#that and the whole thing I have about polyester

[chaotic-neutral-knitter]

I do think that if a clothing company is selling a cardigan for $100 then they should tell me where it was made and who made it. Even if it's just a tiny company. Like, yeah the design is cute but this solo person running a clothing company primarily via instagram certainly isn't making the cardigans themselves, so where is the fabric sourced and who is actually making them? Is this just fast fashion with a huge markup bc the design is niche and cute? Do they even know how the workers actually making the stuff are treated or do they just submit an order somewhere?

[aeide-thea]

extremely not a fan of online shopping for a few reasons, not least that dealing with returns in a timely fashion is stupidly hard when you have adhd, but unfortunately if you're specifically interested in merino it turns out a bunch of merino-focused brands are online-only... which is really pretty ironic considering that a significant part of what's driving my interest in merino is wanting an eco-friendlier alternative to plastics, and trucking packages back and forth really cuts into that eco-friendliness!

[lainsshop]

A Lovely Night ౨ৎ

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Tags: fluff(?), crack(?), developing relationship, dancing, singing, lalaland n probably more..

Song: A Lovely Night - La La Land

A/N: Sorry if it’s so bad even tho I just copied everything from the scene but please give feedback if it’s bad..

You n Alastor were walking around the empty streets of the Cannibal Colony.

He insisted that he wanted to spend the night together in a lil cafe to just “catch up” even tho you guys always see each other in the hotel, Hazbin Hotel.

It wasn’t unusual for you two to spend nights like this, you used to hang out before he disappeared for 7 whole years.. he still won’t tell you why cause nobody needs to know.. which it did kinda annoyed you but that’s how Alastor was and still is.

Even if it did annoyed you and his whole person itself, you still had developed a tiny crush on him, in your words anyways. You clearly had a crisis cause you’ve never had crushes so it was a new feeling for you.. you wanted to throw up and keep being in denial but sooner or later you will accept it so there was no point in hiding it.

Alastor knew you so clear as a book so he obviously knew about ur lil crush on him but he didn’t said anything cause he enjoyed your reaction to almost everything, it was entertaining after all. So he waited for you to just burst out but not without his “help”.

As you continue to walk, you suddenly tripped a bit. “Shit..” You said under your breathe. You don’t know why in hell did you wanted to wear heels today but here you are! Being an idiot..

“Those look uncomfortable.” Alastor said as his smile grew a bit wider. “They aren’t..” You responded, clearly a bit annoyed.

You two didn’t said anything further on until Alastor spoke up. “Thank you for this wonderful night, my dear, reminds me of the old times.” He said. “You didn’t give me much of a choice anyways.” You replied, Alastor just chuckled at that. “Oh but I know you enjoyed it either way.” “… whatever.” You said.

You continued to walk up a hill and stumble across the city skyline. A ribbon of lights, stretching as far as you can see. It’s the most romantic sight in hell that you’ve seen since who knows how long it as been. You looked at each other. A beat. And then..

You shrug. As you continue to walk a bit. “I’ve seen better.” You commented. “I have to agree with that.” Alastor responded as he walked to the pole and started to sing..

“The sun is nearly gone.. n the lights are turning on, a silver shine that stretches to the sea.” You knew Alastor could sing and all but you honestly didn’t expect that right now. He was many things that you couldn’t quite puzzle out. “We’ve stumbled on a view, that’s a tailor-made for two.. what a shame those two are you n me.” He said he walked towards you. You wanted to looked annoyed but the way he’s singing makes you wanna.. but you just rolled your eyes and walk towards somewhere else trying to ignore him. “Some other girl and guy, would love this swirling sky..” He said walking next to you. “But there’s only you and I, and we’ve got no shot,” You wanted to laugh at that but- “This could never be, you’re not the type for me.” He says as he’s smile grew a bit.

Oh, he was teasing you at this point. “Really?” You saiid unamused. “And there’s not a spark in sight, what a waste of a lovely night..” He sings before walking away.

You narrowed your eyes as you looked at him before clearing your throat. “You said there’s nothing here, well, let’s make something clear, I think I’ll be the one to make that call.” You sing along. “Not quite sure about that, darling.” He commented as he looked at you. “And though you looked so cute in your silky lil suit..”

“It’s polyester.”

“You’re right, I’d never fall for you at all..” You lied. “And maybe this appeals to someone not in heels.” You said as you walk to the bench. “Or any girl who feels, there’s some chance in romance but, I’m frankly feeling nothing..” You sing as Alastor looks at you still smiling as he raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” “Or it could be less than nothing.” “Good to know, so you agree?” “That’s right..”

“What a waste of a lovely night.” You both sang along.

Alastor sits next to you in the bench. You cross your leg as you take one of your heels and put on some more comfortable shoes. Alastor looked at his shoes and started to “accidentally” move dirt towards you, just to annoy you. You paused and give him a glare and lightly hit him in the chest and continue to put remove your other heel.

He started to mock you as he cross his leg too. As you finish with changing shoes, you two put your feet down and you looked at him suspiciously, and started to move in sync. Alastor turned to look at the view and looked at you, he tried to poke you but you stopped him.

As you two slide from to the other side of the bench, he grabbed your bag and tried to open it but you snatched it from him. He suddenly jumps onto the bench and starts dancing and gets off. You two suddenly started to move in sync and jump onto the bench once again looking at the view and then each other and jumped off the bench and started to really dance.

As you two stopped dancing, yall got closer and closer.. on that moment you just wanted to confess to him and everything. Oh, he was very much waiting for that. You slightly opened your mouth to speak and then-

Your cellphone ring started to go off, it was Charlie.

© LAINSSHOP 2024

Tag List: @thisisafish123

[zvaigzdelasas]

A few years ago, I noticed that a number of factories in China had started opening TikTok accounts and posting footage from their assembly lines. The videos offered a rare glimpse into global supply chains, and millions of Western TikTok users marveled at teddy bears being stuffed with polyester fiberfill, machines dipping gardening gloves into hot liquified nitrile rubber, and quality assurance testers seeing whether cheap cigarette lighters worked. (My friend and former colleague Andrew Deck wrote a great story about factory TikTok for Rest of World in 2021.)

Since then, hundreds of other Chinese factories have joined TikTok. Some of them produce industrial equipment that would never be bought by normal people, like dump trucks or bottle labeling machines. And while the older factory accounts were often created by marketing agencies, these newer ones seem to largely be the work of earnest salespeople trying to find new customers. Many of them are relying on AI translation and text-to-speech tools, making the videos unintentionally sound very funny.

One of these manufacturers is a company called Donghua Jinlong, which is headquartered in Hebei province about 200 miles from Beijing. It sells “high quality industrial grade glycine,” a type of nutritional additive that evidently sounds silly and abstract to people who never need to think about how processed food is made. Donghua Jinglong and its glycine have become a relatively big meme on TikTok, Instagram, and X over the last few days, and some of the company’s videos are getting over 100,000 views (even though its official account only has roughly 4,400 followers).

Donghua Jinlong itself, however, doesn’t seem to have any idea what’s going on. People in the comments keep begging it to make official merch, but the company doesn’t understand why anyone would want a sweatshirt or t-shirt with the name of an industrial manufacturer on it. Shitposters have also started referencing the Donghua Jinlong meme in the comments of videos from other Chinese factories.

A company called HengYuan, for example, posted a video of what can only be described as a machine for filling Tide Pods, and one of the top comments is someone asking “Could you pack food grade glycine in this?”

Clearly baffled, HengYuan responded, “No. This is used to pack detergent in PVA Film.”

The Donghua Jinlong meme is a great microcosm of what’s actually happening on TikTok when it comes to content from China. Some people might argue that Chinese manufacturers are choosing to post on the app because its parent company, ByteDance, is also from China. In other words, these factories could be held up as an example of TikTok allowing Chinese influence to grow in the US (albeit a bizarre one).

But Donghua Jinlong also has a Facebook page with even more followers, it’s just that no one is engaging with its posts there. That’s because there are likely very few people searching social media for a new glycine supplier at any given time. TikTok, however, doesn’t rely on users to actively seek out content, it serves videos to them via an algorithm. So now tons of random people are coming across glycine manufacturers and Tide Pod machines by accident, and they’re happily turning the whole thing into a joke.

I personally find these videos to be fascinating, both because It’s cool to learn how things are made, and because they provide the opportunity to watch in real time what happens when random Chinese companies come into contact with American social media users. I don’t think this is the type of Chinese influence lawmakers are imagining when they worry about TikTok, but it’s arguably much more interesting and human.

[deandoesthingstome]

Exactly What His Heart Meant

Pairing: Pornstar!August Walker x Pornstar!Reader

Summary: August Walker has wanted you forever. You want him, too. It's perfect.

Word Count: 7.4K

Warnings: This is Pornstar!AU, okay? 18+ ONLY Drug and alcohol use, mentions of a three-way, generic anal, bad business practices, oral sex (F & M receiving), vaginal fingering, anal fingering, P in V missionary and doggy style, sex toys, pegging (gasp - yes I'm going there), aftercare. Love.

A/N: I am nervous, okay? This is not your average everyday August Walker, but I love him and I hope you do too. I have been wanting to do this since forever. I've posted a few blurbs in WIP tag games here and here. I gushed about the song that kicked the whole thing into high gear and the fic title is taken from "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?" - Rod Stewart. Both songs can be found on the playlist.

Bonus points if you can find the nods to other HC characters. There is definitely one, maybe two or three if you squint hard. (These points don't get you anything, sorry.)

Playlist: Listen to the music of the night on Spotify here.

Header and dividers by me.

August owned his entrance like no other. The studio made sure to send a PA ahead to prep the DJ and once he heard the first strains of “Night Fever” spill out of the club, he stepped out of the shadows and headed to the entrance, ready to start his decent down into the lights and glitter and debauchery as soon as Here I am sounded through the speakers and a spotlight made its way to him.

The already celebratory crowd went wild as he struck the iconic pose and thrust his hips in time to the rhythm. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he tried, no matter how he had protested his employer’s choice for him. He would have sworn on any stack of bibles he didn’t like disco and abhorred polyester, yet here he was gyrating away. First time for everything. Starting with enjoying this awards night and after-party.

Each one prior had a story already attached to it from the beginning of the night, starting with his inaugural ceremony and guaranteed newcomer award, and trailing through the end of every relationship he thought would be the one. He finally stopped assuming because they said yes to the event after a few months or more of dating, that meant they were saying yes to him forever. The next few years were brutal and lonely, not that he couldn’t find some starfucker to take home at the end of the night, but that wasn’t what he craved.

Tonight was Club Retro themed. Award ceremony glamor as usual, but a costume change was required somewhere on the way from the venue to the after-party if you wanted to really up your game. Arrive in club gear of whichever era you wanted, but arrive dressed to impress nonetheless. He wasn’t the only actor a studio had convinced to go for the Travolta look, but he was probably the most surprised to find himself exhilarated by it and the attention it received. He kept all three pieces of the white suit, but he ditched the dark blue shirt altogether. Maybe he didn’t have a full head of hair, but the ‘stache and chest hair on display held 70’s swagger and he was running with it. 

He grabbed a glass of champagne from one tray and a pill from another and set off into the crowd in search of the rest of his crew. He caught glimpses of the fresh-faced sweetheart who’d just inked a new deal grinding on the studio’s number two out on the dance floor and knew his plan to link them up had worked. The fans would eat them up, he knew it. 

Knew it better than the owner, who wanted August to break her in. Ethan had begun making some really bad casting and scripting decisions and August was glad his contract was coming to an end. He was starting to feel like he wanted to just blow the whole studio up, let loose with all the bullshit he knew about his boss and how he ran his business. The industry could be awful, plenty of horror stories, but August had initially thought he’d found a place to call home. 

What he’d begun to uncover about Ethan Hunt could fill a manifesto that would take the place down. And as crazy as it sounded, though he was tired of breaking in new talent, he wasn’t ready to be the reason all his friends lost their jobs. Not everyone was in a position to land on their feet. Regardless, at least now, with the sweetheart and the roughneck on a solid trajectory he wouldn’t be in the middle of something if tonight panned out the way he hoped.

Though, to be honest, it wasn’t looking good. He’d found his crew and then scanned the room for her with no luck. 

“She hasn’t shown up yet,” his agent purred in his ear. Kelis was always down to party whenever he had an itch no one else would scratch, and he appreciated how decidedly non-attached she always was. No clingy phone calls or pouting over non-existing anniversaries. It aggravated him, though, that she was looking to seduce him here, tonight of all nights. Especially because she knew where his mind would likely be, but it didn’t stop her from begging for his cock every now and then. He could tell she’d gotten the hint his look gave by the way she toned it way down to answer his next question.

“A few from her studio have shown up but she wasn’t with them and they wouldn’t tell me where she was. It was all very secretive. So at least let me have my way with you on the dance floor if you won’t take me home tonight. Please?”

He relented and found himself having the time of his life. Song after song flew by as he grabbed water then whisky, a line, then water, another line, then whisky, water, whiskey, whisky, water. Dancing with Kelis gave him a chance to forget about his frustration with his studio and everyone, here or not, for the moment. He let himself be free and felt a weightlessness he hadn’t in a long time. No call sheets waiting at home. No scenes to prep. No “scripts” to read. Tonight and the next two weeks were his and his alone. Time for some decisions.

He noticed the crowd had begun to thin, and realized he wanted some fresh air, so he peeled himself away from Kelis with a promise-to-return kiss and tap on the ass. He took the elevator to the rooftop bar and found himself a little amazed at the streaks of light just beginning to emerge in the distance. Time had really flown while he was having fun.

He was about to head towards the drinks when he spotted her leaning against the railing in the opposite direction. The white-golden hair flowing behind her was an obvious wig. He’d seen her step to the stage to accept multiple awards tonight (or is it last night now?) and she had looked just as gorgeous with her natural color as she did all done up in her Farrah waves now. An unexpected jolt of excitement coursed through his veins as he realized she’d also opted for a 70’s look, complete with a scandalously (though by whose standards?) short metallic silver skirt with slits on either side and what he assumed was a matching top, though with her back to him as she peered out over the awakening city, all he really saw where the two thin silver chains that criss-crossed across her back. They looked like they would hold nothing up.

But she was alone and he knew it was now or never, so he strolled around the roof-top pool to step up beside her.

"I’m glad I finally found you. I wanted to congratulate you. It's not often a producer gets awards for both behind and front of camera work," he opened.

She turned her head and beamed a dazzling smile in return before thanking him and offering her own congratulations along with her hand and then a surprisingly friendly hello hug.

“I saw you nailed Best Male Performer and Best Anal again. Your Missionary: Impossible series was a true stroke of genius. I wish I had thought of it first.”

“So she’s not immune,” August thought as he peeled himself away from her warm body. “She remembers my name.” At least she recognized his star status. Maybe she hadn’t forgotten him. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand and trained his eyes on her through his lashes.

“You know I’d love to have you join the cast,” he spoke as he finished the hello hand kiss and lifted his head to gaze directly at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes that scream ‘spy’ quite as much as yours do.”

“And I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a producer acting for another studio. You’ve got balls to ask, that’s for sure,” she laughed, tossing back the rest of her whisky before grabbing another off the tray passing by.

“Where’ve you been all night? I tried to find you right after the ceremony, but you disappeared and I had to run for a wardrobe change.” August tossed a casual grin and motioned at the cheesiness of his costume, though inside he was kicking himself. 

The point of engaging wasn’t to offer her a part. How ridiculous! He’d been doing that for months now and she wasn’t biting. No. Tonight he was going to get answers. Why had she consistently denied him another shot with her? It had to be more than just the technicalities of trying to untangle ownership and percentages filming another studio’s producer would bring. She broke into his train of thought with an explanation of her quick and sudden departure from the award banquet and why she hadn’t arrived at the after party locale for what had to be at least a few hours.

“Already prepping material for next year. We had a newcomer attend with the studio tonight. He’s an absolute stud. Looking to get his name out there so we filmed his first scene backstage.”

August’s hopeful heart sank a little. He couldn’t expect her not to keep putting out material just because his advances might finally be successful, but it would take all his cool charm and guile to woo her if she was already cock-drunk tonight. He put out another feeler.

“You look well put back together already,” he commented, eyes tracing her figure with obvious intent.

“Oh not me. No, I was directing. Looking to nab that ‘behind the scene newcomer’ award next year,” she beamed, her smile still welcoming. “No, Mikey did a little gonzo three-way for his first official movie with Darkk Angel. We’re releasing it next week after a quick trip to post and then have him lined up for three more scenes next month. I’m wondering if we can talk AVN into a “most prolific” award.” Her laughter was infectious and he found himself with a wide grin, verging on goofy in spite of his aim.

“You’ve never directed? How have I missed that?” August sought to focus attention away from whoever this Mikey kid was and back on her completely, then mentally kicked himself again for admitting something that could only make him look desperate and maybe a little creepy. From his statement, and along with all the official asks from his agent, she had to think he was a stalker, completely obsessed with her. 

Not that he wasn’t. Not since that very first time. Her “first’ anal scene. He understood she had to be a little overwhelmed at that shoot with so many people on set. She had clearly already fucked the director (for a scene) and was now just taking on a few actors who were already on a rise. It was his last commitment to the old studio and then he was off to a new contract with Hunt. God, he wished he could have taken her with him. As it was, the only thing he kept was her scent that lingered not long enough.

"You know, I've asked my agent about another scene with you more times than any other actor. He never has a good enough reason to tell me no. What gives?" August inquired.

She debated telling him the truth. That she was completely enamored of him despite, only having met once, and afraid to ruin her own fantasy. Yes, she thought about him often. She’d be lying if she said otherwise.

But what if he refused her counter-offers? What if he didn't play the way she had come to discover she wanted sometimes, needed even?

She could accept if his big dick in her pussy or ass was all he'd agree to again for one scene. But she wanted more. More than a scene. More than a spectacle.

"Industry's hottest stars finally fucking again!" she imagined the trade headlines would scream, not bothering to temper her own ego about her status.

And which studio got the rights? His or hers? Of course she would never give up the rights to those shots, those stills, that video. It had been years since any studio other than the one she owned had any rights to any images of her. Why August Walker didn't make the same professional move she had was beyond her, but at least she could play the upper hand if it came down to it. It was power to own the rights to your own material and that power trumped his studio contracts. Or at least she'd make that case. Plus Ethan Hunt was a little bitch and she’d be damned if she contributed to his profits in any way.

Still, she couldn’t get past the concern that having his big dick in her ass again would ruin her for anyone else ever again. It wasn't the size. Hell, she'd had two almost equal to him in there just the other day.

No. It was the fantasy. Not only what she already knew of his prowess, though if she’d improved over time, and she knew she had, he had to have gotten better too. But also what she imagined she knew based on the stories she'd heard. Stories about his true personality as well as the image she made up in her head based on tidbits of their past and innuendos of his present.

On set, she'd heard he’d become a bit of a prick. Even worse when the storyline called for Daddy. Not that it didn't make her wet to watch. And daydream about. Calling him Daddy, mmmm.

Except that wasn't her. Not her kink. Not her need. Not really.

And off set? Well, lips are usually loose in the industry, but somehow very few factual stories about dating August Walker were out there. Most of what she'd heard was easily dispelled rumor.

No, he wasn't into animal play. Either kind. Good.

No, he didn't force his partners to sleep in separate rooms after finishing. Why would someone even start that rumor? To what end? 

Her private private detective had tracked down the source and verified quickly. It was a little bit of column a, a little bit of column b. The studio was looking to cash in on the mystery and intrigue of their dashing playboy, and a jilted date wanted more. Who wouldn't want more of him? But that choice was self-sabotaging to say the least.

She was well aware that some women, and men for that matter, liked to imagine their favorite actor to be the world's largest asshole. No, not that way. 

That was the way she liked to imagine him. And the basis for her declination. He'd never say yes. She was sure of it.

And yet here he was. Blushing at the mere mention. Maybe she should have countered with that when he first started seeking her out. But she hadn't been ready to give up the rush she felt every time a message from Hunt Club studios appeared in her inbox.

August felt the heat rise in his cheeks and knew someone out there would say he was blushing, but August Walker does not blush.

As she leaned in, he swiped another surreptitious peek at her gorgeous and barely covered tits, though he was so smooth no one could have seen this time. Not that it mattered. He was right about the thin silver chains holding onto barely anything up front. Where she found tissue paper thin metallic material, he had no idea but her nipples showed through what little fabric there was making up the plunging neckline of the deep-vee tank, as if they weren’t also practically peeking out of the top as it was. She had them on display for a reason. But he was trying to make a move here. Trying to differentiate himself from the rest of the industry players and hangers-on hoping for a hook-up after the awards.

Champagne and liquor had flowed all night, powder cut, pills popped. He was tipsy but it was really the sunrise inching its way into the sky behind her, here on this rooftop bar next to the pool full of drunken, naked bodies, and the angelic halo circling the crown of her head that had him staring back into her eyes in no time, enraptured. Well, that and her reply.

“I have certain … desires that I’m not convinced you’d be amenable to and I didn’t want to alienate you.”

He went on to ask, no - insist, she explained her terms, right here right now. And she obliged, clarifying that she didn’t intend to be filmed at all. That her interest in climbing into bed with him was related only to the burning desire she’d felt to track him down, beg him for more, practically every day since that shoot. And the thing that convinced her not to bother was the never ending stream of talent she’d seen draped around him months, years later. 

But she wouldn’t, couldn’t deny that she wanted him. Wanted to relive that moment and then build on it. Take the scene farther than was written. Fuck him right off the page and into her life forever. It was indescribable the way he felt listening to her narrate her desire to own him. She was only mentioning the bedroom, but he got the feeling she meant the heart as well.

Still, she was being mysterious with the details, so August began to mention specifics. What he wouldn’t do.

"I won't lick your boots," he'd said with a grin after a shorter than expected list, still wavering on if he actually meant to convey the opposite.

"Maybe not," she replied before leaning in and whispering in his ear as he tilted down to meet her. It was clear from her next sentence that she’d finally figured out he’d say yes. He was practically begging for it right here in front of these few end-of-the evening stragglers. "But you will take every inch of me."

Negotiations had already begun and this was just ink on the dotted line. Along with a string of consent questions with compatible answers and now she knew his safeword and he knew hers. It wasn’t what it used to be. Because things can change. But not his desire for her.

He brushed past her non-binding handshake and drew her in for a confirmation kiss, hands gently pulling her waist towards him. “You still smell the same. It drives me crazy,” he admitted before pressing his lips to hers with a smile. Then he broke the kiss, which had begun to turn lascivious even for the nature of the event, afraid they’d never make it off the roof-top if he didn’t.

He gave a deceptively shy smile and knowing nod to Kelis as he passed her on his way out with the true object of his desire draped along his arm.

She sent her limo off with whatever crew was left at the party before climbing into the back of his. They had no sooner pulled away from the curb and begun to make their way to his hi-rise apartment building than the driver’s shield went up and she went down, unzipping his trousers and slipping her hand in to coax him out. 

She had gotten incredibly better at sucking dick in these interim years. But it was like she was finally home. Like her mouth opened magically around him to hold him close and taste his skin. It took everything in his power not to blow his load down her throat in the car. He wanted to be in her pussy when he came and there wasn’t much he wanted more at this moment.

He managed to pull her off and get her back on the seat, legs spread and ready to take his shoulders as he slipped his tongue deep inside her core. Moving the floss she’d bothered to pull on out of his way wasn’t hard in the least. He had her screaming by the time the limo pulled up outside his building.

August draped his suit jacket over her shoulders before he helped her out of the car and into the lobby. When the elevator doors closed around them, she turned and pressed him back into the wall, staring up at him with hunger and power equally.

“That’s the last time you call the shots tonight. I’m taking my shoes off as soon as we walk in your door, so you can’t accuse me of asking you to lick my boots. But you will be on your knees and you will put your mouth back on my pussy and do that one more time before anything else happens tonight. Understood?”

He stared down at her with amusement that morphed into understanding that ended in solemnity before the ding at his floor broke the silence.

“Yes ma’am,” he finally replied, resigned to her whim. He opened the lock with practiced ease, nothing shaking out of fear but only vibrating with anticipation. How had he missed her meaning all those years ago? 

“I wish I could show you how this feels,” she’d whispered in his ear as he held her chest tight against his. “But it’s nothing compared to how it feels from behind.”

At the time he thought she had meant for him to turn her around, still on top of him but back to chest. So he did. And she liked it. She came like a banshee and that squeeze is something they can’t fake. That’s what wins the awards anyway. The audience knows it’s acting, but when they can tell it’s something the actor actually wants, when the chemistry is kinetic, the high is so much higher. 

Clearly she’d had so much more in mind. When she came back down, he made sure to check the front door lock before he turned back to scoop her quivering body into his arms and carry her down the hall to his bedroom.

“Don’t think I’m anywhere near done with you just because I’m a wreck right now,” she called to him as he set her onto his bed. “Where are you going?”

“I would never think you’d consider that enough for an evening. I want to freshen up, if you don’t mind. May I?” August quirked an eyebrow awaiting her response and it was clear he’d come right back to the bed if she forbade it. No questions asked. But she allowed it and that only made him ache for her more. He’d be quick.

“Damn right you will!” she called out after him before ridding herself of her own garments. 

Her hand must have found its way to the soaking mess between her legs and this is how August found her when he stepped out of the bathroom a very short while later, rubbing a towel over his head after peeling it off his body. He watched her luxuriate in the slippery slide feel of her fingers dipping in and out, rubbing, pinching, pumping, pumping, pumping.

He dipped carefully onto the bed. He had no desire to startle her out of her joy, he only wanted to witness it up close. He crawled alongside her and watched as her chest heaves softened and listened as her sighs became longer. When she finally opened her eyes on a deep inhale, he smiled at her.

“May I join you?” So respectful.

“Kiss me,” she commanded, and while he heeded she lifted his arm and guided his hand between her legs. “And touch me,” she whispered into his mouth. 

He obeyed. His fingers drifted through her folds and made use of the slick that remained to press up into her. One, two, one, two. And now three. And now she’s grinding up against his hand and breaking the kiss to demand more and he’s giving it to her but it’s not enough, is it?

“More,” she cried out. “Fuck me, August.”

He was grateful at that moment for two revelations from the rooftop. He already knew his own status, testing often despite Hunt’s lackadaisical studio regulations. But she had shared that her studio adopted the standard of routine and regular testing early on and therefore she knew exactly what her status was, too. And, coupled with the fact that she had the implant, she had no qualms going bare. All these things led to the next thing he was grateful for and that was the feel of her pussy wrapped all the way around him as he slipped his prodigious cock deep inside her. 

He mused he could do this all night. Or rather all day and into the night, when the moon began to rise again. Because it wasn’t night at all. It was broad daylight now and it was streaming in through the mirrored windows. Nobody could see it, even if they did find themselves on level with the height of his apartment. But no curtains meant he could see the way the sunlight brightened her face and it made him want to see all of her.

“Will you take it off, too?” he asked, staring down at her while he pistoned his hips into hers and felt her open and warm around him. “Please?”

He wasn’t used to begging. As much as he wasn’t a blusher, he definitely wasn’t a beggar but he found himself wanting to do anything for her and she wanted him to beg. Or at least ask nicely. And he wanted to obey. For the first time, maybe ever, August Walker wasn’t in charge.

She obliged and pulled the wig off easily. It wasn’t even pinned on, there was so much bang to cover the cap. All that meant was she was able to free her natural hair with ease and he was thankful. Now she lay bare before him and he got to take a good long, up close and personal look before she took it all away.

Faster than he would have preferred she slipped back and eased him out, but turned just as quickly to take him in her mouth. August let his eyes fall closed while he relished the feeling of her mouth around his cock again, but just when it started feeling really good, it also started feeling too good. If she continued he was going to come and he really meant it when he decided he wanted to be inside her for that. And not her mouth.

“Please,” it was practically a whisper. She almost hadn’t heard. But she let go with a pop and asked.

“What was that?”

“Please,” he begged again, raspy but with sound this time, voice hitching as she took him back in her mouth for just the briefest of sucks.

“What are you asking for?”

When he pleaded again with a cracked voice, she smiled as she let go.

“What is it, August? Huh? What do you want? Or not want?”

“Please…please don’t.” he stuttered as she continued to toy with him. Dick in and then out of his mouth with no concern for his predicament.

“Say it, August. Ask nicely.”

“Don’t make me come,” he begged, even as she sank to wrap her lips around him once more. “Please.”

“If that’s what you want. You only have to ask. Nicely.” She was so proud of him and he could feel that. Could tell she’d do anything for him. And let him do anything for her.

“Let me fuck you,” he asked. “Please. Just ….”

“Don’t bother saying it, you and I both know 5 minutes turns into 20 in no time,’ she laughed with him as she lay back with her legs spread wide for him. He stayed kneeling between her legs and watched her face explode with pleasure as he rocked deep and strong inside of her. He wasn’t trying to overcome her, wasn’t looking to establish any kind of dominance. Not on purpose at least. Because the fact of the matter was, that no matter how much he wanted to let her be in charge, it just came so naturally to him. It was hard to drop that mantle. Especially while fucking into her and watching her fall apart around him.

Then she shook her head and through sheer will, dragged herself back from the precipice to snake an arm up his chest, fingers drifting to his neck and drawing him down against her. 

“Kiss me again, August,” she commanded and he obliged with no hesitation. It wasn’t that he couldn’t resist and instead put her right back in the trance his cock had caused, but he didn’t want to. They’d agreed on this night. Agreed what it would mean. He was finally getting what he’d craved all these years. And so was she.

Their tongues tangled while his fingertips traveled over velvety skin, her legs wrapped around hips, his thick member pistoned in and out of her wet and slippery cunt that she controlled so well. She hadn’t been wrong. August imagined he could stay like this forever if she’d let him, drowning in her glory, ego stroked with every gasp and whimper and cry of hers. It was music to his ears. He’d heard enough fake moans and pants over the years to know what the real thing sounded like and he never wanted to give it up.

When he felt her squeeze tight around him for the second time, he began to slow, sure that more than twenty minutes had passed but completely uninterested in confirming his suspicion. No, he wanted her on her knees again.

“Can I have you from behind?” he murmured in her ear after kissing his way along her cheek and neck. “Just for 5 minutes.”

She could feel his grin, but before she could compose an appropriate response, he’d shifted, changed tempo and hit a different spot that had her howling and fighting the urge to beg him for more. Even then brief respite she’d have while they switched positions should allow her to gather her wits and tamp down her desire to just let him rail her into the next day. Because tonight was for something more. So she pushed him back away from her, flipped and pulled herself to all fours while crawling towards the center of the bed.

With a seductive glance over her shoulder, she called to him, “Come and get it, stud.”

Five minutes in heaven. That’s all she was going to allow him. She pressed her chest down into the bed and let him drag her hips into the air, flesh captured under his strong fingers. She screamed into the sheets as August directed her pleasure with practiced skill and just when she felt she couldn’t hold on any longer, he slipped a saliva-coated thumb into her ass and sent her reeling. He’d timed it perfectly. 

“You’re done,” she fought through her haze to flip to her back and clarify. “We still have a deal, right?”

She watched him stroking himself lazy and slow to stay hard while his eyes blinked shut with relief almost involuntarily. 

“Yes,” he replied, his exhale full of yearning. “Will you show me?”

“Show you what, August? Hmm?” she asked with a tilt of her head, pleased he was finally ready to give in to what he’d already agreed to back on that rooftop.

“Show me how it feels.” It wasn’t a question, yet still not a command. He’d never dare to command her. Not until she was ready for him to. And that wasn’t tonight.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that since we met.”

All those years. All that time. August closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and told himself it’s fine. It’ll be fine. He pulled back a bit from the ledge that he wanted to step over for missing her meaning all along. As if she could read his mind, she spoke from somewhere that felt like a dream.

“I’m glad you waited though. I wasn’t ready either. I was trying to get over my nerves and thought a little brazen tease directed at the top talent on set would help. But I’ve discovered I really do like sharing that experience, knowing I can make a man feel the way he makes me feel. Make him understand how much better it is when it's from someone who cares."

When he opened his eyes, she was pulling herself up to her knees to meet him. He felt her hands trace along his chest as she pressed her lips to his. It was almost sweet, but definitely a relief. She really did want this as much as he did.

For a mini-eternity, they let their tongues tangle and hands roam. August shivered as her nails traced down his back with the perfect dig and smiled into her lips as he thought about the red lines he’d be left with the next day. He cradled the nape of her neck as even on knees he towered over her and let a hand drift down the soft skin of her side and around her waist to cup her ass.

When her hands finally landed in the same spot on him, he felt another layer of tension release as she caressed and squeezed each cheek with passion. She broke the kiss and nuzzled down his chest, landing on her elbows before him. With eagerness, she took hold of his still invigorated member, gave a few soft strokes, and then put him back in her warm, wet, inviting mouth. 

But this blowjob had an ulterior motive that August felt as soon as it turned sloppy and her saliva began to drip and pool around him. With a now slick hand, she slipped her fingers off the base of his cock and in between his legs, tracing past the waxed-bare skin off his balls and teasing his entrance.

She circled and smoothed and kneaded until he finally felt a finger ease past the first ring of muscle and he had to put a hand on her head to slow the bob that was already threatening to pull his orgasm too soon. Surely she didn’t want that, did she?

August dropped his head back with a groan of pleasure as she let her spit drop onto her fingers again before pressing a second digit inside, just beginning to open him up to all her possibilities. It already felt so, so good. If this was all she did for him, it was worth it, but not really what he wanted. He’d had a few other lovers tease him like this, but he always stopped them short, still too nervous to let them go all the way to where he needed.

He’d kept this part of himself secret, shared it with no one, tested it only when alone. He knew it was stupid to hide this craving, especially given how exposed he allowed himself to be on film. But this was something different. Something personal. Private. That’s what he told himself. And he let his stature in the industry dictate the type of man he was in a bedroom, with a woman but without the cameras, for far too long.

His head was spinning as her tongue licked his length and her fingers teased and touched. She was pressing and pushing deeper and when she finally found his spot it took every ounce of willpower to maintain composure. He still wanted more of her, still didn’t want to come yet.

It dawned on him then that she hadn’t brought an overnight bag with change of clothes for the morning or toys for the evening. Just her ridiculously sexy wisp of an outfit and a tiny clutch that couldn’t have hidden even a bottle of lube, let alone the tool she needed to fulfill their bargain. She’d promised him he’d take every inch of her. Could she really have meant only this? Was she expecting him to come as she beckoned inside him?

“I can hear your thoughts, August” she purred up at him with a smile, mouth off his dick, but fingers still toying with him. “I don’t want to stop here either. I’m sure you can help me out, can’t you?”

She felt him tense and knew he was weighing the pros and cons of admitting what she had guessed when he agreed to take her home immediately without offering to make a stop along the way. August had his own equipment. No doubt about it.

“It’s okay,” she soothed, removing her fingers completely and returning to her knees to kiss him hard and deep before speaking to him on his level. “You don’t have to hide anymore. Show me what you need.” 

She watched the seas of his eyes storm with fear before settling into calm as she held his gaze with no judgment, no mockery. She kissed him again, licked into the space between his lips and felt the passion as he held her tight, almost holding on for his life while he kissed her back.

When he finally broke free, he stepped back off the bed and opened the nightstand to remove a bottle of lube before he moved across the room to a mirrored armoire. He opened the doors and removed a sleek, black box which he brought back to place slowly on the nightstand, clearly deep in thought. And then he hesitated, hands resting on the lid of the box, head down.

“I don’t…” he started, and she felt a small ache in her heart. She had never seen him so vulnerable. Not that she spent much time alone with him at all, but this was truly a side she hadn’t quite expected after everything she knew about him.

“We can take our time, August,” she spoke with a careful tone and no desire to spook him. He remained still and she felt reassured he wasn’t running, not in his mind or his body. When he spoke, she had to stifle a small laugh for fear she would send him running from misplaced shame.

“I only mean, I don’t have a harness for you.” He turned, fingertips of only one hand still on the closed box, eyes scanning hers for understanding. And she understood completely.

She moved closer to the edge of the bed and grinned at him. “Oh, August. Oh baby, this is what has you worried? You think I can’t make it good for you if I’m not wearing it?” She watched this new layer of tension begin to melt away as he registered her words. “August Walker, I meant what I said and I can’t wait to fuck you however I can. And believe me, I know how to make it good.”

She waited for him to relax, to speak, to return to his usual manner and let her back in. Then she took a calculated breath, dropped the timbre of her voice, and called to him.

“And you’re going to let me, aren’t you August?”

Her eyes dropped just in time to see the twitch in his still hard-cock and she knew he was back and ready to let her have him. He flipped the lid to the lacquer box with one finger and revealed a small treasure trove of devices, any of which she’d be thrilled to treat him with. With no idea how prepared he really was, she let him choose. 

“Will you start with this?” August handed her not the smallest, but not the largest either and she accepted willingly. “It’s been a minute.”

With complete understanding she led him back into bed on his knees before grabbing the lube from the nightstand and setting about her business. Kisses first. Deep and hungry. She wanted his tongue down her throat and he obliged while she held the dildo and lube in one hand and stroked his rock hard cock with the other. 

Before too long, she’d dropped the toy to the bed and flipped the lid to the tube, using proprioception to drop several dollops onto her open hand before reaching between his spread legs while still commanding his kiss. Her fingers smoothed the viscous fluid over his entrance and dipped a little in with a finger before she reached for the prosthetic and smeared the rest around the tip and down the base.

Her lips left his reluctantly as she ordered him to hands and knees while she maneuvered behind him. With practiced skill, she massaged and manipulated her fingers inside him once more, listening for the moans and groans that told her he was ready for her to place the tip alongside a finger and ease the toy inside. She watched him carefully, moving slowly and waiting for him to relax fully before she slipped the whole thing in and he took it with the sweetest grunt.

“You’re doing so good for me, August. Just like I knew you would. Does it feel good?” she questioned, while gently pulling and pushing, twisting and pressing, smiling when he answered in the affirmative. With each motion she listened for the sounds that would tell her where and how it felt best and she was quick to learn his needs.

“Fuck…just like that,” he begged and hitched back into her, already wanting more.

“Impatient,” she teased lightly as she shifted to the side so she could both lean over to capture his lips again and still work the toy in and out of his slowly writhing body. She kept him wanting, shifting the speed and direction, for as long as he could last before he finally begged for the real thing.

She left him face down and ass up while she switched gear, careful to add more lube to both him and the larger phallus. But when she was ready to finally give him what he wanted, she paused for just a moment to consider orientation. She was certain positioning him to face the mirror would be too much for this first time together, but there would be others, she was sure now.

Other times to see the exquisite pain she knew would soon drip down his face as she wielded the apparatus and gave him every inch he asked for. She ran a hand up his back and grabbed onto his shoulder for more leverage as she worked him into a frenzy. He was bucking back into her and the moans that drifted from his lips were music to her ears. All the practice and care she’d taken, learning how to please a lover this way were paying off.

She knew how it felt, knew how he was riding each high and low. Watched him relax into his pleasure, at times letting her control him completely before he shifted his hips and dug into the bed with hands and knees to find purchase that would allow him to grind hard onto the sizable dildo she brandished with expertise. She’d go all night like this if he wanted.

As his circuits finally broke, she could see the waves of pleasure begin to ripple along his spine. He was coming furiously hard, perhaps harder than he had in a long time, no matter how many uses this toy of his had gotten on his own. She was that good at sensing and feeling and pushing and pulling exactly how and when and where he needed.

And August definitely needed. That much was abundantly clear as he collapsed fully to the bed, panting and gasping for air as he rode the waves of his lingering orgasm. She could see him twitching and knew the feeling because it was exactly how she felt after everyone of the orgasms he’d given her tonight. Like an explosion of sensation she never wanted to come down from and she’d given that to him finally.

She left him to catch his breath and stepped to the bathroom to run warm water over a soft washcloth and grab a fresh towel on the way back. When he was cleaned and dry, she tucked into the covers with him and pulled him to her, guiding his head to her chest.

“You feel okay? Need anything else right now?” she asked him quietly as her hand drifted up and down his back.

“I wanted to come inside you,” August admitted with an exhausted sigh.

“We’re gonna have a lifetime of that.”

Everything HC Taglist: If this isn't your thing, no hard feelings? (as always, let me know if you want on or off; if you've asked and your aren't here, try me again but know that Tumblr sometimes doesn't let me tag everyone.)

@sillyrabbit81 @mayloma @geralts-yenn @raccoon-eyed-rebel @kebabgirl67 @beck07990 @itsrubberbisquit @sweetdreamsofgelato @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @alexakeyloveloki @marantha @aireraume @angelmather1 @lizzystuffsthings @enchantedbytomandhenry @omgkatinka @littlefreya @avengersfan25 @just-chirpin @thesaucynomad @valacirca @henryownsme @summersong69 @foxyjwls007 @peyton-warren @irishavengersassemble @brattymum96 @ellethespaceunicorn @juliaorpll78 @martha-oi @cardierreh15 @cinnamoroll-things @caramariehurst @zombicupcake3 @openup-yourmind @shellyshellshell @nickfowlerrr @greensleeves888 @misshinson @thelastsock @princessaxoxo @justjulie1105 @minimin1993 @agniavateira @sammat97 @meb79 @kittenofdoomage (as always Rhi. Smooches!)

[starsstuddedsky]

Blonde Phase

Renjun x gn reader

summary: spontaneous hair decisions always end in regret. that's what you expect to hear when you tell renjun you're bleaching your hair, but instead you find support, and even his help. you should appreciate his wholehearted support but instead it has you wondering: why doesn't he care?

genre: fluff, minimal angst, technically they're in grad school but that's not particularly relevant, non idol au,

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, spontaneous hair decisions (i do not endorse), lmk if I missed any

wc: 4.4k

a/n: in the immortal words of charles boyle, the most intimate thing you can do with a lover is wash their hair. yknow i made fun of him for that until i wrote this. i see it. also its been so long since ive finishing anything, pls forgive me if this is bad. renjun i love u. as always I'd love to hear what you think <3

“I’m bleaching my hair.” If you say it fast enough, Renjun won’t be able to talk you out of it. The plastic bag swings around your wrist as you walk across the parking lot. “I’ve already bought the bleach and gloves and stuff, and I’m going to do it, today.”

He’s quiet for so long you check to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. “Okay.”

You almost drop your phone. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, drawing the word out. “Was I supposed to say something else?”

“Um, yeah?” You say. “You have opinions about literally everything. You talked me out of buying those pants two days ago.” You finally get to your car, tossing the bag onto the passenger seat and half-falling behind the wheel.

“That’s because they were made of polyester, and the thrift store was still charging $15,” he says immediately. “That was a scam.”

“Money is temporary, drip is forever.”

“Those pants would have lasted a year max, before they fell apart, and you still haven’t learned how to sew so you wouldn’t even be able to mend them or upcycle them.”

“You know what, I didn’t buy the pants, so this fight is moot,” you say. You set the phone on speaker, turning the engine on to blast the AC.

“Well, not moot. Technically I won,” Renjun says.

“I’d respect you more if you weren’t insufferable.”

“Here I was thinking you appreciated my insight,” he says. “You even asked for it.”

“I did not!”

“You literally asked about bleaching your hair.”

“I said I was surprised you didn’t have an opinion, not that I wanted to hear it,” you say.

“Semantics,” Renjun says. “So what time do you want to come over?”

You frown. “Tonight?”

“The roommates are out of town for the whole weekend, and I have way better ventilation,” he says. “I’d much rather bleach it without passing out.” He pauses. “You do want help, right?”

“Honestly, I was not expecting support. I was fully ready to fight you on this,” you say.

He snorts. “Come over whenever, I'm not doing anything today.”

“See you in twenty minutes.” You hang up, feeling a strange ball of tension roll around in your gut. That was… too easy? Renjun always has something to say about your admittedly impulsive tendencies. But if he’s going to help you’re not going to reject it—knowing Renjun he’s probably already watching Youtube videos and learning more than you will ever know about bleaching hair.

And it’s Renjun. When have you done anything without his help?

.

.

Renjun opens the door wearing a wearied expression. He doesn’t bother to greet you or even smile, just unlocks the door and steps to the side.

“Hi to you, too,” you say, trading your shoes for the spare slippers resting by the doormat. You follow Renjun into the space that serves as kitchen, dining room, living room, and Jaemin’s miniature gym, with weights and mats stacked next to the television.

“Who the hell clogs a toilet and then leaves for the weekend,” Renjun says.

You set down your plastic bag full of hair products and frown. “That’s disgusting.”

Renjun leans against the counter. “And you didn’t have to spend the last forty minutes trying to unclog it.”

“So which of the guys are you going to murder?” You try to guess, running through his roommates: you find it hard to believe Jaemin would do such a thing. Jeno maybe, and Donghyuck would certainly think it’s funny. But, in all honesty, it could have been any of them.

“Don’t know,” Renjun says, “but knowing them, they’ll make a pact to protect each other.”

“Seriously?”

Renjun pauses, gaze sheepish. “It’s what I did when I accidentally killed Jaemin’s little succulent that survived his college dorm.”

You fake a gasp, placing a hand over your chest. “Every day I learn something new about you. That’s devious.”

“I was drunk!” Renjun says, holding up a finger. “And Jeno and Donghyuck pushed me into it, so it was equally their fault.”

“If you say so.” You glance around the apartment. “Where are they all?”

“Jaemin’s visiting family, Jeno has a soccer tournament, and Donghyuck said he’s going camping with Yangyang.” Renjun says, counting off with his fingers.

“Donghyuck and Yangyang are friends?”

“Yeah, according to them they bonded over dealing with me.”

“Those were their exact words?”

“Dealing with my ‘stupid ass,’” Renjun says.

“That’s more on brand.”

Renjun nods.

You think about Yangyang, Renjun’s friend from when he was a kid. You’ve met him a few times now, especially since he’s moved half an hour away from Renjun. He’s fun, always bringing out a chaotic side of Renjun whether it’s dancing on a bar or bringing out angry-Renjun. But Yangyang and Donghyuck?

“That’s a terrible friendship. They’re going to ruin you.”

Renjun nods again, but you see the smile hiding in his eyes. He can rant all he wants, you know he’s excited his friends are getting closer with each other.

You point at the bag. “So where are we doing this?”

You half expect him to lecture you about rash hair decisions but he just gestures to the kitchen. “I figure right here should be fine. The tiles should be pretty easy to clean and probably could use some bleach anyway.”

He drags the chair with a rickety leg from the dining table. You dig through the bag and set everything on the counter. While Renjun cracks a window open, you begin to mix the developer and the bleach, curling your lip at the sharp scent. Renjun joins you, pulling on a pair of gloves.

“Wow that’s strong,” he says, wincing.

“Yeah,” you say. “Definitely a good idea to do it here.”

When the powder is finally combined, you sit on the chair, Renjun following behind you. You section off your hair together, then he grabs the bowl and the brush.

He holds the thick paintbrush brush up against your hair, glancing at you, giving you one last chance to back down. You give him the nod of approval and he shifts back to focusing on your hair, brushing the bleach into it as carefully as he spreads paint on a canvas. He works section by section, carefully drenching your hair with the creamy solution.

“So, are you going to tell me why you decided to do this?”

You can’t resist turning and glancing at him. “I thought you approved.”

“I didn’t try to talk you out of it,” he says, “that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about how you came to this decision.”

You nod until Renjun uses his gloved hand to hold your head straight. “I suppose that’s fair.”

You pause, trying to find the right words. But you find yourself drifting back to Renjun. Why didn’t he ask this before the bleach was in your hair? It’s not like him to keep his opinions to himself. When you first met him, he was yelling at Donghyuck for going to a philosophy seminar just to fight with the notorious bigot of a professor (which Donghyuck did and then got kicked out, and proceeded to get the professor suspended). You only knew Mark back then, a friend from another class who invited you to meet some of his other friends in the dining hall. When Renjun turned to ask what you thought, you said Donghyuck should do what he thinks is right. Renjun didn’t hesitate to call you an idiot then. So why isn’t he calling you an idiot now?

To his credit Renjun doesn’t rush you. He continues to paint the bleach into your hair, content to wait for you to figure out an answer. Except you’re thinking about all the wrong questions. Like, seriously, why do you want him to call you an idiot?

“I want a change,” you finally say. “I’m stuck in a degree that will make me absolutely no money when I graduate, I can’t afford to break my lease, and don’t have any major relationships that need upheaving, so, hair.”

“‘A change?’” Renjun repeats. “Like, you woke up this morning and thought, today I’m going blonde?”

“Like, I have this feeling in my chest, this aching feeling that there’s something I need to do, someone I’m supposed to be, something more than the person I see in the mirror but I’ve made my decisions and I’m happy with my decisions and I genuinely like who I am. So, hair.”

You see Renjun’s hand falter out of the corner of your eye, halfway between the bleach mixture and your hair. He freezes for a heartbeat then continues to move, lifting some hair off your ear, careful not to brush the bleach onto your skin.

“‘So, hair,’” he says.

“Are you really going to repeat everything I say?”

This gets a short laugh from him. “I think the fumes are getting to me already.” He pauses, setting down the brush and stepping in front of you. “For what it’s worth, I like who you are, too. I’m really glad we’re friends.”

You smile at him. “Me too,” you say. “I definitely would have fucked up trying to bleach this on my own.”

.

.

“There’s still some bleach left,” Renjun says after he finishes with your roots. “You’re sure you don’t want your eyebrows to match?”

“Why don’t we do your eyebrows,” you say. “Better yet, why don’t we shave them off?”

Renjun sets down the brush. “Okay, no eyebrows.”

You grin at him. “That’s what I thought.”

He helps you get a plastic bag wrapped securely over your head, then sets the timer.

“What do you want to do for the next half hour?” You ask. “Preferably something that requires little to no movement.” You gesture to your head. “We’re not winning any frisbee tournaments tonight.”

“It was one time,” Renjun mutters, shaking his head and stepping around you plop down onto the couch. “We can watch something.”

You follow him, sitting on the other side, a cushion between you. The space feels strangely empty. Though you’ve spent plenty of time alone with Renjun, even alone with him at his apartment, the silence is usually interrupted by one of the guys getting bored of playing League, or coming back because they can’t go out to a bar without someone forgetting their ID, or in desperate need of Renjun’s expert advice (read: Jeno never remembers to ask Renjun to look over his submissions until 12 minutes before they’re due). The cushion between you never stays empty for long but the moments stretch on, only making the distance feel greater.

You wonder, not for the first time, how long it’s been since you’ve thought of Renjun as just a friend. If he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much about what he thinks. And if he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much that he suddenly doesn’t think.

You sneak a glance at him, fiddling with the remote for a couple seconds before realizing he grabbed the wrong one. He’s certainly always been handsome—that was undeniable from the moment you met him. But more than just being good looking, it’s Renjun himself. Not just those dark eyes, but the way they burn with passion (even when he’s arguing about the proper number of appetizers to order). It’s his perfectly shaped lips, the way they betray how he feels with a slight curve up or down—and his smile. Always, always his smile, beautiful and breathtaking even though you’ve seen it a thousand times.

He turns, a little furrow in his brow. “What?”

“Hm?”

“You’re looking at me funny,” he says. “Did I get bleach in my hair or something?”

You turn to face the TV, trying to pay attention to the show Renjun chose. “I wasn’t looking at you funny,” you say. “I wasn’t even looking at you.”

“If you say so,” Renjun says, “but if there’s a blonde spot anywhere in my hair, I’m so making you pay for it.”

You shake your head. Where the hell did those thoughts come from? Renjun, more than a friend? Sure, you’re close with him and sure, he’s objectively attractive, but you’ve never had those thoughts before. Well, at least not sober.

“Um, why are we watching Singles Inferno?”

“Because I asked and you were too busy not staring at me to answer, so I put it on,” Renjun says. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t like it. I saw you rant on your Instagram story the other day.”

“Okay, but you don’t get it,” you say. “This bitch really has the audacity to to—”

“I saw your post,” Renjun says. “Believe me, I get it.”

“If you didn’t want to hear about it you should not have turned it on, because now I can’t stop,” you say. Renjun rolls his eyes but even as you delve into a full on essay about the horrible men particularly common in dating shows, you see the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile.

.

.

The timer goes off halfway through an episode.

“Saved by the buzzer,” Renjun says. “I’m putting a ban on anything reality TV related for the next three hours.”

“You’re the one that brought it up,” you mutter without any real annoyance. Despite his banter, Renjun dutifully listened to your rants, and even got mad along with you.

You drag a chair to the sink while Renjun drapes a towel over your shoulders. He puts on gloves and unwraps the bag, letting your hair fall into the empty sink.

“Close your eyes,” Renjun says gently. He tilts your head back, cupping the back of your head for a moment before pulling the head of the sink faucet out. He runs the water, long enough for you to peek your eyes open.

You’ve gotten used to seeing Renjun focused. He gets a little furrow in his brow, always glaring at his work. Before you were friends, you used to think he was actually angry, that his frowns and short tone were real. You’ve learned since then, it’s not his emotions, it’s his passion. The frown only comes out when he’s focused, trying to be perfect. When he cares.

“Unless you want bleach in them, close your eyes,” Renjun mutters, with absolutely no malice behind the words. His eyes shift to meet yours and that’s how you know you’re right. He can glare and bluster all he wants, he can’t hide his eyes, warm and shining. Like when he’s looking at his art, his gaze is a combination of soft and intense, creating something stronger than affection. Except he’s not looking at his art, he’s looking at you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your heartbeat pick up. Despite every attempt to shut down the thoughts, they race through your head, a stampede grown out of control. Renjun, who you’ve only known a year and a half but who has become one of your closest friends. Renjun, who never fails to share the only opinion you really care about. Renjun, who you can’t imagine life without. Renjun, who you’ve never dared to imagine life with.

He places a hand on your forehead, bringing the faucet closer to rinse your roots while keeping the water from pouring onto your face. You prepare for a cold shock but the water that soaks into your hair is the perfect temperature—not scalding hot, not freezing cold. Some water sprays over his hand, falling onto your eyelids and cheeks.

“Sorry,” Renjun murmurs. He holds the head farther away, running his fingers gently through the roots of your hair. He’s so close you can feel his breath, warm against your temple. You can feel his body, hovering over yours, and maybe it’s just your imagination, but warmth seems to emanate from it.

His friends would laugh at you if you described Renjun as soft to their face, but it’s the only adjective that captures the way he works the water through your hair. Soft and gentle and careful and nothing like the Renjun that has to corral everyone into his car at 3 in the morning. And yet this Renjun doesn’t feel like a stranger to you.

Washing your hair takes a lifetime, but as soon as he steps away and turns off the water, you miss it. You miss him, even though he’s only a couple feet away.

“You can open your eyes now,” he says. As soon as you do, he tosses a towel at you. It hits you in the face before you can get your hands up.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Renjun says, not sounding sorry at all. He manages to hold back the laugh but still grins at you, unashamed. He steps forward and pats your face dry, with the same gentleness as before, though there’s still a mischievous glint in his eyes. You yank the towel away before he gets any ideas, drying off your face on your down and wrapping it around your hair. You wring it out a couple times before letting go, doing your best to get it to fall evenly around your head.

You raise your eyebrows at Renjun. “Okay, how bad is it?”

“Okay, first of all, I’m insulted that you think there’s any way I’d fuck up you hair,” Renjun says. “And it looks really good. Blonde suits you.”

You take a deep breath and pull out your phone, studying yourself in the mirror and… he’s right. The color is even, somewhere between blonde and orange that is unavoidable when using bleach. Radical hair changes generally end in tears but looking at yourself in the mirror, you don’t feel the usual dissonance. The hair is different but somehow more familiar than the “normal” you that doesn’t feel right anymore.

“I’m right,” Renjun says.

You smile. “Yeah, you are.” You put down your phone, meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Renjun.”

“For what?”

“Doing all of this for me,” you say.

“It’s the least I could do,” he mumbles. “You’re my friend.”

You shake your head. “Thank you anyways.”

Renjun just shrugs and grabs the bowl, rinsing out the bleach in the sink. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s avoiding your eyes.

You do your best to clean up the bleach from the floor, busying yourself until Renjun finishes. You wonder if you’re imagining the tiles getting a little bit whiter. Finally, he turns off the water and glances at you.

“You’re really happy with it?” He asks, sounding more like he doubts you rather than changing his opinion.

“Yeah,” you say, standing up. “I think it’s the ‘me’ of right now, you know?”

“Not really.”

“Like, I feel disjointed, and blonde hair is definitely not me, but it's the me that feels kind of all over the place, so even though it doesn’t look like me, it looks like me.” You wring your hands together, fingers tinged red.

“That makes no sense,” Renjun says, “but I think I get what you mean.” He smiles. “And I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to have any regrets.”

So he did think this was a potential mistake? Why didn’t he say anything?

Renjun turns back to the sink, but before he can turn the water on, your voice calls his name. “Renjun?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Why didn’t you fight me on this?”

He doesn’t move for a long moment. You wish you could see his face. “I have been told by certain people,” he begins, which is code for Donghyuck and Yangyang certified their position as Renjun’s worst nightmare. He turns to face you, wiping his hands on a towel.

“That I have a tendency to be overly opinionated in a generally negative direction. And I thought about it, and I realized I'm never really fully supportive, whether it’s a big decision, or, like, coffee, and I’ve always been this way, but, apparently, it’s especially… apparent with you.” He frowns. “This is all coming out wrong. I’m trying to say that it’s different when I’m around you. I’m different.”

Your eyes jump between his, trying to decipher what he’s saying. “Different?”

“I care a lot about you,” Renjun says, “more than anyone, actually.”

“Oh.” You blink once, twice. “Wait, you like me?”

Renjun’s eyes shift to the floor. “Yeah.”

You can’t help but let out a short laugh, reeling at the absurdity of it all. Renjun likes you? But he’s Renjun. Even though he’s the most common main character in your daydreams, you never once realistically thought he might be fantasizing about you too. But he likes you.

“I really didn’t want to say anything, I mean, before anything else you’re my friend, and I don’t want to ruin that,” Renjun says rapidly. “We’re good friends, and I really didn’t want to be the guy that pretends to be your friend but just wants to date you the whole time, that’s really not what I was trying to do, it’s just—”

“Renjun.” You put a hand on his shoulder and he freezes mid sentence, mouth still hanging open a little. Before he can move, you lean closer, the type of line you’d only dare to cross in your dreams.

“I’d like to kiss you,” you say softly. He blinks, eyes darting between your eyes and your lips.

“I’d like that,” he finally breathes. So you kiss him.

It starts light, his lips exactly as you imagined—soft and warm. His arm works its way around your waist, pulling you closer. The other works its way into your hair, still wet and sticking to your head. Renjun kisses like he’s been planning this for a long time, and maybe he has. Every movement is slow and careful, until he’s stolen all your air and even then you don’t want to pull away.

Your bravery fades the minute you meet his eyes. You bury your face into his chest, your cheek resting against your own hand. Renjun wraps both of his arms around you, holding you snugly in place.

“I like you, too,” you say into his chest. It’s the cowards route but if you look him in the eyes the words will never come out. “If it wasn’t obvious.”

“It wasn’t actually,” he says softly. “I think I drove all of my friends insane trying to figure out whether I should confess or not.”

“They all know?” You groan. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”

“Yeah.” When Renjun laughs, it shakes your whole body. You can feel the rumbling, overtaking his heartbeat. “It’s okay though. It’s worth it.”

You turn your head, emerging from the sanctuary of his chest and tucking your head so that you can see his face. He smiles at you with the familiar warmth you’ve come to expect.

“Yeah,” you say, “it really is.”

Renjun grins.

“Your hair on the other hand…” He says.

“I thought you liked it!”

“I like it,” Renjun says, “but when has Donghyuck ever liked a single change to anyone’s hair?”

“Since when do you care what Donghyuck thinks?”

“I’m just saying now that we’re officially dating, my friends are going to be extra annoying,” Renjun says.

“Extra annoying? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Don’t underestimate them.”

You groan, pressing your face back into his chest. “It’s not too late to get some hair dye.”

“You are not changing your hair because of my dumbass friends,” Renjun says.

“You like it?”

“You like it,” he says. “That’s the only opinion that really matters.” He pauses then adds, “But yeah. I like it.”

You grin, lifting your head to kiss his cheek. “Maybe we should dye your hair too.”

Renjun snorts. “Oh yeah?”

“We could have matching couples hair.”

He laughs out loud this time. “Maybe we should just get some shirts.”

“Three minutes of dating and you already want matching shirts? Huang Renjun, be honest.” You push off of him until you can place your hands on his shoulders and look him in the eyes. “Are you obsessed with me?”

“Yes,” he says, layering his voice in sarcasm that still isn’t enough to hide the truth of the admission. “All day every day, all I think about is you.”

“Well, see, that can’t be true because if you were that obsessed and I’m this close, you would already be kissing me because—” You forget whatever you were going to say, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when Renjun is kissing you like this. Your hands at his shoulders slink around his neck, while his wrap around your waist, leaning so close to you, you feel your back begin to dip.

Huang Renjun is poison, the kind that turns into a heart-shaped puff of pink when the bottle is opened. You melt into his kiss and it’s still not enough. You could die, right this instant, and you don’t think you’d notice. Death itself wouldn’t be able to tear you away from this moment.

“Renjun!” Donghyuck’s voice thunders through the kitchen. “How dare you? You bastard, you’re cheating?”

You jump apart, turning to see him looming in the doorway. His glare settles on you, and you see the exact moment he realizes he recognizes you.

“Jesus Christ, you could have knocked or something,” Renjun says.

“I live here too,” Donghyuck says automatically. He squints, then looks at Renjun, then back at you. “YN? Your hair is blonde.”

For some reason, you raise your hand and wave at him. “Hey!”

“Oh my god!” Donghyuck cries. “Yangyang owes me thirty dollars!” He races back out the door, screaming something that’s lost as the door swings shut.

You glance at Renjun. “Cheating?”

He frowns at the door, still a crack open. “Did he… seriously think you were someone else? That I was cheating on my unrequited crush?”

His eyes shift to yours. A heartbeat passes and you burst into laughter. His friends might be annoying, but they’re still endearing. You press a messy, smile-infested kiss to his lips and wonder if you’ll ever get used to the giddy feeling.

There’s plenty messy in your life, plenty to doubt. But watching Yangyang and Donghyuck drag their backpacks in (apparently Donghyuck forgot his power bank and they decided to give up on camping) as they attempt to interrogate Renjun on every detail, you can’t help but feel like it doesn’t really matter. You don’t doubt Renjun. You don’t doubt blonde suits you. And you don’t doubt the power of a last minute hair decision, not anymore.

thank you for reading!! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated

[beyondthisdarkhouse]

I'm coming to change how I think of "historical accuracy", which I used to think was the highest peak of perfection when it comes to making historical clothes, or writing fiction, or whatever. Because that ideal, or the way I was using it, have turned out to be really toxic for me; it sets up a world where there's Good and there's Bad and if you're not historically accurate enough it's okay for all the other kids to make fun of you. And you have to suffer and be virtuous an appropriate amount before you're allowed to feel good about your art.

I'm so sick of the way costumers talk about their own projects, picking them to pieces. "I made this dress ten years ago before I knew very much about historical costuming, and it's just a disaster. Everything is polyester, and the hems are all done by machine..."

I think I used to want to disappear into historical accuracy like a person hiding in a hollow tree; if all my work was perfectly accurate, there was nothing of me to criticize or laugh at. It would finally be safe and okay for me to be a weirdo dreamer who loved creating things and wanted to look fantastic, because I had created an armour of artifice. I had slipped entirely into a world that would support and enclose me.

Letting go of historical accuracy has meant I've had to accept who I am now. I've got to understand and see the beauty in the modern world and all its strange complexities. And I've also got to accept and defend myself in the face of derision or disrepect or criticism, instead of blaming myself for not being perfect enough to avoid them. (To be clear: Sometimes that "defense" just means tuning out or walking away. People aren't automatically correct just because they're critical of me. Which was kind of a surprise.)

The mindset that works for me now is that I am a modern person, living in modern material reality. I am making works that are in conversation with the past. They will never not be modern works, but they're worth making and appreciating no matter how unhistorical they are. Sometimes their conversation with the past is shouting and waving at someone on the other side of a crowd; sometimes it's a deeply braided multi-year friendship that infuses every fibre.

This also opens up a whole dimension of attitude, where sometimes I love the past and want to hold it up as amazing, and sometimes I think the past should go fuck itself and I'll do what I want instead. History isn't a dictator.

[hisunshiine]

—i must be favored to know ya [5/7]

Part 5 of 7 of the Seven Days Series ↣ series masterlist

🗓️ pairing: nurse!jungkook x teacher!reader 🗓️ au/genre: non-idol au, brother’s friend au, fwb, age-gap(reader is older), f2l, fluff, angst, smut, 🗓️ rating: M 🗓️ wc: 5,665 🗓️ warnings: emotionally constipated pairing, again Kim Seokjin MEDDLING, drunk feelings in a good way, nudes, misinterpretation of messages, drunk feelings in a bad way, arguing, saying hurtful things  explicit sexual content: making out in the club, potential exhibitionism/voyeurism, shower sex  🗓️ an: Sorry if this one is angsty y’all! We’ve been slowly building to it, and it had to come to a head at some point, right? Plus, we only have the weekend left! Hospital Vocab: 🏥 A MICU is a medical intensive care unit that deals with less critical conditions such as pneumonia, infections or other problems that require intensive monitoring but don't necessarily require emergency. 🏥 The NICU is a nursery in a hospital that provides around-the-clock care to sick or preterm babies.  🏥 Gastric refers to the unit of Gastroenterology, which cares for issues with the esophagus, stomach, small intestine, colon and rectum, pancreas, gallbladder, bile ducts and liver. 🗓️ summary: “I must be favored to know ya.” Having Jungkook in your life is so much sweeter than you ever thought. It would be great if you could just tell him, but showing him is as good as it gets for now…until you slip up and let the cat out of the bag. But it turns out, you aren’t the only one who has feelings for him, and you definitely aren’t the only one who wants to ride him. When your biggest fears come to light, knowing Jungkook the way that you do might become a thing of the past. 

Taglist: @sizzlingfestpeach @mochminnie @jungkooksmytype @kookslastbutton @taebangtanbabe @bbtsficrecs @jk97bam it's not letting me tag you (if joining the taglist, please think about reblogging with tags/leaving feedback!)

“Doctor Cho to room 324, Doctor Cho to room 324.” A nurse's tired voice plays over the loudspeaker as Jungkook follows Jimin into the staff locker room at the end of their shift.

“Bro, why was today so tiring?” Jimin drops effortlessly into the chair across from his locker, as if all of his bones and joints have given out.

Jungkook reaches behind his neck to fist at his scrub top, pulling the polyester material over his head. “It was tiring because we had to change Mr. Lee’s sheets four times today. Why are we working in the MICU again?”

“Because we wanted to take time off next week after the wedding, so we picked up this shift instead of enjoying our usual Friday off,” Jimin reminds as he toes off his sneakers. 

“Next time, tell me to check who I’m covering for. I forgot Sara works the gastric rounds, and while I don’t mind a little incontinence, Mr. Lee is not a small man and four times is more than a little, you know?”

Jimin nods as he finally begins to remove his own scrubs before heading to the showers in the back of the locker room with his small shower pouch in tow. Jungkook follows his lead, towel thrown over his shoulder, his own pouch in hand.

“You know what?” Jimin asks as he steps into one of the small shower stalls. “I think we should go out tonight. Octagon or CakeShop—you know they have the best music and drinks.”

“Mmm, I don’t know…I’m still covering Sara’s shift tomorrow, and if Mr. Lee is still having bowel issues,” Jungkook steps into the privacy of his own stall to step out of his boxer briefs and into the water, enjoying the heat as it envelops his body, “I might not be at my best if I go out tonight.”

“C’mon, man! We should go out because of Mr. Lee! We can invite the teachers, it’s summer break for them anyways, and the four of us always turn up on Fridays. We can invite the whole crew.”

Jungkook makes sure to scrub his hands extra before washing the rest of his body with his green Italy Towel to exfoliate his skin. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask for, man.” 

The two continue their shower routine, meeting again in the locker room to change into clothes to go home in.

Jimin grabs his phone as soon as he’s dressed. Jungkook follows Jimin’s movements as he paces back and forth with the phone on speaker, dialtone echoing through the room. 

“Hey, Jimin,” Taehyung answers the phone, sounding as if he just took a bite of food.

“You’re on speaker. Tae, we’re going out tonight. Octagon or CakeShop?”

There’s a pause before he answers; Jungkook assumes Taehyung is swallowing his food. “Let’s do CakeShop, it’s a bit more cozy. You’re on speaker too, Hoseok and I are grabbing a late lunch.”

“Hey, Jimin!” Hoseok’s voice filters through the mobile.

“Sounds good. Ready at 11?”

“Yeah. I’ll text Woo Shik, see if he can reserve a table. See you later, I’m eating right now.”

Taehyung’s annoyance at his meal being disturbed rings loud and clear as the phone clicks, and Jimin throws the phone into his open backpack. “Can you call your girl? Let her know we’re going at 11?”

Jungkook’s movements stutter as he rolls deodorant on, raised arm freezing in the air. “My girl?” He eyes Jimin from his peripherals, trying to read his face.

“Yeah, she’s like, your best friend. Joined at the hip all the time, sometimes I wonder whether you or Yoongi is her actual brother.”

“Oh, haha, yeah, I’ll—yeah, I’ll call her once we get out of here.”

“Cool, so let’s go, see if we can catch the hyungs before they leave.” Jimin closes his backpack, lifting it over his shoulder. Jungkook follows suit, carrying his bag by the small handle at the top instead as they leave the room. 

“Hyung!” Jimin spots Seokjin as he leaves one of the rooms across from the nurses’ station. The jovial man smiles as he passes a clipboard off to the Resident shadowing him.

“Hey, you guys off for the day?” Seokjin asks as he checks his watch.

“Yeah, we’re headed out to CakeShop tonight at 11 if you and Joon want to come with?”

“I don’t think I can swing it. Joon’s covering the NICU the rest of the week, so I doubt he’ll be down to go.”

“No worries, just wanted to extend the offer.”

“I appreciate it. We’ll have fun Sunday, right? Open bar at the reception and all.”

“Definitely.” Jimin wraps an arm around Jungkook’s neck and begins to tug him down the hallway. “See ya!”

Seokjin just shakes his head, watching as the two men head out.

“What’s got Jungkook so happy?” SoHee appears at Seokjin’s elbow, holding a binder to her chest.

“Oh, he’s probably off to go see his—uh, probably hanging with one of our friends.”

“One of your friends? He must be a pretty cool guy if Jungkook is that excited to go hang out.” SoHee says, a smile on her face as she watches both men bounce happily around the corner, her eyes focused mostly on the tattooed, floppy haired one until they’re finally out of sight. 

“Yeah…she’s pretty cool. They’re like best friends—spend every waking moment together when not working.” Seokjin glances at SoHee, searching for a reaction. He’s not doing it to be mean—in his mind, it’s more mean to string someone along when your heart belongs to someone else.

“Oh. I didn’t realize the person was a ‘she’. Do you, uh, think that they like each other? As more than friends?”

Seokjin makes eye contact with SoHee, trying to express more with his eyes than his response gives. “If you hope to date JK, you have some pretty fierce competition, and she isn’t afraid of using her feminine wiles.” 

—————

The lights in CakePop glow a harsh red as the fluorescent, buzzing tubes shine across Jungkook’s face. You admire the slope of his nose, the angles of his jaw and the way his hair frames his face as he orders a round of drinks from the bar. He chose to wear jeans you’ve never seen him in before: baggy as hell with large cuts horizontally going up the back of them. With a white sleeveless tank and white, tiger-print long sleeve covering his tattoos, his look is complete with a new chain earring he’s showing off. 

Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok dressed up as well, each one showcasing their different style but just as handsome. They sit at the table reserved for your group, chatting as their heads bob to the music. He’s busy paying for the tab when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

You look over your shoulder at the man who’s sidled up close to you while your attention is elsewhere.

“No, but thank you,” you reply as loud as you can over the music without drawing too much attention to the rejection. You watch as the man’s eyes bounce from you to Jungkook as you take a step closer to him.

“Oh, this you?” he asks, understanding morphing through his pupils. You don’t know how to respond, since it’s very much so complicated, but Jungkook saves you the trouble.

“Yeah, she’s with me.” Jungkook’s arm wraps itself heavily around your waist, fingers on the meat of your hip as he tucks you into his side. He eyes the man, who is slightly taller than him, but seems to deem him as not a threat. “C’mon, babe,” he says into your ear, “our drinks are ready.” 

You smile up at him, moving to grab your drink as he takes the small platter that holds the other four drinks over to the table. His hand never leaves your skin, transferring from holding your hip to holding your hand as he navigates through the dancing bodies and back to your group of friends.

“Finally! Let’s down these and get on the dance floor!” Hoseok says. As the P.E. Teacher at the school you work at, he’s really fit. You know he also works at a dance studio in the evenings and during the summer, so as far as this scene goes, Hoseok was ready to show off his moves. The others agree, so you throw your drink back before excusing yourself to the bathroom. Best to pee now, instead of breaking the seal later. 

“We aren’t waiting for you!” Taehyung teases as he adjusts his thin, silky red shirt, the opening around his neck unbuttoned and angled to show off delicate collarbones and a thin gold chain, but you know that it would be easy enough to find the four of them in the crowd; eyes often gravitate to watch them when they’re together as a group. Especially with Jimin in his all-black outfit, baggy jeans and combat boots put together with a leather jacket, and Hoseok in ripped jeans, jean jacket, black tee and sunglasses? There was no way you could miss them. Jungkook might be the one you’re fucking night after night, but the rest of the guys are also great to look at. Being the only girl out with them tonight will be fun. 

In the bathroom, you see a few texts from your brother, on your lock screen, but you ignore him, because it doesn’t matter. Jungkook is going home with you tonight, so there’s no need to make it weird. You know he’s only looking out for you, in the way that Yoongi does, but tonight you just want to shut your brain off for a while.     

Washing your hands, you check yourself out in the mirror, loving how your jeans fit your ass and your shirt shows just the right amount of cleavage. If you’re already getting hit on so boldly at the bar, you can only imagine how the rest of the night is going to go, and your self-confidence excites you. It’s twisted, but you feel good knowing other guys are showing their interest in you, in front of Jungkook. It’s like…showing Jungkook that you’re a good catch, if others also want you. Plus, having Jungkook step in and turn them away, saying you’re with him is a huge turn-on and confidence boost for you. In a way, you feel like Yoongi’s concerns shouldn’t matter too much because Jungkook already claimed you once tonight to someone else. Do you really need to do more? Your thoughts go quiet as more women filter into the bathroom, talking loudly. 

“But did you see the one in all black? He’s so hot.”

“Okay, but the one with dance moves? In ripped jeans? Even hotter.”

You laugh to yourself as you fix your hair before heading to the door.

“I’m set on the one in white. I’m taking him home if it’s the last thing I do.”

If they had been paying attention to you, they would have seen the stutter in your step and the way you almost miss the handle to the door, but as luck would have it, no one notices the almost stumble as you head back into the dark of the club. 

As you expect, finding the group is easy, but pushing through the onlookers is slightly difficult, as some of the women do not want to move to let you through, thinking you’re simply another fan of the men dancing to the grooving house music. Once you find a break between bodies however, Jungkook spots you and reaches his hands out to you, pulling you through in time to the rhythm. He’s face to face with you, hips moving with each beat that thumps through the speakers as you settle into the space created by the disappointment of the gravitating spectators.

He drops one of his hands, allowing him to spin you around with the one still holding onto you after a few moments and then stepping into your space so you’re able to meld your body into his and face the other guys in the group. You wind your hips back into his pelvis and Jungkook catches every beat, hands resting on your hips as you work him. You want to see his face, see if he’s watching you or not, but when you feel his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly in response to a rather suggestive body roll, you guess you know he’s paying attention to you more than anything else. 

Typically, when the songs change, you also change partners, liking to spread the wealth that is your dancing among the others, but tonight, Jungkook doesn’t let go, and you don’t try to leave him. The others don’t seem to mind, spending their time choosing random people from the crowd to dance with or weaving back and forth to get drinks from the bar. Eventually, the group of girls from the bathroom comes near, you turn to face Jungkook, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“I’m staying with you tonight, right?” you ask on tippy toes, mouth ghosting the shell of his ear tipsily to ask something you already know the answer to, but wanting to lay your claim. Your teeth nip lightly at the earlobe without the new chain earring, and you leave a soft kiss where the lobe meets his neck just so the other girl can see. 

He responds in kind after a shiver races down his spine, pulling you closer as the heat from his mouth spreads lower through your body. “You better be—I’ll kidnap you if I have to.” He bites your neck playfully, causing you to squirm in his hold but he doesn’t loosen his grip on you, just apologizes for the bite with a tongue-wetted kiss that promises so much more to come when you get home. Turning back around in his hold, you watch as Taehyung looks between you and his friend, and can only smile knowingly to yourself when it dawns on him what must be going on. Now that Yoongi knows, you don’t really care if the others find out or not. 

Jimin returns to the group with drinks for you and Jungkook fisted in his hands, and you thank him before drinking half of it in one gulp. “Slow down, baby, we have plans for tonight, so we shouldn’t drink too much more, okay?” Jungkook’s eyes are wide and pleading when you look over your shoulder at him, and it’s almost heart-stopping how good he looks, tongue swiping his bottom lip and messing with his lip piercings. It should be illegal for him to ask for anything from you while giving you that look.

“Yeah, this is my last one,” you promise, and he smiles as he finishes the beer Jimin gave him. 

“I’ll get you some water, okay? Can’t have my baby with a hangover tomorrow.” 

Your mixed drinks are more potent than his beers, and it’s cute that he’s thinking of taking care of you. You feel warmth in your chest at his consideration and actions, not to mention his use of the claiming endearment leaving you all hot and bothered as he heads off the dancefloor towards the bar. 

“What time are we staying ‘til?” you ask Hoseok, who eyes his watch.

“Probably not much longer, it’s almost one. Thirty minutes sound good?”

“Yeah, I think I can do another thirty to forty-five minutes.”

Hoseok nods, but his smile then turns mischievous. “You and Jungkook sharing a taxi tonight?” He takes both of your hands, swinging them as if going to draw you in to dance with him, and a part of you wants to pull away; as if you can’t dance with Hoseok because you have a boyfr—or because you have plans to fuck someone in an hour or so and it would be disrespectful. Right?

“We always share a taxi, Hobi,” you answer coyly, evading his question and not stepping closer to him, politely declining to dance. 

Hoseok just grins wider, hips swaying to the beat as he steps away from you, dropping your hands. “She’s all yours,” he says over your head, and a moment later you feel the heat of Jungkook as he envelops you back into his body. 

“Here, make sure to drink all of it,” Jungkook places the bottle of water into your hand as he turns you to face him, the lid already twisted off for you. His voice drops, in volume and in tone, as he adds, “Only good girls get what they want tonight.”

You have to hold yourself back from responding with a “Yes, Daddy,”—the alcohol making you much more submissive to the younger man—so you bring the bottle to your lips instead, making sure you hold his eye contact as you wrap your pout around the rim and swallow the first gulp. The water is so quenching, you close your eyes as you take subsequent swallows, a little bit leaking from the corners of your mouth to run down your cheeks, neck, and disappear between your breasts.

“Woah, careful baby, I want you wet, but this water is for drinking,” he says as he pulls the water bottle back slightly from your mouth to slow the flow down, and you’re grateful, but also now horny as your eyes take in the way he’s looking at you. “Fuck it,” he intones mostly to himself, before dipping his face down into your chest. His tongue traces the path of the water back up to your neck where he keeps his mouth to suckle at your sensitive skin.

Neither of you cares that you’re in a packed club, that people are watching, that your friends—who didn’t know until tonight that there was anything more between the two of you—are watching and are also close enough to hear the sound you let out, the cross between a whimper and a moan as you cling to Jungkook’s shirt, hands fisted near his waist wanting him closer.

“Maybe we should get those taxis now?” Hoseok says aloud, mostly to Jimin and Taehyung in an attempt to pull their eyes away from the sight in front of them. The two just nod, and Hoseok pulls out his phone and opens his app. He can’t help but look up every few seconds though, not when you’re pressing your chest into Jungkook’s as he kisses you openly, his tattooed hand grabbing at your ass as he grinds into you in time to the music. 

The sounds Hoseok can hear from you between the music pounding out of the speakers have his dick jumping—as if straight out of his favorite porn flicks—but you’re Yoongi’s older sister, and apparently have been fucking the youngest in the group and Hoseok is now putting three and four together to realize the friend with benefits who he’s been fucking seven nights a week (per his text messages) is you.  

The crowd surrounding their group is beginning to stare now too, and Hoseok feels mildly uncomfortable—not because you have your tongue in Jungkook’s mouth (no, the sight is quite hot)—because the women who were circling like vultures all night are staring daggers at your head. Despite you two dry-humping on beat, Hoseok can see the annoyed looks on some of the other dancers' faces, so he’s more than happy to unceremoniously pull your mobile device from your back pocket (the one without Jungkook’s hand all over it) so he can order your taxi to keep you and Jungkook from getting arrested for indecent exposure.

He hates being the person to interrupt the two of you when the taxis are about to arrive, but the shine in your eyes is full of gratitude as he leads your group outside. He suspects it’s because you were probably in need of oxygen, and a small part of him assumes it’s because you were just caught acting like a couple of young teenagers. Hoseok hands you your cell phone back as you all stand at the curb, and you smile sheepishly at Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung, as if to say ‘Surprise! It’s me!’.

Jungkook still has his arms wrapped around you, lips kissing your neck and exposed shoulder—any place his mouth can reach from his spot behind you—and when the first taxi pulls up, Jimin has to pull Taehyung along to go with him and Hoseok. 

“But, can I go with them? I wanna watch some more,” Taehyung doesn’t sound like he’s joking at all, and only decides to climb into his taxi when Jungkook shoots him a glare that you can’t see.

“Be safe, text me when you all get home!” you say as they settle in the backseat. They all give you skeptical looks, knowing you’ll probably be too busy to even see the messages, but they’ll do it anyway. Your phone alerts you that your taxi is also there, so you wave as you lead a seemingly lovesick, doe-eyed, muscle bunny to another car pulling up behind the first. 

Climbing into the vehicle, you’re practically sitting on Jungkook’s lap the entire ride home, where he’s quietly feeling you up the whole way to his apartment. His hand is between your thighs, pressing into you in a way that makes the seam of your jeans press against your clit. He feels the way you roll your hips as he leaves wet pecks on your neck and whispers dirty things into your ear.

“Wanna fill you up when we get home,” he murmurs, “can’t wait to feel you wrap around me.”

Your breathing is shaky, and the taxi driver asks if you’re okay as he speeds down the road.

Your back is against the cold shower wall, Jungkook’s strong arms hold your legs at the knees as he thrusts inside of you. His body pins you in place, your hands clawing at his back as you try to find purchase against his slick skin. You bounce on his hardened cock as he drills it deeper inside of you, hips rutting for friction against his pelvis, your swollen clit aching for more.

“Fuck, baby, you’re perfect.” Jungkook’s mouth moves against your collarbones as he speaks, switching between biting and kissing from the pleasure your walls give him. The pain as he marks you only makes you wetter, makes you crave him more. 

“Jungkook, feels so good,” you whine out, tangling your fingers into the wet hair curling at the nape of his neck. “Love it,” you chant out, repeating the phrase several times. “Fuck me, baby, don’t stop, love how you feel.”

Jungkook’s brain can barely handle the way you’re sending all of his senses into overdrive. The feel of you sliding up and down, so slick and warm on his cock as you tug at his hair, your words flowing through his mind, that you love it, love it, love it, so close to saying you love more than just the way he fucks you, maybe you could even love…him?

“Fuck, baby, keep saying it, don’t stop, you ride me so good, fucking love your pussy.”

“Love your cock, fuck Jungkook, love how you fuck me, need more, need you deeper.”

Jungkook lets your legs down one by one so he can turn you to face the glass of the shower, allowing both of you to feel the hot water streaming onto your bodies as he enters you from behind. Your hands lay flat on the glass as he begins to pound into you, the clapping of his thighs into your ass echoing off the walls of the bathroom, mixing with your breathy moans as he reaches that spot inside of you. 

“Tell me you love it, tell me how good my cock feels, splitting your pussy open like this,” Jungkook’s voice is whiny as he begs for your praise, secretly seeking more than he asks for. When he wraps his tattooed hand around your waist, fingers dipping between your legs in search of your clit, you give everything he’s hoping to hear and more as you climax. 

“Oh, fuck, right there, Jungkook, fuck, fuck, I love you, don’t stop, please don’t stop, you feel so good, Jungkook, fucking love you, you make me feel so good.”

His head—the one currently buried deep inside you—loses all senses as his other head processes your words, and he’s losing himself as he empties inside of you. Your legs shake, wanting to give out if not for his strong arms holding you up. 

“You’re so perfect, baby,” Jungkook whispers as he kisses the back of your head. “My perfect baby.”

Drying off, you shiver slightly as Jungkook walks out of the bathroom to grab some clothes for you both and leaves the door ajar. Your phone sits on the sink counter, a little foggy from the steam, but you can still see messages waiting for you. You click through them each one by one, not bothering to respond since it’s much later than the time they were sent, and all of the senders are probably deep in an alcohol-induced sleep. You glance at the time, noting it's now almost 2:30 AM. 

You’re glad the three men made it safely, but kind of hate the way Hoseok refers to you and Jungkook as teenagers. Were your actions at the club tonight…immature? What did he mean by that? Did he think you weren’t smart enough to make sure to use protection? Jungkook’s young, but he’s not that young! Plenty of people under twenty-six have children. Would it be so bad if you and Jungkook were to become pregnant, based solely on your ages?

Then there’s Taehyung, pointing out yet again how ‘young’ Jungkook is—and why is he sending you thirst traps? You know it’s harmless, he’s just drunk and wants your attention, but it still makes you upset that he feels that your choice was wrong because of age. 

Are you some old crone or hag that can’t fuck with someone younger than you? What makes this age gap so bad? You just want someone to make sense of what they’re saying to you, because the way you’re interpreting it, they think you and Jungkook are too different in age to be together. Your biggest fears come to light in the messages across your screen, from your own friends no less, just when you’re coming to terms with the one fact that should be the only one that matters: You want to be with Jungkook. You want to date him—want him to be yours, for real.  

Jungkook returns with a large black shirt for you, his own lower body covered with a clean pair of red Calvin Klein boxer briefs. You pull the shirt over your head, and in the dark, you hear his phone chime with a text message. 

“Who’s even up at this time?” he mutters, and you have to agree, It’s late, but you assume it’s a message from one of the guys; he probably texted them each back and one wasn’t asleep just yet. Your head and arms are pushed hurriedly through the holes, and you see Jungkook barely get a chance to glance at his phone before he’s setting it down next to yours and instead grabbing your towel to finish drying your hair.  

The action is sweet, warming your heart and you know that this is the moment. It’s time to tell Jungkook exactly how you feel, regardless of the post-sex high and in spite of being still tipsy on alcohol—you’re sure what you want to say will come out how you intend. How hard can it be to tell someone you like them? But his phone chimes again and you can’t help but to glance down at it. The sight makes your blood run cold. SoHee, clearly shirtless, sending a booty call text at 2:33 AM. 

To YOUR Jungkook. To the same Jungkook who you just professed your love to while taking raw backshots in his shower; the same Jungkook who just finished emptying his cum inside of you. 

Your thoughts run wild; did he send nudes to her too? Did he take one when he left the bathroom to get clothes for you both? You want to scroll through the thread, see for yourself that he isn’t sending nudes to someone else, when he’s been fucking you every night, calling you his baby, his princess…No. Your eyes prick with tears at the thought, the alcohol still running through your veins making your ability to think logically about this situation a bit cloudy.

“Seriously, Jungkook? Fucking me and texting other bitches back to back? While I’m still here?” you scoff, shaking your head as you step away from him. 

“What?” he glances down at his phone, seeing the screen lit up with the message from SoHee. His eyes take in the picture and the message, growing wide in fear. “No, baby, it’s not what you think—” He picks up the phone, wants to show you the truth but you don’t let him speak.

“Jungkook, do I look stupid to you? I can literally see the messages and can still feel the ache between my thighs from you. This might work on girls your age, but please, do not insult my intelligence.”

“Girls my age? What are you talking about?”

“You! I’m talking about you pulling a stunt like this!” 

“Baby, c’mon. You’re just drunk, I promise you, this is nothing.”

His words only add to your ire. He’s downplaying what happened, but you know what you saw. It was right there in front of your eyes, but he’s trying to placate you and you can’t stand to feel like this. Like you can easily fall for some bullshit just because a hot, younger guy is showing interest in you. It’s exactly what people expect, right? That older women put up with shit because they’re afraid no one will want them, that they’re past their expiration date for romance.

“Don’t ‘you’re just drunk’ me! I literally just told you how I feel about you, to then see that picture and message! I honestly should’ve expected something like this from you, I chose to fuck the youngest in the group, what did I expect?” You say this last part more to yourself than to Jungkook, but he hears you just the same. 

“Hold on. What are you even fucking saying right now? You chose to fuck the youngest in the group? What, would you have decided to fuck someone else, like Jin or Namjoon? Because they’re older than me?”

“They probably wouldn’t be sending nudes to other bitches at 2 AM after fucking me in their shower and inviting me to stay the night. Maybe my coworker was right about you.”

“That’s not what the fuck even happened! God, you know, you’re so stupid sometimes, I swear. I’ve always wanted you, but you’re the one acting immature, like you’re so great because you’re older than me? Age doesn’t fucking matter, our age gap isn’t even that big! But you’re acting like you know more because you’re older than me?”

“Jungkook,” you sigh out, bringing your finger to your temples, “you don’t fucking get it, you’re too young to—”

“Don’t you even finish that fucking sentence.”

“Seriously, Jungkook. You can’t possibly feel—”

“Are you actually trying to tell me how I feel!? You’re certifiably insane.” Jungkook laughs, but there is no humor in his tone. He paces out of the bathroom, fingers raking through his hair as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. “You know what? You’re the only one who has ever worried about our age difference. Because of what other people say, right? Because I’ve never said anything about it. Not negatively, at least. I’ve…” Jungkook’s voice cracks as he tries to express how he feels to you, but he’s so disappointed that he can’t look at you. “You know I’ve literally been here for you, for anything you fucking needed. My age never mattered when it benefitted you. Your coworker doesn’t know shit about me and you. But apparently her opinion matters more than hearing me out.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Actually, I can’t deal with this right now,” he says, adding your name to the end of his sentence like a finality. He turns towards your discarded jeans and shoes. You can see him opening his phone, KakaoTaxi open on the screen. “I have to get up early for my shift, and I really think I should sleep alone tonight.”

“Jungkook, wait,” you start to speak, to try and take back what you’ve said, but for Jungkook, it’s literally and figuratively too late. He walks you back into the bathroom, passing you your jeans from where he’s picked them up off of the floor.

“Your taxi will be here in less than five minutes. Text me when you get home safely.”

Jungkook drops the phone back on the counter and disappears out of the bathroom, and you don’t bother trying to follow him. His phone lies abandoned next to yours, and you can’t help yourself. You swipe sideways to his messages and scroll up through the thread with SoHee quickly, but there’s nothing in it from Jungkook showing he’s sent nudes, barely any messages sent from him at all. 

You blink away the tears that are forming, step into your jeans and grab your phone. His phone chimes from the Taxi notification, and you don’t bother to say goodbye, since you don’t see him on your way through his apartment to his front door. You linger, closing the door slowly but he never appears, and you’re hit with a sobering moment of reality of what your future could look like without him in it. The way home is quiet and lonely at this hour, the roads a sea of black, white, and grey, and you aren’t sure if Jungkook will ever color your doorstep—or your life—again.

stay tuned for “i kiss your waist and ease your mind” coming 8-?-2023!

↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine 2023. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.

[berenwrites]

Magnificent – Steddie Flashfic – G

A/N: Sliding in just under the wire with this one. Had the idea was back at the beginning of Dec, but haven’t had the time to write it until now! Don’t forget to check out all the other great fics at @steddiemicrofic too💖.

Written for prompt: PINE | wc: 508 | G | cw: none

The casket looked magnificent. Dark oak encased in rusted iron. And Eddie, lying inside on red satin, arms crossed over his chest, like the rock god he had always wanted to be.

It was perfect.

It was a shame it was all smoke and mirrors.

The casket was actually cheap pine and particle board, the satin was polyester, and if Eddie moved too much the whole thing was likely to fall apart. Steve had watched with amusement as his boyfriend had had to be helped into it earlier so nothing fell off. The illusion was very good. The structure was not.

Corroded Coffin was about to release their first album. They’d already had two chart topping singles and their record company had moved up the release of the album to catch the unexpected hype they were getting. Of course, this meant cover art.

They’d already done the shoot with the whole band around the coffin as Eddie ‘rose’ from the grave for the front. The much more sedate image for the back with Eddie ‘lying in state’ was the last thing needed.

“And that’s a wrap,” Jonathan called finally.

After everything with the Upside Down, Jonathan had ditched the investigative photographer idea for more fashion and art, so of course, when they needed a photographer for the project, the band had called him. The Hawkins gang stuck together.

Steve stood up from where he was sitting out of the way behind the camera and headed towards the coffin to help his boyfriend out of it. He’d never imagined ending up a general organiser for a band, but when Corroded Coffin has gone on their first small tour, it turned out babysitting a band was pretty much like babysitting teenagers. He’d tagged along for fun, but these days he went with the band everywhere and made sure they did things like eat and sleep and got to their appointments.

It was as the rest of the guys milled around that the sound reached him. The tiniest of snores.

“Oh my god,” Gareth said with a laugh, “did Eddie fall asleep?”

“This is gonna be good,” Jeff added, stepping towards the coffin.

“No!” Steve said in a sharp whisper.

“Awwww,” Frank said stepping towards the coffin anyway, “prowtecting little Eddie-kins?”

“The person who wakes him loses all cookie privileges for a month,” Steve hissed.

That stopped them. They even looked shocked. Steve’s cookies were legendary. He might have started using them as bribery.

“You wouldn’t,” Jeff said.

“I would,” Steve replied, walking the rest of the way to where Eddie was very definitely napping. “Look,” he added quietly, letting the tension fall out of his shoulders, “he hasn’t been sleeping. He’s been worried about the album. You know what he’s like. Everyone take lunch and I’ll stay, keep an eye on Eds, and we can deal with clear down later.”

At that, all glee disappeared from the others’ faces.

“Yeah, okay,” Gareth said, much quieter this time.

Steve couldn’t help smiling to himself as everyone crept out of the studio.

[mayakern]

im curious whenever you share anything about different abilities of different fabrics; if it's something you'd be interested in talking about, could you explain why applied printing is easier on polyester? is it because of the slippery texture, or how the fabric is manufactured, or something else?

Sublimation is a weird process. The dye transforms into a gas when heat is applied to it which opens up the garment's fibers. With synthetic fibers the two substances can form a chemical bond but with cotton or other natural materials, even though they can be very absorbent but there is no chemical process to keep the dye adhered to the cotton so the dye will just wash out.

To make the sub print adhere to the cotton it has to be sprayed with a chemical coating that will allow for the chemical bond to form. So, in theory we could do it, but we would have to use a chemical to achieve this process and I believe it is that chemical that is not eco-friendly.

Our factory is GOTS certified and holds several other environmentally friendly certifications and when we asked about sub printing on cotton, they said no because of the chemical that would be involved. I believe it would go against their internal policies, and in my mind, it would invalidate the whole point of having natural fibers if we were just going to spray them with some terrible chemical compound.

What we can do for the natural fibers, such as cotton on linen, is just regular dying and printing, but that has to take place in a straight line. They would be printing a repeating pattern on a roll of fabric for us at that point. Which we are debating doing for other products. This is why all over prints (AOP) are easier to do on natural materials vs things like the hem designs. In theory hem designs can work but it will take a lot more templating and finagling to get this right.

[cobragardens]

Aziraphale's Ascot: An Analysis

What's most interesting to me about the ascot Aziraphale is wearing when he turns up in Crowley's car in 1967 is that it's very fashionable.

An ascot (American), or day cravat (British), is a band of material meant to be worn inside the shirt collar, terminated on each end with a long wide tongue of that same fabric.

The band goes around the back of the neck, and the tongues are tied in the front and tucked into the open neck of a collared shirt. An ascot displays a wide sweep of color just below the wearer's face to flatter their complexion and show their personality.

And the late 1960s was the ascot's peak of popularity. The Duke of Windsor wore them; the mods wore them; British Invasion bands wore them. Fred wears an ascot in the Scooby-Doo cartoons. Lance Corporal Shadwell wears one. They were a huge trend.

On the surface this doesn't seem like Aziraphale at all. His previous appearances indicate his stylishness in ancient Rome is merely serendipitous overlap of Roman fashion with his personal preferences for white robes, blond hair in a Brutus cut, and gold wing-themed jewellery. In 1601, 1793, 1941, and all contemporary scenes, his style is decades to more than a century off the fashion of its time. We know he's into bow ties by 1941, and he's hardly one to adopt a style merely because it's popular; so why the ascot in 1967?

One possible explanation is that Aziraphale misses the clothing of the Victorian period and leaps at the chance to wear something that harks back to a time when he felt at home, sartorially speaking.

I don't think that's it, though, at least not in Show Omens. For one thing, traditional ascot ties (what a British person would call an ascot or an ascot tie, rather than a day cravat) are not at all the same accessory as the ascots of the 1960s: they're formal rather than semi-casual daywear; they're made of thicker silk, often with a woven rather than printed pattern; and they're worn outside the shirt and collar. More importantly, we've got two scenes of Aziraphale in the Victorian period, and he's not wearing an ascot tie in either of them: he's wearing a long cravat tied in a wide bow, a precursor to his bow ties.

I therefore propose a different explanation for the ascot of 1967.

As Aziraphale has clearly never been anywhere near a polyester fibre in the whole of his celestial existence, and as he always affects an appearance of idle hereditary wealth, we must presume that this--

--is silk. (In fact in the 1960s, a silk ascot in light colors was a signal of upper-class status.)

And we know Aziraphale likes silk, because by 2023 he's been wearing a silk velvet waistcoat for 200 years.

I again advance the argument that, despite himself, Aziraphale is a voluptuary by nature: a person who directs their energies toward the pursuit and enjoyment of pleasure, especially (but not solely) sensual pleasure.

He can control his appearance at will, and yet he has a barber; that means he enjoys the pleasure of a haircut and maybe a hot shave. (I have similar suspicions about his manicured hands.) The barber has recommended new cologne, which means Aziraphale has an old cologne, which means he likes to smell beautiful scents. He eats for sensual pleasure. He drinks for sensual pleasure (much more so than Crowley, who drinks for the pleasure and escape of inebriation). He listens to music for sensual pleasure. He attends the theater for pleasure. Reading is as much a sensual pleasure inside your own head as it is intellectual self-stimulation (which is its own kind of pleasure in turn); and believe me, collecting books is as much a sensual pleasure as a logistical and a philosophical one.

Aziraphale even agrees to an Arrangement with a demon to give himself more spare time for his pursuit of human pleasures. And then he and the demon become friends, because what could be a greater pleasure than indulging yourself in the good company of someone clever and kind and beautiful, who flirts with you and tells wicked jokes you mustn't laugh at--except perhaps for the pleasure of making that person smile in return?

Fun fact: The silk of which casual ascots are made is finer than the silk of either traditional ascot ties or neckties, because ascots/day cravats are made to be worn inside rather than outside the collar.

In 1967, instead of his usual crisp bow tie around his usual tightly buttoned collar, Aziraphale wears an open collar and a day cravat because the fashion of the 1960s lets him keep silk against his skin.

And there's one other thing, too. Compare Aziraphale's ascot to Lance-Corporal Shadwell's, or to the standard ascot knot:

The edge of Azirapale's ascot sits below the edge of his shirt collar where it should sit above, and the cascade spills almost an inch in front of his Adam's apple instead of flush against his neck. Aziraphale has tied his ascot low and loose.

It allows him to bare more of his throat to Crowley than has been sanctioned by custom for 2,000 years.

How long after Aziraphale reverted to bow ties did Crowley think about that?

[starrystevie]

part one

dating a popstar isn't exactly where eddie ever thought his life would be going. said popstar being the one and only steve harrington definitely wasn't a part of that idea, either. you know, the steve that was littered up and down his body in varying colors and styles, scripts and swirls, large and small love letters to his music on whatever space looked too empty. dating that steve was a concept that eddie never took the time to put actual thought into until they met on his tour.

it became a reoccurring thing, the whole "eddie in steve's tour bus, ending up with far less clothes on than he came to the concert with, showing off a new piece to gentle fingers and softer than soft lips" thing. and that reoccurring thing turns into the "steve learning what the inside of eddie's apartment looks like with the sunset painting the walls only to wake up to see what the sunrise makes it look like with far less clothes on than he came over with" thing.

it's on their second official date in the city, when they drink enough vodka sodas to make them just past tipsy and they tumble into eddie's apartment wrapped around each other, that steve see's it. or well, her. eddie strums over the red guitar's strings lightly once before turning back to steve with a wide grin and grabby hands, sauntering over in what he must think is sexy but has steve snorting out a laugh instead.

"you play?" he asks as eddie nuzzles into the space between his shoulder and neck, open mouth kisses tickling the sensitive skin, making his fingers dig just so into eddie's hips.

"mmhmm," he murmurs back noncommittally, focusing more on making temporary bruises form on the pale skin under his lips. "i'm in a band sometimes."

steve laughs with a shake of his head and threads his fingertips through eddie's hair, pulls him back enough to lock gazes, drags his fingers across spit slick lips because he can't help it. "how are you in a band 'sometimes'? most band guys i know are hardcore about it. life or death for the music, you know?"

"well, maybe i'm not like most guys you know, harrington." he says it with a smirk, one that gets returned, before he goes back to steve's neck and has hands wrapped tightly around his hips again.

steve doesn't let it go after that. it's a few days later that he asks eddie about the band, about what music they play and if they have any songs, any albums. asks him to play a song for him as they sit in the moonlight with sated smiles and something love-tinged hanging in the air. it becomes their thing, steve sings for eddie when they're in his tour bus and eddie plays for steve when they're at his apartment. they show their unreleased stuff to each other and it feels good, feels right.

"hey babe, come here for a second" steve says one day on his second tour since the two started dating as eddie brushes his teeth in the hotel suite bathroom. he pads out with bare feet on hardwood floors and finds steve standing next to the full-body mirror examining his bare torso with far more attention than he's ever paid it before.

"... what are you doing?" eddie questions with minty-fresh breath as he comes to stand behind his boyfriend with a chin over his shoulder. he scans over steve in the mirror from his cheeky grin down to the moles dotting his chest down to his ribs where there's-

"oh," his eyes grow wide, steve's hands grab his to pull them around his stomach and press his back to eddie's chest. "that's..."

to the naked eye, it's just a few bats. it's small enough to be hidden away under shirts and polyester, easy enough to explain away to prying eyes. but eddie knows what it really is. he thinks back to the night he first played him the bare bones of "bat out of hell", the song he wrote during his roughest time that wouldn't go anywhere other than his notebook. but now he see's it on steve's skin, etched into him like a stark reminder of him and them and the love that courses in their veins alongside the ink that was purposefully chosen.

eddie presses a lingering kiss onto steve's cheek, eyes closed as he breathes in the air that surrounds the love of his life and thinks about how lucky he was that he was on shift the night of steve's first show in indianapolis.

"figured you have enough pieces of me, i wanted to have a piece of you, too."

[veryinnovative]

read ceo reg/young james before bed, woke up, did a billion different things at work already and i still can’t stop thinking about them!!!! i can anticipate reg giving james a bonus in a near future or helping him out with his expenses 🥹 that would be very hot. i’d love having a regulus black to financially support me too!! james a lucky one

PLSSS theres so many good things planned for them. im thinking of a slice-of-life approach. just good, fun vibes. fluff and occasional smut.

reg giving james a bonus nd james is so stubborn abt accepting it. reg buys james a fancy sweater nd james gets him a polyester blend that makes his skin itch. he has regulus try instant coffee for the first time. james almost gets evicted nd reg buys the whole building. he has a whole ass penthouse and 18 other estates but spends most of his time hunkering at james' in the tiny bed placed in the cramped as hell flat

[shefightslikeagirl]

Hobby Drama: Emilie Autumn's Asylum [Part 1]

u/pillowcase-of-eels posted a link to their fandom-and-EA-history write up to the r/EmilieAutumn Reddit, and I thought it would be a fun project to share! 2 out of 7 parts have been posted to r/HobbyDrama so far.

Picture this: it's the early 2010s, somewhere in the western world. Instagram is a novelty, Harvey Weinstein runs Hollywood, almost no one on Earth leans one way or the other about RNA vaccines, and Donald Trump is that one real estate guy you vaguely remember from Home Alone 2. New player Lady Gaga is the most interesting thing to have happened to pop since Madonna, and the whole industry is attempting to catch up; Miley Cyrus is the chick who used to be on Hannah Montana; Melanie Martinez hasn't hatched yet. The time of Oddball Concept Divas is dawning just below the horizon.

You're a Bowie-loving student who skipped goth night at the club to tag along with your art school friends for a very special evening. You're a giddy sixteen-year old rocking cat ears, purple Wet 'n Wild eyeliner, a polyester petticoat, and a coffin-shaped backpack. You're an effete theater kid who sewed his own waistcoat for the occasion, but won't dare wear it to school the next day. You're a buff, bearded dude in a Venom shirt who's trying not to look too excited, since your girlfriend supposedly had to drag you here. You're a slightly bemused parent leaning against the back wall of the venue, sipping a warm half-pint, wondering if this isn't all a bit dark for a tween. ("It's called 'Victoriandustrial', mom," you've been told in the car, "and it's not dark, it's art.")

On stage is a pink-haired woman, with red porcelain-doll lips and a heart painted on her cheek. Among a set of antique consoles, twee tchotchkes, teacups and plastic rats, she pounces and twirls in glittery platform boots, tattered striped stockings, and a tightly laced crystal-studded corset that looks like it's splattered in blood. This is ostensibly a concert, but there is no live band. Where one would expect a drum kit or a bass, three bedazzled burlesque vixens act as back-up singers and dancers, with the occasional vaudeville act a fire-twirling number, a fan dance, throwing pastries and spitting tea into the audience. Lots of wholesome girl-on-girl kissing, too. The music on the backing track is a genre-bender of clanging beats and beeps, lofty orchestral strings, and the frantic hammering of a MIDI harpsichord, as the pink-haired frontlady sings of heartache and betrayal and drowning. Think if the Brontë sisters had invented industrial rock.

The audience gasps in excitement when the lady whips out a vamped-out wireless electric violin. With rockstar cool and virtuoso poise, she leans into the instrument, touches the bow to the strings, and tears out a single plaintive, impeccably distorted high note. Then her fingers go wild, and for a few seconds, everything is perfect suspended animation. Uncannily perfect, almost. Just behind you, you hear someone whisper: "Wait, is she miming it?"

[shou-jpeg]

Trick or treat! 🎃

Treat!

****

Chay pauses, empty chip packet in hand and bin lid open. He stands there, gazing down into its depths.

There is a black shirt in the bin.

It looks like one of Kim's t-shirts. Why is it in the bin?

He reaches down and pulls it out. It's clean still, the bin almost empty save for one empty yogurt container - Kim's favourite kind of breakfast.

He examines the shirt, looking for why Kim might have put it in the bin, but he finds nothing: other than a small cut in the bottom hem, the shirt looks almost new.

"Babe?" He calls, "Why is there one of your shirts in the bin?"

Kim rolls his chair back so he can look through the open home studio door. "I accidentally cut it this morning when I was cleaning my knives." He says. As if that clears up anything at all.

Chay tells him as much, holding up the shirt between them. "What? This?" He points at the little cut. "Phi why are you throwing out a shirt because of one little cut?"

Kim gives him a bewildered look. "Why would I want to wear a damaged shirt? It brings down the whole look and people would judge me."

"Judge you? P'Khun maybe, but Phi no one would even notice this little cut normally. And if it bothers you, you could just sew it up? It's so wasteful to throw away a whole shirt because of one imperfection."

Kim looks at him as if he had just suggested Kim walk about Bangkok in his underwear. "I can just buy a new one, Chay."

"You can't just drop 100 bhat on a new shirt every time you pull a thread or cut a hem, Phi."

"That shirt cost 1400 bhat."

"Fourteen hundred bhat!?" Chay yelps. That is far too much money to spend on a shirt.

"It's designer." Kim says, as if that makes the situation less insane.

"P'Kim, it doesn't even have a brand name on it."

"It's on the tag inside."

"But you can't even see the tag. Why not just buy a normal tshirt?"

"Polyester itches my skin. And I have the money, why buy cheap clothes?"

"Polyester isn't -" Chay stops himself mid sentence, taking a moment to breathe.

Kim comes from money, he reminds himself. This is hardly the first time they've clashed over something like this. If they keep going, they're not going to get anywhere, and Chay would rather not fight with his boyfriend.

"Phi," he starts, "throwing something away because of a small damage is really wasteful. There are people in the world who can't afford even a 100 bhat shirt. If you don't want it anymore, you should at least donate it to charity."

Kim looks away from him then, and Chay hates it. He hates it when Kim gets that ashamed look on his face, like there's something about himself he realises he doesn't like. He doesn't want Kim to hate himself for something he didn't even know to consider.

"How about… how about I fix it for you, Phi? I've been following these pages about visible mending and I've been dying to try some of the stitches. I could make it look really nice for you. And if you don't want to wear it out, it can be for home or when you visit me. I love seeing you wearing the stuff I make for you."

Kim still has that look on his face that Chay hates, but he also looks thoughtful and almost a little eager. He rarely says it aloud, but Chay knows that Kim really likes receiving handmade gifts from him.

"...Okay." Kim relents eventually, rolling himself back behind the wall into his studio. Chay follows after him, pressing a kiss into his hair and mumbling something sweet.

He backs off then, giving Kim some space to ruminate.

He has a project now, and he's getting a little excited the more he thinks about it. Maybe he will sew in a little leaf or two, or a flower or a little cloud. He really has been dying for an excuse to try some of these ideas. If this is going to be a thing for Kim - not wanting to wear clothes that look even slightly damaged - then Chay might have just found his canvas, as well as a way to put his mark on yet another part of Kim.

[seat-safety-switch]

Great civilizations made their houses out of the things they had lying around. Clay for bricks. Snow for igloos. Glass for nudist colonies. With all the microplastics floating throughout the ether, why can't I make a house out of Bondo®?

Bondo has a lot of benefits: for one, it's easy to sculpt. It provides some decent insulative qualities. Animals can't peck holes in it and live inside, unlike my friend Sylvester Raccoon, who it turns out is actually a kind of wood-pecking bird. You can paint over it in any colour you like. Tools are widely available to sculpt it And, unlike the cars we use it on, it won't rust. In fact, there's really no reason we shouldn't be using it for all of our homes. I'm sort of a futurist, in my rad kind of bluey-white polyester resin home.

Of course, there is the cost issue. Buying just a little can of the stuff will now set you back approximately the GDP of New Mexico (Old Mexico is still somewhat more profitable.) I didn't let this stop me, though, and I knew that the local auto body shop would chuck it into the dumpster out back only a few weeks after its expiry date had passed. I also knew that zapping said Bondo in the microwave for a few minutes would make it pliable again. Sure, doing so also totals the microwave, but that's why Best Buy has a return policy.

Ultimately, the only real downside to the whole thing is the smell. Even when top-coated with the finest Rustoleum Shitbox Gray that I could find at the hardware store, a really hot day will make it smell like I just repaired some rust. And that makes me feel guilty about not having used all this body filler on any number of my sad, hole-filled cars. They can wait until I'm living in them, I figure, which might be any day now, if Sylvester finds his way to shorting out the breaker panel again.