#all things worn seller

[vampriestpoison]

I've got a pair of week old sweaty socks for sale! Look at those toe prints🥵

[officialsammysunshine]

Who loves satin?

[asianpetiteboss]

Front strappy sports bra underneath my sweaty hoodie

DM me on reddit, telegram or Kik, same username Asianpetiteboss

[melled42]

Idk if this is a huge request or not, but could you explain more about Bell? (The shitten in your au)

I would be thankful, take care.

Yeah, ive done like... 3 pieces of her max but she gets SO many asks lol. the story isn't really ready for her yet, and i'd like to finish what im working on before i do more with her, but i'll give the basic rundown.

she LITTERALY started as a joke baby post but she got so much interaction i said i'd expand on her design and now she seems to just have a following of simps (oops, like lamb like daughter)

most of the old ideas for ewen and nari with her are out of date now on the art, but heres a bunch of plot and some unposted sketches under cut

Nari and Ewen are married and leading the cult still. all the siblings have kids, grandkids and even great grandkids (excluding shamura). Its only after they decide having a child is someone for them to love and raise, not someone who they're forcing the cycle of trauma on that they have Bell. And they adore her. While growing up, one by one, the former bishops, all her aunts, uncles, and shamura decided it was time to peacefully end their long lives. So she sees death as a good thing, the satisfying end to a long life story. So when Ewen and Narinder are ready to die together, even though they say she doesn't have to, she takes on the crown and ends if for them with a last "i love you" between them. She runs the cult now which is more themed around their shared neck wound "rings" and their relationship than just the lamb. She's called "the black sheep" by her followers (or queen if they're kinky, princess when shes younger). she wields the crown as a pair of horns and a sythe, sine the cult of the black rings also referenced Ewen's large black horns and she keeps up the theme.

Baal and Aym are her "brothers" (more of her body guards and technically her cousins but she refuses to call them anything else) and her body guards, staying after their master's death. They've known her since she was a baby and still treat her as one sometimes. She's VERY protective over them, but also will bully them sometimes, like kicking their asses when training and saying they're just going easy on her like when she was a kid, knowing full well she's overpowered by the crown.

Because shes such an oddity, the mystic seller assigned one of their followers to keep an eye on her and, much like her "ba ba" she found the overpowered demigod shes now obsessed with. With some help from Ewen before they passed, they were able to translate their glyphs. Now that helper follows her around disguised as a poor imitation of a regular mortal to better understand her and the mortal realm. Or at least thats what she convinced them to do since she wants them around <3 probably not to their masters liking lol. I haven't decided on a name yet. Bell eventually give them the purple crown (they/it)

Before they left, Narinder was trying to reawaken the crowns, whether for the memory of his siblings, or that the cult was growing too large to be centered on the red crown. They're not very powerful right now and Bell is the leader of the others, more like a babysitter.

The blue crown is with Kalliope (kalli for short) (she/her), a distant relative of Kallamar's who had to fight, both physically and socially, with all her other of age relatives to get the chance, since Kallamar's polycule made a LOT of kids and grand kids. She's kind of bitchy about it and whines about everyone not respecting her or how hard she worked. shes a flamboyant cuttlefish and trans femme. also the crown is worn like an earring. Bell has little tolerance for her and they have a lot of bitchy girl fights.

The green crown is with isop (a kinda combo of isopod and aesop) (he/him) who is a rubber ducky isopod. he's Leshy's great great grandkid, and really only god the crown because no one else on the peaceful forest farm leshy put together in his later years really wanted it and figured it meant free babysitting. he's pretty young and small with a fascination for chaos and violence that only little kids without developed social perception can have, though he more watches at this point. The others tend to carry him or he rolls around in a little ball. The crown is worn like glasses.

The orange crown is with Mycelia (lia for short) (they/them plural) who is a homunculus mushroomo made through experimentation by Heket and Sozo before they died. they're the only one who is actually older than Bell. They're undying because they're a hive mind of all the mushroomo, who have been progressively growing. They can see everything the others see, can spout new bodies when needed and even feed on their own dead bodies. Bell sometimes just kills them when they're frustrated with them or other things. They'd be a threat but they're very monotone and emotionless about pretty much everything and don't care. They've worked with the red crown just because death is a natural boon to fungus and keeps them alive. The orange crown is worn as a necklace.

Heres some sketches since I haven't been able to get the designs to my liking but people keep asking so :T

[joemama-2]

Made With Love

toji x reader

tags: fluff, minor angst, toji's own version of the bakery girl

i think we all need soft toji in our lives! ^ - ^

toji isn't soft. he is actually the complete opposite of it. he's big, gruff, has nasty scars on his body, his hands are rough and calloused from years of fighting and killing for money. his dark eyes are sharp, lips downturned into a frown automatically. in other words, he's not used to gentleness, kindness, sweet things.

so if someone saw him lurking outside the cute little bakery that opened up a few months ago, he wouldn't even have an answer. toji isn't soft, but he is curious. that curiosity only gets him so far though, considering he's never been inside said bakery, until today. call it stupidity, bravery, or just plain irrelevant, but he almost feels this pull, like he's on the other end of a magnet.

the opposing end isn't the bakery that's pulling him in, it's you.

it's early, he knows. you've only just opened shop and maybe he should've came when there was other people so he could blend it, so your eyes wouldn't be so fixated on him. for a split moment he dares look up to you. it's a mistake, he thinks, so he looks back down at the array of pastries demonstrated in front of him under a soft, warm lighting. lo-fi music plays in the background and the air feels cozy, home-like. it's strange.

"just looking." is all he mutters, hands in the pockets of the sweats he's worn one too many times.

you smile, he can't see it but he can feel it. standing behind the counter, you embrace nothing more than complete serenity, friendliness, kindness, softness. "is there anything in particular you are looking for? we have many options and it could be a little overwhelming." god, even your voice is perfect.

he stiffly clears his throat. "no thanks." and you nod. he realizes that this is extremely awkward. what is he supposed to say? he wasn't actually planning on buying anything, not like he could if he wanted to anyways.

"well, these few are our best sellers." you gesture to the first row. didn't he say he was just looking and that he didn't need help? or were you just that perceptive to see his internal struggle? "the second row has our custard filling, the third has jelly and chocolate." and so you begin explaining each pastry to him as if it's some sort of out of this world concept, like it genuinely interests you talking about stupid sweets.

speaking of sweets, he thinks it all looks the same. he holds back a grimace just imagining how sweet they are, some littered with powder and others with drizzling of sorts, some with both. "you got any plain stuff?" he says, finally finding the courage to look back at you, and much to his dismay, you were already looking at him.

a soft chuckle escapes your lips. "plain? you mean boring?"

you think you're so funny, don't you? he simply raises an eyebrow, head tilting ever so slightly. "sure, boring."

your smile feels infectious and he fights back the strange fluttering in his stomach. he knows what it is, of course, hell, he had a wife and a son. but the feeling alone scares him. nope, nope, nope. not again.

"don't have much of a sweet tooth, do you?" you ask, grabbing a cute little pink box, custom decorated to represent your logo. he barely shrugs a shoulder. "interesting, you might be the first to come into a bakery and demand something that isn't sweet."

"only one." he replies back (because that's all he has money for, already dreading having to watch you count his coins), watching your delicate fingers reach in with a pink set of tongs. jesus christ, just how many pink things did you have?

you hum in response, eyes flickering up over the counter to him. "you know, this is your first time actually coming inside, isn't it? i was beginning to think you just had a loitering problem."

his brows furrow, stoic demeanor breaking for a quick second. you noticed him? he doesn't know if he should be embarrassed, flattered or weirded out that you were watching him, while he watched you. but he plays it off. "decided to bite the bullet today, see if it's worth the rave."

you chuckle and he starts to melt. god damn you. "definitely is." you finish packing the box up and he sees that you've given him one from every row. sealing the box with a cute little sticker that says 'made with love', you grab a pen and draw a heart on the top of it. you walk to the register and he follows stiffly, placing the box down. "we strive to give our customers the best of the best. but it's out secret ingredient that keeps people coming back."

he raises an eyebrow again. "secret ingredient?"

you hum and nod with a smile. "would you like to know what it is?"

he hesitates, suddenly inhaling a deep breath. with a nod, he grumbles. "sure."

and you lean in closer, as if getting ready to share him a top secret, even looking around, when the place is empty except for you two. bringing a hand to cup around your mouth, you whisper. "love."

he's not amused, thinking your response is quite corny. but when you giggle, eyes crinkling at the corners, he almost feels like smiling with you. he doesn't, but he'll play along. "love?"

"love." you say with finality. "lots and lots of it, deep love, intense love." this playful banter warms his chest, he thinks it shouldn't. "and this," you tap the box. "i made it with extra love." your eyebrow raises, head tilting.

his eyes scrutinize your face, looking for any sort of double intentions. why are you so nice? and why are you so nice to him? he should be disgusted, really. he should scoff and walk away, glaring at you like you're the most stupidest person ever. but he just can't bring himself to. because toji is smart, he can read people well, and all he can see on that cute face of yours is just....genuine happiness. he wonders if he's jealous you can just spread positivity and warmness without thinking twice.

you're dangerous.

after the silence, you slide the box to him. "on the house."

he huffs. "i'm not a charity case."

"who says you are?"

"you're giving me free food, what else do you call that?

"uh, i don't know, being a good person?" you huff a laugh through your nostrils. "think of it as a trial run, so next time, you won't be disappointed. not like that would be possible in the first place since they taste wonderful."

he's quiet and still, not sure what to do. someone handing him free food can be both a blessing and a curse? could you tell he looked raggedy? didn't have much, if any, money to his name. but the longer he stares at your face, the more he feels himself giving in.

just like a magnet.

slowly, he takes the box, as if expecting you'll say you were joking. it feels light in his hands, weird, foreign. should he thank you?

but no matter what, you continue smiling at him like he hung the stars for you. "enjoy my love, you'll want to come back for more."

you're witty, and pretty damn adorable. he nods, gulping down the lump in his throat. is he seriously getting emotional over this? "we'll see."

and just like that, he turns around to leave. as he walks down the sidewalk, his hands clutch the box tighter, holding it closer to his chest. looking down at your dumb heart you draw, his own stutters, breathing getting a little heavier.

toji isn’t soft, but he likes soft things, soft people. so maybe this is why the box feels comforting to him. like a streak of paint in his dull world. like an ice cream on a hot summer day. like a kiss under the moonlight. like dancing in the rain with someone you love.

love. made with love. you gave him your love for free, and for that, he huffs a chuckle (?) through his nostrils. there goes that all too familiar flutter again. you know, a small part of him hopes he can taste this "love" you made these with, hopes that your love can pour into him, help him, save him.

but he's not sure if he wants to be saved yet.

[seat-safety-switch]

Everyone hopes for a trouble-free car. Even if you purchase a high-mileage turd that has been crashed more times than it's seen Tuesdays, you still have some dream that it will be magically flawless, and you can clown on those assholes who bought new cars. Unfortunately, such a car does not exist.

We know from every religion's foundational text – especially those that were discovered and collapsed before the invention of the automobile – that cars are simply not that good. You can blame whoever you want for this sad state of affairs: bad previous owners, indifferent auto manufacturers, the ever-present menace of road salt. Eventually something's going to break, and you've got to fix it.

Once, a long time ago, I splurged. I bought the second cheapest car on Craigslist to get to work. It was a low-mileage cream puff, I had convinced myself, and most of the panels were even the same colour of paint. This knowledge, this hubris, made things all the worse when the transmission decided to prolapse itself onto the highway about thirty-five minutes after purchase. The seller? Gone in the wind, leaving only a suspicious pile of peeled bananas and empty bags of sawdust behind. I fixed it, sure, but it still stung.

Trust is the enemy, so why not purchase a car you don't trust in the first place? That's been my philosophy ever since. Buy the cheapest crap with the highest mileage (it's seen enough shit to not get surprised the next time a wheel falls off) and run it into the ground. When it breaks, you're not surprised: it's a piece of shit. Fix it just well enough to get it back on the road. Eventually, you will achieve a sort of automotive symbiosis: a dirtbag driver, and a dirtbag car. Just like with worn-in shoes, you will be endlessly comfortable until you have to walk home.

[vincentbriggs]

Good sir, I am hoping to pick your brain. I’m making an 18-century (“pirate”) shirt as a gift to my friend. He wants tie closures on the neck and cuffs instead of buttons. Might you have any insight or resources for this? I’ve seen the ties in at least one of the extant shirts I’ve viewed online. I’m still pretty new to the sewing gig and I’d like to minimize inventing metaphorical wheel as much as possible. Thanks in advance!

It's very unusual, but do know of one example! (Not that extant one though)

But first - Link to my most thorough shirt construction blog post. (It's a few years old and I've improved a few little things in my technique since then, and I mean to finish writing a new and better one before the year is over.)

Ok, ties on shirts! I'm assuming this is the extant one you're talking about? Tbh I'd discount this one entirely if you're looking for information on 18th century men's shirts because I don't think it is one.

Besides the attached ties, the sleeves are extremely weird. They're cut off and have no wristbands!! This would make it quite impossible to wear under a coat, the wristbands are an absolutely essential part of an 18th century shirt. I also don't see any reason to believe this is actually 18th century when it could just as easily be 19th century, and considering how short the slit is I think that more likely.

(Lots of auction sellers like to say "late 18th century" about things that are like... yeahh maaaaybe that's plausibly from a very fashion forward guy in the late 1790's but it's much more likely early 19th century. And with court dress they sometimes just straight up date it several decades too early. Look at lots of examples and always question everything, because museums don't always date things correctly either.)

I think I remember seeing someone mention once that it was a 19th century workman's garment of some sort, but I can't remember where, and all we've got to go on are a few pictures and a brief caption from a seller who doesn't know what they're talking about. It does look like it could have been worn over another layer though, and the fabric is very coarse. It could also have been altered at a later date for theatrical costume, which is something the Victorians did to A LOT of 18th century garments.

So just ignore that shirt!

The vast majority of 18th century mens shirts close with 2 or 3 buttons on the collar, but there is a style that uses ribbons. It appears to have been fairly common in the late 17th and early 18th century, and then slowly dwindles as the century goes on. I have a section for it on my shirts pinterest board with 64 examples. Ooh, wait, 65, just found a new one.

The collar is made with little to no overlap and one buttonhole on each end, and a ribbon is threaded through them.

Portrait of Carl Gustaf Tessin, 1728.

Sir Charles Howard, 1738.

I actually made one of these last year!

The collar doesn't sit as well with the ribbon as it does with 2 buttons, but once you put a stock over it it's fine.

Nearly every single depiction of an 18th century shirt I've ever seen (and I've spent a LOT of time looking) uses sleeve links on the wristbands. (Which I have a tutorial for! They're really easy to make!) I do sleeve links on most of my everyday shirts because I like them better than sewn on buttons. When the wristband is this narrow, sewn on buttons don't sit very nicely.

But! If your friend wants ties on the wrist in a historical way, I do know of one single example, and it's this guy!

Giovanni Maria delle Piane, Portrait of a nobleman. No date given, but if I had to guess I'd say 1680's or 90's. Very late 17th century looking fellow.

We can't see his collar closure, but I think it's very possible that he has a matching red ribbon holding that closed.

Personally I wouldn't want to try these, because they look like an absolute nightmare to tie by yourself one handed. But the good news is that you could make just regular wristband that take sleeve links and they'd work for this too, since both just have a buttonhole at each end! I aim for a finished wristband length that's 10-14mm longer than my wrist measurement, with the buttonhole being about 4 or 5mm in from the edge, which gives me enough ease to wear them comfortably with sleeve links, so if you do that then he'll be able to wear them both ways.

[chigirisprincess]

　 ˚ ᡴꪫ You Could Be Mine Tonight; Interlude I

— Chigiri Hyōma

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, gn!afab!reader, chigiri puts the go in egoist, first meetings, author self insert, selfship lore heavy, reader is italian-american living in italy, set in verona, some italian dialogue, first meetings, ⊹ Run time. 1.4k ⊹ Note. Fawn is back again with yet another series of sorts. This is my selfship lore with mister Chigiri Hyōma and will be expanded upon whenever I am inspired so enjoy! <3

The fair city of Verona fed the romantic daydreamer that crawled into the deep recesses of your chest as a child. In spite of spending your last six months settling in, you couldn’t fathom ever tiring of waltzing through the old, cobbled streets and imagining the lives led by those living over five hundred years ago in the middle ages. Idling wonder if they too ran their fingertips across the smooth, rosy marbled walls. Or, if they gazed upon the stars while resting in the Piazza dei Signori as you did when your red wine tinged evenings drew to a close.

You supposed the reality of those living all those years ago were far more bleak than proposed by the Middle English romances you studied during your undergraduate. Still, it didn’t mean you couldn’t imagine a display of courtly love spilling over the aged edge of Juliet’s balcony; a gallant knight who was far more romantic than the whiny Romeo, and a demure lady who was more akin to a blossomed flower than a person. With the sky, a most remarkable shade of blue– far more dazzling than anything you’d seen back home– and the scent of sweet flowers carried on the breeze, it was difficult not to lose your thoughts within a fairytale-like dream.

A rich waft of freshly brewed espresso rouses you from your thoughts, bringing you back to the small café you’ve made into your home for the afternoon. Sparing a glance back to your laptop where your latest novel sits open, you sigh before snapping it shut. As romantic as Verona was, your fantasies failed to inspire an ending to the chapter you’ve spent the last month working on. You blamed the lack of direction on your recent move, halfway across the world from North America to Europe but in the droll truth you suspected your lack of romantic experience was beginning to impede upon your ability to write a romance novel. Shoving your things into your bag, you offered a wave to the barista before clearing out.

The next building over was calling your name.

It was a small, family owned bookstore that had been passed down at least six generations and resided between two restaurants. The current owner, Signor Fiorentino seemed perpetually miffed by the constant racket amassed by the staff when on break but was always amenable when offered fresh biscotti. Which was precisely why you picked up an extra one at the café in case you decided to head over.

The small bell above the door rings as it opens, announcing your presence, “Ciao signore!” You greet, shuffling through the cramped rows of shelving. 

A smile tugs at your lips as you reach the small checkout counter where he sits. Signor Fiorentino is perched upon a well worn stool, thumbing through a copy of today's newspaper.

“Buonasera Signorina,” he grins at the sight of you, his smile growing wider when he takes notice of the biscotti in your hand, “Is that for me?”

You hold your hand out in response, passing it over to him, “You know it is,” you say, resting your elbows on the counter, “So, have you gotten anything new in stock?”

Your hopeful tone dwindles when Fiorentino narrows his eyes at you.

“Buttering  me up with sweets are you?”

“What! No!” You frown, “But … I was wondering if you’d heard back about that custom bound copy of Romeo and Juliet?”

The expression he wears tells you he hasn’t. With a sigh, he shakes his head, “The seller says it's on their backlog and they’ll get back to me soon.”

You wear your emotions on your face as if it were your favourite sweater, never one to masterfully disguise the disappointment you felt. It was your greatest flaw that loved to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune moments. Like now. The corners of your mouth dipped into a petulant frown, your bottom lip jutting out. You became a mirror image to the kindergarteners you taught English to. They were cuter than you when they did it.

“Cara mia do not stress!”

Sometimes, he speaks to you as if he were your family. You allow him to far more often than you should. He reminded you of your nonno, you supposed that you reminded him of his children and grandchildren who had long since immigrated to North America. Reaching over the small counter, he rests a weathered, spotty hand onto your forearm.

“I’m not,” you mutter with a small sigh, “I’m just frustrated.”

He gives your arm a sympathetic squeeze.

“I know.”

Returning his smile, you turn to the dozens of book lined shelves in search of something to satiate the burn of disappointment you wished to mask. Your fingers graze against the lip of the dust covered shelves as you pass through them, floating around the shop as though you were a spectre rather than a customer. You settle in front of the stack of mediaeval literature. Pursing your lips, you tilt your head to get a better view of the title, Amorosa Visione. A long, narrative poem. It wasn’t exactly your first pick, you much preferred Middle English romances but you needed to branch out every once in a while. Pulling the book off the shelf, you took a step backwards as you skimmed the blurb printed on the back.

Another step backward causes you to bump into another person.

So engrossed in your reading, you hadn’t noticed they joined you in the aisle. Dipping your head down in apology, you offer them a smile.

They scoff, looking you up and down.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, hoping they spoke English, “I didn’t see you there.”

His expression only worsens, “Yeah, right like I’m supposed to believe that,” he snips in English, flicking a strand of bright red hair from his eyes. 

He turns toward you, standing with their arms crossed over his chest. His sunglasses slip down his nose as he peers at you. You blink in shock, face warming at the sight of him. He was pretty, unfairly so. With long, pretty lashes that frame sharp magenta eyes which cut right through you with his glare. Shaking your head, you remind yourself that he was a jerk who was irrationally annoyed over you accidentally bumping into him.

“I … I don’t understand what you mean,” you frown, “It was an accident, I promise I wouldn’t bump into a stranger on purpose.”

“You don’t recognise me?” The man asks, pushing his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze. He seems to pick you apart with his clipped words and harsh stare as if he were given hours to scrutinise each miniscule part of you rather than a few measly minutes.

“Am I supposed to?” You cock your head to the side, “Are you an influencer or something?”

You give him a once over, taking in his attire. He was dressed fairly casually but still looked rather put together. The accent that shrouded his words told you that he too wasn’t from Verona, but nothing in the way he carried himself struck any ounce of familiarity. The arrogance and accusation that lingered in his narrowed gaze seemed to align with your view of celebrities and micro influencers. 

Disgust flashes in his eyes,“No, I’m a professional soccer player,” he explains, “Manshine City, ever heard of it?”

“Okay …”

“I thought all Italians were huge soccer fans,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

You stifle an eye roll,“That’s a kinda a misconception like how not all Canadians are obsessed with hockey and say “aboot”” your comment doesn’t elicit a laugh like you hoped it would, instead he gives you a strange look, “Besides, even if it wasn’t we tend to be pretty nationalistic.” 

“Right.”

A lull passes between the two of you before he speaks again.

“I apologise,” he says, almost begrudgingly, “For assuming you were some desperate fan.”

Biting back a snarky remark, you laughed to yourself. Were all athletes this full of themselves? 

“No apology needed.”

He purses his lips before nodding his head.

“Just uh, don’t give the shop owner the same attitude unless you want to be chased out of here with a broom.”

The corners of his lips quirk up into the smallest of smiles, “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Tucking your book beneath your arm, you slink out of the aisle with a relieved sigh. You hoped, whatever other soccer players that may have been crawling about this fair city were certainly less egotistical than him.

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

networks; @houseofsolisoccasum @interstellar-inn

[vampriestpoison]

These poor babies are looking for a new home. They'd love to be a gag or cum rag. Week worn socks for sale for $45 with free shipping! Enter My DMs if you dare.

[izvmimi]

the only good thing about a super early doctor's appointment on a weekend (it was the only time they were available, and specifically open for you) is the fact that you are finally awake to frequent the neighborhood's farmer's market.

it's a quaint but well-frequented and bustling place, a short drive off the main highway, and for once the parking lot (which is moreso a wide field of grass) isn't filled with cars fit together in a manner similar to tetris. you pull into a space that's not too far from the ribbon-decorated entrance and immediately make a beeline to the very first stall that sells strawberries.

it's not like you knew better, after all.

there is a small crowd through which you weave to get to the stall and you assume that the harvest is good due to its popularity. the young woman who owns the stall smiles widely at you as she sells you on the harvest and you nod emphatically, tasting a strawberry she hands you and marveling at its sweetness.

before you can tell her you'll buy a bunch, she's distracted by an elderly lady who's trying to heckle her about the price of rhubarbs, and then you receive a gentle tap on your shoulder.

startled, you turn, and look at a man so tall and broad he seems to block out the sun.

"oh!" your immediate assumption is that you are somehow in his way, and you step aside but he seems to follow you, and leans in to tell you, in a voice that is deep yet oddly gentle,

"don't buy these, there's a better stall out back," he says in a tone that's meant to be hushed, but carries because of the timbre of his voice. you quickly whip around to see if the seller has noticed his bold statement, but she's now arguing with an older lady shaking a bag of coins at her as she talks animatedly.

you look again at the young man, wondering what to do next. he seems to be waiting for you to agree with him, his sharp olive eyes rested on your expression. he doesn't wave for you to come with him, but he turns and starts to walk, and naturally you follow him. as you watch him from behind, moving through the path he makes for you through people and bales of hay and fixtures and commotion, you notice his cleanly cropped olive-brown hair, similar to his eyes, and the relaxed way his shoulders slope, as if he's never been so correct about anything in his life, except that he is taking you, a stranger to see the sweetest strawberries.

and you realize he is right. the stall he brings to you shows an older lady, whose hands are as wrinkled as her face, but her smile is wide and well-worn, eyes lighting up when she sees him. you notice this is a less frequented part of the market, quieter, and you wonder if the woman has trouble selling. there are much fewer bells and whistles at this stall, prices written in shaky handwriting on a chalkboard, but the strawberries are redder and sweeter than anything you've ever known, and plentiful.

"wakatoshi-kun, did you pluck a customer from the front for me?" the old lady teases.

wakatoshi shrugs and bites into another strawberry from an elaborately decorated basket, and you wonder if the cozy in which it sits is home-made as well.

"i just told the truth."

the lady reaches high to squeeze his shoulder, and he returns a small but warm smile. you find yourself smiling as well.

"i'll take a basket," you offer.

---

you meet wakatoshi again a week later at the farmer's market.

this time he's peering over apricots with an almost studious expression, and the middle-aged man that runs the stall appears to be getting impatient at the man who's staring so hard at his fruit, hands folded behind his back.

you find yourself stifling a laugh, then make your way over to him, but then pause, your feet sticking to the ground. should you say hi? does he remember who you are? or are you just a girl he managed to enjoy his favorite vendor's strawberries?

as you ponder, wakatoshi has moved his attention from the apricots to you, and again, you find yourself caught off guard. attempting to salvage yourself, you wave politely.

"ah, we meet again. strawberries?" you start.

he gives you a blank look, and you wonder if you should bury yourself like a seed, but then he quickly redresses his expression.

"ah, yes." he smiles, and you feel something akin to sprouting. "i never got your name," he adds.

the farmer, impatient at the fruitless analysis of his labor, coughs to interrupt and demands an answer if wakatoshi is willing to buy.

wakatoshi looks at him, unaffected by his annoyance, enough that the farmer grumbles and looks away.

"two, please." wakatoshi asks.

"just two?" you ask, then wonder why you spoke out loud, face warming. he turns to you.

"one for me and one for you."

---

wakatoshi does finally get your name, but after you've ended up shopping together that morning, talking about everything and nothing - he finds a way to draw information out of you and you offer it freely. just hours later, you dash out of your apartment after putting away your harvest, and meet him at a café downtown for brunch. he tells you about the seeds that he's growing in his highrise apartment that he worries won't get enough light. over an omelette and coffee, you tell him you know nothing about his plants, but you'd love updates.

wakatoshi sends you pictures of enlarging bell peppers every few days, and you meet at the entrance of the farmer's market every week.

eventually you no longer just follow him, but he takes your hand in his, and you peruse together, discovering more and more

you make your own apartment garden with his advice, and send him pictures just as frequently.

both of you buy indoor lemon trees, you name his and he names yours.

you buy more strawberries and realize his kisses are just as sweet.

[n7punk]

I have no idea what this is from: collection

Y'all know I've been compiling all the She-ra merch in existence for the last... wow I think it has been a full year. Anyway, certain things have come up over time that I just can't trace an origin for, some included in my masterpost and some not, so I want to talk about it.

Best guess: Staff Swag/Recruitment

Sticker with Dreamworks careers social media branding on the back, also sold with a solely Dreamworks-branded pin.

I'm guessing this was given out to interns or prospective employees, likely at onboarding or recruitment events. I don't think it (at least this specific one) was ever in the hands of the Crew-ra mostly due to the person selling if stating they haven't even seen the show. I'm really leaning towards recruitment swag for this, but since those events are usually outside of the public eye and I'm too scwawed to message the seller for context, this sticker and any other SPOP swag given out to employees will continue to remain ambiguous (well, aside from the crew hoodies we know about, see below).

Best guess: Event Staff

T-shirt with the BFS on the front, She-ra logo on the back, Dreamworks logo on one sleeve, and Netflix logo on the other.

The shop that was selling this mostly sells crew, staff, and stunt memorabilia from various movies. To my knowledge, the crew clothes for She-ra only consisted of hoodies - there are multiple posts from crew referencing the hoodies, including Grey Chen talking about their puppy getting ahold of one and ripping it up, to which another crew member replied they might still have a few in the office. Never any reference to "well at least I have the shirt". There are photos of the crew at events wearing other She-ra shirts available to the general public or that even seem to be fanmade, but I haven't spotted this shirt yet. I think most likely this was worn by staff at a con or similar event. Haven't been able to track anything down, though, I just know this is too much effort with the extra logos to be for the general public. If anyone has photos of the staff organizing the crew meet and greets hit me up...

Best guess: I have no fucking idea PT I & II

Mostly blank white shirt with She-ra, Swift Wind, and the show logo on the front, nothing on the back.

This not from the same company (Port & Company) that distributes the Amazon POD clothing, and while it looks close to one of the POD designs, it is unique and I can't find any record of it being sold online. My best guess is this was at a con booth (perhaps the Scholastic one) or maybe given out after a panel (we know they did that with posters, but this is quite the leap in production cost for a freebie like that). I'm assuming this was done officially because Jerzees is a wholesale distributor, but maybe an Etsy ordered a ton or something. It would be very weird for them to include the logo in that case, though. This one really stumps me.

... Do you see what I'm dealing with. This is basically the same shirt as the last, except it isn't, and I have no idea where it's from, because I've never heard of the brand "M & M" before! The graphic is so much bigger I thought it was a youth size at first but the seller claims it's regular medium. The only idea contender I have is once again Scholastic (I have no reasons to think Scholastic had shirts, I told you that I'm stumped on these, okay). Maybe reviewer/influencer swag?

[juneknight]

Audible || 1

Part One | Part Two

Request: "Steven Grant reads erotica and Reader asks him to read aloud to her".

Immersivity: Steven Grant/fem!reader. Reader is nameless and undescribed, though her figure is limited by wearing one of Steven's shirts, and she works and undescribed job which she hates. If there is any detail which hinders your immersive experience, please feel free to bring it to my attention.

Part 1

*

There is no part of a bad day that Steven couldn’t make better. 

When you finally return to the flat you share with him and his headmates, you have no small list of ailments and complaints. Your feet ache, and your head as well. The clothes you wear to work are the last sort that you find comfortable, and you have been daydreaming about stripping them off—and perhaps slipping into one of Steven’s shirts which are always so worn and soft—since the moment you stepped out of the apartment building and nearly collided with the broom and brush seller who always gives you the eye.

All day, you have been wilting beneath capitalism’s shadow, doing a job that you have no passion for and which only serves to make other people more money than you will likely ever see, but it all melts away at the sight of Steven curled up in the bed you share together, his nose in a book. 

He glances up at the sound of the front door opening and closes the book so hastily that its cover makes a little sound as it snaps shut. Beneath the covers, he is shirtless. If his golden skin seems more flushed than usual, the observation is lost under your own relief at the very sight of him. Straightaway, he knows that your day has been rough, sees it in the bow of your shoulders, the shadows beneath your eyes. He reaches back without looking and sets his book amongst a sea of others on the headboard. 

“Oh, love. A rough one?” 

“It’s better now,” you say, already stepping out of your shoes and stripping off your work clothes. The sight of him so cozy in bed has reminded you of your own exhaustion which now tugs heavily at your eyelids. Steven watches you for a moment, his gaze warm and fond but not lustful, before tossing back the covers to reveal he is down to only his boxers. You amend: “Better now that it’s over.” 

“Sometimes, that’s the only good thing about a day, isn’t it?” Steven says, standing and going to the dresser. “That it ends, and that we never have to live it again. Underwear, love?” 

“Yes please; any pair. A shirt of yours, too, if you’ve got any clean.” 

Steven glances towards the mirror—there are many of them around the flat these days, convenient for Marc and Jake (or Steven, when he is not fronting) to be present in. Steven clicks his tongue at whatever his reflection says, moving to another drawer. “It’s my night, mate,” he reminds his reflection. “My night, my shirt.” 

“Someone complaining?” you wonder with a yawn, catching Steven’s shirt as he tosses it to you. 

“You know how Marc gets, always wanting you to wear his clothes. Possessive bloke.” 

“An easy way to solve that would be to share a wardrobe,” you tease, slipping into the shirt. You lift the collar, inhaling its clean scent which is so distinctly Steven’s. You tug on some panties too, always afraid that the one night you sleep without them will be the one that the apartment building catches fire. If the brushes and brooms man thinks you’re about to stand out on the London street in front of him and who else without anything on, he’s in for a disappointment. 

“I don’t think we could reconcile our preferences, honestly. Dunno why he keeps trying to slick our hair back when we all know that you go mad for the curls,” Steven says, watching as you slip beneath the covers and into the warm spot his body left behind. The only thing better than seeing you nestle beneath the sheets is joining you—which Steven promptly does, opening his arm so that you can rest flush against his side, your head on his chest. He rests his hand on the curve of your hip, stroking the exposed skin between your panties and his shirt with a calloused thumb. “You rest, love. If you need anything, I’m your man.” 

“Would you read to me?” you murmur sleepily. “I love the sound of your voice.” 

“It’s the accent, isn’t it?” he teases. You hear him swallow. “Sure—let me grab a book. Any preference?” 

“Whatever you were reading when I came in; you don’t need to start something new on my account.” 

To his benefit, Steven is quick to quip: “But I’m a few chapters in, you’ll have no idea what’s going on!” 

“Don’t care,” you say through another yawn. “Just listening to your voice.” 

“I…alright. Yeah,” he says. The strange reluctance in his voice is lost on you. You feel him stretch, hand searching the headboard. “I’ll have to sit up, love. That alright?” 

You hum in the affirmative, and as soon as he has taken his position with his back braced against the headboard, you are laying your head in his lap, just far enough away for him to be able to comfortably hold the book. You hear the rustle of pages as he finds his spot, having put up the book with such haste at your entrance that he had forgotten to mark his place. 

He begins to read:

“In the morning, we were all roughly awakened by the servants opening the curtains, letting in a stream of sunlight which reminded me painfully of my home. I had barely slept a wink, too unused to the strange palace around me and the coarse, lumpy straw mattresses that we were made to sleep on. Terror kept away the exhaustion, though nothing could help the way my temples ached from the long night. The others seemed just as terrified as I was: here and there, a few girls my age or younger clinged to each other, tears wetting their cheeks. Even the men looked uncertain. Their fear comforted me; at least I was not so singular!”

The soothing lilt of Steven’s voice melts away your headache. Your eyes shut, one hand resting on his knee as you drift into a half-sleep, lulled by the timber of his voice, the cadence of his speech. Sometimes, sentences would break through the fog of your relaxation, registering dimly in your mind. 

“...still not used to the smell of the sea, salt so thick in the air that I could taste it on my tongue. There was some familiarity yet in this for me, as I had been quite used to servants washing and tending to me back home, though never so roughly. By the time Evelyn was finished, I felt that she must have scrubbed me pink…braids only made the aching in my head worse. I hated to have my hair drawn back, to not even be able to hide behind its curtain…the Prince himself. I was sure that I was trembling with fear, my knees unsteady. I hoped that the others had appeared as nervous as I, though none of them had half the reasons I did!...ah…yada yada yada…we shared a nice peaceful sleep together, though the Prince stole all the covers like the sod he likely was—” 

Your eyes open, blinking tiredly. “A—sod? Does it say that?

“Of course it does.” 

“It does not; you’re making it up!” 

“That is a slanderous accusation which wounds me greatly—”

“Then you are skipping parts. You said yada yada yada—” 

“That’s, well, it’s what the book says, love, I surely didn’t write it—” 

Now your interest has peaked, pushing the veil of exhaustion back from your eyes. Lifting your head, you reach for the book, tilting it towards you just an inch: “Show me, then—” 

“Alright, alright,” he says, pressing the book flush to his bare chest to make it impossible for you to see even a single word. Now you notice that his face seems distinctly more flushed than usual, a nervousness in his eyes. “I am skipping parts. Just the boring ones, though.” 

“Is that how you usually read books?” you ask, brow furrowing. “You skip the boring bits? Aren’t you the man who once chastised a complete stranger in a book store when you caught him reading the last page of a book before buying it?” 

“That is a crime,” he says firmly. “This is completely different. I’m skipping them in order, aren’t I? I just…oh alright. I just didn’t think that this was a novel you would…ah…enjoy?” 

“Oh my god,” you say. “It’s pornography, isn’t it?” 

“It’s called erotica, thank you very much!” 

It is a good thing that Steven does not share the uppermost floor of the apartment complex with anyone else, because your cackle might have been loud enough to garner complaints. His shoulders relax a little at your giggles. He shuts the book, a finger holding his place this time, and gently taps it against your forehead. 

“Alright, that’s enough out of you. I hear enough about it from those two in my head. Besides—,” Steven says, sniffing indignantly. “—I read them for the plots.” 

“And what’s the plot of this one?” 

“Do you really care to know, or do you only wish to continue having a laugh?”

You school your face into a one that is appropriately serious. You hadn’t truly meant to make him feel insecure—which he was, judging by the way he had turned his eyes back to the cover of the book, his brow wrinkled and lips downturned in an expression that was remarkably like Marc. Sitting up, you prop your tired body beside him, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing wrong with smut. I’ve read plenty in my time—stories that are likely far less tasteful than this one. Tell me what it’s about,” you say, your sentence pitching up at the end and turning your statement into a gentle question which he could refuse if he was truly sore. 

But Steven could not ever remain sore with you. 

“Well,” he says, opening the book hesitantly. “It is about a spoiled princess. Outlaws from another kingdom steal her away to bring her to their royalty, hoping for a pardon from their own crimes. But along the way, her identity is somehow switched round with another hostage. Now everyone thinks she’s a prisoner meant to be a pleasure servant and serve the lords and ladies of this other kingdom.” 

“No!” 

“Yes!” Steven says, eyes lighting up at your enthusiasm. “But it gets worse, see? Because when they all arrive at the foreign palace, the girl mistaken to be the Princess is offered up to the King, and they kill her.”

You frown. “Oh, that’s quite dark.” 

“Yes, well the king is a right bastard, isn’t he? But now the Princess is terrified to reveal who she truly is to anyone, convinced she will be killed as well. So she must throw herself whole-heartedly into serving the Prince’s every pleasure while she plots her escape. There is politics and intrigue and quite a bit of misogyny which I am hoping to see punished in the second half—”

“You should read it to me,” you murmur, feeling a trickle of warmth in the pit of your belly. Thinking about Steven reading filthy novels while you were at work had made your heart stutter unexpectedly. Had he been hard when you came in? Did he read things like this and touch himself? The thought of hearing Steven’s low, accented voice reading explicit sex made your breath catch. You clear your throat. “You know…for the plots.” 

“The plots,” Steven says, drawing the syllables out slowly. “Right…I—are you sure, love? It’s quite naughty, isn’t it? And some of it is downright morally questionable.” 

“I’m sure. Go on, no need to skip over the naughty bits on my behalf. It sounds like you were just getting to the good parts.” 

Steven snorts softly. His gaze when he looks up at you from the book is sly and knowing. He sometimes can be shy and awkward, unpracticed in the ways of relationships and love and sex, but Steven was downright clever. There was no way he wouldn’t pick up on your eagerness, nor the true reason for it. And it sure wasn’t the plots. Shifting to make himself comfortable, he glances to you once more for your assent before cracking open the book and searching for his place.

*

Next Part

[20dollarlolita]

Describing some wigs

Many years ago there was as site called Amphigory.com, and while it's still up, the Amphigory that 16-year-old me spent days browsing is not the Amphigory that still remains. They're still cool, but they'd really scaled back the scope of what they sell. There used to be cosmetics, jewelry, hair dye, a few more things, and wigs.

One of the things that they did about their wig sales that really set them apart was the level of description that they gave every wig. This wasn't just a single stock picture and a name. They took their own pictures of each wig, inside and out, and described each one's strengths and flaws. They weren't like Arda, who designs their own wigs from scratch. They were more like a normal costume reseller, who had a collection of vendors that they'd order stock from. But, unlike most costume wig sellers, they had multiple pictures and a detailed analysis of each wig. You knew what you were getting, which was really important for cosplayers who might need to restyle a wig. If you've never restyled a wig before, you might not be aware, but the wig can make it very easy, or the wig can make it impossible.

Amphigory's wig section is long gone, but I do still buy wigs from a similar company, one that has a collection of wig vendors whose products they sell. This is a shop that I go to is in person, and I love that. I know that I can find some wigs cheaper elsewhere, but I absolutely love that I can go to a small business, roll up to a counter, and physically touch the wigs before I buy them. I can look at them, turn them inside-out, and touch them. I also get to take the wig home that day, instead of waiting for shipping.

But not everyone has this opportunity, and on the offchance that people are considering buying a wig online and google the wig to see worn photos or reviews, here's me making a compilation of wigs I've recently bought and what they actually look like in person. Even with wigs from the same seller, some might be garbage, but some might be hidden gems. So, in the interest of making more information about which wigs are like what, here we go:

California Costumes Pink/Gray Ombre with Star Clips:

First of all, California Costumes gets 0/10 for creativity with names. I love me a good little nickname for a wig. The Costume Mansion, where I bought this, called it "Harmony," and I think that's a better name.

Yes, my wig head is cosplaying its Naruto OC. Let it do its thing.

This is a textured, ombre wig. The actual fiber is ombre, so an individual strand will go from gray color to pink, and the gray is a little bit softer than the pink. Some wigs that are tipped with another color accomplish this by having the color on the ends be longer hair than the top color, but this is a true ombre. I have not tested this for colorfastness, but it's possible that the pink tips won't age super well. The skin top is about 3" wide and does not go all the way to the front of the wig. This means that you can change the part a little bit, but it will always have bangs.

The whole thing is sewn onto a continuous cap, which isn't as forgiving of larger head sizes than one that's just wefts and elastic. It has the built-in net that you sometimes see with cheaper wigs, which is where your hair would go if you want to wear this wig without a wig cap. You, however, don't want to wear this wig without a wig cap. You know better. There's hooks in the back for resizing.

Wefts in the back are about an inch apart, but when I was shaking it around and trying to make it show the mesh, I couldn't actually make it show the mesh without physically parting it. Depending on how you put your hair up under the wig, you might have problems with the mesh showing in the back (lumpy hair will show mesh, hair that's smoothly under a wig cap won't). This is probably a wig you want a matching or light colored wig cap for if you have a larger head.

Overall, cute wig, stock pictures don't do it justice. Available for $20 on Amazon, in case you don't have a local costume shop to support. This item tag reads "ITEM # 7022-068 FTY # 346 HK2203" and I don't know what that means but if someone's googling the tag to look up the wig then hopefully that'll lead them here.

Yuki by Characters:

At least this one has a wig name. And boy howdy is that some big hair. The place I bought this from called it "Cupcake."

I tried on this wig because I really wanted to see how it was constructed, and I bought it because, when I tried it on, it was way cuter than I thought it'd be. It's a rougher fiber, which makes the curls hold their shape really well, but you're going to be fighting to keep the bangs and long forelocks looking smooth. There's no skin top, and the hair radiates from a sort of u-shaped blob at the top. There's so much going on in this wig that it's not particularly obvious, and also you will convince absolutely no one that it's not a wig, so that's not as much a priority to me on this style.

As for how it's actually constructed, there's no teasing in the wig to keep it that big. Instead, the actual cap of the wig is sewn into the shape of the big faux twintails, and then the hair is attached to that structure. Wigs are not hair. Anyway, that means there's pretty much no major restyling that can be done. It's just curly hair about 5" long on a funky structure to make funky big hair. Anyway, because thew cap of this wig is so oversized, it's really comfortable to wear, and it's really accommodating of large head sizes or a lot of hair.

Also because of the cap size, if you don't pin the temples on, it can slide back and make your bangs shorter. You can see that in my picture there. Mine did not come with the little rose clips, but it is supposed to come with the rose clips. It's much curlier than the stock images imply it will be.

This wig would be great for embellishing, since you can sew things directly to the funky shaped cap and not worry about where to support it. It also can handle a full sized BTSSB headbow, if that's a concern.

Someone's selling it on Amazon for $60 and you absolutely should not spend that much for this wig. I see other wig shops selling it for about $30, which is the upper limit on its real fair price, unless you really need the specific shape for it. I'm not going to link any specific shop since I don't have experience buying from them. "Yuki wig" and "Characters Yuki wig" are good search terms.

Characters Peggy Sue wig:

Okay so please be forgiving that my detail pictures are going to be of this wig already styled, because I didn't know I was going to do this post when I started working with it. I'll make a point to spell out what's stock and what's been done. Top pictures here are the most un-styled that I have.

This wig's got a coin-shaped skin top that all the hair radiates from. It comes with long, blunt bangs. The fiber is really shiny and is very easily reshaped by low hair dryer heat. High heat on my hair dryer, too close to the scalp, was how I made the frizzy spot in the back. The cap is a closed mesh cap, but it's nice and stretchy.

The weird boogers on the top of my wig are the orange hilights that I put in (they were just chopped from another wig), but that picture's there to show the size of the skin top. You can also see where I sewed some orange wefts into the wig for all-over recoloring. I re-parted the skin coin so that the hair has a linear part instead of radiating from the center, and then painted it with liquid foundation to make the parted area larger. Mine also has a LOT of baby powder dispersed through it to combat the shine. I spent like four days to try to make this $20 wig look like it's maybe a $35 wig. (The process was: "oh hey I'll be taking my wheelchair to the comic convention. I should cosplay Barbara Gordon because that will be fun. This will be easy and I don't need to put a lot of money or time into it." and then four days passed and I'd spent hours manually highlighting a cheap wig).

And it really needs a bit of love to get it to be less frizzy. Right out of the bag, my wig did not have that outward flip. Unlike the other two, I don't see this being a really usable wig for lolita fashion in pretty much any context, but hey, I'm on a roll with this post.

This wig is listing online for like $30, and that's a bit much IMO. If you have a local shop selling it for $20, well, that's a different matter.

If you want a wig just to change your hair color so that your bright pink hair doesn't clash with your coord, I once bought this wig (according to Amazon in 2015 so it's been...almost a decade...nice to know they're tracking that) and was pretty impressed with the quality for a $17 wig. So, you know, buy that instead of this Peggy Sue wig.

I do own the Lacey Costume Little Women II Wig (Amphigory's "Innocent?" wig) but it's late and I want to go to bed, and all you really need to know about it is that the fiber texture of the ash blond color is really dicey, so that's probably a case where if you need a pigtail wig you need to just get an Arda Chibi. I can still do details if anyone wants. It's just 9:30 and I have to put all these damn wigs away, so good night, everyone.

[harrietvane]

Perfume chat, because it's hot, summer's ending, and I'm of a mind to list out some of my favourite Hot Weather Perfumes. To be fair, once it gets above 30C/86F, I don't tend to wear scent, but all these I ones I could, and have worn in hot weather, and worth mentioning. Lot of citrus going on here, not much floral, and heavily leaning towards citrus cologne strenght (and away from big floral, gourmand, or sweet eaux de parfum). BYO gender, none of these are marketed specifically one way or another.

-Cédrat Enivrant (Atelier Cologne): the 'cedrat' here is not referring to cedar, but to the ur-citrus known in english as the Citron, aka the mighty Etrog. It's one of the original citrii from which all others spring: it's lumpy, bitter, like 60% rind, and doesn't care what you think. Cedrat Enivrant is a bitter cocktail cologne resembling a French 75 - which is gin and champagne - but dry AF. There's a mintiness, and a pine needle dryness as well. Starts off very high and tart, dries down herbal.

Paris-Deauville (Chanel): part of their Eaux de Chanel cologne-style lighter series, this is an orange/basil combo that stays fairly light and dry - the sweetness is from orange, but otherwise the addition of basil heart note keeps this summery and green. Starts off quite juicy, but 'dries' as it dries, ending in mostly sweet herbs, and the basil is unexpected. Light enough to be a splash bottle though, not a typical Chanel.

Blenheim Bouquet (Penhaligon's): despite going all-in on flashy, heavier things lately, Penhaligon's keeps the old BB on the shelf because I'm p sure it's still one of their best sellers: it's a classic for a reason. Despite listing notes of lemon, black pepper and pine, this comes off mainly with a 'clean pencil shavings' vibe on me, and it suits that freshly-sharpened pencil image. Lemony, sharp, dry, precise. if it was a person it would be Anton Lesser's character in Endeavour.

Melograno (Santa Maria Novella): I sought this out after seeing it on-screen in Casino Royale as one of Vesper Lynd's few belongings in Venice, and it did not disappoint. A warning: despite the name, if you go in expecting a syrupy bath and bodywork's style fruity pomegranate, or dislike things 'that smell like perfume' this perfume is not for you. There is very little, if any, fruit in Melograno, and I confess it's a surprise entry to a cologne-y summer list because it lists several flowers (and oakmoss! and patch!), BUT the reality of it on me is dry dry dryyyy. I have worn this in very hot weather, and the impression is a herbal soap in the cleanest italian bathroom that's ever existed, with a rigid linen handtowel, and some dried flowers in a bowl on the window.

Bergamotto di Positano (Floris): if you DID want fruit, but not syrup, Floris has you covered for orange and mandarin. It steers away from Body Shop fruit with marine notes, but don't let that dissuade you if you avoid CK One types: there's a softness to this from some ginger, green tea, and vanilla in the background. Never goes overly gourmand on me despite the fact that these are all edible things.

Ouarzazate/Series 3 (Comme des Garçons): whaaaaat, an incense in a summer list?? Adding it here as we can't have an entirely citrine list, and this makes the cut due to DRY. CdG did a little series on incense of various styles (the most infamous being Avignon, which does actually smell like a realistic in-use thurible, so hats off to them), and Ouarzazate is their desert incense vibe. It's clean in that dry sauna/spa room sort of way. It's the driest and woodiest of the 4 they did imho. Like walking into a shady, cool, dark wooden room when it's hot outside.

Le Pamplemousse (Miller Harris): MH perfumes divide into those made when Lyn Harris was the nose (interesting, lots of werird herbal combos), and those after she left (generally bigger and sweeter) - this is one of the former. Obviously grapefruit as a theme, which is always a nice bitter citrus for summer, this wears like a crisp white shirt. Despite mentioning things like rhubrarb, the notes are kept in strict order by rosemary, sage, and vetiver. The grapefuit fades as the herbs take over on drydown, manages to evoke clean laundry with no musk. (Bonus points: I have also loved Le Petit Grain from the same house for its twiggy orange tree bundle vibes, but it's discontinued)

Budget options: some countries get great sampling or decanting services (not mine, booooo), and getting 10mls of the above might be easier for you than me, but if not: here's some you can get for a lot less cash but still give you quality-

Vetiver Pamplemousse (Zara): done by theee Jo Malone, so that gives you an idea of the vibe (light, approachable). It's grapefruit, tangerine, and vetiver. Vetiver keeps it dry, quite linear development. Might be slightly 'spicier' than the MH Pampelmousse, or at least more vetiver-forward. Comes in a rollerball for those wanting a short commitment!

4711 (Mäurer & Wirtz): how could i not end on the OG, the classic, the unbeatable 4711. Four-Seven-Eleven has been freshening up people's bathroom routines since 1799, and boasts of a recipe (mostly?) unchanged since Napoleon was tramping around the area. It's citrus, it's lavender, it's romemary, it evaporates in 8 seconds, it's fresh lemony goodness. It's an aftershave, it's a cologne, it's a linen spray, it's a bath soak, is there nothing it cannot do? M&W have started to do endless 'remixes' of the base cologne, in many fruit and floral varieties, but the classic is where it's at. And it costs almost nothing.

[impossiblesuitcase]

I know this type of fic will seem strange, but do you remember where Cinder in the first book says that everyone will be aware of what Kai does, and that he will forget her, if this happened as an alternate universe, do you really believe that Kai forgot? of it, or remember it as nostalgia for what could have been as couple

Thanks your for your answer

I intended for this to be a five sentence response. Ha.

(Remember?)

He doesn’t remember her.

Granted, he doesn’t even remember what it feels like to take a full, unstrained breath. Kai is a busy teenager, a grieving son, an ill-prepared emperor and then the happiest widower alive. He can’t pretend to not be overjoyed by his wife’s untimely passing after her brief but bloody one-year stint as empress. The Earthen population didn’t seem to mind much either when the evil Lunar queen was assassinated in her bed by a group of revolting malcontents.

Kai only remembers her when the storm takes mercy on them and calms. The girl at the marketplace. Who’d never worn the gloves he’d given her to the ball she hadn’t attended. The brown eyes he’d never seen again. As the New Beijing Market celebrates a new era of peace with streamers and lanterns and sticky buns, Kai is pulling on his grey hoodie and weaving through the crowds to an unmarked booth. Instead he finds the musty, dark store replaced by a coffeé vendor. The nearby sellers tell him the young mechanic skipped town.

(Kai does remember her joking prod in the elevator, offering up that she was planning to run away to Europe. Now, Kai doesn’t think it was all that much of a joke.)

He searches for her, briefly. Her name turns up no more net results than what had been there the first time he’d sought her services. In checking government records he learns that her guardian reported the disappearance, inciting a police investigation. He has his own staff put on the case, who probably interpret this as a conscientious initiative to apprehend a fugitive as any responsible emperor would. 

Reading the conclusions from the fruitless search by his agents, this is where Kai learns that Linh Cinder is a cyborg.

Something blankets him. Not...disgust or revulsion. Thick, encompassing understanding. He’s near laughter when it strikes him precisely between his third and fourth ribs because he knows that it doesn’t matter if he finds her.

The gloves. The obfuscation. A cyborg, an emperor. This is why she rejected him.

After this, the expressed need to find find find her feels vain. Find her and what? Tell her that—although he likes her—a cyborg would never be accepted by the public as his partner? Then he’d be tearing her away from whatever sanctuary she’s found herself in and subjecting her to capture by the authorities. Because she has cut out her ID chip—illegal. Fled the country without a permit—illegal. Disobeyed orders from her guardian—illegal for cyborgs. Whatever Imperial pardon he could try to extend would be nullified by the Cyborg Protection Act.

It doesn’t matter. She hasn’t been found. He’s no luck at searching for things anyway. That’s why he gave up on Selene. What’s one more thing to give up on?

So Kai doesn’t remember her. But he does revise the Cyborg Protection Act. He is appalled to discover that—despite having Levana’s antidote in his tenuous possession—the cyborg draft is still in operation. Luna is not a trustworthy government under regent Sybil Mira, they fearmonger. They might still need to develop an antidote of their own, they reason.

Both Earth and Luna are barely refraining from seeking blood as it is. After Levana was assassinated, Luna declared full-scale war on Earth, killing hundreds of thousands. Earth retaliated by detonating bombs on the craters of the moon, threatening that next time they wouldn’t spare the inhabited domes. The ceasefire went as follows: Luna and Earth would not intermingle. Luna would provide Earth with the Letumosis antidote in exchange for Earth sending Luna their desperately-needed supplies. No one deemed this agreement as trustworthy. No one had better ideas.

His decision to end the draft is met with mixed response. Kai just secretly hopes that Cinder is watching, holed up in her new musty, dark booth in her new European city with a flicker of pride.

Years past. Funnily enough, Kai learns that—at some point—pretending to forget and forgetting are not so dissimilar.

But sometimes he sees a malfunctioning android down a palace hall and remembers her steady gloved hands on Nainsi. Sees a woman with almost the right shade of brown in her hair and eyes and skin but never close enough. Yet each time, he collects himself, shakes his head and doesn’t give in, and when he marries a second time to a woman he actually wants to be with, his wife’s radiant smile expels any romantic thought of any other girl that has ever crossed his mind.

— — — 

Fourteen years. That’s how long it takes for his loose threads to finally fray. Kai is in his office being briefed by Torin for an upcoming public statement by his cabinet. It has taken fourteen years after Levana’s death to fully uncover all the scrupulously concealed records of the atrocities she committed. As former empress, her crimes have to be reported by the Eastern Commonwealth, though no reasonably-minded Earthen would attribute her crimes to anyone but her own wicked self.

This report intrigues him. It’s not the usual analytics of Levana’s sins against the Earthen public, rather a detailed list of all the Lunars she victimised.

“Why are we reporting this?” Kai asks Torin, keeping his daughter from bouncing off his lap with steady hands. “What Levana did to the Lunar citizenry is beyond our scope of responsibility.”

“Not those on Luna, Your Majesty,” Torin informs. “This report refers to the illegal Lunar refugees who were hiding on Earth.”

Kai vaguely recalls Levana screeching once about how she would kill all the Lunars he had insubordinately smuggled into the country. He hadn’t believed that there were any Lunars on Earth at that naïve eighteen, but a thirty-three-year-old Kai is not surprised. He scrolls past the initial pages of exposition and gets right to the list of victims. He wants a number. How many Lunars were there really on Earth? That day on the balcony, when Levana had claimed that there had been a Lunar among those protestors—had it been true?

It’s page eight that he sees her name.

Linh Cinder. Cyborg. Lunar. Licensed mechanic in New Beijing. Records found to be falsified. True age unknown. True name unknown. Date of immigration unknown.

Cyborg. Lunar.

Kai’s hands are shaking. He places his daughter on the ground. “Torin,” he wheezes, “take her to her mother.”

His daughter’s soft, “Daddy? Was wrong?” goes unanswered.

Once they’ve left the room, Kai is alone with the horror lying in his hands. He clicks on her profile and a full page with her name and portrait appears. It’s a mugshot, but without the official stamp of the Earthen Union law enforcement, he knows it was Levana’s own team of minions doing the arresting. Her hair is loose, glossy and slick. Her eyes defiant but sunken into dark sockets. Her cheeks are full. She was not starving, wasting away in poverty. Evidently she did manage to make a life for herself on the run.

The biography is short. Linh was reported missing by her guardian on 28 August 126 T.E. at 08:31. CCTV footage shows her driving a second-era automobile from New Beijing to France over the course of 8 days. Linh hid in Nice for 7 months using a false ID chip and started a small mechanic business. Records of an apartment lease were found under the false identity. She was discovered by Lunar authorities when a mandatory Letumosis blood test identified Lunar genealogy in her genome. She was swiftly sentenced and executed without a trial on an unknown date for crimes of illegal departure from Luna.

That’s it. The only information. It limns a tale of another victim of the tyrant with not a stroke of sympathy. Kai thrusts down the port, clawing his hands through his hair.

Cyborg. Lunar. Executed.

He calls his wife.

The line clicks immediately. “Honey, is everything okay?” asks his wife, concern cooling her timbre. “Torin said you were all out of sorts.”

His words are faint. “Hey, love, do you remember that girl I liked before you?”

He can hear her smile. “The mechanic?”

“Yeah.”

"What about her?" her voice heaves and Kai hears a small giggle; Torin has brought their daughter back to their quarters. His wife is picking up the heavy three-year-old.

He has no strength to censor himself, even with young ears present. “She’s dead. Levana killed her.”

A long silence. The thread being pulled, pulled, pulled as the fraying creeps up to the heart of it. The girl whispers to her mother, “who Mummy? Who’s Daddy talking ‘bout?”

Her mother doesn’t explain. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry,” she consoles plaintively in that genuine lilt he knows is sincere. His superlatively gracious wife has never judged him for his grief over the lost cyborg, for regretting he couldn’t help the troubled young girl from a bad home. Never has she assigned ulterior motives of him mourning ‘the one that got away’ in some jealous plea for validation. 

He says nothing. He had forgotten her brown eyes, her smile and her gloves. The sarcasm and the pessimism. Each detail had slipped away and now a single photo, an unuttered apology, is trying to resuscitate the dead.

“Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

Kai reclaims his port and returns to the cover page. It’s entitled: A Comprehensive Account of the Genocide of Lunar Refugees by Queen Levana Blackburn: Names and Implications.

A name. An implication. That’s all she’d be, immortalised in a forgettable list. After the cover page, a number is bolded.

3,582.

The number of Lunar victims. Miniscule compared to Earth’s population. Cinder was almost certainly the only Lunar Cyborg on the list. An oddity. A friendly statistical anomaly.

Never meant to exist. Always meant to be out of reach.

“Kai?”

“It’ll be fine,” he promises, convincing himself of it. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine?” she repeats.

That picture is burnt in his retinas; Cinder, forever sixteen. He, now so much older. He doesn’t mourn a lost love. He didn’t love her; he didn’t know her. He mourns an abandoned child who never even knew that someone was looking for her.

Kai exhales slowly and rests his port on the desk next to his wedding photo and his father's signet ring. 

“I’ll be fine,” he affirms, “You know, I don’t really remember her.”

— — — 

@cindersassasin @hayleblackburn @spherical-empirical @salt-warrior @just2bubbly @gingerale2017 @icarusignite @kaider-is-my-otp @slmkaider @luna-maximoff-22 @cosmicnovaflare @kaixiety @snozkat @mirrorballsss @skinwitch18 @vincentvangothic @bakergirl13 @wassupnye @linh-cindy @therealkaidertrash21

[bucci-cookies]

A Trip To Naples - Bruno Bucciarati x Reader

Here is a commission piece I did where the reader goes on a trip to Italy and falls in love with a lovely stranger :)

Naples: the birthplace of pizza, home of the famous Amalfi Coast and, of course, the destination of your impulsive getaway. With the stress of work pushing down on your shoulders, you needed some sort of break; those winning tickets couldn’t have come at a better time. Three weeks living in the bustling Campanian city in an all-expenses paid hotel was a perfect way to spend your annual vacation time.

One of the highlights of Naples was its colourful markets: picturesque stalls and shops lining the cobblestoned streets selling various trinkets, clothing and flowers. You found yourself in the Market of Antignano, deep in the centre of Vomero. The jovial sellers beckoned you over to look at the various slippers, cosmetics and linen sitting on the displays, eager to squeeze some money out of you before lunch. An elderly woman with thick black hair selling keyrings waved at you, shaking one of them in her hand. It was a cute little thing, a brown plastic bear holding a red heart between its paws, all connected to the metal ring. You figured that you might as well replace your old worn-out one with a new souvenir.

“Questo è perfetto per voi zucca!” She smiled, placing the ring in your hand. To your knowledge, she said it was perfect for you.

“Il mio Italiano…non è buono” You laughed awkwardly. The only fault in this seemingly perfect holiday was that you only had very little knowledge of the language. You could say enough to scrape by, but in this case, you found it easier to say you don’t know the language well.

“Ah! You speak English, zucca?” The woman asked, not phased by your inability to speak her Italian.

You sighed loudly, thankful that you could converse in a language you understood. “Yes, I do. Sorry, this is my first time in Italy.”

“Oh? How lovely!” She beamed, giving you a toothy grin. She looked down at her watch, 1 pm, almost time to close up for today. "Have you got somewhere to go for lunch?"

"Nowhere, in particular. I'll just walk around and see what looks nice." You had researched local places to eat earlier. Most of them were within the same vicinity so you planned to go to whatever seemed less busy to avoid long queues.

"Zucca, you must go to Libeccio!" She shook your hand, almost like her life depended on you going there. "It's marvellous, oh you'll love it!" She squealed. "Plus," She said with a  smirk, "it's owned by such a sweet young man, Bucciarati. He's so graceful and kind, you’ll love him!”

You remember searching up Libeccio - it was a beautiful restaurant, though you were worried it was a little out of your price range. It screamed expensive from the pictures you saw online. Well, you were on holiday, you might as well allow a little bit of luxury. You paid for the keyring, placing it in the side pocket of your bag before waving the kind woman off as she packed up her stall for the day.

Libeccio was about a ten-minute walk away, allowing you to explore parts of the region a bit more. You took note of some stylish boutiques along the way, thinking about how your wardrobe could do with a revamp. As well as some grocery stores for if you ever needed a snack.

Libeccio, unsurprisingly, was an Italianate-style building. Bay windows with pink and shamrock-like decorative window trims along both stories of the tawny-coloured building. The inside had half-cream half-dark oak walls, and a soft crimson carpet covering the entire dining area. It was a little intimidating to see so many well-dressed people sitting together. Eating meals you probably couldn’t pronounce and drinking wines you had never heard of. You felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb. You swallowed the lump in your throat and made your way to the waiting table where one of the floor workers stood, writing some notes in a large black book. He greeted you with a wide smile as his hazel eyes and tanned skin shone under the bright lights that reflected off his silver name badge that read ‘Alejandro’. He held up a finger, presumably asking you if you were the only diner, to which you nodded. Before you could get a word in, he placed you on a two-seater table near one of the windows with a menu and a glass of water to get you started.

You opened the sleek black booklet, revealing extensive lists of appetisers, starters, mains and desserts, all in clean, fancy, Italian writing. The best thing you could do was whip out Google and try to search for all these meals. You tried to note what sounded best, whittling down the list as best as you could, but you barely scratched the surface of the menu when the waiter returned, asking if you would like to order. With an embarrassed blush, you tried to explain how you were struggling to read the menu. But it seemed like he couldn’t understand you, especially over the noisy restaurant.

You didn’t notice that this interaction had caught the attention of a group of men who sat a couple of tables down from yours. “Scusi.” A sultry voice said. You looked up to see a tall man with darker skin standing next to the waiter. The mas w `A`1as dressed in a cropped sweater and sleek black jeans, offering a perfect view of his toned abdomen. His hair was thick and curly, framing his roundish face and drawing attention to his dark eyes. The man whispered something to the waiter, making him run off, before pulling a chair next to you.

“Buongiorno signora. Are you having trouble with your menu? I see you switching between it and your phone.” Before you could begin to question who this man was and how he knew you would speak English, he took the menu from your hands and began flicking through the pages before tapping one of the options. “This is gravlax bella, it's just cured salmon, comes in thin slices.” He turned over the page. “Ah and capricciosa! You’ve got mushroom, artichokes, baked ham, olives, my absolute favourite!” He said with gusto as he scooched a little closer to you. Truth be told, you didn’t feel too comfortable in this situation, a strange man in a strange country acting so familiar with you made you uneasy. And the way he so easily managed to get rid of the waiter rubbed you the wrong way, who knows what his intentions were? You simply tucked your lips in and nodded at his rambling about the menu, thankful that you at least had some options to order.

You avoided eye contact with the strange man until suddenly his voice stopped. You looked over to see another man standing behind him, one with lighter skin and short black hair. “Mista,” He sighed, his voice a smooth baritone, “la stai mettendo a disagio.” He whispered with a smile, squeezing the man’s shoulder. Instantly he looked back at you, bowing his head.

“I’m so sorry signora, I’ll get out of your way!” He dropped the menu back on the table and walked back to his original seat. He was met with the disapproving headshakes of the third man on the table. The new man moved the chair back to its original place opposite you before holding out a hand.

“Bruno Bucciarati, I’m the owner.” He shot you a dazzling smile. Thankful that he was at least affiliated with the restaurant and not another stranger, you calmly shook his hand. You had to admit, the woman from the market was right, he was handsome. His frame was tall and lean and he had a certain youthful essence in his speech and gestures. His hair was cut to his shoulders, neatly styled to form bangs that reached his thin black eyebrows. His eyes were the most noticeable feature on his face, soft blue ones surrounded by long lashes. If you had to guess, he was probably in his mid 20s. Part of you wondered how a young man like him could own such a lavish restaurant. “You’ll have to forgive my friend, he was only trying to help and he got a bit carried away.” Bruno turned around to face the man you now know to be Mista, presumably staring him down, before facing you again and rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward laugh.

“It’s fine, thank you for clarifying.” You smiled back. “I’m really glad we can speak in English, my Italian isn’t good at all.”

He cocked his head to the side, thin eyebrows furrowed. “You weren’t able to request a menu in English?”

Your jaw dropped slightly, realising this could have been resolved if you simply asked for a different menu. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know I could!” You pressed your hands against your cheeks in shame.

Bruno laughed gently, his shoulder relaxing, grateful that this wasn’t a staff complaint in the works. “It’s okay, I’m glad you know for next time, I will go get you one.” He came back shortly with an identical menu, this time with everything in English. “We get a lot of tourists here, so we print a couple menus in different languages, mainly English and French.”

“Thank you so much sir, it helps a lot.” You waved him goodbye as you flicked through the new one, picking up all of the meals you had missed out on earlier. You decided to give Mista’s suggestion a go, after all, he was just trying to be nice. A different waiter met you this time, a woman with her hair tied back in a long, blonde ponytail and an exuberant expression across on her face, ready to take your order: the capricciosa pizza, and a slice of chocolate cake with gelato for dessert.

By now the restaurant had more customers, different groups of people huddled around the tables, filling the room with the smell of their meals and another layer of noise above the soft music in the background. Couples, families and friends chuckled and chatted together, enjoying the lively mood that the Naples summer put into them as they shared glasses of wine and scrumptious desserts. It didn’t take long for your waitress to return with a piping hot thin crust pizza on a large round plate with a rich cheesy and meaty aroma exuding from it as she placed it in front of your nose. She refilled your glass of water, adding a few blocks of ice to cool you down as the weather had begun to increase, before leaving you to enjoy your meal.

You took a bite from one of the slices, enjoying how the base crunched in your mouth and sighed, it was incredible. The meat was perfectly seasoned and paired wonderfully with the assortment of vegetables. This particular version had an additional drizzle of olive oil, but to your delight, it didn’t make the dish greasy at all. You had never had a pizza as wonderful as this, you saw why that nice old lady recommended Libeccio to you, as well as why Naples is known as the pizza hotspot. It’s like the meal had some sort of hold on you, its smell wrapped around your body, making you focus on the rich ham and savoury sauce. You ordered one of the smaller sizes, making sure you had enough space for dessert, which was just as delightful. The cool vanilla gelato was a perfect pair for the thick, warm chocolate cake. You always tried to limit your sugar intake, not wanting to sacrifice your health for a few treats, but it didn’t take long for your sweet tooth to activate and completely devour the rich cake.

“Did you enjoy your meal?” Mr Bucciarati returned once your plates had been cleared, sitting on the chair opposite you. “I hope everything was to your taste?” He placed his elbow on the table, resting his head on his hand.

While wiping your lips with a napkin, you nodded enthusiastically. “I did! I guess your friend was right about the capricciosa, it’s really amazing!” You definitely planned to return to Libeccio soon, especially since it wasn’t as expensive as you thought it would be.

His cerulean eyes lit up as a toothy grin formed. Libeccio had been his favourite restaurant since he was young. When he bought the establishment from the previous owner, he spared no expense to continue to do its name justice, not wanting to cut any corners regarding the quality of service or food as some would do. “Well I’m glad you liked it, it’s one of my favourites too.” He leaned in a little towards you, clearing his throat. “Can I ask, is this your first time in Italy?”

You paused a little before replying. “Yes. I never travel much, it’s far too expensive these days. I actually won these tickets in a lottery.”

He gave an understanding nod before switching to another beaming smile. “Ahh well that’s lucky, Naples is one of the best cities here. Call me biased since I grew up here, but I thoroughly prefer it to cities up north.” He folded his arms against his chest with a jokingly smug expression on his face. To Bruno, no amount of glitz and glam in Florence or Milan could match the warm pleasure that Naples made in his heart.

“Well, I’m glad I’m in the right place.” You smiled, turning to face him a little more.

“May I ask where you’re from?”

With slight hesitation, you revealed your home country to the kind stranger, watching his eyes light up at your words.

He leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. “Oh? I hear how beautiful it is there, especially in the Spring. I have an old friend who moved to,” He snapped his fingers as he tried to recall the name. “It’s escaped me now, but you know the small town in the south, the one with all the mountains and forests? I had a friend who moved there when we were younger. We would send each other postcards when we were little.” Bruno didn’t have many friends his age, especially as he grew up in a quieter area with an older population. This meant he cherished the few he had greatly. When his friend Mikhail moved away due to his father getting a job abroad, they vowed to always send each other letters and postcards. Sadly, this was cut short when he was twelve. You were familiar with the town he was referring to having visited there several times. It was a gorgeous area, filled with a lively artistic and historical culture, as well as being one of the largest cities from your home.

“Were you given any sort of activity list? Things to do here?” Bruno asked, fiddling with his fingers.

You shook your head. “Nothing, in particular, I don’t really know where to start.” You simply planned to rely on whatever the Internet suggested.

“If you would like anyone to go with you or show you some nice places, I’d be more than happy to show you around.”

“Oh no that’s completely fine! I don’t want to intrude on your schedule.” You grit your teeth, not wanting to inconvenience the lovely owner.

He scoffed with a light-hearted tone, shaking his head. “No, it's fine! You won’t be interrupting anything, I promise.” He paused, briefly before pulling a pen out of his shirt pocket and writing something on a napkin. “Here, this is my number. If you would like to go anywhere or need an idea, I would be more than willing to help.” He neatly folded it and handed it to you. “You don’t have to agree, this is just a suggestion! I know that being in a new country can be hard and sometimes daunting.” He quickly explained, holding his hands up as if to prove that this was just an innocent suggestion. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel as overwhelmed by a stranger as you did when Mista approached you.

You took the napkin from him, placing it in your purse. “Thank you Mr Bucciarati.” There was something about him that made it easy to talk to him: maybe it was his calm body language or his soft facial expressions, but it felt nice talking to him. In your gut, he seemed like a good guy. Besides, it would be nice to have a native speaker around to guide you.

“You can just call me Bruno by the way.” Usually, he was fine with being referred to as Bucciarati, but something in him felt like being less formal with you. “What can I call you?”

“y/n.”

He smiled and tilted his head to the side, causing his hair to fall slightly as he slowly repeated your name. “That’s such a beautiful name.”

**************************************************

It had been two days since you visited Libeccio, and still, the kind man’s napkin sat in your bag, stuffed underneath your purse. Bruno did seem nice, and at least he was the well-known owner of Libeccio, so he wasn’t a completely random stranger. It would be nice to have a personal tour guide, especially someone native to the area, it would also make your trip a lot less lonely. You pulled out the napkin and used the hotel phone to call him. After two rings, he picked up.

“Salve, Bucciarati parla.” He said, his voice was deep and groggy like he had just woken up and you could hear the sizzling of a frying pan in the background.

“Mr Bucciarati - Bruno?” You cleared your throat. “It’s y/n, I hope I didn’t call at a bad time.” You heard ceramic plates clanging against each other as well as the opening and closing of wooden drawers.

Bruno yawned before replying, rubbing his neck, soothing it after an uncomfortable night’s rest. “From Libeccio right?” His voice sounded a little chippier as he placed some bread in the toaster. He couldn’t deny that he was hoping you would call, at least this was something pleasant to start off his otherwise boring day.

“Mhm…I’m sorry I responded so late I-” 

“It’s fine, it was a bold move on my part.” He cut you off with a light chuckle as he spread some butter on a crisp slice of toast. He was never usually so forward, especially with new people, the last thing he wanted was to make you feel pressured or preyed on. “Does this mean that you’ve decided to take up my offer?”

“Yes.” You nodded, perching on the end of your double bed.

He was thankful that you couldn’t see the wide grin that spread across his face. “How do you feel about pasta making?” The kettle whistled in the background, steam bursting out of the spout before settling. “There’s a place in the Spanish Quarter, they do pasta-making sessions for pretty much anyone, they’re supposedly quite fun.” Bruno poured himself his usual morning drink, a cup of coffee with a little milk and a dash of honey. He had visited his area several times before, though never to attend a class.

The opportunity to be taught how to make a true Italian pizza did sound intriguing, and a public session would be a safe option to go with a stranger. You concluded that this would be a decent idea. “That sounds great! How much does it cost?” You eyed your purse, knowing that you put yourself on a reasonably tight budget.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll cover you.” He said nonchalantly, taking a sip of his warm coffee.

“No no, I can’t just let you pay for me!”

Bruno let out another soft chuckle as took his usual seat on the sofa. “Don’t worry, the owner owes me anyways. So how does this afternoon sound?” He asked before taking a bite out of the soft buttered bread.

You turned to face the clock on the nightstand. “I can do two o’clock if that’s okay.”

“Meet me at Libeccio then.”

Bruno sat on a long wooden bench just outside the restaurant, arms resting on the back with his head tilted backwards. He wore a blue button-up shirt, opting to leave the top few buttons, exposing the top of his toned chest. Today was a lot warmer than the rest of the week, hence the cool lemonade sitting next to him with already melted ice cubes.

“Sorry I’m late!” You waved shyly, placing a hand on the bench. “I took a wrong turn and ended up at a marketplace.” An awkward laugh left your lips as Bruno sat up to face you, holding a hand above his eyes to avoid the glare of the Sun.

“No problem, the next bus will be here in a few minutes.” He smiled, looking down at his watch. You took a seat next to him, crossing your legs as you waited for the next bus to arrive. Libeccio was even busier than the last time you were there, the chatter from inside the restaurant poured out into the busy streets. This particular street seemed to be the centre of food service in the area, with cafes, bakeries and restaurants lining the road. Across from you was a small coffee shop with outdoor seating, while a dessert parlour with a white and lilac interior sat beside it. Through the window, you could see a group of kids and adults sitting in a booth enjoying an array of ice-creams and milkshakes, the perfect treat for such a hot day.

“That place does incredible cheesecakes,” Bruno’s voice caught your attention. “Probably the best you can get in Naples.” He pointed to the dessert place you were staring at.

“Do you go there often?” You asked, turning to face the man as he sipped his drink.

“Sometimes, when I have the chance. You should try it one day!” He gave you an enthusiastic grin. Libeccio only had limited dessert options, mainly a couple variations of cake with a simple scoop of vanilla gelato, but that wasn’t enough to soothe his sweet tooth. His usual order was a chocolate milkshake with a slice of either cheesecake or a brownie. The positions of Libeccio and  Più Golosi (Sweet Tooth) complimented each other well, a savoury and sweet place just across the street from each other, a perfect, tempting pair for customers.

Before you could respond, the small yellow bus pulled up to the stop, stuffed to the brim with a flood of travellers. The double doors swung open, releasing a swarm of people as they rushed to jump off the stuffy vehicle. As Libeccio was in the city centre, the majority of the travellers were ending their journeys here, leaving the bus nice and spacious for the two of you. Bruno led you to a seat in the middle of the bus, slightly behind a group of teenagers chatting away about whatever trip they were on. The bus drove slowly along the street, giving you a chance to gaze at the array of bright and beautiful buildings lining the road. Naples really was a gorgeous city, decorated in bright buildings of various styles: gothic, classical, italiante, modern. Its proximity to the water not only guaranteed you a few nice days at the beautiful beach, but it also meant that you would get some of the best seafood around. As schools were closed for the holidays, you weren’t surprised to see so many kids and teens walking around. Some were in swimwear, most likely from the aforementioned beach, while others were in various summer wear, laughing with friends over smoothies as they moved from shop to shop.

It didn’t take long to reach the place, a large stone building with several cars parked in front. Near one of the entrances was a tall man with cropped black hair, treating himself to a smoke break. “Cardinale.” Bruno waved at the man, causing him to look up from his lighter. On closer inspection, the man, Cardinale, had a large tattoo on his forearm reading “Frederica.”

“Bucciarati.” Cardinale nodded with a smile, walking towards the two of you. “Oh, you brought a friend?” He faced you, looking you up and down before reaching out a hand towards you. “Cardinale, as you have heard.”

You took his hand, noting his strong grip on your hand. “Y/n, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Lovely to meet you too,” He let go of your hand, looking down at his watch. “If you’re here for a class, the next one is in about five minutes, Angelica is leading. Just put on an apron and wait in the hall with the rest of the group.” He pointed you in the direction of the large entrance next to him. “Don’t worry about a fee.” He took a puff of his cigarette as he waved the two of you off.

Contrary to its rustic exterior, the inside of the culinary school was extremely modern and polished. In the long hallway stood a group of about ten people, presumably the other people joining the class, chatting amongst themselves. Along the wall was a line of aprons, well, what would have been a line of aprons if they hadn’t been taken by the rest of the group, you and Bruno helped yourselves to the last two.

The wooden door at the end of the hall swung open, revealing a young woman with thick curly hair, beckoning everyone in. “Welcome welcome! Come inside!” She held the door open for everyone, greeting each member as they entered the pristine kitchen. She was quite tall, with dark skin and hazel eyes, all complimenting the friendly smile spread across her face, revealing a set of pearly white teeth. “Two people to a bench, please wash your hands before you touch anything.”

By default, you and Bruno stayed as a pair, choosing one of the benches near the large arched windows. The woman introduced herself as Angelica, explaining that she was a final-year culinary student and would be leading this session. She took you through all the steps, from making the dough, to forming the various shapes and preparing the sauce. Bruno seemed to be a master already, calmly forming little portions of perfect gnocchi, enough to get some praise from Angelica as she walked around the benches. At first, you were dreading this, worried that you would be the only one to mess up the shapes. The first few pieces of garganelli came out rather flat or irregularly folded, but after the fourth one, you started to get the hang of it. You decided to mix it up with some gemelli, they were much easier than the radiatori which Bruno made.

“You’re so good at this.” You laughed awkwardly, eyeing the array of styles Bruno had made.

He scoffed in return. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, trust me when I say that I was worse than you when I first started.” He tutted loudly, realising he had squashed the riccioli in his hands. “As you can see, I still make mistakes.”

“I don’t think I’ll even attempt the ruote or the spighe.” Angelica had a camera set up at her station, it projected a birds-eye view of her work onto the screen slightly to the left of her. On her board were roughly thirty different types of pasta she made on the spot, ready to be cooked. They were all perfectly shaped with no sign of imperfections.

“Well, maybe when you return from your holiday you can continue practising. Being able to make pasta from home can save a lot of money sometimes.” 

“Do you make all of yours from scratch then?” You asked, using the pasta machine to flatten out a new section of dough.

“I try to if I have the time.”

You shook your head. “Owning a restaurant must take a lot of your time, I can’t imagine how much work goes into it.” You began sectioning out the dough for a batch of casarecce.

“Well yes…sort of.” Owning a restaurant was time-consuming, Bruno wouldn’t deny it. But it wasn’t the only thing that limited his time and availability. His position with Passione didn’t concern you, after all, you were a tourist and a stranger. Before the conversation could continue any further, Angelica called everyone’s attention to the front where she took everyone through the sauce.

It was a simple cream sauce with bacon, parmesan and swiss cheese, a perfect match for the pasta. While the food simmered in the separate posts, the opportunity arose for the group members to mingle with each other, only for a few minutes. You ended up conversing with the couple behind you, a pair of 19-year-old university students on a date. The four of you talked about the summer, they shared their plans to travel around Naples before returning to Rome for their studies. While you and Bruno explained that you were also on holiday here and he was showing you around.

Once everything was cooked and plated to Angelica’s standards, everyone made their way to the dining area just down the hall from the kitchen. You both sat by a round wooden table situated by a window, helping yourselves to the freshly squeezed juice offered. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the worst as you took a bite of your dish. To your surprise it was delightful! The thick creamy sauce paired wonderfully with the light pasta, and the bacon gave an extra savoury crunch to the dish.

“See, I knew you weren’t as bad as you thought.” Bruno asked, topping up his glass of juice.

“I surprised myself honestly.” You laughed, collecting another forkful of food. “How is yours?” You noticed that he had already eaten half of his plate.

“As you can see, I thoroughly enjoyed it, it was lovely if I do say so myself.” He smirked proudly, his expression making you giggle. “Though I think I’ll add more vegetables to it if I remake it.” He ate another forkful.

The two of you conversed a little more as you cleaned up your plates and washed them up. Bruno was a real gentleman, even with the smallest things like holding the door open for you, he was a good listener and showed genuine interest in your stories about back home. There was something about him that made you very comfortable, he genuinely seemed like a friend to you, despite how little time you had known him for.

“Thank you so much for inviting me,” You said as you walked towards the bus stop. “I’m very grateful that you did this.” You rubbed the back of your neck shyly.

Bruno gave you a smile as he dug his hands into his pocket, “It’s no problem.” The bus back to Libeccio arrived and you both got on board. It was just as empty as it was when you got on it earlier, allowing the two of you to speak openly. “Y/n? While I enjoy your company and would love to show you more interesting places, I just hope you don’t pressured to meet with me. I know that being in a new country can be daunting and I don’t want you to feel unsafe around me.” Bruno said, squeezing the fabric of his trousers.

“Well, I’m thankful that you appreciate boundaries. I’d like to think I can trust you, I would like to see more places, its better than travelling all alone. You replied, resting your back against the window so you faced him.

The corners of his lips upturned lightly. “I would like that too.” He cocked his head to the side. “Just give me a call whenever you feel like meeting again.”

**************************************************

Today marked two weeks of your trip, and of those fourteen days, ten of them had been spent with Mr Bruno Bucciarati. After the success of the pasta-making class, you met up the next day to try out that dessert place you were looking at, Più Golosi. He treated you to an ice cream sundae with a fluffy waffle, while he had a tall glass of hot chocolate with a slice of carrot cake. The day after that, he took you through the underground world of the Napoli Sotteranea, through the ancient labyrinth of aqueducts, passages and cisterns, weaving through the narrow passages by candlelight. Later you visited some of the other marketplaces, trying out some of the local street food like cuoppo and graffa. Graffa was a kind of fried fluffy, potato-based doughnut covered with sugar. Cuoppo came in land and sea variations, with the land version consisting of potato crocché stuffed with cheese and ham, pasta zeppole, zucchini flowers, ricotta and scagliuozz, arancini rice and more. With the sea version contains squid and shrimp rings, seaweed fritters and fried fravaglietti. You both shared a love for music and art and expressed these through trips to the Museo e Real Bosco di Capodimonte and the busy busking-rich streets where guitarists and pianists were often found entertaining crowds dotting the area.

You and Bruno had grown closer over time, sharing more intimate sides of you over cups of coffee and walks through the shopping centres. You ended up meeting some of his friends, Giorno, Fugo and Mista. The latter you had already met through the awkward encounter in Libeccio, but you were thankful that now you had a more pleasant encounter with him. Mista was quite the comedian, loud and unhinged, while Giorno and Fugo were more mellow and casual like Bruno. You hit it off with them immediately, you bounced off each other quite well. You learnt about his childhood, how his parents were separated and he bought Libeccio just a couple of years ago; while letting him in on details of your life back in your home country. Bruno never pried into your personal affairs, always tiptoeing around anything that could seem intrusive (he didn’t even know which hotel you were staying at), respecting the boundaries set as new companions while remaining amicable. That little connection you felt to him when you first met had increased over time, and something inside you wanted to see him more and more. Maybe it was just a silly little crush, after all, having a handsome Italian gentleman showing you around the city would make anyone blush. And besides, you were on holiday, maybe the new scenery had changed you in a way. Regardless, you were not going to act on anything, you’d had enough bad luck with past relationships, no need to cripple yourself with a fantasy-like ordeal with a strange man in another country, and it’s not like you knew if Bruno felt the same.

Today you were at the beach again, for the third time this trip, basking in the Sun and soaking up a nice tan.

“Fancy a drink?” You pulled off your sunglasses, looking up at Bruno as he stood beside you, holding out a chilled can of Coca-Cola. You thanked him for the beverage and cracked it open, enjoying the refreshing drink. “I have to leave soon, a friend is coming to pick me up in a few minutes.” He said with an apologetic tone as he packed up his belongings. “We can drop you off at Libeccio if you would like us to?” He folded his towel, placing it in his small travel bag.

You had grown a little tired of today’s beach trip anyways, with it being a Saturday, more families were free to visit the beach making it more crowded and louder than normal. “If you could that would be great.” You began packing up your own items, making sure to not leave anything behind like your water bottle or sunscreen. The two of you walked over to the parking lot after changing, where a black Honda sat with the driver resting his head on the open window.

“Who’s that.” The man looked up, pointing to you.

“She’s a friend, y/n, I need you to drop her off at Libeccio.” Bruno opened the back door for you to get in, before making his way to the front passenger seat.

“I’m not your personal driver Bucciarati.” The man scowled, starting the car and pulling out of the parking space. Bruno scoffed and leaned on the window.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve done a lot more favours for you Abbacchio,” He turned around you face you, “don’t mind him, he’s just bitter for no reason.” He gave you a reassuring smile before facing forward once more.

The journey was short, just a few minutes of driving with very little traffic. Bruno and Abbacchio talked for most of the journey, presumably about something important as they only spoke in Italian, despite them speaking in English earlier. The man Bruno was with looked about your age with pale skin, long greyish hair tied back and a few bruises on the back of his hands. You assumed this was just a friend, or maybe someone he worked with at Libeccio. They dropped you off outside of the restaurant and Bruno waved you goodbye as the car drove off.

“So are we not going to address her?” Abbacchio asked, a sly smile creeping onto his face. “I didn’t know you liked picking up foreign girls, I guess this is the person you show around.” 

Bruno rolled his eyes at the teasing, refusing to let it get to him.

“Oh? Trying to act like the bigger man now?” Leone turned into the next street. “I thought you’d given up on dating after Ambra? Or Esta? Or even Genevieve?” He looked at Bruno through the corner of his eye. He picked up on the way Bruno’s jaw clenched slightly after hearing his exes' names brought into the conversation. Despite what many people would assume, Bruno Bucciarati never had any luck with girlfriends. Yes he was sweet, outgoing, polite, a great cook, loving, he checked most if not all boxes on the typical ‘perfect boyfriend’ list; but his involvement with Passione was enough to render his pros useless. Ambra and Genevieve were both frightened by this connection, cutting the relationship short and eventually just ending communication with him as a whole, while Esta ended up using him for his money, despite knowing that Bruno was in love with her. These three relationships were enough to crush his spirit and deter him from dating as a whole, not wanting to have his heart shattered by anyone else. His coping mechanisms were focussing more on Passione and buying a restaurant close to his heart, Libeccio.

“She is just a friend, that’s all.” Bruno shrugged, eyes focused on the traffic lights up ahead.

“Ha! That’s rich!” Leone snorted, stopping for the red light, he paused, considering his words before saying them. “Does she know you’re in Passione?” Abbacchio had known Bruno through two of his relationships, and as one of his closest friends, he could also tell that Bruno was already interested in you and he didn’t want him to make another mistake. 

“No, she doesn’t.” 

Leone sighed, his skepticism growing. “Why not?”

“Because she doesn’t need to know.” Bruno snapped, winding down the window slightly for air. In his gut, he was sure that Leone knew his feelings for you, he was good at reading people. But still, Bruno was stubborn and would rather avoid such an intrusive conversation.

They had reached their destination, an old motel on the outskirts of the city. “It’s very clear that you like her Bucciarati, she’s the one you’ve been touring the city with right?” Leone sighed, knowing that he would be treading on an uncomfortable, but necessary conversation. “How do you know she’s not using you? Taking advantage of a rich guy to improve her time here, how much have you spent on her?”

“Not much.” This was technically true, anytime Bruno paid for anything, you paid him back or simply split the fee.

Abbacchio grunted, stepping out of the car and making his way to the motel room with Bruno right behind him. “Jeez, you never learn do you?” He scoffed, trying to find the right key for the room. “Don’t give me any of that ‘I don’t like her’ crap, you know you do that’s why you spent all your time with her.” He managed to unlock the door. “Just don’t let her break your heart again, I can’t say I’m expecting anything good from this.”

**************************************************

“Do you know the Amalfi Coast?” Bruno asked, poking you lightly.

You tapped your chin. “I’ve seen a few pictures, it looks beautiful.” You turned back to your plate of lasagne, cutting another piece of the dish and piling some salad on top.

Bruno cleared his throat, poking his carbonara as he tried to figure out how to word his next comment. His words were stuck in his throat leading him to continue tiptoeing around the topic as he had before. “There’s a very nice hotel that I go to sometimes, its so close to the water.” He looked up at you, trying to gauge your interest. You simply nodded and sipped your water, humming in response. “I think it's the kind of place to go with someone.” His voice upturned slightly, almost like he was asking a question. You still didn’t react much as you sipped your lemonade. Bruno huffed and placed his fork down, leaning towards you. “Y/n, I’m asking if you would like to join me.” He blurted out, making your eyes widen.

“Oh.” That was all you said as your hands paused in the middle of loading another forkful. There was an awkward pause and the air grew thicker. A bead of sweat trailed down the back of Bruno’s neck as the regret pooled at the bottom of his stomach. How could he think you would even agree to this? You had only known each other for just over two weeks, him suddenly inviting you to a hotel in another area just made him look like a creep. Now you knew he had some sort of interest in you and there was no backtracking.

‘I just want to curl up in a ball and-’

“I would love to go with you Bruno.” You said, cutting off his thoughts. You folded your lips in, fiddling with your thumbs as you stared at your plate bashfully. With such close proximity, Bruno could see the slight redness of your cheeks. So it looked like you both shared similar feelings towards each other, Bruno wondered how long the two of you had been in this state without knowing.

“I’ll drive us there tomorrow then.” He smiled, refilling his mocktail.

It felt like forever for Saturday morning to arrive, you spent hours fretting over what to wear. You hadn’t been on a date in a while (was this a date?), even longer since you went on a trip with someone you were interested in, and that most certainly didn’t end well. But you felt like Bruno was different. Despite his classy sense of style or his popularity among the locals, he never came across as judgemental or arrogant and that made it easier to get ready for the trip.

At 10 am, Bruno arrived at your hotel. This was the first time you ever told him where you were staying and you would rather he picked you up than you took a suitcase with you to meet at Libeccio. This was also the first time you ever saw his car. It looked expensive, a shiny black convertible that people kept looking at as they walked in and out of the hotel’s front doors. He wore a plain white t-shirt and had a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses on his head. He shot you a confident smile as he waved at you, getting out to help you put your suitcase in the back.

The journey was a little longer than expected, around three and a half hours with the traffic that clogged the highway. Bruno had a designated travel playlist, burned onto a CD which he played for any long journey. It was a mix of American and Italian songs, mainly different variations of jazz or romantic songs, he made sure to sing along to most of them, even when he fumbled the lyrics. Bruno had a very smooth singing voice, his baritone voice made every word sound like honey as he sang, you could listen to it for hours.

You and Bruno conversed for a while, passing the time as you sat in traffic once more between Trecase and Torre Annunziata. Bruno told you how Mista and Giorno had asked about you, hoping to see you again before you leave, carefully excluding how they teased him for planning this trip to Amalfi, well aware of your shared interest in each other. Abbacchio was still skeptical, this spontaneous trip to Amalfi, which was completely covered by Bruno, didn’t help his gut feeling about you using him. But seeing how the two of you acted around the rest of the group made him a little more optimistic about the situation. He just hoped you wouldn’t run back home and block his number instantly.

“We’re here!” Bruno pulled up in front of a grand hotel, ‘’. It was a large classical building with pillars along the front, all coated in bright white. The inside was a soft gold colour with a gorgeous chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Being here was breathtaking, you always thought your hotel in Naples was fabulous, but this was extraordinary, does Bruno really make so much money to afford this just through restaurant owning?

After Bruno checked you in, he handed you the key to your room. You and Bruno were staying in separate large rooms next to each other on the sixth floor which gave you the perfect view of the water. After a couple hours of settling in, you took a tour around the coast. Amalfi was an interesting place, it was made up of thirteen towns, all clinging to the cliffs, reaching all the way down to the beautiful shore. Tourists traipsed up and down the area, some hiking on the Path of the Gods, while others explored the Blue Grotto caves in Capri. Bruno told you that when he was younger, he assisted his father with his duties as a fisherman: from gathering bait, to fishing, to following him on deliveries to the local fishmongers. He arranged a boat for recreational fishing just off the coast of Postiano, but for the sake of preserving the natural ecosystem, participants were asked to just catch and release.

The small boat rocked slowly on the water as Bruno guided you through fishing, holding your hands in the right position to be able to reel the fish in properly. It took a couple of tries, but you managed to catch a few small sardines.

That evening, Bruno had arranged dinner at a small restaurant near the hotel.

**************************************************

La Galleria was a cosy little place specialising in seafood from the local fishing ports. Your table was on the roof with a breathtaking view of the water below as the cooler evening breeze hit the back of your neck. You wore a simple red dress, while Bruno wore a red turtleneck with a black blazer. You both had bowls of chicken caesar salad, drizzled in a rich sauce, followed by a miso-glazed black cod on white rice for Bruno, and shrimp scampi with pasta for you. As the soft jazz from below wafted up to the roof, you and Bruno reminisced on your time together these past couple weeks, from strangers in Libeccio to sharing a meal in Amalfi. Your knee brushed against Bruno’s innocently as you talked, the close proximity making your heart race. Bruno was so handsome, and even though you told yourself that you wouldn’t let a crush grow to anything more, you couldn't help but feel the urge to have his muscular arms wrapped around you or run your fingers through his soft black hair made your stomach twist. You could listen to his voice for hours on end, enjoying his cute hand gestures and his rich accent. He was so kind to you too, planning so many trips, including paying for this one. He was way too generous to you and the last thing you wanted was to come across as a golddigger of some sort, Bruno was a genuinely nice guy, so patient and attentive.

Bruno’s heart was racing too, worried he would trip on his words or forget how to say something in English as he had before when talking to you. You always looked so beautiful to him, no matter what, you always took his breath away. He couldn’t imagine the last time he had felt so at ease around someone, much less a stranger he met a couple of weeks ago.

“Thank you so much Bruno, for tonight, for everything.” You said, your fingers lightly brushing against his on the table. He wanted to hold your hand badly, to kiss it again like he had before and tell you how much you meant to him.

“You’re welcome bella, I’ve really enjoyed these past-” He was cut off by the ringing of his phone, “please excuse me.” He got up immediately, excusing himself downstairs in a rush. You didn’t see the caller ID, but usually, Bruno was fine with answering calls around you, but his behaviour made you worry. The call was short and Bruno returned within a few minutes, facing his meal as if nothing happened. Ordinarily this would be normal, but it seemed like something was on his mind, like his mood was suddenly soured. You noticed how the space between you had grown slightly bigger than before, you were no longer lightly brushing against his knuckles, and nor were your knees connected. 

“Bruno, is everything okay?” You mustered up the courage to ask, worried that you would be prying too much into private affairs. You hoped he would just tell you everything was fine, that it wasn’t anything serious, but you knew it must have been.

“Y/n…” He sighed, biting on his bottom lip, “there’s something I need to tell you. I haven’t been completely honest about myself.” He avoided making eye contact with you, which was more than enough to elevate your worry. Your stomach dropped, a million possibilities racing through your head. Maybe he didn’t really like you, maybe he was using you for attention, reeling you in with a charming persona? Maybe he had a partner and was using you to cheat?

Bruno turned to face you, clutching your hand in his as he looked earnestly into your eyes. “I’m still Bruno, bella, I’m still the same person who owns Libeccio, and likes fishing. And I do like you, so much, but I can’t keep hiding this from you and I understand if this means you don’t want to be around me anymore.” His breathing was rapid as he squeezed your hand tightly. His mind was prepared for the worst scenario, he was ready for you to scream or run away from him, locking yourself in your room and finding your way back to Naples without him. He was ready for you to get angry or upset at him for not telling you sooner. Part of him regretted bringing it up already, feeling like he had thwarted his best attempt at love, but it wouldn’t be fair to keep you in the dark if he genuinely cared.

“Y/n, do you know what Passione is?”

You exhaled deeply, yes, you had heard of Passione, a hub for organised crime in the south of Italy. Was Bruno really part of them? When you think of mafiosi you imagine much older men, using laundered money for drugs, weapons, and exploiting women, at least that is the stereotype, was Bruno really one of them? Sweet, kind, generous, optimistic Bruno who you adored being around? The same Bruno who always helped anyone he saw? Who showed the utmost respect for all the older citizens and acted with integrity? You 100% believed that not everyone involved in crime is inherently bad, many people fall into it at low points of their lives, you knew that Bruno was a good man, regardless of his affiliation with the group.

When you didn’t respond, Bruno let go of you. “I knew this was a mistake, I should have just listened to Abbacchio and stopp-”

“Bruno,” You placed a hand on his, making him lose his train of thought, “I’m not upset that you’re in Passione.” You whispered, interlocking your fingers with his. “I don’t think less of you for it, I know that people can be put in situations that make them choose that path,” your eyes darted to the side, “but I believe you’re a good person Bruno, I really do. I’m not exactly in the safest position as a woman in a foreign country, but I feel so safe with you Bruno, regardless of Passione.” You meant everything you said, keeping your eyes locked on him to show your sincerity. “I-”

Before you could speak, Bruno’s lips were on yours.

His hand remained holding yours, though squeezing slightly tighter now, while his free hand held the side of your face. His lips were soft against yours as his thumb pressed against your cheekbone. Slowly he pulled away, rubbing his nose against yours slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologise, really.” You squeezed his hand gently.

Bruno’s hand found itself fitting perfectly in the curve of your waist. “I want to be with you y/n, not just for this trip.” His voice was shaky, he tried his best to not push too hard. “It’s okay for you to say no, it is.”

“I want to be with you too Bruno, I really do.” Without thinking, your hand moved up to hold the side of his neck, feeling the heat radiating off him before moving down to his shoulder. “Can I ask, Bruno…why are you with them?”

He took a deep breath, already regretting what he was about to say. Bruno never liked talking about this incident, he never told anyone this story, not even his old girlfriends. “My father was in an accident when he was 12. He was in the hospital and one night some people tried to…to kill him.” The sympathetic look in your eyes made it easier for him to talk. “He wasn’t in a gang or anything, he was just an ordinary person. I was in the room when they snuck in, two men, I-” His words got trapped in his throat.  “I killed them.” He could tell from the small changes in your breathing, your posture, the glint in your eyes, that despite keeping an open mind about Passione, you couldn’t fully wrap your head around him being tied to murder. “If I didn’t they would have killed my father and come after me, there was nothing else I could do.” He begged, pleading for you to at least hear him out, scared that you would leave him after such a confession. “I had to go underground, I can’t do anything with something like that on my record.” The silence that followed was deafening, the sound of his heartbeat rang through his ears as his chest heaved slowly.

“It’s okay Bruno…it really is.” You whispered, “You’re the first person to know this and not run away or use me.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, I’ve had my fair share of bad relationships. You’re the first person I’ve been able to actually feel happy with, Bruno, the first person to actually make me feel like you care.”

“Of course, I care about you bella, you mean the most to me. I hate that people have treated you that way, you deserve everything I could possibly give you and more…everything.”

The rest of dinner carried on smoothly, with Bruno’s seat much closer to yours and his hand resting on your knee. His eyes were more focused on you than the delicious food in front of him. His heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest as your leg brushed up against him and your perfume wafted into his nose. Bruno really did think you were beautiful, the way your dark hair fell to your shoulders, contrasting your crimson dress. How your cheeks turned rosy when you laughed, or your tendency to fiddle with the hem of your clothing when you were tired. There had always been something in him that knew he had feelings towards you, but kissing you, even though it was brief, solidified his feelings.

Neither of you pushed any further about the kiss, nor did you talk about your beat-around-the-bush confessions. Instead, once dinner was over, you made your way back to the hotel silently.

“I guess I will see you in the morning then?” Bruno asked, letting out a soft laugh as you stood in front of your respective doors.

“Yeah, I guess I will.” You smiled as you waved each other goodbye. It wasn’t until you had both returned to your rooms that you were able to release the tension in your body. The kiss still lingered on your lips as you pulled your night shirt over your head and you could feel your face get warmer. You couldn’t deny that the idea of him kissing you was something buried in the back of your mind, especially when he would hold you in close embraces and his natural scent would waft into your nose. There was a part of you that wanted to continue, that wanted to go to his room and lie with him on this warm evening in Amalfi. To feel what it would be like for him to hold you in his arms as more than just a friend. You shook your head, feeling like a young teenager having their first kiss.

With a heavy sigh, you turned your attention to the TV opposite your bed and flicked through the channels, landing on what looked like a random soap opera. By your bed was a small menu with all the items available for room service and decided on a jug of lemonade to cool you down. When there was a knock just two minutes later, you were a little surprised by the speed of service. You were even more surprised by seeing Bruno standing by your door.

Bruno had been standing outside your door for the past five minutes, contemplating knocking on your door. Would he be intruding? Jumping to conclusions over a simple kiss?

Ah, but it wasn’t a simple kiss was it, you had confessed your feelings to each other.

But you only had three more days in Naples, maybe this was your way of getting some sort of closure, getting your feelings out on the table before you disappear and never cross paths again. Even on the off chance that anything came from this, it doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be weird for him to approach you like this.

While Bruno reasoned this in his head, his body had other plans. It wasn’t until you swung the door open that he realised he had already knocked. 

“Hi,” He swallowed, awkwardly placing his hands behind his back. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

You shook your head as you opened the door wider, welcoming him into your room. “No no, I just haven’t been able to sleep.”

“Me neither.” He perched on the edge of the desk, watching the television next to it. “What are you watching?”

“I have no idea, I couldn’t figure out how to put it in English.” The silence from both of you overpowered the noise from the TV. Usually you would bounce off each other better, but the events at dinner seemed to leave you both somewhat shy. Deep down, you both wanted more, but neither of you had the confidence to make the first move.

Bruno walked over to you, sitting next to you on your bed, knee brushing against yours.

“Y/n…” He started, taking your hand in his, “I meant everything I said earlier, about how I feel about you.” His slender fingers traced the lines of your palm slowly. “In a perfect world, I’d want you to be with you, properly. But I know that you have to go back home soon, I understand if this has to end here.”

“It doesn’t have to.” The words spilt out of your mouth before you could even process them properly. “I mean…I can always come back, maybe sometimes you can visit me.” A long-distance relationship wasn’t something you ever really thought you would find yourself pursuing, but you couldn’t miss this opportunity with Bruno.

“I like that idea.” Bruno smiled, interlocking his fingers with yours before ducked down for another kiss, this one was shorter and sweeter, the type that gives you a warm feeling in yout gut. It was like a bridge had formed between the two of you and any worries about intimacy had been crossed out. “Out of curiosity, when are you next free?” His enthusiasm made you giggle.

You tapped your chin, recalling what you discussed with your boss before you left for Italy. “I have to use up my holidays within the next three months, maybe I can come back before they’re over.” You grinned widely, enjoying the way he his face softened at your words.

“Can’t you stay a little longer? Use up your holidays now?” He pulled you onto his lap, kissing all over your face. His demeanour had suddenly changed, knowing that he might only have to wait a couple of months to see the woman he cared so much about. You giggled as you held his broad shoulders, squeezing them lightly as you tried to pull him away from your face. He ducked down to nibble where your neck connected to your head, trying to coax you into staying.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, “I can’t afford it Bruno, and besides, I signed papers with my boss saying I would be back to work next week.” You felt him sigh against your neck.

“How much more time do you have left to use on holidays?”

“10 days I think.”

“I’ll book you a flight.”

“Bruno!” You pulled away, pinching his soft cheek “Do you not trust me?”

“Of course I do bella, but I just think it’s easier to book now that the prices are cheaper.” He wrapped his arms tighter around your form. It didn’t take long for his lips to fall back on yours, moving between them and your neck, only to be broken by a knock on your door.

“So sorry for the wait signorina, the machine wasn’t working.” The waiter apologised profusely as he placed your lemonade on the table.

“It’s no problem, thank you.” You smiled, closing the door behind him. You both shared a few glasses of the cool drink, talking more about the possibility of you coming back to Naples. Despite his earlier energetic behaviour, Bruno was quite understanding of the situation. He knew that compromises would have to be made and that things may not always work out, but regardless, he chose to be optimistic about the situation.

Once the jug’s contents had been thoroughly depleted, you found yourselves tucked under your bedsheets. You didn’t realise how tired you were until you fell asleep so quickly against his soft t-shirt, to the sound of his heartbeat. Cool air blew through the window, making you press up against him in your sleep as his hands moved down to hold your waist. Bruno’s heart was pounding like it wanted to leap right out of his ribcage. Being here, holding you, this was all he wanted. For the first time in so long, he felt like he was happy again, like you were the one for him. He gave up on this feeling ages ago, not wanting to risk another heartbreak, but now he couldn’t resist it.

He was in love.

**************************************************

Sunday was quite simple. Breakfast at a lovely little cafe, a bike ride through Sorrento and lunch back at the hotel. This was certainly not the first time you and Bruno had gone out together, but this time was different. The way he held your hand, your waist, hugged you, everything felt different now, a good type of different.

This “good different” continued to Monday and Tuesday, with Bruno being even more of a gentleman to you. He made sure to cherish every moment with you like he was making up for lost time.

The sun peeked through the window, highlighting your body as you hummed in your sleep. Bruno had been awake for a while now, the lump in his throat and the twists in his stomach making it harder to enjoy the warm summer morning.

Today was your last day, the last time he would be able to see you for who knows how long. He always knew you would leave, Naples wasn’t your home after all, and there is a chance it may never be. But now that the dreaded day had come, it just made his chest ache to the point where it made his head spin.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer until your back was pressed against him, allowing him to nuzzle into your neck. You groaned quietly, fidgeting in your sleep before settling once more. Bruno used this as an opportunity to place a kiss on your neck, enjoying the sweet natural scent emanating from your body. He slid his other arm under your body, hugging you properly as your legs tangled together under his sheets.

“Bruno…” You grinned, feeling the pressure of his body against you as he had you in a tight embrace. “I need my sleep you know?” You patted the side of his face lightly, enjoying the warmth emanating from his soft cheek.

His heart hurt even more hearing your voice, knowing this would be the last time he would hear it in person. “y/n…” He whispered, holding your hand gently in his, bringing it down to the soft mattress and interlocking your fingers with his. “When is your flight?” He mumbled into your neck, eyes locked on his thumb stroking your skin.

You inhaled sharply, realising why his tone had been so mellow this morning. “6 pm, there’s been a car arranged.” You bit your bottom lip, feeling Bruno lean away from you with a deep sigh. His arms left your body cold air hit your back.

“I’ll come with you, I’ll see you off at security.” Bruno said, laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You turned around to face him, watching the sun highlight the lower half of his face and chest, coating them in a pale yellow glaze. His lips were downturned slightly, forming an involuntary frown as his eyebrows furrowed. His expression made your heart sink to your stomach, you knew you would miss him so much.

You scooched closer, resting a head on his flattened shoulder as your fingers traced his chest gently. “I’ll come back Bruno,” You dragged your fingers down to his navel. “I promise.” You looked up at him, catching how his eyes shifted from you as soon as you made eye contact, realising that you caught him staring. His cheekbones were softly dusted with pink as he cleared his throat.

“I know you will, and I’ll find time to visit you.” He cupped the side of your face, “but you can’t blame me for being a little upset that you’re leaving.”

“I know, I am too.” You gave a half-smile, holding his wrist. Seeing you frown made his heart sink even more, it wasn’t his intention to dampen the mood so early in the morning.

“Y/n, why don’t we go to Libeccio? For your last meal here?” Bruno asked. Ending the trip with the place you met seemed perfect. It also gave Bruno the opportunity to make sure you received the best service possible.

“I’d love to.”

You both laid in bed for a while, enjoying each other’s warmth until noon when you finally got up for lunch. You wore a simple sundress with a red flower pattern along it, something that Bruno absolutely adored on you. Hand in hand, you left his home for the restaurant, deciding to have one last walk through the streets you grew to love. Libeccio was slightly quieter than usual, what with it being lunchtime on a Wednesday, this at least made it easier to talk to each other.

“Oh? If it isn’t the two lovebirds!” A familiar voice called, you looked up to see Mista leaning on the back of Bruno’s chair, much to his dismay, poking his nose into his menu. Bruno had made the mistake of being open to the group about his feelings for you, this ultimately left him vulnerable to childish teasing which would surely get worse when you weren’t around. “Y/n, Bucciarati says you’re leaving today?”

“Mhm, I need to leave for the airport in a few hours.”

“Ah, this one will certainly miss you,” He nudged Bruno with his elbow, “he goes on and on about you all the time anyways.” He scoffed.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Bruno asked, not bothering to look up from the menu.

“I actually came to collect an order,” He lifted up the black bag in his hand, that explained the sudden smell of shrimp. “But I might as well give Y/n a goodbye hug.” Mista walked towards you, pulling you out of your seat and hugging you tightly. Bruno knew what Mista was doing by pressing his palms on your lower back and hugging you for much longer than what was needed. But it was in his nature to tease people like that, after all, you and Mista grew to be quite good friends, and you both knew he was playing around. “Make sure to come back soon!” Mista waved as he left the restaurant.

Bruno turned back to you to see a smirk across your lips. “What?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Your face when Mista hugged me, I didn’t think it would get to you.” You laughed, flicking through the calzones section of the menu.

“Can you blame me for being a little jealous?” Bruno sighed, closing his menu and placing it on the table. He waved at one of the waiters, a tall, slender young man with long wavy hair, eager to take your orders.

Over lunch, you discussed plans for when you went back home: how to fit your schedules around each other, the possibility of sending each other gifts, and Bruno travelling to visit you. The thoughts alone brought butterflies to your stomach, the idea of Bruno being in your home, visiting your favourite places, your family and friends even. You already had a list of things to do with him buried at the back of your mind.

Once the plates were cleared and the bill was paid, you found yourselves in a small park, wandering along the footpaths that weaved along the luscious green grass, between the thick oak trees.

“Y/n…we need to get to the airport soon.” Bruno whispered, pulling your waist towards him as he sandwiched you between him and an old tree.

“Mhm.” You rest your head on his shoulder in a warm embrace, his rich cologne flooding your nose with a scent you would soon miss.

“Y/n…mi bella.” The pet name made your heart well up. “I know we haven’t been together for a long time but…the feelings I have for you, it’s like I-”

“I know what you mean Bruno.” You cut him off quietly, tugging his soft cotton shirt. You felt the same way Bruno did, the tingles you got when he held your hand, the way your body perfectly moulded into his, how your stomach twisted and turned anytime he looked you in the eye. Somehow, somewhere, along the line, you realised that you had fallen in love with the kind mafioso that swept you off your feet.

“So you love me too bella?” Bruno asked, a teasing tone to his words as his lips met your forehead.

You rolled your eyes playfully, enjoying how his soft lips felt against your skin. “Well if I have to put it in words, then yes.”

Bruno’s heart pounded in his chest, he could feel the shakiness in his breathing from the relief of knowing that you felt the same way he did. It was almost laughable how quickly the chains around his heart loosened when you appeared. How his vows to never give in to another person were discarded as he got closer and closer to you. You were perfect to him, everything he wanted and more, and he knew he couldn’t just let you leave without letting you know how much power you had over him and his weak heart.

“Bella, I love you so much, more than I’ve ever loved anyone. Please remember that, always, even if I’m not there with you.”

“I love you too Bruno, truly I do. I haven’t felt this way with anyone in so long I-” Bruno’s lips pressed gently against yours, stealing your breath away.

“I’m sorry to cut you off but you just look so cute, why do you have to leave today bella, stay here with me a little longer.” He groaned, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, knowing how much he would miss this.

“Believe me, I want that more than anything, but I have to go back, Bruno.” The thought of not being able to hold him like this, to not stroke his soft black hair or look into his warm eyes, ate away at you.

“We should probably head to the airport soon then.”

Within the hour, you were at the airport, waiting in the busy queue to check in your luggage, while Bruno held you from behind, chin resting on your head. You ended up with one extra bag, filled with gifts for your friends and family: trinkets, snacks, clothing, as well as things that Bruno bought you.

“When you land, let me know okay?” Bruno hugged you one last time, his hands memorising the curve of your body, ingraining everything from your scent to the softness of your skin in his memory. His lips moved to kiss your forehead gently, “Y/n…I won’t pretend like I’m not going to miss you every day. I want us to work out bella, I’ll take time to visit you whenever I can okay?” The slight sniffles and breaks in his voice made your heart sink. Bruno loved you so much, more than he could contain, and you felt the same way about him as you inhaled his rich cologne.

“Bruno, I’ll miss you just as much, if not, more.” You whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ll call you as soon as I get back mi amore.” Hearing you use that name on him made his stomach twist and turn. Being called that, by you, in your voice that soothed his soul made his heart beat even faster. At that point, he just had to steal another kiss from you, a passionate one that stuck on your lips even after you pulled away.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, letting you cross the barrier to find your gate, and with tears welling in both of your eyes, you waved each other goodbye, thankful for this spontaneous trip that brought the two of you together.