#Hallmark slander
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Hallmark PSA
I know since it's coming on the holiday season, I'm going to start seeing a lot of Hallmark slander.
But here's a little known fact.
Hallmark is actually really really good.
WAIT WAIT DON'T LEAVE-
Let me explain!
The movies people usually associate Hallmark with are the "old" ones (2020 and back). I bet after seeing how cliche and unhealthy they were, you didn't see a reason to watch them again after that, am I right??
But you knew them well enough to know they weren't worth your time and sanity.
Girl in a high stress job goes to small town, learns the meaning of Christmas, and then cheats on her also stressed out boyfriend back in the city with a hot cocoa making stubbly kind of rude lumberjack man then quits her job and moves to Vermont or something.
Yeah, they don't do those anymore.
At all.
I'm serious.
A part of it is that there was a purge. A year or two ago, there was a new Christmas movie company in town. All the actors that didn't like the forward direction Hallmark wanted to go in, left and joined GAC.
(Great American Family, or as I like to call it GACK. The movies are exclusively awful old Hallmark style, but Republican, badly decorated, very white, and also much worse.)
GAC took all the problems away from Hallmark, and made movies out of them. Hallmark, now cleansed, is pumping out cinematic greats that I WILL be rewatching every Christmas.
The whole of Hallmark was Recast, save for the best of the best fan favorites (Like Lacey Chaubert-)
They have plus sized actors now and people of color, cast as main characters on a regular basis.
Half of the movies aren't even romance centric anymore, instead focused on life, and moving forward, but when they are, they're really well done, and actually healthy.
If you know me (which you don't), then you'll know I hate unhealthy relationships. Especially when they're treated like they're okay. I will pick apart ANYTHING over toxicity in a relationship, wherever that might come from.
I used to hate Hallmark movies, because they were predictable, unrealistic, flawed, and toxic.
But now the characters talk with each other, and they don't get in the others space without permission. If there's an accident and it does happen, it's not used as a plot device to move the relationship along. It's not treated in a "OMG hot guy is literally right in my face!!! I've only known him two minutes and I hate him, I'm in love!!"
It's more of an, "OMG I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that at all, im so sorry, I'm so sorry- *Immediately backs away*"
I can't even begin to explain how much better they are now.
To further prove my point, here are some gifs of Three Wise Men and a Baby, one of my favorite Christmas movies ever:
Just listen to this one.
It's about three brothers, one of which is a firefighter (this is important). A baby gets dropped off at the fire station, with a note. The firefighters name is on it, asking him to look after the baby until Christmas.
This is not his baby.
This IS a joke throughout the entire film.
They have no idea who dropped him off.
So they end up taking care of him for a week, and seriously bonding with him. The make his first Christmas ornament with clay, they do a holiday photo dressed to the nines.
They talk about how hard it is to actually take care of a baby, and how hard it must have been for their mom doing it alone.
Talking about how their own dad left, and finally processing that trauma together.
Their mom confesses that if she didn't have support, she may have done what the babies mother did. How she must be going through such a rough patch, and building empathy for her.
All three of the brothers go on complete cathartic emotional journeys about it, and all the other issues in their life.
I can't do it justice.
It's called Three Wise Men and A Baby. I'm begging you please go watch it, you will NOT regret it.
I CRIED SO MANY TIMES YOU HAVE NO IDEA.
I'm tearing up now just thinking about it oh my gOD-
The ending just sent it home for me, so I won't spoil anything.
Its amazing. I can't explain the whole thing, I seriously beg you please go watch it.
And, if you're more into comedy, I present to you Haul out The Holly:
A Christmas comedy starring your very own Gretchen Weiners!! Abso-fucking-lutley HILARIOUS.
It's about a woman, just broken up with her boyfriend, and coaxed into going home for the holidays. Here's where it gets interesting.
Her parents are the head of the Christmas neighborhood watch, something that has plagued her since childhood. Her childhood friend has now taken over the position, as her parent ditch her for retirement on a beach someplace, and she's left stuck, having to decorate against her will.
She wants a nap. The neighbors want her to carve ice sculptures. And her nutcracker apparently isn't up to code.
Includes: Girlboss and male wife power duo (madly in love), insane chainsaw man with way too much time on his hands, the ML an anxious wreck, and many, many, MANY MORE.
Another recent movie was built around a woman who is an astronaut (She's mixed) who was about to finally go to space (The goal shes been working on her entire life) She got into a car accident and her eyesight was impaired. She's currently grieving the loss of her dream (like, actually grieving, she took three months off-).
Her company asks her if she wants to do an exhibit in the planetarium for Christmas, that she doesn't have to, but she can if she wants to take her minds off of things. She says yes, and ends up working with the planetarium director on an exhibit about the sun and it's connection to Christmas through how people used to celebrate with the sun (I don't remember exactly, but it was explained thoroughly, and i think pagan???)
She and him don't constantly argue, or be angry at each other. They cooperate. They show genuine interest in each other. It's actually adorable, and it's also not just about them.
She meets his daughter, who is a wheelchair user. She asks why the Female lead isn't in space if she's an astronaut, and the FL tell her it's because of her eyes. The daughter tells her it's okay, because she'll never be able to go to space either, even if she wants to, but she can still enjoy it from Earth.
I'm not even doing it justice.
By the end of the movie, the FLs eye problem doesn't heal. Nothing is miraculously solved. But the ML and the FL are now dating (After the best, slow paced, healthy, communicative, collaborative bonding freaking ever-) ALL OF THE CHARACTERS HAVE FULL BLOWN EMOTIONAL JOURNEYS THAT ACTUALLY MATTER.
SHE GRIEVES.
HER BROTHER FINALLY FIGURES OUT ITS OKAY FOR HIM TO DO WHAT HE LOVES, AND THAT HE'S NOT A FAILURE FOR IT.
THE ML LET'S GO OF THINKING HES A BAD PARENT.
AND MORE.
There are soft bits, nothing is cliche, nothing is icky or gross.
It's healthy, it's cute, it's emotionally driven, I'm actually learning about things I didn't know before, and amazing.
And all the new ones are either like this or better than this. I could name over ten, but I can't even explain how good they are.
Some of the are still a little dark ages, but it's only every one out of six or seven.
Hallmark movies from 2022 and onwards are 5 star television, and you can't convince me otherwise.
#hallmark movies#hallmark channel#christmas movies#hallmark#christmas movie#Hallmark slander#PLEASE WATCH THREE WISE MEN AND A BABY I BEG OF YOU-#psa#this has been a psa#good movies#gay rights#people of color#body posititivity#change for the better
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I Think There's Been A Glitch
Part 2 (part 1)
Thank you so much to everyone who's liked, commented and RB'd part 1. I never imagined people would enjoy it so much 🥹 I've been super busy with work lately but finally got around to finishing part 2 so hope you enjoy it!
Daniel3.jpg
Liked by landonorris and others
Daniel3.jpg: As per usual, Y/N doing all the work and Lando being a pain in her ass.
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Landonorris notice how you weren't helping AT ALL
Yourusername you're really not in a position to be throwing stones, you didn't do much either
Landonorris I hung the lights?? And the mistletoe??
Yourusername and that's all you did but you 👏did👏them👏so👏well👏
Mclarenfan these two are ridiculous but I love them so much
Y/N_stan the mistletoe??? Oh my god???? they're madly in love and nobody is gonna change my mind about it
Honeybadger3 Daniel definitely ships it I'm calling it now he's one of us.
Twitchquartet these two are like something out of a hallmark Christmas movie. I hope it ends like one
QueenY/N ikr??? And why is nobody talking about the MATCHING PYJAMAS?????
Landonorris
Liked by maxverstappen1, maxfewtrell and others
Landonorris: Y/N: "I'm gonna kick your ass"
Also Y/N: has to he held at all times so she doesn't bust her ass
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Yourusername that is slander. Lies. Vicious rumours. It was YOU who had to be held up
Maxfewtrell @landonorris you've been exposed in 4k
Landonorris why is everyone ganging up on me we ALL know the truth
Y/nstan_1 oh my god???? They're...holding hands??? What in the lukewarm launch is this???
Livelaughlando lukewarm launch I can't 💀🤣
Danielriccardo 👀👫
Y/nLandoStan not Daniel creeping in the comments with the rest of us
Ricrodeo1 oh he has EXPOSED THEM fr
Carlando DANIEL WHAT? 👀💀
Yourusername
Liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and others
Yourusername: T-4 days to the best day of the year (yes, Lando made a complete mess making cupcakes are we even surprised)
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Landosgirl oh they're sick for this because what are we supposed to think? That they're NOT in love???
Queen_Y/N ikr??? I mean the way she LOOKS at him I am violently ill
Lando_Y/N brb just going to lay down and sob because how do I find someone who looks at me the way Y/N looks at Lando
Scuderia_Stan Relatable af
Maxfewtrell be honest @yourusername you made those cupcakes, he just posed for the picture
Liked by yourusername
Landonorris stop lying in the comments.
Yourusername 🤨🤨🤨
Landonorris oh don't you start you almost put in salt instead of sugar
Yourusername stop inventing 🤫
Landostan I love how Lando gets consistently roasted by his friends in the comments every damn time this man gets away with nothing.
Carlando not Y/N quoting Carlos AND roasting Lando at the same time oh she's too good😂
Taglist
@holy-macncheese-balls @theunwcnted @nous-aurons-toujours-paris-kid @akahalloween31 @mythunderstorm
#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 fic#f1 imagine#formula 1 fanfic#formula one#formula 1 fic#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#lando norris#lando x reader
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real magic (explicit)
genre: smut, fluff, bangin’ your boss, m attempts kidfic - part of a hyung holiday collab !
pairing: namjoon x reader
summary: the holiday season has never meant anything to you beyond suffering long hours for minimum wage and awaiting the collapse of capitalism— but this year, you’d be willing to add making out with your dilf coffee shop boss to the list.
word count: 16.7k 😩
contains: ~*~explicit sexual content (after kind of a slow burn sorry lol)~*~ the "moving back to your hometown" hallmark trope, a nick jonas poster (yes that's a warning), some taekook slander in the beginning because i thought it was funny, namjoon is so buff and so dumb but so wise and so hot, moni is a little shit, namjoon is a dad!, namjoon's kid uses they/them pronouns but it's not like A Focus of the story it's just flavor, reader thinks joon has a dead wife for like one second 💀 mentions of teenage pregnancy and co-parenting, one incredibly stupid asshole customer lmao, mint choco slander (it's what namjoon would want 😌), obviously there is an employee/boss power dynamic but they talk about it and figure it out because this is namjoon and he overthinks everything, namjoon driving (he's a dad i have to assume he would get his license if he had a literal child!!!!!!!!) and a lotta sentimental holiday and life talk. here are ur sex specific warnings: making out/going to second base in a car in a parking lot (what is it with my namjoons and cars in parking lots yo), fingering, semi-drunk sex, and fuckin' rawwwww with a smidge of size and breeding kink lmao (but she's on the pill!!! no more kids!!!!!!)
A/N: hello hello hi merry crisis this damn fic is finally here lmao~ as i have been babbling on about for days i really really (REALLY) love how this namjoon turned out he's just hesjkrgdhtgk such a fucking himbo but a good dad and wise and did i mention hot aaaaaa 🫠 all the love in my gay little heart to @goodsoop for their barista wisdom and real life experiences that went into this one (the cookie story will never not make me laugh) ! and to @sailoryooons for beta reading this 50 million times and encouraging me when i was convinced it sucked ass, and also for making all the gorgeous banners for this collab 😭
which btw - be sure to go check out @gimmethatagustd & @sailoryooons & @nabiolive 's fics tooooo !!! i've loved collabing with them so very much even when we were all hashtag Going Through It, we got the whole damn hyung line you hear meeeeee 🎁🎁🎁🎁
read on AO3!
Rudely awoken by the incessant beep of your alarm, you open your eyes to find Nick Jonas staring back at you, and you sit up with a scream.
Realization washes over your sleep-addled brain in waves: first, that you aren’t actually staring at a real person. He’s just smizing on a hot pink poster, held up by some remarkably durable masking tape you stuck to the wall fifteen years ago. Second, it comes back to you that you are staring at said poster because you’ve woken up in your childhood bedroom. It’s been left untouched since you were a teenager, like a weird time capsule of all your high school obsessions.
After reaching for your phone to silence the alarm, you kick your way out from under the blankets, trying not to make eye contact with Nick, or Justin, or Zayn as you stumble to the bathroom. The circumstances of your grand return to living in your goddamn parents’ house linger like a bad taste in your mouth, one that all the tongue brushing in the world can’t remove.
It still doesn’t feel real. Taehyung, your best friend in the world since freshman year of college, kicked you out. Sure, it may have been phrased more like a gentle request, but as far as your ego is concerned, it still feels like exile. Banishment, even. The person you thought you could never be parted from made his choice, and he chose his fucking boyfriend over you.
Jungkook. You think the name with all the venom your cold, dead heart can manage as you spit toothpaste into the sink.
Jungkook, the weird, bug-eyed kid who put his toe-socked feet on your couch, drank his banana milk out of your favorite mug, and ate up all of your Samyang ramyeon because he ‘thought it was communal’.
Jungkook, who ruined your sleep schedule nightly, either by fucking Taehyung senseless on the other side of your paper-thin apartment wall, or by blasting the same four Ariana Grande songs over and over on his bluetooth speaker and singing along in an annoyingly good voice. Either activity would go on well into the early hours of the morning, until you had to bang on the wall so hard you nearly put your fist through it.
Jungkook, whose dog once took a shit right on the floor in the middle of the kitchen.
Bam was cute enough to forgive, of course. But you can never forgive Taehyung for his betrayal. Especially when he knew you’d just been fired from your shitty coffee shop job for the stupidest reason ever, and he didn’t let that derail or even delay him. He still went ahead and delivered the killing blow.
Et tu, Taehyung? you think angrily to yourself as you stand in front of the suitcase containing as much of your closet as you could possibly fit. You still need to go back for your bigger furniture, and little things like your plates and your mugs and your silverware, which Jungkook is probably putting his grimy little fingers all over at this very moment. But until you’ve checked out of your indefinite vacation at the Nightmare Parental Hotel, there doesn’t really seem a point.
If you were less upset, you might take consolation in the fact that your parents aren’t actually here, that they’ve jaunted off to their timeshare until the new year, but you’re busy being too swallowed whole by your misery to find an ounce of joy in any piece of your current reality.
You dig through the pile of clothes until you manage to pull out something halfway decent. The first order of business now that you’ve moved back in is simple: acquire another stupid coffee shop job. You have no plans to stick around long, you just need something seasonal that will give you some meager income while you start looking for a real gig, one that is ideally not in your hometown.
Watching yourself in the mirror as you pull on a simple black blouse and your least-stained pair of jeans, you attempt to mentally dust off your interview skills. You conjure up your best fake smile and customer service voice, both of which are second-nature at this point.
Why do you want this job? “I’m just so passionate about coming home sticky and verbally abused by caffeine-addicted assholes every night.”
What’s your biggest weakness? “Clearly it’s the fact that I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.”
Why were you terminated from your last job? “Oh, well, I attempted to get my previous employer to improve their standards of worker treatment. You see, I selfishly requested that they raise the bar a single notch above hell. Certainly won’t happen again!”
This should go well, you tell yourself, and your reflection grimaces back.
With several hours to kill before your job interview and a growing desire to avoid the weird nostalgia of your childhood that seems to lurk in every corner of your parents’ house, you decide to take a walk.
The sky is bright blue and cloudless, and though the air is brisk, it isn’t terribly windy. You tuck in your earbuds as you shut the front door behind you and pick a direction, aimless, letting your mind wander to the soundtrack of your “seasonal depression” playlist.
A whole new crop of families must have moved into your parents’ neighborhood in the years since you moved out, because the streets are more alive with kids than you can ever remember them being, even when you were a kid yourself. Bikes and scooters lay abandoned on the sidewalks between homes, and you can hear the repeated echo of a basketball dribbling on a driveway, punctuated by distant, playful screaming.
Even in the daytime, you can tell these families have spared no expense when it comes to Christmas decor: some homes have every eave outlined in string lights, some have candy cane stakes dug into the perimeter of their perfectly manicured lawns, and some have been seemingly invaded by small armies of inflatable reindeer and snowmen. You can’t help but giggle a little at the inflatable decorations that have been set to turn off during the day, the way the airless material lays limp in the grass, giving the impression of a yard strewn with dead bodies.
But you remember what it looked like when you drove in last night, everything lit up and brought to life.
Your parents definitely didn’t have inflatable lawn decorations when you were a kid, but you’d get so excited every year when your dad would drag the ladder out and spend the day stringing up the simple rainbow lights you did have. You still remember the little spark of joy you’d feel in your chest when the colors would click on after dark, the way you would run outside every night just to see them twinkle, your breath puffing steam clouds in the air, your bare feet freezing on the ice-cold driveway.
It felt like magic then. But somewhere along the way you grew up. And now that feeling’s gone. Even at night, the lights just look like… lights.
Distracted as you are by the music in your ears and thoughts of your childhood that have brought you to a standstill on the sidewalk, you don’t notice what’s happening until it’s too late.
A blur of red and white is suddenly circling around and between your legs, and you feel something twining over your ankles, then tugging with a force that threatens to knock you off balance. As you lean forward in an attempt to right yourself, the chaos in question slows enough for you to realize it’s a fluffy white dog in a red sweater, who has excitedly tangled you up in his leash.
You manage to find the looped end of the leash and slowly get yourself unwrapped while the dog continues to pant and jump and occasionally yap at you. With your legs freed, you squat down for a proper greeting, laughing to yourself as he lifts up on his hind legs, balancing his paws on your knee to lick an enthusiastic greeting across your cheek.
“Hi, puppy,” you murmur, trying to get him to hold still long enough to read the name on his tag. A voice beats you to it.
“Moni!”
When you glance up to find Moni’s owner jogging up the sidewalk, you have to make a conscious effort to keep your own tongue in your mouth, because good lord, he is fine.
He’s tall, towering over you even once you bring yourself back up to standing, and the black workout tank and athletic shorts he’s wearing do absolutely nothing to hide the thick, well-defined muscles of his arms, chest, and thighs.
Despite his lack of clothing in the cool winter air, you can see his face and neck are slick with sweat, his white-blonde hair damp with it too. There’s even a dark patch that’s soaked his shirt at his sternum, making the firm swell of his pecs that much more apparent. It takes you an extra second to break eye contact with them, but when you do finally manage to drag your gaze up to meet his, you realize his face is just as nice of a view: honey-tan skin, full lips, and cute dimples that pop as he gives a sheepish, appreciative laugh.
“Thank you,” he says, a little breathless; his voice is deep and slightly husky in a way that makes your face grow hot. You blink stupidly at him for a few moments, your mind reeling, and then it occurs to you that you still have his dog’s leash in your hand.
“No problem,” you manage, handing the looped end back over and double-checking to make sure your ankles are still free from their entanglement. Though now that this man is holding the leash, you kind of wish they weren’t.
“Moni’s usually good about not taking off when I stop to do a circuit,” he explains, like you’re the dog owner police. It makes you wonder what kind of Karens must have moved into this neighborhood since you left it. “I don’t know why he ran, maybe he saw a squirrel or something.”
“It’s okay,” you reassure him with a smile, admiring Moni as he stretches and settles into a polite seated pose. “I like his sweater.”
“Thanks,” he laughs again. “C’mon Mon.”
You can’t help focusing on how big this guy’s hands are as he slips his fingers through the end of Moni’s leash, tugging slightly as if to encourage the dog back in the direction he came from.
Moni blinks and stays right where he is.
“You little shit,” his owner huffs under his breath, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. You distantly realize you should probably leave them to it and continue on your walk, but this is too entertaining to turn away from now. Your hot neighbor tries one more futile attempt to get Moni to move, then seems to give up entirely.
He stoops down with a low grunt of effort that makes your core flutter as he grabs the fluffy dog and hoists him up in his arms. You try to force yourself to stop noticing the way his biceps flex, the fact that the muscles of his arms are nearly bigger than your head.
“Thanks again,” he says with a final grateful smile, and your only response is to swallow hard and stand there like an idiot as he turns and carries his spoiled dog back home.
When you arrive for your interview, you’re delighted to discover that Indigo Coffee is nothing like your last job. It’s warm and bright, with large picture windows that flood the space in sunlight, and there’s a cozy personal touch to it, the likes of which you’d certainly never see in your former corporate shell of a workplace. The sitting area is dotted with live edge wood tables and mismatched chairs. There are an array of framed paintings on the walls that look handmade in a good way, simple yet bold brush-stroke lines in a deep blue color scheme. And, you realize as your eyes linger, the shop is absolutely overflowing with plants: in simple clay pots lined up along the windows, free-standing between tables, and tucked into bookshelves placed artfully throughout the space.
You step closer to inspect one as you wait on your interviewer and are pleased to see that it’s real, that they all are— no waxy fake leaves jammed into a thick block of cement, but real greenery sprouted in real dirt, deep brown soil gone soft from what must have been a recent watering. These are plants someone cares for, coaxed and kept alive by someone’s time and patience and love. The thought makes you smile a little despite yourself.
There’s still fucking Christmas music playing, but you figure that’s inescapable this time of year.
“Are you here for the interview?” someone asks over your shoulder. As you turn away from the plant, you wonder if you’re imagining that the voice in question sounds slightly familiar, and then you find yourself once again staring up at a fine-ass man with white-blonde hair and a sweet pair of dimples.
He’s clearly showered since your last encounter, and is now slightly more covered up in a pair of faded jeans and a gray-green flannel thrown over a black shirt emblazoned with bold white lettering: Protect Trans Kids.
“Oh.” Moni’s owner blinks back at you, and the shock on his face is so apparent that a giggle escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Uh, hi again.”
“Hi,” you echo, equally flustered, before realizing you failed to answer his initial question. “Oh, yeah. Yes. I am. The interview. I’m— that’s me.” So well-spoken, you mentally kick yourself.
One dimple deepens slightly as he extends a hand. “Kim Namjoon. Owner of Indigo Coffee. And the world’s least obedient dog, as you saw earlier.”
You offer your best handshake in return and a smile that you surprisingly don’t have to force as you give Namjoon your name. He gestures to a table in the corner, and you each pull back a chair to have a seat. You try to banish any potential horny thoughts from your brain, but shifting into interview mode proves difficult as he rests his large hands on the table in front of him, drumming idly along to the horribly cheery music.
You manage to tear your gaze away from Namjoon’s fingers when he speaks again. “If it’s cool with you, we can just chat a little? I’m not so good at conducting formal interviews. Too inauthentic.”
It’s like you can feel some of the tension release from your shoulders. “I— yeah. That sounds great.”
“Cool,” he nods, and you try to ignore the rush of heat up your neck at the intensity of his stare. Professional, be professional. “So I saw on your resume that it looks like your last few jobs were out of town. Did you just move here?”
“Moved back,” you say quickly. “Yeah. I grew up here, actually.”
Namjoon’s eyes widen a little in clear interest. “Really? What brings you back?”
You purse your lips as you consider how to phrase it. “My life… kind of fell apart. So. I moved in with my parents for a bit. Like a winner.” His dimples pop when he smiles at your joke, and you drop your gaze to the table. “Just trying to figure out what’s next, and find something seasonal in the meantime.”
“Well, we could certainly use the help,” Namjoon admits. When you chance a glance up, there’s a look on his face like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I saw in your application that you were terminated from your last position.” He leans in, lowering his voice slightly as he continues. “I’m gonna be honest, I hate that we even ask that question. But can you tell me a bit about what happened?”
You keep your stare fixed on the wood grain in front of you as you try to stay calm. “Well, if I can be honest too...” Squeezing your eyes shut, you tell yourself to just say it. “I was fired for trying to unionize.”
“Oh.” Namjoon sounds surprised, but you can’t manage to look at him. “Really?” You nod slowly, biting down on your bottom lip. “That’s— fucking illegal.”
That makes your gaze snap back up to meet his. His brow is furrowed slightly, a muscle in his jaw pulled tight.
“Yeah,” you say belatedly. “Yeah, I know. They made up a bunch of fake excuses as to why I was fired, but I knew what it really was. It was because I wanted them to actually pay us what we were worth, and hire more workers so we weren’t being scheduled to death. And I was getting everyone else riled up too, and I guess it scared them.”
Namjoon sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Huh. Man. Well, I’m sorry that happened to you.”
It takes you a second to process what you’re hearing. Union has always been a scary word for any person in upper management you’ve previously encountered. You hadn’t expected this to be so… easy. For him to understand, or sympathize. “I— yeah. I am too.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” Namjoon continues quickly, “I think it’s great, what you tried to do. I’m very pro-union.” He pauses for a moment, his face twisting slightly in thought. “I mean, admittedly, we don’t have one here. Granted, there are only five of us. I should probably ask, though, if they want one.”
You can’t quite hide your smile. “I’m gonna take a guess that you probably treat your employees pretty well as-is.”
“I try,” he says with a shake of his head. His eyes meet yours again. “So, here’s the deal. You have a ton of experience, and with holiday time off and a few people out sick, I’m super understaffed right now. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders, and hopefully you feel like you can come to me if you have any issues, without fearing retaliation.”
You blink slowly, and he must be able to read the disbelief on your face. “What I’m saying is I’m offering you the seasonal position,” he clarifies. “Is that— do you, uh, accept?”
“Yes.” The word is chased by a dazed laugh, and Namjoon’s dimples resurface around a small smile.
“Cool. I told you I’m bad at interviews,” he huffs, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. You try to ignore the swell of his bicep, clearly visible even beneath his bulky flannel. “I know this is a lot to ask, but. Is there any chance you can start, like, right now? Because Jimin’s shift ends in…” He tilts a little, fishing his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, and his mouth drops open in surprise when he gets a glimpse at the time.
“Oh, shit,” Namjoon murmurs, and then he raises his voice to call across the mostly empty store. “Jimin-ah! I’m so sorry!”
You turn around, your gaze landing on the barista leaned up against the counter next to the register. His dyed-gray hair dusts over his eyes, which pull into crescent moons as he laughs. “It’s cool. I knew you were almost done. But I’m gonna clock out now, if she’s good?”
“Yeah,” you answer, turning back to Namjoon. “Yeah, I can start now.”
The two of you move behind the counter, and you sweep your hair up out of your face while Namjoon starts to go through a basic run-down of where everything is located. The overhead bell tinkles as Jimin shoulders the front door open, and he lifts a hand over his head in parting.
“See you after the holidays!”
“Alright,” Namjoon says as he waves to Jimin, a little breathless from having rambled on for the better part of several minutes. “That was a lot. Do you want to just start on register? I feel like that should be easy enough, and I can train you on everything as people come in, since it’s pretty dead right now.”
You shrug. “Works for me.”
Within half an hour, there’s a line out the door, and Namjoon has managed to spill espresso grounds all over his shoes for a second time.
“Ah, shit,” he groans, taking a step back. “Sorry. Been a minute since I’ve had to be back here.”
“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him, but you can see from the faces of the customers who have been waiting on their drinks for several minutes— including one who’s had hers remade three times, all of them incorrect— that it is very much not okay. You certainly lack the people skills to smooth over any of Namjoon’s mistakes, and you can feel a stress-induced eye twitch starting to flare up, brought on by Kelly Clarkson’s incessant yuletide belting.
You give your boss five more minutes, wherein he scalds his hand on the milk steamer, forgets about a cookie in the warmer until it’s burnt entirely black, and nearly turns the blender on with the lid off, before you finally intervene.
“Hey, Namjoon?” You do your best to keep your expression pleasant when he glances over at you, wiping at his brow with the back of his hand. “Maybe we should switch?”
“A-are you sure?” he stammers, apparently torn between wanting to be a good boss and a clear desire to just take the L. “I feel bad, this is literally your first shift.”
“I think I can handle it,” you reassure him, lowering your voice a little. “Let me take care of the drinks, and you can do your… endearing golden retriever thing. Keep the people entertained.”
Color blooms in the apples of his cheeks as his dimples make a brief appearance. “Oh, okay. Can do. Just let me know if you need help.”
You can’t imagine a universe where his clumsiness could in any way be considered helpful, but you keep that thought to yourself as you smile at him. At least he’s cute.
Things improve dramatically once your roles are reversed: as you expected, Namjoon is far more charismatic than he is coordinated, and he chats endlessly with the people waiting on their drinks, hardly pausing long enough to take a breath, while you scramble around trying to get your bearings in a new environment. The steady stream of customers doesn’t let up for the rest of the evening, until the last few finally trickle out of the store a few minutes after close, and you waste no time locking the door behind them with a sigh of relief.
You spin around, letting your back thud against the door for a moment as you watch Namjoon fight with a broom and dustpan in a futile attempt to get espresso dust out of the grout between the tiles. There’s a dull ache starting to thud in your skull, and it’s only deepened by the shrill opening notes of another fucking a cappella song.
“Namjoon?” you ask as you cross toward the counter, and his head instantly snaps up. “Do you think we could maybe turn off the Christmas music?”
“Oh, sure.” He’s already fumbling to grab his phone, and he taps a few buttons until the music suddenly switches, a soft voice starting to croon over an old school beat.
“Thanks,” you say, and you can’t help the pity smile that pulls up your mouth when he returns to his useless task. “I think the grout might be a lost cause, but I can go ahead and mop whenever you’re ready.”
He rights himself with a defeated sigh, nodding his head to the storage closet in the back. You follow his lead to retrieve the mop, then set about filling up the bucket with water and cleaning solution. Namjoon’s voice floats in from the front of the shop as he busies himself with his own closing tasks.
“Imagine smokin’ weed in the street without cops harassin’ / Imagine goin’ to court with no trial / Lifestyle cruisin’ blue Bahama waters / No welfare supporters, more conscious of the way we raise our daughters...”
You’re laughing a little as you roll the bucket out, starting at the door to work your way back. “Is this… Nas?”
He glances up, like he’s just remembered other people exist in the world. “Yeah, sorry. I can turn it off.”
“No, no,” you say quickly when he starts to reach for his phone again. “This is good. Much better than Pentatonix. I’m just… you really know every word.”
Namjoon shrugs, clearly embarrassed. “He’s my favorite.”
The revelation surprises you, and you pause to think as you pull the mop back and forth over the tile floor. It didn’t even occur to you that Namjoon would have a favorite kind of music, apart from the soft elevator muzak you imagine must play on a steady loop in his brain, given the way he fumbles through life.
“I actually wanted to be a rapper,” his voice comes back, and you look up again, your interest piqued. “When I was younger. But you know. Life had other plans.”
“Ah yes, the rapper to coffee shop owner pipeline,” you muse, and he barks a laugh that you wish you didn’t find so hot. Shaking your head, you force yourself to look back down at the espresso-studded tile, doing your best to shove your attraction aside and not think about it. He’s your boss, dumbass.
Still, it’s hard to ignore, particularly as he continues to rap along to each song that comes on, his voice deeper and huskier than you’ve heard it thus far in casual conversation. He doesn’t miss a word, and you can’t deny that it’s impressive. And sexy. Fuck.
Once the floor has been successfully mopped and everything else is put back together, you hop up onto the counter to wait for the tile to dry, and your gaze lingers over Namjoon’s large hands as he cashes out the register. He flips through the bills in time to the music, still humming under his breath as he goes, and you do your best to hold in your laugh when he inevitably loses count and has to start over from the beginning. Thankfully the second attempt sticks, and he smiles proudly to himself as he zips everything up into the deposit bag.
“First shift down,” he announces, as if you might have forgotten, and then his eyes find yours and you swear your breath gets stuck in your throat. “How do you feel?”
It only occurs to you now how close he’s standing to you, and with the way your legs are casually dangling over the edge of the counter, it wouldn’t take much for him to step between them. And god, he’s so damn tall, you’re practically eye-to-eye.
“Uh,” you manage, your mouth suddenly gone dry. “Good. I feel good.”
“That’s good,” he answers, his voice dipping into that throaty tone again. You find yourself wondering absentmindedly if maybe Namjoon has a customer service voice, too, and then for the briefest flash of a moment, his gaze flits from your eyes to your lips and back again. It’s so quick, you can’t be sure it even really happened.
You tell yourself it’s just your exhausted post-shift brain seeing things that aren’t there, wanting this fine-ass man to be into you, too.
A sudden bang on the front door makes you flinch so hard, you come dangerously close to kneeing Namjoon in the crotch. He takes a large step back as you whip around to look over your shoulder, only to see a kid’s face pressed to the glass, framed by two small hands. You’ve never been great at telling the age of children on sight, but this one looks like… maybe a middle schooler?
“Whose fucking kid is that?” you say automatically, blinking, dumbfounded. Namjoon’s laugh is a low rumble behind you.
“That would be mine.”
It takes several days for the shock to wear off. Your boss has a kid. Kim “could’ve burnt the building down with a single cookie” Namjoon is at least partially responsible for keeping another human being alive. Which means you have a crush… on a father.
A father who also happens to be your boss.
You try not to think about any of it.
There’d been brief introductions when you left the shop that first night, but all you’d really managed to glean was the kid’s name, Sol, and their pronouns. As someone who is historically terrible with children, you’d excused yourself the minute Namjoon locked the front door, after what felt like an eternity spent watching him pat each of his pockets twice before he finally managed to find his keys.
“I hope it wasn’t weird,” your boss says out of nowhere in the middle of your next shift, during a much-needed moment of peace after the morning rush. “For you to meet Sol like that. It’s just been hard, since their mom, uh…”
Namjoon trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. You glance up, eyes widening as you put the pieces together.
“Oh my god,” you breathe. “I’m so sorry.”
His gaze meets yours, and it’s like you can see the wheels in his head turning before he catches up. “No, no,” he says quickly, and then he starts to laugh. “Wow, I really did not start that sentence well. She’s not dead. She just got married, and she’s on her honeymoon for most of December. The logistics have been hard, is what I meant.”
An embarrassed heat creeps up your neck, and your elbows thud against the countertop as you press your face into your hands, attempting to muffle your own laughter. “In my defense,” you groan, “you really made it sound like you had a dead wife.”
“Not dead! She’s fine!” Namjoon’s dimples are as prominent as you’ve ever seen them when you peek up at him from your full-body cringe. “Very much alive, very much not my wife.” The muscles in his arms flex as he crosses them over his chest, leaning up against the counter next to the register. “Never was, actually.”
“Really?” you answer automatically, your damned curiosity getting the better of you.
He nods, his voice a little more serious when he continues, rambling on in the way that you’ve already started to suspect is his default setting, talking as if to fill empty space. “We were seventeen when we got pregnant. I knew we were young then, but I don’t think I really realized. Now that I’m almost thirty, I know: seventeen is fucking young.”
The line of his jaw tightens, thoughtful, as his gaze sweeps over the floor. “I thought I wanted to marry her, or at least felt obligated to. Like it was the right thing to do, but. We didn’t have any money, and then it all got so hectic after Sol was born. Didn’t even take a year for us to realize it wasn’t gonna work, not for us.”
You blink, trying to take in all the new information. “That sounds really hard.”
“It was,” Namjoon admits. “But we were both on the same page about it. That no matter what, Sol had to come first.” He glances up with a shrug. “It’s all good now. She’s a great co-parent, and her new husband is really good for her. And… well, I have Indigo.”
The tinkling of the bell at the front door snaps you out of a daze, makes you realize you’ve been staring at him, dumbfounded. You do your best to shoot Namjoon a soft smile, and to ignore the pang in your chest as he turns to greet the customer that’s just wandered in, already starting to babble on about the weather.
You find yourself more grateful for Namjoon’s presence with each passing shift, in a way that you try to convince yourself is thoroughly platonic. Between fairly steady work and his very steady chatter, your time spent in the warm, sunny space of Indigo turns out to be a good distraction from your own miserable excuse for a life. The repetitive motions of making drink after drink are oddly comforting, and you have to admit, Namjoon really is good with the customers.
“Peppermint mocha to go.”
You do your best to follow up the sentence with a polite smile as you set a drink down for the customer who has done nothing but scowl at you the whole time you were making it. The silent prayer you’ve sent out to the universe that he’ll take whatever personal problem he has elsewhere and leave you alone has clearly gone unanswered.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snaps, and you can feel your shoulders creep up towards your ears in anticipation of nothing good. Here we fucking go.
You blink twice, trying to keep your service persona engaged. “I’m sorry, is that not what you ordered?” It is, you know it is, you heard him say it.
“No, that’s mine,” the man quickly responds, reaching out to snatch the cup in a motion that makes you flinch. “But do you hear this fucking song?”
The honest answer is no: at this point the ever-present Christmas music might as well be white noise, so you have to make a conscious effort to tune back in and listen. It’s a few seconds, and then you pick up on the melody. “…Last Christmas?”
“Uh, yeah,” he continues, explaining like you’re stupid. “The original. Last Christmas by Wham!” When it’s clear you still aren’t putting the pieces together, he scoffs in pure frustration. “You just made me lose Whamageddon! I’ve won every year for the last five years, I can’t believe you would even put this on your fucking playlist!”
Your face pulls into an incredulous grimace before you can think to control it. “Uh, I’m sorry, but I didn’t make the—”
He cuts you off. “First off, I don’t need the fucking attitude. And surely you’re at least capable of checking what songs are on there, right? That’s not too advanced for you to handle?”
You didn’t even hear Namjoon walk up from the back office, but he’s suddenly stepping in front of you, and you’re more than glad to move back and let him handle this dude before you end up in jail. “Woah, woah, alright,” Namjoon interjects, his voice loud enough to carry. “What’s going on?”
The man beats you to it. “I’m trying to file a legitimate complaint and she’s rolling her fucking eyes and getting an attitude with me!”
“It’s the song,” you explain briefly, trying to keep everything about your expression neutral. “He’s mad that we’re… playing Wham.”
Namjoon’s face twists in an expression that you would find funny if you weren’t so fucking livid, one that you’re pretty sure is the mirror image of your own reaction minutes earlier. “The song? Seriously?”
You can see the guy scrambling, clearly starting to get embarrassed at his own dramatics. “Alright, I don’t have time for this. I guess I just need to take my business elsewhere, because this is ridiculous. What ever happened to the customer is always right?”
Namjoon goes silent for a minute, and you try to ignore the way the look on his face makes your pulse quicken, thudding brightly in the hollow of your neck. His voice is deadly serious when he speaks again. “I appreciate that you’re upset, but if you’re going to look my employee in the face, after she just performed a service for you, and disrespect her like that? Over a fucking song? Nah, I’m not gonna tolerate it. Maybe the next time you want someone to make you a toothpaste drink, you should take your ass to Starbucks.”
It takes every ounce of strength you have to keep the reaction off your face until the asshole has stormed out the front door, nasty drink in hand. As the bell finally tinkles to signal his departure, you collapse forward, just barely catching yourself on the counter so you don’t crumple straight down to the floor.
“Oh my god.” Your laugh of disbelief comes out more like a groan, at the ridiculous complaint and your boss’ insanely attractive comeback alike. “I fucking hate this time of year.”
“Hey.” The word is punctuated by Namjoon’s shoulder bumping into yours, and you look back up at him, still laughing a little at your own misery. His eyes search yours, sincere. “Assholes are assholes no matter what season it is. I’m sure that guy finds plenty of things to complain about the other eleven months of the year, too. Don’t let him ruin it for you.”
You can’t help rolling your eyes, if only because you can do it freely now, without a man standing over you and yelling about your ‘bad attitude’. “I guess,” you huff. “And thank you.”
Namjoon shakes his head, like it’s nothing. “Chin up, okay?”
The two of you breeze through closing that night, familiar enough to fall into a steady routine now. You’re wiping everything down behind the counter and humming along to Tupac when Namjoon’s voice drags you back out of your thoughts in a way you’ve already grown accustomed to.
“You know…”
You glance up, only to realize that he’s started to flip chairs on top of tables to clear the floor, and is grabbing them two at a time, one in each hand. The image makes you a little dizzy, and you tell yourself to focus on his words, not his biceps.
“I think we make a pretty good team,” he concludes.
“Yeah,” you breathe, trying to keep your composure at the unexpected compliment. “I was thinking the same thing. And thanks again for, you know. Handling that guy.”
Namjoon shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Hey, you’re doing me a favor, taking this seasonal job. I’m not about to let anyone fuck with you.”
You bite down on a smile as you head towards the back to grab the mop, and then you hear a loud bang on the front door— it’s another sound you’ve gotten used to in your brief time at Indigo. There’s the click of the deadbolt, chased by the tinkling overhead bell and Namjoon’s chiding voice. “Homie, if you break my door I’m gonna make you get a job to pay me back for it.”
“You think I don’t know about child labor laws?” you hear Sol retort, clearly not intimidated, and the attitude in their voice has you biting back a laugh.
Wheeling the mop bucket out of the storage closet, you glance up to see Namjoon jut his chin toward the large front window, indicating Sol to take a seat on the ledge. “Feet off the floor, she’s tryna clean.”
Sol complies, plopping down in the window with their eyes glued to their phone as Namjoon disappears back toward the office to grab his things. You watch as Sol pulls their knees into their chest so their chunky black boots clear the tile, and you can’t help noticing that said boots are adorned with oversized silver bat-shaped buckles, reflecting the amber streetlight gleam that leaks through the window.
“I like your boots,” you say, more to yourself than Sol, half expecting them to be so engrossed in TikTok that they don’t even hear you.
But to your surprise, Sol looks up.
“Thanks,” they say, glancing at their feet. “I just got them. I’m in my post-hardcore era right now.”
The statement is delivered without a trace of irony, and you do your best to hold in another amused giggle as you respond. “Wow, you are… so much cooler than I was when I was your age.”
Sol seems to consider this for a moment, then shrugs. “I mean, you didn’t have the internet back then, right?”
The question hits you like a train, and you have to pause and press a hand over your heart at the impact. “Okay, ouch, I’m not that old.” They grimace apologetically, and you lean up against the mop handle in thought. “But the internet definitely wasn’t like it is now. The only social media that really existed was Myspace, and my parents wouldn’t let me make one. I mostly just used the internet to, like, play RuneScape.”
“Oh shit,” Sol remarks, sounding remarkably like Namjoon in the process. “You played old school?!”
It’s like you can feel your bones crumbling to dust inside your body, and you wince as you resume dragging the mop over the tile. “Hey, back then it was the only kind of RuneScape we had. But yes, you can consider me a… founding father of that game.”
“That’s cool!” they exclaim, sounding so genuine it makes your head spin. When did RuneScape become cool again? “My friends and I play old school all the time. It’s the best, for real.”
You shake your head in disbelief as you continue to mop, and a long pause settles between you, with Sol’s interest clearly returning to their phone.
Fuck, you think to yourself, what else do kids even talk about? Marvel movies? It’s like your mind has gone totally blank, unable to conjure up a single topic of conversation, and you practically huff out an audible sigh of relief when their voice breaks the silence again.
“I think my dad has been happier since you started working here.”
The mop nearly slips out of your hands entirely, and you glance up, eyes wide. “I— really?”
Sol nods, playing absentmindedly with the strings of their black hoodie, then bringing the end of one up to their mouth to gently chew on. “It’s a theory I have. A game theory. I plan to ask additional follow-up questions tonight.”
At this, you can’t help but laugh. “Well, I’m sure your investigation will be very thorough.”
There’s a flash of a dimple in Sol’s cheek, like the mirror image of their dad. “I can tell you what he says, if you want.”
You wonder how telling your own smile is. “I mean… I can’t say I’m not curious.” You’re distantly aware of the sound of the office door closing, chased by Joon whistling to himself, and you lower your voice conspiratorially as you drop the mop back into the bucket. “I look forward to hearing what you find out.”
Monday morning, when you wake up to the omnipresent smize of Nick Jonas, you can’t help smiling back.
You made it through your first week of work, and it wasn’t even that torturous. And best of all, Namjoon reminded you the night before that Indigo is closed on Mondays, which gives you an entire day to spend as you please. A real day off, which was truly unheard of at your last job, where you’d spend your non-scheduled days still anticipating an incoming emergency text asking you to cover a shift last-minute. More often than not, you’d end up working after all.
“But not today,” you announce to Nick.
A grand plan has already started to form in your head, one that involves a party size bag of Hot Cheetos and all eight episodes of The Fabulous, and yet. There’s a lingering urge at the back of your brain that you can’t quite ignore. With all the day-off energy you can muster, you drag yourself out of bed and tug on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, then shuffle into the bathroom to at least make yourself halfway decent.
You’re just going for a quick walk around the block to get some fresh air, you tell yourself. That’s all. Certainly no other reason.
It’s only a few minutes after you step out your front door that a fluffy white blur nearly collides with your shins, and when you stoop down to lift Moni into your arms, you once again can’t keep the smile off your face. Huh, who could’ve seen this coming?
But when you glance up, there’s no hot buff man jogging up the sidewalk after his dog. In fact, you realize as you look back at the ball of fluff in your arms, he isn’t wearing a leash or harness at all, just another cute sweater.
“Are you even supposed to be out here?” you ask Moni. His only answer is to drag his tongue up the side of your face.
You shift him a little in your arms so you can fumble for the tag attached to his collar, and thankfully, there’s an address listed. It takes you a second to get your bearings in the neighborhood, having not lived here for close to a decade, but it eventually comes back to you where the listed street is, and you start to walk. Moni is already blinking sleepily in your arms, clearly enjoying his preferred mode of transportation.
A laugh bubbles up in your chest as you approach the house in question— even if you hadn’t had Moni’s tag to guide you, finding his home would’ve been easy enough as soon as you passed this street, because you can hear old school hip-hop bumping through a speaker despite still being several houses down the block. You suppose Namjoon can get away with it during the day, when all the neighborhood kids are still in school.
As you make your way up the driveway, you realize the music is actually coming from behind the house, and when you follow the path that leads around back, you spot the culprit: a simple wooden-slat fence surrounds the yard, and the gate has been left wide open.
Before you can even make it over the threshold, a familiar voice reaches your ears, sounding much closer than the music. “Ah, shit.”
Namjoon comes barreling through the open gate so fast he practically runs you over, and Moni yaps, like he’s annoyed at being jostled as you quickly try to stumble out of his owner’s path.
“Oh. Uh, hi.”
You wonder if you’ll ever be able to take in how shock looks on Namjoon’s features without giggling a little. Today is certainly not that day. It’s just so endearing, the way his eyes widen and his mouth pulls into a perfect o-shape.
“Hi,” you breathe out around your laughter, trying to ignore the heat that flushes into your face when his dimples appear in return. “I think I found something that belongs to you.”
With a wave of his hand and several profuse thank yous, you follow Namjoon back through the gate, and wait until he firmly shuts it behind you before letting Moni down to trot off across the yard. It’s only now that you take Namjoon in properly: he’s in a gray hoodie under a pair of denim overalls, both of which are splattered artfully with paint in a variety of colors.
“I was just in my studio,” he explains, tipping his head toward the small shed in the yard, which you quickly realize is also the source of the music that led you here. “Doin’ some art. Do you, uh… wanna see?”
“Yeah, okay,” you answer with a nod.
“Fair warning, I’m really bad at it,” he calls over his shoulder as he leads you in the open studio door, raising his voice to be heard over the music. He reaches for his phone, propped up in the windowsill, to turn the volume down a few notches.
There’s an easel up against the far wall holding what must be his current project, a half-finished scene that you realize upon closer inspection is thousands of tiny dots of color, painstakingly blotted onto the canvas to form a mountain landscape at a distance. A few more pieces that he’s already completed have been leaned up against another wall to dry, one featuring an abstract array of featherlight brushstrokes, and another where the paint’s been globbed on in thick layers.
Namjoon is talking a mile a minute as you inspect the canvases. “I thought maybe I’d do cyanotypes today, but it’s not sunny enough, and I’ve made that mistake before. I’m really into texture right now, so I’m trying out some different techniques with paint. I want to get better at pointillism, but it’s a lot harder than you’d think it would be. ‘Cause it’s just dots, right? But you have to be able to see the forest for the trees, too.”
“These are amazing,” you finally manage to murmur, and to your surprise, the compliment actually renders him silent. When you turn back over your shoulder to look at him, he’s glancing down, almost like he’s embarrassed.
“Thanks. But I just do it for fun. ‘Cause I love art.”
“I can tell,” you say, and when he looks up, you offer him a smile you hope reads as encouraging. “Did you make the art at work, too?”
He nods, still sheepish, and that answer also surprises you. You recall thinking on your first day that the paintings hung on the walls looked handmade, but it never crossed your mind that they might have been made by Namjoon’s hands. Maybe because you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him drop and break things, you haven’t ever considered him as also capable of… creation.
And yet, here he is. Proving you wrong.
“Sorry,” Namjoon’s voice makes you refocus on him, and your brow furrows in confusion at the unexpected apology. “This is literally your one day away from me and here I am, taking up your time. Thanks again for bringing Moni back.”
“It’s okay.” You shrug. “Don’t have much going on today, honestly. I never really know what to do with myself when I’m not working. Which I’m aware is very sad.”
“Well, uh,” Namjoon starts, and when he takes a single step closer, you swear you feel something flutter in your stomach— or maybe lower. “Sol’s got a half-day today, since it’s the last day before break, so I’m picking them up in a bit. And we were gonna go on a hike, probably take Moni too. You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?”
Your eyes widen at the invitation. “Oh. That sounds great. I mean, if you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”
He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up just so. “Nah. I actually think Sol really likes you. At least, they wouldn’t stop asking questions about you at dinner last night.”
“Is that right?” You do your best to keep your expression neutral.
Namjoon drives far enough north that there’s actually snow on the ground when you climb out of his front seat. You shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you follow him across the gravel parking lot towards the trailhead, a few paces behind Sol and Moni.
Sol shoots an expression of pure mischief at you over their shoulder, and then immediately starts to sprint up the marked path through the woods, Moni easily keeping up.
“Bye, nerds!” you hear them call before they disappear between the trees.
“Stay on the trail!” Namjoon shouts back, sounding as dad-like as you’ve ever heard him, and you can’t help but laugh. The two of you quicken your steps slightly to not fall too far behind, tracking the set of boot and paw-prints they’ve left to mark their trail.
For a moment, it’s silent between you, save the crunching of snow underfoot. It’s nice, being out in nature like this, time spent with Namjoon where you aren’t suffering through Christmas music and ungrateful customers. Where you can just… breathe. It makes you feel a little less sorry for yourself, a little less fixated on your own miserable life.
You glance over at him as that strange seasonal melancholy starts to settle into your bones again. “Are the holidays… better? With a kid?”
Namjoon makes a face, like he’s surprised by the question. “I mean, they’re definitely different. Then again, it’s been a long time since I did the holidays without a kid— not since I was a kid myself. What do you mean by better?”
Self-consciousness washes over you, your gaze drifting down to the path beneath your feet. “I don’t know, there’s just… I can’t shake this weird feeling now that I’m back home. This time of year used to be so exciting for me when I was Sol’s age. Everything felt special. Magical. But now I’m back here, and nothing’s really changed, except me. But I just keep feeling like the magic is gone. It’s… sad.”
He nods, taking a moment before he responds, and he’s chuckling softly to himself when he finally does. “You know, it’s kinda funny. When Sol was younger I actually felt a lot of stress this time of year. I couldn’t really enjoy it, because I was too busy trying to make sure that they had the best holiday I could possibly give them. That they didn’t feel like they were getting any less, since, you know. Their mom and I aren’t together. It’s funny that you bring up the magic, because I put a lot of pressure on myself to make that magic happen. But now that they’re a little older, I don’t know, it’s different.”
“Different how?” you prompt.
A dimple deepens as he hesitates. “It’s gonna sound corny. But really, I realized that the holidays aren’t about the gifts, or the decorations, or every little thing going perfect. You can make yourself sick over that shit, and I did, but kids don’t really care about it.” He pauses, and for a second you think that might be it, but then he keeps going, eyes fixed on the towering pine trees ahead of you.
“The year I opened Indigo, I had sank so much fucking money into it that I was broke. Broke broke. I couldn’t afford a single gift, a tree, not even a turkey. Sol and I sat on the floor of my shitty apartment and ate Chapagetti and watched Friends. And I felt like the biggest fucking failure imaginable. And then you know what happened?”
“What?”
“Sol turned to me, and they said, ‘This is the best Christmas ever, because we get to hang out, just the two of us.’” He blinks a few times, like he’s trying to ward off tears, and his voice comes back slightly less steady than before. “I still don’t know if they said that because they really meant it, or if they could just tell that I needed to hear it. But either way, I thought to myself: how fucking lucky am I, to have such a great kid? Like what did I ever do to deserve them? I still feel that way.”
Namjoon shrugs, as if to shake off the emotion. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not helpful to you, but. I just see it differently now. It’s not about the what, or the how. It’s about the who. Spending this time of year with the people you care about, and making sure they know you do. That’s the real magic.”
You realize the trail has carried you up the sloping hillside, and is now flattening out at the edge of a clearing, where you can see Moni chasing Sol through the snow, can hear their high-pitched laughter ringing out in the wide-open air.
When you turn back to Namjoon, he’s already looking at you.
“I’m sorry you don’t feel the magic right now. I didn’t either, for a long time. But it does come back, I believe that. It’ll come back for you, too.”
You blink up at him, overwhelmed by his willingness to be so honest, and by the wisdom of his words. “I— thank you,” you finally manage to say.
Namjoon doesn’t answer, just glances up to where Sol and Moni are still playing, and your gaze follows his out over the snow-covered field. Sol is dusting off a sizable stick, and they call out for Moni to fetch before launching it into a dramatic arc, high up in the air.
Moni watches it go, entirely disinterested, then settles onto his haunches in the snow with a yawn.
“You’re so bad at being a dog!” Sol shouts, and that’s enough to make you and Namjoon both dissolve into laughter. They look up at the sound, hands-on-hips, before yelling again, this time in your direction. “My dad said he has a crush on you!”
Your jaw drops open, and Namjoon’s eyes are wide as you’ve ever seen them when you look up at him.
“Damn, dude, you said you were gonna be chill about it!” he exclaims, and you press a hand to your mouth as a fresh wave of giggles overtakes you. Given how long Namjoon’s legs are, it only takes him a few strides to catch up to Sol. You stay a tentative distance behind him, but still close enough to be able to make out their conversation.
“Uncle Hobi says you need to be bolder with women,” Sol chides, matter-of-fact.
“Uncle Hobi says a lot of shit,” Namjoon mutters under his breath.
“He painted my nails,” Sol raises their voice, clearly talking more to you than to their dad, and holds up a hand for you to see, waggling their fingers proudly.
“They look great,” you call out in response.
Namjoon turns back to you as you step in closer, then juts his chin to a bench at the other side of the clearing. “Sit with me for a sec?”
With a nod, you follow him over, and he wipes the metal surface free of snow with his sleeve before gesturing for you to have a seat. For a moment, the two of you sit silently and watch Sol, who is already busying themself with building a snowperson while Moni slow-blinks encouragingly from a distance.
Namjoon’s words chase a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna be real with you, despite the fact that my child just stole my thunder. I like you a lot.”
Your heart swells in your chest, threatening to burst. “I-I like you too,” you stammer back immediately. “Have definitely been harboring my own crush… basically since I started working at Indigo.”
When you turn to look at him, it surprises you a little that he isn’t smiling. You can see a muscle working in his jaw, like he’s nervous.
“That’s the thing,” he finally relents. “Work. I don’t— I hadn’t really planned to tell you how I was feeling, or act on it. Because I’m your boss, and that means, you know. There’s a power dynamic there. And it would be… unethical of me to blur the lines like that, by getting involved with my employee. I wanted you to come out with us today because it was a chance for you and I to be equals, outside of work, but it’s not like that dynamic just goes away, you know? And I feel a little guilty about it now. Because I really like being around you so much, but I just. We can’t. It wouldn’t be right. Not while you’re working for me.”
You stare down at the snow under your boots as you take in his words, and you can’t help it. Try as you might to sit there and take his worries seriously, laughter flutters out of you before you can hold it in.
“What?” Namjoon asks, and you shake your head, trying to compose yourself.
“I really, really appreciate that you gave it so much thought,” you say, willing your voice to stay even. “I mean it.”
“It’s weighed really heavy on me, if I’m honest,” he says solemnly, and you glance over to see him staring into the middle distance, like he’s deep in contemplation.
Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching out to where his hand rests on the bench between you and covering it with your own.
“Namjoon?” you ask softly, and it seems to snap him out of his trance enough to look back at you.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” you preface. “But if I have to choose between you and my stupid seasonal coffee shop job?” The smile starts to flicker over your face again. “Then I quit. I quit right now.”
“Oh thank god,” Namjoon breathes, and you can only make a soft noise of surprise when all at once, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. You need a split second for the shock to wear off, and then you’re moving your mouth against his, one hand fisting tight in the fabric of his jacket. His lips are full and warm, and it feels like far too soon that he’s pulling back again, his cheeks flushed with color.
“Will you, uh—” he pauses, like he’s remembering how to form a sentence. “Will you still work tomorrow though? Jimin’s back after Christmas, but I really don’t think I can survive a shift on my own.”
“Yeah,” you murmur, still a little breathless from his kiss. “Yeah, I think you’d burn the place down.”
Unable to deny the claim, he laughs brightly as you untangle from each other, then gets to his feet before offering a hand to help you up. “We should head out, it’s gonna get dark soon.”
It’s true: across the wide clearing you can already see the sun threatening to sink back down between the trees, casting a golden-pink light that gleams off the snow and paints the world in warmth.
Sol leads the way back through the woods to the car, tugging Moni along by their leash, while you and Namjoon bring up the rear. You glance over at him a few times to catch him staring, and you scrape your teeth across your bottom lip, unable to keep the smile off your face, unable to stop yourself from mentally replaying the moment when he kissed you, over and over.
Just as you step under the shadow of a large tree, snow-covered branches stretching up toward the clear sky above you, Namjoon stops in the path. It’s so abrupt that you continue a few more paces before you even realize, and then you stop, too, glancing back towards him.
“Hey Sol,” Namjoon calls. “Think you and Moni can make it all the way back to the car in ten seconds?”
“I know what you’re doing,” comes Sol’s cheeky reply, but when Namjoon starts counting backwards from ten, you can hear the crunch of their boots taking off down the path.
“Eight, seven, six…” You watch as Namjoon cranes his neck until he deems Sol far enough out of sight, taking a step toward you as his counting trails off, and you find yourself pulled into him like a magnet. “Come here,” he murmurs, and then his hands are slipping up your waist and guiding you backwards until your back hits the trunk of the tree.
In true Namjoon fashion, he uses way more strength than is necessary for the task, and though your winter jacket cushions you from the impact, you’re smacked against the bark so hard that it knocks a dusting of snow off the branches above you, covering you both in flakes that stick to your hair and eyelashes. The sudden rush of cold makes you gasp into Namjoon’s mouth, but then he’s rolling his tongue over yours and you can’t think about anything else. A heavy pulse has started to thud between your legs at the heat of his breath in your mouth, the way his hips have you pinned to the tree, his body big enough to cover yours entirely.
“Joon,” you find the air to breathe as his lips trail hungrily down the slope of your neck. You rake a hand through his hair, white-blonde strands studded with snow, to try and pull his attention back, despite very much not wanting him to stop. “Joon, we should go. Before someone steals your kid.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs against your skin, and then his mouth is on yours again for one more kiss, like he can’t get enough. “Okay,” he finally grunts as he pulls away, sounding as begrudgingly responsible as you feel. Your head is still spinning; you want nothing more than to stay here and let him kiss you dizzy.
“Let’s go.”
He takes a step back so you can right yourself, reaching out to dust some snow off your jacket, and then the two of you resume walking up the path, sharing a breathless laugh like confidantes. You assume it’s just his standard clumsiness when Namjoon’s hand knocks into yours, but then his fingers are twining through yours purposefully, until you’re pressed palm to palm.
The rush of heat that blooms in your chest at his touch keeps you warm the rest of the way to the car.
Your last shift at Indigo somehow manages to feel exactly like every shift that’s come before it and completely new at the same time.
The work is the same, the steady stream of customers unchanged, the Christmas music still an aggravating soundtrack. But you no longer feel like you have to ignore the butterflies that flutter in your stomach when Namjoon asks you a question, or meets your gaze across the shop.
The only urges you have to suppress are indecent ones, made worse by Namjoon seemingly taking advantage of every opportunity to touch you: hip-checking you when you’re both standing at the front counter, pressing a hand to the small of your back whenever he has to squeeze behind you, leaning in a little closer than necessary to be heard over the noise of the milk steamer. It’s enough to make your breath hitch each time, and you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same relief at not having to hold back anymore.
Towards the end of the night, it surprises you when the typically consistent flow of customers starts to slow down, until it seems to have ceased entirely. You still have two hours to go, but you find yourself staring at the walls, every table empty, having done all the side work you can think of to distract yourself from boredom.
The sound of the front door’s lock clicking shut makes you glance up, only to see Namjoon flipping the open sign over.
“What are you doing?” you ask, blinking dumbfounded, and he looks over his shoulder at you with a shrug.
“It’s Christmas Eve Eve, and I’m the owner, so. We’re closing early. Effective immediately.” The decree makes you laugh a little, and his dimples wink back. “Let’s finish cleaning, I wanna show you something.”
In record time, you find yourself standing outside the front door of Indigo as Namjoon locks up, only tonight your hands are kept warm by the hot chocolates he’d made for the two of you as you closed. He takes his cup back once his hands are free, and you try a tentative sip from yours, now cool enough to drink without burning your mouth. Given what you witnessed of his barista abilities on your first day, you brace yourself for the worst, but your eyes widen in pleasant surprise when the liquid hits your tongue.
“Being a dad means getting really good at a few specific things,” he says by way of explanation as he unlocks his car doors, and you smile as you slip into the passenger seat.
It occurs to you as Namjoon starts to drive that you don’t actually know where he’s taking you, but when you open your mouth to ask at the next red light, he leans over you to fumble open the glovebox and you lose your train of thought. He fishes inside for a few seconds before retrieving a CD case, then makes quick work of prying it open and sliding the disc into the slot on the dash. You attempt to hide your giggle behind the rim of your cup.
“No wonder you like ‘90s music so much. You’re still living there,” you say, nodding to his antiquated stereo, and he smirks as he turns up the volume.
“This is A Tribe Called Quest,” he remarks, quirking an eyebrow when he looks back at you. “You better show some respect.”
“Yes, sir,” you tease in response, and you don’t miss the color that flushes his cheeks.
The light turns green and he accelerates through the intersection, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching across the center console to grip playfully at your leg, a few inches above your knee. You can see his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, like he’s considering saying something, but when he finally opens his mouth, it’s just to rap along to the music.
It’s only a few songs later that he’s turning off the main road and following a barely-lit gravel path up to a large grassy parking lot, where he pulls into a space and kills the engine. You squint through the windshield, tucking your now-empty drink into the cupholder, but you can’t make out much except dusk and some vague lights over a hill in the distance.
“Was this crush thing just a ploy to murder me?” you quip, and Namjoon looks a little nervous when you glance over, like he took the question to heart. “I’m kidding,” you clarify quickly.
His voice comes out surprisingly soft. “This is one of my favorite things to do during the holidays. Thought it might help with, you know. The magic.”
Something cracks open inside you as you look back at him. “That’s… really sweet.”
“Ah,” he says, as if to dismiss the compliment. “You haven’t seen it yet. Maybe you’ll hate it. Come on.”
The two of you climb out of his car to start your trek to whatever he has in store, heading in the direction of the lights, and Namjoon’s hand slips into yours, like it’s already second nature. Easy and sweet. You grip tight to him, the night air colder now than it was when you left work, but then you finally crest over the hill, and the temperature is suddenly the furthest thing from your mind.
It takes you a moment to even understand what you’re looking at. The place is clearly some kind of arboretum, as the path ahead of you snakes through a perfectly manicured garden of various plants, but the only thing you can focus on are the lights. Every tree, bush, shrub, and other kind of greenery that lines the walkway has been intricately strung up with lights, each one boasting a different hue. The end result is nothing short of dazzling— a veritable rainbow of light and life and color, glittering diamond-bright against the deep-set night around you.
“Namjoon,” you breathe. “This is beautiful.”
There’s a dimple flickering at the corner of his mouth when you look up at him. “Thought you might like it.”
“I can’t believe I never knew this was here,” you remark, your eyes wide and blinking as you try to take it all in.
“Hey,” he answers with a shrug. “Maybe your hometown still has a few good surprises left in it.” You exhale a laugh as you lean into his side and he squeezes your joined hands; you can’t help feeling like you’ve already found the greatest surprise of them all.
After an hour spent wandering through the displays, each one more breathtaking than the last, Namjoon diverts you toward a small food stand. He comes away from the counter with a paper carton filled to the brim with long ropes of twisted, fried dough, warm enough to release steam into the air when you tear one apart to share, and dusted with cinnamon sugar that sticks to your fingertips.
The two of you take a few steps back down the path until you’re under an archway of glowing golden lights, then eventually come to a standstill, too hungry to do anything except devour your food.
Namjoon speaks first, mid-chew. “Can I ask you a question?”
“What’s up?” you answer as you reach for another piece.
He swallows, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth before he continues. “At your interview, you said your life fell apart. What happened?”
“Oh.” You smirk as you rip the braided dough in two, then in two again, before popping it into your mouth. “It seems a little silly now, but. I got fired from that last job, like I told you. And the same day, my roommate pretty much kicked me out of the apartment, because he wanted his boyfriend to move in. He was also my best friend, so. It stung a little. A lot. Moving back in with your parents at this age is humbling, to say the least. Feels a lot like starting over.”
Namjoon hums, like he understands. “I’m sorry about your friend.”
“Eh,” you respond noncommittally. “I should probably be happy for him. The timing just… wasn’t amazing.”
“You know,” he murmurs, thoughtful. “I thought my life was over when my ex and I got pregnant. Not even eighteen and about to be a dad. I really felt like… I don’t know, like that was it for me.” You nod slowly, unable to even fathom what that must’ve been like.
“But, here I am. Still alive.” Namjoon flashes you a grin, and you find yourself smiling back. “Still figuring it out. I actually feel like I’ve learned a lot from watching Sol grow up. They’re like—” He shakes his head, as if at a momentary loss for words. “They’re like a different person every month, I swear. What they’re into, how they dress. Who they wanna be. It makes me feel, I don’t know. Like it’s okay. Like I can change too.” He shrugs. “That’s the thing about life. It’s long. And even when you feel like it’s ended… it keeps going anyway.”
His words wash over you, and you’re so in awe that you can’t help but laugh.
“Ah, sorry.” He grimaces, suddenly self-conscious. “I know that was corny.”
“No, no,” you interject, trying to keep your composure. “I just think you are like, literally the wisest person I’ve ever met.”
The lights glimmering overhead aren’t enough to hide the way Namjoon blushes at the compliment, and then he pauses, as if recalling something. “Didn’t I nearly run the blender with the lid off on your first day?”
You double-over at the memory, and he’s laughing now, too. “Okay, okay. Fair point.”
The thought keeps circling around in your brain as you dust cinnamon sugar from each other’s jackets and continue your way around the rest of the gardens, occasionally pausing to trade sticky-sweet kisses in the twinkling glow: you don’t want the night to end. You keep glancing over at Namjoon, wondering if he’s feeling the same way as he drives you back into town, the heat in his car on full blast, the CD player still underscoring your conversation.
“So, what do your Christmas plans look like?” he asks, eyes flitting briefly from the road to meet your gaze.
You fiddle with a button on your coat, wishing you had a less depressing answer. “I was just gonna spend it by myself. My parents already had a vacation in Hawaii planned, so I’m gonna do what I always do: hole up with booze and snacks and wait for it all to be over.”
He chuckles, tapping his fingertips absentmindedly against the steering wheel. “Well, I have about a hundred presents to wrap tomorrow night while Sol’s at their mom’s. Why don’t you come over and help? I can even provide the booze.” There’s a pause, and his voice comes back softer before you can respond. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
The corner of your mouth tugs up at his sincerity, the way he gently cares for you, has since day one. “Yeah, okay. I mean, you had me at free alcohol.”
Just like that, Namjoon is already turning back into the Indigo parking lot, where your car sits waiting for you. The two of you shrug off your seatbelts once he’s pulled into a space and parked, and he reaches to turn down the music before shifting in his seat to get a better look at you.
“So,” he starts, clearing his throat a little. “You are officially no longer my employee.”
“And you are no longer my boss,” you answer back, and a thrill buzzes in your chest at the statement.
“Which means,” he continues, doing his best to lean over the center console, “I can do this.” He barely finishes getting the words out before his mouth is on yours, your eyes fluttering closed, his kisses far less chaste than the ones you shared earlier. They’re open-mouthed and urgent this time, with Namjoon slipping his tongue into the heat of your mouth like he’s been waiting all night for it.
“Uh-huh,” you murmur between kisses, and then he dips his head lower, until his lips find the join of your neck and shoulder.
“And this,” he purrs before kissing you just as hungrily there, tongue-first. You can’t hold back the soft noise his mouth pulls out of you.
“Fuck,” you breathe as he sucks gently over the same spot, with just enough pressure to make you writhe in your seat. A shiver rolls up your spine when he hums against your skin, clearly pleased at your reaction.
“And, uh…” You slowly blink your eyes open when you feel the warmth of his breath dissipate, and he’s looking at you with his brow furrowed, as if attempting some difficult mental math. “Actually—” He reaches down for the lever to adjust his seat, and it drops all the way back with a graceless thud that makes a laugh flutter out of you. “Maybe you could take your jacket off and come over here?”
You don’t need him to ask you twice, and you’re moving quickly as you peel out of the thick material and scramble across the console to straddle him. You both groan a little when you duck down to press your mouth to his again, all of this suddenly feeling much more real now that you’re basically horizontal. His hands alight on your hips, tentative, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with them, and you smile against his lips.
“Touch me, Joon,” you instruct, and he does as he’s told.
His hands are warm as he slips them beneath the hem of your shirt, trailing over your skin until he reaches the band of your bra. When you hum encouragingly into his mouth, he keeps going, pushing the fabric up your chest so your tits spill free from their confinement. He cups one in each hand, and though you might’ve expected him to be clumsy or rough, given everything you’ve seen of him thus far, you’re surprised to instead find that he’s gentle, thumbs circling your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to tighten them into stiff peaks.
Unable to bite back your whimper at the heat that blossoms through you at his touch, at how much more of him you need, you pull away just enough to break your kiss, glancing up through the back window of his car to confirm the parking lot is still empty.
Namjoon groans low in his throat when you reach down to tug up the hem of your shirt, shifting a little on top of him to give him better access. He doesn’t hesitate, thumb still working at one nipple while he takes the other into his mouth, and your sigh of relief comes edged with a soft moan when he swirls his tongue over the bud of your breast.
“Shit,” you gasp. “Feels so fucking good.”
He pulls off with a wet pop to switch sides, and the slick heat of his mouth sends bolt after bolt of arousal through you until there’s a dull ache of need thudding between your legs. As you roll your hips in desperate search of friction, you can feel him beneath you, straining hard against the fabric of his jeans.
Namjoon pulls his mouth off your breast, letting out a hoarse laugh when you shift to drop your forehead against his collarbone with a groan, horny enough to practically be delirious. “I hate that I’m even saying this,” he rasps, “but I really can’t have sex in a car. I’m too—”
“Big?” you offer, and there’s a smile on his lips as he presses a kiss to your temple.
“I was going to say old.”
You can’t help giggling as you lean up to find his mouth with yours again. Namjoon kisses you a little while longer, lazily, his hands still kneading gently at your tits, until he finally tips his head back, heaving a sigh up to the roof of his car. “Okay, okay. You should go.” His tone is reluctant, like it’s the last thing he wants. “It’s late. And my jeans fucking hurt.”
There’s a self-satisfied smirk toying at your mouth as you sit up, tugging your bra and shirt back into place and not missing the bulge in Namjoon’s pants where your hips meet his. “I will take the blame for that one.”
He folds his hands behind his head, biceps and dimples on full display. “Damn straight.”
You lean down for one more kiss, letting it linger before you make your way back over the center console to retrieve your jacket. “Have a good night, Joon,” you murmur as you reach for the door handle, and when you glance back, his eyes are fixed on you, still heavy-lidded with lust.
“Get home safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I have booze, as promised.” Namjoon’s voice echoes in from the kitchen as you kick off your boots and hang your coat up at his front door come Christmas Eve. The aroma hits your nose as your socked feet pad down the hall to follow him: the spice of cinnamon and clove, paired with a hint of citrus. It smells like the holidays, like home.
“Mulled wine?” you wager a guess, and he nods, turning away from the stove to retrieve two mugs from a cabinet.
“I halved the recipe, since it’s just us,” he explains, mouth pulling down at the corners as he starts to ladle out servings from the pot full of deep red liquid. “Still made a lot, though.”
Your eyes drift across the kitchen until they land on the two empty bottles of red sitting next to the sink, and that makes you pause for a moment to consider. “So the original recipe called for four bottles?”
Namjoon’s brow is furrowed when he glances up, and then he follows your gaze, and a look of delayed understanding washes over him. “Oh, fuck.”
Your elbows dig into the kitchen island as you press your hands to your mouth, as if to physically hold in your laughter. “Did you… halve everything in the recipe except the wine?”
His eyes drop closed as he nods, his answer a resigned sigh. “Yeah. Yes, I did.”
You can’t help yourself: all at once, you’re circling around to join Namjoon behind the stove, so you can take his face in your hands and pull his mouth down to yours. He makes a soft noise of surprise, but then his lips fall into rhythm, kissing you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs. Even through the fabric of your shirt, his large hands are warm when they slide over the small of your back, and then they keep going, until you finally break the kiss with another laugh when he reaches his final target and outright grabs your ass.
“Not the reaction I anticipated,” Namjoon admits, paired with a teasing squeeze. “But I’ll take it.”
You look up at him through your lashes, pressing your palms flat to the firm plane of his chest. “A very wise friend of mine once told me that the holidays aren’t about every little thing going perfect. I thought maybe you needed a reminder.”
His dimples deepen as his eyes search yours, and his voice is lower in his throat when he responds. “I think that fool was just sayin’ words because a pretty girl asked him a question.”
Heat flushes your face as you smile back. “Well, they were very good words.” You drop your gaze to the pot on the stove. “Come on, I bet we can salvage this.”
Determined to save Christmas, you throw in another handful of spices, chased with a few glugs from a bottle of orange juice Namjoon heroically digs out of the back of the fridge. After a few more minutes of simmering, you take a tentative sip of the mixture to find it perfectly adequate.
“I guess we just have to drink twice as much now,” Namjoon quips, filling up two fresh mugs with the remedied wine. You raise an eyebrow back at him, as if to accept the challenge, while you tap your drinks together in a cheers.
By the time you realize that a double-batch of mulled wine and gift-wrapping don’t exactly go together, it’s already too late. The booze makes Namjoon’s big hands go even clumsier, the few presents he attempts an absolute disaster, and you can’t stop laughing long enough to be of any help. At one point he reaches up to cup your jaw for a kiss, but completely misjudges the distance, deftly knocking into his half-drunk mug and spilling the contents all over a tube of wrapping paper and the crotch of your jeans.
You dissolve into giggles until you can scarcely breathe, scooting your chair a few inches back from the table as he jumps up to grab something to soak up the mess. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you manage to gasp when he returns, immediately focused on cleaning you up first. You wave him away as you get to your feet. “Seriously, it’s not that bad, it’s mostly the table.”
“Jesus,” Namjoon groans as he drops the kitchen towels in his hands onto the wooden surface, doing his best to soak up the puddle, though there’s no saving the ruined gift-wrap.
“It’s not a big deal,” you murmur as he turns back, once again examining the extent of the damage done to your clothes. A shiver rolls through you as his thumb brushes over the waistband of your jeans, and he grimaces a little.
“This is probably gonna stain.”
“I mean…” Your pulse starts to quicken as his fingertips linger where they are, and Namjoon’s gaze flits up to meet yours when you speak, clearly hearing a shift in your tone of voice. “I could just… take them off.”
A smile teases at the corner of your mouth when his eyes widen. “Yeah,” he breathes, then seems to self-correct. “I mean, uh. If-if that’s something you would feel comfortable doing.”
You’re already reaching to undo the button, and then Namjoon takes over to tug open the zipper and push the fabric down your legs, and your nipples tighten beneath your bra at the reminder of how gentle his large hands can be. His lips find yours again and you don’t hesitate to lick into his mouth, jostling slightly as you try to make out with him and kick your pants the rest of the way off at the same time. It’s graceless, but you manage to make it work, and then he pulls away from you to glance back down.
“It looks like a little got on your shirt, too.”
He’s right, you realize: there are faint purple marks splattered just above the hem of your long-sleeve, and you smirk as you look up at him.
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you did this on purpose,” you tease, and then in one swift move you pull your shirt over your head, letting it drop to the kitchen floor next to your discarded jeans.
Namjoon’s hands are instantly on your bare skin, trailing heat as they trace the curve from your hip to your waist, and your breath hitches as he ducks down to brush his lips over your collarbone. The low tone of his voice reverberates through you when he speaks against your skin. “I like to think I could’ve gotten you naked tonight even without being an accident-prone idiot.”
You run a hand along the line of his jaw, tipping his head up to seek a kiss, before leaning back to murmur, “I guess we’ll never know.”
He kisses you again, and the two of you stumble across the threshold into the living room, pausing along the way to peel off his sweater and then his jeans, laughing into each other’s mouths, just drunk enough to lack any semblance of coordination you might have otherwise had.
When you drop down to lay back on his sofa, you’re both stripped to your underwear, and you can feel the thick bulge of him, pressing firm-heavy heat into your thigh as he settles his hips between your spread legs.
Namjoon’s eyes roam over your body beneath him, and then he’s tugging the lace of your panties to the side to slip a finger into your drenched center, beckoning it up to rub you just right. Your mouth drops open as he traces slow circles against your front wall, and when he adds a second digit, you can’t help but whimper softly at the stretch. It thrums through you like your lingering red wine buzz, hot and thick and good enough to get lost in, your head dropping back on the couch cushions as your hips rock up into his touch.
“Goddamn,” Namjoon groans, and your eyes flutter open again to take him in, his gaze heavy-lidded as he watches his fingers disappear up into you, coaxing slick sounds out with each pump of his hand. “I had a whole plan,” he rasps. “To take my time. But, fuck, I really want to fuck you.”
“It’s okay, Joon,” you breathe, not sure how much longer you could stand the torturous feeling of his clothed cock grinding into your thigh, so close to where you want him. An ache throbs in your cunt, needy, plugged up with two fingers but still begging for more. “Just fuck me.”
Realization flashes over his face, and then he suddenly heaves a sigh, looking defeated. You have to bite back a noise at the loss as he withdraws his fingers. “I— there’s an obvious joke here, but. I don’t have any condoms. Or if I do, they’re definitely expired.”
It takes you a second to process the revelation, and then you reach up to pull him down to you, smiling when he hums surprise into your mouth at the unexpected response. Your lips linger on his, and then you tip your head to press a kiss to the slope of his neck, not quite able to maintain eye contact as you murmur, “I mean. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean. So.”
“Yeah?” he replies, and your nose bumps against his shoulder as you nod. “Me too. Well, I-I’m clean, I mean. I’m not on the pill.”
You can’t help the giggle that slips out as you look up at him. “Right, no, I get it.”
“Sorry,” Namjoon huffs a laugh in return, his face flushing a little. “I talk a lot, when I’m nervous.”
“I just thought it was an all-the-time thing,” you admit, and the color in his cheeks deepens.
“I’m just always nervous around you.”
Your mouth seeks his out for a kiss sweeter than the last, slower for his shy honesty and the hummingbird thrum of your heartbeat behind your ribs. The heat of his breath ghosts over your lips when you tip back to answer, “You don’t have to be.”
“So, you’re okay?” he asks, almost reverent with his question. “If we—if I don’t—”
“Please,” you insist, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.
With remarkably little fumbling, he drags the lace of your panties down your legs, letting you kick them the rest of the way off while he moves up to unclasp your bra. You slip the straps off your shoulders and drop it over the edge of the couch, then watch as he shifts to strip out of his boxers, freeing his cock with enough force that it smacks against his abdomen with a hefty thud.
You swallow hard as you take him in: long and thick, flushed dark. Big, and fuck, you want all of him; you can feel how drenched you already are between your legs at the thought of all that cock filling you up.
When you tear your gaze away to meet his, Namjoon is staring at you just as hungrily, and he brings a hand to pump himself a few times, to coat his shaft in the wetness that’s started to drool from the head of his dick.
“Come here,” he grunts, his voice rough-edged, and you waste no time straddling yourself over his hips.
Given his considerable size, you figured it might take you a second to adjust, but you want him so bad, the feeling of his cock stretching you open is all white-hot pleasure. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders as you slowly lower yourself down on him, inch by overwhelming inch, until your ass is flush with thighs.
Namjoon’s head drops back against the couch as you slowly grind your hips into him, his hands gripping at your waist to guide the movement. You can’t help the soft sound that flutters out of you: he just looks so good like this, white-blonde hair swept off his forehead, beads of sweat trailing down his temples and glistening at his collarbones, his parted lips full and kiss-bitten.
“Baby,” he groans as you start to move a little more intentionally. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last long. Tell me what to do.”
“Touch me,” you breathe, and you close a hand over one of his, guiding him down to your clit.
Just like the night before in his car, his touch is so gentle when he begins to trace circles into the sensitive nub with his thumb. You can feel the slow-hum build of an orgasm in your core, drawn up by the steady rub of his hand, and you lean back to allow him better access, bracing yourself on his thighs as you rock along his length.
A moan rips through you as the new angle drags the head of his dick just right against your front wall, and it’s good enough to make your eyes roll back. Chasing the feeling, you shove your hips down harder, driving his cock into that spot over and over until your thighs have started to tremble.
“That’s it,” Namjoon grunts encouragingly, his voice husky. “Use me, baby. Look so good when you bounce on my cock like that.”
The words set every last one of your nerve endings alight, and you dig your nails into his skin as your spine arches from the pleasure. His thumb is still working steadily at your clit, and the heavy stretch of his cock has you so wet, you can feel arousal starting to leak down your thighs. Your pussy clings to him like a vice, a throbbing-tight heat, taking him to the hilt every time.
“Oh my god, Joon,” you groan, “I’m gonna come.”
His touch doesn’t let up, and you can feel yourself teetering right on the precipice of it, only able to manage little gasps as you drop yourself down onto his cock again and again and again, with enough force that there’s an audible sound of your skin slapping against his.
Your legs are outright shaking from the effort now, from how close you are, and then Namjoon ducks his head, using his free hand to guide your tit into his mouth. The swirl of his tongue laved across the tight bud of your nipple is just what you need to push you over the edge.
With a moan that’s more like a sob, you drop forward against Namjoon’s chest, sinking all the way down to bury him in your pulsing cunt as you come. He continues to rub you through the waves of your orgasm, breathing ragged in your ear while your pussy gushes around him, until you grab his wrist with a soft whimper of overstimulation, and he relents.
Too gone to get any words out, all you can do is take his face in your hands and kiss him. He rolls his tongue over yours, decadent, as his palms slip down to cup your ass. You groan a little into his mouth when he begins to shift you, your cunt still fluttering-sensitive at every little motion, but he manages to maneuver you onto your back while still keeping himself sheathed in you.
His hands move to your thighs, encouraging your legs to hook over his hips, and his mouth trails kisses down the valley between your breasts before he breathes against your skin, “Can I keep going?”
“Please,” you murmur, and it’s chased with a moan when he starts to rock his hips into you. You feel so full, so swollen from your climax that it’s like your walls were molded to take him, the crown of his cock stroking deep-deep over the place that lights you up inside, shooting sparks of pleasure all the way down to your toes.
Namjoon’s breath stutters on a laugh. “Shit, I’m already close.”
You tilt up to brush your lips against his, humming encouragingly into his mouth, and then he pulls back again, one dimple teasing at the corner of his smile. “God, I— wanna hear you say it.”
Somehow, you know exactly what he means. “Come in me, Joon,” you beg, fucked so good that you’re shameless for it, and you gasp when he bottoms out in you with his next thrust. “Fill me up. Fuck me full of your cum, baby, please.”
It’s like the words send him into overdrive, and he practically growls as he starts to fuck his cock into you forcefully, hard enough to make your tits bounce. Each snap of his hips punches a heady groan from your lungs, and you reach up to drag your nails across the skin of his back as he chases his own end.
“Gonna fucking— give it to you,” he hisses, rolling his hips one, two, three more times, and then you feel his cock twitching, shoved in as deep as you can take him. He heaves a final strangled groan as he comes, rope after rope of his release pumping into you to paint your walls, until you can feel it beginning to spill back down your thighs.
You kiss through the comedown, inhaling shaky breaths into each other’s mouths, your bodies still fitted together like puzzle pieces, sweat starting to cool in the places where skin is pressed to skin. Namjoon finally moves first, giving a grunt of effort as he rolls off the couch, and you throw an arm over your face while the world slowly settles into focus around you.
When he returns, it’s with a towel in hand, and you can’t help smiling as he cleans you up, trailing soft kisses along your collarbone in tandem.
His voice is soft, too, when he finally speaks. “Will you stay here tonight?”
You prop yourself up on your forearms to look at him, and a little glimmer of something lights up in your chest that you can’t ignore. The first spark of an ember, just enough to reignite a flame you’d long since believed to be entirely extinguished. But now he’s shown you: it doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to be alone.
“Of course. We still have presents to wrap,” you say simply, and he huffs a laugh as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.
“Joon?” you murmur into the crook of his neck, unable to keep your voice entirely steady.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” you breathe. “For the magic.”
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stray kids fic-mas: day 12
pairing: ot8 stray kids x gn!reader
genre: fluff, headcanon
summary: watching christmas movies with stray kids
length: 750
warnings: slight food mention, christmas mention, low key hallmark movie slander i am so sorry
a/n: this piece was requested by a lovely anon. watching christmas movies with skz sounds so so so so so so so fun, it would be a blast! thanks for cute idea, anon! we hope you enjoy!
ficmas 2022 masterlist
chan
he is just so happy that he gets to spend time with you that he’ll watch whatever you want. any time spent with you is time well spent, so he couldn’t care less what’s on the screen. he’s spending literally the entire time cuddling you while wrapped in the coziest, fuzzy blanket he can find. you spend half the movie saying he’s smothering you, but that's your problem because if you didn’t want to be suffocated by his love, then you shouldn’t have suggested watching a festive movie with your lovey dovey boyfriend.
minho
he has very strong opinions on whatever holiday movie you suggest and will probably argue about why literally any movie you bring up isn’t as good as elf. it is the best movie in his opinion and he will fight anyone (hyunjin) who disagrees. the only exception to this rule is if you say that nightmare before christmas is your favorite movie, in which case he will give you a pass (but you will still be forced to watch elf with him). every year he has an elf watch party with soonie, doongie, and dori and it takes years of fighting (and a bribe to bring elf hats for the cats) before he allows you to join.
changbin
he is a big fan of old timey christmas movies. but specifically the cartoon ones. he loves frosty the snowman and rudolph so so much. he literally has the entire soundtrack for both memorized and will be singing them nonstop for the entirety of the holiday season. he thinks a charlie brown christmas is the funniest movie ever because of the way the teacher talks. he also has a secret soft spot for nightmare before christmas (but don’t let minho know because it’s changbin’s guilty pleasure).
hyunjin
he refuses to watch anything but the classics. he’s exclusively watching films like holiday inn, miracle on 34th st, it’s a wonderful life, white christmas, etc. basically if it was made in this century, he doesn’t even acknowledge it as a movie, much less one that he would watch. it could literally be a holiday cinematic masterpiece, but if it doesn’t fall under the umbrella of what hyunjin considers to be a classic, then he won’t even consider watching it. (when hyunjin catches you watching hallmarks with felix it low key causes a fight.)
jisung
he absolutely loves the santa clause movies, but he basically only watches santa clause 3 because it’s the worst but he thinks its the best. no matter how many times you ask to watch something else, he always goes on and on about the santa clause until you eventually concede and watch some part (if not the entirety) of the trilogy. the best part of the holiday season this year for him was when he heard about the new disney+ santa clause show.
felix
he’s watching hallmark movies basically every single day of the holiday season. for some reason (that you will never understand), he somehow actually enjoys them and finds entertainment value in their cinematic choices. no matter how many times they repeat the same story with the same exact actors, he is always so endeared. even when you try to make fun of them, he always ends up finding a way to turn your insults into compliments. you still watch them with him, though, because you love how much he loves them.
seungmin
just like felix, he is also watching almost exclusively hallmark movies during the holidays. but not because he thinks they are good. it’s for quite the opposite reason. he loves making fun of every last little thing about the movies. like "wait, i thought this woman was a business woman not a starving artist?" or "when is the town christmas festival gonna go into ruin?" or "how will the marginally (not) attractive leads fix it?". you’ve never had more fun in your life than when you’re making fun of hallmark movies with seungmin.
jeongin
he loves absolutely everything about the holiday season, so when you mention movies, he is so down. he has already watched and will re-watch basically every christmas movie ever made. it is a whole event for him. he will have cocoa and cookies and themed snacks ready in less than fifteen minutes if you mention you want to watch movies with him. you will also never watch just one. the second the first one finishes, he already has a recommendation of what you should watch next.
#stray kids imagines#stray kids x reader#bang chan imagines#lee know imagines#changbin imagines#hyunjin imagines#han jisung imagines#felix imagines#seungmin imagines#jeongin imagines#stray kids#stray kids ficmas 2022#stray kids headcanons#headcanons#mine#soft stray kids hours#q: painting with hyunjin
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In every fandom there will be friend groups that form like I'll never deny that bc i love my friends but its not an exclusive club and smth so broad as "the ogies" literally means like. me, my faggots, bella and aya, ro at time, randoms ive never heard of, and two critblr blogs. Because ___-ogie is a fandom hallmark and i didnt invent it when i gave two friends urls they didnt even use for a full fucking week 😭 and my circle of friends is so much wider than even the ppl listed... ... ... cokcord not even Supreme Dtblr Authority we are just knockoff funnymen IM TIRED OF THE SLANDER
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I’m just saying being a bully over other people’s fandom opinions is a non-essential life activity.
He could, at any time, choose to stop, and then I would have no reason to continue discussing his actions or providing evidence for my claims
See how that works? You stop stalking people and I don’t have to point out that you’re a stalker. It is, shockingly, that easy.
I think he only continues to keep this up because a hallmark of bad people is that they think everyone else is just as bad as them. He assumes that, because he was willing to stalk and slander and harass, that we would be willing to do the same back.
You see how this created the self-fulfilling prophecy you’re now whining about? You continue stalking and harassing, which forces us to continue talking about your stalking and harassment. At no point in the past TWO FUCKING YEARS did you consider that, maybe, if you just acted like the adult you literally are then we would stop treating you like a toddler throwing a tantrum?
So the only thing I can assume is that you genuinely think that we’re lying about holding ourselves to a higher standard than you seem to hold yourself to, or you’re so desperate for attention that you don’t care as long as people keep talking about you. I mean I start talking about literally anything else on this blog and an anon oh so conveniently shows up to bring the conversation back to you.
Genuinely embarrassing. It’s not my problem that this is all you have to do. Arguing about Edelgard von Hresvelg may be your life, but it’s sure as shit not mine or anybody else’s.
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you didn't deny it 👀
Okay fun time is over. I do not ship that ship and there's a good reason why. CW for SA allegations and grooming under the cut.
Yes, I used to indulge in DNF the ship back when there was a flourishing fandom in 2019-21. I now despise those people, and I don't use that word lightly. They are groomers with SA accusations, some of which are public, and some of which I know through the grapevine of having been in a fandom space. They cultivate parasocial relationships in order to demand complete loyalty and compliance from their fans, I'm not joking when I say it's got all the hallmarks of a high control group. The man who was faceless for a long while is a complete narc, and is also mental with cease and desists, NDAs, and intimidating the many, many victims into saying nothing, and he's a white dude with a lot of power, so he can get away with most of it. Both of them KNOW their fanbase is queer teens and play into their "ship" aspect in order to open sexuality and later sexual conversations with these young impressionable fans.
I truly do not hate many people, but I hate them. They are vile people, which is why I encourage slander against them and anything and everything to do with them.
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look I’m not saying that it’s incorrect. but I’m saying that I’m seeing a lot of hallmark movie slander and I won’t stand for it
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LIMITING EXCESSIVE MANAGEMENT AND STUDENTS' / STAFF'S FAMILIARITY.
In our continued pursuits to maximise our individual marketing strategies and potentials for increased growth; and make impacts, impress, and galvanise staff loyalty, for assured quality services levels output, there are potential demerits to being too friendly and informal with school staff. No matter the subtle sentiments or emotional issues that will arise from, " ...their unalloyed supports (from the foundation level), many years of loyalty and service", hallmarked to selflessness and sacrifices, yes, there are potential demerits to being too friendly and informal with your school staff.
This writeup becomes imperative with the particular season of "End-session " we're going to. Most Proprietors or Management Boards ,can bear witness that it was a period as this, that staff and other ( or some) spineless and unprincipled parents got incited and poisoned in thoughts, with acute and emotional issues with propaganda of demeaning and slandering their employers, in order to bring down the school's corporate plans and identity.
Of a truth, it's usually,and the longest ever-serving employees/ staff ,whom one trusts without asking, that lead such intriguing and rebellious acts. So, let's all take cognisance on the most likely weak points that earn school's management/ ownership serious casualty annually.
Blurred boundaries: Overly friendly behaviour can blur the professional boundaries between students and staff, leading to a lack of respect and authority.
Inappropriate relationships: Excessive informality can potentially lead to inappropriate relationships or favouritism, creating an uneven playing field.
Distraction from academic focus: Excessive socializing can distract from academic priorities and create a lack of focus on learning.
Perception of lack of professionalism: Teachers and staff may be perceived as unprofessional or lacking authority if they are too friendly or informal.
Confusion about roles: Students may become confused about the roles and responsibilities of teachers and staff if they are too friendly or informal.
Difficulty in discipline: Excessive friendliness can make it challenging for staff to discipline or address misbehaviour.
Inequitable treatment: Overly friendly behaviour may lead to accusations off favouritism or unequal treatment among students.
Lack of authority: Excessive informality can erode the authority and respect that teachers and staff need to manage classroom effectively and support students.
It's essential to strike a balance between friendliness and professionalism to maintain a positive and productive learning environment. Just my opinion anyway, I'm not an authority, but I have been a victim. Your kind response is appreciated from me.
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south caydor, aireverie
richer than north caydor
a small civilisation
good education system,, they see everyone else as 'dumb' and 'barbaric'
general: denonym: susterien government type: aristocracy
districts: northern districts,, raypolis, tedero central districts,, pitch beacon, kynohtown southern districts,, olitinshire, good manor, dark plains
geography: small land the land is predominantly covered in fertile grassland, with plains to the west and barren wasteland to the south. the weather is usually cool and cloudy.
population: population: ~325 thousand (41% male, 59% female) population density: 113 people per sq mile (moderate) life expectancy: female = 85y, male = 70y average children per family: 2 population density: 40% urban, 37% suburban, 23% rural ethnic groups: 93% ancient settlers, 5% ..., 2% nomadic peoples languages: there is 1 official language religious beliefs: 97% major religion, 2% minor religion, 1% athiest
military: total military personnel: 70,900 (22% of population) active military: 24,500 (7.5% of population) maximum military manpower: 110,000 (38% of total population) they frequently threaten north caydor with violence. their military equipment is modern and well-maintained. they have mandatory military service for all men. women are not allowed to fight.
economy: unemployment rate: 5% of population poverty rate: 3% of population literacy rate: 100% of population resources: lumbar, fertile farmland, grazing livestock, machinery they are technologically advanced and connected to worldwide communication networks.
law: serious crimes, very illegal: - manslaughter, trespassing, indecent exposure, vandalism, slavery, arson, tax evasion, breaking curfew, fraud, treason, robbery illegal, but ignored: - torture neither legal nor illegal: - n/a frequently problematic, actively trying to stop: - being in debt, blackmail legal/legally protected: - n/a punishments for criminals include: - indentured servitude, assassination, public flogging, prison sentences up to 49 years, admission to mental facility
culture: south caydor is well known for its cusine, art style and building style. street food stalls are common in south caydor districts. they are known for their performing arts, especially dance and theatre. their music is very emotional. efficient space utilization is a hallmark of their cities and buildings. their people are often stereotyped as being problematic, and threatening.
taboos and social attitudes: socially accepted behaviours: - major social problems: - drug/alcohol possession major taboos: - witchcraft, suicide, adultery punishments for breaking major taboos include: - confiscation of wealth, admission to a mental facility, torture, slander minor taboos: - showing affection in public punishments for breaking minor taboos include: - minor confiscation of wealth, harassment, minor confiscation of preoperty
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since it has now been three whole weeks (yes that is right THREE) and i am still absolutely spoonless, heres an update:
aparently he still works as a used car salesman but at a Different dealership now (despite the fact that he says he doesnt? idk im just as lost as you are)
hes "changed a lot" false. lies. slander.
he has still not mailed my spoons because hes a "busy man" (seriously guys HOW HARD is it to go to a post office?????)
then he also tried to mail them on labor day aparently, entirely forgetting that it was a national holiday where the whole point is to Not Work and that Includes the Post Office
surprise surprise hes still not over the fact that i blocked him
so what to do in such a situation? well. i was ready to cut my losses and my spoons and move on with my life, but lovely and wonderful roommate katya was having none of it. so he took matters into his own hands and was far less nice than i had been.
some excerpts include:
"i cannot express to you how annoyed i am at reaching out having to reach out about this situation again."
"i am going to call you if you do not start responding and giving us bad hallmark lines instead of actually being honest."
"do i get the wonderful experience of getting a response back or am i just supposed to guess?"
"get it done and i won't have to reach out again."
"mailing a usps package is not a hard task"
"also, saph did not put me to this, before you bother her about it. this was my own choice because i want to see her happy."
he still claims he has the spoons and that he will send them. i grow doubtful. i miss my spoons.
pov your ex held your collection of thrifted spoons hostage for over a year (not entirely his fault, they got mixed up in his things during a move and you did not realize it, though he did adamantly deny that he had them) and reached out to your roommate on instagram nine months post break up after being thoroughly blocked for several months just to ask if you were still roommates and then to very cryptically reveal that he had in fact found the spoons (among other, mystery items that he did not reveal and you also have no idea what they are) in his car that he had not driven for a year cause he decided to make the worst financial decision of his life and buy a tesla and then tried to coordinate a meet up to drop off said spoons and mystery items which you did not want but you do want your spoons so you told him to either mail it or show up to your place of work when you were not scheduled only for him to entirely miss the point and still try to see you, then you reveal that you do not want to see him so he finally says that he will put on his big boy pants and mail it (though him actually mailing it is entirely unlikely) and also aparently hes gotten a perm since the last time you saw him and it looks terrible
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"Meditation on the Saints." From the Chandogya Upanishad, the Exploration of the Mysteries of the Priesthood.
Chapter VI − Meditation as Brahman "Indivisible Light."
Brahman is not the Holy Spirit Himself, it is the Light God created In the Beginning. All Serves the Grace of God beginning with the Light. To meditate upon and within the Light is to serve God never before:
1 "Meditation (Dhyana) is, verily, greater than consideration. Earth meditates, as it were. The mid−region meditates, as it were. Heaven meditates, as it were. The waters meditate, as it were. The mountains meditate, as it were. The gods meditate, as it were. Men meditate, as it were.
Therefore he who, among men, attains greatness here on earth seems to have obtained a share of meditation. Thus while small people are quarrelsome, abusive and slandering, great men appear to have obtained a share of meditation. Meditate on meditation.
2 "He who meditates on meditation as Brahman, can, of his own free will, reach as far as meditation reaches−he who meditates on meditation as Brahman."
Narada said: "Venerable Sir, is there anything greater than meditation?" "Of course there is something greater than meditation."
"Please tell that to me, venerable Sir."
Everything meditates. Every living thing and object has a way of existing that depends on where it directs its extant consciousness. A rock meditates on sitting there, being a rock.
A bird meditates on flying and takes to the air. All behaviors are a result of the actions one meditates upon.
Politicians like the Republicans meditate on oppression, revenge, lies, prostitution, drugs and money when they should be meditating on the efficacy of their policy work on the upkeep of society.
Certain religious people meditate on how to alienate and trouble others about every little thing. These inconsiderate meditations work for them they do not however serve the Light. Their actions and thoughts, all of their uses of their embodiments illuminate the evil men do. And just look at all of it yourselves. Look at what you let them accomplish. It has to change, it has to stop. For this we call upon the willpower of the saint.
https://www.law.cornell.edu/uscode/text/52/20511
The saint, unlike the diabolic, meditates on the Origin of Life, its behaviors and comes to understand how life itself meditates, what direction it tries to take and how each plays a role in its deference to God.
To meditate on this alongside nature is a hallmark of great understanding.
Chapter VII − Understanding as Brahman
1 "Understanding is, verily, greater than meditation.
Understanding makes one understand the Rig−Veda, the Yajur−Veda, the Sama−Veda, the Atharva−Veda as the fourth, the epics and the ancient lore as the fifth, the Veda of the Vedas, the rules of sacrifices by which the Manes are gratified, the science of numbers, the science of portents, the science of time, logic, ethics, etymology, Brahma−vidya, the science of elemental spirits, the science of weapons, astronomy, the science of serpents and the fine arts; heaven, earth, air, water, fire, gods, men, cattle, birds, herbs, trees; animals, together with worms, flies and ants; and also righteousness and unrighteousness, the true and the false, the good and the bad, the pleasant and the unpleasant, food and taste, this world and yonder world.
Meditate on understanding.
2 "He who meditates on understanding as Brahman attains the worlds of understanding and knowledge and can, of his own free will, reach as far as understanding reaches−he who meditates on understanding as Brahman."
Narada said: "Venerable Sir, is there anything greater than understanding?"
"Of course there is something greater than understanding."
"Please tell that to me, venerable Sir."
“Better than meditation on a thing is understanding of a thing.”
Back in 1800 BCE what we needed to understand was different than now. The Vedic scientists were insatiably curious and thrilled to death at how one increment of knowledge led to the next. They wrote it all down and it was a great privilege to enter the company of a Teacher to learn. Not everyone, however wanted to be taught. They are called manes "the many".
Manes are beings without souls. Minds with bodies only. They can be counted amongst us human beings but they lack the ability to reason their way through life’s situations.
We now know we have the right to expect persons in positions of leadership in the church, the State and National Capitol and in the University will use evidence and reason to help others draw their conclusions as to how to understand what is going on around them.
As the Upanishad states "Of his free will, the saint will become a slave to the principals outlined in these statutes, knowing full well their wisdom is superlative to his alone."
This will take more than willpower or wisdom, it will take strength. "When a man is strong, he can rise."
More to follow on meditation.
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Jack Antonoff production slander makes me so IRATE like do you really think the artists he works with have no control over the production? like if Taylor didn’t want Don’t You to sound like it does, it wouldn’t sound like that! If Taylor didn’t want there to be horns in Forever Winter, there wouldn’t be horns in it! we literally have the original version of the lakes so you can see how the production was changed to fit in with Taylor’s vision for the album. Sure, Jack has some musical hallmarks but it’s not like he’s holding artists at gunpoint over them. He also produced Lover. Soon You’ll Get Better. The majority of The Chicks’ album which sounds nothing like a stereotypical Jack song. Shut the fuck up and stop denying artists’ agency in their own songs
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ok i feel like i need to clarify a few things 1) all of this truthing is out of spite 2) most of it's a joke i'm not trying to prove anything 3) i think aimsey and ranboo together is a horrible idea 4) i keep calling it aimboo because i hate it 5) i haven't watched a ranboo or aimsey stream in god knows how long all of this evidence is anecdotal or from anons it means nothing 6) i LOVE truthing batshit insane off the wall borderline CONSPIRACY type stuff so aimboo is right up my alley
#i'm not letting any more random anons slander me 😁#coming up with absolutely ridiculous theories that mean absolutely nothing is a hallmark of my personality
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Tbh we don’t even have proof that the second water bottle was pierced at all. If you’re going with Jeeves lying about Bobbie and relying on Bertie not interacting with anyone to find out the truth, it would be a lot less trouble to just skip the second bottle entirely.
The thing is both of those possibilities rely heavily on Bertie not leaving his room, and they’d be disastrous for Jeeves if he did and started throwing around accusations (especially Jeeves going into Sir Roderick’s room himself). Jeeves usually doesn’t expose himself to that level of risk.
But all of this treats the story as an Agatha Christie work rather than a Wodehouse. Overly-convenient timing for hilarity or disaster is one of his go-to tropes—and the story becomes a lot less funny and poignant if Jeeves is just lying about Bobbie. From a craft point of view, it also misses the hallmarks of when Jeeves does lie: the smugness, it coming out in the end, or if it stays secret the story bring from his point of view so it’s obvious to the reader.
Jeeves isn’t really relying on the too-convenient timing as-is: if Tuppy showed up in Bertie’s room before the switch, attack pole in hand, the truth about Bobbie would have come out anyway. Plus I really enjoy Bobbie Wickham as a devious character that isn’t as repulsively mean-spirited as Stiffy, so making her a slandered innocent that Bertie really could have gotten along with long-term also downgrades the story for me. This is all subjective preference, of course, but given it’s brought up on my post I figure there’s space to state why I prefer the straightforward reading.
“All right, Jeeves. Monte Carlo ho, then.”
“Very good, sir.”
“It’s lucky, as things have turned out, that you forgot to cancel that booking.”
“Very fortunate indeed, sir.”
AND THE GAY LITTLE GAMBLING TRIP IS BACK ON THE MENU
The number of birds Jeeves managed to kill with one stone is truly remarkable. Showing Bertie Bobbie’s true colors, undermining Aunt Agatha’s scheme to push Bertie and Honoria back together, sabotaging Tuppy’s prank, teaching Bertie a lesson about cancelling their vacations, and orchestrating the escape to said vacation all in one night! Preventing two engagements in one swing has to be a new record.
I have to pity whoever ends up at a gambling table with him at Monte Carlo because you KNOW this bitch doesn’t play fair to get what he wants.
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You know, I don’t consider myself a book purist and don’t care if they deviate too much from the books. So my problem with Theloise is not that Theo doesn’t exist in the books and I prefer Eloise with Phillip. My problem with Theloise is that their relationship was underdeveloped and boring. People are entitled to ship whatever they want, but I honestly don’t get what moves someone to be so invested in a relationship where we barely see the characters interacting and suddenly they fancy each oth
Warning: I know some of you like Theo, If you're a Theloise shipper please skip this post. I'm about to dish some slander. And you Theloise shippers don't need to read it.
If you're NOT a Theloise shipper go ahead press the keep reading button
You know why that ship doesn't make sense?
it's because Theo Sharpe as a character is incomplete! He's one dimensional as only a extra character can be. He was created just so Eloise could have someone to play with!
We don't know anything about Theo's life. there is nothing outside of what he offers to fulfill Eloise's personality and needs, we have nothing that point towards Theo being an individual of his own.
Theo was modelled after the quintessential one dimensional Wattpad hero. The Hallmark movie love interest. And I hate to burst that particular bubble but allow me to deconstruct the trope:
this one dimensional man's likes and dislikes are tailored so that his female lead can shine! The very purpose of his fictional existence is to be what Eloise needs and Eloise plotline requires. He doesn't have anything going on for him OUTSIDE of fullfilling Eloise sense of purpose.
a lot of people are attracted to that kind of hero and trust me I understand, there's nothing more attractive than a man who doesn't seem to have a life outside of what is needed to make his love interest happy. But to me that gets boring really fast
If she likes books then he likes books, if she's a feminist, then he's a feminist, if she disdains society then OMG he disdains society too. He doesn't have a family, his past is not important, his dreams for the future are whatever she dreams about but in masculine font. How terribly romantic. They're so perfect for each other. Except he's a commoner and can't be together. How convenient that Eloise is not like other girls and would be willing to risk her entire family's reputation for love.
How.... Con-ve-ni-ent.
Theloise is terribly perfect as a ship isn't it? He's just.. everything she's been subconsciously looking for in the men of the ton but she found it, in him 😍😍😍.
If I were Eloise, sister of a Viscount brave enough to run around the red light district with her private chaffeur in the Lamborghini. I would definitely be more suspicious of this Theo guy.
but then again I'm a person with a more selective taste and the minimum that I require from my male love interests is for them to actually have a modicum of a life outside of what their beloved wants and needs. I mean I still like them being fixated on their lovers 90% of the time. But he's gotta have a 10% that tells me he does things on his own when she's out with her friends working on making the world a better place
In the books Anthony has his duty to his family and his work as a Viscount, Simon and Garrett have their avoiding responsabilty adventures and their individual interests as well, Benedict has his art and his identity crisis over being just Bridgerton number two. Colin has his traveling, Philip has his plants, his estate and his children.
(Side note: in s1 Phillip was introduced for 5 seconds and the show immediately tells us he just lost his brother, currently has no remaining family and just inherited a title he never expected. In s2 were told he likes bothany and has apparently travelled to Greece to see the fauna. We got this details about the life Phillip has. All that with less screentime in s1 &2 combined. than Theo got as Eloise love interest in s2)
I'm not trying to be too hard on Theo and Eloise I just don't see the point of making it a love story when we could have just watched Will and Alice Mondritch set up their gentleman club and make money.
And that's the tea.
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