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dcxdpdabbles · 8 days

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Saw that you said you like Wes/Tim. Can you write something about it?

Wes isn't sure what he was expecting when it came to being kidnapped by a man who willingly answers to Joker. It was one thing to have your whole city dragged into the realm of the dead; it was another for a random man dressed like a clown to pop up from a portal and hold you at gunpoint.

Portals in Amity Park were so common that people reacted with an escape plan and a phone app to update traffic delays due to ghost attacks. We had just received the notification at Nasty Buyer when the clown burst into the restaurant with a cackle.

He waved his weapon at the people sitting, who only stared at him in confusion. The man did a little introduction, dramatically twirling in place and bowing after shouting, "Hello, people of Amity. Joker here to give all a much-needed sense of humor!"

Joker was trying to be frightening, which only caused a few people to smile amusingly.

No one was scared of a man with a gun, even when he had everyone get on the ground. They all listened, primarily out of curiosity, as he went on a small ramble of humor and one bad day leading to a lifetime regret; after all, every Amity Park civilian wore a Fenton Force Field.

Some even style the belts and bracelets with their outfits.

It barely held back ghost possession on a good day, but small, fast-moving metal? Bullets bounced right off of them.

(Sometimes Wes was grateful the government didn't take Fenton seriously. He shutters to think how they would use their technology in warfare)

That amusement then turned to caution when Joker revealed he wasn't wearing makeup but was actually that skin tone. He was missing the glow, but suddenly they wondered if the man was a ghost, which made him far more dangerous.

The Joker had walked around his hostages, waving a little box computer over their heads. It beeped slightly higher on some but the one that really set off the machine was Danny.

Because, of course, Phantom would mark high on any readings, even if they didn't know what the Joker was checking for. The clown had laughed madly, dragging Danny to his feet and trying to march him out of the restaurant. Everyone watched with even more curiosity, no one bothering to stop the outsider from taking Danny.

Now, Wes isn't much of a hero; he's the type of guy who will run at the first sign of trouble, but he's also very well aware Danny can't go ghost unless he's alone. Being held hostage and kidnapped meant Danny wouldn't have the chance to slip away to become Phantom.

This is a big problem since Phantom is the town hero. The last time the town hero was out of town, the city got abducted into the death realm, and that really cool arcade was turned to pieces. Phantom only handled ghost-related crimes, but Amity rarely saw any crime, and things like these events span generations.

Wes still heard about Old Man Jankins's car being stolen in the '60s by gossiping women at the food market as if it had happened that morning.

The clown's appearance through the portal meant the local police force wouldn't even attempt to save Danny. They would simply wait for Phantom, thinking the clown was some kind of ghost.

Phantom was not coming because his human side was already there as the victim.

As much as he wished people would make the connection between the two- how can you be so blind? All Danny did was dye his hair and put on colored contacts!- he knew no one else realized that Phantom was literally being taken away. So he had to step in.

He rose from the floor, sprinting as hard as possible at the Clown. Throwing his total weight in a tackle, Wes managed to wrap his arms around the Joker, throwing them through the portal and giving Danny a chance to back away.

He figured Danny would pretend to run away- maybe round the restaurant building to the back where the cameras didn't work and fly back in a second as Phantom. He thought falling through the portal wouldn't be an issue since Phantom would fly after them and rescue him.

Wes was not expecting the damn portal to close before they hit the ground on the other side.

He caught a flash of Danny's panic-green eyes just as it was sealing. The ghost had literally just shown up to the scene to watch him vanish from sight.

"You really messed up, my fun kid," the Joker sneered, dragging Wes to his feet. The strange machine he was waving went off as it got closer to him, causing the clown to stop.

He checked the screen, smile stretching wide at what he saw. "Looks like I did end up with a meta after all."

"Meta? What's a meta?" He asks, not even blinking at the sudden increase of guns being aimed at him. There were more people here wearing similar outfits to the Joker, all that armed to the teeth.

The Joker didn't answer him. Instead, he had his goons drag him into a tube, where they started filling up with some kind of tar. Now, here Wes did panic a little. The Fenton Shield could keep him from being shot or beaten, but it would not help him breathe.

He slammed his hands against the glass, screaming as the tar went up to his chest. Across from him, Joker was smiling like a loon while the scattered people working on some machines and computers monitored his reactions with the detached expression of a scientist conducting an experiment.

That's what I am to them. Wes realizes as the tar reaches his chin. He stands on his toes, tilting his head to get air. An experiment. Why are they doing this? Do they work for the GIW? Why take me? I am nowhere near a ghost.

The horrific sensation of drowning is starting to set in as he tries to gather as much air as he can. There is pressure all around him, but the worst is in his chest. Wes's struggles to get out of the tube increase with far more depression, but the black liquid is now in his eyes, and he fears he won't be able to hold his breath for long.

Nothing is wet darkness for a moment, as the burning in his lungs aches. He feels the tar cover his head, meaning he is running out of time. The sound is mutated, and his movements are sluggish. There is this offering moment where he can't tell which way is up or down, and he thrashes about, trying desperately to find an escape, any escape from the sparkling pain that is spreading from his toes to his forehead.

It feels like his entire being was being pulled apart and put back together again.

Just as he thinks he's going to die here- if he becomes a ghost, he will definitely haunt Danny- that the glass shatters. The tar falls outwards once its containment is broken, dragging a weakened Wes with the flow onto the ground.

He gasps in the air hungrily, only realizing what a dumb idea that was as his lungs protest and seize up. His chest rattles with coughs so extreme that Wes can only curl up into a ball, blinking tears away, trying to breathe.

He feels someone push him onto his side, which helps his throat a little, but the coughing doesn't stop. In fact, it becomes worse once he realizes his whole body is rapidly falling out of control because everything is too much all at once.

Around him, shouting and bangs indicate some chaos has exploded alongside the glass, but Wes can barely see through the pain.

He squits up at a teenager wearing a strange outfit and a little mask over his eyes. The guy is saying something but he can't understand him over all his senses being cracked to overdrive.

Wes has never known the world to be so bright, loud, and big. Everything is causing white hot pain to rest behind his eyes. Noises that he had never heard before are assaulting his ears—a car is jamming somewhere, a baby is crying, someone is singing, machines are humming, someone is grinning coffee beans—and he presses his head to the ground, trying to get it all to stop.

The man says something else urgently, but it's drowned out by the office sound of a bug buzzing too loudly to his left. Wes is not prepared for the teen in red and black to pick him up and fling him over his shoulder.

Wow. He's strong.

He quickly carried Wes out of the building. The basketball player could do nothing but let it happen as he bounced slightly over his bony shoulder.

He just makes out the image of a huge bat fling itself at the screaming Joker before everything goes black. Wes is happily surrounded by the blissful silence of the darkness.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he arrives, he finds himself in a hospital room. Machines are hooked up to his arms, and he's been changed into a gown. Wes is pleased that the world is not so bright or loud anymore as he blinks around the room in a haze.

Did Danny save him? If so, where were his parents? Why did he wake up alone?

Danny would have stayed with him, at the least. The boy always did whenever Phantom rescued anyone, and people whispered about Danny being far too soft-hearted to be the Ghost Hunters' child.

It takes him a moment to sit up.

His body is aching everywhere as if he had done HIT training with Dash during hell week. It takes a few moments to get his muscles to move without the stinging sensation of a bruise, but after struggling, he can fling his legs over the edge.

Trying to stand is terrible, as his legs give out the second he puts weight on them.

He tries to catch himself on the bedside table, but he misses. His hand instead lands on a little tray, sending everything airborne and crashing along with him.

At once, pain flairs up like his body had been tasered - Dash ones brought a tazer to school, and everyone on the team took turns to feel what it was like. It was stupid but they all boasted they could handle the pain. They couldn't.

The door to his room is flung open as Wes cries out, body spamming in agony.

Hands grip his shoulder- sending more waves of torment through his muscles- as they drag him up. The person, helps him back into the bed, the cool sheets a blessing on his burning skin. "We need a nurse!"

"What happened?" He gasps, trying to get his blurry vision to clear. He can't tell who the blob of unrecognizable blur is, and he certainly didn't realize that voice. Wes isn't even sure they are human. "Where am I?"

"It's okay. You're safe. Batman and Red Robin rescued you. You're in the Drake Hostpial's meta ward."

Meta. There was that word again.

"Who..." His voice catches his breath as Wes struggles to get his vocal cords to function. The ache makes it hard to focus on anything. "Who are you?"

"I'm Tim Drake," Tim whispers to him, likely knowing lowering his voice was easier on Wes' ears. Who knew ears could get sore? "Everything will be alright now."

Wes' eyesight is clear enough to finally focus on Tim's face. He breathes a sigh of relief. He's missing his mask and not dressed like a bizarre spandex performer, but he recognizes the teenager who had carried him out of Joker's strange lab.

Danny didn't save him, but he was safe all the same. This is the last time he played hero.

He offers Tim a grateful smile. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"What?"

Wes goes under the darkness again as the door is burst open by a team of medical staff. He misses Tim's expression of shock, having not expected Wes to clock him as the one that carried him out.

How did this meta-trafficking victim recognize him?

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Wes Weston/Tim Drake #What's their ship name??#Cassandra's Curse in Gotham #Part 1 #TW: Kidnapping #tw: human experimentation #tw: human trafficking #TW: Description of panic attack by senses overstimulation #Wes was just trying to help Danny #Is he a meta?#Tim was not expecting the guy to recognize him #Wes can tell when someone puts on sunglasses. Tim's mask does nothing

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agoodflyting · 13 days

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Why Aziraphale's White Satin Pumps Are Ridiculous (And I love them)

So this is a continuation of the lengthy rant I posted here about Aziraphale's outfit in the Bastille scene of GO and all the ways it would have pissed people in Revolutionary Paris off. I got to the shoes and realized they needed their own post.

Aziraphale's Blessed Little White Satin Pumps

To recap: in 1793, Paris is in control of The People, who are making up for decades of oppression and poverty by beheading the fuck out of everyone remotely nobility-adjacent. And into this mess strolls one Angel in white satin heels.

Some facts about this style of shoe:

The buckle means they're specifically court shoes as opposed to streetwear. Buckles were out of fashion unless you were hanging out with royalty and needed to look fancy. Everyday shoes had laces by this point.

This heel style for men is specifically called Louis Heels because they were popularized by Louis XVI. Y'know... the king Paris just beheaded in 1793. Here's a pair in a similar style from the late 18th century:

One big difference you may notice in Aziraphale's shoes and the ones above is that the ones above are normal, practical leather whereas Aziraphale is wearing white satin shoes. This is because Aziraphale is ridiculous.

The Allure of White Satin Shoes

In this modern world of laundry machines and affordable shoes I feel that people do not fully understand how absolutely over-the-top ridiculous a pair of white satin shoes would be to people in 1793.

First off lets address the fact that they're white:

If you have ever known anyone who was super into sneakers, you know that keeping white shoes white is a full-time job. It was even more so in the 18th century. The fact that Aziraphale is wearing perfectly clean white shoes says one thing: "I am rich enough to be able to pay someone to clean these, and to replace them when they invariably get stained."

And they would get stained. Oh would they get stained.

Because he is not wearing them for their intended function - lazing around indoors. No, he is wearing them on the streets of 18th Century Paris. And 18th Century Paris was fucking disgusting.

Kind of like how London had its famed London Smog, Paris had its own brand of filth. A unique Parisian muck made up of mixtures of mud, offal from the slaughterhouses, animal waste, human waste, household garbage, and rotting dead animals, all mashed down into what a British visitor called, "A thick, black, unctuous oil, that where it sticks no art can wash it off."

Voltaire said: "We blush with shame to see the public markets, set up in narrow streets, displaying their filth, spreading infection, and causing continual disorders…" and called Paris a city, "Partly of gold and partly of muck."

This is a city with over a million people, with no central plumbing, and no public sanitation laws. Households threw their waste in the streets. Businesses like tanneries and slaughterhouses threw their waste right out into the streets. Horses were the main mode of transportation and nobody was cleaning up after them. It was apparently a thriving hustle that Parisian beggars would hang out in the worst areas with big pieces of wood, and charge wealthy people money to walk on the board over the worst puddles of filth.

That's where Aziraphale is wearing his pristine little white satin shoes. In a city so gross it has its own world-renowned stinking black mud.

And on the subject of those shoes, lets look at the satin part... By the 18th Century, France was no longer dependent on Asia for its silk and satin. There was domestic production, but it was still expensive. A book about the cost of living published in London in 1770 lists the price for a single yard of satin at just over 18 shillings. For comparison, here are some other things you could get for 18 shillings in London at the time:

two box seats at Covent Garden

six barrels of oysters

a really nice wig

a week's wages for a skilled tradesman

15 steak dinners

3 secondhand coats So the outer fabric alone on Aziraphale's shoes cost what it would take a skilled worker about a week to make. Again, that's just for the fabric. Since the shoes themselves were high quality, would be handmade, and required skilled labor, the shoes themselves would be expensive even without the satin. In 1788 a pair of leather gentleman's court shoes cost about 6 livres in France. By comparison, a pound of bread, which was considered a day's food for a peasant, cost roughly 10 sous. So we'll roughly estimate that Aziraphale's shoes without the satin cost the equivalent of 12 days worth of food for an average person.

And, I cannot stress this enough, he is wearing these white shoes, which could easily feed an entire family for weeks, in a city that is abso-fucking-lutely filthy with stinking, staining, sticky mud.

Aziraphale's shoes, probably:

I mean - imagine you're a normal everyday French peasant during the Revolution. You spend decades struggling to feed your family, and some dingbat walks up to you in white court shoes styled after the king you just executed. Shoes that cost more than you make in a month, which he is wearing around your notoriously filthy city with apparently 0 fucks given for the fact that they will be absolutely ruined and will have to be thrown away. (Obviously Aziraphale could just miracle them clean but you're a revolutionary peasant, you don't know that.)

And then this walking audacity asks you for cake.

Aziraphale, hon, you are so lucky they decided to try to execute you and not just like. jump your dumb ass in an alley and steal your pretty little white satin shoes.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #good omens costumes #aziraphale #aziraphale's white satin pumps

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antimony-medusa · 3 months

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Incidentally, because I have been seeing some wild guilt-tripping posts today to the point that I'm kind of concerned, if you are not reblogging every post you see you are not killing your fandom, you are not a terrible person who doesn't care about artists, and you are not destroying the culture of fandom space in general.

I'm a huge fan of reblogging, I do it all the time because I am a gremlin who likes sticking pictures of my blorbos on the walls of my cardboard box, and I like showing things to my followers. It's the hold up blorbo to friends emotion. I encourage people to reblog and also have fun making their blog their own with lots of fun posts. But I also see thousands of posts a day and I can only reblog like 250 of them, and I'm not always on social media, and sometimes I see art that contains a character I don't care for, or stuff that is intended for another audience, or jokes that don't do it for me, and I scroll past. I am firmly convinced that that is not an immoral way to do fandom. I'm not here to be an SEO optimized marketing machine, I'm here to be unwell about the blorbos for a bit. I am not ascribing a moral quantity to the way I reblog posts.

Reblog stuff you like! Without shame! Take those 40 pictures of a movie you just watched and inflict them on your followers, go for it! But also if you just scroll and like you are not going to be struck down by heaven for your sins. It's literally fine to be a lurker. I know plenty of people who lurk on one site and engage and keep their fandoms spinning on others. You're fine.

#like reblogging is good #we are all on the same page with that #but some of you are posting shit like you want to trigger people's OCD #I have survived moral scrupulosity about shipping in my fandom #i'm not taking it on for fucking liking posts

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dragoncat223 · 1 year

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I’ve been thinking about this for the past couple of days. A more mature Scooby-Doo series can be done, and it can be done well. I’ve seen a lot of proposals for an adult Scooby-Doo series, so here’s mine.

Fred doesn’t have family. His parents change from series to series. The only consistent thing about Fred’s family is that it is uncertain, so it starts like this: Something strange and unexplained happened to Fred’s parents when he was a child. He was five years old and ever since he’s been filled with only questions. So he grows up with a curiosity that can never be satisfied. He goes to college, and gets a degree in physics. All the moving parts of any kind of machine is have always fascinated him. As a little ten year old he’d stand for hours in Krispy Kreme watching the machine that makes the donuts. So he’s an inventor. His pride and joy is his old van he paid $100 for an fixed up himself.

The Blakes are old money. They haven’t known financial insecurity since the 1610s. So they’ve got houses, and planes, and helicopters, and cars. Old cars. But the head of the family, (picks name out of hat) Robert “Dick” Blake has no idea how to take care of them. He’s a business man. He finds Fred Jones, a genius mechanic, and hires him on the spot.

Now, Dick loves his daughters dearly. All six of them. He’s been grooming his oldest to take over the company when he retires. Unfortunately that means he gets to spend less and less time with his other daughters to the point where his youngest daughter, Daphne, only gets to see him on holidays and her birthday (he’s trying, he really is). But Daphne is fine with that. After being raised in the lap of luxury, silver spoon in her mouth, she has had access to almost every hobby imaginable. She got excellent grades at her fancy private schools, and in her free time she did Karate, Boxing, Kick boxing, Mixed Martial arts, gymnastics, Ballet, tap dancing, tennis, basketball, soccer, volley ball, skiing, knitting, crochet, baking, embroidery, sewing, synchronized swimming, you name it, she’s done it. She graduated college with a degree in marketing she didn’t really want, wondering what she was going to do with her life. So, she wonders into the garage one day and discovers Fred working on a car. So she asks him about it. She listens and she learns. Eventually, they stop talking about cars. Daphne asks about Fred’s inventions and Fred asks about Daphne’s hobbies. They are fast friends and once they get close enough, Fred tells Daphne about his parents. Daphne immediately pledges to help her friend (and now secret crush) figure out what happened to his parents.

Velma is Daphne’s genius best friend. They were roommates in college. The building Velma had all her lab classes in had Daphne’s last name on it. Velma worked hard to get her scholarship for her forensic chemistry degree, and she was not going to let some spoiled, rich, daddy’s girl, ruin it for her. But one night Velma was walking back to her dorm after dark. Everyone knows to be wary on a college campus after dark, but Velma had just studied her brain into mush. She got cornered by some drunk asshole. Velma in her fear and panic, froze. Her voice wouldn’t work, and she feared for her life, when suddenly, the guy gets punched in the face. By Daphne. The guy crumples to the ground, Daphne grabs Velma by the wrist, and they don’t stop running until they are safely back in their dorm. Velma never doubts her again.

Now, for all their skills and knowledge, none of the three of them, know how to cook. Which is where Shaggy and Scooby come in. I saw someone (on Twitter, I think) say that Shaggy could have diabetes (I don’t know anything about diabetes so I am really sorry about any inaccuracies) and Scooby is Shaggy’s low blood sugar alert dog. I really like the idea that Shaggy is a licensed dietitian, and the only one who knows how to cook. After every case, shaggy herds them all back home and makes a nice, home cooked meal for everyone. Lasagna, stir fry, curry, soup, idk food.

Shaggy is Fred’s roommate, after college. They have a deal, Shaggy cooks, Fred cleans.

In my mind, Scooby starts off as a normal dog. On the gang’s very first case together, they encounter the series’ over all villain, or maybe the first villain they face is an actual witch or something I don’t know, but this witch is caught and tries to put a curse on the gang, but it hits Scooby instead, and now he’s a talking dog. He’s still very much Shaggy’s alert dog, but I like to think he becomes concerned with everyone’s health at least a little bit. They do all that running around, and all these mysteries they solve are very high stress, so he likes to make sure they get plenty of rest.

I’m not really sure about their first case, but I think every episode would start with a grizzly murder. We are using the R rating for blood and guts and bones and death. Not sex or nudity. And Fred is the only one who gets to swear.

Now, Daphne is the one that talks to clients. If they’re particularly shaken up, Shaggy will make them a hot drink and maybe give them a blanket.

I call it Scooby Doo: Private Investigators

I have more thoughts about this, so if you want to know more please ask!!

#scooby doo #shaggy rogers #daphne blake #fred jones #velma dinkley #shaggy and scooby #Scooby Doo PI

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cc--2224 · 1 month

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The Singer

Pairing: Hunter x F!Reader

Summary: From the ask found here; You're a mechanic working with the Bad Batch. Cid decides to try out karaoke at her bar, but when she and the others hear your voice, she sees dollar signs while Hunter is completely awestruck.

Warnings: A ton of fluff and Hunter being a cutie, mentions of anxiety

Notes: Thank you for the ask, Anon!! As a reminder, requests are open if you'd like to make one!

Word Count: ~2.3k

Taglist: None, let me know if you'd like to be added

Masterlist

"Goggles," Cid called from the other end of the bar. Tech automatically looked over his shoulder at his nickname, "Come help me a minute."

He sighed and slid off the bar stool, walking over toward Cid in no particular hurry.

You laughed quietly at his lack of enthusiasm, but your joy was quickly diminished. "You too, Screwdriver."

Your nickname that Cid oh-so-graciously bestowed upon you. You begrudgingly began to follow Tech, but you were stopped with a pull on your arm.

Hunter was holding your hand. He looked at you and smiled before you made another attempt to walk away.

He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently, before wordlessly sending you on your way.

"Nice of you to finally show up." Cid chided. "Now, I need the two of you to set this up."

One of her clawed hands rested on what looked to be just a simple a large black box.

"What is it?" You finally asked.

"A client of mine delivered it to me from Coruscant. It's a karaoke machine." She looked back and forth between yours and Tech's incredulous stares, and she shook her head. "People sing into it, and they pay me to do so. I just need you two to install it and loop it through the house speakers."

Without much more of an explanation, Cid stepped off the raised platform she planned on using as a stage and walked back toward the counter.

You and Tech got to work.

From the other room, you could hear Cid start to order people around. It seemed like she was really trying to rebrand, maybe make her bar a bit more popular.

You could hear her yell at "Bandana", "Killjoy", and "Toothpick" to start cleaning while "Muscles" and "Tiny" go to the market for supplies.

Seemed you and Tech got the easy job.

"It should be patched through now," Tech said after a while. "Can you test the microphone?"

"Sure," you nodded and stood at the microphone. "Testing one, two, how's that?"

"Well, the microphone and speakers work. Now, we need to make sure this device itself works."

"Great!" You started to step off of the platform, and Tech stopped you.

"As I said, we need to make sure the device itself works."

"What, you mean sing into it?"

"That would be the most effective test, so yes."

You froze. You were more of a sing in the shower when no one else was around type, not a sing on stage into a microphone type, not anymore.

"Why don't you test it then?"

"Because I would prefer to fix it in real time should something break."

You groaned, then walked back up onto the platform, selecting a song that you knew from the list. At least it was only people you knew in the bar after all.

Before long, the holoprojector activated, showing the words to the song you had chosen, and you sang along.

Hunter raised an eyebrow when he had heard the music and walked over to stand in the doorway between the adjoining rooms, watching and listening in awe of you.

Despite all your time as a couple, he had never heard you sing before, and he was enthralled.

Normally, feedback from microphones and too-loud music had a tendency to hurt his oversensitive ears, but he could listen to you for hours.

You caught him staring at you before long, and you did your best not to get embarrassed. Your nerves steeled when he gave you an encouraging smile.

People from outside of the bar had heard the music and peeked in, wanting to see who the voice they had heard belonged to. You kept your eyes on Hunter, knowing if you acknowledged the strangers around you, you would have frozen.

When the song ended, he clapped for you but was soon pushed out of the way by Cid.

"Why didn't you tell me you had pipes like that, Screwdriver? Could have been charging people to come see you all this time."

The trandoshan watches as the new patrons make their way over to the bar, ultimately deciding to stay awhile.

"I–I'm not, I mean, I don't sing in front of–"

She interrupted you with a wave of her hand, "Tell ya what, you sing here one night a week, I charge customers to come see you, we split the profits. You can take... thirty percent of the cut, just like your missions."

You glanced over to Hunter, and he shrugged, "It's your choice, cyare."

You swallowed any nerves you may have still had. "I'll do it for fifty."

"Forty."

"Forty-five."

Cid shook her head, then looked at you. "You've been spending too much time with these lazerbrains. Forty-five. Deal."

You weren't exactly sure what you had gotten yourself into, with Cid it really could be anything, but if it meant that you could earn a little money for your squad, then you could handle it.

...Or at least, you thought you could, up until the first night.

You stared into the mirror in the refresher. Hands clutched onto the counter, letting the water run from the faucet. Your stomach was in knots, and you felt like you were moments away from vomiting all over the red satin evening gown Cid was making you wear to "entice the crowd."

There was a quiet knock on the door, and you heard Omega call your name from the other side. "Are you okay?"

"No, not really." You admitted.

You begrudgingly opened the door, hoping she was alone, and to your delight, she was.

She gasped when she saw you, her eyes lit up when she saw your dress, but then her expression dropped when she noticed the look on your face, she knew you were scared but she didn't understand why.

"You don't really seem like the type to get stage fright."

You let out a feeble laugh, "Well, I am."

"Do you want me to get Hunter?" She took a step back, preparing to run to him.

You shook your head, "No. I don't want him to see me like this. I just... I don't do well in front of people anymore."

"Anymore?" She repeated.

"I uh... There was a time where this was what I did; moonlighting as a bar singer to pay the bills."

"So what happened?"

"There were some... unfriendly people in the crowd. They didn't like what I was doing, kept heckling me, and I let it get to me. After that, I never wanted to sing in front of a crowd again."

Omega gently took your hand, "But this time will be different. We'll be there, and if anyone tries to say anything, we'll make sure it's the last thing they say."

You couldn't help but laugh at the sentiment. There was something highly amusing about Omega making threats, her brothers had definitely rubbed off on her.

With a final sigh, you turned off the faucet. "Fine, let's get this over with."

Omega walked with you toward the bar. You could hear the dull roar of the crowd that Cid was able to amass, and the knots returned to your stomach. It wasn't just ten or twenty people. No, the bar was full.

"Oh, kriff." You said silently, scanning the crowd.

As you scanned, your heart sounded against your chest, threatening to break through, but as your eyes wandered to the front near the platform, your stomach untied itself.

A pair of warm, brown eyes gazed back at you. Eyes you had looked into countless times, eyes that had seen you in some of your worst moments, and in some of your best. Hunter's eyes.

He looked you up and down when he saw you, admiring the dress you wore, though he would only admit to you that the visual of you in that dress had caused his mouth to go dry.

"Wow! Look at you!" Wrecker's voice boomed over the idle chatter of the patrons, drawing your attention away from Hunter. "You've never dressed up before!"

"I believe her attire was chosen in order to help Cid meet her target revenue. It does not seem like something she would have chosen herself."

"It wasn't my intention to dress up at all," you countered Wrecker, agreeing with Tech.

"Still! You look nice!"

You smiled at Wrecker's compliment before meeting Hunter's gaze once more. His mouth was slightly opened like he was going to say something, but nothing came out.

"She cleans up well, doesn't she?" Crosshair said quietly, smirking beside him. "Might want to pick your jaw up from the floor."

Hunter shot him a warning look at his brother, who responded by shaking his head, smirk still plastered on his lips, before disappearing into the crowd.

You swallowed before stepping onto the platform.

"H-Hello, everyone," you greeted into the mic. "Who's ready to hear some Sy Snootles?"

No reaction.

"Sorry, that was a joke..." You clarified. A few people then laughed, likely out of pity.

Nerves continued bubbling up in your stomach until you met eyes with Hunter again, and you could feel them fizzling away.

He gave you an encouraging nod and you inhaled deeply before the music began.

The next few minutes were a blur.

You were certain that your voice was shaking as you sang, that you were out of key, that you weren't breathing correctly, that something had gone wrong, but when the music ended, the audience had filled the bar with applause.

You had half a mind to pinch yourself to ensure you weren't dreaming. Instead, you looked around at everyone before you noticed the proud look on Hunter's face.

"Thank you," you said into the mic. "I'll do a couple more, if that's alright."

The next song was met with more of the same reaction, and when you took another look at the audience, you could see there were even more people.

Cid must be happy. You thought to yourself.

For the last song of your night, you had decided to choose a song that meant a lot to you. One that you had shown to Hunter on your first actual date.

You kept your eye on him as soon as the music started. You saw the realization in his eyes fade into adoration. A smile tugged at his lips as you began to sing.

Omega looked at you, then up at Hunter, smiling to herself while shaking her head.

When the song ended, Hunter was the first to applaud. He started walking toward the platform, followed by his brothers, as you had thanked the audience and stepped off.

Cid reminded everyone that they can still have a shot with the karaoke machine at a price of two credits per song. The majority of the patrons decided to stay and sing for themselves.

She walked toward you and the Batch, patting your shoulder. "Well, you did it, Screwdriver. You made me a ton of money. How would you feel about making this a weekly thing? Forty-five percent of the profits each time?"

"Maybe a monthly thing." You told her, still feeling a little nauseated from the whole event.

"Too bad, I think Bandana here would be our top paying customer to hear you sing every week." She laughed and walked back to pour some drinks.

"I–I" Hunter stammered.

"Aww, he's flustered!" Wrecker shouted, making Hunter feel even more embarrassed as he tried to shut his brother up.

"You are indicating high levels of dopamine and serotonin, and your face appears to be flushed. Wrecker's analysis is correct." Tech smirked to himself, adjusting his goggles.

"If I didn't already know, I'd say you've got a crush." Crosshair joined in the teasing.

"No, I–"

Your eyes widen slightly when Hunter denies it. You were a little past the "crushing" phase of your relationship, but it was still a strange outburst. He wasn't the best at expressing how he was feeling, and you could tell the teasing wasn't helping. Plus, him getting so flustered over you put a smile on your face.

"I think we should leave them alone," Omega suggested. "At least for now, we can tease them later."

Hunter looked sheepishly at you. "Let's go outside."

You nodded, and he took you by the hand, leading you into the alleyway.

You barely got two steps out before his lips crashed into yours.

He held onto your waist tightly, afraid that if he let go, you'd float away. Your hands found themselves tangles in his hair as you returned the kiss.

"I'm sorry," He said, after his lips left yours. "I didn't mean to say no to that, I just.."

He sighed and shook his head.

"Their teasing doesn't normally get to me, but when you're looking like that, and singing like that, I didn't know what to say."

"Hunter, it's okay, I'm not mad." You assured him. "I thought it was cute that you were blushing so much."

He looked at you with a warm smile, "You didn't really give me much of a choice. The way you sang, the song, the audience cheering for you. I was just... I'm so proud of you. And the dress, I know you didn't pick it for yourself, but red suits you."

"Does it? Maybe I'll keep it then."

He smiles at you then caresses your face with the soft touch of his hand. His eyes met yours, it looked like he was searching for something but you didn't know what.

"I love you." He said after a brief silence.

"You... what?" Neither of you had said that yet in your relationship. You felt it, but it never seemed like the right time.

"I love you." He repeated, his voice still as clear and sure as it was the first time.

"Hunter... I love you too." Your arms wrapped around him as you buried yourself in his chest.

He hugged you back, holding your head against him.

"Hey uh..." He began.

"Hmm?"

"Think you can sing for me sometime?" His voice was quiet. He was nervous to even ask.

"I just did." You smiled.

"No, I mean... just us, no Cid, no strangers. Just me and you."

You tilted your head back to look into his eyes. "Whenever you'd like."

#the bad batch #tbb fanfic #the bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch fanfic #hunter bad batch #hunter fluff #hunter fanfic #hunter x reader #tbb hunter fanfic #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter #tbb fanfiction #hunter x you

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breelandwalker · 7 months

Text

Witchy Fundraiser - We Need A New Fridge

Here's the situation.

Our refrigerator stopped working last week. We thought it was just the freezer at first but it turned out to be the whole unit. The repair guy said it was useless to try and fix it since they've stopped making the replacement part for this particular model.

The good news is, our home warranty will give us the money for a new fridge. The bad news is, for some INCREDIBLY stupid reason, they don't do direct deposit, so we have to wait about two weeks for the check to come by mail. And in the meantime, we have no cold food storage, so it's going to be takeaway or hitting up the market every day. And to make matters worse, the day before the damned infernal machine stopped working, I'd just done our monthly food shopping and two weeks of meal prep. We used what we could, but nearly all of it had to be thrown away.

If you're wondering whether I've invented any new swears lately, the answer is a resounding yes.

SO.

The replacement will hopefully be installed by the end of month, but we've still got to eat until then. To that end, I'm offering the following:

Simple Dream Interpretations (posted or private) for $5.00

3-card Tarot Reading (from The Golden Tarot) for $7.00

15% off your order from the Willow Wings Witch Shop with code FREEZE

All of this will be active until the replacement fridge is installed or the end of the month of November, whichever comes first. I may not get to all requests quickly, but I WILL respond to all paid requests.

For readings, please send payment via Paypal or Ko-Fi. Then message me by email or here on tumblr with your request! (Either of these is fine if you'd like to tip me for any previous work as well.)

When placing your order in the shop, be sure to include the coupon code FREEZE in the box with your items to get the discount.

Any and all help is deeply appreciated, including simple signal boosts. I'll be working a market in the meantime and hopefully that will help as well.

Thank you as always for your support!

#witch community #witch shop #dream interpretation #dream readings #tarot #tarot readings #divination #paid readings

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whereserpentswalk · 1 month

Text

You're a content creator. Or perhaps video maker is a better word. Filmaker doesn't sound right, you mostly just film yourself. But either way because you read stuff to a camera for a living everyone is telling you to get a digital voice box. You never thought of yourself as the type to become a cyborg, but it's not something you can see, and it really does get down that narration voice down more than any fleshy voice box does.

You finally cave in and get it. Your new voice is way more steady, a bit more feminine and high, strangely calmly enthusiastic. It's really weird hearing yourself talk with so little imperfections, it's not how you sound in your head at all, and all your freinds are kind of weirded out. But on the bright side your channel grows a lot, you've gained more subscribers in the month since you replaced your voice than you have in all the years when you had your biological voice. Everyone is so very proud of you, for the first time your parents actually support your job, and you have so much more to spend now.

After a few months a big network wants to sign a contract with you, it'll let you get the good sponsors, the ones that people trust, and let you crossover with content creators you only ever thought of yourself as a fan of. It seems so nice, though they do say that they can request any body part they want be replaced, or else you'll break contract, and become nothing once more.

After things go well for awhile, but your growth steadied a bit, your network request you take another mechanical body part. They say your expressions aren't very "on brand" and your face shape is a bit too 2050s for their liking, so they're going to replace some of your facial muscles with much more plyable machines. After the surgery your expressions are entirely manual, or set by an app, it skyrockets your channel, but none of your freinds or family even recognize your face, and it doesn't emote when you aren't actively telling it too, so most of your offline social interactions leave you stuck with an expressionless wide eyed stare. You realize they also added some online upgrades to your mechanical voice box, it sounds even less like you now, and you're not able to say words like 'fuck' or 'sex' or 'unionize'. You didn't realize before how horrifying it would be to try to say a specific words and not be able to, nomatter how hard you try.

Your career keeps going well, you get some upgrades that stop you from sleeping or eating that much but you don't really mind those. You also start having fewer and fewer freinds outside the industry and more and more freinds from within it. But after a minor scandal with an ex, your manager tells you you're going to get a new type of surgery: they say that it's not good for someone as famous as you to have body parts that aren't advertiser freindly, they tell you you need to have your genitals and nipples removed, with such a young audience it would be irresponsible not to. A marketing expert feigns comfort as you try to cry, telling you you'll be just like a cute little doll.

You know you can't resist. The company technically owns your face and your voice, if you tried to resist they could have them ripped out of your skull, leaving you a bloody mess. You enjoy your sex organs for the last few days you have them, trying to make the most out of what you'll probably never have again. When the operation is done you wish your eyes could still cry, your body feels so alien, your anatomy so weird and empty and like your body isn't your own. There's an awful voice in the back of your head (and in every comment section now) telling you're not a real woman anymore. You start to understand what people mean by dysphoria, your body is less and less your own every day.

Eventually they take almost all of your body, it's theirs to control. As the years go by you don't have bones you have metal and plastic, you don't have skin you have rubber that looks a lot like skin. Even your eyes are gone, you have new color changing eyes, with the same restrictive settings that Christian parents put on their children's artificial eyes, that block out things like nudity and gore, they censor away a lot of books and news articles too. You don't feel like yourself at all, you're someone else's now, someone's pretty little doll. Your body doesn't even look human now, more like a hyper feminine anime figurine, with no hair on its legs, and a face that never cries or gets angry.

You can barely look at human bodies now, they don't even read as real to you. You admire other cyborgs if anything, cyborgs who replaced their body parts because they wanted to, and look how they want, people with jailbroken limbs and organs that run on Linux, many limbed insectoids who don't try to look humanoid, and furries whose artificial skin makes them look like wolves or cats, or asymmetrical punks who have art sprawling across their metal chassises. You admire them more because at least you could in theory some day become that, become someone who owns their own body, even if most people consider them the lowest of the low, the most cringe the most unmarketable. You want so badly to become unmarketable.

Mabye you want everything to be torn away. You fantasize about your expensive body being destroyed, and ending up with boxy uncomfortable hospital model parts. Mabye if you're broken nobody will want to play with you. You don't know if anything can save you, anything short of a r*volution, and that's not even a word your eyes can see or your mouth should say, so it's so scary to think of it.

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crybabyddl · 4 days

Text

Check You Out

Modern!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1

Warning: swearing, flirtation alcohol, older guy being slightly creepy, eventual smut, strangers to lovers, fake dating, modern setting

Author's Note: God, I need Steve at a despicable, ungodly level that even I can't fully comprehend. It's not healthy. But to cope with that, I'm gonna write this and hope that someone else out there can appreciate and/or relate to being so desperately in love with a fictional character that you can't have. And yes, I looked up an Indiana sales tax calculator in order to write this as realistically as possible.

Extra Author's Note: Hi. It's been ages since I've written anything, let alone a whole first chapter of a fic! I probably won't update often, but who knows? Maybe this will end up being a full-fledged fic! I like the idea of that, but let's see how posting this chapter goes. I hope you like it! <3 Glad to be back! :)

—

For the past year, your Friday nights consisted of checking out customers' groceries and helping clueless individuals operate the self-checkout machines. You'd think with a name like 'self-checkout' there'd be no need for assistance, but people are dumb and selective about when to use their reading comprehension skills--if they possessed any in the first place. Working the night shift wasn't ideal, but it was the only time that allowed you to take care of your parents and drive one of their cars while you lived under their roof. Unfortunately, you had to walk to work today because your dad was out of town this week and your mom's car was in the shop.

"Attention shoppers, the store will be closing in ten minutes. Please make your way to the registers to complete your purchase. Thank you for shopping at Green Leaf Market!" The overly chipper tone of your supervisor, Carol's voice was far less unsettling when it meant that you were almost done with your shift. Now you just had to wait for all the last minute shoppers, lollygaggers, and stragglers to get their shit together and get the heck out.

"Hey, Y/N, how's it going?"

Oh brother... you thought. Mitchell was a regular on Fridays, but he was also a bit of a douche. He was in his mid-40s and was seemingly trying to grow a beer gut. It was no surprise that he was buying another 24-pack of Busch Lite.

"I'm alright, thanks Mitchell. How are you?" You plastered on the best customer service smile you could muster, taking hold of the reusable shopping bag he always brought with him, regardless of the fact he never needed it.

"Better now that I've seen you, dollface."

Dollface? That was a new one, and definitely the worst yet. You tried your best to ignore the embarrassment that caused your face to heat up, but you had a hard time pretending not to be bothered by his comment.

You moved the fruit-and-vegetable-patterned vessel over to the other side of the register before grabbing the scanning wand and reading the barcode on the hefty cardboard box. He knew the drill, handing you his I.D. for you to scan. The glass bottles clinked as Mitchell lowered the box back into his shopping cart. God, you could go for a beer right about now.

"That'll be $25.67. Would you like your receipt?"

"Only if your phone number's on it, honey." Yikes.

"O-kay, you're all set. Have a great night!"

"You need a ride home? It's not safe to be walking alone out there this late. Maybe you could keep me company and have a few beers? You seem lonely."

Nothing Mitchell was saying was particularly wrong, but he certainly wasn't reading the room correctly. He'd also tried this countless times before with no success, so why was he still trying? What were you supposed to say that would make him get the hint?

"Um-"

"Hey, uh, Y/N! I just wanted to grab a few beers. You almost ready to get out of here?"

In that moment, the stranger's interjection was the closest thing you'd heard to a choir of angels.

"Y-yeah,"

Mitchell grumbled something under his breath as he snatched up the bag and pushed his cart toward the exit. You felt your shoulders relax as you exhaled a heavier sigh than you expected to be holding in.

"Oh my God, thank you for saving my ass back there." You lifted the six pack of Blue Moon off the conveyer belt and hovered it over the scanner.

"No problem. Sorry if I caught you off guard. I take it he's a regular that thinks he can pull someone half his age?" He takes his wallet out of his back pocket, fishing for his I.D.

"You nailed it. Mitchell's probably harmless, but I'm not really interested in finding out. And no worries, you're good." You take the driver's license from between the man's fingers, inspecting it quickly.

Stephen Harrington. Born August 12th. 5'10". Brown hair, brown eyes. You looked up and sure enough, his hair and his eyes--they were pretty--were brown.

"I don't blame you," Steven put his license back in his wallet before taking out his card. "How much was it?"

"Oh shoot, I never actually never told you, my bad. It comes out to $11.76," You selected the EFT payment option on your register and waited for Steven to tap his card on the reader. "How did you know my name?"

"It's on your name tag," He inserted his card in the chip reader. "I'm Steve, by the way." The reader made an unhappy trio of beeping sounds.

"Nice to meet you, Steve," you smiled. Probably the first genuine one of the night. "You might have to tap it. These machines are a pain in the ass."

"Tap?" Steve tilted his head in confusion, which you found... cute.

"Yeah. You just hold your card against the reader and it scans it. I'm not entirely sure how it works, but I think it has to do with the chip or something."

"I see, I see. Like this?" He holds the card above the number pad, but nothing happens.

"Almost! You have to hold it over the screen part, like this."

Without thinking, you grab a hold of Steve's debit card, bringing his arm closer to the screen of the card reader. The machine makes a blip noise and the receipt begins printing in a matter of seconds. It's only after you hand him the receipt that you realize you might've invaded his personal space. Should you apologize? Did he even notice? Why did you choose to work at the supermarket?

"Thank you, Y/N. I should get going, but uh," Steve pauses, looking unsure. "Are you doing anything right now? Would it be wrong of me to ask you if you wanted to come back to mine and have a couple beers? I'm having a few friends over and you seem pretty chill. Totally okay if not, just figured I'd ask, you know?"

The cute stranger that saved you from Mitchell was asking you to hang out... maybe he really is an angel.

This was totally different than having a married man with kids ask you if you wanted to have a couple drinks; this was a guy your age, a hot guy your age. The internal panic of saying the wrong thing subsided thanks to the amount of excitement you felt.

"I would love that. Let me just get my bag and clock out."

"Sounds good, I'll go put this in the car and pull up." He gives a smile, which you return along with an unnecessary thumbs up.

"Okay." You watched as Steve exited the store, six-pack in hand.

What person in their 20s gives a cute guy a thumbs up? You wanted to smack your palm against your forehead, but refrained. You were an idiot. Speaking of thumbs, you were surely going to stick out like a sore one if Steve's friends were even a fraction as cool--or attractive--as he was. You realized you were getting ahead of yourself as you punched your code into the time clock. You were just going to be hanging out and having drinks with some nice people your age. Nothing more, nothing less.

After mentally talking yourself down, you walked through the automatic doors of Green Leaf Market feeling the humid summer air hit your skin in a calm wave. Sure enough, right out front, there was a beige BMW sedan with the passenger window rolled down. Steve aims a finger gun at you and clacks his tongue against his teeth. You see his eyes flit towards the offending right appendage, his cool demeanor faltering for a split second. However, he quickly recovers from whatever shyness he might've felt, leading you to wonder if you'd imagined it as you open the passenger door and join him in the air-conditioned car.

—

please leave a like, reblog, and/or a comment if you enjoyed!

#steve harrington x reader #eventual smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #crybabyddl writing #strangers to lovers #stranger things x reader #fake dating #modern au #stranger things smut

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doubleddenden · 2 years

Text

A quick look at the timeline since we last checked in

Sonic Frontiers has a song by ONE OK GO and one version says "Fuck the pain away"

Disney proves it truly listens to what fans do not want by making live action Pinocchio, Little Mermaid, and Mufasa, which is a prequel to the much behated live action Lion King

HBO Max nuked a bunch of its animated shows for tax write offs

Uncle Grandpa almost survived with one episode called "Fleas Help Us" before being deleted

Summer Camp Island literally had a whole season ready

WB canned a completed Batgirl movie after spending $98 million. For tax write offs.

FBI raided Trump's Florida home and found hundreds of stolen top secret files, and one includes nuclear defense details on a foreign nation. Yeah he's in very hot shit

Biden administration opens the path for forgiveness for $10k-$20k of student loans, MS decides to tax anyone that gets it

When the Republicans got offended the White House Official Twitter Account revealed the MILLIONS of PPP loans the nay sayers had forgiven individually

NASA Is trying to GET US BACK ON THE MOON BABEY WOOOOOOOOO but unfortunately they had to scrub 2 launches because of engine troubles and a leak

But it's cool! It's cool! They gotta get it right because the end goal is to try and establish a MOTHERFUCKING MOON BASE!!! SOMEBODY HIGH FIVE ME

A machine on Mars the size of a lunch box made about as much oxygen as a small tree, prompting some to think we could have oxygen mines for future manned Marsian missions

Leonardo DiCaprio breaks up with another woman who just turned 25

JK Rowling wrote a book about totally not her being harassed by the very people she demonizes every day as a racist antisemitic ableist TERF and embarrassed herself in front of God and the internet again

After years of failing to sell on the market, Sony makes the decision to INCREASE the price of the PS5 despite only 5 people other than Crypto Dorks having them

Nintendo follows up by revealing they have no plans to change prices, which we all been knew because they still sell years old ports for $60

Gendy Tartokovsky's Primal aired a Dinosaur literally laying eggs up close and personal from its cloaca (side note do dinosaurs have those?)

Gendy is also apparently at the helm of a second PPG reboot in the works

She-Hulk Twerked

Looney Tunes officially ships Bugs X Daffy

3 Avatar Movies in the works. No not the blue people- well yes those too but I meant the one about the bald kid, the second one about Zuko, and the third about Korra

Blue people avatar has a movie coming in December

Reigen Arataka from Mob Psycho 100 wins Twitter poll for Twink Supreme

Reigen does absolutely nothing and wins Ultimate DILF

In an ultimate final clash, Reigen just barely loses to Sans Undertale for Tumblr Sexyman

Tobyfox wrote fanfic about it and posted it to Twitter

On the same exact fucking day Sans defeats Reigen, the Queen of England DIED. Tv stations in mourning across the globe. Meanwhile Irish people and other people directly negatively impacted by colonization by the crown cheered and partied and tumblr and twitter released the crabs 🦀

This is as of September 10th, 2022, not told in any particular chronological order

This has been the look at the timeline, and no, the year is not over yet

See yall in December

#the timeline #sonic frontiers #queen elizabeth ii #sanssweep #reigensweep #nasa #artemis 1 #hbo max #crab #im not the official news. look it up if you have doubts

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seat-safety-switch · 1 year

Text

Everyone knows me at the dump. I don’t mean this in a bragging sort of way. In fact, I hate this fact. The reason why everyone knows me at the dump is that Mr. Jones, the dump operator, has posted the CCTV footage and blurry cell-phone camera pictures of my face on the break room wall. Even the youngest probie at the dump will look at me, every morning, while they wait for the coffee machine to dispense their mandatory cup of black joy.

You can probably guess why this has happened to me. I love junk, and the dump has a lot of that junk. To me, it is offensive that the dump hoards that junk. They keep it from me, using excuses like “sanitation” and “safety,” but safety is my middle name. If they would just give me a chance, then I would be the best they’ve ever seen. I’d even remove and sort the little lithium-ion vape batteries that haven’t exploded yet, out of gratitude.

Of course, we both know why I’m digging through trash at the dump. I don’t want old Betamax VCRs, or mouldy cardboard boxes heralding products from a bygone era. Well, I do, but I don’t want them more than I want a two-stroke dirt bike, and I’ve seen tons of those over the years get callously tossed into the debris pile by the great unwashed. They’re always getting thrown out for little reasons, like “carb jet plugged,” or “caught on fire,” or “couldn’t get anyone to buy it on Craigslist for septuple the market value so I threw it away out of spite.” I could save these bikes, and to be not allowed to save them is literal torture.

Just like anyone else would in my shoes, I started wearing elaborate disguises to the dump. Sometimes I could loot one, and throw it into the back of my car, and be gone before the dump operators (there weren’t even security guards yet, back then) could catch up to me. I had enough disguises – and enough cars – that I could pull this off for a little while. Then, used cars got really expensive, and the folks in my neighbourhood started using security fasteners to hold on their license plates. I started to escape by tighter and tighter scrapes, until one fateful day.

That bastard Jones figured me out. He came from Chicago, of all places, a city which I’m pretty sure doesn’t even have a dump. And he knew my kind. He set a trap: an agonizingly pristine, 1989 Yamaha XT225. Sure, it was a four-stroke, but it was still love at first sight. It was planted right on top of one of the big piles of disposable diapers, visible even from the highway. Even knowing it was a trap, I made plans for months to grab it.

The joke’s on him, though. I’ve started my own private dump, and I’ve paid the government to start outsourcing dump operations to me. We’re an extremely efficient operation, much more affordable for the taxpayer than the wasteful public dump. How so, you ask? Well, we are much more selective with what waste we accept, and we wrote one helluva contract, which had a bunch of big words that confused the gin-addled politicos that signed it out of desperation to meet their “lower taxes” pledge.

Here’s how it works. We charge the city hundreds of thousands of dollars a month, and we get first pick of any internal combustion engines that are in the back of the garbage trucks. Everything else goes down the road to the regular dump. We’re making a fortune. If we keep putting out numbers like this, I’m sure there will soon be layoffs over at Jones’ shithole. Hell, maybe I’ll even hire him to manage security around these parts. Can’t have anyone walking off with my good trash.

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teacasket · 2 years

Text

kiss kiss, fall in love

genre: fluff au: academy au, light academia au warnings: swearing word count: 1k pairing: gn!reader x kim seungmin

Seungmin, to put it mildly, is fucking rich. To be fair, about 99% of the students attending the prestigious Clé Academy are, but as the heir to a pharmaceutical conglomerate, he’s the top one percent of the one percent. Every time you buy cold medicine or even socks from the market in the cheaper part of town, you’re reminded exactly how much money he has in comparison to you.

You’re here on scholarship; nothing more needs to be said.

Despite the differences—and background resentment of how fucking wealthy and entitled the student body is at times—you find yourself mostly okay with Seungmin. Due to seating arrangements in biology class, he winds up being your lab partner and by proxy, your study partner as well. Kind and intelligent, he’s better than a lot of your previous group members. He pulls his own weight and is punctual with the lab reports, so he gets your stamp of approval, though his privilege does show with the occasional out of touch with reality comments. No, not everybody has a family lawyer on retainer. But again, to be fair, 99% of the students do, so you’re sort of the one who seems out of touch with reality. Their reality.

On the morning of November 11, you are once again confronted with that reality. He interrupts your early morning review session inside the library with a white pastry box from a bakery that you know has an extremely long waitlist for desserts.

“Happy Pepero Day,” he says as he sits in the chair across from you. “This is for you.”

“Happy Pepero Day,” you reply back. You didn’t foresee this happening, so you don’t have any available boxes to give him. “Thanks, but I don’t have anything for you.”

“That’s okay. Open it.”

Your stack of notebooks and flashcards form a dividing line along the table, so you have to awkwardly stand up and reach for it. Under his anticipatory gaze, you pop open the lid of the box to reveal some very adorable macarons. At first, you think that the baker made a mistake, but you quickly realize that the four interconnected circular shells imitate Pepero sticks. They’re all in various pastel shades and have animal faces, and you have never wanted more to melt into a puddle. Telling Seungmin about your love for all things cute, was a mistake.

“Do you like it?” he asks when you can’t do anything else but stare at how darling the macarons are. “I didn’t know what you would want, but I guessed vanilla, strawberry, and lavender from your favorite ice cream flavors.”

Fuck Clé Academy for having soft serve machines available at lunch.

“Thanks, but I…”

Can’t accept this because I will feel indebted to you even though this is just a token of appreciation.

“I’m allergic to gluten,” you decide.

A second passes before Seungmin laughs and says, “No, you’re not. I see you stealing non-gluten-free cookies and sandwiches from the cafeteria all the time. Besides, even if you were, macarons don’t have gluten. Try again.”

Fuck Seungmin for being so attentive.

“They’re expensive, okay? It feels weird to me to accept it, especially since we’re just lab partners.”

“Just lab partners?”

“Friends,” you amend. “Look, the point is, this is really nice of you, but this box probably costs the same amount as our tuition, and I’m not comfortable with that.”

“What if I was your boyfriend? Would that make you feel better?”

You can only blink at the audacity. If you had this much confidence, you would have taken over the world by now. “Well, you’re not. And no, it wouldn’t. Seriously, what are you trying to get at? I banned Chaeryeong, one of my close friends, from giving stuff like this to me. You’re not exempt from this rule.”

For some strange reason, Seungmin laughs. You’re fully flushed from embarrassment or mortification or plain anger because why is this hilarious?

“Did you read the note?” he asks, stifling a grin.

“What note?” You check the box again, but it holds only pastries. “Was there supposed to be one?”

His face drops alarmingly quickly, so you spin the box around him so he can see for himself. This time, it’s Seungmin’s turn to be flushed. It’s not a delicate rosy pink blush that you expect all “well-bred” individuals to have but an uncontrollable wildfire. It’s almost endearing to see it on Seungmin, the most composed person you know.

“Close your eyes,” he says as he holds up a blank pink flashcard. “Also, can I borrow this?”

You resist the urge to tease him in this crisis. You told me to close my eyes. I don’t know what ‘this’ is. “Sure.”

You hear the click of a pen and then some scratches on paper. After a minute, Seungmin tells you to open your eyes.

The pastry box has changed—there is now a pink flashcard with the words “Can I be your boyfriend?” on top.

“I just told you that it wouldn’t change my mind,” you say while you figure out an appropriate response. Fuck. You don’t like him that way, but you can’t risk hurting his feelings. You’re lab partners. What if he suddenly decides he’s so offended that he stops doing his share of the lab reports?

“Is this a rejection?”

“Try again next year,” you distantly say as you gather your things, being sure to leave Seungmin’s gift behind. “See you in bio.”

Both of you are great at pretending everything is fine because you manage to remain friendly with him and he treats you in the same manner as before. The following year, you have honors chemistry with him and become lab partners again. To your terror, everything becomes not fine when you catch yourself staring at his profile during a midterm review session. You can rationalize it all you want, but you can’t ignore the sudden onslaught of butterflies you get when he listens intently to your explanation of magnets.

Fortunately, on November 11, Seungmin does, in fact, try again, this time with a simple pack of strawberry Pepero and a lot less presumption. And this time, you accept him and the excited kiss he places on your lips.

646 notes · View notes

solarwonux · 1 year

Text

Business Proposal || knj (3/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst, namjoon is pretty much not the nicest dude lol (will add more as it progresses), kinda sugar daddy au but not really. It will make sense I promise.

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 6.5k

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

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a/n: Kind off a filler chapter, but also let the drama commence we are literally just getting started haha. Again, I’m going to be pretty busy for the next month so I don’t know when I’ll upload another part. But I hope you like this one and as always lmk your thoughts. Thank you.xx

The knot in your throat is hard to ignore as you put away your belongings in cardboard boxes. The tiny apartment that served as your home is looking more barren with the more things you take down and pack. Jungkook always made fun of you for giving meaning to silly things and getting attached to them. He calls you a hoarder and maybe he is correct about you hoarding shit you don’t ever need, but you call yourself a collector.

Why else would you have twenty different pots and pans in different colors. Plates and bowls in different shapes, sizes and designs. And you don’t even want to think about all the mugs you’ve accumulated over the years. Or the little trinkets that are carefully scattered all over your apartment with purpose. Or the tiny shelves with miscellaneous pictures of different moments in your life. Your clothes are a different story you haven’t even made a dent in the pile sitting on top of your bed, and you’ve already packed two full suitcases.

You’re grateful for Jungkook, and that he’s here just looking at you with judgment instead of voicing his negative opinions about you not being able to let go of shit. Though, he keeps reminding you that most of your things might be put in storage anyway. Namjoon is very particular and according to Jungkook nothing cute or with colors other than indigo, black, white and beige exist in his apartment.

“What about this?” Jungkook holds out a tiny black rabbit figurine in between his thumb and forefinger. You got it at a street market a few years ago because you believed it would bring you good luck. Though, you aren’t sure where that luck has gone because you certainly have none of it right now.

“I’m keeping it.” You hold out your hand and he places it, in the middle of your palm rolling his eyes.

“You’re going to have to get rid of something Bunny.” He says as his hands fall down by his sides in defeat. “My brother’s not going to let you keep any of this.” He signals to the many boxes you have already packed.

You shrug, folding up the last of your winter sweaters and placing them neatly in the box in front of you. “But I can still decorate my room how I want so I don’t care, plus I already got rid of some kitchenware.”

Jungkook sighs, “Yeah after I literally fought with you for an hour. And you still have so much of it, I don’t know how you expect Namjoon to agree to keeping an air fryer, a coffee machine, purple pans, that weird pot that kinda looks like a toy, and a hot pink blender. Don’t even get me started on the weird heart shaped bowls or that one plate that looks like cheese or the twenty five mugs you kept.” He lists with his fingers before running a hand through his hair. “I’m telling you he’s as minimalist as the word suggests.”

“Kookie, they're so cute I can’t get rid of them.” You argue, “plus they mean a lot to me.” You close the box in front of you and tape it shut. Last night you decided that all your winter stuff will be going into the storage unit in Namjoon’s apartment building. If what Jungkook says it’s true and that his brother literally has nothing. Then you can only assume so does his storage unit. Plus he’s already offered it to you.

“They’re ceramic.”

“So, I got them all for a different purpose in different moments of my life therefore they mean a lot to me.” You say sternly and stand up.

“Whatever you say.” He puts his hands up in defeat and turns around to the shelf he had been working on taking down. “Honestly now I’m kinda glad you are going to be living with Joon, seeing him irritated is amusing.”

You roll your eyes moving to the pile on your bed. Putting away your summer clothes is next on your to-do list.

“Why do you have so many clothes anyway?” Jungkook whispers from behind you, making you groan, throwing the pale yellow shirt you have picked up in his direction.

“Why are you being so annoying today?”

Jungkook slyly smiles. It only irritates you more. He may be a full year older than you but sometimes he could be more annoying than your actual younger brother. “You can’t answer a question with a question.” He bites back, picking up a skimpy baby blue lace cheekster. “You’re going to wear this in front of my brother?” He cringes holding it out as if it were the plague.

The embarrassment is evident on your face as you snatch it away and throw it somewhere behind you. “If you’re not going to be of help, get out.” You spit out, avoiding his eyes as he bends over in laughter.

You let out an annoyed sigh, picking up an oversized blue button down and folding it. “

“I’m just fucking with you Bunny. You can wear whatever you want in front of my brother. Just give me a heads up before I walk in on the two of you–you know.” He gestures inappropriately with his hand, earning a glare from you, which only makes him laugh again.

“No I do not know because whatever you’re insinuating will never happen.”

“That’s what you say now.” He accuses, squinting his eyes in suspicion.

You pick up a lavender blouse with white flowers on it and throw it in his direction. “Make yourself useful and start folding.”

Jungkook smiles widely, throwing your blouse over your shoulder. He reaches out and pinches your cheek. You swat his hand away forcefully. He winks at you before saying, “You make it so easy to fuck with you, Bunny.” He starts folding your shirt and adds, “I thought I taught you better, where’s your back bone?”

“Keep talking and I’ll show you how well I remember all those self defense moves you taught me years ago.”

The pizza arrived at exactly ten. The movers had arrived an hour earlier, taking your bed, lounge chair, desk, kitchen table, kitchenware and old decorations. Everything else you had like your clothes and small miscellaneous things were in boxes waiting to be loaded into Jungkook’s car. Your old couch was on the curb waiting to be picked up by the donation trucks.

Now, you and Jungkook were sitting in your living room–old living room–with a Hawaiian pizza and two large beers in between the two of you. Your brother and his wife left as soon as the movers did. So, it was just a lonely last dinner in your apartment with Jungkook.

“You can always just move in with me.” Jungkook speaks up taking a big swing from his beer can. “I have like three spare mattresses and Bam recently learned to not get up on the couch without permission.” He mapped out, picking up another slice of pizza.

You throw the pineapple slice you have picked off into the box. As much as you had fought the shaggy haired man against his decision even bringing up your pineapple allergy. You had lost the very intense game of rock, paper scissors twenty minutes earlier.

“No thank you. I’d rather not be subjected to your 4am drunk karaoke sessions. Or wake up to you moaning in the kitchen because of food you’ve made.” You shrug, biting into your pizza slice. “Plus you bring too many people home with you and I enjoy my sleep.”

“I don’t do that anymore.” He shrugs, throwing the crust of the pizza into the box and grabbing another slice. It’s blasphemous how he loves pineapple on pizza–no hate to pineapple on pizza lovers, if you didn’t have a deadly pineapple allergy you’re sure you would love it–but he hates the best part of a pizza. Which is by far the crust.

“Which part?” You tilt your head to the side.

“Bringing people home. I stopped doing that years ago, Bunny, keep up.” He rolls his eyes, biting into his pizza and groaning as if it’s the most delicious thing ever.

You cringe. “This is what I mean. Why do you make everything sound so sexual?”

He swallows, “Why do you take everything so sexual?” He fights back, raising a knowing eyebrow at you.

“You can’t answer a question with a question.”

“You can’t answer my question by repeating my statement from earlier.”

You shake your head, grabbing his abandoned crust. “I take back everything I just said. This is the real reason as to why I can’t live with you.” You bite into it, smiling in delight.

“Cause’ I’m irresistible.” He winks.

“No, because you’re so annoying. I will never see a moment of peace.”

Jungkook laughs, throwing another perfectly edible crust into the box and grabbing another slice. “But you love me, right Bunny?”

You shake your head, swallowing and taking a swing from your beer. “Sadly, I do.”

Jungkook smiles, throwing you a thumbs up and a cheeky wink. You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

After a moment you look around your empty apartment, remembering how everything was perfectly laid out. The tiny frames of pictures of you, your family and your friends that used to decorate your walls. The abstract art piece that was hung on the wall behind your couch. Taehyung had gifted it to you after he disappeared for a few weeks in a crazy burst of inspiration. He said the bright colors reminded him of you, because somehow you always made him feel a little brighter no matter what.

You recall the little figurines that were placed on your useless tv unit because in the seven years that you lived in this apartment you never once bought a tv. They were miscellaneous things that were as useless as the unit but they meant a lot to you. Each one was handpicked by you for a purpose. The rabbit you had bought at a Lunar New Year market years ago. The ceramic watercolor-esque jewelry dish, you had found at a flea market. It was home to your crystals and not your actual jewelry, with the exception of your dad’s class ring that you had borrowed and never gave back.

Everything felt empty, even your fridge. It used to be decorated with magnets from places you had visited over the years. It had to-do lists and many sticky notes with affirmations written in ink splattered handwriting.

The night you first moved into the apartment it was hell. It was your first time living alone and every little sound sent a wave of panic through you. You had to call Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook to sleep over because you wholeheartedly believed someone would break in. Eventually things got simpler and you made your spaces yours. You never thought you’d grow attached to such a place, but you spent many nights dancing with just your string lights on. Singing at the top of your lungs. And crying because you missed your parents and brother. It was your home and even though your lease was up soon. It felt strange to not renew it again.

It almost felt like you were leaving a piece of yourself behind. A piece you never knew you had discovered until now.

“Bunny, don’t cry.” Jungkook coos beside you. The pizza is long forgotten, the box thrown haphazardly to the side as he brings you into his arms. “I know it’s hard but if we are being honest here you were outgrowing this place.”

You sniff, placing your head on top of his shoulder. “I would’ve made more room.”

Jungkook chuckles, carding his hand down your back, sending shivers up your spine. “You would’ve become a crazy hoarder. There was barely any space with all the shit you had.”

“That’s mean.” You shove him lightly. After a while of silence you speak up again. “This was my home Jungkook. I knew that I was eventually going to move out but I thought it would be because I was getting married.”

“You are getting married.” He deadpans, making you shove him even harder. He laughs.

“This doesn’t count, you know it’s not real.”

Jungkook waves you off, cradling his stomach as he bends over laughing, making you roll your eyes. “I was just trying to lighten up the mood. You know you’re always welcome at my place.” He wraps his arms around your shoulders and brings you close again. “And I know things are rocky between you tweedle dee and tweedle dum. But Jimin and Taehyung will always have your back too.”

You sigh at the mention of Jimin’s name. It’s been two weeks since you last spoke to him and Taehyung. They have been ignoring your calls and texts. You’ve even thought about emailing them, but you’re well aware that neither of them have opened up their emails since college. You just hope that one day–soon–they’ll let you explain everything to them.

“I really hope so, Kookie.

Namjoon has been pacing in his living room since he woke up at four in the morning. He’s only had about four hours of sleep since he spent his entire afternoon and night clearing out his guest bedroom. It used to be his study, but he never once used it to do his work. The creaky old desk he got at a vintage shop a couple years ago was more of a showpiece. He had no issue parting ways with it. That was the easy part then came the bookshelf he once thought of using as a way to display his favorite artist books. But his research kept him occupied and he never once got around to it.

Parting ways with his books was something he never once thought he would have difficulty with. He made three piles; keep, maybe keep, give away. Everytime he put a book in the give away pile he would move it to the maybe pile and eventually the keep pile. It went on like this until midnight when he decided to abandon the task and go to sleep. He didn’t expect his thoughts to wake him up at four in the morning. They were racing like they had some sort of urgency. And now he was wide awake in his living room with the same three piles, one overflowing more than the others.

If he had more space in his book shelves in the living room he would have no problem, but those shelves were also ones he needed to sort out. Not to mention the huge stack of to be read books occupying the space between his couch and favorite chair.

He doesn’t know how he let things get so out of hand. Though, everything seemed like a mess in his brain. Especially at this time at night. He knows if anything changed about where things were placed he would have a mental breakdown trying to look for something.

It's how things worked in his brain. It’s also probably the reason why he was unable to sleep. Now, because of his wild idea to have you move in with him. He knows things will change around his house. Apart from his vast collection of art, books and his plants, everything else in his apartment lacked any soul and emotion. He used to love coming home when he first moved in years ago, but slowly the light started to get sucked out of his place.

Subconsciously he knows that’s why he asked you to move in with him in the first place. It wasn’t his mom visiting unexpectedly or that carpooling to work would save him gas and his carbon footprint. It was because he missed coming home to something that had life.

That’s something he will never get himself to admit. Not outloud and especially not to himself. And now you’re set to arrive in fifteen minutes. He still hasn’t finished sorting out his books or done a very good job at pushing away that agonizing thought or the excitement and nerves. He’s been keeping himself occupied for hours but all he has done is wonder.

What do you look like when you go to sleep?

What do you look like when you wake up?

Do you still sleep with numerous stuffed animals?

Will you secretly place your little trinkets around his home without him noticing?

Do you eat breakfast or just have coffee?

Will you like having him around?

They’ve been moving so fast that he can’t grasp onto one. The second he brushes one off another one comes to the surface and it’s driving him insane. Sure, he doesn’t feel anything for you. Not then and certainly not now, but he is looking forward to getting to know you better. What makes you laugh and what makes you tick? Are you a stay at home person on the weekend? Or do you go out with your friends to catch up? Do you bring work home like he does? Or do you leave it all in the office and relax for the rest of the evening?

Again, these are thoughts he will never let himself admit out loud, but he has them and he just hopes they go away the second you ring his doorbell.

As if on cue, the chime brings him out of his daze. He puts down the current book he was holding–The Secret History by Donna Tartt. It’s the book you gave him for his birthday back then. You had read it about five times before giving it to him saying he would “absolutely love it.” Since then he’s read it numerous times. The paperback is fading a little bit; he's tried to get rid of it for years but for some reason he can never seem to get himself to do so.

He puts it in the keep pile and stands up. Rubbing his sweaty palms on his black cotton shorts, as he makes his way to the front door. He’s already had five cups of coffee but suddenly he feels the fatigue wash over him as soon as he puts his hand on his doorknob.

Namjoon takes a deep breath, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and opens the door, revealing a very casual looking you. You’re wearing gray sweatpants, a black tank top with a white knitted cover up. Jungkook and his signature black on black outfit stands by your side.

This is the moment he realizes that a new chapter of his book is about to commence.

Whoever told Namjoon that living on the top floor of the highest building in the world–note exaggeration–should be held responsible for the back ache you’re surely going to be dealing with at night.

It’s taken about ten trips for you, Jungkook, Namjoon and the movers to get all of your stuff inside of Namjoon’s home. It also doesn’t help that the owner of the very bland looking home keeps barking orders to not scratch the floors and watch for the art hanging on his walls. Understandable, but he could at least be a bit nicer. After all it’s his fault you’re in this mess in the first place.

“How can someone have so much shit?” Namjoon seethes as he places your last box in his living room. It’s not even an organized mess anymore. It’s downright a mess and he is close to losing it.

Jungkook laughs, taking a well deserved break on his couch, feet on top of his black coffee table. “You should’ve seen all the shit she didn’t keep.” He says, stretching his arms up and overhead. “This isn’t even half of it. You should be thanking me for convincing her to give away all the shit she didn’t need or use and she still kept some of it.”

“Hey,” you give Jungkook a pointed stare. “Everything has its purpose, sooner or later I was going to use them.”

“You didn’t need fifty different mugs. You literally only ever used the same five. And you didn’t need all those little ceramic figurines that absolutely served no purpose.” Jungkook argues, crossing his arms in front of him. He hasn’t slept and he has you to thank because all you did during the night while you stayed at his house was pace back and forth and clean his already clean apartment.

He understands that you were nervous but you could’ve been a little quieter or you could’ve let him sleep. Instead, you woke him up to keep you company while you rambled on and on and on about how this was a horrible idea. But what was he supposed to say? Everything he wanted to tell you, he had already said. In order to avoid sounding like a broken record he just listened to you rant while moving in and out of consciousness.

“Please tell me you didn’t bring fifty mugs to my house.” Namjoon says, scrunching his eyebrows and putting his hands on his hips. You sit on the floor in front of a box labeled kitchen and open it up.

“No, just twenty five of them.”

Namjoon sighs, running a hand through his hair. This was already starting out on a bad note. He only has one mug for his coffee and it’s been very useful since he’s moved in. He forgets that even though he’s a minimalist in some ways. You’re a maximist. Your bedroom back home was proof enough.

Your desk was always filled with crap and numerous journals. Your walls had different kinds of posters and tiny strips of pictures you had taken with your friends on a night out in whatever photobooth you could find. He doesn’t want to even get into the stuffed animals or the twenty different pillows you kept on your bed when you only slept with one.

He supposes some things just never change.

“We don’t need twenty five different mugs, or–” He looks into the box he had set on the kitchen counter and sighs, “--six different pans.” He brings out a white and purple one and another one the same color just slightly bigger. Your colorful aura is already clashing with his monochrome one. He has no idea if they will mix well.

“Believe me, you say that now, but I can guarantee you that one day you’re going to be searching for a specific pan while cooking and you’re going to thank me for keeping these.” The words spill out of your mouth with confidence and he can’t help but roll his eyes. Out of spite he will do everything in his power to make sure that day never comes.

Jungkook stands up and claps his hands in front of him. “Alright idiots, I have a date in like two hours, so we either get your bed built Bunny or you sleep on this lovely couch.” He interrupts in pointing to Namjoon’s not so comfy looking couch.

You stand up, trying to keep your mouth from going agape, this was certainly a huge surprise. Jungkook simply didn’t date. “With who?” You walk to him with your hands on your hips. Namjoon and your mugs have been completely forgotten.

“With my bed.” He winks and you groan. You knew it was too good to be true. “Now, come on, I don't understand why you picked the most complicated bed frame to build. There are more screws than anything I’ve ever gotten from IKEA and as simple as they try to make the instructions it still takes me five hours to build one shelf.” He walks past you and into the hallway leading up to rooms.

“They are easy to understand, you're just an idiot.” Namjoon speaks up, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing. This is how things were back then, clowning on Jungkook together. They were simple before feelings were involved, and you only wonder that if you kept your mouth shut would things still be that way.

Except you know that deep down they wouldn’t because neither of you would be in this situation. You can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Whatever the answer to that is, you don’t want to find out, even more so now.

You ignore Namjoon’s comment and follow in Jungkook’s footsteps. The last thing you want is for him to break your beloved bedframe and you end up on Namjoon’s couch until you can afford to buy a new one. It’s this moment in particular that you miss Taehyung and Jimin the most. (Though, since falling out everything made you miss them.) It took them a full hour to assemble it together with minimal complaints. You know it would’ve taken them nothing to take it apart, but now you will never know.

Jungkook stayed true to his word and left one hour later than when he said he would. It took him and Namjoon fighting a couple of times for your bed frame to finally be complete. And during his final hour before he left on his date. He helped you move the rest of your furniture into the room, including your precious desk, armchair and the numerous boxes of clothes books and decorations you had packed.

During this time, Namjoon had barely spoken to you, except for the occasional “pass me the (insert name of tool,)” he directed towards you. Then he disappeared into the kitchen while you instructed Jungkook on where to place your belongings. Now, the filter was gone and you were left alone in a hollowed out house with its equally hollowed out owner.

You were keeping yourself occupied with hanging up your clothes when you heard a crash followed by a curse of pain coming from the kitchen. On instinct you ran out to find Namjoon holding his foot, mumbling profanities.

You swallow, placing your hands inside the pocket of your sweatpants. “Are you okay?”

Namjoon looks up, eyes full of water as he quickly releases his foot and clears his throat. “Umm, yeah, I just dropped one of your pots on my foot.” He brushes off, proceeding to pick up the pot Jungkook claims looks like a toy and places it on the counter. “I hope you don’t mind that I started to unpack the kitchen stuff. All the boxes were kind of driving me a little crazy.” He scratches the back of his neck, then points to the empty stack of boxes by the couch.

You shake your head. “Just show me where everything is so I don’t go crazy looking for shit tomorrow morning.” You say, walking towards the kitchen and stopping once you get to the other side of the counter.

He nods, and proceeds to move around. “Mugs and cups go here.” He opens the cabinet above the stove, showing you how neatly he arranged your colorful array of mugs by color and size. “The plates are here.” He moves over one cabinet and opens it, revealing three wooden racks full of your plates and his plates. “And I put the bowls up there. I know it's hard to reach but we can get a step stool or something.” He shrugs and then moves around the counter standing beside you. “You didn’t have a lot of utensils but the ones I found I put in here.” He opens up a drawer, and as expected everything was organized as neatly as possible in one of those kitchen drawer organizers. Forks, spoons, knives and chopsticks had their own compartment. You took note as you didn’t want to mess anything up.

If you were going to be living with him until further notice. Stepping on his toes and messing with his organization was something you didn’t intend on doing.

“I was just getting started on putting the pots and pans away, also I don’t know where to put your knife set since I already have one.” He says pointing to the box containing your pastel colored set of knives. Maybe you should’ve listened to Jungkook when he said you actually didn’t need them. They were just too cute to let go.

“That’s fine.” You wave your hand, discreetly taking two steps away from him. “Do you want any help?”

Namjoon pauses for a moment after he closes the drawer. He looks at the marble countertop in front of him in thought and then you. His gaze is hardened and unreadable. A look you’ve come to familiarize yourself with in the past few days that you’ve had to spend with him. It’s one he uses when the two of you are alone. You won’t lie, it annoys you a little.

“No, that’s okay. I was just going to put them in the cabinet next to the sink.” He speaks up before rounding the corner and standing in his original spot. You nod and take a step back.

“I guess I’ll be in my room unpacking. Don’t continue dropping things on your foot.” Your attempt at a joke goes ignored as he gives you a deadpan look before focusing his attention on the pot in front of him.

It’s strange how he hasn’t continued to complain about you having so much stuff. Or how he hasn’t declined anything you brought with you. He’s simply accepted it and is finding space for it. The complete opposite of what you imagined he would do. Once again he’s rendered you speechless and you have no idea if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“I’ll try not to.”

It’s around two in the morning when you finally leave your new room. Namjoon’s living room–well you suppose it is now your living room too–is vacant. You let out a sigh of relief. The only reason why you left your room in the first place was because your stomach was growling and you couldn’t sleep.

You aren’t sure if Namjoon is asleep or if he’s in his room avoiding you all together. Could he really be just as childish as you? You want to believe the answer to that question is a big fat yes. But then again that’s only because you want to make yourself feel like you're not the only coward now living in this house.

Still, he didn’t come seeking you after he briefly showed you around the kitchen. So, maybe you aren’t the only one who just doesn’t know what to say to the other person. How do you simply start a conversation without bringing up your past together?

There are so many things left unsaid. So many things that happened that night that have haunted you for years. So many things that broke down your character as everything unfolded right before your eyes. A part of you blames him for what ended up happening. Though, that’s only because it was easier to blame him than to blame yourself.

Even if your therapist and Jimin and Jungkook told you that nothing was your fault. It still felt like it was, especially because you only wanted to piss off Namjoon more than you already had. Maybe then he would finally have a reason to hate you, but again, he’s never really known what happened apart from your fight.

Nor, do you think you can tell him. In fear that he would look at you differently and put the blame on you. Just like you have done for years.

“You couldn’t sleep either?” Namjoon’s voice sounds from behind you, making you jump. You turn around meeting his piercing eyes as he makes his way into his kitchen.

“Nope, it’s a new space so everything feels weird.” You shrug, taking a seat on one of the island stools. “And I’m hungry.” You add, thinking it will somehow help your already valid reason.

Namjoon nods before opening his fridge. “I ordered chicken earlier, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted some or wanted me to bother you, but I saved you some.” He takes out the box and places it on the counter, moving around expertly before taking out one of your pans. See you knew they would come in handy. “I’ll heat it up for you.” He places it on the stove and turns the dial to a medium heat.

Your eyes grow wide as you start to get up. “You don’t have to, I can do it myself.”

Namjoon doesn’t have to face you, for you to know he’s rolled his eyes at your comment. “I don’t, but it gives me something to do. I’m not tired.” He shrugs, hovering his hand over the middle of the pan, to check if it was hot. Once he deems it hot enough he reaches over and grabs the leftover box of the chicken, dumping the sweet and sour delights into the pan.

You choose not to reply to him and instead look around. There were only a few boxes left for you to unpack, most of them being miscellaneous decoration pieces you had collected over the years. You know that as much as Namjoon didn’t mind having your kitchen ware mingle with his. You knew he wasn’t going to let you mess around with his minimalist aesthetic. Maybe you would just have to slowly find space for them. But maybe it was best that you didn’t. A couple of days ago he made it pretty clear that you weren’t something permanent in his life. So, why pretend like you were?

“Mom wanted us to go to brunch tomorrow, but I told her no. I figured you wanted to finish settling down before work on Monday.” Namjoon speaks up over the sizzling sound of the chicken.

Your head snaps to face him. “You didn’t have to do that, I could’ve finished unpacking over the week.”

Namjoon looks over at you and shakes his head. Before you can snap at him for whatever reason he speaks up. “You told me to keep in mind that you are your own person and that I can’t keep making decisions for you, and when I consider how you may feel about living things unfinished you tell me that I could’ve done the opposite of what you asked.” He reaches over and turns off the knob and turns to face you. “I don’t understand you.”

The audacity he has to spring up a decision he made like it was for your betterment is impalpable. Somehow him being somewhat considerate and listening to you, but at the same time not listening to you makes you want to scream. Instead, you close your eyes, feeling your appetite run away from you. “Yet, you just did exactly that.”

Namjoon tilts his head in confusion, taking the pan off the stove and bringing it over to where you’re sitting. “How? I did exactly what you wanted me to do. I told her no because I knew you would be tired after a whole day of moving.” He places down a heat mat and puts the pan over it.

You shake your head in disbelief. “No, you decided for me. You didn’t tell me your mother invited us over for brunch and instead told her we couldn’t go because I was going to be too tired when you don’t even know that.” You eye him as he takes out a pair of chopsticks. He stops once the words you’ve said sink in and glares at you.

“I don’t know what you want me to do? I agreed to meet you in the middle, I even agreed to your ridiculous list of demands and when I do, you say that that’s not what you wanted.” He places the chopsticks in front of you and scoffs.

You cross your arms in front of you. “But you didn’t meet me in the middle. Meeting me in the middle would be telling me that your mom invited us over and then hearing what I had to say about it. But instead you decided for me, you’re still not understanding.”

Namjoon groans, running a frustrated hand through his already messy bedhead. “Then please spell it out for me because I’m trying but you always have to fucking complicate things.”

“I’m not the one complicating things here. It’s simple, you only have to tell me things and then I’ll decide what I want or don’t want.”

Namjoon signs leaning his forearms on his marble counter, his arm veins popping out as he grips edge trying to regulate his anger. “This is exactly why?”

“Why what?” You push yourself off the chair, leaving your untouched chicken as you push in the stool.

“Why I would never marry you. You look too much into things and when someone calls you out on it you blame them. You’re just too difficult to deal with.” He says through clenched teeth.

You dig your nails into the palms of your hand. He has the nerve to throw one of your biggest insecurities back at you. It’s the reason why all of your past serious relationships have ended. Apart from the fact that they’ve always gotten bored and found someone new. It’s also the reason why your childhood best friends aren’t talking to you. You’re too much to deal with. So, why are you here in the first place?

“Then why did you come up with this whole elaborate plan?” Your voice is just above a whisper as you angrily keep yourself as composed as possible.

Namjoon pushes himself off the counter and stalks over to you. “I already told you because it’s not permanent. Trust me if my father had more time you wouldn’t be standing here.” He spits out and stops in front of you. “You’re not someone worthy of spending a life with.”

Your breath gets caught in the back of your throat as you blink back tears. This shouldn’t be affecting you as much as it is. Especially because it’s something he’s hinted at since he first proposed the plan to you. But for some reason it does, especially his last comment. He knows that one of your biggest dreams is to get married and start a family. He also knows that all your previous partners have left you for the same reason. And he also knows that it will hurt you if he keeps repeating it. Almost as if he believes that you don’t understand how serious he is about keeping you as a temporary placement in his life.

Back then you would’ve yelled and cried. Yet, that girl was broken down and replaced as quickly as it took him to leave you and all the memories you shared together behind. So, you stand your ground, burning holes into his dragon like eyes and say, “Trust me when I say that you’re the person I hate the most in this world. That I might be difficult but you’re impossible. Your head is so big that you can’t see that the reason why you can’t seem to keep anyone around is because you push them away thinking you’re better than everyone else. It’s the reason why you might keep the money from your dad’s will but also the reason why you will end up alone.”

When you finish you can tell he’s taken your words to heart, that much you know from the fire burning behind his perfect brown eyes. Instead of responding he does the one thing you never expected him to do.

He kisses you.

a/n: lol I’m sorry.