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[cuubism]

At first Hob isn't even sure the shop is open. The tiny door inset above a few steps, the utter lack of welcoming signage, the windows packed with unlabelled stacks of books--it doesn't exactly scream come in and buy something. As Hob steps up to the door, he really expects it to be locked, or for a sign to fall from the ceiling reading, abandon all hope here, mortal.

But the door to the bookshop--the name of which he's yet to determine, again with the utter lack of signage thing--just swings open at his touch, and he steps into a narrow hallway made entirely of--of course!--books.

Dust rises from the rug as he carefully makes his way deeper into the meandering corridors. The lightbulbs overhead are dim and in desperate need of replacement. The stacks are teetering and untouched. If he learned the place had been sitting here on this winding side street, exactly the same, for the past seven hundred years, he wouldn't be at all surprised.

And now Hob's marring its mysterious mausoleum aura by opening a jaunty modern coffee shop across the street.

Whoops.

Hence why he's bringing a peace offering before he accidentally starts a war over noise or crowds or god knows what else. Most places would probably be happy about increased foot traffic, but that's not the sense he's getting here.

This is all, of course, assuming he does find an owner, and not just a skeleton manning a till somewhere in this place long gone dark.

Hob doesn't find any customers. He does find several interesting-looking side hallways labelled things like, ~ the occult ~ , Oneiromancy, and "falconry -- advanced" and has to drag himself back into focus because the only thing worse than starting a turf war with a mysterious bookstore owner on his cafe's opening day is accidentally spilling the coffee he's brought--as a peace offering!--all over some ancient magical text.

"Hello?" he calls, finally giving up on the creeping about. "Anyone there?"

No answer. All Hob finds is a rickety set of stairs leading up the next level. So he ascends.

At the top is an even more cluttered room of books. This time in disorganized, unlabelled stacks on every surface. Waiting to be shelved, maybe? And in the center of it all, sitting cross-legged on the floor with several of these books spread out in a confusing array before him, is who Hob can only presume to be the owner.

An owner who is not dead, nor ancient and decrepit as Hob had kind of been picturing. Definitely not decrepit at all. Oohhhh dear.

The lithe, dark-haired, fey thing that is the owner tapes a note inside another book and says, in a distracted tone, "Can I help you?"

"Uh," says Hob, because he came here on a mission but he's gotten really turned around, "do you drink coffee?"

This gets him a raised eyebrow, but the shop owner does turn to look at him, staring up from his position on the floor. Christ he's pretty, spectacles and all. If there is a battle over street noise levels, Hob's going to lose by dint of caving automatically to those eyes. Pathetic.

The bookstore owner looks at the coffee in Hob's hand, then back at Hob's face. "Why?"

Hob thrusts the cup in his direction. "Here."

The owner looks alarmed now, but takes the cup, gingerly, peering at it as if he thinks Hob might have given him pureed nightshade instead. "Why?" he repeats, and then, because apparently his level of self-preservation doesn't extend to things like not drinking random shit thrust at him by strangers, takes a sip, and hums in appreciation.

"I-- fuck, sorry--" Hob sits down on the floor, which only makes him look more like a maniac to be honest-- "I just-- I just opened across the street? The cafe? So I just wanted to say hi and-- holy shit, is your name actually Dream? Were you a stripper in another life or something?"

This because he's finally spotted a tiny nametag pin on the bookstore owner's cardigan-- a cat curled around a book where the cover reads, I am Dream.

"Yes," says Dream, and Hob has no idea if that's in response to the first question, the second, or both. Both is terrifying to think about. As is the fact that Hob even asked that. "The cafe, you said?"

"Mmhmm," Hob agrees, cheeks burning. Oh, he's making a right mess of this, all right.

"Hmm," says Dream, peering at him over the coffee cup. This indicates nothing to Hob about how he feels about the cafe situation.

"I just worried that more noise and stuff might bother you," Hob rushes to explain. "You seem. To. You know. Like your quiet. Is all."

"It is my understanding that cafes and bookstores frequently have symbiotic relationships," says Dream evenly, though he's still watching Hob with unnerving intensity.

Well. That was easy. Maybe Hob was just worrying over nothing. Wanting to be liked when it wouldn't have been an issue.

"Alright," he says, letting out a breath. "Well. Good!"

"Good," echoes Dream, with a tiny, wry smile.

"What is this place anyway? I've seen no signage whatsoever."

"It's called The Library," Dream says.

Hob waits for him to explain. He doesn't. "Um, but... isn't it a shop?"

Dream raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "And?"

"So..." Hob says, "it's not a library."

"Purchasing something is but extended borrowing from the universe," says Dream, like that makes any sense at all.

But Hob decides there's other things he'd rather do with a pretty goth bookstore/library/whatever owner than argue semantics. "What do you carry, then?"

Now Dream preens like a cat. "The Library contains every book in print."

Now it's Hob's turn to raise an eyebrow. "That seems... unlikely? Impossible?"

Dream's self-satisfied little smile doesn't fade. "You are welcome to browse the stacks and let me know if there is anything you cannot find."

And, well, it's true that Hob didn't really get a sense of just how far back this place goes. It looks small from the street, but he's already wandered pretty far in just to find Dream, and has yet to reach a back wall.

"I will definitely have to come back," he agrees. And get lost. Definitely get lost. He's not even sure he can find his way out. He'll probably get swallowed up in Oneiromancy.

"In return I will be sure to visit your cafe," says Dream. He says it so strangely, like crossing into a foreign land. I will be sure to visit your court. "Are you open late?"

"On Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, yup," says Hob.

"Excellent." Dream inclines his head imperiously to Hob. "Thank you. For the coffee."

Hob figures he should let him get back to his labeling. He has plenty of his own work, too.

"Yeah, sure, any time. Good to meet you, Dream."

And then he scurries away before he can make it any weirder, makes his meandering way out of "The Library," and doesn't get lost in Oneiromancy.

This time.

--

The following night, Hob looks up from the till to find Dream standing across the counter from him. He looks much the same as before, with the addition of a long dark coat over his clothes, and no reading glasses this time. He offers Hob a tiny smile. "Hob Gadling."

Gosh, he looks, if possible, even prettier in the warm lighting of the cafe than in the darkness of his shop. Though to be honest, Hob had half-convinced himself he'd hallucinated Dream's existence. He hasn't seen anyone go in or out of the shop since.

"Dream," he greets, with a smile. "Anything I can get for you?"

"It is I who have something for you." He hands Hob what must be a book, though it's wrapped in brown paper. "Consider it a return gift. Or perhaps. A welcome."

And before Hob can even ask if he wants coffee or something, if he wants to sit down, he slips back out through the crowd and onto the street like a vapor, and then he's gone.

Hob tears open the paper. And then stares at the book in astonishment.

It's the book. Everyone has one. The book once read but since forgotten in the shuffle of time; title, author, too vague in recollection to pin down. Unsearchable. Never found, for all that the heart of the story might have lodged its way in somewhere deep.

It's one of those books that he remembers in blistering detail now that it's in his hands, that he read in uni but couldn't have found for the life of him on his own, and Dream's just handed it to him over the counter of his cafe.

He runs his fingertip over the midnight blue cover, the embossed lettering. In Search of Nightingales. And it's only as he looks up again at the hidden shop across the street, that he realizes he never told Dream his name, either.

[tossyouforedinburgh]

is everyone else's life just like, Good Omens coded? like my housemate, who is not my boyfriend, he's just... like this cute guy I know. we have a long history but it's not... it's not like that. anyway he was like, can I take you out for fancy breakfast. and I was in my work clothes, so I'm all in black with my ginger hair and he's in his little nerdy shirt and jumper attire just like pottering about while I follow him, and then he was like, do you want to help me buy a new cardigan (yes) so we went to M&S where I explained how to be the most annoying customer of all time and he bragged about how his friend told him his good deeds would impress rabbis.

[probablyasocialecologist]

TikTok was where I learned about SHEIN. For a while my For You page, which had accurately identified my interest in fashion’s more material impacts, served me videos of sustainable fashion influencers decrying SHEIN’s wretched labor and environmental practices. The textile industry is the second-largest polluter in the world, they said, and of all the fast-fashion producers, SHEIN is by far the worst offender. SHEIN uses toxic chemicals in their clothing production; SHEIN mass-produces fabrics like spandex that never decompose (at this point an image would flash across the screen: an overflowing clothing landfill, or a mountain of discarded clothes in the Chilean desert so large it is visible from space); SHEIN exploits and endangers its factory workers. Employees earn $556 a month to make five hundred pieces of clothing every day, work eighteen-hour days, and use their lunch breaks to wash their hair — a schedule they repeat seven days per week with only one day off per month. A more nuanced TikToker might point out, briefly, that conditions in SHEIN factories are not necessarily unique, or that focusing on suppliers — rather than the larger systems of Western consumption and capitalism that create these conditions — is a fool’s errand, but the platform isn’t built for that kind of dialogue. I clicked on the comments and invariably read ones with several dozen likes saying, “I’m so willing to die in shein clothes.” Before long I was watching SHEIN hauls. There are millions of them — the tag #sheinhaul has been viewed a collective 14.2 billion times on TikTok. In each haul, a woman rips open a plastic bag filled with smaller plastic bags filled with small plastic clothing. Sometimes the woman holds up each garment and narrates its merits, but often the clothes are disembodied, laid flat on a floor or a bed in an accidental stop-motion animation. A stretchy red skirt on a furry white carpet is replaced by a strapless watercolor bustier with a deep-V neckline. A zebra-print skirt is followed by a matching pink two-piece set, with a short-sleeve cardigan and miniskirt constructed from a fabric that looks like bubble wrap. Sometimes a haul is five pieces, and sometimes it is too many pieces to count. The garments appear and disappear in seconds, edited to the beat of a trending song. Rarely do we see the clothing on a body. Usually brand familiarity accrues in a slow drip, building from obscurity to instant recognizability over the course of months or years as a designer’s work intersects with the zeitgeist and gains traction on social media. SHEIN was different. One day I’d never heard of the retailer and the next it was inescapable: in thousands of outfit videos, on millions of social media feeds. The clothes weren’t distinct or cohesive; what united them wasn’t style but price. All those SHEIN hauls entered my feeds with such ubiquity that they began to feel like they’d always been there. I’d opened a door to a new part of the fashion internet: a place where girls bragged about their ultra-fast-fashion purchases, delighting in the cheapness of the garments. Here, SHEIN was the obvious choice for new clothes. Why not, when you could buy on-trend pieces at lightning speed for less than the price of a cup of coffee? It was uncanny to bounce between videos: here was a girl showing off her new halter, here was another girl giving a litany of reasons why it was unconscionable to buy clothes for so little money. Didn’t these TikTokers hear one another? But then again, how could they? “This is what we keep missing here in the whole conversation about sustainability in the industry,” Nick Anguelov, a professor of public policy from UMass Dartmouth, said to a Slate journalist writing about SHEIN in June. “We keep failing to understand that our customers are kids and they don’t give a fuck.”

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Flower in hell

warning : fluff, tiny hurt, insults, comfort, some touching without consent, no use of y/n

Euronymous x fem reader

Disclaimer : This is just a piece of fiction and is based on the movie and it's character. I don't want to glorify the real life events behind that the movie is based of.

masterlist-Rory's charcters, masterlist-Lords of Chaos 2018

Part.1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She didn't really want to go into the shop, the shop with the eternal darkness as her mother called it. It was just a last resort for her father's birthday because she didn't have time to buy a present. But now she was here a few metres away from the record shop.

She could still hear her mother practically throwing her out of the house to look for a present. Apart from the fact that she had almost no idea what her father's bands were called, she didn't quite seem to match the outfit either.

Because it was still relatively warm in late summer, she had put on her white summer dress with embroidered daisies and a white cardigan, an outfit that not only showed off her favourite flower, but also brought her what felt like the only joy today.

But when she stopped for a moment in front of the first shop window and saw the customers inside, she knew she was definitely dressed wrong. Like a Ying and Yang she thought and seriously considered going back home and changing to avoid any beatings or attempts on her life.

Because like almost everyone in town, she believed that the metal fans had something to do with the church fires. Apart from the prejudices, she had never listened to the music. She knew that she was as good as lost.

Stopping in front of the next shop window, she saw the silver chains hanging inside, enclosing the new albums. The soundproof covers were mostly dark but she found it somehow fascinating in its own way.

Before she looked past the black fabric and saw that inside, next to the customers, the whole wall and the entire shop was kept in black. Only the individual album covers gave the shop a little colour, which was swallowed by the black. It won't be so bad, she thought, knowing the effect the metal fans had here.

She had seen the group walking around a time or two, she could still smell the beer, cigarettes and weed outside the shop. She knew that most of them were avoiding them.

Taking a last breath, she walked to the door and opened it. Immediately she was hit with a mix of smoke, wood, dust and beer mixed with the loud music playing in the shop.

She wasn't quite sure whether to cough, spin around and walk back out, or just pass out and let the ambulance drive her out of here. Just get it over with she thought to herself and went to the first shelf with the sound panels. Looking through the alphabetised compartments, she kept her gaze down.

She tried to block out the other shoppers and avoid contact as much as possible. But despite the loud music that could be heard coming from the shop, she could still hear the other shoppers talking. In the corner of her eye, she saw the salesman walk around behind the braid and step in her direction.

She was just about to turn the record around to look at the songs when he took it out of her hand. ,,The flower shop is one street over, Daisy," she heard the black-haired man say, looking at her dismissively.

She knew she should have been angry with him for his behaviour, should have listened to her mother and kept away from such people. But it was different, instead of hatred and rejection she felt fascination. Fascination about his appearance and looks.

The long, black, slightly wavy hair, the black clothes with the leather jacket that clung to his body to match the ammunition belt. The thing that completely captivated her, however, were his eyes. The bright blue eyes that seemed to be the only non-dark thing about him. It was like the infinite sky, as if she could look at him forever.

As if he had her in his hold. ,,I know where it is, but that's not why I'm here," she replied and tried to reach for the album. But the unknown man pulled it away from her and threw the record to his colleague, a man with long brown hair who sat down with it on a couch and watched TV.

She looked past the black-haired man and recognised Evil Dead. ,,Did you hear that, Faust, that's why the little flower isn't here?" he asked amusedly to the brown-haired man, who chuckled but didn't look away from the television. ,,What is she here for?" asked someone else who came out of a door.

He also had long brown hair and almost a confident grin on his lips. She shuddered when he looked at her. It was definitely a different look from the black-haired man. Not so much interested as almost obsessive. Rolling her eyes, she turned away from him and went to another shelf instead.

She tried to ignore the stares of the three and continued looking for an album for her father. If only they knew she thought, biting her tongue to swallow a comment. Running her fingers over the albums she found a name that sounded familiar. ,,Scorpions" she mumbled and took out the album, she remembered well how her father had talked about the new album.

At least now she had an idea what she would buy him. She heard the laughter of the three as she walked towards the checkout. She stopped only when the black-haired man stood in her way again.

Saw how amused he was that she was getting more annoyed. Like a game of cat and mouse, he seemed to enjoy dragging it out. ,,Do you treat all your clients like this?" she asked him, clutching the album in her hand tighter so as not to lose it.

But this made the black-haired man smile before he stepped aside and bowed slightly to show her the way. ,,Only the customers who are really sexy" she heard him murmur and felt the goose bumps spread over her body.

For a moment he seemed too close to her. For a moment she felt his hand over hers before he pulled away from her and walked around her to finally stand behind the cash register.

Handing him the plate, she saw the one with the brown hair go up to the black-haired man and take it from him. ,,Scorpions is a disgrace, even a doll like you should know that...get lost" he hissed and seemed about to smash the record on the counter.

Angered by his cheeky and unkind manner towards her, she reached into her pocket and hammered a cash note onto the braid before snatching the album out of the surprised brown-haired man's hand. ,,Fuck you and your fucking shop you miserable cheeky bastard. It's not even for me, it's for my father, just fuck off!" she snapped at him.

Before turning on her heel and giving the three of them her middle finger before slamming the door behind her. ,,How can you be so rude?" she cursed outside as she made her way back to her house to finally get to the birthday party. Hoping that the cake would lift her spirits. She did not hear the door she had slammed open and close again.

Only when someone grabbed her wrist did she realise that someone was behind her. ,,What!" she shouted at the stranger and saw herself about to strike the brown-haired man. But she stopped and saw that it wasn't him. It was the black-haired one with the lovely eyes. ,,Here, you forgot your change," he said and put the money in her hand before looking around slightly nervously.

Surprised by him looking at her hand, she put the money in her pocket and gave a ,,Thank you", not expecting him to chase her for it. ,,No problem...I hope you don't take his words seriously, he's just an asshole" he apologised for his friend's behaviour in a calmer tone. He didn't make fun of her anymore and she believed his words.

Gave him a small smile as a thank you before she answered, ,,He's just an asshole like you said, it's okay". Silence fell between the two of them, not only did she seem to be starting to find it uncomfortable, but she could also tell by his slightly uncertain look that he seemed almost nervous. ,,I'm the owner of the shop, Euronymous by the way, and that asshole was a member of my band Mayhem," he said suddenly and she saw the pride in his gaze.

As he himself smiled slightly and she now knew exactly who was standing in front of her. Knew exactly where she was and when she had snapped at him inside. ,,True Norwegian Black Metal" she repeated his words and saw him looking at her in surprise.

Heard his amused giggle which made him seem kind of cute. ,,I didn't think a daisy had such good taste," she heard him say before he reached out to her dress. She felt him tracing the embroidery with his fingers. Not breaking eye contact she felt herself getting lost in his eyes again. As if he knew exactly what effect he had on her.

She felt him squeeze a little harder, almost deliberately, to test how far he could go. ,,I just know what I like," she said quieter and faintly than she had intended. As if her head had switched itself off and her body reacted on its own. Before he pulled away from her after a moment.

Knowing he had her. Knowing she would come back. ,,Then I hope you like my fucking shop and come back after all," he said goodbye to her as he bowed slightly again, making her smile. ,,Maybe I'll come back again sometime, it would be nice not to be insulted this time...but thank you Euronymous" she added before giving him a final wave before turning around to head back home.

But she was wrong, the cake didn't lift her spirits, she knew it was Euronymus who had lifted her spirits. Unaware that it would not be the last time she would find herself in his record store again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@mayhem-things

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024 #4, fall

Read part one (using the prompt "box") here

Read part two (using the prompt "familiar") here

+++++

I love you all for liking this and having as much fun as I. Moreover, spawning funny new denominations like "cardigan tiger" and "The Bed Shop Boys". 🤣

Let's continue!

+++++

The Perfect Place - Part Three

"You are very good at selling beds,” stated Sherlock (an obvious lie) because that was the first thing he could safely verbalize while fantasizing about John being very good in bed. He was falling so hard for the ex-soldier that it hurt.

John blushed and it was quite adorable. “Thank you. No one ever said that before, actually.” He licked his lips, a bit nervous about this admission. “You are the first who noticed.” He was falling so hard for this customer, it was like getting hit by a bullet all over again.

Sherlock forced himself to not stare at John’s tongue (He failed, by the way. He stared very much but John was so overwhelmed by Sherlock’s praise and gorgeous looks that he did not notice).

“Most people are idiots.” Sherlock shrugged.

“But not you.” John beamed. “I had a feeling that you were already hooked when you first saw the bed.”

Replace the “bed” with “you” and it's spot-on, Sherlock thought.

“You had me at once,” Sherlock confirmed, “when you explained about the,” he made some mental contorsions because he had not listened at all, “the various kinds of mattresses available.”

John nodded enthusiastically.

Sherlock was very proud of himself when he suddenly remembered something John had really talked about. “I also was very impressed with the different kinds of firmness and springiness available.”

“So, do you like it hard or soft?” John asked.

“What?” Sherlock blinked rapidly.

“The mattress!” Realizing what he had just said and what it could imply (actually John had implied exactly what he had said), he quickly backpaddled.

“I mean how do you like your mattress? Softer or harder?” John turned away to wipe beads of sudden sweat from his forehead and also to hide his embarrassed face. He wanted to slap himself for being such a creep. Daydreaming like a teenager and drooling over the one and only customer he had ever had who was actually interested in buying a bed.

John needn’t have worried about Sherlock getting affronted because right now Sherlock was distracted by a burning problem.

The mind palace was currently on fire after Sherlock had pondered about the firmness and springiness of certain body parts John so wickedly hid under these atrocious brown corduroy trousers. He was totally preoccupied with putting out the mental blaze to get his mind functioning again.

Therefore, Sherlock only absent-mindedly answered John’s question. “That depends on the position I’m in.” (He thought about liking it soft when topping and hard when bottoming.)

John startled, confused and afraid if he was possibly facing a mind-reader because that was exactly what he had been daydreaming about before. (Which position the dream customer would prefer in bed, that is.)

Sherlock, realizing what he had just said and what it could imply, quickly backpaddelled. “I mean where the bed would be positioned in my flat. When I’m in. The bed.”

(Which made no sense at all but neither of the two men was aware, both totally besotted with each other and fighting against drowning in a bottomless pit of utter infatuation.)

+++++

tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @raina-at @lisbeth-kk

[dira333]

Passing Peonies - Post War Touya Todoroki - Part IV

When the war ended, Midoriya Izuku had proven one thing: That Villains did not need to be killed to be defeated. That you could make friends from enemies.

Touya Todoroki, formerly known as Dabi, had been one of those taken into the rehabilitation program. After one year of intense physical and psychological therapy, he's got the chance to prove himself. To prove that he can be a part of this world.

Complete fic length: 30.600 words - Masterlist

Warnings: poor mental health and resentment against past actions is mentioned, burn scars etc. as well. There is angst but this is mostly soft Touya coming back to his family...

Part 4: (2,1k words)

You’re a good teacher.

He’d known before but it becomes clearer now. 

He’s still got problems with fine motor skills, his fingers often too stiff to tie ribbons or cut the smallest branches without damaging the rest of a Bonsai but he’s learning so much, not just about taking care of plants but other things as well.

The old ladies that used to coo at your friendly gifts now flock around him, tell him about their grandkids and ask for his opinion on what to buy them.

He figures out quickly which students like his snarky comments and who’s appreciative of being guided toward a cheaper alternative.

The week after he gets his ZZ plant, he can choose between a bouquet or an indoor plant.

“You don’t even know if I’ve taken good care of him.”

“Well, have you?” You ask, pushing the sleeves of your cardigan up your arms as you prepare to dig into the roots of fiddle-leaf fig, the sight of your bare underarms distracting him for a second.

“Of course. But that’s not the point.”

“Bring him in tomorrow then if you want me to review your work.” You cheekily smile up at him. “Even if you’re just fishing for compliments.”

He picks a golden pothos for his therapist, knowing that he desperately needs a plant to light up that office while also knowing he can’t take that free bouquet and gift it to you, even if he’s starting to want to.

🌺.

Three months later you’ve fallen into a rhythm. 

Every second Friday after closing you let him into your apartment where, after a grilled cheese sandwich and a shared bowl of soup, he waters your plants and renames them.

Bob’s doing so well, he’s already a parent, one of his kids now sitting on Fuyumi’s shelf. 

Hawks has put in a request for more Bouquets for his agency, as well as his father and Shouto, who in turn has seemingly told all his classmates about this great flower shop downtown.

Touya would love how much more money you’re making now if all those customers wouldn’t cut into the time he gets to spend with you.

At least the purple-haired gremlin Shouto calls a classmate hasn’t shown up since he scared him off. He doesn’t like guys buying flowers as an excuse to check you out, especially when they’re too cheap to buy a proper bouquet.

🌺.

“No grilled cheese today.” You tell him one Friday evening as you close the door and turn the key. “I’m buying you dinner.”

His heart skips traitourously.

“You sure your plants can survive without my care?” He jokes and you grin.

“Positive. Now grab your jacket and let's head out.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Oh, multiple things. We’ve got so much business now we’ll have to start dividing our orders into two different pick-up dates. What do you think of Tuesday and Thursday? We could use Monday and Wednesday to make the bouquets.”

“And the other reasons?”

You laugh, clearly figuring out that there’s no use in redirecting his thoughts. 

“I don’t believe in anniversaries but I’ve heard people say that it’s always hardest after the third month, so I thought you could use a little celebration.”

He looks at you, calculates the slope of your nose against the curve of your lips, and cocks his head to the side.

“And the last thing?”

You sober up quickly, looking down the street into the dark night, the sign of a gas station glowing in the distance.

“Today’s the anniversary of my father’s death.” You look up at him, your eyes open and vulnerable. “I like to do something nice for someone else on that day. As a gift to the world, you know?”

He doesn’t know. But it fits you. Like green aprons and cardigans, white shirts, and grilled cheese.

-

“Do you want to talk about him?”  

You walk in silence for a while, the same comfortable silence he’s shared with you since he’s met you, until eventually you open your mouth.

“We have the same quirk. It has been in our family for generations. My great-great-grandmother was a hero, actually. She made sure to marry someone who complimented her quirk and so on and so forth, until my father decided to marry someone quirkless, to not be a hero, or even a fancy landscaper. He just wanted a normal, comfortable life.”

You point at the door or the restaurant and he follows you, feeling like your story isn’t over yet, but not ready to push you to talk when you never do that with him.

The restaurant isn’t fancy, but it’s not fast food either, telling him that you’re spending quite some money when he’s seen how you live and knows how much the shop used to bring in.

When the waiter leaves your table and he opens his menu, you lean across the table to whisper, bringing along a scent he’s grown so familiar too. The scent of earth and greenery, of flowers and foliage, of you and your shop and your home.

“Sorry, what?” He shakes his head to clear his mind, realizing he missed every word you’ve just said.

“I said if you’re not against sharing they have this amazing combination of gyoza dumpling and melted cheese. They line the Gyoza up and when the cheese is melted you can dip the gyoza in. You can choose what the fillings are and if you want other dips for it but it’s usually a serving for two.”

He blinks at the giddiness lighting up your face. He’d never been especially inclined towards cheese until his mind started linking it to you and now, linking it to you being happy.

“Of course.” He hears himself say and sees you lighting up even more. “But if we order it, we have to go full in. Filled with cheese to dip in cheese. We’re not cowards after all.”

You giggle and he looks back down at the menu to keep himself from staring, glad that his skin grafts cannot blush.

When the waiter returns, however, he’s pulling a face that spells uncomfortableness.

“I’m sorry.” He says, clutching his notepad with both hands. “But I’m… well, I was made aware that we cannot serve you.”

“What do you mean?” Your face is full of confusion while Touya catches on faster. 

“He means he can’t serve me.” He explains and the way the man cringes tells him everything he needs to know.

“It’s alright.” He says when he feels that it’s not, in fact, alright. “I’ll just see you tomorrow then.”

“No.” Your hand’s flat on the table and your voice serious. “Matsumoto-kun, you’ll be serving us.”

“I’m sorry, please, I-”

“Leave it.” Touya tells you, the hard line of your mouth something he hasn’t seen before.

“Is there a problem?” Behind Matsumoto, a new face appears.

“Yes.” You’re standing now, smaller than the two men, but standing your ground. “You’re taking part in the rehabilitation agreement, yet you’re not willing to serve a member of the same agreement. I don’t want to do this but I will have to make a formal complaint if you continue to refuse us service.”

“Madam.” The man behind Matsumoto, obviously the manager, is wringing his hands now. “This isn’t about the agreement. You have to understand what your companion did-”

“It doesn’t matter who he is or what he has done.” You tell them sharply. “He could be Tomura Shigaraki and it would still be your duty to serve him as a customer if he came in here as part of the Rehabiliation agreement.”

“This isn’t our decision,” Matsumoto whispers, eyes looking everywhere but at Touya himself who’s now standing himself, hand on your arm as if that would do something but ground himself.

“Come on.” He tells you. “Not today.”

And somehow he’s said the right thing because you nod and grab your purse and your jacket, following him out of the restaurant.

Five steps from the door he can hear you curse under your breath.

Ten steps from the door he can hear you sniffle and when he turns, you’re full on crying, fat tears dripping down your face.

“Hey. Hey, don’t cry about that. It’s not worth it.”

“It is!” You disagree wetly. “They shouldn’t treat you this way and now I’m mad and I’m hungry and I’m upset that I always cry when I’m mad, and-”

“If it would make you feel better you could let weeds grow in front of their door.”

“They would just pull it out, that’s just hurting the plants.” You complain but you’re almost smiling now.

He’s grinning back at you. “We could spray paint their windows. Egg the front. Put toilet paper over the door.”

“What are you? Five?” 

He laughs and you laugh with him, frozen on the sidewalk in your shared little bubble.

“There’s a Kentucky Fried Chicken down the street, isn’t it?” He asks. “They have cheese fries. It’s not as good as dipping cheesy Gyoza into melted cheese but would it satisfy your cheesy needs?”

“You make me sound like an addict.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little bit.”

-

He watches you pop another cheese-covered fry into your mouth and feels only a little weird about it.

“Feeling better?” He asks, chewing on his straw.

“A bit. But I’m still going to put in a formal complaint. It’s not okay.”

“It’s been a year. It’s going to take some time.”

“Still. God, now I can never go back there again and I don’t know anyone else who offers that dish.” You complain.

“I could learn how to make it.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them and he bites his tongue, regretting them immediately when you pinch your brows.

“I didn’t know you can cook.” You offer him an easy way out and he shrugs.

“I don’t. But it doesn’t sound that hard.”

You laugh. “Oh, it is. Why do you think I only offer you Miso soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?”

“Because that’s your favorite food?”

“True. But it’s also the only thing I can make. Well, when the sun’s in the right position and the moon’s not looking, I can also make a fried egg.”

He laughs at that. 

“You seem so talented, I thought you’d be good at everything.”

Your smile wavers and you wipe your fingers, signaling you’re done with your food.

“Want to take a walk?” You ask and he nods, throwing away the trash and meeting you at the door.

Something in him wants to take your hand, make sure your pulse is still the same as always, that you’re fine and well and there with him, but he knows that’s not the whole reason.

He wants to take your hand because he wants to hold it and feels like a ZZ plant that’s been put in a dark spot, longing for more light and scared it might burn him at the same time.

He doesn’t put his hands in his pockets, lets them hang by his side loosely, hoping against hope that your hand will knock into his as if a ray of sunlight might accidentally come his way.

-

“My father died five years ago.” You tell the night sky above you. “He had a heart attack and died in his sleep. I miss him every day. And I know he’d be proud of me. Of what I’m doing and how I’m doing it. He’d love my apartment and my shop and even if he’d call every bouquet I make perfection, he’d still pluck around in it, because he couldn’t let anything go untouched. Isn’t that love, that you love something not only despite its imperfections but simply because of them?”

Heaviness settles in his gut yet again as your words sink in. 

You look at him and he wonders if you’re talking about him too. 

He thinks about his parents, his siblings, his friends - if he can call them that. 

He wonders if they love him despite his imperfections and he wonders if he loves them.

“My mother remarried three years ago. And I’m happy for her, because her new husband is really nice, and she’s happy. But they moved, about two years ago, to America of all places. Plane tickets are expensive.”

“It gets lonely sometimes.” He says, not really knowing why until you nod.

“Yeah.” You breathe out. “Yeah.”

He wants to say that he’s here now. That you can lean on him. That he’ll be there for you.

But he doesn’t. Because he can’t. He shouldn’t. He won’t.

So he doesn’t say anything and it seems to be the right thing, allowing the two of you to walk in silence through the dark.

taglist: @misfit-megumi @shoulmate @pixiesavvy @the2ndl @neko-my-cat @chelseaquake

taglist is open, if you want to join, just mention it in a comment or send me a message.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[elk96]

Hi! 😄

I wanted to know if you could be a top male reader. Where he and Cillian met in a bar, they spoke little so he couldn't ask for his number but the reader fell in love with him and his blue eyes, and one day when looking at photos of his friends he realizes that Cillian is a friend. from one of his friends, and is surprised because they never told him about him, so the reader asks his friend where he could meet Cillian again, and when they meet again, the reader flirts with him by saying things like:How about I kiss you, how about I buy you coffee tomorrow? What if you are the man of my life?

hello and thank you so so much for your request!!😁 it is my first request so it gave me endless joy😂

I so liked your prompt I had to make it into a two part story.

Hope you enjoy it!

What If Part 1

Cillian Murphy x Male reader

Words: 2457

Warnings: none (smut in part 2)

Of course, no disrespect to Cillian Murphy or his family intended! It's just a fictional story folks.

The bar was quiet, yet annoyingly full of people. Most of them danced slowly near the corners, but the queue for the drinks was large. You shoved your change in your pocket and grabbed your drink to get out of there, when a sharp voice caught your attention. It was one of the bartenders.

“And what do you want me to do lad, pour it back into the bottle?!”, he shouted angrily at the customer. 

“I’m sorry, but I really can’t pay for it-

“What’s the matter”? you asked pleasantly, approaching the pair. You glanced at the bartender, then the money laid in front of a Guiness. The customer had closed his eyes, pushing his head towards his chest. So much drama for such a little inconvenience, you thought.

“There, I'll pay it off”, you said to the bartender and gave him the missing coins. “No need to worry mate, come on”, you added, and with both drinks at hand, you found a quieter spot in a corner. You looked behind you to find the man you’d just helped come after you flustered and embarrassed.

“God you’re not from around here, are you”?, you asked with a smile and handed him his beer.

“I just left the house in a haste. Though I had more money with me, you know”? He took a large sip. “Thank you so much by the way, I wasn’t in the mood for trouble. I’m Cillian”.

A small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, you reached to shake his hand. Your heart was dancing in your chest. His touch was smooth, warm, his hand large and yet frail, just like the rest of him.

“What’s your name”? Cillian asked as you continued to just stare at him.

You cursed yourself mentally looking at the ceiling for a brief moment in frustration. “Sorry, I was thinking about something. Um. Y/N. Y/N Y/LN. Lovely outfit, may I add”.

Cillian chuckled and looked down at himself as if to actually remember what he was wearing. White and red striped shirt, blue navy cardigan, ripped cuffed blue jeans. A small silver earring added even more spark to his face, as if those eyes weren’t dazzling enough already.

Cillian rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s just my casual fit you know? Something to keep me going through the day”.

“Rough day, I presume”.

“Yeah…Sometimes I just…I don’t know…Lose my faith in humanity, I guess. With everything that’s happening around here…I’ve always been trying to be one of those ‘look at the bright side’ kind of people, but now…”.

“You’re talking about the person who stole those charity funds hm”?, you asked sympathetically. The news had caused great shock in all the country. “I suppose that’s always been man’s nature though, hasn’t it? We can’t deny it”.

“But we can fight it-and we have to fight it, otherwise what’s the point”?, Cillian asked in a haste and gulped down his beer.

Absent-mindedly you reached to swipe some of the foam gathered on the corner of his eyes. You only then noticed that he’d finished his drink, while you were only one sip down with your. Cause you were drinking him with your eyes…

“Thank you for the beer again, I have work to do”, Cillian murmured, and with a soft “Good night”, he slipped between the crowd and…left. He had just…left. You kicked the wall next to you for letting him go like that. You could’ve asked for his number or something!

You closed your eyes and sighed heavily, leaning on the wall. He is gone now. And, nobody said that there was much to happen anyway. What if he’d left so quickly because of your gesture? What if he’d cringed?

“Oh what a stupid reason to stay awake at night…”, you whispered to yourself and finished your drink. You had paperwork to do-loads of paperwork, actually, but all you would think about would be that ethereal man. Chiseled jawline, sharp cheekbones, soft nose. Not even Michaelangelo had carved beauty like his.

—----

Three days had passed and all you could do was think about Cillian-which was why you had agreed to go see the game at your friends’ house. Many of his pals would be there, since tomorrow one of them had his birthday, Will was throwing a party for him.

“Hello Y/N, so glad to see you mate! I didn't think you’d come”.

“Yeah, me neither, but I needed a break from work”.

“Oh come on”, his friend complained. “All you do is work and sleep, when are you going to have some fun? Find a girl, have a good time”!

“Oh I’m sorry sir William but not all of us have rich parents”, you joked and stepped inside. 5 other men were sitting on the couch and on the floor, waiting excitedly for the game to start. You smiled at them and then walked to the kitchen. You poured yourself a cup of water from the fridge. You had recently moved into the city, so you didn’t have many friends, and all your old ones were now scattered across the globe. William and his pals were good, fun-but they were made only to party and talk big. You hadn’t bothered to confess that you weren’t interested in girls, you just gave lame excuses about having too much work.

“Did you print the photographs''? William said conspicuously, making you flinch in surprise. He had asked you to print some cursed photos of the birthday boy and the group. Whether he wanted to blackmail him or give them to him, you didn’t know, but it was unimportant.

“Yes, I did”, you answered and handed them over to Will. “Scott looks like he’s pissed drunk in that one”, you laughed and pointed at the picture that interested you.

“Eh, you know Scott, always the quiet one”, Will smiled. You liked Scott. “But the most ridiculous one is Cillian”.

You drew in a sharp breath at the sound of his name-so it was him after all. When you’d seen the face in the picture you thought it was just wishful thinking on your part, a trick of your mind.

You furrowed your brow, pretending not to know. “Cillian? New addition to the gang”? you joked.

“Nah, we just hang out once or twice. He was the leading man on the play Scott participated in, so we became acquainted. Nice lad. Scott loves him ‘because he introduced him to a writer and now he thinks he’ll be able to work full-time at the theater like Cill. Let’s hope he finds out you need talent to do that because he quits his job, huh”? William laughed and went to the living room to find the others.

A sweet sense of anticipation lingered over you. He worked full time at the theater…You knew where to find him.

The next day, the sun rose vibrant and promising, the weather was crisp but not cold. You were walking faster than usual, anxious to find Cillian in the cafe Scott said he was going to in between theater breaks. Your heart was hammering in your chest, but you felt confident. You had finished all your work, for the days to come, so you had no responsibilities, and with the weekend right on the next corner…who knew what would happen? You took a swift glance at yourself at a shop’s window to make sure everything looked in place, and then entered the cafe.

It was a small, cozy place with lots of cushions, orange lamps and vintage wooden tables. It’s calm, romantic ambience enveloped you, easing your nerves completely. You inhaled the intricate smell of brewed coffee, and then you saw him. He was sitting alone in the small attic of the place, where no tables but rather large pillows were places for those who searched for a break from the chit chat and noise. He was wearing a fluffy blue turtle-neck, which brought out those incredible eyes of his.

You ordered your favorite coffee and with the cup in hand you climbed up the stairs to meet him.

“Mind if I join”?, you asked with a smile.

Cillian put down the book he was reading, his features illuminated by joy for seeing you.

“Y/N! Of course, you needn’t have asked. Good to see you again”, he added softly.

You sat next to him on the soft material, placing your coffee on a little hanging shelf.

“You too. I was thinking about you actually…”, you said in a  low voice. “What you told me '', you added to make it a bit more subtle. “Are you better now”?

“Hey, I didn’t mean to sound so depressive, '' he explained. “It’s just that I had worked in a play for the guy that collected and then stole the money. I thought he had integrity and honesty-but anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore. How come you found this place”?

You held your breath, contemplating whether you should give him the real reason or just make up an excuse.

“I was out for a casual walk, and it looked cozy and cute, so I thought I’d come in for a cup of coffee. What are you reading? "you asked and picked up his book. “Call me by your name, my my! I thought you’d be more of a Dostoyefsky and Kafka type of guy”, you laughed, while your heart clenched in hope.

“Oh I am”, Cillian answered. “Or Bukowski, or Oscar Wilde, or Max Porter. But this particular book, I’d read some twelve years ago, and I still go back to it when I need a boost. Their relationship is so pure”, he said, his voice trailing off into nothing. 

You tentatively brushed your fingertips against his own, held your hand there when he didn’t shy away from your touch. But he didn’t dare look you in the eyes.

“I always found it very sad…how long it takes them before they understand the depth of their feelings…And when they do, there is no time to enjoy their love”, you said softly admiring the softness of his skin, the delicacy of his features.

“I’d rather have one true kiss with someone than a relationship based on lies”, he mumbled almost inaudibly and that was when you placed your hand on his chin.

“What if I kissed you right now”? you whispered, turning his face towards yours. Cillian looked at you with surprise, but then, he closed his eyes, giving you the smallest of nods.

You leaned in, pressing your lips against his soft ones, savoring his smell. You kissed his bottom lip, sucking on it gently before you parted his lips with your tongue. You felt him melt into your touch as you licked into his mouth gently. You broke the kiss, both gasping for air. His cheeks were flushed, chest rising rapidly.

“You look so fucking beautiful when you’re all ”, you whispered in his ear, pulling him towards you for a more passionate kiss. You brushed your hands through his silky hair, sucking at his full lips. Cillian needily wrapped his arms around your torso, and a small whine left him when you lapped on his mouth.

When you pulled back you were both disheveled.

A mean, low laugh came from downstairs, and when you looked, two blokes were pointing fingers at you, rolling their eyes and judging stupidly. Cillian picked up his book quickly, pulling away from you. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, you apologized for your boldness.

“It’s not your fault, I just…worry about work. I don’t want word to spread and stuff”, Cillian answered hoarsely, and you understood that completely. It wasn’t necessary that people know about your affairs, no matter the sexuality or gender.

“How about I  buy you a coffee tomorrow, or a beer at that bar and we talk about it?, you asked hesitantly.

Cillian thought about it while his thumb brushed nervously against your hand.

“I really like you Y/N”, he confessed.

“I’ve been thinking about you, Cill. For over three days now. We could go to my place-for something casual, I mean. To talk…I really want to get to know you better. Because I like you too. Very much”.

You admired the ethereal color of his eyes a little longer while Cillian prepared mentally for what awaited him. After a rather eventful break up, he wasn’t in the right headspace to connect intimately with someone again-especially a person of the same sex- but the attraction he felt, the warmth in his stomach and at the same time, the trust he had in you eased his uncertainty off.

Having already paid for your drinks, you left the picturesque cafe and walked to your place. It was a short walk under the warm sun and you were happier than you’d been in a long, long time. Cillian was introverted and shy, laughing nervously at your jokes and fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. It would scare you, how hard you were falling for him, if he weren’t honest and pure-hearted as he was.

You poured drinks for both of you and he sat on the living room carpet-another quirky habit of his along with the fact that he was always fidgeting-and you continued your conversation. He told you all about the play he was rehearsing at the moment, Grief Is A Thing With Feathers, opening his heart about the toll the role had taken on him. He had a beautiful way of speaking, soft and calm, and yet you understood almost right off how passionate he was about his work.

You could also sense that while eager, he also felt out of his depth a little bit, being alone with a man that regarded him as something more than a friend.

And then, you brought up your love for music, and the conversation went on for hours. In his nerdy way, he could speak insightfully about the songs he loved, how he connected with them. 

The sun was beginning to set when you stood up, putting some jazz music playing on the radio. You turned on the warm, low lights on the side of the wall to create a romantic atmosphere, looking at Cillian.

“Up for a dance”?

“I’m not a great dancer”, he murmured, breath caught in his throat.

“How badly can you mess up some simple steps”?, you bit back, pulling him up by the forearm. You led him away from the furniture so you had a bit more free space, wrapping your arms around his waist. He let his hands drop lightly at your shoulder blades, shying away from your eyes. You began to move in small steps, following the rhythm of the music.

[fuckyeahfightlock]

Advent Ficlets 2022, Day 18

Gifts

John finished dressing, hair still barely-damp from showering and face still stinging from after shave, when he heard the distinct clatter of Sherlock not just running but sprinting up from the front door. The giveaway stair gave only the quickest sharp creak as he alit upon it, and he pulled up short when they met on the landing.

“Oh, good, you’re,” Sherlock said, and left the sentence unfinished as he went for the tall beaker on the kitchen worktop where he knew he’d find a Victorian-era letter opener in amongst the biros, chopsticks, and surgical scissors stored there. In his hand was a small, cubical box of white cardboard covered in address labels, customs declarations, and postage, and wound round in pitted, black-smudged shipping tape.

“That looks like it’s been through the wars,” John commented as he finished buttoning up his cardigan.

Sherlock stabbed the box at its edge and slid the letter opener quickly through a layer of tape.

“It’s the rings,” he reported, and his smile broke wide for a moment before he once again bit down on the effort required to get the box open.

John felt a flush of something he wished did not feel so akin to panic. Of course he’d known the rings were expected; they’d ordered them from a small custom jeweler in America, via a local one Sherlock trusted because he’d once solved an internal-theft case for them and had been up close and personal with both the shop’s owner and its merchandise enough to know both were of unquestionable quality. The local one had vouched for the American, so they’d taken the chance to buy sight-unseen. They’d had their fingers measured. They’d laid out a rather dear sum of money. But somehow the fact of wedding rings--for them, their wedding rings--in the flat gave John a swoony feeling of sharp anxiety.

“Oh,” was all he could manage, and when Sherlock paused long enough from safe-breaking the parcel to cast a questioning glance, he added a tight-lipped grin.

Inside the first box was a second. Inside that, two smaller bundles of plastic bubble-wrap which must each contain a ring box.

“It’s a Russian doll,” John said. “It’s like a puzzle to be solved.”

Sherlock glanced at small labels affixed to each cube of blistered plastic, set one in front of John on the kitchen table and dug in his letter opener to the other, held in his upright hand. John reached for the presented packet as if it might contain unexploded ordinance, gingerly lifted it and turned it upside down to see a handwritten label saying, Mens’ Beveled Band--Gold. He took in a steeling breath and used his thumb to tear away the bubble wrap from a satiny black box.

Sherlock had already got his open and was plucking out the ring with index finger and thumb. John looked away; his throat was dry. He flicked up the lid of the box he held and there was his wedding band, brushed gold with beveled edges of bright, smooth gold. His throat went thick and his nose prickled. His eyes blurred.

“John, are you--”

“It’s perfect,” John said, and cleared his throat. He shook his head. He wanted to put it on right away. “It’s beautiful.”

Sherlock made a humming sound and stepped around the table; they met in a hard embrace. Sherlock gathered the cuff of his dressing gown in his palm and stroked the heel of his hand against John’s cheek, then his own.

“How’s yours?” John laughed as they broke apart.

“Look.”

Sherlock held up his ring, pinched in his exquisite fingers. It was modern but classic, golden and black, utterly unique. Like Sherlock himself.

“Perfect, too.”

[eatdearth]

A Butter Tomorrow

Timing: Recent Location: The Bread Cemetery, Downtown Feat: @eatdearth & @thesilentmedium Warnings: N/A Summary: Jonas, a patient pastry person, meets Jasper, a rambling rock (p)rofessor (close enough). No one was bready for this wholesome encounter.

Jasper liked his bread. Not as much as he used to, but he has continued to frequent the Bread Cemetery even after he was over his “local businesses only” phase, so that has to account for something, right? There was a time in Jasper’s life where he would only eat food from the aforementioned “local businesses,” places that were considered cornerstones of the town, places like the Bread Cemetery or the Best Exotic Herbal Tea Shop or even the Driftwood Diner. 

There’s some debate over that last one, but Jasper knew there was no debating the bear claws at the Cemetery. The Bread Cemetery, not an actual cemetery. Come to think of it, Jasper still has no idea why the place was called The Bread Cemetery. He should probably ask. Maybe after he gets his bear claws. If he remembers anything after munching on those delicious bear claws.

“Hey, man, I’ll have a bear claw, por flavor,” Jasper muttered out loud when it was his turn to make his order before noticing the sign on the counter that explained one of the workers was deaf. Was this the deaf guy? Jasper has been buying bread at the Cemetery for a long time but still hasn’t figured out which guy was the deaf guy. Or maybe he just keeps forgetting. “Oh, uhh, that one,” he pointed at the bear claws, still speaking, even though he believed the deaf guy might not have heard him. “Can. I. Have. That?” 

Jasper might be much better at this if he had a deaf friend. Or any friends for that matter.

The Bread Cemetery was always busy in the morning but today seemed especially so, Jonas hadn’t even gotten a chance to get into a better change of clothes before the breakfast rush came in. His apron was tied around his waist and his black tank that normally was kept under a cardigan was now showing off more than he was usually comfortable with. He still had flour on his cheek from an unfortunate button press and his hair was slightly out of place, just enough to bother him. Normally Andy or Lil would be here to handle the customers but Andy was having her day off and Lil was out following leads, so Jonas was stuck being uncomfortable as he tried to get the customers out quickly.

The young man was a little frazzled and thankful the number of patrons seemed to be dying down when the last one stepped forward. Jonas recognized the man’s face, though he had never gotten his name. He smiled, always happy to see a regular returning. “Good morning.” He couldn’t help the little snort that came out when the man tried to talk to him. 

“I um can read your lips sir, you can talk normally.” Jonas pulled the bear claw out and slipped it into a paper bag, rolling it closed and keeping it shut with a little tombstone sticker. “That will be four dollars please.” He set the pastry on the counter and couldn’t help stretching while he waited on the stranger to get out his card. “You uh come here a lot and I appreciate it. Do you work nearby?” 

‘Oh’ and ‘fuck’ were the first two words that came to Jasper’s mind when the baker revealed a fact obvious to everyone but the geology professor. For all his accomplishments in academia, the last living member of the Langston family in town was not as gifted in social settings. He gave the other guy an apologetic smile as he stumbled to take his wallet out of his pocket. Jasper almost dropped the damned thing but managed to keep it in his clumsy hands at the last minute. “Don’t worry! I got it!”

As soon as those words left his lips, Jasper realized no one was probably worrying. It was just a wallet. If it fell to the floor, he could have just picked it up. No one was getting injured by a wallet dropping to the floor. At least not in their current situation, where they were inside a bakery getting bread for breakfast. 

Embarrassed by no one else but himself, Jasper dropped his head, focusing on taking out those four dollars with keen attention, not wanting any more clumsy mistakes. The more attention he’d draw to himself, he’d learn over the years, thanks to his prankster students, the more he’d end up looking like a fool. 

Fortunately for Jasper, he managed to pay the correct amount on his first try. “Thanks,” he muttered unnecessarily as he surrendered the bills to take the pastry. “Oh, I, uhm, I’m a professor at the university. I’m a huge fan! Of your bread, I mean. Old habits die hard… Favorite bakery! Kudos to the chef!” After throwing random words at the guy, he ended up with an awkward chuckle. What the hell was all that? Jasper didn’t even know. 

Jonas reached out to catch the wallet but stopped when the other man got it himself. The stranger in front of him seemed to be very nervous, which wasn’t strange. Some people were just like that when outside of the home and Jonas did his best to look welcoming for the other man to try and make him feel less flustered. He gently took the bills from the other and quickly counted the change, putting it on the counter for the man to pick up. He figured it would be easier than trying to fumble with his wallet and the pastry as well as the change. 

“A university professor? What do you teach?” Maybe talking about his profession would help him feel less awkward. Jonas always found he could go on talking about baking for hours if given the chance. Then again maybe his love for the activity was different. Teaching sounded like it was probably more stressful than just being in the back baking all day. If that was the only part of this job he had to worry about, Jonas would be stress free, though keeping the books in check was a little hard. He was already looking for accountants to go over the documents. 

Having never planned to take over the family business, suddenly managing two was draining. It didn’t help that his brain was one to over think. Jonas was wanting to be prepared for any thing that might go wrong while waiting for his sister to find their parents, but that only led to more stress as he was finding out just how many ways a business could fail. Still trying was better than just letting it fail on its own. He couldn’t let June or Andy down and while the house may have been neglected, the bakery was still in tip top shape showing just how much his mother really adored it.

Jasper perked up when the angelic cashier asked him about his job. If there was one thing Jasper loved talking about, it was his job. His field, specifically. Something about stones and rocks just excited him. He wasn’t even sure himself why that was the case. Maybe because he found out he had an affinity for magic relating to the stones and the rocks? Maybe because of the mines? Yeah, probably not the mines. 

“Oh, I teach geology,” Jasper started meekly but immediately became more confident. “Geoscience, earth science, it’s all the same study of this amazing planet we’re living in now, how it was formed, its composition, its structure, the myriad of processes acting on it.” You’d think that was the perfect opportunity to stop, but nope. He continued, “Did you know that it’s the primary, and I have to emphasize, primary EARTH, as in this planet, science? We also study the history of the planet Earth over the course of its billions of years of a lifetime.” He heaved a sigh to end his monologue, arms on his hips, impressed and in love with geology. 

In his head, Jasper looked cool. But to the others waiting in line, to the random bread enthusiasts who had overheard him gawk about rocks, he probably looked like a complete idiot. When he was in high school, and he talked about rocks like that, he usually had his entire spiel ended by another kid laughing at him. Sometimes they’d throw a rock at him. Well, a stone, to be more precise, but there was that one time another kid threw an actual rock at him. As big as his fist. He got sent to the nurse that day, and eventually, home. When his uncle heard about it, he was pissed. Come to think about it, whatever happened to that rock-throwing kid? He’s never heard of him since then.

“Geoscience?” That was a hard word to read off the lips but Jonas was happy the other man seemed to perk up. Asking him about his job was apparently the right way to go as the man rambled about geology. He seemed proud of it, which only earned a genuine smile from Jonas. The smaller man always loved when people got excited over their passions, they way it seemed to make their face light up was always a joy to witness. 

“That is very neat.” Jonas meant it. He may not know much on the subject but it did seem like something interesting to dive into if the other man’s reactions were anything to go by. “How long have you um been teaching?” He motioned for Jasper to scoot to the side so the other could keep talking, making sure he took his change while making room for the next customer. He did his best to keep his attention going between the two, it was a little hard when he needed to use his eyes to see what they were saying. Sometimes being deaf came with drawbacks, but he had been like this since he was born so he was used to navigating two people talking to him at once. 

Jasper grinned sheepishly when he realized Jonas had said good things about his rambling. Well, his field at least. Usually people just stared at him, and occasionally walked away, whenever he finished his excited spiel about rocks and stones. No one gets it. No one gets him. His field and his brain was too big for everyone else to appreciate. That was his curse. His blessing. Or at least that’s what he told him whenever he starts feeling super low. “It is! So very neat!”

“Oh, not that long ago,” Jasper tried to downplay the amount of time he spent in the academe, learning everything he could, maximizing his potential and worth, to be able to get to where he was right then and there. He felt it would reveal how sad and empty and lonely his social life was, not to mention how despite all that time dedicated to his field of study, he was still barely at the level he wanted to be, the level of his mentors. 

“You guys ever, uhh, get other customers from the University?” It was a pretty dumb question, all things considered, but Jasper was legit curious if Doctor Dolan, err Shiv visited this place. Or even Nancy. 

“I am not sure. Not many people stop to chat with me when they order. I do not blame them, it can be awkward to talk to someone who is deaf for the first time.” Jonas was used to people not wanting to deal with talking to him. It could be a hassle if one didn’t know sign language and had to be constantly reminded to look directly at him while talking. Plus lip reading wasn’t perfect, there was always the chance he misunderstood what the other was trying to say. All this really did make him appreciate those who bothered to try though. He wouldn’t have such lovely friends if no one took the chance to talk to him. 

“It is impressive though that you um have made a job for yourself teaching Geoscience.” Jonas was impressed by anyone with the patience to stand in front of a crowd of people answering questions all day. The baker himself was happy to answer questions but on a one to one basis. “I am glad you seem to enjoy it.” There was nothing better than a job you loved doing. Jonas learned that when he was finally away from Jacob and could enjoy how he worked. It took a long time for him to come around to the idea that his method was worthwhile. 

Jacob had never been impressed with Jonas for doing things differently. His father had always been happy to remind him that it was strange and that he was a failure precisely because he couldn’t follow along with the normal procedures. But the boy couldn’t help it when his words came out sounding off. He had no idea what he sounded like to begin with and he knew that some of the things he said were still unintelligible despite his best effort to make them so. 

“You’re deaf?” Jasper blurted out the words even before his brain could tell him not to, completely unaware that the guy he had been speaking to was deaf. Why would he be aware? Jasper pretty much spent most of the conversation talking about himself, his field of study. One time, a girl at a bar tried to make small talk with him, only for the geology professor to go into a monologue about the earth’s core that ended with Jasper only noticing the same girl had gone and went after he was done. The girl had left after his fourth sentence. He had managed to talk himself into complete obliviousness for twenty or so sentences. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— It’s just that— I didn’t find it awkward speaking with you.” Nice save. Decent save?

“Yeah, uhm,” Jasper had only then realized he was maybe holding up a line and the people behind him were maybe not enjoying his long-ass monologue as much as he had thought. To be fair, he forgot they were there, but the scowls on their faces pretty much confirmed his theory. Maybe it was time to go? He was going to keep coming back anyway. Humiliating encounter or not, the bread at this place was pretty freaking good. “Feel free to drop by whenever,” he fumbled for something decent to say as he offered the other guy a meek smile, almost apologetically, before moving out of the line to avoid getting attacked. He was mid-escape when he remembered he hadn’t even given the guy his name. “I’m Jasper, by the way. Jasper Langston.”

“Oh um I am sorry I thought you knew because of how you were speaking when you first came in. But I am glad you did not find our conversation awkward.” Jonas was a little amused by the other man and how quickly he seemed to forget anything not related to his line of work. Then again maybe Jonas had misinterpreted the man’s actions from when he came in.  He wasn’t sure why someone would talk like that then unless they thought he was hard of hearing. Did the man forget about it because of how Jonas was able to keep up with the conversation? It wouldn’t be the first time someone didn’t realize because of that. 

Jonas watched as the man shuffled about doing his best not to laugh as he seemed to finally realize where he was again. “I hope you enjoy your Bear Claw, if I am ever at the university I will make sure to stop by and u say hi.” He offered a little wave, pausing when the other man turned to offer his name, “It has been a joy to meet you Jasper, I am Jonas.” Despite the taller man’s awkwardness it really had been entertaining to meet him and have him ramble off about his job. 

[farmhandler]

New Beginnings

Here’s my rentan exchange piece for @chininiris in our little village. Your prompt was autumn leaves and I wrote a little thing. I hope you enjoy!!!!!!!!!!

---

“How do I look?” Kyojuro asked.

From across the room, Kanroji paused from applying blush and blinked at her mirror, taking him in.

“Cute. Comfortable!” she exclaimed, pointing at him through the rear. “So cozy!”

“I do feel very comfortable! And cozy!” Kyojuro brushed his hands down his turtleneck. “You don’t think Tanjiro will mind the outfit?”

This time, Kanroji didn’t even bother looking away from her own face. She delicately placed false lashes along her real ones. Her tongue prodded at her lower lip in concentration.

“When has he ever minded what you wear? When have you ever cared? You’re both so cute in that way!” she exclaimed. Kanroji’s passion for others was a thing to behold. “You just don’t care!”

As brusque as it was, she had a point. Kyojuro was told he had a unique fashion sense, and he didn’t mind such comments one bit. He liked what he liked, no matter what others preferred to think about it.

Usually. This wasn’t just anyone.

Kyojuro picked up the cardigan Tanjiro had bought for him nearly a year ago. He bunched it in his hands and shoved it against his nose, wishing he had the sense of smell Tanjiro did. Maybe it would still smell like him.

Two years ago, Tanjiro moved cities to be close enough to his job, and Kyojuro—regular customer and longtime friend of the Kamado bakery family—had had to watch him go.

You let him go, Shinobu told him once, quite coldly. The others had admonished her, but Kyojuro couldn’t get what she had said out of his mind.

He had let Tanjiro go. He had buried his feelings under a smile because he thought it what was what Tanjiro wanted. A long-distance relationship would only hurt both of them in the long run.

Or it would have, if they hadn’t kept in regular contact. If Tanjiro didn’t sometimes say things like, I miss you. Or, you should visit.

They had seen each other when Tanjiro would return, but it wasn’t the same. He would spend that time with his family.

This time was different. He was quitting his job—Kyojuro didn’t know why—and after weeks of settling in, he had agreed to spend the afternoon with Kyojuro at his behest.

“Let’s make a day of it!” Kyojuro had yelled into the phone.

They were going to meet at one of the parks where they would have a great view of the autumn leaves. The window wasn’t long for the best view and Kyojuro had made sure to time it as well as he could manage.

“You should be yourself,” Kanroji added. She put the final touches on her makeup and then pulled her hands away. “Done! Thanks for driving me around today. I really appreciate it!”

“It’s nothing! I’m relieved to have your opinion.”

“Not that you need it,” she teased, standing. Unsurprisingly, her outfit was pristine and fashionable. “Do you want to stay for lunch?”

“No. Though it isn’t for a while, I don’t want to be late for my date!”

Kanroji beamed. “Good luck, Kyojuro-san!”

---

A year. Over a year since he had seen Tanjiro.

Kyojuro hadn’t expected to feel this nervous! He would need to compensate by being as confident as he could manage. It wouldn’t do to show his uncertainty to Tanjiro.

They were meeting at his bakery. His home turf! Kyojuro would need to not get too distracted by food. They would get more on the way, and he planned to buy Tanjiro food as they traveled.

Kyojuro arrived at the bakery exactly on time. He opened the door.

“Tanjiro!!” he yelled. The way that the other patrons all quickly turned towards him, it may have come out louder than he intended. “Tanjiro!” he repeated, lowering his voice. The stares remained. Kyojuro paid them no mind.

Tanjiro stood at the counter, his apron midway from being lifted away from him, beaming.

“Kyojuro-san,” Tanjiro said, warm and welcome. A shiver worked its way through Kyojuro. “I’ll be right over. I’m just finishing up here!”

Kyojuro moved away from the door and sat down to wait—though not before ordering two croissants and a cheese danish to go while he waited. Though by the time Tanjiro walked towards his table, he had eaten all three.

“I missed that,” Tanjiro said beside him. Kyojuro looked up and swallowed around his last bite of danish.

“Missed what?” Kyojuro asked.

“Seeing you here, eating. It’s been so long!”

“What an odd statement! It has been a long time. It’s good to see you, Tanjiro.”

Their eyes met. Kyojuro deftly wiped at his chin for any spare crumbs, and Tanjiro let out a laugh.

“I think you promised me a walk in the park, Kyojuro-san.”

Another shiver, lower down his spine this time. He quickly stood.

“Let’s!”

---

It was a little colder than Kyojuro had anticipated. He was shivering even in the cardigan Tanjiro had bought for him. The turtleneck fit him nicely, but it was thin as well.

He didn’t bother trying to hide it, knowing Tanjiro would just detect the scent. So he yelled, “It’s quite chilly!” and Tanjiro laughed.

What a lovely sound he’d missed!

“I’m sorry,” Tanjiro said, shaking his head. “It’s just nice to see you! Feels like I’ve really come home.”

“Why did you come back?” Kyojuro asked, like a fool. Tanjiro didn’t answer. He walked on ahead of Kyojuro and together they began their trek through the park.

It really was beautiful. The leaves fell whenever the wind blew by, and there were enough shops around that even Kyojuro had his fill of food as the afternoon wore on. They talked about nothing in particular, and everything.

“There was this guy at my job,” Tanjiro told him, “and I couldn’t stand him. He was such a jerk! He was always rude to the girls in the office, too.”

Kyojuro felt a small amount of melancholy listening to descriptions of the world he had never been privy to, but he didn’t think about it long. He asked questions, and Tanjiro do the same. He told him how the dojo was losing members, leading to Kyojuro trying unique ways of finding new ones.

“I started out handing out flyers. When people think you’re soliciting, they become extremely rude!”

He laughed again, loudly, and Tanjiro looked at him with the same expression as before. Like he was looking at something precious.

They ended up finding a quiet spot benched near one of the smaller trees. Leaves kept falling down, and Tanjiro would pick them up whenever they landed near him and pile them in Kyojuro’s lap.

“I think pressing leaves and flowers could be a fun hobby,” he said inexplicably. “What do you think, Kyojuro-san?”

“I think…” Tanjiro’s eyes slid up towards his, and their intensity wasn’t unfamiliar, but he hadn’t met his gaze directly in such a long time. “I think I’d grow bored of it,” he admitted. “As pretty as they are!”

Tanjiro snorted. “For me, Kyojuro-san. I think I’d like to try taking it up as a hobby. Maybe. Nezuko did a lot when she was a kid.”

“You won’t grow bored of it?”

“I won’t grow bored of it,” Tanjiro drawled. “Or maybe I will. I don’t know. I’d like to find out, now that I’m home.”

Home. Kyojuro swallowed the word down, yet he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “It’s so good to have you back. It hasn’t been the same without you.”

“I hope my family hasn’t been badgering you. Takeo really likes you. It’s hard, because he’s turning into a sulky teenager.” Tanjiro’s smile dipped briefly. “I missed so much while I was away.”

He talked about it like it wasn’t a choice, but an obligation. Kyojuro wanted to ask.

“Why did you come back?” he asked.

The leaves fell in gusts as the wind blew past them, picking up speed. The pile Tanjiro had situated over Kyojuro’s thighs blew away. He sighed like it genuinely upset him.

“It wasn’t home. I felt like… I spent all this time feeling like I wanted to make something of myself. I had convinced myself living in my family’s shadow wasn’t what I wanted. Then I got what I wanted, and realized… I was wrong.”

His hand inched closer to Kyojuro’s. Kyojuro thought about taking a chance, about confessing everything he’d been thinking and feeling, but he wanted to be the right moment. He had images of him standing in front of the fountain and shouting it out to the world.

Kamado Tanjiro, I love you!

Tanjiro’s hand slipped away from his. He sighed again, staring up at the trees. A child nearby screamed in delight as one of her friends chased her around a large tree trunk.

“I missed you! It hasn’t been the same around here. Which I realized I just said.” Kyojuro would do that over phone calls often. He thought of their late-night conversations; smiles over video; the way Tanjiro’s eyes would search his like he was seeking something. Kyojuro found himself adding, “You are one of my dearest friends Tanjiro. Honestly, if you had decided to stay there, I may have been forced to move!”

He belted out a laugh. Then suddenly, Tanjiro slapped both hands over his cheeks and stood.

“Kyojuro-san!” he yelled. He looked flush.

“Tanjiro!” Kyojuro yelled back without hesitation.

“Kyojuro-san!” he yelled louder.

“Tanjiro!!” Kyojuro bellowed, standing as well now. A mother was looking over at them curiously, and Tanjiro’s face turned even more red.

“Would you… do you…” Tanjiro sucked in a breath. “Kyojuro! Go out with me!”

“Yes, I will!” Kyojuro yelled back. Then: “wait, Tanjiro, that’s not fair!” His mouth hung open. He’d had a plan! “I was not ready!”

Tanjiro’s face broke out into the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. Kyojuro’s heart stuttered, then started hammering.

Tanjiro had just confessed to him. Tanjiro!

The wind blew past harder, sending Kyojuro’s hair flying in his face and making him regret not tying the top layer into a tighter ponytail. He squeezed his eyes shut, and when they opened again, Tanjiro was much closer.

“I’ve been waiting to say that for months. I couldn’t wait any longer!” Tanjiro said, looking like he wanted to hug him.

“Kamado Tanjiro—” Kyojuro started. He stopped, his brain catching up with what was really happening. “I’ll go out with you Tanjiro. I’d love nothing more! Because I love you!”

Tanjiro’s eyes widened. “Kyojuro-san,” he breathed, “that’s not fair!”

Kyojuro took his hand. Then he grabbed the other for good measure. “Then I’ll make it up to you! Let me take you out on a better date.” He stepped closer, his entire being engulfed by the realization that Tanjiro was going to be his. He clasped Tanjiro’s hands close to his chest, staring deeply into his eyes. Tanjiro looked—startled wasn’t quite right. Was he too close? “Please!”

“Y-Yes! I’d love that.” Tanjiro worked his jaw a few times, his eye sparkling like he might be close to tears. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow! Short notice, but the challenge will make it worth it!”

“We don’t need to go anywhere special. I’m happy just being with you.”

“But it must be special! It’s you!”

“Kyojuro-san!” Tanjiro chided.

“Tanjiro!” Kyojuro yelled back, ecstatic, his forehead close to brushing Tanjiro’s.

“Kyojuro-san.” Tanjiro’s voice went low, and he brushed a kiss over Kyojuro’s frozen lips.

A kiss!! Why hadn’t he considered kissing!

“Wear my cardigan tomorrow,” he said. Kyojuro choked through another excited response, his promises taken in by Tanjiro’s warm kisses.

[weilongfu]

Pat and Pran go on a trip but their luggage is lost. They need to buy some clothes, so cue embarrassing shopping shenanigans!

When Pat and Pran got to the baggage claim at Inchon International Airport, they figured the longest they'd wait for their checked bag was twenty minutes. When two hours passed, Pat had finally decided there was likely a problem while Pran had already been talking to customer service for the last hour and a half.

"What do you mean lost in transit?" Pran asked again. "It was clearly labeled at check in. It was scheduled to be on our flight. Everything was done correctly."

"I'm really sorry, sir, but the system can't seem to find your suitcase anywhere. We are searching for it now, and will be happy to issue a reimbursement if we can't find it but-"

"A reimbursement? That's it?"

"We will be happy to notify you as soon as we get any sort of information and of course, we will ship your suitcase free of charge to your desired location once it is found..."

"Na, Pran." Pat tugged on Pran's arm. "Let's at least go to the hotel and check in first. We'll be more comfortable there arguing with customer service than in the airport."

Pran finally noted down the last of the details from the customer service call and sighed. "Fine, but god knows when we'll hear back. We'll have to buy some clothes at least."

"Where does one go shopping for reasonable clothes in Seoul?"

"I guess we'll find out. Or we're not going on vacation again for the next two years to pay off this shopping trip," Pran said while walking towards the exit.

"At least we'll look really good!" Pat yelled as he ran to catch up.

------

Fortunately, thanks to translations and Pran's well practiced English, the two were able to find a reasonable shopping mall which wouldn't break the bank with plenty of clothes which suited both of their tastes. However, as they perused the selection, Pat noticed a couple picking outfits for each other and Pran put his foot down.

"I am not letting you pick an outfit for me."

"Come on! It'll be fun! Just one outfit and I'll pay for it! You can pick one for me too!"

Pran frowned. "You'll wear whatever outfit I pick for you?"

"Sure! But you have to wear whatever I pick for you."

"I can't tell if you're being sweet or just trying to challenge me."

"Baby, it's both. It's always both," Pat said with a wink.

"Fine, you're on," Pran said, extending his hand. "I hope you're ready for some high fashion, Mr. Pat."

Pat took Pran's hand and shook it. "And I hope you won't be too shocked at whatever I pick, Mr. Pran."

Pran made a face and then thought for a second. "Don't be crazy, it's winter here."

"Okay, okay, no booty shorts."

------

After thirty minutes, Pat and Pran met back at the fitting rooms to exchange piles of clothing. Pat handed his over with his most charming smile and Pran handed his over with a measure of confident disinterest.

Pat emerged first from his dressing room wearing a white crop top t-shirt that came just above the waistband of his gray, wide leg, wool dress pants. The pants were held up with suspenders and the look was completed with leather shoes and a black leather jacket. Pat admired himself in the mirror with a smirk.

"If you wanted to see my abs more often, you should have just said, Pran."

"I don't need to encourage you to show your abs more often, you take your shirt off plenty for no reason," Pran said as he emerged wearing tight, dark wash jeans, a yellow fitted dress shirt, and an oversized brown cardigan. "And you... literally picked something I could have almost found in my closet."

"Well, I did warn you not to be shocked," Pat said with a smile. "Besides, you look best when you're comfortable."

"You sap."

"And now that we're all dressed up with plenty of places to go..." Pat held out his hand. "How about we go buy a bunch of food cart snacks?"

"Oh god, yes. I want some yachae hotteok ASAP."

[myanonymousflower]

I'll Paint It On The Walls by how_about_no

Transcript:

“Eddie!” Robin shot up from her slouch on the counter. Her hair bounced and her grin was blinding. It was impossible not to smile back as he sauntered up to her.

“Buckley,” He drawled, leaning on the counter with his elbows and batting his eyes at the girl, “What a sight for sore eyes.”

Robin giggled theatrically, “Flatterer.”

“I thought we weren’t allowed to flirt with customers.” Steve complained from where he was leant against the returns trolley at the end of one of the aisles. His blue polo was tight around his biceps. Eddie tore his eyes way with some eort.

“You flirt with literally every customer that comes in here.” Robin pointed out, matching Eddie’s posture so they were leant together like gossiping girls.

He raised his eyebrows, “What, even the old ladies?”

“They buy more when I’m charming.” Steve shrugged.

The image of the man charming some old woman in a pink cardigan and a paisley bag full of knitting and coins to spend on tapes was one Eddie did not need. He already regretted coming here.

[aestheetic]

Aesthetic Shirts: The Ultimate Trend in Fashion

Aesthetic shirts https://www.aestheticshirts.com/ have taken the fashion world by storm, offering a unique blend of style, comfort, and self-expression. In today’s fast-paced society, where personal style is often seen as an extension of identity, aesthetic shirts provide an incredible range of designs, colors, and patterns that cater to diverse tastes.

What are Aesthetic Shirts？

Aesthetic shirts are more than just basic clothing items; they embody a specific vibe or aesthetic that resonates with various subcultures and fashion movements. Often characterized by bold prints, artistic graphics, and trendy typography, these shirts serve as a canvas for both creativity and personal expression. From vintage-inspired designs to modern, minimalist graphics, the options are virtually limitless.

Why Choose Aesthetic Shirts?

Versatility: Whether you’re dressing up for a night out or keeping it casual for a day at home, aesthetic shirts can be styled in numerous ways. They pair seamlessly with jeans, skirts, or shorts, making them a staple in any wardrobe.

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Popular Styles of Aesthetic Shirts

Graphic Tees: Featuring unique designs, quotes, or illustrations, graphic tees remain a favorite among those who appreciate bold statements in fashion.

Vintage-Inspired: Retro aesthetics evoke nostalgia and charm. These shirts often feature faded prints or classic logos, capturing the essence of bygone eras.

Streetwear: With a focus on urban culture, streetwear aesthetic shirts feature eye-catching designs that are popular among youth and trendsetters.

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How to Style Aesthetic Shirts

Layering: Aesthetic shirts can be layered under oversized jackets or cardigans for a chic look. This not only adds depth to your outfit but also keeps you warm during cooler months.

Accessorizing: Elevate your aesthetic shirt with accessories such as hats, chunky jewelry, or stylish shoes. Incorporating unique pieces can enhance your overall look and communicate your personal style.

Mix and Match: Don’t be afraid to play with patterns and textures. Pairing an aesthetic shirt with plaid skirts or denim overalls can create a fun and dynamic outfit.

Where to Buy Aesthetic Shirts

Finding the perfect aesthetic shirt is easier than ever, thanks to numerous online retailers and local boutiques. Popular platforms like Etsy, Redbubble, and Threadless offer a wide range of unique designs created by independent artists. Additionally, mainstream retailers often feature trendy graphic tees that cater to a variety of aesthetics.

Custom Aesthetic T Shirt

Aesthetic shirts are more than just a clothing trend; they represent a form of personal expression and creativity in fashion. By incorporating these versatile pieces into your wardrobe, you can showcase your individuality and make a statement wherever you go. Embrace the vibrant world of aesthetic shirts and discover how they can elevate your style today!

[teeniquedesign]

Are You Kitten Me Right Meow? The Purr-fect Guide to Cat-Themed T-Shirts

If you're a cat lover, you've likely come across the phrase "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow?" This playful and punny expression has become a favorite among feline enthusiasts and is now a popular design for cat-themed t-shirts. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the charm of these whimsical t-shirts, how to style them, where to buy them, and why they make great gifts. Let's dive into the world of "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirts and discover why they should be a staple in your wardrobe.

The Appeal of Cat-Themed T-Shirts

Cat-themed t-shirts, especially those featuring the catchy phrase "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow," offer a fun and expressive way to showcase your love for cats. These shirts combine humor, style, and a touch of feline charm, making them a must-have for any cat enthusiast.

Why Cat Lovers Adore These T-Shirts

Expressive and Fun: The playful pun "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow?" adds a humorous twist to your outfit. It's a conversation starter and a way to share your love for cats with the world.

Versatile Fashion: These t-shirts come in various styles, colors, and designs, allowing you to find one that fits your personal taste and wardrobe.

Comfortable and Stylish: Made from high-quality fabrics, cat-themed t-shirts are both comfortable and durable. Whether you're lounging at home or going out with friends, these shirts are perfect for any occasion.

Styling Your "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" T-Shirt

One of the best things about these t-shirts is their versatility. Here are some stylish ways to wear your "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirt for different occasions:

Casual Day Out

Pair your cat-themed t-shirt with your favorite jeans and sneakers for a relaxed, casual look. Add a baseball cap or a beanie for an extra touch of style. This outfit is perfect for running errands, meeting friends for coffee, or enjoying a leisurely day out.

Layered Look

For a more polished appearance, layer your t-shirt under a denim jacket or a cozy cardigan. This adds depth to your outfit and keeps you warm during cooler weather. Complete the look with ankle boots or loafers.

Chic and Trendy

Tuck your "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirt into a high-waisted skirt or tailored pants for a chic and trendy outfit. Accessorize with statement jewelry, a stylish handbag, and heels to elevate your look. This ensemble is great for casual Fridays at the office or a night out.

Sporty Vibe

If you're going for a sporty vibe, wear your t-shirt with athletic leggings and trainers. This outfit is not only comfortable but also perfect for a workout session or a casual stroll in the park.

Where to Buy "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" T-Shirts

Finding the perfect cat-themed t-shirt is easy with so many online retailers and specialty stores offering a variety of designs. Here are some top places to shop for your "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirt:

Online Marketplaces

Websites like Amazon, Etsy, and eBay offer a wide range of cat-themed t-shirts. You can find various designs, colors, and sizes, often at competitive prices. Many sellers also offer custom options, allowing you to personalize your t-shirt with your preferred colors or additional text.

Specialty Stores

Several online stores specialize in cat-themed apparel and accessories. Websites like The Cat's Pajamas, Meowingtons, and CatLadyBox provide a curated selection of high-quality t-shirts designed specifically for cat lovers. Shopping at these stores ensures you're getting unique and stylish items that celebrate your love for cats.

Local Boutiques

Don't forget to check out local boutiques and independent shops in your area. Many small businesses carry unique and handcrafted cat-themed t-shirts that you won't find anywhere else. Supporting local shops is also a great way to contribute to your community.

The Perfect Gift for Cat Lovers

"Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirts make fantastic gifts for friends and family who adore cats. Here are a few reasons why these t-shirts are an excellent gift choice:

Thoughtful and Personalized

Choosing a cat-themed t-shirt shows that you've put thought into selecting a gift that aligns with the recipient's interests. You can even opt for custom designs to add a personal touch.

Practical and Enjoyable

T-shirts are a practical gift that can be worn and enjoyed regularly. The playful design ensures that the recipient will get a kick out of wearing it and showing it off to others.

Affordable and Accessible

Cat-themed t-shirts are generally affordable, making them a great gift option for any budget. With so many designs available online and in stores, you can easily find one that fits your price range.

The Growing Popularity of Cat-Themed Apparel

The trend of cat-themed apparel, including "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirts, continues to grow in popularity. This can be attributed to several factors:

Social Media Influence

Platforms like Instagram and TikTok have played a significant role in popularizing cat-themed apparel. Influencers and cat owners often share photos and videos of themselves and their pets wearing matching outfits, inspiring others to join the trend.

Celebrity Endorsements

Celebrities known for their love of cats, such as Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran, have helped boost the popularity of cat-themed clothing. Their influence encourages fans to embrace their own feline fandom.

Community and Connection

Wearing cat-themed apparel allows cat lovers to connect with others who share their passion. It's a way to express a shared interest and be part of a larger community of cat enthusiasts.

Conclusion: Embrace Your Love for Cats

"Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirts are more than just a piece of clothing—they're a fun and expressive way to celebrate your love for cats. With their playful designs, versatility, and comfort, these t-shirts are a must-have for any cat lover's wardrobe. Whether you're buying one for yourself or as a gift for a fellow cat enthusiast, you'll find endless ways to enjoy and style these charming t-shirts. So go ahead, embrace your love for cats, and wear it proudly with an "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirt

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The Ultimate Guide to Yukata Tops: Style, Comfort, and Versatility for Every Occasion

In the realm of fashion, where trends come and go, the Yukata top remains a timeless choice that marries style with comfort and versatility. Whether you’re dressing up for a special event or looking for something unique for everyday wear, Yukata tops provide a stylish solution. Explore the world of Yukata tops with us at Yukata Australia, where tradition meets contemporary fashion in the most elegant way.

What is a Yukata Top?

A Yukata top is a casual version of the traditional Japanese kimono, typically made from cotton, which is light and breathable. It's perfect for those who want to inject a bit of international flair into their wardrobe without sacrificing comfort.

The Unique Appeal of Yukata Tops

Yukata tops offer a unique blend of comfort and style that is hard to find in typical Western attire. Wearing one is like carrying a piece of art; each pattern tells a story, each fold a tradition.

Choosing the Right Yukata for Your Style

When selecting a Yukata, consider the color, pattern, and fabric. Each element should resonate with your personal style and the settings in which you plan to wear it.

How to Style Yukata Tops for Different Occasions

Yukata tops are incredibly versatile. Dress them down with jeans for a casual outing, or pair them with a high-waisted skirt for more formal events. They adapt as easily as water shapes to its container.

Pairing Accessories with Your Yukata

Accessories can elevate your Yukata look. A simple obi belt can enhance the traditional aspect, while a modern necklace or earrings can keep it contemporary.

Care and Maintenance of Yukata Tops

Caring for your Yukata is crucial for maintaining its beauty. Gentle hand washing and air drying are best to keep the fabrics vibrant and fresh.

The Best Fabrics for Your Yukata

While cotton is most common for its breathability and comfort, silk Yukatas are an option for those seeking a bit more luxury and formality.

Yukata Tops Across the Seasons

Think of Yukata tops as a year-round wardrobe staple. In summer, wear them as they are; in cooler months, layer them with a stylish jacket or cardigan.

Where to Buy Quality Yukata Tops

Visit Yukata Australia for a wide selection of high-quality Yukata tops, where authenticity and style meet to match every fashion need.

How to Customize Your Yukata Look

Add personal touches to make your Yukata unique: stitch on some patches, adjust the length, or even add some lace for a personal twist.

Yukata Tops in the Workplace

In creative or casual workplaces, Yukata tops can be a stylish and comfortable alternative to traditional business attire, bringing a splash of creativity to the office.

Cultural Significance of Yukata Tops

Yukata tops are more than just clothing; they are a bridge to Japanese culture, each wear bringing you closer to understanding the depth and beauty of Japanese traditions.

Testimonials: What Customers Are Saying

Hear from delighted customers who’ve made Yukata tops a part of their fashion repertoire and how it has transformed their style and comfort.

Upcoming Yukata Trends for 2024

Stay ahead of the fashion curve with insights into the latest Yukata trends. Bold patterns, eco-friendly fabrics, and innovative designs are on the rise.

Your Questions Answered: FAQs

Have questions? We have detailed FAQs to help you choose, wear, and care for your Yukata with ease.

Embracing a Yukata top is not just about adopting a piece of clothing; it’s about embracing a lifestyle that appreciates simplicity, elegance, and versatility. Whether for a special occasion, daily wear, or anything in between, Yukata tops offer a perfect blend of all these qualities. Dive into the beautiful, comfortable world of Yukata tops at Yukata Australia and discover why they should be a staple in your wardrobe.