#also i just like him in all black and his extensive sneaker collection

[guardian-angle22]

911 lone star fashion -> every tk outfit

↳ 1.07

[readinginthereadyroom]

let’s talk about sophie devereaux for a minute.

it’s the cross my heart job (lev 4x09) and sophie undoes her ponytail, drops her blazer, shimmies down her slacks to reveal a short dress (or long tunic), and swaps her black flats for red heels. she has changed her entire look in a matter of moments.

and I just. i love this for her. she tells eliot I always travel with heels. when what she means is I’m always ready for a costume change.

her knoweldge of fashion and trends would have to be as extensive as her knowledge of art. and there’s psychology at work there to—the difference between the femme fatale or the girl friday or the nerdy scientist. when and how to use those personas. but most importantly��how to embody those personas. heels or a badge or a pair of glasses.

so my headcanon is that sophie carries a few essential accessories wherever she goes. a scarf—around her neck or in her hair or tied to her bag. a large hairpin or ponytail for easy updoes. the perfect shade of red lipstick. expensive makeup wipes.

and a pair of heels.

sometimes she rotates items. maybe some extra jewelry, instant dry nailpolish, a hat, tights. the trick is to pack light. have multiple uses per item. dresses can become shirts or tunics. a necklace can be wrapped as bracelets. lipstick can be worn as rouge. a scarf can become a belt.

but sophie also has class. she likes the finer things in life. so her spare earrings might be 24 carat or diamonds. her scarf silk. her handbag the latest designer. she also invests in custom pieces—blazers with hidden pockets. reversible coats. convertible heels.

and yet. the greatest of sophie’s costumes have always been on-the-fly. someone’s glasses, a swiped labcoat, a briefcase. hair up, down, or covered. sunglasses, glasses, or contacts. which means she constantly scoping out everyone else’s clothes. what’s easy to nab. what’s been left unattended. who can I be with those pieces?

she deserves more credit. it’s not like it’s easy work. because she’s not just creating a wardrobe for herself—she’s decking out the whole team. and that means knowing their measurements. what cuts and fabrics are best for their respective roles. eliot and parker need room to move. hardison needs pockets for his gadgets.

and then of course, there’s the question of what clothes the team can share. parker and eliot are around the same height so they often swap coveralls—a pair that’s slightly too small on eliot will be just slightly too big on parker. for when eliot needs to be noticed and parker does not.

on that same vein, hardison and eliot have similar upper body builds. hardison likes to make the fbi or csi or tech coats (it’s just iron-on letters on bulk supply jackets) but sophie’s the one that knows which jackets the two men can swap. which roles they can both play during a con.

even parker and hardison have some overlap. parker has an uncanny ability to blend in with a crowd. throw one of hardison’s caps or hoodies on her and she just disappears.

and then of course there’s parker with herself. despite being the only women on the team they don’t share that many clothes. parker can slip into one of her spare dresses when needed. but their roles are often on opposite ends of the spectrum—sophie is supposed to be noticed. parker is not.

all of these variables are turning in sophie’s head at any given point in the con. she finds clothes that fit with standard personas, clothes that can overlap, and specialized clothes for their many aliases. but also...clothes that fit them.

because there are some codes you can’t switch. eliot’s aways a bit country—regardless if he’s a construction worker or a millionaire. parker can do high femme, but androgyny suits her better. and tho parker’s comfortable showing skin, she’s not with showing cleavage. of being sexualized. and then there’s hardison and his shoes. sophie will admit she didn’t know much about sneakers, but hardison was all to happy to infodump about them. so now she has a special collection just for him.

and then there’s nate. the bane of her fashionable existence. she’s given up on dressing him. his repeated choice of cartoonish bufoons (with hat) inexplicably seems to work. don’t ask her how or why because it defies all logic. she’s just happy when he starts wearing his day-to-day suits pressed and his shirts laundered.

anyhow. just sophie being sophie. a badass chameleon. who knows the difference between buttons and cufflinks. who can tell you when it is and isn’t appropriate to wear a hat. who can tell how much money you make by what watch you wear. who can spot a fake purse a mile away. who’s just a bit more than scary good at what she does.

which is read you for filth the instant she lays eyes on you. and then becomes anyone she wants to be.

[yeptotallynotanartbloghehe]

my creepypasta phase just kicked in about 3 years too late but im not complaining

[ids and captions below cut]

[image id: A full body shot of Jeff the killer, a very pale boy withlong black hair and an open glasgow smile, wearing a white hoodie, black pants, and dirty white sneakers. There's a head shot off to the side showing him with a medical face mask (caption being "covers face scars with mask") and an optional, red raccoon tail extension. There is also a full body shot of Smile Dog, a red and black Siberian Husky with wide eyes and a large, straight-toothed smile. There is another head shot example to the side of Smile Dog instead with white fur and a more normal dog face (caption being "can look like normal dog (mostly)). end id.]

[image id 2: Multiple drawings of creepypasta characters. Two are of BEN Drowned, a pale skinned boy with blonde hair covering his eyes, dressed like Link from the Legend of Zelda, and with dark tears streaks going down his face. The first is a simple, colored bust shot while the second is a small one of him lifting his bangs to show his eyes, which are black with red pupils, with the caption, "edgy ass eyes syndrome". Two are of Sally, a young girl with tan skin and brown hair wearing a pink dress, holding a teddy bear, and with scars and fissures all over her body. The first one is a colored full body shot of her standing and smiling, some of the cuts and fissures opening up like eyes. The second is a simpler full body shot replacing her legs with a ghostly tail with the caption, "ghost bby". Three are of Jane the killer, a tall, dark skinned woman with black hair wearing a white mask, a black dress, and fishnet stockings. One is a colored waist shot, the next is a small, full body doodle of her with the thought bubble, "women", and the last is of her flicking Jeff the killer (whom barely comes up to her chest) in the head. Three are of Nina the killer, a fair skinned girl with dark brown hair in a bow and a pink raccoon tail extension wearing a purple hoodie, black skirt, striped socks, and braces. One is a colored waist shot of her dancing and holding a peace sign, the second is over her flustered, being held up by the armpits by Jane, and the third is of her hugging Jeff. These three are surrounding the caption, "Nina bi-con real". Two are of the Bloody Painter (or Helen), who has short hair, a button up shirt, and multiple pins. One is a bust shot of him without his mask, the other is of him with his mask on, in front of an easel, with the caption, "I hate it here," as loud arguing continues behind a closed door. Neither of these are colored. The final image is a simple, colored bust shot of Ticci Toby, a boy with fluffy brown hair, goggles, a face mask, and a hoodie, looking joyful while holding a waffle. (finally) end id 2.]

[image id 3: A reference for a creepypasta character known as the Owllet. The Owllet has dark skin, shoulder-length brown hair, large animalistic ears, large, entirely black eyes, and long clawed fingers. One drawing is a full body shot of them crouching close to the ground, shirtless, but with torn, grey pants. The other is a waist shot of them in a dark green hoodie. The reference also includes captions (below). end id 3.]

[Captions: The Owllet They / It / Ve - blind, finds prey through hearing and smell - likes to collect skulls - besties with EJ (Eyeless Jack) and LJ (Laughing Jack) - ratman who eats your cheese (and your guts) (Next to waist shot): hoodie that all creepypastas require. end captions.]

[image id 4: An uncolored doodle of the Owllet as the flustered emoji meme, seemingly sniffing at the camera. end id.]

[postmodernbeing]

Shingeki no Kyojin Headcanons: 104th training corps (College AU - Outfits pt I)

Hello, Postmodernbeing here. I decided to continue writing about this College AU , only this time, I'm making some outfits HCs, since I'm working in a oneshot and this visuals could be helpful. Also, it seemed like a lot of fun so I've decided to give it a try. Hope y'all like this. Much love.

IMPORTANT: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin nor the trend of this outfits-displays, only this HCs belong to me. // Contains spoilers (for the icons that I used in some characters) // English is not my first language, so I ask for your patience and understanding.

Eren Yeager

Chains and rings of stainless-steel. Combat boots matching faux-leather jackets with studs and pins from bands.

Has a few flannel shirts (that he stole from Zeke, his brother doesn't mind, tho). But for the most part, Eren's shirts are from merch of bands with a few (handmade) changes.

Eren likes to sew badly on purpose some patterns or figures by following quick tutorials. All his clothes are modified or drawn over.

While his main looks are metal head alike, he also wears snickers, hoodies, sporty pants, and jackets to class. Pretty laid back, he looks as he just woke up from a nap all the time tbh.

Sometimes goes skating but he’s not that good, his skateboard is more of a fashion statement really.

Has both ears pierced around (lobe type) and tattoos on both arms.

It’s pretty obvious to this point, but I’ll say it anyways: Eren wears black religiously. Definitely he’s open to darker shades of any color, but must wear something black at least.

Mikasa Ackerman

Our girl wears black clothes mostly. She doesn’t have a preference between skirts/dresses or pants, but you’ll rarely see her wearing jeans.

Many skirts and ripped tights to match with platform boots or classic converse. Also owns a large wardrobe with different hoodie and shirt sizes and designs yet mostly in dark shades.

Lots of necklaces and rings with perforations to match, none in her face yet lots in her ears. Mikasa has only one tattoo: Azumabito’s clan logo.

Speaking about Azumabito’s, whenever she’s working with them, she wears faux leather jackets at most, and her classic red turtleneck. Nothing too exaggerated nor formal.

A total goth since middle school, and even though in college finds it a bit unpractical, she tries to keep it as loyal to her style as possible.

Books and notebooks are part of her attires. She’d be writing or reading at any time that’s possible. Not always about her classes, tho. She also likes novels and arts. An artsy goth, perhaps?

Armin Arlert

Sky blue is his color. Matching it with classy pants and blazers in clear colors.

His wardrobe looks like one that belongs to an aristocrats’ son. Some light-academia realness.

He can pull off some casual looks with sneakers but it’s more common for him to wear his oxfords, cap toes or moccasins to class, or anywhere really.

Cardigans, vests and blazers are his best friends as soon as autumn arrives. Always in colors such as beige, green, brown, and grey.

Armin is easily the best dressed from all his group of friends, and I’m not even open to discuss this. Let’s just remember his canon outfits throughout the four seasons. Even in a Modern AU he’ll keep being the king he is.

Not a big fan of accessories though. Except for his handkerchiefs that match his blazers. Since his grandfather used to choose his clothes, he taught Armin that a handkerchief was a gentleman’s must carry. Now he wears them only to pay his grandpa honor, as a lesson more so.

Jean Kirstein

King of brown jackets and turtlenecks. Really, his wardrobe is in such color harmony. It’s impressive.

Little to no accessories besides an occasional scarf or a single ring matching some bracelet.

Although he’s used to wear a consistent type of clothes and even colors, he wouldn’t dare to define a style for himself, is it boho? art hoe? dark academia? Maybe we’ll never know.

Zero perforations only because he’s scared of pain, but Jean is really drawn into them, so he uses fake ones for his ears sometimes. Has only one little hidden tattoo, made when he started college and lost a bet against Sasha and Connie.

Jean’s always stylish, clean, and smelling like cologne. He also has an extensive routine for shaving, combing his hair and trimming his beard.

Second best dressed of all his friends. Lowkey loves fashion but keeps it for himself (and Marco). Plus, in her mother’s house he keeps more clothes than his dorm' wardrobe can storage.

Marco Bodt

Colorful, youthful, and casual, that’s his style. Marco’s clothes reflect his joyful personality and every time he enters a room, he brightens the mood so easily.

A lot of denim and if he’s not wearing bright colors, you can be sure he’s caring something white with him (a bandana, a baseball cap, a scarf or his sneakers).

Shares with Jean a special appreciation for clothing, except Marco prefers more laidback and casual outfits.

Has no tattoos but recently got both ears pierced. He decided to since he really likes the earrings that k-pop idols wear.

If spring was a wardrobe, Marco would have it. I can’t stress this enough. Just so pretty and genuine.

Also, he definitely uses accessories (small jelly or colorful rings, bracelets of all kinds and simple necklaces) but there's more, he uses objects that are not meant to as accessories too. Such as band aids and small stickers around his face, skates in his backpack and flowers in his pockets.

Sasha Blouse

Unironically messy style. No matching patterns nor colors, different textures and sizes that made little to no coordination in her outfits. Unaesthetic is her aesthetic.

She likes baggy jackets and jeans with big pockets for snacks obviously, midi-skirts and graphic tees. Sasha is the definition of zero fucks given and still looking cute.

Of course, she knows how to pull off some cool outfits, it’s just that she doesn’t care that much unless is specifically required.

Not a big fan of accessories besides belts (maybe) and her backpack. Unless we’re talking about bucket hats that became a must wear thanks to Connie.

“Borrows” Nicolo’s hoodies/shirts that wears with her favorite threads. Then plays dumb when her bf asks her about his clothes. They both secretly love that dynamic.

Sasha plays it safe when it's about her hairstyle, also not a big fan of makeup -at least not the way Mikasa or Historia do-, but she’s open to try new things if her best friends dare her to.

Connie Springer

King of striped shirts and golden chains. His style is mainly urban and youthful. Conniegod remains unmatched in his awesomeness even in a Modern AU, if you ask me.

Owns a collection of sneakers that wears with his numerous printed socks. So creative and colorful.

Also, Connie has a small collection of unique shaped tinted glasses, also bucket hats and simple stainless steel chains.

Has small fun tattoos around his legs and arms, ears pieced but nothing too grunge. Speaking of which, he matches religiously his earrings with his chains that hang of his belt.

Usually wears dress pants or cargo pants. Anything but denim or really skinny fitted pants. Coincidentally, most of his shirts are loose too.

Definitely brings his skateboard with him all the time so it’s part of the outfit, really (Eren tried to copy that from Connie, let’s be honest). He’s so good at skating, and when he doesn’t feel like walking around campus, skating is always a good idea.

Part II here

[marky4l]

Step by Step / Mark Lee

step by step / mkl

pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

From an innocent childhood friendship to a juvenile high school rivalry to a forced pairing for a Psychology paper, it seems you and Mark just can’t avoid each other. But something’s a little different now.

genre: fluff, angst (a little bit), suggestive themes, childhood friends (barely mentioned!) to enemies to lovers, college!au

notes: lia yeonjun chan hyuck jeno all make tiny appearances 

word count: 17.2k 

hi!!! this is my first work nd I’m really excited to put this out I’d looove if you could give it a read :^) hound me on my inbox if u wanna i take anything

“Remember when we were best friends in fifth grade?”

His voice is a little quiet, and there’s a very obvious undertone of boredom, but you hum softly anyway, nodding, as if to question why you would ever forget. Fifth grade was a suburban brew of Star Wars marathons, figuring out the world, and Harry Potter merchandise littering your house. Fifth grade was lemonade and oatmeal, knitted sweaters, and sneaking into your mom’s vanity to swipe her makeup. And fifth grade was Mark—bright eyed, geeky Mark, with his Death Star replica and weird electronica music. 

Mark, who had an affinity with Troy from High School Musical and Spiderman, and wanted to be just like them. Mark, who would show up grinning to your front door everyday, pie dish in his nimble grip. He was the one who had opened a lemonade stand at the corner of your block so he could buy you the Gryffindor scarf you’d been nagging your mom about the entire holiday season. He was the one who learned the chords to your favorite Jonas Brothers song and sang it to you each time you requested it.

“Yes, I do,” you answer instead, clearing your throat. 

You attempt to push down all the memories that just ran through your head and adjust the grip you have on your pen. “Well,” Mark continues, “that was ages ago. Beats me why it ever happened.” 

The timidity is replaced with a tidal wave of teasing, and the annoyance that had disappeared is beginning to crawl all over you. Again. You roll your eyes and pull up the slides your professor had assigned. “Beats me why we even ended up in the same university, let alone the same class,” you jab, “if you thought I forgot about how you outright failed our Spanish classes in high school, I didn’t.”

Your friendship with Mark had reached its unfortunate demise to the hands of middle school, where you had branched out with your interests and began to stick to societal (as societal as school can get) norms. He had joined the geeky, cool kids; you hadn’t joined a specific social circle, but you had a best friend, Lia, and you were generally good with everybody. 

Somehow, despite you both being in good graces with everyone, you had a deep-seated dislike for one another that stemmed from an intense academic rivalry. Specifically, the competition to become school council president. That had ended now, seeing as though you were both in college, but the abrasiveness of your banter had never worn off.

“Oh, because you were so good at Physics?” he says, voice even. His brow is raised. “We all have our strong suits, you know. You’re one to talk.” You decide to pay him no mind, instead jotting down the criteria for your final project in Psychology 1—something about the stages of grief. You’re supposed to relate it to a different human process and show how they fit with one another. 

It’s absolute fucking bullshit, and the fact that Mark Lee became your partner among a hundred students is beyond you. Absolutely beyond you. 

He nears your screen, reading the content of your project, eyes squinted—you’d noticed his lack of decent eyesight years ago, but it seemingly hadn’t improved. “Relate the stages of grief…hold up, what? That’s difficult as hell. What are we supposed to do, lose a loved one?” You roll your eyes, turning to him. “No, Mark. The point is to find another process that happens gradually and relate it to this—denial, bargaining, anger. Get it?”

He stares back at you. “No.”

You groan audibly, turning back to your notebook. “This is impossible. Can we just switch partners so I won’t have to deal with you?” He smirks, kicking his feet up on the library table. Absently, you note how nice his sneakers look. Reclining onto the seat, he shuts his eyes as if to contemplate. 

“I heard through the birdvine our professor’s the type to pair up people she thinks would look good together for shits and giggles. Girls and boys, boys and boys, you name it. Johnny”—he’s referring to a guy who’s a year above yours, studying Biology—“tells me over five couples have been born out of this class. Isn’t that nice?” You scoff, scrolling mindlessly through the slides to keep yourself distracted. 

“It really is. A shame we won’t be adding to that list, because I can’t fucking stand you.” He laughs loudly, the vibration of it remaining in the deadly silent air. “I can stand fucking you, though,” he says, and then, before you can even blush, “All jokes. Don’t get your hopes up, ‘kay?” He’s quick to get up, just as flustered as you are at the uncharacteristic phrase that just left his mouth. He collects his jacket and jogs out of the library with a small, half-assed bye under his breath.

—

Lia’s eyes bore into yours. “He actually said that? I’m telling you, he’s some weird kinky guy under that whole cool geek persona. High school Mark would never have. Oh my god. He’s a furry—he’s a furry!” She flops back onto your bed, laughing. You poke at her waist in protest. 

“It’s because he’s surrounded by too many weird classy fuckboys. You know, those that think that they’re all that because they haven’t roofied a girl.” You’re half-joking, and you’re really only referring to maybe two guys you’ve happened to see Mark with. As if to read your mind, Lia continues. “Hey, I heard some of them are okay. They’re not, like…those ‘nice guys’, if you get me.”

“I do,” you quip. “But I guess I’m just trying to find a way to justify the whole 360 in Mark. I mean, in high school, he was still nerdy—well, you know. Shy. But jump to sophomore year of uni and he’s suddenly some…” You rack your head for a proper term. “Sex god?” your friend asks, holding in a laugh. “Oh, eat shit,” you fire back, “really, eat shit. And while you’re at it, feed me some, too, because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to turn in at the end of the term. Like, Jes—”

There’s a faint knock at the door, and then. “Lia? It’s—uh, it’s me, Daniel? Er, Daniel Choi.” Your wide eyes can’t possibly match Lia’s as she tugs on a decent-looking pullover and puts it on. As she swings the door open, you manage to sufficiently hide yourself under your duvet and attempt to hear their conversation. 

“You know, it’s okay if you leave out the whole…saying your full name at the door part. Trust me…I know you,” she jokes, and you hear him laugh before you detect the crinkling of a plastic bag. “Chinese. Uh, I bought some extra for your best friend, because I’m not gonna pretend I don’t see the sentient blob on the bed.”

You pull the blanket off and smile sheepishly. “Hey, Daniel,” you say, “thanks for the food. I owe you an empty room next time, I swear by it. It’ll be easy, since I’m gonna be”—you heave yourself off the bed and onto the floor, where they’re both sitting—“holed up at the library for the next few weeks.” 

Lia nods, chewing her chow mein, and then when she’s done, she explains to Daniel your whole huge Psychology end-of-term paper about stages and grief and whatever, oh also she’s partnered with Mark Lee, this guy that we both know from high school, and she dislikes his guts, oh you know him? 

“Wait. You know him?” You repeat, and Daniel nods, ruffling his black mullet. “His room’s, like, three away from mine. He’s studying Theoretical Physics, right? Yeah, he’s always in his room doing school shit, but every weekend he’s out with the upperclassmen. He’s probably out now, ‘cause it’s Friday. How he even charmed them, though, is a mystery.”

Mid-dumpling, you roll your eyes. “Y’know, the hardest part is being partnered with him. But also, even finding what kind of gradual process to relate denial and anger too is weirdly hard. It feels like I could find something, but I haven’t gotten it…quite…” you trail off, your eyes landing on Lia and Daniel across you—they’re smiling softly at each other, and you distinguish their fingers interlocking quietly, as if you wouldn’t notice. 

“…yet. Except maybe I have. How would you want to participate in my end-of-term paper?” Their gazes turn to yours, and you nod frantically. “Oh my god, I’m a genius! Seriously! Falling in love! Yes! It’s denial—anger—whatever, whatever! It makes perfect sense. The end is acceptance, too! Oh god, Li, it’s perfect. I will owe you for life if you help me out.”

“Wait, what? You dove straight into it, what—recap, please,” Lia asks, and you compose yourself before explaining giddily. 

“Falling in love. It happens gradually, and we can compare it to the stages of grief. Seeing as you and Daniel are headed right there, we can use you as some test subjects. It’s not required to have respondents or subjects, really, it’s just an extensive paper, but it might help get the grade up. This is gonna be great, and if you ever wanna back out, you can, because it’s not mandatory.” Lia and Daniel meet eyes briefly, and then slowly, nod. “Okay, that’s pretty smart,” Daniel says, “I’m up for it. Are you?” Lia nods, slowly and hesitantly, and you smile widely. “You two just saved my Psych grade. I’ll be at Giselle’s tonight. Just…not on my bed.” You grab your keys and phone and bound out of your room, straight into the elevator at the end of the hall.

The elevator door nearly closes when a Converse-clad foot steps in, and your eyes rake up the figure, eventually landing on his face. 

“Jesus fuck,” you mumble, “you must be kidding me.” 

Mark enters the elevator with a small, teasing smile, hands tucked into his jacket’s pockets. “Hey, dude, what’s up? Was on your floor on my stop down to get some money Lucas owed me,” he says, “this is actually a godsend, because my genius brain found us a project idea. Relate grief to something else gradual? Easy as pie. Falling in lo—” 

You cut him off before he can finish, “Falling in love, right. I thought of it first, earlier,” you say profusely, absently noting the pettiness in your tone. He whistles. “No need to get all possessive over an idea the previous classes have used before, man.” You continue, ignoring him. “Whatever. Lucky for our grades, I went the extra mile to get us some test subjects. Do you know the two Chois? Lia and Daniel?” 

He nods once, “Yeah, their PDA on Instagram is fucking sickening, but I see your technique, and I like that—we get some extra data from their god awful PDA.” You nod once, and he continues. “It’s nearing 11 on a Friday night. Whose party are you headed to?”

“You’re welcome for the test subjects,” you gripe. “Anyway, I was so giddy about coming up with it, I just left them to…well, fornicate. As a compromise for being lab rats. I texted my…” you realize you’re starting to share too much to a guy you typically dislike talking to, and then there’s a silence in the air that’s painfully awkward. 

“You texted your…?” Mark asks. “My friend, but she’ll be home at 1AM, so I’m out to kill time. No parties, just…I dunno.” He nods again, and then the elevator lets out a blissful ding. You step out simultaneously, and then he faces you. “Look, it’s freezing out, you’re in shorts and a puffer coat, and it’s three hours to 1AM, so I doubt you’ll get far.” You scoff at his words despite feeling your legs shake from the breeze outside. “I’ll be fine, dumbass.”

“Just concerned,” he says, in a tone that sounds more blank than annoyed, but he turns and heads toward the door anyway. He swivels back around briefly. “It’s in Johnny’s apartment. Just a couple people, if you get bored freezing.” He jogs outside then, and you inwardly appreciate the small gesture, but again, annoyance returns just as quickly. You linger a bit before heading out yourself, walking briskly to a local Japanese restaurant. You consider this an opportunity to have some me time, some rest after a shitty week in university. Lasting ’til 1AM alone and entertained would not at all be a problem. 

You last one ramen bowl and head to Johnny’s apartment.

—

When Johnny Suh answers the door, he’s clad in a makeshift shower curtain gown of sorts, and is flushed and very buzzed all over. He hikes up the top to cover his chest and laughs profusely. “Did Mark invite you?” Behind him is a sizeable group of just about twenty people, which looks like forty in a cramped communal space. You’d been here before—Johnny likes to invite just about anyone to get stoned and listen to Kid Cudi on Fridays, and you had pushed Lia to accompany you before. 

You distantly spot the kitchenette, the small living room, and then the two bedroom doors opposing each other. “The rule was to show up wearing something not marketed as clothing, but Mark didn’t follow the rules, so. Anyway, you’re off scot-free, too…” he pauses, “…if you take off the puffer coat. We’ve got heating, anyway. Free booze and weed, too.” You figure being in a flimsy tank top isn’t so bad—you’re sure half the people here are already getting laid or trying to, and nobody would really pay attention to you.

You shrug off the coat as Johnny steps aside to let you in, hugging it close to your body and navigating your way to the kitchen. The granite counters are filled with various bottles of booze, and you also note the cigarettes and blunts lining the island. You peruse the brands before settling on a sealed can of decidedly not-so-cheap-looking beer, and crack it open to take a swig. It’s warm and fucking disgusting, but there’s not much glitz in an “anything but clothing” off-campus college party anyway. 

There are several people scattered among the living area, passing around a blunt—another group is playing suck and blow. You make your way over to the cheap couch on the far end of the room, taking a seat on the arm and stretching out your hand to claim the blunt. It’s Jae who passes it to you—Jaehyun Jung, an upperclassman whose infamy (for wearing nothing but toilet paper and running through campus) greatly surpasses him. “Who are you?” he asks, and you holler your name back over the Kanye West song playing in the background. “Mark invited me,” you tack onto the end as compensation.

He nods in understanding, watching you take a drag and pass it back to him. He only hands it back, saying, “It’s nearly done, just finish it,” and getting up to probably get some booze or another blunt. 

You scan the area for a better place to cherish your weed, because you’re definitely not going to do it on the arm of a couch housing three couples making out to the high heavens. You spot an open window and a fire escape just beside the kitchen and walk over, ducking into the cool night air. It’s not quiet, it never is, and you treasure the peace that comes with the noise, closing your eyes and trying to milk the last few drags. All that is flushed down the drain when somebody kicks you out of your reverie and your last two drags are falling down, through the grills of the fire escape. 

“What the fuck?” You look up to meet, of course, Mark’s gaze, teasing and mischievous. 

“That wasn’t fucking funny, asshat. Get away from me.” You get up instantly, ducking back into the house and searching for your coat. It’s (very unfortunately) buried under a couple who have escalated from making out to borderline public indecency.

“Fuck it,” you mumble, swinging the door open and mentally preparing yourself for the cold once you get to the sidewalk, floors down. Mark follows suit, a laugh gracing the atmosphere around the two of you. “You know, I forgot how fun it is to make you pissed off. I did it all the time in eighth grade when I told our teacher you knew the solution to the Physics problems.” You’re fucking pissed. However petty, you’re fucking annoyed that you couldn’t finish the blunt, and you pay no attention to him. 

He badgers on anyway. “Hey—it was a mistake, I wanted to say hi to you.” You scoff, finally turning—“Why? Because we’re friends? We’re not. We’re Psych partners, we came from the same high school, we share a couple mutual friends. But you and I are not friends, not objectively, anyway. Please, Mark. I only just re-acquainted myself with you today, but, like, you’re already so annoying!” You’re at the elevator now, and when the doors slide open, you step inside and let them close at once. You barely catch the unreadable look on his face in your annoyance, and you lean against the wall, shutting your eyes and breathing heavily. 

How you’d even get to Giselle’s, or how you would wait out the remaining half-hour before she got home, was just up to whichever higher power happened to be witnessing you that night.

—

The door of your professor’s office closes with a saddening click. You stare back at her name, embossed on the wood in bold, in defeat, accepting your fate with a heavy heart. Just fifteen minutes prior, you had entered with a whole spiel prepared on how you just had to swap with somebody from your class so you wouldn’t have to work with Mark. This speech had occurred twice now—with your TA, and then once with your professor. This was your second chance, your redemption: so you prepared notes, you prepared convincing words—you had a point. 

But your professor simply shooed you away, muttering how she didn’t have time for you because she was going to be receiving hundreds of papers in a few weeks’ time from a different class and she, quite honestly, couldn’t be bothered. You bite your lip, thinking back to the previous Friday—it was nearing two weeks since your small outburst at Mark. Since then, you’d expected to build a silent rapport of just working, observing Lia and Daniel, and then parting. And that was almost it. You would show up to your so-called “lab rat sessions”, cup of warm caramel latte in hand, and work. 

Except Mark would constantly make noise, jeer, swipe your pen, and do other things that got on your nerves.

“You’re going to have to stop trying sometime,” Lia says, backhugging you. She’d been waiting outside. You let your head loll back onto her shoulder and whine. “Do you know when you’re so frustrated you want to cry? Yeah? That’s exactly how it is, Li. I can’t keep up with this for another two, three months. It’s like he’s not even, like, fuck, like he’s not even trying, y’know? We’re building the foundation of a pages-long paper. This isn’t some finals essay he can bullshit in three hours.” 

You groan as Lia pulls away from you, whirling you around to face her. “It’ll be fine, I swear to you. I’ll help out, anytime you need it. I promise. If I start hating Daniel, I’ll even pretend like I’m in love with him. Head over heels.” You let yourself laugh and pull out your phone as you two begin to walk towards your dorm.

She tsks. “We’re gonna have a thing tonight, right? Like, a lab rat session?”

You nod, squinting over your calendar app. “Yeah, at around 5:30 to 6. It’ll be quick, but Mark and I are gonna have to stay behind to divide the work for the general paper and then start. Hopefully we can get some outlining done by tonight…so don’t wait up,” you sigh. She smiles apologetically, pinching your waist affectionately. 

“Daniel and I will totally help you. He’s a Mark anti now. I told him about the party outburst thing.” You had sent her a slew of texts that night, and like every other story you had told (save for the most private ones), Daniel had caught wind of it. You’re half sure he was capable of blackmailing you at that point. “Good,” you shoot back, “I’m going to need all the anti-Mark force I can get.”

“Why?” You both turn to see Mark standing idly behind you. There’s a beat, and then: “You look like an inane stalker,” you retort, turning to continue walking. Lia follows suit—with the two of you, the vibe of the atmosphere would always come easy. If one was mad, the other would act mad, too. 

“Hey,” Mark repeats, falling into step beside you, “why do you need an anti-Mark force? Tell me.” At this point, your nerves are on fire and your blood is boiling, and you’re beginning to envision beating him up on the quad. “Mark, it’s been great, but we’re going to our dorm, and in case you don’t want to catch a restraining order, I suggest you get off at your floor instead of following us like a creep,” you say sweetly, quickening your steps until he’s far behind you, smiling. Fucking asshole. 

“I’ll see ya this evening, then,” he teases, and you grumble under your breath.

—

It’s 5:45 when Lia and Daniel leave the library—fifteen minutes early. You and Mark leave ten minutes later, hours before you were supposed to complete your task. You’re fuming, and for once, Mark has the decency to read the room and feel remorse. 

The evening had started off well enough, though—Lia and Daniel had showed up, did their thing, described what was happening, and you and Mark had noted it down. And then, well. Mark spilled water all over your planner, which, in hindsight, was definitely unintentional, but in the spur of the moment, you could do nothing but your natural—everybody’s natural—response to getting something precious ruined. You began to cry. “What the fuck,” you sniffled, “is wrong with you?!” You had shaken the majority of water off your planner, but any and all dates had been smudged and bled, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive him. “I know I called you annoying, but this is too far,” you had said, watching his face go from teasing to genuinely sorry. “Dude, it was accidenta—” 

“I don’t give a fuck—!” You quickly cut yourself off and wipe your tears when you see a young library assistant heading towards your table. Everybody composes themselves—Lia and Daniel straighten out the things on the surface and Mark sits up straight. “Hey,” he says. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but two students already came in with a noise complaint. We’re gonna have to ask you to,” he makes a gesture, “leave for now and come back tomorrow. Also, the puddle on the table…yeah. I’m really sorry.” He leaves, as if to make sure you have no other choice but to just go, and you slump back onto your chair in exhaustion. 

“You two can go ahead,” you hear Mark say, “I’m really sorry about this. We’ll clean up and apologize.” Faintly, you hear them get up, and you feel Lia’s hand squeeze yours as she promises a text and food later. You let your eyes remain shut, drinking in the quiet, trying to calm your inner turmoil.

Ten minutes later, when you’re out in the cold November air, Mark finally speaks. You had cleaned up and collected your things in silence. “I’m really sorry,” he says, “it was an accident, for real. I know I tease a lot, but, uh, I’m being serious. I would never have done that on purpose. I see you write shit on that thing a lot, so…I know how much you like it. Treasure it…? I don’t—whatever it is, I’m really sorry. Like, really. T’was an accident. If you need me to pay for it…” You shake your head softly, hugging your damp planner closer to your sweater-clad chest. “It’s okay. Thanks, anyway. For helping. I’ll email you what you have to do. Bye,” you turn and begin walking in the direction of your dorm. The sun is beginning to set, golden orange hues casting a vast array of colors onto the landscape of the city. You sigh softly, heart heavy with annoyance and exhaustion, and speed up before you start having a mini-breakdown.

—

Stage 1: Denial|

Your cursor blinks back at you as you finish typing in your outline for the introduction. It’s early into November, but already, you’ve had to shut your window to shielf yourself from the biting breeze outside. Across you, Lia applies mascara and talks to you. “What are you up to?” she asks, face contorted. 

“This godforsaken paper,” you mumble back, “just finished the introduction outline. I’m trying to give a loose definition for each gradual ‘stage.’” Shoving your Macbook off your lap, you get up to stretch. “Which I’ll probably find on Google Scholar, honestly. If you had to give me a definition—what’s denial?” 

She hums contemplatively, wand on lash, and then pipes up. “I think it’s just a stage where you can’t face the fact that you’re interested in that person. Like, why them? With Daniel, he wasn’t really my type. So the whole denial was denying I liked him, because…well, yeah. But I think it differs. Some people deny it because they’re shy, or ashamed, or weirded out that they even like them.”

You’ve had your fair share of crushes before, and sure enough, you had denied them all. But that was high school—college, though, had only brought short-lived flings and one night stands; you were an overachiever, much too committed to your own prosperity to pay mind to anybody else for too long. (Except Lia.) So you hadn’t really experienced the whole boyfriend-in-university thing—not that you particularly wanted to, but you were just human; you were curious. Lia had gotten it, and it looked wonderful. 

Speaking of—“So, a week without meeting Mark in person, huh? How is that going for you?” You scoff lightly, shaking your head as you pull your hair into a bun. “It’s going just fine. Dandy, actually. We work from our dorms and you and Daniel just update us. It’s a fine arrangement that I regret was not formulated sooner.” Lia nods in understanding, and you watch her pull on a top, mutter I’m out and head outside. For the fifth time this week, you’re alone in the dorm, with nothing but your Alexa playing SZA and your laptop. You pull it onto your lap again, staring at the boldface letters you had typed minutes prior: denial. You had no firsthand experience of being mature and going through denial; not in that way, anyway. You found it stupid that people even denied when it would be less painful to just admit interest.

You blow a raspberry as you research studies related to the term, bored out of your mind.

—

Two days later, you meet Mark again. 

You’d also had the pleasure of, for a minute or two, meeting a friend of his, Donghyuck Lee from Economics. He’s loud and amusing and, from your viewpoint, undeserving of somebody as boring as Mark. (That’s from a minute-long intercation.) 

At Lia’s insistence (and likely Daniel’s, too), you two met up to properly work and collaborate. In fear of being kicked out again, the four of you had chosen to meet somewhere else—a cafe off-campus affectionately named something along the lines of Saltwater Coffee. Naturally, after Donghyuck leaves, you find yourself sitting idly (awkwardly) beside Mark. “They won’t be long,” he says suddenly, “er, Daniel just texted me. They’re near.” You nod, pursing your lips, eyes trained onto your laptop. “We’re almost done formulating the denial stage and we can start outlining anger and bargaining. This’ll take about a week more—maybe mid to late November? Uh, I know it seems justifiable to slack off with the holidays,” you say, “but I really want us to finish this early. The due date’s in mid-February, so we can pass this on the 14th.” You turn to face him. “Get it? ‘Cause it’s Valentine’s Day.”

He nods. “Okay. No slacking. I get it. The Valentine’s is smart, too.” You nod back in silent understanding, turning back to type frantically into your keyboard. 

You hear the door jingle and Lia’s small “hey, guys”, so you look up and offer a smile. “I’m gonna go order everyone some coffee,” Mark says beside you, getting up and shuffling over to the counter. Daniel joins him, and Lia takes a seat across you, her smile knowing and apologetic. “Everything okay?” You blow a raspberry, but smile, anyway. “It’s not so bad. It could be better, but no more banter, just very annoyed auras…? You get it. It’s just been tough trying to divert my focus to this and ignore all the annoyance I feel.”

“Totally, I get that,” she says, “but all the same, I’m glad he’s matured a little bit and lessened all the ribbing.” You smile at that, agreeing, and then the conversation spirals into one about both of your days—“Professor Callahan totally pops a stiffy over Professor Michaelson”, “Daniel tells me Joshua cheated. Yes, on Jess!”, “Mia dropped out the other day and nobody knows why, hope she’s okay”—before Daniel and Mark return, coffee cups in hand. Mark places one next to you, and profusely, you look up at him, who’s just about to sit. 

“Thanks, but I don’t drink brewed coff—”

“It’s a caramel latte, the only thing you drink. Heard you say that to Lia once.” He takes a seat and pulls his laptop open. 

You stare at him, taking the cup and bringing it to your lips. Sure enough, it’s caramel—thick, and foamy, and sweet. You look up at him again, but he’s busy on Google Scholar, perusing through journals and studies. You shake your head before turning to Lia, who’s already looking at you, expression mirroring yours. 

Sweet, she mouths, but you purse your lips and choose not to acknowledge it. “Thanks,” you say quietly, and he hums to say you’re welcome. 

Your eyes flicker to him. He’s wearing a knitted sweater, but he’s pulled it up to his elbows. He’s typing quickly, and he can use all his fingers, too (you fail miserably at that), and his brows are furrowed as if he’s stressed, or in a hurry. You’ve never really noticed this much of Mark before. It’s probably, you think absently, because you’re confused. Puzzled at the gesture that you didn’t expect—at all.

After an hour, he angles his laptop to yours. “Nailed the intro. High five?” You open the Google doc on your own browser, and sure enough, the word count has increased monumentally. You can’t deny his knack for writing. “There are a few discrepancies in grammar,” you say instead. “But…okay. This is good.” You ignore his hand, in mid-air, and continue researching. 

Lia holds in a giggle, but turns back to Daniel, who, after fifteen minutes, turns to you and Mark. “Lia and I are heading out, guys,” he says, and Lia quickly tacks on. “Hey, if you need me to stay, I can,” she says quickly, but you smile and shake your head. 

“This might take a while. Go ahead. See ya at the dorm, Li. Bye, Daniel.” Mark bids his farewells, too, and they leave you alone in the cafe. It’s nearing a three hour crunch when he abruptly gets up to stretch, a low grunt leaving his lips. “I’m exhausted,” he sighs, “but at least we’re nearly done with this whole denial thing.”

“We’re actually only just starting,” you state, “this is going to go through a lot of editing and proofreading.” 

He chuckles and walks back to the counter to order something, and you shut your laptop to rest your eyes. Your glasses rest uncomfortably on the bridge of your nose as you breathe deeply. You lose track of time, and you open your eyes ten minutes later, fumbling to get up properly. There’s a panini beside your laptop, wrapped neatly in a tissue and laid on a plate. Mark’s is empty, save for crumbs, and he says nothing. 

“Get up,” he remarks teasingly after a while, and you groan in exhaustion. “I am, I’m up,” you mutter, straightening your back and flexing your neck. Inwardly, you wonder if you should thank him for the panini that is obviously yours that you obviously did not buy for yourself. 

Then Mark’s hand stretches out to take the panini, and he takes a bite. “Sorry,” he says, “I had to put my second sandwich in your space. This table’s a little small.” You hum back in acknowledgement, nodding once. “It’s, uh…all good,” you respond, voice small as you type into your laptop. Internally, your body fills slowly with humiliation and confusion, but you stay quiet, and that’s how the rest of the night goes: a silent, steady beat of keyboard clicking and the occasional question. 

No banter, no nothing—it’s a godsend, yes, it is, but you can’t help but miss the abrasive, playful conversations the two of you had built up over the previous several weeks. But really—had you truly assumed he had bought you a panini? As if a coffee wasn’t enough? You felt at odds with yourself for even expecting such a gesture from the guy whose main habit was to annoy you to the ends of the Earth.

“It’s late,” he says, as if he’s reading your mind and knowing you’re absolutely mortified inside. “Let’s head home.” You nod, deeming the night’s work satisfactory—maybe even beyond, considering the amount of effort you both put into the output. You shove your laptop and charger into your bag and pocket your phone, lingering awkwardly and waiting for Mark to finish packing up. He’s particular with it—he has little sections in his backpack for the wires and chargers, and even his AirPods, and his laptop. 

“Very organized,” you find yourself commenting offhandedly, your tone taking on a teasing edge. He glares playfully back at you. 

“Sorry I don’t want my wires to break,” he shoots back, eyeing your flimsy tote bag, “unlike some people.” You roll your eyes and, against your strongest wills, a smile appears on your lips, albeit a small one. His eyes linger on your smile for a little bit before he clears his throat and zips up his knapsack. “Let’s, er, go. Thank Jesus we’re in the same building.” When you exit, the air bites at you despite the jacket covering your body, and you quicken your pace. “It’s cold as hell.”

“Ironic,” Mark says. You hide a smile.

—

That’s what November brings you—the next week and a half are composed of just slowly learning to get used to working with Mark again and going home late into the night, crunching to the max. 

Your paper begins to take on more and more structure, and two out of the six days you’ve met, Mark has set down a caramel latte for you to arrive to. The acoustic music slowly phases into holiday guitar, and the coat rack at the entrance is weighed down more and more as the days pass, preparing to welcome December. 

You and Mark work silently, save for the rare banter and eyeroll, and very gradually, the annoyance that had bubbled up within seconds before had sank down. You’re not friends, per se—it’s just that the frustration and exasperation had lessened considerably. 

You were civil. That’s it. You won’t try to deny that you’ve been thinking about this a little too much—about what your “friendship” had become with Mark. You hadn’t snapped at him in days, and he hadn’t tugged at your ballpen in even longer. It wasn’t that you had cowered him into silence by crying over your planner—it may have instigated it, but his behavior was…different. 

More calm, more sure. Less childish. He would still tease you, but not as much. It’s nearing mid-November now, and you’ve successfully done much of your introduction and denial, needing less and less of Lia and Daniel’s presence. (Which you’re sure they’re grateful for.) But being left alone with Mark isn’t as bad as you once thought—

“Hello. Earth to you,” you distantly hear, and you whip your head in the direction of the voice as you pace back to your dorm building. Mark stares blankly back at you. “What,” you mumble back. He quirks a brow before continuing. “I was saying, I think I need to take a rain check tomorrow. The, uh”—he clears his throat—“um, yeah.”

You eye him. “Okay…?”

He nods profusely, “Yeah, all good.” The walk continues in silence, the sun finally setting down behind the Manhattan skyline beyond you and the breeze taking on a chillier temperature. You sigh softly, fatigue overtaking you as you stare at the building nearing you. “If you take a rain check, just make sure you write it within the day or after,” you say, half-sternly and half-tiredly. He mumbles a “got it” and you both jog up the steps to the lobby, where you run into, by some weird twist of the day, a small group of anti-abortion protesters.

“Jesus Christ,” Mark mutters under his breath. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You rub the bridge of your nose in your fingers, choosing to tune them out and instead maneuver your way through the door. Before you can even take a step, though, they’re all up in your face with pamphlets and brochures and a guitar. “Excuse me,” you grunt, trying to gently push them aside, but they only come on stronger. “A child is a child,” they say. “If you know anybody who’s—”

“Is this your new initiative? Preying on college students on school grounds, unaccounted for?” Mark asks from behind you. You turn to find he’s filming and stifle a laugh. “I’m surprised nobody’s kicked you out. Won’t be long, now,” he adds with a smile. 

You tune out nearly everything else—it’s really just them telling Mark to stop recording and him retorting with equally snarky phrases. It’s not until maybe after a solid two minutes of back and forth that one of them, a weird middle-aged woman, pulls out a burgundy gummy bear from a bag and pushes it into Mark’s camera. He takes it from her and examines it, puzzled. “That,” she says matter-of-factly, “is the approximate size of a fetus. It’s big. It’s sentient, alive. What, I beg of you, what would you do?”

Mark squints at it. Then he pops it into his mouth, takes your hand, and runs straight to the elevator across the floor. 

“There’s a bunch of anti-abortion people outside, it’s not cool!” He hollers to the receptionist before the doors close with a damning click. 

There’s a beat, and then.

Both of you are doubling over in laughter. “Why the hell would y—why would you do that?! You’re insane!” The response is: “Because they’re not cool! They’re fuckin’ annoying! So I ate their baby!” There are tears in your eyes, your laughter so hard it’s nearing silent—Mark’s, though, is loud and annoying sounding, though you seem to not mind so much. The laughter subsides when the ding of your floor sounds and you straighten yourself up. Getting into a different position reminds you of the very there, very obvious brushing of your hand against Mark’s, which he’d taken just moments earlier, post-baby eating.

You freeze and jerk your hand away. “I’ll, um, go now,” you say, “I’ll see you tomorr—no, the day after.” Against your wills, you meet his eyes, and you’re surprised to find that he’s already looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Okay,” he says, his eyes not leaving yours. Your heart beats faster at a very small increment, but you head out and semi-run to your room, swinging it open and leaning against it. 

You look up to find Lia and Daniel engaged in a heated Monopoly match. You make no noise, mind (and heart, but you can’t tell why) racing fast. You watch them play for a second before they both look up slowly.

“You’re smiling like a goddamn idiot,” Daniel says. Your face falls immediately. “I’m, um, no I’m not,” you say casually, pacing over to your bed and flopping onto it. Lia laughs loudly. 

“That sounded so freaked. Like we’re your mom and you just brought weed home kind of freaked.” Pause. 

“Are you hiding something from me?” She rises from her spot to look at you, head in pillow and all, and you let out a muffled “no!”, probably too defensive for your own good. 

It’s Daniel’s turn to snort. You look up and glare at him, “You’re getting too comfortable for your own good. You need to humble yourself, Daniel. What’s it again? Oh yeah, Yeonjun, right?” He rolls his eyes at the use of his Korean name and turns back to the Monopoly board.

Lia flops atop you, eliciting a grunt from your lips. “Are you okay? Did somebody flirt with you? Did Mark finally fuck off and leave you alone properly?” 

At the mention of Mark, your heart races—you will it to stop, and audibly groan in the process. “What is it, you bitch?” Lia asks, tugging on a section of your hair. “It’s nothing, Li! Nothing, I promise.” She glares at you before walking to Daniel and covering his ears. Instantly, he begins to let out a chorus of Lalala, and deeming the environment safe enough, you let it slip.

“Mark and I held hands. But it—”

“You what?!”

“It really, really doesn’t mean anyth—”

“How can that not mean anything? It’s hand holdi—”

“If you would listen to the backstory you’d know!” She pauses, and then uncovers Daniel’s ears and knees him. 

“Okay, get out. Monopoly postponed, Jun,” she says, pushing him out insistently. He barely collects his phone and keys before he’s out, but you swoon silently when you catch him pressing a short goodbye kiss to her forehead before actually leaving. She turns immediately, fire and curiosity awfully evident in her face. 

She nears you. “Explain.” 

And that’s what sparks the story of the weird protesters, Mark’s power move, and the unintentional hand hold that lasted a few moments too long. She nods the entire time, laughing, and then her face straightens out again. You can almost hear the gears in her head turning as she analyzes the situation, and then she nods once. 

“Okay. Perfectly justifiable to freak out.” Another pause. “But why were you smiling?” You stare blankly back at her, head working impossibly quick to formulate a reply. You’ve taken too long now, judging by the way Lia is looking at you with the most shit-eating grin on her fucking face. You groan.

“You like him, you bitch!” 

You shake your head, facing her. “I don’t, dude. Trust me. I just…it was a fun experience, so naturally I’d be laughing. And smiling. But I’m just not interested in Mark! I’m not,” you fumble, being completely honest. 

You didn’t—not even if you looked in the mirror and asked yourself. But you couldn’t deny the feelings you felt in the ten seconds from the elevator to your room, your heart racing and your fist curling and uncurling. When you look at Lia again, she’s still smiling, flushed. “You like him,” she says into her palm, which she’s slapped over her mouth in disbelief. You stare back at her, your expression baffled. “If I did,” you begin, getting up to discard your shirt, “I’d have told you by now. It’s really not that big of a deal unless you make it out to be.”

After that, you and Mark spend nearly three weeks walking on eggshells around each other. While conversations are no longer avoided, and you could talk without getting exasperated or too embarrassed, finger brushes are frequent, and eye contact only makes you extremely nervous. You had worked until the second stage—anger—already, but you’d still been polishing the denial and introduction. Considering November wasn’t over and the paper was due February, you figured you were moving at an okay pace. Besides, a lot of your friends hadn’t even begun.

—

There are two instances where you rush home, mortified beyond belief.

The first when when you struck up a conversation with the cute, Australian barista. Scrawled in big penmanship on his name tag is Chan. You had brought up, in passing, how often you’re at the cafe and how you probably deserve a free drink. He replied with a low hum, and you dialed down your flirty tone, slightly embarrassed. But not really. You’ve rejected plenty of people before. It’s when you’re already paying for your drink that he replied, handing you your (for a change) iced matcha with a small grin. 

“I’d have flirted with you weeks ago if you didn’t have your boyfriend with you all the time. He’s always buying you your drinks.” You spluttered for a good second, staring at him incredulously. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you finally said. 

He had shrugged, nonchalant. “He sure as hell looks at you a lot for someone you’re not dating. And you do it just as much, if not more. I’m observant, by the way. Not a stalker.” You had taken your cup and paced over to the other end of the cafe, sat across Mark, cheeks heated.

He looked up, brow raised. You shook your head.

The second time was when Donghyuck graced you both with his presence. You quickly found out that he was a magnetic presence and you both shared similar interests. The energy you both created was both amusing and annoying to Mark. 

Although you kept quiet mostly, you enabled Donghyuck’s incessant teasing, which annoyed Mark to the ends of the Earth. “You’re a dork. Isn’t he?” You look up and nod with a smile. Mark rolls his eyes, sending Donghyuck into a laughing frenzy. Mark just grunts and continues typing.

Hyuck had made a joke about how two Physics textbooks discussed why the sad man named Mark owns two of them and didn’t have a life, and you laughed. 

You didn’t usually laugh, not around Mark, at least, since it was safe to say you didn’t have any source of entertainment in such a boring guy. But you laughed at the witty joke, and Donghyuck, without thinking much, had said in passing: “Mark, I guess you’re right about everything about her being pretty.”

Mark said nothing, typing. You said nothing. Nobody said anything, not even a sly Donghyuck or, from the counter, an even slyer Chan.

—

When you see Mark next, it’s three days later, and it’s, for the second time, in Johnny’s apartment. 

Lia had asked if you wanted to tag along, and you found no harm in going. (“You’re going because Mark is” becomes Lia’s favorite phrase of the night, so much it’s spread to Daniel, who you’d succumbed to and spilled everything to hours prior.) The walk there has something boiling low in your gut and you’re quiet, in fear you might end up vomiting in nerves or saying something stupid. Lia teases you, but her hand clasping yours reassures you, and you squeeze it tightly. 

You get there late—it’s past 1AM, and you have a sense of deja vu walking into the cramped space. It’s fuller this time—people are creeping into the bedrooms to smoke in private or do some other things, but suffice to say it’s crowded as fuck.

“Want a drink?” Lia hollers, and you nod over the music. Johnny’s neighbor is another upperclassman named Doyoung, though he’s mainly referred to as Doie by just about everybody around him.

You’ve seen his girlfriend call him bunny a few times, though you’ve long desired to repress that memory. 

Judging by the fact that you can faintly hear a different song from the next room, the party has probably extended to Doyoung’s. There’s quite a gathering this week—the rich freshman who you’d befriended once before, Chenle, and his horde of friends are here; from Lia, who hands you a drink, you learn that Kun and Sicheng, two incredibly attractive juniors, are here, too—in Doie’s, though. The party only intensifies, which is hard, because Johnny’s apartment is very tiny.

Eventually, you find yourself in the bathroom, smoking a joint you’d grabbed out of the clammy hands of a tipsy Chenle and kicking a couple out under the guise that you’re Johnny’s cousin. Chenle had protested but eventually given in, pulling a new one out of his pocket.

The bathroom light is white and harsh, but there’s a very funky lamp at the corner. From your place inside the dry (and thankfully clean…looking) bathtub, you eye it. It’s a tall one in the shape of a glass of margarita. 

You heave yourself up and find the switch, and then when it’s on, you giggle at the green light emitting from it. You have absolutely no idea why Johnny, Jaehyun, or their roommate Jungwoo (3J, as some call them) have a decorative, margarita-shaped green lamp, and in their bathroom nonetheless, but you shut off the main light and return to smoking your blunt. Deciding your ass aches far too much, you lean against the tile wall and cherish the smoke.

The door opens abruptly, and you curse, pushing it back closed. 

“I have explosive diarrhea,” you say robotically, using the same excuse you did for the previous three couples that showed up. 

From the other side, you hear a shrill laugh and sound of confusion. When you peer over the other side and see Mark, you groan and laugh. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I saw you come in. Like, twenty minutes ago.”

“I’m cherishing the party privately.”

Mark ushers himself into the dark space and shuts the door. He makes a show of locking it, as if to show you it’s possible to do so. The sound of it locking sends a wave of nerves up your spine. 

“I didn’t lock it in case a medical emergency happens and they have to rush inside.” 

Mark quirks his brow. “I doubt they would think to go inside the restroom and not panic and call 911, you know.” 

You shrug in indifference and take another drag, reluctantly offering it to him.

He takes it, and you pause for a second to observe him. His hair, dark, and which usually covers his entire forehead like a broom or at least parts in the middle slightly, is now styled differently. 

He’s in a fitting black shirt and blue jeans, and, upon your closer inspection, silver rings adorn his fingers. You will yourself to look down. It’s dark. “What’s that you’re holding?” You ask instead, trying not to extend your stare at his shoulders.

“Your puffer coat,” he says, tossing it to you. “Left it last time.”

“That time when you annoyed the shit out of me, right,” you retort.

“Yes, exactly that time. That was ages ago. Weeks ago. Look at us now.”

“Us now—what, still disliking each other?”

He laughs humorlessly, but doesn’t entertain you further. He turns to the lamp instead. “Do you know I was there when they moved this in,” he begins, gesturing to it, “Jae got it at some weird, awful flea market, and he had to buy some extra wiring to fix it or whatever. I was doing Physics homework. It was at the start of this school year. And I bet you didn’t know…” he bends down and reaches to the base of the lamp, pressing a button, “that it changes color.”

The room is bathed in red now, and you swallow. “Interesting,” you manage to say, despite the racing in your head. “Very,” he responds, taking a step closer to you. You gaze up at him. He’s tall. You breathe softly. You nod in agreement. You don’t know what to do. You want to punch him and kiss him and leave all at once. 

You want to kiss him, oh God, you want to kiss him.

“Oh God,” you say softly, out loud. Oh fuck. Too much weed?

He inches closer, leaving the blunt on the rim of the sink. “Why?” He smiles a little and you smile back, nervous. He’s so close now, and he smells so good—like cologne and laundry and weed. You shake your head. “Nothing,” you mumble back.

He’s even closer now, eyes boring into yours. You adjust your strap, a nervous habit. He takes your hand and does it for you. “I like this song,” he says casually, like he’s not playing with the strap of your dress. “Do you know what it’s called?” It’s vaguely familiar to you, but you shake your head. 

“It’s Jhene Aiko,” he replies, and you nod. You gravitate closer.

You stare at him. He stares back. “I’m high,” you say. You giggle. “I had a brownie and that blunt.”

“That’s a lot,” he says. “Don’t finish the blunt, ‘kay?” You nod back, and giggle again. In two seconds, your nervous mechanism has kicked in and you’re laughing like a psycho. “I’m high,” you repeat, and then he kisses you, effectively sobering you up.

Huh. He kisses you, effectively sobering you up. He kisses you.

You kiss back, shocked and relieved, deepening it, trying to get as much of him as possible. His hands are big and wide and warm, traveling all over you. You want him. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, lips molding against yours deliriously. 

“Want you,” you say when his hands play with the hem of your dress, teetering closer and closer to your core. “I said, I want you,” you whine, “now.” Mark only laughs, his hands under your dress and playing with the lace waistband of your underwear. 

“I like how this feels,” he mumbles. “Wanna take a look.” You whimper, hiking your leg up and nodding. “Please, just…touch me,” you say breathlessly. “Please.”

“I will,” he says, voice calm. “You’re being good.” You can’t deny the noise you make at the praise, breathy and loud. You pull him in again, drunk for more, your hands raking through his hair. It’s dark, the both of you basking in the small red light. Mark hikes your dress up, inching it higher, slowly, until he sees the hem of your white lace underwear. He grunts and pulls at it. “I love this,” he says. “So fuckin’, Jesus.” 

You giggle against the smile. He toys with your panties for a bit before finally pulling them down, watching them sink to your ankles. “Hot,” he jokes, and you laugh in disbelief. “Why would you even be joking abou—”

“Mark! Let’s go, it’s 2:30!” Donghyuck’s voice is just as loud and clear as it would be if you weren’t separated by a door. Jolted, you and Mark instinctively break apart and stare at the rattling door. “Maaaark,” he sing-songs, knocking to a beat. You stare at Mark, waiting for him to respond.

“I have explosive diarrhea,” he says. You stifle a guffaw, pulling your panties up.

He pouts, tapping your ass. “Bullshit,” Donghyuck says from outside. “I’m cooomin’ in!”

In the span of a minute, where you realize Donghyuck is not bluffing and in fact has a stolen bathroom key from Jungwoo’s bedside drawer, you manage to shove yourself into the bathtub and hide yourself with the curtain. Mark switches the light back on, much to both of your disappointment, and pretends to smoke the blunt you’d left on the sink fifteen minutes ago. Ergo: pre-kiss.

You find your phone on the bathtub floor and grip it, turning the brightness down. You have a plethora of messages and voicemails from Lia, five calls from Daniel, and an interesting iMessage of Donghyuck’s red, weed-induced eyes from an unknown number. It could be anybody, and that scares you.

The texts are all frantic, and they’re the last things that bring you out of your high and back to reality. Where are u, who u with?, u getting railed??!, Have you seen mark?

“Hyuck, if I actually did have a shitstorm coming out of my ass, you’d be so sorry for breaking in,” you hear Mark say. You sink lower into the bathtub, awaiting Donghyuck’s voice. “You were the one who suggested we go at 2:30, and you’ve been smoking weed for the longest time, dipshit,” he says, “now let’s go. I haven’t seen your Psych girl all night, so you can cry about it at home.” You faintly detect Mark protesting and then, “Let me just freshen up! Just go ahead.”

Reluctantly, you peek out and find Mark alone. You get up and fix your dress.

You’re sober now. The red lights are gone. It’s just you and Mark, plain and simple. Your feelings haven’t gone away, though. You’re fucking fucked. You want him to fuck you. Oh, fuck.

“Go,” you say instead, spluttering. “And I’ll see you. Tuesday.”

You leave first despite yourself, not turning around for even a split second, finding a worried (and then relieved) Lia and taking five consecutive tequila shots to down the nerves and denial bubbling in your system. She raises a brow, but you refuse to even meet her eyes, head and heart pounding impossibly fast. You want to kiss him again. So, so bad. But what the fuck did you just let happen?

—

Stage 2: Anger|

Lia hadn’t pressed, and you were nervous, but it was getting easy to diverge the details of what happened during Johnny’s party. You had instead opted to work alone, too much of a coward to even see Mark’s face. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you feared you might just kiss him if you ever saw him. So you spent days at class working, and then at your dorm working, adjusting your route to avoid, as much as possible, Mark or Hyuck’s buildings and that godforsaken cafe. You did text Mark, though, and the exchanges were brief, not even a “thank you” or “good morning” preceding them. It was awful.

Working alone forced you into a heavy load of retrospection. You would think deeply, like how you are now, spiraling into a series of questions where you studied the play-by-play of what happened in the bathroom, up against the wall. You liked it. A lot. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t let yourself. Why it even happened…God. You mentally berated yourself for giving into it. Didn’t you hate him? Or at least dislike him? Didn’t you take pleasure in scolding him or fighting with him?

“You’re freaking me out,” Lia says from her bed. She’s been staring at you. “You’ve been lying on your bed staring at the ceiling for twenty straight minutes.” She walks over to you, flopping next to you, her arms winding around your body. “You can tell me anything.”

“I know,” you say, nervous. You gulp.

“Okay. If you’re n—”

“Mark and I kissed.”

She sits up and turns to look at you.

“Made out, more like. We were going to fuck if we didn’t get interrupted.” You’re mortified, refusing to meet her gaze. When you look up, her face is even, but you know she’s bubbling over with giddiness inside. “That is so fucking great, dude,” she replies. “Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Because it’s Mark,” you whine. “He’s not…I don’t know.”

She lies back down. “You’re overthinking this.” You laugh, poking her waist. “I know, but I just…I feel like he might not like me much anymore.” You recount the way you left him hanging, despite the lack of awkward air and the potential to talk and become something. She tsks but justifies it, because she’s so good at that, being a mediator, and you continue with your day quietly. 

Your mind is always on it, though, his hands and his lips, and you’ve scoured Spotify for the song playing that he had commented on.

It’s called Pussy Fairy. You cannot make it up. It’s a weird title, but the song is heavenly, and you can’t deny when it’s full blast on your AirPods and your hand is creeping closer and closer there, trying desperately to replicate what you felt in that moment. When you’re not sated, ashamed and sighing, you resort to working on your paper. There are moments where both you and Mark are working at the same time, and you hate yourself for getting all flustered when it happens. 

—

It’s a Tuesday, in the early afternoon, when you’re out of class and cleaning out the little litter in your dorm, repasting whatever decorations fell off, et cetera. You have the time, anyway, and it wouldn’t hurt to fix the place up a bit. You’re halfway into re-stringing Lia’s fairy lights when someone knocks on the door, jolting you. You curse under your breath, hopping off her bed to swing the door open and reveal—

“What is up?!” Donghyuck grins back at you. His hand is raised in a high-five invitation, which you hesitantly reciprocate. “Mark tells me you’re meeting today, and that I should come remind you, since it seems like you forgot. He says you haven’t texted all day. Since I was on this floor—do you know Jeno Lee? Do you know it’s so amusing how Mark, Jeno, and I all have the same surname? Anyway. I was here on your floor to remind Jeno about an Econ presentation, and Mark texts me and goes, if you’re with Jeno, then remind you—you as in you, you—to come meet me and work.” 

He talks so goddamn fast. “You talk so goddamn fast.”

He just guffaws, high-fiving you again. “Well, you get my point, right? Meet Mark at the cafe and work is all he said to do. If you wanna.” You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “Tell him I’ll be a little late,” you say simply, and as you’re about to shut the door, he talks again, his voice quieter this time. “I know you were hiding behind the curtain.”

You pull the door open again, so fast a minuscule gust of wind washes over both of your faces. “You’re kidding,” you say, “you’re kidding.” You stare at each other for a second before his solem features break into a smile. “I am. Mark spilled everything to me, so I decided to trick you.” Relief and annoyance break over your system as you swat Donghyuck’s shoulder. “You’re a dick,” you spit. “You’re bringing a bad image to Econ majors.”

He merely laughs and closes the door himself, light brown hair fluffing with the severity of his laugh (cackle.) Slightly annoyed, you drag yourself to get dressed, dread building up in your stomach at the prospect of seeing Mark again. Not when your mind conjures up what happened everytime you just see his name. Or the word mark. You’ve been out of it since it happened, not even responding to your usual heated debates with the conservative Trump supporter in class. You suppose the best way to confront it is to simply confront it.

When you get there, though, it’s clear that confrontation would not be an option. Immediately, when you sit, the air shifts into something oddly familiar—the atmosphere between the two of you when you first got partnered up. Except now, Mark won’t even give you a pinch of attention, or banter, instead typing his questions into the document to avoid verbal conversation. (He is a fucking petty bitch, you’ll give him that.)

You stroll over to the counter, pout set on your lips. “Hello,” Chan says politely, and you just smile half-heartedly. “Lover’s quarrel?” He teases, and you roll your eyes. “He’s ignoring me,” you respond, watching him make you a latte. “And we’re not dating. We never were.”

“Mm, right,” he says, finishing and setting your drink in front of you. You laugh a little, taking it. “No. We weren’t. But I’ll update you.”

When you return, Mark’s looking at you, quiet as ever. You break his gaze and continue working, working and working until the sun sets, nestled deep behind the horizon. When you look up again, the sky is already dark, city lights providing solace to the place. You look at Mark quizzically, as if to ask him what time you should both leave, but he just shrugs. “Any time,” he states plainly, and huffing, you get up.

“I’ll go right ahead then,” you say, trying your best to sound annoyed and get your message across. He says nothing, watching you pack up your stuff and sling your bag over your shoulder, and then eventually, leave.

Daniel is the first to see you in your raged, annoyed state—you meet him in the elevator of the lobby, your blood boiling and your fists balled. Knowing you’re headed to the same floor, he presses the button, ruffles his hair, and then lets the silence take over. And then, “What’s going on?” You breathe deeply, turning to him with a tired look on your face. “Mark’s going on,” you mumble, “he was ignoring me the entire time. And to think he was the one who requested my presence! It makes no sense. Why would he ignore me when we can just talk about it?”

“About what?”

It suddenly occurs to you that Daniel knows about your weird feelings for Mark, but not how they culminated. You splutter. “Um, about us. Everything.” Daniel looks amused, but the doors open, and you thank them for the temporary exit from the topic. He stops you right outside, though, and pulls out two ticket, card-looking things. “Wait, um. Listen, Lia and I are going to reach our seven-month…anniversary, I guess, of, y’know, being a thing. I know it seems really small, but I want to give her a little something out of appreciation, so I got us a room at this ski lodge outside the city.”

“That’s so sweet,” you say honestly, “but I must admit, it comes on sort of stalker-y. Like you’re whisking her off out of the city.”

He beams even louder. “That’s why you’re coming. With Mark!”

You gape back at him. “Did you miss the whole I-hate-him thing that happened in there?” You jab your finger towards the closed elevator doors, disbelief written across your face. He laughs. “Sometimes you can’t keep hiding behind”—he begins walking to your room, and you follow suit—“emotions, like anger. When I liked Lia, there was a point where I was just pretending to alienate her so I wouldn’t have to face that I was starting to love her. Like her. And you know, she did it right back.” 

“Oh, quit it,” you scoff, insistent. “You’re lecturing me like you’ve been married a decade.”

“That’s what I want,” he says, and you gag. “The first step to that would be ski lodge trip, so you’re coming!”

You’re in front of your room now, and you pinch his wrist as he reaches for the handle, gaining his full attention. “I’ll gladly go,” you whisper, “if Mark’s out.” Daniel just laughs, shaking his head. “No, no. An overnight trip would delay your paper severely. Plus, they have two beds per room.”

“We’ll be staying in the same roo—hey, Li,” you say, quickly cutting your angry rant off when she opens the door, her face confused (to say the least.) 

“Mm, hey,” she says, ushering the two of you in. “How long were you two out there?” Daniel shrugs, ruffling his hair and then pressing a kiss on Lia’s forehead. You boo from your place on your bed, buried under your duvet. “You both suck,” you holler, “always sexing it up in a sacred space. AKA my room.” Lia just grins and jumps on top of you, drawing grunts from you both. Daniel seats himself on the floor and busies himself with his phone. “How was Mark,” she whispers into your hair, and you groan.

“Bad,” you respond, “I’m so annoyed. We’re back to square one.” She makes an apologetic noise and gets up with a sigh, adjusting the strings of her pullover and then hugging Daniel. You watch them. You want to kiss Mark again. Life sucks that way.

—

Predictably, Mark turns down the offer of the ski lodge. He’s polite about it, too, especially since he and Daniel have grown a little bit closer since the start of your project. Daniel is, by no means, a “Mark anti”, but he would participate in the ribbing sometimes. Still, he’s insistent on the trip, saying it’s the best way to welcome December and that the forecast predicts a nice, thick layer of snow. It takes a week and two coffees everyday for Mark to give in, under the condition that he buy his own room when you get there.

Which, honestly, really, you have no problem with. Really, you think to yourself as you unceremoniously shove a knitted sweater into your bag. Really. Lia, who had graciously accepted the surprise, watches you abuse your bag, shoving sweater and scarf inside like they want to murder you. “Relax,” she says after a while. You laugh, playing it off (not so) casually.

The drive up there, courtesy of Daniel and a borrowed Prius, is fun, and cramped, but still decent, considering it was just an hour long. You’re in the back with Lia, and Mark is in charge of the AUX, which, of course, comes with its own bout of jokes. You even find the heart to participate and laugh in a few, not daring to meet his eyes. But all his songs are so fucking good. Frank Ocean, Jhene Aiko, SZA, and smaller indie artists flow from the speaker under his phone. The car ride has its share of epic karaoke moments—Mark plays ABBA, and Queen, solely to make sure everybody is belting out to the high heavens.

You get there when the sky’s purple and orange and there are some skiiers scattered around, though, since it’s not the proper holiday period, not too much. You trek over to the main lodge and that’s where Daniel pays for his reservations, and he and Lia retire to their room and promise to get up for dinner. You’re, again, alone with Mark in the lobby as you both stare at each other, willing the other to get up first. He does, to buy his own room like he said he would, and you can faintly hear the exchange from your seat on their nice, fluffy couch.

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re renovating a majority of the rooms for the holidays. That’s why reservations were a prerequisite for staying here.”

Mark sighs. “Okay, right. I’m so sorry. Um”—it’s at this point that you go up next to him, polite smile on your face, ready to take the room key and fuck off—“could we just get an extra blanket, please? For one of the beds.” The receptionist gives a curt smile, handing over the keycard and nodding. “That’ll be one queen-sized warm blanket, then,” she hums, typing away. The receptionist beside her goes to the back, presumably to get the blanket. Mark nods, smiling. “For two queen-sized beds, it must be a big room for both of them to fit comfortably,” he comments offhandedly, fiddling with the card.

The receptionist chuckles. “There is only one bed, sir.”

Oh, God. “Oh, God,” you whisper. “One bed?” She nods with an eye-crinkling smile, like her words have not just rained hell upon the two people across her. “One bed and a sofa,” she corrects herself, reading the information on the computer by the desk. Not wanting to risk your last shred of sanity, you smile profusely, walking quickly towards your room which, thankfully, is on the same floor, at the end of the hall. It’s a small, quaint place that would be honest-to-God perfect if not for the fact that—

“There’s one bed,” Mark sighs, the truth clicking into place. “Daniel is a fucking shithead.” You drop your bag onto the carpeted floor, surveying the room with a scrutinizing gaze. It’s sizable��a bed, a couch, a window. There’s a small wooden desk that looks like its legs can barely hold its weight, and then another door, leading to the bathroom. It’s not bad at all. But you’re exhausted, the sun’s long gone, and your resolve is shredding away as the seconds tick by. “Take the couch,” you say dismissively, “or the carpet.” You make a beeline for the bed, but Mark’s arm wraps around your waist, effectively stopping you.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod “Shut up and let go of me, dick,” you stutter out. Mark loosens his grip and you shove him off, glaring at him. He gazes back down at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We can’t just make up terms without negotiation,” he says matter-of-factly, and you blow a raspberry. “Fine. Let’s negotiate then. I’m a girl and that puts me above you because chivalry isn’t dead, thus, boom, I get the bed.”

“I was in the uncomfortable passenger seat all day and my lower back hurts,” he counters.

“My legs are wobbly.”

“Bullshit. My back aches.”

“You already said that, it’s invalid.”

The back and forth only intensifies, your arguments growing more and more bizarre, until finally, your volume is so high Lia says she can hear it faintly, four doors down. 

“The couch looks comfy,” you try, but Mark stands firm. 

“Do you know what? The bed is big. It’s a big bed. And we’re not going to take up much space. If we divide the bed with the sofa pillows…” you pick up the cushions and line them up neatly along the middle, “…then we can sleep beside each other without having to make contact with each other.” He seems convinced, stepping closer to the bed and nodding. “Okay. I get first dibs on the shower.”

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you let him anyway. You’ve unpacked nearly all your things and he isn’t done yet, so you’ve resorted to scrolling mindlessly through Tiktok and laughing at just about everyone that pops up on screen. Mark finally exits after what feels like forever, and you keep your eyes trained on your screen to avoid looking at him. From your peripheral vision, he is very much shirtless. There are no words exchanged, the thickness in the air only building bit by bit.

—

Three hours later, post-dinner, post-abandoning the thought of working on your paper, you’re stumbling into your room after helping the very tipsy couple of the night into theirs. You’re beyond tired now, and you can tell Mark is, too, despite the lack of eye contact or communication between you. You don’t even look at him, brushing your teeth and removing your makeup and clipping your hair up into a bun. It’s when he does the same, and you’re both in bed, using your phones, that he finally breaks the silence.

“I’m not mad,” he says. His voice is even and calm, and you quickly shut your phone off and sit up, peering over the pillow boundary you had created. You look at him expectantly before he sighs and continues. “Why did you leave?”

You stand up, getting out, trying to increase distance. You’ve never really liked confrontation. “I was weirded out,” you spill, “and scared…? I guess with the nearness of being caught, and with all the lights on, I was just shocked back to reality.”

He sits up. “What’s reality?”

“I don’t—know,” you splutter, getting back on the bed. “Not kissing you?”

He laughs, and then it becomes silent. “Right. Let’s sleep, then.” Without another word, he pulls his lamp off, and only the white moonlight is left illuminating the both of you. Shucking yourself under the covers, feeling your heart practically thump out of your chest. You honestly think he can hear it, or at least feel it. Suddenly the boundary doesn’t do much. You turn away from him, nervous, and you can faintly hear his breathing even out. You shut your eyes for a second. When you open them again, he’s looking right at you. “Just checking to see if you’re asleep,” he says quietly. You nod. And then you lean upwards, just a touch, so your lips nearly brush slightly. “Night,” you say, before turning to sleep for real.

You’re not sure when. And how. Sure, you faintly remember digging your legs sleepily through the sheets to find warmth and tangling Mark’s in your own. But still—when you’re up, the pillow fort is at your feet, hanging precariously off the four post bed, and your back is against Mark’s chest. His breath fans lightly over your hair and you blearily register what happened overnight. His arm is slung over your middle, it’s quiet, and oh Christ, he is hard.

It’s fairly late. He’s hard. The antique clock mounted up on the wall tells you it’s around nine, which essentially gave you seven hours of sleep. He’s hard. You bask in the warmth of Mark for a while before your resolve solidifies and you gently push his arm off from its position on your hips. He only comes on stronger, wrapping fully around your waist, mumbling incoherence into your hair. He’s hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, summoning sleep to overcome you quickly, but it never does. Dread overcomes you as you feel your underwear grow damp.

“Mm,” Mark grunts, his hand around your waist loosening. You move away but his head suddenly lolls into the crook of your neck, his lips touching the side of it. You whimper. He’s a fucking asshole, even when he’s asleep. You pinch his arm, jolting him to half-awakeness, and you roll away, despite your body’s protests.

He blinks his eyes open. “Sorry, shit,” he says, voice deep and ridden with sleep. You’re fucked.

“It’s okay,” you splutter instead. “Just go back to sleep.” You faintly register that you sound just as exhausted as he does, and you bury your head back into the covers. Everything, plus the sound of his voice, has you dripping, and you breathe in deeply to poorly disguise a whimper. He chuckles, already half-asleep, from where he is, and it’s quiet for a few minutes before you realize he’s fallen asleep. Knowing Lia and Daniel will be busy for a while, you pull a spare pillow over your head and chant to yourself before falling back asleep, too.

When you awaken, the bed is cold and empty, and the shower’s running. You check the time to find only an hour has passed, but you’re much more awake now, getting up and knocking incessantly on the bathroom door. “Hurry,” you demand hoarsely, “I want to go skiing.” You hear a muffled okay and scurry over to your bag to find the pair of leggings you had packed for this. You also find your parka, and you pull off your shirt to clasp on a bra.

“Not that I don’t mind,” Mark says, eliciting a yelp from you as you tug a sweater on at record speed, “but generally, that kind of thing only goes unnoticed in nudist colonies. I could research some for you, if you’d—ow! I was joking, God!” You bonk him twice over the head with the Bible on the bedside table, your brows furrowed angrily. “You looked, asshat,” you say, collecting your things and locking yourself in the bathroom.

When it becomes increasingly evident that Lia and Daniel have no plans of exiting their room, you grumble and resort to skiing alone. But as you’re shuffling out, bundled up, you spot Mark leaning against the exit waiting for you. He looks up and tsks. “About fucking time,” he says, holding the door open for you. It’s not that cold out—maybe you’re just used to having snow and chilly weather, and so is Mark—so you barely shiver, walking around and looking for a good place to ski.

“Forget skiing,” Mark says after a few rounds. “Let’s go sledding. I have a thing.”

“A toboggan, you mean.”

“A funny word. Really, just say sled.”

You let up, anyway, the bright sky and cold ground sending serotonin right into you. Sure enough, Mark does have a nice, blue sled that he lets you on, and then the two of you are bolting down the hill at breakneck speed, laughing all the way. It’s quite a long ride, and you’re smiling and yelping so much the cloth you’ve used to cover your neck has ridden down, the cold air hitting your face harshly.

You land very ungracefully—the toboggan hits a small tree and sends you and Mark catapulting in the same direction, your hands clawing at the air for expense. You find Mark’s arm and cling onto it in the split second you’re in the air, landing on a clearing of thick snow. The arm you’ve clung onto pulls you closer, Mark grunting “be careful,” and when the whole fiasco’s over, you’re smiling like an idiot, and you’re right on top of Mark.

You’re not straddling him or anything, but you’ve just happened to land with your face a little above his. You can’t stop laughing, your face flushed and red with the cold air hitting your face. So you laugh. Why wouldn’t you laugh? It was a good day. A good ride down the hill. So you keep laughing until they’re reduced to giggles, Mark laughing right along as you pull down the covering of his mouth and tug his beanie off, ruffling your hands in his hair and dipping down to kiss him.

He kisses you right back, his lips cold but quickly growing warm with the friction. You smile into the kiss, your hands roaming all over his pink face. The kiss is giggly and light, your hands all over each other as the sunlight filters in through the thick trees overhead.

You pull away after a while. “I hate you,” you whisper. He presses a kiss to your jawline and lets it linger there. “You think I don’t?”

—

Stage 3: Bargaining, Depression|

You’ve begun to type the structure out when Lia tugs on your pajamas, her tone insistent and curious. “What’s up with you and Mark?” she presses, her cheek pressed to your stomach. You fervently hope she doesnt notice how your breathing quickens, and, keeping your voice even, you answer. “We’re…thinking about things.”

Which—you were thinking about things, to be fair. There were things to be thought and you had to think about them. It was a broad half-truth. It had been two weeks since the ski lodge thing, and you and Mark had decided it was probably best to shut the fuck up about everything you had done. (Everything meaning a few kisses here and there, and maybe a little more under the covers.) You’d hated yourself for hiding it from Lia, but you and Mark were actually feeling hesitant about moving forward with whatever you were. There was a lot of ambiguity and questions, and until you could clear it up yourself, you knew you weren’t ready to tell anybody else. You had talked about it already—clearly, the two of you were beyond jumping straight into a relationship after not liking each other that much and then becoming hesitant friends.

But it was, if you had to admit it to yourself, nice having that little secret.

“I’d want to tell Lia soon,” you tease, walking steadily beside Mark. The afternoon sun is warm on your heads, the snow falling intermittently. He turns with a small smile. “I’d want to tell Hyuck, too.” You scoff, burying your head in his chest. You probably look fucking disgusting. Around you, Washington Square Park is full of natives and tourists, and college students like you, all scurrying around and giving you that very much holiday feel.

He buys you a hot cocoa and hands it to you. “Are you heading home soon?”

You take a sip, your tongue hot. “If my ratty dorm counts as home, then yes.”

“Home is a feeling, not a place. Does your ratty dorm feel like home?”

“Kind of. Lia’s there. And so is the rat infestation in the ceiling.”

Mark nearly chokes on his cocoa. “You’re gross as fuck.”

You let out a loud laugh, your beanie nearly falling off with the bounciness of it. Mark reaches behind you to catch it, pressing a kiss to your lips in the process, soft and light and God, you like it. A lot. “Clumsy,” he remarks, pulling it back on and dragging a generous amount of your hair in front of your eyes as he does it. “It’s gonna be Christmas soon, and thank God we’re nearly done with this paper.”

“It was my genius idea to combine bargaining and depression,” you quip. “That’s my gift to you. Merry Christmas, Mark Lee.” He laughs at that. His laugh, you’ve noticed, is goddamn loud, and it’s a literal cackle, but he always looks so happy when he laughs. And buoyant. “You look stupid,” you say, but the smile on your face is undeniable. He glares playfully at you, taking your hand and walking you both in the direction of your building.

“New York in the snow,” he hums. “Always a great place.”

“It’s full of tourists,” you counter. Always disagreeing.

He chuckles and then, like clockwork—like how you’ve done it for the past six dates—you separate when you’re just shy of a meter away from the lobby entrance. Your fingers curl in search of his, and you jog up the steps, eager to get into the warmth of the building. The lobby’s pretty empty, save for a couple of students. Mark’s ahead of you, already pressing the elevator button and waiting impatiently. 

“We’re alone,” he sing-songs, his eyebrows wiggling. The doors open right as you take Mark’s hand, and you look up to meet Daniel’s wide eyes. Then you look to the right to meet Lia’s.

Despite your inner turmoil, you remain nonchalant, pinching Mark’s wrist instead of holding it like you’d planned. “That’s why our professor fucking hates you,” you say, narrowing your eyes. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, but you muster a neutral expression, shoving your hands back into your pockets. Lia knows you, though, and her furrowed eyebrows and parted lips say everything—but you just shrug, playing off what they could have caught you doing. “Hey,” you say, walking into the elevator with Mark. It all blows over.

AKA: Daniel has to drag a curious Lia away from you, with a promise that you would converse later. You and Mark are alone again, in the elevator, your hands barely touching, laughs loud. It’s all blurry after that. You’re high on a laugh and the thought of a kiss—you drag him over to your room, hands in his hair, breathless, loose kisses. You’re both so exhausted, though, that all you manage to extend your energy to is taking your tops off and making out lazily to the songs you’d recommended to each other.

“Mm,” he says when one of your songs starts playing. “It’s a nice song.” You nod with a smile. “I know it is, it’s one of my recommendations. It’s called Softly.” He plays with the strap of your bra. “I’ll give it more of a listen, then. Also, a red bra to school? Whatever will the professors think,” he jokes lightly, pressing insistent, but soft kisses on your shoulder. You laugh, pinching the inner part of his arm and eliciting a swear from him. “I was joking! I know you wore this for me, stupid.” The wind whistles outside, barely audible from the half-open window across the room, overlapping with the music.

This all feels too real, now.

You pout lazily against his bare chest. “Get off before Lia gets in,” you mumble, your heart beginning to race. He does, for what it’s worth, rolling off your bed with a loud thump and tugging his shirt and sweater back on. You watch him (fondly) annoyedly, your hair draping over you as you get up to properly shove him out. “Out, out,” you chant, laughing, and he giggles, turning abruptly to poke at your waist.

“Shut up,” you groan, a smile on your face. There’s a beat, then he pulls you close and kisses you, running outside right after with a literal guffaw. You watch him, wrapping your fleece blanket around your frame as he runs to the elevator, sweater backwards and hair messy.

—

Doubts are normal. This you’re assured of, but your head pounds with the sheer amount of things you’re cramming into it. You squint impossibly harder, trying to get the nail polish into the crook of Lia’s nail. You’ve probably overdone it, judging by the way she jabs her knuckle in between your eyebrows, her face contorted in worry. “Are you…okay?”

You narrow your eyes, the inner debate of telling her raging on and on. The nail polish drips onto her fingernail, rolling onto her pant leg, and she yelps, but her eyes are still on you. “You can tell me anything,” she says, softer this time. You know she’s serious—you know you can. You always have. You told her about every fling, one night stand, pregnancy scare, bad grade, hot professor, and spoiled deli food you’d encountered since you ever became friends. She knew you. And you were so sure she knew what you were about to say.

Except you didn’t know what you wanted to say. Your feelings were a mess, and you wanted one thing as much as you wanted the other. You couldn’t place what you wanted, and if you had to narrow it down, you’d realize that you were scared of what you wanted. You were never really one for commitment, or a relationship, or really anything, for that matter. And the fact that you were so hung up on thinking about what you and Mark would become—Mark? It all seemed so dystopian, almost. Like you’d never expected it. Your friendship was a childhood bubble that popped in the span of your first high school semester, and that was that. But just two days ago you were being kissed all over by the same guy you’d had a cutthroat student council president competition with.

It seemed so absurd? Crazy? Those adjectives were a little over the top. Deep down, if you dug deep enough into the parts you didn’t even tell yourself, you knew what you were. And if anybody else were to know, it would be Lia.

“I’m scared,” you choke out, your voice shaky. “I’m scared and sad, and happy and angry, and I want this but I don’t.” You cover the nail polish, shaking your head. “This is all so new to me. I hate how much I feel, especially because it feels so wrong. You know me—relationships are just not cut out for me. They’re scary and new. And people in relationships turn all gooey. I’m scared that this won’t last, but I’m scared that it will, and I’ll be doomed to an eternity of bland, padlocked relationships. It’s weird. I could be feeling this way for anyone, but it had to be Mark? If only I didn’t hate him, then maybe we could’ve gone off on a better foot. If only this whole thing never fucking happened, right?”

“It’s okay,” Lia cuts in. “Being scared is okay. It’s part of the whole process. And nobody said you had to get along like conjoined twins in a relationship. They just go when they go and end when they end. Not every relationship starts as a high school sweetheart thing and ends with three kids and a picket fence. And I’m so sure Mark would be so understanding if you didn’t like him or if you chose not to continue.”

“You knew?”

She laughs. “Of course I knew. I know a post-sex glow when I see one, and I was blinded that morning at the ski lodge.” You groan, pinching her indignantly, hiding your face in your hands as she laughs out of view. “Okay. Take some time and think about it, but for now, I want to get my nails done, so.” 

—

It’ll be a week before you come up with what you want, and the whole time you generally avoid talking about solemn topics with him in person. 

It’ll be another few days before you finally talk to him personally—with your paper nearly finished, you suggest a meeting at the library. It’s just two days before Christmas Eve, and you know Mark’s going to be driving to Canada, so you want to snatch him away for your own personal time for just a second. The snow has all but thickened as you meet outside the building, the silence deafening.

“Hi,” he says, smiling. You know he’s probably picked up on your erratic, quieter behavior in the past several days, but you gulp and lead him inside anyways, to your favorite section. “It’s almost Christmas Eve,” he says, watching you stall, surrounded by Philosophy books from just about every century. “I know,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too nervous.

“You sound nervous,” he says.

“Do I?” you ask shakily, your voice taking on an unnaturally high pitch. “I mean, er. I guess I sort of am. I guess I’ve been thinking about everything lately—about you and me and everything that just happened so suddenly. Because—because it did happen so suddenly. I just…needed time? Yeah, time. To think about everything. Because it all happened so quickly, I…” you stutter. “I’m scared of these things. I’m not used to them. Relationships? Things that last longer than a couple weeks? I don’t like these. 

I have something bigger I want to focus on and anybody who gets in the way just isn’t worth it. And it’s so weird how it was you out of all people I started thinking about it with. Usually I just have the rare fling and then they’re gone, and I’m not even mad. But you’re different. And I like it. 

But I just needed time to find out if I really liked it. If I really wanted to try. I know it’s only been a few weeks, and I probably sound really fucking stupid, but you get me—you get me, right? And that’s how I realized—if it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I don’t know why I overthought it. I mean, it’s a good thing and a bad thing that I did. Like, on one hand, I got to really think about how this would play out, and on the other, I’d just end up spiraling. And it’s just weird. I hope you don’t know I hated you. Hate you? Hated you. I was just—it was all so juvenile. Everything just stemmed from that one awfully dumb high school rivalry. But other than that, you were always a cool…see what I mean? I’m kind of rambling—even if I thought I had planned this out. And. Yeah. I dunno. I fucking…I hate you, stop laughing.”

Mark smiles down at you—you’re busy pretending to read a Sartre book to look unfazed, but your flickering gaze says it all. 

“Okay, stupid,” he says, bordering onto a laugh. “If that’s your way of saying you’re willing to give this a try, then I graciously accept. Should I be saying something equally long? I—is that how this works?”

You roll your eyes and kiss him instead, pulling him close, Sartre’s postulates dropping to the floor alongside your tiptoes.

—

Stage 4: Acceptance|

“Acceptance is just that. Just accepting that you love that person after weeks or months of all the other stages. With her, it was. Like. It’s the whole sitting down after silence, having some time for the revelation to set in before you realize you love them. Or like them? Well, love them, I guess. But I don’t know why you would be asking me this.”

You bury your head further into Mark’s shoulder, your eyes strained from how long they’d been trained onto your screen. You smile up at Daniel, thanking him for the input and beginning to type it in, watching Lia doze off on his shoulder. “We’re asking because we’re not quite there yet,” Mark hums, “it’s just February. It’s barely been two months.” You nod, watching Mark type where you left off on the document. Daniel snorts from across you. “You’re just about, I guess.” Mark chuckles, shrugging so your head bounces off his shoulder unceremoniously.

“Like I’d ever fall in love with that shitstorm,” he says pointedly.

“Oh, and I’d fall in love with this dickwad?”

“You’re perfect for each other. Bullying, but we all know Mark brought back gifts from Canada and that you stitched an initial onto his sweater.”

“To practice my embroidery. Also, I stitched Mark’s initial. M. Asshole.”

“Okay,” whistles Daniel, his hand unconsciously coming up to make sure Lia doesn’t fall off his shoulder. “But hey, you’re just about to submit this paper and I’m fondly remembering all the times you despised each other. And when you”—he points at you, devilish grin on his face—“started gushing to Lia about how he”—he then turns to Mark—“kissed you at Johnny’s party.”

“God, it’s not the time for that yet, we’re still a fresh couple,” you groan, burying your head in your hands. “You have so much dirt on me, Choi.” Mark just laughs, though, loudly, bringing the other cafe-goers’ attention to yours. He bites your shoulder to stifle it, eliciting a laugh from you. “I agree, there should be a certain time requirement for pre-relationship embarrassing stories,” Mark says, closing his laptop. Lia gets up at that point, already half-awake from the ruckus (AKA Mark’s laugh), pulling on Daniel’s sleeve. “Alright, and that’s my cue to get this girl some more coffee and then go.”

“Mm, I’ll come with,” you say, “I need a refresher before we leave soon, anyway.”

You walk in between them, your fingers laced in Lia’s as she squeezes them sleepily. They order first and then they’re off with a smile and a polite goodbye, leaving you to order your drink. You gaze up at the menu, and then down at—

“Long time no see,” Chan says with a knowing beam. “How is your not boyfriend boyfriend?”

“Well, he’s my boyfriend now.”

“See, I always know. What do you want?”

“An iced ca—how did you know?” You ask, tempted.

“It’s just…the energy? It was a hit or miss, but I kinda got that feeling that something was going to happen.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “An iced caramel then.”

“And a black coffee for her best friend!” Hollers a new voice that you could never miss, turning slowly towards the entrance to meet Donghyuck’s crazy eyes. He’s in a suit, which isn’t unusual given the sheer amount of presentations he’s had to do since the new year started. You roll your eyes but put in the extra cash anyway, much to Chan’s amusement. Hyuck nears you with a sly grin. “I hear you’ll be submitting your paper soon. I just want my name in there so I’m in your professor’s good graces.”

“She’s not even going to be your professor, Hyuck,” you say, taking your drink and smiling at Chan. You and Donghyuck both walk back to where Mark’s sitting, you beside him and Hyuck across the both of you. “Yes, but it pays to be in somebody’s good graces, I swear. See what happened? I got you two together. I orchestrated your entire love st—”

“Okay, now you’re just lying, Hyuck,” Mark says with a laugh, finishing up the first few paragraphs and closing his laptop. “We’re not even in love.” But his friend lets out a teasing smile, his eyes narrowed, and he gets up with a loud farewell and alibi about “being needed by my better friends.” You assume he’s talking about Jeno.

—

You walk to Mark’s room alongside him, thanks to the promise of his roommate, Jaemin, sleeping at a friend’s. Your fingers are intertwined loosely. The sun’s setting and Mark’s room is sheathed in beautiful shades of orange and pink, a vast array of dusk settling over the space. It happens quietly, but full of laughs, which is how it happens when you’re both tired and/or shitfaced. You do this a lot—a routine of sharing new songs or books you’d picked up over the week and then making out while they play in the background or while one of you read. It’s awfully, horribly, terribly fucking intimate. 

“Your bra sucks,” he jokes.

You love it.

“Get better abs and we can talk about it,” you counter, poking his toned stomach. He really, fully guffaws at that, pulling you onto his lap and then tugging his guitar out from where it stands at the corner. You flop back onto his bed, watching him play—and then registering the familiar opening of the Jonas Brothers song you used to request nearly everyday. “Lovebug,” you muse with a smile, singing along to his voice, carried away. You’re sleepy and light, and you know deep down—in that space of yourself where you’re all but honest—that you were going to fall in love with him someday.

Later, when all you’re doing is hugging him as he reads your latest Philosophy requirement to you, he pauses.

“Is this the 21st century idea of love?” He asks idly, unclasping your bra and connecting the moles on your shoulder. You hum. 

“It’s the Gen Z idea,” you say, connecting the ones on his bare back. “And this isn’t love.”

“Corny.” he smiles against your collarbones. You kiss his neck. It’s all very gradual.

—

hope you liked it :) drop an ask! I absolutely love all types of feedback 

[homeformyheart]

scathing - colt kaneko x mc (rod)

author’s note: first ride or die one-shot featuring colt kaneko! i picked him in my second playthrough and GEEZ the route changes near the end caught me off-guard but did NOT disappoint 😂. includes tiny callout to red carpet diaries. also, i know nothing about cars.

copyright: all characters owned by pixelberry studios. series/pairing: ride or die – colt kaneko x mc (ellie wheeler) rating/warnings: 14+; swearing based on/prompt: title inspired by lyrics from “mad woman” by taylor swift word count: 3.8k summary: ellie drops in to surprise colt only to find that he is out with another woman.

scathing

ellie whacked colt with a large pillow with one hand while doing her best to punch his chest and stomach with the other to keep him from grabbing her, knowing she physically wouldn’t be able to do much to hurt him. colt tried to dodge as best as he could while looking for an opening that would let him stop ellie’s attacks without hurting her. he had to not only do this while half blinded by a giant pillow but while protecting his body – he had never seen ellie this mad before and did not want to find out if she was mad enough to knee him in the groin.

“you cheating motherfucker! how dare you, asshole!” ellie screamed, her face shifting between displays of rage and tears.

colt didn’t know which was worse. “god, ellie, stop! will you let me explain?!”

3 hours earlier

ellie weaved in and out of traffic seamlessly, her eyes trained on the inconspicuous white sedan two cars ahead. she had dropped in at the body shop to surprise colt a day early. she was able to convince her dad to let her leave her grandparents’ house early considering they had already spent the christmas holiday with them. she pulled up to the body shop and was told that colt had left for a job by himself, which ellie immediately knew was suspicious. colt was reckless, but he wasn’t stupid. he knew he should never work a job alone, which likely meant he thought this was one he could do in his sleep.

something didn’t sit right. ellie found out where colt was headed and got back in her car. she quickly got on the highway, heading toward the address of the downtown hotel colt was supposedly heading to, when she noticed the white sedan ahead of her. even though it was a completely standard white sedan, of which there were hundreds, if not thousands, in l.a., ellie knew it was colt’s. it was the car they had prepped for the upcoming koenigsegg job. this was even further proof that colt thought this job was brainless – he would never risk taking out their getaway car more than once.

ellie watched as the sedan pulled into the underground parking lot and she quickly found a spot on the street not far from the entrance to the hotel. it was definitely a high-end hotel and she would need to dress in something other than a tank top and sneakers if she was going to blend in. she quickly changed in the backseat into a glittery bodycon dress and flats, running her hands through her braid to loosen the curls to give it that “beachy” look. she swiped on pink lip gloss as a final touch and made her way inside the hotel.

she scanned the room and identified the parking garage elevators and ducked behind a pillar that gave her a good vantage point. she listened for the ding! that signaled the elevator doors opening and peeked carefully to see if it was colt. he was dressed in his crisp navy blue suit, with a white dress shirt but no tie. lucky for her, he didn’t seem to notice her as he walked across the room to the hotel bar. ellie darted over from the pillar to the other side of the doorway, relying on her peripheral vision to see where colt went. he was facing away from her, standing at the bar next to a tall, gorgeous redhead wearing a backless dark green halter dress that definitely showed off her assets.

ellie felt a little silly for spying on her boyfriend, especially when it was definitely clear he was working a job. this woman was not unlike others they had to deal with in the past but she was definitely the prettiest. she considered heading back to the shop when she noticed that they had switched positions – colt was sitting on a barstool with the woman between his legs. his hands were on her waist and she was gripping the collar of his shirt as they kissed passionately.

she felt her heart shatter and tears were quick to prick the back of her eyes as she ran as fast as she could out of the hotel. even through the tears, she pulled her car out of the street seamlessly and raced back to the shop. she let herself cry in the car, the sobs wracking her body. shoulders shaking, she grabbed her tank top from before and used it to blow her nose and dry her face. she was not going to let colt kaneko get away with this.

ellie told the rest of the crew to take off because she was going to need to talk to colt alone before she went upstairs and sat on the bed to wait.

colt sensed something was different when he got back to the body shop. he had been excited to see ellie’s car out front but noticed the backseat still had all her stuff. if she was back, she definitely would’ve brought her duffel bags up to his room. it was quiet in the shop, which was unusual, because he was expecting his crew to work at least a couple more hours. it wasn’t like them to take off without talking to him first.

“ellie! i didn’t know you were coming back early. i missed you, baby,” colt grinned, walking over to ellie to give her a kiss.

she stood up and grabbed one of his pillows. “oh, really? did you miss me while you were sucking face with that redhead? or are there other women i should know about?”

colt rolled his eyes. “don’t be so dramatic. it was for a job, it meant nothing. you know what it takes to get a job done.”

ellie felt her blood boil and started whacking him with the pillow. “no job is ever worth you cheating on me, asshole.”

colt’s eyes narrowed as if he was trying to calculate the likelihood that this was going to escalate. unfortunately, what he didn’t realize was that he was too late and his dismissive attitude already hit ellie’s escalate button.

“ellie, i know it looks bad but it was a job. i promise that’s all it was. i was playing a part and we got what we needed,” colt tried to appeal to ellie’s logical side.

“how stupid do you think i am? i saw you with my own eyes, colt. and even if i didn’t, you reek of chanel perfume, which only old women wear, and you have lipstick all over your face and your shirt.”

colt was starting to lose his patience but clenched his fists as a reminder to avoid saying anything that would nuclearize the conversation. “sweetheart, come on, we’re in this together. you know i only have eyes for you.”

“don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me. everything out of your mouth has been a lie,” ellie snapped. “tell me – was she good in bed? was it worth however much you got from the job?”

now this was getting ridiculous. “ellie, you know i would never sleep with anyone else. i would never cheat on you.”

“i clearly don’t know anything because you did cheat on me, asshole,” her voice dropped but retained the dangerously angry tone that kept colt from coming closer.  “you know perfectly well how i feel about jobs that require you to hook up with someone else. clearly the only thing that matters to you is the job, even at the expense of our relationship.”

“el, come on –”

ellie shook her head and cut him off, “no, you’re not talking your way out of this. we’re done.” she bolted from the room and down the stairs toward the front door.

colt knew if he didn’t catch her before she got in her car, he’d never catch up to her. she was by far the fastest driver on the crew and if she left l.a., he might not be able to find her. he sprinted after her, jumping off the stairs recklessly and barely catching himself before he hit the wall, saving himself from a nasty concussion. he pushed himself up quickly and let the adrenaline propel him out the door just in time to see ellie slide into the driver’s seat.

the car squealed away from the garage and quickly out of sight and colt had no clue where she was headed. dammit, he cursed inwardly as he quickly grabbed his helmet and hopped on his bike to chase after her.

* * * * * ellie had managed to lose colt after half an hour, which she counted as a massive win given that he had the advantage with his bike in l.a. traffic. but she knew how to navigate every nook and cranny of l.a. having spent the better part of the last couple of years charting courses and back-up escape paths. she pulled into the underground parking lot near her destination, pulled on a blonde wig, fixed up her makeup, and changed into heels.

she stepped out of the car and took the parking elevator to the ground floor, walking as fast as she could in three-inch heels outside to flag down a cab. she gave the driver instructions and sat back, giving her appearance a once-over and spritzing a light perfume on her wrists and neck. she pulled up the discreet app on her phone, the one they used to message with their buyers and targets in a way that was untraceable, and texted her contact. he wanted to put a job before her? two could play this game.

when she arrived at the very expensive club, she gave her alias to the bouncer and was escorted quickly to the vip room, where her contact was waiting.  aaron montmartre, the spoiled nephew of famed hollywood producer viktor montmartre, who was known for his extensive collection of expensive cars, spending sprees on viktor’s black card, and his weakness for young, attractive women. he was supposed to receive the newest koenigsegg model before it was even available to the public. and ellie was going to find out exactly when and where the drop would be.

* * * * * colt pulled up around the corner of the vip hot spot that was a known celebrity hangout. he knew ellie and knew she was pissed enough to want to teach him a lesson. he couldn’t help but be impressed with how seamlessly she drove through l.a. to get him off her tail and how she succeeded briefly. he prided himself on being able to handle any route with his bike and the fact that she was still able to lose him was beyond sexy. there was no one else that could compare to her.

although he didn’t know exactly what she was doing, he did know that he needed to be really careful not to give himself away too early. he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked casually up to the bouncer, giving him a curt nod. the bouncer gave him a long, scrutinizing look before letting him in. it took colt a few seconds to let his eyes adjust to the dark, hazy atmosphere of the pulsing nightclub.

he walked toward the bar – it would give him the most unassuming vantage point to observe the club and he could do with a drink – only to notice a blonde wig and curve-hugging dress that looked all too familiar. he approached the bar slowly, making sure there were enough people between them that he wouldn’t get noticed; even though her back was to him, all she would need to do was turn to the right and she’d spot him in her peripheral.

colt ordered a glass of whiskey neat so that he’d have something to keep him occupied as he watched ellie flirt openly with their target. colt knew what ellie was likely up to and he was both angry that she would jeopardize the job by potentially tipping their hand early and furious that she would openly flirt with another man. most people didn’t understand the difference, but a furious colt was a jealous colt; the concept of jealousy was something he kept out of his vocabulary.

ellie knew. she knew the moment colt walked into the room. after three years, five months, seventeen days, and twelve successful jobs together, she had learned a thing or two about him. she knew that he would eventually get back on her tail and actually, she was counting on it. it was what she was good at. reading people. learning him. studying the ins and outs of the road and the job. memorizing the ins and outs of him.

and one of the things ellie knew was that colt was a jealous man, although he would rather shoot himself in the foot than admit it out loud to anyone. but if he could use his raw magnetism to get a job done, then she could use her innocent appearance to disarm a target and gain intel. she had already spent the better half of the last 30 minutes pretending to be a tipsy flirt and encouraging aaron toward drunkenness, knowing he’d be more likely to spill details that way.

what she expected but still wasn’t prepared for was how handsy and charming aaron could be. she actually found herself enjoying their flirty banter and perhaps realized that she was a little tipsier than she should be. ellie turned to lean against the bar so she could subtly inch closer to aaron, placing a hand carefully on his bicep as though to steady herself. she immediately felt colt’s eyes staring at the back of her head and had to make a conscious effort not to shiver. she barely registered aaron placing his hand on her hip and leaning in far too close to ask her if she wanted to leave with him.

“i just got the newest koenigsegg model delivered to me. we could take it for a test drive,” he murmured in her ear.

it took every ounce of willpower ellie had not to tense at the situation. her mind was reeling with this new tidbit of information that would put a wrench in their plans; they had assumed the drop would happen in the next few days.

she knew what she had to do but she also knew colt would be pissed, even more than he already was. ellie pulled back slightly and smiled. “i would love that,” she said invitingly.

that was all it took. before ellie could say anything else, she felt colt’s presence appear behind her, his hand hovering by her right hip.

“if you know what’s good for you, you’ll back off,” colt said through gritted teeth. ellie could feel the tension radiating off him as he sidled up next to her. “we’re together.”

aaron stood up slowly, taking out a wad of bills from his pocket and leaving a generous tip on the bar counter without breaking eye contact with colt. ellie instinctively took a step back away from colt only to have the wooden bar press into her back.

“who the fuck are you?” aaron said, casually inching closer to ellie so his shoulder was angled in front of her.

colt’s hand clenched into a fist. “someone you don’t want to mess with. now back off.”

“i don’t think we should be speaking for the pretty lady. leah, you know this creep?”

ellie blinked, slightly startled before remembering that her alias was leah. she slowly turned to give colt a pointed glare, raising an eyebrow and hoping he’d get the hint.

she turned back to aaron and gave him her best impression of an innocent smile. “no, i don’t think i’ve seen him before in my life.”

aaron turned back to colt. “you heard the lady. now i think you better leave before i have security escort you out.”

colt unclenched and clenched his fist a few times as though he was stretching it. ellie knew where this was headed and inwardly sighed; she could countdown from five at this rate.

right on cue, colt’s fist flew at aaron’s face, hitting him square in the jaw and sending him backward into the bar seat he was occupying previously. to his credit and ellie’s surprise, aaron seemed unfazed, picking himself back up and massaging his jaw briefly.

“why don’t we take this outside and settle this like men?” aaron said, challenging colt with his glare.

ellie’s brow furrowed. normally, colt getting into a bar fight with someone who had been flirting with her wouldn’t faze her, but they did need to figure out how to lift aaron’s car without him suspecting them or getting caught. she wasn’t sure how beating the guy up would help with that. and now she was stuck pretending she didn’t know who colt was.

“fine. after you,” colt seethed, stepping to the side so ellie and aaron could move away from the bar. aaron was a good head taller than him and ellie didn’t think this would be that easy of a fight given how quickly aaron had bounced back before.

aaron reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black fob. “why don’t you go hang out in the car, leah? this shouldn’t take long. it’s in one of the reserved parking spots in the garage, closest to the elevator,” he said, grabbing her hand to place the fob in her palm and closing her fingers over it.

ellie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as she looked at him. “oh-okay,” she said, turning away from aaron. she gave colt a pointed side-eye as she passed him.

well, that was a freebie, she thought to herself as she made her way down to the car. it was exactly where aaron said it would be. ellie slid into the driver’s seat and ran her hands over the steering wheel, relishing the feel of the cool leather underneath her fingers. she grabbed her sunglasses and put them on as she drove out of the garage, quickly dialing toby on speakerphone.

“toby, i need you to ready the drop site off exit 54. i’ll explain later. if colt calls, tell him to meet me at our spot,” ellie said quickly, as she navigated the local roads to the drop site, taking extra care to avoid intersections and neighborhoods with traffic cameras.

once she arrived at the drop site, she checked with toby that the car stayed off the radar before emptying the glovebox, wiping down her prints, and shoving her wig into her purse. being methodical was ellie’s forte, even with the adrenaline running through her body, she knew she did everything right.

the dryve back to her car was uneventful, which did little to ease ellie’s nerves. she wasn’t worried about the job in actuality, but about colt. she knew he could hold his own in a fight, but she also knew how stubborn he could be. and despite still being angry with him, she was admittedly worried for his safety.

ellie felt like she was holding her breath the entire drive over to the cliffside. it wasn’t until she saw the familiar motorcycle parked near the railing that she felt a sigh of relief escape her body. she parked and stepped out, her gaze falling on the back of colt’s head.

she walked slowly over to him with anxiety in her stomach at the thought of how bruised he might be. it wasn’t until she saw that he was mostly unscathed, other than a purple bruise forming on his cheekbone and his knuckles, that her shoulders finally sagged, the tension she held all evening releasing at once.

“colt… thank god, you’re okay,” she said softly as she looked up at him, raising her hand hesitantly toward his bruised cheek.

instead, she closed her hand into a fist and punched him in the shoulder.

“ow— ellie, i just got out of a fight, seriously?!” colt yelped, angling his shoulder away from her.

ellie stepped forward every time he stepped back so she could punch him again and again. “you asshole. don’t you dare do that again, i was seriously worried about you! and you almost cost us the job!”

“i’m sorry, ow— will you let me, augh!” colt said, finally managing to grab her wrist and hold it in place while grabbing her hip with his other hand and pulling her close.

she made a half-assed attempt at struggling, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to break away. ellie did her best to glare at him, but as she looked into his eyes, she felt her anger cracking. her eyes softened and she found herself subconsciously leaning in. in a split second, colt’s lips were on hers, hot and desperate.

ellie almost forgot why she was mad at him to begin with as he gently bit her lower lip, eliciting a contented sigh that gave his tongue entrance. he pulled her hips as close as possible to his and ellie wrapped her arms around his neck. she gave back just as desperately, fighting him for dominance as she traced her tongue around his bottom lip, sucking on it gently.

colt let out a ragged breath and finally pulled back. “i’m sorry, el,” he said quietly, punctuating her name with a tender kiss. “i’m sorry,” he said again, giving her another kiss.

“if you ever cheat on me again—” ellie threatened quietly before colt silenced her with another gentle kiss.

“believe me, i won’t do that again. i did not like seeing another man put his hands on you, even if it was for a job,” colt said sheepishly, avoiding her gaze.

ellie grinned. “at least we got the job done,” she said.

colt smirked at her. “good, so i didn’t take a beating for nothing. now i don’t know about you, but i could go for a swim.”

“pretty sure you’re not supposed to go in the ocean with open wounds,” ellie warned as she watched colt strip down to his underwear.

“i hear the salt water is great for cuts,” colt grinned cheekily. “you gonna join me, sweetheart?”

ellie rolled her eyes and smiled. “okay, but don’t say i didn’t warn you,” she said, taking off her dress and shoes.

“hey,” colt said with a sudden seriousness just as she was preparing to jump. she turned to look at him and he pulled her closer.

“thanks for having my back,” he murmured, leaning in to give her a deep kiss that took her breath away.

“i’m still your driver, aren’t i?” ellie said affectionately.

colt smirked and gave a nod in response. he held out his hand for her to grab and they turned to look at the glittering horizon before they jumped, together.

* * * * * mentions: @choicesficwriterscreations; @lovehugsandcandy; @kat-tia801 choices permatag: @withbeautyandrage; @agentnolastname; @freckles-spangledvampire

[caeows]

      jeon jeongguk  .  cis male  .  he/him  ／  graeme bae just pulled up by blasting dirty little secret by all american rejects --- that song is so them  !  you know  ,  for a twenty three year old actor  ,  i’ve heard they’re really gullible  ,  but that they make up for it by being so tenacious  .  if i had to choose three things to describe them  ,  i’d probably say tousled hair  ,  triple dog dares and a closet full of black  .  here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble  !  

hello  !  i’m deni  (  she/her pronouns  ,  gmt+9 timezone  )  .  i’m best reached on discord at gayfairy#6371 for plotting  .  below the cut is  ...  a ridiculous amount of keyboard smashing but it was a holiday and i was feeling inspired so  !!  i included a few TLDRs for some quick scanning  .  there’s also some plots at the bottom i’d LOVE to see  .    looking forward to writing with you all  !

* ☆ ·˚  background.

you could say he was destined for the spotlight  .  

      an only child  ,  he grew up watching his parents performances on the stage  ,  accepting their kisses and gentle smiles before they set off for tours around the country and left him with his cousins  .  sure  ,  they were absent --- but they tried  --- and graeme knew he wanted to be just like them  .  when his parents delighted in his little home-staged sets he presented ,  they quickly enrolled him in acting classes and coached him through first auditions  ,  even moved back to korea when it was clear some american roles wanted to confine him to one note  .  after gaining exposure  ,  graeme shared the screen with one of the biggest names in the american industry in a dramatic hit that led to some ridiculous fanmail being sent to him as a kid  ,  then excitedly landed a role in a revamped science fiction film he was stoked af abouy !!! unfortunately  ,  the film was met with an absolute brutal blowback from fans  ,  some of that hot  ,  petty anger taken out on graeme  ,  and at thirteen years old  ,  his parents made the decision for him to step back and focus on school  .   (  he still holds onto those spiteful letters------  all that hate from grown ass adults thrown at a child  ) 

      performing arts high school  ,  but graeme stayed away from the public stage for a bit  .  worked on some sets as a tech to get a better idea of the film making process  .  kept a low profile occasionally caught by curious paparazzi at a basketball court or baseball game  .  recognizable  ,  but not to the point where he couldn’t be seminormal  .  there were a few bumps in the road  ::  leaked photos of a beer at a high school party  ,  couple of fake friends sliding in for clout  ,  people pushing questions like when are you returning  ??  how does it feel to ruin one of the most important films of all time ???  shitty  .  but  ,  with the help of his parents  ,  friends and coaches  ,  graeme returned to student films to grow more comfortable in front of a camera  .  his official comeback was in the background of a friend's directorial debut  ,  a lady-love drama critics salivated over but failed to earn is’ nominations  .  still  ,  graeme’s name was back and out there  .  jumping headfirst into the thing that scares him  ,  graeme’s slated for teen flicks  ,  romantic dramas  ,  action films  .  a diverse portfolio  .  people love a comeback  .     ------as if there was something wrong with what he did before  .  

TLDR.  former international child star who took a break after experiencing a massive fan-driven backlash  .  pseudo retired  ,  did the performing arts school thing  .  popped back on the screen about a year ago and working his ass off since  .  early career inspiration : jake lloyd  ,  natalie portman  , yeo jingoo

* ☆ ·˚  current.

      suddenly  getting all this praise and earning cash  ,  living on his own in a sprawling city of work and sin  .   hasn’t stop busting his ass  ,  no  ,  but maybe he’s found outlets for all his stress in  . . . less than healthy outlets  .  some of the headlines are way off the mark  ,  some a little too close to home  .  either way  ,  it’s not something his parents or his management company are thrilled about  (  doesn’t he want to be taken seriously as an actor ,  they say  )  and he does  .  of course he does  .  but what else does he have to sacrifice to be taken seriously ?  and how serious does any twenty-something year old wanna get  ?

      late hours on dance floors  ,  strips of things he doesn’t know the name of on his tongue  ,  lips on any pretty   ,  wanting pair he can find  .  he’s young  ,  virile and at the top of his game  .  who can blame him  ?  it starts with a string of tabloid images  ,  a rumpled and sleepy-eyed graeme leaving apartments that aren’t his in clothes he was spotted in the night before  .  zoomed-in  ,  fan-cropped photos on twitter of hickeys and swollen mouths and unbuttoned shirts  .  america’s sweetheart  ?  maybe  ,  but clearly not around the clock  .  him  ,  scaling rails of hotels and dancing on top of cars  .  grabbing mics at clubs and taking over DJ boots at parties   .  twitter explodes when he moonwalks through the airport one time and baristas trend his insane coffee orders  .  

      and even though he’s got his own name --- and a variety of different spellings  ,  hashtags  ,  and whatevers --- blacklisted on social media  ,  every now and then he’ll run along a stream of grueling comments  ,  petty nitpicks about his performances  ,  his looks  ,  his voice  ,  his goddamn smile and it’s-----   it’s rough  ,  even for someone who grew up in that environment  .  there’s days where he’ll hole up in his apartment and refuse to see anyone  ,  refuse to leave  .  the guy in the interviews with the wide smile and sparkle eyes is so  ,  so far away and people almost forget that he’s human  ,  too  .  he pushes himself out of that mindset  ,  sometimes with help  ,  but it’s always a shadow on his back  ,  waiting to catch him at his weakest  .  

TLDR.  tabloids gossip about speculated hookups and strange behavior  .  potential alcohol abuse  .  pushback from management and parents  .  anxiety towards social media  .  current career inspiration : ansel elgort

* ☆ ·˚  tidbits.

      sporty as fuck —— basketball  ,  soccer  ,  skateboard  ,  swimming  ,  climbing  .  says he would’ve been an athlete if not for movies  .  fit as fuck despite a steady diet of ramen and pizza  .  claims to like horror movies the most  ,  but he’s a total schmaltz snob  .  can hold a pretty tune well enough to pass  .  has a private twitter account for the memes   ,  public accounts are all operated by a social media manager so he doesn’t have to read comments   .  watches college basketball championships religiously  .  has very strong opinions about scented candles  .  likes sugary drinks more than coffee but claims to be a connoisseur  .  loves biopics  .  punk and 2000s emo rock fan .  gets anxious easily  ,  suffers through interviews and avoids personal topics as best as he can  .  is rumored to be difficult to work with  ,  but keeps to himself on sets save for a few opinions about blocking  and lighting  .  pan as fuck and fairly open about it  .  mom and dad are chill  ,  but don’t understand much of anything past bi  .  they get on to him more for his diet and job  .   when not on the court or working  ,  spends free time rewatching anime in the safety of his bed in an threadbare pair of boxers  ,  eating Doritos by the fistful and leaving his manager on read  .

      even his underwear is black  .  occasionally, he’ll change it up with a screen printed vintage t-shirt and wears whatever kind of fancy thing his stylist squeezes him into  .  otherwise wears by a black or white t-shirt  ,  black pants and combat boots  .  seventy percent of his sneakers have sharpie drawings on them and he’s got a lot of holes in his ears and another in a place you’d be lucky  (  or unlucky  )  to see  .  loves dangy earrings and wearing his hair loose  ,  a bit long with a mild perm  .  silver on his wrists and friendship bracelets from yesteryear but no rings  .  tattooed up  !  recently collaborated to design a line of temporary tattoos  .  extensive collection of sunglasses  .  hit up a lot of music festivals in the past but that’s died down in recent months due to a busy schedule  .  swung his way into VIP passes before  .  he was a total Warped kid in the past  ,  no shame  .  no longer does fan conventions because of a negative experience a few years back  ,  and even fan meets are a little awkward  ,  but he manages to push through  .  can’t drive worth a damn but he’ll kick your ass at any arcade game  .  occasionally  ,  he’ll stream over twitch but that’s becoming less and less common  . was banned from several dave & busters before he made it back on the screen  .  moody as fuck  .

* ☆ ·˚  plots.

      so  .  bonds  .  there’s a best friend who may not have been there since the beginning  ,  but they’ve been there when it matters  .  the friendship is new  ,  fresh  ,  and maybe graeme shouldn’t be as dependent on it as he is  ,  but he can’t help it  .  clinging to them like crazy --- let’s hope it doesn’t fall to the wayside  .  (  ? / 1  )  there’s several of his idiot friends who  ,  after being stranded on too many red carpets  ,  a hundred hotel rooms  ,  and hours of press junkets  ,  have learned to survive by snapchatting each other random dares throughout the day  .  (  1 / unlimited  )  there’s a few childhood friends who  ,  like him  ,  grew up either in or close to the spotlight and they have this  ,  like  . . .  support group kind of situation  .  i don’t know  .  graeme checks on them from time to time  ,  even as they’ve grown apart  .  (   2 / unlimited  )  he’s got some partying buddies who may not have his best interest at heart --- who may or may not stop him when he’s slurred out and whining about twitter trolls .  some gaming partners he teams up with over stream  ,  but lately they’ve drifted apart  .

      it’s such a cliche that his management’s set him up for a fake dating situation  .  if graeme wants the dramatic  ,  serious roles  ,  then he needs to show he’s a mature and capable young man  .  how else to do that than jump headfirst into a few awkwardly orchestrated dates with another hotshot on the radar  ?  (  ? / 1  )  but they’re not serious  .  so  ,  he hasn’t stopped hooking up  ,  or thinking about a one night stand that totally rocked his world  .   (  ? / 5 )  and  (  ? / 1 )  media and fans definitely know about a few of these  .  the jury’s out for how they feel about it  .  then there’s his competition  ,  actors in the same demographic targeting the same roles  .  it’s a tough business and they know it  ,  but the press picks up on all these weird quotes and posts that twist shit into beefs  .  what other misunderstanding will cause the casket to blow  ?  (  ? / unlimited )  there’s some co stars on old and upcoming films  .  people who see how hard he works and how much effort he puts into what’s seen on the screen  .  they tough out hard days on set and the press circuits during promotion  .  see him at his worst and best  .  (  ? / unlimited )

[redhairdontcare732]

Fangs Fogarty X Jones! OC

Author’s Note: Slight backstory, Jean Jones is the twin sister of one Jughead Jones. Oh, I also don’t own any characters except for her, nor do I own any picture/media used!

Jean’s POV:

“Girl, you’re delusional. Everyone can see the way that you two pine for each other except for you two airheads”, Toni groaned. My other friends nodded vigorously in agreement from their various spots in the student lounge. Cheryl was perched next to Toni on the loveseat they shared, Betty on the opposite end of the couch I sat on, and Kevin in a chair nearest to my end of the couch.

“I am so beyond tired of this discussion. There’s nothing left to say TT, Fangs does not see me that way! I’m so over you guys ganging up on me about this”, I snapped back. Ever since the Southside students had been moved to Riverdale High I not only had to deal with Toni’s incessant meddling into my relationships (or lack thereof) with one Fangs Fogarty, but now Kevin, Cheryl, Betty, and all my other northside friends had hopped on the bandwagon. When Jug and I found ourselves at Southside High, I was immediately drawn to the Serpent gang and was accepted much faster than my dopey brother. I clicked with all the young Serpents, but instantly found myself falling for a certain tall, dark, and handsome Serpent. Fangs and I were definitely closer than myself and any of the other gang, but to my extreme disappointment I’d never felt like he viewed me as anything other than a friend. I mean, he was naturally a very flirty person, and I was a notorious cuddle bug so it was only natural that I would end up in his arms or lap more often than not. Honestly, I pretty much ended up in everyone’s lap at some point, evidenced by the way my legs were draped across Betty’s lap at this very moment.The way he acted around me was no different than with any of the other young serpents. According to everyone else, he was just as obvious as I was with his “feelings”, but I think that they all just saw what they wanted to see. Confiding in Toni about my feelings was turning out to be the biggest mistake I'd ever made.

Thankfully, I was saved from whatever snarky comment Cheryl was clearly thinking up by Jug, Fangs, and Sweet Pea walking into the lounge. My friends knew better than to say anything in front of the boys, but for good measure I shot them all a death glare. The guys all settled in, greeting everyone; Jughead perched himself on the arm of the sofa Betty and I shared, giving her a quick peck in way of greeting.  Sweet Pea sat on an empty chair near Toni and Cheryl (or as I called them, Choni), and Fangs took up the spot between Betty and I. I lifted my legs so that they were laying across the handsome boy’s lap instead, who responded by casually throwing an arm over my shoulder. Instinctively, I scooched in closer to him, finding comfort in his broad chest as his arm began to trace delicate circles on my bare shoulder.

“And how are my favorite people doing on this fine day?”, he asked, looking around at the group. I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the butterflies I felt bubbling up in my stomach at his gentle touch. I also avoided looking at any of my annoying friends; I didn't even have to look to know that they were giving me that stupid look. Everytime Fangs and I made any type of physical contact (which was often, given our personalities) they all sent the same smug look. It made me want to smack them. As if they knew everything about our friendship just because they were around. Please. Although, I found it difficult to be too angry when the guy I was secretly in love with was sitting so close to me and rubbing his fingers up and down my bare arm.

“Jean?”, I heard my twin speak up, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Mhm, yeah?”.

“I asked you if that's my flannel”, he stated simply, eyebrow raised. I looked down to the flannel I'd grabbed this morning and tried around my waist, and shrugged.

“Probably”, I replied, unfazed. Cheryl rolled her eyes.

“Classy”, she said teasingly as I felt the soothing vibrations of Fang's chuckle on my side.

“What? It was the closest shirt available. You guys know I don't do mornings”, I shot back good naturedly.

“Oh please, you wouldn't care what you wear regardless of the time of day”, Toni laughed. I giggled. It was true; I was notorious for my extensive collection of oversized t-shirts and ripped jeans, and I often could be found wearing my twin’s clothes (much to his annoyance). Today I was found in a pair of simple black leggings, a white oversized long-sleeved shirt, Jug’s flannel, and my favorite pair of old worn out converse hi-tops. I couldn’t care less about makeup, and my hair was thrown up in my usual messy bun with a bandana tied around my head in order to keep the mass of dark hair in place.

“It’s true Jean, I swear you couldn’t actually be bothered to pick clothes that were actually flattering if you tried”, Cheryl snottily replied with a strange spark in her eyes that I didn’t trust. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion.

“Uhm, ouch Cheryl. That was kind of harsh”, Betty chided as Kevin nodded.

“Yeah, I personally love her personal brand of comfort chic”, he defended. I smiled at him, reaching across the space and grabbing his hand to squeeze.

“Thank you Kevie!”. Cheryl rolled her eyes once more before checking on her nails.

“Well, all I’m saying is you have a banging body, and I wish that you would show it off more”, she soothed. “In fact, I’ll bet you $100 that you can’t dress like you actually care for one week”. My eyes widened in surprise.

“You Northsiders are freaking nuts”, Sweet Pea commented, shaking his head. Fangs nodded from beside me.

“Seriously Cheryl. A hundred bucks just for changing her clothes? Why can’t you just let Jean wear whatever she wants?”, he asked , tightening his arm around me. My heart fluttered and I felt my face flush a little.

“I just want to see what it would look like if you actually put in effort. Obviously you are gorgeous either way”, Cheryl replied, not bothered in the least. “Also I truly don’t think that you could actually rise to the challenge”.

“Oh I absolutely can. I just don’t want to”, I practically spat, crossing my arms. Jughead snorted.

“I beg to differ sister dear. You practically live in my clothes, and I’m the only one here who actually has to deal with your grumpy ass in the mornings. There is absolutely no way you could go an entire week without rolling out of bed and leaving like ten minutes later” he challenged.

“Okay, super not appreciating you hopping on the bandwagon traitor”, I grumbled. “Also I had to share a womb with your fat head for 9 months, I think you can deal with sharing your shirts”. I felt Fang’s arms encircle me from the side and I snuggled further into his embrace gratefully.

“Don’t worry mamita, I think you look great everyday”, he whispered into my ear. I shivered involuntarily at his pet name for me, hoping to God that he didn’t notice.

“Okay, say that I did decide to take you up on your ridiculous offer. What kind of terms are we talking about?”, I countered. In all reality, Jughead and I could really use the hundred bucks given Dad’s current situation. Everyone thought that we were doing fine, but without an actual income things were getting pretty tight around the Jones household. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud to anyone other than Jug. Cheryl crossed her legs and placed her now folded hands over one of her knees, looking more like a business shark than any highschool sophomore had any right to.

“The terms are this: You have to come to school everyday with clothes that are actually yours, no stealing from your brooding brother or one of the other guys. Clothes borrowed from any of us girls are acceptable. No sneakers, no combat boots, no oversized anything. You have to actually style your hair, and you have to actually wear makeup, including lipstick, everyday for one week”, Cheryl rattled off. My jaw dropped.

“Jesus Christ, how long have you been thinking about this? That is way too many rules!”, I exclaimed. Cheryl returned to examining her nails, unbothered.

“Oh, and at least one of the days you have to wear a skirt”, she added. I leaned down, elbows on my knees, and narrowed my eyes once more.

“If I’m gonna go to that much trouble, I expect at least $200”, I countered. Cheryl leaned back in her seat, slightly considering. Suddenly, she stood up and stuck her hand out to me. I too stood and met her halfway across the space.

“Deal”.

“I have to say, I think this entire this is stupid, but I am pretty stoked to see this whole thing play out”, Sweet Pea chuckled. I flipped him off, smiling sweetly. Jug rolled his eyes.

“Of course you are, you don’t have to live with her”, he complained. I frowned at the two.

“Does no one have faith in me?”, I questioned looking around the group, met with averted stares and awkward silence. “Oh you guys suck! I can so totally do this!”.

The next day:

Okay this deal was officially going to be the death of me. As much as I really wanted that $200,  sacrificing my precious sleep was not as easy as I had anticipated. I had to wake up a full hour earlier than I normally did, and there was no amount of coffee in the world that could counter such a travesty. Despite the fact that I felt like I was going to fall asleep at any moment, I couldn’t help but be proud of the outfit that I’d chosen as I shut down my bike and prepared to walk into school. After the terms were set for the bet I practically begged Toni to let me raid her closet, seeing as our styles were the closest out of all the girls. I loved Betty to death, but the girl’s clothes were a little too Leave to Beaver for my taste, a single piece of Veronica’s wardrobe cost more than my entire life so she was out, and there was no way I was going to Cheryl for help. To my slight surprise, I’d found plenty of outfits in TT's wardrobe however, my favorite of which I was wearing today.

My current ensemble consisted of a pair of my favorite pair of high waisted, ripped skinny jeans with a pair of fishnet tights underneath, a pair of black heeled booties, a black crop top, and a flannel (which was actually mine) tied around my waist for comfort. My waist-length raven locks were curled lightly, falling in waves around my face with half of my mass of hair tied up in a bun at the crown of my head. My makeup was pretty bomb if I do say so myself. I’d opted for a shade of burgundy eyeshadow that matched the  deep matte lip I’d found with a winged liner. Though on the outside I’m sure I looked confident, in all reality I was kind of freaking out at the prospect of what everyone would say today. Cheryl’s bet was so public I was certain I would be subjected to all kinds of taunting and opinions from my friends. Mentally, I steeled myself for whatever comments were sure to be directed towards my sudden wardrobe change.

For all my mental preparation, I could never have predicted the reaction from my friends as I entered Riverdale High, coffee in hand. Betty and Jughead smiled lightly from their position near our lockers, silently supporting me. Bless them. Cheryl and Toni shot me smug looks from where they stood, Cheryl even clapping lightly in potentially mocking support (it was always hard to tell with her). Archie looked confused as always, and Veronica and Kevin appeared to be nearly drooling at the stark difference in my fashion choices. But by far the most surprising reaction came from the Serpent’s youngest dynamic duo. Sweet Pea and Fangs looked downright shocked to see me this morning, jaws dropped practically to the floor. I felt my face heat up marginally at all the eyes on me, but I maintained my nonchalant facade as I strode over to my friend group.

“Morning everyone”, I mumbled, tired. I wandered over to Kevin, wrapping my arms around his tall frame and leaning my head on his chest, eyes closing. He immediately began rubbing my back comfortingly.

“Tired this morning are we Jeanie?”, I heard him laugh from the confines of his strong arms. I turned around in his arms and leaned my back against his chest, groaning dramatically.

“We might as well start an IV of straight espresso into my veins”, I complained.

“Alright, if no one's going to say it I will. Jean looks fucking hot”, Sweet Pea, exclaimed looking around at the group incredulously. I felt my face blush furiously, but I rolled my eyes in a futile attempt to hide it. Fangs elbowed his best friend hard while glaring at him.

“Eww dude, that's my sister”, Jughead moaned, scrunching his nose in disgust. Betty, in turn, slapped his arm and threw him a pointed look.

“Don't listen to these Neanderthals, Jean, you look beautiful as you always do”, Veronica intervened. “Doesn't she look beautiful Archie?”.

Poor Archie still looked as confused as ever, but he straightened up when Veronica not-so-subtly pinched the ginger boys bicep.

“Uhmm yeah Jean, you look beautiful as always. It's just uh, different you know?”, he stammered while rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I mean...it's just uhm..”. I'd known Archie as long as Jughead, and I knew that whenever he was feeling awkward (which was literally all the time) he rubbed his neck like that. Deciding to save him from himself, I interrupted his rambling.

“Yes Arch it is different, because a certain red-headed syrup heiress decided that if it's different enough it apparently is worth $200”, I said while smiling not so sweetly at Cheryl. “But honestly guys, it makes it pretty difficult to visualize my well-earned winnings with you staring like that. So can we please go back to our daily lives and leave my clothing choices out of it?”.

Sweet Pea opened his mouth to respond just as the first bell rang out through the halls. I smiled with victory as I held out my arm for Fangs so we could walk to our first period class together like we did every morning. Today though, he seemed out of it and took a few extra seconds before snapping out of whatever was holding his attention and linking his arm through mine. Seeing his dazed expression I frowned and asked,

“You okay Fogarty? You seem out of it”. He looked down at me and threw me that megawatt smile that caused my insides to melt and my legs to turn into jelly.

“I'm fine mamita. Now come on let's get to English”, he replied. He squeezed my forearm in reassurance, and we began our walk down the halls.

A few Days later: Day 6 of the bet.

“For the record, I've never thought you guys know what your talking about, but now I'm certain you're crazy. I mean he's barely even spoken to me all week for Chrissakes!”, I sighed exasperatedly. Once again my relationship with Fangs, or more accurately my lack thereof, was my irritating friends’ choice of conversation topic. Currently we sat in the lunchroom waiting for the other subject of this ridiculous discussion to arrive with his tall friend. I silently prayed that he would arrive soon and spare me from hearing any more of the gang's insane theories about his feelings.

“Please Jean, spare me the dramatic will-they-won't-they crap”, Veronica declared dramatically. “You're too smart for that, and besides Fangs hasn't taken his eyes off you all week”. I wrinkled my forehead in disagreement, ready to tell her exactly where she could stick her bougie New York opinions, but before I could open my mouth to speak Betty interrupted gently.

“Seriously Jean, he normally can't tear his eyes off you but in the last week it's like he's got them practically glued to your face”, she interjected. I shook my head; now I knew the girls were clinically insane. Normally Fangs and I hung out often, both in school and out, but for the last few days the raven-haired serpent had been notably absent from my side. I don't know what I did to piss him off, but I figured whatever it was that I should give him some space to work through it before confronting him. Not gonna lie though, I missed his goofy personality and stupid jokes. I hoped that whatever problem he had with me would sort itself out soon, because I was really starting to miss my best friend.

“Guys I'm seriously as over it as a person could possibly be with this discussion. For the last fucking time, just drop it”, I practically hissed. Never one to back down, Veronica opened her mouth to respond, but thankfully the boys came and sat down at our table before she could get anything out.

“Hey Jean, last day of torture. You excited to go back to dressing like a sloth again”, Sweet Pea teased as he took the open seat next to me and Fangs the seat across from me. Dishearteningly, I received only a simple nod from Fangs before he turned his attention to his lunch. Shaking off my extreme disappointment I shoved Pea lightly.

“Shut up Sweets, you're just jealous that I met you and got to know your real self before you knew how hot I was”, I taunted back grinning. He smirked back playfully.

“There's always time doll”, he joked and winked at me. I full on laughed at his stupidity, while Jughead walked up behind him and smacked the back of his head before taking the seat next to Betty.

“Man for the last time, quit saying shit like that about my sister. Especially during lunch, people are trying to eat”, he whined. I shot him a look and motioned to Betty.

“I'm on it”, she said before smacking him upside the head. I nodded in appreciation and Jughead glared at his girlfriend and I.

“First of all, you're a moron Jones. And secondly, your sister is hot so learn to deal with it. At least I'm kidding, she's been getting looks all week and I'm sure they aren't being all gentlemanly about their thoughts either”, Sweet Pea said plainly. I felt my face blush lightly at his comment. It was true, for the past week I'd gathered much more attention from guys than I was used to. I wasn't oblivious to the looks I'd received in the past few days, and truthfully I was more than ready to leave their wandering eyes behind when this whole thing was over. Today was particularly bad seemingly, and I was willing to bet anything that it had to do with the outfit I was wearing. It was the second to last day of the bet, and I begrudgingly decided to wear the skirt Cheryl had included in the rules. I wore a simple black pleated skirt, fishnet tights underneath, with a white v-necked white long sleeve shirt and a pair of Toni’s knee high heeled combat boots. I’d figured out on day 3 or so that Cheryl found my naturally wavy curls acceptable as long as I added some defining gel and made it look like I’d actually combed it, so today my waist length hair was all on full display. My makeup was similar to the rest of the days: winged dark eyeliner, minimal bronzer/highlighter, and a dark burgundy matte lip. I’d put this day off until nearly the end because I didn't have a single skirt in my wardrobe and had to borrow one from Toni. Problem was, I was significantly taller than the pink haired serpent, and the skirt rode up my thighs much more than hers. I subconsciously shifted in my seat to futilely attempt to pull my bottoms down a smidge. My attempt did not go unnoticed by Veronica's eagle eyes and she smirked my way.

“Calm down girl, your outfit is fine. Good lord you'd think you've never worn a skirt in your life”, she said with an air of exasperation. I flipped her off daintily, smiling innocently in her direction. Sweet Pea and Betty laughed, while Jug simply shook his head and took another gigantic bite of his burger.

“Well not that I'm not loving this debate over my appearance, but I'm gonna go. I've gotta meet up with Kevin to talk about our history project”, I stated, standing up to leave. As soon as I turned to leave I found my face jammed into a hard chest, causing me to stumble backwards a bit. I looked up to see the smug face of one Chuck Clayton looking down at me with a look like a cat that caught a canary.

“Hey there Jean, looking fine today. Loving the new look”, he practically purred, looking me up and down. I physically gagged in response. He had been one of the worst of all the guys that had suddenly taken notice to me this week.

“Fuck off Clayton”, I spat. I moved to push past him, but he blocked my path with his arm.

“Woah woah, no offense princess. Just wanted you to know how much we all appreciate the looks you've been serving this week”. His attempts at flirting were becoming more aggressive as the days went on. He was so pathetic; he would've never debased himself to speak to me before, so the fact that he was now so relentless in his pursuit of me was utterly disgusting to me.

“Screw off Chuck, she's not interested”, I heard Betty snarl from behind me. My friends were evidently feeling much like me. Sweet Pea had turned and stood next to me in a protective stance with his arms crossed, Betty and Jug looked as disgusted as I'm sure I did, and even Fangs had looked up from his lunch to glare menacingly at Chuck. My heart lurched at the darkness swirling in his normally chocolate brown eyes and the way his strong jaw was clenched tightly. It was nice to know he still cared, even with the unfortunate circumstances.

“What's the matter Cooper, finally realizing that you missed out on all this action?”, Chuck replied, unfazed.

“I think I heard my sister tell you to fuck off Clayton, I'd listen to her if I were you”, Jughead growled from across the table. Normally my twin preferred to let me fight my own battles, because let's be honest he wasn't exactly the tougher of the two of us, but I knew he was still not over the whole Chuck and Dark Betty fiasco from our birthday. I turned towards him to give him a reassuring look, but as I did I felt a hand creep up my skirt and cup my ass tightly.

Skin crawling, I whipped around and found Chuck's remorseless face looking at me with his lip caught between his teeth. I cocked my arm back to take a swing, but before my fist connected with Clayton's someone else beat me to the punch. Literally.

“DON'T FUCKING TOUCH HER”.

Fangs was all over Chuck, punching him repeatedly and screaming. Chuck was on the ground, Fangs on top of him, and the two rolled around hitting and shoving one another. I'd never seen Fangs like this before, he was almost scary in his intensity. Shocked, I stepped forward to try and break them up.

“FANGS, STOP! CHUCK GET OFF OF HIM”, I yelled helplessly. Sweet Pea grabbed my arms as I made a move to try and pry the two off of one another. He shook his head.

“No, let them go. This has been brewing for a long time”, he muttered. I gaped at the tall boy.

“No, are you kidding me?! He's gonna hurt him and they're going to get suspended!”, I shouted, struggling against Pea's vice grip. As I struggled, I saw Weatherbee enter the cafeteria, making a beeline for the two boys. I managed to wrangle my way out of Sweet Pea's hold and attempted to grab Chuck away from Fangs. As I got my hands on his arms, he reared his fist back and I felt all the breath rush out of my body when his elbow caught me in the stomach. Doubled over, I heard a number of voices swimming around me. Weatherbee's angry demands, Veronica and Betty's frightened voices, and Chuck's irritating excuses. But most of all, I heard a low, soft voice in my ear frantically trying to get my attention.

“Mamita, are you okay? Jeanie?”, Fangs soothing baritone hurriedly questioned. I leaned on his strong shoulder and his arm found my waist. I looked up to his gorgeous face and was immediately horrified to find that he had a large bruise blossoming under his right eye. His eyes were wild as they searched mine scanning for any signs of injury and he still hadn't fully caught his breath. In any other scenario I might have swooned at his fierce features. I brought my fingers gently to his cheek, eyes swimming with tears that I refused to let fall.

“Your eye…” , I murmured as he brought his hand up to grasp mine against his cheek, deep mocha eyes boring into mine. He looked as sad as I'd ever seen him and I felt my heart break nearly in two at the sight. The deeply distressed expression didn't belong on his normally cheerful, handsome face.

“Mamita..”, he softly began to reply.

“Clayton, Fogarty, Jones, my office. Now”, Weatherbee demanded while walking out of the cafeteria and down the hall. Steeling myself for whatever consequences were coming our way, I straightened up and grabbed Fangs hand as we followed Weatherbee. I internally hoped that he wouldn't pull away from me like he had for the past week; after all that just happened I don't know if I could deal with the total rejection of my best friend. I really needed him in my life most days just to make it through in this nightmarish town we called a home, but in this moment I needed him more than ever. Thankfully, Fangs seemed to be on the same page as me. His strong, rough hand gripped mine tightly, almost as if he were afraid if he let go I may disappear. I squeezed his hand in reassurance and nodded curtly as we found ourselves standing in front if the principal's office. Weatherbee motioned at Fangs.

“Alright Mr. Fogarty, you're first, step into my office”, he barked. Fangs squeezed my hand near painfully, and his other hand balled into a fist as he shook his head.

“No way I'm leaving her out here with that asshole”, he practically growled. I cast my eyes downward, heat rushing to my face. I was so worried about Fang's well being that I had nearly forgotten why he was even fighting with Chuck in the first place. Bile rose to my throat and my jaw clenched tightly as I remembered the feeling of his hands on my ass, and I whipped my head suddenly towards Chuck. Judging by the way he slightly recoiled, the disgust and anger I felt was apparent on my face. Fangs brought me back down to earth by rubbing gentle circles on my hand with his thumb. Weatherbee seemed to consider Fangs’ outburst for a moment before relenting.

“Very well. Ms. Jones, Mr. Fogarty, in my office please”, he sighed.

Once we were all settled in and seated, Weatherbee folded his long fingers together in front of himself and leaned forward on his desk.

“Well Mr. Fogarty, what do you have to say for yourself?”, he questioned. Fangs looked down at our still intertwined fingers for a brief moment before answering.

“Clayton was harassing Jean sir. I had to step in before anything else happened”, he stated carefully, his face becoming an emotionless mask.

“Harassing?”, Weatherbee repeated. “And you felt like the answer to that was violence?”.

As I listened to Fangs being lectured, I internally wondered if his nonchalant facade was the result of many interactions like this one with authority figures over the years. As I faintly heard Weatherbee and Fangs speak I felt a wave of sadness and guilt wash over me. Fangs was in this situation because of me and that stupid bet that I had made with Cheryl; I felt tears spring to my eyes at the realization that he would likely be in more trouble than either Chuck or I. Weatherbee wouldn’t care how he stood up for me, or how perverted Chuck was. All he was going to see was the jacket he wore and punish him based solely on that. My hands balled into fists, and I stood abruptly.

“Principal Weatherbee, none if this is on Fangs. Chuck grabbed me inappropriately, and basically assaulted me.  Honestly, if Fangs didn't step in I would have done much more damage to him. What he did was disgusting, and Fangs was just defending me against that pervert!”, I exclaimed loudly. “I hope Chuck gets expelled for what he did, but at the very least you should let Fangs go, because not one bit of this is his fault!”.

Fangs and Weatherbee looked at me, surprised by my sudden outburst. Fangs had an expression on his face that I couldn't quite place as he peered up at me from where he still sat. His tanned features displayed emotions something akin to amazement, and truthfully, if we weren't currently under interrogation from our school's principal I would probably have grabbed his gorgeous face and kissed him. Thankfully for me, we were in the presence of the man doling out punishments and I would be spared the awkwardness of explaining to my supposed best friend why I was aggressively making out with him.

“Is that true Mr. Fogarty? Did Mr. Clayton touch Ms. Jones inappropriately without her consent?”, Weatherbee asked. Fangs was still staring up at me with that beautiful look, not hearing a word Weatherbee said. I elbowed him lightly.

“Uhm yeah, basically that's what happened. But it wasn't Jean's fault sir. Clayton is the one who should be punished”, he said quickly after shaking his head like he was clearing his thoughts. Weatherbee leaned back in his seat as he looked as if he was actually. considering what we'd said. My heart raced as he rubbed his face in thought; I know our principal wasn't exactly perfect, but I hoped to every deity I could think of that he was smart enough to see what had truly happened. After what felt like an eternity, Weatherbee finally spoke up.

“While it's very… noble of you to defend Ms. Jones's honor, I'm sure you know that we don't condone violence here at Riverdale High”, he started while looking at Fangs. “I will punish Mr. Clayton accordingly for what he did, but you cannot expect me not to reprimand you for your role in what occurred either. So, Mr. Fogarty you will serve one week of after school detentions starting today”.

Fangs nodded, and I felt myself let out a breath I didn't know I was even holding.

“As for you Ms. Jones, I want to assure you that Mr. Clayton will be suspended for his actions. I encourage you to let me or another staff member know if anything like this happens again or if you feel in anyway unsafe here”, Weatherbee continued while turning his attention to me. “If Mr. Clayton continues this kind of behavior, I won't hesitate to get law enforcement involved”.

I nodded, thankful for Weatherbee's sudden outpouring of good judgement. He dismissed us from his office and Fangs and I walked quickly away and out to the halls. Once there, Fangs pulled me back by my hand, which I hadn't even realized he was holding until now. He gently brought his hands to my face and his deep brown eyes scanned my face once more.

“Mamita, are you sure you're fine? I mean, he didn't hurt you did he? I swear, I'll kill him if you're hurt”, he seethed. I brought my hands up to my face, covering his much larger ones.

“Fangs I'm fine, I swear”, I promised. I looked deeply into his darkened eyes, trying to convey my sincerity through my own eyes. He seemed to consider my words for an eternity before he sighed in relief and brought his forehead to rest on mine.

“Okay”, he murmured. Butterflies running rampant through my stomach, I allowed myself the briefest moment of contentment before I brought my hand sharply up to his arm and slapped him. Hard.

“Ow. Jean what the hell?”, he whined rubbing his arm slightly. I glowered at him.

“Why on Earth would you do that Fangs? I could've handled Chuck just fine on my own, but no you had to go ahead and put yourself at risk. You know Weatherbee already hates the Serpents! You could've ended up being kicked out!”, I raged, glaring at the handsome teen in front of me. He frowned.

“Oh so what I'm just supposed to let him get away with groping you? Fuck that Jean, that asshole got what he deserved. Actually, you know what, no he didn't because I should have been kicking his ass long before today”, he practically growled. “All week I've had to put up with his disgusting, repulsive comments about you and your body and I'm honestly not a bit sorry for what happened today. In fact, I wish Weatherbee would've shown up just a few minutes later so I could've gotten a few more swings in”.

“Who the hell cares what Chuck thinks? Everyone knows he's a pig!”, I spat back.

“I care! Okay? I do”, he seethed. “No one should be able to look at you like that, let alone make comments. Everyone knows that you're….”

He cut himself off abruptly, shaking his head and I raised my eyebrow.

“Everyone knows what Fangs? I mean I'm just as pissed at Chuck, but  Sweets said that his has been ‘brewing for a long time'”, I said placing quotes in the air for emphasis. “I don't see what the big problem is!”. He huffed.

“The problem is that these stupid northsiders can't take a fucking hint. The problem is that I should be the only one who gets to look at you like that. The problem is that you're to god-damned hot for your own good, and I can't stand that everyone now suddenly sees you for the beautiful bombshell that you are before I…”.

My heart hammered against my chest like thunder as I took in his every word searching for answers. During his little rant Fangs had walked closer and closer to where I stood with my back against the lockers. Never one to back down, I stood firmly in place while I anxiously wondered if he could possibly mean what it sounded like.

“Before you what?”, I questioned breathlessly.  His eyes widened, and he looked almost scared. It was like he hadn't intended for that last part to come out of his mouth, and he was desperately trying to find a way to shove the words back in. “Fangs?”.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot and hung his head down before muttering something I couldn't quite hear. I raised an eyebrow once more, utterly confused.

“What? I couldn't hear anything you just said”, I murmured. Fangs looked up at me with a heartbroken expression that left me reeling with the desire to comfort the normally upbeat serpent. He sighed and looked away before answering again in a slightly louder voice.

“Before I could figure out how to make you mine”, he said finally. I felt my stomach drop to my feet as I stood still as a statue trying to process what I was hearing. “I've been trying for months, racking my brain for anything that would give a dipshit like me a chance with a girl as badass, smart, funny, and completely fucking gorgeous as you, and I've come up short every time. Ever since you walked into the cafeteria at Southside High, I've been waiting for the right moment to confess how I feel to you, but I always end up chickening out. And then this whole bet fiasco started, and suddenly every guy could see what I've seen since day one: that you, Jean Marie Jones, are the single most beautiful girl in Riverdale. I couldn't take it and I'm so sorry that you found out this way and I'll completely understand if you don't want to speak to me ever again but please just…”.

By the end he was rambling, fumbling for words and tripping all over them trying to find a way to apologize. My heart lurched at the possibility that even after all of the events of today, and pretty much everyday since we met, everything would suddenly be lost if I let him continue. I felt more emboldened than I ever had, and I did the one thing I could think of to stop his rambling before he took back anything he said. A rush of confidence overtook me. Hands shaking slightly, I grabbed the sides of his face and pulled him into me, lips brushing together for the briefest of moments before I tore myself away.

My eyes were closed as I leaned backwards and I felt a rush of fear overwhelm me. What if I had completely misjudged the situation? What if he didn't want me that way? Oh God, what if I'd made the biggest mistake of my life and our friendship was ruined forever? I didn't have much time to worry however, because soon I heard Fangs breathe my name and I felt the sweetest sensation in the entire world.

Fangs smooth, strong lips were back on mine as he pressed me back into the row of lockers and kissed me with an intensity like I'd never felt before. I felt sparks of electricity in each spot where our bodies met, and I found my hands grasping at his strong, chiseled jawline as my lips furiously locked with his. I poured all the emotions that have been building ever since I met the handsome, sweet boy into our embrace. His hands roamed my hips and squeezed my body deliciously. I tugged at his thick, raven locks and he moaned into my mouth, causing my entire body to feel like it was on fire. His big hands gripped my waist tightly as his tongue teased the entrance of my mouth, begging for the entrance that I readily granted. Our tongues battled for dominance as our hands roamed each other's body, exploring the places that only our eyes were privy to before.

Though I felt like I could go on kissing Fangs forever and never tire of it, eventually oxygen did become an issue and I had to pull away from our heated session. Fangs appeared to be on the same page as me, and our foreheads met in the middle to lean against one another for support. I sighed in complete bliss, smiling as I caught my breath. I finally ventured a look to the beautiful man in front of me, and was elated to find that his face was a mask of utter peace. I'd thought his strong features were handsome before, but now I decided that there was nothing more stunning than the look he now wore. Gone was the tough, brooding serpent facade he put on for others, and gone too was the goofy, happy-go-lucky guy that I'd fallen for these past months. Fangs looked wholly, dare I say, happy. His deep brown eyes were alight with sparks of joy, his rugged jawline was relaxed, his plump lips still slightly red and swollen from our previous activities, and his sweet smile was one I'd never been blessed enough to see before. I vowed right then and there to do everything in my power to make him look this way as often as possible.

“So does this mean I get to say you're mine now?”, I questioned gently, a small part of me still fearful of rejection. Fangs chuckled breathlessly before placing a tender kiss to my forehead, and pulling me into a crushing hug. I settled against his broad chest as my heart crashed in anticipation, awaiting for his response.

“Mamita I have been yours since the day we met”, he murmured fondly into my hair. I sighed in relief, but pulled back after a few moments to look up into his eyes.

“So you think I'm the hottest girl in Riverdale?”, I questioned teasingly. His face flushed slightly at my words, but his eyes never wavered from mine.

“Mamita I think you are so much more than that. You're the kindest, smartest, funniest, and most genuine woman I've ever met. And yeah you're hot, but you're also the most gorgeous girl that I've ever laid eyes on”, he confessed softly. I felt my knees go weak and my stomach erupt in butterflies. Slightly embarrassed, I cast my heated cheeks downward in an attempt to conceal my blushing face. Fangs was having none of that, hooking gentle fingers under my chin to bring my face up to meet his loving gaze.

“That's part of why it was so hard for me not to kill all the asshole guys that were making comments about you this past week. I had to avoid you because there was no way I was going to be able to handle all the looks and whispers sent your way”, he continued. “The idea that they could trivialize all your worth and make it all about the way your ass looks in your new clothes or the way your chest was out on display was infuriating. You're worth so much more than your body, no matter how fucking sexy it is. And believe me mamita, I think you're really, really God-damned hot”.

“How did I get so lucky to find a guy as perfect as you?”, I pondered softly. I pecked his lips once more as a silent appreciation for his beautiful words.

“Please, I'm the lucky one Jeanie”, he replied quietly. I rolled my eyes.

“I can't believe this all started because of one of Topaz's freaking skirts. Maybe I should start dressing like this more often”,  I joked semi-seriously. Now it was Fangs’ turn to roll his eyes. He placed an arm around my shoulder and we began walking down the hall towards our bikes.

“Mamita, I think you're hot no matter what clothes you choose. As long as these other guys get the message that they can look but not touch, I couldn't care less what you wear”, he stated confidently. “Although…”

He leaned down to speak to me closely, lips teasing the shell of my ear and making me shiver.

“... I wouldn't mind if you saved that skirt for just the two of us. After all, that damned skirt is the one that finally got me my dream girl”.

[statemant]

SUNDAY STATEMANTS - NO 1

This post is a solution that I have reached few days ago – due to having almost no time to create posts daily (while I really want to share my option), I thought of making one (longer) post on every Sunday (which I have mostly free – except fashion months) and combine everything that happened in Menswear during the past week – let’s see how It works out. So,

What would be the better start for the new format than Paris Men’s Fashion Week, that has just recently finished (on Sunday according to official FHCM schedule but actually on Monday with JACQUEMUS show).

FACTS

Runway Shows: 60 (according to official schedule)

Presentations: 27 (according to offial schedule)

Total Looks: Around 3500

Yes, when you combine the numbers, there’re fascinating results – there were around 3500 looks offered – just for Men, just in Paris – that is around 12000 pieces of clothing, 3500 pairs of shoes, around 2000 accessories – a lot! Especially considering the fact that few brands produce very identical outfits (in terms of fabrics, styling, vibes) and there’s a rapidly rising competition at Men’s fashion market. Thanks god Paris is the most diversified of them all and I could name like like only 7-8 brands that does not really fit in the schedule (compared to other 50 brands) – either they look similar, or I don’t get them (my problem?).

PALOMO SPAIN   (18 June, 11:00)

The SS 2020 (that already sounds quite major itself) has started on Tuesday, 18th June, 11:00 AM with Palomo Spain (who returned in Paris after previous season’s try in NY) with some beautiful dresses – yes, you read it correctly. Designer thinks that none of the specific garments are made exclusilvey for any gender and that he sees many boys that could rock those chiffon garments – a significant part of the collection that was inspired by Pompeii.

BODE  (18 June, 12:00)

Emily Adams Bode has just recently won CFDA Award (Emerging Designer of the Year) and there she was at 12:00 AM (straight after Palomo) in Paris, sending the collection that was inspired by her family’s history as wagonmakers for Circus in the early 1900s. She literally looked at the outfits from century ago and re-made them to keep appropriate with time.

AMI   (18 June, 20:00)

My favorite Parisian house is becoming bigger and bigger every season (and it little bit worries me to be honest, strange no? Here’s why: what I always loved about AMI is that it’s one-off menswear-only brands that produces timeless men’s clothes in a very affordable prices (and in a perfect quality), everything in the collections always feels modern (with bit of a twist), the styling is always impeccable with unexpected colors combined together BUT! I kind of missed this in the latest collection, shown at Grand Palais, it felt little bit too dark and serious (especially for Summer collection), I’ve missed color and the sense of freshness. I did like what was shown, there is a lot I would wear myself (especially now when Black has become favorite of mine) but I kind of think I could find many of those pieces at other rival brands, I understand that now brand established itself and it just becomes matter of brand loyality, when you decide where to buy regular black trench coat - that’s where AMI is headed now I guess.

ACNE STUDIOS   (19 June, 15:30) 

With Ambition to Create Novel Expressions, Jonny Johansson (brand founder) presented the collection that felt little bit weird for me (a huge brand fan tbh). I totally loved the opening with beige shirt, styled with yellow scarf, but then I did not quite get printed cycling shorts, or lace insets, or pvc details (and bit more, tbh). It was kind of everything but kind of nothing notable (Luke Leith from Vogue Runway agrees), and I felt disappointed, especially after few very, very strong seasons and increasing fame (after so many years on the market). At least, some great blazers were there (thank god!).

J.W. ANDERSON   (19 June, 13:00) 

It’s a second time for Jonathan in Paris, after moving his namesake label from London (that probably made his 2 out of 3 famed iPhones busier than before). As one of the pioneers who pushed gender-fluid shapes since the very beginning of the career, designer has put signature pieces on the runway - including dresses worn by male models. Blazers and coats had wide shoulder extensions and pants included giant fringe insets. Some of the looks could be well-fitted at his Loewe (the show was day after this in the calendar) but this still feels ”harder” and more personal.

Y/PROJECT   (19th June, 14:30)

Y/Project shows feel like a hard mathematical induction, you need a time to realize the logic behind and “solve” it, or maybe you don’t. Glenn Martens once again proved that there’s no stopping of him and he is cementing the brand aesthetic with gigantic steps every single season. For SS 20 (after showing previous Menswear at Pitti) distortion and asymmetric proportions became even more solid and serious. How can you not love the incredible outerwear, tailored blazers, knitwear and jaw-dropping denim pants – each of them proving that you can combine ugly and beautiful in a very smart way. One could analyze every single look in details, but I bet it would take a lots and lots and lots of time. Additional drama was brought by Bizet's "L'amour Est un Oiseau Rebelle" in one of the Parisian churches. It’s clear that brand’s approach to clothes are not welcomed just by fashion insiders or avid trend followers anymore, it’s just for everyone who love “smart”, fashion-forward and beautiful outfits (even if most of them are everything but classic understanding of beauty). There’s always a surprise cut or detail hidden in most of the Y/Project pieces, once you buy the garment, you get the freedom and possibility to wear it on your own way – I’ve seen myself three men wearing same Y/Project pieces in a completely different way in a same day.

VALENTINO  (19 June, 17:30) 

Pierpaolo Piccioli is keeping the youthful attitude with the insertion of loud graphic prints (this time deisgned by Roger Dean) at Valentino Men’s collections (continued from previous season’s UNDERCOVER collaboration) while keeping brand staple shapes and cuts and not following any of the ongoing trends as much, even the VLTN logo was gone this time (which makes me very happy), replaced with single vintage V sign. The signature camouflage sneaker (my first ever most expensive fashion purchase back in 2012) got upgrade shown alongside with new shapes. Long live Mr. Pierpaolo!

RAF SIMONS   (19 June, 21:00)

Raf Simons clearly is not done with America. After leaving CALVIN KLEIN (end of 2018), it’s his second outing in Paris and I think he used this time to digest everything then to express all in his latest collection. It was very Raf, I feel like he was just being honest putting his feelings and thoughts as motifs (likes of: STONED AMERICA, etc) and showing that he was disappointed with America.

LOUIS VUITTON   (20 June, 14:30)

Virgil Abloh has invited guests at Place Dauphine (Remember Carrie Bradshow walking there in SATC) and offered LV branded wooden green benches, crepes and ice creams, alongside with the beautiful collection. It was clear – Virgil has settled at the house in a year, already has several signature shapes (and lots of accessories) and as he mentioned he just (or “just”) wants to present collections that will be consistent, will help more men express themselves (and he has a huge fandom in that area) and he won’t push the exact specific inspirations (remember Michael Jackson case from previous season?). Show featured some mind-blowing floral pieces (in a form of signature harness, hat and various embroidery) modern tailoring (note: the colors), lots of mixtures of work wear with formal wear and many, many bags (some really hardcore shapes). Originally, show was planned around Notre Dame, but it had to be changed due to the recent fire (although the cathedral was still present as a motif on some of the pieces). In a few words – there’s no stopping for Virgil Abloh and his “work”.

DRIES VAN NOTEN   (20 June, 16:30)

I can never describe my exact feelings about Dries. It means and express so much of everything for me. I just let clothes speak themselves – out of this world beauty, that is all things modern, masculine, sexy, sensual, rebellious, stylish - just b e a u t I f u l. Sometimes I cried…

VETEMENTS   (20 June, 20:00)

I, myself predicted year ago that Vetements could go to McDonald’s one day - and it actually happened today. Guests went to Champs-Elysees branch of the restaurant (biggest one in Paris) to see the show that did not really shock anyone but I guess still brought the excitement to them. Show featured all things Capitalism and more - re-worked famous logos (Likes of Heineken, Vodafone, Internet Explorer to name a few), police-branded bombers, signature flower prints and awkward quotes - everything VETEMENTS has became known For. After previous season’s dark extravaganza (my least favorite show of the brand), they kind of got back to the roots and put everyone’s favorite parody and sarcasm backed pieces. Does it felt new? Ofc No, but still you do not get the fashion show at McDonald’s everyday (or at all) and condom as an invitation, so the mission that means making fashion more fun and sarcastic (but still sell it expensive) was again completed. One of the most interesting quotes that Demna Gvasalia has mentioned to Sarah Mower_ is that he always wanted to have his own celebration at McDonalds since 1997, when McD has opened in Tbilisi, Georgia (and I also remember that very day like it was yesterday, how happy I was to hold Happy Meal menu in my hands there) but he could complete it oy now, in Paris. I can’t stop loving the Gvasalias, for making my country on an international map by showcasing its darkest secrets to everyone!

BERLUTI   (21 June, 13:00)

It’s Kris Van Assche’s 2nd runway show at Berluti and we kind of see where he is going - positioning brand as impeccable (quality-wise) tailor-maker with an youthful, modern touch (mostly expressed in vibrant colors of formal clothing alongside with layered styling). Featuring older models on the runway is a message that Berluti does not forget about mature customers but wants them to look modern. Despite the very strong comptetition in this particular niche (Dior Men's and Louis Vuitton Men's in the same holding as Berluti, LVMH), there's always a need for a good (and fashion-forward) tailoring.

JIL SANDER   (21 June, 15:00)

If you thought Jil Sander could not get more sensitive and delicate, here you go with latest collection, as designers Lucie and Luke Meiers (wife and husband) mentioned in an interview with Alex Badia, they are showing their vision of tailoring, how they feel about the it and offering new ways of wearing it and it just feels right! I kind of feel the duo’s takeover at Jil Sander is still underrated and they are actual creators of the modern but absolutely timeless fashion!

SSS WORLD COPR   (20 June, 11:00)

t’s a daddies world! Justin O’Shea keeps the dandy aesthetic and crazy prints on top of his brand, always showcasing at the fanciest locations of Paris - this time at Ritz, casting some really hot models who are actually various sport (boxing among them) athletes and maybe thats why all the extravagant prints felt more real and wearable than before. And I bet many of you saw the O’Shea serving the guests himself by champagne at the start and taking the bow while he was riding a bike - very casual, indeed.

DIOR MENS   (21 June, 18:00)

Mr. Kim Jones was man of the hour (or the season) once again. He killed it 3rd time. With his couture-approach to the Men’s clothing (with continuous revisiting Dior’s women archives, especially Haute Couture alongside with John Galliano creations) and collaboratiosn with the hottest creative minds of the moment, Jones is just writing down history of modern menswear. This time it was Daniel Arsham, whom Kim contacted year ago with a request and to put his unique approach to the Dior pieces. Known formanipulating and reinterpreting existing materials and structures, Arsham has clearly engaged with Dior aesthetics and we have got some really extreme accessories (with Yoon Ambush included in the work). Appears, it’s not first time for Arsham working for Dior – back in 2005, Hedi Slimane commissioned him to design Dior’ Homme’s LA flagship. Wll, I just think of time, when they let Kim Jones take over entire Dior house (with rumors on Maria Grazia heading to Fendi after SS 20 show).

GmbH   (21st June, 19:00)

Did you notice the evil eye? Hard not to! Serhat Isik and Benjamin Huseby literally decided to ”protect” models (and then customers) from the misfortune but making it look fashionable and wearable. Featuring the usual diverse and exotic casting, GmBH presented their best to date (imo) collection at the National Institute of Young Deaf People in Paris. It was all things GmbH does the best - tailoring mixed with sportswear paired with both formal and Asics collaboration shoes - and everything being as vegan as possible. Designer duo rapidly took the spot for one of the most anticipated shows at PFW and with every season they are showing a very logical development in all areas. They’ve easily made some of their signatures well-recognisable: would this be a double-zipper denim or their logo-branded pieces and now the broader introduction of accessories, they will surely strengthen their space in buyers order sheets and customers wallets - and the strange magical effect of the ”evil eye” should actually play the significant role.

SIES MARJAN   (22 June, 13:00)

Sander Lak is the latest designer to move from NY to Paris (a step that has not been effective for Proenza or Rodarte, but still works for Altuzarra) and take Opera Bastille as a location for its debut Parisian show. Starting from knitted jampsuit (season’s trend) continued with beautiful segment of beiges (denim and cotton) and colorful crocodile-effect faux leather outwear, show also included variations on zebra print. Most of the pieces felt quite gender-fluid - all the pieces that were worn by male models could be well put on 6 females that also walked the show. Except SS 2020, show also featured Fall 2019 capsule pieces that will be available for purchase now. It all felt very modern and easily wearable - everything we all need now.

OFFICINE GENERALE   (23 June, 10:00)

Peter Maheo always serves us with delightful Sunday morning breakfasts in Paris – no, there are no croissants or chocola-chauds, but some really chic Men’s clothes. I could spend entire Spring wearing the show’s opening look (mint tailored duo), or the second look, and third, and all of the 45 others. I love how Officine Generale has kept it consistent and doe not tries hard to present gimmicks that you can never wear – I just want them all!

LANVIN   (23 June, 11:00)

After all the past year’s shake-overs at LANVIN , it seems that brand is on the way to settle and reboots itself with a fresh new page. Will this become a successful book tome? Only time will tell, but the foreword looks promising. It was a first Men’s show for house’s new creative director, Bruno Sialelli (who went from Loewe) and what he presented to audience made everyone think about only one thing – holidays! Staged around one of Parisian public pools, the show featured everything (and more) you associate with holidays – nautical stripes, bucket hats, sailor collars and even sleeping bags – white and blue shades dominated. LANVIN men now also wears printed sequin dress, azur intarsia knit jacket on a naked body and lots of baggy jumpsuits – and it all feels very young and naïve.

ALYX   (23 June, 19:00)

Can we call it the coolest show of the season? It just amazes me how Matthew Williams managed to put the brand on top of the current fashion industry in such a short time. I guess the quality that you can feel all around the brand and a dedication that Matthew and her wife Jennifer Williams (who walked the show actually) put in their brand (they have moved from NY to Ferrara, Italy to oversee brand’s production in the local factories). The collection featured sharp and sophisticated shapes. Started with classy suits and quite sexy (women’s especially) looks, show continued with signature streetwear vibe, but it also felt very, very sophisticated and elegant (and that’s not wrong for streetwear, at all), outerwear was to die for - crocodile effect rubber-like coat just nailed it!

CELINE   (23 June, 20:00)

With the second standalone Men’s show under the label, Hedi Slimane has presented “nostalgia for things I probably have never known” (read embroidery on a tote bag). It was classic Hedi (and it’s now a definition of particular style, not a single designer aesthetic), classic 70’s but felt still modern for me (and many argue on that). There’s clearly a huge market for what he is doing and with Saint Laurent making shifts to detach itself from Hedi (and CELINE as a brand), sales should be heading to the desired peak (LVMH plans to double brand sales with the help of Hedi in a short time).

JACQUEMUS   (24 June, 17:00)

Do we need to say anything more on this show?

- - -

it was a season of SS 2019 (in June 2018) that made a huge breakthrough in Menswear – that was when Kim Jones and Virgil Abloh both had a debut seasons at Dior and Louis Vuitton and when Raf Simons returned to Paris – the craze that you could feel in Paris those days was insane, that was when everyone agreed that Menswear has its notable importance and it’s only gonna rise with every new season – with SS 2020 being fantastic continuation for that.

Oh and almost every designer mentioned how they are trying to be more sustainable, nature-friendly, gluten-free, etc…

[sandyyy0708-blog]

find a confidence rise in the particular footwear church aisle

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[shorthaircutsmodels]

Katy Perry's Short Haircuts and Hairstyles - 25+ - https://shorthaircutsmodels.com/katy-perrys-short-haircuts-and-hairstyles/ - Katy Perry's Short Haircuts and Hairstyles, While her natural hair color was actually light blonde / brown, this darker hue was her signature. As her pink hair color faded, Katy opted for a pretty pastel color fashioned with chunky pink highlights. She also styled her hair into a sleek, jaw-grazing bob for a fresh, modern look. It's hard to imagine a time when she wasn't a household name, but today she wasn't the Katy Perry we always knew and loved. Her great fame today is from her early beginning as a gospel singer, Katy Perry is the Queen of transformation. And she's no stranger to hair transformations, either. Katy Perry's Short Haircuts and Hairstyles Katy Perry's Short Haircuts, has made incredibly bold, bold and adventurous hair choices over the years. He shook every style and colour known to the man, changing his hair not only every year but occasionally in a few days. Join us on Katy Perry's best haircut, styles and colors tour. Tails. Targets. 25 on Nickelodeon. Katy Perry's Short Haircuts At the annual Children's Choice Awards, Katy made all our unicorn dreams come true in a long purple and blue tinted high ponytail. While this is a hair extension job (because who can grow their bobs into a Rapunzel-esque Mane so quickly?.) this hairstyle was completely made for her. Katy Perry's Short Hairstyles Katy Perry's Short Hairstyles, has been on a roll with the beauty recently. We're talking about Katy Perry short haircut 2020 here. Katheryn Elizabeth Hudson, known as Katty Perry worldwide, is a professional American singer. He was part of the television judge and also performed with songwriting. Katy Perry's Short Hair He started in music since childhood and continued his career in gospel music. He rose to prominence on the Billboard Hot 100 after the songs “ I Kissed A Girl” and “Hot n Cold". Katy Perry's Haircuts Katy Perry's Short Hair, We're not saying this is a byproduct of her recent change in relationship status, but there's nothing like an update after a major life change and she's recently having a field day with her hair. Of course, Perry has always been down to trying out hair color, but this change has been more dramatic than usual. She first switched to the platinum blonde color of our dreams in February. Katy Perry's Hairstyles Katy Perry's Haircuts, Then in March, the famous Chris McMillan. Known for his short haircuts and in 2021 he directed Miley Cyrus ' Pixie. Took everyone's hairstylist lob to a pixie-not just any pixie. Katy Perry hair now She's a fairy with a bottom cut inspired by Michelle Williams iconic cut, but buzzing on either side of her head in typical Katy Perry fashion. It doesn't get much sharper than that - and that's a lot of change in a very short period of time. Bon Appetit! Katy Perry's Hair History Katy Perry's Hairstyles, Obvi. But it also goes beyond that for Perry, who says her cut has also helped her free herself in other ways. "Now I feel so free with this hair. Overall, anywhere you feel 360 degrees free. Political, mental, spiritual, sexual. I feel liberated from everything that doesn't serve me."It's no surprise, say hair experts. Katy Perry hairstyle american idol Katy Perry's Short Haircuts and Hairstyles, Because what's in your head can reflect what's inside you. "Cutting hair is a way of saying you're changing your lifestyle or signaling a transition, moving forward and embracing new beginnings. Katy Perry hair color Many people use long hair as a security blanket, but they think women can look more feminine with a shorter cut. While most face shapes can take out short hairstyles, the key is finding the right balance to best accentuate your features. Katy Perry | Short hair styles, Short hair styles pixie Use the belt of your eyebrows as a guide, keep this top section the longest and then keep it shorter on the sides, " Vernon François, celebrity hairdresser and founder of the Vernon François collection tells Allure. We had to take a double shot while looking at Katy Perry's latest Instagram as the singer gave us big Miley Cyrus vibes. Katy Perry Haircut Styles: Short, Blue Blonde & More Miley shocked everyone by dyed her hair platinum and giving up her long locks for a super short cut, before shocking the world with her wardrobe and bawdy performances. Katy, who recently changed her. Look by sporting a set of wigs, decided to go baby yellow. Katy Perry natural hair color Katy Perry's Short Haircuts and Hairstyles, Coincidentally, celebrity stylist Chris McMillan, the same man who cut. As for colour, Katy thanked celebrity colourist and dpHUE creative director Justin Anderson and colourist Melinda Miller-rider for taking her. Katy Perry brown hair Typically brunette locks to the lightest possible level. Katy documented the process in her Instagram story, showing her dog, Butters, grabbing a hold of pieces of chopped hair and finishing with a photo of Michelle Williams, who she said she was inspired by. Katy Perry hairstyles 2020 - 2021 Take a look at the messages of the process and try to tell us you're not surprised at how much Katy and Miley look like each other. View yourself with Katy Perry hairstyles. We also provide easy "how to style" by reporting tips on which hair can match face shape, hair texture and hair density. Katy Perry Looks Totally Different With Her New Long Hair The snow white look is very different to me because it's a very short bob, but we were inspired by The Art Deco era-a bit flapper-y, a bit of the 1940s. I love Bob with my nails and the little curls around him. I think it's a bold look for me. Katy Perry hair colour But I've actually done a fairy cut before. I had a black fairy when I was 17, so I felt like I was reliving that part of my life. It's really cute. I probably would have worn that look again, but I wouldn't have done it for long.In "adult explosions genre," Katy Perry always worked. Crazy Katy Perry Hairstyles You Need To Check Out! Hairstyle-from raven curls to bubbly blondes to bubble gum pink. She fiddles with her hair, from super short haircuts to different hair colors. She's also rocked some amazing make-up and beauty looks and sported swanky piercings, too. But, has his recent buzz trimmed his daring look yet? We'll let you decide. Katy Perry's Short Hair and Flawless Style! Do you need to shake your hairstyle and a great inspo from one of the most versatile beauty icons in pop this season? Choose your favorite style from the book to look at. Katy Perry new hair It below From her long Princess locks to her fairy cut, singer Katy Perry put great effort into her hairstyles. Her much-hyped new cropped look remains the talk of Tinseltown. Katy Perry haircut short Katy admitted in an emotional interview with the therapist at Viceland that her decision was also about connecting with her true self, Katheryn Hudson. (Those who know will whisper in your ear that Kathryn Hudson is Katy's real name. Katy Perry hair Katy Perry. He is one of the biggest names in Pop music and dominates the charts all over the world. And the girl knows how to keep us on our toes-especially in the beauty department. Katy Perry Says Her Short Hair Makes Her Feel Katy Perry is known for her quirky. Fashion sense apart from being a great singer. The experience was with her clothes but also her hair and haircut. She was recently seen rocking some short waves. Before which she made heads turn in a fairy cut. Here are some of the good short-haired looks sported by Katy Perry. Katy Perry's Hairstyles & Hair Colors No doubt she's a Queen of hair transformation and forever gives us a flogging situation with her always brave new ' dos. In the past she has been rocked by black, pink, blue, purple, grey, platinum blonde and every hair color you can think of. Katy Perry hair american idol Friday Instagram to share a photo of herself rocking a new, long blonde bob with beach waves, as she literally did it all, Perry took to Instagram on Friday to share a photo of herself rocking a new, long blonde bob with beach waves. Katy Perry haircut american idol Celebrity hairdresser Chris Appleton, who is in charge of the new look, stands behind him in the photo, his hands still in the Masterpiece. Refinery29 reached out to Appleton's representative for comment, but did not respond at press time. Katy Perry haircuts 2020 - 2021 It doesn't matter how famous you are — if you change your hair dramatically, everyone wants to know why — and the same is true of celebrities. When OU returns, the reason behind Katy Perry's pixie cut is actually quite. Katy Perry black hair Interesting and goes beyond an image update. Perry debuted glamorous, sideswept looks in March that took her normally long, wavy locks and glacial blonde into a dark, asymmetrical wave. Katy Perry Hairstyles, Hair Cuts and Colors Katy Perry's Short Haircuts and Hairstyles, Almost immediately, the internet lit up with some people claiming that Perry was trying to copy Miley Cyrus ' look from 2020. Then, on April 20, for national analogy day. Katy Perry's Short Hair Cut Katy Perry's Short Haircuts and Hairstyles, Because there's nothing more refreshing than a celebrity who knows how to mix it. To celebrate the hair chameleon that is Katy Perry, let's take a trip down memory lane and collect the best (and most remarkable) haircuts, hairstyles and hair colors over the years. Katy Perry Short Hair: Blonde Pixie Crop Look how small it is. Fresh-faced and bright-eyed, the former Katy wore her jet-black hair in a shaggy, loose style, because that's how you roll in 2020 (along with flared jeans and Converse sneakers, of course). So yes, having a naked neck can make you feel 900 kinds of uninhibited. You can get out of bed, shower and leave the house for an hour without drying, ironing or teasing your hair. Katy Perry hairstyles short If you thought Perry was going to stand there, he proved you. So wrong-because he got a new, even shorter haircut on his Instagram. If there's one star who manages to shake off almost every cut, hue and conceivable style, it's probably Katy Perry. Katy Perry Haircut Timeline The" Swish Swish " singer rose to fame almost a decade ago with the release of her second album, one of the boys. At the time, she had her signature glossy black hair (usually worth it with some extravagant accessories inside) and since then, we've seen her hair change from black to pink to Blue, Platinum yellow and another colour you might think of. Katy Perry new haircut photos The Star Is 32nd On October 25. in honor of his birthday, we decided to pay homage to all the different hair of California Gurl over the years. She seems to have never met a hair color she couldn't embrace, from blonde to blue to black, even pink and green. Katy Perry's Ageing Haircut So who is this colourful character, Katy Perry, and her hair long and short of the story? The 34-year-old popstar, born Katheryn Elizabeth Hudson, rose to fame in 2021 when the singles “I Kissed a girl” and “Hot n Cold” reached the top 3 on the Billboard Hot 100. Since then, he has been a “teen dream”and one of the "California Gurls". Katy Perry Hairstyles Archives Her 2020 album, Prism, helped Katy become the first artist to receive a billion views on vevo for "Roar” and" Dark Horse.""Short hair, I don't care. Tuesday, October 16, celebrity hairdresser and Joico ambassador Rick Henry sat dapper at a Joico lunch with Nine Zero One at Fig & Olive in West Hollywood to eat Katy Perry's ever-changing hair. she is healthy and why she loves her short locks at the moment. Katy Perry new hairstyle We've just completed a year-long tour where there's a lot of styles, so make sure you use products that will benefit and not harm our hair," says Katy Perry's hair evolution. "As you can tell, we always bleach their hair, so constant conditioning treatments are key to keeping hair strong and healthy. Katy Perry natural hair And apparently, care is worth it to try and create tone of style. "Katy is a very creative person, so normal hair is not fun for her "makes a great canvas to work on," she said, " since then, Katy Perry has continued to release popular music and recently performed at Coachella with Zedd. Katy Perry Pixie Haircut Tutorial She is also a judge on American Idol and has appeared in films such as The Smurfs and Zoolander. Over the past few years, her songs have not quite hit heights like her first few albums, but Katy. Who does Orlando Bloom, is still front and center due to her live personality and catchy hits. Still playing on Radio 10 years later. And then there's the ever-changing hairdressing parade. Katy Perry Short Haircut 2020 - 2021 Katy Perry's haircut has caught many eyes for how colorful and. Unique each one is, and this year she has made platinum blonde looks and pixie haircuts. If you like colorful hairstyles, you're lucky to come across this article. He said: "I can't hide behind it now. Katy Perry new haircut I still feel beautiful and I wanted to know that I could love myself without it. It's fun, it's liberating, it's liberating, and 'sexiness' and 'femininity' are just one thing—I don't think it's long hair. I think the goal is to redefine what femininity means to me."Review the article and take inspiration from Katy Perry's hair looks. Katy Perry hair short First, on the Katy Ellen DeGeneres Show, she claimed her. Cut was a compulsory act of beauty-painting her long, often multi-coloured. Her plan to restore the health of her hair was to go minimalist. The story was.the only problem with eyle: it's Ren.the genie didn't go for it. Katy opted for a short, vibrant platinum blonde blunt fairy cut.

[papersandkeyboards]

5/9-15: Went Chicagoan Jewish for a Day (or not really) (aka ‘antek-antek Yahudi!’ as some jerk would say)

33rd WEEK, MAY 9-15, 2016.

Many exciting things happened this week.

But I have the right to prioritize which one deserves to be mentioned first.

This Thursday, I finally (finally) watched Captain America: Civil War.

And if you’re reading this blog for quite some time, it can be seen that I am sort of a hardcore MCU fangirl. At least compared to my friends.

I just died watching the movie. Imagine my heart is an egg and the movie screenwriters and actors were some extremely good scrambled egg makers.

I just can’t.

I cussed and swore so much during the movie, even though I was there by myself (actually—it’s because I was there by myself), and just being emotional in my own little world. By the time the movie was over entirely, I didn’t even have the mood for anything. I was either about to explode or just melt and let myself washed away to the drain and to the Puget Sound. And never come back again.

Huh. I wish my fangirl fellow Darin or Ica was here. They have been the only ones qualified enough to talk the shit out of any marvel movies with me. We can handle each other, and other people, apparently, just can’t handle or understand me being emotionally overwhelmed over some fictional stuff.

Anyway.

Summer is approaching, and on Wednesday the 11th the day hit the thermostat a good 26 Celcius, so after school I went to Capitol Hill and bought myself an unapologetic cup of frozen yogurt across the street from Seattle Central.

However, the highlight of the week, like with almost all cases, came on the weekend.

Karen’s nephew, Gabe, was having his bar mitzvah that weekend. Good news: his family, of course, invited Karen and her family over for it. Good news #2: Karen’s sister and her family lived in Chicago, IL.

Hell yeah! It’s not everyday you can go to big cities like Chicago (unless, well, you live in or nearby Chicago) AND go to a bar mitzvah (unless, well, you happen to have a lot of Jewish relative or friends).

For those who haven’t known, bar mitzvah (or bat mitzvah, for female) is a coming-of-age ritual, meaning a ritual that marks a young person’s transition from being a child to being an adult, that is practised by the Jews—

“Jews?!”

—is probably what your response would be if you’re a typical, religiously conservative Indonesian Muslim who credit most of your knowledge to controversial-titled articles on Facebook that are shared by friends from exclusively your own circle.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, and I’m not supposed to talk about my tolerant/intolerant country in this entry, so let’s get back to my main point.

Gabe here was 13 years old, so, in order to mark his coming to adulthood, a bar mitzvah was held. Let’s say... uhm, a bar mitzvah is an equivalent to Indonesian ‘khitanan’, a ritual after a boy’s circumcision to celebrate his first steps to adulthood.

Karen and Eric and I left Seattle in the afternoon, which means I had to leave school a couple hours earlier to catch the plane. After we arrived, we rented a car and drove to the hotel. Later at night, I finally met Ayesha, Karen’s mother, and us four spent some time talking.

Saturday morning, we went to Downtown Chicago to have breakfast and walk around. We crossed the Chicago River and passed by the Trump Tower. But our main destination was Millenium Park.

You see, when I thought of Chicago, I thought about this particular piece of art I wanted to see for myself. It was this sculpture, sitting right in the middle of the park. The sculpture has a power to amaze everyone who sees it, and at the same time providing a new perspective to see the Chicago skyline and the buildings surrounding it. Designed by an Indian-British artist Anish Kapoor in 2004, the stainless-steel sculpture was initially and officially named “Cloud Gate”. Thanks to public’s creativity and appreciation of its shape, the sculpture is more widely known as... The Bean.

To be fair, it DOES look like a bean. However, I felt somewhat sorry for the artist that had surely thought about the philosophy behind the name Cloud Gate and how the name will inspire people and all that. But I guess the first time people saw the sculpture, they went “oh, it looks like a giant bean!” hence the name.

Think about nicknames that you give to your friends or that have been given to you by your friends. It’s like how a person is named Richard, but everyone just end up calling him Dick. Or a name as pretty as Zahra but everyone end up calling her Ijah. Or something like that. There are indeed some people in my school who are so widely known by their nicknames, anyone hardly know what their real, birth names are.

However, in any way, The Bean (or Cloud Gate, whatever) is so pretty, no matter the weather. It can be sunny or cloudy and it still manages to reflect the whole scenery around it perfectly.

And right under the bean structure was ever crazier. The structure was bent and shaped in such a way that it provided multiple reflections of you in different forms, like a kaleidoscope. Looking at it was hypnotizing, and making me dizzy if I stared at it for too long.

Oh, and it’s cool that I could see the photographer in the picture because he was reflected by the bean behind me. Ehe.

Then we moved to the next block, the next cool thing about the city, the Art Institute of Chicago. (which is what we could cram in a day of Chicago) More than a place where people study—like the sound ‘Institute’ gives—it was more like a museum, like the Met. It had everything in there, for real.

I would say that the Met has more complete collection than Art Institute of Chicago just because the Met is more famous and the whole building is probably as vast as my neighborhood back home, but AIC contained a lot of artefacts and other kinds of old stuff from different times and places, like Ancient Greece and Roman Empire. There were also extensive collections from the Middle East during the rise of Islam, from India, Africa, China, and Europe, with artefacts related to their respective culture and certain religion the region was dominated by.

I’m a statue person, and most likely not a painting person. Seriously, though, my art senses are probably dull enough that I don’t enjoy paintings as much as people do in general (especially those of abstract paintings). Thus, what I did when Eric and Karen and pretty much everyone in the room were philosophically and emotionally connected to an acrylic representation of grass, I took pictures of them.

Alright. Time to bail as evening was approaching and we needed to be at Karen’s sister’s house for dinner before the ceremony. Karen told me to dress real formal—because maybe last time they took me to a formal event—that was a wedding—I wore a cardigan over a long-sleeved shirt and—wait for it—a pair of sneakers. Karen made sure I did NOT wear sneakers (or shirts) for the bar mitzvah, and thus, left me with the only acceptable shoes I had: a painful pair of high high heels. It was black and fancy and I looked good in it, but it was for sure after the event I decided to throw those elegant representation of hell.

When we got to the venue, it became clearer that it was indeed a black tie event. Good thing about having a dinner party with the Jews: kosher food! Kosher is like food guidelines for Jews, the same way us Muslims categorize food and beverages into halal or not halal. Now, I don’t know the full scope of what makes a food or beverage kosher, but I do know that both kosher and halal guidelines strictly and entirely prohibit swine (or any kind of pig product), and that is good enough for me in this kind of situation.

Quick tip: when you’re in the US and is really self-conscious about your belief in halal diet, if you can’t find a proven halal food, look for kosher ones. (especially for products in packaging like salt or biscuits and such kinds, finding a kosher mark in the packaging is good enough if you can’t find products with halal mark on it)

After dinner we moved with our respective vehicles to the synagogue for the ceremony. Synagogue is a Jewish house of prayer. Before we entered the main room, the men were given this small head covering—that was so small it didn’t really cover the whole head—that I’d later figured is called a kippah. Gabe, the man of the hour, besides wearing a kippah himself, also wore a kind of prayer shawl called tallit.

(illustration--photography was not allowed during the ceremony--at least the one i attended)

During the ceremony, there were chants and songs—in Hebrew—but the main event was the reading of the Torah—big rolls of Jewish scriptures. Presumably just about everyone in the room paid attention to the reading but me, but to be honest it’s not even easy for me to concentrate when an imaam—the leader of a Muslim prayer, when done collectively—recites long verses of the Quran during prayers (being able to read and write Arabic doesn’t help when you can’t understand the language itself), let alone a set of long verses in Hebrew. So what does a girl with zero understanding of the Torah and a quite short attention span do during this time?

She decided to open the holy book in front of her seat and tried to decipher the Hebrew alphabet.

Prepare for a quick elaboration on her observation regarding Hebrew and its comparison to Arabic. (<--calon judul skripsi S1 Sastra Arab/Ibrani)

I guess now I understood why people who don’t understand Arabic see nothing but unreadable wiggly lines—even I’ve heard people said to me that all the scribbles look the same. It took a while for me to figure out that Hebrew and Arabic have pretty much the same system. (uhhh I don’t know how to explain this. But like in Arabic a letter needs to have an accent that serves as a vowel, in order for the letter to be readable. So, for instance, if there is a certain accent above the Arabic letter ‘s’, that accent’ll give an ‘aah’ sound so the letter will be read as ‘saa’. Another accent gives the ‘ooh’ sound, hence ‘soo’, and another gives the ‘eeh’ sound, hence ‘see’) (why am I suddenly giving Arabic lessons)

Anyway, it’s not exactly the same, but some letters in Hebrew, if accompanied by certain accents or additional wiggly line, will be read differently than without accents.

(I can’t give you an example) (because by the time we all got home in Seattle I already forgot the whole thing) (not that you asked for one anyway right)

(well, I guess it would be kind of cool if I preserved on deciphering Hebrew. Albeit the language itself I can’t understand, at least I can write things I don’t want people around me to know in Hebrew letters)

After the whole ceremony ended, we moved to another room, which was a vast hall, where we had dinner (again) and heard speeches and overall celebrated Gabe’s first step into adulthood. Pictures would’ve been cool, but photography weren’t allowed during such ceremony.

The next day, on a nice Chicago Sunday morning, all the family members gathered in a cafe for brunch. Got into some more talking with Karen’s extended family members, since I didn’t do so much talking during dinner the previous day.

It was quite a small place for such a big family and it wasn’t as easy to move around, but I got to one point where I met one of Karen’s family members (I forgot who, sorry) who happened to be the heart surgeon for Indonesia’s back-in-the-day famous General A.H. Nasution. (General Nasution was a member of the military who was lucky to escape the terror attack from rogue members of Indonesian Communist Party in 1965) (it took a while for me to figure out when he was telling me he did a surgery for Nasution, because apparently if you pronounced the name ‘Nasution’ the English way it sounds waaaaaay different than the Indonesian way)

As if it weren’t enough, I met Karen’s brother-in-law and he told me he’d met Indonesian former president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono. Give me a break. I technically live closer to President SBY and I’ve never seen the guy live, or even General Nasution.

(well, probably NOT General Nasution, as the guy had died long ago)

We went back to the hotel and took off to the airport right after, Karen’s mom Ayesha came with us to the airport so she could tell me about my personality and prospect for the future through my birth date and place and chakra flow. Accompanied by good thick Chicago pizza. Mmm.

It wasn’t exactly a trip to Chicago a tacky tourist like me would expect because we barely got around Chicago, because it really isn’t a tacky tourist kind of trip, but a family event. Nonetheless, if I think wide and positive enough, chances of me visiting Chicago as a tacky tourist is bigger than chances of me attending a bar mitzvah. Therefore, one shall not remorse on being unable to explore Chicago, because one can always come back.

(aamiin)

(brb melamar jadi buruh cuci tetangga)

And I shit you not, the experience of attending a bar mitzvah is one of the most impressive point in my exchange year I will always remember. Thinking about the time where I could casually walk into a synagogue without being questioned (maybe Karen gave a heads-up to the family, I assume?), and imagining how a Jew—or anyone else, for that matter—should always be treated the same way if the situation were to be reversed.

Peace out.

Salam dari yang baru pakai high heels dua kali langsung dibuang,

Nabila Safitri.

[dippedanddripped]

There’s only one problem as the growing clothing rental market inches toward offering men’s wear: Guys may not buy in.

By Jessica Testa and Jonah Engel Bromwich

Jan. 8, 2020

A little more than a decade ago, a pair of Harvard Business School students founded Rent the Runway, a platform for renting special-occasion evening wear that has since expanded to all kinds of wear: leopard-print blazers, bright red ski pants, Swarovski crystal necklaces and leather fanny packs.

By the spring of 2019, the company was valued at $1 billion and had spawned multiple competitors.

But Rent the Runway has never carried men's wear. Despite the popularity of renting, there are no companies of its size that offer men’s apparel. Because aside from prom or wedding tuxedos, men do not rent — for now, at least.

Why don’t men rent? Are they fearful that borrowed clothing carries the unsanitary residue of other men? Do they dread the logistical planning required to return a pair of cuff links? Or is it just that their renting options are so few and little known that they didn’t know they could?

The New York Times asked a dozen stylish men across the United States (and one abroad) about their attitude toward renting clothes. Nearly all were dubious, and not because of hygiene or laziness.

Through their explanations, they provided a window into how fashion-aware men think about clothes in 2020. Their stated values — individuality, ownership and longevity — were at odds with the ever-rotating closet pushed by the rental market.

Still, leaders and new players in that market are plotting expansions into men’s wear, each on slightly different paths. Whether men know it — or want it — the race to make them rent is about to begin.

The Post-‘Metrosexual’ Moment

Sometime around 2007, it became easier for men to talk about their appreciation for clothing, according to Volker Ketteniss, the director of men’s wear at the trend forecasting firm WGSN. Marketers began pushing a more “technical approach” to shopping for men, he said, placing the idea of heritage brands and craftsmanship front and center.

“This became a guy’s way of being into fashion,” Mr. Ketteniss said. “The same way you could be into cars, stereos and other gadgets.” (Before that time, men who liked clothes were more often called “metrosexuals.”)

Their interest often starts with flashy accessories, like sneakers and watches. That’s how it worked for Ty King, a shoe enthusiast in Nashville.

“Especially early on, with shoes, you didn’t want the shoe that other people were wearing,” said Mr. King, a 43-year-old music and sportswear writer known online as John Gotty.

In mid-December, when Nike released the new Air Jordan 11, Mr. King decided to skip the drop. Too many people were lining up for the $220 red-and-black retro sneakers.

“Even if I did buy them, I’m probably not going to wear them for a year or two,” he said. By then, he expects everyone else will have moved on.

Mr. King’s individualist attitude extends to renting clothes, which he said he would never do. Through years of digging and researching, he has developed his own “strong sense of style.”

“I truly know what I feel works best for me,” he said.

Mr. King fears that renting will lead to herd mentality, and he’s not alone.

“How much of truly being stylish or expressing oneself with clothing is going to be left?” said George Lewis Jr., the 36-year-old Angeleno who makes music as Twin Shadow.

Mr. Lewis said he was familiar with the concept of renting clothes, and he knows women who rent clothes, but that he  personally thinks the concept is strange.

Mr. Ketteniss of WGSN has a theory about men’s skepticism toward renting: Women are accustomed to the idea because they have been swapping clothes with their friends since they were teenagers.

This pastime never really caught on with men. And the women’s wear market has always grown at a faster pace than men’s wear. Why would the renting phenomenon be any different?

Pride in Ownership

On Instagram, under the handle ThePacMan82, Phil Cohen has amassed 770,000 followers, with posts that show a neat collection of clothing and accessories, styled as if for an advertisement.

Though Mr. Cohen appears on lists of prominent fashion influencers, he prefers to leave himself out of the pictures. The spotlight belongs to the clothes themselves.

In an interview Mr. Cohen, 37, expressed pride in his clothing and the work it took to obtain it. He said that renting a nice pair of boots or a hard-to-find jacket may thwart the proper way of things, which for him is a four-step process: Man wants garment. Man saves up for garment. Man purchases garment. Man wears garment.

“I like the idea that you save up and buy something that then becomes part of your life, part of your wardrobe,” he said. “I think that there’s a genuine sort of appreciation for the product when you’ve put yourself into it.”

Several men agreed. A few said that being outed as a rental customer may be embarrassing. It would be as if they were pretending to have more money than they did.

Jason Ryan Lee, a 38-year-old editor at the black celebrity gossip website Bossip, said renting feels almost like cheating.

“I would hate to walk out in a rental and get all kinds of compliments and in my mind be like, ‘This is cool, but this isn’t mine,’” he said. “‘Now I feel like an impostor of some kind. I’m not as cool as people think I am. This $2,000 jacket, I just rented for $35.’”

Through clothing, people project their wealth, status and work ethic. For men, being caught in clothes they don’t own could threaten those projections, and their masculinity.

Mary Blair-Loy, a sociology professor at the University of California, San Diego and the founding director of the Center for Research on Gender in the Professions, said that men often still see themselves as breadwinners. Owning their belongings helps support that image.

“Ownership is a sign and a signal of wealth and status and success in a precarious capitalist competitive world,” she said.

A Double Standard

There is also less pressure on men to own extensive wardrobes. At work, they are less likely to be scrutinized for wearing the same outfit every day. And they take pride in wearing their clothes for a long time.

Dylan Walker, a 20-year-old welding student who lives in Georgia, said that he owns about 10 pairs of cowboy boots and would never think about renting an additional pair.

“Boots last for a really long time,” he said. “One pair of boots for six years. When I buy clothes, I’m buying them for the long haul.”

Stanton Coville, a 29-year-old software developer in Ohio, said that he takes a utilitarian approach to his clothing, to the point that he calculates the cost-per-wear of individual pieces. After wearing a $300 pair of Japanese jeans for four years, its cost was justified, he said. His wife makes fun of him, but he has had to get the jeans repaired only once.

Gert Jonkers, the 53-year-old editor in chief of Fantastic Man and a publisher of The Gentlewoman, spoke of the double standard women face when they repeat outfits. For women, it’s thought to be a faux pas. For men, it’s unremarkable.

Women also have a harder time getting away with informality, he said; they are more liable to be judged for ignoring fashion trends.

“Last night I was wearing a Missoni jumper I’ve had for 10 years, and people were saying ‘Oh, wow, I love that jumper,’” Mr. Jonkers said. “Nobody notices that it’s from fall or winter 2008. It just really doesn’t matter.”

Pride in ownership and longevity combine to create sentimental value. Mr. Lewis said that he appreciated the way personal possessions become “weathered by the energy of your household, or physically weathered by you wearing it.”

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Of the white jeans he was wearing during an interview for this article, he said: “I love them and hate them, because two days after wearing them I have to wash them to make them fit the right way, and every time I wash them they get a little bit worse, and my mom overbleached them so they’re looking slightly pink now.”

“But it’s important to me because these have a story to them,” he added.

Thinking About Men

Major rental companies nevertheless look at men as an untapped market, even if they’re not quite sure how to go about tapping it.

Nuuly, a Rent the Runway competitor founded in 2019, is “actively looking” at expanding into men’s apparel, said Sky Pollard, the head of product.

Owned by URBN, the parent company of Urban Outfitters and Anthropologie, Nuuly is “talking to customers and trying to figure out a program that would work for them,” Ms. Pollard said. “We really see no reason to believe that they wouldn’t respond to it and love it as much as our women customers.”

Rent the Runway said it has also been thinking about men for a long time, albeit less urgently. The company believes men want variety in their closet, but it is still determining the best way to introduce men’s wear.

For example, should it advertise to men directly or target existing female members who buy clothes for the men in their lives?

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Either way, Rent the Runway could give style-conscious men what it has already given to women: the ability to cycle through trendy clothes at a reasonable cost (its cheapest plan is four pieces for $89 per month), without resorting to lower-quality, questionably sourced fast fashion destined for a landfill.

Unlike other men interviewed, Khalid El Khatib, 34, was enthusiastic about the idea of renting. Ever since Mr. El Khatib, a marketing and communications professional in New York, learned about Rent the Runway from his two sisters, he has wished he had access to something like it.

A few years ago, when he went to Cuba on vacation, he brought a brand-new Reiss floral button-down shirt.

“I never wore it again,” he said. “I bought it for Cuba, I wore it in Cuba, and then I retired it.” He appreciates fashion, but he isn’t attached to owning pieces no one else owns, or owning them for a long time.

In November, a New York start-up began experimenting with renting men’s wear to a list of 50 family members and friends. The company, Seasons, was founded by Regy Perlera and Luc Succés, who were also behind an app that allowed users to text each other Drake lyrics.

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In an interview, Mr. Perlera said that “men are very ownership oriented.” But, he said, “the concept of ownership is changing drastically and very quickly. We used to think that we needed cars, and now we have Lyft and Uber and Car2Go. We used to need homes, and now we have Airbnb.”

Mr. Perlera hopes to make fashion more available to people for whom the cost has traditionally been prohibitive. The Seasons website says it has inventory from Yeezy, Off-White and Gucci.

But at the moment, it plans for its cheapest subscription package to be $155 per month, which lets the renter get three pieces.

Mr. Perlera said he has been studying Rent the Runway’s successes and missteps. When asked if he was concerned that these lessons may not apply to men, he said that the Seasons inventory is actually not particularly gendered, despite the language on its website: “A members only rental subscription service for menswear & streetwear.”

“It’s really a category of fashion that really doesn’t have gender boundaries,” he said.

[wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog]

9 Things You Need to Know About the New, #NoDrama Yeezy Season 5

On Wednesday, Kanye West held his Yeezy Season 5 runway show at New York City’s Pier 59. We’d never say it was a sedate affair — according to social media reports, editors and other attendees were lined up around the block before the show started, while wannabe attendees tried talking their way in. But compared with last season’s show, which featured a remote location on Roosevelt Island, long delays, and fainting models, this one felt downright well organized.

It was also, crucially, a lot smaller than Season 3, for which Kanye West packed Madison Square Garden. This season, there was no livestream like the one on Tidal last season, which let the whole world be privy to that show’s now-notorious production problems. That was probably on purpose. A Kanye West show will never not be some level of crazy — he’s just that big, and people are just that obsessed with him. But in this case, (slightly) smaller seemed better.

At the end of the less-than-15-minute show, one editor called it “low-key” and “no-drama” — words never before applied to a Yeezy show. And after thoroughly exasperating the fashion pack for the last couple of seasons, that was probably the whole point.

Ahead, nine things to know about Yeezy Season 5.

1. The show started on time-ish … for a fashion show.

Unlike last season’s extensive — and much complained-about — delays, Season 5 started at 3:24 p.m. A while after its stated start time of 3:00 p.m., sure, but typical for a fashion show. The Yeezy production crew clearly tightened things up this season.

Kim Kardashian West arrives at the Yeezy Season 5 fashion show in New York City. (Photo: Splash)

2. Kim Kardashian wore a head-to-toe maroon lewk — and required heavy security.

Guest of honor Kim K. tends to wear all one color to the Yeezy shows, like these brown and camel looks. On Wednesday, deep maroon was her color of the day. She wore a matching mock sleeveless turtleneck, puffer jacket, chic sweats, and pointy-toe heels (puffer coat worn unzipped and off the shoulder à la Balenciaga, naturally). Meanwhile, these security guards were working hard to protect the star at one of her most high-profile appearances since she was robbed in Paris:

“We’re as stressed out as you,” the very nice security guards tell us at @kanyewest #NYFW show pic.twitter.com/JUWYJRBEVH

— @Booth (@Booth) February 15, 2017

3. The front row featured Kim Kardashian, Anna Wintour, Kylie Jenner, Tyga, and Hailey Baldwin.

In past years, the entire Kardashian/Jenner fam has turned out for Yeezy shows. In contrast this time, we saw no North West, no Kris Jenner (although she was reportedly in New York during the time of the show) — this season, it seems only Kim and Kylie and a surprisingly chill-looking Kylie Jenner were in attendance, and the pair stopped backstage after the show. Another attempt to keep things low-key, perhaps?

February 15: Kylie and Kim backstage at Yeezy Season 5 Fashion Show. @kyliejenner #kyliejenner pic.twitter.com/ZVkkp7oohR

— Jenner Updates (@jennerdailynews) February 15, 2017

4. The venue was very dark and very loud.

Inside Pier 59, the walls and runway was black, with dim lighting — people reportedly had trouble finding seats. Pre-show music was variously referred to as “transcendental” or “spa” music — very chill. But once the show started, a reporter for Elle.com said the soundtrack was so loud, the whole building vibrated throughout the show.

  More black panther imagery at Yeezy season 5 pic.twitter.com/fcbA7GegYT

— Aria Hughes (@ariahughes) February 15, 2017

5. The show started with no models.

At the top of the show, models were projected on a large screen in the center of the runway. Only at the end did real live models appear. Some fashion editors were not impressed with the virtual nature of the show: “They could have sent us a PDF!” one fashion editor said on Snapchat.

  ???????????? #YeezySeason5 https://t.co/2WRJ3h7JBD pic.twitter.com/68ivF6IfAX

— ELLE Magazine (US) (@ELLEmagazine) February 15, 2017

6. The collection features menswear and womenswear, and is athleisure-y as usual.

There were track pants printed with the word “Calabasas” (the town where the Kardashians live); other garments were printed with the words “Lost Hills.” We saw an updated version of Boost sneakers, camo jackets, shearling coats, oversize sweatshirts and hoodies, and many pairs of suede mid-calf boots.

Photo: Twitter/@Booth

7. The notorious thigh-high boots are back.

One of the models wore a head-to-toe maroon look similar to the one Kim K. sported. It featured those thigh-high boots that debuted last season — but they seem easier to stand upright in this season, unlike last time.

    Get your first look at #YeezySeason5 on today’s Instagram Stories @i_D now ! pic.twitter.com/nBueogJ5G2

— i-D (@i_D) February 15, 2017

8. Yep, Yeezy does denim now.

It’s high-waisted and ’90s mom-ish, and you can’t say his clothes are unwearable anymore — or complain about the lack of models wearing pants, as folks did last season.

  One of the most low key fashion shows I’ve ever been to, coming and going #YeezySeason5 @kanyewest #NYFW pic.twitter.com/N9KPnOwWTD

— @Booth (@Booth) February 15, 2017

9. The show ended at 3:39 p.m. Miraculously, no disasters in sight.

After fewer than 15 minutes, at the end of the show, Kanye did not come out for the designer’s customary bow. In fact, no one seemed quite sure the show had ended. Yahoo Style’s Market Director spotted Kim mouthing to Anna Wintour “I guess it’s over,” and then just walked backstage.

Fashion editors and fans will have days to debate the merits of the collection. But for now, everyone’s breathing a sigh of relief that it went without a hitch or fainting model in sight. We think it’s safe to say that Yeezy definitely wins the “Most Improved Runway Show” award.

Related: Kim Kardashian’s Yeezy Style Through the Years

Let’s keep in touch. Follow Yahoo Style on Instagram, Facebook, and Pinterest for inspiration delivered fresh to your feed, every day.

[kraussoutene]

Are Amazon and Lyft Making Online Reviews Too Important?

I’m really not sure what I think about this, so I’d love to discuss with you on Facebook, Linkedin, Twitter, or wherever….

As I write this, it’s Thanksgiving Week in the United States, which means millions of people will spend billions of dollars on Black Friday and Cyber Monday, and will temporarily say things like “door busters” without a trace of embarrassment.

As is the national custom, for almost every conceivable product there are approximately 1,417 competing brands and variations, making the actual purchase process an informational Spartan Race.

Hick’s Law states that the more choices we are faced with, the time necessary to make a selection goes up, not down. Increasingly, we try to shortcut this Paradox of Choice by consulting online reviews.

I’ve written extensively here on the power of online reviews, and the subject is a major component of my book, Hug Your Haters. Fundamentally, we trust online reviews.

Oft-cited research by BrightLocal suggests that ~80% of customers trust at least some online reviews as much as they trust recommendations from a friend or family member.

And this isn’t just about e-commerce. Fully half of all in-store purchases start by reading online reviews, according to BazaarVoice.

Fully half of all in-store purchases start by reading online reviews. Click To Tweet

But what if reviews became SO IMPORTANT that they didn’t just help us decide, but also dictated what was actually available to purchase? It’s already happening.

When the Reviews Tail Wags the Dog

Amazon has opened two retail locations (with more in development) called “Amazon 4-Star” which sounds like a crappy sneaker brand, but is in reality an entire store stuffed with a variety of products that have high consumer ratings on the Amazon platform.

It is the post-modern version of the “As Seen on TV” stores, with a veneer of consumer confidence. By-definition, the product assortment is a hodgepodge: pressure cookers next to books. Televisions adjacent to wrenches. Unlike most retail experiences, Amazon 4-Star doesn’t sell a category of goods; it sells confidence. “What can go wrong? It’s all at least 4 stars!”

I have two big questions about this approach.

First, are we SO enticed by reviews that we are okay with having the very availability of products dictated by that consumer feedback? Are we so dismissive of a sweater that clocks a 3.9 that we collectively believe it shouldn’t even have the temerity and unmitigated gall to make itself available for purchase?

What if Amazon (which also owns Whole Foods and several real-world book stores) took this 4.0 or above thesis to its logical conclusion: “No products below a 4.0 for sale on Amazon.com, at Whole Foods, or in any other Amazon-owned retail outlet.” I don’t see that as particularly far-fetched, and I’m not at all sure that’s a positive outcome for consumers. It would lead to rampant review fakery and a LOT of heavy-handed reviews solicitation.

Further, I know we trust reviews in general, but we don’t trust all reviews from all people equally, right? I have a friend. Let’s call him Art, because that’s his name. He is a highly compensated television and commercial director in Hollywood. He actually knows how to make movies, for real. Yet, his actual taste in movies is abhorrent, at least to me.

I trust him implicitly about some things, and not at all about others. And isn’t that the way it should be? I don’t want to be a travel snob, but I will be for this paragraph, given that I’m on the road 200 days per year. When I read a GLOWING, 5-star review on TripAdvisor for a shabby lodging option called “Motel ONE” located off a dirt road in Alabama, I’m sorry, but I question whether our relative experiences with hotels would lead us to both draw the same mathematical conclusion about the same customer experience.

Yeah, I trust reviews. But not enough to limit purchase alternatives based on them.

Amazon Being Amazon

And my second question is, isn’t this really just another genius Trojan Horse for Amazon?

Because not only does Amazon 4-star feature an assortment of products that get consistently high marks from Amazon.com shoppers, it also includes a bounty of Amazon-made products, regardless of review scores.

Amazon Fire sticks. Myriad Amazon Echo variants. Ring doorbells (owned by Amazon). And an assortment of other Amazon-made clothing, housewares, and electronics, some of it made “secretly” by Amazon via their endless faux house brands that pop up overnight, repped by a quickie logo made on 99 Designs.

The Amazon brand doesn’t have a tremendous amount of cachet. Partially because they aren’t viewed in the same way as manufacturers like Apple, Microsoft, or J Crew – even though they very much are nearly on-par with all of those in terms of actual products manufactured. The Amazon brand is also murky because Amazon itself is murky. It sells everything. It also makes way more money in B2B than it does in B2C. Amazon is everything, and thus from a brand perspective, nothing at all other than efficiency (and increasingly, ruthlessness).

Because of the weakness of the brand, if Amazon opened up an “Amazon” store in your local mall, adjacent to the Apple store and the Microsoft store, you wouldn’t know what to make of it, would you? You wouldn’t be sure what it would contain? Is it luxury? Discount? Electronics? Entertainment? I’m not sure such a venture would succeed.

And they know it.

So instead, the smarties in Seattle (for now) said, “What if we created an Amazon store, but instead of relying on our brand to drive foot traffic, we instead used the conceit of “highly rated products”? That gives the store a unique reason for existing, and one that cannot easily be adopted by competitors. And it allows Amazon to use the “4-star” robe to conceal it’s true purpose: moving as much Amazon-built merch as possible.

Your 4 Stars Hurt My Feelings

Simultaneous to Amazon extending another tentacle into retail using their “4-star” gambit, Lyft is making big changes to the reviews ecosystem on its platform.

How important are reviews to drivers at Lyft, Uber, et al? VERY.

In an effort to keep drivers loyal to their platform, Lyft announced this week changes to the system where riders rate drivers at the conclusion of each trip.

Now, any time a rider does not explicitly leave a rating, it is counted as a five-star rating. That’s a bit presumptuous!

Now, after every 100 rides given, the driver’s lowest rating is automatically deleted from their total. The message here seems to be: it’s okay if you treat passengers poorly; just work harder and we’ll magically eliminate any trace.

Now, ANY rating of four stars are below must be explained by the rider. Why is it up to the passenger to take time to justify their own dissatisfaction. Not to mention the fact that a 4.0 on a 5-point scale isn’t exactly scathing criticism, is it?

Part of the problem is the score inflation inherent in a 5-point scale. This is most egregiously true in ride-hailing apps, in my estimation. You don’t see people feeling bad about giving a crockpot a 3.0 on Amazon, but give a driver a 3 on Uber and you feel like you just prevented his kids from getting into college.

Look at how Lyft describes it on their own website:

5 stars means the ride was great and met Lyft standards. Anything lower than 5 indicates that you were unhappy with the ride.

Wait. 4 out of 5 means unhappy? If you used a 1o-point scale, would 8 out of 10 also mean unhappy?

Yes, reviews are important. They are very helpful mechanisms for quickly sorting our options and alternatives. But maybe we’ve swung the pendulum too far toward the “wisdom of the crowd” when stores ONLY include products with reviews, and riders are made to feel guilt and shame for giving a mediocre ride less than a perfect score.

Or maybe, I’m all wrong on this one. What do you think? Let me know on Facebook, Twitter, or Linkedin. Thanks.

The post Are Amazon and Lyft Making Online Reviews Too Important? appeared first on Convince and Convert: Social Media Consulting and Content Marketing Consulting.

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[rodneyevesuarywk]

Are Amazon and Lyft Making Online Reviews Too Important?

I’m really not sure what I think about this, so I’d love to discuss with you on Facebook, Linkedin, Twitter, or wherever….

As I write this, it’s Thanksgiving Week in the United States, which means millions of people will spend billions of dollars on Black Friday and Cyber Monday, and will temporarily say things like “door busters” without a trace of embarrassment.

As is the national custom, for almost every conceivable product there are approximately 1,417 competing brands and variations, making the actual purchase process an informational Spartan Race.

Hick’s Law states that the more choices we are faced with, the time necessary to make a selection goes up, not down. Increasingly, we try to shortcut this Paradox of Choice by consulting online reviews.

I’ve written extensively here on the power of online reviews, and the subject is a major component of my book, Hug Your Haters. Fundamentally, we trust online reviews.

Oft-cited research by BrightLocal suggests that ~80% of customers trust at least some online reviews as much as they trust recommendations from a friend or family member.

And this isn’t just about e-commerce. Fully half of all in-store purchases start by reading online reviews, according to BazaarVoice.

Fully half of all in-store purchases start by reading online reviews. Click To Tweet

But what if reviews became SO IMPORTANT that they didn’t just help us decide, but also dictated what was actually available to purchase? It’s already happening.

When the Reviews Tail Wags the Dog

Amazon has opened two retail locations (with more in development) called “Amazon 4-Star” which sounds like a crappy sneaker brand, but is in reality an entire store stuffed with a variety of products that have high consumer ratings on the Amazon platform.

It is the post-modern version of the “As Seen on TV” stores, with a veneer of consumer confidence. By-definition, the product assortment is a hodgepodge: pressure cookers next to books. Televisions adjacent to wrenches. Unlike most retail experiences, Amazon 4-Star doesn’t sell a category of goods; it sells confidence. “What can go wrong? It’s all at least 4 stars!”

I have two big questions about this approach.

First, are we SO enticed by reviews that we are okay with having the very availability of products dictated by that consumer feedback? Are we so dismissive of a sweater that clocks a 3.9 that we collectively believe it shouldn’t even have the temerity and unmitigated gall to make itself available for purchase?

What if Amazon (which also owns Whole Foods and several real-world book stores) took this 4.0 or above thesis to its logical conclusion: “No products below a 4.0 for sale on Amazon.com, at Whole Foods, or in any other Amazon-owned retail outlet.” I don’t see that as particularly far-fetched, and I’m not at all sure that’s a positive outcome for consumers. It would lead to rampant review fakery and a LOT of heavy-handed reviews solicitation.

Further, I know we trust reviews in general, but we don’t trust all reviews from all people equally, right? I have a friend. Let’s call him Art, because that’s his name. He is a highly compensated television and commercial director in Hollywood. He actually knows how to make movies, for real. Yet, his actual taste in movies is abhorrent, at least to me.

I trust him implicitly about some things, and not at all about others. And isn’t that the way it should be? I don’t want to be a travel snob, but I will be for this paragraph, given that I’m on the road 200 days per year. When I read a GLOWING, 5-star review on TripAdvisor for a shabby lodging option called “Motel ONE” located off a dirt road in Alabama, I’m sorry, but I question whether our relative experiences with hotels would lead us to both draw the same mathematical conclusion about the same customer experience.

Yeah, I trust reviews. But not enough to limit purchase alternatives based on them.

Amazon Being Amazon

And my second question is, isn’t this really just another genius Trojan Horse for Amazon?

Because not only does Amazon 4-star feature an assortment of products that get consistently high marks from Amazon.com shoppers, it also includes a bounty of Amazon-made products, regardless of review scores.

Amazon Fire sticks. Myriad Amazon Echo variants. Ring doorbells (owned by Amazon). And an assortment of other Amazon-made clothing, housewares, and electronics, some of it made “secretly” by Amazon via their endless faux house brands that pop up overnight, repped by a quickie logo made on 99 Designs.

The Amazon brand doesn’t have a tremendous amount of cachet. Partially because they aren’t viewed in the same way as manufacturers like Apple, Microsoft, or J Crew – even though they very much are nearly on-par with all of those in terms of actual products manufactured. The Amazon brand is also murky because Amazon itself is murky. It sells everything. It also makes way more money in B2B than it does in B2C. Amazon is everything, and thus from a brand perspective, nothing at all other than efficiency (and increasingly, ruthlessness).

Because of the weakness of the brand, if Amazon opened up an “Amazon” store in your local mall, adjacent to the Apple store and the Microsoft store, you wouldn’t know what to make of it, would you? You wouldn’t be sure what it would contain? Is it luxury? Discount? Electronics? Entertainment? I’m not sure such a venture would succeed.

And they know it.

So instead, the smarties in Seattle (for now) said, “What if we created an Amazon store, but instead of relying on our brand to drive foot traffic, we instead used the conceit of “highly rated products”? That gives the store a unique reason for existing, and one that cannot easily be adopted by competitors. And it allows Amazon to use the “4-star” robe to conceal it’s true purpose: moving as much Amazon-built merch as possible.

Your 4 Stars Hurt My Feelings

Simultaneous to Amazon extending another tentacle into retail using their “4-star” gambit, Lyft is making big changes to the reviews ecosystem on its platform.

How important are reviews to drivers at Lyft, Uber, et al? VERY.

In an effort to keep drivers loyal to their platform, Lyft announced this week changes to the system where riders rate drivers at the conclusion of each trip.

Now, any time a rider does not explicitly leave a rating, it is counted as a five-star rating. That’s a bit presumptuous!

Now, after every 100 rides given, the driver’s lowest rating is automatically deleted from their total. The message here seems to be: it’s okay if you treat passengers poorly; just work harder and we’ll magically eliminate any trace.

Now, ANY rating of four stars are below must be explained by the rider. Why is it up to the passenger to take time to justify their own dissatisfaction. Not to mention the fact that a 4.0 on a 5-point scale isn’t exactly scathing criticism, is it?

Part of the problem is the score inflation inherent in a 5-point scale. This is most egregiously true in ride-hailing apps, in my estimation. You don’t see people feeling bad about giving a crockpot a 3.0 on Amazon, but give a driver a 3 on Uber and you feel like you just prevented his kids from getting into college.

Look at how Lyft describes it on their own website:

5 stars means the ride was great and met Lyft standards. Anything lower than 5 indicates that you were unhappy with the ride.

Wait. 4 out of 5 means unhappy? If you used a 1o-point scale, would 8 out of 10 also mean unhappy?

Yes, reviews are important. They are very helpful mechanisms for quickly sorting our options and alternatives. But maybe we’ve swung the pendulum too far toward the “wisdom of the crowd” when stores ONLY include products with reviews, and riders are made to feel guilt and shame for giving a mediocre ride less than a perfect score.

Or maybe, I’m all wrong on this one. What do you think? Let me know on Facebook, Twitter, or Linkedin. Thanks.

The post Are Amazon and Lyft Making Online Reviews Too Important? appeared first on Convince and Convert: Social Media Consulting and Content Marketing Consulting.

https://ift.tt/2qVEiB2