#ripped jeans skinny jeans cheap material I could go on

[djsadbean]

Mean old people usually have the worst hot takes but ngl they kinda popped off with their hatred of ripped jeans in fast fashion

#ripped jeans skinny jeans cheap material I could go on #jeans were absolutely made better a few decades ago #unfortunately there’s not a lot of plus size stuff that survived #anyway I wish fast fashion would slow down. I’m tired and I wanna buy a rain coat once every 25 years is that too much to ask #djsadbean rambles

[written-beyond-the-grave]

Mikaelsons Black History Month

First off, I’m starting by saying that even though it is no longer Black history month it will always be melanin everyday and black people every day. And everything else under the sun, and if you don’t like it then the exit is to your left. Everything you own in the box to the left

Being part of the Mikaelsons is very fickle business and be some bs. Like really, you’re here with supernatural beings who are over 1000 years old. Who have traveled the world, gained endless knowledge, seen a lot of bloodshed, but you know what they haven’t seen? Their token human (black ofc) being ignant for black history month, I mean who even fully celebrates? How does one even celebrate?

Granted, they’re not racist. But with the writing Julie Pleck did she was playing honestly. That was the worst writing I've ever seen since who knows when. Maybe the nine lives of Chloe king or something? But in my originals universe they were probably racist in the beginning to an extent then grew out of it.

Anyways, they never met someone who celebrated until they met you!

Now repeat after me: I’m black y’all, and I’m black y’all. And I’m black and black and black y’all! FYM

Now…. picture this: A moderately quiet day in the Mikaelson household. Kol is minding his business for once, Rebekah is trying to find the perfect pics for her next instagram post, Elijah is enjoying a good read, and Klaus is organizing his art materials. But then here comes you, the human, opening the door and walking right in like you pay bills (none of them do but you get the picture) in the midst of the most deadly people. Walking in and greeting everyone, walking in with the most hotep, Dr. Umar bullshit getup they ever seen. Coming to America headass.

They recognize your footsteps from a mile away, so when you walk into the kitchen and no one really looks up at first it’ll be a sight to see a whole ass pelted lion on your back. The kente cloth hat (no idea the actual name for it, sorry babes), a saber tooth necklace (for my mans T’Challa), and the red stiletto nails with the afro out here banging.

SHEEEEEEEEESH

Once Elijah is done with his page he looks up to greet you, but then stops… Bitch, fuck is you wearing? This was worlds away from the sweats, and skinny jeans you wore on the daily.

“Greetings Y/N you look…. Fashionable.” Mans didn’t know what to say. Did he miss something about your Africna roots? Was there a holiday he hadn’t heard of, doubt it, but what else was there?

“Thank you Elijah.” You fluff out your lion pelt for added effect, if there was ever going to be one time you outdo the Mikaelsons’ especially Elijah in being dramatic with a coat or cloak of somesort, it would be now.

At this point the Kol and Rebekah have already looked up and were confused. Why are you dressed like that?

Kol is the first one to speak up “Darling, Rebekah likes a fashion show more than anyone, but why do you have a lion… on your shoulder.”

Lifting up your large ass shades you supplied an answer: “Black History Month”

They all looked at each other… they didn’t get it. Like they know what it is, but never actually understood how to celebrate and all that nor did they ever actually give it mind. When you saw that they weren’t making a connection, you started phase 1.

“Alexa, you know what to do.”

And there goes their manor playing: NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA I’M ONE HUNDRED PERCENT NIGGA

LMFAOOOOO you got the white people shook. Klaus just dropped one of his expensive ass bottles of art sealants and is vamp speeding to the kitchen to figure out what the hell is going on. Elijah having a mid century crisis on how tf they even found you and deemed you worthy of being in their presence so casually. Kol is having fun in the back, still laughing at your get up. And Rebekah wishes she went to the mall instead, she wanted a girl bestie and got you instead rip

“WHAT IN BLAZES- Y/N WHAT ARE YOU DO- WHAT ARE YOU WEARING! ALEXA STOP THE MUSIC-” And the big bad wolf has arrived. You put your finger to Klaus’ lips which stuns him bc… you’re still HOOOMAN like damn, death wish much? And you look this man, straight in his mit and say “Looks at, look at me” and pause for dramatic affect, “I am the captain now”

Room silent as hell till Kol starts cackling

You’ve made Dr. Umar proud, the ancestors are shining on you once again

With that you lead into a whole speech about the black struggle and black history month, bottom line: REPARATIONS. Because being the only nigga in the Mikaelsons (we don’t claim Marcel) is exhausting, white people shit everyday that you complain about in their faces

TBH at this point they’re indulging you in this escapade.

First victim is Elijah, you ask for his wallet. He gives you a look, I mean he does technically give you what you want and whatever (when y’all dating, refer back to my dating Elijah post), so he ask you why. Reparations sis why, but then you stop yourself. This man gives you his wallet every other day, half the time you not even asking. What could you rob this man of…. Ah. You ask him for the deed of one of his estates in Prague, why? Because you bitches can’t even spell Prague. And under section S line 45 subsection Y it does state that estates are eligible for reparations. Fuck 40 acres and a mule, you got 300 acres, some stallions in the back, a quite possibly haunted mansion, and a heavy dicked (yeah I said it, a sis been trying to reality shift) original who will turn you out by the end of the day and the end of the month…. Wait till women's history month boo

We know his pockets figgity fat, and it would be figgity wack to not get some

Ngl you take Kol with you so he can buy you food. Granted, he knows what you’re doing, but if he’s going to spend money on anything it will be thawed and it will be music. However, one thing leads to another and you’re both at Wal-Mart waiting to find a parking spot. You stole one off a white minivan trying to move in. Not thinking anything of it because who in this small ass Mystic Falls ass, clown ass town really about it? Apparently Karen.

But you know who else what about it? Kol (tbh mans had nothing but time, and he claims you so why tf not.) he out here NY stomping on her and coming at her for badly glued extensions. Cheap ass bitch, ain’t even blend in correctly.

After that Kol and you left with some groceries, a new story to tell, and a chopped cheese.

With Klaus, he frfr wasn’t finna do shit. Being ordered my a human? Lmfao, go find another simp sis. But… once you suggest that his art skills may not be up to par on what you have in mind as a new family room piece for your house he’s all ears. He knows what you’re doing, but… he still wants to prove you wrong. But anyways, you give him a theme… reverse racism. IK y’all, it’s not a thing, but mans has ideas. And he outdoes himself. That and the recreation of the moorish chief bc that man...mmmmm that man was giving.

Ok so Google wanna hoe me, but there was a painting of a black man in a kkk cloak and behind him were white people being hung from a tree. Say what you want, but that photo was fire. If any of you seen it please share it below.

Anyways

Rebekah tbh wants no part in this, but I feel like she’d gave when you ask her to give you all the finest dresses bc it’s an excuse to exhaust Klaus’ money.

Through the month you give the Mikaelsons a run for their money, and maybe sanity. Klaus is in the back trying to research who tf Dr. Umar is and why is he your inspiration

They had to pull you back when the sheriff asked you for your ID. You ask why you needed white man paperwork!

You are pleasing the spirits, what bonnie could never do lmfaooooo. The powers of you enemies aren’t prospering this month nor next month.

You’re not poor this month, anything you poor of is pouring a little more (bars nigga)

LMFAOOOO imaging asking the fam to go to paris, like, they not invited it’s a self trip funded my the Mikaelson Y/N Trust Fund of Public Decency ™

Klaus would be the first one to speak because this man is TIRED, “Love, why do you need a trip to paris? What’s in Paris?”

Knowing better, you look to Kol to answer the question, “I don’t know, Kol, who’s in Paris?” Niggas b. Niggas in paris…. Lemme chill

LMFAOOO enjoy

#klaus mikealson x reader #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd x reader #the originals #black reader #black!reader #poc!reader #poc reader #niggasbelike

[mikauzoran]

LuXY/Lukadrien/Lukadrienette: Welcome to La-La Land: Chapter Seven

@luxyweek

Welcome to La-La Land: Chapter Seven: AU

XY was having a suck-tastic day.

Most of the fans seemed to be satisfied with Kitty Section appearing at the end of the show to perform their version of the song, but some people were making a big fuss because that guy had gotten akumatized.

No one seemed to care about XY and how he still didn’t have a new song to perform or how the akuma had attacked him, stolen his voice, and tied him up.

His dad was too busy performing damage control to tell XY what the plan was now, so XY was feeling a little anxious and unmoored, uncertain of what he should be doing besides waiting in the dressing room.

The worst part was that his father had called him an idiot on camera.

My imbecile son.

The words kept echoing in XY’s mind.

All of Paris had heard.

XY knew he was dumb, but he didn’t like other people thinking it or saying it out loud. He knew he was a little slow. He just couldn’t stand when it was pointed out.

It reminded him of when he’d started school in France and how all the other kids, younger kids who had actually grown up speaking French, rubbed in how stupid he was. He didn’t always understand the colloquial speech, but he knew the other kids were badmouthing him. When he looked up the words at home, he was ashamed that he’d been too dumb to understand that they were talking about how dumb he was.

His father’s words, “imbecile son”, cut deep, dragging up old hurts along with it.

He wished he could come up with something good, a new song, something original and unique like the fun, catchy unicorn song that Kitty Section had made. Maybe then his father would say something nice, not think XY was quite so stupid.

XY sighed heavily and pushed himself off the countertop so that his roller chair spun again. He closed his eyes, spinning, letting himself get dizzy.

Twelve minutes later when that ceased to be amusing, he let the chair slow to a stop and sat there for a second before he tried to get up.

He was tired and wanted to go home, but no one had come to get him yet. He was kind of hungry too. Akuma attacks always made him hungry, but there weren’t any snacks in the dressing room. He decided to go out in the hall and look for a vending machine, maybe get a soda or something.

He opened the door just in time to see the Kitty Section members pass—three girls and that giant guy—their backs to him.

XY wondered where that other guy was.

Luka. That was what his friend (girlfriend?) had called him.

Luka with the blazing blue eyes that lit a flame low in XY’s gut.

When Luka and his friend had first confronted XY and his father and Luka had reached out for the mask on the side of XY’s head, XY’s heart had done a double backflip. He’d thought for a second that Luka was reaching out to cup XY’s cheek.

In the moment before Luka had ripped the mask off, making the elastic snap painfully against XY’s skin, XY had stared into Luka’s smoldering, storm-like eyes, and it had been three kinds of magic.

XY had had crushes on guys before, but never that intense that quickly.

After the akuma had been taken care of, XY found the cheap, discarded mask where Ladybug’s magical ladybug swarm had put it back together after Chat Noir destroyed it. XY secreted the mask away, hiding it with his things to take home and save.

Luka was kind of terrifying but also incredibly attractive.

XY had watched him interacting with that girl he’d come with and the rest of his band, and Luka had a nice smile, a melodic laugh, a soft-spoken, sweet voice. It was clear that Luka could be a kind, fun person when he wasn’t angry.

XY kind of wished they’d met under better circumstances so that XY could have a chance at getting Luka to smile and laugh like that with him.

With a sigh, he shut the dressing room door and turned to head the opposite direction from Kitty Section.

He nearly ran right into Luka trailing behind his bandmates.

“Hey. Watch where you’re going,” Luka hissed, glaring XY down.

XY jumped, putting his hands up in self-defence as he flashed back to Silence finding him cowering in the storage closet, calling out to him with his own disembodied voice, tying him up, and then throwing XY over his shoulder to cart him off to the recording studio where Alec was already similarly bound.

Luka’s glare quickly dissipated into an uncertain, uncomfortable frown. He shook his head as if trying to shake his preceding thoughts loose and then turned, continuing on his way, putting XY and Bob Roth and this entire day behind him.

XY watched him go, noting the perfection that was the tight fit of his skinny jeans. He sighed again, lamenting the futility of his love life.

But then Luka slowed to a stop, fingers balling into fists, back muscles going taut as he seemed to struggle with something internal. Finally, with a huff, letting the tension go, Luka turned back around and tentatively approached.

His expression was shamefaced, his tone hesitant.

“Hey,” he breathed. “Sorry.”

XY blinked, mind scrambling to come up with an adequate response. “Oh. Uh. No. I wasn’t paying attention, so…”

Luka grimaced, fair skin easily showing a blush. “No. I meant…” He bit his lip, drawing XY’s gaze. “I meant sorry for more than just snapping at you right then. I meant…I’m sorry for today in general.”

Luka looked up, fighting off his shame and forcing himself to meet XY’s gaze and own up to his own shortcomings. “Yes, you and your father were in the wrong for plagiarizing, but I completely lost my cool when he threatened Marinette, and I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have let my anger get the better of me, but I did, and I’m sorry I lashed out at you.”

XY kept blinking as he stared into those cool blue eyes, sparkling like aquamarines even in the unflattering fluorescent light of the hallway. “Oh. Uh…thanks.”

A pained expression took over Luka’s face. “I don’t remember what happened, so I don’t know what I said, what I did to you, but I’m sorry for that too. I wasn’t in control, and I never would have done or said any of that if I had been, so I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” XY admitted, trying to make Luka feel better and make himself out to be brave. “I mean, sure, I was a little uncomfortable when you tied me up and slung me over your shoulder—” XY would never admit that he’d kind of liked being carried and that the angle afforded him a splendid view of Luka’s tush in whatever skintight material the evil suit had been made out of. “—but it wasn’t anything compared to when Jagged’s akuma tied me up and made me stand out on a plank at the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

XY shrugged, pretending to be aloof and composed, hoping Luka would pick up on how cool XY was.

Luka’s mouth dropped open as he attempted to process himself slinging Xavier-Yves Roth over his shoulder and Jagged Stone dangling the pop star off the side of the Eiffel Tower.

“Oh,” Luka finally responded. “Wow. Okay. Well…sorry again. I’m glad it wasn’t that bad.”

XY smirked, voice full of bravado as he declared. “It was no sweat, really, so don’t worry about it.” Luka didn’t need to know that if XY had had his voice at the time, he would have been emitting high-pitched shrieks. “The worst part was losing an hour out of my day.”

“Uh… Well… Sorry for the inconvenience, then,” Luka offered, feeling conflicted about the way this conversation was going.

There was a beat, and it looked like Luka was turning to go when he abruptly stopped mid-rotation and asked, “Purely out of curiosity, why did you steal Kitty Section’s song and Marinette’s costumes? You’re a professional musician with your own established style. Why poach amateur work?”

XY crossed his arms defensively, looking away. “It wasn’t stealing.”

Luka’s eyes narrowed, and his fingers began to coil once more in indignance that even now XY refused to admit he’d done anything wrong.

“It was just inspiration,” XY corrected petulantly. “I couldn’t come up with anything that Dad thought would sell, so he said all we needed to do was let someone else do the work for us, so we went through the entries, and I made the song based off of yours…and Dad said it was good, that it would sell.” XY shrugged, wishing Luka would drop it.

Hadn’t Luka gotten to perform his version of the song on TV? Wasn’t that good enough? Why did he want to make XY’s day worse? Hadn’t enough bad things happened to XY already?

“You had writer’s block?” Luka inquired in exasperation. “So you decided to rip off somebody else?”

XY changed the cross of his arms and looked at Luka defiantly. “Dad said to. I was just doing what Dad said. He’s the best in the business—he has been for years—so I just trusted that he knew what he was talking about. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Luka pursed his lips, trying to understand how a person could have their head so firmly in the sand to the point where they couldn’t acknowledge that they’d made a mistake. “But didn’t it feel wrong playing someone else’s music? I put a lot of myself into my songs, little bits of life experience, the things that happen to me, the things I feel. I couldn’t imagine playing someone else’s music with the same intimacy that I play my own. Didn’t it feel wrong to play something that wasn’t yours?”

Deep trenches formed in XY’s forehead as he tried to comprehend Luka’s meaning. “No,” he answered bluntly. “I just…you know. I make music that’s catchy, sure to be popular. Repetitive. I don’t ‘put myself into the music’, so…it’s just…whatever, you know?”

Slowly, Luka began to nod as he started to understand where the disconnect was coming from. “I always thought your music sounded soulless.” He didn’t say it in a mean way. It didn’t sound like an insult, more like a realization, an epiphany.

XY still didn’t like it.

He crossed his arms harder and shifted his weight so that it rested on his right leg, making his hip jut out. “Okay, well, tell me how to ‘put myself into the music’, then, if you’re so great.”

Luka’s expression softened. “I’d hardly call myself great, but…if you really want to make authentic music, the first step is to stop caring so much about what sells.”

XY visibly recoiled.

Making marketable music was the catechism Bob Roth had drilled into his son from an early age, so Luka’s first step sounded like downright heresy.

“Seriously,” Luka chuckled (making XY’s body stand at attention because Luka was laughing, and that laughter was directed at him). “You’re an established musician with hundreds of thousands of fans. There are people who will buy whatever you put out, so it’s not like you have to be so rigid. You have some wiggle room to experiment, so stop thinking about what sells and think instead about what you like.”

“What I like,” XY repeated, feeling clueless.

Luka nodded. “Sure. What kind of music do you like?”

XY bit his lip. “I don’t…I don’t really know.”

Luka’s eyebrows started to inch together. “Well…maybe figure that out first.”

“How?” XY challenged. If Luka was giving XY instructions, he wanted concert steps he could follow, none of this “figure it out” crap. XY was not much of a thinker. He couldn’t “figure it out” unless someone else explained it to him.

“Listen to a wide variety of music. Listen to classical, listen to folk music, rap, jazz, gamelan music, traditional Japanese shamisen and koto…listen to everything. Professionals, people busking in parks and in the subway, birdsong, the sound a bottle makes when you blow into it, children playing, passing cars, the wind in the trees, the sound of dropped coins, water splashing in a fountain. Listen until you find something that resonates with you,” Luka advised.

XY pursed his lips, furrowing his brow in confusion. “How will I know when it resonates with me?”

“You’ll know,” Luka assured. “You’ll feel it through your whole body. You’ll get really excited and want to share it with someone. You’ll know, and when you do, try to make something like it—Not a copy,” Luka was quick to clarify.

“Don’t copy it note for note if it’s another piece of music. Just create whatever it inspires you to make. After you’ve done that the first time, you’ll understand the process better, and then you’ll be able to keep your ears open as you go about your day,” he insisted, seeing the skeptical look on XY’s face.

Luka smiled encouragingly. “Inspiration will come if you just keep your ears open. Maybe it will be a snatch of something someone in the street is humming or the sound of someone’s laughter or the buzz of cicadas or an intricate display in a shop window. It can be anything so long as it strikes a chord in you. Just be open to the sounds and sights around you, how they make you feel. Feelings can be inspiration too. Sometimes you need to throw in a tritone or a two to get across the tension and unease.”

“Triton?” XY repeated, feeling lost.

Luka shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. The important thing is to try to incorporate your feelings and the things you come across in your daily life that strike a chord with you into your music. Don’t worry about if it sells. Just use your experiences to make something that you’re happy with. That’s what it means to ‘put yourself into the music’.”

XY’s fingers tightened around his bicep. “I don’t know. I don’t think I can do that. I’m not…” He looked away, mumbling, “I’m not very talented like that. I don’t have good ideas.”

Luka frowned. “I think your fans would disagree.”

XY blinked, surprised at the gentleness in Luka’s tone. He was so used to his father laughing and agreeing when XY commented upon how stupid or talentless he was. It had turned into a kind of sick inside joke, so it was jarring for the conversation to veer from the script he’d grown so accustomed to.

“It might be hard at first, but if you really want to make music that you yourself are happy with, you can do it. You’re already a professional musician with an eager audience. You don’t have to fight to get your music heard. Take the opportunity to experiment a little. Everyone has a song inside of them. You can find yours,” Luka encouraged.

XY’s insides melted.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had cheered him on like that, telling him that he could do something. Luka made it sound so simple, made him think he could actually do it, create music for himself. Luka had XY believing that he really could find his own song if he dug down deep for it, the music reverberating inside of him even before he decided to go into the music business to connect with his father and make Bob Roth happy.

XY’s heart fluttered. He wanted to get to know this guy better. He wanted to hear Luka talk more, watch Luka’s eyebrows and the corners of his mouth as they made the most interesting microexpressions, injecting so much unspoken meaning into the exchange.

The words, “Can I take you out for coffee?” were on the tip of XY’s tongue when a dressing room door down the hall opened, and the giant guy from Luka’s band stuck his head out, calling, “Hey, Luka, you coming?”

“Just a minute!” Luka replied and then turned back to XY with a smile XY wouldn’t soon forget.

“I’ve got to go, but good luck.” Luka visibly hesitated, biting his lip and crinkling his brow, before adding, “And maybe don’t listen to your dad all the time. You might one day regret the person he’s turned you into.”

Luka patted XY on the arm and turned to go. “I hope you find your song.”

XY’s skin burned through his signature jacket in the shape of Luka’s hand. On the inside, his brain was exploding into fireworks in the loveliest shades of blue and green. Luka’s eyes were indelibly stamped on the back of XY’s eyelids, their delicate blue glowing in a way XY knew he’d be seeing in his dreams.

 Bob Roth ranted all during the long drive back to Le Grand Paris on the other side of town. Mostly it was a torrent of abuse directed toward Luka, Kitty Section, Chat Noir, and Ladybug, but there were some barbed comments about XY’s musical abilities and IQ as well.

XY sank down low in his seat, feeling miserable…until he thought of Luka.

Luka’s kind words, gentle smile…his expressive eyes, lyrical laugh.

I hope you find your song.

For the first time in a long time, XY really wanted to. He wanted to make music for the sake of fun and not have to worry about whether it would stick in people’s ears and sell copies.

XY wanted Luka to hear the music he made and think it was good. He wanted to put himself in the music and have Luka think it was good…think XY was good.

As soon as they made it back to their suite of rooms at the hotel, XY headed straight for the shower to avoid a further tirade from his father as well as to wash all of the product out of his hair.

He changed into less conspicuous skinny jeans, purple converse, and a white baseball shirt with purple, three-quarter length sleeves. He lost the blinged-out necklace advertising his identity, added oversized movie star sunglasses, and piled his long, blonde hair into a bun at the top of his head.

“I’m going out incognito, Dad,” he called as he made his way towards the door. “Back in a bit.”

Bob scoffed at his son’s appearance. “You look like Man Bun Ken. Didn’t I tell you never to style your hair like that? What if someone sees you? It’ll ruin your image.”

XY shrugged. “They won’t recognize me. I’m not wearing my bling or my signature jacket. No one will know it’s me without the tall hair,” he assured, hustling out the door.

He ended up in the Place des Vosges, sitting in the shade of the trees at the base of the Louis XIII statue with the weird tree trunk coming up through the middle of the horse.

Children were shrieking with joy as they played on the playground at the south-east corner of the park. The fountains were burbling, and XY could hear the indistinct, hypnotic murmur of people picnicking out on the grass. Birds sang, and someone was playing something jazzy on a saxophone under one of the arches of the brick underpass leading into the plaza. The notes echoed, reverberating out into the world.

The sun was slowly sinking, evening coming on with a vanguard of soft orange and yellow and rose-tinted light. The sky overhead was still blue. Blue, like Luka’s eyes, Luka’s hair, Luka’s clothing.

Blue.

Luka’s laugh, soft and self-conscious, bounced around inside of XY’s head like a song playing on repeat.

XY frowned, recalling Luka’s advice for creating authentic music. Hadn’t he said that XY could take inspiration from anywhere? Birdsong or dropped coins or someone’s laughter?

A melody started forming in XY’s mind, bouncing along to the cadence of Luka’s chuckle.

He hurried home and worked long into the dim hours of the dawn twilight on his song. It was nothing like when he’d made pieces focusing only on what would sell. That was formulaic and could be done, not in the five minutes he’d bragged to Alec about, but at least in one sitting. This, what he was doing now, making authentic music, was uncharted territory, and it took days of tweaking to get the song just right.

He called it Blue and presented it to his father the following weekend.

Bob Roth scoffed at it, saying that it was too obscure, too niche to sell to the masses, but that was okay with XY. He was happy with his song…and he thought Luka might be too.

It had been hard but fun and satisfying to create something heartfelt, to put himself into the music. He decided, after that first song, to walk around with his ears open and create more authentic music.

 He thought about trying to get in contact with Luka, but every time he was on the cusp of actually doing something about his crush, he lost his nerve. Luka was probably dating that Marinette girl. Besides, what would Luka and XY have in common? Luka was really smart; what would he see in XY? What would XY’s dad say? Bob Roth had told XY that he could only date women and that he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone that he liked guys, so what was the point?

Time stretched on, and it eventually started to feel too random to go up to a guy he’d met once a year ago (two years ago, five years ago, seven years ago) and tell him what a difference he’d made in XY’s life, how XY had feelings for him, wanted to know him better.

XY settled for working on his music, creating something Luka would enjoy and respect. He secretly followed Kitty Section’s career and then Luka’s when he went solo. He attended almost every concert he could, incognito so as not to cause a scene. In private, he devoured Luka’s interviews, the photos posted on Instagram, the blog posts, the tweets.

He let his feelings smolder in secret for years until one night, ten years after they’d first met, XY and Luka attended the same party. He saw Luka’s name on the confirmed guestlist and put his plan into motion. His heart fluttered when he saw Luka there, standing off on his own. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and XY couldn’t help but take it.

#LuXY #luxyweek2k20 #Lukadrien #Lukadrienette #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Luka Couffaine #XY #Xavier-Yves Roth #Luka Couffaine/XY Roth #Mikau's Writings #Welcome to La-La Land

[hoochy-coo]

Hello,its the jeans anon, I've seen you speak very in depth about jeans and camilles jeans and I was wondering if I could have some help, I'm a plus size girly, super thick thighs and I'm around 5'6 and I was wondering if you had any Jean recommendations or tips on how to find good jeans because I feel super discouraged when talking about like vintage jeans because a lot of them seem to cater to one or not a wide variety of body types🥺😔

Hey! 

Firstly, I’m sorry your ask got lost on the other blog! Secondly, I’m so sorry to hear that you feel discouraged about finding your dream VTG jeans and that it has been a struggle for you to find ones that suit you. You’re correct in the assessment that VTG jeans, in general, are highly unaccommodating to body shapes that don’t reflect the unrealistic standard for the ideal female physiques, of that era. I completely get the frustration! Here are a few things you can do to find ones that fit right: 

1) VTG Wrangler (specifically Rough Riders). Here’s why - the average Wrangler jeans fit women with curves better. I’m not sure if it’s the design or the material but in general, their women line look better on women with some shape and ass to them. Look for ones with the black rectangle tag (it will have ‘Rough Riders’ written on them and it’s usually stitched next to the belt loop), they usually come without back pockets (bummer, I know!) but they’re quite flattering on curvier girls. They’re SUPER high-waisted so if you’re into high-rise denim then these may be for you!

2) VTG Bongo - same reason as the one given above for the Wranglers.

3) 80′s denim. I know the 80′s are known for mum jeans but a lot of vintage denim that were made in that era are made to flatter and shape curves. The jeans made in the 60′s and 70′s don’t have as much room in the thighs area but they start to make them with way more room in the bum and thighs area in the 80′s. If you’re looking for Levi’s, look for 80′s 501. It’s less boyfriend jeans and more of a hybrid between a straight leg and mum jeans. If you’re into mum jeans, then you’re in luck because you can find tons of that style from that time period. 

4) Men’s VTG jeans. If you wouldn’t mind spending a few extra bucks on tailoring, you should most definitely give vintage men jeans a go. There are tons going around for cheap and since most of them are made to be a looser fit, you’re guaranteed more room in areas where you feel like you might need it most. Just measure your thighs and hips to see if they match the measurements of the jeans. Then take it into the tailors to get the waist pulled in. This is actually a great option because the jeans will fit you perfectly and there’s a lot more variety (colour, material, style) on the market for men jeans anyway. 

5) Levi’s 512. I actually find this to be an almost safe bet as far as VTG Levi’s goes. They flatter every shape and there’s a large variety of sizes. Again, look for ones made around the 80′s because they definitely have more room in the hips/waist areas. 

If you’re over the hunt period, there are also some modern options:

1) Levi’s - Levi’s actually come out with an ‘orange tab’ collection every year which is basic a direct rip off of their VTG cuts and stitching but with a few adjustments (usually in material) so that it can fit a variety of shapes. They brought out a re-made of the 517′s last year but in a cropped style, and they’re PERFECT for curvy girls. I have little to no curves and it looked funny on me but they looked perfect on my friends who were leaning towards plus-size. I’m pretty sure tons of them are still being sold second-hand on Depop. 

2) 2% Lycra. It goes a long way trust me. This gives you wiggle room for your behind. Just make sure to wash them cold and don’t over-wash them or they’ll start to stretch in the waist area (like ridiculously quick). 

Additional tips:

1) Know your measurements. This goes for all shapes and all sizes but in particular, curvier girls should always aim to measure their thigh and hips area. If they don’t fit, then that’s it. You can’t take even take them into the tailors and even if they can do something about it, it will cost you big bucks. 

2) Fading is IMPORTANT. Try not to buy denim with weird fading around the inner thigh area. I know faded denim is IN right now but they can accentuate all the wrong parts and make you look disproportionate/bigger in size than you are in that area. 

3) Don’t trust sizing for VTG jeans. Again, this goes for all shape. If the tag says the jeans has a 28 inch waist, it’s most likely about a 26 inch waist. You don’t need to beat yourself up if you can’t fit in whatever size the jeans are supposed to be according to their tag - sizing scales has changed over time, that’s all!

4) Styles that are especially flattering for your shape: Bootcut (lengthen your body, make you look slimming) and skinny jeans that are cropped right above the ankle (show off them curves!)

5) Styles to avoid: Wide-leg jeans. They do 0 for your shape and you’ll run the risk of looking frumpy if you style them wrong. 

#ask #answer #denim #advice #jeans #fashion #style

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Put Together (BC x Reader)

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Street Artist!Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Moving in together is a pretty big milestone which goes accompanied by a fun shopping trip to IKEA, wandering through the showrooms to gain inspiration for the shared home.

Putting things together, however, proves to be very difficult for a kangaroo and a koala.

Masterlist

Everything has a bright and dark side for all in the world contains positivity and its counterpart. Such is the way of existence, although the shadow side might not be realized until later when trying to put together the furniture bought for the brand new shared studio in a redeveloped part of the town, the community trying to save face by improving neglected neighbourhoods just enough in the hopes of attracting young people to thus let it flourish at their hands. A successful endeavour, since many couples in the prime of their lives have taken up residence in the harbour district with refurbished warehouses decorated with approved graffiti, some works even by the hand of the Australian boyfriend of a mere though steady nine months.

The trip to IKEA was a lot of fun, singing along to songs playing on the voluminous radio on the top of lungs while waiting in a terrible rush hour because more minds had the idea of visiting the massive home depot on a dreary day. It was the sole way to keep the simmering irritation thanks to standing endlessly frozen among honking cars to a bare minimum, fingers entwined while getting lost in the melodies.

The briefly picked up on looks of adoration as interior showrooms were scoured for inspiration were heart-melting, Chris noting down all the chosen pieces of furniture on the small slip of paper with the cheap company pencil regardless of the fact the decisions were basically made without leaving many choices to the blonde boy. When remarking upon the continuous silent agreement, only occasionally providing some input on colour choice, the youth commented that building a home together is all that really mattered to him. Moreover, there was confidence in knowing better how to embody both personalities in the interior than he himself would have been able to do. Henceforth, howbeit with this somewhat uncomfortably in mind, the would-be massive shopping trip cracked on.

Alongside pure affection, there was also a dominant sense of pride in deep earthly eyes that seeped through in attitude, proud to have made it to this milestone, this achievement that was solely a dream for both on lonely days wherein the concept of love was practically unknown aside from family bonds and friendships formed at school. A satisfied innocent smile could not be erased from roseate lips throughout the entire venture, broadening to a wide bubbly smile when testing couches by launching ourselves onto them or spinning around in desk chairs together, seated on the personified koala’s lap and holding on for dear life to the characteristic raven black leather jacket, in search of the perfect one for the planned small home office.

Withal, every sort of happiness comes at a cost, this being that the ecstatic joy has malformed into frustrating confusion now that cardboard boxes retrieved from the immense storehouse litter the bare oaken floor of the empty echoing studio and the time has come to put the furniture together with, at times questionable, manuals. Missing screws or seemingly misplaced pre-created holes form only two of the multitude of sources for agitation, Chris’s brightness gradually becoming darker as the time passes and solely the round coarse night-toned metal coffee table, a few wall shelves, the stone grey couch - this one in particular with a lot of cursing and fuming in resilience after almost ripping the papers with step-by-step instructions - and a single bookshelf awaiting its three neighbours have been established in three hours time.

The cap that was bought on the first trip abroad as a couple, Scotland as its destination, is thrown to the side with a low resigning sigh after reading the supposedly easy to understand guide to the second one of the collection of bookshelves, a bright alabaster cabinet with glass doors. ‘It doesn’t make sense. How is it possible that one door fits perfectly and the other doesn’t?’

‘Did you put the clasps parallel to the others?’  ‘Yes, I did. Look,’ by means of illustration, the inside of the display is shown, pointing at the metal hinges in the designated places which are, indeed, parallel to those opposite, ‘I placed them where you said.’

The position of those already in the correct place was discovered after giving the advice of perhaps reading the text on the paper the correct way instead of upside down and yet vocal directions still had to be given to reach the current part of the building process. Not to say Chris is not the most skilled person when it comes to IKEA furniture or any furniture for that matter, but the flashback of the battle with the first bookcase makes it so that a slight scepticism has come to colour attitude in the predicament caused by this, apparently, problematic one.

‘Let me give it a spin, maybe I’ll be able to insert it. You might break the glass if you try to ram it in like this.’ The former four attempts at placing the door where it should go according to the guide went dramatically wrong, every carefully made endeavour to take on the task instead cut off by assuring snarky remarks. Any gently given direction of slightly altering the angle of insertion was dismissed with a coldly sharp comment about perfectly being able to handle it, so that, too, did not help in regards to any sort of progress.

Howbeit very reluctant, a chance is given with pouted lips and mocha eyes glaring at the last piece of the puzzle. ‘Good luck. I swear, if you manage to- oh.’

As predicted, all that was needed to do was manipulating the insert angle of the door a tad, the discovery leading to an indignant huff accompanied by a check-up whether the seemingly impossible mission has truly been accomplished. Which it obviously is, judging by the golden locks hanging in self-deprecating shame and sarcastic inwardly directed speech. ‘Are you serious?’

A pat on the shoulder makes the street artist raise his head at a broad smug smile on a beloved face, finding satisfaction in being better in doing something which is generally associated with men. ‘I told you how to do it, didn’t I? If only you’d listened.’

‘Oh, come on, Y/N. I still managed to put the couch together on my own because you weren’t a lot of help with that.’ An accusing index finger points to the ashen fabric sofa set against the far east wall, above which has yet to be hung the collection of empty sleek lacquered black frames for displaying Chris’s drawings specially made for decorating the house.

‘I was looking for the missing screws!’ Palms rise into the air in dramatic defence, gaze unbelieving of the argument. ‘How was I supposed to know the rest was just a matter of inserting one part into the other?’

‘Sure, koala.’ The devious smile faded from one visage is replicated on the other, evidently not backing out of the witty battle until a triumph is had, hands firmly placed on the hips, thus pressing the fabric of the loose shadow-toned shirt covered in wood snippets and dust tightly over a well-trained chest. ‘But who also put together the coffee table?’

A denying shake of the head as raised digits lower again to be tucked into the pockets of the skinny jeans also affected by decorating the shared home, followed by an incredulous laugh at the attempted clever response proving superiority. ‘That was simply a matter of getting it out of the box, kangaroo boy.’

‘Oi, it also required some putting together.’ Pure uncensored defied belief seeps through in the voice of the street artist, unhappy with being unmasked by such an easy task that does not count in the overall grander picture.  

‘You only had to place the tabletop on its foundation, so that doesn’t count. Furthermore, who installed the shelves on the wall because someone could not handle the drill properly and almost drilled through the places for the attachments?’

Stark white teeth distractingly bite down on the bottom lip, Chris turning away to hide the shame of the almost accident whereby a woman’s touch formed the apparent saviour of a ruined interior before daringly locking gazes. ‘If the coffee table does not count as furnishing than that doesn’t as well. And it’s not my fault the wood is so thin, it’s easy to completely run it through if there’s barely any depth or thickness to it.’

‘No, it isn’t. You’re just clumsy, but you don’t want to admit it.’

An eyebrow is arrogantly cocked at the defiant street artist, who copies the attitude with the intention to counterattack with a sarcastic comment that shall continue the bickering until a clear victor appears. ‘Me? Clumsy? Who almost dropped the boxes with candle holders for the bedroom yesterday?’

Well, for what has to function as a bedroom since it is nothing more than a simple oaken bed frame with drawers and two matching night tables made of the same material, located in the space next to the little balcony looking out over the old harbour. Again, it was established with the necessary cursing and risk of a shredded manual, the help continuously searching the massive cardboard box for the needed parts sometimes wrapped in bubble wrap while trying to keep the kangaroo boy’s temper under control. As it would seem, the platinum blonde boyfriend is better at popping bubbles than reading and following the instructions given by IKEA.

‘That wasn’t because I’m clumsy, but because you scared the living daylights out of me by suddenly appearing and trying to wrestle me to the ground.’ As a means of giving extra strength to the point, a stern finger points from an offended face to the scene of the past accident, speaking with a higher tone now that sensitive nerves truly are on edge with triggering memories.

Yesterday, it had seemed like a genius prank to jump out of the bathroom while bringing in the newly acquired fragile candle holders that had the Aussie frantically search the massive lower floor of the home depot only to find the mysteriously disappeared girl again in the candle section, judging which holder would go with what candle and colour while also keeping the outlay of the planned interior in mind. Thus, the notion of caution while bringing in the unloaded boxes with frames and accessories that had temporarily formed a fort in the cool hallway of the apartment building was entirely nullified, even though the culprit put a special emphasis on this beforehand when it was him carrying the vases for the bouquets of fake flowers. A scattering of violet reflecting glass almost formed the consequence of the affectionately meant yet aggravating instead gesture, the youth barely able to save face by rapidly steadying a toppling stance and breakable decoration.

Household chores are up to the artist for the coming month as a punishment.

‘Alright, fair point. But still, you especially wanted the crystal ones while you know I can attack at any time.’ A foreboding playful stance is taken up, the bickering entirely forgotten as crossed arms unravel to spread wide while the back arches in the anticipation of pouncing on the targeted prey in front with a mischievous grin.

The step backwards does nothing to escape the fate already set in motion, the wiggle of dark eyebrows promising there is no escape from the love about to be shown. Regardless of the urge to attempt to find a way out, it is difficult to suppress the amusement as the predatory stance changes to resemble a kangaroo which results in a chuckled warning. ‘Chris, don’t.’

‘I’m gonna catch you~.’ A provocative hop forward with an adorable high-pitched giggle, bleached locks obscuring the sparkling mocha stare.

‘No, you won’t.’ Another step backwards on the bare oaken floor, answering the threat with a voice truly bordering on pure innocent laughter. ‘Catch me if you can.’

What ensues is a weirdly human kangaroo madly chasing his offender who has fully joined in the grinning, cutely though relentlessly continuing the chase after her until she is driven into the kitchen corner and picked up with ease by strong veiny arms in a twirling fashion.

When feet touch the ground again, they linger a few centimetres from the ones which pursued them a mere second ago, cheek contently resting on the onyx fabric displaying the effect of furnishing, listening to the steady heartbeat of the cheekily smiling beloved. ‘You’re an idiot, Chris Bang.’

‘Could say the same for you, koala.’ A kiss on the crown of the head results in a glance upward into warm adoring chocolate irises, which, in turn, leads to another gentle meeting but this time between mouths with a tenderness that erases some of the devilish attitudes in both individuals. The embrace tightens, ensuring the instincts always triggered in each other’s presence there is nothing but a safe haven, a home for two people to grow in.

Though wanting to remain in the moment for as long as possible, much remains to be done and has to be for the day might still be young yet demands action, knowing the cardboard mess is unbearable to live in. Moreover, the break from daily obligations has a deadline that would rather not be extended due to a delay in settling into the new studio together. Henceforth, breathless lips laboriously pull away as a big palm comes to cup the cheek while a desperate urgency begs for a deeper connection. ‘Let’s take a break and then crack on with the other bookshelves and the dining room. Would be nice to not eat dinner on the floor for once.’

For a second, Chris is clearly at a loss for words and composure, still leaning forward with puzzlement plastered across the lost expression. Nonetheless, it is soon replaced with an amiable relief at getting a repose from putting together incomprehensible installations, consenting to the plan with a pleased hum.

The happiness of the pause with peach ice teas and fruit salad does not linger long because next up are the other bookshelves so that the living room is at least somewhat done, needing only a few fake though lush green plants, Chan’s framed works on the bare walls and a few other homely accessories alongside filled shelves to finish it off officially.

It only takes five minutes for a ripped manual.

#Stray Kids #SKZ #Stray Kids x Reader #kpopwonderlandtag #Bangchan #Bang Chan #Chris Bang

[quousque]

11 Tag

(Rules: Answer eleven questions, make eleven questions and tag eleven people)

Thanks @forgetting-how-to-breathe for tagging me!

What’s your favourite genre of music?

I like a lot of stuff, tbh, but my favorite is stuff I can sing along to. I listen to a lot of classic rock (first radio station I found when I moved to Missoula and I never changed it), and old country music (Kingston Trio, thanks mom)

What’s your favourite kind of book to read? (This doesn’t have to be restricted to genre answers)

I read a lot of fantasy books, but lately I’ve been gravitating towards informative nonfiction, like books on Roman/Greek history and culture, or books about specific topics (e.g. history of spinning, weaving, and fiber crafts).

Do you prefer TV series or films?

Series, because there’s so much more material for the fandom to work with, so there’s usually a greater variety and abundance of ships, headcanons, etc. And the fandoms stay more active for longer, because of the extended release of content.

Do you have a favourite place?

Interlochen, Michigan would have to be high up there. My grandparents have a cottage on a lake and my family visited every summer when I was a kid. 

Do you have a fairly set day to day routine or do you fly be the seat of your pants?

A mix of both. I have a set routine for getting ready in the morning, and a set routine for getting ready for the next day (if I don’t pack everything I need for the next day the night before, I am 100% guaranteed to forget something AND be late). My going to bed routine is a mess, but better than it was. If one tiny thing in the sleep routine goes wrong, all of my routines fall apart and it takes weeks to put it back together. So I work really hard to safeguard my routines, but I end up flying by the seat of my pants a lot anyway.

What’s one thing you wish you could change? (About yourself, the world, the universe, whatever)

I would want to not have ADHD. If someone offered to snap their fingers and cure it instantly, literally reform my brain so it worked properly, I would say yes with no hesitation. It’s a debilitating disability that affects literally every aspect of my life, and is indirectly responsible for a lot of emotional and physical pain. 

How would you describe your sense of style?

mix of form-fitting (ish) athletic wear because I do some form of sports 6 days a week, graphic tshirts from when I was dressing exclusively in loose, baggy men’s clothing, and beginning to branch out into more standard women’s clothes (for instance, I own one (1) pair of jeans. Sure they’re men’s skinny jeans, but they fit me better than any women’s jeans I’ve ever worn). The unifying factor is that everything I wear has POCKETS.

How would you describe the aesthetic of your living space? Is it different or the same from your goal aesthetic?

nonexistent, as I’m between places currently. But judging by my last place, the aesthetic is Workbench in the Corner, Knick-knacks on the Shelves, Lots of Stuff, and also Where is the Floor, Why is your Room Carpeted in Clothes and Piles of Paper?. I’ve been working really hard on not having a constant mess, and though no one would call me neat, I’ve improved a lot. Hopefully one day I’ll have a lot less stuff (keeping the knick-knacks tho), and I won’t leave a whole bunch of shit on the floor all the time.

Do you have any odd hobbies or skills? (Odd here can be defined in a broad sense, or in a “I’m the only one of my friends that knows how to__” kind of way)

I’m a fencer, which isn’t too common. I also like to construct costumes, but, like, out of random shit I find lying around and almost always last-minute. Last-minute costuming on the cheap is my jam. I’m also into storytelling, LARP/roleplaying (improv acting, even though I’ve never actually taken an improv class), and solving random problems by building something. I often see something and think “I could do that better” or “No one does this in a way that’s perfect for me, so I guess I will”. Thus, I’ve made my own shoes, sports bras, fencing chest protector, fencing test box socket adaptor, extra tall workbench so I can stand while I work, etc.

What is your dream job?

Maybe a therapist? Or an ADHD coach. Something that involves helping people, in a teaching kind of way, but where I’m providing the environment and coaching for them to figure it out themselves. I want to help people non-neurotypical people who struggle with things that other people don’t struggle with, because I know that struggle, I know how hard it is. And I’m pretty good at listening to people and making them feel understood, which is a skill I’d like to build on. I also want a job where I can set my own schedule, take large chunks of time off, leaves room for lots of hobbies, pays well enough, and is engaging so that there’s always a new problem to solve, but not so demanding that I end up dedicating all my time and energy to it.

Another dream job would be designing gear- for fencing, hiking/backpacking, travel, etc.

What would your dream home look like?

Small and easy to maintain, with a small work out area and a large workshop. Far away from traffic noise, with a nice view and a nice yard. Preferably next to open space. Walking distance from grocery stores, job, most places I’d need to go. Not more than 20 minute drive away from friends, work, etc. Any color except beige.

I’m tagging @olofahere , @terpsikeraunos , @persian-slipper , @freeformtarsier , @bee-fabulous , @punk-lucifer , @oddchelonian , @lost-in-pink , @shadowmaat, @aethersea , and @anexperimentallife !

Questions for y’all to answer:

1. Would you rather have ripped arms, or really jacked legs? Why?

2. If you could instantly become pretty good (like, won state high school championships good, not olympic good) at any sport or other activity, what would you choose?

3. Ideal living situation, in terms of people you’re living with. Alone? Nuclear family? Just significant other? Roommates? Platonic life partners? Three generations of family? Polycule? You and 500 cats?

4. If you could change one thing about your town/city/place of habitation, what would you change?

5. If your current country of residence were to decide to move its capitol, where do you think they should put it, and why?

6. What thing have you done this past week that you are most proud of?

7. What was the most confusing, perplexing, or befuddling thing that happened to you in the past week?

8. What are you most looking forward to in the coming week?

9. If you are in any fandoms, what is the fandom you are currently most active in? What do you like best about it? What would you change? 

10. stupidest reason you’ve ever decided you like something?

11. A unicorn bewitches you such that every time you hear someone snap their fingers, you turn into a certain animal (and back when you hear another snap). What animal would you choose to turn into?

[tinypeckers]

Are you a campfire? Because you’re hot & I want s’more.

Pairing(s): Aleks/James (NovaHD) and… well, you’ll just have to find out.

Words: 2,047

AO3

Summary: Summer rolls around once more and really, there’s a tradition to uphold and the tents & camp fire are calling their name. Except Dan and Jordan are going to have their hands full keeping James & Aleks apart for a different reason. (Part of the ‘Is that a flicker in your eyes?’ universe.)

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine TenEleven Twelve ThirteenFourteenFifteenSixteenSeventeen EighteenNineteen Twenty Twenty-One

A/N: I will always love these characters, I will always love this story and in a way, I’ll always love The Creatures.

The next morning, Aleks swore that Jordan was ripping open his tent door before the sun had even risen. That or his father’s large body was blocking out the light. Aleks ducked further into his sleeping bag, pressing his nose against the side and breathing in the cheap polyester.

“C’mon, Aleks – get up or you’ll miss the mountain walk,” Jordan said.

“Oh no, I’ll miss exercising. I’ll just have to sleep more.” Aleks stretched as much as he could inside his sleeping bag. Jordan kicked at his wriggling body. Aleks groaned peeped his head out. Jordan raised his eyebrow at him. Aleks slowly unzipped his bag and yawned. It was only when he raised his arms above his head and pushed his feet into the bottom of his sleeping bag that Jordan left.

“I want you out here in ten minutes Aleks or you’ll miss breakfast,” Jordan said. Aleks rolled his eyes but started to unzip his sleeping bag.

 James, Seamus, Eddie and Dan were huddled around the grill. Eddie pulled the crispy, brown bits of egg from his roll. He flicked them onto a paper towel. Dan picked each piece up and shoved it into his mouth. James supported his head on one fist, watching the tent Aleks was getting dressed in. He squinted at the shadow he could see through the flimsy material. He closed his eyes for a second to imagine what Aleks looked like at that moment. It was as close to Aleks as he could get until the trip was over. Seamus was sucking on his fingers in an effort to try and clean them. Jordan clicked his tongue and pulled from his shirt pocket a scented wipe he’d hoarded from the many restaurants they’d visited that week. Seamus thanked him in the form of a smile. His finger popped as he pulled it from his mouth. Jordan shivered as he saw the streaks of ketchup smeared across Seamus’ finger.

 Jordan scoffed as Aleks came swaggering out of the tent. He had his hands rammed into the pockets of his skinny jeans. The skin of his fingers bunched up around the lining. His hair remained unbrushed as it stuck out at odd angles. His jacket was rolled up at the sleeves and his shoes had more holes in them than a net. Aleks shielded his eyes from the sun with large dark sunglasses. As he got closer to the group, he tipped his head and the glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. Aleks slipped into James’ lap and winked at his boyfriend.

“That doesn’t look appropriate for mountain walking,” Jordan said. Aleks rolled his eyes at him.

“It doesn’t need to be appropriate, I look cool.” Aleks shot finger guns at his father. Jordan opened his mouth to say something else but James beat him to it.

“You look like a douchebag,” James said. Aleks whacked him on the arm for his efforts.

“Right, come on – Aleks, eat something and let’s go,” Dan clapped his hands together.

 _-_

 James and Aleks bumped shoulders as their steps started get slower and slower. They watched their families start to disappear over a hill. They came to a stop and James tugged his boyfriend off of the path. Aleks looked down at their hands and smiled. James used his thumb to guide Aleks’ eyes to his. He pinched the frames of Aleks’ sunglasses and pulled them away so that he could see his boyfriend.

“Hey,” James said. Aleks’ eyes wrinkled at the corners as he laughed, leaning forward into James’ chest. His breath tickled James’ neck as he giggled into it. James tried not to smile, burying his face in Aleks’ bedhead to try and hide it. Aleks stood back up after a few minutes, wiping away a few stray tears that had slipped. “This is our spot,” James said. Aleks looked around.

“Are you sure? It doesn’t look like the exact spot,” he said. James rolled his eyes.

“A technicality – it’s still the same place we first kissed.” James tucked Aleks’ sunglasses into the collar of his shirt. He brushed his thumb across Aleks’ cheek.

 Aleks was the one who leaned forward, letting their lips meet in a gentle caress. For a second they just shared breath, savouring the moment, before they deepened the kiss. James’ fingers slipped into Aleks’ hair and ruffled it further. Aleks’ fingers wound around James’ shirt and pulled. The material wrinkled between his fingers. It felt as though their whole summer had led to this moment. They broke away for just a second to catch their breath, caught each other’s eyes and both thanked their lucky stars that they were dating. Then James pressed his lips back against Aleks’, snaking his arm around his boyfriend’s waist and pulling him impossibly close.

 “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew, gross.” Eddie cupped his hands around his mouth. James and Aleks leapt away from one another. Aleks placed his heart against his chest as he realised that it was just Eddie. James went bowling towards him, hands curled into fists. As he came upon his younger brother, Eddie threw his hands up in surrender and backed away. Seamus popped up from behind Eddie. He slid in front of his best friend and smiled sweetly up at James.

“What are you doing here?” James growled. Seamus stepped back against his friend.

“We wanted you guys so that we could do something,” Seamus said. James frowned.

“It couldn’t have waited?” He folded his arms across his chest. Aleks walked over to the three of them and cupped James’ shoulder. He gave it a little squeeze.

“What did you want, Moose?” Aleks said.

 Seamus reached into his pocket and pulled out the headless lady from the tiny town. Aleks took her from him, running his thumb over her neck where her head would have been attached.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about her.” Aleks showed the figure to James. James rolled his eyes.

“Cool, you brought the headless lady on a walk. Now if you don’t mind,” James tugged on Aleks hand. His boyfriend pulled away from him and clicked his tongue.

“What did you want to do with her?” Aleks handed the figure to his brother. Seamus shrugged.

“I thought we could bury her,” Seamus said. Aleks gasped and snatched the figure back.

“But why? She’s awesome!” Aleks cradled the figurine to his chest. He rubbed down her back and cooed at it as thought it was a real woman. James rolled his eyes.

“We’ll probably come back next year and do the same walk so I just thought it’d be fun to see if she’s still here,” Seamus said. Aleks frowned back at him.

“Why can’t we just bury something not so cool, like you?” Aleks said.

  Seamus scoffed. He stole the figurine back from Aleks and stomped over to where his older brother and James had been standing.

“Fine, if you don’t want to help bury her then buzz off.” Seamus crouched and ran his fingers against the ground. His nails disturbed dirt and brought some up.

“We were here first!” James threw his hands up. He watched as Eddie trod all over his and Aleks’ sacred spot and knelt in the dirt with Seamus. Aleks looked at his boyfriend. James stuck out his lower lip. He tugged on Aleks’ hand and gestured with his head to another spot – away from their younger brother’s eyes. Instead of complying, Aleks pulled James in the opposite direction. He guided his boyfriend to kneel in the dirt with their younger brothers and started to use his fingers to help dig it up. James groaned but shoved his hands into the ground anyway.

 They piled the dirt that they brought up to one side. When they’d made it deep enough, as per Seamus’ instruction, Eddie reached in and placed the headless lady into the hole. As he pulled his hands out, the bracelet on his wrist snagged on a twig that was trapped in the dirt. He ripped it away. Eddie didn’t notice that he’d torn the bracelet. The group of boys packed the earth on top of the figurine. When it was done, Seamus got James to break off a piece of bark from a nearby tree. They shoved it into the ground in a way that eerily resembled a grave stone.

“This is kind of morbid,” James commented. Seamus only shrugged. He stood up and brushed the dirt from his knees. He grabbed Eddie’s hand and helped him up. Even once Eddie was all right to stand by himself, they didn’t let go. Aleks stood up too and James held out his hand expectantly. Aleks turned the other way.

 James huffed as he pushed himself up. His fingers brushed something softer than dirt but he didn’t pay it any attention. He looked at his muddied hands and smirked to himself as Aleks looked away. His boyfriend cried out as James wiped his hands down his back. Aleks tutted as he turned around. He grabbed James’ wrists and used his grip to wipe the dirt from James’ hands onto his own face. James sputtered and closed his eyes. When he was dirty enough, Aleks let him go.

“Aleksandr, look what you’ve done!” James dragged his fingers down his cheek and showed them to his boyfriend. Aleks shrugged.

“You deserved it,” he said. James grumbled something and lunged at his boyfriend. Aleks darted away and James chased him around the path.

“What idiots,” Eddie said. Seamus couldn’t help but nod and agree.

  “What on earth did you boys get up to?” Dan wiped sweat from his forehead. He panted as he came to a halt, surveying the children before him. They were brown from head to toe. James and Aleks were breathless. James had his boyfriend in an unbreakable hold and occasionally Aleks twitched to try and escape it. Eddie and Seamus simply shrugged.

“Children, am I right?” Seamus said. He grinned at his own father. Jordan had his fingers wound into his hair and his teeth were bared to the world in an unpleasant grimace.

“We need to get you lot back to the camp so that you can take a shower,” Jordan said. He stormed ahead of their small group, wrinkling his nose at how dirty all of the boys were. Dan followed behind, walking in step with Seamus and Eddie while James and Aleks lagged behind.

“Y’know, next year all four of you will make it all the way through the trail,” Dan said. Seamus and Eddie laughed because yeah, right.

 It wasn’t until they were in the car that Eddie noticed that his wrist was once again bare. He gasped and showed it to Seamus. When they demanded that they turned the car around, both boys went ignored. Eddie sniffled. They’d made the bracelets to show their love and Eddie had lost his. Seamus linked their hands once again and smiled at his best friend.

“It’s okay – I can make you a better one when we’re home,” Seamus reassured. Eddie thanked him though he knew it wouldn’t feel the same. He tried to think of where it was and remembered that he’d snagged it when they had buried the headless lady. It made him sad to think that something Seamus had worked so hard on was covered in dirt and broken. Still, he smiled to himself as he was filled with hope that when they returned the next year, the bracelet would just be buried there with her and they’d find it again.

 Though when they did return a year later, the headless lady was still buried in her spot but all that was left of the bracelet were a few strands caked in mud. Seamus laughed at it and shook his head when Eddie cried out. He reminded Eddie of the new bracelet he’d made him and how Eddie somehow still had that one intact. It didn’t untangle the knot that had tied itself in Eddie’s stomach. He knew it was silly, but he couldn’t help but think the broken bracelet was a sign. He could only hope that the love he felt for Seamus and the love that Seamus felt for him would survive a lot longer than the cheap material of the bracelet.

#novahd #slypkc #fanfic #series #crtcampingau #rip lmao

[gguksgalaxy]

Chased pt. 1

Chased  – Engraved <– Engraved 14 | <– Sheltered 2 | Engraved 15 –> | Chased 2 –>

Short: Unlucky in love, Kim Jongdae finds himself wanted by a problem seeking journalist. What could not go wrong? Words: 3091 Type: Fluff/Smut/Angst Pairing: Chen x Sora (oc) Notes for Update: 25 Warnings: Shameless flirting and that stuff...Jongdae is sort of being a indecisive dick. XD A/N: This will run chronologically with Engraved, but it’s not needed to read this to understand Engraved, but the parts posted for Engraved after this will contain spoilers. It is also not necessary to read Engraved to understand what is happening here. But it will make things more clear.

AFF link Engraved line AFF link Chased only

Jongdae pov

He wasn’t sure why he was going. But will the whole fight between Angel and Xiumin still playing, he needed a night out. Angel was with Kyungsoo, they were growing closer, and he was so happy for them. Although he did feel her pull away slightly and it was…strange. After texting with Sora for about 2 weeks now, he wasn’t sure why he had given her his number. Or why he was texting with her. But after telling her he wouldn’t be coming to the bar she invited him to, he still found himself in the car on his way. Why? He wasn’t sure. Maybe he could just get drunk and have a good time. Forget about the looming danger behind them. The bar was a small place, in the district where a lot of students were housed. District 4. It mostly consisted of apartment building, sorority houses, clubs, and bars. The name The Flying Dutch made him cringe a little, what kind of place was she asking him to come? He parked the car about a block away, because the street was already loaded with cars. Maybe it was just busy. Inside it was dimly lit, music playing not too loud but good. There was a centre bar, and to his surprise it was white. Probably made of birch wood, he stepped over to one of the guys behind it. He was greeted friendlily. “What can I get you?” “Red wine.”

The other arched an eyebrow and took him in. “Okay. “ He said unsure, and Jongdae just asked him to keep open a tab. “I never took you for a red wine person.” Sora’s lithe voice sounded from behind him. He turned to face her. She was wearing black washed skinny jeans, ripped at the knee, and a simple tight dark grey t shirt. Of which the cut might’ve been a little low but he expected it. Her hair was down, almost straight, falling just past her shoulder blades. Fiery red, adding to the freckles scattered over her nose and under her eyes. “Hello to you too.” He spoke flatly. She laughed. “You’re going to act all sourpuss with me again? Then why did you come ha?” He rolled his eyes and finally noticed the object she was holding, a pool cue. “You’re playing pool?” “Billiard.” “Okay, sure.” “You in?” He chuckled, taking a sip of his wine, rolling the taste over his tongue. “I’m not.” She pouted, pushing her hair back, setting a hand on her hip. “Oh come on, live a little. We can make a bet. You came here for a reason, lets just have some fun.” The bet sort of peeked his interest and he had to try not to show it. Then she reached out to touch his arm, fingers skating over the leather of his jacket. She stopped at his wrist and pulled him along by the material, and he kind of stumbled along to the pool table. Or billiard table. Whatever. “I say we play for drinks.” She stated, grabbing a beer from the edge and taking a big gulp. Unattractive. “That’s a shitty bet for you little girl. Because wine here is at least one and a half times the price of a beer. Maybe twice.” “Twice. This is a student place, people from my sorority come here. Beer is cheap.” She walked around the table looking at him. “But I’m willing to make the bet. I mean, I’m good enough. So we might just say that you’re lucky that beer is cheap.” It ticked him off and he gritted his teeth. Her cockiness was surprising, but then again, he should’ve known. “Don’t be so sure of yourself sweetheart.” He smirked, unable to contain himself. She stepped up to him, slowly going around the table, holding his gaze. When she reached him, she looked directly into his eyes. Sora was the same height as him. She put a hand on his shoulder, slowly gliding it down his chest. He took her wrist before she reached his stomach. “What are you doing?” “What are yóú doing?” she smirked. He pulled her close by her wrist, and almost with his nose against hers he said. “The first turn is yours.” She smirked still, shaking her head as she pulled her wrist from his grip. “Take of your jacket.” She said as she bent over the table. “It’s warm in here.” With a sigh he shook the material off his shoulders, hanging it over a nearby barstool. He caught her watching him, eyes roaming over his arms that were exposed in the tight black shirt he was wearing. So he flexed his muscles for good measure. She bit her lip, probably unconsciously and he caught her again. He cocked an eyebrow at her when she looked at his eyes finally. “You’re going to take your turn or not?” “I’m white.” She said, taking the first shot and put the balls in play. This meant he played with the yellow ball, he played billiard a lot. He actually preferred it over pool. “So till how much do we play?” he asked, when he potted the red ball on the first turn. There was a twitch of annoyance on her face. “I say ten turns each? The one who has the most points wins.” “Bring it.” He said, handing her the cue. She took it, fingers brushing along his, and he watched as she swayed her hips. Sora was attractive, that was for sure, she had a slim build and long legs. There was something mischievous in her eyes as she bent over the table again and gave him a full view of her cleavage. Nothing wrong with that either. But she was trying way too hard. The line of her body was long as she stretched, she looked taller than she actually was. She pocketed his ball, and he saw that the way she played showed experience. Whether she was good he wasn’t sure. Another swig of his wine and he took his turn. They went on in silence for a little, playing, looking at each other. “You’re good.” She said, as she came back with another wine for him, and a beer for herself. She sat on the edge of the table and drank her beer straight from the bottle. “Where’d you learn how to play?” “At home.” “Where’s that?” “None of your business.” She clicked her tongue. “You still not up for an interview?” He took her chin, forced her to look at him straight. “I told you, we don’t do interviews. It’s against our rules. If that is the only reason you wanted me to come here I’m going to leave.” Jongdae stepped away from her and she hooked her finger in his belt loop to stop him. With a tug she had him turning back, and she gave him a half lidded gaze and did things to him he wouldn’t like to admit. “So then what did you come here for? I mean I never specified my own reason, but you did come.” He set his jaw, slapping her hand away. “To shut up that pretty little mouth of yours.” She scoffed. “You’re playing foul with me.” “Am I?” “Yes.” She stated simply and hopped off the table, purposely brushing her chest against his. Fuck, wasn’t she wearing a bra? Was the first thing he thought as he clearly felt her nipples brush against his shirt. “I see you have nipple piercings.” Sora bent over the table, flinging her hair back, looking up at him through her eyelashes. He stared at her for a moment not answering. “I see you’re not wearing a bra.” She chuckled and winked. “Bras are overrated.” Then she shot the ball, and pocketed it as if it was nothing. Had she been playing him? It took quite a while for her to mess up and him to get a turn again, and she handed him the cue, smirking lightly. “Game on.” She whispered in his ear. Jongdae bit his tongue, and took his turn. But he wasn’t in any way capable of catching up to her. So it was him next going for drinks that time. He took a sniff of her beer and thought it smelled disgusting, scrunching up his nose. He handed it to her with the same face. “How can you drink that shit?” She took a big swig and chuckled. “You sound like a spoiled girl. Only drinking wine.” Jongdae again rolled his eyes at her and went to the table to take his turn. He felt her eyes on him, gazing, smirking. “Stop looking at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like I’m some peace of meat.” She scoffed. “And you haven’t looked at my breasts once tonight?” “You put them on display purposely. I’m not trying to get anybodies attention.” He grumbled taking a shot and pocketing the red ball and his ball. “Plus I didn’t call you here to sleep with you.” She cocked an eyebrow when he pocketed the white and yellow ball after that. Then she strutted over as he leant back up. Sora’s hand was cold from her beer as she touched his bicep, gliding it up to his shoulder down his back. “Listen, I didn’t call you here to sleep with you either.” He arched his own eyebrow now. “You’re feeling me up.” “That I didn’t call you here to sleep with you doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” She whispered it, almost against his lips. He could smell her perfume, sharp but sweet. Her eyes were a light colour brown, a bit greenish. They were gorgeous, she was gorgeous. But she was 21, she was a journalist, she wanted something. He was sure of it. Her hand was inching down his back and suddenly she stopped and narrowed her eyes. “You really are some spoiled white girl.” She moved to get her hands under his shirt and he was quick enough to pull her wrist away, flip her over and push her against the billiard table with a leg between hers. “Stop doing that. Take your turn.” He said, as close as she had to him. With a twitch in her eyes, showing anger, she pulled away and grabbed the cue. “Venus dimple piercings Jongdae? Really?” she asked, as she rubbed the cube over the cue. “I mean the nipple piercings are really hot, but those? Why?” “Because I like them.” “Sure you do. What you also got a bunch of tattoos?” He nodded. “Does it matter?” She sighed and put down the cue. “Let’s find somewhere to sit, talk.” “Why?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. And she rolled her eyes and pulled him along to a table somewhere in a corner. It was one of those tables with benches, so they were sort of closed off. “What do you want?” he asked when she sat down and leant against the wall to look at him. He was sitting beside her, taking her in, how she leisurely leant her head back against the wall and looked at him. Studied him. She pushed her hair back, and it fell in waves, darker red in the dim light. “Where are you from?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. “I mean, you live here, but where were you born?” “Here.” “What did you study?” “Nothing.” “So what did you do then, to make a living, between high school and EXO?” He was sensing that she was feeling for something. Searching for a particular answer or bit of information in his speech. “Restaurants, bars, whatever came my way. I’m not one to study, it was never my thing.” She nodded. “I didn’t either, but I loved writing, discovering. I was always curious as a kid, about a lot of things. My mom always said I’d get myself in trouble one day.” Sora licked her lips, slowly, never breaking eye contact. He chuckled dryly. “Cut the crap Sora. What do you want?” With a shrug she propped foot onto the bench and leant her arm on her knee. She came closer. “What are you guys hiding behind those walls?” “Ah, Sora. You need to let that go. You’re not getting an interview.” She clicked her tongue. “I just wonder about you though. You’ve taken my interest. Can’t I get a special scoop? Just on you?” Her hand again reached out for him, nimble fingers dancing over his forearm, up his upper arm. He would lie if he said he didn’t enjoy it, the feeling of someone touching him like this. Wanting him like this. But it was wrong, dangerous, warning signs went of in his head. He leant in closer too, cocking his head to the side. “I don’t think so. But tell me, the fact that you’re digging into my business, it means you have found something already. What is it?” There was a change in her face as he looked at her, stared her down. “There’s no way this brings in enough money for all of you. There’s something going on. Your boss, I’ve seen him, he’s an eccentric type, but he looks filthy rich. I’ve done the math, it doesn’t end up. Also, the guy he hangs with, he works at the hospital up east. That’s a bit odd don’t you think?” This was just bad luck, that she’d remembered Lay. “So, a surgeon can’t do things like that?” “You’re doing something illegal, I can sense it.” “You can’t prove anything.” “I will.” “You won’t.” He whispered. “Because you’ve been feeling me up all night and it’s not an act. You want me, you might even like me, I’m not sure. But you’re not here to expose me, or us for that matter.” She swallowed thickly, but her hand spoke differently to him. As she trailed her fingers over his cheekbone, and ran her fingers through his hair. “Can’t I do both?” He tipped his nose against her, a soft swipe. “You’re threading dangerous territory here little girl. I don’t think you can handle it.” What she did next he should’ve expected, maybe he gave her too much leeway. She tightened the hand in his hand and pulled him in for a kiss. He stopped right before her lips, he could feel them, just the slightest brush. The strength it took. He wanted to kiss her, feel her against him, see if she’s soft. If he can make her moan with just a kiss. But she was playing a dangerous game, and he wasn’t up for getting her killed. So he smirked, tipped his nose to hers, and leant to the side, whispering in her ear. “I’m not that easy, you know. You’ve practically thrown yourself at me. But I’m not that desperate.” He brushed his nose to her ear, and than ran it down the side of her neck. She shivered, and he placed a hand at her side. When he pressed a kiss over her pulse point she gasped and dropped the hand in his hair to his shoulder. “This is not your usual game. I assume you get a lot of attention from guys. But you’ve never played it the other way around. I can notice. Although I wouldn’t pass up, you’re attractive and you talk well.” Another kiss a little lower. “I like that.” She tried to form words but all that came out was a shallow gasp. Then she swallowed and took a shaky breath. “But you know, I wouldn’t stick your nose into my business. At all. You shouldn’t play with dangerous things like that. Even if we aren’t doing what you think we are, don’t. You’re going to get yourself in trouble.” He kissed her neck again, the corner of her jaw, then he ran his tongue over the shell of her ear. His tongue piercing made contact with her skin and she stilled. “We wouldn’t want that now would we?” Jongdae moved his lips back, open mouthed kisses on her neck, until he settled for a spot. He made sure not to leave a mark, but she was easily reduced to a trembling mess by his lips and tongue. “So leave us alone, you’re not a detective.” He dared to trail a finger up along the neckline of her shirt, so he could hold her neck, thumb brushing her jaw. Back up to her lips he said. “You’re just a little girl.” Her lips were parted and he playfully took hold of her bottom lip with his teeth, pulling at it. “Innocent.” Then he kissed her. Fiercely so. He pressed his lips against hers and she parted them immediately, meeting his tongue with hers. She was eager, fingers digging into his shoulder trying to pull him closer. He backed her up against the wall, his chest pressed against hers. Her one leg was laid out along the back, and he was sitting close to her. One hand on her hip, the other now sliding into her hair. It was soft, like the little moans in the back of her throat as he pressed his piercing against her tongue. Or sank his teeth into her lip, pulling, grazing. It was a kiss that took his breath away too. It’s been long since he was kissed like this, like someone wanted him. So full of desire. He leant back a little and let her take control, show him what she got. She was tentative but a good kisser, she’d definitely done it before. The way she tried to get to his piercing, and see what it does, experiment. Made his hairs stand up, more than he’d admit.  Chen moved his hand to her lower back, his fingers just slipping under the hem of her shirt that had ridden up there. Her skin was warm and she arched into his touch, sighing contently. His other hand was skimming down her leg, and she wrapped it around him, pushing him closer. Both of her arms coming around his neck now, a hand running through his hand and scratching his scalp in a way that gave him shivers. As the way her tongue moved against his did.  She was the one who broke the kiss, panting against his lips, chest heaving against his. Her eyes were darker now, and she scratches his scalp lightly, cocking an eyebrow. He spoke first. “Bye Sora.”And with that he was up and out of the door, leaving a generous tip on the bar.

Engraved Chat Time Open for Sora and Chen until 12pm CET 170417

@oh-beyond @xingtrash @chenbootysoo @nunchiwrites @bootyfulohsehun @thawingsnowwolf @littlekatlizzy @xiubaek13 @melyyexo @yeollieollie @wheredidmylifego-ohyeahbtsandexo @yixingsbeauty @notmybolo @yourseth @white-in-angel @exosmutxoxo @kpopmafiaaus @paark-haaraa

#exo mafia #chen mafia #jongdae mafia #baekhyun mafia #chanyeol mafia #engraved #chased #mywriting #jongdae scenario #chen scenario #exo scenario #mafia!atsushi #chen smut #exo smut #jongdae smut #jongdae fic #chen fic #jongdae fanfic #chen fanfic #jongdae fanfiction #chen fanficiton #jongdae series #jongdae story #chen story #chen series #jongdae angst #jongdae fluff #chen angst #chen fluff #exo fic

[fattkittykat]

The Beauty of New Queens (Part 5)

A crowd surrounded Danni. It was 6:00 in the evening, the dinner crowd had congregated in Gordito’s, in the process seeing Danni’s feast. Her eyes were unfocused, no longer stuffing herself by the handful with fervent, animalistic velocity, and now halfheartedly pressing fried food to her mouth. Her stomach was more bloated than it had ever been, her stretchmarks extenuated and red, taut and round, as opposed to its previously flabby, overflowing shape, heaving the table slightly. The sweatpants that had once fit snugly over her belly now sat in the crease under her billowing belly, her t-shirt had gone from stretched to ridden up her stomach, now only covering her tits unheld by a bra. Her belches had gone from hearty, booming declarations of hedonism, and reduced to tiny burps, serving only the purpose of alleviating some of the pressure in her oversized body. Her farts fulfilled the same purpose, now lacking the grandeur of before. She picked up the fifth slice of her third Fatty Four Cheese pizza, to which the crowd upped its vocal pitch in encouragement, only for the very tip to touch her tongue before setting it down and groaning. The crowd felt a tinge of disappointment, soon dissipating as Danni pushed the tray of pizza away from her.

As the crowd either went to their tables or left altogether, Scarlet walked over from behind the counter to the table and stopped the stream for Danni.

“15 sliders, three burgers, three chicken sandwiches, two and four slices of cheese pizza. Nothing to scoff at at all!”

Danni moaned, rubbing her belly, and belched.

“That’s not even one Deep Dish Meat Lover’s and one *urp* Fatty Burger Deluxe...”

“Don’t worry about it girl, we’ll just have to work on your stomach capacity, that’s all!” Scarlet then ran her hand across the tight skin of Danni’s belly, slightly pink due to its expanded volume.

A new voice cut into the conversation.

“Not just stomach capacity, skin capacity, too. And that’s just the issues present right now, this isn’t mentioning heart problems, diabetes, there’s plenty of issues.”

A slightly skinny man with curly black hair and grease on his clothes and face piped up from where the crowd once stood.

“She knows what she’s doing, thank you very much. C’mon Danni, let’s get you to your apartment.” Scarlet started to motion for Danni to stand up.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to come off as rude, I just thought I’d be able to help. My name is Leon MacHonn, I work in biotechnical engineering.”

“What’s some fancy scientest doing in New Queens, don’t you have some snooty conference to be at?”

“Hahaha... no. I’m not like the biotechnicians that live in the waterfront mansions who have one patent from 30 years ago and rake in the money, nonono. I’m what could be considered, more of an innovator.”

“Oh, you’re a junk hunter?”

“Yea, exactly. But instead of selling cheap electronics for air conditioners or whatever, I prefer to make things for the human body. Case and point:” He then lifted up a leg on his demin jeans revealing a robotic brace on his leg. “I spend a lot of time on my feet, so this baby reduces joint stress, and I have versions of this implanted in my hands for carpal tunnel. I think I can help your friend here to improve herself in ways normal people wouldn’t be able to.”

Danni was hardly listening, she was too focused on the awful stomach she had.

“Let’s see here...” Leon then squatted down to see her belly at eye level.

“Hmm... *poke* *poke* Well, the first thing I could think to do would be a virual genetic rewrite to make her stomach more expansive, rewrite her genetic code so that her stomach walls are more elastic and plentiful. Then probably a course of medication that’ll strengthen her heart and pancreas, stop some health complications before they become an issue.”

Danni released an enormous belch, prompting her to lean back in relief.

“I could also work on an anti-indigestion medicine.”

To be honest, Scarlet was being protective of Danni, but this guy really seemed to know what he was doing. If he could really get her bigger quicker and more safely, maybe there was something to it.

“So what’s in it for you, smart guy?”

“There would be a price, of course. Just enough to compensate for the materials and labor, I’d have to synthesize some chemicals at my garage, and sneak into a few biomedical waste dumps. But really, I think this will be profitable for me and you two. I mean did you see that crowd? Your wife is a spectacle! And I saw those donations coming in from that webstream you were doing, $2000 total and 1000 viewers, not bad at all. But with my help, we can make it all bigger, her, your numbers, your income and everything else!”

Scarlet was more tempted by Leon calling Danni “Your wife”, but he did have a point. Her streams had been nothing but growing since she started gaining, and if she’s gonna hit 300 in a month, she’ll need the help.

“Well Danni, what do you think?”

Danni let out another one of her signature, deep farts, and then stuck out her right hand, greasy and splattered with ketchup. Leon grabbed it by the wrist.

“So what’ll the price tag be?”

“How about this. $10,000 for the stomach capacity, but you can pay me once you’ve made the money. Call it a proof of concept. After that, the skin expander will probably be another $10,000, then the heart and pancreas enhancers will probably run you somewhere about $200,000 total, but we can discuss that when we get there.”

“$200,000!?” Scarlet couldn’t believe that. She had never made more than about $900 in a day and most of that went to rent.

“That can be for later, but think about it. After your wife starts putting away more and more food, those donations are gonna get bigger and bigger. $2000 tonight, maybe $5000 in a week, then who knows? It can be expensive, but it’ll pay itself back handsomly. For now though, I can get you a stomach expander tomorrow morning, then after you see improvement, you can pay me back. And if you want, I can keep working on expanders with more capacity, keep getting her bigger.”

Scarlet was again proven wrong. He was entirely right about her donation count. Soon enough, the $10,000 will be payed back, then it’s just a waiting game until Danni can get the other modifications.

“It’s a deal, I’ll be here all day tomorrow.”

“Excellent! For now, though, be sure to rub her belly with plenty of lotion, her stomach is going to surpass her skin capacity, and that’ll bottleneck her progress. Maybe 20-30 minutes a night and the streaching shouldn’t be too bad.”

“I think I can get that done.”

Leon left, and Scarlet shuffled Danni back to the elevator and up to her apartment, where she rolled over onto her bed, still groaning in pain and ecstacy.

“Take my clothes off, it’s too tight.”

Scarlet happily obliged, seeing every fat inch of Danni.

“Lotion in *uuUUUrp* the bathroom.”

Scarlet went to the bathroom for the lotion, but was quickly overcome with infatuation at the rest of it. An untouched shower combined with the odor of Danni was intoxicating, and if it weren’t for an echoing fart from Danni, she wouldn’t spent longer in there.

She returned with the lotion to Danni fingering herself, moaning in the ecstacy she had been dreaming of since the morning. Scarlet quickly ran out of the room before Danni called her back in.

“Scarlet it’s ok, come back.”

She slinked back in, half emberrassed.

“I want you to ru-*uUUUURRRPPp*-b my belly while I cum.”

Scarlet stood to the side of Danni’s bend as she squirted lotion onto her hand, put the bottle down, and rubbed her hands together. She realized how much Danni’s belly had sofened in the ten or so minutes since she had stopped eating. Still taut, if she pressed down hard she could feel the food being digested in her belly. It was so warm, even through the cold lotion. She had underestimated the size of her belly when she had run out of lotion before covering her, so she had to return to the bottle for more. She made sure to rub in gentle circles, especially around her streachmarks, still red from her binge. She could feel the rippling of her fat as Danni ripped a deep fart into the bed, moaning in the process. Scarlet’s panties were soaking wet hearning the sounds of Danni, short of breath, moaning as she fingered herself without shame.

Scarlet kept massaging the lotion into Danni’s now softened belly as she came. Of course, it wasn’t just cumming, it was also a belch and a fart, followed by a moan, followed by another fart. She was left out of breath and sweaty by the extensive work it took for her to cum. Scarlet was still diligently playing with Danni’s belly when she took her now skinnier friend by the hand and pulled her close for a kiss. Her breath was retched and lovely in every way. Scarlet was so ready to cum for Danni, and she knew exactly what Scarlet wanted.

“Scarlet, I was to eat you out while you rub my belly.”

Her heart skipped a beat as she took her clothes off and situated herself over Danni’s mouth. She continuously rubbed her doughy belly as Danni’s tongue, now experienced in eating, worked around in Scarlet’s pussy. She was more active in cumming, she moaned louder and her hips thrust as she climaxed.

Shortly after, Danni pulled Scarlet down to her side, as Scarlet wrapped her arms around Danni’s titanic belly. There they slept the night away, in eachother’s mess.