped being 'friends' You told yourself, "College all by myself is way better than having someone like Missy."

And here you are. In the bathroom tub crying your eyes out because it was happening all over again. You knew how it would end. Loki would pick Missy. And you wouldn't blame him.

There was a knock at the door and you said,

"Go away!"

"Y/N? Is that you? Are you alright?"

You said nothing. Loki was probably coming to tell you that you were breaking up. He was gonna go for Missy...

"Y/N...I'm coming in. Ok? I'm coming in."

Not looking up, you felt his body heat over you. Loki knew why you were upset. Missy let it slip that you were in the bathroom crying.

"Y/N... I do hate seeing you cry." He tells you, climbing in the tub with you.

Looking up and at the sink, you shake your head. "I saw you with her. At first, I was mad but...I understand. She's pretty. Way prettier than me. Nice big boobs. Tinier waist with a nice ass...curves that I don't have. She isn't fat like me. It's ok. I'm not mad."

"Y/N, I'm afraid-"

"Loki you deserve better. A better-looking girl than me. She's perfect for you. Missy is...she's the perfect girl in every way."

You weren't sure if he was listening or not but he lifts your chin and wipes the pad of his thumb across your cheek. "Y/N. I picked a woman." Loki was looking at you. Eyes so intently looking only at you "I picked a woman, not a girl looking for attention. You are the apple of my eye. You are perfect for me.”

He meant every word. You knew it. Now, you felt stupid for just thinking Otherwise. Loki had already picked you.

"Do you-"

You pressed your lips on his smoothly and inhaled his scent as he kissed you back. Loki held you to his body with a firm grip on the small of your back as your lips moved in sync together. You pull away and he gives you a questionable look,

“What is it, Y/N?”

“Kissing in a bathtub? That will be one hell of a memory.”

both sharing a quick laugh kisses your top lip lightly. “Then let's not ruin it then, yeah?”

[comicteaparty]

January 15th-January 21st, 2020 Reader Favorites Archive

The archive for the Reader Favorites chat that occurred from January 15th, 2020 to January 21st, 2020.  The chat focused on the following question:

What sort of merchandise are you most likely to buy for webcomics you read and why?

carcarchu

does a physical copy of the book count as merch? nothing compares to the feel of a real book in your hands and watching my collection grow is so satisfying. i like having a tangible way to show my support. after that is small prints. i rarely see acrylic charms of webcomic characters but those are nice too

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I know I'm particularly weak for enamel pins - which happen to be the first major merch I made for my first time tabling at a con. They're definitely the most common thing for me to consider purchasing from others. I also like small prints and stickers! And if a particularly cute character is somehow made into a plush... I'd be all over that, too.

Cronaj

For me, I love physical comics. So if a webcomic creator made a physical print version of their comic, that would be the best way to entice me to buy something. Comics almost always look better on paper in my opinion, and I'm a weirdo when it comes to book smell I sniff new books like an absolute degenerate. The other thing I would buy is art prints or art books. I have a huuuuge collection of art prints from creators I admire. So keep 'em comin'! I mean, I'll buy any merch that calls to me, but usually if I can't put it on a shelf, hang it on the wall, or wear it, I probably have no use for it.

Capitania do Azar

I'm a big fan of physical copies and charms of all kinds! I also appreciate stickers and small prints (big prints are nice, but take up a lot of space). Zines with side stories or related/concept art are also a good choice

keii4ii

Storage is a big issue for me, so I tend to not buy physical books unless like... it's a comic I would love to read but can't do so online easily (e.g. if the website doesn't function properly on my computer) I really like prints that have qualities/features that can't be replicated digitally -- e.g. foil, holo coating, VERY special paper texture, etc. (I've even seen one artist offer lenticular prints which I thought was awesome -- just wasn't into the characters that were on the art) Small to medium sized prints are fairly easy to store, so that's also a big plus for me! Also, clear plastic folders? I've never bought them admittedly, but those can look SO nice with the right type of art (some artworks look so special when printed on that clear material). I wish more people offered them so I could actually buy these, but I understand they can be costly to print.

Tired Programmer

I would buy physical copies as well. About the storage issue... Well, when I understand, that there are too many of them for my humble bookcase, I just sell or give old ones away. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And also stickers. Stickers rock. (edited)

SAWHAND

I agree! If I really like the comic I like to have a physical copy! It feels special since I think a lot of times they're limited printing. I also really like stickers since they can just get put on something I already have and thus not take up extra space. I generally don't get prints because wall space is at a premium and I feel silly not having them hung up, but that's just a personal preference. Other than that it would have to be something really cool or something with function, like a notebook or...I don't know, an apron, or maaaybe a t-shirt.

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Printed comics are definitely my go to fav especially if it's a webcomic I've been really wanting to read but haven't had the time to do it online. Sitting down with a book is a lot easier for me that sitting with my phone or pulling my laptop out. I do also like stickers a lot. I've really gotten into covering the inside covers of my sketchbooks with them the last few years X)

kayotics

I usually go for printed books, pins, or plushies. If there’s a Kickstarter happening I’ll usually splurge for a pin tier if it exists. I don’t use stickers that much but I know a lot of people love them? But it’s not my thing.(edited)

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

Usually printed books and phone charms. I will always buy webcomics that go to print and I collect charms. Other things like stickers and pins are nice, but often too pricey. I will go for them when they're bundled into KS tiers with printed books, though.

varethane

Printed books for me! Sometimes stickers, and sometimes enamel pina

Pins

I dont tend to get prints because I wont really do anything with them

(But my prints tend to sell decently, so there is a market for them out there...)

keii4ii

I just like collecting prints! I don't even put them on my wall, I just stick them in a binder kind of like my own custom-curated artbook

I really like seeing the combination of certain artworks and certain paper textures!

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

omg Kei...why have I not thought of that ?? I will now do that for all the print i've collected gosh!! and I agree with Vare, books are top tier merch I go for (zines included) Prints are a second for me, with charms and pins being the thing i least go for bc of space (though I am seeing pin boards come into fashion and I'm def into doing that as well!)

mariah (rainy day dreams)

I do really love pins too, I'm just really bad at remembering to wear them. I probably should get myself one of those clear back packs con goers wear.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

oh yes ita bags!

varethane

The problem with me wearing pins is that I normally bike everywhere, while wearing a backpack

So if I put them on a jacket, the straps of the bag will rub on most of the good pin locations

And if they fall off while I'm riding my bike they are lost forever

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

I tried putting pins on my backpack for a while.... only to come home and realise they fell off at some point during the day.

varethane

Yeah :(

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Ita bag! Yes! Lol I'm always super scared that my pins will just break and I'll loose them X') so when I do remember to wear one I'm constantly checking to make sure it's still on me

varethane

I have one jacket that I've been putting most of my pins on, which I wear to conventions

And it did pretty well except my rice boy pin fell off somewhere in the Seattle airport and is now lost forever :(

Betrayal......

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

i have def...super glued pins to my backpack before and the rubber backings are so bad for pins too bc they never hold

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Oh, patches are another thing, like pins, that I love but usually have to stop myself from getting. I need to find a good patch jacket, because I really love a patch. I've been wanting to make one for my own comic merch for a while too.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

ohhh yes same-- i stll have patches that i havent done anything yet with bc i haven't found The Right Jacket

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Same TuT

Eightfish

I've got the Property of Hate tarot postcards up on my wall right now. Also partial to a good enamel pin. What I'd love to see in merch is a well designed, stylish shirt, but haven't really found that so far. I find webcomic shirts tend to be too detailed and illustration-y to look good as shirts, and would prefer something more graphic.

Q @CecilieQMT making WAYFINDERS

I'd love to design shirts! Just haven't figured out how to get them printed properly... ^^'

RebelVampire

For me, it's digital copies. So PDFs and eBooks. Unlike many people here, I can't stand print copies for a myriad of reasons. XD But digital copies I can get behind cause it supports the artist, has some nice bonus stuff sometimes, and generally collects everything nicely so some website hiccups aren't a problem. While this has never come up because it's rare, I would also buy plushies. Cause one can never have enough plushies. But alas, I don't think the market is there for that XD

kayotics

Plushies are just really hard to produce and store, same with T-shirts

Well, T-shirts aren’t that hard to produce, but they’re hard to store and keep a good amount of sizes

Mei

I tend to buy books/physical copies of webcomics I like! I really enjoy the physical reading experience! I also really like buying enamel or non-enamel pins. I enjoy collecting them, but going off what people have already said, I also have an innate fear of losing them :(

AntiBunny

If it has a cute character, and the price is in my budget, plushies are awesome. Unfortunately that's a difficult one to do, because small batches of plush that are build by hand are going to be expensive, and a comic has to be very popular to warrant more economical large runs. And I'll also say physical books.

Mei

plushies ARE awesome

I got the coyote plushie from Tom, the guy who does Gunnerkrigg Court

I just really love it

and also I couldn't decide which of the MANY volumes of comics to buy

(i didn't and still don't have space to stock up on a lot of books so I must be prudent sometimes)

((but my bed always has space for plushies))

[ooak-tree-dolls]

What materials do I use? What to avoid? And some basic rules.

In this post I will show you which materials I use, which are good for dolls & which you should avoid (and why). There will also be some basic rules about how to use each medium. If you want to check on how to cut costs on basic materials and what to get to start your first repaint – check my previous post here. OK, so let’s get started…

SEALANTS

Sealants are a must! You need a layer of something “toothy” over vinyl (or plastic or resin) for your watercolor pencils and pastel dust to stick to. Sealants used as last layer also make your work waterproof & permanent.

Basic rules of working with sealant

ALWAYS and I mean it – always – use vapor mask! Even when working with an airbrush. Other options? You’ll die. Or get cancer. Or asthma. Just wear the goddamn’ mask! You need a good vapor mask with disposable filters, that are meant for lacquer and chemical vapors. Mine uses A1P2 filter type. Most popular and good brand? 3M. Those cheap paper masks that make you look like a Dr. house? It’s shit. It doesn’t even protect you from a flu. Buy a good mask.  You either spend like $15 on a mask… or $5000 on a coffin – the choice is yours. Just be warned.

you need at least 2-3 layers of sealant as a base before you even start to work with your doll. Just think about it as creating a paper from scratch – you need some thickness to it or you’ll just punch a hole in the layer with your sharp pencils. If you start with basic shading – 2 layers is enough. If you start with drawing some basic lines & shapes – I would recommend 3 layers.

 each sealant layer needs time to dry – usually it is 15-30 minutes per layer. What means you spray the doll – you leave it to dry – you spray the doll – you leave it to dry. There is no safe way to make it faster and working. Sealant compounds must dry and cure properly. Heating it will cause the sealant to get sticky and gooey – you don’t want that. Some things just need time – this is one of those.

always spray in a ventilated area: either it will be a garage, a basement, your kitchen with kitchen vent/ hood working, or even a room you don’t sleep in, that have more than one window and great air flow. Spray residue can harm your lungs. Why? Not because it’s radioactive shit that will make you glow in the dark… geez. Because tiny sealant particles can get to your lungs, stay there, harden, and lesser your lung capacity. It can give you headache and asthma in best case scenario, or evolve into cancer in the worst scenario. Therefore you always spray in a ventilated area and wear a mask.

spray with good weather. Heat and high humidity can affect how sealant layers dry and cure over time. If it’s too hot – sealant won’t cure. Too cold – it cannot evaporate. Too humid – it cannot dry. It seems like a lot, but besides extreme weather, you can spray almost any day. If it’s not super hot, no snow blizzards or heavy rains – you’re good to go. Or you can always spray indoors 🙂

spray from at least one feet /30-40cm distance, in short series. You rather want to dust your doll in a delicate sealant cloud, than pour it in a heavy rain of sealant. Thin layers. Proper distance. And you’ll be good.

give your can a good shake. Best way is to warm the can in your hands for several minutes and then vigorously shake up and down for 1-2 minutes. The better you shake your sealant – the thinner and smoother layer you’ll get. Shaking helps all ingredients to mix well, warm up, and makes pressure inside can higher. If you learn all the basics of how to properly use sealant – you can be sure no matter what brand you’ll choose – it will always give you great results.

Sealant brands  – pros and cons of each

MSC

Most popular among doll artists is MSC aka Mr. Super Clear, but it is also really expensive, sold in tiny cans and really hard to get in some areas. Why it’s so pricey? Because it’s good. Obviously. But also because it is produced and imported from Japan – a small country, located on several bigger and smaller islands – so shipping anything from there costs tons of money!

MSC pros: – creates good tooth to surface – usually 2 layers are enough as a base – widely known & tested – waterproof MSC cons: – pricey! – hard to find in some areas – sold in small cans – very vulnerable to air humidity and temperature – tends to lighten surface – new Matt version tends to crack over time

            See the problem? If you want your doll’s head to perfectly match the body – you must either spray both with MSC or constantly checking shade of the head and blush it with pastels.

  CITADEL Munitorum Varnish aka Purity Seal It’s basically MSC in bigger can 😀  Made in UK. Widely popular among miniature artists and board game players. If you have a nerd friend playing miniature games – he’ll know how to help you get this one! My sealant of choice ❤ Munitorum Varnish pros: – big can! – fair price – creates good tooth – less vulnerable to weather conditions – waterproof – a bit elastic – won’t crack Munitorum Varnish cons: – mostly available in boardgame stores or online – must be sprayed from a proper distance, or it will tend to cure into a satin finish – usually needs 3 layers as a base for watercolor pencils Most of my repaints were made with Munitorum Varnish spray 🙂  Army Painter and Vallejo Spray Matte Sealant

Those are meant to be used with wargame miniatures. They are less popular than other brands. They both give a nice surface to work with watercolor pencils, but colors on them aren’t as bold as with MSC or CITADEL. The biggest con I have with these two is the packaging – both Army Painter;s and Vallejo’s Sealant cans ended up with broken nozzle just after few uses. I have no idea what causes it – but the nozzle tends to crack or getting clogged easily. You can buy spare ones, but I just let them go for other, easier to use for me, media. Tamiya C matte sealant

It’s also Japanese sealant, same as MSC. Sold in tiny cans [is everything in Japan tiny? Why? ] and meant to be used with wargame minis. I used only one can of it, because of it’s horrible smell. Even tho it gave me a good surface to work with, and can was easy to operate – I felt the smell even in my pro mask with filters.  And even after 4 hours with wide opened windows in my apartment. If you have a basement or a garage – you can probably use it with more success.

  Hint for drying a doll in humid climate!

For those who are afraid of air humidity in their region, or have a sneaky furry friend as a part of their family  – there is a trick to help you save your dolls and let them dry safely! It’s a drying chamber / dry box. Basically a plastic box, filled with silica gel packets [those do-not-eat baggies you can find in new pair of shoes or newly bought bag] and some tiny holes poked in a lid. You can put the doll there and leave it to fully dry in most clean and dry conditions you can get at home. Also – without any fluff particles, fur or dust bunnies that could be stuck to a wet sealant layer.

PAINTS

When it comes to paints I always recommend miniature painting brands. Why? Because they are meant to be used with tiny surfaces! Miniature paints have the smallest pigment particles you can get – it helps you get smoother layers and better coverage than any art grade paint.  These paints are also a bit elastic after fully dry so they won’t chip off easily, even from squishy vinyl heads. They’ve meant to be used with resin wargame and boardgame miniatures – tiny objects that are often used, moved around and thrown to a box without air pillows. They can really withstand a lot more than your usual acrylics. The only con I can find is that they need a lot more practice than pencils to achieve same results. You need to learn how to control your paint thickness and train a steady hand to achieve clean lines and smooth layers.

ALWAYS thin your paints before use! Either with water or paint thinner. – you need it to get smooth layers without gritty or lumpy texture and to avoid future chipping. Paints are not meant to give full coverage in one layer, so don’t try to achieve that. As with any other medium on a tiny surface – work with thin layers, patiently building up color and coverage.

What people usually are afraid of is that paints are sold in small bottles so they won’t last long.  But it’s not true! Thanks to great coverage and small scale we work with you really don’t need much at a time. You also usually use paint thinned down with water or dedicated thinner in 50/50 ratio.

  Paint brands  – pros and cons of each

CITADEL [ sometimes called Games Workshop]

It’s a brand of paints that was created for Warhammer miniatures. It’s probably the most popular brand in the miniature artists world. CITADEL pros: – variety of colors – different lines for different special effects, eg. drybrushing, layering etc. – easy to find both in stores and online – good coverage CITADEL cons: – poor package – it  makes paints dry out faster – thick – it needs acrylic thinner to work properly – you can feel overwhelmed with how many lines they have for different things [mostly unnecessary ones, like Dry line for example]

Vallejo

It’s a Spanish brand, very popular among pro painters.  My personal choice ❤ I love all their series, they have clear descriptions, lots of additional mediums, and what’s great – they last forever! Vallejo pros: – great package! It’s almost impossible for these to dry out or spill, or use too much of it – variety of colors – from vibrant Game Color series, Metallic mediums in all colors to Model Color in more toned down shades – lots of different mediums: metallizers, thinners, shading media etc. – great quality and coverage Vallejo cons: – they are a bit harder to find outside EU, most often  available online – outside of EU they can cost a bit more than Citadel

Army Painter This is typically a wargame miniature designed brand. Their colors are more earthy and calm, more toned down – meant to be used for skin tones and army uniforms. If you’re looking something super vibrant – that’s not your type. They have similar packages to Vallejo –a tiny bottle with dropper.

  Tamiya Japanese brand of paints. Sold in tiny jars. I must say I don’t like these packages neither working with a bit jelly consistency of these paints. Big pros of these is their long tradition on market – probably any miniature model store will have Tamiya paints – from wargame stores to these for car or train lovers. If you want to try these – you aim for Tamiya C series – acrylic based paints. P3 and Pactra Similar to Army Painter – these are more into natural shades. I worked with them shortly, because they’re less available where I live. Their coverage isn’t as good as other brands. Still – they give great smooth layers when dry.

        What else do I need to start with paints?

paintbrushes – duuuh! 😉 I recommend getting tiny paintbrushes, often referred to as miniature brushes, in sizes of 1,2, 0, 00, and 000.  Preferably sable bristles or nylon. Nylon brushes are cheaper but last shorter. Sable ones are pricey but properly cleaned will last for years.

paint thinner – I use Vallejo Airbrush Thinner. Thinner changes surface tension of the paint, which allows you to dilute paint without losing as much coverage as it is when diluting with water. Diluted paint gives you a smoother layer and thinner, sharper lines – eg. when you want to paint eyelashes.

brush cleaner – I use 2in1 hair shampoo with conditioner because it cleans brushes without damaging sable bristles. Remember to always use lukewarm water for your brushes, never too hot! Hot water will damage your paintbrushes and make paint harden around bristles.

  WATERCOLOR PENCILS

You can only use watercolor pencils – normal colored pencils are your worst enemy! Why? Usually colored pencil core is a mix of pigments, mineral oils and binder – they are meant to be used on paper and sip into it thanks to addition of mineral oils. Sadly that’s the main villain – mineral oil, or basically any other oil, will  destroy sealant layers. It will make layers sticky and fragile. It will prevent sealant from curing and your work won’t be permanent or waterproof.

On the other hand – watercolor pencils are made from tightly compressed, clean, water-soluble pigments. Nothing more. Just pigments that can be dissolved by using water. They are dry, and allow sealant to cure properly. They will also give you clean, sharp lines.

Please remember, that if you want colors to stand out – you will work with layers over layers over layers. First layer won’t be super-saturated in color, since there isn’t too much pigment yet. You need to seal your work several times and re-draw any details you want to be more saturated. But thanks to working with pencils – it’s an easy and fast process – just remember to always leave sealant layer for recommended time to dry 🙂

Do I need to wet my pencils?

– no, you don’t. But you can. If you want sharp lines, tiny details and great control over the final result – use your pencils dry. If you’ll need a bigger surface to be covered in one color, or maybe a smooth transition between colors – use dry pencils on the doll, and then damp brush to smooth em’ out.

Never ever dip pencil core in water cup! It will make the core soft, mushy and fragile. And you won’t be able to properly sharpen it for days, before all the moisture evaporates.

  Watercolor Pencil brands  – pros and cons of each

What brands I recommend? What I use? – I worked with Derwent Watercolor, Derwent Inktense, Kooh-i-Noor Mondeluz and Faber Castel. Derwent Watercolor It’s most recommended brand. Easily available online and in stores worldwide. Derwent offers soft core with great saturation. It is also easy to sharpen. Derwent Watercolor pros: – widely available – great quality – great saturation – lots of colors to choose from – can be bought per piece and in sets – easy to sharpen

  Derwent Watercolor cons: – fragile core – they sometimes tend to break on the tip if sharpened too much – high price – colors on outer shell are often different than what you get when drawing – make sure to have your own swatches on paper!

  Derwent Inktense

Those are basically Chinese inks in form of a pencil. They are meant to be used on silk and cotton fabrics wet and are waterproof when dry. They have great color saturation but give slightly translucent layers.  White is their weakest point – you’ll prefer to get it from other brand.

Derwent Inktense pros: – vivid colors – easy to sharpen – can be bought by piece – widely available – tougher core

Derwent Inktense cons: – white gives almost no coverage – any lighter color will be semi translucent – pricey – sadly the outer shell does not match inner core colors as well

  Kooh-i-Noor Mondeluz This is a Czech brand with great tradition [they were funded in 1790] and are probably the cheapest watercolor pencils you can get with one of the best quality  pigments. They offer big palette of colors in very reasonable prices.

    Kooh-i-Noor Mondeluz pros: – they are cheap – lots of colors to choose from – very good saturation – give smooth layers – white offers great coverage – outside shell exactly match core color you’ll get

Kooh-i-Noor Mondeluz cons: – outside of EU mostly available online – they can only be bought in sets – from 12 to 72 colors – they are a bit harder to sharpen – you’ll need new, good quality sharpener because of their smooth inner core

  Faber-Castel Albrecht Durer Watercolor pencils

Those are thicker than any other pencils you’ll find. They are easy to grip and offer bold colors. And they cost a ton of gold!

Faber-Castel Albrecht Durer pros: – thick, easy to grip pencils – bold colors – easy to dissolve with water if you want smooth color transitions – can be used with a paintbrush instead of paint

Faber-Castel Albrecht Durer cons: – thick core won’t give you  tiniest details – very soft – hard to sharpen – very pricey – hard to find – available only in sets – lesser choice of colors – dry and wet color will look totally different

Best thing about making repaint with watercolor pencils is that you don’t need nothing more to start – no paintbrushes, thinners, cups with water etc. Just the pencils and a sharpener and you’re ready to go! It’s also the most popular artistic medium – we all had pencils as kids, so we all know how to handle them. There is less space for an error than with paints.

  Soft Pastels

– soft pastels, or something else?

Pastels are used for blushing and shading. With bigger than 1:6 dolls or for more advanced artists  – pastels are often skipped for an airbrush, but they give this soft, natural look that cannot be achieved by anything else. Think of them like a girl’s make up 😉

As any other medium pastels need a basic layer of sealant to grip to. You can use them with normal paintbrushes, Q-tips, cotton swabs or new, unused makeup brushes. I prefer the last option because makeup brushes offer softer bristles than other brushes – that will result in a smooth shading.

You can use the cheapest brushes you’ll find in your local beauty store – they don’t need to be clinically tested or gentle for skin – you’ll use them for dolls only! Why you need a new set of makeup brushes instead of using your old ones? Because human skin is oily. Always. Any type of human skin will be covered in natural sebum, that will over time sip into makeup brush and no washing session can fully clean it from bristles. And as I mentioned before – you need to avoid any oil near your dolls.

You can use soft pastels sold in blocks, or already ground into dust [eg. Pan Pastel]. You can even get pure mineral pigments.

What brands I recommend? What I use? – I mostly use Kooh-i-Noor, Stabilo and mineral pigments. Recommended brands will be same as for watercolor pencils: Derwent, Faber Castel, Prismacolor. You aim for  good quality pastels – soft, highly packed with pigments, with small % of binders and fillers.

How to use soft pastels?

you can use them as they are –  simply dab your makeup brush over pastel block to get some pigment

you can grind it on sandpaper – 400 or finer grit is best

 you can scratch some dust with  craft knife over a paper

you can be lazy and buy already ground pastels or pigments 😀

Mineral pigments instead of soft pastels?

I often use pure mineral pigments, that I got for cheap in local eco beauty store. If you want ever to use a human make up product on dolls – you must always check if what you get is a pure mineral product without silicones, parabens or any kind of oils.

Because otherwise – as you already know – you will destroy your doll.

No, Rhonda, your eye shadow set won’t work! No, they are no good, I don’t care how much you’ve paid for them.

Pure mineral pigments are often offered by brands that specialize in mineral make up, like Annabelle Minerals etc. They can also be bought on Etsy from small manufacturers or in local eco beauty stores. They are already finely ground, with no additional fillers, so they offer bold vivid colors with great coverage and smooth layering. You will also often get mineral shimmers and glitters, that are fine enough to be used on doll eye make up. Read the labels, ask seller about  full list of ingredients – and you’ll be good 🙂 And those are mineral pigments I have from my local store:

    OTHER GOODIES

– what you can use, and what should be avoided at any cost? What else you can use for doll faceup? – any kind of textile glue to attach eyelashes – human grade eyelashes – any craft glitters – 3D paints – any acrylic based inks and contour paints  – POSCA acrylic markers – nail art stickers, rhinestones or coloring  dust – decals –but you’ll need to seal them at least 2 times after they are dry! What to avoid? – anything with oils – either mineral or natural – human makeup products: powders, eye shadows, eyeliners, body shimmers etc. – normal colored pencils – oil pastels – alcohol-based inks – they will sip into vinyl and destroy it – Sharpies!!! no, they are not good, neither for faces or for hair – they will bleed over time – permanent markers – Mod Podge instead of gloss or varnish – it will get sticky and yellow over time. And no amount of sealant will save it. – nail polish – yes, it will hold to sealed vinyl head, but it’s too stiff when dry and will chip off easily – gouache paints or caulk paints – they will chip off – any cheap art grade spray sealant / fixative  – they will get sticky on vinyl and provide no tooth

  If you are interested on my notes about dyeing doll hair – check this note here.

Doll LAB: recommended materials. Tips & tricks. What materials do I use? What to avoid? And some basic rules. In this post I will show you which materials I use, which are good for dolls & which you should avoid (and why).

[finsterhund]

This con is big but not too nice.

I like the accessible washroom of the building

I like how spaced the artist tables are. But geez.

Artists are upset about the crappy wooden tables, people are talking about the artists who got banned for complaining about getting scammed out of their second table.

The artists here are great though. I wish the con cared more about them. Lots of people I know here. Many I already commissioned. I'm not going to get a second commission from someone if I haven't scanned and uploaded the one I got from them previously. Doesn't seem right.

I commissioned an artist who it was their first con, and I have an artist I want to commission online later.

I had to pay extra money for the sky train to refill my card. Would have been nice if the one lording it over us about having a car would actually have helped us today with said car but I think maybe we need to give those poor cyclists a break (okay, maybe I'm being a bit too petty with this now)

The pain medicine keeps me feeling okay. I love cosplaying as Andy again. Maybe in the winter months I'll get new converse so they're not hurting my legs and back. I need them up one size that's a big reason why cosplaying as Andy hurts.

I wish I wasn't so hot I hate sweating. I wish I was healthy and that I could finally finish my cosplay. Someday. I finally get to see a specialist soon. Hoping that puts me on the road to finally having normalcy and a body that at least tries to work properly.

My friend reminded me that we first made my cosplay when I was still ten pounds underweight so the fact that my shorts are tighter on me than usual shouldn't be too unexpected. My back flaring up definitely contributes to it too. I think a big chunk of me thinking I'm an ugly lump is not because of things like diet and more just my body being the unfortunate way it is. Thanks to bad genetics and scar tissue I'm bottom-heavy and no amount of fixing my diet is going to change that. I'm the Danny Devito of Andys. But admittedly the bad situation of July likely made it more noticable. I hate being a thicc boy. I meme about being the designated "fat kid who dies first" but I'm actually sensitive about it.

For how expensive it is to buy a single pass and a falling apart table here, this con has no internet for artists. But that's consistent. Was that way the last few years too. Funny how the cons that cost less and come with the right number of badges and a clean table also have free internet for the artist alley.

To be honest as much as I love all the artists and attendees here and being more likely to be recognized as Andy I really do not like this con.

The art of Andy I got from the first convention attendee artist is very cute. Crisp black and white inks so it'll scan well and I can't wait to share. But no internet!

There's an artist who does custom buttons but they're unlike any buttons I've ever seen. They are wrapped in an acrylic casing instead of punched around a metal piece. I want to get an Andy button from them. That reminds me I haven't scanned any of my custom Andy buttons.

Someone offered the take a photo of me against a banner but I didn't feel good enough. I probably should have taken them up on the offer but I just felt yuck.

The only video game sellers did not have PS1 games which actually angered me lmao.

Sales aren't good I think.

I'm sweating real bad. So glad I got a bath last night and brought my deodorant. Good god. Where's the AC? It's days like these I wish Andy ran around the Darkland barefoot so I could get out of wearing socks. I expell so much heat through my feet and hands I don't want to eat my chocolate snacks I brought for fear they will melt all over my fingers.

I went outside to bring my friend back a coffee (I can do this all by myself because of how close it is hurray!) But as soon as I went back in I started to sweat again.

I found a friend lined up in front of the ATM. We talked. It was nice to see them again. I found another friend elsewhere and also the first friend came around later. Was fun.

WHY DOES NO ONE KNOW HOW TO USE DEODERANT? I WANT TO DIE. I have had to walk behind people who smell like absolute death and it's made me feel really gross. Here I am concerned about a little sweat and there's people who you'd think are UNDEAD because of how the scent of ?????? trails behind them for like ten feet. You can smell when they pass behind you. I want to throw up.

I got some more art. The Andy button I was interested in, found someone else to commission something digital. The Andy button is AMAZING. I LOVE IT SO MUCH. it's hard to clip it closed but it's so cool and it opens so I can scan the art inside.

I got stickers from my friends I wanted to get, and a secret gift for Fishy made by my friend Sam. I intend to make a care box (is that the word?) cuz I know your birthday is coming up this month.

My stickers already got scuffed on my new folder so I'm sad. I hate being a bumbler who bumps things.

There was an artist who drew dogs but I couldn't find them again :(

I think I made a new friend. He is super cool and does panels at vancoufur. His fursona also wears a bandanna.

I feel a lot better about pain medicine. My friend says I could be able to take it every day and I just need to be careful not to take too much. I know people like me run the risk of becoming immune to them and having a sick liver but he says as long as I don't take too many it's fine.

Is this why I'm so miserable all the damn time!?

Legit what if that's the problem?

So I'm feeling pretty good about that. You guys might see a brand new Finsterhund. I'm so excited to have energy and feel comfy again. I was raised with fear mongering of "only using pain medicine when it was worse than usual. Because it'd kill you." But all that is untrue and I've been suffering needlessly this whole time.

So yeah. Now I'm going to start taking them bi daily. As well as the ones to help me sleep.

Genuinely feeling good about this. Andy cosplaying! Pain relief! It's all here! Things finally looking up for lil ol me.

I'm budgeting this con better too. Half of that is because I'm getting lost and can't find artists i wanted to commission again but that's a side effect of my worsening memory. I want to get a small ocarana but I might not be able to afford it by the end. It'd be nice to play Andy's Mission on. That way it won't annoy my friend like a kazoo would. Even though he said my kazoo is fine and he wouldn't have given it to me if it wasn't.

There's more artists I wish I could commission but I'm trying to be careful.

I was very hungry and they had hotdog rollers right outside the con and I really wanted one and they were SIX DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS. That's awful. But I got one because I was so hungry. It tasted good at least.

There's an hour and a half left of the day. I don't know what we will do after. I don't want to socialize except with my friends and if I go to bed early I'll be up at 4AM again.

There's now a little under an hour left and I'm tired. Wanting to go back to the hotel room and relax. I'm disappointed in myself for buying the expensive hotdog.

Whisky has been shedding since I brushed him and part of me is all AAAAAAAAAA but the other part is all "this would definitely have been canon."

My friend left his table under my care for the last twenty minutes of the day and I'm kinda anxious. I'm scared that ex roommate "took revenge" on my stuff back at the hotel room. He's never done stuff like that before, but he has threatened to. I also have that sense of emptyness inside that I get sometimes. The one where you just feel bad, no reason to, just emotionally hurt.

[caylinnightengale]

https://www.purlsoho.com/create/2015/05/22/over-the-top-top/My First Knit Sweater KAL Week 1

Arriving fashionably late to the party, I’m joining this KAL! When your not on the up and up on the knitting community things like this can slip by as they often do. Not this one!

Oh, and hi! I have a new laptop! At last! 

I’m sorry! Laptops and phone plans are expensive and I’m poor. I’ve missed being on here. But let’s put that behind us.

I’ve been catching up on my Youtube feeds and this was among them: MarlyBird’s My First Sweater. Now this isn’t my first sweater but it is different from the other four I’ve knitted. There’s no evidence of the first two and that’s a good thing believe me.

So the Hygge Charm yarn this sweater is made with is being processed and should be here the beginning of next week. Fashionably late, I may have mentioned. SO, I’ll be cramming two weeks into one to catch up to this KAL but no biggie.

Marly Bird has more info on her blog here: https://marlybird.com/announcing-the-2019-spring-kal-with-marly-bird-and-red-heart/

I’m so excited!

Also, I know I promised pictures of what I had been making since a while ago and I’ve got them!

Ok first up, This little bunny is made of felt and I made up the pattern myself. She still needs eyes and I think I’ll have to make them from felt also, I tried buttons they weren’t working out.

Now these two are also from felt and cloth. I got the pattern from Purl Soho here: https://www.purlsoho.com/create/2009/04/08/mimi-kirchners-hand-sewn-felt-doll/

The faces are blank on purpose. Maybe future dolls will speak to me.

Here’s a little scarecrow shelf ami from Allaboutami: https://www.allaboutami.com/scarecrowpattern/

Her’s is super cute but I was feeling the Batman villain Scarecrow vibe in the Fall as I was making him and leaned a bit that way. The pig ami is also my own pattern which I didn’t write down I just realized. Still unfinished, but it’s a nice blank.

The blanket is from my crochet stitches book and the yarn is acrylic and hemp from Hobby Lobby. At first I thought it was good enough for a home decor kind of yarn, but after washing it and snuggling on the couch with it, I think it would be a decent sweater yarn too. The hemp bits give a rustic look but they’re not prickly or rough as I had first thought they would I was working on the blanket.

It’s actually quite soft.

That is a spring/summer top I’m working on with Fresh Haven (also Hobby Lobby) from Purl Soho’s Over-the-top Top: https://www.purlsoho.com/create/2015/05/22/over-the-top-top/

I’ve been learning all kinds of new techniques these last couple of months and I’m very happy with the projects that I’ve been able to make.

Isn’t she cute?! Foxes were such a Fall staple that I couldn’t not make one myself. I even made her a jacket with a fun and cute monogram!

I’ve been getting an inkling to make a bear amigurumi next. We’ll see.

The hat and fingerless glove set are from a Noro issue I can’t find--it’s from last year Fall or Winter. The gloves were inspired by the hat and I used Lion Brand Landscapes in a now discontinued colorway. I’ve gotten lots of compliments on them but BUT the yarn isn’t great. It feathers...not quite a pill but a pulling and it wears out quickly. Makes me sad.

The dragon is from Once Upon a Crochet Ever After that I borrowed from my library but didn’t finish before the book was due. ( It was Christmas and I had other projects too!)This little guy needs his horns and wings and a button. Why a button? Because he’s a neck warmer! 

(ba-dum tss! I am not funny).

Moving on.

A hat and scarf set. The pattern is from men’s crochet winter set that I borrowed to make the hat have texture and the scarf is all chains. Just a long, long, long, long chain. And pom poms!

The scarf is also LB Landscapes and also feathers but less than its black and white counter part. The snowflake hat was fun and I finished it in a day. The pattern is also from Crochet Ever After and is also made with the same yarn I used for my rustic blanket (Yarn Bee Rustic Romantic). Also comfy. The rainbow hat is a 2019 is a stash buster using Purl Soho’s Classic Cuffed Hat sans pom pom: https://www.purlsoho.com/create/2014/10/22/classic-cuffed-hat/

This is my second to latest 2019 project (the newest is in progress on the blanket I showed you, the hat was in between). It needs to be blocked but otherwise it’s done! It is my first top-down sweater using the Brick pattern by Clare Lee on Ravelry: https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/brick-2

I went for a V-neck and quarter sleeves as well as a stagard break line from one solor to the other. It was quick and fun. I think it took about two weeks give or take a day that I didn’t work on it. One of my fastest projects yet. Winter is not wanting to let us go here in the south so I used the weather to my advantage and cranked this one out. Yay!

However, I’m tired of grey even though I didn’t make any grey things but this and I blame the weather. Oh, wait. I actually harvested this yarn from a sweater I was making in November 2018 but didn’t swatch (that’s a no-no) and it was so many sizes bigger on me. I was too stubborn to frog it when I had the chance and finished the body when reality Gibbs-smacked me upside the head and...

<__<;    >___>        Look a DIY!

Another 2019 project: I took a pair of jeans I ruined in a painting experiment and finally did up-cycled them! I have been watching a couple of sewists? seamstresses? on Youtube and got my courage and a free day and went to work on it. It took most of the day but I’m proud of how this turned out. I just need the weather to cooperate so I can wear it outside.

Also this 2019 (in February), this lovely sweater in acrylic and alpaca.

I learned the “tubular” cast on for this one!

...

(Still not funny. Never mind.)  It’s my first raglan sweater that I also had to remake because the first one was too short and since it was made from the bottom up...At least the sleeves and the hem were done so it was another quick do-over.

Aaaand that covers it. Whew! You made it this far so give yourself a pat on the back and get a treat. 

I’ve picked up a little bit of sewing to add to my crafty repertoire and I like it. I don’t see it becoming a constant like crochet and sewing but it’s definitely more fun than I remember it being in Home Ec class back in the day.

Besides the spring top I’m working on and the arrival of yarn for the Marly Bird KAL, I’m brainstorming something for Mermay...We’ll see how much I can handle, though by then the KAL should be over. 

[aprillikesthings]

Wrote an info-dump about long underwear on Facebook a couple of years ago in response to someone’s question and wanted it here for reference.

OKAY THIS IS GONNA GET SUPER FUCKING LONG, SORRY. But yeah, I used to do long distance bicycle touring including a trip of 4.5 months of mostly-camping, I worked a physically-intense outdoor job for a year and a half, and have ridden a bicycle for 99% of my personal transportation for ten years.

The magic words you'll be looking for, wherever you shop, are "base layers." That's the fancy-ass word for long underwear. IN GENERAL it is better to wear more thin layers than fewer thick ones; your sweat will evaporate better, and it will give you options if you get too hot or cold.

Next Adventure, REI Garage, and Sierra Trading Post all sell samples, overstocks, clearance items, and seconds; and therefore tend to be way cheaper than retail. Next Adventure is local but smallish. Sierra Trading Post has TONS of stuff and apparently also has a local store but I've mostly bought online. REI Garage is their own online outlet store and I don't think you have to be a member.

Cotton: people who do backcountry hiking were the first to tell me "cotton kills." Thankfully this job is indoors so you won't actually die of hypothermia! But cotton, once damp, is less insulating than nothing at all. Don't wear cotton next to your skin. (Your actual undies is probably fine, though high-end synthetic and wool panties exist and are really comfy.)

Synthetics! They come in a variety of materials, usually nylon, acrylic, or polyester; sometimes with a small amount of spandex. The actual word on the garment label doesn't matter as much as how it's made--polyester can be super high-end stuff that feels great, or it can be those horrible double-knit pants from the 1970's. The magic word you'll be looking for is "wicking," which means it's designed to pull sweat away from your skin so it can evaporate faster and you won't feel like you're sweating in a plastic bag. PROS TO SYNTHETICS: they come in the biggest range of designs and styles. Tend to be the least expensive option even if you're buying nicer quality. Can handle a lot of abuse and will last a long time. Your sweat dries very quickly. Up to a certain price point you will get what you pay for--Old Navy's sporty clothes and REI's in-house stuff both claim to be "wicking" and I can tell you which feels nicer to sweat in. (Re: cheap fleece-lined tights and leggings: they feel great.....for two months, maximum; and then they're all pilled to hell. Don't bother.) CONS: Even the nicer stuff can feel clammy if you're sweaty enough, IMHO. Once you get pit funk in your shirt you will never, and I mean NEVER, get it completely out.

Wool! Comes in a variety of sheep. Literally--wool is often labeled with what breed of sheep it came from. The soft next-to-your-skin stuff is nearly always merino which has been treated to be machine-washable. If you have not felt merino before you will be shocked at how soft it can be. It also comes in a variety of thicknesses/weights. PROS! Easily the best at temperature regulation--will keep you warmer than any other option for the same weight of material, AND is least likely to overheat you. Can absorb a startling amount of sweat before it begins to feel damp, and will still keep you toasty even when wet. Takes a lot longer to smell funky and the funk comes out of it fairly easily. CONS! Even discounted, it can be expensive as hell. And on top of that--it wears out faster! Many brands do add a small percentage of synthetic to their wool items to help with longevity. Takes longer to dry, but since it also takes longer to get funky you won't need to wash it as often. You can throw it all in the washing machine (on cold) but you HAVE to hang it to dry.

(You should hang up your synthetics most of the time too, especially if they have any spandex in them. Most synthetics air-dry in a matter of hours anyway. Also, never use fabric softener--it coats everything in wax, which means it won't absorb your sweat for shit. It also degrades spandex in a real hurry.)

Silk! Pros: very warm. And very soft. So soft. Sooooo sooooooffffft. Cons: IMHO it's horrible to sweat in if you are wearing anything over it, in that it feels wet and clammy and also not very warm once damp. (This is a YMMV thing--I know plenty of people who think it feels fine.) Wears out even faster than wool does and requires more delicate handling. Silk, IMHO, is best for times when you won't be moving but you'll be fucking FREEZING--sitting at a sportsball game, sleeping in your tent when camping, working in an office that's too cold.

OKAY APRIL THAT'S A LOT OF INFO, BUT WHAT DO I DOOOOO: The happy medium I came to in most cases, was a wool long-sleeved base layer top, synthetic leggings, wool blend socks, and a wool knit hat. You won't know what you like until you try a few things out. No matter what option you pick you will want at least two tops and two bottoms.

And definitely definitely buy wool-blend socks. I like the kind that are cushiony on the bottom and have arch support; every place you go is gonna have a ton to choose from, but Sierra Trading Post has so many Smartwool socks at such cheap prices that there's a yearly limit per customer.

HOLY SHIT I'M FINALLY DONE. God I cannot shut up sometimes.

[livingcorner]

What Is My Kitchen Sink Made Of?

I have lots of experience with DIY plumbing and am here to share my tips and step-by-step pictorial guides with you.

Home Plumbing Made Easy

You're reading: What Is My Kitchen Sink Made Of?

K9keystrokes

What Are Kitchen Sinks Made Of?

When the time comes to replace or install a new kitchen sink, many things must be considered: style, size, color, durability, and of course, price. The goal for most people is to manage that fine line between looks and cost.

The stuff the sink is made of is extremely important. If you don’t understand the different materials, you might finger through a hundred sites, only to end up unknowingly choosing the wrong sink for your needs and taste.

Even though high-end sinks are beautiful and stunning to look at, they come with beautifully stunning price tags as well! So let’s take a look at what we can find to fit your needs, style and most importantly your kitchen project budget.

You will find an overview for each type of material used to manufacture sinks. Each will tell you what problems the sink material may bring as well as the good reasons for choosing each sink type. And a very in-depth look at everyone’s favorite sink material, stainless steel!

Price Comparison for Kitchen Sink Materials

Sink Material  Sink Price 

Stainless Steel 

$30 to $1,000 and up 

Enamel 

$100 and up 

Cast Iron

$75 to $500 (as cheap as $5 if used)

Acrylic

$200 and up

Composite

$200 and up

Fireclay

$2,000 to $10,000 or more

Handcrafted

$3,000 to $4,000 (also, allow for cost of custom cabinets)

A Comparison of Kitchen Sink Materials

You should always visit a showroom or home center before buying a sink. You will want to touch and see for yourself. A picture won’t give you a reliable impression.

Here are the seven main materials that kitchen sinks are made of:

Stainless Steel

Enamel

Cast Iron

Composite

Acrylic

Fireclay

Copper (and other metals)

1. Stainless Steel Kitchen Sinks

Stainless has to be the most popular sink material installed. The quality and price is as vast as the Grand Canyon is deep. Even as stainless is the most common sink choice, not all are created equal. You want to look for a sink that is solid and has a heavy feel to it. The metal needs to be pretty thick. Be sure to find the “gauge” of the metal before buying—for example, 18 is thicker than 22 gauge; the lower the gauge number the thicker the metal will be. The thicker the gauge, the more the sink is going to cost due to the higher quality and durability. Oh, and that high-end mirror finish; it is simply an extra buffing that makes the sink shine so brilliantly, so this is strictly a matter of taste not practicality. The mirror shine sinks have quite a beautiful visual appeal. But remember, when it comes to stainless steel sinks you really do get what you pay for. A thinner gauge steel is likely to vibrate, bend, and twist as you use the faucet head, no matter how shiny the finish looks. To be safe, it’s recommended that you avoid the cheapest models at all costs!

The Stainless Nickel Blend

Some lower end stainless sinks will have problems with surface rust and staining. To eliminate these conditions be sure you are choosing a sink that has at least 10% nickel in the metal. Most low-end sinks only have 8%, which is why these kitchen sinks develop surface rust. You want to locate a sink that is rated 18/10 (which means, 18-gauge thickness and 10% nickel content).

Soundproofing a Stainless Steel Sink

Another component to consider when buying a stainless steel sink is the soundproofing. You want to find a sink that offers enough coating on the underside, as do most of the better quality stainless sinks. This material is a spray-on soundproofing flock that absorbs the “dong” sound some stainless sinks can bring. It is easy to tell the difference, as low-end sinks will only have a little foam pad stuck to the underside of the bowls instead of the coating or nothing at all. If the budget is really tight, you can always buy a spray-can of car undercoating and apply your own soundproofing.

Read more: 7 Differences Between Cheap & Expensive Stainless Steel Kitchen Sinks

2. Enameled Kitchen Sinks

If you are in the market for a low cost, shiny and beautiful sink, enamel-on-steel is a good choice, at least when you first bring it home. It has the appearance of cast iron, but is far lighter in weight. It can chip easily if something heavy gets dropped on it or bangs against its sides, it will probably lose its shine after only a couple of years, and the enamel has a tendency to wear off in spots in under a decade. Think of those sinks you find in early model mobile homes; possibly not the top choice for your kitchen sink replacement.

3. Cast Iron Kitchen Sinks

The cast-iron sink was the pillar of early plumbing and seems to be making a comeback in some areas. These are made by laying a hardy porcelain coating over heavy cast iron. Cast-iron sinks can be beautiful and will stay so for a lifetime. The porcelain keeps its showroom shine for decades and is far more resistant to chipping and cracking than the enamel-on-iron sink. However, if a pan is heavy enough and moving fast enough you can be sure even porcelain will give up a chip or a crack. A good safety prevention against such chipping and cracking is to place a mat in the sink basin. Always avoid setting a hot cast-iron skillet directly in a mat-less sink, as this will guarantee a chip (or pop-out) for sure!

Finding a kitchen sink made out of the right material for your taste requires a little research– don’t forget to feel the materials!

K9keystrokes

4. Composite Kitchen Sinks

What do you get when you mix stone, dust, and resin? Composite material! And kitchen sinks made of the stuff are very popular. You will find two types of composite sinks: shiny and dull. The shiny composite sinks look just like a porcelain-on-cast-iron finish (but are a lot lighter). The dull composite sinks look just like stone and can have a smooth or semi-rough finish. It is easier to scratch the smooth finish, but these scratches are pretty simple to buff out. The semi-rough finish has often been advertised as heat, scratch, and stain resistant. One of the more convenient aspects of composite products has to be in the kitchen countertop arena. You can order composite countertops with an integral sink built right in! Now that’s an awesome “two-birds-with-one-stone” scenario! (Note: I do not support or advise any stone throwing at any birds).

5. Acrylic Kitchen Sinks

If you shop carefully and know what brand to search for, acrylic sinks can be an amazing choice. Acrylic products—sinks, tubs, and showers—are made using a very cool technique where by a vacuum pulls a solid sheet of acrylic into a mold, morphing it to the desired shape. A high-quality acrylic sink is beautiful, quiet, and is resistant to stains; and some models even have a germ-fighting compound built right into the material. On the flip-side, common acrylic is quite vulnerable to surface cuts and scratches. If you use an abrasive cleanser the surface of the sink will dull, and metal pans will absolutely leave ugly skid marks across the sink.

If you want to get a hold of a high-density acrylic sink that is virtually indistructable, a company called Karran USA is your answer. These guys make an acrylic sink whose color will not fade, and that no household chemical or food stain can penetrate. That’s right, it is okay to use any household cleaser—even the super abrasive cleansers and bleach—without leaving any sign of damage at all. And get this, the high-density acrylic sink material is totally heat resistant up to 400°F!

6. Fireclay Kitchen Sinks (or Vitreous China)

For those who have a six-figure budget, Fireclay sinks may just be what you are looking for. Also referred to as “vitreous china,” Fireclay sinks are a very high-end product. This sink is the same color all of the way through and can have some exquisite (even custom) detailing. The Fireclay sink is more a work of art than a utility item. The best sinks of this material are handcrafted in Limoges, France. The factories that manufacture this product are as environmentally considerate as one can find. Unknown to most consumers is that this kitchen sink is a lead-free product and is also a very eco-friendly and completely recyclable item.

7. Copper Kitchen Sinks (and Other Handcrafted Options)

Another high-end option is the handcrafted copper kitchen sink. One company, Oregon Copper Bowl has a variety of finishes: polished, satin coffee, antique patina, satin nickel, and stainless steel. You can even find the old farmhouse-style double-bowl, but expect to pay a pretty “penny” for it. This style of sink may require some fancy custom cabinetry work to house it, so make sure to allow for this extra cost in your budget. For me, no more beautiful material for sinks exists.

Comments

Wassup2day.com on February 01, 2013:

haha. Very different but very useful post.

Alecia Murphy from Wilmington, North Carolina on January 31, 2013:

Interesting hub. I only associated the kitchen sink with stainless steel but to think there are options makes it seem like a more conscious selection than previously thought.

Hui (蕙) on January 28, 2013:

This is a unique topic to talk! Great knowledge to build a comfortable and neat kitchen. I like cooking, and so I love to have a comfortable kitchen.

Comfort Babatola from Bonaire, GA, USA on January 28, 2013:

Very well-written hub. You went to great details. Congrats on the HOTD award.

RTalloni on January 28, 2013:

Congrats on your Hub of the Day award for this informative post that gives us a good look at kitchen sinks–very useful.

Victoria Lynn from Arkansas, USA on January 28, 2013:

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cast iron sink. Interesting hub with all of the different kinds of sinks laid out well. This is a very attractive hub, too! Congrats on hub of the day! Well done!

Denise Handlon from North Carolina on January 28, 2013:

Hi India, Congrats on the HOTD and well deserved. Your hubs are always so thorough and useful. I enjoyed reading this-you dig in areas others skim over.

Sherri from Southeastern Pennsylvania on January 28, 2013:

Wonderfully informative. I don’t happen to be in the market for a kitchen sink, but I found your writing so enjoyable I couldn’t stop reading.

Cynthia Calhoun from Western NC on January 28, 2013:

Oh, how I wish I could have the high-end sink without the high-end price, hehe. Awesome, informative hub! This is also a perfect hub for HOTD – congrats! CONGRATS!

Glen Nunes from Cape Cod, Massachusetts on January 28, 2013:

K9 – congrats on HOTD! I’m in the midst of kitchen renovation planning right now, so this is helpful info. I’ve been assuming the new sink would be stainless steel, but you’ve given me some interesting options to think about. Thanks for the info.

Mary Hyatt from Florida on January 28, 2013:

Congrats on HOTD! Very interesting and informative. I have a stainless steel sink, but it gets stains from tea,etc. Not exactly stainless. Guess there are pros and cons to each kind.

Voted UP and will share.

Daniel Nathan Taylor from United Kingdom, Liverpool on January 28, 2013:

Being able to make such a boring article interesting is truly the mark of a great writer, Well done mate very well researched and put togetherand i can only hope my hubs are this good someday!

kikalina from Europe on January 28, 2013:

I love corian sinks. Love the idea of a seamless finish. Well done on this hub.

India Arnold (author) from Northern, California on August 30, 2011:

Mrs. M~ Thank you for such nice remarks! I am over joyed you came by to learn a little about what our kitchen sinks are made of!

HubHugs~

K9

Mrs. Menagerie from The Zoo on August 30, 2011:

Read more: 19 Things You Should Never Do In A Kitchen

This hub is so well done K9!! I can always recognize your signature style…great info, great photos and videos, well written…UP!

India Arnold (author) from Northern, California on August 26, 2011:

Chin chin~ Interesting about ceramic tile sinks in the Philippines. A good old fashioned 18/10 Stainless Steel sink has to be the most popular sink style in the world!

Thank you for your commetns!

Cheers~

K9

Chin chin from Philippines on August 26, 2011:

The most common sink I see are the stainless steel. But in the Philippines, I see some homes make ceramic tiled sinks especially in the dirty kitchen. Maybe only in the Philippines?

India Arnold (author) from Northern, California on August 24, 2011:

Om Paramapoonya~ Thanks so much! I am thrilled the hub was picked by the staff! It says a lot when you (the next day’s staff winner)enjoys my hub. I sure apreciate your comments and that you found the kitchen sink price chart helpful.

Cheers~

K9

Om Paramapoonya on August 24, 2011:

Hi! Congrats on the win. This hub is really awesome. So informative and well-written. The price comparison chart is also very helpful.

India Arnold (author) from Northern, California on August 24, 2011:

Les Trois Chenes~ Thanks for the comments! It was a lot to research, but I was able to find the perfect kitchen sink for our home needs by doing the footwork. So pleased you stopped by.

Cheers~

K9

Les Trois Chenes from Videix, Limousin, South West France on August 24, 2011:

Goodness,I never thought so much about sinks! Just goes to show. Many thanks for an interesting hub.

India Arnold (author) from Northern, California on August 23, 2011:

Simone~ I know! When I was researching kitchen sinks for my own home, I found that stainless steel sinks have to be soundproofed. Then I thoguht, yep. I can remember my mom’s older sinks making that familiar “dong” noise when bumped. Thanks for stopping by!

HubHugs~

K9

Simone Haruko Smith from San Francisco on August 23, 2011:

Wow, this is SUPER helpful! I’ve learned a lot of just plain interesting things from this Hub, too. I didn’t realize that stainless steel sinks could be soundproofed, for example. How interesting!

India Arnold (author) from Northern, California on August 23, 2011:

Gypsy Willow~ Thanks for the extra tip on composite kitchen sinks! I am sure someone will find it useful. Good luck in your new home, it must be very exciting! Thanks for your comments on the stuff sinks are made of.

Cheers~

K9

Gypsy Willow from Lake Tahoe Nevada USA , Wales UK and Taupo New Zealand on August 23, 2011:

Very useful hub. I bought a house recently with a black rough composite sink. It drove me mad trying to get rid of the white stains on it until I went to a hardware store and moaned about it. An elderly assistant told me about a special sink cleaner and now it’s as good as new! (Just in case someone else has this problem!)

Source: https://livingcorner.com.au Category: Kitchen

source https://livingcorner.com.au/what-is-my-kitchen-sink-made-of/

[frogsandfries]

In my craw

My sister.

Vegan. Christian. And serving overseas, to some capacity.

I always feel like she doesn't listen to me.

So here's the thing. This is probably way too much information, but my partner and I don't currently have a car, long story short. Honestly, I've never needed one to live in a relatively large city but damn. Damn. And because grocery shopping ends up being a whole thing--between getting there, and then doing the thing and getting back, and then getting our shopping cart upstairs and getting the groceries put away. Ugh.

And then so much of the year, it's so hot out, which just adds tension.

Anyway, grocery shopping is not fun.

Sometimes, I'd rather not fuck with shit. I just fucking want to get it rung up and back in the fucking cart. Given that plastic bags are so thin, they're really flexible, which makes it easy for them to moosh into each other, leaving less air space between bags. Reusable shopping bags aren't made for your personal little bag lady cart. They're made to emulate the dimensions of paper bags. You shove them in the back of your car and get your groceries home.

I am making a personal decision when I take home plastic bags. I am talking personal responsibility for any plastic bags I take home. This is my choice. And I believe I have good reason:

A) The cost of plastic bags is built in to the cost of my groceries. Not free to my grocer, but free to me.

B) If I were to purchase yarn for something like this--first, I live in a very dry region, but all regions I've lived in share one thing in common: the ground and roads are dirty. So all the way down there near the wheels of my cart is going to be dirty. I either want a material that is going to be easy to clean or something I won't be upset over when it's irretrievably filthy. Preferably something that I won't notice when it's really really dirty.

C) Second, for such a project, I'm not going to choose a lovely wool or expensive hemp. My major options are going to be cotton--which is horrific on water supplies on the front end--or acrylic, which is horrific on water supplies on the back end.

D) My final stance is thusly: When the cart liner or shipping bag made out of knit, crocheted or woven plastic bag, inevitably wears out, I can just take my iron and some freezer paper and patch it.

Here's the thing: You certainly, probably, most likely could patch a cotton shopping tote, or even those heavier plasticky ones. But....... with what? And if I can literally just go forth and purchase a new one.......... why would I patch up the old one?

Conversely, if I spent weeks or months working on my cart liner, I'm not going to just throw it away and make a new one. Not me. I've got shit to do.

Here's the thing. Maybe I'm mistaken.

I thought being a Christian was about being a good person.

I thought being vegan was, on some level, about being a good person. I'm gonna be honest, I think way too many Christians use their religion as a shield to be shitty, and vegans don't seem to consider what it means to stop eating animals in favor of a lifetime of hyper-processed pseudo-foods and fruits and veggies that are absolutely drowning in pesticides and herbicides and neo-nicotinoids and more.

I thought giving up plastic bags was about at least beginning to give up single-use plastics. Not buying more shit, beginning with "reusable" cotton bags that are awful for polluting the waterways and couldn't possibly be used as many times as it would take to balance out their impact--probably even if you infinitely patched the everliving hell out of it. Which realistically, you wouldn't. Because it would probably cost you more to patch an old bag than purchase a new one.

Furthermore, who are you to tell me you are going to buy me shopping bags and I have to "stop forgetting" mine. Buying new shit when you could just reuse the shit you already have........... doesn't sound like reuse, reduce, recycle.

Again, it might take me what seems like an unreasonable amount of time to crochet a cart liner, but the amount of time invested in the first place is a huge incentive to repair instead of replace. That's 👏 the 👏 whole 👏 pooooiiiinnnnnttttt 👏.