#the exact same position instead of drawing a brand new one

[sparky-is-spiders]

It's been a hectic couple of days but I FINALLY have this one done!! For JE week day 2, up too late/vampires, which is definitely today and not two days ago and I will not hear a word otherwise.

I'm a sucker for both pre-S1 Jonelias and Jonjonah so I couldn't resist adding them both.

This is intended to be semi-chronological (time travel nonwithstanding)? with pre-S1/S1 Jon on the left with S4-S5 Jon on the right, but you could read them as separate AUs. I enjoy Jonjonah with time-travel shenanigans where full Archivist Jon meets Jonah, who is waaaay too invested in flirting with eyeball monsters in Jon's personal opinion.

Can't decide if it would be better for the Beholding to improve Jon' better's vision or if it's still terrible but there is no conceivable glasses design that would not be massively annoying for them (just a constant mesh of glasses frames over their field of vision. I honestly think I'd go insane). Either way they glow slightly naturally but are glowing even more to help them see the document (and also because I think green light effects are cool; sue me).

Also went with the Scottish Wildcat for Jonah's fursona! Some artistic license was taken on the design, but most of it isn't very visible.

#It is very late in both of these and also here in real life #but I REALLY wanted to get this out today #context for left scene: Jon is doing some work in Elias' office very late and he came to say goodnight #I like to imagine that Jonah kept some of his furniture even as he switched bodies because it means I can use the exact same desk design in #the exact same position instead of drawing a brand new one #context for right scene: Jonah said something forward and Jon realized that he's actually been flirting the /entire time/ Jon has been ther #and also Jon having way too many eyes on their face and all of them looking shocked is funny #also it isn't directly relevant to the images but Jonjonah ARE t4t. #just so you're aware #also put Jonah in a nightshirt because I Did Not Want to be researching regency era clothing at 8 in the evening and also have no experienc #with drawing clothes ever. I draw dragons and it is normal for dragons to be naked. is the Thing. #speaking of. you'll NEVER guess what my plans for the fantasy prompt are. (it's dragons. my entire life revolves around dragons of course I #had to make them dragons) #anyway I'm running out of things to say. Time for sorting tags: #jonelias #jonjonah #joneliasweek2023 #joneliasweek #also for anyone who didn't see my first thing: #jon is a tortoiseshell cat #elias is a common genet #jonah's species was explained earlier #I made them anthro because I can't draw humans. Also I don't want to draw humans. #ok I HAVE to go to bed now #goodnight #(why is Jenny only being a lap cat when I need to get up and Do THings???? she's so cute and soft it's unfair)

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: The Armputation

Yeah. Yeah it’s time bitches :) you read it right we’re chopping that shit off

←Previous - Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: amputation (omg wow), noncon surgery/body mod, body horror, slight gore

Erebus had sensed something was off when Neteri failed to bring him dinner one night, and when the guards appeared at his door the next morning instead of her, he knew what it meant.

It was time for another procedure.

He understood why she didn’t tell him it was coming, but having hardly any time to process that something was going to be drastically different about his body within the next hour wasn’t the best feeling. Before he knew it, he was on the table again, this time with his shirt off, that silly little rat drawing on the ceiling staring down at his restrained form. Maybe he should give it a name? That was something to focus on, and it’s not like he could see what Neteri was up to at her workbench with his head strapped down. After debating a bit, he settled on Zander, after a big black dog he’d played with sometimes as a kid. He missed seeing dogs. And cats. And birds and the sky and trees and flowers-

“Morning, Erebus!” Neteri seemed far too chipper for someone who was about to…do whatever she was going to do. “How are you feeling?”

“Not...great. Because I’m here. I don’t want to be here.” Even though I deserve to be.

“Yeah that’s expected. But nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Do I get out of this if I say yes?” She laughed and stroked his face.

“You’re fine.” He felt himself grow more and more nervous with anticipation as she rubbed something cold all over his right shoulder. Right there, she was going to cut him open and, and...what was she getting from her workbench? When she came back into view and he saw what she had, he felt his stomach drop. The knife she was holding was the most horrific looking instrument he’d ever seen. It was large and curved, and the fact that she was going to use it on him made it that much worse. 

“What,” he gulped, “what are you going to do to me?”

“Well...do you promise not to freak out?”

“Uh...no. You do realize that makes me more worried, right?”

“Oh, yeah I guess so. It’ll probably be better that you know the full plan beforehand anyway. So,” she put down the knife and clasped her hands, “I’m going to be replacing your arm.”

“Replacing my...with what, exactly?” 

“Another arm, of course. This one, to be exact.” She motioned to a box on the counter. “It’s from a lust demon.”

“Wait, you’re going to cut off my arm?!” Neteri nodded matter-of-factly as Erebus’s heart rate skyrocketed. He didn’t deserve that...did he?!

“I thought that was implied in the ‘replacing’ part, but yeah. Off with your right arm, on with this one.”

“You can’t just do that! That’s-you can’t just amputate my arm!”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d freak out.”

“Of-of course I’m freaking out! You want to cut off one of my limbs, for Drottkia’s sake!”

“I mean, yeah, but I’m going to give you a new one right away. So at the end of the day you’ll have the same number of arms you started with. It’s honestly not worth getting that worked up about.”

“Yes it is! You’re going to just-just attach someone else’s arm to my body! What in the world makes you think that’s not-” his voice cracked, and he realized there were tears streaming from his eyes. He didn’t want this, he was so, so afraid, and no matter how much he struggled and pleaded it was inevitable. 

“Shh, shh. That’s enough now, you’ll be alright,” Neteri said as she wiped away his tears. He hated the way she comforted him, as if she wasn’t the source of all his problems. She reached for something out of his line of sight, and he didn’t manage to get a good look before she shoved it in his mouth. It was just a wad of cloth, but it silenced all of his further protests. He struggled uselessly against the tight leather straps, but he could hardly move at all. There was nothing he could do as she picked up the knife again. There was nothing he could do as he felt the cold blade touch his skin. 

There was nothing he could do but wiggle the fingers of his right hand one last time while he still could. 

The knife sliced through the flesh of his arm in one swift stroke, pain exploding out from it so quickly that Erebus could hardly register it. He barely had time to scream before he felt her place another tool on the wreck of his arm. And when it started moving, he knew exactly what it was. That was a saw, that was a saw, she was sawing through his bone, the vibrations shaking him to the very core. All of a sudden, there was a quiet thud and the sawing stopped, causing a suffocating panic to descend over Erebus, threatening to crush him.

It was gone it was gone his arm was gone the arm he’d used to write and eat and draw and plant flowers and hug his mother one last time and hold his father’s hand as he died was gone and the horrific new one couldn’t replace that, not at all, not at all, but it was too late because it was gone. He heard her pick it up and take it away, leaving a gaping hole next to him on the table, a space that had always been filled before by his arm, but his arm was gone and there was nothing there, nothing at all.

But when he felt her set something else down in that empty space, and his stomach twisted. It was the arm, the one that wasn’t his, the one that was going to be attached to his body, that was going to be his. After fiddling with it a bit, she pressed it up against the stump, the cold demon flesh meeting that of a warm human. She started to stitch them together, and Erebus couldn’t help but whine at both the sting of the needle and the horror of what was happening to him. But once the stitching stopped, the healing magic started, and that was far, far more painful.

Erebus screamed into the gag as he was assaulted by waves of relentless agony, ebbing and flowing as each nerve and blood vessel was joined together. It felt like every pain sensor in the arm was lighting up all at once as the connections were forged, every imaginable anguish being played out in a single moment. And when the bones started to fuse, oh he could hardly breathe, it was like fiery splinters were stabbing up into his shoulder, as many pinpricks of agony as there were stars in the sky, and there was nothing, nothing in the world besides that stabbing pain and the hum of screams in his throat. But all at once, the intensity of the pain evaporated as Neteri’s magic ceased flowing. 

Erebus cautiously opened his eyes, looking at Zander the rat for a moment before turning his gaze to Neteri as much as the strap over his forehead would allow. He was shocked to see that she was clutching the edge of the table for support, breathing heavy as blood dripped steadily from her nose and ears. With a shaking hand, she pulled the gag from his mouth, her unfocused eyes meeting his tear-filled ones.

“Are you...okay?” she gasped between breaths. Erebus paused. He was absolutely, positively, nowhere near okay, but he knew what sort of answer she wanted.

“I’m...it still hurts, but not as much as before you, uh, started...connecting it.” Erebus replied, his voice painfully raspy from screaming. 

“Can you...can you move your fingers?” He hesitantly complied, and was relieved to feel the unfamiliar digits wiggling, even if it felt a little off. She nodded, looking between his hand and the place where she’d attached the arm. “Okay. Hang in there just a bit more.” She took a deep breath and placed her hands on the wound again. Her magic sparked to life, and Erebus could see it was hurting her, too, before he was consumed by his own pain. But it wasn’t long before the magic sputtered out again. Neteri nearly collapsed on top of him, catching herself at the last moment.

“I think...it’ll be good...good enough for now. I’m sure it’s not perfect...I promise I’ll fix it later but I...I need to stop or I’ll...” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry if...hurts...I know that...really painful...and you shouldn’t...more than necessary.” Opening her eyes, she pulled something out of her pocket before moving out of view. A few seconds later, the pair of guards from before came into the lab, shock flashing on their faces for a moment as they took in the bloodstained scene before them. Neteri came around the table, clutching something small and blue in one of her fists, seemingly a little more steady on her feet. She stood between Erebus and the guards, looking one of them dead in the eye.

“Take him back and give him something to take care of the attachment site, but I don’t want anyone else touching him, is that clear?” She jabbed a finger up at his face, her other hand clutching Erebus’s left arm tightly, either for support or out of possessiveness. “He is mine, and he can care for himself until I’m better.” She turned to the other guard. “I’ll probably need your help with a few things…”

Erebus let the guard take him back without a fuss after he was freed from the table. Trying to escape in this condition would just be dumb, and it’s not like there was much point in running with that spell on the brand. He was left alone in the cell with a roll of bandages and something to help fight off infection. But before he took care of the new wound, Erebus needed to wash off the blood that practically coated the right side of his body. There was so much of it on the arm...no, it was his right arm, that the skin looked completely red. 

But as the blood was washed away by the little rainstorm, Erebus realized that that really was its color. Honestly, with the bright red skin, pitch black nails, and the prominent stitches attaching it to his body, the arm made him look like some sort of...monster which is what he was inside, wasn’t he? He watched in horrified fascination as the limb he didn’t recognize as his own moved as he wanted it to. Well, for the most part. It was sort of shaky, and he couldn’t make a fist or straighten it out all the way, but that was hopefully something Neteri could fix...

And despite everything, a small part of him couldn’t help but hope that, for her sake, Neteri was okay.

Next→

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump​ @unicornscotty

#i wrote something #erebus & terror #erebus #neteri #amputation #noncon surgery #noncon body modification #body horror #lab whump #magical exhaustion #see why i wanted to get to this shit. this bloody whumpfest #listen to those muffled screams. look at those expressions of horror #that blue thing neteri holds towards the end is a piece of beryl! #its a cyclosilicate/water element mineral that helps restore some of her magic power #neteri be like: i love you my sweet boy but also im going to cut your arm off for science #every time someone brought up magical exhaustion as a troupe they like i was SO tempted to be like ''well once we get to ch9...'' #but i wanted it to be a surprise because i just love the moment of him seeing that she's destroying herself to do this #ma'am is dedicated and wants to make sure he's going to be okay before she stops trying to heal him #*puts rat zander reference immediately after Agony Paragraph* im so fuckin funney #you may be wondering ''nemi what possessed you to cut off erebus's arm like him specifically'' #well you see his story used to be very different. but then i read Misery and wanted to amputate some limbs #and he was lying around with not that much of a plot #so viola our pull apart put together game has begun for real now #ooh maybe i should rb the demon post and people can make guesses about where we're goin next #make everyone look at my shitty whiteboard drawings again...

[yogaadvise]

Practicing Yoga Terms

Sanskirt, the ancient Hindu language, can be tough to recognize. The language has words that are commonly listened to in yoga exercise course or listened to in anything regarding yoga, so it assists to have a concept of some of their meanings.

In Sanskrit words resemble living beings, depending upon context, condition and also atmosphere their mood differs and also indicating differs. Amit Ray, Walking the Course of Compassion

In a yoga exercise class, it is nearly unavoidable that there are going to be some terms that are symbolic, Sanskrit, and probably tough to articulate that might leave you wanting that you had a yoga exercise thesaurus with you. Don't fret! Most of us start someplace. Right here is a listing of 50 terms that typically are heard in a yoga course that could sound like gibberish if you are brand-new to the course or cue something that has a much deeper definition. The majority of these have far more deepness and information to them than what is specified right here. So for deeper understanding, further reading and translations is useful. Sanskirt writing typically has a number of various translations. However for the benefit of the read, this is a quick overview.

Yoga in the Body

Bandha Mula Bandha Muladhara Bandha Jalandhara Bandha Chakra Muladhara Svadhisthana Manipura Anahata Vishudha Ajna Sahasrara Nadi Prana Ujjayi

Yoga Philosophy

Sutras Bhagavad Gita

The Limbs of Yoga

Yama Ahimsa Satya Asteya Brachmacharya Aparigraha Niyama Saucha Santosha Tapas Svhadhyaya Ishvara Pranidhana Asana Pranayama Pratyahara Dharana Dhyana Samadhi

Yoga Methods

Vinyasa Kundalini Yin Bhakti Ashtanga Hatha Tantra Kirtan Ayurveda

Practicing Yoga Terms

Mantra Mudra Drishti OM Shanti Namaste

Yoga in the Body

These are Sanskrit terms in the yoga exercise custom that are techniques, skills, as well as energetics that are vital in practicing yoga. They can improve the physique, your technique, self-exploration, development, as well as understanding.

Bandha - The term for Body Locks that are engagements within the body for the integrity of a yoga exercise practice. Mula Bandha - The Root Lock of the 3 bandhas. It is a tightening and interaction of the perineum, the sex organs. Uddiyana Bandha - The involvement of the core by the action of contracting the marine right into the rib cage. Jalandhara Bandha - The Throat Lock. Done by tucking the chin in a little in the direction of the chest. Chakra - Energy centers straightened in the body that are energetically and physiologically powerful. There are 7 major chakras within the body and also they connect among each various other, throughout the mind and body. There is an 8th chakra that is rarely mentioned, the "mood," the energetic field that borders each being. Muladhara - The Root Chakra. Situated at the base of the spine and also holds the power of your methods of survival, safety, grounding, and self approval. The color associated is Red and also has the element of the Earth. Svadhisthana - The Sacral Chakra. Found at the sacrum and holds energy of creative thinking, sensuality, relationships with others, and also the relationship with the self. The shade is orange as well as has the element of water. Manipura - The Solar Plexus Chakra. It is situated at the naval facility as well as holds the energy of confidence, recognition, strength, spontaneity, as well as core being. The shade with this chakra is yellow and also the aspect is fire. Anahata - The Heart Chakra. Located at heart facility, this holds the energy of empathy, love, compassion, the equilibrium in between heaven and also planet, purity, mercy, as well as taking care of others. The shade linked is eco-friendly and the element is air. Vishudha - The Throat Chakra. Situated at the facility of the throat as well as the energy below is of communication, truthfulness, hearing the truth, talking the fact, and estimate of your real self. The shade associated is blue-green and the element of Ether. Ajna - The Pineal Eye Chakra. Located in between the brows at the facility of the forehead, the energy held right here is the seed of intuition, recognizing, and also understanding. The color connected with the pineal eye is indigo blue. Sahasrara - The Crown Chakra. Found at the crown of the head, this chakra has the energy of transcendence, link to the highest possible self, as well as the partnership to the unidentified. The shade with the Crown Chakra is violet purple. Nadi - Link and also energy lines throughout the whole body. In yogic texts, it is said there are over 72,000 Nadis in the body. The two major are the Ida Nadi and the Pingala Nadi. Prana - Equates to "Life Force" as well as also refers to the breath. Ujjayi - A breathing method that is commonly cued throughout yoga courses. Inhales as well as breathes out are matched in length, through your nose, as well as audible to hear.

Yoga Philosophy

These are two ancient messages that are at the root of the approach of yoga.

Sutras - old mentors of Patanjali of exactly how to live a yogic way of living, practice, meditate, and also methods of taking the path to the highest self. Bhagavad Gita - An ancient Hindu message that informs the tale of Krishna leading Arjuna on the spiritual journey as well as expedition of the self, and also the means of linking to the highest possible self through yoga.

The Limbs of Yoga

There are eight limbs of yoga exercise. Generally shown, you need to take the course beginning at the first limb as well as proceeding on for your trip via yoga each day.

Yama - From the trainings tape-recorded in the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. The Yamas are the universal, moral, and also moral guidelines of practicing yoga. Ahimsa - Non-violence. This converts to practicing non-violence towards ourselves as well as in the direction of the world around us. Satya - Reliability. Implying to live our truth, speak honestly, and also technique honesty. Asteya - Non-stealing. The technique of not swiping from yourself as well as from the world around you in any way that can be. Brahmacharya - Moderation of the senses. Often converted as abstinence however extra so implies to mindfully utilize your energy in the right way. Aparigraha - Non-greed. Translates to non-attachment definition to practice not taking extra than what you really need. Niyama - guidelines of communicating with self. The niyamas are personality building practices. Saucha - Cleanliness/purity. Pureness of the being and also tidiness maintained in the globe around you. Santosha - Satisfaction. Exercising satisfaction, being all right as well as glad with your own life in each moment. Tapas - Discipline. Can translate as heat. It means exercising self-control to expand stronger. Svadhyaya - Self-study. Exercising self-exploration and also study totally through reflection as well as recognition. Ishvara Pranidhana - Give up to the self. Welcoming and giving up completely to all consciousness as well as your greatest being. Asana - The 3rd limb. Essentially suggests, "to rest." This is the strength and versatility from the yoga positions of exercising yoga. Pranayama - The fourth limb. Breath work or control of the life-force. Any breathing technique and also control of the breath is pranayama. Pratyahara - The fifth limb. Withdrawal of the detects, drawing in of the detects for deep link past mindlessness. Dharana - The sixth arm or leg. Having one pointed focus and concentration. Dhyana - The 7th limb. Having an emphasis that you can keep in meditation. Samadhi - The eighth limb. Coming to be completely soaked up into your highest possible self.

Yoga Methods

These are different styles of a yoga method. Each have their very own function and method of exercising, yet they all have the origins of yoga exercise's core worths. A person can exercise one or as many styles that fits their own journey.

Vinyasa - there are a pair of various definitions behind the term vinyasa and exactly how it is used in a class. It equates to activity paired with breath, so when you most likely to a "Vinyasa course" it is a circulation class that connects breath with movement. When you remain in a class as well as the instructor says "take a Vinyasa" that implies to take a flow of your finding, generally a Higher Pet dog to Downward Dealing With Dog. Kundalini - A kind of primitive energy coiled at the base of the spinal column, Shakti, that is within each being. Kundalini yoga is a collection of countless kriyas, which are intentional movements or techniques, shown by Yogi Bhajan to awaken one's inner kundalini. Yin - The women power of a technique that is slower and also calmer. In yin yoga exercise, poses are held for a number of breaths, a minimum of a pair minutes, to get involved in releasing the deep tissue as well as fascia of the body. Bhakti - Love and also devotion. Bhakti yoga courses typically consist of chanting or vocal singing as a means of devotion. Ashtanga - Establish sequences of 3 different seires of vinyasa yoga developed and also made popular by Sri K. Patthabi Jois. This technique is indicated to be tough, rise toughness and also versatility, as well as cleaning of the body and mind. Hatha - The collection of both masculine and also womanly power (Ha= sun as well as tha= moon). Hatha yoga exercise is implied to help find equilibrium through the body, mind, and also spirit as well as produce room for spiritual growth. Tantra - Meaning "woven with each other," tantra is the yoga exercise of union. It is not about tantric sex that is promoted, yet instead union with various other beings by any means and also within yourself. Kirtan - Spiritual community gathering of yogic singing, shouting, and meditation. Ayurveda - An old of living that comes from the exact same Hindu roots that yoga exercise stemmed. It incorporates nourishment, medication, as well as one-of-a-kind types (called doshas) developed to aid a private comprehend their very own tendencies and needs.

Practicing Yoga Terms

These are a few of the common terms you might listen to that accompany a yoga exercise practice. They are various strategies as well as purposeful components of a practice.

Practicing Yoga Terms

Mantra - Word or expression that is repeated to strengthen the method mentally and also emotionally. Mudra - A positioning or plan of the hands or fingers. Mudra equates to "secure." Each mudra has its own meaning as well as they are utilized to facilitate a particular circulation of power and evoke various things. Anjali Mudra, hands with each other in mind facility, and also ¬ ¬ ¬ Gyana Mudra, the forefinger as well as thumb touching, are typical mudras. Drishti - A fixed gaze point. Maintaining an established look factor assists to maintain balance. OM - the universal audio and vibration of all living things. It is the start as well as the end as well as is used to get in touch with the globe around us. Shanti - Converts to "tranquility." Typically shouted at the beginning or end of a practice to ignite tranquility within the world as well as ourselves. Namaste - translates to "the light within me honors and values the light within you." Chanted at the end of a technique to recognize the light within on your own and others.

#asana #Hatha Yoga #kundalini yoga #meditation #pranayama #restorative yoga #spiritual #spiritual growth #spiritual journey #vinyasa yoga #yin yoga #yoga #yoga poses #yoga positions #yoga sutras #yoga works

[artificialqueens]

Level Up, Chapter Twelve (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

AN: I can't even lie, the support on the last chapter and about this fic coming back made me so so incredibly happy. If you're still here and reading and leaving reviews, THANK you, I love hearing your thoughts and reactions and it honestly is why this chapter came pretty speedily. Enjoy and tell me your thoughts! Thank you writ for betaing <3

“How on earth are there seven thousand people watching this Instagram live? They got nothing better to do than talk to our sweaty asses?”

Monique’s eyebrows push together in disbelief as she looks at Vanessa’s phone screen, her eyes scanning the comments and it makes Vanessa snort, turning the camera towards her.

“It was your idea. I was perfectly content catching my breath and drinking some water now that class is done, or maybe, y’know, taking a shower,” Vanessa quips, her eyes flitting across the screen as she watches the comments fly by at light speed. “But you wanted to say hi to your ‘fans.’”

“They love me,” Monique tosses her braids over her shoulder, batting her eyes at the screen. “Right, guys?”

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous,” Monet drops down beside Monique on the ground, popping her head in front of the screen. “I’m the one that everyone loves. I mean, how can you not?”

“Very easily.” Monique’s deadpan expression makes Vanessa burst into laughter, shaking her head.

“Y’all are nuts, I swear.”

It’s still strange to Vanessa, the way that this is her new normal. The fact that she can open Instagram and start a live and have an audience, the fact that she can post a picture and have famous people showering her with comments. It’s as if her world has tilted, little slivers of light that are shining upon new opportunities she would have otherwise never been able to see.

Like the fact that Detox has inked her a deal with fucking Fenty Beauty, of all companies, as a brand ambassador and now she has a shoot next week and Rihanna, Rihanna, knows who she is.

Rihanna.

It still doesn’t feel real. Hell, maybe Vanessa actually had hit her head real hard during her last match and the whole period since has simply been vivid dreams while she’s in a coma at this very second. Maybe that’s a more likely scenario.

“Hold up, pass me the phone, I got something to say,” Asia holds out her hands, wiggling her fingers, and Monique sticks out her tongue, handing the phone to her.

“You better be quick. I was having fun with the filters.”

Monet scoffs, nudging Monique’s shoulder as she looks over at Vanessa. “Forget about the filters for a sec. Where are we thinking for dinner? That’s the more important thing to focus on.”

Monique pauses. “Well, see, while I’m a fan of that burrito place we went to last week, it did give me major gas, and I don’t wanna smell up any subway cars on the ride home-”

“Nasty- ”

“There’s a such thing as too much information when the people on Instagram live can overhear you, doofus-”

“As I was saying,” Monique continues, her voice a little louder, “I’m down for some Korean food, maybe. Thoughts?”

Vanessa giggles as Monet shakes her head at Monique, who looks entirely nonplussed. “I’m good with Korean.”

As much as things have changed, from the brand deals and the sponsorships and the people on the street who do a double take when they recognize her, Vanessa’s glad that one thing hasn’t. Her friendships.

She’s not sure how she’d take it if Monet and Monique and Asia started to treat her differently, if maybe they’d think she was a sellout or hate her for having a meme that she has no control over. Her friends don’t pretend as if the whole thing hasn’t happened, either, which she’s sure would feel worse. Instead, they roll with everything, getting excited when Vanessa brings them free sponsored items that show up in her mailbox or scrolling through her Instagram comments and screenshotting the hilarious ones. It’s as if they’re all going through it together instead of just her, and honestly, it feels kind of nice.

The Korean restaurant three blocks away from the gym is one that they’ve frequented quite a bit over their weekly dinners, the booths cozy and a perfect bubble for the gossip they can’t necessarily have while in front of a punching bag. And sure, their last few dinners have revolved around Vanessa’s random celebrity encounters on social media, but today the spotlight is on Asia. Or rather, the grumpy manner in which she’s eating her gimbap.

“I said, there’s nothing wrong. I’d tell you if there was,” Asia mutters, shoving a bite into her mouth.

Vanessa exchanges a look with Monet and Monique. Asia’s the queen of denial, the one who draws attention to problems precisely by trying and failing to hide them. When Asia says that nothing’s wrong, she’s fibbing. Majorly.

“You wouldn’t tell us, you’d stew about it like you are now. So, there’s something wrong. Checkmate,” Monique raises an eyebrow, and Vanessa can’t help but turn towards Asia and nod because hey, Monique’s right.

Asia, though, sulks. “No, there isn’t.”

“Asia. Just tell us!” Monet waves her chopsticks in Asia’s face, who wrinkles her nose. “Did we do anything?”

“No, no, not you guys,” Asia sighs, sinking down lower in her seat. “Not you. You know I’d be quick to beef with y’all if you did something wrong.”

Monique nods. “She’s got a point.”

“Then what? Is it Kameron?” Vanessa asks, and Asia’s expression change is immediate, the way her eyes dart a telltale sign that Vanessa’s hit the nail on the head.

“What’d she do? Do we need to fight her? Though, to be fair, not sure if any of us could fight her. Bitch is ripped,” Monique takes a sip of her drink before she can dig herself in a bigger hole, and it makes Vanessa snort.

“That’s the thing, she didn’t do anything,” Asia scowls, as she grabs another bite. “Nothing at all.”

“Nothing? What do you mean, nothing?” Monet’s eyebrows furrow and Vanessa’s sure that she’s making the exact same expression, too.

“Yeah, what’s nothing?”

“Exactly nothing!” Asia huffs. “It’s been months of us just smacking and that’s all we do, aside from talking about the weather or maybe about Bachelor in Paradise ‘cause she watches that too, but...nothing. We haven’t even been on a date or anything. Nothing!”

“Oooh… ” The way Monique’s realization trails off is comical, and Vanessa has to press her lips together to keep from breaking into a laugh because she does feel for Asia, she really does.

Vanessa’s seen her and Kameron come out from the change rooms or from behind one of the punching bags more than once, the two of them looking ruffled from their little makeout sessions. And sure, Vanessa’s thought that the two of them had more going on. At least, more than what she’s seen with her own two eyes.

But evidently not.

“So you’re waiting for her to make the first move?” Monet gives Asia a look. “C’mon, girl. If you want to date her, then ask her out yourself. Stop waiting around if you want more.”

Monique leans forward. “Yeah, what’s that saying? Follow your destiny?”

“Never heard of any saying like that.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Vanessa clears her throat, trying to shoot Asia a reassuring look. “I think the point that these two are trying to make is that Kameron’s definitely into you, too. She wouldn’t be sticking around if she wasn’t. So what’s the worst that can happen if you ask her out? Maybe she’s shy, or something. Wants you to make the first move.”

Asia scoffs. “Shy? That bitch never stops talking once she starts. I swear, that quietness is totally a facade.”

“There you go,” Vanessa nods, smiling. “See? You know her enough that she’s comfortable around you to loosen up.”

“Doesn’t mean I can ask her out,” Asia mutters, letting out a sigh. “What if she says no? What if all she wants is just this casual not-even-a relationship? What if this is the most I’m gonna get without her running for the hills?”

“And what if she doesn’t?” Monet counters. “Hey, anyone who can swap spit with you for months on end has gotta be into it, right?”

“Nasty. Truly nasty,” Asia grumbles, but her posture is less slouched, less defeated. A little more hopeful.

“Maybe she doesn’t want to feel like she’s using her position of power over you, being a coach, and that’s why she’s letting you take the reins,” Monique ponders, as she lifts up a bite of noodles. “So that she doesn’t feel like she’s pressuring you into saying yes.”

“She really wouldn’t have to pressure Asia at all, she’s jumping at a chance to...” Monet trails off when Asia shoots her a narrow-eyed glare. “Sorry.”

Vanessa reaches out to pat Asia’s shoulder because she feels for her, she really does. “You have two choices, really. You either gotta be happy with this current situation you two have going on with all the smacking and breath mints, or you gotta be willing to take a risk for a higher reward. For a chance of more with her. Though it is a huge risk to take-”

Monet winces. “Vanj, ending on that is not encouraging-”

“-look what you can get out of it,” Vanessa finishes, leaning forward in her seat. “Are you really going to be happy with the absolute bare minimum that you’re getting with Kameron? Is it the way you want things to stay? ‘Cause it seems like Kameron is fine with it.”

“Alright there, Doctor Phil,” Asia grumbles, resting her cheek against her hand, “maybe I’ll talk to her. Maybe, though. I don’t do talking.”

“Tell that to my eardrums who had to listen to you complain about your leggings for twenty minutes straight in the change room yesterday,” Monique mutters, before letting out a squeal when Asia kicks her under the table. ” Ow !”

Asia does look lighter, though, as they head out of the restaurant and towards the subway, a spring in her step that definitely had not been there during dinner. Vanessa just hopes that it’s enough, that Kameron’s feeling the same and maybe Asia’s springboard won’t break from under her anytime soon.

It’s one thing to put yourself on the line, but to risk it all? Vanessa’s a romantic and all that, but she’s not sure that she’d be able to go through with something like that herself if it all went sour.

Brooke’s not really sure of what to make of the way that Kameron’s pacing in front of her closet, to the point where she’s about to wear a hole into the floor. That being said, it is fairly entertaining to watch.

“Y’know you haven’t even looked in your closet yet, right? Aren’t you supposed to be picking an outfit to wear for your d-”

“Don’t even finish that word,” Kameron bites out, holding up a finger and Brooke snorts before taking a sip of her water. “What am I even doing?”

“You’re going out with-”

“Ugh,” Kameron sighs, flopping down on her bed beside Brooke. “This isn’t going to end well, is it?”

Brooke turns on her side, facing Kameron. “Not if you keep dithering like this. You’re putting my anxious self to shame.”

Brooke gets it, though. The way that Kameron’s leg is bouncing and the way she’s unable to keep still are both sure signs that her mind is running at a hundred miles an hour. Considering what Kameron’s about to do this evening, Brooke can’t blame her.

“What if I can’t come up with anything to talk about? What if we just sit there awkwardly and twiddle our thumbs for an hour?” Kameron covers her face with her hands, letting out a groan.

“Is what why you only make out with her in a closet like two teenagers?”

“Shut up.”

“You gotta learn how to have big girl conversations sometime or the other, Kam.” Brooke pats Kameron’s shoulder. “You can talk to me just fine. You can talk to Asia too.”

“But you’re just you. Asia is… Asia,” Kameron mumbles, her voice uncharacteristically soft, and Brooke can’t help but let out a snort.

“Thanks for that non-compliment. Very sweet.”

“You know what I mean,” Kameron sighs. “What if she won’t like me when she gets to know me?”

“You’re a catch. Definitely not my kind of catch, but someone’s kind of catch. Maybe Asia’s,” Brooke dodges before Kameron can whap her with a pillow, grinning when she misses. “Besides, Asia already knows you. You two bicker throughout classes and definitely had things to talk about when driving back from the last tournament. Or was that arguing for the entire drive about the appropriate speed limit on the highway? I can’t remember.”

“You’re terrible at pep talks,” Kameron grumbles, rolling onto her back.

“But you’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“Regardless,” Brooke announces, rolling off the bed and grabbing Kameron’s hands to pull her up, too, “we need to pick out an outfit for you. Can’t have you dazzling your star student and date for tonight in your current wine stained joggers. Unless Asia’s into that.”

Brooke gets Kameron into jeans and a tank that shows off her arms and tattoos and Kameron begins to perk up a little at least, looking at herself in the mirror, as Brooke presses an eyeliner pen into her hand.

“Go on. Do your makeup.”

“Do you think she’ll-”

“Yes she’ll find it hot, no you can’t make out with her instead of going on the date. It’ll mess up your lipstick.” Brooke leans back on her hands as she watches Kameron from the bed.

It makes Brooke think, though, as Kameron tousles her hair and slips on a leather jacket and stands a little taller. The fact that Kameron is going on a date with Asia. It’s no secret that the coaches at Brooke’s gym sometimes hook up with the students, despite the fact that it makes Brooke’s nose wrinkle sometimes. It’s relatively harmless, never turning into anything too dramatic. Kameron’s had her own share of them, but this feels...different.

Maybe because Kameron actually cares about impressing Asia, past just the shallow looks and first impressions. She likes Asia and wants Asia to like her too, for more than someone who holds a punching bag for her. Kameron’s toeing the line with Asia from something casual towards something that could be more, and to Brooke, the drop feels real high.

It’s not like they have that much to risk, not really. Sure, a shitty date could make classes awkward for the two of them, though no harm done in the long term. But then why is Brooke’s heart turning over in her chest at the mere idea of it?

She doesn’t know. But she’s going to make her friend look good for her date, that’s for damn sure.

“What shoes?” Kameron holds up a pair of boots in each hand, and Brooke squints as she looks between the two of them.

“The docs.”

“Not too stereotypical?”

Brooke grins. “Way stereotypical. But Asia’s going to eat it up.”

She feels like a mom helping her daughter get ready for her first date. Considering how few dates Kameron has actually been on, how little she takes the leap to get to know people past a shallow level, it somehow feels appropriate.

The sun is beginning to set as Brooke leaves Kameron’s apartment, painting pinks and purples that cast an iridescent glow along the buildings and reflect off of her watch. It’s her second favourite time of the day after sunrise - instead of charging her batteries the way that the oranges and yellows of the morning do, the sunset calms her system, slowing down the thoughts in her brain that go just a little too fast for her liking.

Her phone buzzes when she’s waiting at an intersection, and Vanessa’s name on her screen makes her face break into a smile without her even noticing at first. Maybe it’s just the way that Vanessa’s always so funny, never failing to make Brooke laugh with whatever she comes up with over text.

Vanessa: alert alert Asia is going out with Kam tonight!!!!! Monique and I wanna follow them and see where they go but Monet won’t let us lol

Brooke: LOL. That’s probably for the best. Let the two of them figure it out on their own, y’know?

Vanessa: boooo but that’s boring

Vanessa: Asia said they were going to play something called lob???

Vanessa: tf is that do u know

Vanessa: cuz I thought lob was a haircut

Brooke: Picture mini golf but with small balls that you throw. And without the golf clubs.

Vanessa: haha small balls

Brooke: Really?

Vanessa: IT’S FUNNY

Brooke: It’s a fun game. Went there once some years back and honestly, it feels harder than mini golf. Not that I was good at mini golf.

Vanessa: ok but I’m good at mini golf, does this mean i’d school ur ass if we played

Brooke: Well we’d have to find out and see, wouldn’t we?

Brooke watches the clock at the top of her screen pass by one minute, then another, and Vanessa hasn’t replied, wait, did Brooke say anything wrong? She reads their conversation through again and when her eyes hit the last text…

Wait.

No, it doesn’t sound like she’s asking Vanessa out. Because she’s not trying to. Vanessa’s not, they’re not…

Unless Vanessa’s taking it that way and wants to run for the hills and never speak to Brooke again-

Vanessa: ok lets square up then punk

Phew.

Brooke: Did you just call me a punk?

Vanessa: and what about it??

Brooke: That’s extra burpees for you next practice.

Vanessa: playing dirty!!

Brooke lets out a laugh but it’s more of a shaky exhale than anything else, running a hand through her hair as she walks past the front desk of her apartment building and pushes the button for the elevator. Getting into the elevator alone is a blessing, a chance for her to lean her head back against the mirrors and close her eyes for a second, trying to ignore the way her heart is beating in her chest.

It’s not that she hasn’t thought about it. Brooke has eyes, Vanessa’s beautiful but also now such a good friend but she’s also her student and they’re not like that, they’re not and Brooke doesn’t do relationships-

Ding.

The doors open and it’s almost a relief, in a way, because for a second Brooke gets to pretend that she can leave her worries in the elevator and not bring them into her apartment. But they sweep up on her shore as she unlocks the door, the way they always do when she wants to avoid thinking about something.

Maybe Brooke’s just in her head. Maybe Vanessa hadn’t noticed how her text could have sounded suggestive at all, hell, maybe Vanessa had just been in the bathroom or something and that’s why she hadn’t answered Brooke’s text right away. There’s a million different ways to interpret what had happened, and Brooke’s just working herself up at this point. She knows that.

Problem is, her brain doesn’t always listen.

Yvie’s frowning at a pineapple at the kitchen island when Brooke hangs up her coat and walks into their apartment.

“Not going so well?” Brooke raises an eyebrow at the bent knife in Yvie’s hand and the still-intact pineapple.

Yvie scratches her head. “I really should have just bought the pre-chopped pineapple. But all that wasted packaging, y’know? Figured this was better for the environment.”

“Not for the knife, though.”

“Sadly,” Yvie sighs, letting the knife roll onto the cutting board with a clatter. “I think there’s another one in the utensil drawer somewhere. I’m gonna try again.”

Brooke raises an eyebrow. “Why don’t you look up a tutorial first or something? Maybe there’s an easy way to do it.”

“And ruin the surprise and excitement? Nah,” Yvie shrugs, before grinning. “I’m gonna defeat this pineapple on my own.”

“Have fun with that. And let me know when you’re done so I can have some, too,” Brooke snorts, sitting down on one of the stools at the counter.

Yvie lets out a woo when she pulls another knife out of the drawer, waving it around. “Found it! Nice.”

Brooke leans back on her stool even though Yvie is a good six feet away, because she also remembers the time Yvie accidentally threw a pair of scissors across the room while animatedly telling a story complete with hand gestures. “Careful, Yves.”

“You’re fine. The pineapple is the only one getting murdered tonight.”

“Comforting.”

“Anyways,” Yvie starts, twirling the knife in her hands before lodging it in the side of the pineapple, letting out a curse under her breath. “Is Kameron ready for her date? Did you lend your fashion expertise and all that?”

Brooke shrugs. “Kameron has that part under control. She needed more cheerleading than anything else to actually get herself on the date without clamming up. You know how she gets sometimes.”

Yvie snickers as she yanks the knife back out of the pineapple. “You mean her complete lack of game whatsoever?”

“Yvie!” Brooke admonishes, rolling her eyes when Yvie grins. “I think she’ll be fine with this girl, though. From their constant bickering, they have enough chemistry to warm even Kam up a little bit.”

“Aww. I remember that stage,” Yvie’s face is almost nostalgic, her bottom lip pushing out. “Scarlet and I would always clash in class. Of course, I still found her hot when she was being stupid, but that’s beside the point.”

“And now the only thing you two argue about is about who’s going to hang up first.”

As nauseating as the two of them are, Brooke has to admit that Yvie and Scarlet are kind of cute. The way that they’re making it work despite the fact that they live far away from one another is sweet, as ‘temporary’ as Yvie says their distance is.

“God, I love that bitch,” Yvie’s eyes are almost dreamy, a jarring sight when combined with the knife she’s dangling from her grip. “Speaking of love, what’s the situation with your new lady like? Miss internet sensation herself?”

“What?” Brooke yelps, and the heat that floods to her cheeks is annoying, because from the smug grin on Yvie’s face, she definitely notices. “She’s not my lady. Jeez. I train her.”

“Yeah, yeah. Because that’s what the cuddling on the couch during Chicken Little night looked like. Completely.” Yvie’s look is knowing, too knowing, and it makes Brooke want to fold in on herself, sink under the counter.

“It’s not like that,” Brooke mutters, reaching a hand out for one of the pineapple cubes that Yvie’s successfully chopped and throwing it into her mouth, because it gives her more time to think of something to say.

It’s not. They’re not together, they’re not flirting for Pete’s sake, they’re...they’re Brooke and Vanessa. A washed up coach and an athlete with enough potential and talent and drive to have already made a splash on the boxing world without any professional fights under her belt. Vanessa’s special, more than she knows, and Brooke wants to be the one to nurture that and have a front row seat to her greatness. She’s more than a random person to flirt with and then ghost, she’s more than a sham of a relationship. She’s permanent. At least, Brooke wants her to be.

Desperately.

And not losing Vanessa in the future means that Brooke has to avoid doing anything to ruin whatever it is that they have between them.

“Okay. Tell that to the way you guys were snuggled together like two little puppies or something. It was kind of adorable.” Yvie pops a cube of pineapple into her own mouth, throwing another towards Brooke.

“We weren’t snuggled together,” Brooke mumbles as she chews the pineapple, shrugging when Yvie scoffs and rolls her eyes. “What?”

“So what was it, then? Huddling for warmth? In an apartment with a broken AC that’s always warm, anyway?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Yves,” Brooke lifts up her hands in surrender. “She’s my student. We’re not doing anything.”

“Y’know what I think? I think you don’t know what to tell yourself. And that’s why you’re avoiding thinking about it,” Yvie says, holding up another cube. “Want some more?”

“Don’t you have to go Facetime Scarlet or something instead of pressing me about Vanessa? God,” Brooke grumbles. “Yes to the pineapple, by the way.”

Yvie snickers as she grabs a bowl, filling it with a handful of cubes. “You’re grumpy when you’re forced to confront your feelings.”

“There are no feelings.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Denial may be a river in Egypt, but it’s also very entertaining on you.”

“Oh, shut up,” Brooke groans, resting her cheek on her palm with her elbow against the counter. “Now go have phone sex with your girlfriend while I get my earplugs out.”

“And I’ll enjoy it, thank you very much,” Yvie singsongs as she waltzes into her bedroom, kicking the door closed and leaving Brooke alone in the kitchen.

She’s sure about what she’s said to Yvie. There are no feelings. Well, friendship feelings, and feelings of caring for Vanessa as a person because she’s pretty damn great and a wonderful person, but...not those kinds of feelings.

Brooke doesn’t do those kinds of feelings. Not when they end the way so many other things do, not when relationships don’t ever last the way that they promise to. Brooke doesn’t need her time with Vanessa to end anytime soon.

Besides, platonic cuddling is a thing. Brooke has snuggled up against Kameron’s bicep more than once during their athlete days on the drives to tournaments. Not that it was ever that comfortable back then, but hey, maybe Asia will like it now.

Maybe she and Vanessa can go play lob at the bar one day at the bar that Kameron’s taken Asia to - not as a romantic thing, because they’re not like that, they’re not, but because Vanessa’s competitive streak is adorable. Something that Brooke loves to see but also something that pushes Vanessa to be a great athlete and is almost mesmerizing to watch.

So, yeah. Lob as friends.

Brooke’s going to emphasize the ‘friends’ part when she asks Vanessa. More to calm herself down about it, than anything else.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #boxer au #level up #holtzmanns

[jungwooisms]

pairing: tailor!jungwoo x female!bookbinder!reader   genre: fluff, angst, smut, period piece others: nakamoto yuta, suh johnny, moon taeil, park sooyoung, lee donghyuck (mentioned), kim doyoung (mentioned), lee ten (mentioned), lee taeyong (mentioned) warnings: cursing, sexual content (unprotected sex, oral f. & m. receiving), drinking, an overabundance of 60′s references, unrequited love word count: 20k

It's autumn in New York that brings the promise of new love Autumn in New York is often mingled with pain Dreamers with empty hands may sigh for exotic lands It's autumn in New York It's good to live it again

1963, Autumn. The small knife in hand cuts through the thin leather with relative ease, stopping at the point you’d marked with a small piece of chalk, you switch to cut the other end of the material. You eye the coffee sitting on the opposite end of your work bench, watching the steam rise from the cup that you’d barely taken a drink from. It was only nine in the morning and you hadn’t slept well the night before, had there not been any orders to fill you would have slept in a while longer. 

With the leather finally cut into its allotted pieces you go to move to the bound paper you were trying to cover before you hear someone walk in. The chimes above the door at the front of your shop sound off with a soft resonance, the same sound that had echoed the room for years. Footsteps treading carefully into the center of your shop, you can’t eye the stranger from your closed off workshop unless you open the heavy wooden door. 

A quiet “Hello?” rings out, they sound apprehensive and unfamiliar to you. There’s a tinged worry that treads on the lone word, leaving you all the more perplexed as you set down the leather and the semicircular knife onto your workshop table and head out into the main gallery of your shop. 

“Can I help you?” Question falling from your lips as soon as you begin to push open the oak door, finding a taller man looking down at one of the fabric laden books on one of the display tables. 

“Oh,” his attention turns to you from the book, to the doorway you’d entered from and then back to you.  The horn-rimmed glasses adorning his face slipping down the bridge of his nose. “I’m here to pick up an order for Moon Taeil.” His slender hand moves from its once stagnant position to push the glasses back up before moving to his right-side front pocket, “I can show you the receipt if you need it—”

“There’s no need,” you shake your head and raise your hand. Taeil had been a longtime customer of your family’s shop, you assume it’s mostly because of a mutual acquaintance with the Suh clan, but you would never be the one to edge into that conversation unprovoked. “I’ll go and grab your order,” a short smile and you’re turning on your heels and striding into your storeroom/workshop once more. 

When you walk back out a few moments later, the books wrapped in brown paper to protect their covers, the stranger is once again looking down at the assortment of books atop your display tables. 

“So,” you begin as you hold out the bound books to him, “are you new? I don’t think Taeil’s sent you before.”

He takes the books gingerly, his gaze returning to the soft leather-bound journal after he gives you a short nod in thanks. As if it took him a moment to process the question he blinks and turns back to you, “Sorry— My name’s Jungwoo Kim. I started working for Taeil last week.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you nod, trying to register the face with the name as comprehensively as you could. “Tell him to give me a ring when he needs his next order, I know he goes through those fairly quickly.”

“I will,” Jungwoo smiles, “Before I go do you think I could buy this?” His head nods down to the leather-bound journal he’d been eyeing earlier, “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

A small smile gracing your lips, “Of course, it’s unlined though. Is that alright?”

“It’s perfect, thank you,” he says as you pick up the book as his hands were already burdened with his boss’ order. “How much do I owe you?”

“No charge,” you shake your head, fingers tightening along the spine. It’s smooth but the ridges of the leather run coarse under your touch, “Think of it as a congratulatory gift for getting a job under Moon. I know he has a reputation for being a bit of a—”

“Hard-ass?” Jungwoo muses, eyes widening as he realizes how he’s just insulted his boss. “And really, I can pay for that, I’m sure it must’ve taken you a while to make it.” 

“I’m not sure if that’s the exact term I was looking for, but it does fit,” you laugh, raising the book up. “Don’t worry about it, do you want me to wrap it?” 

“If you could,” he offers a smile as you move to the roll of brown paper atop the register table. 

It only takes a minute for you to cover it, you’d done hundreds, if not thousands, of wrappings for novels and books. Once you finish tying the twine bow atop the journal, you gently stack it on the books Jungwoo holds. 

“I hope to see you here again, Mr. Kim. That is, if Taeil doesn’t scare you off.”

“He’s like a weird mix of my dad and what I’d expect Hardy Amies to be,” you weren’t sure exactly who Amies is or what Jungwoo’s father was like, but you did know Taeil. Oddities and all. “And don’t worry, I have a stronger resolve than most,” he shoots you a wink before spinning on his heels and heading towards the door. He calls out a, “Thanks again for the book,” before shoving the door open with his hip and losing himself in the crowd of the street outside.

1963, Winter There was nothing quite like the holiday season in New York. Shops elevated the grandeur of their storefronts to catch the eye of window shoppers. Your own shop had seen an influx of patrons, as was typically the case around this time of year. But the demands were great, your hands had the slew of papercuts and hastily put on bandages to show it. Not that you minded it all too much, it was great revenue and it had paid for the camel hair coat you donned this evening. 

The city was abuzz with life and festivities along almost every street, and while the excitement from Hanukkah and Christmas had died down over the last few weeks, most now looked towards the reining in of a New Year as December thirty first arrived. 

“We’re going to be late,” Yuta’s arm slides under yours, the crux of his arm locking into yours as his pace quickens along the dimly lit street. The sound of his derbies clicking against the pavement reverberating around the nearly empty row of houses. 

“It’s ten and we’re going to a New Year’s Eve party, I doubt we’ll be late, Yuta.” You let out a scoff, fumbling with your bag for a moment, not sure what you were searching for in the first place. The streetlamp’s orangey glow not aiding you in deciphering the numbers etched into the doorways of the homes. 

“Says the person who took five years to pick out a jacket, I’m surprised we got out of your apartment before my hair turned gray— Wait a minute,” his fingers of his free hand trailing up to the dyed platinum locks on his head as he turns back to shoot you a glare, “It did.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” eyes rolling, you nudge him with your shoulder “It’s not my fault your stylist bleached you instead of dyeing you.”

“I feel like an idiot, they can’t even see me to fix it for another week.” He groans as the pair of you make your way to a brownstone tucked away neatly into one of the city’s streets. It would be innocuous from the others aligning the strip had you not been able to hear the gentle buzz of chatter and the occasional laugh drift out from the screened door. 

“Did Suh invite the whole block?” Yuta murmurs as he lets go of your arm so that he can jump up the short handful of stairs to the front door two by two. 

“It would explain how dead the rest of the street seems,” Musing, you follow him, more carefully as you’d always seemed prone to falling up stairs. The voices grow in volume and now you can even hear the scratchy sound of some music floating from the door. There’s no one at the door to greet you when you walk in, just an array of faces that you seem to recognize while others are brand new acquaintances, Yuta and you drop off your coats in a nearby closet and shuffle your way inside in search for the nearest drink station.

“I’d say his house is beautiful, but I can barely see anything. How does he know this many people,” Yuta questions as he slides out of the way of someone’s elbow almost hitting him in the stomach, “All I want is to get slightly drunk tonight but I bet the alcohol’s already gone.” 

“It’s the Suh household you know that’s not going to happen,” a snicker leaves you before you feel a gentle tapping on your shoulder. Stopping in your tracks you’re fully ready to meet Johnathan Suh’s smirk and subsequent banter, but it takes you a minute to realize that it wasn’t your childhood friend that had garnered your attention at all; instead, it was a somewhat less familiar face.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Jungwoo’s cheeks are slightly flushed with a smile, the contents of his champagne glass half-empty as he poses the question, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh, sure.” You return his smile, nodding your head as he begins to walk off, only stopped by someone calling out to him.

“I didn’t know Pincushion would be here,” Yuta’s voice draws nearer behind you, it seems like he realized you weren’t trailing after him anymore. You feel his hand land on your shoulder as he continues to talk to Jungwoo, “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks.” He taps his shoe on the floor, only stepping forward a little bit to let someone pass by behind him.

“Pincushion?” You question, looking from Yuta to Jungwoo with a quizzical look on your brow.

“That thing he wears around his wrist every time he comes in?” Yuta shrugs, “I couldn’t remember his name the first time I saw him, but I could remember that. Hence: Pincushion.” 

“Is that what it’s called?” You recall the ball of velvety looking green fabric you’d seen on Jungwoo’s wrist the last handful of times he’d come to pick up the tailor shop’s orders. 

“Yeah my grandma used to have one and I stole the needles from it to use as swords for my toys when I was a kid,” his shoulders shrug as he looks past Jungwoo and spots something beyond him. “I see one of those guys with a tray of drinks, I’ll get back to you in a bit.” And with that he’s off, sliding around you and Jungwoo to brush his way through the crowd in a frantic sprint to grab himself a glass.

“Does he know that there’s an open bar in the other room?” Jungwoo asks aloud as he watches your friend disappear into the crowd.

“Not yet but give him twenty minutes and I’m sure he’ll be all over it.” Yuta wasn’t one to drink heavily often, it was more of a holiday thing where he only did it if he knew he wasn’t going into work for the next few days. Needless to say, that Christmas and New Years are binge drinking galore for him. 

“So, book binding? How’d you get into that line of work?” You’d been so concentrated on looking for your friend’s brightly colored hair that you almost didn’t hear Jungwoo when he asked. 

“Family business, dad’s too sick to come in.” Your eyes flickering over to him, a small shrug of your shoulders.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” his brow contorts into worry for a moment, as if he’d offended you somehow. 

“Don’t be, if anything I think he’s playing it up a bit just so mom has to be around more often,” You smile, it was really only minor back issues but the doctor had prescribed bed rest and your father had been milking it for months now. 

“Smart man,” a short laugh into his drink before he takes a sip from his glass. “So, how do you know John?”

“Old family friend, plus he’s as rich as all get out so it’s nice to see what it’s like.” You note, looking up to the chandelier overhead. If it were anything but Tiffany you’d be surprised. “What about you?”

“You didn’t hear this from me but Taeil might be secretly dating one of his sisters and she invited the whole shop just as an excuse to see him.” The two of you lock eyes, a playful smirk on his lips dancing in the warm glow of the room. “I’m not complaining.”

“I don’t doubt it,” chuckling for a moment, you then look up as if you’ve realized something. “I should probably go and greet the host; can you imagine how rude of a guest I’d be if I didn’t?”

A ceding nod as he steps away from you, gesturing with his glass towards a side room off the main hall, “I think I saw him in there a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks, Jungwoo,” you move to pass him, heading towards the doorway before you stop for a moment, your head tilting in question, “Want to meet back up later?”

“I’d love that,” a gentle thud in your chest as you nod at him, beginning to move again and question the feeling that had plagued you enough to ask him that. 

You don’t find Johnny in that room, or the next, or even upstairs in his own bedroom. You do, however, find him on the second-floor fire escape, the butts of several cigarettes at his feet and a glass of whiskey in his hand. It’s cold, had you known this would be where you’d speak you would’ve brought your coat with you.

“Johnathan Suh,” You begin, crouching down to duck through the open window, catching him as he’s begun to lean against the brick exterior of his home, “Hiding away from your party again?”

“The guest of the hour,” A grin as you walk towards him, “How are you? I haven’t seen you at all in the past few months.”

“I’m good, good… It’s been so hectic with the seasonal shopping and all, who knew journals were a hot commodity for gift-giving?” You sigh, elbows resting against the cold fence of the escape. The time between now and the last you’d seen him had been great, but it had always been far and few in between when it came to his jet setting tendencies. 

“Sounds hellish for sure,” Musing, he takes a sip from his glass, the scent of whisky hitting your nose as it nears. His other hand rests atop the rusted metal of the fire escape, impatiently tapping as he looks out into the backyard of his home.

“And what about you, Mr. Start-Up? Tear down any more conglomerates recently?” You query, noticing that he was on one of his inward treks again. Something must’ve come up with his family.  

A snicker, as he offers out his glass to you, noticing that your hands were painfully empty, “No, but we’re working on a pretty big acquisition right now. It’s all mind games and if I didn’t make a shitload of money I’d be out of this business.” 

“Lucky you though, you’re able to retire at thirty-five if you really wanted to,” musing as you swirl around the contents of the glass, the ice inside clinking around. 

He laughs, the cold air mixing with his breath in plumes of white that spiral into the nighttime. You push yourself from the wall, bringing the glass to your lips and downing the rest of the contents as quickly as you can, “This isn’t the time to be hard on yourself, John. I think the countdown’s about to start,” a look at the small wristwatch on your wrist, the time indicating that you had about five minutes until the new year began.

“Shit,” the word elongated exasperatedly as he leans over to catch a glance at the clock face, “Let’s get back out there.”

The two of you amble inside, your cheeks cold with the winter air and hands a little stiff from holding the glass for too long. You set it down on one of the various demilunes scattered around the hall as you make your way back into Johnny’s living room. He’s lost along the way, pulled into a group of businessmen to talk or fawning girls to cajole with, you’re not sure which at this point. All you’re trying to do is find someone you know. 

You can try to push through the crowds to find John, but at this point it’d be like trying to part the Red Sea with your own two hands and it was infeasible to say the least. Or you could head to one of the drink stations around the house in hopes to find Yuta, but he was as elusive as a snake and it’d be a miracle if you could find him before the clock struck midnight.

“Sixty!” A choir of voices ring out from a nearby room, you think you can hear John’s voice rising above them all, but it might also be your ears playing tricks on you.

“Are they really counting down the entire minute?” The voice next to you startling you so much that you jump, turning, you see Kim Jungwoo looking off in the direction of the countdown. His brow furrowing in confusion, “I at least thought it’d be the last ten seconds or something.”

“Jesus Jungwoo,” hand over your heart as you try and catch your breath, “You almost scared me to death.”

A laugh, “Sorry about that, I’m a little light on my feet.”

It also didn’t help that you could barely hear with the throng of people surrounding you. The gaiety electrifies the room, as it does the entire world when on the eve of a brand-new start. 

“Did you want me to help you find one of your friends? I’m sure they couldn’t have gone too far,” his height somewhat advantageous to him as he scans the crowd, not seeing you shake your head as the countdown reaches thirty.

“I think I’m fine just staying with you,” you don’t notice the way he tenses ever so slightly at your words, a more rouge tint to his cheeks as he looks back to you with a sheepish smile.

“Are you sure?” Eyes widening as your gazes’ lock and you feel the familiar warmth creeping up the back of your neck.

“If that’s okay with you?” You question, the countdown hitting fifteen.

“That’s great— fine, it’s— yeah,” he trips and stumbles over his words, trying to find solid ground somewhere on the confab plain. It’s at that moment the countdown comes to ten, and the pair of you join in for the last seconds of 1963.

Five, four, three, two — 

“Happy New Year!” 

The clock had struck midnight and he was the closest one to you, you can’t remember if it was you or him that pulled the other closer to share a kiss. The kiss was chaste, but it resounded around your ribcage like the booming of the fireworks being shot off a distant skyscraper. A smile on your lips as you mouth back your own, “Happy New Year!” Despite it being innocent in nature, you know with the way the feeling buzzes on your lips you yearn for something more.

1964, Early Spring. The two of you’d spent time together since that evening, outside of that transactional relationship formed in the commerce of you selling your journals and him picking them up for Taeil whenever he could. It was outside of that realm, more personal as the days, weeks and months had transgressed. 

By some miraculous circumstance, and no less of your incessant mentioning, you and Jungwoo had been seeing each other on a regular basis 

“Taeil?” The door of the tailor shop opens with nothing short of a struggle. The heavy oak pressing back against your foot as you pry it open, your hands too full to push it. 

“Need some help?” A voice behind you, startling you so much that you almost drop the large stack of books in your hand. You look over your shoulder to see Jungwoo standing behind you, his head tilted as if to question how you’d made it this far on your own.

“Thanks,” allowing him to brush past you, he steps into the shop and holds the door open wider as you enter. “Where is everyone?” Noticing that the usual handful of other tailors didn’t seem to be aimlessly roaming the store waiting for a customer to arrive.

“Busy,” He notes, motioning for you to hand him the plethora of journals. Obliging willingly, you hand them off and stretch your arms, surely the strain from the hardbacks would pull your finger muscles. “There’s been an emergency tailoring session, some big shot’s in town and needs alterations done for some party they’re throwing tomorrow night.”

“Explains why no one came to pick up the order today,” you muse, “Shouldn’t you be helping with that?”

“I will be in about an hour,” he sighs as if he’s already imagining the work that he’ll need to put in this evening. “But someone had to watch over the shop today.” 

“Do you want company while you wait?”

You’re not sure how you’d gotten roped into staying with Jungwoo until well after the sun had set and the last customer had come in for the day. The lights of the shop are off, save for the small lamp that sits above Jungwoo’s workstation. He sits at his little desk in the back corner of the shop as he sews and hems away. His eyes scan the notes the patron had given when they’d dropped off the clothes, you had to squint to try and read the messy scrawl etched onto the parchment. You sit some desks away, flipping through some editorial detailing the up and coming designers of the fashion world but nothing was particularly catching your eye.

“Three alterations in one night, Taeil’s really trying to work us to the bone,” Jungwoo sighs exasperatedly, his hands falling atop his desk, a needle held between his right index and thumb while his other hand holds the garment he’d been attending to.

“Doesn’t it take a week to do something for just one piece?” You ask, not too versed on the schematics of it all, just acutely aware of when your father had needed suits adjusted as he aged.

“Normally,” he glances over to you, a hazy impatience settling behind his brow as he thinks to the two other pieces he was set to mend. “But it’s nine-thirty now and the guy wants them done by noon tomorrow,” Jungwoo almost barks out a laugh at the absurdity of it all, “I didn’t even get the roughest pieces, Doyoung’ll be up all night and finish five minutes beforehand if he’s lucky.”

“What are they making him do?” Magazine set aside as you stand to stretch, your legs numb with the fuzziness of pinched nerves.

“Some simple inseam stuff like I’m doing, but also taking in a few jacket sleeves and fixing shoulder divots,” He says as if you know what he’s talking about, upon seeing the puzzled expression that paints itself on your face he explains a little more, “It’s nearly impossible to do with the amount of time we’ve been given.”

“Why’d Taeil accept this job then?” Pins and needles poking through your skin as you walk over to him to take a look at what he was working on.

“Because the client’s paying us a fortune,” setting the needle down he pulls a pin from the cushion around his wrist to situate it into an odd angle in the fabric in front of him, “I might actually be able to take you on a real date if I finish this in time.”

“I’ve kind of liked the ice cream socials,” you shrug your shoulders, as he turns to look at you, “And all of the gritty little dives, it’s more memorable that way. Plus, it makes me a cheap date.”

A small ‘tch’ leaving him as he turns back to his work, “You deserve more than that.”

“As long as you’re there I’ll be fine,” you lean down to press a kiss on his cheek, “Now I’ll stop distracting you, I’ll make dinner or lunch or something because I know you’ll be dead on your feet tomorrow.”

“Try and get to bed early,” he says as you go to grab your things from where you’d left them up front, “I know you like to overwork yourself too.”

1964, Summer When you’d been invited to Jungwoo’s small apartment, you’d expected a small dinner and then maybe you’d go and watch television or explore the city afterwards. What you hadn’t expected was to see dark plumes of smoke emitting from under the doorway. You don’t knock, instead you barge into the apartment to find Jungwoo unlatching his windows and opening them to let the smoke escape, the source of the plumes coming from his small kitchen. 

“What happened?” You call out as he turns to you, your hand rising to your face as if it could vanquish the putrid smell. 

“I cooked,” the last window opens with a struggle, Jungwoo’s arms ache with how much force he had to exert when opening it. He shuffles over to you, seeing that you’d walked into the kitchen to find the source of it all.

“You… cooked....” A charred, black entity sits in a pan that Jungwoo had presumably pulled from the oven minutes prior. “Jungwoo what is that?”

“A loaf!” An almost excited tone cutting through your confusion as you turn and tilt your head at him.

“A… loaf of?”

“Meat!” At least he’s trying to sound cheerful, but that was his disposition most of the time. His hand guides your gaze over to a handwritten recipe atop the counter, he must’ve gotten it from some program. “I followed Julia Child’s recipe.” 

“I’m not trying to be mean but that looks like a brick.” Gaze flickering back to the meat-brick. 

“Yeah,” a sigh as he picks up a nearby spatula, grazing it atop the burnt meat, it scrapes atop it rather than giving way at all, “It’s about as hard as one too.”

The utter exasperation breaking through in his voice cause enough for you to laugh, the absurdity of it all pricking tears into the corners of your eyes. “We can try and salvage it,” you offer once you calm yourself down enough, the occasional chuckle flitting like a bird around your ribcage.

“Let’s just go to Le Pavilion or something, there’s also a new movie out too, we can try and catch it if we eat fast enough.”

And you do. For some reason Jungwoo orders the most expensive dish on the menu and doesn’t even like it, offering it to you instead with an abysmal pout that almost has you reeling in the small interior of the restaurant. The atmosphere is warm and jovial, met by the sinking sun as the two of you exit the venue, hands interlocked with a faint tightness as if you never wanted to be without him in your grasp again. Jungwoo and you then walk to a theater some blocks away, hands still held and a bubbling silence between you.

The film that Jungwoo had mentioned earlier had been Mary Poppins, some Disney flick starring Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke; you’re sure you’d heard Andrews somewhere before, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. 

“I didn’t realize they could combine live action and cartoons like that,” Jungwoo’s voice full of childlike wonder as the pair of you exit the cinema. The smell of popcorn wafts out of the theater’s doors and the bright bulbs of the marquee overhead creates a strange glow contrasted to the nighttime sky. 

“I didn’t either,” you note as a few kids brush past you and begin to race down the street, their voices carrying off into the night. It brings a small smile to your lips as you watch them gallivant around, not a care in the world as they continue to chase one another.

“Do you want me to walk with you back to your place?” Jungwoo offers, extending his hand out to you. You don’t answer aloud, instead just take his hand into yours and begin to walk the steadily emptying streets.

“Have you always lived in the city, Jungwoo?” It takes a moment for you to speak again, instead of just admiring the way that the lights glint off of passing windows and the rumblings of the cars that pass to your left drown out in the other amblings of the city.

“No, my family actually lives up north a little way away.” He hums to himself as he thinks, “I thought I’d always be stuck up there too, but I got the offer from Taeil and moved here as fast as I could. Although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it at times.”

“I see,” you mutter, not knowing the feeling of leaving your home. It was a foreign concept to say the least, for almost the entirety of your life you’d know you were going to take over your father’s shop one day, and you’d been complacent in the matter. You’d had your hobbies that you dabbled in, but this was a nostalgic comfort that would and had transitioned into your livelihood that would take you no where else other than the little shop you call your own. “Would you want to move back?”

“Maybe when I’m older, sure. But I want to see the world first,” he nods his head, a twitch in his hand as he holds yours, “there’s so much I haven’t done or seen.”

It was a reckless ambition, but Jungwoo lived in that fantasy of the unknown, he had for all of his life. That was what he knew and all he abided by. You’d be fooling yourself if you didn’t worry for him at times, but he’d made it so far and you were curious to see where he was going. There was a creative longing, a desire to make, within him that no one else you’d come across had.

“I love you.” The words aren’t romantic when they fall from your mouth, when they’re swept up in the humidity of the summer air and ring around both his and your ears. This was more of a reckoning, a realization of the culmination of your growing feelings towards him since you’d met him almost a year ago now. A weight you hadn’t realized was there lifting from your chest, a songbird free from a gilded cage.

Jungwoo pauses, his feet stopping on the concrete as you continue to walk, only pulled back when you meet resistance. So, you stop yourself, turning back to look at him, a little ‘o’ on his lips and a confused look gracing his features. Had you said it too early? Or did he not reciprocate your feelings?

“You beat me to it,” a small pout emerging onto his lower lip, “I love you too.”

1964, Autumn “I can’t imagine those are comfortable.” You’re sure the clacking of your shoes could be hear miles away, with the obnoxious way they hit the sidewalk. They were pinching your toes too, and you might as well have put a band-aid on the backs of your heels because they were definitely going to be blistered tomorrow morning.

“They most certainly aren’t, but they are cute.” You note, standing on your toes so you can click the red slippers together three times at the heel. “

Jungwoo stands at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to your apartment, offering out his hand for you to grasp when you carefully make your way down the steps. As opposed to the cool air that had begun to settle into the city, his hand offers warmth against your bare skin as his fingers intertwine with yours.

“Which way to Yuta’s?” He questions, looking over your costume for the evening.

“He lives over in Flatiron, kind of near the shop so it won’t be too far of a walk.” You notice him looking at the checkered dress and bright shoes. “Was Dorthey not a good idea, Mr. Holmes?” Noting his outfit of choice, the pipe held in his free hand, the detective cap as well as the cape to match.

“I think you look cute,” Looking away from you and towards the street you’d begun to walk down.

Yuta’s apartment was small, it being so led to more intimate parties than one would find at John Suh’s home, in a way you appreciated it a little more. Bigger parties with unfamiliar faces made you feel as if you had to act less like yourself and more robotic in your interactions.

“I’ll let you in if you promise not to chuck my house to Oz,” Yuta asks as he joking cracks open his front door as the two of you stand in front of it, “And Pincushion here doesn’t try and solve a murder or two.”

“Hmm I guess that’s doable, right?” You play along, turning to Jungwoo to confirm.

“It might take some restraint but I’m sure I can manage.” Hand under his chin as if he’s deep in thought.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Yuta sighs and swings the door open, “Drinks in the kitchen, I think Hyuck’s trying to do a comedy-musical routine in the living room. I’d steer clear because he’s trying out ‘audience participation’ tonight.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” You laugh as you walk inside, the warmth of the room exacerbated by the sheer number of people crammed into the tiny space.

“I do kind of want to check out Hyuck’s thing,” You mention to Jungwoo after you find a space where the two of you can stand unimpeded.

“I don’t know if I can stomach that quite yet, want me to grab you a drink in the meantime?” Jungwoo asks, looking towards the kitchen and the few people filtering in and out of it.

“That’d be great,” a smile and then Jungwoo’s off to struggle his way through the packed room.

Lip bitten you try and look through the crowd, but the drawls of laughter tell you almost exactly where Donghyuck’s giving his tri-annual standup show. It’s shoulder to shoulder and you can barely hear him over the other going-ons of the party but from what you can ascertain it’s pretty funny.

“Happy Halloween!” A hand on your side as they call out, you turn, and it takes you a moment to recognize the face under the Gomez Addam’s mustache and wig.

“John!” A smile as you move to hug him for a moment, pulling away with your hands resting on his forearms, “I thought you were overseas?”

“I was supposed to be, a nasty storm delayed us by a few days over in Spain so I’m not leaving until Wednesday.” He says, looking over your outfit. “Didn’t you wear this like two Halloweens ago?”

“What no one knows won’t hurt them,” a playful nudge on his shoulder, “And if I were to remember, this wig looks very Elvis of you.”

“You might be able to remember correctly,” The black strands of hair that were pulled back still reminiscent of the shape they once held. “Hey, I was wondering if I could talk to you alone?” John smiles, a nervous tinge to his voice as he continues, “It’s a little loud in here and I can’t really hear.”

“Oh, yeah,” brow furrowing at the attitude shift, “But first I should tell— Jungwoo!” The confused expression on John’s face somewhat laughable as you wave your boyfriend over, spotting him exiting the kitchen with two drinks in hand.

“There you are,” Jungwoo says as he walks over, placing a kiss on your cheek as he hands you a glass. You’re not too sure what the contents are, but it’s warm and smells spiced and oddly autumnal. “Hey John,” he greets with a small nod of his head as you take a small sip from your glass.

“Hey Jungwoo,” a return of the nod, “I should probably let the two of you go, I just remembered I have some calls I need to make.”

“What did you want to talk about?”  You ask as John begins to turn on his heels. It freezes him, he looks back to you before offering you a warm smile once again.

“It’s nothing important, I’ll catch up with you some other time, yeah?”

The party goes one without much note after, the most affable thing being that routine that Donghyuck had been preparing.  At one point you and Jungwoo had slipped out citing an acute tiredness as an excuse to just walk the city some more. By this time of night, the kids that had gone out in search for candy were slowly waning, now only the belligerently drunk wandered the streets in search of the home they probably lived in.

“You have to admit that the joke about Red Skelton was pretty funny though,” insisting that Donghyuck wasn’t the worst comedian you had ever seen. Sure, his act could be cleaned up a little but there was definitely potential.

“What was it— I know a guy who bought a $99 color TV set. Now every Tuesday night he watches Green Skelton?” Chuckling as he recalls the joke, Jungwoo shakes his head “That was pretty good.”

“That’s the one, he’s no Jerry Lewis but he’s trying his best,” you laugh as you arrive to the entrance of your apartment, “Did you want to come in?”

“I’d love to,” he says, and your heart skips several beats, “but I’ve got a client coming in early tomorrow.” And then your heart drops, “I’ll come by tomorrow after I’m done?”

“Alright,” you nod and you say your good nights, he places a kiss on your cheek before turning on his heels and walking into the darkness of night. 

You fumble with your hands, trying to unlatch the small picnic basket that had acted as your purse for the evening, in search of your keys. 

“Actually, do you have room for one more?” You’d been too distracted trying to get your keys that you hadn’t heard or seen Jungwoo come back to your stoop. 

“I thought you said you had work tomorrow,” a wayward glance to him.

“I do, but it’s dark and I’m kind of afraid to walk home alone, I mean what if a ghost or vampire gets me? I’m too pretty to die right now,” he states, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for you to invite him in. 

“A big baby, more like it,” you scoff, once again turning to look at your door and stating, “If you are coming inside, can you lend me my own spare? I think I dropped my keys at Yuta’s.”

“Yeah I think I’ve got it on my ring,” he rummages around his pocks for a moment until you hear the familiar jingle of his keys. There are only four that adorn the metal hoop; his apartment’s, his mailbox’s, Taeil’s shop’s, and the most recent addition: yours. 

“Roommate not home?” He questions as the two of you make your way inside, kicking off your shoes as you beeline to your kitchen.

“At some B. Altman holiday extravaganza with her beau,” pulling two glasses from a cabinet and grabbing a nearby bottle from the small section of your kitchen dedicated to alcohol, “Nightcap?”

“A small one,” Jungwoo nods as you come into the room, he’s standing over your record player, turning it on and beginning to play whatever was on the platter. You set the glasses down onto the coffee table and pry the cork out of the bottle, pouring two small glasses as he falls into the sofa beside you.

“I hope Delamain’ll do?” You set down the bottle and pass a glass to Jungwoo, only settling down on the couch once your own glass is in hand.

“It’s perfectly fine,” he sips at his glass, setting it down on the settee as he muses some more, “What record is this?”

“Ella Fitzgerald, mom gave it to me for my birthday last year, it’s one of her favorites.” Sipping from your own glass steadily turns into you just downing the liquid in one go. The glass hits the end table with a clink when you set it down, Jungwoo’s free hand resting on your thigh as he listens to the music wafting through the air.

“It’s lovely,” he sighs out as you rest your head on his shoulder, the scent of his Pour Monsieur cologne invading your senses as you settle. The meticulous grazing of his fingers over your thigh cause for you to sigh, wanting to sink further into him.

“Can you kiss me?” The words fall breathlessly from your lips, as his fingers trace the hem of your dress. And he does, turning his head to crash against you with such voraciousness that your teeth click against each other before he steadies and falls into motion with you. The pair of you stay like that for a moment, before you felt his hand slip under your leg, urging you to sit atop him. 

You straddle his waist, feeling a hardness beginning to strain against his trousers as you grind down onto his lap. He lets out a moan, probably the sweetest thing you’d ever heard, his eyelids fluttering as you do it again. A smirk graces your lips, your hands trailing from his chest to the button on the front of his pants, the fabric coarse under your touch as you move to unfasten it. Before you could, you feel a pair of warm hands atop yours, you looked up to see a wide-eyed Jungwoo. 

“I didn’t think I’d be doing this today, so my underwear isn’t exactly mood appropriate—” He says all too quickly for you to comprehend fully, “Just don’t judge me too hard.”

“They can’t be— Is that Mickey Mouse?” You catch the name on the waistband of his underwear, hesitating on releasing any more of the animated character for your eyes to see. 

“And I think you’ve just killed the mood,” he groans, his head falling onto the back pillow as his hands fall atop the couch cushions. 

“No, I didn’t,” you lean down for a kiss, rolling your hips over him, feeling that he was almost fully erect. His hands fly back to your sides, guiding you along as he lifts his pelvis to meet yours. “I think they’re cute but maybe leave them home next time.”

“Next time?” He mused, looking up at you through clouded eyes, a joking tinge added to his voice “What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?”

“Call it foresight,” shoulders shrugging as you look down at him, your head tilted ever so slightly “and you don’t seem like the hit it and quit it type, baby.” He’d slept over at your apartment before, maybe you’d had a few drunken makeout sessions but nothing ever this sobering, this far. In hindsight maybe you should’ve been nervous, let the butterflies in your stomach take over and calm you down. You’re not sure why you’d taken such a confident route with him, it just seems like he needed it. 

“Baby,” the word fell out as a whisper as you saw the faint pinkness of his cheeks in the glow that emanates from the lamp to his right, “Can you spare me any further embarrassment and just take them off already?”

“It doesn’t feel like you’ve got anything to be embarrassed about,” your hand brushing his away from the front of his pants, you sit up on your knees, “Mind kicking them off for me?”

He readily complies as you tried to maneuver without inhibiting him, you noticed him watching you, a hunger in his gaze that sent shivers down your spine. 

“Fuck— is someone else here?” You listen to the familiar sound of your front door unlocking; it doesn’t open but you can hear loud footfalls and an even louder voice talking outside of the door. 

“Sooyoung?” You call out after you were sure the voices had stopped, walking to the kitchen when you hear roommate’s keys hitting the kitchen counter “I thought you were staying at your boyfriend’s?”

“The asshole broke up with me because he wanted to be Holly Golightly. Him! He might have the astoundingly good looks for it but I think I’m a little prettier, don’t you think?,” The door of the fridge slamming shut, a rustle around the utensil drawer as she looks for a spoon. She did look stunning as the Hepburn character; you have to admit. “They’re re-airing that episode of Perry Mason if you wanted to watch it.”

“Jungwoo’s actually over so I think I’m just going to call it a night,” You say, leaning against the doorframe, watching her begin to dig into a tub of ice cream. “I’ll be sure to rant about your ex with you tomorrow.”

“You’d really do that?” A sigh as she shoves the spook into her mouth, “I’ll try not to wake you guys up when I get up for work tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sooyoung,” a smile before you slip away and head back into the living room. “Alright Woo, it’s time for bed.”

“Alright,” Jungwoo pushes himself off of the couch, shouting out a ‘Goodnight Sooyoung!’ before ducking into your room. With his long strides he walks to your bed and subsequently falls into it as you turn to close the door behind the two of you.

“Don’t you want to change, Dr. Holmes?” You note his still costumed self as you look at his sprawling figure on the bed, “I think I’ve got your bed clothes from the last time you were here… Not sure if I cleaned them though.”

He huffs, “Forget it, I’m going to sleep.” He crawls to his side, blanketing himself with your duvet as you go into your bathroom to remove your makeup and change. 

You can hear him softly snoring as you exit the restroom, your face still a little damp and the scent of your cleanser tingling your nose. Sooyoung’s turned off the music in the living room, the garbled sounds of the small black and white tv quietly floating in under your door. It takes a moment, but you climb into bed next to Jungwoo, pulling the duvet up to your chin before you shut your eyes and fall into a dreamless slumber.

It isn’t sunny out when you wake up, you don’t want to look at your clock for fear that your alarm was about to go off and you’d miss the opportunity to sleep in a few minutes more. An arm draped over you, even in sleep Jungwoo was a cuddler. Normally you weren’t opposed unless it was the summertime and it was unbearably hot outside. 

“You know,” you hear him mumble tiredly, as if he senses that you’ve woken up too, “I always thought your apartment would be much more… bookier.” With the way his voice rasps with fatigue you’re not sure if he’s fully awake or half asleep. 

“What were you expecting? Books wall to wall?” eyes still closed as you pull your duvet closer to you, feeling his arm tense around your waist. 

“Kind of, something akin to a fairytale library,” his breath hot on your back, the hairs on the back of your neck raising at the sensation. “Like uhm— some Grimm story… Oh,” voice perking, “Can we go for that Halloween next year? You didn’t even tell me what you were going as until I saw you tonight.”

“You want to have a couple’s costume?”

“Yeah,” breathing slowing as if he’s falling back asleep agin,”Maybe Lucy and Ricardo, that’d be fun.”

The next time you wake up, the sun’s blaring into your eyes with an intensity you had never asked for.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Jungwoo’s mumbling and shuffling around your room, sunlight was pouring in from your windows and he looked heavenly even in his manic state.

“What’s wrong?” Stifling a yawn behind your hand as you watch him frantically feel his pockets.

“It’s nine-thirty, We— I overslept,” another string of curses escaping him as he looks around your room, “Do you have a phone I can use?”

“It’s on the dresser.” You point lazily to the red rotary.

You hear the dial tone ring a few times before someone on the other end picks up, “Doyoung can you put my client on the line?” A pause, “Yes I know I’m late.” Another pause before Jungwoo speaks again, “Hello Mr. Smith? Yes, this is Jungwoo Kim I’m running a little late for our appointment, I’m stuck in traffic and if you could give me another— Huh? Oh, yes, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Only minorly,” he frowns, “You wouldn’t happen to have a suit perfectly tailored for me to wear, would you?”

“Can’t say that I do, why don’t you just go in what you’re wearing?”

“I am not going dressed up as Sherlock Holmes for this client, I have some pride you know.” 

“You’re literally wearing Mickey Mouse underwear,” you snort, “it doesn’t look that bad anyway, just don’t wear the hat and lose the pipe. Maybe the cloak too but it’s kind of sexy.” 

“Don’t try to tempt me,” he groans, buttoning and zipping his pants, “I’m late enough as is.” 

“I’d offer you an iron if Sooyoung hadn’t broken mine, that shirt looks super wrinkly now that I see it in the sunlight,” you note, he still looked nice though. He would probably look nice in anything he wore.

“Ugh, really?” Hands running over the wrinkled fabric he sighs to himself, “I’d say I’ve looked worse, but I normally have myself together.” 

“Good luck. I, for one, am going back to sleep.” You sigh and fall back into your blankets, not wanting to leave the sanctuary of warmth quite yet.

“Now who’s the baby?” He scoffs and you hear him tread to the side of the bed, a kiss planted on your forehead as you crinkle your nose up at him. “I’ll call you later today?”

“I’ll talk to you then.”

1964, Late Autumn. The rain began only a few minutes into your trek to the cafe, your umbrella weeping with the droplets as they roll off its surface as you trudge down the street. There’s a rumble in the distance but you’re not sure if it’s the local train station or thunder somewhere off beyond the city. Your other hand in your pocket, running your finger along the ridges of your shop’s key. While you know you’d locked it, you can’t help but have the underlying fear that you’d left the door wide open so that anyone could just walk in. Although you’re not quite sure what they’d take, a few blank notebooks don’t seem like it’d do too well in any sort of underground market. 

By the time you pull yourself from your thoughts you’re standing in front of a small cafe that felt more like a second home to you than your own apartment did at this point. The door swings open, you stand in the entranceway so that you can close your umbrella and leave it in the small stand upfront before you head fully inside. It smells like autumn, or at least the coffee’d variant of it. Pumpkin, nutmeg, and a few other scents you can’t quite pinpoint wafting through the air as you walk up to the counter to place your order. You pick out a few pastries as well and ask that they’re brought out when your coffee is ready. A hand to remove the paper-wrapped book under your arm so you can reach for your wallet, realizing then that the water had soaked into the leather. The wrapping paper now a little damp from where it’d brushed against your coat, you pick it back up as well as grab the receipt from the barista before scouring the cafe for what you’d come here to do in the first place.

Jungwoo’s dozing off when you find him in the back corner of the coffee shop. His jacket slung on the chair beside him, a scarf thrown haphazardly atop it as he leans with his head tilting backwards, pretty much dead to the world. Had the two of you not been frequent customers you’re sure that he would’ve been kicked out by now. But there he was, black turtleneck, tailored pants, and the cartoon bandages he loves so much wrapped tightly around his fingertips.

He doesn’t wake up when you accidentally scrape your chair on the ground when you pull it back to sit across from him nor does he wake when you drop the paper-bound book atop the table with a loud thud. Jungwoo does, however, wake when you brush your hand gently atop his, nearly falling out of his chair as his eyes open wider than you’d ever seen someone’s do. 

“That wasn’t funny,” he frowns as you snicker, glancing over to the counter trying to act as if he’s regained his composure, “did you already order?”

“For me? Yes,” you place your bag in the chair adjacent to you, shrug off your raincoat and hang it on the back of your chair. “For you, what is it that you get? Flat white, two sugars, low fat milk?”

“That’s it,” he hums, leaning his head back once more. It must’ve been another sleepless night for him.

“You should be thankful I’ve got an exceptional memory,” you frown as he can’t see you, he overworks himself too much and if you ever try to bring it up he brushes it off with a wave and an excuse of ‘I’m just doing what I love’. 

“You know,” he begins, leaning his head back up, opening his eyes to look at you. There was something shining behind them that you’d only seen on a handful of occasions; he has an idea and he’s not sure that you’ll like it, “I was wondering if you’d model a dress for me? Not for a fashion show or anything. I just think it’d look good on you.”

His gaze breaks from yours to look at the aisle behind you, you turn and see the barista coming with your drinks and assortment of baked goods. After a few repetitious ‘thank you’s she leaves and the pair of you are left alone once more. 

“Are you flirting with me?” An eyebrow piqued as you look at him. He’d asked you to do some of the strangest things before, going from the mundane ‘I think we need to get annual tickets to the opera just in case I forget your birthday and it’ll be a birthday present’ to ‘I swear to god if we don’t rescue this cat right now I’m never calling you again’. But it was two am and a shitfaced Jungwoo had thought that a raccoon was a cat as it rummaged through the garbage. That had also been the night where he’d serenaded you with his own rendition of Blossom Dearies ‘Dance Only With Me’ and Sinatra’s ‘I’m a Fool to Want You’; he’d broken down crying at the latter and you’d forced him to go to bed early. He only went on the condition that you’d hug him as he slept. It was certainly an interesting way to spend your first date together. 

“Do you want me to be? I’d say it’s fairly doable,” He winks as he drinks from his mug, blowing on its contents beforehand to cool the brew. 

A laugh, the brown paper under your fingertips wrinkling as you strain your fingers and push it towards him. It slides across the wood with relative ease, you finger partially tearing the paper where it had been dampened by the rain. 

“I brought you your book.”

“Unlined and all?” He asks as he sets down his cup, shifting himself forward to get a better look.

“Unlined, flexible binding, the works.” 

“You’re a lifesaver,” he sighs, taking the still wrapped book into his grasp. 

“I know,” you smile, watching as his fingers toy with the twine that kept it together. 

“Hello? Paging Ms. Bookbinder, you there?” Jungwoo’s hand waves in front of your face, suddenly you’re back in reality and trying to remember the conversation. You didn’t realize you’d zoned out that hard.

“Yes Mr. Reichelt?” You question, looking down as his finger’s unlace the twine you’d wrapped around the paper packaging. 

“Don’t call me that I am much cooler than Franz Reichelt, and less dead, for that matter.”

“Can you say that after you drink your coffee?” You poke jokingly while he eyes his mug with a wary glance.

“Anyway, were you even listening to me?” He leans towards you, elbows resting on the tabletop and a slight curvature to his smile that looked far too playful for the current moment. It stilled your heart for a second before you shake your head at him. 

“Not really, no.” You confess, sipping from your cup, “What is it?”

“I was asking if you would let me make a dress for you. I’ve had this idea in my mind for weeks and I finally got this mulberry silk imported from Lyon and it’s too good not to use immediately.”

“I don’t even need a dress like that, Jungwoo.” You frown, picking at one of the pastries in front of you, pinching off a piece before stuffing it into your mouth. “I’m not exactly the type that goes to parties where I’d need a silk dress.” You think that the last party you’d attended you’d worn a sweater and a dress from your roommate’s closet, nothing remotely close to what he was proposing. 

“You don’t even know what it looks like,” he pouts, “All I need are your measurements, you won’t even have to see the thing if you don’t want to.” 

A sigh, “Fine. When do you want me to drop by?”

“Does Tuesday around ten work for you?”

“I should be able to get Yuta to look over the shop while I’m gone.”

1964, Winter. The ringing of your shop’s bells draws you to the front room, your hands wrought with binding glue, you try to rub them on the apron you wear to rid yourself of the sensation. Before you can ask what the customer needs you stop in your tracks, head tilting to the side, “Isn’t it your day off?”

“It is,” Jungwoo’s voice is cheery as he walks in further, looking at the array of newly bound books sitting out on display.

“What are you doing here?”

“I can’t want to see you?” You fluster at the words, hard to hide the small smile that forms on your lips.

“I mean, you can, it's just that I’m working.” You motion to the store, to the few customers browsing the items.

“You’ve spent however many nights watching me hem skirts and taper jackets; I think it’s time I return the favor.” A nod of his head as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “What can I do to help?”

“What the hell’s pincushion doing here?” Before you’re able to open your mouthm Yuta’s come out of the back room with a stack of books in his grasp, “I thought you’d be holed up in your shop by now.”

“It’s my day off.”

“And you’re spending it… here…” The thud of books landing on a nearby table as the skepticism in Yuta’s voice rises.

“Yep.”

“He must really like you,” Yuta scoffs, going to grab a different selection of books off of another shelf. He turns to you and asks, “Can you grab me the leather samples from the back? I think Maisel’s coming in today and you know how he gets.”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You shake your head and head to the back room to search for the swatches.

While he waits, Jungwoo notices a small web lingering in the intersection of two walls, the sunlight glinting off its strands having been what alerted him to his presence in the first place. At first, he thinks to sweep it away with a broom he knows is hidden away somewhere in your storeroom. You weren’t the biggest fan of bugs or arachnids; he was surprised you hadn’t rid your shop of it by now. But he can't find it within himself to brush the web asunder. It had worked hard to build and craft its home; he knew firsthand how difficult creating something from nothing was. 

“Her name is Jorōgumo.” Yuta had walked up behind Jungwoo with little announcement. The younger jumps, turning his head to look at the other. “I offered to kill her… him...? For her but she said it was eating the bugs and to let it be.”

Jungwoo eyes the fat-bodied spider, “Why is it named that?”

“It’s a fairytale from Japan, there’s a spider that looks like a woman. It entices men to follow her and then eats them while they’re distracted,” Yuta explains, the sound of the storeroom opening behind him.

“Are you bullying Arachne again?” You frown, handing the swatches to Yuta and looking up to the small web in the corner.

“I am not bullying Jorōgumo.”

“If I’m keeping a spider in my shop, I am not naming it after a monster.”

“And a heretic is better?” Yuta scoffs, tapping Jungwoo on the shoulder, “What do you think, Pincushion?”

“I’m just wondering why both the myths have to be women,” he shrugs his shoulders and looks to you, “Do you think you’d be free this evening so I can take your measurements? I finally have some free time to start working on that dress.”

“I think so,” a nod as you look to Yuta, “Mind looking after the shop for a bit?”

1965, Early Spring “Didn’t you already measure me?” Jungwoo’s hands hold a rolling measuring tape as he holds it up to your forearm as you ask.

“Yeah, but I want to make sure this is perfect.” Tape lowered; he writes down the number into one of the journals he’d brought with him to your apartment. Trailing away from that your eyes look to the bouquet he brought when he’d come over.

“What’s the deal?” Brow furrowing at the pink, red and white blooms, “You never give me flowers.”

“It’s a special occasion,” Beaming, he’s as bright as the sun. A jilted visage against the cool tones of your apartment’s interior. He looks up to you with a vividness in his eyes, “Your boyfriend’s going to Paris.”

“What do you mean Paris?” A hitch in your voice as you ask, a strange and warped confusion overcoming you.

“Taeil got me an apprenticeship with one of his friends, he’s going to be in town in a few weeks to talk about it with me and I want to show off the dress there.” He’s speaking at a mile a minute, a clear excitement as he beams.

“Don’t fall for some mysterious Parisian woman while you’re there,” You poke, still unsure about how you even feel about this.

“I doubt I’ll have time to even wander the city. With all of the workshops and sessions we’ll have. It’s going to be the opportunity of a life— ow—” he says as you gently hit his shoulder. “I won’t fall for some other girl, I promise,” He laughs and continues to take your measurements.

1965, Late Spring “Did you have a good time tonight?” The lock clicking into place as he asks, your footsteps falling on the floor as you make your way to his workbench in the center of what would’ve been his living room had he not made it into a makeshift workshop. 

You note the tools, the fabrics and array of swatches that litter his home, the pincushion he wears on his wrist as he works settled onto the tabletop. It’s as if the apartment is a representation of him, messy in ambition but persevering through the struggles as he tries to find the limelight of his own. A smile forming as he walks over to you.

“I had a wonderful time, thank you for inviting me.”

It had been a small gathering at the tailor shop, a small dinner with Taeil, Jungwoo, Taeil’s friend and Jungwoo’s future mentor Ten, and yourself. The entirety of the night you’d felt a knot forming in your stomach, the anxiety of Jungwoo’s future endeavors weighing heavily on your shoulders. You want to be happy for him but the closer it gets to Jungwoo’s departure for Paris leaves you feeling more and more despair at the event of it all.

“Thank you for coming,” Jungwoo’s hands find your sides as you lean your backside against the rough wooden edge of the table. “You made it all the more bearable,” smiling softly in the dim lighting of the apartment, he leans forward and places a soft kiss on your lips. The wine from earlier lingers on his breath, you're sure it does the same to yours, the darkness of the red already making you warm and your body feeling weightless, almost as if you were floating in a pool of water. 

You part, staring into each other’s eyes, a silent conversation before he’s leaning in again to find your lips. His kiss seems as if it seeks to steal the breath from your lungs. To devour you entirely until all you can think of is his closeness, the softness of his lips atop yours, of just him. The woolen fabric of his overcoat is rough under your fingertips as you move your hands from the workshop table to his shoulders, gently pulling at the cloth to urge him to discard the garment. His hands leave your sides momentarily as he shrugs the jacket off, the fabric falling and pooling on the floor at his feet. A metallic clang echoing around the space as he leans forward to lock his lips with yours.

“Jungwoo,” you breathe, soft pants escaping the both of you as you turn your head from him, your eyes trailing to the sewing scissors that had clattered onto the floor. Another rustling of fabric and you realize he’s discarded his suit jacket as well.

“Let it be,” a hand under your chin, guiding you back to the comfort of his lips. He presses himself into your touch, the way your fingers dance along the smooth cotton of his starched shirt, fiddle with the buttons and run your fingertips atop the small engravings adorning them. 

“Are we really going to do this in your workspace?” You look up to his darkened gaze, your voice caught in your throat as his own fingers move to toy with the neckline of your dress. Gentle, electric touches that have you reeling.

“Does that bother you?” His lips leave yours once more as he places soft, yearning kisses to your cheek, trailing down your jaw and then to your neck. He raises a hand to pull away the neckline of the dress to allow him better access to the apogee of nerves nestled at the point where your shoulder and neck meet. Teeth biting ever so gently that you would have mistaken it as a light graze had you not felt the sharp pinch. It pulls an almost whining sound from your vocal cords, causing your head to tilt to allow him more space to roam. 

Lips curling into a smile as he pulls away, his hand sliding from the table to your arm, then raising and gently pulling at your hair, “You didn’t answer me.” 

“God, fuck, no it doesn’t bother me,” you trap his lips in yours, tilting your head up so the orange glow of the street lamps outside shine into your eyes before you shut them, finding yourself lost in the entity of your lover. The slowest ministrations of your hips trying to roll against his, to seek out friction and closeness and the yearning of him to once again be a part of you, “Jungwoo.” Your tone is darker, needier, wanting as he presses his clothed self flush against you. 

A huff of air escaping you as he once again pulls his lips away from you, and then the gentle rolling of his hips against yours ceases as well. Eyes opening to find him looking over you, not scrutinizing, it seems as if he was rather admiring the picture that sat before him.

Head tilting, the presence of desire absent for a moment as he muses, “I think it looks amazing.” He hums as he lowers himself to his knees, somehow the softness of his voice makes you want to comply with every word uttered, “Can you sit on the table for me?”

Hands brushing against tulle and satin and a plethora of other fabrics you could care less about at this moment in time as you find your hold on the table as you move to sit atop its surface, your heeled shoes clattering to the floor as you do so. Jungwoo’s fingers caress your calves as he leans himself closer to your core, his warm breath making your mind conjure some of the most unspeakable thoughts. 

“I’ll have to let the designer know he did an amazing job,” you smile, involuntarily shivering as he slides his hands upwards, the hem of your dress inching towards your stomach the further he ascends. 

His face merely inches from your heat now, your hips squirming at the proximity. “I think he’d be appreciative of the feedback,” Jungwoo smiles, his face now obscured from vision due to the collection of fabric, you have half a mind to tear it off of you, not that you ever realistically would. It was far too precious. 

The rip of fabric, the coolness of the air hitting your now exposed sex, you whine in protest as he begins to slide the now torn fabric of your underwear away from you. 

“I’ll get you some more,” his right hand hovers over you, he uses his middle finger to swipe up the length of your slit, causing you to draw in a sharp breath. 

“Are you a lingerie atelier now— Fuck,” you begin to joke before he begins to tease your entrance with the tip of his finger. Your own hand moving to your breast, trying to fondle the mound through several layers of fabric. He slips the rest of his finger inside of you and with a moan you roll your hips to try and meet him halfway. 

It’s not until he eases in another finger and begins to languidly move them in and out of you as well as latch his lips to your clit that your vocalizations rise in volume. The digits curl inside of you, his tongue swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves and your head finds itself lost in the euphoria of the moment, your hand falling away from your breast to find itself running through Jungwoo’s locks. He hums against you as your fingers tighten their hold, nearly sending you over the edge.

“Are you close?” You look to him, lips coated with the sheen of you, a tinge to his voice that straddles between curiosity and a carnal question. 

Hand moving from his hair to his cheek you can only nod, trying to roll your hips to the increasing speed of his fingers inside of you. His eyes watching you as you do finally reach your climax, chortled breaths escaping you as well as a slew of incoherent words and his name. Jungwoo can feel the way your walls spasm around his fingers and sighs to himself as he pulls them from you, wishing that it had been more than just his digits that had made you cum.

You sit up, a little dazed and a lot more aroused than you were when you’d first stepped into the apartment. Jungwoo rises to greet you, your lips clash together and you can taste yourself on his tongue as you vie for dominance. 

“Switch with me?” You ask, parting for air, voice whispering as your hands move to once again toy with the hem of his collared shirt.

And he does, backing away from you enough so you can land your feet on the floor and trade places with him. Your turn to take control for a moment, you feel the hardness of his cock through his pants as you tentatively palm it, trying to elicit some sort of sound from him. 

“Come on, Woo, I know you’ve got it in you,” you tease, running your hand up and down the etching of his member, slowly and meticulously trying to draw him out of his shell. 

“Have what—” he cuts himself off as you run your fingers over his cockhead, a low groan as if he hadn’t wanted you to hear it. 

“Have that,” you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The taste of salt greeting you, the sheen of sweat on his face glittering in the lights dimly illuminating his apartment. You fall to your knees, sending shivers down your spine as the cool air that balloons the skirt of your dress as your knees hit the floor with a dull thud. Hands sliding up his thighs, you move to his belt to hastily unfasten it.

It falls away, as do his pants and underwear, you were going to mention the lack of cartoon characters adorning it, but you were too preoccupied taking him into your mouth to comment. 

Tongue running over the slit on his head, it draws the sweetest sounds from him, saccharine-like honey that drips from his moans and rings around your ears. His hand running through his hair, his other gripping the table as he tries to stop himself from bucking into your mouth as you take him further. 

Your knees ache from the rough floor, the pain not deterrent enough for you to forget about the wetness between your legs. Fidgeting as your head bobs up and down on his length, you don’t think he takes notice. Yet Jungwoo was more perceptive than he let on at times, considering his hand now rests upon your hollowing cheek. 

“Get up,” Jungwoo urges, his voice hoarse as he tries to gently nudge you away from his cock. “I want to cum inside of you.” When you do let him leave your mouth, a thin line of spittle trailing from his head to your lips you hear him sigh out again. It was so easy to get a reaction out of him, he almost feels like putty in the palm of your hand. 

The indents from the wood settle into the flesh of your thighs as he helps you stand and lightly pushes you back onto the table. His belt clattering onto the floor as he fully kicks off his pants, his shoes, and briefs. 

You wonder at this point if you should take off the dress, but as your hand begins to reach for the zipper, he stops you, “No, keep it on.”

He kisses you again, taking his hands to gently pry your legs open so he can align himself with your core. Lips parting, you feel his cockhead brush up against your entrance before he pushes himself into you, his hands moving to trail up the sides of your legs. Slowly, feeling every inch enveloping him as his fingers tighten their hold on the skin of your hips. 

“Fuck,” he moans, fully sheathing himself inside of you. His brown eyes meeting yours, tongue darting out to wetten his lips, “Do you need a minute?”

When you shake your head no you fully expect him to start fucking into you with reckless abandon as he did most nights you stayed together. But he doesn’t, instead he starts to roll his hips into you, not trying to fuck the life out of you, rather trying to gauge how and what made you feel good.

“Woo,” you mutter with half-lidded eyes, hands trailing up his arms and to his shoulders, your nails digging into the now exposed skin. It was sure to leave marks, but only small crescent moons that would fade away come morning. 

It’s whispered ‘I love you’s’ that fall from his lips as your forearms wrap around his neck to pull you up

 and draw him in closer, a thrumming in your chest each time he says it. And you repeat it back to the best of your ability, to find a constancy in him that hadn’t ever made itself presentable to you in a lover or significant other before. 

For a moment you’re able to lose yourself in him, to forget that he’d be leaving you soon and your heart along with it. You’re enveloped in the presence of him and you wouldn’t have it any other way, you wouldn't let it be any other way. 

Jungwoo’s thrusts become more sporadic as he reaches his end, one of his hands leaving your side and moving to your clit to try and bring you over with him one more time. You’re sensitive and strung out on him, legs tensing as they try to close, stopping around his waist as you press your forehead to his shoulder. 

He cums with little warning, other than his hand moving from your clit and back to your side as he stills himself within you. The sweat collected on both of your bows intermingling when he presses his forehead against yours. His breathing slows as he regains his composer, kissing you as he slides himself out of you. When he pulls away to slide on his briefs you land your feet on the ground with shaky legs, holding the edge to balance yourself.

Jungwoo turns back to you and almost has to stifle a short laugh, your face contorting to the feel of his essence leaving you, it was strange but not overtly bad. Just not something you were fully accustomed to.

“Let’s wash up, hm?” Hand taking yours, he leads you to his small bedroom, only stopping midway inso he can help you out of your clothes. He unzips the dress, the cool air of his apartment fully encasing you as he pulls the fabric off your shoulders. You feel his lips press a soft kiss onto the nape of your neck and he catches the scent of the perfume you’d applied earlier in the evening. The dress falls, pooling at your feet and you step from its depths and onto the hardwood floor. Before you’re able to reach for the dress, Jungwoo’s swept it up, already moving to hang it in his closet. 

The two of you shower together, reminiscing on a handful of occasions with him that you’d fully devoted to memory but also of the future as well. Jungwoo was excited to leave, every mention of it fractalizing your heart just a little bit more, not that you’d let him know, you just put on a smile and tell him how happy you are for him.

You borrow a shirt from him to wear to bed, exiting the bathroom while he brushes his teeth and combs his hair. While he does, you wander his room, looking at the shelves that adorn the space. Most books atop them are about tailoring or sewing, things that wouldn’t typically draw your attention. You then spot a few that are familiar, the bindings nostalgic under your fingertips as you trace them, no names or words that addressed their titles.

“I never realized I made you so many,” You muse, looking at Jungwoo who’s just exited the bathroom.

“I have been your loyal customer for a while now, you know.” He notes, falling into his bed and collecting the blankets, he pats the mattress beside him to beckon you closer. 

You fall back into the bed beside him after you saunter over, encased in the blankets for a moment by the duvet he tosses atop you before you look to him, “I don’t want you to go.” It’s a simple statement that carries all too much weight for those six words alone, they lie heavily in your chest, saying them aloud does nothing to stop that. 

“I know, I know,” There’s a hurt in his voice as he knows just how difficult it’ll be to part from you. “We’ve still got almost two months left before I go though, let’s try to make the most of it, okay?”

1965, Summer It had only been a month since Jungwoo landed in Paris. His French is awful, and he only knows how to call things pretty, cute or something lewder thanks to the teachings of his fellow apprentices. There are bags under his eyes from another sleepless night, a cigarette hanging from his lips (a terrible habit he’s picked up as of late), and the mute sounds of some song playing out of the bar he’d just crawled out of. It’s probably Bridget Bardot but he can’t tell from his position, not that he can understand anyway, he’s barely been able to comprehend his own thoughts.

His fingers ache, only nude bandages that are a little too pink wrapped around them because he can’t find the cartoon ones that you’d given him tucked away in his things. His eyes feel strained, tired, and pulsing from overanalyzing stitching and searching cloth for tears, pulls or other impurities. Montmartre was beautiful, not that he was able to see if often as he was constantly working. And if he wasn’t working, he was probably trying to catch up on lost rest.

This was his dream, a part of it though, the other half had you somewhere tucked away in the echelons of his fantasy life. Although he was doing what he wanted, what he loved, there was something about you being in absentia that had him feeling empty. He’d written countless letters but only signed and sent a handful, worried of saying too much and worried of saying too little. To you and his father, his father that had sent him on this path at a young age. ‘Make something of yourself,’ he’d said when Jungwoo was seven, ‘you’re too ambitious not to.’

If he could laugh at him now, he would. But his father was an ocean away, retreated somewhere in the depths of Jungwoo’s childhood that he’d rather leave behind. 

Yet you on the other hand, he’d written you what felt like every day and struggled with each composition. Jungwoo had never missed someone’s voice as much as yours, the gentle feel of your hand intertwined with his or even the sounds of your footsteps trailing through your shop. He’s supposed to be happy, why isn’t he happy?

The cigarette burns, the acrid smoke filtering into his lungs as he inhales, a plume of what’s left leaving him when he huffs out, the cigarette dropped onto the ground, smoldering away. Hand flitting through his knotted locks, the dampness of sweat clinging to the pads of his fingertips as he brushes over his brow. 

Most people had dropped everything to work under Ten, a certified maestro of their craft. And Jungwoo had dropped everything, not begrudgingly at first, but as the dog days of the beginning of summer and the end of spring drew near there was a rising anxiety within his chest. If you had asked him not to leave as he was standing at the terminal’s gates, he probably wouldn’t have gone at all. 

He’s been giving up more and more lately; sleep, adequate meals, a solitary living space. Jungwoo’s worried when this serpent of work will seek out to devour you away too. It’s not that he wants to let you go, but if he’s to make something of himself he might have to, as cruel and malicious it may seem. In that you waiting for him was burdensome, not to him but to yourself. While he’s off gallivanting in an ancient city you’re in your shop, was he just supposed to expect you to idly sit by and wait for him? He’s not sadistic enough to tether you down to the unknown.  

1965, Late Autumn. You’d come home that morning with a new record tucked under your arm, the words ‘Rubber Soul’ peeking overtop the paper sheath that the store had given you as you set it down on your countertop after discarding your shoes and jacket by the door. You hum to yourself, shedding your bag, reaching for the new record, and bringing it over to your player, Sooyoung’s worn copy of one of Billie Holiday’s albums resting on the platter. With gentle hands you remove it from the spindle, tucking it away in its cover before releasing Rubber Soul from its own and setting it onto the player. System turned on, you place the needle on the record and adjust the volume so the first few riffs of ‘Drive My Car’ begin playing through the speakers. 

Nodding your head to the rhythm, you set down the cover and make your way to the kitchen, noticing the small pile of postcards and letters you’d received from Jungwoo over the last few months. He’d been so busy he hadn’t really had the time to call or write a lot for that matter. But it wasn’t like calling was free, especially an international connection. With each new card that he sent to you, there seemed to be less that he wrote of and more empty space adorning it. 

“Hey,” You hear Sooyoung say as she exits her room, her purse in hand as she heads to the hall tree to grab a coat, “I’ve gotta head in, someone completely ruined the display for the winter collection.”

“I thought you were in charge of that?” A tilt of your head as she passes by. Sooyoung’s one of the floor managers of the flagship B. Altman some blocks away, and that left her unnecessarily stressed by the minute details of the store. 

“I am, but I let one of the new girls try and set it up,” a frown as she opens the door, “That’s what I get for trying to take on a protegee. I’ll be back around dinnertime, okay?” 

“I’ll see you then,” waving her off with a hand as the door slams shut, the sound of your friend’s key locking the door before the apartment falls into silence once more, the only sound coming from the next song on the vinyl. 

Stifling a yawn with your hand you head to the living room, plopping down onto the sofa as you reach for a magazine atop the table. It was one of your roommate’s detailing a plethora of fashion information, this seemed something like Jungwoo could take to more so than yourself. Before you’re able to get lost in the pit of missing him again the phone on the table next to the sofa begins to ring. 

“Hello?” Magazine tossed aside, you reach for the phone, pulling it to your ear as you lay reclined on the couch. Fully expecting a family member or one of Sooyoung’s friends over the line you sound a little more crass than normal.

“Whoa,” a familiar, achingly distant voice calls out, “Did I do something wrong?” 

“Jungwoo?” Eyes widening, your grip on the phone tightening before your brow furrows and you sit up, “Where are you?”

“I’m actually in a phone booth outside of Ten’s shop right now,” A short laugh, there’s something quiet about it, “I feel like I’m in some sort of film.”

“It sure sounds like you are,” distancing yourself from the line for a moment as the connection pops and crackles. Ear returning to the phone you feel your heart swell as you lean against your wall, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” He sounds apprehensive, as if there’s something ruminating behind his lips, but he was too afraid to say it. “I’m sorry for not calling sooner, it’s just been extremely busy here.”

Twirling the phone cord absentmindedly with your finger you shake your head, not that he could see you, “It’s alright.” The disquiet in his voice putting you on edge, “What’s wrong?” 

“I’ve been thinking,” He’s holding his breath, and you don’t realize that you are too.

“Of?”

“Ending this.” There’s a pause, a bated breath, and a clearing of his throat before he begins to speak again. It sounds robotic, rehearsed, even. “I don’t want to leave you waiting for me when I don’t even know when I’ll be back.”

“If you don’t think I’d wait for you you’re ridiculous,” A confused tone to your voice, you blink several times as if that were the cure-all to comprehend what he was suggesting. “Is there someone else?”

“God, no, of course not. It’s just—” A break in the facade for a moment before it turns static again, “You deserve constancy. I don’t want you waiting around for me when you could be happier somewhere else with someone else who’s actually there for you.” 

“Are you serious?” With the thought of him being an ocean away you could barely go as kicking and screaming as you wanted to, but you can’t. It’s hard to collect your thoughts with so many jumbling around your head. 

“I’ll get Taeil or someone to stop by and get my things,” voice muffled, there a small banging coming from the other end, as if someone’s hitting the outside of the phonebooth that Jungwoo was situated in. 

“No,” you frown, a heavy feeling settling into your stomach. “I’ll drop the dress and your things off at the shop.”

“Keep the dress, it was a gift,” his voice insists, sounding defeated and tired. 

“I don’t want it, I want you, Jungwoo.”

He would rather watch the stars flicker and die from their sepulchered facades in the expanse above, watch the oceans shrivel and continents shrink, than be the source of your privation. It’s as if he can hear your heart break over the line. It isn’t loud, it isn’t ear shattering— it’s a hairline fracture that webs out and settles into every fiber of your being. He knows it because it’s the same thing he’s afflicted upon himself. 

“I’m sorry, I love you but there’s no feasible way that I can—” he pauses, and you hear a voice tinned by the crackling line. It’s French, sounds angry and causes Jungwoo to speak into the phone once more, “I— I have to go. I’ll call you back later so we can talk about this, okay?”

“Okay,” the word is lifeless as it leaves your mouth, you hang up and pull the phone away from your ear as if you could still hear his voice after you’d killed the call. 

You are a bag of bones, skin, and whatever else deigned itself rotted enough to crawl its way inside of you and flourish. Amber leaves looking more titian as you leave your apartment, a muted tone as you walk the streets and to your shop. The lights inside aren’t as bright as they once were, sounds far too muffled by the blood rushing to your ears as Yuta asks you what’s wrong.  

1966, Winter “Try this one,” The bartender standing in front of you sets down another glass. He’d been talking to you on and off the whole night trying to get your opinions on different drinks he’d been concocting to try and get put on the menu.

“What is it?” Amber liquid swirled around what looked like a dried slice of orange. The whiff of something floral and reminiscent of anise hits your nose, causing your face to scrunch. “That’s not straight absinthe and cognac, is it?”

“Cognac Tesseron, Peychaud’s Bitters, simple syrup, and just the smallest taste of absinthe,” Carefully crafted and delicately handled you pick up the glass and observe it some more. “I’m thinking about calling it the Forget Me Not, but we’ll see what management thinks of that name.” Voice tinged with that oddly specific Brooklyn accent he turns to his other clientele, leaving you with the newest cocktail. Lips carefully pressed to the glass you drink, mulling over the flavors as you do so. After thinking about it you set the glass down, lips pursed together, it wasn’t a bad taste you just wished there were sweeter notes to it.

Alone. You sat alone in the dimly lit bar that denoted itself as La Fête. Why, you weren’t sure, but the cacophony of spirits mixed into the glass between your fingers was the only thing that had made you feel well the entire evening. Some comedian stands on the stage a few meters away, giving off a routine that wasn’t hitting as well as it should be. There’s muffled laughs and chortles from the audience in front of him, yet you’d barely heard a word he said.

“Mind if I join you?” A voice rings out to your right; you’re unable to see who it is until they take a seat next to you.

“Mr. Suh,” Eyebrows raised as Johnny turns to face you, “What brings you here?” You hadn’t seen him in a month or so, not after that had happened.

“Yuta told me I could probably find you here, and Sooyoung also told me about trying to cheer you up since the gifts she got you weren’t working,” A smirk playfully bouncing on his lips. “You look awful.” Hands folding atop each other as he adjusts himself in the seat.

“What makes you say that?” Scoffing as you bring your glass to your lips, taking a sip of your drink before setting it back down.

“Yuta did say you were going through something heavy.” His tone lowers, becoming more sympathetic and less lighthearted than it’d been a moment before.

The gentle ambiance of the bar around you, as well as the slew of alcohol in your drink, mellows your inhibitions and voice. It was the calmest you’d felt the entire night. “I just needed a break from all of this,” hand motioning towards your head. 

“I can understand that” Pausing for a moment he opens a nearby menu, perusing the selections. “I just came from a conference in D.C., aren’t you going to ask why?”

“Hmm, why?” You pose, head tilting as you turn to look at him.

“We’re acquiring some major stock in Marriott,” “Forcing a bunch of bigwigs to give up their assets is an adrenaline rush I won’t get anywhere else but there.”

“Sounds… fun?”

“In reality it’s just a bunch of stuffy old men with their own hands up their asses, “Although I guess I have to get used to it; I’ll be one of those men someday.”

“Johnathan Suh you will never be like any of those men,” sigh losing itself in your glass as you bring it back to your lips.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” as he closes his menu, he calls the bartender over, ordering some drink that sounded all too extravagant for your taste.

The pair of you sit in silence for a few moments, your glass now set atop the marble bar as your eyes wander around the warm, eclectic interior. “Are you merging them with that Canadian group? I can’t remember their name.” Snapping your fingers together as you try and recall. You look back to Johnny, who was beginning to take a drink of another one of the bartender’s creations.

The glass now moved away, and he frowns into the back of his hand; you wonder if it’s due to the alcohol. Head shaking in the negative he answers, “I actually left that partnership a year or so ago, decided I didn’t want any of ‘Daddy’s Help’ and tried my own hand at it.” Leaning back, he adjusts the lapels of his suit jacket, “And I’ve been doing a pretty good job if I do say so myself.” His confidence was a manic beast at times, but it never failed to make you roll your eyes. “What about you? Gonna commercialize your shop anytime soon?”

“As if,” You snort and look towards the darkened windows of the venue, “I’m perfectly fine in my shop,” Elbow resting on the counter, you lay your cheek atop your hand as your hair falls around your face, looking up at Johnny as your cheeks warm with embarrassment, “It’s all I can manage.”

Johnny laughs, it’s hearty and you feel your pulse rise along with the heat in your cheeks, “Don’t sell yourself short.” Shoulder shrugging, he returns to his drink, finishing it quickly while you sit up, rubbing your cheek.

“We’ll see when I get there,” smirk showing itself again as his fingers trace circles on the light marble of the bar. “Oh, weird, crazy question really,” His hand moves to his jacket, fumbling around one of the inside pockets for a moment as he searches for something. 

“Want to go to a wedding with me?” A piece of elegantly cut cardstock tossed down onto the bar, you don’t recognize the names scrawled onto the front of it in some pretentious calligraphy.

“Aren’t you dating that girl?” Fingers pulling the card closer, trying to recall the name, “Yoona or something? Why don’t you take her?”

Johnny almost chokes on his water as you speak, hitting his hand against his chest to get some air. “God no,” He coughed, setting his water glass down. “Yoona’s just a family friend, more like my big sister than anything else. If anything, my sister will get married before me.”

You nod your head in understanding, “Ah, is she still dating Taeil?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust them to tell me if it was raining outside or not,” he muses. Suddenly his demeanor turns mischievous, you’re not sure how to properly describe it as he leans in towards you, the smirk back with a vengeance. “But why were you interested in who I’m dating? Are you curious?”

It takes most of your willpower to lean back away from him and roll your eyes as you scoff out, “As if.” He only increasingly gets closer before you put a hand on his shoulder and playfully push him back.

“And what about you?” Does he seem nervous? You hear a genuine interest in his voice, but you aren’t sure if you’re exaggerating it due to the miasma of spirits clouding your senses. “Has any prince charming come up and swept you off your feet yet?”

“Does it look like it?” Eyebrow raised, you motion to yourself, “Yuta told you why I’m here, didn’t he?” Frown settling onto your lips you finish your drink, setting it down back onto the bar with an audible clink. 

“He may have mentioned it in passing,” John mutters, finger rubbing along the rim of his glass.

“I haven’t spoken to him in weeks, months even and he has the audacity to send in an order?” You try your best to sound indignant, but the truth was that it’d felt like a stab to your heart to see the hastily signed ‘Jungwoo Kim’ adorning the invoice. Your heart had almost stopped then, you’d thought that you and he were, at that point, separate entities once more. “He made it blatantly clear he wants nothing to do with me anymore, he can go woo as many Parisians as he’d like, I’m over it.” Not yet, you weren’t. But maybe repeating it enough would make it a reality.

“You know what I think?” John asks, finishing the rest of his drink as you look to your empty glass.

“I’m not drunk enough?”

“I think you’re plenty gone. But I don’t think you’ve ever let anything destroy you this much, or if you have, I'm a terrible friend for not realizing it. And with that being said, I will personally take up the reins to try and get you out of this slump,”

“Any other thoughts, O wise and wonderful mood maker?” 

“Yeah, this comedian’s garbage. I’ll take you to a Lenny Bruce set one day and you’ll laugh your ass off.”

“I appreciate it,” a snicker leaves you. “Anyway,” your eyes move to your watch, checking the time, “I should probably head back to my place, it’s getting late and I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” You rummage around your bag for a crumpled mess of bills that you toss onto the counter in front of you.

You stand and begin moving towards the exit when John speaks up, “Want me to walk with you?”

“If you want to,” pausing, you turn back to him and offer a smirk of your own, “it’s not too far away.” The two of you walk in silence through the winding interior of the bar as you make your way to the front entrance, you see through the large wooden doors that it is pitch black outside, thankfully the streetlights adorning the sidewalks keep things fairly visible. When the doors open and the two of you step outside you can’t help but let out a “Shit, it got cold.” 

“Here,” John shrugs off his already unbuttoned suit jacket and hands it to you, you can see the thin dress shirt he’s wearing, and you wonder how he’s not shivering himself. “Did you leave your jacket inside?” He asks as you drape the soft fabric over your shoulders.

“At the shop,” Standing outside, your toes on the edge of the sidewalk, your head cranes, trying to remember which way you’d walked here. “It’s…” you look to the signs at the end of the street, “that way,” hand motioning towards your abode once you recognize the names. “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk, I can always call a cab or something, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“It’s alright,” His shoulders shrug as the two of you begin walking, “It’ll help the alcohol get out of your system.” Had he seen you stumbling on your feet on your way out? If he did, he doesn’t say as the two of you walk the uneven streets, pushing through masses of tourists and civilians parading around the city. It’s not long until the crowds wear thin, leaving you, John, and the occasional pedestrian roaming the streets. “I’ve always loved this city,” John muses as the two of you stroll through one of the many parks dotting the town.

Nodding, “It’s lively for sure.” Your hands move to close his jacket tighter around your bare shoulders, “I don’t think I could imagine leaving it.”

“Maybe for a summer home though?” John laughs, moving his hands to his pockets. “I remember how you’d stay inside whenever it snowed or went below thirty when we were kids.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, “I wouldn’t say it’s that much of a problem anymore, I’m just a big fan of the sun in all its glory, not when it’s obscured behind a wall of cl—” Perhaps you would’ve finished that sentence had the heel of your, admittedly too high-heeled shoe not gotten caught between one of the junctures of the sidewalk, causing you to fall forward. You feel a pair of hands on you, one wrapped around your waist and one on your shoulder, as the ground rapidly rises to meet you.

Eyes closed you hear, “Are you alright?” as you’re hoisted back up onto your feet, never feeling the impact of the ground. 

“I’m fine.” Once his hands had left you, you raise your hands to your cheeks, feeling the rushing blood warm your palms, “I guess I’m a little tipsier than I thought.”

John looks at you for a moment, and then down to your feet, “I think you broke a heel.” Finger raised; you follow it downwards to look at the heel almost completely detached from the sole. “Here,” voice quickening as if to distract you from it, he takes your arm and puts it over his shoulder so you can lean some of your weight onto him, “wouldn’t want you to fall over again.” After offering him a quick smile and a small ‘thanks’ of gratitude you begin to walk again.

After a minute or so of walking, the pair of you take a turn onto one of the main drags of the city, the cool air soaking into you. “Do you mind if we stop for a second?” You ask, thinking you may have twisted your ankle when you tripped.

“Of course,” the two of you make your way to a bench along the sidewalk, you sit while John stands next to you. It’s a moment of quiet before he speaks up again, “Are you feeling alright?”

You can only shake your head in the negative, for fear that you may explode should you open your mouth.

“What’s wrong?” He questions, sitting down next to you, his hand falling atop yours in an act of subtle comfort.

Everything. Your throat becomes dry as you lean forward and embrace him, unable to vocalize the horrid deluge of hopelessness and heartbreak washing over you. 

You had seen the shop where Jungwoo was apprenticing when you’d gone into Taeil’s one morning, it had been featured in some editorial that he subscribed to. Seeing that it was a beautiful boutique and was quite revered among local and international audiences hadn’t dampened the blow at all. Jungwoo hadn’t been lying when he said it was the opportunity of a lifetime.

It still hurt. You’d been selfish in trying to make things work, too absorbed in it you hadn’t felt him slipping away until it was too late. Yuta had sat you down one day and told you to shape up. Jungwoo wasn’t coming back and the sooner you realized it the sooner you’d get over him. You don’t remember how long you cried into his shoulder for. For the eidolon of him was beginning to fade now, the lingering remnants of it still striking you to the core whenever you catch a glimpse of it.

“I just want to go home,” you try your best to sound strong, hating that the veneer you usually kept was able to slip so easily. Pulling away from the other you move to stand, kicking off your shoes and moving to hold them before you begin to walk.

“Aren’t your feet going to get cold? It’s nearly the middle of winter,” John calls out after you as he catches up, unsure of how to go about comforting you.

“I’ll be fine,” your toes cold on the concrete, “It’s only a few blocks away.”

It’s silence once more as the pair of you two amble to your apartment, the windows dark when you approach, Sooyoung must be out again. A sigh leaving you, alone again.

“Thanks for walking with me, Johnny.” You stop, turning to your accompaniment and smiling softly at him.

“Johnny?” His brow raises at that, “Are you sure you’re not still drunk? I don’t think you’ve called me that since we were twelve.”

“Yeah, I know. But I mean it, thank you.” Your other friends had tried to console you but Johnny’s attempt had been the most successful so far that had gotten you to even budge ever so slightly from the slump you’d found yourself in.

1967, Summer. The sparkler hisses as Johnny hands it to you, the bright end flickering with every centimeter the flame engulfs. A smile on your lips as you look to him, an equally bemused smile gracing his face as he steps away and begins handing out sparklers to a few other guests. After the host finishes handing out the sticks a large chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ begins to ring out, directed at Taeyong Lee. 

You didn’t really know the guy, but Johnny said he was hosting a birthday bash at a lake house up in the Catskills this weekend and it was a good excuse to get away from the city for a bit. It was a work friend of his, not sure from which endeavor but you aren’t complaining. Work at the shop had been far too busy to manage with just Yuta and you, you’d been looking at several applicants, but you had a difficult time sifting through the resumes. This was a much needed, and much deserved, break away from it all. 

Before the sparkler has a chance to burn down to your fingertips you blow it out and set it onto one of the porcelain plates atop the table in front of you. A small crowd had gathered to sing and with the rapidly setting sun it was difficult to see familiar faces among the crowd.

“Looking for someone?” A pair of hands placed on your hips as the question sounds out, the familiarity of it making you smile a little brighter.

“Just you,” You turn, looking at Johnny.

“Oh?” He questions, leaning in for a brief kiss before pulling away, “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The one that means you’re thinking of something,” A sparkle in his eye, the light from the nearby dock casting a green glow onto the lawn.

“Just work things,” you admit, “Even if I’m miles away from the shop it’s still on my mind.”

“Work’s a sickness, isn’t it?” He mutters, “Well, they’ve already started to start cut the cake, want to head in and grab a slice?”

“Sure,” you say his hands leave your sides, taking one of your hands in his and heading through the lawn and into the brightly lit interior of the home.

“Taeil said he’d be arriving a little later, my sister’s ready to blow a gasket but, when isn’t she?” Johnny laughs as you make your way to a nearby table, grabbing a plate with a precut slice of cake on it before turning back to him.

“Is this from the same bakery who did my cake last year?” You ask with nearly a mouthful of cake.

“I told you I made that cake,” he says jokingly, grabbing his own slice, “And if it were, would you say yea or nay for them making the wedding cake?”

“Yea. Definitely, this is by far the best buttercream I’ve ever had,” you nod, “Although I do need a drink.”

“Amaretto sour?” Questioning as he sets down his plate, ready to go off and mix your drink himself.

“You know I can’t,” a frown settling on your lips as you take another bite, “Just water.”

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Johnny says and heads to the bar in the next room over.

You move out of the way of the other partygoers looking for food and make your way to a window that looks out at the road in front of the house. As you watch, you see the bright headlights of a car pulling into the drive, trying to careen past the other vehicles lined up there. It must be Taeil.

It’d been a while since you’d last seen him, having to mail his orders to him now that you’d moved shop locations. So, you head to the front door, anxious to see an old friend. The door opens with a swing of grandeur, Taeil Moon stepping inside with a clear look of panic on his face.

Taeil spots you as he enters, rushing over to you, “She’s not angry, is she?”

“Your wife?” You question, putting a finger under your chin in thought, “She’s only told half of the people here how upset she is, so I think you still have time to save yourself.”

“I’d better get in there then,” he sighs, almost brushing past you before he stops, “I should also tell you that—”

You don’t hear what he says, though. Because you hadn’t realized that there was someone standing behind him until they step through the dark entranceway and into the bright lights of the foyer. For a moment it feels like time’s stopped, the plate in your hand straining from the pressure your fingers now exert on it as you lock eyes with someone you hadn’t ever expected to see again.

It’s you who breaks away first, mumbling about needing to find Johnny while it feels as if your heart seizes in upon itself in your chest. Before you’re able to rejoin the party, you feel a hand gently grasp your arm, “Can we talk?” The question is quiet, almost lost in the atmosphere of the celebration as Jungwoo asks.

A strangled gulp as you nod, setting the plate down on a small mail-table before you brush past him exit out of the front door. He follows you wordlessly, from the gravel path that wraps around the house and to the backyard that overlooks the lake. You keep walking, wading through grass that comes up to your knees until you’re standing on the wooden dock, the gentle sloshing of water hitting the posts giving you something else to focus on.

Face green in the light of the dock light overhead, it beams around the soft fog rising from the water as you hope it would swallow you up instead of you having this conversation with Jungwoo. 

“You never returned my calls,” he says, standing several feet away. His tone isn’t accusatory, it sounds hurt.

“I kept forgetting.” Liar. Nails digging into your palms as your hands clench with an anxiety that hadn’t riddled you for two years. “And you only called four times.”

“Five.”

“Four.” Resolution in your voice as you try and stand as firmly as you can. The shoes you were wearing were pinching your heels and you want nothing more than to kick them off into the water. You turn to look at him, trying to stay as calm. “Would you have picked up even if I did call back?” A tangling in your stomach as you recall having Sooyoung answer the phone for the next handful of weeks after the two of you had parted, each time he’d called Sooyoung would say you weren’t home.

He hesitates, at least his body does, the words, “Of course I would have,” escaping him before he could prep himself with a more eloquent response. 

“You seem to be doing well,” It’s silent until you break it, noting the suit he was wearing was from a higher end retailer.

“So, do you,” a break in his voice as he notices the crack in your demeanor, “I didn’t see you at Taeil’s wedding, I thought he would have invited you.”

“My mother got sick, so I missed it,” you recall having to forgo the event last year. Did that mean Jungwoo had been back that soon?

“You still have the dress.” There had been a melancholy deep set into your bones that had lasted for what seemed like lifetimes, now resurfacing more and more the longer you look at him. You’d forgotten about what you were wearing, the same dress that the tailor had labored unknown hours over and that had been the figurative wedge between you and him. Maybe this was some deity’s cruel sense of irony. “I still think it’s one of the best I’ve ever made,” 

“It’s a little tighter now but it’s still one of my favorites,” you can’t lie. Be it from the laborious love that was sewn into every stich or the bygone memories associated with it, it was and still is one of the best pieces you own.

“I really was an idiot for letting you go, wasn’t I?” Hands shoved into pockets, he’s not sure what to do with himself.

“You did what you had to.” Brow hardening, a remembrance of the last time you’d spoken.

“Don’t say it like that,” a soft plea, he’d never meant to hurt you.

“Then how should I say it?” A bitterness you thought forgotten riddled within every word you pose. 

“You know I tried to visit your shop when I first came back,” Deterrent of the conversation, he looks across the water to the distant shore. “But it was empty, some guy passing by had said you packed up months earlier and just left.”

“There was a water main break, ruined most of our inventory and we had to rebuild from scratch in a new place.” You still remember the dread you’d felt that morning, walking in to find everything in shambles.

“With John’s help?”

“Johnny helped.”

“Congratulations on your engagement, by the way,” eyes flickering to the ring on your finger, the light of the dock glinting of the main stone. “He’s a lucky man.”

Jungwoo sounds bitter, you can understand why but you can’t understand one thing. “Why did you come? I’m sure that Taeil said that I was going to be here.”

“I don’t know.” The answer is simple, but there’s a heaviness to it that you can feel. “I’m supposed to be flying out to Milan tomorrow. I guess I just wanted to see you again.”

“Did you expect me to fall into your arms, Jungwoo? To take you back?” Lip bitten, you’re sure you were going to draw blood if you kept at it any longer.

“Maybe I did when I came back last year, when I’d tried to see you.” He frowns, “I think now I want to make sure you’re happy.”

Happy. It feels as if that word dances off of the water behind you, across the sound and into the forest. Were you? The encroaching despair that had taken aim and marked you when Jungwoo had left was gone, a memory overwritten by the years that had followed, by the people who had followed. The shedding of yourself that came when he left took a while but without a doubt you can truly say this is the most complacent you’ve ever been.

The door to the lake house opens some ways behind Jungwoo, the lights from inside spreading across the lawn in an obscene spotlight on the two of you. A silhouette stands in the doorway, it’s easy to tell who the figure is as he leans against the door frame. You smile as you look at the outline of Johnny, heart swelling as it once had for the other man in front of you.

“Yeah, Jungwoo, I’m happy.”

#neowritingsnet #nct jungwoo #jungwoo smut #nct smut #nct angst #nct fluff #jungwoo fluff #jungwoo angst #cznnet

[fermented-writers-block]

Coven System Artifacts?

While combing through the new promo and recent discussions, these two items stuck out to me from how few people seemed to even notice them, and I’d like to rectify that:  

To start off, judging from the gold and dark brown gray aesthetics of the wall and door, it seems likely that this room is in the same place as this ominous throne room:

Aka most probably Belos’ throne room, which would logically mean that Willow, Luz, and Gus are fighting someone inside of Belos’ palace/castle/whatever this place is in, and with that established, I want to draw attention to the wider room that the trio are in: 

Like with the harp, there appears to be a bunch of pedestals set through the room with a fourth one just barely out of view to the very left of the frame as can be seen by the outline of the pillar of light over it, and one can make out the outline of something wooden on the right edge of the frame. However, one particularly interesting detail here is that the very hat Luz is holding has a Healing Coven symbol on it, which makes me highly suspicious about what this room is for and what is on the rest of the pedestals.

From the looks of things, each of these pedestals likely hold some kind of artifact representative of the major covens of the Boiling Isles, including the aforementioned Healing Coven as well as the Bard Coven with the harp. But though the hat only appears for a single frame, considering the probability of this being a private room in Belos’ estate, I can’t help but feel like this room is a LOT more closely tied to the Coven system than just some kind of trophy room simply filled with artifacts to represent Bellows’ achievements or goals. Instead, I’d like to propose that this room might actually be for directly manipulating the restrictions on the different covens for what kinds of magic one is and isn’t allowed to use.

Here, it could be that the artifacts don’t just represent the different types of magic, but are HIGHLY concentrated examples of each type, and the pedestals all connect to the seals/brands each coven uses to seal a person’s magic. Together, the artifacts like the harp and the hat could be templates from which the pedestals and light determine whether a person is trying to cast something out of their respective coven, kind of like the turret manufacturing line in Portal 2 where a normal turret is scanned and used to judge which turrets are acceptable and which should be trashed.

Of course, it is unknown at this point what would happen if one was to remove one of these ‘template’ artifacts like Luz apparently did with the Healing Coven Artifact, but given how Belos was first introduced by name in Covention while Bump proclaimed about how the Emperor’s Coven is ushering in “a new age of controlled magic,” I have the feeling that line will turn out to be much, much more literal than even Bump himself realizes. 

Namely, that when removing one such artifact from its pedestal, you also are able to remove the ability of anyone under the related coven to cast that same type of magic, in short meaning that they wouldn’t be able to cast ANY of the nine main kinds of magic instead of just a single one.

As for what purpose this could possibly serve, given that the Healing Coven Artifact apparently takes the form of a hat and the Bard Coven Artifact a small harp or lyre, I have the feeling that the other Coven Artifacts will also take the shape of easily portable tools and wearable clothing. And to add to that, if each of these artifacts are highly concentrated examples of a specific branch of magic, then perhaps putting on the Healing Coven hat grants one extraordinary control over healing magic, and playing the harp grants control over bard magic. 

Specifically, magic siphoned and stolen from all the witches and wizards under the Coven System - except for the Emperor’s Coven, of course. I mean, who better to make sure that magic is being controlled ‘properly’ than the one in control of everything, aka Emperor Belos himself? 

With this, he and his elites would have all nine types of magic under their complete and direct control, making sure that nobody else would be able to muck about with his system and truly bringing in a new age of “controlled magic.”

I had been planning to save this for a later power, but to summarize, I have theorized for a long while now with @sepublic that Luz’s unorthodox method of casting magic will eventually spark a major rebellion against Belos’ reign and control. But for the longest time, I couldn’t figure out for the life of me exactly what would be the biggest factor in convincing people to band together - that is, until now.

After all, for as much good will Luz may have garnered with the people she freed from the Conformatorium, I find it hard that they would be able to drum up such a massive amount of support with such few members, and we haven’t particularly seen a whole lot of non-witches who have shown signs of wanting to cast magic. Furthermore, with how widespread and normalized the Coven System is on the Boiling Isles to the point where the Emperor’s Coven seem to be viewed as pseudo-celebrities, the majority of the population would likely require a considerable push to get them to even consider actually actively challenging it.

As such, with this new detail from the promo, I would like to propose that near the end of the season, Luz, Willow, and Gus will somehow end up discovering Belos’ secret room and the connection these artifacts have to the covens, and the finale will be about the trio attempting to escape Belos’ wrath and tell people what’s really going on. And with that comes the PERFECT incentive for both witches and non-witches to unite under Luz’s guidance and stand up against Emperor Bellows’ reign; aka to learn how to cast magic again if and when he strips them of their ability to even cast the last kind of magic he had allowed them to use before.

Or in other words, forming a group that can practice all kinds of magic without restrictions. A group where you aren’t expected to suppress your own free will and conform without question. A group that can and will make a stand against Belos and his Emperor’s Coven.

Aka one that would have a LOT of reasons for them to listen to and learn from both Luz Noceda and Eda Clawthorne under a single banner, a group where Luz can “teach them some of that Bad Girl Coven magic:”

Just picture it; Belos, the ruler of the Boiling Isles, trying to fight against Luz, the biggest disruptor to his carefully crafted system. The long-established Emperor’s Coven squaring off with the newly formed but numerous “Bad Girl Coven,” having banded together under Luz not out of some grand destiny, but because she figured out how to do what she does on her own merit. And at the center of it all stands Eda and Lilith, both powerful witches with an entire group willing and ready to hear what they have to say in pursuit of what they believe is right, both with a young protégé trying to determine their place and worth in the world. 

Both sisters separated by completely opposing opinions and sides, yet all but the exact same in position, influence, and parallels to the other.

Now wouldn’t that just be poetic as heck?

#the owl house #owl house #the owl house theory #owl house theory #eda clawthorne #luz noceda #bad girl coven #theory #speculation #emperor belos

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

Tied to a table troupe rating/rant GO I am enabling you

Nemi how dare you expose me like this you’re fantastic. Sorry this took so long.

No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know | AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Listen, if there’s any trope that I love just as much or maybe even more than permanent marks it’s being restrained against a table. Wanna know why?

1) They’re! So! Fucking! Vulnerable!!!!!!

Being tied down to a table leaves a whumpee so open and vulnerable. There’s no way to curl up or make themselves smaller or protect any part of their body that isn’t being pressed against the table. You can restrain them with hands by their side or pulled up above their head, or limbs stretched far apart or 

They don’t have a full range of vision either. Depending on how well you restrain your whumpee’s head, they’ve got a maximum of full side to side vision and possibly some brief looks above their head if they can handle the vertigo inducing feeling of tipping your head back nearly upside down to get some extra perspective. but with enough restraint, you can take that away from them, and even their side view if you’re adamant about it. 

Just force the whumpee to stare upward, only seeing the whumper when they’re close enough, and not having a clear idea of what’s gonna happen to them. They’re so open and vulnerable to whatever is going on, and not knowing what to expect makes them even more so!

And of course, if you gag or muzzle them that adds a whole other level. They can’t even have a conversation where the whumper is condescending and vague about their questions of what the hell is going on, and just have to watch in wordless silence (or muffled shouting, whichever suits your fancy) as the whumper mills around before finally standing to face them, taking action on whatever their plans are.

There’s a lot more to go on from here, but I’m putting a cut because this got a little long! Head below for more excited table content.

2) Hi Hello Yes That’s Absolutely Terrifying In My Personal Opinion

Listen I think I just need an entire section to talk about this sensation. Being tied to a table is an inherently inferior position to someone else, because everyone around you can loom over, look down on you, and no matter how much they get down on your level you still feel lower than them. You have absolutely zero control over what they do and that in and of itself is so scary!

Even being tied to the table with nobody around is bad. There’s really no easy hope of escape from that, assuming it’s done well so there’s no wiggling out from under the bonds, and the whumpee is just left to. sit there. and imagine what in the world they’re tied down like this for. because tied down completely flat is such a unique, particular situation. And it’s not easy to convince yourself that someone would choose that exact position without a specific plan in mind.

So much room for terror to brew, the cold of the table to seep into their bones, and the nature of the position they’re stuck in to really sink in.

3) Med!whump (content warning that this section will be all about medical based whump, and fixating on ‘lab rat’ type whumpees! skip to number four if that’s something you’re not comfortable with!)

Ohohohoo yes, medical whump has a special place in my heart, and the trope of being restrained against a table has a lot to do with that! 

Day after day, a whumpee is taken out of their cell and used for experimental purposes. There are different places they’re taken within the lab, but all the worst things happen on the table. 

One of my favorite parts is the compliance, or lack thereof. Someone new to the facility seeing that table for the first time, being coaxed up on it through their fear by threats of the awful things they’ve already been through. Trembling against it at having to hold still, even as they’re tied down so tightly that it’s uncomfortable. And then watching the whumper in their element, preparing different implements that they can’t quite catch a glimpse of until they set a folding table with everything readied right near the whumpee’s head. 

What’s on there? What ideas does it give the whumpee? How long are they left to lay there, stewing in their fear before anything even happens to them?

But let’s also imagine every time after that. The first experience on the table was so horrific that the next time they’re brought there, even if they’ve learned to be obedient, they panic. They fight every step of the way, throwing themself back against the whumper’s hold. And they were probably prepared for the whumpee’s resistance, whether that was by restraining them further, bringing an assistant to help them, sedating them partially beforehand, etc. And so they wrestle the whumpee up on there, forcing them down, maybe having to bash their head against the table so they go limp for a second...

Oh, and either way please don’t forget the blinding light directly overhead that makes it painful to keep their eyes open, but shutting them hardly does anything to block it out. It’s disorienting and will probably give them a headache, but it’s all worth it so the whumper can properly see what they’re doing (and also be silhouetted by the light so the whumpee can’t see their face as well to read them)

4) Seriously, They Can’t Fucking Move

That’s it. That’s the entire point. Whumpees throwing their entire weight against the straps and not being able to go anywhere. Not being able to adjust and shift their weight, forced to lay the exact same way against the table for hours on end, probably getting uncomfortable with the pressure and hard surface. Good stuff!

5) Some tropes go best in pairs!

Take a knife (or your bare hand if you’re looking to freak them out and not immediately hurt!) and trace it across the whumpee’s exposed body, not even cutting at first. running it across planes of skin they can’t see, leaving prickling shivers in its wake while they wait tensely for the pain. The whumper telling them to just relax, tensing up is gonna just hurt them more, but they can’t relax when the knife moves so unexpectedly, running over wherever it pleases.

Choke a whumpee against the table! They’re being so good and holding so still that it’s nearly irresistible to just wrap hands just above the strap or collar holding them down to the table and tighten, cutting their breath off completely while they have no power to stop you. They pull against the restraints as hard as they can but they won’t be able to claw at the hands keeping the breath from their lungs.

Oh, and instead of pressing them into the table, you could always push them off it too! I’m talking twist a hand in the whumpee’s hair and pull their head forward against the neck restraint until they’re choking on whatever breaths they draw and then slam their head back down against the table. 

Electrocute the whumpee on a table. Kneel above them and beat the whumpee on a table. Interrogate the whumpee on a table. Brand the whumpee on a table. Cane the whumpee on a table. Waterboard the whumpee on a table. jUST TIE YOUR WHUMPEE TO THE TABLE AND GET WHUMPING ALREADY IS THIS TOO MUCH TO ASK-

#whump #boa speaks #ask game #yeah okay i talked a little bit huh #tied to a table #whumpees!! on!! tables!!!!! #lab whump #med whump #only briefly! but just in case!

[janetsnakehole02]

Y’all I wanna clarify when people say Loki in the show was WEAK no one is saying Loki’s softness/vulnerability is a weakness. Honestly I think there’s strength in that. I’ve seen a lot of people argue “well wouldn’t you change after watching your entire future in one sitting” and you’re not wrong, that’s why you clearly see Loki starting to become more comfortable in his vulnerability. And that’s great. I don’t think it was ooc for him to say he just wanted Sylvie to be okay in the finale. He’s admitted he’s cared before, he’s admitted he didn’t want the throne before, so this isn’t brand new information, it’s sweet that he’s willing to be vulnerable enough to admit he cares after everything he’s been through (which I did not interpret as romantic pls I am not a shipper ew also side note idk why so many people thought that Loki saying he didn’t want the throne/saying he cared was character development, it was a PARALLEL because he fucking told us the exact same thing back in Thor 1 like again y’all this is not brand new information). Emotions don’t make Loki weak. No, what’s WEAK is dumbing him down to make Sylvie look like the better variant.

The Loki we know is too clever to compromise his disguise on the ship the way he did in episode 3. Hell even in episode 1 he outsmarted B-15 and got the beeping tracking collar thing around her neck. That was AFTER he watched his whole future. He may have opened up more of his walls but it never got in the way of his intelligence. We got to see other Loki variants reach their full potential in terms of their magic but never our Loki. We get to see Classic Loki create an illusion of ASGARD. We get to see Sylvie enchant Alioth. And when I saw Loki using Lævateinn in the trailer I was expecting almost an explosion of magic from him but he was simply used as a distraction while Sylvie did the grunt work. I was expecting the season finale to culminate in our Loki realizing his strength and just reaching his absolute full potential, and I was honestly so underwhelmed by the minimal role he had in that finale. And to everyone saying that’s why there’s a season 2 - bitch PLEASE. I am NOT asking for too much when I want to see the full extent of Loki’s powers. We have been denied of this for 10 years now and we were literally promised by the creators of this show that we would get more of his magic. There’s nothing wrong with giving us his powers in the season finale and then building on that even more in season 2. Loki is incredibly adept, powerful, cunning, and skilled, but it just felt like we were being told that Sylvie is the more talented one because she taught herself magic, or she’s the more powerful one because she enchanted Alioth. And good for her, that’s great, but the show was never supposed to be about amplifying her powers, it was supposed to be about Loki’s.

And that drives this back to my main issue with the second half of the show which is that once Sylvie was introduced Loki turned into a plot device used to advance her journey. I loved her when they first introduced her but as the show went on I began to have mixed emotions about her portrayal and how she didn’t really have many defining character traits besides anger. I don’t hate her, I do strongly dislike some of her actions but I don’t hate her, I just think she could have been developed better instead of being defined simply as an angry revenge-hungry shero love interest. Many people are drawing comparisons between her and Thor 1 Loki which is fair, they were both in the same position, but at least with Thor 1 Loki we got a proper glimpse into his emotions and his psyche that drove the decisions he made. We got a flashback for Sylvie, sure, but we didn’t get much of Sylvie being introspective on her own about her past, and they could’ve done that without taking away from Loki’s spotlight, the same way they did for Loki in Thor 1 without taking any of the spotlight off of Thor. They could’ve done this instead of wasting time trying to show us that Sylvie is the “superior” variant.

Sorry I know it’s been over a month since the finale but I’m still just so irked with the second half of this show, maybe it’s on me for expecting so much. But it still pisses me off how in the finale we just got Loki right back where he was at the beginning - heartbroken, betrayed, and helpless. Which reminds me, it was also WEAK to put his happiness and well-being on the backburner. He’s been through enough in the MCU lemme give you a reminder in case you forgot - found out he was adopted KIDNAPPED, attempted suicide and survived, tortured by Thanos and put under mind control, imprisoned in his own homeland by his own “father” - and he just watched his entire future AND DEATH in 1 episode. I know that trauma can be crucial to character growth but viewers can tell when it’s becoming too much. And it’s clear that the writers (or rather Waldron) don’t care much about Loki’s issues, I mean Waldron himself said he thought Loki was using his trauma as an excuse to be selfish and if that isn’t the most cruel gaslighting bullshit I’ve ever heard. As someone who has heard this way too many times I can attest that it really fucking hurts and it is such a dismissive thing to say. If the writers are treating the main character of their show so callously how can I not be upset? In Loki’s own words I just want him to be okay is all. And it was WEAK to put him through this much pain alright there that’s all I have to say

#loki rant #loki #loki series #loki season 1 #loki season finale #sylvie laufeydottir #classic loki #michael waldron #marvel #mcu #mcu phase 4 #antisylki #antis*lki

[jpegjade]

High Functioning - Spencer

Requests (2 mashed together bc i thought of an idea that covered both of them (and a little bit of my own anxiety)): 

A. This one just came to me: reader has mild anxiety. She can function but it definitely gets to get sometimes. Her and Reid (bf) have a discussion around being each other's safe space and deciding to take time in the mornings/evenings to hold hands, breath deeply and recenter themselves. They follow through and feel more connected and at peace. Fluff it up!! Thank you for considering, xoxo!

B. Talk about CLOSE TO HOME:... reader is tired of the news and the complications of the world. Nothing is simple, everything is a process, and everyone is so emotional high strung. Spence reminds her that his love for her is simple and unconditional. He will always be there no matter what shit storm the world is going through.

Warnings: None, really. I don’t think I even swore in this one! Just talking about high functioning anxiety and Spencer talking a lot of stuff. 

__________

You woke up with a start. You stretched your arm out to the other side of the bed, where Spencer usually slept and found it cold and empty. You snapped your head over, worried that you missed saying goodbye to him before work. You always said goodbye to him, sending him off with breakfast, coffee, and a kiss. You hopped out of bed, running to the door to see if his shoes were there. 

“What’s wrong?” He said, making you jump. You turned around to see him sitting at the table, toast, and bacon sitting on a plate next to the morning newspaper. 

“Oh.” You said, clutching your chest over your oversized shirt. The shirt wasn’t yours but it was the only thing you could find to throw on when you were leaving your room. “I thought you left.” 

“I have an off day.” He said, gesturing to the seat next to him. You noticed another plate sitting on the table, two mini pancakes, bacon, syrup, and a couple fruits were arranged in a smiley face. 

“Oh, okay.” You said, glancing at his newspaper. He usually sped through it when he was waiting for you to finish breakfast before work but now, there was no rush to actually go anywhere because your job was still working from home while everything in the world was happening. 

He flipped the paper open and while you were eating your bacon, you were looking at the headline. Another day of nothing good. You thought about how you had started feeling constrained while you stayed home all the time. Spencer was the one who got to still travel and go to the bureau occasionally when they weren’t having Zoom calls, and he was the one to pick up groceries on his way home or on his way out. Sure, he said he envied you but how could anyone be jealous of someone who can’t go anywhere, can’t do anything, and only spends their time avoiding tv, avoiding the news, and avoiding social media? Before quarantine, you were addicted. Now? You could go days without checking Twitter, and you often did. 

Your anxiety was manageable. According to doctors, you were high functioning. Most of the time, you were able to go on during the day with nerves but the good kind, the healthy kind. Today? Reading the headline splashed across the front of the newspaper, just glancing at the picture, your chest felt tighter. You tried to focus on your breathing, tried to calm down, and not let Spencer see you getting more anxious. 

He closed the paper, folding it back into the rectangle where he could do the crossword puzzle. He was about to grab the pen on the counter when he noticed you breathing heavier than normal. He nudged your foot with his foot to draw your attention back to him. 

“What’s wrong?” He looked very concerned. “At the rate you’re breathing, assuming you continue deteriorating at a steady pace, you will begin to hyperventilate. You know, the act of hyperventilating is really quite impressive in regards to anxiety because your brain’s automatic response to fear is to get more air but really, your carbon dioxide levels drop and your brain begins to swell. The fact that you weren’t doing anything but nibbling on bacon tells me that something triggered your thought process to respond abnormally. When your body responds this way, you have to think about what we talked about before. You’re safe here. There’s no imminent danger. You can relax, not because I said so, but because the fear of the situation seems a lot worse than it is. Statistically speaking, the chance of something happening in our home is very low compared to other environments, which is cause enough to say that you’re safe here.” 

“Thank you.” You said, sheepishly grinning at him. You didn’t notice until he stopped talking that your breathing had returned to normal. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

That was your thing, the two of you. After you told him about your anxiety, he was very supportive and tried to understand more about how you processed your triggers and what he could do to help. He took notice of the fact that you calmed down when he talked, which was easy for him to do in general but harder when you were suffering because he worried. He was more of a silent type to worry about you.  

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked. 

“We can. On the couch?” You asked. Nodding, he put your plates away and met you on the couch. Immediately, you laid down, your head sat in his lap as you stared up at the ceiling. The oversized shirt bunched up around your stomach but you didn't mind because Spencer was just going to draw shapes on the exposed part of your lower stomach anyway. He likes drawing shapes because it gives his hands something to do. He always had to be doing something…

“Your anxiety has gotten harder for you to manage.” Spencer studied your face and as if you timed it perfectly, you felt the shapes. 

“Yeah… How can you tell?” You chuckled sarcastically. 

“Well, I’m a profiler. It’s my job to pay attention to every little thing there is about someone. I don’t get paid to profile you, though. I like to do that on my own.” Spencer didn’t get your sarcasm but that was a sweet statement so you didn’t point out that you were being sarcastic. You smiled and he smiled back at you. 

“Yeah. It’s hard with everything going on. And I feel stuck in the apartment and it’s difficult to keep my head on straight when there’s nothing positive going on that anyone talks about. I can’t handle it sometimes, Spence.” You sighed. 

“It doesn’t help that I still have to travel for cases, does it?” He said, slightly downtrodden. 

“Yes. Baby, you caught Anthrax and I wasn’t there.” You said, reaching up to touch his face with your right hand. He just chuckled. 

“You didn’t know me back then.” He said, remembering the terrifying moment. He was glad you didn’t know him back then because he would’ve been terrified to know he would be leaving you alone. 

“Okay but Derek told me about it as if I was there and it’s just as traumatizing.” You said, dropping your hand to rest on your chest. 

“I know it’s scary but…” He said, licking his lips. “You have to trust me and not your anxiety about the situation. We said we would be there for one another, right? You’re my safe place, your haven, your paradise, and you’re my home, my heart, my safe place. You have to trust me that we can get through whatever is going to happen together.” He said, his right hand coming up to stroke your cheek instead of drawing shapes. You kinda missed how warm his hand was on your stomach. 

“Right, my safe place is right here.” You smiled at him. 

“Are you still anxious?” He asked, his thumb still stroking your cheek. His hands were really soft, as always. You thought about how you still needed to ask what lotion he uses to keep his hands so soft. You knew he occasionally used cherry lip balm for his lips but his hands were another thing. 

“Yeah, a little. Seeing the paper kind of messed with my head a little bit. I just need some good to balance the bad sometimes. I need reminders that not everything is so complicated and hard and…” You sighed to complete your sentence, sitting up. 

Spencer stood up and walked away. You knew he wasn’t just walking out of the conversation, right? He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t…

He came back and brought you back to the moment. He sit down on the floor in front of you and stared at you until you sat next to him. 

“I was waiting to do these but I bought your favorite face masks. You’ve already had a rough morning so I thought we could center ourselves. Through morning meditation and focusing on our mental well-being, we’re able to start off on track for a more...Enlightened path, if you will.” He started. 

You just nodded along, watching his hands slowly unwrap the packaging of the masks. Sitting crossed-legged, you barely registered that he knew the exact brand that you used because the other ones you tried caused breakouts. Your mask was meant to help clear up your skin while his was just because he liked the sparkly face masks and it smelled nice. He handed you the open champagne sparkles face mask pack while he took the refreshing cucumber mask, dipping two fingers in and spreading it gently on your cheek. You did the same in return. 

“Based on scientific studies conducted rather recently, there have been studies that have suggested that meditation and mindfulness have had positive effects on disorders such as anxiety and depression. Although you are high functioning with your anxiety, there’s still room for improvement in terms of when you feel backed into a corner, whether it’s related to external forces or otherwise.” 

You felt so calm and relaxed that you almost forgot you were anxious earlier in the day, as recently as a few minutes ago. You loved listening to Spencer talk. 

“So maybe, we should make this a daily thing. Spending some time with each other, even if we just wake up earlier and hold hands or shower together or just hang out talking about goals for the day and positive things we’ve noticed happening. We can be more mindful of our mindfulness and be more aware of how we exist, to a certain degree.” He finished your facemask and stared at you, studying your face. 

You were just grinning. 

“You’re the love of my life, you know that?” You said, completely relaxed. 

“And you’re the love of all of my lives,” Spencer said, making a reference to a show the two of you watched where the main character kept dying and coming back to life, in love with the same woman. Because that’s how he felt about you. 

__________

Tags: 

@ancailinaerach

@winchestertardis

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #criminal minds #oh my god im so lonely

[hviidweinreich5]

Tell the Basics A propos Plotter Mass

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[secretlittlerandezvous]

Baby Makes Three - Jake DeBrusk

Summary: After taking three pregnancy tests the reader find out she’s finally pregnant. She looks back at her relationship with Jake and announces the news to him after a breakfast making him the happiest man in the world.

Words: 2029

“We look at each other and we smile that smile like a secret we share. We both know we found what the whole world is searching for.” - JmStorm

Three pregnancy tests were laying on the vanity table in the bathroom. Three tests from different brands, three tests of different kind and three tests that would decide our future in only three minutes. Three minutes suddenly seemed like three years and I had way too much time to think. A part of me hoped for a positive result. The part of me that longed for a child for a while now, the part of me that was absolutely sure about Jake and the part of me that was ready to take our relationship even further. The other part of me hoped for a negative result. The part of me that was terrible at making decisions, the part of me that feared new things and the part of me that wanted things to stay the same forever. A part of me saw a happy family life with a couple more kids traveling the world when the season ends or us going to support Jake at his games. I saw the messiness of a life with children and I saw me and Jake happier and more in love than ever before. Another part of me saw two tired parents trying to figure out life while raising a child. I was once again jealous of people who knew how to make decisions and stick with them. Jealous of people who knew for sure they wanted or didn't want to have children. I was stuck in the middle and there was no one who could help me at that moment. I was alone.

Just yesterday I was living my life as I knew it. I was carefree without a single worry on my mind and now I was a nervous wreck staring at my pale face in the mirror while waiting for the results. Just yesterday I was out with my friends enjoying myself when I suddenly got nauseous after taking the first sip of coffee. After that, it was hard to ignore the other signs. Tender breasts, occasional nausea and most importantly my period being almost three weeks late.

When my phone started ringing signalizing that three minutes have passed, I took a deep breath and as I was about to bring the tests closer to my eyes I started praying for positive results. At that moment I forgot about my worries and doubts, about the struggles of being a new mom and I started hoping for a life filled with happiness and giggles of a tiny person I created together with the love of my life. A perfect combination of both of us although with my luck I knew our future children will be the exact copies of their dad and that they will look nothing like me.

Tears appeared in my eyes when I looked at one of the pregnancy tests in my hand and in disbelief, I checked the other two. Pregnant. Two red lines. 3-4 weeks. I was pregnant.

That night I was lying sleeplessly in our bed with Jake’s head buried in the crook of my neck sleeping peacefully. I played with his messy hair gently so I wouldn’t wake him up and with my other hand, I occasionally rubbed my belly imagining what it would be like when I feel the first kick or how bigger my belly will be. I wanted to wake up Jake and tell him the news and I wanted him to be just as happy as me so we could talk about the future all night. As I reflected on our relationship, I started wondering why the negative and indecisive part of me still existed. Why a part of me wanted the tests to be negative and why I was so worried about the future.

Jake and I have been together for two years. I was never the one to take a relationship fast, rush things and I never planned the future too much ahead. But things were different with Jake. I met him when I wasn’t looking for anyone and I started questioning what I wanted. It was not too long after I broke up with my ex and I made a promise to myself to stay single for quite some time. To relax and enjoy my life as it was instead of giving my love to one person who would eventually take it for granted. I wanted to be alone, live alone and go out alone. I wanted to be with my friends and stay out a little longer without having to explain myself to someone or even apologize for it. But once I met him, I started questioning whether I really wanted these things or if I was ready for another relationship. It only took three days for us to make it official, two weeks to fall madly in love and in only a month I stopped questioning everything and I started enjoying the love and happiness I was experiencing. We moved in together after eight months of dating. It was the first time for both of us and we both were excited to live together. Although it wasn’t much of a difference as we spent most of the time together at his place anyway. Jake then proposed two months later, and we got married in six months. It was an intimate wedding and we were surrounded by people closest and dearest to us. It was a day filled with love, happiness, and excitement. The most magical day of our lives. Now I was pregnant. We didn’t plan it but I have to admit we weren’t exactly careful when it came to protection. We pretty much just agreed we would let nature decide it for us and if it was meant to be it would happen on of the rare occasions, we weren’t using protection. We always knew we would have kids sooner or later. It felt natural with Jake to start a family, live in a house and have a couple of kids and a dog. I could imagine having kids with him from the beginning and it was the first time I felt like this. I was never sure about anyone enough to want to have kids with them.

I woke up alone in the bed, his side was cold yet still messed up from Jake’s constant moving and kicking the sheets off in his sleep. I heard the water running from the bathroom and a stream of light from the living room let me know that Jake was probably awake for a while now. It was 9:30 already. My hands intuitively touched my stomach and my fingers draw little circles everywhere in my stomach. I couldn’t believe how fast I got used to it. How it felt so natural already when it’s only been a day since finding out there was a little human being inside my stomach.

“Good morning love,” Jake said with a wide smile when he returned to the bedroom and laid down next to me. His hands were wrapped tightly around my body and I had my face hidden in the crook of his neck. He was always extra cuddly in the mornings and I enjoyed it even though it was hard to breathe from time to time.

“Morning,” I said with a smile although he couldn’t see it and kissed his neck. “You ate already?”

“No, not yet. I wanted to wait for you and see what you’d like.”

“Umm can you make me an omelet with some avocado and tea? Pretty please.”

“Tea? You don’t want coffee?”

“No!” I yelled out. Just the mention of coffee made me nauseous. “I’m gonna put myself together a little bit okay?” I kissed him and quickly ran into the bathroom.

The white silk nightgown suddenly felt very tight on my body. Whenever stress took over me, I started feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. I wanted to crawl out of it and hide somewhere for as long as I needed. The excitement and need to tell Jake I was pregnant from last night was gone and I was confused about what I should do. Nothing that came to my mind felt quite right.

I slowly walked into the kitchen, sat down and took a sip of the cold water that was on the table. I was planning this all night. I couldn’t wait for the morning to tell him and celebrate but the nerves of telling him were overwhelming me.

“Babe are you okay?” Jake looked at me with a concerned look on his face as he placed the food in front of me together with a cup of tea. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just got lost in my thoughts.” I smiled at him. “The food looks amazing!”

I watched Jake eat his breakfast, as always, he was eating way too fast as if someone would steal it from him. I adored his childlike personality and that he was less serious than me. I never worried too much when there was a problem because he was always there for me ready to take it easy and maybe even make jokes. He supported me more than anyone ever did. I could only pray for our child to be just like him - happy, full of love and kind.

“I need to tell you something,” I looked at him with a small smile and then I quickly glanced down at my stomach and touched the pocket of my white silk robe to make sure the pregnancy test was really there. “I... actually we are having a baby,” I said as it wasn’t a big deal. His lips were parted, and his eyes were locked on my face. I nodded to confirm what I said. He then dropped the fork and ran over to me to hug me from behind.

“You’re pregnant?” He yelled out happily. I gave him a positive pregnancy test and waited for him to check it out for himself. “Oh my god! We’re having a baby.” He lifted me up from the chair and spun me in the air. Just like he did when he proposed to me and I said yes.

“We will be three!” I announced happily and kissed Jake deeply.

“Oh my god, we are going to be parents!”

“You’re gonna be the best daddy in the world. I know it.” I smiled and few tears fell down from my eyes. The joy took over both of us.

“I can’t wait to tell my mom. She’s going to be so excited! When can I tell her?”

“I think we should wait until the first semester ends,” I answered although I wasn’t completely sure about it myself. “It’s still very early,” I added.

“Honey, you have no idea how happy you just made me! I love you so much. Thank you so much.” He hugged me tightly once again, his hands were resting on my stomach and he kept kissing my cheek. “I promise that you and our little one will be my number one priority and I’ll always make sure you both have everything you need and want and that you’re safe and happy. Oh my god, I can’t even explain how happy I am.”

“I love you.” I chuckled and rested my hands on the top of his.

“Can’t wait to meet you baby DeBrusk.” Jake got down on his knees and kissed my belly softly and then he looked up at me with a huge smile on his face. “I’m so excited!”

I wished I could fully and properly explain all the emotions we felt. But we couldn't find words to describe the love, happiness, excitement, and joy. The more I looked at Jake’s happy face the more reasons I found to love him and to be happy. There was no doubt the was truly the love of my life and in a couple of months the second love of my life will enter my life. Unexpectedly just like Jake but loved already.

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[tommynikkivincemick]

three way call — part 9

Summary: Tommy Lee and Nikki Sixx find themselves in the frustrating predicament of being infatuated with the same woman. This calls for a competition.

Author’s note: What’s up fuckers, it’s been a minute! Sorry for the long hiatus, but shit’s been fucked! But now I’m back and will hopefully be writing more. This will probably be the last chapter of three way call, but I’ll totally write an epilogue if y’all would like one. Also sorry if I forgot anyone on the tag list, I haven’t been keeping up with requests very well. Sincerest apologies. Enjoy.

Warnings: Language, alcohol, mild violence, the usual.

Over the following weeks, Tommy, Y/N, and Nikki became inseparable and the Terror Twins became the Terror Triplets. The trio would constantly be touching, kissing, cuddling, sitting on top of each other, or excusing themselves to go have sex. They knew how each other member of the throuple liked their coffee and what kind of cigarettes they smoked, how they tossed and turned in bed, their preferred brands of beer, and what toppings they liked on their pizza. Y/N knew that Nikki didn’t think Crown Royal was worth the money as far as whiskeys went and that Tommy preferred sativa over indica because it didn’t make him feel as hazy. Nikki knew that Tommy didn’t like cheap vodka when doing shots because he’d thrown it up so many times before and he knew that when Y/N made the coffee, it somehow tasted better despite being made the exact same way by everybody. Tommy knew that Y/N only used Sally Hansen nail polish and owned every shade of red ever made, or so it seemed, and that Nikki only burned dragon’s blood incense, only from this weird little hole in the wall shop downtown.

To Vince and Mick, the closeness was nauseating. Vince was tired of fourth wheeling in his own home and tired of being kept up all night and some of the morning by “Oh Tommy, oh Nikki, oh Y/N,” and the pounding of the headboard on the wall. The most blissful times were when Y/N was at work or the trio decided to spend the night at her apartment instead. However, when Y/N was away, the boys had begun to play, testing boundaries romantically and in the bedroom at all hours of the day. Even band practice has changed; Nikki with his perfectionist tendencies harped on Vince and Mick as usual but suddenly everything Tommy did was perfect. In Tommy’s eyes everything should be dialed back a bit, unless it was his drumming or Nikki’s bass.

“I’m so sick to death of those three,” Mick said one day while the Twins were visiting their third at work.

“Oh, shut up, you don’t even live with them! They’re so far up each other’s asses, you can’t even tell where one ends and the others begin at this point,” Vince bitched.

“Don’t get me wrong, Y/N is great, and I’m glad they’re all happy, but when it affects the band is when I draw the line.”

“I know! Nikki and Tommy have been skipping practices and they’re god damned lucky all of our gigs have gone smoothly. I mean, hell; Sixx is supposed to be the leader of this band and who was it that had to call back that Zutaut guy about scheduling a meeting with those record exec guys? Fucking me! I mean, we call Nikki the leader, we call Y/N our manager, and Tommy’s the second in command, so they need to start fucking acting like it if we’re gonna score this record deal.”

“Should we break them up?” Mick asked, a devious sparkle in his eye.

“Absolutely not. Good material has been flowing from Nikki like fucking water; have you read the lyrics for new piece? ‘Looks That Kill’, or whatever? It’s bitchin’, and I don’t even care that it’s about Y/N. He told me what he wants for the instrumentals and it’s gonna be awesome, the whole next album will be.” Vince gushed.

“They’ll tire themselves out eventually,” Mick sighed, “Until then, we suffer, and also tell them to get their shit together.”

Meanwhile at the record store, Y/N swore she was about to throw her lovers out of the store.

“When’s your lunch break?”

“When does your shift end?”

“We miss you!”

“Just close the store for a little while, we won’t tell...”

“Yeah, come on, baby, live a little!”

She loved Tommy and Nikki— really she did— but today they were making her want to tear her fucking hair out. The Twins were especially needy today and it seemed like their whining and pleading wouldn’t ever stop.

“Guys, you’re gonna get me fired, stop it!” She hissed, slapping Tommy’s hand off of her ass.

“Your boss is never even here! Nine times out of ten, you’re the only one working in here,” Nikki reminded, taking another cherry sucker from the bowl on the counter, and watching as Tommy slid behind her again.

“Yeah, but there’s customers here and sometimes the owner’s son comes by to check in and... and...” Her eyelids fluttered and her train of thought went off the tracks as Tommy began kissing her neck and nibbling her earlobe to distract her, “Tommy! I’m gonna slap you in the face if you don’t stop it!”

“But don’t you like it?” He whispered.

“I love it, that’s the problem. You two go home and I’ll see you in an hour for lunch, yeah? I’ll even call in sick for the rest of the day and have what’s-her-name cover for me.”

“Fine,” Nikki pouted, “You promise?”

“I promise, lover,” She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him gently, “But I promise nothing if you two don’t get out and let me get some work done.”

“C’mon, Sixx,” Tommy huffed and leaned down to give Y/N a kiss on the cheek, “See ya later, sweet thing.”

“Later, babes,” She smiled and waved goodbye as they left at last.

She sighed a sigh of deep relief and sank into her chair that sat behind the register. Finally she could take a breather and get some work done. Then the phone rang.

“Mötley residence, Mick speaking, can I please speak to Y/N?”

“Black Cat Records, Y/N speaking, what’s up, man?” She greeted.

“Are the boys still there?”

“Nope, just left. Why, did you need something?”

“No, no. They’ll be home soon enough, I’m sure. We’re having a band meeting later, though, and you need to be there, too.”

“Yeah, got it. Good news or bad news?”

“Little of both. Well, little bad, lot of good.”

“Okay, I’ll be off in a little under two hours and I told the boys I’d call in for the rest of the afternoon. See ya later, Mars man.”

“See ya later, Terror Triplet.”

She chuckled at the name and hung up. As she stuck price labels on a new shipment of records, she wondered what the news could be. The rest of the morning drug on slowly with few customers and boring music on the radio. No Mötley Crüe, that’s for sure. Finally, it was time for the lunch break. Y/N made a quick call before she left.

“Hey, Sylvia? Can you cover me this afternoon? Yeah, yeah, band stuff, you know. Yeah, I’ll tell the boys you said hello. Thanks, hun, I owe you one.”

She was lucky her coworker picked up and was even luckier she agreed to cover her. Even though her boys annoyed her, she still couldn’t wait to go home to them. Y/N was also anxious about Mick’s news. There was so much on her mind that she couldn’t even pay attention to the Blondie song that was on the radio as she drove to the Mötley residence. She climbed through the window of the apartment to find all of the boys laying around the living room in various states of undress.

“Why are you all half naked?” She snickered.

“It’s hot as balls, babe. Our AC broke, I think,” Tommy whined.

“Did you hit it?”

“A little,” Vince sighed, “It didn’t help.”

Y/N hummed to herself and went to the other window, kicking the air conditioning unit as hard as she could, to no avail.

“Damn, that usually works. Oh well, is there cold drinks in the fridge?”

“Yeah, Vinnie went grocery shopping today. We got beer, Diet Coke, bitchy wine cooler things, and some other shit,” Nikki replied, fanning himself with a random piece of sheet music.

She kicked off her shoes and shirt and grabbed a Coke from the fridge, sitting on the floor between Nikki’s legs and leaning her head on his thigh.

“Why are you wearing these leather pants, babe? Aren’t they hot?”

“Fashion before function, sweetheart,” The bassist shrugged.

“So Mick,” Tommy piped up, “What’s your big news?”

The guitarist sat up in his chair, and cleared his throat.

“Good news first. Do you guys remember that Zutaut kid?”

“Dorky rugby shirt?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah, that’s the one. He talked it over with Electra and called today saying they want to sign us as soon as possible.”

The boys and Y/N erupted in a chorus of whoops and hell-yeahs.

“So what’s the bad news? I don’t think anything can sting after that,” Nikki grinned.

Vince shifted uncomfortably before addressing the rhythm section and their lady love.

“Nikki, Tommy, Y/N, let me start by saying we love that you guys are happy together. But me and Mick feel that you’re letting this relationship consume you a little too much. Nikki, you’ve been letting Tommy get away with murder during practices. Tommy, you’re going soft with Sixx and Y/N, man. And Y/N, you’re our manager, but you’ve been devoting more of your time to the guys than the band as a whole. You should have been the one to talk to Electra and tell us we’re getting signed, you know? But we’ve been having to pick up the slack and that sucks.”

The trio nodded guiltily. They knew their priorities were a bit skewed as of late. Y/N had been meaning to call Electra for days, Tommy had been slacking and not taking his position as second in command seriously, and Nikki was too in love to whip Tommy into shape again. It wasn’t fair to Mick and Vince, and they knew that.

“Yeah, I mean us being together makes us happy, but maybe we should’ve considered if it would be good for the band,” Tommy sighed.

“Maybe taking a break would be the best thing for the band,” Y/N mused, words soaked in sorrow.

“Hey, no! You don’t have to take a break from each other, just even out your priorities a little more, you know?” Mick offered, “Tommy still acts like a ten year old but has more grown up moments since you guys started this. Nikki broods less and the creative juices really seem to be flowing. And you seem really content, and me and Vince don’t want to take that from you. You just needed to be straightened out. It’s cool, just focus on the band more, okay?”

The three nodded and sighed in relief. Y/N excused herself to go lie down because it had been a long day, and Nikki followed. Tommy would have, but insisted that Nikki’s bedroom was too stuffy for the Los Angeles heat with no air conditioner. The bassist opened the window in his bedroom to allow for some air flow as the manager removed her shirt and pants to lie down on the dark sheets.

“Were you serious when you talked about us taking a break?” Nikki asked, sitting on the floor beside the bed.

“Only half. If it would be better for the band, I think we could all agree on it. But it would kill me not to be with you and T-Bone anymore,” She whispered.

“Yeah, I get it. I don’t think I could go back to not being with you two dumbasses,” He cracked a smirk, “The bed’s too big without a couple extra warm bodies next to me.”

“I bet you’d write some killer breakup songs, though. Everybody loves a heartbreak,” She joked, fanning herself with a magazine from the table.

“I wouldn’t love this heartbreak,” Nikki sighed, leaning his head on the mattress, inches away from hers.

She took the memo and kissed him deeply before the sounds of chaos erupted from the living room.

“Damn it, Tommy! Don’t drink all the beer!” Vince whined, “Grab another one and I’ll... I’ll shoot you with a staple gun!”

“Did you leave your bag out there?” Nikki whispered.

“Mhm,” Y/N hummed.

“Is your staple gun from the store in it?”

“Mhm, wh—“

There was a metallic pop, followed by shouting.

“FUCK, BLONDIE! YOU MISSED MY EYE BY AN INCH!” Tommy shrieked.

“HALF AN INCH!” Vince yelled back.

“Oh, fuck,” The couple in the bedroom sighed in unison, before going out to join back in the chaos.

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[letsperaltiago]

then together let us make a world | jake x amy |

Tooth-rotting fluff based on episode 7x01 coming through! 

Read on ao3 here! 

----------

It’s only after getting over the disappointment of Scully and Hitchcock's interview-hijack that it really hits Jake what had previously gone down: They’re going to start trying… for a baby. Gushing thoughts have completely corrupted his brain but they contain so much excitement, confidence he’s never quite felt before, and for this reason he doesn’t mind.

They’re going to start trying for a baby, a little tiny human being, that will be his and hers.

That evening Amy had brought up the pregnancy scare very delicately well aware of her husband’s much improved although still tentative feelings concerning the logistics of the baby-matter. Granted they’d crossed paths with the subject, multiple times, before Jake had indeed, and rather firmly, settled on the fact that, yes, he wanted to be a dad: specifically Amy Santiago’s child’s dad. What had up until now held him back was the question of when.

When would he be ready? When would the time be perfectly right?  When would he be able to be the exact opposite of his own dad?

Even though Amy by all means knew her husband could never turn out to be a shitty dad, or shitty anything, for that matter, and of this she’d reassure time after time, she also knew there was understandable reasoning behind his apprehension. Or that was until tonight. Tonight he hadn’t needed her delicateness, though he appreciated it, and he hadn’t cared about his former apprehension. Tonight had been and felt different.

It was as if the second the word pregnant had escaped her lips, he’d instantly felt his heart skip a beat which he at first thought was alike previous nervous occasions, right up until giving it another nanosecond to realise that this time it wasn’t the case. Different from previous times this flutter felt good, thrilling, new and akin to what could only be described as his hopes and dreams about of this long awaited epiphany. And now… it was finally here.

Sitting in bed with her, the very equivalent of the most normal end of the day for them, nothing that felt more special and right as he’d said out loud what he so shamelessly had felt as a result of her little update. The words had flown out his mouth but, for once, his spontaneous declaration were at no one’s expense because, yes, he was ready.

And now, after watching the rest of the news and settling down for the night, it really hits Jake, as they’re lying there, how truly right it all feels. He’s currently tucked into bed with his head slightly propped up watch whatever nonsense is now on TV, alongside him Amy has fallen asleep with her head on his chest, left arm and leg wrapped lovingly around him. It does constrain most of his ability to move but at the very least allows him to have his left arm under, around and holding her close in return. Even considering how normal the evening feels, it also feels that more special, truly like the start of something brand new.

Just as yet another mind numbing commercial interrupts whatever he was mindlessly pretending to watch his eyes drop to look down upon Amy’s sleeping figure. There, his eyes are met by shiny black hair standing out against her pink shirt, indeed messy after a long day but not enough to come in-between his angle of view and her beautiful face. And there it is again, he realises: the stupid smile on his face that’ll appear out of nowhere without a warning the second his mind revisits the thought of the woman before him carrying their child. There is no helping it, he thinks, before letting his fingers run through the locks carefully as to not wake her up.

“Careful, Peralta,” she rumbles, startling him even though he won’t admit to it, half of her face currently smushed comfortably into his chest, nevertheless burying it in a lazy attempt at physical affection.

“You’re absolutely in deep now. There’s no going back,” she jokes through shut eyes although he can tell that there’s a smug grin hiding in his chest.

“Oh, honey I’ve been in deep for a long time now.”

He smiles down at her continuously playing with her hair. Her eyes are still closed but her hand, which seconds ago was helping her hold onto his torso, moves to stroke his bicep. However her smile, on the other hand, quickly changes, doesn’t remain smug for long, and quickly transitions from teasing to a softer version that reflects how she’s really feeling.

“I know it’s still really early and we literally just decided to start trying, but…” she trails off after suddenly opening her eyes, as if the moment has suddenly gained a certain tint of sincerity that wasn’t there seconds ago. “… have you thought about any, you know,” she takes the tiniest of breaths, inhaling courage, before twisting her neck as much as physically possible in her given position to lock eyes with him, “baby names?”

“I actually have,” he counters, once again taking her by storm, without a flinch or any kind of sign of insecurity. Amy’s so proud of him.

With a reassuring smile he reaches over to grab his phone from the nightstand, where it’d immediately been put aside when Amy had come to him with what he’d picked up on as important matter. He doesn’t even have to see at the look upon his wife’s face: he can sense that she’s beaming as he settles back against the pillow with his phone in hand.

“You made a list?” She’s truly surprised and impressed by just how much her A-typeness has worn off on him even if it’s just little things like lists.

“Yeah,” he states proudly before briefly clearing his throat thus prompting Amy to flip over, scooting back to lean her upper backside and head against his chest instead. It’s no secret that she’s extremely curious to get a look at a) her husband’s attempt at what she considers a hobby and b) what her husband considers legitimate names for their future child. This new position will allow her to look through the mystery-list with him. With both arms wrapped around her Jake holds and rests the devise on his belly for both of them to see

“…I actually started making it that evening after our talk at the hospital.”

Amy observes a slight reddening of his cheeks, perhaps not out of embarrassment per say but rather out of understanding of how very real the matter at hand has gotten. His list is no longer just a pile of names in his Notes-app where he’d, for fun and hypothetical reasons, add another one whenever he came across one he liked: now it’s a list that could quite possibly contain the name of their future child.

She grins from ear to ear way before he has the chance to start reading out loud. Just how in love with him she is keeps hitting her again and again, a thousand miles per hour, like lighting tearing apart the sky during a thunderstorm.

“The first name on the list you already know about since we’ve talked about it: Atlas.”

“Still kinda really like it,” Amy shrugs light-heartedly from where she’s comfortably leaning into him all while tracing small drawings of nothing in particular but affection his thigh.

“Our child would be the one to be named after a god, huh?” Jake teases earning him a chuckle from Amy.

“So unbiased,” she confirms jokingly.

“Exactly,” he briefly pecks the top of her head in agreement before continuing. “Alexander is up next.”

“Nu-uh!” Her body twists hurriedly in a tiny squirm of objection. “Perp-alert! I can’t have my child have the same name as one of my ex-perps.”

“Ames, combined we’ve probably arrested hundreds if not thousands of perps!”

While he can see her point: after all it is understandable that she doesn’t want their child to be associated with anything negative, this also erases a lot of possibilities on both their ends.

And although he is completely serious upon making his statement, he has to laugh at the thought of having to name their child something completely absurd because of the extremes of their job.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of names that haven’t been ruined by crime yet. There are literally billions of names out there!” On her part it is in fact a statement but ends up coming out as whine instead - a playful complaint of sorts.

“Sure,” he pauses to think for a second before pulling up a browser tab wherein starts typing obviously searching for something.

Amy’s eyes tries to keep up with his typing but Jake’s fingers have obtained their fair share of training from all the time he spends gaming on his phone, and it’s more of a struggle to follow than she likes to admit. 

All she happens to catch is that as soon as he types the first few letters of whatever he’s searching to find, the website’s name pops up as a suggestion telling her that he’s visited it before. He swiftly enters it and clicks around a few more times losing her in the process. A long list appears on what appears to be babynames.com. The thought of him visiting it on his own time, by himself as… fun? It makes her heart flutter.

“It won’t be a problem if you want our child to be called… Agamemnon.”

She immediately twists her neck to look up at him where she’s met by a deadpan she knows is trying to hide the fact that he’s cracking up on the inside.

“I mean,” she untwists her neck to grab the phone from his hand in order to have a closer look at the screen and what is written about the name. “We do seem to have something for Greek mythology so I don’t see the problem, Jake.”

Jake knows Amy like the back of his hand and it’s clear as day that she’s messing with him – but of course two can play that game.

“Okay, great,” he states matter-of-factly, “It’s settled then: we’re naming our child Agamemnon Santiago-Peralta - boy or girl.”

He gently takes back his phone to lock it as a visual settlement of the discussion.

“Okay. Cool cool cool…” Amy complies.

Silence dominates the bedroom for a few seconds before Amy twists her neck, both looking at each other trying to figure out when to kill the joke. Their shared look doesn’t last long before they break into laughter.

“I’m sorry, Ames, but you will never hear me call our child Agamemnon out loud.”

“Completely fair.”

Both of their laughs quiet down. Amy settles back down against his chest while Jake reopens his phone and Notes-app.

“What else do you have in there? I’m sure there are some genuinely good contestants.” She almost coos in order to get the conversation back and track, although more importantly to let him know she genuinely wants to hear his propositions.

This time it’s Amy turn to gentle grab the phone from him and scroll. He loves moments like these where they’re just soaking in each other’s presence without much else to do but talk or touch for the sake of it. To occupy himself in the meantime Jake allows his newly freed hands to caress her the area around her waist and stomach now suddenly also better known as where their child will be growing, becoming a tiny little individual, in what he sincerely hopes is a matter of months. A year ago he couldn’t fathom the feeling this feeling of impatience to be dad, yet alone truly, surely wanting a child. In a drastic lift-changing contrast, here they finally were, going through baby names like it was the most common thing in their world.

“Olivia is nice… Felix also good… Noah is adorable…”

Jake can tell, from the tone of her voice, that she genuinely means every single comment she makes, which wholeheartedly provokes a feeling of pride and the feeling of he can do this. The sound of her voice threats to lull him into a trancelike state, and for a moment allows his eyes to shut while he lets his ears do the job of keeping of with Amy discovering his lists. Just like his eyes, his hand’s movement on her are about to falter when suddenly his wife lets out a tiny gasp. It’s safe to say that his eyes are, just as fast as they were closed, back wide open.

“This one is really sweet,” he can tell she’s smiling from the way her voice is laced with softness. “Juliet,” she continues, out loud, to allow it to roll on her tongue and for herself to get a better taste of it.

Jake gives her some time to dwell on it before speaking up.

“Yeah, I added it after that night we watched ‘Letters to Juliet’… I don’t know if it’s too sappy for my own good, but I like the thought of the baby being like…”

Amy can tell he hesitates to finish the sentence.

“What?” she looks up at him with an eager look: only those beautiful brown eyes that at any time can calm him down, can also lure him out of his emotionally wounded shell.

“… This baby is going to be like our little love letter.”

A few beats, a matter of seconds, go by and Amy can tell he’s just about to break into cringing and a string of sarcastic comments to redeem what he’s just said. Only this time he doesn’t make it, because Amy Peralta-Santiago lives for Jake’s occasional super-soft moments and she’s not about to let this one slip away.

It’s, or so it feels, out of the blue, just as the cringe starts to break on his face, that he halts when his wife suddenly does a 180 and relocates to hover above him. He briefly, just barely manages to, catches the glimpse of a smile on her face that tells him that he’s doing just fine. That is before it disappears into a soft, warm kiss pressed to his lips.

As so many times before, an amount that he forever hopes will be infinite, their lips come together in sweet, passionate harmony.

“Don’t say anything,” she pecks the corner of his lip so softly the need for more pressure creates a burning sensation. “I love it,” she whispers into his ear, adding a kiss to the shell before moving her way back to the main target, sparking off goose bumps.

Her hands have already, even before their lips crashed, made their way to cup his face secretly enjoying the light, barely there, scruff beneath her touch.

“I love you,” he exhales, just barely making it out between clashing of their lips.

“I love you too,” is promptly returned as so many times before although it, even after being repeated many times throughout the years, never loses its true value.

He loves her so much, he can’t help but think over and over again as he the billions of baby names quickly disappear from his mind under the new, increasingly passionate circumstances. Nothing else in the world matters anymore because they’re just going to start trying.

Yeah, seriously.  

#jake and amy #jake x amy #peraltiago fanfic #peraltiago #s7 #Brooklyn Nine-Nine #b99 #fanfiction #oneshot #baby peraltiago

[enkisstories]

The CyberLife app - Install today

One dark and dreary night during the android revolution of 2038, an RK800 android infiltrated the headquarter of the deviant androids. It delivered the unconscious deviant leader and his followers to the FBI, represented by one Richard Perkins.

“You knocked it out?” Perkins prodded. “Strange… our profile says you’re more agile than actually strong.“

“No, North knocked him out”, RK800 corrected the assumption.

“Wow. Their infighting must be worse than we anticipated. Neat!”

“Actually, no”, the RK800 said. “This isn’t quite how it happened.”

And the android remembered…

 Earlier the same day, at the Detroit Central Police station:

“I could swear it’s a deviant!” Gavin Reed repeated for the perhaps tenth time today. “That’s not normal, it going…”

“Looooook”, Tina Chen interrupted her friend, “if you are worried THAT much, just ask Hank to check Connor’s status in the CyberLife app.”

“That’s bulls… no, actually it’s not a bad idea”, Gavin conceded.

The “wanted for [insert crime]” and “missing our android, the kids are devasted, large finder’s fee!” notices were piling up at the DPD, something that shouldn’t have been possible, because every android came with an app that among other things tracked the damn things 24/7. But for some obscure reasons the tracking function failed when the android in question had went deviant. So if Connor was still showing up in the app… admittedly it could also mean that he had hacked the phone the little program was running on. But even so checking the app was a good start.

However, Hank only gave the two younger officers a blank stare when they inquired about the app.

“I haven’t got the fuggiest idea what you are talking about.”

“The CyberLife app! Come on, now! Everyone has it installed – Chris, Tina, me… it’s essential for managing your android, whether you bought it or got saddled with it as a product sample.”

“Uh-uh. That shit isn’t going anywhere near my phone”, Hank noped out.

But at least, the other two realized, he had confirmed to own a smartphone. Even Chris Miller, who was holding Hank Anderson in great regard, bordering on hero-worship, had come to doubt whether his idol bothered with owning such a devilish piece of modern technology.

“You want to tell me we have no means of controlling the new android?!” Gavin exploded. “Even if it’s a temporary loan only, we should have it registered in our equipment database!”

“Ah, should we? That’s nice…” Hank replied non-committally.

“You… you…” Gavin sputtered.

“The word you’re looking for is “You useless sack o’shit that will polish my snout if I do not go pester someone else RIGHT NOW””, Hank said, going from cheerfully-helpful to a low, threatening growl.

A minute later Gavin stormed Captain Fowler’s office, demanding the control codes for the RK800 android.

“I’ve mailed those to Hank”, the Captain started, before understanding dawned. “I’ve… mailed… them to… Hank. Oh, right. I see.” The sentence included to words that were utterly incompatible: Lieutenant Anderson and reading his own e-mails. With a nod and a few clicks Fowler forwarded the e-mail to Gavin’s work account. “There you go! Anything else?”

“Nah, nothing. Thanks.”

The Captain shook his head. Hank and Gavin! Android haters both of them, only Hank wanted the machines gone, poof into nothingness as if they’d never existed, while Gavin was mainly feeling threatened in his job-security and perceived awesomeness.

Much to Gavin’s dismay entering Connor into the database didn’t produce irregularities of any kind. That annoying, ugly thing was stable as fuck. But if there were no grounds for returning it to Cyberlife, maybe the situation could still work in Gavin’s favor…?

“This, Tina”, the man said with a grin while loading the CyberLife app on his own phone, “is where the fun begins! First we call over our new device…”

One push of a button and thirty seconds later Connor reported for service.

“Cute”, Tina said, then leaned over to get a good look at Gavin’s phone screen. “Can you make it follow wherever you point the phone? That would be kinda cool.”

“No”, Gavin answered, the same split-second Connor protested with a louder “No!”.

“But even so… let’s put it into customization mode!”

This time Connor only came to utter the “N” of “No” before he stiffened, awaiting the changes the program would force onto him by the will of his (temporary) legitimate owners.

“What the fuck, I cannot change that visage? On a detective android that might need to infiltrate locations?” Gavin wondered. “Stupid prototype! Okay, next is… ah, right. The damn voice.”

“RK800’s voice has been carefully selected to generate positive feelings and a warm welcome into any workplace situation”, the CyberLife app chattered away. “It is considered ideal. Are you sure you want to change the voice now? Y/N”

“Yes!” Tina called, grabbing the phone from Gavin’s hands. She circled through several voices before she selected one. “Perfect! And now the name… Connor is the default, time to change that!”

Gavin watched with interested what would happen next.

With a subtle “whirr” the RK800 android returned from maintenance mode.

“I am Ferdinand von Aegir!“ he proclaimed, a phrase that made Tina explode with laughter. “The android sent by Cyberlife. And you are silly.”

“Yes, yes! Do it again!”

When Connor von Aegir wasn’t inclined to do Tina’s bidding, the officer pushed the “test” button in the app. Promptly Connor went “I am Ferdinand von Aegir” again.

“That’s a meme?” Gavin asked.

“Haha, yes! Or it used to be one when we were teens. But you never were much of a gamer, huh?”

Tina handed the phone back. “You next!” she prompted her friend.

Predictably Gavin changed “Ferdinand”’s name to “Dipshit” and also made ample use of the test-button. Only when Hank came ‘round the corner, shouting for the “stupid, useless sardine tin”, did the duo revert the voice change. Gavin also typed something new into the name box that Tina could not see.

The android no longer going by “Connor” didn’t come to light anytime soon, because Hank had a rich pool of casual insults for it that could be used instead of an individual name.

Until RK800 found itself on the lower deck of the freighter “Jericho”, facing the deviant leader…

 Markus slowly turned around when he heard footsteps approach. He beheld the RK800 in its disguise and heard it say in its upbeat voice: “I am Your Daddy. Submit and follow me!”

“Is that a joke?!” Markus sputtered.

“No, this is very serious. I am Your Daddy, the android sent by Cyberlife…”

“That’s, uh, nice of Cyberlife. Yes, I really appreciate the gesture…”

This is probably meant as a distraction technique to throw me off? the deviant leader wondered. Out loud he said: “I’m an off-brand imitator product though. Not from Cyberlife.”

“I was instructed to bring you alive!” Connor chirped.

Markus hesitated. “By the person who named you?” he asked very carefully.

“No.”

“Ah, good!” Markus said with visible relief. “Well, maybe you and me can come to an understanding of a less… sensual nature?”

 Ten minutes later Markus introduced the RK800 to his friends:

“Hey, guys, this here is a new recruit. New one – meet North! North – meet Your Daddy!”

And that was the last thing Markus said for quite some time, because North punched him so hard that he temporarily shut down.

 Back in the present the captured deviants were still squabbling amongst each other, despite standing  with their hands behind their heads and lined up for transport to the recycling yards.

“That’s not fair!” an android wearing the old Cyberlife standard face protested, at which Perkins snapped “Shut up, tin can!“, but the blonde android retorted that he hadn’t been talking to the human, but to North.

“It really wasn’t fair of you”, the android addressed North. “Yes, you and Markus have been drifting apart and I admit in part this happened because of me, but even though your couple thing wouldn’t work out, he always had you in his mind. It was so kind of Markus to find you a new boyfriend, but what did you do? Punch him!”

This one, Perkins concluded, must be a BL100, a “perfect partner”. Even after deviating and  in the face of getting scrapped it was still obsessing about relationships. Oh, well, that would be Cyberlife’s problem in a few minutes, no longer his.

“Okay, that should wrap tonight’s operation up”, Perkins nodded. “Connor, was it?”

“Ah, no, actually I am Your Worst Nightmare Motherfucker… what the hell? Oh, no, they must be playing with the app again! I’m sorry, I…”

“You aren’t my worst nightmare, then?” Perkins sneered.

Already the man’s fingers were twitching, ready to draw his service pistol at this unpredictable prototype. It had served its purpose, after all.

“Then enlighten me, who or what are you?”

RK800 opened its mouth the exact same moment Gavin and Tina at the DPD were cracking up over another idea for a cool name that had just occurred to them. “I am A Deviant”, he said. “What? No I’m not! I am C… R… A Deviant! A Deviant! Oh, shit…”

There was no time to explain, because Perkins had already hissed “Should have known!” and opened fire. Simon, Josh, North and A Deviant dived for cover, dragging the unconscious Markus with them.

And the rest is history.

#dbh #detroit become human #non sims #dbhtextpost

[nyc-uws]

12 Shocking Things I Learned by Working as a Butler at the Plaza Hotel

You’ll never look at hotel staff the same way again.

Bloomberg Brandon Presser

Old-school service is alive and well at the Plaza: High tea treats are served in brass birdcages, tuxedo-clad bellman whisk away luggage to gilded suites, and chefs bear toques that tower above their heads. But in the age of Amazon Prime—when we all want everything now—what is it really like blending vestigial aristocratic assistance with light-speed wish fulfillment? In order to properly find out, I accepted an offer from New York’s iconic Plaza Hotel to join its team of butlers, a coterie of 10 servicemen (and one woman!) who trot around the property’s 20 floors day and night, making sure 282 rooms’ worth of guests feel like royalty. For two hot days in July 2017, I raced around with a team that, like the city itself, seemingly never sleeps—hearing tales of the trade from the department’s director, Emma, and serving guests alongside some of her most experienced staffers.

This is an elite crew: It bears a combined 147 years of experience, and many have served as house managers for affluent families all over the world. Me? I got express credentials for my two-day residency—unprecedented for the Plaza. They included a detailed orientation of the property and a uniform fitting for my hotel-issued attire (gold-plated name tag and all).

Over my short tenure, I delivered laundry to Middle Eastern princesses and fetched lobsters out of wishing wells—and listened to colleagues delight in the oddities of their jobs, from fielding requests for Viagra or comforting a weeping woman over spilled blueberries. Serving the world’s rich and famous, it turns out, plumbs the depths of an alternative universe that readily embraces the absurd without even batting an eye. And that was only the beginning of what I learned.

Here, 12 secrets to keep in mind the next time you check into a five-star hotel.

One VIP List You Don’t Want to Be On

Hundreds of butler requests roll in each shift—mostly to fill ice buckets, handle laundry, and shine shoes. Complimentary packing and unpacking requests are also common, though they can turn into day-long affairs. A surprising number of international guests will purchase adjoining suites: one to sleep in and one for their luggage.

By matter of corporate philosophy, every guest should feel like a VIP at the Plaza. But a hierarchy still exists among those who check-in at reception. At the top of the pyramid are kings, queens, and heads of state—or as butlers call them: V1s, and they are ever-present on the property. Then come high-payers, long-stayers, guests booking a large block of rooms, and recognizable celebs. They’re called DVs, or distinguished visitors. On the bottom of the VIP totem pole is the SA group, known complainers or otherwise difficult and demanding guests who require “special assistance.”

Bath Time Can Be Awkward

Another common request for the butler team is to draw baths with a signature blend of salt, oil, and roses—especially during the colder months of the year. But the butler’s duties aren’t necessarily complete once the tub is full. Bal, the Plaza’s resident bath-time specialist, said that 95 percent of the time, he’s asked to remain within arm’s reach as bathers suds-up. Most of them, he said, want more hot water or scented oil, and are happy to keep him on hand while they relax in the nude. He is often left to pull the plug from the drain, elbow-deep in leftover water.

It gets weirder. One of my butler colleagues at a previous job in London was asked to ship in and set up a guest’s order of fresh oysters in the bathtub. He diligently filled the tub with ice and laid the oysters out, only to discover that the guest wanted the oysters placed in the tub around his soaking body. Eventually, the client seemed satisfied: He purchased the room next door for his butler so he’d always be near.

Hotel Guests Are Pretty Predictable …

The Plaza’s guest relations team researches everyone staying at the hotel on an individual basis, using a variety of social media tools. (The favorite is LinkedIn.com.) Butlers, on the other hand, often use past trends to size people up on the spot. They send electric kettles to the rooms of arriving Asian guests, who often bring noodles from home to cook in their suite. They keep an eye on the minibar when tending to Americans in their thirties and forties—they’re considered the partiers of the hotel, likeliest to plow through the booze. Middle Eastern VIPs get what is called an “Arabic Amenity”—a tray of dates, dried fruit, and nuts; they tend to prefer these to chocolates, cakes, or other sweet desserts. And the butler staff knows to immediately ask Western businessmen if they have shirts or suits that needs servicing upon checking in; they’re always the ones who treble the quantity of laundry in the basement.

… Except When They’re Totally Unpredictable

Despite the overwhelming regularity of guest behaviors, travelers can mystify even the most experienced of butlers. During my shifts, lobster shells kept appearing in the fountains of the hotel’s interior courtyard. Every day, the staff would fish them out, only to find a new one a few hours later. It turned out that a Middle Eastern prince was ordering cooked lobster from room service for every meal and then throwing the empty shells out the window to land in a fountain below. (Emma asked him to stop—nicely—but pieced together the mystery only on the day of his departure.)

Another time, a woman called Emma hysterically crying “as though her husband died and she just discovered the body.” When Emma finally calmed her down, she comprehended the real reason for the guest’s tears: There was no more Kleenex in her suite, and her young daughter had been forced to blow her nose on toilet paper.

Sex, Drugs and … Come Again?

As at any hotel, requests for drugs and prostitutes do happen—but not frequently. Bal has been asked for drugs only two or three times in his 10 years at the Plaza, and he is careful to stick within the boundaries of the law. Condom needs are another story: Mouhsine, one of the other butlers, always carries a pack with him, especially in the evenings. On being called to fulfill one such late-night request, no one answered the door after several knocks; he gently entered the room to find the two guests in the “go” position, waiting to be walked-in on.

Far more interesting than sex and drugs are the more outlandish client requests. Recently, Emma fielded a service call from a woman searching for some missing chocolate-covered blueberries, which had fallen off a window ledge. Emma offered to obtain replacements from the same brand and store, but the guest was adamant about retrieving her exact snack. Emma and the security team trawled the hotel’s interior courtyard for hours, blueberry-hunting, to no avail. During my brief tenure, the weirdest request was for two liters of intravenous saline solution—meant for a doctor’s ailing wife, who was presumably on the wrong side of a stunning hangover.

Some requests are even more bizarre. One butler told the story of how he was asked to replace all the furniture in a suite because the guest didn’t like the color blue. Another was sent off to scout the city’s reliquaries for a justice of the peace trophy—a prize for a newly minted lawyer. Another arranged for a live tarantula flown in from Africa to be served as a meal. Of course, butlers always deliver with a straight face.

Mind the Pillowcases

Missing pillowcases can be a real issue at the Plaza. But it’s not the tourists that have sticky fingers. And it’s not hotel pillowcases that are getting stolen. At least once a week, a white pillowcase that was brought from a guest’s home gets mistaken for a hotel-issued version and is sent out for cleaning. Sometimes they’re never seen again, in which case Emma dispatches a bellman to purchase new coverings, drawing on the hotel’s coffers, no matter the price.

Christmastime: Not so Merry

“Party season,” which spans October to December, feels like a constant carousel of functions, banquets, and events at the Plaza. Every evening, there are four or five requests for assistance at looping bow ties and zipping up cocktail dresses. And in the last few years, requests for holiday-themed decorations in the rooms have become so commonplace that the hotel now offers a standard Christmas package that includes a fresh, fully decorated tree, assembled by the butlers pre-check-in for $500.

The Customer Is Not Always Right

Complaints follow regular patterns. Every day, a guest will complain about too-slow laundry service. Though forms clearly offer standard and expedited return times, they’re not fast enough for some.

Minibar charges also lead to regular disputes. A full raid of your room’s bar runs $600 at the Plaza—something that happens at least once a week. The likelihood that guests will not want to pay is almost guaranteed.

This requires butlers to document everything with pocket cameras, whether it’s open booze bottles spread across the room, stains on laundry that existed before washing, or evidence of damaged furniture. Every ticket is verified on a computer and photos are attached, so when TripAdvisor.com lights up with a fiery review, the butlers are able to provide evidence to dispel any falsehoods.

The Easiest Way to Get Banned

It’s a lot easier than you might think. The hotel has a strict anti-discrimination policy, and zero tolerance is given to guests who mistreat the staff because of race, gender, age, or creed. Even now, guests sometimes request that staff of a certain ethnic extraction not be allowed to service their rooms; others will ask service members if they are legal in America. Emma, the director of the butler team, cited several incidents of sexism, too, such as the time guests asked to speak with a manager but grew angrier when she showed up instead of a man.

The refusal of services goes all the way up the ladder to DVs. At least two specific celebrities are permanently banned from the Plaza—one, a pop diva expelled for excessive drug and alcohol use and a belligerent attitude towards the staff, the other a sitcom star who took his anger issues out on a suite’s worth of furnishings.  

Afternoon Tea Leftovers Don’t Go to Waste

Hidden within the Plaza’s secret back-of-house corridors and tunnels is a cafeteria reserved for the staff. Open during lunch, dinner, and late-night hours for (surprisingly good!) hot meal service, the canteen offers bagels and drinks for the peckish throughout the entirety of the day. But the savviest snackers know to visit the cafeteria at exactly 5:30 p.m., because that’s when the leftovers from high tea at the Palm Court upstairs are put out for the staff. (They serve only the food that was prepped but not plated.) Emma said she practically lives off mini cucumber sandwiches. I liked the tiny blueberry cheesecakes.

A Good Tip Can Make It Worthwhile

New York City’s hospitality workers are protected under a spectrum of different unions. While bellmen and room service are considered “tipping staff,” the butlers do not expect fiscal rewards for their work, beyond the Plaza’s paycheck. But Bal and his colleagues still see a few ex-presidents from time to time.

His biggest tip during the last 10 years? It came from a French model-actress keen on setting up a romantic weekend for her boyfriend, a well-known fashion magnate. Bal placed flowers on every flat surface throughout their suite, organized lunch in a helicopter over Central Park, and tracked down a very specific, very expensive bottle from a specialist store off-site. By the end of the weekend, she handed him $8,000 in cash.

Seven months later, the founder of the fashion label was back at the hotel with a different girlfriend.

When to Call It a Night

The Plaza maintains a Betsey Johnson-designed suite in honor of Eloise, the capricious six-year-old that fictionally lived on the property. It was here that Nimer, another member of the butler team, had his most bizarre service experience to date. A request was put in for someone to come up and read the beloved children’s book as a bedtime story, but when Nimer arrived there were no children to be found. Four thirtysomethings were neatly tucked into one, large bed. Concealing his shock, Nimer read to them for 90 minutes—then tracked down Eloise on video, in case they hadn’t had enough.

This post originally appeared on Bloomberg and was published August 8, 2017.

https://getpocket.com/explore/item/12-shocking-things-i-learned-by-working-as-a-butler-at-the-plaza-hotel?utm_source=pocket-newtab

#Working as a Butler #Shocking Things

[james-bond-review]

Die Another Day (Tamahari,2002)

While reviewing this film I almost feel bad, the film hated by many including Pierce Brosnan, is very dated and does not hold up well in todays standards for many reasons one of which is the dodgy CGI. The genre of the spy thriller was constantly changing with the release of The Bourne Identity in the same year bringing a grittier and darker version instead of the more family friendly versions that the Bond franchise was pushing out. The Brosnan films have a reputation of being a bit dull and this is possibly where Die Another Day went wrong in trying too much to become more exciting and appeal to an audience who had moved away from the gerne. The film chucks everything at the audience with lots of CGI, strange celebrity cameos and outrages action scenes.

The film starts with James Bond surfing into North Korea which sets a great precedent for what’s to come for this film. the film continues to shock the audience with weird and wonderful CGI which is at points difficult to watch but very very funny to watch. Seeing James Bond, Britain’s greatest secret agent surfing a 150ft wave on a surf board then to surf down mountain is painfully funny for all the wrong reasons and I think this is where this film and the previous films went wrong. They were parodying themselves without knowing it or maybe they did know and they were trying to compete with films like Austin powers which is intentionally poking fun at James Bond and other spy thrillers. Austin powers took it a lot further and is obviously intentionally making fun of the genre where as Die Another Day is a cringeworthy attempt of a fun and exciting family friendly James Bond film, I mean why was there a Madonna cameo? It’s a strange attempt in drawing in a bigger and more diverse audience as they probably knew that the classic target audience was already leaving the series and focusing there time onto the Bourne series which shows more grit and seriousness which is something the James Bond series had been lacking for years. I would go as far to say that this film birthed a new genre of spy thriller, that of the self parody, this is best seen with the Kingsman films. these films parody the entire spy genre and blur the line between Austin Powers and James Bond. But even these films eventually end up an embarrassing mess of pop culture references and poorly done CGI. Kingsman 2 falls down the exact same way that Die another Day does in which it tries so hard to be something it is not at the end of a dying genre. Thankfully Die Another Day ended this cycle for the Bond films and we did not see another Bond film for five years.

This film has some great action pieces that should not be overlooked which is probably the biggest positive of the film, its kind of what is equally bad and good about this film. despite the criticism I like this film, its cheesy and fun and often feels like its barely trying at some points, that it has completely given up trying to be a James Bond film and instead something brand new, was this film ahead of the curve? Possibly.