#Buy shredding stacks

[dravidious]

There's this really janky card from way back in MTG's history called Ertai's Meddling

Nowadays, this wording just does not work within the rules, so its official text ("oracle text") has been updated to say this:

"X can't be 0.

Target spell's controller exiles it with X delay counters on it.

At the beginning of each of that player's upkeeps, if that card is exiled, remove a delay counter from it. If the card has no delay counters on it, the player puts it onto the stack as a copy of the original spell."

Much more modern and rules-friendly. However, on the card's official gatherer discussion page, there's one particular comment that is absolutely... Amazing? Infuriating? Dumb, let's go with dumb. You don't have to read all of it, mainly just the first three lines, but here it is:

There's a million ways to dissect this awful comment, discussions to be had about the history of the game's rules, and how tournament play works, and erratta, and that one time they forgot to print "until end of turn" on a spell, and the fact that nowhere on the original text does it actually specify that the spell doesn't resolve normally, but the funniest thing about the idea of "it stays on the stack" is that, even if you assume the card works exactly as written and does what it's supposed to...

Here's the rules regarding when you're allowed to cast a noninstant spell, straight from the comprehensive rules (important part in red):

117.1a A player may cast an instant spell any time they have priority. A player may cast a noninstant spell during their main phase any time they have priority and the stack is empty.

No matter how you look at Ertai's Meddling's text, it certainly doesn't create an exception to this rule, which means that, as written, no player can play noninstant spells while a spell is delayed with Ertai's Meddling. There's a similar rule for playing lands, so the game just kind of grinds to a halt. If you want to be SUPER literal about it, the game's turn structure can't even progress unless the stack is empty:

500.2. A phase or step in which players receive priority ends when the stack is empty and all players pass in succession.

So yeah. Go ahead and play with the printed text. Come up with all your clever combos and interactions that technically work. But just remember that when you play with technicalities, you play with ALL the technicalities.

#original #for fuck's sake they didn't even spell oracle right #omg they wrote “buy” instead of “by” #plenty of other people in that discussion section have already torn the poor guy to shreds over this awful comment #but no one pointed out how the stack being empty is crucial for basic game functions #this dude just does not understand that magic has Rules #for more mtg rants ask me why i hate blood moon #there's also one person saying that the updated wording ends up copying the spell every upkeep after the delay counters run out? #which. no. that's not what “as a copy” means #it literally says to put the card onto the stack #not to copy the card and put the copy on the stack #that's like saying that Clone creates a token copy of another creature #no it just becomes a copy #also i was going to complain about how putting counters on an object that's on the stack is impossible #but apparently counters are placed on “objects” (and players) not “permanents” #there's absolutely no rules regarding what zone something has to be in to have a counter on it #it just says that if an object changes zones the counters cease to exist #and cards like Skullbrair the Walking Grave and Me the Immortal maintain their counters across ALL zones (except hand and library) #so yeah you totally can put counters on spells on the stack #OMG THEY SAID THE SPELL “says” ON THE STACK! #HOW MANY TYPOS DID THEY SQUEEZE IN HERE?! #someone come pick up their drunk friend please they're being dumb about card games and it's making me mad

[macfrog]

state-of-the-art sex on fire chapter two

*chants* ceo joel ceo joel ceo joel

part 2 to you shook me all night long!!! massive credit to @whore-4-pedro again for the concept this is SO much fun. work trip coming soon babies!!! masterlist here, ao3 here 💓

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel’s had a rough week at work. you figure you know the perfect way to relieve some of his tension

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) more teasing and touching, oral (m receiving), getting handsy in public + fingering, unprotected semi-public piv sex, creampie, daddy kink, softdom!joel, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), cursing, workplace relationship

word count: 6.6k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

The stretch is too much; he’s all the way in down to his knuckles, curling and then uncurling his fingers deep inside you. Your hips are slowly circling by instinct, rutting against his hand as it fucks you, sending fluttery waves of pleasure all over your body. You ball up your fist, nails digging half-moons into the skin of your palm, attempting to fight the tidal wave fast approaching as Joel’s fingers snap harder into you, a third beckoning your orgasm nearer and nearer. You’re there – right where he wants you, almost throwing your head back with the feeling he’s giving you. And then you make the mistake of looking at him, catching that ever so Joel smile when, shielded from the others by his hand, he breathes, “There’s my girl.”

The black mug. Not the one with the gold handle – that’s one of Martha’s. She doesn’t use it much – at least not as much as the one with her granddaughter’s face printed on it – but she once left you with a stack of paperwork to shred all by yourself just ‘cause you made yourself a tea in it.

No. Just plain black all over. No words, no pictures. Plain. Black.

Few spoonsful of coffee into the filter, hard granules sprinkling over the white paper. Close the lid, flick the switch, and then wait for it to brew. Once it’s done, fill the mug almost to the top – until the coffee kisses the bottom of that one chip in the ceramic. No sugar. No sweetener. No nothing.

Just plain black.

“Thanks, darlin’.” Joel takes the mug carefully from your hands as you wander over, then you perch yourself by his side on Martha’s desk. He takes a sip and nods like usual, confirming what you already know.

You make a damn good cup of coffee.

“You’re worth, what, a few hundred million? You can’t buy a better coffee machine?”

“’s wrong with that one?” he asks, mug on his bottom lip.

“Works like it’s from the eighties or something.”

Martha clears her throat behind you both. “I am gonna give you five seconds to explain what you mean by that.”

“I mean…it’s not exactly state-of-the-art, is it?”

Joel’s jaw drops dramatically. His head wobbles like it’s about to implode, hearing what you just said. “You hear that, Martha? We ain’t state-of-the-art anymore, you ‘n me. We’re older ‘n that coffee machine, you know.”

Martha’s shaking her head, clicking away at her computer.

Joel nudges your arm with a soft chuckle and you sigh, turning away to watch the four men in his office; stood an awkward distance apart, small talking, pacing, adjusting their suits. One of them is messing with some trinket on Joel’s bookshelf.

“You think they’re nervous?” you ask, and he laughs from behind you.

“I reckon they’ve a lot to be nervous about.”

“Was it that bad? On Monday?”

Joel had spent the better part of four hours locked in that conference room, right after you two – you know. He was late for lunch by the time he was ushering them out, collars loose, jackets slung over arms. It was probably a good thing you’d tired him out a little beforehand, or he’d have been way more unforgiving than he was.

Three departments in Joel’s company have gone over budget. It isn’t a huge deal. He has the money. Just, he wants the right people in charge of it, and right now…he clearly doesn’t have that. Honestly, you hate to admit it, but it makes sense. You’re kinda on Joel’s side.

He’d given them to the end of the week to come up with action plans, figure out how to undo the mess. This is the end of the week. This is supposed to be the big reveal.

Joel runs a hand through his hair, palm hooking around the back of his neck.

“Wasn’t great,” he mutters.

You knew that much. You’d asked what he wanted to eat as he passed your desk en route back to his office, and he’d waved his hand and told you to order whatever you wanted with his card. When his door closed, you glanced over to Martha, who shrugged, and went back to playing solitaire.

You figured he wasn’t down for more sex. He didn’t reappear until five o’clock, when he walked you down to the street, carrying your jacket for you, and helped you into your cab.

The elevator dings and the brass doors separate, revealing a figure behind.

George Mackley. Short. Stout. Obnoxiously bright red tie. Head of marketing.

He waddles in a hurry toward the three of you, nodding curtly to Joel as he passes. His shaking hand fumbles around the handle of the office door, which he pulls on instead of pushing, and gives an awkward chuckle before rushing inside.

“Fuckin’…finally,” Joel grunts, passing you his mug and standing up.

“Should I order my own lunch again?” you ask, looking up at the man stretching his arms out before you. Like he’s about to go in and punch sense into them all.

You’d probably love him to do that. It’d make for some great sex afterward.

“I’ll be takin’ a lunch break,” he replies, tapping your knee, “whether we’re done or not. Be out at one.”

You nod, and he stalks off to his office. His mug’s still warm in your lap. You’re still staring when he enters the room, watching how all five men immediately file into the couches across from his desk just at the sight of him. Watching how Joel’s lean figure sits back against his desk, his ankles crossed. His arms folded at his chest. His broad shoulders beneath that tight white shirt.

He has that way about him. Commanding, confident. Strong. It’s probably what convinced you to fold, if you’re honest. Sure, he’s kind, and he’s a good boss, all things considered. He’s funny. But he’s cool. It takes a lot to shake Joel.

This meeting? It’s not shaking him. He’s barely even giving these guys enough attention to sit up straight. He’s so damn breezy, so laidback that when he pushes off of his desk and stands up, you give a small gasp.

You lift his mug, drinking from the same spot his lips touched only minutes ago.

“Thought you hated black coffee,” Martha murmurs.

“Stress sipping,” you reply. “Fucking hell…”

Joel’s erratic. Waving his arms, pacing around the room. You swear the men cower as he approaches; shoulders hunched and heads low until he’s past them.

He looks…Yeah. Fuck it. He looks a little shaken.

Martha tuts. “Shouldn’t be idiots with his money.”

“He has money, though,” you offer. “Like, this ain’t that big a deal, is it? He can afford to go over budget sometimes.”

“Joel doesn’t like anyone messin’ with what’s his,” she tells you. “Doesn’t like other hands on his toys. It’s not the overspending he’s pissed about. It’s the crossin’ the line.”

Your eyebrow cocks. She can’t see your expression, and good thing, because it’d probably give you away. Doesn’t like other hands on his toys.

A flash of movement from Joel’s office drags your eyes from the dregs of his coffee back to the transparent wall between you. He’s whipping the shades closed one by one, putting a barrier between his office and the outside world.

It can’t mean anything good, right? It doesn’t look like they’re about to sit in a circle and braid each other’s hair. Sure as hell aren’t about to see Joel’s good side.

“I gotta go in,” you declare, lifting off of Martha’s desk like you’ve taken flight.

She calls your name, almost tired of your antics. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

But you’re already scooping up a notepad, slipping it under your arm and fishing a pen from your desk. Already walking over to the office door, hearing the dangerous hum of Joel’s voice through the wood.

Your knuckles rap three times. You don’t wait to be called inside. Just push the handle down and slip in.

He’s stood against the frame of one of the windows, hands in his pockets. When you materialize from behind the door, his face relaxes. Brows loosen, jaw slackens. Lips almost tug into a smile.

“Sorry I’m late.” You sidle over to his desk and sit down in his chair, biting on your bottom lip, casting an unsure glance around the room.

Five pale faces turned to you. George Mackley looks like he’s about to weep.

Joel thanks you and then steps forward. “So, Ken, we were at last month’s sales.”

“Uh, yeah…” Ken draws his gaze from you when Joel moves in front of the desk. As he waltzes by, he spins slowly, giving you a look as he passes.

Kill me, he mouths, rolling his eyes. You smile, looking down at your blank notebook. You’re not here to take the fucking minutes. You know that, Joel knows that. You’re only here so he has something to keep him from losing it. Something to sit and look pretty, and calm him down.

Also: you kinda want the gossip. What the fuck did these guys do with all of Joel’s money, right?

Almost two hours in, a dozen games of tic-tac-toe against yourself, and one very crude drawing of Monday morning’s activities, Joel startles you by slamming a file down onto his glass coffee table.

“And you think that’s a solution?” he spits, voice laced with fury.

“Joel, you gotta see it from my side. I’m managing thirty people down there, it’s–”

“’n I’m managing five idiots from up here. Mackley,” he turns to the face as red as the tie below it, “you got anythin’ else for me?”

George Mackley shakes his head. His hair’s unkempt; it was gelled flat to his head when he arrived, but his hands have been through it more times than Joel’s lapped the office.

“Alright. Y’know what,” Joel seethes, backing up and motioning for them to stand, “everyone out. Meeting’s over. Go.”

“Joel–” A tall man with blue eyes stands up.

“If you ain’t about to offer me somethin’ that can fuckin’ fix this mess, then shut your mouth and get out of my office. All of you.”

The men sheepishly collect their briefcases, their documents, themselves, and stand, filing out of the door one by one. You rise from Joel’s chair, taking your notepad between your fingers, and slowly wander around the desk.

He’s standing with his head in his hands, shoulders swelling with his breathing. Does he want you to leave, too? You don’t want to rile him more; certainly don’t want to be the first face his angry self sees. But you want to make sure he’s okay. Want to check on him.

Plus, he’s kind of hot when he’s pissed.

You’re tottering toward the door when Joel drops his hands from his face, notices you, and says, plain as the coffee in his mug, “Not you.”

You turn back, pushing the door closed behind you.

“Didn’t mean to yell.”

You don’t reply. Your hand lifts to find the lock blindly behind your hip, and you click it. Now there’s nobody, no one to disturb you both. No one to walk in, no one to see.

You approach him.

He’s still talking: “Didn’t want you to have to hear all that. I spoil your morning?”

Your head shakes and you mutely take his hands, leading him around to his chair and pushing him back into it.

“Baby, what–”

You part his legs with your own, his fingers still interlocked with yours. Then you think he gets it. Understands where you’re going.

You sink to your knees between his thighs.

“They were bein’ idiots,” you say, fingers undoing his belt. “’n you didn’t spoil my mornin’. You gave me a little bit of excitement.”

Joel’s breath shudders as he watches you tug his belt through the loops of his pants and drop it to the floor. Still, he laughs, and asks, “Is that so?”

“N– Oh, fuck. Not like that. Like–” You pause, breathing out a sigh.

Yeah, okay. Like that, if you want. I’m down if you are.

His pants are open, lying loose on his hips. The waistband of his boxers visible. You hook two fingers over it and peel it down a fraction, following Joel’s happy trail as it grows thicker and darker, when he puts a hand over yours and breathes your name.

“Relax,” you mutter back, nudging his hand off of yours. “Just let me take care of you.”

His head falls against the back of his chair and his shoulders sink into the leather. You pull on the elastic and take hold of the base of his cock, already stiff, slipping it out from beneath the black cotton.

Joel’s knees fall slack when you take a hold of him. Two hands, because he’s so fucking big. Your fists pump him a few times, feeling him harden in your grasp, warm skin rock solid in your hands. You lean forward on your knees, thick bead of saliva falling from your lips onto his head, dribbling down his smooth shaft.

Joel’s watching through hooded lids. Caressing your hair, petting you. Your fingers collect your spit and drag it up and down him, and you swear he almost fucking whines.

Almost isn’t enough. You want to really hear him. So you slacken your jaw, part your lips, and slide them down, tongue flat against the underside of his length as he fills your mouth. Joel’s fist tightens, pulls harshly on your hair for just a second, until he’s breathing out again in relief, body relaxing to the feel of your wet tongue around his hard cock.

“Don’t need to – do this, babygirl.”

“Mhm,” you mumble around him.

“Fuck…” he whispers.

Your elbows are hooked over his thighs, holding yourself up in place between his legs. He tastes salty; skin warm, smooth. Your tongue flickers over his head, collecting precum, and Joel groans.

You pull off of him and lick your lips.

“What you gonna do?” you ask, fingers squeezing and dragging saliva and Joel’s arousal up and down. “About the budget stuff?”

His chest is heaving, hips lifting out of the seat almost like he’s trying to put himself back where he belongs. “What…can I do?” he asks through desperate pants. “Can’t – fuck – can’t drum sense into ‘em.”

You wrap your puffy lips around his tip, kissing it, tongue playing with him again. Swirling around, gathering him on your tastebuds. “Why don’t you cut ‘em loose, then?”

Your head dips again, lips sucking around his shaft, tongue still darting around his swollen head.

He can barely fucking answer. His eyes close over and, with a groan either side of the sentence, he replies, “’s not that easy, baby. Fuck. Keep doin’ that.”

You loosen your lips enough to let your reply pass them. Your voice is muffled, thick. “Sounds easy to me.”

“Shut up,” he grunts. “Keep fuckin’ – usin’ your tongue.”

You obey, running your tongue up and down his length and coming to rest to pay more attention to his tip.

“Yeah, just like that. Good girl.”

You hollow your cheeks and let your lips trickle up and down for a bit before releasing him with a pop. Joel’s writhing underneath you, leaning almost horizontal in his chair.

“Gonna cum, daddy?”

He nods, eyes still screwed shut. “Yeah, pretty girl. You want it down your throat again?”

“Mhm.”

“Fuck – dirty girl.”

It’s all the encouragement you need. You widen your jaw, taking him in your mouth in full, until he’s choking you down to what feels like the bottom of your fucking neck. You fuck him with your throat, bobbing up and down, his fist in your hair pushing and pulling even though you don’t need him to. Your mouth meets the skin at the base of his cock over and over, dark hair brushing against your glossy lips.

Joel’s moaning each time, when his cock kisses the back of your throat, when you involuntarily choke around him, when your tongue drags along his length as he pulls you up and down. And soon his breathing loses rhythm, hips tense, and you know he’s there.

He cums, hard, at the back of your mouth. Warm release spilling out over your tongue, neatly running down your throat as you wait for him to still. His cock throbs with each shot of cum, swelling and jerking between your lips. When Joel sinks back into his chair again, you slip him out of your mouth and back under his boxershorts.

Your head lulls to the side, resting on his big thigh as you swallow him with a smile on your lips. His grip on your hair loosens, turns instead back to soft stroking, chest still panting as he comes back down. You watch him through glazed eyes; his shoulders rising and falling, breaths passing his lips like waves at the beach.

He’s twirling your hair gently around his finger, looking down at you like you’re made of twinkling gold dust.

Eventually, Joel takes a deep breath and sits up straight, beckoning you to do the same. He tucks his shirt back in, redoes his pants, then leans forward and hooks both hands under your arms, pulling you up to him.

You giggle as he lifts you onto his lap, straddling him with your knees either side of his waist. Your elbows rest on his shoulders, hands linking at the back of his neck.

His jaw turns upward, and you lower yours, your lips meeting in a soft embrace. You laugh against him, letting his tongue slip into your mouth, pushing yours into his.

“Better?” you ask once you part.

“Better, darlin’. Thank you.”

He kisses you again, a little more rushed, little less tender. Then his hands squeeze your ass and you squeal into his mouth, jumping up off of him.

You pass him his belt and lift the empty coffee mug off of his desk. “Refill?”

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks,” he says, slipping the leather through his belt loops. His shoulders are lifted, tummy sucked in as he feeds it through. He almost looks cute.

You smile and then turn on your heels, wiping the corners of your mouth as you emerge from the office.

—————

“Is he comin’, or what?”

“Huh?”

Martha jerks her head in the direction of Joel’s office. She’s stood at your desk, hands on her hips, bag over her shoulder.

“He’s…Yeah, he said he would be. Let me go check.”

You close over the budget report file you’d been reading through and shimmy out from behind your desk, trying to amble as casually as possible over to the shuttered blinds.

You turn the handle, poking your head around the door.

He’s stood at his desk, raking a hand through his hair, top button of his shirt undone. Tie sitting loose around his collar. He spots you and gives an apologetic smile.

You comin’? you mouth.

Joel points to his phone. Some panicked voice fills the silence between you both.

“…so I gave the two of ‘em a tellin’; they shouldn’t make any more purchase orders without my permission. Without your permission, Joel, I mean…And about last month’s sales, too…”

You step over to his desk, slow, suspicious. Mischief on your mind.

“Sorry, baby,” he whispers, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

You cock your head, brows furrowing. You’d been looking forward to lunch with Joel all day; something to take his mind off the meeting this morning.

Martha had called his favorite restaurant, they’d told her they had no space, she’d mentioned it was for Mr. Miller, and a table had magically opened up. Then you’d encouraged her to ask Deb, knowing she’d inevitably ask James, her admin assistant, and, before you knew it, your small lunch was a party of five.

Worked for you. You and Joel would probably be too caught up in each other’s company to notice the rest.

Except, the way things are looking, Joel isn’t getting off this call anytime soon. Soon meaning within the next thirty seconds, given the reservation is in ten minutes.

You’re growing desperate. Running out of time, knowing if you don’t do something to shut this guy the fuck up, your little daydream of sitting side by side with Joel, so close you can feel the heat off of him, feel his chest vibrate when he talks, maybe even feel his hand trailing up your thigh…won’t come true.

“What if you just…” Your fingers walk along Joel’s desktop, heading for his phone. “…lost…connection…?”

He doesn’t say a word, but the smirk that forms across his lips grants you all the permission you need. Your fingers clutch the receiver, lifting it barely an inch, then drop it back into its cradle. The panicked voice cuts.

“Oops.” You shrug, straightening up in front of Joel.

“Oops,” he repeats, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders and pulling you into him again. You lift your jaw to kiss him only quickly, before you’re pushing yourself off of his chest and dragging him away from his desk.

“Sorry, Ken!” you call as Joel yanks the door open, the pair of you laughing like schoolkids.

You meet the others outside the building, huddled together at the bottom of the concrete steps. Deb puts her cigarette out on top of a trashcan when you both approach.

“Well, we thought you weren’t comin’,” she utters to Joel.

He lifts his eyebrows in response, hands slipping into his pockets, and glances around the group. “We goin’?”

“Waiting for your driver, Mr. CEO.” Martha winks.

“Aha,” Joel replies, face unmoving, “funny.”

“It’s, like, two blocks, we can walk,” you say, setting off down the street. Joel’s quick to follow, strolling at your side, but there’s a chorus of groans from the rest of your party. “Come on!” you yell over your shoulder.

“We’re supposed to be dining with the head of the fuckin’ company!” Martha cries, and Deb cackles.

“I gotta live like the rest of y’all sometimes,” Joel shrugs, walking backward, “keeps my feet rooted, doesn’t it?”

“I hate you,” you mutter, and he knocks into your shoulder with his own.

The Courtyard is bright, modern, and…beige. It’s only Joel’s favorite because it was a buddy of his from grad school who opened it, but you’re the only person he’s entrusted with that information. It’s decent food – they do a great chicken risotto – and it is always busy, so Drew must be doing alright with it.

You walk under a fake ivy plant covering the entrance, past twinkling fairy lights and to a rustic wooden reception area. Some hyper server comes bounding over and introduces himself as Jake, before Martha gives the name of the reservation and he batters it into a keyboard.

“Lopez?” you ask Martha, screwing your face up.

“Yeah. Comma Jennifer. I like to make it exciting.”

“If you wanted exciting, go for Beyoncé, or something. Lopez?”

“You really think Beyoncé is gonna come eat here?”

“You really think Jennifer Lopez is?”

She bats you away, turning her attention to Deb, who finds the JLo joke hilarious. When Jake springs off, beckoning you all to follow him, Joel leans in close to you.

“She used to use Pamela Anderson. Glad she’s evolved a little.”

You snort and follow Jake toward the same table Joel always sits at: the very back of the restaurant, quieter, separated by screens of more fake greenery. Windows looking out over the busy streets. Bare lightbulbs hanging from unnecessarily long wires over the tables.

Joel pulls your chair out for you and slots in beside you, on your right. Martha, Deb, and James – who hasn’t said or done much more than chortle at anything Joel’s said – sit opposite. Jake borderline frisbees the menus at you guys and tells you to give him a shout when you’re ready to order.

You turn to Joel who shakes his head, hand cupping his chin.

The five of you scan down the menus – at least, you, Joel and Martha pretend to. You’ve been coming here regularly enough for long enough that you know what you’ll inevitably end up ordering. James is asking Deb if the steak might fill him up too much before his squash practice later on tonight when you feel a familiar heat on your leg, and look past your menu to see Joel’s hand curving around your thigh.

You hold back a smile, pretending to be really into the laminated sheet in your hands. So long as he keeps it PG, and James keeps rabbiting on about squash being good for your hand-eye co-ordination, this is fine. This is…enjoyable.

This is exactly what you fucking wanted, when you organized lunch.

But when Jake returns to collect the menus under his arm then scurries back off, and Martha and Deb start discussing some TV show they’re both hooked on, Joel’s hand begins to rake higher. Taking the hem of your skirt with it. You suck in a deep breath, pretending to watch the two women and trying your best to listen to the words they’re saying, but he’s getting dangerously close to your–

“You ever try squash, Joel?”

“Huh?” Joel’s hand halts instantly. You exhale.

James is sitting forward, elbows on the table, nodding with a perfectly innocent smile on his face. “Squash. Yeah. I play every Friday evening, straight after work. It’s fantastic for shakin’ off that week-long stress, y’know? Not that workin’ here is a stress, but sometimes it can build up, sometimes you just need something to…” He balls his fists and jerks them, gritting his teeth.

You choke on a laugh and play it off as a cough.

Joel shifts a little in his seat, his palm still clamped around the top of your thigh. “Never played squash. More of a golfing guy.”

“That what you’re gonna do this weekend? Burn off all that stress you’ve had with a round of golf?” you ask Joel, lips almost trembling with the effort it’s taking you not to burst out laughing.

“Not what I had in mind, naw,” he almost spits back.

“Well, if you ever wanna try it, you know who to call. Squash, I mean. I mean – sorry, I don’t mean call squash. I mean call me. To try squash. You won’t find a better stress reliever.”

“Thanks, James,” Joel mutters, fingers fumbling with the cutlery on the table in front of him.

You could fucking burst. No better stress reliever than squash, right Joel? Nothing like it. Not even the one sitting next to you, her thigh under your grasp. Nope.

You’re thankful when Martha calls your name and averts your attention.

“You have got to watch it. I reckon she’d really love it, right?”

Deb nods eagerly.

“What’s that?” you ask.

They both start chirping away, describing the plot of some mystery thriller. It’s hard to keep up, what with them both speaking over one another, deciding which parts are safe to tell you and No, we can’t tell her that, that’s a spoiler, which actors are in it and how many episodes it took for them to really get into it.

Not to mention Joel’s hand, which has resumed its climb up your leg.

“There are three seasons,” Martha says, finger drawing shapes on her placemat, “and do not go lookin’ online for anything, because at the end of season two, there’s a massive death, and…”

Your thighs are bare again, skirt rolled up and held at the top of your legs by Joel’s wrist. He’s squeezing as he goes, massaging, driving you fucking insane as he adds more and more pressure. Still, your legs part for him the higher he goes.

“W-what– where can I watch it?” you ask, your eyes closing over as Joel’s fingers loosen their grip.

Deb says something, but it’s muffled. Drowned out by the ringing in your ears. Joel’s right hand sits under his chin, elbow propped on the table as if he’s musing over the weather or considering what to do with his weekend.

His left moves swiftly over to run along the elastic of your panties. Sift his thumb down below them. Fingers drop to cup you over the lace fabric. Suddenly, you’re sitting upright, your arms propping on the table, then falling to your lap, then one elbow up, then both down again.

What the fuck– how the fuck do you make this look casual? Being touched by your boss at lunch, with three colleagues sat opposite you?

Joel seems to be enjoying watching you squirm. You hear him breathe a laugh into his hand, and then his fingers begin to travel even further south, moving your panties to the side to sift through your folds.

Which are, regrettably, fucking soaked.

“Hm,” you hear Joel hum, and you can’t look at him. Knowing he’s found exactly what he was looking for. Knowing he’s achieved exactly what he set out to do.

You sit stunned, staying completely still for fear you might draw attention from your company. But then he’s dipping a finger in, pushing deep inside you, and your jaw falls loose, a silent moan escaping in the form of a sigh.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Martha addresses you and Joel, “as requested, flights organized. You leave for Paris next Friday morning, fly home Monday afternoon.”

“Yep,” you reply, shuddering slightly. “Sounds good.”

You’re not fucking listening to a word she’s saying.

“Thanks, Martha,” Joel says, as casual as if he were telling her the time. Almost bored.

You drop your hand and it clamps around Joel’s wrist; you’re sure you’re scratching him, but you don’t care. Not only does he deserve it, but it’s all you can do to stop yourself from screaming out when he inserts a second finger.

The stretch is too much; he’s all the way in down to his knuckles, curling and then uncurling his fingers deep inside you. Your hips are slowly circling by instinct, rutting against his hand as it fucks you, sending fluttery waves of pleasure all over your body.

You ball up your fist, nails digging half-moons into the skin of your palm, attempting to fight the tidal wave fast approaching as Joel’s fingers snap harder into you, a third beckoning your orgasm nearer and nearer.

You’re there – right where he wants you, almost throwing your head back with the feeling he’s giving you. And then you make the mistake of looking at him, catching that ever so Joel smile when, shielded from the others by his hand, he breathes, “There’s my girl.”

It’s the last push. The last fucking shove.

Your walls clamp around his fist, your entire body screams, a scream that forcibly dies out in your throat as you lean forward and –

You slam your fist down on the tabletop, the sudden jolt of cutlery and glass making the three opposite you jump.

“Are you– what’s wrong?” Martha asks, leaning closer.

“Cr– fuck– cramp,” you mumble, eyes screwed shut, hand still gripping Joel’s wrist. He slowly drags his soaked fingers out of your tight cunt, casually maneuvering his arm back where it belongs whilst the table’s attention is still on your head and shoulders.

“Cramp?”

“My – fucking – leg. I’ll be – right back.” You’re almost hyperventilating as you shakily stand, shoving your chair back with your legs only for it to be caught by the hand Joel had inside you seconds before.

You waddle off to the front of the restaurant, nearly breaking out into a run when you reach the hallway leading to the restrooms. The door to the ladies room bursts open and you throw yourself against a sink, gripping onto the ceramic, chest heaving, shoulders hunched. Your cunt is still throbbing, waves of your orgasm slowly losing power and retreating.

You wave your hand under the faucet and cold water automatically flows, filling your cupped hands, cooling your blood, cooling your skin when you dab it onto your cheeks. You sigh with relief, leaning against the sink, catching pathetic glimpses of yourself in the mirror.

And then, the door pushes open. And his silhouette sneaks inside. He leans back against the wall, hands in his pockets. Face with a smirk you want to slap off of him.

“How’s the cramp?”

“Are you fucking–” You flick your hands toward him, splashing him with water as he throws an arm up to dodge it, laughing. That fucking laugh.

He wanders around you, looking your shaking body up and down, and comes to a halt with his chest against your back. His chin leans into your shoulder, and you look at each other in the mirror.

It takes everything in you to fight the smile growing on your lips, but when Joel mirrors it, you can’t help it.

“Fucker,” you whisper, and he kisses your shoulder. You lean back into him, ass pressing against him, feeling something you already suspected would be there.

“Feel what you did to me?” he asks, voice muffled into the cotton of your shirt.

“Mhm,” you reply, and you drop your hand to take the outline of him through his pants.

“You wanna fix it for me?”

Your head rolls back against his shoulder, smutty grin melting across your face. “Yeah, daddy.”

“Good girl,” he tells you, lips dragging across your neck, hands at his belt.

Your fingers clutch your skirt, still hiked halfway up your thighs, and pull it further. Joel’s hands replace yours on your hips and he shoves his pants apart, lining his bulge up with your core. Then his palm is at the bottom of your back, pushing you forward into position. Your knuckles whiten around the ceramic sink.

“Fuck,” you whisper when you feel his tip at your entrance. You’re already soaked through, no need for him to take his time. Not that you have time, anyway, with three coworkers out front waiting for the two of you.

Joel thrusts forward, entering you in one go, filling you up so fast you nearly double over. He keeps a tight grip on your hips, dragging you up and down the top of his cock a few times before slamming all the way into you again, eliciting a cry from your lips.

“Quiet, babygirl,” he says, low, dangerous. “Just gettin’ you warmed up.”

“Your hand wasn’t enough of a warmup?” you throw over your shoulder, and he takes your arms and pulls you flush against him.

“You gonna run that pretty mouth the entire time we’re in here, or you gonna let me fuck you?” he breathes around the shell of your ear.

“Both.”

You bite back a whimper when his hips buck into you painfully. A telling: don’t start.

Joel establishes a pace quick enough, both of you aware you can’t take too long in here. His grunts match the rate his body snaps against yours, your panting matches the rate you bounce up and down on him.

You’re watching the sight reflected in the mirror: Joel hooked around your shoulder, lips against your ear, whispering praises and filth, and you, leaning back against him, rutting on his hard cock with a thick smile on your lips.

“Daddy…” you whine, and Joel’s vice grip tightens even more.

“Good girl,” he pants, “so fuckin’ good for me.”

It’s not long before that heat is swirling around your core again, sparks of lightning jolting through the whirlwind of pleasure Joel’s hips create between yours. You take a hold of his arms for stability as you begin to feel your orgasm crest the horizon, knowing by the sounds he’s making in your ear that Joel isn’t far off, either.

“Cum in me,” you whimper, watching for his reaction in the mirror.

He pulls a face that’s almost…defeated. Groans like you’ve given him an impossible problem to solve.

You plead with your eyes. “Cum – in – me.”

It’s like you’re pressing on the weakest part of a porcelain vase; daring it to break. Daring it to fall apart. Joel knows he shouldn’t, knows it’s more sensible not to. But the way you look, body against his, whining and whimpering and fucking smiling right back at him – the way you feel, so warm and wet, squeezing him so tight he’s surprised he’s even lasted this long…

He can’t fucking help himself.

He moans and his hands clamp on your waist, forcing you forward as he ruts into you once, twice, three times before he’s twitching deep inside, warm seed spilling out and coating your walls. Your release floods over you, then, too, your head falling forward as your legs give for a few seconds, Joel’s grip the only thing keeping you upright.

Stars in your eyes, you pull the strength to lift your head and look at your reflection; Joel behind you, face to the ceiling as he slowly stills between your legs.

Your cunt throbs, and you move your hips back and forth gently, drawing a noise from Joel that you wish you could never stop hearing.

“Baby,” he lulls, looking down to watch as your dripping cunt rocks back and forth, taking him all and then letting him go again.

It’s a minute or so before you both return to reality. Bodies still connected, Joel places a steady kiss to your cheek. You lean into him, turning to place your lips against his. You’re both hot, sweaty, it’s probably pretty noticeable you just fucked.

And you don’t care.

Joel slips out of you and backs up, letting you fix yourself in the mirror as he stuffs himself back into his pants.

“You think you can walk back to the office?” he asks, smirking.

“Call Rand,” you reply, and his head tips back in a laugh.

He nods toward the door and the pair of you slip out discreetly, you first to check the coast is clear, and Joel right behind. You walk along the hallway, heels clicking, like you’ve just come across each other right outside the restrooms.

“Hey, Joel,” a voice says from behind you both as you wander past the bar.

“Drew,” Joel replies, and shakes the hand of a tall blonde guy in all black. His t-shirt’s so tight you can make out his pecs underneath it.

“How’s it goin’? You been in long?”

“Just waitin’ for our food,” Joel says, “it’s probably out by now.” He glances over at you and your legs clench subconsciously. He introduces you then, says, “My assistant. Best assistant I could ask for,” and your lungs close up.

Drew shakes your hand and then turns back to Joel. “Don’t go without catchin’ me, ain’t lettin’ you pay a thing. How’s business?”

Joel nods. “Good, good. We’re, uh, we’re heading out to Europe next week, so.”

“Jean-Marc?”

“Yep.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. Place is lookin’ good, same as always.” Joel glances around, pointing randomly to the light fixture above your heads.

Drew does that thing men do when trapped in a dry conversation: folds his arms, looks to the floor, and nods some more. Waiting for Joel to say —

“Alright, well. Great seein’ you again. Thanks for lunch.”

He puts an arm around your back and guides you off back to the table.

“Nice meetin’ you.” You smile at Drew as you pass and he returns it, turning back to the bar.

Once you’re out of earshot, you look over to Joel.

“Something going on there?”

“Huh?”

You scoff. “You two couldn’t wait to be away from each other. Why’d you always come here if it’s so awkward?”

“Well, if I see ‘im, I get free food.”

You slap his arm as he pulls your chair back out for you.

“Feelin’ better?” Deb asks, pushing French fries around her plate.

You nod, pulling your seat in beside Joel, who’s still laughing at himself. As you settle, you feel the warmth he left behind spill out of you a little, pooling in your underwear. And Joel seems to notice, whether from some sexual sixth sense he has when it comes to you, or just the way you awkwardly shift in your seat. He hands you a smug smirk, nudging you with his elbow.

You narrow your eyes at him and turn back to Martha.

“So, you were saying you fixed the flights for Paris?”

----------

taglist: @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @casa-boiardi @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi (lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #softdom!joel miller #softdom!joel

[catapparently]

Kaz Brekker Headcanons

Cat entering her hc era thanks to my maid of honor @x-liv25 . Please go read her TIG headcanons!

MASTERLIST

Kaz once said "you shouldn't make friends with crows," "why not?" "they don't have any manners." I headcanon that he tried to feed a crow and actually be nice to it but it bit him so now he forever holds the grudge

He has a stack of makeup in his desk drawer in case he needs to change his face up a bit for a job and he's excellent at it

At some point, when he was still struggling with finding a job after Jordie's death, he stole someone's purse and found bronzer/contour that he used to draw himself abs to look strong and "hirable".

He doesn't mind touching animals without his gloves

He realized that when he tried to save an abandoned kitten in the rain when he was younger

He felt bad for it because it reminded him of him and Jordie

He saw it as a debt-ish to Jordie to save the kitten

It once brought Kaz a mouse as a gift and Kaz genuinely appreciated the gesture

Kaz POV: "What a distinguished gentleman who knows I'm worthy of great gifts and appreciation"

Kaz knew he couldn't really keep a cat in his line of work, it'd be a weakness, so when it was old enough, he snuck it into Pekka's office and watched the vicious little feline tear Pekka's stuff to shreds

"A cat after my own heart"

When Kaz got the Dregs tattoo, he didn't want the artist to touch him, so he tattooed the logo himself. It was a bit shaky but then he hired a Tailor to fix the edges without touching him

Alternative solution to the bad edges: He fixes them up with stolen foundation whenever he isn't wearing long sleeves or something that would cover it up.

They day he first saw Inej and she snuck up on him, he had a panic attack but hid it well

At this point in his life, he was used to being in control, to knowing everything. Having Inej sneak up on him (and knowing that she could have potentially killed him without him having time to retaliate had she been trained) freaked him out. He felt weak, Kaz Rietveld again.

Kaz spends half an hour every other day locked in his office without his gloves, lathering his hands in hand cream.

Whenever he'd grab someone by the collar or any form of violence with contact, the last thing the victim could think about is why his hands smell nice. Nobody ever lived to tell the tale.

He's a sucker for a good chocolate cake.

He absolutely HATES ice cream. It makes too much of a sticky gooey mess for him.

He also probably has a sensitive throat so he doesn't really eat cold/frozen stuff or drinks

Once he made a deal with Nina which resulted in him going to a café to buy her a pumpkin spice latte. Once he sniffed Nina's, he quickly bought another one for himself and chugged it before he could get back. Obviously he did that in a dark alleyway so that nobody could see him and use it as blackmail.

Once he used (obviously stolen) paint to decorate his very own set of cards.

He then made another elaborate plan of his and managed to auction them off for a grotesque amount of kruge.

Probably forged DeKappel's signature on the back of each with perfect precision

For those that forgot, DeKappel is some famous painter in the series. Kaz stole a DeKappel oil painting from Van Eck.

Help I didn't realize how fun HCs were, I could make a thousand of these

#kaz six of crows #six of crows duology #six of crows #six of crows headcanons #kaz headcanons #kaz brekker #kaz rietveld #kazzle dazzle #kaz dirtyhands brekker #inej gafha #inej ghafa #crooked kingdom #incorrect six of crows #jennifer lynn barnes #the grisha series #grishaverse #jordie rietveld #kaz and jordie #kaz and inej #kanej #kaz x inej #jan van eck #soc #pekka rollins #the dregs #the crows

[starryeyedadmirer]

This video is really scientifical😂… but, like, imagine having the most bear-like boyfriend ever, behavior-wise.

Like, you always know when the cold season is coming, because he’ll suddenly just start going to the store and buying groceries in bulk, like he’s on a mission against time. It’s the only thing that he leaves the house for, and he makes store trips almost daily — buying all of the food, snacks, and sugary drinks that he can, before the weather finally turns.

His appetite is insatiable, and he’s always chewing on something… whether it be a quick candy bar, or a full-on feast. Every second of every day, he’s got something in his mouth… just putting those jaws of his to work… and he’s completely set on “bulking up” and getting as big and round as his body will allow, without a specific goal weight in mind. Out of nowhere, he starts talking in carbs, calories, nutritional values, and weight and mass calculations. It’s a foreign language to you… but a beautiful language, like a funny-sounding French😅. He’s got a number or percentage for every bite. In no time, he gets to be all bloated and fat… just gross, in the most beautiful way possible.

He’s so lazy, too, and inexplicably tired. It’s like his body has completely taken him over, and all it wants to do is sleep. As the season turns, and the air gets cool and crisp, you can hardly even get him out of bed anymore. For days and days, he’ll just lay in his own filth… farting, burping, and letting his armpits accumulate musk, until even he can’t take it anymore. His hair gets all long and curly, and his body-hair is like a vast jungle, just begging you to come and explore it. Despite how disgusting he is, seeing him in such a natural, masculine state turns you on.

Even in bed, he’s surrounded by food, which he’ll simply reach over and pick at whenever he so desires. He sleeps with the pile of snacks like it’s a stack of pillows, and wears the scraps and crumbs all over his hairy, soft body with pride. In his state of “hibernation” all he wants from you is belly rubs. Belly rubs when he wakes up… belly rubs to send him off to sleep… belly rubs when he’s hungry… belly rubs when his stomach is full… and belly rubs just for the hell of it. It’s something that never ends, but you love it. Feeling his taut, warm, furry belly under your palms… picking the crumbs from his body-hair and feeding them to him… breathing in his manly funk… it’s so amazing, there’s nothing quite like it.

He’s this way for roughly three months… just through the winter, until the season ends… and for those 90-ish cold days, you two are in your own wintery wonderland together. Once the season has passed though, and the spring comes, he hops up like a jackrabbit on a sugar-high, and gets shredded in no time. In the end, it’s all for the “gains.”😂

Really, this just makes me think about a few guys…

#starry eyes #just thinking #cameron monaghan #grayson dolan #evan peters #kit connor #noah centineo #matt howard #rowan eldridge #tyler funke #tyler posey #jake bass

[lady-lostmind]

Dreams

Love is: Having hope for the future together.

a @steddielovemonth prompt Thank you @oh-stars for betaing this!

WC: 560 | Rating: G

ao3 link

Eddie has always been a dreamer. Even when all the odds were stacked against him, he had high hopes for his life. Always thought he was bound for more than being a high school drop out that lives in a shitty trailer. It’s why he suffered through two extra years of high school in the first place. It’s what had him practicing his guitar for hours a day. Convinced if he worked hard enough, if he was the best, he could do it. He could get out of here. Play music and make money. Maybe buy Uncle Wayne a real house. Finally repay him for everything he’d done for him. Make up for being such a little shit growing up. 

What Eddie didn’t ever see in his dreams was Steve Harrington. He seemed too unattainable even for his wildest scenarios. Eddie would have laughed in your face if you told him that, one day, he would be laying next to Steve, sprawled out in his bed. That he’d let out a content sigh when he feels Eddie’s fingers trail across his skin. That he’d look at him like he hung the fucking moon. That Steve Harrington would one day tell Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson that he loves him. That Eddie would believe him. But now, as he lays here, staring into Steve’s eyes, he can’t stop the dreams from growing inside him. 

Dreams bigger than he’s ever imagined before. Dreams completely wrapped up in Steve. 

He wants to give his boy the fucking world. Wants to get him away from this place that ripped them to shreds. Wants to show him he already has the family he’s been searching for.  Buy him that fucking RV and load it up with their giant mismatched, makeshift crew. Eddie wants to buy him a house big enough to be the home base of the group. Let him be the one the group flocks to for holidays and big events. And Eddie knows they will. Because it’s Steve. And he may not realize it, but he’s the glue. The kids all adore him. Hero worship that Steve doesn’t see. But Eddie does. As much as they tease him and give him a hard time. He sees it in their eyes. Steve put his life on the line for them. Over and over. He was the babysitter. That’s a bond that stays put.

Eddie never thought he’d end up being one of those people who revolves their life around their significant other. Never thought he’d find someone that stuck around long enough, honestly. But all his plans are now their plans. He can’t imagine doing any of the things he’s dreamed of for so long without Steve, now. It wouldn’t be worth it. He knows, as much as he wants more, wants a life bigger than Hawkins, he’d be content if none of it happens, as long as he has Steve. 

Most of all, Eddie wants to make sure he’s happy. Because fuck if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s Steve Harrington. Even if it means listening to shitty pop music in the car, or having Robin Buckley interrupt them constantly, or playing chauffeur to the gremlins everyday. Barely getting a moment to themselves. It’s worth it to see the way Steve’s eyes sparkle when he smiles. 

Eddie would do anything to see that smile.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fanfic #lady lostmind #steddielovemonth #day 12 #love is having hope for the future future together

[seungkwansphd]

room for interpretation - 2

pairing: lawyer!jeonghan x lawyer!YN| word count: 9.1K synopsis: as top of class, you and jeonghan had been many things to each other. enthusiastic rivals, begrudging allies, and…parties to a jokingly written (but legally binding) marriage contingency contract? this piece of paper would’ve been long forgotten had an unexpected merger not thrown you back into each others’ lives. themes: fluff, rivals to coworkers to tentative friends to lovers, “if we’re both single by X age” marriage contract, IDIOTS2lovers, fake dating, miscommunication. this is just a romcom.

“Hey Maja?” you heard Jeonghan’s voice through your door.

“Yes Jeonghan?”

“Can you help me understand how the Law Library is organized?”

“No! I will not help anyone with that!” Maja stood up violently from her desk. “I’ve told Peter a hundred times and I’ll tell him again that we need to digitize that! But nooooo, Mister Romantic likes the aesthetic and mood of having physical references.”

Jeonghan was rightly baffled as Maja stomped off away from him with a stack of papers that would find themselves wrongfully shredded if she didn’t calm down. You held in a laugh. You agreed that digital references would be more efficient, but you also enjoyed the “Law Library”, which was really just an empty office filled with bookshelves of case studies. It was great for when you needed a change of pace as well as one of the best cell reception areas in the office, making it a prime spot for taking phone calls.

“I can help you,” you called to Jeonghan as you got up from your chair.

“She’s…fiery,” Jeonghan commented as you walked.

“Yes, it’s best to stay on her good side,” you chuckled.

Jeonghan followed you in and looked on as you explained Peter’s organization system to him. It didn’t really make sense, but if you understood the logic behind it, you could find things easily enough.

“Do anything interesting this weekend?” you asked as you helped Jeonghan search for a specific reference.

“Went to see my sister.”

“Oh! How is she doing?”

“Good. Her kid is almost five now, which is mind boggling to me!”

“What?!” your eyebrows shot up.

You remembered meeting Jeonghan’s sister briefly during a family orientation event. You knew almost nothing about her, but still it surprised you to hear that his younger sister had a child.

“Are you seeing anyone?” you asked without thought.

“What?”

“No, I mean-,” you winced when you realized what you had asked. “I was wondering whether your parents have thoughts about your younger sister having a kid before you.”

“Ah,” Jeonghan laughed with understanding. “No, they’re so elated to be grandparents, they could care less about me.”

“Got it,” you nodded. “Oh, aha!” you exclaimed when you finally found the document that you were looking for. You pulled it out and handed it to Jeonghan triumphantly.

“Thanks,” he smiled gratefully at you, thumbing through it. “Oh, actually, I did think of you this weekend though.”

“Oh?” you asked. You were surprised to hear that.

“Your little Pokemon.”

You nodded.

“I learned that Eevee has eight evolutions total, but you only have six?”

You nodded again. He was asking a question, but you weren’t totally sure what it was.

“Is there a reason you’re missing two? Are they hard to find or…?”

“Ah,” you nodded, feeling suddenly shy. “I only buy them to celebrate milestones. I have two more major milestones that I’d like to achieve, so I’ll buy the last two evolutions when that happens.”

Jeonghan felt an inexplicable tug in his chest. That was a much more meaningful answer than he’d expected. You waved before returning to your office and he was left wondering what you considered to be the next two major goals in your life. He felt sure that making partner was one of them, but he was at a loss for the other one. Starting your own firm? Becoming a judge?

Harris sat in his office, eyes closed and lips squeezed together in an effort not to burst out laughing. He could hear Maja in Peter’s office next door, giving him the dressing down of a lifetime. He jotted down a note as he eavesdropped. There had to be a relatively painless way of digitizing those files, right?

Maja returned to her desk after, once again, making her case for the files in the Law Library to be converted to digital. Peter could even keep his stupid nook, but she really needed to be able to utilize the ‘Ctrl + F’ function if he wanted to retain her on the team. Her workload had nearly doubled with the addition of supporting Jeonghan since the merger. The only way she was able to manage it was really due to your competencies. You both were organized and dedicated, which made her job easier in many ways.

…

Jeonghan’s brow furrowed when he looked up to see you, once again, absorbed in your phone. Someone had been texting you non-stop when you should have been working with him on the last minute appeal.

“Can you focus please?” he was surprised at how whiny he sounded when he asked.

“Sorry!” your face contorted apologetically as you pulled your attention from your phone.

Jeonghan rubbed his face with his hands. It wasn’t so much that you were on your phone, but rather the fact that you were clearly agitated by whatever you were reading on it.

“It’s-,” you cut yourself off before you could overshare. Flynn was upset that you needed to work late and you were tired of having to defend your career to him again and again.

“What is it?” Jeonghan asked. He would tell himself it was in the interest of getting back on task, but he was personally curious as well.

“Um,” you hemmed as you decided how much you wanted to share.

“It’s clearly upsetting you, whatever it is.”

“This guy I’ve been seeing. He’s upset at all the hours I’ve been working lately.”

Jeonghan’s eyebrows pinched together, clearly unimpressed.

“He’s a dermatologist, so his schedule is very regular. It’s hard for him to understand the demands of law, I guess,” you tried to justify it, but even as you spoke, you knew it was half hearted.

“Hm.”

It was just a single syllable and not even a real word, but it hung in the air with surprising weight before he spoke again.

“He doesn’t need to understand in order to be respectful. You excel at what you do and your career is a priority to you.”

You were taken aback. You’d never really second guessed the importance of your work, despite Flynn’s increasingly frequent episodes of frustration, but the way Jeonghan spoke so easily and surely about the matter gave you pause. For just a moment, you wondered whether you should reconsider Maja’s suggestion of dating a lawyer.

“I don’t see you with someone so insecure anyways,” Jeonghan sniffed. It was a scathing review of Flynn and also felt like a challenge to you to do better.

…

“YN! Jeonghan!” Professor Vance greeted you both with an impossibly wide grin before folding you into a big group hug.

“Hi Professor Vance!” you beamed as you felt yourself be squeezed into Jeonghan’s side. Professor Vance was in her late fifties, but she hugged like a bodybuilder in her late twenties.

“Hi Professor Vance,” Jeonghan laughed over her shoulder.

“Oh look at you two! You’ve grown up so well!” she tittered happily as she led you through the doorway.

You and Jeonghan seated yourself on the crushed velvet sofa in her office. You let out a surprised squeak when you sank into an enormous divot in the center, flush against each other. She’d had this thing since before you were both in law school and its age was starting to show.

“Sorry,” Jeonghan coughed as he struggled up onto his feet. You were so warm and soft against him.

“I’m so happy that you both agreed to mentor for this year’s Mock Trial!” Professor Vance clapped her hands together as she took her seat behind her desk. “The students last time gave such positive feedback. Even as opposing counsel, you two tend to be compatible,” she joked, eyes twinkling.

You and Jeonghan shared a glance.

“What is your availability to prep with the students this year? The date we set for the Mock Trial is in five months. Last time around we asked for bi-weekly meetings with the mentors for three months before the actual mock trial. Can you commit to the same amount of time again this year?”

You did the math quickly in your head. You estimated a total of seven meetings plus the Mock Trial itself, which was reasonable.

“Yes, I can,” Jeonghan answered. “I can probably be available for more, honestly, if needed.”

“Me too,” you nodded. You wanted to be sure that the students on both teams would get an equivalent amount of exposure.

“Wonderful! Would you prefer digital or physical copies of the case materials?”

“Both please,” you both answered at the same time.

Professor Vance nodded, a knowing smile gracing her lips for a mere moment. She still had fond memories of having you both in her class and it was fun for her to be able to interact with you in this way now. While not professional at all, she’d always wondered about your compatibility with each other. She had met her own partner in law school and she’d always seen a healthy competitiveness in your interactions with Jeonghan that mirrored her own relationship in some ways.

“Alright, here you are!” She returned from the printer with two warm stacks of paper. “Any preference for Plaintiff versus Defendant?”

“Flip a coin,” Jeonghan shrugged and you agreed.

“I don’t have any coins,” she laughed before handing you each a packet without checking the contents. “Should we follow up in a month to finalize meeting schedules? We can work around your availability.”

“That sounds good,” you nodded, standing up from the sofa. “It was so great to see you,” you beamed again at the older woman.

“Great to see you,” she agreed before shooing you out of her office.

“Are you hungry?” Jeonghan asked as you walked down the stairs.

“I could eat,” you nodded, amenable to the idea.

“Okay. Any preference? Otherwise I have a place in mind.”

“Go nuts,” you shrugged, itching to start reviewing your packet.

Jeonghan nodded, pulling the car out of the visitor parking lot. It had been a while since you’d been on campus and you couldn’t help but laugh about the unlawful pedestrian behavior, even though you’d both been guilty of the same yourselves.

“No peeking,” you held your hand up jokingly at Jeonghan as you pulled your mock trial packet out of its manila envelope.

“I have integrity,” he sniffed at you even though he had been planning to steal a glance or two.

“Oh and when exactly did you acquire that?” you quipped playfully.

Jeonghan surprised you by looking sheepish.

“Oh come on, I wasn’t that bad in school, was I?” he couldn’t help but ask.

You thought for a moment, trying to bring up an accurate recollection of Jeonghan in college. He had rounded out around the edges significantly, so it was difficult not to conflate the current version of him with the past.

“You were,” you finally sighed, “But I’ll say this. I was too! We were intolerable! It’s no wonder neither of us really had any friends.”

Jeonghan chuckled. This was true. He wouldn’t have considered you friends, but you’d spent a significant amount of time together because you just didn’t have anyone else to spend it with.

“We’re both a little different, huh?”

“A little,” you nodded. “But what hasn’t changed is that I am still intent on whooping your ass in mock trial!”

Jeonghan let out a loud, genuine laugh. Of course you were. Dinner passed quickly with pleasant teasing, fond reminiscing, and good, genuine conversation. It felt good to get to know this Jeonghan. It felt good to let him get to know you too.

“That was yummy! Thanks for picking,” you remarked as you left the restaurant, zipping your coat all the way up to stave off the chill that had set in. “Next time I’ll pick,” you grinned goofily at him.

“Sure, next time,” Jeonghan had to keep himself from tripping over his words at the way you smiled at him.

“It’s chilly!”

Jeonghan nodded, responding with something that you didn’t hear because your eyes noticed something that he definitely couldn’t see. You took him by the wrist and pulled him into a small gap between buildings. You panicked. Maja and Harri had been walking together, heading towards you and so you pressed your hand over Jeonghan’s eyes, backing him against a wall.

“YN, what-,” Jeonghan’s confusion was clear in his voice.

“Hold on, please,” you floundered. There was no way to explain this situation, so you just held yourself impossibly close to him until they passed.

Heat prickled up Jeonghan’s neck as he allowed you to keep him pinned. He couldn’t see you, but he could feel you; feel the heat from your body seeping into him. He succeeded in keeping his breathing even as your smell filled his nostrils. His hands itched to move to your waist, but he was at least able to control that part of his body.

“Okay, s-sorry,” you stammered when you were finally able to pull away.

Jeonghan blinked until his vision returned to normal. In your preoccupation over Maja and Harrison, you hadn’t noticed the flush that had risen in his cheeks nor the way his pulse had quickened at the feel of you pressed against him. As he tried to force his thoughts together, he couldn’t even be bothered to ask what the hell had caused that.

It was a tense and quiet car ride back to the office. Your mind bubbled with questions for Maja about Harris. Jeonghan’s mind was flooded with thoughts of you.

…

“I shall now render my verdict,” Harris cleared his throat. “The court finds this contract legally binding. The defendant and plaintiff shall marry.”

“What?” Jeonghan’s brows furrowed.

“That's wonderful news!” Peter cheered from the witness stand.

Jeonghan looked around frantically as he tried to make sense of the scene. Harris and Peter seemed to melt away when his eyes landed on you, seated at the opposing bench.

“YN?” he was still confused, but a sense of calm had washed over him.

“Hi Jeonghan,” you approached him with a smile. “I suppose we have to get married.”

“What is Harris talking about?”

“Our marriage contingency contract,” you cocked your head at him, as if speaking to a child. “Don't you remember?”

Jeonghan shook his head again. He felt like he did. He felt like he didn’t.

“Here,” a sheet of paper materialized in your hands. “Legally binding, feel free to review.”

His eyes ran across the papers, taking in the words. The memory of this document came flooding back and he turned to you again.

“Aren't you upset about the ruling?”

“Oh? Why would I be upset? I'm the one who brought you to court. This is my desired outcome…”

Jeonghan woke with a start. He could still feel the sensation of your hand in his. In the dream, of course.

“That was fucking weird,” he shook his head furiously.

He got up and hopped in the shower, running it on the cool side in the hopes that it would snap him out of this weird dream funk. He was in the middle of drying his hair when the actual memory of presenting you with that contract snapped back to him.

He chuckled at his former self. He could now recall writing, rewriting, and re-rewriting that contract so that it was truly bulletproof. Why he had put so much effort into a fake document was beyond him. He'd so enjoyed getting a rise out of you back then that it had been more than worth it.

For a moment he wondered whether he still had the document, but then realized that he really needed to finish getting ready. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind for now.

“Morning Maja,” he greeted her on the way in. He had an intake meeting with a client today and needed to finish getting ready.

He had given some thought to the strange interaction he'd had with you the other day. His physical reaction to you had surprised him, but he figured he would've been surprised if anyone else had done that to him too! It was normal and he could be normal about it.

Really it would be weirder if he hadn't been flustered by it!

“Are you okay?” Maja’s voice shook him from his attempt to reassure himself. He’d been standing outside of his office door for five minutes now.

“Yeah sorry,” he coughed before stepping into his office and shutting the door behind himself.

Maja's brow wrinkled. She wasn't sure she'd ever heard Jeonghan apologize for no reason before.

“Morning Maja!” you greeted her sunnily about half an hour later.

“Morning,” she met your gaze with a brief nod before returning to her work.

You stepped into your office and narrowed your eyes at her through the blinds. After you’d seen her out with Harris, you’d waited anxiously for an update that never came. Towards the end of the week and throughout the weekend, you’d even sent occasional, lightly prodding texts and you had nothing to show for it. She was your best friend! You deserved to know the scoop!

You took a second or two longer to be indignant before starting on your work. You’d just been assigned a wrongful termination lawsuit and were eager to get after it! You had a client intake meeting scheduled in the afternoon, so the morning was dedicated to initial document review.

Jeonghan scowled at you through the window. Not that he was keeping tabs on you, but you kept walking up to your window and staring out through the blinds. Most of your face was obscured, so he couldn’t tell whether your eyes were twinkling with mischief or rage. Probably best to assume rage and be pleasantly surprised.

You thought furiously as you watched Harris move across the office. There hadn’t been all that much documentation to go through from the client, and so your mind had returned to the Maja and Harris problem. You’d done some light snooping through shared calendars and noticed a few lunchtime blocks that looked suspect. An idea popped into your head suddenly and you burst through the door into Peter’s office.

“Hey, are you busy?” you asked, even though he was staring into space with a Rubik’s cube in his hand.

“No, what’s up?”

“I was just thinking that I don’t know Harris very well, but I feel like I should get to know him better. Can you tell me maybe some stuff about him so I have some conversation starters?”

“Oh of course!” Peter clapped his hands together, the Rubik’s cube falling onto the carpeted ground. “Oops. What do you want to know?”

“Hm, what are his interests?” you start broadly. Your strategy was to chat with Harris in the hopes that he let something slip, so knowing what you could even talk to him about was a start.

“Oh! Let’s see, he enjoys golfing and skiing.”

You struggled not to roll your eyes. Between him and Jeonghan, you weren’t sure who would win ‘least interesting interests’. What was the draw for Maja? Maybe you should’ve been actively working to split them up.

“Hmm, oh! It’s maybe a little out there, but he makes pet beds for the local shelter?”

“What?” you almost yelled. Now this made sense as a selling point for Maja. “That’s so cute, what the hell?”

“Isn’t it?” Peter gushed. You had always been grateful that Peter knew how to be unserious when the situation called for it.

Jeonghan’s brow furrowed as he overheard you and Peter tittering about something. For a managing partner, Peter could be quite goofy. Jeonghan had a sudden flashback to the day you’d asked him about Harris’ perspective on dating policy. He shook his head. No, there was no way. You’d said you were seeing someone else.

“Oh my gosh, yes. It is so cute, you should definitely ask him about it.”

“Oh I absolutely will,” you nodded excitedly. That was the perfect conversation starter. Fun and personal in a way that could open the door to other, more personal questions. “Anything else?”

“Oh also his hometown! He goes to visit often.”

Of course! You'd overheard Maja and Harris when you'd gone to visit Yiayia. Why hadn't you thought of that sooner? That was a perfect segue to bring Maja into a conversation with Harris.

“You're a genius, I'm obsessed with you,” you thanked Peter before practically bouncing back to your office.

…

Jeonghan’s jaw was tense. He’d been watching you talk to Harris for probably fifteen minutes and he could not, for the life of him, figure out why you were smiling so much. He’d worked with Harris for four years and could barely remember a single time when he had made Jeonghan laugh. Whatever he was sharing with you or you were sharing with him seemed to be endlessly entertaining, though.

Maja failed to hold in a grin as she watched Jeonghan watch you. She’d also noticed you talking to Harris for an atypically long time. Unlike Jeonghan, she could recognize it for what it was: snooping. Maja did feel a little guilty about not updating you on the status of things with Harris, but for now it was something that she just needed to keep to herself.

“You good?” she finally asked.

“Oh, what? Yeah,” Jeonghan sputtered and coughed, completely caught off guard.

“Okay, you looked like you were able to burst a blood vessel,” she couldn’t help but tease.

“I’m fine,” he dusted himself off needlessly, but lingered.

“She’s good, huh?” Maja gestured towards you. Jeonghan made a face, indicating he wasn’t quite sure what she was referring to. “YN. She’s very good at connecting with people.”

“Ah,” Jeonghan nodded, considering this for a moment. “She was like that in college too.”

“Oh I always forget that you two went to school together. How was that?”

“It was…,” Jeonghan struggled to find words that felt adequate. “Frustrating. Hard. Fun.”

Maja’s eyebrows raised. She had looked back at him during his long pause and she was surprised at the way his expression changed and softened as he tried to describe his time with you. She wondered if he realized it. She was sure that you didn’t.

…

You smiled as you watched Jeonghan coach the students. It was interesting to see him outside of his normal comfort zone and it surprised you at how gentle he could be when functioning in a mentor capacity.

“YN? What do you think about this argument?” one of the students asked, pointing to a slew of bullet points in their notebook.

“Let me see!” you smiled, eyes scanning the page. “This is awesome!”

You were so impressed by the students participating in this year’s mock trial. This was only your second meeting with them and they had already developed solid arguments with sufficient supporting articles. You reviewed more of the students' arguments and gave feedback about potential rebuttals. As you were running out of time, you asked the students to think through those in preparation for your next meeting. When you looked back up, Jeonghan’s eyes were on you. 

He was surprised when you met his gaze. Even though he was a lawyer who was paid to keep his cool, it still felt embarrassing to be caught staring. He let himself believe that he didn’t let it show. True to form, you didn’t break eye contact either and the stare grew tense, laden. It sent a thrill through you that surprised you.

“Okay, thank you for your time!” the students piped up, starting to pack their bags. “We’ll see you in two weeks?”

“Yes!” you beamed, standing to gather your things as well. How long had you been looking at him? You hoped it hadn’t been noticeable.

“Those two need to fuck,” one of the students commented once they were outside of the law building and well out of earshot. The rest of the students chuckled in agreement.

…

“Dinner?” Jeonghan suggested as you crossed the quad towards the parking lot. “If you’re free.” he added, remembering that it was a Friday, after all.

“I am free,” you nodded, “But whether I want to have dinner with you is another question,” you shot him a cheeky grin.

Jeonghan’s eyebrow raised, tongue pressing against his cheek as he looked you over. You were so terribly annoying. He smiled at the way you pretended to consider before nodding.

“I could eat. And I said I’d pick this time, right?”

“Yes.” Jeonghan looked down at you. His hair had grown longer in the past month and it was starting to fall into his eyes.

“Hmm,” you went through a mental rolodex of restaurants that you liked. “Have you been to Krazy Bao?”

“No.” 

“Are you a sushi purist?”

“...no? What does that even mean?”

“Great!” you clapped your hands together excitedly. “Oh wait, we drove separately. Want me to text you the address?”

Jeonghan nodded. You had recently exchanged personal phone numbers, but had yet to need them. Between seeing each other nearly every day at the office and these mock trial meetings, everything you had to say to each other could easily be done in person. His phone pinged and he pulled it out before shooting you a thumbs up.

“Okay, beat you there!” you waved over your head as you walked to your car. You were starving.

“So these are like…sushi balls?” Jeonghan tried to make sense of the menu.

“Yes, but they’re also filled. So they’re onigiri inspired as well.”

“Huh,” he nodded. It wasn’t traditional, but they did look pretty tasty. “What’s your favorite?”

“Depends on my mood, but usually the tuna and the krab ones are my favorite.”

He nodded again, zeroing in on the eel, which looked interesting. You waffled about what to choose until the server arrived, forcing you to make a decision.

“So what do you think of your team this year?” you asked after they left.

“Really impressed. You?”

“Me too! I don’t know about your team, but my students are so prepared! I’m not even sure we took it this seriously when we did it?”

Jeonghan laughed, taking a sip of his tea. He disagreed about that. He remembered both of you acting as if mock trials were life or death ordeals.

“But yes, so so impressed. As a mentor, I’m sure I shouldn’t be saying this, but sorry to you and your team and prepare to eat shit.”

“Oh really?” Jeonghan raised an eyebrow at you coolly as your server returned with cocktails. “I’m not sure what set of evidence Professor Vance gave you, but we got this in the bag.”

He leaned back, crossed his arms, and gave you a once over that made you feel tiny and indignant. Your mind raced for a moment, reviewing the evidence in your mind before you realized what was happening. He was playing mind games and he had succeeded in getting under your skin. He chuckled as he watched the realization settle across your brow.

“Ha ha, very funny,” you stuck your tongue out at him. “You always did enjoy annoying me.”

“It’s still fun to get under your skin,” he admitted, taking a sip of his cocktail.

You squinted at him.

“What have you been doing for fun lately?” you asked after a short silence.

Jeonghan paused for a moment. He was really drawing a blank.

“Nothing?” you looked aghast when he wasn’t able to answer.

“Do you have time for fun?” he marveled. You worked just as much as he did.

“I…,” you had managed to give yourself pause.

“See? You're a workaholic too! I’m willing to bet that you don’t have any hobbies.”

“You said you snowboard, right?” you were scrambling for something. Anything. “And I…I bake!”

Jeonghan’s left brow raised in disbelief.

“I know how to bake.” you corrected yourself.

“The demands of an associate trying to make partner are crazy. It’s futile to try and have a life outside of that.”

You furrowed your brows at him. Why did it feel like you’d had this conversation with him before? The server interrupted your thoughts with your food and you were happy to set them aside.

“What did you think?”

“It was good. I would come back here,” Jeonghan nodded and you preened.

You filled the silence with occasional comments as you walked towards the parking lot where you’d left your cars. You were caught off guard when Jeonghan stopped, putting several paces between you before you noticed.

“Oh. I know where we are!” he stated. “There’s a nice bar like a block that way,” he pointed down the crossroad.

“Oh? Wine bar? Cocktails? Whiskey?” you found yourself asking.

“You wanna go?” he asked. He didn’t want the night to end just yet.

“Oh…yes? We might have to pay for more parking though,” you thought out loud.

“I’ll go put more change in the meters. We probably only have to pay for like thirty more minutes. The place is called Bar Argos. Save me a seat,” Jeonghan pointed towards it again before he set off to top off the meters.

You found the place with no trouble, but your jaw dropped when you walked in. Bar Argos was located in a refurbished historic building and the inside was absolutely incredible. The walls were painted a rich, dark green and were teeming with artwork in beautiful frames. The shelves were adorned with books and plants with tendrils that curled towards the ground. Once you had finished gawking, you snagged two stools at the bar where you were presented with a menu.

“Have you been here before?” an unfamiliar voice asked over your shoulder.

“No, I haven’t,” you shook your head, turning to face the speaker.

“Would you care for a recommendation?” the young man smiled at you.

“I would!” you nodded.

He settled in next to you, asking you questions about what you liked to drink. You were still conversing animatedly with him when Jeonghan entered. He scowled immediately at the proximity of this stranger and also saw an opportunity to mess with you.

“Sorry that took so long,” he interrupted the conversation smoothly, positioning himself tightly behind you, resting his arm on the bar. “Hello,” he greeted the other man coolly.

“Oh, hello? Are you-?” the man gestured between you and Jeonghan.

“Yes, she’s taken.”

You balked. You were not!

“Are you?” the man followed up with you directly.

Jeonghan let out a puff of laughter, a derisive scoff, which tickled the hair on your head and zipped down your spine. You coughed at the stranger, allowing him to draw his own conclusion.

“What the hell, Jeonghan?” you demanded as the other man made himself scarce.

“You shouldn’t be flirting with other people,” he tsked at you.

“We’re not together!” you hissed at him. You had wanted to shout, but the bar was too quiet for that.

“You are taken, though,” he looked down at you.

You were quiet. You hadn't shared with Jeonghan that you'd broken up with Flynn weeks ago. Part of it was because it wasn't his business. Part of it was because you didn't want him to presume that it was due to his opinion of Flynn. As if you held his opinion in such high regard!

“What do you want?” he asked, finally moving into the seat next to you. He'd been standing behind you for so long that a shiver ran down your back at the cool of his absence.

“Ah,” you shook yourself to attention. “I thought the absinthe looked interesting. I've never seen it offered anywhere else.”

“For all the times I've been here, I've never tried it,” Jeonghan’s eyebrows raised with interest. “Let's do it!”

You and Jeonghan promptly learned that drinking absinthe was quite a time consuming ordeal. It involved placing a sugar cube on a special spoon and letting water drip, slowly dissolving the sugar into the absinthe.

“Have you ever considered teaching?” you asked as you watched the ripples skip across the surface of the absinthe.

“Law?”

“No, cooking,” you rolled your eyes.

“Why are you asking this? So I'll leave the firm and you’re assured partnership?”

You coughed with surprise. That hadn't even crossed your mind but it was an excellent bonus perk!

“Another pro for the pro column,” you joked. “No, you just seem good at it. Don't get me wrong, you're great in the courtroom for sure, but you're surprisingly constructive and encouraging with the students. I just wondered.”

Jeonghan glanced over at you. The dual-wielded compliment caught him off guard. He had been enjoying mentoring an unexpected amount, but he was surprised that you'd noticed.

“Thanks,” he finally responded. “I have been enjoying it a lot, but I’m not sure I’m cut out to fully teach. I still have a short fuse for nonsense, after all,” he laughed.

You laughed, watching as the last shards of sugar dissolved into the absinthe. What had started out as a bright green liquid had turned a cloudy chartreuse and you regarded it with curiosity.

“Anise,” you wrinkled your nose after catching the scent.

“Very,” Jeonghan nodded.

You tipped your glasses together before taking a sip. Your expression moved into one of pleasant surprise while Jeonghan’s pinched together with displeasure.

“No good?” you asked. “I kind of like it!”

“It's…odd.”

It was odd. Herbal and sweetly spiced, the absinthe warmed you from the inside out. You felt like you were drinking a potion.

“I’m not sure this is for me,” Jeonghan declared, smacking his lips after another taste. He continued to sip on the beverage anyways.

“How's your sister doing?” you asked, recalling your conversation from weeks ago.

“Good!”

His sister and her family had been in town to visit last weekend and he had enjoyed seeing his niece again. Though just over five years old, she was already quite a spitfire with a lot of very interesting opinions. Seeing her again had reminded him of your milestone Pokemon again.

“Can I ask you about your Pokemon again?”

“Oh sure?” you smiled at him.

“What are the last two milestones that you’re hoping to achieve?”

You blinked. The question was personal and direct. You regarded Jeonghan for a moment or two before answering. You two shared some semblance of friendship now, it shouldn't be too weird to share with him, right?

“Making partner and getting married.” Your skin prickled. You’d been wrong, it did feel weird to share this with him.

“Ah,” Jeonghan nodded. He was surprised at the way he felt flustered by your answer. “Well, you're well on your way to both, right?”

You gave him a look of confusion.

“I mean, you're clearly on your way to making partner and you've been seeing…that person.” Jeonghan omitted his opinion that they still didn't deserve you.

“Ah,” the sound you let out was viscerally awkward. “We broke up.”

Jeonghan’s hand stilled over his glass and his eyebrows raised with surprise.

“And on the matter of partner,” you barreled through your strange confession, “We’ll see. I still see you as my number one threat.”

You thought about slapping your hand over your mouth. Absinthe had clearly been a mistake. Or you'd at least tell yourself that.

Jeonghan smirked, fingertips now resting against the rim of his glass. The two revelations back to back felt like a sucker punch. You were single. You'd been flirting with that man earlier because you'd wanted to. You still saw him as an adversary.

“I think that's fair,” he nodded as you watched him carefully, “I am a threat.”

Jeonghan regretted his words immediately. He liked to think he was self aware, knew how to keep a lid on the pettier side of himself, so it did surprise him when it reared, crept up and spoke for him.

You blinked. You were surprised that you were surprised. This was the Jeonghan that you knew, after all, but you'd fallen into a false sense of camaraderie and for that you chided yourself.

…

Jeonghan rubbed his hands over his face as he tossed around in bed later. He’d tried not to dwell on the conversation from earlier and failed. After spending some time kicking himself for his needlessly stupid response his mind turned to the topic of you and marriage. It reminded him, again, of the contract he’d dreamt about. He could remember signing it, but honestly wasn’t sure whether it was just a figment of his own imagination.

He spent the next morning rifling through his home office without success. On his way to work, he wondered whether you remembered it, but after last night he had little confidence that he could ask about it in a way that wasn’t wholly humiliating.

…

Your fingertips tapped against the desk with irritation as you reviewed additional documents from your wrongful termination suit. You’d met with your client a few more times and the more she had shared, the more livid you’d become. This workplace seemed to be mired in racism and classism and you now had a totally professional and not personal vendetta against them. There was a half-formed idea in your brain to pay them a visit, undercover, to see whether you observed the same behaviors yourself, but they were a wedding venue so you probably couldn’t just show up alone.

“Maja,” you stepped out of your office, “I need help.”

“What’s up?”

“Who would make a believable fake fiance for me? I want to visit the defendant in that wrongful termination suit, but I need to show up as a couple so it doesn’t come across as weird.”

“Ah,” Maja nodded, eyebrows raising with surprise.

It had been quite some time since you’d pulled one of your undercover visits. It was usually a good sign for your clients when you were that invested, but it certainly wasn’t without risks.

“What about Kevin?” you wondered aloud. He was a few years your junior and was amiable enough to let you take the lead on most things, which would allow you to steer the visit however you wished.

“Kevin?” Maja’s face wrinkled with disapproval. She counted him among the more feeble minded attorneys. Milquetoast, in fact, and not ever a suitable counterpart to you. “Absolutely not.”

Jeonghan chuckled at Maja’s expression as he walked by. Whatever you were discussing was clearly not up to snuff.

“Jeonghan, what do you think?” Maja surprised you both by roping him into the conversation.

“About?” he paused, turning to face you.

“Who do you think can pass as a fake fiance for YN?” she asked. Maja had a feeling she knew his answer, but she was curious whether he would say it to you out loud.

“Fiance?” Jeonghan echoed. Your mind was a mystery to him.

“It’s for a case,” you clarified. “Wrongful term and I’m curious to observe the environment myself.”

Jeonghan nodded and turned his eyes towards his colleagues. Even though he’d gone through this mental exercise already and knew that no one was suitable, he pretended to consider the other attorneys in relation to you.

“No one seems right,” he shrugged.

“Not even Kevin?” Maja pried.

“Especially not Kevin,” Jeonghan looked at you as if you’d grown a second head.

You frowned, crossing your arms. Maja and Jeonghan taking the same side against you was certainly new.

“What about me?” Jeonghan offered himself up.

“What about you?” you asked as Maja lit up with delight.

“I’ll go with you. We know each other well, I could pull off fake fiance.”

“You did go to school together,” Maja nodded, “And you’re both doing that mock trial thing. You’re probably closer than any of the other attorneys here.”

You considered her points and determined that they were valid. You gave Jeonghan a once over before reluctantly agreeing. It was a pinch, so he would have to do.

…

You let out a small puff of disbelief as your eyes landed on Jeonghan. You had never really seen him in ‘day off’ clothes before and you were surprised at how handsome he looked. His hair was down and fell slightly into his face. Without planning it, you’d both worn oversized cardigans and jeans. A happy accident as it made you look like a coordinated couple.

“Morning,” he blinked at you as if still waking up. “Do you want to drive? Or me?”

“I don’t mind driving,” you shrugged, pointing towards your car. The whole ordeal was your idea to begin with.

“Sounds good,” he nodded, hair falling into his eyes.

“Do you need coffee?” you asked as you buckled your seatbelt.

“Yes, your treat since I’m doing you a favor.”

“You offered! I was going to ask Kevin!”

“You're lucky I did. Do you think anyone would believe that you and Kevin have anything other than a professional relationship?”

You pressed your lips together. While you didn’t disagree with Jeonghan, this also left a dangling implication that you and he shared something that did pass as more than professional. You shook your head. You needed to get along today and coffee was a small price to pay.

“Okay, deal,” you shrugged as you pulled out of the parking lot. There was a coffee shop on the way to the destination, so you’d make a stop there.

“What do you want?” you asked, standing a typical distance from him.

Jeonghan clicked his tongue with disapproval before looping his arm through yours and pulling you against his side.

“Black coffee,” he grinned, smug.

You cleared your throat as you placed your order. It wasn’t unpleasant, just a surprise.

“Oh, before I forget,” Jeonghan dug through his pockets as you waited. “Here.”

He fished out two rings, placing the band on his ring finger before handing the other to you.

“Oh my god, I didn't even think-, thank you,” your eyes widened.

Jeonghan grinned, more than pleased with himself. You slid the ring onto your left hand, surprised that it was a decent fit. Maybe half a size too big, but better than you would've done.

“Kevin would not have remembered rings.”

You rolled your eyes. What would it take for him to let this Kevin thing go?

“So what's our story again? They're a wedding business of some sort?”

You nodded before filling in the details. They were an upscale wedding venue and your client was suing for wrongful termination. She alleged that they had a history of selecting clients based on discriminatory criteria, such as appearance or race.

“Oh. Shitty,” Jeonghan’s nose wrinkled as you returned to the car.

“Very. So we're engaged and checking out the venue, but also snooping.”

“Okay, got it. Do we have a backstory that we're sticking to?”

“I figured we'd just say we met in law school. It's true enough…,” you shrugged. You hadn't actually put that much thought into it.

Jeonghan nodded.

“Hello, good morning!” The receptionist greeted you sunnily as you entered.

“Good morning,” you smiled at the double greeting.

“Mr. and Mrs. Yoon-to-be, I presume?”

“Yes!” you smiled, tucking your arm into Jeonghan’s as he blinked. 

“Wonderful! Congratulations on the pending nuptials. Please follow me,” she gestured down a hallway.

As you followed, Jeonghan wondered why ‘Mr. and Mrs. Yoon’ had thrown him for such a loop.

“Please wait here, Delia will be in shortly to walk you through the property.”

“Thank you!”

“This place is crazy,” Jeonghan remarked as he wandered around the office. You had to agree. It reeked of opulence.

“Would you get married here? I'm not sure it's my style.”

“I don't care about the venue. I'm marrying the person, not the place,” he answered seriously.

“Mr. and Mrs. Yoon!” a woman, presumably Delia, burst into the room shortly after that. “Or do you prefer to be called by your maiden name, still?” she clarified with you.

“Mrs. Yoon is fine,” you smiled at her.

Jeonghan felt warm under his cardigan. Mrs. Yoon this and Mrs. Yoon that.

“Wonderful! Well thank you so much for your patience. Let's get started with our tour!”

You held in a chuckle. She was so bubbly. You snuck a glance at Jeonghan but he was distracted by something or the other. You slipped your hand back into his to catch his attention as you listened to the wide array of amenities the venue had to offer. In-house florists, catering, and music were just a few of the laundry list of items that Delia highlighted.

“So how did you two meet?” she inevitably asked.

“We went to law school together,” you smiled, looking towards Jeonghan for good measure.

“Ah! Was it love at first sight? Did you develop feelings during a partner project? Tell me all about it!”

“It certainly wasn't love at first sight,” Jeonghan laughed.

“No,” you chuckled in agreement.

“We were rivals, you could say,” Jeonghan continued. “She was such a pain in my ass for so many reasons, but at the end of the day those are also the things that make her great.”

Your eyebrows had disappeared into your hairline and you were doing your best to keep your jaw off the ground. You had to commend Jeonghan, he really was good at making shit up.

“At one point we even signed a contract agreeing to marry each other if we were both single at thirty. Luckily we had some realizations before it came to that, though.”

You stopped so suddenly that Jeonghan nearly walked into you. His hands moved around your waist to keep you moving at Delia’s pace. 

“Oh my god!” Delia squealed with delight. “Rivals to lovers, that's like something out of a movie!”

Jeonghan watched you from the corner of his eye. You seemed a little flustered, but he wondered if this was just wishful thinking.

“Did you have feelings for him when you signed the contract? I mean why would you sign it otherwise!”  Delia asked, the tour becoming an afterthought at this point.

“I-um,” you stammered. You struggled to form your thoughts. “I never disliked him, even though it might've seemed that way. Even though he was annoying in many regards, I respected him at least. That’s more than I could’ve said for some of our other classmates.”

Jeonghan looked at you with interest, the corners of his lips curled up into a soft smile.

“I guess…,” your eyebrows furrowed. You were just processing out loud now. “I guess some part of me felt that it would be okay if I did end up with him. We share a lot of values…we have things in common.”

You couldn't bring yourself to look at Jeonghan. You briefly considered jumping off of the second story balcony.

“Oh my god, I am trying not to scream,” Delia’s expression was pinched as she gathered herself to continue the tour. She led you through a set of french doors into the gardens.

Jeonghan was trying to keep a lid on his thoughts. He had wanted to gauge your reaction to the mention of the contract, but now he couldn't tell if you'd just decided to commit really hard to the bit.

“Here are our gardens! As you may know, we specialize in centifolia roses, or cabbage roses.”

“Jeonghan!” you made a beeline for the shrubs, pulling a large bloom towards you. “These are huge!” you remarked, turning to show Jeonghan.

He laughed as he watched you hold the rose up to your head for comparison. You were being so painfully adorable.

Delia watched you two contentedly. She let you and Jeonghan wander around the rose garden until you were satisfied.

“We also have a suite of hotel rooms on premise for the wedding party.”

“Oh that is convenient,” you nodded up at Jeonghan. You were fully immersed.

“Yes,” he smiled at you. He had an errant thought that there wasn’t much he’d say no to when it came to you. The way that cabbage rose had made you smile would’ve made anything else worth whatever the ridiculous cost.

You grinned back up at him. For a moment, you two just held each other’s gaze. A light breeze scattered Jeonghan’s bangs into his eyes. You reached up to push them aside so he could see again. As you pulled your arm back, Jeonghan caught you by the hand and placed a soft, open-mouthed kiss on the inside of your wrist.

You blinked. Your heart raced at the intimate touch.

“Oh you two are so sweet it makes me want to lie down in oncoming traffic!”

“What?!” you let out a laugh that was half cough.

“The way you look at each other. I can tell that you care about each other deeply. We can be somewhat selective about the clients we take on, but safe to say that you meet the expectations.”

“Oh, sorry?” your and Jeonghan’s ears pricked to attention.

“Yes! Weddings here are very coveted and exclusive, so we have to be quite choosy about who makes the cut. We have a reputation to keep up, after all!”

“Oh? Tell us more please!” you smiled, patting Jeonghan’s hand excitedly. He gripped your fingers in response.

“Well…I’m not supposed to share this, but I’m also so obsessed with you two,” Delia’s eyes glanced around conspiratorially. “We are very…considerate of our branding. There are…certain demographics and lifestyles that just aren’t compatible with the brand, so we steer clear. But you two…attractive, beautiful lawyers with a compelling story, we would be honored to work with you on your special day!”

You smiled and nodded in agreement, but there was something about the way Delia said ‘demographics’ and ‘lifestyles’ that seemed…consistent with what your client had shared with you. You decided to play dumb.

“Sorry what does that mean?” you asked. Widening your eyes in a way you hoped looked slightly confused and innocent.

“Well, you know,” Delia tried to clarify gingerly, “Like…lower income. Or, um…same sex, couples. I don’t agree, of course! But that is our kind of unwritten rule.”

“Of course, we understand,” Jeonghan spoke after realizing you were deep in furious thought. “Thank you so much for showing us around! What’s the process for following up and seeing which dates are available?”

“Of course!” Delia smiled brightly at him. She led you back to one of the front offices and assembled a packet of handouts and pamphlets with further instructions before seeing you out.

“Thank you very much!” you waved at her as you left.

“Wow that’s…something,” Jeonghan blinked once you were safely out of earshot.

“I fucking hate the wedding industry,” you grumbled as you let yourself into the car. “Bunch of bullshit.”

“I thought you wanted to get married.”

“I do, but I’m not getting married for the material things. I’d get married because we love each other!”

Jeonghan’s lips curled into a smile. It was irrational, but he allowed himself to enjoy the way you’d said ‘we’.

It was quiet as you drove, which allowed you to think. You’d pushed it aside for a moment, but your mind now returned to the contract Jeonghan had mentioned. Honestly you'd forgotten about it, but as soon as he'd mentioned it the memory had snapped back into clear focus. At the time, the explanation for why you’d signed it had been simple: you’d let yourself be goaded by Jeonghan. He had always been good at getting under your skin. Now when you thought about it, you were surprised to feel that what you’d told Delia felt true. It wouldn’t be the end of the world to end up with Jeonghan.

“Are you hungry?” you turned to Jeonghan, feeling the start of a pang of emptiness in your stomach.

“I could eat,” he shrugged.

“Okay, I’m getting so hungry,” you nodded, “Can you see what’s close? Anything will do.”

Jeonghan nodded, fingertips tapping his phone screen quickly. He gave you directions to what looked like a tin shed.

“It said it was barbeque,” he offered as explanation and you laughed. You had said anything would do.

“I will eat you if we don’t get some food soon,” you muttered under your breath as you got out of the car.

“Howdy, y’all!” a short, curvy hostess greeted you with a smile, “Just the two of you today?”

You nodded before shooting Jeonghan a look. This seemed to be a Hooters style establishment with a southern theme. You struggled to hold in a laugh as you were ushered to a booth.

“Can I get you started with anything to drink?” the hostess asked while making googly eyes at Jeonghan.

“I’ll have a coke and my wife…,” he gestured towards you to order. You pretended not to notice the waitress’ crestfallen look as you asked for a lemonade.

“No ice,” he clarified for you before the server had a chance to leave.

“You’re really leaning into this, huh?” you remarked, surprised that he’d remembered your aversion to ice.

“I prefer not to be solicited by my server,” Jeonghan leaned back. Whether he actually liked pretending to be engaged or married to you was his business for now. “It feels okay to be with you,” his smile was now teasing.

“Oh god,” you groaned, lifting your menu to block his mischievous gaze. He was quoting you.

“If I didn’t know you any better, I might think you liked me.”

“I did like you,” you blurted without thinking, “Wait, no,” you clarified. “I mean that I meant what I said to Delia. Even though you annoyed me, I respected you and admired you.”

Jeonghan wanted to ask whether you’d meant the other part of your statement to Delia too.

“And now?” he asked instead, “That was past tense.”

“I respect and admire you now, too,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. He was fishing, but you were happy to give him the compliment anyways.

Jeonghan grinned at you in an easy way that made your heart flip flop.

“Stop that,” you had to look away.

“Stop what?” he waggled his eyebrows at you playfully, grin still plastered across his face.

You weren't able to meet his gaze for a few more minutes, which pleased him inordinately. Were you losing your mind?

back to index | chapter 3

#jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader #svthub #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #seungkwansphd:writes #room for interpretation

[secretwhumplair]

Prologue: Mirai and the serpent king

494 words | Mirai and the serpent king

Content | Slavery, swearing, dehumanisation, implied past and future noncon, mention of cannibalism

Notes | I don't actually have much of a plot to this one. It'll come to me or it won't. I have (as you can see) decided to post all non-explicit parts here!

Mirai's fate is discussed by his current owners, a band of upstanding traders. All the options are bad but some are worse than others.

Taglist | @yet-another-heathen

"It was a goddamn mistake. Who the fuck is going to buy an elf that can't sing?"

"He's gorgeous though."

"Whatever. That doesn't make up for it. You've seen how folks try to lowball on him as soon as they hear his voice."

"Yes, and I think we've been right not to sell him at those rates! If it were a human, people wouldn't think twice about his voice as long as he knows how to shut up."

"Which he does."

"Yes, yes, you're very clever and all, now can you pull a buyer out of your hat who'll see it that way too?"

"There's still the serpent king down south."

Silence. Only the soft crackling of the fireplace could be heard, its warmth barely reaching where the slaves lay chained to the cart like so many dogs.

Mirai knew he should try to sleep, like the others; they would travel on towards the next market tomorrow, another long march for the slaves while the slavers could take turns riding on their mules, or resting in the cart carrying their other supplies. But he couldn't, not when his fate was being discussed so callously.

One of the slaver laughed out loud. "The serpent king! You're volunteering to travel through his domain, then?"

"They say he pays good money for pretty slaves to add to his harem. Really good."

"True, and he's practically a beast. I bet he doesn't even care for singing."

"Oh, great! Two volunteers to be strangled and eaten in the goddamn jungle!"

"Snakes can't be trusted. And anyway…"

"Oh, come on! What do you care what he does with the little elf as long as you get paid?"

"She's right! You know what, yes, actually. I'm volunteering to take the elf down there. 's long as I get half the money."

Incredulous laughter scattered into the night.

"We'll be in and out, bringing the king exactly what he wants. But given you guys are too chicken to do it, we should get hazard pay, no? Fifty percent for those who go, I say, and the rest for the company."

There was some more back and forth, but what mattered was that Mirai's fate was sealed. The stars up in the cold sky above blurred in his vision when this new terror sunk into his bones.

Mirai didn't know much about snake people - no one did, really, they were a secretive folk keeping to themselves. But there were stories, the sort of stories giving root to the slavers' fear: that they were cruel animals. That they ate other sentient races, and sometimes each other. That they delighted in the suffering of those weaker than them.

Of course, he had met men, elves, and plenty of others of whom the latter was true, too. But given all he knew, the odds of safety, of even a shred of comfort, of a kind master perhaps, were stacked against him more than ever before.

#whump #whump writing #slavery whump #my writing #mirai #mirai and the serpent king

[pettyprocrastination]

Tess and Joel having their will-they-won’t-they going on until one day Joel walks in on you and Tess making out against the wall and goes ‘hey >:[ ’ because he’s secretly wanted Tess for a while and thought he was obvious wants to kiss her too

big thank you to @madhyanas and @thesadvampire for being my lovely readers and @alwaysbethewest for listening to my senseless rambles about this amazing woman

pairing: Tess Servopoulos x Fem!Reader

warnings: Mention of death, foul language, mention of violence because its TLOU lmao

____

Nostalgia was a deadly thing. 

Tess learned this when she began smuggling six months after outbreak day. 

Military bases were strict on what was allowed and what wasn't; everything vital- medicine, spare clothing, food- was kept under lock and key with the threat of execution if anybody even thought about taking it. 

It started out of desperation. Sneaking extra pills to the parents whose daughter couldn't speak two words without her body shaking with a wet, rasping cough, snagging formula for the fifteen year old who had to take care of her four month old brother because her parents got gunned down on outbreak night and she’s all he has left, an act of kindness because Tess-Theresa was somebody with a bleeding heart. 

But overtime, it began to dry out. 

People didn’t stop asking- God no, they relied on her. But as time went on she began to set up prices. You want extra rations? Sure. Drugs? That’s fine. But it won’t come for free. She doesn’t slip past the guards every other month and risk getting bitten for charity. 

There were others, of course. Who slipped from the shadows after every sanitation shift whispering promises of “I can get you good shit, I’m reliable” to those far too exhausted to question them before slipping ration cards into their pocket. 

Which she didn’t mind. The QZ was big enough for more than a few businesses to take place beneath the glazed over eyes of FEDRA. 

As time went on, it wasn’t the necessities that people wanted from her. They got themselves used to living half starved, eating whatever rations they could buy with their credits earned from burning bodies and cleaning up rubble from every Firefly attack the week before and washing it down with water that always tasted a little bit like iron. 

They began to ask for small things. Weird things. 

“Can you find this book for me?” “I had this toy as a little girl, and I want it for my son, you think you can get it? I’ll pay whatever you want.” 

Things that weren’t necessary. Unneeded to survive in a world where the threat of death- be it by public execution of feeling your own body  turn against you and meld into the fungal-fueled cannibalistic hive-mind you’ve been running from for the past twenty years. 

But people didn’t want to survive anymore. 

They wanted to live. 

Hobbies, trinkets, CDs that skip on the same song every time because your kid scratched it a few weeks back but you don’t bother with getting a new one. 

Domesticity became a drug that nobody could say they weren’t addicted to. 

Anything that could give them a shred of the normalcy that they once had and took for granted before the world began to consume itself alive, rot and all. 

That’s where you came in. 

Tess wasn’t sure how you did it. What routes you used or what nights you snuck out from the QZ only to return the next morning with only a few bruises and a bag full of oddities to show for it. 

She asked you once, after seeing you proudly display a stack of vintage playboys on your rickety dinner table that you claimed were already set up for a buyer. 

All you did was smile. 

“You’re gonna have to take me out to dinner first if you want me to spill all my dirty secrets.”

But there was an agreement. A sharing of stock and profits each week that came with an understanding. Protection in the shape of the shadow that followed her everywhere and hardly spoke whenever you were in the same room. 

That’s why, when she first found the aged tube of lipstick, she thought of you. 

It was essentially useless. Most likely years past its expiration date and its label was rubbed off through years of sitting in a building covered in rubble and dust that kept it hidden from wandering eyes until she found it on her latest run with Joel. 

Somebody would buy it. A overworked mother in the QZ who spent her days working in the sun and the rot of the sanitation zone before going back home to a husband that ached just the same but still held her in his arms because they were all they had left. She’d shell out her hard earned money because it would give her a moment of relief where she could pretend she was still a housewife with three rambunctious young boys and a husband that despite his hemming and hawing loved it when she kissed him goodbye each day before he left for work. 

When she hands it to you in a trade-off, off-handedly mentioning “maybe you can pawn this to somebody” after you trade her hunting equipment that's old enough to have gone dull but still sharp enough to be sought after, your eyes go wide and you snatch it from her hands. 

“No fucking way.”

 Tess watches the look of shock on your face melt into pure joy at the plastic tube you held like a trophy. Realization dawns on her and she nearly laughs at your reaction to something so small.  “You used this shit?” 

“Are you kidding me? This was my fucking staple! I had one in my car, my bag, and in my bathroom back home.” You turned over the small tube with a smile she hadn’t seen before. Not one of that smug confidence you always wore, but one that held memories of the life you once had. 

“Crazy how small stuff like this gets through the cracks, right?” 

“You should keep it.” 

She shouldn’t have said that. Tess doesn’t keep merchandise, she sells it. She scrapes everything for a profit that's written down in a notebook so she can keep track to know who shorted her so she can get even but God- something about that look of pure unadulterated joy on your face made her speak out of turn and suddenly you looked at her like she had grown a second head and her face felt hot. 

“Oh, god. No I- I couldn't, really.” You attempt to hand it back to her but she holds her hands up in surrender.

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t. You had seen Tess send Joel out to scare those who ripper her off on bad deals countless times. Where he’d break their bones until they coughed up the money that was rightfully hers to the point where sometimes you’d look over your earnings in the dead of night just to make sure you didn’t have too much out of fear of the same happening to you someday.  

But she insists. A scarred hand pushes against yours and her eyes lock onto yours before skirting around the room. “Really-'' Her lips pull into a tight smile and the room feels tense, but maybe that was just you. She had that effect. “I don’t think anybody else would want something like this.” 

A lie. But one you accept nonetheless. 

You nod, fingers curling around the tip of red lipstick and feeling that smile, the type you can’t help, grow on your face again until it spreads to Tess and you're both smiling like schoolgirls that have shared a secret on the playground. 

“I uh. Thanks. I appreciate this.” 

Tess wonders what you were like before the outbreak. 

Were you always outgoing? The boisterous laugh that echoes in a crowded room and a smile that pulls people in even if they don’t want to. Did you wear this color- this deep crimson in the darkened corners of a restaurant while smiling at a stranger at the bar, pulling them closer until they are sitting next to you and offering to buy you another drink because they just can’t stop looking at you in that dress.

She imagines you putting it on in your bathroom mirror, back before the world began to eat itself alive. The counter of your sink is messy, but organized in a way that only makes sense to yourself. There’s a song playing from the hall and you absentmindedly sing-mumble the lyrics as you get ready for the day. A pet, maybe a dog- you seemed like the type, weaves between your legs and you reach down to scratch behind their ear before painting your lips red in the mirror. You’d pull back to check if any lines were out of place, running a finger along a smudge that dipped over your cupid's bow before pulling back and smiling at your reflection. 

There’s a small scar that begins at the side of your chin and swipes up to the corner of your lip. Has it always been there?

“You should put it on.” 

You whip your head towards her as if she has spoken another language. A silence settles over the two of you, she can hear the FEDRA guards outside shouting orders and the shuffling of feet from the floor above you both. 

It’s too close. She’s teetering over a line she hasn’t crossed with anybody, not even Joel. 

But where he holds her at arm's length, you welcome and challenge her further every time. 

“Really?” 

“Why not?” she shrugs. “It could be pretty.” 

Tess wonders if you were married. 

If there was somebody who wore your lipstick stains each night with a grumble as they wiped at their face, only further smearing your declaration of affection as you laughed by their side before kissing them again and again until they were rushing to unlock the front door and tug you inside behind them. Somebody you fell asleep with, curled under their arms and woke up to with bad breath and messy hair but you mumbled “g’morning” and kissed them just the same. 

Somebody you loved. 

Somebody you had a life with. 

Somebody you watched get ripped from your arms when the world turned to shit on September 26th, 2003. 

But none of it mattered, really. Who anybody was before the outbreak. Those people, the mothers and fathers, the soft spoken girlfriends and sweet neighbors who worked a 9 to 5 and went on date nights each saturday died when the cordyceps took over every body they found and the military gunned down each man, woman, and child in sight that couldn’t fit on base. 

“How do I look?” 

But she sees it- just for a moment. In your painted lips, ever so slightly smudged in the corner of your lips and the look in your eyes that makes her chest tighten in a way she hasn’t felt in years. 

Tess sees somebody she would have watched run the crosswalk on a saturday morning, a mess of hair and a crooked smile would just barely glance in her direction before vanishing into the crowd onto the sidewalk but would refuse to leave her mind for the rest of the day. 

When Joel returns to the apartment, he eats in silence as Tess tells him their next run will be in two weeks. Until then they have a stock of pills to sell and some additional supplies you handed off to last them for now. 

He says nothing about the faint red smudge on the corner of her mouth, nor the one peeking out from the collar of her shirt. 

#joel miller x tess servopoulos x reader #tess servopoulos x you #tess servopoulos x reader #wild child verse #sorry joel doesnt get any action this time but he WILL I PROMISE #i wrote this late at night so if it makes no sense thats why im sorry asdjkskj #i really hope tumblr doesnt fuck with the formatting before I have to go to practice #joel miller x tess servopoulos #wild child tag

[thekimspoblog]

One-Shot "I'm really starting to hate the Simpsons"

She felt like a monster, her shadow looming large over the sleeping cherub. Kim’s daughter was five years old now. The mop of auburn curls, the ruby red lips, the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks; the last thing Kim wanted to do was disturb this peace. But she had to. She perched herself on the edge of the twin bed and, gently as possible, started to rouse her.

“Iris?” she whispered, “Iris, baby, wake up”

Reluctantly, the dark blue eyes opened. Already, a bewildered scowl was on her face.

“Sweetheart, we need to leave home. I…”

“Again?”

“... Yes.” Kim replied flatly. Iris only sounded moderately frustrated, but it was still a knife in Kim’s heart. “Take some time to wake up, but in thirty minutes, I need you downstairs with your suitcase. Dad and I will worry about your clothes and toothbrush, but pick out four toys you want to take with you. No more than four, okay? The rest have to stay here”

“I want daddy,” she whined.

“He’s downstairs. Come on, get dressed”

Iris pouted and Kim couldn’t help but feel judged. Sometimes it felt like it was written in the stars, that things between them always had to be just that little bit difficult. And it wasn’t for lack of understanding one another.

She jogged back downstairs, almost out of breath; the day had already been long enough and now night seemed insurmountable.

“How many changes of clothes do you have?” she shouted to Jimmy from across the kitchen.

“Four. Two pairs of jeans and two pairs of sweatpants”

“Do you think you could get by with only two outfits? We can buy more once we figure out where we’re going”

“No, we can’t”

“What?!” Kim hollered back while sweeping the contents of the downstairs medicine cabinet into a plastic bag.

“We’ve been frozen out of our accounts!”

“Son of a bitch!” she slammed the cabinet door closed.

“It’s fine. This is what the rainy day fund is for'' The three year old had already fallen back asleep on Jimmy’s shoulder. He passed Fille to his wife, then scurried down to the basement. He pulled back the fiberglass insulation to reveal bundles of cash stacked like bricks.

Kim anxiously bounced the toddler on her shoulder while trying to rifle through the fridge with her free hand. Where were the snacks? There were never any snacks in this house! She went shopping constantly and still whenever she was hungry, the fridge was empty. All she could find was a large glass jar of applesauce, a jar of peanut butter, a bag of shredded three-cheese, and the leftover pepperoni from a pizza kit; it would have to do.

“How much is there?” she interrogated her husband when he returned to the kitchen.

“A little over five thousand? I didn’t have time to count it”

“Then we’re better off than I thought. Ok: Your clothes? Check. My clothes? Check. Iris’s clothes?”

“They’re in my suitcase” Jimmy shot back.

“Fille’s clothes?”

“They’re in your suitcase”

“Ok. Meds? Check. Cash? Check. Jewelry? Electronics?”

“If the FBI is involved, I’m probably going to have to throw my laptop in the next river we drive past”

“We’ll worry about that later,” Kim yelled up the stairs, “Iris! Ten minutes!”

“What about IDs? We don’t even have any paperwork for Fille yet”

“Good thing she doesn’t make much noise then”

Still no reply from upstairs.

“I’ll go check on her,” Jimmy offered.

“No. I’ll do it. Please finish loading things into the car,” Kim said, taking off before he could answer.

Iris was pathetically fishing her stubby arm down the crevice between her bed and the wall.

“What’s the hold up?” her mother asked.

“Chirin fell down and I can’t reach him,” she explained.

Without skipping a beat, Kim dropped to the floor and crawled under the bed. She fumbled around in the dark until her fingers found something fluffy. She shoved the stuffed lamb in Iris’s hands and exasperatedly asked, “There. You have your lamb. Anything else? Think hard; once we leave this house, we can’t come back”

Iris shook her head. Clearly, the level of worry her parents were showing was not lost on her.

“Good. Then we need to go”

When the two came outside into the driveway, Jimmy was strapping Fille into the back seat of the sedan. Kim hoisted Iris into the car, the five year old still clutching her toy with both hands. Kim heard the trunk slam closed and as Jimmy buckled himself into the passenger’s seat, she heard him mutter something under his breath.

“If this ends with us singing B-I-N-G-O in the woods, I’m going to blow my brains out”

“What was that?” she asked her husband.

“Nothing”

They were a mile down the road. The clock on the dashboard read 2:13 am. Kim stole a glance in the rearview mirror into the passengers seats. The sisters had already fallen asleep again, their heads slumped together. That ratty little lamb. If Kim had lost any childhood toys in this way, she must have been too young to remember. But she remembered the one science project that she had been forced to abandon during a move. It was on solar power; it would have been an A! But on the morning it was time to throw everything in a cardboard box and flee the landlord, she couldn’t find it in time. Kim’s mother never would have dropped everything to help look for it. If Kim had even been stupid enough to ask, she knew her mother would have told her to leave it; it didn’t matter. It did though! That stupid little stuffed sheep mattered. Kim would just have to take some meager reassurance in the fact that she had gotten down on her knees to look for it.

“Iris, you know that I love you, right?” she confessed, waking the girl up.

Iris didn’t respond. She just glared back into the mirror skeptically.

“And I’m sorry, if stability isn’t something I can give you. But you know, a lot of kids’ parents have to move around for work. It’s the hand they’ve been dealt, and they just have to deal with it”

Still no reply.

“But I tried. We both tried. Your father and I have both tried so many times to be people other than ourselves. But we can’t. The masks always slip eventually. And I don’t know if it’s exactly a bright side, but look at it this way: if I was any good at pretending, you wouldn’t be here. I wish I could give you the perfect life. But I have to trust that this is still better than nothing”

Another awkward pause.

“I’m rambling. I guess my point is… sometimes, being yourself comes at the expense of other people. And I want you to know that wherever you go in life, all I want is for you to be yourself. And if it hurts me? Fair’s fair; I’ll owe you that much”

Jimmy put his hand on her leg. The squeeze he gave her was enough to communicate, “Kim, that’s enough. Please stop”

@richeeduvie @2entangledworms @mcwexlerscigarette @chainsawsangel

#mcwexler #blue irises #kim's bad mom character arc #jimmy x kim #better call saul fanfiction #one shot

[epersonae]

The Cooking Project: Yakitori-don

The next card in the stack was a recipe from a friend who I believe lived in Japan for a year. She shared it in Slack, and I wrote it down on a card because free Slack instances have limited history availability. (there will be another recipe later, I think, with a similar origin) I don't know exactly how long ago I wrote it down (2 or 3 years ago, probably), and I've never made it.

Summary: pretty good, would make again with a couple of mods. Unfortunately, there will be a long digression into rice cooking first.

Recipe text, transcribed

Yakitori-don (from Amanda C.)

2-4 chicken breasts 1 c soy sauce 1/2 c sugar 1 tsp garlic salt 1 onion, chopped

all into crock pot on low, 8 hrs [arrow leads to a notes that says try instant for 10 min & quick release] shred chicken, stir back into sauce serve over Nishiki (?) rice

[Nishiki rice, when I looked it up, turns out to be a medium grain white rice similar to Calrose. we'll get to Problems With Rice next]

Things that happen when you move while Trauma, or: Problems With Rice

So my favorite way to make rice, not owning a rice cooker, is with an instant pot. As it happens, I own two of them, because Ryn brought one when they moved out here. Which, I thought: perfect! One for the chicken and one for the rice.

Except, as it turns out, Ryn's rice cooker has a detachable cord. Which was detached at some point presumably in August or September 2021, and is........ SOMEWHERE. Is that somewhere in the box, which is probably in the garage? Is it in another shelf in the kitchen behind a bunch of stuff? Is it in the landfill? I have no idea (yet).

[the Instant Pot that betrayed me]

Which means there was only one instant pot, which is a lot less fun than there was only one bed.

I didn't buy medium grain white rice for this recipe, because I had long grain on hand, and, eh. But that means that my rice is in a container and does not have cooking instructions. So I opened up my trusty copy of How to Cook Everything Vegetarian, which I think I got as a Christmas present like 10 years ago, on the assumption that it would have the usual X rice to Y water for Z time formula that one might find on the back of a bag of rice. Instead, he suggests a method that is "Far easier and more reliable [...] which will work well for any kind of white rice at all" that involves a lot of watching and fiddling with the heat. (which on a gas stove can be quite tricky!) Without getting too deep into it:

I think it might have been cooked properly at the bottom, but the top was almost entirely uncooked. So I started over using his microwave method, which was fine (slightly undercooked) but also got wet starch all over the inside of my microwave. Do not recommend.

tl;dr: If I can't find the power cord for that instant pot, I will probably be buying a rice cooker.

Ok, but how was the chicken?

My one mod in prepping is my standard: I hate the texture of onion, cooked or raw, and at some point I discovered that grating an onion gets the umami of it without the texture. So I did that.

Dumped everything in the instant pot (two chicken breasts, btw), stirred it around a bit, and then set it for ...

Possibly 8 minutes, because I was distracted by all the rice shenanigans, and was just glancing at the card when I set the timer, and uh, may have read the number next to "crock pot" instead of the number next to "instant".

In any case, I did that, set it for 5 minutes before releasing (because that matched the time the microwaved rice needed to sit), and shredded, then let that sit for a little bit while I did a few other things in the kitchen.

[none of the photos I took are particularly good or interesting, tbh]

Final thoughts

It was: fine. I think I just don't really like chicken breast very much; the whole thing definitely needed a fat of some kind to be properly satisfying. But also, it's hard to go wrong with soy sauce and sugar and garlic and onion. I will say that I think cooking the onion raw in liquid made the house smell weird.

It was a decent dinner, made just enough to have leftovers for lunch today. Mostly I wish I'd had some snow peas or something, tho.

I will probably make it again with the following modifications: chicken thighs instead of breast, and either onion powder or saute the onion first for a little better onion flavor (slash less-weird house smell).

If I were being ✨ fancy ✨, I'd reduce the sauce a bit, maybe with a little cornstarch, and I can see where this is probably a big difference between crock pot (which I don't own) and instant pot.

All of that contingent on actually being able to make good rice, though.

#food as play #I also had a weird intense emotion reaction to it maybe not turning out related to some personal trauma history #which was helpful (!) in uncovering more thoughts about why getting back to cooking is hard #so already I've learned something!

[danime25]

Santa Baby

ao3 // normal masterlist // christmas masterlist

*Summary: The Nice Guys Agency was on the case again. This time to get a lead, Healy dresses up like Santa Claus. Hijinks ensue for him

*Rating: T for Teen

*Content/Tags: Crack, General Holland Mischief

*Status: Drabble/Complete

“You look fine. No one’s gonna know.” Holland said, waving his hands around

“I look like an idiot, March.” Healy gave his partner a look. ‘If this wasn’t for an investigation, I’d kill you’, that kind of look

“You just look like a normal mall Santa Claus.” Holland lit up a cigarette, leaning against the tiled wall, “Now let’s go before we lose track of our lead.”

“March I swear… fine. But isn’t going to look a little fucking weird if I’m dressed up like Santa and walking around the place, and you’re dressed like it’s just another fucking day in LA?”

“Yeah.” Holland shrugged a little bit, “But I didn’t bring anything else.”

“Fuck. You.”

---

“Here. This way, Santa.”

“You’re on real fucking thin ice.” Healy muttered under his breath

“Now that’s no way to talk. What if a child heard you?”

“Then I would apologize. You? I care less about.”

“There you are! About time you got back from lunch.” One of Santa’s elves came and pushed Healy away from Holland

“Shit.” Holland said between gritted teeth. “Healy,” every call for his partner getting more frantic and desperate.

“I think you got me confused.” Healy tried to tell the worker

“Listen I’ve got 50 screaming brats wondering where the hell Santa went, now get your ass back over there.” The worker looked into Healy’s eyes without a shred of compassion

“Okay. Fine.” Healy sighed and followed the worker. The kids screamed at the sight of Healy pretending to be Santa. He sat in the big chair and waited for the first kid to get through the line. A little girl practically hopped into his lap and started listing off all the gifts she wanted.

“You promise I’ll get everything?”

“Uh…” Healy darted his eyes back and forth, “I promise to try?”

“Okay, thank you Santa!” She smiled and hugged him before the two posed for a picture. Then they paraded the next kid in, and the next one. Healy didn’t ever want to hear the words jack in a box or raggedy ann again in his life. The next person walked in and Healy nearly lost it in that instant.

“March what the fu…”

“Fudge! We love fudge here at the North Pole!” One of the workers tried to cover up Healy’s swear

“What do you want,” Every word of Healy’s was punctuated by the air sucked in between his teeth

“Well,” Holland starts to say before sitting on Healy’s lap. They both realize as he makes contact that Holland has a bulge in his pants

“What the fu…dge. I swear to… Mrs. Claus.”

“All I want for Christmas… is to spend the day with my partner and daughter.”

“That sounds really nice for your partner and your daughter.” Healy replied

“Thanks Santa.” He hugged the other man as the camera flashed. They guided Holland out and towards the table where he could buy prints of the photos. Healy’s eyes followed after Holland for a while until they sat the next kid down on his lap. A boy, who clearly didn’t want to meet Santa. Healy tried to laugh, but that only seemed to bother the kid more. So much so that Healy felt a warmth spread across his leg and he lifted the kid up. The mom took her son into her arms and scolded him quietly, before turning to apologize to Healy.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Matthew, apologize to Santa.”

“Sorry.” The kid mumbled

“It’s fine.” Healy sighed and got up, “I need to clean up.”

“Okay. Five minutes.” The cameraman tells Healy. Healy gets up and walks away from the set. He gets around the corner where Holland laid in wait.

“Jesus. Fucking scaring me March.”

“Thought you’d want your clothes back.” Holland lifted a stack up into the air, which Healy yanked from his grip quickly. He went to the bathroom and shoved the Santa costume into the trash on his way out. Holland dangled something in Healy’s face and Healy squinted to look at it

“March. What the fuck is this?”

“Our picture. Something for Holly.”

“I swear to god March, you better sleep with one eye open from now on.”

“It’s not that bad, you’re even smiling!” Holland smiled, definitely not helping his case

“Give that to me.” Healy tried to wrestle the stupid picture out of Holland’s grasp

#my writing #my fic #fanfiction #fanfic #holland march #jackson healy #the nice guys #healland #healy x march #jackson healy x holland march #the nice guys 2016 #ryan gosling character #12 days of Goosemas

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Ufff. What a day!

Mom’s not well. Seriously unwell. Yesterday I read to her for 2 1/2 hrs, but today I didn’t even get to speak to her because she was in so much pain. I am worried sick. Any day I don’t get to tell Mom I love her upsets me anyway, but this is obviously much worse.

For the fourth day in a row my right ear has been making irritating crackly/popping sounds. I’ve had tinnitus as long as I can remember, and I don’t mind that background hum too much. At least it’s steady. This comes and goes. This keeps making me look to see what I’m hearing, like it’s beside me. I go from “Is there a critter back there?” to, “Oh, wait. It’s me!”

I’d gotten up early to go do the shopping, a trip that did two things besides get necessities for the next two weeks.

First, I found out a guy I’ve been friendly with at one of the stores for more than a decade is probably racist. It was a vibe, a body language, a warmth shut down. Up until now I’d not seen him checking anyone out, since he usually was doing the grunt work of moving stuff. He’s always seemed okay with his coworkers, but the telling thing in life is how you treat strangers and those with no power over you. Not shocking for a white dude in the rural south, but depressing.

Second, I used up my money. Like all of it. I weighed buying kerosene for the hot water heater and getting gas for the pickup. I am so sick of boiling water, that I decided the pickup can stay parked for two weeks (after I move that big bookcase between houses.)

Putting the kerosene in the tank when I got home I discovered the work I did the other day had created TWO joints to leak, the settling filter to tilt too much to work properly, and the whole tank to lean too far.

Oh, and I’d forgotten to rebuild the cinderblock steps to reach the pour in hatch. Trying to fix it I squished a finger. It’s purple now. Like entire end of the finger is purple!

And the steps no longer got me high enough, so I needed a ladder.

I discovered that last bit when I spilled a LOT of kerosene. In my face. In my eyes!

My eyes aren’t happy, BTW, and are planning to remind me of this assault for a while.

The kerosene took forever to put in the tank. It shouldn’t take THAT long to go through the screen. That’s because it turned out to be full of junk, that I now hope hasn’t contaminated the tank too much more than it already was after all probably 70 years of non-stop use.

I went to Mom’s house intending to do little. Instead I moved the damn treadmill! It weighs a ton, has only two tiny wheels that barely turn at the front but legs at the back, and was an inch two wide to go where I intended to put it out of the way in the hall. I had to maneuver it out of the bedroom with no swinging room for all the stacks of books, and get it through the door even though the pole saw that I store up the stairs sticks across it. **

Okay, so it’s too big to turn the corners to any of the other down stair rooms, and’s WAY too heavy to carry upstairs (even if I had the space or someone to help me), so I get the brainstorm to move it into the shed. I only have to move everything in the front of the shed…

You know, stuff like the industrial pump and seeming miles of hose my brother got for working on the boat, a spool of rope for the boat that’s waist high, the broken lawnmower, three boxes of damn jelly no one will eat, and that sort of thing.

Then I just had to get it off the porch and across the yard without gashing the steps or wood of the porch, or digging a groove through the grass, or getting stuck, or….

The neighbor dog, the great dane that’s now my buddy came to help. By help I mean he went into the house while the door was blocked open and grabbed things to take away and shred in the front yard. Foam. Paper. Bags…

OMG! Is that the bottom of the lantern I was removing the dead batteries from??? NO!!!! Give it back!!! That isn’t a toy! STOP!!!

Replacing that lantern will cost me $40. If that dog broke it…

And I petted him. Because what does he know.

I “walked” the treadmill across the yard, waddling using the two tiny wheels. The dog ran over as it swung back and forth, and heavy as it was I couldn’t stop the swing. WHACK! Right into his poor head!

He seemed okay, and after a bit of comforting he was back to normal. Well, except now he had discovered a game of trying to leap over the swinging treadmill.

Lifting the front into the shed I hurt my back, though I wasn’t really aware until I was putting everything back in the shed on top of it.

Oh good. Now I just have to disassemble the shelves, haul them around, put the bookcase back together, fill the floor to ceiling bookcase, and then figure out where I can make space for another one.

I realized then something had gone with my ankle brace on the bad foot. I could barely put weight on it.

With the animals fed and the sun set I was ready to flop, when…the two pain in the ass cats stole my seat! Nony and Yow Yow are lovable as heck, or I sure as hell wouldn’t let them in, but GEEZ, I have one single chair to sit in in the shop house, and with the floor collapsed it will stay one. The least they could do is shove over….

Okay, my supper livened them up, even if it was nothing the would want to eat. I went to put them on the porch, and Yow Yow did her usual boneless flop, not even trying to put her feet under her, and letting her wet sack of a body block the door. Nony, being just the opposite, seemed to fly back into the house. This led to him running around the house, playing keep away, and chewing in the cord to the freakin’ space heater! I put him out and…

Yow Yow was back in the chair asleep!!!!

***sigh***

I can’t evict a sleeping cat. So I sit down by her and in seconds she is on top of me. Now I couldn’t reach the computer or my sculpey or go get a drink or… I mean, awwwww, she looks so cozy!

I’m worried, I’m tired, I’m hurting, and I’m grumpy.

And if I don’t get this cat off my lap I’m not going to get the hot water heater lit!

**It’s been “fun” carrying stuff out of that room stepping over the pole saw that’s knee level, unusually backwards because there was no space to turn around after I picked up the storage container. Stupid beloved books!

***I have four bookcases , three of them floor to ceiling metal ones like this, in my bedroom at the shop. But where can I put them in house packed with the contents of three houses? They need to go against a wall, since we are talking maximum filling. And it can’t be a wall that already has furniture against it or where that chimney leaks sometimes or near the heater. I’ve already got bookshelves in front of windows even, with paneling wedged in not to protect the glass like with a sane person, but to shield the books. Too many windows! I need a cave! LOL

#my day #rambles #busy #tired

[blueskittlesart]

i need you to tell me everything about ur jean pls

HI. my jean is my pride and joy. i lost my 50/50 on ayaka's first banner and got her when i first started playing (my first ever 5 star!!) and i just. never looked back. i have a ton of like. actual dps-intended 5 stars that i could easily main but im incapable of giving her up for anyone. i literally have c1 ayaka now and i STILL main jean. if i had a little less dignity or care for my own money i would buy her summer outfit but unfortunately i am poor. so uhhh if anyone wants to tip me $25--

ive been actively working towards a 100k burst since like. well at the very least since before vv was in the fucking strongbox bc i think i have like 500 runs on that stupid ass domain. im obsessed with anemo characters in general tho so it ended up being worth it. someday I will get heizou and i will have a fully-completed build waiting for him when he comes home

anyways. up until today i was running jean on 2vv 2glad, which got me up to about 96k bursts, but her off piece was a shim and I rolled a better shim piece when farming for yoimiya so the 100k burst build is 2vv 2shim with a glad off piece! Currently her weapon is blackcliff longsword (the extra crit dmg is what finally pushed her over into 100k!) but i desperately want jade cutter. i lost the 50/50 when it was running last month so i had to settle for a 4 star :/ without buffs she has around 1.9k atk, a crit ratio of 50/158 , and a 61% anemo dmg bonus. With no buffs or supports her skill crits are around 20k and her burst crits are around 30-35k!

for her showcase rotation I use a standard anemo dps showcase rotation (i believe this one was originally developed for xiao), which since anemo can't take advantage of any reaction buffs is bascially just stacking atk. (I do also use food & potion buffs, idk exactly what the dmg drop is without them bc i havent tried it.) the team is c1 bennett with noblesse and aquilla favonia (high base atk), c0 mona with TTDS and tenacity, and c6 anemo traveler with vv (weapon doesn't matter, mine has sac sword.) the point of all of this is basically just to stack atk buffs bc that's really the only thing anemo dps's can take advantage of, aside from c6 traveler's anemo res shred.

rotation goes bennett skill x2 (to break the cryo regisvine shield) > bennett burst (atk buff scaled off weapon + noblesse buff) > traveler burst (res shred) > mona skill (4pc tenacity atk buff & ttds character swap buff) > mona burst (atk buff) > jean burst! this rotation should also work with any other anemo character you want to build as a dps. I haven't tried it with my xiao yet bc i've been so focused on jean but he regularly hits around 30k per strike unbuffed so. i think it will make him insane lol

ANYWAYS. jean main nation. someday I'll get jade cutter and then i'll be unstoppable

#and before non genshin players comment 'is this english' NO. it is not. i understand it perfectly tho #im not even a dmg player i am very much into the game for the story. jean just makes me go a little crazy so i had to build her into a god #the downside to this rotation is that everything has to be done SUPER quickly tho bc the tenacity buff from mona's skill only lasts 3 secs #and her burst animation makes you lose like half a second afterwards no matter what #asks

[snowflakeb0ttles]

thinking abt the nightmare of when i worked at target again . ANYWAY cute things 2 make the clothing section workers lives easier

1. if you are going 2 use the changing room Please God at least bring the clothes you arent buying out of the stall. even better if its back on the hanger but dont try to fold things it Wont Be Right and we have to redo it anyway i promise its fine .

EVEN better if you just take all the stuff you got and put it back where you got it in the first place BUT i get that is a Lot (bathing suit season torture torture torture torture)

2. you can steal in there literally nobody cares but also dont. rip the tags off the clothes and then leave the tag in the stall because 1. we have to pick them up and then like report it and its annoying and 2. i promise the tags wont beep when you leave the store you are FINE why do people do this. i cant speak for electronics and other stuff but the clothes arent gonna beep i swear

ALSO i do not care if youre opening like. a pack of underwear or socks or something to see how big they are/if theyd fit but try and like. NOT rip the package to shreds. and open it in a way where it can be closed again . because we have to take all that stuff and tape it back up and/or throw the whole thing away even if the stuff is fine

3. if you get a folded shirt from like the bottom of a shirt stack dont try and fold it and put it back if you dont know how to fold it the right way its so much more annoying to find and unfold a shirt thats wrong at the bottom of a stack and do it right than it is to just find an unfolded one on top

idk if its the same for every target but folded stuff on tables is smallest stuff on top and bigger stuff on the bottom and hanging stuff is also small to big from left to right so i mean . if u ever wanted 2 help organize that is Also Epic hwjowjrkwnr

4. it is always safe to assume if something is not out in the store we dont have any of it in the back and most times you ask anyone to check the back they will either leave and not come back or leave and do nothing back there and then tell you we're out anyway

5. finally. just dont be rude besties i had an old lady ask me where something was and i pointed her in a general direction where it might be bc it was like my third day there and i didnt know Anything and she got pissed and was like 'thats the wrong answer.' and left . dont be like wrong answer lady.

#TANGENT POST BUT I THINK ABT IT SO OFTEN !!! #whemever im at walmart with my grandma and she does some stupid shit with the clothes and leaves it like that #i feel like im melting and head explode #bc i KNOWWWW those poor poor workers are not gonna have a good time fixing it

[clingyduoapologist]

Technoblade was a customer at the little corner store Tommy worked at. He would come in at least twice a week right before closing, which is why he is a bitch. Because he was a bitch, Tommy would be bitchy with Techno, and Techno would be bitchy in return (because he's a bitch). Tommy absolutely hates Technoblade, of course, but if he looks up for pink hair when the door chimes sound at night then that's his own business.

And it's the little things, yeah? Tommy is short a quarter, so Techno lends it to him. To pay him back, Tommy gets Techno a can of root beer and puts it on his own bill. Of course, the soda was 0.50$, not a quarter, so next time Techno needs to grab him a candy bar, so on and so forth (Tommy keeps this to himself. He misses Mexican Dream).

Techno buys Tommy a sandwich. Tommy waits for him with a stack of cookies. Techno gives Tommy a pin for his backpack. Tommy returns the favour. Techno thinks something is wrong with him. Tommy knows there isn't. Techno still gives him a phone number. Tommy gets him a root beer from the fridge.

And when Tommy is sitting on the floor of his (Dream's) apartment, money gone, photos torn to shreds, Dream slamming the front door, he decides to make a call.

And sure the first couple times techno notifies a bruise or a busted lip he doesn’t say anything. This kid was none of his business. And so what if he learned that he was his old high school friend’s dependent, the same friend who just committed suicide a couple weeks ago, it was again, none of his business.

And if he slips the kid some of his pain meds for the arm he’s broken arm he’s (poorly) trying to hide then that isn’t here nor there. And if he shows up when that call goes through and beats a certain blonde into the floor then what, it’s not like they’re friends or anything

#sorry for the late answer bronze I’m in an airport rn #but this is very fun #asks

[frogsandfries]

My hem string broke again the other day when I was trying to finish this first box.

This is the second out of three times this has happened. Apparently I need to use fresh string on these hems.

So I'm a little put out with the neon box. I'm a little agitated over this bead order.

I'm going to shred this recycling paper that's been lurking and lingering on my desk. I look like I have a problem, with all this torn up paper; I have a gallon zip bag of shredded paper, and I'm working on filling this drink powder canister. I really do keep intending to purchase like my frame and my felts for pressing the paper and any other supplies I might end up needing but then this move came up and I'm not really buying stuff and things. Just food. And beads. And okay, I also got a piercing.

But this summer. I swear. It's gonna be fun. I'll put up a ton of mirrors and put the wet paper on the mirrors to dry and make my sister crazy. Just wandering around the house, slapping wet papers onto all the mirrors.

I dunno guys, should I even bother upcycling all this paper? I was going to use it to make sketchbooks but.........I haven't worked on the graphic novel in about a year and I've already got a stack of graphic novel sketchbooks on standby........... I don't really want to get into a position where I'm needing to sell my sketchbooks because there are simply too many for one lifetime...........

I'm just looking at the mountain of papers I've accumulated, just over the last year, just imagining how much paper it will make when recycled. Like, should I do this, is this a good idea? What do I imagine I'm going to do with all this paper??

I don't want to sell my stuff. First, I'm not a very good sales person. Second, I just don't want to.....