#Insert Range Hoods

[iventilation]

The 10 best Range Hoods

The 10 best Range Hoods in 2023 ranked based on 1347 reviews

- Find consumer reviews on https://iventilation.com/ USA No.1 Opinion Site.

[drowzyscatterbrain]

first power outage night w sans, man.

hand shadow puppet and telling stories of related childhood memories

and maybe, unintended candlelit dinner.

[mycustomcopper]

While shopping at our site, you can order customization done on your copper hood in personalized patina color and appliance size. Any of our wall and island copper hoods designs can be manufactured as a wall mount or island, depending on the design of the homeowner taste. If you are considering buying one of our custom range hoods and have it customized, you should take into account all measurements and characteristics beyond its height, width and depth. If you are purchasing, make sure that the distance between your cabinets is precisely taken so there is no problem with installing the insert range hood between them. Elements such as moldings and hood trims need to be considered as they add space to the overall size. Now, depending on the finishing, it could be looking more contemporary or include some country house touch. When installing a traditional appliance, it may be handmade from smooth copper finished with darker patina, coffee or antique. They without doubt offer many interesting choices. The unique version is achieved by smoothing the surface with darker paints. It makes the mixed metal hood old farmhouse looking.

[cum-aside]

Ok it’s not like I go here really, but I’ve been reading a bunch of DPxDC recently because it’s very good, and I had an idea that won’t go anywhere

The various gangs in Gotham have callsigns/uniforms or something right??? If not, they should, and imma say they do. Anyway. Redhood I think didn’t think too hard about what people in his gang on his turf should wear for identification purposes, but they sure did. And what they came up with was Red.

Wearing red in the vicinity of the ‘Bad Part’ of Gotham?? Part of the red hood gang. Generally head gear is the preferred method of wearing red. Red hats and beanies, red head scarfs and hijabs, red headbands, red masks. The idea has been communicated. To a certain point, wearing red even if you aren’t officially part of the gang is a great way to get an in with them, or be under protection if you’re the right age in the right area, as long as you’re willing to risk getting roped into low stakes gang activity, which can range from working the counter at money laundering sites to community service (guarding clinics and shelters and volunteering) to making deliveries to destroying certain hostile architecture. (Hood saves the real jobs with cops and shootings and turf disputes for actual members, that he knows the names faces and skills of, and who are at least above 18, but preferably over 20, and who wear real gear he supplies them with, not just whatever’s in their closet that’s red) (this does not entirely stop the smaller ‘members’ from getting into their own fights with the cops and turf wars, but Jason has found that giving them Something to do that feels like direct action helps curb those tendencies. And it’s not like those things aren’t things that don’t need doing, so it’s a win win. Mostly)

Danny, bless him, does not know any of this. But has been staying in the sketchier areas of Gotham because that’s where people don’t care how old you are or if your papers are real or not, and he absolutely does not want people looking into how old he is and wether his papers are real or not. He is also wearing an inadvisable and vaguely conspicuous amount of red. His converse are red, his signature baseball tee is white and red, and his hoodie is also red.

Clearly, this kid (he’s like 17) really wants in with the hood gang.

And eventually, they oblige him.

Random people will approach Danny and ask/tell him that them and a couple others are going somewhere to do (insert vaguely/definitely illegal job or act of community service here) and Danny, who is deeply directionless in life currently, and also pretty assured in his ability to eat danger for breakfast, and has never met an institutional authority he doesn’t disrespect at least a little bit, is totally down for some civil disobedience and chaotic good shenanigans.

And then it spirals from there. Like. A worrying amount.

It takes Danny actual months, almost a year, to realize that he’s been low key slow cooked into the criminal underbelly of Gotham, and like… he’s not really mad about it?? Honestly if he had a choice when he came to Gotham, he probably would have picked the redhood gang anyway. He just seems to vibe with them on a… Spiritual Level…

Hm

Anyway

Years go by, and while Danny doesn’t have the most going for him in terms of a normal person life, vis a vis higher education, official employment, health insurance, dating life, or any other benchmark one uses to measure the trajectory of their lives— Danny’s feeling pretty good! Jazz, Tucker, and Sam have all finagled their ways into Gotham, (Tucker has a WE internship, Jazz is working/doing work studies at Arkham, Sam does what she likes now that she is a legal adult and has her inheritance, and what she likes is environmental activism, and occasionally being spotted with fellow activist Damian Wayne, and someone who may or may not be poison ivy, sources differ) and Danny finds his obsession suspiciously well served as a hood goon. Hood hench? Redgoon? Hench hood?? Name pending, who cares.

Danny is also suspiciously good at, well, his job. One of the best runners, even when he gets caught and frisked they never seem to find the goods on him (they never do check IN him, but then why would they) very well liked at every volunteer spot they have, patient, kind, funny, good with old people, kids, bitter people, addicts and the homeless, the sick and injured. And yet also very competent in the field, when they finally let him do actually dangerous things. Act as protection detail to the working girls in the red light district, he’s very respectful, and very good at intimidation, de-escalation, and when push comes to shove, excellent in a fight. Knows when to keep pressing his advantage and when to make a retreat with whoever he’s guarding. Not afraid to fight scrappy, and presses through pain and fear like a true gothmite.

He gets so good at his not really a job job that he becomes essentially, Redhoods right hand man.

The rest of the bats are skeptical of this for several reasons. Because generally speaking, the people in Jason’s turf are not fans of the bats, but Jason does a lot of coordinating with them, and someone so close to him is going to pick that up eventually if they’re half as sharp and useful as Danny is. Other than that, secret identity issues, plus pit rage, plus the fact that Jason trusts pretty much nobody. But Jason has great feelings about this guy, he always feels more clear headed and even keeled when he’s around, and he helps Jason remember the community he’s trying to build, and the community he serves. Also he delegates and mother hens like nobody’s business, but Jason just really can’t seem to work up too much irritation about it.

It is around this time, however, that the past, and shady government organizations come knocking.

Perhaps the GIW has also noticed how ecto-contaminated and lawless Gotham is and decided that they could start doing research and experiments with its live and undead denizens instead of amity, where the portal has closed, and ghost activity is down since phantom disappeared. Or maybe the GIW has finally located phantom specifically and is interested in what they’re always interested in. Or maybe it’s various ghosts harassing Danny to take up the throne, which he’s been avoiding successfully, but having settled into a life routine that suites him his core has finally ‘settled’ (halfa cores fluctuate more than other cores due to the transient nature of being alive, but halfa people settle into lifelong patterns and relationships quicker than other people because of the static nature of being dead) he is mature enough by ghost standards to assume the throne, or at least begin preparing for it.

Regardless, danny is being tracked down for his childhood baggage’s extended warranty, and brings the entirety of the JL and almost all associated sidekicks, hero group spin-offs, and organizations into the thick of it.

Idk. I just got through Secretary Danny by DeathlySilent13 on ao3 and I thought man oh man wouldn’t it be neat if Danny got to be Jason’s second in command instead??? That could open up a lot of avenues I haven’t seen yet. I’m also just very curious about how the Jason’s runs his gang according to the fandom, and I think that with all the ACAB energy Danny has been assigned, he should have a little bit of community focused organized crime. As a treat. Like I said I don’t go here thou, I just needed to put this somewhere and see if it vibed with anybody besides me

[victorbutnotreally]

SCREAM!

A/N: This is intense, so if you're not comfortable with anything given in the warnings, i'll see you in the next fic <3 CNC/Consensual Non-Consent is communicated, and consented to beforehand. warnings: boypussy!minho, CNC, role-play, mask kink (ghostface), knife play, threats (consensual), reader is a bit mean?, degradation, praise, unprotected sex, overstimulation, manhandling, rough sex, size difference, belly bulge, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, clit slapping (once), face slapping (once), dacryphilia, handcuffs, swearing, nicknames, established relationship, aftercare

You've done CNC before, but not like this.

Not this intense.

It all started with an innocent Halloween party…Minho dressed as a playboy bunny, and you as Geto Suguru. Both of your costumes were pretty low effort, but you can't deny you guys looked good. Especially Minho who looked absolutely delectable in a black latex babydoll with bunny ears and a pretty collar. When you got home, you still had the Ghostface mask someone handed you during hide-and-seek.

"Be really scary." "Fine, but only if I get to spoil you afterwards."

"I'll kick and scream but don't you dare stop, okay?"

The words rang in your head even on the way home. The words which made you leave the party early. Hell, you didn't even dance to conserve your energy.

As soon as you got home, you locked the front door shut and wearing your Ghostface mask, carried Minho over your shoulder. Minho, who was as light as a feather, as small as a kitten compared to your towering frame, kicked and screamed as he said he would. You heard him scream, and you could only smirk behind your mask. You trusted him to use his safe word if needed, and he trusted you to stop if he does.

You toss him onto bed and hovered over his small body, pinning his hands above his head. He looked at you in terror…god, he was such a good actor.

"P-Please…what are you doing? Let me go.."

"Let me go!!!", he yelled as you took out the knife you had as part of your Geto costume and pressed it against his throat. Thank god it was blunt.

"I'll slit your fucking throat if you make a sound", you said, lowering your voice to up the scare factor. He wanted scary, you'd give him scary.

Minho's eyes widened in feigned terror, although his heart was racing with excitement beneath his skimpy costume.

"Oh god oh god, please don't hurt me!" He whimpers loudly, tears welling up in his eyes for effect. "I-I have money! Take my money, just let me go!" Despite his pleading words, he arches his back as the cold blade pressed against his skin.

You toss the knife aside and grab both of his wrists in one large hand to pin them above his head while the other ran up his thighs, sliding the soaked panties to the side.

"I bet you're enjoying this, you slut." You spat, slapping his clit harshly, making him cry out.

"A-Ah please…no," his protests start to turn unconvincing as he bucks his hips upward.

He squirms and writhes under your grip, face flushed and chest heaving. Despite his protests, his dripping arousal is evident, juices glistening on his inner thighs.

"You're hurting me! This isn't what I wanted!" He cries out, voice cracking. He tries to clamp his legs shut but you easily part them further. "Please, I'll do anything, just don't do this! I'm begging you!"

He played it well. You almost felt bad. But you remind yourself that this is what he wanted. You knew he'd use his safe word, and that was all the reassurance you needed to proceed.

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want, you whore."

You say in the same lowered tone. You release his wrists only to cuff it with the handcuffs you grabbed from your nightstand drawer. Your hand which was now free from holding Minho's wrists went to wrap around his neck, putting light pressure, making him gasp and cry as you took off the lace panties and inserted two fingers in, scissoring roughly while your thumb pushed back the hood of his pussy and rubbed harshly against the extremely sensitive clit, making his milky, plush thighs shake and squirm.

Minho thrashes and bucks wildly as your long fingers invade his sopping cunt, scissoring roughly, thumb abusing his aching clit. Tears stream down his flushed cheeks, drool escaping the corner of his mouth as choked sobs spill forth.

"No! Aahh! S-Stop! You're r-ruining me!" He wails pitifully, even as he clenches greedily around the pumping digits. The handcuffs clink as he yanks fruitlessly at the restraints, only to spread his legs wider for your harsh touch.

"Am I? Good." Your tone was harsh, and you could see Minho fighting back a smile.

He was in heaven. Not being able to see your handsome face and hear your actual voice made the fear factor go up exponentially, but it was just as arousing since he knew that it was none other than his beloved boyfriend.

"I'll ruin you, you slut. I'll fucking do that."

Just as those words went past your lips, Minho came undone, sobbing as an intense orgasm took over him.

"You say you don't like this, but you're cumming so fast."

Tears run down his face as he looks up at you with glazed, half-lidded eyes. You reach out, breaking character for a second to run your thumb over his cheek.

"That's a good little slut," you whispered, pulling out your fingers and licking them clean. But you didn't intend to stop there. You undo your pants and boxers, revealing your erection. You gasped as the cold air hit your warm skin. "Let's see how well you can take dick."

"It won't fit! You'll tear me apart!" Minho whines, a pretty pout on his glossy lips. Despite his arousal, he finds himself shutting his quivering thighs, playing into the act. And god how you wanted to kiss those pouty lips you loved so much. But you were enjoying this too much, a big part because of how pleasured Minho looked from this.

"Shut up, whore."

You say harshly, slapping him across the face. You throw his pretty thighs open forcefully with your hand, gazing at the glistening folds through your mask before sliding your dick in, the process easy due to the arousal fluid as well as the previous orgasm's remnants on Minho's pussy.

"So fucking tight, little bunny."

Minho lets out a whimper as your cock spears into his tight heat, stretching him wide. His velvety walls clench and spasm around the invading thickness, moans and curses slipping past his plush lips. Tears run freely down his contorted face as he throws his head back, dark hair splayed across the pillow. His feet flex and toes curl from the intensity.

"P-Please…too big…gonna break me…"

"Stop resisting or it'll hurt more." You say menacingly as you thrust in roughly, every thrust making a bulge in Minho's belly, visible through the tight latex babydoll. He looked so pretty like this, his little hands reaching out to touch you but not being able to because of the restraints.

He whimpered between ragged breaths, squeezing his eyes shut. The brutal pounding of your cock is merciless, each thrust sending waves of excruciating bliss crashing through him. A wet squelch echoed with each snap of your hips, his pussy drenched and gaping around the invading shaft.

You wrap your hand around his throat, moving the index and middle fingers past his lips.

"Y-You fucking whore. Made for taking dick," you groan between thrusts. The words and your relentless abuse of his g-spot made way for the second orgasm which was signalled by his walls clenching around your cock, milking it for all its worth.

"Cumming already like a bitch in heat and you have the fucking nerve to resist me."

His tongue swirls around your fingers obediently, his loud screams muffled by them as he came again. His whole body seizes up, back bowing off the bed. His vision blurred by tears, he looks up at you again, knowing you won't stop.

You smile behind the mask, wanting to kiss his pretty face, but thrusting regardless. You bring his legs up, throwing them over your shoulders as you slam in with more force. Your grip on his thighs was bruising, and the sight of your large hands on his thighs made him clench around you. The assault on his senses made Minho let out the prettiest, most pathetic sounds. You could tell he was sensitive from the two orgasms, but you also knew he had good endurance.

His legs bring you in closer, heels rubbing against your back as he tried to stay still. His tiny hands fist at the sheets the best he could with the cuffs still on. Your thumb rubs at his clit and he bucks his hips, his walls fluttering and clenching around you.

"F-Fuck…"

You felt your climax approaching as your thrusts grew erratic.

"Gonna fucking breed your cunt. Show the whole world who owns you."

He makes a sound between a sob and a moan at your words, mumbling unintelligible protests in a weak attempt to stay in character, but his body screamed otherwise as yet another orgasm overtook him. Tears ran freely down his cheeks as he squeezed your back with his legs. As if on cue, you climaxed as well, riding out your high as you moved in and out of his heat weakly. His small frame trembles beneath yours, slick juices dripping down his thighs as he's pumped full of cum. He pants, not a single thought behind his eyes as his walls flutter around your softening member.

You pull out slowly, watching the beautiful sight of his pussy coated in cum and arousal, dripping wet and fluttering. You remove your mask, pulling your clothes up to wipe the sweat from your face. You pulled him onto your lap and wrapped your arms around his waist, taking off his babydoll and pulling him close to your chest.

"Baby?" Your voice was tender, a stark contrast to the menacing tone from earlier.

"Hm?" Minho melts into the embrace, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent. He looks at you, a contented smile playing on his lips. "You did such a good job, Mnie," he giggled softly, pressing a kiss to your pulse before continuing. "You scared me half to death and filled me up so well."

"And you did such a good job taking it, darling," you say, kissing his forehead. You wiped his tears and kissed his soft cheeks, a protective instinct taking ahold of you as you see how tiny he is in your arms.

"My pretty baby…my Minnie did so well, hm?"

A warm blush spread across his cheeks at your praise, his heart swelling with affection. "I try," he said, trying to be demure and modest, bringing a fond smile to your lips. You kiss his lips for the first time since you came home, humming at the taste of his chocolate lip gloss.

"I love you baby," you say, looking at him adoringly. He smiled. He would get so overwhelmed by the look in your eyes sometimes, whether it be tender or intense. You nuzzle his nose, tilting your head to give him another little kiss on the lips.

"I'll run a bath for you, okay princess?"

"I want burgers afterwards."

"And curly fries, I know."

[ihavethedreamies]

Stupid | Wooyoung [NSFW]

Jung Wooyoung - ATEEZ)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~10.2k

Pairing: Wooyoung x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Actual Plot, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Friends-to-Lovers, Comfort

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Caution: The angst in this story is more familial based. There are mentions of adultery/infidelity, but it's not dwelled on. This could be triggering for those who have had parent's leave or other similar circumstances, so just be warned.

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Princess, Sweetheart, Sunshine, etc.), Childhood/Teenage Trauma, Family Issues, Tears and Crying, Swearing, Unrequited Love, Kind of a Love Triangle, Kissing, Dirty Talk, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Marking/Hickeys/Scratches, Couch Sex, Shower Sex, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom! Reader is on the pill)

Author's Note: Hm, just thought I would do this since I made something similar for San.

(S/N) is for the name of your sister.

Revised (1/31/25) - I forgot to change the name to (Y/N), so I fixed it!

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

The only sound you can hear is your own aggressive keypresses. You’d paused your music to go to the bathroom and hadn’t bothered hitting play again. Staring hard at the screen, your eyes hurt even with the dark theme applied. The colorful lines of code on the dark screen blur and refocus, and you blink, trying to force your eyes to not blur again. Sighing, you push back from your desk, rubbing over your eyes. Taking your computer glasses off, you let them fall onto your desk and you get back up. It’s really hard to work at 2 am, let alone when your thoughts are racing; and the thoughts have nothing to do with your job. The last thing you need the day before a project is due is to loop on irrational thoughts. Your socked feet thump on the wood floor of your hallway as you go down it. Your sister’s door is propped open, so you quietly open the door, peeking inside. The soft teal lighting strip lining her walls casts a faint flow over the room. She’s starfish-ed on the bed, peacefully and messily asleep. Hugging, you step out and shut your door. How nice it must be to be thirteen... Pulling your phone from the pocket of your sweatpants, you exit the hallway and go into the kitchen. The large open room of the apartment includes the kitchen as well as dining and living areas. A spare room is in the back corner, empty since your friend had moved out a month before. Another room sits across from it, the large windows of the studio covered with tall curtains, but you know it’s just full of boxes of old things. Someday you’ll have the courage to go through them and get rid of stuff, maybe use the studio as an office or something, but…

Opening the fridge to get the pitcher of orange juice, the door shuts, and your eyes focus in the dark on the picture magnetically attached to the front. The picture is of a once happy life you lived. A black squiggle covers the face of the man, the woman next to him smiling like the sun. Glaring at the censored face, you yank the photography from the magnet clip and slap the picture on the counter. The pitcher follows and as you grab a glass, you pluck the scissors from the small utensil-filled mug on the counter. After pouring yourself a drink, and taking a few sips, you grab the photo. Holding it up, you realize it’ll make sense to turn the overhead light of the range hood on to see better, but you continue in the dark. Opening the shears, you cut a tiny slit into the white border of the photo and halt. The line splits the man’s pants from the shoulder of the little girl’s white sundress; she’s no more than four… She’s sitting on the lap of a girl looking much the same, just about twelve years older. It’s weird to see such a bright smile on your face.

The purple-handled scissors clatter onto the Formica counter; the photo still held in the crook of the blades. Resting against the counter behind you, you drink the juice in gulps, hissing through your teeth when it’s gone like it’s some kind of liquor. The glass-mimicking plastic cup clanks into the sink, and you leave the kitchen to shuffle back to your room. As you reenter, you yank the zipper down of your hoodie, nearly tearing the garment off and throwing it harshly onto the floor. You let the door click quietly closed despite wanting to slam it and go back to your computer. Your chair lets out a puff of air when you plop down into it, the remaining pieces of the candy necklace you had on bouncing over your collarbone. Crunching on one of the sugary beads, you flip your phone over, so the screen faces up, tapping the black surface and a small white notification bubble shows itself under the white numbers of the clock; 2:13 am. Unlocking the phone with your finger print, you open your message app and sniff at the message in annoyance.

🦊WooWoo🦊: did you get it done?

He’d sent it nearly an hour prior. You glare at your computer screen, then to the second monitor, the program running over and over, glitching at the same time stamp each time.

☀️: not even close 🦊: why are you up young lady ☀️: why are you?

He doesn’t reply right away so you look back at your computer, clicking your tongue. Hitting save and closing the window, you instead open up a new email and send one to your coworker that it might not get there by tomorrow night but that you’ll try. It’s not a hard deadline anyway. You work for an Indie label, not some AAA, so that gives you some flexibility. Closing the window, you stare at your background for a good few minutes, waiting for Wooyoung to reply. The picture used to make you smile, but it hurts your heart. San’s cute dimple smile, and his arm around you makes you wince. Wooyoung’s on your other side, his cheek pressed into the side of your head as he hugs you. You’re leaning into San, trying to escape the other man’s embrace, at least that was your excuse… The picture is getting close to five years old.

🦊: games 🦊: why are you up ☀️: working. thinking 🦊: about? ☀️: how shit I feel 🦊: you sick??

You roll your eyes; he isn’t super intuitive sometimes. It’s almost 2:30 in the morning though.

☀️: no. how shitty my life is now compared to back then…

Once again, he takes a bit to reply, and you almost get up to use the restroom before going to bed. Your phone then buzzes on the desk, the noise even louder going through the wood, and you grab it quickly, answering the call.

“Your life isn’t shitty (Y/N). I’m here, huh?” His giggle is forced. You just huff, getting out of your desk chair to move to your bed.

“Livin’ the dream.”

“What’s it this time? Your…da- uh, male-life-giver?” His little catch at least makes the corner of your mouth crook up.

“Yeah.”

“How’s (S/N)?”

“Good, I guess. She…she was a bit too young to really remember either of them.”

“Even if she doesn’t, it can’t be easy with…how it all played out.” He’s trying to be careful with what he says, but you’re already in a bad mood.

“Our dad cheating, leaving us for his second family and then my mother…” You thought tears would come to your eyes, but maybe you’re too tired.

“Where do you think she went?” Your best friend’s voice is soft.

“No clue. Neither did Gramma, or the cops. She could be in Timbuk-fucking-tu for all I know.”

“Do you want to go out tomorrow with me and San? Or do you have to work?” Before you can answer, your phone buzzes, and you pull it away from your ear. Opening the email from your coworker, you sigh in relief. Perfect timing.

“Not anymore. The character models are getting scrapped and redone so that means my code has to be scrapped. Might be why I can’t get it to move right.”

“What about (S/N)?”

“She’s thirteen not three. I’ll have her sleep over at a friend’s maybe…”

“Great! Get some sleep, sunshine. Meet us at 9!” He hands up and you flop back onto your mattress, feeling disappointed for some reason. Finally working up the energy to get off the bed, you go back to your computer and shut it down, staring at San’s smiling face a little too long, before letting it actually turn off.

~TωT~

“Good morning, little lady.” You leave the hallway, sandals in your hand. Your sister sends you a tired look over her cereal, waving lazily.

“G’mornin’.”

“Do any of your friends get to have sleep overs on school nights?” Her eyes open a bit wider then, then squint as she thinks.

“Uh…probably. Going out with-“ she gives a flirty pose, batting her eyelashes, “Sannie?” the drops the act.

“Wooyoung’s going too.”

“Oh. You ever gonna tell him?”

“Tell San I like him? I don’t know…”

“San? Oh, yeah, right… Why not?” You don’t answer right away, pouring a glass of juice.

“You’re gonna turn into an orange.” Your sister rolls her eyes, and you pour just a bit more before putting the pitcher back down.

“I just… I don’t think I stand a chance.”

“What?! Why?!” Your sister acts like you’ve personally offended her. Even before your whole messed up parental situation, you two never bickered or anything. Probably because you’re nearly thirteen years older than her.

“I’m not his type. He probably sees me as a sister. Also, he looks like that,” You motion down at your white tank and a think blue plaid shirt over, and worn denim capris, “and I’m…”

“You better compliment yourself.” Your sister glares at you, making you sigh.

“He likes the girls in skirts with makeup and their nails done. The ones that giggle at everything he says and touch his bicep ‘accidentally’…” You drift off, getting mad at the mental pictures.

“Then do all that.” (S/N) shrugs, getting up to put her cereal bowl in the sink.

“Counter.” You correct and she rolls her eyes, taking the bowl out and moving it to the counter.

“(S/N), I don’t even own a tube of mascara.” You sigh, then proceed to down your orange juice again like it’s a stiff drink. Your throat burns and your stomach stings somewhat… maybe you do drink too much.

“Use mine.”

“What?” You turn fast to look at her and her eyes widen in panic.

“I only have mascara, I promise!” She lifts her hands in surrender, and you breathe out your nose hard. She’s only a year off being allowed make up, you at least want to maintain the rules your mother put on you with your sister. Even if a lot of them never had to truly be enacted on you.

“Look, I’m just going to go hang out with them and pretend one of my best friends isn’t sex on legs.”

“I’m pretty sure they both are, but okay…” (S/N) mutters under her breath as she passes you to go get her backpack and you pretend to not hear her.

~θɞθ~

“Bye, sis!” (S/N) gets out of the car and heads into her middle school. She’s one of the few who doesn’t mind being seen dropped off right in front of the school, but laid-back older sisters are much, much coolers than any parent.

“Just text me who you can stay with!” You call to her, and she turns around with a shocked face.

“Right! What about my bag? My locker’s not big enough!” She realizes, coming back to your rolled down window, leaning into it.

“I’ll bring it by after you club meeting is done.”

“Really?! Can you bring WooSan?”

“Don’t call them that!” You scold, but laugh nonetheless, “Sure.”

“Bye, sis!” She takes off again, meeting her similarly uniformed friends by the entrance. You’re blessed that the school was willing to take her in for free more-or-less on a scholarship. Your mother had wanted both of you to go to the same school, but it’s private, and you’re in no way capable of paying. If you were, you wouldn’t be driving a whine red 2002 Hyundai Sonata with suede upholstery. Pulling out of the drop-off line, you continue down the road till you meet the traffic light. It sits at the edge of the academy’s campus and the park where you’re meeting the guys is just past the light. As you wait for the light to turn, you tap your fingers on the steering wheel along to the music playing from your radio. The light takes even longer because the crossing guard is leading a group of elementary schoolers across. You’re watching them pass in their cute little uniforms when you’re startled by a knock on your window. You flinch, looking to see what looks to be a high school boy on the other side. You roll the slightly tinted glass down just enough that you’d be able to hear him. He flashes a smoldering smile, and you blatantly sneer.

“What, kid?”

“You obviously don’t go to school here, you from the public school?” How dumb is this kid? You haven’t been in high school for seven years. You have a college degree and everything. Most might take it as a compliment to be seen as looking young enough to be a teenager, but…

“Get lost, squirt.” You scoff, looking away but not bothering to roll the window back up. You’re a bit curious what his reaction will be.

“I might look young, but I’m a senior this year, princess.” He’s clearly a little put off by your flat dismissal, trying to keep a flirty tone.

“Fuck off, kid. She’s our princess.” A familiar voice hits your ears, and you sigh in relief, watching Wooyoung essentially hip bump the kid so hard he falls back onto the sidewalk. Your heart skips as you huff a laugh, watching San come up as well and unlock the doors so the two guys can climb in, right as the light turns green. San barely shuts the back door before you take off, leaving the teenager’s friends laughing at this sorry state. Crossing the median, you pull into the parking lot of the park and slump back into your set.

“Got your favorite~” San leans forward, toned arm hovering over the center console, holding a bag with one finger.

“Sweet!” You swipe it from him and Wooyoung gets out, running around to your side where the window is still rolled down.

“Hey, pretty lady, want to go make out behind the bleachers?” He leans against the side of your car just like the cocky teen had and you can’t help but laugh.

“Uh, no.” You wonder if he catches your glance in your rearview mirror to watch San get out of the car, holding the drink holder of ice coffees as well. You can’t meet his gaze though, and surprisingly, he doesn’t respond, just stands up and starts to follow San down the path.

“Hey, wait up!” You get out quickly, nearly forgetting your phone and to lock the car as you dash after them. Finally getting half-way around the pond that’s trying to be a lake, you sit on a picnic bench of the wooden shelter right on the edge of the water. Some ducks quack as they lazily swim closer, hoping for a snack. As you take a long sip of your ice coffee, you watch San get up and go closer to the ducks, a little bit of his croissant left. Your eyes can’t help but travel over the wide expanse of his shoulders and back. His arms are on display since he’s in a sleeveless hoodie, and you smile at him as the ducks happily eat the bread.

“That’s bad for them, y’know?” Wooyoung calls and the other man tosses him a bored look over his shoulder, then goes back to the birds. Because you’re too busy eying over your friend, you don’t notice Wooyoung watching you. He lifts half of his nose in a sneer, glaring at his friend who’s taking up all of your attention. Wooyoung wants to blame it on that San’s started working out since you’d all started being friends, but he’s not sure that’s it.

“Just fucking tell him.” He whispers harshly to you and his sudden mutter makes you choke. San immediately turns around, and you wave him off, but he still goes to your side, patting your back some to help.

“You okay?” He kneels next to you, and you nod, flashing a small smile, trying not to get red. Not like you can control it… Just then, something green flies through the air, flying past San’s head as he stands, and he’s toppled over by a mass of blonde fur.

“Jeremy, get off of him!” A young woman scolds the golden retriever as it refuses to get off of San, sniffing him and licking his face. Why am I jealous of a dog? You sigh, slumping back against the wood railing of the shelter.

“Why don’t you tell him?” Wooyoung’s next whisper is much softer, he sounds very tired.

“And get rejected? Ruin our friendship? No.” You whisper back, still watching the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. The dog is a fat mood, refusing to get off of San…

“I’m so sorry!” The woman finally manages to pull the dog off of the man and he gets up laughing. She immediately blushes, finally able to see San past all of the fluff. Looking away and down the path to where the green flying disk still lies you get up to retrieve is, since the dog failed its job.

“Here.” You force a smile as you hand it back to her and she snaps out of her daze to take it from you, immediately looking back to San. Luckily, she leaves not too longer after and you’re able to continue the day with the two guys.

~υ-υ~

A week passes, and you still haven’t been able to work because the rest of the team can’t get their act together and finish their parts. So, you’d been left to your thoughts which is never good. You sit on the couch, boredly and only partially watching the TV. Your knees are pulled up to your chest and your hands lazily tap a rhythm on the worn faux leather of the couch. Tilting your head, it rests on the back of the couch, and you stare at the ceiling of your loft apartment, the large ventilation pipes curving around the support columns high above your head. When the doorbell rings you almost don’t recognize it, thinking it might have been on the show. It happens again and you know it’s yours because the TV now displays a commercial for some kind of sports drink. Getting up with a groan, you trudge over to the door, a young woman stands on the other side, and her face makes you nervous. She looks…

“Hi. Are you (Y/N)?” She smiles gently and you nod.

“I’m Jena Hwang. Can…can I come in?” When she says her last name, your heart falls. You know immediately who she is.

“Sure.” Your tone is flat, but since she doesn’t know you, it seems she doesn’t notice. You motion her in and toward the couch and you glance around your place. It isn’t messy, but it isn’t nice either. She’s in a sundress that’s at least $300, and she has a giant rock on her finger. You grimace as she sits on your very well-worn couch and you sit down as well, facing her by sitting sideways. She puts her designer bag down, linking her fingers and resting her hands on her knee, legs crossed.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but… I’m assuming you know Daniel Hwang?” You never wanted to hear that name again.

“Uh, yeah.” You shuffle on the couch, the faux leather creaking under you.

“I’m his daughter. I have to admit I was being a little…stalky?” She cringes at herself, smiling sheepishly.

“Dad is…well, he doesn’t have much longer.” When you don’t really react, she continues. On the inside, you’re just aren’t sure how to react.

“They don’t know if he drank too much when he was younger or what, but his liver is failing. He’s been on a transplant list, but they can’t find anyone compatible.” She better not have come to get you to give him half of your fucking liver-

“Anyway, I was looking over his will-“

“Where’s your mom?”

“Huh?”

“How…what about your mom?”

“Oh, uh…” She looked down, a sad expression covering her face.

“When he got sick, she left him, so I’m in charge of everything.” Rolling your eyes, you huff, looking toward the kitchen, focusing on the picture on the fridge you meant to cut up.

“Uh… Right, your name is on the will.” She pulls a packet of paper from her purse, showing you where your name is highlighted. You don’t even care what he’s leaving you, so you hand it back.

“I don’t want it.”

“O-oh…if you don’t mind me asking, who are you?” You raise an eyebrow, and she wilts under your glare.

“You don’t know?”

“No, sorry.” She hides bashfully behind the papers, “are we cousins or something?” You just stare at her in shock.

“No offense, but it’s a bit weird to have a niece in your will when you have four kids?”

“Look, if you want my part, have it.”

“No! That’s not… Actually, the reason I’m really here is-“ She pulls something else out of her bag and you recognize it.

“Dad kept saying the name Naomi.” You stand up at this and she flinches. You pace a bit, hands going to your head, fingers digging into your scalp. Breathing out slowly, you turn back to her.

“Sorry…keep going, I’m just…struggling with this.” She seems a bit unwilling to continue without asking anything, but she does so as you sit back down. Your ire is evident, you’re sure.

“Um…well, I can’t figure out who she is, so I looked in his yearbook. He’s…” She flips to the middle of the book, “with a girl named Naomi.” She shows you the page, but you already know it. High School Sweethearts reads in the flowery script over the picture of your parents.

“But when I looked her up, I can’t find anything.” Of course not. You never could either.

“So, I used Google’s new AI search with this picture, and I found a woman…” You hadn’t gone that far, still not really trusting any kind of program claiming to be AI. She pulls out another paper from her bag and shows it to you. It’s an article about some town’s mayor on the other side of the country, and the caption lists the woman next to him as his wife. It’s your mother… But her name is wrong.

“It says her name is Carry, but that looks like the same woman, right?”

“Y-yes.”

“Maybe they’re sisters? Twins even? I know it’s a long shot, but do you have her contact information? Even if they broke up soon after high school, maybe she’d be willing to see him since he’s dying…” As soon as you see her face on the paper, your anger leaves, and you’re holding back tears.

“I don’t…but-“ you take a shuddering breath, “uh, I don’t think she’ll go see him.”

“Really?” She deflates a bit, and you look down at your lap, picking at your torn jeans.

“Uh. No. She’s…Okay, I’m in the will because I’m…your sister. Those are my parents. She’s my mother.” This information floors her, her jaw literally dropping. Sniffing hard, you hate crying, let alone in front of essentially a stranger.

“How old are you?” Your question snaps her back, making her flinch.

“T-twenty.” Of course.

“Dad…He uh, left us and mom for…you guys. The mom fucking snapped or broke or whatever and left us too.” You look at the printed off article, at your mother’s smiling face next to some man you’ve never seen or heard of before. This shocks her even further. You give her the article back and stand, moving to the door.

“Uh, take me out of the will or whatever and just leave us alone please. Thank you.” You open your front door, not able to look at her.

“U-us?”

“Ah… (S/N). My thirteen-year-old sister.” This must really make this Jena girl realize why you’re acting the way you are. It isn’t that your father left your mother then fathered her, he had both families at the same time.

“M-my brother is twelve…” Reality is hitting her.

“Great. That sucks for everyone, please leave.” You motion with your arm for her to get out and as soon as she shuffled out into the hallway, you let the door fall closed. Your shoulder hits the wall, and you slump to the floor, hot tears falling down your cheeks and onto the floor. Your chest heaves as you sob, hand covering your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Fuck!” You scream, grabbing a cheap ceramic bowl you use for change and chuck it across the room. It hits the column behind your TV and shatters, coins clattering onto the floor in its trail. You bury your face in your hands, breathing harshly, trying to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table. It buzzes again a few minutes later, then again. Again.

“Damnit.” You get up, storming over to your phone, looking at it. It’s the group chat, Wooyoung and San are talking about doing something the next day, some kind of lawn game competition at the community college. When they see you’re reading the messages but not replying, your phone rings with a call from Wooyoung.

“I know that we’re not in college anymore, but we can get away-“ You’d stopped crying more or less, but hearing his voice brings tears back to your eyes and you fight a sob.

“Are you crying? What happened?”

“U-um…” You swallow hard, a lump rising in your throat along with the tears.

“I’ll be there in five…six minutes!” He hangs up and you let the device fall onto the couch. Your shoulders fall as you stand in the middle of the main room of your place, glaring at the coffee table’s scratched surface. A tear falls onto the plywood, then another. Snapping out of your daze when hard knocks pound on the door, you only get hallway to the door before he opens it, finding it unlocked.

“(Y/N)?” Seeing the concerned look of your best friend makes you feel safe and so your self-erected walls fall. He shuts the door as he moves forward, catching you in his arms as you shrivel to the floor. Wooyoung holds you tighter as you cry, desperate sobs and whimpers muffled as you press your face into his chest. Your tears darken the red fabric of his sweatshirt, and he adjusts your position, so you sit on the floor, legs over one of his, cheek pressed to his collarbone. A tear of his own falls and mixes with yours on your jaw, but you don’t notice it. He doesn’t know what happened that wrecked you so badly, but he can’t stand hearing and seeing you so upset. He even hates it if you cry at a movie.

“What happened, sunshine?” His embrace loosens so you can sit up straighter, tears still falling, but you aren’t actively sobbing. Wooyoung cups your cheek in his hand, wiping a tear from your eye. You have to take several deep breaths through the story, but you manage to tell him what happened.

“M-my mother’s alive, Wooyoung.” Your voice has quieted so much at the end, but he still hears the pain.

“(Y/N), sweetheart, come here.” He stands, helping you get up and he leads you over to the couch. He grabs your phone, and you rest back on the couch as he easily puts in your pin code without having to ask what it is. You listen half-heartedly as he calls your sister, most likely just getting out of class, about to go to her art club meeting.

“Again? Is this going to be weekly? I think I can stay with Amanda, maybe Emily…” You hear (S/N) sigh, “what about my stuff?”

“Can’t you manage with borrowing?” Wooyoung casts you a glance, your forearm over your eyes.

“I guess. What’s wrong with (Y/N)?”

“She’s just really struggling with something.”

“What?”

“Adult stuff.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, uh-huh.”

“She’ll tell you when she’s ready, little lady.”

“You better take good care of her Mr. Jung.”

“I will Miss Hwang.” He hangs up and puts your phone back down. You feel the couch shift when he stands up, then feel his body heat as he kneels on the floor next to you. Wooyoung gently removes your arm from your face, and you turn to look at him.

“Oh, sweetheart…” He sighs, hand going to your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the red skin of your cheek, brushing away a stray tear.

“C-can you call San? And we can watch a movie? Get Indian food?” You aren’t sure how to read Wooyoung’s expression. He seems to be thinking, but then he forces a smile and nods.

“Sure, princess.” Wooyoung stands and presses a long kiss to your forehead, and you blame your turbulent emotions on your racing heart.

~σ-σ~

About two weeks later, you find yourself sitting on the couch, staring at the number you’ve plugged into your phone. You haven’t pressed call yet, the non-local area code of the number glaring at you. It’s a long shot, but you hope calling the mayor’s office might get you somewhere. You’ve been stalling for a long time, his office will only be open for another hour thanks to the time difference. Your sister is getting annoyed with you having her stay the night at a friend’s place, but luckily, she has a slumber party she’d been invited to. The sun is starting to set, and you finally work up the courage to hit call, then turn it onto speaker, at 5:57. It’s probably around 3 there…

“Mayor Elledge’s office, this is Peg.”

“Hi, uh, Peg. I’m… I’m trying to get in contact with Carry Elledge, but I’m not sure how to get ahold of her…” The silence scares you, worried that the woman might be too suspicious to help you.

“May I ask who you are?”

“I’m…a relative. It’s about…my father’s will.” Please work…

“I see… I can get you her cellphone number.” The secretary relents and you sigh in relief, thanking her several times. Typing the number she give you into your notes app, you politely end the conversation and go to call the other number while you still have the courage to do so.

Ring… Ring… Ring-

“Hello, this is Carry?” It’s your mom, no doubt. Tears well in your eyes and you swallow, voice coming out softer than normal to keep from crying.

“M-mom? It’s me. It’s (Y/N).” More silence.

“I think you might have the wrong number, dear.” You feel your face fall, your brow furrowing, your lip trembling.

“This isn’t Naomi Hwang?”

“No, dear, sorry.” There isn’t any kind of recognition in her voice, but it’s hers.

“O-oh…okay, sorry.” The call ends and you press your lips hard together, jaw clenching. What the hell happened? You sit trying to wrap your head around everything, about thirty minutes passing, and your phone stars to ring. It’s a different number, but it’s the same area code as the other two.

“H-hello?”

“Are you the young woman looking for Naomi Hwang?” A man speaks, and you wonder if it’s the mayor guy.

“Yessir.”

“You must be (Y/N).”

“What the hell happened to my mother?” Your tone doesn’t have nearly as much malice as you wanted. Even if this guy did nothing wrong, you hate him. He sighs. He explains that he found her near death in an alleyway. She was malnourished and dehydrated. He got her to the hospital, she had been in a medically induced coma for a few days, and when she woke up…she didn’t remember anything.

“So, she has no idea about her past life?”

“No, miss.”

“Thank you for…not letting her die.”

“I’m sorry to not be of more help Miss (Y/N). Though, I don’t think it’s good for her to be reminded of her past life. I called because she is…having a panic attack. Maybe it was your voice, some part of her recognized it maybe? It’s clear she’s traumatized from her past. I think it’s best if you leave her be.” You don’t want to. You want to get in your car, grab your sister, and drive for the three or four days you need, and get your mother. But… she isn’t your mother anymore, even if she does remember you, it’s clear her brain is hiding you and your sister.

“I…Okay. If you want to know, Daniel Hwang is dying.”

“Good.”

“Yes.”

“I appreciate you wanting to reach out, but I’d like you to lose our numbers.”

“Yessir.” He hangs up. Your body must’ve ran out of tears along with your energy because you just slump back into the couch. Something rises in your then, something bold. Grabbing your bag, phone and keys, you leave your place, heading for Wooyoung and San’s.

~₸v₸~

As you ride the elevator to the third floor, you’re shaking. Whether it’s nerves or pure exhaustion you aren’t sure. Going down the hall, you hear voices further down and you finally see the owners as you turn the corner. San’s standing at this apartment door, some bleach blonde girl wedged between him and the door. You aren’t sure how to feel, your emotions are too turbulent. Somehow, it feels like your heart finally completely shatters, but you’re also relieved, but the latter makes you mad. You turn and flee before you can see his lips actually meet hers.

~ę×ę~

“(Y/N)?” You hear your name through the door, then Wooyoung’s rapid knocks. You’re slumped against the island counter, hands stinging and bleeding, shards of glass and ceramic scattered around the room. Tissue paper and packing peanuts are strewn about the main room of the apartment as well, old papers and books torn and discarded. Splinters of wood from broken frames and dismembered toys litter the floor as well, and you run your thumb over a glass paper weight shaped like a cat.

“(Y/N)?!” Wooyoung jiggles the door handle harder, but it’s locked. A red smear follows your thumb on the glass cat, the cuts on your palms still oozing blood.

“Damnit, (Y/N) Hwang! Open the fucking door, I know you’re in there.” He’s panicking, you can hear it in his voice.

“Fuck off.” You sigh, throwing the glass piece as hard as you can, and it hits the far wall. The ear chips of and breaks, the finish over the brick wall flaking off, then it clatters to the floor.

“(Y/N), please princess, let me in.” You hear a thump, presumably his forehead hitting the door. You lick your lips, the salt of your tears hitting along with the iron tang of blood. You aren’t sure if it’s from where you’d bitten your lip or the cut on the tip of your nose.

“(Y/N)… Please, I need to see you, sweet girl. Please let me know if you’re okay.” You don’t know what time it is, just that it’s late, only the light of the storage room flowing into the room from the door. Your phone had been going off, and you hated the final message you saw on it, so you chucked it across the room as well, breaking it instantly. The place is a mess, and you’re grateful your sister isn’t home to see your breakdown.

“Go away, Wooyoung.” Your voice is hoarse after your crying, but the door is thin, and you know he hears.

“Not a fucking chance, (Y/N).”

“Just…just let me be alone.”

“No! Open the door, damn it!”

“Go home.”

“Shit. (Y/N) open the freaking door or I’m coming up the fire escape!” You know he means it. You get up, not bothering to be careful of what you step on, only wincing slightly as a speck of glass wedges in your foot, joining other scrapes and cuts already present. Shakily, you undo the door chain, and he must hear you turn the deadbolt and unlock the doorknob, because he opens the door before you can. He gasps, looking at your face, pale but red from smeared blood of the small cuts on your face. He looks at your hands too, and the bloody footprints on the floor…

“Oh, my god, (Y/N).” Wooyoung shuts the door, dropping his backpack and cupping your face with his hands. They’re cold from being out in the early autumn night and you don’t even react when he does so. Wooyoung lifts your head so you can look at him and his brow furrows in despair at the blank look in your eyes. Finally, he looks around the room in the low light, shocked at the carnage.

“I called her.” You manage to get out and he looks back at you, confused.

“Mom. I looked up the mayor guy’s office number and called. She didn’t… She didn’t know who I was. Her husband called and told me she had some kind of amnesia after he found her. Then he told me never to try again. So, I…” you lick your lips, “then I…I decided and went to your place. San was taking some blonde bitch into the apartment.” Your breath shudders and his shoulders slump.

“(Y/N)-“

“I…I went to the store, but they were out of Cayman Jacks. The Indian place down the street closed early. The pizza place was out of white sauce… I grabbed some random food from the convenience store and then when I got home… I got a text from that Jena girl, my half-sister,” you spit, “dad’s dead.”

“(Y/N), sunshine, you must… What can I do?” He steps closer, one hand leaving your face to grab your hand. You flinch at the sting, and he holds your hand up to see the cuts in the skin. It looks like you have a few splinters as well.

“Help me clean this mess?”

“I’ll just do it, let’s get you cleaned up first.”

~

He picks a few splinters out of your hands and feet, then sends you off to shower. Wooyoung vows to work on the mess more later, maybe even get Seonghwa’s help, but he deals with the dangerous stuff first. He’s shoved and/or swept all the debris into a big pile in the ravaged storage room, leaving the mess for another time. After carefully picking up all the sharp shards and splintered wood, he vacuums to make sure everything is picked up. He glances up when you shuffle out of the hallway, a towel draped over your wet hair, a soft light-weight grey sweater draped over your torso, and a darker grey pair of shorts nearly hidden by the shirt. Your head is bowed, hands and feet red and he shuffles over to lead you to the couch.

“Did you use soap?”

“Mm… Conditioner stung.” You sit, and he pulls your hands into his lap so he can look them over.

“I’ll help you with these.” He lets your hands go and then his own go to the towel on your head, gently rubbing it over your hair, then scrunching the strands with the fabric to get more of the water out. Gently he lays it around your neck and shoulders, so the still damp strands don’t drip on your shirt. When Wooyoung returns with your first aid box from the bathroom, you’re still sitting in the same spot, staring blankly at a spot on the couch. Sighing, he goes back to you and neither of you say anything as he smears ointment on the cuts. He goes ahead and just wraps some bandages around your right hand since it’s so cut up, but puts band aids on the other. Wooyoung does the same with your feet, and you don’t even flinch even though you’re usually ticklish there. As he finishes some other little tidying things, you run your finger over the chipped nails of your opposite hand, the polish flaking and cracked as well even though (S/N) only painted them two days prior.

“(Y/N), look at me.” He prompts and when you don’t, he gently lifts your head with his finger under your chin.

“I’m so sorry, princess, that your…about your mom. And your father. But with San-“

“It was a stupid thought. I don’t know why I got the courage to go.” You try to look away, but he forces you back to look at him, thumbs stroking your cleaned face. The little cuts have already pretty much closed, and he leans forward and presses a small kiss on the scratch on the tip of your nose.

“It’s not stupid, (Y/N). Neither are you; he is.” You huff a wry laugh, but he shakes his head.

“No, he is. He’s a fucking idiot. You wanna know why?”

“Yeah, why?” You pull both of your legs up under you, leaning with you side into the back of the couch, head resting on the back cushion.

“Any man who doesn’t fall in love with you after knowing you is an idiot. I think I’m the only smart person there is.” Wooyoung shakes his head, throwing the band-aid wrappers onto the coffee tables. It takes your tired brain a bit to process what he’s said, but you still barely have the energy to snap your head up to look at him.

“What?”

“You’re looked at him like he’s hung the damn moon for like two years, but you’re still like a sister to him or something. Fucking stupid.”

“You…fell in love with me?”

“Yes! And you’re an idiot for not noticing. That’s why I’m the only smart one.” He stands up to actually throw the wrappers away, using the task to flee since he’s flushed from his confession. He stands looking down into the nearly full trash for a few seconds, trying to think of what to do next. Before he can turn back to you, he feels your arms wrap around his middle from behind, your cheek pressing to his back. He isn’t very tall, one of the shortest in your friend group, but you’re small compared to even him. Normally your hugs have a great deal of strength in them, like you do as a whole, but he can feel your arms shaking around him.

“I’m sorry for being an idiot, Wooyoung.” Your voice is quiet, he feels it vibrate through him more than actually hearing it with his ears. He sighs.

“It’s…it’s fine. You can’t help how you feel any more than I can.” He lays his hand over your arm, gently prying you off of him, but pulling you back into him once he turns around. As he rests back against the island, you go with him, letting him hold you close. His fingers run through the drying strands of your hair, and you shuffle even closer when he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I…My brain is too frazzled to give you a response right now, Woo. I…I want to tell you-“

“It’s fine, (Y/N). I’m not expecting anything back…”

“No, it’s… I can’t put emotions together right now, but I might like you back, but it could just be my subconscious looking for comfort.”

“Can I help? We can talk it out? What do you want me to do?”

“What do I want…?”

“Anything.” You pull back to look at him, looking over his face. He’s so freaking pretty, his longer black hair is pulled half-up, a few strands framing his face. The ends of the little strands brush over the beauty mark under his eye and your eyes flit to the small one he has on his lip. You bet most people don’t even know it’s there… Bringing your left hand up, your sleeve falls so it’s no longer hanging by your fingers, and your index finger runs over the small dot. You flinch when he quickly grabs your wrist, a little tighter than it maybe should be. He realizes this and loosens, sliding his thumb up to your palm.

“(Y/N). Be careful, sweetheart.” With his grip on your wrist, he pulls you closer.

“Anytime you’re close to me, I want to hold you. I want to kiss you. I want to pin you to the nearest surface and…” He licks his lips, brow furrowing, “don’t let me do something you’ll regret because you’re weak now.” You grimace, looking down, stepping back from him.

“D-don’t…” Your breath shudders and he can tell you’re starting to cry again.

“Hey, hey.” He pulls you back in for a hug, “I will hold you as long as you want. I can lie on the couch, and you can lie on me. We can sleep there. We’ll watch that movie you like so much that your sister hates…” You sniff, nodding and he kisses the crown of your head before you pull back, and he leads you to the couch. Not even ten minutes later he’s stretched across the old couch, you nestled half on top of him, half between him and the back of the couch, the intro of The Last Unicorn playing on the TV. You normally don’t use a blanket on the couch, not unless you’re upset, so it’s wrapped around you, tucked under your chin.

“How did you know to come?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you come here?”

“Oh. (S/N) was freaking out because you weren’t answer any texts or video galls, and your phone was going straight to voicemail. I texted her that you broke your phone and that she doesn’t need to come home.” Like it feels left out, his phone buzzes, and he shifts to grab it from the coffee table. You sneakily glance and see that it’s from San.

🐯: where you at??

He just puts the phone down, but it buzzes not even a minute later.

🐯: is (Y/N) ok, or do I need to send Becca home and come over?

“You better not fucking come here.” Wooyoung huffs quietly, managing to use one hand and reply.

🦊: She’s fine now. Leave us alone.

“That’s harsh.”

“He broke your heart; I should be much worse.” He clicks his tongue, picking his phone up when it buzzes again on his stomach.

🐯: wtf you good? Are you mad?

“Yeah, I’m fucking pissed.”

“He’s calling.” You mumble, looking at his screen while he looks at the TV, trying to think of what to say. He angrily slides at the answer button, having to do it a second time for it to work.

“What?!” He nearly shouts into the phone, his even-louder-than-normal voice sharp in your ear.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Wooyoung brushes over your hair, “What?”

“Woah, dude, are you sure you’re okay?”

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“Woo.” You scold, and that seems to make him even more mad.

“Is she okay?!” San must’ve not heard…

“Yes, you stupid- She’s fine. What do you want?”

“Can I talk to her?”

“No, you can’t.”

“What? Why?”

“Just go…hang out with or in Becca or whatever-“ You smack his chest and he yipes.

“Did you make her upset; did you guys get into a fight?”

“No-“

“I’m coming over-“

“Damnit, no!”

“I don’t see why you fucking care, Choi San.” Something snaps in you, your last vestiges of rationale fizzling out. Wooyoung chokes around a laugh, quickly putting the call on speaker.

“N-(Y/N)?” He sounds like a whimpering puppy.

“Why are you trying to stuck up for me or defend me?”

“Y-you’re…you’re like my sister-“ Your fingers dig into Wooyoung’s shirt so hard, you scratched the skin underneath some, and you sit up, grabbing the phone.

“You know why I’m not okay? Huh? I found out my mom’s alive but doesn’t remember me or my sister. My dad is dead. I couldn’t get my favorite butter chicken, and the guy I like is at his place sucking face with some chick who looks like she can’t do basic addition. So, fuck off, San.” You hang up and slide Wooyoung’s phone away, so it lands on the coffee table, sliding just a bit further past where it lands. Huffing, you lay back down onto your other friend and continue to watch the movie. You both try to focus, but after a few minutes, you both burst into laughter, and it’s a good five minutes before you can fully calm down.

“I’m so fucking tired.” You rest your hand over your eyes, wedged between Wooyoung and the couch and he turns toward you, blocking your view of the TV.

“Do you feel better though?” He brushes your hair off your face, and you nod, nestling into the crook of his neck.

“Just sleep, sweetheart.” Wooyoung presses another kiss to your forehead, and you can’t help but listen.

~ųƐų~

You wake up sore, not sure if it’s from sleeping on your shitty couch or from the destruction you had wrecked on your apartment the night before. Wooyoung is still asleep, curled around you, and still so, so pretty. You assume he thinks that if you waited, you’d realize you’re just wanting him for comfort, not because you like him back. But, after sleeping on it, you aren’t so sure. Before, you really didn’t know if you like him back or not, but as you watch him sleep (feeling a bit creepy honestly) you think about it. When you first became friends, you had a pretty big crush on him. The closer you got, the more it seemed he got on your nerves, and he was just annoying and immature. But after graduating, you got much closer; he really is your best friend. You’re genuinely closer with Wooyoung than San, but you almost always hang out as the three of you. Could you have liked both, but chose San because you didn’t want to admit you’ve liked Wooyoung the entire time you’ve known him? Did he annoy you so much because you have feelings for him like some elementary age boy who pulls a girl’s hair, and says he hates her? Gently, so as not to wake him, you cup his jaw with your hands much like he had the day prior to you.

“Be careful, sweetheart.” He echoes the same words from the day before, not even opening his eyes.

“Why?” His eyes finally open, the intensity in his gaze taking your breath away. Wooyoung scoots an inch closer, pressing you further into the back cushions, his knee wedging between your legs. You gasp when he presses closer, finally feeling him against you.

“If you let me kiss you, I won’t stop there.” His lips hover over yours, tongue flicking out and running over your bottom lip as well as his.

“Then don’t.”

“(Y/N)-“

“I’m sure, Wooyoung. I thought about it, and yes, I have…had a crush on San. But that’s what it is, like a school crush. You’re right that I was stupid. I don’t love you because you’re my best friend, you’re my best friend because I love you. I’m in love with you.” Normally such flowery words make you cringe, but yours are genuine. He breathes out hard with his nose, brow furrowing, eyes flitting away from yours, down to your lips.

“That was part of the reason I was so upset last night. Yes, I felt heartbroken from seeing San with that girl, but I also felt horrible, because I wasn’t nearly as upset as I thought I’d be. I was just glad it wasn’t you with some bleach blonde bitch. After I found out about my mother…I was really glad you came over and not San.” Wooyoung can’t hold a giggle back, trying to keep his face serious, but he can’t.

“And I’m glad my sister called you, that you came.” You smile purely, but his turns into a smirk, the arm not under your head curling around you. You gasp when he slides the last little bit closer, hitching your leg over his hips and grinding his hardening cock into you.

“You have ten seconds to tell me to get off, otherwise I’m fucking you stupid on this couch.” You whimper at his words, hands leaving his face and resting on his shoulders. You buck your hips, causing him to let out a soft grunt.

“Stupid, huh?” You smirk back and you squeak when he rolls on top of you, soft lips capturing your chapped ones. The kiss isn’t gentle, his tongue quickly invading your mouth, tasting every inch of your tongue, his strong thigh hitching hard against your mound. Sneaky hands sneak under the waist band of your shorts, fingers pressing hard into the flesh of your ass, pulling you up against him, feeling the outline of his dick against your tummy. Wooyoung pulls back from the kiss, letting you catch your breath, a trail of saliva dripping down your chin. He kneels over you, pulling his shirt off and chucking it across the room. You whimper, your won sneaky hands stroking over the skin of his chest and abs, when did he get so built?

“Up.” He orders, and you sit up just enough for him to pull your shirt off, along with your sports bra underneath.

“Fuck~!” You twitch as those sinful lips wrap around your nipple, teeth nibbling the peak before moving to the next, then up. Finally, his trail of kisses stop at your throat, and he sucks your skin between his teeth there. It’s too high to hide, and he works the skin nearly raw, leaving a large purple welt on your jaw.

“Ah!” You jerk under him when his hand dives under your shorts and panties, two fingers swiping through the slick of your folds.

“You’re already this wet for me, sweetheart?” Wooyoung chuckles in your ear, those two fingers not hesitating to plunge into you. The sudden intrusion takes your breath away, the slight burn leaves your head swimming. He only pumps the digits maybe twice before retracting his hand, and instead shoves his fingers in his own mouth.

“Oh, fuck~” He groans, climbing off of you, then shoves you up the rest of the way on the couch, landing on it with his stomach. Your shorts and pants fly through the air, joining the rest of your clothes and he throws your legs over his shoulders. Your skin feels like it catches on fire when his tongue wastes no time in wiggling inside your cunt. It’s long and he knows how to work it, his nose brushing your clit as he drank from you like a thirsty dog.

“Woo-Wooyoung, god~!” Your breath hitches, legs twitching around his head, that deft tongue leaving your core to circle your clit, those two fingers sinking into your heat once more. He pulls back, licking his lips, spread into a sinful grin.

“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart~” He groans, crooking his fingers up hard, battering your weak spot.

“W-w-wait!” Your orgasm is coming on fast, and his fingers keep up their antics as he lays over you again, nose nuzzling behind your ear.

“Cum for me, princess.” He licks over the crest of your ear, and he chuckles breathily as your cunt clenches and spasms around his fingers, their wiggling spurring your orgasm along. You shudder and heave as he pulls them out, and you flinch when the slick pad of his index finger lowers, swirling over your pucker.

“Huh?” Your back arches from the odd sensation, but he doesn’t go further than a few teasing brushes.

“Maybe later, I want to taste all of you. And I want to fuck you full of my cum there too.” He sinks his teeth into your earlobe, and you turn your head to the side submissively, whimpering.

“Oh, you’re a good girl, huh?” His teeth scrape along the column of your exposed throat, your head twists more to give him better access.

“Fuck, you’re gonna feel so good on my cock, princess.” Wooyoung groans, scattering kisses over your neck, shoulders and throat as he wiggles to get his pants and boxers off. Hauling you back down the couch, he easily grabs your thighs to lead you to wrap them around his middle. You sigh, feeling the heat of his hard cock sliding through your folds, heading swimming as the fat head prods your entrances, then slides up.

“Wooyoung, please~!” You whimper, wanting him to sear through you, craving the burning sting.

“You wanna know something, sunshine?”

“What?” He chuckles at your slightly slurred speech.

“I plan on railing you so hard you don’t even remember who San is.” He hums and you can’t brace for his entrance, his fat cock filling you with a hard snap of his hips. Your back arches, breath forced out of you, chipped fingernails digging crescents into his back. Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, gummy walls spasming and fluttering around his cock, somehow the pain of him gouging into you threw you over the edge so quickly it makes your clit sting too.

“God, fuck, Wooyoung!” You finally catch your breath enough to speak and he groans long and deep.

“You’re so fucking perfect, (Y/N). Oh, sweetheart, you’re made for me~!” He groans a laugh, fading into a whine as the clenches fade with your orgasm. You feel like a truck hit you, vision blurry, lower half protesting at Wooyoung’s brutal entrance, but you love it. Your hips jump again, cunt sucking him in further when he sits up more, pinning one of your knees to your shoulder, holding the other at his waist.

“Look at your cute little pussy struggling to take me, huh?” He loves the sight of your tight core weeping around his sock, slick shining along his flesh and both of your inner thighs.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart~” He giggles, and your fingers gouge lines down the skin of his back as he starts, pace immediately relentless, battering your cervix with the head of his dick. The hand at your thigh holds it to his left side, sliding down your body and gripping your ass.

“Hm, you like it, pretty girl? Like my fat cock?”

“Fuck, yes, Woo~” Your breath heaves, and you let out a delirious giggle, gasping and whining hard as his rapid pace barrels you through your third orgasm. Your cunt stings, but it’s so good. You squeal when his hand leaves your butt, only to slap the skin hard, the sting travelling up your hip and into your thigh. He feels your walls grip him harder at the spank, so he does it again, harder.

“Oh, shit-!” Your head lolls against the couch cushion, face and neck flushed, heaving for air. Your nails claw down his chest to his stomach and he licks his lips at the sting.

“(Y/N), you’re such a good girl, yeah? My good girl~”

“Y-yours~!”

“Yes, sweetheart. All mine, oh, you’re doing so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, princess. This pussy’s so good too, welcoming my cock home?”

“Yeah~!” You giggle, dumb on his cock and he hasn’t even cum once yet.

“Aw, love, can I cum inside? You on the pill, yeah? Let me paint you white, huh? Fuck you full of my cum, then flip you over and give you more?” He’s laughing every few words, sounding a bit delirious himself. He’s wanted to have you like this for so long, and he’s going to fuck you on every surface in the place if he can.

“P-please~!”

“Okay, I’m gonna then-“ Wooyoung hums, it fading into a groan, then with a few more stuttering thrusts, you feel heat blossom in your lower stomach. His cock pulses as rope after rope of hot jizz fills you, a few drops leaking from where he splits you open, leaving a mess on the couch. Your body jerks as his orgasm fades, you almost black out from your own. Your clit is throbbing, folds swollen and red, but he’s still painfully hard…

~

“Hold on here.” Wooyoung moves your hands to the mount of the shower head, and you wrap your fingers around the metal pipe. Your toes curl as he enters you again, hot water hitting his back and dripping off of him onto you. Drops of cum hit the shower floor along with the water and he starts to pound into you again. The water makes the slaps of the skin of his pelvis against your butt and thighs all the louder, nearly muffling your soft whimpers and mewls. Your ass is red, covered in hand-shaped welts, thighs littered with hickeys and kiss-marks. His back, chest, and stomach are covered in scratches, a bite-mark etched into his shoulder and a single hickey clings to his jawline. You aren’t sure how long it’s been since he first got inside you, but it has to have been hours ago. You have no idea where his stamina has come from, and your once burning cunt has more or less numbed to the sting of overstimulation, tiny orgasms shattering through you without warning or reason. You feel the wets strands of his hair on your shoulders as he leans over you, hand cupping the underside of your breast, the other over your hands on the shower mount.

“Fuck, (Y/N), I love you. I love you so much.” He kisses your shoulder, avoiding a sore-looking mark he’d left.

“I-I love you t-t-too, Wooyoung-!” You heave for air as another tiny climax shivers through you.

“Breathe baby, you gotta pace yourself, I still gotta fuck you stupid~” Wooyoung giggles and you just squeak and mewl, since he already has.

Master-Master List

ATEEZ Master List

[seat-safety-switch]

In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the people who repair fences, and the people who let them fall apart. These are their stories.

When I moved into my house, the fence was in good condition. In case you're from a country that hadn't invented them yet, "fences" are an artificial construct of humanity meant to delineate the boundaries of property between two or more identical suburban houses. And, being part of your property, they are part of how you are perceived.

Here's the problem: fences are made out of flawed, human construction. Mine was (I think) made out of wood. When that wood rotted, the planks fell out, and maybe a couple posts stayed behind. Suddenly, passersby could see into my property, and see that I was not in fact a Good Person who was Trying Hard To Fit In. Not like themselves, who agonized over every missing flake of Home Depot Eggshell Blue on their own fences after a long, hard winter.

As things degraded further, with neighbourhood children wandering, confused, into my yard after not seeing any fence keeping them from doing so, by-law enforcement was summoned. The belief was that they would punish me for going against the grain, for letting my fence fall apart.

Unfortunately for them, my attorney, who spends most of his spare time writing erotic fan-fiction about our city's specific property-standards bylaws (don't ask to see them, they're really bad, and the main character is an obvious self-insert) was on the case. He actually made one of the bylaw managers quit rather than spend another hour on the phone with him. After all that stress, it turns out that while you can't have a bad-looking fence, you don't actually have to have a fence at all.

One delightful weekend of sledgehammers removed the last of the rotten planks and split posts, and my yard was now full of free-range 1970s shitbox Chryslers. A glorious moment for civilization.

Unfortunately, it didn't take long for me to realize exactly why fences are valuable: they keep the undesirable element out of your yard.

Only a few days after my triumph over the decline of mind-your-own-fucking-businessism, I noticed something strange in my yard. Tucked in amongst where I would normally have terrible cars, someone had parked a fully-intact Ford Galaxie, presumably thinking I wouldn't even notice. As if I could not give special attention to a vehicle that still has its hood and its trunk!

The haters won in the end: I was forced to go to Home Depot, that knurled-wood nest of knavery, and purchase the shittiest chain-link fence kit that I could find. No cost was too great to keep the Fordites away from my homestead, with their firestarting dodgy electrics and perfect paint.

[literallyjusttoa]

If y'all are ever feeling down and sad, you should try this quick and easy solution:

Make Lester You!!!

And I don't mean regular old kinning and projection. No, I'm talking just inserting a whole bunch of your features onto Lester for fun. I know we have a description of him from the books but Lester is our fav king of delusion so we can just pretend he made it up idk. Here let me give you an example. Today I did a quick semi-realistic study to pin down the facial features of my God-type Apollo:

Here's all the reasoning I had behind his design

Long straight nose is common for Greeks + it's meant to make the face have a bit of a bird-ish shape. This is a trait he shares with Athena.

Hooded eyes double for intimidation factor and pretty boy status, plus sunbeam eyelashes for extra flair.

A bit of a more pronounced bottom lip (for dramatic pouting)

Softer curl pattern, similar to clouds (A bit straighter than his dad’s, Cumulonimbus vs. Stratus)

NOSE RING! Cannot believe I hadn't added this before it's perfect.

Mid-range face shape, not round but not too long either. Again, going for a pretty and masculine look. I don't want to make him too angular, so I tried to round out his face to contrast the sharper lines of his eyes and nose.

Now, here's the study I did for normal-type Apollo

(It's a bit messier I had to do it quick sry)

And what's the reasoning behind this one?

...

IT'S ME I TOOK A WHOLE BUNCH OF MY FACIAL FEATURES AND I SAID THESE ARE LESTER'S NOW THIS IS CANON AND RICK AGREED AND SO I AM RIGHT

Anyways try out this fun hack it'll change your life I swear.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

The real estate ad says this gorgeous 1927 Spanish Colonial in San Antonio, Texas is a great opportunity to restore an historic home. But, I hope it doesn't mean that someone will come along to gut and modernize this nearly 100% original home. I would rather just repair and paint the amazing 4bd, 2ba, 3.5ba building and leave the architecture as it is. Let's go thru it.

Isn't this entrance hall fabulous? Original double doors that need refinishing, floral tile floors and wrought iron inserts on the windows, plus wrought iron gates. Also an original light fixture and door chime.

The dramatic, huge iron gates open to the great room.

Behold the great room. Original tile floors, columns, arches, a balcony, and a mezzanine. The wrought iron on the left show the stairs. And, the gold corbels in the corners are so beautiful.

These 2 photos show the umbrella shape of the incredible ceiling with corbels in each corner. I can picture someone taking all the iron down and lowering the ceiling, making it flat.

Off the great room, they must've had a game room and it looks like they left a vintage pool table. The ceiling needs repair, the walls need touch up and paint. The floor could use a sanding and refinish.

The wonderful chunky old pool table is hiding the fireplace, and there's a fabulous one behind it. Love the curve and shape of the ceiling.

Off the game room is a dining room. Again, it will need a few tweaks. But, the doors, wrought iron, etc., are in good shape. The brass fixture is original but may have to be rewired and polished.

The owners put in new appliances but I would sell them, then buy the retro look ones.

I love the kitchen. It needs some tile repair and stuff, but it's mostly original, especially the cabinets and the range hood. You know someone's gonna gut this and completely modernize it.

Oh, damn, looks like that one iron inset is broken. Up here on the mezzanine the beautiful railing has to be repainted or stripped.

It's so nice up here.

Looking down at the great room. Love this house so much.

This must be a bedroom and that's probably the "closet" behind the drapes. Look like there's a balcony, too.

Cute smaller room.

Look at this wonderful vintage bath. Toilet's new, but you can see the outline of the old one. There's an original sink and medicine chest.

And, this would be the 3rd bd.

Oh, look at this- original tub. The pedestal sink looks like a good repro and at least some of the tile is original. There's also a shower on the right.

I would say that this large room with the fireplace is the primary bedroom. Beautiful.

What a great big outdoor space to entertain. It's covered and on each wall is a lantern light- can you imagine how pretty they would look at night?

Lovely fenced yard. You can see the bedroom balconies, too. Could probably fit a pool back here. The lot is 9,060 sq. ft.

From here you can see that it has a port cochere and a garage. Also, above is that wonderful covered deck.

[naffeclipse]

Just out of curiosity, what started this hyper fixation with naga/snakes in the first place? 👀

To be fair, I kinda avoided the whole snake AU, bc I somewhat fear snakes. Even though, I held one, just to over come my fears >< But seeing/reading all those stories, I'm slowly finding them less scary, sorry for rambling in the end ;w;

I don't blame you for fearing snakes! My dad is terrified of them, and I was bitten by one as a kid. I was full-on sobbing because I thought the "venom" was going to kill me, but it was just a little garden snake. But, of course, I was fine; the little puncture marks didn't even bleed for five minutes.

As for what started it, I just think they're neat *insert me holding a naga like a potato*

I think they have a lot of possibilities and I love their appearance along with the ways monsters in general can be explored. Nagas offer a fascinating range of abilities such as venom, hypnotism/charm, strength, the particular hiss they can conjure, the many beautiful ways their scales can take form along with additional features like hoods and fangs, what habitats they thrive in, and—not to mention—the particular way they can attack or show affection. I think they scratch that same itch that mermaids do for me in that they're human on top but have a signature appendage/body below the waist that directly affects how they interact with the world. The way a naga cuddles and holds (or even frightens) their human significant other with their coils is especially engaging to me.

I think a lot of this goes along with my fascination with monsters/creatures/robots/other beings. There are so many ways to explore another being sharing a connection with a human and I think that's beautiful.

[chic-a-gigot]

Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 9, vol. 19, 28 février 1897, Paris. 18. Toilettes de cérémonie. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

(1.) Toilette de mariée en satin. Jupe à traîne ronde, garnie devant d’un volant de mousseline de soie, surmonté d’un cordon de fleurs d’oranger, remontant en quille sur les côtés, corsage froncé devant, croise à partir de la taille garni d’un cordon de fleurs d'oranger terminé par un bouquet. Ceinture drapée. Manches froncées dans toute la longueur, recouvertes du haut par deux volants mousseline de soie, col droit et ruche. Voile de tulle de soie et diadème de fleurs d’oranger, gants suede blanc.

(1.) Satin bridal ensemble. Skirt with round train, trimmed in front with a silk chiffon ruffle, topped with a cord of orange flowers, going up in a keel on the sides, gathered bodice in front, crosses from the waist trimmed with a cord of orange blossoms finished with a bouquet. Draped belt. Full-length gathered sleeves, covered at the top by two silk chiffon ruffles, straight collar and ruffle. Silk tulle veil and orange flower tiara, white suede gloves.

Matér.: 20 m. satin, 2 m. mousseline de soie.

—

(2.) Toilette en bengaline gris nickel et entre-deux dentelle. Jupe ronde, garnie d’entre-deux, disposés en seconde jupe. Corsage blouse froncé à la taille, garni d’entre-deux. Ceinture suissesse en pointe, col droit en velours rubis, collerette de dentelle. Manches garnies d’entre-deux avec petits ballons bien enlevés. Chapeau feutre gris orné dentelle blanche, velours gris, plumes et aigrette blanches.

(2.) Ensemble in nickel gray bengaline and lace insert. Round skirt, garnished with in-betweens, arranged as a second skirt. Blouse bodice gathered at the waist, trimmed with inserts. Swiss point belt, straight collar in ruby velvet, lace collar. Sleeves trimmed with small balloons well removed. Gray felt hat decorated with white lace, gray velvet, white feathers and egret.

Matér. : 15 m. de bengaline, 0m50 velours.

—

(3.) Toilette en moire brodée noire. Jupe ronde unie, montée à fronces derrière. Corsage blouse en bengaline jaune orange en serré daus une haute ceinture-corselet en satin noir, petit figaro très court garni de deux rangs de dentelle. Manches unies avec petit drapé dans le haut, volant au bas. Capote de jais ornée de dentelle et chrysanthèmes.

(3.) Black embroidered moire ensemble. Plain round skirt, gathered with gathers at the back. Blouse bodice in orange-yellow bengaline tightly fitted with a high corselet belt in black satin, very short little figaro trimmed with two rows of lace. Plain sleeves with small drape at the top, ruffle at the bottom. Jet hood decorated with lace and chrysanthemums.

Matér.: 15 m. de moire, 0m50 satin. 5 m. dentelle.

[iventilation]

How To Instal Range Hood?

[rubythestar]

Sooo! Little competition thingy!

So! I have an AU idea for lunar, he's some sort of fighter/assassin that sort of think, I get the feeling he'd either use, like, a duel weild type weapon, or long ranged, he'd probably wear a poncho+hood. Also, this occurred to me in a very lucid and weird dream that included something getting slaughtered- I have no idea what is wrong with my brain- !!!THERE WILL BE REWARDS!!! These are the requirements for the design if you wish to participate:

-Must have a poncho+hood

-Outfit must consist of shades of blues, light purples, light yellows, and white, you are allowed to add colors

-You can draw it in any style you wish, it can be in a multi-view, but no AI generated images pleas

-No OC inserts please.

-There can be blood/gore, but not in heavy amounts, and please restrain from revealing outfits, long baggy pants, or baggy kneelength shorts with/without shoes is fine, he at least needs a T-shirt under the poncho, and he works as a café waiter, so I wouldn't mind if you draw a uniform for that(apron, hat, black pants, you pick colors, design, under-outfit). Also, if pants regular shoes/or no shoes, if shorts boots/or none.

-No human, has to be based on the actual lunar from TSAMS/LAES, if he has hair, its fine, just make it look similar to one of those shiny silver haired dolls or smth, stick to white, silver, light blue, and blue hair colors.

-Please do not make him seem like a girl, if I want a gender-swap vers, I'll ask.

My idea in picture for reference+lunar pics for yall:

If you want, use both color schemes, that'd be lovely, I wouldn't mind, but focus the design based off the most recent version of lunar, aka the 2d pic of him.

This is just a reference of my idea, you don't have to use it, and hair is an option. These are the rewards:

1st place: Full body, maybe I'll color it in, two-three oc's/characters with your lunar design in it.(can include other ppls if u tag them)

2nd place: Might do full body, might be half body, one-maybe two oc's/characters with the 1st place design/or your design(your choice) of the lunar.(I will consider letting you add other ppls oc's if u tag them)

3rd place: Half body, one character/oc with the 1st place design.(only your oc)

(blues for main outfit+skin/metal|yellows and oranges for stars+moons+small accents on outfit)

Preferred colors, feel free to add colors or not to use some, but you have to use at least two, and I will be checking.

Please explain-

[phrynefishersfrocks]

Hats & Hairpieces Recap

Season Two

Phryne wears a total of 36 hats and hairpieces throughout the second season, nine more than the 27 items in the first season. Her headwear ranges jeweled hair slides to elegant cloches to feathered headbands. The clear favorite of both this season and overall is her breaking and entering cat burglar beret with sixteen uses - ten of which are in season two alone. Coming in second is her linen detective hat, with seven uses this season and fourteen appearances overall.

1.Spanish Hat - A traditional Spanish hat in black felt with a wide brim and black ribbon hatband - 2x01, 2x01

2. Hello Jack - Blue straw hat with a curved brim, and antique ash-brown, blue, and black feathers attached to the black hatband - 2x01

3. Burlesque Headpiece - Spiral headpiece adorned with strands of glass beads - 2x01

4. Sequined Headpiece - Headpiece made in-house by the costume team stringing sequins onto very fine pieces of wire - 2x01, 2x01

5. Cemetery Hat - Black straw with green and white feather detail - 2x01, 2x02, 2x06 (base seen in 1x13)

6. Cat Burglar Beret - Classic black French beret made in a circular fashion - 2x01, 2x03, 2x04, 2x05, 2x05, 2x06, 2x07, 2x11, 2x12, 2x12 (also 1x05, 1x05, 1x06, 1x09, 1x10, 1x10)

7. Tan Straw Hat -  Finely woven straw hat with a modest brim and brown ribbon trim with a matching wide hatband - 2x01

8. Grey Summer Hat - Grey straw hat with blue overtones, organza petal detail and pearl decoration - 2x02

9. Beaded Headband - Black headband with black beaded detail - 2x02

10. Detective Hat - Tan linen wide-brimmed hat dyed to match her car coat - 2x02, 2x03, 2x04, 2x06, 2x07, 2x10, 2x12 (also 1x02, 1x02, 1x04, 1x06, 1x08, 1x09, 1x13)

11. Spiral Hair Slides - Jeweled spiral hair combs - 2x03 (also 1x12)

12. Beach Holiday Hat - Cream straw hat with pink and white silk organza band and button - 2x03

13. Beach Sunhat - Cream wide brim summer hat with raffia embroidery detail - 2x03, 2x03

14. Harlequin Hat - White felt with original Victorian twisted raw silk trim, osprey feathers, silkworm thread, and velvet bind with crystal buttons that match the coat - 2x04

15. White Felt with Bronze Motif Hat - Cream felt hat with bronze period flower motifs and hand-painted ‘pearlized’ beads - 2x04, 2x07 (also 1x05, 1x07, 1x12)

16. Pearl Headdress - Silver headdress made with glass beads and pearls - 2x04

17. Pom-Pom Hat - Plum felt hat with a 1920's silk pom-pom, navy vintage feathers, and antique navy ribbon - 2x05, 2x08

18. French Navy Hat - Antique silk moire band with buttons on a French Navy felt hat - 2x05

19. Showstopper Headband - Yellow feather pom-pom attached to a black headband - 2x05

20. Navy Velvet Hood with Tassel - Lucious navy velvet with silk satin insert and tassel - 2x06 (also 1x03, 1x07)

21. Red Flower Cloche - Burgundy red felt with cut out flowers and feather detailing - 2x07 (also 1x01, 1x01, 1x02, 1x04, 1x04, 1x05, 1x06, 1x09)

22. Red Felt Circle Hat - Red felt hat with black, red, and cream felt interlocking circles set on matching ribbons - 2x07 (also 1x05)

23. Racing Cap - Tan leather driving cap with metal guides at the sides to hold googles in place - 2x07

24. Leopard Print Cloche - Cream cloche with leopard spots, thin black ribbons holding cream and black feathers - 2x08

25. Maroon Day Hat - Deep pink felt hat with a pom-pom decoration of colorful modern and antique feathers - 2x08

26. Hollywood Felt - Chartreuse felt hat with pink velvet hat band, pink and black feather detail and bronze leaf - 2x09

27. Golden Girl Headpiece - Antique metal leaf with diamantes and black feathers - 2x09

28. Blue Feather Cloche - 1960's navy felt hat modified into a cloche, with 1920's feather band added - 2x09

29. Director's Hat - Green felt fedora with a matching hatband - 2x09

30. Vineyard Hat - Hat quality felt with green and black antique feathers with a black hatband and crystal button - 2x10

31. Radio Station Hat - Pink felt hat with brown hatband and a variety of colored feathers - 2x11

32. Green Velvet Hood - Green velvet hat with green silk organza insert - 2x11

33. Butterfly Hair Slide - Jeweled hair slide with a butterfly shape in the center and two loops extending to either side - 2x11

34. White Cloche with Grey Swirl - White felt cloche with icy grey velvet swirls - 2x12

35. Dr. Zhivago Fur Hat - White faux fur circular hat with felt insert - 2x13, 2x13

36. Christmas Party Headband - Dyed orange and black feathers with a 'nest' and small egg-like bead inside - 2x13

Hat and headpiece photos from the official Pinterest, official Facebook, Screencapped.net, Alekino Plus (now defunct) and various sources (x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x).

[a-large-orange-cat]

Hello! I absolutely adore your Blackbird au, I've recommended it to all my friends and reread it dozens of times. I saw your answer on an ask where you said you might not be adding new installments, which, though I'm a little sad to hear it, I definitely understand and support you doing what works for you. I'm grateful for what you've shared with us as is. That being said, if you have any snippets or ideas of how the story was going to continue, I'd be thrilled to read it (if you're willing to share). Thanks!

anon you are a gift and a blessing. my greatest regret with stopping was that the third fic was the one where I was actually going to justify why the whole thing is called the blackbird AU. the third fic was going to have victor zsasz as its villain, with Tim balancing working with Jason, playing keep-away with the Bats, and not getting murdered. he was going to move more fully into the vigilante sphere in Gotham and cement his existence as a player and his relationship to the others.

with that in mind, i'm going to share 2 different scenes regarding Tim preparing for his debut (long post under the cut):

Tim takes his time putting on the layers Jason left strewn across the dining table. The underlayers cling to him in a way he’s not used to, tight against his joints. The Kevlar vest and titanium plate inserts sit more naturally, but they’re heavier than suit jackets or sweatshirts, and Tim has to shift the way he holds his shoulders to balance the weight a little better. The Teflon layers for the exterior of the outfit help hide the bulk; Tim looks like a bigger person than he is, but not an armored one.

There’s an almost-full-size mirror in the safehouse’s bathroom, with a single long crack running through a third of it. Tim stares at himself.

He looks—unremarkable. Nondescript. The majority of the suit is blacks and grays; enough variation to not stand out as a suspicious figure in a daytime crowd, but easy to melt into the shadows of Gotham’s hazy gray darkness. There are no distinguishing features, no emblems, no colors. The jacket looks like a lightly-insulated raincoat; the collar of the armored vest looks like a sweater, and the high collar of the undershirt is just that: a high-collared shirt. The pants are bulky, but still follow the line of his legs. Heavy boots.

Tim’s hair isn’t that long; his entire adolescence, it was whatever length Black Mask’s men decided to cut it when he asked them. He still has to push strands out of the way, shake his head back, to put the mask on.

It covers above his eyebrows to the line of his cheekbones. A reinforced structure runs along the line of the nose to protect it if he gets punched in the face.

He stares at himself through the white lenses.

When Tim was eleven, he dreamed of being Robin.

He’s not dressed like a vigilante. There’s too much practicality in the armor Jason got for him; no emblems, no declarations of intention. The design is meant to protect him, not to let him protect others. Tim looks like part of a strike team, not a superhero.

This isn’t a childhood fantasy. It’s an inevitability, a consequence of the person Tim was made into.

There’s no point in lingering. Tim takes the mask off and pulls himself away from the mirror, from his own reflection. He isn’t going to overthink this—to leave himself the opportunity to be convinced that this is a bad idea. Or even that it’s a good one.

It’s—it’s a purpose. It’s not a sentimental thing. Tim manipulated Red Hood into having a spare set of armor for him. Manipulated Red Hood into agreeing to help him. It’s for his own purpose, his own agenda.

He pushes aside the tangled knot in his chest; it’s not worth dealing with, not right now, not while Zsasz has just started the timer until he tries to kill Tim.

On the kitchen counter, next to the phone and the address, is a holster and a handgun.

A few trips to one of the firing ranges in Gotham had been one of those inevitable things Tim added onto his schedule, after his run-ins with Red Hood. Mostly to have a minimum cover of his bases; he knows how to load a pistol, take the safety off, and hit a still target from twenty feet away. That’s all he thought he’d need.

The gun’s heavy when he picks it up.

Tim makes himself ignore the weight of it. It’s another practicality. Another tool to remind himself that he’s a lot of things, but he’s not a superhero.

The holster is intended to conceal the pistol under his jacket. Tim buckles it on and checks the safety before he slots the pistol into place against his ribs.

There’s no point in overthinking it. It’s basic self-defense; a weapon that Tim can use with minimal training.

It’s not like Tim can’t make the call whether or not someone needs to die. He’s done it before. Jason pulled the trigger, but Tim’s the one who killed Roman Sionis.

It’s not like Tim’s intending to let Victor Zsasz live. He grabs a dark green jacket off the back of a chair, stuffs the spare phone and printed-out police photographs in his pocket, and leaves the safehouse.

Tim double-checks for cameras – very few in Crime Alley, he knows from the police’s complaints – and slips into a back alley to put his mask on. From there, it’s up the fire escape to the second-floor windows.

There’s two windows next to the fire escape landing on this floor; the first is a dark hallway. Tim spares a glance at the lock on the inside. Unlocked, if he needs to open it. Might be how Jason got into the building in the first place.

The one next to it has a light on. Tim stays low, moving forward just enough to peer around the edge of the window frame.

The scene inside is familiar. A table in the center of the room, covered in notes, markers, maps; the men that surround it, nearly half visibly armed; the single individual at the head of the table as the immediate threat in the room.

Except this is Red Hood, not Black Mask.

Tim looks over the others in the room. They’re varying states of attentive; it seems like four are actively engaged in discussion at the moment, and the rest are hanging back for now.

The ones hanging back aren’t even really paying attention to the proceedings. From what Tim can hear of the muffled voices, it sounds like Red Hood’s working something out with the ones he’s talking to.

Some part of Tim wants to wedge the window open and slip inside. He wants—

Oh.

He wants to be in this room.

The desire sits at the front of his breastbone like a thread drawn taut. Tim wants to hear what Red Hood’s saying. How he determines orders, how he distributes them. How crime works on this smaller scale, where Jason cares about individual people.

It’s not—the desire isn’t totally unreasonable. These would all be useful things to know. Things Tim could justify knowing, things that would make it easier for him to help Jason, to make use of him, to plan around him for other parts of Gotham.

Except Tim’s not sure this want is about any of those things.

He’s been hesitating outside the window too long. He’s too visible, and Red Hood’s helmet turns sharply, facing directly towards him.

Tim takes a step back, but not fast enough. He sees the posture of the men in the room react; sees a few reach for weapons. The muffled sound of conversation stops, and then the bottom half of the window slides up.

Red Hood sticks his helmet out. “We’re running late,” he says, tone flat through the filter. “Get in here.”

He moves back out of sight, further into the room. Tim approaches slowly, apprehension mixing with the desire in his chest into something sharp and uncertain.

Every face in the room is turned towards him. He slips through the window, privately relieved that he’s not large enough to make it an awkward fit.

Tim stands with his shoulders set, confident in the way he learned through blood and mistakes. Confident in a way that gives away nothing of the ache in his chest, the way Tim desperately wants to move to the planning table, to see and assess and maximize Red Hood’s resources, give the orders and watch Gotham reform under his guidance.

Confident in a way that gives away none of the reasons Tim isn’t going anywhere near Batman.

Inside the room, he can make out that this is about a dozen men, plus Red Hood. Somewhere from half to a third of the people in Jason’s employ, then; Tim’s not positive about the exact number, but it’s at minimum twenty-six, based off what Red Hood can do in a single night.

“This is a friend of mine,” Red Hood says, turning away from Tim to move back towards the central table. “And he’s good at what we do. He’s free to know anything you’d tell me.”

There’s deliberate undertone to that introduction that Tim’s not nearly skilled enough to start to unpick. But he can watch the reaction to it—the relaxing of bodies, hands moving another inch or two away from the visible weapons.

It’s easier to gauge the room’s reactions than to try and figure out why Jason just gave Tim, known criminal schemer, free reign to ask questions. Even maybe, implicitly, permission to ask questions when Jason isn’t around.

And fuck if Tim doesn’t want it.

Tim can’t be what Roman Sionis made of him. But Jason isn’t thinking about that, isn’t thinking about anything beyond his inexplicable attempt to gain Tim’s trust, and the casual extension of control in his organization makes all the sensible parts of Tim want to turn and start running.

He can’t show it. Tim rolls his shoulders back, shifts his weight deliberately. He’s the shortest and the youngest and the newest in the room, but he has no intention of letting any of that make him a target to these people.

Tim moves further into the room with no hint of hesitation. He circles behind the people standing around the table to fill the empty space of the room at Red Hood’s back, close enough to see what’s on the table but keeping Red Hood well out of his personal space. Keeping everyone in the room within his line of sight.

There’s a stilted pause, where Red Hood’s men are clearly hesitant to continue the conversation in front of an audience. But Jason starts them up again, leaning down to tap his fingers against a specific building on the map of Crime Alley spread out on the table.

“Li Wei, you’re doing inspection on our manufacturers in two days, aren’t you?” Red Hood asks.

Li Wei pulls his gaze away from Tim, to look towards Red Hood’s helmet. He glances down to the map, and says, voice accented, “Yes. Three labs heroin, one lab crystal. Also, we have three-man team doing quiet check on new interested parties.”

“Don’t bother,” Jason says. “I’m gonna be too busy to meet new suppliers for a bit. Reassign ‘em to run last minute inspection on a few of our currents. At least one’s selling whatever is mixing badly.”

“You’re investigating the speedball deaths,” Tim says.

The few people in the room who’d let their guards down snap back to attention. Tim makes himself take a couple steps forward, moving away from the back wall to put himself in Jason’s periphery.

There have been a few reports he’s seen in the police database: an uptick in deaths of drug addicts. Higher presence of both cocaine and heroin in the blood; speedball is the common name for the mixed drugs.

“Yes,” Red Hood says, turning just enough to see him. The mild, business-like tone falls away, replaced with something harsher. “One of my suppliers sold us coke cut with something that reacts with heroin. Killed nearly half the people who mixed ‘em.” Low and lethal: “Motherfucker’s gonna die painfully.”

Drug dealing is the main profit area that Red Hood makes. Tim’s managed to narrow down that he doesn’t technically manufacture anything himself, but his men throttle suppliers and keep track of dealers and drug dens in Crime Alley. They provide some oversight in an attempt to minimize overdoses, make sure what they’re selling isn’t laced or cut with anything, and try to support rehab attempts.

It’d be a terrible business model if Red Hood was in it to make money.

Tim pulls his gaze from the impassive surface of Red Hood’s helmet to look down at the map. Individual buildings marked out, a zoomed-in snapshot of the parts of Crime Alley that Red Hood manipulates.

There’s an offer on the tip of his tongue. Tell me who you buy from, and I can tell you who’s doing it. Because Tim could, he knows it. He knows enough about drug manufacturing – about both the pharmaceutical and the criminal aspects – to be able to pinpoint who’s weak enough to be used as an entry point to hit the people under the protection of Red Hood.

Because there’s no point in a single drug manufacturer lashing out at Red Hood. There’s simply not enough incentive in it; Red Hood holds them to slightly higher standards, but it’s hardly guesswork at all to figure out that he pays them appropriately for their conscientious effort to avoid low-quality product. A single manufacturer is just an avenue to hit Red Hood where it hurts.

The anger in Jason’s voice, the threat towards the manufacturer—he hasn’t realized that yet, has he?

Who are Red Hood’s competitors in the drug market? Who is he taking customers away from?

Tim asks, tone mild as anything, “You took a team against a tong’s incoming shipments a few weeks ago, didn’t you?”

The Xingyun Shou tong – officially recorded by the police as the Lucky Hand gang – has been scrambling for power in the last few months, ever since they had several large-scale issues with their drug trafficking. A mostly-unintentional side effect of some of the plans Tim implemented after he’d gotten the Drake Industries CEO position. It does set them up to act desperately, without considering Red Hood’s penchant for revenge.

Red Hood says slowly, “We took the Lucky Hand’s narcotics shipment, yeah.”

Ah. He needs more detail.

“Which of your manufacturers might respond to coercion from one of the tongs?” Tim asks.

He watches the anger roll slowly into Jason’s body. The slight drawing back of his neck, the set of the shoulders. The gloved hands that flex and curl into fists.

Tim’s closer to Red Hood than he wants to be, watching the anger build, but moving backwards out of Jason’s space would be too obvious. There’s too many eyes in the room, and Tim holds himself still, waiting patiently for the response. Waiting to see if he needs to duck.

Even through the distortion, the finely-held rage is clear in Jason’s voice. “Li Wei. That quiet team?”

Li Wei’s response is immediate. “Reassigned.”

“Good.” The deep breaths are visible, the rise and fall of Jason’s shoulders.

There’s a slow loosening of tension in the room, as Red Hood keeps holding himself still, keeps breathing, slow and silent under the helmet. Tim can finally tear his gaze from Red Hood, looking out around the room, at the faces of Red Hood’s men.

They’re—apprehensive, but none of them seem actively afraid. This is an acknowledged part of working for Red Hood. They’re waiting for the rage to pass before they move on.

It’s probably easier to be less scared when Red Hood doesn’t kill his own lackeys. Roman Sionis in a similar mood would’ve already killed at least one person here.

Red Hood stretches his hands, uncurls them forcibly. Turns back to the table, places his palms down over it and looks over the scattered documents.

“Was that the last of our business?” he asks.

No one speaks up.

“Great.” He spends a few long moments looking down at the table before he straightens back up, the last of the anger sliding off him like snow off a roof. There’s the hint of something like warm familiarity in his voice, Tim’s pretty sure, when he adds, “You should come by more often, birdie.”

“Blackbird.”

The name is out before Tim can swallow it back. He makes his body perfectly neutral—doesn’t allow a flinch, a flicker of an expression, an inhale or exhale too deep.

It’s too telling. Jason hears more than Tim ever intends to say, and this—Tim didn’t intend to say it in the first place. He has no way of knowing what Jason will find in it.

Except that people who don’t want to be superheroes don’t pick out superhero names.

And good people don’t name themselves after supervillains.

“Blackbird,” the Red Hood repeats.

Then again, Jason knows that last part already.

Tim thinks there’s more Jason wants to say. But this isn’t the place, it isn’t the time, not with a dozen career mobsters watching the two of them, trying to figure out if the tension in Red Hood’s body is the signal for an upcoming fight.

“Let’s get moving,” Red Hood says instead, and heads for the window.

[osleeplessflowero]

L.O.VE And Justice

a somewhat satirical bad sanses reader insert fic

Chapter Two: Well..This Is A Problem

Ao3 Link < Fic Masterpost < Previous Chapter < Next Chapter >

divider credit in tags

Content Warning: Violence

The moon shines in through your window from above. The stars twinkle in the night sky. A fan blows in your room, keeping you cool since the heater in your room made you much too hot. The curtains blow slightly when the air hits them. You sit up abruptly in your bed without a word nor warning, turning your focus outside towards the houses nearby. All of their lights are off, which makes sense given the time you assume it is. 

Standing, you slowly begin walking out of your room..feeling as if you're being tugged somewhere by..something. Like you simply must follow a call of some kind. You enter your living room, stopping in front of a single long mirror in the room. You place your right hand against the side of it as a figure slowly begins to manifest behind you. Bony hands cover your eyes so you don't see, your view consisting of nothing but black voids now. 

Their voice is somewhat muffled, a ringing sound entering your ears until it clears up a little. They whisper to you, the voice of the familiar figure soft with a hint of a rasp to it.

"You're using your magic again." They say, sounding proud. You smile a little at this. "I've missed it, admittedly. It's been too long now.." You reply softly. 

"Indeed it has. You will need to practice in order to improve. You wouldn't want to risk any more deaths of the innocent, would you?" "No..No, I wouldn't." You mutter, holding your hands together in front of your chest. 

"Then I suggest you resume training. Those skeletons may return to attack once more. And when they do?" 

"I'll stop them." You drop your arms to your sides.

"Very good. Now then..it's time to wake up."

"Wake up? What do you-" You turn to try and look at them before you're interrupted by a snap of someone's fingers. 

You open your eyes, abruptly shooting up out of your bed. The moon greets you as you stare at it with narrowed eyes, casting its beautiful glow over your room like a natural spotlight. You rest your hand on your forehead as you sit up properly, yawning. Another strange dream..at least this one had someone you recognize in it. Still no explanation for the previous night..THEY COULD'VE AT LEAST WOKEN YOU UP DURING THE DAY-

Eh, whatever. No use in dwelling on it right now. You don't think you can go back to sleep for a while..maybe you should do something productive to make you tired. But what? 

You glance around your room, spotting your hairclip on the nightstand.. getting an idea. 

"Time to go get some practice in." You put your hand over where your soul would be, before raising it in the air.

"Justice, Give Me Strength!"

The hairclip on your head glows an even brighter shade of yellow the moment the words are shouted, its magic beginning to surround your body. You allow it to consume you, lifting you off of your bed. The magic swirls around and forms into your costume, having mixes of yellow in it. A hooded cape forms on your back. You pull it up over your head to cover it as you land back on the ground in front of the bed. 

You slide open the window to your room, contemplating for a moment. 

..You then close it, go to the front door, and walk out safely. Not the best idea to risk a broken leg for a superhero stunt. Especially not when you're the ONLY superhero around here. 

NOW it's time for action!

You sprint into the night, your bright yellow cape flowing behind you as you do. Your shoes thump/click against the driveway, your breathing one of the few things you can focus on. Crickets chirp in the grass when you pass by them. 

Your eyes dart around as you consider where to go, entering the close by city and making sure not to be spotted. You spot the local shooting range, shrugging your shoulders before sneaking in. Is breaking and entering illegal? Yes. Are you going to do it anyway? Yes. It's not like anybody's gonna kno-

"Ugh, it's you again. Just gotta make my job harder.." 

You jolt, turning around to spot a security guard you're familiar with. You think his name was..Soren. Yeah. 

He's a pretty tall guy, the slender type. Fairly skinny and very pale. You've thought he looks like a vampire before. He has really long, black, messy hair that goes a little past his back. It slightly covers his eyes too, but they're faintly visible. He's got a lot of piercings that you can spot. His guard uniform is grey, the shirt a light grey and the pants a darker shade. He shines his flashlight in your face, a tired look on his own.

"You gonna cause trouble?" He asks, an annoyed expression on his face.  "No." You reply immediately, blinking your eyes rapidly in mock innocence.  "Then do what you want, I guess. Just don't make it obvious I let you in here after hours. I am not sitting through a lecture again."  "Thaaaanks-" You call out to him as you run past him, making your way into the area where the targets are. 

"I don't get paid enough to deal with this." He sighs, muttering as he makes his rounds elsewhere. 

You let out a sigh of relief, pointing your fingers in a gun-like gesture and forming your gun. You lift it up, aiming carefully at the target, and shoot. A bright yellow heart shaped bullet lands right in the center, a small bit of smoke coming off of it. 

You're good at aiming. So why couldn't you hit them?  Well..considering the low HP they had..it might not have been a good idea to anyhow. It's not important anyway. What's important is that you increase your skills, in case they should ever decide to come back and cause trouble. 

In truth, you wouldn't want to kill anybody at all. You're very against the idea. You'd never do something like that unless you were absolutely forced to, and even then you'd probably hesitate. 

Another shot, another bullet hitting the target right in the center.

You silently hope they don't return. Having the blood of innocent people on your hands..isn't a pleasant feeling. 

Your hands begin to tremble. You let those people die because you weren't good enough. You let those people die because you weren't fast enough. Smart enough. Willing to kill for their safety. 

It's your fault, your fault, your fault-

You fire off a bullet without realizing, letting out a shriek as it hits the target. You lower your gun, putting it in its proper holster on your costume and placing your hands on the sides of your head, calming down your nerves. 

It's not your fault. But it is.  You didn't want to kill anyone. But people died because you didn't-

You groan, messing up your hair. Why does this have to be so complicated?..

Killing them wouldn't make you any better than they are. You were just rusty, that's all. It's been a long time since you've had to use quick thinking like that..

You take some deep breaths, an exercise you learned to calm yourself down. Then stand up more properly and shoot at the target once more. 

Bam. Bam. Bam. 

You stop, hearing a strange sound outside. You pull your hood back up and place your gun in its holster, not taking your hand off of it as you make your way out to see what's going on. Thugs maybe? Or maybe a wild animal digging around in a dumpster for food? 

A ringing sound echoes through your ears, causing you to turn your head. The gem on your hairclip flickers along with the sound as you raise your hand to hear a little better. 

"Someone please help me!" 

Someone needs you, time to run! You chase after the sound of a voice. You're very thankful for this little ability of yours, being able to find exactly where you need to serve justice in a short amount of time. You make your way over to a convenience store, peeking in through the glass doors and keeping yourself out of sight. 

"P-Please, just take what you want and go! Don't hurt me!" The shopkeeper scrambles to get his words together as a knife is held against his throat by an unknown figure. You lean a little closer to see who it is..

They let out a chuckle. "wow, i thought you would've at least put up a little more of a fight. i mean, really. this is just sad, buddy. just gonna let me take anything like this? not a very sound business practice." 

That raspy voice. That raspy, annoying voice is one you recognize. Blue jacket, bright red target over his chest. Black stuff leaking from his eyesockets. A grin that stretches when he sees the shop owner's fearful expression. 

It's one of those skeletons from earlier!

You gently push open the door, carefully making sure you don't make a sound as you crawl over below the counter.

"look how pathetic you are..i could kill ya right now and nobody would bat an eye. it's not like you'd fight back..just means more LOVE for me." He holds the man off the ground by his shirt collar, pulling his knife down and changing its position to be just over where his soul would be. "any last words, big guy?"

His grin twitches when he feels something pressed against the back of his skull, turning his head slightly to look. 

You stand right behind him, your gun placed against his skull as you stare him down. The breeze from the doors that were left open shifts your clothing a little to the right. His grin stretches again when he realizes just who you are..

"Kill him, and I'll put a pretty little bullet through your skull. Not exactly an ideal outcome, is it?" You raise a brow with narrowed eyes, the poor man being held at knife-point praying to whatever religious figure he worships that he makes it out of here alive.

The skeleton chuckles, turning to face you more directly. "fancy meeting you here, sunshine." He taunts, pointing the knife directly against the man's chest rather than letting it barely hover before it. "if you wanna try and shoot me, go right ahead. if you even can." 

You furrow your brows as you glare at him, putting your finger over the trigger as a warning. The skeleton seems..thrilled by the idea, something that unsettles you deeply. There's a short pause before he moves his knife away from the man, dropping him the moment he loses interest. You're almost relieved until he abruptly moves, pressing his knife against your chin and lifting it up so you'll look directly into his eyesockets. Empty, black voids stare back at you, an inky substance leaking from them as a sinister smile crosses his face.. giving you a chill down your spine. 

"you wanna fight? i'm more than willing to have a rematch."  "If it means it'll get you out of here.." You grin, an expression that catches him off guard. "I'm MORE than willing, freakshow." 

He chuckles at this, moving his knife away from your face and backing up, entering a fighting stance. The shopkeeper slowly backs away from the counter. 

"Get out of here, go somewhere safe. You can reopen your shop in the morning." You warn him, not breaking eye contact with the skeleton before you.

"At this fuckin' point, he can have the damn store." The man runs off, a shaky tone to his voice. 

"sweet. more stuff for me to steal." The skeleton grins, earning a deadpan expression from you as you point your gun in his direction again. 

"You're not taking anything on my watch." You warn, much to his amusement.

"wanna bet, sunshine?" A challenging smirk crosses his face. You roll your eyes, already tired of this. 

"Stop calling me that."  "why? you're covered in yellow, i think it's fitting." He raises his browbones. "Whatever-" You're cut off by the skeleton attempting to slash at you with his knife. You jump back, crashing into a shelf. Damn it, he distracted you so he could catch you off guard! You can't let that happen again. Dying here isn't exactly ideal.. 

You regain your balance, holding your gun up to block against his knife slashes. It doesn't cover you very well, but it's enough for the attacks to miss you. You charge forwards, shooting at him. He dodges the shots as you'd expected him to, holding up his free hand and pulling it closed. You look a bit confused for a moment before you see a bright blue soul in front of your chest, your eyes widening as he flings you over to the freezer section. 

Okay..that's new. You can handle this. He shoves some small snacks into his pockets while you shift to get back on your feet, You shoot while he's distracted, earning a wince from him when a bullet grazes his shoulder. 

"huh..not bad." "I try." A cheeky grin crosses your face before you feel a strange sensation within your soul, pausing and holding your hand over your chest. 

"oh? what's this?" He asks, a curious expression now on his face. You look over at him with a brow raised. "lv 2.. very interesting. so..who'd you kill?" His grin stretches when he sees your now shocked expression and stiff body. You tense up the moment you hear the word kill, averting your eyes before charging at him again. 

Bullets are met with knife strikes at the same speed, a cycle that repeats over and over as the two of you spin around each other in the middle of the store. You eventually manage to force him out of it, resulting in him running away. You chase him down. 

"Hey! I'm not done with you yet! Give what you stole back!" You shout, picking up your pace. "gonna have to catch me to make me do that!" He shouts back from a distance with a smug grin. An annoyed groan escapes your lips as you chase after him through the city, the lights illuminated everywhere acting as a spotlight to the two of you. The stars twinkle brightly overhead. 

The two of you make your way to the nearest train station, attacks going in every direction imaginable. Killer backs up towards the train tracks, making you raise a brow. You hear the sounds of the incoming train, looking between him and the space the train will soon go through. ..What is he doing? Does he have a death wish??

With a playful wink as the train arrives, he shortcuts onto the top of it, crouching down a little as he makes his escape. NOT ON YOUR WATCH. 

You point your gun at the ground, charging up a bigger shot and propelling yourself up onto the train, grabbing onto the roof and pulling yourself up so that you're crouching across from him. Once you've both passed the arch, the space above you is much more open, leaving room for combat as you chase one another across the train cars. Gunshots and strikes resume, people in the train looking up and wondering just what the commotion is. 

"i'll admit, you're a pretty good fighter! haven't taken one of my hits once. guessing you've got lots of practice?" He strikes, you counter. 

"Something like that." You huff, jumping up as he tries to strike you again. Yellow heart-shaped bullets can be seen all around, glowing in the dark tunnel. You think for a moment while you're still in the air..

This battle's going to go on until he either kills you, or you find a way to ensure he can't fight you anymore. You refuse to kill him. There must be another way. But how could you stop..?

You realize what you need to do, the idea hitting you like a truck. You land on the ground, blocking off his slashes with gunshots before abruptly propelling yourself into the air with another gunshot. Some people who were sitting in the train abruptly jump to the side, narrowly dodging a bright yellow heart that had went through the roof. Killer looks up in surprise before you come crashing down, shooting behind him. When he turns his head to look in confusion, you hit a pressure point on the back of his skull with your gun, catching him off guard. He falls onto his knees before you, passing out. 

You take deep breaths, kneeling beside him. God, that was exhausting. Now, what should you do with him?..You can't just leave him on the train. 

Looking around, you decide it might be better to bring him home with you until someone comes to get him. You struggle a bit to lift him at first, but eventually manage to hold him over your shoulder, jumping down from the train and running off into the night once more with the sleeping skeleton not moving an inch. His phone rings, but you ignore it as you make your way back to your home on a hidden path. Someone seeing you with an unconscious monster over your shoulder would give a pretty bad impression.. 

You drop him a moment as you de-transform in front of your door, unlocking it and dragging him inside. Well..this just got a little complicated, didn't it?