#miniature handbags

[alittlebitbethany]

My photo of #insidemysindybag for Mam’selle. Image Description: A photo of a Black and White bag with a black and white Sindy design on it. The bag is surrounded by a miniature copy of Mam’selle magazine , a pink phone , q bottle of suntan lotion , a pair of sunglasses, a hairbrush , and a silver key.

[lancermylove]

Things You Do That He Doesn't Understand (HC)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Pairing: Leaders with fem!Reader

Warning: None

———————————————

Wake up at an ungodly hour so that you can do your hair and makeup before going to work or school. You are not going to a party or a modeling show, so just use those hours to rest. Honestly, it's okay if your hair isn't perfect and your face looks natural.

Collecting anything. Leona can't understand how you have so much patience managing a collection of items. However, he finds it a little amusing when you agonize over not being able to find that miniature pizza to put in your mini kitchen collection.

Shapewear. Do you honestly like the feel of someone squeezing your organs out of your body? If so, just ask him for a hug. Leona will be more than happy to give you a bone-crushing hug.

Complex hair routine. Malleus likes to watch you do your hair, but it makes his head spin. Why do you need 50 different products for your hair? You look fine without putting those products in your hair.

Fear of abandoned places. Why are you scared to go into the castle that looks like something will jump out at you from the corner at any moment and attack you? It's really not that scary, says a powerful dragon who is over 200 cm tall.

Need for fluff. He finds it amusing that whenever you see fluffy things, you absolutely have to touch them no matter what, even if it means crossing a pit filled with lava. Sometimes, he wants to wear a fluffy coat so that you stay glued to him and can't stop touching him his coat.

Shave only half of your legs. Just take a few minutes to shave your entire legs.

Going to sleep with makeup on. NO, just NO! How dare you commit such an atrocious crime against your skin? He knows you might be tired, but take five minutes to clean your face or call him. He will do it for you. Vil better not find your face transferred on your pillow when he walks into your room to wake you up in the morning.

Telling your best friend/girlfriends everything. Do they honestly need to know how good he is at kissing or anything else? That's between the two of you, so why do you have to tell them? Vil finds it embarrassing that you are discussing such private affairs with your female friends.

Large handbags. Some of the handbags you carry are half his size. Why do you need such a huge bag? Are you hiding a pet or child in there? Also, why is it so heavy? Do you have dumbbells inside?

Expandable stomach. Riddle can't understand how, in the morning, your stomach looks one way, but after dinner, you look like you expecting a child. You tried to explain to him that's how women's stomachs work, but he still can't wrap his head around it.

Long nails. How do you keep your nails so long and manage to do things, especially if your nails are the lengths of claws? Whenever you struggle to open a can tab or pick up a flat object from a table, Riddle crosses his arms and waits to lecture you.

Worry about weight. Why worry about numbers when you could just enjoy eating? Food is too good to resist, so don't fight the urge and enjoy your life!

Impeccable memory. How do you remember what he said fifty days ago when the two of you were talking in the evening? Does your brain have a date/time stamp log with all the conversations you had? This means he can't get away with anything. T_T

Multitasking. How do you manage to do so many things at once and not mess up? Kalim can't understand why your mind is able to handle so many computations at once; he can't even handle one thing at a time. He doesn't know whether to be impressed or be scared.

Spend hours in the bathroom. Why does it take you a few hours to come out of the bathroom? Do you just sit there and watch an entire movie? If you do, why not just do it on your bed or sofa? It's much more comfortable.

The number of shoes. Why do you have 500 million shoes? Also, can we talk about high heels? Why do you wear them? Azul can't even understand how Vil and some of the other students are able to walk around in killer high heels. Unless you use them as a self-defense weapon.

Math is scary. What? It's just a bunch of numbers that you need to add, divide, subtract, or multiply. What's so hard about it? Then, he remembers he has a special talent for doing mental math and that not everyone is able to. Azul apologizes.

The urge to party every weekend. Why do you want to party every weekend? No, wait, why do you want to party in general? Too many people everywhere. Too many eyes and ears on you.

Details. Why do you need to ask the whys? He told you the truth, did he? Then why do you still need details? Can't you just accept the simple answer and let him move on?

Crying while watching romance movies. It's just a bunch of actors acting, so why are you crying? Seeing your tears fazes him quite a bit. So, when you start crying during an emotional scene, Idia gets startled and freezes, not knowing what to do.

———————————————

➣ Twisted Wonderland [1][2][3] ➣ Main Masterlist

➣ Buy me a Ko-fi? ➣ Commission: Open ➣ HC/Scenario Requests: Closed || Quick Ask Requests: Closed || GIF Requests: Closed

[teecupangel]

There's plenty of Desmond dog asks, but has a chihuahua one been made? Just imagine Altaïr carrying a small handbag looking thing with this miniature dog in it that just gives you the stink eye. If anyone other than Altaïr, Malik or Kadar tries to pet him, he screams for Altaïr. Abbas tried to pick up the "purse rat" once and never again. No one knows where Desmond made of with the finger. Not even Altaïr.

Let’s add this with @saberamane’s idea from this post:

@teecupangel for the 'desmond as a...' subgenre, where dog Desmond is trying to argue with his ancestor over their stupid idea and it's not working because the ancestor can't understand him, and/or is mocking him with their own 'barks'.

.

.

.

“Desmond, we both know that you’re more intelligent that people believe you are.”

“Arf?”

“Acting cute will not get you anywhere.”

“Arrfff <3”

“Desmond, stop. We’re having this conversation whether you want to or not.”

“Rch.”

“Did you… did you just click your tongue?”

“Arf?”

“Desmond, this is serious. I need you to tell me where you put Abbas’ middle finger.”

“Arrrffff…”

“Pretending to yawn will not end this conversation.”

“Arf-”

“I swear if you try to sleep, I will shake you hard enough that everyone will believe I’m trying to murder you.”

“……..”

“……….”

“Arf arf arrrff!”

“Desmond-”

“Arf! Arf! Arf!”

“Desmond, stop-”

“Arfarfarf”

“Acting childish will not-”

“ARF ARF ARF”

“Desmond!” Altaïr’s tone was more an animalistic growl and that finally stopped Desmond’s insistent yapping.

They stared at each other for a moment before Desmond began to growl as well.

“Desmond.” Altaïr growled back, “Behave.”

Desmond continued to growl.

And Altaïr answered it with a growl of his own.

.

.

.

Malik quietly closed the door to Altaïr’s private chambers and walked away. At the end of the hallway, Kadar was waiting, fidgeting in place. He stared at his brother with a worried expression as he asked, “How’s… how’s Desmond and Altaïr? Are they both okay? Does Altaïr know if Desmond…”

Kadar’s expression turned green as he continued, “… ate Abbas’ finger?”

Malik remembered the way the two had been growling at each other and felt a headache already hammering in his head.

Malik sighed and rubbed his face as he said, “I will speak to Al Mualim in Altaïr’s behalf. Desmond is shaking.”

-probably because he was trying to act all strong against Altaïr’s own growling.

“Oh, poor boy. Abbas must have scared him so much. There’s no way he would have bitten him, right?” Kadar made his own conclusions and Malik hoped Al Mualim do as well.

Considering how much of two-faced Desmond truly was, appearing sweet and adorable to the three of them but acting like a hellhound stuck in that small body of his to Abbas…

No.

Malik believed that Desmond did not bite off Abbas’ finger.

He actually believed that Desmond got another animal to do it for him.

He was that deviously clever like his owner, after all.

[kissochako]

𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 MHA EDITION

summary: gn!reader x shouto, bakugo and kirishima

tags: gn!reader, fluff, headcannons

KATSUKI BAKUGOU would take you on an arcade date. It’s a new and upcoming place, with all the latest games and the best environment for a weirdly romantically competitive date. You guys would go from game to game, seeing who can beat each other the most. Of course, you win, but not because of your skills. Rather, Katsuki yearns to see your victorious smile when he calls defeat, and your cute little winning dance that you do. It doesn’t matter if he’s not first place or winning, as long as he can see you smile like that, just for him, every time.

When the arcade prepares to close, and you and Katsuki are outside, he shoves a gift bag into your chest. You open it, to reveal the hoodie that he was possessive of the most. He gave it to you, because you had tried to steal it from him every time. To him, the hoodie means another step to being closer, being connected to each other despite any distance of separation.

EJIRO KIRISHIMA would take you hiking. Kirishima loves being active and most especially, being active outdoors! The fresh breath of air brings so much joy to him, what better way to spend valentine's other than to share the joy for you to experience? While you react to the idea in a hesitant manner, you’re glad that you considered going. On the trail, Ejiro offers to carry your bag, he carries you over any rocks or sticks that may harm your ankles, and gives you piggyback if your feet are tired. Sure, Ejiro is exhausted as hell, but once you guys hit the peak, it’s all worth it. Seeing your eyes glimmer and sparkle at the exhilarating sight, and he would do it over a hundred times over if it means seeing your smile hundred times over.

Ejiro invites you to sit down, to truly take in the view. You sit next to him, laying yourself on his side. He opens his backpack, to show a homemade miniature teddy, holding a card, professing his undying love for you. You hug him tightly and peck his cheeks lightly, repeating about how cute it is and you love him. After seeing your reaction, he suddenly forgets about the pain he had to endure for always accidentally poking needles into his thumb.

SHOUTO TODOROKI takes you out to the mall, which has all high end and designer brands. Shouto shows you around the place, as you aren’t used to being able to actually visit and buy items from such exquisite places, rather than gawking from the window. He knows every owner and manager of each store, so he’s able to give you private appointments of buying new clothes, jewellery and handbags. All the while, he’s in the corner, admiring how you can make any piece of material look so majestic on you.

After, you and Shouto get some food at a nearby restaurant, ending the night. He calls his driver to escort you back to your house. Once you arrive, you realise why Shouto didn’t ride with you tonight. He was busy making arrangements to deliver the most elegant and vibrant flowers that you’ve ever seen before. The whole porch was covered in a diverse yet artfully arranged assembly of flowers. You call him immediately to tell him how much you love him and are so gracious to him, while all he said was thank you, he was thinking of a whole novel to say to you.

[rahuratna]

The transformation of Nanami Kento, Part 5

In which Nanami-pom takes full advantage of his current condition and makes a new friend ...

The car ride was a lively one, with Ino regaling the first year trio with tales of some of his more risky missions with Nanami.

"Oh yeah, I thought I was a goner that time. The spirit had me trapped under the rubble and there were these metal pipes caging me in. Felt like I was being crushed. And then, suddenly, I heard this noise and everything felt lighter! I looked up, and there he was."

Ino clenched his fist as he told them the story of his first meeting with Nanami. Yuuji leaned forward, enraptured, and even Megumi looked intrigued.

"He pulled the rubble out of the way like it weighed nothing and then he told me to rest because it was 5 pm and my work day was over."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah! I was hella confused, man. So I say, what do you mean? There's still curses to be killed. And he goes ... "

And here Ino deepened his voice, pulling at an imaginary tie and rolling up his sleeves, " ... My name is Nanami Kento. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm now working overtime, so please rest while I complete this task."

Nobara glanced over at Nanami-pom, who was now perched on Megumi's leg, a styrofoam cup of warm milk in the holder beside him and the financial section of the paper laid out on her lap while he read calmly.

Yes, that did sound exactly like him.

The more she thought about it, the more she realised just how well he had adapted. Even now, he was making full use of the advantages this form gave him. She looked down as a small paw touched her arm and sighed as she turned the page of the newspaper for him.

Oh yes. He was taking full advantage.

-----‐-------------------------‐‐-----‐----

The hotel Ijichi had booked them into allowed pets. Yuuji didn't know whether to personally thank Ijichi or feel offended on Nanami's behalf. As they waited in the lobby for Gojo to check them in, someone called over to them.

A group of ladies was seated at one of the lounges, all four of them dressed very fashionably. One lady in particular had a small poodle in a handbag, the perfectly groomed dog dolled up in what looked like a designer outfit. Nobara cringed slightly, but then realised how she looked with Nanami-pom seated on her shoulder with a full miniature business suit on.

"What a cute doggie! Why don't you bring him over here and introduce him to my Peanut?"

Ino and the students froze, eyes flicking around the lobby in desperation. This was the one type of interaction they had hoped to avoid at all costs. The lady was now coming over, bringing 'Peanut' with her.

"Oh, don't be shy. Peanut is very friendly. Here, Peanut, say hi. Oh! Just look at how adorable he is! What a beautiful suit! What's his name?"

"Na - "

Nobara kicked Yuuji's foot.

"Err, Nacho. His name is Nacho."

"Why, hello there Nacho."

She reached across and time seemed to stop as she scratched Nanami-pom behind the ear. Ino's eyes went very wide. Megumi was sweating bullets, as if expecting Nanami-pom to pull out his tiny sword and ruin the lobby.

Instead, the small nose raised into the air with a huff and Nanami-pom tilted his head to the side, as if graciously allowing the woman's attentions. She was rightfully charmed.

"Oh, what poise. Do you enter him for dog shows and competitions?"

"Yes!" Ino all but shouted. "Er, all the time. He's a champion. Very well trained."

"Wow! Do you hear that, little Nacho? Why don't you show Peanut here what you can do? She's so spoilt and refuses to listen to me."

With the air of a dog show veteran, Nanami-pom emitted another put-upon sigh and hopped down from Nobara's shoulder. He looked up at the poodle expectantly. Peanut was considering him with trepidation, as if knowing that something was not quite right with the golden-furred canine that was staring at her with the commanding air of a human. A very intimidating human. She whined slightly before coming slowly over to him.

Nanami-pom raised his paw. Peanut rolled over. He got onto on his hind legs and moved the same paw in an up-and-down motion. Peanut leapt and bobbed on the spot. Nanami-pom placed one paw behind his back. Peanut got into a begging posture. The tiny, commanding paw then shot out horizontally. Peanut got on her back and played dead.

The woman watched in astonishment as Nanami-pom took Peanut through a series of motions, culminating with an elegant handshake. He dusted off his suit, as if concluding business, and jumped lightly back into Nobara's arms. A heavy silence lay over the group. The woman eyed Nanami-pom with the kind of reverence normally reserved for a pop idol or president.

"Wh - what breed is he? I - I've never seen such a - "

"He's a Golden ... Ratio Retriever," Megumi blurted out. "He's from Denmark. Very rare. Even among dogs of this breed, there's a three in seven chance of one as intelligent as ... Nacho being born."

At that moment, Gojo appeared and saved them from further fabrication. Nobara was about to tear Megumi a new one for that breed name. For a boy who exuded a cool and collected aura, he really was an awful liar.

The woman practically begged Gojo to set up a play date with Peanut, which he agreed to with a horrifically cheerful grin. Nanami-pom's eyes narrowed dangerously and the students all breathed heavy sighs of relief when they finally reached their rooms.

---‐‐----‐-------‐---------------------‐--

Nobara was situated in an adjoining room to the two boys. None of them felt like turning in immediately, so she plonked herself on Yuuji's bed and opened up the amusement park blueprints that Gojo had provided them with, spreading them out on the covers. The trio took some time to re-familiarize themselves with the layout, before realizing that Nanami-pom was no longer with them.

Looking around they spotted him sitting expectantly next to the small case Ijichi had provided for him. Puzzled, Yuuji went over to the case and opened it.

"Something you need in here, Nanamin?"

Inside, he found a bag with a tiny toothbrush, dog-friendly toothpaste, a comb, a few small vials, a puppy pad and a bottle. Megumi came up behind him and grabbed the supplies.

"I'll handle this. Neither of you know how to look after a ... well. Nanami, come here."

"Well, show us, then," Yuuji huffed.

Megumi beckoned to Nanami-pom, who hopped into his lap and settled comfortably. First, a small amount of toothpaste was applied to the brush and Megumi did a very thorough job of cleaning the tiny, sharp teeth. Next came the brushing. Nanami-pom wore a singularly satisfied look as Megumi brushed and parted the golden hair neatly along his back and head. Some of the conditioning supplements from the vials were then applied to the combed hair. Finally, Megumi placed the puppy pad in the bathroom, with the bottle propped upright in the centre of it.

"What's that for?"

"He can't use the toilet, genius. The bottle acts kind of like a pillar he can do his business against."

Nanami-pom took a moment to place his nose against Megumi's hand in a gesture of thanks before hopping down and entering the bathroom, nudging the door closed with his hind leg. Nobara flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Do you guys think we'll be able to change him back soon? What if the curse user ... I mean, what if Nanami's ... "

"He won't be like this for much longer," Yuuji said firmly, "We'll find that guy and make him change him back. I'll do whatever it takes."

Megumi was examining the blueprints again.

"This place is pretty big. I think we'll have to split up and form teams to enter the area. Gojo will be with us this time. It's not like the other tests where he wanted to see what we're capable of. He wants to turn Nanami back as soon as possible too."

"I mean, won't things be over really quickly then? The rest of us won't need to do much. The curse user isn't that powerful, right?"

Megumi sighed.

"And look what happened to Nanami. Sure, he was trying to save Yuuji, but even if the curse user's power isn't deadly, it's still debilitating and long lasting. Yuuji said that the beams reflect and bounce unpredictably off surfaces, meaning we can't tell from which direction attacks may come. Even if Gojo's with us, we can't afford to slack off. We're not trying to take him out, it's more of a negotiation to make him turn Nanami back. That's more tricky to pull off."

Nobara hummed thoughtfully.

"You know, this sounds more like a mission  where some stealth may be necessary."

"Stealth?" Yuuji laughed. "No offense, but none of us are really cut out for that."

"You think so?" Nobara grinned. "I can think of one person who can be super sneaky right now."

[blushcoloreddreams]

How to look your best everyday

“Always leave your home looking your best, you never know when you have a date with destiny”

I don’t need to say that inner beauty is important, and I’m not here to tell anyone to neglect one in favor of the other but taking care of your looks will not only make you feel better about yourself but is also an act of love and respect towards the people you know. No woman should be ashamed of their femininity and taking the time and effort to make themselves beautiful. Besides, you never know when you’ll find the man of your dreams so why limit your options by presenting less than your best self. Remember failing to plan is planning to fail

A lot of women are bad with time management and preparing ahead and that causes them to leave the house subpar so here are some tips on how you can save yourself some time in the morning and looking put together more effortlessly without needing to spend hours on it.

Beauty starts the night before. Ladies, effort on your night routine, on your skin and hair care before you sleep are necessary. At night, besides your face cleanser, either use some retinol serum to stimulate cell renewal or some salicylic acid treatment that will take care of your pores thus less acne and give you a better skin texture. Also it’s important to note that sleeping with makeup should be avoided at all costs. To your hair the night is perfect to add some oil to the ends, or curl it and pin it allowing the curls to set or if you wanna avoid the heat, the night time is perfect to set your heatless curls.

Pick your outfits the night before and if necessary iron and use a lint roller on them ahead as well.This is going to be such a game changer, you’ll look more intentional instead of rushing in the morning and just dressing what is clean, seeing if the pieces go together, the shoes and the purse and all of those things that come with getting ready in the morning. A good idea is to have some staple outfits that you feel good in and are easy reaches. If you wanna take it a step ahead you can even choose 5 outfits to wear on the weekend.

Accessories. I love rings, necklaces and when you are rushing in the morning it can be easy to forget those. So consider those accessories that make your outfit look more intentional and put together. So pick your jewelry, handbag and shoes along with your outfit the night before and pack your handbag with the necessary items like a mini lint roller, safety pins, hand sanitizer a mini tooth brush and tooth paste,and a little makeup touch up kit, t and perfume miniature and a hairbrush the night before.

Being healthy. An 80/20 diet, exercise adequate hydration and a good night of sleep will only change your looks for the better

Take care of your clothes. Send whatever needs to be adjusted to a seamstress, use lint rollers - cat and dog hair will only cheapen your looks- and please no clothes with holes or permanent stains

[oftenwantedafton]

Personal Space - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 3

Rating -Explicit

Warnings - none for this chapter

Also available on AO3

taglist @123124133

Back inside the office, it’s as if none of it had ever happened. No insults hurled. No reprimands. No time spent outside, doing…whatever that was. You take charge of the next client. Steve’s pleasantly surprised by how well you handle the meeting. Maybe the harsh words have done you some good.

Maybe it wasn’t the words at all. Maybe it was the other…

There’s a bit of a routine to end the day. Coffee mug rinsed a final time. Blinds closed. Lights turned off. The schedule for the next day printed and left on top of his desk, the job hopefuls’ files pulled. You’re familiar with it now. Moving in sync. The last lamp is switched off, the room much darker now that the cozier lighting has been extinguished and the outdoor light is barred from entering. There’s a little illumination from a night light panel set low on the wall near the door. Enough to see by before closing and locking the office for the night.

“Do you have everything?” At least you aren’t lugging around that foolish oversized backpack anymore. The miniature version that serves as your handbag is much more tolerable. The top strap is hooked in your fingers. Raglan moves forward, thinking you’ll open the door.

You don’t. You remain standing in front of it. He’s only just realized you’re wearing a lavender blouse. Something you’d already had in your wardrobe, or a nod towards his favorite color?

“What are you…” The rest of the sentence is lost. You’ve dropped your bag. You’re leaning against the wooden surface behind you. Meeting his stare. So many shadows in the room now. Your face underlit from the wall’s fixture. There’s so little space between you and your mentor. “Move away from the door.”

“No.”

“Move…” It was happening again. His breathing going ragged. Yours matching his. Your palms resting flat against his chest. Lifting and falling in rapid succession. “Inappropriate…have you reassigned…” He cannot form complete sentences. The threat comes in soft pants.

“Is that what you want?”

He thinks on that. Isn’t that what he wants? To have you gone, to have his solitary routine returned?

“I want…I want…” His hand rests heavily on the side of your throat. Thumb pressing along your jaw. Your fingers clawing at him now. Nails scratching against poplin. What does he want? His mouth on yours. He places it there.

“Steve. Steve.”

It takes him a moment for the false name to register. The daydream dissipates. He’s still seated at his desk. The last client of the day across from him. You’re frantically trying to get his attention when discretion clearly isn’t working.

He clears his throat. Mumbles some excuse, leaning forward. Heat creeping underneath his collar. To indulge in the fantasy of it bad enough; to do it in the middle of a session with a client worse still. He’s always prided himself on his professionalism. Yet here he was, making an absolute fool of himself over some girl he barely knew. All because he’d touched you and…

His grip on his pen tightens. He was doing it again. Losing focus. You seem to realize he’s struggling and you take command of the conversation. A relatively smooth transition, all things considered. Placement found. Applicant dismissed. He releases his death grip on the writing instrument and flops back against the chair with a heavy sigh of relief.

The older man feels your eyes on him. “What?”

“What happened? You just like zoned out. Mid-sentence. I thought you were having a seizure or something.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Is he? No, not at all. But he’s not about to divulge the reason why. So he tells another lie. What’s one more on the already massive heap piling up?

“Yes. Just tired. Didn’t sleep well last night. Anyway, we’re done for today.”

There’s an eerie sense of deja vu as the office is shuttered for the evening. Except you’re not blocking the door. You’re hanging back, waiting to follow him through it. He tells himself he’s not disappointed.

The ride on the elevator is silent.

You’re parked directly next to him today. Serendipity or perhaps a deliberate move on your part. He struggles opening his door, distracted, watching you settle behind the wheel. You begin pulling down the decorations, removing everything he’d mocked earlier. His fingers cease their fumbling. He walks around his car, lightly tapping the key against the glass of your passenger window. You glance over, then hit the button to unlock the door.

Crammed back inside next to you. Knees hitting the dashboard.

“What do you want?” You pull the last of the clips off the air vents.

“You don’t have to do that. I didn’t mean…”

“Yeah, you did.” The rearview mirror is now unadorned. The cup holders are filled with the former decor. “Let’s see, what’s next on the list of my flaws. Oh yes. What’s wrong with my clothes?”

His head drops back against the headrest. It’s too short and it hits him at an awkward angle. “Nothing. I only meant you should wear things that are better tailored to suit you. It doesn’t really matter.”

“And that was nothing at lunch today too, right?”

“I…apologize for the inappropriate behavior. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

“That’s what you’re apologizing for? Out of everything that happened today?” You scoff in disbelief.

He tips his head in your direction. Glasses sliding down with the motion so he’s looking over the tops of the frames at you. “Fine. I was unnecessarily harsh about certain things I said earlier.”

“That’s a funny way of saying you’re sorry.”

“I’m not sorry. You do need to toughen up. I’ve been too lenient.”

“I don’t understand. You told me to socialize and get to know my coworkers—”

“—Because they can be assets.”

“Is that all people are to you? Just tools to be used?”

“No one does anything in this life without motivation for personal gain.”

You look away, fidgeting with the last clip you still haven’t placed in the cup holder. “I think that’s a really sad way to view things.”

“I’m simply being realistic. Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. You don’t have to do all of this for my benefit.” He waves his hands. “Just don’t be so sensitive. People will take advantage and walk all over you.”

He reaches for the door handle.

“You’re the only person I have even resembling a friend. You told me to go back home to be with the ones I’ve left behind. There aren’t any. You’re it.”

“You should make another, then. I’m not what you’re looking for.” He shoves the door open and exits. So uncharacteristic of him, not to just reach out and take what he wants. But that was a trait he’d harbored when he’d had another identity, lived another life.

Now he is just the middle aged career counselor. Focused solely on work. Reclusive.

Alone.

***

You’re talking to someone outside Steve’s office.

A client who’s young, attractive, he’d recognized the man’s appreciative gaze on you. Speaking as if the older man wasn’t even present. Flirtatious smiles. Friendly off topic conversation that is now extending past the allotted visit, continuing in the hallway. Low murmurs and the occasional laughter. The career counselor grits his teeth. Shuts the applicant’s folder and thrusts it back inside the filing cabinet, slamming the drawer with more force than necessary. He gets up to make another cup of coffee, trying to casually view what is happening beyond the open door. You’re finally saying goodbye, striding back into the room. Today, of all days, you’re wearing the suit that compliments your curves, the hem of the pants and sleeves of the blazer just the correct length. A little narrow v of blank skin at the base of your throat he’s haunted by, trying to avoid looking at and failing miserably.

You seem to notice his stern gaze. “What?”

“When I said you should make friends, I didn’t mean the clients. It’s unprofessional,” he says disapprovingly.

“We’re not friends. We just met. We were only talking.”

“That was not ‘only talking’.”

“I have to socialize with someone, don’t I? Since you’re treating me like I have the plague.”

“I’m not. It’s called maintaining professional boundaries. Personal space, like we’ve discussed before.” He takes a sip from his mug. Watching you wilt a little. Quiet when you return to your seat.

He settles back into the leather swivel chair, placing his cup on the worn coaster. The phone rings. A new client coming in the next day. Reaching for the stack of Post Its to jot down the name. Jostling the coffee by mistake, reaching to grab it before it can spill, your own reflexes kicking in, moving at the same time. Fingers colliding. His friendly tone suddenly tight and cool. Controlled. Neither of you has moved. Still touching. Warm fingers, warm beverage heating the ceramic. He hangs up the phone, staring at your joined hands.

The social worker’s fingers slide off the mug, his hand settling on the desk. Yours curl around it. Small over large. Smooth over rough. He lets you turn his hand over, tracing over the creases of his palm, the callouses of his fingertips. Your digits weaving between his. Holding his hand properly. Interwoven. Linked. How long had it been since he’d held someone’s hand? Whose had it been? A child. His own; someone else’s. Led further into the restaurant, into the darkness.

“Steve.”

He blinks. Swallows. He shouldn’t be allowing this. How insufferable you are. Infuriating. You’re simply impossible to work with. He should have you reassigned to someone else. He should push you away.

He holds tighter.

***

You return from morning break the next day and place a small white envelope on the desk blotter.

“What’s that?”

“Wedding invitation. It’s this Saturday. Short notice, but it’s really nice they invited me.”

You withdraw the card inside and check the box announcing you’re attending.

Steve grunts. “Oh, yes. I received one of those awhile back.”

You look at him. “Are you attending?”

He scoffs. “Of course not. Why would I?”

“Because it will be fun. And they’re, you know, our coworkers.”

“Have you ever been to a wedding?” You shake your head. “They’re not fun. The catering is usually terrible. Sappy speeches. The time absolutely drags.”

“It says I can bring one guest.”

“That’s standard.”

“Come with me.”

A look of disbelief. “Why on earth would I accompany you when I declined the invitation myself already? I just finished telling you how much I dislike them.”

“Did you dislike yours?”

Raglan’s features darken. “Overstepping.”

You duck your head. “Okay, sorry. But let’s go together.”

“I’ll consider it.” He’s not sure who’s more surprised when the words leave his mouth. Why the hell would he do that? He has no intention of going. None. You smile for what seems like the first time since your recent confrontation. His weakness.

By the afternoon he’s agreed to accompany you. “Fine, I’ll go. But you’re in charge of the gift. I’ll pick you up. Be ready on time.”

He’s rewarded another smile. “Really? You’ll go with me?”

“I will attend.” As if there’s a distinction. Going but not necessarily as a couple, of course. Merely agreeing to also be present. Almost a coincidence, really. Nothing improper about it.

That’s the mantra that’s running through his mind.

***

It never occurs to Steve to consider what you’ll be wearing to the event.

So when you exit your appartment building in a sleeveless lace affair with a modest neckline and a hem that finally hits you properly he has to suck in his breath a little roughly. High heels. Hair styled. The most put together he’s ever seen you.

You tuck a gift bag behind your seat before you settle inside the car. He has to clear his throat before he can properly greet you. “Hi. You look nice.”

You grin, smoothing your hands over the lower half of the dress even though it doesn’t need it. “Thank you. Not immature, right? Not going to be embarrassed to be seen with me?”

You weren’t letting this go. Well, he can hardly blame you. “No.”

“No, not immature, or no, not embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“Neither. But we’re not…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Not going as a couple. Just both attending. Surely you understood the distinction. Well. He decides to leave it alone for now, for the sake of the occasion.

***

Once again Raglan finds himself occupying the last row, one in from the aisle while you settle into the folding chair beside his. It’s an outdoor wedding, beginning late afternoon into early evening. The weather is perfect. The career counselor folds his arms, fixing his gaze on nothing in particular while waiting for the ceremony to start.

He can feel the anticipation wafting from you. Sees you fidgeting and can’t resist hissing a reprimand. It’s like holding the collar of a golden retriever puppy, all full of nervous energy. A lost cause.

He doesn’t know the couple getting married that well. They’d met at work, and that was about the extent of what he was aware of. Lets his mind wander while the music cues up and the bride walks down the aisle beside her father. Very pointedly avoiding thinking about his own personal experience with getting married. It was a lifetime ago now. When he’d been someone else.

As predicted, less than ideal catering. Small portions. Bland food. Slice of cake so thin you could practically see through it. His face hurts from plastering a smile on it so often. Murmuring the same noncommittal greetings to everyone he encounters. Issuing obligatory congratulations to the newlyweds. People are starting to break off into groups. Casual music after the couple has their first dance. His attention wavering more and more.

“Do you dance?”

“Not to this contemporary selection, no.” His arms are folded across his chest again. Closed body language indicating he wants to be left alone. By the other wedding guests, anyway. The rest of the table he’s seated at is mercifully devoid of anyone else at the moment. No small talk has to be made.

“But you can dance,” you persist.

“You should go over there. Have fun.” He nods to the space that’s been set up as a dance floor.

“Come walk with me instead.”

He glances over at you. “And go where?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. It’s a country club. Plenty of places to go. I need to stretch my legs. Come on, Steve. Please?”

He considers the well lit area they’re currently seated in. Weighs that against being alone with you, somewhere cloaked in shadows. Surrenders with a sigh. “Alright. For a few minutes.”

You’re struggling in the heels. He recognizes it immediately. Waits while you stop long enough to remove them. Carrying them hooked on index and middle finger. Nylon covered feet now tredding on cropped grass. There’s water near this tee, faintly visible. The sounds of the party fading behind. It really is pleasant out.

“Okay. Now dance with me.” You bend to place your shoes on the ground.

“What? That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“No one can see us over here.”

“There isn’t even any music.”

“I’ll hum for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

You move to stand in front of him. Reach for one hand. The other curling over his shoulder. His own unoccupied one sitting stiffly on your waist. He doesn’t want to do this. Why does he keep giving in to you?

He doesn’t recognize whatever melody you’re attempting to recreate. The entire thing is foolish. Turning you in a circle. An abrupt dip down that has you giggling like mad. And he’s actually smiling. Enjoying this. Being with you. Pressed this close against you.

You stumble a bit, wincing, your improvised tune abruptly ending. “Sorry, my feet are killing me. I feel like I’m getting a blister.”

“Sit down.” You struggle a bit in the dress. It’s a long way down for him. But you both manage. He taps his thighs. “Let me see your feet.” You shift, stockinged feet now in his lap. Hands gently probing, assessing. “No blisters yet but you should probably keep the shoes off as much as possible. You’re not used to wearing heels, are you?” He hasn’t paid much attention up until now but he thinks you always wear flats to the office.

“No. And they’re brand new. I just got them because they matched the dress. I thought they were pretty.” He hums, maybe in agreement, maybe in disapproval. “That feels nice.” He hasn’t stopped touching you, now massaging your sore extremities without even realizing what he’s doing.

His hands abruptly abandon you. “Anyway, you’ll be fine,” he says dismissively. You sigh, moving until your legs are stretched in front of you. Your bare shoulder close enough to nearly brush against his clothed one.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I can’t promise I’ll answer.”

“Why do you always wear long sleeves?”

“Overstepping again.”

“You told me I needed to be more aggressive with the applicants. Firm. Decisive. Direct. Focused. Getting to the point.”

“True, but I’m not a client. At least you’re retaining something,” he adds. Not mocking. Maybe a little proud.

“It doesn’t bother me if…”

“If what?”

“If you have some, I don’t know, some condition you’re ashamed of.”

“It’s not a condition.” He hesitates. Fumbles with the button of his shirt sleeve, shoving it up. Reaching blindly for your hand and guiding your fingertips to his forearm.

“Scars,” you realize aloud. “What happened?”

“Accident at a previous job. And no, I’m not giving you any more information than that.” Your fingers trace the furrowed skin. At first curious. Now the touch has evolved into more of a caress. It feels good. He doesn’t want it to. Swallows loudly when you lift the appendage. Allowing you to manipulate the limb. Mouth grazing knuckles. Fuck. Immediate heat to his groin. He needs to stop this, right now. “You shouldn’t…I’m not who you think I am.”

“What do you mean? Steve?”

It’s exactly what he needs. Bringing him back to reality. The person that you want doesn’t exist. Not really. It’s the facade you like. Not the man underneath. You don’t know who he really is. Can never know, because discovering that means a return to what he was before.

“We should probably leave.” Dragging his arm free from your warm touch. He hates it. Absolutely despises himself for not pressing you down beneath him and kissing you under the stars. But at least you’re safe. That was more important.

He knows you’re hurt, confused. That happy little bubble you’d recreated popped again. Stiff goodbyes to the bride and groom before leaving. A silent ride back to your apartment.

“Thanks for going with me.”

“I’m…glad I did. Genuinely.” It is the truth. He’d enjoyed himself, in spite of everything. Because of you. He likes being with you.

“I don’t understand you.” You reach for his hand again, and he allows it. Because really, at this point, what does it matter if it happens once or twice or a dozen times? He’s already crossed a line with you he never should have.

“Why do you fight yourself so much?” Your voice is quiet.

Because that hand you’re holding so gently has done terrible things. Because there is so little keeping me from doing what I want, from tearing right through this fragile barrier between us.

Those are the real answers, but he can’t tell you that. So he simply says “Because.” Which is no answer at all. He stares at your still joined fingers. “It’s not a rejection based on your merit as a person. You deserve to know that.”

“Is it because we work together?”

“Well, that’s a definite drawback. Workplace relationships are never a good idea.”

“The age gap?”

“Are you calling me old again?”

“Maybe.” A small smile.

“That’s another concern. But that’s not the main reason.”

You shift in your seat, turning your body more to his. “What is the main reason?”

“I can’t tell you that. Not any differently than I already have.”

“But you do like me.”

“You’re…tolerable, at times.”

“Tolerable.”

“Yes, I like you,” he admits, his voice tight. His gaze shifts to the windshield. It’s too difficult to look at you. To see that hope. That desire he’s certain is mirrored on his own features.

You reach for his glasses, slipping them free before he can stop you. You carefully fold them and tuck your arm behind your back. You know what you’re doing. He knows it, too. Playing along. Leaning. Grasping. Tugging the gold framed lenses free. Your face tips up. That ripe mouth he wants to defile within reach. So close. Just the slightest movement would bring his lips to yours. Touching you. Tasting you. The barest little shift is all that’s required.

He leans back, away from you. “You should go inside and soak your feet and get some rest. I’ll see you Monday.” Staring very hard at nothing. It’s a cold dismissal. Contrasting so starkly from the warmth stoked inside of him. He heaves a shuddering sigh when you finally exit his car. Watching your retreating figure. How much he wants to chase after you. Drag you against him. Surrender.

And you would, too. He knows you’d succumb to him. Do whatever he wanted.

If only he’d ask.

[roguehongsami]

Velvet Crowbar | Pt. 3

—★ pairing/s: rockstar!wooyoung x fem!couturier

—★ genre/s: smut, fluff, au

—★ synopsis: 1995. it's been 12 years since you left kialecombe. wooyoung tracks you down, desperate to get you back before your wedding.

—★ content: cheating, unprotected sex (condomize), fingering, oral sex, creampie, (sprinkled)nostalgia.

—★ word count: 3.5k

—★ navigation: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

—★ masterlist here

"Hey, we're Bloodhound and you're not." the man spoke arrogantly, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Y/N switched off the television. Her focus was on the rough sketch she had been working on for a week. The deadline was approaching and she couldn't afford to miss it. It was slowly coming together but still didn't feel right. She let out an exasperated sigh and dropped her pencil on the table. She pushed away from the desk and spun around in her chair, taking in the view of the city skyline. She needed inspiration.

And inspiration she was going to get.

[ . . . ]

"These are the newest addition to the brand." the saleswoman gestured enthusiastically with her hands as she held the shoe. "A suede finish with the brand initials in gold as the heels. It comes in five different colours. What makes this heel special, is that it is the first shoe the CEO has ever designed in her entire career. She primarily focuses on clothing."

Yeosang nodded, having found the perfect gift for his wife. "I'd like them in a size four."

The saleswoman smiled. She instructed Yeosang to wait by the counter, as she went into the storage room to get a box of size four's. She returned with a black box, gold 'Archibald Scott' lettering on top.

Yeosang turned around and called. "Wooyoung, come on."

Wooyoung, who sat on the couch while Yeosang was shopping, walked over and stood beside him. His eye caught the miniature display on the counter. The woman in the picture posing with a bottle of perfume. Her face painted with a nude makeup look, and her nails manicured and decorated with red nail polish. He took the display into his hand, studying the woman's face.

It was now or never.

[ . . . ]

Y/N stepped out of the elevator, heels clinking against the floor tiles as she descended down the steps and marched to her office. No inspiration acquired but only a handbag in hand. Eyes focused on the door that created a buffer between her and the employees, behind came her assistant trying to match her pace.

"There's someone in your office. I told them you're not to be disturbed but they wouldn't–"

Y/N interrupted Cassidy. "That's okay, Cass. You can take the rest of the day off, I think I'm gonna clock off early."

Cassidy stopped in her tracks and returned to her desk. Y/N stood in front of her office door, opening it as her feet led her in. Behind her desk stood a man with black hair, held back by sunglasses. He sported a black leather jacket, black denim jeans and Nike Jordan's. Hands pocketed in his jacket. As she was about to speak, closing the door behind her, he turned around.

The air in the room suddenly became thin, almost losing her breath. "Woo?"

Wooyoung gave her a meek smile. "You are not the same girl I met in '83." he chuckled to himself. "Got time to catch up?"

She stood silently in the middle of the room, unable to move. Unable to find the words to speak. Something in her head suddenly clicked, as if she found the answer to a big question she had been asking herself. Wooyoung moved away from the desk and inched closer to her. As she came out of her trance, she instructed him to sit.

"How have you been doing? It's been a while."

"Twelve years." she whispered, unable to look him in the eye. "I've been doing okay. Just working. What about you? I see things worked out after Velvet Crowbar."

He bowed his head. "I went over to your house after I woke up from my OD. Nurses told me you were the one who found me. When I got there, your mom said you left Kialecombe for good. No matter how much I begged her to, she wouldn't tell me where you moved to. I just wanted to thank you." he looked her in eye. "You gave me a second chance."

"I'm sure anybody would've done the same if they found you." she spoke modestly.

"Yeah, I had nobody after I got kicked out of VC." he let out a shaky breath. "A second too late, I would've died in that room."

She dropped her head, a frown materializing across her face. The image of his unconscious body was still fresh in her memory. The relief she felt when her mother notified her of his condition. Since then, she had solely focused on school and work. Over the years, she saw him on TV. She knew their separation was for the best, she just needed the reassurance that he was doing fine.

He lifted her chin up. "I'm here now, thanks to you." he smiled boyishly. "I couldn't see myself stuck in Kialecombe forever, so I got clean and stayed clean. You remember Yeosang?"

"Dude with the lisp? Always bothered me how he'd say my surname." her eyebrows creased. "He plays drums in your band, right?"

"Yeah, he dropped his nine-to-five when the band finally took off. How'd you know that?"

She gave him a small smile. "I saw you on Headbangers Ball and Unplugged. Bloodhound really gives a good show."

"You listen to my band?" with genuine surprise in his tone.

She playfully shoved his shoulder. "Shut up, Woo. You always knew I was your biggest fan. How'd you even find me?"

"We came to Blue Coast for a break before we resume our tour. I was at one of your stores with a friend– I don't get why you didn't name the brand after yourself." he arched his eyebrows.

"My dad's name has an old money flair to it." she shrugged.

"I found the headquarters' number in the yellow pages, they told me where the big boss can be found."

The tension in the atmosphere eased. His eye caught the white diamond ring on her finger. His heart sank, afraid that he had actually lost her for good. All the work he had put into bettering himself was partially for his own benefit, but mostly so he could be the man Y/N deserved.

He pointed at the rock. "So, who's the lucky guy?"

She looked at the ring and as she was about to speak, her door opened. Her attention now directed to the man entering her office. Wooyoung turned his head, and the look on the man's face replaced with a distasteful one. Wooyoung and Y/N both stood from the couch. Instead of jealousy, Wooyoung was confused. It seems his words never stuck with Y/N as much as he thought they would.

"Wooyoung?" he spoke with an exasperated tone.

"Bradford." Wooyoung deigned, visibly unimpressed.

Y/N walked over to Brady's side and held onto his arm. "Brady and I are getting married in three weeks." she spoke hesitantly.

“I see…” Wooyoung sighed as he shook his head disapprovingly. “It was nice seeing you again, Y/N. I’ll make sure to say goodbye before going back on tour. Also, congratulations.”

Wooyoung strutted past Brady, bumping into his shoulder. He exited the office and once out of earshot, Brady casted Y/N a cold look. She merely rolled her eyes, aware of exactly what he was thinking. Her hands fell from his arm as she walked to her desk. She packed her designs into a cylindrical drawing holder. Handbag in hand and drawing holder nestled under her arm, she beelined to the door.

Brady blocked her path and looked down on her. “What was he doing here?”

“He found my office. Apparently, he was at one of my stores.” she pointed at the door. “Can we go home?”

He made way for her and as she continued her path, he reached for her wrist. “Don’t lie to me.”

Her eyes glanced at his hand then his face. “There’s nothing going on between me and Woo.”

Another late night spent in the office. Lights at every floor were off. From the street, the only lights that shone were on her floor. Office quiet as a grave, all that could be heard was the sound of birds squawking and the occasional helicopter making its nightly rounds around the city.

Slumped back in her chair, head rested against the back and arms laid on the armrest, she felt defeated. Her deadline was fast–approaching and she still had no designs to submit for the next season's line. The sound of nothing was slowly driving her mad. Her frustration worsening, wondering why she did not stick with handling office affairs.

A knock on the door startled her. She sat upright, waiting to hear if there would be another. A slightly more forceful knock followed. She got up from her desk and as she approached the door, she took the baseball bat by the couch. Another knock. As she unlocked the door, turning the knob, she brought the bat over her shoulder.

When she opened the door, there stood Wooyoung holding a paper bag full of takeaways. "I didn't know what you'd want, so I got everything..." he said with bewilderment written all over his face.

Y/N sighed a breath of relief as she stepped away from the door.

"Were you gonna use that on me?" he asked.

She locked the door and followed him to her desk. "You said you had late rehearsals."

He sat in her chair, setting aside her drawings and unpacking the food. "I finished at seven and came by. Saw your lights were on, so I left to go get food." he shrugged. "You had dinner yet?"

She tossed the bat on the couch and sat on the desk, beside Wooyoung. "I haven't eaten since morning."

After getting cornered by Brady, Wooyoung knew he could not see Y/N without her fiancé intercepting every meeting. He acquired her personal number from Cassidy, the assistant. It took a lot of convincing before she gave in. Since then, they had been meeting only when she worked late nights. Brady was completely in the dark.

Oblivious, Y/N was under the impression that he just wanted to catch up. They only had regular conversations about normal things, with Wooyoung occasionally asking about her future with Brady. An unintentional slip of the tongue informed Wooyoung that her relationship wasn't as exciting as it was in the beginning, and that she hoped that getting married would liven things up.

Her mishap was his ticket back in.

"Any luck with your designs?" he said, rubbing her bare knee.

She shook her head.

He planted his hands on her thighs, his head bowed down. "Most people revisit their past when they need inspiration."

He looked up to meet her eyes. She took in a deep breath and released a shaky one. Something about that statement did not sit well with her. It wasn't the literal sentence, but its insinuation. He inched closer to her face, standing between her legs. She leaned back a bit to create distance. His hands on her lower back, he reeled her back in.

Trailing kisses along her jaw to her neck, her body stiffened. Too conflicted to make a decision. What she wants or what she deserves? He was pushing her to choose the former. Slow steady breaths to calm her nerves. She needed to bring herself back down to earth and buck up. She grabbed his arms and as she began pushing him, his grip around her waist tightened.

He leaned into her ear and chimed, "When was the last time you and Brady had sex?" he pulled back to see her face. "Don't be shy, tell me."

Flustered, her hands fell to the table. In a whisper, she said, "Two months ago."

It wasn't the wedding planning. It wasn't her job. She had not been in the mood for a while. Aphrodisia was second nature to her and its absence was dispiriting. Unable to pinpoint the source of her sexual stupor, she just chalked it up to age. She just didn't have it like she used to, maybe.

He glanced down at her engagement ring. His hand stroked her arm, eventually sliding the ring off and tucking it away in her desk drawer. Lips locked with one another and inhibitions cast away, she gave in. She knew it was wrong but it's easier to beg for forgiveness than to actually dig for the actual problem and abate it. His hands slid under her skirt and tugged at the hems of her underwear.

Breaking the kiss, he said, "You know I still-"

"Don't." she cut him off. "I'm getting married in two weeks, don't make this any more complicated than it already is."

Reluctantly, he obliged, seizing the conversation. He pulled off her underwear. Separating her folds, he slid one finger in. Thrusting in and out. She wrapped her legs around his waist and threw her head back. He went down on his knees, her legs thrown over his shoulders and hands gripping her thighs, he lapped her up and tickled her bud with his tongue. A breathy moan filled the room.

As his pace increased, he stretched her out to get her ready. Three fingers and ten minutes later, the sound of Wooyoung slurping and Y/N cursing between moans was all that could be heard. He stood up and brought her into a kiss. Her hands were fumbling with his belt but she eventually undid it. He unbuttoned her blouse and unclasped the front of her bra, freeing her breasts.

She pulled his jacket and shirt off, throwing them on the ground. Her lips left trails of wet kisses all over his chest, suckling and nibbling at the skin on his neck. Rouge materialising. He dropped his pants as they pooled around his legs. She went in for a kiss. As he slid into her, she moaned into his mouth. A proud grin forming on his lips. He started with soft, slow thrusts. Easing her into the moment. As he picked up speed and force, he laid her on her back.

His fingers toying with her bud, her brain was fogging. She could not recall the last time she enjoyed sex this much. It had become a chore. Her hands toyed with her breasts, Wooyoung removing her hands from her chest.

"Let me watch..." he spoke, breathlesly.

Sweat beads were forming on his forehead, a combination of their bodies radiating and the raised summer temperatures. One leg over his shoulder and another around his waist, he reached in to grab the back of her neck.

"He doesn't fuck you this good, does he?" he grunted, smacking the side of her thigh.

"Brady could never." she lambasted in a moan.

Wooyoung suddenly stopped. He brought her to her feet then bent her over the desk. With one leg on the desk, he went back in. At this angle, silence was not a given. Moans mixed with cries, and grunts mixed with groans. They could only wish for this to go on forever. Consistent with the pace, he pulled off her blouse and bra. Her hands pressed firm against the desk surface for balance, he toyed with her nipples as he nipped the skin on her shoulder.

She clamped around him, feeling pressure build up in her stomach. How she missed that knotting sensation. He felt the squeeze of his cock, making him move erratically inside her. The warmth and friction of it all drove him to unadulterated insanity. He held her bare back flush against his chest, needing every bit of skin contact he could acquire.

"Woo, faster." she moaned, one hand on the desk and the other holding on to his neck.

Not a second later, he was thrusting as fast as he could. They braced themselves for a simultaneous release, it was fast-approaching. Both came undone. Wooyoung was thrusting all the discharge deep inside her until he stilled. His head rested on her shoulder, catching a breath, and her head hung. He slowly pulled out of her, bits of cum sliding down her thigh. He grabbed a tissue from her desk, and wiped her down.

They got dressed in silence. Not an awkward one. They were reflecting on where their relationship went wrong, and how they got to that point. The chemistry was still there, but so were obstacles. Y/N felt as if she had a promise to fulfill with her engagement. She couldn't turn back now. And Wooyoung, nothing he could say would change her mind. She was determined to walk down that aisle.

What she deserved outweighed what she desired.

Yet she expressed no remorse for what she had just done.

"Just think about what I said, okay?" he pecked her on the lips. "Revisit the past."

[ . . . ]

After spending the whole night in the office, no ideas coming to light, she stepped into her penthouse. She put her handbag down on the kitchen island. Brady's gym bag was still in the kitchen. She went on a path to her bedroom. In her walk-in closet, she found an old miniature chest with memorabilia. She sat on the bed as she went through some of the artifacts.

Her late father's watch.

Her mother's locket, which was passed down to her by her mother, Mrs. Rhodes.

Polaroids of her adolescent days. At the country club with her parents. Making clothes in the atelier. Moments of her dancing on tables and headbanging. Sitting on the roof of an abandoned bus with Murphy and Seonghwa. Her and Wooyoung wearing battle vests and matching Judas Priest tees at a show, their first date. She took a few more moments looking.

Truly the happiest time of her life.

She left the open chest and polaroids on the bed, stepping into the bathroom for a shower. As the water ran, Brady came in and took note of the items on the bed. He picked up the polaroids and studied the one with Wooyoung. Aggravated that she would keep it, he counted to a hundred in his head to calm himself.

Freshly cleaned, she returned and saw Brady holding her belongings. "Morning sweetie. How'd you sleep?"

He mustered up a halfhearted smile. "Just fine but the bed felt empty without you." he leaned in for a kiss. "What are these?"

"Stuff from high school. I think I know what my next line is gonna be."

She went to bed after chitchatting with Brady, getting some shut-eye before resuming her work. She spent the day at home, drawing multiple designs. They all came so easy. Late afternoon and already down to seven designs. She stopped once she felt she had enough ideas and packed her drawings into the holder.

At any moment, Brady was going to step into their home. Dinner was prepared and the table was set. She changed into a loose sweatshirt and sweatpants. Watching the television, the elevator announced Brady's arrival as he stepped out. Sauntering to the couch and pecking her on the forehead, he greeted her and went off to change.

At the dinner table, Brady put forward, "So, where's your ring?"

Y/N choked on her broth. "Oh..." she wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked down at her hand. "It kept getting caught in my blouse so I put it in my drawer." she looked him in the eye. "It's at work."

Her heart was thumping violently against her chest. A momentary lapsus memoriae, nearly outing her. She was lucky to be able to come up with an excuse so fast. The last time she was cornered, the lie got caught in her throat and found herself stuttering a single letter.

Brady nodded and continued eating his food. Eventually, they cleared the dinner table. Cuddled on the couch watching Universal Soldier. Y/N drifted off to sleep on Brady's chest. The phone on the coffee table rang. He picked it up and put it to his ear.

"Yes?" he spoke.

"Hey Bradford, are you busy, like right now?" the woman on the other end said.

"Hey Pari, what's up?"

"I have something you need to see. Come to my office, immediately." the line died.

Brady was careful not to wake her, laying her down on the couch and propping her head up with pillows. He got dressed and rushed out of the penthouse. His car was parked outside the Blue Coast Times office. He signed in at reception and stood in the elevator, waiting to reach the top floor. He reached Pari's door. A silver plate me this eyes; Pari Yadav – Editor In Chief.

He knocked on the door twice before Pari opened. She instructed him to sit as she sat across from him. On her desk was a brown envelope. She slid it over to him. His eyebrows creased down the middle, glancing at the envelope then at Pari.

"What is this?" he spelled out as he opened the envelope.

Inside, there were multiple pictures. His eyes studied every picture intently, soaking up the events captured. He sighed, disappointed but not surprised. It was the most defeated he had ever felt. Quick to wipe away the tears that had fallen on his cheeks, he put the pictures back in the envelope. He knew if he went ahead with their pending marriage, he'd always be second priority.

Pari leaned forward in her chair. "I won't run the story. Nobody needs to know about this, I'll tell my journalists to back off."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Thank you, Pari. But I think I have a better idea." he released a deep breath. "What are you doing on the eighteenth?"

taglist (green highlight = can't tag):

@tinybada @yeosangsbbg @staytiny816

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PART 4, READ HERE.

[green-planets]

Starlight Express but it's a Farmer's and Craft Market au! I've been rotating the idea around in my head for a few days now (and shared it in some servers!) There are a lot of (mostly) friendly rivalries going on between the vendors. They also barter and trade goods amongst each other!

Here's a map of the general layout of the stalls:

The two stalls on the top row directly to the right of Momma and Rusty were empty for a long time until Pearl started vending in the neighboring stall. About a week later, Electra set up shop.

I've also listed the stall types for each character under the cut (if you can't read my chicken scratch lol)!

Rusty and Momma- Your standard homegrown produce, Momma specializes in chicken and duck eggs

Greaseball- Cured meats, jerky, and BBQ sauce. His younger sister steps in to run his stall sometimes >:)

Electra- Spice blends and dried herbs

Pearl- Handcrafted jewelry

Dinah- Baked goods and jams

Buffy and Ashley- Honey, beeswax, and syrup

Carrie- Handmade bags (totes, handbags, coin purses, etc)

Brandi- Homebrewed beer and mead

Tassita- Succulents, stationary, and greeting cards. He also does custom calligraphy

Memphis Belle and Bonnie (Belle Jr.)- Quilts and crocheted crafts. Bonnie specializes in making plushies

Dustin- Polished and painted rocks

Flat Top- Sometimes he makes miniature sculptures out of welded nuts and bolts to sell at Dustin's stall. He's mostly there just to hang out with Dustin and get free jerky samples

Rockies- Pottery and custom mugs

CB- Foraged mushrooms (are they edible? Who knows...)

BV- He runs a shell game where he can rip people off

Slick- Gourmet olive oil

Porter and Lumber- Woodburn art. Lumber also does whittling on the side

Hydra- He's not a vendor, but he really wants to form a partnership with Rusty and show him Hydroponic Gardening

Wrench- Upcycled furniture

Volta and Joule- Soap, bath bombs, and candles

Purse and Krupp- Flowers

Killerwatt- He doesn't have a stall, he assists Electra

Zero- Smoothie stand (in a food truck set-up)

Espresso and Bobo- Wine and cheese (they used to have separate stalls until their rivalry turned into romance)

Coco- Handcrafted jewelry (uh oh, Pearl's got a rival)

Turnov- Knit goods (scarves, mittens, hats, etc.)

Ruhrgold- Artisan bread

Hashamoto- Assorted produce and (edible) mushrooms

Brexit- Fancy tea blends

[strangelittlestories]

When Kriti created the Paper Republic, they did so to a massive public downroar.

You are probably familiar with an 'uproar', that familiar outcry of disdain, dislike and disapprobation that follows an act which people violently disapprove of.

A downroar is a similar beast, but with the inverted sentiment. It is distinct from mere ‘approval’ or more classical ‘celebration’ in the *strength* of the reaction. The sense of outrage common to an 'uproar' remains, but it is positively aligned.

In essence: people thought the Paper Republic was *so* good that they freaked the fuck out about it.

What was it about Kriti's creation that provoked this response?

It had been designed to be perfection via iteration; an infinitely intricate construct of folded paper people, settlements and spaces. A society in miniature enchanted to embrace change, to test systems and structures and governances to their logical conclusion. Then it would move on to the next thing when the thing being tested was no longer useful.

It was a tool, an experiment and a new lifeform - both humanity's progeny and its teacher.

What it *became* was reality television.

The paper people - with their lovingly folded features and their gorgeously inked colours - were amazingly easy to pack bond with. People would champion their favourites, castiage perceived villains, and write screeds about the personal drama that unfolded.

Kriti resisted this trend at first, but her academic supervisors pointed out that her funding was limited and the Paper Republic’s fans were rabid. In exchange for a few broadcast and sponsorship deals, the experiment would have the means to extend the thaumaturgical reserves, reinforce the inscriptions, expand the parchment borders. The project would run far beyond its initial schedule. The fans hoped it would go on forever.

As the Republic evolved and expanded, some of the construct people began to be phased out. Their archetypes became outdated and they no longer fit with their iterated society. And some of them began to express a desire for retirement.

Kriti wished to release them into the world, with an allowance and a carefully chosen guide. The sponsors saw an opportunity: they gave fans the opportunity to bid for the chance to *become* that guide. They assured Kriti there would be careful background checks. They made soothing noises and said “Surely, you want them to be placed with those who have the means to support them and show them the wider world?”

Thus, little paper heads could be seen poking out from the wealthy’s master artificed handbags. The Paper Republicans were the new pets; exclusive, expensive. The paper they were printed on was magical and already pricy, but it now became priceless.

20 years into the experiment, Kriti disappeared. A few months later, the Paper Republican pets also began to vanish.

21 years into the experiment, that is when the downroar turned itself upside down and the true uproar began.

[alittlebitbethany]

Hi everybody I’ve posted a new video on my #youtubechannel a review of #disney #reallittles #cinderella handbag featuring my @mapleleagirls doll #briannekovec . Please check it out it would mean a lot to me. Image Description : A screenshot of a #youtubevideo featuring a #mapleleagirls doll Brianne standing behind a table with a handbag with Cinderella on it. The text reads BC’s Doll Place: Real Littles Cinderella Handbag Unboxing. #reallittleshandbags #maplelea #18inchdolls #dollphotography #disneyreallittles #minihandbags #ministationery #dollcollecting #mapleleagirlsbrianne #disneydolls #dolls #miniatures #unboxing

[adrianasunderworld]

💕Gift for a Godmother💕

A valentines drabble of Crowley wanting to get Clara a present.

@mangacupcake @marrondrawsalot @writing-heiress @the-weirdos-mind

💝💝💝

The council was not very helpful. And by council he meant his ward and young cousin he had gone to for an opinion on what to buy for Valentine's Day.

Crowley sat on the living room floor of Ramshackle, his laptop open in front of him on the coffee table,several tabs open to various shopping websites. His coat and hat tossed aside on the nearby chair. He wishes he was better at gift giving. He had known Clara for years, getting her a gift should have been easier than this.

Dreary and Isabelle also sat on the floor, just as perplexed, eating the snacks he brought to bribe them into helping him.

“What about shoes?” Isabelle suggested through a mouth half filled with candy, “She always has the best shoes.”

“ Yes, but what kind?” That had been his first thought. “She buys every pair she wants from all her favorite brands. Everytime I peak at her wishlist it's seems to be after she's already bought them.”

“You mentioned she likes clothes,” Dreary said, “Maybe that? Or accessories, like a handbag.”

“Similar problem,” Dire said as he looked through the tabs of all her favorite shops. There was very few things Clara did not possess. If she didn't, it was not her style at all. He had known her long enough to tell her taste at a glance and somehow that made it all the more difficult to find something just right.

“What do you normally do for Valentine's anyways?” The prefect asked.

“A standard card, and flowers she likes,” Crowley replied, thinking of all the years past. They had been standard gifts, and he never forgot a year. “But I want to do something different this year, even if it's a small gift.”

“But why?” Dreary asked, leaning forward with her chin resting in her hands. Isabelle leaned forward as well. “What changed?”

Suddenly the Headmage felt coming to Ramshackle was a mistake as both girls looked at him expectantly for an answer. He cleared his throat and tried to play it off. “No reason. Just felt doing something different to show my appreciation for my fellow Headmage.”

“Uh huh. Now what's that real reason?” Isabelle replied, clearly not buying a word of it.

“It's ok, Dire. You can tell us.” Dreary said softly.

Crowley knew they would not leave him alone now. He could already picture them in his office pestering to tell. “I just… Want to make it special this year. Nothing big has happened to warrant it I suppose. I simply want to give her something she deserves for a change.”

“Translation: You like her and want to actually shoot your shot.” Isabelle said.

“Not how I would have put it, but in a manner of speaking, yes.”

Dreary seemed excited at this development. “That's sweet! I think this will go well.”

“Before you get your hopes up, I need a gift.”

“Ok well what does she like besides fashion?” Isabelle asked as she grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. “You might be able to narrow it down more if you just make a list.”

“Besides clothing and shoes, she has one of the biggest sweet tooths I think I've ever seen. Especially for pumpkin flavored treats. Pie, coffee, you name it. It's one of the few things she refuses to share. She loves pastel colors. If it comes in a soft pink or blue, she'll take it everytime. Oh, she loves Romance movies and novels. She always insists she doesn't cry at them, but the happy endings always get to her-”

Dreary and Isabelle glanced at each other as Dire rambled on about Headmage Cristalería.

“-and don't even get me started on her and the autumn time-”

“Dire!” Dreary interrupted. “What about hobbies?”

“Hm? Oh she absolutely adores miniatures.”

“Miniatures?” Isabelle asked. “Like dollhouse stuff?”

“Yes, she's always found them cute. But she likes making and getting them for her mice and the pixies of White Ash to enjoy. She also adores her mice. She's told me she's looked after the mice in the school since she was a child, they mean a great deal to her.” As he said it, Dire finally had an idea. “Wait a minute.”

“What?” Dreary leaned over to see what he was looking up and smiled approvingly. “These are adorable.”

Isabelle peeked as well at the screen to look at the online store Dire was scrolling through. “Aw. She'll like these.”

“I hope so.”

***

“Good morning, Prudence.” Clara greeted her assistant as she walked into the main office of the school.

“Good morning, Headmage.” The woman replied with a nod of her head.

“Anything of note this morning?”

“No, but a delivery came for you shortly after I came in. I left it on your desk.”

“Delivery?” Clara asked, trying to think of what it could it could be. “I wasn't expecting any deliveries.”

“It's seems to be a gift, ma'am. The tag said it was from Mr. Crowley of Night Raven.”

“Ah, I see. I'll take a look at it now. Thank you Prudence.” Clara opened the door to her office and was immediately greeted to the sight of a bouquet of white and pink roses in a glass vase on her desk.

She smiled at the sight as she admired the flowers, picking out the card that was addressed to her from it.

Then she noticed the two small boxes as well. One of the mice that was always sniffing around her office seemed rather interested in the smaller box. Opening it, she noticed it had the logo of a bakery she regularly went to, so she was delighted to see it full of her favorite pumpkin cookies inside. She was already thinking of how they would taste with her morning coffee. Before she got ahead of herself, she opened the slightly larger box. In it was a miniature open carriage. Pink with all the intricate little details molded onto the side painted in silver, it's little seats made with a soft white material. Clara thought it was adorable with all its little details. She set it down, the mouse scurried over to it to investigate. Crawling in, the little seat was just the right size for the little creature.

“Is that comfortable, Augusta?” Clara asked as she reached over to pet her.

Augusta the mouse squeaked in approval.

The fae woman chuckle to herself a bit before finally opening the card.

I hope you enjoy these gifts. I wanted you to have something special this year, simply because you deserve it. Happy Valentine's - Dire Crowley

Clara smiled. As obnoxious as Dire was, he knew when to be sweet. She picked up her phone as she sat in her chair, looking at Augusta the mouse drift off to sleep in the tiny carriage.

“Good morning, Clara.”

“Hello, Dire. I just got your gifts.”

“I hope you liked them.”

“I did, I wanted to call and thank you. They're very sweet.”

“I'm glad. Clara, now that I have you on the phone, I hope you'll let me treat you to dinner as well tonight if you're not busy.”

The corner of her lips curled up into a smile. “I'd like that, Dire.”

[chicinsilk]

UK Vogue April 1988

Christy Turlington is wearing a candy pink and apple green wool tweed suit. By Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel. PhotoArthur Elgort. Vogue UK April 1988, lapels, double breasted jacket, topstitched lapels, gold buttons and tweed, a side buttoned skirt. Miniature tweed handbag. White children's gloves. Large pearl and gold earrings. All by Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel. Scent note: Chanel n° 19. Hairstyle: James Bradshaw for Jean Louis David. Makeup: Mary Greenwell.

Christy Turlington porte un tailleur en tweed de laine rose bonbon et vert pomme. Par Karl Lagerfeld pour Chanel. Photo Arthur Elgort. Vogue UK avril 1988, revers, veste croisée, revers surpiqués, boutons dorés et tweed, une jupe boutonnée sur le côté. Sac à main miniature en tweed. Gants enfant blancs. Grosses boucles d'oreilles perlées et dorées. Le tout par Karl Lagerfeld pour Chanel. Note parfumée : Chanel n° 19. Coiffure : James Bradshaw pour Jean Louis David. Maquillage : Mary Greenwell.

Photo Arthur Elgort vogue archive

[riahlynn101]

Vanweek - Day Two: "Princess."

Day 2 of Vanweek pt.2! Thank you so much to @vanessaverse-official for all their hard work!

Hope you guys enjoy :D!!

--

Gregory giggled, skipping ahead. The sheet covering him fluttered in the wind. He had insisted on going as a ghost, and against Vanessa’s best judgment, she let him. 

The night was warm - rare for Halloween - and throngs of parents and kids traveled up and down the brightly-lit street. A slight breeze kept her from overheating in her dress. A large princess gown that Luis found while out shopping with Gregory. She didn’t exactly want to dress up like a princess, but….

(“You can be a princess, Mama ‘Nessa,” Gregory said, his big brown eyes staring up at her. “Please? I wanna go trick or treating with you, papa Luis, and daddy.”)

Vanessa inwardly groaned at the memory. How could she ever possibly say no to that adorably cherubic face, huh? The answer is she can’t. Not now. Not ever.

Luis got out of dressing up, only because he had to leave work to meet them. (The pizzaplex is oddly strict about their employees having any sort of fun or whimsy while on the clock). And Evan couldn’t leave his job in time for trick or treating, but Vanessa promised him that he could take Gregory next year (more like threatened, if she’s being honest). 

“Mama ‘Nessa?” Gregory asked.

“Yeah?”

“When will Papa Luis be here?”

Vanessa pulled out her phone, tucked away in a miniature handbag that came with the dress. “Uh…” She checked through her messages. “Looks…like any minute now. Do you want to start without him?”

Gregory shook his head. “Nuh, uh.”

She eyed the hordes of children everywhere, grabbing handfuls of candy. “You sure? There’s a lot of children already.”

“Mhm, I know. But I want to wait.”

Vanessa smiled. “Okay, let’s find a spot to sit then.” 

-x-x-x-

Day turned to night. The sky darkened and dark gray clouds covered the moon. Kids started to leave, their bags full. And porch lights shut off. 

Vanessa grew antsy, which in comparison to the eerily calm four-year-old, probably seemed kind of funny. She checked her phone for the twentieth time in five minutes. 

“Gregory,” Vanessa said. “It’s 8:30. Trick or treating ends at 9.” She scooted closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He took off his sheet when they sat down, it lay across his lap. “I know you wanted to wait for him, but if you want to-”

Gregory hopped off the bench, dragging his costume along with him. “Don’t worry, Mama ‘Nessa, I’ll go get Papa!” He took off, sprinting down the slowly darkening street. 

She gasped, memories of lost children coming back to her. Vanessa scrambled to her feet. “Gregory!” She hollered, but the boy was long gone. “Shit,” she cursed.

Hiking up the skirt of her ridiculously puffy dress, Vanessa did her best to run after him. 

Wind whistled through her hair, and sticks broke underneath her work shoes. The small number of people congregating on porches or in front yards didn’t pay her any mind, either too focused on securing the last little bit of candy or too drunk to care. 

“Greg-o-ry!” She shouted, desperate and terrified of what sort of dangers that could lie in wait for a little boy. Her foot caught on an uneven part of the sidewalk, sending her to the ground. 

The tiara Gregory had painstakingly placed on her head flew off. Vanessa could feel a sticky wetness and a stinging pain radiating from her palms and knees. Her stomach roiled. She didn’t want to see. The idea of seeing….that….dripping from an (most likely superficial) wound, made her want to throw up. 

“Vanessa?” 

Despite the familiarity of the voice, she startled. Vanessa sniffled, rubbing the back of her hand over her eyes. “‘M okay.”

Luis bent down. He held Gregory in his arms. “Your hands,” he muttered. 

She shook her head. “I…I don’t want to look.”

Vanessa could feel his eyes on her, as if searching for something. A memory. A recollection. But she had nothing except the faint sickness in her gut, reminding her of the blood on her hands.

“Okay,” he said, hitching Gregory up a little higher. “Let’s get you guys home.” He helped her up, using his one available arm to support her. 

-x-x-x-

A while later, after Luis took care of her knees and hands, they settled together on the couch. A halloween-themed movie played on the TV. One of the few that all three adults deemed was okay for Gregory to watch, and not one that Vanessa had ever seen before. 

A mostly empty bowl of popcorn sat on the coffee table in front of them.

Gregory laid asleep, sprawled out across them. His head lay in her lap, while his legs lay across Luis. Near immediately after they arrived home and put a movie on, he conked out. 

Vanessa stroked his hair. The terror she felt earlier still hadn’t all subsided, and only the constant reminder that Gregory’s okay, gave her a slight reprieve from her worries. 

“How’s your hands?” Luis whispered. 

Vanessa quirked an eyebrow. “...Fine….I guess.” She still couldn't bring herself to look at her hands, even though the injury was cleaned and bandaged. “Thanks for cleaning them up. I don’t think I could have….” she trailed off.

“Anytime,” he answered, understanding her completely.

“I do kind of feel bad.”

“Why?”

“For ruining halloween for Gregory.” Her fingers continued to comb through his hair. “He didn’t even get any candy.”

Luis laughed, laying his hand over hers. “I don’t think he cared about the candy.”

“Wha-” It hit her then, staring down at her pseudo-son’s peacefully sleeping face. Even in his sleep he looked happy and content. She looked at her boyfriend. “He wanted us.” Her eyes burned and tears threatened to fall. “He wanted us all together,” she warbled. 

Luis tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “And, if we’re assigning faults, I would be most to blame. I lost track of time trying to troubleshoot a sound problem for the main stage. I should have paid more attention.”

“It’s fine,” she murmured. “All’s well, that end’s well. And besides,” she said, “I think tonight was a success in all the ways that matter.”

[thefiresofpompeii]

i’m so obsessed with tiny tardis you don’t even know. put that thang in your handbag. carry-along miniature mad scientist

[maxbanshees]

3 & 4 (& 8 if they've been asked already) for the fourfold heated forum discussion 👁️

TEEHEE... no one took those.... and i coincidentally sent you 8 So I Am sending all of my followers to you tumblr blog like locusts. [no pressure tho. (just me and my locusts waiting for your thoughts [patiently])]

3. any ideas for how that experiment where daniil resurrected a woman went down?

i think if we're viewing Thanatica as a sort of intentionally ambiguous institution (like a child's idea of what a lawyer's firm is), then that event is similarly meant to draw on a vague collective image of public scientific demonstrations from the early 1900s.

so it's almost like the event only ever happens as it unfolds in everyone's minds! we kind of start placing all of the people in the crowd around.. what... a metal operating slab, but not too modern of an operating slab, it's got to have... ornate elements? antique jars around it? medical tools in a wooden box? a podium, somewhere beside it, for speeches? or is that unnecessary? is daniel in his snakeskin coat or a white operating gown? is aglaya younger? in civilian clothing? hair down? possessions in a handbag? wait, is the crowd big or small? are they in a public square? when did this woman die? did she live for much longer after being reanimated? is she naked? is her skin green or blue or gray? can you tell in the winter light? is it winter? was this event advertised? could it have been advertised legally? or was it word of mouth? why was aglaya there anyway?

that's the magic of the vagueness of daniil's thanatica days... i'm not opposed to getting a little specific about thanatica in p2, or at least getting specific about a Part of it, since i think p1 and p2 can exist as separate and interesting Creative projects (almost like... living? evolving? projects)... and i trust ipl's artistic direction... but it is fascinating how much p1 lets you Play around with its ideas in your mind.

4. anything that resonated with you in particular from the marble nest?

man not to sound corny (is about to sound corny) but i had done too much acid around the time i played it. and covid lockdown had started. so i had, on one level, a very stereotypical connection to the marble nest. like you know. you think you've broken your brain doing acid and are stuck in an infinitely stretched portion of time between breaking your brain on a violently cellular level, and death. and in this moment you are forced to reflect on all of your stupid careless Hubristic mistakes and all of the warning signs on the road to you being trapped here. amongst other things.

BUT. aside from the acid thing, the "miniaturization" (?) in the marble nest just... resonates with me? like. it takes place in a small portion of the map. the survival mechanics are so lenient and even insignificant. daniel's importance in the world has been utterly diminished. he's small and lonely and trapped in stone yard + the bits of the steppe he can access. almost like a little toy interacting with a miniature version of pathologic (especially when you talk with the committee & georgiy! they're like figureheads that represent different broad ideas in the game. ohh and. unrelated but. the coffin he emerges from at the starting vignette... transforming into a cradle in the "normal" version of house... wah.)

it's like. i don't know... it elicts sympathy and sadness and like tenderness in me.... It's Daniil's Miniature World. And You Must Be Gentle With Him While He's In It. Because You Are There With Him Too.

[axe meme]